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hughiecampbelle · 4 years

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Over Before You Knew It (John Shelby Oneshot)

((SEASON 4 PEAKY BLINDERS SPOILERS))

Character/s: John

Word Count: 1, 005

Inspired By: the thunderstorms in my town :)

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16

A/N: I would like to clarify, as an *adult* I am not afraid of thunderstorms. I just think they can be scary lol and my town is in the heart of one at the moment and maybe I'm a lil scared. I thought writing would help and act as a distraction :) Anyways, this was supposed be fluffy and cute, but I just couldn't help myself!!! The ending turned out way better, and sadder, than I expected! But I really like it! I hope you do, too!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

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It screamed outside your window, wailing like a newborn, but there was no amount of mothering, no amount of love, that could be of comfort. The sky opened, an open wound ripped apart, new scar tissue bleeding. Fresh. Rain pelted the glass, knocking, whispering to come on, begging. Roaring in the streets, in the air, pounding in your ears. Like you, the drops were scared. Like you, they were defenseless. Outside, puddles formed, deep enough to drown, to sink ships Streaming down to the gutter in a downpour. Violent, sweeping away the scraps in the street. Threatening to take you, as well. A clap. A screech. A scream. Your own voice melting with the thunder, your own shadow brought to life by the lightning. Blinding, startling, the light made your skin crawl. It made monsters in the room. Things in the corner crept closer, their sharp claws itching to nick your skin. The pillows, the blankets, none of it was enough protection. You needed him. Your anchor. Where was he?

It was childish. The first time you told him, he laughed. It was a mistake. Of course a boy made of gun powder and whiskey, who looked the barrel in the eyes and asked for a bullet between the eyes, wouldn't understand. Thunderstorms. The life they held, the anger, the fury. It sent you into a panic. You could handle the little storms. It wasn't there mere force of the winds howling, crashing, tearing itself apart. It wasn't the inky clouds falling over the world like a blanket, too thick, too suffocating. It was all of that together. A dangerous mix. He, of all people, should know better than anyone else that it was a numbers game. Any man could be dangerous, feared, but he was nothing without a little backup.

You threw the blankets back, working up the courage to get out of bed, face the naked world to find him. Sitting upright, you could peak through the curtains, catch a glimpse of the end of the world. No stars tonight, no moonlight. The rest of the world didn't seem to exist anymore. The storm cut off circulation. Another shreik, another burst of light. An explosion. A grenade. In those seconds, every home looked haunted. People just like you, wary of getting too close, too comfortable, their curiosity getting the better of them. Too friendly, loving, affectionate, and the rain would get them. Blow open the windows and carry you away, as if you were nothing.

In the heart of the storm, you wer nothing.

Across the bedroom, leaving your bed, your shield behind, down the stairs. Your hand gripping the railing, afraid you'd fall in the dark, stumble, tumble, crack your head open. He'd find you at the bottom in the morning, when the world was wet, and raw, and struggling to breath. The pictures hung on the walls, once full of laughter, of life, looked dead. In the white light, you, him, your families, were pale, your eyes gouged, your smiles empty. You wanted to call for him, feeling as if the staircase never ended, but he was probably asleep. It was the middle of the night, after all. Still, the looks of friends, the color lost in your faces, the joy stripped, their teeth missing. It was your own head messing with you, it had to be. The pictures were fine. The house was fine. You were fine. It's just a little storm. It'll pass.

That's what he always said, always promise. This would pass.

Searching for him through the halls, the empty rooms, flinching with every boom, you finally found him. Sleeping soundly on the couch by the front of the house, his cap slipping from his grip, slumped against the floor, his body limp, chest rising and falling deeply. He always did this. No matter how many times you complained, but he didn't want to wake you, his hours erratic, demanding, not wanting to wake you at an ungodly hour. You needed him more than ever now. Sitting next to him, you slipped your arms around him, seeking his warmth. You pressed your face against his chest, curling up beside him. As if reflex now, he murmured and sighed, his eyes still closed, holding you closer, tighter. It's okay love, the storm will pass. As he spoke, he was already falling back to sleep. He felt every flinch, every squeeze, heard every whimper. He only hugged you tighter, promising it would be over before you knew it. Close your eyes, relax, you were safe with him. You always would be. Safe. With him.

And it was. It was over before you knew it.

The sun broke through the clouds, weak, but willing. His cap was still on the floor, soaked from the rain, heavy, the razors shiny, smiling back at you. You picked it up, thankful it wasn't ruined or frayed. You let go of the pillows beside you, pushing them aside, trying to get ready to face the damp day ahead. Upstairs the kids giggled and stomped, wanting to play in the wet streets, muddying their best clothes, ruining their shoes. Like their father, they weren't afraid of anything. The Shelby blood in their veins making them strong, stubborn, like he always was.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at the pictures, but in the daylight, you knew they'd returned to normal. Weddings, babies, birthdays, all of it captured, all of it how it was. You set his cap on the bedside table, next to his picture and the stack of rings from his fingers. A puddle sat on the floor under the window. It had opened, or he'd opened it. You'd clean that up later, as well as the bed. You couldn't stop thinking about him. It had been a while since you'd seen him, afraid he was gone forever. But he always came back when you needed him, when you were scared. You would always be safe with him.

Even in death, he kept his promise.

#writing #john shelby #john shelby drabble #john shelby oneshot #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #john shelby x reader #john x reader #x reader #drabble #oneshot #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years

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God, I love your fics so much and had so much stuff I wanted to request but now that requests are ACTUALLY open my mind is going blank. Okay so, I'm not sure if you ever wrote for this but Bakugo and Dabi sharing a darling: a concept. I feel like they'd weirdly either get along or murder each other. So can I please request maybe one yandere patching up the darling after the other Y hurts them, or something of that basis? You don't have to of course! 💖

I’ve… *dabbled* with Bakugo/Darling/Dabi, but they’re far from a functional pairing. Still, I do enjoy watching the two bicker, from time to time.

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Injury, Fire (Cauterization).

Katsuki was never very quiet.

He was the loudest one in your little group, surprisingly, always cursing or complaining or yelling about something, often with Dabi and rarely with you, but neither were off the table when he fell into one of his moods. Even when the rest of the apartment was silent, Dabi on a ‘work trip’ and you locked in your room for some arbitrary punishment, you could press your ear to the door and entertain yourself by listening to him berate the grenades he was trying to repair, or ridicule one of the friends you weren’t allowed to talk to over the phone.

It was comforting, in a way, one of the few ‘constants’ you had with Dabi and Katsuki's ever-changing dynamic.

Knowing this, seeing Katsuki sit across the room, only looking on while Dabi wrapped bandage after bandage around your arms… anyone would understand why a little worry would be more than reasonable, even if you were in no position to care about his feelings. Not after what he did, and especially not after how he reacted.

A hum brought you back to your more talkative captor, the one currently holding you in his lap, your bleeding hand cupped palm-up in his own. You knew what he intended, and judging from the flames swaying on the fingertips of his free hand, you could tell that he didn’t plan on waiting, either. Reflexively, you shied away when he moved closer, but Dabi just chuckled, a sweet difference from the offense he usually took when you flinched. Gently, he entangled your fingers with yours, kissing the side of your head as he moved the fire closer.

“It’s not always scary,” He reassured, attempting to distract you as he cauterized the deep wound. It hurt, making you flinch and bite your cheek, but not nearly as bad as what’d caused the cut in the first place. Dabi seemed to know this, offering a sympathetic smile and attempting to work as delicately as he could. “We’ll get you something for the pain, I promise. Just bear with me for a few minutes, and we can take a break before patching up your legs.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki cut in, working his way into the conversation with all the grace of a fratboy after two rounds of shots. He was leaning forward in his chair, trying desperately to look relaxed and failing so miserably, it only seemed to add to his stress. Hell, you see that he was ready to snap, his jaw locked into place and fists clenched, but you weren’t about to point that out. Honesty never led to good places, not for you. “I’m already letting you use… that, on my angel. Don’t push it with whatever ‘prescriptions’ you’re bringing home.” Dabi rolled his eyes, going back to his work, and Katsuki nearly growled at the dismissal. “I mean, is this even safe? How do I know you’re not planning to melt ‘er hand off?”

You felt Dabi tense, his flames flickering before going out completely, a roll of gauze forced into your good hand while Dabi crossed his arms over your chest protectively, pulling you closer. “You think I can’t control my quirk? Me?” He shook his head, clicking his tongue, his grip growing tight enough to make breathing difficult. You tugged on his sleeve, but neither was looking at you, their gazes trained on the supposed ‘problems’ sitting opposite of them. “Is your head so fucked up you can’t even remember who made me do this in the first place, or are you just willingly stupid?”

The danger only truely dawned you on when Katsuki pushed himself up, standing and daring to take a step towards you, Dabi hastily moving to follow his lead, but before he could stand, you shoved yourself into his chest, clinging to his arms and digging your nails into scarred skin. “Please, just drop it,” You whispered, hoping he would hear the worry in your voice, if only to save you the effort of spelling it out for him. “He’s frustrated, don’t let it get to you. He’s just trying to get under your skin.”

“Of course he is,” Dabi mumbled, moving you out of his lap, letting you rest against the headboard. You didn’t try to resist, not beyond refusing to let go of his arm until he ripped it away from you, the wounds on your arms and legs and everywhere still throbbing and bleeding, hardly closed despite the good hour that had passed. Dabi stood, towering over the blonde, stuffing his hands into his pockets and keeping his posture casual, despite the heat you could feel radiating off his form. “Look at the bastard, such a fucking attention whore he dragged you into his workshop. Then, when something obviously explodes, what does he do?” The question is punctuated by a shove to Katsuki’s chest, earning a glare from the shorter boy but not much else. “He fucking leaves you. Panics and runs away, like a coward. What? Can the hero only stand to see blood when he’s not the one who caused it?”

Dabi was ruthless, the venom dripping from his mouth turning poisonously honest. You forced yourself to look away, to hold bite your cheek, to close your eyes and wait for the oncoming, inevitably outrage, but the stillness startled you more than anything either could ever say. A second passed, then two, the atmosphere going from violent to heavy by the time you managed to glance towards the two. Dabi was still watching passively, but Katsuki was practically shaking, trembling and gritting his teeth, tears dripping from his downcast face to the floor below. You nearly said something, the thought of reaching out to comfort him almost instinctive, but Katsuki acted first.

