#maybe i should get a t shirt for this. i made it through heartbreak number 3 and all i got was this shirt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sugarbooger513 · 3 years

Text

Mine (Stepbrother!ChosoxFem!Reader)

This is my collaboration piece for @severelytalentless Are You Afraid of the Dark collab! I had a lot of fun writing this... work. I hope you guys enjoy it! Thank you to my very amazing friends who helped me out during this piece, especially my wifey @kentosovertime and my bestie @roughwithfluff. It wouldn't have ended up as well written as it did without the help.

Warnings: stepcest, possessive nature, unprotected sex (wrap your willies), oral (fem receiving), spit, Choso slaps reader in the face like once, he also slaps in another place, daddy kink, dom Choso, Choso is very petty, mentions of cheating ex, mentions of alcohol and nicotine consumption, degradation, praise, slight breeding kink if you squint

"Don't bother calling me anymore! I see what's more important to you.." You hang up your cell phone and throw it across the room. Your bed feels colder than it usually does, but you lay on it anyways, allowing your tears to flow onto your pillow.

Your boyfriend, now ex, of two years had called you with a plea, begging for your forgiveness. How could you forgive him, though? When you heard about your best friend sleeping with him, you couldn't get the image out of your head. You knew she thought he was attractive, but there was never a worry in your mind that either of them would take it anywhere.

You sit up, suddenly realizing that he would be on his way home from work in an hour, maybe two. You had to leave before he got home. It wasn't like you feared he would hurt you for leaving him, but he would certainly try to guilt you into staying with him.

Your heart rate increases when you realize that you have no idea where you can go. He knows all of your family, and is pretty loved by all of them. Your stepmom even has the habit of calling him her son. 'Her son...'

You rush to grab your phone, dialing the all too familiar number. If there's one person in your family you can call, it's the one he's scared of.

"Y/N," your step brother lets out a long yawn after answering, "what's up?" "B-bubs.." You can hear him drop something on his end. "Honey, why are you crying?" "He.. he cheated on me.. with her.. you were right.."

Choso bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly enraged at the thought. He never liked that guy. When they first met, Choso punched him in the jaw for being an asshole. You were mad at him at the time, but eventually understood why he did it. Since then, your ex was too scared to look Choso in the eyes.

Still, he now finds himself smiling.

"I'm so sorry, honey. Is there anything I can do?" Your sniffle makes him clench his fist. "He's going.. to be home s-soon." "Drive over here. I'll set up the guest-" "C-can you get me..? I don't want him tracking my car.."

Your pitiful voice goes straight to his crotch. Even though no one else is at his home, he finds himself trying to conceal his half hard cock with the kitchen counter.

"Of course, honey. Pack a bag. I'll be there in twenty." "I-I love you, Choso.. thank you." He has to bite his lip to keep from moaning. "I love you too, honey."

When he hangs up, he groans loudly and places his head on the cool marble. "Okay," he talks to himself aloud, "just.. keep yourself in control. You got this, Choso. She's your step sister, for Christ's sake." He shakes his head, grabbing his keys.

Still, he can't deny the things you do to him. It makes him feel terrible, but you're so damn tempting. He always figured that your hugs would last a little too long, your eyes scanned him a little too much, your hands lingered on him a little too suggestively.

He knew better, though. Your teenage years were spent on tons of dates with guys who were the complete opposite of your stepbrother. He would sit in his bedroom, no doubt on a video game, while he listened to guy after guy go in and out of your bedroom. It wasn't like you were a whore.

Those guys just eventually showed their true colors.

He knows that when you love, you love with your entire heart. That's why he was there for you through every heartbreak. He would hold you for hours, dry your tears with his own shirts, make you your favorite snacks, take you on long walks so you weren't cooped in the house all day.

Why? Well, because in his mind you already belonged to him.

You pace your living room, already holding your overnight bag in your hand. Of course, you'll probably stay with Choso more than one night, unless your dad tells you to stay with him and your stepmom instead.

Who are you kidding? If Choso offers to let you stay longer, you would much rather stay there.

Your front door opens, and you jump in fear that your ex came back early. "Shhh, honey it's me." "C-Cho.." Choso walks across the room in quick strides to pull you into his strong embrace.

His hands gently cradle you against his body. "He doesn't deserve your tears Y/N. Don't give him the satisfaction." "Y-you tell me that after every breakup, Choso.." "I know. That's because none of them deserve your kindness."

You close your eyes and feel yourself relax in his strong arms. He's never let you down. Choso has been the only guy in your life to prove he would always be there for you. You truly trust him with your life.

That being said, you can't ignore the feelings that have formed over the years for your stepbrother.

Your fingers grip his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer to you. He sighs softly and buries his face in your hair. "Is there anything I can do for you, Y/N?" "Just... don't leave me. Please?"

His heart pounds in his chest at your feeble plea. His throat seems to dry, so he can't manage to speak. Finally, after what feels like an hour, he clears his throat.

"You know I won't, Y/N. I never have." "And never will?" His large hands squeeze your body a bit harshly, but your breath only increases at the feeling.

"I never will. Now, why don't we get you loaded into the car and get you home?" You finally pull away, blinking your still teary eyes at him so innocently. "Home..?"

The look on your face has his body on fire. You look so damn innocent, just like an angel. They're still red and puffy from your crying, but that only has him straining in his pants.

The things he would give to take the innocence from your face this second..

"Of course. My home is yours for as long as you need." He jingles his keys in an attempt for you to hurry and follow.

"What.. what about as long as I want..?"

That sentence has him blushing furiously. He looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course. You're family and I love you, so my home is yours. We should go though. I don't want to-" His sentence is cut short when you wrap your small arms around his frame.

"Cho.. you're the only person in my life that cares this much.." "Don't say that, princess. You know that isn't true." His large hands are so gentle as they rub your back comfortingly. The small action has your heart pounding.

It also has your core burning for more.

"I-I want to stay with you." "Princess, then why are we still here?" There's a hint of laughter in his teasing tone. "I mean.. stay with you." You bury your face in his broad chest, hoping desperately that he gets the hint.

And oh boy does he ever. He can't help the small groan that escapes his throat at the mere thought.

"Y/N.. you don't mean that." You finally look up, shocked at the tint of rosiness on his usually pale cheeks.

"I-I do mean it.. You're the only guy who has ever-" "I'm family." "Not blood. D-Don't act like you don't feel the same Choso!" His eyes widen, and your accusation has him backing away from you, causing your hope to falter. Had you been mistaken this entire time? Had the stares and lingering touches really just been his own way of showing platonic affection.

"Choso.. I-" "Am I truly that obvious, Y/N?" You blink once, twice before giggling softly. "Y-yeah.. have I not been?" "No. Your.. attention always seemed to be on others. I just assumed.. you saw me as your big brother." You shake your head, walking slowly to stand directly in front of him again.

You've always thought his eyes were gorgeous, a slight grey tint over the almost golden color, they truly are their own unique shade, but right now they seem even brighter.

"I.. I was scared. People would.. call us freaks if anything came of any attraction to each other. I mean.. we've known forever that we weren't related, but our parents have been married-" "Going on ten years now. Even dated for five years before that. Trust me," his hand reaches to touch your cheek gently, as if he's afraid he could break you, "I've been bouncing the pros and cons in my head for so many fucking years."

Your cheek fits so easily in his palm, as if it was made to be there. "So.. who gives a damn about the cons anymore?" His eyes darken at your words, suddenly not focused on your gaze, but your lips. "I don't think I do, Princess." He suddenly turns the two of you, pressing your body into the wall that was originally behind him.

His lips hover centimeters over yours, making you whimper pathetically. "Tell me what you want. I'll give it to you, Y/N." His lips turn at the corners, making the already handsome guy seem even more so. Your hands reach out, gripping the loose t-shirt he's wearing tightly. "I-I need you, Cho. P-please?"

"Well, why don't we take this little.. fiasco to my place?" "No." He tilts his head in confusion as you smirk. "Fuck me on his bed.. onii-chan."

His lips are on yours the instant that word leaves your mouth. Despite the fact you're almost certain that Choso doesn't know what lip balm is, his lips are so plush and soft. It catches you off guard, causing you to moan softly in his mouth.

He isn't shy about exploring your body either. His hands grab every bit of plushness they can. Your hips, thighs, ass, until he finally reaches your breasts. His hands squeeze them harshly, not caring about any actual pain he could bring. You gasp in the kiss, which allows his tongue to finally invade your mouth, easily taking over as the dominant one.

He tastes faintly of cheap wine and cigarettes, but that doesn't shock you. You've spent multiple nights in his room smoking and drinking after rough breakups.

You have to smack at his shoulder a few times before he pulls away, leaving a strand of saliva connecting the two of you. He lets out a deep growl before grabbing your arm to yank you upstairs.

He kicks the bedroom door open, not caring about possibly busting the damn thing. "I have waited for so fucking long," he shoves you onto the queen sized bed that you once shared with your ex, "to have you all to myself. Now that I have you..." He pulls the shirt over his head, causing your eyes to shamelessly wander over his toned body. He catches your gaze, causing him to lick his bottom lip in anticipation. "Oh I am never letting you out of my grasp now, little one."

You sit up and, without a second thought, throw your shirt off and into the floor. "A bit possessive, are we?" He chuckles a bit darkly. "I don't see you complaining. Besides," he rips your pants off in one fluid motion, purring at the dark spot already staining your panties, "it seems you know who you belong to." His head is almost instantly between your legs, his hands shoving your thighs open effortlessly.

He licks a long stripe up your covered slit, causing you to mewl. "Go ahead, princess, tell me exactly who owns you." This time he places a small kiss just over your clit. "F-fuck, you!" "Hmmm," his hand comes down to smack your pussy with an unnecessary amount of force. "Not good enough. Try again." He lands another smack, this one making tears prick your eyes.

"W-what do y-you want-" you cry out as he lands two more smacks on you. The pain is startling at first, but it quickly has you moaning in pleasure. "How about that fun little nickname you've given so many men that have entered your bedroom?" You squeak, making him chuckle. "Oh come on, there's no way you thought I never heard you. Always had the fucking nerve," another smack, this one even harder, "to cry out for other men while I was in my bedroom dreaming of making those pretty eyes cry in my bed. Come on, call me that sweet little name and I'll fuck you better than any of those assholes could have."

The last smack has you screaming, and you can't seem to care that any of your neighbors could hear. "D-Daddy! Y-You own me! I-it's always been you, I swear daddy! P-Please fuck me, I-I need it!"

He groans loudly before ripping your panties from your body. "I'll have to remember that you beg beautifully once I get you home." Two of his fingers spread you apart, and he smirks at the puddle of essence already pooling on the bed. "So fucking wet for me, aren't you?" He doesn't give you a chance to answer before he buries his face in you, eating you out like a man starved.

The sudden onslaught of pleasure makes you try and clamp your thighs closed, but one of his hands shoves it back down. His eyes look up at you as he continues to lap at your drooling pussy. The stare speaks every word he can't at the moment.

This is for his pleasure, not yours, and you're meant to lay back and take what he's giving you.

Your fingers tangle in his raven hair, and the slight pain has him growling against you. His lips wrap around your throbbing clit, sucking harshly, and he shoves two fingers into you without any warning.

You knew beforehand that Choso had slept with at least a few women, so he's not inexperienced, but you never knew that he was this experienced. His long fingers curl into you, pushing against the spot that has you screaming his name to the heavens. He has to rut against your mattress in a desperate attempt to get some sort of relief.

"D-Daddy.. I-I'm g-gonna cum.." He could already tell. Your walls sucked his fingers in as soon as they entered you, so he knew you wouldn't last much longer. "Hmmm," his sharp teeth nip your clit gently, but it still makes you squeak, "I sure hope you aren't telling daddy what you're going to do.. That would be awfully rude of you, little one."

The sheer dominance and control radiating from him has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Since when was your sweet step brother so demanding? "C-can I please cum, daddy? I-It feels t-too good.." You feel that damn smirk against your clit. "Of course, baby. Just scream my name when you do it, okay?"

He really must not like you talking much, because he doesn't let you answer him before he starts ruthlessly pounding his fingers into your cunt. Your entire body arches from the bed as you cry out for him. It takes one last flick of his tongue on your swollen bud to have you writing in the bed, coming completely undone before he even pulled his pants off.

He slows down, but doesn't completely stop, allowing you to ride out your high as he uses his tongue to lap up every drop of sweetness pouring from you. "Good girl, I've got you sweetheart. Are you feeling up for more, or do you need to stop until we go home?"

He sits up, eyeballing your form as he licks his lips clean, ignoring the fact he's dripping your own cum from his chin onto you.

You giggle, still a bit spaced out from the intense orgasm. "W-want you.. inside me, please daddy?" He chuckles softly before reaching to finally unhook your bra and fling it to the side. "Of course baby. Where are your condoms?" "D-Don't have any. I'm on.. the pill." His cheeks flush a bit, but he doesn't question anything else.

He makes quick work of his sweatpants, leaving him in only his boxers. The outline of his cock alone has you snapping back to reality. When he pulls the boxers down, you outwardly moan when it slaps back against his abdomen. He's much bigger than any guy you've had before. Also, it's so.. pretty.

The shaft is a lot like the rest of his skin, a very pale color that almost shines if sunlight hits it. The head is a soft pink, very reminiscent of the blushes he always seemed to get if you teased him too much, with droplets of precum around it. A large vein runs from the underside of it, and you can see it actually throb the more he stares at you.

"See something you like, love?" You whimper at the very affectionate nickname. "I-is it going to fit? I mean.. I've never.." "Don't worry, little one," he gently lays you back, "daddy will get it to fit. If it hurts too much, just let me know. Okay?" he grabs one of your exes' pillows, placing it gently under your lower back. "O-okay, daddy. I trust you."

His smile warms your heart. "That's my good girl. Spread your legs for me." You nod, following his instructions immediately. His hand reaches between the two of you, grabbing his cock and gently rubbing the tip around your entrance. "You sure you want this, Y/N? I don't want you to feel forced." You whimper, nodding instantly. "P-please fuck me, Choso.. I've waited so long.." You spread your legs more, effortlessly enticing him.

When his tip enters you, you're already a moaning mess. It just feels too good. He watches your expressions intently as he slowly pushes into you, searching for any signs of discomfort. Once he's about halfway in, he stops completely.

"How you doin' baby? Any pain?" He leans down to give you a gentle kiss. "G-good. I-it kinda burns, but nothing bad, I promise." He smiles against your mouth and starts to push in again. "We're almost there, little one. Just- fuuuuck." He finally bottoms out, the stretch of it making you whimper loudly and wiggle around. He pants on your face, the scent of you still heavy on his breath.

"S-so fucking tight.. can't believe this is happening..”

He chuckles softly, giving a tentative thrust into your heat. You bite down on your lip, finding both pain and pleasure in the burn that courses through your body. "D-daddy-" He cuts off the rest of your sentence by leaning back onto his knees and grabbing the back of both of your thighs. He manhandles you easily into what you can only assume is a mating press.

"So easy to throw around, aren't you? My pretty baby.." He pulls out of you until only his tip is still inside before slamming back in, causing you to see stars. "You take cock like a pro, baby. I wasn't sure a cute little thing like you could handle it." You tighten around him at his foul language, causing him to growl. "I'm gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby. I'll make sure I'm the only one who can make you scream. You want that, baby? Want daddy to fuck the imprint of his cock into your slutty little hole?"

You throw your head back and cry out for him. "P-please! Make me your little toy, daddy. W-want you to own me.. prove who I belong to, please?" You know you've done it now from the way he snarls at you. However, the sudden ringing of your phone makes both of you freeze. He leans back up to wrap your thighs around his torso.

He's the first to reach to the floor and grab it, still buried deep inside of you. "Oh, lookie there.. a video call. Hello?" Did he-

"Choso? Where is Y/N? Why do you have her phone?" Your ex's voice sounds from the speaker, making your eyes shoot open. You meet Choso's eyes, mouthing the words 'hang up' over and over.

"What does it matter? She dumped you and called me." "Of course she did. Dude, let me talk to her." Choso chuckles darkly, finally thrusting into you, making you squeak loudly despite your best effort to stay quiet.

"What was that?" "Y/N. She's currently.. held up. Or.. down, rather." He smirks at his own joke, reaching down his free hand to start circling your clit with his middle finger. The feeling has you tightening your thighs around his waist.

"You... what?" "Are you deaf and stupid? I said she's busy, aren't you little one?" He smirks down at your form, panting and shaking your head in a desperate, silent plea. This can not be how everyone finds out about this. No way in hell.

Choso's mocking pout makes your face flare up. "She seems a little shy. Let me show you instead." "N-no! Choso I-!" The choking gasp from the phone call shuts you up. Choso's eyes show no mercy as he looks at you almost amused. "That isn't what you should be calling me, is it?"

You look directly at the camera on the back of your phone, your face a deep scarlet color. Before you can correct yourself, the hand that was idly playing with your clit launches up, smacking your cheek with enough force to have your eyes switch to his. He smirks and shoves his index and middle fingers in your mouth without warning, making the ring he wears clack a bit painfully into your teeth.

"Pretty little whore just needs to learn some manners. Don't you, love?" He gets a wicked grin seeing how you blabber around his digits, trying so desperately to behave and give him an answer. "Sorry, princess, I didn't quite hear you. Try again for daddy." He shoves his fingers farther down your throat, causing you to gag and cough. Spit pours out of your kiss bruised lips, making Choso moan above you.

Your teary eyes make him pull his fingers out, wiping the spit across your face. "Why didn't you tell me you couldn't speak? Silly little girl. Now, what should you be calling me?" "D-Daddy! I'm s-so sorry.." He groans, running his thumb down your bottom lip. He gently pries your mouth open before leaning over you, letting spit fall from his tongue into your waiting mouth. He purrs as you swallow it so obediently. "I know you are. You're such a good girl for me. Oh, he hung up." Choso chuckles softly and tosses your phone back to the floor.

"I believe that I have some work to finish, right baby?" Both of his hands grab your hips, surely leaving bruises, before he starts to mercilessly ram into your sopping cunt. Your throat is still somewhat raw from his fingers being in it not two minutes ago, but he's determined to pull every sound he can from you.

He slides one hand down, harshly pinching and rolling your swollen clit between two fingers. Your cries only encourage his ruthless actions.

"D-daddy I-I.. something.. something doesn't-" Your pleas are cut off when the hand on your hip actually lifts you off the bed, giving him enough access for the tip of his cock to batter into your cervix.

If you aren't sore tomorrow, he hasn't done his job.

Sweat drips down his forehead and chest as he growls deeply. "There we go baby. T-that's the spot. Cum for daddy, want you screaming until my name is the only t-thing you know." His hand starts slapping your exposed clit again, finally throwing you over the edge. When the coil in your abdomen snaps, you scream his name, raw throat be damned.

Choso hisses as you tighten around his cock, spraying his lower abdomen in your essence. "Sh-shit I-" His sentence trails off when he thrusts into you one more time, letting out an animalistic snarl as his own climax washes over him.

You can feel his cock throb as he unloads his seed deep inside you. The feeling makes you tremble and mewl. There's so much of it that it still manages to spill out, staining the bed sheets under you.

He's still panting pretty heavily when he slides out of you, careful in case you're still too sensitive. When you squeak, he reaches up to cup your cheek. "You did so well, baby. I'm so proud of you." You nuzzle into his hand, placing a small kiss in the palm. "Th-thank you, daddy. I-I'm so tired." When your eyes start to flutter shut, he carefully stands from the bed, shamelessly admiring your disheveled state. "I'm sure you are. Let me get us cleaned up. Then I'll take you home, okay?"

Your small nod is plenty of an answer, so he rushes to the bathroom to search for a rag. He takes only a few seconds to wipe himself clean before rushing back to your side. You wince slightly at the feeling of the cloth wiping you down. "Shhhh, daddy's got you baby. I'll be done in just a second." He smiles to himself as you visibly relax into his touch, allowing him to finish.

"You know," he chuckles as he helps you pull your clothes back on, "your dad is going to try and kill me." "Your mom is going to call me every name in the book." He nods in agreement, finally starting to dress himself.

"So.. should we stay quiet? I imagine shit-for-brain isn't going to, but we can play that off as him being an idiot." You bite your lip, weighing the consequences of either decision.

There's no doubt in your mind, you want to be with Choso. It's clear he's willing to do whatever you want, but from the look in his eyes, the answer is obvious.

"I'm not hiding it." He blinks at you in shock. "B-baby.. your repu-" You stand up, despite your legs screaming in pain. He's quick to rush over and pull you into his chest. "I don't care.. I love you, and I don't want to hide it anymore." You squeak loudly when he picks you up bridal style, holding you easily with one arm.

The kiss he gives you is soft and loving, full of nothing but his affection for you. "I love you too, Y/N. I want nothing more than to tell the world that."

He carries you downstairs to grab your overnight bag, and then out to put you in his car. He really refuses to let you do anything, since he even leans inside to buckle you up. Your protests have him laughing. "When you're with me," he kisses your lips after getting into the driver's seat, "you're the spoiled princess. Got it?"

The drive to his house is quiet. He holds your hand the entire time, stroking along it with his thumb, occasionally bringing it to his mouth and kissing each knuckle.

"Oh.. oh shit." "What?" You open your eyes from almost falling asleep.

Your blood freezes when you see what he's looking at. Your dad's car is already parked in his driveway.

Tags: @katgalle, @savonline

#dark content #stepcest tw #choso #choso jjk #jjk choso #stepbrother choso #jjk #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso kamo #choso smut #choso x reader #choso x reader smut #choso x fem reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #choso brainrot #choso supremacy

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introvert--weeb · 3 years

Note

Hello! I dont know if you still do requests, but ill ask just in case.

Can I ask for a tokyo revengers x gn! Reader? (pLEASE MAKE IT PLATONIC)

So basically, reader is this fearless, calm person. Reader isnt particularly strong or sporty nor are they good academically(is thag how u spell it)

Prompt : Reader is Mikey's and Baji's childhood friend.

Reader meets them again in coincidence and tries to cactch up and feels inferior due to their somewhat success? And then reader meets the other members.

Also bonus if mikey and baji is lowkey scared of reader

ALSO BONUS BONUS IF THE OTHER MEMBERS SEES MIKEY AND BAJI AFRAID OF READER

Thank you :]]

Hey!

Of course I can do this!! I love the idea!

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy the end product! Also, I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to get this out! 😭❤️

Mikey, Baji with childhood friend!reader (ft. Toman Captains, Vice Captains)

TW: mentions of feeling inferior, friendly violence (boys getting kicked)

There had always been a third. Every great group consisted of a trio, mainly two boys and a girl. And this was no exception.

When Mikey and Baji were young, learning at the Sano Dojo together, they had met a girl. This girl was decent at karate but not on their level. What had started out as teasing the small girl had quickly developed into a friendship. You were the one needed to reign these two boys back in.

You were not known for being strong like Mikey and Baji, and you weren't particularly academically smart. In fact, a word that would best describe you was average. You didn't excel in any area except maybe some people would call you cute. But you feared nothing, not even a fight against someone twice your size. You faced every challenge in your life with a calm mind and calmer attitude.

All throughout your childhood, you would follow the two boys around and cause chaos that only children could get away with. But eventually, you had stopped attending the Dojo. Next thing you knew, you were in middle school and had lost contact with the duo. It was heartbreaking when you thought about it. You were all so close but time had taken its toll on that friendship.

Years had passed since you had seen the two boys. In no time, you were a 3rd year at Mizo Middle and deciding what you wanted for your future. It was too early to come to a decision in your mind but your parents had insisted that the earlier you decided, the better.

School had ended and you were already planning on hanging out at the riverbank to clear your mind. After all, it was a Friday and your homework could wait for now. The walk to the destination was calm enough, having parted from your friends half way due to differing destinations.

Once you had reached the grassy bank, you threw your bag and settled yourself besides it, paying little to no attention to what was happening around you. If you were, you may have noticed a familiar pair of boys relaxing a little way from where you flopped down.

Mikey had noticed you first, asking his friend if he thought you looked familiar. Sure, it had been a couple years but you hadn't changed that much. Your hair was still the same except a little longer, your eyes still held that childlike wonder in them although it had been dulled, and the way your body positioned itself was the exact same. Baji looked over as well and almost instantly knew it was you. The missing part of their trio.

"Hey! Y/N!" Why was someone calling your name? Feeling a. little irritated that your peace was being disturbed, you glared over in the direction of where the voice had come from. However, once you caught sight of two familiar boys, the glare softened and a small smile tugged at your lips. It was them.

Baji and Mikey stood to their feet and made their way over to where you sat, grins pulling at both of their faces. All of you spoke about what had happened over the years. How you were attending Mizo Middle and knew of Takamichi and his small group of friends. Baji explained how he had been held back a year due to his grades but had met a boy named Chifuyu through it. And Mikey explained how he created Toman, a biker gang that consisted of 50 loyal members.

You couldn't help but feel inferior while you listen to the boys explain their lives. They were spending their youth as it should be, having fun and surrounded by people they care about. While you were simply floating through life, taking everything as it comes.

The boys expressed their desire for you to meet the rest of Toman, wanting to introduce you back into their lives. After all, it would be good to have the trio together again.

Mikey had decided to meet everyone at the park the next day. He had taken your number at the river bank so he simply text you the details along with everyone else. Thank God it was a Saturday so you had no obligations to school and the like.

Since you were meeting new people, you decided to at least dress up a bit. So a pair of jeans, a nice t-shirt and sneakers was your go to. Casual yet didn't look like you just rolled out of bed. Once ready, you checked the message again to confirm the location and time within your own mind.

It didn't take you long to reach the park. In fact, you were 10 minutes early so you decided to play a game on your phone to pass the time.

"Waiting long, Y/N?" The familiar voice of Mikey snatched your attention away from the mobile game. Shutting the game and shoving the device back into your pocket, you looked up to find a small group of boys with Mikey and Baji front and center. Once they reached you, the introductions began.

As the day went on, you all decided to sit in the field to properly talk. You sat besides Baji and a boy you now knew as Chifuyu. It was all going great, the conversation was flowing with very little awkward moments. That was until Mikey and Baji had brought up on thing.

"I remember when Y/N couldn't even land a kick properly!" Baji laughed, memories of his childhood friendship coming to light to the group. Mikey chuckled, seeming to also remember.

You couldn't believe that the boys had just said that in front of their friends. Sure, you had a time where you couldn't kick properly but you were new to Karate and hadn't spent as much time as them two practicing. Your gaze turned to the culprits, face calm yet eyes giving a warning that they ignored.

"You want to see how well I can kick now, huh?"

Mikey and Baji couldn't help to feel scared of your calm words. They had forgotten how scary you could get when provoked, obviously omitting that from their fond memories of you. Their facial expressions changed from amused to fearful as their own gazes moved to your face.

In no time, you were chasing the pair as they ran away from you, threats about how you would 'give them firsthand experience at how good you could kick'. Mikey and Baji, although scared of you, couldn't stop the laughter as memories from the past filled their minds. It would always end up like this.

The rest of Toman couldn't believe how scared their leader and First Division Captain was of you. Mikey, the boy who would take on anyone, was scared of a girl that wasn't even part of the gang life? And Baji as well? Chifuyu was the first one to laugh, followed quickly by the rest.

