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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

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she ain’t a gold digger ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2417

request?: yes!

“Hi, please write a MGK imagine where the reader joins him on tour and he loses his wallet and when they decide to go out to a club one night, she asks him to get something from her bag and he sees his wallet in there. He accuses her of stealing and they get into a fight and she storms off. One of the guys confesses that they found it in their suitcase by accident and just slipped it in her purse to keep it safe but forgot to tell him and he apologizes profusely to reader and after some persuasion she forgives him”

description: when his wallet goes missing and he finds it in her bag, he lets the tabloids bullshit get to him and causes a fight he regrets

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, angst

masterlist (one, two)

The hotel room was basically overturned when (Y/N) walked in. Colson was tossing things from his suitcase, frantically searching for something.

“We’ve only been here like five minutes, is it really time to pull a full Motley Crue on this room?” she teased.

“I can’t find my wallet,” Colson said, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“What?”

“It’s not in my suitcase, it’s not in any of my pants - the ones in my suitcase or the ones I’m wearing - it’s not in my carry on or my jacket.”

(Y/N) crossed the room to kneel next to Colson. She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly. In a more calm manner, she looked through the things Colson had messily thrown about the floor. She helped him to look for the millionth time through everything, coming up empty yet again.

“Okay, don’t panic,” she said. “You had it at the airport because it was with your passport. We can call both this airport and the one we just departed from to see if it’s been turned in. In the meantime, we can lock your cards so no one can use them.”