“You think I don’t know that?” The words were barely audible, half whispered and half forced out, but the sob that racked through him was undeniable, as apparent and as visible as any cut or bruise could ever be. “You think I don’t already know it was stupid, that I’m some selfish, shitty loser who needs to share with a villain just to be with the person I love? Fuck, I’m not even mad at you anymore, this is all my fault. There, (Y/n) got hurt because I’m an asshole.” He sighed, furiously rubbing the tears from his eyes, his breath hitching when he attempted to look up, the boy covering his face, fighting not to back down. “Happy?”

Dabi sighed, moving closer to the boy. You prepared to scream, to break up one of the worse fights they’d had, but Dabi just wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a one-sided, stiff pseudo-hug, something you could hardly call a gesture of concern. But, there was something brotherly about it, not affectionate but not unpleasant, either. Katsuki pushed himself away immediately, but didn’t yell, only crossing his arms and shaking his head.

His breathing was uneven, but he wasn’t crying, anymore.

And god, you were thankful for that.

“Feel better?” The question was only answered with a curt ‘fuck you’, but Dabi just laughed, punching his arm and ignoring it when Katsuki continued to curse him out. It took a few seconds for their attention to turn back to you, their injured captive, but you were almost grateful for the time, despite the fact that your confusion had to be evident, second-hand embarrassment and trepidation mixing together as they debated how best to handle your remaining wounds, both carefully dancing around the topic of quirks and burn marks.

You weren’t sure how to feel, honestly, not certain whether you should be more focused on keeping their hands off of you or just be happy that they weren’t at each others’ necks, for once. But…

At least they weren’t fighting, anymore.

But, with a few more odd comments, their stares suddenly turning predatorily competitive… you weren’t sure their version of ‘getting along’ was much better, either.

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peantutbutter · 4 years

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validated parking (fahc/criminal masterminds fic)

summary: You're a Los Santos woman just doing your best to get by.Your day takes a turn for the bizarre when your car gets rear ended by the Vagabond in the county coroner's office parking lot.

word count: 1.5k

notes: 2nd person pov. set during one of the failed attempts during the doomsday heist crimmies part trash.

[ao3 link]

Los Santos is a bitch of a city. It’s crowded, it’s dirty, it’s violent. It’s home. And for all the crime and misery lingering like a storm cloud over the lives of everyone who wasn’t rich or famous, there’s nowhere else you’d rather live. For better or worse, this is your town, and no one can tell you otherwise. That’s the Los Santos way.

You took every opportunity you could while doing your best to avoid the city’s seedy underbelly. It wasn’t that you morally opposed to petty crime — anyone who had anything worth stealing almost certainly fucked someone else over in order to get it — but rather, you just didn’t want to run the risk of getting caught. Nothing destroyed a resume, or college application like being arrested. Or killed. So, you put your nose to the grindstone until it bled and then you kept grinding through the shitty inner city public school system until you were one of the lucky ones who graduated.

You went to college (Go USALS!), graduated with crippling debt and a medical degree, and managed to snag a job working for the Los Santos county coroner’s office. Life still sucks, but you have a job, stable income, an apartment you share with your significant other, and most importantly, your own car.

It’s a shitty little thing. You got the ten-year-old model for cheap, and it came with 150,000 miles on it, but despite the dings in the side and scuffed paint, it’s yours, and yours alone. You affectionately name it Greg and take care of him to the best of your ability. Aside some issues with the coolant, he’s served you well. You love that car more than you can say, and you joke that if anyone stole it, that would be the thing to push you over the edge. Good thing Greg is so dumpy looking, no one would want to steal him.

It’s a typical Monday. You wake up at 7:30, eat breakfast, brush your teeth, take a quick shower before hopping in your car and heading to work. The drive itself is slow and grueling. Accidents on the freeway cause backups, and you sip your coffee as you wait. Traffic inches along at a snail's pace, but by the time the morning radio newscast is finished, you’re back to driving without interruption.

You manage to make it just in time, pulling into your usual space, the middle spot on the front left side of the building. You’ve barely climbed out and locked it when an ambulance screeches into the parking lot. It turns sharply, coming so close you stumble back in shock. You watch in wide-mouthed horror as it rear ends Greg so hard the windows shatter.

The part of your brain that reacts to things like a normal person fights with the part of your brain that was born and raised in Los Santos. Do you run away and get help, or do you run towards the driver and give them a piece of your fucking mind? The Los Santos in you almost wins, but when you look up, lips curled in a snarl to start tearing into the driver, you have a very fast change of heart.

You don’t know what he thinks he’s doing, but the paramedic uniform isn’t fooling anyone. Not when the face paint was still on. For some goddamned reason, the Vagabond, of Fake AH Crew infamy, is sitting behind the wheel of the ambulance looking just as startled as you. You both stare at each other with wide eyes, blinking dumbly in shock. Fuck, if the Vagabond is here, then you need to be literally anywhere else.

You turn on your heel and run, body working on its own accord. The scream you unleash isn’t something you’re proud of, but you just looked the Vagabond square in the eye. He’s killed people for less. If you make it through this, then you’re gonna have a hell of a story.

Heart racing, you duck and hide behind a tree near the building, hoping he’s too busy trying to adjust his parking to pay attention to where you went. Your stomach knots horribly, aching painfully with just coffee to fill it. With trembling hands, you pull out your phone. Not to call the police, but rather to record the whole thing. No one is going to believe you without proof, and you don’t trust the LSPD to find their own asses. The Fakes have killed and evaded the cops for as long as you remember.

You shift behind the trunk, trying to get a decent shot at the parking lot without being seen.

What happens next is entirely baffling.

A purple and orange car pulls into the entrance, and Rimmy Tim (also in paramedic uniform) runs out and joins the Vagabond in the ambulance. He’s in there for only a brief second before both of them emerge. They start racing towards the entrance to the coroner’s office and you have to clap your free hand over your mouth to stifle a gasp. What the hell do they want in there?

But before they reach the doors, they both double back towards the ambulance. You assume they’d forgotten something (guns or knives or some other weapons, probably), and were returning to get them, but Rimmy Tim climbs back in the passenger side. Maybe they’ve been compromised? Maybe they got a sudden call from the Kingpin? You have no fucking clue.

You’re expecting the Vagabond to enter the cab of the ambulance, but instead he wrenches open the passenger door of your car. You have no idea how he managed to rip through the lock like nothing, but he slides in and you almost drop your phone. The Los Santos in you almost wins again at that. Were you not so stupefied by the transpiring events, you very well might have said “fuck it” to your survival instincts in favor of trying to beat the shit out of the Vagabond for stealing your car.

You hear the distinct whooping of sirens approaching. Someone must have called the cops. The suspicious behavior, the face paint, one of the many cars owned by Rimmy Tim at the scene, it doesn’t take a genius to deduce something criminal is afoot.

The Vagabond slides over and exits through the other side of your car and you have no fucking idea why he did that. He dashes around the front of your car and pulls a goddamn gun out of nowhere. The handful of people still in the parking lot let out terrified shrieks at the sight, and you’re equally frightened that he’s going to shoot up your car.

Mercifully, he doesn’t. He runs back to the ambulance and disappears into the cab. It begins to reverse out of the parking spot, and it pulls out of the parking lot, flipping on the sirens just in time to speed away from the arriving cops. You carefully emerge from behind the tree, watching the flashing lights disappear down the road. Someone at the entrance runs up to one of the squad cars and points down the way they went. You make out the faint crackling of a radio, and the squad cars at the tail end of the procession peel off in pursuit.

You begrudgingly give your statement, more concerned about dealing with the damages done to your car. That’s really an expense you don’t need right now. You talk to the tow truckers who come to take away Rimmy Tim’s car to see if they can take your car into a mechanic as well.

By the time you finish talking with the police you’re over an hour late and desperately need a beer, or a cigarette, or something to calm down. You go through the motions of your job for the rest of the morning, vacant look in your eye as you keep replaying the events over and over.

You call your partner just before lunch and by God they’re the light of your life. They take their lunch hour to drive over and eat with you.

The two of you are sitting on the steps of the building with your lunches in your laps. You stare blankly at the empty spaces where your car and the Vagabond’s stolen ambulance had been just a few hours earlier as you stab absently at your salad. “So,” your partner says after a few minutes of chewing in silence. “What the hell happened, exactly?”

Their voice brings you back to the present, and it takes you a moment to process the question. You lick your lips, trying to figure out the best way to explain what happened. “So you know the Vagabond?”

Their eyes go wide and they lean forward. “Yeah,” they say carefully, not entirely sure where this is going.

You actually have to bite back a laugh as you realize just how ridiculous the words coming out of your mouth really are. “I think he almost accidentally stole my car?”

#fahc #fake ah crew #fahc fic #crimmies #criminal masterminds #this is so fucking dumb but it amused me so it exists #rexie writes #my fic

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thorne93 · 5 years

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Stan Lee University (Part 9)

Prompt: What would the Avengers be like in college, more importantly, what would they be like if Y/N existed around them?

Word Count: 2110

Warnings: drama, language, betrayal, adult content (not smut, but it’s like TV-14 rating...)

Notes: This is based on a HC from @carryonmyswansong. They helped brainstorm and write part of this series. In this AU, no one will have powers, everyone is a normal human. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong

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

The next morning, you woke up really late and decided to go get some lunch. You were starving and you left your dorm, in search of food. You weren’t sure if you’d go off campus or just go to the cafe and grab a sandwich. You figured you’d decide once you stepped outside.

Just as you were about to leave the lobby though, Loki walked in, holding a bouquet of colorful flowers.

Must be for a girl he met last night, you thought with irritation.

His eyes found you and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ah, Y/N. I found you.”

“Oh, yes, because I’m so hard to locate.” You rolled your eyes and started to walk by him.

“Wait, wait,” he said, stepping backwards and in front of you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk and an ass.” He pushed the flowers toward you. “For you.”

“You think you can just hand me some flowers and you acting the way you did will just make this all go away?” you demanded, flabbergasted.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what? Because I can forgive being drunk if you were just a lot to handle, but you went and kissed other people on our date, Loki. That’s pretty shitty.”

“I know it is. I’m.. I realize you weren’t trying to stop the game or having a good time, but I took it personally. When I drink, I turn into a dick.”

“That’s a poor excuse,” you said, starting to walk around him again.

“I only did it because I wanted to kiss you.”

Your eyes narrowed and you turned, your hand on the handle to leave the lobby of the dorms. You spun, your gaze on his. “What was that?”

