#its hidden here but her other arm sleeve thing is meant to have the same pattern as her left shoe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 3 years

Text

( NEVER LET YOU GO. )

You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud. Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t.

(or: Jeon Jungkook’s just as impulsive as you.)

pairing. tattoo artist!jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. slice of life fluff, light smut. explicit (but only at the end).

tags / warnings. mentions of heavily tattooed!JK, casual drinking, tender lovemakin’, JK with the bad jokes, honestly just him being funny and chill like that one guy you never get over...

wc. 7.6k.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif, @papillonsgf, and @yeoldontknow 💛 ty for always indulging me and most importantly, supporting me when i begin to spiral. 🤠

author note. i got this idea into my head one evening in the shower and now... it is this. it’s not your usual bad boy tattoooist!JK fic but i hope you enjoy regardless. as always, feedback means a lot!

You and forethought aren’t close friends. You really aren’t even distant cousins, or part of the same family tree. You consider it a stranger, wave loftily as it passes you by, squinting like you can’t properly make out what it is. Careful consideration? Thoughtful patience? None of that exists for you. At least, not when you really, really want something.

It’s what has you here now, bumbling your way into the tattoo shop like a newborn baby bird.

You wonder how it must look, whether the shop assistant is used to this. Random girl shows up on a Sunday afternoon looking like a fish out of water, eager yet afraid. By how she greets you - with a curious stare and not quite a smile - you’re sure she is.

“Do you take walk-ins?”

You’d meant to make an appointment. Had sat for hours on the shop’s Instagram page, combing through the residents’ portfolios, trying to decide who to reach out to. When you’d finally decided, you’d realised books were a thing and most of them were closed. (Just your luck.)

Still, it never hurt to try, right?

“Everyone’s fully booked.” The girl sounds bored, apathetic yet genial. (You don’t blame her.) By the way her stare swings over you, it feels like a dismissal. You’re ready to admit defeat - head half-bowed, words draped over your tongue. “But our apprentice might be able to squeeze you in.”

An apprentice? Well— that’s not exactly what you’d been hoping for, but this shop is reputable. Well-known. Considered one of the best in the city. Surely their apprentice would be fine. Just less seasoned, not as experienced.

You all but snap your neck nodding along, gratitude tumbling out in the form of awkward laughter. “That’d be great!”

The girl passes you off with a nod of her head, gesturing down the hall. “Last room on the left. His name’s Jungkook. His schedule says he’s all clear, but maybe knock before you go in.” It’s not the sunniest smile you’ve ever received, but the small thing she offers helps with the nerves. Stills them beneath your skin as you do as you’re told.

“Jungkook?” There’s not really anywhere to knock, every wall neatly frosted glass and no doors in sight. (You had passed a few folding screens but otherwise, it’s open concept, each room offering a glimpse into the artist who works inside.) It feels too disruptive to tap your knuckles on one glass pane, lest it interrupt someone else.

(His studio is minimally decorated but inviting: one big cabinet; two of those typical IKEA shelves in the 4x4 grid that every new homeowner and their mother have; and a shop table, upon which a black backpack sits. Various plants dress the room - both hanging from the ceiling and along the window - and Polaroids string over walls, held aloft by twine. A Roomba sits by itself in a corner and the tattoo bed dominates most of the space, positioned closer to the dividing wall; one teeny tiny rolling chair sits beside it. There’s a bench on your left, with a pair of Birkenstocks tucked beneath. All in all, very homey. Reminiscent of your own apartment.)

Hidden behind the bed, crouched low to the ground beside the cabinet, is a head of dark hair that speaks, drawing your attention from studying the cozy space. “Oh?”

You’re not expecting the face that turns to you, all big doe eyes and the sweetest dimples.

For a moment, you forget what you’re here for. Why you’re standing in the empty door frame, staring down at the guy like you’ve spent your entire life secluded and have no idea how to speak.

The longer you’re quiet, the more his concern seems to grow, single brow disappearing into his inky fringe. It hangs in his vision at certain angles, shields the brightness of his stare with each turn of his chin. “Are you okay?” He’s even risen - stopped what he was doing - so he can see you more clearly, without any obstruction in the way. Good for him, but worse for you.

He’s so cute. Were you prepared to look like an uncertain idiot in front of this… angel?

“Y-yeah.” You manage after what feels like forever, sweeping your nerves under the rug that sits on the floor, separates the sole of his sneakers from hard concrete. “Um— I was told you might have some time? For, uh, a walk-in?”

(Why’re you stuttering? You’re never shy. Or rather, you’re not this nervous mess. People have always called you an extrovert, outgoing as hell, a social butterfly.)

(You aren’t those things but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.)

“Oh!” Realisation dawns across his features, throws his kind smile into greater relief, and you have to actively tell yourself not to stare, tearing your gaze away to focus on the wall of stencils past his shoulder. He moves into motion then, stepping around the bed to meet you still rooted in the doorway. “Yeah, I’ve got time. Come in.” Up close like this - there’s only maybe two feet between you - you can make out the little scar on his cheek; the tiny beauty mark below his bottom lip; each individual lash that frames his Bambi eyes and flutters when he blinks. “I probably can’t draw you anything new right now but I’ve got some flash, if you’re interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, you don’t think you’d say no. You were always a sucker for a cute boy and this Jungkook? He was that. In spades.

“Sure.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” He’s retreating back into the room, moving to grab his iPad off the far table. It’s balanced on his arm when he swivels to you, prominent front teeth on full display. “I’ve got a pretty big selection.”

When he drops onto the bench - a wayward vine above his head tickling his cheek - he gestures to the spot beside him. This time, you don’t stare for a stupid amount of time, instead taking up the seat without hesitation.

“So—” He’s swiping through the photo library with his Apple Pen. You’re sure there are pretty sketches on the screen - you just can’t focus on them, too preoccupied by the artwork that crawls across his hand and into the sleeve of his oversized, well-worn shirt. It’s an intricate chrysanthemum, impossibly well-shaded with bold colours that demand attention and stand out over his fair complexion; it creeps halfway up the back of his hand to tickle over his knuckles. He notes your attention with a quiet chuckle, fingers wiggling. The ink moves, flows, ripples with the motion, before his hand relaxes, knuckles unravelling as he offers the limb to you and your curiosity. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible.” It really is. You’ve never seen anything like it, as if a painting has been done across his skin, laid in watercolour rather than tattoo ink. “Did it hurt?”

(You almost want to hit yourself for the stupid question. Of course it did. It’s a hand tattoo.)

Jungkook only laughs again, doesn’t hold it against you despite the verbal barrage you’re faced with internally. “Like crazy, but it was worth it. This was my first tattoo and all the rest have just sort of been—” He shrugs, fabric of his shirt bunching around his collar.

“A piece of cake?” You can only imagine.

“Exactly.”

You nod thoughtfully, as if that means anything to you. (It doesn’t. You’re bare as a baby’s bottom, blemish free save for the occasional hellish pimple and the scar you have from surgery on your hand when you broke parts of it in sixth grade.)

If he can tell you’re talking out of your ass, he says nothing, redirecting your attention back to the iPad propped on his lap. “Do any of these interest you?” He’s resumed scrolling, swiping carefully through pages of flash. There are assorted floral pieces (plum stems, lily stalks, fully bloomed mums) and various skeletons (what looks like a deer, a dragon, a wolf). They’re mostly blackwork with fine lines and heavy contrast, so wonderfully detailed you spend too much time studying one piece before he’s flipping to the next.

“That one.” It catches your eye more than the others have. Likely because it’s one of the few pieces in colour, soft hues spilling over neat lines. A pretty little cat with a braided collar, big golden bell centered beneath its head, unravelling petals sweeping around it.

“You like cats?”

You do. “She looks like mine.”

“It’s settled.” He beams then, rising so quickly you’re startled; you watch as he moves around the space with decisive steps, putting your plan into motion. A paper is pulled seemingly out of nowhere, laid on a wooden clipboard and offered with a blue ballpoint pen. “If you can fill all of this out, I can get the stencil ready.”

Well, that was easy. Somehow, you’d thought it’d be more complicated, a ton of back and forth and yes and no. You can’t deny you’re nervous, staring down at the consent form.

(It doesn’t mean you read it any more than you normally would, though. You gloss over all the points, making note of what you’re agreeing to without really considering any of it. You’ve wanted a tattoo for most of your life. There’s really no going back now.)

(You just hope it turns out like you want - that you’re not just being blindsided by a sudden superficial crush and a lack of critical thought.)

“I think I’m done,” you mumble, slashing the date into the paper with gusto.

“Do you have your ID?” You’ve got it ready for him when he returns to take both it and the form. “I’m just going to make copies and then we can discuss more.”

He’s gone with that same smile, disappearing back the way you’d come.

Alone, the nerves set in. You’re actually doing this. Getting a tattoo. Putting something permanent on your body. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once, shaking your hands in your lap. Maybe you should’ve eaten more before you’d come. (You’d woken up late - had only shoved two pieces of raisin pinwheel bread into your mouth before you’d made up your mind about this.)

(But had you really made up your mind? Was this going to be it? It feels mostly like yes, though the repetitive thud of your toe against concrete seems to indicate otherwise. It’s as if you’re tapping out something in morse, telling yourself—)

“Okay!” Jungkook’s back before you know it, driver’s license returned to you along with an unsealed envelope. You eye it curiously. “A copy of your form and an aftercare sheet.”

He’s really thought of everything. Or the shop has. Either way, you appreciate that when you’re not so sure, caught somewhere between giddily excited and vaguely worried, as if someone’s pulled a weight off your shoulders, taken on some of the burden of this spontaneous choice.

“So, where do you want it?” It’s like he has a one track mind, utterly focused on the task at hand. (Probably a good thing, given you’re about to voluntarily let him needle your poor skin.)

You hadn’t thought about that. You’d always liked the idea of a back of the arm tattoo, positioned somewhere along your tricep so it could be seen while turned away. “My arm?”

“Upper? Forearm?” There’s not an ounce of annoyance or exasperation or anything else negative. He’s just genuinely curious, peering over his shoulder at you.

“Tricep area, I think? Would that look good?”

“If you like it, it will.” Then he grins - beams so bright you half expect the sun to come zooming out of his mouth - and laughs, a funny little cackle that makes you do the same. “I’m kidding. That was cheesy. But I’m sure it’ll look fine. We can try laying it down first, so you get an idea?”

“That sounds good.” A lot better than endless years of regret for poor placement.

“You’ll, uh— need to take your shirt off though.”

It’s then you realise your mistake: wearing a turtleneck. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, then another, and he smiles so kindly you wonder what your expression must look like. Sour, like you’d sucked fresh lemon? Awkward, as if you’d never worn anything less than double layers before (a proud Never Nude)?

“If you’re uncomfortable, we can reschedule. Or I can put a divider up so you don’t have to worry about being seen from outside. Whatever you’d prefer.”

The longer you stay quiet - a seemingly common occurrence today - the closer his brows furrow, preparations coming to a standstill. You can tell he’s not trying to rush you, politely waiting for an answer with transfer paper in one hand and scissors in the other.

(If only he could peek into your brain, see the whole reason you’re hesitating is because you can’t quite remember which bra you’re wearing, whether it’s the slinky black one that offers absolutely zero support or the lacy blue one with the cute detailing and practically see-through cups.)

(Did it really matter either way? He was probably desensitized.)

“It’s fine.” You find the confidence somehow, nodding firmly. Jungkook’s still studying you carefully, though. Waiting as you strip your purse off your shoulder and reach for the hem of your sweater. It feels funny in your fingers, more like steel wool than sheep’s.

One breath. Two.

You fold your turtleneck neatly, laying it beside your bag and turning back to face him. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“So, which arm?” He’s close now - crossed to you in two strides of his long legs - and holds up the stencil.

Your right rises, fingers wiggling as if to say hello.

He lays the design down, pats it into place with deft fingers. You don’t realise the breath you’re holding until he pulls the sticky paper away, leaving neat line work in its wake.

“Oh.” It slips out of its own accord, almost a whisper as you stare at the design in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

There’s pride in his eyes as he stares with you, bounces his gaze between it and your face. “Thanks.” He lets you linger, peering thoughtfully at your reflection before speaking, casually hopeful. “What do you think?”

“This is it. Right here.”

Maybe he’d fist pump, if he were any less cool. As it stands, he simply nods, cheeks round like fresh baked bread, nose scrunched with glee.

“All right. We’ll shave you down and get started. You like the colours, right?” Once again, he’s buzzing around the room, gathering up all his materials and snapping black gloves on once everything is laid out upon his cart. It’s heavily stickered, covered in video game vinyls and anime mattes. (You recognise a handful of them, make a note to ask him where he got them from.) He pats the tissue papered bed top when you make no movement toward him. “Hop on up. Face down, if that’s okay.”

You do as he says, climbing atop with minimal grace. It takes you a bit of adjusting to get comfortable, folding your left arm under your head and allowing your right to simply dangle, uncertain of where it should be.

“You’re sparkly.”

“What?” You’d misheard that, right?

“Your skin. You’re sparkling.” He sounds a little in awe, surprised as wetness spills across your arm, the edge of a razor following closely thereafter.

“Oh.” Heat creeps over your cheeks, slinks all the way up into your roots and has you chuckling awkwardly. “It’s my soap.”

“Sparkle soap?” Whether he’s just making conversation or genuinely curious, you’re not sure. He does seem delighted by the fact, though, as if he’s never seen a girl covered in glitter before. (Which, fair.)

“It’s this specialty holiday soap. It has pigment in it.”

“That’s cool.” He’s laying the stencil down again, smoothing it over your now-hairless arm. “It smells nice.”

Obviously, you agree. It’s honey and citrus, brightly fragrant but not overpowering, lingering on your clothes like the subtle golden glitter does. Still, you flush, heat crossing from a casual day under the sun to burning-on-the-stove hot. “Thanks.”

“Was that weird? I hope not.”

“No, you’re fine.”

He hums a tiny noise, something that sounds like understanding and appreciation all at once.

Then the buzzing starts - a steady, inescapable brrrrrrrrr - and he’s gripping your arm, steady yet gentle. “Ready?”

Honestly, you’re not sure. Hearing the noise makes it seem scary, has your entire body tensing up like Pavlov’s dog. Your honesty can’t be helped, a nervous giggle chased off your tongue. “I think so.”

“I think so too.”

By the time you’re done - a good almost five hours later, your arm stinging so bad you wonder why you’d ever sat down in the first place - you’d fallen asleep twice, started drooling on your other arm once, and really, really have to pee.

“All right—”“ The incessant buzzing stops. Liquid spills where the pain centres, followed by rougher paper towel. “You are finished.”

(You might be imagining it, but he sounds about as relieved as you. Maybe because you’d been sitting for hours on hours, turning down his offer for a break because you just wanted to get it done and therefore forcing him to do the same.)

“Can I see?” You don’t want to leap to your feet - feel a bit too lightheaded for that - but you’re bouncing with excitement, the thrumming in your arm intensified when you shift to catch a better look at Jungkook’s face.

“Yeah, go ahead. Just be careful - you might be a bit—”

He’s right. You nearly topple over the moment you stand, none-too-gently rolling off the edge of the bed and barely landing safely on your feet. It’s only his close proximity that prevents you from falling to your knees, one degloved hand darting out to steady you.

“Careful!” It’s politely reproachful, coloured soft with worry.

“Sorry, sorry.” You seize the edge of the bed, gripping tight as you wait for everything to settle, the lightheadedness to recede. Everything straightens out quickly enough. “Got up too quickly.”

“Do you need a snack?” He’s already up, moving faster than you, rummaging through the cabinet against the far wall. “I’ve got seaweed and Choco Boys and shrimp chips and—”

You can’t help but laugh, hobbling to the mirror to inspect your new piece of art. “I’m fine.” That, and you’re too occupied with the ink that now sits embedded beneath your skin, a flurry of lovely colour and impressive line work.

“Choco Boys it is then.” The familiar yellow package is thrust toward you, a pack of his own already ripped open. Mushroom-shaped treats are tossed into his open mouth, lips curling around chocolate and his next words, “it’ll help with your sugar levels.”

A thank you comes, fingers curling around the snacks, but you’re still in deep, so focused on the lovely hue that bleeds over your skin, marks up previously unblemished flesh and holds your attention. It’s better than you could’ve possibly imagined, a piece of artwork forever yours. It makes you giddy as you stare at it - almost reach for it, but stop when you catch the alarmed widening of Jungkook’s eyes.

“You like?”

“I love.” You’d stare at it for hours, if you could. Likely will, once you get home, sitting in front of the mirror like a zombie. “Thank you so, so much.”

The brunet beams as he polishes off the last of his Choco Boys, tossing his dark hair back with a flick of his head. Triumph rolls off him in palpable waves, sitting pretty in the lines by his eyes, the scrunching around his nose. Seeing how it blooms in his stare is like a straight endorphin shot, as if you’ve done more than just be the canvas he’s laid all his hard work into. ��It was a pleasure.”

It’s a whole month later - enough time for the piece to heal - before you decide you want another one. It’s not as spontaneous as the first time, instead led with an Instagram direct message to @jeonink. (You half expect him not to answer; you’re utterly delighted when he responds not five minutes later.)

Maybe it’s fate or maybe it’s luck that has him with availability the same day you reach out, bringing you back to the studio three hours after you’ve messaged him.

He’s just as cute as before, black baseball cap pulled low over his ears, silver-lined ears twinkling beneath the shop lights.

“So, what’re you thinking?”

Truthfully, you hadn’t done much thinking. Just like before, you’d decided you wanted a tattoo and, well, the rest had been history. You figured you’d let him have free reign, given how happy you were with your first piece. “A sleeve?”

That surprises him. His whole face lights up, eyes wide, mouth rounding curiously. “Like, a full sleeve?” It’s not necessarily a no - more of an are you sure? he hides between the syllables.

“I think so.”

He nods slowly, knowingly, arms folded over his chest, expression suddenly unreadable. “You caught the itch.”

Your own features twist, brows shooting high. “The what?”

“The tattoo itch,” he clarifies with a laugh, the sound sweeping your concern away like the sea. “People say once you get one, you get addicted to the feeling.” He’s extending both arms to you now, hands palm up. For a moment, you’re note sure what he’s doing. (In actuality, you’re distracted by the fact that he’s in a tee, muscle cording his limbs, undulating as he turns his arms over.) “I got bit by it when I lived in Japan. It’s actually what got me into tattooing myself.”

You remember what he’d said last time - how he’d spent a handful of years overseas, working in restaurants after having followed his last partner there. He’d shared lots about his life, giving you the Sparknotes version while you’d ground enamel to fine dust.

“I guess I have the itch then.”

“Guess you do.”

Your dream comes to life in four excruciating sessions. It’s some of the worst pain you’ve ever endured (you’re never going to get an elbow tattoo ever again) but you’d do it all again in a heartbeat, utterly in love with the mural that now lives on your skin. A peony caps your shoulder while one runs halfway up your bicep. Another takes up the entirety of your forearm. There’s a darling little bird and delicately inked koi. It’s breathtaking, greater than anything you could have dreamt up.

You’ve been staring at it for at least three minutes now, tracing over the freshly laid colour with a tender touch. You’re grateful for the SecondSkin, the clear bandage that wraps everything up and keeps it safe from your over eager hands.

“You did it.” Jungkook’s grinning at you, feet kicked up where he sits, his usual bag of Choco Boys balanced in his lap. “Big girl.”

From anyone else, it might sound condescending - might rub you the wrong way and have you glaring daggers. Instead, you take it in stride, beaming at him from your seat. He’s been there with you every step of the way, been there for every hour (seventeen over three months, to be exact) you’ve dedicated to finishing this beauty up. Tease you as he might, you know he really is proud of you.

“You mean we did it,” you return, giddy like a child.

“Ah, right.” The chocolate-covered snack he’s devouring goes crunch crunch crunch before he speaks, mouth still full, eyes crinkled. “I guess I did do all the work.”

“Hey! Screw you!” You’re glowering at him, middle finger raised in defiance.

(How curious that your relationship has grown like this, turned from tattoo artist and client to what feels like more. It probably makes sense, given the long hours you’ve spent together, the support he’s had to offer each time the pain has gotten this side of too much, chattering your teeth and dizzying your head. Solidarity in pain and all that.)

(You really had tapped out once, when he’d crept his gun into the ditch of your elbow. You’d asked him whether it’d hurt beforehand and he’d only laughed, shrugged off the question and continued with the careful shading to your inner arm. That in itself had hurt like a biiitch; you hadn’t thought it could get worse.)

(You’d been mistaken.)

“Am I wrong?” He drawls, full of laughter and that big dumb smile of his you’ve grown accustomed to. It eats up his cheeks and disappears his eyes, makes it hard to be mad at him when he looks so sweet.

“Yes, you are.” You’ve got absolutely nothing to back it up, but who cares. This is the sort of banter the two of you have developed, like two old friends forced to spend too much time together. (Not that you’d complain. You’ve loved hearing his stories, all the tales he regales you with whenever you’re in his chair.)

A snort is his answer, the full roll of his eyes over-exaggerated and playful. “You’re lucky we’re all finished or I’d sneak in an ugly fish somewhere on your arm.”

You think he’s kidding - know he takes too much pride in his work to do that.

Still, you stick your tongue out, hopping down from the bed with your freshly inked arm, hands clapping together in celebration. “You wouldn’t dare.” You’re confident, crossing to the bench to tug your flannel on, careful of the dull pain that throbs beneath the thin medical dressing.

“Wouldn’t I? I’m leaving anyway.”

You’re ready to call him out for it, insist he would never ruin the sanctity of his profession in such a way, when you realise the words he’s spoken, the casual tidbit he’s just dropped like it’s nothing.

“Leaving?”

(Is it you or do you sound disappointed? You can’t dwell on it for long, worried you’ll miss his explanation. Had he mentioned it previously? Slipped it in when you’d been delirious from pain? No, you would’ve remembered that. You swear you would’ve.)

“I’m moving to Tokyo.” How he’s so casual, you have absolutely no idea. You suppose it’s not a big deal for him - he’s not from here anyway. Home is back in Korea, the place he’d spent most of his life before moving to Japan and then here, just two years ago. (God, your memory is good. If only you’d retained knowledge like this when you were in school.) “My flight’s next weekend.”

Your face must be hilarious because Jungkook’s laughing, cackling like the evil villain in an anime.

“Gonna miss me?”

Would it be inappropriate to say yes? Because you will, you realise the moment he’s posed the question. You’ve grown to consider him a friend, someone who you send random memes to on Instagram (usually pertaining to #tattooartistproblems or one of your shared hobbies, like video games and finding the best noodle soup restaurant in the city).

You go for the safe bet, answering with a question of your own. “Are you gonna miss me?”

“I’ll miss your restaurant recs,” he answers, offering honesty to your reticence. “You can still send me funny photos though.”

You can’t help your laugh, the tiny quirk of your mouth into a smile. “I guess you’re right. Will you still be tattooing?” It’s an innocent enough question - you really do want to know. You can’t imagine going to anyone else, even if it means you’ll be shelling out an absurd amount of money for a plane ticket.

“Yep, new shop.” Something twinkles in his stare, has him giddy as he rises to his feet, tossing his empty packet of snacks into the trash bin. “Actually, where I got most of mine done.” You understand it then - that it’s a move of faith. He’s finally come full circle. You’re unbelievably happy for him, brimming with delight to mirror his pride.

But you’re still going to give him a little bit of a hard time because you have to. It wouldn’t feel right otherwise. “Whoa, big shot.”

“I am actually,” he sniffs, raking an ink-strewn hand through his hair. It’s longer now than it was when you met him, curling over the tops of his ears, hanging in his eyes at every turn. “You’ll be lucky if I remember you when I’m famous.”

“Famously lame, maybe,” you tease, slipping your bag over your shoulder. You busy yourself pulling your keys from the interior pocket, checking your phone as if you’re ready to go. It’s only when you’re standing in the hallway - you have no real intention of departing like this and he knows that, considering you haven’t paid yet - when you level him with a half-formed smirk. “But I guess I should take you for a drink?”

His hoodie is on before you know it, yanked over his head and tugged into place as he joins you. It’s become your regular routine - leaving together after your sessions, a perk of always booking the last slot he has available. (Not that you relied on that, but simply because your work schedule didn’t really allow for anything else.) “Obviously.”

Jeon Jungkook is a talented artist, a dedicated snacker, a lover of the colour black. You discover, sitting on the patio of the nearby bar, that he’s also really, really good at holding his liquor.

(Not that he’d ever indicated otherwise.)

“Do you think you’ll get anything else done?” He’s on his sixth pint, casually leaned back in his chair as he picks at the fries you’d ordered but that he seems perfectly happy to help himself to. (Payback for all the times he’s forced snacks on you maybe?) “Like, a face tattoo?”

You scoff at the question as if greatly offended. “You think I’d get a face tattoo?”

While a little glazed in the eyes, you can tell he’s altogether coherent, grinning across the table at you. “Hey, I don’t judge. You like making surprise decisions, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Okay, so he’s got you there. Used your own impulsive history against you. “I would never.”

“If you change your mind, do I get first dibs?”

“Dibs on what? Tattooing me?”

He nods as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “Duh.”

You can only roll your eyes, tossing a wayward burnt fry end at him. “Yes, Kook, you get first dibs on ruining my face.”

His expression twists, mouth shaping around words he’s keeping caged behind his teeth. There’s something he isn’t saying, a comeback he’s chosen to lock up. You wonder what it is.

“Hey - nothing wrong with face tattoos.”

“Really?” You’re leaning forward, a clear challenge written across your face. “Then why don’t you have one?” He has a million others as it is: a hand, nearly the entirety of both arms, his chest, his shoulders, one of his legs. (You haven’t seen them all in person but you have seen them online, memorialised on his Instagram feed.)

“And hide all this?” One inked hand is gesturing toward his own face, gesticulating wildly as if that’ll drive his point further home. “I would never.”

“That’s what I said!”

It doesn’t matter to him, not when he’s fully sober and most certainly not now, when he’s slightly buzzed, eyes glossier than usual. “But I’m cuter. It’d be a shame if it were me. You…” The way he trails off is suggestive, indicative of something mocking and mean. (Except it’s never cruel - far too friendly and soft to ever hurt your feelings.) “—not so much.”