Colson nodded, but (Y/N) could see the panic in his eyes. She cupped his face and made him look up at her. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll find it, and if we don’t we’ll replace it the best we can.”

~~~~~~

Despite the stress he was still feeling, Colson decided to join (Y/N) and his friends at the club that night. He was glued to his phone the entire ride there, and once they got to the club (Y/N) took it and shoved it into her purse.

“Relax,” she told him. “We’re here to have a good time.”

“But what if someone calls about my wallet?” he asked.

“Then they’ll leave a message. I highly doubt anyone is calling you at almost midnight, though.” (Y/N) laced her fingers through Colson’s and pressed her body against his. “Please baby? For me?”

Colson sighed but (Y/N) could see the smile on his face. “Fine, but you’re paying for my drinks tonight.”

He had to admit the night out was what he needed. Besides the panic over his wallet, Colson had also basically worked himself to death the past few months. Between recording and filming, and now the tour. He was just grateful that his manager allowed (Y/N) to join them on tour. He’d be out of his mind without her.

(Y/N) pushed through the crowd to where Colson and his friends were and passed Colson his drink. He smiled and pulled her down onto his lap. (Y/N) giggled as Colson pressed a kiss onto her neck.

“If you guys are gonna fuck, do us the curtesy of going to the bathroom,” Rook called over the music.

“Please, I’m more classy than that,” Colson responded. “I’d fuck her in the coat closet like a gentleman.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and stood. “I’m gonna go dance. Enjoy your boy talk.”

Colson watched the beautiful curved figure of his girlfriend strut to the dancefloor. He finished his drink in one mouthful and went to follow her.

They danced together for so long that Colson had forgotten all of his worried for a brief period of time. He gazed lovingly into the face of the love of his life as she grinded her hips against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sheepishly smiled up at him.

“Wanna get out of here?” she whispered seductively in his ear.

“More than anything,” Colson responded. “I’ll get our things. Meet me at the front doors.”

(Y/N) smiled and winked at him as they went their separate ways. Colson pulled out the coat check tickets to get his jacket and (Y/N)’s purse, and passed it to the girl working there. As he shrugged on his jacket, he got the overwhelming urge to check his phone to see if anyone had called about his wallet.

He promised (Y/N) he’d have a good time, but she didn’t have to know he checked. He would just look and see if there were any missed calls then forget until morning.

However, when he opened (Y/N)’s purse to get her phone, he noticed something on the very top: his wallet.

Why does she have my wallet? he thought. And why wouldn’t she tell me that she had it? She knows how worried I’ve been about it.

He tried not to overthink anything before talking to (Y/N) first. He made his way to the front of the club where (Y/N) was waiting with a joint hanging partially out of her mouth. She looked over at him and smiled as a puff of smoke rolled from her lips.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked. When she noticed Colson’s serious look, her smile fell. “Babe, are you okay? Did something happen?”

He found his words stuck in his throat, so instead of speaking he just held his wallet up.

“Holy shit! Is that your wallet?” Colson nodded, still unable to talk. “Where did you find it?!”

“In your purse.”

(Y/N)’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? How did it get in my purse?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

She looked up at him as she took another puff from the joint. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything, I’m just asking a question. This is your purse after all, the only people who touch it are you and me. Obviously I didn’t put the wallet in there so that leaves one person.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. “Say it Colson. Fucking say it.”

“Did you take my wallet (Y/N)?”

“No! Of course I didn’t!”

“Then why is it in your purse?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and turned away from Colson. She started to walk away, but he followed her.

“If you took it, I just want to know why,” he said. “I’m not upset, I know there’s likely a good reason for taking it and not telling me.”

“I didn’t fucking take it!” (Y/N) snapped, spinning around to glare at Colson. “I know how this looks, I know it makes no sense, but I fucking swear to you I did not take your fucking wallet. I don’t know how it got in my purse, I don’t know why it’s there, but I did not take your goddamn wallet!”

“Then why the fuck is it in your purse?!”

(Y/N) let out a frustrated groan and buried her head in her hands. “Why can’t you just fucking believe me when I say I didn’t take it? I don’t know how it got in my purse, but I didn’t take it.”

“It just doesn’t make sense to me, (Y/N). How else would it have gotten there? You’re the only one who even touches your purse, none of the guys have had access to it. You knew when and where I had my wallet last, and now it’s showing up in your bag.”

“If I had taken it, why was I trying to help you find it? Why did I tell you to shut down your cards so no one could use them? Why was I helping you to call the airports and turn over the entire hotel room another two times looking for it? Why would I go to those lengths if I just had it instead of telling you just to replace it all?”

“I don’t know, (Y/N), maybe you were just making sure you could get whatever fucking money you could from me without me realizing.”

(Y/N)’s face fell and her eyes started to well with tears. After being together for a year, she thought he would know her better than that. She thought he wouldn’t believe the bullshit tabloid websites were publishing about her being a gold digger and just dating Colson for the money. She thought he would knew she loved him with her entire heart because of who he was, not because he was a famous rapper.

Apparently she was wrong.

Without another word, (Y/N) turned away from him and walked towards the line up of taxis that were waiting outside of the club. Colson watched her go, his anger starting to subside and be replaced by guilt. But he couldn’t go after her, he wouldn’t. He needed some time to think about all of this, to let her think about it as well. Neither one of them were going to get any answers if they kept fighting and hurting one another.

Colson entered the club again, order two more strong drinks and finding his way back to his boys. They all looked at him with confusion as he sat down where he had been before.

“Dude, I thought you left,” Baze said.

“I thought so, too, until I found my wallet in (Y/N)’s purse,” Colson muttered. “We got into a fight and she left.”

“Why were you fighting about that?” Rook asked, his eyebrows furrowing together.

Colson waved off the comment, not feeling in the mood to relay the entire fight back to his friends.

“Wait, did I not tell you I put the wallet there?” Slim asked.

Colson nearly choked on one of his drinks. He coughed and turned to look at his friend. “You fucking had it?”

“Yeah man, it somehow got in my carry on,” Slim responded. “I found it when we were waiting for our luggage. I put it in (Y/N)’s purse cause I knew it would be safe there. I could’ve swore I told you that, though.”

“You didn’t,” Colson said. “God fucking dammit, I’m an idiot.”

“What did you say to her, man?” Baze asked.

“I...I insinuated that she...she’s only with me for my money and she stole my wallet so she could get it.”

The guys chorused disapproving noises at the same time.

“Kells, (Y/N) is literally the realest person I’ve ever met,” Rook said. “She ain’t a gold digger, and you definitely shouldn’t think that she is.”

“I don’t,” Colson sighed. “I was just pissed. God, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Bro,” Slim said, leaning forward to look at Colson, “go after your woman and apologize.”

Colson nodded and quickly stood from his seat. The cab ride back to the hotel felt incredibly slow. Of course, he had left his phone in (Y/N)’s purse so he couldn’t even call or text her. There was no guarantee that she was even at the hotel, and that thought had Colson’s anxiety so much higher.

He desperately searched his pockets for the hotel key as he approached the room. When he couldn’t find it, he realized it was likely he had left that in (Y/N)’s purse, too. He sighed and began knocking on the door.

“(Y/N)?” he said, his voice soft. “Baby, can you let me in? I think my key is in your purse.” When there was no movement, he added, “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I should’ve listened to you. Slim admitted to putting my wallet in your bag, turns out he had it all along. I...I should never have thought it was you. I shouldn’t have said what I said. Can...can you let me in, please?”

There was silence. Not even signs of movement. Colson’s heart began to race as he realized the likeliness that (Y/N) had left. He had no idea where she could’ve gone, and now he didn’t even have any way of reaching her.

The door suddenly opened and (Y/N)’s tearstained face looked up at him. She didn’t say anything as she turned away and walked back into the hotel room. Colson followed in silence, unsure of what else to say. He just wanted to hold her and apologize forever, to do anything and everything she wanted to make things better.

(Y/N) got back into bed and laid with her back to Colson. He stood there in the dark, just looking at her.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“You called me a gold digger,” (Y/N) responded, her voice equally as small. “After almost a year together, you called me a fucking gold digger.”

“I know - ”

“We’ve talked about how much those tabloid stories get to me, how upset they make me, and you really had the audacity to bring that up and not believe me when I said that I didn’t take your wallet.”

The fact that her voice wasn’t angry, but rather sad, made everything so much worse. Colson winced at her words, feeling a lump form in his throat.

“I know,” he repeated. “I don’t know why I said any of that. I didn’t mean it, I know you love me. I just...I have no excuses. I am a total fucking idiot and you have every right to be angry with me. I know I’m sorry won’t cut it, but for now that’s all I can say. I really am sorry.”

There was another prolonged silence. (Y/N) didn’t even move from her place on the bed. Colson had accepted the fact that she probably hated him and was preparing to go stay with one of the guys for the night, when he heard the bed shift and (Y/N)’s soft voice ask, “Did the guys give you shit?”

Colson smiled to himself. “Yeah, they did. They called me an idiot.”

“You are one.”

“I know.”

Through the darkness of the room, Colson could see (Y/N) lift the blankets and gesture for him to join her. He quickly kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket somewhere on the floor. The minute his body connected with hers, he felt relief wash over him. He hugged her tightly, never wanting to let her go.

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head and repeating the sentiment over and over.

“And I love you, as in you - Colson Baker. Not Machine Gun Kelly, not the man with the money. I love the real you.”

“I know you do. I promise I’ll never doubt that again baby.”

(Y/N) relaxed into Colson’s arms, still a bit hurt from what he had said but happy to have him there with her. Finally, after some time, the two drifted off to sleep.

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader #mgk #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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jimlingss · 4 years

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Sugar and Coffee [21]

Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 21.5 OR Chapter 22

➜ Words: 4.5k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

Baking is a mastery. It’s an ability that needs to be practiced and refined. It requires discipline and patience, especially when things go wrong. It’s problem solving and creative with never one right answer. It’s practically magic in a silver bowl, a whisk, and an oven. And Jungkook is the best wizard in this kitchen. He preheats the oven to three hundred and seventy five degrees fahrenheit. Then he cuts parchment paper to line a baking sheet and moves to brush the ramekins with melted butter. Jungkook adds the tablespoon of white sugar and rotates the ramekins until the surfaces are coated in it. Five ounces of seventy percent dark chocolate is put into a bowl with two ounces of semisweet chocolate and he melts it over a saucepan with hot water on low heat. Afterwards, he adds the egg yolks until the mixture stiffens. Jungkook wipes his sweat before he mixes in the tablespoon of flour and butter, reducing the heat to low and adding in some cold milk. It’s thickened after three minutes and he adds salt, a pinch of cayenne pepper as a secret ingredient, and mixes. The bowl is left over hot water while he whips egg whites with a pinch of cream of tartar, adding sugar after a bit to create glossy, soft peaks. Jungkook transfers the egg whites into the soufflé base, folding it in gently one third at a time and then he divides the mixture to bake for a full fifteen minutes. What he’s left with at the end is the best chocolate soufflé on the planet. “What do you think?” “It’s really good.” Aeri politely smiles and you roll your eyes. “You don’t need to feed his ego. He’s been raving about it for days now.” “And you’ve eaten at least ten of them.” Jungkook grins and you mutter incoherently, unable to really protest against the claim that’s all too true. The soufflé is puffed and crusty on top, but still gooey and jiggly in the center. It’s risen to its maximum height without collapsing whatsoever, uniform all around. And the texture is cloud-like, soft with the chocolate taste melting on the palate. It took two weeks to perfect — but the outcome made the effort all worth it. “I call it the ultimate soufflé.” Your brows raise. “The ultimate? Not Jungkook’s ultimate?” “Nope. The ultimate.” He smirks and leans into you. “Want another one?” You hope he doesn’t know that it takes a lot of strength for you to reject. Jungkook’s good at baking. That much is clear. You’re not sure if he’s as good as you are of course, but anything that has to do with chocolate practically has his name on it. His chocolate soufflé is no exception. It’s fucking delicious. Enough that even Yoongi asks for seconds and Taehyung almost starts to cry. But you don’t want to admit just how good it is since his ego’s been boundless these past few days. “How does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?” he pipes up suddenly when you haven’t even said a single word for the past five minutes. And when you tell Jungkook he’s not a chocolatier yet, he laughs and tells you he will be soon while condescendingly patting your head like you’re his pet. As if that wasn’t enough, he interrupts snuggling time by rolling over with a pompous look on his face. “I’m just so happy right now.” “Why?” You’re expecting a corny answer along the lines of — ‘because you’re here’. But instead Jungkook sighs dreamily and says, “I really nailed that soufflé, didn’t I?” It’s annoying. You’re just trying to live your life peacefully but in every shape, way, or form, no matter the context, he just has to bring up that goddamn soufflé like it’s his child he’s so proud of. It’s not like you aren’t happy for your boyfriend — frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he bragged or boasted about it to others. But he’s been constantly chirping about it in your ear. And any complaints from you would just warrant his grins and questions of if you’re jealous of his skills. “I don’t know what to add to my portfolio,” you mention passingly one afternoon after much contemplation. Your boyfriend hums. “You need something with chocolate, right?” “Yeah.” “Well, you could make my soufflé. I’m sure it would help with your grade a lot, but—,” Jungkook draws out the syllable with another sly smirk, “my recipe’s a secret. Sorry, babe. Wish I could help.” In spite of your inner exhaustion and vexation, for the sake of being a good girlfriend, you simply nod and let him have his moment. Even if Jeon Jungkook was being unbearably arrogant and reminding you of why you hated him about a year ago, he was clearly happy with the recipe he worked so hard on and you didn’t want to step on that. He deserves some personal limelight, so you let him have it. But luckily, you don’t have to bear the weight of his smug ass by yourself for long. “Yuna!” Your arm waves over your head. The high schooler smiles, rolling her luggage behind her and meeting with you halfway. Immediately, you engulf her in your arms even when she grumbles and resists. “How was the trip here? You’re not hungry, are you?” “God, you’re like my mom,” she huffs. “It was fine. Hey, Jungkook.” Yuna shifts and smiles warmly at your boyfriend who nods, greeting her as well. “Hey.” “So this is the school you go to?” You grin. “Sure is!” The last time you were with Yuna, she expressed interest in the professional baking and pastry arts program. You didn’t expect that she would actually come visit during the week-long break for a tour but it was a surprise you welcomed. You hope you can take her interest and curiosity and inspire her. “Namjoon and Sejeong packed some cookies for you. They told me to say...thanks….for showing me around when you’re busy and stuff.” “It’s not a problem. I’m happy to.” You smile. “Tell them I said thanks too.” “Taehyung’s joining us,” Jungkook reads off his phone and then pockets it. “Apparently, he’s bored.” You shrug. “Fine by me.” “Who’s Taehyung?” Yuna asks. “Just a friend of ours,” you say to ease her obvious worries of the stranger. The three of you wait a few minutes, getting caught up with one another as Yuna talks about what her last classes were about. But soon after, the tall brunette is strolling over with his hands buried in his white hoodie pockets. His hair is disheveled like he just rolled out of bed and you don’t think that’s too far from the truth. “Jimin ditched me to go on some date with the chick from his classic desserts class,” he whines when he gets in ear-shot distance. “I thought I was going to die of boredom.” “Tough life,” you scoff and don’t notice Yuna who’s frozen next to you. Her eyes are wide on the stranger, gaze sweeping up and down at him. She swallows hard before stepping forward and making herself known. “H-Hi. My name is Kim Yuna.” “Oh yeah.” Taehyung grins easily. “They told me about you.” “Did they? I’m glad.” She giggles and tucks her hair behind her ear. You exchange expressions with Jungkook. This was an awfully familiar situation. “I’m Namjoon’s niece, their boss during their internship.” “I’m Kim Taehyung.” They shake hands and Yuna goes in for the kill without hesitation— “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?” Taehyung is flustered, taken aback by the blunt question. “I….don’t have a girlfriend.” “Great.” Yuna answers swiftly with a big smile. You have to admit, she’s bold. The girl has some guts even you don’t have. And you’ve never witnessed Taehyung this perplexed either. It’s hard to catch someone as spontaneous as him off guard. “How old are you?” Taehyung frowns, an apprehensive expression etched on his features like you’re telling him to touch a gooey substance in the corner of some dirty bathroom stall. “I turned eighteen in May,” she declares bluntly. But Taehyung looks unconvinced despite his slow nod. “That’s barely legal,” he mutters and only you and Jungkook catch it. It’s hard to hold back laughter, but you try your best and interrupt— “Should we start the tour?” You show her around campus, walking through the corridors, directing her where the lecture halls are and what classes are where. You tell her what it was like for first years and you show her the dormitories, the lockers, the dining hall, and the kitchen area. All in the meanwhile, Taehyung sticks to Jungkook’s side like gum. It’s obvious that he’s intimidated by the petite high schooler and it’s an amusing sight. But Yuna is a go-getter and somehow manages to get Taehyung beside her to answer her numerous questions. You and Jungkook fall back, no longer showing her the way and you’re reduced to watching their backsides. “You know what I want to eat right now?” Jungkook turns to you, mumbling, “My soufflé.” Here we go again…. You internally sigh, but maintain a stiff smile. “Uh-huh.” “I should make it for Yuna. She’d be blown away.” “What?” The younger girl twirls around at the mention of her name. Jungkook grins at her. “You like soufflé? I make the best chocolate soufflé here.” Yuna blinks, too innocent to know better. “Really?” “Your soufflé isn’t even that good.” It’s a lie. “I bet I could do it better.” That’s an even bigger lie, but you can’t stop it once it’s spewed out of your mouth. It goes silent. Jungkook stops walking. Taehyung turns around. “You think you can make a better chocolate soufflé than me?” Your boyfriend’s eyes narrow, taking personal offence. You shrug — it’s too late to back down now. “Why not? Can’t be that hard.” Jungkook scoffs with a stupidly smug expression, calling your bluff. “You can barely temper chocolate.” “You underestimate me, Jeon,” you bite back and his lips curl. “Fine. Let’s see then.” // It was a mistake — something said on impulse, after days of irritation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. It came tumbling out before you could know better, before you could think twice about the consequences, but now you’re standing in the kitchen at an impromptu competition. “Welcome to the annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!” “This isn’t annual,” you mutter at Taehyung’s unnecessary extravagance. He corrects himself— “Welcome to the first annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!” The word spread like wildfire, but luckily kept only in the group chat. The last thing you needed were acquaintances, classmates, and teachers coming to watch. The guys were noisy enough. And it’s a testament proven with Yoongi coming over, Hoseok sprinting to get here, and Jimin calling to tell everyone to wait for his date to be over. All of it was enough pressure you could handle at the moment. But even Aeri had caught wind of what was going on and decided to come by. It’s clear that there’s still tension between her and Hoseok. You don’t miss the strained expressions they exchange with one another before taking seats on the opposite ends, but you’re glad that they can at least be in the same room as one another. It’s an improvement. A sign of moving on. Yet you don’t dwell on them — not when you have bigger fish to fry at the moment. “Over here we have Y/N who believes she can make a better chocolate soufflé than Jungkook, an aspiring chocolatier who literally took weeks and weeks to perfect this recipe of his to make it the ultimate soufflé—” “Alright, that’s enough,” you cut off Taehyung, the self-designated commentator, before you start actually sweating. Jungkook is competitive. Everyone and their mother knows that. And that fact alone makes you nervous. He might just throw you entirely under the bus and burn your relationship to the ground for the sake of winning. You’re worried — but you don’t show it. You can’t. If he knows you’re fearful, he’ll have the upper hand. So you feign indifference. After all, if there was one similarity between you and Jungkook, it was that you weren’t going to back down without a fight either. You were born a winner and it was going to stay that way. “And to make it more fair and maximize the amount of desserts we get to eat, over here we have Jeon Jungkook who will be making éclair. A pastry made with choux dough filled with cream and topped with chocolate icing. It is a specialty perfected by Y/N, an aspiring pâtisserie chef who dreams of running her own wedding cake catering services someday.” “Two very different dishes that the opposing member has a speciality in.” Taehyung continues to narrate and nods his head, inadvertently making Yuna giggle, “Who can make it better? You’ll be the judge of that.” It’s ridiculous, but you’re not going to cave in or surrender. Not when Jungkook’s ego was insurmountable and you’d never hear the end of it if you gave up. An hour and a half is put on the clock. Your counters parallel to one another while your friends are gathered at the other, ready to watch, eat their snacks and hang around. You momentarily wonder why you never have the privilege of relaxing like them. But you don’t think about it for too long. The moment Taehyung starts the time, you begin. You preheat the oven and begin buttering the ramekins. “How do you feel, Y/N?” Suddenly a whisk is thrusted in your face, almost puncturing your cheek. It’s a makeshift microphone that you push aside. “Fine.” “What are you doing now?” “What does it look like?” You push Taehyung aside, grabbing sugar to coat the dish. “Well alright then.” He laughs and slinks over to Jungkook’s side who’s humming underneath his breath. He’s much too casual as he finishes greasing a cookie sheet and moves to combine butter and water in a saucepan. “How about you, Jungkook?” “Never been better.” The side of his lip is curled. Jungkook’s black long sleeve is pushed up to his elbows to reveal his forearms, and one peek at him is enough to feel your blood boil. It’s obvious that he doesn’t see you as a threat whatsoever. “You think you’re going to win?” “Unfortunately, I do.” Jungkook plays along with Taehyung’s antics, head so far up in the clouds. “Why unfortunately?” “Well, it’s not everyday I want to crush my girlfriend, but sometimes I just have to.” Jungkook twists to you. “Sorry, babe.” You ignore him, too busy glancing at the label and dumping the chocolate into a small bowl with butter. In the meanwhile, Yoongi chews on his chips and scrutinizes. “Are you sure that’s the right kind?” “Fuck off, Yoongi.” It’s not like you haven’t done this before — you’re just not sure if yours can ever beat Jungkook’s. You whisk in the six egg yolks and add a pinch of sea salt until the melted mixture thickens. At the same time, Jungkook is singing under his breath, forming his pastry dough and piping it out onto his baking sheet. You don’t know how he works so fast, but you concentrate harder, ignoring Jimin asking Yuna if she likes the place so far, disregarding Yoongi’s snarky comments and Hoseok’s music that he turns on as background noise. Once you place egg whites and half a teaspoon of cream of tartar in the electric mixer to beat, you’re finally able to take a moment of relief. Jungkook is also at his mixer beating his heavy cream for the filing. “Nervous, babe?” You scoff at him. “As if.” “Alright then.” Jungkook smirks, almost as if he finds your snobbery endearing. You hate how he can see right through you, but you still maintain the facade anyhow. At this moment, he was your rival first and your boyfriend second. “It smells so good.” Yuna inhales. Aeri smiles at her. “That would be Jungkook's choux pastry in the oven.” “Who do you think is going to win?” Taehyung suddenly asks the high schooler, thrusting the whisk in front of her. She smiles gingerly. “I don’t know. Who do you think will win?” Taehyung hums and ignores the protest of his friend when he says— “I’ll put my money on Y/N.” “Want to bet on it then?” Yuna asks, lashes batting back and forth. “Loser takes the other person to dinner.” “What about you, Chim?” Taehyung immediately diverts his vision, pretending that he doesn’t hear her deal. He even disregards Aeri and Hoseok’s stunned expressions of Yuna’s forwardness. “Who do you think?” You add the sugar carefully, one tablespoon at a time until the egg whites hold glossy, stiff peaks. Then you’re gently folding the egg whites into your soufflé base until it’s a light and fluffy mixture ready to be put into the ramekins. But you know it’s too basic. It would never beat Jungkook’s. So in the midst of your inner hysteria, you sprinkle in a teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg. Yoongi, the only person who’s actually watching, quirks his brow but doesn’t say anything. The soufflés are popped into the oven and by then, Jungkook is still working. He’s letting his pastries cool on a rack, his filling already in a piping bag, and he’s busy making the icing. “How do you feel now, Y/N?” “The same.” You shrug. “I know I’m going to win, so…” Your boyfriend lifts his chin, a small smirk gracing his lips. “We’ll see about that.” “You aren’t intimidated whatsoever?” Taehyung asks. “I mean Jungkook’s soufflé was fucking deli—cious. It was like gooey on the inside and so soft, but really crispy on the outside and very, very chocolatey. It felt like an explosion of flavour—” “Alright.” You shut him up and move over to steal Yoongi’s bag of chips, much to his dismay. In the few minutes that you finally get to sit down and rest, you observe Jungkook. In spite of his arrogance, he’s working quite hard. You’re impressed he agreed to make éclairs in just an hour and a half since it usually takes two. But Jungkook works quickly, efficiently, and your eyes can’t help lingering on his exposed forearms, the furrow of his brows, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his pink lips. God. As competitive as you are, a part of you doesn’t even care who wins — you already feel like a winner. The beeping of your oven breaks you out of your daydream. “You should wipe off your saliva,” Yoongi mutters out of the corner of his mouth, knowing full well that you were ogling Jungkook in silence. You glare at the dark-haired man, a silent threat not to say anything lest it becomes clear you have other priorities other than winning. You take your soufflés out of the oven, breathing a sigh of relief when you see them. They all rose. A few with them have cracks and they’re not uniform whatsoever, but it’s more than you hoped for. The aroma of chocolate fills the room, making Yuna antsy in her seat. You begin dusting the top with powdered sugar. “Two minutes left, chefs,” Hoseok warns with a grin, peeking over at Taehyung’s timer. Jungkook is long finished piping his éclairs, already drizzled the chocolate icing over top of it and allowing them to set in the fridge. You step back from your counter as well. “I’m done.” “Same here.” “Finally!” Yuna is cheering. “Can we taste them now?” You’re the first to go since the soufflés are still piping hot. It’s six servings with Yuna receiving the first one since she’s the guest of honour. Then the rest are passed to Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok, Aeri. They dig in without hesitation and you watch with your breath hitched. “It’s really good,” Hoseok says, chewing in his cheek. “I like it a lot.” Aeri smiles. “You did a good job, Y/N.” “Thanks.” Even if you don’t win, you feel great at your attempt. Yuna hisses when it burns her tongue and she hums after letting it cool. There doesn’t seem to be any complaints from anyone. “The top can be crustier. It’s baked well through though,” Yoongi notes pompously after sniffing his spoonful for the past minute to take in the scent. “Not half bad.” “But is it better than Jungkook’s?” Taehyung asks. It’s silent. No one can give a blatant answer. Jungkook is appalled that they even need to think about it. “Give me that.” He grabs Jimin’s and takes a spoonful. Jungkook bites, chews, and his brows furrow. “What...is that? There's something in there that’s weird. Like the aftertaste is off.” In hindsight, cinnamon and nutmeg probably wasn’t the best idea. But you don’t say anything and you plop your hand on Yoongi’s shoulder as an implicit warning not to speak about it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s your turn to take a taste and the moment it hits your tongue, you know the outcome. It’s miles and miles away from Jungkook’s standards. Your soufflé is good, but not crying-worthy. It doesn’t bring tears to your eyes and make you remember your mother’s home cooking, how you gathered around the table for dessert during warm holidays. The situation only gets shittier when you take a taste of Jungkook’s éclair. The custard is tangy and smooth, pastry crispy and buttery, chocolate icing sweet at all the right places. And all you can think is — what. the. fuck. This guy had to have a cheat code for life. There’s no way he can be so good at everything he does. It’s impossible. It’s unbelievable. It’s unfair. “What do you think?” Jungkook stares at you in particular, trying to gauge your reaction. You swallow hard, managing a half-hearted shrug. “It’s decent.” It’s clear with his smile he can see you’re trying to hide your true feelings. “Want me to save you seconds?” “I’m fine.” You wave your hand at him, despite your heart saying otherwise. It causes Jungkook to chuckle, but he doesn’t push to spare your pride. It’s hard to tell if his éclair is better than yours — but the mere fact that Jungkook hadn’t even had time to perfect his recipe or practice yet made it this good has your knees weak. You’re glad you don’t have him as your competition on a daily basis anymore. “This is pretty good,” Yuna admits, licking off her fingers. Yoongi seems to be enjoying it as well, eating quietly as he studies it. Hoseok is making noises at the back of his throat and Taehyung nods in approval. “Have you only made this once before?” Jimin asks. “Once or twice. Can’t remember.” Jungkook grins and that’s even more impressive. You’re conflicted of being proud of having such a talented boyfriend and being spiteful of him as a rival. Eventually, Taehyung dismisses the two of you for the rest of them to ‘deliberate’ and judge. You step out into the hallway and Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. “Don’t be too sad when you lose, babe. I’ll comfort you with my golden trophy.” “There is no trophy.” “Hmmm, how about a kiss then?” His nose bumps against you, smiling wide. You feign a pout. “I’ll think about it.” “Alright, love birds.” Taehyung pokes his head out of the door in less than two minutes. “We’ve made our decision.” You gather back together again. All of them are pretending to be very experienced pâtisserie chefs with decades of experience. It’s both an amusing and lame sight — but you don’t comment in case they decide to deduct your points and Jimin grins, reading off the paper he has in front of him. “Y/N, your chocolate soufflé was very moist and delectable. It had the perfect amount of sweetness. We found your techniques to be very competent and proficient. The presentation was great. The texture was very soft and the flavour was very deep. The aftertaste, on the other hand, was unique and different. It caused many to continue tasting to pinpoint what it was. You obviously accomplished what you set out to do and you made a very tasty dessert.” Jimin clears his throat. “And Jungkook, your éclair was alright.” “Y/N wins,” Yuna announces with giddy laughter, arms in the air. “Wait.” Jungkook frowns. “What?” “Me?” You point to yourself, starting to laugh. “I won!” “It was a consensus,” Taehyung spits in the midst of giggles. “This is obviously rigged!” Jungkook protests loudly. “Don’t be a sore loser.” Hoseok shouts and the rest ignore his outcry. Yoongi nods in approval. “Congratulations, Y/N.” You put your hand over your heart. “Thank you.” You didn’t plan this — maybe they were sick of Jungkook’s ego too or maybe they just thought it would be hilarious to see his reaction, but whatever the case may be, you’re glad that they have your back. You lean over to your boyfriend, giving a brief peck on his pouting lips. “This is so rigged,” he mutters, less upset after your kiss. You smile at him and quirk your head to the side. “Life’s rigged, sweetheart. But tell me, how does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?” Jungkook scoffs, a grin spreads into his face. // Informal baking competitions are all fun and games, but it’s not so much at the end when there’s a mountain of dishes to wash in the sink and a whole kitchen to clean. The others have long left after satisfying their sweet tooths, so you and Jungkook have been hard at work yet again. But in the midst of wiping down the counters, your eyes stray to Jungkook’s pastries. He’s stepped out for a moment, so you take the opportunity swiftly by its throat. You lurch across the floor and grab an éclair to eat. But as you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while relishing in the deliciousness, you don’t notice the man creeping up on you. “Having those seconds, huh?” You’re scared shitless, jolting, and you whirl around to see Jungkook with his shit eating grin that just screams ‘I knew it’. You’ve been caught in the act. There’s no denying it now. All you can do is swallow your mouthful. “So you liked it that much? You should’ve just admitted it from the start, Y/N. You know I can read you like an open book—” You grab Jungkook by the back of his neck and pull him in for a smothering kiss, just to shut him up. It’s a slow kiss, one where he cleans the cream off your lips and tastes the sugar on your tongue. It’s ambiguous who the real winner is. When you pull apart, you know you both feel like it. “Happy?” Jungkook laughs, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “Very.”

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook series #MORE FLUFF INCOMING

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szivtalan · 3 years

Note

23 fluff/general prompt and endhawks

oooo thank u!!!

endhawks + 23) “well the probability of that is 0, but you go ahead.”

tags: sassy shoto is sassy lol. nothing aside from a little language?, morning after, crack ig

truth be told, todoroki enji isn't a big fan of swearing.

he raised four children, after all, and with his luck, his firstborn was the toughest nut. he quickly learned with toya that whatever bad behavior he shows in front of his children, they would immediately learn that instead of the nice things he tried so much to put into their dumb little heads.

for example, fighting people and swearing.

honestly, even before that enji thought of swearing as something mundane, profane and dirty. "villain behavior", the voice in his head translated into child language, but that's exactly how he thought of swear words. in his opinion, if you can't tell someone to go to hell without calling them names, mentioning their mother, defecation or acts that are sexual in nature, you should rather stay quiet about it.

yeah, well. that whole sentiment flew out the window when enji woke up today to the sound of his youngest opening the front door.

'dad, i'm home!' shoto calls out.

'fuck.' enji groans, trying to sit up. his eyes go wide when he registers that his torso is unusually heavy from the weight of hawks being sprawled out on top of it. 'oh, fuck.'

'hey, dad!' shoto yells again, his luggage hitting the floor with a heavy thud. he forgot that shoto was supposed to come home for the weekend.

'just a minute!' he calls out, shaking a very grumpy hawks by the shoulders. 'hey, keigo. wake up, you gotta go.'

'whaaa-,' hawks yawns, turning his head so his chin pressed right into enji's chest. 'why?'

'my son is home.'

hawks stares at him for an excruciating minute. 'and?'

'and you shouldn't be meeting yet, goddamn it. and not like this. come on, do you think you can fly out the window?'

'todoroki endeavor enji, what am i, your side hoe?' hawks raises his voice, causing enji to shush in panic. 'you're a divorced father and i'm your boyfriend, don't you think it's time your children get to know me?'

he's on his feet pulling up his clothes now, which should be offensive to enji but in this situation, he can only be grateful. on top of the annoyance. 'yes,' he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. 'yes, keigo, you're right, and i'm sorry, but meeting my children shouldn't happen like this. you're welcome to come back to dinner later-'

'you don't think shoto would be okay with meeting me like this?' hawks has the audacity to ask him, his open shirt hanging from his shoulders, fly pulled down and belt buckle hanging loosely in the air.

