#and they try and paint it like it’s because of Messi’s demands that he isn’t with us???

[getting-messi]

I’m really debating how much I love Barcelona right now.

Their response to Messi’s move is honestly disgusting.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

I broke my own heart (a few fucking times)

buck/eddie & eddie/shannon | 1.3K | rated: explicit | fic preview

So as some of you may know @elvensorceress and I are working on a little something something. My darling shared the beautiful wrecking pegging scene between Eddie and Shannon so I'm here to offer some more angst with Eddie and Chris

s2 Eddie slept with Buck after first meeting him but then had to try again with Shannon. Since it was just sex between him and Buck, it shouldn’t be any kind of problem. Right? But Shannon isn’t stupid and knows Eddie won’t admit any Feelings. And she’s going to try and figure him out

Christopher is being suspiciously quiet.

He gave Eddie a half-hearted greeting when Eddie picked him up from school then spent the car ride home biting his lip and twiddling his fingers in his lap. Eddie had tried to ask him how his day was but he merely shrugged.

Eddie spends the entire ride flicking his eyes up to the rearview mirror every chance he gets. Christopher doesn’t look sad, at least, not entirely; there’s no bright sheen to his eyes or twist to his mouth that usually accompanies such an emotion. Rather, he looks more contemplative than anything, but the slump of his shoulders and silence clearly mean something is wrong.

Eddie hates how familiar he is with these expressions. Chris has endured too many trials and too much sadness in his young life and it never fails to make Eddie feel like a failure. The cold, sharp pressure of guilt presses down on his chest. Breathing past it takes every scrap of strength he has. Which honestly isn’t much.

He doesn’t think he’s really ever been strong in his life. Always acquiescing to other’s demands and following the rules, hoping and praying that being directed by someone else would somehow make this life easier, would make him capable of making the right decision, but no matter what he fails. He fails. He fails. He fails.

He ran away like a coward, abandoning Shannon and Christopher when they needed him the most. He came back from Afghanistan wrong and broken, no longer able to convince Shannon or his parents that there was any good left in him. He pushed Shannon away after draining away whatever connection they had left. He–fuck, he slept with someone else while still married. He buried himself in Buck’s fierce strength and warmth. They fought and fucked and broke each other. They soothed and loved and repaired each other. With each rough kiss turned soft and silky, with each bruising grip turned gentle and caressing, with each desperate thrust turned into rhythmic rocking, the two of them created something that sprouted in between Eddie’s ribs, growing and full of life and messy and tangled and beautiful and–good. A good Eddie has never known, not outside of Christopher.

And Eddie threw it all away. He held what they made in his hands, cradling it the way he used to cradle his son, gazing down at the broken and glittering parts with an awe and despair that have imprinted themselves on his bones. Then, with gritted teeth and a glowing heart turned heavy and hollow, he pried each of his fingers away and let it fall to the ground. It crashed between him and Buck, thousands of shards painted with thousands of memories, broken beyond repair.

He hasn’t felt warm since. He hasn’t felt whole or right or good. He tries, god does he try. He hides the wretched, wriggling monster inside his chest from Shannon and Chris in the hopes that one day it will die. Maybe then he can make this work, because he has to make this work.

Eddie has to make this work, doesn’t he?

“Dad!”

Eddie startles, the dulcet ring of his son’s voice tearing away him from the pit he has fallen into. A pit that has taken permanent residence inside him, growing wider and deeper and darker with each passing day. An image flashes behind his eyes quickly: the glow and warmth of candlelight, nothing compared to Buck’s smile; the smell of Bobby’s lasagne, rich and enough to make his mouth water; the sweet fragrance of bluebonnets placed in the center the table; the dying light of Buck’s hope and love, crushed by Eddie’s ugly, clumsy, stained hands.

He blinks the image away and swallows past the fractured pieces of his love that have lodged themselves in his throat. “Yeah, bud?”

Chris’ brow furrows and his eyes darken with worry. “We’re home. You’ve just been staring out the windshield for the past few minutes.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He just can’t do anything right. He’s letting himself drown underneath the tide of his grief and Chris is noticing. What kind of parent makes their kid worry?

Eddie plasters a smile on his face and it feels like a jagged crack in porcelain. “Sorry. Just got lost in thought. Come on, let’s head inside.”

He manages to get them both inside the house and gets Christopher settled at the table with a snack and his homework without disappearing again. Something that is so much harder than it should be. But his house is saturated in Buck. The warm blue and pink tones of his laugh and his smile and his chiseled face and his fucking gorgeous heart are painted across the walls and tables, soaked in the cushions and sheets, splattered on Eddie’s fingers. He can’t wash any of it away. He doesn’t want to wash any of it away.

Chris remains quiet as he does his homework. Eddie putters around in the kitchen, trying not to hover, but wanting to be close in case Chris decides he wants to talk. He won’t force Chris to tell him anything. God knows he hated when his parents tried that. It always left him feeling unsteady and pressured and usually resulted in him never being able to put words to his thoughts. He won’t do that to his son.

Eventually, once Chris is finished with his work and Eddie has washed every single dish they own, he turns to Eddie with a quiet, “Dad?” and Eddie knows he’s ready to talk out what has been plaguing his mind.

Eddie sits down across from him and tries to radiate gentle patience. “What is it?”

“How do–What is–” Chris stops and frowns, looking down at his lap with a frustrated expression.

Eddie waits, giving Chris time to formulate what he wants to say, and tries not to panic. What has Chris this upset and tongue tied? What if it’s something he can’t do anything about? What if–

“How do I explain what Buck is to us?”

A record scratch echoes in Eddie’s ears. The wild, lilting rhythm of Buck Buck Buck pounds through him, forcing his heart and lungs to expand to the point of bursting.

“W-what do you mean?” Eddie croaks.

Chris huffs. “Well, I tell my friends at school about all the things we do with Buck and the things he does for us, and today Tony said it was weird that I spent so much time with him since he isn’t my dad. And I got angry.” Chris’ nose wrinkles as if displeased with himself for that. A rush of fondness pours through Eddie, so liquid sweet it makes him ache.

“So, I tried to explain Buck to him,” Chris continues, the speed of his words rising with his frustration. “But I just–I didn’t know how.”

Eddie supposes that in the grand scheme of things, this isn’t too terrible. He certainly was imagining a lot worse, but–but it’s Buck. What answer does he give Chris? Eddie can barely explain what Buck is and means to himself let alone a mouthy eight-year-old named Tony.

Buck is–he’s everything. He sidled up to Eddie and planted himself in between Eddie’s broken and quivering bones. He gives and gives and gives and expects nothing in return. He’s soft and gentle and kind and mouthy and bratty and funny and ridiculous and honest and smart and beautiful and–and so loved but he doesn’t know it.

And whose fucking fault is that?

Eddie doesn’t think he can say any of that to Chris. So he begins with, “Well, it’s understandable that maybe your friends are a little confused. Not everyone has a Buck.”

Chris’ mouth pinches tight and his blue eyes grow dark and sad–don’t think about who he looks like, don’t do it, don’t do it–and he declares, “Everyone should have a Buck.”

[meowzfordayz]

tissues, a hoodie, and a hug (alternatively: remedies for a broken heart)

Kamado Tanjirou x Reader

Word Count: ~600

CW: platonic

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I recently found out that the guy i’ve liked for a while started dating a close friend of mine. Feeling heartbroken and upset lol. Anyways, how do you think tanjirou would try to cheer up a friend who’s heartbroken?

“What do I do?” Tanjirou asks, eyebrows scrunched helplessly as he stands in your bedroom doorway.

“Something!” your muffled voice exclaims, head barely visible as you burrow under your comforter, tossing a soppy tissue in his direction.

“Well- Obviously!” he squeaks, dodging your tissue, and then dutifully ensuring it makes it from the floor to the trashcan, “But what? Do you want to watch a movie? Binge a show? Cook food? Order takeout? Paint my nails? Cuddle?”

“No, no, no, eventually, I don’t know, maybe later,” you grumble.

Stepping closer to your bed, he tentatively pats what he thinks (??) is your foot, “I can cook if you don’t want to cook.”

“You can buy me food,” is your retort, foot twitching at his touch, “I don’t have any groceries.”

“Sooo I can buy you groceries and takeout!” he smiles triumphantly, testing the waters with a tug at your comforter.

“And you can give me your sweatshirt,” you huff, “Otherwise I’m staying here.”

“Surely you’re overheating?” he frowns, deftly slipping out of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” you snap, “But I won’t be by the time you’re done stealing my comforter.”

Fair enough he thinks, walking over to place his hoodie near your pillow. Amusement brightens his expression as you promptly grab it—like a sea creature pulling its prey down under—the comforter wriggling and wrinkling as you struggle to put it on. After a handful of grunts and a pitifully muttered I don’t wanna (he suspects he wasn’t supposed to hear it), you finally surface, cheeks red, eyes swollen, and hair messy with static.

“I’m hungry,” you pout, smooshed tissue box wrangled from the depths, and unceremoniously dumped onto your lap.

“I can be back in-”

“Don’t leave me.”

Nodding immediately, he rests a gentle palm on your shoulder, noting the tension in your posture, relieved when you lean into his gesture.

“I’m sorry,” sympathy in his gaze as your bottom lip trembles.

“Me too,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

With anger or with sadness, you aren’t quite sure.

“Do you want to yell about it?”

“Yell about it?”

“If you’re upset, then feel upset. Be upset,” hesitating before he whispers softly, “I’m safe,” for you, “I promise.”

He doesn’t flinch as you inhale deeply, a barrage of cussing, sobbing, and half finished sentences soon launched at him. Doing his best to keep track of the unfortunate events that led to your moping (he’d ditched Boys Night™ with Zenitsu and Inosuke when you’d called, refusing to tell him what was wrong, despite something clearly being wrong), he gradually pieces together most of the picture, tamping his own frustration because That isn’t what they need right now.

“Tan?” you blubber, crying harder as he instinctively hugs you, strong arms wrapped steady around your haunced frame, his familiar scent doing little to ease your frayed nerves, “Why did this happen? How could this happen? I’m so pissed and heartbroken and pissed and pissed and UGH !!!!!”

“I don’t know,” is all he can say, “You’re wonderful.”

“I’m b-borrowing this sweatshirt,” you hiccup, “To drown out the longing and the hurting.”

“Of course,” he murmurs fondly, poking at your side, “I expected nothing less.”

“Have a tissue,” you declare, releasing your embrace to shove the tissue box toward him.

“Huh?”

“In exchange for your sweatshirt.”

As with many of your offers—your demands—Tanjirou doesn’t mention its unfairness, even as he willingly accepts it.

“I love you,” you sniffle, “You’re the best.”

“I know,” he laughs lightly, inwardly sighing at your use of his hoodie’s sleeve as a tissue, “I love you too.”

[cecilxa]

slight disparities in gift giving

summary: you and albedo share lots of passions, perhaps painting isn't one of them.

contents: fluff, gn!reader, slighty ditzy reader, slight crack?, reader isn’t quite as good at art as albedo is, modern au, reader is definitely in love with albedo (aren’t we all)

cw: nothing i can think of, tell me if you find any!

Okay, maybe painting wasn’t supposed to be your life passion. The glob of colours on your paint pallet proved that. Blue, yellow, red, and burnt sienna were the colours that the YouTube video said were essential for a beginner like you. So how did they end up merging into a rather unappealing grey-y brown? 

You sighed. The painting was intended to be for Albedo, a tribute to his skills at fine art, but ended up more as a tribute to your own lack of talent, a pity painting; you might’ve dubbed it if you weren’t so preoccupied with the fact he would be returning to your shared apartment in around… let’s see... 20 minutes. 20 minutes?! Wallowing in your sadness wouldn’t help the fact that he would return home to a messy and unruly living room, you needed to clean at record speeds! This would absolutely not do. Or would it? Maybe he would find the attempt at painting endearing, and you would be rewarded with extra kisses and cuddles. Or perhaps he would find it annoying and demand you clean it up with a punishment of no affection for the rest of the week. You shuddered at the thought. Speed cleaning it was. 

Playing music on your phone, you rushed around taking all of the paints and placing them in the designated “artistic” drawer that only you used because Albedo had a whole other room for his belongings. After closing the drawer, you took the paint palette, grimacing again at the muted brown on the surface, and headed to the sink to wash up. Humming along with the music playing, you went to turn the tap on, only for it to burst out in an explosive jet of water. You may have accidentally turned it a bit too far. Sighing again, you decided on washing up the palette then going to grab the brushes and washing them with you still in your wet clothes. There was still time to change before Albedo came home. 

After getting changed into a clean- and most importantly, dry- pair of clothes, you heard keys rustling and footsteps stopping outside your door. The door that you and Albedo painted together, something that didn’t require so much skill as trying to colour match the skin tone of your lover based on a picture (a very lovely one though). You suggested cherry red for the door, but on a sunny day in August, the last thing both of you wanted to do was look at anything vibrant, for fear of burning your eyes off. A calmer, pale grey would do better. Unbeknownst to Albedo, the reason why you wanted it to be cherry red wasn’t because of the aesthetics, but because the cheery colour reminded you of Klee. If you had adequately explained, Albedo would’ve become so flustered that his cheeks would flame up the same rosy red as his sister’s clothing, just as cute, just as sweet. He wouldn’t have minded getting his eyes burnt out for the knowledge that you cared about his family. That definitely would've been an experiment worth investigating.

The door opens to you latching your arms around the neck of the blonde. He laughs; something that you never got tired of hearing. You actually proposed the idea of using his laugh as your alarm in the past, saying that you would always wake up knowing that he was there with you. He refused, albeit curious as to whether you would keep your word, arguing that you looked, “Extremely adorable, my love.” And that, “I wouldn’t want to disturb your sleep, I would feel guilty.” Doesn’t this man know what he’s doing to you? He’s making you fall in love all over again. Even so, something that you didn’t notice was how his soft smile seemed that little bit wider after your little conversation. Currently, he buries his face into your neck, smiling in the warmth of your body heat. You feel his mouth turn upwards and, wanting to match, do exactly the same thing. 

Albedo reluctantly pries you off his body and gestures for you to follow him into the living room saying that he “has a wonderful surprise for my one and only”. You panic a little internally, assuming that you had forgotten an important date in the calendar that you hadn’t prepared for. Anniversary? No, it’s definitely nowhere near yet. Half-anniversary? No, it’s marked on the custom calendar you both bought together, complete with photos of (mainly) you, a few of Albedo and some of you together (guess who decided on the content). You don’t recall seeing the reminder, so what’s left? As you struggle to remember what was so important, Albedo sneakily presses a small locket in your hands. 

When you feel the cold metal touch the soft plush of your skin, you gasp a little. The locket’s shaped like a miniature flower, daintily sitting on your palm. A sun blossom. Tiny crystals of yellow adorn the four petals and even the dim lighting of your apartment gleams off of them, making them seem like mini suns themselves. The detailing on it is exquisite, the details so minute and precise that you can’t help but wonder how much it cost. You try to say something but your mouth just opens and closes. It opens again and you gape at him in shock. “Albedo…” you finally say, “I- what- how?” He chuckles a little at your response (there it is again) and sweeps you up into a delicately-crafted hug. Your head rests on his shoulder, his arms wrap around your waist. He hugs you so tightly, that it’s as if you were a glass figurine, needing multiple layers of supportive protection. “Just wanted to get something nice for you, my love. Is that so surprising?” 

“Mmph,” is all he hears, your voice muffled by his shoulder. What you’re trying to say is that you also have a surprise gift for your lovely partner. You’ve decided that even if it is pretty- ahem- unique, he’d still appreciate it. He deserved it after giving you such an exquisite piece of jewellery. Said gift was- wait- where did you put the painting? You try to remember your last steps before Albedo came home and come to the realisation that you hadn’t tidied it away. You were so preoccupied with your wet clothes and the painting equipment that you had completely forgotten to stow away the most important thing. Your eyes widen slowly(as much as they could) and you pray to all of the gods out there that he hadn’t seen it. 

A second passes and you resign yourself to your fate. Who are you kidding? It’s a massive painting on an easel smack bang in the middle of your living room, of course he’s seen it. Unlatching your head from his shoulder, you look up at Albedo (who’s already looking at you, waiting for an answer, albeit with a twinkle in his eye) and give him a wobbly smile. 

“Surprise?”

[thebluemango]

Devils in the Details

Day 11: “911, What’s Your Emergency?”

Makeshift Splint | Self-Done First Aid | Sloppy Bandages

No Capes AU

Whumptober 2022

Note: I took French in high school, all Spanish is Google Translate.

Could be read as slash, could be read as platonic friends --- up to you

            Dick woke up slowly, his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks before he opened them.  He found himself staring at stark white ceiling paint. He was laying on a bed, that much he could tell. He could also tell it wasn’t his bed. He blinked a few times as he tried to get his barring, he turned his head to the left and then to the right before pushing himself up straight. White hot pain shot through his left arm, and he cried out, collapsing back into the pillows.

            “Easy there, Richie Rich, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

            Dick’s eyebrows shot up and he turned sharply toward the voice. Sitting in the corner of the room with a book propped on his lap was a man. He was wearing a brown leather jacket with a red hoodie underneath and dark blue jeans. 

            “Who’re you?” Dick tried his best to sound demanding, but instead he found himself squeaking out the words.

            “I’m Jason. And you need to lie down.” Jason popped a bookmark into his book and the dropped it onto the small table to his left, then stood up to stand next to Dick.

            “Is this a ransom thing?” Dick looked down at his throbbing arm. There was, what looked like, the end of a wooden broom, secured with white fabric splinting his arm.  In between the two rods was messy, stained red gauze, tapped to his arm with scotch tape. “What did you do to me?”

            The other man frowned at him and crossed his arms over his chest, “I didn’t do anything to you.  You have compound fracture of your radius and ulna. Which was, by the way, not from me.”

            Dick blew a strand of hair out of his face and grunted, “Why should I believe you?”

            “Believe what you want, but I’m trying to save your life.  Roy says we’re just going to go pick up a package for the boss, ‘I’ll take Jason and Tony’ he says. No big deal. I could use the extra money, man’s gotta eat. Then, we roll up to the diner on fifth and Richard fucking Grayson comes out. Next thing I know, Tony’s checking the ammo in his Glock and Roy’s unlocking the door and we’re shoving you into an alley.  You fell real hard, broke the fuck out of your arm, saw your bones, and then passed out.”

            “Okay, so where’s the part where you’re saving my life? Because it sounds like you and your buddies kidnapped me.”

            “We were supposed to kill you. But, I didn’t sign up to kill no body, definitely not the son of Bruce Wayne.”

            “Ex-Ward.” Dick spits back.

            “Ward-ever. Either way, we’re supposed to kill you to pump the breaks on the grant going to reform Crime Alley. Figure, Wayne isn’t going to pour money into the place where his son got killed.  The money is going to create legit jobs, push out a lot of the gang activity, and put emergency services in the neighborhood.” Jason looks at Dick, his eyebrows are knitted together into a frown. Dick looks back with his own confused frown,

            “Okay, so why didn’t you kill me then? Are you not… in a gang?”

            Jason scratches the back of his neck and shrugs, “No one wants to be in a gang, not really, but when you live around here, you’re either with a gang or you’re hungry—sometimes you’re both. I’ve lived here my whole life, yanno Crime Alley. I… I don’t want to pump the breaks on the grant.  It’s goin’ to help a lot of people; my friends and my neighbors.”

            “That’s… That’s fair.” Dick hums and runs his good hand through his hair, “So what now, Jason?”

            “I don’t know. I gotta get you to a real police station or maybe Wayne Enterprises. But, they’re lookin’ for us. We can’t just walk out of here. I don’t have my phone and neither do you.” Jason strides away from the bed to the window to crack open the blinds and peak out. “I give it a few more hours until they’re busting doors down.”

            Dick grunts as he pushes himself up onto his uninjured arm and then into a sitting position, “Then we have to go before they do that.”

            “Your arm is really broken!” Jason looks at him with wide eyes, his arms out in front of him as if he’s ready to push Dick back onto the bed.

            “If they’re going to start busting doors down, then people are going to start getting hurt. We need a plan before it comes to that.” Dick throws his legs over the edge of the bed with effort. “Is there anyone in this building who can let us use a phone?”

            “Everyone is scared, Richard.” Jason’s voice is low and serious. “No one is going to help us at the cost of their life.  Reform grant be damned.”

            “Dick.”

            Jason’s eyebrows fly up, “Excuse me?”

            “That’s what people call me, not Richard, Dick.” The older man shots Jason a crooked smile. “And there has to be someone who will help. People are braver than you would think.  Like you.”

            Jason’s cheeks visibly blush, and he runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, Dick, what do you think we should do.”

            “We’re in an apartment building, right? We need to make a phone call.”

**

            How Jason got roped into running up three flights of stairs with his red hood pulled over his face, he isn’t quite sure.  Regardless, he’s knocking rapidly on 23C with his mouth pressed to the seam of the door,

            “Carmen, por favor, soy Jason.” Carmen, please, it’s Jason. “Por favor.”

            “Tienes que ir, Jason! Ellos van a saber que estas aqui! ” No you have to go, Jason! They’re going to know you’re here.

            Jason presses his forehead to the door, and knocks one more time with a closed fist, “Lamento venir aquí! Necesito tu ayuda! Necesito usar tu teléfono!” I’m sorry to come here! I need your help! I need to use your phone!

            “Yo tengo una familia, Jason!” I have a family, Jason. His heart aches at the desperation in her voice, he knows she’s scared. He’s scared, too.

            “Una vida major para tu familia, Carmen.” A better life for your family, Carmen.

            There is silence on the other side of the door.  Jason’s shoulders hunch in defeat. That was it, she was the only one.

            Just as he is about to turn away and head back to his apartment to think of a plan B, the door is cracked open. He turns sharply to see a small hand pushing a cheap prepaid cell phone across the threshold. The woman looks at him with wide eyes,

            “Para mi familia, Jason.”

            “Gracias.” Jason nods in thanks, scooping up the cell phone and then taking long strides back to where Dick was waiting. He practically throws the door open and then slams it shut behind him, holding the phone out in victory.

            Dick throws him a wide smile, “I told you, Jay, there are always brave people.”

**

            “We can’t call Bruce. His line is secure, unknown numbers won’t get through.  We could call Wayne Enterprises, but you never know who’s going to answer or how far this goes up.” Dick taps his finger against the hard wood of Jason’s dinette.

            “People at W.E. want to keep Crime Alley a slum?” Jason frowned with confusion, what do rich people care about Crime Alley?

            “There are a lot of investors against it. They don’t want to put the Wayne Enterprises name on it, but shoving money into a community isn’t going to inspire change.  The support of WE is an essential part. The Wanye’s get the final say since we have the biggest share.  There are good people everywhere and bad people everywhere, Jason.” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who can we call who wouldn’t be tapped?”

            “Do you have a friend who could come get you?” Jason asks optimistically. “A friend with a bulletproof car.”

                        “Us.”

            Jason’s face morphs into confusion, “What?”

            “Someone to come get us. Or are you not going to get offed the minute your boss finds you?”

            Tony and Roy were probably singing like canaries about what Jason had done. He winces, “Okay, and Carmen and her family.”

            “Okay, we’ll fill up the hypothetical car. Let’s work on getting a car first.” Dick’s eyes light up for a moment. “We can call my brother.”

            “The one from TV? Isn’t he like seventeen?”

            “Unless you have a better idea.” Dick waits, looking at Jason with a knowing expression. The younger man just shrugs and pushes the phone towards him. Dick makes quick work of punching the numbers in and the both of them hold their breaths as it rings.

            On the third ring, the line opens up and there’s a heavy sigh, “I’m not buying whatever your selling—”

            “Robin.” Dick says sharply. Here is a moment of silence on the other line and for a moment, Jason worries that the boy has hung up.

            “For serious?”

            “As a heart attack.” Dick presses his lips together and waits again. There is more deafening silence before there is shuffling on the other end of the phone.

            “Okay.”

Then the line goes dead.

Jason looks at Dick with his mouth open in a surprised ‘o’, “That’s it? We risked other people’s lives for that. For you to say five words to some teenager?”

Dick glares at him and crosses his arms, “Tim will know what to do. We need to get to the roof.”

“This is just great!” Jason stands up abruptly, pushing his chair out from the table. “You rich people really live in your own little world, don’t you? What does it mean? Is it an extraction code or something? You don’t give a fuck about us!  You get to go home to your cushy life while we all rot here.  I bet you’re going to tell your dad to pull the funding, too! Do understand the sacrifice a woman might have just made to get us that phone? A woman with two kids. And you use that to call—”

Before he can finish, there’s a loud banging on the apartment door,

“We know you’re in there, Todd! Get your ass out here, with Wayne’s kid, or we’re going to kill your friend.”

            “Por favor no!”

            “Listen, Jason.” Dick uses his good arm to make Jason look at him, focusing his horrified look away from the door and to the older man. “I know it’s hard, I know you’re scared, but I need you to go out the fire escape and up to the roof.”

            Jason splutters, shaking his head back and forth, “They’re going to kill her!”

            “Hey!” Dick’s words are quiet but firm. “They’re going to kill all of us if you don’t do as I say.  It’s probably going to take Tim thirty minutes to get here.  When he does, because he will, the team he sends is going to need someone to be up on the roof.”

            “The roof? Dick what are you talking about? This isn’t a spy movie! I’m not just going to run away while they kill Carmen! I—”

            The banging continued. The door to Jason’s apartment was fairly sturdy and had good number of locks on it, but it wouldn’t stand for ever.

            “Remember that bullet proof car we talked about?” Jason nods. “Well, there’s no car. It’s going to be a helicopter and the guys in it are going to need to know exactly where we are as soon as it touches down.  If you stay, your friends outside are going to shoot you in the head, then your friend, and come look for me. It has to be you, Jason. I swear on my life, I’m going to do everything I can to keep your friend alive, but I need you to do what I say. Do you understand?”

            Jason gapes at him for a second, his eyes flickering between Dick and the shaking door.

            “Jason! Do you understand?”

            “Yeah, Dick, I understand.” Jason nodded quickly, turning to the small bedroom to escape out the window. He’s out the window and climbing up the first rung of the stairs when he glances back, just in time to see Dick open the front door and get thrown face first onto the floor.  He hears the older man cry out when his arm is grabbed as he continues up as quickly as he can.  He reaches the roof in record time, bringing up his wrist to check his watch.  Dick said thirty minutes. Jason tugs at locks of his hair, pacing across the roof. Dick could be dead in thirty minutes.

**

            As Jason turns to the bedroom window, Dick turns to the front door.  The four dead bolts that run down the seam are shaking as the person on the other side rams into it. Dick has half a mind to look through the peep hole, but the thought of getting hot through his eyeball keeps his curiosity away.

            “I’m coming!” He unlocks the door quickly, swinging it open to come face to face with four meaty looking men.  “Can’t a man take a nap without having the door busted down—”

            The man directly in front of him grabs him by the front of his shirt and throws him down onto the carpeted floor.  Dick can’t hold back the cry of pain that slips past his lips when his broken arm is wrenched up behind his back and zip tied there with his other arm.  The pain is white hot, and it travels up his arm to his shoulder, from where his nose is pushed into the rough carpet, Dick has to blink stars out of his eyes.

