#i know i shouldn’t let such clear bait get under my skin like that but

[clarissalance]

Watermelon-flavored popsicle

Pairing: Xingqiu x g/n!reader, mention of Chongyun

Warning: light swearing, kissing, a lot of grammatically errors.

Word count: 3404

Summary: A coincident meeting between you and Xingqiu on Yaoguang Shoal might have changed your relationship.

A/N: Here is my come back for summer. This piece has been in my folder for so long but I just don’t want to check the errors and proofread. Luckily, I have found my motivation (no more wifi) and here is the piece. This one is inspired by imagination if I can go to the beach ( I hate corona).I hope you have fun reading this oneshot (and feel my desperation to enjoy the sunny beach) Next up will be Kazuha, I think :D. Please send Xingqiu a lot of love~~ (❤´艸｀❤)

Picture credit:  @polarbear43666 on Twitter. 

Summer in Liyue has always been sweltering, burning, and unbreathable. The sun stands proudly in the middle of clear azure sky, not a single cloud dare to tread near the glowing king, blocking the beam of lights shine down the city. 

Today is also another day of undesirable temperature. Even when the city is a harbor, the cool breezes from the sea can’t calm down the rising heat from the road, nor the glowing businesses or the flock of people going to the market. Living in the city for 5 years, you know not to tread near the market during working hours, so you decide to go somewhere quiet, relaxing and enjoyable. 

Yaoguang Shoal.      

Normally, you would have gone to a teahouse or a bookstore to escape the hot weather, but today, those areas are swamp with people. You might have a brief idea of why they would be so crowded in there. It can only be Yunjin performance, or the teahouse is having a giveaway.    

As much as you love to enjoy her breathtaking performance and intriguing stories, you wouldn’t risk getting trampled by those people. Maybe another day, when people aren’t packing inside the teahouse. 

As soon as you arrive at the shore, the thick scent of salt waffles around the tip of your nose, sounds of waves calmly splashing against the coast. Slowly, you remove your shoes and sink your feet down the fever-like golden sand, heading toward the white bubbles splashing waves. 

You should have brought a flip-flop instead of shoes. 

At the burning sensation on the sole of your feet, you start sprinting toward the nearby small patches of grass hiding under a gigantic shade, hoping to save your sensitive skins. 

As soon as you jump on the lump of grass, you can’t help letting out a painful hiss, jumping like a grasshopper on the surface. This place isn’t very far from the water, maybe you can put on an umbrella here and enjoy the breathtaking scenery.  

Afar, you can see a few white cranes enjoying the cold water while looking for fishes, bathing under the scorching heat. Propping yourself on your knee, you sit down and enjoy the feeling of wind combing through your messy dark locks. From here, the sound of splashing water on the sand, the soothing sensation of a peaceful summer gently sinks down your skin.  

You’re lucky to find a shade in the middle of a shore, under the scorching sun glaring holes on your head. Unlike the harbor, Yaoguang shoal is much more breathable, the cool breeze brings the smell of sea salt dancing on your skin, slowly imbued your silky dark lock with the distinctive scent of the ocean. 

Letting out a lazy sigh, you leisurely drift into a slumber, opting for a relaxing nap while enjoying the sound of nature. 

How great is it to not have someone disturb you? 

“Y/N?” 

Maybe you speak too soon. 

Furrow your brows, you slowly open your eyes, annoyed by the sudden intrusion. The bright light clearly wants to pierce your eyes, but the figure moves closer and blocks the over-enthusiastic sun out of your gaze. You slowly sit up, squinting hard at the dark figure. 

“Xingqiu?”  Widen your eyes at the familiar shade of blue, you look at him quizzically. “What are you doing here?”

The male lets out a breathy chuckle and crouches down, letting light falls on his face.   

“Me? The weather is nice, so I’m strolling along the shore and enjoy the weather.” 

At your comical gaze drilling at his head, and the hydro user finally raises his hand in defeat. “ Fine, fine. I was on my way back to the Harbor after helping the traveler with some commissions.” 

“ The harbor is the other direction.” You dubiously point the opposite direction, a small gust of wind picking up and tousling your hair. “ If you’re heading this direction, Dragonspine is where you're heading.” 

 “What are you doing here?” The young man ignores your remark and changes the topic, eyes curiously wander down your lying body on the grass. 

“ Escaping the heat from the harbor.” You hum and scoot to the other side, sparing Xingqiu a space to sit. He must be drying staying that long under the sun. 

He quickly sits down next to you, slowly peeling his boots and socks away. The area is small, forcing you to stay close to him, your shoulders almost bumping into each other. As much as you love skinship, any physical contact is overbearing in this weather. The scenery would have been more romantic if you’re sharing body heat in the bizarrely cold Starglow Cavern.

Wait… why did Xingqiu sit down and remove his boots? Isn’t he supposed to go back to the harbor? 

“ You aren’t going back to the harbor?” You tilt your head and his side profile. 

“ I was, but I change my mind.” The blue figure has his eyes on the boots, unlacing the footwear. “Sitting here with you is much more breathable than cramping inside the teahouse and the bookstore.”

  …But you didn’t agree to let him stay in the first place. Why is he still here then? 

You just offer him a place to sit down in the shade, just because he was sweating profusely under the sun when you were talking to him. It’s called an action out of politeness!!! He isn’t supposed to take the offer and makes himself comfortable.

Great, now you’re stuck with a body heat that you desperate to get away from. Roll your eyes, you let your gaze fleet over the vast clear ocean in front of you. 

From here, you can slightly make out an outline of Guyun Stone Forest peeking behind the thickening clouds. That majestic scenery, the infamous fight between Osial and Res Lapis, you wonder how big that fight was to create a whole island with a gigantic unique shape?  After thousands of years, you can still feel the rumbling energy threatening to break the seal of lord of Geo, yet something manages to force them down. Perhaps, there might be someone there securing the seal, holding the remaining pieces together. What would happen if that seal finally breaks again? Will the entire harbor engulfed by the anger of the lord of Vortex, or, will the new Geo archon will defend it?    

“A mora of your thought?” A youthful voice calls out, and you whirl your head in his direction. “ You look so deep in thought.” 

“ Ah… I was just thinking about the Guyun Stone Forest.” You shyly scratch your head, eyes don’t meet his. You totally forgot someone is sitting next to you. Xingqiu doesn’t comment, he lets his gaze drift to the Stone Forest, and the silence falls. 

This time you don’t let your eyes stray to the exalted scenery hiding away under those clouds. Instead, you observe the hydro user, who is just a few inches away. His features are soft, yet so define. The sharp eyes, the slope of his nose, and the plush lips. Under the smooth cerulean locks is his signature amber orb. You have always felt enamored under his gaze ever since you first met. That golden eyes are always filled with the determination and sharpness of a predator. You love it when the soft, bubbly Xingqiu turns sharp, or when he’s practicing his swordsmanship.   

“Take a picture, it will last longer.” The hydro user says, his voice remains calm and unwavering, almost make you mistake for someone else. “ How is my face?” 

“ Utterly unacceptably handsome.” Propping yourself on your elbow, you stare into his deep eyes, answer honestly, try to hold your scoff. 

Xingqiu doesn’t comment on your compliment but tilts his head the other way, avoiding your hawking gaze. Obviously, he knows you like to mess with him, trying to pull a reaction out of the shameless nonchalant friend when you’re bored. How you wish he would at least give you an entertaining reaction. 

You remember those days when Xingqiu and Chongyun are easily flustered. Nowadays, only Chongyun is still affected by your antic. How does that popsicle boy not immune to your frequent teasing is also a big mystery you’re looking for an answer to. 

“ You shouldn’t say someone is handsome if you don’t mean it.” After a while, the calm hydro user is back, composed, and relax. How can he be so lax in this atrocious weather, you don’t want to know. 

“ But… you’re handsome ?” 

“ You’re just trying to make me fluster.” He replies, a blush slowly creeps on his cheek. You don’t know why he’s trying to deny your compliment. He’s handsome, and you’re just using that fact to turn him into a tomato. Why does it sound like he’s trying hard to convince himself his face isn't aesthetic to look at? 

You open your mouth but close it. Speechless, you don't know how do you convince him that you honestly compliment his features, not… uh baiting him? Do your compliments sound like cheap-ass flirtatious attempts people usually get in a combo when they visit the tavern?   

Your motive isn’t as pure as it can be but your compliment does: honest, and authentic. How could he twist your words into something so scandalous like that? Outrageous! 

Your lips part to speak, but something cold and hard is shoved inside, and your olfactory bulbs almost explode with flavor (and numbing cold). The feeling of fruity sweetness seeps on your tongue, with a tingle of refreshing feeling dancing on top. Glaring dagger at Xingqiu, you notice his gloating face while biting the signature blue popsicle. Did Chongyun give that to him? 

Plug the freezing item out of your mouth, the vibrant pinkish color glowing under the sun, slowly dripping down your hand. It is a watermelon-flavored popsicle. He could have handed it to you nicely instead of almost choking you off and stop your sentence like that. Nevertheless, you still enjoy the watermelon-flavored popsicle while pouting at the young man. 

“ Where did you get this?” In between you lick, you look up at him, surprised to see half of the popsicle has disappeared. Did he just chomp all that in less than a minute? 

“I bought it, of course, food doesn't fall from the sky.” This young man is much more handsome when he has his mouth closed. You are really contemplated whether to use your handkerchief to shove down his throat. Or maybe a rock could do the job well too. 

“So, pay me.” Xingqiu suddenly brings his hand to your face, mischief glowing in his amber eyes. The audacity of this hydro user must have rocketed the sky after so long not having a good fight. You give him a forced smile while elbow him in the stomach, voice dangerously low. 

“ Our friendship doesn’t even worth a single popsicle? Really Xingqiu, I’m so disappointed.” You fake a sigh, head shaking in disapproval.  

The god-damned bastard avoids your blow without a hitch and even slithers his hand on your waist to tickle you. Oh, he must be looking for death this time. 

With the popsicle still inside your mouth, you sneakily raise your hand, attempting to push Xingqiu into the lava-like sand as revenge. It'd be a perfect touch to your lovely afternoon to see him tumbling on the group while jumping like a hissing cat. 

How naïve of you, to think that he doesn’t spot your little antic. This is the young man always out-performing you in every aspect, even in eating a popsicle. 

Without even looking at you, he catches your wrist effortlessly while still licking the ice cream. His body relaxes, compare to you, who almost tumbling toward him if he doesn't hold you in place. In a panic, you try to wriggle yourself out of his hold, but the young man only tightens his hold, remains unfazed by your swinging attempt to fling his hand out of your wrist. 

“ Let me go Xingqiu!” Instead of laughing at a hissing Xingqiu tumbling on the sand, you become the angry cat here. 

“ So you can hit me? Of course not.” He replies gloatingly, chins lackadaisical, his fingers wrap tightly around your wrist. 

“It’s hot.” 

“ Eat your popsicle then.” His hand holding your wrist brings up to point at the melting ice cream on your hand. “It’s melting.”

Of course, everyone can see that. Shooting pointed gaze at him, you try to shake the tight grip on your wrist a few more times, but nothing avails. He doesn’t let go, and your other hand is busy holding the popsicle. If you have another one, maybe you can peel off his fingers. Too bad you only have 2 hands. 

Sigh out in defeat, you give Xingqiu stink eyes before turning your attention back to the watermelon popsicle, occasionally look down at his grip to find an escape route. You don’t believe you can’t escape from his grasp! 

The hydro user doesn’t let your hand go after he finished his popsicle, instead, he slumps down with one cheek resting in his hand, staring at your face blatantly. You don’t usually mind but being gawked at while eating isn’t as comfortable as you thought. 

“ What?” Finally, you look up to face the mischievous blue boy. 

“ Can I have a bite?” 

“ Obviously n-” He doesn’t wait for your answer and leans in. Your first reaction is to be dodged away, but the sneak has your wrist pinned on the grass, forcing you to stay still. 

As soon as you realize your immobile state, Xingqiu is a few inches away from your face, licking the popsicle, and then biting off the edge near the stick. His smooth cheek brushes past your fingers, the deep blue locks fall on his face. From here, you inhale a hint of mint and sweet vanilla. Instead of the familiar scent of woodsy musky of old books, you notice a whiff of summer and salt on him. 

Stunted by his sudden closeness, you remain to freeze even after he pulls away. 

“W-wh-what did you j-just do?” To your horror, you stutter. Not once, but twice.

“Eat your popsicle.” 

As nonchalant as ever, he shrugs while swiping the remains on his lips, like he isn’t the one who just leans in so close to you. You are too dazed to even realize the popsicle hang close to your mouth is dripping down your clothes. 

Startle at the coldness, you hastily look down and scrunch your face at the mess. Ugh, it’s because of him, again! 

“ Need me to eat that for you?” he offers, but you swear you hear a hint of playfulness glinting in his voice. Quickly, you bite off the remaining before he can steal another bite, forget how sensitive your gum is. The result, you can already imagine, is brain freeze. 

Hissing at the sudden burst of frost blooming in your mouth, unconsciously grab on Xingqiu, squeezing his hand tightly while squirming vigorously. You shouldn’t have bitten off the whole thing, even when it melts. Hand in hand, you can feel the warmth of his fingers caressing your wrist, and they slowly move down and intertwine with yours. That opportunistic guy. 

During that heated moment, you remember yourself instinctively looking for a source of heat. At one point, your brain decided to throw the remaining sanity out the window. It convinces your body that the crook of his neck is the best source of warmth to melt the overbearing sensation in your mouth. And your body decides to do without giving another thought. 

Face buries deep in his neck, you are engulfed in his strong musky scent, naturally, you freeze dead on your track. 

What have you done? 

How do you get up? 

How can you look at his eyes now? 

With the dreading thoughts constantly running around your mind, you can only hit your head on his shoulder blade in shame, earning a rumbling chuckle from the young man. 

“ Don’t laugh!” Your whiny voice is muffled by his clothes. Upon your request, he doesn’t stop at a chuckle but starts to wheeze, chest rumbling. Your cheeks burn crisp with embarrassment, yet you can’t find a single hole to hide. 

“ Hahaha… Why did you do that?” He bursts out ungracefully, his shoulder shaking vividly. Xingqiu is teasing you on purpose!!  

You also want to ask why did you do that too. Why did you do that without even thinking about the consequence again? 

“ Stop laughing!” The audacity of this boy, after you told him to stop laughing, he snorts louder and teases you more. You thought this chivalrous nobleman would only snort for a few minutes,  then he would comfort you like the novel. Too bad, life isn’t as predictable as the novels. What you expect is the comforting hug, or his hand patting your head reassuringly. What you get instead is a never-ending tease and the constant re-telling of the scenario in an out-of-breath voice. 

Moving away from his neck, you pout and sulky. Despite being under the shade and cool sea breezes, you feel the heat rushing at the back of your neck and on your cheeks, a friendly reminder. Fingers fondling the edge of your shirt, you pretend to be deaf at the puff of his laugh. Is it too late for you to move to Inazuma and never see him again?

 Actually, it might be better to start avoiding than do nothing. 

You attempt to stand up abruptly and prepare to sprint off, fleeing away from the young hydro user who is making himself relax next to you. 

Notice the use of the word here: “attempt”.

Xingqiu quickly sees through your plan before you can start it.

  Unlike last time, he saw your movement and stopped your hand in the mid-air. This time, he is a step ahead and caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your head toward him, his mesmerizing golden eyes pierce through you. 

Catch-off-guard by his sudden closeness, the unsuccessful plan is extinguished at the back of your head.

Out of everything, why would he choose this way for your attention? You feel like you have no sanity left every time he does something intimate. 

How weak are you for him? 

The deep amber orbs study you intently like he’s trying to ingrain your face into his memories. The glimmering eyes always full of mischief and playfulness now is like an abyss, easily pull you in and spiraling into the darkness. The bubbly, transparent Xingqiu is replaced by a mature, mysterious, and charismatic man.

The distance between you slowly shorten, and finally, he’s a breath away. You nervously hold your breath, eyes widen at his every movement. Being this close, you can see his fluttering lashes, his sudden quicken breathing, and his plump lips dangling like a piece of meat in front of your hungry gaze. What is this feeling of heat rising up to your chest? 

Like a moth drawn into flame, your eyes follow when his tongue darts out to wet the soft kissable pad, his lips transform into pinkish color, just like the watermelon popsicle. 

Butterflies roaming inside your stomach, your fuzzy mind lets out a weak resistance, telling you to turn away, escape from the cradle of his finger on your chin. 

However, your instinct gives in.

You part your lips and angle up, time stops when his lips meet yours. It is a light brush, yet you can feel your heart pounding wildly inside your chest as the mint frosty scent invades your sense. Your breath slowly turns labored, yet all you can focus on is how soft he felt on your lips and how addicting he’s tasting on your tongue.

When your visions start to blur, and your legs threaten to give out, you finally decide to part away, but the hydro user has his hands cupping on your cheek doesn't think so. 

“Let me taste you again.” Xingqiu whispers, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. 

And then he pulls you in, claiming your mouth again, passionate and intense. He tastes like the watermelon popsicle you just ate, like a sunny summer you used to love, like a soaring kite in the sky. 

You don’t think you hate the feeling of his lips on yours.      

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin xingqiu #summer #hot weather #popsicle #a kiss #clarissalance #no beta we kayak like tim #fluff #romance #friend to lovers #xingqiu x reader #xingqiu x y/n #oneshot #beach #sweating like hell #I proofread this with no wifi ;-;

[xjoonchildx]

guilty | knj x reader | final chapter: is something burning?

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, SMUT WARNINGS APPLY in this chapter sorry i’m yelling stressed!joon, sweaty!joon, sober!joon all make an appearance

rating: 18+

word count: 7.9K

notes: okay, so i stressed a bit about this chapter.  i got really in my head over it, but i hope it ends in a way that’s satisfying to all of you guys.  i’ve heard from some of the most amazing readers about this story -- i appreciate you all so much and i’d love to hear from you about how you feel about the ending.

special love to the best beta hands down periodt amen @hobi-gif​​, the lady who inspired it all with her adorable brand of namjoon thirst @sahmfanficbts​​, and three people who mean the world to me point blank period @ladyartemesia​​ @ppersonna​​ @taetaewonderland​​

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

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

There’s this thing that happens when you’re getting over a cold.

Slowly -- as your breathing returns to normal -- you can taste again.  Your head clears and your senses come back to life and you savor everything you eat like it’s the best thing you’ve ever had.  Your appetite returns.  

And all at once, you are starving.

That’s what it’s like after Namjoon touches you.

All he had to do was cup your face in one large, warm hand and it feels like your entire body has been jump-started.  Like parts of you that have been dormant for years are now awake, nerve endings exposed and aching.  Like all the tiny pieces of you that have been scattered and lost for so long are now found and fitting back together.

For the first time in a long time you remember what it feels like to want.

It’s not like you didn’t know you cared for Namjoon.  You knew it deep down in the way you took pride in providing for his needs.  You knew it in the way it made you feel to see appreciation reflected back in his dark eyes.

But you didn’t understand how much you wanted him until that night in his office.  

In those few charged moments, Namjoon made you feel more desired with his gaze than other men have with their hands.  You let down your guard and allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to touch him, to be touched by him. You let yourself embrace the fantasy of being his in every way.

And then it was over.

Whatever spell he was under was broken and whatever existed in the air between you evaporated.  The hunger in his eyes turned into remorse and you’d left his office on trembling legs, reeling from the whiplash of it all.

Today, you stare out at the window across from your desk, unable to suppress the hurt that grips your chest.  You can barely concentrate on the numbers on the sheet in front of you, mind replaying the events in that office.  

Namjoon should never have touched you.  

He should never have roused the parts of you that had been long forgotten between doctors visits and pharmacy runs.  He should never have made you feel things no other man ever has or probably ever will.

And he should have never let you believe, even for one second, that he could care for you the way you do for him.

He should have just left you alone.

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

No one ever tells you that when you devote your life to caring for someone else’s needs, yours end up falling by the wayside.  That who you are ends up diminished somehow, buried underneath the weight of responsibility and worry.

Jinjoo finds you sitting in the chair next to your mother’s bed, staring at one lock of hair threaded through your fingers.  You’re frowning at the split ends you’ve not had a chance to tend to, the ones you hide by keeping your hair pulled back.

She sweeps into the room, carrying a bowl of kimchi.

“It’s Saturday. The sun is shining and you should go out.  Maybe to the salon, hmm?”

You glance up just as she’s placing the food on a tray at the foot of your mother’s bed.  She smiles to soften the blow of her observation and you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed at her well-meaning meddling.  It’s nice to be fussed over for a change.

“I can’t even remember the last time I went to the salon,” you admit, eyes locking on an unsightly chip in your nail polish.  “I usually end up cutting it myself.”

“Well, that won’t do,” Jinjoo scolds, hands on hips.  “Today I want you to go out and do something just for you.  Go and get the works.  You’re far too young to be stuck in this house all the time.”

You consider her offer for a moment.  Here in the quiet of your mother’s room it’s far too easy to let your mind wander back to the encounter with Namjoon.  Far too easy to dwell on the ache that surfaces every time you remember.

“Go on, Ttal.”

You turn in the direction of your mother’s voice and find her stirring from her nap.  She places one soft hand over yours and squeezes.  “She’s right.  Go take some time away.  I’ll be fine here with Jinjoo.”

“See?” Jinjoo waves a hand to shoo you out of the chair. You stand and she immediately takes your place in the seat.  “Your mother agrees.  Now go.  And buy something pretty to wear while you’re at it.”

You look from her to your mother and see both women wearing matching expressions of encouragement.  

You decide they’re right.

So you spend the rest of your day pampering yourself and shopping and definitely not thinking about Kim Namjoon.  

You don’t think about him when you read the book he recommended to you once at the salon, you don’t think about him when you stop for a bite at his favorite Tteokbokki stand and you definitely don’t think about him when you buy a new sweater that makes you feel beautiful.

You definitely don’t think about him at all.

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

NAMJOON

Kim Namjoon’s father was a pig.

A glutton of the worst kind, he hoarded money and guns and drugs and because no one ever tried to stop him.  He used and abused everything and everyone just because he could.

Namjoon hated to watch the sadistic games his father played with people.  He hated that the man seemed to direct the worst of his cruelty at the women in his life.  

Namjoon’s own sister left everything behind to escape his violence and abuse and somehow his father was even more vicious with the women he bedded and discarded at random.  He dangled things like money and security and love in front of them like bait, only to yank it all away on a whim.

That’s why Namjoon has worked so hard his entire life to prove to others -- to prove to himself -- that he’s better than the piece of shit who raised him.  

That’s why the look on your face in his office that night cut so deep.

That look pierced straight through the lust and the scotch clouding his judgement and forced him to step back and see the situation for what it was. It made him feel sick to think he might have made you feel like his help came with conditions.  That he’d done what he had expecting you to give yourself to him in return.  

He couldn’t allow you to think he’d use his money to try and buy you.  That’s something his father would have done.

And Kim Namjoon is not his fucking father.

So this morning he finds himself walking towards your desk, determined to make it right.  You don’t register his approach as you work quietly and Namjoon has a quick moment to take you in.

There’s something different about you.

Namjoon can’t put his finger on it, but when he gets close enough for you to notice his presence and you glance up at him from under those long lashes, you look changed somehow.

Rested. Radiant.

The second you register that it’s him though, the look on your face changes.  You stand up from your chair, expression shuttered, tone formal.

“Mister Kim,” you murmur.  “How can I help you this morning?”

“Please sit,” Namjoon starts quietly.  “I, uh --” He digs his nails into his palm, annoyed with the hesitation in his delivery.  Spit it out, you moron.

“-- I owe you an apology.”

Your lips part in surprise before you close your mouth, sinking slowly back into your chair.  

Namjoon rubs one hand across the back of his neck, stealing a sideways glance at Seokjin’s office door.  It remains closed and he’s glad for it.  The last thing he’d want is an audience for this embarrassing exchange.

“The other night I was --” he clears his throat awkwardly.  Loaded. Horny. Stupid.  

He eventually lands on a less damning adjective.  “-- not entirely appropriate with you.”

You blink back but keep quiet so Namjoon keeps talking.

“I shouldn’t have acted that way,” he acknowledges weakly.  “That’s not normally how I treat my employees.  And I’m sorry.”

Spots of color appear in your cheeks.

“Well as your employee, I admit it wasn’t appropriate for me to just turn up in your office without notice, either,” you reply quietly.  “I think I was just shocked by your generosity. It’s a lot of money, and I --”

“-- Don’t think anything of it,” Namjoon interjects quickly.  “You’ve saved me that amount and more with your audits.  It only made sense to repay you for your efforts.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Namjoon knows it immediately.  It’s not the truth -- not by a mile -- and judging by the look that passes over your face, it’s definitely not what you wanted to hear.

“Mister Kim.”

“Yes?” Namjoon replies, only to realize that you are now looking past him and that he’s not the only one answering.

He turns slowly to find Seokjin standing behind him, wearing an expression halfway between curiosity and scrutiny.  Namjoon’s nails dig back into his palms, leaving tiny indents in the skin.

“Good morning,” you continue, turning your attention fully to Seokjin.  Seokjin looks between you and Namjoon before answering.

“Good morning to you, too,” he says slowly.

“If you’re ready to go over the new audits, I have more information to cover with you,” you say, pointing at the papers riddled with notes on your desk.  Namjoon stands there like an idiot, watching the two of you interact like he’s not even there.

“Sure,” Seokjin agrees, eyes darting back to Namjoon.  “Let’s go ahead and get into the numbers.”

“Great,” you say with a smile, standing to organize your papers into a folder.  

You look back at Namjoon like he’s an afterthought and the realization stings.  “If that was all you needed, I’ve got some work to handle now.”

The nails in his palm are this close to drawing blood.  

He cuts his eyes at Seokjin who immediately looks away.

“Certainly,” he says under his breath.  “Let me not keep you.”

You turn your back on him to head into Seokjin’s office.

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

Namjoon stares out at the setting sun from his office window.

He’s spent the last few days hiding out in here, avoiding everything and everyone.  Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin -- his phone keeps lighting up with calls he won’t answer.  His already black mood darkens every time his mind replays the seemingly endless string of disastrous exchanges with you.

He still can’t figure out how he’s managed to fuck things up so royally.

He still can’t figure out why he didn’t just tell you the truth about the money and about Jinjoo. He should have just admitted outright that for once he wanted to be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.  He should have just admitted that you mean something to him.

That’s the real reason why things are so screwed up right now.

It would be so simple if this was just about sex.  It would be so simple if Namjoon could just get you into bed and get you out of his system.  But you’re not Mina or Yejin or any of the others.  

You’re not like any woman he’s ever known.

Namjoon leans back into his chair just as his cell phone lights again and he grabs it just long enough to reject the call before tossing it back onto his desk.  He rubs his fingers across his mouth and watches the sun fall behind the nearby skyscrapers.

You deserve so much more than he is capable of giving you.

You deserve happiness and security and certainty.  What you don’t deserve is to be toyed with by a man who doesn’t know what his future looks like.  A man who’s still so damaged by his own upbringing that he worries he’ll never be capable of being a decent husband and father.

Truthfully, Namjoon doesn’t know which scenario scares him more.  

The one where he tries -- and fails -- to give you the things you need, or the one where he drifts through the rest of his life anchored to no one and nothing.

The sound of an incoming text interrupts his maudlin thoughts.

Namjoon reaches for his phone and sighs as he reads the waiting message.

reservations at doore yoo, 8 PM [ 6:32 PM ]

join me [ 6:32 PM ]

it’s been too long [ 6:33 PM ]

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

“Mister Kim.”

The Maitre’d at Doore Yoo bows in Namjoon’s direction, flashing a wide smile. “A pleasure to have you back.”

“Thank you Sungho,” Namjoon murmurs, scanning the crowded dining room.  “Is she waiting for me?”

“She is,” Sungho confirms.

Namjoon follows him past the tables packed with patrons to the exclusive dining area hidden away in the back.  This is his regular table, inside his regular private room -- but when Sungho slides the door open, Namjoon stops short and nearly tells the man he’s made a mistake.

The young woman waiting for him inside is unrecognizable.

From the back, Namjoon can see that her dark hair has been swept into a careful updo, shoulders and skin bared in a delicate spaghetti-strap top.  But that can’t be right.

Because she would never --

“Jaegyueo.”

Namjoon’s sister lifts her chin and smiles as he steps around the table.  

He catches himself staring, momentarily thrown by the sight in front of him.  It’s the first time in his life he can recall seeing his sister wearing something that doesn’t cover the jagged scar that crosses her collarbone.  The scar that she’s spent a lifetime hiding, ashamed of the way it made her look and feel.  At once, the realization hits him -- the hundreds of different ways she’s changed, big and small since falling in love with Hoseok.  

Every last one of them for the better.

“Amsaja, you look -- ” Namjoon pauses to brush a kiss across her cheek, “ -- wonderful.”

She flushes.

“Thank you. Now sit,” she orders kindly, reaching for her wine glass.  “For a minute there I thought you might not show.”

Namjoon exhales, sinking into his seat.  

“For a minute there, I almost didn’t,” he admits.  “It’s been a shitty week.”

His sister says nothing, smiling like a sphinx as a server appears to offer Namjoon his own drink.  

“Club soda on ice,” Namjoon orders quietly.  “Thanks.”

Her poker face slips then, one eyebrow lifting in surprise at seeing him forgo his usual scotch.  She sips her wine thoughtfully before speaking.

“Talk to me, Namjoon.”

“There’s little to talk about,” he deflects irritably, staring past her to the art on the walls.  

“Hoseok says you’ve barely left your office.  Won’t take his calls.”

Namjoon grits his teeth, hackles raising immediately.

“Tell Hoseok he should work on his pillow talk,” he says sharply, and the second the words leave his mouth he regrets them.  Namjoon sees the change in his sister’s demeanor, watches her eyes sharpen from across the table.  

“Forgive me,” he apologizes quickly.  “That was uncalled for.  I’m fucking things up left and right these days, it seems.”

His sister stares back at him.  Namjoon knows that face, knows she’s now opted to abandon her charm offensive for a more direct approach.  He knows it’s exactly what he deserves for being an asshole.

“That’s my understanding, yes,” she says tightly.  “As smart as you are, you seem to be doing some very stupid shit lately.”

Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, cheeks warming at her rebuke.

“You’re right,” he admits.  “But I’m going to need you to be more specific about which stupid shit you want to talk about tonight.”

“Don’t be dense,” his sister scolds.  “Clearly, you’re tied up in knots over your assistant.  Oh, I’m sorry -- I mean former assistant.”

Namjoon’s defeated sigh hangs in the air for a moment.

“Is that what Hoseok says?”

“That’s what everyone says,” his sister fires back.  “You think you’re such a mystery but I assure you, you’re actually quite transparent.  Sending her away to work for Seokjin? Hiring a private nurse?  Good grief, Namjoon.  Real subtle.”

Shit, he wishes he had a scotch right now.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to explain to me why you’re playing this stupid game of push and pull with this woman.  If you care about her, do something about it instead of lashing out at everyone around you because you’re angry with yourself.”

“She’s not --” Namjoon falters as he searches for a proper explanation, “-- she has a complicated life right now.  I’m just trying to help her the only way I know how.”

His sister leans back in her chair, wine glass tipped in his direction.

“You know what I think?  I think you like her too much and I think that’s freaking you out.  And I think you’re going to miss out on a good thing because you won’t get your head out of your ass.”

Namjoon stares back at his sister.

“I think you might be right,” he concedes, after a heavy silence.  