'well, the probability of that is 0,' enji snarls, pulling his yukata up his arms and tying the belt together just in time to his door sliding open.

'dad?'

'-but you go ahead.' he finishes, turning a little pale.

shoto looks at him first, head cocked to the side curiously. then his eyes swim around the room, finding hawks on the far side of the bed. their eyes meet, and hawks grins.

'hi, i'm keigo. pleasure to meet you, i'm fucking your dad.'

'oh.' shoto states, nodding his head at hawks' extended hand. enji wants to bury him in the backyard. knows just the spot, really. 'okay. dad, where's fuyumi?'

fuyumi is with friends, natsuo's staying at his girlfriend's, and enji wishes he could be either, because anywhere would be better than his kitchen at the moment, making tea for three while listening to his son talk to his barely-older lover.

'you're hawks, right? the winged hero?'

'yep, that i am!'

'i saw you on tv. aren't you the first pro hero ever to get into the top 10 in your teens?' enji can feel the flames coming on, but he grips the kitchen sink, focuses on the kettle.

'yes, that's also something i am.'

'how old are you now?'

'22! i'm turning 23 this year.'

'didn't you finish UA recently, then?'

'oh, i didn't go to school, no.'

'are you the reason mommy and daddy divorced?' shoto asks. flames bubble to the surface and flare up just like that.

'shoto!'

'look in the mirror and think again why mommy and daddy divorced, kiddo.' hawks replies with a bushy brow raised up to his hairline.

the air freezes a little as those two glare at each other from across the table. enji chokes on his spit, prepares to shut down a possible fistfight.

but instead of jumping at him, shoto turns back to look at his dad, face neutral, eyes shining.

'he's a lot cooler than you. i like him.'

enji prepares to have chronic migraines for the rest of his life.

#ask and i shall answer #endhawks #bnha #anime #todoroki enji #takami keigo #todoroki shoto #geometricalien #thank you friend!!! i hope you enjoy lol

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter two: san juan

pairing: jungkook/reader word count: 6.6K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings: criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: okay, ya’ll. I really never intended to make this story anything more than a one-shot...but a couple of people asked for more and then the wheels started turning, and I had more than a little crush on this sexy, smartassed jungkook. so here we are! I hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna who’s smut is even better than her art

************************

You still think about Jungkook Jeon.

You think about him when you spot his beautiful face on the poster in the hallway at your office, with the word WANTED emblazoned across the top.

You think about him every time you fly because you leave condoms behind in the bathroom like some kind of kinky Fairy Godmother.

And sometimes -- late at night, after you’ve had a glass of wine -- you shut your eyes and think about him when you slip between the sheets and then slip a hand into your panties.

You wonder where in the world he is and how he’s getting away with life on the run -- again.

Though technically he’s not your problem anymore.

The Marshals took over his case after he pulled his vanishing act in Los Angeles, so it’s some other poor sap’s job to find him and bring him in. You’d done your part -- you’d tracked him down and brought him to the States, even got him before a judge.

So what happened after that didn’t happen on your watch.

Totally out of your hands.

No reason for you to still obsess over how it all went down.

At all.

Right?

************************

The humidity in San Juan hits you like a wall the second you step out of Muñoz Marín International Airport.

You quickly scan the throng of waiting drivers and find the one holding the sign with your name on it. The suit you’d worn on the plane is already sticking to the backs of your thighs in this heat.

“Welcome to Puerto Rico,” the driver smiles warmly, offering to take your luggage off your hands. You smile back as you follow him to the line of cars idling outside.

The ding of a text alert distracts you for a moment.

You pull out your phone and see it’s your boss, checking to make sure your flight landed on time. The driver opens the car door and you slip inside while he pops the trunk to put your bags away.

You’re so busy tapping out a response that you don’t realize something is off until the driver raps twice on the back of the car.

Because that’s a signal for the car to go.

Because the man behind the wheel is not the man who just loaded you and your bags into this car.

Because the man behind the wheel is --

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you breathe, eyes wide on the reflection in the rearview mirror.

He’s got a snapback pulled low over his face but you can still see his eyes. And you’d know those eyes anywhere. You’ve thought about those eyes a lot more than you’d like to admit.

“That -- “ Jungkook says, pressing the gas, “-- is the weirdest way to say you missed me, too.”

He tilts his head up so you can catch the reflection of his wide smile.

You are in a car with Jungkook Jeon. In a moving car with Jungkook Jeon.

“Start talking,” you snap.

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

You slump back into the seat and clap a hand over your face. Damn this man and damn his stupid, smart-assed, beautiful mouth.

“Where are you taking me?”

Jungkook snorts at the note of panic in your voice.

“To your hotel, dummy. You have a meeting in like, two hours.”

“Unbelievable,” you sigh after a moment. “Do I even want to know how you know all of this?”

“Well in my defense,” he starts, “you guys still have really shitty firewalls. You’ve got a lot of nerve calling yourselves an intelligence agency with that set-up in place.”

“I’ll be sure to pass along your feedback,” you mutter.

“You should. So anyway, I was reading through your emails one day -- you know, as I do -- and I saw you were coming to town. I couldn’t pass up the chance to see you.”

Holy shit.

That’s a lot to take in right now and you’re still trying to process the series of events that led up to you, in a car with Jungkook Jeon. You keep asking questions because it seems like the only sane thing to do in this entirely insane situation.

“You read my emails.”

“Yeah.”

“How often?”

“Uh….all the time?”

You blow out an exasperated breath.

“You’re a real piece of work. Just what makes you think I won’t have this car surrounded by Feds by the time we get to the hotel?”

“You could,” he concedes thoughtfully. He looks up from the road for a moment to lock eyes with you in the rearview. “But we both know you won’t.”

His certainty makes you bristle. Is he right about that?

You force yourself to look away from him and redirect your gaze outside to watch the carefully landscaped palm trees speed by. He’s been here for some time, you think, as he navigates the streets with ease. He doesn’t seem to be looking for his next turn or second-guessing which way to go. He’s not even using GPS.

“You are in some deep shit back home, Mr. Jeon,” you say, finally. “You embarrassed them. They hate being embarrassed.”

He chuckles.

“Don’t you think it’s time to drop the formalities, Agent? I’ve had my tongue in your pussy, you know.”

He startles a laugh from you with his casual, crass statement of fact. You forgot how funny he is -- how smart and affable and completely disarming he is.

“Anyway, that’s their problem, not mine,” he continues. “And not yours anymore either, from what I understand.”

Boy, he really wasn’t kidding about those emails.

You mentally rummage through your inbox, try to imagine what information he’s had access to these past few months. Countless agency messages, a few personal ones and at least one exchange that could qualify as both. You wonder if he’s seen that one, too.

You clear your throat, uncomfortable with the thought.

“So what’s your plan, then? Hide out in plain sight in a territory of the United States?”

“It’s worked for me so far, hasn’t it?”

You roll your eyes.

“Anyway, my plan right now is to drop you off at this hotel,” Jungkook says, turning into the drive. “Then you’re going to skip that reception they have scheduled for tomorrow night because you’re going to have drinks with me instead.”

You say nothing for a moment.

It’s absurd that your first reaction to his words is a tingle of excitement. It’s ludicrous that you haven’t picked up the phone to call this in by this point. It’s fucking bananas that you’re picturing yourself sharing a drink with this man instead of having him arrested.

The car rolls to a stop.

“Now, as much as I’d love to act the part of a perfect gentleman and help you with those bags, I can’t,” Jungkook says, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a small piece of paper. “Your hotel is crawling with cameras and believe it or not, I’m trying to minimize the number of stupid risks I take these days.”

You snort.

He reaches behind his seat to hand you the note.

“Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 7 o’clock. Be sure to wear something tight, yeah?”

“You are out of your mind,” you say from between clenched teeth, snatching the paper out of his hand.

Jungkook laughs.

“I know, right?”

***********************************

You should call the Marshals.

You should really call the Marshals.

Why haven’t you called the goddamned Marshals?

“ -- do you think, Agent?”

Fuck.

You can’t seem to keep your mind focused on this meeting and now everyone around the conference table is looking at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that,” you’re forced to admit. “Catch me up?”

“I was saying,” Agent Dominguez starts again, “that given the damage done to the office here in San Juan, we should move agents to the mainland temporarily. Miami, preferably.”

“Yes,” you agree. “That would be best. Until we can get things back on track.”

Dominguez smiles in a skeptical way, like he knows you’re preoccupied and he’s curious as to why. You smile back and hope it’s convincing.

“We’ll have to go over some logistics, of course, after the final decisions are made,” he continues, turning his attention back to the room at large. “But for now, let’s consider that a flight from Miami is just a hop, skip, and a jump. It makes sense.”

The rest of the assembled meeting guests murmur in agreement.

Your mind wanders back to that slip of paper tucked away inside your bag at the hotel, back to the man who gave it to you. The ridiculous, self-assured little asshole who just knows you aren’t going to rat him out. Who just knows you’re going to join him for drinks like he’s not an actual federal fugitive and you’re not an actual federal agent.

Dominguez continues to drone on in the background.

“...and if you look at the numbers, you’ll see post-storm crime is actually way down…”

What you would give to be anywhere but this meeting right now. You pinch the bridge of your nose, shut your eyes and go down the list of facts as you know them.

He’s been reading your emails.

Following your every move.

He wants to see you tonight.

What the hell is wrong with you that knowing all of this excites you instead of freaking you out? What does it mean that a part of you -- a really big part of you -- wants to take him up on his offer?

******************

Dominguez pulls you aside after the morning round of meetings wraps for lunch.

“Hey,” he says, stopping you in the hallway. “Are you alright? You’ve seemed just a little off since yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you say apologetically. “Been feeling a little off these past two days.”

Not technically a lie?

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Dominguez replies smoothly.

“Hope you’ll be feeling up to attending the reception tonight,” he continues. “I’d hate for you to miss it.”

You offer him a weak smile. The look on his face right now is making you a bit queasy.

What if they knew? What then?

Once was insane enough. Once could be written off as a mistake, a terrible lapse in judgement. An embarrassing and regrettable fluke.

But twice? Twice is a choice, a conscious decision.

Twice would make you complicit -- a co-conspirator, a co-defendant and a whole host of other “C” words you’d rather not contemplate right now.

There would be no explaining away twice.

You busy yourself with getting a bottled water from the vending machine just to have an excuse to look away. You tell yourself not to be paranoid. You have no reason to suspect they know anything and this is not the time to borrow worry.

“I’m going to try and get some rest after we wrap for the day,” you say finally, opening the bottle to take a drink. “See if I feel better after that.”

Dominguez’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You do that, Agent.”

***********************

Wrapped in a towel, fresh from a shower, you alternate between staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror and looking back at that damning piece of paper in your hand.

You should put on the nice-but-work-appropriate cocktail dress you’d chosen for the reception that you should be attending tonight. You should drop this piece of paper in the trash, forget Jungkook Jeon exists and move on. You should be having drinks with your colleagues from the San Juan office in an hour, making decisions that don’t amount to career suicide and living life on the straight and narrow like a normal fucking human being.

Should, should, should.

You walk over to your suitcase and pull out a slim-cut sundress with spaghetti straps instead. You smooth your hands over the delicate material, imagine the light weight of the fabric would feel just right in this humid weather. You slip the dress over your shoulders, smooth it down with your hands, turn from side to side to assess the fit.

For a moment you close your eyes and allow yourself to imagine Jungkook slipping his hands underneath this dress, pushing the hem up your thighs. You imagine his thumbs and fingers circling the sensitive skin there. His lips on your neck. His voice in your ear.

The sound of an incoming text knocks you out of your fantasy and you open your eyes to see your flushed reflection staring back in the mirror. You reach for your phone.

you gonna make it out tonight? [ 5:48 PM ]

You stare at Dominguez’s message for a moment.

Decision time.

Are you?

************************

You’ve been over every step you took before leaving the hotel at least a dozen times by now.

You’d sent Domniguez a text, claiming to be under the weather.

You’d left your phone in the safe in your room.

You’d walked out of the hotel through a service exit and into a waiting car.

All clear, decisive, sane choices despite the fact that you are obviously a crazy person. Because no one in their right mind would be pulling this kind of stunt.

The ride is short, only a few minutes from your federally-funded accommodations to the much more humble beachside hotel where Jungkook told you to meet him. You give the driver more than enough money to cover the fare and tip and step out into the thick night air. You spot him a short distance away, sitting at a tiki bar just off the water.

Puerto Rico has apparently been very good to Jungkook Jeon.

He is reclined casually in a barstool, drinking a bottled beer. The creamy off-white of his linen shirt is a perfect contrast to the deep golden tan he’s managed to acquire these past few months. He’s let his wavy black hair grow long again and it falls just below his ears. The laugh he shares with the bartender reveals his smile and makes him look relaxed and radiant and fucking perfect.

Jungkook turns in his stool just as you approach and the slow, appreciative once-over he gives you makes your entire body feel warm. The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile.

Dammit.

You’ve got to get your head on straight.

Jungkook isn’t some hot, available guy you’re trying to land. He’s a wanted man and the fact that he’s sitting out in the open at this tiny outdoor beach bar makes you nervous. It’s a saving grace that the bar is damned near dead but there are still too many angles, too many clear lines of sight. You’re annoyed that he’s being so flippant about keeping a low profile.

You wait until you are close enough to whisper before you speak.

“This is a terrible idea.”

He cocks a brow. “Drinks?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” you hiss. “We need to go somewhere more private.”

“Christ woman,” he groans. “Don’t you know it’s polite to wine and dine me first? I’m not a piece of meat, you know.”

He grins when you huff your frustration.

“Besides, if you were really worried about drawing attention --” he pauses, rakes an appreciative gaze across your décolletage, “-- you certainly wouldn’t have worn that dress.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, does he ever turn it off? Is he incapable of recognizing how risky and fucked up this situation really is?

“You’re an idiot,” you bite out, turning to leave -- but Jungkook grabs for your wrist.

“Relax,” he soothes, pulling you back. “Seriously. I have the situation under control.”

A charged moment passes as you give him a long look. His hand remains firm and warm around your wrist.

“Do you trust me?”

What a ridiculous question.

What you know about Jungkook Jeon could fit on an index card, and what little information you do have doesn’t exactly do him any favors. You’re putting your career -- potentially even your freedom at risk even being here.

But something about the naked sincerity on his face makes you want to trust him.

God only knows why.

You take a deep breath in and out before sliding into the barstool he’s pulled out for you. The bartender smiles from a few feet away, makes his way over. You tense, turning to face away and Jungkook puts a steadying hand on your knee.

“It’s cool,” he murmurs. “He knows me.”

“Why on earth do you think that’s supposed to make me feel better?” you fire back.

“I think -- you just need to have a drink,” he reasons, eyes sparkling. He lifts his beer to his lips and you catch yourself staring for a moment at the way the tendons in his arms flex, the way his lips slide over the mouth of the bottle.

Has the simple act of drinking a beer always looked that masculine?

Shit, you do need a drink.

You order a mojito without ever looking the bartender in the eye. Whoever he is -- Jungkook’s buddy it would seem -- he’s understanding about your appalling lack of manners. He can probably recognize a truly fucked-up situation from a mile away and is steering clear like someone with an inkling of common sense.

For his part, Jungkook has dropped the flirtatious act for a moment and the small smile that plays across his face is calm and reassuring.

It works.

“Alright Jeon,” you sigh after a moment. “Let’s talk. How did you do it?”

He takes a long drink of his beer.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

You’d expected as much. You would bet everything in the bank that his parents helped him get out of Los Angeles. The kind but guarded look on his face is the closest you’ll get to a confirmation of that fact.

“Ask me anything else.”

“Fine. How did you pull off the stunt at the airport?”

“Oh, that was easy,” Jungkook teases. “I found the driver holding your name card and offered him twice the fare. He was happy to help me out. Nice guy, actually.”

“He’s lucky you didn’t cut me into pieces,” you grumble.

Jungkook laughs. “You’ve got a wild imagination. Besides, who wouldn’t trust a face like this?”

To make his point, he turns from side to side to offer you a better look at his profiles. Outwardly you roll your eyes, but inwardly it’s hard to ignore the sharp line of his jaw, the perfectly symmetrical angles of his face. You take another long drink from the cocktail in your hand.

“Why Puerto Rico?”

“Why not? The scenery is beautiful, the food is delicious, and people know how to mind their own goddamned business,” He takes another sip of beer. “Besides, you guys didn’t exactly leave me with a lot of options when you took my passport. And hey -- thanks for that, by the way. Finding a good fake is a real bitch.”

“We’re not travel agents, Jeon,” you snort.

He laughs.

“So this -- “ you motion to the small building attached to the tiki bar, “ -- is where you’ve been staying?”

“Dammit, woman — I said ask me anything, not everything. You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”

He grins at the glare you fix him with.

“I’m kidding, obviously. No way you’d be able to hide a wire under that delightful little number.”

He chuckles when you flush.

“So yeah, this is one place I’ve been staying. Mostly locals around here. After the storm, so many new people turned up to help rebuild that it’s been pretty easy to blend in with the new faces. Plus, it’s not hard to find work.”

“So you’ve got this all figured out, huh?”

“Some of it,” he demures, and you can’t help but notice he’s managed to slide a little closer. His proximity is distracting. You’ve only had one drink and you already feel a bit lightheaded.

Jungkook scrubs a hand down his mouth, fixes you with a long look.

“Now it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Fair enough,” you concede.

“You gonna go to dinner with him?”

You exhale a nervous laugh against the rim of your glass. You’d wondered if the series of back-and-forth emails between you and Agent Kim Namjoon would come up. You should have known it would.

Agent Kim’s last email came this week. It said he would be traveling to Los Angeles for some training soon.

It said that he wanted to take you to dinner.

You should have fired back an enthusiastic yes! right away because Agent Kim is hot and smart and to your knowledge has zero outstanding warrants.

But you didn’t.

Jungkook tilts the mouth of his beer against his lips.

“Well?”

“Yes,” you say, finally.

“Don’t.”

The reply is so abrupt, so emphatic that you have to laugh.

“Why?”

“He’s an empty suit. A cardboard cut-out. Not right for you at all.”

The smirk on Jungkook’s mouth indicates he’s teasing, but his tone indicates something else entirely. The territorial current that runs under his words is annoying and exciting and complicated.

“He’s just trying to fuck you, you know.”

You raise an eyebrow at that.

“Oh, and you’re not?”

“No,” he murmurs, leaning close. “I have fucked you. I plan on fucking you again. He and I are not the same, at all.”

His words set off a throb between your thighs and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, uncross and recross your legs. Jungkook leans back, looking satisfied with how much he’s managed to unnerve you.

“So this is some kind of pissing contest?”

You laugh to keep the sounds of your words light, but your words come out uneven. “You stalk my inbox for months and abduct me from the airport to what -- keep me from fucking Agent Kim? You hate him that much?”

“I don’t give a shit about Agent Kim,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“You know what this is about. Don’t play with me.”

He’s right, of course. You do know what this is about.

It’s why you fucked him in an airplane bathroom against all rules of decorum and common sense. It’s why you’re here, making stupid decisions and taking dumb risks instead of back at your hotel playing it safe. It’s why you’ve never been able to stop thinking about him.

Something connects you to this man, something you don’t really understand -- and now you know for a fact that whatever it is, it isn’t one-sided.

Your body is rigid, unnaturally still as the bartender drops off new drinks and you immediately reach for the glass, if for no other reason than to stall. Jungkook takes a long sip from his new beer before speaking again. You can feel his eyes on you but you don’t look back.

“I like you.”

No sarcastic quip follows. No charged sexual innuendo. Something about that simple admission is more intimate than the fact that he’s literally been inside you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” is the only thing you can think to say.

Jungkook shoots you a playful smile.

“I know you like mojitos. I know you have a standing appointment with some fancy hair salon in LA every six weeks. I know you order Chipotle far more than is necessary or probably healthy.”

He leans closer and the look on his face changes into something different -- something that makes you shiver. He slides his hand under your jaw, tips your head up, strokes a thumb across your cheek.

“I know what you sound like when you come,” he whispers. “I know I’d like to hear that again.”

Oh, God.

This must be what it’s like to drown. To see your demise play out before your eyes but still feel powerless to stop it. Every smart-assed retort you could fire back dies on your tongue and all you can do is blink when Jungkook brushes his lips against yours.

“And I know you like me too,” he whispers against your mouth.

He’s right.

You do.

You really, really do.

*****************************

It’s like a switch flips inside your brain. Once you start kissing him, you can’t stop.

You both fall through the open door to his room in a tangle of limbs and lips.

Jungkook lifts you up off the floor and you immediately wrap your legs around his waist, never stopping the assault on his mouth and skin. He moans when you lick a stripe up his neck. He tastes like salt and sunscreen and sex and you are so desperate to feel him inside you that you can’t think straight.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he protests, walking you both over to the mattress. He drops you unceremoniously on top of the bedding.

“Stop.”

“God, no,” you groan, panting. “Why?”

He takes a deep breath in and out, shoves a hand through his hair.

“I promised myself I was going to take my time with you if I ever got this chance again,” he explains, voice ragged with arousal. “No cuffs. No rush. Not this time.”

You huff in exasperation and climb up onto your knees on the mattress.

Jungkook’s eyes widen when you drop both hands to the hem of your dress and pull it up and off in one swift motion. You’d had to forgo a bra given the skimpy nature of your sundress and it’s easy to forget he hasn’t really seen you naked. The look on his face says he heartily approves.

“Take your time later,” you fire back. “Take your clothes off now.”

Jungkook laughs. “Are you always this bossy?”

“Yes. If you wait one minute longer I’m going to sober up and realize this is a terrible decision. Take your clothes off.”

“Hush woman.”

He silences you with mock annoyance as his fingers drop to work the buttons of his shirt. You catch your mouth before it drops open as he pulls the shirt off, exposing the chiseled planes of his body. You swallow thickly when he drops the garment to the floor.

No human being should be allowed to look like this.

It’s obscene.

The tattoos that run across his hands and forearms extend up to his shoulders, across his chest. The defined lines that outline his abdomen are made even more plain by his deep breaths. He is -- hands down -- the sexiest man you have ever seen in your life.

“Shit Jungkook, you’ve been holding out on me,” you breathe, a note of awe in your voice.

“And I knew you had amazing tits,” he grins, shoving his jeans off his hips. “Lie back.”

The gruff command makes your body tight with anticipation. Jungkook’s face is damp with sweat, locks clinging to his brow when he sinks down onto the mattress and crawls until he’s hovering over you.

“Goddamnit,” he whispers, slanting his lips over yours. “Goddamnit, I’ve been thinking about this for so damned long.”

You sigh into his mouth.

Me too, you want to say. But you don’t.

“I’ve thought about the way you taste every single day, did you know that?”

He circles one aching nipple with his tongue and teeth. You whimper at the heavy drag of his tongue.

“I’ve imagined getting my mouth on you again far more than is normal or sane,” he whispers against your skin, pulling the damp lace of your panties off your ankles and tossing it away.

“Jungkook,” you whine. “Please.”

His lips skate over the sensitive skin between your breasts, across your stomach as he slides downward. Your body stills when you feel his lips at your entrance, breath warm against your wetness.

The first touch of his tongue is quick, teasing. You’re wound so tight your hips jerk off the bed at that light contact.

“Easy girl,” Jungkook teases, sealing his mouth over your clit. The strong fingers of one hand press into your hip, grip you tight to keep you from pulling away. He slips one long finger from his other hand inside you to join his tongue in the all-out assault.

“God you are sexy,” he groans, licking deeply into you. You grab handfuls of his damp hair in between shaking fingers. “You’ve ruined me for all other federal agents, you know.”

Your laugh bleeds into a gasp when Jungkook slips a second finger inside of you, presses harder against you with his tongue.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, legs trembling. You roll your hips mindlessly, enjoying the way he moans in response.

“You gonna let me hear it again?” his words vibrate almost painfully against your already aching clit. “Be as loud as you want this time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh in agreement, feeling that telltale prickle building between your thighs.

He sets you off with the firm press of the heel of his hand on your mound. You can’t control your body’s reaction when the pressure against that sensitive wall and the stimulation of your clit combine. Your back arches high off the bed when you start to come apart, moaning wantonly.

Your orgasm seems to go on and on forever and Jungkook whispers words of encouragement as you ride it out. He doesn’t stop with his tongue and fingers until you start to quiver from the overstimulation, breaths hitching when shudders run up and down your back.

“Dammit, Jungkook,” you gasp once you regain control of your ragged breathing.

He laughs as he kisses his way back up your body, across your chest and neck. You welcome the press of his body when he settles over you. He grinds his hips down and you whimper at the feel of his rigid cock straining against his boxers. You clench hard at the memory of him deep inside you.

“Take those off,” you order, scraping your teeth against the damp skin of his neck.

“Ask me nice and I might consider it,” he teases.

You shoot him a playfully disapproving look before pushing against his shoulder until he rolls over. His eyes fall shut when you climb over him and drag your drenched center against the firm outline of his cock.

“Fuck, that feels good,” he whispers, and you lean forward to seal your lips over his. He pants into your mouth as you rock against him.

You slide down his body after a moment, hooking your fingers into his boxers and pulling them down with you.

The thing about your hurried little encounter inside that airplane bathroom is that it’s hard to remember the details. It was so rushed and illicit and bizarre that you can barely recount what he felt like, what he looked like in the moment. But right now -- when his cock springs free and he looks down at you from beneath heavy lids and he looks so sincerely fucked out -- you make sure to commit this moment to memory.

Jungkook sucks a strangled breath between his teeth when you take him in your mouth. His fingers immediately wind into your hair and you sigh around his length when he groans his satisfaction. His hips jerk when you pull off of him, dragging your tongue against the sensitive spot under the head of his cock before releasing it.

“Shit,” he moans, “I forgot how good you are at that.”

You laugh and wrap one hand firmly around the base of his cock. He’s already leaking at the tip and he hisses when you sweep your tongue across the swollen head. He gathers your hair in his hands, pulls gently on the strands but you can feel the restraint he’s exercising. His body is radiating tension, taut with unspent energy.

“You can get rougher if you want,” you breathe, pumping him steadily with your hands.

His agonized groan tells you he’d love to take you up on that offer.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” he pants, words sounding pained. “I’m doing everything I can not to literally blow my second chance here.”

You release his cock with a smile and he pulls away to shift his body up the bed. He reaches into his bedside table and pulls out a condom. He holds it up for a moment and the two of you share a knowing laugh.

The laughter dies the moment you crawl up the bed to join him and take the condom out of his hand. Jungkook’s eyes are dark and focused as you rip it open and roll it down his straining cock. Once it’s in place he steals the air from your lungs with a deep kiss and pulls you onto his lap.

You’re struck still for a moment when you look down at him just as you are lining him up with your entrance. He looks back at you with those blown-out pupils and kiss-bitten lips and you lose your momentum. You should say something or do something but it’s so damned hard to focus when he’s looking at you like that.

He brushes a damp lock of hair away from your face with his fingers and fixes you with an expectant look.

You want to tell him how handsome he is.

You want to tell him that he’s the most interesting person you’ve ever met.

But you don’t.

Jungkook rescues you from your sudden crisis with a well-timed tease.

“You’ve been rushing me since we got here,” he chuckles, brow raised. “You’re gonna leave me like this?”

He grabs the base of his stiff cock with one hand, rubs the head against your clit to make his point. You answer him with a desperate kiss, swallowing the groan he makes when you finally sink down.

His hands move to either side of your ass to guide the movement of your hips. Your first few thrusts are hesitant, shaky as you adjust to the feeling of him deep inside you. He feels harder and thicker than you remember.

“Oh, god --” you moan.

You feel his faint hum of satisfaction against your breasts. He tongues messily at your aching nipples, sucks them into his mouth. His fingers dig into your ass as he thrusts up to meet your thrusts down.

His mouth is full of you. His hands are full of you. You are full of him. The feeling of filling and being filled is unbearable at this point. It’s so much stimulation at once that it borders on painful.

“Feel so good wrapped around me like this,” Jungkook groans. “I can’t get enough.”

Me neither, you want to say. I’ve been dying to feel you like this, you nearly whisper.

But you don’t.

You feel disoriented for a moment and grab onto the headboard for desperately needed balance. It gives you the leverage you need to take him deeper, faster, and the steady rhythm of his thrusts and breaths starts to pick up in speed.

Then you make the mistake of opening your eyes and looking down into his face.

He is covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes hooded and mouth slack with pleasure. He fixes you with a look so erotic you nearly blush. It’s pretty ridiculous to be literally riding a man’s cock and feel suddenly shy, but that’s exactly what happens.

You force yourself to close your eyes.

Jungkook buries his face in your neck. You feel one of his hands move away from your hips, down to where the two of you meet. The rough pad of one thumb starts to work your clit and the stimulation distracts you for a moment, makes your rhythm sloppy.

“I want to feel you come,” he breathes, teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your collarbone and neck. “I want to know what it feels like when I’m inside you.”

“So close,” you whine on a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna go off like a bomb,” he groans, stroking so deep you see stars. “Take me with you.”

If it weren’t for the one hand keeping you anchored to the headboard, you’d have collapsed onto him with the sheer force of your orgasm. You whimper as Jungkook’s orgasm rips through him, body shuddering as he pounds harder and faster. It takes a few frantic, frenzied moments for his rhythm to slow and his moans to subside.

Then you do slump onto him, spent and sweaty and rubbery with utter exhaustion. You’re both still for a moment, damp bodies pressed together as you both catch your breath.

He brushes your hair away from your face and presses a soft kiss to your temple.

***********************************

You take a shower together.

Afterwards, you both fall back into bed clean and warm.

You make good on your promise to let Jungkook take his time this go-around. He fucks you slow and relaxed from behind while you lay side by side. The steady lap of the waves outside his window is a perfect backdrop as he whispers into your ear and buries himself deep inside you.

Afterwards, everything is still but the waves.

You both enjoy the complete silence for a while. Your stroke your fingers across the strong forearm Jungkook has wrapped around you and he breathes deeply into your hair. It feels natural, somehow.

It feels good.

You can’t remember the last time anything felt this good.

“Stay with me,” Jungkook whispers after a while, nosing into the nape of your neck. He drops a soft kiss on the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“I can’t,” you whisper back. “I have a meeting first thing in the morning. Don’t tell me you skipped that email.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“I wasn’t talking about tonight.”

You go rigid from head to toe. Maybe you didn’t hear that right.

“What?”

“Stay with me,” he says again, like it’s going to make more sense the second time he says it. “We could go all over the world and eat the best food and fuck in the most beautiful places.” His fingers stroke up your side, sending chills up your back. “It could be great.”

You wait for him to laugh. He doesn’t.

You pull out of his hold, flip your body so that you’re facing him. You expect to see his teasing smirk staring back, but you don’t. He looks serious.

“What the fuck was in that beer, Jeon?”

He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he says quietly. “You could think about it for a while.”

You stare at the side of his perfect profile, dazed for a moment by the strange combination of feelings swirling inside you right now.

There’s disbelief at the insane Bonnie and Clyde fantasy he’s decided to pitch.

There’s disappointment because there’s a tiny part of you that wants to entertain that fantasy.

And there’s a little bit of heartache because right now he looks so lonely.

That’s the part that gnaws at you. It makes you feel raw and exposed. So you do what you know best and try to redirect with humor.

“Who’s got a wild imagination now, huh?”

His lips twitch into a wry smile.

************************

You’d waited until you were certain he was asleep before slipping out of his arms and out of the bed. He slept heavy, not stirring once while you slipped into your clothes and shoes. He slept like someone without a care in the world.

Hardly.

It had taken a moment to find a piece of paper. It was only just as you were about to give up that you remembered Jungkook’s note, tucked safely into your bag.

You looked back at him in the bed -- studied him for a moment before quietly scrawling a note on the other side of that piece of paper.

you know i can’t. i’m sorry.

#jungkooksmut #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x read #btssmut #bts fanfic #bts fic

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xlehukax · 4 years

Text

What Becomes Of The Brokenhearted?

Foreword: This is for @head-over-heart‘s 100 Follower Writing thing!! It took me forever but hey, I did it. urm you asked for angst and... it’s angst-

Ships: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 5036

Warnings: ANGST SO MUCH ANGST ALL THE FLUFF IS ANGST IN SHEEPS CLOTHING, Language, Cursing, Verbal Abuse, Lying, Manipulative Loki, Unsympathetic Loki, Past Relationships, Money Issues, Tortured Loki, Blood, Sorta self harm? it’s weird, again this is angst if you’re reading it for fluff I direct you to literally anything else on my page

Summary: You had thought your relationship with Loki was the main story, the tale of two lovers, a romance. It was merely a preface, and that you now know.