Having proved your point finally, the trio joined back with the group. Draken and the others had taken to teasing the boys over being scared of a kick but they didn't know just how hard it was. Baji and Mikey were wary of what they said from that point on.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #anime drabble #mikey sano #manjiro sano #baji keisuke #keisuke baji #platonic friendships #requested #tokyo manji gang

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Side Effects | Bruce Banner x reader

summary: you never know what might be in the beakers at another chemist's station. you never know which of your colleagues might come along just in the knick of time to become the only antidote to your affliction.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut! (dub con due to sex pollen), semi-public sex (because technically someone could have walked by but unlikely), guilt/hesitance, kinda pining??, fingering, creampie,

a/n: yes, this is an accurate depiction of emergency shower protocol in a chemical lab and yes it is every lab technician's worst nightmare. thankfully the other stuff is not an accurate depiction of any known chemical, lol.

You wiped your forehead with a tired sigh, staring down at the calculations in front of you before using your pen to scribble over them before tearing out the page and throwing it away.

“You still do that by hand?” Bruce interjected, making you look up at where he was leaning in the doorway to the lab, watching you work.

“Oh, Dr. Banner!” you greeted with a smile, wondering if it was too ecstatic. You weren’t so good at the ‘playing it cool’ thing like he seemed to be.

“We have all those fancy screens and digital whiteboards, you know,” he explained as he stepped in and looked around at your work. “Not to mention the computer can do that stuff for you.”

“I know,” you scoffed, “but I always feel better doing it myself, on real paper. Not that I’m having any luck at the moment…”

"Here, I'll give them a quick look while you take a break," he offered, glancing at the numbers from over your shoulder. "You just get up and stretch your legs for a minute, doc."

You always thought it was sort of silly for him to call you that when he was a doctor as well, but you didn't complain.

Regardless, you were about to tell him that it was fine and you didn't need a break, but he was leaning in closer to take your seat and the proximity was so intimidating that you hopped up and went along with it anyways. He sat down and pondered your calculations while you circled the lab, taking a moment to appreciate how nice it felt to stand up and move around after sitting for so long.

"Your handwriting is…" Bruce trailed off, adjusting his glasses.

"Feminine and graceful?" you finished sarcastically.

"Sure," he chuckled.

"Yeah, just like me—" you started to quip, but mid-sentence you (ironically) stumbled and tripped, using a nearby table to catch yourself— but you accidentally grabbed onto a beaker, which tipped over and smashed onto the ground. The liquid inside spilled onto the floor just before you did, and you winced as you fell into the puddle of the unknown substance.

“Shit!” you hissed as you scrambled to get up, looking down at your clothes and seeing they were covered in the fluid, which was beginning to evaporate, or steam, or something. Remembering lab safety protocols, you instantly began to strip, closing your eyes and wishing Bruce hadn’t come in just before this. As you shirked your lab coat, shirt, and skirt, you walked to the emergency shower, pulling the lever and gasping when the chilly stream of water poured down on you. Bruce looked at you with wide eyes before being kind enough to turn around as you shivered and removed your bra and underwear, now completely naked and weakly scrubbing yourself with your hands in hopes that none of the chemical had gotten onto your skin.

“What is it?” he asked nervously, turning his head back enough that you could hear him over the flow of water, but hopefully not so much that he could see anything important.

“I don’t know,” you answered, “it’s not mine. It’s something Dr. Sutherland was working on…”

“Is it… are you in pain at all?” he asked, even more concerned, and you tried to decide if you could feel any effects.

“N-no…” you answered hesitantly. You felt hot, and strange, and you were covered in rolling chills, but you figured that was just the situation you were in— naked in a tepid shower in front of your coworker who just so happened to be incredibly sexy.

“I should call poison control,” Bruce offered as he reached for his cell phone.

“No, I’m fine,” you denied as the water flow slowed down and you wiped your face, confident that you looked like a complete mess— but at least you saved yourself from whatever was in that beaker, right?

“Here,” Bruce offered an emergency blanket to you after pulling it off a nearby shelf, and it was not at all absorbent but it helped with the draft as you stepped away from the shower which was still leaking the last few drops of water onto the drain on the floor.

“Thank you,” you nodded nervously, shivering and dripping and looking back at him with no idea what to say at all.

“Do you feel alright? I should check you for burns,” he suggested. “I— I won’t look…”

“Please,” you sighed, pulling the blanket a bit to expose your chest and stomach. He brushed his hand over the skin there, making you instantly whine as heat burned just under your skin, clouding your mind and making you crave even more.

"Did that hurt?" he asked anxiously, pulling away, but you stepped closer.

"No it's… it's good, it's so good."

He furrowed his brow as he looked down at you, putting the back of his hand to your forehead. "You're burning up, doc, you must be running a fever of 105."

"Touch me more, please," you whimpered. It was like you were in a dream, everything foggy and distant, and the only time that anything made sense was when he touched you. Or maybe it was that his touch sent you further into delirium; you couldn't be sure.

He gasped when he looked at your quivering legs only to find slick arousal running down the inside of them, threatening to drip onto the floor.

"Oh," he sighed.

"Please," you begged mindlessly, "Dr. Banner, I n-need you…"

"No, you need medical attention."

You whined and grabbed as his shirt, humming at the feeling of his warm skin just beneath. If the forearms that he often left exposed in rolled-up sleeves were anything to go buy, his chest was probably toned and tanned, lightly dusted with dark hair… you were all but drooling at the thought. "Please, Bruce… just help me," you pleaded, looking up into his eyes which were swirling with conflict.

"I can't," he shook his head. "I'd be taking advantage."

He must have seen the heartbreak of rejection make you wince, because he tried to soothe you with his hands resting on your arms— even just that contact making you suppress a moan.

"I've wanted this for so long," he explained, "and you— you haven't. You're unwell, you need to go to a hospital."

You sobbed a little at the idea of being taken away from him and examined by strangers, when you knew the solution was right in front of you. "No, no Bruce they'll touch me! Nobody can touch me but you, I only want you."

He scoffed, but you heard the weakness in it and you needed him to give in soon before you melted from your own hear. "You're deranged— delirious," he reiterated.

"It'll feel so good, please Bruce, I'll be so good for you— anything you want, I'll do it, I'm yours."

"Stop talking like that," he winced. "I can't… I can't."

"I need to feel you inside me, Dr. Banner, I need it more than anything. It's just gonna get worse… please, help me. I want you. I trust you."

"You'll hate me in the morning," he asserted. "God, this is so wrong…"

But much to your relief, he reached down and hesitantly slid his thick middle finger through your folds, gasping gently as he felt how wet you were. "I should t-take you somewhere private."

"No, need you now— right here," you pleaded, trying to chase his touch with your hips.

"But if someone came by—" he began to fret, glancing at the door; but his attention was turned back to you by your hands weaving into his hair.

"Nobody else stays this late, god, Bruce please I just need you so bad—"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss, which was enough on its own to make warmth bloom in your gut, but then he started to move his finger again and you shuddered with a moan that was muffled by his lips.

"Maybe I can make you come like this," he offered as he pulled back just enough to whisper to you, "would that help you? It'll take the edge off."

You bucked and moaned against his fingers, just those subtle touches driving you wild. "N-no, it has to be inside! You have to fuck me, I need your cock."

He breathed through his teeth, like he was almost considering it, but then looked away. "I can't," he shook his head.

"Can't or won't?"

He frowned. "Won't. I'll get you off with my fingers, otherwise it would be… too selfish."

"Bruce, I'm literally begging you for it," you sighed, the irritated tone that you'd intended lost in the moans he elicited by rubbing your swollen clit.

"I know," he winced, "I know and it's killing me that I can't give you what you're asking for… I swear if it wasn't like this…" he trailed off as you looked up at him with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"What would it be like?" you asked lowly. "Tell me how you would fuck me."

For all his shyness before, there was a brief switch in his demeanor as he leaned in, breath hot against your neck as he whispered, two fingers sliding into your channel at the exact moment that he spoke.

"So fucking hard."

You whimpered, knees wobbling a bit as you tried to ride his fingers— but he wasn't pushing back, wasn't giving you enough force to balance against when you sought more friction. "P-please, Bruce— I know you want to, please, please baby I need it so bad…"

"I know," he breathed, free hand cradling your face as his thumb stroked your cheek, and it was so needlessly compassionate, so effortlessly soothing that your heart had no choice but to clench at his tenderness. Other parts of you clenched as well, in much more literal ways, but the heart thing was more important.

You gingerly reached forward and palmed his cock through his pants, moaning when you felt how hard it was. "You're desperate, too," you informed him with a little smile. "It hurts, doesn't it? It aches."

"Yes," he answered tensely.

"I'm hurting too. I'm aching, for you. Please, Bruce, help me."

As he pulled back and examined your face, he chewed his lip and contemplated. He couldn't stand to see you in pain, but he couldn't comprehend what he had to do to help you. Well, okay, that's not totally accurate because he had actually "comprehended" the idea of making love to you plenty of times. But that was just a fantasy, a very misguided one that he only indulged in in his weakest moments. And in those fantasies, shockingly enough, you were always completed lucid and of sound mind and body. He sadly could not say that for you at the moment, and of course he couldn't because of course when you were sober and healthy, you didn't see him that way.

Bruce prided himself on his logic, his integrity, his patience. Suddenly, those qualities were falling prey to a much deeper, carnal instinct that saw this not as a predicament but as an opportunity. Logic states, after all, that it would be wasteful to have everything he wanted thrown into his lap and to let it go to waste.

"Fuck," he groaned as he kissed you again, fucking you faster with his fingers. You moaned and went for his belt, barely managing to open it with your hands shaking so much; part of you had considered just trying to rip the leather off of him, and with the force of your need it seemed almost plausible.

Finally getting his trousers opened just enough to reach inside, you purred as you reached in and navigated past his boxers to wrap your fingers around his hard cock. It was so thick and smooth and hot and you almost wanted to drop to your knees and take it in your throat right then, but you had better plans.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, grinning against you at the way you whined, before wrapping his arms around you and quickly instructing you to jump.

It was infuriating, how easily he caught you when you wrapped your body around him. Infuriating and so painfully sexy.

He never broke the kiss as he walked the two of you to your lab table, sliding the papers aside and onto the floor to set you on it. You started on his aggravatingly-small shirt buttons while he pushed his trousers and boxers down the rest of the way, and god his cock was right there between your legs, so close but very much too far away for your liking.

You didn't have the time or energy to get his shirt off, settling for just running your hands over the exposed skin instead. He grinned and watched the path your hands made, hissing slightly when they wrapped around his shaft— for a second you swore you could feel it throb.

"Don't make me wait anymore," you whispered your plea, sighing a little when he nodded.

"Okay baby," he agreed.

"Been waiting so long," you whined.

"Me too," he nodded, and with a little push, his cock slid all the way into you and filles you to the brim. Even when you were completely drenched, the girth of him was so wide that it stung, that it tore you open, but you loved it. Your head fell back and just from him being inside you, you came. The substance had you so needy and sensitive that that was all it took. It wasn't enough yet, of course. You knew you needed more. But God, he felt so good you could hardly breathe.

"Baby," you heard Bruce gasp, his fingers digging into your hips. Your chest twisted when he laughed a little, breathless and just teetering on the line between complimentary and mocking. "Did you just come?"

You considered playing dumb, but nodded instead.

His smile was apparent when he pressed his lips just below your ear to suck on the delicate skin there, his teeth trailing up to nibble your earlobe lightly. You hoped he would leave a mark, you hoped he would leave lots of marks that you could remember this by for weeks to come.

"Couldn't help yourself, huh?" he asked breathlessly, whispering so quietly you could barely hear it over the beating of your own pulse which echoed in your ears.

"You feel so good," you justified, "so fucking good, Bruce."

"You too," he sighed as he finally pulled back and slid into you again, the friction making your back arch instantly. "Even better than I imagined."

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him to push deeper with each thrust. When he pushed you to your limits it felt like you might just fall apart right there, but it was so worth it.

As if that wasn't enough, he reached down and circled a thumb over your overstimulated clit, grinning down at you at the sight of you writhing and bucking wildly in his arms.

"Fuck!" you cried as you tightened your hands on his shoulders into fists hard enough to risk tearing through his shirt.

"Too much?"

"More," you pleaded instead, crying out when he gave you exactly what you wanted with fast, rough thrusts into your drenched walls. "Yes," you sobbed, "yes, fuck— m'gonna come, Bruce, gonna come again."

"Go ahead," he encouraged, voice so much rougher than normal, "show me how good it feels, baby."

It felt like his words were the thin that pushed you over the edge, as if your body somehow both understood and obeyed his command. You could feel a renewed wave of slick leak out from you, enough that you could hear the wetness in each slap of his hips against yours. His name was somewhere in the litany of curses and praises that spilled from your lips, your mind too clouded with hazy pleasure to keep track of what you were actually saying.

"Just like that," he groaned, "doing so good, fuck, say my name just like that every time I make you come."

An easy enough stricture to follow, especially when it seemed like he was all you could think about. He looked so different with his clothes half-shorn and his eyes dark with lust. He hadn't taken his glasses or labcoat off and you weren't sure which of those you were happier about.

His lips and hands were all over you; you couldn't even keep track of everywhere he was touching you, that's how overwhelming it was. "God, you're so fucking perfect," he groaned against your skin, finding a hardened nipple as his tongue explored you and wrapping his lips around it. "You are so goddamn sexy, you know that? I love seeing you with your legs spread for me like a needy little whore. I love hearing you moan and knowing I'm the one making you feel this good."

He took a moment to look at you and soak in your shocked reaction to his words before leaning in to continue.

"I love feeling you come for me," he purred in your ear.

"Then you're gonna really like what I'm about to do," you shivered.

"Yeah? You can gimme another one already?" he smiled. "Such a good girl…"

You really couldn't help it, it felt like everything he did only enhanced your pleasure— his words, his hands all over you, not to even mention his cock inside you. As much as the hedonistic corner of your brain was happy to let this go on forever, the ramifications of constant orgasms were finally catching up with you as you wondered how much more of this you could take.

"F-fuck, are you close?" you asked weakly. "Want you to come for me, Bruce, please."

"I-I'll pull out," he suggested, although the way he looked down at his length sinking into you and pulling back out, covered in your abundant arousal, didn't exactly indicate that he was willing and able to actually make good on his offer.

"No!" you yelped, pulling him closer by his unbuttoned shirt. "It needs to be inside, Bruce, please come inside me."

"Fuck," he hissed through his teeth.

"Please, Bruce, please, promise you'll come inside."

"I will," he sighed, "fuck, I will baby, I promise I'm gonna fill you up so good, you're gonna have my come so fucking deep inside you…"

"Yes!" you moaned, completely unabashed as the unknown substance had apparently absolved you of any shame whatsoever. "Yes, I want it, Bruce, I want your come."

The moment you felt his seed start to paint your walls, you felt relief begin to wash over you. Your mind and body relaxed, the overwhelming heat under your skin subsiding into a comforting warmth, the desperation that had burned in your gut satiated at last.

And that left you staring up at him in realization of what you had done, just as he looked back at you with the same.

"God, I'm so sorry—" he shuddered, moving to pull away. Instinctively your legs wrapped around his hips again, holding him close.

"N-no, wait," you groaned, "it's okay. Don't go."

"You don't hate me," he said, the exhaustion in his tone making it hard to tell if it was a question or a statement.

"Never," you sighed with a weak smile, sitting up to clutch his face and kiss him again. "God, Bruce, now I'm just wondering what took us so long."

"Our lab safety is just too good, clearly," he smiled as he kissed you again, pulling back a little too soon to examine your face where he held it in his hands. "Are you okay? You should still probably go to a doctor…"

"I'm already with a doctor," you smirked, "and his treatment was very effective."

"Yeah, that was…" he trailed off, wide eyes as if he were reminiscing about what had only just transpired.

"Sorry for being so… desperate," you cringed. "I didn't mean to… um… impose…"

He just laughed and kissed your forehead, making you feel your cheeks warm a bit; ironic that with everything that had just happened, this was what made you blush. "A beautiful, amazing woman that I've been dreaming about for months begs me to take her in the laboratory… really inconvenient."

"I mean, cleaning up these papers and the broken glass is gonna be pretty tedious, along with the incident report," you frowned.

"I'll help you with it," he offered.

"Tomorrow," you decided. "Right now, I'm taking you to my place."

"Is that so?" he asked with a bemused smirk.

"Yep. We both are in serious need of a shower, and then I wanna go again," you grinned wickedly.

"I thought you said you weren't feeling the effects of the chemical anymore," he recalled, voice tinted with concern.

"I'm not," you reassured, "I'm just feeling the effects of you."

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x you #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x y/n

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ifmywishescametrue · 3 years

Note

omg now im jealous about all of the breaking up and making up stories!!! they're all so wonderful but is it okay to ask for a steve/tony one? i know you've made one inspired by ts (amazing) and this time, maybe they meet/bump in a coffee shop? idk angst potential but also hopeful/happy ending aahhh. your stories are amazing esp ivy!!! thank you! <3

thank you so much!! it ended up being more cute than angsty, but I hope you like it!

Steve's pencil drifts idly across the page of his sketchbook with no end vision in mind. He's killing time until Nat shows up, which could be anywhere between the next five minutes and the next two hours with her vague text that simply said running late. When he looks up to reach for his near empty coffee cup, he freezes with his hand in the middle of the air.

At first he thinks it might not even actually be him. Tony's hair was never quite this well styled before, always a tangled mop on his head that sometimes fell into his eyes. Steve used to spend hours sometimes running his fingers through those wild curls while Tony slept on his chest. It's been tamed since then, cut shorter and held into place by some type of product. The facial hair is new, too. He remembers a time when it would always come in patchy and uneven, and Tony would pout as he shaved away the latest attempt at looking older than he was. The eighteen year old boy in oversized hoodies and stained jeans he met years ago has been replaced by a man in a well-pressed, expensive looking suit with a leather briefcase, like he just stepped out of a boardroom a minute ago. From what Steve has read about his life since they broke up, he probably did.

Steve stares without fully meaning to and for much longer than he would have if it was intentional. He watches him order his drink and smiles when the barista’s eyes widen at what he knows is an overly complicated order, wondering if Tony ever did finish his quest to find that perfect combination of syrup flavors, sugar, and cream that only he would ever like.

He catches the double take when Tony notices him there, right as he’s taking his first sip of the iced drink, and the cough when he chokes on it is anything but subtle. Steve looks away with red cheeks and tries to pretend he wasn’t staring, but it’s a futile effort. He can’t say he minds, though. Not when it means Tony walks over to him and unceremoniously drops himself into the chair across from him.

His mouth forms a familiar smirk, and he says, “You seem to have a staring problem, Rogers.”

Suddenly, Steve is nineteen again, falling hopelessly in love with the boy in his introductory chemistry class. It felt sort of like fate at first when they were paired together for the final project, and Steve remembers thinking that his chances were shot to hell when Tony sat down next to him and said those exact words. He never was any good at being discreet.

Back then, for that first time, all he could manage was a stuttered apology in response. But eventually it became their thing. Something just for them that no one else could ever understand. When Steve would watch him from across the room at parties, because he knew how much Tony loved having his eyes on him, and Tony would saunter over with that same smirk and those same words, there was only ever one reply.

“Guess I just really like what I see,” Steve says, and Tony’s face splits into a grin that matches Steve’s own. He’s still beautiful, even if it’s different now. Less softness to his appearance and more defined edges and sharp lines, but heart stoppingly beautiful nonetheless. He doesn’t quite say as much, but he does comment, “You do look good, by the way. Different, but good.”

Tony’s smile softens into another familiar one. It’s his smile for compliments, when he’s thinking self-deprecating thoughts that he won’t voice. Instead he’ll turn the attention back around, shifting the spotlight.

“So do you. The good part, but not really the different part.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, contemplating if not looking different contributes to the good or not. He should look different somehow, shouldn’t he? After two and a half years not seeing each other in person and what feels like a lifetime’s worth of heartbreak in between then and now, he should look as changed as he feels. As changed as Tony looks now, like he’s someone new entirely. He’s pretty sure the t-shirt he’s wearing now is one he owned back then.

“Thanks,” Steve says anyway, for lack of anything better.

Just before it has the chance to fall into awkward silence, Tony says, “I didn’t know you were in New York these days. I would’ve called or something if I’d known.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Would you have?”

“I don’t know, maybe. I would’ve thought about it, at least. You know, stalked you online, found your number, dialed and hung up a few times.”

Steve laughs, fiddling with the straw wrapper from earlier to give himself something to look at other than Tony. “I moved back last year. Thought about calling, but I figured you were busy. Didn’t want to waste your time.”

It’s only a partial truth. He did think about calling when he came to Brooklyn after his year-long internship in London ended, but he didn’t want to know what Tony would say if he did. If he would have some sort of transparent excuse to avoid seeing him or if it would be an outright rejection.

“I would’ve made time for you,” Tony says, so painfully sincere that Steve has to look up again to meet his eyes.

He wonders if Tony is thinking of that last fight, if it’s a purposeful or coincidental reference to some of what Steve said. It was by far the worst fight they’d ever had, all over the phone with an ocean between them and so many things that Steve still wishes he could take back. Accusations flew on both sides until the entire thing was blown so completely out of proportion, yet impossible to reel back in. He should have just hung up the phone before it went that far. Before he could tell Tony that he always felt unimportant compared to everything else in his life, which was sometimes true but entirely unfair. Before Tony could say that Steve talked about Peggy in the same way he used to talk about him, and he didn’t have to finish the thought for Steve to understand the implication.

“Are we talking about it?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs, feigning casual, but just the corner of his lip is between his teeth in that way that means he’s nervous and trying to hide it. “I guess that depends on what this is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we said back then that maybe it was just bad timing. You were in London, and I was in Boston until graduation, and it was always going to be a bit of a mess, but there was always that someday chance, right? So maybe this is someday, and we talk about it, and try to get it right this time,” Tony says. “Or maybe that was just something we said and didn’t mean, and I ask you about your life, and you ask about mine, and we talk and laugh and pretend that we’re friends again for the next half hour or so before we go our separate ways.”

It’s an easy choice, really. If there’s one thing that Steve’s sure of, it’s that it’s always been him and always will be.

“I don’t want to go separate ways,” Steve says. “The first time was hard enough, and I never really moved on. I got better, but I don’t think I’ve been more than just fine in a long time.”

Tony nods slowly, “I kept thinking you would call, you know. Back then. I thought you would call and tell me that it was a mistake and it would be okay again, but you never did. Although, I guess I could’ve called, too.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“For the same reason as you, probably. I couldn’t risk it if you didn’t want me again. Couldn’t risk getting back together just to break up again, either. We weren’t exactly the poster children for making long distance work.”

“We were terrible at it, weren’t we?”

Tony’s smile is tinged with the pain of the past. “It’s kind of funny because I remember thinking that it might be a good thing for us when you told me about London. Can’t get sick of somebody if they’re not always around.”

“You thought I would get sick of you? You never told me that.”

“Why would I?” Tony laughs. “Just put all my insecurities on display like that? Come on, Steve, that doesn’t sound like me, does it?”

Steve laughs with him briefly, “No, but I could’ve told you back then that it wasn’t possible. Told you that I wanted you around all the time and I missed you every second you were gone. I might’ve even stayed if you had told me. I was thinking about it, you know? I almost turned the internship down. Probably would’ve if you’d asked even once for me not to go.”

“It was your career. I never would’ve asked you to give that up for me.”

“There would have been something else. Another job somewhere closer to you.”

“I still wouldn’t have asked,” Tony says. “And I would have told you to go if you’d said you were staying.”

Steve knows that, which is why they never talked about it much before he left. Tony pretended to be happy for him, and Steve pretended to be happy for himself, when really it already felt like the beginning of the end. A year apart is longer than it seems, and it didn’t take more than a few months to realize it.

“I never…” Steve starts, trailing off when he doesn’t quite know how to finish the sentence. “There was never anyone else. Not while we were together, and never with Peggy.”

“I know. I knew back then, too, that you were never that kind of person. Jealousy’s just a real bitch sometimes.”

“There’s really not been anyone since, either,” Steve adds, and Tony’s mouth quirks into a half smile. “I mean, a couple of people here and there, but nothing like what we were.”

“There’s not a whole lot out there like what we were, is there?”

Steve smiles, leaning back in his chair, “No, there’s really not. But I do remember reading a rumor that you got engaged.”

Tony groans, and it’s so much like he used to sound when he was nine pages deep into a ten page essay at three in the morning that Steve has to laugh.

“Don’t you dare laugh. That rumor haunts me, Steven,” Tony says, belied by a grin that he seemingly can’t control. “Do you know how I found out about my supposed engagement? When my mother called and asked why I hadn’t told her I was planning on proposing.”

“So I’m still the only person you’ve ever proposed to,” Steve teases, just for the way he knows Tony will get indignant about it.

“How many times do I have to tell you that one didn’t count?”

“You were on one knee, you asked a question, and you had a ring. All the boxes are checked, sweetheart.”

“It was a blue raspberry ring pop, and you ate it,” Tony argues. “Not to mention that I actually asked you to marry me someday in the distant future. That’s not a proposal.”

Steve laughs again, thinking about that day in the middle of their living room, just a few weeks before Steve got the call that would take him to London and change everything. It was almost like a joke, and for anyone else it would have been. Not for them, though, because Steve remembers the look in Tony’s eyes when he dropped down in front of him, spur of the moment and impulsive like almost everything was back then. He remembers how it still felt like a promise, even if it wasn’t the real thing.

“But I said yes, which I think technically means we’re still engaged.”

“Absolutely not,” Tony scoffs. “It’s going to be a production when we get engaged. Elaborate and planned and romantic as hell.”

“When, huh?” Steve grins.

Tony’s cheeks pinken a touch, but he doesn’t take it back. He reaches for Steve’s hand on the table. “Yeah, when. Is that alright with you?”

Steve threads their fingers together, holding on tight. “That’s alright with me.”

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #my writing #my fic #prompt fill

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peachsayshi · 3 years

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Chapter 6 - Festival

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Your best friend Rina is curious about what's been keeping you so busy, and the two of you run into Gojo and his student at a food festival.

A/N: I have been working on my jjk fics but this chapter was a little bit difficult for me to write. A little bit of backstory and plot building here. Gojo and personal space? Non-existent. You can't tell me that the man wouldn't abuse his flirting rights.

- - -

“Aren’t you a little warm in that top?”

Rina glanced at the high collared t-shirt you were wearing under your mini dress. The top covered the marks that Gojo left on your neck but the material was a little too thick for the summer heat. Thankfully, there was a breeze cooling you off otherwise you would be dripping with sweat.

“I’m fine,” you replied, directing your attention onto the vendors instead of your best friend’s narrowed eyes.

Rina asked you to come along to check out a food festival set up in the city. The entire district was lined with painted stalls which made for a picture perfect scene. The rich aroma of cooked food danced around you, enticing the bustling crowd that was growing in numbers. From golden battered fried takoyaki balls to mouthwatering barbecued yakitori, rainbow cotton candy that sent strings of sugar into the air and sweet kakigori to cleanse the palette…

Everything was making your stomach grumble.

“Oh, let’s get okonomiyaki!” Rina suggested.

After picking up your orders, you both sat at an empty table where you could enjoy your meal. You were ignoring the way Rina continued looking at you suspiciously, clearly not letting go of her obsession with the top you were wearing.

“Okay, that’s it. Let me see it.”

“See what?” you questioned, covering your mouth as you tried to chew on your food.