            He sees the feet of three other men stomp into the small apartment followed by a small, curly haired, Hispanic woman being dragged behind them. She has tear tracks running down her face and her arms are also zip tied behind her back.  As Dick feels guilt begin to swallow him, he is yanked up by his broken arm and forced to stand on wobbly feet between two bulky men.

            “Where is Todd, Richard?”

            “Dick.”  The man in front of him reeled back and punched him in the face.  Dick would have fallen over if not for the two men flanking him and taking most of his weight.  “My name is Dick god damnnit!”

            The man to his right huffed out a laugh but stifled it when the leader gave him a hard look. He then turned his attention to Dick, grabbing him roughly by his jaw and forcing him to look at him,

            “You’re going to tell us where that little bastard is or we’re going to kill the bitch and then her kids, and then everyone else in this goddamn shit hole, until we find that little traitor!” Dick wanted to flinch when spit flew from the man’s mouth but settled for morphing his face into that of disgust.

            “I don’t know where the other guy went.” He lied. “I woke up with a broken arm and some kid trying to ransom me back to Bruce. I hit him in the head and hid here.”

            The man threw a fist into his stomach, and he groaned loudly, “Wrong answer?”

            “Jason thinks he’s a hero: helpin’ old ladies across the street and giving food to the kids with cracked out parents. I don’t believe for a goddamn second that he tried to ransom you to anyone.”

            Dick laughed, “Okay, you got me. But I still don’t know where he is.”

            This time the punch hit his left temple, leaving his vision swirling with stars. He spit a mouth full of blood out onto the floor, blinking rapidly, “Look, man, whatever you think you’re going to get from this: you’re not. Bruce is going to pour money into this neighborhood whether you kill me or not.  It’s a done deal.  So, why don’t you rub your two little brain cells together and make the smart decision: get out of dodge.”

            The man’s nostrils flared, and he landed two heavy punches to his ribcage, Dick tried to double over but the two men at his sides held steady. He looked up at the clock, stall for fifteen more minutes.

            “You tell me where Jason is, I’ll let you live.”

            Dick snorted, “Fat chance.”

            The man sighed before pulling his gun out of the holster at his waist and jamming it up into the soft skin under Dick’s jaw, “Okay, Dick, how about you tell me where Jason is, and I kill you quickly?”

            Dick winced at the cold metal pinching into his skin relentlessly, “How about you kill me, then my dad has feds chase you down for the rest of your miserable life while he still pours money into the community.” Dick smiles, showing bloody, red teeth. “You don’t win. Doesn’t matter how this plays out, you Dick, you are going to lose.”

            The man releases the pressure on the underside of Dick’s jaw and slams the butt of his gun against the side of his face. Dick feels warm blood well up in the new cut on his face.  His vision goes black for five seconds, the two men at his sides let go of his arms, and he drops forward onto the floor heavily. Dick blinks slowly, trying not to let the ringing in his ears overcome him.  He can hear the man above him screaming at him, but the words are muffled. Dick rests his cheek on the floor and he’s in direct eye contact with where Carmen was sitting. Except, she wasn’t sitting there anymore. Instead, there was an open window behind where she should have been and the steady red blinking of a smoke grenade.

            The smoke grenade went off just as Dick’s eyes slid shut.

**

            Jason paced on the roof for exactly twenty-eight minutes before he heard the loud chopping of wind. He squints his eyes to find the source of the noise through the brightness of the sun.  When he sees it, his eyes are wide, he’s never seen a helicopter before. It lands on the other side of the roof and an eight-man tactical team pours out of the sliding door followed by a dark haired, scrawny looking kid, Tim his mind supplies, and then Bruce Wayne himself.  Jason gapes as the two Wayne’s make their way toward him.  Bruce reaches him first, reaching out a hand, which Jason shakes slowly,

            “I’m Bruce, this is Tim. You are…?”

            “J—Jason.”

            “Jason. Tell us what you know.”

Bruce listens with his lips pinched into a tight line. Humming in agreement once and a while and grunting in disagreement a few times as Jason explains the past twenty-four hours to him as quickly as he can.  He tells them exactly where Dick is, and then where Carmen’s kids should be. At the end, Bruce nods in thanks and turns on his heel toward the tactical team, leaving him and Tim looking at each other.

“Thanks for coming.” Jason says, mostly to fill the space but also because he is grateful.

“Thanks for not killing my brother.” Tim cracks him a smile and takes a sip of the coffee Jason didn’t even realize the boy had been holding.

Jason scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, about that, am I going to get arrested after this?”

The two of them turn as the tactical team repel off the roof. Then, Tim laughs and shakes his head, “I’m sure Bruce would have you arrested. But, from what you’ve said, I’m sure it would be over Dick’s dead body… Hopefully, not literally.”

Jason winced at the bad timing of the joke, “I thought Wayne wanted to reform the neighborhood? Arresting twenty-three-year-olds isn’t very reformative.”

Tim laughs again, “It’s not Bruce who wants to reform Crime Alley. It’s Dick. He’s using his whole trust fund to pay for the grant, with Wayne Enterprise’s logo stamped on it.”

Jason gapes for the second time in twenty minutes, “Why would he do that?”

Tim shrugs, “His favorite diner is here.  He says he’s met a lot of good people here and they deserve a real chance at life. He thinks that the support of Wayne Enterprises is a critical part to real change.”

“What about his fortune?”

“He’ll still be rich. Bruce, Dick, Damian, and I all hold twenty percent of Wayne Enterprises, and the rest is split by investors.  He will be a lot less rich, like millions, but he will definitely still be wealthy. But Dick doesn’t care about money.”

            Jason stands silent for a moment, absorbing the information he’d just been given. Then, a second helicopter lands on the roof and Dick Grayson is being pushed through the roof access door. Bruce and Tim are at his side in seconds, asking questions and holding his free hand. Dick catches sight of Jason and pulls the oxygen mask down,

            “Thank you, Jason.”

            Jason doesn’t have time to reply as Dick is wheeled into the second, smaller helicopter. He just stares as it lifts off the roof and then moves toward the sun.

**

            Exactly two weeks later, Jason is standing at his kitchen sink listening to the news play behind him when there is a knock on the door.  He turns off the water and dries his hands. A generous donation to his landlord has his rent paid for the next two years, in addition to his bloody carpet replaced with a new, softer one and his broken door fixed.  He doesn’t bother to check his phone to see who it is, even though he could sine the same generous donation installed fancy camera doorbells and good locks on everyone’s door.

He pulls open the door and makes a surprised noise,

            “Dick.” He looks down the hall as if someone was going to jump out at him. “I… How are you?”

            Dick’s previously broken arm is wrapped in a black fiberglass cast and he has stitches running along his cheek, but his smile is bright as ever,

            “Howdy, Neighbor! I’m good! Just came over to say ‘hi’!”

            Jason frowned, “Neighbor?”

            Dick nodded, “I’m moving in next door.  Bruce put me in charge of a lot of the spending of the funds in the Park Row grant, so I figured what better way to put the money to good use than to integrate myself into the community?”

            Jason hummed, “Yeah, your brother told me somethin’ funny about that. Something about it being your money with Wayne’s name on it?”

            Dick rubbed his neck and smiled sheepishly, “He told you that?”

            “He didn’t tell me that you are the generous donor behind my two years of paid rent, my new carpet, all the doorbell cameras, and setting up Carmen and her boys in metropolis; I put that one together myself.”

            Dick chuckled, “Well, Bruce paid for your carpet.”

            “You throw an awful lot of money into Crime Alley. Why didn’t you say anything when I was basically calling you a stuck-up douche?”

            “Ah… You know, I never want my money to feel like a power play between me and my friends.” Dick smiles wider at the last word.

            “We’re not friends.” Jason huffs.

            Dick pushed past him and into his apartment, making himself at home and dropping himself on the couch with a sigh, “We definitely are friends. We spent a lot of time together a few weeks ago!”

            “Because I basically tried to murder you…”

            Dick snuggled deeper into the couch and smiled lazily,

            “Pshh… Details.”

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

If you read this review and a review by any of the Larries you wouldn’t feel like they were watching the same film.

https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/my-policeman-movie-review-2022

Larries are ready to hand Harry his Oscar, I guess they thought just because a film festival gave the cast a prize which they invented for the first time and was not judged by a jury, Harry automatically was up for an Oscar. Not like film festivals are marketing ploys and the attention Tiff received by having Harry Styles and also Taylor Swift this year didn’t get them loads of sponsorship and notoriety which they strive for.

I mean even Oscars are, so maybe they are right.

Sometimes I look at Harry Styles and I feel bad for him. Not because he isn’t getting a fair shake, but because someone told him he could be a leading man without warning him about the time and work needed to become one. Hot on the heels of the world premiere of his upcoming “Don’t Worry Darling,” the Olivia Wilde-directed movie mired in controversy and less than generous reviews for his performance, Styles’ second film of 2022 is an adaptation of Bethan Roberts’ same-titled novel. Here, Styles’ inexperience as a leading man in a weepy British queer period piece is glaring. As the film's protagonist PC Tom Burgess, he stands and speaks like a tourist awkwardly stumbling upon a movie set. His co-star, Emma Corrin, is hardly better as his stuffy lover. She tussles with the least developed character of the bunch, but much like Styles, never proves herself as a lead. How can a movie with this much youthful talent be so breathlessly boring?

Helmed by an adequate Michael Grandage, “My Policeman” begins in the present day with the older versions of these characters: Tom (Linus Roache) and Marion (Gina McKee), now retired, live in a seaside town as they go through the motions of their milquetoast marriage. Their steady march toward resignation—which Tom momentarily pauses whenever he visits the sea with their dog—is interrupted with the arrival of their old, now estranged friend Patrick (Rupert Everett). A guilt-ridden Marion volunteered to care for him after a debilitating stroke left him nearly bedridden. And while Marion is ready to bury the proverbial hatchet, Tom refuses to see the man his wife says they owe so much to because he “Taught [them] how to see art.”

The pain that Patrick caused the couple is what “My Policeman” hopes to tell us about. And yet, how it tells us, and what it thinks we hope to gain from this story, comes with little flair and even less self-awareness.

The past on a sunny beach in 1950s Britain, where Marion (Corrin) sees the dashing Tom (Styles certainly isn’t lacking in the looks department) running across the sand. He teaches her how to swim; the pair soon start dating. Humble and working-class, Tom is the total opposite of the educated, arts-focused Marion. It’s why Tom goes to such lengths to read about paintings. The two eventually meet Patrick (David Dawson), a museum curator who knows Tom from being a witness in one of his cases. The trio become inseparable. It even appears that Patrick might be attracted to Marion, and her to him. That is, until we discover that Tom and Patrick are in a closeted sexual relationship.

The messy triangle that forms from these two competing relationships is meant to suggest tension and sympathy for a hopelessly romantic woman seemingly being a victim of two men, who are also victims of the country’s homophobic laws. We come to find, however, that this trio doesn’t fit into easy boxes: Tom demands law and order; Marion is homophobic; and Patrick is somehow their friend. This conundrum would provide juicy drama if any of these actors possessed a speck of chemistry with the other. It doesn’t help that Grandage, through his blocking and coverage, and the editing by Chris Dickens (“Slumdog Millionaire”) try their best to hide Styles’ deficiencies. His physical understanding of the character lacks specificity; his line deliveries are monotone; he doesn’t project allure. There is no interiority or charm in anything he does. Even his sex scenes—where Grandage confuses bare skin and moaning for passion—are without bite.

Instead, “My Policeman” finds smoother ground in the present-day scenes with a trio of older actors who can elevate a script. Make no mistake, the prime culprit in this soporific film is a terrible screenplay that tells a gay love story through the elderly Marion, a straight cis-woman, adopting Patrick’s memories by reading his diaries. It's also frustrating how the script's set-up is initially intriguing, only for a twist to throw all of the built up tension and angst out without a coherent vision for what comes next. And a rushed ending doesn’t instill any further confidence. The fact that the inner lives of these characters are so underwritten you barely understand their psychology—especially with the flawed Marion, who still might be homophobic—makes them unmemorable.

“My Policeman” is surface-level queer representation lacking in visual imagination and begging for better performances. It’s the kind of glacially paced movie that sticks around for two hours and tells its viewer nothing new; a series of moving images without any sense of emotion or wonder. “My Policeman” commits the gravest of crimes—it’s soulless.

This review was filed from the Toronto Film Festival.

My Policeman— and Harry himself— show that bad art, even if queer representation is the subject, is still bad art.

[quindolyn]

Better Kisser Part 2 || James Potter and Lily Evans

Request: “istg i need a fic or a blurb or something about being in a poly relationship with lily and james...after reading Better Kisser it’s all i can think about 😭” -anon

and

“hiii !! first of all, i love your writings they’re so amazing honestly !! could you maybe write something with hot lily from “better kisser” ? i’d love it if it was both sensual and fluff :) thanks so much if you ever do something like that! hope you have a nice day/night!“ -anon

and

“QUINN HEAR ME OUT

imagine a part two to better kisser but like smutty bc Lily starts bragging about how she thinks she’s better at other things since she’s the better kisser so they make it a competition over who can like... get the reader off fastest... and then it’s like a competition to see who can get her off the most...

good ideas here right...? N E ways love u bestie <3″ -anon

Word Count: 4,752

Notes:I got three separate requests for this so obviously y’all wanted it and I want to write it. This is smut! I could also do headcanons on Jily x reader and even if you guys don’t request it I’ll probably still write them because it sounds like fun.

Warnings: poly sex, jily x reader, dom!James, dom!Lily, sub!reader, LIly’s a sex god, prove me wrong, they’re both cocky as fuck

Part 1

Masterlist

Lily Evans was the stars, she was mesmerizing and mysterious. Just as they decorated the night sky, accentuating the darkness through their beauty she too brought out the best in those around her without dulling any of her own shine. She was sly smiles and gentle touches, slender pale fingers and long, swishing red hair. She was wondrous and beautiful, complex and absolutely gorgeous. Lily Evans, she was the stars.

James Potter was the sun, he was bright and glowing and impossible to ignore. James was messy black hair, and goofy grins, strong hands and bear hugs. He attracted all of those around him, sucking them into his gravitational field, giving them purpose, warming their souls. A centering person when the rest of their lives were crazy and unpredictable and scary. James Potter, he was the sun.

Where Lily was understated and controlled with her witty remarks and sharp quips James was loud and boisterous, trying to get the biggest reaction out of people. Where Lily was calm James was chaotic. Where she was focused on her end goal he was everywhere, practically bouncing off the walls.

Together they were perfect.

And somehow they were yours.

One thing was for certain, Sirius Black was an upright prick, and you owed him, bigtime. If it weren’t for Sirius Black you would’ve never kissed Lily Evans on a dare. You would’ve never kissed James to satisfy his curiosities. You wouldn’t have spent weeks exchanging tense glances with the two, holding your breath whenever one of them so much as sat down one seat away from you in the Great Hall. Lily would’ve never found you, hiding away in the common room in the wee hours of the morning, pouring over your Transfiguration notes preparing for your test the following morning, or rather later in the day. She never would’ve brushed the hair out of your face with her elegant fingers, nails painted in a berry shade, complimenting her pale skin. She never would’ve told you that you really needed to go to bed, she never would’ve leaned down, meshing her lips with yours, allowing you to answer that question that had plagued you after you kissed Lily. 

What did her lips taste like when she wasn’t drunk?

The answer?

Well at that moment, morning breath. Which brought a new question to the forefront of your mind, what did she taste like when she hadn’t just woken up in the middle of the night?

It didn’t take long for you to find out the answer. She’d brought you up to bed, her hand clasped with yours, telling you that she and James wanted to talk to you in the morning resulting in you tossing and turning all night in anticipation of the conversation that would take place the next day.

If it weren’t for Sirius Black you never would’ve had that conversation with James and Lily by the Black Lake. You never would’ve even had the opportunity to accept their offer not to join their relationship but to start a new one, with all three of you. You never would have never learned what Lily tasted like, it was maple syrup and cherries by the way.

If it weren’t for Sirius Black you wouldn’t be sitting in your dorm room with the two of them, skimming over notes for your potions midterm. Well you and Lily were looking over your extensive notes, James on the other hand was sitting behind you, pressing kisses to the side of your neck.

You hissed as he dragged his teeth over a bruised spot on your neck, sending ripples of both pain and pleasure through your body, leaving your fingertips tingling, dying to get themselves on his skin.

“Aw, baby,” He cooed in your ear as he registered your reaction, it’s not as though he could’ve missed it, not with your back pressed flush against his chest, “You a little sensitive there?”

“Come on Jamie,” You giggle trying to hide your neck from him, pressing your ear to your shoulder, “You already know I am.”

James slipped his rough, strong fingers under your jaw, using them to lift your head back up, away from your shoulder, “Don’t hide from me darling, wanna see the marks I left on you.” He returned his lips to the same spot on your neck, lapping slightly at the purple mark with his tongue.

Lily snorted from where she laid on her stomach a couple inches away from you on the same bed that had been transfigured to accommodate all three of you.

“What’s so funny Lils?” James inquired, peeking up from the delicate skin covering your thrumming pulse.

“Nothing,” She sang, twirling her pen in between her fingers, her feet hanging lazily in the air, “I just think it's funny you think you left that mark on her.”

“Well I did,” James said plainly, obviously not amused by Lily’s comment, “Didn’t I poppet?” He asked, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear.

You ducked your head, trying to hide your wide eyes and heated cheeks from the two of them. 

“It’s okay (Y/N),” Lily cooed, setting her quill down in her book, marking her page as she closed the book, dropping it onto the floor, “You can tell him it was me who left that, his ego can take it.” She held eye contact with you for a minute, managing to keep a straight face before a smile broke out across her lips, chuckles erupting from the soft cushions of her lips, lathered in a light pink gloss, “Okay, it probably can’t but that shouldn’t stop you baby, Jamie needs to remember that he’s not the only one who can make you feel good.”

“I know I’m not Flower, but I left this one, I can tell, it's one of the darker ones.” And he was right, the entire left side of your neck was littered in bruises and bites, some lighter than others, some darker, but none as dark as the one he was currently tracing with his index finger.

“Nope,” Lily countered, popping her p before pushing herself up off of her shins in order to settle between your open legs, “I distinctly remember, I had her pressed up against the wall before you got back from Quidditch practice, she moaned so pretty for me, prettier than she ever has for you.” She grinned victoriously, turning her gaze back to you, and only you, “It’s like he cares more about that fucking snitch than he does us.”

“That’s bullshit love and you know it,” He murmured in your ear pressing a kiss against the corner of your mouth before dragging his lips, considerably less rough than they were before you started dating him as you’d made it your mission to apply lip balm to his lips every time you saw him, across the side of your face back to your ear, “She’s just trying to turn you against me, she’s so mean isn’t she.”

They loved doing this. Making you choose between the two of them, or trying to anyway. The power struggle between the two of them was hot as fuck.

Before you could so much as open your mouth Lily was responding for you, “I’m not mean doll,” She crooned, not looking at you but rather focusing on the dark haired boy whose nimble fingers were expertly pulling at the hem of your shirt, slowly but steadily rolling up the material until it covered just was much as your bra, “Jamie just needs to remember who the better kisser here is, who makes you feel the best.”

Ignoring her jab James murmured a quick, “Want this off,” In your ear before pulling the shirt over your head and arms, tossing it off the bed and onto the floor paying it no mind as soon as the material slipped from his fingers. 

Desperate to prove his worth, to prove his dominance James’ hands ran up and down your thighs, inching your skirt up them, “You’re not the better kisser here Flower, you’re not the best anything. Our baby here loves me the most.”

“She told us James,” Lily sighed, clearly exasperated with your boyfriend, “After she kissed you for the first time she told us. I’m the better kisser, just accept it. She likes me the most don’t you (Y/N/N)?”

“Jamie you make me feel so good,” You began, hoping to soften the blow, “But Lily’s tongue is magic, feels so good in my mouth, in my-my…” 

“It’s okay pretty girl,” She simpered, “You can say it, where does my mouth feel good?”

“My pussy,” You forced out, willing yourself not to stutter. 

“That’s right my pretty little kitten,” She grinned, tilting your chin up with her index finger so that you were staring into her swirling emerald irises, darkened with obvious desire. “I make your pussy feel so good, better than Jamie.”

“Off.” James demanded, not taking kindly to Lily’s teasing, as he aggressively undid the clasp on your bra, the snide remarks obviously doing no damage to his ego as he pulled the straps from your arms. Taking no care with the expensive, luxurious garment that he himself had bought for you he flung the clothing over his shoulder. Clearly not caring about the money he’d spent on it as the silky material crumpled next to the bed.

“Not just my tongue that makes you feel better isn’t that right my darling?” Lily smirked, beginning to undo the buttons on her button up, “S’my fingers too, stretching you out on my fingers, they can reach so much further in you than his can.”

“Pfft,” James shook his head, one hand settling on your waist, gripping with a frankly frightening strength, no doubt melding dark purple bruises in the shapes of his fingertips on your soft skin.

“Gimme your hand Flower, let me show our baby that you’re wrong” James demanded as the hand not on your waist extended towards the redhead. When she dropped her hand in his he immediately lined them up, palm against palm, fingers against fingers, and much to James’ chagrin his hands were only barely larger than hers. His palm was much larger than hers leaving his fingers slightly shorter than his girlfriend’s.

Feeling benevolent, you grabbed his hand before it dropped down to his thigh in defeat, pressing your hands together as he had pressed his to Lily’s. Yours were considerably smaller than his, and therefore her’s too, your palm nearly half the size as his, your fingers dwarfed by his. 

“See Jamie, your hands are bigger than mine.” You comforted, mesmerized by the contrast, “Your fingers make me feel so much better than mine ever could. They don’t even come close.” 

“But that’s besides the point right poppet?” Lily questioned, grasping your jaw in her graceful hand, you noticed her ivory dress shirt now hung open, revealing her red lace clad breasts as she once again tilting your head up to look her in the eyes, “Because you’re not allowed to touch yourself, not without my permission.”

“Or mine,” James piped up.

Rolling her eyes at her boyfriend Lily released her grip on your jaw, “Keep your eyes on me darling, be my good girl.”

“You even like my strap more than you like James’ cock, stretches you out so much better than he ever could. Not to mention we don’t have to wait for his little blue pill to work do we?”

Being a muggle born you understood her joke but James was utterly bewildered by your shared laughter.

“You’re not laughing at me are you, you little slut?” James spat, his voice hard and unwavering as he turned your face with a single finger so that your neck was craned to look at him.

“N-no,” You shook your head pathetically, your eyes flashing downwards not being able to meet him.

“Open,” He commanded, tapping your bottom lip and you instantly obeyed, not daring to disobey him. You were rewarded for your obedience by the male spitting into your mouth, the taste of his saliva bleeding along the expanse of your tongue.

“What do we say to Jamsie, pretty girl?” Lily raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Thank you.”

“Good girl,” James muttered, watching as you swallowed the gift he’d given you, “Thought you’d forgotten your manners for a second.”

“Not our good girl,” Lily grinned, somehow now only in her thong, “No, she’s such a good girl for us.”

“Guess she is,” James agreed, leaving a trail of kisses between your shoulder blades.

“Bet I can make our baby cum first James,” Lily boasted, beginning to work on the zipper of your skirt, expertly pulling it off of your legs, “Being the better kisser and all.”

“Don’t get cocky Evans,” James tutted, pulling his shirt over his head as he had yours, “You know I love your strap baby but it just can’t compare to my cock. Mine’s real.”

Clearly unimpressed by his comment Lily pressed her lips to yours, maneuvering you so that you too were on your knees, giving James time to strip down to the same level of clothing as the two of you. 

Smiling into the kiss she put but a millimeter of distance between the two of you to catch her breath, “You taste so good kitten.”

“You’re the one who tastes good Lily.”

“So nice to me, don’t deserve you,” She planted a kiss to the hollow of your throat, “Let me make you feel good baby.” 

Not complaining, you let Lily lie you back on the bed where James was no longer standing, instead now standing behind Lily, letting his hands settle on her hips. 

Once you were lying down she hooked her hands under your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed as James helped her off the mattress, helping her plant her feet on the floor. It was things like this, the subtle loving gestures and actions even when they were practically at each other’s throats, that reminded you of how much they loved each other. Of how much they loved you.

“Look at these,” Lily lilted, her finger hooking under the silky material of your panties, “So pretty aren’t they J?”

“Very,” He whispered in her ear only loud enough for you to barely hear him, “Like her in red.”

Lily hummed in affirmation, tapping your hip as a non verbal clue to lift your hips so she could pull them off of you.

She didn’t waste a single second before kneeling down before you so that her face was level as your glistening pussy, already so wet from them just talking about pleasuring you. 

After running a single finger through your folds Lily brought her finger to her lips, a hum leaving her lips. “You taste good down here too (Y/N), you have such a pretty pussy.”

“Thank you,” You murmured, attempting not to whine and be their good girl even though you desperately wanted them to touch you. 

Without any warning Lily inserted two slender fingers into your cunt causing you to gasp at the sensation. “Lily,” You whimpered, trying not to buck your hips towards her hand, not wanting to let on quite yet how desperate you really were. 

“See J?” You could hear the smirk on her lips as she slowly moved her fingers in and out of you, paying you no other mind, instead directing her attention to her boyfriend who still stood behind her, his hands now on her bare shoulders. “She’s really not all that hard to please when you actually know what you’re doing. Had my fingers in her two seconds and she’s already so needy for me.”

“Shut up Lils,” James growled, “Stop talking like I don’t know how to get her off, she’s my baby too, I know exactly how to get her desperate.” In his efforts to prove his point he moved onto the bed, taking one of your nipples into his mouth resulting in a whine to tumble from your lips as he raked his teeth over the sensitive bud.

As his mouth sucked on one his hand moved to the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers before pinching harshly making you gasp in pleasure.

Lily allowed James to have his moment before taking your clit between her lips and sucking. If you gasped for James you absolutely screamed for Lily, thank Merlin for silencing charms because otherwise someone would’ve probably thought you were being tortured. Once she had your sensitive bundle of nerves in her mouth she began humming, making wave after wave of intense ecstasy roll through your core and up your spine, leaving your nerve endings frayed and responsive to every single touch.

You could feel everything, the soft material of the duvet beneath your back, James’ tongue circling your nipple, one hand caressing your heated cheek while the other traced shapes down your stomach. You could feel Lily’s fingers continuing their assault on your cunt, reaching so deep inside of you that they almost touched your g-spot, but not quite, as your clit was set aflame by her mouth. 

“You’re not even trying,” Lily snarked, coming up for a breather from in between your legs, “You really think you’re gonna get  her to cum from playing with her nipples? I never realized you were that daft Jamsie.”

“If you’d give me a turn,” He began before Lily cut him off.

“Doesn’t look like she wants me to stop does it?” She nodded in your direction where you were writhing on the bed merely from her fingers. “Do you want me to stop, baby?”

“No,” You begged, “Please don’t stop, please! Need your fingers in me, make me feel so good.”

Grinning triumphantly Lily returned her mouth to your pulsing cunt, sucking with a new found vigor that had your back careening off of the mattress, hips bucking towards her mouth.

“Hey,” James scolded, moving his arm to keep your hips firmly on the bed, “Don’t be a desperate slut, take it as she gives you it okay? Be good for us.”

Nodding feebly you willed your hips still but it was nearly impossible as Lily replaced her fingers with her tongue, moving her digits to pinch your clit. Feeling the pleasure bubble up in your stomach you focused on your girlfriend’s ministrations, lapping at your hole with her tongue sent you into a whole new level of pleasure.

