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bakatenshii · 4 years

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Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could.

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it.

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding.

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted.

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you.

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun.

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal.

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy.

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you.

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour.

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care.

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time.

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite.

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy.

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart.

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use.

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time.

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean.

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart.

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream.

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction.

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself.

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted.

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become.

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective.

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up.

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight.

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close.

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue.

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it.

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh.

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint.

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently.

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go.

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high.

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em.

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you.

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.”

“Want a taste?”

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care.

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air.

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners.

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more.

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate.

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him.

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways.

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole.

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name.

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God?

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed.

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed.

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in.

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?”

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out—

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection.

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together.

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him.

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose.

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl.

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies.

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first?

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red.

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm.

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char.

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you.

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there.

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore, can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it?

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart.

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth?

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?”

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really.

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda.

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best.

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him.

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy.

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Ezra’s Journal Entries #1-3

Fandom: Prospect / Pedro Pascal

Pairing: Ezra x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,269

Summary: You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe.

Warnings: angsty fluff, Ezra’s dealing with the aftermath of the Green, language, 1st person POV (Ezra), dialogue in italics because that’s just how I chose to do it, no beta so all mistakes are mine

Author Note: I know I said Death and Angel would come out next, but I got such a inspiration high and the words came out so quickly I just told myself screw it and decided to share what I have. If anyone thinks this is a series worth pursuing, let me know. If you don’t, well, just be gentle please 💖

Cross-posted on AO3

Entries #4-6

Look for additional notes at the bottom.

My name is Ezra.

I have my mama to thank for that. Time has erased her face from my memory, but her voice is ingrained into the tissue of my brain the same way these words are inked on this parchment. She was a bonafide believer that the meaning of a child’s name influenced the course of their destiny. When I was no taller than the height of her waist I learned my own name’s denotation: help.

It’s just a tick too ironic, isn’t it? To be destined to help others when I can’t help my own self. I gave the Green far too little credit. It didn’t just pilfer my arm to satisfy its ravenousness, it greedily stole my sense of purpose too.

Every night I thank the deities you didn’t accompany me there. If the Green had taken you...

I know how worried you are about me, little love of mine. When I look at you, I find you already looking back, a sweet smile gracing your lips even as concern burns in your eyes as an eternal flame. From day one you’ve always been looking at me, seeing every disgraced flaw and scar—even the invisible ones carved into the darkest edges of my soul. Kevva knows I’ve never been capable of concealing anything from you, but fuck if I don’t wish I could sometimes.

You’re asleep now as I write this, tucked against my side in the vacant space my arm once occupied, drooling on my shirt. I love you so much it hurts. A black hole in my chest perpetually aching to be filled by your presence. And as we venture once more into the starry sea, our ship gliding past the imaginary wings of Noctua, I find myself recalling a theory you once told me many cycles ago about humans being made in the womb with stardust infused in their bones, linking them to the universe. You and I were made from the same star, you said with such conviction it stole the breath from my lungs, bound to each other for eternity by the Currents of the universe.

And it’s undoubtedly selfish, but all I could think of in that tender moment beyond kissing you was how I didn’t want an eternity spent together with our cosmic bodies intertwined.

I want longer.

Soon after we awoke and each consumed a slice of bush bread bought during our recent docking at Kamrea, you fiddled with the channels on the ship’s radio, hoping to hear news from your homeworld but cursing when you only heard static. Then, without an ounce of forewarning, music burst out with an almighty scream through the speakers at full volume, flooding the whole compartment with a woman’s warbling. It was the same crusted Vayok song that merc Inumon blared in my ears during my last night on the Green, every note an individual needle piercing my skull, impossible to ignore.

Reality deserted me, leaving me to sink to the depths of the abyss within my mind where all I could see was Cee’s pale, disturbed expression as she looked to me for guidance. I remembered how my tongue felt clumsy in my mouth as I tried my damnedest to negotiate our transport, thinking if I could just piece together the right sequence of words, if I could just get their lingering eyes off of her, then maybe, maybe we’d have a chance at salvation.

The memories coalesced, overlapping and blurring and mixing out of order. Each one was drenched in spilt blood.

Then your pinky wrapped around mine. The touch was soft yet firm, the action childlike in its innocence. It was such a jarring contradiction to my mind’s violent narrative, my consciousness was hurtled back into the living quarters of our ship as a result. You didn’t say anything when you saw I returned to you. Instead, you swallowed down the questions lodged in your throat and led me by our entwined fingers back to our bed.

There’s a plant back home called a dandelion, you told me with my head resting in your lap, a far better comfort than any pillow could provide me. It’s the only plant in the galaxy you can see the sun, the moon and the stars when you look at it. That’s not why it’s my favorite though.

I asked how it had won your heart’s favor if not due to its resemblance to the celestial bodies, then immediately found myself mesmerized by the smile that lit up your face as you peered down at me. My chest cavity tightened as I was filled with the profound longing to be able to suspend time, if only so I could stretch this moment to match the length of our separation, if only so I could erase the old and replace it with the beautiful new.

Dandelions grant wishes, babe. Anything you wish for with your whole heart, it will be yours to have.

I told you I wouldn’t wish for anything—nothing else in the galaxy could compare to the prettiest, wisest soul I’d ever encountered in all my years traversing it. You saw right through that lie with the same confident ease you see through all my masks and diversions, but—for the second time in the span of an hour—you held your tongue.

This journal’s as good a place as any to admit the honest truth. So here it is: I wish with the entirety of my bloody, beating heart I could be the man you deserve, little love of mine.

When you read, whether it be a book or the flight manual, you have the precious habit of mouthing the words. I don’t think you have the faintest notion you’re even doing it, which makes it all the more endearing to watch.

My brother had a similar habit, always nose deep in the yellowing pages of classic literature, except he had a proclivity to spoil the plot when he talked in his sleep. I remember there was one particular novel he returned to often, sometimes reading from beginning to end, other times seeking out specific segments he’d underlined in bold, black pen. It was a rather dreary tale about war and rivalry and the process of determining one’s own identity. I became so exasperated with my brother’s obsession I considered shredding it on more than one occasion, only to immediately hate myself for entertaining the thought.

It was only after his death—twelve whole cycles, in fact—that I summoned up the will to open the front cover. Seeing his name scribbled in the corner, cursive and neat and so utterly him, nearly had me tearing the book in half, overcome with a vicious rage I had never known prior nor have I encountered since. But by the almighty grace of Kevva I reigned it in, chaining it to the agony and fear imprisoned within the confines of my rib cage, and turned the page.

There was one segment underlined not once, but three times, nearly bleeding ink onto the page behind it. When I close my eyes, the words are tattooed on the backs of my eyelids, as haunting as they are comforting.

So the more things remained the same, the more they changed after all. Nothing endures. Not love, not a tree, not even a death by violence.

The author lived and died centuries before my brother’s inception, that is an inarguable fact.

But I know those words were written for him all the same.

Notes:

There is an actual theory humans are made of stardust ✨

The Sater within Prospect mention the Currents as being responsible for bringing Ezra and Cee to them, so I imagine them as similar to the Fates/Moirai in Greek mythology.

Noctua is a real life, extinct constellation that is Latin for owl. I thought within this Prospect universe it could exist as a type of landmark or coordinate. Plus I love owls 🦉

Crusted is a term from Prospect Ezra uses. Equivalent of damn. I think there’s something funny about how they use creamy as a positive adjective and crusted as negative.

Vayok is the alien language Inumon speaks within the movie, so I decided to write the song she blares as being sung in the same language

Bush bread is referenced in a deleted scene by Ezra, but a google search revealed to me it’s also a real life type of bread too

In the same deleted scene Ezra references that he has a brother. I haven’t decided his name yet/if he will have one

The book and quote Ezra refers to in #3 is John Knowles’ A Separate Peace. One of the few required reading books I liked back in high school.

The quote about dandelions being the sun, moon and stars is based on the legend of how dandelions came into existence. I always thought it was beautiful.

Series Taglist: @insomniamamma

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan, @melobee, @randomness501, @absurdthirst, @captain-jebi, @artsymaddie, @happiestsparkleofall, @disgruntledspacedad, @gallowsjoker, @aerynwrites, @vintagesaph, @sylphene, @chibi-yuki, @freeshavocadoooo, @stilllivindue2spite, @pointy-sharp, @leilei-draws, @over300books, @theocatkov, @oh-no-a-whovian, @you-and-i-deserve-the-world, @lin-djarin, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @coaaster, @waywardmando, @thisshipwillsail316, @grogusmum, @asta-lily, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @tacticalsparkles

#ezra #ezra prospect #Prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ezra's journal #prospect fanfiction #ezra fanfic #my fic #my writing #pedrostories

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buckleyblueyes · 3 years

Note

Buddie + 24 or 41? :)

Hello! Thank you for this great fake-dating prompt! I ended up being able to work in both prompts! (send me a kiss prompt) (send me a dialogue prompt)

Buck doesn’t know how he got here, at his ex-girlfriend’s wedding in Arizona, well on his way to champagne drunk, and pining over his best friend. Actually, that’s a lie. He knows exactly how this happened. It’s all Eddie’s fault, really. Because Eddie was the one who suggested it in the first place.

“Abby invited me to her wedding,” Buck said in the middle of a shift, apropos of nothing.

Hen looked up from her textbook with a raised eyebrow. “She’s been engaged for a long time.”

“It got pushed back because of the pandemic,” Buck shrugged. “It’s in three weeks.”

“That’s short notice,” Chimney said through a bite of an apple.

“Well,” Buck swallowed nervously. “She sent me the invitation six months ago.”

“Then why are you mentioning it now?” Eddie finally spoke, a slight edge in his voice. It reminded Buck of the night of the train crash.

“Because I don’t have a date,” Buck shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

“Do you need one?” Hen asked. “Why are you even going?”

“Well…” Buck hesitated, already feeling embarrassed and a little pathetic. “I RSVP’d when I was still dating Taylor, so it didn’t seem so--”

“Miserable?” Chimney asked.

“Yeah.” Buck sighed. “I know it was stupid to ask for a plus one, I mean Taylor and I’d only been official for a month when I got the invitation. But you know me, I’m an optimist.”

Chimney nodded sympathetically. “I mean, you still have time to find a date.”

“Oh, yeah, because ‘you wanna come with me to my ex’s wedding’ is a great pickup line,” Buck rolled his eyes.

Hen opened her mouth to say something, but Eddie cut her off. “I’ll go with you.”

“Eddie…” Buck hesitated. “No offence, but I think showing up with my best friend is even more embarrassing than showing up alone.”

Eddie shook his head fondly. “I meant as your date.”

Buck blinked twice. “I can’t ask you--”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.”

And that’s how Buck got here. It’s all Eddie’s fault. (Okay, it’s a little bit Buck’s fault for RSVPing with a plus one, or even RSVPing at all, really.) He sighs and sips his champagne and watches as Sam twirls Abby around on the dance floor. Eddie stepped out a minute ago to call Christopher and say goodnight, so Buck is alone with his thoughts. He frowns as he watches Abby and Sam, but the ache in his chest isn’t about Abby anymore, and it hasn’t been for a long time. She looks happy, and he knows he’s not in love with her anymore. He just wants what they have. And he wants it with his best friend.

Of course, he only realized this when Abby came up to him after dinner to tell him how happy she was that he found someone, how she could see how happy he was with Eddie, and how much Eddie seemed to love him. He smiled politely and thanked her, but internally something snapped. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known that he had feelings for Eddie--there’s a reason that he and Taylor didn’t work out, why he wasn’t as invested in the relationship as he should’ve been--but there was something about hearing it from Abby that made it more real, harder to ignore. Not that it matters, because Eddie swore of relationships after he broke things off with Ana. Something about not being emotionally available enough? Buck doesn’t quite have all the details because Eddie was Eddie, and Eddie was cagey about his emotions.

A voice breaks Buck out of his thoughts, and when he looks up Eddie is standing over him with a hand outstretched. “May I have this dance?”

“We don’t have to--”

“I want to,” Eddie says, voice firm, but gentle. “Please?”

And what can Buck do, but nod and take his best friend’s hand and let himself be dragged out onto the dance floor. They don’t so much dance, as they sway against each other, both slightly tipsy. Being so close to Eddie that their chests are touching, Eddie’s hands on his sides is a heady combination, and Buck can feel his heart racing. He wonders if Eddie can feel it, too. For a moment he lets himself get lost in the feeling, inhaling the scent of Eddie’s cologne and letting his own hands move down Eddie’s sides toward his waist.

“This is nice,” Eddie says, and Buck’s chest aches. He knows Eddie means the wedding, not the dance.

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Buck agrees.

“Not what I meant,” Eddie laughs. “Ready for the dip?”

Buck raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna dip me? How much have you had to drink?”

Eddie grins. “I’m not drunk.”

Before Buck can respond, Eddie is twisting his arm, and Buck is spinning out of Eddie’s embrace only to fall clumsily backwards into his arms. From his new, upside down vantage point, Buck can see Abby walking towards them, and his stomach rolls. He’s been avoiding her all night (which isn’t hard, because she’s the bride and everyone else here actually wants her attention), but now there’s nothing in her way. She’s going to come over here and unknowingly break Buck’s heart by talking about a relationship that doesn’t even exist.

Maybe it’s the champagne, or the fact that all the blood rushed to head when Eddie dipped him, but when Eddie pulls Buck back up, he does the first thing he can think of to stop Abby. He grabs Eddie’s face in both hands and pulls him into a kiss.

Eddie melts into it immediately, much to Buck’s surprise. His hands roam Buck’s body, finding their way to the small of his back, sending tingles up his spine. For a split second Buck lets himself enjoy it, lets his own hands stray from Eddie’s cheeks and jaw up into his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. And then, as abruptly as he started the kiss, he pulls back.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” He’s still breathless when the apology falls out of his lips. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Eddie chuckles. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” And then he’s leaning back in to kiss Buck again.

Buck puts up a hand to stop him. “What are you doing?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious, Buck,” Eddie’s eyes are sparkling. “I’m going to kiss my boyfriend.”

Buck chokes on his own spit. This must be a dream. He got drunker than he thought and he passed out and this is a dream. “Boyfriend?!”

Eddie’s eyes dim. “I guess I got a little ahead of myself there, didn’t I? We don’t have to rush into anything.”

Buck’s brain is whirring a mile a minute, but he still can’t make sense of what’s happening. “Wh--You have feelings for me?”

Now Eddie looks as perplexed as Buck feels. “I--Yeah? Obviously?”

“Obviously?!” Buck can hear the strain in his own voice. “How is that obvious?!”

“Why the hell else would I ask to be your date to a wedding?” Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

Buck’s mouth falls open in disbelief. “You-But--I thought--I thought we were pretending.”

“Pretending.” Eddie’s tone goes icy. “You were just pretending.”

“No, I, well, I mean,” Buck stumbles over his words, face red. “I thought you were just saving me from having to show up alone and single. I never in a million years thought you could feel that way about me.”

Eddie’s face softens a bit at that. “Buck…”

“I know, I’m an idiot.”

Eddie sighs. “I guess I’m an idiot, too. I could’ve been more clear about my intentions. I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us. You’re my best friend, and the last thing I want is for my feelings to get in the way of that, you mean too much--”

“Eddie, it’s okay--”

“I might need some space for awhile, but you can still see Christopher--”

“Eddie!”

“I’m sorry, again, for all this. I don’t know what I was--mmph!”

Buck cuts Eddie off with another kiss. It’s short, but sweet, and he hopes it gets his point across. “I thought it was pretend, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it to be real.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinks twice. “Oh.”

Buck grins and nods, biting his lip. “Yeah.”

“I love you,” Eddie blurts out. “I’m in love with you. So, this...It’s kind of an all or nothing thing for me.”

Buck’s grin grows wider. “I love you, too.”

Eddie kisses him, and this time it’s Buck who melts under his touch, heart pounding and knees buckling. Eddie’s hands are around his neck and in his hair and every touch sends warmth radiating through Buck’s body. Buck moves to pull away and catch his breath, but Eddie only redirects his kisses to Buck’s neck and jaw.

Buck doesn’t know how he got here, at his ex-girlfriend’s wedding in Arizona, the buzz of champagne fading--replaced with a new, much better kind of buzz--making out with his best friend, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#buddie #buddie fan fic #my fan fiction #prompt fills #I hope you like it!!!!

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preemshots · 4 years

Text

johnny + the nomads lore

alright, i know this is a screenshots blog but i'm going to go ahead and start dropping some juicy lore tidbits as i dig them up. part of what i'm doing outside of just photo diarying is shard hunting, and BOY is there a lot the game likes to hide in those little shards for idiots like me who like to read so we can write unnecessarily accurate fanfiction!

full disclosure, i know jack shit about the TTRPG/cyberpunk 2020 rulebook except what i read in the wikis.

so here’s my lore roundup so far of everything i know about johnny joining the nomads

we know johnny likes to narrate v’s quest objectives. here’s the first mention where he says it himself:

during the voodoo boys quest "transmission" there's a shard in the maglev tunnels beside the ice bath, presumably from brigitte's research into johnny in the first place:

okay, so the timeline is this: johnny joins the nomads after trying and failing to rescue alt. johnny hides out in the badlands for some years. then he and rogue come back to night city and nuke arasaka tower help alt escape the arasaka subnet by uploading liberator to their network once and for all.

this ultimately makes sense. in alt’s flashback, we meet santiago, who is a nomad/connected to nomads, joins rogue and johnny when they're trying to get alt back, and eventually becomes the leader of the aldecaldos.

part of santiago’s TTRPG lore is that he, johnny, and rogue have to lay low in the badlands with nomads after they storm arasaka headquarters (i am aware the game takes many liberties with the original lore so who knows the full accuracy of anything from the original rulebooks)

ENDING spoilers: in the rogue+johnny storming AHQ ending, it's revealed that rogue has a son while they're prepping for the job. if you eavesdrop on her calling him while you're at the afterlife, you hear her tell her son to (paraphrasing here) "pull over and look at the stars", which immediately made my brain go to: nomad, badlands, santiago = dad? maybe. (santiago also canonically has a son according to the TTRPG lore)

this immediately reminded me of another interesting shard that i believe you can find in multiple locations around night city: “"what REALLY happened in arasaka tower?“

i love this dang shard. at first i thought it was just a cute conspiracy with some juicy gossip (and i love how 99% of the shards that mention johnny in this game are reminding us that he's not a real rebel, he's a poser) but it brings some interesting shit together

one: it tells us where johnny got his hands on the nukes! he and the nomads jumped a militech convoy and jacked some bombs!

which is never directly explained, even as saburo arasaka is interrogating him shortly before using soulkiller. very nice of johnny to protect his homies like that.

...or maybe he didn’t. saburo emphasizes that the dead don’t lie like the living do, and we don’t know what exactly arasaka did to johnny’s construct in mikoshi.

it also explains why the obvious media narrative is that militech nuked arasaka, a nice neat political bow to the end of the fourth corpo wars, which is an entire section of the TTRPG lore that makes my eyes cross when i read it.

it also makes the star/nomads ending extremely interesting, because i originally believed it was the ending where V’s journey deviates the most from rewalking johnny’s path... which also has weird implications if the johnny’s nomad era is being kept from v.

(this also leads into my belief that the star ending/the devil ending are narratively two sides of the same coin, but that’s a WHOLE ANOTHER POST for another day.)

