#there’s all these different versions of her. she’s known by everyone and no one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hannieehaee · 1 month

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SERENDIPITY

18+ / mdi

summary: jungkook, god of love and son of venus is given the task by his mother herself to rid the world of you, known as psyche, as your beauty begins to rival her own. unfortunately for all parties involved, jungkook becomes enamored by you upon accidentally pinching himself with his own arrow.

content: cupid!jungkook, psyche!reader, an extremely simplified and smutty version of the og story, afab reader, everyone here is a god/goddess of some sort, side character deaths, the dialogue is very much modern and not fitting of the times, angst(?), fluff, smut, they have sex where she doesnt know who he is multiple times but its consensual, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 8.6k

a/n: for immersion purposes, psyche will be a reader insert and wont be referred to as psyche throughout the story (but jk will be referred interchangeably as cupid). anyways i read this last week during one of the lit courses i decided to take to improve my writing and really enjoyed it!! i hope u guys enjoy it too<3

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

"Why did you call for me, again?"

"Jungkook, pay attention!", hissed his mother, holding her fingers to her temples in stress as one of her many servants walked in with the fruit she'd requested, "I need you to use your arrows on someone."

"What? Why? I thought you didn't like me meddling with people's love lives."

"This is different. This one needs a little help," Venus frowned in sheer annoyance, "She is known as Psyche by many, Y/N by her loved ones. She has become quite a figure among the Roman population. Some have begun to worship her beauty. They pray to her, they bring her offerings, they kiss at her feet, completely disregarding the true Goddess of Beauty."

"And where does this concern me?", Jungkook was beyond bored by his mother's ramblings. On a usual day, he would be out and entertaining himself with the many mortal maidens found around Rome, always guaranteeing himself a partner for the day.

Venus shot Cupid a look as her servants fed her by mouth, making him straighten his back and begin paying better attention. Even as the Goddess of Beauty, Venus was known as one of the most menacing Goddesses to exist, holding far too much power among all Gods and Goddesses. Jungkook couldn't help but feel intimidated by her, even as carefree as he was known to be.

"She has far too many admirers. Even Gods are beginning to show interest in her, yet she is lacking in suitors thus far. I need you to shoot your arrow and tie her off to the most hideous creature you can muster. She may seize from being a disturbance this way."

"Okay, so you want me to doom her to an eternity with a monster?", Jungkook tilted his head in curiosity.

Despite being considered the most beautiful entity, Jungkook knew Venus to be one of the least amicable creatures in all of the land. Mortals were blissfully unaware of her cruelty, thinking her to be the most perfect among all Goddesses. However, Cupid, as her son, knew of the misery that awaited anyone who crossed the Goddess of Beauty.

Venus halted her movements in frustration, scaring the servants nearby before turning to Jungkook in annoyance, "Cupid, my son, you will obey my order without question. I gave you those wings, I gave you that bow, and I gave you that arrow. I don't care how cruel you may think me to be, this is an order. You shall not utilize your powers for your own endeavors until you finish your task," she demanded, "Now, go rid me of that wench before I find someone else to do the job."

With a sigh, Jungkook nodded in defeat, fully aware of the type of punishments his mother could deliver should he disobey her orders. Walking over to the window through which he had originally entered, he pulled his bow and arrow from his back, beginning to fly off with his wings as he embarked on a journey to seek out the mighty Psyche that had his mother so worried.

"Y/N, there's another letter from one of your admirers," announced Psyche's mother, placing the letter on the huge pile of gifts provided by the many civilians who came visit their castle with the hope of getting a glimpse of the beautiful girl.

"Mother, what shall I do with all these? There's so many letters yet not a single suitor," you sighed, frustrated at the lack of prospects you'd had so far, "My sisters have both married, yet I am left alone with no one to seek my heart."

"Child, you should be grateful," said your mother, "You are admired through all the land, vied for as if you were a true Goddess. Someone will come for you one day, rest assured," affirmed your mother, petting your hair as she landed a soft kiss on your forehead and took her leave once more.

It was easy for your parents to grow used to the love and admiration you received. Endless people would come and dedicate themselves to their servitude if it meant as much as receiving your blessing – which was absolutely worthless as a mere princess in a land filled with mystical deities.

Your elder sisters had both been married off months back, finding old yet respectable husbands to take them away and care for them as any and all husbands should. You, however, remained alone with your parents, always hoping that a man would be brave enough to court you.

It was unfortunate, really; the way in which your beauty prevented you from receiving any suitors. You had not chosen to be blessed by Venus herself, nor did you ever hope to become her contender in the title of the most beautiful entity in all of creation. Unlike you, she had found a God to sweep her off her feet, gifting her with the fruit of love himself – her son Cupid. Oh, how you wished he'd shoot his arrow and allow you some rest from this endless search for a husband.

As weeks passed by, your parents became more and more worried with your state. You were unconsolable, finding misery in every letter your sisters would send in regard to their new lives with their new families. One of your sisters was already awaiting an heir. Despite your endless happiness for your loving sister, your misery at your own situation prevented you from feeling genuine excitement for a new heir in your family. You wanted your own. You needed your own.

Your constant distress caused your parents to seek out a esteemed Oracle in your city, hoping that she would be able to give some insight about your predicament. She would be able to answer the question as though who and when you would find a suitor.

Visiting her was easy enough, feeling intense excitement at the prospect of an insight into who your beloved would be. Your parents seemed indifferent, but simply hoped to ease your endless concerns.

The Oracle took the form of an old woman, one who was known to assert people's future entirely correctly. Thus far, she was yet to be erroneous in her readings. Such magic was impressive to you, leaving you worried for any bad outcome she could possibly see in your future. If she were to find something unfortunate, there would likely be no way to remedy it. However, your parents assured you that the preventive knowledge would allow you to act accordingly and fix your destiny should you need to.

"The great Psyche," smiled the old woman sitting across from you, "I have heard lots about you."

Bowing your head in respect, you introduced yourself despite her knowing you by the popular name of Psyche, "I have heard of you too. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Oracle. I hope to find a favorable end with you."

"I hope for the same."

Taking your hands, the Oracle felt them, closing her eyes in concentration as she went through every crease and contour of your hands, furrowing her eyebrows every so often. Her emotions translated onto you somehow, making your heartbeat speed up and your own eyebrows furrow in worry.

Suddenly her eyes opened, a clear distress showing through them.

"Your destiny is muddled," she began, "I cannot see too well, but your future is grand and ... it will lead to misfortune to those around you."

Your mother stepped in at such words, inquiring for more information, "What do you mean by this? What is it that you saw?"

"Your child may wed a powerful being. One among the strongest to ever be seen. She shall marry a being stronger than a God, one capable of immeasurable destruction should he choose to engage in such acts."

"A God?", asked your father.

"It is uncertain as per what I see," she responded, "All I can see is his aura radiating stronger than the sun. He shall take her and make her his own, not allowing anything to stand in his way," she reaffirmed.

"I-", you began, unable to finish your sentence as your parents quickly stood up and dragged you onto your feet.

"We shall take our leave," your mother said frantically, "We thank you for your service."

No more questions were asked as your parents dragged you by your hand, leading you out of the cursed place.

The Oracle's words had never been wrong, which meant that your future was sealed. You were to wed something that was not a man. Was he a God? There was just no way of knowing. It could've been a demon or monster seeking the most beautiful woman in the land. It could've been a God seeking a mortal to keep in his chambers as he wed a Goddess. Whatever it may have been, you were terrified.

"You shall leave," were your mother's first words upon arriving back to the castle.

"W-what?"

"We cannot keep you here. If a being is to come and rip you away, we cannot allow it to destroy our kingdom. Your fate is sealed, but ours remains," said your mother, your father nodding in agreement beside her.

"Where am I to go?" you whispered in disbelief.

"We will take you to the mountains. Maybe the monster shall not find you there."

"Monster? How can you be so certain?"

"Gods mustn't marry mortals, you foolish child. A God would never have to drag you away, as you would go willingly. It must be an evil creature attempting to attain your beauty."

"But-"

"No 'but's, child. It has been decided," your father gave the final verdict, thus sealing your fate even further.

To have hoped for protection from your parents had been foolish. These were the same royalty who had given away their two eldest daughters to the highest bidders, not caring for proper marriages as long as they meant protection for their kingdom. You were equally worthless to them. Should you pose any danger to their kingdom and you would simply be thrown aside, just as now.

The following days proved as a goodbye as your parents prepared your departure. They assured themselves they shall never see you again, so they made arrangements with that idea in mind. Without a care for your wellbeing, they assured themselves this was the best course of action. Your fate was sealed, after all. There was nothing they could do to protect you any longer.

It was only a few days after your visit to the Oracle that your parents made the long and extraneous walk to the lone mountains neighboring the kingdom. Climbing the highest and most lonesome peak, they bid their goodbyes to you, with your mother letting out a few worthless tears as she looked at you one last time.

Your first few days on the mountain had been miserable. You only had enough food to realistically survive a few days, but your parents had reassured you that your husband would come for you soon, likely aware that you were there for his taking. The constant fear of the most odious taking you away made you feel terror you had never experienced. Jumping into the peaks below you crossed your mind a few times, but you knew you'd survive the fall. Your fate did not predict a tragic death, which meant that any fall would not result in demise. Your metaphorical demise would only come in the form of your husband.

All you could do now was wait for him to come, hoping against all hope that he would not be as monstrous as you dared imagine.

Jungkook was beyond annoyed at his current task.

Despite being a God, he did not hold the same almighty powers many other Gods did. His skill was the intertwining of souls, shooting his arrow any time he knew two people were meant to be tied for life.

In all honesty, he did not care for such a task. The thought of tying Psyche's fate to that of a monstrous being did not bother him in the slightest. He felt quite indifferent about it, not knowing nor caring who Psyche was. He doubted Psyche's beauty could possibly be as menacing as his mother had described, but he still felt some sort of intrigue about her appearance.

Fortunately, his curiosity was soon satiated.

After days of looking for Psyche, he finally encountered her, watching from afar as he spotted a lone woman standing on the cliff of a mountain, completely bare as her clothes laid ripped on the small surface of the mountain. It appeared that she had been there for days, likely having ripped off her own clothes in frustration.

Had you been left here for his taking? Destiny worked in mysterious ways, after all.

As of now, Cupid had only been able to see your backside, as you were facing opposite of him. Even from afar, Jungkook could not deny the beauty of your body. Every curve and contour of it had been sculpted to perfection, making the God salivate at the sight. But Jungkook had come here with a task. He needed to take care of his mother's request. There was no time to thirst after the heavenly body before him.

Reaching behind him, Jungkook grabbed onto his bow and arrow, bringing both to the front as he began to aim at you, prepared to shoot when he got the angle just right. After shooting you, he would aim his arrow at the first creature he encountered, let it be a deer or an actual monster. It did not matter much at the moment.

But as Jungkook had said, destiny worked in mysterious ways.

Jungkook had been entirely unprepared for the moment you turned around, facing him yet not seeing him from his hiding spot in the distance.

Your beauty took his breath away instantly, making him falter in his movements as his focus shifted from his arrow and onto you. Your body was the image of perfection itself, shaped perfectly for his hands to drag themselves across every inch of skin. Your curves were begging to be marked by his lips, being just the perfect size for any God to lose himself in them. And your face? Gods, it was the prettiest sight in all of Rome.

Jungkook understood now why his mother had felt threatened by your mere existence. He understood why you had so many admirers, yet no suitors brave enough to make you theirs.

Without realizing, Jungkook's hand had slipped during his daydreaming, making him misplace his hand and causing his arrow to grace him across the chest, creating a gash right by his accelerated heart.

Oh.

Fuck.

You ...

Gods, you beautiful thing. You gorgeous, beautiful thing.

The effects of the arrow were quick in turning Jungkook into a mess of himself. His breathing accelerated, his eyes became hooded, his skin rose in goosebumps, his cock stood tall and proud. His entire body betrayed him as he rapidly fell in love with you.

His mission had failed, but he could not care for such things in this moment. Not when he felt such strong emotions of love towards you.

This was rare. His arrows caused people to fall in love, but never had they produced such a strong effect. Never had he seen a man become so immensely enamored so quickly after a shot of his arrow. Perhaps your beauty had bewitched him before his arrow struck? The details didn't really matter much to him. At least not as much as his sheer need to have you did.

But it could not be done so easily.

Gods were not meant to fall in love with humans. Should his mother ever find out and you would both meet your ruin. No, he needed to think this through. He needed to get to you, but not allow you to know of him. If you were ever to see him, you'd fall in love with him instantly.

He did not want to force such a situation onto you, so despite the sheer effort it took, Jungkook took his leave, opting to plan for an appropriate way to rescue you and make you his.

It took a few days for your misery to come to an end.

After endless hours of agony stranded and alone on the peak of that mountain as you awaited your inevitable demise, you finally came to find some peace.

It was a voice, an unknown one, calling to you. It had been during one of the many instances in which you had found yourself wailing at your misery, completely defeated at your situation.

Suddenly a voice called out to you, reassuring words in their tongue.

"Do not fear, Psyche, nor be sorrowful beyond measure... I have come to aid you, for it is impossible that Love should go unrewarded."

Despite the words, there was no heavenly body attached to them. They had simply come from the wind.

"Who are you?", you asked.

"I am Zephyrus, the West Wind. You may never see me, but I am here to rescue you."

"Rescue me? Where shall you take me?"

"I shall take you to my master's castle. He shall care for you there."

"Your master?", was this meant to be the monster who would wed you?

"Yes. His immeasurable love for you shall be proved as he cares for you."

"Is he ... Is he a monster?"

"On the contrary. He is a heavenly body; the most heavenly of them all," reassured the West Wind.

A heavenly body? Could it really be a God?

You needed no time to consider it. You decided to you must go and meet the man who would save you from your misery.

"Take me, Zephyrus. Please."

"With pleasure."

You were unsure how you had arrived here, but that was the last of your concerns upon seeing your surroundings.

Currently, you found yourself in the most beautiful of palaces. Everything was made of expensive marble and tailored just to your tastes. As you explored the gorgeous abode, Zephyrus explained your current situation to you.

"You shall be cared for here, by the most competent of servants," the West Wind began, "They will rid you of all the misery you suffered on that mountain. Every bit of suffering your family brought to you shall be undone within this palace.

"Oh, thank you, Zephyrus! You don't understand how grateful I am."

"You shall not thank me. This is all your beloved's doing."

"When shall I meet him?"

"You will meet him tonight, as you lay to sleep," he began, "However, you shall not see him."

That confused you.

"What do you mean?"

"He wishes not to be seen. He will come to you in your barest of forms to reveal his undying affections, but you shall respect his wishes of not being seen. He will show up in the dark as your back faces him. This is his one and only condition," revealed Zephyrus.

"Oh."

It was disheartening, to say the least. But you owed your eternal gratitude to your future husband, so if he requested not to be seen, you would obey such order.

"I understand. Anything for my savior."

The next few hours were spent in luxury you had yet to familiarize yourself with.

You were bathed and fed, healed from all trace of injury during your time stranded. You were treated as a Goddess, served by invisible, voiceless servants as the wind aided you in all your needs.

It proved quite lonely, but you were still content at the knowledge that your beloved would come to you tonight.

They dressed you up as beautiful as you could imagine. Your beauty shone through the care you were given, making you appear entirely irresistible to any man who should come your way.

Oh, you were beyond excited to see your future husband. Would he allow passion to take over him when he saw you?

You had not met him yet, but you were already in love. All things Zephyrus had told you about him only made you more excited.

He detailed his feelings for you, telling you the mountains he'd move just for a single glance at you. He told you of the creation of this palace, rushed to be made to your liking just so he could care for you away from all harm.

Oh, your husband just sounded so lovely. Yet you wanted to cause his ruin upon meeting him.

You laid in bed, your natural beauty shining through the care your invisible servants had given you. Your sleeping gown allowed any to see the perfect contour of your curves as you laid in bed awaiting your beloved's arrival, back facing the window as Zephyrus had instructed.

You were not to face towards the window, allowing the dark atmosphere of the room to hide your beloved's identity. However, according to Zephyrus, your beloved would be able to see you through his magic, allowing him to get his fill of your beauty.

It only took a few hours for a voice to emerge through the window.

"Oh, my beloved," sighed the voice, approaching.

"Husband?", you asked, still lying on your side, facing away from him.

"Yes, it's me. I have not wed you yet, but you are correct. You are my wife from now on, beautiful," his steps got closer, stopping at the edge of the bed opposite your own.

"Oh, husband, how long I've waited for you!", you wailed.

He took a shaky breath, climbing the bed as his hands laid softly on your hip. Your hip had been sticking out due to your sideways position, ready for him to grab at it however he desired.

"My beautiful Psyche ... You cannot understand how badly I want you ..." he breathed, hands hesitant as they caressed the curves presented to him, "I've had to hold back from ravaging you for days. Your touch is the only cure to this madness I feel."

Never in your life had you felt such an immediate fire within you. Oh, how badly you wanted to see him and express the same sentiment.

"You shall touch me however you wish, my dear husband. Please touch me ... I am yours," you pleaded.

"Yes? You are mine? Even if you shall never see me, you wish to be mine?"

You winced at such words, sad at the implications behind never facing your husband. But his voice and touch were enough to render you powerless against him, wanting him more than you thought possible.

You whimpered when his hands went to lift up your gown, revealing your nude bottom as he continued to caress at you.

"Yes! I am yours in every way. Please ... please take me. I need your touch more than anything," you pleaded.

With a groan, he positioned you so he could kneel behind you, placing you on all fours for him. It truly did not matter if you faced him or not, as the room was far too dark for you to ever make out his mere silhouette.

His hands were greedy as he felt you up, throwing off the useless gown so he could have his fill of your body. With endless groans and puffs of breath, he touched every inch, kissing his favorite parts as he explored your body.

"You beautiful thing ... No one shall ever have this body ever again. It is mine forever. Do you understand?"

You sighed in pleasure due to his mere touch, "Yes, husband. My body is for you only."

"I am going to officially wed you as I find my rightful place inside you. This will serve as our wedding night. Okay, gorgeous?"

You nodded wordlessly, pushing up against him to encourage his touch further.

It seemed as if he was already nude, as you felt his hardness behind you when he pushed up against you in retaliation.