“Feels so good! Lily, that feels so good, please don’t stop!”

You could feel her smiling into your opening as she sped up her movements, bringing you closer and closer to the precipice of climax. “Am I allowed to cum?” You asked desperately, the only thing keeping your hips where they were being James’ strong forearm, digging into your hip bones.

“No,” He growled, slapping at your tit bringing you even closer to something you were apparently not allowed to do. 

“Come on James,” Lily said replacing her tongue with her fingers as she moved her head to talk to the dark haired boy, “You can’t just tell her she’s not allowed to cum because it’s not you who’s going to make her cum,” Turning her attention back to you she smiled, “Of course you’re allowed to cum baby, don’t listen to him. Are you close, m’love?”

“Uh huh,” You screwed your eyes shut, the pleasure becoming overwhelming and only intensifying when Lily’s mouth returned to your clit, licking broad stripes up and down it. 

“Baby look at me,” James’ deep voice commanded you, to which you promptly obeyed, “Wanna see you when you fall apart on her tongue, wanna see you cum baby, you’re so pretty when you cum.”

James’ words accompanied by a particularly harsh nip by Lily to your clit has you tipping over the edge, letting out a high pitched scream as pleasure took over your body, drowning you in the feeling of your lovers still working on your body, obviously not satisfied with leaving you with just one orgasm.

As you came to, your orgasm slowly seeped away from your cloudy mind, reentering you into your dorm room where you heard Lily’s melodic voice, “See James, told you I could make her cum first.”

“Didn’t even get a chance,” He grumbled from his place next you, brushing the hairs off of your forehead. “Wanna make you cum poppet, tell Lily to give me a turn.”

“L-lils,” You managed in your post orgasmic haze, “Want Jamsie, want his- want his…”

“Look at how good of a job I did on our baby,” The redhead boasted, “Just one in and already a blubbery little mess. How do you think she’s gonna be fairing when I have her on her fourth?”

“Only shooting for four Lils?” James raised a defined eyebrow, “I was thinking I could get at least five out of her myself.”

Your eyes widened, slightly in alarm, slightly in anticipation. “F-five?”

“Shh kitten, let us talk,” Lily chaisted lightly. “You really do think highly of yourself don’t you Potter?”

“I’ve done it before,” He countered.

“No, we’ve done it before, both of us. Neither of us have ever gotten her to five by ourselves.”

“Don’t think you can do it Flower?” As he rose from the bed and moved towards Lily you caught sight of his cock, already painfully hard, the tip a bright red and leaking with precum.

“S’not me I’m worried about, don’t wanna overwhelm our baby.”

“I can do it,” You piped in feebly, “I can take it, make me feel good please, wanna feel good.”

“See Lily? If she says she can take it, who are we to question her?”

“You sure poppet?” Lily asked you, her eyes on yours.

“Yes Lily, I’m sure.”

That was all James needed to nudge Lily out from between your legs, spitting on his fingers before rubbing them up against your pussy. “You need me to stretch you out darling?” His voice laced with absolute adoration as he took in your perspiring figure from this new angle.

You shook your head but James wasn’t satisfied, “Wanna hear your voice poppet, come on not too fucked out yet are you?”

“No, don’t need you to stretch me out, want your cock.”

He grinned, lining up the tip of his cock with your quivering entrance, “There’s my good girl.”

As he pushed into you you faintly questioned why you didn’t have him stretch you out beforehand, but once he was fully sheathed inside you all you could think about was the way his dick pressed perfectly against your g-spot. 

You moaned out as he began thrusting into you, ruthless in his efforts to make you cum. He moved his hands to hold your hips at an angle where he could better reach deeper inside of you if that was even possible.

“So pretty baby girl,” His grin was wicked as he watched your cunt, reveling in the sight of his cock going in and out of your dripping pussy, “You look so pretty on my cock, you gonna make a mess f’me?”

“She’s not gonna cum yet you himbo,” Lily interjected, “You’ve been inside her what? Five seconds? You need her to cum soon? You close?”

Using Lily’s mocking as motivation he pistoned his hips in and out even more viciously, leaving you a bouncing mess on his cock as he pulled his prick almost all the way out, so that only the leaking red head was still inside of you before fully sheathing himself in you once more.

“Fuck!” You cried out as the tip of his member brushed against your cervix, “Don’t stop!”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” James managed through gritted teeth, throwing your legs over his shoulders so that he wouldn’t have to hold them in his hands any longer, giving him the ability to grip your hips.

So lost in your pleasure you hadn’t registered where Lily was until she sat next to you on the bed, moving her fingers to massage your clit pulling a strangled gasp from your throat.

“L-Lily,” You stuttered out.

“Hey there baby,” She cooed, like she was talking to an actual child, “Jamie making you feel good.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes locked on hers.

“You close, kitten? You gonna cum soon?”

A whimper escaped your lips this time as you nodded once more.

“Let me see if I can help with that then, wanna see you cum again pretty girl.”

You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against the mattress with a soft thud as Lily’s fingers started working magic on your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your second orgasm.

A slap against your clit, combined with the deep, hard thrusts of your boyfriend, reaching depths within you you could’ve only imagined before him sent you careening. Your climax washed over you in waves, each stronger than the last making you twitch and spasm on the bed.

You hadn’t even registered that you’d squirted, not until Lily’s delicate hands were rubbing your release up and down your thighs, “Well would you look at that?” James grinned, “I didn’t see you make her squirt Lils.”

“Oh, you don’t get points for this one pretty boy,” Lily grinned, not making eye contact with him but rather focusing on your pulsing cunt.

“What?” James was incredulous, “What do you mean I don’t get credit for that one, she came on my cock.”

“Yes, technically, but she only came when I started on that pretty little clit of hers, so responsive isn’t it, doll?” She asked, punctuating her remark with a gentle slap against your still throbbing cunt and a quick wink that James was too bewildered to pick up on.

Over the next couple of hours they were able to lull a number of orgasms out of you, James making Lily sit in a chair next to the bed so that she couldn’t touch you at all and take credit for any of his hard work.

You’d cum on her tongue and his, both of their fingers, once at the same time, they split the credit for that one but it was worth it, getting to watch your cunt stretch around both of them. You came on James’ cock more times than you could count, and of course on Lily’s strap on because Godric, did she know how to move her hips.

By the end you’d cum a grand total of nine times. You weren’t quite sure how’d you’d done it but you had. And they were both so proud of you.

The final score was Lily, five. James, four. You’d better believe that James was butt hurt about it, not quite willing to accept his obvious defeat, instead of acknowledging it and conceding to his very talented girlfriend, working on getting you cleaned up.

Once James had left the dorm to run you a bath Lily scooped you into her lap, running her hands up and down your thighs but being careful not to touch your sensitive cunt. 

“You did such a good job for us baby,” She cooed, pressing kiss after kiss to the back of your head, “Came nine times, can you believe that?”

“Is Jamie going to be mad that you made me cum more?” You asked in your degenerative head space not wanting to upset your boyfriend.

“Of course not,” Lily squeezed your hips, soothing your woes. “Especially not at you, he might mope around a little bit because he is a man,” She pulled a light giggle out of your lips with that one, “But he’ll get over it, it's just gonna push him to work harder next time when he’s making you feel good.”

“Flower,” James called from the bathroom, “Bath’s ready.”

“Come on baby,” Lily said, easing you up onto your feet, “Let’s get you in the bath and all cleaned up for us alright?”

“Okay,” You yawned, understandably exhausted by the events of the night, “Will you take the bath with me?”

“Of course my pretty girl, not gonna let Jamie join us though, s’my reward for being the best.”

You chuckled, nodding your head in agreement, “Sounds good Lils.”

As she settled you into the bathtub Lily ordered James out before he could step into it with you.

“But-”

“Out!”

“Fine! Fine, I’m going!”

Lily was the stars and James was the sun, and fuck did they know how to make you feel good.

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts​ @kittykylax​ @amourtentiaa

[regali-s]

nsfw kaeya x female reader // wc: 2.7k // minors please dni with this work

he can’t help the way his eyes immediately fall to you whenever you enter the room.

it’s like gravity, almost — the same helplessness he faces under nature’s relentless pull, only it’s towards you. you and everything about you. in the way your presence overflows with demand, calling to attention all around you; in the way your voice flows from your lips like the sweetest honey, how it melts against his tongue in phantoms of forbidden flavours he so often fantasizes about. he’s pulled into the way your words drip with the most intoxicating cup of death afternoon, how your smile is lined with its flavour sends fire coursing through his veins until blues turn to yellows and he can’t breathe when you smile at him.

and, gods, when your eyes find his, when you let your gaze seemingly wander to the icy blue that paints frost across your bare skin, you make it seem as if it were all accidental, a mere happening of chance when your gaze grows dark and your smile draws on innocent poison. of course, it’s all by chance when kaeya finds his breath vanishing on memories of you, of your body, of the way you felt wrapped around his cock as you edged him further and further to the edge.

when you speak, it’s so hard to hear the strategies and important topics that, really he ought to be paying more attention to. but, gods, it’s so hard when his dick is straining against his pants and it’s all he can do to hang on to your voice that he yearns to feel against his skin again when you ask with such concern, “captain? you seem a bit distracted.” and the poor man, he’s such a glutton for the way your lips pout at him, for the knowing glint that dances on daggers when you ask if he’s alright. he can’t help but to devour it all, let it run its course until his body burns with frostbite and he gives you a chilled smile as the air between you two sparks with a deadly static. he’s addicted, so terribly lost to your poison, and he finds himself impatient for this stupid meeting to call to an end, for the doors to close behind the last knight, and for him to be left at the mercy of the lion.

“what could it have been,” you muse from your place between his legs, smile devious and so, deceitfully ignorant as his cock twitches painfully against your lips, “that kept you sooo distracted throughout our meeting, hm?”

kaeya can’t help the strained grunt that escapes him as you take his tip inside your lips. the way you suckle him is so devastatingly slow, near gentle in the way it maddens him and causes his body to sink into the mattress. he wishes so badly to grab you, to touch and feel your throat taking him as far as you could, but he’d be damned if he gives into you so soon. it’s already a struggle enough as it is, it frustrates him to no end that you’re able to draw him close to cumming so quickly — mere moments after you close the door and push his body down into your shared bed, and his breath leaves his body on trembling groans as you slowly suck his cock. your eyes stay fixed on his face as you study his expression. it’s terribly telling by the furrow of his glistening brow, by the way he bites his lips and throws his head back as his hips begin to buck, he’s close and you know it, and he’s on the verge of cumming inside your mouth just as he’d so guiltily fantasized throughout the day, until—

“fuuuuck!” the cry he releases is embarrassingly desperate, cracked around its letters as he stares at you accusingly. how utterly cruel of you to pull away before he could cum, and how utterly naive of him to have believed you’d let him before you’d had your fill. your smile tells him just as much as your tongue ghosts against his sensitive tip, humming in amusement as a shiver runs through his body and he pouts down at you.

“ah ah ah,” you tut. “a little impatient now, aren’t we?”

kaeya wants to retort with the words bubbling on his tongue, and he’s ready to blame it on the you who so relentlessly pushed his every button until he’d crack, but it all dies behind his lips as you climb up his body. your skin against his is almost too much as you kiss him, the very room spinning as he groans into you. your pussy grinds deliciously against his aching cock as you drag your hips — to and fro, repeatedly you tease him as his strength fades him and his voice leaves him unrestricted. choked moans are close to sobs as he grips on to your hips, he throws his head back and tries so desperately to match your movements by bucking his hips up, but oh, you can’t possibly let him have it so easily can you?

“not yet, kaeya,” you say gently as your teeth graze his neck, and the poor man groans pathetically beneath you as he forces his hips to still. “patience, remember? i can’t let you cum like this.”

the implication of your words isn’t lost on him. as realization swims within his blue eyes, you feel his heart beat stutter against you. the delicious rise and fall of his chest fills your own veins with euphoria and you greedily drink in every pretty little moan he gives you when you suck against his skin. you know every little weak point of his, know where to tease him to break him, and the results are always so mesmerizing to you — the way the cavalry captain melts against your palm when you caress his face and trace your kisses along his jaw. and oh, gods above, he has such a lovely voice. to hear the room fill with his moans and gasps is a reward greater than none other, and tonight — just as all nights before — you plan to make him sing for you.

you’ve teased him for far too long, you decide as you finally reach down to take his cock into your palm. he’s heavy against your fingers and twitching, slick with your spit and his precum. his breath catches in his throat as finally, finally, he feels his tip rubbing against your entrance. you’re so terribly wet, your juices spill down the length of him and between your fingers and kaeya wants nothing more than to be inside you.

a long, drawn-out curse pours out from him as you sink down on him.

immediately, he feels your walls clamping down around him, sucking him in as you adjust to his size. there’s a terrible satisfaction he finds in watching your concentration break, as your own moans escape you and your breath dances on staccatos when he stretches your pussy.

“fuck, kaeya,” you swear, hands pressed against his chest as you take all of him inside you. lips agape, your hair messy and eyes unfocused, you’re a work of art like this, and kaeya can’t resist the temptation to pull your body down, to press your lips against his as he grinds up into you. you reward him with a gasp of his name, but you don’t push him away. against him, you fall apart just as you’d unraveled him in your hands, surrendering to him and the pleasure he’d give by filling you up. his cock drags against your walls in a steady rhythm, pumping with his thrusts and jolting your body till shaky moans of his name are all that you can utter.

“kaeya, kaeya, slow down—”

it’s so hard for him, to slow the motion of his hips bucking up and driving his cock further inside your walls, but he listens. you push yourself up with your palms as you try to regain your breath, the sight of your chest rising and falling so terribly mesmerizing to him. the sensation of your pussy fluttering around him with each intake of air drives him insane, it’s maddening — how can he hold himself back when your eyes peer down at him with so much lust and desire, unadultered want that causes his cock to twitch inside of you? you want him so much and the thought itself is a drug, dangerous and deadly in a way nothing else could ever satisfy him.

“thank you, baby,” you sigh, bending down to kiss him. you reach to tangle your fingers between his and pull him towards you, until he’s sitting up fully with you in his lap. the new position causes his dick to shift inside you, it’s tip pressing against a dangerous place that almost has your body fold into his chest. slowly, you guide his hands to wrap around your back, and he obediently follows, pulling your waist flush against his while your own hands reach to cup his face. and once more, you lean in to kiss him and drink in everything he gives to you. liquor and wine falls from his tongue and pours down your throat, filling up every part of you so that you grow drunk on him, on his taste, on his everything. fire burns beneath your skin where he touches you, and you pull him closer — ever eager and ever wanting more, to feel him in earnest and to drown with him.

“i’m gonna make you cum, okay?” the words leave you on a breathless gasp that barely manages to escape, because you’re both on each other again, kissing with such greed and desperation as if you’d never get enough. “i want you to cum inside kaeya, please.”

oh, by the archons, your plea is almost enough to send him over the edge. kaeya groans, finally pulling back so that he can look up at you, to meet your lustful gaze. “after teasing me like that?” he challenges with a raised brow, and it’s immediate the way your lips grow into a responsive smile. “i don’t know if i wanna do that for you, sweetheart.”

you scoff playfully, shoving his shoulder. “don’t ruin it, asshole!” you can’t help the laugh that escapes as he buries his face against your neck, leaving kisses that send butterflies through your stomach. his smile imprints against your skin as he hums, and it’s a playful feeling until he grinds his hips up into you. you’re left grasping for his shoulder, head lulling back as a choked cry leaves your lips.

“ah—!”

“ruin what?” he asks innocently, and you know it’s your karma for teasing him when his teeth graze your skin tauntingly. he chuckles as your own hips start to move in tandem with his, desperately seeking to set a quick pace until his hands ground you. the way you grind against him is almost mindless, instinctively chasing after that feeling of his cock hitting deep inside you, and you’re so close to getting lost in it all until he teasingly blows cold air against your ear.

“ah ah ah,” he mocks. “patience, remember?”

you scowl at him — how dare he use his words against you like this?

your expression melts away when he leans in to kiss you. his hands on your hips slowly begin to guide you, his pace lulled and unrushed to extend the both of your pleasures. “thaaaat’s it, honey,” he purrs as he begins to match your movement. “nice and slow, just like that.”

he laughs as he feels your pussy fluttering at the praise, but he makes no move to tease you while he’s caught up in this moment. your brows furrowed as your arms latch around his shoulder, holding on so desperately as if letting him go would cause this moment to end — sin is etched all over your face while you grind against him just like he showed you, crying out his name on the sweetest moans as he pumps himself into you.

“oh, god, kaeya…”

“mhm?” he responds to your lewd sigh with a kiss against your chin, before pulling back to admire you. “feel good baby?”

“yes…” you throw your head back, whining at the depth of him inside you. “yes, you feel so good...” it’s almost too much for you as you moan softly. the pace he set for you allows you to feel each drag of his cock inside you in great detail, for the feeling of him rubbing against you to fully sink in as he fills you up.

kaeya grunts as he feels you tighten around him, arms pulling around your waist to press your hips closer, selfishly wanting to feel more and more of you, to taste more of you. “shit, (y/n),” he swears, and his words are almost a chuckle as he helplessly looks up at you. “i don’t think i can last like this.”

“just a little longer, okay?” you beg him. your voice is pitched high on needy whines that only tighten the coil in his gut. “i’m almost there — nnh, fuck — just a… just a little more, please…”

you reach your hand down between your bodies and rub small circles over your clit, keeping your motions in riding him as you chase your own high. your other hand wrapped around the back of his head is what helps you keep balance, and you bounce a few more times on his cock before, finally, you feel that familiar wave rush over you. “fuck fuck fuck, aaaah, fuck, kaeya i’m cumming—”

the sound that escape you are so filthy, yet they pour out on soft, almost whining moans as you finally cum, crying out his name while you come undone. all the while, kaeya never takes his eyes off of you, drinking in your sounds and your image as you ride your high, coaxing him close to his own end as your hips continue rolling against him.

“shit, (y/n),” he groans, long and loud as finally, he cums inside of you, drunk on the way you continue to grind down on him while he empties his load into you. the sensation of his warmth causes you to purr happily, feeling it being pushed deeper inside you with every thrust of his hips. you pull him in for a long kiss, as messy as it is passionate as his body melts against yours, your arms the only thing holding him upright. when your lips part, his forehead falls against your shoulder and he pulls your body until you’re fully pressed against him.

“fuck!” he laughs breathlessly, and you respond with a chuckle of your own as your hands begin carding through his hair.

“you were really pent up, hm?” you hum. the man scoffs against you, but doesn’t make a move to lift his head; his words vibrate sweetly against your skin as he pressed lazy kisses to your shoulder and neck.

“naturally,” he sighs. “with a meeting so painfully boring and you basically fucking me with your eyes, how could i not be?”

your response is to gasp, as if wounded by his words as you pull away — much to his harmless frustration — to meet his eyes.

“me?? how could i do something so provocative?” and despite your words, your smile is very telling as you press your nose to his, swooping in for a quick kiss that he immediately chases.

“how could you, indeed!” kaeya chastises you. “can you imagine just how tempted i was to fuck you right then and there inside that office? i’m surprised i managed to wait until we got home.”

you smile playfully, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him once more, though this time, you don’t pull away. you’re content in letting your forehead rest against his as your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, biting your lip with mischief as you whisper seductively. “well, i can’t say i have anything against that idea.”

“is that so?” kaeya drawls, eyebrow raised in challenge. suddenly, he flips you over on your back, causing you to laugh at the surprise until you feel his cock hardening inside you once more. the sight of him hovering over you, resting on his palms causing your pussy to suck him inside you — clearly neither of you have had enough.

you smile up at him, meeting his challenge as you roll your hips against him, one leg lifting to rest on his shoulder as you beckon him with one finger.

“you’re a baaaad, bad girl, you know?” he takes pleasure in the way your expression melts out into bliss as he rolls his hips into you, a sinful moan escapo you as he stirs his cum inside of you. you truly are a work of art, he admires — the way you looks so utterly fucked out beneath him and yet wanting more of him sends desire coursing through his being. heavens above, he wants to ruin you.

“well then, captain, you aught to set me straight.”

please come talk to me about my work and if you liked it or not. validate me or shame me please i’m lonely and seeking attention of any kind. please i’m begging i’ll give you anything you want just please come talk to me <3

[bubbleteaimagines]

Dumb Kitten

Suna Rintaro Oneshot

Summary: Suna uses his little kitten for his own pleasure

Pairings: Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Pet play, degrading, creampie, soft!Suna at the end (っ◕‿◕)っ

“Dumb kitten,” Suna scoffs, tugging at the collar around your neck, causing you to lurch forward. “What did I say? I want you to suck me off- you’re not moving fast enough!”

He gives the leash another yank and you whine, the floor burning your knees as he drags you forward. Suna is impatient, his usually calm demeanor worn down by an exceptionally hard practice. Now, all he wants is you, his little kitty, to suck his dick. Is that so much to ask for?

“I-I’m sorry master,” You whimper as he grabs your hair roughly and forces you in front of his cock, already hard despite just getting started.

Suna gives you a look and you know what that means- you don’t waste any time reaching up to tug on the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down to expose his pretty cock.

You can already feel the heat looking between your legs as you lean in and kitten lick his tip, causing a low groan to escape Suna’s lips.

“More,” He demands, and you have a feeling this is just the start of them. After all, tonight is about Suna and his pleasure- not you. You’re merely a tool he’s using to get off, a pet.

Suna knows this, but still, he can’t help but think how good you look with your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

You start off slow at first, taking him into your mouth bit by bit as Suna cursed above you. But then, once you’ve managed to fit as much of him as you could into your mouth, you pick up the pack and start to suck him just like he likes it.

Suna is a lazy man, everybody knows that, so it’s no surprise that he just sits back and let’s his kitten do all the work. Olive eyes are blown with lust, narrowed as he bites his lips to stop the moans.

Fuck- when did you get so good as this? You’re sucking him like a pro, cheeks hollowed as spit and drool dribble down your face. You’re making a mess on his cock and in between his thighs, but Suna couldn’t care less, too focused on the pleasure he was receiving.

He could feel it- he throws his head back as a knot tightens in his stomach, signaling that he was close.

“God damn kitten,” He groans, causing your eyes to flicker up to him, “Barely any time has passed yet you’re already about to make me cum. You’re so fucking good to me I swear.”

You hum against his cock at the praise and it only encourages you to go faster. You want him to cum, you crave the feeling of his cum shooting down your throat, and the look on his face once he realizes you’ve swallowed it all.

You wanna get him there, however it seems that Suna has different plans.

“Stop,” He orders through gritted teeth, forcing his eyes open and leaning up. He knows you’re trying to make him cum, but not yet, he tells himself. “I wanna be inside of you when I cum.”

It’s an order, and Suna’s got you so trained that you immediately pull your mouth away and nod at him, pretty lips shining with spit.

Once again, Suna groans and then he’s immediately hopping up grab you, yanking on your leash and throwing you onto the bed. You’d think you’d weigh nothing the way he easily dominates you, smacking your ass and forcing your head into the mattress.

You yelp slightly at the sting, but Suna ignores you, wrapping his hand around the leash and then lining himself up at your already dripping core.

“B-But master-!” You go to prostest, knowing he hasn’t even bothered to warm you up yet. “W-What about me?”

“You sound pathetic,” Suna rolls his eyes and carries on, rubbing himself between your slick folds. “This isn’t about you, kitten. This is for me. And if I wanna take this sweet little pussy now then guess what?”

You let out a sudden cry as Suna slams his hips into yours, his cock being buried all the way inside of you. There was no warnings on your end, no preparation and Suna moans at how tight you feel.

“Fuck...I can barely move, kitten,” He grumbles, placing a hand on your lower back. The way you’re practically split open for him doesn’t escape him so easily, and Suna swears he can cum just by the look on your face.

Your pretty little features are scrunched up, whines leaving your throat as you struggle to take him. Your pussy is clenching around him, still trying to accommodate to his size. The stretch is almost beautifully painful, but Suna gives you no time to get used to it as he slams into you again, setting his rhythm to fuck you.

His strokes are fast, a bruising pace that has his hips slapping against yours. With one hand he’s holding your leash, keeping your head turned so you see exactly how he’s abusing your poor pussy. The other hand is still on your lower back, but in a split second Suna decided to be nice and give you a little pleasure.

You moan as his slender fingers slip down to rub at your sensitive clit, warmth spreading through your body at the stimulation. Finally- your body jerks at the action and can’t help but whine again, desperate for more.

“M-Master please,” You beg him, staring at him with tearful eyes, just wanting to cum, “Touch me again.”

“Shut up,” Suna rolls his eyes and smacks your ass, causing you to yelp again, “Did I say you could talk? No? Well then shut the fuck up. I know how to fuck you.”

You can tell you’ve pissed him off because your leash gets yanked on, pulling you up and now Suna is holding you against him as he fucks into you. His slender hand comes to wrap around your throat, squeezing harshly as you gasp out.

“I-I’m sorry!” You squeak pathetically, your lungs burning from lack of air. And only that, your pussy feels like it’s being split in half from Suna’s harsh strokes.

“Just a dumb kitten,” He grunts angrily, shoving you back down again, “A dumb fucking kitten. All you know how to do is beg and cum, cum and beg. Telling me to pleasure you, like I fucking don’t know how. How many times did I make you cum yesterday? Yeah that’s what I thought. Now it’s my turn.”

“M-Master,” You moan as Suna respositions his hips, pounding you just the way you liked it. His rough pace caused him to reach newer highs, slipping deeper inside of your messy cunt abusing your g-spot over and over again.

He was right. He did know how to pleasure you- after all, Suna was the only one that knew your body inside and out. He knew just the way to touch you that would get you to cum so hard your vision would turn white. He knew how to make you squirt, how to make you moan his name for hours.

He knew everything, even stuff you didn’t know. There was no one that could take better care of you than Suna, your master. And if he wanted you to cum, then he knew exactly what buttons to push.

“Yeah that’s right,” He smirks as he feels you clench around him. “So easy to ruin you. So easy to make you cum. Pathetic.”

Suna scoffs at the way you cry out, your legs shaking and your dripping cunt squeezing him hard. The way your eyes roll into the back of your head is unmissable, the way your lips part and the way you cry out his name is just enough to edge Suna to his own orgasm.

Pretty soon, he’s cursing as the knot in his stomach reapproches, tightening again until Suna’s left with no choice- he unravels at the feeling of your sweet pussy around him and shoot his load directly into your womb.

You can feel his hot cum painting your walls, Suna making sure to fuck his seed into you and it makes you moan even more. You cum- you cum just as hard as you did the day before and Suna has to pull out in order to catch your limp body, no longer being able to support your limbs.

“Fuck,” He holds you in his arms as you cry out, the last of your whimpers dying as he pulls you into a kiss. It’s passionate, gentle unlike how he’s been with you. As you come down from your high, you can tell that his hard exterior is melting away, and your Master is replaced by Rintaro, holding you sweetly in his arms.

“You okay pretty girl?” He asks softly, lightly caressing your face as he inspects you for damage. For a moment, Suna is greatful that your dark skin will conceal the bruises he surely left behind. Or maybe it isn’t, and he’s wondering of ways to hide the marks on your pale body.

Either way, Suna is concerned about you but he relaxes when he sees yours familiar smile, beaming at him like he just gave you the world.

