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sweet-as-an-angel · 7 months

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MW2 Reaction To You Panty-Flashing Them

Warnings: Implied Smut, Mean! MW2, Dominant! MW2, Victim/Reader Blaming, Slut-Shaming, Reader Getting Pimped Out, Mention of a Leash, Allusions to Injury, Mentions of Blood, Petnames, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Ghost

Ghost is a territorial man. So seeing you flash not only him but Johnny as well made something in him simmer.

It wasn’t rage, for this little accident, regardless of how intentional it was, was not your fault. If he had to place it, he’d attribute it to…

Lust.

As was evident in how he excused himself from the gathering of the 141 and Los Vaqueros in your living room, grabbing you by your arm.

He stowed you away. Dragged you to a desolate laundry room and gripped you by your thighs. You gasped, gripped onto him. Felt something hard rub against you.

Ghost threw you atop the washing machine and gave you a harsh stare as he watched you try to fight the feeling building within from the machine’s buzzing and shuffling.

“Go on then, Doll,” he rasps, eyes hard and the throbbing monster between his legs harder. He palmed himself. Remorse was not in his nature. And neither was mercy.

“Seein’ as you were practically beggin’ the others to fuck you, go and put on a show.”

His voice lowered. He stood between your legs, frame blocking you from any form of help or salvation.

“Just for me.”

König

König had been sat on your sofa, an action figure in a house for a doll half his size, and you’d bent over to retrieve something from beneath the TV cabinet.

The fact that you were wearing a pair of König’s shorts was already clouding his moral compass. Seeing your underwear peeking out beneath them was what sent him over the edge.

As you remained bent, cheek pressed to the floor as you reached for what you’d lost, you didn’t hear König approach. Didn’t know he’d even moved from the sofa until something thick and hard was pressed to the back of you, followed by two heavy hands holding you at the waist, and a slow, shuttering breath.

“Don’t move,” König told you. “Stay like this.”

Slowly, he pressed deeper into you. You could feel his restraint unwinding second by second.

It was when he bent over you, had his broad chest pressed to your back, that you knew you weren’t escaping. And you weren’t backing down.

“I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you cum, bleed or pass out.” König’s voice held no humour, but you could feel the franticity building in it.

He reached round, gripped your chin. Made you look at him. His smile was sharp, his features dark.

“Whichever comes first.”

Soap

Johnny pulled the leash tighter around your throat when you tried to protest your innocence. Tried to make him see reason.

“Doesn’t matter that it was ‘just an accident’.” He mimicked you, made you sound weak, whiny. His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. His knuckles turned white around the leash.

His shadow loomed over you from your position on the bed, on your hands and knees while Johnny presided over you with an iron fist.

Tears obscured his silhouette. Made your eyes glassy.

“Aww, Did I upset you, Bonnie?” Johnny’s tone held a gruffness that didn’t even try to hide the anger running beneath.

He huffed, a mocking laugh.

“How’d’ya think I felt when you were practically spreading your legs for Simon?”

Again, you tried to tell him what really happened. Tried to incur any fragment of mercy Soap would spare you.

He pulled on the leash again. Tighter. You gasped, hands flying up to the leather around your neck, trying to loosen it – to plead for Johnny’s favour – as the air was knocked out of you.

“Oh no, you don’t get to talk.” He said. He stepped to you. The bulge in his jeans became ever more noticeable. Impending.

“M’gonna use you like the whore you are ‘til my cum’s leaking out of every hole in your body.”

Valeria

“Do I look like I fucking care, Darling?” Valeria circled you, her belt wrapped around her hand, a glint of darkness in her eye.

Wrists and ankles duct-taped to the chair, you could do little to follow her. To understand her intentions.

“Do you really think whatever little lie you pass off as an excuse can quell the fire you’ve set?”

Before you could attest your innocence, beg for forgiveness, Valeria’s belt came down across your thighs. Crying out, you flinched, tried to withdraw, pushing your chair back in the process.

Valeria lunged forward and gripped the chair by the arms, pressing your skin into the wood, and dragged you back.

Her face twisted into a visceral snarl, the portrait of evil.

“Please, Valeria, I’m begging you–”

“Oh, you’ll beg for me, alright.” Valeria looked down at you, her face to yours. Just shy of your noses touching. With bared teeth, she smiled.

“I won’t stop until you do.”

Price

“If you wanted attention that badly, you could’ve just asked.”

Price had your arms and legs bound to a hard, wooden chair while a thick ream of cloth had your mouth gagged. He stood over you, arms crossed over his front, a glint in his eye. He sighed, brought his hands to grip your tied forearms. Pressed them into the armrests.

You winced.

“What…possessed you to go and show your arse to Alejandro and the rest of the team?” His voice reflected a tone of ponderment found only in Sarcasm’s extended family tree. And it showed with the faux confusion written in his brow.

“Do I just not cut it for you?” He leaned in. The chair creaked. Your arms hurt. He didn’t let up.

“Am I not enough to keep you from throwing yourself at the nearest soldier?”

He watched you, his stare narrow. You shook your head, eyes wide. You tried speaking through the gag, tried to tell him that he was the only man you loved, but you both knew your efforts were futile.

He withdrew, gripped his belt, adopted his default stance. He heaved a deep breath.

“Come in, lads,” he called behind him, not taking his gaze off you. Your stomach tightened.

A thin smile stretched across Price's lips as he watched your eyes widen, your gaze following Simon, Soap, Gaz, Rudy and Alejandro as they filtered into the room.

Price bowed at the waist, lowered his voice so only you could hear.

“Seeing as you’re so keen to show ‘em what’s under your clothes, I’m gonna let them use you ‘til you’ve learnt your lesson.”

Horangi

Hong-Jin popped the top button of his jeans, keeping his gaze trained on you, spearing you with a dark stare.

“Did you enjoy giving König and I a little show, Dear?”

Sarcasm nestled in his tone, a viper in a den. But the excitement running parallel beneath it, just shy of its transparent underbelly, was evident.

Hong-Jin slid the zip of his jeans down. Pulled the denim over his hips.

“It’s only fair that I…” He took your hand, placed it at the hem of his underwear. Dipped beneath the band.

His skin was scorching. Something pulsated beneath your fingers.

The implication sat heavy in his tone. In his eyes.

“Return the favour.”

Alejandro

“I didn’t know I was dating such an attention-seeking whore.”

Alejandro’s voice was the roll of thunder across a darkened valley, the weight of a downpour of knives settled into his tone.

Hands behind his back, he stood over you, having resigned you to sitting on your knees, the hardwood floor pushing against your joints.

“Luckily for you, I’m not the type to hold grudges.” A smile played at his lips. One you knew not to trust.

“But he is.”

Alejandro looked to the door, where, from beyond its frame, emerged Rudy. His face held a similar, serpentine pallor, his lips drawn up into a thin smile. Venom in his veins.

“Wasn’t expecting to get blue-balled by (Y/N) earlier, Ale,” came Rudy, his usually sugared demeanour having dropped, the veil between what he was and what he showed to the world slipping away. Retreating.

Alejandro gave him a knowing look. He turned back to you.

“Why don’t you be a good little doll and put your face to the floor. Just like we practised.”

The memory of leashes, lashings and tears flooded your memory. You held back a wanton whimper.

Alejandro’s voice dropped. “And let Rudy see the rest of what you promised him.”

Rodolfo

“I don’t want to have to do this, Cariño. Rudy stood over you, his hands on your shoulders and his face dark. Grim.

His hold on your shoulders tightened.

“But I can’t let your behaviour go…”

He searched your eyes for the right word. His brow furrowed when he found it.

“Unchecked.”

He sighed. Pushed down on your shoulders.

“Come on, Angel. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He told you, pushing harder until you bent to his will.

Now, on your knees, you could see how desperately he needed you.

One hand came to your jaw, thumb trailing to your lip, pulling your mouth open. The other slid down to his belt, sliding it from the buckle. It hissed, pulled tight against the metal. You swallowed.

Rudy’s breath shuttered, and you could tell from the way his hand clenched, the way he slipped the belt from his jeans like a snake, that he was enjoying this. Much more than he wanted to let on.

“Now remember, mi Amor, no teeth, no biting.” His head tilted. Condescending. “Or I’ll bite you back.”

Graves

He can barely contain himself.

It was only the briefest of flashes. It wasn’t even intentional. But something about your shy smile after the fact once you realised what you’d done sent a vicious little idea to Graves’s head.

He starts stealing all your underwear. Gradually, yet in large enough volumes that he doesn’t have to wait longer than he can handle without his reward.

One day, you come into his office, face warm and tugging an oversized shirt over the top of your thighs.

“Missing something, Darlin’?” Graves drawls. Your eyes narrow at him. You know he’s had something to do with your underwear’s disappearing act.

He puts his papers down, sighs, and rests the back of his head in his hands against the backrest of his chair.

“How about you flash me again. Slowly, now.” His eyes glint with a dark mischief and want.

“Y’don’t wanna know what happens if you don't do it the way I like it.”

Gaz

“Oh, Darling, look what you’ve done,” Gaz’s voice carried despite the thickening tension in the room. Neither of you needed to look down to see what he was referring to.

Despite the chastising tone in his voice, his eyes were warm. Kind, almost.

“If you wanted my attention so badly, you only had to ask.”

He stepped towards you, placing a hand under your jaw. He smiled.

“It’s only fair that I reward you for being so creative, isn’t it ?”

His other hand came to your shoulder, pushing the strap of your tank top until it fell, leaving the sweeping juncture between your neck and shoulder exposed.

Has bit back a shuttering breath.

Despite his gentile voice, an angeline choir, the soundtrack of mercy, there lay a hunger in his eyes, in his barely-restrained grip, that suggested a beast lurked beneath his pretty boy exterior.

And you knew from the way he told you to “Get on the bed – be good for me,” that you’d be seeing it tonight.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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randominji · 3 months

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𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝟏: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓

: I see the key worked... very well then, I expect you to tred lightly little one. This may only be the opening page, but with enough care to details, it could hint to anything and everything for the storyline.

[Additional information regarding scheduling will be down below]

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: None... (maybe spelling mistakes)

Page unlocked! Click -> here <- to be taken to "your family" character profile page!

Everyone in your small spread of a community knew about the tale of the forest. You've been told of its wits and games, how the shadows always lie. It was the most essential life lesson your parents had to teach you as a child, even before teaching you how to feed yourself.

Never trust the forest.

It was always the number one rule, and therefore, it was always on your mind. This sick game of oppressed "what ifs-" had led to your twisted insights on the woodland, causing a connection of curiosity to stem from deep within.

It fascinated you. How could something so pure and raw as nature be so cruel and dangerous to the wonders that cohabitate with it? How could mother nature simply allow herself to corrupt the good creatures she's tried so hard to bring up?

Capitalism blossoms in every aspect of this earth, a hierarchy of social imbalance based on stereotypical assumptions and power. They always neglect the very aspects that keep them afloat, like nature and its natural decomposers.

You guess that's why imbalance strives on the blood of the incompetent, and you refuse to turn a blind eye to that. Not now, not ever.

"Y/n, where's Maxwell?"

The same impending call of your mother rings out, her voice cutting a clean slate above what was your arguing sister and brother.

"What?!" You respond, sitting up at the mention of Maxwell, your beloved companion and best friend.

"Maxwell? Have you seen him?"

"Uhhh…" You take a second to respond, eyes realigning with the foot of your bed. "Not recently! No?"

Placing the chisel and canvas of your constructed wooden statue down, you raise yourself from your bed with a curious gaze. Where was Maxwell?

The normally occupant spot by the foot of your bed was acquainted with the mangled of a deer's metatarsal bone and a patch of thin black and white hairs. His wool blanket, knitted by your mother, was in a mess, slumped to one half of your worn out mattress and the normally chewed on wood of your bedpost had no fresh saliva on its brutally mauled exterior.

"Maxwell!" You call, only to receive no tip off on his whereabouts. Inching yourself out of bed, you feel a certain dun fill your ears at the sudden sound of what could only be Maxwell's untrimmed nails scattering on the wooden floor.

Shuffling to the only wooden flooring within your shack of a house, you find your best friend, and dog, sitting and staring at the front door.

"What's up bud?" You pause to observe him, not a single bone in his body ached to move, not even his constantly wagging tail. "Do you need to go to the toilet?" You ask, moving to rest your hand on the rusted metal hook you use as a handle.

But still. No response.

"Max?" You mumble, eyes dragging from the tips of his gone pointed ears to the sudden twitch of his moistened snout.

"I'll let you out, but only for a minute. Make your business fast, alright boy?" You give the flat of his head a quick pat before opening the door.

It was apparent that with patience, came eagerness too- as Maxwell had immediately scurried out of the door, wasting no time in looking back as you only watched his silhouette fade into the void of darkness beyond your residence.

A deep feeling of something uneasy settled into your stomach almost instantly. You had already known you had just made the wrong choice.

"Y/n? Did you find him?!"

"Ahh…" you breathe out, eyes frantically dotting around, your vision trying to pry into the small crooks of the shadows as they obscure all light.

Your eyes remain trained on the darkness as the small of scraggy footsteps invade your ears. "Y/n?" It was your mother, you could tell by the rasp of her normally dried throat. Water wasn't all that easy to obtain for your household.

“Yeah…” You pause momentarily “Hey mom, I'll be right back… I'm just getting some fresh air” and with your final words, you had slipped past the poor excuse of a front door and into the chill of the pitched night.

These surroundings felt foreign at night. The friendly wave the grass usually gave you during your walks with Maxwell was now wagging its finger at you, taunting you with the curl of their bladed tips. Even the trees seemed like giant legs, planted firm and impenetrable within the soil like a knife to a gut. The grass was still wet from yesterday's downpour anyway- a certain moisture hung in the air around you, almost suffocating you with the earthy scent.

The thud of your front door hitting your weathered door frame had you jump a small distance forward, your shoes seeming to soak the small droplets of rain that had yet to evaporate from the ground. A small huff bypasses your lips as you begin to move- your steps seemingly careless as you wonder towards the last location you had seen Maxwell- the tree line that boarded the Rimwell Forest and what layed beyond it.

In all honesty, no one from your village had made much of an effort to barricade a defence between your location of eternal residence and the eerie forest beyond. No walls, no warnings, no fences, no nothing. There were as many precautions as there were punishments.

You were only ever to be told to never enter the forest, and if you had entered, you were to be forgotten about till your return- if you ever return.

No one cares about some inconvenient disappearance, especially when the missing person is someone of your social ranking within Croydon. You were merely the daughter of a manual labourer and a forgotten mistress. No one could care less about who you were, especially with your dad suffocating in his ever-building debt.

You've seen the way the poorer families thrash around in a cheap mess, their voices ringing out amongst the whole town due to its small size. Desperate knocks on everyone's front doors would go ignored constantly from the moment they realise this was another missing person case. Parents, wives, husbands, and even close friends to the missing person would demand an investigation, possibly even a board meeting in the small gazebo your poor excuse of a neighbourhood had. They were always a mess, but the responses were always worse.

“They did this to themself”

“They're not of our priority”

“Did they contribute to our society?”

“Are they of any significance to me?”

It always seemed as if the self-proclaimed president of Croydon was too preoccupied with developing what he'd want to administer as “The perfect village.” As he saw it, if they weren't of much importance, they were a lost cause. Someone could always fill the missing gaps, someone less or more able, because at the end of the day, one missing person wasn't much of a problem.

When it came to those of a higher stance in the village, however, it was a whole new story.

Though, thinking this back over… maybe rushing out after your dog wasn't the best idea. You recognise him to resemble a child in a blacksmiths- take your eyes off of him for one moment, and he's gone- but more often than not, he always returns. Maybe you should've had some patience before having left only a few seconds after him. Who knows? Maybe he's already back home?

With a defeated sigh, you look around. Your eyes had completely adjusted to the unusually dark shadows the canopy provided by this point, allowing you to see some finer details in the area. Above you laid a shelter of extended limbs, leaves folded over one another in a shambled pattern. The thick tendrils of tree roots protrude from the ground and arch their backs, a faint rustling sound from your left, then to your right echoed around in this earthy labyrinth.

It was safe to say your hair was standing on end with how eerie everything had gotten. Your senses kicked themselves into overdrive as you examined everywhere you stepped. Every mushroom and ivory bush was consciously noted until something oddly peculiar happened…

“Wasn't that-” You mumbled, your voice lowers into a whisper as you blink at the base of a tree. It stood tall and proud like nothing you've ever seen before- except you have.

That very same carving in the tree- one that almost resembled a rabbit- you could've sworn you saw that a few minutes ago. Had you been walking in circles, perhaps? Or are you just losing your mind?

The cold touch of an old man's finger runs down your spine, a painful shiver following pursuit. Your hand almost darts to the location of the chill as it deteriorates almost as quickly as it had appeared. Your shoulders tense defensively, and your breath hitches within the dry and tightened of your windpipes.

You already knew you weren't alone anymore. Your sixth sense had kicked in. It felt suffocating as you tried to remain as calm and vigilant as possible.

If the rumours about this forest were true, then you sure as hell weren't going down without getting as far away as possible first. Doing a U-turn and running back the way you came from would at least put you somewhere closer to home if you were to die. That way, maybe your family could find you, and maybe find some closure-

What?

You tense again at the sound of a frail twig snapping, a vision of what could be lurking around had you gulping once again. Though, there was something about this sound that made it far more distinct, far more disturbing.

It was as if it was right behind you.

Update schedule: I will try my best to update every Saturday. However, due to events in my life, not every update will be guaranteed. Additionally, on some weeks, there will be a dual post if you're lucky :)

Posts for the first few chapters will be at an irregular schedule as I'd like to have as many people caught up in this before the real adventure begins :^

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lemonadecandy · 2 years

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Meeting Zhongli [Part 6]

Game: Genshin Impact

About: Zhongli x fem!reader

Note 1: The premise is that 'you' get transported into the game and journey through Teyvat along with the traveler. This is a reinterpretation of the Liyue Archon Quests. Hope you enjoy~

Note 2: Please do not copy, translate, repost, etc., any part or the entirety of my works.

Words: ~2.5k

Warning: This chapter contains some graphic violence and profanity.

A cold wind rushed into the cave as the rain kept pouring relentlessly. The fire had died down long ago and now the logs were too wet to be rekindled. My body was shivering uncontrollably under the thin leaf covers that barely provided any warmth. I slowly cranked my head to the side to look at the cave’s wall. Cutting my finger on the sharp tip of the wooden branch I held, I marked another line on the wall with the blood that flowed. 27. It had been twenty-seven days since I had been stranded in this strange place, perhaps, even more, I may have been unconscious through a few.

It was a very beautiful place, with a clear sunny beach on one side and lush green pastorals on the other. It looked like scenery straight out of a Van Gogh painting. But my marvel for it only lasted for a short while. I didn’t dare to move beyond a few meters from the area I had gained consciousness at, otherwise strange blob-like creatures would attack. With much difficulty, I had taken a few out, but they only kept coming and I was ultimately forced to run. The only source of food in the small safe zone were the few fruit trees and berries that were scarcely spread. They were unlike any fruits I had seen but they tasted nice and sweet. That time, the only issue I had was water, a mighty ocean stretched out in front of me, but it was all salt water, and just as my throat had started shriveling from thirst, it had started to rain. Unfortunately, it hasn’t stopped pouring yet, in fact, the storm keeps getting stronger. I have already eaten all the fruits and berries I could find and though water is plenty now, I no longer have any food to eat. How long can a human even survive without food?

My head had already gotten foggy, it was harder to stay conscious, but I was too afraid to fall asleep, for that might just be the last time I ever close my eyes. How did I even get here? The last thing I remember is staring at a computer screen as I had finished some sort of video game, it had been a euphoric feeling that culminated after years of following a very interesting story. I contemplated all of this being a mere delusion, but the pain as my organs shut down felt too strong. My leg was still out of commission from trying to fight those blob-like creatures. The impending death felt real as well. What in the world is this situation?! The terror and madness had already swallowed my mind, I could barely even think anymore.

Suddenly, I heard a rustling at the entrance of the cave. I had grown accustomed to all the sounds that nature made as I had waited the rain out in this small cave. That, wasn’t the mere rustling of leaves as water gushed over it. Did the slimes make it all the way here?! I quickly stood up in fear, a shock jerked my legs as I mustered all the strength I had. My vision was cloudy, so it was hard to determine what stood at the cave entrance, but it seemed like a human silhouette. A wave of relief rushed over me. There are humans here! Was I going to be saved?!

I hurriedly limped towards the figure, almost crawling. “Help! Help!”, my voice croaked because it hadn’t been used in so long. But I kept shouting like a mad dog. I had almost reached the person who stood at the entrance, but instead of heavenly aid, what I received was a blow to my face.

I had been struck by what seemed like a wooden club. Pain flowed through the entire right side of my face, my lower jaw threatening to fall off. Blood gushed into my mouth in unimaginable amounts, the metallic taste overwhelming my mouth. The figure was approaching, readying for another hit. I crawled away in the nick of time, as the assaulter just missed my head and struck my back instead. The stick! I didn’t stop to even process the pain and rushed toward the sharp stick that lay next to the fire pit. The attacker seemed to have slowed down as I quickly dashed away from them.

The stick had been a thick branch of wood I had found while scavenging for berries, it had helped me fight the blobs. It wasn’t a very effective weapon, but it was my only chance at survival.

Grabbing the weapon I turned to face the assaulter. My vision was still unclear but adrenaline was pumping through my body, giving it strength despite the starvation. The assaulter didn’t have a lot of height but they seemed bulky. Well, the force of that blow to my face had been very strong. “I don’t mean any harm, let’s try to talk this out!”, I yelled trying to reason with them. But all I received was some gibberish. They don’t understand me!

Before I could say anything else, the attacker directly ran towards me, their wooden club raised. My mind started spiraling in panic. I didn’t know what to do. Do I just dodge? But for how long could I keep doing that? Do I attack? But they are human! No. I had to forsake my morals right now. ‘Kill or be killed.’ That’s what they say right?

Despite my thoughts, my humanity still shone through as I reflexively dodged instead of attacking the assailant. But, I never was skilled in agility. Before I could fully dodge them, I had already been struck on my left shoulder blade. The force cut through the muscle, opening another wound for more of my blood to pour out of. The adrenaline was starting to fade away too and the pain was multiplied by the starved state of my body. I collapsed in agony, writhing on the ground. My heart rate skyrocketed in shock and I loudly gasped for air. It was unbearable! I had never experienced an injury more severe than a bruise in my entire life. This was too much for me to handle. I loudly screeched in torment, trying to drown out my senses with the sounds. Fuck morals! Why did I fucking dodge?!

The assailant had stopped attacking and was now leaning down towards me probably trying to assess my condition. They seemed to have lowered their guard as their neck and shoulders were entirely open for possible attacks. This was my opportunity.

As I contemplated my course of action, a twisted thought ran through my head. Kill or be killed.

I clenched tightly at the stick that was still in my hand, and just as the attacker tried to retreat, I pierced their throat with all the strength I could muster. It was hard, I didn’t have close to enough strength. I felt every fiber in the muscles of their neck snap as I pushed the stick in even further. I pulled it back out as dark crimson blood was rushing out, splattering onto my face. The attacker fell back and tried to rush out of the cave. My body had been taken over by an unfamiliar intensity and my mind had stopped functioning. I crawled out into the rain and toward them, grabbing their leg to hold them back.

The clouds were still thundering and the rain still didn’t show any signs of slowing down. The attacker had started shrieking themselves, shouting in whatever sound they could muster from their injured throat. I pulled them back and quickly pinned them to the ground with my legs. Raising the stick, I stabbed them again. And again. Blood kept rushing out and coloring my hands as the creature in front of me slowly stopped struggling. As the flare of survival instincts slowly died down, my mind was starting to become sane again. I yelled as tears flowed down my face at the realization of what I had just done, hands shaking as I still couldn’t stop myself from stabbing. “Kill or be killed.”, repeating the quote over and over again. I could have just severely injured their shoulder, or let them escape while they were trying to run away but I instead chose to murder what seemed like a human. I rolled off the assailant and lay down on the ground as the rain drowned my screams of sorrow.

“Y/n!”

“Y/n, wake up!”, someone was calling out to me. I immediately opened my eyes and shot up into a sitting position.

“Y/n!”, it was Lumine. She was seated next to me on the bed, holding me by my shoulders. “Are you alright?!”

I looked around trying to regain my bearings. My heart was racing at the speed of light and I was sweating buckets. That dream.

“Y/n!”, Lumine called out to me once again.

“Huh?”, I tried to break myself out of my daze as I panted for air.

“Did something happen last night?!”, she asked, worry sketching her tone.

“Last night…?”, I raised my hand to my head trying to recall my memories.

“I am so sorry! I should not have left you all alone. I know how scared you get when that happens, but you looked so sprung up around Mr. Zhongli. He is a good man, so I thought it would be a good idea for you to loosen up around him since we’ll be spending quite some time together.”, she rambled. “Was I wrong? Did he do something to you?!”

“W-wait, no, relax!”, I said trying to get my breathing in control.

“But you are literally shaking!”, she exclaimed.

It was true, I just couldn’t stop my body from jittering in fear. That dream, no, those memories, why had they popped into my mind again? When I revisited that cave later, I couldn’t find any corpse around. But, it had really happened, the scars on my shoulder and back were proof of that, it wasn’t a hallucination caused by starvation. Looking back, that assailant could have been a mere hilichurl who had wandered into the cave while looking for shelter, but the body had been washed away by the rain, so there was no way to check. But a hilichurl was once a human too. Unable to find the courage to explain my experiences before I met the traveler, I only rested my head on her shoulder without saying anything. I thought I had long gotten over that trauma, but I suppose it isn’t that easy.

“If you want, we can just tell Mr. Zhongli and Childe that we can’t help them anymore. There must be other ways to get to the geo archon—“, she tried to reassure me as she loosely embraced me.

“No!”, I immediately cut in. “I-It isn’t because of Zhongli. Everything went well yesterday! He’s a swell guy! I was just missing home that’s all~”

Lumine gave me a skeptical glance, “If you say so.” She grabbed my hand as she continued, “Don’t worry! We’ll definitely find my brother and get you home soon!”

I looked at her with a smile on my face. Just like the interpretation in the game, the traveler didn’t talk a lot, especially when it wasn’t necessary. But when it mattered most, she was the first one to ramble on. I found that part of her quiet endearing. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Again, about yesterday… it’s just that I thought you deserved a fun night out without the two of us bothering you… You even came in late last night, so I thought you enjoyed yourself.”, she looked away in embarrassment. My feelings of gratitude soon evaporated as I remembered how I had been abandoned mercilessly last night.

I chuckled, “Of course, I enjoyed myself a lot.”

“Really?”, innocent curiosity in her eyes.

“Uh-huh. Precisely why I want to share this enjoyment with you!”, a sly smile spread on my face.

“What do you mean?” I motioned for her to get up from my bed as I slowly guided her toward the door.

“One week. You cover all my expenses for one week.”, I nudged her over the threshold as realization slowly dawned on her face.

“But y/n—!”, I shut the door before she could complete her sentence.

“Don’t worry darling, it’s just some petty payback. I promise I’ll be frugal.”, I shouted from inside.

“Y/n! Are you serious?!”, she slammed her hands on the door.

“Quick! Save me a seat at the restaurant, I need to get ready.”

Lumine only helplessly kept banging at the door as I callously laughed at her misery.

»»-----------------------------------------------------------------------►

My nose felt stuffy, and my eyes were swollen. The after-effects of crying always left me feeling numb, even the next day. The headache from the hangover didn’t help much either. We had parted ways soon after my outburst last night. I was too glum to realize this yesterday, but I have really embarrassed myself in front of him, haven’t I? He must think of me as some poor lost child, not that it’s entirely inaccurate. Besides, him thinking of me as a lamentable youngster is much safer than him considering me a threat. But still, this is hurting my pride.

