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roomsofangel · 4 months

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CHAPTER SEVEN

the act of holding on and letting go .ᐟ

wc 1.1k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated!

chapter warnings metaphor of torture. hint/talk of depression and suicidal ideation without it fully being expressed outright. y/n learns their feelings were manipulated at one point.

other with the further we get into this — the more warnings that will be more prominent — the lore and y/n uncovering everything alongside the way they all handle / go about things aren’t exactly what a healthy person would immediately go towards. ( and maybe, that one line you read in a previous chapter that didn’t seem like much, was actually a key thing for a later time x )

other 2.0 bringing my forever first baby back! i tagged those who i can remember asking to be on the taglist but no hard feelings if you want to be removed! i just deeply missed this series and it’s nowhere near done so i want to bring it back to finish it! at the moment, the masterlist was taken down so i’m in the process of redoing it so its not linked! however, click here to be directed to my old blog and the intro for this work! it’s all my work, i just moved over when that blog got shadowbanned!

“you’re absolutely fucking insane if you think i’d just sit here after hearing the stunt he pulled—“

seonghwa’s pitch and tone could make any grown man cower into submission, tears swelled up in their eyes while asking if he wanted them to bleed on his shoes or in his hands, seonghwa stared ahead focusing on hongjoong who was only speechless — how could you run into the arms that put you in harms way?

well, if he looked at it through an outsider point of view, that’s what you did with seonghwa constantly.

something told hongjoong you didn’t go to san with seductive undertones, that just wasn’t you. in every life, you still held the same morals. it was something he knew would never change.

“why did they go?” seonghwa’s voice began to lower, softly raspy when his emotions began fully processing, allowing himself to sit on the armrest chair and put his head in his hands, pushing his hair out of his face that draped over his forehead, “was it my fault?”

hongjoong shook his head, “though, i really want to say it is,” he coughed, attempting to cover the laugh he wanted to let out because he knew it wasn’t a comedic matter. “has anyone seen them?” he changed the subject, his skin crawling with unease after noticing the suffocating silence with himself and seonghwa in his living room

“besides san?” seonghwa sneered, fixing his posture before standing, dusting off imaginary dirt from his clothes, “i have to pay a visit to cupid,” he scoffed

hongjoong followed alongside, “something tells me this isn’t a usual business call,” he amused while catching up with seonghwa’s pace who made his way to the door, swiftly grabbing his car keys that hung from the wall storage hooks, “san knows all about those.”

seonghwa stopped for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to shake his head, though, his small peeking smile showed he found the reference amusing — opening the door, he swallowed his nerves.

he wanted to trust you. but how could he when you were surrounded by people he didn’t?

‎

the room was cold, goosebumps illuminating each part of your skin that was more exposed than the other — you curled up on the couch with a heavy weighted blanket and a mug of hot chocolate — wooyoung only seemed to have a sweet taste, everything he owned in the food department was a major hint at his severe sweet tooth

you learned wooyoung was the god of love — though, most humans knew him as cupid despite some not fully believing on his reliability and existence, he seemed warm and inviting. he made sure you changed clothes and let you keep the dagger you swiped, clutched next to you.

it didn’t make sense that wooyoung was considered an enemy.

recalling san saying he met wooyoung however, had alarms going off in your head — what was his involvement? san never elaborated on the so called help.

but it was enough for him to be punished. how did you die the first time?

“if you keep frowning like that you’ll have wrinkles,” wooyoung prompted, taking a seat across from you with a strawberry cupcake in his hand, “at least, that’s what humans say — i never had any.”

you scoffed, biting back your laugh, “how lucky you must be.”

he nodded, smiling, “i mean, yn, i’m stuck as twenty three forever,” he kept a light hearted tone and facade, but you saw through it.

his eyes screamed of something you could recall as despair — desperate for an ending, he was tired. anyone with two eyes that struggled with choosing if they should stay or go, could see he was holding on by a thread.

because right now, wooyoung may have had the brightest smile — but you saw he also had the most saddest eyes.

“how did you get involved in this?” you asked, tone soft — you hoped you didn’t overstep a boundary, but wooyoung looked back at you with understanding

clearing his throat, “san told you he came to me, didn’t he?” he amused

you nodded in response.

“it was inevitable really, if san didn’t drag me in, one of the others would’ve,” he sighed, cleaning his fingers with his lips and tongue from the frosting excess of the cupcake he finished, “i felt bad for him, he was desperate for love and specifically from you.”

frowning, heart swelling, you knew if you were going to get the full story, you had to get your hands dirty and go to those who were all involved

it wasn’t smart in a sense — but with everyone telling different sides and their point of views, it was your job to pin point the consistency and bring it altogether.

for your final life.

‎‎

‎

“seonghwa is looking for you,” wooyoung mentioned, helping you wash the dishes — his eyes glancing to the side you resided, wet rag in hand focusing on the mug you drank from, “i can feel he’ll be here soon,” he frowned

“with hongjoong.”

your eyes lifted, attention gained fully, “do you know how long it’ll be?”

wooyoung shook his head, “i just wanted to tell you, give a heads up,” he pressed his lips together

you could see he was holding back, the same expression of wanting to say more than he was — was evident — you understood it all too well, that was your constant default.

words left unsaid.

“tell me what you want to, wooyoung,” you turned to face him

defeated, he smiled, “you made me feel human today, y/n,” his cheeks flushed and he looked away from you, “domestic even,” he teased which earned a small laugh from you

“i don’t know if i like it yet, but it’s not a bad feeling,” he briefed, finishing the last dish, “i just… want this with someone in particular..”

now this.

this was something you didn’t expect to hear.

“is it okay if i ask who?”

wooyoung laughed, “just as nosy as me, huh?” teasing, he cleared his throat and the amusement he held faded, recognizing the one thing you noticed, wanting the one thing you could never have.

“it’ll never happen, he’s been chasing after the same person for centuries,” he shook his head, “i can be blamed though.”

“i always helped him.”

then it made sense.

if wooyoung helped someone else, you weren’t aware of such — but something told you, whoever you thought of — was that person.

“why stay?” you asked

wooyoung contemplated on admitting it, tears swelling in his eyes before he whispered, “anything is better than being alone again, y/n.”

‎

you sat outside the porch, the talk with wooyoung left the two of you with overwhelming emotions — they weren’t directed at each other, but towards the confession and why wooyoung even got involved.

giving him time to adjust himself, you let wooyoung shower while you stared up at the full moon that shined down on you, appearing to slowly fade— nostalgic, you smiled.

you don’t know how long you had been staying with wooyoung, assuming half a night — at least, until the sunrise.

swallowing your nerves, you attempted to gather the information you received.

san didn’t give you an exact timeline but something told you he knew — you’d gather that later.

hongjoong and you had already been best friends — every life.

seonghwa was never meant to be your lover but somehow always made it happen.

and wooyoung helped san with you.

your expressions showed your progress and you couldn’t help but audibly gasp, “that fucking asshole.”

my yn never let a man control them.

“what a hypocrite you are, choi san,” you bitterly whispered under your breath

before you could stand and let wooyoung know you should be heading out soon, your nose twitched and felt a hand wrap around your wrist to pull you back

“yn, you have explaining to do.”

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goron-king-darunia · 2 years

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Annon-Guy: In terms of an Actor Alternate Universe: Are Emil, Marta, Tenebrae, Richter, Aqua, Alice and Decus like their game counterparts in terms of personality and relationships (Emil X Marta and Alice X Decus on both and off the stage ❤)? Or is it a case of "Nice Character, Mean Actor" for Emil and Marta and "Mean Character, Nice Actor" for Richter, Alice and Decus?

Okay, so, these are just headcanons and thus you will probably get a different answer if you ask me again, but this is what I feel for today. Emil: He is not acting. He's just like that. The only acting part is the stutter and he does it when he forgets a line and they just leave it in because it fits the character.

Marta: Perpetually sleep-deprived understudy who got the part because the OG person cast for Marta got sick during production. She's nice enough when she isn't working, but if you mess up your lines and make her do the take more than 3 times she WILL cry and storm off to her trailer to chug inadvisable amounts of energy drinks and coffee and text all her besties about how being a starlet and getting her big break is hell.

Tenebrae: He's a Puppeteer with a green morph suit. He's from broadway and really hard-core into practical effects and he takes his puppeteering work very seriously. He built and articulated the Tenebrae puppet himself and also provides the voice. Kindly old grandpa on set but VERY SERIOUS.

Richter: Diva but the nice kind. Giggly and forgets his lines often but puts his entire soul into his performance. And then 90% of it gets cut because "Yeah, we decided not to put the whole Richter/Aster backstory into this movie." Richter spends the entire rest of filming in his trailer yelling back and forth with his agent and lawyers because "I was so good, how are they NOT going to use that footage?! This is my breakout performance! They hired me because I'm the only guy on this set that can actually cry on cue and they aren't using ANY of those juicy backstory scenes!" Friendly with the rest of the cast and brings in snacks when he's not on set. Venomous animosity with the director, though.

Aqua: Clueless and bubbly. Irritates the riggers by doing acrobatics in her aerial rig and getting things tangled before shooting starts and has a love-hate relationship with the makeup artist. "We are begging you to stop goofing off while waiting for your cue, we have to keep redoing everything." Hates the armature in her wig that makes the hair-tail move because it's itchy and the noise the joints make right behind her ears makes her skin crawl. Genuinely BFFs with Richter off set. She's responsible for half of the blooper reel. She thinks she has a great relationship with the rest of the cast and staff, but lots of people think she's an airhead because she doesn't take her job seriously, so the director and a lot of the crew kind of hate her. She's oblivious. This is clearly her first acting gig and she's the least professional.

Alice: Diva but the rude kind. Either perpetually hungover from partying and schmoozing with other celebrities or strung out on caffeine from working late. Makes everything someone else's problem. Routinely walks off set and refuses to perform if everyone else isn't ready on her schedule. Mortal Enemies with Tenebrae's actor who also created the Monster puppets because she keeps pulling the stitches out of Aramis because "It's itchy!" Genuinely trying her best but celebrity life is ruining her. Adores getting to be a ruthless villainess because she can let off steam

Decus: Genuinely well-adjusted and the most professional. Amicable with the cast and crew. Everyone genuinely loves him. He's just famous enough to have a small community of dedicated fans, but not famous enough that he can't slink into a crowd and disappear. Somehow has a good work-life balance and falls asleep instantly at any time of day so he's the only one on set that isn't tired all the time. Started a perfume line based on the character of Decus as a joke and had to stop as soon as it became popular because of copyright infringement.

As for relationships.

Everyone thinks Emil and Marta are dating and they change their answers every time they're interviewed. Genuinely nobody knows if they're dating or not but every Tabloid on the planet says they definitely are to the point that their friends and family are like "We think so? They have to be dating right? Otherwise why did we have holiday dinners together?" (The reality is probably that they're in an open relationship because they both know celebrity relationships tend not to last because the job is stressful and they won't always be cast together in movies so it's going to be so easy to catch feelings for their romantic counterparts in later movies that they just decide to enjoy whatever they have together without committing to anything. They enjoy confusing as many people as possible by not explaining their actual relationship status.)

Richter is dating Emil's brother, the stunt double who did all the choreography and also played Aster.

Tenebrae has been married for 40 years but no one has ever seen his wife. (She's camera shy and absolutely refuses to have her photo taken. They occasionally find gift baskets in the break room when the crew wraps that are supposedly from her but no one has EVER seen who leaves them, so no one knows if she's ever even been on set or if she just has someone deliver them.)

Aqua and Richter are BFFs, but Aqua's single. Richter regularly tries to wingman for her, but nothing ever seems to work out. Probably because Richter's gay as hell and doesn't understand straight people attraction.

Alice has a reputation for sleeping with everyone she shares a romantic role with, including the actor for Decus. She's always adamant that she's not even interested in dating and even Decus has stood up for her, but everyone refuses to believe that she isn't sleeping with every man on set.

Decus is basically Alice's only real, constant, celebrity friend because he's just genuinely nice to everyone and Alice doesn't make friends easily. He's actually single and on the dating market, but he knows from Alice how hard it can be to be a celebrity and how easily you can be defamed, so he's trying to date someone outside the movie industry without anyone finding out so he can spare his partner from all the paparazzi vultures and the Tabloid gossip mongers.

#headcanons #opinions #DotNW #Actor AU #Letters from Annon Guy

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rumblelibrary · 3 years

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Okay I swear last one for now I swear 😅 might send some more when I wake up tomorrow.

But you said you would write for the actual Daniel and I saw one on the kink list and was like yes

So uh, Daniel Brühl with the filming (consensual) kink 😏

Consensual filming with Daniel Brühl

Warnings: S - M - U - T

(I can only thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me always such interesting plots to work with 💝💝💝 ILY and I Hope you'll enjoy iy)

It all begun on one random night, one like any other. Daniel was reading a

book about film making and screenplay adaptation.

You stared down at your own book, the soft music coming from the speakers lulling the both of you, your legs thrown over his lap as you laid on the couch.

You were soon to go to bed and you were trying to convince yourself to stand up and do your night routine.

“This camera angle language is fascinating" he said.

You sat up as you leaned in and he showed you all the pictures contained din the book, he pointed at them giving you some rough interpretation of them.

"I mean, I have been in those so many times but this changes my perspective"

You nodded as you looked at him, he was so absorbed by the idea of his first debut as a director, you adored to see him so driven . They were still onto the screenplay with the production, but he was way too into it.

"Maybe you can use my old digital camera, it is not that old in the end and you can practice"

He nodded and smiled a you kissing your forehead to thank you for your support.

"Thank you mi amor"

You winked at him as you stood up "I'll go to bed"

"Five minutes"

He said as he stood up and actually went to pick the camera from where you stored it and he plugged the battery up to charge overnight.

You called your own disgrace, because from that moment on you were on a movie set. He kept asking you to redo a thing, to move back into a room because he wanted to try it in a different way. Once he even asked you to cut the carrots all over again.

"But I don't need them"

Your own whines didn't help, you did it again because he decided that it would look better in a way and not the other.

The real deal came while you were watching a Spanish movie to improve your own language skills, better said you were ignoring it while kissing. It happened most of the times, Daniel loved cinema, but he had the greatest distraction beside himself.

"mi amor, tengo the enseñarte algo"

His whisper reached to your ears as he was nibbling onto your skin, his hands onto you as you were already try to get rid of his clothings.

It wasn't new he had to show you something, he was an actor, he was made to play dress up and you loved every bit of it.

You hummed contently as he stood up and left.

You stared at him walking away noticing how the man was prepping for his next role doing some weights and it showed onto his shoulders, in the way his comfy homey clothing now clung onto his upper chest giving it a show.

But it wasn't him in some historical clothing or suit that you found when you joined him but he bowed onto the camera adjusting some settings.

"There's my main actress"

You frowned "oh, no Daniel" you said covering your face as a little chuckle escaped you but it was pure nervousness.

"What? is that such a bad idea? it would be nice and embarrassing to rewatch it together, sexy in particular"

You frowned at him not sure about it

"Cielo"

The soft nickname he used with you rang through your bones as you looked away onto the bed, the room mildly illuminate by only the lamp on his nightstand, and then at him doing his prettiest puppy eyes.

"Fine"

You said as the biggest and brightest smile opened onto him.

"Okay, but please take only my good angles" you said trying to focus or maybe you should just relax "you have only good angles my angel. now, just panties and your, no wait"

He put down the camera and took off his white t-shirt "panties and my shirt"

You chuckled but obeyed as you picked the shirt and begun undressing leaving on your panties and slipping his shirt on before slowly crawling onto the bed.

You laid on yo beck trying to get comfortable as much as you could in such a peculiar moment.

You let a soft sigh out trying to relax on your first, and maybe last, leading role.

"Don't be nervous, you're so beautiful ,why don't you touch your body a bit"

You let out a big breath as you begun to follow his instructions, but you were still too tensed.

"Look at me"

He said as he held the camera and looked away from the little screen on the back of the camera to look up at you "I am so lucky"

He smirked as he moved closer, his shirtless figure being so attractive as his hair got a bit messed up when he took it off.

You almost didn't think about it as you started to touch yourself more, cupping your breasts and guiding your hands between your legs as he stared intensely at every movement.

