#And one thing that has annoyed me in Shadow and Bone is moments that break the causal chain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 3 years

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come over, pt. i

pairing. jjk x f!reader. rating. explicit. tags. this is pwp. smut in the forms of: kissing, oral (m/f), fingering, deepthroating, hickeys, protected sex. use of the pet name shy girl. wc. 6.2k. beta reader. @hobi-gif and @snackhobi aka the loves of my tiny life. author note. this is an adaption of an rp with my beloved @velvetwicebang. while the writing is all my own, i owe so much to loma for inspiring me and being such a wonderful partner. 💛 if you enjoy this, feedback goes a long way. tysm for reading! (and yes, there will be a second part.)

You’ve been friends for thirteen months, classmates for another three before that. You’ve worked on countless projects together, watched him fall off a roof, and have had to bail him out of campus security’s grubby little hands. Your friendship is easy, based on mutual suffering in Professor Kim’s class and long study dates spent in the library. He smuggled you chocolates in his pockets and you brought iced coffee to the 8 a.m. lecture you shared.

You’re not sure why you’re riddled with uncertainty now then, every nerve ending shot, lit up bright like the still-up mini Christmas tree sitting in the corner of your dorm room. (You know you should take it down but it’s so cute, slouched ever with a tiny gold star-shaped bell hanging from the end.).

Spending time with Jungkook was normal - a part of your weekly routine - but then again, you hadn’t somehow developed a weird little crush on him until recently.

(If you think hard, you could probably pinpoint it to a night a few weeks ago when he looked particularly good, fluffy powder puff of hair stripped of shadow and gleaming gold beneath the warm lecture lights. You’d never had a thing for blonds but he made it look good - surprising you when he’d dropped into his seat beside you and winked in response to your surprise.)

(It’s something you can't tear your thoughts from now, that infuriatingly charming smile burnt into your retinas. It sits at the forefront of your mind, stealing your attention from the movie that's playing on the television hung across from your bed. One of those blockbuster flicks, because who didn’t love gratuitous action and lens flares?)

A hand reaches for the chip bowl propped between you - homemade chex mix, because you’ve been obsessed with the recipe since discovering it a few weeks ago - and you flinch away when it brushes the hand that's already in there.

"Sorry!" You squeak before coughing, a quick-witted (but not altogether believable) attempt at hiding the sudden heat that flares across your cheeks. The same hand disappears between your knees, fingers curling into the soft throw laid over your legs. You tell yourself to relax at least three times before speaking, peeking at your companion from beneath a fringe of sleep-tousled strands. “Stop stealing all my chips.”

The boy beside you only grins, tosses that lazy smile in your direction before turning his attention back to the explosion on the screen, entire expression lit up by the fireworks that explode in flashes of colour.

You think you’ve gotten away with it - that he hasn’t noticed - and then he’s speaking again, pointedly staring forward, seemingly unbothered. (You know better though. Jungkook’s infuriating like that, picking up on all the little things despite the fact that he’s a dumb boy, too good at reading between the lines when he barely studies.)

“You’re blushing.”

The callout is, well, uncalled for.

You choose to ignore him at first, opting to shove two chocolates past your lips. They’re unbearably sweet, minty and cold - your favourite - and the richness spills across your tongue, eliciting a soft hum as your teeth buzz from the sugar. (Note to self: thank Jungkook for the chocolate later.)

“You’re blushing,” you retort once you’ve swallowed, cheeks puffed out and a dent gathering between your brows. “I’m just—“ Hand waves wildly - nearly hits him in the face with how wobbly it is - and you pretend-glare at him, faux affront laid in spades. “—hot.”

It comes snappier than you mean it to, spoken in something close to a pout. You aren’t actually. The campus is notorious for having garbage heating, floorboards more akin to packed snow in the dead of winter. It’s just annoying. You refuse to be another one of those girls.

(Not that there’s anything wrong with said girls. It’s more an issue with Jungkook, stupidly handsome and charming and far too popular for his own good. People already told you all about Jungkook’s escapades - even though you often heard them from him firsthand and in gruelling detail. One of the downsides to being friends with someone who, for all intents and purposes, carried the title of campus heartthrob.)

“Pay attention to the movie.” The same hand reaches for the mix again, careful to avoid brushing his this time. You think you’ve succeeded, snatching up a piece of pretzel, morsel halfway to your mouth when it drops to your lap.

The same lap that suddenly has a hand on it, palm warm over your knee.

If you’d thought your nerve endings were shot, now you knew they were. Every inch of skin was on fire - heat shooting up your spine and over your neck the moment his hand comes in contact with bare skin. Damn your need for comfort, damn your choice to wear shorts, damn his freaking hot tattooed hands—

You almost yell at him. The sound’s on the tip of your tongue when you bite down, stare trained wholly on the movie and the blood that splatters across the screen..

Really, you shouldn't be surprised. You’ve known Jungkook for nearly two years - okay, not quite. You’ve heard all the rumours about him, the whispered words that sound something like playboy and flirt and be careful. You know and yet you’ve found yourself in this situation, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going through his mind as you stare straight ahead, refusing to move a muscle.

His profile is picture perfect from your periphery; he's focused too, acting like he's done nothing wrong. Sly as a fox, as always.

“Still blushing,” he repeats conversationally, as if he’s commenting on the colour of the sky or how cold it is in your room. Not as if he’s got a hand where it shouldn’t be, ink spilling over his skin in pretty patterns, burning the shape of it where he touches.

"I didn't blush.” It’s a retort made for only argument’s sake and even then, without weight. Feather soft and feeble in an attempt to keep your voice level. It's hard when you’re burning up, a livewire settled where you feel him. "I'm not blushing."

It's a lie - you can feel the flush, embarrassment flooding from your cheeks all the way down over your chest. It’s an inferno beneath your skin, lava coursing through your veins.

It spreads further and further, blooms somewhere new when his hand drifts lower, tracking across the soft inner of your thigh. Doesn’t cease even when his hand does, palm firm over your leg, the ghost of a touch passing so close to your core you can’t help but jolt. It’s as if he’s rearranged your pieces, mixed them all up. A brush of his finger over your clothed entrance feels like it hits you right in the chest, snaps your heart to attention. It roars to life, thundering madly, pulse erratic when he repeats the gesture, with that much more pressure.

You’re dripping, you realise to your horror, cotton of your thong sticking to your skin, grey of your shorts made darker by the arousal that spills over the one not-so-innocent digit.

A part of you wants to run from the room. Nearly do, heart hammering in your chest when Jungkook's face is suddenly too close, the warmth of his breath stifling against your neck. It feels good, anticipation and desire fizzing in your stomach like fountain pop. (The movie theatre kind, that’s somehow flat and too bubbly all at once.)

"Kook." You mean to say it reproachfully, with a hand pushing his wrist away. Instead it comes out like a whisper, a soft sigh of his name that sounds almost needy, laced with worry and anticipation that makes you want to tear your own hair out. Fingers remain locked around bone, other hand digging into the blanket and the linen beneath it, searching desperately for some form of composure beneath the material.

For the first time, you hazard a glance - know it’ll be bad for your own well-being - dropping your stare to where his hand rests. (You have to admit - you like the sight of those tattoos, a stark contrast to the unblemished softness.)

Like it almost as much as his kisses, the first of which lands exactly where you want it most. Delicate, polite, right on the junction of your jaw. A sigh escapes before you can help it. "Shy girl,” he coos, teasing in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I’m not shy,” you huff - try to, anyway, around the kaleidoscope of butterflies that are threatening to choke you. "We're watching a movie." You’re trying to redirect his attention, even as you’re desperate for it, even as you think you’d give your whole heart for it.

You’re this close to combusting, eyes widening the moment he extracts his hand and tucks it back into the bowl of chips. A part of you wants to yell at him - for starting this in the first place but mainly for leaving you high and dry, turned on and soaking through your underwear.

(It’s not fair, but then again, you’d never expected them to be. You’ve seen the rules Jungkook plays by - namely those of his own creation. Term paper due the next morning? He’d somehow pull it out of his ass that night. Break something at a house party? He’d be let off with a smile and a wave, those doe eyes of his utterly lethal when paired with his pout.)

“Watch the movie then.” He sounds almost bored, utterly unbothered as he seamlessly slips back into the proper role of friend, classmate, study partner.

"Let's." Without tossing another glance in his direction, you stare straight ahead, own hand delving for snacks. So what if you very purposely brush your fingers against the pieces he's just touched, popping the pieces into your mouth before slotting your thumb against your tongue, cheeks hollowing around to suck the last bits of salt and butter off.

Despite your nerves - you’re hoping he's watching - you readjust, bringing knees up, crossing legs until one is resting atop his own thick thigh. The full of your bottom lip disappears between your teeth, worried to within an inch of its life as you shift beside him, seemingly manoeuvring your shorts into their rightful position.

(You’re not. They’re hitched higher than they were, barely worthy of the title of shorts, more akin to a belt. So revealing it’s almost uncomfortable, wet of your arousal sticking them to your skin.)

(Two could play this game.)

(Maybe him better than you, but still.)

You know what you’re doing and yet you’re somehow surprised when he’s suddenly disappeared from your side and situated himself in front of you, eating up too much of the space on your small double bed. “What’re you—“ The question disappears in the same moment he does, unable to track his movements when Jungkook slips forward, pressing his mouth over yours.

You’ve kissed a lot of people. (Okay, not a lot, but enough.) You were a senior in college, where kissing was like talking and fucking happened more often than dating.

You’ve never kissed Jungkook before.

Why hadn’t you?

His lips are terribly soft, pink and pouted, slanting across yours as if he’s trying to devour you. There’s no semblance of delicacy, nothing gentle and sweet like those brushes against your neck. They’re forceful, demanding payment in full when his tongue glides over the seam, seeking entrance despite the fact that you think he might’ve slipped in anyway.

There’s not a single wall he couldn’t break down, not a lock he couldn’t pick. Not with how he moves, purposeful and reassured, tongue sliding over yours, sucking it into his mouth as if it’s something he does every day. (Which it very well could be - just not with you.)

“Shy girl,” he repeats with a mouth filled with affection, praise that pours over you honey sweet and sticky. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The thing is, you’re not pretending. You’re half-afraid this entire moment is going to explode into a thousand pieces, a dream shattered by reality. You hope it doesn’t. Couldn’t bear it when he feels so nice, hand spanning your waist, tucked beneath the safety of your shirt and the fleece blanket between you.

“I’m not.”

“Oh?” There’s something in his eyes, something that coils heat in the pit of your stomach. You swear you can see the devil sitting on his shoulder, gleeful little smile rearranging his features. “Do I make you nervous, ____?”

Did he? Of course he did. Had, even before you’d known him.

(You’d grown comfortable, though. Found a way to separate the popular heartthrob from your friend.)

But you’ve lost your marbles, gone certifiably insane when you make a noise that sounds nothing like you. Because you’re once again far too interested in the way Jungkook’s touching you, manhandling you as if you’re some sort of puppet. It really shouldn’t turn you on so much, slick coating your bare thighs when he guides you onto your back, pushes you back against your too many pillows.

He’s your friend and he’s told you all about the way he fucks girls until they can’t walk.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want the same treatment, though.

The moment Jungkook’s mouth finds your skin - sensitive and soft and so close to your soaked core - you keen, hands immediately flying into his silky head of hair. It threads between your fingers like fine silk, filaments of gold overlaid in colour by the movie that still plays.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, entire body arching off the back of the bed in an effort to bring some form of relief. You can’t help the heat that burns your cheeks or how you sound, begging and pleading as you tug gently at his blond roots. “Don’t tease me.”

You’re not asking very nicely but you figure Jungkook will give in. It’s his fault, after all.

His fault - which you don’t mind when he hooks fabric aside and drags his tongue across your slit, the flat of his tongue arching your back from the bed. Can’t mind when he does it again, rounded nose bumping against your clit. You’re trying to stay just a little bit decent, moans soft and caught between your teeth. You’re practically biting a hole through your lip in an effort to stay quiet, hands curled into fists. Gold spills between them and you imagine it hurts but he doesn’t stop, only works harder to drive you crazy.

Of course he’s good at this. Too good, if you’re being honest.

You’re dripping, legs trembling in his firm, unyielding grip. There's molten heat building in your stomach, creeping up your spine, and with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive core, it only expands. You want more - need it - and almost beg when he catches your clit between his teeth. A breathy baby spills out on accident when your eyes meet, gaze half-lidded.

It’s bad for your health, how good he looks right now, chin slick, lips rubied and pretty like jewels. “Shy girl sounds so pretty.”

There's something about his praise that completely ruins you, the words dragging a delighted, sexpot moan off your tongue. You want him to tell you how pretty you are now and later, over and over.

You want to be his pretty girl.

"I want you. I need more," you whine, hips rutting desperately, slick messy across your thighs and shining across Jungkook's mouth. He smiles then - brighter than the sun, utterly radiant, so devastatingly handsome you swear your brain short circuits - and then he’s doing exactly as you’ve asked.

He eats you out like it’s an art form, flicking his tongue over your clit with practiced precision, sucking the pearl between his lips. When he grazes his teeth over it - just the lightest pressure - you jolt, the feeling of a finger sliding into you stealing the breath from your lungs.

He’s always had nice hands, big broad palms and long fingers. They reach places you could never hope to, stretching you deliciously when he sinks another in alongside the first, exploring you with ease. The sting is slight, the fullness overriding any pain, further dulled by the suction of his mouth on your clit.

He even hums when he finds the spot he’s been looking for, hooking his fingers against it and pressing. (You swear you see stars; you know you feel him smile, lips spread like butter over your skin when you sob.)

You can’t help yourself, writhing and moaning, trying to ride his face with a desperation that has your chest heaving. It feels so good to have him between your legs. You almost miss the appearance of his other hand - in view for but a moment before it disappears past the waistband of his sweats. Dark as they are, pitch black like most of his clothing, it’s impossible to miss the way he touches himself. It has you even needier, pussy clenching at the thought of him fisting his own hard cock.

“Do you want a hand?” You ask as if you’re doing him a favour and not salivating at the prospect, eyes wide, blinking down at him from behind thick lashes.

“Fuck.” He’s sin incarnate, undeniable when he sheds his sweats, kicks them off with just one hand, other still slotted snug against your pussy. He never ceases his movements, fucking you on his fingers even as he sits upright, leaned back on his calves. “You want a taste? Shy girl wants a big fat cock in her mouth?”

There's something about hearing him so turned on, the expletive shooting a dizzying bolt of desire straight between yours legs. You’ve seen Jungkook worked up - he was awfully competitive, after all, dominating most intramural sports, breaking PR records in the gym - but it's something else completely when he's making you drip cum all over his hand.

"Wow.”

Jungkook's cock is pretty, flushed and glossy from the pre-cum he spreads with his thumb, massaging over the tip like it owes him something.

You want to taste it.

A contented hum rolls off your tongue at his question, though you don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. His ego's big enough without it and you’re much more interested in stroking something else. Still, you lean into his palm, nuzzling your cheek against the warmth of it when he threads his hand through your hair, gathering it in his fist.

Then without looking away, your mouth falls open, tongue peeking past your lips to lick a fat stripe up the length of his cock, from base to tip. It's hot and heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his pre-cum better than candy. You hum again, swirling your tongue around the head, and keep your gaze locked with Jungkook's, almost smirking when you drag your tongue over his fingers, gently grazing the edge of your teeth against the pad of his thumb.

“Please.” You’re usually far more reserved, not the kind to ask for more until you’re three months into dating and certain of where you stand. You simply can’t help yourself now, the feeling of your own wetness painting your skin, making you clench around nothing. "I need it."

The groan that comes sounds more like Christmas, a gift given by Santa Claus himself. It filters into your ears and has you grinning up at him, not even bothering to hide the pride that flutters your lashes and has you pursing your lips around the head of his cock.

When he speaks again, it’s dangerously quiet, low in his throat, laced with whatever same emotion that seems to shackle your limbs. “Open up, ____,” he instructs, though he offers little time to adjust, guiding his cock forward, stuffing your mouth full. “Show me how bad.”

You don’t mind. If you were to speak, it’d practically be a prayer, tongue tracing the veins that run the length. A chorus of yes please more when he takes just as much as he gives. You love the power that comes with Jungkook speaking so filthily, drunk on it when he continues, spewing filth in time with each rock of his hips.

Lips seal around the swollen head each time he withdraws, cheeks hollowing around the tip. Tongue passes over his fingers again before your hand rises, fingers curling around his wrist to pull his own away. (You probably shouldn't - it's too romantic - but thread your fingers through his in the same instant you sink down upon his cock, taking him halfway before pulling off with a pop!)

"Do you think you'll last long enough to fuck me?" You’re pushing his buttons on purpose, just like he had yours during the movie.

Something close to a snarl comes, a growl that reverberates out of that big cavernous chest of his, and he grips your hair tighter, tries to hold you still as he grins down at you. The expression is so at odds with the warmth in his eyes, the boyish tilt of his head.

You repeat the motion again and again, taking him a little bit deeper until the head brushes the back of your throat, reflexively swallowing around the intrusion. He's still so long and thick you haven’t even taken him all, drooling around his length, breathing through your nose and pushing past the desire to gag. Then you relax your jaw just a little more, humming when your nose brushes the neatly groomed patch of hair at his base.

Your free hand slinks across his thigh, nails digging into the meat, delighted by the flex of muscle and sinew beneath your hand. He's so hard, both on your tongue and beneath your touch. It prompts you to shift forward just a bit more - you can feel the slick on your thighs, dripping down onto the sheets with each movement - and trace across his thigh to gently palm his balls.

If you could speak, you’d probably ask for more. For Jungkook to use and abuse your throat as much as he wants. As it stands, you can only moan around him, spit and his pre-cum smeared over your lips.

“Look at you.” He’s talking to himself, lost in his own world as he fucks into your mouth, soothes the pad of his thumb over your cheek. You adore the way he sounds now, dazed and a little messed up. “Look so pretty with my cock in your mouth, ____.”

You can’t do much more than look up at him, batting your lashes when he compliments you, dragging your tongue everywhere you can reach as the head of his cock batters the back of your throat. It's not an easy feat, drool all the way down your chin, trailing down your neck and staining the silk of your camisole.

At some point, you’ll need to pull off - get a proper breath of air - but not now. Instead, you swallow around him, savouring the feeling of him filling your mouth, and squeeze gently at his balls. When you wink up at him, it's half-hearted and with moisture in your eyes, lining lashes in the form of little gemstones.

You do it again and again, moaning lewdly around his cock before it gets too much, pulling off of him with a gasping breath and tears down your cheeks. “Is it my turn yet?” You’re only half-joking, made needier by the soreness in your throat, the same you want to feel so desperately between your legs. Pressing a sweet, chaste peck to his head, tongue dipping into his slit to gather the pre-cum that leaks out, you offer the sweetest smile you can, saccharine sweet and soft.

“Your turn?” The way Jungkook snorts is derisive, playful. It pulls straight off his tongue - which finds yours, swapping spit as he guides you back to the bed. Teeth collide, lips grown swollen by the intensity of your kiss, and you startle when he nips hard at the bottom petal. “I thought you were shy.”