Lumine was pouty because of my attempt at revenge in the morning, but Paimon on the other hand was being overly sweet to me. Probably because she intended to freeload off the traveler along with me. I leaned towards her slinging my around her shoulder, “Come on, cheer up! We’re going flower picking today.”

But I was only ignored as she looked away. “Now you are making me feel all guilty.”

“Would that make you reconsider?”, she looked back at me with doe eyes.

“No.”, I giggled.

Our conversation came to stop when we noticed Zhongli waiting for us at the center of Yujing Terrace. “Mr. Zhongli!”, Paimon called out as we neared him.

He waved back at us with a smile on his face, “You’re here.” Glancing towards me he spoke, “Y/n, you seem to have recovered well.”

“Ahaha, yes, you too.”, I laughed awkwardly, unable to make eye contact. Did all of my character development just get deleted?!

But before I could wallow in my embarrassment too much, Zhongli stepped towards me grabbing my hand to place a vial in it, causing me to look up at him in confusion. “It’s some medicine for a hangover.”

The warmth from last night was still present in his eyes. To be honest, ever since I had woken up, I was kind of wishing that he had forgotten about last night, but seeing that kindliness in his expressions made me glad that he didn’t.

“Thank you.”, I smiled back at him with gratitude. I wondered if it was because of this intensity of his that seemed to ignore all of my walls, I had slowly started lowering my guard. Was he the reason I had that dream about the past that I had tried my best not to confront?

Strange feelings had started blooming in my heart.

P.S: I was looking for some Zhongli fanart for the banners on Pinterest but all I could find was some spicy Ayato content, and now I really wanna write a fic for him just so I can use all the pins I have saved. Any ideas?~~

Banner image art by: Unable to find. If anyone knows, please inform.

Part 7:

#zhongli #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin headcanons #reader insert #x reader #zhongli scenarios #zhongli x y/n #female reader #genshin angst #genshin fanfic #lemonadecandy #meeting zhongli

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skzsauce01 · 3 years

Text

Bird Is the Word

Synopsis: A series of drunk texts leads to one of the best and worst things that has ever happened to you. Or, Han Jisung is never going to let you forget the time you forgot the word ‘bird.’ College AU. Not a text fic but does include some texts.

Warning: alcohol, a lot of bird puns

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: fem!reader x Han Jisung

2:23 AM [Me]: sOS SOS SOS SOSOSOS 2:23 AM [Me]: I NEED HELPPPP 2:23 AM [Jisung Bio]: You okay?? 2:23 AM [Me]: YOU SMART HELPPPPP

2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you want me to call the police?? 2:24 AM [Me]: WHAT ARE THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP CALLED 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Is this a code word? 2:24 AM [Me]: THEY GO FLAP AND EAT SEEDS 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Do you mean birds? 2:24 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you drunk?

2:25 AM [Me]: [blurry_photo_of_your_window.jpg] 2:25 AM [Me]: HERE LOOK 2:25 AM [Me]: YES BIRDS 2:25 AM [Me]: THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH 2:25 AM [Me]: LOVE YOUUUUU

In your defense, you were drunk. And when you are drunk, your critical thinking skills disappear and are replaced by pure, uninhibited stupidity. It’s like some twisted Jekyll and Hyde situation, but only when you drink, you transform into this other version of yourself instead of suppressing it.

You mostly remember the things you have done and said while under the influence. The most embarrassing ones tend to be fuzzy. If it weren’t for the grainy phone video taken by Seungmin and your own voice cheerfully declaring that you had an idea, you wouldn’t have realized that you were the idiot who tried to make a chalk mural at the four-way intersection in the middle of the night. You didn’t even have chalk, but that didn’t stop you from drawing on the asphalt with a broken pen you found on the sidewalk.

Good thing Seungmin had the foresight to drag you back to the crosswalk before a car could come speeding by.

However, that legendary act of idiocy doesn’t even compare to this new one. Forget the fact that you could have died.

Your biology class just went over survival of the fittest using Darwin’s finches as an example. How in the world did you forget about the word ‘bird?’ Why did you think it was a good idea to ask the cute guy in your bio study group about “THE FLUFFY ANIMALS THAT GO FLAP?” And why, why, why did you insist on telling him that you loved him? The ‘THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH’ was already enough.

Jisung is never going to let you live this down.

It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s not like you spent the entire Sunday morning knocking back glasses of water and wishing it was vodka instead. It’s not like you drafted about five different apology messages and deleted them all. It’s not like you have to see him in class tomorrow.

Really, you’re fine.

You go out of your way to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, which probably means you are very conspicuous. Do normal people not wear hoodies and sweatpants to class now, or are you just overthinking everything? The two people in the row in front of you are wearing jeans, and the girl heading down your row has a polka-dotted dress on. A secondary glance at the girl tells you that it’s another member of your study group. Speaking of the study group, maybe you should find another one. Preferably one without Jisung in it.

“Morning,” Lia says as she takes the seat beside you. She sets down her purple water bottle on the floor with a light clink. “How was your weekend?”

Terrible, but you say, “It was fine. I finished up the readings and did some notes. How about you?”

“Those readings took me forever!” she groans. “I was trying to finish everything on Saturday, so I could go out on Sunday. Which I did manage to do, so it all worked out. I got a new dress!” She plucks at the bodice of her dress, and you finally take a closer look at the pattern.

They’re not polka dots. They’re freaking birds — swoopy doves with outstretched wings. Or at least you think they’re doves. Your lack of bird knowledge speaks for itself.

“It’s pretty,” you hollowly say. The universe seems determined to remind you of your texts. Lia’s face falters, and you realize your disdain came across as you lying. “No, it’s not like that! Just… bad experiences with birds. You look really nice in this.”

She brightens up. “Oh, thanks! What do you mean by ‘bad experiences?’ What happened?”

“Good morning, birdbrain!”

“That happened.”

Looking far too happy for a Monday morning, Jisung takes the other seat beside you. He has a cup of coffee stacked high with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, and you wonder if his extreme cheerfulness is from the caffeine or from your impending public humiliation. Why did you have to pick this guy to have a crush on? Sure, he’s cute and smart and sometimes nice, but there are plenty of people who have those traits without his witticism.

Lia looks at you with more amusement than concern. “So what happened?”

You tell her about what really happened during the weekend, and Jisung laughs all the while, reenacting his facial expression when he received your first frantic SOS message. Meanwhile, you sink lower and lower into your chair, ignoring your tailbone’s cries of pain as you slide further down the thin cushion.

“You can’t hide forever,” Jisung remarks as he looks at your slumping form. “C’mon, it wasn’t that bad. And you were drunk anyway.”

Yeah, you were, but the whole thing is doubly embarrassing because of how much you want him to like you. The overenthusiastic, all-caps messages are normal whenever you text while drunk, but ‘I love yous’ and the even rarer ‘I LOVE YOUUUU’ are few and far between. Only six people excluding Jisung have received them: your parents, your best friend, and your statistics group project members because you accidentally sent the message to the wrong chat.

On the bright side, seven is a lucky number. It means absolutely nothing in this case, and it’s hardly relevant to how you’re feeling, but everyone copes differently. Yours just happens to be clinging onto any silver lining available for solace.

“Anyway,” Lia cuts in, saving you from replying, “you’re here early, Jisung.”

He shrugs and flashes her a playful smile. However, his eyes are focused on you when he says, “You know what they say: early bird gets the worm.”

You give him a pitiful attempt of a withering glare. “I hate you.”

“Okay, fine.” He tugs at the shoulder of your hoodie to motion for you to stop trying to melt into the ground and to help you up. “It’s ‘cause I knew you would be here early.”

You are calm, you are fine, you will not be flustered. He just teased you five seconds ago; you should not be this willing to forgive him under these circumstances. Nonetheless, you slide back up to a more normal sitting position and try to pretend that you are still mildly upset. His next sentences make that impossible.

“You guys want brownies? Felix was stress-baking again.”

One may call you easily swayed by food, and they would be right. Jisung lets you have a coveted corner piece, and you decide that he’s alright again. He stretches an arm in front of you to get to Lia, and you lean back to avoid bumping into him. It also gives you a clear view of his profile. Wow, is he pretty. Look at that jawline. Suddenly his eyes go wide, and his mouth splits into a familiar excited grin.

“Are those birds?”

“Yep,” Lia answers, looking over at you to check your reaction. She tries to hide her smile, but it’s clear as day. You’re not entirely sure what she’s going to say next, but you already know it’s going to involve your current least favorite animal species. “Pretty… dove-ly, don’t you think?”

At least you were right about them being doves. “I hate you both.”

Jisung laughs at her pun and holds out his palm for a high-five. “You know what they say: birds of a feather flock together.”

“I really hate you both.”

Your initial prediction that Jisung is never going to let you live this down is correct. When you meet your bio group again Thursday night to study for the upcoming quiz, Jisung brings lemon poppy seed muffins for seemingly no other reason than to tease you. His housemate is still stress-baking, and judging by the bird silhouette made of glaze, Felix is very stressed and very eager to indulge in Jisung’s ideas.

“They’re finches!” Jisung proudly announces as he sets one right in front of you. The stupid decoration on top mocks you, but the muffin looks and smells delicious.

Hyunjin, who does not know about your current plight but does know about Darwin’s finches, appreciatively coos at them. “They’ve even got different beak shapes! These are so cool. Man, Felix must hate econ right now.”

“No kidding,” you mutter as you begin peeling off the wrapper. Felix must hate you as well because one bite of this is almost enough for you to forgive Jisung again. It’s that good. How are you supposed to stay mad at Jisung when he gives you free delicious food? “Forget college, he needs to be in culinary school.”

He smirks from across the table, and it takes a lot of willpower for you to pretend you’re unphased. “What if I told you that I made these?”

“Then I would call you a liar.” He better be lying. You do not need another reason to justify your crush on him.

“And you would be right.” He slides his plastic container down to Lia, who has just arrived and is eyeballing the muffins like a predator. “But I did help him.”

“It’s really good,” you admit. You continue nibbling on it, determined to make the muffin last as long as you can. “What part did you help him out with?”

“The birds on top. Turns out drawing them with runny glaze is hard. I gave you the prettiest one, so don’t get mad about the whole bird thing. It goes with what we’re studying too.”

“Fine,” you sigh as you fold the wrapper into halves over and over again. “But only because these are amazing.”

Hyunjin leans in closer, effectively popping the intimate bubble you and Jisung were in. “What’s ‘the bird thing?’”

Fortunately, Yeji has finally arrived, which gives you the perfect excuse to stop Jisung from letting another person know of your drunk texts. You make a big production of pulling out your notebook from your backpack and rifling through your pencil bag for a pen.

“Should we get started?” you ask. Lia nods and uncaps one of her many highlighters.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jisung whispers to Hyunjin, winking at you. You could cry, melt, die. You could do a lot of things, but you opt to stick your tongue out at him. So what if you’re being childish? You can barely concentrate on the real world after that wink. To Yeji, he says, “There’s snacks, if Lia hasn’t eaten them all yet.”

“Hey!”

Hyunjin laughs at her notorious sweet tooth before turning to Yeji. “He gave Y/N the prettiest one, so there’s probably only his fails left.”

“They’re not bad!”

Lia has only had two, so there are more than enough to choose from. Yeji peers inside the container before selecting the one closest to her.

“Is this a plague doctor?” she asks as she suppresses a laugh. “It’s got a top hat.”

Jisung shakes his head and groans. “You chose the worst one on purpose. It’s one of Darwin’s finches. You would have known if you studied.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t draw.” Taking no notice of Jisung’s affronted expression, she takes out the textbook the five of you split the cost to buy. “Okay, plague doctor cupcakes out of the way, what are the four main theories of evolution?”

“They’re lemon poppy seed finch muffins,” he clarifies.

“That’s not an evolution theory,” Hyunjin cheekily replies, earning him an elbow nudge from Jisung and a laugh from everyone else.

You end up answering Yeji’s question and reward your correct answer with another muffin. Besides them being addictive, you’ll need some energy for the rest of the study session if all this talk about birds persists. You select the most plague doctor-ish one out of the box, and Jisung notices.

“Seriously?” he pouts. “I give you the best one, and this is how you repay me? I thought you said you weren’t mad about the bird thing.”

You ignore the last sentence. “What? You’re not proud of these?” you say, mock astonished as you give him a good view of the glaze on top. “They look exactly like plague doctors.”

“I hate you.”

You smile and shrug before returning back into the discussion about Lamarckism. Let him get a taste of his own medicine.

Unfortunately, as promised and as possible revenge, Jisung tells Hyunjin about ‘the bird thing,’ and Yeji overhears since she is only two chairs away. You try melting into the ground instead, but Lia holds you in place as the story continues, so you are stuck reliving the memory. You knew Jisung wouldn’t let you forget, but you didn’t account for everyone else in the group finding out and joining in on the torture.

But thanks to Jisung’s brilliant idea to bring those spectacularly decorated muffins, he doesn’t go unscathed either. It’s a mediocre consolation prize, but you’ll take it.

All around, it’s a productive study session, if a bit long, courtesy of everyone’s unrelenting shots at you and Jisung.

Your study group splits off in three separate directions once you’re all at the library entrance: Yeji back to the on-campus dorms where she’s an RA, Hyunjin and Lia to the off-campus apartments a few streets down, you and Jisung to the bus stop to your apartments on the other of campus. There’s a few people already sitting at the bench, so you and Jisung stand under the streetlight nearby. A moth intent on reaching the light source rams itself repeatedly against the glass covering, and you tiredly watch it. You yawn.

“Not much of a night owl?” he asks. With no clever reply ready, you gently shove him towards the bushes, but he only sways at your push. He throws his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’ll stop for today.”

“I’m really sorry for sending you that,” you say. You haven’t touched the chat between you and him since the incident. “And for not apologizing earlier.”

“It’s alright. Although I almost had a heart attack when you sent me ‘SOS’ like five times.”

You grimace as you remember your frantic texts. If you think back hard enough, you remember furiously tapping at your screen, trying to get his attention as quick as possible because you really, really, really needed to know what the animal that landed on your windowsill was called. Your housemate was in the next room over. You could have asked her instead, but no, you decided that Jisung from bio was the best option. Not even the group chat, just Jisung himself.

“Sorry again,” you weakly reply.

“It really is alright. Finding bird puns is my new favorite hobby now.” He wryly smiles. “I have so many more to try on you. You’re gonna love it.”

Is that endearing or annoying? Living rent-free inside his head isn’t terrible, especially since he seems to do the same in yours. You’ll probably have to endure lots more puns from him in the future, but for now, you’ll decide that it’s endearing.

The bus arrives, and you sit in the back with him. The ride to the apartment complex is quiet; only a group of people near the front are speaking to one another in low voices. Jisung makes no attempt at continuing the conversation, and you are content to stare out into the neon lights outside the window. You can see him in the reflection on the glass. The empty container devoid of muffins sits on Jisung’s lap, his phone placed face down on the lid. If it weren’t for all the other passengers on the bus, you would be convinced that it was just you and him, enjoying each other’s company.

You’re almost sad when you reach your stop.

“Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?” he asks as you step down to the pavement. “Yours is farther down, right?”

“Isn’t your place right here?” you say. You’ve seen him walk out from this particular complex several times while waiting for the bus. That’s not stalking. “You don’t have to go out of your way. It’s just a block away.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely walking you home.”

You hesitate a bit, but Jisung is already taking small steps in the direction of your apartment. A little more time with him doesn’t sound too horrendous right now. “Okay.”

Just like the bus ride, no conversation, which suits you fine. Jisung seems more enthralled by looking into the windows of apartment residents anyway. You can’t blame him, especially when it appears that someone is having their own mini rave in their living room. Once at the doors to your building, you thank him and tell him good night.

“No problem and good luck tomorrow.” His voice is softer at night, or maybe it’s because he’s tired as well.

Your tone matches his as well. “You too. See you in class then.”

“Good night.”

A few minutes after midnight, just as you’re about to get into bed, a message from Jisung pops up. Not Jisung in the study group, just Jisung.

12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Hey, I know you’re not much of a night owl, so would you call yourself a morning lark? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re always an early bird to class 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: Are you emu-sed? 12:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: :D

Well, he did say he would stop for the day. It’s technically the next day. You reply with an annoyed face before burrowing yourself under your blankets. There are other things to worry about, such as your quiz in nine hours.

You dream of birds, namely finches, that night. Thanks, Jisung.

“This is why I tell you to never drink alone,” Seungmin laughs. He picks up the last slice of pizza from the pan and folds it in half like the heathen he is before taking the first bite. “Bad things always happen.”

“To be fair, Ryujin was home.”

“In a completely different room from you.”

You groan and supplement your exasperation with an extra aggressive tear on your crust. “Okay, fine. I’ve learned my lesson. The point is, he won’t stop with the bird jokes, and I’m going insane.”

Seungmin, having been collateral damage from your drunken mishaps before, is unsympathetic. He still hasn’t quite forgiven you for the time you tried to make a Molotov cocktail in his kitchen. Look, the clickbait video you watched online promised that it would be a fun and easy science experiment, and your other self decided that it was a fantastic idea. Nothing bad happened in the end though since you couldn’t find a lighter. So, Seungmin, it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“You have a crush on this guy. Why are you upset that he’s flirting with you?”

“He’s cute until he opens his mouth and starts giving me grief about birds.” You sigh as you remember the last text he sent: a photo of the sunset from his apartment window with the caption, A bird’s eye view of the neighborhood. On one hand, you were thrilled to have received a non-homework related picture. On the other hand, bird joke.

“You would do the same.”

“I know, but it still sucks.” You wipe your fingers with a napkin and amuse yourself with spinning the empty pan as Seungmin (slowly) finishes eating. “No more Jisung talk. How was your date?”

Seungmin turns flustered, just like you knew he would. “It wasn’t a date! I’m just her photographer. This is a business arrangement, nothing else.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Hey, is that Jisung over there?” he asks, nodding over your shoulder.

“I’m not that gullible,” you sigh, though you can’t say you aren’t tempted. Seungmin loves to make fun of you, and he probably wants to get back at you for teasing him about the girl he’s been spending a suspicious amount of time with.

“Gull-ible?”

“Not you too," you plead. It's already awful with one person. To deter him any further, you continue, "Anyway, back to your definitely-not-a-date date—”

“Hey, Y/N, is that you?”

Seungmin has his “I told you so” face on. After sending him a glare, which he promptly pretends not to see, you turn around, resting your forearm on the back of your chair. Jisung, holding a pan of oven-fresh pizza, smiles back at you.

“Hey,” you greet. He's wearing the same black and red sweatshirt he usually has on, but why does he look so much better in it when he's in a pizza place than in class or in the library? “How are you doing? How’s your Saturday so far?”

“I just woke up like an hour ago, so it’s been pretty good, I guess.” His eyes go to Seungmin, who is now sipping on his soda, pretending to not eavesdrop. “Is this your…”

“This is my friend, Seungmin,” you quickly answer. Other than the fact that you need to make it abundantly clear that you are available, there is no way you’re ever going to date Seungmin. Apart from the girl he claims to not be dating, he’s even more merciless when it comes to reminding you about your drunken ideas. You can’t pass the intersection without him nudging your arm. “Seungmin, this is Jisung. We have bio together.”

Seungmin nods like he hasn’t heard of Jisung before. “Hey, nice to meet you. So, do you guys learn about birds in bio?”

Jisung lights up like a Christmas tree, and you want to cover yourself with the pizza pan. Praying for the ground to swallow you up also sounds like a decent option. In the midst of debating whether hiding under the table would be too odd, you notice that Seungmin has finally finished his slice.

“We should get going,” you interrupt. You do not need Seungmin to start sharing other stupid things you’ve done. He’s about five seconds away from telling Jisung about the intersection chalk mural. “And you probably want to eat dinner.”

Jisung sees right through your act, but he lets it go. “Yeah, Felix is probably starving. See you on Monday?”

“Yeah, see you.”

You expect him to go to wherever Felix is, but he still remains behind you. With a lopsided grin, he asks, “Should I expect any quail-ity texts at 2 AM tonight?”

Seungmin laughs, Jisung laughs, and you stare at the ceiling, wondering what you did to deserve this. Surely there were other people you could have in your life besides these two jerks.

“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” Jisung sings as you correctly answer his question. This week’s study session consists of a game show Jisung has created, and you almost want to believe that he put in all this effort just to say that phrase. “Another point for you.”

You sigh as Yeji slides a wrapped piece of candy towards you. It’s her turn to bring snacks, and though milk chocolate the size of golf balls are great, you’re still dreaming of those wickedly delicious cake slices Jisung shared with you yesterday. Hummingbird cake, he claimed, it was called. Bananas, pineapples, and pecans, all combined together to make a sweet treat. When you cheekily asked why his housemate was so stressed all the time — you really don’t mind. Sorry, Felix — Jisung cheerfully informed you that he made the entire thing himself. After you picked up your jaw from the floor, you stammered something about it being passable. Not nearly as good as Felix’s stuff, you said, lying through your teeth. Jisung, again, saw right through it but let it slide. See? Sometimes he’s nice. However, you did not need another reason to be attracted to Han Jisung, but here you are.

“Seriously, Yeji?” you mumble as you pull apart the blue foil. “You just had to pick the brand named after a bird?” It doesn’t stop you from popping the chocolate into your mouth though.

“They were on sale!”

While you and Yeji bicker about Dove chocolate and how the universe is conspiring against you, Hyunjin answers the next question correctly. Yeji absentmindedly pushes his reward towards him.

“No chicken dinner for me?” he asks.

Jisung shakes his head. “Your question was easy. You get a pheasant instead. Or a quail. Any bird smaller than a chicken works.”

“A hummingbird then?” you suggest. You really need to stop thinking about that cake. “But I hear those aren’t that great.”

“You already ate every single crumb of that cake I gave you!” Jisung says, but there’s not a drop of displeasure in his tone. In fact, he seems rather happy that you liked it so much that you remembered about it. “All my hard work gone in five seconds.”

“You made her a cake?” Lia gasps in disbelief, secretive note checking forgotten. She’s in last place with only six points, so no one cares too much about her cheating. “What about us? We’re your study buddies too!”

Hyunjin and Yeji chorus their agreements, and you realize that he only shared his cake with you. He followed you out of the lecture hall and gave it to you in a plastic container, so you assumed that he also hand delivered a few slices to everyone else. Never mind that he oh-so-conveniently had a fork with him. Never mind that he sat with you at a bench and watched you try a few bites before devouring it all. Never mind all that.

Wait. Does this mean he likes you too?

You fold and unfold your discarded foil wrappers as you contemplate over this revelation, sneaking glances at Jisung all the while. He looks… normal. Infuriatingly so. Same carefree smile, same arguments with Hyunjin, same lackadaisical chair leaning even though he fell backwards that one time. How is one supposed to tell if someone actually likes you when said someone is the same all the time?

Jisung promises to bring something for the next study session to make up for not sharing his cake and continues on with the review game like nothing has happened. However, those thoughts are still in the back of your mind when the session ends. You have gained five more pieces of chocolate and no further information as to whether Jisung is actually into you or not. As per usual, you and he head to the bus stop together. It’s more crowded than last week since it’s only eight.

“Did you have a pheasant time today?” he asks, pausing next to a hedge.

You keep your eyes on the asphalt instead of looking at him. It’s much easier to pretend you’re calm when you don’t have vision of his face. “I see you discovered pheasants recently. And yes, it was fun. Thanks for making it.”

“You don’t want to crow about winning the game?” When you grimace — you did kind of want to point out how amazing your score was but now you don’t — he quickly adds, “Okay, okay. But you’re going to ace that quiz tomorrow.”

And you simply say, “I know,” because you are and because you have nothing else prepared to say.

It goes quiet, and with only the sounds of cars racing by, Jisung abruptly says, “This is a little awkward now. Or should I say… hawk-ward?”

You groan and break your staring contest with the road to give him an exasperated look. A mistake because he’s smiling so wide, squirrels would be jealous of his cheeks. He has no right to be so cute after those jokes. “Why do I feel like you searched up ‘bird puns’ online and are trying to insert them in every possible scenario?”

“Because I did and because I am.” He sighs in contentment. “Those were the best texts I’ve ever received. I’m never letting you forget it.”

You were right about that, and now you have verbal confirmation from the man himself. Another mediocre consolation prize you will gladly accept. But for now, you say, “Well, toucan play at that game, plague doctor Han Jisung.” The only perk of hearing all these wretched jokes is that you are now rather knowledgeable about them. Thank you, Seungmin, for making that one a few days ago.

“They looked just like finches!” he protests, but he’s laughing along, head tilted back. He sighs again. When he turns to face you again, his eyes are soft. “That was a pretty good one.”

“Seungmin came up with it.” There’s a warm feeling spreading across your chest, constricting your air flow and making all your blood rush to your cheeks. It was one compliment; why are you like this? What are you going to do if he keeps looking at you like that? You swiftly go back to the road, counting the number of cars that pass by. One, two, three, four…

And a gray bus pulling up to the curb.

“Bus is here,” you uselessly announce. Jisung follows you into the growing crowd surrounding the entrance. He hovers behind you as the two of you wait for the people in front to board, and his presence is more palpable than usual. “There’s a lot of people today,” you remark in a vain attempt to distract yourself.

“Yeah, everyone’s heading home for the day.” He pauses dramatically before adding, “The birds are all going back to their nest.”

The joke successfully snaps you out of your haze. “That’s not a real saying.”

“I think it should be. It makes perfect sense!”

“You’re—” As the line shuffles forward, you try to think of something bird related, but he beats to the punch.

“Cuckoo?”

It’s almost impressive how much time he has invested in annoying you. Does it make you fall for him more? No, not really, or so you try to convince yourself. It’s strangely endearing, just like everything about him. You merely answer, “Yes.”

He chuckles and nudges you forward up the steps of the bus.

Even though there’s a little bit of daylight left, Jisung walks you back to your apartment building. You’re not upset by this, but where was this chivalry two weeks ago after the first study session? You teasingly ask him about it, and he turns bashful. How unlike him.

“I thought you lived in my complex, for some reason. You were always at the bus stop before me, so I assumed you lived nearby. I didn’t know until I overheard you and Yeji talking about it,” he says, hiding himself with his collar.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of the walkway to your building, “see you tomorrow then. Thanks for walking me back. Good night.”

The Jisung you’re used to seeing, is back with a mischievous smile and yet another joke. “Good night-ingale.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to seem too amused by it. He’s not charming, not even a little bit. “That was awful.” It’s the smile, you tell yourself. No one should have one like that. It has too much power.

“Yet I can see you smiling at it.”

Remain calm. You can do that. You’ve faked this before, so why is your head not cooperating right now? Jisung really needs to stop looking at you with anything more than a neutral face. It’s bad for you, like really, really bad. No witty remarks at the ready is typical, but you can’t even think of anything to say.

After an excruciating five seconds, you manage to stammer out, “Good night.” Cheeks aflame and your heart threatening to pop out of you like a cuckoo clock, you roughly yank open the door and bolt up the stairs. You have too much adrenaline in you right now. Waiting for the elevator knowing that he could be observing your twitchy movements, would be too nerve wracking.

Ryujin asks if you’re alright when she sees you hunched against the kitchen counter, out of breath and muttering to yourself.

“I decided to take the stairs,” you say, which only partially explains your dishevelled state. “I’ll be alright. I think.”

“I’ll get you some water. You look like you're about to collapse.”

Then your phone chimes with a new message, and you decidedly won’t be alright.