~~~~

2009

You first met him by accident. You were just wandering about the bookstore: you had gone for a particular book, which you found, and were now letting yourself be caught within the pamphlets for vacations in Hawaii and test prep books. You let your hands brush some of them idly: the smell of paper is something familiar. Calming.

You step back for a moment, only to bump into a tall man. Hastily turning about-face, you nearly trip over the apology in your mouth at the sight of him.

Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t begin to cover it. He looked like he belonged in the Romance section, not squashed between ACT Test Prep and AP Chemistry.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” you squeak. He blinks at you slowly. Encapturing, you think to yourself, as his eyes turn from an icy blue to a green only seen on fresh grass.

“It is no problem at all, my dear,” he says with a small wisp of a smile. You have to hold yourself back from gaping at his voice, all velvet and red wine. You begin to take little steps outside of the aisle. Being within the scope of this guy is making your heart race way too fast for your liking. You’ve made it a few feet when a large elegant hand lands on your shoulder. Tensing immediately, you turn to see who did such a gesture.

“Apologies, dear, but would you mind helping me out for a moment? You seem acquainted with this establishment,” he asks, a teasing tone to his honeyed voice.

“Oh yes, totally,” you yelp, sounding nothing if not vastly peasant-like comparatively to him, “Could you maybe- take your hand off my shoulder first?” The mystery man removes his hand with leisure, holding on a moment longer than necessary before removing it completely.

“Of course,” he murmurs.

“Alrighty then, what are you looking for?” you smile at him bashfully, unable to meet his eyes.

“World history, if you would,”

“That’s sorta… a wide topic. Like, maps or something?” you clarify. He shakes his head.

“No, the entire history of the world. From the start of mankind to now,” he ensures. You stare for a moment: the history of the entire world. Something that kids learn for years. Yeah sure, that’s totally easy to do.

“You mean… just America, right? Ha…” you start to laugh but take in his stony expression. No, he’s completely serious. Where has this guy been that he needs to know everything about the world? “Alright then. I guess I could show you to the World History section,” you accept. He smiles appreciatively.

“Yes, that would be satisfactory. Thank you.”

“Oh… it’s no problem. I wasn’t doing anything anyway,” you chuckle, leading him through the rows upon rows of books and weaving through the different sections. This mystery man’s gait is smooth and soundless. You finally reach the section, feeling as though you should bow before moving to leave.

“Whelp, this is it. It’s really funny that you want to learn everything- I went through a phase like this- well not a phase, I’m an out of work history teacher now, you see that’s why this is so amusing to me. You probably don’t want to hear this, heh- I’ll be going then,” you turn around.

“Wait-” he tugs on your arm lightly. Goosebumps, you think as you shiver. “How about… you show me how to do this? Be my tutor, if you would. I’d like to learn. Please, my dear,” he asks so politely, so carefully.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name-”

“It’s Loki. Now, please. I will compensate you for your time. Please,” his eyes are wide and pleading, and you can’t bring yourself to say no. Even though you should. Even though he seems somewhat dangerous, with how his eyes swirl with unknowable emotion. Even though you just learned his goddamn oddball name.

“Alright then, Loki. I’ll help you pick some books out. And then we’ll see,” you adhere, already knowing full well you’re giving in too easily. Loki listens intently as you explain how many books there are, how many world events have occurred. You end up talking with him, even laughing slightly at his clever words. Conversation with Loki is like playing backgammon: skill, and luck, and fun in an intellectually teasing way. He’s suave and charming, and so powerfully endearing. You make him laugh just once, talking about common legends of zombies and vampires. He laughs in disbelief, in mockery of humanity: but it’s a noise unlike anything you’ve heard. It rolls over your skin like a wave.

When you go to buy your books, you go to the register together. Your one book: and the five textbooks he’s holding. Utop of the intellect, utop of the beautiful, utop of the elegance: he’s strong. Loki carefully places his books on the checkout desk, and the cashier starts scanning them.

“And what choice of payment will you be using today?” the cashier asks calmly, offering a polite smile.

“Payment?”