TWO, just straight up the fact that they turned the raid where they actually obtained the nukes into an action flick BD that pretty much ANYONE could watch. who the hell was doing that??

well, who else other than the guy who johnny (optionally) punched the shit out of for filming alt's death: thompson, media guy, and according to rogue, “bad luck”. because you know, recording your crimes is straight up evidence that can be used against you.

during the alt flashback we meet thompson, and just after that in cyberspace before meeting alt, johnny tells v that he has no idea what happened to him and that they never worked together again.

oh, johnny, you lying bastard man

this is blatantly untrue, and if V even had two braincells and better memory than a goldfish they'd know this--in the first flashback sequence where johnny and rogue nuke arasaka tower, thompson is on the comms as they ride the AV towards AHQ, questioning their plans and use of violence.

which leaves me with some questions, like where the fuck is thompson, why does johnny keep lying about this, why doesn't johnny say almost anything about how you interact with the aldecaldo clan nonstop throughout the game when he himself may have been a member of the family for some time?? is he continuing to protect the nomad clan that saved his ass? we know that a lot of his flashbacks are unreliable at best, that johnny changes shit up as desired when presenting V with his memories.

in 2077, you can also find that there’s a remake of “badlands raid” in the shard “new release braindances” that is pretty much everywhere. that shard doesn’t add much, but does mention something along the lines of “many people don’t know the ending of the original” which probably means johnny punched thompson out for filming again, or something.

my running theories: rogue ditched santiago and the aldecaldos with johnny and thompson to nuke arasaka tower, and when johnny died she was stuck looking for (heavily implied by johnny here:) corpo sellout ways to survive.

adam smasher obviously has something to do with this since johnny/rogue's vendetta against the guy isn't entirely clear beyond the smokescreen of "he killed johnny and he sucks". i have done 0 research into this though i'm tired of typing okay

i obviously cannot be certain i have found everything related to this in the game as i’m not even done with this playthrough where i’m trying to pay attention, but i hope this is fun for someone else to dig into.

enjoy, fellow silverhand freaks

EDIT: additional findings

ALRIGHT I HAVE DONE MORE DIGGING AND I AM BACK WITH MORE NOMAD/JOHNNY FINDINGS. these ones are kind of a bummer but VERY interesting.

there’s a shard called “excerpts from a history of the nomads by bb pires” that goes into detail about how nomads came to be

there’s an interesting quote in it: It's hard to imagine a group less inclined to wandering than farmers, but in fact they were the ones who sparked the age of nomads. Natural catastrophes, crops ravaged by bioplagues, armed conflicts and martial law allowing corporations to speculate and privatize land - all this forced them into a life on the road.

when you ask johnny why he wants to take down arasaka, he begins by referencing this himself!!

it’s a little awkward to imagine a nomad V doesn’t also know what he’s referencing, but hey, V is the fool because we are as players and that’s only one life path... so sure.

johnny also has unique dialogue during this scene about a nomad origin V, telling them that he’s been trying to understand how V thinks, and came to the conclusion that “their family was a crutch” and essentially made them stupid because they always had a safety net (lmao johnny calling v privileged basically)

BUT this also may reference why johnny would find it confusing as hell that V doesn’t immediately share the views he does when nomads, in terms of values, seem to be more aligned with johnny than V is. but once again V is the fool for a reason and this is all my own speculation so YOU KNOW.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, at the end of chippin’ in, when you ask johnny what he meant by letting down his friends... santiago is named directly

i thought this was interesting since the only glimpse of their relationship that we get is seeing johnny meeting santiago via the alt flashback for the first time.

so now it’s obvious that while johnny and rogue were with the nomads their friendship developed, and johnny went on to disappoint santiago in some way by being his normal dickhead self

but HOW? how did he disappoint santiago? is santiago even still alive?? did smasher kill santiago and is this why rogue mentions during chippin’ in that she wants smasher to “settle a score” moreso than avenge johnny??

the only additional hints i have are from this shard, which you can find at the aldecaldos camp: “nomads at ground zero”

i’m just gonna transcribe here and bold for emphasis:

It was no secret that Night Corp offered generous pay and, in some cases, free cyberware and biomonitor upgrades to anyone willing to help clean up the crater of radioactive rubble at AHQ ground zero. Some firsthand accounts recall the incessant ticking of Geiger counters, like the loud buzz of cicadas in summer. In retrospect, we can only guess how many "crater cleaners" lost their lives to radiation sickness shortly thereafter. Both the city government and Night Corp have claimed casualties were kept to a minimum, while providing no official statistics to substantiate the claim. That being said, they have never been under pressure to release such figures. After all, most rescue, engineering, and rubble cleanup teams were not local Night Citizens, but nomads. Surprised you didn't know? Don't be. It is a fact many history courses tend to overlook. The city employed hundreds of nomad mercenaries, primarily from clans in Aldecaldo nation. These nomads were hungry for gainful work and the city needed experts who were not only experienced but brave enough to knowingly put their lives on the line - all so Arasaka could one day erect another tower in its place. But history is not without its sense of irony. These nomads, who so deliberately live outside our so-called "system," came to its very rescue. Not for the first time. And not for the last.

a main theme we find in this game is the idea that the system of corps and exploitation cannot be stopped by grandiose rebellious gestures--no amount of samurai songs, assassinating mayors, or even planting nukes in towers will change things. yet johnny, his friends and mercs at atlantis in the 2020s, including rogue, chose to rebel any way they could, thinking it better than not. johnny criticizes her lack of rebellious spirit CONSTANTLY in 2077.

but ultimately, johnny, trapped in mikoshi, didn’t get to see the outcome of what detonating the AHQ nukes did to night city’s fragile ecosystem. rogue, however, did--and likely watched their former allies, the aldecaldos, be forced to take dangerous work at AHQ’s ground zero (from lack of other opportunities as detailed in this shard), then die from radiation sickness throughout the following decades, all as a result of what she and johnny did to try and fight the system. and she also watched all the former mercenaries of atlantis be hunted down by arasaka.

so rogue sees firsthand what the cost of rebellion is and johnny doesn’t. and nomads, considered the most free of any of the factions we encounter in the game, are the cost.

#lore post #johnny silverhand #cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cp2077 #cyberpunk lore

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sgtjbbhasmyheart · 4 years

Text

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter One

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2101

Chapter Warning: Bad Language Words, tiny bit of angst

A/N: I started this on AO3 awhile ago. Now that I have a blog dedicated primarily to just Marvel/Bucky, I thought I’d add it here, too. Enjoy!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

Bucky heard his phone buzz as he was tugging a butter-soft tee over his head. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed as he worked his arms into their respective holes.

9:36

Steve was long in bed already, so the text most likely wasn’t from him. Sam was on a me me kick-- No, what did he call them? Memes!-- of a disgruntled cat which he swore reminded him of the super soldier. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were him. Or possibly Nat. She picked up the new issue of Guns & Ammo the other day and was sending him pictures of a Mossberg MC1sc 9mm she was drooling over.

Smoothing the body of the shirt over his torso, Bucky ambled over to his bed. He snatched up the phone from the navy blue comforter and flipped it over. To his amazement, the text wasn’t from Sam or Nat. Or even Steve.

(917) 460-5480 work thing boring af. kinda tied one on. might be late meeting you tomorrow

He blinked several times at the message, uncertain how to respond. It was a wrong number, right? Bucky hadn’t made plans with anyone for tomorrow that he could remember. Plus, everyone he knew had the same work thing. And it was rarely boring.

Definitely a wrong number.

He set the phone down near the clock, choosing to ignore the text. Hopefully, whoever this person was, figured out quickly they were texting the wrong number and moved on.

Bucky pulled back the covers before climbing into bed. His body melted into the mattress, muscles relaxing for the first time since breakfast. Training had been non-stop all day today. It felt good to just be, for once.

He grabbed the book he was reading off the nightstand and opened it to the spot he left off. He cleared his mind, as best he could, and concentrated on the words on the page.

A few pages in, his phone vibrated alive again. Another text message.

(917) 460-5480 sis dont be mad youd be drinking too if you had to sit thru one of these business dinners

Bucky sighed. He had hoped his radio silence would have clued this person into their mistake. Wishful thinking. Before he could punch out a reply, another text came through.

(917) 460-5480 timmons is droning on about this new client. kill me now

He quickly typed out a reply:

(917) 308-3117 I think you sent this to me by mistake.

Bucky watched the text indicator pulse as this unknown person worked out their response.

(917) 460-5480 haha very funny sis

Bucky huffed at this person’s disbelief, thumbs working on typing out his next message.

(917) 308-3117 I’m not trying to be funny. I can’t be someone’s sister when I’m a man.

He set the phone down on the nightstand again, hoping this person finally took a hint. He opened his book back up to the current page, taking a deep breath.

The room’s silence was broken again by the loud thrumming of his phone skittering across the surface of the black wood veneer.

(917) 460-5480 how does kevin feel about this so close to the wedding???

(917)460-5480 will you still need a wedding dress or will you just get a tux???

(917) 460-5480 am i still your maid of honor???

Bucky chuckled at this girl (no, young woman) asking the essential questions.

(917) 308-3117 Your sister did not get a sex change. Yes, she will still need a wedding dress. Yes, you are still her maid of honor. Like I said before, wrong number.

An almost immediate reply came through.

(917) 460-5480 prove it

Bucky grew slightly irritated at the insinuation. Why couldn’t she take his word for it? He exhaled loudly through his nose.

(917) 308-3117 How?

A few moments passed before the device juddered in the palm of his large hand.

(917) 460-5480 selfie

Bucky blanched at the request. He could feel the color drain from his face, only to immediately heat with a blush. A selfie? That is the last thing he wanted to do.

Although he’d been exonerated for his crimes as The Winter Soldier, he still knew about the dislike people felt about him as a person, in general. They couldn’t get past the brainwashing or other persona. God knows he still struggled with it.

He couldn’t go broadcasting his face through texts to a stranger. What if she was one of those who didn’t understand he had no say in what he did or what happened to him under Hydra’s control?

What if he ignored the solicitation? He could do that. Maybe even turn off his phone.

She did seem the type to be very persistent until she got what she wanted.

True to form, another text rang through.

(917) 460-5480 i will keep texting until i see your manly face

One corner of his lips quirked higher. Yup, persistent.

He navigated to the camera app on his phone and switched it to selfie mode. He stared at the damp locks falling to his shoulders. His beard would require a trim soon, but it wasn’t scraggly. Luckily, he’d had the hindsight to shave his neckbeard in the shower earlier.

Was he considering this? Some girl says jump, and he asks how high?

He combed metal fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath.

(917) 460-5480 im waiting

Bucky growled at the text, running a hand over his face. “Okay, okay. Give me a second,” he said to his phone. He held it up to head height, half an arm’s length away.

Click!

He previewed the picture, assuring himself it didn’t reveal too much. It was, somehow, off-center, containing a bearded chin and half a smirked mouth, one nostril, and a half-lidded eye.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bucky pulled the messaging app back up and then sent off the picture. He tossed the phone aside, not wanting to watch the taunting blinking dots as he waited for a reply.

The picture was barely recognizable, but someone like Steve or Nat could tell it was him. It would be okay. No one would know.

His phone vibrated violently near him on the bed. Bucky cautiously plucked the device up, debating whether he wanted to read her reply. What if it said, “Holy shit! You’re The Winter Soldier!”? The hope of this woman thinking he was just some regular guy knotted up his stomach. He didn’t know why he cared so much about whether this stranger thought he was The Soldier or not. He had no control over who believed the lies perpetrated as truth through the media. He could only wish for the best.

He blew out the breath he was holding in and eyed the phone’s screen.

(917) 460-5480 is it fair to say men shouldnt be allowed to have long eyelashes??

Bucky laughed and immediately thought of poor Steve.

(917) 308-3117 You should see my buddy’s. The girls swoon and complain at the same time.

He quickly added to the message thread:

(917) 308-3117 Am I correct to assume you believe I’m a man and not your sister?

The response was swift.

(917) 460-5480 oh shit ur not my sister

(917) 460-5480 this isnt 9173083447?

Bucky laughed again, the tension in his chest slowly unfurling.

(917) 308-3117 Unfortunately for you-- no.

(917) 460-5480 ugh im such an idiot sorry for the shit i said

(917) 308-3117 Don’t worry about it. I had a good laugh at your expense.

(917) 460-5480 oh god now i feel like a bigger ass

Bucky suddenly felt like backpedaling. He hadn’t meant for her to feel bad about her mistake. It was cute in a roundabout way.

(917) 308-3117 Please don’t be embarrassed. It was the highlight of my night.

(917) 460-5480 me forcing u to prove ur a man was the best part of ur night??

Bucky thought for a moment. Was it the best part? The training sessions had become monotonous lately, even with the new agents. The team hadn’t been on any missions in a few weeks, so it was pretty accurate to say he was bored around the compound.

(917) 308-3117 I suppose it was. Work’s been a little slow, and there’s only so much training you can do before it becomes tedious.

(917) 460-5480 training? r u in the military? ooh, r u an athlete??

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. It was comical to see her try to guess his profession. His selfie hadn’t announced who he was to her after all.

(917) 308-3117 Something like that.

(917) 460-5480 so mysterious! r u some assassin who needs to keep his identity secret? is that y ur selfie only showed a quarter of ur face??

He paled at the implication. Maybe she did know and was yanking his chain. How did he block numbers again?

Another text came through from the mystery woman:

(917) 460-5480 not that i mind u have a luscious mouth

Bucky guffawed at the comment as flames rose beneath the skin of his cheeks. He hadn’t remembered blushing this much in such a short amount of time in decades.

(917) 308-3117 How much have you had to drink tonight, doll?

(917) 460-5480 doll?? what r u my grandpa??

He chuckled again. God, he was old enough and then some.

(917) 460-5480 enough to not want to shoot my brains out but not enough to know this dinner isnt a party

(917) 308-3117 Maybe you should get back to your dinner? I don’t want to get you into trouble.

He regretted the text the second he pressed send. Was he trying to get rid of her? No. Or was he looking out for her? This person he knew nothing about. She was more entertaining than the recurring nightmare he’d been having for the last week, that's for sure. He'd cling to this unknown to avoid slipping into that black abyss.

(917) 460-5480 aww does the military-trained assassin athlete mchottie not want to talk with me anymore?? 🙁

(917) 308-3117 No!! I’m honestly concerned you’ll be reprimanded if you pay more attention to your phone than Timmons.

The last thing Bucky needed was to feel more guilt, especially if it was at the expense of someone’s livelihood. His shoulders were already heavy enough.

(917) 460-5480 thats sweet but dont worry ur pretty little head over me timmons wouldnt last a day w/o me

(917) 460-5480 timmons may be the boss but i run that office

He simpered at her swagger. He could only imagine what kind of office she worked in because, again, a total stranger. Did he want to get to know her more, or was this a one and done thing? Would she wake up tomorrow and want to continue the conversation or blow him off for the drunken mistake her first text had been?

Bucky stared at his phone for several more minutes, pondering precisely what he was doing and what his expectations of the night were. It’s not like he was going to meet her in person, right? Was he that delusional? He was an Avenger now. He didn’t get a social life. Not that he had one before but still.

He was startled from his reverie as the phone shook in his hand.

(917) 460-5480 did i scare you away??

(917) 308-3117 No. Just thinking about tomorrow.

(917) 460-5480 shit a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie must have a lot to prepare for mentally ill let u get ur rest

He smiled at the gesture. If only she knew.

(917) 308-3117 Send me a text when you get home. I want to make sure you arrived okay.

(917) 460-5480 such a gentleman! i don’t want to wake u if ur asleep tho

(917) 308-3117 I doubt I’ll be sleeping, but it’ll help ease my mind.

(917) 460-5480 alright ill shoot a text ttfn

(917) 308-3117 ttfn?

(917) 460-5480 ta ta for now god u r a grandpa

(917) 308-3117 Yeah, yeah

Bucky’s mouth split into yet, another grin as he set his phone down once again on the nightstand. He picked up his discarded book and found his place on the page. After a few minutes of re-reading the same paragraph over and over, he slipped the bookmark into the gutter of the book. His mind was too preoccupied with the thought of some random girl in the city at a boring work dinner. He realized he hadn’t stopped smiling since they temporarily said goodbye.

Maybe there was a good chance this conversation would carry into tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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path-of-my-childhood · 4 years

Text

The Story Behind Every Song on folklore - According to Aaron Dessner

By: Brady Gerber for Vulture Date: July 27th 2020

The National multi-instrumentalist spoke to Vulture over the phone from upstate New York a few hours after the surprise release of Swift’s eighth studio album. (“A pretty wild ride,” he admits, sounding tired yet happy.) He was clear that he can’t speak on behalf of Swift’s lyrics, much like he can’t for The National frontman Matt Berninger’s either, or the thinking behind Jack Antonoff’s songs. (Here’s a cheat sheet: Jack’s songs soar, Aaron’s glide.) But Dessner was game to speak to his specific contributions, influences, and own interpretations of each song on folklore, a record you can sum up by two words that came up often during our conversation: nostalgic and wry.

“the 1″

“the 1” and “hoax,” the first song and the last song, were the last songs we did. The album was sort of finished before that. We thought it was complete, but Taylor then went back into the folder of ideas that I had shared. I think in a way, she didn’t realize she was writing for this album or a future something. She wrote “the 1,” and then she wrote “hoax” a couple of hours later and sent them in the middle of the night. When I woke up in the morning, I wrote her before she woke up in LA and said, “These have to be on the record.” She woke up and said, “I agree” [laughs] These are the bookends, you know?

It’s clear that “the 1” is not written from her perspective. It’s written from another friend’s perspective. There’s an emotional wryness and rawness, while also to this kind of wink in her eyes. There’s a little bit of her sense of humor in there, in addition to this kind of sadness that exists both underneath and on the surface. I enjoy that about her writing.

The song began from the voice memo she sent me, and then I worked on the music some and we tracked her vocals, and then my brother added orchestration. There are a few other little bits, but basically that was one of the very last things we did.

“cardigan“

That’s the first song we wrote [in early May]. After Taylor asked if I would be interested in writing with her remotely and working on songs, I said, “Are you interested in a certain kind of sound?” She said, “I’m just interested in what you do and what you’re up to. Just send anything, literally anything, it could be the weirdest thing you’ve ever done,” so I sent a folder of stuff I had done that I was really excited about recently. “cardigan” was one of those sketches; it was originally called “Maple.” It was basically exactly what it is on the record, except we added orchestration later that my brother wrote.

I sent [the file] at 9 p.m., and around 2 a.m. or something, there was “cardigan,” fully written. That’s when I realized something crazy was happening. She just dialed directly into the heart of the music and wrote an incredible song and fully conceived of it and then kept going. It harkens back to lessons learned, or experiences in your youth, in a really beautiful way and this sense of longing and sadness, but ultimately, it’s cathartic. I thought it was a perfect match for the music, and how her voice feels. It was kind of a guide. It had these lower register parts, and I think we both realized that this was a bit of a lightning rod for a lot of the rest of the record.

The National’s Influence On Swift

She said that she’s a fan of the emotion that’s conveyed in our music. She doesn’t often get to work with music that is so raw and emotional, or melodic and emotional, at the same time. When I sent her the folder, that was one of the main feelings. She said, “What the fuck? How do you just have that?” [laughs] I was humbled and honored because she just said, “It’s a gift, and I want to write to all of this.” She didn’t write to all of it, but a lot of it, and relatively quickly.

She is a fan of the band, and she’s a fan of Big Red Machine. She’s well aware of the sentiment of it and what I do, but she didn’t ask for a certain kind of thing. I know that the film [I Am Easy To Find] has really affected her, and she’s very much in love with that film and the record. Maybe it’s subconsciously been an influence.

“the last great american dynasty”

I wrote that after we’d been working for a while. It was an attempt to write something attractive, more uptempo and kind of pushing. I also was interested in this almost In Rainbows-style latticework of electric guitars. They come in and sort of pull you along, kind of reminiscent of Big Red Machine. It was very much in this sound world that I’ve been playing around with, and she immediately clicked with that. Initially I was imagining these dreamlike distant electric guitars and electronics but with an element of folk. There’s a lot going on in that sense. I sent it before I went on a run, and when I got back from the run, that song was there [laughs].

She told me the story behind it, which sort of recounts the narrative of Rebekah Harkness, whom people actually called Betty. She was married to the heir of Standard Oil fortune, married into the Harkness family, and they bought this house in Rhode Island up on a cliff. It’s kind of the story of this woman and the outrageous parties she threw. She was infamous for not fitting in, entirely, in society; that story, at the end, becomes personal. Eventually, Taylor bought that house. I think that is symptomatic of folklore, this type of narrative song. We didn’t do very much to that either.