8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Did my nightingale pun quack you up that badly? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: Was it that ducking good? 8:22 PM [Jisung Bio]: :D

8:23 PM [Jisung Bio]: Anyway, good luck tomorrow. Sleep well and sweet dreams, morning lark

There is no food in the fridge. Well, no proper food. A bag of spinach that expired three days ago but still seems okay, does not count. The same goes for the half empty jar of peanut butter, but Ryujin would likely disagree with that. There’s a reason why the jar is half empty. However, if you actually want to eat something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow, you need to go shopping.

For some strange reason, it does not occur to you that you can run into Jisung at the grocery store. Jisung belongs in four locations: the bus stop, the lecture hall, the library, and the pizza place you saw him at last week. Not the dairy aisle on a Wednesday night.

“Hey.” You stop in front of him, basket at your feet and hands folded in front of you like the world’s worst defense. Heart, stop beating so fast.

Jisung looks up from his phone to search for the owner of the voice and brightens when he sees that it’s you. “Hey, morning lark.” He has taken to calling you that ever since he sent that particular message. You wish it produced another reaction from you besides pure bliss, but that is the price you pay for pretending to be still annoyed by his jokes. That’s how bad your crush on him now is; you are increasingly beguiled by the puns. “Oh, did you need milk?”

“Yeah.” You grab a blue carton with a picture of a smiling cow from the shelf and place it in your basket. In the meantime, you can’t help but peer into Jisung’s. There is a bag of chocolate chips and a packet of gelatin. “Is this stuff for tomorrow’s study session?”

He nods and grabs the same brand of milk as you did. You get a rush of excitement, much to your chagrin. It’s just milk, and this is the most popular brand too. “Yeah. Felix is trying a new recipe, so you guys get to have some of the failed ones too.”

“What is it? Cheesecake?”

“You’ll see,” he mysteriously says. Then he adds, “You’re gonna love it,” which immediately gives away the theme.

“It’s something to do with birds, isn’t it?”

“You’ll see.”

And when you do see, you’re wrong. Library food rules ignored, at each seat, Jisung has set a slice of layer cake topped with chocolate ganache, no bird motifs of any sort. You take your usual spot at the end of the table and find that yours is slightly larger than the others. Well, except for maybe Lia’s. He has to placate her sweet tooth and her disappointment of not being able to have hummingbird cake.

“Did I not get a message or something?” Hyunjin asks when he takes in the over-the-top display. “Is this a dinner party?”

“Isn’t this against the library’s rules?” Yeji asks as she surreptitiously looks around for any librarians. The surrounding tables of fellow students won’t care.

Jisung elects to not answer Yeji’s concerns. “This is tonight’s snack,” he proudly replies. “Also, Felix wants feedback on it.”

You cut a section off with the plastic fork and marvel at the airiness of the cake. It’s unlike anything you have ever had. The frosting in between the sponge layers is so light, and the ganache is so dark and rich. “This is really amazing. It’s so fluffy. Wow. Tell Felix that he really needs to consider culinary school.”

“Wanna guess what it’s called?”

“Isn’t this just an extra fancy vanilla cake?” you ask. You take another bite, but other than the chocolate ganache on top, you can only taste vanilla. “I don’t know. The… vanilla fluff cake?”

“Nope.” He leans forward, face inches away from yours, lips curled into a smirk, and slowly says, “Bird’s milk cake.”

This can’t be real. Birds don’t even produce milk. “No way. You’re lying.” Even as you say the words, they sound false to your ears. Jisung has made it his mission to find anything and everything bird-related for you, so you doubt he’s lying.

“It’s called this” — he holds up his phone screen — “in Russian. It translates to ‘bird’s milk.’”

Ptichye moloko.

“You convinced Felix to make this, didn’t you?” you say. What are the chances that Felix conveniently wanted to make bird’s milk cake without any nudging from Jisung? Absolutely none. You have never even heard of this dessert before, let alone by it’s Russian name, and you’re willing to bet that Jisung searched up ‘bird cake’ or something of that nature just for this. Maybe that’s how he found out about hummingbird cake too.

“It’s all for you, morning lark,” he cheerfully replies, winking at you. He leans back in his chair again, precariously balancing on the two back legs. “I knew you’d like it.”

Jisung is really not making this easy for you. Forget subtleties, he’s just shamelessly flirting with you now. And in the sanctity of the library of all places! In a poor attempt to save yourself from this mess, you unconsciously begin to slide down the chair, trying to shield your hot face with your raised shoulders. Lia notices this — one of the perks having sat next to you for nearly four weeks during lectures — and grabs your forearm.

“No melting,” she reminds you, “or else you’re going to hit your head on the seat again.”

“I wasn’t melting,” you protest as you wriggle back up. Slowly dying might have been a better descriptor. That wink shot arrows into your already fragile heart. “We’re gonna get in trouble if one of the librarians sees this.”

“Guess we should get started then,” Hyunjin says. Yeji, the only responsible one in the group, begins pulling out the textbook, and everyone laughs at her eagerness. “Not what I meant, but that too.”

After you’re done with the cake and while the others are preoccupied about the timeline of human evolution, Jisung whispers across the table, “Did you still like it?”

“Yeah. No hard feelings about the name because it was good,” you whisper back.

“I thought it would turn out like this, morning lark. I know you love free food too much to be mad.”

The nickname again. You rest your cheek against your palm in a vain attempt to tamp down the growing heat. “Can I get a different name, plague doctor?”

He’s not at all phased by his own nickname, which doesn’t bode well for any future snarky remarks from you. “What, you don’t like birds or something?” He blinks so innocently back at you that you have to stifle a giggle.

“Yeah, well, that’s the—”

“Hey, lovebirds,” Hyunjin interrupts, making you profusely blush and Yeji lightly laugh at the expression, “we’re gonna move on to the next section now. Is that okay?”

“It’s okay,” you reply even though you are most definitely not okay. Jisung, who you notice is uncharacteristically sheepish, echoes your sentiment.

It’s difficult not to stare at Jisung during the remainder of the study session. It seems to be true the other way around as well.

You’re sober when you read the messages, but you don’t think Jisung was when he sent them. Oh, how the tables have turned.

3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Good morning morning lark!! 3:02 AM [Jisung Bio]: Winner winner chicken dinner remember? So yes or no?

3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or maybe yes or yes? 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: I really want to go on a date with you 3:03 AM [Jisung Bio]: Not lying I swear

3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re always on my mind and every time I see a bird, I think about you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I bought grey goose because of you 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: [jisung’s_hand_holding_grey_goose_vodka.jpg] 3:04 AM [Jisung Bio]: I don’t even like it that much

3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You make me dizzy sometimes and I don’t know what to do 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: You’re probably sleeping so good night larky 3:05 AM [Jisung Bio]: Or morning

3:06 AM [Jisung Bio]: Fly high in your dreams!!!

He must have been wasted and under no responsible supervision because this is what you would have done if you were in his place. Does he not have a Seungmin in his life? Or a Ryujin? There’s a Felix, so where was he when all of this happened?

But forget about Jisung’s own problems.

He wants to go on a date with you. A real date, not a study date with three other people and fake quiz questions. If his words are to be taken literally, then one involving a chicken dinner. Possibly a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store, but a chicken dinner nonetheless.

He can’t stop thinking about you. All those bird jokes had you charmed, and all those cakes were baked with you in mind. They weren’t just for show. They were all about you.

You make him dizzy, which is hilarious because he does the same to you. He smiles at you so brightly, laughs so easily, and flirts so shamelessly that you never realized that you could ever make him feel that way.

And “fly high in your dreams?” You’re practically soaring in real life. Han Jisung, cute bio boy, plague doctor, pun enthusiast, surprisingly decent baker, wants to go on a date with you.

You, you, you!

While you alternate between hyperventilating and forgetting how to breathe as you process all this, three gray dots appear at the bottom of the chat. You clutch your phone as you wait. Apparently, your body is on the ‘forgetting how to breathe’ cycle.

11:14 AM [Jisung Bio]: I am so sorry about that. I was very drunk when I sent that

11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: You can just ignore them or delete them 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Highly recommend deleting 11:15 AM [Jisung Bio]: Also sorry if I woke you up

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. Should you answer him over text, call, or in-person? Is in-person too dramatic though? You feel like something like this is supposed to be done face-to-face, but he’s probably hungover beyond belief.

11:16 AM [Me]: It’s okay. A morning lark is always up early anyway :) 11:16 AM [Me]: Were you serious though?

11:17 AM [Jisung Bio]: Can we meet up in an hour? At the bus stop? I want to talk to you 11:17 AM [Me]: Yeah. Me too

The bus stop is neutral territory or maybe just the closest meeting spot you and Jisung have. If it’s supposed to be neutral territory, it most definitely is not since his apartment complex is right behind it. Despite his close proximity to the spot, you arrive first, so you make yourself as comfortable as possible underneath the sign, standing in its shadow. It’s silly when you think about it, but you wish you dressed in something nicer than a hoodie. In your rush to leave the apartment, you threw on whatever, but maybe you should have worn something prettier for this confrontation. Make Jisung go dizzy and gain a little bit of power from that.

This is even worse than when you had to face him after you sent your drunk texts. At least then it was just a middling attraction and not a full-on crush.

“Hey, morning lark. You’re early. As expected.”

“Hey. You’re… alive.”

Jisung is strangely fresh-faced, not a hint of hungover clouding around him. Why can’t you look like him after a night of seemingly heavy drinking? Where are the pinched eyebrows from the blinding lights? The ghostly gray face? The haunted eyes as one remembers all the incredibly stupid things they did the night before? Unfair. Completely unfair.

“Yeah.” He’s wearing his usual sweatshirt, but his hands are stuffed into its pockets instead of being out and about. He rocks back and forth on his heels. “Well, uh, I meant everything I sent. And I’m serious about taking you to dinner, so do you want to go on a date with me?”

You anticipated this. Why does it feel like you have just finished running a marathon? “Yeah, I do. I really want to.”

He smiles so brightly, the sun would be jealous. Correction, should be jealous. You don’t think you’ve seen a prettier sight than this since he sat down next to you on the first day of class and asked if you wanted to start a study group. He pumps his fist in the air like he’s a movie character, and you hide your laugh behind your hoodie sleeve. You’ve never seen him so happy before.

“How are you not hungover?” you ask as he raises his face to the sky, taking in the afternoon light, basking in the moment. He’s really living his movie character dreams. “You said you were really drunk.”

“I kind of lied?” he says, sounding more wistful than you would expect. When he looks back at you, you finally see dark circles underneath his eyes, but he is still as jubilant as before. “I was more tipsy than drunk. So, when do you wanna get that chicken dinner, winner, winner?”

It’s amazing how shy, excited Jisung disappears and how the usual casual, teasing Jisung reappears. That’s his Jekyll and Hyde moment, you suppose. And the switch is all activated by his one-track mind of bird jokes. How wonderful.

“Next week, after midterms? I’ve got two this week to study for. I should be free on Friday night.”

He enthusiastically nods. “Sounds good to me.”

2:57 PM [Me]: I’m done with all my midterms! Are you free tonight?

2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Free as a bird :D 2:59 PM [Jisung Bio]: Also congrats on being done 2:59 PM [Me]: I hate you

3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: So chicken dinner? The restaurant next to the pizza place just opened 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: I heard it’s really clucking good 3:00 PM [Jisung Bio]: A hen out of hen

3:01 PM [Me]: I might actually kill you during our date

3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Don’t you mean 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: [flock_of_crows.jpg] 3:02 PM [Jisung Bio]: Murder :D

3:05 PM [Jisung Bio]: I’ll see you at 6? 3:05 PM [Me]: See you then

You do not end up murdering Jisung on your date, though you do come pretty close after you audibly ask the ground to swallow you up when he compliments your egg-cellent outfit.

“Swallow?” he slyly says. “Like the bird?”

Instead of committing a crime, you kiss him on the cheek, effectively silencing him. You’ve been waiting to do both those things for some time now, and look at you now, killing two birds with one stone.

Jisung turns a delightful shade of pink and mutters something about needing to get to the restaurant before it gets too crowded. All of his bluster from just five seconds ago is gone. You merrily follow him down the pavement, feeling a little bit like the cat who swallowed the canary.

Yes, you did search up bird expressions beforehand. Jisung will be Jisung, and like you told him before, toucan play at this game. You will not spend your first date with him being humiliated by his large repertoire of puns. Besides, if he retaliates like you expect him to, you will have the perfect excuse to kiss him again.

See? No fowl play at all.

Then he takes your hand into his, his warmth enveloping yours, and everything suddenly isn’t fair again.

And based on his all-too-pleased grin, Jisung knows this as well.

~ ad.gray

414 notes · View notes

supremeinlilac · 3 years

Text

Hurt me once

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem!Reader

Prompt: Hurt me once- Ben Platt, also there will be a Mina one too :))

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Cheating, lying, basically Billie is how I imagine some celebrities in reality tv to be like, so soz.

Maybe you were reading into it too much. Since Billie had started dating you, you’d wanted to pull away from working for her and get your own job on the pretence that you could never be equal if you worked as her assistant day in and day out. You supposed you’d brought it upon yourself.

She still needed an assistant. Her job was demanding and stressful so of course she’d rehire. You’d been naïve to think any differently.

“No one can replace you.” She’d purred when you’d admitted to wanting to quit. Assuring that you’d been her best help to date.

She was lying.

You’d tried to remain focus in work but Billie Dean Howard had this addicting aura about her person and you couldn’t help but become distracted. Especially when she’d aim flirty remarks and winks with pinpoint precision at you. Like a lamb to slaughter you were set up to fail.

She’d taken you to watch a drive in movie for your first date. Huddled together under blankets on the plush of her backseat. It had been an action, the name escapes you now; but at the time you’d been far more aware of the way the light from the screen caught against her skin instead of the actual film.

The way she’d catch you staring and the signature cocky grin would form, tongue poking into her cheek as she pulled you closer. Under the stars that night you’d felt her lips for the first time, the moon a perfect witness. Stark and full above you, beaming down in chords of silvery light.

Naturally, it became routine for the moon to bare witness to such moments. For you both to come together under the pale light and either dance or watch another movie. The moon was hers, delicately and wholly and irrevocably hers.

You can’t look at the moon now without feeling the need to howl at it like a wolf does. For the moon had stolen Billie from you. The moon was no longer a thing you shared alone.

Billie took her new assistant to a drive in theatre.

It rained. The sky cried and protested like a petulant child because it should have been you. It should have been you there, huddled together under blankets on the plush of her backseat. Instead of throwing a tantrum, you told yourself that she was just being kind. Billie Dean was kind. Annoyingly so, in this case.

You told yourself that she didn’t realise that doing that was your thing, something that you did together. It was special. A rare pearl lodged in the mouth of a clam, the gem that you were lucky to have had. Had. Had you lost it, was its touch fleeting? Inevitably drawn back after being loaned so cruelly?

You started to notice the little ways Billie was pulling away. At least, you thought she was pulling away. Little landmines that were buried under your feet, growing and ticking dangerously, waiting for you to lose balance and fall. Triggering them. A looming explosion.

Billie would eat with her production team after long scheduled days of filming, she’d message you fleetingly with wordless apologies for her absence, and slip into bed after you slept. She never saw the tears that would stain the skin of your cheeks. At least you hoped she didn’t notice them, because she never mentioned it, and you’d prefer her to be ignorant to it than to ignore your pain.

She’d started to take her phone calls on the porch, leaving the dinner table with only a motion to the ringing to say where she was going. She’d mouth that she’d be back in a minute but you’d always have to reheat her food. Eating alone with the silhouette of your lover in the window had become the regular, leaving an uneasy feeling in your gut which you couldn’t seem to shake.

It seemed like you’d forgotten how to read her face.

No. You’d always been able to sense her mood by the twitch of a lip or the furrow of a brow, could know what she was thinking without even having to try.

It struck you that maybe that was only the case because she was letting you, an open book, the tells of her mood bright against the curves of her face. The book was no longer open, fragile pages torn in an attempt to hide the contents. The library of Billie Dean’s emotions padlocked and closed to you.

At the back of your mind however, you knew that you could still read her like you always had been able to. A feeble attempt to disguise the fact that you could see the words strewn carefully across the page, so clearly in front of you. But you don’t like what you read, instead feigning oblivion rather than face the truth.

It was red to love Billie Dean.

Passionate and fuelled, excitement sparking your muscles involuntarily. It was hot, blushed faces between silken sheets. The feeling one gets as the rollercoaster reaches its peak, and hovers just over the edge, dipping so you can see the fall. Your breath hitches in your throat and for a moment you feel like you might live forever, stay in this moment and this safety with Billie.

But a moment doesn’t last forever.

And then it’s dropping. Falling, falling. You reach out to grasp for something sturdy but fingers only close around the fragments of memories that you’re losing. Moments you won’t experience again. And your breath draws in a way that is painful, burning down to your lungs. Red. Fire. Dangerous.

For it was dangerous to love Billie Dean.

You knew it all too well.

You’d read the suggestive articles about the mysterious, nameless new girl that clung to Billie’s arm, sheltered by the umbrella she’d once used to protect you from the rain.

Now, you’d dance fearlessly under it with closed eyes and a head tilted to the sky. Welcoming the rain from your apologetic moon. For your moon was panoptic, it saw your pain and her infidelity, sending shards of silver regret.

You wanted the looming explosion to be destructive. To be angry and snapping and make her understand that she’d hurt you with inexistent loyalty when yours had been unwavering.

But the explosion wasn’t big. It wasn’t sudden and angry, a dog snarling and baring steak knives for teeth, loud and frothing at the mouth. Looking back you wished it had been, it would have been easier to hate her, to blame her.

Hating Billie Dean Howard was impossible. Even the people with the least humility would sooner blame themselves, sinking and struggling beneath the waves themselves lest have Billie drown.

You found yourself drawing back into yourself, a child curled into itself in the corner, a small animal frantic to take up the least space possible. You shrunk, imploding instead of exploding. Crippling hatred gnawed at your skin, vultures picking your body clean and leaving it to rot in the burning sun.

Doubt crushes your ribs to ash, filling your lungs and mixing with blood to a paste no amount of coughing will clear. It was deep and bruising, and you knew that not even Billie’s empty reassurance wouldn’t settle the ache.

The night you confronted Billie played in your mind like a broken cassette, looping the scene, a single jumping moment on display endlessly.

You’d been crying. Billie hadn’t turned up for the dinner you’d made for your anniversary, well she’d showed, hours later and stumbling through the door. She’d been drinking and the curve of her lips was smudged with a crimson lipstick under the moonlight.

Your moonlight.

You couldn’t remember a time when Billie Dean had worn red lipstick. Hooker lipstick, as she’d once said. The fact only made the tears run anew.

Her intoxication made it easier. Perhaps you’d be able to vent and cry and confess to her and she wouldn’t remember come the morning. The spirits in the walls would remind her though, whispers and taunts in sobriety.

You wanted to be big and angry, pushing back against her when her actions cut you, hurting and scarring her back. But you were kinder than her. Billie was kind but she had nothing on you.

You’d stood, bags packed in a pile by the door, and she’d sat. You’d cried, and she didn’t. She didn’t even speak until you made to leave, didn’t move until it was to cling onto your wrists in a frantic effort to keep you.

“Did you sleep with her?” You found yourself asking without even registering your words. You hadn’t planned on being so direct.

“Y/n, listen to me. I-”

“Did you, sleep with her?” Ignoring her, you spoke. Slower, punctuating and almost spitting your words at her, as if keeping them against your tongue would do more damage.

“Once, yes. But she’s not you.” Billie said, slender fingers reaching to pull at the pearls around her neck, instead of reaching to you.

You found yourself backing away again, struck anew at her final admission. Somehow it hurt more to hear her confirm what you already knew to be true. Like when you know someone to be dying, yet it only really hits you when they’re gone. When it’s too late to change anything.

“I don’t know why I did it, I just-” her voice trailed off, hands hitting out at nothing. Slumping onto the sofa, you mirrored her movement, perching yourself tentatively on the arm of the coach.

Your eyes flitted from her form to the door, the escape should you need it. Should youchoose it.

“You did it because you could, Billie.” You breathed, knuckles pressing at your temple to ease an impending migraine. Fighting with Billie always gave you a headache, it was a headache to get your point across when she’d ceased to listen. “I mean I get it, it’s exciting. Young girls like me, fawning. You feel, I don’t know? Appreciated, flattered?”

You knew that it was commonplace among celebrities like Billie, to chain date young girls who fed into their egos and made them feel young. Billie didn’t speak for a while, head in her hands and knees knocking together while you forced yourself to not watch her, eyes fixing instead on the way the curtains sways slightly with the open window. Even the curtains ached to free themselves.

“Look. I’m sorry, I swear.” Her voice thawed, defensiveness gone and replaced with a vulnerability she rarely let herself show. You wrung your hands in your lap and stared at the way they whitened with pressure. Your lungs felt like that, blood pressed out with the crushing doubt, a band wrapped around your ribs. You almost reached a hand up to your chest to help you breathe.

She stood, reaching into the cabinet drawer and retrieving a packet of cigarettes and flicking one between her fingers. She didn’t light it. What would be the point of creating more of a separating fog between you both? Instead, she just fiddled with it, a nervous tic.

“Can we still be in love?” She pleaded, eyes shining and you screwed yours tight as to not be lost to the depths of them. Her eyes were your weakness, and she knew it. You’d once told her that you thought you’d seen the man on the moon, reflected in them. The man on the moon, dancing on a music box in her eyes.

“I don’t know you. Your voice, it’s different.” The shake of your head and the riddle of your words had the medium narrowing her eyes in confusion. For one who loved to play games, Billie wasn’t playing fair.

“What do you mean? Different how?”

Frustration bit at you, and you wondered if this was the explosion people spoke of. An internal understanding of grief for something you never had.

“I can’t with you Billie! Did you ever even love me? You say you want to be in love but were you ever in love with me? What makes me different from the others?” The chime of the music box, opened and singing in the splash of your tears.

She sighed, tying her hair loosely behind her head to stop her from running her hands through it in anguish. She didn’t like to see you in pain knowing she was the one who’d caused it. Unjustly caused it. Guilt washed smoothly over her only now at the sight of her baby girl, a small ache in the gut. But the realisation hit like a winter wave in a storm. She’d lose you if she didn’t fight to keep you.

She reached out to wipe your tears with a comforting hand.

“Let me in. Please.”

Who were you to seek comfort in the person who’d broken you? Much alike to a shadow seeking solace with the sun, the sun that burned and cut through the shade. Prey looking to please the predator.

But you did. You craved the musk of smoke that would cling to her clothes, the rasp to her voice in the morning. The suggestive lilt to her eyebrow when she’d dress you in her favourite dress, dancing in an empty crowd because she used to only see you.

“I love you.” She begged; voice hoarse from overuse. “You’re a part of me.”

That made you stop. Made you question.

Who were you without her? Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars. She was a light, cutting through the dangerous darkness a path forged for you. The darkness was exciting and inviting and you wanted to be comfortable in its depths, but without her you are nothing.

You sell your soul for the chance at happiness. For the hope that she may learn to love you properly, how you love, and deserve to be loved back. To walk in the light.

You tell yourself how easy it would be to leave the city and find peace elsewhere. Get a steady job in television production, a steady and reliable wage. Reliability. Billie had made you crave it. Crave it from her, selfishly asking for something that you aren’t even sure if she’s capable to give you.

But you're ensnared in her trap. Her charm and confidence has bound you on a tether, an obedient puppy just looking to please. Young and impressionable.

How could you settle for a simple life when Billie had shown you the city from the highest building. Made you watch as the lights illuminated the world below in perfect technicolour. She’d shown you what could be, what was destined to not to be, but what you’d reach for nonetheless.

You’d known about Billie’s previous proclivities toward girls your age, but you’d believed that you could change her. Naively, you, another wide eyed, hopeful wannabee, believed you could make her settle down. Stupid. She’d lain with dozens of girls like you, before you, and she would lay with dozens more.

This realisation did nothing to stop you from letting her back in, agreeing to her empty promise of change.

Was change even possible?

She was Billie Dean Howard, the stars. The stars could make deals with the people of Earth, but they could not bargain in return. You can’t catch a star and claim it as your own. She held all the cards, all the choices while you remained empty. Without her, you were nothing.

You let yourself be engulfed by the stars. Opening your arms for her warmth to invade you once again as she pulled you into a hug. Letting yourself be hers again.

But you’d always been hers, ever since she’d strode, cocky and confident, into your life. You didn’t think that she’d ever truly been yours, or ever would.

Billie Dean Howard held the unpredictability of a tornado’s spin, and people got caught up in her exciting whirlwind. You weren’t sure if she really meant for them to, or if she realised the damage she left in her wake. Travelling from place to place, never looking back.

It was a defence mechanism the job forced upon her. But who was defending you?

“No second chances.” You warned her through gritted teeth, chin propped against her shoulder. She couldn’t see the angry tears that pricked at your eyes, anger at her, at yourself. You’d been reminded of the dangers over and over and yet you still allowed yourself to fall victim to her charm.

“I won’t need one, I promise. I swear I won’t,” Billie reassured, palms rubbing up your back and making you shiver involuntarily. You clutched her blouse in trembling fingers, perhaps if you held on strong enough your bones might turn to ash in her grasp and she’d be the one to mourn. You convinced yourself she wouldmourn.

“I can’t do this again.” Truth.

“I won’t do this again.” Lie.

She hummed, accepting your whispers as truth, for who was Billie Dean Howard to question you? Who was she to take your love for granted and render it infinite? Fame did not mean she was entitled to your loyalty if she refused to give hers.

Billie wasn’t stupid, she knew it wasn’t a game she could win without consequences. She couldn’t have it all. Wouldn’t have it all.

“I love you.” A kiss against skin mottled by tears.

You didn’t say it back, she didn’t deserve it yet. Despite wanting to let your lips form the words, your teeth bit down on your tongue and refused for the phrase to drip demurely from it, she had not yet earned the nectar of your spoken love.

Instead; you let Billie believe that you would have actually left. That you would leave next time.

Not that you wouldn’t have eventually, when you finally broke the spell she had over you, being the television star that she is. You loathed that you would forgive her for hurting you so easily, self-respect forgotten in lieu of kissing under the gentle moon once more.

You were ashamed that you were proud of the fact that she could do anything and you’d still be in love with her. You’d chosen her, your colour sealed with the crimson blood that coursed through your veins.

Red was once your favourite colour, wasn’t it?

taglist: @pearplate @billiedeansbottom @pluied-ete @okpaulson @extraordinarilycelestrial @mssallymckenna @magnificent-paulsonn @shineestark @commanderspeach @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @darling-dontforgetme @amethyst-bitch @its-soph-xx @germansarechill @bluesxrgnt @d14n4ol @ninaahs @sarahp-stan @natasha-danvers @imgayandmymomdoesntknow @lovelypeasantjellyfish @rainbow-hedgehog @paulawand @saucy-sapphic @lilypadscoven @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @sapphicsarahpaulson @delias-bitch-craft @venablemayfairgoode @loverofallthingssarah @music-addict ,,if you want to be added, give me a shout :))

#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #american horror story #ahs murder house #imagine

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 3 years

Text

liar liar pt. 2

request: I have a request, the reader is dating Spencer, and she and JJ are the ones that know that Emily faked her death. I’m thinking of it taking place in “It Takes A Village,” and she has to deal with Spencer being upset with her, like he was with JJ, but it has a fluff ending? Thanks!

for: @flklrevrmre

word count: 2,192 reading time approx: 9 mins

a/n: i hope you enjoy this ending ;) and i’m elated to have so many new friends on my taglist.

masterlist

pt. 1

My ring finger traced the circumference of the wine glass I was drinking out of, while my eyes followed the marble trails of Rossi’s countertop. The team was giggling and chatting amongst themselves as I secluded myself. My thoughts were captured by my insecurities, paralyzing every fun bone I had in my body. Occasionally, I would contribute to their conversations, but only enough that I didn’t make myself seem bereaved.