Oh, it was so big and warm. He would surely be your ruin.

With a groan, he entered you, making your back arch deliciously at such stretch.

"Oh ... My angel ... My beautiful Psyche. You are everything a man could want, fuck. Feel so perfect around me," the God groaned upon entering you, hands digging into your hips as he began canting his hips against yours.

He caressed you like a man in love, whimpering any time you'd get just a little too tight for him. For the first time in your life, you felt like a true Goddess, experiencing worship from a God himself.

"It's so warm and perfect ...", he sighed, "Made for me, yeah? Just for me ... My Psyche, my ruin, my perfect ruin," he murmured as he pressed kisses against your back, a new confession of love behind each one.

Meanwhile, you were rendered wordless. Nothing made sense when you felt such otherworldly pleasure. Were mere mortals meant to experience such bliss? How could you ever outlive such an experience when your beloved was giving you everything and more than you ever hoped from a husband?

Your whines filled up the room, making your husband speed up out of sheer desire for more. He encouraged your sounds, dipping a hand between your legs to play with you with his skilled fingers, drawing cry after cry out of you as his hips refused to slow down.

"You are so beautiful, fuck ..." he groaned, "Men should worship the ground you walk on. I will worship you ... Every day for the rest of our lives I will worship this beautiful body."

Nothing but love flowed between you. Your new husband's obsession with you was more than clear. The God worshiped your body with low cries of your name, hips becoming less and less coordinated by the minute. His godly stamina was no match for the feelings flowing through his body, rendering him weaker than a human man at the sight of his beloved losing herself under his touch.

Your high triggered his own, making him slump against your back as his hips attempted to hump against you throughout the entirety of his orgasm. He whimpered pathetically at the tightening of your walls, crying expletives far too explicit for a God to recite.

You did not fare any better. From the moment your husband laid his hands on you, you became a shell of your former self, your body now a vessel dedicated to pleasure. You had yet to even ask his name, too immersed in the love between you to even remember.

"My beautiful girl," he whispered as he recovered his breath, kissing along the length your back, "I will protect you for the rest of eternity," his lips went down your back, reaching your ass, "going to take care of you in any and every way," his lips eventually reached your cunt, still swollen and leaking out his own essence. He remained quiet for a few moments, likely hypnotized by the sight.

"Oh ...," he groaned upon a tentative lick against your sensitive cunt, "Need you again ... Need this cunt again," he cried, losing himself between your folds.

Losing his train of thought entirely, he held you up on your hands and knees, feasting on your cunt shamelessly. He kissed and licked at you, groaning any time your ass would push back against him, silently begging for more.

"F-feels so good ... Need y-you. Please ...", you whimpered, begging for nothing in particular. Such pleasure had you lacking any critical thought. You were likely the most mindless creature in all of the land as your husband took away all your ability to reason.

"Gonna get you there, gorgeous. Gonna make you cum and make you mine over and over again," he growled against your cunt.

With just a few more moments, you came undone once more, this time falling against the bed in sheer exhaustion. You wished to turn around and seek solace in your husband, but you knew better and opted to allow him to initiate the next contact.

Once more, he spent a few moments worshiping your limp body, kissing and sucking at every corner he enjoyed. Every so often he would mutter low praises to your person, claiming worship towards you. Unfortunately, this ended far too soon, quickly leaving you cold and alone on the bed as be suddenly got up.

"I apologize if that was too much," he chuckled, now from a small distance. You wanted to turn to confirm, but you did not dare disobey his prior order, "I, uh, I must take my leave now, my love."

That was when you truly wished to break his rule and turn to him, pleading at him to stay with you through the night. One night and you were already infatuated with him.

"You're leaving?"

The disappointment must've been clear in your voice, as he instructed you to close your eyes before he turned you around to face him, caressing your cheeks in a loving manner before landing a soft peck on your lips.

"I cannot stay the night with you, beautiful. If you wake up and find out my identity ... I don't know how I shall protect you from that."

"But-"

"It's okay, angel. I will be back night after night, giving you all the love a God can muster. Now I bid you goodnight, my love. I love you," he kissed the back of your palm, quickly disappearing from your vicinity before you could say goodbye.

When you opened your eyes he was gone, window still open and marking his sudden exit. As deflated as you felt at his departure, you also felt immense excitement for the next morning in which you'd see him, promising yourself to be prepared for him every single night to deliver your love to him.

After weeks of becoming your husband's wife, you continued to live a life of pure bliss every night as he made love to you. It was still incomprehensible to you how he would deliver his sentiments in such a carnal way, but you were yet to have any complaints. The two of you would create the embodiment of love together every night, and you looked forward to it day after day.

But it was only the nighttime that brought you such happiness. You'd spend your days waiting for your husband to arrive, hoping for the moment in which he'd be with you and love you. He'd make conversation with you every night after making love to you, making you feel less lonely in those moments. However, you'd remain completely alone the rest of your days.

It wasn't after many pleas that your husband finally agreed to allow you some company in your new palace. Being accessible only through the flowing of Zephyrus' wind, you were completely alone at all times. It had taken vast begging from your part, but your husband eventually agreed to command Zephyrus to fly your sisters out to you, somehow managing to get into contact with them.

The last time you had seen them had been before finding out about your wretched fate through that Oracle. They remained unaware that you had been left stranded at the mountain, likely entering a panic when the news were delivered to them.

Before allowing your sisters access to his palace, your husband had warned you to stray away from their persuasion. Confused, you asked him to elaborate. He then informed you of the way in which they'd likely envy your newfound fortune and somehow wish to cause a rift between you and your husband. As one last warning, he told you to not listen to them should they tell you to unmask his identity. He loved you far too much to be ripped away from you in such a way, he had said.

You did not believe your sisters capable of attempting to sabotage the immense love you had found in the arms of your husband, but you had unfortunately been wrong.

Upon their arrival, they had showed little concern for your sudden disappearance, simply making quips about how much less their husbands provided for them, claiming they deserved more than yourself. They, of course, did not say such things to your face but rather to each other. But the winds of Zephyrus informed you of it all upon their departure. Even during their stay, they demanded you unmask your husband, claiming he must be a hideous creature if he was so insistent in hiding himself from his beloved wife.

You, unfortunately, fell for their trap. The seed of doubt had been instilled within you, making your curiosity for your husband grow more rapidly than ever. As soon as they left, you began pondering on ways to see your husband in a way that would not reveal your betrayal.

The outcome did not matter in the end. Regardless of your husband's appearance, you would fall for him time and time again just from his mere presence. Should he be the most wretched of monsters and you would still love him. His love and tenderness for you had rendered you a woman in love, and nothing would take that away.

But you needed to know. You needed to see him. You had gone far too long without seeing your soul's other half.

It occurred just a few nights later. The fated night in which you would finally see your husband.

By an act of the Gods above, your husband had fallen asleep right after a night of rigorous love making, holding you in his arms with the most love a man could hold for his woman.

In the sheer darkness, you managed to make your way out of your husband's hold, sneaking your way to the other side of the room with difficulty due to the complete lack of illumination in the room. After some struggle in the dark, you found a lamp, which you managed to light up with some oil.

Due to the small size of the lamp, you had to come close to your husband in order to properly see him. With hesitation, you walked over to him, holding the lamp right above his sleeping form to get the perfect view of him.

He was ...

He was the embodiment of love itself.

Before you laid Cupid, the most beautiful of all Gods.

Jungkook, as some knew him, slept under the light of your lamp, beautiful wings nowhere to be seen as he retracted them in his sleep.

You became instantly hypnotized by the sight of your beautiful husband. Your heart sped up and your eyes became heavy. His nude form was nothing short of art, and his gorgeous features were some that could never be replicated by neither man nor God.

If you hadn't already been insanely head over heels over your husband, you would've fallen for Jungkook upon a single sight. It had been the most beautiful God who had been making love to you night after night, praying to you as if you had been the deity.

Unconsciously, you grew too distracted by the sight of your beloved, not realizing you had tilted your lamp enough for some of the scorching oil to slip and trickle onto Jungkook's chest, immediately rendering him awake.

With shock in his eyes, he got up in a frantic hurry, clearly not having realized he had fallen asleep next time you. His hands went straight to soothing the burnt skin right by his chest. It didn't take long for betrayal to appear in his eyes, realizing that you had deliberately sought out a way in which to see him while he was fully unaware of your intentions.

"Psyche ...", he muttered, eyebrows furrowed as he avoided your eyes in disdain. You caught sight of tears growing in his eyes, causing pain to gnaw at your chest.

"Jungkook, I-"

He chuckled bitterly at the situation, "I warned you against this time and time again, but you became poisoned by the words of mere mortals who do not hold the love for you I so highly esteem," he took a breath, "I foolishly wounded myself with my own arrow and took the role of your lover. I feared that you'd want to cut off the head that carries these eyes that love you, so I remained a mystery to you. Yet your own love for me did not respect me enough to halt this betrayal. I- I shall take my leave. Goodbye, Y/N," he said before retracting his wings and making his way out through the window once more, hands rubbing at the growing wound on his chest due to the oil that had burnt him.

You stood there wordless, tears in your eyes as you watched your husband fly away.

Your cursed endlessly throughout the rest of your sleepless night, hoping that maybe he would come back tomorrow so you could make amends.

Tomorrow never came, and neither did the next day. From your perspective, time stood still as Jungkook continued not to show up day after day for a week. On the seventh day, your heart grew too sore to continue waiting for him without taking action.

Although you blamed your own greed for him for your betrayal to him, you also blamed the instigators – your sisters.

But they were your sisters no more. They were simply obstacles to overcome in the journey to gain Jungkook's trust back. And nothing would stop you.

A new sense of vengeance took over you astonishingly fast. Without a second thought, you managed to contact each of your sisters individually, making claims of your husband, Cupid himself, becoming unforgiving of your betrayal and demanding your departure, announcing that he would wed your sister instead. Each of your greedy sisters fell for the lie and one by one fell to their death as they attempted to make their way to Cupid's castle.

As for you, you managed to convince the West Wind to fly you off the mountains so you could begin your journey to your beloved. Hurt and disheartened, you spent weeks in search of him, not mindful at all of how battered you became with the passing of time. Any pain would be worth Jungkook's forgiveness.

However, your state of mind and exhaustion led you to multiple attempts at ending your own life, attempting to drown yourself or jump off cliffs, always surviving almost unscathed by some cruel act of the Gods. Without Jungkook's forgiveness life was simply not worth living.

In the meantime, Jungkook found himself in his mother's chambers, healing from the wound you had caused as his mother let out her fury at the discovery of her son's new lover.

"So you decided to wed your mother's nemesis? You decided that you shall bring this wench upon me and tie her to me for eternity?", she seethed as Jungkook disregarded her, too exhausted to respond.

"I shall find that hideous wench and rid the world of her myself," she decided, calling over a few servants to direct them to deliver you to them, "And you," she turned to Cupid once more, "You useless child. I shall birth another one just to spite you for your disrespect."

Those were her last words as she exit the chambers, leaving Jungkook to his rest once more. He wanted to worry for you, but his wound of the heart needed more healing before he could allow himself to go find you for himself. Within him, he thought of you fondly, hoping you'd survive his mother's wrath.

It did not take long for Venus to find you and bring you to your knees before her, expressing every foul thought she had of you with no shame.

"You believe to be worthy of Cupid, the prettiest God to lay foot on this world? Fine. Should you complete my tasks and I shall stay out of your way. Should you fail, I will do with you as I please."

Having spent weeks alone in the wilderness, injured in every way imaginable, you could not see a better outcome to such a situation. You agreed without thinking twice, knowing that no fate was worse than your current one.

You were assigned impossible tasks, one by one, as Venus sat back and awaited for your inevitable demise.

Much to her surprise, the divine forces had helped you in the completion of each one.

The first task had been to sort an immense amount of grains before morning. The grains amounted to an innumerable quantity, which proved the task to be impossible. Upon your defeat, you fell asleep halfway through the task, somehow waking up to find ants assisting you in its completion. By the time Venus arrived, she had a frown on her face at the sight of the achievement.

Her anger did not last, as she assigned you the next impossible task with ease.

Upon being ordered to gather golden fleece from magic sheep, you knew that this time you'd truly meet your demise. The sheep were extremely aggressive and known to kill a man in mere seconds. However, by another act of the Gods above, the reeds by the riverbank suddenly advised you to await til morning in order to freely gather the fleece that the sheep had shed.

The completion of this task also brought anger to Venus' demeanor, causing her to provide you with yet another impossible task. The completion of the final task finally led to the hardest of them all; one that would finally render you no longer.

Your final task had been to travel to the underworld and bring Venus a box of beauty. There were far too many intricate steps to be followed, but your love for Jungkook was enough to lead your journey.

Finally, upon your arrival, you held the box of beauty in your hands, ready to deliver it to Venus and finally receive her blessing in wedding her son. But once more, your curiosity grew too big.

Before arriving to the mighty Goddess, your hands took a mind of their own, forcing you to take a peak at the box. If you were to officially wed your beloved Cupid, a little extra beauty would surely be helpful.

Your naïveté finally led you to your final moments, causing you to enter eternal sleep upon a small peek of the box's contents. Still slightly conscious, you laid in your lonesome, unable to move nor think.

In your final moments, all you could think of was your beautiful Cupid and how badly you had hoped to live for him. To live to love him once more.

It took Jungkook a few days after his mother's final warning to him to fully recover from his injury.

Being aware of his mother's anger towards you, his immediate thought upon gaining his energy back was to seek you out and rescue you from whatever threat his mother must've been holding over you. He was unsure if she had managed to find you, but he could not take the risk of waiting to find out, knowing your life was likely in danger.

It took interrogating a few servants in order to track you down, now making it his mission to save you from his mother's disdain.

When he had been informed of the endless grueling tasks you had taken on just for a chance to see him again, Jungkook's heart melted. His love for you had never gone away, but his hurt had blinded him as his wound debilitated him. Now fully recovered, he was able to realize that his endless adoration for you was mutual. Your stubborn desire to see him had not been born out of malice, but out of love for him. He understood now. Had he been denied of your beauty for a single day, he would've lost all sense of sanity.

You were currently on your final task, Jungkook had been informed. Worried about your safety, he set out to take the same journey, traveling to retrieve the box himself in case you had somehow not made it on your own. He grew impressed when he reached the end of the journey and found that you had already retrieved it and were currently on your way back.

Jungkook continued to travel in search of you, growing more worried by the second as he did not find you. The moment he finally encountered you, his wings gave out in him, causing him to fall due to the sudden worry the sight caused him.

You were lying on the ground, vulnerable and alone as you held the box against your chest. You must've opened it, he assumed, knowing your curiosity could easily get the best of you.

Running to you, he held you to his arms, throwing the box aside as he caressed your limp body in his arms.

"Oh, Psyche ... My beautiful, curious girl," he tsk'd, "Your curiosity became your undoing once more," he scolded lightheartedly, tears in his eyes at being able to hold you again.

Leaning down, he pressed a lone kiss to your lips, whispering against them as he did so, "Come back to me, my love. Let me make you mine again."

Within seconds your body regained its consciousness, leaving you disoriented for a few moments. Upon realizing Jungkook was holding you, a look of awe in his eyes, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as humanly possible to you as you cried into his chest.

"Oh, my beautiful girl," he wrapped himself around you, retracting his wings so they'd shield you both from the outside world, "Don't cry for me, my love. I'm here. I adore you more than I can possibly describe."

You wailed apologies into his chest, weaved with many confessions of your love for him. He took them all in with a smile on his face, refusing to let go of you as he memorized the shape of your body against his own.

"Love you so much, my sweet ruin. No one can ever harm you again," he assured, leaving endless kissed against your hair. He finally pulled away, wiping your tears with his thumbs as he looked into your eyes, "Let me take you home, my love."

"My beautiful girl ... How I missed you, fuck," groaned the pretty angel as he laid kisses down your neck.

He pushed you up against the wall the moment he flew you back to his recluse palace, rendering you speechless with just a few kisses. Jungkook wasted no time in showing you his love through words and touches, finally able to face you while he loved on you.

Sighing as he kissed down your neck, you molded yourself to his liking, willing to let him do whatever he wanted to you. You were far too enamored by the God, feeling nothing but inhuman addiction to his touch.

"I adore you more than you could ever understand," he breathed out as his hand ripped apart your worn out gown, wanting to finally see you bare face to face. With a shuddering breath, he got his fill of your body, caressing at every inch his eyes went over, feeling the carnal need to memorize every curve.

Turning you around, he pressed you up to his front, grinding against you as he felt you up, groaning breathily into your ear.

"I have wanted your body since I first laid eyes on you," he whispered, hips slow and sensual in their grinding, "I can finally have you however I want. Oh, my angel, I'm going to render you useless by the time I'm done with you."

Your Cupid then grabbed you and led you to the bed, where you positioned yourself on your hands as knees as you usually did. Shaking his head, Jungkook stops you before you settle on the bed, instructing you to turn around and lay face up for him.

"No, beautiful. Turn to me. Want to see you. Want to make love to you while you look at me with those pretty eyes," Jungkook moaned against your lips.

There was not much warning before Jungkook slipped inside you. But it did not matter. Your body welcomed him with no struggle, having become far too thirsty for his touch in the weeks of your separation.

Out of all the times you'd made love, this was by far the most intimate. Jungkook love and caressed you with an inhuman infatuation in his eye, groaning any time you'd so much as look into his eyes as he pounded into you.

"Oh, my Psyche ... Love you so much ... Always loved you. Always needed y-you, oh fuck ..." his eyes closed in pleasure, pressing his face into your neck to breathe you in. His hips were incorrigible, with Jungkook being far too drunk with lust to have any finesse in his movements.

"My Jungkook ... My Cupid ... You pretty angel, I missed you so much, so- oh, so much!", you cried, your eyes becoming clouded with tears all while your nails dug into his back. You could feel the scars from which his wings would retract, caressing them softly.

"Oh ... Oh, angel, d-don't do that- My wings are too sensitive, my Psyche, d-don't ..."

This only encouraged you to do it more, caressing his erogenous zone softly and sensually, causing him to cry against your ear, whimpering in an ungodly way that had your eyes rolling back at just the sound.

Your pretty angel babbled against you, letting out nonsensical rambles about how much he loved you and how he could never let you go again. How he would breed you and give you an heir and bring you both to the land of the Gods with him.