“I am,” you retort, returning the gesture, biting into the curve of his jaw with surprising repose. Colour blooms beneath the edge of enamel, a smattering of colour that makes you smile, eager to leave more.

Which you would do, if Jungkook weren’t stripping before you, peeling his shirt from his front, tugging it over his head in that weirdly hot way that somehow all boys did. It reveals skin in a single fluid pull, clothing discarded to the side before he levels you with a smile of his own, one that stirs to life the dimple in his cheek, eyes squinting with the intensity of his delight. He looks deceptively sweet this way, nothing like the demon who’d just stuffed his cock down your throat.

You’re not sure which version of him you like best.

Seeing him now, dressed in nothing but that absurd, devilishly handsome grin of his, you’re not prepared. You’re unsure where to look, gaze bouncing between the tattoos that crawl up his arms and span over his left pec, down the neatly defined ridges of his abs, and all the way back to his swollen, shiny cock.

“You’re drooling.” Of course it’s something he’d say - because he always knows what to say, plucking perfect words from thin air. The casual banter calms the rattle in your chest and refocuses it on his face that’s too close, looming over yours as his hands make quick work of your clothes, shedding the fabric from your form with deft, measured movements.

You’re ready to say something teasing - anything to distract from the fact that you’re still ogling him - when he catches you in another kiss, softer this time, infinitely sweeter. Suddenly, you’re shy - which really makes no sense, given what’s transpired.

"Don't make fun of me," you mumble, as bashful as you were during the movie, embarrassment burning across your cheeks. Arms rise to cover what little of your chest you can, folding around his broad palms that encompass them whole, tweaking at the straining buds.

“I’m not,” Jungkook reassures against your lips, face dropping into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles against you, sucking affection into the column of your throat, shamelessly laying a wreath of lust into the delicate skin. You wonder whether he can hear the stutter of your pulse, the reaction his next words elicit. “You’re pretty when you do it.”

You can’t quite pull your eyes away from his face, shrouded in lemon tart, so good-looking it’s unfair; his broad back and the muscle that threads it, undulating with each movement; or the way his thighs flex between your spread knees. You’re dragged through heaven and hell by the brush of his lips, each glide overstimulating your senses to the point of no return. You’re still burning up, all the foreplay leaving your legs like jelly, cunt dripping with need. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

Probably not the best thing to say with the position you’re in but the reality of the situation is hitting you and you’re feeling a little vulnerable. Want an answer that’ll soften the sharp edges of his teeth, the intoxicating glint in his stare.

“No, just you.” Whether it’s true or not, you can’t say for certain. You hope it is - wish upon a star for it, laying all your hopes and dreams into the constellations in his eyes. They’re lovely, winking down at you from the darkest depths, guiding you home.

You don’t mean to scoff - really, you don’t. It comes of its own accord, spilling forth like a glass too full.

“You don’t believe me?” He sounds almost offended, the picture of innocence when he reaches down, hand scrambling about for pooled black fabric. Comes back up with a packet between his index and middle finger, held aloft like a prize.

How can you when he’s ready to devour you whole, primed to feast as he rolls the condom over his length, stroking himself once, twice, gaze never wavering from where it rests between your legs.

“Always prepared.” It’s scathing but somehow tender, too mesmerised by the way he fucks into his loose fist. You’d say more - maybe make a flippant comment about his reputation - but can’t find the words when he’s teasing you, swollen head tapping teasingly over your core. It feels like too much, leaves you breathless when he hikes your legs up and nearly folds you in half.

When he presses into you, the sound you make is sinful, a moan you can’t help. Jungkook’s so fucking big you’re sure you’re about to split in half, pussy clenching tight around the sudden intrusion. “Oh my god,” you whine, hands coiling into his hair, trying desperately to relax, the sting of the stretch battling the pressure that builds as he sinks further in. “You’re so big. I c-can’t—” You’re starting to babble nonsense and he hasn’t even begun moving yet, lips hot over the sweat-slick column of his throat when he bows, burning his presence into the grace of your neck. A hickey of your own creation blooms right where your mouth is, right over his shoulder. The salt of his skin distracts you, makes it easier to accommodate the fullness. “You feel so good, Kook.” You rock experimentally beneath him, clenching tight as if to draw him deeper. “Please, move,” you beg, aiming to form another bruise beneath his skin.

The first thrust chases all the breath from your lungs, a gasp ricocheting off your tongue and into the minimal space between you. He's absurdly big, stretching you out so well that every stroke feels like heaven. When he pushes back in, snaps his hips in that easy, effortless motion of his, you’re making the most obscene noises, words lost to his hair as he lavishes your tits with attention.

B-big! is all you manage to squeak out. It sounds like that, anyway. With how he's filling you, it's hard to speak coherently; you can practically feel him in your throat. (Or maybe that's just from choking on him earlier. You’re not really sure.)

Hands find their way around his neck, over his shoulders, periwinkle-painted nails leaving light etchings in their wake. They bloom colour over his back - not too hard, careful still, motor skills barely functioning - before you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him recklessly close as the pressure builds and builds, flooding your abdomen in heat.

There’s slick all across your thighs. You can hear the wet sounds each time Jungkook slips almost all the way out and then rocks back in. It's terribly messy and so hot but you’re greedy, drunk off the feeling of having this Adonis break you in half. "Harder, p-please." Eyes wide, you tug gently at the soft strands at the nape of his neck, meeting his with a flutter of your lashes. "Please?"

He acquiesces without hesitation, fucks you harder, deeper, like an animal in a rut. Grinds against you with each thrust, pushing you to your limits. Even has the audacity to push further, until the strain in your hips conflicts with the pleasure skipping up your spine, melting you into a boneless mass.

You’ve never felt like this, stretched out and used. You’re used to gentle lovers, sweet - if not boring - lovemaking. The way Jungkook's pounding into you is unheard of and you’re loving it, his name whimpered on a feedback loop. A steady Kook, Kook, Kook that twinkles in your ears, inarticulate and pleading as you rock shamelessly against him.

“You like that, ____?” It’s a question for his own ego, something he knows but asks anyway. (It’d be impossible not to know the answer when your cunt’s sucking him in, coating his cock in a pretty sheen.)

You’re nodding dumbly, breathless, eager to meet him each time he snaps forward. (It’s not easy like this, practically prone beneath him, twisted into a pretzel.) "Like it so m-much. Feels so good.” You can’t stop smoothing open mouthed kisses over his fluffy hair, basking in the sunshine that radiates off him.

There's an ache starting between your legs, pussy swollen around his thick length. You’re grateful for your natural flexibility, the hot yoga sessions you’d entertained on-and-off for years. You’re sure you’d feel it in your legs too, knees pushed all the way up by your ears, if not for that.

But still, you’re defenceless, made to experience each and every thing he has to offer: every vein and ridge, the head of his cock reaching so deep it's almost too much. With each stroke, Jungkook’s brushing against the sensitive spot that has pleasure skyrocketing, blossoming like a rose garden in spring. "R-right there," you manage, rolling your hips purposefully, nearly crying each time he brushes against your g-spot.

“Right there?” He parrots it back, infuriating and adorable, the teasing tenor dripping over you like raindrops. They settle beneath your skin, sinking into your bones as he rears back just enough, enough to steal a kiss that’s far more tongue than it needs to be.

It’s almost as if he’s trying to drown you, sink you beneath high tide.

Spit descends down your chin, trails over your neck and it’s a little gross but you don’t care. The attention he’s giving is shameless, passed over your cheeks, your throat, your breasts. He gives and gives, both with his lips and the praise that comes unfettered. “Perfect,” he hums, sucking your nipple into his mouth, worrying the bud until it’s straining and puffy, too sensitive when he kisses you again and your own thigh brushes against it. You whimper at the feeling, pulling softly at his hair, unsure whether you want less or need more. “So sensitive. Such a shy girl. Such a pretty girl.”

Every word of praise has you beaming, nearly purring with delight despite the pain that comes when he puts you through the same once more, laving over the other bud with abandon. He's sweat-slick, beads of it running down his neck, over the mosaic of bruises you’ve left behind. It's almost embarrassing how dark his throat is coloured, a dozen reminders left all over his skin.

(You wonder how long they’ll last, how many days will pass as the colour shifts, changing like autumn leaves. Whether they’ll still be there at your next lecture, if he’ll wear them with pride or cover up beneath one of his big baggy sweaters.)

(You hope it’s the latter.)

(Maybe he’ll let you give him more.)

(Maybe he—)

There’s a change of pace and you’re crying out, hiccupping with each thrust, the head of his cock finding your g-spot with unbearable, unrelenting precision. Clawing at his arms, long nails digging into the firm muscle of his biceps, something between a sob and a plea rolls off your tongue, over and over. "So big. It's too m-much.” And yet you don’t want him to stop, punch drunk from the way he reaches deep and pulls you tighter against him, hips risen off the bed.

You’re begging again, eyes rolled so far back in your head you can hardly focus, the coil in your stomach pulled so tight you know it's about to snap. When Jungkook laughs - a sweet giggle that proves his duality - you clench almost painfully, tears finally spilling over.

One last brush against your most sensitive spot, one last thrust of that monster cock, and you’re peaking, coming so intensely you feel as if you’re soaring. Everything's suddenly so much more wet, release soaking into the linens beneath you, coating your thighs and his legs and dripping between you.

You’ve never come like this before, without some sort of direct stimulation on your clit. It’s pleasurable in a different way, severing all your sensibilities, explosive in its magnitude. It tingles beneath your skin, flooding all your senses.

"Kook—please—come for me.” You’re rocking up, forward - trying to, at least, folded as you are - singing his name, pleading for him to fuck his cum into you (momentarily ignorant to the fact that you’ve been responsible, a thin wall of latex separating you from your fucked out fantasy).

Despite the sensitivity, you’re clenching around him, eager to bring him to his own high. You want to feel him come apart above you, eroded into a mess like you are.

He’s just as pretty reaching his peak as he is at any other time, handsome face screwed up as if he’s reached nirvana, bliss slacking his features the longer he rides it out, bucking into you as he fills the condom and still doesn’t stop. It’s almost unbearable, oversensitivity spilling into pleasure until he leisurely grinds to a halt, stops the inconsistent pressure against your bundle of nerves, the assault on your fluttering walls.

When he collapses against you, whole face squished between the valley of your breasts, you can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and endeared. “Are you okay?” You don’t mind where he is, weight comforting, skin sticky on yours. He’s unbelievably warm - a blanket fresh from the wash and yet so much better, lulling you into a sense of security.

“Better than okay,” he murmurs against your chest, smothering open-mouthed kisses over skin, snickering when you jolt at the feel of his teeth over your nipple one last time. “You’re welcome.” It’s an indulgent, facetious expression of gratitude, one that you haven’t asked for. You laugh all the same, ducking your head into the crown of spun gold atop his head.

“You too.”

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @codeinebelle

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you-did-well-moon · 3 years

Text

Day6 Reaction to s/o learning their instrument while they're away

Type: Fluff, angst in Dowoon dont know what happened wasnt me

Word Count: 2.865

A/n: I took some creative freedom with why they were away but that is it. Keep in mind, I have no experience with instrument except for when I played the piano in 5th grade for like two weeks. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! - Moon

TW: small cuts, fight, second hand embarrassment

Sungjin

Sungjin was absolutely and devastatingly exhausted. His own guitar case felt like it was weighing him down tremendously, and he had a huge headache. Jae and Wonpil arguing in the back of the car was not helping in any way. It has been going on since they left the airport. He rubbed at his temples tiredly pressing his head against the cool window from his place in the passenger seat next to their manager.

Still, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he thought about seeing you, probably curled up in the couch cheeks puffed from the snack you were inhaling. The pounding in his head lightened at the cute sight he would soon get to enjoy as he played with the loose threads of his old button up shirt.

True to Sungjin’s imagination, your form was sitting on the couch. Not true to his imagination, you were actually bent over something in your lap, lightly humming and bopping your head to the rhythm being produced by your still clumsy fingers. The guitar in your lap had gotten lighter as the days went by without your boyfriend, and in replacement of his touch, leaving your fingertips warm and tingling, it was small cuts you hadn’t bothered to bandage as it disrupted you when playing.

You missed Sungjin an abnormal amount. The cold spot in the bed or him making weird faces at you through the mirror in the mirror when brushing your teeth. You missed all of it. With a slight tremble in your chest you started playing the chorus to “You Were beautiful”.

You were so focused on trying to get it right you didn’t notice the door closing only to startle when you slightly looked up through your lidded eyes seeing the shadow looming over the coffee table. With a small yelp of surprise you jumped immediately looking up only to find your boyfriend staring at you with wide eyes.

His surprised expression made you shrink into yourself. You threw your head into your hands in pure embarrassment letting the guitar gently slide off your lap, hitting the floor with a soft thump. “Can you just pretend you didn’t see that I can’t believe I even tried learning all that by myself I” you cut yourself off with an un-pleased sigh shaking your head and looking at him with pleading eyes.

Your boyfriend continued in his frozen state for about five seconds before breaking out in the biggest smile rushing around the coffee table in which you panicked trying to get away from him with a squeal, but being too slow im the excitement that was usually in a much dormant state in Sungjin. The wrinkles near the corner of his eyes deepened adoringly, and his chest shook with soft laughter while he held you close.

There was a fond twinkle in his eye as Sungjin forgot any tiredness that clung to his bones and kissed the tips of your fingertips while maintaining eye contact. He kept your hands encased in his when scolding you for having such low faith in yourself and softly encouraging you. He would probably put little stitch band-aids on your fingertips and continue teaching you, sitting you on his lap and scolding you when you lose focus with a sharp poke at your ribs smiling when you giggled. This man just fell impossibly more in love with you.

“You shouldn’t say those things, look at you love, learning all alone and doing so well. I'm so proud. Would you rather have the elmo band-aids or the stitch band-aids… I don’t know about you but Elmo kinda creeps me out. Just five more minutes little love then you can go mug Young k with Dowoon. Don’t look at me like that! You finally have a teacher and you take him for granted. The audacity-”

Jae

Jae was a thin hair away from just ripping his hair out. He didn’t believe the kpop industry would take very kindly to him going bald, but he had come to a point where he didn’t really care about what people thought anymore. But thinking about you not being able to play with his hair anymore while he drifted off to sleep with his head on your chest severely upset him.

Jae had gotten stuck in another limbo, stuck in the studio and in his own head desperately trying to finish any of the unfinished songs left in his computer files. He missed you so much, he eventually called it quits, deciding to go home to you, who he hadn’t seen in days.

Just the thought about seeing you energized his previously exhausted self. He never could get sick of you. Every day, every week was a new adventure, a new chapter, all with his favorite person in the world. The night sky, although beautiful, seemed to mock him, reminding him of how late it was, meaning you were most probably asleep.

Opening the door to his apartment, he heard soft music. He briefly recognized “I Need Somebody”, and thought you were playing it from your phone. All his thoughts came to a halting stop when he saw you perched on the bed, in his shirt, playing the melody of the previously mentioned song.

You had hair falling into your eyes with your eyebrows slightly scrunched trying not to mess up and heavily focused. Jae had loudly yelled in surprise, causing you to flinch and look up shocked at the sudden surprise. When you saw it was just him, you had comically thrown your hands in the air yelling at him about how it was supposed to be a surprise.

The irritated look on your face vanished as you went up to give him a light hug with a kiss, softly smiling at him. Meanwhile Jae, was completely out of it, lovestruck eyes while he instinctively returned your affection.

“Come Jae, you look like you haven’t slept in ages, your eyes are so sunken babe”, you had softly whispered to him, rubbing the soft skin under his eyes, the way you were always soft with him when he came back from the studio. You slept in the same bed for the first time in what had been days, Jae tightly clutching on to you.

He may have not been completely there at the moment, but in the morning when he had time to process everything, he was a changed man. He wouldn’t stop laughing and giggling excitedly, eagerly wanting to hear everything you had learnt. He even poked fun at you when you made a mistake. But it was all lovingly as he also praised you non stop while looking at you with his messy hair and big smile next to you on the couch. He had so much inspiration now. To finish what had been left behind.

“Pop off queen who gave you this much talent, you couldn’t even tell me what bass was last time we talked, which was like a week ago. Might just make you play when I don’t feel like playing. Give you a wig and people won’t know the difference! Why are you booing me, I'm right?”

Young K

Young K’s foot tapping on the floor of the car was the only sound that filled the car aside from the soft sound of the car’s engine and tires. He was absolutely spent, having to have stayed in a different city for a show he was invited to that was filmed far away from his home.

Far away from you. Young K could tell his manager was starting to get irritated, but Young K was already massively annoyed and too far in his own world to really care. He missed the pine scent of his sheets, and he missed you.

It was not a good combination. When he got to his place he quietly thanked the manager, getting his bag before trying to ignore every urge telling him to run into the building and fall into his soft bed with you in his arms. When he opened the door, your keys were there, so he knew you were in the building. That thought filled him with more relief than it should have.

He did have to admit, hearing “I smile” this early in the day was odd as you usually saved the more mellow songs for later in the night. Young K told himself he had many euphoric moments in his life, but seeing you staring at a sheet of paper with so much determination and a bass guitar in your arms came pretty close to the top.

The absolute warmth that exploded in his chest was a feeling he would not forget in a long time. He could feel his lips slightly curl up in fondness as your hands shook while your eyes wavered unsurely between your hands on the strings and the video on your laptop sitting further on the edge of the bed. Your face scrunched up before you sighed and stared dejectedly at the instrument on your lap.

“Why so sad love?" His voice made you instantly sit up, pushing the instrument gently off your lap. You crawled to the edge of the bed where Young K had already gotten closer where he met you tenderly running his hand through your hair, and he curved his hand around the back of your head bringing your forehead to his abdomen.

He brushed his thumb over where your hairline met the sensitive skin of the back of your neck immensely enjoying being back at your side. Your hands were clutching the back of his shirt, and your simple touch brought a warm feeling to his chest. You both leaned back as Young K’s chest started to rumble with laughter “You should have waited for me, it would have been easier if I could teach you”, he softly said, pushing your hair back from your face causing you to lightly laugh.

“I wanted to surprise you, but I didn’t get that far anyways. Can’t become a prodigy in one day I guess”. Young K smiled again, promising to himself to help you as much as he could as he put his hand fondly on top of your head.

“You’re doing so good, just move your finger up a little, you’re plucking the c chord instead of the e chord during the chorus, don’t look at me like that i’m trying to help?! I wouldn’t put you on my level, but I think you’re doing really well. I’m hungry now, what do you want? No- What do you want? I am okay with anything just tell me-”

Wonpil

Wonpil was trying his hardest not to think about you. From the way you got excited when you got to see the moon in the cloudy sky to the way you smiled when you saw the neighbor’s cat while getting the mail.

He was happy to be on a trip with her sister, he hadn’t had much time to be with her in recent, well forever really. While you had been invited, you hadn’t been able to attend due to work. Wonpil did his best to keep his mind off you and enjoy the trip, he just hadn’t spent this long without you in a while.