Another fry hits him right between the eyes and then another disappears into the hood of his sweater, lost to the black fabric that bunches up around his neck and hides the flush he’s been battling since you two got to the bar an hour ago.

“Don’t be rude!”

He beams at you then, so unnecessarily endearing you can only throw one more piece at him.

“I’m kidding.” You knew that already but pretend to ignore the pseudo-apology, choosing instead to polish off the last of your now-cold fries. A bad choice, you realise when he continues, surprising you with the words that come out of his liquor-laden mouth so much so that you almost choke. “You’re actually pretty cute.”

(So what if you’ve sort of maybe been waiting to hear them? Wondering if the tiny crush you’d developed was in some way reciprocated?)

(Not that this meant it was. Only that you perhaps weren’t alone in thinking he was the most lovable - and somehow simultaneously hot - person you’d ever met. It’s almost rewarding to know the long hours together hadn’t left him unscathed.)

“You all good?” The look on his face is worse than that smile he usually offers, instead a devilish smirk that makes him look like Satan himself.

Were you? You’re not sure.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Really? You can’t?” You’re not sure what that means, whether you’re simply reading too far into it. But then he’s dragging his bottom lip through his teeth, head cocked curiously. It’s a bait, you realise—and one you’ll gladly take.

“Should I have expected it?”

Shoulders hike, rising up around his ears. “I thought I made it sort of obvious.”

Had he? Thinking back on it, you can’t really recall. Of course, he’d always been friendly, indulging you in your pursuit of body art, sketching up the loveliest things you’d never even think to dream of; accepting your distracting Instagram messages without complaint, always tossing you a like or some sort of acknowledgement no matter what you’d send (and you’d send some random, random stuff). Chatting with him daily had just become the norm, conversation flowing freely whenever you’d pop in for your next session.

But that was just because he was a nice guy - or so you’d thought. You realise now how wrong you’d been, too occupied with your own crush to notice his (if it could be called that).

“You like me,” you hum, surprisingly nonchalant despite the little pitter patter in your chest, the flutter of your heart within your ribcage.

“I think you’re cute,” he retorts, though there’s no real weight to his rebuff. The two statements are really one and the same and you’re giddy with the knowledge, absolutely tickled pink.

Except for the fact that he’s leaving, fully prepared to start a new life in another city in just one week. The irony isn’t lost on you, like fate’s laughing even as she offers you this little crumb. (You feel like Oliver Twist, frankly.)

“Same difference.”

He huffs - you’re reminded of how adorable he is when he does that - and downs the lukewarm remainder of his beer. “I take it back.”

“No, you don’t.” Where the confidence comes from, who knows. You grip it tight with both hands though, hold it snugly as you level him with a stare that has his own unwavering. It’s almost as if you’re caught in a staring match, a battle of unspoken wits.

It drags on longer than it should, just the two of you locked to each other with nowhere to go.

Then he does the last thing you expect: shoves his chair aside and leans across the table, stealing a kiss and returning to his seat, all in the span of time it takes you to blink.

(His lips are so soft. A little chapped, a tiny bit dry, but soft - deceptively delicate. Bitter, touched with sea salt and something else distinctly him. French fries and beer and his Chapstick.)

(For the briefest moment, you wonder whether you’d just imagined it - if your imagination had truly gotten the best of you and you’ve absolutely lost your mind.)

“You just kissed me.” It seems like you’ve found your new favourite hobby of just repeating things, giving live play-by-plays like an awkward narrator in a romcom.

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re leaving.” Speaking the words into existence feels bad; you see the way his eyes tighten, the subtle sobering of his expression even while he tries to keep his cool.

“I am.” At least he’s realistic. It saves you from any uncertainty, keeping the what-ifs at bay.

You suppose it means you have nothing to lose.

“Do it again.”

And Jungkook does - over and over, sinking the taste of him almost as deeply as ink, offering a piece of himself you want to keep for just as long.

It takes you longer to add to your collection of art, nearly four whole years before you decide what you want next. (It’s a back piece this time - a full body suit from your shoulders down past your ass. Another cat, dressed in traditional Japanese clothing and surrounded by flowers. An ode to your first tattoo, to the one that had started it all.)

(You’re not sure you’re ready for the pain, though.)

“Lay down,” the artist instructs, back turned to you, busy preparing his materials. You’d stripped down while he was occupied, discarded all your clothes to the allocated basket and stood quietly in anticipation.

You do as he says, dropping atop the tattoo bed with a quiet oof. The stencil has already been laid, the entire outline ready to be inked into your skin. You can’t deny you’re more than a little nervous. It’s been years since you’d last gotten anything done, uninterested in finding a new artist since Jungkook had left.

(Which he had, exactly as he’d intended, gone on a 6 AM flight that you’d driven him to, teary-eyed and embarrassed. He’d laughed at you standing outside of the departure gate, his suitcase at his side, arms wrapped around your shoulders. You’d refused to show your face, burying it instead into the warmth of his neck, into the familiar scent of him that was going away for who knows how long.

“Stop being a baby,” he’d said, smothering you in kisses, the full weight of his laughter palpable through your close proximity. It'd rumbled out of his chest all the way into yours, finding a home behind your ribcage, right alongside where your heart fluttered, shaded blue and sad.

“Stop being mean,” you’d countered, petulant like a child.

It couldn’t be helped. You’d had only one week with him - one glorious, chaotic week filled with eating too much junk, rewatching your favourite animes, and generally making up for all the lost time you’d never even known there was. As amazing as it’d been, it still hadn’t prepared you for the goodbye.

That was your fault, though. You’d wrongly entertained the idea that maybe things would work out, that he’d change his mind or ask to take it - whatever you had, that is - with him, keep it going somehow. He hadn’t.)

“Do you have a preference where I start?” You’re unbothered, hair loosely knotted over your shoulder. Ready for the session to start - ready to feel the familiar sting again. (You’re proud of that. It might have taken you years and years but here you were, tackling something huge.)

“Nope.”

“Sounds good.”

The buzzing begins and pressure lands upon the small of your back, a gloved hand laid over the centre of your spine. You remind yourself to breathe in, out, focus on something other than the pain that fizzles over your skin and then ebbs into tenderness. Where he’s started - just above the fattiest part of your butt - isn’t too bad. Tolerable and yielding.

You can do this.

Your back aches in a different way than you’d anticipated, soreness buzzing beneath inflamed skin and making it uncomfortable to move around. It’s not any worse than your arm had been - the lines along your spine had felt comparable to that of your elbow - but it’s fresh, not dulled by years like your sleeve now was.

The artist is stripping his gloves off, your back neatly covered and the bed stripped of its original tissue paper. He’s leaned against the sink, onigiri held in his now-free hands, nibbling at the edge of the rice ball as you turn this way and that in the mirror. “You did good.”

You’re still undressed, admiring the linework from different angles, shimmying closer to your reflection to catch the lighter inking that makes up the undefined edges of the various florals. Something tells you that you should be shy - eager to redress after spending nearly five hours naked in the secluded studio - but you don’t care. Your back is quickly becoming a masterpiece, something that might as well be hung in the halls of the Louvre. You’re in love with it.

“Thanks.”

You mean thank you for his compliment but also for all his hard work, the long hours he’s put into bringing this beauty to life. It means so much - like progressing to the next level.

Which, you suppose it is. This is a fresh start for you. A new beginning in a new city.

“Proud of you,” he hums, suddenly close, broad palms searing heat over your hips. He’s careful to avoid the edge of the bandage that wraps your back and holds you delicately, like fine china or the most precious jewel in the world, lips sweet against your temple.

You meet his eyes in the mirror - the same sweet doe-eyed stare from five years ago. A little darker now, aged by the hand of time but endlessly kind, shining beneath the overhead lights.

“Proud of you,” you chirp, identical smiles spreading over your faces.

Jungkook’s having none of it though, bratty as usual. “Proud of us.”

You suppose you can settle for that. You really are proud of the two of you - for how far you’ve made it and all the obstacles you’ve overcome. From the first few weeks of sadness, all the melancholy that’d set in when he’d left, to exactly one month after, when he’d called you in the middle of the night, drunk and stumbling home.

(It’d been infuriating at the time - incoherent and foolish as he was - but it’d bloomed something between you, something neither of you could ignore.)

Four years of miserable long distance had become this: a love that's brought you back to his side, to a city you’re unfamiliar with but that he calls home; to a city that never sleeps, loud with pachinko machines and some of the best food you’ve ever had; to the place you’ve been missing every minute you were apart.

You’d never thought you would move for someone, uproot your entire life for a relationship, but he’d changed that. Made it worth it in ways you had never considered. Convinced you more and more with each trip you’d taken, two visits twice a year, for a measly two weeks at a time.

“Should we head home?” He means your physical home - the apartment the two of you had decided on in Roppongi, the one you haven’t seen yet, that he’s had to move into all by himself. It’s not quite as nice as the home in his arms.

You say yes anyway.

“I’m so talented.” The words come entirely too whole for your liking, loud somewhere above your head.

“Are you serious?” You’re levelling your boyfriend with the most incredulous look, whole face scrunched up, hands fisted into his dark sheets. It’s uncomfortable at this angle - kinking your neck as you look over your shoulder - but you really can’t believe he’s just said that. He’s knelt between your legs, knees spread wide around his own, his hand halfway up your back and tracking heat over your spine.

Somehow, he has the audacity to look surprised. “What?”

“You’re really patting yourself on the back right now?” Now, when he should be pounding you into oblivion, working that big fat cock of his through your fluttering walls, making you moan his name into his pillows like it’s his only job?

(It truthfully could be. You’d rank his skills in the bedroom on par with his skills in the studio.)

“Oh.” All at once, he’s the devil - sin personified. Or would be, if he didn’t somehow still look infuriatingly cute.

The gentle touch turns bruising, heel of his palm pressed hard into the tender notches of your spine. “You don’t like when I admire my own work?” Asked as he shifts behind you, length dragging out of your dripping cunt to gently tap against your aching clit. The head of it glides through your folds, mercilessly teasing but never slipping back in, never filling you whole like you need. (Because you really do need it. You haven’t seen him in six months, left to your own devices - literally.) It feels like heaven and hell, too good and not nearly enough all at once.

“Kook,” you snap. Try to, anyway, his name far too whiny and breathless to hold any real weight.

“I’m just admiring you, sweetheart.” He’s dragging the hand over your back, tracing all the lines he’s embedded into your skin. They make up his favourite piece, inked permanently into his favourite canvas. A testament to his hard work, his dedication, his love.

Any other time, you might not care. Here and now, after not having felt his touch in what feels like forever, you’re burning from the inside out, a million volts of electricity tripping your circuits. When you speak, it’s more a plea than a reprimand, uttered so sweetly you know he can’t deny you. “Admire me later.”

“I’ve missed you” is his only answer, punctuated by a fluid roll of his hips, the heavy press of his cock back into your dripping cunt. “I’ve missed this,” he breathes out, sinking all the way in, so slow you can feel every ridge and vein as he fills you.

“Missed you too,” you parrot back, a little delirious now that you’ve gotten what you want.

Now that he’s right where he should be - with you.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @xjoonchildx

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ladyeliot · 3 years

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Are you happy? [1/2]

Part 2

Pairing: Ex!Chris Evans x Fem!Reader

Summary: After almost two years without seeing each other, fate brings you together again, each of you has your own reason for the reunion, which brings your feelings to the surface again.

Warnings: Angst. Ex-friends / Ex-partner.

Word count: 3411

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

The decision wandered through your mind trying to be made as you sat inside the car with a head full of doubts. You couldn't help but lean back in the driver's seat closing your eyes, letting out a slight sigh between your lips. Guilt was present in you and you couldn't explain why, for in your thoughts was present that you had committed, or were about to commit, any act bordering on recklessness. Two months had passed since your parting, and though you tried to forget him you could not get him out of your thoughts, yet, though you were no longer together as such, your reasoning informed you that you were not acting rightly, and that fact might have been caused by the feelings your heart still harboured for him.

Finally, after a few minutes of meditation, you opened your eyelids and let the brightness of that morning in the small Massachusetts town into your eyes, but quickly covered your face with the palms of your hands, letting a sound of frustration escape from within you. You couldn't stay there any longer, hidden inside the car, so a mere decisive nod of the head emphasised your acceptance of the proposition Chris had made to you a few weeks ago, and with such firmness you placed his right hand on the knob and opened the car door. The coldness of the weather fell upon you, sending a shiver from the back of his neck to the tips of your toes, but the quietness of the street relaxed you, for what you feared most at that moment was that the press would report your presence there with your companion, causing a halo of fabricated stories to reach the ears of the world. Thus, and obviating any negative thoughts, you put on your sunglasses before you started your way to the charming pastry café, looking again at your watch and fearing for your tardiness, for the decision had taken you thirty minutes, Chris would have disappeared from there.

As you approached the shop you realised that it had hardly changed since the last time you came, the glass panes on the front of the shop revealed a variety of sweet and savoury pastries, accompanied by a tantalising raspberry scent. Small tulips decorated the front door, where a wooden sign informed you that the shop was open and at your disposal. You couldn't help but take a deep breath of air before you decided to push open the glass door, before you were grateful for the warmth that opened up in contrast to the cold of Massachusetts.

You removed the cap from your head and smiled immediately as a young woman approached you with a friendly expression on her face, inviting you to step inside and take a seat. Gently you thanked her for her kindness as you unbuttoned each button of your coat. It took you only a few seconds to scan the place with your eyes, evidently to look for him, and you found him, at your table, in a small corner of the room, offering you one of his smiles in the distance as he fiddled restlessly with his hands. You tried with all your might to avoid him, but on your lips a nervous smile showed its presence, which meant that in the blink of an eye you could see Chris widen his. You were only a few feet away from each other, but the distance seemed infinite to both of you as you began to walk towards him.

As if he were a gentleman of old, Chris rose from his seat awaiting your arrival, keeping his blue eyes fixed on yours with barely a blink of an eye. You had imagined that situation in your head every night of every day since Chris had informed you by a message on your answering machine that he was going to visit his hometown, or rather your hometown. At first you didn't respond to the suggestion to meet again, because things were not easy between you and you didn't know how to act in that situation, but you decided to accept his proposal.

As you were shortening the distance, your heart accelerated, making you feel as if you were in a slowed down movie scene, as if you were moving in slow motion, until you reached him and his arm rested firmly on your back, making the distance come to nothing.

As the distance shortened, your heart sped up, making you feel as if you were in a slowed down movie scene, as if you were moving in slow motion, until you reached him and his arm rested firmly on your back, making the distance come to nothing. It was two, no, a year and eight months, that passed without knowing anything about each other since things were cut short, it wouldn't really hurt so much to say it if it hadn't started with a childhood friendship, but things happen. The fear you felt at that moment had disappeared the moment Chris had taken the initiative to offer you that hug that was lasting longer than socially established, but that was too comforting to bring you feelings you thought were lost.

"I'm sorry I'm late," you mumbled without so much as an inch from him.

"You've come, that's all that matters," he said, stepping back to look at your face.

The fact that they came within inches of each other's faces caused your gazes to withdraw and you each took your seats, facing each other at the little round table at which you had spent so many moments.

"It's great to be back here," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and looking around.

"Yes," you mimicked his gesture of looking around. "I guess there's no better place to try raspberry pie."

"Agreed absolutely," after saying those words silence flooded around you, leaving you with a blank stare at each other and an imposed smile from the moment you saw each other.

The few people around you hardly knew everything that was going on between you, all the hidden feelings, what you wanted to say but couldn't, what you had experienced, and above all, what you had left to experience, although you didn't know that either. That level of intimacy that on thousands of occasions had been an inconvenience between the two of you was now present and you were grateful for it, because no matter how much the media had published about you, the truth only had the two of you.

"Do you know what you're having?" the young waitress who had welcomed you broke the moment with her presence.

"The usual?" Chris looked at you to which you nodded curiously. "A green tea with honey, a cappuccino and a piece of raspberry tart with two teaspoons, please."

"All right," again the young woman disappeared bringing you the previous comfort.

"You still remember," you said smiling crossing your arms on the table creating a distance between you unconsciously.

"Of course, it was many Sundays," he finished his words with a sigh, which again generated a silence that he decided to cut. "By the way, I was glad to hear that you were finally engaged to Garret," his tone became nervous, "I wanted to have called you but..."

"No, it's my fault, I wanted to have told you but..." your voice trailed off as you shook your face in denial.

"I know," Chris smiled, "I guess neither of us knew how to do it."

"Exactly," you whispered looking into his eyes.

As if things weren't complicated enough, yes, you were engaged. Maybe it had all happened too fast, you didn't feel it at the time, but now it was as if a pile of doubts was coming down on you like a bucket of cold water. When Chris said the word fiancée and Garret in the same sentence, while being happy to hear it, it was as if an arrow pierced your heart. You had no doubts at the time, you opened your heart to Garret, after Chris had completely shattered it, you accepted his proposal with all your love, but you were terrified of how quickly Chris was making you doubt in those moments.

As if things weren't complicated enough, yes, you were engaged. Maybe it had all happened too fast, you didn't feel it at the time, but now it was as if a pile of doubts was coming down on you like a bucket of cold water. When Chris said the word fiancée and Garret in the same sentence, while being happy to hear it, it was as if an arrow pierced your heart. You had no doubts at the time, you opened your heart to Garret, after Chris had completely shattered it, you accepted his proposal with all your love, but you were terrified at how quickly Chris was making you hesitate in those moments.

"So how long are you staying in town?" you asked that question just to change the subject, to break away from the thoughts that were eating away at you.

"I leave on Tuesday next week, so... five days," he explained, fixing his gaze behind you, as the waitress brought a tray with your breakfast. "Thank you."

"Thank you very much," you pleaded offering her a smile as she set your cup of tea down in front of you before leaving again.

"And when are you leaving for Washington?" Chris arched an eyebrow as he stared at his coffee and the way he swirled the spoon around, but seeing that you were silent, as you were taken by surprise that he knew you were leaving for Washington, he looked up at you. "My sister told me."

"I see your sister has caught you up on everything," you said with a little laugh, spooning up a piece of raspberry pie. "In two months, Garret is taking care of all the paperwork from there, he's also found a house in the suburbs, away from all the hustle and bustle of the city. He's really going to a lot of trouble."

"It's normal," he shrugged, "it's your future."

"I guess," you whispered taking the cup in your hands.

Weird, that was the word that defined the situation at the moment, you knew Chris well enough and he evidently knew you well enough to know that there was an end to your meeting and neither of you were putting it on the table. He wanted to meet you again for a reason and you had gone to meet him again for a reason, but neither of you were putting it on the table.

"By the way, I went to the cinema to see the latest Avengers movie," you said, resting your face in the palm of your hand. "I really loved it."

"Oh come on, you don't have to do that anymore," he said between smiles, "I know you hate them."

"That's not true!" you exclaimed with a chuckle, looking offended at his comment. "You know I really enjoy them, I'm sorry if you're not my favourite superhero."

"Ah, so I'm not your favourite superhero, you didn't think that the night that... well you know," he hid a laugh and ducked his face, you arched your eyebrows opening your mouth in surprise at his words. "I'm sorry, that comment was out of line."

"I can see you're still too smug Evans," you shook your face with a smirk and looked away.

Those were the moments that made you miss Chris every day, your childhood friend, your mischief ally, your first love, your prom date, your first kiss, your ex-partner. Too many memories to let it all slip away because of a turning point, when you both realised that your relationship wasn't working as a couple over the years. It was a hard moment for both of you to come to terms with reality, a reality that seemed totally unrealistic, but the paths you had taken were too far apart to be compatible. Each of you had your own dreams, your own goals in life, which were far removed from each other, so before either of you gave up on your dreams, you chose to give up on your relationship.

"How was it?" asked Chris after putting a piece of cake in his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"How did Garret ask you to marry him?" he asked crossing his arms over the table, approaching you. "Well, if you're uncomfortable or..."

"No. It was over dinner, it was actually quite conventional," you began to explain distractedly. "We both took a week's holiday from the office, so we decided to take a trip to Montreal, you know to unwind, so he set up a romantic dinner in the hotel suite and asked me to marry him."

"And you accepted," concluded Chris nodding taking the cup of coffee and taking a sip.

"I accepted," you repeated looking at the tea.

"I suppose you don't have to put on a show when you're going to ask someone to marry you," he began, looking at your face. "I guess when it's clear to you, it's the person you love and want to spend the rest of their life with, all the frills don't matter, it's the words that matter."

"I suppose," you murmured looking away from his gaze and instinctively focusing it on your engagement ring.

Chris really was good at making you feel a lump in your throat with his every word. How was it possible that you were so confused at the time, you had considered the consequences that breakfast might have on you, but really when you left the house that morning you had no idea what it was going to be like to face Chris.

"Are you happy?" that question came out of Chris's mouth like a bullet and threw you completely off balance.

"How?" you rebutted with a frown, hoping your ears hadn't heard his words correctly.

"I want to know if you're happy," his tone was calm, he spoke each word slowly staring at you, making you lose yourself in his eyes.

"I..." you mumbled drawing air into your lungs, making time to find an answer to offer him.

How could he even think of asking you that question? Everyone knows it's an unanswerable question, no one can offer you a concise and firm answer to that question, because if you say 'yes', you were probably lying and if you say 'no' you're probably lying too, it's an unanswerable question, and you hated it every time you heard it from someone. You have moments of happiness in life, as well as moments of bitterness, but no one is 100% happy, or at least that's what you thought.

"I'm not sure what you want me to answer," you said, avoiding addressing an answer.

"I want to know if he makes you happy," he finally said with a shrug. "That's easy."

"Yes," you said with barely a thought, nodding a little confused. "Yes, he makes me happy."

"Okay," he whispered nodding, his countenance serious. "Then that's it."

That's it? That's all I wanted to know, that's why I was meeting you in that coffee shop? You wanted to know if Garret made you happy? You assumed that was his reason, why he wanted to have this reunion with you, but it was all really confusing. It got even more confusing when Chris put down his coffee cup, got up from his seat, put on his scarf and jacket and went to pay, leaving you completely bewildered and desolate at the round table. Your eyes followed your every step, but you barely had time to react as Chris was already on his way out the door when you stood up from your chair. You grabbed your belongings without a sign of alteration on your face, and with a slow but steady step you headed for the exit, thanking the kind waitress again for her service.

As you left the bright morning had turned grey, there was no shade and those clouds looked like a storm. Chris had gone up the street, and had turned down a charming alley full of typical houses, you didn't want to shout his name, so you quickened your pace to catch up with him and stand beside him.

"Can you explain to me what the hell just happened in there? Because I really didn't understand anything," you asked harshly, seeking his gaze, but he was staring straight ahead under that Red Sox cap that hid much of his face.

"I guess there's nothing to explain," his steps didn't stop, "I really wanted to see you, to hear from you, to know if you're happy, and you are, that's all that mattered to me."

You began to understand where the turning point at breakfast had come from, at what point there had been that change of attitude in Chris, it was when you had said yes, Garret made you happy, which was funny because how could Chris expect you to say he didn't make you happy. Still you needed an answer to what would have happened if you had answered no.

"Wait," you addressed with a frown, but he didn't stop, so you ran to stand right in front of him, causing him to be unable to move forward and look you in the face. That fact seemed to annoy him. "What if instead of telling you it made me happy, I had told you it didn't make me happy?"

You thought in that instant that you had managed to stop him, to get his attention, but after a couple of seconds he made an attempt to dodge you and continue walking down that lonely alley.

"Chris!" you exclaimed, grabbing his arm to stop him, causing him to turn suddenly towards you. "Can you answer my question?"

"Do you really want to know?" he inquired in a raised tone, his brow furrowed and his hands shoved inside his coat pockets.

"I want to," you said, unlike him, with a quieter volume, causing Chris's features to relax as he listened to you.

"Alright, being that you'll regret it after you hear it," Chris nodded, looking to the side and then back into your eyes. "I probably would have acted without thinking and kissed you."

You regretted it, instantly after hearing him say those words out loud. As if in a flashback, it came to your mind what that moment would have been like, if Chris had closed the distance between you in that charming café to kiss you after two years. You regretted doing that too, but Chris broke your thoughts.

"Because yes, if you're wondering I'm still in love with you, and yes, I still blame myself for everything that happened, it all went to shit," he continued with an infuriated tone each time the words passed, gesturing freely with his hands. " Fuck, when I heard you'd accepted Garret's hand I didn't know what to do, whether to phone you, get on a fucking plane and show up here, but what was I going to do?" he swiped his hand over his mouth and looked around nervously. "I think this whole thing was a mistake, I shouldn't have called you. I really don't have the slightest idea what I was waiting for."

Body lock took over your limbs, Chris nervously running his hand over his face, blaming himself for everything he had just said, blurting out insult after insult, not resting his gaze on you. Of all the possible situations that could be presented to you, that one wasn't on your list, so you hadn't thought of it, but right now you had to deal with Chris, with his feelings and with your own, which were now creating an immense panic. To add to the intensity, the raindrops were beginning to make their presence felt, watering down a morning that seemed to be quite watery.

Tomorrow the final part.

Taglist Open (DM)

MAIN MASTERLIST

#chris evans x reader #chirs evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagine #chris evans imagines #chris evans #chris evans one shot #chris evans fanfic #chis evans fan fiction #chris evans drabble #chris evans prompt #chris evans angst #avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfic #chris evans smut #smut #angst #fluff

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mayfieldss · 3 years

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hey girl! how have you been?🤍

I think your requests are open. If they aren’t you could totally ignore this!

Ok so I read a similar fic a little while ago and I had an idea for a bucky x y/n and I thought you’d do amazing with this.

Tony is throwing a party and Bucky doesn’t want to go since he’ll have to socialize so he stays in his room. Some random girl comes in by mistake since she was trying to escape the party as well and they start talking. Bucky can’t stop thinking about her and then sees her again a couple days after the party and realizes she’s a new agent who’s working at the compound.

Ok that probably sounds so bad🙈 ahaha sorry! you could totally change it and do whatever you want lol

but thank you very very much!❤️✨

I love this idea so much and I just hope I did it half the justice that it deserves. I really hope you like it.