After a while, it became apparent that I wasn’t participating in the festivities, which conjured Emily and JJ to step away from the group, joining me. “Hey…” JJ eased into small talk, stuffing her hands into her pocket as she approached me. I replied with a light smile, their presence uplifting my current state.

I knew what they wanted to say. I knew what they were going to ask.

Spencer.

“How are you holding up Y/N?” Emily hesitantly brought herself into the conversation. They both gazed at me with doe eyes, tenderness evident in their touch as they resided beside me.

I took my lip in between my teeth, shaking my head as the fatigue had finally caught up to me. My chest throbbed from being sore all week, my shoulders were frail from being uneasy all the time, and my heart burned with self-reproach. With every passing day, I felt my limbs grow limp and my soul go numb. In contradiction, the two halves of my brain battled one another till my doubts were left to torment me further.

With the silent response, JJ and Emily shared glances of disquietude, pondering their next steps. “Y/N?” JJ called out softly, laying a tender hand on top of mine. “You took a burden alone. That doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone,” she murmured, nodding to Emily.

“Y/N, I can’t help but feel like this is my fault,” Emily lamented. “I just...tell me that there’s a way I can help.”

“There’s nothing either of you can do…” I smiled bitterly, glancing at both of them. I squeezed JJ’s hand, feeling a film cast over my eyes. “And Emily, you had to protect Declan,” I empathize, using my other hand to pull her into a side hug. “I would’ve done the same.”

“I can tell,” Emily looked at me with somber reverence. “Especially for what you did for Spence.”

Another pang hit the center of my chest, making my ribcage sting. The mention of his name made my skin crawl instead of making my heart flutter like it used to. I wordlessly winced at Emily’s notice, trying to conceal it the best I can. “And I would do it again,” I declared, meaning every word. “I’d burn the entire world if it meant making sure that he isn’t alone. I...I know what it feels like to be confined in your head--it’s something me and him share. It’s a merciless place.”

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

“More than I can ever fathom.”

I stared at the ceiling, letting my tears travel back inside of my head. I shut my eyes, feeling a deep burn envelop my eyelids from all the crying I’ve done previously. “I spoke to him,” Emily brought up.

My attention instantly shifted to her, prompting her to elaborate. “I spoke to him when we wrapped up that case in New York,” she explained. I unknowingly leaned over, listening intently to her story. “We had a conversation about everything--you. I won’t get into details because that’s between you and Spencer, but I did encourage him to come tonight.”

My nerves did small somersaults, unable to process the new piece of information. “Are you sure?” I falteringly asked.

“I’m sure he’ll come.”

But he didn’t.

A few hours had passed, and there was no evidence of Spencer’s attendance. With another disappointment, the burden of my thoughts pried at my most vulnerable parts.

I had enough.

I rose from my seat, bidding everyone adieu as I excused myself to the backyard. Amid the formalities, I assured everyone of my well-being and that I would return soon. Their persistent objections were loud, loud enough to stifle the opening of the front door as I stepped outside.

I felt the cool air caress my shoulders while crickets chirped a nightly symphony. The moon glowed with elegance, and stars painted the sky in an ethereal light. From a distance, it looked as if the planets were mere neighbors greeting one another.

It was beautiful; it took me out of the confines of my mind.

Chatter can still be heard in the background, but somehow it blended nicely with the lively sounds of night creatures. Although what I didn’t realize was the thump of approaching footsteps behind me.

“Hey,” muttered a hushed voice.

The instant I recognized the presence, my entire body stiffened. The inside lights cast a shadow on the wooden porch I sat on, displaying a lanky silhouette on the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to move, let alone speak. My tongue was pierced against the roof of my mouth, petrified to unpack the situation at hand.

He responded to my silence with a reluctant step towards me. Even in our circumstances, I can still feel his presence lingering on the soft skin of my back, making the little hairs stand. Our proximity was slowly closing in with every soft thud until he was eventually situated next to me.

I unconsciously looked over my shoulder, opposite of him, to avoid his curious stare. I shut my eyes, isolating myself in my mind in the hopes that this was a dream. But the frequent trembles of my stomach told me otherwise.

“Y/N?” he called out delicately. “Y/N...please,” he attempted to brush my hand with his fingers, but by instinct, I retracted them with swiftness. A bolt of electricity shot up my arm from Spencer’s touch, a cruel remeberance of the fervor we used to share. My fingertips shivered at the loss of contact, but the static sensation remained.

“Y/N, I know that you probably don’t want to talk to me--and you have every right to…” he babbled. “...but I just--please just listen to me.”

But I refused, every word that fell from his supple lips made the echo in my head boisterous.

I was a mistake.

I bit the inside of my cheek, feeling my abdomen clench in misery. The sensation traveled deep into my chest, pulling me in different directions. My throat cinched up, and the coldness wandered all over my body. Every muscle in me cried out in anguish, unable to persevere through the exhaustion that I’ve let consume me.

“Y/N-”

“Please just go…” I whispered, choking on the aching sobs rising in my esophagus.

“I’ll leave...I promise,” he muttered in a pained voice. “But just...please, let me say this.”

Newfound tears threatened to spill over my eyes, the sorrow in his voice creating a void in me. With the little compassion I had left, I turned around facing his direction. Although I didn’t dare to acknowledge his gaze, instead, I settled my attention on the wood below.

“I know that it’s hard to get through to me, and I know I get stuck in my head,” he began, lowering his head. “You and I both know how hopeless it gets being alone there.”

He twiddled his fingers as he spoke, an implication of his distress. An infinitesimal part of me still yearned to comfort the man, to ease his worries away, but I didn’t have to courage to do so.

“When I get into that space, I get...I get frightened by the doubts that my mind conjures up,” he admits. “Everyone looks at me as the genius--the expectation given to me. But, only you and JJ look at me for who I am instead of who I must be for the team.”

His voice started to crack in between his words, his deliverance laced with dejection and bitterness. I rang my fingers over the textured floorboards, distracting myself from the swelling ache in my heart.

“But you Y/N…” he whispered, gazing at me with a rueful adoration. “You alone bring so much light into the obscurity of my mind. You...you make all my pains go away with nothing but a glance of your smile, ” he chuckled pitifully. “Y/N, you-”

“You told me I was mistake…” I croaked, ignoring the sharp twinge in my throat.

I finally met his gaze with a weary expression. His hair was slightly disheveled, and the bags encompassing his eyes were prominent. But it was the torment evident in them that was the most striking. His irises failed to gleam of their usual autumn hazel, and the golden specks scattered across the tender hue were dull.

“I...I know,” he struggled to admit. “But, I was wrong-”

“You...you told me I was your biggest mistake,” I reiterated, my voice coming off shaky and unstable. “Reid, you…” I paused, my pitch elevating as a whimper loomed to escape my lips. “You hurt me...so much, Reid.”

I scoffed, my vision going blurry from impending tears. Spencer hung his head in remorse, combing his hand through his curls as he attempted to keep his composure. An uneasy silence ensued that not even the blissful sounds of wildlife can mask the tautness in the air.

“I...I know,” he muttered quietly. “JJ, she told me the truth after our...after what happened at the station during the case,” he confessed. “You did all that...you took all the blame, just, so I had someone to be there with me.”

I sighed, shutting my eyes at his admission. “I didn’t...I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through it alone,” I affirmed.

“But you…” Spencer paused, shaking his head at himself. “You...did it all alone.”

All of my guards fell at the utterance of his words. My heart throbbed, and my chest ultimately gave out. Suppressed sobs wracked my entire being, slipping past my tired lips with ease. My head felt faint, and my shoulders slumped. Agony coursed throughout my body, feeling it prick every inch of my skin.

Spencer shifted next to me in an instant, engulfing me in his arms. There I wailed and cried every tear that was humanly possible. I set free the entrapped painful sentiments I’ve burrowed under my stubbornness, and I let the numbness drift out of my body. All that was left was the carcass of my grief and an apprehensive heart.

“I’m sorry Y/N...I’m so sorry,” Spencer repeated, cradling me back and forth while he tried to mask his whimpers.

For most of the night, we stayed in each other’s embrace as the moonlight graced our figures. My face was delved into the cleft of his neck, and his chin laid snugly on my head. The rise and fall of my chest was still erratic, but it was in a much healthier state than before. Our combined breathing was the only distinguishable sound floating in the air after we had steadied ourselves.

The party inside was subdued, and the chatter was nonexistent. The lights were still on, but it seemed that the team had moved elsewhere to celebrate their festivities. Before long, the quiet around us ceased as Spencer broke the silence.

“Y/N?” Spencer whispered.

I nudged my face further into his neck, prompting him to continue.

“What I said...the horrible things that I told you, you have to know that they’re not true,” he lamented, taking my balled-up fists into his palms. “Y/N, you’re far from a mistake. The biggest mistake I’ve made to date is making you believe that,” he croaked.

“Spencer...what you did-”

“Wait--just--let me finish,” he nodded, playing with my hands. “Y/N, you bring color into what I see...yo-you bring color into everything that I do,” he professed, stumbling over his words. “You make it easy to wake up every day and do what we need to do because I know I get to wake up next to you.”

His lips began to tremble, and his hands began to shake. Instinctively, I cupped his hands and brought them close to my chest.

“I…I love you...so much, Y/N,” he whimpered. “And I hate myself for making you feel like you were comparable to anyone else, or that you were insignificant.”

I pressed small kisses to his knuckles, knowing that it would calm him down. I felt a pang hit my torso in Spencer’s discomfort, igniting the part of me that longed to console him. I observed the collapse of his stature and the decomposed state of his demeanor, his appearance visibly in plight.

“Truth be told, Y/N. You are the most significant thing in my life…” he whispered. “You make me whole.”

As he finished his declaration, tears welled up in both our eyes for the last time. “Spence…” I breathed, basking in the warmth that his eyes radiated, despite his desperation.

“Loving you...is one of the greatest thing I will ever do.”

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @honeymilk-4 @linthebinbag @andreasworlsboring101 @ssareidbby @kyleetheeditor @tclaerh @jimilogy @lulwaxim @jhillio @m3ssytrash @haylaansmi @meowiemari @ashwarren32 @spencerwaltergubler

‘liar liar’ taglist: @lieswithoutfairytales @foreveryoungxx3 @goldentournesol @l0ve-0f-my-life @kenny-0909 @andiebeaword @hercleverboy

tags that don’t work: @crazymar15 @nighttimerain123

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targaryenimagines · 3 years

Text

Tempering the Storm

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Summary:

Notes: For @alphawolfworld— I hope you enjoy it. I decided to make my own little spin on it, which I hope you enjoy.

The harsh winds of the North whip at your face as you step from the rowdy Great Hall. Your eyes watering slightly because of it. Pulling your cloak tighter to your body you begin to make your trek back towards your room. Thick plumes of your breath being the only thing that accompanied you on your journey.

You could still hear the faint sound of laughter and drunken shouts. Something that brings a small smile to your lips. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around the drunkards that inhabited the Great Hall, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth that they were able to be so happy. That they were able to find something to be so carefree about. You just hoped that they didn’t end up regretting it in the morning.

With a smile, you hunker down against another strong surge of wind as you cross the courtyard. Your body canting to the side as you tried to right yourself. Alas, your body wasn’t used to the conditions that you had put it in. Something that you quickly discovered as your foot hit a patch of ice underneath the snow and your entire world flipped upside-down. The breath leaving your lungs in a whoosh of air as your back made contact with the cold stone of the ground. Thankfully it was slightly cushioned by the snow that made up the entirety of the North.

Groaning, you flop your head down-- not having the energy to rise from the ground. Trying with all your might to ignore the cool liquid seeping into your clothes. Your eyes slip shut on their own accord as you imagine that you were simply resting against the warm sands of Meereen. The sound of crashing waves taking the place of howling wind. The harsh bite of the weather giving way to the gentle touch of the sun. When your eyes open once more you could feel the way your mood drops when you’re not met with the crystalline blue sky of Essos. A sight that you never knew you would miss so much. What I would do for this snow to become sand.

The soft sound of laughter pulls you out of your thoughts. Craning your neck, you had to squint through the thickening barrage of snow to see the figure approaching you. Even though as it drew closer and closer you could make out the familiar silhouette of Sansa Stark. A woman that you had grown rather fond of during your time in the North. You watch as she stops next to you with a gentle smile curling her lips. The blue of her eyes standing out against the stark fairness of her skin. Familiar waves of auburn being kept in a simple braid. Her soft voice filled with both amusement and concern.

“Are you doing alright? I can’t imagine that you’re comfortable laying on the ground like that.”

You allow your own smile to appear as you looked up towards her. “I am doing quite alright down here. Why don’t you join me?”

Her nose wrinkles at the offer. Her blue gaze tracing the lines of your clearly soaked cloak with a disgruntled air. “I would much rather stay where I am.” She turns her head towards the Great Hall-- a slight frown furrowing her brow. As if she was piecing together a puzzle that didn’t make much sense to her. After a moment her gaze meets yours once more. “Where is Lady Daenerys? Should she not be out here with you also?”

A surprised look blossoms on your face at the question. Your own frown appearing as you mull over the words. The familiar warmth spreading through your chest as you thought about your dragon-- your Daenerys. But it quickly turns sour when memories of recent events come to the surface within your mind. Seemingly sensing your mood change, Sansa glances at the snow-covered ground with a pointed glare before she gingerly sits. Her back ramrod straight as she tried to ignore the feeling of it melting underneath her.

Offering Sansa a weak smile, you begin to speak. “Dany has a lot on her plate right now. With the impending battle with the Night King and Cersei being a constant threat in the background.” You pause as a small sigh escapes your mouth. “It’s enough to make anyone feel pressured.”

“Has she been neglecting you?” Sansa seemed enraged by the thought.

“No.” You shake your head at the mere thought of Daenerys doing so. “I just don’t see her as much I used to, but I know she tries her best to make time for me.”

Blue eyes darken at the thought. An expression flashing across her face that you couldn’t quite decipher. “I see.”

A silence settles over the two of you-- only the howling of the wind and far-off laughter permeating it. Opening your mouth, you try to figure out what you could possibly say to Sansa to soothe the situation. Even though you weren’t exactly sure what situation you were in. However, before you could, Sansa turns to you with a slight smile. Her expression much clearer than it had been a moment prior.

“Why don’t we start heading towards your chamber? I think a change of clothing and wine between friends is more appealing than sitting out here. Don’t you agree?”

Not knowing what to truly say, you simply nod.

And with more energy than you were expecting, Sansa springs to her feet and holds out her hands towards you. Her normally closed off eyes sparkling with affection.

“Then let’s go.”

---------

“Did Jon truly do such a thing?” You ask in an incredulous tone. Not believing that the silent brooding man could ever do something like that.

Sansa lets out an airy laugh. “I promise you it’s all true. Jon and Robb got into such mischief together.” A sad look flashes across her eyes before she can hide it. “I miss those days.”

Setting down your goblet of wine, you gently take Sansa’s hand in your own gentle grip. A look of complete understanding washing over your face. “I can understand that, but do you know who can also understand that. Better than anyone I have ever met?”

She shakes her head in response, but there was the same look in her eyes from before.

“Daenerys.” You frown at the small scoff that Sansa lets out in response. “I’m serious Sansa. Daenerys knows better than anyone how it feels to long for days long passed. To wish for a different future than the course you have been put on.”

Sansa lowers her head-- her voice dropping to a low whisper. “You seem to old the Dragon Queen in high-esteem.”

“I love her, Sansa,” you whisper back. “She has saved me more times than I can count. Has been there for me when I didn’t even know I needed someone. She has never given up on me. Has never faltered in her devotion for me. And I will never do so either.”

An almost pained look appears on Sansa’s face at the clear conviction within your tone. It was a look that you suddenly understood. For it was a look you had seen many times before. A look that many potential-suitors held when they finally understood your complete devotion to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

Sighing softly, you offer Sansa an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

She offers a weak smile in return. “Not as sorry as I am.”

Tightening your hold on her hand, you pull Sansa into a warm hug. Wrapping your arms securely around her as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. A silent understanding passing between the two of you in that moment. That everything was going to be okay in the end.

The sound of your chamber door causes you both to jump away from one another. Your eyes widening at the slim figure standing at the threshold of the room. A furious violet gaze meeting your shocked one.

Standing you take a slight step forward. “Daenerys?”

You pause when her gaze seemingly freezes you in place. Her eyes turning to the woman behind you. A harsh look taking over her features at the sight.

“What in the Seven Hells is she doing here?”

With widening eyes, you begin to speak-- desperately wanting to salvage the situation. “Sansa and I met earlier in the courtyard, and after a brief discussion we decided to convene in my chambers for some wine.” You gesture behind you towards the goblets. “And after another brief discussion I decided it best that I should hug her farewell.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrow. “Then why is she still here if you were simply hugging her farewell?”

You flounder for an answer. Your brain seemingly short-circuiting as you tried to speak. Luckily, a soft voice speaks up behind you.

“I was just leaving.” You wince internally at the sharp quality to Sansa’s tone, but you smile gratefully towards her as she passes you. Thankful that she was able to speak when you couldn’t.

Pausing for a brief moment beside you, Sansa murmurs. “I shall see you tomorrow.” She shoots Daenerys a thinly-veiled glare. “I hope you sleep well.”

With that she exits the room. The banging of the door being the only sound in the room for some time. Taking a chance, you glance towards Daenerys’s still figure. Only to find that she was still staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher.

You take a small step towards her. Your expression open and honest. “Dany, I promise what you saw isn’t what you think it was. I was simply offering her a hug as a friend. Nothing more.”

Her mouth twists down in a frown. “I am well aware of your intentions, my love.” She turns from you and moves towards the window. Her expression pensive as she takes in the sights just beyond the glass. “It’s hers that I am vexed with.”

You frown. “What do you mean, Dany?”

She turns to you with a slight smile curling her lips. The first she had offered you since entering the room. “Oh you must realize how she stares at you, my love. Must realize how she speaks towards you without a care of who overhears.” She turns her gaze back towards the outside world. “Her gaze is filled with that of longing. A deep-rooted longing for something that she can never have. The type of longing that keeps one awake at night. Her words simply highlighting the fact. For they show no inkling of self-perservation as she tries to take something that is already someone elses.” Sighing, Daenerys moves towards the bed where she gingerly sits down. “So, no, it’s not you I am worried about, my darling.”

Clearly seeing the anguish within Daenerys’s violet gaze, you move to sit beside her. Taking her still gloved hands in your own. Your eyes pleading with her to listen to you.

“Dany,” you mumur with a soft look on your face. Your hand coming up to caress her cheek. “There is no other person that I could ever see myself with. No other person that I could ever see myself loving as much as I love you.” You dip your head as your next admission comes out. “I am aware of Sansa’s feelings towards me. Even though I had no knowledge of it when I entered this room with her. She has since become aware of my complete devotion towards you. Something that will never change.”

Daenerys’s eyes flash with various emotions. Though you could tell clear as day that her insecurities were eating away at her.

“Truly?” She asks with a small tilt of her head. “Even when my plans have to take me away from you for long periods of time? When I can’t spend time with you like I used to?”

You smile. “Even then. For I know that you will be just as miserable as I am. That we will both be wishing for the day that we can be in each others arms once more.” You bring your lips to hers in a small, chastised kiss. “I am yours, Daenerys. For now and forever.”

Daenerys smiles back at you. Her violet eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. “And I am yours, my love.” She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls your body flush against hers. Her mouth ghosting across your cheek towards your ear. Her warm breath fluttering against the shell of your ear. “I just hope you realize that the next time Sansa Stark tries anything I won’t be so forgiving.”

Chuckling, you turn your head and press your lips against hers. Relishing the feeling of having her in your arms. Any other thought leaving your mind as your hold her tightly to you.

For there would never be anyone else you would ever need.

Not as long as you had her.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #daenerys imagine #daenerys stormborn #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones

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kurokoros · 4 years

Text

silver tongue | kuroo (kinktober day 5)

Rated: M

Words: 4.9K

Pairing: villain!kuroo x fem!reader

Summary: A late night at the agency takes a turns when you run into Panther, an S rated villain.

AN: I started working on a bnha x hq crossover a while ago, and decided to base character quirks on the kanji in their names, and, well... Kuroo means “black tail” sooooo I wrote tentacle porn. You’re welcome.

Note: Jishin is, if google translated it correctly, Japanese for “earthquake”, which has to do with Daichi’s quirk in this au.

Kinktober 2020 Day Four: Public Sex + Day Nine: Tentacles

Warnings: smut, oral (male receiving, implied at the end), public sex, manhandling, restraints, quirk play, tentacles, double penetration, teasing, overstimulation, choking, biting, dirty talk (degradation and praise)

Leaving Daichi’s new sidekicks squabbling in the corner of the office, you slip out the side door of the Agency, stepping into the quiet alley with a sigh. Your heels click against the ground, and you shiver as the cold night air curls around you. The light breeze tickles your bare legs and arms, your work clothes providing little coverage from the chill, unlike the warmth of the building behind you.

Closing your eyes, you lean back against the brick wall behind you, two fingers rubbing at your temple to chase away an impending headache.

As much as you’ve grown to like the pair of energetic rookies in the short time they’ve been working at the agency, you could do without their constant bickering. Especially this late at night. It was just your luck, really, drawing the short straw tonight. As Daichi’s personal assistants, it was up to either you or Kiyoko to supervise Kageyama and Hinata—fresh out of school and eager to work in the field—as they did their required paperwork. Without someone breathing down their necks, neither boy would get any of it done, and Kiyoko finally cashed in on a favor you owed her to get out of babysitting late into the night.

Not that you can blame her for that. With the amount of petty fights you’ve already had to break up tonight, you would have jumped at the opportunity to leave, too.

A muffled shout comes from the building behind you, but you ignore it. Opting to leave the arguing pair to their own devices for a few minutes. It may not be the best idea, but given the alternative, you’d rather deal with the repercussions later.

Besides, what Daichi doesn’t know won’t kill him.

You drop your hand back to your side, making yourself comfortable against the side of the building despite the rough texture of the bricks and the chilly temperature. Opening your eyes, you turn your gaze to the mouth of the alley, tucked between the agency and a café that closed hours ago. Despite the late hour, the streets are still bathed in light from the moon and the street lights.

A shadow moves in the corner of your eye. Soundless as it slinks across the ground. Graceful. It’s gone as soon as you glance to the right, and you frown, but decide not to dwell on it as you return your gaze to one of the old buildings across the street. A trick of the light, that’s all it was. Or one of the skittish stray cats you’ve caught Asahi feeding on more than one occasion. It’s late, but not late enough for anyone to be causing trouble, especially this close to such a reputable agency.

But the shadow moves again, just barely visible in the hazy space where the light from the streetlamp melds back into the darkness. It squirms again, a dark shape against the ground. This time, you’re faster, following the movement with your eyes just in time to catch something black disappearing back into an unlit part of the alley. It flickers at the edge of your vision almost tauntingly, coaxing you to follow, and your brows furrow in confusion.

Peering into the darkness where it vanished, your breath hitches when you make out the silhouette of a tall, suit-clad figure leaning against the alley wall across from you. You tense, eyes widening just the slightest as raw, icy fear grips your chest.

A pair of vibrant eyes meet yours through the shadows, and a lazy grin spreads across a handsome face. “Don’t you know it’s not smart to be at the office alone this late at night, kitten?” There’s a playful lilt to his voice, almost deceptively sweet. He shifts against the wall he’s leaning on, eyes narrowing playfully. “There might be villains around.”

The irony isn’t lost on you.

Across from you, Kuroo’s lips twitch as you stay silent. Irritated, perhaps. Or maybe this is all part of some game to him. He stares at you through the lock of messy hair falling in his face, relaxed despite how close he is to such a well-known Hero Agency. Especially one that’s been tracking him for so long.

His hands casually slip into the pockets of his slacks. “What’s wrong?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. Amusement dances in the depths of his gaze. “Cat got your tongue?”

An indignant scoff leaves the back of your throat. Cat? More like a— “Panther,” you say, purposely using his alias. It’s not a greeting—not quite, anyway. And it sounds strange on your tongue.

Kuroo’s eyes narrow into a glare. He’s always hated how his villain name sounds coming out of your mouth. Almost mockingly. Taunting him. Pressing his buttons in just the right way. You’ve never been truly afraid of him. Despite his reputation. Despite the fact that you’re quirkless. And that’s what makes this so much fun.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, before he can respond with one of the sly remarks nettled on his silver tongue. The question is breathier than you mean for it to be, a result of the intoxicating concoction of emotions swirling inside you. Shock. Confusion. Lingering fear from the split second you didn’t recognize him. And beneath that, something else.

You wet your lips, glancing at the door to your right. You can still hear Kageyama and Hinata inside. Their arguing is louder than before, but still muffled through the wall. They probably haven’t even noticed you slipped outside yet. And you doubt they will. At least, not for a while.

Kuroo follows your gaze, but otherwise doesn’t move. For a moment, he listens as well, finally hearing the tell-tale sounds of arguing from inside. Something in his expression shifts, his grin devilish. You squeeze your thighs together. “I was in the neighborhood,” he tells you nonchalantly, as if he isn’t a wanted criminal lurking outside of a building owned by one of the men intent on arresting him. Those clever eyes shift back to you. “Thought I might check on my favorite assistant.”

His tone is teasing, but you recognize the hint of genuine concern that flickers in the depths of his hazel eyes, and it makes you soften for a split second. You hate when he does that. He’s not supposed to care about you, and you’re sure as hell not supposed to care about him. But then, you aren’t supposed to be fooling around with him either.

This time, you snort, eyes rolling. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” Pausing, you glance at the building behind you again, wondering if you should say anything else. Kuroo must know by now that you aren’t alone. It would be impossible not to hear the amount of shouting going on inside the agency. “Kageyama and Hinata are here. We have them doing paperwork tonight. I’m babysitting.”

Kuroo’s brow furrows as he tries to connect the names to the faces he’s seen. Once he does, he narrows his eyes. “Jishin left his pretty little assistant alone with just some rookies?” he asks, using your boss’s alias mockingly. “What are a couple of kids going to do if some big, bad villain shows up and attacks the place?” Because that’s what he is, right? A big, bad villain.

What does that make you?

You choose not to take the bait. “What are you really doing here, Kuroo?” you ask him, lowering your voice even though there’s no one around to hear you. “Shouldn’t you be lying low? It’s only been a few days since you and Daichi—”

One long, black tendril shoots from his lower back. It lashes out. You cut off with a yelp as it races towards you, wrapping around both of your wrists and pinning them above your head before you can react. Gasping, you tug at the squirming limb, but it only coils around you tighter, squeezing. Like a warning. It’s cool to the touch, smooth against you, and the strange sensation makes you shudder. The tip wriggles against the inside of your arm, almost ticklish.

“I don’t want to hear his fucking name out of your mouth,” he snaps, Daichi’s name setting him off. Just like you knew it would. His eyes narrow again, his jaw clenching. The slim tentacle around your wrists tightens, and you bite your tongue to hold back an embarrassing whimper. Pulse pounding, your heart stutters in your chest when he sends you a look that makes you tremble.

Kuroo slips his hands out of his pockets as he takes a step towards you. Gravel crackles beneath his feet, loud in the otherwise quiet alleyway. Gold eyes glint beneath the dim light of the streetlamps. Predatory. Hungry. His lips curl into a smirk as he stops just in front of you, his chest nearly brushing against yours.

Your breath catches at his proximity, and his grin widens. You swallow down another soft, pitiful sound that bubbles up in your throat, but he’s close enough to notice the way your pupils dilate.