“Namjoon, I’ve seen the way she looks at you,” his sister says quietly.  “Whatever you’re feeling, she’s feeling it too.”

He knows that’s true. It’s been damned near impossible not to feel the charged air between you, impossible not to share passing looks and fleeting touches while working in such close quarters.  When he looks at you he knows instinctively that you feel the same pull.  It’s only made his precarious position that much harder.

“I just --” he shakes his head as he tries to justify his inaction, “-- I have no idea what I’m offering her.  I don’t know what I’m capable of giving her.  Beyond money, of course.”

His sister laughs.  

Namjoon waits for her to collect herself, ears warm with embarrassment.  He resists the childish impulse to kick her under the table.

“Is that funny to you?”

“Hilarious, actually,” she teases.  “You have no idea what you have to offer her?  You’re one of the most powerful men in this city, Namjoon.  There’s nothing you couldn’t offer her.”

The server arrives with dumplings and sets them in the middle of the table, and his sister reaches for one.

“If she’s this important to you, I know there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for her,” she continues.  “Stop overthinking this. You’re a good man.  Everything else is icing on the cake.”

“I haven’t acted like a good man lately,” he confesses, shaking his head.  “She came to my office a few nights ago and I acted like a drunk, groping asshole.  Like father, like son.”

His sister sets her wine glass down, hard.

“You’re nothing like our father, Namjoon,” she says, eyes flashing with anger.  “Quit telling yourself you don’t deserve happiness out of some misguided, misplaced guilt.  And whatever happened in that office can be fixed.  If you want to fix it.”

Namjoon watches the bubbles in his club soda surface and break.  He does want to fix it.  He wants to figure out a way to stop fucking everything up where you’re concerned.

“I do,” he admits.

“Have you apologized?”

“Awkwardly. Not sure that it helped my case.”

“Then I think you need to offer her the one thing that’s more valuable than your money, Jaegyueo.”

Namjoon lifts an eyebrow at his sister.

“What’s that?”

She plucks a dumpling off the plate with her chopsticks and points it at him.

“Give her your time.”

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

YOU

It’s freezing tonight.

You wrap your arms around yourself and brace against the biting wind as you approach your family home.  You’re dead on your feet, worn after a long day at the office -- and for the thousandth time since her arrival you silently give thanks for Jinjoo.  

Knowing your mother is taken care of while you’re gone and coming back to a clean home and warm meals has eased your burdens immeasurably.  

Of course, it’s all really thanks to Kim Namjoon -- but that’s something you’re not allowing your mind to dwell on right now.  You’ve worked hard over the past few days to push any thought of that man back to the furthest recesses of your mind.  

You’re peeling out of your scarf and coat in the foyer when a laugh echoes down the long hallway.  It’s the sound of your mother’s laugh -- clear in a way you haven’t heard in a very long time -- and it’s definitely not coming from her room.

“Eomma?” you call out as you walk towards the sound.  A peal of Jinjoo’s laughter rings out next and you smile, following it.

You round the corner to the living room and your mouth drops open when you spot your mother, fully dressed for the first time in ages, sitting on the formal couch.  Jinjoo is seated next to her, both women smiling and laughing at --

Oh God.

Namjoon stands from his seat on the opposite couch when your eyes meet his.  His cheeks are pinked from the cold, hair tousled from the wind, and he looks so handsome that for a moment you forget how to think.  

��Welcome home,” he says, dimples emerging from his slow, careful smile.

You stare back at him, rooted to the spot.  Your face warms when you realize that every single eye in the room is trained on you, awaiting your next move.

“Do you -- ” Namjoon clears his throat, “ -- do you think I could have a minute of your time?”

“What are you doing here?” you say, blowing right past his question.

Jinjoo makes a disapproving sound under her breath.

“Ttal,” your mother interjects with a tone that borders very close to warning, “Mister Kim came by to talk to you.  He kept the two of us company until you came home.”

You turn to look at her and -- is she wearing lipstick?

“Yes,” Namjoon adds quickly, turning the warmth of his smile back to your mother and Jinjoo. “And they’ve been wonderful company. Thank you, ladies.”

The two of them titter like schoolgirls enjoying the attention of the most popular boy in school while you just stare.

And stare.

“Ttal?”

Your mother’s voice breaks through your mental fog.  You look back at her and Jinjoo and both women appear to be holding their breath, awaiting your response.  Jinjoo’s eyes are pleading when they meet yours, silently begging you to play nice.

You turn back to Namjoon slowly.

“One minute.”

“Great,” he breathes, shoving a hand through his hair.

“Not here.”

The words come out more sharply than you’d intended and your mother’s eyes go wide. Jinjoo sighs.

“What I mean to say,” you start again, delivery clumsy, “Is that we should probably step outside.”

“Of course,” Namjoon agrees.

You will your leaden legs and feet to cooperate as you turn to leave, grabbing your coat from the foyer closet on the way.  You slip it on and lead Namjoon out to the front porch, immediately wincing at the bitter cold that greets you.  

The door clicks shut and you burrow deep into your coat, turning to face him.  You force yourself to ignore the warmth that blossoms in your chest when his mouth curves into a soft smile.

“Your mother seems to be doing well tonight,” Namjoon notes. “I’m glad to see it.”

It’s not fair.  It’s not fair that he can just show up here on a whim -- looking like that, talking like that.  

Charming everyone in his path.  

“Namjoon, I’m going to ask again.  What are you doing here?”

The smile on his face falls and he looks skyward, exhaling a puff of steam into the cold night air.

”I’m here to come clean,” he confesses quietly.  “Thought I might do this new thing where I try not to act like an idiot around you.”

“Oh,” you breathe, stomach fluttering wildly in response.

A lock of his hair falls over his eye when he looks back down and you smother the urge to brush it back, hands balling into fists in your pockets.

“Thought I might do this new thing where I just tell you the truth.”

You’ve tried so hard these past few days to be angry with him, to use your hurt feelings like a wall around your heart.  But you can’t anymore.  He looks down at you with those huge, dark eyes and your grudge falls apart.

“I care about you,” he admits.  “I’ve been stumbling over my own feet for weeks because I didn’t know how to approach you about it. And then that night in the office,” he trails off, looking pained.  “That is not how I intended to treat you.”

A gust of wind blows through and you curl into yourself, teeth chattering.  Namjoon pulls off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders.  

“Please don’t,” you protest weakly.  “You’ll freeze.”

“I won’t,” he promises, stepping closer.  

You wrap the wool tight around your body, enjoying the way his lingering heat and scent wrap around you at the same time.  Your heart is beating so wildly you can hear your pulse in your ears.

“Namjoon,” you whisper. “You must know I feel the same way.”

He reaches one hand up to stroke his fingers across your cheek.

“I was really hoping you’d say that.”

He’s so close now that all it would take is the slightest tip of your chin, the most incremental change in angle to press your mouth to his. But he doesn’t close the small distance between you.  His gaze shifts to the street and you follow it, only now realizing a black sedan has been idling outside your house this entire time.  

Your cheeks flame hot at the thought of his driver witnessing this exchange.

“I want a chance to do this the right way,” he murmurs.  “Can I have it?”

You nod, waiting for your mouth to catch up to your brain.  “Of course.”

He smiles wide then, the kind of smile you haven’t seen on him in a long time and once again you’re struck by how handsome he is.  He narrows his eyes playfully when he realizes you are staring.

“Let’s get you inside before you get sick.”

You nod, pulling off his coat and watching as he shrugs back into it. He grabs for your hand, fingers brushing against yours just as you reach for the door.

“Good night, Namjoon,” you say softly.  

He squeezes your cold fingers with his.

“Good night.”

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

Namjoon sends his driver for you.

You shift uncomfortably in the backseat of the sleek car, avoiding Chun’s gaze in the reflection of the rearview mirror.  Up until now, you knew him only as the voice on the other end of the line when you’d arranged for Namjoon’s rides.

Now you’re matching a face with a voice -- and so is he.

You try not to dwell on how this must look after the scene outside your home just a few nights ago.  Especially now that he’s been tasked with taking you to Namjoon’s penthouse.

It’s embarrassing, certainly -- but even this pales in comparison to what you’d had to endure before leaving the house.  

When your mother had asked you to come see her and casually inquired about the last time you’d shaved your legs.  When Jinjoo had made a point of letting you know that she was planning on staying all night long just as you were walking out the door.

That was definitely the most embarrassing part.

That’s why you feel a knot in your stomach as the security guard in Namjoon’s building escorts you personally up to the very top floor -- the one accessible only by keycard.  That’s why you find yourself holding your breath right until the very moment Namjoon opens the door.

Then you let go of that breath.

“Thank you, Jaejin,” he greets, bowing in the man’s direction.  He turns his attention to you and the knot in your stomach explodes into butterflies.

“Thanks for coming,” he says with a careful smile.  

As if you had any choice in the matter.  You kick your brain into gear and remind yourself to stop staring and smile back as the door shuts behind you.  

He takes your coat and you take him in.

It’s the most casual you’ve ever seen him look, barefoot in jeans and a button-down shirt rolled to the elbows.  He looks fresh from a shower, skin glistening and golden.  The scent of him --- clean and male and intoxicating -- wafts over you.

Followed by a far less enticing one.

“Namjoon,” your nose wrinkles at the acrid smell,  “Is something burning?”

“Something was burning,” he admits sheepishly. “But it’s not anymore.  And you -- “ he pauses to let his gaze rake over you, “ -- you look incredible.”

Heat creeps up your neck and into your face, making you feel just a touch too warm in your brand new sweater.  

“Thank you,” you reply, accepting his compliment with a shy smile. “So do you.”

He looks at you for a long moment, and you clear your throat, feeling uncomfortable with the admiration in his eyes.

“Can I offer you a glass of wine?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe the words through a nervous laugh. “That sounds great, actually.”  You hope it’s not obvious that you’re jumping at the chance to take the edge off of your jitters.

Namjoon leaves you standing in his grand living room as he heads to the kitchen to pour the wine.  You’ve always known he was a wealthy man -- but knowing that in the abstract and seeing it firsthand are two different things entirely.  You take in the massive wall-to-wall windows and gleaming marble floors and custom-made art pieces with silent awe.

Namjoon interrupts your gawking when he returns with your wine.

“So about dinner,” he starts with a chuckle. “It’s on the way.  I attempted to cook something, but as you already know that didn’t quite work out.  Not surprising, seeing as I’ve never cooked in this kitchen before.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise.  “Never?”

“Never,” he says with a smile.  “I’ve never brought anyone to this apartment, either.”

His smile vanishes then, a more serious look taking its place.  You swallow thickly as you let the implication of that statement wash over you.

“No one?”

“No one,” he confirms quietly.

Your lips part with surprise and Namjoon looks away, like he’s admitted too much -- and you stand there spinning your wheels, searching for something to say.

The sound of the door chime is a well-timed and welcome interruption.

Namjoon heads to the door to accept the food and you realize the same security guard who escorted you up here is making the delivery.  It makes sense, of course, that only a trusted few could get this close to Namjoon’s private space.

“Are you expecting more people?” you tease with a smile when the guard wheels in a cart weighted down with enough food to feed an army.  

Relief washes over you when Namjoon smiles back. The strange moment that passed between you before is forgotten.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got one of everything.”

Pleasant smells emanating from the carefully-packed containers fill the apartment, pushing away the burnt one still lingering from the food that’s been relegated to the trash.

“Just so you know,” you laugh, “I like all of it.”  

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

The centerpiece of Namjoon’s outrageously opulent great room is the fireplace.  

Your fingers wrap tight around the stem of your wine glass as you stare into the flames and contemplate how this night will end.

You know how you want it to end.  

You know the dozens of debauched fantasies you’ve entertained about Namjoon -- the myriad ways he’s had you in your mind.  But there’s no way for you to know what his intentions are, how he expects this night to end.

That’s why you’re strung tight as a bow as you hear him clearing plates and cleaning up in the kitchen.  The sounds eventually slow and then stop.  And you wait.

You don’t hear him approach.  

You come out of your thoughts and look away from the flames and he’s just there, standing in front of the couch wearing an expression you can’t read.  The wine starts to wobble inside your glass, set in motion by your unsteady hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, reaching for it. “Let me.”

He takes the glass and places it on the coffee table, sinking into the space next to you.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs.  “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

He leans in and reaches out to thread his hands into your hair.

“Namjoon,” you whisper weakly, pulse leaping in response.  

His eyes seem to darken at the sound of his name. His fingers slip out of your hair and under your jaw, tipping your chin up and compelling you to meet his gaze.  

“I told you I was going to do this the right way,” he murmurs, “And I meant it.  After that night in my office, I promised myself I was never going to put you in that position again.”

Your tongue slips out to wet your lips involuntarily, as if the action could take the place of the words you want so badly to say.  

But Namjoon makes no move, fingers firm under your jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” he coaxes gently. “If you want this -- if you want me, tell me.”

“Kiss me.”

The words come out in a rush, laced with such desperation they sound like a plea, not an order.  A smile tugs the corner of Namjoon’s mouth and he nods.

Carefully, deliberately, he sinks his mouth onto yours.

You sigh against the press of his lips as the pads of his fingers stroke the side of your face.  For a moment you can’t think; can’t process a thing beyond the spice on his tongue from the Buldak or how impossibly soft his lips feel against yours.  

He kisses you until you can’t breathe -- and just a moment beyond that -- until you are forced to pull away, chest heaving.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he admits, panting.

“I’ve been wanting you to do that since we were kids,” you confess, emboldened.

He leans close again, eyes half-lidded, lips grazing yours.

“Well, we’re not kids anymore.”

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

NAMJOON

Namjoon has to force himself not to totally fucking devour you.

You are finally in his hands and the urge to unleash months of wait and want on you is so strong he has to take a physical step back.

You look up at him from where you sit on his bed -- hair mussed from his fingers, lips swollen from his kisses -- and he hesitates, unsure of his next move.

“If you’re thinking you don’t want to -- “ you start.  

Namjoon cuts you off with a strangled laugh.

“Trust me, that’s not what I’m thinking,” he vows, shoving a hand through his hair.  “It’s like I’ve wanted you so bad for so long I don’t even know where to start.”

Your eyes soften as you gaze at him.

Namjoon holds his breath as he watches you slip out of your sweater and then out of your jeans.  You lie back against his sheets, eyes holding steady contact with his.

“Start anywhere,” you breathe quietly.  “Start everywhere.  Just start.  Please.”

Fuck, you are going to be his undoing.

It takes him an irritatingly long time to work the buttons of his shirt open on account of his thick, clumsy fingers.  He finally manages to get out of it and his jeans follow right behind.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” you murmur as he slides into the bed next to you.  His fingers rake over the soft skin of your stomach and you jerk under his fingertips, body reacting immediately to his touch. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

Namjoon smiles when you use his own words against him.  

He dips his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply -- savoring the soft, sweet smell of your skin.  He mouths at your pulse point, feeling it race in response when his fingers trail lower to tease the delicate band of your panties.

“I figured out where I want to start,” he murmurs, sucking gently at the hollow of your collarbone.  

He feels your deep intake of breath when he slips one hand into the satin, grazing against your mound.  He shifts lower, allowing one finger to dip into your center, groaning at the wetness he finds waiting for him there.

“So responsive, Jagiya,” he praises softly.  “So beautiful.”

You make a needy sound, hips lifting off the bed as you chase the pressure of his fingers.  He turns to capture your lips again with his own, simultaneously working two fingers into the tight space between your thighs.

“Namjoon,” you sigh brokenly, “F-feels so good.”

“I can do better,” he promises.  “Turn over for me.”

He waits for you to comply, body shifting in the bed.  Once you are face down, he climbs over you, dipping his mouth to the shell of your ear, biting gently on the soft skin.  You shiver underneath him, moaning softly.

Slowly, he kisses a line down the back of your neck, hands stopping just long enough to undo the clasp to your bra.  He slips it off of you, reaching under you to tease at your nipples with his fingertips.  He chuckles low with satisfaction when you twitch under his fingertips.

He continues his descent, dropping kisses along the soft line of your back.  His hands reach your panties and he pulls them off, mouth sucking gently at the base of your spine.

“Namjoon,” you gasp, the sound of your plea is muffled as you press your face into the sheets. “Touch me.”

He sinks one long finger into you then, savoring the tight pull of your heat as his tongue flicks out to taste you.  Your hips jerk off the bed and he uses both strong hands to urge your legs further apart.

“Relax for me,” he soothes, mouth closing over your wet center.  

He pushes a second finger into you and you shudder at the fullness, back arching.  The movement angles your cunt even closer and Namjoon seizes the opportunity, tongue firm as he swipes it against you.

He can tell how badly you want this.  He can feel it in the way your thighs tremble while he’s working you with his fingers and tongue.  He can hear it in the way you whimper when he nips gently at you with his teeth.

“Namjoon,” the tilt to your voice makes it sound like you are on the verge of tears.  “Please -- I c-can’t -- ”  Your thought evaporates into thin air when he groans directly into your center, curling his fingers deep against the spot inside of you that draws a sharp gasp.

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs his encouragement as you buck against his grip.  “Come for me, Jagiya.”

He looks up just long enough to see your fingers twisted into the sheets, face buried deep into the pillow as you fall apart in his hands.  You make the prettiest sounds as you succumb.  Somewhere in the midst of your frantic whispering he hears his name and the sound goes straight to his cock, making the ache there almost impossible to ignore.  

He ignores it anyway -- pushing the feeling aside to ride out the tremors with you, relishing the taste of your release on his tongue.  He praises you, savors you, keeps you anchored to his mouth until your hips drop flush to the bed with exhaustion.

Then he kisses his way back up the line of your spine, dropping down at your side.  You look so deliciously sated and flushed when you turn over that Namjoon can’t help the slow smile that comes over him.

You kiss it right off.

You fit your body against his -- slick skin against slick skin -- and kiss Namjoon so hard it takes him by surprise.  Your hands dive into his hair, mouth desperate against his.

Namjoon chuckles under his breath at your newfound boldness, fingers reaching to tease at one pebbled nipple.  Your body jolts in response and you answer with a move of your own, one hand sliding across the hard plane of his stomach and into his boxers.  

Up until this very moment, he’s been able to ignore the insistent throbbing between his own legs.  But the moment your fingers wrap around him -- the moment you start to pump your hand gently over him -- it becomes his only thought.

“Shit,” he groans, breaking the kiss to inhale deeply,  “God, that feels good.”

You pull away to maneuver your body over his.  

Namjoon watches through hooded eyes as you pull his boxers down his legs and then turn your attention to his straining cock.  He takes his bottom lip between his teeth to contain the noise he makes when your mouth descends onto him.

The moments that follow are a test of the last shreds of Namjoon’s self-control.  

The wet warmth of your mouth surrounds him, tongue teasing at the sensitive places that make his hips jerk and his mouth drop open in surrender.  Your grip around his cock stays firm, mouth soft in contrast -- both sensations almost too much to bear at once.

He slips a hand in your hair to push back the strands that have fallen into your face and you release him with a pop, lips wet and swollen, eyes glassy and wide.  

He nearly comes right then and there.

“No more,” he croaks, voice hoarse with arousal.  “That’s all I can take.”

The smile you return is nothing short of victorious.  Namjoon rolls you onto your back in one fluid motion, more than ready to retake his position of control.   Your eyes are sparkling with laughter and he grins back.

“You like seeing me at your mercy, huh?” he teases, dropping kisses into the crook of your neck.  

“I do,” you admit, shuddering when he slips one hand back down to the apex of your thighs.  “It’s nice to be the one in charge for a change.”

Namjoon kisses you slowly then, taking himself in hand to slide the head of his stiff cock against the wetness spilling from your entrance.  He pulls up on his arms and looks down at you just to appreciate the way you look right now, hair splayed across his pillow and skin luminous against his sheets.  

“You’ve always been in charge, Jagiya,” he breathes, enjoying the way your cheeks pink in response.  “Just like you’re in charge right now. So tell me what you want.”

The humor disappears from your eyes then, replaced by something heady and dark.  

Namjoon sucks in a breath when your hand wraps back around his cock, guiding him back to your entrance.  He throbs with need under your fingertips, muscles locked tight with anticipation.

“This -- ” you murmur, tilting your hips up to take him in, “ -- is what I want.”  

Namjoon sinks down carefully then, slowly -- choking back a moan at the unbearably tight grip of your walls.  You gasp, nails digging into his back as he strokes to the hilt.  

“This is what you want?” he goads, feeling powerful now, drunk on the sight of you writhing beneath him. He pulls back and surges forward again, drawing a desperate moan from you.  “Like this?”

You wrap your legs around him, hands sliding down the slick skin of his back until your fingers are gripping his ass, urging him to move faster.

“Yes,” you manage on a shaky breath.  “Like that.  Over and over and over.”

Namjoon buries his smile against your breasts, tonguing at your nipples as his hips piston against you.  He nips at one with his teeth and you whine, back arching off the bed.  

“You’re made for me,” he groans, panting his praise in between deep strokes, “So tight and wet I can’t think.”

You hum your contentment into his mouth when you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close for a kiss.  He slips one hand under your ass, dragging you deeper into his heavy strokes and you cry out.  

He’s always hated the echo in this place.  But hearing the sound of your voice calling his name echoing off the walls is an entirely different story.  It lights a fire inside of him -- making him move faster, harder -- desperate to hear it again.

“Namjoon -- “ your hands claw at his back as you cling to him.  “ -- I think, I think I’m going -- “

“You will,” he rasps, when you lose all hope of finishing that thought.

He sinks his thumb into his mouth before dragging it down to rub slow circles across your aching clit and you clamp down around him in response.  He chokes on his own moan, summoning just enough control to keep himself from exploding inside of you.

But then you start to unravel.

In those final moments, you feel hotter and wetter -- begging brokenly in his ear for some kind of relief.  Namjoon holds off until the tight grip of your cunt starts to pulse around him and then he gives in.  He comes so hard his vision darkens before it comes back.  

Then he collapses on top of you, panting and wrecked.

You press a kiss into his neck and rake your nails gently up and down his back.

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

Namjoon wakes up alone.

He should be used to the feeling by now, but after last night -- after you -- he can’t help but feel disappointed.  

He shoves a hand through his hair, slips into a pair of lounge pants and heads to the kitchen in search of coffee.

Then he stops in his tracks.

You are standing in front of the massive window in his living room, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, holding a mug of coffee in one hand.  You sip it thoughtfully and look out over the city, seemingly unaware of his presence.

So Namjoon just stands there for a while, admiring your long legs and soft skin and the dark hair that spills down your back.  Admiring the way you make this place bearable just by existing in it.

“Thought you left me,” he says quietly, and you startle out of your reverie at the sound of his voice.

“I did leave you,” you feign a serious expression, nodding at your mug. “For this. Thought you’d understand.”

“That I do,” he laughs, padding across the room to join you at the window.  

He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and you smile up at him.

“What are you thinking about this morning?” Namjoon presses quietly. “What’s on your mind?”

You sip your coffee and look back out the window before answering.

“I was just thinking about the day I came to ask for you a job,” you confess.  “How afraid and alone I felt back then.”

Namjoon can still remember how he felt seeing you walk into his office after all those years.   It certainly wasn’t afraid or alone and his chest squeezes at your admission.

“And now?”

“Now I feel …” you trail off as you turn back to look up at him.  “... like everything’s going to be okay.”

He stares back at you, suddenly overwhelmed by how good this feels.  

By how good it feels to be needed by you.  

By how you in his shirt, in his apartment, in his life, makes total sense.  

By how it feels like you belong here.

With him.

“You’re right, Jagiya.  Everything is going to be okay,” Namjoon vows, pulling you into his chest and pressing a kiss into your hair.   “Because I’m going to make sure of it.”

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

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

Amsaja: Lioness

Jaegyueo: Jaguar

TAG LIST:

@prettyguardiansailormin​​​ @barbikatherine​ @55west81st​ @laabellaavitaa21​ @codeinebelle​ @jalexad​ @trynavibewhileicry​ @poohsaidhi​​ @eltrain80​​ @bluewhale52​​ @sahmfanficbts​​ @midnighttifa​​ @krystle1990​​ @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag​​ @hauntedlilies​​ @kjooniesbabygirl​​ @unicorn5090​​ @parkjimin-persona​​ @kosicastairs​​ @julia-pacheco-blog​​ @veryuniquenamegoeshere​​ @katbonv​​ @sunkissed725​​ @yourdaydreamerfan​​

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #bts mafia #namjoon mafia #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #thebtswritersclub #btscreatorscorner #btswriterscollective

[anotheranimestan]

hi! I just read “all bark no bite” and omg it was so good!! looking forward to more of your writing and possible a part 2 if you get the chance!

Thank you!!!!!😃🧡 Your wish is my command!

All Bark No Bite (pt. 2)

Bakugo angst + sexual tensionnnn

Read part 1 here

wc: 3k

I hope this is as fun for you to read as it is for me to write! Also why is he 👇 this fineee for no reason.

The next morning, you woke up trying to convince yourself it was all a dream...or a nightmare. But the way you could still feel the softness of his fingers around your neck completely contradicted your wishes. You also had to keep wiping little smiles off your face throughout your entire morning routine. You tried to combat them by listing all the things you hated about Bakugo but it was helpless. Every train of thought ended with the shape of his lips and how nicely they molded with yours.

You and Mina walked to class together and you swore she’d developed a mind reading quirk. You felt her eyes on you like a blazing sun. Although this was really all in your head. She only asked “are you okay?” because you kept looking at her like you’d committed a hate crime.

You and Bakugo didn’t look at each other once during class. No leg shaking, pen stealing or insults. Not even a well timed scoff when you were called on to answer a question. You tried your best to clear your mind and forget everything that had occurred in that hall last night. After a while of this torture you even were having a little bit of success.

But of course your peace was ruined as you walked to lunch. He couldn’t let you have anything. And of course he wasn’t going to leave you alone.

“Hey Little Bite, I hear we get to pick our groups for combat training today. All Might is going to make me a team captain, obviously. So if you want to be on my team let me know. I mean I assume you don’t wanna lose. You just gotta ask me nicely.” His usual cocky tone crept under your skin.

You desperately tried to ignore him as he followed you. Each footstep he started gaining on you being more annoying than the last. But what really did it was the pencil he threw at your head.

“Please, actively do not pick me.”

He ignored your objection and continued on his line of bullshit.

“I suppose I could take you. Your quirk would be useless, I’m all the attack power we’d need to win but I could use you as a decoy or something.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t want to be on a team with you, moron. Your pea brain doesn’t know how to do anything but blow shit up. You’re like an explosive cave man. Besides being too close to you for too long makes me wanna vomit.”

He cackled. You knew exactly what he was thinking and immediately regretted your words.

“That’s weird—“

You picked up a rock from the ground and threw it at his head. But he just caught it and made it explode with a smug look on his face.

“Ugh. I cannot stand you.” You groaned.

“You sure about that?” He said with a suggestive eyebrow.

He was so hot....it made you want to punch him in the throat. Without thinking you shrugged off your backpack and swung it at his face. His reflexes bested you again though and he caught the bag, yanking it from you. The force was harder than you expected, it sent you flying into his chest. You both tumbled to the ground and landed shoulder to shoulder. Your skull hit a small rock with a wack. Rubbing the back of your head, shooting pain surfaced.

“Ow!! That fucking hurt dumbass!”

“Sor—“

You swung your arm, aiming to kill, and hit him in the stomach.

It must have really knocked the wind out of him because he made a loud grunting noise that hinted at his surprise. It wasn’t often people got to land a punch on Katsuki Bakugo. King Explosion Murder.

“Do that shit again Little Bite! You’ll regret it!” He grabbed your wrist, attempting to clear a way to get you back. You both started wresting trying to punch each other in the gut. Literally rolling around in the grass in a red hot death match of who could out curse the other.

“Omg, are you guys about to kiss right now?” Mina teased from out of absolutely nowhere, scaring the shit out of you.

You both froze solid as the blood drained from your face. She knew about last night? How did she find out?!

“You told her!?” Bakugo’s entire face was contorting through a whole range of emotions. Shock, horror, embarrassment, accusation, cheekiness, embarrassment again.

“What!?” You panicked. “No! I didn’t!” You swear you didn’t. You replayed your whole morning in your head just to double check.

You turned to your pink friend. Her eyes were wide and her mouth fell open. You watched the gears turn in her head as she realized she’d stumbled upon a miraculously juicy discovery.

“OH. MY. GOD!!! No freaking way!!” She squealed unable to contain herself.

She started blabbering as she attempted to cope with this information. She had absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Your stomach fell as you realized this fatal error. Wait....this wasn’t your error. You pushed him off you and you both scrambled to your feet.

“This is your fault! Why’d you say that!” You shoved a finger in Bakugo’s chest. Which actually hurt because....he’s solid.

“Don’t yell at me!” He yelled back at an even louder volume.

Mina started running around in little circles. “They kissed!!!” She then abruptly stopped in her tracks and you watched a lightbulb flicker on.

No.....

“KIRISHIMA!!!! KAMINARI!!!” She screamed as she ran toward the cafeteria.

“MINA DONT YOU FUCKING DA—“ Bakugo exploded into a full sprint to chase her down. But she was like a rocket.

You chased after them desperately trying to reconcile all this is your mind. But it was no use, your brain was melting. Everyone was about to find out. The relentless jokes...they would never end. You could die right here.

Both of them ran so fast you fell horribly behind. By the time you rounded the corner and caught up to them a whole event had already taken place.

Bakugo was screaming on the top of his lungs. You could practically see the steam coming off the top of his head.

Kaminari was standing there in his stupid form with a half torn shirt. Jesus, what did Bakugo do to him?

Mina and Kirishima were laying on the ground, their face covered in tears. They were laughing so hard no sounds were even coming out.

“Oh my god,” Mina squeaked out between gasps for air, “Bakugo has a crush.”

“It’s so adorable!” Kirishima said wiping the tears from his eyes as he attempted to stop laughing. With no success, they both bursted again after seeing Bakugo slamming his fists into the grass. The teasing was making him want to rip his eyes out. He couldn’t stand it.

“Shut up Kirishima!!!” He jumped on top of his friend and started repeatedly banging his head into the ground. Of course this did absolutely nothing to the hard head. It just made him laugh even more.

Poor Denki just stood there drooling with a little smile on his face and giggling.

You were frozen. Stunned. It was like watching a comedy movie in which you were the punchline.

But all the laughs fell a silent as a furious voice cut through the air.

“What is this.” It wasn’t a question. Mr. Aizawa looked like he hadn’t slept in three days and this used up his last bit of patience.

“Bakugo. Get off him immediately.” He growled.

You knew how this looked. Bakugo was attacking Kirishima after successfully making Kaminari fry his own brain. Your friends’ laughter wasn’t enough to hide Bakugo’s apparent violence even if it was over something as stupid as a kiss. Mr. Aizawa couldn’t possibly know that.

“I overlooked your behavior yesterday, picking a fight with Miss. y/n. But now attacking your other classmates as well? This is violent behavior is unacceptable.”

“Mr. Aizawa—“ Kirishima tried to defend his friend but it was no use.

“Not another word.” Your teacher was glaring at Bakugo with laser beams.

The hot head just stood there in silence with a scowl on his face and two tightly clenched fists. He was really just going to take the heat for everyone? No arguments?

“I’m putting you on house arrest for the rest of the day. No more classes and no combat training.” You watched the dagger go through Bakugo’s chest. Today was going to be offensive training with All Might. You knew he was looking forward to it. Guilt punched your core.