“I wasn’t trying to do it to kiss other people. I was doing it because I’d hope you join and it would be an excuse for me kissing you without making things awkward.” He peered at you with such apology, you were actually starting to believe him.

“A guy that flirts like you doesn’t exactly need an excuse to kiss your date. It’s kind of all part of the experience,” you commented, the annoyance gone from your voice.

“Yes, but, you’re rather intimidating,” he informed with a tiny smile.

“So I’ve heard,” you muttered. “But why didn’t you stop when I didn’t want to join?”

He sighed. “I hoped, stupidly, that you would join anyway. Maybe you’d get jealous, or change your mind. Idiotic, I know.”

You screwed your mouth to the side in thought. Maybe he really wasn’t that bad of a guy. Maybe he was just trying to kiss you without rushing things.

In a swift motion, you grabbed the flowers and reached your hand up to his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. His lips were short of freezing, but you didn’t mind. They moved quickly, after the initial shock, his lips firm and precise on yours. The kiss was quick, but filled with promise.

You let him go and grinned.

“Wanna go get lunch, you idiot?” you asked.

“Ah, just what a man loves to hear, insults on being asked to a date.”

“Well as long as you don’t make out with anyone else on this date, we’ll be okay,” you assured laughing as you put your arm through his.

---------------------

“You’re giving him another chance?” Natasha asked as the three of you sat in Clint’s apartment.

“Yeah. I mean, he was a dick but it was for kind of a cute reason.”

“Or a stupid reason,” she muttered, taking a sip of her water.

“Well, if he’s really a jerk, he’ll show his colors again.”

“Are you sure?” Clint interjected. “You were pretty upset last night.”

“Yeah but I was just being over emotional.”

“What about that one guy, in your lab?” Natasha mentioned and your stomach did a flop.

“Who? You mean Stephen?”

“Yeah, what’s happening on that front?”

You snorted and shook your head. “He made it clear he didn’t want to date me. I asked him to the party and…” You shook your head, stopping the statement. “But then at the party he was really sweet and I drove him back to school and… I don’t know he’s too hot then cold. At least Loki’s sort of consistent.”

“Yes, consistently an ass. It sounds like you need to tell both guys to fuck off,” Nat remarked.

“I second that,” Clint said.

“It’s easy for you two. You’re practically married, you two are perfect. But for us single folk, it’s a little harder.”

“You act as if your choice is an asshole or a dick,” Nat noted disdainfully.

You shrugged. “I’m just saying, this campus is small. I’m going after the few guys I didn’t go to high school with. That’s all.”

“Well don’t settle. College isn’t the end all be all of the dating pool.”

“Again, you two can’t lecture me,” you sternly said before laughing.

-----------------------------------

Three more weeks passed and Loki was more affectionate and on a fast track to becoming your boyfriend. The two of you got lunch together every day, and spent nearly every evening in your dorm discussing books and movies. Not to mention Loki showing up before Lit class at your dorm just to walk you to class.

When he actually tried, he was very romantic and sweet.

Stephen on the other hand was still very on and off, and frankly it was driving you mad.

Sure, Loki seemed better, great even. But something about Stephen. He seemed more grounded, more mature, he knew his life was heading in a certain direction and he was working to get there. That was always something you’d admired and wanted in a life partner was a guy with goals, ambitions, and the drive to make it happen. Bucky didn’t seem to share that. Sure, Bucky was going to school for engineering, he hoped to do something with prosthetics, but he lacked maturity.

While Loki was smart, funny, and entertaining, he lacked the seriousness you desired in a guy. Stephen might’ve been hot and cold, but there was just something about when the two of you had such close moments that you couldn’t write off. Especially that sense of trust. You didn’t quite have that with Loki, but it was there with Stephen.

But the fact of the matter was, Loki was putting forth effort to be with you, to be around you. And so far, all Stephen had done was give you his number, and that was just for the physics project. And the hand graze when you reached for the worksheets. And the staring at you then smiling.

Damn him.

No, you were with a guy who was actually trying, you thought, trying to convince yourself. If Stephen wanted to be with you, he would’ve said something by now.

Loki was lying on your bed, his head at the foot end - as usual, when he patted the space next to you. “Come on, we’ve got three chapters to get through tonight,” he encouraged.

“Are you sure we aren’t just going to end up making out?” you asked incredulously with a grin as you climbed onto the bed. That’s usually how it went for you two. The homework would start, but then ten minutes in, you two would be making out - rather heatedly.

The last time this happened, he had his hand up your shirt and his other hand traveled to your pants but you stopped him. You weren’t sure you were ready for that yet.

“It’s highly likely, darling,” he cooed as he kissed behind your ear, making you shiver.

You let the feelings wash over you of arousal before your senses snapped back.

“Okay, if you’re going to be here, you have to behave.”

He raised his hand in surrender and oath. “On my word.”

“Good.”

The two of you started to read, you got past the first chapter, swapping off characters, when you suddenly read a line about desire and lust.

“And their hands just wouldn’t stop. They wanted them to, they needed them to, but the fire was building, growing…” Your eyes drifted to Loki’s who was already trained on your face.

Like a switch was flipped, you two lunged at each other. In a split second he was on top of you, his hands moving through your hair, your mouths colliding almost violently. He was between your legs quickly, grinding on top of you.

His hand moved up your shirt to cup your breast before he nearly attacked your mouth again. You we're already panting as you grabbed at his shirt, your legs wrapping around his hips.

He took the hint and helped you pull his shirt off. You figured he would help pull yours off, but in a twist of events you didn't see coming, he grabbed at the hem of your shirt with his teeth and pulled up.

Well if you weren't aroused before, you sure as hell were now.

He leaned up and you ripped at his belt as if your life depended on it and he watched you with lust blown pupils. In a swift motion, his belt was off and you were making quick work of his pants.

Now that he was in his boxers, he tugged your jeans off quickly, his fingers digging into your flash as he drug them down your legs.

He left you in your bra and panties for just moment while he kissed you again, trailing the kisses down your jaw, neck, and cleavage.

“I need these off, now,” he ordered huskily, pulling you up to your knees. He helped you with your bra, throwing it across the dorm. His hands trailed down your sides, leaving a searing mark on your skin. He kissed all the way down your torso until his nose was nestled over the sweet spot, resting above your panties.

You let out a nervous, aroused laugh, making Loki react. He smirked before reaching up and throwing you onto your back, before removing your panties.

He followed this by diving down between your legs, his tongue working quickly over you, making you gasp and cry out, your hand flying to his hair.

“Holy shit, Loki,” you panted.

He laughed but kept up the attack on you.

What followed was Loki practically worshipping you as he paid attention to every detail of your body. You returned the favor as best you could, your hands and mouth working over his pale, toned physique.

By the early morning, after round three, the two of you were utterly spent. When you were done, you both laughed as you grabbed water from your mini fridge for both of you.

Without a word, you two settled down in the bed and you felt happy. Finally, you were moving on from Bucky, and you weren't thinking about Stephen.

So maybe Loki wasn't the most practical or business driven. But he was kind, funny, gave you the time of day, and you had a lot of similar interests.

----------------------

Early the next morning, you woke up, long before your alarm went off, around 5 am, it was still relatively dark out. You smiled, hoping to roll over and greet Loki, but when you turned, he was nowhere to be found. His clothes weren’t there, and there was no note, his side ice cold.

You frowned. Maybe he just went to the bathroom. Or maybe he was out getting coffee.

Rolling to grab your phone, checking for messages, you found one from Loki.

“Thanks, now do me a favor and lose my number.”

For what seemed like eons, you stared at the text, reading it over, and over, and over again. This couldn’t be right. This just… This had to be a joke that you two would laugh about. Loki would come back, stating it was a joke.

You didn’t do this. You didn’t do things like this. You weren’t a one-night stand kind of person. You’d only been with Bucky, and the only reason you were okay with friends with benefits with him was because at one time, you’d been in love with him. You thought you were falling for Loki, that’s why you did this. That’s why you gave yourself to him completely.

But now… Now he just used you for a piece of ass? All that sweet talk and complimenting and the flowers was all just to get in your pants? You felt so cheap.

How had you been so blind and stupid? You knew Loki was a player, that’s why he was flirtatious but you just thought maybe he was interested in you.

Guess not, though.

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

Forever Tag List

@essie1876

@magpiegirl80

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

@iamwarrenspeace

@marvel-imagines-yes-please

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification

@thejemersoninfernoo

@rda1989

@munlis

@thefridgeismybestie

@bubblyanarocks3

@igiveupicantthinkofausername

@kaliforniacoastalteens

@feelmyroarrrr

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo

@damalseer

@heyitscam99

@yknott81

@sorryimacrapwriter

@glitterquadricorn

@xxqueenofisolationxx

@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama

@bittersweetunicorm

@alyssaj23

@sea040561

@princess76179

@thisismysecrethappyplace

@sarahp879

@malfoysqueen14

@ellallheart

@breezy1415

@marvelmayo

Steve Rogers

@nedthegay

@camigt1999

@lostinspace33

@alwayshave-faith

@elleatrixlestrange

@ultrarebelheart

@lenawiinchester

@esoltis280

@patzammit

Bucky Barnes

@nedthegay

@lostinspace33

@alwayshave-faith

@elleatrixlestrange

@ultrarebelheart

@lenawiinchester

@its-not-a-tulpa

@esoltis280

@thirstresponsibly

@valecitainwonderland

@buckybarnesappreciationsociety

@howling-at-that-moon @sneakygitsune @whiw0lf

Loki Odinson

@lostinspace33

@ultrarebelheart

@lenawiinchester

@esoltis280

@tngrayson

@wangdeasang

@harrymewmew

@jayfantasyatyourservice

SLU

@eagleandthebutterfly

@disneyfanatic77

@disneyoncerlover815

@meraki--mei

#stan lee university #loki x reader #loki fic #stephen strange #clint barton #natasha romanoff

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starfiretheninja · 6 years

Text

Birthday Surprise

This was a request by an anon and I was happy to tackle my favorite gravity falls ship. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope that you enjoy it!

“Do I even want to know where this came from?” Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose, already suspecting that this enormous pastry was Mabel’s doing.

Before him was a multi-tiered cake that towered a foot or so above him with a circumference wide enough to feed the denizens of Gravity Falls. The colors were primarily red and blue blending into purple with other interspersed shades. Inspecting it closer, he quickly found that the pattern was hastily frosted on with no rhythm or rhyme to it. Almost as if it was designed by someone obsessed with spontaneity. However, the frosting looked like it came from a fine French bakery. Almost as if only someone with some affluence could afford this. . .