“I think you know exactly why I’m here,” he says, voice a low hiss in your ear. “So, don’t play dumb. You know better than that.”

The shadows around him squirm, something moving behind him, so dark it blends in perfectly with the murky walls of the alley. Another tendril curls out from behind his back, flickering back and forth like the tail of an irritated cat. You shiver again as it reaches for you, lashing out just like the last one. The tip of the tentacle ghosts across your cheek, caressing you. It’s a startling contrast from the rough way your hands are stretched above your head, an ache already forming in your shoulders.

The loving stroke against your cheek isn’t matched by the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Didn’t you miss me, kitten?” Though still teasing, there’s a note of blatant affection to the endearment this time. Even his eyes soften just a little, betraying his fondness for you, though it’s hidden away again just as quickly.

“No,” you huff, struggling against the binding around your wrists. It doesn’t budge, only wriggles against you tauntingly. It’s a blatant lie, and Kuroo sees right through it.

His grin twists into an exaggerated pout, but the mocking look in his eyes never dims. “Ouch.” Kuroo presses a hand to his chest, like you’ve wounded him. “You’re going to break my heart.”

You lean into the cool touch of his quirk against the side of your face. “Like you have one.”

While you mean for it to be biting, scathing, the quip comes out breathy, and it only makes him laugh. It’s dry, humorless. “Maybe I don’t,” he agrees. You can’t make out the look in his eyes. “But that’s never stopped you from letting me fuck you before.”

“Fuck you,” you say, embarrassed by the way you arch into his touch instinctively.

He clicks his tongue. “You’re being such a brat tonight. I thought you might’ve learned to behave after last time.”

The tentacle touching your cheek shifts, brushing the corner of your lips before sliding lower. You inhale sharply as it glides down the front of your throat, wriggling. The phantom sensation of those tentacles wrapping around your throat and squeezing has your thighs rubbing together. Heat pools in your lower belly, and your legs start to tremble.

You’re not subtle enough to escape his watchful eye, but Kuroo doesn’t lean in. He doesn’t reach for you—doesn’t pry your legs apart the way you want him to—he just watches you with those catlike eyes, drinking in the way you squirm under the familiar touch of his quirk. The tip of the tentacle flicks against your collarbone almost playfully.

It’s his name that falls from your pretty mouth this time—his real name, and pride swells in his chest at the needy tone of your voice. “Tetsurou,” you gasp, and his given name sounds so, so sweet coming from your mouth. Much better than his other name. “We can’t. They’re still inside. If we get caught, you’ll—” You cut off with a yelp as the tentacle slithers beneath the neckline of your shirt and yanks.

The blouse you’re wearing rips down the middle. Buttons snap from your now ruined shirt, scattering across the ground near your feet. Kuroo reaches for your waist as his tentacle traces the soft cup of your bra, starting from the outer edge and following the curve of your breast to the thin band beneath.

Kuroo quiets your half-hearted concerns. His stare follows the path of the extra limb, and you think he’s about to rip your bra as well. Anticipation makes you tremble, your heart beating faster.

The tentacle disappears from your chest, slinking back to Kuroo’s side like a loyal pet. It squirms, wriggling provocatively as it twists and curls through the air, level with his hips. The hands that slide against your waist are a welcome distraction, and the tentacle coiled around your wrists squeezes, as if reminding you that you’re still stuck, pinned against the wall and helpless against his quirk.

“If you really want to stop, just say the word.” He nuzzles against your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as he speaks. You arch into him, hips rocking against the thigh that slips between both of yours. He pulls his leg away. “Out loud, kitten. I want to hear you say it.”

You gasp a needy, “Don’t.” Kuroo grins as you whimper and lean into his warm hands when they rub against your sides. “Don’t stop. Please, Tetsu, I—” Two of his fingers slip beneath your bra to pinch your nipple, and you cut off with a squeal.

“Behave and maybe I’ll let you cum.” The words are murmured against your lips. Your back arches off the wall as his lips press against yours. The kiss is harsh, all tongue and teeth, and you moan against his mouth. You struggle against the tentacle around your wrists, but it doesn’t budge. Kuroo’s teeth dig into your bottom lip until it hurts, his tongue soothing the bite when you whimper and rock your hips against his.

It’s been so long since he was able to touch you like this—weeks since he had to go into hiding—and he’s not leaving until he’s had his fun with you. Your fingers twitch, desperate to reach for him, to pull him closer, and your struggling only makes his amusement grow.

A cold touch to your leg makes you flinch, and Kuroo swallows your surprised moan as the tentacle that was idle at his side curls around your thigh. It coils around you like a snake, wrapping around you before tugging, forcing your legs apart. You rock your hips towards his, but Kuroo leans just out of your reach, and the tentacle forcibly pulls your hips back against the wall.

“Tetsu,” you say again, mewling his name this time, the sound muffled against his mouth.

His lips move to your cheek, wandering across your soft skin until he finds that special, sensitive spot just beneath the curve of your jaw. Teeth graze the delicate skin of your throat, right over your racing pulse. Eyes fluttering shut, you tilt your head back against the alley wall, letting him angle your head how he wants it.

An approving hum vibrates against you before Kuroo bites down, teeth digging in hard enough to make you wince. He soothes away the pain with a soft kiss, only to bite you again as soon as you relax, a little lower than the last. Sharp canines prick at your skin; your pulse jumps.

Your squirming and whimpering only makes him chuckle. The rough sound vibrates against the side of your throat, and he presses one last kiss to your delicate skin before pulling away.

The dark tendril wrapped around your leg sweeps back and forth lazily, the tip teasing your inner thigh with slow circles and nonsensical shapes, mimicking the movement of his fingers. It strokes you from your knee to where your skirt is bunched halfway up your thigh, flirting with the hem before dancing away.

He’s playing with you. Taunting you. Trying to get you to beg. Each fleeting touch causes the dull ache between your legs to intensify, and the way you’re pinned down and put on display for him only makes you wetter. And he knows it, too. The bastard.

Kuroo leans back suddenly, whistling as he takes in the sight of you. Chest heaving. Shirt ripped open. Bound by shadowy black tendrils that writhe against you. “Look at you,” he coos, lazy fingers wandering over your soft skin, drinking you in. Kuroo follows the line of your collarbone with the pad of his thumb.

His head cocks to the side. There’s an absolutely wicked look in his eyes when they meet yours. “What do you think that boss of yours would say if he could see you like this?” He hums, and his fingers move higher, ghosting against the front of your throat. It would be so easy for his hand to wrap around your neck and choke you, but he just strokes his thumb over the faint indents left by his teeth. He presses his thumb into your neck a little harder. Just enough to make you gasp. “Spreading your legs for a villain in some dirty, back alley. Moaning like a whore.” He chuckles when you whimper, leaning in so that his lips brush against yours when he says, “Such a naughty girl.”

The tentacle around your leg wriggles suddenly. The tip disappears under your skirt, trailing up the inside of your thigh. “But you’re going to be good for me, yeah?” he asks you, grinning at the way your head falls back against the wall, your eyes squeezing shut in bliss as the tentacle strokes you through your panties, tracing your dripping slit. It’s cold. Slick. Wrong. And you shudder as it flicks over your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

You try to swallow down the moan building in your throat, but it comes out as a high-pitched whine instead. “Tetsu,” you gasp, arching into him as the tentacle continues to play with you. His smirk widens as you try to roll your hips against the slick movement between your legs, only for his tentacles to hold you down harder.

Your fingers dig into your palms, nails biting at your skin as the stroking between your legs becomes more teasing, the tentacle lazily flicking against you. It isn’t enough to do more than tease you. Frustrated tears well in your eyes, but there’s nothing you can do but let him play his game.

He’s waiting, watching you. And you know exactly what he wants.

“Fuck, I bet you just love this, hmm?” His hand moves from your throat to your jaw. The tips of his fingers dig into your skin. “You’re so wet already, and I’ve barely even touched you.” His thumb brushes against your bottom lip. Mock sympathy drips from his tongue. “Oh, but I bet I know why.”

Heat pools in your lower belly as Kuroo’s head tilts to the side. A dark, twisting mass rises from behind him, and the large tentacle splits in two before your eyes, branching off as it reaches for you. One moves low, wrapping around your neglected leg. It doesn’t move to stroke you like the other, but the tip draws circles against your inner thigh. So, so gentle. The motion would be soothing, if you didn’t know exactly how dangerous they can be. Tearing through skin and bone when he wants them to.

“Could it be this?” he asks, watching as the other tendril snakes across your torso, barely brushing against you. It follows the curve of one of your breasts all the way to your neck, and the sound that falls out of your mouth when it wraps around your delicate throat is absolutely lewd. He chuckles. You recognize the look in his eyes, and it only makes you shudder harder.

The pathetic little mewling sound that falls from your mouth is all the answer he needs.

The tentacle around your neck teases one of the spots where he bit you, and the one between your legs strokes just a little bit harder. “Are you really that fucking depraved?” Kuroo asks you, sneering. “Fuck, kitten, you’re practically dripping,” the tentacle between your legs slips beneath your damp panties, “and all because you just can’t wait for me to fuck that cute cunt of yours with my quirk. Right here where anyone could walk by and see you.” You moan, because of his words or the tentacle that rubs against your clit, you aren’t sure. “I bet you’d just love that. Little slut.”

Like your shirt, your underwear is ripped down. The soaked, lacy fabric gets caught on the tentacles wrapped around your legs. Kuroo clicks his tongue, rucking up your skirt to get a better look at your slick thighs as the tentacle flicks over your clit once more. As his fingers graze your soft, inner thighs, the tendril drawing circles against you hooks around your panties and pulls. It tears, and you wince as the fabric snaps against your skin. Rough fingers slip between your legs, taking the ruined fabric from the tentacle and pocketing it. He makes sure to brush the lace against your clit as he pulls away.

Shakily, you take a deep breath, head tilting back just enough for you to meet his gaze. “You’re the one that wants to fuck me with them,” you remind him, fighting the urge to shiver as one of his tentacles strokes you directly, covering itself in your slick. “Who’s really the depraved one?”

The jab makes him grin. “So mouthy,” he murmurs again. The tentacle around your neck tightens, but doesn’t choke you. The pointed tip slides across your jaw and cheek, prodding at the corner of your mouth. It slides over your lips, but you refuse to part them. Kuroo sighs, disappointed. “I’ll have to fix that.”

Without warning, the tentacle stroking your slit shoves inside your pussy, spreading you open wide. Your lips part in a surprise squeal, but the other tentacle slips into your mouth, muffling the sound before it can tear from your throat. You moan around it, and Kuroo curses under his breath, feeling the vibrations through his quirk.

Another choked whine sounds through the empty alley, and he hushes you, stroking your cheek with his knuckles. Your hips lurch against the squirming sensation inside you, but the tentacles wrapped around your limbs hold you against the wall, forcing you to stay still as it wiggles.

“Careful, kitten,” Kuroo warns you, a smug look on his face. “You wouldn’t want Jishin’s little sidekicks to hear you moaning like a whore.” Those catlike eyes drift down your torso, locking on the thick tentacle stretching your dripping cunt. The tentacle in your mouth wiggles, pressing against your tongue and teeth. It pushes against the back of your throat, and you try not to gag. When you whimper again, Kuroo chuckles. “Or maybe you would.”

The palms of his hands land on your bare thighs, coaxing them further apart for a better view of the sloppy mess you’re making all over the tentacle between your legs. It’s a strange feeling. Smoother than his cock. Colder. It moves erratically, squirming inside you rather than thrusting. The tapered tip finds your sweet spot, rubbing and prodding until your hips jerk and you start to squirm again.

Around your left leg, the other tentacle holding you open starts to move, creeping across your inner thigh to join the other between your legs. Kuroo watches it slide over your skin, his pupils blown wide with arousal as he watches his black tails writhe around you, simultaneously pinning you in place and stroking you purposely. They know just where to touch to turn you into a whimpering mess, and you cry out around the tendril in your mouth when the tentacle stuffed inside your dripping pussy slides part way out before slamming back inside of you.

The other, thinner one flicks over your clit. Your moan is muffled by the tentacle shoved down your throat. All four wiggle in delight as you arch your back, trying to match the pace of the tentacle that begins to pound into you. It’s thick inside you, stretching you obscenely, and Kuroo chuckles under his breath as he watches your pretty cunt swallow the shadowy tendril.

He takes a step back and slips his hands back into his pockets, watching the tentacle fuck you with a wild look in his eyes, like a cat toying with a mouse that’s already been caught. As he cocks his head to the side, his stares intently as your cute pussy as it drips all over the wriggling appendage. Slick glistens against the black tendril with every harsh thrust, and Kuroo shivers at the phantom sensation of your cunt clenching around one of his black tails.

The one playing with your clit strokes over you slowly, swirling against your swollen nerves in the same slow, teasing way as Kuroo’s tongue.

“I guess you really are a depraved little slut,” he muses, leaning his weight onto one leg. “Letting a bunch of filthy tentacles ravish you in a dirty alleyway.” Gold eyes glint possessively as they lock with yours. “And look how well you take them.”

A muffled moan falls from your mouth, and the tentacle pressed against your tongue thrusts against the back of your throat languidly, wiggling in a way that borders on uncomfortable. The tentacle in your mouth slides out of you wetly, leaving a trail of saliva across your cheek as it retreats to your neck, coiling tighter around your throat as you gasp for breath.

The tentacle thrusts against you harder, and this time there’s nothing in your mouth to muffle you as you cry out. “Ah, Tetsu, please.” You practically sob his name, writhing almost as much as the tendrils fucking you. “Please, I can’t—” You cut off with a whine, your head tossed back against the wall as you squeeze your eyes shut. By now you’ve started trembling, pleasure feeding into the tight little ball of tension in your lower belly with every rough thrust and stroke from his quirk.

“That’s right, kitten,” Kuroo murmurs. The jingle of his belt coming undone makes you whimper, and you force your eyes open, watching as his hand slips beneath his slacks, palming his hard cock. “Beg me to let you cum. You sound so fucking pretty when you beg for me.”

Your mouth is moving immediately, whimpering garbled pleas and breathy versions of his name between the gasps and moans rolling off your tongue. You’re only half aware of what you’re saying, but delight flickers in his eyes with every word. He strokes himself slowly, watching as you start to come undone.

The appendage around your throat constricts, stealing your breath.

The tentacle inside you writhes as the one on your clit rubs against you at just the right angle, and your mouth drops open in a silent scream as the knot of tension inside you snaps. You choke out a rough, strangled version of his name, whimpering as you tremble, writhing against the limbs holding you in place. The tentacles fuck you through it, pace never slowing as they draw out the pleasure until there are tears welling in your eyes from the intensity.

Shaking as you start to come down from the high, you wince when the pounding doesn’t stop. “Tetsu. I can’t—” The tendril that flicks over your clit again makes you flinch, and the one still stuffed inside your pussy thrusts against you roughly, making your walls clench. A hissed exhale escapes from between your teeth, your eyes squeezing shut at the raw feeling of overstimulation. “Too much,” you gasp, starting to struggle against the near painful pleasure.

You shiver as he caresses your cheek, his hand warm against your clammy skin. “Oh, sweetheart,” he coos as you lean into his touch, thumb brushing against your bottom lip lovingly. “You didn’t think we’d be done that fast, did you? No, we’re just getting started.”

The tentacles curled around your limbs suddenly yank you towards Kuroo, pulling you away from the side of the building. They drag you down to your knees, and you wince as gravel digs into your skin. The tentacle around your wrists release you, but before you can grab Kuroo’s thighs to steady yourself, they’re wrenched behind you back, binding you again.

Kuroo nudges your thighs further apart with his foot. An approving sound rumbles in his chest as he watches the tentacle continue to fuck you despite your whimpering. He grabs your chin between his thumb and fingers, grip bruising as he tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him. A devilish look flashes in his eyes, sharp and predatory as he looks at you, on your knees for him. He shoves the front of his pants down with his free hand, clever fingers sneaking inside to stroke himself.

There’s a reason they call him a panther. “Now be a good girl and suck my cock.”

#kuroo x reader #hq x reader #hq smut #hq #haikyuu!!

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moonctzeny · 3 years

Text

Cygnus

pairing: royal!ten x fem!reader x villain!doyoung

genre: angst, smutty elements but not anything too much

word count: 4,8k

warnings: ‘forced’ marriage, mentions of death, blood, stabbing (not too descriptive I promise), manipulation

summary: “When your father, the king, gets brutally assasinated in his royal quarters, you realise how big of a threat the opposing Indigo kingdom really is. In order to further protect both your kingdoms, prince Ten proposes a unification by proposing to you. Amidst your duty as his queen and your inappropriate meetups with your royal advisor, Doyoung, you’re not sure where your heart really belongs”

a/n: This fic has a lot of referencing of the past. Just to clarify: if a part is written in the past tense and is inside the separators, it’s y/n recounting past events

requested by/written for my dear French Anon ❤️❤️ I hope you like it 🥰

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The starry night spreads like a veil over the kingdom. Your kingdom, ever since your head was adorned with a veil of your own. The moonlight, pale and bright, illuminates all the stories of the night. From the mothers that kiss their children goodnight, praying that the impending war doesn’t find them in their adolescence, to the whispering silhouettes of the King’s traitors, plotting with the opposing kingdom to overrule his reign.

Like the weeping willows of your royal garden, you sit alone in the dance hall’s balcony, gazing at the sky’s unknown that always felt so comfortable to you. How dull and drab you must look, even in the ornate gown you were in, amidst all the decorations and joyous music of your wedding’s one year anniversary. Maids, peasants, guards- they all congratulated you on your happy marriage, wishing the queen a long life of prosperity. Even Sirius, the prettiest diamond in the sky, seemed to shine like a spotlight for tonight’s celebration.

“y/n? It’s time for our royal dance.”

You recognized the silky voice to be that of the King’s, your longest companion other than the stars. In spite of all of your misery, Ten, the man you swore to hold in weakness and in health, till death do you part, was someone you valued deeply.

You first met the prince in your early teens, travelling to his neighboring kingdom with your father. He was still a young boy, bothered with the blemishes on his face and excited to play with the snow covering the windowsills of his room. The only person who could relate with the insecurities and troubles of an heir like yourself.

“Why are the peasants hungry while we throw away most of our food?”

"Why does the Indigo kingdom want to declare war on us when we both have enough wealth to live on?"

"Do you think that when we grow up, we will become just like our parents?"

The prince was thoughtful and gentle, a pacifist in the wrong position. Talented in the arts, in dance, in anything that is as beautiful as he is.

His beloved subjects do not know it, but the nickname Ten, was given to him by you.

It was probably the third time you met the prince, excited to spend time with your only friend just a day before your 15th birthday. He had been bugging you over what you wanted from him as a present, the beautiful jewelry and dresses his father gifted you seeming too impersonal to him. You shook off his offers, insisting that him being there with you, in your castle’s terrace, was more than enough.

You were gazing at your beloved stars and he was gazing at you, rambling on and on about the celestial objects in the sky.

“And what star is this?”, he asked curiously, eyes reflecting the constellations and sparkling in the night. Chittaphon, unlike the countless teachers insisting astronomy for a princess was useless, was endlessly entertained by your knowledge and always thirsty to learn more. His finger was pointing at Deneb, one of the brightest stars of the night sky.

“This star is part of a greater ten-star constellation, Cygnus”

“Cygnus?”

“It means swan in greek”, you explained and he squinted his eyes cutely, trying to find the resemblance to the bird.

“According to greek mythology, Phaethon, the son of Helios the sun god, demanded to ride his father’s sun chariot for a day. Unfortunately, he

was unable to control the reins, forcing Zeus to destroy the chariot with a thunderbolt, with Phaethon drowning in the river Eridanus where it fell. Phaethon's lover, Cygnus, dived into the river for days on end to collect Phaethon's bones, in order to give him a proper burial. The gods were so touched by Cygnus's devotion and deep grief, that they turned him into a swan and placed him among the stars.”

Chittaphon, intrigued by the story, stopped plucking out the roots of the grass you were sitting on, and decided to lay his head comfortably on your lap. His hair looked so pretty that you couldn’t help but run your fingers through its softness, the intimacy making your heart skip a beat.

“That is my greatest fear”

You were so lost in your contentment that you’d almost miss his whispered confession. Placing your hands on his cheeks carefully, you turn his face so that he looks at you, and it takes everything in you not to lean down and kiss his pout away.

“Hm?”

“What if, when I finally take the reins of my father’s kingdom, I end up ‘drowning’ as well? What if I’m too weak to control them and someone stronger than me decides to destroy me?”

With a sigh, you look back up to the sky. As an only child and therefore sole heiress, the worry of leading a kingdom was the main cause of your night scares as well. You were just teenagers, still figuring out yourselves, but Chittaphon wasn’t some ditzy child. He didn’t care about the lushes and gold, he wasn’t power hungry. His idealism and ethos were admirable, and you felt safe knowing that when the time comes, he would be your ally.

“You’ll make a great king one day”

He smiles up at you, his happiness lighting up the night sky. He always shone the brightest.

“You really mean that?”

“I do. And if you don’t, I promise to collect your bones and bury you properly”

He laughed heartily at your joke, and you continued to braid his locks, counting the freckles on his face until your heartbeats synced with the other.

You just laid there, thinking the prince had fallen asleep in your arms, when he spoke again.

“I don’t know how, but one day I’ll gift you those ten stars. And it will be the best birthday present you’ll ever receive”

That’s how you got through adolescence, holding on to Ten’s promise, and dreaming of whatever life might offer you. And life seemed to be gentle on you, up until a couple of years ago. Up until the incident.

Ten takes your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles tenderly with his thumb, and leads you to the dance hall. The skin is scabbed and rough from you compulsively scrubbing it every time you take a bath. You’d watch the water endlessly run through your fingers, yet no amount of soap could flush the memory of the deep red of your father’s blood staining them.

It was a Friday like any other, a walk in the royal gardens at 6 and then your waltz dance class at 7. You replayed the new choreography over and over in your head, drunk in your instructor’s praises and wanting to show off. Skipping the steps of the stairwell leading up to the king’s room, you wish you had taken a jacket with you. Goosebumps started appearing on your arms, both from the cool night breeze and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Your father was the reason you started waltz lessons. “One day you’re going to marry a man to queendom and you’ll better be able to keep up with me on our father-daughter dance”. You’d just giggle and tell him you had plenty of time till that day, you were just stepping on your twenties, no reason to step on a dancefloor too! But alas, one dance recital from Ten and your father was sold on the idea of getting you to take some lessons. You chuckled to yourself. Come to think of it, your father just really loved Ten.

You reach the heavy door of his suite, opened by just a slice. While there was light coming from the room, illuminating the hallway you were standing at, there was no one guarding it. You found it a little strange that the guard’s huge frame didn’t block your way from your father like he like always did, yet you were happy. Your father always acted colder to you around him.

“Dad, dad, look what I learned toda-“

The sight of his cold, lifeless body brought you to your knees. The cause of death was obvious, with the dagger shoved deep inside his guts, but if you asked anyone in the kingdom, they’d tell you he died from a bad heart. He loved heavy food, and alcohol, the meals suited to a king. No one other than a select few could know that the king was assassinated in his own bedroom.

But that was not your only secret.

You don’t know how, but Ten has managed to finally drag you in the middle of the dance hall. Your shoes clack against the marbled floors and the music brings you momentarily back to the now that you want to escape so badly. The music sounds familiar, you think, and you stay still for a second, trying to identify the song.

Your king brings you closer, one hand steady on your waist, the other keeping your fingers intertwined. He hums to the tune and looks at you with those eyes, those dark eyes that always hold a certain sadness in them. And when he starts to lead, it finally hits you that this is the song you got engaged to.

It was Ten’s idea, actually. With the rumours of a murder travelling to the neighboring kingdoms, including the Indigo kingdom making statements of invasive strategies against you, a form of alliance was clearly needed to be made.

He showed up to the royal conference room, all dressed up and holding a bouquet of red roses. You could hear his heart thumping as he approached you, his hands sweaty and clammy when he held yours.

“My queen, there is no denying our kingdoms are in a crisis”. His familiar voice was comforting to you, yet the words seemed too formal to be leaving Ten’s mouth. “The Indigo kingdom has indirectly declared war on you. They are powerful, especially with the weapons they possess. And their men are notorious to be ruthless and as cold as ice.”

You gulped visibly, your mouth getting dry at the thought of your people getting as violently killed as your father. Looking at any place possible other than his eyes, you wondered why he took the time to pay you a visit, just to point out the things that you were already more than worried about.

“My kingdom has great soldiers, skilled and apt in martial arts, yet they miss one thing, one thing that your peaceful kingdom can offer mine. Your servants love you, my queen, and they are willing to do anything for you”. He stops and takes a breath, handing you the bouquet he had been holding in his other hand. “I know I would”

The sweet scent that hits your nose matches his sentiment, yet the glossiness in his eyes -that you finally picked up the courage to face- told you things would get bitter soon.

“Are you suggesting we form an alliance for the war? Our kingdoms might be on good terms now, yet our predecessors used to be enemies for hundreds of years. There is still a lot of mistrust weaved in the hearts of the people.”

“I know”, he said, his voice breaking lightly. A thorn from the bouquet pricked your skin as you saw him fall down on one knee, a drop of blood falling from your finger as a teardrop stained your face. “That’s why I am asking for your hand in marriage. Let our kingdoms become one”

You were the one who said ‘I do’, yet the decision was already taken for you. Your whole life, in fact, was painted right in front of your eyes, hues of marsala reds and hunter greens. Hues like the ones Ten put on his palette almost every night before you go to sleep.

You and Ten had never slept together. He insisted that it was never his intention when marrying you, and he’d completely respect your boundaries. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t had a thought of laying with him, as you helped him remove the drying paint off his fingers every night. You couldn’t ignore the twitch of your sensitivity as he saw you changing into your silk robe and nightgown, nor the heat of your face when he called you beautiful. His pretty voice was made for begging and teasing and singing out moans. With his flexibility and core strength, you could only imagine what he’d be like in the bedroom. Just the image of his feline eyes looking up at you from between your thighs sent chills down your spine.

That being said, you always felt a bit annoyed by his chivalry as he slipped through to the guest room to spend the night. Through his proposal, he had ridden you of the chance to choose your other half, doomed you to endless nights of loneliness and a cold half of the bed. He should’ve at least taken responsibility.

Not even the guards could know that the two of you didn’t share a bed, the alliance holding on the thin thread of facade you played out for everyone. Sweet kisses in the breakfast room, fake smiles and the silent mourning of your freedom. But that wasn’t your only secret.

You see a hand tapping lightly the velvet shoulderpads of the King’s suit, causing you to halt your dancing. A man, about half a head taller than Ten, successfully steals his attention from you.

“My king, may I steal the lovely queen for a dance?”

Kim Doyoung.

Tall, nice-mannered, lethally handsome. Your father’s trustiest advisor ever since he turned 18 and one of the most respected men in the castle. If the king is the jungle’s lion, then Doyoung surely is a jaguar, attacking his enemies unexpectedly, emerging from their blind spot. He is also your secret.

Kim was the one who found you crying over your fathers body, notifying the knights of the murder since you had no voice to scream for help. He offered you a shoulder to lean on during your grief, while helping you manage the kingdom in your inexperience. It was inevitable to come closer to the man you spent countless hours with at the royal meetings, who you wined and dined with daily, who led you through your duties and made everything make a little bit more sense.

The attraction you felt for him however, well, that was on you.

It started one night, warm like this one, when the diplomatic settlements with a new kingdom took way too long to figure out, and the pair of you were stuck in his personal office at the early hours of the morning.