On party business - Bucky Barnes

Buckyxfemreader

Warnings: None unless you're Steve Rogers and coarse language is an issue for you.

AN: Don't mind me venting some of my social anxiety issues through this fic...

The party was loud and busy as would be expected at one of Tony Starks infamous get-togethers. You were only here because you didn’t feel like you could refuse the invite, and how many times could a person be invited to a Party by hosted by Tony Stark? So you went along, instantly regretting the decision as soon as you walked into the compound. It was packed with dancing men and women, some holding drinks while others were grinding their bodies together. Many were sitting on couches enveloped in conversations which you doubted you would be invited into. You didn’t know anyone. Finding the clearest route through the people you made your way to the Bar. There was no way you could get through this night without downing a drink first, if not two or three. Taking a seat on one of the stools you glanced around the room hoping the night would go by faster. - Bucky hated Parties. He hated how many people would surround him, ask him questions in their drunk states and caress his Metal arm with their sticky, alcohol covered fingers. There were also the ones that would avoid him completely as well. The ones that were still wary of him despite knowing he was no longer the Winter Solider. Those people were a part of his everyday life however, so he didn't mind them as much, having been accustomed to so many living in fear of him already. This in mind, it still hurt to think nobody trusted him enough to be around him. It made it so the Winter Solider was always with him, people only seeing him as his past. So Bucky didn’t leave his room. Nobody at the Party would want him there anyway, they wouldn’t miss his presence. He sat on his bed and read his books, cleaned his boots, wrote in his journal. This way nothing unexpected could ever happen. - You’d been at the party for no more than two hours and were already aching to leave. There were too many people around for your liking, none of them paying any interest in you as you stood in the corner next to the bar. Most were shitfaced drunk, you managing to stay sober despite the circumstances. You never let yourself over drink at parties after seeing some of your past friends making the most embarrassing mistakes during your high school years. Some got tattoos or had one night stands, others posted videos of themselves on the internet for all to see or sent an embarrassing message to their ex. Making a promise to yourself in high school you told yourself to never let yourself become like them. You planned to keep that promise. Pushing your way to through the crowd you made you way to one of the many staircases attempting to get away from the storm of people surrounding you. Some swore at you as you moved your way past them, holding onto the handrail for security to avoid any drama as people shoved you back. You weren’t trying to be rude but you had to get away. Once at the top you moved quickly down the hallway to the left of you, turning each doorknob you passed, looking desperately for a room that was unlocked to be your place of refuge. Five doors later and a doorknob twisted with ease allowing you entrance. You pushed the door open in a hurry, rushing into the room without so much as a glance around. Closing the door behind you you rested your forehead gently upon its wood with a sigh. You were so relived to find an escape from the over peopled space outside of this room, finally taking a breath only for it to catch in your throat at the sound of another's presence. It was the sound of a closing book, it wasn't being slammed shut but just gently closed and you could hear the pages slap lightly against each other. Your shoulders tensed and you reached for the doorknob readying yourself to leave. "You okay?" It was the voice of a man, deep and steady. Calming somehow. Slowly retracting your hand from the doorknob you turned to face the stranger of that you had walked in on. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here. I was just trying to get away from the crowd". Your back was pressed to the door and you hands itched to reach for the doorknob again, every part of you

wishing to get out of the uncomfortable encounter. The man gave a small awkward smile and shuffled himself to the edge of the bed he was lying on, placing his feet on the ground. He was wearing cat socks and you couldn't stop the smile forming on your lips. He looked at you confused, and followed your gaze to his feet an embarrassed blush forming on his cheeks. "I like them a lot, where'd you get them?" You asked not wanting him to feel self-conscious over something as simple as a pair of socks. He simply shrugged "Can't remember honestly". You could tell he did remember and that he probably had whole draws full of the fuzzy feet warmers but you didn't overstep any more than you already had, having been in his room and all. "I guess I should go" You point behind you to the door you were leaning against, biting the inside of your cheek anxiously. You could taste the blood in your mouth from the harsh grazing of your teeth. "I'm so sorry for bothering you". You reached for the doorknob your fingers wrapping around it tightly as you were so close to your escape. "Wait" Freezing in your place you took his words more seriously than he meant them to be. You had been so close to leaving and you contemplated pulling the door open and making a run for it. He seemed to understand your discomfort "You don't have to but if you want to stay here until the party calms down a little you can". There was a silence and you regarded his proposal before turning back around to face him, keeping a hand pressed firmly to the wood of the door. "Are you sure I wouldn't be bothering you?". The man shook his head, a short laugh escaping his lips "Yeah I'm sure. God knows I need to be more social". This made you frown, not understanding how he could say such a thing when there was a very social party right outside his door. "If you need to be social you shouldn't be out there?" You waved behind you again keeping your eyes on the man in front of you. He had bright blue eyes that seemed to stare into the deepest parts of your soul, but not in the threatening way from which it would seem. They felt safe and trustworthy. He wore a grey T-shirt over a long sleeved black thermal, jeans and of course those wonderful cat socks. He seemed kind enough and you felt your stress fade the smallest bit as you took in his features. The man with the undeniably beautiful eyes shook his head at your question "I'm not fond of crowds". You had to agree with him there. You always felt uncomfortable around masses of people especially in small spaces. You had Your social anxiety to thank for that wonderful fault. It wasn't like you could help it, You tried to but it was difficult to stand being cramped together with a bunch of strangers. "I understand what you mean" You lifted your gaze from his for a second and looked around his room. It was neat and tidy, everything organized and in its own little home where it belonged. "You are very-' you paused, thinking of a word to describe the place, "-Clean". He nodded "I've had issues with people controlling me in the past, this is just one thing I feel l can make my own". The change of tone in his voice startled you, how important this was to him and the hidden pain that appeared behind the blue eyes you had grown to adore within the short minutes of knowing him. Sliding your back down the door you sat on the floor of his room staring back at him on his bed. You couldn't deny that you didn't want to go back out into the bustling hallway filled with drunken fools. So you had made the decision and decided to stay. He looked shocked by your movements and a frown began to form on his face as he shuffled closer to the wall next to his bed. "You can sit up here if you want, I can move if you feel uncomfortable with me up here too, or I can get you a chair" He sounded so sincere and the gentleman in him pleased you. You doubted any other man you had met on this night would have been so kind but you declined his offers, already feeling like a burden in his room. "It's okay, I'm fine here". You could tell he didn't

like your answer, that he wanted to get up so you could sit on the bed or get you the chair that he suggested. You sent him a smile to reassure him you were okay where you were. After a moment of silence he spoke "So you don't like parties?" You let yourself chuckle "You could say that yeah". "Why?". It took a moment to register his question fiddling with your hands, cracking your knuckles. "Same reason as you I guess, Its hard to feel accepted around people you don't know, I feel like their judging me. It makes me uncomfortable". You had no idea why you told him that but once it left your lips you couldn't take it back. It was okay though, it wasn't as embarrassing as you thought it would be when you looked up to see his understanding eyes. "But you know people here right? Friends that know you?" His head was tilted to the side, just a little, and he reminded you of a puppy. A handsome blue eyed puppy. You shook your head "Not here no, and even if I did they wouldn't really know me" Once again you shared more than was needed but it felt so easy to say, it came out before you could think the words over and there was no shame in saying the words like you thought there would be. He didn't seem bothered by them either, more like he knew where you were coming from. "What's your name?" "Bucky". You liked that name a lot. It was a nickname obviously but it suited him so perfectly and you felt so comfortable at hearing it. It was almost indescribable, the way he seemed to be telling himself what his name was as well as you. It made you even more curious, all the unknowns about the person in front of you, Bucky, that you wanted to learn. "What's yours?" You frowned "What's my what?" as soon as the words left your lips you felt stupid, so entranced by him that you were barley thinking of the conversation at hand. A smile formed on his face "What's your name?" You could feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment and you struggled for words through flustered state. "Of course um- it's Y/n" You felt so stupid and looked down at your hands trying to seem unbothered, pretending that what had just happened never did. You had never been good at dealing with embarrassment and you chose to keep your head down whenever something embarrassing happened. That had started in high school as well. How easy it was to be teased for the smallest things had brought upon you the stress and anxiety you held with you to this very day. "I like that name" Bucky's words were gentle, as if they alone, were lifting your head up to look at him, like a gentle hand under your chin. "I like your name too". He smiled again at that and you looked back to your hands squeezing them together tightly. You wanted to ask him so many questions, keep a conversation flowing to stop the awkward silence that would soon settle in but you didn't want to seem weird in any way. You tried to think of something that related to your previous, extremely short, conversation. Something to add onto it, to get to know him better. "What's your full name? I know Bucky's a nickname" You were about to stop there, and you probably should have, but thought it best to clarify some more with what you meant "Not that I don't like the name Bucky, I love it actually, I just wanted to know". Curses flowed through your mind and anxiety followed as your words trailed off into the short silence before his response. You sounded so stupid and you cringed internally at how awkward you always were. "My names James. James Buchanan Barnes". You bit your lip as a smile formed on his, making your stomach do the smallest of flips. "Well It's nice to meet you James Buchanan Barnes". - Bucky hadn't expected someone like you to come through his door and he hadn't expected you to accept his offer to stay. You talked to him like he was a real person and you never said a thing about his arm. It was as though you barely noticed it and after twenty minutes you came to sit with him on the bed, the floor becoming 'unbearably uncomfortable' in your words. He made plenty of room and kept a

respectable distance between you, not wanting to come off like he was just trying to get in your pants, but you seemed to understand that that wasn't the case. You talked for another hour, silences between different conversations as you thought of ways to keep the discussion going. You were both as awkward as each other it seemed, and as time passed you both became more comfortable with the others presence. When you finally checked the time you were surprised to see how long you had stayed and got up fast to leave. Bucky didn't want you to go but it wasn't his place to tell you otherwise. You put your shoes back on, having taken them off earlier and headed toward the door. Turning back to him as you twisted the handle you pursed your lips with a small smile. He thought it was cute. "Thank you Bucky, for letting me stay". Bucky nodded "Maybe I'll see you around, if I'm lucky". You bit your lip one last time, a thing Bucky noticed you did, before you opened the door and left, closing it behind you. Bucky sat back on his bed a grin growing on his face at the thought of you, a complete stranger whose company he had grown to enjoy. He thought over the last thing he had said, 'Maybe I'll see you around, if I'm lucky'. Bucky wasn't ever very lucky but maybe the world would be on his side this time. Maybe he would get to see you again. - A week had passed since the party and Bucky sat with Sam and Steve at the compound. An argument had ensued as a result of this the three never being a stunning trio, mainly referring to Bucky and Sam's constant bickering. "That's not how it works! Come on side with me here Steve!" Sam looked over to their blonde haired friend who simply shrugged as a response. He was smart enough not to get caught up in sides between the two of them. Bucky opened his mouth to respond but someone over Sam's shoulder caught his eye, making him pause. "Cat got your tongue? You know I'm right Buck". Bucky simply ignored Sam's teasing, eyes locked on the newcomer to the room. A woman talking to Natasha. Her back was turned and her hair was down obscuring any possible view of her features from him. But he knew he recognized her. If only she would would turn around. It took another minute and now, curious, both Sam and Steve had moved their gazes to the girl. They didn't seem to know her and soon became bored turning back to each other and starting a whole new conversation from which Bucky ignored entirely. After a period of time that seemed to last forever, Natasha waved Him, Steve and Sam over and the closer Bucky got to the girl the more he recognized her. It was then that she turned, locking eyes with him. He could tell she recognized him just as he did her. It was you. He smiled. "Hey stranger". -

AN: Happy Bucky fic Friday!!!!

TAGLIST: @characters-deserve-better @posteyymaloney @agentsofsheilds @ladyfallonavenger @buckys2thicc @justifymyfeelings @winter-soldier-vibes TAGS:

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lady-o-ren · 3 years

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The Dig

You can read this on ao3 // HERE //

Suffolk, England

1939

“What's going on in Sutton Hoo, then that has you in such a hurry?”

James Fsaser reluctantly looked up from where his head had been braced on his leather satchel, clutched atop his knees, and gave the old ferryman a one-eyed stare.

“I've a job. Digging,” he swallowed, trying mightily to keep himself from retching as the wee boat he was in bobbed up and down like a mad carousel.

“You came all the way from Scotland to dig like a dog?” He laughed hoarsely, hawking up a wad of phlegm into the murky river water as he swung his oars.

“Ipswich,” Fraser muttered, turning a bit more green.

Ipswich Museum to be exact.

He'd been hired to help excavate a centuries old burial site located at a rural estate in Sutton Hoo, overseen by the archeologist, Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. A woman much admired (or envied depending on the man) for her keen mind and boundless curiosity (and unrivaled stubbornness that often spiraled into outright defiance according to those same particular men) that had her uprooting half of Great Britain in pursuit of the secrets hidden beneath the mossy plains. And more often than not her instincts were right and another antiquity would be dusted off to be reborn again.

Fraser wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the right to work by her side but Christ, he wouldn't question how lucky he was.

The boat then suddenly coasted to an abrupt stop against the rivers side.

“Here we are, Mr. Fraser. All in one piece. And I thank you for keeping me boat and boots tidy,” said the old ferryman with a wink.

Fraser didn't bother with a retort, he was just happy that the world had blessedly stopped spinning and hopped onto wonderfully solid land.

Smoothing the wrinkles from his attire and fixing his father's old grey cap atop his head (taking special care to tuck in his dark ginger curls that always peeked out from just under the rim), he made his way down the brambled path that the old man said led to the big house. After a brief introduction with the owner of the estate, he was then directed to where he'd be working, and trotted past the trees and sprawling country green to an open field.

From afar, Fraser could see three burial mounds jutting from the earth, grassy topped with yellow dandelions sprouting all over.

But what made his breath catch was the sight of the woman he'd been so eager to meet.

She was surveying the site with her hands on her trousered waist looking like a general on the cusp of conquest. Sensing his approach, she turned away from her prize and future glory, her short curls bouncing and gleaming a rich shade of earth in the dewy sunlight, and met his gaze with her own.

Sharp with intelligence. Kindled with mirth. Shimmering like molten gold.

"A Dhia," Fraser whispered to the fragrant spring air, and took off his cap, twisting it between his hands that ached to trace and memorize every curve of the archeologist's face.

She waved him over seeing him linger and a terrible heat sprang to the young lad's face at having been caught staring at the beauty like a halfwit, and forced his legs to move. Prayed he didn't fall flat on his face.

"Hullo there," she greeted, and clasped her small hand to his, but there was nothing dainty about its grasp. Fraser could feel the years of hard-earned experience chiseled in her palm that held his hand firmly, letting him know exactly who he'd be working for.

It sent a thrill down his spine.

"I'm Dr. Claire Beauchamp. And you must be the very late Mr. Fraser I've been waiting for."

"Aye, and I beg yer pardon for that, ma’am," Fraser replied in earnest, detecting a subtle spike of irritation in her voice, seeing the annoyed flick of her brow. "The morning train was running late.” By three hours! “ Then I had to wait for the ferryman to take me across the river -" He'd been taking his "tea" in the pub " - all a lousy excuse, I ken, but I promise ye it willna happen again."

Beauchamp crossed her arms and tipped her head to the side giving Fraser a scrutinizing once over that made his throat bob and the blood in his heart to palpitate.

"Good," she smirked, nodding her approval from his noticeable discomfort. "If you're anything like how the stiffs at Ipswich Museum described we'll get along well."

He clenched his jaw at the mention of the museum, the cantankerous men who worked there. Especially a certain Dr. Randall, who valued a good cigar over the work of a “farm boy”.

"And what do they say of me, if I may ask?"

Beauchamp bit her full bottom lip (wonderfully pink Fraser bashfully noted), quirking wryly.

“Quite a lot depending on who you ask. From what I've gathered you're hardworking, painfully intelligent and have an innate knack for reading the earth. But that you're also highly unorthodox, difficult and the most insufferable Scotsman ever to step foot in Ipswich. So naturally I had to work with you."

He let out a tightly held breath and chuckled softly.

"Weel, who am I to argue wi' a reference like that. I'm passionate about my work and little else, apart from food and kin. And while I've never been disrespectful to reason, I haven't the patience for men who think a title is deserving of my unquestionable fealty."

"And why should you? The conviction of a Viking is something to be admired not belittled,” she praised, making Fraser glow. "I only wish I could've been there to witness how you earned the ire of half the museum.”

“I'm merely in the right and they the wrong, more often than not,” he shrugged.

“I'm just as terrible,” she proudly grinned. ”But I know we'll make a good team. We'll have to if we want to tackle this lot.”

She motioned her head at the site looming tall, brimming with excitement that spoke to Fraser's own spirit.

"If that's so then it'll be an honor working wi' ye, ma'am."

He shook her hand once more and thought he felt her thumb move against his knuckle, light and curious as a brush stroke.

Working with two assistants from her previous digs (the studious Jeremy Foster and the wide-eyed youth Elias Pound), Fraser and Beauchamp made great strides in plowing the core of the mound that was the larger of the three, even when logic argued that the dip in the middle meant thieves of the past had already plundered it's horde.

But Fraser's gut and bones told him that there was something different about this one.

Beauchamp had thought so too.

"There's something grand and marvelous here begging to be found. Don't you think? Can't you feel it?"

The deeper they dug only intensified that feeling.

As had his attraction to the irrepressibly brilliant Dr. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.

However, after a fortuitous streak of good weather, the air started to blow with the sweet scent of rain and the leaves of the oak trees that dotted the lush clearing turned toward the skies, parched and longing.

"We have some time, I think, before the rain comes," said Beauchamp, gauging the skies westward still clear of thunderclouds.

Fraser leaned against his shovel in the hollow of earth he stood in, his dirt stained sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and could see the mad impulse to defy mother nature flash in her eyes.

"Usually I'd agree wi' ye, ma’am, but yer hair -" his mouth flicked upward in unbridled appreciation. "Is curling like a tumbleweed."

She pressed a dirt-flecked hand near her temple and felt the wild frizzy pushback of flyaway curls fallen loose from her twisted bun, springing around her face like a mane.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she huffed. “Have I been like this all morning, Fraser?”

"Pretty much," he grinned, enjoying how her usual regal self pinked across her freckled cheeks and the wee scrunch of her nose.

But Fraser's smile faltered, catching himself for a fool, and averted his attention down to the soil where his heart had fallen. Writhed. Burrowed with the worms and roots.

For what use was it for a man like him to yearn for a woman like her?

He swallowed the hopeless lump in his throat.

"Shall we go for lunch then, wait for the weather to clear?"

Hearing the word lunch, Foster and Pound looked up from their own end of the excavation with hunger in their eyes.

"Did that on purpose did you?" said Beauchamp, throwing an accusatory glance at the ginger lad while trying to gather her wayward curls back to partial respectability.

He gave her a half smile.

"The Almighty is the one making it rain, ma’am. Take it up wi' him."

She sighed and her hands fell to her waist as she took one last disappointing glance above.

"I would if He ever bothered to listen,” she frowned, then gave the other men a nod that made them hoot and holler.

“Numpties,” she mumbled, though did so fondly, and puffed at a rebellious forelock flirting with the wind.

After covering the ditch with a tarp secured to the ground, the men headed for the local pub raucously singing an old drinking song with a few choice words changed.

Our Lady must have been an Admiral, a Sultan or a Queen

And to her praises we shall always sing

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp who fills us up with cheer

A pint for our Lady Beauchamp . . .

Their lady laughed and rolled her eyes, before waving the lads off with a promise to catch up to gather her things, and headed to the shepherd's hut that had been provided by the estate.

Fraser glanced back watching her go, and after a moment's hesitation where he reasoned it would be rude to leave without her, he too told the others he'd forgotten something and went after Beauchamp.

Cursing himself an "EEJIT!" every step of the way.

Inside the hut was a small curtained window softly lighting the room from the back and two wooden scuffed chairs positioned along the side wall with a table snugly fit between them. Beauchamp herself was crouched by the table legs where Fraser had left his satchel but it was now laid open on its side, contents spilled over.

At his unexpected appearance that shadowed the doorway, she turned his way with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry, I was just grabbing my bag when I tipped yours over and . . ."

She held up his small green fieldbook opened at the first page.

And white-hot panic flooded Fraser's veins.

"The writing caught my eye," she continued on, seemingly unaware that the poor lad was gripping the doorway for support. "I didn't know you spoke gaelic beyond the odd phrase here and there. That you can even write it too is something of a feat,” she said, impressed by the words secreted on the page.

“Aye,” he managed to breathe, relieved that she hadn't seen a thing. Not a thing! “I don't get much practice living away from home so I speak it in my mind and heart, write letters to my family when I can.”

“You've spoken of a sister, if I'm not mistaken. Older or younger?" She prodded, as if he were a new discovery, and he answered in hopes to distract her from what she still held in her hands.

Felt a fluttering warmth overtake him that she recalled him having a sister.

"Jenny,” he said, as he moved to kneel down beside her to stuff his scant belongings back in his bag. “She's older and feels the need to remind me of that fact whenever we see one another.”

“And you're the brat aren't you?”

Despite his predicament, Fraser couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

"I was the devil's spawn, aye, but Jen was no angel. We once got into a terrible stramash about our chores on the farm, the way wee bairns do, and I ended up telling her she had a face uglier than a coo, smelled worse than one too. Next I knew, I was being tackled to the ground wi' my face shoved into a ripe pile of coo shite and my sister above me laughing her wicked wee arse off.”

Beauchamp broke into laughter and it made his stomach do a flip.

“I'm sorry, that must've been awful for you, but I think I may love your sister for that.”

“Everybody says so. Not sure it was worth it in the end myself . . .” said Fraser, his voice suddenly trailing off at the end seeing her attention turn back to the page.

His mind spiraled into action.

"But we really should get going before the rain catches us. It looks to be a downpour, a terrible one.”

“Well it's a good thing we're under a roof then isn't it?” She countered, eyes sparkling through her long lashes. “ Besides I'd rather have an impromptu lesson in gaelic on what,” she paused, squinting down at the book opened on her knees. “Baa-mia-’bruu -” means.”

“Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr,” he begrudgingly corrected, wondering how rude it would be to just snatch his own fieldbook away. But then Beauchamp smiled as if charmed by his voice and echoed back his words with near perfect silky inflections, looking pleased as punch as she did so.

Endearing herself even more to the young Scot's already smitten heart.

“Verra good,” he hummed softly.

“Absolute luck,” she grinned, tapping her fingers atop his writing. “Now tell me what does it all mean?”

He shook his head embarrassed. "You'll think me daft, ma’am."

"I promise I won't."

She said it in such an earnest way, Jamie knew she spoke true. But then a deep rumble of thunder sliced through the air, enough to give Beauchamp a jolt that made her forefinger on the page slip and Fraser's stomach to rip and plummet to the old wood floor.

There, drawn on the page, was Beauchamp's face staring back at her.

“It’s nothing but some wee scribbles,” he stammered to explain, reaching for the book only for her to angle it away.

“You're right about that,” she agreed, her fine brows furrowing as she traced a slim finger to her pencil drawn cheek. “You've made one of my eyes bigger than the other, my nose a dash too long and -"

Her eyes went comically round as she pressed the pages to her chest, a sudden thought coming to her.

"You don't have anyone posed in the nude here do you?"

"O-Of course not! I'd never. I- I'd -"

"Breathe Fraser, I was only teasing you," she nearly giggled, but then her face softened with regret seeing his own face take on the horrible color of a split beet left to shrivel in the sun.

“But really, why bother with me?”

He had no answer but the one that pounded from his heart, a noise like a thousand drums that all struck the same adoring note. She could see it beaming from his face and a hushed silence fell between them as the rain finally came down, hitting the rooftop in a pitter-patter that enveloped her quietly spoken -

“Oh.”

That single utterance had Jamie wishing the rain would flood and swallow him up but it was now or never to speak his heart. No matter that hers would never be his to cherish.

Looking down at his hands, anxiously wringing the strap of his satchel, he spoke.

“There was never any helping it, me liking you. I'd never seen a sight sae fair as you, stubborn as you, nor wonderful as you. And I could never get ye out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried, but ye were always there like the sun and air."

He lifted his gaze to her likeness on the page.

"And then I just started filling my fieldbook wi' pictures of you if only to have something to remind me of you for when the job ends and we part ways. But I'm none so good as ye can see. I never could capture the grit and fire of yer spirit, the way yer curls bristle in excitement or the way yer eyes glow like a match to a candlewick . . . "

His heart tightened as his words faltered while Beauchamp remained quiet. Then like a blow to his chest she flipped through the small book once more, her face unreadable as stone. She looked through his sketches, one of her curls drawn like the ripples of the tide, another of her hands digging through the earth, and of her lush determined mouth curved into a beaming smile, bitten with impatience, beneath a perfect speckled nose.

And threaded between her gestures, her features were more bits of gaelic.

A bòidhchead . . .

Tha pian orm . . .

Tha cho teann sa tha a ’bhriogais gam iomain

"I told you I was no good. I ken I should just rip up the pages -” Fraser began to miserably say, but Beauchamp hushed him by taking his hand in hers and softly stroked her thumb against the work-hardened skin.

"You have a fine hand, Fraser. Especially for making my nose look as delicate as Garbo’s,” she smiled, cheeks touched lovely in pink.

Then in a moment that made it hard for Fraser to breathe, she simply said . . .

“Ask me for a drink.”

He blinked, thinking he misheard her, mouth agape. But there was no mistaking what brightened her eyes to shine like whisky.

“Ask me,” she repeated impatiently, almost laughing, as she squeezed his hand.

Fraser inhaled sharply and tentatively squeezed her small hand back.

“Will ye join me for a pint, ma’am?”

“Claire,” she grinned, and coyly tilted her head . “And of course I will. Took you long enough to ask,” she winked, making Fraser stare at her in charmed disbelief.

And then Beauchamp closed the distance between them, hand light as a feather against his chest.

“But first you ought to kiss me, Fraser. It's still raining and I might catch a chill from all this waiting."

Still staring at her mesmerized, with questions that could wait another day flitting through his mind, Fraser wove an errant bonnie curl around his fingers and smoothed it behind her ear. Letting his thumb drag against her cheek.