“Don’t worry Rin, it doesn’t hurt,” You assure him, knowing he was thinking about the spots where he maybe squeezed just a little too hard. “In fact, it was perfect. Thank you baby.”

Suna sighs in relief, and you giggle as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, chuckling.

“You’re into something freaky shit, you know that?” He tells you, causing you to snort.

“Oh please. Like you weren’t into it,” You roll your eyes.

“True. I did enjoy fucking your brains out. You should have seen your face- I made you go dumb on my cock,” He says smugly. A wave of embarrassment crosses your eyes, and you know he’s got you best cause truthfully, your brain is still a little fuzzy.

“Shut up,” Nevertheless, you try to hide your embarrassment. “Stop being cocky and just cuddle me. It’s the least you can do you know- after railing me into the mattress.”

“I guess,” Suna sighs dramatically, but there’s a small smile hinting at the corner of his lips and you get your wish as he lays down, pulling back the blankets and swooping you in.

“It’s a good thing I came in your pussy- less of a mess,” He whispers in your ear causing you to become embarrassed again.

“Did you really have to point that out?” You sigh.

“Yes,” Suna smirks, “Sleep tight~”

You roll your eyes once again in the darkness, practically feeling the smugness radiating off of him. Nevertheless, it all melts always as Suna quietly whispers an, “I love you,” in the darkness, the biggest of smiles on his face as you whisper it back and fall asleep peacefully in his arms.

[shreddedparchment]

A Wife for Thor Pt.18

Annulment

03/06/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader          Word Count: 6,291

Warnings: angst, pregnancy, broken marriages, depression, abandonment, little bits of fluff, supportive Loki

A/N: After I finished the last chapter, I went right to work on this one because the mood was good and I’ve been wanting to get these chapters out since the very beginning. These are the moments that drive me to write fics. The point of contention when everything gets messy. I hope you enjoy it, thank you so much for your comments and reblogs. Since I posted this one so quickly after the one before I will be replying to the comments on this one instead of the one before. I hope you can forgive me! <3 Thanks for reblogging if you do, it seriously helps SO much. xoxo

If you were ever in question as to whether you had a fight or flight instinct when faced with stressful situations, you now know that your instinct is to freeze.

You’re immobilized by the terror that’s tearing through you. Nothing feels real at this moment when your whole world has suddenly come crashing down.

Only seconds have passed but you quickly push your meltdown as deep within you as you can.

One hand placed on your belly in an absentminded caress of the baby growing inside, you reach for the door to go in and tell Thor you’re pregnant. It doesn’t matter that Jane is pregnant too.

You’re his wife. This little one inside you is the heir to the New Asgardian throne. And yet, your mind starts to add up the time that Jane might have become pregnant and her baby would come first.

Her child would be heir, not yours. Legitimate or not. These days, that stands for nothing.

So, despite knowing that you’ll have to deal with Jane for the rest of your life as she is the mother of your husband’s first child, it’s really not all that bad.

He loves you.

Thor loves you.

While you process this sudden revelation, the conversation on the other side of the door continues not waiting for you to come to get a grip.

“Are you certain?”

“Do you doubt her?” Thor demands, sounding frustrated and stressed.

“Yes,” Loki says passionately, “I would doubt anyone that I have not seen in several months.

“What reason would she have to lie?” Thor begs, genuinely looking for an excuse that will make this untrue. “She has never wanted the responsibility of the throne. She has always spoken of having children as a distant possibility. Not an assurance. The last thing Jane would want is a baby.”

“When did you even have the opportunity to bed her? Did you secretly make her your mistress?”

“No!” Thor gasps, as if the idea of cheating on you is ridiculous. “No, I-it was the day I went to end things with her when Y/N accepted my proposal.”

“So, you slept with Jane and then came back home and bedded your new fiance on the same day?”

“I’m not proud of that fact,” Thor admits.

“Regardless, even if you did sleep with her, you need to have her examined, Thor. You cannot take her on her word, not with so much on the line.”

“Fine,” Thor agrees, “But I’m certain that she isn’t lying. She’s been tired and sluggish since she arrived, her appetite strange, and this past week she’s been sick at every meeting, unable to hold down any of her lunch.”

A deep sigh from Loki tells you he’s resigned to Thor’s judgement. Jane is pregnant.

“What will you do?” Loki asks.

The quiet tone of their voices more dire than the passionate denial Thor’s voice had been just a moment ago.

You should go in now. You’ll tell him that you don’t care that Jane is pregnant. You’ll support him and assure him that if he wants them to move into the palace or maybe one of the houses on the palace grounds, you won’t mind! In fact, it will be better so that your babies can grow together as true siblings.

“Y/N is not pregnant yet,” Thor says slowly, his voice calculating.

He’s thinking hard.

“What is your point, brother?” Loki demands, sounding defensive.

“If-” Thor breathes in deep, but when he speaks, the words tumble out sure and decided. “If I am to do right by Jane’s and my child, if I am to legitimize my heir, I’ll-”

He hesitates, your heart thrumming so fast and hard that you can hear it’s beat in your ears as your brain throbs.

“I’ll get an annulment. The basis of which will be that Y/N has been unable to provide me with an heir. I’ll get sworn statements from her doctors that our-our bodies are not compatible and since Jane is already pregnant-”

You take a step as if to run but freeze because you know you can’t do this. No. You can’t face this. Not here. Not this close to him and her and all of this stupid royal bullshit that you never asked for but got anyway.

As you fracture from the inside, you paint a calm smile on your face and while you pull it off, you can’t disguise the exhaustion that pokes through. You take several feet back from the door, giving yourself a good length of hallway to walk.

You straighten up, stand as tall as you can, and move towards the parted door, “Thor?”

There’s a rush of movement from inside as you reach the war room and you try to keep your hand from trembling as you reach down and pull the door open.

Inside, Loki stands ramrod straight, hands behind his back and his face carefully devoid of any kind of expression other than his normal neutral.

Thor turns away from his desk, forcing a smile for you until he sees your face and his own falls quickly.

You know he doesn’t think you overheard him because you’d given yourself plenty of distance so that he and Loki could stop talking before you were close enough to hear anything.

But he knows something is wrong and he moves towards you, right hand extended to take hold of your arm.

Trying not to make it obvious, you meander towards one of the tall wooden chairs by the war table and sit down before Thor can touch you.

“What is it, cherub? Are you ill?” Thor wonders, moving towards you.

Feigning interest in the small models of the outposts that the Warriors Three occupy across the planet, you get up and move away from him again as you lean down to look at the one in the United States.

“I’m-to be honest, I am feeling a little under the weather,” you nod, sighing as you give him a quick pained smile.

You clear your throat, hoping that it sounds like you’ve got a tickle.

“I’ll send for the doctor,” Thor moves towards the cord by the door but you stand up straight quickly and shake your head.

“No, Thor, don’t. I think maybe I just need some rest?” you nod, smiling at him again but it still just looks painful. “I came to ask you if it would be okay for me to go stay at my house for a little while? Maybe a week or so? Just so that I can get some proper sleep and-and maybe find out if it’s really me getting sick or I’m just stressed out about this park project?”

“I thought the park was almost done?” Loki checks.

“And it is,” you nod at him. “But we’ve had so much trouble with the import of several of the plants that I’d wanted to have in the wildflower corner of the park and the fountains are still giving us trouble so, I-I just need a few days to get away from it.”

You turn back to Thor who isn’t looking at you anymore but has his hand pressed to his mouth as he loses himself in thought.

As you watch him contemplate and weigh his options, wondering if he should seize this very convenient opportunity you’ve intentionally given him to make up his mind on what to do about Jane and her baby, you very nearly break.

Your lip quivers and in your desire to hide it, you move back towards the door and feign a quick peek out as if looking for someone.

“Thor?” you prod, getting a hold of yourself and turn to fix him with your expectant gaze. “Is that okay? Can I take a few days to just rest up?”

He snaps out of his thoughts and his face softens. You see the Thor who’d just had you perched on his lap, arm around your waist.

“Of course, cherub, if you need some time then you should take it.”

The sadness that fills you is urged on by the knowledge that before Jane’s pregnancy was revealed, Thor would have insisted he come with you.

There is no way that he would have let you go off on your own.

As he moves towards you, this time you make sure not to budge as he places his hands gently on your arms.

He cups the left side of your face, stroking your cheek with his large thumb before he makes to lean in towards you.

Instead of pulling away or making it look too obvious, you press your face in against his chest and he strokes your back as you successfully juke his kiss.

“No, don’t kiss me. I-I threw up and I haven’t brushed my teeth,” you pretend to fuss.

“You know I don’t care, cherub,” Thor nudges you back a little.

“Well, I do.”

You shake your head at him, delving deep into your soul to scrounge up whatever pieces of it you can find and give him a small pout instead.

“Alright,” Thor gives in, but he still leans down and presses his lips to your cheek and then your forehead before you’re pulling away from him to edge towards the door.

“I should go if I want to catch the next flight out,” you tell him.

“Y/N,” he calls and you stop by the door to look back at him, wishing he’d just let you go so that you can fall apart alone and away from all the eyes of the palace.

Thor clenches his hand into a tight fist, gently tapping it against the war table as you wait.

“I love you.”

You blink, give him a quick forced smile, and sigh because despite the heartache you’re drowning in, “I love you too, Thor. So much.”

As you walk away, you know that nothing will ever be the same. In a week’s time, you might not even be Queen anymore. Wouldn’t that be something?

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re given a bodyguard. Well, more like a friend who can kick serious ass. Hilde was happy to volunteer.

“Something’s up,” she observes as she escorts you into the airport gate.

Normally you’d have set up for a private plane, or Thor would have.

But he has other things on his mind.

“What do you mean?” you ask her, clearing your throat again for the fifth time since you left the palace in order to uphold the pretense of feeling sick.

“Your face is all wrong, you’re not saying something.”

“I have nothing to hide, Hilde. I’m just tired. I feel weak and beaten. I feel like I can’t catch my breath. Like I’ll crack if I’m not careful enough to hold myself together.”

All of this is true. You do feel like you’re about to crumble to pieces. Nothing you just said is a lie. You’re not hiding anything, just waiting. In a week’s time, you’ll know where you stand. And then you can tell Hilde everything.

“How long have you felt this way?” Hilde wonders, real concern painting her tone.

“Not long,” you tell her. “It just started today, actually. About two hours ago?”

“There’s something more,” she refuses to believe that you’re only sick. “It’s like you’re running from something.”

“What would I be running from, Hilde? My luxurious and comfortable life? My loving husband? My sweet and loyal people? My life is perfect. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything.

“I have a family. The only thing I’ve ever wanted. Why would I run from that? Unless of course, I’m being kicked out?”

Hilde fixes you with a look of complete confusion.

As you hand over your ticket to the man at the gate, you force a smile on your friend.

“If I were being kicked out, I’d run before they could get the chance to give me the boot. Then at least it was my choice and not someone forcing me to go away.”

“Why would anyone kick you out? It’s not possible, Your Majesty. You are Queen of New Asgard. Or did you forget?”

“I don’t think it’s possible for me to ever forget my time as Queen. I think I’ll remember it until the day I die.”

Hilde takes your arm, turning you to face her with subtle force, “Oi, what aren’t you telling me?”

You swallow hard, pushing your sorrow down until you can ignore it a little better.

“I’m-I’m not hiding anything, seriously. I’m just tired, Hilde. Being Queen is harder than I ever thought it could be and even though I love being married to Thor, the stresses of doing my job as Queen have reached a point where it’s boiling over.

“I just need a break...from everyone, Hilde. Even you.”

“What did I do?!” she demands, offended.

“Nothing. You’ve been one of the good parts of being Queen, but I just need a little break from Asgard as a whole. I spent my entire childhood and teenage years alone with no one to rely on me but me.

“I just need to be alone for a bit. One week. That’s all I want. So...I know that Thor won’t be happy about it but now that you’ve seen me onto the plane-”

“I am not leaving you alone,” Hilde frowns, almost angry at you for even asking.

“David is meeting me when the plane lands and then driving me home himself. I’ll be fine being alone for just the flight,” it’s a plea as much as it is a reassurance. “Please, Hilde. Please? Please?”

The higher your pitch gets, the more she breaks, turning sympathetic.

“Please, Hilde? Please?”

She growls and rolls her eyes, holding out your carryon bag--a large brown duffel bag stuffed with clothes--so that you can take it.

“Thor is going to be pissed at me,” she grumbles. “And it’s all your fault.”

You take your bag, hang it on your shoulder, and quickly pull her in to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, Hilde. I’ll text you as soon as I land. I promise.”

“You’d better, or I’ll come find you and stick at your side like paste.”

A stewardess comes out to peek down at you and you hurry off before Hilde can change her mind.

In no time at all, you’re in your seat, the plane up and the air, and New Asgard--Thor and his annulment of your marriage--is fading fast behind you.

When you land, no one is there to meet you.

A necessary lie. You'll have to call David in the morning and let him know what's happening. He's your lawyer and if Thor goes through with his plan, you'll need to be legally ready.

You're hit with a stab of hurt that your previously loving marriage has taken such a shift.

Still, you feel bad for lying to Hilde, but when you’d said you needed your alone time, you’d meant it.

You rent a car with your own money, ignoring the shiny black credit card that Thor had given you during your honeymoon shopping trip. The last thing you need is them tracing your movements when you just want to be left alone.

The drive home is lengthy but the peace it brings you is welcome.

Four hours of no one but yourself, the music on your radio, and endless grassy hills and small town charms streaking past your windows like long lost friends.

After an hour of driving you stop at a roadside diner. You buy a bag full of fries, smear them in lines of ketchup, grab a lemonade to go, and text Hilde that you’re with David and on your way home.

After another hour, you stop again. This time at a decently sized convenience store, newly built. It's a truck stop really and you take the chance to use the bathroom then loiter by your car as you tap the screen of your phone with your thumb, waking it up over and over again. Unable to make up your mind.

Your wallpaper taunts you. A picture of you sitting between Thor’s legs on your massive bed, his arms wrapped around you as your left hand is placed to his cheek as he kisses yours, your other arm extended as you take the picture.

It’s difficult to find the courage to unlock your phone, scroll through your contacts, and press the little phone to dial Thor.

He doesn’t pick up right away.

Sadly your marriage already feels like a past life. It feels dead. Like a good dream you’ve woken up from and you just know if you try and go back to sleep to keep it going, it’ll only turn into a nightmare.

The phone rings and rings. It goes to voicemail.

It hurts. So much more than you expected it to hurt and your tears overflow leaving salty trails along your cheeks as you hiccup and try not to sob out loud.

You lean and cry against your car for the longest two minutes of your life before your phone is ringing and vibrating in your hand.

It’s Thor, and for a second, you consider not answering. You consider disappearing. Just fading into the wilderness. Abandoning your car right here. Never making it to your little house. It's so tempting in the moment to give up your throne, which will soon be taken away from you, and start your life again.

How long would they look for you? Would they eventually assume you're dead?

Still, you know that Dr. Wilson and Dr. Alric would spill the beans and if Thor knew...

You press your free hand to your stomach and know that you can’t just vanish. This life will follow you wherever you go and as painful as it is, you’re not sorry for the baby you’ve made.

You swallow your sobbing and with all of the other things you’re not allowed to feel right now or you’ll give yourself away, bury it deep down inside.

Gliding your finger across the screen, you answer the phone and press it to your ear.

“My love,” Thor gasps, sounding stressed or tired? Labored breathing.

Your mind goes to dark places and you chase away the nasty images your mind thinks up before you can let them hurt you more.

How can he still call me that?!

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer. Forgive me. I'd left my phone on my desk and I had my hands full of books.”

Your mouth won’t open. It won’t speak.

You realize all of a sudden that you don’t want to talk to Thor. You’re so angry at him. You’re hurt and betrayed and everything he’s ever told you is a lie.

“Y/N?” he sounds so confused.

“I’m here,” you manage.

“How are you feeling, cherub?”

Stop calling me that!

“I’m not great,” you sigh, sagging against the car. “I just wanted to call you to tell you that I’m with David and we’re on our way to my house. We stopped at the store to go to the bathroom, so I thought I’d call you.”

“Wait, David? Why is David with you? Where is Brunnhilde?” Thor asks, his heavy breathing still loud.

“I asked her to stay behind,” you explain. “Look, Thor I don’t really feel well enough for talking. I just didn’t want you to worry. I promised I’d call.”

“Why would she let you go alone?” Thor demands, shouting into whatever room he’s in. “Loki! Where is Brunnhilde? Get her up here!”

“I have to go, Thor. David’s waiting. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Wait. Don’t hang up yet, cherub. Do you have a doctor to see you close to home?” Thor frets, and you can’t stand it.

“I’m coming, David!” you pretend to call, the convenience store clerk currently throwing the trash looks at you then turns his head back and forth as if searching for who you might be talking to. “Bye, Thor.”

“No, wait, love. Don’t hang-”

His voice is cut off and yet his deep tone still rings in your ears as if he were standing right beside you.

Your heart cries out for him. You wish he was there with you but then your brain reminds you that your time with Thor is already over.

The clerk is still looking at you and you give him a quick shake of your head.

“Sorry,” you start. “Bad breakup.”

He nods sympathetically as you get back in your care then gives you a wave as you drive off, setting back off into the night.

You’re not driving twenty minutes before your phone dings. A text.

Then again. And again. And again. Too many texts come through and you can’t stand it.

You reach over and completely shut it off.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s midnight when you finally get up from bed.

There’s no escaping Thor even here in your own home. Your honeymoon memories are everywhere here.

The bed. The shower. The closet--Thor was eager one morning. The kitchen. The backyard. Every room has a memory. Not all of them sex, but all of them just as poignant and meaningful.

Or so you’d thought.

You wander down the hall to your kitchen, flipping the switch as you enter and make a beeline for the vintage fridge.

“Shit-” you sigh, not even opening it as you remember that there will be no food until you go shopping for some.

You take a peek, just to confirm, and all that's inside is a half empty jar of pickles on the door.

Irritated, you move towards the pantry and grab the first box of cereal you see, pop it open and plunge your hand inside.

You scoop a bit into your mouth but just as you begin to crunch, your mouth falters at the sight of Loki sitting on one of your island stools where he clearly wasn't before, a gentle smile to compliment the knowing sharpness in his eyes.

“You heard us, didn’t you?”

You try not to react to his question, because it’s not a question. Just confirmation of what he clearly already guessed.

“You’re not really here, are you?” You finish chewing, taking more cereal into your mouth after you swallow.

You’re starving. You should have bought some burgers at that diner to reheat and eat tonight and tomorrow.

“No,” Loki confirms. “I'm...checking in. Thor doesn’t know. He’s pretty oblivious, actually. Other things on his mind.”

“Like pregnant ex-girlfriends whose baby will have a stronger claim over the Asgardian throne than mine?”

There’s a bitterness in your voice but you don’t feel sorry for it. You’re not going to hide how hurt you are.

Loki’s face finally breaks as he realizes what you mean. He gives you a small startled blink before he’s got control of his expression again.

“Don’t tell him, Loki.”

“He deserves to know.”

“Does he?” you demand, voice rising in your anger. “And I don’t deserve to know about Jane being pregnant?”

“He would have told you,” Loki assures you.

“When?” You demand, eyes stinging. “When he needed my signature on the annulment papers?”

“He’s not decided on anything yet.”

“Oh, my god! As if that even fucking matters!” you get up, throwing the box of cereal into the garbage.

They’re stale.

“The point is he thinks it’s a good idea. I married him. I thought he welcomed me into his family. I thought I belonged with him, and you and Hilde and Heimdall, but I’m just some fucking guest after all, aren’t I?”

“You’re overreacting,” Loki chastises you.

You pick up a nearby mug and chuck it at him. It goes through him and breaks against the wall behind him.

“Don’t tell me that I’m overreacting when my husband is thinking about legally erasing all traces of our marriage!

"I trusted him," you reach up and jab at your own chest somewhat painfully.

"I thought what we had was worth keeping and protecting. I was already making plans to move Jane and her baby into the palace so that our kids could grow up together, as a family but he doesn’t want that.

“He doesn’t want me in his life if he’s already got another heir lined up so why should I tell him? If he doesn’t want me without this baby then he has no right wanting me with it!”

Loki lets you shout, he lets you break down. He doesn’t judge you for it either, but he reads into it. Too much, and you hate him for it.

You don't want to be reasonable. This doesn't feel like the time for reason. You're shattered.

“He loves you, Y/N. His choice is made-”

“For the child, yes. I get that. That doesn’t make it hurt any less. And maybe I shouldn’t be angry for him doing right by his baby when I’m carrying one of my own, but I am angry. It hurts to know that in moments he was able to make the choice to end our marriage.

“He’s my husband and I am his wife. Does that seriously mean nothing?”

Loki shakes his head, “I’ve already told you that he hasn’t decided anything, yet.”

“You don’t get it, and I don’t know that you can understand what even considering the option of annulment means for us as a couple.”

Loki sighs, “I want you to listen to me very clearly, Y/N. I say this with as much love as a brother can feel for his sister. You need to understand and you need to accept that you and Thor are not a normal couple. Thor is, first and foremost, a king.

“He is beholden to his people and he needs to ensure our position on this planet because we don’t have a home anymore. We are refugees and this is our home now. It is Thor’s job to protect that on behalf of all of us by any means necessary. Choices like these are the reason that my brother resisted the throne for so long.

“As a King, all of the love in the world cannot keep him from making the choices that will benefit our people, even if the choice should hurt him in the process.”

You’re shaking with tears as Loki speaks, shaking your head as you press your hand against your tummy. Your thoughts are full of the baby growing within you and the helpless feeling that presses down on you.

“That’s why this baby changes things, Y/N. You must tell him that you’re pregnant if you are going to keep him for yourself. If you want your marriage to survive this, you can’t keep this from him.”

Shaking your head, you turn away from him to fill a small glass with water and take a small drink.

Yes, you need to tell Thor that you’re pregnant. As wounded as your pride is, you can’t keep him in the dark forever.

“My Queen?” Loki urges you, calling you by your title probably to remind you that like Thor, you have obligations even if you don’t like or want them.

“Fine,” you sigh. “I’ll tell him, but not yet. Just give me this week, Loki. Please.”

When you turn to look at him again, he’s softer with his gaze.

“You’re going to let him suffer for his idea of the annulment,” he guesses.

“No,” you shake your head. “This isn’t for Thor. This is for me. Just because I understand the reason he thought of an annulment doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt anymore.

“If I saw him right now, I couldn’t even talk to him, Loki. He might have betrayed me for good reasons, but he’s still betrayed me. He still accepted, even for a few moments, that giving me up was the best thing he could do.

“And maybe it’s because he’s the-the first person that I’ve ever loved, and maybe I’m still looking at our very arranged marriage with some girl’s view of romance but I can’t separate his duty from my hurt and I-I don’t know that I can ever forgive him.”

"I suppose that's fair," Loki sighs. “I won’t say anything, I promise. But I’m going to make sure that he’s here on Friday. From there, it’s your duty as mother to a future prince or princess of Asgard to tell Thor about your pregnancy.”

You move to sit next to him, giving the bits and pieces of the mug you’d thrown at him a look as you settle.

“I’m sorry I threw a cup at your head.".

Loki smirks, “Would you believe me when I tell you that it’s happened before?”

You almost smile, “Yes. I believe it.”

Loki chuckles but you can't return the sentiment. For you, the world is still ending.

“Can you do me a favor, sister?” Loki asks, his term of endearment warms you a little.

Even if Thor found it easily to cast you off, you’re happy that Loki sees you so permanently a part of his family.

“Something tells me I’m not going to be happy about it, but sure.”

“Turn on your phone,” he glances at the phone sitting at the center of the island only inches away from you where you’d left it to avoid temptation. “Thor won’t shut up about how you’re not replying. If you really want to cherish some time alone, it would be better if you answered him. If he’s worried, he can get here within the hour. I don't suppose you want that."

"No," you shudder..

"Oh, and make sure you use your black card. He’ll be checking to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself.”

You roll your eyes, the rift between you and Thor already so big you can’t see a way to fix it.

“This contradiction of Thor loving me so much he’s worried to death and his ability to decide on annulling our marriage is hard to swallow. What’s he going to do when we’re not married anymore and I’m living here and he’s married to Jane?”

“That will never happen, Y/N seeing as you’re going to tell him that you’re pregnant and he won’t go through with an annulment.” Loki insists.

“What if he does?” you wonder. “Jane’s baby was conceived first. They’ll be heir to the throne. Not mine. What if Thor decides that an annulment is still the best course of action?”

“Then I think I’ll have to reconsider my pledge to serve him as my King. But he won’t go through with it, I promise you. Trust me. I know him. Thor is too soft hearted to hurt you like that.”

“He already hurt me, Loki. It’s just the finality of a follow through that I’m waiting for.”

“You’re so eager to be abandoned,” Loki observes, frustrated with you.

“It just feels like I already have been. I’m sorry if that bothers you, but I can’t help how I feel. Haven’t you ever thought you belonged somewhere only to find out that you’re not as accepted as you thought?”

Loki thinks for a moment, his silence heavy with memory, “I have.”

“And how long did it take you to get over it?”

Loki grins, meeting your eyes with a bit of resignation.

“A long time,” he admits.

“And mine just happened today. You expect me to be over it already? Get bent, Loki.”

Loki chuckles.

“You have a point. I’m sorry, I’ve been looking at this through the lens of being my brother’s advisor. I’ll try and do better.”

His promise is genuine and it makes you feel better that you have at least one person on your side.

“Thank you, Loki,” you sigh. “I know this isn’t an easy spot for you to be in, between me and Thor. I appreciate you coming to check on me.”

“It’s my pleasure. Thor might not have noticed the way you refused to touch him when you left today but I was instantly sure that you’d heard everything. Does it bother you that he slept with her and you on the same day?”

“Not as much as I thought it would,” you admit. “Even without him explicitly saying it, I knew that he’d been with her. I knew that it was likely that he’d slept with her. They were in love. Maybe him more than her, but they didn’t break up because they wanted to. They broke up because he needed to get married and Jane wasn’t ready to do that.

“If Thor had made more of an attempt to delay our wedding, maybe Jane would have come to him sooner with her news and Thor and I would never have gotten married. I wouldn’t be pregnant, and this would all be much less messy.”

“I’m glad he didn’t wait. I’d rather have you as a sister than Jane. She’s nice but you’re much better suited to be Queen.”

“Until my King pisses me off and I run off for a week,” you tease.

“This is an exceptional situation,” Loki nods. “I don’t think if anyone else were in your shoes, they would be any less hurt than you by the news of Jane’s baby. If she is pregnant.”

You look at him, interest piqued.

“You said something like that before, that Jane should get tested to make sure she’s pregnant. What makes you think she might not be?”

“Nothing in particular. She might be. I just really don’t want her to be. I like you for Thor, Y/N. As far as I’m concerned, you’re Asgardian now.”

“I wish Thor thought like you do.”

“He does think it, Y/N. He’s just thrown off balance right now. Give him a little time and tell him about your child. His child, and it will clear up his mind. His judgement is compromised by the fact that he has an heir from the woman he once loved and the woman he now loves has had no luck in conceiving one. Or so he thinks.”

“I already told you that I’ll tell him, Loki. I just want some time.” you sigh.

“I know. We’re talking in circles. I’ll go, let you get some rest.”