Practically sobbing against each other, still grinding like mindless animals, the two of you found your highs together, continuing to stimulate each other throughout the entirety of your orgasms. Your mutual whimpers filled up the room, making the experience all the more erotic.

Finally, you two laid against each other, breathing heavily as you refused to let go of one another.

You were still beat and battered from your weeks in search of your Cupid, but that was the last thing on your mind. All you cared about was holding onto Jungkook and never letting go.

Holding you even closer against him, Jungkook wrapped himself around you, pulling out with a groan as he spooned you in his arms, breathing in your hair and humming against you. He reassured you about any worry you may have had in regards to your future together, assuring you that your injury to him had fully head and that he could never hold any type of negative feeling towards you for long.

You no longer would have to worry about his mother's schemes, Jungkook assured, as he would go to Zeus himself to grant you immunity amongst all Gods. He'd convert you into a Goddess yourself, he promised, so that he could give you a heavenly heir and grow old with you until eternity. Nothing in this world could ever separate Cupid from his beloved Psyche. Jungkook would never let anything keep him away from his one and only beloved.

"I adore you, my Psyche, my beautiful ruin. I will always protect you," he sighed one last time, eyes growing heavy as you turned around in his arms and cuddled against his warm chest.

"I love you my Cupid," you kissed at the small burn mark the oil of your lamp had left, humming against his chest.

You fell asleep calmly in each other's arms, knowing you'd wake up to an eternity of love between one another.

a/n: im sorry if the pacing seems all over the place but i promise this is how the original story goes 😭

to read short 3.3k word continuation (+ all other previously written bonus content) you can go join my jk monthly tier on kofi or patreon!

content: afab reader, continuation and conclusion of the cupid and psyche lore/story (this is kinda like a pt. 2 honestly oops), impregnation, mentions of oral, jungkook is obsessed with reader its insane, pregnancy sex implied (but not really bc its after one day of the insemination lol), jungkook is a god so yk endless sex, smut, penetrative sex (like three times lol), etc.

wc: 639 (teaser); 3313 (full drabble)

sneak peak:

"Hmm, my beautiful Psyche," hummed Jungkook against you, stretching his body before cuddling further into you, absolute bliss in his voice.

After a night of extraneous love-making, Jungkook finally awoke in your arms, a smile instantly making its way onto his face at the remembrance of the previous night.

After having brought you back to the palace he built for you, he made love to you, finally able to look into your eyes as you both lost yourselves to the pleasure found in each other's touch. The thought of your gorgeous whines for him still made him shudder, having to will his boner away at the memory.

Then he thought about everything else that had happened since your separation.

He recalled all the trials you had gone through this past week, all to gain access to his heart, a heart that had belonged to you from the moment he laid eyes on you. It was hard not to feel immense guilt at knowing how badly you had struggled from the moment he left you alone in that palace, too hurt and stubborn to realize that your love for him would have you risking your life just for one more chance. In hindsight, he should've understood, specially considering that his own heart burned for you harshly enough for him to want to give up his Godly powers for you if he so had to.

Then he remembered the worst part of it all.

His mother was still seething with vengeance for you, not having found satisfaction in your death while completing her useless tasks. Jungkook knew that she never meant to even consider giving her blessing for the two of you to be together. It had all been a ruse to make you find your demise under the false pretense that you would somehow earn Jungkook's forgiveness by the end of it all.

What you didn't know was that Jungkook didn't need to forgive you. His love for you overpowered every other fleeting thought in his brain. One look from your remorseful eyes and he would be on his knees, begging you for forgiveness.

He pondered as he watched you sleep in his arms, blissful yet still wounded by your weeks of pain.

How shall he make up for all the suffering you endured while he recovered from his wound? How could he make amends for making you think for even one second that he'd dare try and live without you by his side?

His experience as a carnal lover had not prepared him for such feelings. There had been no training or preparation for him to understand the way you made his heart rush, the way you altered every aspect of his being.

All he could think about was how you were his beautiful Psyche and how ... how badly he wanted to put an heir in you.

The thought had seemed been sudden, but he had actually thought of it from the moment he found you waiting for him in bed that first night. You, full for him, manifesting the greatest form of love as you grew his seed inside you.

An heir would be the solution to all problems.

An heir would bring you an instant pass to the land of the Gods, forcing Zeus to turn you into a Goddess in order for you to birth a Godly child. It would also make his mother accept the gift he'd bring upon her, unable to deny a child created by the God of love himself. Lastly, this heir would also be his own gift to you – a showcase of his endless love for you and the future he was to create with you.

But most of all, it would quench the thirst Jungkook was currently feeling at the mere thought of marking you as his as humanly possible.

...

find the 18+ continuation on kofi or patreon!

if you have trouble finding it on there, just let me know!!<3

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts scenarios #bts imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader

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theoldsports · 1 month

Text

SPONTANEOUS.

Art Donaldson x Reader

oops. it’s gonna be a series. i’m developing Lore. let me know what you think and where to go next.

warnings: 18+ please, drug use mention, drinking (underage), kinda sexual content.

LINK TO SORRY SERIES

Fancy parties were loathsome. [Y/N] thought so, at least. She hated being told to stop calling them fancy parties and shindigs and to call them by their proper names: galas, benefits, balls, whatever. It was exhausting. Her feet weren’t meant to be elegantly jammed into spike heels. [Y/N] liked the height she was, thank you very much.

Did supporting charitable causes have to feel so degrading?

Capitalism at its finest.

[Y/N] had been attending these things since she was a little girl. Seven or eight years old. So young, in fact, that she now can’t remember what demographic or ailment-research, or political party this goddamn yearly spring shindig was for. Mr. and Mrs. Zweig were always nice to her when she was a child. She wasn’t just a family-friend, she (and her parents) felt like friends that were family.

What made the lavish Zweig parties tolerable was Patrick Zweig. She had known Patrick as long as there had been parties to get dressed up for. He had scraped her off a marbled staircase step as a little girl when her polished pleather mary janes didn’t have the traction to keep her upright. She had cried when she fell. He had said: “you’re really loud, you know that?” And she had laughed. So they were doomed to spend eternity hiding in coat rooms and getting tipsy together at these things.

Patrick was never one of those boys that felt the need to turn his back on [Y/N] during the cooties years, or the so-she’s-your-girlfriend? years. The pair of them always managed to be simply themselves and that was enough. He was merciless and unapologetic, but he made a hell of a best friend.

[Y/N] was two months older than Patrick, and had been taller for their first two years of friendship. When his shift in stature occurred, it happened fast.

Patrick went away to boarding school and came back a gangly beast. [Y/N], though they hadn’t spent every waking moment (weekends and school days) together since he had left her for a racket and a tennis ball, was always pleased to see Patrick was still himself every time he came home. Louder and stupider each time, but still Patrick.

Though, one spring break was different. Eleventh grade, if [Y/N] recalled correctly. Patrick came home, tall and stupid as ever, toting a boy named Art Donaldson.

Art Donaldson was considerably smaller, and debatably less stupid than Patrick Zweig. [Y/N] understood that day why all the girls in her grade giggled about boys. [Y/N] could never tell Patrick that. He would have been insufferable about it.

Actually, [Y/N] felt jealous. That was also a secret. Because Art, unlike she and Patrick, was nice. Everybody liked him. Nobody ever talked shit about him. Adults loved him and his small-town boy manners. He actually was a rambunctious little jerk, but nobody else saw that. Everyone else got yes sir, yes ma’am, I’m well, how are you? He could turn that charm on and off like a faucet. Infuriating, right?

[Y/N] was also jealous because it was clear she had been replaced.

Patrick lit up like a Christmas tree when he was with Art. He never looked at her like that. Art must have been a better friend to him then she was. Patrick called her once a week to talk for years, but Art slept, like, six feet away from him. It simply wasn’t fair.

Because of that, [Y/N] remembers spring break was really hard. [Y/N] was acutely aware she had lost something she didn’t know she could lose to the human version of a fucking beagle.

[Y/N] couldn’t remember the grade they were in exactly, but she did remember the dress she wore to the Zweigs’ party that year. It was light green and had spaghetti straps. It was longer and more form-fitting than what she was used. Most of the girls her age had settled for lots of tulle and cheetah-print so [Y/N] looked more mature by comparison. It was the first time [Y/N] remembered feeling grown up at all.

To think she thought that all her excitement and contentment was wasted. [Y/N] sat in a plastic pool chair in the backyard curled up with her cork wedge platforms resting dangerously close to the water. She nursed a bottle of vodka she had swiped two months ago from her parents liquor cabinet to surprise Patrick. Meticulously, she had waited for them to be out of town and found the key to the liquor cabinet. A whole bottle just for [Y/N] and her best friend. [Y/N] had barely managed to keep it a secret that she had taken it. She had been so proud of herself and thought Patrick would be too.

Now, she was the only one around to drink it.

Patrick had put his warm, familiar hands on her shoulders and told [Y/N] to wait right there and that he and Art would be back in a sec. The two boys had vanished upstairs presumably to Patrick’s room with laughter spilling from their mouths. [Y/N] sat at the base of the stairs alone for twenty minutes.

According to the garish clock on the wall, at twenty-one minutes, [Y/N] disappeared to the pool. She officially hated Patrick too. He had left her alone at parties plenty of times, and she him. They’d dance with others, or sneak off for a makeout session with a pretty stranger. It had never been a big deal either way. This felt like deliberate abandonment for no good reason. That was a first.

“Whoa, save some for the rest of us.” A reedy voice called out. Art Donaldson. [Y/N]’s head glanced over her shoulder so fast at the sound that she almost made herself dizzy. It took little time to realize there was no Patrick with him.

[Y/N] pulled the bottle closer. “That was a really long one sec,” She replied. She planned to say that eventually in the wasted minutes she waited, but it sounded less cool now than it did in her head. [Y/N] sounded plain mopey and that was a shame. “What’d you guys do anyway? Where’s Patrick?”

Art shrugged and walked further into view. He looked a bit sheepish. “Being Patrick,” He didn’t answer the first question she asked. There was a half-smile tugging at his lips. Art looked nice. Brown dress shoes, navy jacket, white shirt. No tie. She could have sworn that had been a tie at some point earlier. His shaggy blonde hair was mussed, but she had yet to observe it being neat. It was fustrating how effortlessly nice he looked. [Y/N] thought that everyday from day one. “It’s getting kinda cold. You wanna head back inside? I was looking for you—“

“I’m alright here, but thanks,” she slurred slightly. “You head in. I’m not here to ruin your fun.” It had sounded bitter. She hadn’t meant for it to.

Art sighed and glanced away from her. He paused a moment and sighed. “I’m not here to ruin yours either, y’know.”

“You don’t have to make this into a thing. It’s fine.”

“Well, too late. Patrick’s being an ass. I don’t want you out here feeling like I’m some homewrecker. I’ve been on the receiving end of shit like this from him, too. He’s not trying to be nasty to you, ��promise. Come on, I’m not gonna let you freeze out here.” Art said, stepping in a bit. The glow from the pool left green and white wiggly lines across his cheeks.

“It’s spring, It’ll warm up. Get back up to that party, man. Patrick’s waiting for you.”

“You’re being impossible.”

[Y/N] set the half-empty bottle down beneath her chair. “Nuh-uh.”

“Jesus… if you’re gonna be a jerk about it, at least take this.” Art frowned, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He seemed disappointed.

“Oh, Art, please—“

“No, no! You made your choice. Don’t let me spoil your fun with you and the… the vodka,” Art said, making a show of taking the jacket off and throwing it over to [Y/N]. The balled up lump of fabric landed in her lap with a soft thud. Her stomach churned. “All hunky dory now,” He said, holding his hands out to show he was no threat. Art’s brows were lowered protectively close to his eyes in what [Y/N] thought was an effort to mask slight hurt or rejection. He turned to walk away as [Y/N] clutched the fabric of his jacket between her fingers. Art turned back to to look at her for a moment. [Y/N] didn’t know what that expression was meant to mean. “Be careful, okay? For what it’s worth, you—you look lovely tonight. It would be a shame for such a, uh, such a pretty girl in a pretty dress to end up face down, stuck in the pool drain. ‘Night [Y/N].”

[Y/N] was glad for the dark because she felt her face heat up and dopey smile start to form at the compliment. Maybe she was drunk, but that had to be flirting. In the most fucked up way possible, but still. Why? Art Donaldson didn’t even like her.

Art had only managed to take a few steps into the dewy grass when [Y/N] begrudgingly called out: “Art, wait!”

She hated that she liked the smirk on his face when he turned around. He could tell what she wanted by her tone. What kind of fucker takes no for answer happily and still sets himself up for a yes in the end. “Yes?” He asked, trying not to smile.

“Listen, you’re right—“ [Y/N] stood up confidently, sliding Art’s jacket around her shoulders. And she stood up too fast and knocked her sandals into the pool. “Shit!” She cursed. She was still an age where cursing felt cool and unfamiliar. [Y/N] stood on her unsteady feet and watched her sandals bob out to the middle of the pool, propelled by her kick. She was embarrassed now as well. The stakes of everything felt so much higher than sandals in the pool of her best friend’s backyard. Booze will do that to the sanest of folks. [Y/N] dropped her face heavily into her hands. Great.

Quickly, Art cut his eyes between her and the shoes and back again. “Where do they keep the pool net?” Art asked calmly, without missing a beat.

“The shed.” [Y/N] said miserably and pointed a few feet away. Art bounded across the pavement around the pool to the shed. He tugged once, then twice.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “It’s locked,” He reported to [Y/N] from practically halfway in the pruned hedges. Art started the walk back to her. Once he was beside her, Art placed a hand gently at her elbow. “Come back inside with me. Please. Patrick may be able to get us a key and we can…”

But [Y/N] looked so sad from behind her hands. Even though all of this was so childish. She was also wearing Art’s jacket now and that did things to his brain. Her dress wasn’t not low cut and he froze for a second. All he could do was stare.

“Just do what I would do,” Patrick said. “It’ll be fine, man. She’s already into you, I can tell.”

“Well, if she’s into me, why would I do what you would do? That’s an awful suggestion, Patrick.” Art protested.

Patrick spun around in his desk chair to face Art as he rolled a joint. “I’ve known her since before I knew you. Just, like, be spontaneous. That’s what I mean. Spontaneous. She’s into that because she’s like that too. And she’s… wicked mean, so don’t start shit. She’ll surprise you, but like, in a good way. What I said before makes me sound like a jackass,” Patrick paused to laugh. “Be in the moment. Don’t get in your head about it. Which you’re doing right now— I can tell, Arthur…” Patrick drew out Art’s full name (which he hated) to get under his skin.

Art stood up from the floor in frustration. He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. The window was metaphorically closing. Hastily, Art dashed to the door. “I’m going down there. Poor girl’s been waiting all this time because you, my friend, are a shitty advice-giver.”

“Spontaneous!” Patrick called after him with a grin.

Art stared at [Y/N]. Then he blinked. Then tilted his head to the side. Spontaneous. Before he knew it, he was tugging his shoes and socks off and diving into the pool. Art had been right, it was getting decisively cold and the pool water reflected that. Art swam out to where the wedges had floated too, which had actually been fairly far. He wasn’t sure if the net would have gotten them that easily. Art nicked the shoes by the ankle straps and shook his wet hair out of his face. As he paddled back, he glanced at [Y/N]’s expression. She smiled wide with joy and surprise at Art’s sacrifice.

“Art! Thank you so much!” She said when he flopped the waterlogged shoes onto the concrete. Art looked up at her from the water and he only looked up her skirt a little bit.

“It’s no trouble. Repayment’s in order, though.”

“Repayment…? What do you—“

Art wrapped his wet, callused hands around both of [Y/N] ankles and flipped her into the pool. She screamed as she splashed into the pool. Then laughed hard. Art wanted to hear that laugh for the rest of his life.

“Wait, fuck, you can swim, right?”

Fortunately, [Y/N] could, and that’s the move that won Art Donaldson his wife.

—

“Honey, you have to get up so you can get ready…” Art’s mouth moved against the shell of [Y/N]’s left ear. His arm was tossed over her middle. Normally, it was Art that dreaded getting out of bed, but clearly they enjoyed switching roles once in a while.

A nap had turned into two-and-a-half hours of [Y/N]’s soft snores while Art held her. He couldn’t sleep much, but luckily he had something beautiful to look at. She ripped into him about his staring problem all the time. Art couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. “No.” She mumbled.

“Please…” Art’s hand trailed under her shirt and climbed up, up, up.

“No,” she sighed. Art’s hands groped her left breast and [Y/N] didn’t particularly mind. She shivered at the contact. Art had known every inch of her body over years. Neither was bored yet, though.

“It’s one night. One party. We don’t have to stay all night… He’s not going to be there, Lenora told me when I RSVP’d.”

They had an unspoken rule. They did not name Patrick in conversation when sober. The wound was too fresh still.

“Don’t talk about him, or his fucking mom when you’re touching me like that,” [Y/N] all but moaned as Art’s left thumb circled her nipple. “‘Thought we had to get up…”

Art smirked. “We do. At least you’re awake now.” He teasingly withdrew his hand entirely from out of her shirt and scampered out of bed in one agile zip of a motion.

“Art!”

She groaned. Rolling on her back to look at the ceiling, she glanced over at Art walking through the master bathroom doorway in his briefs. What an incredible ass that man has. “Motivation to leave the party early.” Art said and popped off into the shower.

Maybe it was selfish. Patrick and [Y/N] and Art hadn’t spoken in almost a year. It was no surprise to the Donaldsons that Patrick was an addict. He had been addicted to almost everything and everyone that crossed his path. What they hadn’t expected was him becoming so out of control that he missed the wedding of his two best friends and was sent into rehab once he was declared medically stable. The one person that both Donaldsons had fought to have in their own personal half of the wedding party. And he wasn’t there. And the wedding was expensive enough to go through with it amid all the bad feelings over Patrick.

Still, they were invited to the Zweig family’s charity or whatever gala. They would go like they always had, too. But it would be their first time alone, so to speak.

[Y/N] regretfully got out of bed while Art showered. She moved to the closet and unzipped her paper thin dress bag. The gown itself was beautiful, but not all too expensive. The year had been tight in terms of money. The wedding and the honeymoon were pricey enough before you added in rackets and competition entry fees and coaching. Art was an expensive husband to have. He made up for it. He was playing at his best too, so [Y/N] hardly cared. Who could put a price on seeing Art smile like that?