“It's Jamie,” he murmured, in a brush of his lips to hers.

And on and on it went.

Bha mi a ’bruadar mun bhròn mhòr. . .

I dreamt about the mourning. The deaths of great men. Terrible men. Old and young. Of Kings lost in battle buried beneath us. They cried out to me and the Earth came to life and twisted her roots around me, dragging me inside her womb. Dark and cold, breathless like a cave. But I wasn't frightened. I saw lights rushing around me, bright as the twilight sky. The souls that lie ahead. Surrounding us.

They brought me to you.

A/N: This had a ton of notes and explanations so you can read all those on ao3. But for sure I’ll say here this is very loosely based on the movie The Dig.

#jamie x claire #Outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfiction

90 notes · View notes

fridayfirefly · 3 years

Text

The Power of Luck [Chapter One]

Read The Power of Luck on AO3

Masterlist [All Works]

Masterlist [The Power of Luck Series]

Written for Maribat March Day 6 - Miraculous Side Effects

The Ladybug Miraculous had quite a few side effects. Marinette was able to think quick on her feet, she was a skilled tactician in battle, and her reaction time was half that of a normal human. Most notably, the Ladybug Miraculous granted its user the force known as Miraculous Luck, which, depending on the situation, was sometimes more of a curse than a blessing. Marinette didn't get to choose how that good luck manifested. For instance, when she needed an extra day to finish a history project, her school closed down due to a gas leak. Or when she wished for a fresh start after the defeat of Hawkmoth, her parents were offered a deal to grow their bakery business in America.

Marinette assured her parents that she didn't mind moving. After all, most of her class had already moved on. Lila had been deported to Italy, narrowly avoiding jail time. Chloé (much to her dismay) was sent by her father to an all-girls boarding school in England. Adrien was taken in by his Aunt Amelie (as Gabriel was in jail and Emilie was declared brain-dead) and moved to England as well.

No one else from Marinette's class left the country, but many of them moved out of Paris. Nathanial was accepted to an elite art school in Marseille. Max was accepted to a gifted program at an elite school in Bordeaux. Officer Raincomprix was transferred to Toulouse and took Sabrina with him. Juleka and Luka both started homeschooling after their mother sailed the houseboat down the Seine to the city of Rouen.

Worst of all was the loss of Alya. Her parents were horrified that the son of Hawkmoth was in the same class as their daughter, and promptly pulled Alya out of class and decided to move out of the city. Alya begged them for weeks but nothing came of her protests. In the end, Alya left too.

The Miraculous Luck could do a lot of things, but it couldn't keep her friends together. Those who remained at François Dupont filled holes in other classes. Marinette tried to make the best of her new class, but she felt no real connection to them. When her parents proposed the move, Marinette jumped on the opportunity. In Gotham, she wouldn't be haunted by the ghost of her old life.

Marinette cut her hair, leaving it choppy and just above the shoulders. She donated all of her brightly colored clothes to the thrift store down the street and created a new wardrobe for herself. It was toned down and mature, much more fitting for Gotham.

Marinette left Paris a much different girl than the naive fourteen-year-old who thought she could save the world. She was ready for a city like Gotham, a city that didn't make any promises, a city where Marinette could set down some new roots.

-----

At first, it was easy to fly under the radar at Gotham Academy. It was a school filled with the self-absorbed children of millionaires and billionaires, after all. Marinette was there on scholarship - her good grades, leadership experience, and working-class parents combined to cut her tuition down by 75%. Marinette quickly learned that scholarship students were at best ignored, and at worst mercilessly bullied. So Marinette kept her head down and vowed that she would get through the year unscathed.

There was one variable, however, that the Miraculous Luck wasn't able to account for. Marinette's entire plan fell apart thanks to one boy: Damian Wayne.

Marinette became acquainted with Damian Wayne through the school's rumor mill. She learned that he was one of the most wealthy and most attractive people in the school, but he was thought himself too good to spend time with any of his fellow classmates (Marinette couldn't fault him on the last bit; she also found the students at Gotham Academy to be difficult, to say the least). Marinette also learned through the school's rumor mill that Damian spent quite a lot of time staring at her. Given that Damian had never paid the slightest amount of attention to a Gotham Academy girl before, this was a big deal. Suddenly Marinette was the farthest thing from under the radar. Everyone who used to look down on her wanted to be her friend. It was exhausting.

Marinette resolved to ignore Damian Wayne - an easy task, given that she still didn't even know what he looked like. Now that everyone was staring at her, it was hard to

"Why?" grumbled Marinette. "Why couldn't my so-called Miraculous Luck help me get through one normal year of school?"

Tikki shrugged from her spot inside of Marinette's backpack. "Maybe all of this attention will turn out to be a good thing?"

"I doubt that." Marinette glanced around, checking that no one had spotted her talking to her backpack. There was one spot in the cafeteria that was hidden from view, a window-sill nestled behind a pillar, bordered by a wall on one side and an out of order vending machine on the other. Marinette sat on the window-sill every day to eat lunch, with Tikki as her companion for the meal.

"I think your problem is that you're overthinking this. Miraculous Luck always works out in the end, even if there are some obstacles in the middle."

"I just want this horrible school year to be over," sighed Marinette, setting her head down in her arms.

"Don't give up yet, Marinette. I have high hopes for this school year," said Tikki.

Marinette had some serious doubts but picked her head up anyway. Maybe this year wouldn't turn out the way she expected. Marinette defeated Hawkmoth, the greatest villain Paris ever faced. She could survive a year of high school.

-----

Marinette was going to survive her senior year of high school. Damian Wayne on the other hand... Marinette still wasn't sure if she was going to let him survive the year, after everything he put her through.

"Excuse me?" a sickeningly sweet voice piped up from behind Marinette.

Marinette put on her best disinterested-face, took out one headphone, and turned around. "Yes?"

There were three girls standing behind her: a blonde, flanked on both sides by a brunette and a red-head. The blonde girl had a smile on her face but a devious look in her eyes. Marinette had long ago learned to spot manipulators, and this girl had it written all over her. "Are you Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"Yes."

"My name is Julie Cooper. I was just wondering... Are you dating Damian Wayne?"

Marinette huffed in exasperation. "What do you think?"

Julie's eyes narrowed. "I just wanted to warn you. I mean, did you really think that Damian Wayne would seriously date a girl here on scholarship? You should break up with him before you get hurt."

"It was a rhetorical question. I'm not dating Damian Wayne. It's just a rumor."

Julie instantly perked up. "Oh, good! I was beginning to think that Damian had lost his mind. I mean, I'm sure you would be a nine or a ten at a public school, but at Gotham Academy, you're like a seven, maybe an eight on a good day. Most of the girls who go here are actually hot, not just," the girl waved her hand towards Marinette. "Above average."

Marinette wasn't sure if Julie meant for her to feel flattered or offended, but her words had the strange effect of making Marinette feel both all at once. "Um, thanks? I'm going to go now."

Julie's brunette friend suddenly paled as the girl started to tug on Julie's sleeve. "Um, Julie?" she whispered.

"What, Nora?" Julie's eyes widened as they fixed on something behind Marinette.

Marinette turned around to see what the cause of their concern was. Or rather, to see who the cause of their concern was. It was a boy, tall and scowling. "Are you done here, Cooper?"

Julia nodded, a nervous edge to her voice, "Bye, Marinette." She and her two friends hurried off, exchanging frantic whispers.

"What do you want?" asked Marinette with a sigh. She was tired of dealing with boys who were only interested in her because Damian Wayne was interested in her.

"I wished to apologize."

"For Julie? Did you put her up to this?"

The boy looked confused. "No, of course not. I meant that I wanted to apologize for everything, not just Julie Cooper."

"For everything?" The truth suddenly dawned on Marinette. "You're Damian Wayne! I didn't think that you would be so tall."

"You didn't know what I looked like?" There was real shock in his voice.

"Well, by the time I learned that you had been staring at me everyone was staring at me, so that wasn't much help in figuring out who you were."

"You could have googled me."

Marinette shrugged. "I could have, but it felt weird to google one of my classmates. I pretty much just resigned myself to never figuring out who you were."

"I should have approached you sooner. I've wanted to apologize for a while, but every time I've caught you alone you've looked like you wanted to be left that way."

"I'm not a fan of most of the students here."

"The students here can be..." Damian searched for the appropriate word. "Tiresome. I resigned myself to a dull four years of high school in their company. That is, until I saw you."

Marinette cocked her head. "Why me, though? I'm nothing special."

"You're different than everyone else here."

Marinette stiffened. "I know. I've been told. I'm here on a scholarship which means I don't belong," she snapped

Damian shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. You move through life differently than all of the other students here. You don't care about the gossip or drama - at least, not until you were right at the center of it all. You've seen the real world, so you float above the high school drama. You're just so... so..."

"So what?" Marinette's tone softened.

Damian ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it. The addition of the messy hair added a certain charm to his otherwise polished exterior. "I've been brainstorming for the right word for weeks. The best I can come up with is pure. You don't let yourself become affected by anything in this school."

It was a very flattering description of her. It was also very on the nose. "I'll forgive you, Damian Wayne, but only on one condition."

"What?"

"I want to get to know you, and I have a feeling that you feel the same way."

Damian nodded. "It's a deal."

Maybe her Miraculous Luck wasn't so useless after all. Marinette had expected to go the whole year without making a single friend. Now, it seemed that she might make one after all.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #daminette #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Damian Wayne #MaribatMarch2021 #maridami #marinette x damian #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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bts-hyperfixation · 3 years

Text

Soulmates

JJK X Reader soulmate AU

Warnings: Minor character death(car crash, only mentioned nothing graphic), Drinking

I don’t know if this is what you (the requester) were going for? this is somehow where I ended up

Everyone in this world has a soulmate. Someone that is meant to complete them and make them feel whole.

Your other half can be identified by the matching birthmark hidden somewhere on their body. There are also a lot of people whose marks are so close to matching that it almost feels like the real thing… almost. Sadly, many don’t ever get to experience the love of their true soulmate, so they settle for the closest they can get.

Jungkook was convinced he was one of the lucky few. Looking at her made his heart feel like it was going to burst. Every time he saw her the world got brighter, the birds started singing a little louder, and his stress nearly melted away entirely … nearly. But at 17 no one is going to pay attention to nearly.

Their birthmark’s matched so closely, each sporting a small puzzle piece on opposite wrists. You wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at the loved-up pair as they walked together hand in hand. And he loved her so completely, and her him, that they never thought to question it. Madly in love until the day she died.

Jungkook spent weeks almost comatose when the news of her car crash reached him. Couldn’t move, eat, sleep. To lose your soulmate so young was said to be a fate worse than never finding them at all. Even after coming through the other side people could tell he wasn’t the same carefree young boy he had been, most likely never would be again. His eyes’ looked far older than his years now, his soft features much more angular.

Three months after her death he resolve to never fall in love again, happy in the knowledge that he got to know her even for such a short amount of time.

….

You met Jungkook at a party. Someone from Uni decided that 24 was the right age for a big birthday bash. They hired out an entire club and set up a series of activities for people to enjoy. A mechanical ball on the main floor, a ball pit to the side, a BBQ in the smoking area, and a bouncy castle in the downstairs 90’s themed area. It really was an amazing event. You however spent most of your time watching the quiet Korean boy in the corner, every time his eyes met yours you felt compelled to move to him, talk to him, dance with him, anything that would get his attention on you. At the time you put it down to the alcohol. It took you exactly 3 and a half drinks to pick up the courage and interrupt his current conversation.

He was very sweet, really sweet considering he clearly didn’t want to be talking to you. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted and the nervous playing with his sleeves, still you persevered. Something about him wouldn’t let you give up, not yet at least. Your saving grace came when your favourite band came blaring over the speakers. “PRETTYMUCH” aren’t an underrated band per say but it’s difficult to find someone who knows them in your circle, so when Jungkook’s face lit up at the same time as yours you knew you had your in. So with the Phases remix blaring through the club you took your opportunity.

“I love this song!” You took his hand and pulled him on to the dance floor before you really realised that’s what you are doing. To start with he was frozen, a little shocked by your boldness, but as you gave it your all he joined in, loosening up for the first time that entire night. After that it was a lot easier to talk to him, you actually went into the smoking area to talk more about shared music interests.

After you went to get a drink you got caught up with some others and he came to find you. It felt like an electric shock when he’d grabbed your hand to get your attention, but there were a lot of balloons around so that would explain the residual electricity. By the time the party was over, and the club was closing, you didn’t want to leave him, not just now but ever. You found yourselves wandering around aimlessly, talking about nothing until the sun came up. Looking back it was then you decided Jungkook was it for you. You had never really believed in the soulmate tradition until you met him.

Weeks go by of you texting back and forth. You found out the reason he was so into music was because he was a musician himself, he even promised to perform for you sometime. A lot of promises were made in those messages.

‘There’s this amazing Restaurant in the city’ you claimed promising to take him with you next time.

‘I really want to see this movie’ he said promising to pay for tickets when it came out.

‘We should go see this band together’ The number one promise between the two of you, quickly racking up a lot of different acts to see together.

So when one of those bands turned up on the roster for the local you’d bought tickets immediately sending him the confirmation. Your stomach had fluttered thinking about seeing him in person again. And so you counted down the days as they passed. Picked and repicked your outfit. Talked yourself in and out of going. Eventually the day arrived. The doorbell signalling his arrival was deafening, ringing out through your small studio apartment. You took a few deep breaths before opening the door.

He was flawless, your tipsy memory hadn’t done him justice. A broad chest draped in a white long sleeve tee, ripped skinnies straining against his thighs, his hair swept into a James Dean quiff. You might’ve laughed at the way your outfits had accidently matched (a black crop with white skinnies) had you been capable of making a noise.

“Ready to go?” He asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. You’d nodded, blushing when you realised you had been staring.

It was a short bus ride into the town centre. Spent in relatively comfortable silence arms brushing against one another in the limited space on the crowded vehicle. The club was packed wall to wall when you got inside, no hope of getting to the front of the crowd, or so you’d thought. Jungkook grabbed your hand winked at you and began heading in the opposite direction of the stage. He led you up some back stairs and on to a balcony you hadn’t ever noticed before.

“I’ve played here before, almost no one knows this is here, but it will give us the perfect view.” He dropped your hand in favour of leaning over the railing. You couldn’t help but feel cold at the loss. The performance was great, you found yourselves screaming lyrics back and forth at one another. Some people had cottoned on to your little hiding spot and soon it became as packed as the rest of the club. Whether he was trying to protect you from the others or he was pushed there you will never know, but Jungkook ended up caging you to the railing, head resting on your shoulder.

After the show you’d decided it was time to ask him how he felt. The club was still busy, but the two of you had been in a quiet corner on your own nursing drinks and chatting aimlessly.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You asked, broaching the topic carefully. You watched closely for his reaction, but he gave nothing away. Instead he just shrugged.

“I did once.” It was too blunt, you knew you should’ve stopped but you couldn’t, now you’d decided to tell him it was like verbal diarrhoea.

“I didn’t think I did, I mean I’ve never seen any ‘matching birthmarks’ and every couple I know is perfectly happy… but then I met you and I keep thinking about it, and you, and how I feel about you.” You watched as his face goes from pensive to a deer caught in the headlights.

“I… I have to leave now.” He got up and ran into the crowd before you even had a chance to reach for him. He dipped through a back entrance of the club and into the night before you could even push through the first layer of people.

The ride home had seemed a lot longer. Holding back tears had proved extremely difficult. Of all the reactions he could’ve given you that might’ve been the worst one. Somehow you found yourself thinking even him laughing in your face might’ve been better. You left the lights in your studio switched off that night. Made a beeline for your bed and passed out face down.

It would’ve felt like a bad dream when you woke up… if it hadn’t been for the crusty mascara tracking down your cheeks. You’d picked up your phone from where it lay abandoned next to you. Battery on 12%. You’d decided then it’d be best to run damage control, at least save the friendship.

Y/N: I’m sorry about last night…

You hadn’t expected his reply to be quick, so it’d surprised you when the typing bubbles appeared immediately; and furthered your sadness when they disappeared moments later without a message.

For days you spiralled. Going over the moment again and again in your head. Each replay turning the memory into something worse than the original.

Eventually you plucked yourself out of bed, deciding to face the problem head on and talk to the friend that invited you both to their birthday in the first place.

She met you at a café downtown during her lunch break. It was obvious by your red rimed eyes and sniffling nose that you had been crying but she was nice enough to ignore it for the most part. You caught up on her life for a little while until you physically couldn’t hold back anymore.

You told her exactly what had happened between you and JK, watching as her expression got both more understanding and pitying as you got closer to the end. Whatever you thought she was going to tell you was no where close to the story you got. You sat mouth wide open as she told you about the accident, and the way it affected Jungkook. It made you want to cry all over again. You didn’t know what to say once she had finished, stewing in your own thoughts for a while. The main thought that kept coming to the front of your mind was one that made you feel so evil. But you had to get it out

“What if she wasn’t really his soulmate. What if he was never meant for her” Its barely above a whisper but your friend heard it.

“He truly believes that she was” She replied squinting at you. Her break ended shortly after that leaving you alone with your thoughts.

…

It’s almost a month later when you see Jungkook again. Hadn’t heard a single thing from him since the concert but at least you knew why.

This time it was someone pool party. You honestly hadn’t been expecting to see him there. Didn’t even know you had mutual friends past that one girl. You didn’t think twice about your birthmark when you stripped down to your two piece. Why would you? Everyone has one. You were lay out on a sun-lounger with a drink when you spotted him. Tucked away in a corner once again, the only difference this time was his attention was already on you. He looked as good as ever, hair damp and slicked back, Long-sleeved neoprene shit covering his torso but trunks showing off his amazing thighs. You’d forced yourself to look away form him but could still feel the intensity of his gaze on you.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore, too hot under the sun and his stare you decided to change out of your swimsuit into a sundress for the evening. Heading inside you found your way into someone’s bedroom to get changed. Perhaps you should’ve checked to see if the door the locked though, because just as you had wiggled out of the bikini top Jungkook burst into the room.

“Ah shit… Sorry… I um.” His hand had flown in front of his eyes as he’d slammed the door shut behind him and you’d immediately reached for the flimsy dress pulling it over you torso so he could reopen his eyes.

“What in the actual fuck Jungkook?” you whisper screamed not wanting to draw attention to the two of you hidden away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think… I just needed to see…”

“See what?! My boobs? I think you managed that one perv. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks and now all of a sudden you can’t wait long enough to knock.” You came across a lot meaner than you had meant, you just hadn’t been prepared for him to want to speak to you again.

“No I’m sorry I’ll go, this was a bad idea, I was probably seeing things anyway.” He mumbled looking sheepishly at the floor/

“No wait it’s okay, I really want to apologise don’t leave.” You took a deep breath and waited for his eyes to meet yours properly. When they did you could see the shock behind them.

“Why do you need to apologise? I’m the one that ran off, I never even told you why and I fucked up and I’m sorry I just…” You reached for him then, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and then realised it wasn’t your place, arm dropping heavily back to your side. “I felt so guilty with you, not because of you, because of me.” You nodded in understanding.

“I found about your soulmate after I confessed to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I never would’ve brought it up if I had known you had already found yours.” You’d broken eye contact with him then unable to watch the sadness in his eyes and not be able to do anything about it.

“That’s why I felt so guilty though because the way I feel about you is so similar to the way I felt about her, how I still feel about her deep down. I was so confused because you’re only supposed to get one soulmate, and if I could feel the same way about you in such a short time… it just feels like I’m betraying her by loving you.” He stepped forward reaching for your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. “The today when I saw your birthmark on your thigh I could’ve cried.” He uses his free hand to unzip the shirt he’d been wearing. He pulled his left arm from the sleeve exposing his birthmark to you. A puzzle piece to fit perfectly into your own.

You’d gasped at the revelation you were right. He was meant to be yours. And yet it didn’t feel right. The anguish on his face was clear, the internal fight he had obviously been having with himself ever since the concert.

“Letting yourself love me now doesn’t mean you loved her any less” you whispered, allowing yourself to move even closer to him, wrapping him in your arms. He’d nuzzled into your neck allowing tears to stream down his cheeks and onto your shoulder. You’d felt every bit of stress leave his body as he cried. Emotions he hadn’t even know he had been holding onto, finally letting himself really breath since he had lost her all those years ago.

You’d lost track of the time, just stood with him, holding him until the final few sniffles came. His cheeks had been puffy by and red when he pulled away, wiping his face on the sleeve still on his right arm.

“Do you want to leave? We can go back to mine” You’d asked carefully, not willing to let him go home alone after feeling like that. He’d nodded weakly, sliding his arm back into the shirt before taking your hand in his. You’d headed for the door only to be brought back by the hand he had on yours. He’d pulled you so close you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, watched your reaction before leaning in and kissing you. It was salty with left over tears, but you wouldn’t change you first kiss for the world. Everything felt like it clicked into place in that moment, the world tilted on its axis. The exchange was short lived, a chaste peck followed by a few smaller pecks before he let you lead him all the way home.

Masterlist

#JJK #Jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts soulmate #bts soulmate au #bts fic #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook soulmate #jeon jungkook #jungkook soulmate au

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

Text

Genshin: Mythos AU - Cat Xiao

Dancer Xiao? I’ve never heard of that but to be fair, I don’t really get out much. Cat Xiao Dancer tho 👀 This is valid and I fully accept it. I wrote a University AU a while back and if I ever make a part 2, I’d love to brainrot on this dancer idea. Speaking of, since I just started another royalty/mythos AU and I think this idea could slide into that.

Alright let me crack my knuckles a bit. You’ve got my brainworms running.

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Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ] [ Opposites Attract ] [ String Of Fate (Soulmate) ] [ Fainting ]

[ Genshin: Royalty AU ]

[Masterlist]

Note: The royalty and mythos AU aren’t completely connected together. But I am definitely taking ideas from each other.

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[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @sunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz @dai-tsukki-desu @thicmitten @nonniechan @htnicayh @genshins1mpact @morthecreator @aanne2601 @aklxojjk @fulltimeventisimp @aetherazor @youaskedfurret @snowy224 @mayumintsu @tigerpriestess @yuu-yuukurotsuki @legionqueensav @eva-0403 @blanktide @aaaaalona @castinluckgamer @hanniejji

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Mythos AU - Cat Xiao

Xiao was born and raised in the Huan tribe, a clan where its members were born with feline features, but it was an isolated group that was purposefully hidden away from human eyes. While most of the world was friendly towards hybrids, the threat of poachers and trafficking was still high that most hybrid clans hid away from the outside world. There was a misconception that hybrids could bring someone good luck or blessings so they were always hunted down to later sell to wealthy royals. In the case of the Huan, they had the ability to scare away misfortune.

Due to the old traditions and customs the Huan tribe carried, all males were raised to become warriors that could defend the tribe should any corrupted mage or human arrive to capture them. Therefore, Xiao was handed a spear before he even knew how to say his name properly. But surprisingly, Xiao was quite adept at the spear and learned quickly how to use it. He was flexible and nimble on his feet, being able to dash in and out and use his spear as a third extension of his arm to quickly disarm other peers his age. Making sure his tail kept his balance and his dilated eyes were focused on his opponent.

Perhaps it was the overconfidence the clan held in him or how lax the rules had become with the fall of poachers that the one moment Xiao strayed too far from home. He was suddenly enveloped in a pink gas that irritated his eyes and made his limbs drop dead. A mysterious green haired man appeared from under the ground, dirt and roots pushing aside to reveal him, as he smiled sweetly down at the growing Xiao. That sick smile was the last thing Xiao saw before he was knocked out.

When he awoke, he was suddenly thrown into an entirely different land that he wasn’t used to. The Huan was hidden away deep inside a cave of lamp grass that gave the entire area a slow blue glow. High up in the mountains where the air smelled of fresh mint. But there was too much orange and red that Xiao had to close his eyes from the bright and vibrant colours. His cat ears twitching at all the loud noises of people yelling about numbers and products. The stuffy air that was slowly choking him. Xiao tried to pull himself up only to see dendro bindings incasing him and he was still feeling the affects of that gas. He sighed and flopped back and tried to flex his arms into a more comfortable position as he tried to calm himself down. His tail slowly curling around him. Xiao only had a small break before the doors to his cage was suddenly thrown open and he was quickly yanked out of his cage onto the ground. The same mysterious green haired man smiled and nodded at him before turning back to a strange man wearing a mask, dressed in armour, and welding a spear.

Everything was happening too fast, before Xiao could get his bearing he was hauled up and dragged into a strange building and pushed into a room with several woman. There seemed to be a silent conversation he was missing before the woman pushed and pulled him every which way. Shredding his clothes and washing his skin and ears until he was rid of the grime he had been stained with from his “trip”. He was highly uncomfortable with all these foreign people touching him and dressing him but in his drugged out state he couldn’t do much besides trying to bat away hands when they were too forceful on his tail. Until he was finally dressed in a stiffy outfit with a too high collar, he heard it was called a Changshan from one of the woman, and was he lead to a private room and told to behave or else he would be killed on the spot.

At least Xiao had a chance to breathe. To take in his surroundings and bask in the peace and quiet. To think of how he could possibly get out of this situation. He knew how to fight, if he could get his hands on a weapon that those guards had, he might be able to escape and find a way to return to Huan. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, remembering what his teachers taught him, and opened them determined only to flinch back when a girl his age was already standing in front of him. While Xiao knew his yellow feline eyes were intimidating, this new girls scarlet eyes felt as they were crushing him this invisible pressure. Xiao quickly bit his tongue before it could let out a warning growl and subtly wrapped his tail around his leg in comfort.

It wasn’t until the girl stepped back and sat on a couch that Xiao realized she wasn’t alone. The same guard from before was beside her but his eyes were closed. Directing his attention back to the scarlet-eyed girl, she almost seemed amused at Xiao’s hybrid features. The cute twitches of his ears and nose, but she leaned back and gestured for Xiao to go on. Xiao just stared blankly at her, was he supposed to do something? He was only told to behave lest he be killed but he felt like he was missing something important. The girl tilted her head further and asked if he had any talents, if he knew how to dance perhaps?