“exile” (ft. Bon Iver)

Taylor and William Bowery, the singer-songwriter, wrote that song initially together and sent it to me as a sort of a rough demo where Taylor was singing both the male and female parts. It’s supposed to be a dialogue between two lovers. I interpreted that and built the song, played the piano, and built around that template. We recorded Taylor’s vocals with her singing her parts but also the male parts.

We talked a lot about who she thought would be perfect to sing, and we kept coming back to Justin [Vernon]. Obviously, he’s a dear friend of mine and collaborator. I said, “Well, if he’s inspired by the song, he’ll do it, and if not, he won’t.” I sent it to him and said, “No pressure at all, literally no pressure, but how do you feel about this?” He said, “Wow.” He wrote some parts into it also, and we went back and forth a little bit, but it felt like an incredibly natural and safe collaboration between friends. It didn’t feel like getting a guest star or whatever. It was just like, well, we’re working on something, and obviously he’s crazy talented, but it just felt right. I think they both put so much raw emotion into it. It’s like a surface bubbling. It’s believable, you know? You believe that they’re having this intense dialogue.

With other people I had to be secretive, but with Justin, because he was going to sing, I actually did send him a version of the song with her vocals and told him what I was up to. He was like, “Whoa! Awesome!” But he’s been involved in so many big collaborative things that he wasn’t interested in it from that point of view. It’s more because he loved the song and he thought he could do something with it that would add something.

“my tears ricochet”

This is one of my absolute favorite songs on the record. I think it’s a brilliant composition, and Taylor’s words, the way her voice sounds and how this song feels, are, to me, one of the critical pieces. It’s lodged in my brain. That’s also very important to Taylor and Jack. It’s like a beacon for this record.

“mirrorball”

“mirrorball” is, to me, a hazy sort of beautiful. It almost reminds me of ‘90s-era Cardigans, or something like Mazzy Star. It has this kind of glow and haze. It feels really good before “seven,” which becomes very wistful and nostalgic. There are just such iconic images in the lyrics [“Spinning in my highest heels”], which aren’t coming to me at the moment because my brain is not working [laughs].

How Jack Antonoff’s Folklore Songs Differ From Dessner’s

I think we have different styles, and we weren’t making them together or in the same room. We both could probably come closer together in a sense that weirdly works. It’s like an archipelago, and each song is an island, but it’s all related. Taylor obviously binds it all together. And I think Jack, if he was working with orchestrations, there’s an emotional quality to his songs that’s clearly in the same world as mine.

We actually didn’t have a moodboard for the album at all. I don’t think that way. I don’t really know if she does either. I don’t think Jack... well, Jack might, but when I say the Cardigans or Mazzy Star, those aren’t Jack’s words about “mirrorball,” it’s just what calls to mind for me. Mainly she talked about emotion and to lean into it, the nostalgia and wistfulness, and the kind of raw, meditative emotion that I often kind of inhabit that I think felt very much where her heart was. We didn’t shy away from that.

“seven”

This is the second song we wrote. It’s kind of looking back at childhood and those childhood feelings, recounting memories and memorializing them. It’s this beautiful folk song. It has one of the most important lines on the record: “And just like a folk song, our love will be passed on.” That’s what this album is doing. It’s passing down. It’s memorializing love, childhood, and memories. It’s a folkloric way of processing.

“august”

This is maybe the closest thing to a pop song. It gets loud. It has this shimmering summer haze to it. It’s kind of like coming out of “seven” where you have this image of her in the swing and she’s seven years old, and then in “august” I think it feels like fast-forwarding to now. That’s an interesting contrast. I think it’s just a breezy, sort of intoxicating feeling.

“this is me trying”

“this is me trying,” to me, relates to the entire album. Maybe I’m reading into it too much from my own perspective, but [I think of] the whole album as an exercise and working through these stories, whether personal or old through someone else’s perspective. It’s connecting a lot of things. But I love the feeling in it and the production that Jack did. It has this lazy swagger.

“illicit affairs”

This feels like one of the real folk songs on the record, a sharp-witted narrative folk song. It just shows her versatility and her power as a songwriter, the sharpness of her writing. It’s a great song.

“invisible string”

That was another one where it was music that I’d been playing for a couple of months and sort of humming along to her. It felt like one of the songs that pulls you along. Just playing it on one guitar, it has this emotional locomotion in it, a meditative finger-picking pattern that I really gravitate to. It’s played on this rubber bridge that my friend put on [the guitar] and it deadens the strings so that it sounds old. The core of it sounds like a folk song.

It’s also kind of a sneaky pop song, because of the beat that comes in. She knew that there was something coming because she said, “You know, I love this and I’m hearing something already.” And then she said, “This will change the story,” this beautiful and direct kind of recounting of a relationship in its origin.

“mad woman”

That might be the most scathing song on folklore. It has a darkness that I think is cathartic, sort of witch-hunting and gaslighting and maybe bullying. Sometimes you become the person people try to pin you into a corner to be, which is not really fair. But again, don’t quote me on that [laughs], I just have my own interpretation. It’s one of the biggest releases on the album to me. It has this very sharp tone to it, but sort of in gothic folklore. It’s this record’s goth song.

“epiphany”

For “epiphany,” she did have this idea of a beautiful drone, or a very cinematic sort of widescreen song, where it’s not a lot of accents but more like a sea to bathe in. A stillness, in a sense. I first made this crazy drone which starts the song, and it’s there the whole time. It’s lots of different instruments played and then slowed down and reversed. It created this giant stack of harmony, which is so giant that it was kind of hard to manage, sonically, but it was very beautiful to get lost in. And then I played the piano to it, and it almost felt classical or something, those suspended chords.

I think she just heard it, and instantly, this song came to her, which is really an important one. It’s partially the story of her grandfather, who was a soldier, and partially then a story about a nurse in modern times. I don’t know if this is how she did it, but to me, it’s like a nurse, doctor, or medical professional, where med school doesn’t fully prepare you for seeing someone pass away or just the difficult emotional things that you’ll encounter in your job. In the past, heroes were just soldiers. Now they’re also medical professionals. To me, that’s the underlying mission of the song. There are some things that you see that are hard to talk about. You can’t talk about it. You just bear witness to them. But there’s something else incredibly soothing and comforting about this song. To me, it’s this Icelandic kind of feel, almost classical. My brother did really beautiful orchestration of it.

“betty”

This one Taylor and William wrote, and then both Jack and I worked on it. We all kind of passed it around. This is the one where Taylor wanted a reference. She wanted it to have an early Bob Dylan, sort of a Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan feel. We pushed it a little more towards John Wesley Harding, since it has some drums. It’s this epic narrative folk song where it tells us a long story and connects back to “cardigan.” It starts to connect dots and I think it’s a beautifully written folk song.

Is ‘betty” queer canon? I can’t speak to what it’s about. I have my own ideas. I also know where Taylor’s heart is, and I think that’s great anytime a song takes on greater meaning for anyone.

Is William Bowery secretly Joe Alwyn? I don’t know. We’re close, but she won’t tell me that. I think it’s actually someone else, but it’s good to have some mysteries.

“peace”

I wrote this, and Justin provided the pulse. We trade ideas all the time and he made a folder, and there was a pulse in there that I wrote these basslines to. In the other parts of the composition, I did it to Justin’s pulse. Taylor heard this sketch and she wrote the song. It reminds me of Joni Mitchell, in a way - there’s this really powerful and emotional love song, even the impressionistic, almost jazz-like bridge, and she weaves it perfectly together. This is one of my favorites, for sure. But the truth is that the music, that way of playing with harmonized basslines, is something that probably comes a little bit from me being inspired by how Justin does that sometimes. There’s probably a connection there. We didn’t talk too much about it [laughs].

“hoax”

This is a big departure. I think she said to me, “Don’t try to give it any other space other than what feels natural to you.” If you leave me in a room with a piano, I might play something like this. I take a lot of comfort in this. I think I imagined her playing this and singing it. After writing all these songs, this one felt the most emotional and, in a way, the rawest. It is one of my favorites. There’s sadness, but it’s a kind of hopeful sadness. It’s a recognition that you take on the burden of your partners, your loved ones, and their ups and downs. That’s both “peace” and “hoax” to me. That’s part of how I feel about those songs because I think that’s life. There’s a reality, the gravity or an understanding of the human condition.

Does Taylor Explain Her Lyrics?

She would always talk about it. The narrative is essential, and kind of what it’s all about. We’d always talk about that upfront and saying that would guide me with the music. But again, she is operating at many levels where there are connections between all of these songs, or many of them are interrelated in the characters that reappear. There are threads. I think that sometimes she would point it out entirely, but I would start to see these patterns. It’s cool when you see someone’s mind working.

“the lakes”

That’s a Jack song. It’s a beautiful kind of garden, or like you’re lost in a beautiful garden. There’s a kind of Greek poetry to it. Tragic poetry, I guess.

The Meaning Of Folklore

We didn’t talk about it at first. It was only after writing six or seven songs, basically when I thought my writing was done, when we got on the phone and said, “OK, I think we’re making an album. I have these six other ideas that I love with Jack [Antonoff] that we’ve already done, and I think what we’ve done fits really well with them.” It’s sort of these narratives, these folkloric songs, with characters that interweave and are written from different perspectives. She had a vision, and it was connecting back in some way to the folk tradition, but obviously not entirely sonically. It’s more about the narrative aspect of it.

I think it’s this sort of nostalgia and wistfulness that is in a lot of the songs. A lot of them have this kind of longing for looking back on things that have happened in your life, in your friend’s life, or another loved one’s life, and the kind of storytelling around that. That was clear to her. But then we kept going, and more and more songs happened.

It was a very organic process where [meaning] wasn’t something that we really discussed. It just kind of would happen where she would dive back into the folder and find other things that were inspiring. Or she and William Bowery would write “exile,” and then that happened. There were different stages of the process.

Okay, but is it A24-core? [Laughs.] Good comparison.

#Aaron Dessner #interview #vulture #about taylor #taylor swift #folklore album #folklore era #songwriting #producer #the national #bon iver

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jared-19-cant-reid · 4 years

Text

Mirror, Mirror

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader (no “y/n”)

Rating: M

Summary: A stranger catches your eye from across the bar. He seems reserved at first, but you can tell he’s holding something back. When he gets you alone, you see a side of him you didn’t expect-- but definitely weren’t complaining about.

Word Count: 3.7K

Content Warnings: Alcohol, cursing, suggestive dialogue, Dom!Spencer, Brat/Sub!Reader, daddy kink, choking, fingering, oral (female receiving), slapping, light degradation, overstimulation, other general filth

A/N: This one was a lot of fun to write! It ended up being a little (gasp) fluffy at the end, maybe if literally one person asks me to I’ll do a part two. Hope y’all enjoy!

Shooting the bartender a grateful smile, you raised the shot of tequila to your lips. You scrunched up your nose at the burn; you still weren’t used to the taste of alcohol. As a warm feeling spread through your chest, you began to relax. You were here to have a good time, after all-- at least, according to your friends.

They had dragged you here claiming you needed to “loosen up”, and it seemed to be working. By now, the hypnotic music had drowned out all lingering worries that would have otherwise plagued you, and your friends were pleasantly surprised when you didn’t protest as they dragged you to the dance floor.

As you swayed your body to the rhythm of a song you didn’t know, you felt the stress of the week melt off of you. Responsibilities be damned, you were going to have fun tonight. Your laugh floated like bubbles from your lips into the air and your body moved smoothly of its own accord like you had been hypnotized by the booming bass, and you were so lost in your own world you almost didn’t notice the man staring at you from the bar. Almost.

His piercing gaze only met yours for a second, dropping to the drink in his hand when he realized he had been caught staring. A small smile formed on your lips as you said a quick goodbye to your friends, ignoring their cheers in favor of examining the man you were now approaching. Even in the low light, you could tell his was the kind of face that haunted your daydreams for years after you saw it.

By the time you were close enough to admire his hazel eyes, they had found yours, his eyebrow quirking up as you sat on the barstool next to him. Running a nervous hand through his hair and taking a sip of something that looked like whiskey, he clearly hadn’t expected to be approached by the stranger he’d watched from afar. Something about his hesitance only drew you in more. What was he holding back?

“See something you like?” you asked coyly, batting your eyelashes at the man you were growing more interested in with every second spent in his proximity. He coughed mid-sip, taken aback by your forwardness. When he regained his breath, his eyes flickered up and down your body once more, the way they lingered on your curves sending a surge of pride through your chest. There was something behind the curiosity in his gaze, but you couldn’t tell what.

“I, uh…” he struggled for a response, eventually landing on “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

You chuckled in response, amused at the thought of being bothered by catching this polite, insanely attractive man looking at you. You quickly reassured him you were anything but uncomfortable, which sent a red tint to his ears, clearly unused to such overt flirting. A smile ghosted over your lips as you told him your name, and you were met with his in return: Spencer.

You resolved to find out just what Spencer was holding back, inviting him outside. He hesitated at first, but seemed relieved to get out of the crowded bar as he followed you through the doors. As you looked at him under the light of the streetlamp, you realized the dim bar light hadn’t done him justice.

You imagined how the slight stubble on his jaw would feel against your inner thighs, trailing your eyes up and down his body once more as you took in the details that you had been so cruelly deprived of before. He did the same to you, though more subtly and quickly, clearly still trying to be respectful. You hoped he wasn’t too attached to that goal.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a bar like this?” you questioned, genuinely curious. “It doesn’t really seem like your scene.” It didn’t; his reserved manner and clear disdain for crowds had stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Long day at work. I came with some coworkers but they left a little while ago.” he spoke, downward gaze conveying his reluctance to talk about work. I decided to avoid the subject.

“Guess I’m lucky you decided to stay, then,” you smiled. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you took a deep breath and rushed the words out: “Do you maybe want to get a cab back to my place?”

He paused, eyes scanning your face once more. “You’re drunk,” he observed.

“I’m tipsy at best. Not that it matters, I’d invite you home stone cold sober.”

The corners of his mouth twitched up at that, but he stopped himself, pressing his lips into a thin line before speaking again. “Did you know that alcohol consumption increases levels of dopamine and norepinephrine in the brain, lowering inhibitions, increasing excitement, and encouraging impulsivity?”

You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness. “I’m not hearing a no. Last time I heard, dopamine wasn’t a bad thing. Actually, I’m thinking of a few other ways I could get a dopamine rush right now.”

Your neurochemistry-based flirtation seemed to be his breaking point, wordlessly pulling out his phone and struggling with his phone as he ordered an Uber. Your brows furrowed in confusion, replacing the victorious smile that had spread across your face.

“I thought we were going to my place?”

“Mine’s closer, I promise,” he replied, putting his phone away. As his hands struggled with the power button, you couldn’t help but stare. You blinked away images of one of his large hands gripping your wrists, wrapping around your neck, trailing down your body… You looked back up to see him fighting a smirk, clearly having caught you looking.

Your heartbeat quickened at the realization that this was actually happening, and he noticed the change in your face. Before he could speak, you stepped forward, coming close enough to smell his cologne and feel his body warmth. You hadn’t realized until this moment how tall he was-- he had to be at least 6 feet tall, maybe 6’1”. As you looked up at him, you could see the tension in his body as he clung to his last ounce of restraint. You leaned forward slowly, feeling his breath on your lips as your eyes fluttered shut, only to open again in surprise when he pulled back.

“Not yet.” he said simply, gritting his teeth and taking a step back as your Uber pulled up to the curb. As you got in the car, your heart raced with anticipation, every second until you could be alone together feeling like an eternity. You tugged at the hem of your tight dress, trying to cover up a little in the nighttime chill. Still bitter about the almost-kiss, you decided to tease him a little bit.

Pressing your thighs together, you gasped lightly and pulled your lip between your teeth. You felt Spencer’s eyes on you, and though he didn’t respond verbally you knew you were in trouble. The space between you in the backseat felt electrically charged, the stolen glances you shared on the quiet ride to his place leaving you buzzing with anticipation.

He was right to say his was closer, you realized as the car came to a stop mere minutes after leaving the bar. Though you’d been impatient to arrive, once you actually stepped out of the car you were hit with a wave of nerves. It wasn’t that you hadn’t had one night stands before, you had, but never with someone you felt this strongly about. Going home with someone you were so drawn to was a sharp contrast with your lukewarm chemistry with frat guys who would take home any girl with a pulse.

As he fumbled with the lock on the door, you studied him one last time. This wasn’t a man who would bring a girl home just for the sake of a warm body in his bed. This was a man who thought things through carefully, who had moved with purpose once he’d made his decision. You wondered what new side of him lay beyond this threshold. You didn’t have much time to think about it before he opened the door, nodding for you to go in first.

Stepping inside, you looked around to find a cozy room you immediately felt at home in. Several bookshelves lined the walls, and as you admired his collection you found it well organized but messy enough to show the books were well loved. An old chess set caught your eye, along with assorted Star Trek memorabilia and trinkets you couldn’t identify the origin of but you were sure held sentimental or intellectual value. You thought you saw a cane leaning against the wall next to the umbrellas, but the train of thought was interrupted when you were slammed back against the door.

All the air was knocked out of your lungs, not by the impact, but by the intensity of the hungry look in Spencer’s eyes. You were caged in by his arms on either side of you, unable to escape even if you wanted to, but instead of the fear you likely should have felt, your chest was buzzing with pure excitement. He towered over you, his face mere centimeters from yours as he began to speak, his voice low.

“Such a pretty little girl. Just need someone to teach you to behave,” he spat out. Your eyes widened at the words, barely containing a whimper as you looked down to find there was little space separating you. One of his hands left the door to grip your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t you have any manners, little girl?”

“Sorry,” you managed to squeak out. His words had affected you more than you thought they would; you were under his spell within seconds of his attention.

“Sorry, what?” he demanded.

Your eyes widened. You weren’t totally new to this type of play, but you weren’t expecting it from him. You took a guess: “Sorry, sir.”

“Try again.”

The words send a jolt of electricity through your body. Holy fuck, you thought, is he saying what I think he’s saying? You tried again, your voice barely above a whisper: “Sorry, Daddy.”

His pupils blew wide, his grip on your jaw tightening. “Good girl,” he breathed. “What’s your safeword, baby?”

You took a second to think about it, finally landing on “sunflower”.

That was the confirmation Spencer needed to move, closing the space between you in a powerful, hungry kiss. You matched his intensity and tangled your hands in his curls and tugged, earning a moan from him that shot directly to your core. His left hand came down to explore your chest as his right stayed on your jaw, holding you in place.

You let your hands roam as much of his body as they could reach, one trailing down his torso and reaching the waistline of his pants before a tight grip around your wrist stopped you in your tracks.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “You don’t get to touch me unless I give you permission. Greedy girl, just begging to be taught a lesson.”

If you weren’t pressed against the door, your knees would have buckled at that. Your breath hitched as he brought his other hand to your neck, squeezing experimentally. The moan that escaped your lips was embarrassingly loud, and the smirk on his face told you this was only the beginning.

“Look at you, so pathetic for me. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” He drawled in a sickly sweet voice.

His hand on your chest wandered lower, slipping under the hem of your dress. You strained to get closer to him, but he pulled his hand away as soon as you moved. You started to complain, but the force with which he pinned your hips to the door with one hand muted you.

“Be a good girl and stay still for me or you’ll get nothing at all.” He reprimanded.

You nodded, breath shallow as his hand began to trace your inner thighs, so close yet so far from where you wanted him most. You were about to whine when he pulled your panties to the side and, at an unbearably slow pace, eased one finger into your heat. You were panting already, struggling to follow his command to stay still but too desperate for more to do anything that would make him stop. He added a finger and you cried out as your eyes fluttered shut. Apparently Spencer didn’t like that, because his grip on your throat tightened exponentially, demanding your attention.