“Mr. Aizawa wait. I’m the one who picked a fight with him yesterday. I challenged him. He shouldn’t get into trouble because of me.” You shuffled toward him timidly. He was scary when he was like this.

Everyone looked at you in surprise. They all knew it was true, that you’d egged him on. And he wouldn’t be raging right now if you hadn’t kissed, so today was also partially your fault. But they were truly surprised because you normally would revel in Bakugo getting scolded. But you weren’t fucking evil. And this wasn’t Bakugo’s fault at all...although he really needed to get his fucking temper in check. Idiot.

“Is that true?” Aizawa asked Bakugo.

The hot head took a deep breath. “Does that sound like me at all? I’d never give into her weak attempts at baiting me. I fought her because I wanted to.”

Your eyes popped out at his words. He lied. Why the fuck would he do that?

Mr. Aizawa escorted Bakugo to the dorms, lecturing the entire way.

“This sucks.” Kirishima said with a frown.

“I know. I feel so bad!” Mina cried sadly.

You had no words. The four of you walked to lunch with drooping heads. You held Kaminari’s hand the whole way until his brain recharged.

Recalling you’d left your backpack in the quad you ran back to get it. Upon arrival you realized Bakugo’s backpack was also there. He wouldn’t even have his stuff with him to finish homework or study during house arrest. You groaned. This guilt was horrible. It ate at you for rest of the day. The rest of your friends didn’t feel any better. And combat training wasn’t the same for you without that familiar sound of explosions going off in the background. It actually made the class feel kind of empty.

As usual at the end of the day you sat in the common area with the rest of the girls.

“So...is it true y/n?” Ochaco poked hesitantly.

You glared at Mina. Loose lips as usual.

“Sorry y/n. I talk when I’m stressed.” Mina cried only kind of regretful.

You sighed. You didn’t have the heart to actually be upset with her. You were the villain here. Getting Bakugo into so much trouble.

“Yea.” You huffed out. Talking about it made you cringe. It was like admitting your sworn rival had defeated you somehow. Even if you sort of didn’t mind the way he did it...

“What was it like?” Mina asked excited for the details.

“Is he a good kisser?” Ochaco added.

Your mind fell into a fog as you replayed the kiss again. Your skin went electric as you remembered the feel of his hands on your waist and those noises he was making. His lips wrapped around yours....

“Oh my god...Ochaco shes in love!” Mina concluded from you zoning out for what ended being like 15 seconds of you staring into space with a little smile on your face. She was practically singing.

“I am not!” You yelled flustered.

“Why are so many people yelling today?” Kirishima chuckled as he rounded the corner to join the couch.

“So is he mad?” Mina’s voice had changed into the sad one from earlier.

“I don’t know. Every time I knock he just tells me to go away. But that’s not that different from normal honestly.” He smiled. Their friendship was so odd.

Suddenly his backpack flashed through your mind. It was sitting in your room.

You got up to leave. You tried to be sneaky about it as they discussed how to cheer the victim up. But to no avail, they’d never let you sneak off again.

“Where you going huh?” Mina’s voice was painfully suggestive.

“To my room!”

“Uh huh, we’ve heard that one before.”

You stuck your tongue at her.

Kirishima twisted to face you over the back of the couch. “So if I ask Bakugo tomorrow if he saw you tonight he’s gonna say no, right?” Who knew he could be this ruthless. No mercy.

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. You’d been cornered.

“Look. He left his backpack earlier and I’m just going to give it to him! Jeez do you want to do it or something Kiri?” You were seething.

“Nahh, you should do it. He’ll just yell at me to go away again.” He winked. It made you cringe again.

You could peel your skin off from this teasing. But you know someone who hated it even more. You knew that’s why he wouldn’t let Kirishima into his room.

You ran off before they could crack any more jokes.

On your way to the elevators you heard a creepy cackle come from somewhere. You spun around, alarmed, as a “what the fuck” escaped your lips. Your eyes landed on one eyeball peeking through the crack of a doorway.

“Can I get a kiss too?” The voice was wet with drool and lust. “Just one?”

“I will kick your face in Mineta.”

The door quickly shut. Did Mina tell the fucking whole class!?

With more haste now you stormed to your room to get the stupid backpack that was causing you so many problems and made your way to your other problem’s door.

Before you knocked you realized your hands were shaking. Nervous? Seriously, over this moron? You shook it off with resolve and knocked.

“Fuck off Denki, for the hundredth fucking time I’m busy!” A gruff voice yelled from behind the door.

“Oh please, busy with what?” You retorted reflexively. Earlier you had decided you were going to try to be nicer but that sentiment wore off as soon as you heard his annoying voice.

The door swung open.

“What do you want?” He said with a raised eyebrow.

Your mind went blank. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Of course it made his biceps look better than normal. He was wearing a black t-shirt that made his skin look perfectly tanned and was snug in all the right places. And why did he always smell so good damn. Today it was like vanilla and woodsy aftershave.

Stop staring. Stop staring. Speak bitch.

“Here’s your backpack. You should keep better track of it. I had to carry it around all day. That’s annoying.” You tossed it at him.

Why couldn’t you say anything nice? He took the heat for everyone. It’s like your mouth was rebelling against you.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Maybe you should work out more weakling.”

Panic panged in your chest as he started to shut the door in your face.

“Wait—“ you stopped it with your hand.

He paused. Mild interest dawned his brow.

“Why—why did you lie?”

“What?”

“To Mr. Aizawa. You could have told him it was my fault.”

“What do you care?” He pressed. His tone always managed to infuriate you.

You spun on your heels and started to walk away. “Nevermind.”

“Because I felt bad. You hurt your stupid head.”

You’d forgotten about that with all the guilt that had been overrunning your head. It didn’t even hurt anymore. You were surprised he’d even noticed.

“Oh.”

“But obviously you’re fine now so I guess it was all for nothing.” He added quickly trying to sound indignant.

The guilt punched you again. Especially now that you were face to face with him. He didn’t even look mad. He actually looked calm. And he looked good. You tried to deny your attraction to him. But flashes of his hand on your waist started invading your mind again. You could feel him wrapped around your neck. The way he was gentle and rough at the same time.

“Instead of just standing there you could actually make yourself useful. You owe me anyways.”

You snapped out of it trying not to look flustered. You shot him a confused and slightly offended look.

“Fill me in on what I missed in class...” he explained. He wouldn’t make direct eye contact though.

“Are you saying you need my help?” You had to do it. You couldn’t not take an opportunity.

“Tch. Obviously no—“

“Let’s do it. Move.” You said as you pushed past him into his room. Your hand made full contact with his abs and you felt that heat again.

He shut the door behind you and your heart started off like a race horse as you heard him lock it.

You suspected it was to lock the other boys out. God forbid they catch you in his room after all this.

Shit....you were in his room. Alone. With your hot head. The day after he kissed you. The evening after he took all the fury of Mr. Aizawa for you and moments after he asked you to help him study even though he gets way better grades than you.

He cleared a spot for you to sit on his bed and then leaned back into his chair with his hands locked behind his head. His flexing muscles were distracting you again.

“You better actually remember everything.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes at him.

His words were supposed to rile you but the way he looked at you, like he was secretly loving that you were here was making your stomach flutter. You could feel your face red and you prayed he wouldn’t notice. At this rate you were going to throw yourself at him before he had the chance to kiss you again. As long as you two didn’t start fighting again first.....

~~

💥 YES there will be a pt 3!!! 💥

It’s going to be called “sTuDyiNg” HAHA (hint: Bakugo doesn’t actually wanna study “dumbass”)

Update: Pt.3 is up now!! Read it here

#fanfic #bakugo angst #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bhna imagine #katsuki bakugou #mha angst #my hero headcanons #mha fanfiction #mha fluff #katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo angst #bakugou fluff #bakugou x you #bakugou headcanons #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugo imagine #Kirishima #mina ashido #denki kaminari #ochaco uraraka #mr aizawa

[blinder-secrets]

In The Leaves

tommy x reader, 1,850 words

a bit nsfw, mostly power play and lusting

The house is quiet when you get home, shut off, and dark, and empty empty empty. You dawdle in the entry way. Drip your coat off, leave your bag by the hat stand. If Tommy’s in he’s sleeping, or hiding, or locked up in the office with his head in the whiskey. You unlace your boots and push them under the dresser, though he hates when you do that. There’s places for shoes, he says, put them away.

‘Tom?’

You call his name quietly, around the open door to his office. There’s no light, no man. He’s in bed, then. For once he’s beaten you to it.  

You go upstairs, zigzagging on the wide staircase because you can, because it’s late and your time is still your own to play with. It isn’t often that you take nights for yourself. No Tommy, no business. Free to do as you please. You’d gone to Vera’s first, then to the dancehall, then to Polly’s house in that little village, with the pretty parks and the bridges. You’d made your driver wait in the car until you were bored, and you’d paid him handsomely for it. That was part of the novelty too; money from your purse, orders in your voice, followed, not questioned. You see why Tommy craves it.

‘I should go home,’ you’d told Pol, ‘he hates when I’m away.’

‘No, love, he just hates not knowing where.’

‘Oh,’ you’d said. ‘Oh, no, I don’t think that’s it at all.’

When you reach the top, your stocking snags on a splintered floorboard. You pull it twice, and then it’s free again, but there’s a rip from your heel to your ankle. They were new; you’d put them on straight from the packet.

‘[Y/n]?’ His voice comes from the bedroom, low and curling around the hallway. ‘That you?’

‘Yes, Tom,’ you answer. ‘I’ve ripped my tights on the stairs.’

You follow your voice back to him, chase it through until you’re in the doorway, and he’s in the bed, ignoring you like you’d said nothing at all. You were right. Not sleeping, but hiding. He’s sitting against the headboard, chest bare, with the covers to his waist. He looks young, boyish. There’s note-paper in his hands and two more sheets of it on his lap.

‘Where’ve you been?’ he asks, without looking from his reading.

You slouch into the doorframe. ‘Am I in trouble?’

His eyes flick to you. It’s so quick, it may have just been the light on his glasses. ‘If you want to be,’ he says.

‘I was at Poll’s house.’

‘Drinking?’

‘Of sorts.’ The tear in your stocking is growing, you lift your foot to feel your heel through the hole. ‘She read my leaves,’ you say.

He sighs, sets the paper down, and picks up the next. ‘Did she?’

Your foot hits the floor with a thump. ‘Don’t you want to know what she saw?’

No, he thinks. No, I don’t care, he thinks. No, I’m sitting and reading and not looking at you, not even once, because I’m Tommy, and I’m bored of everything that isn’t myself.

You watch for a reaction. A clue that you’re right, that he is thinking all that, but he’s just still. His eyes follow the lines slowly. He clears his throat once, and then flips the page over to read the back.

‘It involved the two of us,’ you add, ‘the pictures in the leaves.’

‘Hm?’

Sighing, you cross the room and climb onto the bed on your knees.

‘You’re no fun, Tommy Shelby.’ Not when you want him to be. Not when it costs his time.

You crawl over to him, then turn onto your back and put your head on his thigh. You set your cheek against the covers so you can watch him, so he can find you at the bottom of the page, so he looks at you without meaning to. ‘What’re you reading that’s so important?’ you ask.

‘Letters,’ he answers, dropping the word into your gaze.

‘From who?’

‘Important people, love.’

‘Can’t I know?’ You touch his elbow, running your fingers in circles around the ridges of his skin. ‘I write your letters for you, sometimes.’

The paper lowers enough that your hand becomes trapped between his arm and the pillow behind him. ‘You asked for the night off, didn’t you?’

From work. Not from conversation, not from him. ‘I suppose,’ you grumble. Your bottom lip juts out and you let it sit there. Watch me pout, Tommy, watch me sulk like a child.

He sighs. Then he stacks the letter with the others and puts them all, abandoned, on the bedside table. ‘Alright,’ he says, once he’s looking down at you again. ‘What did Polly say,’ he groans, settling into the bed, ‘about your tea?’

You pull your hand free and turn your head to the ceiling. Your arms cross over your chest. It doesn’t matter now, it isn’t as interesting. ‘I’ve forgotten. Something about changing responsibility.’

‘Responsibilities?’ His hand goes to your face, his index finger trailing the line of your nose, across your lips and over your chin, down, down until it’s resting in the hollow of your throat. ‘Yours or mine?’ he asks.

‘Ours.’

He hums, the noise is deep in his chest, tumbling lower and under your skull. ‘What else?’

Suddenly, you’re shy. Nervous to tell him. What Polly had seen had excited you, filled you up with possibility and wonder, left you curious. Wanting. Tommy’s scrutiny would kill that, you’re sure. He’d flay the ideas and leave you to gather the scraps. ‘Nothing important,’ you tell him. ‘She thinks I should let go more. Let myself be.’

‘You should.’ His hand flattens over your collarbone. It’s either mercy, or his interest peaking and withering between you, because he changes subject like the conversation’s over. ‘You ripped your stockings?’ he asks, question already answered in his tone.

You look back to him, smiling. ‘So, you were listening.’

His eyebrows raise, head tilting as if to say, maybe. Maybe he was. Maybe he’s seen the ladder running up your calf.

‘Will you buy me a new pair?’ you ask.

‘If you want.’

‘Fancy ones? French?’

He nods.

‘You’ll give me anything, won’t you?’ Anything with a price tag, anything material. If it was within reason, he’d say yes, he’d have it on your dresser in a ribbon by the morning. You loop your fingers around his wrist. ‘Anything but attention,’ you muse. ‘That, I have to work for.’

You watch him blink, watch him incline his head and wet his lips. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

No, not most.

‘You like working for it,’ he adds.

You snort. ‘Not always.’

Sometimes it’s nice to start things, sometimes you like to pull the want from behind his bored eyes. To make him need you, to make him melt beneath, and give way, craving, falling to the tide. Other times, it feels like a chore. Another responsibility you hadn’t asked for.

‘I shouldn’t have to do it all the time,’ you say, quieter than planned.

‘You have my attention now.’

‘Because I took it,’ you say.

‘No,’ he corrects. 'Because I gave it.’

He hold’s your gaze for a moment. Something slips between you, a new tension that twitches under your ribs, scattering your heartbeat. It bubbles and gathers in your chest, forces your breaths to become quick and short. You’re sure he notices it. Sure he’s planned for it. He looks down at you, lay against his lap, like he’s waiting for the nerves to form; for anticipation to fizz your senses.

His hand slides up until its curving around your neck, thumb and fingers bracketing your throat. It stills there, baited, cold against your skin. ‘Is it enough?’ he asks. ‘Have you had enough, hm?’

You swallow; it runs under his palm, sinking into your gut. ‘No, not yet.’  

He squeezes once, pulling lightly enough to get you to comply, and then you’re sitting up for him. Up and towards his chest, with his hand on your throat and your fingers scooped over his shoulders.

‘You don’t want to start things,’ he says, ‘not always?’

Your head shakes by itself.

‘Words, love.’

‘No,’ you answer.

‘Done making decisions, eh?’ His hand twists to hold the back of your neck, fingers splayed and straying into the base of your hair. ‘Tired of taking charge?’

‘Yes, Tom.’

He nods, the gesture is so slight it could have been nothing. ‘Take my glasses off,’ he says.

You do. You pull them from his face and set them on top of the papers, his gaze unmoving as you do so. The room’s quiet, but your head’s swelling with noise, your blood pumping loud enough to convince your eardrums that it’s in there. Filling your skull. Strong enough to dizzy you. When you straighten in front of him, his hands are on your waist, firmly, like he knows you need it.

Then he leans forward, pushing you backwards until you’re beneath him. Your arms are pulled upwards, flat on the bed, crossed at the wrists. He holds them there with one hand.

‘Have to let yourself be,’ he says by your ear. ‘You don’t want control, do you?’

You want to answer him. You want to tell him that this is what you’d meant, this is how it should be. Not always, but sometimes. A change of responsibility like the leaves said. When you open your mouth, all that pours out is a sweetened moan. It rides your breath over his shoulder and into the air.

‘No,’ you sigh. Not tonight. You don’t want control, you want this, you want this and him and attention until it’s flooding you. Until it’s too much.

Head lowered, he sinks kisses into your neck. Drags teeth and tongue down the line of your throat ’til you’re mewling. You lift up against him, back curved and eager, but he pushes back with his hips. Forces you down, subdued. Into the mattress and wanting.

‘Tommy,’ you whine.

He shushes you. ‘Leave them there,’ he says, as he pulls his hand from your wrists.

He goes upright, backwards and away from you, sitting on his heels like he’s praying. The sheet lies twisted around his knees. You wish he’d move it, you want bare skin against bare skin.

‘What shall I do with you?’ he asks himself. ‘Ay? How shall I have you?’

You’re putty waiting beneath his fingers. You’re honey, dripping, cloying, holding shape but slowly losing. His thumb finds the band of your stocking, pulls it taut against the clip that holds it there. Anything. Do anything. You’re his, you’re melting. You’re light pouring through the gaps and waiting, waiting to burst. Elastic snaps against your thigh. He smiles.

‘I like having you like this,’ he says.

Like you’re leaves, swirled and left in the cup. Wanting to be read, to be understood, to be laid out and fulfilled.

‘Like you’re mine,’ he finishes.

‘I am,’ you tell him. ‘I am, Tommy, I am.’

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy x reader #Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #:) #enjoy please #i neraly tagged this as fem reader but hoenstly theres nothing that makes it such... its more like anyone who wears stockings reader #tommy x stockings!reader #lmao

[somedrunkpirate]

Aware || Geraskier Ficlet

Read on ao3 here, or continue below. 

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

Jaskier is a mess of bandages.

He’s lying on the bed, limp— asleep. His chest rises with a shallow rhythm that Geralt tracks despite himself.

There are bloody rags all over the floor. More blood in drops leading from the door to the bed. Geralt’s hands are red, cold and wet. 

But Jaskier is resting now. The work is done. The stitches; moments of frantic focus, feeling every second as it slips past Geralt’s fingers. 

Jaskier is a mess of hidden wounds. Geralt doesn’t know if it is better this way— to not see the slashes in his chest, the long slice across his forehead. White strips of fabric, and then grey and brown when the innkeeper ran out. They’re clean though. She swore on her mother’s grave when Geralt growled out the question. She’d helped him when Jaskier’s body could not be held up alone. Wrinkles set in tense concentration. Quick responses to snapped orders. He doesn’t know when she left. He didn’t notice—

He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t been watching—

Jaskier is a mess. Fuck. He’ll be so mad when he wakes. Dirt caked in his hair, grime on his arms and hands. His shirt is unsalvageable, his pants stained and scuffed. Geralt doesn’t know for certain if it will wash out, and somehow the lack of answer — because Jaskier will ask — makes his hands clench into fists. He could ask the innkeeper. He should get water to— to clean Jaskier up, just a little, while he rests. He should— He should’ve—

Jaskier is wounded, hurt. It isn’t a novel phenomenon. Trouble smells his presence from a mile away. Monsters, witches, rival bards. “Bait,” Geralt said once,  “that’s what you’re good for.” Jaskier had laughed. Geralt doesn’t see the joke in it anymore. 

Because it was alright before. He got hurt— he got fixed up, end of story. There is danger to be expected traveling at a Witcher’s side, and Jaskier took the risk with that knowledge at hand. There were moments where Geralt wished him to be gone— to not have come with him, to stay out of the way, stay safe — but it was alright, because Jaskier is stubborn, and would likely find many more dangers on his own accord. At least Geralt could keep him in sight. At least he would be aware of what lay ahead and could prepare for it. There are dangers to wandering with a Witcher, but there is safety too. A sword and unnatural senses, keeping the worst of the world at bay. 

So he should’ve seen it coming. 

There is nothing to blame— no monster, no wild hunt plot. Jaskier had not gone off the path, followed him despite warnings, or otherwise played the fool and got himself into danger. They had not even been on contract. Just passing through, on their way to a nearby village. 

It had been a beautiful summer day and it ended in blood. There is nothing and no one to blame but Geralt. 

Jaskier’s head twitches slightly. His breathing hitching once and then again. A soft rumble of a cough. Geralt can see it hurts him— his face contorting in an open way only unconsciousness would allow. But he doesn’t wake from it. Geralt holds still, arms crossed, pressing them against his own chest to keep himself there. He wants to— he wants to go over and check. One more time. Just once. He shouldn’t. He should leave— for a little while. Thank the innkeeper. He doesn’t remember her name. 

Geralt stands at the door, stuck and watching until night falls. 

Jaskier doesn’t wake. 

So he checks. Just once. 

A hand laid gently on Jaskier’s cheek. Clammy skin warns of fever. 

“It will cool soon,” Geralt murmurs. He lets his finger trail the red blush, feels the shape of it as it pulls in air. In and out. “Just rest, Jaskier. Rest and be well.”

A knock, sharp on the chamber door. Geralt pulls back as if burned. He reaches for his sword, swearing under his breath. Distracted, again. Unaware, again. 

“Can I enter?” 

The innkeeper. 

Geralt takes a breath, sheaths his sword. “Be quiet, he is sleeping.”

She takes it as permission, even though Geralt isn’t sure he meant it that way. The idea of another person here, while Jaskier lies vulnerable, makes his skin itch. Even if she was the one who helped him. As if she is any danger. 

The door opens as silently as it can, but the squeaking noise doesn’t stir Jaskier. She pushes it closed with her hip— hands full with a tray of food. 

Geralt frowns at it, conflicted. “He’s sleeping.” 

The innkeeper frowns back. “This is for you.” 

Her words are final. Geralt says nothing. He’s not the one that needs care, but explaining that to her seems a waste of time. He’ll save it for when Jaskier wakes. It shouldn’t be too long now. 

“How is he faring?” she is saying, while rounding the bed to put the tray on the side table. Hands freed, she reaches out to pluck on Jaskier’s bandages. 

Geralt almost growls at her for it, but he swallows it down. He grits his teeth and says, “Fever coming.”

“Hmm.” Now her fingers are on Jaskier’s face. “Some wet rags will do him well. I’ll get them for you.” 

Geralt manages to speak only when she finally steps away from the bed. “Thank you.” 

She turns and then looks at him— eyes flicking up and down with a quick intensity — and puts her hands on her hips. “And when I return, you will go wash yourself—”

Geralt is already shaking his head. 

“—in the river.” She dips her chin and adds, “This is not an argument, Master Witcher. I allowed your entrance because it was an emergency, but I do not want you tramping dirt and blood all over my establishment. I will watch him while you’re gone, if that is what you’re worried about. Not that he’ll be going anywhere.” 

Geralt swallows, his jaw twitching. He wants to refuse, but there is nothing he can say that isn’t I can’t bear to leave him now. There is nothing that she would understand. And he should go. He shouldn’t allow himself to indulge in this. That heavy, sluggish feeling that has been growing within him for months now. The one that rose and rose, filling him up from the inside so that nothing else would fit beside it— not even the sound of a bow being drawn, an arrow being loosed, until it was too late. He should leave it here, sticky and dark, rip himself from it so that his mind is uninhabited by useless thoughts that hold his attention and keep it there like an anchor to a ship, stuck, heavy, impossible to drag along unless the chain is cut through. 

So he nods, and steels himself.

The first steps feel like molasses. His ears are yet filled with the sound of Jaskier’s breath, but once he nears the door the volume lessens and with it his chest tightens. He has to check— he must check, just once— but he continues. Pulling himself out of the room, cutting the chain. Until he can only see the slightest hint of Jaskier’s form and then that is gone again. 

It hurts to continue walking, but Geralt is used to doing exactly that. So he pushes through until he’s left the inn— left Jaskier— far behind. 

New sounds fill his ears. The river, trickling between rocks; nightingales, singing up to the moon; the wind, blowing between leaves and grass. And yet somehow Geralt barely hears any of it. Jaskier’s breathing might be gone, but other sounds take up their place; the clang of sword against sword, the cursed orders of the leading brute, Jaskier’s gasped “Geralt!” just before he slumps to the ground. 

Geralt lets them haunt him while he washes. Jaskier’s blood swirling in the crystal clear water. He watches it go and then sits, for just a moment. 

Another memory— earlier, just before. Another sound. Laughter, like a chime. Geralt doesn’t remember why anymore. 

But it had been beautiful— a beautiful summer day, traveling together. Just passing through. The feeling had been there— everywhere, warming him, being called forward by that laugh until he was filled with it. Geralt had been focused, attention anchored, to Jaskier’s joy. 

He hadn’t heard them coming. 

It was a simple trap, really. Only a small trench covered by bushes, enough to fit seven men if they laid on their stomach. Bandits, the garden variety. The kind that is exactly stupid enough to attack a Witcher and expect to live. 

In all likeliness, the arrow was meant for Geralt. He’d been the true threat— they would have expected Jaskier to co-operate easily. But something had gone wrong, or their bowman just could not aim. And it had hit Jaskier instead. 

The laughter cut silent at once. 

Geralt had killed all of them, of course. They had attacked together and Geralt had taken them out one by one and then dropped to his knees by Jaskier’s side. 

For one endless moment, he’d seen the blood spreading over Jaskier’s chest and thought, It’s his heart. They hit him in his heart. 

But it wasn’t. The arrow had struck him, but got stuck on his fucking journal— the foolish words a blessing for once. The blood was coming from slashes that he’d gotten in the fight— Geralt not fast enough to protect him. He’d been hit over the head and knocked out cold. He was bleeding profusely but it wasn’t his heart. There was a chance. 

The thing inside Geralt had roared and grown several more sizes in the time it took to reach the village with the unconscious body of Jaskier in his arms. By the time he got him inside, there was a moment where he almost couldn’t let him go— couldn’t stand to put him in the bed. But he had to, so he did. 

Geralt breathes in and steps out of the river, pushing the memories away. That was long enough. It is time — he needs — to go back. 

Just to check. Just once.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #witcher #the witcher #geralt/jaskier #witcher fic #myfic #ficlet #hello crew #long time no see #life has been a bit of an oof #and creativity has been hard #so when i wrote this today I was like #lets get it out there #its been long enough #hopefully this will inspire me to write more #any positive vibes are appreciated #and how are yall doin?

[scfttwice]

lines and squiggles

> chaeyoung likes doodling “temporary tattoos” on jina. fans jump to conclusions every time they catch sight of the drawings.

jina adored chaeyoung's drawings. the latter had her own unique art style that distinguished her works from those of others. sometimes when jina saw chaeyoung doodling something, she'd eagerly sit by her to watch, or try to join in and draw something as well while asking chaeyoung for pointers. and every time jina did so, chaeyoung was always happy to guide her.

jina also loved chaeyoung's tattoos; some of them were designed by chaeyoung herself, after all. two out of the ones that weren't her design—the arrow heart under her right ear and the flowers on her left fingers—were designed by jina (and modified by chaeyoung), an honor which chaeyoung offered and jina gladly accepted. during some of their few lazy evenings, when the maknaes would do nothing in particular except lie around in their dorm's living room, jina would find herself absentmindedly tracing and admiring the tattoos on chaeyoung's skin while she busied herself with her phone.

during their 'more & more' promotions, as twice were waiting in a waiting room for their turn to pre-record their performance in a music show, chaeyoung spent the time sketching in her notebook. when jina noticed this, she was almost immediately at chaeyoung's side.

“whatcha drawing there, chae?” she asked, her question accompanied by a curious head tilt. chaeyoung grinned as she looked up at jina and showed her her notebook. drawn all over the page were various fruits and drinks—strawberries, grapes, watermelons, soda cans, and cocktails, to name a few—all in chaeyoung's signature style.

“you're such a great artist, chae,” jina complimented as she continued to admire the drawings, eyes scanning over the same page repeatedly. “you can make any lines and squiggles look like a masterpiece.”

“hey, your art has been improving too,” chaeyoung reminded her. “still, i'll never be as creative and artistic as you,” jina countered with a subtle pout.

chaeyoung only shook her head slowly in amusement as a response, before she gently took jina's hand and rested it on the table. grabbing her pink, purple, and red markers, she began drawing little flowers on jina's wrist. it made jina smile, out of both happiness and feeling ticklish.

chaeyoung had drawn on jina's skin many times before, mostly on her hands and arms. although she'd get ticklish every single time, jina loved it when chaeyoung did so. “it's like getting a temporary tattoo,” jina had remarked once. “designed by someone close to me, so it's much more precious.”

“will you ever stop being a scaredy cat and get a real tattoo?” chaeyoung had asked her upon hearing her comment. jina immediately shook her head. “no way. i admit, i'm way too scared for that.”

when twice were called to record, jina performed with her members on the stage just as they had rehearsed, having had completely forgotten about the flowers drawn in marker ink around her wrist. it wasn't until after they were done recording and were back in their waiting room did jina catch a glimpse of the colors on her wrist.

“oh no, i forgot about this,” she muttered to herself as she gently rubbed her wrist. “i hope it wasn't caught on camera.”

back in the dorm later that night, as the school meal club were having dinner together, the flowers on jina's wrist still hadn't washed out. not that she was complaining though, she loved them.

“uh, jina,” dahyun, who had been scrolling on her phone, called out while eyeing jina's “temporary tattoo”. “you might wanna take a look at this.”

jina turned her attention to dahyun, who showed her her phone screen. it displayed an article posted not even half an hour ago, talking about how fans online were in a heated debate over whether jina had gotten a tattoo or not. the article made sure to provide a zoomed-in picture of jina's wrist from their music show performance earlier, which clearly showed the colorful inked flowers.

scrolling down, jina found that even the comments section of the article itself was filled with heated discussions over the matter.

“i think jina really did get a tattoo this time”

“no way, i'm sure it's just chaeyoung's drawing again”

“it's exactly like the previous issue about jina's airport picture!! the hearts spotted on her arm weren't actual tattoos!!!!”

“the flowers....it looks like a real tattoo....”

“maybe it's just make up for this stage?”

jina let out a huff of frustration after skimming through the comments of arguing netizens. “looks like i'll have to give an explanation...again.”

chaeyoung was also reading the article and comments over jina's shoulder. she gave a sheepish grin as she turned her gaze to jina. “i guess i shouldn't draw on you right before we have to record.”

“even when we're not recording anything,” tzuyu chimed in. “our fans still manage to find chaeyoung's drawings on jina in any pictures.”

“they have a really keen eye when it comes to idols,” dahyun added in a lighthearted tone.

jina sighed. “yeah, that's true. i'll start a short vlive later, to clear things up.”

she stayed true to her words. she washed up after dinner and went back to sit in the living room, turning on a vlive on her phone titled “talking about my tattoo”.

in hindsight, the vlive title was a huge click bait, but at least it'd attract the attention of more people to watch. it would get the word out faster.

“hi, everyone,” jina greeted once there were enough people in, waving using the same hand that had the flowers. “i'm sure many of you are wondering about this,” she said while holding up her wrist.

“i actually came on vlive tonight solely to address this matter. i saw an article earlier, discussing the rumor that i've gotten a tattoo according to pictures of me taken during our music show performance today. but actually, it's not real. chaeyoung drew on me again, like she had drawn the hearts on my arm a few months ago. that picture of me also went viral and rumors circulated. so this time i wanted to quickly explain to everyone that i don't have a tattoo.”

the chat section of the vlive was full of differing reactions. some fans were disappointed, some were relieved, and there were even some who boasted about knowing the tattoo was fake from the start. jina stayed on vlive for a little bit longer to continue entertaining her fans, before she wished everyone a good night just after she had passed the 15 minute mark.

once the vlive was off, chaeyoung poked her head into the living room. “you're not asleep yet?” jina looked up at her and asked, a soft smile on her lips, which chaeyoung returned with a wider one. she walked over to jina and sat next to her on the floor. “i couldn't help but overhear your vlive,” chaeyoung said. “you shouldn't have told them the truth so soon. it would've been fun to watch them make funny theories.”

jina chuckled. “true, but i'd rather not let them make a big fuss over it.” chaeyoung nodded. “you're right.”