“Wait a minute. . .”

Not a moment later did he hear a smothered click!, a brief sizzle, and in an instant the cake bursted into a million gooey fragments. Nothing in the backyard was untainted by the explosive pastry, from the windows of the house to Dipper’s socks. Sucking in a breath, Dipper attempted to keep some semblance of dignity intact as he drew his hand upwards and swiped away a large glob of cake off of his cheek.

Looking up, Dipper realized that where the cake once stood was a mess of poster board and firework shells. The structure soon gave way, and Dipper’s peeved expression fell away as the fallen poster board revealed a cheeky looking Pacifica Northwest. That alone nearly made Dipper’s jaw drop. He couldn’t believe that she had come all the way to California. And on such short notice before classes started again. She looked dazzling in her lavender knee-length dress with off the shoulder straps and a ribbon draped around her waist, all accentuated by her loose platinum hair and confident smile. And. . . was that a cigar clenched between her teeth? A lit cigar?!

“Not that I’m not absolutely thrilled to see you, but why do you have a cigar? I thought you didn’t like those,” Dipper began, not entirely sure what to believe.

“It was my dad’s birthday gift to me. I figured the best way to get back at him was to use it for my peasant boyfriend’s birthday surprise so he couldn’t get mad at me for ‘not appreciating his generosity’,” Pacifica responded mischievously. “And while I’m using this. . .” Taking a drag, she let out a perfectly crafted smoke ring. She then gracefully lifted her hand and snapped her fingers at the top of the ring, causing it to collapse into a smoky heart shape. Dipper felt a mixture of pride for his rebellious girlfriend and distaste for her father’s lack of consideration.

“How long did it take you to perfect that smoke form?” was the only thing Dipper could manage.

“Just now. I wasn’t about to let this puppy go to waste with practice.” With that, Pacifica dug the butt of the cigar and drove it into the platform under her feet to put out the flame. “Now with that out of the way, let’s celebrate your birthday, Dipper.”

Pacifica drew a case out of her purse, tucked the cigar into it, and stashed the gift away into her purse. Popping a breath mint into her mouth, she then held out her hand to Dipper.

“Come on, I’ve got the whole day planned out,” she smiled softly.

Snapping out of his stupor, Dipper eagerly took her hand, then wrapped his other arm around her to give her a much needed hug.

“I can’t wait.”

To start off, Pacifica treated Dipper to lunch at the nearby diner that he always mentioned to her.

“I see your point, this does look a lot like Greasy’s. Except this place probably actually has an inspector come through every so often,” Pacifica commented upon stepping into the busy restaurant.

“I haven’t gotten food poisoning here yet,” Dipper said, referring to a certain incident from last summer when he visited Gravity Falls. “Plus, everything’s affordable here.”

“Good. I wasn’t planning on spending the fortune I no longer have on one meal,” Pacifica snarked, as she thumbed through the menu. Dipper took the moment to admire her. Despite the shock of losing her family’s inheritance, she clearly rose to the occasion and worked to build a savings for herself. And she was taking what she was able to earn to give Dipper an awesome day. He couldn’t appreciate that more.

Pacifica noticed her boyfriend’s loving stare and raised an eyebrow knowingly.

“Yes?”

“I’ve told you how awesome you are right?” Dipper toed his foot to brush her leg.

“Only every other Skype call. But you could always stand to say it more.” Pacifica responded by gently rubbing her leg against his.

Dipper reached his hand across the table and gently took her hand and rested it on the table.

“Then maybe I’ll say it later,” he said cheekily. Pacifica let out a fake scoff of indignity.

“And after all I’ve done for you!” she said dramatically.

“I mean, you haven’t paid for dinner yet.”

“We’ll see if I still feel like paying after you’ve actually ordered something.”

The two parted hands once their food arrived, but continued playing footsie throughout their meal. Pacifica smiled deviously to herself, reveling in getting away with being publicly affectionately with her boyfriend with her parents in the next state over.

“Remind me again why you asked Mabel to arrange the scavenger hunt?” Dipper asked as he did his best to hold steady. This task was growing increasingly difficult as Pacifica, who was sitting on his shoulders, pushed harder on the top of his head to reach for the next clue sitting precariously on the tree branch.

“I don’t live here, so how would I know where to actually put the clues. Aha!” she laughed triumphantly as she finally caught the slip of paper between her fingers. “And would this be nearly as fun if you didn’t get to lift up your gorgeous girlfriend?”

“I’m just more afraid of what my parents would say to your parents if they saw you scandalously exposing to much leg in front of me,” Dipper joked, referring to her hiked up dress so Dipper could lift her up. He lowered himself to the ground in a crouching position. Pacifica gracefully swung off of him and straightened out her dress.

“You’ve seen me in a bathing suit before,” she pointed out.

“That’s different. But I’m glad I can lift you up like the princess you are.”

“Darn right you are. Now let’s figure out where Mabel will send us next.”

“Okay! Glad we’re out of that mess!” Dipper wheezed. Attempting to climb through the various attractions at Mr. Fuzzbert’s Arcadia past all of the clearly unsanitary tunnels was difficult enough, but digging around in the perfume department where half of the employees recognized Pacifica as a Northwest and viciously attempting to upsell her their products was a place they never thought they’d get through.

“So help me if one more girl sprays me with a free sample. . .” Pacifica started, but stopped short. “Wait, there’s the fountain!”

The two joyfully rushed to, what was hopefully, their final destination: the water fountain in the middle of the mall. They immediately scrambled to find the right carved in pattern on the outer ring.

“The clue said the unicorn, right?” Pacifica asked frantically, hoping their nightmare would soon come to an end.

“When Mabel says a sparkly, violent horse, she definitely means unicorn,” Dipper answered, still circling the fountain. “Here it is!”

He pushed on the pattern. The stone slid backwards, then sideways to reveal a secret compartment as Pacifica hurried to his side. Reaching his hand inside cautiously, Dipper pulled out a package wrapped in tinfoil.

“This is a weird wrapping for Mabel to use,” Dipper wondered aloud.

“That’s actually mine,” Pacifica said.

“Really? I would have thought you would have used hot pink or something.”

“I used it to protect your gift from the aliens.”

“I found an actual spaceship with Ford, you know.”

“But you never showed me, so it’s still a conspiracy theory.”

“Oh har har, very funny. . .” Dipper trailed off as he ripped apart the foil to reveal his gift. He then proceeded to let out a very girly shriek, causing passerby to look on in concern.

“Nowayisthisreally-”

“The Tome of the Truskian civilization, yes.” Pacifica had remembered Dipper grumbling about one of the items that the Stans had found on their world-touring adventures, but they refused to let their great-nephew look at it for fear of a curse on it. However, from what Soos reported from spending time around them upon their return was that the curse seemed to have been suppressed once more by Ford’s quick thinking. So long as Dipper didn’t stain the paper with the blood of royalty from the ruling class of the Truskian empire, he would probably be fine.

“How did you get this away from Ford and Grunkle Stan?! They banned me from ever even touching this!”

“Let’s just say it took a little sweet talking and breaking and entering,” Pacifica said cryptically. “I distracted them with a cheesy song and dance at Greasy’s while Wendy swiped it from the Shack and planted a fake.”

“You really do love me,” Dipper teared up, holding the book to his chest and drawing Pacifica close with his free arm.

“The things I do for you,” Pacifica sighed contently as she wrapped her arms around Dipper’s shoulders.

The pair finally arrived at the beach at sunset and located the tucked away corner that Mabel had secured for them earlier. The setup was complete with a large towel, a cooler, and a flashlight for the two to read the tome together. Mabel had also taken the liberty to surround the area with pink rose petals.

“I didn’t ask for the petals, but I’ll accept them,” Pacifica resigned, hoping that Dipper wouldn’t get too flustered by the romantic additions.

“At least she didn’t cover them in glitter,” Dipper joked, trying to suppress a certain evening that Mabel had stuck her creative hands into.

Cozying up together, the couple watched the sunset fade into a fiery gold color. With no company other than the ebb and flow of the ocean, it didn’t take long for the two to start making out. In between the desperate kisses, they whispered ‘I missed you’ and “I love you’ over and over again. Knowing that it wouldn’t be long until they were separated again, they held each other tightly. In the midst of the haze, Pacifica remembered her final surprise for Dipper.

“Mason,” she whispered.

“Hmm,” Dipper hummed, knowing that the use of his name always meant that she was being serious.

“There’s still one last gift left,” she gestured toward the cooler.

“Can’t it wait a little longer?” he whined, unwilling to let her go.

“Normally, I would want to kiss you longer. But I’m pretty sure the beach closes after sunset and I don’t want to get chased out by cops before the grand finale.”

“I suppose so,” Dipper sighed, releasing her. “So what do you have in there?”

“Just a little something I picked up outside the county.” Pacifica proceeded to pull a massive heap of fireworks out of the cooler and placed in carefully on the beach, angling it upwards towards the sky.

“I’ll. . . pack everything up. We’ll need to run after setting that thing off,” Dipper noted, as fireworks were highly illegal in his county. As he neatly folded the blanket, Pacifica pulled out a lighter and the remainder of the cigar from her purse. Lighting up the cigar, she gave it a quick puff to ensure that it would stay heated for the moment. Popping a final breath mint into her mouth, she turned to the eager Dipper.

“Ready?”

“Let’s see what firepower this thing has.”

Pressing the cigar to the fuse, Pacifica watched as her father’s precious gift gave flame to her boyfriend’s final gift of the evening. The fuse began to spark and the two ran a few meters away, both plugging their ears and giggling hysterically. The fireworks shot up into the air all at once, breaking off into two segments. One firework exploded, letting out a bang! and formed the shape of a constellation very familiar to Dipper. The other popped and sizzled immediately afterwards and formed a purple heart.

“Whoa! Pacifica that was. . .” Dipper started, a dopey grin on his face. He turned to Pacifica, who raised her eyebrow expectantly. Dipper threw his arms around her.

“Incredible. You really are the best girlfriend.” Dipper kissed her cheek affectionately, hoping he could demonstrate just how grateful he was that she would take the time to track down a Big Dipper firework just for him.

“For you, it was more than worth it,” Pacifica smiled, burying her face into his chest. Dipper had brought so much adventure and joy into her life. The least she could do for him was to give him a special day. Pulling back, she said, “Now let’s book it before we get into trouble. But first. . .”