"Put your hand in your panties"

you whimpered softly as you did as he said, you hated him because you wanted him so bad and you were touching yourself over his bare chested figure.

"oh, so hot to see your hand tucked in there" he commented and he made you feel excited only by thinking about it, about what you could achieve now, so you pulled up your shirt lightly exposing partially your breasts.

A little groan escaped him as your eyes travelled onto him with such a desire, it was impossible for him to hide the excitement growing into his pants as you begun to unleash little moans and pleads for more pleasure.

"come closer"

Your little whisper, your hand stretched toward you wanting more, the way the frame was captured and he moved near you to obey that wish using your arm as a bridge.

"Tell me"

You didn't answer him as you slipped your panties off legs before doing the same with his pants pulling them down along with his briefs.

He stared at you, he couldn't hold back a groan of pleasure mixed with surprise when instead of touching him you begun to run your tongue on his shaft while looking up at him, depositing soft kisses and licks on the tip. The camera recording it all as you finally welcomed his cock between your lips. He probably underestimated the effect this experiment would have on him.

"Fuck, you're so good"

He muttered under his breath as you bobbed your head so nicely taking him in and giving such a show for the camera as he zoomed onto you, your eyes briefly moving up to him as some pre cum coated your tongue.

He pulled back almost immediately not willing to cum like this, you really put an effort in this and he had to do the same.

He leaned on the bed resting the camera on his nightstand and turning the little screen on side to make sure both of you were well angled and it wasn’t recording into the void.

"You're such a tease"

He said as he knew you'd be a natural at it. You peeled his shirt off you as he pushed you down onto the mattress hovering you in a second, lacing your lips into a bruising kiss as he mercilessly pushed inside you making you groan n that kiss.

You felt so extra sensitive, you arched your back as you welcomed him, as he owned your body so perfectly.

You moaned his name as his lips found your neck again and he begun thrusting inside you, the camera already forgotten as he dived deep into that pleasure with you.

"You're so wet, you're shameless"

He whispered as he kissed you with a smile playing over his lips.

Your hands cupping his face as you pulled him closer, then digging your fingers onto those toned shoulders that obsessed you.

"Harder, harder"

You begged breathlessly as he moved his hand behind your head tangling his fingers among your hair. He was doing all in his power to not give in to that tempting sight you were and he failed himself pretty fast.

Your legs lacing around him as he supported himself easily over you, he was gone for it, next time probably wasting less time on foreplay because he wanted more angles of him fucking you.

His hand moving between your bodies to touch your clit as he snapped his hips hard into you, the hold up pleasure taking over as you reached your orgasm and he could finally let go after you.

"Fuck"

You hissed nuzzling against you as he pressed his forehead against your neck.

"You have talent, we should do that again"

"Next time will you be Zemo or Dr Kreizler?"

"Depends if you want to be played or play, mi amor"

#daniel brühl #daniel bruhl smut #daniel bruhl imagine #daniel bruhl x you #daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel brühl x you #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl smut #daniel bruhl

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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an ill-fitting definition

rating: M words: 4.3k relationships: jongeorgie, jontim, jonmartin, background wtgfs additional tags: canon compliant, pre-canon, scottish safehouse period, canon asexual character, fluff, kissing, implied sexual content, rumors and misconceptions

written for weeks two/three of @archivalpride for the prompts identity and doubt!

cw for misconceptions about asexuality, assumptions made about somebody’s sexuality, rumors and outing somebody without their knowledge, non-explicit/implied sexual content, mention of canonical character death, mention of canonical stalking and paranoia, gossip (including of the sexual nature), food, very mild blood, mild internalized acephobia

ao3 link in source

It’s three weeks and two days after they began dating, when Georgie picks up Jon’s hand where it’s clasped in hers and asks with plain curiosity in her voice, so does the ring, y’know, mean anything?, that Georgie hears the word asexual cross Jon’s lips for the first time.

It’s not a word she’s unfamiliar with; she’s run in enough LGBTQ spaces in her time in uni that she has a good idea of the breadth of identities that are out there. She rubs her thumb across Jon’s ring and thinks, in the voice of the gender and equality training instructor with sharp red heels and a “fun” black dress who’d stood in front of the seminar she’d been mandated to take for one of her courses:

Asexuality. A lack of sexual attraction. An aversion or repulsion to sexual activities.

It had been a small word on a large black-and-white slide, crammed in next to aromanticism and overcrowded by a myriad of other sexual identities discussed at length. It had been… quite a comprehensive training, Georgie thinks as she quits fidgeting with Jon’s ring and instead threads their fingers together. For a moment, she considers asking what he means anyway, but she quickly dismisses the thought. She wants to be supportive, and as Jon looks at her with open, trusting eyes and a faint smile, she decides that she knows enough. She doesn’t want to make it awkward, and with things like these, she’s found that asking Jon to explain his feelings in plain terms can be… well, awkward is certainly a word for it. Best just not to bring it up, she decides.

Still, she feels the need to ask, “Can I kiss you?” because the red no sex sign blinking on and off in her head is frustratingly vague on what, exactly, is contained within that stipulation. When Jon voices his assent, she tips her head up and presses a quick kiss to his chin before kissing him on the lips, wiping the disgruntled look off them.

So yes to kissing, she thinks, tucking that away next to no sex. Yes kissing, no sex. Yes holding hands, she adds as she squeezes Jon’s hand in hers and he smiles at her, warm and soft, that special side of Jon that she only sees on occasion. No pet names, she adds a week later when she tries out sweetheart and Jon’s nose wrinkles with displeasure. No foot rubs, when Jon swats at her and says, between giggles, that he’s awfully ticklish. Yes back rubs. Yes cuddling. No PDA. No touching with wet or sticky hands. Yes brushing hair.

That’s as far as she gets before, one year and two months after she begins dating Jonathan Sims, she stops. After which point she stops keeping track, because, well. There’s really no point anymore, is there?

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, burying his head in his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim says quickly, holding his hands in the air in a placating gesture. He scoots a few inches away from Jon on the couch for good measure, unsure just how much space Jon needs right now. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize—I should apologize. I should have asked first.”

“It’s just—” Jon makes a frustrated noise, and when he takes his hands away his cheeks are dark and he won’t meet Tim’s eyes. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s okay,” Tim repeats, watching with a twisting feeling in his stomach as Jon apparently notices that the button of his trousers is still undone and quickly goes to redo it. His eyes follow the movements of Jon’s hands automatically, and just as automatically, he notes the distinct lack of a tent in the front of Jon’s trousers. The same… cannot be said for his own. Particularly after nearly twenty minutes of kissing, which Tim had very much enjoyed.

Christ, had Jon been uncomfortable with that as well? All in a rush, Tim says, “Was the kissing bad too?” Then, he winces—fuck, that sounded accusatory—and adds, “It- it’s okay if it was, I just- I didn’t know, and I don’t want to do something that makes you uncomfortable, Jon.”

“No, the- the kissing was fine, it’s just...” Jon makes an aborted motion with his hands, like he’s trying and failing to find the words.

“... complicated?” Tim supplies.

Jon nods mutely.

“That’s okay,” Tim says, and he finds that he means it. “We don’t have to do anything more than kissing if you don’t want to.”

“I- I don’t…” Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like he’s searching for the right words, the crease in his forehead deepening every moment he fails to find them. Finally, he lets out a long, labored breath, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and says, “Yes, that… that might be best.”

Tim studies Jon’s face. It’s pinched and a bit stiff, like Jon would very much like to crawl out of his skin or melt into a puddle and disappear. “You sure?” he feels compelled to ask, placing a hand carefully on Jon’s knee. “You, uh. You seem a bit unsure.”

Jon sits there a moment more, spine straight and rigid, before melting slightly against Tim’s hand, his face slipping into something more relaxed but no less unhappy. “Yes.” He hesitates a moment, then says, a bit stiltedly, “I’m, um. I’m asexual. Since we’re already talking about this, I… I may as well get that out in the open as well.”

Oh. A few pieces slot into place, and Tim says with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, “Oh. Why didn’t you tell—?” He cuts himself off and offers Jon a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was rude of me. Thank you for telling me.”

“We’re dating,” Jon says bluntly. “It was going to come up eventually.”

“Still.” Tim shrugs, then reaches for Jon’s hand and holds it tightly in his. “Thanks.” He hesitates only a moment before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jon’s nose. Jon makes a disgruntled noise, which Tim thinks is adorable. Then, because it feels appropriate, he says, “Y’know, Danny… Danny was asexual. Aromantic too, actually. We had a big talk about it a few years ago where he sort of… laid it all out for me.” No sex, no romance, no thank you, had been the overall gist of it. Tim makes a new box for Jon and fills it in with the words no sex, yes romance, it’s complicated.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly, with that same sort of sadness in his eyes that he gets every time Tim mentions Danny, something much gentler than pity and significantly less cloying. If Tim notices the faint discomfort that accompanies it, something that whispers that isn’t my definition of asexuality, we’re not the same, you don’t understand if one were to listen closely enough, he doesn’t let on.

Tim does, however, notice the discomfort in Jon’s eyes—now mixed with anger—when two years, six months, and seven days later, he accuses Tim of murder. But by then, their days of hand-holding and nose-kissing are far, far behind them.

“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Melanie says with a groan, lying on Georgie’s couch and staring at the ceiling. The Admiral is curled up on her lap, purring contentedly. She scratches absentmindedly under his chin.

“What, Jon?” Georgie appears in Melanie’s field of vision, wielding a damp wooden spoon and frowning.

“No. No.” Melanie shakes her head emphatically. “Martin. He’s been all… sulky lately. I think he’s still upset that Jon came to me instead of him for help, but I don’t know why he has to be all… touchy about it.”

“Ah. Well, you know, he is a bit hung up on Jon. At least, according to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Melanie says grumpily. “Besides, didn’t you say that Jon went on about Martin, like, all the time? Sounds like he’s got it bad as well. Maybe they could just… y’know.”

“Melanie.”

“What?” Melanie tries to shoot Georgie a glare, but it’s obstructed by the back of the couch. “I’m on my last nerve, Georgie!”

“I know, honey. But Jon’s really not… well, he’s not very open about these sorts of things. Getting him to talk about his feelings was like pulling teeth when we were together.”

“It still baffles me that you used to date.”

“He’s very sweet when you get to know him!” There’s a pause, a few clatters from the kitchen. “Besides, even if he and Martin got around to talking, Jon… well, he doesn’t.”

Melanie frowns. “Doesn’t what?”

“Have sex.”

“Really?” Melanie sits up, disturbing the Admiral, who lets out an irritated mrpp before adjusting himself accordingly and curling back up on her lap. “So when you were together…?”

Georgie shakes her head. “Nope. Never.”

“Huh.” Melanie thinks for a moment. “Is he like… religious or something?”

Georgie chuckles. “Jon? No, not at all. He’s asexual.”

“Isn’t that like… that thing that sponges are? Where they self-reproduce?”

“Seriously?”

Melanie scowls at the incredulous look Georgie’s giving her. “What? I’m not being a- a dick, I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“You were a YouTuber. Your job was to be internet famous.”

“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

Georgie shoots Melanie a grin. “Sorry. Basically, it means that Jon doesn’t do sex. Like… at all. He just… doesn’t.”

“Huh,” Melanie says again.

“Yeah.” Georgie turns back to the stove. “Now, come here. Tell me if there’s too much salt?”

“Sorry Admiral,” Melanie whispers as she deposits him onto the floor and crosses the room to wrap her arms around Georgie’s waist from behind and take the bite of sauce on the spoon Georgie holds out for her. “Mm, tastes great. As always.”

And in the back of her mind, Melanie adds another line to the section labeled Jonathan Sims and writes, with careful handwriting, he doesn’t.

Although… according to Georgie, Jon doesn’t.

Martin pauses the tape and rubs his hands over his eyes. His cheeks are burning red, and he takes a few minutes to just breathe.

Doesn’t what? Doesn’t date? Doesn’t kiss? Doesn’t—

Martin stops that train of thought before it goes any further, the flush on his face growing in intensity. It’s none of my business, he tells himself as he ejects the tape and turns it over in his hands a few times before sliding it back into the small box it had come from.

He still can’t help but think about it. He thinks about it before the Unknowing, when Jon hesitates just a moment before wrapping him in a tight hug and whispering, I… I’ll be back, Martin. Then we can talk. He thinks about it when Jon’s in his coma, when Martin sits at his bedside and loses himself in daydreams and what-ifs. He thinks about it when Jon’s hand is clasped in his and he’s leading Martin out of cloying white fog and sea-salt air, his shirt speckled with bits of dark liquid that Martin tries to pretend isn’t blood. He thinks about it on the way to the safehouse, Jon leaning against his side, Martin’s hand clasped firmly in his.

He thinks about it a lot, in the confines of the wooden walls that let in the growing chill of the Scottish countryside.

Jon doesn’t.

He knows what Jon does. Jon makes him breakfast most days, eggs and toast and sometimes waffles, which Martin’s always considered a guilty pleasure but that he’s had more times in the past week and a half than he’s had for the past ten years. Jon puts his head on Martin’s shoulder when they sit on the couch and read, flipping through the dusty novels they’d found tucked in cardboard boxes underneath the bed that Jon had wrinkled his nose at but has been slowly making his way through nevertheless. Jon clings to Martin like his life depends on it when they sleep, and Martin will wake in the morning with one arm slung across his chest, a leg between his, and a sizeable portion of hair tickling at his nose.

And, nine days into their stay, Jon smiles at Martin as he shuffles into the kitchen in the morning, stands on his toes, and presses a soft kiss to Martin’s lips.

“Um,” Martin says eloquently, still half-asleep and trying to process what he’s 98% sure is their first kiss. He’d be 100% sure except for the fact that Jon kissed him like it was nothing, like it was easy, like it was something they do every morning.

The smile slips from Jon’s face, and he looks nervous. “I- I’m sorry, I should have asked first—”

“No, no, it’s- it’s okay,” Martin hastens to say, taking one of Jon’s hands in his and squeezing gently. “Just- just surprised, that’s all. I, um. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to kiss me, given that we haven’t…” He gestures absently, his face heating up. Stop talking, Martin. “Yeah,” he finishes lamely.

“Oh,” Jon says with a frown. “I… apologize for giving you that impression. I- I love you, Martin—I have no problems with kissing you.”

Warmth courses through Martin, as it always does when Jon tells him that he loves him. It all feels so unreal sometimes that he’s here, with Jon, away from it all and living in quiet domesticity. “Oh,” he says, face flushed. “A- all right, then. Great!”

“Great,” Jon echoes.

“Just- just thought maybe you didn’t—”

Martin clamps his mouth shut, face heating up more, this time in embarrassment. Shut up, Martin.

Jon raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t… what?”

“Um.” Martin rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Kiss?”

Jon looks at Martin blankly. “Oh. Well, I- I do.”

“Right, yeah, I- I put that together. When we, um. You know.”

Jon looks amused. “Kissed?”

“Yep, that,” Martin squeaks out.

They look at each other for a moment before dissolving into giggles. Jon presses another kiss to Martin’s lips and finishes making the waffles and kisses Martin again when he hands Jon his tea, and it’s really quite lovely indeed.

So Martin adds Jon kisses to his mental list of Jon does and finds a sole remainder on the list of Jon doesn’t. And it’s fine with him, he decides, if Jon doesn’t want to have sex. He just wants Jon, in whatever way Jon will have him.

Jon doesn’t do sex, he thinks as he kisses Jon goodnight.

So, three days later, when they’re on the couch and they’ve kissed until Martin is red-faced and breathless and Jon pulls back with a pinched expression on his face, Martin assumes—with hot embarrassment coursing through him—that he’s somehow gone too far and strayed into sex territory and made Jon uncomfortable.

Then, Jon says with cheeks dark and eyes focused resolutely on Martin’s chest, “Martin, would… would you like to move to the bedroom?” and Martin’s thoughts grind to a halt.

“Sorry, what?” is all he can think to say.

Jon’s cheeks grow incrementally darker. “I am asking,” he says slowly, like the words are clunky and unwieldy in his mouth, “if you would like to have sexual intercourse. With me, of course, I- I hope that was implied.”