You turn to watch him, slowly he begins to dissolve into slow moving golden swirls mixed with a tinge of green.

“Oh, and check your fridge again. I’ve left you a present.”

Just as quickly as he’d shown up, he’s gone.

With a heavy heart you remember the favor he asked of you and turn on your phone.

Twenty texts chime in and you quickly scroll through them.

They’re all from Thor, save for two from Hilde.

Hilde: Thanks. Be careful.

Hilde: Snitch!

All of Thor’s are variations of the same message.

Thor: Please reply, cherub.

Thor: Are you asleep?

Thor: I’m sorry if I’m waking you up.

Thor: Are you home yet?

Thor: Are you safe?

It isn’t until the last few messages that his frenzy of worry seems to change. More resigned to your lack of response. Probably believing that you are actually asleep.

Thor: I miss you already, cherub. I can’t tell you how strange it is to lay in our bed without you.

Thor: I don’t think there’s been a night since we married aside from my visit to the outposts that I have not had your perfect body pressed to mine.

Thor: My heart aches without you.

Thor: My body craves in your absence.

Thor: My soul is empty. You are my very essence now, my sweet cherub.

Thor: I hope you’re not very ill. I could not stand to lose you.

You sob, reading his texts through paints a drastic contrast between his deep voice crying for annulment and the loving, doting, sweet husband who sent you these messages.

His text voice is also so different from the way he talks. You can hear the way he might have talked to you if he hadn’t spent so much time with the Avengers and other humans here on Earth. Jane probably heard him speak like this out loud when they first met.

She’d been his first contact with this planet.

Wiping at your tears, you clutch the phone to your chest for a moment before focusing your blurry eyes on the screen again to keep reading.

Thor: I’ve never known how essential you are to my life until this moment. I need you at my side. I am most certain of it now.

Thor: I would give my life for you. I will keep you close from now on. I don’t know if I can last a week without you, my love. Don’t hate me if I come to you tomorrow.

Thor: Loki has just told me that he’s come to see that you’ve settled into your home safely. I really need him to teach me that trick. He says you need rest and that you already have a doctor coming by in the morning.

Thor: Please tell me what they say once they’ve seen you.

Thor: Loki keeps yelling at me to let you sleep.

Thor: Goodnight, cherub. I love you. More than my life.

Thor: Please text me in the morning.

Thor: It’s Loki. I’ve taken his phone. I’ll make sure he leaves you alone for the full week. Thank you for turning your phone on.

Y/N: I’m fine, Thor. Just very tired.

And because it’s true and if you don’t say it, he’ll get suspicious:

Y/N: I love you, too.

You sniffle and lock your phone.

“Jerk,” you grieve, and move to the fridge.

Opening it again, you’re surprised to find it fully stocked this time with all of your favorite foods and treats.

Loki is seriously the best brother-in-law in the universe.

[novoaa1writes]

candles

image source

pairing(s): dark!wanda maximoff x reader

summary:

you’ve been feeling strange for the past month, particularly when it comes to dating. 

you do your best to ignore it, thinking it’ll resolve itself on its own—given time, that is.

it doesn’t. 

(and it’s got everything to do with wanda.)

[also available on ao3]

word count: ~5,300

rating: mature

warnings: dark!wanda, NON-CON spanking (with a belt), NON-CON BDSM play, mental manipulation, partial mind control, emotional manipulation, mental coercion, trauma bonding, toxic dynamics, drinking, possessive!wanda, non-con mind-reading, vandalism, adultery (not in reference to you or wanda), brief instances of slut-shaming

notes: [requested by anon] reader’s sexuality isn’t explicitly stated, but ex-partners of different genders are referenced/mentioned

— —

wanda uses a couple bulgarian terms of endearment for reader here, so below is a lil’ list in the order of which they appear.

принцеса | printsesa | princess [feminine term of endearment] мила | mila | honey [feminine term of endearment] любима | lubima | sweetheart [feminine term of endearment]

*note: all of these are exactly one letter away from being precise matches to synonymous terms in russian. HOWEVER, the bulgarian alphabet and the russian alphabet are different—granted, in fairly minor ways. for one, while both are comprised of cyrillic lettering, russian has 33 while bulgarian only has 30.  

— —

You have no fucking clue what’d gotten into you. 

One moment, things were fine—good, even. And the next… well. 

You’ll explain. 

It was something like 11:30 on a Saturday night, and you were drunk. 

Well, not drunk. More like buzzed. 

But whatever, right? Considering the week you’d had, you deserved to let loose, even if only for a night. 

Monday night saw a very angry and decidedly unhinged soccer mom banging on your door, screeching vehemently about the ‘two-faced slut’ who ruined her marriage and demanding to be let in so that she could ‘make her sorry.’ Turns out, the older guy your roommate had been sleeping with as of late was married—not that he’d bothered to share that particular bit of information with her, obviously. 

The two of you spent the better part of the evening barricaded inside, passing a bottle of cheap wine back and forth while trying to explain to the 911 operator that you weren’t messing around, that there really was an angry soccer mom on your doorstep and you were actively fearing for your safety. 

She eventually left around 10:00pm—no thanks to the police, since the 911 operator hadn’t even bothered to give them a call. It wasn’t until the next morning when you left for work that you saw the woman’s parting gift to the pair of you: the word ‘HOMEWRECKER’ spray-painted across the front door in obnoxious red lettering. 

Bye-bye, security deposit. 

That same night, you made your roommate promise to start dating people in a similar age range—because really, the both of you were stressed enough as it was without worrying about coming in between yet another middle-aged couple’s dying marriage. 

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. 

On Thursday, your balding creep of a boss had made yet another blatant pass at you in the workplace, making you seriously consider (and not for the first time) the prospect of just quitting and being done with it. 

Then, at shit o’clock on a Friday morning, you awoke to an urgent phone call informing you that an ex of yours (one you were actually on semi-decent terms with) had gotten into a fairly serious car accident, and still had you marked down as her emergency contact. 

30 minutes later found you showing up at the hospital just moments after your ex’s current girlfriend had arrived, which then prompted the whole ‘you still being your ex’s emergency contact’ revelation when the current girlfriend demanded to know what you were doing there, which ended up being… well, you’ll just say it wasn’t pretty, and leave it at that. 

And your ex was going to be completely fine, anyways. She just had some minor cuts and abrasions, and would need to undergo a fairly minor (read: minimally invasive) surgery over the next couple days. 

Before leaving, you instigated a quick check-in with the doctors to ensure they had everything they needed—which then turned into you providing a list of allergies, as your ex wouldn’t likely be conscious for another couple of hours, and apparently the current girlfriend didn’t know of her sensitivities to penicillin and phenobarbital… which the current girlfriend was less than happy about, if the daggers she glared at you were any indication. 

Whatever. You were just trying to help. 

You thanked the doctors, told them to feel free to call you if anything went awry, then asked if they might tell your ex to call you when she awoke. You thought about offering some words of comfort to the current girlfriend as she sat vigil at your ex’s bedside, but the murderous glower she shot you the moment you got within ten feet of her was more than enough to make you think better of it. 

With that, you left. 

So… yeah. It’d been a shitty week. 

And now, here you were: a girls’ night out at the lively nightclub you and your roommate had scoped out just last weekend, tossing back $12 cocktails and letting the trashy EDM beat blaring over the speakers drown out the rest of your thoughts. 

You’d been feeling a little weird all week—all month, really. 

As far as you were concerned, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered.

 So, when a cute guy wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt that was at least a couple sizes too big yet did well to compliment his well-muscled torso came up to you and started chatting you up at the bar, you didn’t blow him off.

The exact opposite, in fact.

He was nice, and funny, and had a gorgeous smile that made your chest feel warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol. When he flirted with you, you flirted right back. 

You felt a little guilty for doing so, though you couldn’t exactly put a finger on why that was. Either way, you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it for very long. 

After all, you’d been feeling hints of that for the past month, if not longer. It seemed to happen whenever you flirted with a cute guy, or went out on another Tinder date with a pretty girl, or even hugged one of your close friends. 

You’d get this painful tightening sensation in your gut, nausea roiling in your abdomen… a distant, lofty voice in your head telling you that this was wrong, that you already belonged to someone else. 

Which was pointless, really. Stupid. 

You were single. 

Your last serious relationship (barring the one with your now-hospitalized ex-girlfriend) had been over seven months ago with an eccentric guy named Lukas. He was kind, well-meaning… a bit of a dork at his very core, but you always found that more endearing than anything else. You’d dated him for four and a half months before deciding to break it off; because as much as you cared for him and enjoyed being around him, you didn’t love him, and you knew by then that you never would. 

You thought about him, from time to time—even missed him now and again.

And yet, the strangest thing about the shameful feeling you’d get whenever your roommate so much as brushed a friendly kiss up against your cheek—it had absolutely nothing to do with Lukas. 

You didn’t know how you knew that, but you did. 

Whatever.

This guy was not Lukas. 

His name was Des—short for Desmond, you learned over your fourth sugary-sweet cocktail of the night. He was charming and slightly foul-mouthed, but conscientious and passably polite where it mattered. He didn’t grope your ass or stare at your tits, nor did he make any lewd commentary about your body in any capacity. 

He also smelled… really good, like Old Spice and spearmint gum and the barest hint of cigarette smoke. 

That was more than enough for you. 

(Whatever, alright? Decent guys were in short supply these days.)

You smiled and let him buy you another drink, even after you’d insisted that he really, really didn’t have to. And when an obnoxious pop song with a beat that was far more catchy than you’d have liked to admit came over the speakers, you let him coax you out to the dance floor with minimal resistance. 

It was… fun. You liked the way his hands rested on either of your hips—gentle, almost careful; holding you like he understood he didn’t have a right to your body, like he was more than content that you allowed him this to even think of demanding any more.

Despite the twinges of guilt flaring in your gut, you let yourself get a little more comfortable… dancing closer and closer to him amidst a packed crowd of writhing bodies, letting your breasts graze up against his chest. 

It was teasing—provocative, even. A test, of sorts—one that Des passed with flying colors. 

He didn’t do a thing to rush you, just kept dancing across from you with his hands on your hips and his darkened gaze on yours—seeming fully content to let you set the pace for the moment. And God, but the way he was looking at you… patient but eager, like he wanted nothing more than to crush your body against his own and grind himself into you like an animal—and yet, still, he held himself back. 

You couldn’t help but find that attractive as hell. 

Looping your arms around his neck, you let your body to press flush against his as you swayed to the beat of the song, not shying away from the slight stiffness you could feel growing against your hip. 

That guilty, nauseous feeling in your gut pulled tighter. 

You ignored it, and, when he leaned a little closer to shout over the deafening music, “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”... well. 

You wasted absolutely no time in lunging up on the tips of your toes to capture his lips in a messy open-mouthed kiss, the strobe lights of the club fading into obscurity around you. His lips were warm and gentle against yours—tentative, at first, until you pressed a little harder and traced the seam of his lips with your tongue… and, yeah; that did the trick. 

A moment later, his lips parted to let out a quiet groan directly into your mouth as he began to reciprocate in earnest, setting every nerve ending on your body alight with electrifying want. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, a twisted sort of clarity hit you square in the chest—slowly, and then all at once. 

The next bits were something of a blur. 

You tore yourself away from Des, turned to forcibly elbow your way through a floor of grinding bodies. You thought you heard him call out your name, and more than a couple people on the dancefloor turned to glare at you as you rudely brushed past them without care—but, whatever. 

You texted… someone, telling them you were headed back to the apartment, so they shouldn’t bother waiting up. The group chat, maybe? 

And now… Now. 

Before you can blink, the past crashes into the present, and you find yourself back outside in the pitch-black night. 

It’s dark… chilly. A brisk wind catches you the moment you stumble out onto the sidewalk, assaulting every inch of your exposed skin like scores of needles piercing your flesh. You whimper, shudder, and hug your arms around your body—trying to warm yourself back up like a scared little kid who forgot their jacket. 

For the first time that night, you regret the tiny black babydoll dress you’d chosen to wear for the evening—and that’s not even to mention the four-inch heels. 

It’s miserable, to be sure, but you can hardly focus on it for very long. 

No, you have to go somewhere. You feel sick, and cold, and wrong in a way you’re loath to even begin explaining to anyone else. 

And your head… you’re positively aching for something—someone to make this better.

You need… Wanda. 

Yes, Wanda is the person you’re looking for. She can make all of this better. 

You don’t know why, but you’re sure of it. You just need to find her. Hopefully she’s spending the night in her apartment on that super cozy sofa of hers, drinking hot chocolate and binge-watching something on Netflix like the two of you did a couple weeks back. 

A fond grin curves your lips at the recollection as you stumble off down the sidewalk, headed for the nearest subway station. 

Another wintry gust of wind hits you square in the chest, and you pinch your forearm hard, silently willing yourself to focus. 

The station should be less than a block down, if you’re remembering correctly. 

At the next street corner, you manage to brandish your pepper spray in one hand while you rummage around in your purse for your MetroCard with the other. 

It’s cold as hell, and you’re probably a little too drunk to be walking through the City streets alone right now, but you don’t much care. 

All you gotta do is find Wanda. That’s all. 

She’ll make everything better again. 

— —

Where everything else is confusing, there’s one part that seems to make sense—Wanda. 

You nearly pick a fight with the card reader at the subway entrance when it makes you swipe your card three times to let you through, and even the stairs leading down to the lower tracks are more of a challenge than they probably should be… and yet, somehow, the rest of it is blessedly simple. A no-brainer, really.  

You know which train you need to take… the blue one that arrives in four minutes. You know you need to stay on it for five stops before getting off. 

Once you’re up at ground level, you’ll have a short walk ahead of you—one that you know like the back of your hand despite only ever having been to Wanda’s a couple of times. 

You’ll enter Wanda’s apartment building, take the elevator right up to floor four, and boom! Home free. 

You do exactly that.

It takes a short time (thankfully) and there’s not an ounce of uncertainty within you all the while, like you’ve done this 100 times before.  

In seemingly no time at all, you’re there—standing on Wanda’s doorstep, knocking a couple times just beneath the burnished bronze ‘4A’ nailed into her door. 

Your head feels all light and dizzy; you’re still shuddering from the time you spent out in the cold; but—

“One sec!” Wanda’s muffled voice comes from inside, the mere sound of it washing over you like a soothing balm—promising relief. 

You’re safe now. 

You made it.  

— —

The moment the door swings open to reveal a bleary-eyed Wanda Maximoff dressed in tiny grey pajama shorts, an oversized Star Trek T-shirt, and nothing else, it’s like everything falls back into place. 

It’s like… like you can breathe again.

You’re still drunk, and shivering, and more than a bit confused; but now that Wanda’s awake and here and smirking like she knows exactly what’s happening even if you don’t, you feel… better, somehow. Not nearly so lost as you were before. 

“Y/N,” Wanda greets, stepping aside and offering out a hand to help you inside. You’re quick to take it. “I was not expecting you,” she drawls, though everything about her demeanor is saying the opposite as she shuts and locks the door behind you. 

You pay it little mind. “Yeah, I... ” you trail off, turning to face her even as an embarrassed flush warms your cheeks. All of a sudden, you can’t help but feel rather ridiculous for knocking on her door and barging in so late—especially without calling first. “I’m so sorry, I...  I don’t know why I’m here.”

Wanda just tilts her head, appraising you curiously even as the ghost of a knowing smile curves her lips. “Are you sure about that?”

The heat in your cheeks seems to intensify tenfold at that. “I… I need to tell you something,” you hear yourself say, and the moment it’s registered, you realize that it’s true. 

You feel… guilty, all of a sudden. Nauseous, too. Scared. 

You danced with that guy—Des. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… You kissed him. Why would you do that?

In the present moment, Wanda nods, like that makes perfect sense. Like all of this makes perfect sense. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces lightly, flares of crimson flitting through her measured gaze. “Is it something I’ll have to punish you for?”

‘Punish’ me? What—?

You feel Wanda’s presence in your head… inconspicuous tendrils sifting through your thoughts, worming their way through your scattered memories. 

No point in lying. 

“Y-Yes,” you hear yourself say. Much like earlier, it isn’t until the moment you’ve confirmed it aloud that you know it to be true. You danced with someone else. You flirted with him. You let him touch you… kiss you. “I… I’m so sorry, Wanda; I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You see the moment Wanda finds it—your memories of the nightclub. Meeting Des at the bar. Flirting with him… Kissing him. 

The look on her pretty features goes from bemused to disbelieving to absolutely murderous in zero seconds flat, and the realization hits like a freight train that you’re really in for it now. 

Fuck. 

“Go to the bedroom,” she snarls, her typically blue-green eyes burning with scarlet light. “Then take off that slutty dress. I want you on the bed, face down, naked. Do you understand?”

Your head is spinning; confusion rears its ugly head in your gut even as every ounce of your being screams at you to just obey—‘cause if you can just do that, the rest of it will start to make sense. (Maybe.) “O-Okay.”

— — 

You don’t know how you know the way to Wanda’s bedroom, but you do. 

You slip inside a room shrouded in darkness, and no matter how it strains your eyes to look around, you don’t dare turn on the light. 

It’s a modestly-sized bedroom with hardwood flooring, fairy lights along one wall, and an adjoining bathroom just opposite the entrance. There’s a tall, wooden dresser pressed up against the wall directly across from a large, king-sized bed. That’s pretty much all the detail you can manage to make out in the darkness.

Well, either way, you suppose it isn’t really your business. 

Wanda gave you specific instructions, and you intend to follow them. 

Not for the first time tonight, you’re quite happy about the babydoll dress you’re wearing—particularly for how easy it is to pull it up over your head and off, leaving you in panties and a strapless bra in a matter of moments. 

You fold the dress neatly in your hands, then leave it atop the dresser. Your panties and bra come next. In seconds, you’ve formed a small, tidy pile. 

As you step out of your heels and approach the neatly-made bed, you’re struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu… like you’ve done this before.

It lingers in the forefront of your mind as you crawl up onto the bed, biting back a groan at how easily the plush mattress gives way under your hands and knees. 

God, you’d kill to have a nice nap in this absolute cloud of a bed.

You shake the thought off, simultaneously willing the haze of intoxication fogging up your brain to abate.

You’re not here to nap. 

You settle face-down onto the bed, just like Wanda said. You’re careful not to rest your face on the pillows, though, since you have the distinct feeling that’s not something Wanda would want you doing without permission.

Instead, you fold your arms and rest your head atop your forearm, staring straight down into nothing. You scrunch up your features and let out a quiet huff as the black duvet tickles the tip of your nose. 

It smells like her—all of it does. Cinnamon, vanilla, and something indefinable; something that belongs to Wanda, and Wanda alone. 

You feel your body stiffen as a familiar set of footsteps draw near, approaching the room where you lie—naked and vulnerable atop Wanda’s bed.

The patter of Wanda’s gait becomes almost soundless as she enters, circling around the bed over towards the nightstand. You don’t dare to turn your head and watch as she pulls out one of the drawers, rummaging through it until she finds… well, whatever it is she’s looking for, you suppose. 

A moment later, there’s the telltale chk! of a match being struck, and a hiss as the phosphorous tip lights itself aflame. 

It’s quiet for a minute... then two. The only sounds you can hear are your breathing and the strike of a match every time Wanda lights another. 

Gradually, gentle flares of light grow in your periphery, bathing the room in a dim, yellow-y glow. She’s lighting candles—a lot of them. 

You’ve always loved candles. 

A couple minutes later, she’s finished, and she returns to tuck the matchbox safely back in the drawer. 

You lose track of her as she retreats once more, and your mounting curiosity is more than piqued when you hear her rummaging through the dresser near the foot of the bed; still, you don’t dare turn and look. 

Instead, you wait, fetid nausea churning low in your gut, pinpricks of apprehension dancing across every inch of exposed skin. Your heart thuds painfully against your ribcage as she takes something out from the dresser drawer, then shuts it with an audible thud!

You swallow the lump in your throat and urge yourself to focus on your breathing. 

In, out. 

In, out. 

In… out.

“I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” Wanda’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, genuine hurt coloring her hushed tone. 

You have to fight the urge to shudder as a chill runs down your spine. “I… I’m sorry, Wanda,” you say meekly, pathetically, cheeks hot with shame. 

And the worst part? You’re not lying. 

You listen carefully for the sounds of her bare feet padding across the floor as she circles the bed once more, crouching down right beside you in the very corner of your periphery. 

“Look at me,” she orders, gentle yet firm. 

You do. 

The moment you meet her gaze, you can’t help the errant thought entering your mind that she looks so pretty like this—face bare of makeup; long brown hair piled into a messy bun atop her head; dainty features cast into darkened shadows by the low, yellow light of burning candles clustered together atop the nightstand. 

The muted light seems to soften her anger, her pain… allowing her to really look her age for the very first time since you’ve known her. 

“You think too loudly, Y/N.” Wanda’s words are dry, almost teasing as they jolt you back into reality. “Focus on me, please.”

You do. 

“You belong to me,” she asserts after a beat of silence, an uncharacteristically intent and almost solemn look splayed across her dimly-lit features. “I thought you understood that.”

The words confuse you even as they seem to resonate poignantly with some fundamental part of you… a part of you that categorically refuses to be ignored. 

“Wanda…” you trail off, bewilderment and contrition warring violently within your chest until it aches to draw breath. “I’m confused, Wanda,” you whimper out finally, overwhelmed tears burning in your eyes. “I-I-I don’t understand what’s happening—” 

Wanda cuts you off with a derisive snort. “Yes, clearly,” she agrees, her tone ripe with sardonic ire. “You’ve forgotten yourself. You’ve forgotten who owns you.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Is that why…” You search Wanda’s eyes intently. “... I-I felt sick, an-and… guilty about dancing with Des.”

Something like anger flares in her gaze, hot and bitter, and you have to resist the urge to shrivel beneath it. “That boy had no right to touch what’s rightfully mine.”

“B-But then… why didn’t I remember?” you ask, utterly forlorn. “I-I felt it last weekend, too, but I… I didn’t—” 

“Last weekend?” Wanda repeats, features hardening.

Oh, shit. You feel your cheeks get hot again. “I… I shouldn’t have brought it up, Wan’, I’m sorry—”

“What happened last weekend?” she interjects, her tone cold and hard like a double-edged blade. “You can tell me yourself, or I can start looking.”

You shiver. “I… I went on a-a… a date with a girl that I met online,” you admit, tears welling in your eyes even as Wanda’s jaw visibly tightens. “I-It was just the one time! A-And nothing happened; we didn’t even k-kiss! I just… I didn’t… I didn’t know—”

“Yes. You’re right; you didn’t know.” Wanda stands abruptly, then, and it’s at that moment that you see the folded belt in her hands—thick, worn leather with a sterling silver buckle. 

An icy sense of dread blossoms in your chest, chilling you from the inside out. 

Is she going to—? 

“I was indulgent before… I let you get away with far too much. I will not make the same mistake again.”

With that, she turns to circle back around the bed, the belt buckle audibly jangling in her hands with every step. 

“I have to punish you, принцеса,” she continues, her voice scarcely more than a whisper as she comes to stand near the foot of the bed—and somehow, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there’s no convincing her otherwise. 

She’s going to punish you, and it’s going to hurt. Bad. 

All at once, panic seizes you. You squirm, writhing in an effort to get up and off the bed—

Only to be stopped by tendrils of lurid crimson curling around either wrist, forcing them together just over your head like magic—glowing crimson cuffs holding both arms fast to the headboard. On a whim, you test your legs—tensing and pulling, only to be met with iron-clad resistance encircling either ankle in a tight, unrelenting grip. 

Well, fuck.

“W-Wanda,” you plead, hardly paying any mind to the way your voice trembles. “Please, I—I don’t want—”

“I do not enjoy punishing you, мила,” she laments, almost sounding genuinely apologetic. It tugs at your heartstrings in a curious way—something you really don’t have time to examine right now. “But you did something bad. And when you do bad things, there are consequences. You understand that, don’t you?”

A tear trickles down your cheek, warm and wet as you steel yourself for the first hit. “Y-Yes.”

“Good girl,” Wanda lauds, and you can’t help the surge of warmth that washes over you at the simple praise—the pride that blooms in your chest at knowing you’ve finally done something right. “Now—try and relax, принцеса, okay?”

It’s all the warning you get before the first blow comes down upon your bare arse with a resounding Crack!

White-hot pain flares across your bottom, racing up your spine like wildfire and tearing a strangled whimper from your throat. 

Jesus fucking Christ, that hurt—

Crack!

Crack!

Holy fuck. 

The impact of the leather against your naked cheeks leaves strips of fire burning in its wake, expelling all the air from your lungs in a choked-out rush. 

“P-Please, no, Wan’,” you beg breathlessly, struggling in vain even as coils of vibrant scarlet hold you fast, “it hurts, please—”

Crack!

“This is for your own good, baby,” Wanda coos, sounding for all the world as though she truly believes every word of it. 

Crack! This one lands directly across your sit spot, ripping a shriek from your lips as molten agony rocks you to your core. 

“Wan’—Fuck, please, no—”

Crack!

“G—God, fuck, pleasestop, please—”

Crack!

“P—Please, hurtssobad, I’m—”

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

“FUCK !”

Tears stream down your cheeks, wetting the black duvet beneath your face. You’re absolutely beside yourself with torment, your bare ass aflame with a pain unlike any you’ve ever known. 

Crack!

Crack!

… And the hits just keep coming—raining down stripes of blistering heat across your sore, bruised buttocks; pummeling your throbbing, exposed rear until it feels as though the entire area has just become one puffy, pulsating bruise. 

Crack!

All the fight has completely gone out of you; now, your body completely slack—devoid of any resistance even as every hit seems to sear itself into your impossibly tender bottom like a third-degree burn… The pain is absolutely incredible, unlike any else you’ve ever known.

You’ll do anything—and you really do mean anything—to make it stop. 

“P-P-Please, stop it, Wanda, PLEASE—”

Crack! Another hit directly across your burning sit spot rips a watery sob from your throat, followed by—  

Crack!

Crack!

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating until you pass out. 

Crack!

Agony blackens the edge of your vision, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks as you await another strike… 

But it doesn’t come. 

Wh—?

“Have you learned your lesson, мила?” Wanda asks, and this time, her voice comes from closer… like she’s right beside you. 

You don’t have it in you to be startled when a feather-light kiss lands itself between your shoulder blades, nor when one hand begins stroking up and down your heaving torso in soothing motions. 

“Y-Yes! I—please, God, yes,” you babble, overwhelmed by the sensation of unadulterated pain branding every inch of your battered arse. “I promise I’ll never, ever, ever do it again, Wan’—Won’t ever be with anyone else—jus-just please stop hurting me—I’ll be so good, please—”

“Shh,” Wanda shushes you tenderly. You feel yourself twitch as the mattress suddenly dips beside you. “It’s okay, любима,” she soothes, coming to rest beside you. “Just breathe, okay? Breathe.”

‘Breathe’...

Your pulse thunders in your ears; your ass is on fire with an anguish far beyond your years; and yet, there’s something undoubtedly soothing about her words as they wash over you in gentle waves… something that tells you you’re safe.  

Were you a little more lucid, you might’ve found that quite the nonsensical paradox—this feeling of safety and security with the woman who’d just beaten your arse raw without mercy no matter how you wailed and sobbed and begged for her to stop. 

But as it is, you’re not. 