Digging the cigar into the sand to put it out, Pacifica gracefully tossed it into the nearby garbage can as the two ran hand in hand from the now crime scene.

“Thanks, Dad. Your gift came in handy after all.”

#gravity falls #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #dipifica #dippica #i write #fanfic

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rilakoya · 6 years

Text

Oh, pt. 1 (m.)

—

genre

| Roomie/Bestie!Namjoon x female reader + angst + fluff + smut (VERY light)

— words | 5k

— member | Kim Namjoon

An awkward encounter with your roommate triggers painful memories, but there’s a way you can learn to move on.

— warnings | mention of orgasms

A/N: Special thanks to @lamourche (the title of your blog inspired me to write this, so thank you!), @brie02, @btsspell, @kpurereactions, and @ringsofjoon for cheering me on (and @ringsofjoon for polishing this work for me!) I’m so grateful! This is my very first fic ever, so I hope you all enjoy!

*Y/N- Your name

*Y/e/n- Your ex’s name

What a fucking day.

Shuffling your way up the steps leading to your apartment complex, you pause, looking back absentmindedly to watch as the taxi drives away. The night is surprisingly quiet, with only a few cars streaking by every now and then in relative silence. You scowl in annoyance at the calm around you, the stillness a stark contrast to your brain which is teeming with unrelenting thoughts of looming deadlines, indecisive clients, and fickle subcontractors, despite your attempts to obliterate them tonight with copious amounts of alcohol. You love your work, and being your own boss definitely has its perks, but at times like this, you’re reminded of how all the stress and pressure to succeed falls squarely on your shoulders. Heaving a sigh, you trudge your way to the elevator, pressing the button for your floor as you lean in to rest your throbbing temple against the cool metal walls. The rest of the way to your apartment ghosts by like you’re on autopilot. You don’t remember the doors opening as you exit the elevator, nor the illuminated hallway as you slink toward your apartment door. You have no recollection of unlocking the door. Maybe if you weren’t so gone, so drowned in your thoughts, you would have noticed this happening; you would have noticed the noise. But you didn’t notice; you walked in hazily. And now you find yourself suddenly alert and aware, having emerged from your distracted daze to the sight and sound of- oh my god.

It’s the moans that breach the fog of your exhausted brain first. Throaty, husky groans and blissful whimpers that slice through the cobwebs of your distraction and stop you in your tracks. Your eyes lift to sharply focus on the scene before you: from the doorway where you stand gripping the heels you just finished sliding off your aching feet, a haphazard trail of clothing litters the floor leading to the ebony leather couch, which is currently occupied by a couple so consumed by their lust and pleasure that they don’t notice your entrance. You stand horrified yet transfixed. Your gaze first lands on the girl. Back arched, skin glistening and slightly flushed, she’s completely lost to the glorious feel of her partner. Her eyes are closed, lower lip trapped between her teeth, fingers and thighs clenching as she swiftly approaches her release. You have to admit that in the throes of passion she looks so beautiful, stunning even. Your body and mind respond in tandem and in conflict. You suddenly feel an irrational surge of anger, frustration, and -could it be?- envy, even as sparks surge through your body, heat engulfing the apex between your thighs. You rip your gaze violently from the girl now crying out in ecstasy, eyes landing on… Namjoon. Your roommate whose sensual thrusting gradually slows, body glistening deliciously with sweat as he milks his partner’s bliss. Your roommate who has just looked up. Your roommate who is now staring, mouth agog and blushing furiously, straight at you.

Shit. The full reality of the situation finally hits you, and you realize that you need to get out of there, now. Pivoting quickly, you make your way to your room as unobtrusively as possible in the hopes that Namjoon’s partner at least won’t realize she’s had an audience. You’ve never met her before, but she could be somebody important to him, and you’d hate to make things awkward. Well, even more awkward. You’d just stared your roommate in the face while he dug some woman’s back out, so there was definitely some weirdness waiting just around the corner. But hopefully, you won’t have to deal with it tonight. As it is, you’re struggling, collapsing onto the bed breathing much harder than the situation should warrant, but you can’t unsee what you’ve just seen, and the experience is jarring. You close your eyes to force the newly acquired memories away but instead they come flooding back with violence: the rhythm of their bodies in unison, the clench of her body in anticipation, the expression of sheer pleasure as she hits her release, the satisfaction on his face of having sated his partner… you groan softly as the images shift now, mixing with older memories… the frantic kisses upon your body, the almost-desperate thrusts and gasps, the ever-increasing build and pressure leading up to a sudden, inexplicable panic, the feelings of anxiety, the disappointment on partner’s face, the shame flooding your body…

You feel it now, mixed with hurt, disappointment, and an indistinguishable emotion that feels tinged with both jealousy and rage. Fuck. This is why you don’t watch porn. The torment of watching another achieve what has proven to be an impossible feat for you is pure agony. Tonight was just another painful reminder of what’s wrong with you, how broken you are. You can hear the voice of your ex taunting you from the shadows of your memory. _“How did I ever end up with someone like you? What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of woman can’t come?” _Exhausted from the ravaging torture of your swirling thoughts and the lingering pressures of the day, you sink back into the mattress, a ragged breath shuddering through your lungs. Hot tears falling in rapid succession leave damp pools on the soft sheets beneath you. You don’t hear the muffled voices, the soft click of the front door, nor the padding of feet down the hallway as you struggle in vain to stop the volley of horrors ricocheting through your mind by attempting to sleep. Just as you finally begin to believe you might drift into oblivion, there’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“Y/N?” Namjoon calls out tentatively.

Fuck. You stifle a groan into your hands as you swipe a tired palm over your face in exasperation. You’ll have to face him eventually, but does it have to be tonight? You ignore him, trying instead to silence the sobs that have begun again in earnest, his presence a fresh reminder of the events of the evening and your pain. A second knock, a tentative pause, and then Namjoon is filling the doorway, looking disheveled and embarrassed, but clearly well fucked. He opens his mouth to speak, but one glance at you has him hastily crossing the room and kneeling beside the bed, brow furrowing in concern, one hand reaching to clasp yours tightly while the other reaches to soothe you by caressing your hair. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I was so caught up that I didn’t even think. I guess I expected you to be home later, but it doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t have had to see that. But I doubt that’s why you’re crying, so what happened? What’s wrong?” Namjoon says all of this rapidly, as though he’s afraid he won’t be able to get it all out before you break. He’s not entirely wrong. You look at him, wanting to glare and be angry at him for being inconsiderate. You want to make him feel bad for putting you both in such an awkward situation. But as you look in his eyes, you recall the half-lidded look of lust that he wore as he fucked into her with abandon, remember the sound of her coming undone beneath his smoky gaze and artful ministrations; you flashback to the insults hurled at you by your partner after intimacy, the frustration and shame they made you feel because you were unable to climax no matter what they tried, and in that moment, looking into Namjoon’s eyes, you shattered.

“Hey, no,” Namjoon coos soothingly. He immediately moves himself onto the bed and draws you to himself, cuddling you close and stroking your hair as he tries to comfort you. “I’m sorry I asked. We don’t have to talk about it tonight if you don’t want to. Just know that I’m so sorry for tonight. Please don’t cry.” You know he’s worried at your irrational outburst of tears. He’s never seen you like this before, and it’s frightening to him. You two have been best friends since college, and while you’ve both had your share of ups & downs, this is an unfamiliar side to you, and he’s definitely concerned, but he won’t question you tonight. As for you, you know that you should make him get up, make him leave you alone. A niggling question in the back of your mind wants to know who the girl was, where she is now, why he’s not with her in this moment. But the other part of you, the part that is starving for comfort in this dark moment, is grateful that he’s here for you, just like old times, offering you his support and acceptance without question, and you snuggle closer to his chest, allowing him to shush your weeping with tenderly murmured nonsense and affectionate caresses. You allow yourself to find the rest you crave in his arms, and as you savor the sensations, you soon fall fast asleep.

The warm glow on the back of your eyelids, the sounds of rush hour traffic and the smell of freshly brewed coffee tell you that you really shouldn’t lie in bed any longer. The beauty of the morning nudges you to get up and enjoy the day, yet the coziness of your covers and a lingering wisp of a thought in the back of your mind urge you to sleep in. You mentally grope for a better hold on this elusive thought, and once you have it firmly in your mind, you widen your eyes in recollection and groan, delving deeply back under the covers in horror. As each memory comes flooding back, your reluctance to face the day- and Namjoon- increases tenfold. Immediately, you begin to mentally formulate a plan of escape. I don’t really need to work today since I’m waiting on that subcontractor to finish his portion of the project. Maybe if I just stay in bed until Joonie leaves-

*ping*

Automatically, your hand reaches for the phone to check the incoming message. It’s from Namjoon.

<<Morning sleepy head. I made fresh coffee. Want some?>>

Normally, your “yes” would barely make it to his phone before your feet made it into the kitchen to grab a hot, strong cup of liquid motivation. But you’re hesitant to face him after last night, knowing that he’ll want to talk about it, that he’ll have questions. You remember your plan to hide out and nod, feeling firm in your decision. Your fingers quickly type back a reply.

<<Mmm, still sleeping, Joon. I’ll get some later. Thanks, though.>>

Nestling back under the covers, you allow your eyelids to flutter shut, anticipating a delicious second sleep. A second ping echoes in the quiet bedroom a few moments later.

<<Aww, really? I was hoping you would come to brunch with me this morning. But I guess if you’re not ready to be up I can always just make myself some breakfast?>>

This message is accompanied by a photo of Namjoon in the kitchen dangerously close to the stove with an eyebrow raised. Shit shit shit. The sight alone makes you shoot up in bed as you recall the last time Namjoon was allowed within a 5 foot radius of the stove: fire alarms, a seething landlady and a trip to the emergency room were all involved. It’s a blackmail and you both know it. Nevertheless, you shoot off a speedy response:

<<Oh no, actually brunch sounds great. Be ready in 15.>>

As you stumble out of bed, struggling to detangle yourself from your cocoon of blankets, you hear the faint ping from Namjoon’s phone in the kitchen and a slight chuckle. He then starts humming. Bastard, you think with a shake of your head, the beginnings of a smile creeping across your face. He knows you too well, knows what will get you to do what he wants.