Martin’s aware that his mouth is quite literally hanging open in shock. He closes it quickly before swallowing and saying, “I… yeah, Jon, I- I’d love that, but I thought you—”

He clamps his mouth shut again, a touch too late. Jon’s forehead creases in confusion and he says, “I what?”

Martin hems and haws for a moment before biting the bullet and saying, all in a rush, “I thought you didn’t like sex.”

Jon’s frown deepens. “What? Why?”

And god, Martin doesn’t want to admit that he’s been thinking about office gossip for nearly a year, but he’s dug his grave—he may as well lie in it. He sighs, worries his hands on his lap, and says, “I… may have listened to a tape where Melanie said that Georgie said that you… didn’t.”

Jon looks at Martin blankly for a moment before his expression flattens into something that’s equal parts irritated and resigned. “Ah. Right. That… that makes sense, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin says emphatically, placing his hand atop Jon’s and squeezing. “I- I didn’t mean to hear it; I was listening to the statements and it was just there.”

“No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Jon sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

“What?”

Jon makes an aborted, dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’ve… never been good at explaining my own preferences. I never did with Georgie, just… told her I was asexual and left it at that. I suppose she took that to mean that I, er. Didn’t.”

Asexual. Martin has a vague notion of what that means—he’s been in enough online LGBTQ spaces to have encountered the word before, but he’s never really looked into it much himself. If pressed, he thinks he’d also assume it meant that Jon didn’t. Something a bit guilty twists within him at that thought, amplified by his next thought that Georgie shouldn’t have assumed, because, well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it? Still, he feels the need to voice it; he squeezes Jon’s hand again and says, “It’s not your fault that she just- just made assumptions about what you wanted, Jon.”

“Yes, but it’s my fault that I never corrected her.” Jon makes a face. “Or Tim, now that I think about it. I… I suppose I’m just not very good at talking about these things. Particularly because my own preferences are…” Jon’s pained expression deepens. “Christ, I don’t want to say complicated again, but there really is no other word for it.”

That’s not your fault either, Martin wants to say, but he knows Jon will just contradict him again, and he’ll repeat himself, and then they’ll just be talking in circles, and that won’t help anything. It’s frustrating, but it’s the truth. Still, Martin finds the words waiting on his lips when he opens his mouth, so he shuts it again and thinks for a moment, promising himself later. I’ll tell him later. Finally, he says carefully, “Do you… do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t want to assume.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, I don’t want to keep assuming, I suppose, given that I’ve already assumed quite a lot.” Quieter: “Sorry, again.”

“It’s fi—” Jon cuts off, takes a breath. “Th… thank you, Martin.” He hesitates a moment, then says haltingly, “I- I do want to talk about it, but I don’t—” He makes a frustrated noise. “—I don’t know how.”

“Okay,” Martin says after a moment. “You said it’s complicated, yeah?” When Jon nods mutely, he continues, “Would it help if you described how you feel right now? That’s- that’s less complicated, right?”

Jon’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I… suppose.”

“All right, then.” Martin makes a go-on gesture, then rests his hand atop Jon’s and applies a gentle pressure.

Jon takes a few deep breaths, squints at nothing, makes a few wordless noises, then says bluntly, “I want to have sex with you.”

Martin tries really, really hard not to blush, but he doesn’t think he quite succeeds given how hot his face feels when he says, “Right, okay.” His voice is a bit higher-pitched than normal; he hopes that Jon doesn’t notice. “And, um. Do you always… want to have sex with me? Or just right now.”

Jon grimaces. “That’s where it gets complicated.” He makes an I-don’t-know gesture with his free hand and says, “No? Yes? I don’t know, Martin. I’m told that not wanting sex all the time is- is normal, that- that you have to be in the mood, but apparently I’m just supposed to know when I’ll be in the mood and when I won’t be, and that- that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Are you—” Martin cringes internally, but forces the words out. “—in the mood right now?”

“Well,” Jon grumbles, “not anymore, but I was. And it’s complicated, because even if I am, I- I don’t always want to be touched, but how do you explain that to someone, how- how do you tell someone that it’s mostly no but sometimes yes and there’s a very good chance that I might change my mind halfway through and decide that it’s no after all?”

“I think,” Martin says patiently, “that you just say that.”

Jon gives Martin a look. “Martin.”

“What? It’s true!” Martin gives Jon as reassuring a smile as he can muster. “It made sense to me, at least.”

“Yes, but that’s not—” Jon makes a frustrated noise. “It’s not whether or not it makes sense, it’s whether or not somebody is willing to put up with a sexual partner who doesn’t know whether or not they’re going to want to have sex on any given day, whether they- they’ll be repulsed or interested or want to give but not receive or the other way around or- or something else that I haven’t thought of but that will likely happen because consistency is, apparently, off the cards for me entirely.”

“Hey, hey,” Martin says gently, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder and rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. “Jon, look at me.” When Jon looks, albeit reluctantly, Martin continues, “I can’t speak for other people, and I- I can’t tell you how to feel, but I can tell you how I feel, and I… I’m willing. No, more than willing—I love you, Jon, all of you, and if this is how you feel, then I love that about you too. Whatever you’re willing to give me, it… it’ll be enough. You’re enough.”

Jon’s cheeks darken and he looks away. After a long moment, he says in a stiff voice, “Well. Thank you, Martin.” Then, a bit softer: “I… I love you too.” He looks at Martin then and offers him a small, weak smile. “It’s… well, it’s still awkward, but it’s not quite as bad—talking about all of this—as I thought it would be.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Talk to me about it, that is.”

Jon’s smile turns a bit hesitant. “So you would really be okay if I… if I never asked again? To, er. To have sex.”

“Yes,” Martin says, without hesitation.

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “And- and if I said that I did? Want to? That… that would be okay too? Even if I’d already said that I didn’t?”

“Yep.”

Jon looks down at his hands where they’re twisted tightly in the hem of his jumper, then back up at Martin. “All right.” He hesitates a moment, then says, “And if… if I said that I wanted to have sex… now?”

Ah. It looks like Martin’s not done blushing quite yet. “Yep, that- that’s fine with me,” he squeaks out, then cringes internally. Fine? Really?

Thankfully, Jon doesn’t seem offended; if anything, he seems amused, his mouth quirking up into a small smirk. “All right, then.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Martin’s lips, soft and chaste and ever-so-slightly lingering before he pulls away. “I, er. I think I’d like to just kiss for a bit, though.” His smile turns teasing. “Foreplay is very important, after all.”

Martin groans and gives Jon a look, his face likely fully tomato-red by now. “Jon.”

“Need to make sure we’re fully in the mood before beginning proceedings—”

“Yes, yes, you’ve made your point,” Martin says, a giggle slipping out around the words. Then, because he’s nothing if not a little mischievous himself, he leans forward and captures Jon’s lips in a kiss, significantly less chaste and a touch more insistent, pressing until Jon is leaned back against the arm of the couch and Martin is hovering over him. Martin disengages from the kiss so he can marvel at the flushed, wide-eyed expression on Jon’s face. “Like that?” he says innocently.

Jon blinks up at him for a few seconds, like he’s not entirely sure how to process everything in front of him, before he smiles, a warm, happy thing that captures Martin’s heart entirely and steals it away. “I do believe that was adequate, yes. Perhaps you should do it again though, just to make sure.”

So Martin does. I love him, he thinks as he kisses Jon on the couch and kisses him again on the bed, kisses him in the spot between his shoulder blades where he always carries tension and in the dip of his clavicle and on the inside of his thigh. And when he’s curled up next to Jon after, he presses another kiss to the crown of Jon’s head and wraps his arms around him and quietly discards his mental lists of does and doesn’t. He’ll start from scratch, he decides, and after a moment’s thought, he comes up with two more lists, upon which it’s surprisingly easy to add item after item after item.

Jon likes to be kissed. Jon likes eggs and toast, but not jam, and likes his tea black and slightly oversteeped. Jon doesn’t like wool because he finds it itchy. Jon doesn’t like white wine, but he likes red, the kinds that are too dry for Martin’s tastes.

Jon likes Martin, and Martin likes him too. So, so much. And even when things change, when Jon finds a white wine he likes at a restaurant they visit and he takes his tea once with honey and enjoys it and he goes through a period where he doesn’t enjoy open-mouthed kisses and Martin adjusts his lists accordingly, that remains.

#archivalpride #the magnus archives #jongeorgie #jontim #jonmartin #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #georgie barker #melanie king #martin blackwood #my fic #my writing

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

| 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔦 𝔪𝔢𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 | [CHAPTER 4]

pairing; fratboy!wonwoo x reader

this chapter’s notes; fratboy!wonwoo, fingering, littlest bit of dirty talk, praise!kink, soft soft soft FLUFF hours, a bit of a filler chapter before the last chapter!! 😭 I can’t believe it’s almost ‘over’... This chapter has the least amount of smut yall will ever see with fratboy!wonwoo so don’t get used to it ☠️ LMAO 🤣🤣 also... it’s been a garbage week(boring work drama) for me so I’ll answer inbox msgs and stuff on sunday, I need to get away from the internet(and people) for a day dkfjhskh 😭💕 Ya’ll thank you for so much love and support with Caffeine and Until I Met You! It means so much to me and I appreciate every like, reblog and comment I get on it 🥺💕 No I will never be ending my fratboy!wonwoo au so don’t worry about that hehe 💕 For now, enjoy this soft ch 4 and I will see yall on Sunday! I love you, have a great weekend! 💕

[mood for this chapter: more than enough - alina baraz]

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - x

“So…”

Wonwoo sighs - re-shelving another Edgar Allen Poe book. “So, what?”

Mingyu tilts his sunglasses down, eyebrows raised at the older male that continues to do his job instead of give him the time of day. “What’s going on with you, hyung? You’ve been… weird.”

“Okay, define weird.”

The younger male pouts as he takes his sunglasses off, pocketing them as he leans up against the bookshelf that Wonwoo is currently still shelving.

It only takes one utterance of your name for Wonwoo to stop in his tracks - fingertips on the spine of another book as he turns to Mingyu. “What about her? Did she say something to you?”

“No, but do you like her? I mean, ‘like’ like her.”

“Is it not… obvious? That I do? Did we not all collectively have that conversation about me giving her a set of keys to our house?”

Mingyu grimaces slightly as he mentally goes through all the times he’d even seen the two of you together and he’s only able to conjure up a few select memories - none of which were anything necessarily romantic. “Well… I wouldn’t say ‘obvious’, I guess. The two of you aren’t exactly the ‘kiss and hold hands in public’ kind of... people. More like the, ‘sneak off to fuck in a public restroom’ kind... Which, uh, isn’t really... romantic.”

This time, Wonwoo crosses his arms and leans up against the opposite bookshelf as he sighs.

It’d been a few days since he’d seen you and you’d been swamped in so much class work that you didn’t even have the time to come by the library or the frat house. And even while Wonwoo stood in between the bookshelves having a conversation with Mingyu, you were finishing an art project with Minghao that was due by the end of the day.

“I know. I told her it’d be kind of a slow crawl for me.” He plucks another book from the cart, staring at the glossy text as he simmers in his thoughts. “Mingyu, am I awkward?”

“Erm, well, I wouldn’t say that necessarily.”

Mingyu steps forward, patting Wonwoo on the shoulder as he smiles.

“You like her and you’re trying even if you’re not used to it. You gotta start somewhere, hyung. Even if you’re a fish out of water. But that’s okay, you can ask me for help if you want!”

“When are you gonna put a ring on Wonwoo-hyung?”

You snort at Minghao’s question - reaching for a clean paintbrush as he stands across from you in the large, empty studio. “First of all, can you not say it like that? I’m not gonna marry him, okay.”

The male rolls his eyes as he steps closer to you; his own hands and clothes covered in a colorful array of paints. “So you’re saying you never imagined hyung in a suit, hair slicked back and his buff arms carrying you off into your honeymoon?”

“W--wh--n--no! No, I haven’t!” You avoid his piercing stare as you focus on your end of the large canvas instead.

No, but I dreamt about it once.

“‘Hao, would you hurry! We’re supposed to be collaborating on this and it looks… like it’s 5 different art styles.”

“Don’t change the subject on me. And anyway, I like what you’re doing to hyung. Breaking him out of his shell, y’know? He’s just shy, that’s all. Needs a little work in the bold department.”

You bite down the urge to laugh because to you, Wonwoo was everything but shy when it came to the bedroom. Although, Minghao was right with everything else. “Yeah, I know. We went for breakfast together after I, um, stayed over a few nights ago and he kinda just sat there zoned out, picking at his waffles. He’s really cute when he wakes up in the morning though. Pouty and whiny.”

Grinning at Minghao, he pretends to gag in response before taking a seat next to you.

“Disgusting. Tell me more.”

Wonwoo makes an effort to check in with you throughout the day before he heads back to his room - asking you if you’d had your meals and if you’d finished your project on time.

You’d answered sporadically as you and Minghao raced to finish.

‘I’ll eat late probably… rly gotta finish or else my ass is failing lol’

‘Just don’t forget, okay? It’s not good for you to skip.’

Wonwoo lays down in his bed; yawning as he sets his phone onto the nightstand next to himself.

His eyelids feel heavy and he’s quick to give in to the tiredness that takes over him once he gets comfortable.

When Wonwoo finally decides to shift during his nap, he finds it difficult and extra warm.

“Mmh…”

His bleary eyes adjust to the, now, slightly darkened room as he makes out your figure tucked underneath his arm. He calls your name softly - waking you up from the nap that you’d apparently joined him in.

“Mmh… Wonwoo…” You snuggle in deeper, voice still laced with sleep. “You didn’t even budge when I came in…”

He chuckles softly as he readjusts to spoon you from behind instead; his strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep your body flush against his own.

“I’m surprised you came by, sweetheart. I would’ve just stayed awake had I known you were coming over.” His voice is groggy and laced with sleep as you sigh softly in return as you blink away the sleepiness.

“How was your day at the library? Miss me yet?” Wonwoo smiles into your shoulder before he tilts his head up to kiss the shell of your ear.

“Always, sweetheart. Although, Mingyu decided to keep me busy today.”

“Oh? Anything fun?”

He plays with the hem of your shirt, “Well… Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe what that was. Nosy was more like it.”

This time you can’t help but snort in response. “You too? I think some people were being ‘lil moles today.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it. Did you end up just coming back here with Minghao from the studio?”

“Wasn’t planning on it, to be honest but… S’been a rough day.” Placing your hand over his arm, you squeeze slightly as you pull his arm around you tighter. “Our professor came by while we were working in the studio and said our project wasn’t up to par with what Minghao and I usually submit for projects. She didn’t fail us on the spot but she said we need to redo it for less credit or take the failing grade.”

Wonwoo nuzzles your neck; peppering small kisses on your clothed shoulder. “I take it the two of you are going to redo it?”

“Mm… We spent so long coming up with a concept and now we’re both stressed about coming up with something new. I walked over here with ‘Hao and he locked himself up in his room as soon as we got here. Figured I’d come hang out with you and found you napping… With your glasses on, no less.”

The two of you share a laugh; Wonwoo’s embrace making you feel more at ease.

“Can I help you de-stress a little, sweetheart?”

You stare at the opposite wall, nodding gently as Wonwoo’s hand leaves the hem of your shirt in favour of the waistband of your shorts.

“Just want you to feel good,” he whispers. “You deserve it. You’ve been working so hard, baby.”

He teases you softly; fingertips ghosting across your skin as you shiver. “Ah, Wonwoo…”

“You worked extra hard today too, didn’t you? I’m so proud of you for what you accomplished today.”

Your body heats up at his praise and you can’t deny that his deep, soft voice sends thrums of arousal pouring over your body just as he dips his hand into your lounge shorts. He touches you over your panties - fingertips ghosting against your mound as you moan his name shakily in return.

“I know your new idea is going to be great, baby. I believe in you.”

Soft whines threaten to spill as Wonwoo strokes you over your panties - slowly working you up as you find yourself trying to grind against his hand. “Y-yeah… ‘m p-pretty sure ‘Hao’s already working on it…”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as Wonwoo continues to stroke you gently; making no efforts to rush or add pressure to his feather-light touches.