Your hair was a frizzy mess, eyebags darkening the thin skin of your under eyes and all you could focus on was the ink slowly spilling from the metal tip of your pen. And Doyoung, though hardworking and diligent as always, showed the signs of exhaustion as well, stretching his neck from side to side to release the tension.

A crack from his joints grabbed your attention, or rather his skin that was glowing in the limelight.

He was wearing a beautiful silk shirt, the fabric matching his rich stature and highlighting the delicate lines of his body. His collarbones, sharp like him, peeked from the buttons he had been unfastening, one by one, all the while keeping his eyes on yours.

Your mind wandered under his stare that did nothing short of stealing all oxygen from your lungs. Every slither of your bare skin that landed on it was starting to burn up, and you assumed that’s what his touch must feel like as well. You imagined unbuttoning the rest of his shirt yourself, giving his shoulders a little massage to help him relax. You’d run your hands down this torso, marking it lightly with your fingernails, until you felt that little line of hair right over his pelvis.

The thought is too sinful, so you return to the document in front of you, yet all of your concentration dissolves when the advisor suddenly places the back of his hand against your forehead. His touch is cool and refreshing against your hot skin, yet the proximity only raised the temperature of your body more.

“My queen, you look exhausted. Have you been sleeping properly since the… incident?”

You wince at the memory and shove it down your subconscious again, shaking your head as if the dark thoughts would just brush off of you.

“Not really. I keep tossing and turning. I lay on my bed and I just feel so- so lonely.”

Immediately realising how suggestive your words sound you put your hand over your lips, but Doyoung removes them, taking your raised hand in his and kissing the top.

“My duty as your advisor is to rid you of your worries, my queen. Apparently, I’m not doing a good job, so tell me”. You let your eyes fall on his plush lips, holding your breath as his sweet talk leaves them. He mouths the next words against your wrist, and you can feel every movement of his mouth against your sensitive skin. “What can I do to relieve your stress?”

You can’t stop staring at the smoothness of the junction of his neck so you leave a light layer of your lipstick on it, the pink hue against his pale skin reeling you back to reality.

“Advisor, this is not right”, you try to excuse, “I cannot allow myself to take advantage of your duties like that”

Your eyes stay glued on his neck, and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in a chuckle. He guides your hand, that is still in his grasp, and boldy places it over his thigh, your pinky finger grazing against a hardness that is most definitely his-

“Can’t you see what you do to me? What does a man have to do to be yours for the night?”

And that’s how he ended up tangled in your sheets every night, sneaking in your room silently so that the guards don’t notice him.

“It’s been one year, huh?”

You smell the citrusy after notes of wine in his breath, his lips slightly stained by the liquid. He looks just as addictive as the alcohol he consumed tonight, covered in the silk fabric that he loves so much.

“Have you been drinking again?”

“What else am I supposed to do when I see my queen dancing with that bastard?”

“That bastard is your king, yet you talk so lowly of him”

“And that king is your husband, but you were moaning my name on your wedding night”

You had changed into a white nightgown, the ivory dress discarded on your bathroom’s floor. The beads that were delicately weaved into the wedding gown sure were heavy, but that was not the reason you felt so suffocated in it. You had to sit there for hours, resenting everyone who made a toast for the husband and wife. The celebrations seemed endless, the wine abundant, their laughs maniacal. Your wedding ceremony was the image of luxury and opulence, yet you felt so poor.

Your feet led you to his room on their own, swollen and cut from all the dancing in heels. When Doyoung saw you, angry and choked up with all the injustice you felt, he offered to do what he was the best at. Distract you with his touches, his wet kisses, his sweet nothings.

A pang of guilt ran through you the moment your back hit the wall, his body trapping you between the cold surface and the overwhelming heat of his body. You wondered if Ten was still sleeping in your newlyweds’ suite, if he was pretending that he dozed off, what he was thinking. You knew you were selfish for only thinking about your feelings, as if you were the only one forced into this marriage. But then Doyoung’s fingers danced on the hem of your dress, and your mind would go blank with lust.

“This is wrong”, you said out loud, a statement directed mostly at yourself rather than Doyoung.

“You coming here?”

“This. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to come this close to you”

“Divorce him”

You blinked back at him a couple times, trying to register what came so nonchalantly out of his mouth.

“Out of all people, advisor, you know exactly why I can’t”

His hand slid upwards, following the heat of your core, yet his fingers never touched where you needed him most. Small indentations were formed on the softness of your thighs, caused by his rings, and you wished the marks would stay forever. The shirt he wore as his sleepwear was oversized on his small frame, the iris tattooed on his shoulder peeking out from the fabric, as if it flowered on his skin.

“Out of all people, my queen, you know I can give you so much more than him”

As if knowing you’d argue with him, he started to nibble the skin on the middle of your neck, forcing your voice to bubble out muffled and weary.

“But advisor-“

“Say my name”

He let the pad of his finger fick your clit, and you moan “Doyoung” out, the name addictive on the tip of your tongue. So you say it again.

“Doyoung, I need you”

You felt his grin clearly against your skin, you wetness dripping on his fingers and covering his rings. His next words came out with a gravelly sound:

“I might hurt you, my queen”

Your whole life was laid out in front of you, from the wedding ring that weighted down your finger, to you laying on your royal deathbed, looking back at a lifetime that was never really yours. A linear progression to unhappiness, but you hated straight lines.

“I want it to hurt”

Doyoung brings your body closer to yours, perhaps way closer than the etiquette allows, his hand on your lower waist sliding as near to your ass so as not to raise suspicion. He dips his head forward in a way that makes you think he’d leave a tipsy and careless kiss on your lips, but he whispers in your ear instead.

“Why haven’t you left him already?” The question is bold, especially between all these people, especially in the celebration of the wedding he asks you to break off. “I thought you said you’re mine”

“I am, but-“, your head moves towards the king’s direction, whose eyes are boring holes through the pair of you. You feel so small under his stare, suddenly feeling dirty.

“He doesn’t even love you”

There is a weird feeling bubbling in your stomach when you finally make eye contact with Ten, all his forms in which you’ve seen him through the years running in your mind. The innocent boy who became your best friend, the uncertain teenager who became your first love. The empathetic king, the mourning friend. The dependable spouse.

“But you do”, Doyoung concludes incredulously, his right eyebrow raised. It’s as if he tied together the pieces of a big jigsaw puzzle, the disappointment and anger and determination all trying to fit in his handsome features.

A hand draws your body away from Doyoung quite aggressively, and you quickly realise it’s Ten who has caught up with you. He intertwines your fingers together, pulling you into your previous dancing position but something is different this time.

“Times up. My wife’s too precious of a gem to let go of for longer”

Doyoung scoffs lightly, but hides it with a small bow to his king, leaving the two of you alone like he was asked. The tension between you and Ten is so thick it felt like all the lies you’ve told your kingdoms liquified into a thick substance that’s suffocating you now. His fingers are digging in your hips, in a possessive manner that’s a first for him, and he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Do you ever think of me when you’re having sex with him?”

The question catches you so off guard that you ungraciously step on his feet, wobbling on your heels until he helps you find your balance.

“Why would you ask that?”

Now, you weren’t trying to play clueless, you know Ten is smart. You see the way he studies you and Doyoung, how he catches your secret glances, the electric touches. He surely has figured out where you sneak off every night and whose cologne you reek off the next morning. What you don’t understand, is where all his dislike for your advisor stems from.

Ten just chuckles bitterly, letting a puff through his nose, with a face of almost disgust when he looks at you.

“I don’t understand why I feel this way. I don’t understand why I care about you when you’re plotting with him against me. Why I feel jealous every time I see his filthy hands on you, or why I still think you deserve better.”

Plotting against him?

You’re left with a mouth gaped open, his harsh words both hurting you and confusing you as his voice gets even more strict than before.

“I thought maybe if I asked you to marry me you’d slowly distance yourself from him. I thought that maybe, just maybe, you reciprocate a handful of all the things I feel for you. But you still stay by his side, hanging from his every word”, he says it all in one breath and his eyes are watery when he addresses you again. “How can you sleep soundly next to me when you’re fucking the man that killed your father?”

A buzzing sound rings in your ears and you realise that you’re one breath away from falling apart.

And just like that, everything makes sense.

Why Doyoung was the first to find your father’s body, why the assasination seemed like an inside job. His sudden romantic interest in you and his pleas to have him as your king instead.

The indigo flower that decorated his body.

Ten shakes you a little, worried now at your sudden stiffness and the loss of blood from your face. He didn’t expect this reaction from you, didn’t expect to see your body shake with anger like this. You seem even more shocked than he was when he found out about Doyoung’s true nature, but, aren’t you the advisor’s accomplice in the plot of his overruling?

“Wait, all this time- you didn’t know?”

Ten’s eyes widen as his body jerks forward, and you barely manage to catch him in your arms. A woman’s shriek resonates in the dance hall; the musicians halt their playing with a scratchy sound of the strings that stretch out of tune. And then you see the blood, staining the marble floor under Ten in small drops. You also see Doyoung emerging from behind him, with a maniacal look on his face, and a dagger in his hands.

All hell breaks loose. The unarmed guests scream in fear, urging outside the dance hall in flocks. Glasses of wine shatter on the floor, women leave their heels behind in their hastiness to save themselves. You see the knights running in your direction, creating a shield of protection for you and the king, yet you notice that not all of them have gathered around you. A good part of them stand next to Doyoung, his face distorted in a mischievous grin. The extent of the betrayal in your kingdom shocks you, but when the first knight launches forward with his sword, you know you need to get Ten out of there immediately.

Throwing Ten’s arm over your shoulder, you drag him with difficulty all the way to the balcony, desperately trying to mute out the shrill sound of swords clashing in the process. You manage to bring him to safety, laying him down carefully in the same spot he found you in before, his head on your lap. After unbuttoning his shirt, you inspect the stab under his ribcage, and you swallow a scream at the sight of the deep wound. The most you can do is rip a big piece of cloth from your skirt, tying it up tightly around his waist, and wait until the fight is over.

You see clear drops falling on his face that is turning sickly pale and you realise you’re crying. Holding his face between your hands, you get reminded of those days you went starseeing, of those moments of absolute peace with him that you wished would last forever. His body is cold and the cloth is turning burgundy, but he has the most tranquil smile on his face as he looks up at you.

“Stay with me, please”, you sob over his rigid body, hugging it tightly as if his existence will just slip right through your fingers. “Live with me, and I’ll gift you all the stars in the sky”

#neowritingsnet #nct angst #ten angst #doyoung angst #nct scenarios #ten fic #doyoung fic #ten smut #doyoung smut #ten scenarios #doyoung scenario #ten imagine #doyoung imagine #wayv angst #chittaphon #wayv #nct

239 notes · View notes

bailey-reaper · 3 years

Note

A Drabble of Barok lacing up his s/o’s corset?

Societal Shibari

Notes: S/O is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). Barok refers to them using petnames.

Content Warnings: Suggestive(?)

"Barok...?"

He looked up them calling his name and went to join them, "Yes, love?" it took him a few moments to recover from what he saw: they were in a state of undress with their back to him. It was quite an indecent sight, but certainly not an unwelcome one, "... Are you alright?" he asked, drawing a little closer to see what they were holding. It was a corset of some description.

"I need some help with this, would you mind?" they looked over their shoulder at him, a pleading expression on their brow.

"Oh.. well... yes, of course..." in truth, he'd never laced a corset before but he'd certainly try if his beloved asked it of me, "How... does one operate one of these?" he held the length of material and cocked his head to one side. It was quite a strange contraption.

They giggled, "Mmmm, okay, here..." they instructed him in how to lace it up, "Does that make sense?"

"Yes..." he said, followed by, "I think so..."

"Well, let's just give it a go and see how you get on, okay?"

"Alright..."

He slipped the undergarment around his beloved's waist according to their instructions and fastened a pair of small hooks to keep it in place while he took the length of lace and began threading it through the first holes at the base.

"Be sure to keep the chord tight, okay?" they said as they sucked in their breath and braced for the impending tightness.

"Um... is this truly necessary?" he asked as he did as instructed and ensured there was very little slack between the criss-crosses of lace.

"Mm-hmm," they answered with a nod, "It absolutely is."

In truth, Barok didn't claim to understand the high fashions of society. It all seemed rather... trivial and unnecessary in his eyes, but if his beloved enjoyed dressing up then he wouldn't dampen their spirits; plus there was something undeniably erotic about the act of tightening the lace and wrapping his love up like this.

He heard them gasp.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes... fine..." they nodded, "I'm surprised this is your first time, you're good at this."

Something about that line made him blush. It felt very much like an innuendo, "Beginner's luck," he murmured and continued to cross the two lengths of fabric over one another and loop them through the eyelets.

At last, the back was entirely laced. It gave their silhouette a dramatic stylishness, he had to admit that, and to know this was by his hand was .... appealing, "You look beautiful," he said as they finished getting ready.

"Thank you my love," they trotted over to kiss his cheek, "Well, I'm ready for the theatre, shall we be off?"

"Mmmm, yes, we'll be in good time if we leave now."

#barok van zieks #Barok x Ors #request

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writing-in-april · 4 years

Text

Russian Roulette

Spencer Reid x Female Unsub Reader

Thanks to my beta readers! @definitelynotkatesblog and @clean-bands-dirty-stories

WARNINGS: NSFW, SMUT, MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING

Includes: Suicide, Attempted Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Gun kink, Angsty smut -There is no specific dominant person in the smut-

A/N: Please do not read if you are easily triggered or under the age of 18. This was really difficult to write but I am really happy the way it came out! I have a playlist I made for writing this if anyone is wanting it just ask! My requests are open for basically any character you can think of, I want to branch out and write lots of characters!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

——

The warehouse that I had found myself masking my location in was in no doubt the most ghastly place I had chosen yet. I wasn’t sure what drew me to the abandoned depository, maybe I had subtly acknowledged to myself that I was at the end of my rope-I knew I couldn’t run forever. The smoke colored walls matched the ashes dropping from the cigarette I had lit to alleviate my anxiety. The cat and mouse game I had been playing with the team that was on my trail was coming to an end. They had an extra vendetta set out against me since I cruelly betrayed the trust built between us. Polluted air swirled around me as I dug my nose in a book, trying to distract myself from my impending doom.

A noise drew my thoughts away from Catcher in the Rye that I had been reading while sat on a shitty mattress, practically the only furniture in this hole in the wall. My manicured nails snuffed out the cigarette into the bed and discarded the paperback, knowing that this was the start of the end. The double doors swung open as the recognizable silhouette Dr. Reid, his shadow was tall and lanky, with noticeable wild curls that looked as if he had rolled out of bed. He finally graced my eyes with the details of his figure, every step he took had lingering hesitation. It had been weeks since I had last seen him, he looked considerably more tired since he had last graced me with his presence, purple dark rings sat under his eyes, his hair even more disheveled then normal, and his clothes lacked the crisp ironing that he usually sported. I hated that I was the one that had caused his disheveled state, I had found a kindred spirit in Dr. Reid. It seemed like we were made for one another, our interests were exactly aligned, the only major thing that separated us was my penchant for murdering people. He was the first person I had felt connected to since my mother and it pained me to see that my betrayal had obviously weighed heavy on his mind.

“I see you finally found me.” I stated nonchalantly as I stood up, he was standing as far away as he could, from my observation it was evident he was disgusted with me but he was still drawn to me like a moth to a flame. He nodded solemnly, the words that he wanted to speak seemed caught in his throat, so instead his eyes bored into my soul. We stood in contemplation just staring at each other, we were only a few feet away from each other but it felt as if we were worlds apart.

“Was it ever real?” He finally spoke up in a shaky voice, his lip quivering in either anger or sadness. “Did you feel what I felt?”

“I hadn’t been real to anyone in a long time until I met you.” I spoke honestly, though I wasn’t sure if he believed me.

I felt the memory of our first meeting flash before my eyes, a murderer had crashed into my hometown, killing important people with checkered pasts. Politicians, lawyers, and police officers- no one was safe. My job as a therapist put me straight into the cesspit of what I viewed as the worst of humanity, slimy high ranking fixtures of the community. I often felt my skin crawling as sick human beings put on a facade of perfection hiding their nefarious deeds behind closed doors, so I began taking care of them by slitting their throats in the dead of night.

When the BAU rolled into our city they immediately put everyone connected with the victims into protective custody. There wasn’t an immediately obvious motive so the team had collected anyone with an important role putting each person with a specific team member. I had been put with the genius of the team Dr. Reid. The stay in the safe house with him made our relationship blossom, we shared interests, hobbies, and even our backstories (I had edited mine a bit so they wouldn’t catch on). Usually I viewed the world as black and white good or evil and until I met Dr. Reid I hadn’t felt grey before just a dark cesspool of no emotion.

I had never even spoken his first name, I had told him that- “Someone who earned 3 PHDs should have their achievements recognized all the time.” I still couldn’t deny these strange feelings that welled up inside of me, no matter how hard I tried to distance myself.

When I had been spotted by the doctor running from the scene of a crime I could practically hear his heart break and to be honest mine did too. I never wanted him to see this side of me that I kept buried, I had wanted to stop for a while even after that first kill but what had first started out as vigilantism turned into a compulsion to kill.

His screams broke me out of my reminiscing my eyes snapped up to see the doctor holding his gun, pointing it straight at my heart.

“WHY?! Why you?” He broke out of his previous calm facade, letting me in on the anger I had stirred underneath.

“You know the profile Doctor you tell me” I asked, though no answer was given.

The gun was shaking in his hands, his fury boiling over, steam was practically coming out of his ears.

“Pull the trigger Dr. Reid. It’s what we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it? Let’s skip the reminiscing. So go on. Pull the trigger.” His grip faltered, he wasn’t sure where to go from here, should he take you in? Or completely screw regulation and take out his unbridled rage on the woman who had cruelly stolen his heart by shooting her.

The weapon was lowered, his hands still shook in fury as he put it back snugly in its place. I already knew he had called his team, no matter what he felt for me before there was no way he would risk his career to let me go. Even though I had accepted the cards that had been dealt I wasn’t going to let them take me alive. Tentatively I stepped forward, wanting to gain a semblance of closeness between us before I sacrificed myself, his body was rigid in its place as our chests touched.

I pulled the gun from his his side holster, it was an odd gun for an FBI agent to carry, a revolver to be exact. My fingers gripped the curved cedar handle, dragging it across Dr. Reid’s clothed collarbones, his arms were stiff at his sides unmoving. He was unsure of my intentions with the weapon. He knew logically that I was cornered in this abandoned warehouse with no escape, and obviously I couldn’t do much with a single revolver, that’s why he had only put one round in, reserved only for my heart if the trigger was needed to be pulled. Then I softly, with uncharacteristic tenderness, grabbed the good doctor’s hand with my free hand to guide his large palms to envelope my hand over the gun. He seemed flustered, which was odd to me, his resolve of hatred had never weakened around me until now. Our hands were clasping the gun in unison, the clammy palms of Dr. Reid cradled my own as I reached over and spun the chamber to land on a random spot.

I prided myself on the ability to read people but I couldn’t ascertain the reason behind the evident hesitation in his eyes as I encouraged him to carefully set the revolver snug against my jaw. Was it possible he had developed a care for me or did this just boil down to fear of having an unsub handle his gun. His breathe was mixed with mine, I held my pattern evenly while his had become ragged, strong enough to whisp my hair away from my face. With a flick I unlocked the safety and a genuine smile graced my face, if these were my final moment I was glad I got to spend it with Dr. Reid, he brought me a strange sense of comfort that I had never known before. His whole body was shaking as my forefinger moved to the trigger- he almost looked as if he was going to cry. A resounding click echoed off the dull gray walls of my hiding place, I had momentarily escaped my fate.

Dr. Reid suddenly smashed his lips onto mine breaking me out of the brief relief. My body had grown rigid against his movements, I wasn’t used to emotional connections with anyone and they certainly were never romantic. Just the delicate touch of his hand on my hip was more care then I had ever been shone before.

My cold exterior that I had carefully constructed was now in ruins because of Doctor reid. He was the only one who truly saw who I was, past my trauma and the trauma I caused. I melted into his forceful kiss, the unspoken tension that we had created finally was boiling over. It was full of tongue and teeth, our noses bumping as we poured our feelings into the kiss, speaking without ever making a sound. My back collided with the nearest wall, dust flying off to coat our bodies, his knee parted my legs and rested between my thighs. His spare hand left my hip to cradle my cheek practically engulfing my face with his large palm, raking the soft pads of his fingertips across my skin.

The silver barrel still rested under my chin being held precariously by our joined grip, Dr. Reid’s hand left my cheek, snaking its way down to the waistband of my pants. The tips of his fingers danced at the edge building anticipation in my veins.

He suddenly pulled the gun out from under my chin and set it under his own, my eyes widened in confusion my desire vanishing by the second. I tried to pull our unified hold away from his jawline but unfortunately he was stronger then me.

“I don’t know if I can live without you” he choked out, he had used his profiling skills deducing that I was going to sacrifice myself. He spun the wheel setting the bullet in another indiscriminate position, resetting the stakes all over again.

“It’ll be ok.” I begged desperately trying to talk him away from the ledge, just because I had wasted my life didn’t mean he had to as well. I brought my available appendage and covered the outside of his hand continuing my efforts to pull the gun away from his grasp. He shook his head, tears were freely falling from the both of us, mixing together to form a salty pool. His fingers slipping underneath my encased hand finding the trigger with ease, he pulled it quickly a sickening click resounded through the stale atmosphere. Once I was satisfied that he had survived air quickly left my body releasing the breath that I had held tightly in my lungs.

Mimicking his reaction from earlier I submerged us into another kiss, this one was tinged with my anger from his reckless move. I voiced my displeasure surrounding his actions by biting into his lip, bruising the plush tender skin. A groan escaped from him, the salacious kiss was now tainted with blood from his lips mixing together in gory harmony.

Undulating my hips onto the thigh that still sat between my legs, desire snuck itself back inside of me, rebuilding what had been banished. I suddenly had the urge to remove every cloth barrier that remained between us, I needed him now. Dr. Reid clearly shared the sentiment as he started pulling on the clothing covering my body. I did my best to shuck off his plum colored blazer with my available phalanges while he attempted to snap open the front of my pants. Our hands still were glued the wooden hilt of the gun that was rooted in its spot at the edge of the doctor’s jaw. The buttons of his dress shirt popped around us as my painted nails dug into the cotton, tearing the offensive fabric from his body. With frantic inelegant movement our outer clothing was ripped off our forms, the only barrier that lingered was our undergarments. His nimble fingertips wound around to the clasp of my bra tugging forcefully the clasp broke, freeing me from its confinement.

The lace was discarded in hast revealing my breasts to him he surged forward capturing my nipple in his mouth as my hips ground into his thigh. Circling my bud he glanced upwards, taking in the sight of my flushed cheeks, hair slicked with sweat, and the gun that I had swiftly moved to my temple removing it from his mandible. Excitement prickled in my core as he meandered down to where I craved him the most, he fisted the mesh- the last remaining remnant of clothing covering my body. A tearing noise filled the space, reverberating around us as the mesh separating us was torn away from me, revealing my full form.

His deft fingers gathered the building excitement between my folds, then he brought them to make contact with my clit. He rubbed slow harsh figure 8s against my pearl, I could feel myself getting wetter- which I didn’t think was possible. The ministrations continued for a while, but I was antsy to get his fingers inside of me. A beg almost fell from my mouth when all of a sudden with no warning his fingers plunged into my heat making my body convulse around him. He curled them expertly, nudging them perfectly at my g spot making the pit in my stomach grow and spread throughout my entire body.

Our hold had started to loosen on the gun so I clutched around the revolver tighter tugging our entangled fingers to rest the metal shaft perfectly against my temple. Upping the stakes further I rapidly clicked the trigger, the gun still had not administered its bullet into my brain, making the obscene act even better then before. His eyes held fear for a moment but couldn’t help his reaction to the clicks, a deep seated groan from deep in his chest. The sensations flowing through my body almost became too much to bear as he moved his thumb to my clit. My back arched against the wall as he sunk the blunt edges of his teeth into my collarbone while flicking against my clit with his thumb, sending me closer to bliss. He must have discerned that I was close to the edge and pulled his fingers away, his knuckles bumping against my g spot one last time which pulled a pathetic whimper from my throat while screwing my eyes shut.

I heard the tell tale sign of a belt buckle clinking causing my eyes to snap open, his full body was finally on display for me. My eyes drank in the sight before me, the doctor was just as I had imagined in my dreams, not too thick but long enough that I thought it might not fit. I reached forward to pump his length spitting into my palm as I jerked him off.

“Jump.” He whispered desperately into the shell of my ear, with careful precision my legs wrapped around his naked torso as I locked him in. The gun was the only barrier that remained between us as he lined himself up to my entrance and thrusted in one swift motion, breaching my walls for the first time.

“Fuck.” The soft expletive fell from his rose hued lips on the column of my throat making my toes curl.

His hips snapped into mine starting a pace with deliberate deep thrusts, my free arm wrapped around his neck trying to pull him in as close as possible. My fingers then wound through his messy curls yanking back so I could pepper kisses along the nape of his neck earning a sharp grunt from Dr. Reid as he picked up the pace. I bit the inside of my cheek in concern as he moved the gun to be placed under his jaw again. Tears started to fall again from my eyes as I silently pleaded for him not to pull the trigger, he ignored my pleas and reset the bullet to a random position once more. His rhythm faltered as the gun clicked for the fifth time, I knew we were testing fate too much at this point and that our luck was running out.

He kept the gun in its position while he picked up his momentum resuming his previous pace. My blood red nails dug into any part of him that I could grab onto leaving red streaks down his chest, back, and biceps as he reached parts of me that I didn’t even think existed. Our eyes locked together as his cock brushed against my g spot causing me to clench around him, we both moaned at the sensation hurtling us both closer to release.

I reached my hand down to rub harshly on my clit as I felt my climax coming just around the corner, my eyes rolling back in response to the added titillation. I then dragged our encapsulated hands away from Spencer pulling the barrel inside my mouth, his fingers flexed around mine anxiously as he soft whispers into my ear attempting to save me from myself. We both had somehow sensed that it was the end, I thought it was very fitting to end my life in the arms of the only person in the world I could find myself caring about. He didn’t stop his thrusts but they were now at a slow languid pace trying to savor every last moment he had with me.

“Spencer” I moaned in bittersweet symphony as I let myself kiss his bruised lips for the last time, our tears were falling giving our kiss a salty taste. A feeling of bliss suddenly overtook my body as I came in glorious crescendo. I rode out my high before I accepted my fate, my blood pounding in my ears for the final time. The wall was painted with blood as I pulled the trigger, ending my life with a bang.

*****

The shot rang in Spencer’s ears, it took him a minute to realize what had happened and that the object of his desire was gone. He was still holding the gun as the body of his unattainable love slumped onto him in death, his face speckled with scarlet. Finally the offending object slipped through his fingers clattering on the floor as he cradled her body.

His sobs echoed the empty rooms bouncing off the the walls mixing with the police sirens in the distance.

“He loved and he loved and he lost her, and it hurts like hell”-Fleurie

Tag list for Russian Roulette:

@zhuzhubii

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #angst #smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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ditttiii · 4 years

Text

Dilectio ♡

▣ Summary: You run your hands across his lower lip as he caresses your cheeks, draws small repetitive circles over the skin, and you relish the moment, the quiet, the space between you two where your breaths mingle until they become one. “Let me buy us a house, somewhere outside the city, where it’s just you, me, Holly maybe a friend for her, a cat for you, and a pond full of fishes, our own little place.”