Instead, you’re just broken and teary-eyed and in pain, and Wanda’s tenderness is a most welcome respite to alleviate that excruciating ache. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath, even if it burns your lungs something awful, and force yourself to let it out slowly. 

In, out. 

In, out.

In… out.

“That’s it, мила,” Wanda praises gently, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re doing so well… Just like that.” Her fingers come to rest beneath your chin, urging you to turn and face her…

And you do, far too exhausted to even think of doing anything other than what she tells you to. Your lungs burn; your nose runs; and the pain in your bottom hasn’t abated any—if anything, it’s intensified.

You’re more than happy to be given something else to focus on.  

When you look at her, her blue-green eyes are wet—glossy with tears.

“Wanda?” you manage weakly, feeling your brow crease with worry. “You ‘kay?”

Wanda sniffles, huffs out a watery-sounding laugh. “Yes, Y/N, I’m alright,” she whispers, then leans forth to plant a gentle kiss upon the tip of your nose. “I’m just so very, very proud of you.”

Despite yourself, you feel a pleased flush spread throughout your body at that. “Really?” you mumble, exhaustion drooping your eyelids until it’s a challenge just to keep them open. 

Wanda nods, a tear sliding out of her eye that you yearn to reach forth and catch with your thumb—but alas, you’re far too weak. “Really.” 

You hum, burrowing your face further into the duvet beneath your cheek—even if it is still damp with your tears. “‘M sorry I was bad, Wan’,” you murmur, feeling darkness near on every side. “Didn’t mean’ta make you upset.”

“I don’t like punishing you, принцеса,” she says once more, and this time, you have no reason to doubt that she means it. Honestly, you don’t know how you ever could. “It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

You hum again. Your eyelids feel too heavy to open. “‘M sorry,” you say. “Gonna do better… make you proud… I promise.”

Wanda chuckles. The sound of it makes your chest feel loose and warm and happy. “You already do, darling girl,” she murmurs. You don’t know if it’s because she’s whispering, or you’re fading into sleep, but you can barely hear her when she repeats it once more: “You already do.”

Sleep descends upon you, then, and you succumb to it willingly, feeling safer and more at peace than you have in a very long time. 

— —

tagging:

[marvel]: @normanijauregui​

— —

end notes: yeah i don’t know what this is either. i was only aiming for maybe 1,000 words or something, but things happened and...

look. i haven’t been to therapy in a hot minute, ok?

link to masterlist

[darthwheezely]

with you - f.w.

summary: based on the song ‘with you’ from ghost the musical

warnings: y’all this is a dead!fred fic strap in i’m so sorry :,), anger/resentment, a shit ton of death mentions

a/n: i love you, Freckles.

i picked up your shirts this morning

i don’t know why

i don’t know why

The bedroom hadn’t been touched since May 2, 1998. A slew of clothes strewn about the room. A broken painting. A faint memory of him holding you. You didn’t know what was more messy, what happened to him or the world he left you with.

You started to clean.

every place we ever walked and everywhere we talked

i miss you

you never leave my mind

so much of you is left

behind…

Diagon Alley in September was a fever dream. It always was, children and their parents hopping from place to place to collect school supplies, teenagers wandering aimlessly to meet up with friends, go on dates, etc.

Diagon Alley in September was Fred’s favorite time of year.

You watched him at the shop light up and bounce about like a beach ball the moment a child asked for assistance, or even just carrying in an inventory box.

Fred would be frequently exhausted at the end of the day, but demand to take you out to the Cauldron for fish n chips, or buy you a butter beer (or four) or take you to Eeylops. You always agreed.

“One day we’ll be doing this for our own kids, Y/N,” he said softly, looking at the storefront for Wizard Wheezes, the tall animatronic lifting a rabbit from his hat slowing down for the night, even in the healthy chaos of Diagon Alley.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hated Diagon Alley in September.

you

took my days

with you

took my nights

with you

You had never really lived after Fred.

How does a person live after watching their person get crushed under a wall?

How does a person live after they run to said wall and scream, cry, beg for mercy from some being up in heaven for this to be a nightmare?

How does a person live after trying to push a wall far too heavy for force and being carried away by another while they cried so hard they lost air?

How were you supposed to live after Fred?

those unfinished conversations we used to have

still speak to me

“Y/N?” He shouted over the enveloping noise, spells and curses being fired so hard you’d think the ceiling would cave in.

“Fred, this isn’t a really good time-“ you yelled back.

“When we make it out of this-“

when he makes it out of this

“-I’m building us that nursery you hear me?”

No one built the nursery.

all this wishful thinking gets me nowhere

i can’t stay

though my heart is broken

it keeps breaking every day…

Sometimes, on a good day, you’d get the boom box out of the closet. You always tell yourself you’ll never touch it again, but there you are, touching it again.

That mixtape he made you will get fed through the muggle machine, and then it will spit out the song Crazy by Aerosmith.

“Come on, love, get up-“

“Fred, we’ve been assembling this bed frame we can’t just give up on it-“

“Say you’re leavin’ on a seven thirty and you’re head in’ out to Hoooooll-ay-wOOood - come on Y/N, bum up and get groovin’ with me!”

You two would dance until you were kissing and then he’d hold you standing up because to Fred Weasley, there was nothing on this planet but you.

You didn’t get through the whole song this time.

you

took my hopes

with you

took my dreams

with you

Kingsley Shacklebolt had left a message on the phone:

“Hey Y/N…I’m sorry to call you on a Monday night of all days - just busy lines everywhere else. I’m um…I’m really sorry but we um…we can’t have you as an Auror right now. We don’t want to ah - speed up your…your process right now. We know you’ve had a - hard - time recently and that job’ll only make it worse. Call me back if you want and maybe we can get you back in at Magical Accidents, they’ve got an opening. Alright. Well. See you, Y/N.”

i keep thinkin that you’ll be callin

everyone says that it’s all in my head

and i can’t accept it yet

You could’ve sworn you heard him.

You felt him in the shop (when George could force you to go.)

You saw him in every laugh and giggle little Dominique made.

Fred was everywhere and nowhere. It confused you, rage swelling in your chest like a hot air balloon only awaiting gas to take flight.

You had yelled. Told him going on that mission was selfish when you’d both been too risky for the Order as is.

“You can push me away all you want, Y/N-“

“Fred, stop-“

“No you need to listen to me for once in your life and it’s that i’m not going anywhere, I’m going to do that damn Seven Potters mission and I am coming home to you, do you hear me?”

You looked at him.

“I am always coming home, Y/N.”

“What a good joke, Fred, but where’s the punchline?”

i can’t comprehend this

and pretend that i don’t care

any place i wanna be

i wanna see you there…

“Hi, Freddie,” you hoarsely called to the barren-ness of the house.

“I hate sleeping here, did you know that? I feel way too close to telling myself that we’re okay, that I’m okay, kinda dumb isn’t it?”

No one answered.

“‘S alright, you always did hate the serious stuff. I’m just heading out to Gin and Harry’s for the night okay? I promise I’ll come back tomorrow. Will you be here?”

No one answered. You smiled, tears falling on your lips.

“That’s okay, I understand.”

You choked out a laugh and shrugged. “I love you! Have a good night, sweetheart.”

You shut the door.

you

took my life

with you

took my world

with you…

•••

taglist! @lumosandnoxwriting @billyhxrgrove @wandsandwheezes @harrysweasleys @fredweasleyisart @luvfrommars @luvshack @babyjordy @jillys-feral-fandoms @vibraniumwing @vixen @goddessofdawns @sagittarius-flowerchild @sinfulweasley @animprxperworld @daedreamss @lilypad-55449 @i-love-scott-mccall @omghufflepuff @vivianweasley @wh0reforthemarauders @amrtxntias @sunrisefairy @theorangedrummer @loony-loopy-lupinn @band--psycho @melmalone

[divine-mistake]

helios, his modern muse

Summary: You prefer the version of him that you can keep inside your tiny apartment, the Steve who looks beautiful in a blue button-up and slightly wrinkled khakis, what he’s wearing now. The Steve who has dried clay beneath his nails sometimes, the one who sculpts and molds objects of beauty from nothing, who makes art out of ugly things. Sometimes, you think it’s why he chose you out of everyone—his need to make art from something ugly.

Characters: Steve/Plus-sized (f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), language, female body imagery

Word Count: 2801

A/N: This is a tumblr request for someone who wanted a sculptor Steve and a plus-sized reader. Please enjoy!

main masterlist | AO3

If Steve is the sun, then you would give up everything to be his moon.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His eyes are fire when he looks at you and you wonder if you could touch the sky, the same blue of his eyes, would it feel as warm as the way his gaze does? “How was work?”

He’s sitting at your kitchen table, looking like a god among the stained wood and rickety chairs. A newspaper—so old-fashioned he is, you’ve tried to teach him he can read the news on his phone but he always insists it’s better from the paper—is spread across his lap, thumbing through the pages, a glass of water sitting within reach. Your tiny New York apartment, kitchen tiled green and ugly, looks so small when he resides there. Like his body takes up space and his aura, his being, the light he projects even when he’s just sitting there doing nothing at all, swallows up the atmosphere inside.

If Steve Rogers is the sun, then god, you only shine in the light he radiates.

“Exhausting,” you reply, throwing your keys into the catch-all bowl in the entryway and kicking off your heels. A bath, a blanket, and a bottle of wine are calling your name, but Steve does this incredible thing where the moment he sees you, he opens his arms up like the gates of Heaven and you have no choice but to slump into his embrace.

He does that now, too. With a shuffle of his paper, where he folds it and places it on the dining table, he stands up from the wobbling chair and takes a step toward you, opening his arms wide and smiling with that boyish grin that gets you every time. And like always, you’re stuck in his orbit and unable to resist him, throwing yourself into his hold and relaxing against him.

Your bodies press and mold like magnets forced together. Steve’s arms slip around the smallest part of your waist, squeezing you, his hands roaming over the generous curves and dips that make up your body. Your own arms twine around the back of his neck and you hang from him, letting him support your weight, and on another day if you were less tired and more aware, you’d feel embarrassed at this whole thing.

It’s just simple math, most of the time. If Steve is the sun and you’re still heavier than him, then what are you?

But Steve never makes you feel like that and you love that about him. He holds you like you’re weightless, like you’re this stretch of empty space he needs to cling to before it disappears. Steve drinks you in like you’re oxygen, nothing but gas, a method of sustaining him. And more than anything, he looks at you as if he isn’t the fucking sun, all twenty-seven-million-degrees of him, like he isn’t the star that everyone else revolves around, his warmth, his smile, his blinding light.

No, Steve looks at you like you’re his sun, and sometimes, like now, it steals every ounce of heat from your soul and leaves you frozen.

He must feel you stiffen in his embrace because he ducks down to kiss you then, pulling you impossibly closer, nudging under your jaw with his nose to make you tip upward to reach his lips. You respond like it’s second nature, your mouth moving with his in a dance you’ve choreographed over the last year, and when his tongue smooths over yours like velvet, it ignites a flame in the dredges of your stomach that turns you messy and frantic. Steve laughs against your lips as if he doesn’t know whether to give into your demands so easily, but you know, eventually, he will.

This time, he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, and your eyes flutter shut as you breathe him in. He smells like earth, bergamot and clay, something fresh that you can’t name as you still the excitement in your heart. It’s a preferable smell to when he comes home from missions, tang and copper and smoke and death. You prefer the version of him that you can keep inside your tiny apartment, the Steve who looks beautiful in a blue button-up and slightly wrinkled khakis, what he’s wearing now. The Steve who has dried clay beneath his nails sometimes, the one who sculpts and molds objects of beauty from nothing, who makes art out of ugly things.

Sometimes, you think it’s why he chose you out of everyone—his need to make art from something ugly.

When your eyes open again, his are closed as he drinks in your effervescence, like he needs your presence to survive. Like you’ve been gone for so long he can’t stand it and needs to bask in your body once again. Behind him, and you’re not sure how you didn’t notice it before, his newest project is left drying, old newspapers he swears he only keeps around for art sitting beneath it to protect your rented floors.

It’s something new, you realize. Something Steve hasn’t attempted to sculpt before. When he first decided he wanted to move on from painting to clay sculptures, he started off small. Oven-baked clay he turned into plates and bowls and lop-sided cups. Things he could paint afterward, combining his talents, something that always brought this look of pride and satisfaction to his face, especially when you cooed over how beautiful his pieces were. He made little statues he gave to his friends, too, an angel’s wing for Sam and a white wolf for Bucky—which took him so long because he had to get it perfect and sweetheart, animals are so hard to make, but I gotta do it for Buck.

This though, this thing that’s sitting, drying, in your kitchen, is a body. And it’s silly, really, but it’s a woman’s body, with her breasts shaped perfectly and her stomach taut, her hips flared into a base. Her neck is slim and her shoulders are smooth, held confidently.

It’s a woman’s body and it isn’t you. It could never be you. You’re too wide, too inelegant, too round in the areas that are so so flat. Steve makes beautiful art out of ugly things. You remind yourself of this so you are painfully aware that Steve could never sculpt you. He would never sculpt you. His need isn’t to make art of you, but to make art out of you.

Steve never makes you feel like that. He never makes you feel ugly.

You’re plenty good at doing that yourself.

“Do you like it?” His voice interrupts your descent into self-pity. He must have realized you’d been staring at it.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, and it’s the truth, it really is beautiful, but it feels like a lie to say it outloud.

Steve scratches the back of his head and you miss the warmth of his hand on your waist. It feels like a rejection. 

“Yeah,” he says, drawing his hands through his golden hair. “Natasha, uh, well, she wanted something like it. It’s not her,” he quickly assures you, eyes finding yours again. “She didn’t model or anything. It’s just a symbol of feminism, inner goddess, or something like that. Her words, anyway.”

He’s nervous. You don’t know why.

“She’ll love it,” you tell him, your hand smoothing down the wrinkles of his shirt over his chest. It seems to calm him, a happy sigh leaving his mouth. “It’s a powerful statement for her. I think she forgets that her body can hold beauty, not just power and strength.”

You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, a reassurance. Are you trying to reassure him or reassure yourself?

His hold around you tightens. “Sometimes I think you’re the opposite,” he says, his voice low, rumbling in his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I wonder if you know how much power and strength you hold over me.” His nose follows the curve of your soft jawline. “It isn’t just your beauty that makes my heart beat like this.”

Steve unwraps your hand from where it caresses the fine, sun-sprite hairs that meet his neck, and he presses your palm against the warmth of his chest. Underneath it, you can feel his pulse, jumping like it's attuned to you.

“This is what you do to me,” he murmurs against your ear, making you shiver despite his heated breath. “You’re the greatest work of art I never made. The kind that belongs in a museum.”

You laugh, but it’s mean, and you never meant to be mean. The guilt sets in when Steve’s eyes, his gorgeous baby blue eyes, are awash in a steely hurt as he searches your face, looking for something that might not be there.

“I’m sorry,” you force yourself to say. “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“You don’t believe me?”

If Steve is the sun, you’re just existing in his shadow, basking in all the good that he projects and never knowing what to give in return.

Instead of answering, you cup his face in your hands and run your thumbs over his cheekbones, sliding your fingers down his neck like trickling water, then smoothing out the stress, the stiffness, in his shoulders. He loves it when you do this—relaxes into your touch like a big cat, warm and pliant from the light of day.

But he doesn’t relax this time. Steve stares down at you, his gaze faraway, like he’s looking through you. Like he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking.

You hope he never can.

The arm slung around your waist begins to guide you toward the bedroom, and you let him, because if there’s one thing in this life you trust with everything, it’s Steve. Not because he’s Captain America, not because he’s a superhero whose job description is to save the world, and not because he might love you the way you love him. You trust Steve because he’s Steve, he’s safe and secure and soft, and there’s never been a moment where he’s given you a reason to doubt him.

But those words—you’re the greatest work of art I never made—can’t be real.

Steve moves with you until you’re standing in front of the floor-length mirror hanging on your wall, the one he installed for you when he got tired of seeing it balancing precariously on the floor where you left it, and it steals your breath for a moment. To see him standing behind you, nearly a foot taller than you, his body wide and broad and warm and so goddamn beautiful, you think that if a year is all you’ll ever have with him, to touch him, to see him like this, then you’re the luckiest girl alive.

If Steve isn’t the sun, then he’s its God. Helios, you might call him in your dreams where he brightens the night until you feel alive, I love you and your sun.

“What do you see?” he asks you, his hands clutching your waist, holding you in place.

“The most beautiful thing in the galaxy,” you tell him. “The man I love more than anything.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Me too,” he says. “You’re like the goddamn sun, sweetheart.”

But it makes you frown, and he notices it in the mirror’s reflection. “You’re the sun,” you say, spinning around to face him, but Steve’s hands lock around your body and he stills you, and once again you’re staring at his eyes through the mirror.

“Do you ever see how beautiful you are?” he asks.

No. He hides his face in your neck and you’re forced to stare at yourself now instead of him.

“Do you know how much light you bring into my life? How cold I feel until you’re in my arms?”

No. You think about the statue, the body of a woman you wish you were the size of.

“Do you know how much I need you to exist?”

No. Steve’s arms wrap around your soft middle and you wonder what he would look like holding a woman who takes up less space, who lets his brilliance shine without weighing him down.

When he looks back up at you, in the mirror, your face is twisted into something ugly. Steve, you suppose, will want to make art out of it, to smooth away the pucker in your lips and the draw of your brows, the way your forehead wrinkles with contempt.

He releases you, stepping away, feet taking him toward his dresser. You are frozen in front of the mirror, eyes roaming over your body, highlighting every insecurity you’ve had since you were young, the ones you always said you’d grow out of.

If Steve isn’t the sun, then you can’t be the moon—you’re just an asteroid floating around in space, lost, dying, crumbling. People don’t look at you and assign a value like beauty to you.

You almost don’t notice when Steve is behind you again, his arms wrapping around you, something colorful in his hands. He places it against your body, cupping it in his arms like a treasure. A gasp leaves your mouth.

It’s a sculpture, like the one he made for Natasha, but it’s different. The breasts are heavy, hanging lower and a little uneven, still beautiful. The stomach isn’t flat but round and the way he’s carved it makes it look soft to touch, bouncy, despite the knowledge that it’s clay. The hips and shoulders are wider, more familiar, and he’s painted it in shades of blue that match his eyes, match the sky right as the sun is setting and night is moving in, when the moon is coming alive.

But what catches your eye more than anything are the golden stripes of shimmering paint that make up the stretch marks—dangerously similar to the ones that decorate your own body—and how they catch in the light.

It’s rapturously gorgeous.

“You made this?” Your voice is breathy when you ask, your hands trembling, reaching out to touch this beautiful statue, but you just can’t bring yourself to.

Steve hums in agreement. “It’s why Natasha wanted her own.”

“Who—” You swallow thickly. “Who did you make this for?”

If Steve is the sun, you would burn up in his atmosphere, just for a taste of his solar flare when he looks at you the way he is right now, loving and kind and still hungry, like he’ll never get enough of you.

He kisses the skin behind your ear, taking one of your hands in your own to press the sculpture into your grasp. Gently, he folds your fingers over it so you can feel the delicate curves of his art against your skin.

“Can’t you tell?” he asks, his lips drawing a line of fire from your neck to the top of your shoulder. “It’s you, sweetheart.”

No—how could you? This sculpture can’t be you. It’s too beautiful to be you. Even with all its flaws, all the things that should point out that make it less than perfect, it’s art. Steve is an artist. He makes art out of ugly things. He made art out of you, and it’s so fucking stunning, you wonder if maybe his hands could do that to you. Could his hands sculpt your body, your living body, into something better than it is now if you let him touch you enough? Are his hands warm enough with the light of the sun to melt all your imperfections away in the same method he uses to shape clay?

“You made me look so beautiful,” you say, a sob choking your words.

“No,” he says. “I could never make anything as beautiful as you.”

He sweeps you into his arms and kisses you sweetly, then, the sculpture he’s made of you the only thing keeping your bodies apart from one another. You cling to it like you’re afraid to lose it, like if your hands aren’t on it, maybe it will disappear and it’ll have been a dream, the fact that Steve’s made you into art. You’re glad you aren’t art, though. Because if you were art, put up in a museum where he says you belong, then Steve wouldn’t be allowed to touch you so generously, so warmly, so perfectly.

And you let him touch you, hoping to memorize the way he molds your wide hips, the dip of your waist, the curve of your shoulder, as if he is sculpting you all over again.

If Steve isn’t the sun, then he is your Helios, your god, your everything. And if he is your Helios, then perhaps you are the sun after all.

Taglist: @melancholic-metanoia

[lubdubsworld]

City Lights . ( Namjoon x OC)

Pairing : OC x Kim Namjoon.

Genre : Angst. Romance.

Rating 18 + 

Word Count : 2900

Warnings :  Mature Themes , Explicit Sexual Content . Slow burn. Like slower than a snail.

Summary :

Widowed and destitute, Son Yang Mi leaves the comfort of her small , secluded  fishing village and travels to the intimidating city of Seoul with her young son. She has a plan, one that involves finding a job, getting her son into a good school and building a life for herself.

Now, three years later she has a job , working as a live in house keeper for the Kim family, specifically for the son,  Kim Namjoon, a famous rapper and producer. 

Its a job that puts a roof over her head and she’ll do anything to keep it. 

But fate has other plans.

Chapter 1 ~

Akogare (ah-koh-ga-reh)Often translated directly as a sort of frustrated “yearning”, “desire”, or “longing” .

Seoul in summer was a sight to behold. I blinked back against the bright sunlight, staring out into the stunning skyline of the city as the sun rose over it , and although it was just a little past seven in the morning, the air was warm and invigorating. The mid July sun shone down with no mercy, and there was no trace of the rain that had lashed city just the previous night.

It had been three whole years but the relief that came from breathing fresh air, untainted by the damp musk of fishing trowels and sweaty men, was still unrivalled.

I shook off the feather duster in my hand, moving to carefully clean the wicker woven chairs on the artificial lawn in the balcony. Dusting the entire condo down was a mind numbing exercise in patience, so i tried to get it out of the way, early in the morning when my son was still asleep.

At six years old, Junsu was a bright , happy child. Summer vacation meant days sleeping in and evenings spent frolicking with the other kids in the building and he was content with being alone in our small shared room, reading or playing with his toys while I went about the day’s work.

I glanced at the clock, grimacing.

It was almost eight . And although Mr. Kim wasn’t due back home for another twelve hours, I felt a little jittery and nervous.

Kim Namjoon , renowned rapper, producer, writer , poet and what not. The apartment was his but he was usually on tour, traveling all over the world to promote his book and to perform in sold out stadiums. For an A list celebrity, he was surprisingly humble.

For the past three years, him and his model fiancée  Lee Mina had spent a total of maybe seven months in the condo. They were a sweet couple, or so I’d always thought , a bit formal with each other but clearly in love . Mr. Kim was a kind, soft spoken young man and I’d never heard him raise his voice unless he was in the company of his very dear friends.

Just a little over a week ago , both of them  had left Korea for the States , the tabloids screaming about a luxurious destination wedding in the Caribbean and I had been asked to take a few weeks off . The newly weds wouldn’t be back for quite a while and they would let me know when I had to come back to the condo.

I’d been toying with the idea of visiting my in laws in Gwangyog, maybe even dropping by to see some old friends there but yesterday , Mr. Kim’s mother had given me a call letting me know her son was coming home. 

[ 

The conversation went something like this :

Yang Mi, I hope you haven’t left yet?

No, Ma'am, I haven’t.

Joon-ah is going to be back tomorrow.

Oh, is Ms Lee arriving as well?

No, Just him He’s going to be alone.

Yes, Ma'am.

Please don’t mention anything about Mina or the wedding.

No ma'am of course not.

I’ll drop by later . Cook him something warm and filling. And make sure the house is cleaned well.

Yes, Ma’ am.