A disappointed noise falls from your lips when he starts to pull his hand out of your shorts but it quickly turns into a content sigh when he starts teasing your chest instead.

“Mm, so soft…” Muttering against your shoulder, his eyes stare off into the dark room as he massages your body. “And all mine~”

You hum in response, “We should go on a date sometime…”

“You want to? We can go this weekend. After you’ve redone some of your project. I’ll take you somewhere nice for a job well done.”

You giggle softly; images of a wedding day’s Wonwoo dancing in your mind after the conversation you’d had with Minghao earlier. “I’d like that. We should do something for the whole day.”

“Whatever you’d like, baby.”

Wonwoo’s hand flits down your body again - snaking into your shorts and, this time, into your panties as you whine. “Do you wanna cum or go back to sleep, hmm?”

You ponder it for a second as the drowsiness equates the urge to cum on his fingers.

“Both? I wanna cum and then sleep a little more... If that’s okay?”

Wonwoo hums in agreement as his fingertips drag through your folds - collecting the wetness on them before he teases your soaked hole. “Only a little teasing gets you this wet, hmm? So cute.”

“Ah, f-feels good when you go slow t-too...”

He stores that away in his head for later; chuckling against your shoulder as he slowly starts to dip his middle finger into your cunt.

You feel warm and content when he starts a slow pace - thumb on your clit rubbing soft, slow circles while he pumps his finger into you.

“O-oh, Wonwoo...”

“You’re always good for me, baby. Always such a good girl.”

“Ah, Wonwoo...”

“You can cum whenever you want. You deserve it.”

He adds his index finger - thrusting both fingers into you as you mewl and arch away from his warm chest. Your toes curl and your thighs clamp and trap his hand between your legs as you start to grind down onto his nimble fingers.

“...W--Wonwoo...”

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, let me hear your pretty voice when your cumming for me.”

You turn your head - cries muffled into his pillow because despite his slower than usual pace, you find yourself already on the brink of cumming with his fingers knuckle deep inside of you and his thumb on your clit.

“Mmh... Ah... Feels s-so warm... and g-good...” You mutter, eyes blinking drowsily. “Gonna c-cum...”

He doesn’t say anything in return as he focuses on you and your pleasure; fingers scissoring and curling right into your g-spot as you clamp down onto them in a vice grip.

Wonwoo knows when you’re about to cum when he feels your hand coming down on his forearm, holding onto him for dear life when your orgasm still hits you just as hard.

“Ngh, Wo---Wonwoo!”

Your walls flutter around his fingers and make it harder for him to thrust them in and out with how tight you get.

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me, baby~”

His deep voice makes you whine - nails digging into his arm and body trembling as the pleasure steadily washes over you.

“Ah, bet your face is so pretty right now too~”

“Mmh, s-stop...” Your cheeks burn in slight embarrassment from his constant praise but you can’t deny the way it goes straight to your core and only prolongs your orgasm.

“Don’t be so shy, baby. It’s only you and me here.”

Wonwoo leans away slightly to kiss the crown of your head - still working you through your orgasm as you sigh contentedly in his arms.

Various thoughts run through his head in the moment, but the one that sits at the forefront of his mind is definitely how to make sure he kept treating you right.

Starting with your date that he would spend time meticulously planning.

‘Ah, I should ask Mingyu for some advice.’

#wonwoo smut #wonwoo fluff #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen fluff #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt imagines #wonwoo fic #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #uimy_meltwonu

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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firstaidspray · 2 years

Text

OC Tag - Song Challenge

step 1 →create your oc (or ocs) in this picrew

step 2 → list 5 songs that inspired (or capture the feel of) your oc. if you chose multiple, feel free to pick your favorite or do songs for all of ‘em! (and feel free to list fewer or more songs if you want)

I decided I wanted to redo this and put it under a readmore without the meanings lol, and do it for a couple more of my ocs because they have really really good playlists and I'd like to share some of that with you all. Even if you don't care. Too bad.

Reverie (The Righteous Gemstones)

1. Bitch by Meredith Brooks

I'm a bitch, I'm a tease / I'm a goddess on my knees / When you hurt, when you suffer / I'm your angel undercover / I've been numb, I'm revived / Can't say I'm not alive / You know I wouldn't want it any other way

2. She Talks To Angels by The Black Crowes

She keeps a lock of hair in her pocket / she wears a cross around her neck / yeah, the lock of hair is from a little boy / and the cross is someone she has not met / not yet

3. Halo by Soil

Bitter sins, how they grow within / so you tell me it ain't right / I am all sins / and you're my reason for life

4. Follow Me Down by The Pretty Reckless

Nights avoiding things unholy / your hand slips across my skin / I go down on you so slowly / don't confess none of your sins

5. Pain Lies on the Riverside by Live

I have forever, always tried / to stay clean and constantly baptized / I'm aware that the river's banks, they are dry / and to wait for a flood / is to wait for life

Juliette Chrysler (Vice Principals / Killing It)

1. Homecoming Queen by Hinder

A shame, shame, shame that our homecoming queen / had a lot to prove and so many to please / she's just somebody's daughter / just looking for somebody to love her

2. I Want You to Want Me by Letters to Cleo

I want you to want me / I need you to need me / I'd love you to love me / I'm begging you to beg me

3. #1 Crush by Garbage

Violate all my love that I'm missing / throw away all the pain that I'm living / you will believe in me / and I can never be ignored

4. Girl Next Door by Saving Jane

I get a little bit / she gets a little more / she's Miss America / and I'm just the girl next door

5. Brown Eyed Girl by Everclear

Now that the years gone by / yeah, now that I'm on my own / I saw you just the other day / oh my, baby you have grown

Dolly Dobson (The Devil's Rejects)

1. Be Yourself by Audioslave

Even when you've paid enough / been pulled apart / or been held up / every single memory of / the good or bad, faces of love / don't lose any sleep tonight / I'm sure everything will end up alright / you may win or lose

2. If You Could Only See by Tonic

Seems the road less traveled / shows happiness unraveled / and you got to take a little dirt / to keep what you love / that's what you gotta do

3. Letter to God by Hole

I've lost all self-esteem / by burying everything / and I feel nothing, nothing

4. Lady Picture Show by Stone Temple Pilots

She hides because she don't know nothin' / don't know nothin' anymore / she keeps a funny face / it's locked and bagged / it's just outside the door

5. Killpop by Slipknot

Will she ever find / one million of a kind? /it's cold and lonely / but that's because she told me / lost inside her dirty world / no one hurts this pretty girl but her

Gehenna (Hellraiser)

1. Gehenna by Slipknot

Free my severed heart / give me you / I want it / I don't wanna be myself

2. You've Seen the Butcher by Deftones

You slowly enter / 'cause you know my room / you crawl your knees off / and then you shake my tomb

3. Adrenalize by In This Moment

I crave excess, turning wine into sweat / dripping down my neck / I can't deny, I'd die without this / make me feel like a God, adrenaline and sex

4. Judith by A Perfect Circle

It's not like you killed someone / it's not like you drove a hateful spear into his side / praise the one who left you / broken down and paralyzed / he did it all for you

5. Ouija Board by Chevelle

Never say die unless you mean it / you're the salt of the earth left uneasy / right or wrong, if the world explodes / well you and I are one

#my ocs #tag game #reverie #juliette chrysler #dolly dobson #gehenna

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sunsetcurve · 4 years

Note

t... tiara thief + “have you been waiting up this whole time?”

fandom: knight squad relationships: arc/ciara, pre-relationship word count: 1,482 a/n: okay, first of all, i want to thank you for this prompt because it single-handedly pulled me out of the writer’s block i’ve been suffering for months. i haven’t completed something in a hot minute, so despite the fact that i wrote this all in one go while i was supposed to be studying for my calc test tomorrow and reading it over once was the extent of my editing so it’s probably Not Very Good, writing it made me incredibly happy. it’s so fluffy and i love writing their dynamic and just,, it’s such a great prompt for them and i hope you guys like it! dedications: tagging my dearest fellow tiara thief stans: @ciara-knightly@perhapspearl @mistyskiesrambles @willexs @taylorswiftrulestheworld @onplanetmars @neshatriumphs @zackmartin @knghtsquad @soni-dragon @hopefulbeautifulfool @cactus-con @waterisntreal @bitchmilsky summary: In the morning, she’ll chalk it up to the fact that she’s not thinking straight. She’s too tired to think about the implications of it, too out of it to actually use her better judgement. And too lonely. She’s been Princess Angelica for days—she wants to be Ciara for a night. She misses Arc, misses having his steady presence by her side, familiar and constant and unconditional. She just wants him to stay.

It’s late by the time Ciara makes it back. The castle is still and dark and dead-quiet as she approaches her bedroom, heels dangling from one hand and the skirts of her dress pulled up in the other, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

It’s not the muscle-aching, satisfying sort of tired that always comes after a long day of training or a successful mission, though—it’s the kind of weariness that’s accompanied by flashes of irritation and leaves her feeling more than a little drained. Not for the first time, the itch of resentment towards her Princess duties crawls under her skin. She should’ve spent the last few days on a daring quest with her squad, not faking smiles through ball after ball. But it’s the height of trade season; they have appearances to keep and responsibilities to fulfill. There’s a whole mess of politics involved that she’s slowly familiarizing herself with, getting comfortable with her position. And yet she misses the tension of her bow, the adrenaline rush of a fight, the thrill of a good adventure—and she misses her team.

They should be back by now. She was supposed to meet them in the training yard tonight, but the party ran long and she couldn’t pull herself away, so she’d had to cancel at the last minute. They’re meeting at the Tasty Trunk first thing in the morning to catch up over breakfast, but still, she’s half-tempted to take her passageway into the squad room and see them right now.

But it’s late, and they’ve just gotten back—they’ll all be asleep.

Ciara huffs a minute sigh and pushes open her door. She should get some rest, anyway, so she’ll be ready for training in the morning with a slew of excuses about her miraculous recovery from an illness that didn’t really exist. When she sees her bed, another wave of tiredness hits her full-force; she’s almost ready to throw herself under the covers without even changing out of her gown.

Except she can’t. Because there’s a figure slumped in the armchair by the balcony.

Her hand goes instinctively to her side, before realizing that she’s not in her gear and therefore doesn’t have a weapon. Mind whirring, she weighs the risk of transforming in front of this person—but after a moment, she realizes that they haven’t moved. She shuffles her feet to get a better angle, and moonlight spills over a head of blonde hair, rumpled clothes, and a dark green shoulder pad.

“Arc?” Ciara hisses.

“Wh—” He jerks awake, falling right out of the chair. His sword is still sheathed, but it hits the floor with a clang, and the sound rings through the room and makes her wince. His head jolts around before his wide eyes land on her. “Ciara! Hey, hi! Fancy seeing you h—here,” he finishes around a yawn, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re in my room,” she says pointedly. There’s a part of her that thinks she should be annoyed, that she’s tired, and he scared her, and the noise probably woke half the castle, but in truth she’s just happy that he’s here. She would never say it out loud, but seeing him makes something in her chest swell.

“Hmmf...touche.” He smacks his lips, clearly still half-asleep even after being startled, and Ciara registers that he’s streaked with dirt and dressed in his gear.

“When did you get back?” she asks as he pulls himself into a sitting position and redoes the top few buttons of his shirt.

“A few hours ago.”

“Have you been waiting up this whole time?”

Arc rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand, and the gesture is so painfully endearing that Ciara feels herself melt a little, a rush of fondness surging through her. “We were s’pposed to meet up in the training yard,” he says, and yawns again.

“I sent you a mirror message that I couldn’t make it.”

“Well, yeah, but I had to come chew you out in person for bailing on us.” He pouts, nothing serious behind his words, and Ciara finds herself lifting a hand to hide her giggle.

“Oh, yeah? Chew away.”

He fixates her with his drowsy eyes and says, with the utmost sincerity, “You suck. And—and I hope you find dragon dung in your pillow.”

She laughs openly now, the happiness and easy comfort of seeing him pushing away every negative emotion from the night. “Just say you missed me,” she grins teasingly.

“I did not.”

“Mhm.”

“I hope—I hope Sage covers you in unicorn poop again. I hope someone steals all of your tiaras, even the sparkliest one. I hope your snack catapult breaks.”

She gasps. “Take that back!”

“No. You deserve it.” He gives a little self-satisfied smirk, his eyes fluttering shut. It’s obvious that he’s just about ready to pass out again, and as Ciara tries and fails to stifle a yawn she remembers that she’s not that far off either. She moves to nudge him with her foot.

“C’mon, get up.”

He groans and swats blindly at her. “I can’t. I’ve lost that ability. Also, my back hurts. Your chair is not as comfortable as it looks—false advertising.”

“I didn’t ask you to sleep there,” she snorts, kicking him again.

Arc blinks his eyes open at last and lifts a hand into the air, looking up at her expectantly. She rolls her eyes and takes it, hauling him off the floor. “Idiot,” she grumbles, though she can’t keep the affection out of it.

“Your idiot,” he responds without missing a beat. Distantly, she thinks that she’s going to wonder over that line again and again when she’s not so sleep-deprived. In the moment, though, it just feels right.

“M’kay, I am going to bed,” Arc announces blearily, and starts making his way to her passageway. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You don’t have to go,” she says, and then bites her lip. Maybe if she had an ounce of impulse control left over, she would’ve stopped herself, but she doesn’t.

He stops in his tracks and turns to her. “No offense, but I think the beds in the squad room are more comfortable than your floor, if only by a little—”

In the morning, she’ll chalk it up to the fact that she’s not thinking straight. She’s too tired to think about the implications of it, too out of it to actually use her better judgement. And too lonely. She’s been Princess Angelica for days—she wants to be Ciara for a night. She misses Arc, misses having his steady presence by her side, familiar and constant and unconditional. She just wants him to stay. The words stumble out: “My bed’s big enough for both of us.”

He blinks at her. Tilts his head, like he’s trying to tell if she’s serious or not. He opens his mouth and then closes it, rubs at the inside of his eye with his fist, and then says finally, “Are you sure?”

She shrugs. “As long as you’re out by morning, or my dad will flay you alive.”

“I’m not afraid of your dad.”

“He’ll call my sister.”

He winces. “Okay, her, I’m scared of.”

Ciara laughs a little and holds her hand out to him, palm-up, and he slips his fingers between hers and lets her tug him towards her bed. He strips off his vest and his shoulder pad and sheath, and she takes the tiara off her head and lets her hair loose from its updo. She doesn’t have the energy to change out of her dress right now, just aches for the warmth of her covers and the softness of her pillow.

When she turns back around, Arc is staring at her. There’s exhaustion still worked into the corners of his face, but there’s something else, too—a sort of softness behind his eyes, a little burst of affection.

She smiles to herself and crawls into bed, burrowing into the sheets. “C’mon,” she tells him quietly, patting the empty space beside her, and he hesitates for a moment before nestling into place.

His whole body goes limp almost instantly. “I’m going back to my thieving ways for one last heist,” he mumbles, muffled by her pillow. “I’m stealing your bed.”

“Not allowed.” He’s warm and soft beside her. She presses close to his shoulder, her eyes slipping closed. “You smell like sewage,” she hums.

“Fought a troll.”

“Did you win?”

“Duh.” His breathing slows, and she matches its pace without thinking about it. She feels light and safe and floating, and she’s barely half-awake when his quiet voice breaks through her haze again. “Ciara?”

“Hm?”

“I did miss you.”

She nuzzles into his chest, warmth flooding through her at the knowledge that she’ll wake up next to him. Even as she’s drifting out of consciousness, she feels herself smile. “I know.”

#me? finishing a fic? it's more likely than any of us thought!#knight squad #tiara thief #otp: you’re gonna have to trust me #arc #ciara #knight squad fic #request fic #writing #my writing #//umanawrites

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baby-the-crybaby · 4 years

Text

Braided Hair ❁ Madara x Uzumaki! Reader

MARRIAGE IS AN ODD THING.

Specifically arranged ones.

One minute you’re tucked away in your room and the next you’re married to the head of the Uchiha clan.

Madara Uchiha. He had a scary reputation which terrified the poor (Y/N), but she was doing this for the well being of her clan. She held her head high and made sure to show no signs of fear when they first met. He admired that about her. He admired that she was brave and kept a strong mindset. He thought she’d be another weak woman and that he’d find no use for her. He even thought that eventually he might forget that he was married, but time proved him wrong.