Xiao didn’t know the first thing about what dancing meant to this kid, he was raised to know how to weld a spear. He was aware that weapon dancing was a thing, the Huan would always celebrate victories in hunting through spear dancing, but was he even allowed a weapon?

Xiao’s eyes darted towards the guards spear as he pointed towards it. The girl’s scarlet eyes seemed to light up in understanding, Xiao just noticed that her pupils were flower shaped, as she reached over and tugged at the guards sleeve.

“Hand him the spear,” the girl said as she pointed at the weapon in his hands and then back to Xiao. The guard just stared at her incredulously as the cheerful demeanor the girl held suddenly vanished as her face scrunched into an disgusted and annoyed expression. She reached over and yanked the spear out of the guards hand before tossing it to Xiao who scrambled to catch it before it ended up stabbing him in the foot.

“Was that so hard? You may go now. Bye bye!” she said as he proceeded to push the man out despite his protests, “Don’t you have anything important to do that isn’t here? Just go stand outside or something. Are you saying I can’t defend myself? I might poison your food if you say that you know!”

As she basically threw the man out and closed the door. She pattered her clothes down and re-adjusted her hat before turning around as she grinned at Xiao. Returning to her seat on the couch, she crossed her legs, folder her hands on top of her knees, and laid back as she nodded for him.

“Now, go on. I’m interested to see what you can do. Impress me kitty.”

Xiao could feel a very thin thread inside him snap at the nickname but tried to keep his emotions in check. His teachers always said he had a short fuse and one day it would get him in trouble. He was in an unknown place, surrounded with enemies, and he could feel that the drug wasn’t fully out of his system. So he stepped back to give him more room as he twirled the spear in his hands. It was similar to the Qiang spears he used back at home. Xiao breathed in deeply, breathed out, as he took his stance and raised the spear in front of him. The girl began clapping a tempo as he twirled and danced with the spear. Stepping in and out and thrusting the spear forward. At the last second, as he was twirling the spear over his shoulder, Xiao’s eyes dilated as he rolled the weapons off his neck and into his hands and thrusts it at the clapping girl. It didn’t surprise anyone when the girl’s grin turned wider as she kicked her leg out to knock the spear out of Xiao’s hand before she caught it. The girl simply studied the spear, the weight of it, before turning her gaze back to Xiao. He was standing with his arms crossed and looking at her unimpressed.

"Excellent performance," the girl nodded as she laid the spear on her lap to clap for him but when she didn’t get any change from Xiao she slowly stopped her clapping, looking at him confused.

“Why did you send that man away if you knew this would happen?” Xiao questioned. If her flower pupils didn’t give it away he could feel in the air that she was the same as him. A hybrid of some sort.

“Only an idiot would do something like that so I wanted to see if you would actually do it! You’ve managed to impress me which means you get to live,” the girl clapped her hands once more as if that was something Xiao should be happy about, “Isn’t that nice? One more day of freedom, well until Zhongli get’s his hands on you. Then you might be in a little trouble...”

“Wait hang on. What is going on? Where am I and who is Zhongli? Who are you?” Xiao quickly intercepted before the girl could go off on another tangent. Could he get a quick five minute break and have someone explain what the hell was happening? Didn’t this girl know he was basically drugged and kidnapped? Should that be something that communities deemed as wrong?

“Oh you poor Kitty. No one bothered to explain anything? This week is Golden week where everyone in Liyue is trying to tie the knot. Zhongli has preferred taste and as his trusted advisor, Hu Tao, it’s my job to select the most eligible spouse,” Hu tao nodded to herself after finishing her explanation. There was a beat of silence as Hu Tao blinked and looked back at Xiao. His ears and tail were stiff as a board as his mind was slowly processing the information. He blinked at her. Once. Twice. Before proceeding to pass out.

---

This is not what you asked for and yet I still delivered. I just started writing and it became gay. I don’t even watch dramas but if this isn’t a plot to one. I’m going to be very disappointed. Every time I write Cat!Xiao it’s another drama. Feel free to sub anyone out for reader. I just wanted to stick to the lore and AU.

If you’re interested in the terms or the “lore” behind this AU. I added a read more below:

Disclaimer: I am not a Chinese historian so there is probably something wrong here.

Huan (讙)

Found on the Yiwang Mountains, a cat with the same build as a small mountain lion or lynx, except it has one eye and three tails. According to ancient depictions, the Huan cat has the uncanny ability to scare away misfortune.

Qiang

The most common long-handled spear used by Chinese soldiers. It is one of the earliest known battle weapons and was known as “the king of a thousand soldiers”.

Changshan

Similar to what Xingqiu wears, Changshan were introduced to China during the Qing dynasty. Changshan were a formal dress for Chinese men before Western-style suits became common in China. They are traditionally worn for formal pictures, weddings, and other formal Chinese events.

Adepti vs Yaksha

The Adepti and Yaksha are two different social classes. In this mythos AU, your worth and reputation is based on your celestial powers. Adepti are people that are reincarnations of celestial beings and can change into their animal variant. Meanwhile, Yaksha’s are people blessed by celestial beings. They only have the animal features and are weaker in terms of power. Yaksha’s are still powerful compared to a human but due to the misconceptions in Liyue, Yaksha’s are treated as possessions. Yes, this will change (if I write more on this AU) because equality is hot.

Hu Tao

To be fair, I originally wrote this as Zhongli talking to Xiao but it didn’t really make sense to me. Her role and relationship to Zhongli is similar to the genshin lore where she’s a massive headache to him. But Hu Tao knows how to do her job and is one of the few people that talks back to Zhongli that he appreciates her existence. She still has to walk the line carefully lest she actually offend him and get herself killed. She admires people like herself, people that aren’t afraid to stand up for themselves or surprise her, and she has a lot of fun pushing people to reach that state. She’s not very well liked because of this.

Zhongli

I’m going to say it. I fully believe Zhongli used to be a piece of shit before he met Guizhong. Maybe not intentionally but he doesn’t understand emotions or what empathy is. In this AU, he has some amount of capability to express himself except they are all entitled because he genuinely believes he is the strongest. He’s not inherently evil, just very trapped in his own world and understanding, and everyone is too scared to correct him. Besides Hu tao of course.

Baizhu

He’s a questionable doctor that works beside Zhongli. Just so long as Zhongli doesn’t poke his nose into his experiments, he doesn’t care what Zhongli does and vice versa. But because Zhongli is technically his boss, he’ll go and do some dirty work for whoever peaks Zhongli’s interest.

---

This entire AU is my call out post for Mihoyo to drop more lore bombs. If you won’t give me the lore then I’ll write it myself. My request box is still closed but at this point, if you give me something to think about I’ll probably write it.

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screechthemighty · 3 years

Text

Resident Evil Brain is still going brrrr, so here’s a new short fic! I actually came up with the idea for it ages ago, but finishing up everything stays gave me some breathing room to finish it off. You can read the full story below, but I’ll also post it to AO3 (same user name as here) and include a link to that in the reblogs!

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have slept. He would have powered through, gone after the next Lord. Stopping to eat was one thing; stopping to sleep felt wrong. Almost like he was giving up, or wasting valuable time that could be the difference between life and death for his daughter.

But Ethan had nearly tripped while catching a chicken to eat, and deep down he knew he'd just get himself killed if he didn't rest at least a little. He wasn't expecting that somewhere to be the back of the Duke's wagon, but the man had offered, and Ethan was too tired to complain. He kept the two flasks he'd managed to gather close to his chest as he curled up in his corner. "It's gonna be okay," Ethan whispered. He wasn't sure if Rose could hear him; the Duke had said her essence was intact, whatever the hell that meant, so maybe. It couldn't hurt to try. "I'm coming for you, honey. I promise."

He just needed enough of a nap that his limbs would stop feeling so heavy. Ethan's eyes drifted shut. He thought between the stinging pain in his hand and the memories of that awful house with all the dolls, sleep wouldn't come easy, but he dozed off pretty quickly.

He woke up to a feeling of dread seizing his body.

At first, he thought he’d had a nightmare, but...no, it was deeper than that. Maybe it was his paranoia, but something wasn’t right. Ethan carefully moved off the cot and crept towards the front of the cart. He could just see the Duke’s shoulder, and past it...

Black robes, the flutter of feathers, no, no, she couldn’t be here, not now.

The other man glanced over his shoulder, pressing a single finger to his lips. That was the only thing that kept Ethan from panicking. He thought about making a run for Rose, but that would mean making noise. It was a miracle that Miranda hadn’t heard him move the first time.

How hadn’t she noticed them? The Duke wasn’t exactly subtle. Ethan kept bracing himself for her to turn her head, try to talk to the Duke, maybe even try to hurt him. She did look their way at one point, causing Ethan to duck back behind cover, teeth clenched, trying to steady his breathing. But when he looked again, she just moved on. As if there were nothing out of the ordinary about the Duke being there.

No. As if she hadn’t seen them at all.

Ethan stayed frozen in place until Miranda was out of sight. Even then, he kept his voice down to a whisper: “Is she...?”

“She won’t be a problem,” said the Duke. Ethan was taken aback by the other man’s tone—not quite aggressive, but definitely hostile. “Not for now, at least.” And then, just as swiftly... “It’s good that you’re awake! I’ve just finished preparing lunch.”

That tone was gone.

The smell of food was the only thing that got Ethan to leave the cart; even then, he made sure everything was packed away and secure before he did. He wanted to be ready if he had to run. The Duke didn’t seem worried, though. He just served up the dish (Ethan had already forgotten what it was called, but fuck it smelled good) and started eating his own portion as if nothing were wrong. As if he hadn’t just had the one and only major change in his mood that Ethan had seen in the time they’d known each other. It wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but when the guy had been so consistent up until then, it was noteworthy. Weird, even.

Why are you doing all of this?

Why, it’s all part of our first class customer service.

Or maybe it was personal.

Ethan sneaked a few glances at the Duke as he ate. The man seemed genuinely unbothered, but maybe he was just good at hiding whatever that venom had been. “How didn’t she see us?” Ethan asked. It felt almost rude to ask, but if he was throwing in his lot with this guy, he felt like he had a right to know. “She wasn’t too far away.”

“I’ve been in this village longer than she has,” said the Duke. “It seems to agree with me more than it does her.” He noticed Ethan’s immediate frown. “What’s the longest you’ve ever lived somewhere, Ethan?”

“The same...place? I mean, I was in Dallas for a while. Not the same house the whole time, but...probably Dallas?”

“Well, after a while, wouldn’t you say that you get a feeling for a place’s...essence? How it moves, how it breathes? You could navigate it more quickly than a person who hadn’t been there as long, could you not? Stay hidden in places and ways they wouldn’t know about?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “...we’re right out in the open, there’s nothing...” Ethan sighed. “You know what, never mind. This is sounding like a conversation I should be drunk for.”

The Duke laughed. It didn’t sound mocking, at least. “Well, if you find anything left to drink in this place, bring it back with you. We can split the bottle.”

“Maybe. Once this is over.” And as long as it wasn’t from Dimitrescu’s winery. That stuff definitely wasn’t just fermented grapes.

Ethan kept eating, trying to focus on the food and not on the questions still nagging at his mind. Nothing about this place made sense, and the Duke was high up there on that list. Even if Ethan was choosing to trust him for now...

No, I have to knw.

“So...you know Miranda? Maybe not personally, but...” Ethan glanced up at the Duke, carefully studying his nearly unreadable face. “...I take it you don’t like her very much?”

The Duke hesitated. Even though his face stayed impassive, that alone was enough to catch Ethan’s attention. He wasn’t usually so slow to answer. “I am not one of her devotees, no,” the Duke said. “Which means I can clearly see she is the root of much suffering in this place.”

“The Lords? All those monsters?”

“In more ways than you realize. They were people once, you know. They might be monstrous now, but they are monsters of her making.”

Ethan understood what the Duke meant. He thought about the Bakers. The madman that had cut off his leg versus the man with kind eyes who’d begged him to save his family. The shrieking banshee with her bugs versus a woman who could’ve been his own grandmother. He wasn’t sure if Eveline had ever been anything but cruel, but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have existed if it hadn’t been for someone else’s greed. Even the molded had been people once. Ethan didn’t regret defending himself and Mia, never would, and he’d keep defending himself here as long as these people kept screwing with him. But...

How different might things had been if someone somewhere down the line just hadn’t screwed with everyone? Just left the Lords, whoever they had been once, and the villagers in peace?

“Yeah,” Ethan said quietly. He took his last few bites of the food. “Fuck that crazy bitch, huh?”

The Duke laughed boisterously. "I'll certainly eat to that."

Ethan didn't entirely relax. He wasn't sure he was capable of that. But he was able to relax a little. Even if he didn't know how, it seemed like the Duke's little setup was a safe place.

There weren't too many of those in this place.

---

Knowing what to say and when best to say it was one of the most important parts of customer service. It was the only thing that kept the Duke from saying more to Ethan Winters. The poor man had enough on his plate, much he had to grapple with, most of it beyond the scope of his understanding. Further truth might not break him, but it would cause him unnecessary stress.

There was much the Duke would have told him if it weren’t for that concern. What centuries felt like. How this little village had changed, people coming and going, living and dying. How many had tried to seize the power the mountains held. None had truly succeeded before Miranda, the self-proclaimed mother of this place.

The Duke may have long forgotten the face of his own mother, but he remembered enough to know what maternal love felt like. Whatever Miranda had to offer was not that love. Just a twisted perversion of it, as the Lords were twisted perversions of children. She was an infection in these lands, but unfortunately, one he could do nothing about. The Duke had a great many tricks up his sleeve, but he was only a seller of arms. He had never learned to use them himself. He had always been keen to supply those who might oppose Miranda, but none had succeeded yet.

Out of all of them, he felt that Ethan Winters had the best chance of succeeding.

It wasn’t just the man’s biology, though that was clearly giving him an edge. It was something else: the spark the Duke had in his eyes from the first second they met. Determination. Rage. The kind of drive that couldn’t be found in any mold or virus in the world.

And what better to defeat a perversion of parental love than its true counterpart?

Ethan kept his bag clutched close to his chest as he ate, the bag that contained two parts of his daughter. The Duke had heard him whispering to the flasks before he fell asleep, trying to soothe and reassure the child. Even now, as he paused in eating, Ethan hummed quietly. A jaunty tune, one that the Duke didn’t recognize. “A favorite song of hers?” he asked.

Ethan glanced up. “Oh, uh. Yeah. ‘Doctor Worm.’ Never too early to get started on good music.” He held the bag a little closer before finishing off his meal. “Thanks. For the food. And for...” He gestured. “Whatever it was you did back there. If you did anything.”

His tone cemented the Duke’s decision to keep some things from Ethan. He sounded exasperated by even a simple cloaking technique. The Duke’s true age would only elicit a similar response.

Maybe if Ethan survived this, when he had less on his mind, the Duke could tell him everything. His full, dark history with Miranda. The full scope of the horrors he’d seen. The horrors that Ethan would have put a stop to. But for now, the Duke took Ethan’s plate with a smile. “Do keep an eye out for more meat as you go,” he said. “It would be an honor to have dinner with you.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said in a quiet huff. “Assuming I make it that long.”

That was always a risk, of course. That Ethan wouldn’t make it. But despite knowing that...

“After what you’ve done, Mr. Winters? I think you’re more than equipped to handle what’s to come.”

And he meant that. He truly did. Even if it was to be the death of Ethan Winters...the Duke had a feeling it would be the death of Mother Miranda as well.

He just hoped he would be able to explain exactly how truly important that was.

#resident evil #resident evil village #the duke #resident evil the duke #ethan winters #just two special boys having a grand old time in the village

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solarwonux · 3 years

Text

An Unforgettable Dinner - Valentine’s Day Drabble #3

soft!dom mingyu x f!reader x soft!dom chan

w.c: 2.0k

warnings: LOTS of teasing, toys (vibrator), public sex (kind off just squint everyone), humiliation, Mingyu is a little shit, orgasm denial, poly relationshi, daddy kink if you like squint, slight degradation, (very minimal editing)

note: this was a prompt from my drabble game, but I enjoyed it too much that I thought why not add it to this mini series lol. Enjoy and please please let me know your thoughts.

also i will be answering asks tonight hehehe and everyone else that left me lovely comments on my feedback rant lol

masterlist || drabble game

“You should wear that more often.”

You jumped upon hearing the smoky lip of your boyfriend's voice. Quickly, you placed the glass of champagne onto the kitchen counter before scurrying and wrapping the sheer robe around yourself tightly. Failing to cover the baby pink lingerie set you adorned.

He wasn’t supposed to be home yet.

They weren’t supposed to be home yet, because if Mingyu was home that only meant that Chan was home too.

“W-What are you guys doing here?” You turned around, setting your elbow down onto the counter awkwardly. The loud drone of the old Jazz record you had playing, didn’t do much to cover your embarrassment and the loud beating of your heart as you looked at both Mingyu and Chan’s smug expression.

“This is our house too baby.” Chan spoke before pushing himself off the wall. He walked past you dropping his bag onto one of the kitchen chairs, your eyes following his movements closely as he walked to the record player and turned it off. “Valentine’s Day and our anniversary isn’t for another week, what’s the special occasion?” He put the record needle back onto its respective spot and took off the record carefully, looking around for the sleeve before spotting it haphazardly thrown on the couch. With a tisking sound, a shake of his head and a quick glance at Mingyu then you, he walked towards it.

“I’m willing to overlook the mal-treatment of my records if you answer Chan’s question...and honestly.” Mingyu’s voice grabbed your attention once again, this time obviously annoyed.

Mingyu’s records were his prized possession, sometimes treating them like they were his second skin or his first offspring. He never forbade you or Chan from using them as long as you abided by his rules and more often than not you would forget, Chan always covering up for you so you wouldn’t have to listen to another version of the same lecture Mingyu always gave.

“Um...no special occasion I just wanted to try on the set I bought last week for our anniversary night.” You mumbled playing with the feathered sleeves of your sheer robe. It was true, your plan had been fool proof until it wasn’t. You were only going to wear it for a few minutes, take some polaroids to leave hidden around the house for them to find and take it off before they came home. Though, you had gotten ahead of yourself the second you saw how beautiful it looked on your body. How it made your insecurities fade away slowly. In celebration for the new found confidence you didn’t want to stray away from yet. You had opened a bottle of champagne and put on your favorite record as you lingered around the living room with a giddy nature that only a child on Christmas morning would have.

“It’s a shame we were spoiled, now this is all I’m going to think about for the entirety of next week.” Chan said as he walked back to the shelves that kept your books and Mingyu’s record collection. He held it by the denting corners of the sleeve twirling it mindlessly as he went over the abc’s in his mind, before finding its rightful spot between L and N and slipping it back in.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you felt the tension grow in between the three points of the living room where the three of you were standing in. Chan was now leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed chewing on his bottom lip, while Mingyu still hadn’t moved from his spot by the front door with you trapped in between them now, holding onto one of the kitchen chairs, keeping your balance. Their looks were almost predatory and it made the skin of your arms rise as well as the desire between your legs.

There was no way you would survive this night untouched.

“Why don’t we get a preview, it would be waste to at least not see something you’ve planned for us.” Mingyu nodded, Chan making a sound that can only be categorized as one of approval. Though, you felt weak in the knees ready to drop for them. The confidence you found yourself ensuing when wearing this particular innocent looking set, overcame your senses.

“Buy me dinner and I’ll think about it.”

“What’s wrong baby, you wanted dinner didn’t you?”

You gripped Chan’s forearm like a vice, and bit your lip hard trying to subside the moans that were threatening to spill out.

Your confidence had depleted to nothing when they both agreed and told you that they would wait in the car for you as you finished getting dressed. On the way towards the hole in the wall restaurant the three of you often visited. One of Mingyu’s hands was gripping the steering wheel hard, while the other found its way inside of your leggings, teasing your slit over your panties.

“She’s wet enough love.” Mingyu spoke, sending Chan a knowing look through the rearview mirror in which you caught. It only made you wonder if they had had this entire night planned out and your suspicions only grew when Chan had fished out a tiny hot pink vibrator before handing it over to you.

“Put it inside of you baby.” Chan smirked at you through the rearview mirror before planting a sloppy wet kiss against your cheek. At first you declined, called the two of them insane for suggesting such a thing, let alone in public. But then the thought of them teasing you in public became more appealing and arousing to you, that silently you obliged to their commands. Which is how you found yourself at a loss for words and appetite and on the brink of yet another orgasm, digging your nails into Chan’s bicep as they both ate happily, chatting up a storm.

“This isn’t fair.” You breathed out, the vibrations dying down to almost nothing, enough for you to breathe. You weren’t sure which of them was controlling the vibrator as they never faltered in giving themselves away.

“Babe if you don’t eat, your food will get cold.” Chan pointed out, placing his hand over yours and kissing your nose lightly. Your garlic noodles had become an afterthought even before you had ordered them, your mind was focused on the pusing vibrator against your clit and how desperately you needed to orgasm.

“F-Fuck the food Chan, please let me cum.” You whisper yelled, looking between both of your boyfriends and silently begging them. Whether it was a mistake or not you didn’t care, at least not until the vibrations started up again, this time faster than before. You let out a squeak hiding your pleasure stricken face in Chan’s arm, earning a chuckle from both men.

“Not until you eat all of your dinner, it’s what you wanted baby.” Mingyu said before reaching over and grabbing your head gently in his palms making you look at him. “You act like a brat, you get treated like one.” He whispered before placing a soft kiss against your swollen lips. Before you could respond he pulled back and sat back down, crossing his arms in front of him a smirk adorning his perfect features. “Now eat baby, eat and we’ll fuck you until you start seeing stars.” The vibrations died down again and finally you realized that one that was in control of your torture was the man sitting next to you.

“C-Chan, fuck, please just let me cum. I’ll be good, I’ll let the two of you fuck my mouth and my pussy but please I-I need to cum.” You begged and left peppering kisses against his neck. It was a good thing that the waiter had sat the three of you down in a booth, otherwise you wouldn’t have been openly expressing how desperate you were.

He shuddered and pushed you away before taking a bite out of his steak, ignoring you completely. You could tell that by the way his body had tensed up and how the vibrator moved inside of you at an overwhelming speed, he was close to giving in. If it wasn’t for Mingyu’s warning glare he would’ve given you all the orgasms you wanted, regardless of being in public or not.

“If you let her, you’ll be joining her.” Mingyu warned. It wasn’t often that Mingyu took over the dominant role in your relationship. Despite him being the one that looked more intimidating he was often underneath you or Chan when it came to the bedroom. Though, there were some days, like today in which his own mouth betrayed him as he spewed the dirtiest things for only you and Chan to hear.

You pushed your plate of food away and leaned your forehead against the table. The tears had started to pool up in the corner of your eyes as you tried to hold yourself back from your release. And when the vibrations stopped once again you let some of them go along with a sigh of relief. You sat back, whipping your eyes with the back of your hand and crossed your arms in front of you. Mingyu chewed happily on the piece of chicken he had in his mouth, as he looked at your fucked out state. He would be lying to himself if he said that he wasn’t itching to risk getting fined if it meant that he could bend you over the table and fuck you. But his self control was far greater than anything on this planet. He had proved it to both you and Chan whenever the two of you would edge him on for hours.

“C-Chan, baby, just let cum please.” You looked over at him, your eyes blotchy, looking so fucked out, wishing that he was home instead of the stupid restaurant. He wasn’t even enjoying his food anymore.

You leaned over and placed a soft kiss against the back of his ear, where his sweet spot was and you saw him grip the handle of his knife hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. “I-I feel so good, don’t you want to feel good with me.” You kissed down his neck and ran your hand over his clothed cock. He was so hard that you let yourself moan loud enough for your two boyfriends to hear, but low enough for it to be drowned out by the loud music that was playing.

“Fuck, you just want everyone to see how cock hungry you are, isn’t that right baby?” Mingyu tilted his head, his hands holding onto the table to keep himself from touching himself. In truth you and Chan were his weaknesses and more often than not the two of you used that knowledge to your advantage.

“Yes, I want them to know how much I love being full of cock and cum.” You moaned, your grip on Chan’s cock faltering when the vibrator started up again. It overwhelmed your senses, as you felt your orgasm approach even faster than before.

“Then cum for us.” Chan whispered in your ear. He had kept his hands away from you the entire time he was controlling the device inside of you, but now he had placed a hand on the inside of your thigh, massaging it gently as he whispered dirty praises in your ear. All while eyeing your boyfriend from across the table.

Before you knew it, you felt yourself release, falling forward, your forehead hitting the table gently as it traveled through you faster than the speed of light. Mingyu let out a very telling low groan, while Chan’s hand rubbed your back gently. The vibrations against the walls of your pussy came to a complete stop as they fluttered around the hot pink device.

“Good job baby, you did so good for us and look no one even noticed.” Chan said teasingly before sitting the two of you back, your head against his shoulder as he caressed your arm gently, calming you down.

“That was so fucking sexy, f-fuck. We need to leave now.” Mingyu rushed out raising his hand up to call over the waiter.

“No, like you said we need to finish your food first, so be a good boy for me love and put your hand down. We have a long night ahead of us and the two of you need all the energy you can get.” Chan said, before shoving another piece of his steak into his mouth. You knew him being quiet and letting Mingyu take control was just for show. You watched as Mingyu’s overly dominant confidence left his body slowly as he obeyed and lowered his hand, swallowing slowly.

“Daddy can we punish him?” You smirked and looked up at Chan, resting your chin against his shoulder. You saw a menacing smile appear on his face, indicating that he was more than a fan of the idea of having Mingyu at both of your mercy’s.

“Of course baby girl.”

#kdiarynet #kpopscape #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen mingyu #seventeen chan #seventeen dino #mingyu x reader #mingyu imagines #mingyu fanfic #mingyu smut #dino imagines #dino fanfiction #dino x reader #dino smut

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plumso · 3 years

Text

sweet escape

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!reader

summary: Y/N, unhappy in her current relationship, seeks solace and silence to be alone with her thoughts. Thus, the Room of Requirement appears in her time of need. She has made it her escape from people and her problems, but she then quickly realizes that she is not the only one in the room.

warnings: angst, breakup, arguments

A/N: Hello! This is my first Draco fanfic, and I hope you like it! I have never been a major Draco fan, so it was a bit of a struggle to portray his image and character. I hope I did his complex personality justice!