Even so, he still had a fun time with his sister and her boyfriend creating many memories. He didn’t regret it, but he was extremely happy to come back to you. Opening the door to your apartment, he dropped his suitcase by the door, an excited smile tugging at his lips as he traveled through the apartment with his arms spread knowing you would embrace him as soon as you saw him. He felt so giddy, he didn’t even notice the broken keyboard sounds ringing throughout the living space.

His smile fell in a comical way, his face morphing into one of confusion instead. He recognized a broken rendition of “Mary had a little Lamb”, and tilted his head as he opened the door to your room seeing you with really big headphones on your head staring down at the keyboard with the most offended look on your face.

How dare this keyboard not give you its secrets! Wonpil couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his chest, not mocking you, but he just thought you were so cute. He lightly touched your shoulder causing you to jump, and the slight movement of your head caused the headphones to slide off your head. It didn’t matter much. You instantly dove into his arms, pressing the side of your face against his chest.

He felt warmth flood his chest as his hand encased the back of your head while he pressed his lips to the top, closing his eyes in bliss enjoying having you in his arms again. He leaned back from the brace as his eyes flashed with amusement and yours with slight embarrassment. He lightly laughed, eyes crinkling. He cradled your face in his hands, a teasing lilt to his voice, “What were you trying to do, hmm?” He could feel your face grow hot under his finger tips.

“I was just trying to surprise you. I felt bad for not being able to go with you”. He shook his head, hands playfully pinching your cheeks as you whined. “You shouldn’t act that way, I understood from the beginning. It must have been hard for you. Here, come, your lovely boyfriend will make this easier for you”.

“Y/n the keys will not bite prEsS dOWn, no, no keyboards do not have to be oiled, this is a musical instrument not a mechanical vehicle. You are so cute. What am I gonna do with you? No, you can not play the keyboard with your forehead, DO NOT put your foot on the keys. I don’t care if it’s for the vine.

Dowoon

Dowoon was beating himself up. Looking back at what happened a few hours ago made his chest tight. He couldn’t help but wince at the words both of you had thrown at each other. You had been with each other for so long, and when his lovely mother asked him when he would propose, although with good intentions, it put pressure on him.

He was still young. He had mentioned it to you in a joking manner, but there was a misunderstanding and you thought he was blowing it off as he didn’t see a future with you.

Somehow feelings were hurt, and the fight escalated. And Dowoon decided he was a coward because it was when you had started stuttering through your words and avoiding eye contact, he knew. He knew he had pushed you across a line that might not be able to be crossed again.

He panicked. He was really good at doing that wasn’t he? He left. He took a bus and went to the nearest hotel he could find. There he was sitting on the edge of the too perfectly made bed with his head in his hands.

Had he just ruined his precious relationship because he was scared of what the future could or could not hold? Why did he have to run away? Why couldn’t he just stay? Most importantly, how badly had he hurt you?

With a sigh he stood up, and he got on the bus back to your apartment. Staring at the door, the fact you were just on the other side and hurting is what pushed him to open it with the key you had given him. Opening the door, he was met with silence and darkness. Have you already gone? He walked through the apartment, hope dwindling with every step.

Then he heard a soft thump thump thump. His heart seemed to match with it, and as he walked to his studio which held his spare drum set, he thought of what he could say to make it better. Opening the door, he saw you softly hitting the drum with one stick, as if testing the waters and humming along to “When you Love Someone”. Dowoon couldn’t fight the sad smile that broke out on his face, and the absolute warmth that filled his chest.

Why did he ever even doubt your future with him? There was no person more perfect for him than you. He stood next to you, softly taking your hand in his and guiding your hand to the right beat, although a bit broken. When your sad eyes looked up into his, forgiving in nature but still frustrated beyond belief, he knew he could still fix things. You were you, and Dowoon was Dowoon. You always somehow found your way back to each other.

“No no, put your hands higher on the stick, no lower, now higher...a bit lower. No, Y/n drum sticks do not belong in my throat. What do you mean I have no room to talk, I thought we were over the fight. I would marry you in this life and the next! Why are you looking at me like that? I am not cute, I am handsome and overflowing with testosterone. Oooh are those gummies?

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lostinwildflowers · 3 years

Text

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

Summary: You're up late one night, thinking about your busy life as a princess. You manage to get locked out of your room, leaving you stranded on your balcony. It's a good thing your guard is there to catch you.

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, grumpy Iwa, that's about it, just pure softness

A/N: Hey y'all! I can't remember what number this one is, but here is another contribution to The Barn's Royal Rodeo Collab! I hope you like some soft and grumpy Iwa :3 -Birch<3

Moonlight flooded down from the sky, catching on a few stray clouds here or there to cast faint shadows on the ground underneath it. Millions of stars dotted the night sky, a mirage of faint navies, purples, and white that was breathtaking and eye-catching.

Your balcony was lit up by the moon, paled and white from its bright shine as the polished quartz gleamed and sparkled in the silence of the night. It was late, past midnight as you sat on the ledge of your balcony, (colored) eyes turned toward the sky in wandering thought and want.

Though your eyes were tired from the long day, you couldn’t quite pull them away from the expansive sky above you. There was a myriad of thoughts running through your mind from throughout your day.

Thoughts of important meetings, abrasive and annoying suitors, the kind and sweet woman from the bakery that morning, and even your personal guard.

You just wanted one moment to yourself to escape the pressures from your parents. It wasn’t easy to be a princess, no matter how glorious and perfect your life seemed to be. Every day was filled with stressful demands and even more exhausting people.

Yet glancing at the sky for a few minutes seemed to help ease your mind, even if you wanted nothing more than to escape the confines of your room. Your mind was running so fast that there was no way you could attempt at sleeping, so watching the night shift and glitter was the best option.

It had been almost an hour of sitting on your balcony, quietly thinking to yourself while your legs swung dangerously beneath you. A hefty gust of wind curled up the side of the castle, slamming the door to your balcony shut and leaving you outside.

You freeze in place as you realize that your door is automatically locked from the inside, your heart picking up its pace as you move from your seat to go to the door. Frantic footsteps lead you to the grandiose door, and you move your hands to pull on the silver-colored handle with a few harsh tugs.

No resolve, the door was completely and utterly locked, and you can feel your panic and stress begin to build back up in your body as you begin to pace. You knew no one else would be up at this hour and that there was only one way to get out of your situation that didn’t involve waiting till morning.

Climbing down.

You gulp shakily as you try to will your jittery thoughts and feelings away as you grasp your skirts in one hand and begin to lift your leg over the railing. The pale quartz is cool under your smooth hands, and you silently pray that your grip won’t slide on the slick material.

You maneuver yourself onto the outside of your balcony, your feet firmly placed between the arches on the railing while your hands gripped at where you had been sitting not long ago. In front of you was the mocking and locked balcony door, teasing you about the drop in height behind you toward the ground.

You try to steady your breathing as you once again try to shift, but your head whips around at the sound of footsteps sounding out on the gravel below you. You cease your movements as the footsteps get louder, and you try to shift your weight once again to get more comfortable, but your right foot slides out from underneath you.

A strangled scream falls from your lips, and you hear the footsteps grow rapid as they approach you from the ground. You can hear the faint clang of metal armor rubbing up against itself and you close your eyes in fear as you picture the drop below you.

“Princess, are you alright? What are you doing?” the low and gruff voice comes. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as your foot catches onto something sturdy enough to put weight on, and then your body slightly relaxes at the sound of the familiar voice.

“Iwaizumi! Thank goodness you’re here! My balcony door locked on me and I didn’t want to spend the entire night outside,” you call over your shoulder, albeit your voice was slightly muffled.

You can hear Iwaizumi huff something out under his breath, although you can’t quite make out the words as your grip starts to slacken a little on the grip on the railing. Iwaizumi’s footsteps can be heard again as he positions himself underneath you and says, “How did you think you were getting out of this?”

You roll your eyes in slight annoyance as you call out, “Can we talk about this whenever I’m on the ground?” Iwaizumi sighs loudly and grumbles, “Alright, but no breaking any bones, alright? Your parents will have my head on a platter before a girl flocks around Oikawa.”

You laugh at the low pun, but you can tell that Iwaizumi is grumpy and sleepy because it’s so late in the night. Yet you can tell that he cares by the softer tone in his voice and the gruff way he has of showing affection.

You shift your feet once again as you try to lower yourself, but your hand completely loses its grip on the quartz railing, and you cry out again as you scramble to hold yourself up.

Iwaizumi quickly yells out, “It’s alright, Y/n! Try to quiet down a little bit, I know this is scary but we can’t have the whole fleet of knights coming out here to save you.”

At the end of his words, Iwaizumi unties the leather straps holding his sword at his side and tosses it a few yards away so that neither of you would get hurt. He pulls off his metal gloves and some of the other protective plates on his arms before also tossing them.

Iwaizumi positions himself underneath you once more before he states, “Alright, princess, go ahead and let go, I’ll catch you.”

You glance down at him and you screw your eyes shut tightly, your throat tightening with fear at the drop. You say down to him with a wavery voice, “I don’t believe you! You’ll drop me, I know it!”

Iwaizumi’s face pulls into a scowl, his eyebrows drawing in thought before he replies, “When have I ever lied to you?” Your mouth falls open to shoot back another sassy retort, but a shrill shriek is ripped from your lips as your hands finally give out.

Wind smacks into you from all sides as you quickly fall, and Iwaizumi opens his opens to catch you right as you land on top of him. He catches you fairly well, but your weight and the momentum from the fall causes him to tumble back and onto the hard gravel with you in his arms.

A broken groan falls from Iwaizumi’s lips as you gasp and pant, trying to catch your breath and recenter yourself after the rough landing. Your eyes shoot wide open as you glance down at Iwaizumi who’s face was pulled into a painful frown, his teeth bared in pain.

“Iwaizumi! Oh my goodness, I am so so sorry! Oh my gosh, look at you!” You whimper out as your (colored) eyes begin to scan his features. Your hands move to tenderly grip his face as you look him over for any external injuries, and you flinch when you see a line of red across his cheek.

The scratch isn’t too bad, but there are some gravel chunks that you brush away as gently as you can. Iwaizumi gasps in pain and flinches from your touch, his body still recoiling from the impact with the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again as worry and concern flash over your features, your eyes softening as you make eye contact with him. You continue to cradle Iwaizumi’s face as his eyes flutter open, and he blinks at you a few times before his vision clears up.

Iwaizumi moves to stop you from continuously checking him over, but he’s too out of breath to stop you, not to mention that he’s enamored by the softness of your hands touching him so tenderly.

Under the light of the moon, a subtle pink glow rests on Iwaizumi’s cheeks as his large hands move to grip your wrists, halting your movements as you regain eye contact with him.

For a minute, it’s just the two of you. Nothing else seemed to matter as you gazed upon the handsome and angled features of your guard. To Iwaizumi, his pains and aches seemed to melt away with the kind and caring look in your eyes as he looked up at you, trying to memorize your features in your close proximity.

Iwaizumi doesn’t mean to look so long, but his hazel-colored orbs linger on your parted lips for a few too many moments. When he looks back up and into your eyes, you’re looking down at him in a slight daze, a far-off look in your eye.

In an instant, you seem to remember where you are, lying on top of Iwaizumi. You quickly start to shuffle toward your feet, scrambling to get off of him as your cheeks start to flush in embarrassment.

“Oh my gosh Iwa, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I was crushing you, you probably couldn’t breathe! I’m sorry!” You manage to spit out, one hand rest on your face in worry while you offer the other one for him to take.

You help pull him to his feet carefully, and Iwaizumu shakes his head to try to clear his mind of his prior thoughts. His cheeks are still painted red in embarrassment, he thought he was going to kiss you. What was wrong with him?

Iwaizumi just grunts out, “Don’t mention it. I say we keep this nighttime balcony jumping between the two of us.” You giggle at his gruff response and you offer, “Well would you like to go on a walk with me? To shake off the fall?”

The guard just offers his arm to you stiffly, and you frown as you take a hold of it and ask, “Are you sure you’re alright, Iwa? I’m-” “Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s my job to protect you, princess, even if it is against your own stupidity sometimes.”

As the two of you walk over to his discarded sword and armor, your eyes flick over his face for any sights of pain or discomfort. When you don’t see any, you stop him gently, your hands resting on his forearms as you give him a small smile.

Iwaizumi looks away and toward the ground, his cheeks still dusted with a soft blush color. Under the glow of the moon, Iwaizumi’s features are softened, and you can’t help but silently acknowledge how handsome he looked.

You grab a hold of the silver metal pauldrons on his chest, slowly leaning up to press a warm and sweet kiss to his un-injured cheek. As you pull away you whisper, “Thank you for catching me, Hajime. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

When you finally settle your weight back onto the base of your feet, your eyes scan over Iwaizumi’s features. You can’t help but giggle at him when you see the red coating his entire face, your hands tightening their grip on his forearms as you double over with laughter.

In between your giggles, you manage to get out, “How can I make it up to you, Hajime?” The brown-haired guard watches you carefully for a few seconds as you calm your laughter, your eyes wide and twinkling with a playful mischief.

Warm hands wrapping around your waist catch your attention, and before you know it, Iwaizumi is pulling you into a quick but passionate kiss. His lips are warm and smooth against your own, and you let out a soft hum as your eyes flutter shut.

He pulls away after just a moment, holding you close to him before resting his forehead on your own. Iwaizumi smirks down at you and says, “Well how about you don’t go falling out of balconies in the middle of the night, princess? I might not always be around to catch you.”

At that, Iwaizumi rests your hand on his arm again as he ties his sword to his waist and grabs the rest of his armor before leading you off for your walk. He might have said that he might not always be around to catch you, but you both knew that wasn’t true.

Tag list: @xxdragonwriterxx @tejxswini @mysterystarz @mortedeveles @vs-redemption @kal0psi-a @gin-no-g @starstruckkittensweets @kitacharm @babieweeb @shirari @animated-moon @mitzwinchester @aanxiousssunflower

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anika-ann · 3 years

Text

In the Strangest Place (We Just Might Find Love) - Pt.1

Type: two-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 3700

Summary: You’re hiding from your boss in a supply closet, minding your own business, when a stranger joins you unexpectedly.

This is not a beginning of a steamy story; given the reason you’re hanging out in the dark, even a make-out session is honestly the last thing you want to fantasize about right now.

But that doesn’t mean that the nice stranger cannot make your day much better.

Warnings: mention of sexual harassment, a bit of angst, attempt at humour, language

You were on the verge of screaming – or crying, you honestly weren't sure anymore. But you knew you were done. You had worked your fingers to a bone just to get here; to become a little bee in the most famous hive in Manhattan. Stark Industries. The Stark/Avengers Tower. The beacon of the New York skyline. The dream coming true.

Yeah, not so much.

You hadn't expected super-important assignments – after all, you were just an assistant to the head of one of too many departments – but God, you had not expected to be handling coffee so often. To be running ridiculous errands. Your degree from MIT should actually mean something here! If nothing else than that you were not just some pretty face and that you fucking didn’t deserve the treatment you were receiving.

And that was the root of trouble, really. You could handle making your way up, it would be tiring but not surprising, it was pretty much what you had assigned for.

But you had not assigned for the sexist comments, disgusting innuendo and for the grabby hands of your sleazy boss. Thomas Gregory was a fucking nightmare of a man and you swore that you were quitting if he called you a ‘Dollface’ or slapped your ass one more time.

And that was how you had got here, into this very moment; hiding in a dark supply closet like a creep with two cups of overpriced coffee in a cup holder and a piece of organic carob-nut muffin.

You weren't about to come out any time soon, because you simply knew your boss still would be a pig and give you yet another reason to hand in your notice and you had fucking wanted this job for so long, worked for it so hard and sacrificed too much that you just couldn't make yourself to quit no matter how much your skin cringed and your stomach rolled over every time Thomas Gregory touched you. It was so frustrating you wanted to scream.

Or cry, you still couldn't solve the dilemma. Maybe both.

You barely registered the hurried footsteps – and then the door was yanked open, you glimpsed a tall blond male figure and suddenly there was dark again. Except there was one more body in the very limited room of the closet, making you press your back onto the shelf.

Something rattled with your movement and the newcomer hissed a barely audible ‘Be quiet’ as two columns of muscles that were probably his arms framed your head leaning onto the very same shelf, so you could both fit in here.

The little order leaving his lips broke the last seal inside you. You were tired, frustrated and were receiving enough humiliation as it was, you did not need some random guy invading your hideout, barking orders.

“Look, mister, if you have any problem with me trying to make a little space for you in this tiny-ass closet, I recommend you to-”

“Shh!” he hushed you and you thought you had never heard someone whisper so urgently; at least it sounded less bossy than before. It did not mollify you though, because this guy actually had enough impudence to-

“Don't you dare to shush me-!”

A hand went to cover your mouth and you let out an exasperated mumble of curses, while his voice continued.

“Please, just— I'm sorry, please, don't make a sound, my friend is trying to set me up and-”

Your eyes went wide and he suddenly fell silent. Before you could question his methods of shutting you up, his exclaim or the pause, and ask him to be so kind to find another closet, another male voice sounded somewhere behind the door.

“Come on, Steeeve. Man, don't be such a prude. Lillian is a great chic, okay?”

The man – the friend, you assumed – seemed annoyed and you couldn't believe that Steve had not been kidding you. He was actually hiding for the very reason he had offered you. You nodded as you heard the stranger behind the door move and the hand covering your mouth hesitantly disappeared.

“It's just a lip piercing, don't be such a tight-ass. It can actually be quite fun, you wouldn't believe what a girl can do with such thing…”

“Gross,” you commented soundlessly and you could feel your companion’s eyes burning a hole into your head in silent agreement.

“Goddammit, Steve!”

The voice and the footsteps slowly disappeared in the distance and you… you were face to face with a stranger named Steve in a limited space of a dark supply closet, his breath tickling your scalp, his cologne very much assaulting your nose; at least it was a pleasant assault.

“I'm sorry for being so rude. And thank you,” his voice caressed your hairline gently and hearing his suddenly polite tone and evaluating this whole situation, you could barely hold back a giggle all of sudden.

“You're welcome, Steve. How long has this been going on?”

“Two days-” That didn't sound too bad, he could probably take a lot more- “-at this level. With Lillian. It was Emily before that and Angelina before that. In smaller scale, it's been happening for about four months,” he recited dutifully as if he was reporting a status to his boss and this time you couldn’t help it – you giggled.

When you could feel the wounded gaze he gave you, you obediently made a sympathetic noise.

“Aww, poor you, your friend supplying you with no doubt great relationship material…”

“That’s what he said! But I don't want a relationship material. I don't want any material, not even his… one-night stand material. What does that mean anyway? These are women he's talking about, not a material-”

You let out a tiny pleased sound at his exasperation, which shut him up. You wondered if it was your turn to speak – it was hard to tell, supply-closet conversations weren't exactly your area of expertise.

“Kudos for that thinking,” you noted after short silence and the darker shadow of his figure tilted his head. “Did you try to tell him that you weren't interested…? Of course you did, why am I asking, that was a stupid question…”

“It's okay. I'm sorry, I got a little… carried away. It just… it's like talking to a brick wall.”

You hummed in sympathy again and the room fell into silence once more.