The two of them enjoyed each other’s company. (Y/N) pushed his reputation to the far reaches of her mind. He was nice to her. Genuinely he was. He made sure she was never bored and always had something planned for them. Though he’s a bit old fashioned so some of the things he enjoys can be a bit boring and his jokes can often land flat. She thought it was cute in most ways. But if she said she found Madara Uchiha cute, people would think she had lost her mind.

Speaking of things he enjoys…

“Your hair looks gorgeous in the sun,” Madara’s deep voice swam out of his mouth while a finger twirled in (Y/N)’s bright red hair, trademark of the Uzumaki clan.

Her cheeks almost matched her hair in color, “Thank you, Madara.”

The two of them sat together in a large, vast meadow. Flowers of every color spouted from the ground around them and danced together each time a breeze blew by. It was an idea of his to go here today in an attempt to make her happy. He liked how bright her smile was. It could fight any amount of darkness inside him.

She leaned back on the palms of her hands as a relaxed sigh escaped from her, “How did you even find this place? It doesn’t seem like a place you’d be in.”

He pushed strands of hair behind her ear before relaxing just like she was, “I just came across it a few days ago and I thought that you would like it.”

A smile curved it’s way onto her lips before she responded, “What made you think that?”

He turned to her and she could see the worry that was in his eyes, “I thought that all girls liked this kind of thing. Like flowers and what not. Do you not like this?”

She shook her head, “No I do. I think it’s pretty.”

His nonchalant smile came back, “Well good. I thought it was pretty as well and I thought that since you’re pretty that you’d want to come here and be with other pretty things.”

She was startled by his compliment. It took her off guard. Her cheeks became pink while her mouth hung slightly open. Once it had fully registered what he said she started to laugh. His confident smile faded and he stared at her confused.

“What?”

She had her hand clasped over her mouth to stop the laughing, “It’s nothing! You’re just a little cheesy.”

He turned away from her with a pout causing her to laugh more. Only a few years ago was he on a battlefield covered in blood and now he was in a flower meadow with a little pout on his face. He was like a school boy at that moment.

(Y/N) landed back onto the flowers with a thud as her laughter calmed down. Madara was busy with his little pout moment that he didn’t even look her way. But her eyes were on him. The blue sky was above him and the bright sun shined down on his lion’s mane. His pale skin glowed as well because of the sun. His hair looked so soft in the moment that she just wanted to bury herself inside it. It looked like a huge blanket.

“You know,” She paused while he finally turned her way. “I guess you belong here as well.”

He raised an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying that you’re pretty,” She smiled at him.

She managed to make him blush. His pale cheeks were painted pink. He had no time to hide it from her because based on her cute giggle, she had already seen it.

Not wanting his pride to be messed with by his wife, he brushed it off, “Oh please. I stick out like a sore thumb in these flowers.” A gasp left her lips as she shot up from her lying position. He turned to her with an even more confused expression than before. “What?”

“I can change that,” She had an excited sparkle in her eyes.

He repeated, “What?”

“Let me do something with your hair,” A huge smile spread on her face while her hands clapped together.

His hair was something he took pride in. He can’t just let some girl touch it. He carried this hair for years. It grew with each battle and each loss. People might say it’s messy and it makes him look crazy but that won’t make him cut it.

…

But how could he say no when she had such an excited expression. It was one of a child before getting a present. Her eyes were almost as bright as the sun.

With a sigh he spoke, “Fine.” She squealed with joy as she crawled over behind him. Her hands were clapping happily as she examined every part of his hair. “What do you plan on doing?”

“I was just going to braid it and make you look like a farmer girl or something,” She laughed. “Maybe later I can draw freckles on your face and search for something plaid.”

“Isn’t messing with my hair enough for you?” He chuckled at her ideas.

“We’ll see,” She sang happily.

(Y/N)’s gentle hands went straight into the mess. They pushed their way up onto his hand and massaged gently against his scalp. He groaned softly at the nice feeling of her soft hands. She raked her fingers through his hair and found that it was brushed through almost completely. She hadn’t realized how well he actually takes care of his hair. It was so soft. It felt like a clean dog’s fur. She would even say it’s as soft as silk.

He felt like a cat and all of a sudden understood why they purr when they’re being petted. It was a nice relaxing feel, just as the meadow was. Her hands were so nice to his hair and he especially liked it when she massaged his head.

She sectioned his hair into three parts and started to lay each one down over the other. As she continued down his hair, the braided pattern became more clear and she felt pride swell in her. Once she got to the end of the braid she realized that she didn’t have anything to tie it with.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, “Do you happen to have a hair tie?”

He turned to her, “Nope.”

She laid the braid down on his back and watched as the last few braids came undo. She sighed in disappointment but knew that she could just redo it. She held her foot out and slid her wooden sandal off. He watched her every move carefully. She slipped her sock off and took hold of the hole and pulled with all of her strength.

“Oh wait, no. You don’t-” He was cut off by the sound of her sock ripping it half. “You aren’t going to tie my hair with your sock are you?”

“I am,” She moved back to his hair and fixed the bottom of the braid. “Why?”

“That’s been on your foot almost all day.”

“And?”

“It probably smells!”

She scoffed, “Rude.”

He gave up the argument and let her tie the end of the braid with her torn sock. Then she started to pluck some flowers from the ground and twist it into his hair. It brightened up his whole look. He wore dark clothes with black hair and eyes, but now he has flowers of all colors twisted into his hair.

She pulled the biggest flower she could find and crawled back around to look at his face. His bangs were still in his face so she couldn’t fully grasp what she had done. She threw one leg over his lap causing him to jump at her boldness.

She barely hovered over his lap as she took the large flower and his bangs and slid it gently behind his ear. Now she could see not only his whole face, but both of his eyes. Even in the sun they were still dark, but now he looked as bright as a flower.

She smiled at her hard work, “Now you’re just as pretty as a flower.”

The pink came back to his cheeks. He didn’t know how to respond to her or her work. No one had ever said that to him or had done that. She was also extremely close to him at that moment.

She seemed to be waiting for something with how she was eagerly staring into his eyes. So he took a hold of her chin and pulled her head down softly. He lifted his head up to place his lips against her forehead.

When he pulled away she was once again just as red as her hair. He took this time to take a flower from the ground and place it behind her ear just as she had done to him. He smiled at her, “Now we’re both pretty flowers.”

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yanderemommabean · 4 years

Note

Do you think you could do a part 2 of that virus Au with dabi and shiva? Or somthing different with just dabi- whichever u prefer!

(I went on the just Dabi route for this one! I uh, have little brain energy currently, so pardon the misspellings if there are any and pardon the bad pacing! ))

He hates to admit it aloud, but yes, he finds things adorable. What?! He has an image to keep up! Ya know, badass, emo, uncaring and murderous! He has to look at least a bit intimidating!

Cats? Adorable. Dogs? Adorable. You trying to get away from his touch at every turn as if you have a chance? Fucking adorable. Your constant fighting is down right adorable and cute because you think you can take him on being quirkless.

Right now he has you in his lap, squeezing you against his chest with a bone crushing hug, the nausea from the virus disappearing completely as soon as he’s able to have you in his grasp.

People think that pain, confusion, delirium and worse symptoms are just horrible with this virus, but In his mind it wouldn’t be any different. He’s sure even if he didn’t have the illness he’d be just as sick, just as in pain. Dabi is sure fate would make you two end up together in the end either way, and Shigaraki can bitch and moan all he wants, Dabi knows in his heart you were meant to be his.

“Holding you is the best cure...” he mumbled out loud, distracted as his fingers play with your hair and tug it gently. He loves the music that is your breathing, the blessing that is your lips moving to say his name, and how his inner predator growls at how he wants to protect and provide for you. He wants to sink his teeth into your pretty little neck and draw blood, taste the divine that is your skin and essence until his lips and teeth are stained.

A huge bite such as that should prove he owns you.

No one will come near you with such a mark, and just thinking about it makes his aches and pains go away. “I can be your cure too. Undo all the brainwashing those asshole hero’s did to you”.

You wince as he gives kisses up and down your neck and shoulder, biting your tongue when a protest tried to crawl up your throat. The muffled noise was seen as more out of embarrassment than resentment, you could sense the smile on his lips, and knew a cocky, arrogant remark was about to follow.

“No need to be so shy. I gotcha, mmm daddy Dabi isn’t gonna let you go baby”.

He licked a stripe up your neck and purred, rolling his hips up against your ass, coaxing out a noise that made him want to break his restraint and make you a complete and utter puddle of bliss on the floor by the time he’s done. He’s utterly smitten with you, but where’s the fun if he can’t control himself?

“Oh? Does my little runaway like that? Are you needy for me?”.

“Fuck off” you hissed out, trying to hide your arousal by clenching your thighs together, balling up fists of your shirt to keep from clawing at him.

“God you make me crazy” he huffs, clearly turned on. “I watched you for months and you still make me hard by just a little back-talk. God, you’re so amazing”.

He began to kiss you roughly, growling deep in his throat as he holds you by the throat with one hand “I love you so fucking much- god damn kisses aren’t enough. I want you to fall apart for me”.

He truly did. You were his ray of sunshine, his reason to keep going, the reason to stay in the league and show the world he can take on anything. You invigorated him and made him mad with lust and need, and soothed the aches in his bones with every look and insult you threw at him.

You were more than an adorable, rebellious lover. You were fucking irresistible, making him desperate and weak in the best of ways.

He’s only human. He can’t hold back anymore, and begins to slide his hand down to your hips, teasing the lining of your pants, watching as you jerk and twitch at the tickling warmth. He just wants you to feel like you’re as special as he sees you, can’t you let his fingers work their magic?

“I need you, baby, I need you so bad it hurts”. His voice was so desperate, so needy, it was a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. Dabi began to undo the button on your pants, adjusting you in his lap as he did so “I want to make you mine. Protect you. You’ve been nothing but betrayed and hurt and I want to only spoil you baby”.

He began to go on a rant, getting angry and slamming you on the table “it made me so upset to see you used and abused. God they’re all gonna burn and scream for what they’ve done”.

You scramble for words but stop cold in your tracks when he grabs your hand and places it on his heart. There was a definite pitter against your palm, the organ beating hard against his rib cage. “Feel how fast I beat for you kitten? Feel how much I adore you?”. His hooded eyes had an odd look to them, something that wasn’t human anymore.

No, this man was completely gone. What lies inside this villain isn’t human anymore, just a virus with a host to take what it wants. A crazed puppet with sick desires.

Your back is pressed back against the tabletop, throwing items out of the way as he dived in for a rough and demanding kiss, grinding harder against you as his body slides between your legs. “Mm-“ another kiss “I’ll kill for you-“ another kiss “baby I need to make you feel good-“ he said frantically, hands yanking down your pants, breath becoming increasingly uneven and labored as the kisses continue.

You squeal feeling a sharp, abrupt pain. His teeth had sunk into your skin, definitely breaking it. A pleased and possessive noise reverberates against your shoudler while a tongue laps up whatever blood bubbles to the surface. “I can’t get enough of you-you’ll always be the one I want to smell, hear, see, and taste”. Dabi snakes a hand down to your underwear, teasing the outside as the table creaks and rocks with his frantic kisses exploring your upper body and trailing lower.

Having you underneath him like this made him lose all resolve. He needed to taste you, make you see stars, see that he loves you and that you’re all he could ever ask for. He loves you. You don’t seem to believe that, but he’ll prove it. Sometimes actions speak louder than words.

“I love you more than anything,” he admitted, fingers gripping into your hips and yanking you lower off the table to meet his face “and I’m gonna prove it”.

(Ugh I’ll have to redo this at some point and make it better than it is I’m sorry bby-Mommabean ))

#yandere dabi #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere bnha #yandere lemons #yandere smut #yandere virus au #yandere virus #yandere dubcon #dabi #mommabean #yandere lov

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ayellowcurtain · 4 years

Text

Like trouble water running cold

chapter 5

“Are you sure you're going?” Ismail asks because he could see earlier how hard it was for Constantin to make some movements while putting on his clothes, his face still very purple in some areas,, the outline of the bruises getting a hint of green or yellow, looking worse before it gets better.

“Yes.” He fixes the collar of his white shirt, leaving the first few buttons open so anyone can see his bony chest, “You want to get rid of me?” He lifts his eyebrows, and Ismail rolls his eyes, pushing the end of his cigar against the street light pole so he can follow Constantin inside the Uber they asked to go to the party.

“No…”

“Yeah…” Constantin answers as an afterthought, opening the window on his side of the backseat, leaving as much room between them as possible, seeming a little agitated but Ismail doesn’t ask what’s going on. Deep inside he can tell things are changing between them, at least for him and the thought that it might not be what Constantin wants makes him a little disappointed, his ego hurt because Constantin probably just wants to keep things between them very casual. Ismail always thought he was the one to break someone’s heart, not the one to have his heart broken.

They just had a couple of intense weeks, amazing sex for the past few days, and all of a sudden, Constantin is cold like a brick of ice and Ismail hates it, hates Constantin.

The ride to the party is in complete silence, both of them looking out their windows until the car stops and Constantin jumps out of the car, barely waiting for Ismail for them to get inside.

It’s probably just Ismail’s horrible mood getting the best of him but the house feels way too crowded, you can barely move inside, everyone is kind of sweaty already, too drunk and too loud, never moving out of his way. Ismail tries to breath as little air as possible while searching for their group in the crowd.

Ismail really didn’t want to go, and he should have stayed home, not chainging his mind because Constantin was so ready to party all night long. They’re in opposite sides with their moods tonight so it’s for the best if they keep their distance. They’re always together but sometimes like tonight they would just bicker for any and everything.

Constantin is so pumped he keeps looking around, seeing what he can do next, his head quietly moving to the beat of the music, drinking his beer slowly. Zoe and Kieu My are dancing around them and it’s not enough space so they move on to the dance floor and Kieu My drags Constantin with her, holding his hand, both of them laughing as they walk through the crowd to the dance floor.

Ismail doesn’t feel like talking so he finds any excuse to go find a beer for himself, standing in a corner, lighting a cigarette while drinking his beer and watching the party, trying not to constantly watch the same person. He puts his beer on the windowsill and fixes his hair, checking his reflection on the glass, pulling his pants up to adjusting his shiny blouse.

He finishes his beer and finds a new one to start, asking a cute boy to open it for him just for the fun of it, moving back to the windowsill he was using as stool. Finn is with them on the dance floor now and it looks like two couples dancing.

It’s ridiculous how you can see from afar how they dance differently, finding a way to tell the other they would rather be doing something else. Ismail can only watch as Constantin stops dancing, walking upstairs, looking back to see Kieu My following him, clearly having one of those conversations with her where they’re having small talk but knowing very well where they’re going, and Constantin is not even thinking about looking around them, look for Ismail and check if he’s feeling like it.

He’s not but it would make things a lot better if it crossed Constantin’s tiny brain to check with him, to change his mind and not go to whatever bedroom he’s going with Kieu My if Ismail told him he isn’t feeling like having sex with them tonight. They just got tested, and Ismail is sure Kieu My is not a problem but it bothers him so much that Constantin doesn’t think about giving them just one night between the two of them where they don’t really have to worry. Kieu My and Ismail are very close so she’ll never be the problem, is the idea of how little Constantin cares about Ismail that gets to him more than it should. Ismail doesn’t stop watching until the two disappear in the hallway upstairs, no lights on until he sees a hint of a yellow light being turned on and disappearing all of a sudden as someone closes the door.

Zoe and Finn come back from the dance floor and go straight to the kitchen, coming back with as many shots as their four hands can carry and Ismail doesn’t care, drinking as many of them as he can take, one after the other, careful not to spill any on his friends that are carry so many small glasses.

“Well, that was useless,” Finn complains and Ismail walks past them, saying more to himself that he’ll get some more for them. It’s the best part of going to these rich people’s parties: it’s an endless amount of alcohol. Ismail grabs some with his hands and holds the extra ones pressed between his forearms and chest. Before he can occupy both his hands, he drinks another one, leaving the empty glass on the long island in the middle of the kitchen.