“so now that you cleared the rumors up, can i...?” chaeyoung trailed off, continuing her question by holding up an orange marker pen while smiling cheekily. jina laughed when she understood what it was that chaeyoung wanted. granting chaeyoung's wish, she held out her arm to her.

jina watched in amusement as chaeyoung happily doodled little paw prints along her lower arm.

#twice #twice au #twice oc #twice scenarios #twice imagines #twice 10th member #twice 10th member au #10th member of twice #10th member of twice au #twice tenth member #twice tenth member au #tenth member of twice #tenth member of twice au #kpop #kpop au #kpop oc #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #im nayeon #yoo jeongyeon #hirai momo #minatozaki sana #park jihyo #myoui mina #kim dahyun #son chaeyoung #chou tzuyu

[awanderingdeal]

You were the first

As I mentioned in this ask, I have polished up the fic I wrote live on discord. It's left at a bit of a cliff-hanger so I'll try not to leave it too long to write the second chapter, but I make no promises!

Anyway, have some Logan with his first boy crush.

CW: discovering sexuality and sexuality crisis

Rating: G

If you feel I need to add any content warnings or change the rating, please drop me a message!

Logan and Noelle are original characters from the sweater weather universe created by the wonderful @lumosinlove. All other characters in this fic are mine.

Logan tugged at his t-shirt, an expensive white thing that was more fitted than he was used to, scrutinizing his image in the mirror. He rose up onto the tips of his toes, giving a small sigh as he settled back down. He’d always been confident in his appearance, especially under the Nice sun, his hair a little lighter and his skin bronzing even more than usual, but he wished he was taller.

“Lo! Let’s go! I’m ready,” his sister called, appearing in the doorway to his bedroom a few seconds later. “Are you okay?”

Logan dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand, figuring his ensemble of the white t-shirt and khaki shorts would have to do. “Does this look too prep school?” he asked, pulling on a pair of battered vans that he hoped would soften the outfit before joining Noelle in the hallway.

“Since when did you care about your appearance?” Noelle teased, pulling his cap over his eyes as he fell into step beside her.

I don’t,” Logan grumbled, adjusting the brim, shoving Noelle away from him. He twisted away from her retaliating shove with a chuckle, raising his hands in a truce at the top of the stairs before bounding down them. “Maman! Noelle and I are going out now!”

“Do you have sunscreen? And water?”

“Yes, Maman!” He and Noelle rolled their eyes at each other, waiting around only long enough to hear the affirmative reply from their mother telling them to be safe and back in time for dinner.

“So, what’s going on with you and this Hugo boy then?” Noelle asked as soon as the door shut behind them.

Logan glanced back towards the house anxiously, even though he knew nobody would have heard. He picked up his skateboard, dusting an imaginary piece of dirt from it before tucking it under his arm. “Nothing is going on, he asked me out and I said I wasn’t gay, simple,” Logan mumbled. “Why don’t you concentrate on your own love life?”

“Alright, there’s no need to get defensive,” Noelle clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She strapped her board to her backpack, leaving her hands free to tap against her phone screen. “And my love life is very successful, thank you,” she added with a smirk that was begging for Logan to ask more.

“Oh yeah?” Logan latched onto the opportunity, glad to have the attention off of himself. “Is that who you’ve been texting all the time?” he chuckled, plucking Noelle’s phone from her hand. “What’s his name then?”

Noelle squealed, lunging for her phone, but Logan was too quick, looking at the message before she could grab it. “Oh,” Logan breathed, stumbling over his feet as he shoved the phone back at his sister. “Fuck, Noelle. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t -”

“Logan, it’s fine.” Noelle stopped, grabbing Logan by the shoulder so he halted as well. “Well, it’s not. You’re a little shit, but that’s what little brothers are for, right? Besides, you are so predictable. I was baiting you.”

Logan frowned, his features contorting into a picture of confusion. “What?”

“You’re such a dumbass,” Noelle laughed, shaking her head. “I wanted you to know.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Logan muttered. “So, Natacha, huh? That’s the blonde girl, right?”

Noelle looked at Logan pointedly, “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Uhh…Congratulations?” Logan shrugged.

Noelle sighed and started to walk again. “Yeah, she’s the blonde one.”

Logan jogged a few paces to catch up with her. He chewed at his lip, glancing over at his sister every few steps. She seemed so confident, like she knew exactly what she wanted. He tried to reassure himself that he was only 14, he wasn’t supposed to know what he wanted yet. That’s what all the websites said. Finally, he couldn’t bear the silence any longer, “Do maman et papa know?”

“Not yet,” Noelle hummed, “I’m not worried, I just -”

“Logan! Noelle!” their friend, Ibrahim, yelled as they entered the skate park. Logan looked towards Noelle, mouthing that they would finish the conversation later. “We were just talking about you.”

Noelle replied, but Logan didn’t hear what she said, his attention pulled by the tall boy standing just to the left of Ibrahim. He had light blonde hair that flopped over his eyes and he was shifting nervously between his feet. Hugo.

“Hello! Earth to Logan,” Noelle clapped her hands in front of his face. “I said we’re going to head over there and practice on the rails. Are you coming?”

Logan looked back to Hugo, wincing internally at the obviousness of the action. “No, I’m going to stay,” he pointed behind him to the small group of teens “here.”

Noelle looked at him, her lips making a funny manoeuvre that Logan had come to learn meant she was suppressing a laugh. “Okay.”

Then Noelle was gone, and Logan didn't know what to do with himself. These were the same friends he'd been hanging out with every summer for nearly a decade, but suddenly he seemed to have forgotten how to interact with them. Or rather, with him, with Hugo. He couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so awkward. Sure, the other boy had asked him out, but Logan was certain that wasn’t the problem. He didn't want to be that person, but he had other male friends who were attracted to guys and it had never been an issue before. Even when one of those friends had admitted to a crush on him, Logan had just told them politely he wasn't interested in them like that, and they'd moved on with their friendship. So why did his stomach feel like it was trying to turn itself inside out, right now? And why did he feel like he wouldn't be able to string an intelligible sentence together?

"Logan! What are you doing?" Ibrahim shouted, pulling Logan from his spiralling panic. He looked up to see the group had moved. "Hugo has finally got that combo he was working on down, and for some reason he can't wait to show you." Logan thought he heard something teasing in his friend's tone, but he squashed the thought. He looked over, meeting Hugo's shy smile and decided he could figure out whatever was going on in his head later. His friend wanted to show him a trick, and Logan wasn't a jerk, so he was going to go and watch.

Logan dug his fingers into the edge of his board, clutching it close to him as he approached his friends, the walk to the edge of the bowl they had gathered on seeming to take an age with all their eyes on him. "You've stopped falling on your ass then?" he grinned at Hugo, by way of greeting, proud that the words came out with the same smooth tone that he usually managed.

"Yeah," Hugo blushed. "I told you, practice makes perfect."

"I stand corrected," Logan huffed out a laugh. A red haired girl that Logan didn't know that well, mumbled something that he didn't quite catch, but carried a tone that he didn’t like. He spun around to ask her to repeat herself when she smiled and mounted her board, dropping over the edge of the bowl. Logan turned back to Hugo, but the boy was now looking towards the bowl, sending a glare after Lydia.

"Okay, let's not build this up too much,” Ibrahim threw his arm around Logan. “We’re going to be expecting some Tony Hawk skills at this point." Logan sent him a grateful smile, receiving a small squeeze in return.

"Lyds, we get it. You are fantastic! Now get out the bowl. I already shot - gunned," Hugo said, laughing as Lydia flipped him off after she had exited the bowl on the opposite side."

“Alright then, Hewie. The floor is yours. Let us see your mating dance," Lydia swept her arms in front of her in a grand gesture.

“Sorry about her,” Hugo cleared his throat, his face getting impossibly redder and scratching at the back of his neck. “I think she thinks she’s funny.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Logan hoped the smile he offered was comforting, even if it did feel somewhat tight. He could feel the stares of the others boring into his back as he inclined his head towards the bowl. "What are you waiting for? Show me what you can do.”

Hugo opened his mouth to respond, but seemed to decide better of it, shrugging his shoulders. A cocky smirk spread across his face before he gave a determined nod and dropped into the bowl. It was easy watching Hugo skate. Years of practise had led to a relaxed form, commanding the board with a simple confidence. Any shyness he'd been exhibiting a few moments ago had melted away. Logan wasn't the best skater, rarely picking his board up outside of the summers, so he was easily impressed by the way other people were able to keep their feet stuck to the deck like glue. However, there was something about the way Hugo's body moved, leaning into each turn and shifting his weight with such subtly, that felt different. Logan found himself holding his breath, knowing that the trick Hugo could never land was approaching. He didn't want to think about why the determined crease of Hugo's brow made the same odd feeling in his stomach from earlier reappear.

Hugo carved his way up the side of the bowl, until only one wheel ground against the coping. Logan leaned forward into the movement, expecting to hear the crash of the board against concrete, but it never came. Hugo glided seamlessly back down to the bottom of the bowl with a proud fist pump. A loud cheer escaped Logan's mouth before he even really registered it, the rest of his friends joining in to create a barrage of noise. Logan felt lighter than he had in weeks. Hugo showed off a few more tricks, before exiting the bowl. His skin had a pink flush to it, and his breath was coming in heavy pants, the heat of the afternoon sun making the exercise that bit more intense.

"Here, drink," Logan ordered, thrusting a bottle of water in Hugo’s direction. He took the bottle, but instead of drinking it like Logan expected, he unscrewed the lid, pouring the contents over his head, sweeping his bangs up off his face. Logan thought he had gotten away with the choked noise pulled from his throat, but Lydia chuckled from behind him. Logan turned on his heel, sending her a steely glare, "Is there a problem?"

Lydia raised an eyebrow, cocking her head as if inspecting something, "I'm just wondering how long it's going to take you to get your act together, Tremblay."

Logan tensed, glancing behind him quickly. He let out a long breath, relieved to see Hugo's attention had been monopolised by Ibrahim and another of their friends congratulating him. "I don't know what you're talking about," he scoffed. "We barely even know each other."

"You may not know me, but Hugo and I have been friends since we were babies, so unfortunately I am aware of the exact shade of green your eyes happen to be," Lydia retorted, shrugging off the plaid shirt she had on over her vest top. Her expression had softened when she looked at Logan again, "Look, maybe I've made a big mistake here and you're really not interested in him like that, but if that's the case you really need to stop leading him on."

"I'm not-" Logan started to protest, a part of him wondering exactly what Hugo had told Lydia about him. "-this is none of your business.” He chewed at his lip, pulling his cap from his head. It felt like the temperature had risen dramatically in the last thirty seconds, Logan very aware of the beads of sweat forming under his t-shirt. He shoved his cap back on, tugging at the curls at the nape of neck. "I'm going to find my sister," he said, grinding the words through his teeth and turning on his heel. Somewhere behind him, he heard Hugo call his name, but he pretended he hadn't heard, continuing his quick strides away. This was all too confusing and he just wanted to see Noelle.

Logan crossed the park, finding Noelle sitting on a set of stairs, her head resting on Natacha’s shoulder, the two of them watching some of their friends work the rails. She seemed content, so Logan hesitated a few feet away, guilt creeping in at the prospect of disturbing her. Eventually, his need for comfort won out. "Nolly?”

Logan rarely used the nickname in public these days, receiving a swift smack to the back of his head whenever he did. Noelle whipped her head up, her glare melding quickly into a look of concern.

"Nolly, huh? Adorable," Natacha teased, nudging Noelle gently.

"Don't even think about it," Noelle deadpanned, her eyes remained locked with Logan's. "Hey Lo, what's up?" She patted the concrete next to her, and Logan took a seat, resting his chin in his hands against his knees. He looked between Noelle and Natacha, chewing at his lip. Natacha had always seemed nice, but he wasn't sure he wanted to bare his soul to her quite yet.

"Do you want me to go? I can always go and show the boys how it’s done, it's not a problem." Natacha smiled softly and instantly, Logan decided he liked her. Besides, he wasn’t sure he had anything to say yet, so it was pointless sending her away.

"No, it’s okay," Logan sighed. "I just needed a break." Noelle looked at him pointedly, and Logan could tell she didn’t believe him. For now, she refrained from an interrogation. Logan had a funny feeling that it was postponed rather than cancelled.

It took a while for the conversation to fall back into a natural rhythm, however once the initial awkwardness faded it flowed well, Natacha dropping into the natural gaps of Noelle and Logan’s conversation like she’d always been there. It was easy over here, away from his friends, and Logan let his mind wander to thoughts of Hugo, trying to reconcile these new feelings with the information he currently had about himself.

Natacha laughed, loud and smooth, pulling Logan back into the conversation. "No, my ex, he -" Logan didn't hear the next few sentences, fixating on the pronoun until he couldn't hold in the question any more.

"Did you say he?"

Natacha furrowed her brow, whilst Noelle's expression turned smug and knowing. Logan had questions about that too, but it'd have to wait. Eventually, Natacha gave a slow nod. "Yes, he...Jacob, my ex-boyfriend."

Logan waved his hand between Noelle and Natacha, "- and now you have a girlfriend."

Something changed in Natacha's expression, but Logan couldn't place it. "Well," she chuckled, "we haven't called it anything yet, but I wouldn't object."

Logan blinked. "You can do that?"

Natacha shrugged, looking between Logan and Noelle with a careful curiosity.

"No." Logan cut her off before she could answer. "I know you can change your mind or whatever. Or not know. But can I just...I guess, I had that crush on Alicia back in grade 7, but now I think - yeah, Hugo makes me feel kind of the same way, so am I gay now or what?" He felt Noelle squeeze his knee as he reached to scratch at the back of his neck. She always told him he'd be awful at poker because he had too many tells.

Natacha looked between him and Noelle again. It was getting a bit annoying, but he figured he had just dumped a whole lot of thoughts on somebody he had only spoken to a handful of times. The silence was beginning to feel heavy when she eventually spoke, "I can't really tell you that. You could be gay, you could be bisexual, I'm fairly sure there's other things too. Just try not to freak out about it, yeah?"

Bisexual. Now that he thought about it, Logan remembered hearing that word before. He'd never really considered what it meant though, it hadn’t been necessary. The only person he'd ever had a crush on before was Alicia. Maybe bisexual fit, but he'd never liked another girl like that either so maybe Alicia was just a fluke and he was just gay. He lay back, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the sun and groaned. "Try not to freak out. How am I not supposed to freak out?! I want to kiss a boy."

"Oh, you want to kiss him do you? You're a baby, you're not allowed to kiss anybody." Noelle teased, poking at his side. Logan threw a furious look at her. Could she not see he was having a crisis here and she was laughing. "Sorry," Noelle apologised, her voice more sincere. "I know it's a lot to think about. It's just difficult not to tease my little brother about his crush."

Logan had to admit something was comforting in the idea that even when his world was in chaos, there was always the constant of his sister's teasing. He'd never tell her that though. "I think I'm just going to pretend this isn't happening," he sighed.

Noelle laughed again, more committed this time. "That would be very fitting," she hummed. "You could also, oh, I don't know...talk to him?"

Logan sat up quickly, "And what if he asks if I'm gay!? I literally told him 3 days ago I wasn't interested.” The long sigh that followed felt like it was pulled from him.

"Erm..." Natacha muttered awkwardly. "I'm gonna leave you two to talk. Good luck, Logan," she added, leaning around Noelle to pat at his arm. Ordinarily he would have found the gesture condescending, but it was oddly comforting.

There was a quiet as they watched her walk away. “I like her,” Logan declared.

"Well, she's my girlfriend so you can't have her," Noelle quipped. Logan rolled his eyes; his sister shared their father's sense of humour and frankly, it was awful. "Can I let you into a secret?" she asked, pulling Logan into her side. There wasn’t time to answer before Noelle continued. "It wasn't easy for me either. But I got there and you will too. Just be honest with Hugo, and if he's an ass about it at least you know he's trash now rather than later."

"Thanks, Nolly," Logan said quietly, leaning his head on his sister's shoulder. "I think I'll talk to him. Or maybe I'll just show him my hockey reel, that's impressive." Noelle flicked her fingers against his leg and Logan scowled, rubbing at the spot.

"Try not falling off that board for once, that'll impress him," Noelle teased, inclining her head towards Logan's abandoned board.

"Or maybe, I'll just fall off and then get him to teach me." Logan retorted with a smirk, looking in the direction of the bowl that he had left earlier. He figured he should probably head back over there soon, he’d left before he could even really congratulate Hugo.

Noelle shook her head, laughing "God, you're such a Tremblay at times."

Logan heaved himself up, grabbing his board as he did. "Hey, you never did tell me what you decided on. You know...with your sexuality," his said, feeling his face heat up a little. Somewhere in the back of his brain, something told him he wasn't supposed to ask that, but the question had left his mouth before he'd really thought about it. "If you don't mind telling me."

Noelle looked up at him with a casual shrug, "I refuse to be defined by labels, I will date who I date and if people don't like it, well fuck them."

"Wow, okay," Logan raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of anger in such a small person. Go skate it off."

"Alright, Mr 5 foot," Noelle scoffed, her expression softening before she continued. "I am

going to see if I can prise my board from Tasha's grip, but let me know if you want to go, yeah?"

"I just haven't hit my growth spurt yet," Logan reeled off his usual rebuttal to his sister's jibes about his height, but his mind was more focused on the latter words. "I'll be fine, promise," he smiled, even if he wasn't so convinced of the statement himself. He held Noelle's gaze for a beat longer, turning on his heel to head back to his friends

"Logan!" Hugo called loudly as he approached, the blond boy's eyes widening slightly when the loud sound left his mouth. "You're back," he added, at a more reasonable volume.

Logan smiled as he took a seat next to Hugo, "Yeah, sorry about that. Just had to sort some stuff.”

"No problem, just glad to have you back.”

Ibrahim faked a gag, and Logan shot him a glare. His friend mouthed something at him, but Logan couldn’t make out the words against the exaggerated movements of his lips. He turned his attention back to Hugo as he began to speak again. Ibrahim was probably only trying to chirp him anyway. "Hey, how's your Ollie going?"

Logan took a deep breath, trying not to think about his next words too much, "Yeah, I'm still practicing, actually. I was wondering if you could help me again? Somewhere," Logan looked around, "not here. I don't want to keep falling on my ass in front of everybody."

Logan swore he heard a low wolf whistle from one of the group, but when he glanced at them, everybody seemed to be engulfed in their own conversations. Ibrahim and Lydia's heads were close together, whispering conspiratorially in a way that was making Logan nervous.

"Yeah, I can help you," Hugo said, a goofy grin set on his face. "When do you want to do it?"

"Now?" Logan suggested, trying not to get distracted by the increasingly animated conversation beside him. Hugo must have noticed too, but he seemed unfazed.

"Oh? Now. Okay, Sure," Hugo nodded vigorously, brushing his hands through his hair. "We can do it now. I'm totally ready."

"Cool," Logan hummed, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole situation despite the uptick in his heart rate.

"Yeah, cool.”

Logan didn’t want to appear too eager so he waited for Hugo to stand first. Only it appeared Hugo had a similar idea bringing them to an impasse. Logan cringed internally, glad he currently had his back to Ibrahim because he could just imagine the mocking expression. He bolstered himself, letting his breath whistle through his teeth and laughed, hoping the noise sounded lighter than it did in his head. "Come on then," Logan said, rolling to his feet, offering his hand out. Hugo stared at it for so long, Logan was beginning to think perhaps he'd done something wrong. Then, Hugo slapped his own hand clumsily into it, pulling himself upright. Logan curled his fingers around the larger hand, holding onto it a second longer than necessary to help Hugo up. It was warm, slightly sweaty even, but Logan found himself wanting to test whether Hugo would keep their hands intertwined if he didn't let go. Still, a part of him was very aware of their current company, so Logan reluctantly pulled away.

As they walked away from the group, Logan braved a look behind him. Most of his friends quickly made to re-start their conversations, embarrassed to have been caught staring. However, the two he’d most suspected to lock eyes with had their heads down, fingers working furiously against their phone screens. Seconds later, Logan felt his phone vibrate. And then again, and again, and again.

Logan sighed, sending Hugo an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, let me just get this." He tugged his phone from his pocket, huffing when he saw the notification. Ibz created group 'Don't fuck this up Logan. He opened the chat, intending to mute it immediately, but curiosity got the better of him and he read through the messages quickly. Logan didn't have the third participant in his contacts so his phone just displayed the number, but if he wasn't already aware that it would be Lydia, the blunt tone of her messages would have given her away.

Ibz: His favourite colour is red!

Lydia: Why would that be helpful?

Lydia: Also, I think it might be green now ;)

Ibz: Lydia! That is not helpful! Logan, you can talk to him about hockey. He's been studying.

Lydia: That's true! He's kind of obsessed with dinosaurs too so try to work that into the conversation.

Logan worried at his lower lip, noticing that Hugo hadn't been inundated with messages. He could only surmise that Lydia and Ibz thought Logan was the only one of the pair that needed some extra help. He grumbled under his breath, typing out a reply with punishing taps against his screen.

Logan: Guys! Stop! I can handle this. Can you just stop meddling?

Lydia: If you say so. I am going to kick your ass if you hurt him though.

Ibz: Hey! That's harsh. Logan would never intentionally hurt Hugo.

Logan: Thanks Ibz! For the record, I'm muting this conversation now.

Logan smiled at how quickly Ibrahim had come to his defence, making a mental note to thank him in person later on. After following through with silencing his phone, he shoved the device back in his pocket, looking over at Hugo. He was sitting on his board, chin tucked against the palm on his hands, rocking slowly from side to side. He seemed content, but Logan still felt a little guilty about making him wait. "Sorry," Logan grimaced, "I'm all yours now. How about I show you what I'm doing, and you can correct me?"

#logan tremblay #noelle tremblay #cw: discovering sexuality #cw: sexuality crisis #sweater weather #coast to coast #rating: g

[disgruntledspacedad]

Save a Horse 

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: (fluff, slice of life) You ride a horse. Javi has a heart attack. 

words: 2kish

warnings: language. Utter ignorance of ranch life, but Ears is enthusiastic, at least. No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic.

a/n: unbeta’d.

It was Pop’s idea to start with. 

“Have you ever ridden a horse, Orejas?” he breaks the easy morning silence suddenly, resting his empty mug on the counter and shooting you an expression that can only be described as conspiratorial.

“No,” you answer honestly, thinking wryly that Pop certainly knows how to catch your attention. 

Beside you, Javi stiffens, and you can feel his gaze heavy on you. He’s been a little jumpy ever since he’d got you back, and with good reason, really. You rest a reassuring hand on his thigh and squeeze, receiving just as much comfort from the gesture as you’re offering.

This man is your rock.

Pop is still watching you expectantly, and you feel your lips tug upward. It’s so easy to smile at Chucho Peña. “But I’m game to try anything twice.”

Pop grins, and Javi blusters a deep sigh.

It’s nice outside. For being early November, the weather is surprisingly mild in Laredo, the air smelling of grass and hay and maybe a little bit of horse, but in a good way. The sunshine is warm on your skin, the sky extending bright blue as far as you can see. 

Pop leads you to the stables, prattling on about horses and saddles and other things that you don’t understand in the slightest. Javi follows silently, catching your fingers in a vice grip. His jaw is tense, his brow furrowed in that little frown that seems to be permanently affixed to his face ever since Colombia.

Your heart flip flops, and you stop, pulling him close enough to rest your head on his chest. Automatically, Javi’s arms wrap around you, pulling you in, and he sighs deeply into your hair. 

“Freaking out,” you remind him gently. 

He huffs a tiny laugh. “I know.”

You lift your lips for a quick kiss, and Javi obliges eagerly. “It’s going to be okay, babe,” you murmur as you pull away. 

“I know,” he repeats softly, looking for all the world like he really doesn’t. 

“Come on.” You tug at him, noticing Pop carefully not watching you in the distance. “It’ll be fun.”

“I doubt that,” Javi mutters darkly, but he follows anyway.

“This is Caballo,” Pop announces, stopping in front of a freakishly huge black stallion.

Creative, you almost say aloud, reminding yourself to be nice just in time. This man is as good as your father-in-law. It’s probably wise to keep that favorable impression you’ve made.

As if sensing your thought, Pop winks at you. “Javier named him.”

You shoot a little smirk in Javi’s direction, knowing that he’ll pick up on your teasing. He doesn’t rise to your bait, though, the killjoy.

In no time at all, the horses are saddled up and ready to go. Javi is perched atop a cream-colored mare, Cerveza, and Caballo is all yours.

Pop declines to ride, preferring to supervise you from the ground. “He’s very gentle, Orejas,” he tells you as he helps you into the saddle. “Won’t throw you or buck. Not like Cerveza.” He winks up at you. “Es una pequeña perra.”

Together, you laugh. You’ve picked up on enough Spanish curses during your time in Colombia to get the message.

Javi and Pop offer you some last-second advice - relax, sit up straight, and keep the reigns loose - and then you’re off, plod-plod-ploding at a mind-numbingly sedate pace around the fence line. 

By the third lap, you are thoroughly, utterly, completely bored.

“I think I’m ready to go faster!” you shout to Pop. “Can I make him go faster?”

Pop tips his hat at you, shooting you a toothy grin. “Tap him on the sides with your heels, Orejas, and say, ‘giddap!’”

“Gently,” Javi warns you sharply.

You shoot him a glare that’s only half-mocking. As if you’d just kick this poor horse in the ribs - god, it’s like Javi doesn’t know you at all.

“Giddap,” you say in your most dignified voice, nudging Caballo with your feet like Pop had told you. Caballo jolts forward, cantering half-heartedly for a couple of steps, then slowing to a walk with a disdainful snort. 

Ugh. You toss a questioning glance back at Javi. He’s doing a very poor job of hiding his grin.

Motherfucker.

Pop is smiling, too. “Try it with a little more authority, Orejas!” he advises. “He’s a big animal, and proud. You’ve got to tell him what to do, not ask politely.” 

 Javi snorts. ”Shouldn’t be too hard.”

You whip around to stare at him, lurching forward when Caballo reacts to your sudden shift in body weight. Behind you, Javi breaks out into snickers.

Well, then.

Exasperated, you decide that Javier Peña is far more of a big, dumb, proud animal than the horse you’re riding, and you manage to climb atop him every day and submit him to your will just fine.

Caballo shouldn’t be a problem. 

You square your shoulders, determined to get it right this time, and summon every John Wayne movie you’ve ever seen to the forefront of your mind. It’s not an impressive anthology to pull from - you’re more of a sci-fi kind of girl - but it’s more than enough to get a clear picture in your head of what needs to happen. 

You gather the reigns in one hand, straighten your back, and take a deep breath. 

“Hyah!”

Caballo is off like a shot, surging forward with an enthusiasm that sends your body rocketing backwards. Your feet fly up, suddenly free of the stirrups, and its all you can do to hold like mad to the reigns with your right hand - why the fuck did you decide one hand was better, anyway?? - while your left flaps free in the wind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” you tell Caballo. You’re not begging, you’re not.

You’re vaguely aware of shouts behind you.

You manage to pitch forward just enough to avoid falling off the ass-end of the horse, but it’s a near thing. Caballo is in a full-out gallop, lungs chugging beneath you, mane flapping in the wind and stinging your eyeballs. You lean in and hold on for dear life, and goddamn, none of those westerns ever mention just how rough it is on horseback. You are going to be so fucking sore tomorrow, ass, tits, and bits, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because you are riding this horse, dammit.

You realize your mistake a moment later. Pride goeth before the fall, and your feet had shaken free of the stirrups on Caballo’s initial leap forward. Now, your legs are free-floating, flap, flap, flapping in the wind, and each bounce is sending you just a hair further over to the side. 

Oh shit shit shit.

You flail, arching your toes in a desperate attempt to find purchase somewhere, but it’s a done deal. Grip with your knees, some primal instinct screams, or maybe that’s just Javi - you think he might be chasing you in the background.

By this point, you’re flat sideways on Caballo’s body, curled up more on his ribs than his back. Flop flop flop. He hasn’t slowed one bit, and you realize with sudden, horrifying clarity that gravity is a fucking bitch, and it’s a matter of where, not if or when, you fall.

You decide to do things on your own terms and let go, dumb as it may be. You pitch forward and roll, tucking your shoulder into the ground like your gymnastics teacher had taught you when you were six. There’s a horrifying moment of chaos and pain - the world is spinning, nothing is under your control, and the breath is knocked completely from you, but it’s over in an instant, and you’re left staring at the shockingly blue sky, blinking into the sunlight and listening to the receding hoof-falls of that goddamned horse.

“Ears! Ears! Ears!” Javi is making a lot of fucking noise somewhere over your shoulder. 

The ridiculousness of the situation hits you all at once, along with a truckload of relief. You relive it all in an instant, picturing how utterly fucking stupid you must have looked, clinging to a runaway horse with your hair wild in the wind and your short little legs bouncing like chicken wings, and before you can find your way to your feet again, you’re laughing so hard that you can’t fucking breathe, which is almost a problem, because there wasn’t much air left in you to begin with -

Javi’s kneeling over you now, blocking the sun with his body, panting hard. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Ears, are you okay?”

You can’t stop laughing long enough to answer him. You curl up in a ball on your side, trying push yourself up on your elbows, but you can’t.

“Oh… Oh my… Oh my god,” you stutter, breathless. 

Beside you, the tension bleeds from Javi’s body in one long, broken sigh. You realize that he’s laughing, too. He leans his forehead into your shoulder, slumping into you bonelessly.

“I… I couldn’t… the fucking foot loops -” in your discombobulated state, the word ‘stirrup’ is lost to you. “My feet, Javi!”

He shakes his head into your neck, hot little breaths puffing on your bare skin. “I know,” he giggles, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw. “I saw.”

You try to stagger upright and don’t quite manage it. You’re feeling dizzy, almost a little drunk, but before you can stumble again, Javi is right there, hauling you to your feet and catching your lips in a deep, gentle kiss.

“You.” Javi breathes into you, his mustache tickling at your lip, and you lean heavily against him, allowing him to do most of the work of holding you up. “Ridiculous girl,” more kisses, “What do you have against me, huh?” a soft nip at the corner of your mouth, “It’s like you just try to scare the life out of me, Ears.”

“Dunno.” Your voice trembles, and you’re unsure whether that’s leftover adrenaline or the way Javi’s gigantic hands are stroking possessively at your ribcage. The flannel he’s wearing is worn soft with age, and you nuzzle into it, sighing. “It’s a hobby, I guess.”

“I can think of better hobbies,” Javi growls at the skin of your neck.

“Not right here,” you laugh, suddenly aware of Pop approaching. Javi whines like a puppy as you push him away gently, his hair mussed and his lips swollen, and your heart swells in your chest.

Christ, sometimes you still cannot believe how fucking lucky you are. 

“Besides.” You can’t resist stealing one last kiss from his chin. “You know you love it.”

Javi’s breath catches. His eyes darken. One thumb strokes softly at your cheek, tucking back a stray hair. “Querida,” he starts -

You’re startled by a slow clap behind you, and both you and Javi jump back as if burned. Pop has finally made it to the scene. “Buena, Orejas!” he teases, his dark eyes dancing. “Well done!”

Asshole, you think fondly. Sarcasm runs strong in the Peña clan, it seems. You shake your head at him, a grin pulling at your cheeks.