It was ridiculous how much your mind started working over hundred percent, trying to come up with something appropriate to say. The best you could do was:

“Hey, you want a cup of overpriced organic coffee? I happen to have two.”

The needy noise that let his lips was downright pornographic. Or maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, the strange environment finally getting to you.

“I knew I smelled coffee here! I thought I went completely insane.”

You couldn't help but smile at that. Yeah, you knew the feeling all too well.

“Nope, your senses were not playing tricks on you. Help yourself. It should be around your left hand.” A rustling of a paper bag. “Oh. That's a carob-nut muffin – with carob instead of cocoa. You can have that too, I won't need that.”

“Alright, I gotta ask. Why are you hiding in a supply closet, with a muffin and two cups of expensive coffee nonetheless? And may I hand you one?”

“Such a gentleman. Thanks,” you murmured and accepted the cup. You weren't lying about not needing it – you wouldn't. Because you were about to quit; it was inevitable.

You sipped the warm liquid, its taste as bitter as the reason behind your actions.

“So?”

“I'm hiding from my boss.”

Your voice must have sounded terrible, because his own softened at the confession.

“And why is that?”

“Because if I bring him his coffee and muffin, he'll probably call me his good girl and— and slap my butt and-”

“I beg your pardon?” he growled, like honest to God growled, the strange sound warming your scalp.

And it was the righteous outrage in the sound he let out, the reaction that you needed, someone agreeing with you – a stranger, who wouldn’t feel obliged to do so just it was a duty of being a good friend to you – that made the levee break. Suddenly tears were streaming down your face, anger and humiliation, and your breath was hitching in embarrassing hiccups and the dark space felt so anonymous and safe at the same time that you didn't even care anymore.

“And if he does that I’ll have to– to quit, because I-I'm so fucking fed up with his dis-disgusting hands and si-sickening voice voicing his lizard thoughts a-and I ca-can't quit goddammit, I worked so fucking hard to-to get a job h-here and-”

You didn't realise your hands started trembling until the cup disappeared from them, placed back on the shelf, and a pair of much bigger and warmer hands gently enveloped yours, his body shifting just a little closer as he lost the support that had been keeping some distance between you.

“Hey, hey, shh, it's gonna be okay…” his voice washed over you soothingly, sounding almost at your ear.

Still, there was space between your bodies, a respectable distance – as respectable as possible in the limited space. It was as if he acknowledged it could make you uncomfortable – which probably wasn't exactly hard to figure out, given what you just told him.

“I'm sorry,” you sobbed and cleared your throat afterwards in attempt to compose yourself. “I didn't mean to load that on you, my problems are none of your concern-”

“Like hell they aren't. Sexual harassment on a workplace is everyone's concern, or it should be,” he grunted. His hands tightened their grip, not uncomfortably – reassuring. “This okay?”

You smiled through your tears. This Steve guy was really sweet to you. You almost forgot what it was like to be treated with respect.

“Y-yeah. Thank you for-- for asking. That was really nice.”

He huffed. “It should be a normal human decency. And I did grab you before that, sorry.”

“Something tells me you would let go if I said no more vehemently.”

“Of course I would.”

You gave him a watery smile he couldn't see and tried to calm your breathing completely. His thumb caressing your wrist helped. You wondered which department he was from; if his skills in comforting came with a job description or if he was a natural.

“Have you… have you tried to fill in a report?” he asked hesitantly, making your heart stop.

Oh yeah, you had. It had ended up in a shredder machine, because Thomas had spotted it. He had made you do it yourself, standing over you and watching, claiming the complaint had been baseless and it would pointless to hand it anyway, because he would explain the HR how it truly was. That you had made a move and he, the good father and husband he had been, politely turned you down, which turned you vengeful.

You whispered the story to Steve, your voice trembling, more tears escaping and you could immediately tell he believed you – because his grip grew steely strong, his teeth grinding.

“This is wrong. You should have never been forced to work for a man like him– objectifying you, touching you, threatening you, that's just--- you should talk to Tony,” he blurted out in the end and you frowned.

“Who's Tony?”

You had checked the whole HR department via their website when doing your research. You couldn't recall any Tony.

There was a short pause, broken by Steve's confused voice. “Stark.”

You blinked, wondering if Steve was joking. He didn't sound like he was joking, which was strange, because so far, he had seemed to be a smart and reasonable man.

“There's no way I'm scoring a meeting with Mr. Stark. And it's not like he’s dealing with things like that.”

“...Talk to Pepper then. I doubt she has bigger than zero tolerance for harassment,” he exclaimed confidently as if talking to Pepper Potts (this time you assumed whom he was talking about – did he call all of the big bosses their first name…?) was an option for a regular human being like you. Realizing that all over again though, that was tough.

“While I believe that’s her policy, it's not like I can just walk into her office.”

Steve seemed to consider that, while his thumb was still drawing patterns on your skin, almost subconsciously.

“I think you could. But if you're worried it might take a while and you’re scared to go back to your office now, let me walk you. I can explain him that every employee deserves to be treated with respect,” he offered finally, deadly serious, yet still sounding kind.

Your heart swelled. A guy you just met (in a supply closet, a good story to be narrated at parties, you supposed), suggested to help you out, no hesitation. God, wasn't he just too pure for this world?

“I… thank you, Steve. But… while you do have an impressive frame, I think it would only get worse. I think I'll just enjoy this extremely hipster coffee, which I'll later have to pay for no doubt and… and go face my boss to hand him my resignation. There are plenty jobs, right? I can as well serve coffee in a café,” you said with a sad smile, letting your hands slip from his comfortable hold.

“That's not right. Especially if you worked hard to– not to mention it's a matter of principle. You run away once and… running is a very hard habit to break,” he whispered, as if a secret, trying to reason with you.

You bit your lip when the truth of his words washed over you, along with the way he spoke; with such a strong believe in principles that should stand a standard. It… he made you forgot your own trouble for a second as you let yourself get lost in him. In the way he treated you, the protector's persona, yet not forced. He had suggested you to ‘let him come with you’, not even a note of command in his approach. This was not a man seeing an opportunity to be a hero when spotting the damsel in distress; this was a man who believed in what was right and wanted to fix things that were apparently broken. You wished there were more men like him, selfishly wanting one of them to be your boss.

“And men like these – they need to be put in line,” he added darkly, snapping you from your daydreaming of a better world. “Let me come with you. I'll—I’ll help you fill in the forms, walk you to HR. You don't have to deal with this alone.”

For all the comfort the dark had offered you so far, you wished for a little bit more light now, enough to see his face, his eyes. You knew they would be burning with honesty, you were sure of it, maybe a little rage aimed at a man who dared to treat another human being the way he did.

The offer was so tempting. But just imagining the security escorting Steve from the building for wanting to help you was enough to put out the fiery need to accept. It was ridiculous to care so much about his well-being after what could be minutes of knowing him, but no one could call you out on it. And if they did, you could always play it cool with ‘matter of principles’; good people only deserved good things.

You carefully reached out, hoping to find his hand again. Your heart skipped a beat when you brushed his thigh instead, but at least his hand was right next to it. He released a surprised breath when you took it into yours, way smaller one. You bit your lip when leaning in a little, blindly trying to meet his gaze.

“You’re a good man, Steve. I’m sorry your friend is giving you a hard time, you don't deserve that – even though I'm sure he means well. If you ever want to get him off your back...” you wavered at the ridiculous idea, but hey, why the hell not, he had offered to help you out first, “you can say you're seeing someone. Give him my card. I'll confirm we're together – he seems like a kind of a guy who would check.”

Shocked breathless laugh erupted from his chest and you assumed you hit the nail on the head. You fished out one of your business cards, handing it to him and releasing his hand then.

It was time to leave and face your fate, but Steve didn't make any attempt at moving out of the closet.

In fact, he seemed to examine the card for a while and then he quietly read out your name. You gasped in surprise. How the hell could he see anything? You could barely make out his silhouette!

“How-”

“I'm used to working in dark spaces,” he muttered absently. “Would you really do that?”

Slightly taken aback he was considering your offer, you nodded, only to realize he couldn't see it--- actually, he probably could.

“I would. Hell, I think I could handle one uncomfortable dinner with your friend vetting me,” you added, slightly amused at the idea. When you could hear his shocked exhale and wanted to take it back. “I didn't mean to-”

“Let me come with you to your office,” he repeated like a broken record and you frowned at the sudden change of topic.

“What-”

“It could throw your boss off your back for long enough for you to deal with the complaint. If you would be comfortable enough to play my girlfriend for a dinner time, why not now?”

Your eyes went wide and you almost choked on air.

“I-what? I told you it would probably only make it worse-”

“It will work.”

“How can you be so-”

The door yanked open and your eyes were hit by an unpleasantly sharp light, making you squint.

“Holy-” a ridiculously familiar voice you couldn’t place breathed out. “Wilson! I found him! You’ve gotta see this!”

You wanted to see the owner of the voice, but your view was completely blocked by the broad chest of your companion.

So you at least raised your head to meet Steve face to face so to speak. You couldn’t see much, your eyes still adjusting; with the light shining from behind him, playing a mysterious game with his blond locks, framing his impressive figure, he looked like a freaking angel, beautiful and righteous, bringing justice, yet wrapped in an aura of peace and serenity. You barely kept your jaw from falling on the floor.

You kept staring, focusing on his face, and slowly started realizing that his features too, were familiar. Mortification was creeping up your back as the puzzle pieces started falling into place, creating a horrifying picture, making you wish for the Earth to swallow you.

The voice from behind Steve’s back resolved the last doubts you had about your temporary mysterious roommate.

“Wouldn’t peg you as a get-freaky-in-a-closet kind of guy, Capsicle.”

You wanted to immediately protest that you had definitely not been getting freaky in the closet, but your brain was still frozen because of the big revelation – that you had just been comforted, hell, that you had just offered to be a fake date to Captain America.

You simply stared at him, unbeing able to hold your jaw from falling anymore. Because– because-- oh god.

Now it made perfect sense that he thought Thomas Gregory would be intimidated… by the idea of harassing Captain America’s girlfriend. You couldn’t really blame Steve for being sure it would work. Also, it kinda explained why he called Mr. Stark or Ms. Potts their first names – they were on the first name basis.

Which really was the least relevant thing right now.

A bashful smile appeared on Steve’s lips, a little guilty perhaps, and you just… giggled at the absurdity. You couldn’t help it. You had just spent minutes in a supply closet with Steve Rogers without having a single clue about it and while you didn’t do anything heated as someone would assume, it was one of the most amazing minutes of your life.

You must have looked like an idiot or something, because he chuckled too, completely ignoring another male voice growing in volume as the newcomer approached.

“Holy hell, man! I can’t believe what I’m seeing!”

At those words, Steve tentatively took your hand with an encouraging smile and led you out to the hall. You were met with two pairs of curious eyes examining you from head to toe. You lowered your gaze, now fully aware of the fact they belonged to Tony Stark – the Iron Man – and Samuel Wilson – the Falcon.

Well. Now the ‘party story’ finally got the right juice.

“Then don’t, Sam, because it’s not what it looks like,” Steve replied to his match-maker friend and took a deep breath, squeezing your hand tighter. “Tony, this woman would like to report harassment on her workplace.”

Your head snapped to Steve’s face with panicked gaze. What the hell was he doing?!

Tony Stark made a noise of disapproval.

“Couldn’t you try harder so she wouldn’t complain about you?”

“Tony,” Steve addressed him, his voice solemn just like his expression, which clearly surprised the billionaire. “I’m serious. It’s not about me. Her boss is the reason why she was hiding here.”

Without commenting any further, Steve handed him your business card and Mr. Stark hummed. You weren’t brave enough to look up. Was he going to wave it off? Was he going to fire you?

He said your name, making you gulp in fright. You had to look up now and you really didn’t wanna, too afraid of what you’d see. You were shocked to meet with a searching gaze, but not a mean one.

“It is true? Is your boss giving you trouble? Making sexist comments? Worse?”

You felt tears in your eyes, utterly taken aback by his sensitive tone, the inviting light in his eyes. It was too much to bear and you wanted to escape the kind gaze; and he wouldn’t let you. You only managed to nod when you felt Steve’s thumb caressing the back of your hand.

Mr. Stark sighed, adding a dark ‘goddammit’, and returned Steve the business card.

“Alright, kids. Let’s have a trip.”

And you just stared.

…what?

Part 2

I know, I know, Steve is a little bit of Knight-In-Shining-Armour here, but it made sense to me O:-)

Happy weekend!

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #steve rogers #captain america #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfic #captain america fanfiction #civilian reader #in the strangest place we just might find love #anika ann

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kimnjss · 3 years

Text

signature sparkle | knj

⤑ series: plot twist

⤑ pairing: rapper!namjoon x rich girl!reader

⤑ genre: let’s just call it angst, lmao.

⤑ rating: PG13

⤑ word count: 6.7K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: there aren’t any...

⤑ chapter song: lonely eyes - lauv.

⤑ A/N: hiii! don’t have a lot to say expect thank you so much for everyone who’s enjoying this story!! this part came out later in the day than i planned, but thank you soo much for being patient!! hope you like it nd of course ., let me know what you think x

APRIL 24TH, 2020 | 22:47

Namjoon spots you first. Through the crowd of smartly dressed mid-twenty-year-olds. The dress you wear hugs the subtle curves of your body nicely, very obviously outlining your figure. He pretends not to notice, but it's hard to ignore the look on your face when you laugh. Head tilted back, features contorting as you lean on the man beside you. His arm wrapped around your waist, a bit low if anyone cared to ask.

His breath catches when you're turning to face in his direction as if you've sensed his arrival. A pretty smile breaks onto your features as you lift your hand up to wave, and he can't help but think you had been waiting for him to show up. Obviously.

The man beside you nods, accepting the kiss you showily place on his cheek. Grinning wide up at him before you're turning to make your way over. It's subconscious, the way he shifts to straighten himself beside his friends. Letting his mind wonder what you'd compliment him about first. Probably a lame joke about his glasses, or maybe you'd annoyingly poke at his dimples.

He doesn't miss the switch in your hips as you approach, drink seemingly appearing in your hand as a waiter passes. You really did have everything handed to you. Your smile only grows as you get closer and just as he's fixing himself to derail one of your blatant flirting attempts, you're being engulfed in Yoongi's embrace.

Bent backward as he hugs you, laughing loudly and your drink sloshes. Falling in dark droplets on to the carefully polished floor. As soon as you stood straight up again, you're setting your sights on the other three people stood in front of you. Brow arching as your gaze zeros in on Taehyung.

Outstretching your hand to set your drink in his palm, a sly smile spreads across your carefully glossed lips. “You're cute,” The remark is quick, thoughtless. But it still has Joon's stomach flipping, it only gets worse when while watching a flustered Taehyung fumble through a 'thanks'.

“Yn. This is Taehyung and that's Jimin,” Yoongi is pointing either of them out, all while moving to stand beside Taehyung an arm slung over his shoulder. Both of them are granted a short wave before you're turning your attention to Namjoon. Seemingly for the first time tonight.

His face is quickly shifting in a glare, hastily trying to cover up the fact that he had been watching you since you had walked over. Lips shifting into that flirty smirk of yours the moment your eyes lock, moving toward him with this bone-chilling slowness. “Hi, Joonie.” An instant shiver runs down his spine following the sweet tone of your voice.

The tips of your long fingers curl around the skinny fabric of his tie, tugging him down to eye level. “You look especially appetizing in your stuffy little monkey suit,” So close that your noses are barely touching, he can see the subtle sparkle detail in your eye shadow, fading into the sharp line of eyeliner. Lashes looking much longer than he remembers, probably stuck some on like he's seen some girls do from time to time.

You smell nice too. Sweet. Like vanilla, but there's a bit of tang from the alcohol you've been sipping. “What, Joon? Aren't you gonna repay the compliment?” Brows furrowing slightly, lip jutting out to create a pout. You're leaning back, taking in the flustered look on his face.

“Don't you think I look good in my dress?” His eyes are huge, stammering for a response. There's a cute blush rising on his cheeks, paired with the pop of one of his deep dimples. “Oh!” Giggling, the tip of your finger pokes at the indent causing his cheeks to darken. He was so cute.

Jimin is quickly coming to his rescue, an arm looping around yours and pulling the two of you apart. “Alright, alright. Down, temptress. Let our poor Joonie collect his bearings. I think it's time you introduce me to some cute boys,” The last bit of his sentence is emphasized, thrown over his shoulder to the two boys cooing back and forth.

He's pulling you away, leaving no room for argument. Quickly falling into his rapid chatter about his plans for tonight of getting drunk and hooking up. Maybe even meet up with someone that'll make him swoon, so like the perfect little wing woman, you're walking him right to the man of the hour.

Jungkook is sat in the middle of a long leather couch, arms outstretched over the back of it. Jin and Hoseok are sat on either side of him, both with scarcely clothed girls perched on their laps. You've seen the girl with Jin many times before a model of some sort who feeds on the undivided attention from Mister Kim Seokjin.

The girl with Hoseok is different, though. They always were. A pretty girl with hair dyed red a pointed nose and dark painted lips. Her body shakes as she giggles, twirling a piece of hair around her manicured finger. She gives an obvious wiggle of her hips and Hobi eats it up, pulling her closer to him by her hips.

“Jhope and Jin? They're both cute, Yn. But I'm not exactly sure I'm their type.” Jimin is making a board gesture toward the two of them and you're quick to roll your eyes, tilting your head to look over at him. “Duh. Not them. Jungkook,”

You watch as his gaze shifts to the middle, landing on Jungkook. Who looks extremely handsome with his drink in his hand and a smile on his face. “That's Jeon Jungkook... you're going to hook me up with Jeon Jungkook?”

If you had been any closer, you'd be sure he heard you with the way his head snaps up in your direction. Wide eyes focusing on the guy hanging off your arm. He's quick to stand as you approach, rattling the two men on his side. So wrapped up in their girls, they don't even notice his little outburst.

“Jungkookie, this is Jimin. His friends ditched him, isn't that so sad?” Pausing to show off your signature pout, paired with gently nudging Jimin forward. “Do you think you could entertain him for a bit?”

Jungkook is nodding almost instantly, “Y-yeah. I can do that,”

“Great!” With a quick pat on Jimin's shoulder and a wide smile sent up to your friend, you're quickly turning to leave the two of them alone. Making a quick beeline straight to the bar.

APRIL 24TH, 2020 | 22:59

Namjoon watches you walk away. Every dip and sway of your hips until you're disappearing out of sight. And even then he can't tear his eyes from that direction.

You've invaded his space countless times before, he was beginning to wonder if you even knew what personal space was. But this time was different. This time had a stronger hammering rising in his chest, this incessant urge to revel in the fact that you're so close rather than push you away.

He nearly lost it when you laughed, breath brushing against his lips. Nearly lost his mind at the sound, although he's sure his mind was already gone. Blame it on the alcohol he intended to drink tonight, must've got a head start in his system. There's no other explanation for why he's feeling this way.

Yoongi lets out a snort, moving to stand in front of his friend, cutting off his view just as you're reaching the rest of your friends. He's got this shit-eating grin on his face, hands set on his hips. “You like her, huh?” He's not sure if it's the teasing tone in his friend's voice or the knowing look on his face, but Joon is filled with annoyance.