“Yes. Credit, debit, or cash?” they repeat. Loki’s expression flutters, and you glimpse something beneath his easy face. Something that to be honest, makes you think that you were right to call him dangerous. You tentatively place you hand over his. Instantly, you nearly jerk your hand away: his body is so cold, it’s what you’d imagine a cadaver would feel like. But, insistent on comforting him, you stubbornly keep your hand on his. He breathes in a sharp breath, and his other hand fists by his side.

“Hey, I got it. Here’s my card: can you put my book on it too?” you smile gratefully at the cashier, who rings it up with shaking hands. Loki untenses as he watches.

“Did you forget your wallet at home or something, Loki?” you ask curiously. His eyes glance at you and then look away again.

“Yes. Yes, I did. This is very peculiar for me. Apologies,”

You chuckle.

“It’s fine, it’s only… oh my god, 230? That’s criminal!” you gasp. The cashier shrugs.

“Textbooks go for a lot these days, education is expensive,” they merely say, before handing your card back.

You’re trembling by the time the card is returned to your wallet. I’ll be broke. Late on rent, at the very least. I’ll have to skip meals to keep my apartment, and even then… that’s no measly sum.

Loki takes the books from the cashier and leads you out of the store. Once outside, he takes your book out of the bag and hands it to you.

“Much appreciated, my dear. Would you like to help me sort through this hefty amount of information?” he asks. You frown at him. He’s still asking about that?

“I’ll pay you handsomely. It will more than make up the price of these textbooks.”

“Oh?” The edge of Loki’s mouth pulls up in a half-smile.

“Of course. The least I could do.”

~~~~~

To say you were smitten with Loki after only two months of teaching him would be an understatement. You’ve been going to his immense apartment every three days since the day at the bookstore for ninety minutes at a time.

There’s something about him that’s made you memorize his mannerisms and phrases. When he’s exasperated, he likes to shout “By the Norns!”. When he’s reading, everything is still with the exception of his fingers that tap his thigh or sneak over to your knee and rub circles around it.

He’s smart as all hell. You rarely have to review anything anymore: he can take in the new information so quickly. And he immerses himself in the knowledge he acquires. You can tell that Loki adores it, adores the learning aspect. It’s childlike, almost, and so painfully endearing at this point that your heart pangs at his excitement.

And he always goes out of his way to be kind. You can tell that he’s holding back everything. It’s in his eyes, you’ve noticed: they start as an icy blue when you come in, but warm into emerald after you say hello. If that’s not romantic… you don’t know what is.

Every inch of your body flutters when Loki looks at you. It’s embarrassing, and you blush, and he teases you about it. You bite your lip and look up at his apartment building: you’re ten minutes early to his apartment. Should you just wait in the lobby? Humming tunelessly, you stroll into the huge high-ceilinged building. It’s frigid in the room, juxtaposing the easy sun outside. You shiver slightly and take a seat in one of the black chairs decorating the lobby to wait. Tapping your foot, look at your phone… it’s all fine until a harsh hand lands on your shoulder.

“Wow, I can’t believe I’d ever find you in a place like this!” a harsh bark laughs. You glance over your shoulder: it’s a past ex-boyfriend of yours. You didn’t know that they lived in the building. He smiles cruelly, knowingly.

“Why not?” you huff, closing yourself off from his overbearing presence.

“Because people with money go here. People who can afford things! That’s not you, bitch. You had to leech off my money the whole goddamn time we were together. You remember that?”

“I just… you said that-”

“Yeah, you do,” he brushes a lock of hair back, to which you hiss a hushed “Don’t touch me”. He merely chuckles. “God, such a golddigger.” You said what’s mine is yours, you said if I needed anything I could just ask and you’d help, I didn’t know- “Paying me back with that second rate body like a fucking slut.”

You shake and glare at him abrasively, but say nothing for fear of what he’d retaliate with. It wasn’t paying you back it was a fucking relationship-

“Bet you haven’t been seeing anyone else. No one else wants to take on that kind of fucking luggage, huh? God, you’re useless. And I heard you lost your job? Wow, no one can stand you. Could’ve told ya that,” he snorts. You’re shaking now. You convince yourself you won’t give him the pleasure of making you cry, so instead, you’re looking at the asshole angrily.

“You shut up. I have a new job now, I’m tutoring-”

“Haha- tutoring? No wonder. Then they don’t have to see you every day! Wow, that’s smart. Because they’ll be able to cancel on you at any time. Truly a good thing. God, I wish I could’ve done that with you. So fucking clingy,” he’s smirking, and you want to cry, and then he’s being pulled back aggressively.

Loki growls at the man, who suddenly seems quite small and meek comparatively.

“Get out of here,” he snarls at the man, who trembles at his sharp words.

“B-but I live h-here-”

“Go out then,” Loki’s voice does not waver for a moment. It is strong and dangerous and protective and the man who had been spitting such vileness runs with his tail between his legs. Loki watches him go steely before helping you from your seat. His arm holds your waist tightly, restricting your movements as he all but drags you to the elevator.

“Who in Hel was that bastard?” Loki asks you with no lack of malice: his tone is seething and his eyes swirl icicle.

“Just an ex-boyfriend of mine,” you whisper, still trying to reign in the tears. Loki is muttering things under his breath, the words rising and falling in inflection but indistinguishable from one another. Loki’s arm never leaves your torso. You make it all the way upstairs, all the way to Loki’s beautiful apartment. He’s still muttering to himself, his body tense when you excuse yourself to the bathroom near silently.

You close the door, listening for the quiet click of the lock, before breaking down and crying. How mortifying. Loki had to come down and pick you up like a lost kitten, how useless you must seem to him now. You’re sure that Loki hadn’t thought you some poor wretch but now he should. You mourn the loss of Loki, the loss of this relationship that you were already attached to. There’s a harsh knock on the door.

“S-sorry, just give me a minute, I’ll be out in a moment-” you sniffle, trying very hard to make it seem like you're not crying in his fancy bathroom. The knocking continues, and then suddenly halts. You breathe in. And breathe out, and then the door is knocked off its hinges.

You whirl around to face the intruder: Loki, leg extended, looking murderous. His eyes soften as you squint at him through the tears. It’s slow and seemingly something that Loki is not used to when he bends to your level on the ground and wraps his arms around you hesitantly. You lean on him, letting him take you in his arms completely.

“Oh, my dear… you’re trembling. Please don’t cry,” he murmurs, face landing in your hair, “Don’t cry, my dear.”

You sniffle, “I’m not crying.”

“Don’t lie to me, sweet,” he says: part of you thinks it was supposed to be a joke, but he says it with such dark connotations that you don’t dare laugh. You just nestle in close to his cold body, feeling hot yourself.

“He’ll never bother you again. I’ll make sure of it. Shh, I’ve got you now,” Loki says, and his lips move down to your temple and press in sweetly. You gasp and nearly fall out of his arms. Loki catches you before it can happen, and stands up fluidly. You’re still in his arms, and not the lightest person: clearly, his strength is immense. He knocks down a door and holds you like it’s nothing. He looks at you sharply, daring you to speak.

“Why…?” you ask slowly, mouth feeling dry as his eyes bore into you.

“Why not, my dear? You’re beautiful,” he whispers, letting his breath dance over your ear. You shiver, and he takes it as an invitation to press a kiss onto the shell of your ear. “You’re so very smart… you’d think you’d notice by now how much I want you… I’d like to keep you,”

“Loki, why are you-”

“Shh,” he instructs, his eyes green and warm now, “I know you want me, my dear. I know it,”

You’re so embarrassed. Were you that obvious? Ugh. You place a hand on his muscular arm, pressing it to signal that you’d like to leave.

“No no, my dear. Please don’t go, stay with me… I’ll take such good care of you,” he says softly, pulling in close. “Don’t you know me by now? I’d never hurt you. Never forsake you.”

“Loki, I’m s-supposed to be your tutor, for god sakes, I-I can’t-” you stutter, blushing profusely. He’s so fast, he’s moving so fast all of a sudden, why-

“Then quit. Norns, woman… it’s not so hard,” he growls, his grip tightening around you. You yelp a little in surprise. His arms loosen immediately and he sets you on the ground with a guilty expression. “Apologies,” he says hoarsely. You laugh awkwardly and take a step back.

You avoid Loki’s gaze and rather watch his hands. Because you know, you know, if you look at him you’ll be swallowed up and the next thing you know you’re in his heinously comfortable embrace. Loki’s hands quiver at his sides for a moment and then they hesitantly rise. You watch carefully as they move upwards until they’re cupping your face. You’re unaware until it happens that you’re staring right into his eyes.

Green. Green as forests that you’ve only seen in pictures, green like dancing leaves in summer, green like liquid emeralds.

“My dear… please don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you. You’re all I have. Please. I’m desperate,” he murmurs: you can bring yourself to look away from those mesmerizing eyes. He’s gorgeous, he’s so pretty-

“Alright,” you whisper, then louder, “Alright. I can’t bring myself to say no to you,” you smile. Loki breathes a deep breath of relief before snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you in close. He barely checks if you truly want this before pressing your lips together. He dominates completely, pulling you close and pressing in more all at once. It’s intense and demanding and you melt. You’re melting into him, and he’s so very cold as he pulls you up into his arms and carries you away.

~~~~~

Swept away. That’s how things felt. You were no longer in your own life, you existed solely in Loki’s. You lost yourself over and over in his arms, in his kisses. He told you he loved you. No, he tells you he loves you.

You said it first, of course: “I love you,” over a cup of hot coffee. Loki looked at you with raised brows: “I love you too, of course.” It rolled off his tongue so smoothly, effortlessly. He pressed a kiss onto your forehead and then asked to continue the lessons.

It’s magic. It’s magic that has lasted for nearly a year now. So much so that you’re head over heels with what you used to think could be nothing but fantasy.

You live in his apartment now, for the most part: he’s never been to your own drab place but pays for it anyway while he keeps you. Loki pays for your food, eats your meals beside you. He accompanies you everywhere you wish to go. He hangs on every word you say, every memory you impart with a bemused calmness. He lets you rest on his side, snuggling in, and watch all sorts of movies. And you’re still telling him every piece of knowledge you know about the world.

Loki’s odd sometimes. He doesn’t understand the simplest things: the grocery store still eludes him, and it took him ages to discover that phones have larger capabilities than just texting and calling. Loki gets upset about it… when the television doesn’t work, when his delivery is late, when you can’t explain why a thing is doing something. He’ll spit foreign curses and sometimes, though it’s rare, things break. Loki apologizes instantly after: buys you a better, more expensive item to replace it. Make-up kisses and snuggles. He holds you tightly, close to his chest, so near that you can’t even move.

You think- no, you know that Loki’s not of this world. He’s an alien, or a vampire, or something. He won’t tell you which, rather chuckles at your attempts to deduce his origin. There was one point where he pulled a scepter from midair: you gawked.

“Magic,” you whispered, “You have magic.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” he had said lightly, teasingly. He held his scepter with a practiced grace: you watched enraptured as the gem suspended on it glows an alluring sapphire. You looked to Loki, shocked.

What you saw in his eyes made you want to look away again. The stunning blue, matching that of the scepter… how his eyes bored into the gem obsessively, how his mouth was forming words and sentences near silently. It was a movement you know all too well: it’s the one he likes to do in the early morning. Whispers of sweet words, promises, and adorations. It had been uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable.

“Loki,” you had started, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder. And he had nearly swatted your hand away, his mouth pulling animalistically before he caught himself and apologized. Apologized profusely, at the sight of your eyes tearing up. Magicked the scepter away alongside his ice eyes and held you, murmuring lovely nothings. It’s in the past now, anyway.

Except for select parts. Select parts that relapse again and again. As time passes, Loki… changes. He’s angrier. Vengeful, with eyes of winter. He’ll be fine one moment, and the next he’s spitting vile at something or other. Occasionally it’s you. And you try to take the brunt of it, knowing full well that he doesn’t mean it, he loves you… and he comes to his senses after a moment anyway, assuring you that it was just a spell. And you kiss.

It’s a relationship, though you haven’t put any labels on it. You’re glad for that… because if you were still his tutor, yesterday would’ve been the last session. There is no more to learn. No more to teach. You can’t help but smile to yourself: now it’s just you and Loki, nothing providing a reason for the relationship to be anything short of dating.

Today is normal. Well, the new normal. You wake up to a cold bed: you can never tell how long he had been out of the sheets. He was always cold in them, cold outside them.

“Loki?” you grumble, feeling around the sheets. Nothing. He’s up already. Groaning, you stretch your body as you exit the bed. Sore, as per usual, after Loki has his way. You stumble out to the kitchen where Loki has his hands pressed into the counter and his back away from you. Smiling silently, you pad over to his back and embrace him.

“Loki- we’re all done! No more lessons, just me and you,” you sing-song cheerfully, sunshine and love, and- he backhands you suddenly with his left hand, with such force that your face slaps to the side and forces you to the floor. Tears spring to your eyes: from the pain yes, but also the betrayal. He hit you. Square across the face. Loki snarls above you, standing over your body intimidatingly. If you hadn’t been intimate with this man, you would’ve thought he was a demon with eyes of the frozen sea.

“Useless bitch! Wretch, you dare lay your hands on me? You are but a toy, a harlot- you do what I tell you and nothing more. You must be truly naive to think that you are anything above that. Now, bow to your king, beg for forgiveness,” he demands. You’re terrified, clutching onto your quickly reddening face and staring at him. “Kneel!” he yells.

“L-Loki, I don’t understand- why would you- why would you hit me?” you stammer as tears start to fall.

“You truly, hah, you’re truly a fool. Idiotic mewling quim,” he bends down to your level and with the same hand as before, slaps you the other way. “No one will ever love you. I used you, and now you have no use to me. So either submit and I’ll find a reason for you, something that fits your status… not a consort for a king, no, perhaps just a holding place until I find someone better... so, wench,” he grabs onto your stinging and bruised jaw with that ethereal strength, “Submit to your savior or get out of my sight. You are not worthy. Of my time. My presence. My being. You are nothing.”

He laughs maliciously as you cry and struggle to get up from your sprawled position on the floor.

“You’re trembling,” he notes aloud, sneering. You make a strangled noise: had once remarked the same thing, but with such kindness and caring and with a hug to boot. And now… and now, he steps on your face with light pressure, enough to make it hurt. “Stop it, and answer me.” You’re crying heavily now, sobs ripping themselves out of your chest, and it takes the last of your strength to punch the inside of his knee on the leg that’s holding you down.

Loki grunts and stumbles back, and you race away to the bedroom before he can regain his bearings. You lock the door with quivering fingers and slide down it before devolving into tears completely.

I thought we were okay. I thought this was it.

You’re sitting there, shaking, as you hear Loki’s feet stomp their way to the door. Your phone is charging fruitlessly in the living room: there’s no landline in the bedroom either. The penthouse that Loki’s in is way too far up to escape by a window if you want to survive the fall. Truly, hiding in the bedroom was not one of your wisest choices. You hear his footsteps, pounding the floorboards approach… until they falter before the only thing barring his entry into the bedroom. You crawl to the door of the closet: maybe if you’re quiet, you can hide there without a hitch. And he’ll be back in his right mind.

Bits and pieces of mutterings make it through the two closed doors: things like “no, stop”, “insolent”, “disobey”, “fine”, “go”, “stay”, “carry out”, “die”, “how could you”. The door slams: then his footsteps sound, quieter as he goes away. You breathe a sigh of relief, the breath coming out staggered, and lean against the side of the closet before crying a little more and gingerly touching your swelling cheeks.

How did I get here?

~~~~~

When you finally exit the bedroom, a good hour after the event, you’ve decided to forgive him already. You know it’s bad, and you know you shouldn’t but… you love him. And that’s bad, he’s bad but… perhaps you’re making him better? You are, you’re sure of it.

Tiptoeing out of the room, you hear the tell-tale sound of water running. You peek first from the corner of the hall. Loki’s simply at the sink, washing something or other. He seems peaceful. Docile. There’s a rhythmic “scritch scritch scritch” as Loki cleans. You grab your phone from its charging spot, just in case, before striding up to Loki’s straight-backed figure. You clear your throat when you stand behind him. Surprising him with a hug hadn’t been the best idea before.

“L-Loki? Is… is everything okay? Did something happen? If it’s about what happened... it-it’s okay. You weren’t in your right mind. I know you, I know you’re not like that: you’re so good to me! It’s just one time. It won’t happen again. I forgive you,” you smile at his back kindly, and take a step forward when he doesn’t respond. A step after another, set to the tune of “scritch scritch scritch”. “Loki, I’m going to hug you now, if that’s okay.”

You reach up with a quivering hand to tap his shoulder, having to step closer in the process, and what you see makes you stumble.

He’s not cleaning the dishes.

Loki is using the steel wool you use to clean the pans on… on his left hand. It’s shredded, horribly shredded: blood coats the sink and his arm, slowly going down the drain mixed with the running water. The scritch noise was… was his bones in his hands against the wool. His body shakes as you gasp, horrified.

“Oh my god, what are you- what are you doing, Loki, stop,” you sob, reaching forwards to pull the wool out of his hand. Your action is halted by the sudden clamping of his right hand on your wrist, the wool landing in the sink: it holds you steadfast and still with his much superior strength. His head turns to yours, and you can’t help but whimper at the emotions in his teary eyes.

Despair.

Hopelessness.

Pain.

And most worryingly…

Fear. Palpable, incredible, fear in those green eyes: they swirl dangerously with blue in a battle that you can’t help but feel terrified of. Loki whines like a scared child, his eyes wide as he clearly struggles to let go of your hand.

“Loki, let’s just calm down now, we need- we need to get you to a hospital,” you cry, gently removing your hand from his grip as it laxes just a bit. Loki shakes his head slightly, all he can muster.

His mouth moves, and no words come out. You watch patiently with shaking shoulders as he battles with himself to get the words out. When they finally come, garbled and quiet and painful to hear, it’s not affirmation or an apology or a declaration of love. It’s…

“Run. Please.”

You stagger backward in shock.

“But… but I love you, we can do this-”

He shakes his head, an “I’m sorry” being mouthed, and then his face distorts in pain. His bloody hand constricts around itself, shaking.

“Run, now! Never return, ever,” he growls.

You glance at his wrecked hand, then back at Loki’s tearful eyes, and then at his pained expression. He… he isn’t right. Something is happening to him, and you are not the one who can fix it. You cannot help him here. You know that, but you have a connection to him, you’re in love-

“I’ve never loved you. I’m… I’m so sorry- I think that with time and in different circumstances I could’ve but… ngk- you have to leave, before it’s too late. Go as far away as you can, quickly as you can. Things are coming, and you… you are but a mere foolish girl who loves too easily. You do not deserve the fate that the others will experience,” he grits out.

Your heart shatters.

Every snuggle on the couch, every peck over cooking eggs, every “I love you”. Months of your life, months spent in love, months with who you though yourself undeserving of and how goddamn amazing it is that you’re with him and he loves you and you wanted to spend your life with him oh god-

“Oh god,” you cry, tears spilling in great numbers, “I- Fuck! I can’t believe this, I-I I thought-”

“Leave,” Loki demands, a now all too familiar malice creeping into his tone, and you trip over your feet grabbing your coat and phone and wallet before leaving for good. Something is terribly wrong with this man, and you can’t help him. You don’t want to help him at this point, with all his lies and manipulations.

You leave alone.

You leave mourning the loss of months of your life.

You leave brokenhearted.