“Look at me while I’m ruining you, baby.” He punctuated each word with a thrust of his fingers, curling them to hit that spot that made you see stars. You felt like you were going to pass out from pleasure, but you used all your restraint and remaining energy to stay standing and watch Spencer’s face. The man you were looking at now was almost unrecognizable from the man you’d met at the bar. His eyes were hard and unforgiving, and his pace was brutal as he studied your face, watching you fall apart on his hand. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to the peak you were so desperate for, but right when you reached the edge he pulled his hand away.

You couldn’t hold back your complaints that time, and his expression darkened as he listened to you whine. You were met with instructions to “shut the fuck up,” as he so eloquently put it, but you wanted to push him.

“What makes you think you have power over me?”

You could tell he was pissed, but instead of yelling, he remained perfectly quiet. Without a word, he raised his hand and forced your jaw open and brought the fingers that had just been inside you to your lips, his silent command hanging in the air.

Opening your mouth wider, you allowed his fingers to enter, wrapping your lips around them and making a show of it. If he was going to shut you up, you were gonna take back some power while he did it. Hollowing your cheeks around the digits, you flattened your tongue against them and cleaned them of your taste. You watched him swallow as he watched you, fully aware of what you were doing. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and wiped them on your cheek before grabbing your wrist and whispering words that sent a shiver down your spine: “You’ll pay for that.”

Before you could even try to respond, he turned and pulled you to his bedroom. You didn’t even have time to look around before you were practically thrown onto the bed. Spencer walked around the bed slowly, watching you with predatory eyes. When he got to the end of the bed, he grabbed your legs and pulled you down so your hips were close to the edge, allowing your dress to ride up to your stomach.

You saw him getting on his knees, you felt him pull your panties down your legs before discarding them, you were given every hint of what was coming next, but you were still shocked when you felt his tongue against you. A strangled cry left your lips at the sensation, overwhelming your senses as his hands roughly gripped your hips to hold you down. You tangled your fingers through his messy curls, gripping them as if they were all that was holding you to this world. He was merciless in his attack on your bundle of nerves, tasting you like it was for his pleasure instead of yours. It wasn’t long before you felt the tension start to build in your stomach, and you tried to form his name in warning but all that left your lips were broken moans and unintelligible pleas.

He didn’t ease up, continuing his ministrations as you fell into ecstasy. Your orgasm pulsed through your body in waves, its intensity drowning out everything but the pure feeling of bliss that accompanied that release. You pulled at his hair as you came down, but he kept going, sending jolts through your body. You cried out at the overstimulation, whimpering as the knot formed in your stomach once again, building more quickly since you were still sensitive from your first orgasm. Another wave of pleasure tore through you, your moans becoming softer as you recovered.

Spencer stood up and leaned over you, clearly enjoying seeing you this wrecked for him. He brought a gentle hand to your cheek, wiping away tears of overstimulation you hadn’t noticed forming. You leaned into the touch, his soft hand bringing you back to life.

“You look so pretty like this. Were you good for Daddy, baby?” He spoke softly, hand still cradling your cheek. You nodded in response, and his eyebrow quirked up at the sentiment. If you had been more attentive, you might have noticed a dangerous glint that formed in his eye just then.

Without warning, his hand left your face only to deliver a slap to the cheek he had just been cradling, your gasp at the contact bringing a cruel smile to his face. He leaned in closer to you, asking you once more.

“Are you sure about that, baby?” He moved even closer, his mouth next to your ear as he whispered, “Good girls don’t cum without permission.”

Fuck.

The look of regret and anticipation on your face told him all he needed to know. He pulled you up, helping you stand as he walked you to the other side of his room. As he guided you carefully, he spoke again:

“I was planning to fuck you on my bed, but I don’t think you deserve it. See, only good girls are allowed in my bed.”

He dragged you over to his floor-length mirror, pulling down the zipper of your dress that you forgot you still had on. As you hadn’t worn a bra, you were now fully naked… and Spencer was still fully clothed. You didn’t have time to complain about it, distracted by him placing his hand on your lower back to bend you over. Bracing yourself on the large mirror with your hands, you tried not to seem too needy as you reacted to his touch. Apparently the attempt was unsuccessful, because Spencer let out a dark chuckle, watching your face contort in the reflection.

You watched as he slowly undressed, making you wait as long as he could. As you took in the sight of him, your gaze trailed down his torso, your eyes widening at the sight of him. Your shock at his impressive size must have been apparent on your face, because when your eyes met his again you saw a small smirk on his face. Your cheeks reddened, and you looked down to avoid his gaze. Apparently that wasn’t what he wanted, because you soon felt him grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up to see yourself in the mirror. He kept his hand there, watching your eyes roll back as he teased your entrance with his head, teasing you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Just fuck me already!” You cried.

From the look on his face, that was the wrong thing to say. You knew you were in for it already, but you were now mentally preparing to be unable to walk the next day. Despite his clear disdain for your words and the tone you’d spoken them in, he did as you asked. With no warning, he slammed into you, giving you no time to recover before setting a brutal pace that turned your moans to a silent scream. His hand in your hair jerked you up again, forcing you to watch as he destroyed you. You were overwhelmed at the sight: your mascara had run down your cheeks, your lips were puffy from the force with which he’d kissed you, and your body was nearly limp in his hands, trembling and fully pliant.

The look on his face was what really did you in, though. Spencer’s expression told you everything you had wanted to know at the beginning of the night, everything he had been holding back. It told you he owned you, that you were his to ruin, that nobody else would ever compare. It told you that as much as he relished in the power of your obedience, he had needed the release of teaching you a lesson after whatever had happened at work, and enjoyed your brattiness just as much as you did.

You felt yourself getting closer and, remembering your mistake before, started to beg. His look of satisfaction was possibly more erotic than the act itself, and he decided to reward your good behavior. It was that face that pushed you over the edge, sending you into your most powerful orgasm yet, tightening around him as you chanted pleas that were far from coherent, but came down somewhere between “daddy” and “please”.

Still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm, you felt his pace stutter and watched his reflection as he finally came undone, a look of bliss coming over his face. The feeling of him filling you up was almost enough to bring you to the edge again, but luckily he pulled out before you had to test the theory your body couldn’t handle another orgasm.

You were dazed and exhausted when Spencer returned with a washcloth, guiding you to his bed and laying you down on it. Still deep in subspace, you mumbled about how “only good girls were allowed on the bed,” and he chuckled, saying you had more than made up for your bad behavior. You whimpered as he cleaned you up, the overstimulation too much for you. He pressed kisses to your thighs at the sound, and eventually fell next to you on the bed. As you curled into his chest, he whispered words of praise, while you mumbled back assurances he hadn’t hurt you and that you had enjoyed the scene. You said something about leaving, but he talked you into staying the night-- not that you were all that difficult to convince, given your current lingering subspace and overall exhaustion.

While you drifted off to sleep, you listened to Spencer’s heartbeat, allowing the rhythm to soothe you as the two of you became so close you began to breathe as one. You’ve both lived long enough to know what you’d found tonight was rare, so you and Spencer allowed yourselves to find comfort in each other, if only for a night.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #way longer than i thought it would be but thats okayyyyy

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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Title: Kismet {12}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy

Words: 4.2k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: How are you guys liking the pacing of this story? I think this might be my slowest burn of all. 😬😬

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 |

When one thinks of a vacation, you think of beaches, sand, salty ocean water that you can see right through, a blazing sun that is a joy to be burned by, tropical drinks, lounging by the pool in a hammock with an endless supply of bathing suits. When one thinks of the quintessential French vacation, you could think of waking up the smell of flowers from the countryside and the ocean salt, the warm caress of the sun as you sip your French coffee, lounging on the beaches, touring the countryside by day, feasting on the best authentic French cuisine, sipping the best of wine country offered all the while soaking up culture and relaxation. In other words, live like the French.

Your vacation, though it started awkwardly, didn’t remain that way for too long. You and Henry had made it a mission to take relaxation and freedom to the max and, by doing so, you had created somewhat of a routine. Usually, either you or Henry would make breakfast and coffee then have it outside. After breakfast, you’d both lounge by the pool for an hour or two. That was before you found out he liked to work out first thing in the morning. Though you weren’t much for working out, you vowed to do it with him. which led to you having your coffee and then out for a run through the fields. He often went four miles out then four miles back, but when he realized you were not a runner, he cut it down to two and two. Even that was torture for you.

Then once you’d returned and showered, whoever came out first would make a simple breakfast that you’d have out back and then to the pool. After you’d take a drive, often going miles and miles checking out neighboring towns seeing sights. On each day, Henry always had something planned. One day it was a tour of a vineyard where you learned all about the winemaking process, helped harvest grapes, and even did the traditional squishing grapes with your feet. That was the day Henry had the brilliant idea to play up your ticklishness, which led to you falling in the barrel staining your white shorts ensemble red. He laughed his ass off to that. By the time you left the vineyard, both of your outfits were ruined, but you had plenty of pictures and a crate of the wine you’d made.

Another day it was sailing around the Mediterranean in a boat that Henry manned himself. You couldn’t help but watch in awe as he steered it like a pro and taught you the proper terms for things on the boat. When he’d found a good spot to drop anchor close to some rocks, you lounged on the hull soaking up the sun, then taking a dunk in the ocean when the heat became too much where you snorkeled around the reef. On a particular day, he took out a speedboat to St. Tropez for shopping and spa treatments that really had your entire body feeling like jello.

While he liked to spoil you with luxurious options, he also liked the rugged things too. He taught you how to fish and took you on multiple nature walks. While you enjoyed nature, you realized you didn’t like it as much as he did. According to him, he would choose to be out in nature as often as he possibly could. You were slowly beginning to enjoy it as much as he did. A few times, you took him to a club where you saw firsthand that he was a real party boy in another life. You liked the club nights because it showed you a whole other side of him. The side that was carefree, able to cut loose and not take himself seriously. It was a side you made a silent vow to bring out as often as you could.

To round out the experience, he did as the French and took advantage of France’s natural romance. There were plenty of romantic dinners at romantic restaurants that overlooked the ocean or the cliffs or the city lights and even a few at romantic vineyards with the view of the rolling hills and a sunset. The romance was not something hard to find, and it wasn’t always in going out. You spent plenty of nights in the villa lounging together with candlelight in the room and a gentle breeze wafting through the opened doors while watching something on tv together. While it was awkward before, you were becoming more and more comfortable around him.

This comfort also helped you feel closer to him and though you teased each other often, said sly things to one another, and even flirted shamelessly, nothing else of significance had happened. Henry didn’t make any moves to kiss you or cuddle or even hug you, really. The most he’d done was hold your hand at the most sporadic moments, for the shortest amount of time. It made no sense, and it drove you crazy because you could feel the attraction between you in everything you did. You could sense the desire in the air was strong, but everything remained lukewarm.

Though your comfort level rose, your insomnia never subsided. When Henry had gone to bed, you often remained up just writing music, journaling, or making things with the pictures you’d taken throughout the day. Your sleepless or low sleep nights gave you the chance to either reformulate your plan or think about your progress. A lot of times, thinking about the progress had you thinking about him, and if you did that, it was only a matter of time before your mind drifted to your want for him.

It was funny to you that before him, you could push affection, intimacy, and sex to the side and act like they were not even actual things, and it never bothered you or had any effect. Since Henry, it was damn near impossible. You thought about his touch at every turn, about his lips more times than you could count, and imagined him between your thighs at least once every other day.