A warm shower, strong cup of coffee, and 30 minutes later you find yourself sitting across from your roommate and bestie awaiting your food and sipping a mimosa. It’s actually your second, and the food hasn’t even arrived, so normally Namjoon would be teasing you right now about drinking so much so fast and so early in the day. The fact that he does nothing more than subtly raise an eyebrow and continue his monologue about the relationship between the caffeine habits of Voltaire and Kierkegaard and their indisputable genius gives you pause. You wonder if you should order yet another to fortify yourself for the confrontation you suspect is not in coming or keep him talking to distract him instead. You choose the latter.

“You know, Joonie, this is why you were a dangerous Philosophy major. I know that you can wax poetic about Fear and Trembling and Candide, but, like, you do remember that arguing the logic and fallacies of classical works isn’t exactly proper breakfast conversation?” you ask teasingly. He shakes his head at your sparkling eyes and mischievous grin, tilting his head to match yours as he teases right back. “Well, Y/N, what should I talk about instead?” he asks coyly, smile darkening just enough to cause you to panic. If he mentions last night… Commence evasive maneuvers. “Well,” you begin quickly, “you could always let me know what you have planned for us for the rest of today. I mean, once we finish this delicious food,” you breathe, pausing to smile at the waiter who has skillfully delivered your food and stalled your conversation with his timely intrusion. Namjoon just stares at you a moment longer, his gaze firm, his smile a millimeter deadlier, before he blinks and looks at his plate briefly. A moment later, he glances back at you, his normal radiant smile back in place, and you know that you’ve escaped for now. “Let’s eat.”

The rest of the day passes peacefully. Namjoon takes you to the movies, the mall, the park- in short, everywhere that’s chill and pressure-free. He wants you to relax because he’s seen you on edge all morning. He expected it to be so, and he knew that the way to get you to open up was to give you some room to breathe. The two of you stumble back into the apartment much later that evening after several rounds at your favorite bar. A few moments later, after collapsing on the couch in hysterics, a calm settles over you both as you recline, your head in his lap, him toying with strands of your hair. You’re supposed to be deciding whether to watch cheesy movies or play video games when you hear Joon murmur softly above your head. “Are you ready to talk about last night? As much as we’d like to, it’s not really something we can avoid forever, and I rather clear the air now.” His tone is gentle and apologetic, but the arm not wrapped in your tresses is firm over your waist to keep you from running away. You heave a sigh of resignation, knowing that he’s right, and move to sit up so that you are better balanced for this conversation.

“I’m listening,” you reply loftily in an attempt to portray indifference. “Talk.” Immediately, Namjoon apologizes again for having sex in a public part of the apartment. You wave this away, ready to forgive him swiftly in hopes that he’ll let it drop, when he grabs your hand and anchors you to hold his gaze as he asks the next question. “Y/N? Will you tell me why you were upset last night? It broke my heart to see you that way, and if there’s anything I can do to make it right, please tell me. And don’t say it was nothing,” he warns with a grimace, “because I’m not stupid.” Mentally, you freeze. What can you possibly tell him? Not the truth! But he’ll know if you lie. So you try to brush it off as best you can. “I won’t say it was nothing, just that I don’t really want to talk about it. Can you accept that?” you ask cautiously. His gaze, if it’s possible, bores even deeper, like he’s hoping to find the answers he seeks in your eyes. Ridiculous. But in response to your question, Namjoon shakes his head softly. “I’m sorry, Y/N. If I hadn’t seen you like that last night- hadn’t felt the shudders that ran through you- maybe I could accept this. But the Y/N I know, the person I care deeply for, that person was completely shattered last night, and I want to do everything within my power to make sure that you never need to be that way again.” The soft but firm gaze from before has now transformed into a fierce stare, and you don’t doubt his sincerity for a second. Still, “it’s not really something you can fix, Namjoon,” you tell him sadly. How could he possibly even understand such a thing? And how could you dare to tell him? As if sensing you closing off to him, he makes one last effort. “I may not be able to fix it, and I may not even be able to understand,” he pleads gently, “but can you trust me enough to tell me anyway?” Maybe it’s the tender lack of judgment in his voice, or maybe it’s the way his whole body inclines toward you, joining his eyes in begging you to confide in him. Or maybe you’re just tired of feeling so alone in your pain and hoping against hope that he might take your side, no matter how fucked up you are. Either way, you exhale deeply while trying to determine how much you can bear to tell.

“Did Y/e/n ever say anything to you about why we split?” you ask. Namjoon looks at you curiously, unsure what this has to do with last night. “No,” he answers carefully, “we never spoke much after you two separated. All I recall is that you were pretty broken afterward,” he continues with a grimace that shows he’s remembering those early days after your relationship had ended. “I was broken before that,” you reply softly, hunching in on yourself to shield your heart from his response to the words you need to say next. “That’s why we split. Because I’m fucked up. Because there’s something wrong with me.” Gathering your strength, you press on before the pain and shame can catch up with you. “I can’t have an orgasm,” you blurt in a whisper, averting your eyes, as you feel yourself ignite with shame. “I’ve never been able to have one, no matter what, and they couldn’t deal with it anymore,” you continue, “I don’t blame them.” At this, your vision is flooded with Namjoon’s compassion stare as he turns your chin firmly toward him. He stares hard and it’s difficult not to squirm under his intense gaze. “You may not blame them,” he says, “but I do. You are more than your physical response to sexual pleasure, Y/N, and if they couldn’t see that, then it’s their loss and your gain. I’m sorry that you were made to feel ashamed.” Releasing you gently, he continues. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” You’re hesitant to agree but curious. Knowing that the worst is over, you nod. “Do you-” he hesitates, “please, don’t be offended by my question, but you enjoy sex itself, right?” He looks so concerned at hurting your feelings that you almost laugh. “I love it,” you say emphatically, flinching self-consciously once you realize how that sounds, but Namjoon encourages you to meet his gaze once again. “It may seem contradictory, but I do enjoy myself. And I guess I used to enjoy myself even more before I felt so much pressure to perform, so to speak. And I’m not really- I’m not super vanilla, either,” you confess, internally disbelieving the fact that you’re really sitting in your living room having this conversation with your male best friend. Namjoon, bless him, doesn’t look horrified, or like he’s casting judgment on your darkest flaw. Instead, he looks saddened, and -wait- thoughtful? Thoughtful Namjoon in this situation is a mood that doesn’t fit, and you feel suddenly anxious as you watch the emotions and thoughts flicker over his expressive countenance.

“Y/N,” he begins tentatively, “what if you aren’t the problem?” Unsure of whether he’s saying this in a show of sympathy or if he’s finally lost his mind, you roll your eyes. “You were listening, right?” you ask in exasperation. “Yes, I was,” he answers calmly. “But hear me out: what if the reason you haven’t been able to is because you feel like you have to? What if the only thing in the way of your pleasure is a mental barrier?” Now you’re up off the couch and pacing. “So it’s not enough for there to be something physically wrong with me, but mentally as well?” you shoot out fiercely. You want to stop him from talking as soon as possible, because honestly, like most of Namjoon’s ideas, the thought has merit, and the last thing you need is false hope. You don your bitchiest ice queen glare as he scrambles to reassure you. “You’re twisting my words, Y/N. I’m saying that I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you at all. Maybe you don’t respond the way people expect you to, but if you’re enjoying yourself that’s what matters. And maybe you don’t enjoy yourself even more because those same expectations don’t allow you to fully relax.” In your pacing, you don’t notice the shuffle of Namjoon rising from the couch, and as a result, you run straight into his chest when you turn around. Catching you by your arms, he tilts you to look him full in the face. “I think I can help you.” There’s no acceptable response to this but to stare agape at your best friend who has well and truly lost his fucking marbles. Help you do what? Seeing your shock, he explains in an abashed hurry. “You know I care about you, Y/N, and I’d literally do anything to see you happy, and right now, you’re not happy. You live with this shadow over you, this false belief that you’re not worthy of pleasure. It shouldn’t matter how you respond to sex. You should feel free to experience and enjoy yourself naturally, without the pressure of expectations. From what you’ve told me yourself, you’ve lost that. You enjoy sex, enjoy experimenting and exploring, but you’ve lost what it’s like to be shown how special and desirable you are, to be cherished by someone you trust. I believe you deserve to feel that again,” His grip tightens, dark eyes smoldering as he leans in closer. “I’d like to make you feel that way again, if you’ll let me.”

Well, fuck. You swallow tightly as his words and intensity send a shiver down your spine that you hope he doesn’t notice. The fact that you’re turned on just makes you even more uncomfortable with this turn of conversation. Namjoon easily reads your discomfort and releases you, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment as he steps back to give you space. Now, you laugh, if only to lighten the mood. “First, you proposition me and now you’re shy?” you cajole. Ready to put this conversation behind you, you smile ruefully. “Thanks, but no thank you. Even if I thought there might be some truth to what you’re saying, which I’m not, I can’t even begin to- I mean-” Floundering for words, you give up. Giving your bestie an awkward hug, you quickly escape to your room, hoping to sleep away the now-budding curiosity. The first rays of dawn grace your window before you finally fall asleep.

The next few days finally seem to settle into something close to your former rhythm. You make breakfast, and Namjoon orders dinner. You clean the common areas, and Namjoon takes out the trash. You both laugh and joke while pretending Monday night and Tuesday never happened, like your best friend didn’t volunteer to try and make you see stars. You are determined never to bring it up again, and Joon is too much of a gentleman to mention anything that truly makes you uncomfortable. You can’t say the same about the insistent thoughts that plague you at night, as visions of Monday’s scene replay in your dreams, only this time, the girl writhing in bliss under Namjoon’s chiseled masculine form looks a lot like you. On Friday, you have a girls’ night planned while Namjoon goes out with his friends, and the subtle tension within you has grown to the point where you’re honestly glad to see him go. You think that some drinks and gossip with the girls would be great to take your mind off of the past week. But you’ve failed to take into account the fact that you and your friends are all vibrant, single, and of the opinion that a bit of promiscuity in the name of fun never hurt anyone. And so, your night has passed with you delving deeper and deeper into your cups, ineffectively seeking to drown out the hollowness of your emotions as you listen to your friends laughingly swap stories about their recent hookups and crushes. In fact, by the time the door closes behind the last laughing girl, you have a massive head- and heartache, and you just want to curl up and wait for it all to pass. So you do, lying down on the couch with your arms around your waist, wishing that there was someone else around to hold you close and comfort you. Your next thought is that you are floating, and it feels so nice, and then you are laid on a bed of clouds. Wait, what? You open your eyes to find Namjoon hovering, trapped in the circle of your arms around his neck as he was attempting to lay you in your bed. After gracefully extricating himself from your grasp, he moves to leave until you grip his wrist and the bottom of his shirt to keep him from going further. “Stay?” He opens his mouth to deny you until he sees the myriad of emotions swimming in your eyes. His only response is to lower himself onto the bed and to pull you tight to his chest. You’re lonely, it’s been a rough week, and you just need some affection, and as your longtime friend, he knows it. As you snuggle closer to him, inhaling his familiar scent, you are grateful for a friend who is so respectful and caring, so affectionate and trustworthy. A whispered “Good night, Y/N,” is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep.