“The hickey you are hiding.”

You nearly choked as you swallowed but Rina didn’t flinch at your reaction. You patted your chest lightly, clearing your throat as you gathered your thoughts.

“I’m not hiding anything!” you replied defensively.

Rina rolled her eyes at you, “then at least tell me who the guy is…”

You waved your arm nonchalantly in her direction, desperately trying to avoid getting into a losing battle with your best friend. If there was one person in the world who didn’t need superhuman abilities to tell what you were thinking - it was Rina. She read you like an open book, making it near impossible for you to keep a secret from her. How you managed to go this long without her figuring out you were hooking up with Gojo was a miracle.

“I just want to know exactly what has been keeping you so busy recently,” she continued, “I’m having a hard time believing it’s work because you would be in a miserable mood if you were spending all your free time at the office.”

“ Or we can talk about how absolutely delicious this is...” you blurted, letting her words travel in your ear and out the other as you pointed at the meal in front of you.

Rina lifted her brow, shaking her head in disapproval. She calmly placed her chopsticks on her plate, leaning forward a little closer to you before hooking her finger in the collar of your shirt and tugging it down to check your neck.

“LIAR!”

You clasped your hand over the mark, your eyes widening as you prodded your best friend with your other finger.

“Oh, you are in trouble!” a sly smile spread across her pretty face, “when did you start dating again? I thought you swore off men after what happened with the fitness instructor..”

“Please don’t remind me of him…”

“Then who is this mystery man that you are hiding?”

You pressed your lips together, hesitant to reveal the truth about the deal you and Gojo had made. Yes, you were having fun together and none of it was supposed to be as serious as you were making it out in your head. In fact, Rina would probably applaud you for initiating this to begin with.

But…

Rina also liked to ask hard questions: why were you using him instead of confronting your heartbreak? Why were you chasing after something false instead of trying for real love again? Do you really want to risk ruining the friendship you both have?

Those were questions that you didn’t have the answers to.

“It’s...It’s some guy at work, you don’t know him…” you stated, finally settling on a good enough excuse to satisfy her curiosity

“How long have you been seeing him?”

“Just a few weeks…” you fibbed.

“Tell me what he’s like?”

“Uhh…he’s fun, I guess …handsome, kind of charming…but it’s only been a few dates, I still don’t really know him well yet.”

You swallowed hard, hating yourself for not having the courage to tell Rina the truth. Your best friend continued throwing questions at you while your brain spat out the answers before you could even think things through, your guilt twisting your insides with all the lies you were spewing.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner…”

Rina smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I just want you to be happy. If you like this guy, you should give him a chance. Who knows, maybe this could turn into something serious…”

“I am not really looking for anything serious,” you admitted, allowing yourself to be vulnerable. “At least not right now…”

How could you want something serious after what happened?

You and your ex-boyfriend were together for five years. You met him when you were both at university and he swept you off your feet. His handsomeness showed through his kind personality and he always managed to make you smile. He was your first of many things, including this painful heartbreak.

You hated yourself for getting comfortable with him, for allowing your mind to plan a future that you both could share. You were disappointed that he made you fall in love with him but more so, that he abandoned you to piece together what was left.

You always felt like you never had your closure. When you asked him why he cheated, he never gave you a solid answer. He was ashamed for keeping his infidelity a secret for so long that his only response was a pathetic apology.

Who was this woman that he was willing to jeopardize your relationship for?

Why did he stop loving you?

You blamed yourself because you couldn’t understand.

One minute you were happy and the next you found yourself betrayed in the worst way possible.

You had enough respect for yourself to know that you couldn’t stay with a man who would treat you this way. When you broke up, you expected him to beg for your forgiveness. He was your prince charming, of course he would come crawling back.

You only knew that he had moved on with his lover when you caught the two of them at the supermarket together. They were buying peas, completely entranced with one another and the adoration that your former boyfriend used to look at you with was now passed on to the woman with golden hair.

He was your weakness and you…

You still loved him.

Rina’s eyes shifted to the crowd, pausing when she recognised a face among the sea of strangers.

“Oh! Look who is over there!”

You glanced over your shoulder, following her line of sight until you saw your dirty little secret wave at you from a distance.

Gojo was eating ice cream, mindlessly swerving around the crowd and looking exceptionally fine in his summer fit. Adorned on the top of his head were cat ears, a little souvenir trinket that some of the vendors were selling at their stalls. His free arm was draped across a teen boy’s shoulder, whose unamused face indicated that he was not keen on being here.

“Rina-chan!” Gojo sang as he approached your table, “it’s nice to see you!”

“You too! How are things?”

“Great! Busy with the usual but today I decided to stop by with my student. This is Megumi…”

The boy awkwardly bowed to greet you and Rina.

“It’s nice to meet you both…”

Gojo’s shades slid down his nose slightly, and you caught a glimpse of those blue eyes. When he winked in your direction, you couldn’t help but blush.

“What are you two up to?” he casually asked.

“Well, I finally got Miss “Busy All The Time” to myself today and we just had some okonomiyaki, that guy over there is selling it…”

Gojo hummed and swirled his tongue around his vanilla ice cream before calmly replying, “I know, she’s been so preoccupied lately! Oi, when are we going to have our catch up session?”

Your face grew warmer, Gojo was good at keeping secrets and him playing off like he hasn’t been the one taking up all of your spare time only resulted in you staring at him with furrowed brows.

Thankfully, Megumi interrupted the conversation.

“I’m going to walk around for a bit,” he stated, turning his heel to walk away from your little group.

“I’ll meet up with you in a minute,” Gojo replied with a nod.

“I’m also going to use this opportunity to find the restroom. Gojo can keep you company until I get back,” Rina added, as she stood up from her seat.

Gojo gave her a thumbs up, “happily!”

The sorcerer took Rina’s place, sitting down across from you while his long legs bumped into yours as he adjusted his position. He paused for a moment, watching your friend and his student disperse into the crowd before finally returning his attention back to you.

“Nice outfit by the way but a little warm for today’s weather in my opinion.”

“I wonder whose fault that is…” you mused, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from smiling at his teasing comment, “I bet you think you’re so cute assuming you’re completely innocent in all this.”

Gojo smiled, “Actually, I know I’m cute.”

You couldn’t deny it, even right now as you watched him with those ridiculous cat ears that pulled back his white locks. He definitely was catching the eye of every girl and guy who passed by.

You flicked one of the black ears on his head, “this is a new look for you…”

“I bought it for Megumi but he wasn’t too pleased wearing it around, kept saying that I was embarrassing him...” Gojo explained with a frown.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on your thighs and bringing the ice cream in his hand to your face.

“Want a taste?” he asked innocently.

Your heart skipped a beat, unaware that Gojo would get this close to you in public. He knew that you hadn't told anybody about what you both have been doing and you wondered if he was deliberately trying to put you in an awkward position. You subconsciously scanned the crowd to see if Rina or Megumi were around.

You tilted your head back slightly before asking, “do you understand the concept of personal space?”

“Relax,” Gojo said in a low voice, “no one is paying attention to us.”

“What if they come back…”

“I’ll see them before they see us,” he replied with confidence, grazing his free hand over your thigh. “Besides, you look like you could use something to cool you off…”

You arched your brow, deciding to give in and play this little flirtation game. You bit your bottom lip, gently wrapping your hand around his slender fingers and slowly leaning forward to lick the ice cream off his cone. You kept your gaze on Gojo, focusing on the devilish smirk that spread across his lips as he watched with approval.

“Mmm, that is good…” you moaned, before looking at him with glittering eyes, “wait, I didn’t get any ice cream on my face, did I?”

Gojo chuckled under his breath, “you’ve got a little something right here…”

His hand moved up to your face, his fingers holding your chin as he brought your lips to his. You inhaled, holding your breath as you were caught off guard by him stealing a kiss. The moment was fleeting and before you knew it, he parted his lips from yours but trailed his hand down your neck to take a peek at the hickey he left on your skin.

“I usually don’t care about where I mark you but if it’s a big concern I’ll make sure to do it in places where only I can see…”

Even though he spoke in a low whisper, you felt like it was loud enough for the whole crowd to hear how flustered you just got by his words.

You cleared your throat, turning your face away from him to regain your composure. “Behave, Satoru…”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I could keep going but Rina will be back in any minute…”

You sensed a hint of annoyance in his voice when he said that.

The sorcerer leaned back, inviting the space that separated you both as he ate his ice cream with indifference. Sometimes you wish you could flip the switch as easily as he did but you found it impossible.

Rina arrived before you could even respond to his statement.

“What did I miss?” she asked, patting Gojo lightly on the shoulder to request returning to her seat.

“Nothing special,” Gojo answered with a shrug as he stood up , “I think I’m going to head back and find this kid before he leaves without me knowing.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening! Also, you should stop by the candy shop sometime. I’ve been working on some new treats I think you might like…”

“I will,” he promised, stretching the lying game even further. He proceeded to remove the headband he was wearing, his white hair flopping over his shades as he handed you the cat ears. “Hold on to these for me won’t you…”

You took it, puzzled by the sudden gesture.

“What for?”

“Just an excuse to pick it up from you later,” he remarked innocently, “otherwise I’ll never see you!”

Rina laughed, clearly not catching on to his hidden invitation. Gojo waved goodbye and walked away, leaving you both to return to your date.

For a moment you thought your lie was about to catch up to you but realised that it was easy keeping this secret because nobody would expect you to hook up with Gojo.

You guys have been playing this song and dance for a while, saving your flirtatious banter and curiosities for when you two were alone together. Maybe you’ll come clean eventually, but for now you wanted to enjoy the bubble you were in.

You played with the cat ears in your hand, completely unaware that you were smiling to yourself.

- CHAPTER 7: GAMES -

#Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x you #Gojo Satoru x ofc #Gojo Satoru #Gojo Satoru fan fic #Gojo smut #Gojo fluff #Gojo angst #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x female reader #Gojo Satoru smut #Gojo Satoru fan fiction #jjk

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

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🚨Thurs 17 Dec ‘20🚨

No one will argue, this year has been the worst and I'm not really into that whole 'silver linings to bad things' bit, but... BUT! If the demise of live shows and rise of livestreams meant Zayn deciding to perform for us?! Well. I would be willing to reconsider my whole ass philosophy on life! Unfortunately, despite the excitement (or was it hysteria?) he inspired last night by getting all our hopes up, it might just be a music video? We'll see though. He definitely did register a new song, UNFXWITABLE (!), and then, and THEN: slid a single photo into his instagram story, a truly beautiful old baroque theater stage, fitted with live show speakers and a tantalizingly closed red curtain. The stage lights are on, the seats are empty... prepping for zomething?? It was discovered to be the St George Theater in Staten Island, very exciting, but today more video of them working on whatever they're working on surfaced (a snippet at the theater with a bit of an unknown song audible) that makes it seem more likely they're working on a music video than a livestream set up. Still, we can DREAM. At the very least we're getting a new song any minute now and at best-- Z3 and a video AND a liveztream?? (or prerecorded, that's FINE.) The pap pics the other day were him leaving a menswear boutique (sorry I said home, my bad, it was the usual 'front door to car' walk though) leading to speculation he was getting fitted for zomething zpecial... maybe we'll get to see it soon!

Likely on account of the added European show tickets going on sale today, Louis came online to check in, and also to laugh at old videos of himself, send larries into a tailspin, and best of all, weigh in on and shut down discourse left and right THANK YOU SIR! Louis is happy to walk us all through how not to get Live In London video taken down (“do it on a burner account haha?” tips from the master truly, no one would know better so listen to him); he denies having such an account himself (“maybe I should”) though unlike Liam (see below) HE doesn't go that extra step into obvious lie territory and say he's NEVER had one. On how he deals with comments about his height (which are up again these last few days due to a video circulating that uses math to conclude once again that he is in fact, as documented, 5'9”), “I rise above them,” he zings back, and in appreciation of someone who actually got the joke, “you're on my level,” DOUBLE PUNNING, BOOM but that's not all: he finishes off with the comment that finished ME off, “such a peculiar debate.” REALLY. Peculiar specifically, not like strange or weird or annoying you just... went right in for the Eroda copyrighted word huh. OKAY. Also: no, probably no collabs on LT2 (“doubt it”), yes he loves twitter “in doses, no better way to talk to you lot” (you mean even better than via t shirts?? sounds fake but okay), tells us he is “100% for sure” is gonna get the vaccine, and that “cucumber is shit” which isn't really a discourse we needed him to solve that I knew of but like, okay! Sorted! Antis seethed about him talking to larries and larry UAs and picking a video of him and H singing You and I to reply to, and probably cucumber enthusiasts and anti-vaxxers were unhappy too, but the rest of us? WINNING.

Liam is all over, first appearing in a fisherman's cap that nicely sets of his full and fluffy beard, then demonstrating answering questions for the Naughty List insta filter. He says he has never made a fake social media account, so I guess he's not lurking here reading these or I would guess that if I believed THAT for one second, he also says yes I have lied to my best friend so I'll just chose to believe he means us by 'best friend' since here he is, lying away. Dixie is absent from the recent promo, which is a blessing not just because they don't mesh particularly well but also because she's gotten even more terrible on main, moving from simply allying herself with racists to producing her own racist content- if we're lucky she'll simply fade away along with xmas and we can move on without any of that thank you very much. Liam is still a good BFF to us though: today he's offering himself up as prize in a raffle, you can enter to win a 'once in a lifetime VIP Experience in 2021 with Liam' for a low low £5, funds going to Stagehand's #ILoveLive campaign to support industry workers. And on the 17th day of christmas, my LP Advent Alarm woke me up with... Roman Kemp leading us through a weirdly peppy breathing exercise, backed with both soothing spa music and a sample of Liam's voice taken from the sleep story played over and over at near random intervals! I said it before and I'll say it again, they REALLY should have recorded all the material at once last month, but tbh I am enjoying the chaotic daily scramble to find something to put on the thing that's come of them being caught short maybe even more than I would normal content, it's getting downright experimental and I'm fully here for it. It's got that classic janky af for no reason 1D feel you know!

Rob Sheffield found better things to say about Watermelon Sugar, naming it his number one song of 2020 and calling it “a lost Stevie Nicks/ Stevie Wonder duet” plus gifting us a Harry quote: “that one we reworked a bunch of times, and it died a couple times, then it just kept coming back. We fully killed it a few times, but it kept coming back in. So I thought, There’s a reason it’s surviving.” And Chris Pine- who also says that he's all done shooting his part of Don't Worry Darling- said, “Harry Styles is an absolute delight. He's one of the most professional people I've ever met. Couldn't be kinder, more gracious, I mean, really, I was stunned by this kid. He's off-the-charts cool.”

And finally, as 2020 draws to a close we are being flooded with a barrage of our guys being declared winners of incredibly narrow categories (Harry on a list of 'groundbreaking magazine covers' for example), but I think the winner of MY list of 'Highly Specific Accolades' is sewn up for the year already; Heartbreak Weather is officially “the first [advertising] campaign to utilize weather-tracking technology to target content to users”! I'll definitely be keeping my eye out for competitors but beating that for reaching for a category will be TOUGH.

#zayn #zayn malik world domination!!#as they say on the twits #louis tomlinson #harry styles #niall horan #i guess #Dixie deets in intern's tags but I abstain on the basis that's she's irrelevant and soon to be history #but if you're looking for that full story head over to her reblog #note her url has changed!!#the intern is now 1DdotdHQ! A promotion!! you can still call her intern if you want but she also answers to Hot Oli #other HQs are welcome to join my internship program if they wanna learn a thing or two #working conditions are bad and pay is worse! get in!#so like I'm not suggesting Zayn would schedule his life around anything so silly but if he did a stream that HAPPENED to be before the end o #of the year #he would totally knock Louis out of his record holding spot? Like I don't want to see that specifically but #if that would tempt his petty ass maybe we should wave it as a motivator #don't think he wouldn't be able to either Louis said about his louies 'they never see us coming' and how right he is #but even the FANDOM never see the zquad coming and it is a FORCE and has even harries beat for sheer numbers #anyway #Roman Kemp's breathing exercise sounds like its led by Arthur Shappey #rich spirit #dixie d'amelio #roman kemp #Rob Sheffield #chris pine #this account is so weird the people who I'm like huh THAT person has a tag now on my 1D update account OKAY THEN #17 dec 20

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katehuntington · 3 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part 24) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±9400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 24: John’s presence at the horse show flips Dean’s world upside down, sending him a tailspin that could have serious consequences. Will Y/N and his friends be able to get through to him? Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: How Do You Get ‘Em Back - David Ramirez. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand. Guys, this is going to be a heavy one. 9.3K of angst. If you are invested in this story, I suggest you’ll have the tissues ready before you start reading. Godspeed.

Ride With Me Masterlist

“Hello, son.”

Only two words, but it’s more than Dean has heard his father say in a long while. The simple greeting lingers between them, like smog polluting the air, stealing his breath. A force of habit the cowboy assumed was long forgotten has him square his shoulders. After all, if there’s anything John taught him it's that men can’t be weak.

What does he call him? Dad? Sir? The cowboy isn’t even sure and so he decides to keep his mouth closed. Instead, he measures the man before him. He is but a ghost of the parent Dean remembers - or at least idolized for so long. His boots are dusty and worn, the leather tearing at the creases. His clothes are dirty, stains on the white t-shirt he’s wearing under a camel jacket. He grew a beard, the tough hairs grey now. A black cowboy hat hides most of his slick hair, but they don’t conceal the dark circles under his father’s eyes, nor the tale of pain and sorrow that are still apparent. Nothing has changed, really. He just got older.

Dean can feel his knees weaken as his breaths come out shaky, but he is able to stand his ground. He sets his jaw, gritting away the frustration that continues to build, his fists clenched, nails digging into his palm. But it’s more than just aggravation that courses through him; it’s joined with an overwhelming sense of panic and fear. He wants to run, far away from confrontations and the dull blade that is tearing open old wounds. What he would give to go back in time, just an hour or so, to prevent this moment. What he would give to be able to live the life he naively pictured, with his family, with Y/N.

Meanwhile, John watches him, eyes glossed over and wearing a small smile. “It’s good to see you.” Still, Dean can’t speak. He just stares at his father. Even the gentle words falling from John’s chapped lips don’t lift the tension. Where Dean was thankful that the stables were empty just a few minutes ago, he now wishes it was swarming with people, because being cut out from the public eye is not a position the cowboy wants his girlfriend to be in. When John steps closer hesitatingly, Dean moves in front of her, one hand back to make sure she stays behind him. It’s instinct, a reaction that is fed by years of doing the same for Sammy. He did everything possible to protect his brother then, and now he has to do the same for her. Dean has to get her out of here. Now.

The cowboy turns his head slightly, addressing Y/N without letting his old man out of his sight. “You should get Joplin warmed up. I’ll be right there.” “Dean? Are you s--” “Go,” he insists, wincing at the strict tone of his own voice.

John has halted and watches the exchange, his gaze following the cowgirl who moves to the box on her right and takes off the halter of a black horse inside the stable. Without a word but with concern and confusion evident in her eyes - which flick to his before she averts them quickly - she takes the Quarter by the reins and guides the mare out of the stable. When she’s out of earshot, Dean’s father returns his focus to his son. “That your girlfriend?” he wonders. “No,” the wrangler claims, wanting to keep her out of this at all costs. John doesn’t have to know about his relationships with her or with his friends. It will make them vulnerable to his influence. “She’s just an intern,” he adds.

Believing the statement to be true, he dips his chin, nodding slightly, and Dean is able to exhale. At least he got Y/N out of harm’s way, now he just needs to somehow prepare himself to take the fire. It’s been a long time coming, but it’s time to face the faults of the past. He allowed the family to fall apart on that dreadful night when the bond between the Winchesters was shattered to pieces. Dean destroyed it all.

Carefully, his old man moves closer once more, and involuntarily the young cowboy steps back. He doesn’t want to. He intends to stand tall and hold position, but trepidation has him back up before he can stop himself. Apparently aware of the effect he has on Dean, John ceases his attempt to close the unbreachable gap between father and son.

Leaving a safe distance between them, he speaks again. “You’ve grown up to be quite the man, Dean. Your aunt and uncle must have taken good care of you.” More than you’ve ever done, Dean thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say it out loud, too apprehensive for the reaction it might trigger. “They have.” “Well, I’m glad,” John smiles at the ground. “I’m glad you landed on your feet. Do you know if Sammy did too?”

Dean’s eyes fill to the brim before he can blink. He doesn’t know. The big brother who was supposed to look out for him, who was supposed to give everything to provide his younger sibling the safety and care that he deserved, doesn’t know. The question is a punch in the gut, a verification of the fact that he has failed Sam like he has failed so many others. “I don’t,” he admits, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t seen him since.”

John sighs, sniffles slightly and glances up, as if he’s mad for a prayer that has been left unanswered. The news does a number on the old guy, and suddenly Dean feels sorry for the man standing before him. His father was already lost when their mother died, and it only got worse when Sam disappeared. The agony it triggered has never left him, just like it never left his son. That loss will always remain, a piece of their heart cut away violently, leaving a hole that bleeds to this day. They both had to settle for a life without Mary and the youngest Winchester in it. As much as Dean wants to hate his father, he simply can’t. He wouldn’t want to wish that kind of torture upon anyone, let alone his dad. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes he has made.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I hoped that maybe…” John pauses, shaking his head slightly. “I hoped you boys at least found your way back to each other.”

Dean swallows with difficulty, his bottom lashes barely clinging to the tears that threaten to roll down his face, but he manages to keep it together. He wishes the same, because life without his sibling feels incomplete. God, he misses Sam. And all that guilt, the sorrow, and the uncertainty of his well-being come rushing back to him in a magnitude that he can’t cope with.

John watches his son again, a grown man now, yet still his boy. “I was wondering if maybe we could sit down someday. Have a drink or something, y’know? Try and put this all behind us?”

Astonished, Dean stares at him. A part of him wants to mend this broken relationship, but John must be aware that rekindling the father-son bond will never undo all the trauma their family endured. There’s no going back to how things were, there is no returning to the time the Winchesters were happy. Mom died, and her death set them on a course of total ruination. And yet, Dean can’t answer. He can’t tell his father ‘no’.

“John Winchester!” Hasty footsteps echo between the stable walls, and when the conflicted cowboy glances past his father, he notices Bobby, moving closer with determined strides. A shuddering sigh of relief escapes Dean, and he’s glad the man opposite of him turns around to face his former brother-in-law so that he doesn’t witness the sign of weakness. With his uncle here, he instantly feels safer, knowing that even if this conversation develops into an argument, he has back-up now.

The elder man holds a fury in his eyes that is visible even in the shadows of the worn ball cap he always wears. “You better walk away,” he warns. “We were just talkin’,” John assures, calmly. “I don’t care if you are holding a family reunion,” Bobby sneers. “If you don’t leave right now, I will get my gun and blast your sorry ass so full of buckshot that you will never sit in a saddle again without scratching the leather.”

Dean’s gaze bounces between his father and his uncle, weary of the clash that is about to kick off, as the two older men keep their eyes locked on each other, tension rising by the second. But then, against his expectations, John gives in to Bobby’s request and steps aside. He glances back at his son one last time, giving him a sad smile, before he breaks away and strolls off, shoulders slumped and defeat obvious.

Collecting himself by taking a breath and blowing it out as slowly as he can, the younger cowboy makes eye contact with his uncle, who approaches him until he’s in arm’s reach. He puts his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, gently encouraging the troubled young man to look at him, hoping the touch will ground his nephew. “You alright?” Bobby asks, the lines in his forehead deepening as he frowns. Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and nods, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He can’t speak and has to break away from his uncle’s observant gaze. Bobby’s grip loosens; he’s aware that Dean isn’t ready to expose his true feelings about this unfortunate run-in. “I’m gonna make sure he leaves the premises,” he assures. With those words, the man - who once again has provided him safety - turns away to follow John, committed to matching action with his words if the guy doesn’t take his threat seriously.

Finally alone, the unsettled cowboy tries to inhale again, but his diaphragm seems to have risen to chest height. He can feel anxiety like he has never experienced before in his adult life get a grip on him, and whatever he tries, he can’t stop it. Afraid that his legs might give way, he takes a step to the side and holds on to one of the stable bars, but he still can’t breathe. Unable to hold the frontline in the battle he’s fighting with the overwhelming sense of distress, the tears break through his defense, spilling down his cheeks. Suddenly, he feels sick. He needs to get out, he needs fresh air.

Feeling the bile creeping up from deep inside him as he stumbles outside, he quickly turns the corner behind the tent before he heaves this morning’s partly digested breakfast into the grass. He throws up everything he has been holding, hoping the anguish will leave his body as well, but it doesn’t. When his stomach is empty, he is still left with the same misery. “Fuck,” he chokes out, steadying himself against the steel corner pillar of the stable. He wipes at his runny nose and his tears, sniffling. Get a hold of yourself, Dean, he lectures, you need to keep it together now. He straightens his back, looking down at the mess he made, closing his eyes for a second as he pulls in a careful breath.

“Dean?” Recognizing his friend’s voice, the cowboy turns around. Benny stands behind him, worry in his clear blue eyes. Manning up and finding his footing again, Dean walks up to meet him. The Southerner hands him a bottle of water, and even though the receiver is thankful for having something to rinse his mouth with, he wishes it to be something a whole lot stronger.

Taking a swig, he lets it wash away the sour taste before he spits it onto the ground. After another attempt he realizes that it’s no use and takes a careful sip this time, swallowing it down to put out the fire inside his chest. He glances at Benny, giving him a nod. “I - I’m good,” he says, not just trying to convince his companion. “I’m good.”

Knowing him well, his best friend doesn’t contradict him, even though it’s clear as day the statement is far from the truth. Dean’s eyes are bloodshot, his hand trembling when he moves the bottle to his mouth. “You might wanna get to the warm-up,” Benny reminds him, handing him the headset. The wrangler grimaces. “Shit, yeah. What time is it?” “Two-thirty. Her starting time is in twenty-five minutes,” the Southerner says. “I gotta get goin’,” Dean realizes after cursing again, moving past him to make his way to the arena. He holds up the water bottle as he jogs away. “Thanks.”

Hoping his friend will understand that he’s thanking him for a lot more than just the drink, he hastens away. Right now, he has someone else who needs his support. Y/N has left the stables well over fifteen minutes ago, so he hopes she’s not nervous because of his late arrival. When he finally reaches the fence, he spots her amongst the other riders, warming up Joplin. He can tell she’s focused, or is she upset with him for not being on time? Finding it hard to read her from a distance, he sums it up to a mixture of both. Without disturbing the other competitors, he bends down to duck under the barrier, approaching her and her horse. But when she ignores him completely and continues to work the Quarter on a small circle, he hesitates.

“Y/N?” he calls out, not sure if she saw him from inside her bubble. “What?” she snaps. Taken aback by her reaction, he watches how she keeps circling, slowing down to a walk, but still not stopping to take the headset or even grant him a look. “C’mon, let me help you,” he ushers, holding up the device for her. But when she looks him in the eye, the coldness they behold frightens him. “Why do you even care?” she wonders. “I’m ‘just an intern’ anyway.”