Pop reaches to grip Caballo by the reigns. The motherfucker had finished his flight around the the ranch and wandered back toward you, sedately, almost nonchalantly, as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Ready to go again?” Pop asks, holding out the reigns in your direction. 

Javi groans. “No, Dad.”

You’re not sure if Pop’s serious, but you are. “Absolutely!” Fresh air and adrenaline have made you giddy, and you decide on the spot that, apart from almost dying, riding a horse is the most fun you’ve ever had in your life. 

Caballo takes a little half step back, side-eyeing you with as much expression as a horse can muster, as if he’s sensed your intent and wholeheartedly does not approve.

You glance back at Javi. He’s sighing hard, head in his hands, rubbing his palms to his eyeballs with a ferocity that must have him seeing spots.

You decide to have mercy. “How about tomorrow?” you suggest, bumping shoulders with Javi in a gentle reminder that you’re here, you’re okay. “I know there’s still some beer in the fridge.” 

Pop nods sagely, still grinning as he pats Caballo on the haunches. “I think so.” He offers you a quick wink, and you decide for the third time this morning that you really, really like your almost father-in-law.

“Thank fuck,” Javi mutters to himself. 

You elbow him hard enough to draw a grunt, then offer him a quick peck on the lips in compensation. “Come on, babe. It wasn’t that bad.” 

He huffs in response. 

#Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #narcos #javier peña #pedro pascal fandom #javi x reader #javi x you #narcos netflix #Javier Peña imagine #pedro pascal #narcos fanfiction #reader insert #I don't know where this came from but here you go merry Christmas #ears is pure chaotic energy and really it's javi who slows her down not the other way around #ears is basically a blatant self insert character and i'm not even sorry #drops this and runs to wrap last minute presents #javi is so much like a fucking horse i swear #huffing and snorting all the time

[cajunquandary]

Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay. 

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas. 

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay. 

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands. 

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute. 

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices. 

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality. 

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away. 

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her. 

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs. 

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?” 

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette. 

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat. 

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms. 

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean. 

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather. 

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought. 

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving. 

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul. 

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed. 

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register. 

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food. 

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger. 

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it. 

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!” 

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view. 

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day. 

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her. 

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature. 

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had. 

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her. 

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm. 

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead. 

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him. 

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently. 

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters. 

~

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss. 

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times. 

Until this one. 

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare. 

Until this one. 

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain. 

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them. 

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?” 

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red. 

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact. 

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke. 

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

 He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go. 

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response. 

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area. 

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands. 

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow. 

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly. 

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation. 

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.” 

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits. 

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!” 

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers. 

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly. 

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip. 

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone. 

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her. 

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail. 

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her. 

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek. 

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp. 

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her. 

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth. 

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth. 

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down. 

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home. 

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

.

.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling​ @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

#spnsecretsantaficexchange #hands that heal #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x ofc #dean x jay #fluff #smut #supernatural

[jean-kayak]

Chapter 6

Summary: A relaxing summer at home after your second year of college sounds nice, until someone comes back and makes it anything but

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x black!fem!reader

Warnings: none really, a little suggestive, cursing

A/N: This is once again a filler chapter sort of, but there will be more spicy parts i promise 😂

Word Count: 1753

Tags: @her-majesty-kiara, @iwascrybaby, @styxtm, @bigdaddyzawa, @germfart3, @erensblackgirlfriend​

Chapter Summary: You’re feeling more than conflicted about what you did last night

When you wake up, the first thing you register is the tingling soreness between your legs when you stretch, and it makes you jolt, grimacing slightly before opening your eyes. Which widen when you see where you are.

Your head snaps to the side, not even registering the arm wrapped around your waist, which tightens when you move, and Eren grumbles beside you before nuzzling in his face in your neck, and you stay still until you're sure he's asleep again.

You fight the urge to slap a hand against your forehead, opting to squeeze a hand over your mouth. The events playback in your head and you rub a hand over your face slowly. You slept with him. You fucking slept with him.

You bring your other hand, rubbing both of them down your face, pulling your face with them. God, how could you let this happen? Do you regret it? The fact that you can't answer the question easily is bad, and you have to get out of here.

You carefully slide out from under his arm, freezing to make sure he doesn't wake up, and you get dressed to the best of your ability with the throbbing feeling at your core, thankful that your shirt somehow made its way into his room. You walk to the mirror to make sure you look somewhat presentable, not look you just got fucked by the best dick of your life, and your heart drops in horror when you see marks covering every inch of your skin.

You fight the whine that wants to come out as you fix your twists over your shoulders, hoping that they cover enough, and you collect your stuff before giving Eren one last glance, quickly looking away, knowing that if you look any longer, you're not going to leave.

All you have to do is sneak out. Should be easy enough. You slip out the door, closing it softly behind you before hightailing it to the stairs, your steps quick but light.

"Y/N?" You freeze when you hear Jean's door open, and you pray that most of the marks are covered. "You disappeared last night."

"Yeah, I was feeling a little tired," you respond quickly. "And I'm going to go get in the shower at home, so I'll talk to you later, yeah? And thanks for the party, I really appreciate it." You barely give him time to respond as you practically run down the stairs, grabbing your shoes at the door before rushing out the door, breaking out into a run when you make it outside, and you don't stop running until you're in your room.

You fall down onto your bed, rolling over so that you're facing the ceiling. You just had sex, amazing sex, with someone you were not supposed to, and--shit what about Jean? He saw you walk out of Eren's room or at least saw you coming from that direction. Does he know? He can't know, he'd probably flip the fuck out.

You rub a hand over your face, sighing heavily. You decide that you need to get in the shower, clear your head, and let the warm water run over your body, and every time you close your eyes, images from last night pop into your head, making you open your eyes instantly.

Your fingers brush over the bruises on your hips, and you rest your forehead against the cool tile. Screw Eren and his dick, but the more you think about the more you want to sleep with him again--No!

You don't want to sleep with him again, you can't sleep with him again. That's a bad idea. You're supposed to have a stress-free, dilemma-free summer, and that's nowhere near happening anymore, it hasn't been happening ever since you found out Eren was back.

You let the water run down your face, trying to metaphorically erase the feeling of his hands and lips on your body, and you've never felt more conflicted in your entire life. Your body wants him, and you hate it, it's like it's trying to overrun the voice in your head telling you that it's not a good idea.

The wound that you thought was healed was just opened back up again, and it leaves a weird feeling all over your body. Your brain tells you to drop it so that you can heal again while your body wants to be sadistic and put salt on the wound.

You sigh when you step out of the shower, wiping off the steam on the mirror to figure out how in the hell you're going to cover the marks.

You haven't spoken to Eren since that night, telling Jean to hang out at your house, your reasoning being that you're always at his house. Eren doesn't even text you, call you, or anything. That makes a pit in the bottom of your stomach, and that pathetic feeling from four years ago resurfaces once again, it feeling like a punch in the throat. You certainly don't miss this feeling.

"Hey, you okay?" You jump out of your thoughts, your face meeting Jean's with a look of concern over his.

"Yeah," you say, nodding quickly. "I'm just trying to figure out what else we can do, we can't spend the whole summer at each other's houses."

He shrugs, seeming to take the bait. "I mean, I'm pretty sure we can come up with something."

You shift on the couch, folding your legs under you as you face him, resting an arm on the back of the couch. "You know, you could tell me about Marco." His face turns pink instantly as he shakes his head. "Come on, Jean, it has to be going somewhere," you push, and he shrugs as he rubs the back of his neck.

"I don't know," he says cautiously.

"Hey, you never know unless you try. It seems like he likes you too," you tell him. "Do I need to play matchmaker?" you tease, and he shakes his head. "You sure? Pretty sure I could text him right now," you say, pulling out your phone, and he reaches over the couch to stop you.

"Y/N," he warns, and you chuckle softly as you put your phone down.

"Okay, okay, I'm done," you relent, and he gestures towards you.

"What about you? Anyone in the picture?" You shake your head fast as you wave your hands.

"Absolutely not. I was in a relationship, I guess you could call it, but that ended nearly as soon as it started," you remember, and Jean nods before looking away from you.

"Look, about Eren--"

"It's fine, don't worry about it," you cut him off. "I'm okay now, and it's in the past."

"But he shouldn't have--"

"It was my fault because I fell for it," you cut him off again, and he shakes his head.

"He shouldn't have led you on like that." You sigh, looking at him before you respond, ignoring how this conversation doesn't help the wound close.

"It doesn't matter. It was a while ago, and I'm over it. It'll never happen again," you reply firmly, and he drops it at that. The conversation confirms one thing. That you really won't let it happen again.

You're at Jean's house a couple of days later, and you haven't heard from Eren so you're pretty sure he's either not home or he's just ignoring you. Jean doesn't seem to suspect anything, he's not reacting in any way to indicate that he knows, and you release a breath of relief.

You're playing card games on the floor of the living room, a movie that the both of you occasionally paying attention to playing in the background. You hear the door open, and you assume it's Jean's mom, but his reaction dreadfully tells you differently. You don't turn around, pretending that you didn't hear anyone come in, keeping your attention on the cards in front of you.

Jean does the same thing, and you actually feel like you could do this. It actually doesn't seem that hard to achieve. "I'm going to the bathroom," Jean tells you before he gets up. You didn't take in the fact that you couldn't do it by yourself. You take a deep breath as you nod your head before turning your attention to the movie and your phone.

"So, it does work," you hear come from behind you, and your face changes to confusion, but you don't look at Eren. "I thought your phone was messed up or something."

"What made you think that?" you ask, keeping your back towards him.

"You haven't texted me, like, at all." At the audacity of his words, you turn around, standing quickly to face him.

"You don't get to say that to me. Your phone is working perfectly fine." You feel irritation rising in your chest at his words, shaking your head in disbelief. "What do you want?"

"Aww, come on, you're smarter than that." He smirks, walking towards you, and your tough demeanor starts to shrink. He pulls you into him, the look in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine. "I want you," he says, his voice saying duh.

"Well, I don't want you," you counter, but it comes out weaker than you wanted it to, and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"Really? Well, you were definitely singing a different tune the other night. Screaming, I should say," and you release a deep breath through your nose. "I think it was to the tune of Eren?" He poses it as a question even though he knows it's the truth, and you're more than having a hard time keeping your resolve up.

The sound of footsteps coming down the hallway makes you jump as you push away from him, quickly sitting on the floor as Jean comes into view. You rub a hand over your heated face, keeping your gaze on the cards.

"Eren, could you like, I don't know, fuck off?" you hear Jean say, and Eren responds with a chuckle. You can see him in your peripheral as he walks up the stairs.

"I'll be in my room if you need me to relieve some tension."

"We won't." The innuendo goes over Jean's head, knowing those words were meant for you, and you clear your throat as Jean sits down in front of you.

"How about another round?" Jean offers, and you nod your head as you hand him your cards.

"Sounds good."

|Chapter 5|Masterlist|Chapter 7|

#nothing changed #eren jaeger #eren yaeger #eren jaeger x black reader #eren yaeger x black reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Chizuru Town: The Dark and the Cold

TW: perverts TW: Death TW: Blood TW: Dragon Raja LMAO

Caesar and the MC should have been best friends. I kid you not. Revamped Story Quest in Chizuru below the cut!

In Siberia, winter hung long and low. Just as the tropic summer never seemed to end, the frigid canopy of arctic air never really left the place. For a few months, the sun didn’t rise over the horizon. At the peak of what should have been day, you only saw the glow of what looked more like the start of the dawn, before the sun rolled over and fell back under the horizon. Darkness descended in full and the stars were your only source of light unless you made your own.

The cold was so oppressive that it froze the sea. At night, instead of waves crashing on a golden shore, the ocean groaned like someone dying. Only in the summer, when the ice and permafrost softened, did you see hints of green. But they were always short. Eventually, the winter returned. Those who wanted to pretend it would not return were caught out by the fierce wind, unprepared, and froze to death in seconds.

Darkness and cold were embedded in you, MC, more than the weather. You understand the harshness of the world. Even though Caesar was doing his best to ‘play by the rules’ that icy law of ‘survival of the most deadly' was creeping up to surround all of you, like frost on a window. It had swallowed up Kitty and now Ms. Makoto. Only Caesar, Chu Zihang, and Lu Mingfei were left.

If that icy law dared threaten them, you would not hold back or play by any rules.

Caesar glimpsed this reality and tacitly acknowledged that Kitty’s death and Makoto’s offering to serve as bait for the gangsters was not in his game plan. He was looking outside down the drainage pipe through the hole in the wall of the dilapidated locker room. He could see the street below.

A heavy rain storm had moved over the city of Chizuru. EVA had darkened the city to help you escape the eyes of the Hydra underworld gang, but soon her grip would lose out to Kaguya, the Hydra’s own supercomputer.

Below, Caesar saw cars parked, engines still running, lights still on. Doubtless, these gangsters thought this would be a quick and easy job. Plus, the headlamps of cars served as good illumination. So they didn’t worry about them getting stolen. After all, they ran this town. No one dared touch their cars for fear of getting killed over it. Caesar nodded once. “Let’s see how good these kids are at racing.”

Kids. The word makes you want to spit acid. They were quite young but had nearly killed you countless times!

Caesar turned to look at you, gauging your reaction. “They are just kids. I hold the adults behind them more responsible.”

You stare back at him in silence but your expression is blank, listening. Your mind offers no arguments against the facts. Caesar’s logic seeps through, melting your frozen emotions. They had pursued you relentlessly, as if under strict orders not to leave until you were confirmed dead. Some of their weapons were military grade. It was true that children -- sixteen to twenty year olds -- wouldn't have been able to acquire such immense firepower without some sort of help from a higher authority.

Caesar’s eyes drop from your face. “Is that a local high school uniform?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice unexpectedly hoarse.

“Change out of it into one of the cheongsams here. I’ll be taking the car and I don’t want to be seen in a sports car with someone who looks like a high schooler. They might mistake me for one of those perverts!”

Even now, he was thinking of something like this? He could have escaped immediately but was concerned about his image? You quickly obey, snatching one of the red and gold cheongsams with a Chinese dragon embroidery off the hangers and stepping into the dressing room.

As you remove our clothes, you hear Caesar say. “Fold it up neatly, so we can return it to whomever you got it from.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. Well, of course, you needed to steal it. But you never thought once of taking it back. As you slip into the cheongsam, the smooth fabric falls over your skin. A mirror lays against the wall and you use it to pull the zipper up in the back. The cheongsam clings to your form like a second skin. 

Caesar wasn’t just following the rules. If he was just following the rules, he wouldn’t have cared about any of this.

You had told Caesar about your experience in watching your young friends get killed. He wanted to get back at those people, not become one of them by killing anyone young himself. No matter how hard things got, Caesar was the same because he believed in what he did and required everyone around him to rise to the same standard of morality.

You step out of the dressing room and Caesar nods. “Alright, let’s go. Zihang, you can pick whatever granny car suits you best. I’ll be in the Black Viper!” He grinned broadly.

“Will Ms. Makoto be alright?” Lu Mingfei asked.

Chu Zihang nodded slightly. “She wasn’t seen with us. And they’re under orders. If they were going to hurt her, they would have done so right then and there. She’ll be fine.”

“Excuse me, my lady.” Caesar bends over to pick you up and keep you out of the dirty water.

You take the pipe two streets down and then hurry back to the running cars. Even now, Caesar opens the door for you first and then slides over the hood to the other side. The car interior is shiny and black with an LED touch panel lighting it up like a spaceship. In the center console, you spot a bag of white powder.

“Heroin?” You ask.

He points to the door on the other side of you. “Put on your seatbelt. How did you know it was heroin?” 

“We used such medicine in Russia, I should know how to identify it.”

“To you, it’s medicine. Here it’s illegal drugs used to hype up the gangsters and also to make money. No wonder they were so crazy and could afford such vehicles.” Caesar opened a fuse box and started pulling out wires. While he worked, he asked, “Have you ever been in a car like this?”

“No.” You say, tucking the high school uniform under the seat. “Where I’m from, the only way to get around is either by ship or by dogsled.”

He grins. “Good. You’re about to get the ride of your life!”

“Ah, in return, then I will take you dog sledding.”

“You mean it?” Caesar immediately whipped his head around. His eyes glowed with excitement and joy, like a child being told they were going to Disney World. He was so enthusiastic that you felt embarrassed. In that sudden smile, you realized that he was actually quite good looking. 

“It’s… It’s not all that special.”

“What would be more special than riding on a dogsled with a beautiful lady?” He sat up and put on his own seatbelt while continuing to work on the car’s controls.

The car isn’t free to move however. There are vehicles parked around, blocking your way out. But you don’t see Chu Zihang or Lu Mingfei in any of them.

“Beautiful?” You look at him with a confused expression. No one had ever called you beautiful before. You shake your head. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better about Kitty.”

His eyes narrow and he suddenly grins in a way that reminds you of a devil. “No, this is how I get back at them for Kitty.” He yanked on the gear shift between the leather seats and slammed down on the accelerator. The car leaped backwards and smashed into the blue Porsche behind them, folding the front end of it.

He shifted again, this time the car leaped forward right into a Mini Cooper. Caesar, eyes shining in furious joy, turns the wheel and rolls over a custom green vintage Buick to their left. The car you were in had turned into a vicious beast in his hands. It smashed doors, windows, mirrors and headlamps until you were surrounded by destruction.

“Hey MC,” He laughed, “Check out the rearview mirror.”

He reaches up and turns it so you can see. Behind you, the boys all run out of the cafe, holding their heads and wailing in despair at the millions of dollars in damage Caesar had caused. He watches with clear delight as your face breaks into a sunny grin.

Suddenly, a burst of gunfire sends the boys scattering. The squeal of tires is heard and you see Chu Zihang and Lu Mingfei speed away in a Red Viper. Caesar clicks his tongue. “Why does he have to pick the same car…?” He laments.

The engine roars as Caesar commands the car to push the front end of the Mini Cooper ahead of you and shove it out of the way. But he’s still looking back at the young men who are scrambling to find undamaged cars and climb inside.

“There’s a lovely mountain road near here. With really nice curves. You don’t get sick do you?”

“You mean motion sickness? No, I’ve been on ships before. I don’t get dizzy.” You look behind you into shining headlights. The boys are prepared to give chase. It wouldn’t be much of a fun race if Caesar got too far ahead. He wanted them to see how much better a driver he was.

He let the headlights of the Maserati behind him get just close to kiss his bumper, then downshifted and floored it. MC squeaks and is pressed back against the seat. The headlights of the car, so close one moment, faded quickly behind you, like the other cars were standing still. The main highway up the mountains climbed steeply into a curve ahead but Caesar didn’t tap the brakes. The engine kept up the steady purr and took the turns perfectly smoothly.

It felt like flying, rising into the sky on a great beast. The trees passed you by in a blur and the guard rail looked like a shiny silver ribbon in the headlights. The feeling of delight tickles your chest and you giggle.

It was such an unfamiliar feeling, one you shouldn’t be having right now. Yet, now it was being teased out of you. It was as though the sun had peeked over the horizon in midwinter. Caesar had actually won. In the side mirror that remained from the demolition derby earlier, you see the lights of Chizuru burst back into bloom. The gangsters had returned to town and left you alone.

You’d never met anyone like Caesar. So you didn’t know it was possible to live like he did and still be able to survive. You doubted him at every turn and you were forced to reconsider again and again. This world that created predators like you could also create someone else. Someone who survived bloodlessly, cleanly. Something like this was mythical, like a unicorn.

Or a dragon.

A musical tone sounded in the car. It was coming from Caesar’s pocket. He pulled out his cellphone and held it to his ear. You don’t know what was said, but his expression suddenly changed from one of breezy confidence to blazing fury! He slams the brakes hard and the car spins in a complete one eighty to face the opposite direction.

“Did they say the name Makoto Aso?”

The hairs rise on the back of your neck. 

Caesar takes a deep breath and lets it out but his hand is gripping the steering wheel so tightly that the leather cover squeals under the pressure.

You can’t help but think that she’s dead, that the gangsters had killed her.

“What did he say last?” Caesar asked.

A pause.

“Oh.. he won’t have long to wait to get his car back.” Caesar’s voice was low and his smile was threatening.

Was it nice to stand in the sun for a while? It sure felt nice. You say goodbye to it in your heart. You would never see it again. The world had made its true nature known. It was darkness and winter.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut our joyride a little short. They have Ms. Makoto.”

“Is she dead?”

“No. Hold tight.”

You let your breath out in a whoosh and, for a second, you think that maybe there would be another chance to end this bloodlessly. The thought pops into your head and then disappears like a comet, a last glimmer of hope before you change your mind. No, it's really over. These people were not going to let you go.

Caesar observed the light leave your eyes and picked up the phone again. “Mingfei, tell Zihang to take you a few blocks away from the Cafe. Use the back entrance he used before, if possible. Find her and rescue her, I’ll buy you time. Mingfei, be ready to provide us cover fire. Yes, I know you only have one gun left! That will be enough. You’re a good shooter, even by Cassell standards. You’ll outshoot those boys easily.”

He was still trying.. But the icy cold had gripped your heart again and you could no longer believe him. They’d been outgunned and now outsmarted. As you return to town, you see that the cars that had been pursuing you turned back, not out of respect for Caesar’s driving skills, but to create a barrier between you and the cafe. Sitting on the hoods of those cars were the workers at the Cafe, still in their cheongsams, shivering in the rain, serving as human shields.

Ms. Makoto was on the roof of the building that was set ablaze. It wasn’t a steel structure but made from old wood construction. So not even the driving rain could put it out. The wind ruffled her skirt as she stood on the edge of the building. The heat must have been terrible. If you don’t hurry, she would either burn to death or jump to her death.

You don't look at Caesar. You’re still, as if your whole body were completely frozen. He was not a magical unicorn or a mighty dragon. He’d just underestimated his opponent. 

The man in the striped suit who had been caught stealing Makoto’s panties danced on top of a van in sheer glee at seeing you again, a shotgun in his hands. The gangsters cheered and chanted in victory. Rather than being the weak person you thought he was, he was the one who had ratted Makoto out. He’d hid in the locker you’d shoved him in, perfectly aware that she had helped you escape. He’d just pretended to be intimidated. 

He was actually the leader of the whole group.

“Maybe I should have let you have that Beretta.” Caesar’s voice was cold.

You huff once through your nose as your only acknowledgement. It was too late to regret now. Part of you feels sad that you were right about needing to kill those gangsters. But you don’t request he give you a weapon. There was a principle in hunting that you don’t shoot until you’re very close to your quarry, close enough to see the pattern of light in the beast's eyes. That meant a lot of time, and a lot of patience. The goal was one shot, one kill. Instant. The deer or elk would drop without a struggle.

If you rushed in now and poured your violence onto them, Caesar would have reason to doubt you because you didn’t give him time to implement his plan. You feel bad for Ms. Makoto, but you’re going to sit on your hands.

After all, if Caesar could pull a miracle out of this, maybe he would truly be a magician.

But if things went wrong, and Caesar’s life was at risk, he could put forth no further arguments against your actions and you would be free from objections, not only now, but in the future as well.

So when he says, “Stay in the car.” you nod obediently.

Caesar has parked just out of range of their bullets. Even if they had more high powered weaponry, they were unskilled and would likely miss at this distance.  Caesar takes his own gun and shoots through the windshield of the car. It shattered into a spiderweb of cracks and now you can’t see anything. He uses the butt of the gun to make a hole in the glass to see through. The rain pours in, running over the leather interior.

Caesar’s phone rang again. “Mingfei?” This time he put it on speaker.

“Yes, he’s on the phone with us again.”

“Translate. Don’t leave anything out. Understand?”

“Okay. Is… MC alright?”

“She’s more than fine. With me right now. What is he saying?”

The man was on the phone, seated cross legged on the roof of the van, smiling like an imp. 

Mingfei translated: “He says he was grateful to the young master of the Gattuso family for bringing his car back.”

“Tell him I’ll bury him in a coffin full of ladies’ underwear.”

“Boss, don’t make threats in this situation, okay? They have Ms. Makoto!”

“I’m aware. Just translate.” Caesar was calm, focussed.

Mingfei sighed. “No need for you to worry about me, Gattuso-kun, I’m already prepared.”

The man in the striped suit produced a pair of silk panties from his pocket, pressed them to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Ah! Ms. Makoto really smells pleasant!”

Your eyelids stretch a little wider. His lack of fear was chilling you even deeper, like an icy wind over an already frozen sea. Without moving your head, your eyes shift to Caesar.

This man wants Caesar to come to him. He wanted to fight. There had to be a good reason for his bravado. However, Caesar was falling for it. You could see the veins pop into relief on his neck and forehead. And just like with everything Caesar decides, you know, deep down, there’s no point in talking him out of it. If he turned around now, Ms. Makoto would surely die.

Caesar’s eyes scanned the defensive line, moving over the huddled victims on the hoods of the cars. Now it was Caesar, not you, who gave off the killer’s aura, like a bull elk, stamping the ground and tossing his mighty antlers.

He lifted his shoulders in a deep sigh. You relax your hands that had begun to grip your skirt, a habit that hadn’t appeared in you since you were ten years old.

“Who’s giving you orders?”

“Orders? Does Akabe need orders? Hahaha! No one instructs Akabe except the Lord Takeda Shingen himself!” The man is practically falling over himself in glee.

“Whatever that man is offering, the Gattuso family offers three times as much!” Caesar said with measured calm. “I guarantee that you will get the money alive.”

“Hehehehehe! Luckily, that Lord has already told me what kind of family the Gattuso family is, otherwise, I would have really been tempted by that price!” The suited man, Akabe, suddenly stopped laughing, like a switch had been turned off. “I’ll get the money alive, but I’ll be shot in the head before I can spend a cent of it… right, Gattuso-kun…?”

Caesar had nothing to say, since he was right. The people who blackmailed money from the Gattusos never lived long enough to spend it. He finally gave in. “Then what do you want?”

“You have a gun in your hand, right? Use the gun to shoot yourself in the calf and wrist. We know that you, Gattuso-kun, are a Class A hybrid, and Chu kun is also a Class A hybrid, and we’re too scared to get close when heroes like you are able-bodied.” Akabe said smoothly. “We don’t want to kill you either, our mission is to bring you to that Lord, for disposal.”

His words fell on your ears and they stirred you inside. Right now, Chu Zihang was running around a burning building. Mingfei Lu was going to start a gunfight, one against dozens, and Caesar and Chu Zihang were the targets. They said nothing about you. It’s like you weren’t even here. They can’t see you through the broken glass so you unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Wait.” Caesar says.

The man in the suit scowls. “Wait for what?”

“Mingfei! Why did you translate that!” Caesar hissed.

“What? I wasn’t supposed to?” Mingfei squeaked.

You slip out of your cheongsam, not caring if Caesar saw or not. His morality no longer applied. Following it was obviously  going to get them all killed. “Tell him you’re going to offer me as a payment for your lives. It will buy you more time.”

“How do you know you won’t shoot me in the head once I’m unable to fight back? Translate that Mingfei.”

“Because I’m a man of my word!” Akabe said.

“How can I trust the word of a man who sneaks into the women’s locker room and steals underwear?”

You’re putting the schoolgirl uniform back on, buttoning the white shirt. “Give me your knife…” you whisper. Much to your delight, he hands it over. The word ‘Dictator’ is etched into the side and you use it to slice off the hem of the skirt, leaving just enough fabric for decency.

“It’s just entertainment, who doesn’t have a hobby? I just like the fabrics that smell good after coming off a girl’s body. It’s the same reason you like cigars, Gattuso-kun!” The man shamelessly takes several deep whiffs of his newly pilfered underpants.

“Okay.” You said confidently, “Tell him that you’ll offer me as payment instead. It doesn’t matter if he accepts or not, we're just buying time for Chu Zihang, right?”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking towards you. 

You lean on the center console. “I promise, I won’t do anything. I trust you to handle this.” 

He nods slowly. “Then. How about I offer you a fresh cigar?” He says to Akabe.

You open the passenger side door and step out. Caesar made it clear that he wasn’t lying when he said you were beautiful and you felt that, if you could stake your odds on anything, it would be his sincerity. After all, Caesar had seen many beautiful women before you. He had a beautiful fiancee. You just had to make it work so that you were irresistible to this man.

While browsing the comic book store, you picked up a manga. In the first panels, a girl walked in a school uniform, holding her black bag in front of her. Her hands were clasped, her arms framing her oversized chest, the fabric wrinkling just so, to show the outline. In the next panel, a gentle breeze lifts the hem of her skirt, showing a peek of the hem of her panties. Lu Mingfei saw what you were looking at and snatched it away, screeching that it was inappropriate.

You had no doubt that this man read comics like that though.

So that’s why you cut the hem of the skirt and when you stepped out of the car, you held your hands in front of you, just like the girl in the manga. The rain soaked you in minutes and, though you still were far away, the fabric soaked up the water, and clung to your young body as you walked slowly. 

Your black hair was loose, falling over your shoulders and sticking to your shiny face. All the boys in front of the Internet Cafe were in stunned disbelief. If that weren’t enough, the universe conspired with you and the wind came and lifted your hair and the hem of your skirt. The eyes of every boy followed that hem, entranced to see nothing but skin and then, a tiny, peek of black lace.

Chu Zihang only knew your size. He didn’t care about the style of women’s underwear. He just reached into the vending machine, grabbed what was nearest and tossed it to you, unaware that he was handing you sexy lace.

The man in the striped suit suddenly ran his sleeve over his mouth and chin to clear his drool.. You could no longer hear the translation, but from the look of his wide eyes and his breathless gasping in the phone, you figured you’d done a good enough job.

He screeched at the boys who snapped out of their trances and hurried to get behind you. He was roaring at them, even pointing his gun at them, making sure they knew that you were his personal prize. Once you reached the van, he reached up to you and helped you climb on top of the van to sit with him, all the way, screeching at the boys below you, who averted their eyes obediently.

He wrapped one arm around your waist and sneered at Gattuso some more before turning to lick your cheek and smell your neck. His eyes are wild as he talks on the phone, laughing, gleefully delighted. He was talking rapidly now. Though you couldn’t understand, it was clear he thought he’d won and won beyond his wildest dreams!

Then, he suddenly stops. His smile fades and he turns to you. He asks a single question and you hear the name, “Chu Zihang.”

Then a sudden explosion! Your eyes rise as the flames have exploded on the rooftop! Where was Chu Zihang? Did he die? Why did this weirdo say his name? Were you too late?”

The man grabs you and presses the shotgun to your back. He’s screaming at Caesar now, fiercely gleeful, but not in a way that was from a pleasant heart, but from the heart of a predator who had his prey.

The headlamps on the black Viper flash in the dark and the engine roars to life.. A blast of suppressive gunfire streams out from where Lu Mingfei is hidden, just as the car is accelerating straight towards you.

The gangsters and their hostages scatter and fall to the ground,  but they’re too stunned to react. They don’t know whether to find the unseen gunman or fire on the car that’s nearly on them!

The man in the suit sits still, holding you close, gun to your back. His eyes are now on Caesar.

Caesar is crouched on the hood of the car, his long blond hair bristling on his face, a cold determination in his eyes. But those eyes were no longer blue. 

They were a blazing, solid gold!

The boys are out of time to pick their target. Now Caesar pulls his own gun and fires on them from the hood of the raging car. Now they have to flee both the gunfire and the charging vehicle!

Caesar’s voice rings out like a church bell. “Makoto! Jump! I’ll catch you!”