Saturday morning you awake pensively. As you lie next to your snoring friend, you consider the events, behaviors and attitudes of the past week. Despite all your efforts to the contrary, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Namjoon’s theory and proposition. A twisted part of you dares to hope that he could be right, and you know enough about him over the years as his friend to have heard his stories. You know that, assuming there’s nothing wrong with you, the man can deliver. But would it be crazy to accept his offer? Your gaze grazes his face, with his long, butterfly lashes falling on supple cheeks. The voluptuous lips that you’ve always wanted to bite when he tugs at them absentmindedly with his teeth. This week has served as a reminder of Namjoon’s character. He was so respectful and kind, giving you all the space you needed and respecting your process, never pressuring you. But it really shouldn’t surprise you because he’s always that way. You take a second glance, this time taking in the sleek yet muscular build of his chest and arms, and you remember the way it feels to be in them, even just in a friendly way. You wonder if he’ll be just as patient and understanding while he’s teaching you. Looking at the long, lean fingers attached to his strong yet gentle hands, you also begin to consider what all he could teach you, and you find yourself shivering in anticipation before you gather your wayward thoughts. It’s crazy and I won’t do it, you scold yourself and roll over to face away from the slumbering man. And then, in an instant, it all changes. Namjoon reaches out for you in his sleep and draws you to him. As he pulls you in, you find yourself pressed closely against his early morning erection, and your mouth falls open in an “o”. Even though you’d walked in on him hooking up with the anonymous girl on Monday, it was kind of hard to get an idea of what he was packing when you were in shock and he was balls-deep inside a woman’s vagina. But now, sandwiched tightly in between his taut abdomen and his bicep gripping your waist, you can’t help but notice that Namjoon has dick for days. The perverse thoughts from before are now nothing compared to the obscene fantasies flooding your mind and you’re surprised at how aroused you are becoming with each passing moment. It’s been a long time since you felt like this, and it hits you that it’s because you feel safe. Your soft sigh reaches Namjoon’s ears as he’s waking, and he turns you over to face him. The tender concern on his face pushes you over the edge of your reason. “Joon?” “Mmm?” he responds sleepily, leaning into your touch as your reach up to stroke his hair. “Namjoon,” you say again, wanting to make sure he is awake. “Yes Y/N?” he smiles drowsily, propping himself up on one elbow to be able to look into your eyes properly. For a moment, you two just stare at each other companionably, as though you both have nowhere to be and no one else you’d rather be with. That’s the benefit of knowing each other for so long. But then, you say the three words that you know will change everything, the ones he thought he’d never hear you say. “Namjoon. Teach me.” His eyes widen slightly and his breath hitches before his gaze darkens with obvious desire. “Gladly.”

part 2 part 3

#bts fanfic namjoon #bts angst #bts fluff #bts namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #roomie #bestie #bts rm #bts rm x reader #bts rap monster #series #oh series #oh #bts #fanfic #pt. 1

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darkenrose-s · 8 years

Text

Unexpected- Chapter Four

Summary- While living in England you had a brief affair with a criminal. Not just any criminal but one wanted by governments and secret agency’s. In those brief moments you were together you helped heal each other. Now amost a year later you meet him again in the most unlikly place. Living in your Godfather tower.

Thoughts

–//–//–//–

It had been a few days since the gala, since you were shot. The doctors supply you with daily pain meds with Bruce watching their every move and Tony checking with him every five minutes that you were still functional. You were in the numb place that can only be reached by large consumption of pain medication but something inched in your mind. Something was off and it wasn’t the hole in your arm.

Something was wrong with Bucky Barnes. He had barely spoken to you lately. In fact it seemed like he was trying to avoid you whenever he could. You were starting to think that the pain from that night had made you say something you didn’t remember. You had struggle to think of anything you could have said to get this reaction out of him. Sure you’ve seen him on his off days but this is different somehow. You wonder if something else has happen and he’s not told anyone.

It was a week before you could confront him. You wanted your friend back. You wanted to know that he was alright but somehow it turned into a shouting match that spilled out into the communal living room.

Tony had once told you that he was positive that within ever woman, there is a lioness waiting to burst out. Apparently all it took for yours to come to the surface, was James Buchanan Barnes being a bigger ass then usual. You could feel blood beating in your veins. Pumping hot and loud in your ears.

“This isn’t the 1940s James, you don’t get to decide how I feel or what I do.” You’re nearly shouting as you storm after him. The clearer part of your mind plans to follow him to the door then let him leave. You have never felt such anger at anyone before. Maybe it was because the last week you’ve been numb to everything and this sparked the first true emotion you’ve had. Or maybe it’s because the closest person you’ve ever been to is pulling away from you like you are nothing but a throw away magazine.

The set of his jaw and the twist of a fist with his metal arm assures you that confronting him further would only end badly for both of you. You’re angry at yourself more then him. You should never have let him charm his way into your life. Into your bed. You had been so careful about everyone else, but you had let your guard down again for this one man. That was your mistake. You guess you are seeing his true colours now.

He spins around fast making you stumble to a stop. He glares at you, and for a moment you understand completely why people are terrified of him. He looks almost demonic at that moment. Towering over you. Pure rage all directed in one direction. You would later wonder if this was The Soldier you were seeing.

If you felt anything less then the unadulterated rage at this moment, you would have done the smart thing and retreated. Let the argument die out. You had never argued like this before. Sure you had disagreements. You had bickered over little things but nothing compared to this.

“You best do as I say, little girl.” He growls. The insult surprises your . Cuts into the anger. You snort and raise your head up. You are not going to let him see how much it hurt you. How much he frightens you now that the rage has been shocked out of you. “You’re not worth my time.”

Okay.

That hurt.

That really hurt.

You throat and chest tighten and you feel your eyes start to water. You stubbornly refuse to let them fall.

You hear a gasp and vaguely remember that the others are in the room with you.

You ignore them.

“You once said, I made you feel human again. I must have done a bad job. Turned you into some assholed jerk.” You struggle to think clearly. “ you are, just like all the rest, Barnes.” For a brief moment you think you see the anger in his face flicker to hurt. Why should he be hurting? He’s just ripped you apart. “You’re nice until you get what you want. Then straight back to being a jerk.” You won’t cry in front of him. Won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he wounded you. His mistake was helping to build your confidence years ago. You’d be damn if he knew he was taking that away from you too.

He takes a step forward, not quite towering over you but the effect is still the same.

“Then you should know from experience. Sweetheart .” He snarls at you. He made the once affectionate word splash at you like acid.

You swallow. Hard.

“Hey! Guys! That’s enough.” it’s Steve but your focused is on the man before you. You can’t keep the shattering heartbreak within much longer. You lash out with words. You’ve never been physically violent and you weren’t going to start with him. You won’t give him that sick satisfaction either.

“The nightmares you have, about being a monster.” You start, stepping up to him. You’d never pull off being intimating but you’re not thinking clearly right now. You’re not shouting, but you are struggling to keep your voice calm and even. You know how to hurt him. Just like he does you. “You never needed the super soldier formula, or Hydra to make you one. You already were one.” You spit between gritted teeth.

Then you brush past him, marching towards the door as the others gasp and call after you.

You have to leave.

Your heart is thumping heavily in your chest. You feel like you might shatter if you stay here longer. Your small world is crumbling around you.

You feel like an idiot. How could you let him get that close to you? Why?

You feel the first of, you’re sure, many tears slide down your hot cheek before you reach the door. It’s hard to see. It’s hard for you to breathe.

You’re suddenly jerked back and slammed into the wall with a loud thud. It ricochet around your bones and into your injured arm.

You hiss in pain.

Bucky is in your space. Consuming it all. Demanding it all from you.

“You know nothing of monsters.”

You look at him properly through your tear filled eyes. The others are shouting. Calling for attention and actions. They’re background noise. There is nothing but the man in front of you. The closest man you’ve ever been with. The man who tort you that not every man had an motive for wanting to be near you.

You look each other eye to eye and you see it. The self loathing. The hate. The insecurity. The fear. The pain and something else. Something you’ve seen before but can’t name. Another time you would have wanted to soothe the wounds. Help him heal, but right now you want him to hurt. Hurt as much as you are. To feel as worthless and used as he made you feel.

“Ok back off Termiator!” You hear the whine of Tony’s iron man weapon and a blue glow in the corner of you eye.

“Buck! Come on man. Let her go. You don’t want to do this.” Steve is closest, a hand ready to grab Tony and the other reaching for Bucky.

Bucky moved his body to block out the others, his metal arm moves so that it covers you from the glow from Tony’s weapon.

What was he doing? That wouldn’t stop Tony. Only piss him off more. It would only reflect most of the blast anyway, like Steve’s shield. Shield.... A metal shield… No. But…. Oh….. But….ah…. That’s what that look means. But how can he care enough after this? After everything we’ve said.

You need to leave. You need to get away from him.

“Was it an accident.” You say quietly so only he can hear you. You’re exhausted and make no attempt at stopping the tears from your eyes. “Or do you mean to destroy, every bit of good you deserve?” your breathe heaves in your chest.

Bucky suddenly looks just as exhausted as you feel. He drops his human arm, but keeps the other between you and Tony.

It’s an empty threat from Tony. If he blasts Bucky you would be caught in it too. No matter how good a shot he is. You take a deep breath and close your eyes. Willing your self not to completely break down. Your whole body throbs. You walk away from Bucky and his silence, and the others.

This time he lets you.

You manage to close your apartment door before the sobs take over. Clawing out of your chest, like a wild beast escaping its cage, as you collapse against the door. You try to muffle the sound with your hands.

It doesn’t work.

It hurts too much.

Being shot doesn’t compare to this.

–//–//–//–

Bucky stares blankly at the spot you had just been.

He’d hurt you.

Really hurt you.

The one thing he swore to himself never to do. And he did it.