Like she just slapped him across the face, Dean stares at the cowgirl, the daggers she’s shooting at him with her powerful gaze stabbing him right in the heart. No no no, he thinks to himself as he closes his eyes. She wasn’t supposed to hear him say that to his father. He labeled her as an intern only to make sure John wouldn’t be able to get to Dean through his girlfriend. Of course he didn’t mean a word of it! He has to make her understand. “Yankee, I’m sorry. I--” “Forget it, Dean. I can handle myself,” she snarls. “Leave me alone.”

With that, she moves away from her boyfriend, riding Joplin to the other side of the warm-up ring, as far from him as possible. Regretful, her trainer saunters back towards the fence, making his way out of the ring. When he straightens himself, he is met by Jo, who has her arms crossed in front of her chest as she narrows her eyes at her cousin. It’s clear as day that she’s about to rip him a new one as well. “What did you do?” she demands to know, sternly.

Dean looks at her, opening his mouth to answer, but unable to even utter a word. I fucked up, that’s what I did, he realizes. Like he has fucked up everything else that was ever good in his life. He doesn’t reply, though, and instead shakes his head, admitting his loss. “Here.” Dean hands her the small device with a microphone attached to it, his fingers still trembling. “Help her if she needs assistance, alright?” Perplexed, she watches him walk off. She at least expected a counter with a claim that he didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not gonna even watch her ride?” she asks before he’s too far gone. “I’ll watch from the bleachers. I don’t wanna distract her,” he returns, sadly looking into her eyes before he carries on.

Observing her cousin, an uneasy feeling settles in her stomach. The guilt is oozing from him in great amounts as he disappears in the crowd, his head hanging, the usual upbeat attitude nowhere to be found. What has gotten into him? Something must have happened, something bad. She can’t recall the last time she has seen him this troubled, not since… Jo’s eyes grow a little larger, her brows that were knitted together a moment ago now rising. Suddenly it dawns on her; she hasn’t seen him so thrown into disarray since he arrived at the ranch at fourteen years of age. She might have been only eight at the time, but those memories lingered. The sight of a kid so scared, so depressed, and so broken left an impression. Even as a little girl she knew he had been through hell, and by the looks of her cousin now, it seems like those dark days are catching up with him.

Jo wants to go after the poor guy, but she knows she can’t abandon her best friend. When the steward calls out Y/N’s name, announcing she’s up next, she focuses on the rider again. Right now she is her main priority, because whatever happened between the intern and the wrangler, Jo knows she’s Dean’s priority too.

“Ready?” she checks while quickly drying Joplin with a towel before they head towards the gate. “Yeah, I am,” Y/N assures, pushing Dean from her thoughts. “Remember that it’s fine to pick your first cow from the side of the herd, okay? Don’t set the bar too high. It’s your first time,” the blonde cowgirl offers. “I know,” she assures, even though she’s not planning on playing it safe.

The frustration has morphed into determination, a strong will to prove that she can manage just fine and that Bobby has every reason to dote on her. She much rather feels aggravated than insecure, so she allows the anger to flood the worry, shutting out her usual insecurity. She’s not going to let anyone down, especially not herself.

Concentrated, she goes to the gate, eye for the prize. Joplin already has her ears perked towards the cattle, knowing it’s game time. The clock starts to tick, and with confidence, she guides Joplin through the group of heifers, picking one dead in the middle to single out.

She doesn’t know Dean is watching from the sidelines, and intense sadness filling his soul. She doesn’t know how proud he is when she makes two amazing cuts and she scores 73 points, outclassing him. She doesn’t know that he’s very much aware that his girl doesn’t need him anymore.

Swift strokes brush the dirt out of Joplin’s dark coat. Dust particles dance in the air, illuminated by the orange rays of the setting sun that fall through the window of the stable. The mare allows the pampering, on hindleg resting on its toe, her head hanging low. Big, brown eyes are half closed, falling shut every once in a while. Sleep almost taking the normally feisty horse, the grooming having a relaxing effect on her. It’s almost as if she realizes she’s about to go on a new adventure, and she’s taking this moment to recharge after her run.

Jody has matched Joplin with a great family. A sixteen-year-old girl will be riding her. The teenager and her parents came to meet her new horse right after the great performance, absolutely beaming, knowing this wonderful animal was now theirs. In about fifteen minutes, Joplin’s new owners will be here to take her to their farm in Alamo, New Mexico. The family promised to give the Quarter a forever home, and they showed Y/N pictures of the beautiful barn where the little dark horse is going to live. She’s going to a good place, but the farewell remains bittersweet.

Once the Joplin is thoroughly cleaned, her rider takes her by the halter, raking her fingers through her mane. Y/N has never been good at saying goodbye, but it’s time now. “Be good, okay?” she whispers, letting her hands gently run down the horse’s neck. “And don’t pin your ears back too much. People are gonna think you’re mean, but I know you’re a softy.”

Joplin breathes out a sigh through her nose as if answering the person who has been her companion for the past month. It’s peculiar how fast a bond between human and animal can form. There has been a connection between them since the first time Y/N saddled her up for a trail. The thought of buying the beautiful Quarter herself has crossed the cowgirl’s mind ever since she learned Bobby planned to sell her, but no matter how difficult, this is also an aspect of the business that she needs to get used to. When she will finally have her own stables in a year's time, horses will come and go. She can’t keep every one of them, and so she needs to set Joplin free.

Judging by the hollow sounds under the tent’s roof, the new owners are on their way. She can distinguish Jody’s voice, and Bobby’s too. A girl with long, brown hair and bright eyes peers over the stable door, already glancing at the beautiful horse lovingly. “I bought her new transport boots,” she announces enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t want her to get hurt on the trailer. I also got a rug for when it gets a little colder during the night. Do you think she will like that?” The teenager holds up a red, woolen rug, which matches the leg protection perfectly. Y/N chuckles at the sight. Joplin is going to get so spoiled. “Those look amazing.” She reaches for one of the boots. “Here, let me help.”

They strap on the protective wear together while Bobby, Jody, and the parents close the deal on the other side of the alleyway. After the money is counted, the ranch owner hands over the horse’s passport together with a certificate of ownership, shaking their hands once more. Y/N waits for her boss to look her way, wondering if he - as owner - should give Joplin away, but the old man gives her a friendly nod, telling her without words that she will have the honor.

“Well, I guess this is it,” she says, fumbling with the leadrope. “She’s yours now.” “Thank you,” the young cowgirl returns. “We will take good care of her. Promise.” Not trusting her voice, the Y/N smiles warmly, but there isn’t a doubt in her mind that the family will. She doesn’t want to get emotional, it wouldn’t be professional after all. And so she does her very best to blink the mist from her eyes when she offers the leadrope, handing over Joplin to her new owner.

The family who just gained an additional member exits the stables, heading to the trailers to start their journey home. The rider, the trader, and the rancher watch them leave, all with smiles on their faces. Everyone involved in this sale wins. Y/N can’t help it, though, and has to wipe a lonely tear from her cheek. Jody, who notices, wraps an arm around her shoulder, sheltering and comforting. “Sorry,” the cowgirl excuses, a little embarrassed. “Don’t be sorry, honey,” she dismisses sweetly. “Caring matters, especially when money comes into play. Someone who cares has far better judgment than someone who’s greedy. Remember that.” Y/N smiles at the wise words, storing that piece of advice with all the others she has picked up along the way.

“Pretty good ride,” Bobby compliments his intern, in his own way trying to cheer her up. “Especially at your first cutting class.” Jody glances aside at the ranch owner, not impressed with his choice of words, before pulling the cowgirl closer into a side hug. “Pretty good? Are you kidding me? You absolutely slayed it! If you’re not giving that girl a rider’s fee, I will.” “Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Y/N objects. “No, you deserve it,” he insists while leafing through the hundred dollar bills in a large envelope. “Bobby, it’s okay. I am already super grateful for everything I’m learning and the experiences that I’m gaining. You have already given me a room and a stable, not to mention Ellen’s cooking. You really don’t have to pay me.”

Y/N shortly places her hand on her boss’s to seize his actions, wanting him to stop counting. The Gold Canyon Ranch might have made good money over the past three days, yet that doesn’t mean a financial disaster is avoided. She doesn’t want a share. The old man holds her gaze and she can tell he’s wondering if either Dean or Jo have spilled a little too much information. Maybe it is because of that assumption that he settles and lets it go. “At least lemme buy you a drink, huh?” he offers before he turns to his business partner. “I just have to round a few things up with Jody here.” “Alright, see you in a bit,” Y/N returns.

As the two business partners walk off to look for a private place where Bobby can give the woman who has made the sale possible her commissioner’s fee, the cowgirl slips into the tack room. She decides to start packing, since the crew presumingly will leave in a couple of hours. She has to keep busy, but Dean breaks into thoughts straight away. Sighing deeply, the cowgirl tries to wrap her head around her boyfriend’s reasoning. His words, which had her freeze to the ground for a second as she left him with his father, still ring in her ears. She’s just an intern. Why would he say such a thing? Why hadn’t he expressed that she is his girlfriend? Why did he never mention his father to her? And if he isn’t even able to talk to her about his family, what else is he hiding?

Her train of thought is interrupted by Jo, who hastily rushes around the corner, her restless eyes searching the tack room before she checks the stables. “Have you seen Dean?” she asks, concerned. “No,” Y/N bitterly answers. “Okay, enough.” Jo places her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg. “What the hell is going on with you two?” “You tell me,” her friend responds coldly. “I was under the impression we were doing just fine until Dean wasn’t even able to introduce me. Clearly, I value our relationship more than he does.”

“What are you talking about? He’s crazy about you,” the blonde cowgirl reminds her. “Is he?” Y/N spins on her heels, finally looking her in the eye. “Because for someone who claims to care about me, he sure keeps an awful lot of secrets.” Jo sighs. “Look, I know Dean isn’t the guy who’s very chatty about those kinds of things, but what makes you say that he doesn’t care?” “Because he couldn’t even tell his family - who he failed to tell me about, by the way - that I’m his girlfriend! He told his father that I am just an int--” “Whoa whoa, wait. His father?” Her best friend stares at her bug-eyed, needing a moment to process the information. “His father is here?!” “Yeah, he showed up in the stables earlier to visit him, before I got on Joplin,” she confirms, somewhat confused by her shocked expression. Jo steps towards the intern, grabbing both her shoulders and looking at her intensely. “Are you absolutely sure?” Y/N shrugs a little, not understanding the earnesty. “He looked a lot like Dean, and he called him his son, so I’m assuming.”

Her best friend just gapes at her, her cousin’s demeanor by the warm-up ring suddenly making much more sense. If he had an encounter with his father, his entire world just got turned upside down. Judging by how messed up he was when his only living parent left him to rot when he was still a child, she can only imagine what his return after all that time has set in motion.

“We need to find Dean, now,” she says, grabbing her friend by the wrist and pulling her out of the tack room. “I’ll explain along the way.” Unsettled, Y/N fastens her pace to jog next to the ranch owner’s daughter. “Jo, what’s going on?” “Dean didn’t lie to you when he said that he hadn’t seen his family in a while. In fact, the two haven’t been in contact for fifteen years,” she explains as they exit the stables.

Stunned by the revelation, the cowgirl next to her tries to make sense of it all. Fifteen years? Why would he have cut all ties with his dad for fifteen years? She can’t possibly imagine doing such a thing. Something horrible must have happened, something beyond comprehension. “That still doesn’t explain why he described me as anything else but his girlfriend,” Y/N brings up. “Listen, you don’t know John. He is a manipulative son of a bitch who has played dirty mind games before. If Dean let on that you were just someone working at the ranch, he was trying to protect you.” Y/N stops dead in her tracks, her hand which is still entwined with Jo’s causing her friend to spin around. “He w - what?”

“You need to talk to him,” her friend insists, dragging her into motion again. “My guess is that he found a place to be alone or he’s liquoring up. Either way, your man is spiraling out of control and he's gonna need his girl in order to get out of that vicious circle.” “He - he won’t talk to me,” she stammers. “Not after how I was with him before my run. God, I can’t believe I was so self-absorbed. I thought he didn’t want me there because he was embarrassed of me, and you’re telling me he was making sure I was safe?”

Jo wishes her companion wouldn’t put herself down like that, because the blonde cowgirl honestly gets why she reacted the way she did, being unaware of the family drama. She never thought the day would come, but here she is, defending her cousin’s honor.

“Like I said; he’s crazy about you, Sis. He has never been like this with somebody else, so if there’s anyone who can through to him it’s you. He might try to--” “- push me away, I know. That’s kind of his thing. I won’t let him,” Y/N promises. Jo nods at that, glad she was able to convince her. “Good, now we just have to find him.”

They arrive at the square where all the shops are situated, most of the stand holders packing their unsold products into cars and onto trailers. The sun has disappeared behind the horizon, the skies painted with red. There are a few people around, music coming from the tent further up where the after-party is in full swing. They meet Benny at the crossing, though, who is looking for his friend as well. “Have you seen him?” Y/N asks the farrier, who has the same worried frown on his face as the girls. “I tried the trailers, but no luck,” Benny says. “Stables?” But she shakes her head. “We were just there.”

The three glance aside when a group of young guys stumbles out of the tent, alternated colored beams in their wake, coming from the disco lights inside. The concern that has Jo’s intestines in knots worsens, because if Dean has hit the bar, reasoning with him is going to be problematic.

Y/N enters the tent, backed up by the other two members of the Gold Canyon Ranch. The band plays a happy, upbeat country song that contradicts the alarming anxiety and dread that is riding her nerves like a racetrack. Frantically, she looks around, trying to identify her boyfriend amongst the crowd. She doesn’t see him in the booths on her right, nor around the dancefloor which she and Dean owned two nights prior. Once she convinces him that she understands why he said those things and that he did nothing wrong, she can wrap her arms around him again, comfort him with a kiss and ask him for another dance. He can continue to be the wonderful, supportive boyfriend, making her laugh and making her smile, lifting her up and making her feel appreciated. They can go back to how things were.

Trying to convince herself that everything is going to be fine, she moves through the mass of people towards the beer taps, when she stops suddenly, the wind being knocked from her lungs by the sight in front of her. At the end of the bar, she finds Dean. Not nursing a beer, sad and alone like she expected to find him, but in company of the same girl who was all over him on Friday night as well; Jamie. The cowboy, already intoxicated, leaning into her when the blonde whispers something in his ear, touching his arm as she does. A blind man would be able to see the chemistry, their conversation easy and carefree. The beautiful girl seated on the stool next to her boyfriend doesn’t show a sign of insecurity, her cheerful and confident personality matching Dean’s perfectly. She is everything Y/N isn’t.

Unable to move, she watches the film play out before her, a story of fun and romance that will push her story with Dean to a tragic end. Tears begin to fill her eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. A part of her hopes that he will turn around and see the devastation that his actions are causing, but he doesn’t, occupied by the gorgeous old flame which seems to have ignited something new. He doesn’t even see me, she realizes. He doesn’t see her, because once again it has been made perfectly clear she’s not worth holding on to. That has always been the case whenever it came to love, hasn’t it? So why on earth did she think that with Dean it was going to be any different? And just like that, she’s back to being invisible again.

Abruptly, Y/N turns around, desperately needing to get out of the buzzing atmosphere, but she collides with Jo the second she does. “Woah! Where are you--” Jo steadies her friend when she almost falls over, holding her by her arms. Stunned, she stares into her eyes, noticing how they are glazed over with absolute heartbreak. “What’s going on?”

But Y/N just shakes her head, moving past her hastily; she can’t stay here a second longer. The upset girl struggles towards the exit and ignores Benny, who watches her departure, perplexed. When he straightens himself again, he glances at Jo, as much confusion on his features as on hers. But when his focus locks on his buddy at the bar, his face falls. “That son of a bitch,” he mutters, his remark triggering the blonde cowgirl before him to turn around as well.

Jo’s jaw falls slack, observing as the two order another round of shots. She can’t believe what she’s seeing. She can’t believe she’s witnessing the man who she thought had made a change for the better, now making a turn for the worse. Frustration boils inside of the petite yet feisty woman, who is biting down hard on her bottom lip when she faces Benny again. “You talk some sense into him before he really crosses the line,” she directs. “I’m gonna go after Y/N and see if I can repair the damage.”

The broad-shouldered wrangler nods and watches Jo take off before he goes in the other direction. He pushes through the mass of people who are enjoying the last party of the event, all oblivious to the dramatic scene they are all a part of. He senses that the drama might become a whole lot worse if he doesn’t manage to pull Dean’s head off his ass.

“What do you think you’re doin’, brother?” Benny claps his hand on his friend’s shoulder, interrupting him before he downs the shot waiting for him on the bar. He scoffs. “What does it look like?” “Seems to me you’re about to get a lil’ too friendly with a gal that ain’t yours,” the farrier says with a lowered voice, hoping it will enlighten him. “We’re just having a drink,” Dean counters, annoyed, reaching for the glass in front of him, but Benny pushes it out of reach. “Do you think that’s what Y/N saw too when she was here just now?” Now he does get the cowboy’s attention, common sense finally pushing to the forefront. “She was here?” he questions, dumbfounded. “Yep, and you’ve got somethin’ to fix. Let’s go,” Benny suggests, his large hand flat on his companion’s back calmly pushing him off the chair and onto his feet, both men giving Jamie a short nod before they leave the party.

The fresh air slaps Dean in the face when he exits the tent, sobering him up enough to realize how bad he screwed up. He knew it was a horrible idea to do the one thing his dad always did when the pain got too much to bear; hit the alcohol and drown his sorrow. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? No matter how hard he fights, no matter how different he aspires to be, he will always be just like his father. The same ego-centric, selfish and spineless dick that breaks everything he touches.

When the two men stop in the middle of the square, Benny looks around, trying to find the girls. He doesn’t spot them sitting at any of the outside tables, nor by the restrooms. “It don’t matter, I already fucked it up anyway,” Dean mutters when his friend glances between the market shops. The farrier pauses his search and gazes at him superciliously through half-lidded eyes. “No disrespect, Chief, but what the hell is wrong with you?” “You really want me to get started on that list? Because if so, we’re gonna be here for a while,” the wrangler returns snarky, avoiding his friend’s blue eyes, taking a few steps away with his hands on his hips. “John showing up here is not y—” “Don’t!” Dean interrupts with venom in his voice, spinning around and pointing a firm finger at Benny. “Don’t you dare bring up my father.”

He’s trembling, the anger that ran in John’s blood for years now raging through his veins. Fire sets alight his insides, flames dancing in his pupils that glare at his comrade warningly. The Southerner takes a tentative step towards him, realizing he needs to get through to Dean, but has to handle the subject as carefully as possible. “You are not him. I know this,” he speaks slow. “I know you love Y/N, too.”

But Dean scoffs and shakes his head, not just denying that he does, but refusing to allow himself that kind of fulfillment. He was stupid to even think that he ever had a chance with her. It was just a matter of time before it all would come crashing down on him, ruining everything that he never deserved in the first place. He can’t love her, because if he does, she will fall victim to him, just like he did to his dad.

“Listen, brother. You’re not seein’ straight right now, but you can still make this right,” Benny continues. “You care too much about her to just throw in the towel. Remember when she first came to the ranch? You were smitten the second she walked through those doors. You called dibs on her for a reason.”

The cowboy’s shoulders rise as he inhales deeply and fall again when he blows out a breath. Of course he remembers. He remembers the first time he laid eyes on her over his poker cards, how she responded to him from across the saloon. He remembers how she gave him a run for his money when he came on too strong. He remembers how he panicked when she didn’t seem interested and the idea of her being with someone else had him strike an agreement with his best mate. He remembers the rides, their first kiss, the moment i-- “You called dibs on me?”

Stunned by the unexpected voice, both men turn to where it came from. Benny gulps thickly when he notices Y/N stepping from under the awning of one of the food trucks, Jo in her shadow. Even in the dim glow from the overhanging strings of lightbulbs, he can see her eyes shimmer with despair. “Y/N, it ain’t as bad as it s--” But the cowgirl cuts him off immediately, shooting Benny a glare. “You can stop with the Southern smooth talk. I need to talk to Dean alone.”

After exchanging looks over the course of several uncomfortable seconds, both Benny and Jo step aside, sauntering away from the couple. Once their friends have disappeared behind one of the trailers, Y/N returns her focus to her boyfriend again, her judgemental stare boring into his soul. “I asked you a question,” she repeats, managing to prevent her voice from trembling. “Did you make some kind of pact with your buddies?”

Dean doesn’t answer, but he sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. He lifts his eyes from the ground for a moment, glancing over before he averts them again. The woman standing a few feet away from him chuckles cynically; she knows enough.

“So what, women are like cattle to you? This is a funny bet?” The cowboy frustratingly shakes his head once. “You know it’s not.” “Do I?!” Y/N returns, her tone sharper and higher than anticipated. “Because if this isn’t just a game, then why did you shove me aside for some blonde broad--” “For fuck’s sake, we were just having a drink! We had this argument already!” Dean snaps, throwing his arms to the side.

Taken aback by the hostility, Y/N stares at him. She has seen this anger before, but just a glimpse of it. It was when Ash lost his job and blamed them, in particular Dean, who took the acquisitions hard. That evening it was mostly guilt that triggered the cowboy to lash out to her and the second he realized he had upset her, he apologized. But now an apology doesn’t even seem to cross his mind that is clouded by darkness far greater. At this point, she’s not sure if she would be able to accept it anyway.

“Well, it didn’t make much of a difference, now did it?” she returns after using the dreadful silence to recover. “Apparently not,” Dean scoffs, shifting his unfocused gaze aside. Mulling over the chain of events that have led to this moment, he swallows with difficulty, indignation taking off the heat for a bit, stopping it from boiling over. The calm gives Y/N enough courage to step closer. “Dean, I know today was a whirlwind. I know - I’m aware that what happened in the stables earlier has sent you into a tailspin,” she sympathizes, careful not to mention his father after witnessing his outburst with Benny when he did, “but this isn’t you.”

The disheartened guy before her huffs again, sardonic and hopeless. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Because it’s exactly who he is. This is who he was always destined to be. It’s how he was raised, it’s in his DNA. For two months he allowed himself to hope that maybe he could change, that maybe he could be better than the poor excuse of a man his father was. Y/N gave him that pipe dream, and even though it’s unreasonable to be upset with her for seeing the good in him, it’s amongst one of the many frustrations he’s experiencing.

“It is. This -” Dean points at himself, his upper lip twitching with disgust. “- this is who I am.” She shakes her head, not ready to give up. “It’s not. You are kind, loving, your heart is--” “You don’t know me!” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair and trapping the light-brown locks between his fingers before he gestures wildly. “You think you do, but you don’t have a fucking clue! I haven’t told you anything about my life--” “Then talk to me!” Y/N yells back as he turns away from her. “I CAN’T!!”

Dean is facing her again, vexation flaring in his emerald green eyes. His heart beats so vigorously that it has his entire body pulsating. He takes her in, the beautiful young woman who he fell for, and he can see that her hope is fading. It pains him to hurt her, but he’s left with no choice. Being angry with him will make things easier, though. It will help her move on. If she is going to feel sorry for him, the pity would only prompt the caring girl to hold on and try to piece the shattered shards back together, and he can’t let that happen, simply because it’s useless. He refuses to take her down with him, to burden her with the same demons that he has to live with. He can’t do that to her, not to the one he loves. She’s way too good for him, so pure, so selfless and gentle. She’s everything he shouldn’t have, everything he isn’t worthy of. It’s better this way, it’s better to end it now.

“I can’t. Who you think I am, it’s not me. I’ve been lying to you, pretending. I can’t be the person you need me to be,” he claims, calmer now that he knows what he has to do.

Y/N’s breathing picks up slightly, the air leaving her with a shudder each time. His words seem so definite already, but he can’t possibly believe that they are not right for each other, can he? All those moments they shared, all the affection he offered; that was real. That was him. Why can’t he see he’s exactly the man she needs? “And what person is that?” she questions, hoping that whatever argument he fires back, she can turn around.

Dean is quiet for a few seconds, thinking about a fitting answer. The profound fondness he feels for her begins to resurface and it’s tearing him apart. She needs to understand that the fairytale they have been living is a facade he can’t continue to maintain. Dreams never last forever, this is where they wake up. “You need a guy who is honest, who you can trust. Look at us; I can’t even bring myself to tell you about my family, my past, or anything for that matter,” he reminds her. “I knew what I was in for, Dean. I don’t expect you to spill every dark secret you think you have. You don’t have to spell out everything to be with me. We can work it out!” she argues desperately. But the cowboy shakes his head, feeling the sorrow brim in his eyes. He wants her to be right so bad, but he knows he can’t live a lie. “You don’t get it, okay? I’m a fucking mess. I did things that are unforgivable. I don’t have my shit together, but you do,” he says, a sad smile barely pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You know exactly where you wanna go in life, what you want to achieve.” She steps closer, praying that if he lets her, she can eventually bridge the space between them. “We can do that together,” she pleads with all the hope she has left. “We can’t,” he returns, having gathered every bit of strength to look at her before he pronounces the words who he knows are the truth. “This isn’t gonna work.”

The tears that have gathered become too much even for a dam to withhold roll down her cheeks now. An already unbearable ache gets worse, her heart physically hurting and taking up so much space that Y/N feels like she can’t breathe. He can’t be doing this. He can’t pull the plug, not after all the epic moments they shared. Every warm look, every gentle touch, every loving kiss; every blissful memory. How can he possibly let go of that? Refusal has her reach out to him, one last attempt to repair what is already broken. “Dean, stop… Why are you hurting me like this?” she cries.

The cowboy drops his gaze while fighting the tears and the grief for what he’s losing. He wants to reach out too, take her hand in his, but he can’t cave now, he can’t be selfish. He has to do this for her. “Because if I don’t, if I allow this to go any further, it’s gonna hurt a lot more.” Dean fixates on anything but Y/N, no longer able to endure the sight of her falling apart in front of him. It’s dreadfully quiet as if the world stopped turning, and in a way, for the two individuals in the middle of the square, it just did. “So - so what? This is it?” she stammers, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re breaking up with me?” Biting his lip now, he focuses on what this decision will offer the woman at arm’s reach. An uncomplicated life in which she can pursue her dreams without having to worry about someone dragging her down. She can be free to do whatever she wishes and that’s all he can ask for. But in order to provide her with that opportunity, he has to let her go. “Yeah. We’re over.”

Like a bullet fired from a gun, the defining words rip through her chest and pierce her heart. The silence after the shot is deafening, canceling out the sounds of their surroundings. The streaming pathways of desolation gather at the end of her chin and drip down on the dry soil, enough to darken the dust. Her eyes are glued on him, though, but he doesn’t return her gaze. The conclusion of their relationship sinks in with every passing second, leaving her soul in ruins. It’s over. They are over. And there is nothing she can do to change the course of history.

Unable to be in his presence, she forces her feet to move, turning away from the man she is no longer with. Dean can’t watch her leave, fixed on the dark earth where her tears fell just moments ago. From his peripheral vision, he notices Jo rushing by to go after her friend. Good, he thinks to himself, she’ll have someone to lean on.

After standing there for what feels like an hour, he takes a few hesitant steps towards one of the trailers, placing both hands flat on the metal, searching for something to ground him while he closes his eyes and lets his head hang. He can’t find it, though, not in the cold steel, not in his reasoning behind this brutal decision. The resentment builds again, and Dean pulls his right hand back, balls his fist, and almost puts a dent into the barrier before him. The action only confirms what he deep down knew to be true all along. All that rage, the self-hatred; he can’t bottle it up forever, so it’s for the best that Y/N will no longer be there to witness it.