]

And that was that.

~~~~~~

It took the better part of the day to finish cleaning and setting up the house . I washed the window slats, changed the sheets, arranged the books that had been left scattered all over his bedroom. The walk-in closet was littered with a bunch of his clothes and I made sure his gym bag was stocked with fresh towels, spare clothes and his favorite head and wrist bands. 

For someone so careful and calculated, he was really quite a messy man. 

i did his laundry, making sure he had ample clothes at least for another two weeks, creasing the handkerchiefs and carefully removing lint from his jackets. 

I also carefully sorted out the feminine clothing from the laundry and from the cupboard, folding them neatly and placing them in the lowest shelf of the closet, where he wouldn’t find them. It wasn’t hard, hiding traces of his fiancee from the condo, because it had never really been her home. other than a few spare pieces of underwear and a couple of t shirts and skirts, there weren’t many articles of clothing belonging to Ms. Lee. 

But I still got rid of the bobby pins and hair ties, the spare lip gloss and mascara.

Junsu spent the entire day in our room, reading and drawing, only venturing out every few hours to grab a snack. I left him with his drawing tab ( a gift from Mr. Kim for his 5th birthday )  and his favorite book, asking the security guard at the end of the hallway to keep an eye on the door, while i went out to buy groceries.

Lots of meat, no sea food, healthy snacks and high protein fiber bars. I stocked up on sauces and bought a fresh batch of eggs, oranges and grapes . Mrs. Kim had sent a large amount of kimchi a few weeks ago and that was still in the pantry.

i stopped for a second, staring around at the almost deserted store. Most of the other housekeepers shopped at the bigger, more exclusive store on the other side of the residential complex. But Mr. Kim had a very selective palette, which meant that I had to be very particular about the brands i bought.

When i came back home at around six, Junsu was on the floor in the living space and i felt my heart jump in panic.

“Baby!! I’ve told you not to come out here when I’m not home!” I protested bleakly and he pouted.

“I need to show you my gift for Mr. Kim!!” He said softly. I smiled moving to put away the groceries and glancing at the clock. It was a little past six. I had to call Yungyu.

“Did you draw him something ? “ I asked curiously, checking to see if the beer shelf was stocked. probably should have done that before going out for the groceries, I thought regretfully.

“Yeah! Look!!” Junsu held his tab out and my heart dropped.

For a six year old, Junsu drew very well. And there was really no mistaking the very obvious wedding scene on the screen.

Oh, Good God.

“ That looks amazing honey.” I said gently. “ But, I heard that Ms Lee isn’t coming over this time..”

Junsu frowned.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m not sure. But remember how we spoke about saying the right things? When something upsets someone, we do not bring it up.” I reminded him gently. My son hesitated but nodded.

“Okay. I’m sorry. “ He said softly.

“No baby, its not your fault. It’s just that we want Mr. Kim to be happy right? We don’t wanna upset him...”

He smiled at that.

“When he’s happy, his dimples come out.” He said with a giggle. I laughed.

“yes they do... So let’s try and get those dimples out as often as we can alright? Why don’t you show him that picture you drew of yeontan the other day? He’ll really like that....”

“Okay...but i need to go color it!” Junsu yelled, already running back into our room. I watched him go before reaching for the phone and dialing, Yungyu, the chauffeur.

“Are you on the way here? ” i said briskly.

“Just starting from home...” Yungyu muttered, “ I’m supposed to be on vacation now! Why is he coming back so soon?” 

“Just hurry up !! We can’t keep him waiting!!” I said sharply, before hanging up. 

I made a quick check of all the rooms, filling up water bottles for his gym routine in the morning and stashing them in the fridge before moving to get dinner started. 

i set the water on boil for the stew, before moving to peel cucumbers for the salad. I chopped the cucumber , along with some fresh cherry tomatoes . I watched the water boil, thinly slicing an onion and adding it to the bowl as well. The dressing was pretty simple,  soy sauce, rice vinegar, honey and sesame oil . I sprinkled some sesame seeds on the bowl, used the salad tongs to give the whole thing a nice toss and set it aside. 

I braised the chicken first , peeling and chopping potatoes and carrots to add to the stew . In a few minutes, the rich smell of lightly spiced chicken and garlic and perilla  leaves began filling the kitchen and I turned on the rice cooker as well. 

The door bell rang at six forty and i opened the door to reveal Yungyu. 

I grabbed the keys to the Palisade, handing them over to him.

“Did you hear?” He whispered urgently.

I frowned.

“What?”

“They say Mr. Kim called off the wedding!” He whispered, wide eyed. 

I glared at him.

“Who told you that?” i demanded...

“Seojoon from the gate said-”

“Why don’t you ask Seojoon from the gate to mind his own damn business?” I snapped. 

Yungyu looked suitably chastised. i felt a little bad. Yungyu was still young and curiosity was hardly a sin. 

“His flight lands at eight exactly. Hurry okay?” I said with a smile, ruffling his hair.

He brightened, peering over my shoulder into the house.

“Where’s the little one?” He asked curiously.

“ Painting something for Mr. Kim... Go ahead, hurry up.” I shooed him away, locking the door behind him. I fixed a plate of food for Junsu and sent him to eat, before moving to check on the stew. +

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~` 

By the time eight thirty rolled around I had the table set and ready. I washed my face quickly in the small bath attached to our room , making sure I was dressed well. Junsu wasn’t allowed in the main house unless Mr. Kim specifically asked for him and my son usually stayed in. 

Junsu and I stayed in a bedroom , not large by any means but big enough for a queen sized bed, a table and chair for Junsu and small dresser where I kept a comb and a tube of night cream. I stared at my face, licking my lips as I smoothed my hair out. 

I glanced at the bed. 

Junsu was asleep , having dozed off while coloring his picture and I carefully extracted the tab from under his fingers, moving him around to lay on the soft pillows. I tucked him in gently, brushing the hair off his face. 

“In peace , I will lie down to sleep, for You alone will let me rest in safety.” I whispered gently against his forehead, kissing the soft skin. I felt my lips wobble , a debilitating wave of affection flooding me as the sweet scent of my baby, filled my senses.

 I would die for you, I thought fiercely, kissing him again. 

The sound of the front door opening made me jump. 

Swearing, i smoothed the fabric of my skirt, running to the kitchen. 

“Thank you for picking me up Yungyu, I’m sorry you had to cut short on your vacation.” Mr. Kim’s deep voice filled the hallway and I quickly grabbed a glass, filling it with water and placing it on the dinner tray.

“Not a problem, Sir. “ Yungyu’s cheerful voice responded.

“How are you going home?” Mr. Kim asked. 

“I’ll take the bus.”

A pause and then, 

“Here’s some cash. Get a cab.” 

I could hear the relief in Yungyu’s voice as he let out a , “ Thank you sir.” 

I fixed his plate carefully, the bowl of rice, the bowl of chicken stew, and the salad neatly arranged next to the napkin and the chopsticks. I heard him move across the condo, the sound of his suitcases as he wrestled them towards his bedroom and I frowned. Yungyu should’ve have brought those in for him. 

I finished reheating all of the food and carefully carried the dinner tray to the bedroom. 

Mr. Kim’s bedroom was right at the end of the hallway and the door was open. The full length mirror on the opposite wall showed him sitting on the small couch in his room, legs spread and elbows resting on his knees as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

I raised my hand, ready to knock on the wood. 

“Fuck!” He shouted, kicking out at the coffee table with enough force to send the furniture skidding half way across the room. 

I froze in the hallways stunned. 

“You’re such a fucking fool , Namjoon !!” He muttered angrily and I swallowed, turning on my heel and quickly walking back to the kitchen. 

Maybe I ought to wait till he asked for dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t ask for dinner. 

I stayed sitting on the floor of the kitchen, waiting and lightly dozing as I heard him talk to his parents on the phone. I heard him open the liquor cabinet in his room, the sound of ice sloshing against glass, the sound of whiskey being poured carefully and i sighed. 

I had to get to bed. It was already a little past eleven. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sometime in the night, I woke up sweating.... 

Wondering what woke me up, I blinked groggily, glancing at Junsu. He was still sound asleep. 

Sighing, I climbed out of the bed, carefully making my way to Mr. Kim’s room, peering in carefully. 

He was asleep on the sofa.

I stared at the way his long legs stretched over the armrest, his lean hips twisted to accommodate his broad shoulders on the couch and I winced. He was definitely going to regret that in the morning. 

I stared at the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table and sighed, moving to take off his shoes carefully. He didn’t stir. 

I grabbed a pillow from the bed, carefully lifting his head and slipping it under. I placed a comforter over his shoulders, pulling it down to cover his legs. 

Force of habit almost made me brush his hair off his forehead but I stopped myself. 

The clock on the wall read three fifty am. God, I was going to feel terrible tomorrow. I carefully tip toed out, shutting the door behind me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I picked the comforter from the floor, carefully folding it and placing it on the bed, before grabbing the empty bottle of whiskey and glass . i could hear the shower running. The curtains were still drawn in and I tugged on the strings to get them to open. Sunlight spilled in through the floor length windows. The bed wasn’t slept in, so I opened the closet to grab a couple of towels, laying them on the bed for him. 

The bathroom door opened and i quickly straightened, wanting to race out of the room but it was too late. Thankfully he was dressed,  a pair of loose sweats and a loose t shirt . He was running a towel through his hair and his face brightened at the sight of me. 

“Yang Mi! You’re here....” He said cheerfully. 

“Good morning sir.” I said softly, offering him a small smile. 

He smiled brightly, hair damp and dimples deep. The white t shirt he had on was almost fully soaked through and he shook his head, sending stray water droplets all over the place, a few landing on my cheeks. 

“I didn’t see you last night...” He said casually, moving to drop the wet towel in the hamper, grabbing one of the fresh ones I’d laid on the bed. 

“I thought you would like your privacy sir, you looked exhausted.” 

He smiled.

“ Thank you for the blanket and the pillow by the way. And the shoes.” 

I bowed quickly.

“I’ll get your breakfast done, sir.” I bowed again before quickly getting out. 

I moved to the kitchen grabbing the oranges I’d got the previous day . Mr. Kim wasn’t fond of traditional korean dishes in the morning. He preferred freshly squeezed juice and toast, sometimes with an omelet perhaps. 

I fixed his breakfast quickly, setting it all in the tray . He was still moving around in the bedroom and I heard him drag his worktable to the windows, which meant he was going to stay in the bedroom. 

Pouring his coffee into a cup, I carefully picked up the breakfast tray , moving to his room slowly. 

I used my foot to knock on the door.

After a pause of a few seconds, 

“Come in Yang Mi!”

I carefully moved to the small table in front of the couch, placing the tray right in front of him. The scent of his body wash, green apple and strawberries, hit me hard. 

“Where’s Junsu?” He asked casually.

“Still asleep sir. It’s Summer so school’s out.” I smiled, grabbing his phone from the table to make space for his tray. 

The phone buzzed just as I was about to place it back down and I blinked.

 Mina calling.......

 I swallowed, not sure what to do, placing the phone down quickly.

“Uh..you have ...” I waved vaguely at the device before bowing again and moving back. 

“close the door on your way out, Yang Mi...” He said gently and I quickly obeyed. 

I moved to the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee for myself. I stayed leaning over the counter and even through the locked door, I could hear him . 

“Just don’t call me Mina...i don’t want to talk about this!!!” 

I swallowed, glancing out of the window again. It was a bright, clear morning. 

A second later, the door to his bedroom slammed open and he stormed out. I watched him from my spot in the kitchen, his fists clenched as he rushed out to the front door.

The door shut behind him and I exhaled. 

Once I as done with my coffee, I moved to his room to clear the breakfast tray. His phone was still on the table.

It began ringing again just as I left the room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mrs. Kim.” i said respectfully, bowing . She gave me a short smile.

“Where’s Namjoon? I’ve been calling him for the past hour.” She pushed past me into the house and I bit my lips.

“He went out about an hour ago. He left his phone behind.” I explained.

She stopped, sighing. 

“Fine, I’ll wait for him. “ She moved to sit on the couch, glancing around the room. 

“Should I get you something ma'am?” I asked softly and she smiled.

“Get me a glass of lemonade, Yangmi.” She said brusquely and i nodded, running to the kitchen. 

“Did Mina come over?” She called out as I got the lemons out of the cooler.

“No ma'am.” i replied.

“Did she call?” 

  I remembered the phone ringing, how upset it had made Namjoon, how he had stormed out.

“I don’t know ma'am!” I said softly. 

She nodded.

“Okay. You can leave.” She said quietly. i bowed and went back into the kitchen. 

I peered out of the window as I fixed her a glass , and my eyes fell on a familiar figure, coming back in through the front gate. Even from this distance there was no mistaking the long legs and messy blonde hair. 

I bit my lips, mind racing.

 Mrs Kim and her son had a volatile relationship, to say the least. 

And something told me that Mr. Kim was probably not in the right frame of mind to argue with his mother, now. The man was upset but apparently, neither his mother nor his ex fiancée understood that. instead of giving him space they were hounding him. 

I hesitated for a second  before making a quick decision. 

I grabbed the tray with her lemonade and moved to her quickly.

“Thank you.” She said sharply. “ Turn on the Air Conditioner for me, will you?” 

I fumbled with the remote, grabbing his phone from the table , turning it on before moving to the front door and rushing out. 

I almost ran into him as he came out of the elevator , and i jerked back stumbling a bit to stop myself from crashing into his chest. He let out a , ‘ Whoa, “  his hands reaching out to grip my elbows. 

“Careful. What’s wrong?” He asked gently and I swallowed.

“Your mother’s here.” I said quickly, “ Sir.” 

“Oh, fuck.” He groaned. I swallowed.

“You can leave.” I blurted out. “It’s Tuesday. She has her charity work meeting at ten. Its almost nine. She won’t stay long....” 

His eyes met mine, lips parting in surprise. 

“I really can’t meet her now.” He said apologetically.

I nodded.

“Of course, I understand , sir. Just be back in an hour , she’ll be go-”

The elevator buzzed , the doors nearly closing over my shoulders and I flinched. He swore and stuck his arm out to keep it open. 

I stared at him before holding his phone out.

“Here you go sir. “ 

He chuckled taking it from me and shaking his head.

“i feel like a kid, sneaking away from my mom.” His eyes reached mine, twinkling, “ Who would’ve thought the quiet, timid Yang Mi would be my partner in crime. “ 

I didn’t reply, just smiled. 

And then he hesitated. “ Is Junsu awake?”

I blinked.

“Uh...yes sir,...he’s playing in the park downstairs with the other kids.”

“Great... Would you mind if i take him out for ice cream?”

I stared at him. 

“Oh..uh...of course not. Sure.. I mean.. he’ll love that... Sir. Thank you.. You don’t have to -”

“Consider it thank you for helping me with my mother.” He smiled again and i found myself staring at his dimples again. i swallowed. 

“in that case, he loves butter scotch.” I smiled. 

The dimples appeared and i bit my lips. 

“Thank you Yang Mi.” He said slowly. 

“Yes, Sir.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : Finally a hyungline fic !!! ugh... I’ve been wanting to write a Namjoon fic for ages and I really hope you guys will like this one :’( Feedback is much appreciated. 

[yuzukult]

from home 05 || jjk & reader

title: from home  pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in later chapters word count: 7.5k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: i was really excited to write this chapter and i still couldn’t get myself to make it longer... :( i suck...

please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera @strugglingartistno16-2 @taestannie @teresaisla @drumsofheaven @vampgguk @christiandosworld @madjammil @jungkookieyoongs @bananagguknim @shuttheelleup​ @yobroitsjayden​

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Stating that Jungkook was 'on edge' is an understatement.

His palms and armpits were sweaty from the moment he arrived at your apartment to grab you before going to meet your parents, despite the amount of layers of deodorant he has on. He's never had a real relationship before, let alone met any girl's parents, and he can't help but feel something churning in his gut. "Good to go?" You ask, and he merely nods, suddenly bashful because he feels like he is definitely not ‘good to go.’ "Alright, let's head out."

The ride on the bus to your family home is only 30 minutes away, and truthfully, he has never ridden on one before. Walking to yours, Hoseok, and his home were less than 15 minutes, the thought of taking the bus being the absolute last thing on his mind. 

Jungkook isn't exactly sure how he feels about the bus. The constant starting and stopping makes him nauseous; then the unsteadiness of having to hold the bars and handles throughout the vehicle all around seems unsafe. When there's an available seat, you sense his fear, nudging him cautiously, gesturing him to take the seat. "Sit," and granting he wants to offer it to you instead, Jungkook complies to the demand because he swears he's going to vomit. 

After getting off the public transportation that he vows to never take again, you guide Jungkook through a narrow road, he notices the neighborhood here was more concentrated than the ones in Busan; tightly knitted with homes that stacked on top of one another, side to side, and back to back. People hung their clothes on lines that stretch from apartment to apartment, piles of boxes stored on balconies, and plants resting on the borders with owners sitting idle on their porches, fixated on their hobby of people watching. 

Jungkook is known to be popular to the public, from magazines, gossip TV channels, social media posts, and the types continue on to the point that you couldn’t name them all on your own ten fingers. People don't often recognize him on the streets anymore because he's unrecognizable in regular everyday clothes but today, he learns that you're the celebrity.

The people in their homes say their greetings, making comments here and there as you entertain them with a response back, laughter dispersing in the air. There's an old lady that lounges on the steps of her home, a smile stretched so wide that her eyes disappear, all with a blanket laying across her lap, knitting away. "I haven't seen you around, I assume your mother is having a dinner party for the kids? I see you brought a friend!"

"Something along those lines," you retort indirectly, nose snug into your scarf. "You're not staying indoors? It's cold out."

"My husband keeps the heater on the home too high, I sweat like I'm going through menopause like I’m forty all over again, so I much rather be outside here. Anyways, I don't want to hold you up too long, but please come by for Christmas, I do have a sweater I knitted for you as well!"

Then there's a grandfather, another grandmother, and a couple who seems just a bit older than the two of you, and the list just goes on. Despite the whisper exchanges at the supermarket mentioning that you're intimidating, mean, and scary, it's obvious that you aren't or else you wouldn't be swooning the hearts of these strangers.

But there will always be an exception. Especially when the two of you run into a girl who looks close in age, hair dyed blonde with her lips painted fusion red. He could tell how curvy she was with how tight the winter coat hugs her frame, swaying her hips toward your direction as she eyes you both suspicious. "I see our town loser brought a friend."

"Mm," You nod, attempting your best not to amuse her, or else you’d be pouncing on her back by now. "Jungkook, this is Somin. A classmate of mine when I was in grade school." He bows in politeness, zipping up his jacket further while stepping closer to you. "Nice to meet you, Somin."

"Oh, no!" She gasps, a hand on her chest in exaggeration, completely flabbergasted by something he said. "Don't call me that. I go by Bella, since... you know, I am an American now. Being an American deserves the right name."

"You got your citizenship there?"

"No, but, I spent enough time there to know." She grins, shrugging her shoulders. Spent enough time there—you want to call out on her bullshit yet again, knowing she barely spent a month there before dropping out of school and coming back, but it'd be humiliating to mention that with Jungkook standing by, a stranger that she had only met a mere few seconds ago. "You said Jungkook... Are you perhaps, Jeon Jungkook of the Jeon Corporation?"

You furrow your brows. "How do you even know that?"

"Well, daddy invests in their stocks, of course." Fluttering her lashes, she manages to make her presence known to Jungkook as she moves in his direction. "And I saw his pretty little face in a magazine and couldn't help but admire."

Possessively, your hand slips into his pocket, intertwining your fingers together, causing warmth to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "Well, great to see you, Somin. Jungkook and I have dinner plans with my parents."

"Whoa, wait, dinner plans?" Somin nearly exclaims, shifting aside to block your way. "Also, it's Bella, get that straight, will you? And why is Jeon Jungkook with you anyway?"

"We're dating," Jungkook interjects, clearing his throat. The words are still unfamiliar on his tongue yet he loves to flaunt them anyway. "I'm her boyfriend." He adds, tightening the grip on your hand as if Somin could see it. Her mouth drops open, unable to grasp onto the fact that you were able to land on a hunk like him. If only she knew how much knowledge of basic life skills he didn't have... actually, she might still have the same perspective. "There's no way. This is fake, right? You realize how rude she is, don't you?"

"No, it’s not fake, and well, kind of," Jungkook admits, scrunching up his nose at the thought. "But it's endearing. Wouldn't be as exciting if she wasn't always trying to banter with me, so I don't think I'd have it any other way. People mistake it for her honesty. I love a woman who can be true to herself and genuine with her words."

Just then, your mother peeks out of the front door of your childhood home, waving her arm eagerly, calling out your name. "Well, that's our cue. Thanks, Somin, for congratulating us on our new relationship. Hope you find someone yourself soon!"

"What—" Somin barely finishes her sentence before you're zooming past her, tugging Jungkook along. 

"I didn't know you had so many enemies," Jungkook says jokingly, a playful smile upon his lips. You roll your eyes before squinting them at him, squeezing his hand hard as he winces. "Now you know how little I care for them, watch out because you might become one."

Upon entering the home, Jungkook observes too many things at once. Your mother is in the kitchen, frantically maneuvering through the junk that your family has hoarded over the years, searching for whatever it is she needs for the task at hand. Your father sits comfortably on the couch, feet on the coffee table with a controller in hand, dozing off with a combination of quiet and loud snores escaping from him. As a family home, Jungkook believes it's small considering that you had mentioned previously that you had two other siblings. To think that your parents are still living in the same home they grew up in is amazing to him, knowing that his parents moved at least five times within his youth while you only stayed in one home.

"Uh, hello," He greets your mom, bowing as she places her hands onto his shoulders, shaking him in excitement. She looks almost like a replica of you, except older and much brighter. "You must be Jungkook! It's so great to meet you, I'm so happy that my daughter found someone. She's known to be a bit... cold, so knowing that you were able to warm her up means that you're definitely special!"

"You make me sound like a bad guy." You hiss before your little sister walks in, in the midst of tying her hair up into a ponytail. She resembled your mother than you did, a delighted expression that matched exactly the one your mother had on. "That's because you are, and any guy who dates you seem to run away once they find out." She halts in her steps when she notices Jungkook's face. "Oh my god, you're that model."

"Model?" Your mother reiterates, glancing back at Jungkook and then your sister. "Yeah, yeah, that model in the new edition of Elle. He was in it—he's listed as one of the 10 most desirable men under 30. No flipping way, how'd you even get him to even date you?" She pauses before pointing at Jungkook with a suspicious look on her face as his eyes widened. "Unless... you need her for something. What's she offering? It can't be her body, she's not sexy... is it her brains? You heard about her—"

"Miyoung." Your mother says sternly, interrupting your sister. "Just because Jungkook is a model, it doesn't mean that your sister is incapable of being loved by a man like that."

"Actually—"

"Oh, hey. You must be the boyfriend." A taller male enters the room, his hair messy and lids hooded from waking up barely minutes before. He's still in his pajamas, a loose grey shirt and red checkered pants, but from the outline of his shirt, Jungkook could tell this guy was built. "I'm Daehyun, also known as their big brother. It's nice to meet you." Jungkook is in awe, hand extending to shake with Daehyun's. He knows he's straight, but even as a straight guy he knows a pretty man when he sees one. 

Jungkook was starting to pick up as to why your exterior was so tough. With a younger sister who didn't have a filter to an incredibly handsome older brother, of course as the middle child you had to protect yourself. "Uh, yeah. And that's my little sister, Miyoung, who basically just attacked me for all of my insecurities within a minute. Thanks, kiddo."

"No problem, Unnie." She grins cheekily, seated on the high stool. "Did mom tell you I was back home from college for the weekend? That's why you're here?"

"Something like that," you respond ominously, hanging up your jacket along with Jungkook’s. Despite her preceding interrogation, she’s chewing on her bottom lip skittishly. "More like she forced me to come. Well, she didn't say anything yet but I felt a guilt trip coming so I just decided that I would come instead."

"Typical," Daehyun scoffs, leaning against the wall beside Miyoung. He sneaks a glimpse into the kitchen where your mother secretly runs back into, resuming in her work. "She's been desperate to get us all back together since the two of you moved out. Remind me again why I'm the only one stuck here?"

"Because you can't find a job." Miyoung and you remind him in unison and he frowns. The interaction between the three of you is crystal clear evidence that you guys are related. "Well, geez, hurt a guy, why don't you? See what I have to deal with, Jungkook?"

With some time left until dinner, the four of you crowd at your small dining table, conversing away about updates in your lives. Miyoung is in University an hour away from home, residing there for an easier commute, and Daehyun stays at home with an ambition to find a job that fits his degree. Daehyun still dates from time to time but he admits that he can’t tend to his needs because well, his mother is a room away, and oddly enough, albeit Miyoung babbles on about other things, she’s silent about her love life. Neither Miyoung and Daehyun are able to hold a steady job, he observes, and he’s starting to pick up as to why you’re so adamant about keeping both of yours. Jungkook learns that everything seems to gravitate toward one of the two phrases from your siblings when it comes to finances and they are: “Mom can handle it,” or “I’m going to let Dad do it so I don’t have to.”

From what Jungkook can gather, your siblings seemed to have different outlooks on life compared to you—they still depended on their parents whilst you were already hunting for opportunities of your own before Miyoung’s age so you didn’t have to ask for money.

“Are you still upset with me about what happened a year ago?” Miyoung finally asks you, chewing on her nails nervously. It seems to be something she’s been holding back from you, Jungkook takes a note of the way her eyes were filled with worry. “Of course,” You reply nonchalantly, leaning back against your seat with your arms crossed. “How could I not be? But you’re my sister, so I can’t actually be mad at you.”

Miyoung begins to tear up— glassy gaze with her bottom lip quivering, in spite of the previous aggressiveness she presented when you first entered the house. Before Miyoung could get another word in, your mom comes in with a guilty expression on her face. She calls your name faintly, a pout upon her lips. “Can you and Jungkook go out and grab me a couple things before dinner?”

Jungkook can’t get the question that Miyoung brings up out of his mind. In the middle of an aisle at another one of his mother’s grocery stores, your lips are pursed in thought at which brand of soy sauce would your mom like more. 

“What was Miyoung going on about?” He eventually asks, but he holds his breath in case you decide to sock him for querying you about something so personal. Strangely enough, you open up. “Miyoung fell in love with my ex. He told me they didn’t do anything but he was in love with her, so we broke up. I thought I was going to settle with him but— guess not.”

Jungkook’s eyes expand like a deer in headlights. “Your little sister is dating your ex-boyfriend? And they were in love with each other during your relationship? I would’ve given her an uppercut if I were you— are you seriously still buying the banana milk she asked for?” He’s trailing behind you as you lead him toward the drinks; your face brightening from the lights from the fridges. How could someone who lost their boyfriend to their little sister seem so put together in the first place? Was this was Hoseok was talking about that your men streak was horrendous? 

“Because she’s my little sister. At the end of the day, I want her to be happy.” Throwing a pack into the cart, Jungkook continues to push it while following you, mind still foggy and angry about the situation. Here you were, with a guy who you’d fallen in love with to the point of considering settling down, then finding out he’s been in love with your sister... he feels like this is all a fever dream and isn’t an ounce real. “You’re fucking with me right?”

You look at him with perplexity. “What do you mean?”

“This sounds crazy. You’re serious? Miyoung stole a guy from you and you’re just going to be the bigger person here and not do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do? Throw a tantrum? Get in the way of their relationship that is obviously blossoming in a good way?”

Jungkook pauses. Was this what it was like in another family? Or at least yours?

In comparison, he perceives that within his family, outbursts were everything. Getting attention and being recognized for any wrongdoing was immensely important— he knew that if he stole a girl away from one of his brothers, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. His mother, including father, would never forget it. The chattering would be heard through the grapevine amongst the housemaids, drivers, and employees of the company. Even news media outlets would dabble a bit into the family drama, adding fuel to the fire. He could never react the way you did, at least, he hopes he would, but realistically speaking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Yet, with you, it seemed simple enough. Sure, your heart was broken, but how were you going to be with someone who didn’t love you back?

“If you love someone, you let them go.” You say calmly when Jungkook doesn’t respond back. “Keeping them around for your benefit doesn’t solve anything. If he wasn’t truly happy with me, I want him to be happier with someone else. And if that person so happens to be with Miyoung, what am I supposed to do?”

“But... you’re not happy.” Jungkook declares with no hesitation. He recalls the time where you felt bad for him for not having the best upbringing, and he’s starting to understand the emotion that ran through you. “I’m happier now,” You concede, placing the last ingredient your mom has on the list for you to purchase, turning your back at Jungkook. “Now that I met you.”

His heart flutters at the comments, and he’s desirous about bringing up the topic of the kiss again. Jungkook resists the urge to because he could tell from the way your silhouette begins to quicken its pace toward the checkout line that you really didn’t want to talk about it. 

When the two of you arrive back at your house, your father is jolted awake. Jungkook greets himself to the elder man who only grins brighter than the sun—something Jungkook is trying to grasp where your grumpiness comes from— and instantaneously directs him to the dinner table where your mom has a ton of side dishes laid out with six place settings for you all.

During the meal, there was nothing but exchanging stories, laughter, and elation that swarms the room. If this was what family meant, Jungkook wanted it. And the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it to be with you.

Nothing is working out for Jungkook.

This week, the pipe in his apartment burst. Something about— it’s winter and when it’s cold, the water freezes within the pipe and it expands the material, causing the pipe itself to burst, he doesn’t quite understand how the whole plumbing system works, but he knows that he can’t use the water in his apartment and has to go to yours and Hoseok’s for the week for a shower until the landlord can get it fixed.

Then, one of the deli guys called off because he apparently had the runs which meant that there was a shift change— Jungkook having to cover since whomever was working that day didn’t have the skills to do it.