The sight of his heroic pose, roar of the flames, the gunfire, and the screams -- They should have been traumatic. But now, they’re beautiful to you. If only Caesar had been at Black Swan Bay. How many people could he have saved? If you had fallen from the cliff in that case, he would have caught you, right?

An unnatural burst of wind surrounds the car and launches Caesar from it. His eyes are clear, straight ahead as he straightens his body like a rocket, easily clearing four stories.  His hand is  reaching out to Ms. Makoto. She jumps to meet him, completely trusting. 

Lu Mingfei is keeping the boys below pinned. Nothing can stop him. He was going to do it.

A cold laughter sounds in your ear.

Among the hundreds of shotgun blasts, a shotgun very close to you flashed. Dozens of lead pellets formed a sheet to catch Caesar in their deadly net. Caesar reacted instantly, arcing his body to avoid the shot. The pellets shredded his shirt, barely missing his neck.

But he had made a fatal mistake. He flailed desperately, brushing the fingers of Ms. Makoto as she fell past him.

Makoto Asou slapped the ground heavily. The flooding on the street lifted up in a splash that was stained with the red of her blood. In the next moment, the out of control Black Viper smashed into her body. Caesar landed on the car as it and drove her into the front of the building. Her blood spattered on the windshield as it crashed through wall after wall, disappearing inside.

“NO!” Caesar’s desperate cry, a wail of fear and despair, made you close your eyes.

You knew that feeling so intimately, as if you and Caesar now inhabited the same brain. You lost Vera just like this -- right in front of you. Only, you didn’t have the ideals like Caesar. The world wasn’t really supposed to be a certain way, it’s just the way it was. Still, you can’t help but feel sad for Makoto and for the shiny star of hope that Caesar had been and never would be again.

What would he do now, now that he had lost the fight like you did back then? Would his eyes harbor the darkness of Christmas over Northern Siberia, the Winter Solstice, where there was no sunlight to appear for another month and a half?

You lift your eyes to the overcast sky. You could no longer see the stars of Chizuru either.

#tw: death #tw: blood #tw: perverted #tw: Dragon Raja #Dragon Raja #Caesar Gattuso

[groovybaybee]

In The Club - 1

cw: bit of smut, alcohol consumption, think that’s all, terrible writing but that’s a given

(8.8k i’m so sorry, the other chapters won’t be this long i promise)

masterlist

Fucking your friend is never as problem-free as you convince yourself it will be. Sure, it starts out simply enough; two horny people agreeing to a moment of need-driven desperation. If you are lucky, the sex is terrible and forms the basis of just another inside joke between you. However, if you are truly unfortunate, the sex is fantastic and addictive and so convenient that you convince yourself it is an ideal situation.

“Fuck me,” I groan blissfully as the cool night air smacks against my exposed flesh.

 Despite still not falling into the habit, the smoking area of any club quickly becomes my sanctuary on any given night out. Something about the space feels sacred and sinful at once, a free zone of communal naughtiness.

 Its more than that. The haze-filled space offers a welcome reprieve, whether that be from thumping beats, one drink too many, or lecherous advances. Standing outside in my sanctuary, breathing in a mixture of second-hand smoke and crisp, late August air; I feel at peace. My eyelids flutter closed and my head rolls back until my chin is parallel with the night sky.

 Its cold.  We knew it would be before we came out, the idea of a summer in London feeling like some sick joke as we rallied around each other to avoid bringing jackets to avoid wasting time in a queue for the cloakroom. The evening’s chill does not bother me, instead, I appreciate the way it sinks into my skin, chilling the heat being pumped through my veins. The beads of sweat in my hairline begin to dissipate as the soft breeze caresses every piece of bare skin.

 “You alright there, babe?” I hear Harry ask, promptly reminding me that I am not alone despite being in my own little world.

 A smile pulls across my face, but I take a second to breathe one final inhale of tranquillity before meeting his gaze. He is grinning at me, clearly finding amusement in my cooling down process. If his use of the name ‘babe’ had fallen on deaf ears, the toothy grin and glazed look in his eyes would quickly clear up any confusion as to his state of intoxication.

 The sweet boy is pissed.

 As he has every right to be. Tonight marks the first night in months he has accepted an invitation to come out. Do not get me wrong, Harry is an inspiration for his dedication to his work and it is obvious that creating music is his path in life, his primary passion, but man have I missed him. The past month has been the worst, almost every offer to spend time together being met with a consolatory ‘Have to work sorry :(‘ text message. Despite knowing that this was the truth, and would only last a little while longer until his newest album was fully wrapped, it still stung not being able to relax after a long week with a bottle of wine, some horrendous film, and one of my best friends. But the album is done, fully mastered and now just awaited final approval before being birthed to the world. Now, I have my boy back.

 “I’m so happy you came,” I tell him, wrapping my arms clumsily around his neck.

 I feel a breath of laughter against my hair as he pulls me into a tight hug. The two of us sway enthusiastically together, likely encouraged by a mixture of spirits but happy, nonetheless.

 Pulling away from him I press a quick kiss to his lips, hands on his cheeks squeezing his face gleefully. This is not the first time I have kissed Harry during our two-year long friendship. The two of us even went through a brief period of kissing each other hello, up until just over a year ago. So, it is little shock to the rest of our friendship group when we share a few giggle-fuelled smooches.

 “Get a room,” Deb laughs, stubbing out the butt of her cigarette with an amused eyeroll.

 “Some people would pay good money to see this sweet action.” Harry teases, a hand gripping my hip and pulling my body flush against his to prove his point.

 I would be lying to myself if I said his body did not feel good against mine, that his lips don’t spread warmth through my chest, but so does gin.

 “Tanya’s having afters at her’s, anyone fancy it?” Bri asks, wobbling on weakened ankles as she walks over to us, arms wrapped tightly around her petite frame to fight the cold.

 The question is indirectly aimed at Deb, something only Harry and I seem to notice, a smirk shared between the two of us at this realisation. It is the same pattern every time we go out and the night starts to draw to a close. The potential for an end to the evening is too much for them, not wanting to say goodbye to each other, but not having enough courage to specifically ask the other to spend time together. So, the roll of cupid falls on my shoulders once again.

 The moment I hear Deb agree to go with Bri, I speak up, “No way am I staying up until five with you two chain-smokers. I’m going home.”

 “So boring,” Bri teases, a grateful look in her eyes. I send her a quick wink when Deb is distracted, asking Harry if he will join.

 “Nah, think I’ll skip it as well. Make sure this one gets home alright.” He responds, a gentle squeeze to the flesh of my hips.

 “Sure,” Deb smirks before turning to Bri.

 The two women look at each other for a moment, a soft haze of smoke and stifled attraction surrounding them.

 “Have a good time,” I interrupt, snapping them out of their unintentional staring contest. Each gives me a hug, desperate to hide their pinkened cheeks from the other. “Be safe, I love you both.”

 “You too!” Bri hollers as they begin to walk away.

 “Use protection!” Deb shouts across the crowded area, eliciting embarrassed giggles from Harry and myself as we hide our faces in the other’s neck.

 “You staying at mine tonight?” I query as I lift my head from the crook of his neck. “Missed having you round.”

 “I’d love that,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “Want to go now?”

 I nod and smile as he finishes the last of his drink in one gulp, Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. A large drop spills from the corner of his mouth and he clumsily wipes it away with the pad of his thumb. His hand slips into mine as we cut through the crowd in the same direction as Deb and Bri

 A smirk graces my lips as I picture the pair sat in a car together, completely oblivious to their mutual attraction. Since the moment they were introduced at my birthday party a few years back, they have tiptoed around each other, both deeply infatuated but too scared to make the first move. Sometimes I worry that they are too similar for their own good, that they will dance around the subject forever.

 “Who do you think will make the first move?” I ask Harry as we walk to find a nearby takeaway, my body on autopilot as Harry leads me through quiet London backstreets.

 “Probably me.” Harry says absentmindedly, focussing the majority of his attention on checking the road is clear before we cross.

 “Deb or Bri, idiot.” I chuckle, my legs working overtime as I try to keep instep with his long strides.

 “Oh, Deb, guaranteed.” Harry posits, holding the door to the almost empty chip shop open for me to step inside.

 “I’m not so sure,” I say as we join the queue, the group of girls in front of us swaying, most holding their high heels as they discuss condiments. “At uni, Deb was always too shy to go up to girls, so I had to do it for her, but Bri’s a model you know, confidence kind of comes with the territory.”

 “Not necessarily. Bet you a tenner it’s Deb.” He smirks, hand already outstretched to shake mine.

 “You’re on,” I shake his hand firmly, the mischievous twinkle in his eye charming me more than I would like to admit. “Want to split some chips?”

 * * *

 By the time we pile into my flat, the food is almost cold, the two of us quickly chowing down as we collapse on to the sofa. We work like a well-oiled machine, falling into our habits of pouring water, kicking our shoes off, and switching on some late-night television.

 “I know I’ve said this a hundred times,” I start softly as my wild eyes attempt to focus on him under the dim light, “But it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you, man.”

 “C’mere,” Harry grins, pulling me into a tight squeeze before we settle side by side into the cushions. “Been meaning to tell you, you look great tonight.” Harry smiles cheekily.

 “You going to try and snog me again?” I tease through a mouthful of chips.

 “You do look irresistible right now.” Harry chimes, wiping a smudge of ketchup from the corner of my mouth before popping his finger in his mouth to clean it.

 There is a brief pause, a second or so of silence before Harry speaks again, picking through the box of chips for the perfect one.

 “I liked kissing you.”

 “Do it again then.” I tease, wondering if he will take the bait or laugh it off.

 Turning in his seat until he is facing me, a curious smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. For a second, his lips pucker in thought.

 It is all I can do not to let out a little breath of laughter. The situation is bizarre, undoubtedly. Yet, there is a distinct sensation of calm filtering through my body, as though no matter the outcome, I would be satisfied.

 “I shouldn’t… Haven’t had sex in months, scared it might stir up something in me.” With that, he turns his attention to the TV, slouching down into the sofa cushions.

 “Harry,” I utter softly.

 “Hmm?” he asks, my gaze fixed on his jaw as he clenches and releases it absentmindedly.

 “Kiss me.”

 Turning to face me yet again, this time with an incredibly serious look on his face, his eyes dark and stern. While he observes me, I take a sip of my water. His eyes follow me intensely, watching my lips part before lowering the glass and swallowing, his throat bobbing with mine.

 “Are you sure?”

 “Beyond sure.” I tell him with enough confidence for the both of us.

 Our lips meet somewhere between us, lazily melting together as we sink into the sofa cushions. We move in a blur, arms around each other, hands caressing faces.

 Our clothes tangle as we hastily undress ourselves, giggling as the garments collide on their way to the living room floor.

 “This is stupid, isn’t it?” Harry grins before connecting our lips over and over.

 “Completely.” I smirk between tequila-flavoured kisses.

 “Condom?” he asks, voice slightly muffled by the flesh of my shoulder.

 “Implant.” I tell him breathlessly, mentally reminding myself of my appointment to get it replaced next week.

 Harry just nods into the crook of my neck, a hand reaching down to position himself. The giggles fade away as we become fully connected, slipping naturally into a symbiotic amalgamation of limbs and lips. It is hasty and sweaty, each of our movements oozing with lust. Our bodies work quickly with one another, only personal need driving us until we pull our clothes back on.

 “Nice.” I tease, reaching my hand out for a high-five.

 “Loser.” Harry laughs, pulling me into his side. A quick kiss is pressed to my temple and we turn back to the television as if nothing had happened.

 * * *

 The morning after, us having sex has already turned into a private joke. The two of us teasing one another relentlessly as we nurse our hangovers with a fry up.

 “Never going to be able to look at you the same way, not after seeing your face when I made you—”

 “Made me? I don’t think you could make me do anything.” I interrupt, bumping Harry’s hip with my own as I plate up our late breakfast.

 “That so?” he replies, a smirk strongly evident in his voice.

 I am about to reply when his hands slip around my waist from behind, gently raising until they cup the underneath of my breasts.

 “Do you want to eat or not?” I laugh, motioning to the pan of eggs in one of my hands and the spatula in the other.

 “Fine.” He grins, giving my boobs a quick, soft squeeze before moving away.

 We sit down on the barstool by the island and I instantly dig in, desperate to eat away the throbbing in my head.

 “Bri’s sad because she didn’t make a move on Deb.” Harry tells me as he types a response quickly on his phone.

 “Telling her about last night to cheer her up?” I joke. Harry pauses, locking his phone and placing it down on the cool granite surface.

 “God, can you imagine how much shit they’d give us if they found out?”

 “I won’t tell if you don’t.” I offer a hand for him to shake.

 “Deal.” He says quickly, stretching out his own hand to meet mine.

 * * *

 It isn’t until a few weeks later that I get to see Harry again. Work consumes us both as always. Harry finalises a promotion timeline for his new album while I travel across Sicily, working with temperamental models in the baking summer sun. I spend the first day back at home, lazing on the sofa and doing laundry. Almost immediately upon exiting the plane, I miss the heat. Late summer in London provides to be drizzle-filled and grey for the majority of the time. The only time sunshine rears its head is the day of Harry’s party. Typical, really. That man even has mother nature on his side.

 After a sluggish and jetlagged day spent doing laundry and replying to emails, I drink as much caffeine as possible before heading over to Harry’s place. He had wanted tonight to be as intimate as possible. Only family, friends and a few members of the production team received the invitation to his house to hear his new album before the public get their hands on it. The select few of us, after checking our names with the security team at the gatehouse, make our way through the enclosed community, walking right in through his unlocked front door.

 Once inside, I cannot help the smirk that tugs at my lips as I imagine Harry organising this party. The house is covered in pink and blue like a fancy gender reveal and all I can picture is a roll of tape between Harry’s teeth as he insisted on hanging streamers himself.

 Quickly, I am distracted by the décor when a table filled with flutes of champagne catches my eye. With one in my hand, I turn a corner and see him immediately. He stands in the centre of the lounge while those around him sit dotted around the space, watching as he speaks animatedly. His hands move about wildly as he talks, eliciting laughter from the room as he continues to tell a story I already recognise. Just as he reaches the climax of the tale, his gaze floats towards me. Joy seems to settle around us as everyone cracks up at the punchline of the anecdote, the two of us simply sharing soft smiles by way of a greeting. I raise my glass slightly and he understands, continuing to entertain the room effortlessly as I join the masses, simply observing and enjoying him.

 “Alright?” I hear a familiar voice utter groggily. I turn to see Bri clutching an espresso martini tightly, majority already drunk. “Knackered, mate.” She confirms as she presses herself against me in lieu of a hug.

 “Know the feeling,” I sympathise, feeling the formidable aches of travelling.

 Bri and I swap stories about where we have recently flown in from as we settle amongst the group, finding a small loveseat brought in to accommodate the increased number of occupants.

 Collectively, the room falls silent. Harry, charmingly humble as always, utters a few words of thanks to us all for our support during the writing, recording, and production processes, before we relax into the evening as the first track begins to play. Thankfully, Harry has already witnessed my initial reactions to each and every song, including a few which did not make the cut, so I need not worry about emotional outbursts in front of some of his nearest and dearest. Each track reminds me of the nights he would sneak me demos or voice memos of certain lyrics and riffs he was particularly proud of at that moment. Hearing the album again now brings back a serious swell of pride that fills my heart right to its capacity, emotion beginning to fill my eyes as we listen to the stories of his heart. Each sorrowful ballad and upbeat tune breaks and reforms my heart repeatedly and I am once again, completely enamoured with him and his talent.

 * * *

 “My girl,” Harry calls out happily, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “What did you think of the album?”

 “I’ve already heard it.” I laugh, absentmindedly leaning into his warmth, grateful for it in the slight chill of his back garden.

 “You weren’t supposed to though.” He whispers, lowering his head as he colludes with me, “This was meant to be the first time anyone outside of production heard it so… shh.”

 Impossible to hold back my grin at his ridiculously over the top nature, I just give him a toothy nod before placing my left index finger against my lips.

 “I won’t tell if you don’t.” I say softly.

 “Where have I heard that before?” he grins, tapping a finger against his chin as he pretends to search his memory. His gaze trickles over my body, eyebrows pulling together when he notices the giant purple bruise spread across my upper left arm. “How did you do that?”

 Gently, he takes my arm in his hand, lifting it softly to take a better look at the yellowish edges.

 “Was time to get my implant removed, back to condoms for a few weeks.” I tell him casually, not realising the suggestive nature of my words until he replies.

 “Going to miss the way you feel for a few weeks then.” His tone is so casual that it stuns me for a moment, completely unable to think of a witty retort.

 I had assumed that our drunken fling was just that. Never had the thought crossed my mind that he might want to do it again. Okay, that’s a lie. I have thought of little else at night than the thought of Harry on top of me again, his hand replacing my own as I bring myself to climax.

 However, watching the way he observes my reaction sparks a disgusting greed within me.

 “Hang out when everyone leaves?” he asks, seeing the fire behind my eyes and matching it with his own.

 It is all I can do to nod and not pull him aside and let my body mould to his.

 The evening passes quicker than I had expected, perhaps my slight exhaustion seems to warp my internal clock, making hours feel like minutes. Regardless, before I know it, Harry and I find ourselves on his bed, lips and limbs entangled.

 “I’m really proud of you.” I manage to mumble against his lips in a brief interlude in which they are parted from my own.

 “That means a lot.” Harry utters back, equally hindered by my lips against his. Neither of us mind though. If anything, these small and restrained interactions seem to encourage us, raising the heat in the room as hands grasp and grip the other. Our bodies flush together, desperately meeting in any way possible as if trying to verbalise what we do not dare talk about.

 We move much slower than the last time, savouring each and every touch as we take turns removing the other’s clothes. Contrary from our previous experience, there is nothing greedy about our movements. Instead, a different type of need drives our bodies to intertwine.

 I manage to pull myself away from him for long enough to mutter, “Condom?”

 Harry stills above me, eyes averted as he thinks deeply before speaking, “Think there’s some in the bathroom, sorry, I’ll be right back.” With a swift kiss to my forehead, he dashes from the room into his en suite.

 “Cute bum.” I call after him, enjoying the way his hips wiggle with his quick pace.

 “Cheers!” he hollers back, shortly followed by the sound of skin on skin.

 The idea of him slapping his own backside leaves a smile on my face which lasts until he returns with a single condom, declaring it to be the last one and making some teasing comment about how lucky I am. His words fall on deaf ears, however, as I feel the energy in the room shift. My eyes glue to his body as he sits beside me, taking both of my hands in his and pulling me to sit up straight. The muscles of his body grow taut under his skin as he moves me to sit between his open legs. My feet lock around his back, his hands mirroring the same position around my waist as our lips meet yet again.

 Into each other we sink deeper, chest meeting chest, rising and falling together. A gentle hand lifts to tuck away a lock of my hair before settling against my cheek, softly grazing his fingertips across the tender flesh of my neck. His lips are like runny honey against my body as they trail across my jaw and trickle down the column of my throat, catching my breath between them. The tip of a thumb under my chin keeps my head high as his lips work lower and lower. My own lips are parted as I melt beneath him.

 “Harry,” I gasp, unintentionally making him stop dead in his tracks. Panic instantly flooding through my veins, I cast my gaze downwards to check on him. He looks up at me with soft but needy eyes. “What is it?” I ask cautiously, my hand subconsciously clearing the rogue tendrils of hair away from his forehead.

 “I like the way you say my name.” he utters lowly, so quiet it almost seems as though he is afraid of my reaction.

 Unsure of what words could quell whatever doubts he is battling with; I replace them with a soft kiss to his lips. One side of his face cupped in my hand, I feel him lean into me, eyelids fluttering shut just long enough to savour the feeling but not so long as to make it obvious that it was his aim.

 “Harry,” I whisper, just loud enough to catch his attention and bring his eyes back to mine, “I want you to…”

 I falter, unsure of the right word to use here. None seem to fit just right, either feeling too blunt and devoid of emotion or too far the other way.

 Regardless of semantics, Harry understands and slips his hips away slightly. I watch as his steady hands tear the wrapper open and roll the condom down his shaft. Without another moment’s hesitation, his hands are back on my body, grasping at the flesh at my sides as he pulls me into his lap. With every move he makes, his lips provide accompaniment. Kisses spread across my face and neck, down to my collarbone and breasts, celebrating each and every part they come into contact with.

 Desperate to feel every part of him, I raise my hips. Upon realising my intentions, Harry meets my gaze, watching me with awe-filled eyes as I slip our bodies together. I feel him gasp against the bare skin of my chest. For a moment, our actions are slow, adjusting to the overwhelming feeling of one another. Our hips rock gently into each other, soft moans and sharp inhalations fill the otherwise quiet bedroom, bouncing off the walls I have begged him countless times to add more colour to. His hands grip the flesh of my hips, reaching down sporadically to grope at my cheeks. With each squeeze and scratch, I move faster against him, head thrown back in pleasure as we repeatedly hit every delicious spot.

 His hands caress every part of me, truly making love to my body as heated gasps slip past my lips. Our bodies work as a chemical reaction of lust and care, eyes locked as we move quicker and more urgently. Everything we need to say we say with a kiss of the neck, a scratch of bare skin, and a bliss-filled moan.

 Two hands slip behind me, swiftly but securely lowering me into the pillows of the bed before returning to my hips and waist. His hands grip me tighter as this new position allows him to sink deeper into me, his body slowing temporarily against mine to savour the feeling of being fully complete. His eyes never leave mine, pupils contracting and dilating, telling me everything I need to know.

 My gaze flicks down to the point where our bodies meet, watching in lust-filled awe as we connect. I feel Harry do the same as his forehead rests against mine, hands slipping to grasp at my thighs, squeezing and moulding the flesh in his hands. A groan leaves my lips at the sensation of his adoration. At the sound, his hips snap harshly against my own, eliciting louder, wilder moans. Encouraged beyond belief, Harry chases my pleasure, speeding up the movement of his body against my own. His head drops down to my neck, suckling and licking at the skin growing tender under his control.

 Lifting his upper body from mine, he pushes gently against one of my legs until it is perpendicular to my body. Instantly, I melt beneath him, this new angle driving me into a state of madness as he hits harder and deeper, watching with animalistic pride as I clutch around desperately for something to cling to. My fingertips tangle in the bedsheets, eager to anchor myself as a hand slips between my legs. His fingers spin soft circles, their contrast to the speed and force of his hips sending me over the edge, body shuddering violently as he eases me back down. Harry utters soft words, gentle coos that bring me back to him and allow my eyes to unscrunch themselves. When I see him, laying atop me, face just inches from mine, the fire is burning brighter than I have ever seen it, something about watching the pleasure he brings me arousing every sense.

 “Fuck me,” I beg, my voice cracking from my raw throat but I don’t care. I need him.

 He gives me everything in him, using my body to feel good, knowing as well as I do that nothing could compare to the two of us. Even when his face contorts, jaw slack and breathing halted, I feel the care he has for me. His fingertips caress the softness of my skin, gently roaming the expanse of my body as I tether him to the Earth. Collapsing into me, he buries himself in the crook of my neck. My hands come up to encircle him, grazing up and down his back soothingly as he catches his breath.

 “You’re unreal.” Harry eventually mumbles against my skin, producing a breathy giggle from deep within my chest. He pulls away, rolling off me and quickly discarding the condom before laying beside me. Propping his head up with his hand, his body follows the contours of my side in order for us to constantly be touching. “I mean it.”

 I turn to him, tucking one knee between his and trying not to groan at the ache in my body.

 “I dig you too.” I say with a gentle, slightly exhausted smile.

 “Never said that,” he teases, earning a half-hearted frown which just makes him grin even harder. Slowly, his face falls serious, his brows pulling together as he contemplates the thought swimming around in his mind.

 “Tell me.” I whisper, a hand coming up to rest on the side of his face, thumb automatically caressing the stubble across his cheek.

 “Sometimes I think we’ll end up together.” He tells me quietly. My actions still, eyes flitting to his eyes to search for the tell-tale sign that he is just being mischievous. But there is only a hint of worry in those bright eyes.

 “Yeah?” I ask, quickly licking my lips to distract myself from the break in my voice, convincing myself that it is simply because my throat is still sore from moments ago.

 “Yeah.”

 We lay for a while like this, no words spoken, or action taken. I don’t think either of us would know what to do if we wanted to anyway. Instead we lay. His hand comes up to rest on top of mine, keeping me with him until the rise and fall of our chests sync and my eyelids grow heavy.

 “Tired?”

 “Little, still a bit jetlagged.” I mumble, already half-asleep despite my intentions to stay awake and look at him all night long.

 “Go to sleep.” He says softly before pressing a tender kiss to my hand. His lips work as an immediate sleep aid, relaxing every aching muscle and eradicating every stressful thought.

 * * *

 Three weeks pass by quickly, work overwhelms me yet again and I spend my days and nights at shoots, silently praying that each director I work with will be less of a diva than the last. Unfortunately, my prayers go unanswered. The increased workload begins to drain every last drop of lifeforce from me. My limbs ache with exhaustion, stomach never fully settled due to lack of sufficient sustenance.

 “I’m knackered, think I might be getting the flu.” I explain sleepily to Harry over FaceTime, my body slumping back into the heap of pillows in my unmade bed. His camera flips around from the beautifully clear blue sky above him to a concerned, slightly bearded Harry. “Have you shaved since you left?” I ask with a smirk.

 “This is my LA stache.” He grins, smudging and finger and thumb across the width of the hair above his top lip.

 “I miss you.” I whisper, not meaning the words to leave my subconscious.

 “I miss you too,” Harry smiles, his eyes softening as an excited shade of light pink flushes his cheeks. “Hang out when I’m back?”

 I nod and agree to dinner next week before yawning and saying goodbye. Wrapping myself up in the cold duvet, the thought of seeing Harry soon stops me from slipping into sleep. My mind relives our last night together, each kiss and caress playing like a film. We should have talked about it before he left but, as per usual, our work-lives consumed us. What would he say about that night? Did he feel the difference in the way we moved? Is he just as freaked out by it?

 The next day, all doubts and fears are drained from my body, a care package waiting on my doorstep as I arrive home. Carrying the box inside, my eyes glance around the box in search of some sign to indicate the sender’s identity. I knew he had been the one responsible for it, but the contents just confirmed it. Tins of soup, orange juice, cold and flu medicine, a box of cherry bakewells (my absolute favourite comfort food), and an unbelievably soft pair of fluffy socks.

 Snapping a quick picture of the assortment, I send it to Harry with a string of appreciative words, tearing up due to his sweetness and my sickness.

 It does not matter what either of us thinks of feels about that night together, because at the end of the day, it is always going to be him and I, whatever form our relationship takes.

  * * *

 “You look like shit.” Deb greets as she presses a kiss to my cheek before allowing me to sit across from her and Bri. I fight the urge to roll my eyes and glance down at the menu laid across my plate. The majority of the options made my stomach churn, the thought of pushing eggs down my throat enough to make me gag.

 “Can’t shake this bug.” I grumble, sipping at my water as our waitress arrives.

 “Three mimosas please.” Bri smiles sweetly at her.

 “Oh, no, just two.” I correct, starting to break into a slight sweat. The waitress nods and excuses herself to fetch the girls their drinks, leaving them both to look at me with wide eyes and mouths agape. “My stomach has been in bits for weeks, no way I’m drinking and making myself puke again.”

 “Never thought this day would come... I mean its brunch, what else are we going to do?” Bri gasps in a dramatically solemn tone.

 “Yeah, can’t remember the last time you didn’t drink with us.” Deb frowns, clearly slightly upset at losing one of her drinking buddies. “Except that one time at uni.”

 A smirk ghosts over my lips at the memory. Deb and I, still in our first year, sat in the pub with two pints on the table, both untouched as we watched the pregnancy test stashed in my bag slowly reveal just one line.

 Slowly, the smile begins to fall from my face, Deb mirroring me as the penny slowly drops for the both of us.

 “When was the last time you got your period?” she asks quietly.

 “What?” Bri asks in utter confusion, excluded from our moment of telepathy.

 “I can’t remember,” I admit in a whisper.

 “Jesus Christ.” Deb sighs, the colour draining from her face as her hand comes up to rub at her forehead nervously.

 “I had my implant taken out, the doctor said my hormones would be unpredictable so I haven’t really thought about it.” I rush, desperately trying to defend myself for not noticing the absence.

 “Oh,” Deb says, instantly perking back up as if nothing had even happened. “To be fair, when was the last time you had sex anyway?”

 She speaks as if the question were simple a throwaway comment, a small joke to lighten the mood. Of course, she would think that, the last time I spoke to the girls about my sex life, it was to complain about its lack of existence. I haven’t quite found the right way to tell them that Harry and I are doing whatever it is we are doing.

 “About a month ago.” I admit quietly, unlocking my phone to flick through my calendar, mainly to avoid the harsh gaze of two of my best friends.

 “What? Who with?” Bri asks giddily, however her excitement is drastically overshadowed by Deb’s probing.

 “You used protection though?”

 “Of course we did, I’m not an idiot.” I say, feeling myself getting wound up as the blood seems to drain from my body.

 There is no way I am. We were safe. There’s no way.

 When I look up to meet their gaze, however, both girls look at me with such sympathetic gazes that it takes everything in me not to burst into tears.

 “Want to get a test to be sure?” Bri asks gently, somehow instantly caught up and fully aware of the sheer internal panic I am feeling.

 I nod and we immediately leave the table. Bri takes my hand and waits with me as Deb quickly pays for the drinks that did not even arrive.

 “It’ll be okay,” Bri whispers to me, her thumb soft against the back of my hand.

 “Yeah,” I nod, trying to shake of the severe sensation of dread smothering me. Swallowing hard, I manage to meet her eye. “Probably just a scare, right? We’ll laugh about it in an hour.”

 She does not reply. No one speaks as we walk to the closest shop, thankfully Deb lives close by and is able to source a test and usher us home before I can overthink too much.

 I won’t be. What are the odds? Condoms are 98% effective, I checked in the health aisle as Bri went to pay. 98% is far too high to be stressing out over a few potential symptoms.

 The girls sit on the edge of Deb’s bathtub, watching me pee and trying to crack jokes to lighten the mood as I place the test on the side and wash my hands, looking anywhere but the stick.

 “These situations make me so glad to be gay.” Deb utters to Bri with a ghost of a smirk.

 “Totally.” Bri says with a small giggle.

 “Not helping.” I groan, pacing back and forth in the small bathroom, my stomach squeezing tighter and tighter into a knot.

 We sit in silence for the remaining few minutes. Until Bri finally breaks the tension in the room.

 “Do you want one of us to look?”

 “No.” I say quickly, undoubtedly wide-eyed.

 With a long inhale and slow exhale, trying to draw out these last few seconds of naivety, I give a small nod before approaching the countertop.

 Two lines.

 “Maybe its faulty, do another one.” Deb reasons.

 “You okay?” Bri asks me gently as our friend digs wildly through the box for the second test stick.

 “It’s positive.” I whisper, eyes glazing over slightly as I stare down at the white plastic. “I’m pregnant.”

 * * *

 “Have you told the dad yet?” Deb asks, her voice crackling through the phoneline as I walk into the hospital’s multi-storey car park.

 “No,” I sigh, ready to defend my decision to her for the fourth time since the three of us stood in her bathroom, two positive tests laying across the countertop. “I told you, I wanted to know my options before I tell him. Gather some research, you know?”

 “How was it?” she asks as I unlock my car door and slump into the driver’s seat.