One night it had gotten so bad from remembering him swimming in the pool in slow motion. Everything he did was in slow-mo like he was posing for some men’s porn magazine. That was the night you had to please yourself to thoughts of his wet lips, memories of his voice, and body as it moved through the water and muscles as he hoisted himself up out of the water with it dripping off of every inch of him. that night, it was the quickest you’d ever come. You wondered if he was struggling the way you were, but throughout the days, you saw no evidence he was, and that made you more insecure than you’d ever felt in your life.

~~~~~~~~~

-Nine Days Later-

The night was young—well, young for you. While Henry slept, you found yourself in the back yard with the breeze brushing against your bare skin. The glow of the moon beamed down on you, bathing you in its pearlescent illuminance, making you feel like a goddess of the night. It could have been the moon, the fact you were naked under it, or the 2nd bottle of wine you were on. It didn’t matter what it was; you felt good. The wine made your thoughts flow more freely, and where your thoughts went, your pen in your notebook mapped. You got your best writing done at three in the morning when you were naked and feeling wine-nice.

With your pen hooked on your bottom lip, you looked over the new lyrics you’d written for a song that Henry had inspired. The notebook was filled with at least ten more from the same muse. This song was the night’s second one. The first centered around your anxious thoughts about making the first move and how to do it in a way with little to no risk, and your worries of being in the friend zone the second was drastically different. This one focused on you admitting your attraction, the possibility you were falling for him, and your fear of him making you feel out of control. It was raw and real, the realest you’d been in a long time when it came to your feelings.

The words across the page were sensual and painted a clear picture of arousal and desire. As you hummed to yourself the way you imagined it flowing, you began replacing your hums with words. You quickly got lost in your process and zoomed through putting everything down on paper. Once your brain sparked off, it never stopped until it finished the mission.

“Aliya?”

You turned to the sound of Henry’s voice, forgetting your state of undress. Almost immediately, you gasped and grabbed the blanket holding it to your breasts.

“Shit.”

Henry was already turned away, his back facing you.

“Um--.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God, I—shit.”

Henry snorted then slowly released a breath in a loud huff.

You rearranged the blanket then spoke, “You can turn around.”

Slowly and cautiously, Henry turned to you again. With your lips pressed together, you gave him your best apologetic face.

“I’m so sorry. I thought you were asleep. I didn’t think you’d come out here,” you explained.

Again, Henry snorted then chuckled to himself as he nodded his head. You were so embarrassed that you covered your face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered one last time.

“No need for sorries,” Henry began trying not to make eye contact. “It’s um—it’s okay.”

The awkwardness had returned.

“I didn’t see anything. Don’t worry.”

You didn’t believe him one bit but pushed any remaining awkwardness deep down and fought through it.

“Don’t you sleep at all?”

“Not really. Remember, insomniac.”

“I know you said that, but usually insomniacs can manage something,” Henry said.

“Um, well, since I was diagnosed, I can on occasion get three or four hours tops.

“Wow. We’ve been sharing this house for a little over a week, and I didn’t know that much.”

You smiled and took another sip from your glass. “You’re off the hook, you actually sleep, and it’s great.”

“How long have you had it?”

“Since I was maybe eighteen,” you explained.

“So what do you do when you’re not sleeping?”

After finishing your glass, you moaned and leaned back in your chair. “Walk around, find a good spot to sit, write, sometimes go for a drive, online shop, work. Usually, it is mainly work,” you confessed.

Henry gave you a stern daddyish look. “Are you working now?”

You bit your bottom lip and scrunched your face. “Guilty but only sort of. I’m writing music. That’s not work for me. For me, it’s a component for my sanity.”

Henry nodded. “So you sit up all night naked writing music?”

The way he put it had you laughing out loud.

“Wow, pretty much. Fuck, when you sum it up like that, you make me sound like an insomniac exhibitionist.”

You laughed together for a few short moments. “Can’t they prescribe something?”

“They have, quite a few things actually. When I was eighteenish, I was on several sleeping pills. I was the guinea pig, and I must have tested at least twenty brands and formulas, but none of them seemed to work well with me. Of course, they had to monitor my intake to make sure I didn’t become addicted, but after a few years, I said, forget it let’s not try anything anymore. I just stopped taking the pills and sucked it up,” you clarified.

Henry looked impressed. “So you function on three hours of sleep?”

“Pretty much.”

He whistled then bowed his head. “Wow.”

“it’s not bad. Honestly, it might be a blessing in disguise. I get so much work done they wouldn’t believe.”

“You literally make money while others sleep,” Henry joked.

You softly snickered and nodded.

“Do they know why it started?”

He was asking all the right questions, you thought to yourself.

“Yeah, we know.” You really didn’t want to say anything else, and you had a mini internal fight. Groaning, you continued. “Trauma.”

You could feel his eyes on you, and you rearranged your things on the table and picked off invisible lint off the blanket, all in an effort to not look at him. Though you were physically naked, you felt emotionally so as well. Taking a risk, you glanced at him and held his gaze. He was unreadable.

“Here,” Henry said, holding out a spoon to you.

“A spoon? What’s this for?”

Henry smiled and took a step toward you. “Close your eyes.”

You scoffed and wrinkled your nose before you closed your eyes and waited. You didn’t hear anything and wondered what he was doing.

“Uh—hello? Henry, are you there?”

The sound of Henry clearing his throat told you he was in a different location that was somewhat closer.

“I’m here. Open.”

When you did, you looked around expecting something but not sure just what. When your eyes landed on the ice cream before you, you smiled.

“For your massive sweet tooth.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. He’d learned a few things about that sweet tooth over the last week. This was him being cute about it.

“This Is my favorite flavor and brand. You don’t play, huh.”

“Of course not. I pay attention.”

“Thank you.”

Henry nodded, then pulled another spoon from behind him. “Cheers?”

You knocked your spoon against his and said the same thing. Henry sat beside you while you opened the ice cream, then both of you dug in. the first spoonful had you moaning so loud it echoed around you.

“That good?”

“Mmmm, so good, better than sex,” you joked.

“Then I am sorry, Ms. Taylor, you are having sex with all the wrong ones.”

The spoon paused at your lips as you quirked your eyebrow at him. Henry wasn’t backing down, though. He held your gaze almost like he was challenging you. Damn, you thought before you looked away first.

“So you write all your own songs?”

Nodding, you put another spoonful of ice-cream in your mouth. “All by myself.”

“Impressive. I know artists try, but not a lot do it alone. There will usually be a few co-writers,” Henry added.

You were a little surprised he knew that. “You’re right. More and more try to get on it for the added profits that being a writer brings in. for me, I do it for far more selfish reasons.”

Henry quirked his brow, silently asking you why.

“I need an outlet, something to get everything in my head out. I’m up for twenty to twenty-one hours a day, and I have a lot going on in there. So, I need to be able to get that out to start fresh the next do, that means---I write.”

The way Henry’s eyes rested on you made you feel like he had so much to say, but he was holding back with doing so.

“It’s good to have an outlet.”

“What’s yours?”

His goofy smile made a return, and you couldn't help but smile back.

“Don’t judge me, okay, but it’s video games.”

You smiled and raised your hands. “No judgment here, ever.”

“I like video games, Warcraft, Witcher, Call Of Duty, HALO. Anything bloody, I’m there for it. I also use exercise a lot. I have to work out, have to.”

“Have to?”

Henry took another spoonful of ice cream and sighed out. He looked like he was thinking about something, and you gave him the time needed.

“Yeah, when I was a kid, I was heavy--,” he began sighing. “I was a fat kid, and it meant I got teased and bullied a lot. My nickname was fat, Cavill.”

“Oh no, that’s horrible.”

“Yeah, plus I was at private school. Let’s just say—it was hard, really hard. I had some dark times, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stick with me some even to this day.”

You bit your bottom lip, reached your hand out, and rested it on his knee. Your heart sank thinking about what he’d gone through. You knew how painful words could be, especially as a child. “I’m sorry. Kids can be such assholes.”

Henry snorted and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “They sure can.”

“Plus, I could tell working out is a joy for you. I’m not blind, and neither is the female population of the world and some of the male.”

Henry’s laugh was unexpected but welcomed all the same. You liked his laugh, and the more you heard it, the more it was becoming one of your favorite sounds.

“Seriously though, I’m sorry you went through that. I know it couldn’t have been easy to work through.”

He looked down at your hand that was still on his knee and nodded before he cleared his throat.

“You mentioned you’re close with your grandmother?”

Taking your hand back, you rearranged the blanket again and nodded. “I did. Yeah. She’s my mother’s mother, and she is—she’s my world.” With a soft smile on your lips, you quickly went through your fondest memories with her.

“I don’t think it’s healthy to depend on her as much as I do, but--.” You shrugged. “She helps me with so much, like being forgiving, being more open, being a better person in general. She gets me and doesn’t judge me or make me feel like something is wrong with me. In her eyes, I’m—Corrin, my middle name, and it’s great. All the pressure I constantly carry around is gone.”

Talking about how much your gramaw meant to you made you emotional, and the sting of tears in your eyes told you just how emotional you’d gotten.

“That’s great to have at least one person in your life that can do that for you. you’re lucky.”

“Yes, ha, she’s—uh, she’s the reason I’m here,” you confessed. Henry looked very interested to know what you meant.

“How so?”

“She uh, she just reminded me of a few things and pointed some other things out to me,” you said, giving him the CliffsNotes version. You could tell it wasn’t going to cut it, though, so you continued. “She pretty much made me think from a different perspective, the one that I was desperately trying to ignore.”

Henry still looked interested, but he nodded. “I have to thank her because I’m glad she changed your mind.”

You studied him for a little while as you put another spoonful into your mouth. “Are you?”

Henry didn’t look away or give way to any emotion on his face. He just nodded. “Yes. I’m glad you’re here.”

You didn’t see any indication that he was lying or stretching the truth. You did notice that the pull between you was still there. Henry was the first to look away this time, and the two of you continued to share the half-gallon container of ice cream while chatting. He told you more about his private school days and painted a clearer image of what he was like as a boy, and the image you got was absolute adorableness and tenacity.

By the time you both walked back inside, two hours had passed, and the beginning of the sunrise was peeking out behind the mountains. You stood in the long hall that separated your room from his clutching the sheet wrapped around you and your notebook.

“So, in the morning—or a few hours we’ll catch a flight out,” Henry confirmed.

“Still won’t tell me where to?”

Henry smiled, rubbed the back of his neck, and shook his head. “You don’t like surprises, do you? This is the fifth time you’re trying to pry it out of me.”

You pinched your lips then groaned. “No, no. It’s not that I don’t like surprises. I love surprises—well, good ones. I just like to know every detail. I like--.”

“Being in control,” Henry finished, hitting the nail right on the head. You knew it was the loss of control that was making you antsy.

You closed your eyes and slowly breathed out.

“Yes. I guess I might have a control problem.”

Henry looked very amused. “Might?”

The two of you laughed together, and you couldn’t believe the call out.

“Shut up.”

“It’s okay. I get it. I like control too, a whole lot, and I don’t usually like when control is taken from me, but I’ve gotten better with it. Now, I won’t die if my control is taken. Then—it felt like it.”

You nodded at yet another thing you had in common. It was becoming more than you could count on your fingers.

“Good for you, but I—I might die.”

Henry laughed again, this time not with you, at you.

“I’m going to make you a promise. By the end of this vacation, you will be better at giving me control,” Henry said, his voice so deep and commanding that your spine tingled. When the tingling traveled around to your gut and moved downward, you clutched the sheet tighter.

“Oh, will I?”

He smirked; it was a cocky one. “Yes, you will. I don’t break promises. Never have.”

Your eyes locked, and that tingling intensified, making your lady parts beg for some attention. He was downright captivating, and it was so hard staying on your side of the hall.

“All you have to know is that I won’t abuse my control. You can trust that. You can trust me.”

You almost made the yikes face hearing the T-word. You knew he remembered you saying that trust was a tricky thing for you, and you also knew this was probably a test. You were in between a rock and a hard place. After sighing out, you spoke.

“Okay.”

“But, you do have to say these five words, though,” Henry said with a smirk.

“What?”

“I—relinquish—control—to—you.”

With every word, his voice got deeper and deeper, his eyes more and more focused on you. It was so easy to get lost in them, and he must have known it.

“Uh—no. I can’t say that.”

“Sure you can. I know it’s not easy, but I promise you will not regret it.”

Your nose flared, heart raced, mouth went dry, all points of your anxiety. You hated feeling backed in a corner, and you hated giving away your control even more.

“Will you relinquish control to me?”

With a grin, he spoke, “I will.”

“When?”

“One day,” Henry said, that grin still on his face.

Of course he’d say that you thought. “How about, I will try,” you appeased.

“Nope. Not good enough. I want it all, Aliya.”

You groaned and ruffled your curls, still clutching the sheet with one hand. He was not going to let up.

“God, Henry.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited. He didn’t even look pressed like he was worried you’d say no. He looked confident, commanding, and in complete control, and it called to you. There had never been any other man who you’d ever thought about giving control to. None of them felt like him. He felt different.

“I,” Henry perked up but kept his eyes firmly on yours. another thing you loved about him. “Relinquish—control,” you paused again, feeling the full weight of the words you were going to release. You weren’t just saying that you were giving him control to make the decisions. You were giving him control, period. That was when the panic picked up. “Control to,” you rolled your eyes then hissed. “You.”

The silence stretched, but the longer it went on, the less anxious you felt. Yeah, there was some residual panic lingering, but the look in his eyes only comforted you.

“Thank you. I know how hard that was for you,” Henry softly said.

You looked down and took a shaky breath. “You have no idea.” When you looked back at him, he was still staring at you. “Okay. Well, good night, Henry.”

“Good night, Aliya.”

A visible shiver ran through you, but you ignored it and turned around to walk to your bedroom door. After a few steps, you stopped and smiled as an idea formed. Instead of walking forward, you turned around and walked back to him. Once close enough, you tiptoed, threaded your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, then pulled his head down to yours. It was then you pressed your lips to his.

From the second your lips touched, it felt like you’d been standing out in the rain and gotten hit but a lightning bolt. Your moan was loud, and once it slipped out, Henry grabbed you, pulled you flush against him, and held you there. The hand on your hip squeezed while his right hand sneaked around your back to press his palm against your tailbone. That was when you realized you wanted more—a lot more. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, then nibbled, sinking your nails into his curls. You were second away from dropping the sheet, so you pulled back, grasping to the fraying threads of your self-control. Henry’s eyes were still closed, giving you a few extra seconds to admire his beauty. He still had the same effect as the first time he’d kissed you.

“Good night, Henry,” you said again, pecking his lips once more before walking away again.

Though you’d given relinquished control, you just took a little of it back. It felt good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TagList:

@dangerouslovefanfic @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @momobaby227 @naturalthrone22 @emjayewrites @chaneajoyyy @caramara3 @caplover22@kikimiyazaki @sonjashuterbugjohnson @minton131 @aar-journey @sincerelyglowing @theonewithherheadintheclouds @shar74nett @livinglifeformemyselfandi @night-of-the-living-shred @kittykatlow @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @simply-heaven @winchwm @maximumninjavoid @offrostandstarlight @angrybirdcr @maxcullen @mauvecherie

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#kismet fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x black ofc #black fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Note

“Can I sleep with you in here tonight?” w/military bros

Restless

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Characters: Scott, Gordon

My muse has been determined to write something with Scott in bed for the last couple of days, and when I remembered this prompt was sitting in my inbox it all slid into place. Not my first time writing Gordon sneaking into Scott's bed, and I'm sure it won't be the last, either...

Needy/Vulnerable Dialogue Prompts

Scott supressed a groan as he instinctively tried to roll over, only for his leg to remind him why he couldn’t do that. The spike of pain that flashed along the immobilised limb had him throwing an arm over his eyes, blocking out the world.

It wasn’t the first time he’d broken a leg, and considering what he did for a living, it probably wasn’t going to be the last, either, but that didn’t make it any more bearable. The hoverchair lurked by the door – far enough away that he couldn’t get himself into it, leaving him stuck in bed – and he’d been gently deposited for the night by Virgil two hours earlier, completely unable to move around under his own steam.

The problem was that he couldn’t sleep. His leg was being a bother, he couldn’t get comfortable, and he couldn’t even escape the bed and hunt down a change of scenery. Starlight shone through the open curtains, left that way by Virgil so he could watch the sun set from the security of his bed, bathing his room in a pale silver. There was no moon tonight.

Restless, he tried to sit up, only for his leg to complain at that, too. It seemed particularly temperamental tonight, determined that no matter what he tried, there was no way to get comfortable. Scott was almost – almost – tempted by the painkillers that had been left on his bedside table for when the pain got too much.

It hadn’t got that bad. Not yet.

Flopping back down against his pillow, he huffed out a sigh. Scott was no stranger to sleepless nights, but he usually had some way of occupying himself. His brothers, in their infinite smothering wisdom, had removed any and all work-based electronics from his immediate reach, presumably in the hopes that he’d get some sleep.

Needless to say, it wasn’t working, and Scott would take even the GDF reports over the dull disgruntlement of his leg and the lack of external stimuli if it had been an available option.

He let out a frustrated – and slightly pained – huff and threw his arm back over his eye. Maybe if he stared into the darkness for long enough, he’d fall asleep regardless of what his leg had to say.

He didn’t. Instead, several minutes later, he heard his bedroom door open slowly and wondered which member of his family had decided to check up on him in the middle of the night. The footsteps that padded quietly across his floor belonged to bare feet, instantly disqualifying John, who had a preference for slippers. They were too light to belong to Virgil, but too heavy to be either of the females. Brains almost never ventured into their rooms, and certainly not at night, which narrowed it down to one of the terrible two.

From the even, measured pace rather than something off-kilter and hurried, Scott surmised that it had to be Gordon.

“What’s up?” he asked as his brother reached his bedside, not bothering to move his arm from where it was still slung over his face.

“Can I sleep with you in here tonight?” Gordon asked, voice appropriately quiet for the time of night. Scott let out an equally quiet sigh.

He wasn’t really in the mood for a wriggling brother in his personal space, especially when he couldn’t sleep anyway, but on the flip side of things, if he couldn’t sleep anyway, a wriggling brother wasn’t going to make much difference. Besides, it went against every big brother instinct he had to turn away a little sibling.

“Sure,” he allowed, an inevitable caving they’d both known he’d make. “But I’m not moving.”

Gordon let out a small huff of amusement. “I know,” he agreed, still keeping the volume down to an appropriate level. Scott’s comforter shifted, and a moment later the mattress sank as a new weight settled on it. The aquanaut was more than capable of being careful when he wanted, and Scott knew it wasn’t a coincidence that he’d chosen to settle on the side that didn’t have the broken leg.

Still, none of his brothers asked to share a bed without a reason nowadays, and if Scott couldn’t sleep he might as well be the big brother Gordon no doubt needed.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked. It had to be a nightmare of some sort – they were painfully frequent for all of them, and the guaranteed reason to get little brothers snuggling up to him for the night. True to form, Gordon pressed himself against the length of Scott’s side, and an arm snaked across his chest lightly.

“Nah,” his brother yawned, wriggling just a little before apparently finding his comfortable spot. “I’m fine.”

Scott knew better than to push, but he still wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulders lightly in return. Gordon hummed lightly.

“Go to sleep, Scott,” he murmured, cheek pressing against Scott’s shoulder. “You’re okay.” The arm across his chest squeezed for a moment. “You’re safe.”

It almost sounded like Gordon was trying to convince himself, rather than Scott. Then again, it had been Gordon who had found him trapped in the cave-in and screamed for Virgil and his exosuit to come and move the rock off of Scott’s leg. With the area so unstable, and other rocks periodically falling while they waited, in one instance only narrowly missing Scott’s helmet, it had been a hair-raising experience – for both of them, if Scott was completely honest.

The words themselves were accompanied by another yawn, sure-fire evidence that the blond was rapidly falling back towards sleep himself, and a small fond smile crept, unbidden, onto Scott’s face.

“I’m safe,” he agreed. “You get some sleep, Gords. I’ll still be here when you wake up.” It wasn’t like he had much of a choice in the matter, still too soon into the healing process to even be permitted crutches and completely reliant on his brothers helping him from bed to hoverchair, but even if that wasn’t the case he knew what his brothers needed. Gordon needed to be sure he was safe, and that Scott could provide.

It was barely any time at all before Gordon’s breathing even out in sleep, breath tickling Scott’s throat the same way it always did when Gordon came crawling to him after a nightmare. The familiarity was almost a comfort to Scott, and he closed his eyes, listening to the steady inhale-exhale and feeling the reassuring warmth of another body pressed against his side. He would never admit how much comfort he, too, gleaned from having a brother or few in his bed after a rough day, but it was undeniable in the safety of his own mind.

In fact, despite his earlier thoughts about a sleepless night, and a leg that had refused to settle comfortably earlier, it was only minutes before Gordon’s breathing coaxed him down into his own slumber, leg suddenly, inexplicably, content.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #drabbles #thunderfluff #restless

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rose-lord-of-simps · 4 years

Text

5 Times Mammon Interupted Levy. 1 Time She Didn’t.

Levy x reader! GN reader! Fem Levi! Hi! Uh- NSFW. Also cursing is included! I wanted to write something funny though and this popped in my brain! Enjoy!

Note: normally my stuff doesn’t have many NSFW themes and typically I prefer to keep it more romantic and fluffy but not this time. However this is not smut and is a comedy piece. Enjoy!

Dialogue is colored this time around! Levy Mammon Asmo italics is the person on the phone.

1. When Levy told Mammon to shut up.

“Yes!”

“So close!”

“Almost- almost there!”

“Keep going!”

“Come on, come on!”

Mammon heard Levy through the walls. That’s how loud she was. Mammon didn’t like to be a cock block or anything, especially not to Levy who- wait when was the last time she got laid? Wait... did she ever-? No they’ve been alive for centuries she’s had to! Wait never mind back to the problem at hand.