[Y/N] cringed if she had to pay more than two-hundred dollars for shoes or a dress anyway.

The dress was green. She’d worn a lot of green since she met Art. [Y/N] dreaded wiggling into shapewear and spending too long on her hair. Art had it easy. A tie, a jacket and trading his nasty watch for his nicer one. It wasn’t fair. It never was with Art.

She got ready all the same. The straps rested on her shoulders, thicker than the early 2000s straps she had been dumped into the pool in. It was longer than that dress. Almost floor length instead of mid calf. It was elegant for its price tag.

Once the dress was on, [Y/N] tumbled into the bathroom to do her makeup. The shared counter was way too small for both of their shit to sit nicely on. She would complain about that when there was more money in the bank account to do something about it. Art was taking longer than normal in the shower. Boner, [Y/N] thought.

As she started to put her face on, she could see Art’s face in the foggy mirror behind her. The sound of the water stopping and the shower curtain being tossed back had gone unnoticed. He was smiling slightly. “You look nice.” He said softly. Art toweled off his shaggy hair harshly behind her. He kept looking at her.

This is how Art was. He made these remarkable heart eyes at her every time he saw her. [Y/N] could be wearing a potato sack and she would feel beautiful. That look, that staring problem, was worse a hundredfold when she was dressed up. He kept glancing at her. She could see him in the mirror. He wanted [Y/N] to see. The blue and brown of his eyes cast further and further down her body.

“Staring.” [Y/N] said simply. She didn’t even look away from her own face in the mirror.

“Yeah. And?” Art smiled cheekily. His face was bright red not from the warm shower water. He wrapped his towel around his slim waist. [Y/N] applied too much concealer and less blush. “I, of all people, am allowed.”

“Idiot.” [Y/N] said. Art dried his hands profusely on his towel, knowing she would squawk at him if he left wet handprints behind on her dress.

Art’s hands wrapped around her waist. Great pains were taken to prevent other wet spots from splopping up her dress. So, so gently, he kissed the left side of her neck from behind. “I was thinking—” Art was always gentle in his own way.

“Ooh, dangerous.”

“Shut up. Y’know, this is the first Zweig party where your placecard is going to say Donaldson on it…”

[Y/N] nodded softly. “Huh. Yeah. That’s true.” She said, smiling a bit.

“I’m really, really excited about that. On the seating chart, we’re the Donaldsons. Isn’t that so crazy…?” Art whispered into her plush skin. “Plural. Two of us.”

Teasingly, she nudged him back with her elbow. The smile was still wide on her lips. “You’re being such a girl about it.”

Art didn’t let go or relent. He pressed feather-light kisses between [Y/N]’s ear and collarbone. “Am I? Hadn’t noticed.”

“We’re going to be late to this thing you want to go to so bad, Mr. Donaldson, if you don’t stop.” [Y/N] whispered, incapable of doing more. She did set down her makeup sponge and pot of foundation with a clack.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Only a couple minutes, right? We could-we could cut out some of the boring small talk and…” Art said, daring boldly to drag his tongue up her throat as the steamed up mirror cleared some. He never finished his sentence verbally.

[Y/N] gasped at the feeling. That was a brave move for Art. “You drag me out of bed early so we can be late anyway. You don’t make any s-sense, babe.”

He huffed impishly. Art spun [Y/N] around to face him. His face and shoulders were damp from the water collected in his hair, which desperately needed a trim. Carefully, Art brushed [Y/N]’s hair away from her face. “You’re right… I’m sorry. Please let me make it up to you?”

“How?”

Then, Art’s mouth quirked into that crooked smile she loved so much.

“Please.” Art said in a hushed voice and boosted [Y/N] smoothly onto their rickety counter. “Give me ten minutes.”

“You can do better than ten.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Clock’s ticking.” When she said it, she heard Art’s knees hit the tile in front of her.

#art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson #challengers movie #challengers #patrick zweig #tashi duncan

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verstappen-cult · 3 months

Note

okay but why do I feel like this is just 100% max? 😭 like he’s so grrrr to everyone else but when y/n is around he’s an actual golden retriever puppy even if he tries to hide it

AAA I LOVE YOU FOR SENDING ME THIS! i was actually thinking about this last night, because it has max’s name written all over it and i can picture it like—

Max is known to be a very blunt person, someone who can get frustrated pretty easily, everyone knows that. I mean, he has a reputation. But once you came into his life, a new version of Max appeared.

He just can’t say no to you. You literally are his weakness, with your big, round eyes and pretty smile always making him feel butterflies in his belly, like a teenager with sweaty hands and an embarrassing crush. Max has even found himself stuttering more than one time.

When you’re not around, he’s like a lost puppy. But when you are, and you look at him, is like the sky opens up making everything be just right. It’s so fucking corny and he would never, in a million years, admit something like that out loud.

Just like right now.

Max is angry and frustrated, deep in an argument with GP — gesturing with his hands as if his life depends on it — when you approach him.

“Hey,” You say, unaware of what’s happening between them.

“Hey, baby.” Max turns around, a smile plastered on his pretty face.

GP sees Max’s face light up at seeing you.

He turns into a completely different person from one second to the other. It’s laughable, really.

“You know who I just saw?!” You’re almost hopping on one leg of how happy you are. He smiles, because he loves to see you happy. “Taylor Swift! Max, the Taylor Swift is here, she’s actually in Ferrari’s hospitality.”

“Did you talk to her?” Max asks you, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him because why are you so far away? He needs to be touching you at all times.

“Well, no. I wanted to but I don’t want to make a fool of myself, so, I need you to come with me.” You say, very serious.

“Baby, I won’t go to Ferrari's hospitality. They will probably think I’m trying to steal something.” Max laughs, looking at GP very briefly only to see him holding his laughter as much as he can.

“But, Max!” You pout, already putting your signature ‘look at this face, you can’t say no to this face’ face.

“Max, we need to finish with these papers.” His friend reminds him, but Max couldn’t care less at this moment.

“Yeah, well, just give me a couple of minutes. I’ll find you later.”

Max really, really needs to finish his talk with GP, it’s important because tomorrow’s the race and there are so many things wrong with the car, but he lets you drag him away. GP’s laugh can be heard around the paddock, people actually turn around to see what’s happening. Max just gives him the finger and follows you to Ferrari’s hospitality to meet Taylor Swift, shooting death glares at anyone who dares to look at him.

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you

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jiminrings · 3 months

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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exhaslo · 3 months

Note

hellooo.

I have been reading your stories for a long time, I am totally in love with your writing, and I was wondering if you could accept my requestI've had this story in my head for a while.

basically Miguel is secretly sleeping with the mechanics of the spider society, because they have a "deal" where Miguel can use it wherever he wants, but without any feelings involved of course.

but Miguel ends up falling in love with her, and one day when they fuck, he confesses to her in desperation, because he sees how other spiders are starting to flirt with her, so he decides to confess to have her for himself, which she accepts.

that's all, you can add more things if you like, thank you very much :""

no matter how long you have to wait, take your time

Hello!! Hello! Thank you so much for reading my stories and enjoying them!!! It means a lot to me~

Sorry it took so long for me to get to your request, I was on a small hiatus, (still am actually haha)

Warning: MINORS DNI, smut, p in v, jealousy, rough sex, dirty talk, possessiveness

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

The atmosphere felt stiff. Normally the basement of the Spider Society did have a thick and sweaty undertone, but this was different. Miguel was standing at the entrance of your shop, watching a few other Spider men flirt with you.

You were the local mechanic at the Spider Society. In your universe, you got bit by a radioactive spider, but instead of fighting crime like everyone else, you built equipment. You were known as The Spider, in your world, a genius mechanic who made tools and gizmos that stopped crime without you getting your hands dirty.

When Miguel recruited you, he immediately requested that you help him with his Spider Society. You agreed on one condition.

Just a simple fuck.

You were still a Spider, you had your own version of a funny bone. It was crude and a very lewd sense of humor, but it helped stick you out from the rest. You didn't expect Miguel to say yes. Hell, no one ever took you seriously when you made your jokes.

It was the best sex of your life, you couldn't just stop there. So, the two of you made an agreement. You would have free range in the Spider Society to do as you please and Miguel would fuck you when he needed to destress.

No emotions involved.

That seemed to be easy for the both of you. Seemed. So, the fact that you felt a wave of guilt wash over you as you made eye contact with Miguel hurt. You were just harmlessly joking with some of the other Spider people who were flirting with you. It was all harmless, but why...

Why did Miguel have to give you such a look?

You didn't have time to call out to him since he left. You could feel your heart ache. You weren't supposed to have feelings for Miguel, but how could you? The endless meet ups for sex turned into deep conversations between the two of you. You fell for Miguel and now you were worried that he believed your 'no emotions' agreement.

---------

Miguel scoffed as he stormed into his office. His hand rushed to fix his hair as he tried to make sense of the scene he just saw. How dare others try to get near you? You were Miguel's and his alone. Just watching you smile towards another man irked Miguel.

This 'no emotions' agreement had to come to an end. You belonged to Miguel and no one else. Inhaling deeply, Miguel waited to calm down before sending you a message. He needed alone time with you to fuck the sense back into your mind.

Once you responded back to him, Miguel couldn't help but smile. It pleased him when you listened. Now, you just had to listen to his demand for you to stay away from others.

----------

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you finished tightening up one of the reactors. The amount of strain that they got due to all of the Spiders working out in the Society was insane. You could handle the work, but Miguel was far too busy to make more.

"(Y/N)? Is now a bad time?" Miguel asked as he casually walked into the basement.

You walked down the wall you were on, "Ah, welcome to my humble lair. For what can I offer you this time, my lord." You teased, enjoying a little cult joke here and there. Miguel, once again, was unamused,

"You always make me seem like the bad guy," He hummed, glancing in your direction, "I suppose I am to you, huh?"

"If I recall correctly, I made the advance." You hummed, approaching Miguel and pressing your body against his, "Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Both,"

You felt your heart begin to race as Miguel gripped your waist, pressing you against the wall. His lips roughly sucking against your neck as you felt his harden erection grind against your clothed cunt. Oh, how you loved his rough sex.

Miguel was like a feral beast whenever he fucked you. The man was clearly touch starved and he released all of his stress with you. It was a blissful moment for you. Never had you been so rough handled before, but shit, it felt good.

You gasped sharply as Miguel's hands already worked their way into your suit. Unlike the other Spiders, you had the basic mechanic pants as your bottom half of your spandex suit. It just felt more comfortable for you when saving the day.

"Already so wet. We're you getting off on the idea of others flirting with you?" Miguel hissed into your ear as his fingers feverishly rubbed your clit.

"Hah~ Ah~ N-No!" You gasped and moaned, gripping onto Miguel as he abused your sensitive bud.

"Could have fooled me." Miguel whispered harshly as he nibbled against your ear, "Your pussy is so wet and I haven't even touched your slutty hole yet."

"M-Miguel, n-not so-Ah~" You cried, twitching as you felt your climax approaching fast.

His fingers were rubbing and pinching your clit, making your body shiver in estasy. You moaned in his ear as you felt yourself cum against his fingers alone. Your vision was blurred for a second as you tried to regain composure.

"We're not done yet." Miguel huffed.

With a yelp, you felt your self being lifted. Miguel made quick work of your pants and smirked at the sight of you. Your pussy dripping for him, just waiting to be ravished. You were clenching to air, waiting for Miguel to give you what you wanted.

"Who does this pussy belong too?" Miguel asked as he took out his dick.

"You," You whimpered, biting your lip as you eagerly awaited for him to fill you.

"Who?"

"You, Miguel! Please, just...just fuck me already." You begged.

Miguel scoffed as he slowly poked his tip against your hole. His grip was tight against your waist, watching you tremble against him. Your poor hole just begging for him to shove his dick fully inside you. Miguel could barely contain himself. With a grunt, he started to thrust into you,

"Fuck, (Y/N), why can't you listen to me?" Miguel cussed as he slapped his hips into yours, "You are mine alone. This agreement was just for the two of us."

"I-It is!" You cried, holding onto Miguel as you felt his dick hit all the right spots.

You flung your head back, gasping and moaning as Miguel's tip kept kissing your cervix. His thick dick stretching your pussy into his shape. Each rough thrust making you see stars. You could already feel another heat building in your core.

"You aren't allowed to flirt with anyone else. You are mine. I don't want to see my girl with another man. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-Yes! Ah~ Y-Yes!" You cried as his thumb pressed against your clit, "I-I'm only yours~"

Miguel hummed as he watched your face contort with pleasure as you cam against his dick. His lips curled into a smile as he continued his rough thrusts into your needy hole. Miguel inhaled the sounds of your moans,

"I love you, (Y/N). You're all I ever need and want. So, I'm changing the agreement."

Grunting, Miguel pressed his head against your neck, rutting deeper into you. His thrusts starting to grow sloppy as he reached for his own high.

"You can still do whatever...nh...you want, with extra bonuses," Miguel panted as you clenched around his dick, "And in exchange, you will belong to me and no one else. I will fill you with every drop I have, just to make you mine."

"H-Hah, M-Miguel~"

"Unless your slutty pussy wants to be put on display for everyone to watch me fuck. It's your choice (Y/N)." Miguel scoffed.

You were too fucked out to even register what Miguel was saying. All you were understanding was that he was going to fuck you more if you agreed. Your cock drunk mind already knew the answer.

"Y-Yours. I-I'm all yours~" You cried out.

"Good girl," Miguel whispered and he filled your with his cum, "I knew you would agree. This pussy wouldn't let me go." He said with a chuckle.

You were a panting mess, relaxing from the sex session Miguel gave you. Feeling your back against one of your tables, you whimpered as you tried to squirm. Miguel kept you in place, his dick still firmly inside your abused hole.

"Miguel," You whimpered, finally coming back to your senses, "You know...my sense of humor is fucked...I've only ever had eyes for you," You admitted.

Miguel just smiled. He hummed lowly as his hips started to thrust inside you again slowly.

"A-Ah~ W-Wait, t-too much..." You pleaded, feeling him push back his cum into your womb. Miguel held your legs over his shoulders,

"Have you already forgotten what you agreed too? You belong to me now and this pussy doesn't want to let go of me just yet. Don't you want me to fill you to the brim?"

You felt a shiver run down your spine towards his words. Miguel was always a bit cruel when it came to sex, but goddamn. Such a threat turned you on so much. With a whimper, you just nodded and accepted the abuse your cunt was about to recieve.

"Good girl. I'll treat you nicely for behaving for me."

This was nice? Miguel was pounding you like a flesh of meat. His dick twitching inside you and filling you up with each thrust. You felt your mind go hazy from cumming again. This felt more like Miguel making sure that you knew that you were his.

You weren't sure how long Miguel fucked you for since you blacked out. When you came too, you were sitting on Miguel's lap as he worked on a new reactor. Your mind was still a little fuzzy and your lower half was sore.

"Damn....Miguel...could have been a little gentle?" You whispered, winching as you tried to move.

"You didn't ask," Was all Miguel said before returning to work.

"Fair enough," You replied before sighing softly, "I love you too, Miguel."

Miguel stopped working once more before facing you. His eyes were soft as he leaned down to kiss you. This was one of the agreements during your 'no emotions' contract. No kissing. So this was really, really nice.

"Mhm, you couldn't have gotten jealous sooner?" You chuckled lowly, wrapping your arms around his neck, "I like this evil side of yours~"

"It's not evil. Stop joking like that," Miguel grumbled before leaning towards your ear, "Or else I'll have to punish you."

A punishment well worth.

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I hope you enjoyed!!!!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #miguel x you #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader

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femdomlieeh · 4 months

Text

Crown (m)

Sub!Heeseung (ENHYPEN) x Dom!F!Reader

WC—5.8 ✧ k

WARNING—bathtub sex ✧ role-play (lovers/ gf & bf) ✧ blindfolding (m) ✧ stripping (m) ✧ unprotected sex (be safe yall!) ✧ piv ✧ light S&M ✧ dacryphilia (m) ✧ body worship (m) ✧ nipple play (m!r) ✧ light spanking (m!r) ✧ breath play (m!r) ✧ lingerie (f) ✧ teasing (m!r) ✧ thigh kink ✧ tattoo kink (?) ✧ brief begging ✧ biting (m!r) ✧ praise (f!g) ✧ marking (f!g) ✧ pet names (mami, prince, baby)

THEMES—smut ✧ best friend au ✧ fwb for one night agreement ✧ a little angsty

NOW PLAYING—imagine ✧ Ariana Grande

A/N. This is actually my favourite smut I’ve posted so far so I hope you enjoy!

Old Seungwoo version

M.LISTS—enhypen ✧ latest updates ✧ read on wp

✦ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

Valentine’s Day.

The happiest day of the year for couples.

Couples could finally do PDA and have people cooing at them in either cuteness or jealousy, but never disgust because PDA was allowed on Valentine's Day.

People could finally have an excuse to do something special for someone, like making a grand romantic gesture or even proposing.

It was supposed to be that way, right?

I was going to have a corny day together with my boyfriend of three years, Yeonjun. Every single detail all the way from the restaurant to the hotel room had been thought out by me, because – not only am I romantic – I always like to be prepared.

Not to sound cocky or to flatter myself, but the plan was so good even I was impressed with it.

Except not everything went to plan.

My lover decided to break up with me one month before the awaited day. One month before Valentine's Day! Only two weeks into the new year! He had "grown out of love" as he'd said. Guess one of his New Year's resolutions was to break up with me.

My parents had met him and accepted him — which said a lot, since they've always had high standards and never liked any of my previous lovers — so it was safe to say that I felt lost.

For two weeks I'd avoided contact with my family, so I wouldn't have to tell them the news yet because I was embarrassed, I was single right in time for the day of love. The only person who knew, other than me and Yeonjun, was my best friend Heeseung.

Since the moment I told him, he made it his daily routine to come to my place with open arms and a warm embrace. I never cried in front of anyone but him. It isn't weak to shed tears, in fact shedding tears takes a lot of strength, I simply don't feel comfortable showing myself vulnerable to others, and especially not after being hurt by someone I trusted.