 I give her a quick run through of my appointment, from taking yet another test, it coming back positive yet again, to discussing the three main paths from here. Abortion, adoption, or parenthood. Repeating all the information the doctor had given me makes me want to be sick, all of the statistics and medical jargon feeling foul in my mouth. This was not supposed to be my life. I was not meant to get knocked up by my friend who, oh yeah, just so happens to be internationally acclaimed musician Harry Styles. Blocking the image of telling him from my mind, I focus back in on Deb’s voice.

 “You know I’ll be here through whatever you choose, don’t you? I know you’re scared, and I know this isn’t exactly ideal but you’ll make the right choice and me and Bri will do whatever you need. We’ll hold your hand if the dad won’t.” she tells me, unintentionally causing my eyes to fill with tears.

 “Love you Deborah.” I mutter.

 “Love you loser.” She grumbles back, eliciting a teary chuckle from my lips.

 As the call ends, my head lolls back against the headrest, eyes closing momentarily as I allow myself a few seconds of calm to be grateful for my angelic friends. Both had offered to come with me today, or drive me at the very least, but I had insisted on doing this alone. I could not have dealt with any more eyes on me as I was told ways in which I could deal with my situation. An absentminded guilty hand stretches across my stomach at the thought of my ‘situation’.

 Adoption just would not be an option. Unless I somehow managed to avoid Harry for nine months and give birth in secret. Even then I would probably just have to remove myself from his life forever, unable to take the pain of looking at his beautifully unaware face and being stricken with the loathing of giving up the only thing that would ever be just ours. No, that is not an option.

 So, my choices become drastically limited. Both life-changing in their own ways. Automatically, my brain begins to form lists of pros and cons as I drive out of the city.

 I do want children someday, and people always say that there is no perfect time.

 No fucking kidding.

 Things would be so much simpler if I was not pregnant. I could live my life and Harry could live his. Surely, he will not want the burden of a family at such a young age. I know all about his hopes and dreams. I know how much music means to him, how incredible he feels after each and every performance. How could I take that away from him?

 The thought of not telling him circles around my mind as I sit in the familiar traffic of the route. I could make both of our lives so much simpler if I just made the decision for the both of us. But that is just it, I cannot take that from him. He has to know at the very least.

 Anyway, who is to say that he will even want to be involved? Perhaps this has happened before. I have heard the stories of tour. What if he already has an illegitimate child out there and simply does not care? Maybe I have been something to pass the time and the reality of our situation will come crashing down around us and make him want nothing to do with me. Would I keep the baby then?

 The possibility of Harry wanting nothing to do with his child leaves my mind almost as quickly as it enters it. This is Harry. He has wanted a family for as long as I have known him, he loves kids. Am I depriving him of a potential future with his partner and legitimate children? Would I be in the background of family photos, not even Harry’s ex, just some woman he got pregnant and has to watch him live happily for the sake of her child’s relationship with their father?

 Anger bubbles up inside my ribcage as I pull into the garage attached to the house. With a frustrated sigh, I turn the engine off and step out of the car. How could I let myself be so stupid? No one in their right mind thinks that sleeping with their friend is going to be problem free. Clearly this is a sign, a punishment for being stupid enough to open myself up to the potential of a--

 “HEY!” I hear him shout from his front door, quickly dashing out barefoot to come and greet me.

 For a split-second when I look at him, I forget why I am here. When he wraps his arms around me and pulls me so tightly against him that I worry I might suffocate, all I feel is his warmth and excitement at seeing my best friend home at last. Until he lets me go, and my stomach sinks to my feet.

 “Lets go inside.” My voice is hushed, barely above a whisper when he lets go of me. I pull a smile across my face until he nods and walks bouncily into the house, a half-step ahead of me.

  “I’m glad you came over, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Harry says, failing terribly at hiding a grin as we move to his kitchen.

 I sit myself on one of his bar stools, gesturing for him to put down the kettle in his hand and sit next to me.

 “Me first.” I tell him, my face so solemn and opposite to his that were the circumstances different I may have found it comedic.

 “It’s kind of a biggie though.” Harry’s smile is completely unaffected by my tone, so wrapped up in getting out what he wants to say that panic starts to bubble up into my throat at the thought of not being brave enough to just tell him what I need to. “You know that night before I left…”

 He looks to me with the most hopeful and kind eyes, making me dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands as the realisation sets in that I am probably about to break his heart and have him hate me.

 “I’m pregnant.” I force out, voice cracking halfway.

 My heart does not thump in my chest like I had expected it to, nor does my stomach churn as I watch him try to process the weight of my words in the slightest. Inside, I feel a sick sense of calm, potentially relieved, potentially too numb to feel the world disintegrating around me.

 “You’re… Sorry, say that again.” His eyes search mine desperately for some sign that this is just a cruel joke. Now the pain resurges, wrapping itself tightly around my lungs and squeezing hard.

 “I’m pregnant,” I whisper guiltily.

 I wait for Harry to speak again, but he doesn’t. He just stares into mid-air, chest heaving up and down as he attempts to make the slightest amount of sense out of this situation.

 “About four weeks,” I explain softly, secretly trying to coax him back to me, selfishly desperate to see my friend’s kind eyes. “I saw a doctor today, talked about my options…whether to keep it.”

 “Our options.” he whispers, I think mainly to himself before his eyes free themselves from their visual tether and meet my gaze. They are glassy and it takes all I have not to reach out and take his hand and promise him that it will all be okay, because I honestly do not know that it will and I can’t lie to him.

 “Our options.” I repeat quietly, ignoring the slight leap of my heart at his sentiment and quickly reminding myself that he has not committed to anything. “I know it’s a lot to process, and you don’t have to say or do anything… but do you have any… strong preferences?”

 “Yeah,” he says lowly, “but it’s your decision, isn’t it?”

 My heart sinks and throat dries, all moisture heading towards my eyes. With a large, pained swallow, I sit up straight, avoiding his eye.

 “Yeah, sorry, I just thought I should tell you.” My voice is quiet, afraid of its own weakness. I stand from the stool, running a hand through my hair out of nervousness.

 “What are you doing?” Harry asks quickly, eyes panic-stricken as he stands up in front of me, catching one of my hands in his.

 “Going, I didn’t mean to bother you.” I admit, trying my hardest but failing to hide my heart breaking.

 “No, no you—I don’t want that.” He says, only now do I notice the texture in his voice, “We don’t leave each other.”

 His eyes are every bit as tear-filled as my own, the sight enough to encourage the water in my eyes to slip gently down my face. Standing in Deb’s bathroom, she and Bri had wrapped me in a gentle hug as violent sobs wracked through my body. Now, however, as Harry and I pull each other into an embrace tight enough to keep up anchored to the world, we cry softly.

 “We’ll figure it out.” He whispers, resting his chin on top of my head. “Promise.”

 * * *

 For hours Harry and I sit at his kitchen island, debating our next move. With frustrated sighs and tearful moments, conversation delves into the logistics of each and every possibility at our disposal.

 As predicted, Harry is not keen on the prospect of adoption. The notion that his child might discover their father’s identity and potentially make it public, could destroy his image, his career, everything he has worked so hard for. I tell him I understand, that I had thought this would be his fear, and that our options were narrowed down to two.

 There is quiet when the topic is first brought up, the eight-letter word stunning him silence.

 “It’s your body.” He manages to whisper.

 The groan that passes my lips is unavoidable, having heard those exact words from Deb, Bri, the doctor, and now Harry.

 “I wish someone could just tell me the right thing to do.” I sigh, holding my head up on the counter, fingers pressing lightly into my eyes to try and relieve the stress headache that has been lingering for the past few days.

 “I’m sorry.” Harry utters quietly beside me.

 He sits with his hands in his lap, anxiously picking at his cuticles as he watches me with a frown.

 “I didn’t mean for…” he doesn’t finish the sentiment, but I understand.

 “Me neither,” I admit, softening my gaze and taking one of his hands in mine to stop him from ruining his nailbeds.

 He gazes at my hand on his for a moment, afraid of moving and losing the contact. It twists into mine until our palms are touching, squeezing the width of all my fingers with one gentle contraction of his muscles.

 Before I let myself get too caught up in the tender comfort of his skin against mine, I speak up, “Fuck it, pros and cons list.”

 I stand up from the stool and find a notepad in one of his messier kitchen drawers.

 “No judgment.” I tell him, handing him a pen before making a table with my own.

 We pause for a moment, and I list something in the negative column.

 Everything will change

 Harry follows suit and leaves a few words beneath my handwriting.

 IMPACT ON CAREERS?

 I cannot help but nod my head before we continue to add to the paper, reasoning for and against our little situation.

 The process takes longer than I had expected, Harry arguing with some of my cons and suggesting that they are easily fixable or are, in fact, pros.

 “Okay, so cons,” I start once we both lay our pens down. “Everything will change, impact on careers, would we be good parents?, don’t want Y/N to have to deal with media, no privacy, custody, would have to co-parent, impact of pregnancy on day to day, this is all a bit mental.”

 Harry nods, urging for me to continue to the counterarguments.

 “Pros… We both want kids someday and a friendship relationship could create a good support system for the kid… Think the list is pretty clear then.” Looking at him, we both understand logically what we should do.

 “Yeah.” Harry says quietly, eyes burrowing deeply into my own before picking up his pen one more time and adding into the left-hand column:

 WE’D HAVE A BABY

 His eyes seem to take forever to meet mine, flicking down to where my bottom lip is caught tightly between my teeth.

 I pick up my own pen and leave my final note, sealing the decision for us.

 Its our baby.

 Silence fizzes around us, its intensity growing as our eyes meet and have a conversation that we cannot quite pass to our mouths. He looks to me nervously, chewing at his cheek, his eyes holding back the hope building inside him. I want to tell him that I am still scared, that everything about the future is so uncertain. I cannot do it. I cannot deprive him of the joy he is feeling, however shrouded in terror it is.

 “So…” he eventually manages to push out, a slight smile creeping on to his lips.

 My mouth mirrors him, the muscles in my cheeks aching slightly from the sensation after not being used for the past few days.

 “Yeah.” I let out in a shaky breath, eyes watering yet again but this time I welcome it.

 “Should we celebrate?” Harry asks quietly, his voice suddenly apprehensive.

 “As long as it includes takeaway and a film.” I say, too exhausted to go anywhere or deal with the consequences that come along with being next to Harry in the outside world. Pushing the nagging dread at the thought of people finding out and commenting on us, I pull up Deliveroo on my phone and we settle on the sofa in his living room.

 “What to Expect When You’re Expecting?” Harry teases as he flicks through Netflix.

 “Too soon.” I reply, smirking down at my phone.

 “Sorry,” he says, not at all sorry for getting a positive reaction from me as if our lives would just slip back to how they used to be.

#eeee #hi #its done #first chapter is out there #hope you dont hate it #lemme know what you think #in the club #groovybaybee writing #groovybaybee #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry smut #harry fluff #harry fic #harry fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles series #harry series #harry styles fluff #harry styles pregancy #harry pregnancy #harry styles pregnancy fic #dad!harry #dad harry styles #dad harry #dad!harry styles #reader insert fic #harry styles reader insert #smut

[imaginethosedragons]

does anyone have more insight in what happened in the Queen of Mirth scene in The Wicked King? I feel like there’s a lot of stuff going on under the surface that isn’t apparent at first read. Like, Cardan warned her to leave, and then Jude realises that her humiliation was incidental to Cardan’s? Is the whole point that Locke wanted to make Cardan let on to everyone that he has feelings for Jude, which is one of the reasons Cardan can’t stop it because then it would underline that he does?

Like at first Jude says:

‘I look over at Cardan and find something dangerous glittering in his eyes—I will get no sympathy there.’ But was the dangerous glittering in his eyes directed at Jude, or was it actually meant for Locke?

‘I guess Locke has done something right at last. He promised the High King delights, and I am entirely sure that Cardan is thoroughly delighted.’ This can definitely be put down to Jude’s constant insistence to herself that everything Cardan does underlines how much he hates her - even though the reader begins to clock on to the fact that that isn’t true.

‘For a moment, I wonder if he wants me to be furious enough to order him to stop and reveal our bargain to the Court.’ Was this actually the case then? Was he as blindsided by this as Jude. If the prior statements are added together under the premise he didn’t know or wanted it to happen, it could very well be true.

‘I stand in the middle of the party in my underwear, daring them to say something. Daring Cardan to speak... Cardan steps close to me, his gaze devouring. I am not sure I can bear his cutting me down again. Luckily, he seems at a loss for words. “I hate you,” I whisper before he can speak. He takes my chin in his fingers, tilting my face to his. “Say it again,” he says as the imps comb my hair and place the ugly, stinking crown on my head. His voice is low. The words are for me alone. I pull out of his grip, but not before I see his expression. He looks as he did when he was forced to answer my questions, when he admitted his desire for me. He looks as though he’s confessing.’ That seems to put Cardan down as out of the joke. Instead, there is something else going on. It is the first indication in this scene that Cardan is attracted to Jude. Later, it is implied that it is this attraction which later Locke is playing with.

“Tell us what you think of our lady,” Locke asks Cardan loudly, with a strange smile.The High King’s expression stiffens, only to smooth out a moment later when he turns toward the Court. “I have too often been troubled by dreams of Jude,” he says, voice carrying. “Her face features prominently in my most frequent nightmare.”  Cardan stiffens, which is another tell that something is going on that he is not happy about. The way he speaks after is very consistent with the evasiveness of answers by Fae who can’t lie. She could be in his nightmares because he is afraid for her or her lack of feelings towards him.

“Go back to the palace, Cardan said, and I ignored the warning. I think of Locke’s expression while Cardan spoke, the eagerness in his face. It wasn’t me he was watching. I wonder for the first time if my humiliation was incidental, the bait to his hook. Tell us what you think of our lady.” So, did Cardan know something was going to happen, or did he just know it wasn’t safe for a mortal? Because if he knew it in advance, he could have told her. It also then indicates that Locke’s goal was to play with Cardan’s feelings for Jude. 

However, he also denies orchestrating it beforehand. “So what does Locke have planned?” I ask, unwilling to be grateful and refusing to compliment him on his sleight of hand. “He’s certainly staked his reputation on this evening.” Cardan makes a face. “I don’t worry my pretty head about that kind of thing. You’re the ones who are supposed to be doing the work. Like the ant in the fable who labors in the dirt while the grasshopper sings the summer away.”

He also keeps Taryn away for Jude. “I find it tedious to have my every conversation remarked on,” he says. “I want you to know your sister isn’t here tonight. I made sure of it.”

Also, this passage struck me because instead of agreeing that he liked seeing her humiliated, he actually subtly flipped it around to a question instead, which is like the classic Fae way of avoiding lying, he also insults the people who humiliated himself and Jude. “I don’t care if you did or not,” I tell him, too angry to make sense of my feelings. “I just care that you enjoyed it.” “And why shouldn’t I delight to see you squirm? You tricked me,” Cardan says. “You played me for a fool, and now I am the King of Fools.”

And then this bit seems to really confirm it: “Second, whatever your issue is with Cardan, whatever pushed you to make such a meal of toying with him, whatever made you think it was a fun to steal his lover and then throw her over for a mortal girl—as though you wanted him to know the thing dearest to him was worth nothing to you—let it go. Whatever made you decide to make me Queen of Mirth to torment him with the feelings you suspected he had, leave off. He’s the High King, and it’s too dangerous.”

As well as this bit, which clearly suggests that the purpose was to humiliate Cardan and not Jude. Locke leans down to right the broken chair, leaning it against a nearby table when it becomes clear it won’t stand on its own. “Oh, fine, you’re angry with me. But think. You may be Cardan’s seneschal and you’ve obviously fascinated him with your hips and lips and warm mortal skin, but I know that in your heart, whatever he has promised you, you still hate him. You’d love to see him brought low in front of his entire Court. Why, if you hadn’t been dressed in rags and been laughed at, you’d probably have forgiven me for every wrongdoing I’ve ever committed against you, just for engineering that.” (I bolded words that were italicised in the original text.)

So, what was it exactly about the Queen of Mirth scene that was meant to humiliate Cardan? When did he realise what was going to happen? And why did he feel like he couldn’t put a stop to it? Any thoughts?

#The Wicked King #cardan greenbriar #cardan #jude duarte #the folk of the air #holly black

[burnedbyshoto]

My Girl

jealous!bakugou katsuki x reader; jealous!todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: cussing, jealousy, wig snatched

word count: 5,000 (the both of them together LMAO)

a/n: jealousy… such a sexy emotion… okay but for real y’all, if your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner/significant other/etc., is always jealous to the point where they accuse you of disloyalty??? DUMP THEIR ASS!!!! that wont be discussed here tho... because i went on a rollercoaster of ideas so this is what was produced!!! anywaysssss enjoyyyyyyy.... also....i forgot the fluff....omg...sorry

Part Two

bakugou katsuki

Bakugou Katsuki was not a man of patience. 

He was a man of action. Always straightforward and deadly. That was Bakugou's preferred action to most issues. He was not one for sneaking around, and for sure never hiding within the shadows as someone else did a job for him. So when the situation called for Bakugou to be a bystander, it was hard for him not to react. Especially because he had to watch as his girlfriend proceeded to get her hands dirty. The results of this were a bit… surprising but expected.

Bakugou’s fingers scrape against the table as you socialized at the bar. That dress on your body was so tight that Bakugou could imagine you without the dress on. Which meant every other bastard with their eyes glued on your ass could imagine you naked. You have a stupid wig on too, for precaution, it’s pink and shit is it long. You were sex on legs, and Bakugou was not happy about it.

Bakugou watches as your fingers touch the forearm of the man next to you. A charming smile on your face as you leaned in close to the man; as if there was some beautiful secret you had to share. Bakugou watched as your head dipped backward in laughter. Your laugh, a beautiful sound, that echoed through his mind despite the fact he couldn’t hear you. But all Bakugou could do was stand at his table and watch on, his teeth clenching and grinding. 

“Bakugou, calm down,” Tsuyu reminds Bakugou from beside him. Her own eyes taking in the concerned reactions of their neighboring tables as well as you. “You’re making a scene, and you’re a recognizable face.”

“Shut the hell up, I could murder anyone in here anyways.” Bakugou sibilates. His eyes twitched as his upper lip curled at the interaction unfolding before him.

It was but, true, Tsuyu had a point. The bigger point being that Bakugou could give less of a fuck. 

Here he was staring at his hot as hell girlfriend flirting with the man next to her for information! Espionage his ass! Bakugou would rather go fuck up every villain group to figure out where stupid Deku was being held. Anything instead of this! But no, the government wouldn’t “allow” that course of action. Instead, the now Pro-Heroes of the old class 1-A were working to find out which group it was. Furthermore, the man next to you knew exactly who the group was. Stupid Icy Hot captured his associate a few hours ago and he had confessed a single name.

While searching for information on this mysterious man, they found his Facebook. They were quick to figure out that he was completely straight, too!

So Yayorozu had devised a perfect plan on getting the information from this man! Hopefully without it resulting in a major battle, too. Which was something they were going to need to keep from at all costs! Being secretive was not at all the trademark the alumni of the U.A. Hero Class 1-A had. In fact, given wherever they went, destruction ensued in some sort of way. But for the plan that Yayorozu created, it would begin with a bait. 

The bait being you.

But the reason it was you next to the man, was because you wore a mask as apart of your hero costume. Not many knew how you looked like unless they remembered your first year Sports Festival, which many didn’t. It turned out that even then, many people forgot how you looked. Which was beyond Bakugou on how because you were by far the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Bakugou hisses under his breathe. He watches the dickhead place a suggestive hand on your ass. Bakugou hated the fact that you were so damn good at acting as you leaned into his touch. A smile on your face as you captured your lower lip between your teeth. That smile that is meant only for him. “I’m also going to fucking kill y/n, too.”

Bakugou couldn’t help the fury that ignites in his blood as the man slips a key card to you. You had succeeded in the getting the key, but still, Bakugou was not happy. The man gets up afterward, and walking away, adjusting himself in his pants. Bakugou wants to rip his own head off as his fingers clench the fabric of the table cloth. Bakugou watches as you turn around, your e/c eyes locking with his. It’s a fleeting gaze that lasts less than a second, but it’s everything Bakugou needed to calm down for the moment. He feels better.

As soon as you walk out the door, Bakugou and Tsuyu have to remain there. They are attempting not to look too suspicious after all, but soon enough they follow after you.

It’s time to get this rescue mission on the road.

Bakugou watches from a video camera in the hotel room next door to their target. His eyes trained on the laptop before him. He has an intense stare on the man who was freshening himself up with cologne as he awaited you. 

Before this event, they had bugged undetectable tiny camera’s in the man's room made by Yaoyorozu. They brought in with the help of Koda’s animals, or were they insects? What ever it was, it was nothing big enough to let them into the room without making it obvious.

The plan was simple, and it was the following: Tsuyu would go in using her camouflage. While you and the man were busy, she would look around. Bakugou role in this was the tank they would need in case something happened. Not that the two of you couldn’t handle yourselves, but they had no information on this dude’s quirk. They had to also take into account that you were in a skin-tight dress, heels, and without your Hero License! No one was sure how far you would have to take it with the man or how paranoid he could be as most villains were. So, no one risked the license on you. Tsuyu, while a fantastic hero, would focus more on the sneaking and attaining details. Bakugo was there in case she failed.

No one actually wanted it to be Bakugou as the tank. They had suggested that Todoroki or Mina be the one watching out. Bakugo, nonetheless, wouldn’t allow any of that insisting that it had to be him.

So they had to compromise. 

Thus there Bakugou sat staring through the live input feed as the man sat on his bed as you sauntered in. The pink wig flowing around you as if straight out of a movie. Bakugou could see Tsuyu given he knew she was there. A feat that managed to impress Bakugou given that it was through a camera and not in real life. Moreover, the man was unresponsive to the green dressed hero walking in. He never broke his attention away from you meaning that everything was still in the clear.

Bakugou watches in growing anger and jealousy as you go and sit on the bed. Tossing your fake hair over your shoulder, a hooded look in your eyes as a smile spread on your face.

He watches with his nostrils flaring as you crawl towards the man. You then get on top of the man, straddling him onto the bed. You push his shoulders in one swift movement so that he collapses onto the bed. Bakugou stirs. That should be him.

Bakugou watches your pretty mouth brush against the man's lips before pulling away. Your ass rising off his body as you lean down teasing him again. Your arms supporting your weight besides his head as you smile. The veins in Bakugou’s arms are popping out as he clenches the pants of his disguise. Calm down.

He watches as the man's hands travel up your creamy, delicious thighs. Snaking their way under your dress, managing to move the fabric up. The screen freezes for a moment, much to the growing rage of Bakugou before reconnecting. On the screen, he can see you throw your head back, something Bakugou knows to be a moan escaping your lips. A lustful smirk enters the man's lips. 

Bakugou is fuming.

But he can only watch as the man removes his shirt, and it's thrown somewhere in the room. Bakugou scoffs at the way too overdone muscles on the dude's stomach and chest. That was definitely only for looks. Hell, Bakugou bet a single punch even without his quirk would take him down.

“Hurry the fuck up, frog face,” Bakugou seethes as the man now has you flipped onto your back. He can see the giggles escaping your lips as the man head dips to brush his lips against your semi-exposed chest.

Bakugou flashes his attention to Tsuyu who is standing by the door now. Her thumbs up showing she obtained the information. Moreover, with what could only be jealous rage, Bakugou stormed into the hallway. Slamming the fire alarm on, Bakugou knows Icy-Hot would be setting a fire somewhere in the hotel. Bakugou disappeared back into the room. People are hesitant about exiting their rooms, everyone unsure if it was a false alarm or not.

“Please, all guests, exit in an orderly fashion.” A voice over the intercom system says. Bakugou watches through the laptop as you exit the room with the man on your waist.

There’s a lot of people in the hallway, so as Bakugou exits the hotel room, he keeps his head down, on a mission to now get you away. Your eyes widen as you see him in the hallway, and he knows that you see the jealousy in his face and eyes. A knowing smirk comes onto your face. Bakugou rolls his eyes at your smirk but he manages to crash into the man, his hand disconnecting his hold onto you.

The damn bastard shouldn't have had his fucking hands on you in the first place.

“Shit, sorry man.” Bakugou apologizes, his head low. He smirks seeing that the small bump was successful enough for you to slip away unnoticed. The man walks away confused and searching for you as he followed the crowd nonetheless. Bakugou grins as he sees you and Tsuyu by the hotel room. That hot yet stupid wig still sitting on your head, and an accomplished look on both girl's faces.

“The group that has Midoriya-kun are called: The Second Coming. They’re a small organization, but they are powerful quirk users.” Tsuyu states showing them the manilla folder. The said group name and address of their headquarters printed in small text. “It says here, they have someone with a jellyfish quirk that has had him paralyzed.”

“Fucking fantastic,” Bakugou snarks, “Go tell the others for us.”

You look confused as Bakugou grasps your arm, as he pulls you into the room, abandoning Tsuyu in the hallway.

“Katsuki!” You groan as Bakugou slams the door behind you. You turn ready to face whatever pent up emotion he is dealing with. You’re shocked as you aren't meet with possessive jealous anger. Instead, you're wrapped up into a sweet, soul-crushing hug.

“I was jealous,” Bakugou mumbles against your neck. He was taking in your intoxicating perfume as a way to remind you that you were there with him now. “But I worried something terrible was going to happen the entire time. To be honest, I would’ve killed him if you had sex with him.”

You sigh gently. You wrap your arms tight around your emotion-driven boyfriend, “That’s why we had Tsuyu. She’s great and super fast at scouting.”

“That’s bullshit, I could’ve been faster,” Bakugou states as the two of you sway in each other’s arms, your fingers gently massaging his scalp. The hug never wavering in contact or strength.

“Like hell, you could be! The infamous loud and rambunctious Bakugou Katsuki, Explosion Hero: Ground Zero? Being able to slip around while being visible? I don’t think so.” You laugh as Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, extra.”

“I’m your girlfriend, but if you want me to be an extra in your life, well I’m sure there was a man out there who was willing to—“

“Don’t you fucking dare say it!” Bakugou growls by your ears and goosebumps flash across your skin.

“I do dare,” You counter playfully. Your teasing stopped by Bakugou’s lips possessively dragging against yours. Your eyes shut in response as hot huffs of air escapes both your mouths as he continues devouring you in a kiss.

“I guess I’m going to have to re-educate you on what I’m willing to do for you,” Bakugo grunts against your lips. His hands move to grasp your ass, something he’s been aching to do for so long that night.

“You don’t have the—the,” You can’t finish that sentence as you moan. Bakugou had sucked on the sweet spot on your neck. His hot tongue soothing the enflamed skin seconds before he could break through any skin. Your eyes close as he picks you up in his arms, beginning to walk with a single destination in mind.

“The what?” Bakugou growls as he tosses your body onto the bed, a loud squeal coming from you. Bakugo groans as you look at him with the same hooded eyes that drove him insane moments before.

“The balls to fuck me when your best friend is missing.” You pant moving your hands to remove the pink wig from your head.

“Nuh-uh, the wig stays on, princess. Shitty Deku got himself into this mess, he can stay there for a few minutes longer.” Bakugou sneers as he unbuckles his pants as he stares into your flushed face. He was ready to give you the quickie of a lifetime.

todoroki shouto

Todoroki Shouto was a man that many believed to be dense. Lacking situational cues. Sometimes even uncaring. 

They weren’t wrong, per se, Shouto was dense. It took him seventeen months to figure out you were flirting with him! He never picked up on the fact you wanted to date him until you asked him out! He also, at times, was uncaring about situations that didn’t concern him. But Shouto was no idiot. He knew when men were flirting with you even if he couldn't tell with himself, and to be honest, he was not a fan of it.

The two of you were now established Pro-Heroes. having graduated from U.A. last year, and you both shot into stardom alongside other alumni from U.A.

Shouto was also dating you, a secret from the general public, actually. 

The two of you decided to keep your relationship status concealed from the public. As new heroes, you didn’t want your popularity or hate coming from your relationship. You wanted recognition because you were an effective and capable hero. Not that it mattered in the end. The general population “shipped” the two of you together in exceedingly high numbers. 

It had gotten to the point that your PR managers had requested the two of you to come together for a PR stunt. Both businesses were unaware of your relationship status. Nonetheless they had created a joint meet-and-greet.

Tickets had sold out within two minutes, and they hadn’t been cheap either. The day would start with free merchandise. Fans would get V.I.P. selection! Two meals, of course, because it was an all-day thing! One meal was paired with the interview where Shouto and you would let them all speak at least once! Finally ending with a one on one interaction with the two of you! It also included a free professional personalized photo with the both of you. Everyone could stay until the very last photo as well, but no one could take two photos.

The agonizing two-hour dinner interview where Shouto had to dodge personal questions finished. It had been completed hours earlier, but now it was the one-on-ones. It was safe to say Shouto was ready for photo’s to wrap up so the two of you could leave for an at-home late night date. The photo’s and one-on-one’s were becoming annoying and were dragging on to Shouto. 

You were getting a lot of attention from both male and female fans. Many of which would come up, grabbing a hand from you and himself. They would stare before they let out a line that about always was, “You guys are the reason for my gay panic,” or “You’re my mom and dad!”

Every time it happened without fail, you let out a laugh enveloping the person in a hug. You admitted it to be the best compliment you received as you chatted away with them with a happy tone. Shouto was grateful you were so great at media interactions. If someone would come up to him by himself and confessed to something like that... Shouto would most likely shoot a ray of ice and fire at the same time by accident. 

Of course, there were also the fans that obsessed over the "fake relationship" between the two of you. Some requesting that their photos be of Shouto kissing you while the fan fainted by their feet. Hell, someone even requested you to step on her face while you hugged Shouto, both of you not agreeing to it. Or Shouto’s least–most–favorite. The fan that wanted a cheek kiss, and almost managed to get the two of you to lock lips in front of the large audience you had. The shrieks of approval, dismay, and everything between would not stop for a good too many minutes.

But there were also… those fans who obsessed about only one of you. Shouto could handle the crazy fangirls on his end, most of which were respectful. Yes, some foamed at the mouth. Some sobbed for the entire three-minute interaction. Some became almost bullies as they tried to play off how much they loved him. And the very rare feelers who would attempt to touch Shouto inappropriately.

Still, those girls were nothing in comparison to your fans. 

A fan asked if it was okay to motorboat you! He actually pulled out a stack of ¥1,000, and managed to touch his cheek to your breast! That was before both you and Shouto removed him from the premise. The fan still was happy with the contact and refused to take his money back. So you made a donation to a charity, that supported children from abuse, under his name. Then there were the fans who would squeeze your ass during photos leaving you livid. The fans who tried to kiss you by surprise as the camera flashed. Fans who presented you with some sex toys in the hope to woo you. Fans who– well you get the point. Shouto was becoming pissed off at the situation you were in. Looking at the line he was happy to see that there were three people left in line. Nine more minutes.

Shouto turned his attention to the still very large crowd of people who were staying until the very end. Shouto realized in dismay he couldn’t drop his, albeit small smile, yet.

The next six minutes went by fast enough. The third to last person was a tiny and sweet girl who presented gifts to both heroes. Her requested pose was that you carry both Shouto and her on your shoulders. You nailed it by the way, and Shouto had to fight to keep the blush off his face at the feeling of you carrying him with ease.