“Even if it's just a little bit,” He rushes, lifting his hands up in defense.

Namjoon is instantly rolling his eyes, arms crossing over his chest as he arches a brow down at his friend. “What are you even talking about?” Because there was no way he could be talking about what he thought. Suggesting that he might see you differently than he's seen you after all this time. That was insane.

“Come on, we all see how you get when we talk about her. And the way you look at her?” Taehyung is quickly jumping to his lover's side, dropping an arm around Joon's shoulder. His face shifting into a mock lovey-dovey expression, before he's bursting into a fit of giggles.

Joon is quick to shrug his arm off of him, pushing him away slightly. “I look at her like she's annoying the shit out of me,” They're both laughing this time, loud and obnoxious. Catching the attention of a few people nearby.

Wheezing breaths leave their lips, chest heaving as their laughs calm down. “Yeah, okay,” Yoongi speaks through fainting laughter, straightening his back while shoving his fingers through his hair. He shares a silent look with Taehyung before he's shifting his gaze back on to Joon.

“Don't you think she looks cute in magenta?” Yoongi grins, the words barely leaving his mouth before Namjoon is speaking up. Almost automatically. “It's baby pink, actually. She wears it because she thinks it makes her nose look smaller,”

His response has the both of them breaking into fits of laughter again, hunching forward as their backs shake. “And how do you know that!?” Taehyung is managing through his laughs, only causing Joon's cheeks to flush pink.

Why did he know that? No doubt something you uttered to him mindlessly while the two of you were alone, but why did he remember? And why was it the first thing he noticed the moment you were making your way over to him? With another roll of his eyes, he's brushing past his friends with a mumble of going to meet up with some people.

“I'll go get us drinks, baby. Wait here,” Yoongi says with a short laugh, setting his hand on Taehyung's shoulder before he's turning around, walking in the direction of the bar.

APRIL 24TH, 2020 | 23:19

Joon was so cute. You couldn't wrap your head around exactly what it was about him that made it so hard to not think of him, but it was like every free moment you had was filled with thoughts of him. He was so closed off and distant when it came to you, the dramatic show of annoyance he'd put on whenever you'd get close.

Yet, he wasn't as ambiguous as he liked to let on. You saw the little peaks in characters he'd have when the two of you were together. The lingering stare he'd give you while you'd look over his work or the spouts of jealously when you weren't given him your undivided attention.

Not sure exactly what it was Joon felt for you, but there had to be something there. He wanted you in some type of way and what were you supposed to do? Ignore it? Go to work every day and see him and just what?.. Do your job?

That was what was expected of you. Getting your job done. Every single day. No more fucking up, no more fucking around. Just doing everything the exact way it should be done. Or else...

“Do you want me to get you a drink?” Yoongi's voice sounds from behind you, breaking through the raging thoughts clouding your mind. He shoots a large grin in your direction, lifting his body onto the stool beside you.

Tipping back your glass, you're sucking back the last bits of drink you had left. Face souring from the bitter taste. “It's fine. I'll get you one,” You're lifting your hand to flag the bartender over. “Each glass is at least sixty dollars,” The tip of your manicured nail taps the menu where the prices are listed.

His eyes go wide. “Why!?”

“We're celebrating!” A laugh falls from your lips at his surprise. In a room full of filthy rich artists and their even richer team, of course, the drinks would be expensive. Dropping a hundred or two was equivalent to shopping at the dollar store among the lot of you. “I'll just open a tab, you and your friends can get whatever. On me.”

Chasing your words with your drink order to the bartender, Yoongi does the same after you. Swiveling around in his chair to check out the crowd of party-goers quickly filling up the room. His eyes catch the man stood a few feet away from you, leaning over the back of a chair.

Dark eyes squinted behind his thing rimmed glasses, glaring in your direction. One hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a drink. It's obvious that he's watching every one of your movements, more than likely trying to read your lips. Yoongi is quick to avert his gaze, turning his attention back on to you.

“Is that your boyfriend?” He's subtle with the way he points him out, tipping his head in the direction of where he stood. You're not as discreet, whipping your body around to see where he's pointing. And then full-on lifting your hand to wave over at him.

Pure shock takes over his features, cheeks darkening as he waves back. Obviously caught in his staring. “One of them. Have you heard of him? His soundcloud name is IM,” Your drinks are brought out at that moment, set down on a pair of coasters.

“Wait. You're dating a soundcloud rapper?” You're familiar with the stigma and preconceived notions that come with soundcloud rappers and while most of them were true, Changkyun was different. Not only was he talented, but he was sweet, generous and he cared a lot.

About you especially. “Stop it. He's sweet. And he's a lot better than you'd think.” You're gearing up to further defend your man, but Yoongi is quick to lift his hand, shaking his head slightly at your protest.

“No, I mean. You literally own this place. Why don't you just sign him?” Pfft. Like you haven't thought of that before. “He says he wants to do it himself...” You're lifting your glass to your lips, taking a few sour sips before setting it back down. Leaning in close to whisper in his ear.

He's instantly engulfed in the sweet smell of you, cool breath tickling his flaming ears. “But sometimes, I think it's because of me.” Yoongi's getting a good look at your face when you're pulling back, the flash of sadness hidden deep in your eyes. It's gone before he can place it, masked with their normal pretty sparkle.

“What do you mean?”

Your fingers push through your hair as you lean back, letting a soft sigh fall past your lips. “I'm not dumb. I know how a lot of people view me and how it affects the company. If he were to sign and be dating me, it wouldn't be good for him.” The two of you never fully talked about it, but it didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

“You sound like you've thought about this before,” He's taking his first sip of whiskey, corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. Obviously impressed by the taste. You're nodding at his words, gaze shifting from him over to where Changkyun had been standing before. “I used to feel really bad about it. I mean... I still do, I just...”

What were you supposed to do? It's not like he's ever even said that was the real reason behind his reluctance, so how were you supposed to know? “Why don't you change then? Actually, clean up your act and be serious.” He sounds exactly like Hoseok and your father.

“I don't want to,” It's like you're constantly being surrounded by people telling you what to do. “Why not?” Truthfully, you didn't know yourself. If you were to start listening and following the rules, what's the worse that could happen? There was just this insistent tug in the other direction, clutching to the bit of control that you had.

You don't get a chance to answer, though. Changkyun is walking straight up to you. An arm circling around your waist and stare closing in on Yoongi. He's shooting him one hard glare that has him instinctively backing away. Gaze shifting back onto you, he's hitting you with one of his sweet smiles. “Come sit, baby. Kookie is about to go up and talk,”

Allowing him to help you from your stool, you're sending a wave over your shoulder as he leads you toward the couches where you had first left Jungkook and Jimin. Only now, Jimin was sat by himself – Jungkook making his way up toward the speakers. Namjoon and Taehyung have found their way over, sat with Hoseok and Jin.

Changkyun is slouching onto the couch, pulling your body down onto his lap. With your legs on either side of his thigh and his arm secured around your waist. His chin finds home on your shoulder, lips placing soft kisses to your cheek.

You can feel a pair of eyes burning holes into the side of your face, but you can't be bothered to look as Jungkook reaches to click the button, releasing his new single. Cheers instantly wash over the crowd as purchases of the song begin to flood in, the number of plays following.

With a large grin, Jungkook's moving to the mic to speak.

APRIL 25TH, 2020 | 00:12

Conversation bubbles between the lot of you. Mainly centered around Jungkook and his mixtape and it's projected success. Changkyun laughs along with everyone else, with both of his arms secured around your waist. Joon has moved from his spot beside you, disappearing somewhere within the crowd.

He had watched every one of you and Changkyun's movements, trying to hide his staring with large gulps of his beer. It wasn't annoyed glares that he had been shooting your way, those were obvious and really easy to read. But the way he was looking at you now, was something you hadn't seen before.

Something you couldn't easily place.

No time is given for you to decipher it because he's standing from his spot with a quick mumble to Yoongi about his whereabouts. And since he's walked away you can't seem to focus on the conversation happening around you. Can't help but wonder what he's up to and if he was having a good time.

And all at once, you're being hit with this urge to get something to drink. With a few taps to Changchun's arms, you're wiggling from his grip. Bending at your waist, you're planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I'll be right back, baby.”

You're heading straight to the bar, at least that's what you tell yourself when you're walking away from your friends. But you find yourself looking through the heads of the crowd for those familiar pair of glasses and deeply dimpled cheeks. Through your search, you find yourself in the record room.

Hidden from the rest of the building, a room filled with the highest-ranking records to ever come from this place. All hanging in glass frames, disks shiny gold, and the artists' names etched into the frame. Plush red carpet covering the floors, so soft you don't hear the footsteps approaching.

Not until you're feeling the brush against your shoulder, his tall presence makes you feel smaller, but at the same time secure beside him. Instantly. It's an odd feeling that you're not quite used to. “Hey.” For some reason your voice is caught, the only thing you can muster is a smile and a simple nod of your head.

“Why are you here away from anyone else?” You're not used to Namjoon actively trying to keep up a conversation with you, let alone starting them. You're not sure how to react, so your words come out awkward and your body language follows. “I came to get a drink... but, uhm. I got distracted... did you come to see the records?”

That had to be the reason why he was in here, right? Nothing else in here for him other than the history within these walls. You had planned to show him... and the other new signs, this room next week. Everyone got a kick out of seeing the records of their favorite artists hanging up on the walls, dreaming that their own would make it up there too.

So, of course, you're surprised with the shake of his head. The shy smile he tries to hide with the drop of his head. “I was actually looking for you.” He mumbles out, avoiding your eyes as he speaks. It's like he can tell how his words affect you because he's quick to buffer them. “Not for any particular reason,” Wide eyes finally find yours, his cheeks blushed pink. “I just wanted to ask you...”

He's shuffling the beer bottle between his hands, eyes dancing along the walls as he tries to put the words together. He doesn't look up at you until he's properly fixed his sentence in his head. “What happened with your dad? I heard he came down to talk to you.” You didn't have to guess that Yoongi was the one that told him.

Not like it was some big secret. “Nothing. He just told me to get my act together.” Punctuating your words with a quick shrug of your shoulder, extending your hand to reach for his bottle. Slipping it from his grasp and bringing it to your lips to take a few gulps of the liquor. “Ugh, that's nasty.” Never really liked the taste of beer.

“Or else?” Joon urges, reaching for his bottle again. He's taking a sip and your middle school heart flutters, thoughts of an indirect kiss flooding your thoughts. Sure not to get too ahead of yourself. “Or else, none of your business. I'm getting my work done now. You should tell Hoseok that,”

“Do you want me to?” In just a few days, you really did change at work. Had started taking the job a bit more seriously and it only had him wondering what type of trouble you could've gotten into for a change so drastic. “It'll get them off my back,” You're saying through a sigh.

Joon sees something hidden in your eyes that he's easily recognizing. Has seen the same look in his own eyes countless times before. And the way you're quick to blink it away as if you're hiding it away. So quick, like it's something that you've trained yourself to do in the past. He knew what that was like too.

“Do you like working here?” He's asking as if you hadn't made it obvious. “No, I hate it.” Your words filter through a laugh, but it doesn't quite meet your eyes.

“Why don't you go and do something else?” It takes everything in you not to laugh right in his face. As if you didn't think of the most obvious solution to your issue. Why don't you go and something else? Gee, wish you thought of that one. “You don't think I'd like that?” Not once in your entire life did you show any type of interest in music.

It wasn't for you, sure you liked to listen to it – but you didn't? All the ins and out of creating and signing artists, that part just wasn't for you. And no matter how hard you were pushed, it wouldn't ward off your resistance. “My entire life has revolved around preparing for this company. I don't know how to do anything else. You know what I'd really like to do?”

“Yeah, tell me.” He's giving you this look, you can't quite place. Like he's hanging on to your every word, actually listening to you. It has a fuzzy feeling rising in your chest. “I wanted to be an actress. Had some small roles too, but then my dad was putting a stop to it. Said it was time for me to quit playing and get serious, so naturally I didn't listen. Tried to keep doing my thing, little did I know he had planned for that, made sure that nobody would hire me.”

You could still remember the sting when you were no longer getting callbacks and agencies turning you away, all because of one phone call. No means to live on your own, so you were packing your bags and heading home to daddy. How could someone do that to their own daughter? Just to follow along with some stupid dream that wasn't even hers.

It was fucked up. As if you weren't able to control your own life, he never even let you try. “He thinks I'll grow into liking this place, but I won't! It's not what I want, I'm not good at it. Every day I want to quit. And nobody cares,” No matter how hard you tried, how much you fought. It was no use.

“I care,” The words are falling from his lips before he has a chance to stop them, but you hardly believe him. You're scoffing out a laugh, eyes rolling at his words. “I'm serious. I also wanted to apologize,”

Without thinking, you're reaching for his bottle again. “Okay,” You shrug, bringing the bottle to your lips and taking long gulps. “So, uhm. Are you close? With your dad?” He's asking softly, reaching to pull his body from your grasp.

He has way too many questions and you're not sure how you feel about it. Why was he trying to meddle into your business when he's shown no interest in talking to you before this? And why did you feel so inclined to talk to him? As if you could trust him enough to confide in him.

It's weird, but you're not in the mood to fight it. “Not at all. Hoseok's his poster child, I just happened to come along for the ride.” You're finishing up the last few sips of his beer, setting the empty bottle down onto the table. “What do you mean?”

“When he was planning to have kids, he wanted one perfect boy to follow in his footsteps... and then when he heard his wife was pregnant with twins... he thought 'great two perfect boys to follow in my footsteps,'. Not a part of him wanted a little girl,”

A hand lifts to gesture at your figure, a hushed laugh leaving your lips. “But as you can see, I am not a boy.” Joon is nodding his head, giving you this pitiful look that you want so badly to wipe off his face.

You didn't need to be pitied. “So what? He was mad because you weren't a boy?” Was it really that bad? It was easy to see that Hoseok was treated differently in terms of your father, but was that not because of how you acted? Maybe you acted the way you did for a deeper reason? There was so much he didn't know about you.

“You ask a whole lot of questions,” All done sharing, not too keen on the look on his face. You weren't some poor girl that needed sympathy, you had everything under control. Could figure it all out on your own.

Joon is moving to stand a bit closer to you, his shoulder pressed against yours. There's this unexplainable warmth to him, that closes around your entire body just from him being close. It's weird. “Why?”

“Why what?”

Letting out a huff, you're moving back to create some distance between the two of you. “Why are you curious? You've shown zero desire to talk to me, so why now?” He's moving too close the space that you've created, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile. It's the first time you've seen the slightest resemblance of one on his face.

“I don't know... you just seem different tonight. I feel like I might've missed something.” You wonder how long it took him to come to that conclusion, always so cautious and calculated with his thought. Never really forgetting his initial impression of someone.

But it's like now he's looking past what you've worked so hard to obtain. You didn't like it one bit. “You didn't. What you see is what you get,” Body straightening, nose pointed toward the ceiling. He's letting out a laugh, obviously amused by your childish stance.

“I don't know if I believe you,” Your head lowers to look at him, eyes rolling dramatically as you lift your hand to toss your hair over your shoulder. “Well, that's your choice,” You reply, in the snobbiest tone you've ever used. “I'm going to get a drink,”

You're leaving him without another word, taking long strides down the hall. Actually, heading for the bar this time.

APIRL 25TH, 2020 | 01:23

Namjoon knows he should probably give you some space. Not that you were pissed at him or anything, but the meddling was something he knew you weren't the biggest fan of. If your sudden departure was any proof of that. He should leave you alone, let you enjoy yourself with your friends... and your boyfriend.

He should really stop thinking about you.

That's easier said than done, though. All he can do is think about you. Only half-listening to Taehyung's words, eyes scanning the crowd for you. Any sign of you and he's certain he'd be rushing to follow behind you.

There really was something different about you tonight. Something underneath the facade you kept up with. The reckless behavior, the spoiled brat act. He hadn't been able to see it before, but now he was getting peaks of your personality he failed to notice before. Bits that reminded him a lot of himself.

Stood on the other side of the room, your arms are looped in Changkyun's. You've tied your hair up into a ponytail at the top of your head, long enough that the ends are tickling your elbows. He watches as you say something to him, flashing a cute smile up in his direction before you're turning to walk out of the room.

A few minutes pass before Changkyun is making his way over to where Namjoon is seated, plopping down in the vacant spot beside Jungkook. Who has been pretty much under Jimin's spell since the start of this whole night. “Where's Yn?” Yoongi's asking as if he can read his best friend's mind.

He really had no other reason to ask.

“She's in her office. Wanted to look over a few things,” For some reason, Joon is taking that as an invitation to go to you. Standing quickly, he's catching the attention of his friends seated beside him, “I'm gonna go, uh... go to the bathroom.”

He's earning an uninterested nod just before he's able to slip away, hurried steps taken out of the room and down the hallway leading straight to your office. The door's open when he approaches, you're sat at your desk scrolling through your laptop.

Soft knocks tap against the door, catching your attention. You're surprised to see Joon standing on the other side, that awkward smile playing on his lips. He's lifting his hand up to a wave, pushing his fingers through his hair as he steps past the threshold, shutting the door behind him. “Hey. I came to see if you were okay,”

Why wouldn't you be okay? “I'm fine,” A smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes, but still lights up your whole face. “Come here, listen to this.”

He was sure that when you had left you were sad, or at least a bit unhappy. But you were fine? And you looked fine too, completely focused on locating whatever song you planned to show him. Joon moves to take a seat beside you, in the same spot he sits each and every time he's in here with you. Thighs just barely touching.

“Can I ask you another question?” Humming out your response, head tilting toward him. The suit looked good on him, it really did. Different from the baggy jeans and t-shirts he normally wears, which are just the same amount of cute. This was just different, gave a different vibe to him. You just barely miss the way he was staring back at you. It has a heat rising in your cheeks. “W-what's your question?”

His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes, teeth cutting into his lower lip gently. It's embarrassing, he's forgotten his question. Wrapped up in his thoughts of you, the things that he had failed to notice before. “What's so fun? You know about being impulsive and doing what you want?” He finds himself asking.

Never could he imagine himself doing it, just jumping at any chance without thinking everything through. Weighing out all of the possible outcomes, yet you were doing it all of the time without a second thought.

That's not what you were expecting him to ask. Not much thought was put into the decisions you made, which was why you found yourself getting into so much trouble. You just did what you felt like and dealt with the consequences later. Sometimes not at all. “I don't know, I just do what I want.” You're saying with a shrug.

“You're so calm. And calculating. I'd love to see you do one thing without thinking...” He's looking at you in that weird way again, moving closer until your knees are touching. Dark eyes scanning over your features gaze slowly dropping to your lips. “Just one thing. Completely on impulse, first thing that pops into your-”

His lips taste like the beer he's been sipping, a delicious mix to your shots of liquor. One large hand pressed onto the back of your neck, the other clutching the fabric of your dress. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest as he pulls back from your lips, your eyes wide as you look up at him.