~~~~

And there’s something about watching Loki decimate the city you love on the television a few weeks later, in a new town with a new job and a new home, that makes you feel as though broken dreams and departed love will never ever allow you to have peace of mind.

~~~~

That’s it... Thanks for reading.

Taglists:

Anything & Everything: @myraiswack, @blindtaleteller, @head-over-heart, @karushinekomiya

The Loki boy: @butterfly-in-progress, @loki-yoursaviourishere, @sweet-talkin-woman , @frostedgiant , @is-it-madness

If you enjoyed, please reblog- it truly means the world.

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#what becomes of the broken hearted #loki fanfic #loki #loki x reader #loki fandom #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #loki angst #loki and reader #my writing #angst #fanfiction #skys100writingchallenge #lehuka #what are tags and why are you looking at them

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buckthegrump · 4 years

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I’ve Been Trying Hard Not To Talk To You - 3

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Y/n hates Bucky Barnes. Absolutely loathes him what makes it worse is that she has to share her office with him. Now with a promotion on the horizon she has to find a way to work with him and not against him.

Warnings: Angst (kind of), it’s an enemies to loves, there’s not fluff in this part

Word Count: 1480

A/n: i love a good car ride scene

Y/n didn’t know how to make it any more clear that she did not want to go on this company team building beach trip. Jill smiled at her earning herself a glare. They were all gathered int the parking lot at 8:30 in the morning because this was a weekend-long thing. Y/n loved both Maria and Phil, but part of her wondered how hard it would be to find another job at a different company that didn’t do weekend-long team-building things.

Everyone was trying to figure out who was driving and who was going in which car. Typically, Y/n would offer to drive, but Carol’s stupid car was taking much longer than it should. Why did she have to be such a good aunt? This would be so much easier if Carol didn’t have Monica to hold over Y/n’s head.

“Hey, boss,” Peter beamed. “You excited for the trip?”

She was forcing herself to be at least civil to him, but goddamn did he have so much fucking energy for this early in the morning.

“You could say that,” she answered. He held out a Starbucks cup. “I can’t drink coffee.”

“It’s a chai latte,” he says. “You don’t drink coffee because of anxiety, right?”

She held back tears (she had the tendency to be a bit dramatic in the mornings). “Peter, someday you are going to make someone very happy.”

He blushed and looked at the ground but didn’t walk away.

“Bucky, can you take Y/n and Peter?” Maria’s voice cut through the fog in Y/n’s brain. “They’re the only ones that still need a ride.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” Y/n whispered to herself.

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged as if he didn’t hate her. As if they didn’t spend up to eight hours a day getting on each other’s nerves.

Y/n opened her mouth to protest, but then everyone started putting their bags in trunks. She barely registered when Peter offered to take her bag to Bucky’s car. She told him that she could take her own luggage, but Bucky swooped in and grabbed the handles before she could.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late.” Y/n couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not as Bucky led them to the car.

Ten minutes later, they were on the road.

Peter had oh so graciously, let Y/n have shot-gun while he was seated in the back. Bucky, who drove a stick (because of course, he did) set up the music.

Bucky Barnes, who was already devastatingly handsome (in an unfortunate sort of way that made her want to fling herself off a cliff), didn’t need to be any hotter. And that’s where Y/n’s problem was. She had always thought that a man driving was unreasonably hot, especially if they were mostly calm as they drove.

With any luck, Bucky would have major road rage, and she could switch with someone for the drive home.

The beach was about an hour’s drive. Y/n wondered how hard it would be to fall asleep, but she didn’t know if she could trust Bucky not to find a way to draw on her face or something. Maybe she should have let Peter sit in the front.

Ten minutes into the drive, Bucky dug out his phone from his pocket and handed it to Y/n.

“Can you -” he started.

Without thinking about it, she took it. “Sure. Why is Stark Industries calling you?”

“Ignore it,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes.

“Ya know, if you roll your eyes too much, they’ll get stuck in the back of your head. And that would end up being very boring for you because there’s nothing back there.” Y/n rejected the call. A few seconds later, it started buzzing again. Only this time, the contact read Tony Stark. “Barnes, wh-wh-wh-”

“Is your brain not connected to your mouth right now? What’s going on?” Bucky chuckled.

“Why is the Tony Stark calling you? Why do you have Tony Stark’s number saved in your phone?”

“You know Tony Stark?” Peter spoke in awe.

Bucky ignored all their questions. “Will you answer it and tell him that I’m driving and can’t really talk right now?”

Y/n barked out a laugh. “I’m not answering the phone for the biggest tech genius in America. Do it yourself if you’re such good friends with him.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, again, not heeding Y/n’s warning. He grabbed the phone and answered. “Tony, I can’t really talk right now. . . Because I’m driving. . . I did. Monday morning. . . Bruce said it was fine -”

“Bruce Banner?” Peter asked in a hushed whisper.

“Tony. . . I told you I was busy this weekend. . . Yes, I can come to dinner on Thursday. . . I don’t know why you ask the answer is always no.”

Y/n strained her ears, trying to hear the second half of the conversation. Now she wished she had answered the phone.

Bucky lowered his voice a little. “No, I’m not going to do that. That’s one of the dumbest ideas you’ve ever had. I will see you Thursday.”

Bucky hung up the phone and put it in the cupholder between him and Y/n. The silence lasted all of three seconds before Peter started up again.

“So how well do you know Mr. Stark?” He asked.

“Considering that he just agreed to go to dinner with him on Thursday,” Y/n piped up, “I’d say they were in love.”

“That’s not what -” Bucky sighed. “I know him pretty well, kid. Why?”

“I applied for his internship, but I never got a call back.”

Y/n turned around in her seat and looked at him. “Peter, do you not like working here?” She shot Bucky a quick glare.

“No, it’s not that. I just - I’m more of a science person, and I just took whatever job I could get. This one paid the best, but I was really hoping that I would be able to work in the field that I actually want to go in.”

Y/n turned back around. “Told ya, you should be nicer,” she grumbled.

Bucky didn’t justify that with a response. The rest of the ride happened in silence, but Y/n really wanted to know what had happened Monday morning. Clearly, Bucky had some kind of appointment, which explained why he was so calm when he’d walked in late. She should leave it alone. He was allowed to have his secrets just as she was allowed to have hers.

* * *

Y/n had scolded herself about thirty times in the past twenty minutes. She couldn’t stop watching Bucky drive, because yes, he was very calm as he drove. It was really attractive, and his right hand would rest on the gear shift, and -

Get it together, Y/n. She scolded herself again. If she wouldn’t get car sick, she’d pull out one of the books she’d brought along for the weekend. She was trying to fall into one of her extensive daydreams when an all too familiar tune came out from the car speakers.

Saw your body language, and I know how you feeling. You look like the kind of girl who’s tired of speaking.

She bit back the laugh that was begging to be released. Glancing at the radio, she doubled checked that this was, in fact, his playlist and not the actual radio. She was struggling with whether she should say something or let it slide. Letting it slide was winning because she didn’t want to get kicked out of the car, but god bless Peter Parker.

“You like One Direction?” He asked a little too gleefully.

Y/n waited for Bucky to quickly change the song and grumble about it being on there because of his sister or an ex-girlfriend. But he didn’t.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy some of their songs,” he said simply.

Bucky said it so casually as if that wasn’t a surefire way to set her off. He needed to do something dickish so she could go right back to hating him. Hating him was as easy as breathing. It came naturally. This entire car ride was confusing the fuck out of her, and she didn’t particularly like it.

“Really?” Peter, who was sounding more and more like an excited puppy, asked.

“Yeah, my sister made me listen to them once, and I guess I just didn’t stop.”

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek.

“What?” Bucky asked. It took her a second for her to realize he was talking to her. “Are you gonna sit there and pretend that you don’t like them?”

“No, I just didn’t think that you would admit to liking one direction is all.”

“Well, sunflower, I guess there are still a few things you don’t know about me.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes AU

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fictropes · 4 years

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oh boy i sure did write many words in 2020

Hi! I am copying people due to i want to. This is a lil (well... 63) round up of all the fics I wrote this year! Cos i’m very evil @ myself and writing fic and think i’m either not doing enough, or not doing it good enough, so i wanna full list of what I actually did so I can see my own accomplishments and can maybe... clap 4 myself for once. And honestly writing has helped MASSIVELY with my depression so.. that’s a bonus.

ALSO. this is a big huge thankyou to everyone! I only joined here + started writing in august and you’ve all been so so nice and welcoming and supportive <333 ;_; and I know they say write for yourself... but honestly peoples comments and excitement about my stuff has just been really, really lovely and I would never have written this much without all of you cheering me on<3.

so here is a list of everything i’ve written, organised by length and everything, so if you find yourself bored over the holidays... have a lil browse. (Sorry if u are on mobile and this doesn’t show as a read more)

Chaptered:

Can we try again? series (M) Complete - 35k - “Yeah, Phil. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dan answers, softer than he’d wanted because he already knows what he’s about to do next.(or Dan doesn't turn up in 2009 and bumps into Phil 11 years later at a youtube convention 2. I like cupcakes, especially the gay variety (M) Complete - 30k - Firstly, Dan was 29. How was that a mature student?Secondly, his actual book was on the university fucking syllabus.(or the one in which Dan tries university again in a desperate attempt to prolong his procrastination, and his lecturer Phil is apparently something of a fan) 3. 7 Letters series (M) Complete - 9k - Your penpal can be the person you live with, actually. 4. There's Beans in Here (T) Complete - 2k - Phil has his wisdom teeth removed; Phil says many questionable things. 5. Roadtrip (E) Complete - 8k - “Exactly. I am right, as always.”“As always.” Dan agrees.Series 6. night shift, please (E) Wip - 27k I PROMISE THIS WILL COME BACK IN 2021 - Ten years and he’ll never get over how early he has to get up sometimes. In all honesty he prefers the night shift. 7. Still Not Calling it Fate (M) Wip - 14k - It’s become a bit of a thing, a bit of a thing that everyone he crosses paths with takes the piss out of him for 8. when i met you, a blue rush began (M) Complete - 5k - They end up in a small restaurant overlooking the sea, everything here is so blue. The sky, the sea, Phil’s eyes, the shirt he’s wearing buttoned up all the way to the top. 9. Luggage Tags (E) Complete - 2.5k - Just because it looks like your suitcase, it doesn't necessarily mean that it is. 10. Demon in the sack (E) Complete - 2.5k - Dan’s leg jiggles beneath his desk, knee hitting the table as he tries to force himself to hang up and ring the number he was supposed to ring— he doesn’t, he can’t. Long ( for me) oneshots (3k+) 11. Electronics and the Phil's who break them (M) Complete - 9k - The first time’s an accident, a proper accident— a Phil forgot how to hold his cup and now he’s watching his coffee seep into his keyboard type accident. 12. A Letter of Specifics (T) Complete - 4k - You'll know it's your soulmate because no one else on earth could be doing what they're doing. 13. The Benefits of A Weak Floor (M) Complete - 4k - He quite literally falls through Dan’s ceiling. 14. 10:35 on a Thursday (E) Complete - 3.7k - He’s tapping his pen against the paper, acting as though he isn’t asking Phil to take a sex quiz at 10:35am on a Thursday morning. 15. 2009, catboys (T) Complete - 3.2k - “You have your own ears, can’t have four.”“Why?” 16. Wrong Room (T) Complete - 3k - “Congratulations!’’ And he was expecting to hear a cry, or at least his mother telling him to be quiet because a certain baby was sleeping. Instead he heard the deep clear of a throat, a rustling of sheets. 2k-3k oneshots 17. Dinner with a stranger (T) Complete - 2.5k - @amazingphl hi! second year of doing this, sooo if anyone has nowhere to go for Christmas dinner I am once again offering..my flat (and by extension me) ;oSeries 18. Easy Lover (M) Complete - 2.4k - ''Yeah. We're always fine.'' It was always fine. It was always easy, despite always behind hard. 19. Cold Season (M) Complete - 2k - Dan is ill, insatiable and another word beginning with I. 1k-2k oneshots 20. Morose men on rooftops (T) Complete - 1.9k - “Dunno, maybe chatting up morose men on roofs is my thing.” He laughs, and it’s a nice noise. 21. Love with tongues of fire (T) Complete - 1.7k - So when Dan waltzed into the room, declaring his hunger Phil thought nothing of it. Just another night for another takeaway. 22. Your Rocks are my Rocks (T) Complete - 1.7k - Phil wants a new rock for Norman, Dan wants a peaceful life. 23. Joint Content (M) Complete - 1.6k - It started of a as a joke— a Joint Content joke. 24. 24/7 Fantasies (M) Complete - 1.5k - He thinks about Dan 24/7, constantly in two separate fantasies 25. A Conversation in Multiple Hallways (T) Complete - 1.5k - You're still here then? 26. Sharing Space (T) Complete - 1.5k - It's 2010 and dan has had a day. 27. The Obvious (T) Complete - 1.5k - "Can I use that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, already scrawling it beneath the only three words he currently has— I love you. 28. I'm Thinking of Ending Things (T) Complete - 1.5k - Dan hears half a conversation, jumps to one whole conclusion. 29. Love Language of the Tactile (T) Complete - 1.4k - “I’m just— that’s a hypothetical.” Dan leans in this time, takes the touches that Phil always so freely gives away. “Can’t kiss in secret rooms if I leave.” 30. Don't Let the Self-Doubt Ruin You (T) Complete - 1.3k - “I’m here.” “Yeah, you’re here.” 31. Conflict Resolution (T) Complete - 1.3k - Following recent events we’ve decided it best we take a combative approach to your current workplace issues, we have booked you into a conflict resolution class this Thursday afternoon - we will not be paying you to attend. 32. when it comes to love (i want a slow hand) (E) Complete - 1.2k - And there it is, the refusal of anything in return. This is just for Dan and it always will be. 33. You're Still The one (T) Complete - 1.1k - “What’re you thinking about?” “You.” 34. Teach Me, Dad. (T) Complete - 1k - "Do you think I could be the next Mozart?” 35. The Logistics of a Clone (M) Complete - 1k - “I don’t think that’s a clone, though, like maybe more of a Doppelgänger.” Dan doesn’t know why they’re delving so deep into this, why he’s so damn bothered about being right. “It’s just literally you.” 36. All's fair in Love and Monopoly (T) Complete - 1k - Phil does not play by the rules, Dan lets him win anyway. Under 1k oneshots 37. Hide out in your heart (E) Complete - 0.9k - The second time Dan comes to visit it’s different. 38. Oh, there you are. (G) Complete - 0.9k - So after all this, after everything, he doesn’t think anything of it when someone else slips into his dms. 39. The Boy has Attitude (T) Complete - 0.9k - “You didn’t tell me you looked like this.”“Like what?”“This!” Phil’s waving a physical copy of the magazine in his face— so that’s where he’d been. 40. Hairties (and how not to use them) (M) Complete - 0.8k - “Why would you do that? Let us settle in, nice and slow and— gently does it.” 41. The Second Apartment. (T) Complete - 0.8k - It’s a stop-gap apartment, a we’re going to get our forever home after this. 42. Japan, 2019. (G) Complete - 0.8k - NO summary, just an obviously I was going to write this after phil's post 43. Doting Man (T) Complete - 0.7k - They’re both drunk, Phil more so— definitely more so.Series 44. Imposter (T) Complete - 0.7k - Among us is.. a bastard. 45. Ratemyprofessors.com (M) Complete - 0.7k - ‘Maybe if that Phil bloke from the English dep he’s always staring at fucked him he’d stop being so uptight’ 46. Failed Attempts (T) Complete - 0.7k - Dan enlists the help of Phil for his latest Instagram. 47. Bonus Prize (M) Complete - 0.7k - Phil Trash Number One 48. Feels like home (G) Complete - 0.7k - Home is where the Phil is. 49. We can make Forever work (T) Complete - 0.7k - It’s a moment of realising forever may sound too much to people, but we’ll get through everything together— we don’t have any other choice. 50. Scene in the Kitchen (T) Complete - 0.7k - New place 51. 4'11 (T) Complete - 0.6k - Dan is baby 52. Pillow Imprints (T) Complete - 0.6k - Dan is a menace, and Phil loves him anyway. 53. Parachute Jacket (T) Complete - 0.5k - Dan thinks Phil is obsessed with them Those few times I thougt I was goddamn Ri**ard S*ken 54. Home (G) Complete - 0.7k - It’s their forever home, because their actual forever lives inside of it. 55. secrets spoken in empty rooms (T) Complete - 1k - So he wants to be the same, but he wants Dan more. 56. Separately Together (T) Complete - 0.9k - Phil’s soft hands and even softer words. It gets harder to leave. Gets to the point where Dan turns off an alarm just so he misses the train. 57. It's not hard to fall (T) Complete - 0.7k - Still a little bit of your words I long to hear Some more Epistolary (apart from 7 letters) 58. A Play in One Act (T) Complete - 1.1k - [Manchester Piccadilly train-station, midday, October 19th, 2009.] 59. R/AITA (T) Complete - 0.8k - AM I THE ASSHOLE FOR MAKING MY BOYFRIEND BE A WORM?Series 60. Lonely Hearts (T) Complete - 1.8k - I will not say you were crying on the tube (out of politeness) 61. Conversations of the Lazy Kind (T) Complete - 1k - eggs? wot? Smells like eggs

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cadence-talle · 4 years

Note

like ask prompts?? ..... because if so I would like to ask for a kam prompt where they’re both strangers on an airplane and one of them falls asleep on the other and the other doesn’t want to wake him up because he looks so comfortable (and he’s hot)

lisTEN anon you can’t just SAY stuff like that-

Word count: 1,437

-/-

Tam hates airplanes.

They’re cramped and weird-smelling and the cushioned seats seem to be designed to make you as uncomfortable as possible. Airplanes are high up on his list of Terrible Things, only being beaten out by his parents, his sister’s cat, and people in general.

But unless he wants to drive three days cross-country, he doesn’t have much of a choice. At least the flight is only five hours.

He sinks down into his seat and leans his head against the cool glass of the tiny airplane window, watching little people in orange vests move back and forth. Someone sits in the seat next to him. Tam doesn’t look up.

“Hi,” a male voice says. “Are you heading to Oregon?”

“Yep,” Tam responds shortly, because obviously he is, he’s on a plane to Oregon. The guy shifts in his seat, presumably buckling his seatbelt.

“Cool. I like your hair, by the way. How’d you get it so silver?”

“I melted my father’s heirloom ring and dipped my bangs in it,” Tam says. If this guy is going to keep asking stupid questions, he’s going to give short answers.

The guy hums, murmuring something like okay, that’s a little edgy, and lapses into silence. Tam breathes a sigh of relief- he does not want to be talking to strangers right now- and pops in his earbuds. He might as well finish this audiobook.

Fifteen minutes and two chapters later, Tam turns away from the window. They’re still on the ground, not even close to the runway yet. He exhales and picks up his phone, tapping absentmindedly through the few texts he’s gotten before switching it to airplane mode. He turns towards the aisle and freezes.

The guy in the seat next to him, the guy who was just talking his ear off, is really freaking hot. Carefully tousled blond hair that looks like it contains even more product than Tam's, icy blue eyes. He's sketching something in a notebook right now, tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth. Tam is ashamed at how adorable he finds it.

Mentally, he slaps himself, shaking his head slightly. Stop looking at him, focus on your book, he thinks. With much effort, he looks out the window again.

-/-

Half an hour later, they’re finally in the air, Tam’s finished his audiobook, and he hasn’t been able to get Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy out of his head. He taps his fingers against the armrest impatiently, wishing they were just in Oregon already. Suddenly, a warm weight settles on his shoulder.

Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy is leaning on him. Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy is sleeping. On Tam’s shoulder.

Tam is about to combust. From anger or awkwardness, he’s not sure.

Gently, he tries to push the guy off of him. Annoying(ly Hot) Plane Guy doesn’t wake up, instead snuggling his head closer to Tam’s neck. The movement causes the notebook in his lap to fall to the ground.

Accepting that this is, in fact, his life, Tam sighs and picks it up. It’s a simple sketchbook, wirebound, with the name Keefe Sencen written on the top in messy script. Absentmindedly, Tam flips it open. It’s probably snooping, but he doesn’t really care; the owner- Keefe, apparently- is literally sleeping on his shoulder.

The drawings are beautiful. Most of them are just sketches, black-and-white with the occasional watercolor. Some of them look so real they could leap off the page and Tam would barely be surprised.

Tam turns to the most recent page, stunned to see it filled with a simple pencil sketch of him. He’s staring out the window, bangs hanging over one eye, and he looks so incredibly calm Tam almost wants to laugh. He’s never that collected in real life.

Still, it feels a little weird to be looking at something so obviously private, so Tam closes the sketchbook and tucks it into the seatback pocket in front of Keefe.

After that, it’s kind of peaceful. Keefe snores away on his shoulder, Tam listens to music, and it’s fine.

Of course, then the universe decides to ruin everything again.

They hit a patch of turbulence just over Missouri, bouncing to and fro so wildly Tam can hear multiple people scream. The pilot comes over the speaker and announces that they will set down in the St Louis airport until things quiet down.

Keefe wakes up during their descent, startling awake with wide eyes. “What happened?” He asks. Tam raises an eyebrow.

“You fell asleep on my shoulder. Then we hit a storm. We’re stopping in St Louis.”

“Oh.” Keefe’s quiet for a second, cheeks flushing a light pink. “Uh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tam says. “My name’s Tam, by the way.”

“Keefe,” Keefe says, and Tam has to remind himself not to sound like a total stalker by saying ‘I know.’

They end up walking side by side as they make their way out of the plane, silently looking around. Every airport looks the same to Tam, but the St Louis one seems to be… older than the one they left from back in New York.

The plane’s passengers are directed towards a terminal, informed that they’ll be there for at least three hours, and then left alone. Tam groans and sends his sister a quick text informing her of the delay. She sends back a frowny face emoji, and that’s that.

“Hey,” Keefe says, moving over to where Tam’s sitting. “Do you want to go get food or something? Looks like we’re gonna be here a while, and restaurants are probably crowded. Better to stick together.”

“Sure,” Tam responds, not commenting on the fact that that logic makes absolutely no sense. They consult a highly confusing map, finally decide to just go to McDonald’s, and head down the airport hallway. Halfway there, Keefe skids to a stop with a delighted gasp.

“What is that?”

The thing in question is a large, obnoxiously yellow vending machine. It’s emblazoned with the words Ted Drewes Frozen Custard and features a picture of an old man smiling and holding a cup of frozen custard practically upside down. It’s the most horrific thing Tam has ever seen.

“I need it,” Keefe says. “I need the frozen custard.”

“Why?” Tam asks. “It’s probably expired and gross, anyway.”

“But Ted Drewes, Tam! He’s so happy with his frozen custard!”

“That man looks like he’s already dead and just being used as a prop,” Tam observes. “You do not need the frozen custard. Let’s go.”

Keefe pouts, and Tam’s heart does something that would probably qualify it for the olympic gymnastics team. He rolls his eyes. “C’mon. I’ll buy you an ice cream at McDonald’s.”

-/-

Three hours, two McFlurries, and one race around the airport later, they’re boarding the plane again. This time, as soon as they both sit down, Keefe turns to Tam and says,

“Hi. Are you heading to Oregon?”

Tam snorts. “Idiot.”

Keefe gives him a thumbs-up and makes grabby hands at his earbuds. “Can I listen to your audiobook with you?”

Tam blinks. Normally, he’d say no to anyone besides Linh- he’d most definitely say no to a random stranger. Of course, these aren’t exactly normal circumstances.

“Sure,” he decides, handing Keefe the right earbud. The guy lights up like a goddamn christmas tree as Tam starts the chapter.

(Thirty seconds later, he pulls out the headphone to look at Tam incredulously. “What the heck are you reading?”

Tam’s too busy laughing to answer.)

-/-

“So, uh,” Keefe says when they’re standing next to the luggage pickup. Tam knows his sister is waiting somewhere outside the airport, but he figures she can wait a little longer. Keefe’s cheeks flush. “It was… nice? To meet you?”

“You too,” Tam offers a small smile. “I’ll- see you around, maybe.” He won’t, probably, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Keefe nods.

“Yeah. I should go, but- here.”

He shoves a piece of paper at Tam’s chest and turns away. Tam barely manages a ‘bye’ before he’s gone. He stands there for a moment until he remembers to look at the paper.

It’s another drawing of him- Tam honestly doesn’t know when Keefe had the time. He’s sitting on one of those seats at the airport gate, typing at his phone. There’s a tiny grin on his face, soft in the way he never lets himself be. Tam wonders how Keefe manages to capture it.

Under the drawing, there are words, and a phone number-

Call me. -K

It’s funny, Tam thinks. He doesn’t hate airplanes so much anymore.

#lynn rambles #my writing #kam #keefe sencen #tam song #kotlc

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tracynotabi · 3 years

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Riptide Day 0-1

So I wasn’t going to record my time in Ohio, just because I forgot to take pictures and we weren’t really mobile, but looking back, there were just too many memories to forget and I just really wanted to share with everyone how much fun this community is, despite the fact that we were canceled.

Most people will be referred to by their names, but I’ll introduce them with their tags first. If you see this and would like your name removed/changed, please let me know.

Also, some of this is not a perfect play-by-play because I am writing purely from memory.

Also, please note, there is degeneracy.

Thursday; September 9, 2021

Starting off the day, Kevin (The Doctor) and I had basically no sleep. We woke up at 7am PDT (read: 6:30am but too lazy to get out of bed) after getting to be around 4-5am mainly because Kevin wanted to hang out with his friends in Discord before he leaves them for the whole weekend. Me? I was just procrastinating on packing.

Joey (Big Large) texts in our group chat that we never got rid of from Emerald City that they’ll be at my place in 10 minutes with Ivan (Ivayne), because they were driving up north from Elk Grove, which is about 20 minutes south of where we live.

The plan was to drive to Robert (PotatoesAreYum)’s place and then make the two hour drive to San Jose, where we would catch our 1:45pm flight.

Why did we do this? Because our tickets were canceled for Blacklisted 6 and we couldn’t get refunds so we only had credits to work from, but apparently, Sacramento Airport did not have available flights to Ohio that were by Alaskan Airlines.

We took off, leaving Sacramento and heading to Davis. Part way through, we get a text from Robert asking how far out we were, because he had to poop, but we were 11 minutes out.

Robert, the descriptive man he is, describes that his poop was ready to crown, so he was good. I thanked him for the visual, because goddamn, I needed another one after getting a Snapchat from Joey the night before of his ass hanging out in jorts.

Robert: At least I didn’t sent a picture like Joey. But if you want a picture, I could send you one. Me: I would cancel your flight.

We end up driving south to Kevin’s brother’s house, where we tried to find a Jack in the Box that was on Google Maps. We spent about five minutes looking for it before ultimately giving up and going to a Hawaiian BBQ/Donut shop. We were just as confounded as you are probably right now. Food was OK.

Kevin’s brother insisted the Jack in the Box was there but for the life of us, we could not find it. He took us to the airport and off we went to Chicago. Yes, they played Smash at the airport, because this is what Smash players do.

They also played on the flight. Sidenote: there was this very loud cat in the aisle across from me that was meowing like crazy.

Flight from Chicago to Cleveland sucked. It was hot and cramped and they took our baggage away.

We land in Cleveland at about 11pm? Parker (Boringman [Sip Mastah]) was waiting for us at our gate because he had landed an hour before us.

We go down to Ground Transportation to reach our shuttle when I read the little red tag one of the flight attendants gave me. It said that our baggage would be given to us at the end of the flight.

... Well, we had just passed through security and going down the escalator at that point.

Well, fuck.

We run into Washington at baggage claim and I’m panicking because I have no idea if our luggage is going to pop out at baggage claim. Joey, Kevin, and I go up the escalator - the WRONG escalator and we go up a flight too much. We go back down and the airport’s just empty.

Makes sense, it’s 11pm EDT and there’s not a single worker in sight.

Robert texts us saying our luggage popped out and I hate life because the wording on the ticket, I swear, implied it wasn’t going to come out of baggage claim.

We go back down, grab our luggage, say bye to Washington, and head on our to the shuttle wait area.

There, we run into Luke (Yung Quaff) and Will (Twisty) from Massachusetts. Apparently, they had been waiting for the shuttle for over an hour and it was about 11:30pm at this point in time and we’re so tired because we’ve been travelling the whole day and there were people waiting for us to goon with.

We get to the shuttle and it’s an hour to the resort. Crying inside.

We check in and our room is on the other side of the resort from Guttey and Spencer (Mr. Watch and Learn)’s room even though they provided our confirmation number when they got their hotel room. What the hell.

Seeing everyone in that room was so amazing. I can’t remember everyone there exactly, because let me tell you, that room at one point probably had more people than it should have and we most definitely violated some kind of fire hazard.

Friday; September 10, 2021

Twisty ended up staying the night in our room because we had a two bedroom, two bathroom suite with six people. Our suite had a king bed, two queen beds, and a queen pull-out from the couch. Joey and Robert - the two largest people - stayed in the king bed. Kevin and I shared a queen. Ivan had a queen. Parker had a queen. Though I believe the first night, Parker and Ivan shared the queen (?) and Twisty stayed on the pull out.

Twisty barrel-rolled the whole night.

The bed squeaked so much it was insane. I think it only really bothered me, but that was fine because the guys needed their rest more than I did.

Spencer, the god that he is, ended up driving from Long Island to Ohio, and he offered to take us to go get some groceries for his room and us at Meijer.

It seated five, but I don’t really count as a full human size-wise, so I sat at Kevin’s feet, who was sitting in the passenger seat, underneath the dashboard, while Guttey, John (Gluteus), and Luke sat in the back.

Shoutouts to Meijer. Had a ton of awesome stuff.

A bunch of wings and thighs that probably weighed as much as a chicken itself plus 2 Liter Coke for $8.

It was all a blur, but we ended up in the Chad Room at some point - the Presidential Suite, just as crews were starting.

We end up meeting Yuko, who had a very large speaker about the size of me curled up. He ended up making an entrance and there’s a video on Twitter where you can just hear Joe (Qtip) go, “I’m scared.”

Also ran into Zoey (Frost) again. :) Haven’t seen her since she left NorCal. We ended up just talking a bit, catching up, before I think Kevin needed me to go back to our room for a Wii.

I ended up walking entirely back to our room on the other side of the hotel - next to the convention center, getting out Wii, only to find out two things:

1. We didn’t have composite cables. 2. There was no other outlet.

We ended up getting kicked out after Qtip’s team won anyway.

Can’t remember anything else, other than the goon was too hard and too real but if you would like for me to include anything that happened while I was there, let me know! :)

#Riptide #Undertow #Project M #Super Smash Bros #Fuck Nintendo

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atths--twice · 4 years

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Bare Essentials

Last March, the discussion on Thursday during #tbtXFiles turned to why Mulder looked “un-Mulderish,” in Signs and Wonders, and lost luggage was mentioned, I became intrigued. I had never noticed his clothes, I don’t think. This is not an episode I generally put on, so I was taken aback. After it was mentioned, it was ALL I saw. So, thanks to a friend for piquing my interest, it brought about this story. Hope you enjoy it.

Arriving in Blessing, Tennessee, Mulder and Scully discover their bags have not arrived with them.

Blessing, Tennessee 9:30 a.m. Tuesday

The tiny airport was hot and crowded, causing Mulder to unbutton the two top buttons on his shirt, hoping to find some relief. He could feel sweat on his neck and back, as he watched the luggage carousel, waiting for their bags.

Scully walked up, fanning her coat around her. “Jesus, it’s hot in here,” she said, looking at him, her small carry-on bag in one hand. He nodded still keeping an eye on the carousel.

“It’s insane that it’s this warm in here, the heater has to be broken. I doubt it’s that cold outside." He fanned his shirt, the open buttons not offering much relief.

“Well, we’ll find out as soon as our bags get here and we can get the car,” she said, glancing at her watch. “We should head straight over to the church.” He nodded again, frowning as he realized the baggage carousel was now empty. Bags were no longer coming and he heaved a sigh.

Great, just great, he thought. Scully looked at him and raised her eyebrows. He shook his head and headed to the baggage claim office.

A half an hour later, forms were filled out, and a heated discussion had been had about the heat of the airport. Mulder caught up to Scully, and they walked toward the rental lot. Scully had filled out the paperwork and gotten the keys, while he dealt with their lost bags. They would try to deliver them as soon as possible. But first, they needed to figure out where they were exactly.

“Where they are exactly, Scully,” he said, as they walked to the car. “How is it that they don’t know where our bags are “exactly” but everyone else’s arrived here with no problems? We all left from the same place, on the same flight.” She put her carry-on in the trunk, and they both got in the car. He turned on the ignition, shaking his head as he looked over at her.

She scrunched up her chin, something he found so goddamn adorable and shook her head. “I don’t know, but hopefully they’ll find them and bring them by later tonight. Let’s get to the church,” she said, gesturing for him to drive.

“I can’t go like this, Scully,” he said pointing at his clothes. He was wearing dark jeans and a long sleeved polo shirt. “I was going to change once we stopped by the motel, but now I don’t have my luggage.”

“Then you will have to go like that,” she said, looking at him in exasperation.

“No, we can find a store and I’ll pick something up. Not a suit, but something better than this,” he said, backing up the car and heading out. She hummed her annoyance, and he scoffed.

“If you had dressed accordingly,” she said, under her breath, shaking her head and looking out her window.

“I told you all my dress shirts were at the cleaners, and it was a mad dash to even get there before we left. I had no other options,” he said, watching for when it would be safe to merge onto the highway.

“Mulder, how long have we been doing this? Seven years? Why do you leave everything until the last minute?” she asked, with a glance his way. “You tell me we’re leaving, and I have a wardrobe already packed in my head, business suits ready to go at all times.”

“If we all were as prepared as you, who would be the dreamers? The artists who walk around with paint in their hair or on their hands because other aspects of life are more important?” he volleyed back at her. “We can’t all be Dana Scullys.” He glanced at her and saw she was trying not to smile.

“You all can try,” she said in a sassy tone, giving in and giving him a beautiful smile. His heart pounded, and his mouth went dry, causing him to clear his throat. She turned and looked out the window again, and it was quiet in the car.

Just before the exit for the church, he left the highway, looking for a place to buy some new clothes. A store came into view, and he pulled into the parking lot. Scully looked at him, and he shrugged. They both got out of the car and walked inside.

Scully looked at him, the store not quite the type of clothing they usually purchased. She walked away from him towards the women’s section, and he headed to the men’s.