His stomach is empty, and hungry even, so he rushes back to the main area, hoping to quickly find Zoe and Finn again and get rid of all these glasses before he can break some when the alcohol quickly finds its way to his brain. He usually drinks slowly, like he doesn’t care about it so it’s not often that he gets badly drunk, and that’s all he wants right now.

To puke, be carried, talk loudly without meaning to like everyone else always does. He tries to honestly smile at Finn when he finds them, and he helps Ismail put all their drinks down on top of the expensive glass sideboard behind the little corner of the living room they managed to conquer for right now. They raise their glasses and make a toast every time they’re about to take another shot, turning it upside down in one go, feeling the bitterness and the burning feeling slipping from their necks to the very middle of their chests. It’s the last thing Ismail clearly remembers.

He doesn’t remember how but he’s sitting on a couch suddenly, a slippy one, that in contact with his tailoring black pants makes him constantly slip to the edge. A hard hand tap his shoulder and he looks up, feeling slightly better with that tiny motion, seeing a blurry Finn offer him a big cup of something. Ismail doesn’t ask, unable to open his mouth or move his tongue, but he drinks it anyway, even quicker when his brain understands that it’s water. Delicious, freezing cold water.

It doesn’t even hurt but definitely burns his chest, making it hurt a little bit less and different than the tequila and the heartbreak did earlier. Ismail sits up, putting his chest forward, regretting almost instantly when he feels the bitter taste of the alcohol quickly wanting to come back out.

“I’m gonna go.” He’s almost sure he says it out loud, pushing himself up, feeling his legs a little wobbly. He doesn’t walk alone, though, he feels hands holding his arms tightly, squeezing his skin until he’s out the house, the loud music still pulsing inside his ears.

Zoe is by his side when Finn rushes to the sidewalk and Ismail can hear in the very back of his mind Zoe complaining about something, and Finn waving at a specific black car that was slowly passing by them. He rushes back to them, and before he notices it, Ismail is inside a stranger’s car, and the car is moving, the driver doesn’t even acknowledge him and Ismail wonders if he’s worried Ismail might puke on his very clean and smelling nice car.

He opens the door when the car finally stops, and thinks it’s best for him to crawl out of it, carefully closing the door with his feet. The driver looks out the pasenger window, asking something that Ismail is almost sure is if he’s okay so he shows the guy his thumb up and he drives off a moment later.

It’s not a long walk to the door so Ismail tries to stand up very carefully, using his hands first to stand on his feet, taking his time with each step until he finds the door to lean against. Thankfully, it’s not locked so he pushes himself inside.

It’s so very late, but Constantin’s parents are the heaviest sleepers Ismail has ever seen and they sleep upstairs so he doesn’t care about making noise, taking his boots off, leaving most of his clothes on the way to the bedroom he’s so used to finding in the dark. But dark and drunk is a lot harder. Somehow, he finds it, or something that’s comfortable and big enough for him to lie on.

He just needs a moment, possibly a quick nap for the world to stop spinning around him so he can put himself up again to take a ice cold shower and eat something, bring a water bottle back to the bedroom so he can actually pass out for the night.

The shower helps, but it was not as cold as Ismail was expecting, just cold enough for his brain to go back to thinking about Constantin fucking someone else as he’s drying himself with this soft towel when he’s done, all alone, in the dark still, with the whole house asleep.

He looks over his shoulder to double check, thankful that he managed to clean all his puke on the shower floor so he doesn’t have to redo it in the morning.

He doesn’t have the energy or the strength or the mood to look for pieces of clothes for him to sleep so he just grabs the top underwear he finds on top of Constantin’s dresser, right next to the door. His mom probably did their laundry and left their clothes there for them to put away properly.

The door almost hits him when someone opens it. Constantin looks as surprised as he is to find someone else. He gets inside, already carrying a big bottle of water, and closes the door behind him.

His hair is all messy which doesn’t happen often because of how thin and straight it is, it just happens on very specific occasions, Ismail thinks. His shirt is out of his stupid cargo pants, and his lips puffier than usual, a little bit chapped from probably kissing too much.

“Are you okay?” He asks like he’s actually worried and Ismail wishes he could puke on command just to stain these stupid white pants that Constantin loves so much.

He doesn’t answer, just adjusts the underwear on his waist, it’s clearly not his underwear or it wouldn’t be dancing on his hipbones like they are but he doesn’t feel like changing again, especially not now that Constantin is home, watching his every move, and so he walks slowly back to the bed, crawling to his side closer to the wall, rolling himself with the blanket so they won’t have to share one tonight.

“Ismail.” Constantin says like he’s talking to his son and Ismail turns to face the wall, feeling his head starting to hurt, not sure if his struggle not to cry is making it worse. He’s tired but not at all sleepy. He can’t believe this is how his night went, how sad it is that he turned into this stupid person that cares so much about who someone else is fucking that he needs to get himself shitfaced to get over his own feelings.

The person that just generally cares so much about someone else. Constantin clearly doesn’t feel the same.

He is moving around the room, taking his clothes off slowly like he’s giving Ismail the extra time to start talking, leaving his clothes all on the floor with a heavy sound, taking a shower after, leaving the bathroom door open, the soft sound of water hitting tile almost lulling Ismail to a light sleep.

He wakes up when Constantin walks past the bed to go put some clothes on, a cold breeze blowing Ismail’s hair as he walks with his gigantically long legs.

“I thought we were coming back together…” Constantin says all of a sudden like Ismail was supposed to stay awake until he joins him in bed. Like that was something they discussed before going ot that stupid party, like Constantin wasn’t giving Ismail the cold shoulder for no reason the whole day.

“I thought you only fucked Kieu My when I was with you two.” Ismail manages to say and not puke, making himself proud for half a second.

He can hear how Constantin stops digging for some clothes inside his drawers and Ismail tries to stay still under his cover, acting like he doesn’t care. Constantin sighs, closing the drawer.

“You’re fucking overthinking things like you always do and making a huge scene so everyone can feel bad about you.”

Ismail pushes all his weight down so he can change his position without making too much effort, almost lying on his belly if it wasn’t for the wall being so close to him.

“Why do you care so fucking much all of a sudden, Ismail? For fuck’s sake, you didn’t use to be this sensitive.” Constantin complains and it blows Ismail’s drunk brain that he really doesn’t see where the problem is. He sits up on the bed and stops breathing for a second, swallowing back down the disgusting aftertaste of beer and tequila and cigarettes. His brain is pounding against his skull and Ismail keeps his eyes closed to see if it helps.

“I talked to Zoe, they have a spare bedroom in their flat, I’ll move out as soon as possible.”

“What?” Constantin finally sits down like his legs suddenly gave up on him with Ismail’s notification, “What?”

He watches as Ismail grabs the bottle of water, drinking as much as he can at once to push down the horrible taste, suddenly aware of how thirsty he was, “Ismail!”

He puts the plastic bottle back down, closing it.

“I don’t want to stay here, it’s not your problem.”

“Is, come on…” Constantin pushes himself to the middle of the bed, closer to Ismail, hoping he’ll meet his eyes but he doesn’t because his head hurts so much, “Please.”

“I can’t stay. I overstayed already, I know that, and I’m sorry. I’ll talk to your parents tomorrow and apologize for all the trouble.”

“Ismail, stop it! You’re not leaving. You’re not going to move in with Zoe! You two would kill each other in no time.”

They stay in silence and Ismail is glad Constantin can’t tell he’s lying. Not about the moving out because he really needs to. Living together is not working, not for Ismail, at least. He thought it would be paradise but it isn’t.

“I’m the only one that can put up with your drama and mess.” Constantin tries to make a joke but it lands flat and he sighs, putting his hand closer to Ismail’s on the mattress, their index fingers almost touching. “I can’t let you go, there’s no way.”

He says like he means it and maybe he does, but not the way Ismail wishes he did. Maybe Constantin is just scared of losing how easy and comfortable they are but Ismail is sure he can find that in someone else, where there aren’t that many feelings and past history envolved.

“I like you, Constantin. Like stupid people like each other and we always make fun of them. I like you, and you don’t like me and so this won’t work for me, sorry. I’m leaving.”

Ismail looks at him when he says it, and he sees the words fitting like puzzle pieces inside Constantin’s head. At least he knows now.

#druck #constantin ostendorf #ismail inci #ismail x constantin #LTWRC #tw: puke

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atlafan · 5 years

Text

Take it Slow - Part Forty-Seven

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: Smut and Fluff. TW: Mention of Past Abuse.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

“No offense, Y/N, but you look terrible.” Niall says handing you your coffee.

“I know, I woke up late.” You take a sip of it. “Mm, thank you.” He chuckles.

“Were you up late?”

“Mhm, sort of.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Harry sort of…wore me out…but that’s all I’m saying.”

“You’re not used to him yet?” He smirks.

“He always finds a way to surprise me, that’s for sure.”

Your morning goes by pretty quickly. A lot of people were talking about the party tomorrow. You, Harry, Niall, and Sarah were all going together. You remember that Harry was home working for the day, and you have the brilliant idea to go home for lunch.

Harry was working at his desk at home. He was having a much calmer day only having to communicate with everyone over email. He hears the jingle of keys and hears your footsteps. He turns his body towards the hallway.

“Surprise!” You say kicking your shoes off.

“What are ya doin’ home?” He gets up and hugs you.

“I remembered you were home today so I thought I’d come here for lunch.” You were wearing jeans and a blazer.

“You were thinkin’ of me?”

“I always think of you baby.” His heart flutters. He kisses you all over your face and you giggle.

“Right, well, since you’re home, how ‘bout a shag?” You burst out laughing and press your forehead into his chest.

“A shag?” He pulls you tighter to him.

“A shag, a romp, a fuck, all the same thing. How ‘bout it?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” You start to take your blazer off and undo your pants. “Well come on, I don’t have all afternoon.”

You had to redo your makeup and put your hair up after your shag with Harry. He fucked you so good, like he always did. All you wanted to do was stay in your nice warm bed, but you had to get back to work.

You found your mind to keep slipping to Harry. You really didn’t like it when you couldn’t cuddle after having sex. You were shy enough after as it was. You needed that time to just feel his skin on your skin. Niall comes in to see you towards the end of the day.

“Excited for tomorrow?”

“Mhm.”

“Your cheeks are kind of flushed, are you feelin’ okay?”

“Yeah! I feel great.”

“What did you do for lunch today?”

“Oh, I went home…Harry was working from home today.” He smirks at you. “Stop.”

“I didn’t say anythin’.”

“But I know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m just happy he makes you happy.” You both laugh.

“Me too.”

Harry was playing Madden when you got home. He had a head set on and was talking to someone. He smiles at you when you walk in. You needed him to hold you, you felt like you were going to collapse in on yourself. You crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around him.

“Oi, I gotta go mate. Yeah, my girl’s home. Later.” He takes his headset off and saves his game. “Hi baby.” He wraps his arms around your back.

“You could’ve kept playing, I just wanna cuddle.”

“Nope, you deserve my fullest attention.” You make a whiny noise into his neck. He chuckles at you. “What is it sweetheart?”

“You’re just so cute.”

“Why don’t you go put some comfy clothes on and we can snuggle for a bit before dinner, hm?”

“Okay.”

You get up and pad into the bedroom. You put on a pair of his sweatpants and one of his long sleeve shirts. He’s stretched out on the sofa waiting for you.

“Um, do you think you could lay on top of me?” You just wanted to feel his weight on you.

“Sure.” He gets up and you take his spot. He lays his head on your chest and gets settled between your legs. You hug him close to you and sigh happily.

“I wish we had saved some time for this earlier. I felt weird all afternoon.”

“Weird?” He tilts his head up to look at you.

“I can’t explain it. It was like I was extra shy or something.” You wrap your legs around his waist. “I feel much better now.”

Harry had come to the realization when you two first got together that you were someone that needed aftercare. Even though you both hadn’t done anything too wild, you were putting your body through things that had been on pause for over a year. He could see it when you’d slip into a subspace, or even when you were being more dominant, you were still the one that needed the aftercare. It was like you’d become this entirely different person, and you’d snap out of it eventually. He also realized you had no idea what any of this was because you had never dabbled in the more intense stuff like he had.

He snuggles further into your chest. You loved having his full weight on you. There was truly nothing better. You kiss the top of his head.

“We can’t fall asleep babe or we won’t sleep well tonight.” He says.

“I know.” You play with his hair and you feel him smile against you. “Maybe after dinner we can try that thing in the mirror like you suggested.”

“Alright.”

After a nice snuggle you and Harry make a quick dinner. Just a simple stirfry, nothing fancy. You both keep all your clothes on as you stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Harry wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. You take a deep breath.

“Okay, let me bend a bit.” You press your palms against the bathroom counter, and stick your butt out.

Harry puts his hands on your hips and positions himself behind you. You close your eyes when you feel him press against you. You feel your heart race.

“Baby, open your eyes.” He coos. You slowly open them and look at him through his reflection. “See? Just me, love.” You smile at him. You feel a tear roll down your cheek and you start laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“This is just so silly.” You continue laughing and stand up straight. You turn to look at him. “I’m so messed up, it’s crazy.”

“It’s not silly, and you’re not messed up. I think it’s really brave of you to take these small steps.”

“But we’re not always going to have a mirror around.”

“True, but there’s no rush. So maybe by the time it happens you’ll be fine.”

“Why are you always so understanding?”

“Don’t know how else to be.”

“Let’s, um, try it again.”

You turn back around and get back into the position. Harry keeps one hand on your hip, and slides the other up your back to soothe you. He presses a little harder against you. You suck in a breath and close your eyes.

“C’mon, Y/N, gotta keep your eyes open.” He says gently. You snap them back open and look at him. “You’re completely safe with me.”

You nod your head in understanding. You rest your elbows on the counter and push back against him. You feel him grow hard against you as he pushes back. Your face starts to flush and you look at yourself.

“Is this how I always look?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I’m…I mean my face always turns this color?”

“You have a bit of a tell, yeah.” He smirks. “But I love it.”

“That’s so embarrassing.” You turn around and hide your face in your hands. Harry gently pries them away.

“You’re literally the most beautiful woman in the world, it’s not embarrassing. It’s cute.”

“Harry, stop.” You pout. “I’m all flustered now.” He backs you up against the counter and presses his front to yours.

“Hmm, what could we do about that?” You giggle.

“Do you mind if we just have a nice snuggle?”

“Not at all. I’m proud of you, you know?” He gives you a light kiss on the lips.

You couldn’t remember the last time you went to bed so early on a Friday night. Harry was in the middle of reading to you when you thought of something. There had been mornings where you were perfectly fine grinding your butt against his morning wood. Maybe when things happened more naturally it wasn’t as scary? Why did it scare you sometimes but not all the time?

“Harry?”

“Yes?” He takes his glasses off to look at you.

“I wanna try something.”

“You’re not too tuckered out?”

“No, we need to keep doing things.” You reach below the covers and take your panties off.

“What exactly are we tryin’?”

“I’m going to get into position. You can leave your boxers on. And you can press against me.”

“Are you sure you wanna do this now?”

“Yes.” You still had his long sleeve shirt on from earlier, and you were keeping it on.

You get on your elbows and knees while Harry gets behind you. The sight of you from this angle made his cock twitch, but he was trying to keep himself calm. He moves your hips up closer to him, and presses against you. You look back at him and give him a weak smile. His hands spread you apart more.

“Babe?” He asks.

“Yeah?”

“Doin’ alright?”

“Think so.”

“Good.” You looked good enough to eat from this angle. He was trying so hard to control himself, but he couldn’t help himself from getting hard against you. “Sorry, I’m not doin’ that on purpose.” You can’t help but giggle.

“It’s okay. What is it about a woman’s asshole that turns a guy on so much?”

“I don’t know, but it’s workin’ f’me, I can tell ya that.” You both start laughing.

“Okay, okay, what if we try, like…you pressed against me skin to skin.”

“You sure?”

“Let’s just try it.” You feel the bed shift as Harry takes his boxers off. He grips himself.

“So you want me to just press against you?”

“Yeah.”

He tilts your hips up slightly higher. He bites his bottom lip when he sees that you’re getting wet. He spreads your cheeks apart and presses against you. You flinch slightly.