It’s for the best. He thinks, swallowing his own pain.

“I don’t know what that was, but you stay away from her!” Tony growls, not taking his eyes off Bucky until he’s out of the door. He looked a Bucky like he felt he was. A monster.

“Buck?-” Bucky cuts Steve off by walking away. He’s already torn apart one good thing in his life he can’t face the other one.

Bucky feels like he’s drowning. The images of your tears filled eyes, chase him down the corridors.

He couldn’t breathe.

He knew you were worried about him. You had been shot days before hand and you were worried about his feelings.

He couldn’t face you.

You were everything he could ever want. Everything he didn’t know he needed. That terrified him. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you. You where the light in the dark and now he had destroyed you.

He slammed the door to his apartment and slid down the other side of it. Tears caressed his face and he made no move to wipe them away.

He was empty.

He was hallow.

He really is a monster.

#buckyxreader #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #unexpected #bucky #bucky x reader #steve rogers #tony stark #avengerfamily

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monoguk · 8 years

Text

hopelessly so . first

Seriously, why do some people even use sex as a distraction from painful reality? When heartbroken, have sex. When in love, have sex. When jealous, have sex. When moving on, have sex. When rich, buy sex. When poor, sell sex. It really doesn’t make sense!

FEATURING - jeon jungkook CATEGORY - humor . implied WORD COUNT - 1000+

PARTS - first . second . last

“What’s so great about sex anyways?!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at your phone.

“Are you sure you really want to ask me that?” Coy and amused, he always sounded like that. The sheets beneath you and him ruffled with his movement: from laying down on his back to laying on his side with his head being propped up by his muscular biceps.

However, it seemed as if you didn’t hear his usual vain tone, because you went on about ranting: “Seriously, why do some people even use sex as a distraction from painful reality? When heartbroken, have sex. When in love, have sex. When jealous, have sex. When moving on, have sex. When rich, buy sex. When poor, sell sex. It really doesn’t make sense! The world doesn’t revolve around fucking senselessly; it revolves around money! Ahh, it’s so enraging!”

He lets out a breathy snort, body moving once again until he was sitting up right with his back on a headboard. He watches amusingly as you basically had smoke coming out of your nostrils and ears, still glaring heatedly at your opened phone. He sneaks a glance at your screen, and he immediately understood what was happening. “Are you done yet?”

You huffed, eyes drifting from your phone to him. Him. Jeon Jungkook, the boy who unexpectedly became your best friend. He was also the boy whose dictionary is everything about sex, adulterated and unadulterated. It was probably not a good idea asking that (rhetorical) question in his presence. But, what is a good idea is diving back for your phone, and you did so.

Jungkook chuckled, expecting you’d go back to whatever you were doing: reading fiction on your phone. He was after all your best friend - as you were his - so, how could he not know the most crucial detail that defined you? “And here I thought you didn’t like sex, yet you’re reading filthy smut.”

“Smut is good. Plot-less smut is what I don’t like.” Her eyes drifted from left to right of her screen, eyebrows scrunched (and perfectly on fleek, courtesy of Jungkook).

“But you’re still reading it.” He laid back down on his side beside you - like you two had been for a few hours now, just chilling at his bed on his room in a dorm unit he shared with someone named Park Jimin - eyes darting quickly to somewhere particular before he smirked. “You’re even turned on by it.”

You flinched, head pointedly darting up to meet mischievously glinting irises with a glare from your own all the while trying hard to not rub your thighs together. However, you kept quiet, because he was right. “Can you, like, shut up?”

Jungkook shrugged, taking back his phone he discarded at your sudden outburst, “Just stating out the obvious. You know, I know how virgins are, so don’t need to be shy.”

She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, getting herself dragged into a paradise he promised to her; a paradise where she is to forget a regretful past love. However, she knew he was someone she would never regret loving though he is someone of her past. Her thoughts were jumbled, especially since this guy who was physically similar to him was a breath away from his pink flesh capturing her trembling ones. We can stop if you don’t want to, he whispered, breath enticing her deeper into his sweet temptation. She really shouldn’t be doing this, with another man still imprinted at the back of her mind and her heart, after all the years their love had already fallen apart, but this other man - despite meeting him just two days ago - proved himself worthy of being the man to help you move on and away from a haunting love. His hands held her tight, and his hips slightly rutted into her. How could she not fall for it? But, she shouldn’t be doing this. Go ahead, fix me. she gave in, whispering sensual seductions that lead to the both of them with their lips tangled and hips thrusting into each other. Take me to your bed she said, eyes tearing up because she still thought of-

“Agh! This is disgusting! She knew she shouldn’t be doing this! But, no!” You groaned, prolonging the syllable 'o’ in the word 'no’, “as always, sex is also a solution. These people should seriously have their mental health checked.”

You were already fisting your hair, all this frustration getting to you, before turning to your best friend with your usual glare, because why was he ruining the mood. “Oh, fuck you, Jungkook.”

“Why don’t you? You know you want me.” He smiled cockily, upper body leaning up to lean closer your face as if about to coax you into kissing him.

You say, in his disgusting dreams. So, you push his face away, the rough shove in pale contrast with your soft hand “Just because you have experience doesn’t mean you can look down at virgins like me!”

“I’m actually giving you a chance to rid of your obvious sexual frustrations, and what better way than to ask a professional, me, to help you out? Please, you’re pussy’s calling out for me.”

You shove him farther away, earning you his cackling laugh which actually caused your scowl to melt into an endearing smile. Because, you seriously thought people should make a soundtrack only containing his laughing sounds. However, you didn’t want to boost up his ego anymore so you kept quiet about your obsession over his contagious smiles and cackles. “You are seriously disgusting. Go get one of your bitches to fuck. And, for your information, I can perfectly handle myself until I get married, thank you very much.”

“I was giving you a golden opportunity, but you’re wasting it. Girls line up for me and my awesome bed skills, and i’m giving you a VIP pass to it.” He shrugs, expression that of smugness; that same smug expression you just want to punch until it’s battered and dysfunctional. 'Whoa, violent much?’

Instead of giving in to your urges - of punching Jeon Jungkook’s pretty face -, you sighed irritably, tiredly sighing at him before getting back to what you were reading. “Shut up, you’re annoying me. I swear I will punch you so hard your nose will bleed for one while day if you don’t let me finish this annoying piece of shit that has plot-less - oh my god! Her 'regretful past love’ came back! I hope they have sex.”

Jungkook continued to stare at you, with furrowed brows and a smile adorning his lips; watched your eyes glint mischievously and figured that you were reading a sensual scene, watched your teeth bite your lower lip, watched your legs rub against each other. If you were any other girl, he would have lunged at you - virgin or not. But, you weren’t just anyone, and this fact alone made him amused and affectionate at the same time. “What’s got your mood so unstable? You act like you’re on your period.”

The silence that issued after his statement was something he was used to. He expected that you didn’t even hear a single word about what he said and asked. Jungkook wasn’t even fazed when you sat up again abruptly, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Oh my God, that is it!”

“What? Did 'regretful past love’ waste his opportunity and going back to this horny female lead?”

“He did! And, I’m furious about it, but… OH MY GOD!”

Jungkook panicked immediately, seeing you freak out at something that wasn’t about your (smutty) fiction stories. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You look at him, horror and abhorrence painting your face. “I just got my monthly period.”

There was a few seconds of silence, with the two of you just staring and blinking at each other. It was when Jungkook asked dumbly, “What…?”

You plopped down back onto the bed, the fluffy mattress making waves with the impact of your body. You stared up at the ceiling, eyebrows scrunched in a fearful arch, and suddenly you were having some kind of existential crisis. You let the situation sink in a bit further before you were abruptly turning to face a still-dumbfounded Jungkook.

“It actually all makes sense! You see, a few days ago, I had this sudden urge to read some smut.”

You stopped, seeing Jungkook give you a disbelieving look at your triggering words. “A couple of smuts…” You corrected, but Jungkook was having none of it. “Okay! A lot of smuts! You happy?”

Jungkook scoffed, hand gesturing for you to continue with your explanation, all the while his signature smile brightening his face. “And, I actually have a pretty strong resistance from temptation, but that day I read smut - an awesome one, mind you - I just couldn’t… Ugh!”

He watched: you ripping your hair out when you told him about how you were binging on fruit cakes when you don’t even like them; you hiding your face as you told him an embarrassing moment of you getting caught by your roommate dancing (and failing) energetically to a really slow ballroom song; you frowning sadly and scooching closer to him as you told him that you suddenly burst into tears one day because you thought about pugs and their adorableness. (“Who wouldn’t cry over cute pugs? Huh? Tell me, who wouldn’t?”). All the while, he listened intently - though at time he couldn’t help but chuckle - because you were his crazy best friend who means a lot to him.

“All this time I thought I was wet, but it’s probably-Oh my! What the fuck, I hate cleaning up underwear stains!” You cussed, hands gripping at your hair again and this time Jungkook made action to actually keep your hair in place (because his other favorite hobby, beside sex of course, was combing his hand through your long hair) and to prevent your 'menstrual excretions’ from staining his sheets (because he just changed his bed sheets a day ago after an evening sexcapede with some hot chick he never bothered to remember the name of).

“I think I have a few of your tampons and napkins in my drawer. You know, where I keep my condoms and shit. I’ll be right back with two tubs of chocolate ice cream. I better come back with no red stains on my bed sheet.”

He was about to scurry to the nearest convenience store, but short arms came to wrap at him loosely and the rarity of the gesture froze him for a short moment. He looked down to see you glancing up at him (cutely) with your chin poking his (defined) chest. “Thank you, Kook.”

He didn’t know if you were whispering or not. In fact, he didn’t care. Seeing you shift from one emotion to another was very hilarious and amusing, but you being the affectionate best friend he claimed he liked better than a scowling you was very heart-warming.

So, Jungkook returned the affection. He shifted down, until his head was by the crook of your neck before placing a lingering peck at a spot dangerously near the precisely positioned bundle of nerves that had you surprisingly relaxing at the gesture. You felt the tip of his nose glide up to your jawline before pausing there, his breaths more on inhaling than exhaling.

And, even before you were going to ask him to go away, he was standing up slowly, trudging towards the door. Before he went out, he turned back to you smiling widely and mischievously, “My offer still stands, if you’re that turned on by inaccurate smut narration.”

“Oh, fuck you, Jeon Jungkook!”

PARTS - first . second . last

#belle writes #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jeon drabble #bangtan jeongguk

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