With Heeseung, it was different, however. We've known each other for so many years and we know most of each other's secrets already. I know that when I cry in front of him it's without being judged and he knows the same goes for him.

One day when he, like normally, went to my place, his smile was abnormal. It was fake. I knew it was fake. After all these years of knowing him, I could distinguish his fake smiles from his true ones faster than Eminem can rap.

Being the caring best friend I am, I asked him what had happened. At that, he broke down and let go of the fooling smile; he can never lie to me for more than a few seconds. His girlfriend, Karina, had broken up with him. Honestly speaking, it was understandable why she wanted to break up with him: 1. He spent too much time with me, 2. He never told her about his thoughts or what bothered him, 3. He didn't treat her like the queen everyone knows she is

Heeseung was mature and didn't beg her for a second chance because he knew she deserved someone better; someone who not only knew she deserved to be treated like a queen but treated her like it. But no matter how mature he was, it didn't make the pain smaller on his part. He was disappointed in himself for ever being in a relationship where he didn't treat his lover right.

And so it was my turn to comfort him. For a couple of days, I had opened arms and a warm embrace for him to find comfort in until he had calmed down.

Impulsively, we went to a tattoo shop and got him a tattoo. It wasn't the I'm-heartbroken-and-need-a-tattoo-to-look-good tattoo, it was the I-need-some-inspiration-in-this-dark-place tattoo. After brainstorming for a long ten minutes, he got the best idea. Don't lock me up, in italics right under his collarbone, above his heart to remind himself to not lock up his feelings.

He had been in great pain for the quarter of time it took to do the tattoo, but he didn't seem to mind... Judging by the way he was biting his lower lip, he was holding in a pained whine, seemingly trying to impress me by handling the pain. When the torture finally had come to an end, the final product made him smile truly – although that part of his body had to be covered with plastic and some tape whenever he so much as wanted to shower.

A week away from Valentine's Day, Heeseung and I made a pact; the kind of pact we never would have planned to have with each other. During the holiday we'd do all the cheesy things we had planned to do to our now-ex-lovers – but the most crucial parts was that A) the other person wouldn't judge and B) next day all of it would be forgotten. Wow. We had grown so dependent on each other's care that we made the kind of pact we never would have planned to have with each other...

It was probably stupid to do such a thing with a best friend of so many years, but it was also the 'healthiest' thing to do for us two. Although I, at this point, had convinced Heeseung that I was over Yeonjun, I still hadn't convinced myself. And the same went for Heeseung; he had convinced me that he was over Karina, but not himself.

My plan for Valentine's Day was sublime and if I didn't go through with it, I would regret it — and, damn, I couldn't wait a whole year for the next opportunity (if I even would get the opportunity)!

And that explains this. Us standing. A week later. On a romantic rooftop. Dressed nicely. Smiling awkwardly at each other. On Valentine's Day.

"Since you're my boyfriend tonight, let's go down to the room I rented, shall we?"

"This feels weird," he giggled lightly.

"Play along!" I held out my hand for him to hold and flashed him a smile. He reciprocated my smile and took my hand, following my lead down the stairs to our hotel room; the room I had booked for me and Yeonjun.

Our hands were sweating. It wasn't the first time Heeseung and I held hands, but it was the first time we ever did something like this together; something normal best friends don't do. The affection we've displayed to each other throughout the years had been mostly words and hugs and sometimes cuddles. But now...we were going to show affection in ways we've only done to lovers.

I held out the black card key in front of the sensor above the golden knob but retracted it before the door unlocked.

"If you want to turn back, now is the time to do so. I don't want to go through with this if you don't want to," I said and looked at him.

His eyes told me that it was OK, but I needed his consent to be sure he was OK.

"I want to do this, don't worry," he smiled a little as his heart pounded.

Without breaking eye contact, I put the card in front of the sensor again and waited a few microseconds for it to unlock. I turned the knob and opened the door to the pact.

"After you," I gestured him to enter the room.

"Why thank you," he blushed and hurried inside so I wouldn't catch a glimpse of his flustered state.

But I did.

And I smiled when I saw it.

The room was big and open. Simple, but just perfect. Knowing me and my cheesy nature, Heeseung had expected perhaps some rose petals on the bed or a few scented candles by the bed but, to his surprise, he saw none of that.

I pushed him down onto the soft bed with silk sheets, distracting him for the real surprise, and sat beside him.

"Before we do anything, we need safe words."

"Safe words?" he inquired and raised a brow unknowingly.

"A word to say in case anyone goes overboard or passes the limits," I explained shortly.

"Alright, mine is apple."

"Why apple though?" I giggled at his randomness.

"I ate an apple today." (It was true, he'd had a green apple because he once read that green apples make your breath smell better.)

"If you're going for a fruit I am too. My safe word is peach."

"Why peach?" he raised his brow at me stealing his fruit idea.

"Your peach looks really good in those pants, so it was the first thing I thought of," I replied and laughed at his flustered self.

He knew he had a plump peach.

It was just embarrassing hearing it from me since I, as his best friend, am supposed to not acknowledge how incredibly handsome he is – and especially when it comes to body parts such as peaches!

I put my hand on his thigh to get his attention away from the embarrassment.

"Tonight, I'm not your best friend anymore, Prince," I said with a newfound tone that sent shivers down Heeseung's spine.

I neared him and whispered in his ear, "Tonight, I'm your Mami."

He gulped. I had always been a very dominant person in everything I did, so he expected nothing less than that in bed — but the foreign titles took him by surprise. But it made sense for me to use titles in bed, because I was classy like that.

"What's your safe word?" I asked to make sure he knows he can use it whenever he wants to. After all I didn't know what was out of his comfort-zone.

"Apple."

"If you feel uncomfortable you know you need to say that word, understood?"

"Yes, Mami," he answered, a blush creeping up his neck to his cheeks.

With his green light I continued, "Good boy."

At the praise, his cheeks matched the floating rose petals. I loved how responsive he was already. Before tonight I wasn't sure what kind of partner he would be but finding out what he likes step by step excites me – more than I thought finding out my best friend's kinks would excite me. I want to know everything. What turns him on, what makes him scream, what makes him cry; everything.

"My best friend's into praise, hm. Who would have thought?" I teased and squeezed his thigh lightly.

"I'm not your best friend anymore, Mami. I'm Prince, right?"

I looked into his eyes and saw something I'd never seen in them before. Was it lust? Was it something else? How could I be sure of what it was if I hadn't seen him like this before?

"Indeed, you are, Prince," I smiled, slowly feeling my hand up his thick, muscular thigh.

He followed my hand's path with his gaze and bit his lip like back in the tattoo shop. Was he holding in a moan, perhaps? When my hand was at the top, soon on his V-line, I heard how his breathing grew louder and more unsteady.

He seemed to enjoy his thighs being touched.

I noticed how his pants were forming a tent in the prince area, and smirked. To tease him, I let go of his thigh and walked up to the door to the bathroom. He tensed. Maybe he wanted me to touch him some more?

"After you, Prince," I said and opened the door for him.

Once again that stereotype-breaking gesture had him blushing ferociously.

He went into the new room, not expecting much other than grabbing a condom. But when the sight he was met by was nowhere near what he expected, yet it didn't shock him one bit. A large bathtub filled with atypical pink water and typical red rose petals floating on the surface.

He chuckled, "As expected, my best friend is a cheesy person."

"I'm not your best friend anymore, Prince. I'm your Mami, right?" I asked with a confident smirk.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered and turned away from me so he could avoid my powerful gaze.

"Yes what?" I pushed a little to see how comfortable he was with the title.

"Yes, I'm Mami's Prince," he said under his breath.

I went up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso, feeling the expensive fabric under my fingertips. "Want to take this off for me?"

"Y-Yes, Mami."

I smiled, "Then give me a little show." He gulped as I sat down on the edge of the tub to get a full view of him. With adrenaline coursing through his body, he let the blazer fall off his shoulders and land on the floor, followed by the ivory dress shirt. As soon as his skin was touched by the air, goosebumps formed, and he flexed his abs. He sure had worked hard to get flex his muscles like this.

Biting my lip, I pointed at his ivy pants, "Take those off too." The way I bit my lip made him feel confident. I didn't bite my lip to prevent honest sounds from falling out like Heeseung did, I bit my lip to prevent myself from ripping the rest of his clothes off. He undid the belt and let the pants pool down around his ankles. Now, in front of me, was he standing in nothing but a pair of black boxers that were fitting all too tight due to those thick thighs and the clearly big erection. He was gulping under my gaze, waiting for me to instruct him on what to do.

"Show me your prince part, Prince." Blushing at the euphemism, he put his fingers under the waistband and pulled his boxers down. He was fit and attractive. Each muscle on his body was visibly hard, including his dick that was high and proud in the air. "You're so handsome, Prince," I praised and watched a small smile break out on his face.

He walked to me with his head down and stood with his tall figure in front of my sitting posture. "Do you want me to touch you, Prince?"

"Yes, please." At that, I put a finger in the middle of his chest and traced it down his abs and to the tip of his dick. He bit his lip again to stop any embarrassing noises from escaping; he wanted to impress me by being good. But I didn't want to give him too much pleasure yet.

"Let's get wet now, shall we? I didn't fill this tub for aesthetics..." He laughed lightly, feeling more at ease at the small joke I made. Listening, he slowly set foot into the tub and tried not to spill so much as a drop of the water. It took him a good half minute to fully settle down since he's so tall and big due to his muscles — but that was good, because it gave me plenty of time to prepare additional surprises for him.

When he averted his attention from the pink water and back to me, he was met by an astonishing, breathtaking, life-changing sight. Me. In lingerie. With a red silk blindfold in hand. This specific lace lingerie was Yeonjun's favorite, so I naturally chose to wear it now – in red to match the theme of the holiday. I felt the most comfortable in it. In this color. In this fabric. Everything made me feel sexy. But the memories of what me and him had done while I was in it brought back a gloominess.

Heeseung didn't know how to react. Did I pick the color red because it was the traditional color of Valentine's Day or because I knew it was his favorite color? For some odd and unknown reason, he hoped for the latter one.

"You look so handsome like this, Prince, but I think you'd look even better in this," I winked and held up the red blindfold. He shuddered. The little piece of fabric was something different. Never had he ever used one in the bedroom — only in fun games with friends, where you had to trust your teammates. Now, however, he was going to put his trust in me.

"What's your safe word?"

"Apple," he answered, "I trust you. You don't need to ask me about it all the time, I'll tell if you need to stop."

"But we've never done this before so I'm scared of it going wrong," I admitted.

"I trust you. Trust me too, Mami."

"As you wish, Prince," I replied.

Once again, I sat down on the edge of the bathtub. I lowered the love blindfold to his face, holding it right above. He was looking at me with those big, curious eyes, filled with anticipation for what was going to happen. How long I was staying still was quickening his heartbeat; he knew I wanted him to be verbal.

"Please," he said, feeling slightly impatient; his heart would jump out his chest any second now. Smiling, I finally put the blindfold on him and tightened it behind his head, making sure it wasn't too tight since I didn't want to ruin his beautiful hair or innocence too much. Oh wait, scratch the last one. I petted his hair, which was equally smooth as the silk around his head. "Does it hurt, Prince?" I asked, referring to the blindfold.

"No, Mami." The silk was smooth against his skin and, although all he could see was darkness, it was magical; all the other senses were heightened. He could hear me breathing and even imagine what I was thinking whilst I was touching him this gently. Maybe I was thinking of how much I loved him as a best friend. Maybe I was thinking of how I'd ruin him. Maybe I was thinking of what to do next.

Slowly I proceeded to his neck. He could feel my presence, through my breaths on his skin, and thus elongated his neck for me — he couldn't see me, but he could sense what I wanted. I began placing small kisses up his neck to his well-defined jaw, while he tried to keep his breathing in control. The kisses were small, yet they made such a big impact on him since his sense of touch was thousands of times greater than normal.

"M-Mami?"

"Yes, Prince," I said between kisses.

"Can I...touch you?"

"Not yet," I smirked and moved further down to his collarbone. I left open-mouthed kisses all over it and stopped to admire his tattoo. Technically I had been the one who had encouraged him to get it. It was so small, but it held so much meaning behind it. My fingers were tracing along the tattoo, soothing Heeseung. He felt calm. He felt at peace. He felt connected to me. When my fingers traced lower and experimentally touched his nipple, he let out a whimper. Bingo.

"Sensitive much?"

He didn't answer, embarrassed.

"I asked you something, Prince," I said with a less kind voice.

"Yes, Mami. I-I'm sensitive, but you already knew that."

It was true. Since the start of our friendship he had showed his vulnerability and sensitivity. He never liked it when I jokingly roasted him, only being into compliments and praises. Praising. I bet he'd be into that.

He whimpered out a 'Mami' when I attached my lips to his nipple. Trying to not shock his body too much, I only gave a quick kitten lick, yet it seemed to affect him a lot when he couldn't hold back a sole whimper. I couldn't tell if it were because of the sensitivity provided by the blindfold or because he had sensitive nipples. Either way, I wanted to test how much I could make him feel.

To give him a little sensation without touching him, I breathed on the wet nipple so he shivered a little at the coldness. He put both of his hands on each edge of the tub to stabilize himself, feeling like he could lose the bare control he had now that I found a weak spot of his. I flattened my tongue and licked against him, making him quiver.

"M-M-Mami," he stuttered breathily. He wasn't trying to call me, nor was he trying to tell me anything — my actions simply lit a part of him that seemed to love my title. He knew exactly how to turn me on and this was the first time we had ever been intimate. It was actually cute how my best friend was so accustomed to both mine and his title. Yeonjun's title, I meant.

I reached my hand under the surface of the water and felt up his thigh. He moaned. Yes. Moaned. At a simple touch. Ashamed of the moan, he let go of one of the edges and brought his hand over his mouth, making him lose a part of his balance. "Don't keep your sounds to yourself, Prince. Give them to me," I ordered.

Smirking against his skin, I started sucking which caused a gasp to erupt at the sudden stimulation. "M-Mami, Mami—" he whimpered loudly. He had tried to keep his noises to himself until now, but although it hurt his pride a little, he liked pleasing me.

How could whimpers sound so beautiful? They were so angelic and graceful, contrary to the scene of sinning. I retracted from him to admire the view. One nipple was red and swollen and the other one was left untouched. Each muscular arm was resting on each edge, trying not to move a millimeter. The blindfold was covering part of his face yet matched with his feverish blush. His mouth was agape, letting the whimpers I loved oh so much out every now and then. I was happy I hadn't gone for the cliché bubble bath, because now that the water was clear I could see his naked body — every part from his beauteously tattooed upper body to his thick stone-hard thighs and dick.

But there was one part of his body that I couldn't see. One part that was magnificent and that I needed to see. "Turn around," I whispered in his ear.

"W-What?"

"Turn around and show me your butt, Prince," I clarified and waited for him to move.

Unsurely, he supported himself on the edges and sat up. Although he couldn't see he could feel, so he had no difficulty turning around and putting his hands on the edge he had been resting his back on until now. He arched his back, adding to the sex appeal that the tub already delivered. Damn, how could an ass be that good-looking? How could—

"C-Can you spank me?" he interrupted me from my thoughts.

Did I even know my best friend? Or did he know me so well that he knew that was exactly what I wanted to do in that moment?

"What do you say, Prince?"

Good boy knew the answer, "Please."

"You'll need to beg a little more than that," I said teasingly, making him swallow yet another piece of his pride.

"Can you, please, please, spank me, Mami? I've been so good until now; don't I deserve it?"

He made a fair point. And he also confirmed my theory of him having a praise kink.

"Yes, you do, Prince. You've been so obedient until now, of course you deserve a little pain."

His cheeks tinted pink. Yes, he did indeed have a praise kink.

Suddenly I spanked him, creating a loud echo of skin-to-skin sound. He jolted forward with a whine, not expecting the hit since he couldn't see me or my hand in the air. His cheeks jiggled and I swore that my ex had never made me this wet before as I felt my wetness drip down my thighs.

"H-Harder, please, Mami."

"Since you're such a good prince for me, of course!" Those words. He loved hearing them. He knew I probably had those thoughts already, since he's aware he's a good boy, but hearing me say them made his heart race. Once again, I hit his skin and made him jolt forward from the harsh touch. Except this time, he moaned out my title louder. He held his head down, adding to the submission.

"M-Mami—"

"You want more, Prince?"

"Yes, plea—"

Spank! Before he even could finish his answer, my hand was back on his cheek again — I had already predicted his answer. Now one of his cheeks had my red handprint on it, matching his blindfold and blush, whilst the other cheek had no mark. And I was going to keep it that way. Asymmetry is beautiful.

His blindfold, nipple and cheek weren't the only things red. The part of his body that needed me the most hadn't gotten any attention yet. His dick's color stood out from most of his body and the way he reacted to small touches could only hint at him needing me to touch it.

"Turn around," I ordered him again.

"W-What— But you haven't—"

"Do you want me to touch your prince part?" I disrupted him.

"Y-Yes."

"Then turn around and show it to me, Prince."

He let go of the tub and turned around in the water, making sure to be comfortable when resting his back against it because he knew he'd stay in that position for a while. He heard how I got into the tub too. The water was rippling, and my feet were touching the tub; he could both feel and hear that I got in. Slowly, as to not drive any water out, I sank down onto his lap and put my hands on the tub on either side of his head. The feeling of my smooth skin on his indicated I had taken off the lingerie. That only meant one thing. I drew closer to him and whispered in his ear a million-dollar question: "Do you want your dick inside me?"

Gulping, he nodded promptly.

"Use your words, Prince," I sang.

He took another gulp before speaking, "Y-Yes, please, Mami."

"Good boy," I praised and watched as his true smile made an appearance like it'd done many times tonight.

Only to form an 'o' and let a long moan out as I sat down and got filled up by his dick deliciously. "Ah~ M-Mami~" The sensitivity of waiting and being blindfolded added with my tightness was what brought out his embarrassingly loud moan.

I needed to get used to the size since he was bigger than my last lover. In the meantime, I decided to get back to his stunning neck and kiss it. He had two prominent birthmarks under his Adam's apple; the left one was higher up and the right one was closer to his collarbone. Since I can remember I had liked them. They were a distinctive feature of his, just like his tattoos. I kissed both birthmarks and started moving up and down slowly on his dick. This wasn't going to be a hard fuck session; this was going to be a slow and soft lovemaking session because he was my prince. For tonight at least.