▣ Warnings: Nothing major except tooth rotting, sickeningly sweet fluff and a make-out session or two. Oh! & Yoongi is called lill meow-meow. Oh 2x! & Yoongi has bread-cheeks. (PG-13)

▣ Genre: fluff, humour, slice of life

▣ Pairing: Yoongi x Plus size Reader

▣ Word Count: 3.1k

This work was commissioned by the lovely @bucksvseverybody for the Changes with Luv fundraiser project, hosted by @ficswithluv. All proceedings from this project go to the BLM funds.Thank you so much for your help and kind donation! I hope you like it ❤

You let out a watery giggle as you see your boyfriend give his signature gummy smile to the camera and conclude his part of the commencement speech.

Said boyfriend, hearing your laugh then proceeds to tighten his arms around you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"Oh, so my advice is funny to you now?" You hear Yoongi grumble, and a shiver runs down your spine at the feel of his lips forming the words on the sensitive skin of your neck.

Snorting, you sniffle and wipe away the few stray tears that had slipped out, before you twist your torso and look your boyfriend in the eye.

"If you think I don't see you fishing for compliments, you are dead wrong baby boo." You say as a cheeky grin spreads across your face. He acts like he hates that name, but you know better. The tip of Yoongi's ears turns red, proving you right before he again buries his head in your neck and mutters a quiet, "Smartass."

You burrow your head in the warmth of Yoongi’s sweater and let the soft cloth absorb the few stray tears that had slipped out. Your attention now away from your laptop screen, as you miss the rest of the boys and their speeches. You decide to look them up later as your body protests leaving the warmth of Yoongi’s body heat.

"Do you really feel alone?" You voice out the question that had been bugging you for some time now. You don't want to assume anything but the thought that your boyfriend has been having a difficult time without you knowing about it doesn't quite sit well with you.

You feel more than hear Yoongi let out a huff, as his warm breath hits the nape of your neck and you suppress a shudder.

"Jagiya," He begins before suddenly the hands that were around your waist shift and wrap themselves around your shoulders, pulling you closer to the man in question and tilting your head up.

You hum and shift your gaze up-to meet his eyes, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck, his soft black hair, tickling the skin of your fingers as you run your hands over his skin.

"I didn't mean it how you might think I did. I don't feel alone in the sense that I feel like I have no one. It's more of a....creative feeling, where I feel like my inspiration sometimes runs dry and then I don't know which way I should go next." Yoongi says, and you nod in reply.

He tilts his head as he tries to catch your gaze, but you shift your eyes away. You don't think Yoongi is lying to you, you know he never would. But you also wonder if he is telling you the full truth or not. You wouldn't put it past him to hold back and keep his feelings to himself if he thinks it might worry you.

Yoongi might seem rough from the outside, but once he allows a person in, he treasures them more than most do. You know that better than anybody else.

You see it in the way he brings home your favourite coffee from halfway across the city every time you pull an all-nighter, hear it in the way he whispers goodnight to you every night he comes home late and thinks you are asleep.

More than anything else, you feel it in the way his touch caresses your skin like you are a porcelain doll, glides over your curves leaving you feeling treasured and your heart bursting with love and affection for him.

"Jagi, I love you." You hear your boyfriend's deep, slight gravely voice say and before you can reply, his hands are snaking from your shoulders to your neck and tipping your head up as his soft lips, dip down and interlock with yours.

Your surprised squeak is muffled as his lips glide over yours, the feather-soft feel of them leaves you feeling warm as your toes curl and your hands' fist and tug the collar of Yoongi’s sweater, pulling him closer.

His tongue slips between your lips as it licks a strip over your lower lip and you open your mouth, tongue reaching out and gliding over his in response. A breathy moan slipping out almost unconsciously when you feel his hands slide over your curves, caressing the skin under, and your blush rises, the skin from over your chest to the tip of your ears feeling flushed and warm.

You don't think you are needy, nor are you the jealous, insecure kind, but something about Yoongi’s touch has you aching, craving for more, and the thought of someone else being on the receiving end of it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. Huffing, you tug him closer, your nails softly skimming over the sensitive skin of the back of his ears, and he shudders, a grin of your own slipping onto your face when you realise for the billionth time the effect you have on him.

"Stop grinning," Yoongi grumbles embarrassed, his pale skin, looking red as a sheen of oil gathers over his cheeks and nose, highlighting his soft, curvy features, and you bite your lip, humming back a response before you tilt your head up and drop a kiss on the tip of his nose.

"I love you too babyboo," You whisper back, your lips ghosting over his as you keep them close, your words dripping with love and your eyes overflowing with affection as they gaze into his.

You watch as Yoongi’s eyes turn soft, their usual cat-like silhouette, melting into something curvier before he's closing the distance between you two and your eyes slip close.

With Yoongi’s soft and sugar-sweet lips on yours, you lose yourself, until the feel of his silky hair twined around your fingers and his puffs of warm breaths on your face, are all that you are aware of anymore.

"Dammit, I swear to god, if you do that one more time, I am kicking you where the sun doesn't shine." You playfully growl out loud, only to squeal when another spray of water hits the back of your neck.

Huffing dramatically you advance towards your boyfriend, who's now trying to act innocent, his back turned away from you, neck slightly hunched as he looks down and continues to wash the vegetables for tonight's celebratory dinner.

Coming to stand beside him, you lean your hip against the counter top behind you, and turn to look at your boyfriend. His bottom lip under the clutches of his pearly teeth, his gummy grin on full display despite his apparent attempt at trying to hold it in, Yoongi looked like the picture-perfect definition of the word adorable.

"Mature, Real Mature." You remark wryly and roll your eyes fondly when the laugh he had been trying so hard to hold in, finally tumbles out. Body hunching over the counter, as his hands grip the edge, chuckle after chuckle flow out of him. His usual gravely, raspy, deep voice, raising slightly in pitch as his laugh starts to go squeaky and his cheeks bloom red due to lack of oxygen.

Huffing you try to move away and go back to your cooking, but his hand snakes out, tugging you closer.

The softness of your chest collides against the hard, coiled muscles of his torso, and your eyes drift over to his sparkly orbs. His bread cheeks on full display, eyes melted into two crescent moons, the wide gummy smile stretched wide.

Even if you had been genuinely angry, you'd have melted immediately.

"You're too cute for your own good little meow-meow." You tease and watch as Yoongi's blush darkens, a groan spilling out of his lips as he pulls you closer and nuzzles against your neck.

Giggling, you run your hands through his hair, caressing the skin of his nape as Yoongi's hands tighten around your waist, the soft flesh under his grip feeling warmer.

"For someone who's supposed to be the tough, scary one you're awfully affectionate," You remark when you feel him leaving soft pecks on your neck.

"Well, little meow-meow is soft for you," Comes his reply, face rising and dropping a kiss on your forehead, his soft, full lips leaving their impression on your skin even after he's pulled away, and gotten back to his washing duty.

Heart bursting with affection, you take in the man who in a span of a six-month relationship has somehow turned into your entire world. When you had first met Yoongi, you were still in college.

Stressing over your impending finals and drowning in stress, you had more or less body slammed into him, drenching his coat with your coffee. Bloodshot eyes, a rats nest of hair, you had then proceeded to scold him for standing in the middle of the cafe, your sleep-deprived brain too shot to realise that you could get into a world of trouble for insulting the world-famous musician.

Not all that unexpectedly, you had left quite an impression on the record-breaking idol, and thus began the wooing.

Ridiculously expensive flower arrangements with lyrics and small poems written onto the cards, gifts from all over the world—little trinkets he would buy from wherever he was, would arrive at your doorstep; softening you inch by inch, day after day.

Yoongi never one to a miss a chance, had swooped in like a prince charming, out of his Mercedes Benz with your favourite coffee from halfway across the city, and hook, line and sinker—

You were wooed.

Six months later, here you are, fresh out of college, celebrating your graduation night with your boyfriend.

Smiling dopily at your thoughts, you move past and get back to cooking, Yoongi's hand reaching out and gliding against your wrist as you pass by.

As the fragrance and warmth of the still-hot Bulgogi and Samgyeopsal wafted up to your nose, you break your chopsticks apart, picking a piece of the meat and biting into it. Moaning, in pleasure and satisfaction, when the sweet and savoury flavour hits your taste buds.

Lightly swinging your feet under the table, you nudge Yoongi's feet and grin, your hand rising up to cover your mouth when he raises his brows, his hand pausing mid-rise.

"I kill at cooking, admit it, I am better than you baby," Winking, you tease, your feet under the table hooking under the edge of his PJs, sliding against his legs, and you watch amused as the tips of his ears go red, but he doesn't shift.

"Who taught you to cook, you brat?" He quips back with a wink, and you just giggle, head tilting as you catch his gaze and receive a soft smile in return.

Fondly you watch as Yoongi picks a piece before his hand extends towards you, and you rise a little from your seat, reaching out and biting into half of the meat piece and chewing.

Too big for one single bite, you leave half of it in Yoongi's hold, but before you can reach out and eat it, your boyfriend already has it in his mouth.

His cheeks bulge out with the still too big a piece, and you gape, a wounded whine deep from your chest coming out in response.

"Hey! That was mine!" You playfully glare, as your hand reaches out to snatch his chopsticks away, but Yoongi leans back and out of your reach.

Winking, he grins, "What's yours is mine, baby boo."

Raising your brow, before your boyfriend can blink, your hand reaches out and clutches onto the last piece of meat from his plate. Inside your mouth not a second later, you let out an exaggerated moan, dramatically closing your eyes and throwing your hands over your heart.

"Whaa! You brat!" He exclaims, his pout coming out in full force as he moans over the loss of his precious meat.

Winking you reply, "What's mine is yours, meow-meow."

Seeing your boyfriend get up from his chair, you scramble to getaway. Squealing when you feel his hand graze your waist, you push yourself harder, your laughter ringing across the apartment.

Breathless you fall onto your bed tired, and move to hastily roll over to your corner.

Yoongi, however, can be fast when he wants to be, and before you can scoot all the way, his arms are caging you in and pulling you closer.

Squealing you try to push him away, but his hand's sneak under your sweater, and then he's tickling the soft skin under, sending you into peals of laughter.

You try to wriggle away, but he entangles his legs with yours and refuses to budge. Gasping for breath, you pat his shoulder and squeal out an apology for stealing his meat.

Finally taking mercy on you, he stops, and you draw in a long breath. Your body feels hot under your sweater, even in Seoul's harsh winter and chest heaving, breathless you turn to your boyfriend.

Yoongi's body, conditioned after years of dance practices and concerts, is doing a lot better than yours. The only indication that he had even chased you through the hallways of your apartment are his cheeks; tinged pink and glistening under a thin sheen of sweat.

You drink in the sight of your boyfriend, from his narrow cat-like eyes to his curvy nose, to his fuller lower lip. His body heat seeps into you and warms you from where his legs are still twined around yours.

Your appreciation of your boyfriend, however, is cut short when said boyfriend rises and snuggles into you. His face nestling over your chest, and between the creases of your soft sweater, cheeks squishing against your chest, and you just look on amused as your boyfriend makes himself comfortable over your chest.

You want to call him out on how cat-like his behaviour actually is, but you refrain, content to bask in the familiar comfort that Yoongi brings for now.

"You're soft." He mumbles, his voice coming out soft, half-muffled, his nose and mouth still pressed against you, and you snort out a "You're not," when you feel his chin slightly dig against your ribs.

Picking up on your slightly strained voice, he shifts down, until his face is squished against the curves of your stomach. Breathing no longer a stifled process, you just hum and run your hands through his hair, softly scratching the scalp under your tips every now and then.

Yoongi melts under your touch, a pleased moan slipping out when your hand slides to the back of his ears and lower to his neck. Smiling, you feel him snuggle closer, his face finding purchase between the warmth and softness of your flesh.

Maybe if it was anybody else you'd have felt a little self-conscious, might have felt the need to change yourself, lose some weight to be like one of those thin, barbie doll-like female idols. But somehow with Yoongi, you have never felt that. Not an iota of self-doubt ever arose when he caressed your skin, your curves, the hills and valleys over the canvas that was your body.

It wasn't like you were unhealthy, and if you ever feel the need to lose even an inch, it would be on your own accord, and never because you felt like you had to change, to fit into any mould that the society had carved out for you. Your boyfriend had made sure of it, reassuring you early on in your relationship that he loved you in all of your entirety and you don't doubt him. Anybody else you might have, but Yoongi wasn't one to lie, he valued your trust and you as a person too much to do that.

"I love you," His voice flows up to you, deep and dripping with love for you, and you pull him up, hands curling around his neck as your eyes gaze into his before you let slip a smile.

"I love you too," You say, your voice soft and small, as though you are afraid that if you speak any louder, this moment might shatter, the little bubble that you two are in might pop, and you'd be sent craning into reality.

But this is your reality. A voice inside your head supplies and you have to stop yourself from tearing up. Even after six months, the surreality of the situation hadn't left, the reality hadn't quite fully sunk in.

You think of you and Yoongi together, look at his face beside yours on the pillow every night, and it feels like a dream come true. You wonder what you did in your last life to deserve someone as patient, loving and mature as Yoongi, and while you don't know what your past-self did to deserve any of this, you are thankful to her.

Looking into his dark, onyx eyes, the moonlight from your window brightening his pale face, something inside your chest, tightens.

You run your hands across his lower lip as he caresses your cheeks, draws small repetitive circles over the skin, and you relish the moment, the quiet, the space between you two where your breaths mingle until they become one.

"Let me buy us a house, somewhere outside the city, where it's just you, me, Holly maybe a friend for her, a cat for you, and a pond full of fishes, our own little place." Yoongi proposes, taking the chance and asking you the question he had first worded a week ago. You hadn't given him an answer then, a little hesitant to let him spend all that money on you. It wasn't like you two were married, you had only been dating for six months.

But would you ever marry anybody else anyway?

The same voice from before whispers and you already know the answer. Not anymore. Not after Yoongi.

Looking into his starry eyes, the ones that hold an entire galaxy and all the love he has for you, you nod, say yes to your own little place away from the rest of the world, somewhere you'll one day build your own family. A garden for your plants, a studio for Yoongi's music, and a courtyard for where one day your children will play, run after Yoongi and you, as you all chase each other.

You can already picture it and looking at the excited, bright grin on Yoongi’s face, you know he can too.

Giggling, he pulls you closer, and your laughter spills from between sloppy kisses and half intake breaths.

Ask me again 다시 나에게 되물어봐 Are you happy now 지금 행복한가 The answer has already been decided 그 답은 이미 정해졌어 I am happy 난 행복하다

—Min Yoongi 화양연화 || The Most Beautiful Moment In Life.

A/N: And so its out! I have loved writing soft Yoongi with every cell of my body, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you Grace for commissioning this and helping fund the BLM movement. Black lives did, do and will always matter.

Leave me your feedback, I genuinely enjoy reading every single word. & Have a good day ahead ❤

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asphalt-cocktail · 3 years

Note

hey!! i hope you’re doing good :) idk if you’re taking requests/blurbs rn

but i thought of this the other day. i’m just imaging assistant reader and the beatles are at some hotel sleeping in their separate rooms,, when suddenly something wakes up the reader and scares them (maybe a storm outside or a loud noise) and then the reader is scared and decides to anxiously seek out one of the other beatles (maybe paul or john??) in their room. and then the beatle just comforts and reassures the reader :) maybe they reveal some feeling they have for the reader😏 lol. thank u!! your writing is so amazing , and it always makes my day when i read your new posts :))

Yessss I would love to write this! I am always taking requests/blurbs it just depends how lazy I am with getting them out haha. If anyone else would like to send in some soft fluffy asks please do because I am lacking inspo on the sinful ones. I’ve been such a hoe for John lately so I’m going to write this for him!

Warnings: Reader being afraid??? Storms?? fluff?? Idk nothing too spicy, some cute comfort

Laying with your head sandwiched between two pillows is not how you expected your first trip to Florida to be, but you couldn't control the weather. You hadn't expected it to be a tropical storm though.

When Brian announced at dinner that there was a tropical storm warning you could have sworn you felt your heart drop to your stomach. Growing up in London you would have expected to be used to storms by now, but tropical storms weren't something you got frequently in London, believe it or not.

The storm raged and caused the little villa you stayed in to sway and moan. You could hear the rain pouring down against the window and the wind whistling harshly. The pillow you had covering your head did nothing to dampen the sound.

A flash of lightning flickered and lit up your room, seconds later a loud boom rattled your windows and your body. Your heart pounded against your chest as you desperately clutched the pillow tighter and curled up. Another flash of lightning and a loud thunderous boom shook your windows and you finally decided you couldn't handle it anymore. Rolling out of bed and wrapping your blanket around your shoulders you walked a short distance down the hallway and quietly knocked on John’s door.

You nervously chewed your lip and knocked again but harder knowing the sound was probably lost in the background noise. After a beat, the door opened revealing John in a thin stained white shirt and boxer shorts. His hair was messy, the natural curls causing it to stick out and his glasses resting comfortably on his nose.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He said in a groggy voice and letting his mouth settle in a sleepy smile.

You returned his smile with a sheepish one, “Did I wake you up?” You asked, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to another.

John ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply, “No,” He lied.

“Could I sleep in here?” You asked averting your gaze tugging your blanket closer around your body.

Lightning flashed behind John, illuminating his silhouette as he stood in front of you and you flinched waiting for the impending thunderous crash that followed. John watched you, his eyes studying your body as it reacted and trembled along with the windows, “Of course,” He gave you a reassuring smile and stepped aside to let you walk in, “It’ll be a sleepover.”

John’s reassuring tone made you feel more at ease as you laid in the bed next to him. You curled up in your blanket close to the edge of the bed on your side and made sure to leave some space for him.

Even as you laid next to John your body still shook with fear and curled into itself as the storm continued. You could feel John shuffling around before he wrapped his arm and the blanket around you and pulled you close against him, “Come here,” He sighed and nestled his head next to yours.

You tensed up and tried to pull away, “Sorry I didn’t mean”-

John let out a loud sigh, “Christ, I’m trying to cuddle with you, will you just let me?” He protested back, “You’re shaking like the trees outside.”

You tried to hide the little smile playing on your face as you turned and buried your face into his chest and found comfort with his broad shoulders surrounding you and holding you close. “I’m sorry for waking you up.” You said, your voice muffled as you spoke.

“It’s fine, you didn't wake me.” John said trying to ease your worry, “I know you don't like storms.” He answered, “You looked like you’d seen a ghost when Brian mentioned it at dinner.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter, “Yeah, this one is pretty wicked, never experienced anything quite like it.” You answered honestly.

“It’s okay now, I’ve got you,” John said softly as he rubbed your back with his fingers in absent thought.

“Thank you,” You sighed, relaxing into his chest.

“I like your company, you know?”

You pulled back a moment to stare at John through the darkness. You could just barely make out his form that was occasionally lit up from flickers of lightning, “I like your company too, John.” You answered him honestly.

You could almost hear John’s thoughts as the two of you moved to a more comfortable position, “If you wanted to sleep in here when it's not storming too, you can do that.” He said, hoping you’d read between the lines of his not so obvious statement.

You smiled against the thin material of his shirt, “I might take you up on that offer.” You sighed.

“Right,” You could hear his smile, “Well, sleep tight.” He tilted his head down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Night, John.” You answered smiling softly and closing your eyes.

#AC Asks #anon #john lennon x reader #john lennon fluff

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journalxxx · 3 years

Text

By Hook or by Crook (2)

May 1st, 2270

“Hello, Izuku.” “Hi, dad.” Izuku hadn’t exactly been dreading this conversation, but he hadn’t been looking forward to it either. He’d hoped his mom would do all the talking, having to break the news to his friends had been hard enough. For him. Most of them seemed to have gotten quite the kick out of it. “How are you? Your mother told me you’ve been having a rough couple of weeks.” “Mh.” “Still upset over that visit?” “Mh.” “Speak, son. Sulking doesn’t translate well over the phone.” His father chided gently.

Izuku sighed. “The doctor said I’m never going to get a quirk. I’m sorry.” “Whatever for? It’s not like you have any choice in the matter. Quirks are innate, surely you know that.” “Yes, I do.” Izuku said, staring at the paused frame of All Might’s debut video on the computer screen. The reflection of his own miserable face was superimposed with the triumphant silhouette of the hero. “But I’m sorry anyway. You have such a cool quirk… and mom’s useful too. I could become a great hero with one of them, but I’m never going to get any.” “Again, that’s none of your fault. And I wouldn’t be so sure of that anyway.” “Uh?” Izuku gulped, gripping the phone tightly. “Y-you don’t think I’d make a good hero?” “No, that’s not what I mean.” His father chuckled. “I mean that I wouldn’t lose hope just yet. You’re very young, there’s still plenty of time for your quirk to manifest.” “But the doctor said that all quirks appear before one is four years old. And I’m four. And I have the extra toe joint-” “Tsk! Some doctor they assigned you. As if one could unerringly guess the nature and development of something as unpredictable as a quirk with a single test. An x-ray, of all things. Ancient technology.” “The doctor said there was a study...” “I have an extra toe joint too, you know.” Izuku’s father laughed hearing his son’s surprised gasp. “Studies like the one your doctor mentioned draw conclusions based on the analysis of hundreds, thousands of cases. Those conclusions may hold true for the majority of them, but there are always outliers. Having that oh-so-precious joint and a quirk is indeed rare, but not unheard of.” “B-But…” Izuku’s eyes burned with the feeling of impending tears. He hadn’t expected his father’s reaction to be like this. No one had even remotely doubted the validity of the doctor’s opinion. No one. It almost hurt to hope. “I’m also too old…” “My own quirk didn’t show until I was… fifteen? Maybe sixteen. Way older than you are, anyway. Another important point to consider, don’t you think?” Izuku sniffled. Then cried, quietly. His father remained silent as the boy let the tears flow freely, wiping them on his arm now and then. There was a tangled ball of emotions deep in his chest, that he couldn’t quite unravel. After a couple of minutes though, the sobs abated and he felt better. Better than he had been feeling before his mom handed him the phone. “...Do you really think the doctor was wrong?” “You shouldn’t believe everything doctors tell you. My personal physician keeps calling me ‘the peak of biological and anthropological evolution’, but that’s because he’s been fishing for a raise for years. Clearly you’d expect a Darwinian champion to be able to walk under the sun without protection for more than five minutes without turning into a peeling tomato.” “Uh? Does that really happen to you?” “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that I’m albino? My skin is very sensitive to sunlight, and it burns easily. I have atrocious eyesight too.” “I didn’t know that.” Izuku winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.” “Not nearly as much as you think. I have plenty of skills and tools at my disposal to compensate. It isn’t an inconvenience at all these days, although it did cause me some grief when I was a child.” His father’s tone got softer. “Sometimes it does feel like our bodies are our own worst enemies, doesn’t it?” Izuku hummed in assent, very much agreeing with the sentiment. “I’m happy it doesn’t hurt you any more.” “And I’m glad you didn’t inherit this nuisance from me.” A sudden thought made its unwelcome way in Izuku’s head. “If… If I didn’t inherit your skin and eyes… maybe I won’t inherit your quirk either…” “Izuku.” His father’s tone was kind but firm. There were times when his presence, even just through his voice, felt way more real and solid than that of many people Izuku habitually shared a room with. “Your ability will emerge one day, I’m positive of that. Just give it time and don’t agonize over it.” Izuku nodded, even though he realized that wouldn’t translate well over the phone either. “...Okay.” “Now, what else have you been up to in this past month, other than brooding over a criminally incompetent diagnosis?” Not much, honestly, but Izuku told him anyway. As he kept chatting, his heart grew lighter than it had been in weeks. Mom did always say that his father was a good listener.

July 1st, 2272 “They were talking about it on TV yesterday. It’s an old incident from some years ago, before All Might met Nighteye!” “I see...” “Not many people know about it, because there’s no villain involved, and villains make all the stories more interesting! But it’s a great story nonetheless!” Izuku rattled on enthusiastically, taking advantage of his father’s unresponsive compliance. “Uh-huh...” “So this boy was having some big troubles, I think, and he jumped into a river because he didn’t know what to do about them. But luckily All Might was around! Do you know what he did?” “He offered to cover all the expenses for the years of therapy the boy would need afterwards?” “Uh… They didn’t say that on TV. I don’t know. I think he just rescued him from the river.” “That doesn’t seem to address the underlying problem.” His father commented icily. “Daaad, you’re ruining the story.” Izuku chided him. “Anyway, the funny part is that this boy had a quirk that could turn water into vinegar, and he activated it in a panic while he was drowning.” “Mh. A peculiar quirk...” “So All Might got all drenched in vinegar when he dove in to save him. He made this very silly face in front of the cameras, it was great! And when the boy apologized for causing trouble, guess what All Might told him?” “I’m sorry I’m the living embodiment of this unfair, hypocritical society that has driven you to the brink of despair?” “No. He said,” Izuku continued, breezing past his father’s petty remarks with practiced ease, “It is I who should thank you. My skin’s looking ten years younger now.” “Oh my God…” The man groaned, and a loud thunk-crash noise accompanied his words. “Oh, come on!” Izuku giggled, covering his mouth with his free hand. “It’s so funny!” “Just because they’re called ‘dad jokes’ doesn’t mean I’m legally obligated to laugh at them.” “But it is funny! All Might’s the funniest! Did you know that he just wrote a joke book? It’s called All Might’s Gags and Jokes: A Compendium. It already has amazing reviews! They say it’s warm and relatable and cy.. cyclical…” “He wrote a joke book. A veritable Renaissance man, this one...” His father muttered. Izuku heard something clink in the background. Probably the pieces of whatever his father dropped. “Mom says she’ll buy it for my birthday!” Izuku added, swinging his whole body on his chair in sheer excitement. “That is such a poor use of your remittance. I’ll need to have a couple of words with her…” “It’s for my education!” Izuku enunciated with solemnity, straightening his posture. “There’s a whole chapter of American puns and word plays! It will help me learn English!” “If you want to learn English on your own so soon, please choose a decent source. Start with basic grammar and alphabet books, watch some subtitled shows and movies to get the hang of the correct pronunciation-” “I’m learning a lot from All Might already! The catchphrase he used when he was in college in California was I am here! When he’s surprised, he says Oh my goodness! When he doesn’t believe something, he says Nonsense!” Izuku parroted, taking great care of imitating All Might’s confident, surprised and disbelieving expressions respectively. They would be lost on his father, but he needed to practice them anyway. “If that’s a good American accent, I’m the next Symbol of Peace.” “Dad.” Izuku said, suddenly very serious. He had a very important question to ask, and it had been a long time coming. “Why do you always make fun of him? It’s like… It’s almost like you don’t like him at all.” The words sounded so wrong he almost wasn’t brave enough to say them. Izuku would have been mortified if anyone had moved such an accusation on him. “I suppose he has a sort of… charisma about him.” His father admitted ruefully. “I can’t say it strikes any chords with me though.” “Are you just jealous of him?” Izuku asked shrewdly. “Kacchan also talks a lot of trash about All Might, but it’s obvious he’s just jealous. It’s all right if you are, though, I mean, he’s so-” “I’m this close to hanging up, Izuku.” “But- but how can you not like All Might?! Everyone likes All Might! Boys and girls, children and grown-ups! From age 0 to 100!” “...I guess I just don’t fit the target demographic then.” Izuku huffed. “You’re so boring, dad.” “Says the one who’s been talking my ear off about the same topic for the last forty minutes.” The boy frowned, nibbling at his lip. “...Sorry. Am I annoying you?” “I’ll admit I may have hit my monthly tolerance limit of All Might trivia. Don’t worry about it though.” Izuku did in fact stop worrying, his father’s amusement clearly detectable in his voice. “I think I’ll be able to bear with your unabashed enthusiasm until you hit your mandatory disillusioned teenage phase. Then we’ll see if that obnoxiously cheery act of his will still resonate with you.”