“Did you just kiss me?” Your entire face is on fire and it's hard to hide the grin that threatens to split your face in half. “Yeah, I have no idea why.” He looks so cute and dazed, just from kissing you.

His lips were so soft too, could be addicting if you got enough of it. “Do it again.” A pretty smile brightens his face, cheeks lifting to show off his dimples. His fingers tangling in the loose hairs at the nape of your neck, grip tightening around your waist to pull you closer.

“You want me to?”

There's not a bit of hesitation from you, lower lip jutting out into a pout. “Please,” A soft laugh leaves his lips before he's leaning forward to capture yours with his.

He kisses you as if you're made of glass, cautious in the shift of his lips. Unsure of himself, worried if he's gone too far. And you're quickly deciding, he hasn't gone far enough. Moving closer, you reach up to bury your fingers in his hair. A bold swipe of your tongue has his jaw falling slack, allowing your tongue to sliver into his mouth.

A soft groan erupts from the back of his throat as your tongue twists and pushes against his. Even the way he kisses is calculated, timed movements of his tongue the mouth. The complete opposite of your unrhythmic advances. But, still, he moans.

Out loud for your greedy ears to soak up, it's the moment you're sinking your teeth into his lower lip. All at once, his hands are dropping onto your hips, easily lifting your body up and onto his lap. Legs on either side of his hips, you can feel the bulge of his cock through the fabric of his dress pants. And the thought of getting a peek at it has your body buzzing.

He's effortlessly positioning you, slowing the movements of your lips with his own. Fingers tracing down the sides of your body, dragging over the hem of your dress. Just as he's about to inch it up, the doorknob of your office jiggles. It's barely audible, but Namjoon has this type of supersonic hearing, his body reacting instantly to the sound.

A single line of saliva connects your lips as he tears away from you, your tongue slips out to break it. His head whips around to stare at the door, turned away so fast he missed the pout of protest that from on your lips.

“Someone's trying to get in,” He's whispering, eyes going wide when he sees how close your faces are. You shrug, reaching up to knit your fingers n the hair at the nape of his neck, holding his head still before he can move too far from you. “That's fine, it's locked. They'll just go away. I want another kiss,”

Your lips are swollen from his, shiny with your shared spit. Puckered cutely, waiting for him to satisfy your request. But reality has sunk in for Namjoon, the gravity of what he was just done hitting him like a ton of bricks.

He couldn't kiss you. There were so many reasons why it's wrong, starting with the incessant knock of whoever is on the other side of the door. He could only guess it's the man you showed up with your date. Your boyfriend. Cheating was something he took very seriously and the fact you'd just do it, without a second thought. No, he couldn't kiss you. Couldn't even be involved with you aside from a professional relationship.

Your eyes flutter open with the gentle nudge on your thigh, frowning as he shoos you off his lap. He's quick to stand, just in case you've got any ideas of climbing back on. “What's wrong?” He's avoiding your gaze, fingers shoving through his hair as he searches your office for something. Positive he brought a jacket along with him. Maybe he had a hat?

No matter how hard he looked, he could feel your stare burning in the side of his face. Forcing him to answer. “Nothing's wrong. I just shouldn't have kissed you.” It bothers you to hear him say that so easily, but you're not sure why.

“You didn't want to?” He's not sure he's heard you sound any sadder. He can't help but take a peak at your face, instantly looking it away when he catches the sad pout of your lips. He couldn't feel bad for you. Your feelings weren't his responsibility. You were an adult and his boss, he shouldn't have to coddle you.

Even still, he can't bring himself to lie. Because he had wanted to kiss you, wouldn't have done it if he didn't. “I did... I'm just. I gotta go,” He's turning from you, all at once forgetting what he had been looking for. Shaking off any thoughts of looking back and checking on you, instead, he's heading straight for the door. Tugging it open and stepping back into the crowd of the party.

Changkyun is just a few feet away from the door, had given up on knocking after a few minutes. He watches as Namjoon makes a beeline from your door to the crowd, the back of his hand wiping at his lips.

You're sat slouched in front of your computer when he walks in. Fingers typing away at the screen of your phone. He's not sure what to expect from you, knowing you had just been in here with Namjoon. If you had changed your mind and decided that you'd be going home with him instead, but he still tries.

“People are starting to leave. Are you ready to go?” You're hitting him with the brightest, prettiest smile he's ever seen. Sparkly eyes dancing over his features as you stand, taking long strides over to him. It's only when you're closer does he had mistaken the wetness as your signature sparkle. Your smile doesn't quite reach them either.

He doesn't say anything, though. Allows you to pull his hand around your waist, tucking yourself into his side. Shooting him another fake smile before you're nodding, leaning up on your toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah. Let's get out of here,”

— daughter of the ceo of the biggest record label, it’s obvious she’d get whatever and whoever she wants. but what happens when she’s meeting the one person that refuses to play into her spoiled brat act?

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mckennamayfairgoode · 3 years

Text

The Songbirds Keep Singing Like They Know the Score

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Summary: Wilhemina vs. the voices that haunt her.

Warnings: Angsty angst as requested and fluffy fluff because I am a marshmallow.

A/N: @lucyintheskywithxanax Hi, this is for you x.

Song: Songbird by Fleetwood Mac

When Wilhemina was a child, when she was small and broken and scared, when she could no longer see the world in front of her past the tears in her eyes, when the voices would overwhelm her and threaten to swallow her whole, she’d picture a place in her mind: a field of wildflowers, of daffodils and daisies and sunflowers, and a large weeping willow tree. She’d sit against the trunk, feel the bark against her back and the wind brushing her face, and she would close her eyes and breathe in the smell of sunshine and just be. In her mind, she was safe. In a place of beauty and freedom that was hers and hers alone, no one could touch her.

She thinks about that place now - or tries to - as she watches you smile at someone that isn’t her. You laugh at something the other woman says, real, sincere, the way you laugh with Wilhemina in the evenings when you trade anecdotes in bed and she draws that beautiful sound out of you like coaxing butterflies from your belly.

You giggle and squirm, brushing her teasing fingers away from your bare stomach. “Mina,” you admonish playfully, capturing her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

Her expression is amused, dark eyes transfixed on her own fingertip as it traces the curve of your lips. “Yes, my darling?”

You melt under her ministrations, pressing another kiss to the tip of her finger. “Nothing, baby,” you murmur, eyelashes fluttering as the pad of her thumb brushes your cheekbone. She loves it when you're like this: soft and sleepy and so full of love that it shines from your eyes. You reach around her waist and pull her flush against you, bare skin and flesh melding until it feels like you are one person and have never been anything else.

She knew they were coming before she could feel them, your fingertips on her shoulder. They always start there, a warning, a sign, a whispered hello in the moonlight. Don’t be frightened, it’s just me, you seem to say. Can you feel my love? your heart will whisper. You’ll trace patterns on her skin, follow the curve until you reach the back of her neck. You’ll play with the strands of red hair you find there before slowly brushing your fingers down her spine. You’ll be slow and gentle - like you are enchanting a lioness who has shown you her belly and not a woman who is afraid of tenderness.

She doesn’t want to be scared of you. She wants to crawl into your heart and whisper poetry so that you might feel her love for you. She closes her eyes, imagines she can hear songbirds outside your window and melts against you, nuzzling the crook of your neck with her nose. She breathes you in just as your fingertips tease the back of her neck. You smell of sunshine.

Her body aches.

She watches, transfixed, as the woman reaches out and brushes your shoulder with the tips of her fingers. She can feel the cold creeping over her, passing over her skin and down her spine like morning dew clinging to blades of grass in the front lawn that you share.

She tries to conjure the wind, the flowers, the weeping willow tree but all she can see is you. She can’t look away - from you, from her, from the way you gaze almost adoringly at a woman that is beautiful and tall and normal. She does not have a crooked spine or a sharp tongue or hands that hurt more than they heal. She is not broken.

She raps her cane against the ground, one loud motion that claps around the room. It might as well be thunder. You and the woman both jump, heads swiveling in her direction. Wilhemina thinks she knows her but her mind lashes angrily, ocean waves slamming against the bow of a ship, and she can’t bother to remember her name. Her eyes brush past her - to you.

She wants to find the guilt in your eyes, to watch your pupils bloom wide like flower petals when you meet her gaze but all she can see is love and warmth. It sickens her, churns her gut, twists her insides until all she can feel is pain. She sneers. “Don’t you two have work to do?”

The woman offers a charming smile like she doesn’t know Venable at all. “Yes, of course, Ms. Venable. See you later, Y/N.” She winks at you and struts off down the hallway. Venable feels her blood boil but doesn’t give her the satisfaction of watching her leave. She is not worth her time, but you... you are worth all of it. But she is too angry to listen to the heart that loves you, too blinded by rage to realize that the look in your eyes is adoration and not contempt. The blood in her veins turns to ice. She looks at you and doesn’t recognize you at all.

Without a word, she turns and walks away.

The ride home is silent. She can feel you looking though, turning your head every so often to gaze at her when you think she’s not paying attention. She doesn’t know how to decipher your expression. She can’t tell the difference between the seasons, between the feelings pressed beneath her chest, between your heart and hers, much less the shadows painted on your beautiful face.

Your favorite song comes on the radio. You don’t even sing. You are probably thinking about her, she decides. That woman who must have snuck in when Wilhemina was happy and content and unaware, and stole you from her arms, from your bed, from the home that you built together brick by brick until it was a towering fortress in which she felt safe. She should have noticed, should have seen that the stars in your eyes were not for her at all. Not anymore. She should have realized that at some point, you had reached up and plucked them from the sky and replaced them with something entirely new.

Maybe you had finally seen them, all the things she had warned you about. Maybe one day you had woken up and seen the Wilhemina peeking out from within and been disgusted by her weakness, her vulnerability. Any moment now, you will turn to her with that pitying look in your eyes and explain, gently and with that tone of voice you reserve for those with less patience than you, that you are in love with someone else. You must be and that’s what the shadows must mean. They are your guilt put on display, an exhibit of black curtains and a moonless night sky and she is waiting for the day she arrives at your museum only to find it gone like you had never been there at all.

The thought makes her heart drop into her stomach. It annoys her, taunts her, reminds her that the ache in her chest is something she could have prevented if she had not let you in, if she had not allowed you to crawl inside her and make a home in her heart. Her gloves creak when she tightens her grip on the steering wheel. It echoes in the car, in the silence that you have made.

You will not break her. She is already broken.

You try to speak to her when you get home. She hasn’t looked at you since that moment in the atrium and she thinks maybe you have finally caught on. Or maybe you finally know what to say. She wonders if you have rehearsed this moment in your head, if the tides have finally turned and they are just now rushing in her direction to smash against her shore.

She stands at the counter, takes her gloves off one by one, and watches from the corner of her eye as you look at her and struggle to speak. A part of her takes joy in watching you flounder. A part of her wants you to squirm, to feel, to hurt. Just like her. The other part of her, the Wilhemina inside that bangs at the door and screams to be let out, only wants you to hold her. She hates it. Seethingly. With a ferocity she didn’t know she was capable of anymore after falling in love with you. She is broken, but she is not weak. She tells it to shut up and slams the door in its face.

“Mina?” Your voice comes from behind her. Not hesitant, but cautious. So at least you are aware of her ire. Good. You should be cautious. The Wilhemina inside reminds her that she could never hurt you, that it is useless to pretend otherwise. She locks the door and puts her hands over her ears so that the voice is muffled.

She raises an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “Is there something you need? Or have you finally worked up the courage to say what you so desperately need to say?”

You frown, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

She tilts her head, annoyance clear in the downturned pull of her lips. “You’ve been sitting there like a daft moron for an hour. I was wondering if you’d finally grasped enough vocabulary in order to get on with it.” The Wilhemina inside flinches. You’re going to regret this, it says. She doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t want to.

“Get on with what?” You take a step closer, looking up into her face and studying her expression like you can figure out what's going on in her mind if she will only meet your eyes. She hates it. She hates that you can make her feel seen. She hates that she used to love it. That it used to make her feel safe. That once upon a time, she thought she could be someone. That she could be yours.

Her nostrils flare in annoyance. You are playing with her. She is just a pawn in your chess game, one you mean for her to lose. You want to make her say the words so you don’t have to. Coward, she thinks.

No, she’s not, the Wilhemina inside her says. The only coward here is you.

The thought chills her to the bone. The ice intensifies, freezing her heart solid like a stone in her chest. She can’t breathe, she can’t think. All she can feel is the weight of it sinking like an anchor. She turns her head to face you and looks into your eyes. God, how she loves you. A part of her melts. The tips of her fingers drip on the floor at your feet.

She can see it all now up close: the confusion, the despair, the worry gathering like storm clouds in your gaze. They can’t be real. You must have created them to fool her, to pull the wool over her eyes and lead her to believe that you are innocent. You have called upon the storm to wash away your sins, but Venable can see them still, washed up on the shore like seashells. The Wilhemina inside her can’t see them; she only sees your footprints in the sand as you walk away and she wants to chase after you, to melt in your arms and beg for forgiveness, but Venable rises up like the dragon buried underneath the mountain rubble, looks down her nose at you, and snarls. “I saw you today,” she says. She will not be fooled by the lie in your eyes.

You blink. “Saw me when?”

“Don’t play stupid,” she snaps. The Wilhemina inside her shrinks back. Don’t, please, it pleads. Venable turns her back on herself, on the weakness inside her. She pretends not to see when it cries.

You take a step towards her, hand reaching out like it alone can bridge the gap between you. She ignores how her stone cold heart clenches at the sight of it, at the memories those hands have created for her, the comfort that they have brought. She turns her nose up at it and moves away. “I hope she had something important to say. It looked like her head was full of hot air, but clearly looks can be deceiving.”

“What? Who are you talking about?” You stop trying to reach her finally and stand still and small in the middle of the room. You look so sad. Wilhemina swallows the lump in her throat and turns away.

“That woman you were speaking with,” she hisses, venom and poison laced within the words. “You two are certainly very familiar with each other.” Her mind conjures images in her head, things she would rather not see but that play on repeat until there is nothing else but them, them, them. Fingertips brushing your shoulder, a wink directed your way, a hand on the small of your back, your thigh, fingers sweeping hair away from your neck, lips against your skin, down, down-

“Valarie?”

She jerks like she’s been hit by a bolt of lightning. It is your storm. It has to be. “Is that her name?” she asks, her voice deathly quiet in the frozen tundra of your house. When did the cold spread so far? Was it touching you? Could you feel it?

“Baby-”

“Don’t,” she snaps.

You ignore her and look at her from beneath your eyelashes. “We’re just friends, Mina.”

She sniffs disdainfully. “I’m sure.” Her lips purse. A picture hangs on the wall she stands in front of. She looks at it and remembers the overcast Sunday morning she told you about the place she felt safest. You had pulled the comforter over your heads and she had whispered the details in your ear - the meadow, the flowers, the weeping willow tree - and you had listened and stroked your fingers down her bare back and it felt like she was telling you a secret and trusted you to keep it. One day not long after, you had given her the painting and she had looked at it and seen her happiness and sunshine depicted in brush strokes and splashes of color. You told her that she’d never have to go inside her mind to feel safe ever again, that she was never going to be safer than she was right here, in the home that you built together, with you. She had cried.

Tears well in her eyes, and she curses under her breath, wrangles the Wilhemina inside her back under control and turns her head to face you. She tries to conjure up the weeping willow tree, to picture it in her mind instead of the gentle way you had kissed her goodbye that morning, but the image only comes to her for a second before fizzling into dust and in its place is you.

That sweet smile you greet her with each day, sleepy and soft and just for her. How you rest your hands on her hips when you pass behind her to reach for your toothbrush, your gazes locking in the mirror and your eyes twinkling with mischief. Fingers brushing when you exchange cups of tea, fingers brushing when you reach out to turn the page of a book, fingers brushing as you walk down the driveway to your car, brushing, brushing, brushing.

She blinks, finds the love still staring back at her, patient and calm and she does not know anything anymore. She saw you with that woman. She heard your laugh, recognized the adoration on your face. She can’t be wrong. The ice builds and builds until it is a wall surrounding her heart. “Did you fuck her?”

You reel back as if she had slapped you, pain flashing across your face and Wilhemina trembles at the realization that she put it there. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She draws up to her full height and curls her lip and she pretends that you are just an employee at Kineros and that you are not the woman she loves and she does not hurt at all. “I saw you throwing yourself at her today - like a whore.” You’re wrong, the Wilhemina in her heart whispers, shrinking back, shaking and curled up in the dark corner of her mind she hasn’t seen since she was a child. You’re wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You can’t be serious,” you say, blinking up at her in disbelief. She ignores the tears welling in your eyes, the crack that shatters the ice around her heart at the sight of them, and arches an eyebrow, giving you the look she reserves for lowly employees too stupid to recognize her ire. You recognize it. Realization flashes across your face. You shake your head. “I’m not doing this, Mina,” you finally say. You blink and look away from her, trying to prevent the pain from showing on your face, but she can see it. She put it there.

“I can see that you’re hurting and that you’re in your head, but whatever you think I did, I didn’t. And you know that.” Your beautiful face pleads with her, your eyes large and wet and loving, but she refuses to give in, knowing that if she does, the ice around her heart will melt and she’ll feel everything all at once. She does not want to ache. Not like she did before you, not like she will after.

“You are a fool,” she hisses. You are the fool, it says.

You shake your head, wipe tears from your eyelids. You look like you might walk away, body turned toward the stairs, but you step towards her instead, so close that she can feel your warmth. It makes her body shudder. You search her gaze, looking so deep into her eyes that she thinks you are looking directly into the Wilhemina she tries to keep buried inside. “I love you,” you tell her. She hates that she believes you. “You own my heart and my soul and I know you know that I would never do that to you. Whatever’s going on up here -” you touch your fingers to her temple, warm and cold all at once, a direct link to the voices freezing her soul, “- whatever that voice is saying, it’s wrong,” you whisper. You reach down to place your hand over her chest. “Your heart knows me,” you pause, desperation in your eyes as they flicker back and forth between hers. “Don’t you?” Yes, the Whilemina inside whispers. I know you.

The warmth that had threaded through her being disappears the moment you drop your hands. She watches you walk away, wants to call out for you, to beg for mercy, to tell you that she is the fool and that she is sorry and that she loves you, loves you, loves you, but she doesn’t.

She tears her gaze away and looks down at her hands. They’re shaking.

That night, she climbs the stairs to your shared room and finds you already in bed, your back to the door. You don’t say a word and neither does she. She moves around the room with purpose, changing her clothes and brushing her hair free from its ponytail. She can’t help but watch you out of the corner of her eye. You are motionless, a still life in her bed. Your bed. Yours, together.

She crawls under the sheets next to you, turns off the bedroom light, rolls on her side and looks at you facing away from her. The distance between you is miniscule; she could reach out and touch you if she wanted, bridge the gap and pull your back against her chest. She raises her hand, reaches for you but does not touch. It lingers in the air between you, shaking and desperate. After a moment, it drops to the mattress. She closes her eyes and feels herself weep. She doesn't know how to fix herself.

When she opens her eyes again, she finds herself standing alone on a beach. The sky is overcast and grey, angry clouds forming on the horizon and wind coursing through her hair. Where are you? Her heart thunders in her chest. She tries to quell the panic but it rises and rises until it becomes a chokehold around her neck. It threatens to consume her.