I do not give permission for my work to be reposted!

music suggestion: Matter to You by Sasha Sloan

I do not own the image

Surrounded by her warm and bustling group of friends, which have stuck together since the beginning of their first year at Hogwarts, Y/N sighed lamentably, her energy not matching that of her friends. They were all roaring in the excitement in the Great Hall; after all, it was the first breakfast of their sixth year, and though times were dark in the wizarding world, they were hopeful that they can make this year the best one yet. However, troubled by her worries and lost in her thoughts, she paid no mind to their conversation. Though she thought that she kept her sentiments hidden, they all noticed this.

“Y/N, are you okay? You’ve been down since we were on the train,” said Ginny worriedly.

Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and shook her head fervently. “I’m perfectly fine! It’s just… the weather is really affecting me today,” replied Y/N nervously.

Her group of friends shared a look, wondering how the day's clear, blue sky could dampen her mood. They could sense that something was wrong; in fact, they noticed her change in behavior since the end of their fifth year.

Y/N was an astonishingly kind person; she would comfort any student who approached her with their struggles, for she secreted this mysterious, soothing aura. It came as no surprise that everyone came to love and adore her sweet, honey-like demeanor. However, her friends, including her boyfriend Dean, noticed how she has never come to them with her troubles. And so, they waited till she felt comfortable in opening herself up.

Dean, who sat next to her, wrapped one of his arms around her shoulder. “You know, you can always talk to me about your problems, right?” He said quietly into her ears.

Y/N sheepishly smiled while gently rubbing his arm. “I’m fine!” exclaimed Y/N as she gives a reassuring look to all her friends. “Seriously, don’t worry about me. There’s nothing wrong. I’m just a bit tired these days, that’s all.”

Though it did not do much to ease their worries, they reluctantly dropped the subject and recapitulated their previous conversations. Y/N sighed to herself, pleased that she did not expose any more of her melancholy than she already did. And though she appreciated the worries from her boyfriend and friends, she could not stop the guilt-ridden in her heart. She glanced up to Dean and stared as he converses with their friends.

Dating ever since their second year at Hogwarts, they were constantly seen holding hands or giggling in every class they shared. Multitudes of teachers and students even exclaimed how they were the cutest couple in their year.

It all started when a bludger headed towards Y/N during a quidditch match. Its speed was unmatched, struck by a beater known for their crazy strength. And when Dean, who sat next to her, pulled her away from it, the crowd roared. Not long after did they start to date, and fortunately, they both seriously liked each other. Dean adored her gentleness while she thought he was the perfect boyfriend; he was attentive, caring, and incredibly mature. Plus, he saved her life! She remembers how Lee Jordan explained that one knock from that bludger would have sent her straight to the grave.

‘But if he’s the perfect boyfriend, then… why don’t I feel happy?’

Still staring at his face, he turned his head towards her, shocked to catch her gaze but then giving her a sweet smile. She reciprocates his smile and then swiftly turns her head away, a pang of guilt hitting her chest.

Feeling overwhelmed with all her troubled thoughts and feelings, she stood up from her seat. “I completely forgot one of my books in my dorm!” She quickly gathered her stuff and brushed off her robes before placing a soft peck on Dean’s cheek. “Sorry, guys. I’ll see you all in class!” She exclaimed, not allowing her friends to say anything before she ran off in a hurry.

Dean eyed her figure as she disappeared from the Great Hall, concern evident on his face. He felt the two starting to drift, but he did not know what he could do to stop it. Dean wondered if she had also noticed this, yet he was too afraid to ask. And so, he quickly pushed away his worries and continues conversing with their friends.

Strolling down the bustling halls of Hogwarts, Y/N kept her head down, thoughts still swirling in her mind. She feared these feelings; after years of being together, she felt like she was betraying Dean and all his kindness. They did everything together, whether it be their homework or their summers. They even had the same friends! How is she going to chase away this strange, unhappy feeling when she is with Dean?

Not realizing that she wandered off into a quieter area in the school, she looked up to see a strange door in a corridor. “Isn’t this…” Y/N said to herself as she studied its patterns, “the Room of Requirement?”

The Room of Requirement was known to only be visible for those in great need of it. And so, it was not much of a shock when Dumbledore's Army utilized its space and secrecy to learn DADA, much to the scorn of Dolores Umbridge. However, as soon as the conflict ended with Umbridge kidnapped by centaurs near the end of their fifth year, it quietly vanished. And so, when its door randomly appeared in front of Y/N, she was shocked.

“Am I that much in need for it…?”

She cautiously looked around, making sure that no one saw her before she entered the room. Seeing that the room was completely different from the time when she was learning DADA from Harry, her mouth hung open in awe. The room had towers of ancient, rare books that were declared lost, and filled with random gold objects that seem to cost a fortune. And though her life was ridden by witches and wizards that did wonders no muggle could ever imagine, she found the room to be the true epitome of magic. And so, it became her secret escape.

For the next few days, Y/N would find ways to get out of hanging out with her friends and run to her new home. She would then use the time to gather up random furniture in the room and conjure up all her extra blankets and pillows to make a little nook for herself. It was the perfect place for her to relax and to forget all her worries.

After weeks of frequent visits to the room, Y/N realizes that she was not the only one in need of a room. Hiding underneath one of her cozy blankets, she peaked out to see who the blonde visitor could be. Much to her shock, it was none other than Draco Malfoy. She observed from afar as the other blonde visitor frequently examined what she later figured out was a Vanishing Cabinet.

Y/N did not know much about Draco, involved too deeply in her personal life, but she found his actions incredibly suspicious. She wondered if the room was safe now that Draco was using it but increasing desperation to escape, especially when Dean was starting to get more suspicious of her actions, made it impossible to abandon it all. And so, she found it fit to investigate Draco and to figure out what his intentions with the cabinet were.

“Draco is bad news,” Harry said as Y/N walked with him to their next class. “His whole family is aligned with Voldemort. I can assure that to you, Y/N.”

“Don’t take Harry’s accusations too seriously, Y/N. He’s just weirdly suspicious of Draco this year.” Hermione said reassuringly, waving off Harry’s serious comments. “But… he is an awful person. He’s bullied countless people, even me! Who even cares if I’m a mudblood…” Hermione grumbles while she fiddles with the sleeves of her robe.

Ron laughs. “You should have seen her, Y/N! She punched Draco’s stupid face in our third year. It was wicked!” He exclaimed proudly, causing Hermione to punch his shoulder, a hidden smile painted on her face.

Y/N gulped. Though she expected numerous rumors about Draco, she did not expect him to be involved with He-who-shall-not-be-named. “Thanks, guys.”

Unfortunately, the investigation did not help as much as she thought it would. And so, she resorted to pure luck that she would arrive at the room before Draco. This meant sprinting to the room as fast as she could or peering at every corner, wary of his approaching figure. However, she quickly realizes that it was a faulty plan as she stares at the shocked blonde-haired boy before her.

“Draco! What are you doing here?” Y/N nervously said while she tightly clutches the wand hidden in her robes.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Draco spitefully retorted. He eyed Y/N up and down, incredibly shocked to see another person other than him in the Room of Requirement. “Wait… Aren’t you Dean Thompson’s girl?”

Y/N smiled in response, but it was greatly strained. “Uh, yes. I’m Y/N.”

“Don’t tell me this is where you and Dean Thompson come to snog,” he said with disgust.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “No! Not at all! Dean doesn’t know about this place,” she quickly said. “I just… come here to think.”

Draco looked at her in disbelief, seeing straight through her awkward façade. “I don’t believe you.” He eyed her for a while, suspicious as to what her purpose was. After all, his mission as a Death Eater was of utmost importance, according to his father. If anyone were to learn of his plans, it would completely expose him and his family. “... Are you spying on me?”

“No! Why would I even spy on you?” Y/N exclaimed, glancing at the Vanishing Cabinet behind him. Draco noticed this and shuffled in front of it. “… What are you doing here?”

“It’s none of your business,” Draco spats. Noticing Y/N’s growing suspicion, he started to panic. His mind raced with multiple excuses or retorts to reflect the attention away from the mysterious cabinet behind him. “… I also come here to think.”

The two stood in silence for a while, unsure of what to say or do. It was not until Draco coughed to break the silence that seemed to eat them up alive.

“Well, I was just about to leave,” Draco said as he shoved Y/N away to get to the door. Before he opened it, he paused and looked back at her. “Don’t tell anyone about this place or the fact I was here... Y/L/N.” And with that, he quickly disappeared.

After that weird encounter, Y/N and Draco kept running into each other in the Room of Requirement. Draco was annoyed by her presence and kept trying to scare her away. However, Y/N knew this was related to his strange connection with the cabinet, thus wanting to interfere. She could not quite figure out why she was suspicious of his actions, but Y/N knew that she had to stop him. Plus, she despairingly needed an outlet, and the Room of Requirement was her only sanctuary.

“Back again, Y/L/N? You must not have any friends.” Draco chortled as he laid against one of the furniture in Y/N’s little nook with one of her fluffy pillows behind his head.

Y/N laughed, casually taking a seat next to him. “What are you talking about? Aren’t you my friend, Draco?”

He rolled his eyes, turning his head away to hide his smirk. “Who would want to be friends with a witch like you?”

In the beginning, the two were constantly annoyed with each other. After all, the two had reasons why they were using the room, and their presence impeded it. However, the two were stubborn, and neither wanted to back down. Eventually, after days and weeks of short arguments (with Draco usually doing all the yelling while Y/N timidly tries to switch the conversation), they started becoming used to their company, now even expecting it. She even got over the fact that he was a Death Eater.

Draco never told nor even planned on telling her, but she had already known for a while. She saw a glimpse of it when he rolled his sleeves up to move one of the tables for her to make their napping nook bigger.

She was incredibly shocked. Although Draco spoke of how his father used to be a Death Eater for Voldemort, he never told her that Draco, himself, associated with the evil bunch. After all, Y/N knew his mean exterior was a façade created by years of pressure and failed parenting from Lucius. While slowly getting to know him, she quickly grasped the depths of his insecurity plus her growing dislike for his father. However, when she saw his mark, it swiftly bogged down this image she had of him.

With his figure turned away from her, she quickly clutched her wand hidden in her bag, ready to aim it at him. But, when he placed down the hefty table while genuinely laughing from a joke he made, Y/N’s glare softened. Guilt panged her heart as she slowly puts down her wand.

‘No... Draco probably didn't have a choice,' Y/N thought. ‘He would never have wanted to be a Death Eater.’

Y/N hurriedly hid her wand behind her back as Draco turned around, a grin plastered on his face.

“So, you’re just going to sit there while I do all the hard work?” He sarcastically asked.

Y/N laughed while shuffling the wand into her bag behind her before standing up to join him. “Sorry about that. Let me help you with that.”

Y/N knew he was reserved like her, and so she was not surprised that he never talked about it, though they shared almost everything about themselves. But then again, she has not even shared her biggest regret: she was not in love with Dean.

***

Unfortunately, Y/N's fears started to become reality as her relationship with Dean strained with each sweet escape to the room. Ironically, it only increased her worries, causing her to yearn for her hidden spot even more.

“Y/N, talk to me! Are you just going to ignore what’s wrong between us?” Dean frustratingly asked as he holds on to her wrist, stopping her from running away from their argument. Not too long ago were they peacefully studying in the common room while their friends went to watch a quidditch friendly until Dean brought up the tension in their relationship. Y/N did not respond to it well.

Y/N shook her head fervently, tears of frustration brimming her eyes. “What are you talking about? Nothing is wrong!” She exclaimed, shaking his hand off her.

Dean groans as he scratches his head in frustration. “Why don’t you get real? Nothing has been right since the year began! You’ve been strangely down ever since, yet you never talk to me about it! Are you sure you even love me?!”

Y/N froze as her eyes widened out of shock. She was sure that Dean did not mean those words, yet they struck her like it was some sort of… revelation. Did she really love him? Is that why she felt so trapped? All kinds of thoughts start to swirl her mind, overwhelmed with the guilt that came with the questions.

“I-I have to go.”

Before Dean could stop her again, she ran out of the room and headed to the only place she could go - the Room of Requirement. She prayed that Draco would not be there. She did not want him to see her at her weakest, most pathetic moment, but when she saw his sullen figure and mysterious blue eyes that widened at the sight of her tears, she sighed in relief as she ran into his arms.

Though confused and greatly worried about her messy state, he did not question it. He continued to hold her tightly in his arms, combing her hair with his slender fingers as she continues to sob through his shirt. It pained him to see her cry like this, and he knew exactly the reason behind her tears.

After Y/N calmed down a bit, they both sat at the little nook in silence, excluding her sniffs. Draco gazed at Y/N as she kept rubbing the small tears that escaped her eyes, frustrated that she could not stop crying.

“It’s Dean, isn’t it?”

Y/N froze. She did not expect Draco to be so upfront, considering how she never spoke of her worries about Dean. “How did you know?” She asked quietly.

Draco sighed. “It's quite obvious. Every time you spoke of him, which was rare, you had this… sad look on your face. Plus, why else would you spend your time stuck with me and not with him?” He added with a little smile on his face.

Y/N chuckled slightly at his comment. “Sometimes I forget that you’re smart, Draco.”

In response, Draco shuffled away from Y/N, causing her to laugh and hold on to his arm, pulling him back closer to her. “I’m kidding! Please don’t get mad!”

Draco shook his head as he lightly chuckled. “So, what are you going to do now?”

“I… don’t know,” Y/N said with a heavy sigh. She bit her lip, wanting to finally share her deepest fear to Draco yet fearing that he will find it bothersome and annoying.

Draco noticed this look and sighed. Though he adored her kindness and immense consideration, he found it frustratingly annoying how she always downplayed her problems. As the only person who did not turn away from him and genuinely laughed at his mean jokes, he thought she deserved the world. And so, it saddened him that she did not think highly of herself.

“You know,” Draco said as he continues to gaze at her sullen figure, “you're incredibly stubborn. It doesn't matter if you find your problems annoying or not, I'll listen to them all. I thought you would know this by now, considering the weeks we've spent together. But now, I see that you need the affirmation, so here it is: When it comes to you, Y/N,” Draco placed a finger under her chin to turn her head to face his, thus locking their eyes into each other, “I could listen to all your problems.”

Lost inside the deep, blue ocean that is his eyes, she felt her heart leap right to her throat, begging to escape. Electricity ran throughout her body, her cheeks flushed red, and her mind absolutely blank, yet she felt like she was melting under his gaze. She could not comprehend the immense emotion within her as she gawked at the incredibly handsome, blonde boy, but Y/N knew it was something she has never felt before.

Snapping out of the trance she was in, Y/N hastily turned away from Draco and nodded in response. She took a few seconds to calm down from the blushing mess Draco made her before finally sharing her dreaded fears that she had been escaping for years. “Thank you, Draco.”

***

"Dean... we need to talk."

After pouring out her heart to Draco and embarrassingly sobbing in his arms, he helped her finally reach a revelation: she needs to break up with Dean.

Dean sighed as he placed down his book, relieved that Y/N had finally come to her senses. He patted the seat next to him. "Sit."

Y/N sighed as she sat down on the couch and fiddled with her fingers. "I'm sorry for how I've been acting these days. I've been completely rude to everyone, including you."

Dean shook his head, wrapping his arms around her. "No, you don't have to apologize, Y/N. I completely understand. Things have... changed between us, and I think we both noticed."

Y/N widened her eyes in shock. She never even fathomed that Dean has also been struggling with the same feeling. A rush of relief ran past through her, decreasing the stress that she never knew anchored her down. "Dean... I think we were both too young to know what love was. I-I mean, I cherished you greatly, and I was happy being with you, but I don't think we're truly in love with each other."

Dean sighed in relief. "Honestly, I'm so glad you said that. I was thinking the same thing, but I was too guilty to realize it."

The two looked at each other in shock for a while before falling into a burst of laughter. It was funny how the two struggled and avoided guilty emotions for a long time before finally confronting them, only realize that they felt the same way. It was a great relief to both of them.

Y/N sighs in relief as she then rests her head on his shoulder. He responds by laying down his head on top of hers. "I know we're breaking up and all, but... I want to stay as friends. Though we weren't the perfect couple, we are incredibly great friends."

Dean chuckled. "We really are, aren't we?" He gently rubbed her arms as he, too, sighed in relief. "I like the sound of that. Friends."

The two continued to chat for a while, finally pouring out their thoughts and feelings that they have kept hidden. Though Dean was scared to tell her, Y/N was incredibly pleased and supportive when he told her that he started to fancy Ginny. Though she did not tell Dean about her feelings for Draco, she did reveal that she might have fallen in love.

"Love? You're in love with someone?!" Dean said, shock and excitement evident in his voice.

Y/N shook her head fervently, her cheeks flushing red. "Maybe! I don't know... it's different when I'm with him. I don't really understand these feelings, to be honest."

"Well... whoever this person may be, I hope he treats you well," Dean said sweetly, affectionately placing a small kiss on her cheek. "You deserve it."

Y/N smiled. "Thank you, Dean. You deserve to fall in love also... and I hope it goes well with Ginny."

Dean laughed, and the two continued to chatter away into the night.

***

Days passed since the break-up, and everyone was incredibly shocked by the news of the Hogwart's favorite couple's break-up, especially when they saw the two still comfortably hanging out with each other. Their friends, too, were surprised to see the two still harmonious, but they eventually adjusted to the new dynamic.

Y/N, genuinely happy since she first entered her sixth year, stood in front of the familiar door. She took a deep breath before entering. As the door gently closed behind her, she looked around for the familiarly blonde streak. However, Draco was nowhere to be found.

“He would usually be here by now,” Y/N said to herself as she continued to whip her head around, hoping to spot the blonde-haired boy.

After quite some time of searching, she gave up and walked to her quaint nook. Though planned to be a place for reading or studying, its warmth and comfiness were perfect for napping. And so, she was pleasantly surprised when she found the Slytherin boy fast asleep with a fuzzy blanket on top of him.

Y/N quietly approached the sleeping boy before gently sitting next to his feet. She gazed at his peaceful face with a smile, wondering if he were happily dreaming. She thoroughly analyzed every detail of his features as if she were embedding the image in her mind forever. After all, this was one of the rare moments in which Draco let down his guard. She could not pass up this opportunity.

Her eyes then wandered to his arm. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the Death Mark that he so desperately hated. Y/N then remembered the many time when she saw him staring sadly at his dreaded mark or when he would unconsciously scratch it when he was talking about his problems to her or when lost in thought.

Y/N snapped out of her thought when she heard Draco stirring awake next to her. He groaned as he stretched his body, his feet touching her arms. He realized this and gently nudged her with it, causing her to giggle. Draco then smirked before getting up and sitting up straight next to her.

“Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty. How was your sleep?” Y/N teasingly said with a huge smile on her face, staring at the wonderful bed head that he sported.

Draco playfully glared at her while running a hand through his hair. Though he would never admit it to her, he was happy with her presence. She always eased his worries, her laughs immediately diminishing the pressures and expectations from his parents that seemed to eat him up bit by bit. “It was amazing… until you came along to ruin it,” he said as he gently nudges her with his shoulder.

Y/N laughed as she shook her head. “How was your day?” Y/N said as she mindlessly looked elsewhere, particularly at the tower of books that leaned over their little nook.

After a minute with no response from Draco, Y/N sighed in exasperation before repeating her question. “Draco, did you hear me? I asked how your da-“

“Did you see it?” Draco said with a stern tone. He stared at his death mark which was visible the whole time he was sleeping. He knew that Y/N would have for sure it. Yet, he was desperately hoping that she did not, afraid of what she would think of him if she knew that he had the mark.

Sensing the serious tone in his voice, Y/N quickly turned her head towards Draco. Shocked and unsure of what to say, she sat in silence with her mouth hung open.

“Y/N. Did you see it?” Draco repeated but louder and more sternly. He then turned to her, revealing the tears that were brimming his eyes.

It caught Y/N off guard, her heart banging against her chest. Draco has shown vulnerability to her before, but he has never cried in front of her.

She reached for his hands, but he instantly drew them away, causing her heart to ache even more. “…Yes. I did.”

Draco groaned, burying his head into his hands. Y/N saw his tears of anguish falling onto the ground and staining it. Her eyes stung as Draco's sullen figure breaks down in front of her.

“… Get away from me.” He muttered scornfully, but it sounded muffled between his tears.

This was his greatest fear; after getting closer to Y/N, he came to fear the day in which she would find out about his true identity. During lonely nights, he would imagine himself telling her about his mark. He knew that she would, for sure, run and tell Potter as soon as he told her, but he liked to imagine her embracing him, not caring about his mark but rather his pain and struggles. But he quickly dismissed the thought. After all, who would ever feel sorry for a Death Eater?

“Go!” He exclaimed, anguish evident in his voice.

Y/N adamantly shook her head, then hugging his figure from behind, much to Draco's shock. “No, Draco. I’m not leaving,” she quietly said, though shakingly.

Draco tried to shake her off, but that only made her hold onto him tighter. “Draco, I already knew about it!” She exclaimed.

He froze. “…What?”

“I saw it long before today,” she said with a sigh, “and I honestly don’t care about it.”

Draco turns to face her, his eyes were red from the tears. “What are you trying to say?”

Y/N stared at his pain-ridden face and could not help but cup his cheek, wiping the remaining tears with her thumb. Soothed by her gentle touch, his gaze softened.

“I know we never talked about it, but… I knew what you were struggling with. I even knew what you were trying to do with the Vanishing Cabinet,” she said with a glance at the cabinet that stood a few feet away from them. “But this mark… it’s not you.”

His eyes widened. He was in complete shock.

Y/N heavily sighed before taking his hands into hers. “Draco, you are much more amazing than you think, and I’m not talking about your status or family. I’m talking about you as a person. I honestly think you are the strongest person I have ever met. You go through so much crap with your family and have to follow whatever they want you to do, and I’m shocked by how you handle it all.” Y/N shakingly said with her head down, hiding the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t even imagine how scary your life must be, and yet you continue to hang out with my lonely self,” she said with a little laugh, causing Draco to chuckle also.

Draco then puts his hand on her cheeks and lifts her head. Their eyes then lock into each other, and they both fall into a deep, intimate gaze. They often shared intimate gazes, usually when they are doing their homework or just sitting in silence, but this time, it felt different. Unspoken words that they were too often afraid to say aloud seemed to be expressed solely through their eyes.

Draco then shifts his gaze to her lips, causing Y/N to quiver. Then, as if there was a magnetic pull between them, their faces inches closer before their lips touched.

Time seemed to stop as the world around them grew quiet. Their minds were blank, their focus solely on the touch that they both yearned for quite some time. Y/N felt his tear fall onto her cheek, but she paid it no mind as she deepened their kiss.

Then reluctantly breaking apart the kiss, they stared into each other's eyes in awe, the electricity that ran through them as they kissed still resonating.

"Wow," Y/N quietly said. "We should have done this long ago."

Draco chuckled before pulling her into an embrace, laying his head on top of hers. "Believe me, I wanted to, even when you were still with Thompson."

Y/N laughed before playfully hitting his arm, then falling back into his arms. "Draco... I think I'm in love with you."

Draco bit his lip, tears threatening to leave his eyes again. "...Are you sure? Even when I'm a-"

"Yes," Y/N stated sternly as she rubbed the arm that held his mark. "I don't care if you are one or not. I am so incredibly in love with you."

Draco laughed in relief. Never in his wildest imagination would the girl he so lovingly adores would accept him and his darkest fears. He could feel himself falling for the girl, even more so than he already has.

"You don't have to be so cheesy about it," said Draco teasingly, causing Y/N to hit his arm again, which causes him to laugh. "...But I love you also. More than you know."

The two smile at each other, falling deeper into their embrace. The silence envelops the two as they continue to sway and hold tightly onto each other. They silently thanked whatever being or thing that fated the two to meet, for it led them to this perfect moment.

"... Thank you," Draco said as he leaned his forehead gently against hers, gazing deeply into the eyes he swiftly fell in love with.

#draco malfoy #draco #draco x you #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco x y/n #hp fandom

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wrctings · 3 years

Text

just some (slightly angsty) eruri fluff for you all because i miss them 🥰

“And so when I snapped my fingers right beside him, I got his attention. Actually got it! I’ve never had a titan stare at me like this, so intensely,” Hanji’s eyes sparkled, aglow with both irrepressible enthusiasm and the warm reflection from the room’s candle light, her fingers eagerly curled around the handle of a cup. “If only you’d seen it... I think he may have finally recognised me, given all the time we spent together... But we have to wait and see. And there’s also that plant we brought back from the last expedition! It’s growing! We put it in a more humid zone, like where we found it, and it’s actually growing.”

Levi had always known Hanji was a little excessive. Well, really excessive for the most part - especially when she’d get into one of her endless tirades about titans, marvelling over their monstrous abilities and curious shape and reflexes and whatnot... Sometimes, it drove Levi up to the wall to watch their scientist go into raptures over the senseless beasts that had crushed or torn apart so many of their fallen comrades. Though, to be fair, he could hardly blame Hanji - she was with them, after all; among the first ranks during expeditions, flanked by the officers’ side. That titan-loving thing was just a quirk of hers, just like Levi’s own cleaning thing, which he suspected many of their subordinates looked upon as a curious and slightly frightening obsession.

So, more often than not, Levi patiently kept his mouth shut, listening to Hanji’s passionate rants and picking out the useful information only, letting the rest slide into oblivion. But tonight, Levi’s usual self-control act had been getting pushed toward its limit, a disgruntled frown hidden behind his cup of tea. And the reason? Always the same golden-haired bastard.

White sleeves rolled up to the elbows, torso leaning over the wooden table, his blue eyes bright and animated by the same radiant shimmer of curiosity as in Hanji’s gaze, Erwin was hanging onto his friend’s every word.

“So, if some plants can only survive in a special kind of climate, the outside world must be...”

“Full of plants yet unknown to us! And of landscapes we can’t even imagine! And if that plant we brought back can only thrive in a wet kind of environment...”

“...Maybe there’s a large pool of water somewhere further away, beyond the limit we stopped at last time!”