He sporadically let out moans that ranged from high to low pitched, long to short lasting — all of them were music to my ears — a love song I'd think of every now and then when I didn't have my prince by my side. The sound of the water moving each time I did was the background music. I started marking his neck with beautiful love bites, not hickeys, because these marks were out of love. Love and pride, as I wanted everyone to see that he was mine.

As I sucked harder on his neck, his moans turned into constant whimpers. He didn't know what this feeling was. Never had he ever made love with someone before. Sure, he'd been caring in bed but never had he felt this cared for before. On the other hand, it wasn't my first time. I had done this to Yeonjun every time I wanted him to know how much he meant to me (all the time). But, although this was an illusion me and Heeseung had created, it felt real.

"Ma-Mami, can you go rougher on me? Please?" At that I sunk my teeth into his collarbone, not the one with the tattoo, but the bare one. I didn't want to cover the meaning behind the tattoo, instead I wanted to cover the other part of skin, so I'd be the one who in a way adorned both sides. The friend in me was in his tattoo and the lover in me was in his mark. He bit his lower lip to try to conceal the pathetic whimper, failing while doing so. Sure, he loved being taken care of, but he also loved pain.

My thrusts were slow, yet long lasting, like the memory of this night would be soon. This felt surreal. Our connection. Our love. Our everything. The love bites on his neck and the literal bite mark on his collarbone would be enough proof the next morning when Heeseung would wake up that this night in fact had happened.

He let go of his lower lip and let the whimpers out freely, not caring that it hurt his pride because when you're in love your pride doesn't matter as much as it did before. He was reaching his breaking point and so was I but we both purposely held our orgasms back. We didn't want this to end. We wanted this love to last as long as it possibly could. We knew that the next day we would go back to being best friends; there'd be no more Prince and Mami. We knew that we would be gone like the pink water in this tub would be in the morning. The marks would remain on his neck and shoulder the next morning...but the illusion of love wouldn't.

"A-Are you cumming?" I asked, drunk on love.

"Y-Yes, b-but I can wait." We had already been at it for longer than an hour — even the water was cold — but that wasn't enough. We were both exhausted, both mentally because it was late and physically because of the lovemaking.

"I know you want to cum, Prince," I said, not wanting him to wear himself out.

"C-Can you choke me first, Mami? Please, I've a-always wanted y-you to do that to me," he mumbled.

I didn't answer him, instead I let go of the edge and circled my fingers around his neck. For most people, choking was some kinky shit. But for us, it was romance. I was quite literally holding his life in my hand and he trusted me with it. He trusted me with his whole life, and I didn't let him down. That's a part of love; letting yourself into a vulnerable position, knowing the other person can hurt you, but staying because you have faith in that they would love you instead.

In this moment, he had everything he didn't know he wanted. He felt like he'd arrived in utopia by accident. There was nothing he wanted to change. Nothing. And neither did I. His marks were asymmetrical, but that was in my eyes perfect. I tightened my grip on his neck a little, making him choke out a small whiney moan. At the same time, I felt my core aching and his dick pulsating. We needed to cum. Physically we needed to. But emotionally we didn't want to.

"Let's cum together," I said and let go of his neck

"Please, just a little more," he begged.

"We can't hold back, and you know it," I stated.

"Please, Mami," he cracked his voice. I looked at his face. His face was red, and the blindfold had wet patches. The patches weren't there because of the water splashing on him (I had made sure to not splash any on his face), they were there because they'd gotten out of his eyes. He was crying, not wanting us to come to an end. But we needed to. He wasn't my boyfriend; he was only playing the role of my boyfriend. I treated him as if he were Yeonjun, not Heeseung.

For the first time ever, I kissed him. Not on his body, but on his lips. He returned the kiss with just as much thirst as me. Surrounded by water, yet we thirsted for each other. We needed to savor this before it ran out. I tangled my hands into his soft hair, not caring if I ruined his hair anymore. I didn't care. All I cared about was this moment. For the first time this night, he let go of the tub fully and put his hands on my skin, letting them relish and remember every curve and edge before he'd never get to touch me like this ever again.

I paused the kiss and said for the last time, "Let's cum together."

"Can you take th-the blindfold off first?"

Truth was that he wanted to see me so he could have a visual memory of that one time he made love with his best friend. During all of this, he'd had a blindfold and although he felt that everything was real, he wanted to know for sure he wasn't dreaming. I untied it and threw it away to who-cares-where. He opened his eyes and took in the view of me. I was naked. I was raw. I was vulnerable. I had no layers shrouding any part of me. "I love you," he said, looking into my eyes.

Holding his face in my hands, I said, "I love you too."

And there we reached our climax.

The end.

{One year later}

Valentine's Day.

The happiest day of the year for couples.

I walked into our bedroom and was met by a wonderful view. My real boyfriend was standing in front of our bed. "I missed you so much, Baby," I smiled and kissed his cheek as per usual.

He was clad in only a pair of boxers and nothing else. "I have a little surprise for you."

"Oh really?" I asked, amused, and sat down on the bed as he stood in front of me.

He coughed to clear his throat and looked serious, "I've been keeping a little secret from you for a little while now..."

What did he mean? Had he been reconsidering our relationship? Was I going to relive the same heartbreak as last year?

I must've looked worried, because suddenly he broke out of the serious trance he tried to be in and smiled at me. Slowly he pulled down his underwear to reveal the little surprise.

Right on his V-line.

A tattoo.

Of a little crown.

Because he is my prince.

✦ ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ੈ ✧ ‧₊˚ * ੈ ✧‧₊˚＊* ✧ ੈ ✧

“Me with no makeup, you in the bathtub

Bubbles and bubbly, ooh

This is a pleasure, feel like we never

Act this regular

(…)

Kiss me and take off your clothes

Imagine a world like that”

—ari

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livwritesstuff · 4 months

Text

wanted to give steve's take on how his and eddie’s kids take after them. very different vibe tho hope that’s okay with everyone

eddie’s version

If Steve was asked which parts of fatherhood he enjoyed the most, he would say that it was when he got to catch glimpses of himself and Eddie in the people his children are becoming.

Especially when it’s Eddie – like how Hazel has a penchant for collecting things and Robbie has all sorts of opinions about music and Moe is a trivia wizard and somehow knows at least a little bit about practically everything.

Robbie in particular is...well, she’s Eddie. She’d been Eddie since the moment she started becoming a real person and, for a while, Steve loved it. How could he not? He loves Eddie and all his wild ways and his loud intricacies and the way he’s himself without a care in the world for whatever anybody else might think, so when Robbie started turning out just like him, Steve couldn’t be more thrilled.

But then Robbie started high school and it started to become a problem.

Steve sometimes wonders if parents of boys have it easier – not that being a parent is easy by any stretch of the imagination, but without any sons, he can never know the difference (if there's even a difference to be known).

Steve knows that his and Eddie’s daughters are perfectly capable people. They’re tough and they’re smart – Moe is independent to a borderline-scary extent, and Robbie hasn’t taken shit from anyone since the moment she was born, and Hazel…well, Hazel is the baby, and the one Steve is gonna have the hardest time letting go of, but she can take care of herself just as well as her sisters.

He knows this.

Still, there’s a part of Steve that just wants to keep them all in a little glass box and never let the world touch them.

He’d never had that feeling about anything before.

Steve surprised himself by becoming particularly protective over Robbie – his Amelia Robin, his tough as nails middle kid – because she plays her music just this side of too loud and she gets in trouble for arguing with her teachers and once she was caught giving out stick-and-poke tattoos in the locker room and she rants and raves about all the problems with today’s society to any available audience.

Because Steve had seen Eddie do all those things, and he’d seen how it put a target on his back, and then he’d seen him nearly dead because of it.

He hadn't handled that well and he hadn't even been in love with him yet.

Steve knows that he’s tough on Robbie in a way he isn’t with her sisters, and he knows that goes directly against the promise he’d made to himself to treat the three of them as close to the exact same as he possibly could, but his traitorous brain (which might have never been on his side to begin with) can also twist the image of Eddie bleeding out in the Upside Down into one daughter more than it can the other two.

And Steve knows it's not really even possible to be a perfect parent anyways, so if this is where he's losing some points –

Whatever.

Sue him.

#steve hears about all the ‘romanticizing girlhood’ trends and is like *how are you able to do that?!?*#it doesn't help that robbie is named after robin and steve almost saw her dead too #lol poor steve #idk this feels unfinished - i may revisit down the line #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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chiscribbs · 1 year

Text

[***NOTE: Leo's design here is no longer accurate, link to the updated version.]

I know there are already a lot of "the brothers are separated at a young age and raised by different people" AUs floating around, so this isn't especially original, but- I've yet to see one with this particular parent-child arrangement, so...

Here’s some rough concept art for what I’m calling the “Grown Apart AU” Which I've also been affectionately referring to as the "Everyone's a Disney Protagonist" AU for quite some time... you'll see why.

Here’s the gist: Basically, Splinter is only able to save Mikey and Leo from the lab explosion - Raph is immediately picked up by Huginn and Muninn and handed back over to Draxum; Donnie is lost mid-escape and later found by Big Mama's goons, who show up for Lou but bring Don back with them instead when Lou is nowhere to be found.

Details of each turtles’ upbringings (as well as how/when they meet April) below the cut:

RAPH

Draxum raised Raph to be everything he originally intended the turtles to be: a ruthless, obedient super soldier whose sole purpose in life is to protect the Yokai by eliminating the human threat. Draxum taught him to hate humankind and trained him up to be virtually undefeatable in battle. However...because Draxum isn't the most attentive parent, most of the caretaking for Raph was actually provided by Huginn and Muninn. And the two little well-meaning gargoyles - mostly unintentionally and outside of their master's knowledge - wound up nurturing a much softer and friendlier side to their supposedly bloodthirsty warrior-in-the-making. As a result, Raph has essentially been living a double-life under Draxum’s ownership; playing the part of a perfect soldier for his father/general, who he's determined not to disappoint, and only feeling free to be himself when he's alone (or with H&M.)

Raph has always known that there were supposed to be other mutants like himself but grew up believing that he's the only one who survived the experiment, making him the only one left in existence (until Draxum’s oozesquitos create more, that is). Even though he had H&M to keep him company, being an only child could still be pretty lonely sometimes, so Raph would often imagine what having brothers - other mutants like himself that he could have grown up alongside - would have been like.

Raph is the only one of the turtles that knows his human DNA comes from Lou Jitsu - just like Draxum, though, he has no idea that Splinter is actually Lou Jitsu.

DONNIE

Donnie had a posh and cushy upbringing in Big Mama's hotel - she raised him as her own son(unaware that he’s actually Lou’s)/apprentice and uses his technological talents to aid her multiple businesses: he supplies new weapons and battlegrounds for the Battle Nexus, as well as automated assistants and security for her hotel, and even pitches in with her more off-the-record dealings that last one being without Donnie’s knowledge. Big Mama's kept him pretty much wrapped around her little finger; praising him for his intelligence and usefulness whenever he does a good job or makes her nice things. When he hasn’t, however, she’s a less-than-affectionate mother. Donnie will do absolutely anything it takes to impress and earn approval from her.

Donnie is largely sheltered and knows very little about the world outside of the hotel - especially the human world, about which most of his knowledge comes from what he finds on the internet. He doesn't even know that he's a mutant, believing himself to be just some uncommon type of yokai, since that's all he knows. He’s not allowed to fraternize freely with the hotel guests and has a somewhat contentious relationship with Big Mama’s assistant, whom he’s always viewed as competition for her affection. The closest thing he's had to a friend is S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N, whom Donnie built to have someone to talk to (besides Big Mama's boring, no-nonsense henchmen).

Don finally met April when he was about 11 yrs old; he secretly sent one of his spy bots out to explore the human city and she intercepted it. The two have been best friends and stayed in-touch with each other online ever since - April being unaware that Donnie isn't human.

Donnie knows of Lou Jitsu purely because he was Big Mama’s favorite champion in the history of the Battle Nexus - he idolizes him, having watched recordings of many of his fights, and dreams of one day fighting in the Battle Nexus himself (if Big Mama would allow that).

Leo & Mikey

Leo and Mikey were still rescued by Lou/Splinter and brought up in the NY sewers. Splinter felt extremely guilty for not managing to save the other two baby turtles and, for the first few years following the incident, spent much of his time searching for them. Once Leo was old enough, Splinter would start leaving him and Mikey in the Lair while he searched. He eventually gave up his search, presuming them both dead or lost for good, and resigned to keeping the remaining two as safe as possible - teaching them how to defend themselves and warning them never to leave the sewers unless he was with them.

Leo and Mikey were inseparable as kids - they would do everything together, refusing to even sleep in separate rooms until they were too big to fit in one bed anymore. Leo took his job as Mikey's big brother very seriously and always tried his best to protect him, even when they were simply playing games with each other. As they got older, though, the two brothers began to drift apart - Leo started to feel a little smothered; craving more freedom to do what he wanted when he wanted, without the older sibling responsibilities hanging over him 24/7. And Mikey started feeling like he couldn't go/do anything without his brother's judgement or approval, resenting the idea that he needed constant protection.

Finally, when he was about 13, Leo secretly snuck out of the lair one night to check out the city by himself and get a little taste of independence. After that one trip, it quickly became a habit and he soon began making regular “secret” trips into the city.

Somewhere along the way, his innocent quests for freedom and fun grew into opportunities to stir up some trouble - Leo eventually met and became involved with a group of yokai teens with whom he would pull pranks and play jokes on the city's human occupants (harmless ones...usually. They just enjoy causing a little mischief.)

Mikey, having to figure out other ways to keep himself occupied since his brother is usually by himself or busy with his new friends, has picked up a multitude of different skills and hobbies, trying absolutely everything he can get his hands on. His main hobby is spray-painting, which he uses to spruce any wall he can find with his own personal touch. By the time he's 13, much of underground New York has been covered by his handiwork. Mikey eventually finds out about Leo’s secret outings and follows him when he leaves one night - the two end up meeting April, who's never seen mutants before (having only talked to Donnie online and not seen his face) and promptly freaks out before realizing they're not dangerous. The three soon become friends, too, and April starts making plans to introduce the boys to Donnie - knowing he could use more friends besides S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. and herself.

The four brothers' fates finally collide with one another when an escapee from Draxum's lab - Mayhem - shows up out of the blue and catapults Mikey and Leo to the Hidden City, where they have an unexpected reunion with their eldest brother.

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alwaysshallow · 1 month

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single mom x price; PART 4

you try to stay away from john. and, surprisingly so, it turns out that it's not an easy job.

AO3 VERSION

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

You know that you usually keep your promises.

When Janice had to leave for a week and asked you to water her flowers religiously three times a day, you didn’t skip any watering. You stood there, cursed multiple times under your breath with a more or less excited kid on your hip, but you did it. Even if your son was a pain in the ass and tried to destroy every little plant that Janice had because watering three times a day was stupid for him.

When Cassie’s mom came to you, telling you she’s pregnant, scared of having kids in her forties, you were the one that drove her to the abortion clinic and promised not to tell anyone. Because she was terrified of doing this alone, not to mention asking someone else.

Information like this in a small town spreads like weeds in the garden, no matter how hard you try, and you knew it too well. So, as her best pick, you tried to take it like a hero.

And you didn’t even flinch when you heard that they thought you were the one that got rid of the baby, not her. You just stared blankly, acting as calm as ever, even if their stares were too much to bear when you shopped, talked with others. Easy enough, they watched you like hawks.

Eventually, it all calmed down, like the weather after the storm. Everyone started living their own lives again, got invested into another drama, forgetting the situation with abortion clinic. And, Cassie’s mom was eternally grateful for that. Probably still is.

You’re known for keeping your promises and getting the job done, so you really can’t be surprised when the neighbors choose you to be responsible for this year’s neighbors BBQ, something that this town is obsessed with, when it gets warmer. Can’t really blame them, as the town is dead during the winter months.

What is surprising in this situation is the fact that you have to break a promise—but the promise that you made to yourself.

Just because you’re in a committee with John Price. John Price that you wanted to desperately avoid for some time, but right now, he’s looking down at you with a smile, patting your back with encouragement.

“We’re gonna have so much fun with this,” he murmurs, right to your ear. It’s nothing naughty, but it’s enough to make your whole body feel hot, like your body is full of lava. He knows you can’t say no to organizing this BBQ, and if you would, he’d find a way to get you back on board.

And, he for sure noticed that you spoke to him less lately. As you learned, he’s not really a fan of that behavior, so when you go home, you have only one thought in your mind: you’re terrible at keeping distance from John Price. It’s either a terrible coincidence, or he has the help of God to make you run into him every time.

Ironically, the second option sounds more real than the first one, even if it should be the other way.

Planning with him feels easy, though. He’s quick to make a whole concept of the party with you, where exactly the BBQ needs to take place, what can be brought so it will be better than the years before. He’s ambitious enough that he makes small jabs towards the neighbors that hosted years before, saying something about not having a sense of style and stuff that shouldn’t make you laugh, but they do.

When it comes to the practical stuff of the job, it’s a bit different; John doesn’t let you touch anything or lift something by yourself, god forbid you try to say that you’re going to help him with moving things. The irritation because of it is enough for you to try to confront him, but he just shushes you. He says something about having “the boys” for that, and you’re not invited to the physical part of the job.

However, you asking him for help? He seems to love the fact that you need him.

When you are trying out the recipes, he’s magically around you. Appears in the most random moments, just to annoy you a little, whisper some encouraging words, like “you got it, love”. He’s more than eager to try out the food, always licking the spoon clean with such focus, like it was a military job, not his neighbor asking him for his opinion on BBQ food. Not only it makes you satisfied, but flustered as well.

Whatever you want to say to him about it, you forget it right away. You’re far too gone in his praises, slight suggestions, and so much more that has you wondering if this man is just nice, or he really means it. Because you truly believe that he does; no one could fake the glimmer in their eyes, lips twitching in a playful manner and this damn look of approval, when you do the right thing. When you think about it, you could easily get used to it if it would mean he’d be around more.

Hell, you never liked cooking that much. It was mostly something to do, so you won’t starve. With John? With John it feels like you want him to admire your food, so you try as thrice as you did in the past.