Mammon normally didn’t care if Levy was loud or not. She usually had her headphones to block out the noise. However, a certain sister was using them without permission and broke them. Stupid Satan, Mammon definetly didn’t steal your headphones.

Without her headphones she was left unprotected to Levy’s loud gaming nights until she got a knew pair. As much as Mammon loves her sister, the noise is getting annoying.

So here Mammon was, bathing into Levy’s room to embarrass her for being so loud then-

“FUCK YEAH EAT SHIT LOSERS EAT MY DUST YOU TWELVE YEAR OLDS!”

“LEVY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!?”

“SHUT UP IM PLAYING MINECRAFT! Mammon? GET OUT OF MY ROOM! GO! LEAVE!”

“OKAY OKAY BYE!”

Of course the only logical thing when you find your sister in the middle of a game is to leave as she throws various empty soda cans at you.

2. When Levy was on a phone call.

Mammon didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Again. Honest!

But when she hears her shut in sister say the words “I love you” and then another VOICE respond “I love you too” she’s gotta know what’s going on.

“I miss you so much darling, I can’t until I can see you again.”

“I miss you too my star, so much.”

Levy missed someone? Since when!?

“Remember last summer when all we did was go on picnics and have tea? You always found the perfect spot for us to sit.”

“Under the willow trees. Anything for you my star.”

When did Levy leave her room- Wait last summer!? Does Lucy know?

“And next time we see eachother I promise there will be absolutely no interruptions what so ev-“

Mammon just couldn’t take not knowing any longer. She had to know who-

Oh.

Oh she should have expected this.

“MAMMON GET OUT IM ON A PHONE CALL WITH RURI~CHAN!”

It was a game. It was a texting game. Of course it was.

3. When there was almost a first K word.

It was an average day.

Well I mean, they sisters’ new average.

It’s been a few months since the start of the exchange program and you finally managed to worm your way into Levy’s circle of trust.

You two were just in her bedroom binging a new sports anime called “that time sports all changed my life and I had a giant crush on half my team but the one who I ended up loving was my rival the whole time.” Or something.

It was nice. The anime had you two clinging to eachother in excitement.

The emotions each character displayed had the both of you tearing up at points.

Levy was so distracted, it wasn’t u til after the season finale she realized just how close you two were.

Oh boy.

Here we go.

Levy’s brain has been fried, once again, by how cute you are.

She started to move but when you held your grip on her she couldn’t bare to move away from you.

She looked you in your eyes that she always thought were just the perfect color. Not too light or too dark but always the eyes she adores.

She didn’t notice herself lean in. She didn’t notice pulling you closer.

Her hands were cold against your skin, they always were, they always left a chill on you.

One that made you lean into her more and somehow managed to light your soul aflame with want for her.

Levy’s face was closer to you than she’d ever had the courage to keep it before.

And then a pounding on the door.

“MC are you in there! I need your help with something!”

And there the mood went.

Levy realized how close she was to you and backed away immediately, leaving you truly cold.

4. When Levy was having a conversation with Asmo.

“Asmo! This time I have a power point presentation about why you should-... what is going on here?”

Mammon had walked in on a blushing Levy and an elated Asmo.

“Am I... inturupting something?”

“Yes!”

“Not at all!”

“Asmoooo! No we can’t tell her we absolutely can not.”

“But Levy Mammon knows how to do this too and honestly with the me there is no way you could go wrong but a little extra help isn’t a bad thing. Mammon is good at this too!”

“Good at what?”

“Nothing.”

“Sex.”

“ASMO!”

“Oh no Asmo’s right I can help what’s up?”

“No it’s nothing go away you stupid older sister!”

“Levy and MC are getting kinda serious so Levy wanted to talk about how to be more confident initiating intimacy so she came to her dear expert little sister!”

“Awww Levy I’m hurt you didn’t come to me for advice first!”

“SHUT UP I HATE YOU BOTH!

5. When Levy was kinda in the middle of something here.

Levy doesn’t know how she managed this.

She doesn’t even think it’s real.

Here was this gorgeous human kissing her of all demons when there are plenty of others who are a much better choice. Here you were, crawling on top of her and asking her if she wants to go further.

Here you were, asking her if she wanted more.

Clothes were forgotten on the floor.

Hands were desperately feeling for the other’s touch.

This was something new.

And no amount of anxiety or over thinking could of made her pull away.

She adores you with everything she is.

Her confidence was just starting to come to her when-

“Hey Levy did you ever- WOAH WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO MY HUMAN”

Thankfully pants were still on.

However Mammon’s head was about to be off.

+1. When Mammon finally learned.

Since then nothing but snuggles and cuddles has happened between you and Levy.

And to be honest?

You were fed up.

Every time you two would even so much as kiss something would interrupt you.

Levy was going insane.

Everytime she got comfortable and let her guard down, something spooked her.

And you could tell.

But not today.

No to-fucking-day Mammon!

Levy had been out for hours to get a new game she had been wanting forever that was only available in one store.

You stayed home this time, feigning sick. You were fine, obviously, and just told her you are too much.

You got her room ready.

Anime to binge - check.

Fluffy blankets - check.

Nerdy playlist because you’re both in love with anime dorks - check.

No interruptions - working on it.

This is the part where you bursted into Mammon’s room. Blackmail in hand.

Here we go.

“Mammon! I am going to have a nice evening with my girlfriend, Levy, ALONE. And if you so much as think about trying to get to either of us, I will personally hand this folder of evidence to Lucy.”

“Woah human, what evidence and for what crime? You got no proof I did anything.”

“Oh really? Tell me, what was the one prank Lucy never caught you on?”

“The cups in her office. Why?”

“So you admit you were the one who put all those cups in her office and made her lose hours of work time, ultimately making her sleep less and be extra cranky the next day?”

“Yes and it was hilarious! I wish I could’ve seen her face!”

You pull the recording pen out of your pocket. Yes. Yes you did just pull a Judy Hopps.

Mammon’s face looked pail as a ghost.

“Now you’re going to stay out of my room and out of Levy’s room and I will see you tomorrow at breakfast, or this pen will be hand delivered to Lucy.”

“O-Oi you don’t have to go that far! You could of just told me ta leave you alone!”

“Good.” And with that you left.

————

Mammon was bored. Very bored. There had been multiple times she almost got up to go look for you but then she remembered the pen.

And she sat her ass back down.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me gender neutral mc #obey me genderbend #obey me x mc #obey me x oc #obey me x y/n #obey me x you #obey me x reader #leviathan x reader #leviathan x you #leviathan x mc #leviathan avatar of envy #obey me leviathan

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staylavendertea · 3 years

Text

music, ya know

this is a complete impulse of lying in bed middle of the night thoughts that i don’t even know if anyone’s gonna see that have been stemmed off the experiences of the past couple days, topic of 1:41 am mind boggle:

music and it’s aesthetic and importance in literal every sense cause it’s just that important to me

first experience of realizing this, i’ve always loved film scores and listening to music and the orchestral pieces from movies and shows, but it really seemed to hit me recently, like the fact that this week’s new LOKI episode, no spoilers, has the most badass score and a badass scene with such a perfect mix and musical atmosphere. i literally had one of my best friends over, who has a very small interest in comics, cinema, marvel in general, especially a show about a norse comic god that they know nothing about, and whilst they sat there for my own regard, watching the show like a normal human being would, i sat there clinching their hand, watching in awe as our music is louder than actors talking tv speakers spurted out the most spine tightening world building story and just wandered “jesus that was good” and whilst i will always think about the superior acting, cgi, the amount of different people that just went into those few scenes and like what was physical set and what was computer image and what the hell did i just watch that has my brain running olympic marathon circles right now?

the thought that said brain kept going back to was that fucking score. it was literally tearing apart of every corner of my head and why was it doing that?

second experience, another marvel one, but i digress. black widow (no spoilers i promise), thursday night, movie theater for the first time in i can’t even remember how long now and we set through so many previews just for fucking boss baby to start playing and the reaction of the theater to make me burst out laughing.

however whatever works in that little projection box, gets fixed and the movie is pushed to just a little before it starts, a nice small pepsi ad, the regal rollercoaster intro (if you go to regal movie theaters ya know what i’m talking about), and then i hear it - the marvel studios logo - something so musically engraved into my head that my ass that can’t sing for anything, can harmonize with the sound and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up around movie theater surround sound. but i can’t think of that now, i’m here to watch black widow, a movie on hiatus with the rest of the world for so long now, a character i didn’t know much about it or truly, didn’t have the most connection with in the first place. yet through that one movie, i seemed to build one of those.

ofc though scarlett johansson’s beautiful acting and world building, but it isn’t until the end of the movie that i even realize why. it was the fucking score again. when i think about it, the beginning of the movie felt like all of black widows scenes in the avengers movies for me, kinda just, there. not really emotionally tugging, not bad ofc either, but just, there. in the present, watching something cool in motion. but then it hits, what i can only describe as a theme that somehow tells the entire black widow movie in one singular composition. something so badass, story telling, but also just singularly black widow-esk. i can tell you that i walked out the movie theater rambling about the composition and looking up composers.

third experience, the most recent as it was literally like 20 minutes ago and sprung one train rail of a thought process that immediately tugged me into typing this brain vomit into a tumblr post. i have playlists. for everything. and when i say everything, i fucking mean everything. i’m a writer and a reader, i have playlists mostly for the young avengers, my most utter comfort characters, and their stories i’m writing. i also have playlists/genre/specific song for about every book i read.

when i read red white and royal blue when that came out, i noticed i listened to one of the drunks by panic at the disco the entirety of the ending of the book and the words and music fit together like puzzle pieces, not only did it make the reading experience better, but i was so fucking emerged in my over hyper-imagitive brain that when i finally actually finished the book, i still never left. rewind present day to the beginning of this past june, one last stop comes out, ofc i get it the day it comes out with my anticipation building like wildfire. i start reading that night and i put on my recents on my liked songs playlist (true to true spotify user) and i slowly over the next day as i read and finish the book, windle down to the genre, then the band, to the album, to the exact song that feels like the carbon copy of the words i’m reading. that song was only ones who know by the arctic monkeys. now go back to this past week, anyone who reads the carry on series knows, anyway the wind blows came out this past tuesday. i waited till wednesday to buy the ✨pretty special addition barnes and nobles copy✨ so that the dear friend that indulged me by watching loki that same day could buy it at the same time and make a cute book date or whateva. i started reading that night and something just felt ,,, off. i didn’t know what it was, but i was living off the pure joy that simon and co give me so i ignored the feeling. until i realized why it felt off this morning. i wasn’t listening to any fucking music, literally nothing, not even queen. motherfucking. queen.

i looked for the snowbaz playlist i made when i read carry on for the first time back in 2016/2017 when i was still a freshman in high school just to remember i deleted that literally forever ago. so i made a new one. like an hour and a half ago. very inspired on how i made the playlists for the young avengers and all their stories. letting the music talk.

the fact that all these rambling thoughts have led to this conclusion makes my head hurt, but for me at least in my own experiences. music talks. a two way conversation. a radio broadcast, turning the peg until you match the same frequency thats being put out and you can hear it and understand it. it’s like when you see comedians on stages or actors on panels, they talk, you have reactions, you talk back, and so forth the loop continues until the last voice, last note, rings out. music and songs and orchestral pieces and bands and composers and lyric writers are telling you the stories in reverse. they don’t know their doing it, obviously they meant something entirely different in their creations, but it’s like literature and any work of words and storytelling. interpretation. to me, the notes, pianos, violins, guitars, drums, singers, cellos, and anything that can make sound you can think of, is telling you something. whispering in your ear as you watch or read. facial features, emotions the characters dont say out loud, outfits, they way their standing or talking or moving or interacting with anything and everything.

when i just made that carry on playlist, i played it, decided to try read some good almost 2 am fan fic as you do, my hanging on by a thread sleep brain telling me words aren’t recognizable right now, and tighten myself into a blanket to see if i can sleep at all. the playlist still plays and my never shuts up head thinks it’s own daydreams, stresses out about anything it can, that is until the song plays. the one that just speaks the carry on trilogy language. the one that i found whilst i was reading wayward son and then would play whenever i re read carry on. the one that started this whole way too long ass post in the first place. cant be alone tonight by atlas. i heard just the first sound and i saw them, as if i were in the same room, like i never even put the book down in the first damn place because i’m actually terrified of finishing it. i could see simon in his oversized hoodies, baz in an outfit that was way too good just to be sitting inside, agatha looking as pleasantly pretty as ever, penelope poking fun at shepherd, and shepherd poking fun right back; bickering, laughing, saying the dialogues i try to remember so i can write them later, existing.

in a way music doesn’t just talk, but it lives. it lives and breaths. a three way conversation you could say. characters, stories, plot, and settings talk to the music, then the music delivers us listeners the message, so that we can send one back. this literally took me over an hour to write and i should point the important note that i do have synesthesia where colors and sounds and colors and words do the association so this entire thing might be me being entirely biased, but alas, i love sound so much and if there is anyone else that feels the same ways as i do as just a simple good film score and song makes anything ten times better, feel free to talk, i will totally be awkward, but i need some music freaks like myself around so feel free to hit me up, also if you love movies and cinema also feel free to hit me up as i need movie buddies and now it’s 3 am and i will be going to bed - peace out 🛸

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ofmythsandmadness · 4 years

Text

movie night (request).

REQUEST; May I request a fic with Diego, mutual pining and yearning and all that good shit. Just kinda an all around fluffy fic, and it ends with them confessing to each other or something like that? Love you!💕 -- anon PAIRING; Diego Hargreeves x gender neutral reader. (2nd pov) WARNING; not much. a couple curse words, some bad writing (forgive me, it’s late).

NOTES - This is short (for me) but sweet & really all dialogue. But it’s okay! I finally got a request done in only a few days, which is nice for once. I know I’ve got two other things to put out, they’ll come later (aka updates for inaf and that trilogy i had). but anyways, hope you like and thank you for requesting anon! Also, not edited and a bit bleh at the end (whoops). xx

“KLAUS, SIT YOUR ASS DOWN RIGHT NOW!”

“NO!”

“This is MY apartment!”

“And this is MY body, so--!”

You roll your eyes and slump back down to the couch. Your eyes leave his indignant glare and fall back to the two movies on your lap. “For the last fuckin’ time, you can’t just declare that as your argument! It’s my TV, and I don’t wanna watch Zoolander!”

“Well, I don’t want to watch that!”

“That?” Your hands scrabble at the DVD case before lifting it to his face. “That is an American treasure, dumbass! This is like, the greatest comedy ever made!”

“I didn’t laugh once!”

“You haven’t seen it!”

“SO?!”

“GUYS!”

Before you could retort or Klaus could cut you off (again), a third voice joined the fight. Diego.

Without even thinking about it, you smiled at him, forgetting for just one second about your fight.

Just for a second.

“Diego, thank goodness you’re back, I can’t handle this alone!”

“I could hear you two screaming from down the hall,” he huffed, heading in with a bowl and a frown. “Klaus, you’re gonna get Y/N another noise complaint.”

Klaus pouted. “She started it!”

“How the hell is asking what movie you wanna watch starting a fight?”

He just stuck his tongue out at you.

“You guys always fight over this,” Diego sighed. He sank into the couch and in response, you shuffled back, giving him just enough room to get comfortable before sinking back. “I’m starting to think movie night was a bad idea.”

“No!”

“No-o,” you groaned. Without thinking, your forehead fell to his shoulder, emphasising a facepalm without having to lift your own hands (which were still clinging tightly to your DVD). “This is a good idea, your brother just can’t compromise.”

“Compromise? You just want to watch -- Diego, she’s impossible!”

The man just sighed, and you felt the vibrations of the heavy sound leave his shoulder to your forehead. “Shut it, both of you. I’m picking. We’re watching this one.”

You glanced up to see him gesturing at your choice. Immediately, your eyes lit up and you turned to his brother with a resounding ‘HA!’.

“That’s not fair!”

“How’s it not fair?” chorused both you and Diego at the same time.

“You always go with her pick!”

Your smile died a little, replaced with new anger. “That’s not true, you’re just a sore loser! And your brother has taste!”

But Klaus didn’t even care for the half-baked insult; he was ploughing right along with his first point, almost excitedly too. “You always do! Every time we fight and you pretend to ‘break up the fight’, but you’re not sly, dear brother!”

Diego frowned beside you. “That’s not true. I picked yours last week.”

“No, no you did not! We watched Inception even though you said before that one chick freaks you out too much!”

“Well -” you pause, mulling over his words just the littlest bit; maybe he did have some fragments of a point. “Well, that’s not totally valid. I mean, Ariadne’s not in the movie that much, he doesn’t have to look at Vanya’s doppelganger the whole time.”

Diego nodded. “‘Sides, it was better than whatever the fuck you chose.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Klaus cooed, still on top of your coffee table and still way too energized to be standing on it. You really should stop letting him stand on such delicate things - but perhaps that argument could wait until after he was done making such weird points. “It’s always her - I mean, Diego, don’t you think you’re laying it on a bit thick?”

“What?!”

“Huh?!”

Klaus scoffed. “Come on - you two have been making goo-goo eyes and sweet little gestures for as long as I’ve known you two! Movie nights are just the next thing you’ve taken away from me, and manipulated to be about your sick mutual pining scheme!”

Your mouth dropped open in a move to immediately dispute, only to simply hang, unsure what there was to say to that. He was wrong, of course - for the sure fact that you knew Diego did not like you at all. Wouldn’t you know, already if he did? Sure, maybe you were a little obvious with your feelings sometimes, but only occasionally, and they were never received as much.

This was just a grand scheme to get his movie picked, and you told him that, proudly calling him out on what you thought was just a big game.

But Klaus did not react as you thought he would. Instead, he leapt down from his post and sank down to sit on the coffee table, teetering into a cross-legged position. His long fingers jabbed at the both of you. “You two are so in your heads, you’ve gone blind to the other person. I mean, Y/N, you’re literally curled around Diego right now, does that not register in your brain?”

Okay, so that was correct. You were close to him, maybe not as close as he said but your head did rest on his sleeve, and your hands --

-- awkwardly, you pulled away, crossing your arms across yourself. “Not a good point; I’m just comfortable with him. As I am with you.”

“Ah, but we don’t cuddle like two babes in a pea pod, do we?”

“Klaus, you’re being-”

“-foolish? Am I? Diego, brother of mine, you look at Y/N like she’s aligned the stars and moon and given them to you as a gift! And you look at me like I’m dirt on the side of -”

“-Klaus,” you hissed, with hot cheeks and a new feeling bubbling at your throat (embarrassment, maybe? fear?) that you did not want to spill. “If I pick your movie, will you stop this nonsense?”

The young man huffed, raising his knees up and flapping them down again. “Don’t be so scared of acceptance, dear Y/N! I mean, think of the potential, two people with questionable taste finally joining and becoming one?”

“Klaus!”

You rose from the couch suddenly, jerky motions and wide eyes in an attempt to hide your overwhelming emotional buildup. You didn’t look at Diego. “Sit, Klaus, please, and let me put on this damn movie so we can be free of this? Stop making our lives a rom-com!”

“Am I wrong?!”

“Yes!” You responded, indignant and loud. Still you refused to look Diego’s way. “Come on now. If Diego thought of me as attractive, I’m sure we would’a worked it out in the many years of our friendship. Right? Let’s just watch this film.”

Klaus mumbled something under his breath, but it was too quiet for you to catch. He slumped down in your place and grinned, “Diego, will you cuddle me like-”

“-I will gut you like a fish, asshole-”

“-movie time, quiet up!”

You sank down into your chair, cold and missing Diego’s presence, and avoided his searching eyes. Whatever was going on with him, it wasn’t something you were sure you could emotionally deal with; Klaus pretending like your feelings could be requited would be enough pain for the night. You’d gladly watch his pick if it meant quiet.

“HEY.”

You didn’t look up from the dishes; you didn’t have to, to recognise the voice. “Hey. Klaus asleep still?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“You, uh…” Diego’s voice followed behind you, until you were pretty certain he was leaning on the counter almost directly from you. “All the stuff he said…”

You forced a chuckle, even though your heart had almost immediately sunk. And here you thought you’d be free of more tragedy that night. “Ha, yeah. So weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, losing momentum with every second. Did you have to do this? You were tired and lonely and sad, and you didn’t want to get second helpings of unrequited feelings that night. But still, you played along. “Such a joke. You n’me? I know you don’t feel that way, don’t worry.”

“What if--” he stopped, short.

You waited a moment to see if he’d continue, only to be met with silence. You turned to stare at him. He leant back on his arms with his head down, so you couldn’t see whatever look he wore on his face.

“What if…?”

“What if…” he paused again, sighing and rubbing a hand down his face. “I...if...I dunno. It wasn’t all a joke.”

Okay, you were starting to freak out a little, If this was some sort of joke… “Diego, I really don’t ha-”

“-I like you, Y/N.”

And just like that, your heart had stopped.

Well, not really. Though it did feel like it did; one moment you thought he was there to confront you about your feelings, and the next you could only start at him like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure whether or not to run or to just stand and wait for the impact.

“W-huh?”

“I-idiot’s talking about me,” he groaned, and clearly he was forcing the words out, practically spitting them to avoid stuttering. “I-I just didn’t say it cause-”

“-don’t say that.”

Diego stopped. “What?”

“I mean,” you shrugged, taking a step away from the dishes. Your soapy hands moved out to just almost touch him. “He’s way too adamant on his choice in movies. And some might say he has no choice...but he’s definitely not an idiot.”

Slowly, Diego, rolled away from the counter and lifted his head to look at you. You could see the same look in his eyes you were sure reflected in yours; confusion, fear, a little bit of that bubbling excitement that came with passion--

“He figured out we were both into each other ‘fore either of us had a clue.” You stepped nearer; the two of you were nearly touching. You forced your head up, staring him down with a smile. “To be completely honest, this feels like a fever dream. Not sure this is even happening.”