Dean bends his elbows, his forearms now pressed against the iron and his forehead resting between his clenching fists, as he struggles to pull in a shaky breath. He feels like he’s imploding, the outer frame of his structure caving in on itself. His mouth falls open, his bottom lip trembling, then he allows the tears to cascade down his face.

He can sense Benny by his side, but Dean is too wrapped up in his own destruction to really acknowledge him. The comforting hand on his shoulder is a touch he barely registers, his body is already rebuilding its emotional walls, caging away his ability to feel and casting it in a permanent shadow. That’s where it will remain, encapsulated in darkness, cut out from the light that his girl had to give. Benny stays by his side, though, letting him know that he is there for his friend, as much as Jo is there for hers.

“Sis, wait,” the ranch owner’s daughter tries desperately, following the woman who just had her heart broken into the stables. Her request remains unanswered, Y/N only stopping when she has reached Meadow’s box, her hands shaking while she tries to unlock the door. When she’s unable to, Jo quickly steps in and opens the gate, holding it for her companion. The bay horse has lifted her head, alerted by the commotion in the alley, but clearly recognizes the person stepping inside. She seems confused by her owner’s frail state of mind, though, pricked ears and concerned eyes taking in the situation.

The cowgirl folds an arm around Meadow’s neck while she buries her face in the Quarter’s brown coat, then she breaks. She breaks into a million segments, lost in the mixture of wood shavings and straw underneath their feet. The air is too thin to breathe and sobs wreck her entire form.

Never in her life has she felt so unwanted, purposeless, and vulnerable as she’s feeling now. Dean let her in and she trusted him to handle her with grace, yet the second she was comfortable with this new way of being, he pushed her out. She thought she knew the man she felt such a strong connection with. Yes, she realized very early on that it was going to be difficult to get through to him. The soldier with thick armor had stacked the barricades high, but that never intimidated her. After all, she had climbed mountains before.

She gave Dean her all, but in the end, it turns out it was useless. Y/N isn’t even sure what’s real and what’s not, if the cowboy has been wearing a mask all along, or just now turned into someone that he isn’t. It doesn’t matter, though. He has made himself perfectly clear; she is not the girl he wants to be with.

The only one stopping her from collapsing is Meadow, who holds still like a statue, aware that if she moves, her owner will fall to the ground and might never be able to get up again. The horse senses exactly how to handle Y/N, the usually so spirited mare now timid and calm, picking up on the despairing energy.

Jo, who had silently slipped into the tack box to get a bottle of water and some tissues, comes back into the stable, tearing up at the sight of the two who have such a strong bond. The thousand-pound animal has curved her neck around her human, resting her large head on the cowgirl’s shoulder. As if trying to comfort her, Meadow twitches her lips, gently rubbing them against her owner’s back, her way of showing affection. People can be cruel sometimes, to others, to horses. Jo has witnessed it, and she knows Dean has too, which has ultimately led to his dreadful decision to cut Y/N loose, and by doing so he has hurt her in terrible ways himself. But at least the girl has her horse.

Meadow, who is oblivious to the reason behind her owner’s sorrow, offers solace nonetheless. Quietly, she waits until the cries die down and the tears begin to dry, and even then she stays close to her person, having a better sense of direction than most humans do. Y/N’s four-legged friend is honest, treats her with kindness, and loves her unconditionally. It’s a special connection no man can ever steal away, yet many can learn from. This incredible being is her soul horse, a term Dean has taught her, the one who she thought was going to be her partner in life until he decided otherwise. He is right, though; it is over between them. She has lost Dean’s heart, but at the end of the day, no matter what happens, she will always have Meadow.

That’s that then. They are over...

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-five here

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evolsinner · 3 years

Text

⊱┊7

with the moment past {definitely not mentally}, i make my way to the lounge.

“hey, rosé?”

i see him seated on a 3 seat sofa.

a, i hope he didn’t see the way i shaved my hair down there into a love heart... b, he def saw my boobies!!

“y~yes, mr killian?”

“you hungry or something? i can order you some pizza.”

hell, i’m famished, can’t remember the last time i ate.

“no, aha…”

“you sure?”

“actually, yeah, i am, a little... sorry if that’s an inconvenience.”

“no, not at all! don’t be silly. i’m starving.”

i restrict a smile.

“here,” he shifts to the side, patting the middle seat, “make yourself comfortable. i’ll order some now.”

i place his hoody on the armrest and sit on the other end instead; don’t have it in me to sit right next to him. we would be like idk touching and whatnot. amongst the remote and his wallet, he grabs his phone from the middle seat, dialling a number.

“pineapple on pizza?” he faces me, holding the phone to his ear.

i fucking love pineapple on pizza.

“100%,” i reply confidently.

he grins.

i have just found my soulmate.

i admire how laid back he looks: his white untucked dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal thick veins and a dark tan, tie tossed on the table. is this how every male teacher looks after work?

‘cause, yummy!

“takeaway. one large vegetarian and one large hawaiian...with extra pineapple, please,” sir glances at me adorably. “cheers, sweetheart,” he hangs up after giving his number and address for the order. “should be here in 40 mins,” he informs me, “catch,” and tosses the remote at me. “pick a movie. make it a good one. i’m gonna go freshen up quickly.”

can i come?

-ˋˏ ༻🍷༺ ˎˊ-

i struggle to find a goddamn movie!

sir’s phone vibrates and i look across at it. why does that thing be buzzing and ringing all the time? i mean... hmm… i lean all the way back, peeping down the hallway. i listen to see if the shower is still on.

🚿pshhshhshhshhshhshh

oh good, it’s still on. i sneakily pick up his orange google pixel 4 xl mobile phone. okay, let’s see, what’s his passcode? says his pin contains at least four digits. hmm...

1 2 3 4

incorrect pin entered

4 3 2 1

incorrect pin entered

6 9 6 9

incorrect pin entered

his birth year, maybe?

1 9 8 1

incorrect pin entered

it’s definitely mine, then.

2 0 0 0

try again in 30 seconds

fuck, what is it?!

now i’m adamant.

a while later, i listen for the shower again. no sound. fuck me! i also haven’t even picked a movie yet! i grasp the remote and quickly flip through the movies. in ‘newly added’ a film that goes by the name ‘barefoot’ {2014} appears. this’ll do. i haphazardly click on it, put his phone back in the middle seat and swiftly bring my knees up on the sofa.

bathroom door opens and mr killian returns, setting himself down.

and ohhhh boy, oh jesus h. christ, he is wearing grey sweatpants. grey. sweatpants. oh my goddddddd!!!!

🎵dun da daaaaa! dunda dunda da dun dadada oo oo oooooo dun da da

i cringe, really should have skipped the first 10 mins or something.

sir looks at me with an amused expression, “just started?”

i nod, embarrassed.

then he cracks up a little, “how long did it take for you to pick a film?”

“i paused it, was waiting for you.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“alrighty then,” he slumps down, letting me get away with the white lie. “this better be good or else you’re held accountable.”

the professional teacher’s vibe is disappearing and transforming into a perky one.

he’s wearing a loose t~shirt with long sleeves and it’s even rolled up. his hair is damp and floppy, making him so much more attractive. he runs his hands through it, flipping it back as the stray droplets of water roll down his neck. i would gladly lick them off for him if he doesn’t mind...

“why’s my phone locked for 60 minutes?”

“huh?” i snap out of my daydream.

“my phone, why’s it locked?”

*ding dong.*

“maybe...you put the wrong password in?”

“pretty sure i didn’t, and you’re the only other person in this house, no?”

*ding dong!*

“aha..ha,” i giggle nervously.

“does it look like i’m laughing?” he asks me condescendingly.

my smile disappears.

*ding dong! ding dong! ding dong! ding dong!*

“ight, i’m coming!!” sir shouts, grabbing his wallet. “..jesus christ, break my damn doorbell, will you..” he mutters under his breath angrily.

bit hot...

-ˋˏ ༻🍷༺ ˎˊ-

i only ate 2 slices of pizza so i wouldn’t look like a fat bitch in front of sir. he, however, didn’t even eat any. so much for being ‘starving’. he was just casually watching me eat. i could feel his eyes on me each time i took a bite and the odd olive or pineapple went rolling down into my lap. it was so awkward!

we’re halfway through the movie and i felt the need to say something because jay, the character, was such a jerk.

“i mean, it’s actually rather heartbreaking. daisy was locked away for most of, if not, her whole life. and now she is finally free, finally able to experience the pleasures of the real world. she put all of her trust in him and he abandoned her. that’s so not cool.”

as i’m analysing the film, i feel his eyes analysing me.

“well, you can’t blame him,” sir counterattacks. “jay had his own life, his own problems to deal with. she was just another added problem to that.”

“then he should’ve led her back to the hospital again instead of taking her on this joyride purely for his own greed.”

“remember, she chose to take part.”

“he was being selfish.”

“he was lending her a hand.”

“which is what ultimately made her fall in love with him in the first place,” i state like a full stop.

sir’s whole face just speaks wow. “so why didn’t you do my analysis homework then, huh?”

“because it’s boring,” i look him boldly in the eyes, his slicked back hair has me feelin’ oozy and woozy.

“oh, it’s boring?” he emphasises, raising his eyebrows. “is that so?”

“yup,” i purse my lips.

“what was it again?” he grabs my arm, pulling me into his lap. “‘boring’, did you say?”

i’m trying to escape and he’s trying to hold me still. gradually, our laughter dies out and we become aware, so much more aware.

“got some on your mouth,” he says in the heat of the moment, running his thumb over my bottom lip.

there was definitely no pizza sauce or whatever on my mouth, but i play my part. somehow, his thumb finds its way inside my mouth and i instinctively wrap my tongue around it. his green eyes glimmer like shiny marbles as he watches me

suck

on his

thumb.

i feel pressure underneath me, something building up in stiffness. i shift his hand away, glancing down and then back up again. his marble eyes, they just look at me. look through me.

no way in hell did i imagine this moment to actually happen. i mean, most of us girls had these insane crushes on teachers, but never did i think it’d unravel like this.

he firmly places his hand on my lower backside and pushes me closer to himself. “what, you scared now?” he whispers, dominance combined with confidence, topped off with lust.

i gulp, trying to sound brave, “and why would i be scared?”

“you should be,” he replies.

i am lost for words. this kind of intimidation is seductive. all i wanna do is kiss him! though i won’t make the same mistake of glancing at his lips twice.

he speaks in a soft tone, “has anyone ever told you how captivating your~”

“my eyes are?” i finish his cliché line off for him.

“...your lips,” he corrects, casting his gaze down at them.

i bite my bottom lip, flustered for acting like a smartass.

“you know, on some occasions, i’ve noticed that you bite your lip when you’re nervous. it’s cute,” he grins, “i like it more than i should,” and waits patiently for me to fall into his devilish trap.

believe me when i say i’m trying goddamn hard to not sink my teeth into my flesh! which is why i replace it with a mere innocent gulp.

“but on most occasions, you gulp,” he says as i’m gulping.

he removes the hair from my neck.

i get hella anxious, hella aroused so i..

“nuh~uh,” he shakes his head and pulls my bottom lip down with the pad of his thumb. “‘nough biting from you, sweetheart. those are mine to bite now.”

am i dreaming right now?

i try to reposition myself by moving a little back so that i’m not directly on him. as i do this, his erection rubs further into me and i slightly moan kinda too evidently. my eyes open super wide and i instantly shut my mouth. it surprises me that it doesn’t faze him one bit.

“your t~t~thing is p~poking me..” i gesture with my eyes to his manhood.

his orbs shine like someone has stabbed an apocalyptic emerald sunset multiple times. it’s glorifying. magical. the stuff dreams are made from. and instead, he pushes me further down onto his sculpture. he leans his head in, his mouth millimetres away from mine.

“and do you like it?” he questions seriously.

our noses touch, our lips brush...

“answer the question.”

“yes,” i squeak. “i like it.”

i try to remain as calm as possible, but it’s impossible due to the nerves causing havoc inside me, particularly the nerves between my thighs. i don’t know what to focus on. that mouth? his eyes? or down below...

“may i let something be known, luv?” sir requests politely.

i nod.

“i can see your tits...through that shirt...” he whispers sexily.

my breath hitches up.

kiss me! why won’t he kiss me? just fucking kiss me! shit, it’s impossible not to look. i give in and look at his lips. the corners curve slightly into a wayward grin. i see... he wants me to initiate it.

welp, sorry, no can do, mister.

he literally places my bottom lip between his teeth and lightly tugs at it, his breaths hitting my mouth like rose petals. this act is enormously enticing, but i know he’s teasing me.

my turn.

i purposely grind in his lap and he suppresses a hoarse groan. then he scoffs. very conceited. he’s so gonna lose. i keep my lips impossibly close to his for when he forfeits which should be right about...now.

he shakes his head smugly.

i frown, pouting.

he half~smiles adorably.

fine, i have a better idea. one he doesn’t see cumming coming.

i lift away the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants and grip his hand. his body automatically tenses up. i can feel him getting harder from just the thoughts i’m giving him. i bring his hand closer to me. he’s losing and it’s hella entertaining to watch.

unexpectedly, a phone goes off and i jump in fright. i rapidly get off him and he returns to his usual, rigid ways. he aggressively clears his throat before answering that stupid device.

whilst pacing up and down and holding his forehead, he stares at me intently like i’m that fucking maths problem again!

#poetry #romance #love #student #teacher #teacher x student #funny #story #short story #mature

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ohmylove--mydarling · 3 years

Text

It’s true what they say about your early-to-mid 20s. This particular span of ten blissful, wanton years is the only time in your entire life where you will ever feel truly invincible. And yes, you absolutely better enjoy it while it lasts. Lithe-bodied, hopeful, capable of both pounding an entire handle of rail vodka all while making it to your 8 am sociology class the next day, they’re a little like your teen years, with one prized difference. Your early-to-mid 20s are blessed with the seemingly novel, universe-bending element of freedom.

And freedom doesn’t simply mean the ability to make stupid decisions without the fear of getting grounded. It also means the freedom to live in an idyllic sort of vacuum, where you’re surrounded by friends – if we’re being honest, the family you get to choose – and cradled in this serene philosophy, this security blanket of an idea that hangs in the air but is never outwardly or directly expressed, that this, all of this, will last forever. That these people will always be there, they will always be around, floating with you in this bubble, as free and easily accessible as a coatrack or your neighbor’s WiFi. Always holding your beer, always holding your hair back (while you puke, or maybe while you cry), always holding your hand. Always at the very least in the peripheral, if not the forefront, of your vision.

During these years you know everything, and yet somehow you know nothing at all.

***

Like most of the sorority sisters I grew close with – and as is probably true with anyone else who pledged a very tiny chapter at an equally tiny school – I don’t remember much about how I met Taylor beyond the first night she “rushed.” Rush is an interesting social phenomenon, for multiple reasons. Picture a gaggle of young college-aged women who typically spend every waking hour of their day primping and glossing and adjusting for the sole purpose of the male gaze. Except this time, their attention is entirely drawn to a smaller group of girls (not that much smaller of a group, if we’re lucky this semester) that they want to impress instead. A frenzy of compliments and genuine interest, a dormant volcano of estrogen and hot girl energy and reciprocation, madly overflowing in a span of two hours over something as innocuous as an ice cream social or tie-dying a pile of crewneck t-shirts (I think we did the “hippie” recruitment theme every other semester). It is one of the very best parts of what is an often problematic-at-best Greek culture, and this rush was no different.

I’m not sure what my first impression of Taylor was, other than that we obviously had the same first name, and oh yeah, she was beautiful– effortlessly pretty but not the least intimidating. I could approach her and talk to her and not feel like a complete toad. She was a little soft-spoken, incredibly polite. I think she wore navy blue. And an aura of genuine kindness seemed to radiate from her with the soft glow of candlelight.

After rush ended and Taylor chose to join our ranks, where she belonged, it felt like she had been in my life from the very beginning. And, though this idea was never spoken, it felt like she would never leave.

***

In a sorority, there is sometimes a tendency, however unintentional, to categorize your sisters, and to turn to certain ones for different needs at different times. There’s the sister you study with, the sister you go on your morning run with, the sister(s) you are always down to party with. There’s the sister who makes amazing grilled cheese, the sister whose dorm is the only place you’ll binge-watch Supernatural. When you’re riding the waves of a breakup, you got mad options: There’s the sister who brushes your hair as you ugly-cry and choke on your own snot, the sister who pledges to hook you up with her brother’s hot friend the moment you’re ready for a rebound, the “dump him sis” sister who yanks your phone out of your hand in the middle of what is probably a very unwise text and threatens to stab him with her eyebrow razor if he so much as looks at you again, the sister who makes you forget the whole thing ever happened, that it ever even mattered.

There’s the maid of honor sister, the future fun wine-aunt sister, the sister you have on speed-dial even though speed-dial isn’t a thing anymore. There are the sisters who teach you how to do winged liner, how to hide a hickey with coral lipstick and concealer, how to chant, how to chug, how to memorize the Greek alphabet and the …numbers (at least for the ones who are most definitely going to ask). There are the sisters whose weddings you bawl at, whose babies you hold and immediately love as an extension of the incredible mother who brought them into this world.

And there are the sisters who teach you grace and humility, strength and resilience, kindness and self-love. The sisters who changed your life for the better the moment they put on your letters, the sisters who hand you the mirror and force you to see yourself just as they see you.

The thing about Taylor was that she was all of these. The whole package. Everything good, all in one.

***

Though our friendship was at its strongest during my college and immediate post-college years, Taylor remained a calming, grounding presence in my life. She married an incredible man who loved her for all the reasons we did and plenty more, and I went to her wedding and cried. She got a job as a nurse at the local hospice, a profession she seemed put on this earth to do. I could picture Taylor in her element there, literally surrounded by an entire ocean of grief, serving as an island of hope, a beacon of light and love for those who so desperately needed all those things, the things she provided us without question even when our lives were comfortable. Soon after – and this thought still makes something in my throat ache – she brought life into this world, a beautiful daughter with both her mother’s eyes and her genuine love and gratitude for life, a joyful curiosity coloring everything she did.

Taylor’s life, we knew, was finally the one she had always deserved.

***

I won’t, and can’t anyway, get into the details of Taylor’s passing. I can say that nothing about it was expected and literally every detail about it is horrific. Personally, it feels like a robbery, like something was taken from me; but on a grander scale, on a scale that actually matters, it is simply heartbreak. Riding the waves of grief not only for my own loss, but for a husband, a child, a family, a community whose lives were upended and whose hearts were crushed by something that simply should not have happened in a universe where they say justice and kindness exist.

Frankly, this grief is unlike any other I have experienced. It has a way of blanketing everything around me, like mosquito netting. It is as thick and choking as a cloud of black smoke, permeating my clothes, filling my lungs, making it impossible to see, so all I can do is desperately cling to whatever gives me the slightest amount of peace, no matter how fleeting. As someone who has always struggled with my faith (and moments like these certainly do not help), I try to remember Taylor’s. It brought her comfort and strength, the belief that God loves everyone so naturally she was going to love everyone, too. And all I can hope is that this belief of hers, this faith, manifested in her final moments. That there was a light, a voice, a presence, something there that reminded her that she was loved. That we knew she loved us, that her family will never be alone, that we will desperately miss her. That her legacy is as wide and expansive as all the oceans.

Her funeral is in a few days. Her funeral, a concept still as foreign as my own.

***

At this point it’s probably clear, but the things I want people to remember the most about Taylor are, quite simply, her kindness and her intrinsic ability to love. She was kind without questioning. She loved without strings or conditions, tirelessly and endlessly. At a time when an icy, impenetrable layer of cynicism seemed to blanket so many of our hearts – including my own – Taylor managed to crack it a little, to let just enough of her light and her warmth in to make a change.

I teased her often – probably too often – for her unbreakable habit of bringing home literally any stray cat she ever found (and then naming it something either really cute or painfully dumb, like “Moe” or “Cheese”). But even as someone who unapologetically hates cats, and more honestly as someone who spent most of her 20s thinking that if I hardened my exterior and never let love in I was somehow protecting everything it surrounded, I viewed this habit through a secret lens of adoration. I adored Taylor’s heart. I hoped to absorb some of it, its ability to love everything, to find beauty in the darkest and loneliest spaces and to also force people to see it and feel it for themselves.

I felt Taylor was going to be around forever. It was a selfish thought. I hadn’t physically seen her in over a year (there was a pandemic and she was a nurse and I was subsumed by my own now meaningless world). I am filled with an omnipresent regret that I have no control over. I miss her so much my heart feels swollen and achy with a pining, a real grief.

There is no happy ending to this, no concise, comfortable, heartwarming way to wrap this all up in a pretty package, though Taylor was the type to want everything to have a good ending. So instead I cling to the memories, the photographs. Our banquets, homecoming, Lana del Rey, cherry blossoms. The way she rapped that entire A$AP Ferg verse one night. The way she looked in her wedding gown. The way she talked about charity and good deeds. The way she talked about God. Her love, no matter what transgression I made or no matter if I failed to give it back. I hope to love harder now, and if I can, it’s because Taylor taught me how.

I love you, Taylor. DZLAM.

3 notes · View notes

randombtsprincessa · 4 years

Text

Achilles Heart || 3

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Jeon Jungkook x Reader (2nd POV) x Kim Taehyung | Other Characters

Chapters: Prologue 01 02

Warnings: Heavy angst, insecurity, mixed lines, micommunication but a sweet little smut scene to ease things up. Not too explicit this time,sorry.

A/N: There you go, a nice 7k whopper after so much time. This has been a long time coming. Taehyung doesn’t come up in this chapter but he’ll show up morein the chapters ahead. Also, I adore Yoongi.

Do leave some feedback please!

A Week Later

The sound and smell of coffee filtering, with the crinkles of sugar falling into it lit up your conscious. You had been staring hard at a mountain of papers that required your focus and you had been setting it out for later and later for days. Now, however, you needed to shut up, sit down and do some serious work.

Your workplace was situated in a day in day out building. You had bought out the place, refurbished it and set it up as your office. It had taken a better part of the three years after college but now, you were proud of the joint. You were proud of your work neighbors and while the few other colleagues that you did have in the event business mostly comprised of actual décor work, you weren’t complaining.

You loved the solace to plan and prepare. You enjoyed the lack of obstruction and could laze about the office with no one to tell you anything. Part of why you weren’t hiring an assistant.

Now, though, staring at the sheaf of papers, you wondered if you should start looking for someone appropriate. You hadn’t been completely truthful to Yoongi.

The event business rarely ever dried out. Your clientele was mostly the rich and the powerful, all of whom enjoyed having their luxury and money be flaunted. A nice bit of it went in your pocket and in return they didn’t have to worry about a single damn thing for their lavish parties, galas, balls and what not’s.

You had been especially busy the last week, seeing as your own…troubles had made your vision go astray. You had to staunchly remind yourself that you were a career woman first.

You had stepped into the office on a bright Monday, with your head straight and sat behind your office desk, turned the chair so you wouldn’t be tempted to look out the window and set to work.

You wrote a jam packed schedule out, dreading the way your body was going to hurt when you ended the day but it had somehow worked out. Nothing that a good soak wouldn’t cure…

Maybe you should book a spa day with a friend.

When you started arriving to the business places, it started a string of phone calls with questions, negotiations, offers, and you had to stretch out on the office couch with your head down – unable to keep sitting in one position for nearly four hours.

After calls, you had to check locations.

While you loved the cavernous halls, concert stadiums, and twirling about in the grassy plots, it was usually also filled with a lot of talk about maintenance, damage control, security, issues that might come up with a nasty guest, staffing. These were the times you remembered that anything that was that beautiful would usually come with a lot of work and worry.

Thankfully, your clients had more than enough money to skate over such matters.

More often than not, these events also needed you to show up, sometimes decked head to toe, looking like a star on a red carpet or understated for the more sober charity programs, offering your own support for the ones you saw doing halfway good in the world.

These events were also useful in securing your position in the world, making your current clients come back due to your stability and attract new ones. The mingling, the giggling, the smart conversations and importantly pretense that you knew what you were up to had helped you frame yourself and put you in the workings of the powerful and mighty.

You didn’t always love it, the strain of appearances taking a toll more often than not. But you knew you were important, and in this day and pace, you knew you needed it.

Of course, this week you had worked yourself to a thread. You came in early, went home at ridiculous hours and even then, you took your work back home, finishing and prepping because you had been slipping.

Slipping in your relationship, didn’t mean you had to fail what you had worked so hard for.

“I did it. I…released a statement, one that said I was not committed and single. I was going to have to someday and management was pressuring me way too much. Namjoon helped me do it today. It’ll probably be up in the news by tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s words flooded from his abused lips; the plumper lower one trembling as he fixed his eyes straight at you, hands drawing closer till he was fidgeting with his hemline. Not once did his eyes waver.

You stayed still, letting his words wash over you.

Sometime during his words, the glow of the afternoon party had worn off.

“Oh,” you mustered finally, turning away slowly, heading further into the house.

For once, you did not hear Jungkook call after you.

The house seemed to tunnel, throwing long shadows as you walked through it. You stopped near the door to slip off your shoes, curling and uncurling your toes. There was a slight coolness around the edges of your soles, most likely from where the watered grass had soaked into the shoes.

The kitchen light stayed on, noiseless but somehow the weight of his presence followed you around. You didn’t want to read too much into it.

He was probably just giving you space again. He knew sometimes you needed a minute or two to yourself to sort your thoughts out. It didn’t have to mean that he was scared or was hiding something more from you.

You had to be reading too much into it. You had already briefly wondered if maybe your harsh aloofness and jerky avoidances were the reason why he was acting so jittery.

Of course, now we know he was just stressing about telling you about the announcement.

Your arms felt robotic, going through the motions of unzipping the dress, letting it pool onto the floor around you. At a point, there had been times when Jungkook solely took responsibility of unzipping your dresses, simply because he loved the domestic intimacy of it. Now, he stayed in one part of the house, with you and your heart cornered in another.

You stepped into the shower, hot and pulsating upon your skin and all the while you could hear your heartbeats echo the drips of the water. You exhaled deeply, counting.

One…two…three…water washed down your back, flooding down the drain.

Four…five…six…the thuds that beat on your head and deafened your ears were merciful, blinding you and robbing away your thought processes from the onslaught of heat and relief.

Seven…eight…nine…he was a single man…no longer attached to you…

You shuddered, the number ten falling from your lips out loud and you close your eyes, resting your head against the fogged glass surface.

There was so much you wanted to do.

You wanted to scream, at yourself for putting you in this situation, at him for thinking it was okay to do so. And now that he had accepted your stupid proposal, what now? What was going to happen now?

You also wanted clarification. Did he mean it when he said that you could’ve forgotten everything about that one wretched date and moved on with no repercussions?

You didn’t know, maybe you just doubted it. You doubted it that you could’ve walked out of that restaurant after he had spit out his company’s demands at you, holding hands and giggling.

You knew you couldn’t have walked away that easily. Those demands would’ve come back sooner or later. Even if Jungkook handled it himself, he would have to succumb to those demands. Where would that have left you then?

Nowhere nice, you decided. It was going to end up on the negative either way.

Your hand shot out to shut off the shower, the ends of your hair allowing you a few more seconds of reprieve before you had to step out of the haze.

Drying off and getting dressed in a numb daze; you were met again with another decision. But you made that one in a hurry, not wanting it to weigh on your conscience as well.