Levi cursed Hanji from the bottom of his heart. Erwin’s entire attention seemed to be focused on the subject, blind to the rest of the room.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, we’re not quite sure of anything yet,” Moblit put his hands up with a sheepish smile, cooling off some of Hanji’s building elation. “First, let’s see how our titan and our plants fare in the upcoming weeks...”

“Our titan and our plants!” Hanji happily cried out, squeezing Moblit’s hand, cheeks burning red from excitement.

“Even if it’s only guesses, the captive titans and those plants can still provide precious information. It takes us one step closer to knowing the truth of the world,” Erwin’s hopeful and determined gaze met Hanji’s, both bound by a mutual fervour.

Levi silently watched them from the side, scowling. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t give a lesser shit about all of this - he wanted to rid the world of titans, to keep tightening until the last monster fell under their blades. Not bustle about captured titans in wonderment or waste time growing plants... In that moment, he resent their joy; joy sprung from the bloody cadavres of their comrades. Was this what they dedicated their heart for? Part of Levi knew perfectly well that, of course, all Hanji and Erwin gushed over was important to some degree. But he couldn’t quite share in their foolishness.

“Well, here’s to another step then,” Moblit raised his glass, smiling fondly when he caught a glimpse of the earnest exhilaration radiating off Hanji’s face. She did more often than not put him through the mill, but that’s also why he liked her, wasn’t it?

The other two officers followed Moblit’s lead, lifting their glasses up into the air, but before clinking them together Erwin shot a lighthearted look at Levi, raising his eyebrows as if asking the Captain to join in. With a muffled sigh, Levi shook his head reluctantly.

“Teacups aren’t meant for your drunken shit.”

He got away with a small movement of the hand, slowly shooting it upward in a way that made it seem he took part in the toast.

Erwin, Hanji, and Moblit drank on cordially, indulging in one of the rare merry celebrations they’d allow themselves to enjoy - the last expedition had been a success after all, with no casualties and only two superficially hurt soldiers! Such victories did truly raise the troops’ morale, so, in addition to the dinner feast everybody got to delight in, Erwin wanted to also congratulate the officers who had been working had on the expedition. Hence the wine.

Only when the crepuscular haze of the night sky hovered over the barracks did the party begin to retire, tired grins and slightly dizzy heads wishing each other goodnight with remains of gaiety seeping through their lips; such a carefree, congenial time would probably be long to come again, so they had drunk from the brimming glass of furtive bliss until the very last honeyed drop dried out on their tongue. Waving Erwin and Levi goodnight, Hanji - held up by Moblit, bless his soul - stumbled around the corner of the corridor leading to her quarters, relying on the loyal shoulder that would help her get to her room safe and sound and not accidentally crash someplace else and carelessly pass out for the night.

Much like Moblit, Levi had taken up the habit of bringing Erwin to his room after another day of exhausting work or a festive evening, watching the commander’s ever steady pace out of the corner of his attentive eye and listening to him jabber about whatever occupied his mind on that day, barely responding himself, but always paying silent attention to Erwin’s words. Although he didn’t admit it to his own self at first - he liked it. Liked having Erwin stroll beside him, his deep and slightly fatigued voice untangling the knots in Levi’s own head, keeping everything at bay but an inexplicable wave of... comfort. And, soon enough, the comfort had even turned into something more.

“Did you enjoy the night, Levi?” Erwin inquired in his usual late-night chattery fashion, fingers already working the top buttons of his white shirt as the commander’s quarters arose in their field of vision.

The only answer he got out of Levi was a grunt, the short Captain pushing the door before them open. It slammed against the wall a little too harshly.

“Something on your mind?” Erwin persevered, trying to read the other man’s crossed features.

“Alright.” Levi ended up conceding, a resigned sigh escaping the vexed line of his mouth. “Erwin, I can’t seem to give the slightest crap about those shitty plants.”

“Ah, Hanji may convince you they’re—” Erwin started again, smiling at what he thought was just a heedless comment of Levi’s, but the way he was interrupted soon let him guess otherwise.

“No, you don’t understand. I don’t get excited like you brats. I just... Don’t. I can’t bring myself to care about shitty glasses’ experiments. Or even... That stuff you talked about,” Levi waved his hand vaguely, hoping it was allusive enough.

A thoughtful moment’s silence passed, Erwin considering what Levi had just admitted - he began to recall now how retiring Levi had indeed seemed during tonight’s celebration, quietly grumbling by himself and even cutting short on the playful insults he would usually hand out.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t have fun tonight, Levi.”

“Feel sorry for yourself. You’re the one stuck with a killjoy of a brat,” Levi attempted a sarcastic smile, but it came out distorted by a hint of sad resignation. Ever since he and Erwin had... this - whatever it was called - Levi didn’t hold back as much as he used to anymore; something about Erwin’s kind understanding, no matter the slander ghosts clouding the Captain’s mind, put him at ease. So Levi spoke his mind.

“Sorry?”

Erwin’s reassuring arms twined around Levi’s torso, the commander’s head settling on top of his - the height difference, Levi had to admit, was convenient -, and he planted a long kiss on top of his head; the first real one of the day, after the hasty pecks he had stolen from Levi in between tasks. For Levi, those intimate hours were dreams he’d never wish to wake up from. “Why should I feel sorry, when I can’t believe my luck?”

“I’m not exactly the funniest person you can find, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And so what? I, for one thing, think you are funny. Your dark humour may take some getting used to at first, but afterwards, you crack me up, my dear,” Erwin mused, littering Levi’s neck with sloppy kisses. “I love you.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Erwin.”

However, Levi’s heavy heart did feel lighter already; to feel Erwin’s lips on his skin, his warm hands fiddling with Levi’s uniform to help him take it off, his precious words whispered against his ear - for Levi, and Levi only, to hear and treasure and greedily take for himself - soothes the Captain’s unexpected rush of self-depreciation. But seeing how happy Erwin had looked while talking to Hanji and Moblit had left a painful imprint Levi struggled to erase from his memory. What if... what if he’d never make Erwin this happy?

“Levi, I don’t care that you don’t get excited over shitty plants. You and I can care about different things and still care about each other too, yeah?” Levi felt the nuzzle in his neck send shivers down his spine, another one of Erwin’s kisses mending the cracks in his heart one by one. “I know you press my shirts whenever they get too creased. You bring coffee and food to my office when I’m working too much. You take Hanji’s laundry into her room when she forgets it. You help the recruits who fall behind in training...” Erwin kept on talking, going around Levi to face him in the candlelit room, until his nose gently bumped against his, and their lips met in what Levi could only describe as solace. “The list goes on and on. These are all the things you care about. And I love you for it.”

“...It seems your sappy stuff still gets me. You shitty, sentimental brat,” Levi drowned a teary chuckle in Erwin’s chest, clutching the fabric of the commander’s uniform in his fist. Then, he retired in his cat-like fashion, starting to ondo the buttons Erwin had started to work on. “I had no idea you were fucking spying on me the entire time.”

“Your fault.” Erwin followed Levi’s lead, getting rid of his own uniform before he slipped into bed, a tired look softening his features, and loose strands of hair falling out of place upon his forehead.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Levi joined him, huddling beneath the clean and cosy bedsheets, and brushed the hair away from Erwin’s face, savouring its end-of-the-day softness between his fingers.

“It’s your fault for having such a beautiful soul.”

“A beautiful soul?” Levi scoffed gently, pressing his shoulder against Erwin’s. “Never heard anything this stupid before.”

“It’s true. You may not believe me yet, but I’ll keep doing this” Erwin took Levi’s hand in his, kissing his calloused knuckles - “and this” -, then wrist - “and this”, then forearm, “and this, until you do.”

“I’m no sap like you, so it might take a while...,” Levi murmured in return, pressing a kiss into Erwin’s neck. A beautiful soul? Never before had Levi heard such words - and never before had his heart skipped a beat like it did when they struck him.

“It’s okay,” Erwin cuddled up to Levi, not suppressing a deep contented sigh when the other man’s nails gently raked his scalp, playing with his hair. “I won’t quit.”

#levi ackerman #erwin smith #eruri #eruri fluff #eruri fanfiction #levi ackerman x erwin smith #levi ackerman x erwin smith fanfiction #levi ackerman fluff #erwin smith fluff #aot fluff #aot fanfiction #snk fluff #snk fanficition #writing #my writing #eruri one shots #attack on titan fanfiction

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depressedacadamia · 3 years

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How do you passive aggressively say ‘Fuck you’ in flower? Part III

Summary: New owners, new friendships and new beginnings... but maybe there's a linger of old history there aswell.

A/N: Helloooo!! It's writers month starting August so I've posted all the prompts and there are also the fandoms you can request. Please send a request, its always fun to interact with the readers and hear what content you want to see!! That said, here is chap 3!! I hope you enjoy and make sure you comment and enjoy!! <3 from phi phi!!

Read on A03 Read part I on Tumblr Read part II on Tumblr

Will couldn't believe his luck. Of all the things he could have been told, it had to be this.

He held the printed note in between his thumb and forefinger as he grumpily read aloud the note hidden inside the fortune cookie. Calypso looked excited as her hands gripped the side of the table with passion.

“So? What does it say? Are you going to marry skull boy and live happily ever after with a cat?”

Wills scowled. “ No, that’s ridiculous. I hate cats. Maybe a dog. Or a goldfish.”

“Yeah, but goldfish don't live for as long as a cat could,” Calypso pointed out, her pinky finger pointing towards Will. “Now read. I want to hear your fortune.”

“Ugh. You aren’t hesitant to take what you want but sometimes you lack intuition; try and be more intuitive."

Calypso looked at him, with disappointment ranging across her face before shrugging and returning to her food. Will, who was expecting a much larger reaction, was offended.

“Excuse me? You begged to hear my fortune and now you just ignore it? You’re a terrible friend. I bet you wouldn’t run into a fire to save me.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

Will gasped. Calypso continued her sentence, with an overall sense of coolness. “ I’d send the fucking fire patrol, police, moutaion resucuers, heck, I’d send the grandma next door to me if she had even a slim chance of getting you out of there.”

“Awwww, You do love me!”

Calypso grunted. “It’s only because I refuse to let anything other than myself kill you. Now stop hugging me and scram; you’re ruining my course of digestion with how hard your arms are wrapped around my stomach.”

But Will refused to oblige as he wrapped his arms around his best friend's stomach, listening to her complaints and completely ignoring them.

“What do you think it means?” Calypso spoke over a mouthful of food.

“What?”

“The fortune cookie thingy. What do you think it means?”

“It means I should be more intuitive, that's what it said.”

Calypso facepalmed, now understanding why the fortune cookie told her best friend what it told them. Even to the most oblivious person, it was obvoius that what the fortune cookie had told Will was not to simply be more intuitive but instead to -as the author would say- Open your fucking eyes and see what’s in front of you . But, as the author, I can tell you that William Andrew Solace is such an oblivious character that if I were to shout that at him, he would simply stare at whatever was sitting in front of him.

The next Saturday

“Are they coming?” Meg tugged on Will’s sleeve. “ Will, are they going to come today?”

It had seemed that, surprisingly enough, Meg had taken a great liking to Will’s so-called new ‘friends’ and in particular- Nico, which just so happened to be perfect for Will. It was already terrible that Will had to deal with them showing up only once in his beloved shop, let alone the idea that they may come again the next weekend and ruin it entirely for him, like the previous.

“I don’t know Meg, why do you care?” Will asked, his tone slightly agitated, out of all the people who had visited him at the shop, Meg just had to take a liking to these.

“Because that Nico guy is super cool. But don’t tell him I said that- and you guys can’t make out in my shop, no matter how cool he is.”

“This isn’t your shop and it isn't Calypso’s either, Dya know that, right?” Will reminded Meg as she went on about the new customers.

A sharp jab, that Will could now confidently identify to be Calypso’s elbow, hit his side. “Oi, What do you mean it ain't my shop- it basically is. It’s not like the previous owner ever cared about it.”

Will’s ears perked up at the words ‘previous owner’. “What do you mean Previous owner? Do they not own it anymore?”

“Did you not hear?” Calypso stopped braiding the rose into Will’s hair after seeing his surprised expression. “ We have a new owner. They offered the old one loads, and I mean loads of money for this shop. Apparently it’s this young sophisticated woman who just throws money whenever she wants.”

“Why do you sound so happy?”

Calypso’s finger’s in Will’s hair stopped braiding for a second. “What do you mean why do I sound so happy? We have a new rich owner. That means we will get better conditions. Imagine all the better quality wrapping we can get for the bouquets!”

“But if they're the kind of person to just throw money about, will they really take care of what's theirs? Or will they just send their own cronies to keep everything tidy, while paying them the minimum possible? And in this case, those cronies are us!”

“You’re imagining the worst of the new owner.”

“No, I’m not! Why am I the only one who hates the idea of a new owner!” Will yelled, grabbing the rose in his hair and ripping it out, throwing it at the entrance of the door. Will wasn't one to raise his voice but he couldn’t help but feel frustrated- why was everything changing so much!

Maybe it was fate, maybe it was destiny, or maybe Will was just that unlucky, but in that very moment, Nico and his friends all walked in.

It seemed they had all been causally conversing as they walked in.They were quickly silenced by whatever was occurring within the florist; Percy was halfway through grinning and dropping his jaw at Will's sudden outburst. Afterall, the last time he had seen Will this agitated was in middle school when he stole Will’s plastic stethoscope that his father had supposedly gotten him.

“Are we interrupting?'' Frank asked. He may have been on Nico’s side but he figured that perhaps barging in on an argument wasn’t the most respectful thing one could do.

“Trouble in paradise?” Nico smirked as he picked up the ruined rose that Will had thrown to the floor in a rage. He twirled in between his fingers and looked at the shade of pink; he glanced back at Will and decided it greatly complimented his skin tone and the cute blush he’d get whenever he was angry.

He frowned at the ruined rose and placed it on the counter before walking back to Will.

“The trouble only started when you set foot into this shop,” Will retorted, very much unappreciative of his presence at this moment. He still couldn't believe that the shop was getting a new owner! Sure, the old one had barely shown up and basically left Calypso entirely in charge but how could Calypso be so casual about it?

Nico ignored his attempt at a snide comment and walked past him, gesturing with his finger to follow behind him. “I want a flower. The one you threw. What was it, a Rosa Ausrumba?”

Will, slightly surprised that Nico had managed to identify the binomial name for the rose, raised his eyebrow. “Yeah.. how did you know?”

Nico shrugged, not offering an explanation as Will went ahead and fetched him a packaged gentle hermione rose. As he handed it over, he couldn’t help but let his mind wonder who the rose was for. It was a soft pink, the same type of rose that Calypso insisted he wear everytime he worked at the shop. Will knew that pink roses symbolised a lot of things but the question was, what exactly?

Was there anyone Nico knew who he’d give that rose to? It wouldn’t make sense for it to go to Leo, afterall, it wouldn't compliment his hair or skin tones: rather, it could work with someone like Hazel- since she was his sister, it would make sense for Nico to give it to her.

Calypso had always forced Will to wear that species of pink rose because she said that he had the hair for it and his blush and the colour of the rose were indistinguishable but most of all, it was the friendly gesture she had made when he first started working there.

He felt Nico’s fingertips brush against his as he handed the rose and a jolt of electricity sparking between them.

Shit, static shock.

“Ow!” Will jerked back, dropping the rose and rubbing his hand. He was about to ask Nico what the hell before he realised that the rose was on the floor. It wasn’t like the rose was going to be ruined or destroyed now it was on the floor or that it particularly angered Will to see the rose there. It simply saddened Will so much that he felt compelled to pick it up; maybe it was because he was so used to being forced into wearing it everyday or maybe because it was meant to be Nico’s, either way, he bent down to retrieve the flower.

It seemed that Nico had the same idea because their heads collided and Will was sent stumbling backwards onto his butt.

“Ow!” He cried again, rubbing his head. Nico felt his eyes widen at Will’s words and quickly he grabbed the rose and kneeled in the space between Will's legs, with his hand scanning Will’s face of any injury.

“Are you okay?”

Will frowned at the considerate question, wondering if Nico was mocking him or not. “Why do you care?”

That question threw Nico off guard. Why do you care? Why did he care? That was a good question he had yet to ask himself. Why did he care so much about Will? Why did he decide to come back? Every week nonetheless.

“No reason.” Nico shrugged. ” I just wanted to make sure your clumsy ass didn’t break anything.”

“Your head hit mine!”

“Yeah but it was you who decided to go after my flower,” Nico argued, clutching the rose in his hand. He started peeling off the wrapping until he had the rose alone in his hand.

“What the hell are you doing? You haven’t paid for it yet!”

Nico ignored him as he handed Will the rose. Obviously, Will took the rose from Nico’s hand and held it. Why did Nico want him to hold his flower for him?

“What?” Will was confused. “Why am I holding your flower?”

“Because I gave it to you.”

“To do what with?” Will inquired, his eyes oblivious. For someone who slept around, Will was not one who knew much about romantic rituals.

Murmuring something under his breath, Nico tilted his face away and let the loose strands of his black hair fall over his eyes elegantly. Will didn’t know if he had hit his head too hard but he could have sworn that Nico was slightly blushing.

“What? I didn’t catch that.”

“I said,” Nico took a dep breath, “The flower is for you and your stupid hair.”

Will must have looked relatively confused because Nico kept on talking. “Because you wear one whenever you work here? And when you threw a fit, you also threw your rose and it got ruined.”

Will, dumbfounded, simply stared at Nico. It wasn’t like he could braid his hair right here; Was this where Will was meant to thank him?

“Uh… thank you? I mean I could have easily gotten Callie to do my hair again but thanks anyway.”

Will realised that he was still sitting on the floor and immediately got up, still clutching the rose firmly in his hand, like he was afraid that the wind may just carry it off and he may never see it again.

In silence, him and Nico walked back to the counter, where surprisingly enough, everyone was getting on quite well. Percy and Frank were challenging Piper and Hazel about some vague petty thing,while Leo and Annabeth spoke to Calypso and Jason told Meg about Nico.

Annabeth had noticed quite quickly that Calypso had a crush on Leo and it seemed that Leo was aware as well. However, despite that, he didn’t let it get in the way of the conversation or the potential for a very beautiful friendship. He didn't like Calypso in that way. It was true that he had many previous lovers both men and women but Calypso was his friend, nothing more.

Nico noticed that Will was simply holding the rose and not wearing it like he intended him to.

“Why aren't you wearing the rose?”

Will stuttered, his face burning up slightly from embarrassment. “I..uh,well...I can’t really, um, braid my hair.”

Will was waiting for the insult. For a laugh, maybe a jeer. Instead he was surprised by the reaction that met him.

“I do. Give me the rose and sit in that chair.” Nico pointed to the chair behind the counter. Will, oblivious as ever, took a seat. He didn’t expect to feel familiar hands working on his hair. It felt like deja vu, feeling Nico’s fingers weave themselves into his hair, it felt like they were in that storage room all over again, making out on the small couch.

Wondering if Nico was also reminiscing that moment, he turned his head ever so slightly and caught Nico’s eye.

Nico turned Will’s head. “Stay still, I can’t do your hair if you keep on moving.”

Do my hair? He’s going to do my hair?

Will anxiously sat in the chair, fiddling his hands as Nico sectioned his hair into 3 parts and slipped the stem of the rose into one of the sections. He began braiding Will’s hair, slowly softly, dare I even say- Lovingly.

Will almost shivered when he felt Nico’s fingertip graze his scalp. His fingers braided like magic and within a matter of seconds, it felt like he had finished. Nico walked in front of Will to have a look at his handiwork from the front and reached forward. His finger brushed the side of Will’s ear and for a second, Will thought that Nico was going to gently cup his cheek and kiss him.

Instead, he reached and pulled free a small lock of hair from the front of his face so it dangled elegantly and complemented the rose that lay in his hair.

Will gulped. “ How did you learn to do hair?” His voice was extremely hoarse.

Nico’s voice seemed lower when he spoke. “My sister. I used to do her hair sometimes when we were at camp.”

Will nodded absent mindedly and focused on why his heart was beating so fast. The only reasons he knew why his heart would ever beat fast near a person would be if they scared him, forced him to exercise or if he had just slept with them.

Since Nico hadn't made him run, and they weren't sleeping together and Nico didn't make him fear for his life (yet), he was purely confused as to why his heart felt like it was a butterfly fluttering and any second, his ribcage may burst open and let it fly away and with it, his heart.,

He stared at the back of Nico’s head as he walked back to his friends who were now arguing about the difference between a white and an ivory rose.

Will did not not see Nico on Sunday at the flower shop. Nor did he see any of his friends.

Friday, Next week.

“Will, put that beer bottle down!” Calypso yelled, her entire state chaotic. There was flour everywhere and Will couldn’t tell where the kitchen started and where the mess ended.

This is what happened when he offered to babysit.

It was one thing to babysit a teenager or perhaps a 10 years old but a 7 years old? A seven year old and a 5 year old? A combination from hell itself. Overly energetic, disrespectful and disobedient, seven years olds were the worst kind of children to babysit.

It had started a while ago when his mother’s friend who’s name actually was Karen had to leave in a rush for some emergency (although Will had highly doubted it) and left her kids with Will's Mother. Being the wonderful woman she was, Will’s mother held onto them for as long as she could but she had a job, as most people did and unfortunately it was a job that required her to not enjoy her Friday nights.

This had led to her leaving the children with Will. Afterall, he was a responsible adult.

Okay fine, scratch the responsible part. She had left the children with Will because Calypso had promised to be there and in all blatant honesty, it was obvious that without Calypso, Will would be the biggest mess out there.

It seemed, however, that babysitting children was harder than both of them had anticipated.

“Callie, I give up. These kids are the devil's spawn. If they die, then tough luck for them.”

Calypso groaned and slammed her head onto the table before perking up with excitement. She grabbed her phone and dialed a number. Will overheard a vague conversation and simply watched, very confused.

Calypso set her phone down. “Okay so I have figured out how to fix this.” She pointed to the massive mess in their apartment.

“How?”

“You’ll see.”

Will didn’t trust the mischievous smile that came across Calypso’s face.

Nico was chilling on his bed with his phone in his hand, hovering above his face. He did not really have much to do so here he was, scrolling through social media. He was meant to be doing something with Percy or Jason or maybe Hazel- he really couldn’t remember and he couldn’t care less.

That was until he overheard a conversation from Jason that he could only describe as interesting. Only a few minutes later, Percy showed up very begrudgingly muttering I’m only coming because I wanna see where the little fucker lives.

As far as Nico was concerned, there was only one person who Percy called ‘the little fucker’ and why were Jason and Percy paying him a visit?

“Wait-” Nico threw his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up.”-Where are you guys going?”

“Calypso’s place. She needs some help babysitting? Or something like that. Annabeth’s call was kinda vague.”

“You’re going to Calypso’s place because Annabeth told you to?” Nico tilted his head, confusion evident in his voice. Jason took a deep breath before explaining.

“Calypso called Piper who gave the phone to Annabeth who called me to tell us and Hazel to go to Calypso’s place and help her and Will with whatever they needed help with.”

“Why is Will at Calypso’s place?”

Percy quickly interjected. “ They live together.”

That statement alone was enough to make Nico choke on the air he was trying to peacefully breathe.

“They what?” He managed to wheeze from in between the heavy coughs that racked from his chest.

“They live together,” Jason repeated innocently. “ Why?”

“Yeah,” Percy smirked, figuring out the reason behind Nico’s coughing fit. “ Why do you care, Nico?”

“No reason. It’s just a bit out of the blue.”

“So you don’t deny that you care!” Percy yelled excitedly pointing his finger at Nico. Nico grabbed it and twisted it with such ferocity, there was a crack and Percy let out a cry and pulled his finger back pouting, blowing on it like it was a hot dish.

“I twisted your finger, stop blowing on it like it’s a hot potato and let's hurry up and go please,” Nico groaned, rolling his eyes at Percy’s dramatic overreaction.

Percy, under his breath, murmured,” Somebody’s desperate.”

Nico slapped his shoulder.

When Will opened the door to his apartment, he didn't really know what he was expecting. Maybe someone like Thalia Grace or Reyna- a close friend of Calypso.

He certainly was not expecting his arch nemesis and his cronies to show up. He wasn’t in the best state of mind and he felt like any moment now, his feet may fail and he’d be out cold on the floor.

What was worse was the fact that Hazel had already arrived- without Frank as he said he ‘wasn’t the kind who liked children’. So now Will was here having to behave himself as if he were some host and they were his guest

His brain told him that this was exactly what this was.

But another part of Will didn’t agree. It was more, there was some more sinister motive behind why they were here. Sure, Annabeth had told them to come and god forbid someone disobey Annabeth but they clearly came here with their own reasons. Whether all their reasons were the same or not, Will did not know.

“What do you want?” Will deadpanned as he held the door halfway open- just like his eyelids. He was already considering shutting it in their faces. However, it seemed that Nico wasn’t having any of it as he simply pushed his way past Will, into the half cleaned up apartment.

“Oh, Nico! You’re here!” Hazel whisper-called out from the living room . She had the 5 year old’s head resting on her lap as it dozed off and the seven year old lay next to her, their eyes drifting off to sleep.

“Yeah, I’m here. What about it?”

“I thought you might want to cook something? I’m really hungry and I’m pretty sure Calypso’s been running around on an empty stomach trying to keep 2 children and a drunk person under control.”

Nico paused before wrinkling his nose. He walked forward to Will and moved his blonde hair out of his face to get a better view of his eyes.

“You’re drunk?” Nico looked around the kitchen and spotted the beer bottles. “Jesus, are you a lightweight or something? This shit ain’t even strong,” Nico grunted as he grabbed a very much incoordinate Will to the kitchen and sat him down at the counter. He got him a glass of water and rolled his sleeves up before quickly sifting through the fridge and cupboards.

“What happened to him?” Percy asked, walking slightly at the blushing Will sitting at the counter sipping water out of a straw.

“Hehee, Nico has very warm arms.” Some water dribbled out from the side of Will’s mouth as he giggled.

“He’s… wasted?” Jason squinted his eyes. “ I thought people with blue eyes were meant to have the highest tolerance to alcohol.”

“Nooooo,” Will whined. “ That’s not it. Blue eyed people are moree likeleyyy to have a dependency on alcohol. We did this in class-”

He was cut off by his own hiccup.