“Oh,” he whispered, and it came out more like a sigh than a word. His hands met your waist, trembling but pressing. “Y-”

-you cut him off. Quickly, before you could lose your will (or grip on reality, whatever came first) you lifted up on your toes and to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to his own. It was brief but sure, only lasting a second before pulling away.

“I like you too, dummy.”

His eyes reopened and stared down at you, wide and happy. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know how you didn’t notice,” you laughed, itching to kiss him again. Why had you pulled away so quickly? His taste didn’t even remain on your own lips, no matter how you licked at them. “I feel like I was obvious as hell.”

Diego smiled a little, soft and pretty. “I g-guess I was just b-b-busy lookin’ at you like you hung the moon, or - or whatever Klaus said.”

“IT WAS ALIGNED THE STARS AND MOON, YOU LOVESICK FOOL!”

“GO BACK TO SLEEP, KLAUS!”

“...DID YOU GUYS KISS YET?”

“KLAUS!”

#diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves imagine #tua x reader #the umbrella academy x reader #my fics

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ahgaseda · 4 years

Text

enough | five

even if everyone else leaves me, you’re enough for me, you’re my only one, stand by me forever, only you, just you...

summary : to survive as a single woman in the big city, you resort to letting rich men pay for your company, but never anticipated that your first client would be the boy you once loved, Jinyoung.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, references to prostitution, mentions of gang activity, graphic sexual content, potentially triggering elements involving mental health, panic attacks, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

Something stirred you awake in the middle of the night; an unsettled feeling in the well of your stomach. Perhaps your body was so accustomed to the feeling of his skin against yours that it noticed immediately when the warmth of him was gone.

Opening your eyes, you turned, surprised to see Jinyoung no longer peacefully asleep beside you, but sitting on the edge of the bed and gazing toward the windows.

The lights had lost their luster. Even Seoul was deep in slumber at this ungodly hour.

“Jinyoung,” you called confusedly, dazed with sleep.

“Go back to bed,” he replied a little too sharply.

For a moment, you paused, studying the expanse of his shoulders. Something weighed them down. Something he couldn’t carry without being crushed from the inside.

Obstinate as ever, you crawled forward, slipping behind him and wrapping your arms and legs around his body. Jinyoung sighed, lips tugging into a reluctant smile, and stroked a hand across your arm to lace his fingers through yours.

Resting your cheek on his shoulder, you asked, “What’s wrong, baby?”

He exhaled loudly through his nose. The lines of his brow were furrowed in pensive thought; of losing everything. Of losing you.

“I have a lot on my mind,” Jinyoung finally answered, foolish to think that answer would suffice.

You rolled your eyes and teased, “What else is new?”

Jinyoung wrinkled his nose and squeezed your hand even tighter. Jiwon’s threat was very real and manifested in his mind with every bloody, gruesome possibility. Jinyoung knew he had to put him away for good. No hesitation and no mercy.

Seeing he had fallen back into his reveries, you traced your fingers over his abs through the thin white shirt. Bringing your lips to his neck, you left a few tender kisses before flicking out your tongue to test his mood.

Jinyoung felt his pulse pick up speed. It went without saying he would love to bury himself between your legs and forget about everything except you and him in his bed. But that was never what he was made of. He couldn’t indulge in your body when you were at risk and only he could make it right.

And, of course, he was still mad as hell at you.

Jinyoung turned to meet your eyes and for a fleeting moment, you naively believed you would get your way. He kissed the corner of your mouth chastely before gathering you in his arms and returning you to your place in bed.

Draping an arm over your waist and laying his head on your chest, Jinyoung whispered, “Sleep, baby. I’m right here.”

Satisfied that he wouldn’t leave you, you settled comfortably into the mattress. His weight on top of you was more than welcome. “Will you ever tell me what goes on in that head of yours?” you asked, delicately tracing your fingertips over his forehead and pushing away his fluffy hair.

Jinyoung took your hand in his and brought it to his mouth, placing featherlight kisses over each of your fingers. “You,” he confessed in a heavy sigh, as if it pained him to admit it. “Always you.”

Your eyes burned with emotion and you didn’t hesitate to tell him, “I love you, Jinyoung.”

“I know,” he replied without missing a beat.

You chuckled. It was worth a try to make him say it back after all this time, but he was nothing if not stubborn and hard-headed.

The morning came late and your growling stomach woke you with a vengeance. When you stirred, you were amazed to find Jinyoung already awake, but still clinging snugly to your body.

“I’m hungry,” you whined tiredly, rubbing at your eyes with a fist.

Jinyoung rose quickly and proceeded to sift you out from beneath the warmth of the blankets. “It’s about time. Get up, lazy,” he jeered, half-serious. “I’m starving. We’re going to eat.”

You gawked at his outburst. “Have you been waiting this whole time for me to wake up?”

“Yes,” he said with a frown.

You wanted to laugh. He was such a big baby. “I have to study,” you told him, slipping off the bed and gathering your clothes.

Jinyoung put his hands on his hips and chided, “You studied your brains out yesterday. It’s Saturday. Today, you rest.”

You stopped, blinking incredulously at how bossy he sounded. “Well, damn,” you said with a chuckle. “Guess I have no choice, huh?”

“None. Zero,” Jinyoung replied, heading out the door to give you privacy. “Get dressed.”

“Fine,” you shot back, attempting to sound annoyed simply to toy with him.

That was when you remembered you didn’t have any clothes to wear. You had been brought to his penthouse in your pajamas and you highly doubted Jinyoung would appreciate taking you to breakfast in your thigh-high socks.

There was a swift tapping of knuckles on the door followed by it opening before you could finish calling, “Yes?”

Jinyoung appeared again, a bag in each hand. “Right on time,” he announced, disgruntled. “I had some clothes ordered for you. The boys just dropped them off.”

“Jinyoung, you can’t be serious,” you exclaimed, racing over to see the spoils. “Please tell me you didn’t spend a fortune on these.”

Jinyoung snorted and narrowed his eyes at you. He was tempted to pull out a wad of cash and set it on fire before you just to prove a point. “I spend my money however I want. Now, for the love of food, hurry up and put something on. Or I’ll just eat you.”

Memories began to flood of the night before and you licked your lips. “I would not be opposed to that.”

Jinyoung lifted his brows. After a pause, he retorted, “Nope. I got nothing. All I’m thinking about is beef.”

“Me, too,” you shot back, glancing down at his pants.

He promptly folded his arms and made that damned adorable face. Pursed lips, puffed cheeks. “Wow, I ate her out one time and she can’t think straight. Woman, am I gonna be able to take you out in public ever again?”

You laughed aloud. “Yes, yes, I’m coming. I just miss the hell out of teasing you.”

“Yeah, well, I miss having a full belly,” he groaned. “You have five minutes or I’m leaving your horny ass here.”

“Cheese and rice,” you grumbled, pulling the shirt over your head and stripping down to your underwear.

Jinyoung was about to make a quip about how badly he craved rice, but was distracted at the sight of your breasts. Your body had filled out in his absence over the last four years. Though you were always perfect to him, he didn’t mind your bigger boobs and fuller hips.

You met his eyes, quirking a brow. Suddenly aware of the sexual tension that had filled the room in the span of a second, part of you hoped he would pounce on you then and there.

Jinyoung watched, feigning disinterest, and handed you one of the blouses.

By the time you arrived at the restaurant, bodyguards and driver in tow, Jinyoung was in full hungry brat mode. The owner recognized him at once and bowed deeply, ushering the two of you to the secluded table in the back corner. Before you slipped into your seat, you watched Jackson, Jaebeom and Yugyeom take a high table just beyond and strategically within eyesight at all times.

Not much passed in terms of conversation at first. Jinyoung was wholly focused on food. When the beef began to sizzle on the grill, you reached for the tongs and earned a swift slap to your hand.

“What was that for?” you exclaimed irritably.

Jinyoung proceeded to flip the beef and complained, “You have no grill skills. You burn everything.”

“I do not,” you said with a pout.

The servers continued to bring food at Jinyoung’s behest. By the time they had finished, there was no free space on the table.

The sight made your eyes burn with the threat of tears, even worse when Jinyoung took a large mouthful and made a satisfied sound in his chest.

There were days he gave you his food and went hungry himself. Jinyoung always suffered if it meant you were taken care of. The two of you went years without ever knowing how it felt to be full.

Jinyoung glanced at you, perturbed at how you had yet to start eating. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head and lied, “Nothing.”

He watched you pick up the chopsticks and your hesitation was painfully obvious. He could see the moisture in your eyes. Jinyoung knew in that moment what had made you emotional and chose kindly not to press you on it, but he did say, “Let it go, baby.”

“What?” you questioned.

“Whatever you’re about to cry over.”

You blinked rapidly, fighting the tears even harder, and nodded your head. Then, you reached for the food.

The waitress came over not long after and asked if there was anything else either of you needed.

Jinyoung looked to you for an answer. “Want more food?”

Given how much you had already eaten, you patted your stomach and quipped, “No, I’m watching my figure.”

The joke was lost on your lover. Jinyoung scoffed in annoyance and told her, “Two lunch boxes please.”

You chuckled.

Jinyoung took another bite and asked, “You still love dosirak, right?”

Your mouth watered. “Obviously.”

“Then, eat a damn lunch box.”

The server came back with two tins and Jinyoung had barely taken it from her hand when he began shaking it. You mirrored him, recalling all the times as kids you would compete to see who could shake theirs the longest.

After the two of you ate to your heart’s content, you were in disbelief - but mostly thrilled - when Jinyoung returned with you to the penthouse and revealed he would be working from home for the day. Your lips spread into a grin and he quickly rebuffed your affections.

“It’s not that I want to spend time with you,” he calmly argued. “I just don’t feel like dealing with people today.”

You winked. “Of course.”

Jinyoung plopped down on the couch and opened the newspaper, reading through every section as he always did. You sat on the neighboring couch opposite of him and your gaze fell to his muscly thighs spread out, hugged by the tightly fitting jeans. His lap did look rather inviting.

You went into the kitchen and fixed a cup of tea. Offering to make him one as well, Jinyoung politely declined and you were content to lean against the counter and study him.

Very, very often you had imagined and daydreamed of domestic life with Jinyoung as a wild, restless teenager. And now, here it was. Although, Jinyoung had frequently joked that he would never be able to tame you, no matter how much you loved him.

That wasn’t true. The truth was, he had broken you a long time ago.

“I can feel you staring,” Jinyoung called from behind the newspaper.

You murmured coyly, “I’m enjoying the view,” and put the cup of tea to your lips.

Jinyoung flushed a subtle shade of crimson, pulling his paper close to hide it.

You approached him and asked, “Mind if I sit down?”

“Go right ahead,” Jinyoung replied, patting the empty space next to him.

You smiled and turned around, sidling backwards and landing squarely on his lap.

Jinyoung let out a tiny grunt the moment you sat on his hips and scowled back at you when you glanced over your shoulder to peer innocently in his direction.

“What are you playing at?” he barked, folding his newspaper.

“You started this game,” you sang innocently. “Don’t hate me for finishing it.”

Jinyoung cocked a brow and refused to surrender. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well then,” was all Jinyoung said before grasping you none too gently and smashing his lips on yours.

You were completely at his mercy with your precarious position on his lap. Jinyoung quickly barred an arm across your stomach and cradled your face with the other. You reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. Jinyoung slipped you his tongue and you moaned softly into his mouth when a hand landed on your breast.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Jinyoung whispered darkly in your ear, kissing hotly over your racing pulse. “Don’t leave out a single detail.”

There were times you wondered if he could read your mind. Glancing down to see his hands kneading your clothed breasts, you let your head fall back when he pressed slow kisses to your neck. “When you used to…,” you trailed, voice trembling. “Take me from behind.”

Jinyoung chuckled softly, grazing his teeth over your skin. “Yeah,” he growled even lower. “You always did look good on your hands and knees.”

You swallowed, heart thundering wildly. He must have heard it. You watched his hands drift down your body, slipping beneath your shirt before returning to palm your breasts.

“You were always so deep,” you panted with want and need. “I almost couldn’t take it.”

Jinyoung tucked his hands inside your bra, finally able to tease your nipples without anything in the way. “And you were always so tight,” he retorted. “No matter how hard I fucked you.”

You turned your head, nuzzling your nose against his. “Please, just take me,” you whimpered, trying to mold your lips to his.

Jinyoung rose, prying you from his lap and leaving you on the couch. “The only thing I’m taking is a cold shower,” he said, stomping toward the bedroom.

“You little shit,” you called after him, bracing your hands on the top of the sofa. “I can’t stand your stubborn ass!”

“You love this ass,” he bantered back at you. “And it’s a fantastic ass. Have some respect.”

You made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, and sulked when he locked the bedroom door behind him.

The rest of the weekend was less profanity filled. Jinyoung gave you a taste of your dreams of domestic life with him. Quiet dinners. Endless food. The scent of fresh coffee filling the room in the morning. Peaceful evenings under a shared blanket in the reading nook.

Jinyoung gushed excitedly when he told you what was happening in the novel he devoured. You soaked up every word, overjoyed to see him happy. Occasionally he would remember he was mad at you and would be sparing with his affection. Then, he would seem to forget again and couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

It was a constant game of push and pull. One that you came to enjoy.

But on Sunday night he grew restless, tossing and turning. You had no sooner finally fallen asleep when Jinyoung woke you screaming, thrashing in the bed.

Every image of his night terrors from years before hit you all at once and your body responded as if muscle memory took control. “Jinyoung, stop! It’s okay,” you tried to console him, grasping his face in your hands and staring into his wide, terrified eyes. “I’m here. It’s me!”

Jinyoung was stronger than you by leaps and bounds. He pried you off of him with effortless ease and staggered toward the window, pounding his fist against it in frustration. He ran his hands through his hair, desperately clawing for his composure. The thing he guarded so vehemently. “You’re not supposed to see me like this…,” he choked out.

That damn pride, you thought with a frown as fire filled your cheeks. “And who is, huh?” you snapped angrily.

He clocked a weathered glance at you and warned, “Don’t.”

“Jinyoung…”

Jinyoung was thinking of his nightmares. Of you ripped violently away from him. They blended into the bloody, malicious things he had seen. The things he had done to take his place at the top. He heard Jiwon’s threat to break you in before his eyes.

He guarded his heart; guarded it with an iron fucking fist. He protected himself with ice and steel. He had to in order to live with what he had done. You were always how he justified it. He did it all for you, but he had sacrificed so much of himself.

“I can’t let you in again,” Jinyoung whispered shakily. “You’ll be gone and I won’t survive.”

Your knees buckled. Your heart collapsed somewhere in your chest. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered, face tensing with oncoming tears.

Jinyoung lowered his head, hiding behind his disheveled hair. The first time you left him it was your choice. If you left him again, it wouldn’t be by choice. It would be because someone stole you away.

“You make me crazy,” Jinyoung murmured, reaching for you and gathering you to his chest. His hands raked into your hair, keeping you looking up into his eyes. “I wanted to hate you. I tried. You ruined me.”

Tears freely streamed down your cheeks. Jinyoung and you, you and Jinyoung - two wounded souls just trying to heal. “I’ll never leave you again,” you vowed with all you had. “I swear on my life. I’ll die before I do that to you.”

“I know,” Jinyoung sighed.

That was exactly what he feared.

You looked at him with confusion, waiting for an explanation. You were given none and Jinyoung refused to return to bed. He sat by the window, waiting for the city to wake and watching over you.

The next morning, you opened your eyes to find Jinyoung was gone. And you weren’t surprised.

Yugyeom took you back to the condo and you stared at your phone all the while. No calls. No texts. Your blood began to boil.

You typed a message to send him, You can’t build those walls when I’m around, huh?

But you didn’t have the heart to send it. Not when the sound of his screams echoed in your ears. Deleting the words, you tossed your phone on the nightstand and buried yourself in studying. Exams were in full swing this week. It was time to get to work.

For three days you heard nothing from Jinyoung. For three days he avoided you. You felt wounded and your heart was sore.

When Yugyeom and Jackson arrived to take you to your exam, you asked nonchalantly, “Jackson, you’ll be seeing Jinyoung later, right?”

“Yes, mam.”

You hopped into the car and put on your seatbelt. “Do me a favor and please mention in passing that I stand by what I said. I’ll never leave him. But a woman needs an outlet to let off steam and reward her hard work, and if he does not want to provide that outlet, the club will.”

“With pleasure,” Jackson said with a chuckle.

Yugyeom grinned mischievously.

It was early afternoon when your exam had finished and you excitedly jumped into the tinted Range Rover.

“Well?” asked Yugyeom eagerly, hand draped on the wheel.

Jackson turned around from his spot in the passenger seat. “How was it?”

You flashed them a smile and announced, “I slayed that shit.”

The two boys applauded.

“The evil physics has been defeated,” Yugyeom sang, putting the car in drive and cruising out of the parking lot.

A moment later, Jackson crooned, “Mr. Park would like to extend an invitation for you to join him at his office immediately if you are still in need of… an outlet.”

That had your attention. “Oh?”

Jackson nodded, amused. “He says he will be happy to take you out to dinner as soon as he is finished working, but you may join him in his office until then.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed, “Just what a girl wants after spending two whole hours in an exam. To sit in an office and wait on her stubborn ass man.”

Yugyeom looked at you in the rearview mirror and said, “We don’t have to go.”

The gears turned in your head. Jackson smirked, noticing your expression full of mischief.

“Take me there, please,” you said, crossing your legs. “I think it’s time I got my revenge.”

The office was in an executive building on an inconspicuous corner. Jinyoung had to make sure each of his business endeavors looked legitimate by all means. You stepped into the ornate lobby and let the elevator take you to the third floor.

When you stepped into the office, Jinyoung looked up, but didn’t move a muscle. “Since when do you go to the club?” he asked gruffly.

No greeting. He was still embarrassed over the other night, you mused to yourself. “Since freshman year,” you countered, moving to one of the two chairs before his desk and making yourself comfortable.

Jinyoung put his pen down and leaned back in his own chair, folding his arms tautly. “You can’t handle your liquor,” he said bluntly.

You nodded in agreement. “I know. Still the lightweight. But free booze. Free music. Free dancing.”

Jinyoung’s eyes flickered. There were images filling his mind of you dancing with men, men that didn’t hesitate to let their hands roam your body. “Are you trying to make me jealous?” he asked.

You grinned. “Absolutely. How am I doing?”

Jinyoung scowled and didn’t dare gratify you with an answer. Instead he shifted subjects. “How was your exam?”

“I fucking nailed it.”

Jinyoung chuckled.

“I did, Jinyoung,” you insisted, beaming with pride. “I crushed it.”

He bobbed his head. “I believe you. I’m very proud.”

You gave him a soft smile.

Finally Jinyoung rose from his desk and moved to the nearby table, pulling a bottle that had been on ice and pouring two glasses of champagne. “How should we celebrate?” He looked to you expectantly whilst handing you your glass. “I can get us a private booth at any of the restaurants or we can…”

“I know what I want,” you interjected, taking a sip of your drink.

Jinyoung shrugged. “Well, you have my credit card. Go buy it.”

You shook your head. “I don’t wanna buy anything.”

Jinyoung tilted his head and exhaled, running out of patience. “Woman, tell me what you want.”

“I want you.”

Jinyoung let a lull of silence pass before he hummed, “Mm.”

“Did you have a rough day?” you asked coyly, setting down your drink and running your fingers up his tie.

“Maybe,” he said, voice laden with exhaustion. “But you know I don’t talk about my work.”

You brushed past him intentionally and came to stand behind his desk, pushing a few things back to give yourself room. Then, you lifted yourself on top of it, sitting on the edge and spreading your legs, motioning him forward.

Jinyoung downed his drink and discarded the glass, then sneered, “I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet anyway.”

“I know that,” you replied sharply. “Just come here and turn around.”

His brow furrowed, bemused as to what you were after, but Jinyoung relented and stepped between your knees, pecking a kiss on your irresistible lips. You smiled against his mouth and grabbed his arms, steering him to put his back to you.

Once he had, you settled your hands on his shoulders and began to knead, massaging his tense muscles and feeling him relax under your ministrations. A soft hum of a moan left his lips and you smirked in satisfaction, putting more pressure on his back until he sighed in relief.

Lulling Jinyoung into the headspace you wanted, your hands fell deliberately down his burly arms, still squeezing his muscles to release their tension. Slowly, you skimmed your palms to his stomach, grabbing his shirt and yanking upward, freeing the material from where it had been tucked into his pants.

“What are you doing?” asked Jinyoung lowly, voice sinking a few octaves.

Nipping the shell of his ear, you whispered, “Let me play.”

Jinyoung shivered as you began to kiss his neck and you were quick to loop your legs over his thick thighs, dissuading him from trying to escape your touches. With his shirt loose, you brushed the hem aside and fiddled at his belt.

Sliding your hand into his pants, you resisted the urge to giggle at his hardening length, but you did tease, “I’ve barely touched you and look how hard you’re getting, baby.”

“I started getting hard the second you spread your legs on top of my desk,” he confessed in a raspy snarl, staring down at the erotic sight of your hand down his jeans and your legs locked around his thighs.

You chuckled devilishly in his ear and pulled at his half-hard cock, stroking the length of him in your tightly gripped fist. Bringing a hand to your mouth quickly, you licked the span of your palm before reaching down to pump his shaft.

Jinyoung tensed against you when you focused on the head of his member, even more so when you sucked intently on his neck. Your breath was hot, making the sweat gathered at his hairline cool on his skin.

“Jinyoung,” you whispered pliantly, once he was rock hard in your grasp. “Please let me do this for you.”

His hips stuttered in tandem with your movements and so did his words, “Do what?”

You worked down his length with both hands, gathering a drop of precum with your finger and teasing his slit. You thought he would come undone and unravel in your hands at any minute with the way his breaths were tumbling out.

“Make you feel good,” you purred.

Jinyoung shivered at the thought. His attention was still fixated downward, where your hands had vanished inside his pants. You were jerking his cock faster and faster, like you were trying to get him off embarrassingly quick just so you could tease him for it later.

Which wasn’t far from the truth.

Suddenly, you gripped the base of his cock nice and hard, and stopped all motions. “Well…,” you growled with impatience. “Do I have your permission?”

Jinyoung exhaled in defeat, his hips moving of their own accord in a seeking thrust, desperate for friction. “Do what you want with me,” he mumbled, kicking himself for losing resolve so quickly. “I won’t stop you. Not today.”

You fought a giddy smile at finally getting your way and withdrew your hands from down his pants, pushing him forward to allow you room to slide from the desk. The moment your feet touched the floor, you twirled around him, switching positions, and pushed him up against the desk.