Not wanting to spend too much time in the store, he quickly found his size and grabbed a shirt- a long sleeved button down grayish patterned shirt. It was not something he usually would be drawn to, being rather an ugly color and print, but it would work.

Pants were next- a pair of dark slacks, and also a belt. He caught Scully’s eye and jerked his head toward the dressing room. She nodded and walked toward him, as he stepped behind the curtain to try on the clothes. He could hear her breathing on the other side, and he flushed at the thought that a mere piece of fabric separated them as he undressed.

“Mulder?” she asked, her tone reminding him they were on a timetable.

“Yeah, I know. These are good, I’ll get them,” he said, slipping on his shoes and tying them. “I’ll wear them out from here.”

“Hand me the tags and I’ll pay for them,” she said, reaching her hand inside the curtain. He smiled, pulling them from the clothes and placing them in her hand. Her hand left, and he picked up his other clothes.

He tucked in his shirt, fastened his belt, and opened the curtain. Seeing Scully at the register, he walked over to her. She looked him up and down and scrunched her chin again before turning back to the store clerk.

“I grabbed you a jacket too,” she said, handing over her credit card. “It is cold out, despite how hot it was at the airport. They didn’t have your size exactly, and there are no ties, but at least you will look better than how you did earlier.” She glanced at him, and he nodded his thanks.

His own clothes were put in a large store bag, along with what she had purchased for herself, though he did not see what she bought. Putting the new grey coat over his arm, he put his hand on the small of her back and led her out of the store.

_________________________________

The Heartbreak Motel, 12:30 a.m. Wednesday morning

Pulling up to the motel, as it bordered on one in the morning, he sighed, his body completely exhausted. He glanced at Scully, seeing her worrying her lips as she sat beside him. When he turned off the car, it broke her from her thoughts, causing her to look at him and unbuckle her seat belt.

“I’ll go get our rooms,” he said, putting his hand on hers, stopping her from getting out just yet. She nodded and sighed, leaning her head back against the headrest.

He got out and spoke to the motel clerk, getting them adjoining rooms. Two keys with glittery guitar key chains were handed to him. The man shrugged and Mulder nodded, holding them as he walked out the door.

He drove closer to their rooms, and they both got out. Handing her her key, he grabbed her carry-on and the store bag out of the trunk, following her into her room. He set the bag down, and she began to go through it. She took out a pack of underwear, a couple of pairs of dress socks, and a pack of undershirts. The barest of essentials, and something he had completely overlooked.

She handed them over to him with a raised eyebrow. He grinned at her and took them, his thoughts and feelings mixed. He was happy at her thoughtfulness and also felt that familiar feeling of desire for her. She had picked out underwear for him.

God, he loved her.

He nodded at her and made to leave the room. “You’re welcome,” she said sarcastically. He turned around and smiled at her.

“Thank you kindly, Miss Scully,” he said in an overly put upon Southern accent. She rolled her eyes and walked forward to close the door when he left.

He went into his own room and set all his things on his bed. His jacket was taken off and thrown on the chair, his clothes and shoes following, as he went into the bathroom and started the shower.

He showered and came into the room in a towel. Ripping open the packages, he took out a shirt and a pair of underwear. Dressed, he picked up and then hung his clothes, obviously needing to wear them again tomorrow, unless the bags miraculously showed up in the middle of the night.

A knock sounded at the adjoining door, and he unlocked it, finding Scully, her hair still damp from her own shower. He tried not to stare, but she was so cute standing there in a pair of un-Scully like pajamas. Cotton, long sleeved, and lilac. They were tighter and clingier than usual. Try as he might, he could not avoid noticing her hard nipples.

“Here,” she said, thankfully interrupting his thoughts and redirecting his eyes. She handed him a new packaged toothbrush and he raised his eyebrows at her. “From my carry-on. After they lost our luggage that time in Boise, I’ve made sure to at least have the essentials: my makeup bag and toiletries.”

“Good thinking. Maybe I should start doing that too,” he said, opening the toothbrush.

“Maybe?” she said with a look.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said with a grin. He stuck the toothbrush in his mouth and she winced. “What? Gotta do what I can without toothpaste.”

“You think I would pack toothbrushes and not pack toothpaste? What’s the point of that, Mulder?” she asked, shaking her head.

“Oh. Well, can you hand it to me?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“I am not giving you the toothpaste. I will let you use it, but it stays with me,” she stated, both eyebrows raised high.

“What?”

“Yeah, Mr. Squeezes-It-From-The-Middle, the toothpaste stays with me,” she said cheekily. “I’m not having a repeat fiasco of The Falls.” He stared at her, but took the toothbrush from his mouth and presented it to her.

She uncapped the toothpaste, squeezed it tightly from the bottom, and loaded up his toothbrush. Replacing the cap, she smirked at him, making a show of the flatness of the tube of toothpaste. He nodded, looking at his toothbrush.

“You know, sometimes squeezing things in the middle is the best option. Lightly or with more force, depending on the situation,” he said, watching her eyes as he spoke. They moved across his face and landed on his lips. He had to fight the urge to run his tongue across them, wanting to see how that would affect her.

“Well, there’s also something to be said about following the rules,” she said, crossing her arms and looking in his eyes. “Even if you really do want to break them.” He held his breath, not daring to imagine she actually meant what she did. Christ, he was suddenly very hot. Were they still talking about toothpaste?

“Good night, Mulder,” she said, starting to close her door. “Come see me in the morning when you need more … toothpaste.” She looked at him once more, before closing the door all the way.

Oh, sweet Jesus. How did she do that? How did a conversation about toothpaste arouse him so much? He stood at the door, wanting it to open, to hear her say she needed more, and not be talking about toothpaste. Shaking his head, he forced himself to step back from the door and go into the bathroom and brush his teeth.

He laid down in bed a few minutes later with his mind buzzing and the taste of mint in his mouth. He turned over and punched his pillow trying not to think of how lilac had looked beautiful on her and how deliciously minty she would taste if he went into her room and kissed her.

_____________________________

The Heartbreak Motel 12:45 a.m. Thursday morning

God, he thought as he came back to the motel room, what a day. He took off the clothes he had been wearing for the second time, never wanting to see them again. He knew they smelled, even without getting his nose close to them. He had no idea what he was going to do about an outfit tomorrow.

Scully’s bag had made it to the motel, and been dropped off at the office. She sighed with relief at the sight of it, and then apologized to him that his was still missing. Disappearing into her room, he ducked into his own, wishing this case were over. If he never saw another snake again, he would be happy.

He showered and changed into another undershirt and underwear Scully had the foresight to purchase for him. He paced the room as he thought of what to do about his clothes tomorrow, when he heard Scully knock on the adjoining door. He grinned and went to grab his toothbrush before he opened it.

Again she stood in the doorway with wet hair, but this time in her own black satin pajamas. They were nice, but not tight, lilac nice. She held out the toothpaste and he brandished his toothbrush at her, causing her to roll her eyes, her lips curling into a small smile.

“I’m gonna need to get something for tomorrow. No way I can wear those clothes again. I’d like to have a burial service for them if I could. Could we arrange that?” She laughed and looked at him as she put on the toothpaste. He winked at her and stuck his toothbrush in his mouth.

“You were rather ripe today. I’m sorry your bag isn’t here. It’s quite nice to put on my own clean clothes,” she said, capping the toothpaste.

“Braggart,” he said around his toothbrush. He walked away and spit in the bathroom sink. He finished up, rinsed out his mouth, and set his toothbrush down.

She was leaning against the door jamb, her arms crossed, eyes roaming up his body. He caught her when she got to his eyes and she moved, uncrossing her arms and clearing her throat. Her cheeks were flushed and he could not stop the smile that creeped across his face.

“Well, goodnight. We’ll figure out something for your clothes tomorrow. Maybe hit that store again. See you in the morning,” she said all in a rush, closing her door with a loud click.

He smiled, knowing he caught her looking and knowing she knew he did. Things were changing between them. It was going slowly, but he liked it that way. Something was still there, something holding them both back, but they were moving closer. He smiled again, and then his eyes landed on his clothes. Shaking his head, he resolved to be up early, determined to not be around her again until he smelled better than “ripe.”

_______________________________

The Heartbreak Motel 7:30 a.m. Friday

The alarm went off the next morning, and he slid on his pants with a cringe. He kept just his undershirt on, put on his shoes, and drove to the same store. They were just opening when he walked inside. Not wanting to take too much time, he grabbed a white button down and a pair of khaki pants. He balked at them, but it was what was available to purchase.

Just before he walked to the register, he spotted a leather jacket. He stopped and looked at it. It was a rather nice jacket and there was no reason he should not buy it, even if he had one similar to it already. No chance could he wear that gray coat Scully had picked, with the new khaki colored pants.

He found his size and added it to the other items. If Scully’s bag arrived yesterday, hopefully it meant his would arrive sometime today, and this would be enough to get by. If not, he would need to find a place and wash what he had with him.

Purchase complete, he went back out to the car, dropping his bag beside him, and driving back to the motel. Once inside, he quickly showered again and got dressed. God, it felt so good to wear new, clean clothes, and not something that was sweaty and smelly.

Scully knocked on the adjoining door and he opened it. She looked at him and nodded, a smile on her face. Catching his eye, she stared at him with a look he could not quite place. Breaking his gaze after a few seconds, she took a breath.

“I got a call. There was a problem with Gracie. We need to go.” He grabbed his jacket and followed her out the door.

_____________________________

Blessings of God Hospital 10:30 a.m. Sunday

He stared at her as she sat next to him on his hospital bed, her eyes so blue and beautiful. She sighed and smiled again before squeezing his hand, getting up and heading to the door. His wounds were healing and he was starting to feel better, but he would be in the hospital for a couple more days. Bored and ready to leave, seeing her made him happy, but he wished he could be leaving with her.

“Oh,” she said, turning around and looking at him with a cheeky grin. “Your bag showed up last night. So, you’re good to go. You know … when you’re ready to wear pants again.”

“Goddamn. Finally,” he said, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. She smiled and nodded before she headed out the door.

He looked at the door and sighed. A few more days and he would be ready to leave. It could not come soon enough. Watching her leave every day was killing him. He was ready to be done with this and continue moving forward.

He just needed his goddamn pants to get the hell out of this hospital. Thank all that was holy in the world, he was never so happy to hear he had clothes waiting for him.

Lost luggage could eat a huge pile of shit.

___________________________________________________

Hope you enjoyed this little story. Seeing a prompt always gets my mind spinning with how I could write out that scenario. This one was fun. 😊

#The X Files #XF Fanfic #Signs and Wonders #Missing Luggage #Coping and making the best of a bad situation #Sharing the bare essentials #Flirting

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bbaronpiper · 4 years

Text

Excess baggage

Hi guys! I dunno if it’s fluff or not but it’s supposed to be fluff. lol.

2, 14, 19, 32, 43, 44, 92 (they don’t have to be all in one like you could divide them see which work together and write like more than 1 stories with any of theseee pls and thank you💞💞)

this is for 44. Twirling a strand of their hair - but I changed it to twirl a strand of his hair and 92. “Where’s your adventurous spirit?!”

gif not mine. credits to the owner. :)

Arón x reader

You’re staring at your newly bought thong with tears streaming down your face contemplating whether to throw it away or not like what you’ve done with some of your clothes too. You’re currently sitting on the floor of Italy’s airport due to excess baggage. You’ve tried plenty of times and threw away what felt like most of your things but still cannot get through. Until you’ve heard footsteps approaching. You looked up and saw a tall man wearing a hoodie with sunglasses on. He seemed familiar but you just didn’t know where you saw him. He took off his glasses once he reached you and spoke.

“Hola, I have an excess space on my baggage for your coat” he simply said. He looked so calm and reserved. “also, I’m not a thief nor a perv who’s trying to get in your pants. Just wanna help” he half smiled.

You wiped away your tears and thought about it for a minute before looking back down on your coat and throwing it on the trash bin beside you. You have trust issues, yes, but after all, you’re in a different country away from home, alone with a stranger hovering over you.

“Arón” he simply said again and extended his hand for you to shake. “C’mon your coat looks expensive” You had doubts but took it anyways. “Y/N… Bought it on a thrift shop for half the price though” you said and smiled a little. You then handed him some of your clothes including the thong you threw away earlier. You don’t often hand your underwear to random people but you’re just tired and desperate to go back home to Spain. Besides, he didn’t seem to mind when he grabbed it from you and put it inside his luggage with a straight face on.

Finally, you both got through and proceed to the boarding gate, you looked at each other while walking and smiled.

“Gracias”

“De nada” he returned a smile before looking away from you. This man is simply a man of few words you thought to yourself.

The flight back to Spain was quiet. You shared a simple conversation like where you’re from, what you do, names of your siblings and so on. Then you discovered why he looked so familiar. He was an actor but you didn’t treat him any different since he seems like a down to earth person. At some point you fell asleep on his shoulder and he just let you. He was awake the whole time though. After a few hours, he woke you up saying to get ready as you guys just landed on Spain.

While waiting for your baggage you asked him if he wanted to get some merienda (snack) with you as a thank you gesture in return for what he did for you in which he gladly said yes. You both ended up in a nearby restaurant which served beers as well. Being the alcoholic he is and the broken- hearted that you are, you both up ended up getting a bit drunk. He loosened up a bit now, He’s more talkative than when you met him few hours ago and he smiled more now showing the little gap on his front teeth which you find cute to be honest.

“I really liked your tattoo, says a lot about you” he said referring to the tattoos on each of your wrists. It was the creation of Adam tattoo. You really loved it too, being an art graduate, you looked at it as a masterpiece.

“How about you? do you have more besides the ones on your arms?”

“Yeah, here” he pointed on his collar bone.

“Can I see?” you innocently asked. You didn’t realized what you asked him to do until he smirked and lifted his shirt up until his neck revealing his sun and moon tattoo on his collar bone. Damn this boy, he should’ve moved his shirt on the side but no, he had to remove his shirt but you ain’t complaining though. You stared at it absent mindedly more than you should have, not to mention the stare you gave down his abs. You were snapped out of your eye fucking moment when he pulled down his shirt.

He cleared his throat and put a finger on his lips to stop himself from laughing at the sight of you.

“yep. It’s nice” tearing your gaze away from him embarrassed that he caught you staring.

“My abs orrr….?” He trailed off, teasing you completely laughing now.

“Damn you! the tattoo of course!” you said your face turning hot red now. “My ex has better abs than you!” you mocked. Your asshole of an ex, yes. You never told Arón what happened nor why were you in Italy. He doesn’t care. you were strangers after all. But damn this alcohol, made you vulnerable and emotional. You ended up telling him every detail as to what happened and he just sat there with his straight face on and a blush on his cheeks from the alcohol he just drunk.

You went to Italy to go surprise your boyfriend of 8 years. You were so excited you even bought new lingerie. He moved there from Spain for work and you haven’t seen him in almost a year. When he broke the news to you saying his boss wanted him to extend 2 more years, that’s when you decided to go and visit him. Fuck. You even thought of moving in Italy for good. But the jokes on you, ‘cos he has a better surprise. You found out that he’s been with someone else already. He was cheating on you.

“I don’t love you anymore, you may go. that’s what he told me” You sniffed. “We’ve been together for eight years but he just ended us with eight fucking words too!” you were crying now while he just continued to stare and listen to you with a little to no emotion at all. “Don’t you think I deserve a second chance with him? ” you grabbed your glass of beer and chugged it all at once.

“He doesn’t love you anymore” he repeated to you. “what else is there to explain?” he shrugged.

“Yeah. But eight years? Just like that? don’t I deserve at least an explanation?” You fought back.

“If he did explain, would it change anything?” he questioned you looking a bit sad. “Bottom line is, He. Doesn’t. love. You. Anymore.” He repeated and emphasized each word.

You looked at him, still crying. “Gilipollas! Are we close? Are we even friends?! Joder! You’re rude!” he was right but you can’t deny the fact that it went straight to your heart.

He burst out laughing and you laughed along with him. Damn this alcohol you are now both into a roller coaster ride of emotions. His concerned eyes were replaced with a happy one. He just got an idea to go to the beach. He told you that people trying to move on often go somewhere far away from home where nothing could remind them of their ex. You being a dumbass and drunk. You said yes ignoring the fact that you just met him. But somehow, being with him was a relief. Yeah, he made unsolicited comments about your life and looks at you with no emotion most of the time and probably thinks you’re stupid for crying over this goddamn ex of yours this whole time but he makes a good company. He’s a listener, a gentleman and hasn’t taken advantage of you despite your current state.

----

You woke up with the sun almost blinding you from the bus window. You closed the curtains and looked on your left side and saw Arón’s head on your shoulder. His curls are now growing back and it looked so soft you suddenly felt the urge to twirl a strand of his hair with your index finger. It is indeed soft. You kept on twirling it until he moved a little. He then completely lifted his head up from your shoulders and looked at you.

“Where are we, bonita?” he asked while rubbing his eye. You blushed a little hearing him say bonita

“Italy”

“Fuck, No!” he straighten up on his seat and looked around.

You laughed at him and hit him softly on his perfectly toned stomach you’ve been eyeing all night. “Can’t believe you fell for that, dumbass. We’re on our way to Marbella. This is your idea, remember?”

“Oh, si!” scratching the back of his head. “well, I may not look like it but I’m a bit gullible” he laughed playing along with you.

You turned your head in front of you and saw a movie playing, you watched it for a few seconds before your face fell. Arón noticed this of course.

“Ahora, que?” he asked.

“The movie playing reminded me of him. We watched it on our first date.” you weren’t going to cry. You were tired of that but the sadness was evident in your face.

“Everything really remind you of him, huh?” Arón stated. There it is again, his damn comments.

“I have an idea! Every time I’m gonna mention him, I’ll give you one euro!” you stated excitedly but he looked back at you with a raised eyebrow. “what? It worked for my best friend!”

“Yeah okay, but one euro? What are we? 10 year olds? Make it one thousand euro.” He smirked.

“Cabron! One thousand euro your face!” you spat back

“fine, five hundred?” he fought back

“10 euro!” you laughed

“Wooww! Ten?! four hundred?” he laughed while mocking you.

“fifty euro!! Take it or leave it!” you stick your tongue out at him

“one hundred euro! C’mon! with this, you wouldn’t even dare to say his name!”

“fine! Deal! One hundred!” you then shook his hand. He smiled brightly at you knowing he won.

“So what are you gonna do with the millions of money you’ll save from this? Why don’t you just buy yourself a man” Arón joked

“Ijo de puta!” you spat at him.

“Damn, you really cursed a lot for a girl!” he laughed again.

“Shut up! I’m not like that!” you knew he was joking so you just laughed along. “I’ll just donate it to a charity. You know, the one where they support women, who were hurt and abused by their fucking exes, like my fucking ex! specially my fucking ex! Fuck my ex I hope he get what he deserved. That fucking assho—” you cut yourself as you saw Arón’s smile appearing on his lips and giving you the look. You both smiled and he then held his palm at you. you slapped it away.

“Arón! We’re not on yet!” you said laughing your ass off

“No, we had a deal already!” he smiled happily at you when he heard you mumble a curse and get your wallet and hand him the money. “Yes, I’ll be rich!” he mumbled.

---

After an eternity, you finally arrived in Marbella. You stretched your arms and body as soon as you got off the bus. Arón did the same while walking around the bus to get your baggage.

“Arón, thank you for this” you looked up at him and noticed how his hair is a bit shuffled, his plump lips and his brown colored eyes that shines through the sunlight.

“What do you mean by thanks for this? It’s not for free you know?” he looked back at you and hand you your baggage. You smiled at how you two became closer with just almost a day together. You’re just happy to be with him you start to feel like you knew him your whole life. The awkwardness was now gone.

“Sure! But just not my body! It’s expensive, you can’t afford it!” you played along.

“Damn! Too bad” he mumbled. Obviously, that was a joke right? But just to be sure so you looked at him with raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “god, I’m just kidding Y/N!” he winked and raise his hands up in defense.

The path from the parking lot to the hotel was a challenge, the wheels of your suitcases kept on sinking onto the sand. Take note, you have 2 suitcases and 1 shoulder bag. Arón, being the gentleman he is, offered some help but you insist that you can manage on your own. Damn this boy who decided to tease you again. He walked up in front of you and lifted his baggage with one hand.

“it’s heavy, no?” he was smiling like an idiot.

“yeah, it is but I can manage” you lifted both of your baggage with each arm as Arón walks further away from you.

“you can, but you’re slooooow” Arón teased more.

“but I can” you spat back. He then walked further away until he disappeared on your sight. After 10 mins of struggling, you finally reached the hotel’s entrance. you then rolled your suitcases until the front desk, wiping away the sweat on your forehead and took a deep breath. Arón was on the side with his right foot over his left and his elbow leaning on the handle of his suitcase. Of course, he still has that goofy smile on his face watching your every action. He hands you a bottle of water. You smiled and blush on how thoughtful he is.

“oh, you made it!” he said while looking on the watch in his wrist.

“I managed! slowly but surely” you winked at him. At some point you thought that you both aren’t talking about the suitcases at all. You know that the whole interaction has a hidden meaning to it. you were both referring to your process of moving on. It’s too heavy for your heart but you can manage as time goes on. Slowly but surely.

You are now settled on your room. You trust Arón enough to stay in a room with him but of course you got the room with two beds. Not that you didn’t want to sleep beside him but it’s the right choice. You sat on your bed while cracking your neck and massaging your shoulders. You heard Arón laugh from across the room.

“you brat! That’s what you get for being so stubborn!” this man loves to make fun of you didn’t he. “let’s go get a massage!” he walked towards you in one swift and grabbed your hand. It happened all so fast you didn’t get the chance to protest. Not that you will. You mean, the feeling of his hand on yours is magical. You felt butterflies on your stomach as well. The feeling you haven’t felt in a while. You walked towards the spa with him in front of you absent mindedly. All you did was to look at your fingers intertwined with his.

“two full body massage please” Arón said to the woman on the front desk.

“couple’s room, sir?” the girl asked staring at Arón. She definitely recognized him, she was biting her lips and eye fucking the man in front of her.

“nahh. We’re not a couple” you smiled at her. “I don’t want him to peek at me naked!” you nugged Arón on the side.

“Wow, Y/N! me?” he pointed on his chest. “you were the one staring at my abs, remember when I showed you my tattoo?!” he nugged you back.

“You wish! I was looking at your collar bone!” you said suppressing a laugh

“my tattoo is here!” he pointed on his collar bone. “you were looking down here!” he then pointed on his abs. winking at you.

“First of all, asshole, you don’t have abs! you’re stomach is bloated!” you laughed loudly. The lady on the front desk started to laugh too. “C’mon, Arón, show her your non-existing abs” you said referring to the lady in front of you.

Arón then smile shyly, he refused to show it but you urged him. “Do it!” laughing more than ever. He protested but lifted up his shirt so fast and pulled it down right away. Showing just a glimpse of his stomach. “There! Happy?!” he was blushing and smiling happily. He looked so cute, his dimples are showing.

---

You must’ve fallen asleep through out the whole massage session as you felt someone poke on your cheeks. You opened you eyes to see Arón’s face close to yours.

“Morning bonita, get up! I have something to show you”

You put on your clothes and got out of the room. Only for Arón to take your hands on his again and drag you out to the beach. When you said drag, you meant like literally drag. He was walking so fast you almost stumble.

“Y/N! take huge steps! C’mon the sun is setting!” he said excitedly. The fuck is wrong with this man? “This is the best I can do, bruh!” he laughed and looked back at you. you were surprised when he stopped walking and bent down a little only to scoop you up on his arms. “Aróoonnn! Put me down!!” you giggled but wrapped your arms around him afraid you’ll physically fall. Not that you aren’t falling for him emotionally though. He almost ran across the beach with you on his arms, he stopped when he reached a huge rock. He put you down, the smile you had on your lips slowly faded away as soon as the feeling of his skin against yours disappeared.

To cut the story short, he wanted to climb that huge rock. You just looked at him in disbelief.

“You’re fucking crazy, dude!”

“Where’s your adventurous spirit, Y/N!” he challenged you.

After multiple exchange of curses and a lot of convincing, you both decided to do it. you mean, how can you say no to this gorgeous man. If you’re gonna fall and hit your head on the rock and bleed to death then at least you got to do it with Arón. You would thank him even. besides, he promised not to let that happen. And he sure did, as you were now on the top of the huge rock.

The view of the sun setting across the horizon and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock made it all worth it. you closed your eyes as you felt the wind blow softly against your skin, enjoying the moment. You felt Arón hugged you from behind. He placed a kiss on your shoulder before placing his chin on it. you held his arms and smiled

“Let it all out, bonita” he said softly close to your ears. That’s when it starts to hit you. The heaviness on your chest starts to resurface. You felt your tears form on your eyes again. You tried to stop it by keeping your eyes tightly closed but somehow it still escaped from your eyes. “It’s okay Y/N, scream, cry, let it out, it’ll make you feel better” his voice was so soothing. You did what you were told. You screamed it all out. You screamed all the pain you had inside you, all the disappointment, all the crushed plans you had with your ex, everything. You felt your body trembles from all the screaming and crying but Arón held you tightly keeping you from collapsing.

You were breathing heavily now, you turned around to face Arón and hugged him tightly as you cried on his chest. He returned the hug and rubbed your back to soothe you while whispering things like “sshh it’s okay Y’N” “You’ll get through this” “I’m here Y/N” and it did calm you. You pulled your head back and looked in his eyes as he stared back down at you.

“Gracias, this means a lot to me Arón.” You half smiled at him. He wiped away the tears streaming down your cheeks with both of his hands and holding it after. “No lo menciones, it’s my pleasure” he reassured you. He held you close, nudging you a little. You’re still crying but you managed to give him a small laugh. Letting him know it really helped you emotionally. You felt your emotional baggage became lighter. You knew it was too soon, but the butterflies on your stomach doesn’t wanna leave you alone. You felt yourself falling for this man, you mean, who wouldn’t. right?

You pulled away from each other but decided to stay a while longer. You sat beside each other closely as the sun completely set right in front of your eyes.

“How do you forget someone?” you asked breaking the silence still looking at the sky

“Que?” he cleared his throat. “Umm, I don’t know. For me, I just woke up and she’s gone. I forgot all about her.” Arón said his eyes focused straight ahead.

“How long did it take you?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, A long time. I guess”

“6 months? 1 year? 2 years..3…4…5 ..?” you trailed off

“Does it matter? What’s important is that I forgot” he simply said “in your case, it might take 10 years” he bit his lips trying not to laugh

“Noooo!! Take it back, Arón!” you laughed nudging him with your shoulders. “I don’t think soo..” you added

“I dunno. All I know is that it all depends on you” he pursed his lips into a thin line before speaking again. “you can drink every night to forget. You can cry your heart out, you can go on dates with random people. It’s really up to you.” he paused “orrr you can find a new love” he smiled.

You snapped your head towards him and he did too. “you know as my man, F. Scott Fitzgerald once said” he smiled, his eyes glistening as the moonlight shines across it.

“There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice”

You both stared at each other for a while before you snapped and put your head on his shoulder, he then wrapped his arms around you. It was silent, no one dared to say a single word but it was good kind of silence. The one you wouldn’t trade for anything else.

----

That’s it guys, sorry it’s a bit longer than I usually write. also, it’s inspired (changed some parts and dialogue) by a Filipino movie called “that thing called tadhana” tadhana means fate in english. lol. it’s on netflix. you should watch it! it’s so much better than what I wrote.

#aron piper imagines #aron piper fanfic #aron piper x reader #aron piper fluff #aron piper angst #aron piper #elite

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yikeswtfmate · 5 years

Text

Strange Times || Ch. 1

main masterlist // Strange Times Series Masterlist // next part

Summary: Mickey Pearson sends Raymond to fetch his sister from the airport. He’s never met this woman, but he soon finds out she likes to play with her food first.

Pairing: Raymond (Charlie Hunnam - The Gentlemen, 2020) x Reader

Warnings: swearing; sexual themes; mentions of violence

A/N: Here it is my lovelies, the fic i’ve been telling you about with Charlie Hunnam’s character whom i fell in love with (it’s the beard....and the glasses....and the hair....and the suits......and the whole righthand to a drug lord thing maybe?). I’m still unsure about posting it here because it’s a different type of Reader that i’m used to write (maybe i’ll just switch her to an OC) and it’s not Bonky. So please let me know what you think and whether i should post the next parts as well (it’s already 5k long) but if you don’t like it, this is a “felt cute might delete later” type of situation so no harm no foul. And for those of you who haven’t seen the movie yet, slight spoliers ahead!

The office is quiet, save for the scratching of a pen on paper and the ticking of a clock that is starting to irritate Raymond to no end. He’s been meaning to either throw it out or switch it with the one that is in the living room, but he knows how his boss would not appreciate the disposal of a five thousand pound clock plated in gold. Raymond personally thinks it’s tacky, but it’s Mickey’s house after all, and he should be concentrating on sorting out the logistics for that shipment that’s supposed to go out to Italy anyway. He turns back to his laptop, intent on fulfilling his responsibilities for the day, when Mickey stops writing behind him and clears his throat, demanding his attention.

“Raymond, I need you to go to the airport tomorrow.”

Ray stands up from his chair at the desk and moves to the table in the middle of the receiving room. He’s learned all of Mickey’s tells during the ten years he’s been his righthand man, and when he stops sorting out his agenda to pour himself a cup of tea, Ray knows he needs to stand to attention.

“Any reason in particular?”

“I need you to pick up my sister and bring her to the estate.”

“Your sister?” Ray is utterly confused, mainly for the fact that this would be the very first time he’ll be meeting this woman.

He was aware that Mickey had a sister back in the States, but even though he knows every aspect of Mickey’s life inside and out, this elusive woman is his boss’ best kept secret. He’s unsure whether it’s just brotherly protectiveness, pure paranoia at the prospect of their enemies finding out there’s still another weak link next to Rosalind, or it’s simply the fact that Mickey doesn’t want to talk about his family back home.

He’s heard she’s been studying for a degree in business at Wharton, but he doesn’t know what to expect, for all the odd comments Mickey and Rosalind make about her when they think he’s not listening. One thing he’s completely certain of, however, is how much Mickey looks after her, considering the sizeable amounts of money that are going into her bank account every month.

Mickey raises an eyebrow over his teacup. “I don’t see why you’re acting as if you didn’t know I have a goddamn sister, Ray.”

Raymond shrugs, deciding that it’s best if he won’t tick off his boss at the moment. He’s been on edge ever since the whole debacle with Matthew Berger and Fletcher went down. Mickey’s decided to hold off his retirement plans until someone comes along with a better offer (preferably none of Lord George’s minions though), so he hasn’t only been stressed about maintaining the value of the goods, but also pissed off that he couldn’t just drink whiskey unperturbed all day in a countryside manor.

“I’ve sent you all the details you need. Don’t be late, I don’t want her left unsupervised for too long.”

Raymond nods, eager to go back to his laptop. It’s time for homework, and there’s nothing he love more than information.

“And Ray?” He turns back to Mickey, but the man’s just looking out the window, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Be careful.”

“Of course, boss. I’ll treat her like a princess.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about, you moron.” He says with a frown. “I meant you. She likes to play with her food first.”

The private jet should be a surprise, but when you’re in the line of business Raymond is in, he’s practically seen it all. The charcoal trench coat he’s wearing today is flapping in the whirl of wind so it’s a good thing he foregone the machine gun in favour of an inconspicuous handgun. He’s almost certain nothing would come up on their way from Heathrow to Oxfordshire, but he made sure David fully stocked the car before they left, just in case.

He’s waiting patiently in front of the car, lighting a cigarette, while he watches the airport’s employees fuss around the plane. The airstair is released and Ray stands up from leaning against the car. The smoke that he exhales blind him for a second, but he still needs to blink three more times to assure himself he’s not fucking hallucinating when a woman that he can only assume is Y/N Pearson steps off the plane. She drags a hand through her long curls, moving her head from side to side in what must only be slow motion. Her heels click on the pavement as she makes her way towards him, and Raymond smiles involuntarily.

“I see the money’s been treating you well, Raymond. Although I have to admit, I kind of miss the long hair.” She says before Ray can utter a word. She places a manicured finger under his chin, closing his mouth, kissing his cheek with a smack. “You don’t remember me, do you?” Her eyes are patient, as if exhausted after explaining a child the same exact thing for the past hour. “We’ve met fourteen years ago, when Mickey expanded the business to five farms. You were only an errand boy then, remember? Granted, I was only fourteen at that time, a gangly little thing with braces, of course you don’t remember me.”