“Just me baby, I’m right here.”

“I feel scared, Harry.” You feel tears welling up.

“Okay, let me back up.”

“No, stay, I need to push through this.”

“Babe…” He sits back on his heels. You turn yourself around to look at him. “This was plenty for tonight.”

“But, I-“

“I can’t have ya cryin’.” He wipes a tear away with his thumb. “You did so well, tryin’ all tha’ out. Next time we can try more.”

“You’re not…frustrated with me?” His face falls.

“Not in the slightest.” He pulls you in and hugs you to his chest. You cry into his chest, but you take a deep breath and kiss him on the cheek.

“Let’s, um, go to sleep.”

He nods and gets back under the covers with you. You lay on his chest with a leg strung over his. He keeps you as close as he possibly can to soothe you. You were making progress, and he really was proud of you. He just didn’t want you pushing yourself for him.

The next morning you wake up fully on top of Harry. How the tables have turned. His arms were wrapped around you with his hands clasped. You felt like a little baby sleeping on him like this, and you were slightly embarrassed. You wondered if he was able to sleep comfortably. You shift to move off him, but his grip on you was too tight.

“Where do ya think you’re goin’?” He asks without opening his eyes and you giggle.

“I need to pee.”

“Likely story.” He opens one eye to look at you.

“No I really do.”

He rolls you both over so he’s on top of you. He presses his hand down on your bladder.

“Harry!” He starts laughing into your neck. “What do you want me to do, pee the bed?”

“Course not, go ‘head.” He lifts up and you slip from under him to use the toilet. You come back at out and shake your head at him. “Please come back to bed.”

“I wanna work out and get some stuff done before we’re gone all night.”

“Babe, pleaasseeeee.” He whines.

“Oh alright, but only for a little while.”

You crawl back into bed with him and snuggle up close. He sighs happily.

“Did I sleep like that on you all night?”

“Don’t know. I sorta woke up and you were like that.”

“And you were still able to sleep?”

“You’re not that heavy, love. Didn’t bother me.” You smile at him and kiss him on the nose.

After staying in bed for another hour, having light pillow talk and small kisses, you both get up. You go to the gym and get a good workout in. When you come back Harry has lunch waiting for you. You take a quick shower and wash your hair. You blow it out and curl your whole head. You wanted to create an updo for the party. You grab your laptop off your little desk and bring it into the bathroom with you so you can find a YouTube video that suits you. You find a cute bun video to follow. Harry comes into the bedroom to figure out what suit he wanted to wear. You’d be able to check into the hotel before the party.

“We don’t need to be changed beforehand right?” He starts laughing at you. Your eyebrows were furrowed, and your hair was all over the place.

“Can you please let me be? This takes a lot of concentration.” You’re trying to pin a braid back.

“Sorry.”

“To answer your question, no we don’t need to be dressed beforehand. What suit are you going to wear?”

“Well that’s what I wanted to ask. I have a green suit the exact color of your dress. Did you want me to match?”

“That would be so cute! I know Sarah is having Niall wear a pink shirt with his blue suit since her dress is pink. I’d love it if we matched.”

“Alright.” He smiles. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Thanks.” You giggle and get back to your hair.

Once you finish, and get the low bun to look the way you want you take a step back and add some hairspray. It was a really cute bun. Two little braids, some hair left out in the front to frame your face, and you were able to get it to look big and loose in the back. You do your makeup next. You always did your eyes first. You decided to have a little fun and use some liquid liner over your eyeshadow. You take out some false lashes that you really only use for occasions like this. They weren’t huge, but they added that little extra pop you were looking for. Next you added your foundation and contoured your face. You take out the red lipstick Harry loves so much and put it on. You spritz some finishing spray on and clean everything up. You start to pack what you’ll need for your evening away and grab your dress from your closet. You decide on wearing your white strappy heels with it. You grab a white shall from your closet. You thought it would make the dress look even more elegant.

You come out to the living room with all your things. Harry was ready to go, of course. He looked up at you and did a double take.

“Wow.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“Just wait until the dress goes on.” You wink.

Harry drives to Niall’s to pick him and Sarah up. Sarah did the same as you by just having hair and makeup done. You and Niall talk about how great the food is. You explain that they play a large variety of music since the generations of people who work for the company at large varies. Niall explains the various other departments and areas the company exists in. There would be people coming from all over the country.

You each check into your rooms and continue getting ready. You slide your dress on, and wobble over to Harry to have him help you zip it.

“Oh Harry, your suit looks so nice!”

“You look stunning.” He rubs his hands on his shoulders.

“I’m not done yet.”

You pull out a necklace and slide the jewel off it and stick it back in your bag. You take the rose ring off your middle finger and slide it onto the chain. You hold it up and back up to Harry.

“Help me clasp this? I can never do it on my own. Probably why I never wear necklaces.” He chuckles and helps you. You turn around. “How’s it look? It’s such a nice ring I thought this would look nice tonight.”

“Looks great.” He takes it between his fingers. “Cute.”

“Then when everyone asks me where I got it I can say my boyfriend gave it to me.”

You slip your heels on and hear a knock on the door. Sarah and Niall were all dressed up. Sarah had a bottle of tequila in her hand.

“We ready to pregame?”

“Yes! Come in.” Harry looked at Niall confused.

“Didn’t realize we were drinkin’ beforehand…” Harry said.

“Trust me, you’ll want to. Niall and I always get stuck with boring people at our dinner table.”

Everyone does a shot or two before heading down to the ballroom. Harry keeps a hand on the small of your back the entire time. You find your names and what table you’ll be sitting at.

“Good they put is near the dance floor.” Niall says.

“Probably learned from last year.” You giggle.

“Isn’t this hotel nice, Harry?” Sarah asks him.

“Yeah! It’s incredible. Ever stay at a place like this before?”

“Never! Dating Niall sure has its perks.” She nudges him and they both laugh.

“You look really nice tonight by the way.”

“Oh, thanks. Rachel helped us both pick out our dresses. She really should’ve gone to a fashion school.”

You all find your table and decide on what seats you wanted to take. No one else was there yet. You and Niall decide to sit on the two outer seats and let Harry and Sarah next to each other so they wouldn’t have to talk to any random people.

“Niall tells me you might have someone you want to set Rach up with?”

“Yeah, my coworker Mariah. Hopin’ next month t’get ‘em together.” Sarah looks back at Niall and he winks at her.

“Oh gross, don’t even fucking tell me.” You say after taking a sip of water.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Niall, look who’s coming over here.”

“Jesus, we got stuck with the frat guys again?” He groans.

“Frat guys?” Sarah asks.

“We got stuck with these idiots last year.”

Four seemingly attractive men walk over to the table. They recognize you and Niall. Niall gets up to shake their hands.

“Didn’t you two come here together last year?” One of them jokes.

“We came as friends.” Niall clears up. “This is my girlfriend Sarah.”

“Nice to meet all of you. Where are you coming from?”

“New York.” Another says. He darts his eyes at you. “Nice to see you again, Y/N.” You blush, but not in a good way. He sits next to you.

“Hi Mark.” You reach to grab Harry’s hand, and you squeeze it. “Mark this is my boyfriend Harry. Harry, Mark does the same exact job as me, just in New York.”

“Nice to meet ya mate.” Harry extends his hand out to shake Mark’s. Mark sees Harry’s green and black nail polish.

“Wouldn’t say we do the exact same job.” He winks at you.

“Suppose not anymore. Just got a bump up.” You twist the ring on your neck.

“Hm, good for you.” You give him a fake smile.

Harry leans in to speak in your ear.

“So, you don’t like that guy?” You shake your head no.

“I’ll tell you later.” You whisper.

It was Bill, James, Chris, and Mark who had joined you at the table. They all acted like they were better than everyone just because they worked in New York City. You weren’t jealous in the slightest. You were thankful you didn’t work on a team of only men, you’d go bananas.

“You look really nice by the way.” Mark says to you.

“Thanks.” You scan over the room and see a photo booth. You look at Harry. “Babe, look!” You point over to it. “We have to do that tonight.”

“Oh my god!” Sarah says excitedly. “We’re going to take so many cute pics tonight.”

“We have no choice!” You say to her.

“Glad we took a few upstairs before we all get sweaty.” Niall says.

Harry drapes an arm around your shoulders. He didn’t like that the guys at the table kept stealing glances of you.

“Y/N, wanna come up to the bar with me?” Sarah asks.

“Sure! You want anything?” You ask Harry.

“Gin and tonic?”

“You got it.”

You and Sarah get up to make your way over. Harry notices all of the guys watch you walk away. He rolls his eyes and gets up, signaling to Niall that they should go with them. Niall nods and follows Harry.

“I could’ve gotten it.” You say to him, walking back to the table.

“I know.” He smiles at you. “We’re not gonna get like wasted tonight are we?”

“God no, I still work with these people.”

The four of you decide to walk around and mingle for a bit since you knew where you were sitting already. You introduce Harry to a lot of people. Most importantly, you finally introduce him to your supervisor.

“Did you see that guy’s nails?” Mark says to Chris.

“Yeah…not who I’d expect Y/N to bring with her.”

“I was hoping she’d still be single. She’s so hot.” He looks over at you. You were throwing your head back at something funny Harry said to your supervisor.

“Excuse me, I know we’re all having fun.” A woman at the podium says. “But if everyone could take their seats, we’re going to start soon.”

The four of you make your way back to the table. Harry pushes your seat in for you like always. Him and Niall take their suit jackets off and drape them on the chairs. A couple of the guys notice Harry’s tattoos peak through the white material. He was an enigma to them, truly.

“Thank you everyone.” You lean to whisper to Harry.

“That’s the CEO’s wife.” He nods.

“I’d like to start by saying it was another incredible year for us. We wouldn’t be able to produce the incredible work without each and every one of you. So please, give yourselves a round of applause.” The entire room erupts with clapping. “Without further ado, I’d like to introduce my amazing wife and partner, Lauren Parker.” The clapping ensues when Lauren takes the stage.

“Thank you sweetie. I get to do so many fun things all year, but tonight is always the most fun. I love having the even here in my home of Boston, sorry to you folks traveling from warmer weather, it is what it is. We really did have an exceptional year. I need to shout out our Boston division, and not just because they’re the Boson division.” The room laughs. “Where are Niall and Y/N?” She peers out. You and Niall choke on your drinks. You both raise your hands and wave. “Ah! Hi kids! Those two managed to secure a five year contract with our most particular clients. These clients happen to pay the big bucks, and clinching this contract was integral to our sustainability, so well done.”

She starts clapping and the whole room does too. You and Niall look at each other, then you look up to Harry. She goes on to shout out other divisions and their excellent work.

“Now, tonight is all about fun, so I expect to see lots of people hit the dance floor after our extraordinary meal, alright?”

She leaves the stage and a ton of waiters start coming around with soup and bread for the table. You take a whiff of the soup and it smells heavenly.

“Niall, it’s that butternut squash soup again!”

“I know!”

“You’ll love this Harry, it’s so good.”

You gracefully dive into the soup. You all pass the bread around.

“Great work by the way.” Mark says to you. “Must be nice that she knows you by name.”

“I’ve never met her. The work must speak for itself.” You shrug. You take another bite of soup. “Mm, this is so good.” You moan. “Do you like it Harry?”

“It’s really good, love.”

The waiters come around to clear your dirty dishes, and before you know it the main course is coming around. You had put in vegetarian options for your and Harry, so you both get a plate of ratatouille and mushroom risotto.

“Think the judges on Chopped would approve of this?” He asks you.

“Let’s find out.” You giggle. You each take a bite. “Damn, that’s good. What did you guys get?” You ask Sarah and Niall.

“We got the fish. Didn’t think either of you would much appreciate the steak.” Niall says. You look over at the meat sitting on Mark’s plate and want to gag.

“Appreciate that.” You say.

Harry offers to grab more drinks about halfway through the meal. He kisses the top of your head before he goes up.

“So, how long you two been together?” Mark asks.

“A little over five months.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Mhm.”

“They live together.” Sarah says with a smile, sensing your discomfort with Mark. “They’re the cutest couple I’ve ever seen, honestly.”

“Yeah, super cute. I actually set ‘em up.” Niall chimes in. Mark tries to ignore them.

“That’s a lovely necklace.”

“Thanks, this is actually one of Harry’s rings. He wanted me to have it, sort of like a promise ring type thing.”

Harry comes back over with the drinks.

“Thank you sweetie.” You kiss him on the cheek, living your lipstick behind. “Shit, sorry.” You go to dab you napkin in your water, but he stops you.

“Leave it, s’fine.” He winks at you and you giggle.

A lot of people had started moving from their seats to mingle again. The CEO has been making her way around, and gets over to you.

“Y/N?” She says warmly.

“Oh, his Mrs. Parker.”

“Please call me Lauren.” You stand up to give her a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your work has been so impressive. When does your class start?”

“Oh thank you so much. It starts Monday actually. Thank you again for the opportunity.”

“Don’t mention it. I truly believe supporting our employees is the best thing a good business owner can do. Tell me, who’s with you tonight?”

“This is my boyfriend, Harry.” He also stands to shake her hand.

“How nice to meet you. Your girlfriend is destined for great things.”

“She’s pretty great.”

“What do you do Harry?”

“I’m a photographer. I work for Plant Geo on the other side of town. I freelance as well.”

“Oh, I know Plant Geo’s work very well. That’s good to know.” She smiles at the both of you. “Enjoy the evening.”

She moves to speak with Niall and Sarah next.

“That was really nice of her to stop by.” Harry says.

“Yeah! My supervisor gets to skype with her quite a bit, she’s really nice.”

“She knows you and Niall by name, that’s a big deal.” He nuzzles his nose against your and you giggle.

More waiters come around and bring dessert to your table. Just a simple slice of cheesecake and coffee. You loved cheesecake. It wasn’t something you had often because of the dairy, but fuck it, it was in front of you. You stick your fork in, and take a bite. It’s the greatest thing you’ve tasted in a long time.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s good.” You close your eyes from the euphoria of it all. Harry looks at you. You open your eyes back up slowly and look at him. “You’re not eating yours?”

“I don’t really like cheesecake.” You gasp.

“Harry, this is like gourmet. You have to at least try it.”

“I don’t much like it either, and even I think this tastes good.” Sarah says.

“Don’t know what you’re missin’, mate.”

“I’ll just take your word for it. Feel free to eat mine.”

“God, one piece is plenty.” You say. You stick your fork back in and take another bite, closing your eyes again. You lick your lips and put your fork down. “God damn, that is just sinful.” You push the rest away from yourself. You didn’t want to risk having an upset stomach.

“Y/N, look people are starting to dance, will you go up with me?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah!”

You and Sarah hit the dance floor among many others. Niall shifts over to sit to Harry.

��Havin’ fun so far?” Niall asks him.

“Yeah, actually. Havin’ an open bar and not havin’ t’drive is really nice.”

“People party all night at this thing. Those heels aren’t gonna stay on their feet very long.”

“With any luck, nothin’s gonna stay on long.” Niall nudges him and they both have a chuckle. “So, you lads gonna try to meet anyone tonight?”

“I’m actually seeing someone, she just decided to stay home this weekend…she’s a little too pregnant for an event like this.” Bill says.

“Oh! Congrats mate.”

“Thanks.” He smiles.

“Actually, Chris and Mark are the only single ones.”

“You’re really lucky Harry, Y/N is something else.” Mark says.

“How well do you know her, exactly?” Harry asks.

“I’ve known her since she started. We’ve had to collaborate a couple times on some larger projects. So you set the two of them up?” He asks Niall.

“Sure did.”

“Isn’t that weird since you two dated?”

“I told you earlier, we came as friends.”

“She said you two were together, and she didn’t leave your side all night.”

“She probably said that because she didn’t want anyone hittin’ on her and makin’ her feel uncomfortable.” Harry says. “Really sucks when a guy just can’t take a hint.”

Harry stands up and gestures for Niall to follow him. They meet the two of you on the dance floor. A slower song was just start starting. You wrap your arms around Harry’s neck, and his hands find your hips.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” You say, slightly buzzed.

“Me too.”

“Have I told you how handsome you look tonight? Cause you look really handsome.” You pinch one of his cheeks and he smiles, making his dimples really show.