Jinyoung didn’t struggle, but he did grab the edge of the desk and hold tightly with both hands, breath bated.

Pressing your hands to his chest, you leaned forward and captured his lips in a kiss, teased his tongue as he sighed into your mouth. Jinyoung was enraptured to say the least, clutching your waist gingerly and pulling you close enough that your breasts pushed against him.

As you kissed him, you rubbed your fingers over his clothed nipples, his cock twitching eagerly in his pants. Then, you took a tie from your wrist and affixed it to your hair, tightening the ponytail into position and pressing one last kiss on his lips.

You shoved Jinyoung against the desk once more, to remind him who was in charge until further notice and your eyes lit up at the blush across his cheeks and the fire in his gaze.

Jinyoung couldn’t believe his eyes when you dropped to your knees before him, grabbing his pants and boxers and tugging them down to his ankles in one sweep. His hard cock waited before your eyes, weeping and curving toward his abs.

Your fingers danced up his shaft, eyes on the vein bulging underneath. You liked teasing him, loved making him beg for release even more, but today you were in the mood to make short work of him. You were still bitter at being ignored for three days. You got a hold of him in your hand and licked a wet stripe from base to tip before meeting his gaze again.

Jinyoung clawed at his tie, loosening it frantically so he could breathe. The last time someone blew him would have been four years ago. You used to suck him off rather often, enjoying the way you could reduce him to a moaning mess. Jinyoung hoped this time would be no different.

“Jinyoung,” you whispered, peering up at him with the tip of his cock against your lips.

“Yeah?” he panted.

“Don’t hold back,” you said, holding his cock firmly as you took him in your mouth.

Inch by inch you sucked him down, lilting back before engulfing him again to wet him with your saliva. Jinyoung watched you stroke back and forth, each time going deeper until his member hit the back of your throat. You choked at first, out of practice after so long, but the tightening of your throat made his hips arch and his abs flex.

Jinyoung whimpered your name and that was all you needed to keep going.

You let his girth leave your mouth with a lewd pop, proceeding to pump him in your fist while you peered up at him with tear-filled eyes.

Jinyoung had let his head fall back the moment you choked on him and was content to stay that way. He couldn’t look at you. One glance of you with your lips around the base of his cock would make him bust in a heartbeat. And god knows you would never let him live that down.

You slipped him between your lips again, sucking on the head and teasing with your tongue before grasping his hips. He had thrust ever so slightly, probably unintentionally, seeking the heat of your mouth. Your eyes burned with more tears when his length hit the back of your throat again, but you swallowed him eagerly. Jinyoung inhaled a hard breath and fisted his hand in your hair.

Your warm, wet mouth was too much. It took all of Jinyoung’s willpower not to fill your mouth with cum. He couldn’t stop thinking about the vice-like grip of your pussy, how it was undoubtedly throbbing with need. He pictured you in his mind, moaning his name when he finally penetrated you.

“Yeah…,” Jinyoung growled, sucking another breath through his teeth when you hollowed out your cheeks. “Like that. Good girl…”

You moaned at the lust in his voice, sending vibrations through his cock and smiling when a little groan left his lips. You rewarded the sound, swallowing around the tip of him again and bobbing your head a little faster on his length.

Jinyoung was in bliss - absolute, mind-numbing rapture. Head tilted back, eyes pressed closed. You smiled with his cock in your mouth, hands rooted to his tensing thighs, and stared up at him in worship, heady at the sight of his chest rising and falling with labored panting. His full lips were parted as pleasured sounds left him with every thrust in your waiting mouth.

“Fu…ck,” he moaned, now gripping your hair with both hands.

You looped your arms around his thighs and set your nails to his plump ass. He had taken over control and all you could do was hang on for the ride. Jinyoung pumped his cock into your mouth, rutting into the back of your throat. Tears streamed down your cheeks and the sound of you gagging only made him twitch more.

“Good girl,” Jinyoung rasped, losing his mind to the feel of you. “Almost there.”

Sucking him off was nothing short of gratifying. Your pussy throbbed between your legs and you could feel wet arousal soaking through your panties. His cock would slide into you smoother than silk if he wasn’t so damn stubborn. At the thought, you moaned around his length and he whimpered.

Jinyoung couldn’t fight back his moans any longer and you knew he was at his end. His hips stuttered, his thrusts turning erratic, and he finally came with a shaky cry that sounded vaguely like your name.

You lapped him up, gulping down his release when you tasted it on the back of your tongue and swallowing every last drop. Seeing the ecstasy on his face made you desperate for climax and you pressed your thighs together.

Jinyoung still gripped your hair tightly, knuckles almost white, and slowly pulled his spent cock from your mouth. Without warning, he grabbed your arms and hoisted you up none too gently. “Fuck,” was all he said.

You opened your mouth and wagged your tongue at him in a taunt, proving you had milked him dry.

Jinyoung shook his head at you before reaching down to pull up his pants, fastening them quickly to get you in his arms again. “God, you’re good,” he growled, grasping you by the throat.

You were gifted a searing kiss and purred in response. At this point, you were sure he would give you anything you asked for.

“So fucking good,” he hummed, pressing a wet open-mouthed kiss or two to your jaw.

“Jinyoung,” you beckoned sweetly, eyes rolling when his lips drifted to your neck.

“Hm?” he questioned, pulling back to look at you.

“I’m wet,” you confessed, raking your tongue across your teeth at the way his pupils flickered.

Jinyoung cocked his head, brushing his nose against yours. Without another word, his hand trailed down your body and pushed between your thighs, getting a taste of your desire for him and the arousal coating your folds.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “You like choking on my dick that much?”

“Mm, yes. I do,” you retorted, nipping at his lips.

Jinyoung fisted his hand in your ponytail, his usual roughness coming through. “What should I do with you?”

“Fuck me,” you replied, rather blunt. “Think how easy you would slide right in.”

Jinyoung smiled, biting his lip. He was so enamored with you. You wanted exactly what you couldn’t have and it consumed you. “It does seem like a waste of good pussy, doesn’t it?” he teased, seeming to mull over the thought.

You nodded.

Jinyoung released you then and launched himself onto the desk, sitting where you had been before.

You stood rooted in place, watching him curiously.

Jinyoung motioned you forward and patted his leg. “Ride my thigh.”

You frowned and whined, “I want dick.”

He almost laughed. “I’m soft.”

“I can get you hard in no time,” you crooned, bracing your hands on his knees and stroking upwards. “We both know that.”

Jinyoung harshened his tone, no room for further argument. “My thigh or your own fingers. The choice is yours.”

You huffed petulantly and hiked your skirt up your waist, trudging over and mounting the desk. And him. Putting a leg on either side of his thigh, you sank down until your panty-covered folds met the rough fabric of his pants.

The first roll of your hips was tentative. Yet another thing you were more than a little rusty at. Jinyoung sensed your inhibition and looped an arm around your waist, clutching you flush against him.

Jinyoung tucked his face to the crook of your neck and whispered, “Get yourself off.”

Oh, you wanted to. Release was at the front of your mind, holding the reins to your sanity. The image of Jinyoung reaching climax still lingered and you swore there was no better sound in the world than his moaning of your name. You wanted to hear it again and again.

“Please,” you spoke almost inaudibly, feeling small and helpless in his lap. “I need it.”

Jinyoung guided your hips, steering you to rub back and forth on his thigh. “Mm, that’s it,” he encouraged, lapping at the sweat on your neck. “Ride me like you mean it.”

You gathered more confidence at his words, grinding yourself down on him a little harder until your clit ached at the contact. You held his shoulders for balance, biting your lip at the feeling of his broad hands roaming to cup your ass.

Jinyoung kneaded your thighs and hips before settling on your ass again, humming his appreciation for your beautiful body and how it belonged to him, only him. He whispered little nothings in your ear, dirty things that riled you up and made you pick up the pace.

You moaned softly, gushing at the stimulation.

“Once upon a time,” Jinyoung teased, nuzzling his face between your breasts. “You used to ride me like it was what you were made for.”

And you would love to do it again if he would just let you sink down on his cock and be done with it. “Jinyoung,” you began to warn sternly.

Smack!

His hand collided with your ass and you squeaked, hips falling out of rhythm before settling back into motion.

“Don’t stop,” Jinyoung ordered, intently patting the print he had just made on your flesh. “And don’t slow down.”

“I…,” you trailed, lost in too many sensations at once.

His fingers tightened in your hair and yanked your head to the side. You felt his tongue racing over your pulse before his soft lips pressed a wet kiss on your jaw.

“Tell me,” Jinyoung snarled, reeling his hand back and landing his palm on your ass again.

Smack!

You gasped and rode him even faster.

“What do you want from me?” he pressed calmly before you could answer.

“Harder. Harder,” you pleaded, clinging to his arms for dear life.

Jinyoung chuckled with twisted pleasure at your torment, spanking your ass three solid times back to back. Your hips sped up at the sting, chasing after your high like it was the key to your sanity.

“Come already, baby,” Jinyoung urged, his dialect thicker than ever. “You’re soaking my goddamn pants.”

That rebellious streak flared and you griped, “I would rather soak your goddamn cock.”

Jinyoung bit down on the base of your neck, his member twitching at that. “Such a little angel out there,” he taunted, cupping your face. “No one would believe what a slut you are for me.”

You howled his name for mercy.

Jinyoung grasped your hips and brought you down to meet his thigh, rough and merciless. The moment you told him you were close, he commanded, “Come for me.”

You let your head fall back and your lips parted in a silent scream. This was the release you craved, needed above all else. To finally feel satiated after the suffocating tension and longing. Your nails set viciously to his shoulders and your hips slowed at the intensity of orgasm. Your engorged clit was suddenly too sensitive for the abrasive contact. Your body instinctively bowed away, but Jinyoung landed a palm on your ass with a vengeance.

“Don’t you dare tap out,” he scolded, keeping his hand poised at the ready to land yet another hit.

You kept riding him, overstimulating yourself to the point your lower half shuddered involuntarily. Satisfied at the endless, tiny cries falling from your mouth, Jinyoung grabbed your ass and rubbed the mark he had made, soothing the sting.

“You’re done,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms.

You went slack, satisfied he could support your weight. You let your head rest on his shoulder, burying your face in his neck, and held him tightly. Your body continued to tremble with orgasm, settling through the last of the aftershocks. Breathing in utter relief, all you wanted in that moment was for Jinyoung to never let go of you.

He turned his head, trying to get a glimpse of your face, and asked, “Feel better?”

Finally, you roused yourself, lifting your eyes and looking everywhere but at him. “I made a mess,” you murmured bashfully.

Jinyoung studied you, noting how you avoided his gaze, and asked, “How many exams do you have left?”

You smiled at what he was implying. “Three.”

“I’m gonna need more pants.”

You laughed at that.

Jinyoung let his hands slip reluctantly from your hips as you clambered off of him and he watched you with nothing short of amusement while you pulled your skirt back down and adjusted your clothes.

“So, yeah,” you stammered, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m gonna head home and study.”

Jinyoung cocked his head. “Why are you being awkward?”

You were finally forced to look at him and lied, “I’m not.”

“You are,” he asserted. Jinyoung could smell bullshit a mile away, especially yours.

You shifted your weight.

“Was it… something I said?” he asked worriedly, jumping down from the desk and approaching you. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s…,” you trailed, looking away. Your hunger had been soothed, but not your heartache.

Jinyoung cradled your face tenderly, eyes filled with concern. “Talk to me,” he whispered.

You pried his hands from you and snapped, “I can’t talk to you. You decide when I’m allowed to see you.”

Jinyoung sighed in realization. He knew the cold shoulder was too effective on you and regretted being as severe as he had been. But he couldn’t let you know the threat that you were under. Or the misery it inflicted on him.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

You dragged your feet toward him, falling back into his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin. Jinyoung was all too relieved to wrap his arms around you, kissing your brow with affection. For a moment, you were content to hug him. Then your mouth got in the way.

“I just want to be with you all the time. I’m crazy about you,” you rambled, brushing your lips over his own. “You make me absolutely out of my fucking mind crazy.”

Jinyoung studied you. Then, he cut the tension by smarting, “Stalker.”

You recoiled and snorted. “Asshat.”

Jinyoung flashed his teeth in a grin. “Dinner?"

“Ugh,” you grumbled. “Shower first.”

Jinyoung nodded, snickering. “Okay, okay. Go home and shower. Yugyeom will bring you to the restaurant. Deal?”

“Perfect,” you replied, turning on your heels and making for the door.

“Hey,” Jinyoung called out.

You turned.

“Where’s my damn kiss?”

Without hesitation, you ran back into his arms, colliding into his chest and nearly knocking the wind out of him. Jinyoung held you close and kissed you, tangling his fingers in your hair. The two of you giggled and smiled and kissed like a pair of hormone crazed teenagers with no clue what they were doing.

When you finally pulled away, Jinyoung watched you go and you swore you had never seen a more beautiful mess of a boy in your life.

No sooner had you stepped out of the shower did your phone ring. Clad in a towel, you answered eagerly, “Hey, Hoseok. It’s been a while. How are you?”

His voice was unnerving. “Seokjin wants to see you right away.”

“Oh,” was all you could manage, heart picking up speed. “Did he say why?”

“No, but he wants you in here right now. It sounds serious.”

This was new territory for you. Seokjin never summoned you with such a manner. You reckoned you were in trouble or at least, someone was in trouble. “I see. Okay. I’m coming. I will be there as soon as I can.”

Yugyeom put the key in the ignition and revved the engine. One look at your face and his smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

You closed the door behind you and fastened your seatbelt, answering, “We need to make a stop first.”

The sun set as Yugyeom drove to your employer’s building. You hadn’t been back since the contract was established between you and Jinyoung. Obviously, you were no longer available to serve as eye candy for wealthy men. It had been strange being able to focus on school without making routine trips to see Seokjin for jobs.

You turned the corner and entered the office, seeing Seokjin standing behind his desk with his hands on his hips. “Hey, boss. I…,” you began.

Seokjin laid eyes on you and snapped, “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

You watched him stomp toward you and questioned carefully, “What do you mean?”

“That your client is your ex-boyfriend,” he roared.

Your eyes were wide. “Oh. That.”

Seokjin folded his arms, narrowing his eyes at you in disappointment, but he softened his tone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

It went without saying that you had dealt with many bad, dangerous men in your life. Seokjin was not one of them. Nothing about him inspired fear in you. The relationship you had with him was built on trust and solidarity. Even when he was angry, you weren’t afraid to be honest with him.

You swallowed. “Do you want the honest answer?”

He scoffed. “Is that even a question?”

“I didn’t want you to cancel the deal,” you admitted quietly.

Seokjin was in disbelief and decided to repeat it back to you, almost to make sure you understood what you were saying. “You wanted me to approve the contract for you to be a sexual servant to your ex?”

Well, when he put it like that it did sound awful. You shrugged. “I don’t have a good explanation for you, boss.”

There was no way you could explain your relationship with Jinyoung. It would take days, weeks even. The two of you had been through so much together, so much damage and evil and every fucking thing that could go wrong did go wrong. You both were forged in the same fires.

“There are rules here,” said Seokjin, pragmatic. “Rules in place specifically for drama like this.”

You nodded. “I understand that.”

“Clearly you don’t,” he interjected, like a parent scolding a child. “You have no idea how out of hand things get in situations like these.”

You remembered Jinyoung’s words on that day - I bought you so no one else would. Jinyoung would sell his soul before he let you sell your body.

“It’s not like that,” you tried to reason with him. “You don’t know our history.”

Seokjin shook his head and returned to his desk. “It doesn’t matter. I’m pulling the contract.”

You understood his fear. His entire business was founded on confidentiality and secrecy. Any form of drama or scandal could expose a lot of powerful people and put Seokjin back on the street.

You opened your mouth to argue, but an irritated voice behind you came first, “Is this how you conduct business around here?”

Both you and Seokjin looked to see Jinyoung entering the office with Jackson a step behind him. With their added presence, Hoseok joined only a second later.

“Mr. Park,” Seokjin began, emerging once again from behind his desk. “You should have been more forthcoming as to the nature of your relationship with…”

Jinyoung countered, “Maybe so, but that’s water under the bridge now. Did I just hear you proceeding to nullify my contract without consulting me?”

Seokjin set his jaw. “Putting your ex-girlfriend into an indentured contract to soothe your own…”

Jinyoung took a single step toward your boss and seethed. “Believe me, Mr. Kim. You don’t want to go there with me,” he hissed. “End the contract, but she is still to be paid the full balance for this month. Take your share as well. It doesn’t concern me.”

Hoseok called your name tenderly, drawing your attention, and said, “Don’t go with him. I’ve seen this happen before. It doesn’t end well like you think it does.”

“Hoseok,” you started, moved by his concern.

Jinyoung brushed past you, putting himself squarely between you and Hoseok, and asserted his territory. “And who the hell are you?”

Hoseok was not intimidated in the least. “I’m the one that’s been protecting her for the past four years. Who the hell are you?”

“Hoseok,” Seokjin beckoned, sensing the situation was going to devolve.

“I see how you’re looking at her,” Jinyoung snarled under his breath.

Hoseok didn’t deny it.

You grabbed Jinyoung’s arm, attempting to steer him away. “Jinyoung, don’t make a scene.”

“Considering your boss called you in here without me, solely to rip you a new asshole and then take the rest of your money, I’m past making a scene. I’m gonna make a fucking spectacle,” Jinyoung snapped, shifting his weight as you grasped his sleeve.

Seokjin drew your attention, speaking from a good place. “I’ve been where you are and I know how it ends. Think about what you’re doing.”

Your brow furrowed, but you knew he was referring to getting into bed with a dangerous lover. You had been ignorant to the power Jinyoung now held and how deeply he had rooted himself in the underworld of your city.

He was your Jinyoung and you could turn a blind eye to what he did because you were head over heels in love with him. Naively so, you had to admit. And for that reason, you believed Seokjin when he said he knew what it was like.

“Seokjin,” you spoke resolutely. “Thank you for everything. I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay in my lifetime, but please accept my resignation.”

Jinyoung stopped, angling to you in surprise.

You met Jinyoung’s penchant gaze and added, “Effective immediately.”

Hoseok called your name.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized with all sincerity. “I never meant for this to happen. I don’t want to cause you any harm after all that you have done for me.”

Seokjin accepted your apology and bowed in response.

Hoseok enveloped you in his arms when you hugged him goodbye and with his eyes intently on Jinyoung, whispered in your ear, “Be careful. Someone ratted you out.”

You blinked in surprise and the moment Hoseok let you go, you turned to face Jinyoung. There was no shock on his face, only aggression and anger. “Outside,” was all you said, tone low.

Silence, cold and unforgiving, between the two of you down the elevator, through the lobby, and finally to the top deck of the parking garage. Once in the fresh air, free from the potentially eavesdropping ears, you asked, “Did you tell him about us?”

“No.”

“Did you have someone tell him about us?”

“No.”

You scoffed out a laugh, mirthless. “You’re lying.”

Jinyoung snorted. “There is literally nothing I can say to appease you when you’re pissed.”

“Don’t manipulate me,” you snapped with a roll of your eyes. “Tell me the truth.”

Jinyoung smiled, though he was far from amused. “See that’s the thing with you. When you have an idea in your head you just want someone to confirm it, you don’t care what the truth is.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. All you’ve ever done is pull my strings. The minute I do something outside of what you want, I get punished,” you yelled, bristling with annoyance.

Jinyoung shook his head. He had indulged you thus far, but was officially at the end of his rope. “I don’t have to stand here and take this from you. You of all people. You left me because I did what you didn’t want.”

This was the weak spot of the relationship; the one unmistakable fact that always tore the two of you apart.

You would always assume he was lying, because that’s what he did. He would always assume you would leave him, because that’s what you had done.

Tears filled your eyes and the next words left your mouth like venom, “You don’t love me. You just want to own me.”

Jinyoung approached slowly, something dark manifesting in his eyes. Not until he was within arms’ reach of you did he whisper, “I love you with my heart and soul and every fucking breath in my body.”

Your eyes widened.

Then, he condescended, “But right now I’m not in the mood to deal with your self-righteous ass. Yugyeom will take you to dinner. Use my damn card.” And with that, he turned and proceeded to leave.

Rooted in place, you shouted after him, “Jinyoung!”

He kept walking away, no hesitation in his step.

Spiteful, you continued to shout, “It’s my turn to ignore you for three days!”

Still stomping off, Jinyoung raised a hand and waved, retorting, “Be my guest!”

You practically snarled, clenching your hands into fists as he hopped into his car, Jaebeom behind the wheel, and drove away.

Pivoting on your heels, you faced Jackson and Yugyeom and they turned their heads in opposite directions, pretending they hadn’t seen your petty lovers’ quarrel. Saying nothing, you trudged toward them and jumped into the backseat.

The moment you were concealed behind tinted windows, your lips spread into a wide smile that reached your eyes.

Jinyoung said he loved you.

Pulling out your phone, you texted him shamelessly, You said you love me.

A return text chimed not a minute later. Who is this?

You laughed aloud, propping your head in your hand against the window. The love of your life, you replied.

I see three days went by fast, was his retort.

You sighed. Don’t keep me away too long this time.

The next text took an extra minute to deliver, Come to the penthouse after dinner.

You smirked wryly and typed, I think I’ll sleep in my own bed tonight, Mr. Park. Goodnight.

Jinyoung looked down at the screen and pursed his lips. Sensing he had lost this round, he texted back, Goodnight, baby.

Jaebeom pulled a vibrating phone from his pocket and handed it to Jinyoung, saying, “Mark confirmed it.”

Jinyoung looked at the image and frowned. It was from a surveillance camera, captured in black and white. Jiwon and Seokjin; a seemingly harmless photo of two men talking on the street.

“He’s getting closer,” Jaebeom commented under his breath, speeding through a yellow light.

Jinyoung’s phone chimed with another text. The number was unknown and Jinyoung’s eyes widened in disbelief at the image attached.

It was you, standing on the deck of the parking garage, watching Jinyoung walk away only moments ago. The sunset was a clash of colors in the background and you had never looked more radiant.

She’s so beautiful, read the text beneath. Shall I take her away or shall I make her hate you, Jinyoung-ie?

Jinyoung stared at the text, reading it over and over. “Too fucking close,” he finally murmured.

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a/n : this story was previously Lacuna on my old blog, minheoney. I’m really excited to finally finish it! This fic was my baby for so long and I’m ridiculously happy to give it a new home :)

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

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