Raymond’s mind flashes to a vague memory of a girl in a sequinted t-shirt, a choker that could only be worn with so much seriousness by a teenager, and boots with fur, mated in English mud. She blushed to the roots of her hair when he asked her if she knew by any chance where Mr Pearson was, having to deliver a parcel to him personally. She just pointed with a black fingernail towards her left and squeaked something unintelligible before ducking her head and running in the other direction.

“Ah, there he goes.” She sing-songs as she watches his eyes shift in recognition all over her, but there’s nothing left of her teenage self, having grown into her body, comfortable in her skin, confidence built up with precision and care, together with an appropriate, if rather extravagant fashion sense.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown.” He says, realising that he sounds like a cliché when she rolls her eyes.

“Right, that’s what happens in life, honey. Can we please go? We can exchange pleasantries in the car, this wind is ruining my hair.”

Raymond keeps the door open for her, nodding to David who just finished loading the trunk with her luggage and he hops in the backseat next to her.

“I hope we’re stopping for lunch on our way.” She warns. “I’m starving and I couldn’t eat anything since I woke up because of those stupid turbulences.”

“Mickey is expecting us to be there in an hour.” He responds cautiously.

“Mickey can go fuck himself. I want a pizza and I haven’t been to Zizzi in a long time, so you better take me there, Raymond, or I’ll just ask David to kindly move to the passenger seat.”

The man in question looks at Ray in the rear view mirror, awaiting instructions. Ray sighs and nods once again, now starting to realise why his boss felt the need to warn him in regard to his sister. He hopes he won’t have to deal with her for long after she’s safely delivered to Mickey, because for all her beauty, she’s starting to piss him off.

“Oh, don’t look so glum.” She chides, after a few minutes of him plainly ignoring her. “I’m good company, I promise. I’m just cranky because I’m hungry. I’m hangry, Ray. I just need you to feed me.” She flutters her eyelashes, and she rests her hand on his thigh, purposefully ticking him off.

Ray shifts in his seat, trying to put as much distance between them, to which she just scoffs and rolls her eyes. This woman is dangerous, and for all his sinful thoughts that have been going through his mind ever since he laid eyes on her, Ray has to remind himself that this is his boss’ little sister, little as in eleven years younger for fuck’s sake. He’s positively sure that if he even lays a finger on her, his balls would be cut off and fed to the hunting dogs.

They finally stop after a short silent trip, and he helps Y/N into the fairy lit restaurant, leaving David posted in front of the car. He hopes there will be no more trouble like last time, having had his share of adventures for the goddamn decade.

Holding a chair for her, Ray waits for Y/N to take off her coat, and now he suddenly feels the need to swallow hard, as he rakes his eyes over her body. She’s wearing a leather skirt that is too tight to possibly be comfortable, but long enough to almost meet her knee high boots; her sweater is thick, appropriate for the cold January weather in the south of England, yet Raymond can’t help but wonder if her nipples are as perfect as her lips. Speaking of which, they curl up in a patient yet satisfied smile, a raised eyebrow that wants to show him she’s merely allowing him to inspect her so blatantly.

After she orders her pizza and Ray asks for a glass of water, clearly showing his disapproval for this unexpected stop. He can feel a nudge on his shin and she smiles at him in a way that he can only describe as charitable.

“You know, I’ve had the biggest crush on you back then.” She says and Ray chokes on his water. “It’s true. You were this tall rugged man with long hair that I wouldn’t have known what to do with then, but would definitely know how to handle now.” She smirks, while Ray raises an eyebrow, silently asking her to stop talking. Mainly because his imagination is starting to go haywire. “The beard suits you. But I kept thinking about licking your jaw all the way here so it’s a shame really that I can’t now. Those were some long 8 hours, Ray, I had to occupy myself somehow.”

“Y/N, you should really stop talking.” Ray would give himself a pat on the back for all the restraint he’s showing at the moment. There’s nothing he would like more than to shove her in one of the bathroom stalls and have his way with her, and by the look in her eyes, she knows exactly what he’s thinking so she’s relentless.

“Why? Afraid Mickey would disapprove? I thought you were a big boy, Ray, who doesn’t have to ask permission.”

“It’s not about permission, and we both know it. Your brother would literally kill me if…”

His words are cut short by the waiter who’s bringing Y/N her food and brazenly ogles her down. Ray can feel his hands involuntarily clench into fists, his jaw set at the man who would not just fucking go and keeps offering her pepper, sauce, or his fucking cock for that matter, because it’s so fucking obvious that’s what he’d actually want to say. Y/N just smiles sweetly, humouring his clumsy flirting, and Ray is more than certain that she’s starting to form a habit of doing things just to piss him off. When she touches the waiter’s forearm, he growls lowly, directing their attention to him. She feigns surprise, but he can read her amusement, while the waiter seems to decide whether to apologise or take his chances and go off. Ray knows that his glasses might put people at ease, making him look approachable, friendly, easy-going at first, but he’s perfected the frown and posture to go with it that puts people immediately in their places. Not to mention that spending over a decade in the business would shape anyone in a ruthless brute if need arises.

“My girlfriend here would like to enjoy her food now, thank you. She doesn’t need anything else, mate, you can go.”

The waiter finally scampers off, and Ray knows he’ll regret saying anything before he turns back to Y/N. She’s smirking like a bloody Cheshire cat if he’s ever seen anyone actually doing it, satisfied beyond belief.

“Don’t.” He warns when she opens her mouth to make a smartass remark, but she raises her hands in surrender and proceeds to eat.

Another battle of restraint and patience, as this woman eats as if she’s in a bloody porn movie, and who the fuck can eat pizza seductively anyway, for fuck’s sake. Raymond takes a deep breath, fishing his phone out of his coat pocket and calls his boss, doing his best to ignore the moans, the finger sucking and the swirling tongue in front of him.

“Hey, boss. Got Y/N from the airport, we’ll just be a bit late.”

“She wanted to eat, didn’t she?” Mickey asks and Ray can hear the exasperation in his voice. Apparently his boss is well aware of his sister��s antics, but it would’ve been better if Raymond were better prepared for the full force of what this woman can get out of him in a short half an hour.

“Tell him to suck a bag of tiny dicks, I don’t need his judgment.” Y/N says between licking a side of her finger and plucking an olive off her slice.

“We’re in Uxbridge, hopefully we’ll be there in an hour or so.” Raymond notifies, choosing to ignore her again.

“Fine. Just…make sure she stays out of trouble. It can stick to her like a fly to shit.” And with that Mickey disconnects the call.

Raymond sighs and puts his phone back. There is an uneasy feeling flowing through him, his instinct telling him to run away in the other direction, to avoid interacting with Y/N at all cost until her return to the States, but there’s another part of him, more primal, more carnal that is drawn to her. He hates it, mainly because there is no logical reasoning behind it, and he’s a very cerebral person, and he can’t figure her out for the life of him. Maybe it’s just the fact that she’s probably the first woman to act like that with him, as if she doesn’t care about the consequences, doesn’t give a toss whether he’ll bite or not. She likes to play with her food first, were Mickey’s words, which make so much more sense now.

Raymond can’t put his finger on it, and although he can have his pick of women anywhere he’d step foot in – he is very much aware of how handsome he is, thank you very much – there is something about Y/N that demands to be unlocked. Or maybe it’s just that her tits look really great in that sweater and it’s the whole “forbidden fruit” bullshit. Regardless, Ray just wants to drop her off and go back to London where he can drown himself in work so he can forget about her. Or maybe have a night out, pick someone at a bar and pretend it’s her, because he’s absolutely certain by this point that it’s just the novelty of Y/N that lures him in, and definitely not those eyes full of mischief.

***

Taglist: I haven’t tagged anyone in this, as I’m unsure whether you want to read something that’s not Bucky related. Let me know if you do! Toodles!

#charlie hunnam x reader #raymond x reader #raymond the gentlemen #the gentlemen 2020 #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam fanfic #charlie hunnam fic #the gentlemen fanfiction #the gentlemen

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foradecision · 3 years

Text

‘ the agony of my feelings allowed me no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food. ’ — mary shelley ; frankenstein.

HARRAN COUNTRYSIDE, DAY 175 ; 14:56:23.

“— goddamn it. of course.”

the tank is dry, nothing but stale air coming through the siphon hose. same as the last one. same as the last dozen fucking vehicles he’d checked, gutted, stripped, and abandoned, up and down this fissured backroad to nowhere. from nowhere. this whole place is nowhere.

a thin line of trees borders the gravel to his left, curtaining the wide spread of empty fields like a patchwork quilt. farmland, mostly. dead and disused. to his right, past the scrub, the ground slopes gently downward to a rock - lined creek. there’s a spitting toad nearby; he can hear the guttural heave of its bloated throat from here.

distantly, high up on a cliffside, an eagle’s cry goes unanswered.

the creek is tempting. he’s tired. sore. filthy, to the point where it’s getting to be a concern. where, if he were to walk up to the gates of jasir’s place looking the way he does right now, they might mistake him for a zombie and shoot him on sight. threadbare amusement curls the edges of that chasm in his chest, just for a second: then it’s gone again.

leaving his buggy where it’s parked, fishtailed at the road’s grassy shoulder — useless, gas gauge riding on empty — crane hangs a right and heads for the water.

a bolt is loosed from his crossbow. the toad falls before it can hit him with an acid burn. there’s a scar on his neck from the last time, an inch or so of rougher tissue that runs above the line of his collar.

he does a quick scan of the shoreline. two or three biters linger maybe a hundred yards away, but they haven’t noticed him. they’re slow. far enough that he’ll see them long before they get too close.

fuck it.

he unloads his gear. strips off gloves, vest, boots; clothing peeled from his skin layer by layer until he’s bare except shorts and the grime - caked chain around his neck, dog tags sticking to his chest. one set, of the two he was issued. deanna has the other set.

no. no goodbyes.

no goodbyes. just hold onto ‘em for me.

it’s a freshwater creek; murky and tinged green with algae, but clean. uncontaminated. he wades out until he’s waist - deep, takes a breath, and dives beneath the surface. the shock of cold wakes him up like a rush of adrenaline. he stays under until he can’t, and then he stays a few seconds more. when he comes back up, there’s a clarity to it: a sharpness to his senses, focused as the finely whetted edge of a knife. he swims again to the shallows and starts to wash.

this is day ten, since the others returned to the slums. since they’d chased a clue given to them by a dying man delirious with fever. since their last - ditch, desperate search for a cure had come up empty and every move he’d made leading up to it — everything they’d done, everything they’d lost — slipped through his fingers like fine sand. he couldn’t face them. none of them. couldn’t stomach the thought of going back, of walking into the tower to tell lena and brecken and everyone else that it was all for nothing. he just needed time. that’s what he’d said. just a little time to work through it all, get it straight again in his head. camden was still working, sure. still holed up in old town in a lab littered with corpses. he’d hit some kind of breakthrough, but his labors since then hadn’t borne fruit. bad samples. limited testing material. crane doesn’t understand the science of it. what he understands is that a month after that radio call, people keep getting sick. people keep turning. people keep dying.

crane, why do you even give a fuck what happens to these people? you don’t belong here! this is just a job for you!

no. not anymore it’s not.

there’s no contract now. no mission objective. no target. there’s just him, and them, and a long stretch of nothing.

this is day ten.

the afternoon sun hikes steadily across the cloudless sky. six hours ‘til nightfall. he fills his canteen, redresses, gathers his gear. shuffling footfalls and the solitary groan of a biter drifts downwind towards him. a pause, mid - step. a glance over his shoulder.

she trips up the slope as she tries to follow. he doesn’t glance at her again.

there’s a gas station up the road, beyond the fields and half a klick east of the creek. a ten minute walk without interruptions. all told, he makes it in less than fifteen. the pumps are a no - go, but he finds enough fuel left in a semi and a rusted jeep to fill his jerrycan two thirds of the way. gnats hum in his ears as he cuts through the tree line and he’s sweating again by the time he returns to the buggy. fucking gnats. fucking heat.

fucking harran.

the buggy itself is a battered thing. mesh and steel, spikes up front, hood rigged with electrical cylinders to fry at the push of a button. UV lights mounted to a protective cage around the single seat. at some point, the paint job was blue. it’s lost under a spattering of mud and streaks of dust, blood in varying shades: dark brown to copper to fresh sprays of red. she’s not quiet, and her suspension’s been shot halfway to hell since he flew off that overpass near the train tracks, but she’s solid. fast. decent off - road traction, even through the roughest terrain. she gets the job done.

crane turns the keys in the ignition. a loud, vibrating rev, a scrape of tires against gravel. behind him, the biter from the creek makes a clumsy lunge for the vehicle’s rear. he leaves her in the dust and drives.

he’s been doing a lot of that. driving. maybe he missed it. maybe he likes the solitude, except for that ribbon of isolation that runs through him constantly like a wound spreading poison. no: what draws him is something else.

static crackles through the radio hooked to his dash.

“kyle, can you hear me?”

the skip of his heartbeat drops back to a dull rhythm. he should have known better. communication between here and the slums is shaky on a good day, worse down here behind the mountains.

“yeah, bilal, i hear you.”

“i’ve got the parts to fix your ride, if you want to come by and let me take a look.”

“she’s doin’ fine for now.”

“you sure? it’s no trouble. hell, i can probably have her running again by —”

“yeah, listen, i’ll stop by tomorrow, alright?” he says it without the intent to follow through on it.

“whatever you say, brother. hey — don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“sure thing.”

he ends it there. veers left to avoid an upended van and a spill of toxic waste. doesn’t correct to avoid clipping the biter crouched over a strewn mess of gore, greedily devouring someone’s remains. or several someones. the buggy jumps a little. his expression stays as unmoved as if he’d just bucked over a speed bump or a pothole.

the sun is behind him now, dipping westward.

he drives.

it’s beautiful out here, in its own right. the kind of place he might’ve visited by choice, before, when the world wasn’t like it is now. the road unspools behind him, twisting south towards the dam. he hears the water before he sees it. rushing noise off to the right. he doesn’t stop. keeps going past the turnoff and down a winding side - road until he pulls over onto a patch of asphalt that used to be a small parking lot. a couple of vehicles, a truck, a trailer hitched to a hatchback with luggage piled high. he’s checked them all before. cleaned out the bags and the gas tanks, salvaged what parts he could from under their hoods. there’s a single building, a two - story cottage converted to a restaurant converted to a safe house, UV bulbs strung along the balcony railing like christmas lights.

past it, where the road dips into a curve, the open maw of a half - collapsed tunnel is just visible beyond the scattering of trees and abandoned cars, biters meandering listlessly in the afternoon heat.

four hours.

he parks the buggy and climbs up to the balcony, barricading the door once he’s inside.

no one uses this place. that’s why he’d picked it. quiet, deserted, off the beaten path. no one uses it because of its proximity to the tunnel. deep within the reeking darkness, volatiles nest and thrive. they prowl too close after nightfall. no one wants the risk.

no one except crane.

the note was pinned up on an old door used as a bulletin board at jasir’s farm. warning people away from the area, to steer clear at any cost. during the day, the hive is full. they only scatter when darkness falls, emerging to hunt, to feed, to roam the countryside freely and without borders. that’s what he’s counting on.

but there’s a trick to it. something he discovered — stumbled upon — when he went looking for sabit and found a nest instead. volatiles can breed. they’re not made exclusively through the natural evolution of the virus, but nor do they procreate in a traditional sense. hive mother is the closest comparison he can make: sentient creatures within the hives that somehow trigger the mutation. again, it’s a science he doesn’t fully understand. he knows the logistics. he knows enough. destroying those things stops the spread.

kill the beating heart, and you kill the beast.

he hefts his duffel bag onto one of the tables and unzips it, a side pocket where a tightly - wrapped pouch is nestled within the folds of a spare shirt. inside, a medical injector and tool slots that used to house five vials of antizin. the final vial is loaded into the injector. the shot is quick. practiced. another four days bought on the calendar; beyond that, the pages are blank.

it should worry him more than it does.

after he checks the alarm on his watch, crane moves to the sleeping bag unrolled on the floor and lies down fully clothed. he’s trained himself to fall asleep like he’s stepping off a curb. no thought, just muscle memory.

four hours, then he can go.

dreams are less muscle, all memory. he sees them every time: living faces turned to dead ones turned to taunting, hungry ghosts. children screaming. a little girl and then a little boy, the plush yield of a bloodstained teddy bear under the tread of his boot. you can’t go yet, i thought of a name!

someplace safe.

the monsters are gone.

semper fi, marine.

residual hallucinations blend seamlessly, threading sepia and bronze through the black and mottled grey, the arterial red. jade’s voice brushes the threads like a hand searching for fever; soft, then bleeding, then telling him to let her go, and then jade isn’t jade, she’s deanna, and she isn’t saying let her go — she’s saying let go.

no goodbyes, remember?

make it count.

you don’t know what suffering is.

there’s an old ache just under the hook of his left clavicle. a starburst of pain sings sharply outward with the waking breath he sucks in, then pushes back out. he presses the heel of his right hand against the scar from rais’ dagger, the one he didn’t dodge fast enough. that’s a running theme. not fast enough. not soon enough. not enough. his other hand lifts, wrist tipping, as the digital numbers on his watch go from 20:59 to 21:00.

he cuts the alarm.

night out here sounds nothing like night in the slums, or in old town. there, it’s all infected moans, wind rippling through tarps and rustling trash; it’s all crackling fires and the creak of scaffolding, clangs of metal as virals throw aside manhole covers to scrabble out into the streets.

here, it’s quiet. crickets chirp, cicadas chitter and hum. an owl hoots from somewhere in the trees off to the right of the cottage.

he waits by the balcony door until he hears them passing by. ragged, growling breaths. heavy steps. they come out of the nest in droves but then they scatter. then they fade into the dark.

crane hops the railing and heads toward the tunnel’s waiting mouth.

years ago, on the ground in fallujah, he led a stealth mission of five other marines to infiltrate a hostile - run outpost at the city’s downtown core. tactics he relied on then to evade detection are called back on now. he stays low. hugs the shadows. mindful of every move, every breath, every beat of his heart. the first biter he kills doesn’t have the time to react. he snaps its neck, fast and clean. drags it off into the cover of the trees and slices a deep line across its swollen belly. then a second line, stem to stern.

bandanna tightly secured over his mouth and nose, he reaches gloved hands inside the wound and begins to cover himself in gore.

the smell is overpowering. sour and almost chemical, thick with rot, seeping through the fabric. but overpowering is the entire point. dahlia claimed she had a magic potion to move amongst infected, to blend in; everyone thought she was crazy. so did he, or delusional at the least — until she’d asked him to gather what she needed to make more tincture. one whiff of those mushrooms, and he understood.

she didn’t have a magic potion. she just knew which plants were odorous enough to mask the scent of living flesh.

and if that worked, crane figures this will too.

three measured strides into the tunnel confirms it. the biters don’t turn. don’t react at all. he passes them in silence, a chameleon, unnoticed and undisturbed. this is the easy part. the deeper he goes, the more perilous the risk. virals twitch and mutter, grouped around piles of reeking carnage mounted nearly ceiling - high in some places. he doesn’t turn on his flashlight for chancing exposure. it takes his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the gloom.

he has eight hours, give or take, before the volatiles return and this excursion goes from dangerous to suicidal. eight hours is plenty.

bones. the ground is littered with them, crunching underfoot. some are smaller; animal, maybe — birds, rodents — but most aren’t. bigger things. human. skull fragments that are all teeth. the smell has gotten incrementally worse, distinguishable even through his own cloak of viscera. it’s suffocating and rank. biological. metallic like a slaughterhouse. choked with dirt like a grave.

edging a pool of stagnant water that fills the crevice between cracked slabs of cement, he pushes on.

he’s getting closer. he can hear it now. an unearthly vocalization that pitches above the rest, echoing off stone. it’s a howl and a groan and a wail and a scream all in one, wordless, feral, made of pain and desperate hunger.

he sees it near a blocked door to a maintenance hall, in front of a wide wall of concrete debris. tethered to the earth by flesh and tendon like roots. there’s no lower half: only a head and torso, its other parts impossible to identify. the head is thrown back. spikes of bone push through bloody sinew in odd places, and the jaw is split along both sides, a wide, disjointed yawn. nothing about it is human. nothing about it suggests that it once was human.

circling behind it, crane braces one hand on its shoulder and draws his blade with the other. the machete is driven clean through, back to front, gleaming point emerging from its chest.

kill the beating heart —

the death rattle is jarring, a wet, retching sustain, and then it stops. the thing stills, goes limp. he pulls his blade out again.

— you kill the beast.

there are three more of them, nestled deep within the labyrinth. he finds them by sound, repeats the same routine with each. in a way, it feels merciful. killing sabit was merciful. he wasn’t long in this state when crane had found him; too far gone to save, but with enough human left in him to plead for release.

these ones don’t plead, but release is granted anyway.

because of how deep the nest goes, of how careful he is in navigating it, it’s coming up on midnight by the time he turns around to work his way back. that isn’t worrisome: sunrise starts washing the horizon in swaths of pale peach at 5:30, doesn’t fully spread her rays ‘til six. he still has a seven - hour window, and all he has to do is reach the cottage again. the camouflage is working. his pulse is steady.

everything is playing out accordingly, right up until it’s not.

a viral staggers from behind one of the vehicles in the tunnel, an old city bus that blocked it from view. he misses it, focused on a through - path to avoid the others. it knocks into his shoulder. hard.

crane stumbles a little. it wouldn’t be enough to throw him had his footing been on even ground.

his boot slips off the edge of the crevice.

his ankle, the same one roman had fucked up months before, torques harshly in a direction it isn’t supposed to go, skewing his balance sideways.

“oh, f—”

the curse is caught before it’s anything more than a breath.

he falls. water splashes around him.

four feet away, the viral lets out a screech.

the noise. that’s all, he tells himself: just the sudden noise drawing attention. but the filthy pool around him begins to turn filthier, a runoff of blood and entrails slipping from his clothes. he freezes. holds absolutely still, unblinking, barely breathing. three more virals and a handful of shuffling biters are starting to congregate around the water. sensing some disturbance, some change in the air. one of them presses in closer. he realizes what’s about to happen a microsecond before.

the biter trips over the slab and lands in the pool with him, dousing him in a second wave. he scrambles backward, kicks it back when it lunges, but the damage is already done.

they smell him now. they see him.

crane jumps from the pool and bodies the first viral that comes at him. the tunnel fills with shrieks and groans, a ravenous stampede with a single piece of prey.

his machete cuts through the nearest throat. then he breaks into a run.

the firecrackers he throws behind him buy enough time to clear the tunnel’s entrance, to dip into the trees, to move at a flat sprint until ultraviolet lights wink at him between the black canopy. he vaults the awning, grabs hold of the balcony rail.

a volatile’s hunting cry reverberates through the moonlit night.

HARRAN COUNTRYSIDE, DAY 176 ; 6:02:45.

“lena. lena, do you copy? ... shit.”

still nothing, just the static noise of a poor signal. the transmission is weak. he curses under his breath, throws a glance down the ridge behind him, hikes further up the crest. the air thins. he stops and tries again.

“lena, come in. do you copy?”

this time, finally, the static catches traction.

“crane? is that you?"

“thank god. yeah — yeah, brecken, it’s me.”

“holy shit.” relief, even through a weak transmission, hits him center mass. “it’s good to hear your voice, mate. it’s been too fucking long.”

“i — i know, man. i’m sorry. really. i —”

“nah, nah, save that for later, okay? tell me you’re finally through with this poxy country holiday and you’re ready to come home.”

home. that hits, too. emotion swells in his throat. a dammed flood he’s been so diligent to keep at bay.

last night was sleepless. he’d kept watch until sunrise, kept alert, because it occurred to him when he’d hit the water: he doesn’t want to die. losing hope is a dangerous thing. and maybe it is hopeless. maybe the antizin will run dry and he’ll turn, and one of them will have to put him down, like he did rahim and jade, and there won’t be any stopping it. no cure. no way out.

maybe he thought he did want to die — or maybe it was just that he didn’t care if he lived.

home. come back home.

it’s not about him. it’s not himself that he’s living for.

not anymore.

“yeah,” he manages. “yeah. i, uh — i think it’s past time for that.”

brecken blows out a breath. “sanest thing i’ve heard you say in a while. look, let me grab the others and —”

“no. no, don’t do that. i don’t have a lot of time — could lose the signal again at any second. brecken ... listen, just — just tell ‘em i’m on my way, huh? tell ‘em ...”

“yeah. i will.”

“i’m sorry.”

“i know, crane."

a steady inhale is pulled and released.

he hears something. something that seems to shake the air around him, above him; something a lot like the whirring engine of an aircraft. but it can’t be that. there haven’t been any drops in months. squinting against the sun’s rays, crane scans the skyline, searching —

“hang on,” brecken says, “you hear that?”

“what? you’re not tellin’ me it’s loud enough t—”

“there’s a — oi, get ayo up here, right now! — there’s a fucking plane. what the fuck, crane, i thought the GRE weren’t dropping supplies anymore?”

“no, they’re not, they’re — wh— hang on, what do you mean there’s a plane? there’s a plane right —”

“listen, call me again once you’re close, okay? get your ass back here as soon as possible, we’ll talk then.”

“n— wait — brecken, don’t —”

the radio goes dead.

overhead, a fixed - wing transport plane banks left and makes a hairpin turn to circle the cliffside. minimum altitude over rural land is five hundred feet. it’s close.

close enough to catch a flash of color from the massive logo painted on its fuselage.

a medical cross inside a circle, bold letters spelling out GRE.

#battle journals.*#ii / i. hell is empty and all the devils are here.*#are we anywhere near this point in the arc? no #did i write this anyway? absolutely i did

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itsreigns · 5 years

Text

Lost You - Part 1

PART 2

Seth Rollins x Reader

Seth and (Y/N) have been dating for awhile, even moved in together. But Seth has been growing apart from her... failing her. This time, (Y/N) reached her breaking point.

Requested by @tryingtofindaplaceinthisworld

TAG SQUAD:

Another week passed by. Another full week where you barely talked to your own boyfriend. You had only talked to Seth three times. On the goddamn phone. You didn’t even see his face.

Doing the math, you haven’t been with Seth in over three weeks, and apparently, he was ok with that. His apathy, his thoughtless and uncaring attitude felt like stabs, that got deeper and deeper each time. And it definitely didn’t help your insecurity or anxiety.

You’re even thinking about breaking it off. That’s how bad it is currently.

He spent less and less time with you, while he spent more and more time with people on the roster. Especially Becky. And you’re not talking only on-screen. You know for a fact that they’ve been hanging out off-screen. Going to the gym together, going to cafes… You try to shrug it off and trust that your boyfriend is loyal to you, but deep down… God only knows what those two have been up to.

When you and Seth started dating, you’d try and make your days off match his, but now… he just didn’t even make the effort. So you just stopped trying. And lately, you’ve occupied yourself even more with work. You worked as care assistant at a nursing home in town. You learned so much every day, you truly love your job.

Today, it’s Wednesday. Your phone pings at 9:03am. It’s a text from Seth. ‘Gonna be home in 2 hours. See ya.’

“Yeah. Love you too, asshole.” You mumble, hurt once again, as you lock your phone and set it down on the counter.

You’re feeling especially anxious today. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you had a bad feeling about him coming home today. Those 2 hours seemed 2 months. Time just didn’t tick by. But soon enough, he was about to arrive.

Your heart rate skyrocketed as soon as you hear his key entering the door lock, your anxiety kicking in. This is not how it’s supposed to feel when your loved one gets home after time away, that much you’re sure.

Hearing some shuffling on the living room, you figure he’s setting his luggage down, and consequently, almost coming to find you in the kitchen, so you pretend to be busy cooking lunch, chopping some vegetables on the cutting board.

“Hey.” He greets nonchalantly, as he opens the fridge. No kiss, no hug. Nothing.

“Hey.” You reply back, trying to maintain your composure. You can’t afford looking at him right now. You know if you did, you’d break down on the spot, so you just keep on chopping the veggies, with your back turned to him.

“How are you?” He asks, taking a bite in the apple he just picked up and washed.

“Good.” That’s the only thing you manage to say without showing him how broken you were.

“Good.” He mumbles back, his mouth full. “I’m going to take a shower.”

You didn’t bother to reply back. Once you sensed he was out of the room, you dropped the act.. Dropping the knife away on the counter, you lay your arms on it and rest your head on top of them, trying to control your breathing.

‘Smell a flower, blow out a candle. Smell a flower, blow out a candle.’ You kept repeating to yourself.

Finally, you were able to calm yourself down a bit. At least to keep pretending you were ok, and to finish lunch.

You had lunch almost done when you heard his footsteps on the stairs, signaling that he had taken his shower and was coming downstairs. Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself to get through lunch with him.

He enters the room, but you keep on setting up the table, avoiding to look at him. He didn’t say anything either, he just stood there, leaning against the counter, scrolling down his phone.

Suddenly, his phone rings. Truth be told, he barely lets it ring. He picked it up in less than a second. Your heart sank as soon as he spoke.

“Hey Becks!” He greets cheerfully. “Yeah, I just got home.” He listened to her intently, and you felt sick to your stomach. “Yeah, ok. See you in 10, then.” They said their goodbyes, ending the phone call.

Your hands are shaking. Your mind is racing, and you can’t… you simply can’t believe what just happened.

“Hey, look, I’m going to have lunch with Becky and a couple of friends, ok?” He asks, but not really in an asking manner, more of an informing one.

“Okay.” You say, your voice not above a whisper. And he just left.

You sat down on the chair, for God knows how long, just staring at the table, which was perfectly set, waiting for lunch to be served. The lunch you made for yourself and Seth. You had the lunch made, the table set, and he just… left. He didn’t care.

His words kept ringing in your head: ‘I’m going to have lunch with Becky and a couple of friends.’ It almost sounded as if she was the girlfriend and they were going out with some friends.

You feel jealous. But most of all, you feel shattered… broken… hurt.

This is so humiliating. Devastating. Disrespectful. How dare he?

The tears that were burning in your eyes finally set free, and you snapped. You switched the stove off and headed upstairs. Running through the closet, you grab two of your suitcases, the same ones you used to move in, and you start putting your clothes and most needed items in them.

You cried all the way through that chore. You couldn’t stand another minute in this house. This house that used to be your home. Not anymore though.

You were setting the last suitcase on the floor downstairs when Seth arrived from his lunch. Your gaze locked with his for the first since he first got home. He looked confused, hurt even.

“You’ve been crying.” He affirms as soon as he takes in your puffy red eyes, unsure of what to say. You let out a shaky, sarcastic laugh as you avert your gaze from his and go find your purse and your phone. “W-what’s going on? Where are you going?”

“What’s going on? Are you serious?” You ask, very upset as tears start rolling down your cheeks again.

“Yes, I am serious. What happened? Talk to me.” He looks genuinely confused and worried, which is angering you even more.

“Why don’t you go and ask Becky?”

He furrows his brows in both shock and confusion. “Becky? Wha-”

“Maybe she knows what happened, since she is so great and knows everything and is so worthy of the time of your Highness.” You say sarcastically, hurt filling your features. “I’m done feeling like the other woman in my own relationship. So I’m stepping aside. You’re perfect for each other.”

You grab both your suitcases, prepared to head to the front door, but he takes a step towards you, in attempts to pull you into a hug, but you stop him. “Don’t you dare touch me. Or talk to me. Or even look at me. Ever again.” You spit, anger, but mostly pain taking over you.

His shoulders fall down once those words leave your lips. They cut through him like knives. You waited a couple of seconds for him to move, but he didn’t budge, so you walked past him.

“(Y/N)...” He mumbles, as you pass him by, his gaze following your every step. “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll come pick up the rest of my stuff when you’re not here.” You fake a smile, with tears stream down your face as you take a last glance at him.

He didn’t know what to do or say right now. He was frozen. He couldn’t bring himself to run after you or to do anything at all. His emotions just froze him.

Once the door closed, he stood there for awhile, unable to react. He then goes to the kitchen, most likely on autopilot, so he could splash some water on his face.

It’s when he gets there that he finally breaks down.

“Oh (Y/N)...” He whispers to himself, his voice breaking with emotion.

Looking at the perfectly set table, at his favorite dish in the stove, he couldn’t stop the tears and the anger boiling inside of him. He wanted to punish himself. He wanted to break everything. He wanted to run his hands on that table and break everything, but he didn’t because you had done it all with love, for him.

He walks back until his back hits the fridge. He slides down until he’s finally sitting on the floor. Pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them tight, Seth finally lets it all out of his system.

You are his everything. You always were. How could he not see what he had been doing to you? How you were feeling? How could he? He hated himself for failing you. For hurting you.

His flaws kept on running through his mind. His fear of commitment… His own protection shield, also known as pushing people away… Everything.

Why didn’t he just proposed like he planned on doing? He even bought the ring.

Why didn’t he listen to Becky’s advice?

Why did he push you away?

Lots of why’s. And not that many answers.

He only knows three things:

#1 he broke your heart, and #2 you are the love of his life.

The third one, he hopes it’s not too late to change.

#3 he lost you

Give me some feedback please?

Also PART 2?

#seth rollins x reader #seth rollins imagine #seth rollins oneshot #seth rollins one shot #seth rollins fic #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins fanfiction #wwe imagine #wwe oneshot #wwe one shot #wwe fic #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #wwe reader insert

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