The pink rabbit pajama set had been a joke, because ever since Jungkook and you had moved in together, you had only worn an old ratty t-shirt of his to bed, till the holes had become, well, indecent.

Wearing that set must’ve sent a message, you thought, because when Jungkook finally entered your bedroom, meek and folded into himself, something had clouded his eyebrow further but you only closed your eyes, mumbling out a goodnight that he may or may not have heard.

Jungkook changed in that same awful silence that had filled the apartment since you’d entered it.

You stayed turned on your side, eyes firmly closed but your hair stood on end, hyper aware of every movement he made. You knew when his shirt came off and he put on another one, you heard the light push and pull of the dresser drawer and then the sound of running water as he brushed his teeth.

Finally when he came to the bed, he hesitated for a split second before getting in and there was another pause.

Your eyes opened, wondering if he was going to try and pull you close to him again but he only sighed lightly, and then the light flicked off.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Your eyes stayed open for a good few hours of the night, dozing off when starlight faded from the window panes. There were only a few inches of space between the two sleeping bodies, but the fissures that had cracked and opened stretched as long as the silence.

You had been right in thinking that the news of Jungkook’s singleness would spread like wildfire.

When you opened your laptop the very next day, the first thing you were greeted with was a large picture of Jungkook, looking dazzling in an all black suit and with an intense look on that heartbreaking face splashed all over your news feed.

You took a moment to slide further into the couch, just looking at the picture.

It was taken at an up and coming red carpet, you remembered because you had went over the finalized arrangements, as part of your contract with Bighit as an event manager. You had went over the event with a fine toothed comb, a precision that had made many people nervous and work harder for the show to be perfect.

It was one of Jungkook’s first ever appearances, and he had been an absolute gem. The suit, fit him like a glove, emphasizing his assets and you had personally went over his hair, simply because you had had the means and opportunity.

It had been a fun conversation at home of course. The scalpel sharp focus that you had awarded this one show was enough to make Jungkook start joking about how you were biased and how other people would be jealous of how much attention he was getting. He’d tickled you on the couch and you had blurted out that he was right.

Of course, to him it seemed like you had just relented to get out of his hold but it wasn’t much of a lie.

You wanted Jungkook to be a success, you would’ve staked anything for him to hit it big. You had put your own job to use so he would shine like the star he was.

You had been grateful it worked. So, so grateful that you had gladly refuted various jobs just to accommodate Bighit. They were amazing ones too.

You sighed, removing your eyes from the picture that reminded you of when things had been simpler. Then you decided to scroll further, to cement what your boyfriend had already told you.

Idol Jungkook confirms ‘Single’ status

Among many rumors and gossip that has surrounded the world of entertainment; one that has been impenetrable was the relationship status of the young Mr. Jeon Jungkook. Known as the ‘Golden Child’ and protected fiercely by his company, he is one of Big hit’s priceless jewels, always popping up alone.

Rumors about the young idol started going haywire after his big break with the song ‘Begin’ and have continued to grow online. Is he gay? Does he have a secret girlfriend? All these questions then snowballed till it was rumored Mr. Jeon was married and had seven children.

However, Dispatch media had taken it upon themselves to uncover the secret life of Jungkook, to show the Idol in his full glory. Their idea is if he hasn’t got anything to hide, then why not come forward and say it.

Well, this just in, Bighit has launched an official response against Dispatch’s claims stating the Idol is very much single. According to the Idol himself, he feels right now, is the time to focus on his expanding career and build his brand name.

“I recognize that fans are curious and want to know more about me. Honestly, though, I’m really not interesting,” The Idol claims, to a flurry of laughter.

“I’m really concentrating on my work right now. So, I’m too busy to think much about anything in the relationship department. I don’t want to put a partner into that kind of situation where she has to keep waiting for me. Anyway, I’m not going to just get in any serious thing right now, right? I’m too young for that kind of commitment. This is the time for people at my age to date around, get to know more and exciting people.”

Well, the Idol seems to have his life planned. Who are we to stand in the way of such talent?

Stay tuned for more news!

Your eyes stopped at the last paragraph, reading through his words again and again.

“I’m not going to just get in any serious thing right now, right? I’m too young for that kind of commitment. This is the time for people at my age to date around, get to know more and exciting people.”

His own words, words that he had spoken out loud, to that damn press conference.

When had Dispatch put a trace on him? Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t the company?

The only answer you could come up with was the company had started seeing you as a liability. You were being much more open when Jungkook had to be more careful; careful that a girlfriend would take away his fans, his reputation, and his clout.

So they put Jungkook in that position, they had asked him to choose between his relationship and his career.

And you knew what his answer had been…

You shook your head, closing out of that news article, refusing to put up with it. It was just a damn announcement. He was still there. He had agreed to your proposal, hadn’t he? He had done so to keep you. He had asked you to forget about what he’d said.

He had kept it from you…

You opened twitter, against your better judgment, but that was human nature wasn’t it? The need to dig and burrow into an injury because it provided a strange, a bitter catharsis; the need to validate yourself, not in your might, but in your flaws, it was human nature, a powerful one.

And you had never been one to fight impulse much…

Twitter was still somewhat safe, most of your follows were of work related accounts, you followed the entertainment sector of course, you knew them, were friends with them, worked with them but none of them were a good peek into the fandom culture.

So you searched. You put down the necessary keywords and began to drive the proverbial knife into your chest.

Well, that’s a relief. Boy needs to play the field.

Bullshit, he probably has a girl stashed somewhere.

No need to lie sweetie, we see the way you look at Kim Namjoon.

I think it’s shitty that Dispatch put him on the spot like that. He’s just a kid; he doesn’t owe you hoes anything.

Some people don’t care about talent, just gossip.

Imagine him coming up and saying he’s dating some bitch loll

I’m glad he has sense; any girl who dates him would only be doing it for the fame and money

You delusional fans, he’s never going to date you so shut up

How long do you think before Dispatch releases proof that he’s got a chick?

Dispatch sucks anyway

Jungkook can’t possibly be with anyone seriously. It would just be a fling.

I think it’s better he dates idols anyway, he deserved the world

Well, not all of it was bad…but not all of it was nice.

You knew the hazards that came with being Jungkook’s girlfriend. If anything both he and you actively tried to keep your feeds free of the negativity but Jungkook was young, and gorgeous. It was obvious many fans would lose their attraction to his talent if his appeal was compromised in anyway.

You glanced at a few of the comments again before shutting the laptop completely.

You had expected to work, but now nothing seemed to pass through the cloud of cold hopelessness that had seeped within you. Something told you Jungkook wouldn’t be too happy if he realized you had gone sniffing through tabloids and let yourself get this way but you had no choice.

You had no one to go to now. You couldn’t talk to Jungkook about this if all he was going to do was pepper you with adoring reassurances and promise to fix things when they were already getting out of hand.

You went back to your brazen dates outside, where you’d spent more money on keeping the staff quiet than on the meal, simply to enjoy a date like a normal couple.

It was crushing, the feeling of powerlessness. You could do nothing against it; in fact you’d helped to chip away at your own relationship.

But you would be damned if you let them win. If Jungkook didn’t outright want to leave you, no one could make him.

You cracked your knuckles, steeling yourself. You had to keep fighting, no matter what they threw at you.

Only question was; was Jungkook as willing as you?

The wood of your foyer was cool when you undid your shoes, slipping them neatly into their rightful places in the shoe cabinet. Slinging it shut, you picked up your bags of itineraries, printed schedules, location brochures and other paperwork dealing with your trade. You were relieved that you had invested in a heavy gurney bag, aside from the environmental healthy proceedings, you were sure that a simple plastic or paper bag would’ve ripped easily under such weight.

You had had to drop the bags twice in the elevator and to the way to your car, but you finally managed to lug it till the living room armchair before giving up, heaving a tired if not burdened sigh.

Yet another batch of work to do, yet another week to not have to think about anything but who was celebrating what, why, where and when…

You dropped into the armchair, almost at the brink of chuckling at your current state.

You used to be an individual of philosophies to balance work and personal life. No business interfered when you were taking you time and vice versa but now, it seemed like your personal life had been reduced to a void. Work had taken over you completely yet you weren’t regretful.

Home used to be something that you enjoyed, but now being here only made that strange crushing weight crash down on you, squeezing your lungs till you couldn’t breathe. You were drowning in helplessness and working to an end, at least gave you the illusion that you still held power in some aspect of your life.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, somewhat blearily. The film of haze that covered your eyes blurred the figure standing in the hallway of the apartment and you blinked rapidly clearing your line of sight.

Jungkook stood there, an apron tied to his front, a metal spoon in his hand as he looked back at you, curious.

“Hi,” you mumbled.

“Are you ok?”

You nodded, sitting up and rubbing at your eyes with the base of your palms. The sudden appearance of Jungkook had set you upright, a defense mechanism to protect against any form of shock that could be thrown at you.

“What are you doing here?”

The question came out harsher than you meant for it to be. You had only meant to ask why he wasn’t at the studio but it sounded as if you didn’t want him in your home and by the flinch you saw cross his face, bravely covered by the twitch of his nose, you knew he had taken it as an accusation.

“You’ve been coming home late every day, Y/N. I got worried so I came to check on you.” Jungkook approached slowly, as if cautious of your reaction to his proximity. Gently, he lifted the metal spoon, “I even made you some dinner. We can eat…together.” He offered.

You looked from the utensil then back to him. Those big doe eyes of his were colored in hope, glittering brown almost melting at you to indulge him. It was your weakness, and the beaming smile that lit up his face when you nodded in adherence was enough to make you falter in your icy composure.

Jeon Jungkook was entirely your weakness and no matter how cold you held yourself, every nuanced action, thawed it out. Nothing, however, could evaporate that dark abyss of despair, though. Not with him so close, not when you knew he knew that he was young, gorgeous…that he needed to play the field.

So you ate with him, in silence. He insisted to serve you at the kitchen table, setting out plates of fried rice and grilled meat that was his specialty. You internally keened at the glazed sauce he stripped the protein in, but a thin smile was all that slipped out, eyes downcast even as Jungkook made an overly elaborate show of bending over to check your expression.

He seemed mollified by the show of emotion because he resumed his place in front of you, lifting his spoon.

“So, tell me all about your work. You’ve been spending so much time back at the office; it must be something big right? I was starting to feel that I should just move in there with you.”

You paused in your motion of spooning rice into your mouth.

In the past year when you had cemented this relationship and all of the months before that had gone into the both of you courting each other, the point of moving in together had only ever been brought up as a joke. Of course, he spent almost all his time here, rarely ever going back to his – admittedly much more luxurious home. There had only been a handful of times when you and he had not gone to bed together. One of them had been when he was giving you ‘space’ after that one date.

You knew that eventually you would have to move in together fully. Your own place was no joke, it was a pretty shiny expenditure on your part and he had contributed more in this place than he had stepped foot in his own home but now…

Well, now you were barely making week’s string together to last through this painful phase of your relationship. All your hopes, as to a future…they were gone. They had disappeared the moment you had slid the piece of paper written with your rules over to Jungkook.

It was so easy for him to bring up that joke, while you were sinking, while you could no longer taste the dinner he had so obviously cooked for you.

You stared down at the decorated plate. He had actually brought out the nice dinner plates for this dinner.

“Beautiful?”

You looked back up at the man opposite to you, the pet name so easy to fall from his lips, so familiar for you to react to as if it were your own name.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I…I, don’t feel so good. I don’t think I can eat.”

Jungkook stopped mid-bite. His eyes flashed to the plateful of food that you had only just made a dent in. “You haven’t eaten even a single bite. What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?” He made to stand but you had already gotten to your feet, carrying away the plate to cover it and put into the fridge.

“No, I don’t. It’s probably the late hours. I think I just need to take it easy.”

Jungkook looked at you as if he was trying to peek through to your soul, trying to unravel what was actually wrong with you. “Um,” he looked at his own plate. “Fine, how about we…watch the TV a bit? I’m done eating anyway.”

“No, Jungkook, you should finish.” You immediately began and thankfully, Jungkook listened. He lifted up his plate, quietly following you to the living room where you quickly deposited yourself in the armchair. Jungkook didn’t seem to process the move, as he sat back on the couch, eating as you flicked through the channels.

When he was done, he tried to make conversation, picking up where you’d left off – on your work.

You muttered about the places, about the people, about the calls when you noticed his eyes drift from you to the TV. You slowed in your tirade, stopping abruptly.

There it was again, that feeling of breathlessness again. Tears threatened at the back of your eye, but you weren’t crying, it was mostly a reflex.

What you were saying wasn’t interesting. You weren’t interesting. He should be dating people like him, people that garnered his attention and held it because he was passionate about what was being discussed.

The people on twitter had been right after all.

You swallowed loudly.

“Babe, you were saying?” Jungkook called suddenly; making you jump, turn to him in surprise.

“What?”

“You were saying you had to make some calls but then you stopped.” He grinned teasingly. “The movie’s not even that interesting. I’m not holding your attention tonight?”

You mouthed unheard words, wide-eyed and not answering.

Your own thoughts, turned at you, fickle and mocking, but with none of the gravity that threatened to sweep you down with it.

“I…” you stuttered, catching Jungkook’s grin flicker, eyebrow creasing. “That’s it. Your turn now; what are you working on?”

Jungkook hesitated. “Nothing really special,” he said offhandedly.

You stared at him for a while, his gaze still confused and concerned. You couldn’t find it in yourself to soothe him though. So you did what you did best.

“I’m going to get to bed now. I’ve to be at work early.”

Late at night, when Jungkook joined you after cleaning up, you felt him press up against you, despite you trying your level best to appear asleep.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You only took an exaggerated inhale.

It wasn’t usually that your best friend would leave the sanctity of his recording house and grace your office with his presence and the alluring scent of your favorite Chinese takeout.

“I didn’t know if I should get burgers and fries and those huge shakes you love or not. Figured Chinese was the best deal,” He grunted in the face of your shit eating grin.

“Aw, Yoongles just admit it. You missed me.” You cooed at him, his ears burning red even as he scoffed back at you, placing the food containers neatly at your desk and taking a seat.

“I didn’t miss you, you big pain in my butt.” He watched you as he flicked the container of his steamed dumplings open, grabbing for chopsticks. “I was just checking up on you.”

“Checking up on me,” You laughed. “What for, I’m fine.”

Yoongi hummed, digging into the cardboard box. You eyed him, reaching for some of the chowmein and waiting. Yoongi, being a man of few words himself, knew when to wait people out. He had been using that same method for years now and you had become adept as keeping yourself away from his sly tricks.

So when he finally let out an irritated exhale, you had to muffle a snicker.

“Y/N,” he snapped before his eyes softened, “I saw the article.” He said, slowly, inching towards the subject as if you were going to jump across the table and throttle him.

You prided yourself on your poker face, even thought you had never once won a game, having never bothered to actually learn the game. “What article?”

“You know which article.”

It was official, even as you pretended to be struggling with your chopsticks. “Oh, that one,” you shrugged. “Me too,”

Yoongi lowered the dumpling from his mouth.

“And you’re still fine then,”

Another shrug from you, “What were you expecting? The article wasn’t a shock, given Jungkook’s status. Besides the photo they picked was good, right?”

Your best friend nodded. “It was indeed, I remember it being one of yours.”

You nodded, still looking into your food. “Yep, one of my best ones too,”

Yoongi huffed. “He should’ve been more considerate.”

You rolled your eyes at the comment. “Come on, Yoongi, you and I both know that he had nothing to do with the editing process.”

“Y/N, in an ideal situation, he would have nothing to do with any of this at all.” Yoongi picked up the dumpling again, going quiet. “You have a choice in the matter too, you know.” He said quietly.

You stopped fiddling with the food, simply staring at the noodles. Each long strand of deliciously glazed strand, curling around diced veggies and meat and pepper.

“Maybe, but I really, really, don’t see a way out of this right now.”

“Well, you’re never going to feel otherwise if you keep bottling shit in.” Yoongi placed at the container on the table and got to his feet, rounding the table to you. He grabbed your food and put it on the table as well, leaning against it with his arms crossed.

If anyone had swung by, they’d think you were getting scolded from the frown on his face.

“Have you even talked to him about it? Has he asked or talked about it with you?”

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes again. “No, I don’t think he even knows I’ve read it. He was…so sweet, Yoongi. He is actually trying and…I’m just making things worse.”

“Y/N, at a point when you two should’ve announced your relationship to the world, or maybe kept it hidden still, no one cares, you let him go about announcing he was single. Hell, you basically cut him loose! If anything, he should be making this effort if he wants to keep you.” Yoongi told you severely.

You looked away.

“Y/N, communication works both ways.”

You finally looked at him, meeting his eyes head on to see sympathy, concern but most importantly solidarity in them. You smiled, nodding.

“I’ll talk to him. I promise.”

You went home early that evening. It was odd, after having put in a new schedule, going back to the old one but you did. You put your work papers neatly into their correct drawers and folders. You set out a schedule for the next day, logged out of your computer and after a glance around, locked your office and left, only your purse in hand.

The apartment was empty when you got home, thankfully. The last time you’d been there hoping to put in some effort for Jungkook, he’d thrown you with some shock but you were going to not think about that, decidedly. After all, you had promised Yoongi you would talk to Jungkook and even if you hadn’t…

Well, you knew this was coming, didn’t you?

Just because you’d shaken some rules in his face didn’t mean you both would magically know how to navigate through this maze life had dropped you into. No, this was necessary and after the way you’d behaved when he’d tried to make some attempts at rekindling, you knew this was long overdue.

So, the moment you were in and your shoes were off, you changed into something comfy and began serious work in the kitchen.

You roasted some potatoes and baked the chicken you’d purchased on your way home. Squeezing lemons and frying greens into the skillets, you tasted and seasoned, hoping that the taste would add to the apology you were going to make.

To say that you were overly nervous when you’d finally set out the food on the coffee table in front of the TV and heard the door unlock with his keys, then his boots padding onto the wooden foyer was an understatement.

You paused, listening as he stopped there, the rummaging with the cabinet before he appeared, a tongue poking in his cheek, looking around. He didn’t spot you first thing, and you watched on fondly as he popped his tongue out and then yawned, scratching a hand through his thick dark head.

He turned then and you froze like a deer in headlight.

For his part, Jungkook handled his reaction superbly.

His eyes widened at first, eyelashes fluttering as he took in the appearance of you in home clothes and the carefully arranged food on the table. Then he swallowed twice and let out a wide smile.

“Baby, you’re home.” He walked over, taking a deep whiff of the steaming food platters before he was wrapping his arms around you, naturally, instinctively. “This smells great.”

In the not so distant past, this normal act would’ve set you off, bringing up questions and insecurities and while something still nagged, you quelled it fiercely, basking in his embrace as he bent to take a sniff at your hair. “Mm, you smell better.”

You laughed, pushing him away unsuccessfully. “I haven’t even taken a shower. I just changed and started cooking.”

“Yeah but,” another sniff, “you smell like my favorite cheese.”

“Ok, that’s just gross.”

“Not at all, I’m just…cheesy.” Jungkook dropped an exaggerated wink on you and you huffed, managing to wiggle away.

“Let’s just eat before it gets cold.” You said, dishing out copious amounts of the chicken and potatoes onto the same plates he’d used – the extra fancy ones.

It was quiet in the room, the only sounds comprising of clattering spoons and low sounds of chewing, the ones that indicate that the food is scrumptious.

“Well,” Jungkook grinned hugely, after the plates had been washed and dried, after the leftovers were wrapped and put away. “That was an amazing dinner. I missed this.”

The last part was said in a much lower tone but you caught it anyway, a fresh new wave of guilt coming down on you, along with the reminder of the promise you’d made to Yoongi.

“Jungkook,” you called and he stopped, turning around to you, a smile still lingering on his pretty lips.

You leaned against the island you were clearing, palms flat on the tile. “I came back early today, because…um, I – I know I’ve been kind of…out of it, lately. I haven’t been giving you much time and when we were together, I was really…I just want to say sorry.” You mumbled out, making yourself meet his eye.

Jungkook’s smile softened, a frown joining it. “Baby, that’s fine. I know you’ve been busy this week. I saw those huge files.”

“No, that’s just it. I wasn’t that busy. All the paper you saw, I could’ve easily dealt with back at the office. I just…I kept bringing back work that I had already finished. I told myself it was because I wanted to review them so everything would be perfect but…it’s just, I guess all I was doing was hiding.”

Jungkook had moved closer to the island as you spoke. “Hiding…from what exactly…?” He prompted.

You just gave him a look. “I think you know. Jog your mind a bit.” You said.

It was gold, watching his pupils shake, contemplating the various things that would’ve resulted into you pulling away. You could literally see the moment a light bulb went off.

“The article; you found it…you read It.” he said softly, eyes still distant in realization. “Wait,” his eyes snapped in focus. “Why didn’t you tell me you read it?”

You snickered. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“No, but - so, that’s why you were ‘hiding’? You were all withdrawn and shit because of that one hyperlink page of bad journalism?”

You straightened when his voice started to rise. “Why are you getting worked up? You spoke in that reporting didn’t you? How did you think that I wasn’t going to find it? Did you expect me to roll my eyes and leave it unread?”

“I…I guess I was hoping that you would come discuss it with me.”

“Discuss – discuss what exactly, the article was pretty all-inclusive.” You snapped finally. You could still see them, the words, cutting through you now just as they had been emblazoned in your head ever still you’d roved your eyes over them.

“Exactly – Y/N – that report…that interview, it was all closely watched, it was scripted, that dude who took it had his questions edited by my manager. Namjoon Hyung was with me all the time, to see that that the man doesn’t try to slip in anymore questions. He had to ask what we told him, just as much as I had to say what I was told.”

Jungkook sighed. “That is exactly why I was hoping you would come to me. I had to say some…pretty shitty things in that interview. It was disrespectful to you and our relationship. I hated saying those things, I even told Namjoon,”

“Not that he would stop anything like this from happening,” you muttered.

“Y/N,” Jungkook stressed, he walked around the corner to stand in front of you, too close that you couldn’t look anywhere else.

“You know it hurts me too, as much as it hurts you – maybe more, but I can’t do anything about it. You sacrificed something from our relationship and if I just act like a coward and back out now…it’s all for nothing.”

Back out now…back out now from being for all intents and purposes, single? So, he deemed it cowardly to get back into a proper exclusive relationship with you all for the sake of you ‘sacrificing something’.

You looked into his eyes again, and he broke off. You could tell he was comparing right now to that date, just as he had seemingly discussed his future that wouldn’t have you, with you brazenly, he thought he was being pacifying.

He would leave. He would leave and think that it was noble of him.

And you would be alone…

“I don’t want to think about that.” You said out loud and Jungkook responded, slowly taking your hands in his.

“I love you, Y/N. I do.” He swore and this time you didn’t have to look into his eyes to know that he was being sincere.

“Then show me,” you whispered.

“What?”

“Show me,” you said, louder, “please.”

Jungkook left no room for hesitation. He took time to drop your hands, instead wrapping his arms around your waist, drawing you closer to him. He felt solid against you, permanent, comforting. You reached up to entwine your fingers through the strands of his hair, drawing further in, the heat of his breath tantalizing when he kissed you, slow and deep.

It was all encompassing, his touch. Even though his hands remained tight to your hips, you could feel him everywhere. He coaxed your mouth open, his hands now cupping your face. It was like he was putting his all into this one kiss; as if he was showing exactly what you meant to him.

And you soaked it up; each brush of his fingers, every squeeze of his grip and the small pops when your lips pulled and pushed against each other.

Jungkook angled your head back, gaining access as he nibbled over your jawbone, moving across your throat and then latching onto the collarbones, working the skin.

His name slipped out of you, eyes unfocused even as he looked up to you, asking for the next direction. This was about showing that he was all for you and you appreciated it.

“Bedroom,” you mumbled, knowing if Jungkook could, he would have no problems taking you right here in the kitchen. But you wanted this to be intimate; you wanted him on top of you, driving out your insecurities.

Jungkook complied; bending down to easily lift you up into his arms. His steps were quick, almost like he couldn’t wait and you didn’t blame him. It had had been a bit too long.

You were dropped almost unceremoniously onto the mattress, the material bobbing under your weight as you moved back to the headboard, Jungkook following on his hands and knees.

He took your lips again, pressing a hard, deep kiss on them, his tongue mingling with yours in a very familiar dance, one that you both enjoyed participating in. It was a prologue to where his hands would wander, lifting the ratty home clothes you’d donned, tossing them to the floor. Your hands would follow, mirroring his actions.

Very soon Jungkook was naked and warm, on top of you, his mouth, and hands, everywhere. They sent a tingle from your hairline to the tips of your toes, curling them around his calves. You could feel his arousal against your hip, already hard.

He was taking care to not move much, saving the friction, maybe even drawing out the pleasure by torturing himself. But this wasn’t about the torture; it was about the both of you taking comfort from your physical connection. So you reached down, circling his length even as your boyfriend was blissfully unaware, content with kissing you breathless.

The first touch of your hand against his member made his jerk over you, breaking the kiss away to look at you with wide eyes.

“I don’t want you to hold back, baby. Don’t hold anything back.” You explained, his eyes falling at the soothing tone of your voice, lips tucked between his teeth as he rocked with your hands – fucking into your hand in pace.

He was gorgeous, you thought. The way his face scrunched just so, lips flushing from the abuse of his two front teeth, the big nose twitching slightly and the soft lines of his forehead that deepened only when he scowled. Your other hand traced said features, trailing them down his chest.

Jungkook shifted, a hand going to part your legs further to accommodate his body better. He tugged your hand away, lifting it over your head and pinning it by the wrist.

“You want me to show you how much I love you beautiful?” He asked, curling one leg to trap your ankle in place, leaving you no space to wiggle away. He cupped a breast, lowering his head to suckle at a peaking nipple. A hand trailed down your side, stroking through your folds, tapping at the clit.

“Yes,” you sighed.

“How,” the fingers pressed into your entrance, distracting you easily even as your hips moved to slip his fingers in. “How, baby, tell me how?” Jungkook insisted.

“Want you, please,”

One and then two fingers dipped into you, curling and uncurling into your spot as he went, grinning as the sudden jolt had your nipple falling from his mouth.

He loved this, you knew. He loved playing, and you would’ve complained when he pulled away from your pussy but the sight of him engulfing his fingers coated in your arousal in his mouth more than made up for it.

You loved watching him enjoy you more.

Jungkook was holding his cock now, running the swollen head through your glistening folds. His eyes focused on your frame as he pushed in, slow and precise to that one area that had you staring at stars.

He relished the way your body arched for him, prompting him to wrap an arm under you, holding you up at the angle. One elbow supported his weight and he nuzzled into your neck, his lips finding place at your ears.

Each drive of his hips into yours was accompanied with an ‘I love you’ grunted deep where only you could hear him, his presence surrounding you as you held him to you, your nails leaving crescents on his back.

He fucked you through your orgasm, maintaining the deep but slow pace, only quickening when he was reaching his own end. He pulled his arm from under you, your body falling to the mattress as he brushed back your hair.

“Tell me you love me too, baby.” He said, eyes looking for yours to meet him.

You gave him a tired smile. “Of course, I love you. Always have.”

Jungkook grinned sloppily, teeth visibly gritting as he emptied himself within you even as you spoke the words, dropping on top of you, and forehead against yours. His hard panting mixed with yours, sealing a moment.

This wasn’t something you could replace. This, right here was something you’d have forever.