What is also satisfying in this whole “planning” thing, you’re the commander if it comes down to decorations—you tell him if something needs to go to the left side, if it’s in the right place, or maybe it doesn’t fit the vibe at all. It's good fun for you, a lot of bickering with John, a lot of him actually respecting what you have to say. Sheer contrast to the contact that you normally had with other men, and the dad of your son. Constant problems, give me this, give me that, nothing really came from them. And if it did, you had to ask for it.

And John? John is just the epitome of a perfect man. The kind one that you like seeing on the street because he’s helpful and considerate. Always willing to help you, no matter what the hour is, or what the problem is, like—

Like a real husband, you think, trying to push that thought away the second you see that you’re losing yourself a little too much in it. Just because someone is nice to you, it doesn’t mean that they have a romantic interest in you.

John isn’t helpful with making your thoughts go away; he’s so close to you, like he doesn’t know the meaning of personal space. At some point, you think that he has to do this on purpose. It’s not possible that he’s like this with everyone—so touchy, manhandling every time someone stands in his way, whispering little “I need you to move,” before moving the person somewhere else. It’s unnecessary, you would move if he’d only ask you to do it, but…

But you’d lie if you’d say that you do not like this. Because you do, with all of your heart, even if normally you’d be irritated by behavior like this. But, this is John Price that you talk about. He’s so delicate in this, joking around so much that you don’t even pay attention to the amount of times that he does that.

The closeness doesn’t bother you; not until you realize that a bunch of people are observing you with sharp precision; they’re talking about something too, but it’s clear for you that they are watching the two of you. It’s even more obvious when they gasp right in the moment when John kisses you in the temple, squeezing your hip, silently thanking you for the help. Like you were doing it out of simple kindness, not because you two are responsible for it anyway.

“I’m gonna go,” you murmur under your breath, almost jogging to your house, just so no one will notice the flustered look on your face.

You’re not free of John here either; after an hour, he asks you over the text if you have a minute because he has a sudden epiphany. So, like a good neighbor you are, you stay on the phone with him for another hour, when he tells you how a “kids friendly” zone is needed. Because some parents don’t have a nanny or anyone to leave their kid with; and it seems reasonable.

He makes a monologue about inflatable castles, houses, everything that excites kids.

“I already have a guy to buy it from. I just need your word,” he says. You can almost hear how he smiles on the other side from his tone. “So, what do you say?”

So, even if it seems a bit fancy for your town, you agree, thinking it would be his way of saying a proper “hello” to the neighbors. You even regret that your kid is currently at his grandma's place, as you dropped him a few days before the preparations, because he’d love this idea. More than anything.

Yet, you bet that with John being here, in your neighborhood, he’ll have multiple occasions to do fun things.

The day you have to host BBQ, Price is here for you from the early morning. Making final touches, speaking like a motivational coach because he sees how big of a mess you are; he even helps you to do your hair before you two go outside and start everything properly.

You’re the equivalent of a stress ball, when he’s literally the calmest person alive in the same moment. Water to your fire, easing your nerves in the moments that you’d consider as trivial, extinguishing the heat when you need it. Making you actually feel seen with your feelings, with how he acknowledges them and treats you the best he can in the moment. You feel less dumb for being so nervous, and automatically you feel better as well.

Hours feel like minutes by his side. You greet your neighbors, make small talks about food or their families, asking how they are; you can easily leave any negative thoughts behind you, without caring about your emotions before the BBQ. All you care about is right now, and how John is literally around you at every moment possible—because this man does not leave your side, even if you’re talking with someone that he doesn’t know personally.

“Oh, she’s responsible for all of it,” he says, grinning like a devil, when you talk with the Smiths about the preparations. It’s so easy for him to sneak an arm around you, and you can’t even find in yourself the want to push him away. “I was just Santa’s little helper, ‘s all.”

“Stop that.” You laugh, shaking your head. “He was very helpful, actually. I wouldn’t know what to do without his help.”

“Only on her command.” John shrugs, looking down at you. For some reason, you feel your stomach tightening on the size difference that you two have. “Without her, it probably would look like a brothel. Maybe worse, so she is the real brain of the operation.”

He’s like that all night. Praising you, even if he’s not directly speaking next to you; him pointing a finger in your direction, sending a wink, it all makes you feel like you suddenly have your wings again. Like you can actually do anything with him by your side. He charges your batteries, and you’re thankful for that.

What also charges your batteries is alcohol—normally you wouldn’t be a drinker because of your son, but when you know he’s in your mother’s house, it’s a different situation. Drink goes after a drink when you have lots of food, shots come down your throat way easier with your favorite neighbors. It’s easy to lose yourself in the atmosphere of freedom, when you haven’t had that in a while, too busy, too focused on your son.

Just like you thought, you have your wings again.

You don’t even feel like you’ve gone too far. Not when John accompanies you in the experience, asking if you need another beer, so casually, nudging you with his elbow. Taunting, like he wants to say that you won’t do it anyway. Maybe you wouldn’t, if you weren’t so drunk, but now, when there’s not a single coherent thought in your mind…

Things start to get fuzzy after that beer. You don’t even know when you put the alcohol away in order to dance with Price; you don’t know when his casual touches become something entirely different. It feels like he’s trying to help you, support you, as your legs start to feel more wobbly, but when his hand lands lower, fingers play with the material of your dress—a dress that right now seems like something you’d rather get rid of in the heat of the moment—you feel that something else is in the air.

The “don’t do anything stupid” side is flooded by waves of excitement, by the thought that you feel like you deserve a bit of fun after so many times you told yourself “no”. Maybe that’s why you agree to him walking you to your house, maybe that’s why you invite him over for a little “drink”, to end the success of the neighborhood BBQ that you two “hosted”.

Even if you have enough drinks for a few months, if you’re being honest with yourself.

You really had everything innocent in mind about this. You even came up with the speech about how late it is in your head, but the brakes fail you just in the moment when you stand right in front of him. It’s all happening in slow motion, like a catastrophe that was supposed to happen and everyone knew it from the beginning—but that catastrophe is you kissing him.

He doesn’t say anything, at first. The potential consequences of your actions dawn at you, making you sober up almost immediately, when you see his face. Darkening with every second, making you doubt what you did. Because if it was good, why is he like this?

“I’m so—”

“—Don’t even try.”

And that’s all what he says before kissing you. Kissing you so deep that you forget to breathe for a second, and you just stand still, letting him pick you up like a doll and go upstairs because what can you do about this?

He doesn’t let you do anything by yourself. His lips are everywhere, just like his hands, when he finds the bedroom—you’re already out of your dress and lingerie, but he is fully dressed. You almost want to complain, have a protest that it’s not right, as you waited maybe even more than him for this exact moment, but any word that wants to come out from your mouth is gone when he sinks his finger into you.

It’s slow, at first. Deliberate, making you feel like he’s trying to know you before he does anything more, before he loses himself in you—because that, oh, that happens fast. Faster than you’d thought it would take, but you do not mind that; not in the moment when his two fingers pump into you, while his thumb is taking care of your clit.

The moment his tongue replaces his thumb though, this is the moment when you see stars and all the restraints you had, completely break under the influence of his movement. He knows what he does, how to make you scream, and how to make you beg—because that’s what you want to do, when he suddenly stops.

"John—”

He chuckles, amused. His eyes are glimmering, when he meets yours. "Patience, honey. Patience."

And when you finally come with his name on your lips, you know you have it.

He gives you maybe a fifteen second break—it’s enough for him to strip out of his clothes and pounce at you again; it makes you realize that is the main course you needed from him.

It’s far from casual sex, far from the scenario that you’ve created in your mind. It’s something deeper, as he intertwines fingers with you, insisting that’s the only way you’re gonna do it; and he doesn’t want to hear anything about it. Before you can ask any question, he shushes you with a heated kiss, his hips moving, but at a much slower pace than you expected, like he’s trying to devour the moment. Enjoy it until it lasts, maybe show you something so you’ll miss him in the future.

It’s almost like he wants to prove something here and you let him do it. Because for the first time, it’s nice having someone to take the initiative. Lead you, lure you into the mindset that you need him for that piece of heaven he’s busy to give you. Fixated on that, you plant bloody crescents on his back, not caring about the outcome.

It’s just you and him, at this point. You and him, no one else really matters.

Afterwards, you pay no attention to the fact that he insists on staying. He, in fact, doesn’t say anything; he just states a fact when he puts his big arm around you, squeezing you tight and you just know he won’t leave. You think it’s only right—he’s drunk, after all. It wouldn’t be very neighborly to you to ask him to leave in that state, even if he lives right across the street. And, it wouldn’t be very neighborly to ask him that, considering that he fucked the shit out of you.

Because he'll probably leave in the morning anyway. Everyone leaves before the sunlight, it’s just the way the world is. It was nothing… serious, right?

But, he doesn’t. Oh, of course he doesn’t.

He brings you coffee in the morning, right to your bed, sandwiches on the plate. You can’t quite put it when he had the time to make it, or when he got up—because you’d normally sense someone walking around your house, you’re used to being on high alert. Yet, there is John Price, smiling from ear to ear.

“Your mother called,” John says, which causes your heart to drop immediately. “Said that she’ll drop your son later.”

“...and what did you say?”

“That I’ll tell you this, as soon as you’ll wake up,” he informs you, kissing the top of your head. Like it’s nothing, he sits next to you, pulling out his phone and typing something; as you peek, you can see the news website popping up.

Great. Now even your mother knows about him. It’s not like he is that important right now, but you know your mom a little too well, so it’s easy for you to assume that she’ll make a big thing about him and you’ll have to tell her something to blow her off. And, for now, you’re out of ideas of what exactly you should tell her.

Something other than “it was just casual sex because he’s my hot neighbor”, something other than “I actually don’t know him that well”. Words are spinning in your head; a massive hangover doesn’t help to form anything, so you just nod in acknowledgement, watching him for a moment, bewildered. He acts like he owns this bed, and doesn’t even think of leaving. It’s a potential threat, when you think about it.

You’re not even surprised when you see text from your mother on your phone.

You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.

You decide it’s best not to reply to that, so you just grab the cup of coffee that John made you.

#john price call of duty #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x you #captain john price #john price cod #cod x reader #captain price #captain price fanfic #john price #price cod #price x reader #single mom reader #john price smut

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drawnfamiliarfaces · 8 months

Note

what would they look like as villains? I know that some have canonical versions, but I would like to see your intropritation (let's be honest, for most - the evil alterego is an exact copy, but only with a slightly modified color palette and frowning eyebrows)

(I'm sorry for my English)

oh, this was a wonderful ask to get on the eve of spooky month ;D im not god at villain (re)design but it was a fun thinking exercise! (also im assuming you were asking about HoMies xD so)

I mean, there is only so much one can do to remake protagonists into villains and yet still have them remain recognizable, so no wonder evil!versions often are just recolor/frowny sort, but I tried my best to be creative ;D

(and your english is alright! no worries)

also while you can imagine them being as villanous as you want in these designs, there are some little blurbs/backstories i made up for myself as I tried to design them, if you are interested (they are various shades of dark, since you know, tragic backstory and all that lol):

Kim Possible - Hero for Hire turned Mercenary for Money - Kim is widely known for her profeciency in hand-to-hand and quick thinking when on the jobs, but one time something went terribly wrong. Maybe client info was unreliable, or a freak accident, but as the result both Kim and Ron got hurt, leaving Ron in a hospital permanently, and Kim with scars and trauma. After that the girl who worked on favors and rides lost her trust/belief in goodness of people, becoming jaded by reality of a job she accidently found herself in. Kim changed into someone very cold and calculated, someone who started taking jobs that required using serious weapons instead of gadgets, and more importantly getting paid, so she could support her best friend (who is in coma and thus unable to influence this downwards spiral Kim find herself in).

(in contrast to canon!Kim's free flowing hair, she ties it back in order to never be distracted in crucial moment. has a lot of new scars due to more dangerous jobs. i still cant decide if she kills with her weapons or not, but she certainly learned to hurt people. also a very complicated relationship with Shego, since Kim is also a mercenary now, but Shego still remembers that girl she was and is conflicted about this new Kim)

Danny Fenton/Phantom - Ghostly Hero turned Ice Prince - s3e6 Urban Jungle turned out differently, when in the end, defeating Undergrowth, meant also hurting everyone he had been connected to at that moment (level of hurt depends on your preference for angst i guess lol), but anyway, Danny horrified by what he have done (and with memory of Dan still haunting him), still technically unstable with his Ice Powers, flees back into the Ghost Zone to the one place he knows he won't be able to hurt anyone. Sequestering himself in the Far Frozen, he goes full Elsa, and become a remote Ice Prince, that even Far Frozen Yetis are still nervous around, with his only contact being Frostbite. Slowly he wastes away, freezing from his powers not only physically but also like emotionally.

(fun (?) tidbit: fur on his new snow cape/coat is from yetis, unfortunate to wander too close to ice prince. so there are a bunch of partially bald yetis in far frozen lol. Danny is constantly covered in bits of ice and frost, since his ice powers are unstable due to emotional damage. Danny's crown is not a conscious choice, but rather a manifestation of Far Frozen starting to bond with Danny's ice core to become his lair and also sort of recognizing Danny as future Ghost King.)

Jake Long - American Dragon Guardian turned Corrupted by Dark Magic Dragon - Series Finale The Hong Kong Longs, ended differently, when Dark Dragon left a parting shot before he was inprisoned for another Millennium. Since meeting Jake, Dark Dragon has been interested in aquiring him as minion/apprentice(?), and had been steadily trying to sway him to his side. But as he lost he made a last ditch attempt, infecting Jake with Dark Magic. As the result, Jake now cannot control his Dragon Form, being steadily consummed by the Darkness and turning more Draconic as time passes, until he will become full Dragon all the time and under the thrall of Darkness. The change is harsh and as the result Jake falls into violent moments during which he hurt his loved ones that fight to keep him from changing. In one of his more lucid moments, Jake flees to hide away in order not to hurt anyone.

(it seems an interesting thought to expand on the possiblity that the Dragon form can overwhelm the human part and that it would associate with dark magic to succumb to its baser instincts, and also would be a great opening to all those wonderful draconic fan headcanons fandom made about Jake lol)

Ben Tennyson - Hero Wielder of Omnitrix turned Corrupted/Hacked Ultimatrix Unstable User - During Alien Force Ben tried multiple times to hack/meddle with Omnitrix settings, and when he continuously tried the same with Ultimatrix in Ultimate Alien, something has gone wrong. Ultimatrix has bonded deep into Ben's DNA and body, and now every change is felt acutely, not to mention the alien perceptions are now unfiltered and Ben recieves the raw experience of being a different speices/state. It comes to a point when it start to mess with his mind, only made worse by Dagon's reemergence and all the enemies. In the final showdown of Ultimate Enemy goes differently, how? no idea (again depends on your preference level of angst lol). But as the result, Ben, unstable and a little crazy, is on the run with his corrupted Ultimatrix, his reputation in tatters and is considered dangerous by Plumbers.

(i had a little extra idea of Omniverse continuation, where new Plumber Rook Blonko, now has to hunt his hero turned crazy tragic villain Ben Tennyson. Very emotional and angsty (and a bit gay lol), where Rook continuously trying to unsuccessfully catch crazy Ben and convince him to let Azimuth and plumbers to help him.)

Juniper Lee - Youngest Te Xuan Zhe turned Corrupted/Fallen Te Xuan Zhe - in this case in Out of the Past, what Ah-Mah Jasmine feared about Fallen Te Xuan Zhe Kay Yee managing to corrupt Jun has sort of came to pass. After defeating Kai Yee, being touched by the overwhelming power of Magical Elders has left its mark on Jun, as well as Kai Yee's words and Jasmine's initial fear about/distrust in Jun (she is like 11-12 people, it would FUCK HER UP MENTALLY???). As Jun goes through her rebellious teen phase, the unfairness of her trapped position as protector and the demands of it, grates on her more and more, and she finds refuge in studying magic. As the result, her magical ability grows and as her desire for freedom, and the smallest seed of corruption from the events of Out of the Past grow too. So in the end, Jun learns magic to wield it , like Kai Yee, but unlike Kai Yee, not just for battle, but for personal goal of freeing herself and any future Te Xuan Zhe of her family line.

(fun tidbit, Jun doesn't continue to dye her hair pink, instead she uses blood from battle ;D morbid i know but i couldnt help it i like the imagery of her passing her bloody hands through the white part to paint it. she has lightning scars all over her body, that appear only when she uses magic - a manifestation of her brush with orb of magic elders.)

Rex Salazar - Last Hope Against EVO turned Contained and Controlled Weapon of Providence - Rex's return 6 months after Breach transported him and his introduction to Black Knight goes very differently. Instead of prolonged mind games, Black Knight just imprisons Rex pretty much right away while he is vulnerable, content to attempt to trigger Rex's amnesia ad use the mind-control collar, to turn him into her mindless weapon. She was sorta successful? But with Ceaser on the inside, he managed, with the help of Six and Holiday, to free Rex, even if it was too late to save his mind. As the result, whatever reeducation Rex suffered from Black Knights left him instinctively reacting with force and in defense. The whole last part of the season goes very differently in this state, and the finale also ends differently, with Rex, overwhelmed with power of Omega Nanite (God) but in no mind to actually control it. So in the end he is forced to be contained as his friends and family try to figure out how to save him.

(the angst of mind-controlled Rex is something I enjoy, but since he canonically is immune to it, the idea of an induced amnesiac episode seemed like a best bet for this one, but with like double the angst since Six&Holiday would have to struggle not only with Rex being turned into amind-controlled weapon but also him not knowing them)

Randy Cunningham - Chosen Norrisvile Ninja turned Disgraced/Fallen Ex-Ninja - relatively early in his career, after accidently releasing Tengu and Howard getting possesed by it, Randy makes an ultimate sacrifice by burning the Ninja Mask in order to defeat Tengu. However, he didn't expect that Tengu-possesed Howard to be sealed away together and the Ninja title being taken away from him for his reckless (even if noble) decision. Frantic, because he lost two important parts of his life, his best friend and heroic purpose, Randy tries to get the reborn mask back, but it, along with the Ninjanomicon were spirited away by the Messenger to pass on to another candidate. And thus starts Randy's panicked downward spiral and frantic attempts to get back the mask in order to free Howard. Since he still has his memories, Randy trains to become a better fighter. He knows he has to fight the new ninja for the mask, since he believes the Ninjanomicon would advice strongly against New Ninja helping Randy free Howard. In school He becomes known as resident outcast with bad reputation who lost his best friend under suspicious circumstances, and magical underbelly of Norrisville another antagonist for the Ninja to battle. However he still retains an odd sense of honor about Ninja (because he was one) so when opportunities to team up with Sorcerer, McFist, Sorcereress come up, he either ignores them or uses them for his own goal. The closest thing to hit home for him was when Mac Antfee also tried to get mask back, but for his own selfish purposes unlike Randy, well, lets just say Randy was pissed.