Skills? Jungkook curses underneath his breath when he recites that word in his head repeatedly because he cuts his finger on the meat slicer as he winces, calling out your name. Coming to his side, you pull out the first aid kit and force him to sit down on one of the stools, tying elastic on a higher point of his finger to stop the blood from gushing out. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just... I didn’t need to be put here, right? Someone else could’ve done this, I have no idea how to use a slicer.”

“I know,” You coo, wiping some of the antiseptic on the wound as he whimpers at the sudden sting. “The new shift manager panicked, she wasn’t sure what to do since the guy with the actual food preparation license is going to be here a bit late so she put you here. Not exactly the best plan.” After bandaging him up, you wash your hands underneath the faucet as Jungkook slouches in the seat.

Nothing really was going his way.

It doesn’t even stop there. Unexpectedly, his mother calls for dinner but you’re on shift, therefore you wouldn’t be able to attend. He’s tempted to down a glass of whiskey on ice, his signature drink, but when he opens the cabinet in his kitchen, he falters at the image of your face. Would you be disappointed if you saw what he was doing? And Hoseok? What would he say?

Retracting his hand back, he immediately slams the door shut at the thought of the consequences.

Dinner is the usual at the Jeon residence. Father sits at the end of the dining table, the typical beige cloth napkin spread across on his lap while in his usual work attire, glasses rested on the tip of his nose as he’s ready to dive in with a fork and spoon in hand. Mother is settled beside him, pretty as ever and calm in comparison to the hell that’s going to let loose in a couple minutes. The unknown? Who is going to blow up this time and who will they be comparing themselves to?

The answer? Jongseok and Jungkook.

Jongseok is upset to the point that he articulates every word with spit nearly projecting from his mouth to the opposite side of the room. The vein on his temple is stressed to the point that all Jungkook can think about is when it’s going to pop. “Why are you guys always babying Jungkook? You realize the kid is fucking working at a grocery store right? And not just any grocery store, either, but it’s mother’s chain.”

“Okay?” Father retorts, forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. “Isn’t he trying to prove himself worthwhile? Didn’t he find that job himself, despite it being your mother’s chain? He’s paying for his mistakes, learning basic life skills along the way, and even landed himself a serious girlfriend who can hold his hand through these tough times, since, after all, you’re the one who suggested we cut him off. If I’m being honest, I think we should give him access to our funds again.”

A scoff of incredulity comes from Jongseok. He’s a ticking time bomb in this moment; jaw twitching in frustration with the tips of his ears heated red. Even though he’s the target yet again, Jungkook is sober now, mind clear of the fog and the ability to defend himself for once. “I don’t get it. Why are you even mad at me? I’m trying here, right? You’re the one who wanted me to get cut off so desperately— and congrats, by the way, because I did. I had to find a job myself, one I’m not a fan of, and I’m barely making it by. I lost water in my apartment this week, cut my hand on one of those deli slicers, sprained my ankle on my way to work— and that’s only a portion of my bad week. Yet here I am, sitting at the dinner table with people who claim that they love me when you’re here flipping shit at father. What do you want from me?”

“For your name to be completely off the will.” Jongseok finally says what he has been actually feeling unperturbedly, not an ounce of affection in his tone with a gaze that could pierce through Jungkook. “You have nothing to offer to this family. Why we keep you around— I don’t know. Why should you have any portion of our estate and company assets when all you’re doing right now is working at the supermarket. Tell me, Jungkook, why do you deserve to be part of any of this?”

Jungkook hates how childish he’s being, but he feels like he has the right to. The flickering colorful lights and music booming through the speakers of the club are tuning out the words his brother exclaims at his parents, and the amount of alcohol passing through his lips are numbing the pain that tears through his chest. Your face pops up in his head; your laugh, your smile, and the comfort in the underlying messages through your tough love— he wishes that all of that was enough to heal the sting in his heart and fill the hollowness that his family left.

He doesn’t remember any of these people sitting at this table with him, even though they’re hollering in excitement that “Jungkook is back again!” The girl placing a hand on his chest with his arm around her shoulder isn’t you, but he knows that if it was, you’d be so displeased at how wasted he is. Honestly, this feels wrong. Nothing sits right in his stomach and when another pretty gal with her dress hiked up to the point he could see her thong from where he’s on the couch, he’s not even attracted to her. All he could think about was you, and that scowl on your face when he tells you about this night. He could hide it from you but he’s not going to lie to himself— if he wanted to improve for the better, it meant being straightforward and authentic. Jungkook came here to let loose because the events that occurred at the estate tonight was something he wants to forget.

Turning to the girl beside him, his eyes are hooded and vision is blurry when he asks, “What’s your name again?”

When her rosy plump lips open, she says her name but the voice that comes out of it is deep and oddly familiar. “Hyeri?” Why does she say it like a question, and why is her voice so low? Just then, a hand clenches the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up and he meets the proprietor of the response. Hoseok.

Hoseok drags Jungkook’s weak and frail frame out into the alleyway behind the club, fuming to the point that smoke could’ve been whistling out of his ears. “What the fuck are you doing here? And with Hyeri, of all people! I thought I told you to stop fucking around, dude! I-I thought you knew how much she means to me. Out of the people I’ve partied with— you were my actual friend.” He clenches his jaw before Jungkook could even answer, a fist tightening in his hand. “You’re such a fuck up, Jungkook. So much for a friend.” 

Then everything blacks out.

His entire body hurts. His head is pounding, he can barely open one of his eyes, and his legs are so sore he can hardly shift on the bed— on a bed? He doesn’t have a bed. He has a futon but not a bed. Startled, he attempts to sit up against the bed frame, the other eye opening to skim through the room. 

He’s never been in your bedroom before, but the pictures of you graduating college hanging on the corkboard above your desk, concert tickets, Polaroids, and holiday cards thumbtacked beside them is all the evidence he needs to know it’s yours. Jungkook wants a closer look at them, he can scarcely make out the cute little smile on your face with your family in attendance in the picture, but when he puts weight onto his arms, he groans. Seconds later, you’re bursting through the door, out of breath and worry in your eyes. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Voice hoarse, he realizes how dry his throat is and you lean over to the bedside table to hand him the glass of water you had there originally. “Don’t move, idiot. You’re actually really torn up if you didn’t feel it with all that alcohol in your system.” Inviting yourself onto the foot of the bed, Jungkook frowns after he finishes the entire glass, much more dehydrated than he initially thought. “Trust me, it’s gone now. I feel every ounce of pain. What happened? I blacked out.”

“No shit,” you retort harshly, rolling your eyes at him. “You were drunk as hell, but you didn’t black out from that. Hoseok saw you getting all cozy with Hyeri and knocked the shit out of you. What happened, Jungkook? Why were you there in the first place? Did something happen?”

Reading the expression on your face, he fears for the worse but he doesn’t see any hint of dissatisfaction anywhere. There’s no anger, no resentment, no frustration— none of that. Just curiosity smeared across, genuinely worried about his well-being. “Are you upset that you found out I was there?”

“I was mad that Hoseok called me to come grab you, at first, so kind of, yeah. But if you’re trying to figure out if I’m disappointed in you, then no, I’m not. Old habits are hard to kill, so I understand that you’re trying to cope with something. I just want to know why you were there in the first place and why were you getting all lovey dovey with Hyeri—“

“I wasn’t getting lovey-dovey with Hyeri,” Jungkook exasperates, head falling back against the headboard, closing his eyes shut, interrupting before you lead the conversation into a lecture. “She was just some girl that sat down and claimed a spot next to me. I didn’t even know she was Hoseok’s girl.” There’s a pregnant pause in his explanation, and you don’t break off his train of thought. “I... I went because Jongseok called me useless tonight, yet again. It didn’t bother me as much as it did before, you know, before I met you, and it’s probably because I wasn’t intoxicated or the fact that I’m actually trying now and he still thinks I’m useless. He wants me out of the will.”

“He’s jealous that he’s the problematic child now, not you.” Making your way up the bed, you’re seated on top of the covers, settled adjacent to Jungkook. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re way more useful than you had been initially. I usually do the dishes at my parents’ house, mostly because I’m the middle child, but you did it for me instead. I consider that a huge accomplishment from who you were before.”

As much as he hates to admit how warm and fuzzy he feels inside just from that small achievement, it’s a resemblance of the time when he was younger and won an award for being most creative in his kindergarten class. How are you able to lift up his mood so easily by just saying a few words?

“I… is Hoseok really pissed?”

“A bit,” you reply sincerely and apologetically, even though none of this had been your fault. “He’s been in love with her even before I met him. She was all he could talk about, and I guess she finally gave him a shot, only to drop him a month later. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s a gold digger from the stories he shared.”

Jungkooks face drops when his gaze meets yours. “Have you ever told him that?” You laugh—the melody that practically heals his wounds on the spot. “No, are you crazy? He’s blinded by love, Jeon, and any interference with that, I’m done for, probably cut out entirely from his life. Have you never been in love before?” 

He wants to say that he hasn’t, not until he met you, but you continue without expecting a response from him anyway. “Well, that’s just how he is. You could tell him a billion times that this girl isn’t for him but he’s never going to care about what I say until something actually happens.”

“I really care about Hoseok, though, and I want the best for him.” His doe-brown eyes are glossy, full of cherish for his friend. “And he cares for you too, Jeon. Just give him some time.” Quickly, Jungkook twists away, gaze avoiding yours as he clears his throat a couple times.

“Are you... okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He says, choking up on his own words. “Hurts a little. Hoseok is strong.”

You furrow your brows. “Hey, look at me.” He doesn’t react. “Jeon,”

“Can... you give me some space?” 

Pulling your lips into a straight line, you contemplate whether or not to listen to his words or go against him. He’s been living in a home full of people yet still feeling alone, with no one to listen to his perspective on things. Maybe it’s time you change that.

Abruptly, you swing your leg over his thighs, hands cupping his cheeks just like you did that fateful night. He swore his heart stopped beating. “What are you—” There’s tears brimming in his eyes, you realize, with some escaping, trailing down his cheek. He sniffles. “You’re crying?” You’re stating the obvious, yet somehow it comes out as a question. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

“I’ve never had a friend love me before, a friend who actually liked me for me and only wanted to spend time with me because of who I was, not who my family was. Did I really fuck up with Hoseok?” You frown, thumb rubbing against his cheek to wipe away his tears. Truthfully, you never really knew how to react when someone fell apart like this, but with Jungkook, it felt natural, the comforting. It might’ve been the sunlight peering through the windows of your room that made everything toasty, thawing out your cold heart, or it was just Jungkook. “Maybe. But I doubt he wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself though. I mean, yeah, you’re bruised all over because he really beat you up... but, I’m sure this evens things out. Plus, I’m your friend and I love you too.”

He sighs, shoulders plunging with his hands creeping up to your waist unconsciously, tenderly steering you to sit on his thighs. Swallowing at the feeling of his body flattened against yours, you’re attempting to shake your head from the dirty thoughts. Jungkook feels at ease, detecting the words come from your mouth, yet he wants more. He craves for more, especially since that night in Busan and he isn’t sure he can hold himself back anymore.

“I... What happened that night in Busan?” Lifting your weight off him, he only stops you by putting down more pressure to stop your escape. Despite being in an awful lot of pain, he still manages to overpower you in strength. “Please don’t avoid this. If Jongseok didn’t come to our door that night, it would’ve led to something more. I want to know, please, what does it mean?” Cheeks burning, you stare at the wooden headboard behind him, except Jungkook knows your next steps before you do because his finger is already on your chin, guiding your view back onto him. He doesn’t need to say anything because the look he gives you says it all, tell me.

“Okay, okay,” You cringe, the idea of talking about this makes your stomach feel queasy and want to recoil in dread. “White flag. I’ll talk.”

“Enough of this white flag nonsense, just tell me.”

Belatedly gathering enough courage, you spill. Although your heart feels like it’s jumping through hoops from suspense, you realize that you can’t hold yourself back any longer anyway. “I’m... attracted to you, alright? I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about you 100% emotionally, because I still feel like we’re on different pages here, but I feel like I kind of like you? If this goes any further, I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.”

That’s... it? Admittedly so, Jungkook was hoping for more of a confession, something along the lines of, ‘I really like you, Jungkook’ but he’d have to settle for this. This was definitely a step closer to where he wants to be. “So... you’d date me, that is. There’s still an opening somewhere.”

“I-I mean, I guess so... why?”

“Because well, I can’t stop thinking about that night, and I know that for sure that I like you.” He discloses. “And if there’s even a bit of an opening, I want a shot at it.”

You scoff. “With me? You want an actual shot with me? After spending time with my family, you want to still try to swoon me?” There’s a smile tugging on Jungkook’s lips; there’s a blackish-bluish bruise underneath his eye, the side of his lips red and blotchy and the entirety of his body is either swollen or bruised, and yet, he still endures the pain to be beaming brighter than the stars. “Of course, you met my family, right? Yours is nothing complicated in comparison... well, maybe your sister. But for once, I feel like I belong here, with you, I feel like I’m home. So, will you give me a chance to win you over?”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing this whole thing? This... you thinking you like me kind of thing.”

“Are you going to keep wasting your time?” He blurts, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You wasted how long with some guy only for him to ditch you for your sister. What about your happiness, and what you want? None of this is fair to you. What if I could possibly give that to you, that happiness? Would you actually give me a chance?”

Sincerely, you didn’t know what the relationship with Jungkook held and what it would mean in the future. But what he asserts is right with the things he repeats in Busan about being selfish for once replays in your head again, and you finally decide to take a shot at it.

Was it the high of saying ‘yes, okay’ to Jungkook or the painkillers he took earlier because when your lips meet with his, he feels like he’s floating in mid-air. Your tongue is wet and soft when it fights with his, and when his hands on your waist pull you in closer, the bulge in his pants isn’t discreet, raging for attention, twitching against your thigh while your fingers knots through his hair tightens in response to your bottom lip suddenly tucked in between his teeth. The room feels steaming hot, especially when your hips start to move against his, emitting a groan from him as hand trails down to your ass to give it a harsh squeeze in consequence. His jeans from last night are still on and they’re straining in his crotch uncomfortably.

This is escalating so fast—just as quickly as his heart is beating in his chest, almost popping out of his chest cavity. Your natural scent is intoxicating, clouding up his mind to the point that he doesn’t think he needs the alcohol to forget the pain his family has caused him anymore, because you’re mending the pieces of him together. Your hands trail down to his neck, tugging him closer before they wander down to his biceps, giving him a gentle squeeze that releases a wince from him. 

Just as abrupt as the kiss, you pull away with a concerned and panic expression, with your mouth open in aghast. “Oh my god— I forgot you were still injured—” As you’re trying to move back, you stumble on his legs and collapse onto the floor.

“What— hey, are you okay?” He says, breathless as he leans over to check on you sprawled on the floor. Swiftly hopping back on your feet, he observes you clearly with your hair disheveled, cheeks tinted pink, and swollen lips. There’s a look of achievement on his face from the sight of a disoriented you. “Uh, um, yeah. I-I’m good,” Flustered, you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m... I’m going to get dinner ready for the both of us, uh, I’m going to leave you to it,” you’re awkwardly gesturing his crotch before rushing out the room and slamming the door shut.

He can only laugh at your reaction. At least his week wasn’t that bad after that kiss, right?

Jungkook stirs awake from the sound of chatter in the living room, voices familiar that he can associate them as yours and Hoseok’s. Unexpectedly, he sounds melancholic, the muffled sounds from your walls, almost to the point of whimpering mixed with your soft assuring words. He figures he should get a closer perspective of this, maybe enough where he can make out what the two of you are conversing about.

He’s not far off from shrieking when he angles his leg too far, but he bites his bottom lip in prevention of any sound, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the torment. Careful, he reiterates like a mantra in his head, chanting it until it’s engraved in his brain. When he reaches the door, he opens it slowly and just barely, to peek out and see the scene unfold before him.

“She told me that they didn’t do anything,” Hoseok exclaims, face in his hands as his elbows are resting on his knees. “That she chose to be there, and Jungkook was just lounging on the couch. That if anything, she wanted him to fuck her. Isn’t that ridiculous? How could she say that?”

You’re seated on the armrest of the loveseat, hand rubbing against Hoseok’s back soothingly. “I know, Hobi, I know. You might’ve been the right one for her, but at the end, she wasn’t the right one for you.”

“I could’ve changed,” He emphasizes, spinning his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are crimson and swollen from his tears, restlessness fills in those orbs. “I love her so much.”

“Well, and you love Jungkook. He’s in the other room, beat up and crying because he thought he lost you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you tore him to shreds! Earlier when we were making—“ You pause, clearing your throat when you realize where you were leading the conversation, Hoseok raising a brow in confusion at the action. “Earlier, I mean, I went to check on him and he was whining in pain. You really hurt him, Hoseok, and not just physically either. He’s both hurt emotionally and physically.”

He frowns. “I mean, I guess... I guess it wasn’t his fault.”

“There’s no guessing, idiot. It wasn’t. He was honestly too wasted to even realize that she was sitting beside him. Poor kid reeked of alcohol that I almost made him sleep on the porch. But he would’ve gotten robbed so... I let him stay in my room and I slept on the couch.” Jungkook glowers at the thought of you struggling to find comfort on the small sofa, wishing you would’ve chosen to sleep by him instead.

“Can I... talk to him?” Hoseok finally asks, looking down at his hands in embarrassment. His knuckles were red, contused from the one-sided fight he had with Jungkook the night before. “I fucked up, and I’m sure he thinks that he really fucked up.”

You hum for a moment before an idea pops into mind. “How about... you go out and get takeout? I’ll check on him, prep him for your appearance, and then you guys can hash it out?”

You don’t take no for an answer, pushing Hoseok out the door shortly, and a soft smile tugs on the edges of Jungkook’s lips before he lightly shuts the door and tip toes back into bed, pretending to be deep in slumber.

When you come into the room afterwards with a wet rag in hand and a bucket of warm water, his heart swells. Patting the towel against his wounds while seated at the edge of the bed, he hastily has a hand wrapped around your wrist, shocking you in the midst of your activity. “Oh— you’re awake?” He gingerly kisses the palm of your hand, heat clogging your face . “Yeah. And, thank you. For everything. I owe you a lot.”

“I—uh, maybe you’ll reciprocate this for me as well, one day?” You respond dubiously. “But... you also might not know how to do it so—“

“Are you still trying to make jabs at me after I made such a sweet comment?”

“Well, I’m just being honest, do you even know how to take care of another person?” You shoot back. “You couldn’t even get yourself back home, I had to be called and drag you back here myself, and my god, you’re heavy—“ He hauls your arm closer, dragging you along with it until your nose is inches away from his. “Can I kiss you again? I miss the way your lips feel with mine.” Even when he says the words in a volume that’s barely a whisper, his breath fans against your skin harshly, causing goosebumps to crawl up your spine.

The door pounds shut and before you can tear away from Jungkook’s hold, Hoseok is already standing in the threshold of the bedroom, mouth wide open in shock before it immediately fades into a mischievous grin. “What did I tell you, Kook? Which one was it first? You or her?”

[warmau]

☆ [nostalgic] summer romance!au yuta im not late for once! hehe happy birthday yuta!  find others here: johnny | haechan | taeil | taeyong | mark | jaemin | yangyang

“so,,,,,,,where exactly did you find them?”

the boy infront of you scratches the back of his head, his eyes shifting nervously to the floor

“outside the skate park.”

“someone just put them there? in a box?”

“yeah, like i told you - one second there was nothing and i was you know - skating - and then i looked back at the same spot and there was this box with -”

he motions and you look down at the four baby kittens, all curled around each other, all matted fur and raggedy looking tails

“ok. and you brought them here, which was the right thing to do - um-”

you look at him for a solid moment, piercings in every ear, nose ring, oversized hoodie, beat up board under his arm

“yuta. my names yuta.”

“well yuta, if they’re not yours then ill be taking them in as strays.”

he straightens up

“are you going to ..... are going to take care of them? or are you going to-”

you get what he’s insinuating from the way his face pales a little with fright

you shake your head, no - this isn’t a kill shelter first of all, and also kittens are always in demand to be adopted so once they get in healthy shape a loving family will probably take them in

you explain this all to yuta, who fidgets in front of the counter, and then leaves without a word when you ask him if there’s anything else you can help with

you are a little ticked at the rude exit, but a small and hungry meow shifts your focus

maybe four days pass - when the door to the shelter opens again

you’re on night duty, the other volunteer - taeyong - is in the back working on some adoption paperwork processing 

and so you stand up and expect someone to scurry in as usual, looking ashamed and embarrassed, handing you off their ailing cat or misbehaving puppy 

which isn’t the animals fault at all - but usually the incompetency of a novice owner

but instead you see yuta. again.

“are the kittens ok?”

you register the question and narrow your eyes

“listen if you didn’t just find them and were actually their owner you can’t jus-”

“no, no - id never abandon them like that - i-if they were mine.”

his eyes blaze a little and by the way his voice goes higher you realize he’s probably telling the truth

he has the some board under his arm and the same old looking hoodie - this time his hair is more messy, as if he came here in a rush

“i just wanted to make sure they’re ok.”

you tap your fingers against the counter and sigh

“follow me.”

he breaks into a smile but you snap your fingers and point to the board

“that thing stays out here.”

he obliges, leaning it up against one of the walls and tailing behind you as you open the door to the back

taeyong only shifts an eyebrow at the sight of you too - but goes back to flipping through papers as you stop in front of an incubator

“two of them are in here because they were in a critical condition, but the other two are over there - probably romping around with the others.”

yuta looks through the opening and the light reflects back on his face, the worried look he had been wearing turns into a heartwarming smile

and he coos at them a little before you almost have to drag him away

back behind the counter, you watch him pick his board up

this time he thanks you before he goes and asks;

“are you the one taking care of them?”

“for the most part, but other volunteers do too when im not on my shift. why?”

he pushes the door open and shrugs

“you seem like you’d do the best job at it - taking care of them and all.”

before you can even respond, and you can’t because the shock of the statement kind of paralyzes you, yuta is gone

all you see is him get on his board and skate away through the window

we’ve met once - well twice - but it’s nice i gave you such a good impression?

you check your watch two weeks later when you’re on night duty again. there’s no way he’s coming, but this is around the time he stopped by-

“hey.”

you look up and yuta’s at the counter. no board this time, but the same hoodie. 

if you had known each other longer, you might have realized he got another stud in his right ear.

“are you here to finally adopt them?”

you ask, because you’re genuinely curious, also what other reason would he have for showing up here a third time

he shakes his head

“no, i can’t take care of them - even if i wanted to.”

you are about to tell him that’s a lame excuse, but you hear him mutter after

“i have to figure out how to take care of myself first.”

so you don’t answer, instead you motion for him to follow you

this time, you let him play with one of the kittens and you see the way he giggles and holds them carefully, they lean into him and although skittish with most

they seem comfortable and almost serene in the palm of his hands

you know you shouldn’t really be letting him back in here, but the happiness painted across him in the moment washes away any caution you would have harbored with anyone else

when you have to say goodbye this time, you are surprised that yuta asks when your night shift ends

“6 am.”

“woah, isn’t it still dark out then?”

“it’s the middle of summer so the sun comes out while im on the train.”

he nods, waves, and disappears again.

when your shift ends - you pack your things - and say goodbye to the animals and taeyong

you shrug your bag over your shoulder and don’t even realize yuta is sitting on the curb outside until you turn in the direction of the train and hear him go

“hey - wait!”

you feel slightly weird, but not unsafe as he walks beside you

“how long were you out there?”

“not that long, i went back to the skate park - skated till like 4ish with friends then just went down to the beach.”

“is that what you’ve been doing with your summer nights?”

you mean it as a bit of a joke, but he nods - running a hand through his hair - “not much else to do.”

“isn’t anyone worried you’re staying out that late?”

“no. no one tends to worry about me.”

you think about that phrase on the ride home. 

realizing that you should have asked yuta about it when you had the chance

so instead you show up the next day at the skate park

you look around, and then you see him

he’s leaning against the fence - his board on the ground beside him, with his hoodie pilled ontop and a half finished energy drink

he’s got a sleeveless black tanktop on, messily tucked into scuffed looking jeans. 

some other skaters are talking to him and he’s laughing 

but he has his arms crossed and even though he looks part of the group

something about him is defensive and keeping others at bay

you don’t meant to stare, and you start thinking this was actually foolish of you to do, until he turns his head and catches your gaze

he jogs over - some people from inside the park wolf whistle and he flips them off

“i know you didn’t miss me or anything, so what are you doing here?”

you narrow your eyes - that’s the first thing he thinks to say?

“well, i just was thinking about something and- well ill just ask.”

he puts his hands in his pockets and looks at you in a way you are not used to being looked at

like he’s searching inside your expression for truthiness 

or maybe safety

“is that why you brought the kittens to us. because you thought like you, no one else would worry about them?”

your voice is low, almost a whisper and the look on yuta’s face softens

“yeah.”

he chuckles, but you can tell it is sad

“kind of pathetic, huh?”

“no.”

you reject

“taking care of others is never pathetic.” 

a silence quilts the conversation, but you don’t feel like it is depressive at all

instead you suddenly announce

“ill do it.”

“do what?”

“ill worry about you, so for starters, stop hanging out here until 4 am and go home and sleep.”

he’s smiling when he asks and so it betrays what point he’s trying to make

“hey, i didn’t ask for you to worry-”

“too bad. im making the decision to on my own. also, if you want to see the kittens, come during the day.”

surprisingly, yuta takes you up on the order

he shows up the following week at a normal hour of the day and when he’s playing with those kittens again

the light on his face is somehow stronger

he waits for you again to finish work, this time you ask him why - it’s light out and you don’t need to be walked to the train

“oh im not here to walk you to the train.”

“then why are you here?”

“to take you on a date.”

the date is - as you might have guessed - at the skate park

where you wobble around on the board as yuta holds you steady by the waist

you keep almost falling over so in due time you just tell him to let you give up

the two of you can go spread out on a bench and drink something cold instead

yuta agrees, but he insists that with more practice you’ll get better. you just don’t think so.

and this little day, becomes an almost weekly endeavor 

you work your job at the shelter and yuta picks you up

you two usually end up doing absolutely nothing together, just walking around and talking 

and yet it feels at the same time that you are doing everything together

everything that people do to survive

eating, talking, breathing, touching 

when yuta first kisses you it is on the steps leading down into the train. 

he kisses with an intensity you have never experience from anyone else before

so much so that you get shy and stop him because you are in public and it is broad daylight

“are you suggesting we continue somewhere more dark and private?”

he tickles against your ear and you push him playfully away 

escaping down into the train before he can pick apart your embarrassment

needless to say, it does happen - how can it not when yuta ignores you telling him to not wait around after your night shift ends

and he’s there, and the summer darkness is sweltering, and he is too

and taeyong is off on sick leave, no one else is there to watch the animals with you and the little office in the back is cramped but it fits two people just perfectly

you mutter when you’re both getting dressed again that you hope the animals didn’t hear anything

and yuta, with just his jeans on - prances out to check on the kittens

then the day comes - when a young couple stops in and decides they’re going to adopt all four. 

it’s bittersweet to let them go, and it almost hurts to tell yuta about it later on

with you pressed into his arms. but he just squeezes you.

“im happy they find someone that’ll worry about them.”

you agree and then his lips speak against your hair

“im happy i found someone who will worry about me too.”

you pull back and yuta waits for your reaction you lean in and kiss him gently

“im happy i get to worry about you, yuta.” 

he grins and mumbles that you can’t say things like that and expect him not to keep falling more and more crazily in love with you.

but that’s exactly what you expect, and you expect that he’ll keep feeling that way

because you do

even years later 

when it’s both your turn to finally worry about something together

“can we adopt four?”

“no, only one yuta.”

“fine - but what if we find four kittens like i did when we first met?”

you roll your eyes, “that’ll be a miracle.”

you walk through the doors of the shelter and are greeted with a wave from the receptionist

“are you guys looking for a dog or a cat?”

“we’re looking for a kitten, do you have any?”

yuta’s arm is around your waist and you want to tell him to stop looking at you and pay attention when the receptionist brightens

“yes! we actually just got a whole litter, would you like to see them.”

you nod and catch yuta’s wide eyes - he mouths

“a litter? isn’t that more than four? are we about to adopt like eight ca-”

you pinch his cheek, tell him to stop dreaming, but he just nuzzles in against your ear

the receptionist giggles into her palm at the affection between you two and you mumble that gosh, looks like you already adopted a big kitten all those years ago.