The second to last person was a Shouto fan only. He pretty much ignored you all together as he talked to Shouto about everything they had in common. Professing that they were soulmates because he was the Scorpio to his Capricorn. The fan asked for a picture of Shouto carrying him bridal style, with you in the far distance looking upset. After all, because he stole Shouto away from you. As he walked away happy with the picture, Shouto focused his gaze on you and rolled his eyes. You smiled regardless, finding the situation funny. It wasn’t the first time something like that got requested after all.

Shouto sighed by your side as the final person approached them. The small gasp that escaped your lips put Shouto on the defense immediately. What Shouto was expecting to see was an average looking civilian, at most, coming over. The gasp was something you did to make people feel excited and special about themselves.

“Ito-kun?!” Your voice calls out in disbelief. Shouto trains his eyes onto a very handsome man walking over, his arms stretched out for a hug. The man had ink-black combed back hair. He was tall, bulked but nothing too overkill and was wearing black slacks and a white T-shirt. He was exactly what traditional handsome in Japan is. 

“Looking good, y/h/n!” Ito says with a smile. The non-stranger wraps you up in a hug, a warm smile on his face. Shouto could not help but notice that the hug lingers for a lot longer than any other fan. His eyes narrow. Shouto hears a few squeals coming from the fans, and he sees cameras recording them. So he tries acting unbothered by it all. 

“I didn't recognize you without your costume on!” You exclaim as you remove yourself from the hug. You step back to look at him from top to bottom, your attention fleeing over to Shouto. “Shouto, this is Ito-kun, or as you may remember him from the awards ceremony, Kyandi!”

Shouto freezes the slightest bit. Memories of you talking about one of your childhood friends who became a Pro-Hero as well floods his mind. “Oh,” Shouto recomposes himself. The slight jealousy he had been feeling flooding out of his system, “It’s nice to meet you, Kyandi.” Shouto bows in respect, Ito was a dear friend of yours.

Shouto stiffens in his bow as the man doesn’t even acknowledge him. Shouto straightens up as Ito continues talking to you, and you glance over at Shouto. Your own eyes filled with confusion. A small motion of Shouto's head informs you that he didn’t wish to make a big deal out of it. With reluctance, you focus back on the conversation that Ito was having.

Shouto feels awkward as he stands next to you, trying to not feel excluded. But whenever you tried opening the circle to him, Ito would close it off. Shouto watches as Ito places a hand on your elbow, a sugar-sweet smile on his lips. Ito mentions that you look beautiful today. Shouto rolls his eyes, of course, you do! You always do! “Not that you don’t always look good!” Ito backtracks an embarrassed laugh escaping his lips. “It’s that you have such an irresistible personality when you’re around your fans! It’s attractive.”

Shouto rolls his eyes at this comment, could he be any faker?

But he stills when you seem to buy it completely, “Aw! Ito-kun, you’re so sweet! My fans make me so happy after all, I’m glad it’s noticeable!”

“Three minutes are up!” The photographer informs the group. Your eyes snap over to the man who for the entire night was happy to have been there.

“Hold on, okay?” Ito winks at you grabbing your shoulders and giving them a tight squeeze before walking over to the man.

“He’s a bit… touchy.” Shouto whispers to you, and you look over and laugh.

“Is he? Huh? He doesn’t get much time in the limelight... he has his agency in the same district as Bakugou, Deku, and Uraraka-chan. It’s most likely Ito trying to get public approval ratings.” You whisper to Shouto, as you grin up at your frowning boyfriend, your own smile soon faltering. “Do you think it’s something else?”

“…no...” Shouto brushes it off as Ito comes back. Ito with much excitement claims he was able to gain five more minutes with the two of you! Your confused blinks and Shouto’s third eye-roll doesn’t go unnoticed by fans. The fans who are expecting things to wrap up by now. So Shouto stands there as Ito brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes, and he feels his hands twitch. A fit of hot bitter jealousy starts shooting through his veins.

It’s the lingering hand on your waist that makes Shouto shove his hands into his pockets. It's to keep him from ripping Ito’s hand off your waist.

It’s the way that Ito stares at your beautiful face that causes Shouto to look away for a bit, fearful that he’ll lash out.

It’s the small inside jokes that Ito passes through his lips and your pretty giggles. Shouto has to bite down on his tongue to keep himself from speaking up.

It’s the closing space between you and Ito that finally causes Shouto to snap. His ears burning, his heart thumping in his ears, “It’s time for the picture.”

You blink as if out of a trance and smile in agreement, “It is! How would you like to pose, Ito-kun?”

“Would you climb onto my shoulders, like how we posed as kids?” Ito asks still not once looking at Shouto, and you nod your head.

“What about Shouto?”

“Oh, uh, does he have to be in the picture? I want to give this to my mom, and well, it’s not like the two of you are dating, so I wouldn’t want to give it to her.” Ito explains and hot fury lashes through Shouto’s chest. Shouto's heart hammering as he’s ready to show this candy man who the hell he was. Before Shouto could drag Ito to hell with his words alone, you speak up.

“Sorry, Ito-kun, but rules are rules. We already bent one, two would be too much.” You apologize as Ito sighs in annoyance.

“Okay, well I guess he can stand there.” Ito huffs as he picks you up and places you on his shoulders, a squeak escaping your lips from the sudden action.

So Shouto stands there. He's trying to keep the scowl off his face as he glares holes into the side of Ito’s skull. But he chooses to instead look at you flashing peace signs for the photo, and he smiles instead. As Ito places you back onto the floor, he finally pushes his luck too far as he goes in for a kiss.

“Ito,” You gasp as you dodge the kiss all while Shouto now has his right hand clenching Ito’s arm. Shouto's hand glowing with the initial threat of his activated quirk. “That’s inappropriate!”

“Come on, y/h/n, you’re a total babe, why not?” Ito asks despite having his eyes locked on Shouto for the first time tonight. Black eyes meeting blue with grey eyes and you can feel the icy tension flowing between them.

“Please leave. Now.” Shouto growls as Ito rolls his eyes as he shoves Shouto’s hand off of him.

“Whatever. If dating you will mean that this asshole will be guarding you all the time... I wouldn’t want it anyway!” Ito snaps as he walks away covering his face from the cameras. The fans had now all seemed to gather back on word that drama was unfolding between the heroes.

Maybe it’s because the angry jealousy in Shouto’s veins had been at an all-time high. Maybe it was because Shouto wanted people to know who you were dating. But at this moment, Shouto grabs your arm and walks closer to the fans. All the phone cameras are now on the two of you. You’re completely oblivious of what is coming as you assume he’s going to say goodbye and thank you.

What happened next would stay forever in Pro-Hero Romance Drama.  

As you waved and blew kisses to the fans, Shouto’s hands cupped your unsuspecting face within his hands. Shouto’s fingers caressed your cheeks, your eyes locking on his with confusion, as he presses a rough kiss on your lips.

You gasped into the kiss having not expected it. Shouto does not waste the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You can’t even help yourself from throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him in close, as his tongue presses against yours. Shouto keeps a hand firmly placed onto the back of your neck. Another one keeping your hips against his as the kiss intensified. 

Your lips pressed against each other harshly. Your tongues dancing and twirling in the middle of your mouths. You break apart from Shouto for a moment before pressing your lips back on his, his hands grasping your ass. You can’t keep the small moan from your throat as Shouto bites your bottom lip and then intermingles his tongue back with yours. Which immediately reminds you of your location and you break apart from him. A string of saliva following your opened mouth as blush inks itself against your entire body. The screams of the crowd finally hitting the two of your ears.

You launch yourself away from Shouto. Covering your eyes with your hands as you bow many times in apology to your fans.

“Me and y/h/n have been dating for two years. I want you guys to know that I will for certain will fight anyone who tries treating her indecently from here on out.” Shouto states to the crowd, wiping the bottom of his lip before he turns on his heel and drags you with him. A proud smirk on his face as he leaves security to take care of the feral fans.

“That was so embarrassing,” You whisper behind closed doors.

“I don’t like men touching you like your theirs,” Shouto murmurs as he presses another kiss to your lips. A kiss that you still pour your heart into as your fingers grip his hair.

Pro-Heroes More Like Pro-Lovers! Shouto and Y/h/n Steamy Make-out! is the most trending and streamed thing for the next two months.

(part 2 smut???anyone???)

#bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #jealous bakugou #bakugou scenarios #bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki imagine #todoroki scenario #bnha writing blog #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha todoroki #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #mha todoroki #mha scenarios #jealous todoroki

[7-wonders]

The Thrill of the Chase

Summary: Your path once again crosses with Michael’s, this time under much more dire circumstances. Life and death, specifically yours, has suddenly never been more prevalent in your mind.

Word Count: 2602

A/N: Hey y’all, this takes place after Lost In the Shadows! We’ve been talking a lot of True Blood on here lately, and when I wrote this sort of situation with Eric Northman, somebody said they could imagine this with Michael. Hence, this new work. I hope you enjoy, and please remember that likes, comments, and reblogs are what makes my world go round.

In the weeks since you had discovered that vampires are not just a myth written about in romantic novels and scary stories, and that your boss, Michael Langdon, was the first vampire and the Antichrist, life had been quieter than you were expecting. After luring Michael to your lab and forcing him to tell you about vampires, you had thought that he was going to make you go missing or force you to swear that you would remain silent. To your surprise, however, he gave you space. You had seen him multiple times since the incident had occurred, but every time he kept his distance, choosing to greet you with a simple smile before moving on to whatever a vampire CEO needs to do. 

Maybe this is some predatory habit of vampires, where they bait their prey before backing off and driving them mad with anticipation before striking. If it is, you would rather Michael get whatever he’s planning over with. This wait, whether it be for something or nothing, is starting to affect your work.

Speaking of work, it’s then that you shake yourself out of your thoughts and realize nearly an hour has passed since the typical work day ends. You sigh, running a hand through your hair and looking disdainfully at the paperwork that still litters your desk. Some days, being head of R&D has its perks. Others, when you have to sift through hundreds of funding requests from developers just as idiotic as Jeff and Mutt, make you want to walk out and never come back. You doubt you’d find a job with health insurance as good as Kineros’s, though.

Deciding that a walk to clear your head will do you some good, you stand and relish in the popping noise that your shoulders make when you stretch. The building’s your favorite when it’s almost completely empty, the comforting silence a perfect work environment. Greeting one of the custodians as she mops the hall in the direction away from your lab/office, you decide to walk downstairs to give her uninterrupted time to clean without you getting in the way. 

Eventually, and like always, you end up down at the main lab that Jeff and Mutt inhabit. You’ve made it a habit to come and check that everything is turned off and put back where it’s supposed to be, not trusting two men constantly high on cocaine to properly dispose of used chemicals and turn off the power source to loose wires. After getting on them numerous times about proper lab etiquette, they’ve actually become quite vigilant. Tonight, however, you can already see a bunsen burner that looks like it’s still on. While concerning, it’s not a disastrous situation. It’s not, at least, until you turn the light on and notice the ethanol-soaked rag right next to the open gas source.

That’s when the explosion happens.

It’s a perfect storm, with a combustible chemical having had plenty of time to oxidize next to a natural gas source. The heat emanating from the fluorescent lights that you turn on act as the catalyst, and you only have time to cover your eyes as the light from the rapidly-expanding flame warns you milliseconds before the explosion reaches your ears. The sheer force of velocity is enough to throw you across the room, with the all-glass interior proving no match as every surface shatters. Everything is happening so fast, yet it seems as though it’s in slow motion, an out of body experience in which you’re a passive observer watching what’s happening to you. Maybe you are having an out of body experience, since the bouncing of your head against the wall is something that you’re pretty sure knocks you out.

It’s unclear how much time has passed when you hear a voice calling your name. Long enough that the flames have started smoldering under the water of the fire alarms. You blink rapidly, trying to get your eyes to focus again. Finally, Michael Langdon comes into view. If you weren’t in a state of shock, you’d be mildly upset that of course the vampire whom you threatened last week is the one to come upon you in a state of mortal peril. Since you are dealing with a bit of shock, you can only stare at him in disbelief.

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” You nod. “What happened?”

“Cokeheads...chemicals...bunsen burner…” Damn, that sounded way more eloquent in your head. Your inability to string together a full sentence means a concussion is almost certain.

“Those fucking imbeciles,” Michael says lowly, eyes scanning you to catalogue the extent of your injuries. His eyes are dark red with veins extending to his cheeks, startling you just as much as the previous time you saw this side of him. What startles you even more is just how easily he bites into his own wrist to let blood flow, holding it out to you expectantly.

“No, I don’t wanna be a vampire.” You try to move away from Michael, but you’re in too much pain for even that.

Although your words come out slurred and confused, Michael still understands you. “You won’t, I promise. It’s a very specific ritual, and there’s not even a chance of you becoming a vampire from this. Please, just take my blood and let me heal you.”

Later, you’ll wonder if Michael had done some sort of vampire mind trick on you. That’s the only way you can justify taking his blood with so little hesitation. Regardless of the reasons why, the earnesty in his voice tells you that he’s being truthful.

Michael leans over you, slipping a hand around the back of your neck to help you up as you lower your mouth to the open wound on his wrist. While you grimace at the metallic taste when Michael’s blood first pools in your mouth, the taste changes to something much more pleasant. It’s like a new cocktail that you get at a bar; you’re not too sure of whether or not you like it, but you know that it tastes good.

By the time you notice that your head feels clearer, Michael’s deemed that you’re fully healed. To your muted horror, you realize that you don’t want to pull away, but Michael gently forces you off of him. His inquisitive eyes look you over once more, and he uses his thumb to wipe stray blood off of your lips.

“You healed me. Why?” Your head is reeling with how fast events have been moving in the span of just a few minutes, yet the one clear question you have is why Michael healed you when he could have just as easily killed you.

“Why not?”

“Well...because…”

“Are you feeling better?” Michael decides to take pity on your bewilderment, switching the subject. 

“Oh!” Now that he mentions it, you do feel better. You can think in full sentences now, and the dull ache in your head has disappeared. While you hadn’t seen any cuts on your body, the thin lines of blood left behind on your arms prove that there were wounds from the broken glass. “I am, actually.”

“You sound surprised. Did you not think that it would work?”

Laughing sheepishly, you shrug. “I mean, not really.”

You look around, just now seeing the destruction around you. “You think Jeff and Mutt have insurance that covers gross negligence?”

“Oh, they’ll be paying for this out of their own pockets. They’re lucky that I won’t have them criminally charged for any of this.” Sirens sound in the distance, and Michael pulls you up from out of the rubble. “Come, the authorities will be here soon.”

“Wait!” Michael allows you to pull him to a stop. “What do I even tell the police? I’m sure there’s security footage of me getting knocked out.”

“Conveniently, the cameras were knocked out due to the explosion.” Michael winks at you before disappearing like he was never at the scene, leaving you to stand among the carnage as authorities swarm what was once a laboratory.

//

It’s light out when you wake up after your whirlwind night, which is what you first recognize as odd. When you arrived home last night, you don’t remember falling asleep. The next thing that can be categorized as odd is the tall, blond vampiric Antichrist standing in the middle of your bedroom. You scramble up on the bed with a surprised gasp, pulling your blankets up to your chin and staring at Michael’s smirking face.

“What--how are you here? I never invited you in.”

“A common misconception about vampires.” Michael slowly approaches the bed, his languid movements reminding you of the predator that he is.

“But what about the fact that it’s light out? Shouldn’t you be a pile of ash right now?”

“I am not the final word of vampire lore.” He kind of is, and you would retort with that, if it weren’t for the way he crawls towards you. “Your heart is beating very fast.”

“That’s because I’m not sure if you’re gonna eat me.”

“Potentially, but not in the way that you’re thinking.” If Michael couldn’t hear your heart beating before, he surely can now, especially once he leans in and kisses you.

You’ve been kissed before, enough times that you would consider yourself pretty knowledgeable about the subject. If you know a bit about kissing, then Michael Langdon is an expert on it. He manages to be sensual, yet rough at the same time, a fang nicking your bottom lip and making you shudder in surprise. Just as quickly as the droplet of blood can bead up to the surface, Michael’s licked it away, moaning at the taste of your blood.

“I don’t know how I’ve managed to go so long between tasting you,” Michael mutters against your skin, using his skill to quickly remove the shirt that you had been sleeping in.

You’re not self-conscious at Michael seeing you topless, which is unusual for you. Maybe it’s just because he knows how to treat a person right, but it’s impossible to even have those thoughts when the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen is currently kissing his way down your abdomen. Michael’s fingers ghost over the top of your pants, and you thread your fingers through his hair in response. Then, there’s a loud knock on the door.

Sitting up in bed, you’re disoriented when you realize that it’s not light out, and you don’t have a gorgeous blond vampire on top of you. Somebody knocks on the door again, and you realize that must be what woke you up from your extremely vivid, extremely wonderful dream.

“I’m coming,” you say in the loudest voice you can muster, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders to combat the cold air that the open door will let in. “Michael!”

Either this is the weirdest inception-like dream you’ve ever had, or the man you were just having a sex dream about is standing at your door. “Hello, (Y/N). I hope you won’t be too upset that I woke you at this hour.”

“Uh, you’re fine.” You open the door wider to allow Michael to enter, but he just continues to stand in the same spot. “Do I...have to invite you in? Like, is that a real thing with vampires?”

“No, I just prefer to be polite and not barge into somebody’s home without their permission.” You smirk. Of course that myth would come from the overly-polite Antichrist.

“Come in, Michael.”

“Thank you.” He steps in, quickly appraising the entryway of your apartment with the detached air of someone who’s been in homes much grander than this (he probably has; you’ve seen a couple of portraits of the French court at Versailles with a blond lord who looks suspiciously like Michael). “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“That would be a question I have.”

“Well, I realized that I had forgotten to mention something about taking vampire blood when injured.”

“And you couldn’t wait until the next time that you saw me to tell me this? Wait, how did you even find my address?”

“I’m the CEO, I have everybody’s records.”

“So, what did you have to tell me?”

“I’m assuming, since you were asleep, that you had a pretty...imaginative dream about me?”

The blood drains from your face. “How did you know about that?”

“I was so wrapped up in saving you, and the commotion that followed, that I didn’t get to tell you that a human drinking a vampire’s blood bonds them to that vampire.”

“What does that mean?” you ask incredulously.

“What it means,” Michael explains patiently, “is that certain things are going to happen to you now that you have a vampire’s blood in your system. Your senses will be enhanced, you’ll have heightened strength…”

“And the dreams?”

“As I said before, drinking a vampire’s blood bonds a human to that vampire. Until my blood is out of your system, I’ll be able to sense if you’re in trouble and your emotions. It can also give you erotic dreams about the vampire whose blood you’ve consumed.”

You groan, dismay evident on your face. “Great, that’s just--fantastic. So when does it stop?”

“A couple of months? Blood doesn’t cycle through the body very fast.”

“You’re kidding me,” you say with a disbelieving laugh.

“I don’t see what’s funny about this.”

“My entire life since I’ve met you has been fucking hilarious! And now I’m apparently bonded to you because you just happened to cross my path when I was mortally wounded.”

Michael glowers at you. “I didn’t have to save your life, you know.”

“Yet you did, all the while knowing what would happen when I took your blood.” You want to say all the things you’re thinking of, like how you still would have survived out of sheer hatred for him even if you did have to wait for the ambulance to arrive (which they had, clearing you after you had explained to the very confused EMTs that you hadn’t been in the lab when the explosion happened, just right outside of it; they had accepted your lie, albeit dubiously upon seeing the devastation that wrecked the first floor of Kineros), but all you can think about are his goddamn beautiful lips and how badly you want to kiss them. “Fuck, I can’t even focus on being mad at you because of the urge to kiss your stupidly perfect face!”

The anger Michael was previously feeling evaporates as he fights the upward quirk that his lips threaten to take. “We certainly can kiss, if that’s what you’d like.”

“It’s not what I’d like! It’s that stupid bond you were talking about.”

“Maybe just once will help to quell any future urges you may have?” 

You’re not sure if you want to smack the cocky grin off his face or jump on him, so you settle for pointing to the front door. “Out.”

“Alright, but just remember that the offer still stands.” He produces a business card between his long, ringed fingers, and you snatch it out of his hand while still glaring at him. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

You slam the door behind him, leaning against it to help your shaky knees. Michael’s laughter is still on the air long after he’s left, and you sigh as you wonder how on earth you’re going to get to sleep...especially when you realize that you won’t be able to take care of your little problem without Michael knowing. That laughter suddenly seems a lot louder now.

//

Baby tag list bc I’m lazy: @moonanonwriting​ @lvngdvns​ @wroteclassicaly​ @sojournmichael​ @chibi-lioness​ @ccodyfern​ @trelaney​ @xavierplympton​ @dyns33​ @michaelsapostle​ @ajokeformur-ray​

[jaskierswolf]

The Bard of Kaer Morhen pt.1/4

Summary: In which Geralt is not the first witcher that Jaskier meets. He's completely enthralled when a witcher saves his life whilst he was studying at Oxenfurt and makes it his life's work to change the world's opinion of witchers. Meanwhile Geralt is intrigued by the amorous bard that Eskel has befriended and sets out to find out more.

On AO3

Jaskier was sixteen the first time he met a witcher.

He was drunk off his face and fast asleep on a stone bench in Oxenfurt when he was woken up by a hand squeezing around his neck and lifting him into air. He still had some growing to do but he wasn’t short by any means and yet his legs dangled limply beneath him as he clawed at the calloused fingers that were cutting off his air supply.

“Fuck!” He choked out, he knew that he shouldn’t have listened to Valdo. They had a big exam coming up and the idiot knew that he could never beat Jaskier without sabotaging him.

He was dumped back onto the floor rather abruptly, his knees screaming at him as they hit the damp cobbled street. He looked up at his assailant with wide eyes and gasped.

A witcher.

It just has to be.

The man was incredibly well built, eyes glimmering amber in the light of the moon and a jagged scar etched into the pale skin of his face. On the man’s back were two swords, thankfully sheathed, although the witcher clearly could kill a man with just his bare hands should the mood hit him.

Jaskier should have been scared. He should have been fucking terrified.

In truth, he found the whole affair rather titillating.

He’d always been a bit weak in the knees for partners who could throw him about a bit and this glorious specimen of a man could certainly do that.

Jaskier gazed up at the witcher through his eye lashes and smiled his most seductive smile.

“Why, witcher, if you wanted me on my knees you could have just asked.” He purred in a low voice. He knew the effect was probably ruined by the fact he almost certainly looked like a mess following his night on the streets but Jaskier was a flirt by nature, he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like this when it was easily presented.

The witcher, unfortunately, only laughed at him and pulled him to his feet. His grip was firm and strong on Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier pouted at the witcher’s laughter but wasn’t deterred.

Rather than letting himself be steadied as he was pulled to his feet, he fell towards the witcher’s chest. “My my.” He breathed as he felt the solid muscle under his fingers, hidden beneath layers of armour but still obvious beneath his touch. “Aren’t you strong, like a…” He stammered as words failed him. “sexy ox?”

The witcher snorted. “A sexy ox? Oxenfurt has really gone downhill since my last visit if that’s the shit they teach you these days, either that or you’re drunker than you smell.”

“Yeah. Well.” Jaskier mumbled.

“Get home, bard. It’s not safe on the streets stinking of booze.” The witcher artfully extracted himself from Jaskier’s arms.

“Care to escort me?” Jaskier winked.

The witcher rolled his eyes. “Persistent aren’t you?”

“For a handsome man such as yourself. Always.” Jaskier grinned.

The witcher shook his head. “I’ll take you home, bard, but I’m not bedding you. What are you, twelve?” He smirked.

Jaskier gaped and stammered back. “I am sixteen!”

“You’re a child.” The witcher pulled him along. “Where do you live?”

“At the university.” Jaskier grumbled. “I’m a student.” He paused. “How did you know I’m a bard?”

The witcher grinned. “You stink of resin and your fingers are covered in ink stains.”

Jaskier gazed in awe at his new friend. “That’s incredible!”

The witcher scoffed and punched Jaskier lightly in the arm. “You’re not bad, for a human. Come along, bard.”

The witcher, named Eskel as Jaskier eventually found out as he tried to lead the man the longest way back to his room at the university as possible, had been hired by one of his professors to kill a monster that was picking off drunk students at night. That was why Jaskier had been so rudely awoken from his drunken nap. Eskel had been trying to save him. A small part of Jaskier’s brain wondered whether the witcher had been intending to use him as bait for the monster but he seemed to genuinely care that Jaskier got back safely.

He also seemed surprised that Jaskier was being kind to him, that he was flirting so brazenly. Apparently not many people found Eskel to their liking which was honestly a crime. His eyes were like burning suns, his smile was gentle and warm like a hearth on a cold winter’s day, and he had a sharp wit that rivalled Jaskier’s.

All in all Jaskier was rather smitten but Eskel continued to reject his flirtations, such a damned shame. The witcher did, however, make up for it by telling him an incredible tale of one of his hunts, a fight against a succubus that turned into a long night of passionate love making.

Jaskier was hooked and itching for a quill so he could capture the tale in a ballad or epic poem, anything that would put Valdo’s work to shame.

Jaskier was devastated when they eventually came to a stop in front of his bedroom door.

He sighed. “Last chance, witcher?” He gave Eskel one last wink.

The man chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, bard.”

Jaskier sighed dramatically. “You break my heart, dear witcher. Tell you what come to my graduation at the end of the semester and heal my broken heart with more tales of your witchering. I have a feeling there are many more ballads in you yet! I’ll even give you a cut of the profits!”

Eskel considered it for a moment and then nodded. “Throw in a bath and a hot meal and you’ve got yourself a deal bard.”

Jaskier smirked. “What about a bed for the night?”

The witcher cuffed him over the back of the head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’d like to think of it more as charmingly irresistible.” Jaskier purred jestingly at this point he wasn’t seriously flirting with the witcher. He knew a lost cause when he saw one but it was fun to flirt and Eskel humoured him.

“Incorrigible.” Eskel insisted firmly. “Sleep well, bard.”

And with that, Jaskier’s first witcher left his life for the first time.

__________

Geralt finally felt his muscles relax as he knocked on the doors of Kaer Morhen. The cold was biting against the exposed skin of his cheeks even though his cloak was pulled tightly around his neck. Roach whinnied and stamped on the ground impatiently, butting him on the shoulder. He murmured soothing words under his breath as he stroked her mane. Until the great doors opened.

He was home.

At last.

The last few months had been bizarre. Geralt was used to the hatred of humanity. He was used the suspicious glares and the never-ending litany of insults that the humans threw his way. Every witcher that lasted long enough to go into a town was used to that. It had only gotten worse after Blaviken but he had only himself to blame. He should have known better than he let himself be backed into a corner like that in a place so crawling with humans. He’d never stood a chance. They would never have listened or understood the truth. It was his word against Stregobor’s

The bastard.

What Geralt wasn’t used to was the songs and poems that had begun to crop up around the Oxenfurt and slowly spreading into the wider area.

They told tales of monster hunts, of witchers acting like knights and heroes. It had certainly made it easier to get coin after a hunt in those areas but he just didn’t understand where it was coming from. He was hoping that one of his brothers would be able to illuminate the situation.

It turned out he wasn’t the only witcher that was confused by the sudden change in fortune. Lambert greeted him with a hug and immediately asked him what trouble he’d gotten himself into this time that had inspired such songs.

“If you’re asking whether I’ve fucked a succubus, Lambert, then you should know I don’t kiss and tell.” Geralt smirked. “At least not sober.”

“Well it wasn’t me!” Lambert defended himself.

All became clear when they shuffled into the dining hall to eat and began to catch each other up with their years on the path.

Eskel grinned as he stuffed his face with a bread roll that was the size of his head. “I got myself a bard!” He announced, spitting crumbs all over the table. “A human from Oxenfurt, picked him off the streets, drunk off his face when I was hunting in the town.”

Lambert choked on his ale. “You got a what now?”

“A bard.” Eskel thumped Lambert hard on his back.

“So it’s your fault.” Geralt noted. “With the songs and poems.”

Eskel nodded.

“You fucked a succubus?” Lambert cried earning a disapproving stare from Vesemir.

Eskel rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you got from this.”

“It’s made payment easier.” Geralt noted, kicking Lambert under the table and ignoring the redhead’s curses. “The songs. He’s not scared of us.”

Eskel grinned. “That’s the best part. It’s like he’s immune to fear when it comes to witchers. He even wanted to join me on an adventure.”

Vesemir scoffed. “A human bard on a witcher hunt. That’s a foolish idea, wolf”

“That’s why I left him behind but it wasn’t easy. Bloody fool is worse than ivy. He clings onto you and doesn’t let go. An outrageous flirt too.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows at Eskel. A human who openly flirted with a witcher was either a whore trying to trick the man into bed and then demand payment, or someone who bored and wanted to try something exotic.

Neither options were particularly ideal but that was life.

“I think he might be cursed.” Eskel suggested. “I’ve never known any human, let alone a man, to try so hard to seduce a witcher, and it was genuine! I could smell it on him.”

The witchers all shared an incredulous look. Lambert patted Eskel sympathetically on the back. “You sure you weren’t on Fissttech. First the succubus, second….” Lambert trailed off.

Eskel launched across the table and soon they were wrestling on the floor. After a year apart tensions were always high before they settled back into their routine for winter. Scraps like this were unavoidable much to Vesemir’s dismay. He barked at them to take it outside or save it for the training ground.

Geralt was too lost in thought to watch the fight between his brothers.

A human bard that had taken it upon himself to change the way the world viewed mutants like him. A human that wasn’t afraid of them. A human that genuinely wanted them around. He scoffed. It was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

But what if it wasn’t?

Geralt was content with his family in Kaer Morhen. During the winter months they could all relax and enjoy the comfort of being home. They didn’t have to watch their backs every second of the day and they could all indulge in the physical comfort they craved during the summer months.

The witcher mutations were fickle. Whilst it was true that it dampened most witchers’ emotions, unless the witcher was foolish enough to undergo further mutations, they heightened other instincts. This varied depending on which witcher school you attended. The bears were solitary witchers. They were brutal and efficient and raw power but they struggled to find humans that wouldn’t flee in terror. The griffin’s style was more acrobatic. They danced and flew through the air. They parried and dodged and pirouetted in aerial attacks that were lethal and precise but the mutations had some of the worst success rates and even those who survived were often damaged and didn’t heal as well as they other schools. The cats were similarly light on their feet. They attacked from the shadows. They were the assassins and the school that gave witchers a bad name.

The wolves didn’t like the cats very much.

Unless your name was Lambert, but then he’d always liked to find new ways to piss of Vesemir and fucking the enemy was apparently his new venture.

The wolves, Geralt’s school, were a family. In the beginning, before the siege and before humans had turned on the ones that were meant to protect them, the wolf witchers had travelled in packs. They were skilled and ferocious on their own, but they were unstoppable together. These days it just wasn’t practical and they were caught in crippling loneliness for the majority of the year. Geralt felt it more keenly than his brothers, the second dose of mutations fucking with his emotions more than most.

During winter the wolves would hug each whenever they ran into each other during the day, they would wrestle on the ground whenever the mood hit them and they could often be found in a pile by the fire after a long day of training and chores. Casual affection during winter was the key to survival during the rest of the year.

No human would every allow a witcher close enough not unless they were being paid and Geralt simply could not afford regularly visits to a brothel.  

But if there was really a human who wasn’t scared of witchers, that liked them even…

Geralt growled and stalked up to his room.

He wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Even if the bard did like most witchers, he would still hate the Butcher of Blaviken.

Next

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #eskel #witcher eskel #geralt/jaskier #the bard of kaer morhen #wolfie's witcher writing #I'll post next chapter tomorrow or check out ao3 for the rest