“Y/N?” She looks down and notices a trail of footprints in the sand. They dance away from her, following the shoreline and circling back and around again. She knows they are yours, that they could belong to no one else. She has to find you.

She has to tell you that she loves you.

She puts her foot in a rivet in the sand, stands where you stood and imagines that you are with her, that you are laughing and your pinkies are interlocked in that way she knows makes you smile. And then she remembers that expression on your face when she asked about that woman, the tears in your eyes when she hurled a slur at you to make up for the pain that she alone inflicted on herself. She has to find you.

She has to tell you that she’s sorry.

“Y/N?” She calls your name again and again, listens to it bounce off the water as the waves lap at her bare feet. The footprints end where the sand bleeds into grass. She looks down at her feet, studies the area like she knows it well even though she doesn’t know it at all. Her heart whispers, pings, right there, and she looks up like she had known where you would be all along to find your silhouette standing at the top of a bluff overlooking the ocean. She knows that it's you, that it could be no one else.

You stand at the edge, looking out over the jagged rocks and thrashing waves below. “Y/N!” Your head swivels in her direction and you wave cheerfully down at her, shuffling too close to the brink for her liking. Her heart jumps into her throat. “You stay right there! Don’t you move, I mean it!” She doesn’t think you can hear her. She wonders if the words are leaving her mouth or if it’s just her soul sighing your name. She has to get to you.

She has to, she has to, she has to.

The trail up to the cliff looks different when she gets closer. Darker, full of tall, imposing trees and a treacherous climb she knows will hurt her back. She doesn’t care, doesn’t hesitate, just pushes past the first branch and marches on. Nothing will keep her from you. She thinks she can feel eyes watching her from the darkness between the trees, black beady eyes that disappear when she turns to look. They make her skin crawl, but she silences the warnings in her head and ignores them. They don’t matter. She clutches her cane and moves forward and prays that you are staying put.

Then the whispers start.

“You’re no good for her,” a voice murmurs into her ear and she startles and jerks back, glancing behind her to see a shadowy figure that closely resembles your father.

Wilhemina swallows the lump in her throat and looks away. “I know,” she says and continues on.

“We’ve talked about this, darling, stand up straight,” a familiar voice purrs from over her shoulder. She doesn’t look, doesn’t need to see to know who will be waiting there. “No one will love an invalid.”

“She loves me,” Wilhemina snaps, head straight forward, dark eyes fixed on the patch of light she can see up ahead. The sky. Safety. You.

A figure steps out of the tree line into Wilhemina’s path causing her to jerk to a halt. “Look what you did, twisting your fears and projecting them onto the one who loves you most,” the woman sing-songs, her tone playful and barbed like a rosebush. Valarie. Tall and beautiful Valarie. “She’d be happier with me, you know.”

Wilhemina looks into Valarie’s soulless black eyes and glares defiantly. “She is happy with me.”

Valarie chuckles, dancing and spinning around Wilhemina’s form as the other figures get closer. Surrounding her, crowding her, boxing her in like predators to weak prey. “She didn’t look happy last night, did she?” Valarie leans her chin on Wilhemina’s shoulder and whispers in her ear. “You made her cry.”

“You called her a whore,” your father says from behind her.

Her mother clicks her tongue disapprovingly, appearing in front of her and adjusting the collar of her shirt. “You accused her of infidelity, my dear.”

“I made a mistake,” she snaps.

“You seem to be making a lot of mistakes, Mina,” Valarie taunts.

Wilhemina’s blood runs cold. No one calls her that. No one but you. She shoves her mother out of the way and darts up the trail, her back screaming in protest. She can feel them following her, the wolves nipping at her heels, but she doesn’t stop.

“-could do better-”

“If only you were normal-”

“Maybe she’ll finally leave you and come to m-”

Their voices sound like they’re coming from the very trees themselves, winding through the branches and leaves and floating down like lightning bugs to settle in her ears.

“- a failure -”

“- never should have let you lea-”

“-fall in love with a cripple.”

“When you wake in the morning, she’ll be gone.”

“SHUT UP!” Her voice echoes into the forest and birds burst from the tree line in a cacophony of sound. When she opens her eyes, the figures are gone and the voices are silent.

She finds herself standing at the edge of the forest and feels her eyes well with tears as she looks upon her meadow. Sunlit and beautiful, full of flowers in bloom and honeybees and songbirds. The wind nuzzles her cheek as if greeting an old friend. The horrors of the forest melt from her weary bones and she feels at peace. A part of her wants to stay here where it is safe, where she is safe, but her heart urges her onwards. What is a life of safety if you aren’t in it?

Her willow tree stands tall and proud in the center of the clearing and behind it, overlooking the ocean, is you.

“Y/N!” She breathes a sigh of relief to see you standing where she left you.

You turn to face her and smile, soft and sweet and just for her. “Hi, baby,” you say. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home, sweetheart,” she murmurs, looking imploringly into your eyes.

You frown. “I don’t have a home, Mina. You don’t want me anymore, remember?” You take a step back from her, toward the cliff’s edge and she follows you, hands reaching out as if she could grab you from where she stands.

“Wait,” she pleads. “You do have a home. It’s with me.”

You cock your head. “It used to be,” you state. Like it is a fact. Like you have always known it to be so. Her heart aches.

“Please, Y/N. Step away from the edge.” Her voice is hard, lined with barbs but not directed at you. Only to herself. She wants them to hurt, to sting, to make her hiss in pain. She wants to feel anything other than this ache.

You giggle softly, familiar and lovely, the sound that never fails to make her head spin, but she doesn’t hear the joy in it now. It sounds haunted. "I know your heart,” you say, taking another step back as she steps forward. You meet her eyes. “Do you know mine?”

She can only watch in horror as your foot lands on empty air. You tip backwards - and then you fall.

Wilhemina screams.

She gasps and shoots up in bed causing her back to protest but she can barely feel it over the throbbing in her chest. She moans like a wounded animal, leaning over and curling into herself like it will muffle the pain, like she can smother it so she won’t have to feel anything. She clutches her hair and pulls at the strands as if physically capable of plucking the image of you falling out of her head.

My fault, my fault, I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry, I know your heart, I promise, I know it.

She doesn’t realize she’s murmuring out loud until she hears your voice in her ear, breaking through the mantra like a siren song. “Shh, baby. I’m right here, Mina. It’s okay.”

Her eyes snap open and she turns to seek out your eyes. She finds them instantly, warm and loving and tender. They’re shining, real and alive, and her own flood with fresh tears at the sight of them. Her voice comes out in a broken whisper that scratches her throat, “Y/N?”

“I’m right here, baby. Everything’s okay.” You reach out a hand as if to touch her but hover right before it makes contact with her skin. “Can I touch you?”

Wilhemina manages to nod, her eyes not leaving you for a second as you reach forward and brush her tears away with your thumb. They fall faster than you can wipe them away, but you try. You always try for her. She feels your other hand cup the back of her head before you lean forward and press your foreheads together in the way you always do when you comfort her. Your noses brush. “It was just a nightmare, baby,” you murmur, gazing into her eyes, deep pools with shadows that reflect the terrors she had seen. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She can only stare at you in disbelief, tear tracks trailing paths down her cheeks. Once she had felt nothing at all, now she feels too much. The ice around her heart has shattered into a million tiny pieces and the only evidence that it still lies within is the persistent ache beneath her ribcage. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know where to start. She called you names. She doubted your love for her. She hurt you. A tinge runs down her spine. A muffled sob presses against her closed mouth and she nudges into you, brushing her trembling tear-stained lips against your own.

She feels your hand on her spine, the warmth of it soothing the trembling ache of her body. Your lips press against her forehead, long and hard like you want to seep all of your love into her skin. “I know, baby. Whatever you can’t say, I already know.” Your hand brushes a strand of hair back from her eyes. You cup her cheek in your palm, press a kiss to it followed by the other. Then one to each of her eyelids. You peck the tip of her nose before capturing her lips with your own. She gasps into your mouth, passes her tongue between your lips and tastes the saltiness of her own tears. When you pull away, your eyes are shining. You are brighter than the sun. “I love you and I’m not leaving you. Not now, not ever,” you say and she believes you. God, she believes you.

You settle back into the pillows and gently pull her with you, tucking her into your arms where she is safe, safe, safe. The shadows in her mind disappear. She doesn’t even remember what they said. Only that they were wrong.

She places her ear over your heart and listens to it beat. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. It soothes her own into submission and she melts into you, boneless and spent. Your fingers appear at her shoulder just as they always do and the familiarity of it coaxes a new wave of tears from her closed eyelids. Can you feel my love? your heart asks. “Yes, I can,” she whispers. Your fingertips trace the curve of her shoulder to the back of her neck. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she manages to say around the lump in her throat.

“I know you didn’t mean it,” you soothe, brushing your fingers into her hair, down her neck and back again. “I know you love me.”

Wilhemina bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t want to cry anymore, but she doesn’t know what else to do. She doesn’t deserve your love, your patience, your kindness, your beautiful heart. She is broken and you deserve better than her. You deserve more from life than just picking up her shattered pieces.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say, interrupting her thoughts. She blinks. Had she been speaking out loud or did you just live inside her head? “Picking up your pieces is not a chore. It is a privilege.” Your finger traces a line from her neck to the top of her spine. She tilts her head to look up at you. She can barely see your face in the darkness of your bedroom, but your eyes are on fire. “You are not broken, baby. You are a songbird and I’m going to prove to you that you can fly.” She presses her face into the crook of your neck and cries.

As your hand trails down her back, gentle and revering like you are enchanting a lioness that has shown you her belly and not a woman who is afraid of tenderness, you start to sing. Your voice soothes her soul, wraps around her like a comforting blanket, and warms her shivering body until it no longer feels like ice. She recognizes the song. It’s your favorite, the one she’s heard you sing a thousand times. The words piece together from her memories, from morning showers before work, from those nights you spend swaying to the sound of it in the kitchen, from bits of it sung under your breath as you walk side by side, your hands brushing, your pinkies intertwining. Wilhemina buries her face in your chest and realizes that you had been singing about her all along. God, how she loves you.

She does not conjure up her meadow or the wild flowers or the weeping willow tree. She does not think of the wind on her face or the bark against her back. She breathes in the smell of sunshine, feels your fingers stroke her spine, and does not think of anything at all. She is exactly where she wants to be.

“And the songbirds are singing,

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before.”

Tag List: @supremeinlilac @lovelypeasantjellyfish @angelxsarahp

#wilhemina venable x reader #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #ahs fic #wilhemina venable imagine #sarah paulson imagine #ahs imagine #venable x reader #wilhemina x reader #angst fic #wlw imagine #wlw fic #romance fic

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lunar-wandering · 3 years

Text

Eventide

bet yall thought i forgot about the Sunset Wukong AU didnt you

jokes on you, i didn’t.

welcome to Macaque’s intro, aka me kinda just rewriting episode 9-

Word Count: 1.5k

Read on Ao3

"You know, when I found out that I was going to be trained by Monkey King, the 'Great Sage, Equal to Heaven', I had no idea.... that I'd be stuck here, hammering walls 12 hours a day!" MK yelled, throwing the hammer off to the side, ignoring the loud crash it made as it hit the ground, turning to glare at Wukong. "Why am I doing this again?"

"First of all, it's only been 2 hours, not 12." Wukong said, casually leaning against a nearby pillar. "Secondly, it's so that I can make a neat little breakfast nook."

"But I'm meant to be the Monkie Kid, not Construction Boy, and besides, this barely counts as practice!" MK said, crossing his arms with an annoyed huff. "How am I meant to defeat demons if I don't know any of the fighting...stuff."

"Oh, so you want to learn the 'fighting stuff', huh?" Wukong said, pushing off the pillar and picking up the staff from where MK had left it laying on the ground. "You mean like....this?"

MK barely managed to duck down and dodge as the staff proceeded to go sailing over his head, hitting the wall hard enough to break it and leave a sizeable hole in it.

"Yes! Exactly like that-" MK paused mid-excited ramble as he registered the wince on Wukong's face, as well as how the Monkey King had placed one hand behind his back. MK sighed, the excited energy leaving almost as fast as it had came. "Monkey King, I've told you multiple times that we could move training to nighttime, after sunset."

"It's fine, it's fine, you need your rest." Wukong said, waving away MK's concern, at the same time revealing exactly what MK's had suspected, that the tips of Wukong's fingers had turned to stone. "Besides, you're not ready for that kind of stuff yet anyways."

"But I am ready! What's smacking a wall going to teach me anyways?"

"Look, I'm never going to teach you something you don't need to know, okay?" Wukong said, sighing. "Anyways, this wall isn't going to destroy itself. Remember, step into the strike-"

MK's phone rang.

MK climbed over the edge of the building, a whole rant already building in his mind.

"Monkey King, I swear, I know it's sunset, but we have told you so many times not to use your powers during the day-" MK cut himself off once he got a good look at the monkey standing before him. "...Oh. This is awkward. You're not... Monkey King."

"Heh, I get that a lot." The monkey said, giving a nervous laugh. "The names Macaque, Six Eared Macaque, although that's more of a nickname really.... nevermind that, you're the Monkie Kid, MK, right?"

"...How'd you know?" MK asked, suspicious. Macaque gave an airy chuckle.

"Not exactly everyone can wield that staff, kid." He said, turning and starting to walk away. "Anyways, I should go-"

"Can you teach me that cool move you did?!" MK blurted out, almost as shocked as Macaque himself was at the sudden question. He wasn't sure what had prompted him to ask, but as it was he wasn't getting any stronger right now, and this powerful monkey didn't have a curse that turned him to stone in the daylight, so... "Please?"

Macaque eyed the horizon for a moment before responding.

"Isn't Wukong teaching you?" He said, and when MK looked nervous, followed it up with, "But I suppose you can never have too many teachers, right? I'm sure Monkey King wouldn't mind...."

And so, Macaque wormed his way into MK's weekly schedule.

Oddly enough, Macaque, like Wukong, insisted on never training MK during the night, but MK was fine with that, as Macaque was actually teaching him, unlike Wukong, who continued to simply make MK slam a hammer against a wall, day after day. Going back and forth between both training sessions, and his job of delivering noodles was no easy task, but MK figured he was managing it pretty well.

...Okay, so maybe he felt a bit more tired, a bit more irritable than usual, but he could overcome that! He could get better at balancing his schedule.

He could do this.

...His rising anger over how Wukong continued to have him do nothing but smack a wall, repeatedly, over and over, every single day, wasn't doing him any favors though.

He is the weapon.

That sentence repeats like a mantra over and over in his head as he stares down the glowing eye of the smoke monster. Maybe he says it out loud- he can't be sure. All he's focused on is the sparks of energy flying around him, the resistance he feels keeping him from landing a hit as he pushes harder, summons as much energy as he can-

The air shifts, and MK barely has time to blink as the smoke monster smirks (and he hadn't even known that it could do that), shifting, twirling in on itself-

He thinks of looking back at Macaque for help.

But then the smoke clears away, and despite his confusion, he instantly knows the help would never come.

He finds himself face to face with Macaque, remnants of smoke and shadows slipping off of the other's form as he looks up and meets MK's gaze, revealing a scar over one eye, and really, MK should've seen this coming.

But it's not really Macaque's betrayal that surprises him.

No, that honor goes to the stone slowly creeping it's way up the side of Macaque's face.

And then Macaque's fist hits MK's chest, and MK gets the wind knocked out of him. He drops, hitting the ground, hard. Groaning, he starts trying to pull himself up.

He feels....weaker, somehow.

Like something isn't quite right.

"Y'know, you really are a good kid." MK barely registers Macaque's hand ruffling his hair, but he leans back as the other enters the shadows on the ground. "Super nice."

MK watches as the shadow clone (because that's what it must've been right? Heavens he was stupid, falling for a plot as simple as this) merges with it's creator- noting that the stone isn't just on Macaque's face, both the monkey's right leg, his left arm, and slowly spreading onto his chest.

It took a few moments more than it should've for MK to notice the gleaming ball of magic in Macaque's hand, but by the time he'd noticed it, Macaque was already closing his fist around it.

MK watched in fascination and mild horror as sparks of magic appeared all over Macaque's body, and the stone-

The stone faded away.

MK didn't get much of a chance to think about that, as the next second, the magical recoil sent MK flying, his back colliding with the face of the mountain behind him, the staff following after and landing sideways, like a bar pinning him to the rock. Tried as he might to move it, he couldn't.

He was trapped.

Monkey King, of course, came to save him, as always. MK could only thank his lucky stars that the whole situation had taken place in the night, instead of the day. He had no idea what they would do if Wukong turned fully to stone during an attack. (And based on some of the things Pigsy had told him, this had actually come close to happening, far more often than MK would like. They all knew that Wukong would still revert back to normal at sunset, even if he'd been turned all the way to stone. But they also knew that it hurt. And MK never, wanted anybody to be in that level of pain just because he couldn't handle things on his own.)

Still though, they'd really been cutting it close, with there having only been mere moments before sunrise. MK could still vividly see the expression on his mentors face as he looked back, eyeing the horizon, before locking eyes with MK.

Wukong hadn't strictly asked for help, instead saying that it was time for the "hero stuff", as MK had previously put it. But MK recognized worry when he saw it.

Part of him relifting the staff was fueled entirely by his determination to be the one to help his mentor for once. But he wasn't about to tell the Monkey King that. (He was fairly certain that Wukong might get offended over it, if his reluctance to let others help with his whole 'turning to stone' problem said anything).

MK sighed, feeling tired as he watched the sunrise. It belatedly occurred to him that he had stayed up all night.

It wouldn't be the first all-nighter he'd ever pulled, but after what he'd just been through? He just wanted to collapse into a mountain of pillows right this instant.

"...I should probably head home." MK lightly pulled himself out from under Wukong's arm, standing up. "I feel bone tired."

"I'm sure you do." Wukong also stood up, brushing dirt and debris off of his clothes, before looking down the cliff they'd been sitting on. "Just uh, could I ask you for a favor first?"

"Uh, I guess?" MK yawned, leaning against the staff for support as he slouched.

Wukong eyed the horizon. The sun had already risen.

"...You and Pigsy would probably yell at me if I summoned my cloud and turned my toes to stone so.....mind giving me a ride back?"

#Monkie Kid #fanfic #my writing #Sunset Wukong AU

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annmarcus63 · 3 years

Text

He wanted to say "I love you"

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Here's on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34237159

Injured Jaskier

"Blessed silence"

"Would you shut up, bard?"

"If you don't stop within the next two minutes, I swear, I'll break that fucking lute and shove it down your throat"

"Jaskier, shut up!"

"Alright! I'll stop, there's no need to be such a brute" replied Jaskier while tucking the lute, currently on his hands, on the brand new case he bought a couple of days ago to a retired musician living his last days on White Orchard. It's gorgeous, orgasmic, almost as sexy as the lute.