With Jungkook pressed right up against you, arms over you and head nuzzled into your neck, you close your eyes again, taking comfort.

#smutcentralnet #btsbookclub #jungkook smut #bts smut #taehyung smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook #taehyung #bts #bangtan #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader

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joon-ipersgirl · 3 years

Text

O5 - “airplane pt. 2″

genre: strangers to lovers!au, angst, fluff

pairing: jimin x reader (f)

summary: they say home is where the heart is. you’re convinced yours was taken the day your father died. until you meet jimin.

you believe in love but after watching men cycle through your mother’s arms, rocky relations with ex-boyfriends, and broken friendships, you no longer see it in your future. so much so, you never settle in one place long enough to call it home, choosing a job where you’re always on the go and on your own.

on a chance encounter on a flight from new york city to bali, indonesia, you meet. flustered by jimin’s flirty advances but understanding and good-natured tendencies, you start to fall. what starts off as a work-trip soon blossoms into a budding romance, but will jimin’s secret destroy the relationship before it’s had the chance to truly begin?

word count: 5.4k

warnings: cursing, mentions of anxiety, talks of heartbreak

a/n: i thought i should post this while i had the motivation lol. this has a lot of background for their past relationships with a lil twist so i hope you enjoy it. this is the last part i have completed so updates for this story might be a while but winter break is coming up so i should have more time. i just really want to do the next part justice you know? anywhoo. as always, thank you vi for reading this beforehand and pls leave any comments and thoughts in an ask. i’m curious to the reactions of jimin’s relationship history. enjoy everyone and think you for reading!

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

There were no thoughts of Tiago when you woke up that morning. Your cheek was pressed against Jimin’s back as your arm was draped over his upper body and your leg slung over his lower back. His breathing was deep and even as he slept peacefully beside you. You realized you’d technically only taken a nap as no sunlight peeked under the curtain, only the artificial lights from the street signs gently illuminating the room.

The events of last night came rushing back to you and you pulled away from Jimin, surprised at just how bold you’d become.You’d truly felt comfortable enough to share a deep part of your life story with a man that you’d known for two days. A man that you had a crush on. A man that had almost kissed you in the middle of a dive bar in the middle of Hong Kong. Jimin was encroaching on dangerous territory.

A ping! came through on your phone which you realized was across the room with the rest of your things. You groaned at the thought of having to leave the comfortable confines of the bed. Another loud ping! dragged you from the warmth of the sheets, choosing to crawl over Jimin’s legs instead of his lap, remembering the previous morning’s antics. Checking your phone, you saw three unread messages from Michael.

Michael: Good afternoon Y/N! Have you any word on when you’ll arrive in Bali? [1:09]

Michael: So I haven’t received a call or text from you. I assume everything is fine, or Park Jimin has killed you. I hope it’s the former [4:17]

Michael: So clearly he’s killed you. I’ll be sending his name and social security number off to the authorities [4:19]

You snorted at Michael’s messages as you inched your way back into your spot though Jimin had claimed the majority of your space in his sleep. He didn’t stir as you slipped under the covers, but rested his head against your chest as you laid on your back; you didn’t have the heart to move him as you responded to Michael.

You don’t have his social security number Michael. I’m fine. We just had a long night. And our flight is leaving some time this afternoon. I’ll get the details from Jimin and send them to you

[4:22]

Michael: You don’t know that. And a long night? Y/N, don’t tell me you were in the arms of this man when you’ve only known him for at most 2 days [4:24]

So what if I was? You’ve definitely done worse

[4:25]

Michael: You’re right. But this is one of the areas where I don’t lead by example. Please tell me you used protection at least [4:26]

Gross, Michael. Nothing happened. We just went to the museum (I saw Garland Sans) and then went for dinner and some drinks

[4:27]

Michael: A museum, dinner, AND drinks? In ONE night? Sounds like a date. A classy one at that since you said there was no fucking [4:29]

Michael: AND YOU SAW GARLAND SANS WITHOUT ME?! WITH HIM?! HOW DARE YOU! [4:30]

You’re honestly so crude. There was no fucking. It was just a casual hangout, nothing crazy. Also, I didn’t know his work was going to be there. I don’t think it’ll be the same exhibit in New York so we’re fine

[4:33]

Michael: A casual hangout where you forget to text me back? I beg to differ. Spill [4:34]

You chewed on your lip as you stared at Michael’s message. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him what happened; Michael was more than just a manager, he was also like a best friend. The problem was you didn’t really know how to describe last night. You barely understood what had transpired yourself. Throwing caution to the wind, you laid out all the details of the previous night.

Michael: … [4:53]

Michael: Y/N, this man did NOT wine and dine you and you left him hanging out to dry! Have I taught you nothing? [4:54]

Michael: I just - I cannot believe you got lucky like this. Well, not that kind of lucky. Either way, he didn’t actually kiss you so maybe he deserved that. An art curator at that. And he lives in NYC? You really are living in the moment. I’m so happy to hear after that S.O.B. [4:55]

Michael: Wait, does this mean you’re in bed together now?! [4:55]

It wasn’t that type of night! Like you said, I’ve known him for TWO DAYS. We can’t just have sex. And

I guess so; Tiago hasn’t been on my mind as much lately. Yes, Michael. We’re currently still in bed. Jimin’s sleeping

[4:58]

Michael: It’s the 21st century, Y/N. Live a little. You’re a modern-day woman. It’s been a year and a half love, I would hope he wasn’t. Not when you have a man that sounds like he’s sex on legs wrapped around your finger. [5:01]

Michael: Please send a pic. Thanks! [5:02]

He is not wrapped around my finger! And I’m definitely not just going to send you a picture of him sleeping! That’s weird!

[5:05]

Michael: Booo! This would be for the authorities Y/N. Think about your safety [5:07]

I am. So safe from you and your antics when I’m on the other side of the world. I’m going to shower, I’ll text you later

[5:09]

Michael: Oh you’re a dirty girl! Ask Jimin to join you. Remember to text me the flight details [5:12]

You chuckled at Michael’s attempt to make you uncomfortable. There was no way in hell you would do that. Jimin wasn’t wrong when he said you could barely look at him with clothes on and you blushed as the increasingly inappropriate thoughts tried to break through the barrier of unconsciousness and consciousness. You felt Jimin tug you closer as you tried to slip out of his grip again.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, still half asleep.

“To go take a shower,” you said while trying to push him off you.

“No,” he whined. “Don’t leave me.” He snuggled closer and you laughed.

“Let go, Jimin. I smell gross; I’m basically leaking alcohol from my pores at this point.”

“I don’t care. You’re warm and I want to sleep more.”

“You can still sleep while I go and shower.” You pinched his side and he jerked away from you. His glare was comical as he struggled to locate you with sleep-heavy eyes. “So you’re ticklish? Good to know.”

“You’re mean,” he pouted as he rolled over onto his stomach after you’d successfully vacated the bed. “And it’s early as fuck. Wake me up when it’s a reasonable hour to be a human being.”

“You don’t even know what time it is,” you mumbled as you closed the door on any reply Jimin could make.

You welcomed the sting of the hot water against your shoulders, soothing the knots in the back of your neck. Letting the water run through your hair, you smoothed it out of your face. Massaging your scalp was therapeutic nowadays, especially since it was so much shorter. You hadn’t grown it out in a year and a half, now enjoying the short dry time and the new woman you were; Tiago would have hated it. You sighed as he resurfaced and you washed him away again with the simple smelling body wash. By the time you were dressed in your last clean emergency clothing, your hair was already drying.

The smell of coffee welcomed you as you sat down to add the final touches to your Saipan video. It wasn’t hard to get lost in editing, your brain working overtime to adjust the exposure of the film, fade out the titles, and sync up the music. You relished the peacefulness of the early morning quiet, your life seeming to return to its normal rhythm even if just for a few moments. Your moleskine journal with edited itinerary notes sat next to the steaming second cup of black coffee just as the breakfast rush started to roll in and along with them an extremely flustered Jimin.

“Y/N!” he crashed into the seat opposite you. “I thought you left!” His backpack sat beside yours on the floor as you stared at him confused.

“Where could I have possibly gone, Jimin?”

“I don’t know. You weren’t there when I woke up and neither was your stuff. I thought I overstepped last night and made you uncomfortable,” he said. Droplets of water fell from his hair and onto his white t-shirt. Your face softened.

“I needed some coffee. And to get some work done. You really thought I would have left you?” you asked curiously.

He shrugged and pushed his hand through his damp hair. “What reason would you have to stay?”

You opened your mouth and closed it. Jimin was right. You didn’t have to stay. It was possible that you could have just gone to the airport, given them your name, and be set - though that would have made for an awkward conversation whenever Jimin arrived as your seats were next to one another. You watched him head over to grab some food, greeting Sonia in passing, as he piled his plate high. He returned shortly after with Sonia and handed you a plate of fruit.

“She says you’ve been down here for hours and haven’t touched a thing; you need to eat. And she wanted to know if you enjoyed yesterday.” Sonia stood at the end of the table expectantly.

“It was really great. The museum was incredible. I really can’t thank you enough. And Jimin was a great tour guide. Did she see the pictures?” Jimin shook his head, his mouth stuffed with food as usual, before he thumbed the polaroids out of his wallet. Sonia cooed and the two of them chatted again, a slight blush overtaking the tips of Jimin’s ears.

“She said you look really beautiful and she’s happy you enjoyed yourself so much.” You thanked her as you chewed on a grape, wondering what else Jimin had left out of his translation. Too much was said for it to be condensed into a two-part sentence.

“What time is our flight leaving, Jimin? Michael wants me to send him the details.”

“So flight leaves at 1:40 pm and we board at 1:10 ish -“

“Holy fuck Jimin!” You slammed your laptop shut. “It’s 12:17! We have to go. Now. Fuck!” You shoved your journal into your backpack, the chair almost tipping back as you shot up from your seat. It took a few seconds for Jimin to realize just how far away from the airport you were before he too was out of his chair and shoving the last piece of pastry into his mouth. Sonia looked alarmed as you tried to return your dirty dishes until Jimin explained and she grabbed the plates out of your hands and yelled for William.

You bounced your leg as you watched William weave through the midday traffic. The leather of the seat bench stuck to the underside of your thighs. Lunch hour traffic in Hong Kong was just as bad as in New York and you willed yourself to remain calm as you cruised down the highway. The wind roared through the open windows and whipped your hair around your face. It was torture leaving the fate of your on-time arrival in the hands of a man you had literally met yesterday in a pickup truck that you were sure was a few years older than you. You envied Jimin’s ability to look peacefully out of the window at the bustling city while the coil of nerves bundled tight in your belly rolling like the waves of the deep sea.

Michael had not texted you back and you worried that somehow your phone service had been cut off again. An irrational thought because it was nearing 1 am in New York, but your brain had seemed to have left rationale back with Sonia. The comfort that your early morning wake up had given you in addition to the previous night’s adventures had been ripped away from you. It was no longer only you and Jimin in the back seat; anxiety had squeezed in beside you. Tears pricked your eyes in frustration as you prayed you wouldn’t have another delay in finally getting to Bali.

“Don’t worry, Shutterfly. We’re going to make it. You’re not missing this flight. I promise,” Jimin said to you as William followed the signs for the departure terminal. You could barely offer him a smile as the looming structure that was Hong Kong International Airport grew closer.

William pulled his truck over to the sidewalk between a Kia and a Buick, the vehicle looking extremely ancient compared to the other two. “Have a safe flight. And Sonia expects to see you both again soon okay?” William declared. Jimin hopped down and turned to help you out of the truck.

“We’ll do our best,” Jimin muttered, glancing at you. “Thank you for everything, William. I’ll let you know when we land.”

“Thank you, William. It really meant a lot, you taking me in and stuff,” you added and he gave your shoulder a squeeze through the open window as Jimin shut the door.

“You two should hurry. Go,” he shooed you towards the terminal doors. Jimin said goodbye once more and then was pulling you through the automatic doors.

The two of you breezed through the other passengers checking their luggage as you used the machine kiosks bypassing any potential cheery airline workers. Jimin trailed behind you as you zipped through the slow-moving passengers, your eyes focused on the glass doors leading towards the security checkpoint.

“Hey! Slow down, Shutterfly. We’re going to make it, even if we have to run,” Jimin said as he picked up his pace to catch up with you. You did not want to have to run. You had never run for a flight in your entire life and you did not want to start now. You bounced from side to side as you moved painstakingly slow towards the immigration officer perched on her high chair. It was already 1 pm, but no one else seemed concerned, probably actually on time for their flight. You rolled your shoulders, trying to loosen the tension nestled between them.

“It’s okay, Y/N. It’s okay.” Jimin slipped his hand under your hair, his thumb rubbing gentle circles between the base of your neck and shoulders. You sighed and removed his hand, turning to face him.

“It’s not okay, Jimin. I don’t even know if they have my bag,” you huffed. You stepped forward to hand your passport and boarding pass to the officer.

“I’m sure they do, darling. As long as you have your -”

“I remember what you said about the tag, Jimin. That doesn’t change the fact that I could land in Bali without my bag. I don’t even have enough time to ask someone about it,” you snapped while placing your camera bags into the grey bins, your shoes following after. Jimin said nothing further as he emptied his own backpack, the book he had been reading more dog-eared than when you first saw it along with a leatherbound book.

Just as you were passing through the body scanner, an announcement blared through the terminal. “This is the last boarding call for passengers Park Jimin and Y/N Y/LN on flight 7860 with services to Bali, Indonesia at Gate C9. Again, would passengers Park Jimin and Y/N Y/L/N please report to Gate C9 for flight 7860 to Bali, Indonesia? Thank you.”

“Shit,” you exclaimed, shoving your hands through your hair as another TSA officer looked over your scan. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“Alright, you’re good.” You didn’t wait for the last word to spill from his mouth before you were back in front of the conveyor belt waiting for your stuff to pass through its own scanner. Quickly and as carefully as you could, you zipped your cameras back up and tucked them into your backpack. Your hands were shaking.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I got you!” Jimin called out as he moved around you. He was already packed up and taking off by the time you’d secured your things. You stared in disbelief as you watched him run through the departure terminal, not caring how many people stared at him. It looked like you would be doing the same.

You chased after him, clutching your passport and phone in your hand, chest heaving as you watched Jimin’s head disappear further into the crowd. Fuck, he was fast. You dodged the small children that waddled along with their parents and the elderly couples that squinted up at the screens to find their correct gates. Your legs burned as you pushed through the pain, the hallways of the airport being much longer than you remembered. You couldn’t afford to miss this flight.

Rounding the corner to gate C9, the seats were empty. The rest of the passengers had already boarded the plane. A few of the airline employees milled around getting ready to close the gate. One was arguing with Jimin who refused to walk through the doors so they couldn’t close it.

“Look! There she is. I told you!” Jimin was standing in the doorway leading down the aircraft gangway, blocking the airline employees from closing the door. They looked highly irritated.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

“Yes, that’s me. I’m so sorry!” you apologized while handing over your boarding pass for it to be scanned. Your face felt hot from all the attention but you pushed it down. There was nothing else to worry about.

“Have a safe flight,” the employee mumbled as he handed you back the pass. You smiled, relieved.

Jimin grinned at you as he jogged towards the plane, his hair bouncing with every step. “I told you we wouldn’t miss the flight, Shutterfly.”

Ignoring all the nasty looks you received as you walked down the aisle of the plane, you and Jimin flopped down into your respective seats, tired from your sprint to the gate. The usual airplane routine started up as the plane left the gate and you relaxed in your seat as you watched the tarmac roll by through the window. Running was not your forte and you wondered if you should have considered Michael’s offer to be his plus one at Planet Fitness more seriously. You could feel the sweat bead around your hairline. A shower would be great once you reached your accommodations. You sat up abruptly.

“Fuck,” you whispered, grabbing your phone.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asked, fastening his seatbelt.

Scrolling through your numerous email notifications, you saw the one you were praying wouldn’t be there. Airbnb reservation canceled in the subject line. Fuck.

“Ma’am, could you please turn off your cell phone or switch it to airplane mode? The plane is getting ready for departure,” a stewardess chided you. You nodded and tucked it back into your pocket, dazed. In 5 hours and 5 minutes, you would be landing in Ngurah Rai International Airport with nowhere to stay for 9 days. Shit.

“You’re chewing your lip again.”

“Huh?” You looked over at Jimin who was still reading The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, his body feigning disinterest but you knew he was paying attention to you.

“You were chewing your lip. It’s your tell-tale sign that something’s wrong,” he replied as he turned the page. You opened your mouth to protest but closed it quickly. He was right.

“How did you know though?” you asked, tucking your hair behind your ear, now extremely conscious that he had been observing you.

“What are you worrying about? Your project? Y/N, it’s going to be amazing. This is what you love doing, right? You can do it,” Jimin encouraged, bookmarking his page and looking at you.

“I don’t know, Jimin. A romantic getaway? That displays passion and love? Those are things I haven’t felt in a very long time,” you noted. The memories of Tiago swirled at the corners of youe mind and you sighed in frustration that you thought about him again.

“Bullshit,” he said. Jimin tucked his book into the seatback pocket in front of him. “Love doesn’t have to only be romantic, Y/N. There are so many incredible forms of love out there. The love people have for their families, for their jobs, for their - I don’t know - neighbors they only see on Sundays because they do laundry at the same time. We love just because. There really doesn’t have to be a reason,” he finished. You stared at him. His brown eyes were bright with passion and his face was set in determination to convince you what he was saying was true. You were amazed at his belief in his own words.

“Do you think you could say that again? On film, though.” He laughed at you as you went to pull out your camera but he stopped you.

“I keep telling you, Y/N. If you want me to be your muse, all you have to do is ask,” he said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes as you rested the camera in your lap. “But if you really do want my help, I’ll be happy to work with you on your project.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded and smiled. “Seriously. This is important to you. I want to help.”

You tried to hide your smile. Though it was something simple, Jimin supporting your craft was something you hadn’t experienced in years. People didn’t believe in the arts as much as they liked to consume it. “Thank you, Jimin. That really means a lot to me.”

“Remember I told you I’d show you what love is? This is a great way to do it.” Jimin grinned as you laughed at him.

“And what do you know about love, Mr. Park?” you asked jokingly. Jimin averted his eyes, his smile less vibrant than before.

“You’d be surprised,” he said with a shrug.

“More lessons from Mr. Park Sr.?” you joked again, poking his shoulder, trying to lighten his sudden change of mood. He chuckled lowly.

“Some. A lot I learned on my own.”

“A lot? What’s your favorite one?” you posed. You were intrigued about a Jimin who had seen these many sides of love. Who was he beforehand? How had he changed? “Have you ever had your heart broken?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “A few times. I guess you could say the last one was the worst,” he commented.

“Would you like to share?” you asked gently, not wanting to overstep your boundaries.

“I can. Especially if it’ll help you believe in love.” He wiggled his eyebrows and you shoved his shoulder gently. “I assume you’ve also had your heart broken?” You nodded. “Hmm. Well, Shutterfly. Sit back, relax, and let me tell you the story of Alexandria.” Jimin eased his seat back and turned his head to face you, his fingers laced and resting in his lap. He looked as though he was in a therapist’s office to talk about his trauma and the feelings associated with them. Depending on the nature of the story, he might need to go and see one.

“Lexa and I met during my Freshman year of college. She was tall, slim figure, very ‘plain Jane’ except for her copper-colored hair. She was really a brunette, but in certain lighting, it looked red. Then she started toning it - it doesn’t matter. Anyway, I was hanging out with a bunch of friends in the library studying for this major test when she walked by and that was it; I was a goner. We ended up having a class together the following semester where I found out she was a Sophomore -”

“Ooh! An older woman?!” You perked up in your chair at the new detail. “I never would have -”

“Pegged me for the type? We’re back on that, Y/N?” he asked with a wry grin. You blushed at the memory and sank back down.

“Continue,” you whispered sheepishly.

“So she was a Sophomore studying Psychology with a minor in Creative Writing. She was a force to be reckoned with and I thought I had no chance with her until she asked me to hang out. I honestly couldn’t believe she was interested in me. We didn’t start dating until my Junior year of college, both of us traveling abroad the previous year, and we were really happy together.” Jimin smiled fondly as he recalled the memories and your heart fluttered in anticipation of what went wrong. “I proposed at my graduation while she was -”

“Excuse me? What?!” you exclaimed, staring at him in shock. “You proposed?!” He laughed at your reaction.

“Of course. I loved her and it was the right thing for me to do at the time,” he replied. That couldn’t be it.

“You got her pregnant, didn’t you?” He laughed again, this one vibrating through his entire body as he clutched his stomach; he didn’t seem concerned about the noise level.

“No, Y/N. I proposed because I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“Wow,” you breathed, amazed at his level of commitment at such a young age. To know who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with and be ready to take that risk? He had to be crazy. “Wait. How old are you?”

“I’m 26. This happened around 2 and a half years ago, I think. Well, it’s been 2 and a half years since she called off our engagement,” he added matter-of-factly.

“Fuck,” you grimaced. “What happened?”

“She fell out of love. She wasn’t there when I woke up the following morning - we had moved in together while she worked on her thesis and I started grad school. The ring was placed on a neatly written note and all of her things were gone. Said she needed a man that had a little more - she ‘couldn’t put her finger on it’. Less stoic, more spontaneous. Something like that.” Jimin shrugged, the smile no longer reaching his eyes.

“But she knew how you were when you first got together. That’s some bullshit,” you muttered. Anger flared deep in your gut as you thought about this Alexandria stealing away in the middle of the night leaving Jimin alone to deal with the consequences of her actions as the sun rose.

“No need to crucify her, Shutterfly. She made the best choice for her -”

“But she hurt you,” you interrupted, frowning.

“I don’t disagree, but she taught me my favorite lesson: love freely and without expectations. I lost myself trying to prove that I could be this manly man. That I was man enough to deserve a woman as incredible as her. I lost her because of impossible expectations I placed on myself. We were both at fault; she could have said something sooner. I just wrestle with my own transgressions more. At the end of the day, it made me a better man.”

Love freely and without expectations. How could he say that when the woman who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with left him? Alexandria was foolish to leave someone as admirable as Jimin behind. Your heart ached at him waking up and her no longer being there, having to read that she no longer wanted him. You guessed some explanation was better than having the door closed right in your face.

“And you survived all of this?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Broken hearts aren’t as bad as they seem, Shutterfly.”

“To you, Jimin. Though I don’t know how you got through that,” you said shaking your head in disbelief.

“The same way you got through yours,” he replied seriously. “Tell me about him. Why don’t you believe in love anymore?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love anymore. I just don’t expect it to happen to me for a very long time,” you said pushing your hands through your hair. Jimin waited for you to continue expectantly. You sighed and threw your head back against the seat. “Alright, fine. His name was Tiago. I met him when I moved to California with my best friend. He was a TA in one of her classes and she introduced us. He was tall, Hispanic, with the tight ringlet curls. They were sun-bleached because he spent so much time at the beach. He had the most beautiful hazel eyes too,” you added. You don’t think there was a woman alive who could deny how attractive Tiago was.

“He was smart too, attending law school - Gould School of Law at USC to be exact. I was working as a photography assistant in a studio downtown and he seemed interested in my work. We started hanging out and after a few months, we started dating. Things were really good for a while. I thought I had found my home in him, especially after leaving Milo back in New York. I thought he understood what I was going through. He didn’t.” You closed your eyes as you breathed through the memory of the pain.

“After a year of good times, things started to get weird. Some random phone calls he started taking in other rooms, less planned dates, less attention overall. I ignored it, especially after we had a conversation about possibly moving in together. That was a little too far for me so I was thinking of giving him a key to my apartment - I had gotten a promotion at the studio I was working at and could finally afford my own place,” you said with a grin. “I went to his apartment with the key in a little box and when I knocked on the door, a woman answered.”

“Shit,” Jimin whispered. He rested his hand on your knee and you looked at him with a small smile.

“Yeah. She asked who I was - if she could help me, and before I could answer, Tiago appeared looking fresh out the shower and said I wasn’t ‘anyone important. Just a friend of a friend’s who was supposed to take their anniversary portraits’ and closed the -”

“What the fuck, Y/N?! Please don’t tell me that he closed the door in your face.” Jimin’s grip tightened as his jaw clenched. You nodded with another small smile. “That fucking asshole!” he roared. The lady in front of you turned to hush him. He ignored her.

“Mhm, he closed the door in my face. I think I stood there for 2 minutes before I called an Uber and headed home. A few days later, he texted me and told me that we couldn’t be together anymore - like no shit, dumbass. I found out through the grapevine that she had been his girlfriend for 2 and a half years on and off. They were very much on when we were dating. Remember that friend I told you I moved to Cali with? Apparently she knew but didn’t know how to break it to me. I packed up and moved to San Diego which is where I met Michael. He had seen some of my short films from a little exhibit we had on campus and thought he could help me get more work. That was a year and a half ago,” you finished.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. He was a fucking dickhead to do that to you.” You waved Jimin off.

“Michael says the same thing - actually he calls him a son of a bitch. It’s fine though. But that’s the story. I’m still healing and building up trust with people. So I believe in love, I’ve just had some bad luck with it,” you said with a shrug. “I try not to dwell on it because -”

“It makes you anxious?” Jimin suggested. You gave him a tight lipped smile. His thumb stroked over your knee in soft brushes. “Well, we won’t talk about him then. Fuck him,” he grinned.

“Thanks, Jimin,” I laughed.

“And we’ll get this project done, yeah? Together?”

You looked at Jimin. He was smiling at you, his front tooth a little crooked but gleaming nonetheless. Tiny dimples appeared around the corners of his mouth - something you hadn’t noticed before. The little sun you had been in while in Hong Kong had started to turn his skin a caramel brown and you remembered the smoothness of his skin as you laid in bed. As the corners of his eyes wrinkled with warm affection and you smiled.

“Together.”

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

joon-ipersgirl, 2020

#jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #bts fanfiction #jimin fluff #bts fanfic #fic: bitter and beloved

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derireo · 4 years

Text

Let’s Talk Feelings (TSK)

A series where Izumi gets confessed to five times.

Tasuku ↦ It’s Just Practice.

Tasuku gets a little carried away.

Izumi's ignorant enough to not notice his slip up.

warnings: pining. one sided attraction.

「 read here on ao3 」「 1.6k words 」 IT. TSM. SK. OM.

If Tasuku had to answer a question about how he managed to find himself in his current predicament he would have trouble finding the right words to say.

In fact, he didn't have a clue.

He just... he was reciting lines for this upcoming play he was guest starring in and before he knew it, he had Izumi trapped against his desk.

Seriously. He didn't know when or how they got to this point in his practice with her adorable little face all squished in his hand as he gripped her cheeks, but... that's where they were at.

Neither of them were complaining, but Tasuku was embarrassed to say that sometimes he got a little too into character; probably the reason why he was tilting Izumi's face side to side to examine her.

As if possessed by his character, he started uttering his lines with a devilishly salacious smile, fingers digging into her soft cheeks.

"...And what's an adorable little creature like you doing here?"

He crooned lowly, unable to stop himself from pinning her to his desk with his hips. His heart was racing in his chest since it seemed like his body wasn't under his control anymore, and the sweet stammer that fell from rosy lips spurred Tasuku on to resume his lines.

"Everyone knows not to enter a dragon's den all on their lonesome.." He hissed, grinning crookedly at the startled blink he received. "...so I must be lucky to receive such an innocent, delicious little snack on this dreary evening."