“Thanks baby. You look so beauti-“ You connect your lips to his. He desperately wanted to just take you up to your room quick and just absolutely fuck you up, but he had to wait.

#take it slow #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles smut fic #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles imagine #do yall when i just end it like that?#lmao

256 notes · View notes

ajokeformur-ray · 5 years

Note

Okay so since ya girl (shamefully) has astrapophobia, I get very nervous during these times and I sometimes will panic if it's loud. I've been in a loud ass storm that I swear shook our dorm building and I had a panic attack. I feel so shameful of being scared of them so I try to hide it but yeah...I half think J might hate them too because I HC that his military past gets triggered by them, so it could either be like something you two feel closer by or just him comforting you. Either or works!!

I really like the idea of both of you needing comfort during a storm - Joker bc military past as you say, and you for your fear. With that in mind, I think maybe he’d be more susceptible to fluff? I hope you enjoy this! If not, please let me know and I’ll redo it

Warning: thunderstorms, mentions of PTSD (Joker; military), astrapophobia (reader), panic attacks, swearing.

Word count: 1, 561.

Thunder rumbled across the sky, the noise so loud, so violent, that you could have sworn that it shook the walls of your dormitory building. Your heart seized in your chest and picked up, fear making your forehead hot and your breath skipped and then became irregular.

Calm down, deep breaths… it’s just thunder, it’s just thun -

Lightning ripped across the sky and you whimpered, your hand inching towards your phone. Immediately did you dial a number which you had had to learn by rote, unable to save it on a SIM card or into your phone just in case Joker was ever captured by the FBI and you were found out to be involved. Having his number in your phone would be incriminating, so after every use of it did you have to delete it from your phone. One of Joker’s goons then erased it from your phone record, the event isolated, and so the cycle continued.

It was the only way Joker could keep you safe and you took any measure he gave you as seriously as he did. A joker he may be, but nothing was as serious to him as the act of loving you.

With a trembling hand did you hold the phone to your ear. It rang once, twice, thrice, “Come on, pick up, pick up, pick up pick uuuuup~ oh, fucking finally! Hi, hello!” Your voice was shaky, your breathing irregular, but you put on a brave face for just long enough to ask for Joker. To ask him to come home. You were scared of thunderstorms to the point of panic attacks, and Joker’s PTSD, thanks to his military background, was often triggered by it, too, and you needed him here so that you could take care of each other and therefore yourselves. “I-is Joker there?”

“Yeah, hang on.” The man you had spoken to was someone you didn’t know even the name of, all in the name of safety, and yet you were familiar with each of them in your own way. This particular man was always nice to you. Whereas some of the other disposable goons would make it clear that you phoning was an inconvenience - a total lie because you only ever used the number to Joker’s Headquarters when you needed your clown - this one always saw your phone calls for what they are: asking for help. He always got you to Joker as quickly as the situation allowed. There was some crackling on the line and some hushed, incoherent voices and you could just make out Joker’s deeper voice among everyone else’s. And then -

“Doll,” You gasped, your chest aching, at the sound of Joker’s voice, and he shushed you roughly, though you took it as the unconventional comfort that he intended it to be, “How ya’ holdin’ up?”

“Barely. You?”

Joker grunted and the line went dead, your phone beeping in your hand to signify the end of the call, but you smiled even through your large, hot and heavy tears. If you didn’t know Joker, you would have taken this to be rude and uncaring. But you did know him, you did, and you knew he was coming home. His grunt had been one of agreement and so eager to get to you was he that he was most likely already on his way over to you, your phone records being tampered with even as you clambered into your bed and pull the duvet tight around you.

You knew not how much time passed while you kept your eyes shut tight so that, even under the duvet as you were, you couldn’t see the flashes of lightning. The thunder, however, was so loud, so strong that it was almost like a motorbike, and it vibrated deep within your very bones. You kept your phone enclosed within your hand, your shaking fingers squeezing every now and then to ground yourself.

Your panic was reaching new heights as it felt like your skin was crawling, your forehead super hot, your entire body trembling, your breaths irregular and your heart pounding in your head, and all you could think about was your chaotic clown. You were in the midst of a panic attack but thoughts of him kept you from sinking underneath the murky waters of your raging mind. You worried about him, too, and you hoped that both of you would still be coherent enough when he finally came home for the two of you to comfort each other.

Nights like this had been filled with cuddles and comfort once both of you had figured out that the other suffered during storms. For different reasons, this was true, but at its core was panic and it was this which the two of you focused on. In comforting and calming each other were you able to calm yourselves. Nights like this brought you both infinitely closer than you already were and sometimes you even looked forward to it - not because you would both be triggered, but because you would spend all of that time together.

There was the sound of slamming doors, quick footsteps, and your heart picked up again but for a different reason this time, as the footsteps came closer and closer and closer, and then your door opened, slammed shut and locked, bolted and everything else. Silence and the rustling of clothing, the thudding of shoes being carelessly removed and tossed to the side, and then your duvet was flipped back to reveal, in all his chaotic glory, your clown.

His greasepaint was running in some places from where he had been caught in the rain, and in others did bare patches of skin show through. His hair was greasier now than it had been yesterday, strands sticking to his face or swept back by a careless hand. He needed another dye job but as his dark chocolate eyes looked down at you, those depths swimming with an intense need to comfort you but also for his own needs to be met, all thoughts of anything other than him went out of the window.

“Oh, my - “ You held your arms out, your fingers clenching as you reached for him, “Joker!”

Joker chuckled at your less than subtle display of desperate yearning, the sound a little strained, as he clambered in beside you with a huff. “Budge up, doll - give me space.”

“… You want me to move over in my bed?”

Joker stared at you, amusement tugging up the corner of his full lips, the macabre red paint smeared and ultimately blended into the white greasepaint which made him look ghostly. He looked like he was going to say some kind of quip, but then lightning illuminated the entire room and thunder quickly followed with a noise so loud you put your hands over your ears and even Joker winced, and all was forgotten as you pushed yourself backwards and made room for the love of your life, who laid down beside you and tugged the duvet around the both of you so that you were both protected from the natural chill of the room.

The words I love you were often spoken by you, though they were never reciprocated by Joker in the same manner. No. He said it in the way he had obviously rushed over here to be with you due to your mutual need at that moment. He said it in the way that his arm wound around your waist as he tugged you closer, a socked foot on your shin asking you to part your lower legs so that he could anchor himself to you by locking his own leg between yours. He said it in the way he pressed his painted forehead against yours, one of his hands finding yours beneath the duvet.

Your breath shuddered both at Joker’s proximity and also at the way lightning suddenly and violently illuminated the room. You shut your eyes tight and Joker’s hand squeezed yours in silent comfort. He had never been especially cuddly or affectionate, not like this anyway, with his body so completely wrapped around yours, but this night did you both need physical grounding, so distressed were you both by the storm.

A long, low shush which rumbled in Joker’s chest broke through the roaring in your ears and the arm around your waist tightened, his hand rubbing your back slowly. “Easy, Y/N, easy. Breathe. You’re safe, doll.“ Despite his bravado, though, he flinched, his entire body tense and on edge as thunder boomed across the sky, and now it was your turn to comfort him as you pressed a tender, lingering kiss to his forehead.

“So are you, J.” Your whisper was louder than the building voices in Joker’s mind and his lips quirked upwards slightly as together did you keep each other grounded, safe, whole and loved, though never was that word returned to you. You didn’t need it to be, though, for as Joker’s breathing evened out and his intense dark eyes fluttered shut under your careful gaze, his arm slackened over your waist and his body became a dead weight against your own, you realised that Joker told you every moment of every day in his very own turbulent way, and you wouldn’t have it or him any differently.

Ledger!!Joker @nothing-but-a-comedy @justahyena @anyatheladyclown @mijachula @joker-daddy @rinbyo @imightaswellnotexistatall @vladtoly @joker-is-my-hero @liz-rdwitch @enigmaticandunstable @ledgerskitten @tsukiakarinobara @germansarechill

#justahyena #heath ledger #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker imagine #ledger!joker #ledger!joker imagine #ledger!joker x reader #ledger!joker fanfic #ledger!joker x reader imagine #the dark knight #the dark knight imagine #tdk #tdk imagine

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

Stolen - 23

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: A roller coaster of emotions and feels. A/N: So my psychiatrist recommended/ordered for me to take 2 weeks of sick leave because I’m a stressed out mess...that’s not going to stop me from writing, of course. Au contraire, without work I’ll have more time for that! Ask or reblog for tag ;)

23. Misery Machine

... Reader ...

What the ever-living FUCK? The bubble of happiness bursts, the pop loud in your mind but blown away by the cold storm raging before you in the shape of a raven-haired god with the colour of blood in his eyes. Memories of faces smiling during the feast come and go in a blur and leave you none the wiser as to what Loki’s problem is.

“Uh...yeah? It was okay,” you try carefully, “think I’m getting closer to Sif and the trio to accept me.”

“You don’t say?” Sarcasm is probably the default state for the god, you decide there and then. “Practically crawling onto their laps.”

Staring dumbfounded at him, each snarled accusation is a whiplash driving you closer to desperation as up and down cease to make any sense. Unsure whether to laugh, cry, or scream back at him, you just stand stock still. Loki, on the other hand, has taken to stalking around the room as he denounces the Asgardian ways – feasts, pretend friendships, nothing goes free – before ultimately turning to you again on an unseen wave of icy coldness radiating from the bluing skin.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have my dear brother rescue you,” he hisses, “or went with Fandral for comfort...he’d be more than willing to oblige.”

“Wait...what?”

Oh yeah, the fallen prince’s eyes are swallowed by red, leaving only a pinprick of black from the pupil. “You heard me.”

Sure did, smurf. “This’s ‘bout them? Are you...? D’you think I’m desperate enough to dick it down with Fandral or have Thor sweep me away like I’m some maiden in distress?”

Now you’re the one getting into his personal space. Though you’re far from as imposing compared to a god with ruby eyes and frosty skin, his raven hair cascading to his shoulders in ways fit for an anime character, you still manage to push him back a few steps before he digs his heels in.

“Tell me honestly, the idea doesn’t tempt you, mortal?”

“Hell yeah, it tempts me! But, y’know what? I can’t! If I go back home to hide and some day Thanos shows up...how’d you think that’d make me feel? Or if you take your dumb-ass on some quest to find the fucker only to get killed? No, that ain’t happening ‘cause I’ma stick through with this. That’s what this mortal’ll do: do things right.”

You can barely see him because tears (which you refuse to let fall) are blurring your vision. By some miracle, you manage to find the door and march down the dim hallway without bashing face first into something but by the time you turn the first corner, your cheeks are wet.

GAAARGH! He’s such an...an...UGH! Haven’t you already proven yourself? Sure, he might just see you as a mortal, as he keeps pointing out, but how many mortals does he know that would’ve been able to handle the mess he’s thrown at you? Admittedly, it might be your self-diagnosed Stockholm Syndrome speaking when you feel you deserve more respect from Loki. Not that he has to “like me” like me...just...

Wiping salt water and probably snot from your face, you look around for somewhere to be alone with your thoughts and spot a double door which could lead to a balcony or terrace only to find it blocked by a blond figure.

“Lady [Y/N]?” You’ve only spoken with Thor once, but no one else has a voice like that, a voice you don’t want to hear right now. “Please, tell me what troubles you.”

Why bother? It’s so easy to follow along as he cups your elbow with one of the huge hands and escorts you onto what does indeed turn out to be a balcony.

Any other person would gasp at the view of the golden-roofed city below, stretching towards the ocean and the infinity of space just beyond. You, a sarcastic thought jeers in your mind, you’re busy sniffling and holding back tears because of some silly spat – and there’s no way you can tell that truth to the man beside you.

“I know...I’m a stranger to you and you have no reason to trust me with your worries,” Thor begins softly, “yet I do feel responsible for your fate. Your chance of happiness. What my brother di-”

“Enough!” The exclamation startles him, blue eyes reconsidering the woman before him. Oops. “I’m...I’m sorry, your highness,” you try to recover while your heart beats in your ears. “Forgive me. You have no obligations on my behalf, your brother’s actions are not yours to atone for.”

The dazzling smile is pretty even if it’s barely hiding a pain beneath. “Kind words, but clearly it torments you.”

“No.” Oh, that’s actually true. “No, what pains me is what I’ve learned since. Thor...you’ve been to Earth. You’ve seen us humans...and you know we’re hopelessly unprepared for what’s to come!”

“Even if Loki would be foolish enough to attack once more, Midgard is not defenceless. You know this.”

The Avengers. Thor had stopped Loki and his Chitauri (as you later found out the aliens were called) invasion. It hadn’t exactly been pretty which is something a lot of politicians are still pointing out – or were before you suddenly found yourself at the mercy of the guy who’d plotted the attack. It feels like years ago.

“Not...” How can I say this right? “Not Loki. Thor, please believe me, he’s not the real problem.”

“Any threat at all...your realm is under my protection.” At least his brows have the decency to furrow, almost hiding the pristine blue.

“He came for the Tesseract...but he already had a Scepter with magical abilities. Where did he get that? Who helped him – or who did he help?”

Obviously, the older brother isn’t as dimwitted as Loki claims because you can see tiny lights go on and off as he connects some of the dots – eyes gazing through your skull and into a different infinity than the one beyond the borders of Asgard and finding the murky areas where there isn’t enough information to illuminate the unknown.

When the crown prince does focus on you, a new worry tightens the muscles of his jaw. “If the Tesseract was all he wanted, why not leave?”

“Who wanted the Tesseract, really? And was that all?”

“Then why the invasion? A smoke screen?”

You shrug (even if it’s hard with Thor’s heavy hands resting on your shoulders) because what else can you do? And silence falls again as each option and its implications are weighed carefully.

“What makes you certain of this?”

Loki might be the God of Lies, Mischief, and whatnot...but looking up into his brother’s face there’s no way he wouldn’t sniff out the smallest inkling of deceit.

“I don’t know anything for sure,” you sigh, “I was...shown some bits and pieces. Been trying to make sense of it.”

“A vision.”

Weeeeell... “If that’s what you’d call it. I’m just scared of what might happen.”

Later, you’d think back of it as a pretty decent hug, but in the moment you are more concerned with continuously breathing as Thor pulls you into a crushing embrace.

“Get some rest, little one,” he smiles tiredly after pulling back, “you have my word I’ll look into this matter.”

... Loki ...

He hears her return to the suite, mainly due to the subdued curses as she struggles to undress. Then the few candles he had left alight are snuffed before [Y/N] settles into bed with a sigh. The single candle in the servant’s tiny room creates sharp borders between shadows and illuminated areas unless Loki exhales particularly hard. I’m not sighing.

Since the woman had stormed out of the quarters, the Jotun has tried to calm himself down and ignore the screaming in his marrow as guilt eats through the bones. Eventually, he succumbed and went to bed only to lie and stare up into the ceiling. A thin blade slips between his fingers in repeated somersaults until he grabs the knife by the handle only to redo the whole thing.

Counting his breaths, he reaches well into the hundreds before daring to step into the suite. The slanted moonbeams illuminate patches on the floor and bed, glistening on the silken covers shaped like a woman. He does his best to ignore it, he really does. Moving silently, Loki picks up the scattered layers of the dress to straighten them out and hang them on the other side of the screen. In the cold light, it is difficult to ascertain the colour of the fabric but he remembers it clearly from when he saw her across the room during the feast where he had been expected to assist – a task perfectly suited to get him closer to the servant and listen to their gossip, of course. He has to shake himself from the tainted memories before continuing the silent duties.

Once, not too long ago, these were details he didn’t bother with. The work of lowly servants, there was no need for a prince to worry about picking up after himself unless he chose to, and while Loki was (and is) meticulous he had certainly never expected to be the one doing this for others. Beneath me! Grumbling within, he still lingers to let the delicate ribbon from [Y/N]’s hair slither between his fingers.

It’s a welcome diversion to imagine how it would be to untie the bow and set her locks free. Or to be the one slipping the straps of the dress off her shoulders and watch it hang on for dear life by her bosom. To gently tug at it, bearing the nipples for me to admire. He can see it in his mind. What Loki doesn’t notice are the eyes watching him.

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