“Fucking hell,” Nico muttered as he pulled out ingrediants. Hungrily, Jason and Percy eyed the food.

“Whatcha making?” Percy asked, slinging his arm over Nico’s shoulder. Immediately, Will got out of his seat, objecting to this. However, before he could do this, he tripped and fell on his butt and in turn knocked his head into the floor. He was out cold within seconds.

“Did he just pass out?” Percy asked, poking at Will’s body with his foot only for Nico to be outraged and push Percy with such vigour, he ended up splayed onto the floor. He quickly kneeled beside Will and shook him gently, trying to wake him up.

“Flower boy? Hey, wake up. Will? Get up. Get up right now Will.” Nico began shaking him, his voice starting out in small quiet whispers. The alarm in Nico’s voice called over Calypso who batted her hand and laughed.

“Oh you have nothing to worry about. He does this everytime he gets too drunk. He’s a real lightweight, trust me.”

After much chaos and argument, everyone calmed down and Nico got cooking. As someone who was majoring in food tech, Jason and Percy would always make him cook meals for them. While Nico always pretended to be bothered and annoyed by this, he secretly loved it, meaning that he could make his friends smile with something he also loved- food.

Sure, he sometimes skipped meals or didn’t have time to actually eat, but he was constantly surrounded by food and making it was so chaotic but he enjoyed it and he enjoyed the rush of serotonin he’d get when he tasted the final dish.

“Food’s ready!” Nico called from the kitchen. Will had been moved to the sofa because Calypso had been told that under no circumstance was anybody to ever go into Will’s bedroom. Jason came in to the table and started laying it, as their usual routine went. Percy brought cups and Hazel, who normally did not dine with them, was talking to Calypso. They took their seat at the table and waited for the boys to finish laying it and serving food.

Nico glanced at Will who was dozing off on the couch peacefully. “ Is he not going to join us?”

Calypso shook her head. She knew when Will was feeling the way he was today, the only thing he could do was sleep it off. Nico had to admit, he was disappointed; he was hoping to see Will’s reaction when tasting the food. In fact, he had put extra effort into making it perfect just based on the possibility that Will may have been joining them for dinner.

They ate silently, with only the sound of the occasional collision of the fork against the plate echoing into the apartment.

“This is a nice place…” Percy started, trying to ease some of the tense silence away. Calypso gave him a short nod.

“Yes. It’s mine- Will and I share it.”

“Why?” Nico asked, his jealousy overtaking his actions. Was he really at liberty to ask such a question? No. Was he going to anyway? Absolutely.

Calypso raised an eyebrow at the question, while she slowly raised the fork to her mouth. “Does it matter why?”

Nico, staring at his food, paused. “No,” He sighed. “ I guess it doesn’t.”

Hazel, who wasn't allowing this, quickly intercepted. “It doesn't matter but that doesn't mean we wouldn’t like to know? Right guys?”

“Yeah!” Percy agreed a bit too passionately. “Tell us Calypso. How is it that you- someone of your high standards is living with somebody like… Will.”

Percy's abrash statement was rewarded with a hard smack to the back from the Italian boy sitting next time, glaring at him enough daggers for Percy to become Pinhead. Percy, midway swallowing, began coughing frantically which despite the urgency of the situation earned no sympathy from Nico who sat there as Percy choked and Jason gave violent slaps on his back.

“Ugh, well. We’ve known each other…” Calypso stopped. “ Are you sure you’re okay?”

Percy, almost red in the face, nodded frantically and mimed with his hands to keep talking. Jason reached over and poured Percy another glass of water.

“Uh, well… We work together but we’ve known each other for a long time.”

“How long? I don't remember Solace ever mentioning you.”

Calypso smiled slightly. “ If I’m correct, you two weren't and still aren't really on the kinds of terms where you discuss your personal life.”

“Still… I would have thought that… forget it.”

The awkwardly silent dinner continued with the clanking of cutlery against plates. Secret glares were passed along with uncomfortable shivers but all in all, the dinner managed to run smoothly. The guests helped clean up and finally, late into the night, they stood at the door awkwardly, as Calypso dismissed them.

“Are the children… staying?” Hazel innocently inquired, her eyes falling on the small children who lay asleep on the sofa behind Calypso.

Calypso scratched her head- slightly unsure herself. “Uh, I guess. Until they get picked up at least.”

“Oh… I guess I should stay to help out then?”

“No! Please, I don't want you to ruin a good night's sleep over this. I’m sure I can handle this. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Calypso reached for the door. “Get home safely.”

Jason and Percy, who realised that they were no longer welcome, did not hesitate to leave- the same couldn’t be said for Nico.

He didn’t know why he was hesitating- it wasn't as if Calypso and him were friends in any way. However, it seemed that for some odd reason there was a connection between the two that they both strongly cared for a certain blond headed lightweight. But they also both cared for a certain grinning engineer who spoke Spanish.

With his hand shoved in his pockets, he slowly turned his heel as if a magnet from afar was tugging on the metal heartstrings with his heart. His head was bowed towards the floor as he muttered the words under his breath.

“Tell him to call me when he wakes up tomorrow… We should probably talk and get everything out of the way.” Nico’s hair fell in front of his face, his eyes darting anywhere but Calypso’s face as to avoid her seeing his expression.

“Are you dating Leo?”

The abrupt question had Nico’s head snapping upwards so fast that I- the author- feared that he may have broken his neck had he moved any faster. The obvious answer was ‘no’. They had broken up long before Nico had even known someone like William Andrew Solace even existed; however, he didn't know if he could give such an honest answer so freely.

It was clear that Calypso was not just asking Nico this question for the sake of fun. She liked him.

And for some reason, Nico did not like that.

Leo wasn't his. He had his own feelings and decisions to make. But Nico didn't think she could handle the idea of Calypso being able to have both Will and Leo in her life- whether any of the relationships were platonic or not.

He had Leo, she had Will. It was only fair that it should stay that way.

But that said- If, if, he ever dated Will… would he give up Leo for the sake of fairness? Life isn't meant to serve everyone with equality. You get what you get and the rest you must fight for; Life was clearly a capitalist.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because,” she paused as if her reasoning was obvious. “If you are, I can’t let you play with Will or Leo like that.”

Nico snarled. “ Who said I was playing with either?”

“Isn't that what it's called? When you date two different people behind their backs?”

“I’m not dating Leo!” He yelled in frustration. Perhaps it was the wine. Or watching Will pass out on the floor and Percy poking him with his foot like an animal. Or maybe it was the fact that Will never tasted the food, but for some reason whether it was unbeknownst or not, Nico snapped. “Happy?”

Calypso smiled. “Very.”

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vixenpen · 4 years

Text

youtube

Fuck A Fan (Bakugo x Camgirl reader pt. 1)

You had gotten the idea from one of your best friends in the cam industry.

“You sure this will work?”

“Trust me boo,” he had replied, “sometimes the best motivation for a man is a little friendly competition.”

Your bestie had insisted that a fuck a fan contest would be the perfect way to get CallMeKing to finally make good on his unfulfilled promise to see you.

Putting the finishing touches on your flyer, you finally posted the announcement to all social media. You knew CMK was still lurking. So he’d definitely see it. Hopefully, this little contest would be enough to spark his interest, if this failed, you were going to scream.

Because for the first time in your cam career, a man had you chasing him.

The audacity!

To be fair, he did say that he wanted to see you too, but had to keep a low profile due to his career. He promised as soon as worked dialed down you guys would meet up.

Well that had been over a year ago, and not only had you guys not met face to face; he also didn’t seem to check in on you as much anymore.

He still tipped and re-subbed to your page. He had even cash-apped you money for Christmas and your birthday.

But aside from that, there were no more late night, sexting sessions, no more random check ins, no more nude trading.

At first, you brushed it off.

He was apparently a very successful man. Successful men were busy. They couldn’t give you every second of their time. As a successful woman, you could relate to that.

Not to mention, you were a bad bitch and bad bitches did not pine over any man.

PERIODTTT.

Buuuut...when the man in question was fine as hell with boulders for biceps, a big dick, and long money, well...you’d like to think the City Girls, Meg the Stallion, and all the other bad bitches you looked up to would understand your thirst.

“Alright, King,” you sat back in the furry, white computer chair and glared at your laptop screen. “Ball is in your court now.”

“Mr. Ground Zero, can I get a picture too?”

A precocious looking blue haired kid asked. He stared up at Katsuki with wide, hopeful eyes.

Katsuki grimaced.

“Whatever kid, c’mon.”

He leaned down, attempting to keep a safe distance from the walking germ pool, while keeping in the lens of his camera phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Ground Zero!”

The kid giddily ran back to his group of friends.

Kirishima slung his arm around Bakugo’s shoulder, weighing down on his slightly shorter friend.

“Wow, Bakubro, looks like those public relations training classes have really been working, huh?”

“Whatever, I just don’t need anymore shitty press with kids.”

“You still have energy for happy hour with Sero and Me tonight?”

Bakugo replied with a noncommittal shrug. He scrolled absentmindedly through his phone as he and Kirishima headed towards their agencies to call it a day.

He decided to check in on (cam name’s) IG page to see how she was doing.

A pang of longing tugged at him. He missed her. A lot. Sure, she was a cam girl, and being friendly and flirty was her job, but she always brightened his days. With crime picking up steadily over the past year, Bakugo could use her presence in his life now more than ever, unfortunately, nothing in his schedule would permit it.

He was researching a new threat that had been developing in the crime world. Apparently the new mob of villains seemed to have some connections to the crime world in America, and Bakugo found himself flying back and forth to the west for meetings and to make media rounds to help put the public at ease.

His sleep schedule was completely out of whack with all the stress he was under, so any spare moment he wasn’t working, he was sleeping. Which meant no time for his virtual boo thing. Though he did try to make it known he was thinking about her with bill money.

As he flipped through her newest posts, something caught his eyes.

Fuck a fan contest? Winner gets to make content with me at secure location!

What the fuck was this shit?

Whatever it was, he was certainly going to get to the bottom of it when he got home.

CMK: Hey, (cam name) what’s this all about?

Y/N: what does it look like? Fuck a fan contest

CMK: fuck u mean? You don’t do meet ups!

Y/N: 🤷🏾‍♀️ first time for everything.

Anger hummed beneath Bakugo’s skin. Since when did y/n start doing meet ups? She had always told him she didn’t trust her fans as far as she could throw them.

He had encouraged her to not be forthcoming with personal information and never feel like she had to meet up with randos online for money. He would take care of anything she needed before it came to that.

So what was the meaning of this? Had he not been taking good enough care of her? Keeping her bills paid? Her nails and hair done?

Y/N: u entering or what? 👀

CMK: hell no im not entering and neither is anyone else. Now take that shit down.

Y/n: (voice note) first the fuck of all, you don’t tell me what to do. Second the fuck of all, do you know how much money is in this? You ain’t stopping my bag boo. Period! 💅🏾

He was practically seething. Who the fuck did she think she was talking to like that?

Who the fuck did she think she was saying no to?!

His dick stirred in his pants as he re-listened to the voice note of her cursing him out.

CMK: how much does it take to win?

Y/N: just whoever has the most.

CMK tipped $150,000

CMK: now take it the fuck down

Y/N: nobody else has entered yet.

CMK: nobody else up here has the money I have.

Y/N: if you’re not meeting with me, I ain’t takin it down.

CMK: god fucking dammit y/n. Tonight. 9pm. Text me the addy. I’ll have my driver pick you up.

True to his word, CMK had his driver pick you up an hour and a half before the time he had mentioned.

Your knee bounced, causing the black mini dress hugging your shapely thighs to ride up. You pulled it down absentmindedly.

You could count on one hand how many times you had been flown out by one of your fans. It certainly wasn’t a weekly occurrence for you the way it was for other models.

Fear and excitement fluttered in your stomach.

You wondered what the driver thought of you. Heading to this rich and powerful man’s house in the middle of the night.

You had tried to dress up as if you were going to be taken on a fancy date. Your hair styled, silver chandelier earrings dripping from your lobes to match the long silver necklace that dipped between your pushed up cleavage.

If the driver gave two shits, you at least hoped he thought you were going to get a nice meal before getting dicked down.

The community where CMK lived was on the outskirts of town; hidden in a forest of natural and manicured foliage. One could go literal miles between each home before they saw the next one.

You pressed your forehead against the window to take in the flora and fauna, manicured lawns, and huge mansions. So. Many. Styles. Of mansions!

“Here we are ma’am.” the driver announced.

He drove you up a looping, stone drive way that led to a very modern home that reminded you a bit of abstract art what with its odd angles, jutting sides, and square architecture.

The driver stepped out and opened your door. Once you were faced with the massive stairs and wooden doors before you, the song: Pretty Woman blared in your mind. You certainly felt that way.

Before you could knock, the door swung open revealing a pair of red eyes that were devouring your body head to toe.

“Oh my god...”

“Wasn’t expecting to hear that before I even touched you, beautiful.” He chuckled. His lips quirked into the cocky half smirk you’d grown familiar with from his interviews.

Was this real? Call me king was Ground Zero?!

“C-call me king?” You managed to stutter out pitifully.

“I would prefer to call you by your real name.” He joked. “Come in, beautiful.” He grabbed your hand gently and pulled you through the door.

You couldn’t even appreciate the high ceilings, polished wood floors, and tasteful stone wash colored furniture as you followed Ground Zero through the door.

He took leggy strides into the airy kitchen taking out a couple of glasses from a cupboard. You could only gawk.

He looked good as hell in his short sleeved denim button up shirt and ripped black jeans. His physique flexed under the well tailored clothes showing off the broad chest and bulging biceps you’d seen in the Nudes. His spiky Blonde hair looked soft and a bit damp.

“You wanna drink, beautiful?”

“I don’t accept drinks from new people in new environments.”

He looked up to shoot you a half smile. The usual mischief was missing from his red eyes, replaced with genuine affection.

“Of course you don’t. My (cam name.)”

“F/N,” you replied.

“Bout damn time you gave me a real name. Mine is Bakugo, babe.”

He strolled over with a glass of water for himself.

“So, f/n,” his ruby colored eyes darkened with a predatory gleam as he stepped right to your face. “Why don’t you have a seat? I promise the couch won’t bite.”

He brought a hand down to smack your round ass, making you jump.

“Can’t say the same for myself though.”

Licking your lips, you lowered yourself into the couch. Bakugo settled beside you so close the sides of your bodies touched. He draped an arm around your shoulder.

“I know you got a camsona and all, but damn, y/n, where’s my feisty little c/n? Huh? Lil Ms. Period!” His voice took on a lighter tone as he tried to imitate your twang.

The attempt earned him a giggle.

“Well excuse me, sir, but I wasn’t expecting the number two pro-hero in Japan to be my biggest fan.” You snapped back, playfully rolling your eyes. “Forgive me if I’m still wrapping my brain around it.”

“There’s that smart ass mouth I love so much.” He tucked your chin.

This close to him, you could feel his warm minty breath fanning against your lips. A familiar warmth was already growing between your legs.

Pulling away you asked: “Why me?”

“Hah?” His brows knit in confusion. “Fuck kinda question is that? What do you mean why you?”

“I mean, I’m a bad bitch or whatever, but I’m just...me and you’re...you.”

“Tch. You just answered your own damn question, dumb ass.” He tilted your face back towards him. You felt his other large hand roam the bare skin of your thigh and shivered.

“You’re a bad bitch. You don’t seem to forget that any other time, don’t fuckin’ forget it now, got that? Your confidence is what’s sexy about you.”

A smile tugged at your lips as heat flooded your cheeks.

“You know, when you’re not being a fuckin’ asshole, you can be pretty damn charming when you wanna be.”

“And when you’re not being a defiant little brat, you can be real fucking cute.”

A moan slipped from your glossy lips as his hand crept steadily up your thigh

“Please,” you leaned closer to him, “you love my brattiness.”

He scoffed, amused.

“I’ll show you just how much I like it.”

Without warning, Bakugo scooped you up. His large, rough hands dug into the soft flesh of your round ass as he straddled you on his lap.

Your wet, bare pussy pressed into his bulge as he stole a greedy kiss. Your gasp quickly morphed into a moan as desire burned in your core and flooded your entire body.

His tongue overtook your mouth effortlessly.

“No panties, huh, brat? I can feel you leaking through my jeans.”

“I hate panties,” you managed between kisses. “And bras.”

That little confession just inspired more arousal in Bakugo. He deposited you on the long couch and let his hot tongue snake along every sensitive bit of exposed flesh he could find. Goosebumps rose on your skin.

“Damn, beautiful,” he managed between kisses, “can’t wait to taste the rest of you.”

His bulge rubbed your aching clit deliciously.

You tugged his shirt up over his mess of blonde hair.

He grabbed the deep ‘V’ of your dress and ripped it open, drawing a gasp from you.

“Now we match.” He grinned

“You ass—“

“You’ll have a new outfit by tomorrow afternoon, now shut up.”

True to his word, Bakugo tasted every inch of you. He nibbled your ears making you shiver, licked your nipples making you hiss his name, and devoured your toes like blow pops.

Your body was trembling from sensory overload.

“God..” you moaned.

“You look like you want something, babe,” Bakugo smiled wickedly as he hovered above you. “What is it?”

“Eat me.”

#bnha headcanons #black writers #mha headcanons #bnha #my hero academia #bnha imagines #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #self insert #bnha smut #bnha scenarios #my hero fanfic #bakugo smut #boku no hero academia #Youtube

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Pt. 5

Hey guys, it's been really busy for me at university so I have no idea when I'll have free time to write this month. Chapter 5 is actually still unfinished, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so here's the first half of chapter 5.

In Which: Another deal is struck upon the ice

AO3 | Prologue | 4 | [ 5 ] | 6

THE PIT SINGS. A low, groaning thing. Muffled like how sounds distort underwater. It reminded Danny of the sounds of Jupiter he would listen to when he really needed to study; the sounds heavily mixed to be more ambient yet still echoing traces of the original, haunting melody of the universe.

The Pit calls for him. No, not the pit—the ectoplasm in the pit is what calls him. Pulls the waves toward him as if he were the moon, bright and full, whispering with garbled voices hello-hello-hello. His core whispers back the same words every time he is near it. Hello-hello-hello. The Pit lingers in the back of his mind and sings in familiar words he does not understand.

Talia calls it a fascination. Ra’s calls it a connection.

A visceral link. Like calls to like. Strange ectoplasmic middle fingers to the laws of the universe—to the great equalizer that is death.

(Danny thinks Ra’s is wrong. Not completely wrong, but not right either.)

When his ghost form is no longer trying to cannibalize his human self, Talia dials up his training. Before, she was merely an observer. Now, she fights him in the ring, teaching him how to dodge with bruised ribs and broken bones. Brutally correcting his stances with harsh jabs and quick strikes. Sweeps him off the floor with a twist of her leg when he forgets how to use his feet. Each day left him with such bone-deep fatigue that mor more once he fell asleep during his sixty minutes in front of the monitor.

They know, now, that the Pit has no adverse effect on him. That he can use the pit more than once.

Bruises and fractures, cuts and scrapes; injuries mean nothing when a dip in green waters will wash everything away.

Even the possibility of insanity starts to feel far-fetched.

Danny should hate this. He should really hate this.

He loved it.

Phantom had always been a fighter. A protector. An underdog matched up against bigger and stronger foes but always somehow coming up on top. He was popular. Liked by the citizens of Amity Park despite his dumpster fire of a reputation near the beginning. Somehow in the year and a half since Phantom’s conception, he went from town menace to this larger-than-life figure. (Ha!) The hero of Amity Park with all of the expectations and responsibilities that came with it.

But Danny—plain, ol’ Danny Fenton—wasn’t any of that. Wasn’t allowed to be any of that. Because Danny Fenton was a wimpy kid who tripped over air and regularly got shoved inside lockers. He was the ghost hunters’ son who was deathly afraid of the paranormal. A C-average student in a family of geniuses.

A persona unwillingly crafted and carefully maintained, because at least this way no one other than Jazz or Wes will be able to connect Fenton to Phantom. Who would believe it?

But here, in Nanda Parbat, he was neither Fenton nor Phantom— he was something more. He had no secret identity to keep from the people who have vigorously researched him. He had no need to hold back.

Here, Danny was free to be Danny.

“Daniel.”

Even if he was called by the wrong-right name.*

Danny floated up from the pit, his transformation seamless as he stepped onto the edge on quiet feet. Tahlia threw him a knapsack. “Ready yourself, we have places to be.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I get my sixty-minutes after the Pit, remember?”

“I did not forget.” She smiled, resting her hand on her hip. “I simply thought that by beloved child might relish a change in scenery.”

Danny perked up, hands tightening around the straps of the knapsack. “We’re going outside?” Tahlia nodded. “Like—outside-outside. With the sky and trees and—and the stars?”

Amusement softened her sharp features, jade eyes sparkling with mirth. “The very same. Though the place we are going to is quite fickle in nature, and I am unsure if we will get another chance to go. But if you really insist on it then—”

“Wait!” He snapped his mouth shut, clutching the bag closer to his chest.

(Family, his core whispered. Family-safe-safe-protect-need-see-confirm-family-home)

The sixty minutes he gets to see his family was…precious. One of the few times the restlessness in his core would draw back; melt away like frost in the spring, leaving some sense of contentment behind. It was his refuge. Sanctuary. Physical proof that what he was doing here—(staying away-away-why-go back-back-return-home-family-home-protect)—meant something.

But.

Outside.

The Pit might have increased his training regiment, but it also allowed him to leave (escorted) the walls of his rooms. And this—

Danny could go outside.

He could go outside.

If he didn’t accept this now, then who knows when the opportunity would arise again? His family wouldn’t mind, right? Jazz did say something about how spending time outdoors is good for one’s health.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “My…my family will be alright, yes?”

Tahlia cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t they be? You have done nothing wrong that goes against our agreement, and you have progressed wonderfully in your training. I am quite proud.” At Danny’s disquieted expression, she sighed. She raised her hand. “I swear on the blood of the demon—on our blood—that I will honor our agreement and do no harm to the Fentons and your friends during our trip.”

She lowered her hand. “Are you satisfied, habeebi?”

Reluctantly, Danny nods. An agreement from Tahlia is probably the best he could do at this point. “How much time do I have to prepare?” “Everything you will need is in that back. Though, it might do you good to dress very warmly.”

----------

Danny’s first breath of fresh air was biting. It filled the lungs crisp and clean, chilled him to the bones though he could feel no cold. Each warm exhale expressed itself in swirling mists, disappearing into the slate gray clouds above. A facsimile of his own ghost sense.

Fenton did not think much of breathing; Phantom did not need it.

Danny had never realized how wonderous it was to breathe.

“We head northeast,” Tahlia called out. Like him, she is bundled in thick black layers with long leather gauntlets strapped at the end of the sleeves. Her bag secured tightly, and a sword strapped to her back. Her long black hair is bound in a tight braid beneath her fur-lined hood.

The path is covered with snow, deep enough that his first few steps past Nanda Parbat’s gates sinks his leg midway up his calf with a loud crunch. It was hardly as deep as some parts in the Far Frozen, but over there Danny had the choice to simple float over. Tahlia trudged through the snow with a preternatural grace. The path ahead was marked only by the faint traces of footprints almost—but not quite—covered with fresh snow.

Among the many things the League had taught him, this was one: the devil is in the details.

They speak little on their trek. Not that Danny particularly minds, absorbed that he was with world around him. Nanda Parbat, he learned, was built high in the mountains. Cocooned from the rest of the world by the snow-capped mountain ranges that surrounded it. A fortress of wood and stone that seemed distinct yet so carefully hidden. The high walls protected the buildings within from view. Its roofs—elongated and curved—and tall towers modelled after east Asian architecture. Though which country, Danny does not know.

Their destination—past a large protrusion of stone that covered the fortress from view once crossed—was a lake. Frozen a pale blue with ice, surrounded by more mountain walls and the opening of a cave off to the side.

Perplexed, he said “What, are we gonna go ice fishing? Just so you kno, I’m not that big of a fan. The last time I went with my dad I was nearly eaten by a sea monster.”

“We should have enough food for this exercise, Daniel. And you need have no fear of sea monsters, this lake is devoid of any such creatures.” Once they reached the mouth of the cave, she unstrapped her bag, setting it against the stone wall. Danny mimicked the motion. “We are here to train.”

“With…?”

She gestures to the katana strapped to his back.

“With swords.”

A nod.

“On the ice?”

She smiled, leading him to the edge of the frozen lake. “It has become something of a family tradition of the al Ghuls, to cross blades upon the ice.” She plants a steady foot on the lake, walking towards the center with long strides.

Danny followed behind her with some trepidation. He wouldn’t die from frostbite, he was sure, and if he fell he could always fly himself out. But that didn’t stop him from flinching at the rumbling sounds the ice made beneath his feet.

“My father trained both your father and I on this lake.” Tahlia unsheathed her sword as she took her place across from Danny. “And as your father no doubt trained Damian on his own lake, I have the pleasure of training you.” She slipped into a stance. “On your mark.”

Danny slipped into his own stance, feet apart, both hands on the hilt. Then, something nudged at the back of his mind. “Who’s Damian?”

Tahlia tilted her blade, the polished sword gleaming and sharp. “Your brother. Now—begin!”

“Wait, wha—” Danny barely managed to parry the blow.

Sparks flew as blades crossed and Danny twisted off to the side.

He slipped. Head meeting the ice, the deep crackling sound of the lake making him tense.

Tahlia points the tip of her blade against his chest. A single elegant brow arched high in dissatisfaction. Danny glared at her, brushing the fringes of his hair away from his face. “To be fair, you shouldn’t say stuff like that right before a fight. You caught me off guard.”

“If you find yourself in a fair fight, you have failed to prepare enough.” She sheathed her sword before extending an arm to help Danny to his feet. “The goal of a fight is to end it—no matter the cost. Now, take you place.”

Danny picked up his sword, then, hesitates. He looked up at Tahlia. “Did you mean what you said?” Do I have a brother?

Tahlia smiled, drawing her blade once more. “Impress me and you’ll find out.”

Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Now—”

He adjusted his stance. You’re on.

“Begin!”

Danny lunged.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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