Izumi's hands were braced against the edge of his desk, script dangling from the ends of her fingers. Tasuku was a great actor indeed; truly making her feel unsettled with his character as he held her with no opening to an escape.

"I was told you had... powers." Izumi gritted through her pinched cheeks, her own character being an ardent, bright spirited woman who was on the search for someone who would bring healing to the village she called her home.

At the mention of his powers, Tasuku clicked his tongue and released Izumi from his grasp, pulling away from her body as if he had been burned.

"So you are one of those..."

He's disappointed from the looks of it and both Tasuku and Izumi try to ignore the loss of contact as they proceed with the scene.

"I am not interested in healing your sick family member, so please kindly leave—"

"No, ah.. My– my village. My village is in danger. A malevolent being is said to leave chaos in our wake soon." Izumi cut him off, unoccupied hand shooting out to grab the man by the front of his shirt to keep him close. (Her blocking could use some work, but it was effective in shutting him up).

"I was hoping you would give me a blessing," she breathed, pulling Tasuku back into her vicinity after taking a quick glance at the script, "we don't need you there, but I only ask for a small fraction of what you have. If only for a little while."

The man bristled, digging his foot into the floor to prevent himself from knocking into Izumi when she tugged him forward, palms held against her shoulders.

Her acting was still a bit choppy and Tasuku was pretty sure she was getting the essence of her character wrong, but he couldn't help but admire how intent she was on helping him practice despite all of that.

His body went on auto-pilot again, but this time it wasn't his character making him do it as he framed Izumi's face in his hands, tipping her chin up with a smile.

Ah.. the number of times he's wanted to do this.

"...You're quite somethin', pulling me around like that." He mutters softly, pinching her cheek. It's affectionate, the way he holds her, but the rough treatment to her face causes Izumi to grumble out of character and punch Tasuku in the chest, hitting him with the rolled up script in her hand next.

He was unfazed by the blows, but grinned nonetheless, teasingly squishing her face in his hand once more just to annoy her. "You dare hit the dragon that watches over your village?"

Another swat from Izumi makes Tasuku laugh and he pulls her into a headlock, the sound of the woman's startled yelp making him ruffle her hair. "I do dare! You didn't even know our village was in trouble!" Izumi complained while struggling to escape the burly arms that kept her in place, scrunching her nose with a helpless whine when her mussed up hair fell in front of her face.

"And to think you were but a mere human. A docile little thing."

His voice goes back to that low whisper when Izumi halts her squirming to brush her hair away and it elicits a subtle shiver to run up her spine. Tasuku's breath is warm against her reddening ear as she pulls at the arm that's tucked under her neck, but he doesn't budge, instead tugging her flush against his chest while tilting her head back to make her look at his towering frame.

"Why... I think I like you." He said, hand gentle around her throat when his arm went to curl around her waist.

And it was at that moment, realizing what he said, that Tasuku felt his stomach drop.

Izumi blinks once, not once moving her head when she lifts the script up into her periphery to scan over the words on the paper in front of her. She frowns at the incorrect line being spoken, then realizes that for the past few exchanges they were going totally off script.

Huh. Who knew she could pull off some pretty good improv?

"Is this your take on the bond between the dragon and the hero?" She asked, innocent. "I didn't know there was... subtle romantic undertones."

And well. Tasuku didn't know whether he should feel relieved or disappointed. On the other hand he was pretty endeared by her density, but he knew that he wasn't any better when it came to other's emotions either. He's been told he was quite the heartbreaker because of that.

Now it was Tasuku's turn to feel helpless even as Izumi smiled up at him with his hand still on her throat, eagerly showing him the spot where they left off on the script.

"Sorry.. I got carried away with the improv." He muttered sheepishly, releasing the director from his embrace to give each other some room to breathe. Was it getting hot in here or was it just him?

He took off his zip up with a heavy exhale and aired out his t-shirt while watching Izumi nod as she took a glance at her watch. He watched as her eyebrows rose, saw how her head snapped back up to look at him with bright, sparkling eyes; let her doe-eyed gaze make his heart thrum a panicked beat as she shoved the script back into his hands with a bow.

"That's okay.. This was fun." She grinned, rubbing the area where his hand was seconds earlier to erase the lingering warmth from his fingertips.

"Maybe you should try that improv with your actual practice partner next time? Maybe the director and scriptwriter will like the change!" Izumi offered, not noticing the way Tasuku bristled at the idea. He didn't really like it. Touching someone other than Izumi in that way. It wouldn't feel natural, and it was just so easy to have Izumi trapped in his hold.

...Tasuku wants to act with her some more. More and more until she gets better. Maybe until they get the chance to stand on the same stage together.

But all Tasuku could do was force a smile on his face when Izumi gave his chest a pat. He took too long to respond.

"I promised to help out this other troupe tonight so I have to go. Thanks for helping me pass time." She grinned and started to walk towards Tasuku's bedroom door, ignorant to the thoughts that raced through his mind as he followed her steps with unfocused pupils, body moving in the direction she was going.

He stuttered on his breath as he trailed after her like a lost puppy, but willed himself to stop when she reached for his doorknob, hand running through his hair as he agonized over what he should do next.

"I can drive you." He choked when she was halfway through the door, the tight feeling in his chest alleviating just the slightest when she turned back to look at him; curious. Tasuku was losing his mind, the realization that he actually had these thoughts about Izumi making him lose his rationale. God, he knew he wanted to hold her sometimes and maybe even squish her face in his hands when she would be all cute for no reason, but to think he liked her enough to want to act with her.

It was a sobering thought. He had fun acting with her despite her skills and it made him want to hold his head in his hands.

And while he was thinking, the cogs turning in his head almost visible to Izumi, the director smiled and shook her head.

"I can get there just fine, but if I need a ride home I'll make sure to contact you." She lifted her hand to her ear as if there was a telephone in her grip and waited for Tasuku to nod in acknowledgement.

"Wait for my call, okay~?" Her eyes smiled at him and Tasuku swore that it felt like he was going to combust on the spot.

"...Okay." He echoed dumbly, watching with uncharacteristic puppy eyes as she finally left his room.

He waited a few more seconds before shutting his door and hit his forehead against the wood to release his frustrations, brows furrowed with gritted teeth.

Maybe he'll confess to her again tonight.

The motorcycle will up his chances with her.. right?

#a3!#a3! act! addict! actors!#tasuku takato #izumi tachibana #a3! fic #a3! scenarios #tasuizu

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sooave · 4 years

Text

The Problem With Wanting: 1

It’s 2026, and an old celebrity crush comes to haunt your old and cynical heart. You’re doing great at pretending you were never obsessed with him, and finding things about him that you don’t like. Until you’re repeatedly forced to work with him. Until he decides that he’s in love with you.

Genre: I really don’t know what to call this, but it’s not an AU, Kyungsoo’s older and still a celebrity, and it’s friends-to-lovers.

Characters: Kyungsoo x Reader

Length: 2,314 words

Tags: Angst, Slow Burn

Part 1 | Part 2

The problem with wanting, was that the human brain’s pathways are more easily activated for desire, rather than liking. In other words, humans naturally want things more than they actually like them. Obviously, you didn’t fault anyone for that. You knew that humans are all victims of the mechanisms of their biological systems.

Just like how you never blamed your own body for being frustratingly uncooperative when it was exactly a week before your period.

Just like how you didn’t fault Do Kyungsoo at all for confessing to you, and asking you to be his girlfriend. You knew that he just wanted you. Now if he actually had you, he’d certainly be disappointed. No, his brain would be disappointed.

Being single at age 30 was surprisingly easy for you, considering the fact that it practically made you a spinster in Asian society. Your parents’ one saving grace was that they immigrating to North America, and brought you in tow. When you returned to Korea as a full-fledged adult with a string of ex-boyfriends and old jobs behind you, it was increasingly apparent to you that Korean society was at times lovely, but hugely flawed.

Back home, the Korean aunties that your mother would bring home no longer gave a shit about the fact that you were, God forbid, an artist. And an unmarried and childless one to boot. Their own children had put them through a fair share of self-perceived grievances already, and while most of them were still conservative at heart, they knew that they lived in a society where their values weren’t necessarily correct. You knew that they didn’t all understand that their values were straight up incorrect. But at least you didn’t get harassed about your life choices.

Coming back to build a career in your birth country had you encountering situations that made you laugh and feel uncomfortable at the same time.

“You’re self-employed? How are you ever going to find yourself a husband?” You’d tell them that being your own boss in fact made your schedule much more flexible. And that you fill up the time with pursuits that actually improved your life, like cooking and yoga. Not shitty dates with people you couldn’t connect with.

Of course, the nosy aunties would continue heavily implying that your life’s purpose was to find a good husband, carry your bloodline, and take care of the home.

“Thirty?? You should have had two kids by now?” You would politely inform them that you weren’t interested in having children, and if you did, you’d adopt an orphan in need instead.

“There won’t be any good men left at this point! You’re in trouble now.” This one, you couldn’t really argue with. You were a firm believer that if someone was single for an extended period of time, there was a reason.

Most of the time, they were a shitty person. Other reasons? Nursing a heartbreak. Pining after someone unattainable. Obsessed with their career. Etcetera.

And you?

You didn’t have your priorities straight. But after a countless number of bad dates, bad relationship, mediocre relationships, and some okay ones, you kind of had an idea of what you didn’t want in a boyfriend. You were doing just peachy by yourself, for now at least.

Sure, maybe you’d want to find a life partner eventually. That would come naturally. You were also a firm believer in the fact that the best matches are found organically.

But surprisingly to you, one of the blind dates that you’d begrudgingly gone on 3 years ago was actually bearing some fruitful benefits. Your date was an assistant PD at one of the largest entertainment companies in Seoul. He was a decent guy, but was insistent about being the sole provider for his future wife. That obviously didn’t check out with you.

Luckily, he didn’t hold a grudge against you for cutting your third dinner date short once you learned of that particular value, and even suggested you as an artist for several show segments. Today, your expertise was blackboard art. Other days, it was digital painting, or watercolours. But they all focused on food illustrations.

Seung-woo, your ex-date, had a particularly annoying habit of talking your ear off while you were working. For some reason, he assumed that the several hours you spent slaving away with your arm raised over the chalk board was the perfect time to catch up with you and ramble on about his love life.

“And then, she started ordering the spicy chicken even though I had explicitly mentioned that I had an upset stomach! Really. The nerve of her.”

“Oh…” you hummed disinterestedly as you filled in the grey base colour of the fish that you were drawing for the background of this board. Apparently, some professional chef along with a celebrity guest were going to be in the kitchen today filming an episode on ways to cooking methods for fish in Korean cuisine. This particular series was something you’d seen before while you were living in the U.S., and while you felt that Korea was a bit slow on the uptake, at least they were doing something interesting with it. You didn’t get to see a lot of Korean traditional cooking methods on American-owned YouTube channels.

“So… we’re going on a second date tonight. What should I say?”

If you were in America, you would have already told Seung-Woo off for disrupting your work and being a total wuss. But this was Korea, and you couldn’t really afford to offend the very person who got you this job contract. Plus, gossip travelled like wildfire, and soon you’d be labelled as difficult to work with and saying bye-bye to your steady income.

You had to take a deep breath and set down your chalk, in fear of snapping it in annoyance.

“Did that tell you something?”

Seung-woo set down the kitchen prop that he was playing around with onto the counter.

“Tell me what?” He echoed.

“Did her action of ordering the spicy chicken tell you that she had an undesirable trait that you cannot accept from a partner?” Your tone was bordering on one that a disapproving teacher would take when reprimanding a student, but luckily Seung-woo didn’t catch that.

He wasn’t as taken aback by your mannerisms as he used to be, but ever since you explained that you spent all of your formative years abroad, he was able to rationalize all of your non-conservative behaviours.

Instead, he actually thought of your advice and comments as thoughtful and interesting. You always refrained from mentioning that your perspective came from years of counselling and therapy, in fear that he’d label you as psychotic. Seung-woo had no idea what mental health was.

After a round of hums and haws, he finally responds.

“You’re right, it did. Are you trying to say I shouldn’t go on the date tonight?”

“Hey, I just asked a question. You came to that conclusion your self!” You turn around and throw a dirty rag that you’ve been using into his chest.

That finally got him to leave you alone, after whining about your aggressiveness and how unladylike you were. Luckily, you still had plenty of time to finish the piece, and once the annoyance hindering your progress was gone, the flow started to come naturally to you.

Time began to fly by as it usually did when you were absorbed with your artwork. Before you knew it, it was already time for the segment filming to start. It wasn’t everyday that you timed your work perfectly, but today you hit the deadline exactly.

You knew that the filming was about to begin because of the camera lights had began to turn on, and a buzz of conversation had started to grow in the centre of the room. Sometimes it irked you that you were working right in front of a dozen cameras and microphones, but it was comforting to know that they had absolutely zero interest in filming you.

Seung-woo had unfortunately appeared again, appearing behind you like a golden retriever wagging it’s tail. You were packing up boxes chalk into your carrying case, attempting to ignore him as much as possible, but something he said caught your attention.

“Wait. What? Who?” You had absolutely no idea what he had said, except for the fact that a horribly familiar name fell from his lips.

“Do Kyungsoo. You don’t know of him?”

“No, I do…” Too well, in fact.

“Well, he’s here right now. I could get you an autograph if you wanted too. Just ask your oppa nicely!” He shot you a shit-eating grin and you almost want to strangle him amidst the absolute panic you were experiencing.

You weren’t experiencing a real panic attack, thankfully. But the way your hands were shaking as you placed each piece of chalk back into it’s designated slotted groove gave away that you were one-hundred-percent losing your mind. As your heart raced in your chest, you did a mental checklist of the facts that faced you right now.

You were, or you used to be, absolutely obsessed with Do Kyungsoo as a celebrity. This was back in your late teens, when you were a freshman at college.

You had not thought about him, or even looked up his name, in almost 5 years. Real life got in the way. And your cynicism.

And he was right here.

In this very room.

Suddenly, your brain was kicked into hyper-awareness mode, and it was almost impossible to resist the urge to finger comb your hair and smooth out your clothes. Fuck. You weren’t even wearing a cute outfit. Today had been a boyfriend jeans and black t-shirt day for you.

Seung-woo was still standing in front of you, looking at you expectantly, and you reminded yourself that you had to actually respond.

“Er… no. I’m good, Seung-woo,” you rolled your eyes at him, “What makes you think that I’d want an autograph? You do remember that I’m an old hag right?”

He noticed that you were having difficulty stuffing your chalk boxes back into your bag, and leans down to help you.

“Who said that you can’t have celebrity crushes at age 30? I wouldn’t shame you for that. Plus, you’re still single…” Seung-woo waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh my lord,” You mutter in English to yourself, before switching to Korean.

“Idols are for the young or the delusional. Plus, they’re just regular ol’ people just like me. You take anyone with a bit of talent and a decent face and I’m sure they could pass as an idol.” This is a mantra you’ve repeated to yourself almost a million times, and it rolls off your tongue.

“God, you’re always so cynical…ah!” Seung-woo stands up to greet someone and leaves you struggling with your bag on the floor.

“No, I’m just old,” you said to yourself as you right yourself.

And then you come face to face with a profile that you’ve started at on your phone screen, your computer monitor, and even billboards, umpteenth times. It’s closer now, way closer. You saw the slight smile lines on his cheeks, and the unevenness of his skin that hasn’t been photoshopped out. But his strong eyebrows and heart-shaped smile were the same. And his eyes.

Kyungsoo was shaking hands with Seung-woo and another PD, but his eyes flickered to you briefly as you got to your feet. And then they’re gone. Like they didn’t see you at all.

You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that he’s just another person. He probably leaves his phone ringer on. That’s something that annoys you. Annoyance. It’s your weapon against anything you’re scared of. But it’s also grounding you in this insane moment.

Reminder, you’re staff. He’s the star of the show.

“Ah! This is our chalk artist, she made the board behind us,” Seung-woo declared proudly and grabbed your arm to pull you back, just as you were preparing to sneak away from the awkward circle of personnel. You’ve never cursed so strongly in your own mind before, and a string of fuckshitfuckshitfuck was still going through your mind as you gave a tight smile and bowed. All while avoiding eye contact.

You saw Kyungsoo and a few others glance at your work and you couldn’t help but cringe. God help you, you had confidence in your work, but were you completely unprepared for your teenage/young adult celebrity crush to judge you. They politely express amazement at the board, and you robotically thank them.

Seung-woo continued to discuss some detail about the segment and you took the opportunity to duck away and escape with your bag, not even taking a second look back. You were tempted of course, as you left through the studio doors. You could even stay to watch the entire filming, and no one would object. They knew who you were.

But there was no way you would be able to not fall back into your stupid crush that you still had, if you were able to just stand and watch him cook for an hour and a half. You were too old for this.

You gritted your teeth as you got in your car, placed your duffel on the passenger seat, and buckled your seatbelt.

Today, you would be an adult and do the right thing.

Tomorrow, you’d give dating apps another go.

But right now, you imagined another universe, where he was a regular person, and so were you. Then, you could allow yourself to fall in love. You closed your eyes and leaned your head onto the cold glass of the window and allowed yourself to fantasize.

A/N: I’m totally throwing this into the void and doing this for myself but part two is coming.

#exo #exo fic #kyungsoo fic #kyungsoo #exo fanfiction #kyungsoo x reader #kyungsoo angst #kyungsoo fanfiction #do kyungsoo #exo scenario #exo scenarios

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Glow

TITLE: Glow

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: imagine that you liked Loki long ago. But he had rejected you once, so you’ve moved on. One day, he appears at your doorstep. He was a lot mellower than you remembered, like dark, burdensome things had happened to him, but was still the good man at heart you knew all those years ago.

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: I had every intention of this being light-hearted, and then I started writing and went very dark, very fast. End in fluff, though? Mentions of death, disease, depression, language, and heartbreak. Loosely builds on my past Imagine One-Shot: Taking Turns.

It had been strange to die.

To really die, not that subtle fakery he had done a thousand times before to put a temporary stop to his problems. There would be no getting up from these wounds. From the twisted neck and its haunting crunch, and the inevitable darkness that had smothered him a moment after, blanketing him in warmth. It truly was strange to die.

But if he died, why was he here?

Loki groaned as he shifted on the evening dew-dampened grass. His limbs all felt tumescent and clumsy. It wasn’t exactly a surprise–he had fought off an undead army, his demon of a sister, the Titan’s ranks. He deserved to feel stiff, but it wasn’t exactly helping him get on his feet.

Red-rimmed, baggy eyes were drawn to the great oak tree up ahead. He knew the sight well. He had spent many a day kissing her in secret under that tree, whenever he could get away from his brother and she could slip away from Stark’s lab, undetected. That was the place where she had told him, brown eyes rounded and shy as she stared at him through her lashes, that she was in love with him. Coincidentally, that was the same place where he told her he didn’t feel the same.

Let it never be said that Loki ever had the good sense to do something that might actually be good for him.

Her face popped into his mind, clear as the day he left her behind. The Titan. His plan. This world seemed like it was another era, altogether. Was she even alive?

“Fuck.”

His feet had brought him to her door. He hadn’t planned on it, but something in his subconscious had told him that this was as good a place as any to lay low. If she was alive, she would help him, regardless of the utter monster he had been to her. If she wasn’t… well, at least it was a place to stay, wasn’t it?

Loki’s fist pounded on the door with such force that the whole thing was shaking in its foundations. It was late, he knew, but she was never a deep sleeper. It was always so easy to nudge her awake, maybe with a kiss on the neck and have her focus her sleepy, warm attention on him. He tired of the trying to convince himself that she had to still live. He would’ve known if she didn’t, wouldn’t he? Something in the faulty machinery that rattled in his chest must still be connected to that damned awkward smile and–

“Loki…?” Her voice was breathless, as if it were impossible for the man staring out onto the street to be the same that broke her heart. And yet… “Loki.”

He pulled a breath, dressing himself in courage before turning towards the voice. The woman leaning against the doorframe looked like a spectre of who he used to know. Where her frame had been strong and wide-hipped and sturdy enough to take his full strikes on the sparring mats, this person looked… deathly? Defeated?

“Rebecca,” he whispered, taking a single step forward, trying not to overwhelm her.

“No. Thor said you died before… he swore that he saw you… You’re dead.” Her voice thickened with tears she dared not shed.

He chuckled mirthlessly. “You know I have the hardest time getting that stuff to stick.” When she didn’t smile, he cleared his throat and pushed the tangled mess of his hair back in a nervous fidget. “I don’t know how I’m here, either. I was just with Thor in the ship and I know I died, I just… I don’t know.”

“I’m going to call Thor,” she mumbled, walking backwards, eyes weary of his form.

Loki rushed to follow her. She gave out a strangled shriek when he closed his fingers around her wrist and wrenched her cell phone out of her grasp. “No one can know. Not until I understand what’s going on. Rebecca, please.” She was trembling and so he loosened his grip on her hands in favor for her face. His thumbs trailed softly over her now-prominent cheekbones. He hated not seeing the rounded cheeks, often flushed red at his touch. “Please.”

Rebecca’s face had fallen from her surprise, and now she just looked lost. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

He frowned, confused. “What?”

“I’m dying. That’s why you’re here. You’re here to take me away and you couldn’t have fucking chosen anyone else to look like?! Loki was my…,” Rebecca trailed off, breaking down into a heart-shattering sob.

“Darling, no.” He gathered her into his embrace, winding his arms around her shoulders to hold her safe. “No, no, no. I know it’s confusing, darling. I know. You are perfectly safe with me. You know that.”

“Where were you? I needed you! For years, I needed you and you weren’t there!” Loki grit his teeth to keep his own sob from choking through. Instead, he let the tears stream quietly, offering nothing but mumbled assurances that she was fine and that he was sorry. Gods above, he was so sorry.

Eventually, he had calmed her enough to put her to bed. While she sniffed in her sleep, he scrolled through the news on her computer, trying his hardest to catch up. It had been so many years. A mere instant had plummeted him more than five years into the future. Five years that, if the glimpse of the street outside had been any indication, had been more than just rough. They had won the war against Thanos, but the number of battles they had lost in between had been costly. Too costly.

When Loki startled awake, he was surprised to see Becca watching him from the armchair across. She was molded into a ball, with her knees up to her chest. It reminded him of the first time they had kissed. He had unfurled her from that very same position and then toyed with her from a few months. He had been but a bratty child then. He couldn’t truly say that he was any different now, but at least now he had the sense to self-contemplate.

“You cut your hair,” he remarked and immediately slapped himself internally. He was truly useless around her.

Rebecca subconsciously ruffled her brown curls. “Yeah. I got sick. Kept it short, after.”

“I like it…,” he trailed off, awkwardly. “Is that why you're–” He broke off when her eyes flickered up, dangerously, daring him to make light of her situation, as he often used to. It had always been gentle teasing, though in rare occasion he would strike just across the line and have to deal with the fallout. “W-why you’re so thin?”

Silence stretched for a long time. It crept up his spine and injected itself into his veins, letting him know he had made a mistake.

“Why are you here, Loki?”

“The truth?”

Rebecca scoffed. “Are you capable of it, Liesmith?”

The jab hurt, but was in no way unjustified. “I was brought back to this world, to this time… you were my only thought. Just you. And I prayed that you were alive because I am not strong enough to live through the heartbreak of losing you, twice.”

“You left me, Loki. You broke my heart and then you went off to gallivant with Thor. In my darkest days, I pleaded for you. And now…”

“And now…?”

“And now I’m just upset because I can see you’re not doing any better than me. Shit, why am I such a fucking bleeding heart–” The tears were back, and as she protected herself in her bubble from him, she pound her fist to the side of her head. This was new behavior and worrisome, to say the least. It had been a hard decade.

“Becca.” He let her name fall quietly from his lips before he made an effort to move. He had shed his armor, opting for some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Every muscle, ligament, and bone ached, and they screamed in protest when he sunk to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his. She struggled against him, but her strength just wasn’t there anymore. “Darling girl, please.”

In another life he would have raised his voice, shook her out of her stupor and sharply admonished her until she was agreeable; pliant. She never did like confrontation and she would have given him her very lungs if it had aided him–she would have given a perfect stranger her lungs, too.

There had always been an unbreakable brightness within her. That was what had attracted him to her, early on. She was bright where he was dark; all accepting and loving where he was brash and scornful and self-loathing. Hindsight was crystal clear, and all it told him was that he should have been so much better to her. He should have offered her the world when he had the chance. All he could do now was repent and take care of her, for a change.

“I’m going to get you some food and some coffee and then I am going to–I’m not sure. Whatever will make you happiest, I suppose. OK, pet?” He offered her a small smile, thumbs stroking the back of her hands until she stopped fidgeting and offered a nod. “Good.” He nodded and rose, reluctantly releasing her to head to the kitchen.

“What happened to you?” That was a loaded question. “You’re different.”

He stopped and faced her. After a moment, he shrugged. “Just life, Rebecca.”

“That’s not everything, is it?”

“No. Then again, you didn’t just get sick, either, did you?” His charged blue gaze pinned her down until she shook her head, seemingly against her will. “Let me get you coffee and, um, we'll… take turns?”

Becca laughed, despite herself, rolling her eyes at the god. That was a turn of phrase she had not thought of in an eternity. “I hate you. I really do,” she riposted, though there was no fire behind the words.

“I daresay you have every right.”

With a crooked half-grin, he pointed behind himself and turned once more towards the kitchen. Before he had crossed, the wind was knocked out of him as arms twisted round his stomach and squeezed painfully. Against his back, Rebecca breathed disjointedly, dampening his shirt with tears.

“I love you, Loki.”

Those words had echoed in his chest for nearly a decade. They had etched themselves against every rib and membrane in his chest, taunting him every time he failed; every time he fell. He had not been worthy of receiving them back then. Nor did Loki think he was worthy of receiving them now, but he felt a compulsion to hold fast to the phrase that he had not felt then. Twisting in her arms, he looked down on those same rounded, shy brown eyes looking up through her lashes. Only this time, they were painfully guarded, protective. He could see only a flicker of her light, and he wanted to set it ablaze, once more. For her own good, more than his own.

He grinned through the sting of tears, brushing her short curls back with delicate strokes. “And I love you, Rebecca. Across time, space, and reality, it seems.”

The walls around her had not vanished, but they seemed to wobble under his attentions. “Please don’t leave again. I don't–”

“I won’t. I promise you on my honor, whatever little I have, I will not leave your side until you demand I leave–” Her lips on his cut him short and the surprised gasp he gave died muffled beneath their kiss.

When she pulled back, both were panting. “I just waited eleven years for you to say what you mumbled in your sleep every single night for months. If anything, I’m liable to stick you in another ice block.” He let out a surprised bark of laughter before reconnecting their lips.

“I don’t deserve you.” Loki wrapped himself around her, resting his chin on her crown.

“You don’t, but you can earn me back, I bet.”

He smiled against her temple before pressing a kiss there. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Being here does most of the job. Coffee might seal the deal.” She smirked, an expression he knew was meant to tease. “If you figure out how to work my coffeemaker, that is.” Becca pecked his lips and brushed past him into the kitchen, pointing at the multi-dialed monstrosity of a coffeemaker.

The light in her eyes was starting to glow once more.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Others #Imagine #Submitted one shot #submission #glow #Fanfictrashdump

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