June 2nd, 2274 “His normal body temperature is about two degrees higher than the average. Around 38-39 °C.” “And what can you deduce from that?” Izuku’s father goaded. The boy stared at the scribbles in his notebook in deep thought. “Uhm… that it’s difficult to tell if he has a fever or not?” His father laughed, but not unkindly. “I wouldn’t think so. You just said yourself that that is his normal temperature. Therefore, I wouldn’t call Endeavor’s doctor unless his thermometer read more than 39.5 °C, probably.” “Right.” Izuku nodded. That was obvious, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t he understood that on his own? His father didn’t seem to mind his blunder though. “Try again.” “I think…” Izuku’s eyes were just about to bore a hole into his rough sketch of the hero’s costume. He gave up after the silence started to make him uncomfortable though. “...I don’t know. What can I deduce from that?” “Hm… You did bring up an interesting point. Do you know how fever works, Izuku?” “Yeah. Your body temperature rises when you’re sick. If it rises too much, you can get in serious trouble, you could even die. It never really gets that bad though.” “But why does it rise? What does your body accomplish by doing that?” “Uh…” Izuku frowned. He was sure he’d read or heard something about that, but the details escaped him at the moment. “To help you fight off the sickness, right? You feel worse at first, but it actually helps you get better.” “Exactly. Most bacteria and viruses that infect men thrive and multiply optimally at around 37 °C, which is the average person’s normal body temperature. But the growth of these microorganisms is hindered when the environment gets too hot. That is the principle that makes fever useful for humans. As your body gets hotter, it debilitates the invasors, so that your immune system can remove them more easily.” “..Oh.” It was a pity that his father called him only once a month, Izuku could have easily listened to him for hours every day. He always had so many interesting things to say about so many different subjects, and he always exposed them so neatly. “So. Can you deduce anything new now?” “Uh, uhm… He… I guess he...” Izuku snapped out of his reverie. Right, this was a conversation, not a lesson. He went over the new information in his head as quickly as he could. Higher temperature than normal... Fever... Microorganisms... Immune syst- Oh! “He heals quicker than- no, wait! He doesn’t get sick at all! Because he’s always too hot for the microorganisms! They can’t grow in his body!” “Excellent reasoning!” His father’s warm praise made Izuku’s chest swell with pride. “Obviously he isn’t completely immune to any and all infections, there are lots of exceptions to the mechanism I just explained to you. But yes, I do believe it’s safe to assume that our esteemed Flame Hero suffers from the occasional seasonal maladies far less often than the general population, if at all.” “That’s so cool…” Izuku immediately added the new data to his notes, almost breaking the tip of the pencil in his enthusiasm. “Is that what you wanted me to deduce? Or did you explain that just because I brought up the fever thing?” “I was actually thinking of something else. But, on second thought, it may be too technical a topic for an eight-year-old.” “...Can you tell me about it anyway?” “Of course.” Izuku would never not be grateful for the patience his father had, never denying him any clarification on anything. He was just about the only adult who never got tired of his questions. Even his mom sometimes hid her fatigue behind a mildly insincere I don’t know. “High heat isn’t exactly conductive to the activity of human cells either. That’s one of the reasons why you feel exhausted and achy when you have a fever, your body struggles to keep doing what it’s supposed to do above its normal temperature range. But Endeavor not only is at peak condition at 39 °C, he can also withstand open flames with a much higher temperature. This suggests that his cells must be fundamentally different from the average person’s on a biochemical level, that his quirk must provide some particularly efficient cellular mechanism to prevent heat damage. One example might be some dedicated enzymes to protect proteins from denaturation, but now I’m entering mere speculation.” A pause. “Did you follow me?” “...Kind of.” Izuku said, kind of lying but not entirely. He had followed most of that. He scrawled and circled a couple of terms he hadn’t grasped - Biochemical - Enzymes - Denaturation - on the page. He didn’t want to waste his father’s time by asking him to explain the meaning of words he could easily look up later on his own. “The gist of it is that Endeavor’s Hellflame has at least two facets. Not only ‘creating fire’, but also ‘not incinerating himself’. The first trait would be a fatal liability without the second.” “Got it!” Izuku cheered. Now that he had understood completely. “You sure know a lot about quirks, dad! Like, a lot! About anything, really!” “For the sake of intellectual honesty, it must be said that it isn’t difficult to impress a primary schooler.” His father laughed. “I’m just older than you.” “How much older?” Izuku asked, realizing for the first time that no one had ever told him his father’s age. “Oh, by a lot. Centuries.” Izuku cackled. “You can’t be that old. You still go to work. Our neighbors are 80 and they’re already retired.” “I do try to keep a youthful outlook on life. But yes, quirks fascinate me quite a bit. And they make for the perfect topic to distract you from your incessant yapping about All Might.” “Speaking of All Might-” “No, I-” His father sighed theatrically. “I just walked into this one, didn’t I?” “Yep.” Izuku grinned. “What about his quirk? Do you know anything about it? He never gives straight answers when people ask him about it…” “That may be the single sign of intelligence he’s ever displayed. The more your enemies know about your quirk, the easier it is for them to find your weaknesses. I’m surprised the other pro heroes aren’t as reserved.” “I wonder why All Might does that, though. His quirk is… pretty obvious.” Izuku pondered. “It just makes him strong. Very strong. Like, the strongest ever. But that’s it.” “Allegedly, yes. But as you noticed yourself, if raw power was all there was to it, there would be no reason to skirt around the issue in interviews, no?” “So there must be something else… What do you think it might be?” “I think it would be no less than cruel to deprive you of the thrill of carrying out your own research.” Izuku let out a dissatisfied moan, and his father chuckled. “You are already so very proficient at it. Your mother told me you’ve already filled a whole notebook with hero and quirk analyses.” “Oh, ehr… It’s just stuff I read here and there…” “Mh, I’ve heard enough of your ‘stuff’ to know that there’s more than random factoids in that head of yours. In fact…” Izuku felt his cheeks warm for the compliment. “I think you’ve gotten old and judicious enough to be trusted with my emergency number.” “Uh? What emergency number?” “It’s a phone number I’ll always answer to, on any day and at any hour, in case you may find yourself in a bad situation. Hopefully you’ll never need it, but better safe than sorry. Now…” His father’s voice raised slightly, drowning out Izuku’s impending interruption. “Can I rely on the fact that you are aware that desperately wanting to tell me that All Might saved a kitten from a meteor does not qualify as an emergency?” Izuku pouted. “I know what an emergency is, dad.” “Good. Ask your mother to give you the number then. Don’t save it on your phone or write it anywhere. Memorize it, and be responsible with it.”

December 3rd, 2275 Sorry for the long silence. I had an accident on the job and I won’t be able to speak clearly for a while. We can talk with the included devices. Use your ring finger to activate them. Usual days, usual hours. Hisashi That short note held the first words Izuku had received from his father in the last five months. The first month he hadn’t phoned, Izuku had felt slightly disappointed, but understanding. His father was a busy man, surely something very important must have been requiring his full-time attention. It was fine, Izuku was confident he could manage to sweet-talk him into a double-length call the following month to make up for that. The second month, he had started to worry. His mother hadn’t heard from his father either. It was unprecedented not to hear from him for such a long time. Since Izuku could remember, his father had never skipped one of their monthly calls. They often talked on the first day of every month, and he kept trying to contact them exactly once each following day if his calls were missed. He never failed to reach them past the third day. He always called from a hidden number, so trying to get hold of him was not an option. The third month, Izuku’s mother had decided to use the emergency number. She hadn’t been able to get through to her husband, but the polite colleague of his who had picked up had reassured her that he was indisposed but overall fine, and would get in touch with them as soon as possible… which could still take a while. Curiously, the coworker had also instructed them to collect a sample of their fingerprints and send them to a specific address. Izuku had been mystified by the request, but his mother had readily agreed, commenting that it was “not the strangest thing Hisashi’s ever asked for”. The silent wait that followed had been a little uneasy, but not harrowing. Izuku and his mother reread the message a couple of times before opening the box they’d just been delivered. Inside were only the two mentioned devices with their respective chargers, snuggled among waterproof packaging and stuffing. They looked very much like ordinary mobile phones, except they had no buttons or ports on any side. Some quick experimentation proved that they could be turned on simply by pressing the indicated finger on the touchscreen. The display showed a very minimalistic chat interface, with a fixed red dot on the top left corner. No amount of tapping on the screen could bring up the virtual keyboard though, which was puzzling. There was no way to access the rest of the phone’s functions, if it even had any. It was the third day of the month, so technically still within the familiar communication window. Izuku kept poking and prodding at the buttonless phone for the whole afternoon until eventually, shortly after dinner, the red dot at the top of the chat became green. A minute later, a message popped up. Hello, Izuku. Izuku almost dropped his cup of hot chocolate in excitement, which was quickly replaced by frustration because he still couldn’t type anything in any way. How was he supposed to- Speak. I can hear you. “...Oh! Nice!” Izuku exclaimed. “Hi, dad! How are you? What happened?” I’ve been better. I got decked by a hysterical ape. Izuku frowned. “That’s not funny. Mom and I were very worried.” That wasn’t really a joke. What? What even- “...How? Did you break into a zoo or something…?” Sorry, you’re right. Let me rephrase. I had a violent disagreement with a brute. “Oh…” Izuku was about to ask for further explanations but he waited. The three bouncing dots at the bottom of the screen signalled that his father was still writing. We will have to communicate like this for a while. I hope it isn’t too much of an inconvenience for you. Judging by how long it took him to type even the shortest messages, Izuku thought it was going to be much more of an inconvenience for his father. He felt sorry for him. “No, not all. Is it… is it really bad? Shouldn’t you come home so we can help you get better? It sounds like you won’t be able to work anyway…” I’ll receive better medical treatment here, and I can still get some work done while I recuperate. Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll recover fully sooner or later. Izuku picked at the lint of his blanket, choosing his words carefully. “You could… come home anyway. Even if you could work. When you’re feeling a little better. So we could spend some time together.” The three bouncing dots reappeared, but Izuku kept talking. He already knew what his father’s answer was going to be, but he wanted to take advantage of the delay to get a few more words in. “Some of my friends have parents that work far from home too. They’re away a lot, but… they do come back to visit sometimes. Usually for the holidays. At least… At least once.” At least his friends had actually met their fathers once in their whole lives, Izuku completed only in his head. You know how things stand. My job doesn’t afford me this kind of free time. “...What do you even do that won’t let you ever do anything?” Izuku muttered, out of sheer petulance. That was another familiar point of contention, to which his father replied with the same, word-for-word justification he always used. Every detail concerning my activities is classified by the government. We’ve been over this. Don’t be childish. And that was usually the end of it. Any further questioning after the ‘classified’ thing invariably turned Izuku’s father into a slippery wall of smooth deflections. But, considering the current situation, Izuku felt like he could get away with a little more nagging, if he played his cards right. “I know you can’t say anything. But how about…” He physically leaned forwards, trying not to let his tension seep through his voice. “How about I try to deduce something? About your job. Just… for fun.” No new message showed up, not even the typing dots. Izuku decided that it was as much of an approval as he was going to get, so he started to voice his thoughts as they formed. “...Your job is classified by the government. So it’s important, very important, so important that other people can’t know about it.” When he was very young, Izuku had obviously interpreted it as irrefutable proof that his father must be some sort of secret agent. He had exposed his conclusion to Kacchan and his gang once. They had… not-so-respectfully disagreed. Izuku had never brought up the matter with them afterwards. “Your note said that you got hurt on the job. So someone you know from work punched you so hard that, even after five months, you still can’t talk well.” Izuku paused. That was… a scary idea. It dawned on him, for the first time since the beginning of this whole ordeal, that his father may have really dodged a bullet there. What kind of a brute could possibly want to injure someone that much…? Surely a criminal… A villain, maybe…? “Your job is dangerous, and it leaves you almost no free time. It also pays well.” That last item was admittedly a shot in the dark, Izuku didn’t really know much about money handling. But he had noticed that his mother never denied him a gift or a treat on the grounds of its cost (his vast collection of All Might memorabilia was a testament to that), like so many of his friends’ relatives were wont to do. She didn’t need a job herself, and Izuku remembered overhearing a conversation she had with Kacchan’s mom where she had said that they were ‘well provided for’. “You know a lot about a lot of stuff, especially about quirks and heroes. You know a lot of things about quirks and heroes that I couldn’t find anywhere on the internet.” Izuku paused, racking his brain for anything else that stuck out. Before he could come up with more points to make, his father finally wrote back. You sure put some thought into this. I’m impressed. The lack of reprimands was an encouragement in its own right. Now came the hard part. These were all facts that he already knew, now he had to put them together… and no matter how much he tried to come up with different possibilities, there was only one explanation that rang true in Izuku’s mind. “Dad… are you some sort of… undercover hero?” Izuku waited with baited breath for the dancing dots to turn into a complete message. Definitely not. ...Aw, shoot. Although I guess I do happen to deal with heroes quite often in my line of work. Izuku gasped. That was the first real piece of information his father had ever shared with him about his job! And wow, he worked with heroes! And whatever support he lent them had to be pretty vital if he was always so busy and tight-lipped. “So you’re like… a policeman? An informant that tracks down villains for the heroes to catch? Or an engineer bound by trade secret? Or-” Enough, Izuku. I’m supposed to be resting. I don’t think being given the third degree by my own son counts as such. Izuku deflated. So close to the truth, and yet so far… Maybe he could manage to get some other clue out of his father later. But… there was one more thing he simply had to ask. “...Have you ever met All Might?” I’m just going to ignore you after this. Well, it had been worth a try. Izuku finally relented, reasonably satisfied with the result of his investigation. “Okay, okay. Sorry. No more questions. And no All Might stuff. Not that I have much to tell you about him. He hasn’t really been around lately.” Hasn’t he, now? Uh, odd. It wasn’t like his father to miss an opportunity to dodge All Might gossip. Izuku supposed there’d be no harm in taking advantage of this atypical spark of curiosity. “Yeah. It’s been like this for a few months. Rumors say he’s abroad, working on some large scale mission. Something very secret, that’s why there are no articles on him in newspapers from other countries either.” I wasn’t aware of this. That’s very interesting. Although I couldn’t imagine anyone less suited to hushed-up operations. Izuku couldn’t help but snort. In light of the recent revelation, he wondered if his father was so unapologetically critical of All Might because he had worked with him and they hadn’t gotten along… which seemed kind of impossible. How could All Might be the unpleasant type of coworker? Or maybe his father really was just jealous because he couldn’t work with All Might often enough. A sudden thought occurred to the boy. “...Sorry, I guess you don’t want to hear about hero stuff now that you’re, uh… on forced vacation.” Actually, I’d love to. I’ve been a little out of the loop lately, I need to catch up with the news anyway. Fire away all the information you have. Izuku smiled. “Even about All Might?” Especially about All Might.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #izuku midoriya #deku #all for one

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buck-nialled · 4 years

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All of these pregnancy imagines really make me want one with a birth. Can you do one where the reader goes into labor and niall panics and they get to the hospital. He's freaking out about here pain and not being able to do anything and then in the end the happy moment seeing their child for the first time. I hope this isn't to specific.

NOTE: sorry i switched on my “hella activist” mode last night but thank you for your overwhelming patience anon and to everybody in need of a dad!niall imagine, here it is!

Code Word - N. Horan Imagine

“We should have a code word.” Niall deduces one night, with his arms wound around your middle and slowly rubbing the slight protrusion of your five-month-pregnant belly through your—his—soft, cotton shirt. While maternity clothes were a relaxing option to wear, nothing could compare to the comfort one of Niall’s shirts brought you. You sunk further into the couch’s back cushion and turned your head to study his profile. Niall already had the ‘dad’ look perfect, even before the big news was confirmed to both of you. His bearded chin and chest always appeared properly groomed, even on the days where he did nothing to them. His polo shirts and golf shorts told you exactly how he spent his Sunday mornings and took his burger at every barbeque he hosted. And if that was not enough evidence for how eager he was for his little girl to enter the world, the expansive list of pastel pink items in your amazon cart was definite proof.

“A code word?” You repeated. Niall hummed and continued the soothing motions against your stomach, not taking his eyes away from the television screen. “For what?” This was when his crystal blue eyes flicked away from the show you two had become most recently invested in and focused their attention on your confused features.

“For the lil’ one. When…ya know…” Niall’s tone made the answer seem obvious, but the awkward presentation and gesticulations of his free hand told you enough. He did not know how to say it, and you feared his struggle would worsen if you let him continue.

“Yeah, I know.” You bring your hand up to connect with his spastic one, still, mid-air, while he grins at the action, grateful.

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

“What about red?” Niall suggests, eyeing your figure from across the small kitchen table. Two months had passed since Niall brought up the brilliant idea of having a codeword for when your baby came. But choosing one that fit was easier said than done, both of you concluded.

“Niall, we’re looking for a codeword. Not a safe word.” You remarked, a bit more bite to your tone than pre-pregnant Y/N would have justified. But, at this moment in time, you were not bothering to bottle the hormones flying inside of you like hornets in a shrinking nest.

“Right,” he mutters. “Why don’t we just use her name?”

“Great idea,” the bitter chuckle stings Niall’s insides more than they should have. He knows you do not mean any of the harsh words you were directed at him so suddenly, but it was hard to remind himself of it from time to time. “If only we could decide on one of those, too!” You exclaim, falling back against the chair and crossing your arms. Tilting your head back, you suck in a deep breath and try to control the oncoming migraine tapping at your temples.

“Maybe we should leave the name thing for later.” This statement from Niall concludes the conversation.

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Eight months in, and it became clear that the stress from an impending newborn was all too heavy on your and Niall’s shoulders. Both of you could only remain serious for so long, which could have been a factor in your tense conversations. Another reason would be that neither of you had left the house much for things other than work or grocery runs. Especially you, who felt like you had not seen the light of day for years. Niall would leave for the studio to record for three hours maximum a day, before coming back home to attend to his new top priority: you.

When the two of your first heard the news, a small disappointment settled over you at the fact that you would need to stay sober the following nine months from alcohol, caffeine, and anything high in sugars. It surprised you when Niall opted to join the boycott against drinks, especially alcohol. Niall spoke drunken slurs like his second language, so it took multiple times of asking him if he was sure he wanted to give what he described as “sweet nectar” for almost a year.

This took much correcting on Niall’s part. Anytime he was invited to the pub with his friends, he kindly declined and predicted he would not be able to control himself. Tonight, though, you and Niall decided to make your own drinking game. To liven up the activity of scouring through baby name websites, the two of you ordered from your local Thai restaurant and made up your own drinking game to complement the night’s festivities.

“Anytime we find a name we hate,” you explain, lifting the bottle of orange juice and nodding to another you set in front of Niall, “we take a sip. Then, by the end of the night, we’ll have a good spectrum of what names we like.”

“Good idea, petal.” He smiles proudly in your direction, before furrowing his brows at the vibrantly colored drink. “But why orange juice?”

“It was the closest we had to screwdrivers.” You shrug with a giggle.

And the game ensued, both of you taking turns reading down the list of baby names on various websites from Niall’s computer and sipping sparingly at the bottled juice. There were a few names the two of you reacted differently towards. Niall would not his head in approval at how nice Brooklyn sounded, while you nearly choked on your juice beside him. Before you could argue your disposal towards the name Vivian, Niall was shushing you and emphasizing how much he did not want his daughter named that with a large gulp of juice.

Two and a half hours later, empty take-out containers and hollow orange juice bottles sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, along with a list of names you and Niall were agreeable with. You were splayed back against his chest, body fitting cozily between his thighs.

“That was really good orange juice,” you murmur amidst the comfortable silence. At this point in your nine-month-long journey, Niall learned not to question what your baby brain thought necessary to say aloud. Rather, he hums in agreement and sets a soft kiss against the crown of your head.

“It was.” He approves, leaning forward to rest his chin atop your head. “We should by just oranges next time and try making some. My mum has this recipe for some I’ve been wanting to try out.” You let out an enthusiastic hum and close your eyes, fully relaxing against your husband’s torso.

“Clementines are better.” You counter. It was silent for a moment until the noise of Niall shifting from underneath you enter your ears. His eyes land on yours with a triumphant grin when you tilt your head back against him.

“What?” You demand, unable to hide your smile by the sight of his contagious one. ‘

“Clementine…s’ a pretty good codeword. Don’t you think?” When the energy of Niall’s mental lightbulb is transferred to yours, the grin on your face stretches to match his.

“Clementine…I love it.” Impending tears blur your vision before you could even realize the hormones invading your system yet again. Niall pulls you back into his chest immediately, rocking your body back and forth as he laughs boisterously in celebration.

“It’s happening, baby. We’re going to have a lil’ clementine!”

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“Niall, baby, it’s happening.” Your shattered breaths made it difficult for the announcement to leave your mouth as more than a whisper. “Niall!” Your voice croaks as the wet feeling in between your legs intensifies, and you are hitting the man beside you only seconds later in a desperate cry for help. He groans and stirs before his silhouette is rising beside yours on the bed.

“What is it, petal?” He inquires, knuckling at his eyes through a deep yawn. Not only seconds later were they as swollen as your nine-month stomach when you cried out hysterically.

“Clementine! Clementine!” Your husband was up in an instant, shuffling the opposite side of the bed where you lay in a panic.

“Shit!” He hisses. “Alright, come on let’s get you to the car.” His outstretched hand felt like putty in your painful grip as he led you to the car which held the baby bag and changes of clothes for the two of you when the fateful day had arrived. Niall was grateful for the extra shirts he thought to pack and hastily snatched one from the back seat, tossing it over his frame and scurrying into the driver’s side. He continued enduring your teeth-grinding squeezes through the fifteen-minute car ride, wanting nothing but to smother your whimpers and pleas to drive faster with one of his famous hugs or back massages.

Walking you out of the car and into the hospital proved to be even more of a difficult task. The pain lighting flames in your insides and the prominent ache in your feet left you stubborn to move from your spot in the car seat. Niall caved into your arguments of not moving and sped into the hospital, almost ramming his middle into the receptionist’s desk from his run.

“Hi, um—I need help. M-my wife, she’s in the car and c-can’t move. She’s…she just…” Niall was trying to find the right words. Damn, if only the bewildered woman at the desk knew his mind as well as you did. “I can’t…c-clementine.” Niall sputtered out desperately. The woman raises her hands and stands herself up from her chair.

“Sir calm down. You said your wife needs medical attention?”

“Yes.” Niall breathes out, bloodshot eyes desperate and pleading.

“I am going to call the doctors on staff right away. Would you give me the patient's name and a description of the vehicle?” After following all instructions, the nurse recommends Niall too wait outside with her until the doctors to show up. The entire time, Niall waits by her side and kisses her clammy hands, mumbling small words of encouragement to you. A gurney and group of doctors are at your side moments later and situating you atop it. Niall chases you down the hallway, never taking his eyes of your bloated stomach bouncing up and down through breaths.

Everything calmed down for the most part when the midwife taking care of you introduced herself.

“So, is it a boy or a girl?” She questions you and Niall.

“Girl.” The two of you harmonize.

“Awe, and what’s the cutie’s name?” She coos, adjusting some of the machinery surrounding you. The way you and Niall’s panicked expressions turned to each other was instantaneous. Both of you sat there in the room, picturing the yellow, legal pad scrawled with names for your daughter never decided on.

“We never chose,” Niall whispers, wide-eyed. The doctor catches his comment, though.

“Oh, that’s alright. You still have plenty of time to discuss and choose. Most parents don’t know until they see their child.” She points. “I am going to gather a few more things…did you want that yoga ball still?” The hospital gown you were now donning was clenched in your fist and you whimpered, now being reminded of the insufferable pain your clementine was causing. You managed a weak nod and turned to peek at Niall, who was lost in thought.

“Okay, what names do you remember writing down?” You ask upon the sound of the door clicking shut.

“Uh…” he scratches the back of his head, “let’s see, there was Cynthia, Naomi, Harper—”

“Harper! Yes, I liked that one a lot.” The name was always taunting the back of Niall’s mind, in every daydream of his where the two of you would be gazing down at the small girl, cradling her in his arms and welcoming her to the world with tearful eyes.

“Okay, so it’s decided. Harper Jamie Horan.” The name rolled off of his tongue, and for some reason, you nodded your head to confirm your future daughter’s name. But the longer you waited, and the more contractions which rolled through your body like steep hills, it was not sitting well in your mind. Both of you decided earlier on that the middle name should take after Niall’s simply due to the fact that you adored it so much. If you were having a boy, the alternative would have been James.

Maybe it was the middle name idea or that Harper just did not have the right ring to it. There was not too much time for you to relax and ponder over what exactly you just agreed to, because you were too focused on getting the small child out of you first.

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“Alright, Y/N. It’s time.” The doctor instructs. “Start pushing for me.” Not too long after obeying her words, your blood-curdling screams were reverberating against the walls. That epidural you had been given only half an hour prior was surely defective, you thought as you gave another hard push. The doctor gasps.

“I see it! I see the head! Keep going, Y/N!” She encourages with a few beckoning nods. A sob racks through your chest as you keep your tight grip on Niall’s hand. By this point, his fingers were numb, but he was not about to disrupt this moment of distress to complain about a mild concern.

“Y/N, you’re losing strength. Take a deep breath for me, just a few more pushes I promise.” The midwife advises, staring at the small fetus’s head beneath your gown. You follow her guidance, chest heaving up and down before a groan rattled your frame as you pushed once more.

“I-I can’t push anymore.” You refuse, shaking your head. The sight of tears streaming down your face was not a pretty one to Niall.

“Yes, you can, honey. You know you can. I believe in you okay. You can do this.” You whimper and gaze down at your lap, sniffling back the tsunami of tears pooling behind your eyes. Niall’s fingers were beneath your chin in an instant, lifting your face to meet his hopeful eyes. “Y/N Horan, you are the strongest woman I know. And you’re going to push for me and Clementine, okay?” Niall asks. The nickname he still finds himself using pulls at the seams in your heart as no other thing could. You shake your head furiously in a nod, before turning your head back to the nurse.

“Ready, Y/N?” Niall’s lips connect to your pulsing temple. “Push!”

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The smell of sweat and disinfectant intoxicate your nose. A heart-wrenching cry of something shrill enters your ears and you find yourself laying back against the hospital bed, panting and sticky from sweat and your congested nose.

“Mrs. Horan, I’d like you to meet your new daughter.” Your mouth drops at the sight of a bundled cotton blanket approaching you. Only a small thumb could be seen poking out of it until one of the nurses crouched down to hand her to you. Her eyes were drooped shut as nonsensical whines left her mouth, and all you could manage was a small coo.

“Hi…I’m your mommy.” You giggle through snuffles of your nose. The tears you thought had left built back up all too soon. “Ni, look at her.” You whisper, but he was all too entranced by the sight of his daughter before you had even spoken. He wonders what color lie behind her pale, pink eyelids, and what the first word would be out of her small, crying mouth.

“Nice to meet ya, little one.” Niall’s large hand approached her smaller one and the feeling his calloused thumb bumping against her smooth skin has her small fingers wrapping around it and quieting her cries. “You look just as gorgeous as your mother.”

“So what’s her name?” One of the nurses inquired. You opened your mouth and stared craters into Niall’s profile. The feeling was all too familiar to him this far in with you that it was instinct to face your wondering gaze.

“I actually had a different idea.” You mumble, before leaning closer to whisper the name into his ear. After you do, a grin like no other stretches across his face. His heart was wrapped in accomplishment, proudness, and overall love for the two females seated beside him. It was astounding how one of them was changing her name for him only years ago, and now they are naming one of their own together. But you’d be damned if it was not worth it. After all, Harper Clementine Horan was a pretty sweet name.

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