(i feel bad since i practically nipped Randy's career right on the bud, unlike others, but this one felt like a good turning villain opportunity unlike season finale. also! the idea of Randy beng an antagonist to the next ninja, while struggling with his own goodness and desire to save Howard is incredibly interesting to me lol. also he got scars from Tengu)

Zak Saturday - Heroic Fighter for Cryptids turned Cryptid Kur re-Reborn - the last episode, where Argost took powers of Kur and subsequently Zak died for about 3 minutes, Zak didn't reawaken unscathed. Kur is not only powers to control Cryptids, it was a person once, and after Zak died and was ressurected, a part of Kur has come forth, because some part of Zak has been lost in his death. A changed Zak Saturday worries his family, with him being quiet and introspective, not to mention pale/golden eyed and slightly zombie-like from his brush with death. Inside, parts of Zak the Kid and Kur the Olden Cryptid mesh and mix, leaving this new Zak struggling with who he is. As time passes however, Zak the Kid is slowly loosing the battle with a much more powerful older part of the soul of Kur (it wouldnt normally happen but Zak the Kid lost a significant part of his spirit when he died, which was filled with Kur) slowly regain his abilities (like in TGAS). At some point a change happens, and Zak retreats from his family, starting to wander the world as two parts of him struggle for dominance.

(fun tidbit! Zak's outfit is the same from his future vision of him overtaking the world as Kur, it seemed approrpiate lol. Also for some reason I kept thinking of Van Kleiss (from Generator Rex) when designing evil!Zak. they kinda have the same vibe)

Jenny XJ-9 Wakeman - Robotic Hero of Earth turned Robotic Overlord - this is a bit of mixed influences from different points: in season finale Dr. Locust turns Dr. Wakeman's creation against her; Jenny's Older Brother Armagedroid; Vexus attempt to sway Jenny to her fellow robots side; the whole year where Jenny was mind-controlled by a bratty kid and everyone feared her and even her mother planned to create a new XJ-10 in order to defeat her; and also a bit random but that one time Jenny pretended to be a villain Ruby Rocket (hence the red color scheme with bits of Armagedroid/Cluster designs). I have a bit less clear timeline for this, but lets just say its gradual and that at some point a lot of manipulations Jenny suffered turned her against humanity and their use of her robotic brethern. While she does not desire to destroy humanity like her brother, she certainly lost her trust in it, and after a manipulation one time too many, she snaps, turns into a leveled up version of Ruby Rocket/Anti-hero persona, she takes her sisters and leaves to Cluster, where Vega welcomes her. Jenny still protects Earth, but admittingly from afar and in a more evil way I guess?? She loves her mother, but she struggles with Dr Wakeman's previous disregard of her siblings and just callous regard to her creations (Wakeman can be cold/serious/to-the point, without Jenny constantly reminding her that she wants to be like a normal girl).

(Jenny was the hardest, because I couldnt find a clear point of turning in the series for her, so I decided to go with gradual change of mind about humanity sort of deal.)

oof this turned a bit long lol, thank you anyone who read through this clusterfuck! As you can see i sort of went with 'Were a Hero - tragically turned Anti-Hero due to circumstances' kind of vibe, since Im just unable to imagine these guys be like trully horrible evil villains (and this way is more angsty, since, like Fallen Heroes and all that). Im not that creative lol. Anyway, i hope you were as entertained as i was when creating this haha ;D

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trashywormeateroffics · 4 months

Text

hits different (natasha romanoff x female reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: in all the time you'd known natasha romanoff, there is one thing you knew for sure. there was no one like her. and if she were to leave, you'd never move on. a song fic. hits different by taylor swift. (angst and then fluff!!!)

a/n: send me asks if you so wish to. im accepting taylor swift songs paired with natasha, bucky or loki. <3

masterlist

////

in all the time you had known natasha romanoff, the one and only thing you were sure of was that there was no one like her. and it wasn’t because of how beautiful she was, and she was goddamn breathtaking, it wasn’t because she was skilled in a way no person was, or because she seemed to always know everyone’s secrets; no, that wasn’t it, the public natasha, the one everyone knew, respected and feared. it could’ve been that version of her, because that natasha was amazing, but private nat, as you called her, was, simply, out of this world.

it all started as every problem does, with someone’s devilish smile. and lord, does she have the most tempting smile ever. it was simple after that, you became close, best friends, until the friendly hugs became more… intimate. until the friendly cheek kisses became full on make out sessions. it was easy with natasha, everything flowed perfectly. she knew you, and despite the last thing she said to you, you knew her.

i washed my hands of us at the club

you made a mess of me

i pictured you with other girls in love

then threw up on the street

it was a monday when natasha romanoff decided that she no longer wanted you. she had been acting strange and distant and it all seemed to click for her when that morning you decided to bake her some cupcakes. it might have seem silly to someone else, but that was your way of telling her that you loved her, given that your first kiss had been while baking some cupcakes for steve’s birthday last year. this time though, it was her birthday.

she had been training with bucky in the compound's gym and she entered the kitchen sweaty with a reddened face.

“nat!” you called her as you pulled the sweet goods out of the oven and glanced at her over your shoulder.

“hey…” she looked around, almost as if looking for an escape. but you were too naive, too stupid to realize it, so you kept going.

“happy birthday!” you turned around with the tray in your hands. her eyes fell on the cupcakes and for the first time since you knew her, you wished she wouldn't even direct her gaze at you. the look on her face made your stomach twist. the realization that crossed her features at your gesture, the furrow of her brows as she took it in, and, finally, the disgust at the thought of loving you too. in the two seconds all of this passed, you kept smiling like an idiot, hoping, hoping, hoping.

“y/n,” she simply said and your smile fell immediately.

“yeah…?”

“what is this?”

“cupcakes?” you said, more a question than a statement. almost as if you weren't sure. she took in a sharp breath through her nose, still looking at you. “i wanted to do something nice for you, and i know you don't particularly care about birthdays but i thought-”

“no.” she cut your rambling off, shaking her head. “this is- this is not just cupcakes. and you know that.” you frowned.

“then what is it?”

“its-”

“what?” you asked again, defensively. she was hurting you. she ignored you and distanced herself from you, and then she ruined your nice gesture with more distance. “what is it natasha?”

she looked taken aback by your use of her full name, being used to you calling her a soft nickname. then she composed herself, looking at you coldly.

“you can't do this.” she told you.

“do what?”

“don't play dumb.” she clenched her jaw. “you can't pretend that everything is fine. you know how i've been acting, you know i've been trying-”

“you wanna break up with me?” you asked her, unwavering, putting up a strong front. she swallowed.

“yes.” she admitted.

“why?” natasha sighed, frustration lacing her sigh, almost as if she couldn't tell she was breaking your heart in a million pieces right then and there.

“i can't- i never meant for it to get this far.”

“you didn't mean to what? to lead me on?” you asked her but her gaze was on the ground. “look at me and answer the question!” you raised your voice.

“yes!” she widened her eyes at her admission, surprised by her tone. natasha ran her hand over her reddened face. “yes.” she said softly. “yes… i didnt mean for it to get this far. i didn't mean for you to…”

you nodded rapidly, repeatedly, almost mockingly. then you let out an incredulous laugh.

“you didn't mean for me…?” you trailed off, waiting for her to finish her statement.

“for you to make me cupcakes! for you to… to…” she didn't finish her sentence. for you to fall in love with me.

“you didn't mean for that to happen? then why did you let it?” she didn't answer. “why?!”

“you are hard to push away.” she might as well have grabbed a knife and stabbed you with it, to proceed then to twist it, repeatedly. the air was knocked out of you. what could you say to that? all those months you thought you were living a real life love story, a story worth telling the world, she was trying to get out of it but couldn't find a way to do so. that broke your heart. and it made you feel so stupid, it was blinding how embarrassing it was. defeated, you frowned and took a good, long look at her, pretending that was the last time you were going to see her. and truthfully, it was. that was the last time you were going to see nat, your love. so that's why you did the next thing.

they say that if it's right, you know

“fine.” you dropped the tray and walked away quickly as the sound of the metal hitting the marbled floor resounded all the way to the end of the hallway.

each bar plays our song

nothing has ever felt so wrong

she's everywhere. she haunts your dreams, and when you're awake, she haunts every place in the compound. she's not there physically– she has been avoiding you ever since she broke your heart– but her perfume, her laugh, her presence, they're all there. you're sick of it, sick of her memory, sick of your shattered heart. which is why you call her.

oh my, love is a lie

shit my friends say to get me by

it hits different

it hits different this time

“i can't believe it, i'm gonna kill her.” wanda tells you when you finish your story. she is sitting next to you on a booth in a beautiful bar, far away from the compound. if only you would be able to appreciate the beauty.

“you don't have to, wands. it's fine.”

“oh yeah, it's so fine that you asked me to go to a bar! miss introvert!” she scoffs. “what an asshole. i'm going to knock some sense into her.” you fidget with the straw of your drink.

“there is no sense to be knocked into her. it's simple. she doesn't love me back.” even though you say it nonchalantly, it suddenly feels like someone very heavy is sitting on your chest. your eyes begin to gather some tears, but you blink them away. wanda notices. of course she does.

“hey. lets go dance. fuck her.” you nod and she grabs your hand and pulls you to the dance floor. before you leave the table, you grab your drink, feeling like you're gonna need it.

...

“wanda! look!” you do a weird dance move and the redhead laughs, doing one herself. it's been a while since she dragged you to the dance floor, and you've had more than a couple of drinks, so you're, to put it elegantly, hammered.

“i'm going to get another beer!” she yells over the music, and you nod, not paying much attention. you're having too much fun, dancing weirdly and forgetting your pain.

not a lot of time passes when you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. you turn around, expecting to find wanda, but instead, there is a woman. a beautiful woman.

“hey there.” she's looking at you amused, and for a second you think she's going to laugh at your dancing. “i've been watching you and your friend for a while. you seem to be having a lot of fun. mind if i join you?”

oh. oh. well, hell yeah.

she laughs and you realize you just said the last part out loud. you scrunch up your nose.

“sorry, had too much to drink. i'm not going to have a filter now.” she tilts her head back as she laughs, and you notice she has dimples. “pretty smile.” you tell her as you point at her. “sorry.”

“don't worry.” she puts her hand on your arm. “thank you. so, are we going to dance?”

“yeah!” you nod enthusiastically and begin moving again, swaying your body from one side to the other.

you're taken aback when she puts her hands on your hips and draws herself closer. maybe this is exactly what you need. so you hook your arms around her neck and begin dancing more suggestively. she smirks and pulls you even closer, your breaths mingling. she smells like vanilla and you close your eyes, preparing yourself. then, she kisses you.

her mouth is on yours, and she smells like vanilla and tastes like cherries and she's beautiful and seems kind…

but she's not nat.

you stop moving your mouth and she pulls away frowning. god, you miss her.

you don't realize until a few moments later that she's saying something.

“are you okay?”

“what?” and that's when you feel them. hot tears are streaming down your face. she looks worried, but also uncomfortable. poor woman, she wasn't expecting to be a therapist today. “sorry. i'm so so sorry.”

“hey, its okay. what happened?”

“i broke up with my girlfriend last week.” you chuckle bitterly through your tears. “she broke up with me.” understanding crosses her features. “i'm sorry.” you repeat again, sniffling.

“i'm going to go get your friend, okay?”

you nod and suddenly, the world is spinning. you didn't realize how drunk you were. she puts her hands on your waist to stabilize you and you let out a sob. this is such a mess. you're so embarrassed. and you miss nat. you just want to go home and crawl into her bed and let her kiss away all your tears and hug away your pain. but you can't. because she doesn't love you.

“i'll be right back.” and then she's gone. you look at her as she walks away, still crying.

it isn't long before wanda is by your side, with the woman still there. you're surprised she hasn't run away yet.

“babe! are you okay?” you shake your head, and she wipes your tears with her thumbs. “thank you, i'll take it from here.” she tells the woman, whose name you don't know.

“what's your name?” you ask her, sniffling.

“violet.” she smiles, pity dripping from her expression.

“thank you, violet. and i'm sorry. you're so beautiful, i'm just-”

“i know. it's alright.” she tells you. “and for the record, she's an idiot. you're the most breathtaking woman i've ever seen.” you purse your lips and look down, embarrassed.

“thank you,” you mumble.

“see you around.” and then, she's gone.

“let's go get a cab.” wanda tells you, putting her arm around your waist so you don't fall. she doesn't seem drunk, unlike you. but, to be fair, you didn't really pay a lot of attention to how much she drank.

“yeah.” you nod.

and i never don't cry (no, i never don't cry) at the bar

yeah, my sadness is contagious (my sadness is contagious)

i slur your name 'til someone puts me in a car

i stopped receiving invitations

you walk out of the bar and get into a cab. you're still crying, silently. and you're tired. and you're starting to get angry. so you grab your phone. the line stops ringing, and you know she can hear you breathe.

“idiot.” you tell her. she doesn't answer. she doesn't hang up either.

“y/n, put down the phone.” wanda tells you once she realizes what you're doing. but you get away from her.

“you're an idiot, you know that natasha? that's what violet thinks. i'm breathtaking apparently.” you sniffle. “but you couldn't see that. i deserve more than that, more than you.”

“y/n,” she says sternly. “where are you?”

“what do you care?”

“i'll come pick you up, just give me the address-”

“i'm in a cab with wanda. and no, you can't pick me up.” you hiccup. your friend looks at you. “god, natasha. youre so… so…” wanda shakes her head. you look down at your hands.

“so what?” she asks you in a low voice, almost as if expecting the worst thing to come out of your mouth.

“i'm sorry.” you blurt out. “i'm sorry i'm so hard to push away.”

“y/n-”

“and im sorry i fell in love with you.” she falls silent. you sob silently. “goodbye.” and you hang up.

“i don't know what im gonna do without her.” you tell wanda.

“you'll be okay, y/n. you'll find someone wonderful who can give you what you deserve.”

“yeah…” you wipe your tears with your hand and look out the window. you don't tell wanda that you don't want to find anyone else, that if it's not natasha, then it's you, alone.

movin' on was always easy for me to do

it hits different

it hits different 'cause it's you

the next morning, you wake up with a splitting headache and you moan and grunt and thrash around your bed. after complaining for a bit, your mind is filled with images of last night. wanda and you talking, dancing. violet. violet dancing with you, then… kissing you. crying. calling natasha. wait. calling natasha? oh no.

“fuck. me.”

slowly, painstakingly slowly, you get out of bed, put on your socks, and head to the compound's kitchen.

when you reach it, you don't expect to find wanda and natasha sitting there, but you do.

as soon as you enter, wanda looks at natasha pointedly, then at you, and then leaves without a word.

you nod at natasha as a greeting and go to open the fridge, but she's quick and blocks the door. you blink at her. you weren't expecting to find her there, and you were not, in a million years, expecting her to give you the time of day.

“we need to talk.” you sigh. there's a few inches between you two but you can still smell her perfume. and it's killing you.

“if it's about the call, i'm sorry, okay? forget about it. just- pretend it didn't happen.” she looks at you.

“i can't.” you take a deep breath.

“i don't know what else to say. i'm sorry.”

“could you stop saying sorry for a second?” she snaps. you frown. “i'm sorry, y/n. i am.”

“for what, nat?” you sigh. “it's not your fault you don't love me.”

“that's the thing.” she runs her hands over her face.

“what is?”

“i do love you, y/n.” the world stops for a few seconds, but then you clench your jaw and shake your head.

“is this because of violet?” she looks away. “you're jealous i'm trying to move on and so you manipulate me?”

“no, it's not like that.” you scoff.

“please.”

“okay.” she nods. “i'm not going to pretend i care for you kissing another woman. i dont. i wanted to go over there and punch her.” against your will, butterflies swarm your stomach at her admission. “but- but that's not it.”

“then what is it?”

“i realized- i've known i love you for a long time, y/n. but i'm- i'm no good for you.” you frown.

“what?”

“you deserve more than someone who freaks out because you told them you love them. you deserve-”

“let me stop you right there.” you cut her off. she blinks, looking at you scared. but you give her a soft, small smile. “you love me?”

“yes. so much.”

“but you freaked out because you think you don't deserve me.”

“yes.”

“and you lied to me. you told me you didn't feel the same.” she looks guilty.

“yes, but-”

“no, no. let me finish.” you take a deep breath. “violet was right.” she clenches her jaw at the mention of her name. “you are an idiot.” she frowns.

“um-”

“you're an idiot, natasha romanoff. but i can't live without you. and i don't ever want to.” her eyes soften, and fill with hope.

“you're saying that you- that you forgive me?”

“you really hurt me nat. but i should've known you'd do something like that. you're not the best at this feelings stuff.” she smiles sheepishly.

“i'm not. but i want to be, for you.”

“i know. and i trust you'll be. after all, you did just admit that you love me.”

“yeah,” she chuckles, “it just took me breaking your heart.” you tilt your head. even though she's joking, you know there's guilt there.

“hey,” you caress her cheek. “its okay.” she's looking at the floor now. “baby. it's okay, i promise.”

“i'm really sorry. i promise you, i'll never do something like that ever again.”

“i know,” you whisper, “now, are you going to kiss me or what?” she laughs and it twists your stomach into knots. god, you missed her.

she grabs your face between her hands and puts her mouth on yours. the kiss begins soft, but after a bit it becomes desperate.

“i missed you so much.” she says when she pulls away for air. then, she's back attacking your mouth.

“i love you.” you tell her, and you kiss her again, and again.

“i love you too.”

yeah, there was no one like her.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff angst #mcu natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfiction #mcu x reader #wlw

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