The music notes slowly fading in Geralt's ears, leaving a weak hum behind. Geralt sighed relieved, and a suspicious feeling that may resemble guilt. But there's not time to dwell on it. He's trying to sort the potions and required ingredients to complete the contract which he needed to follow up that same night. Witchers were trained to tune out every sound to be able to concentrate. He could meditate for days with not a single thing to bother him, but Jaskier's chatter is a powerful contrary spell to the calmness he was used to. It's a possibility that Jaskier fell upon his path with the sole purpose to test his limits. He is good company but sometimes Geralt wonders if it's worth the trouble.

He needs Arachnomorphs' venom and Griffin's feathers and blue mutagen to brew the antidote to the potent venom of the Endrega warrior he's goin to face. Methodically he starts with the preparation, grind and mix, smell, taste, it hurts...it's ready.

Three weeks ago he received a letter from Eskel asking to meet for pressing matters. Geralt doesn't know what he may want, it maybe a problem with a powerful beast or just a call to drink, which is unlikely because the message seem urgent. So Geralt had to hurry if he wanted to catch him on time, he was two days late and if he doesn't kill the Endrega he'd be three days late. Traveling with Jaskier prevent from a fastest pace, and the reason of those two days were, of course, the bard who asked him to stay longer on White Orchard to wait for his new lute case. Geralt ponder all this with an edge of bitterness towards Jaskier, it's unfair and uncalled for. He feel like shit. He ponder it still.

Jaskier is capable of recognizing when he's being a nuisance. Or well...he can recognize when someone has reach their limits regarding him. He can be too much, he speaks too much, he moves too much, he whines too much, he thinks too much. He's considerate you see, when Geralt snaps at him he understands. He can't help it. Is what he is, and he's not going to change, he tried once for his father. It didn't work, Jaskier was giving too much away for the acceptance of one person, he conclude it didn't worth it.

He understands really, but today Geralt has been a little over the edge, and has crossed the line between banter and plain rudeness.

So the logical response is to be more annoying.

Jaskier can be awful too when he wants.

He prod the wild and stressed animal with meaningless chatter, why does the fire moves like that? is the color of my fingernail normal? have you ever wonder how it'd be to become a fish?

the wild animal spill one or two drops of the antidote while pouring it from the small wood plate in which the ingredients got blend. Jaskier swear have saw how the vein on Geralt's forehead pop.

Ups…

"Would you SHUT UP for once in your fucking life?” ok he seen that coming “I can't even hear my own thoughts, bard. When we reach Velen you're going to stay there. Do you understand? Not following me around anymore”

To be fair he has caused this. It's what he does, always, being and idiot with and incessant mouth. He has push too far this time, even so that tone on Geralt's voice put him on edge, angry even. That ungrateful witcher and his never ending foul mood. What would he give to see him smile more often?

Everything.

A heavy atmosphere settled on the camp, Geralt's angry and now Jaskier's too, offended to be more accurate. Jaskier hated these often-occurring moments, as if the bard were a stranger and not a years friend.

Are you though?

Whoever sent the letter is Geralt's friend. What give it away? the eagerness to travel fast for instance. Jaskier send a letter once, asking if he wanted to meet at Novigrad, he never received a response nor Geralt went there.

Geralt packed his things, secure the sword straps and with a particular tenseness on his shoulders he turn to Jaskier.

"You're going to stay here. HERE Jaskier. I don't want you anywhere near the nest, the poison..."

"I know"

"Then I want you to repeat it"

"What? Really? I'm not a child, Geralt" but the Witcher kept his stance, waiting, and Jaskier's a sucker for pleasing.

"I'm going to stay here, quiet and still. If I get near the nest there's a high chance to get poisoned, even a small dosis could kill me. And get my body back and bury it would be a big hassle for you Are you happy now?"

"Hmm. I'll be back by midnight"

Geralt disappeared between the trees and Jaskier watch him go with a big lump on his throat. Not five minutes later he started cleaning the broth pot to fill it again with clean water to drink to warm up his bones. How he wish to have tea or coffe to add.

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Wind's howling, Jaskier reflected, feeling the chill colouring his cheeks and breaking his lips unpleasantly. Besides the wolfs living on the wind, there was silence, a sepulchral silence that caused him feel unsafe. Even Roach looks in distress. An hour ago she was lying on the grass getting ready for a good night sleep, and now she's looking everywhere as if she can sense something lurking in the shadows, and that is scary. By the position of the moon Jaskier could guess the time, one and a half hour past midnight. That idiot witcher should be here by now. He knew that, Roach knew that, so why he's not here?

He couldn't think straight, the worry was eating him up from the intestines and it wasn't fair or unnormal, worrying for Geralt is like worrying for the sun to never come up again. It may happen but is unlikely, impossible.

Geralt is fine, he is, or at least is what he kept repeating himself for the past hour like a mantra that no one would ever listen.

Something went wrong, I'm sure. He'd be here by now so why he's not here? What if the Endrega chew his head off? that's sudden and crude Jaskier, what's wrong with you? He can't be dead, I mean I didn't even get the chance to apologize, to clean his wounds, to buy him breakfast, to tell him I love him with all my beating foolish heart.

Agh, but he's not dead, so stop that train of thought right this instant, young man.

For some reason the voice sounded like his dead mother.

"I need to go there only to see if he's safe" said Jaskier to Roach

"But he said rather rudely to you to stay put and not bother him." replied imitating Roach voice like a tired housewife.

"I know what he said" said with an air of petulant child. "And what about you come with me to keep me in check"

"It's dark you can't see and it's dangerous"

"But you can!"

"Fine, hop on me" he loved winning arguments.

He saddled Roach efficiently, Geralt rarely let him do it but he was a quick learner. He put out the fire with a kick of dust, took a small blade that Geralt kept at the bottoms of his bag just in case, he also lit the only torch they carried for emergencies, a beacon of light that Geralt could see if he was in trouble and rode Roach towards the clearing next to the main road from which people get disappearing and getting eaten.

He trusted Roah to guided him, she was a clever one who also worried for her master.

The cold kept biting his skin even under the small fire, he left his cape at camp in case he needed to run, but they're getting closer. A wooden statue with flowers and canisters at it’s feet appear by his right, the notice board said the location of the insect was near that god statue.

He stoped Roach and dismount then he took the short blade wishing he didn't have to use it, before leaving he remembered the possibility of encounter with poison, according to Geralt Endregas not only spit venom but also exuded poisonous gas equally lethal. So he took his undershirt to cover half his face, this might prevent breathing it.

The turned out the torch because the light would attract the Endrega and distract Geralt.

He walked slowly to north realizing how much he was trembling, it wasn't that cold. It was fear and the soft hum of the adrenaline waiting on his brain for being triggered.

And then a rancid and potent smell reached him despite the undershirt. There. A thick unnatural mist and a series of small mountains piled some meters away. No, not mountains, bodies, Endrega bodies lying on the ground slaughtered with efficiency. A witcher’s work.

He almost missed it because of the mist, but there he was, Geralt, lying on the ground in a tragic pantomim of his foes. Jaskier hurried to him almost tripping in the process, he kneel by his side and got shocked by the hardened veins on the witcher's forehead, his levels of toxicity must being dangerous high. But he wasn't dead and if Jaskier wanted to keep him like that he needed to take him away from the mist to help his body fight the secondary effects of the pocions.

He looked the number of bodies surrounded them, more than six when the contract said one Endrega.

He have to be quick so he wrap Geralt by the armpits and with all his strength started to drag him towards Roach, he couldn't risk bringing her here in case of the poison or another insect near by. Geralt was a big guy, he has always being attracted to that, now not so much. Sweating, weary and scared.

Sweating, weary and scared the bard dragged the witcher to Roach when he started to feel dizzy followed by an annoying scratching under the skin. Roach stamped her feet two times before getting closer, she nosed her master while Jaskier catch his breath, then the lovely girl crouched down and wait patiently.

In a matter of a blink, his head started to pound violently and his vision to get blurred. That wasn't good.

The poison, it's the poison.

With all the strength he got left he pull Geralt on his belly over Roach, the position wasn't ideal but it was all he could do before collapsing on his knees.

"Go Roach. Go" She stood with must carefulness, Jaskier watched her go feeling a rush of pride and victory, he saved Geralt, he'll be alright and that was all that matter.

Jaskier fell backwards hitting his head with the ground, his body started convulsing or at least that's what he thought before lose consciousness.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

An insistent poke on his ribs brought him to wakefulness followed by a fall and a sudden sharp pain on his side. A few seconds later the witcher take in his surroundings. Roach neigh by his side, he had fall from her. The heavy cloud from exhaustion and toxicity still rested on his brain.

He felt the bitter tang on the back of his tongue of venom running thru his system and the hollow pain that remained. There were eight Endregas...yes, the Endregas, he had fainted on the clearing knowing well that he might not woke up again if he kept on breathing that mist. How did he get there? Roach answered with a distressed stump of her foot.

"What?" he asked the horse, and she neigh.

Jaskier

"Fuck."

he search on his pouch for White Honey to swallow it in a big gulp.

Awareness returned quickly and despite the injuries and aches on his lef side he took Roach's reins and guided her back to the clearing.

Back to Jaskier, he hoped to not be late, please let him be on time, he begged to no one in particular.

The contract said one Endrega, imagine the surprise and horror he felt when encountering a nest with full grown ups monsters which position were stronger and their hunt abilities an excellency when attacking in pack. He drank the three vials of antidote he carried and a dose of Swallow that burned his stomach and shot the toxicity levels to a mortal point. The Endregas were all dead, but tired and injured he collapse defeated. The position of the moon indicate that was dead for at least two hours during which he continued to breathe the poisonous gas, half and hour more and he'd be dead for good. Jaskier went for him, he could smell him on Roach, his fear and urgency. Idiot, that idiot.

Geralt tried with all his might to not think him dead.

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At the feet of the statue was Jaskier, body bent in an awkward angle. Geralt removed the undershirt on his face, recognizing it as a clever tactic. The mist did not reach that area but the purple and green tone on the bard's skin indicate high levels of poison, he must have went thru the mist to reach Geralt drag him back to Roach.

“Fuck, Jask” said Geralt with a trembling voice and without thinking carried Jaskier to Roach, there'll be time to check for injuries for now he have to take him back to safety. Jaskier's heartbeat was slow, very very slow. Geralt fret but he did not relent.

He laid Jaskier's frigid body on the bedroll and with Igni he started the fire, he located the water Jaskier used for tea and used to clean his hands of the grime and dirt. A choking noise alerted him and Roach who was nosing the bard.

From Jaskier's nose a dark liquid started to flow, he was drowning from the inside which meant that he had breath the poison and it was filling his lungs with thick mucus.

He put Dandelion on his side and encouraged him to vomit with his fingers to clean his airways as soon as possible. Jaskier throat convulsed on his fingers followed by a steady dark flow. Geralt reached for the pot by the fire to put it under his mouth, which soon was filled to the brim.

"That's it Jask, that's it" Geralt whispered even though the bard couldn't hear him. With a clean cloth, he wiped the bard's mouth once the flow stopped and her lungs sound clear. It was then that Geralt noticed with overwhelming fear that the other had stopped breathing.

"No, no, Jask come on come on"

He acted fast by lifting Jaskier's chin and placing his clasped hands in the center of his chest and began to push down hard more times than he could count.

“Jaskier come back!” he growled when his shoulders felt like jelly, he was getting tired and Jaskier wasn't breathing. He wasn't breathing. He remembered Renfri choking on his arms a reflection of what was happening here. Not this again, not these again. Jaskier's mouth opened follow up by a weak gasp and a weaker heartbeat.

But he came back, and Geralt almost cried right there and there, but he didn't know how. There's nothing else he can do, he had no medicine of herbs for poisoning that could help humans, everything he had was lethal. He instantly regretted overlooking the possibility of this happening. He was traveling with a bard and the most responsible and considerate thing he could do was prevent and buy at least herbs just in case. But he didn't. They were at least a day and a half away from the next town and being that far from the capital meant fewer healers. Jaskier wouldn't survive the travel, not on this conditions.

If the poison hasn't killed him by now then it means that he could survive on his own, or at least that's what Geralt hope.

He put Jaskier in one of his shirts and covered him with all the available clothes they had, his cape and even the blanket with which he covered Roach.

Exhausted he started removing his armour to clean the now faint slashes on his chest and abdomen, then he walked like death to Roach to remove the saddle and pet her gently thanking her for her help.

It was an hour before dawn, but Geralt did not rest, he could not even if he wanted to. He sat next to Jaskier to check his breathing and keep the fire burning.

The fever hit the bard a couple of hours later, he was burning dangerously high, Geralt dipped a cloth on clean water to place on his forehead, from time to time raised Jaskier's head to feed him with water.

His heart didn't stop again which was a blessing amongst the terrible situation. Jaskier didn't deserve to die like this, not for Geralt or monsters.

Then the hallucinations began, feverish and confused, Jaskier babbled under his breath while trembling furiously. He smell like sickness and decay and in that exact moment the witcher missed the natural perfume of the bard's skin. Like sea breeze and orange tree. Like Jaskier.

By day two Geralt got assaulted by an all consuming wave of guilt. He had yelled at the bard for being...well, himself. He was so upset and it was so easy to insult and threaten to leave him in the next town.

Jaskier hated to be left behind.

"Why did you came for me, you idiot?"

"I don't deserve it" whispered before taking the now warm cloth to dip it once again on cold water. Instead of improving, Jaskier's condition began to deteriorate. Painful spasms convulsed his body for hours, the fever did not subside and his breathing were shallow and slow. Geralt lay next to him that night to keep the tremors at bay, he hold him carefully alongside his body.

"You do remember the night after Posada when we make camp and you asked me to cuddle you because you were cold?" He whispered into the night "I didn't. If you were awake I'd never hear the end of this. You'd love it"

The bard moaned softly and shook slightly under his grip. "Come back to me, Jask." He meant to say how sorry he was, he doze off instead.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

First he felt heat on his face, then a relentless pressure on his head as if a heavy stone was on top of it Little by little he maped his body and the multiple aches that alarmed him. On his chest underneath the skin his ribs screamed with fire as if he have been kicked hard multiple times, also his lungs burned like hell, his shoulders were stiff and sore, his belly hurt faintly.

What happened? Where is he? What, what, what, what

"Jaskier Jaskier. I'm here, breathe thru your nose, I'm here." Suddenly he realized that he was sitting up and wide-eyed. It was noon. "Jask" kneeled next to him was Geralt with a worried frown and a canister fill of water. He snatched it from Geralt's hands and drank as if a desert was kept inside his lungs.

"Easy"

“Not…your…horse” Jaskier flinched at how raspy his voice sounded. Beside him, the witcher chuckled and then stretched out his hand to put it on his forehead. Before Jaskier could react at the soft touch tha hand was gone.

"Fevers down" uh, did he sound happy?

"I had fever?" Geralt looked at him with such intensity, a expression he had never seen and therefore didn't know what it meant.

"You almost died" he answered softly. She saw Roach grazing without a mount a few feet away, she also noticed that Geralt was in his small clothes. The camp was a small mess like when they stay on the same place for more than two days.

"The Endrega"

"Endregas, yes"

"I went..."

"Yes"

"I... i'm sorry"

"No, don't be, you saved me" It was a shock when Geralt straightened a lock of hair from her forehead. His fingertips were warm.

"Are you hungry?"

"I don't know. I don't think so"

"You have to eat. I cooked rabbit broth, it'll do you good"

He could only swallow a quarter of the broth before starting to feel nauseous, Geralt said he had vomit enough for the past days before taking the pot from him. Roach came to say hello and Jaskier felt his heart swelled with affection. He wanted to do and ask more, but suddenly he felt tired, very tired, his eyelids fluttered and when Geralt saw him, he helped him lie down and put his cape over him. He was soft and calm, tender even. At that moment Jaskier knew that he must have been in a bad shape if Geralt was acting like this, like Jaskier always imagine on his wildest dreams.

He wanted to said thank you but it felt so meaningless at the moment, Geralt didn't look that good, slump and with drop shoulders a clear sign of exhaustion. if Jaskier still breathed, it was all thanks to Geralt, despite how defeated he was from the contract, he took care of him.

I love you seem something meaningful to say, every feeling and thought Jaskier have had of the witcher, taking form into three little words.

Sleep took him away before he could have the courage to say it.

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The next morning Jaskier insisted he was fine and he wanted to travel to the next town , of course he was a liar Geralt always knew when he lied, because he wrinkled his nose in a cute but irritating way. With a small smile, he pinched the bard's nose back to normal.

“No, you’re not ready” Jaskier let out a laugh as he smack the witcher's hand away. and before Jaskier could protest Geralt added "But we need go there to get you to a healer and reastock"

"Your letter Geralt, don't forget about your letter"

"Uhmm"

Before setting off on the journey, Geralt made sure that Jaskier could endure the journey. He applied what was left of a soothing balm to Jaskier's chest for the pain and bruises that remained after the compressions. Riding would be painful, but they have to get to the healer in case of a relapse or permanent damage. Jaskier let him applied the balm and he couldn't believe the patience and care the witcher put on his motions as if Jaskier could break if enough force was used. He was crumbling in tiny little pieces, melting, but from a different source. The witcher is going to be the end of him one day of these.

I love you, we wanted to said. He put on one of Geralt's shirt instead, it smells like onion and Roach and Geralt and smoke and safety. It smells like home.

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Riding Roach was painful and tiring, walking was out of the question He kept waiting for Geralt to get upset by the multiple stops they made but that never happen, in fact the witcher was the one who plannified and suggest to rest every one or two hours.

Something has changed between them, but the bard does not know what to name this new atmosphere, but he sure welcomes it. For the first time in all the years they have travel together Jaskier felt wanted, cared for, treasured! With a rush of happiness and satisfaction, Jaskier acknowledged that the walls Geralt has built around him to keep him out and stranded, have collapsed. He finally was someone to hold on to. Jaskier was sitting on the bed roll with a warm tea canister on his hands while the witcher set up camp to sleep the night. A day and a half away from the next town has become two days, they'll be reaching the inn (if it were any, Jaskier hope there would be) by night fall.

Geralt was stoking the fire when a mad idea occurred to him, he crawled to Geralt and before he could voiced his displeasure the bard embrace him in a tight hug. Two seconds later, Geralt hugged him back almost urgently, nuzzling his face where Jaskier's shoulder and neck met. He withdrew with a goofy smile on his face and his heart hammering on his bruised ribs, he couldn't care less. But he didn't get any far, he was a selfish man. Geralt was smiling too, a soft and crooked smile, when he straightened the bard's hair over his forehead and ears, he then, like under a spell trace his thumbs over his eyebrows and eyelids. Jaskier could die right here and then from happiness.

Their faces were so close. I love you, Jaskier wanted to say, he took Geralt's hands instead to place a kiss on each dirtied palm.

"You reek" of course Geralt would know how to break the moment.

"You too, mister. For once Roach smells better than us"

“She always smells better tan us” Jaskier snorted getting back to the bedroll pondering on how lucky he was despite the near death experience, he was a lucky men.

By the next afternoon Jaskier was beyond exhausted, every single one of his bones scream with pain, he felt as if he was about to pass out at any moment.

"Geralt..."

"We have to get going, Jaskier, only for a few hours and we'd get there"

"I can't"

"Please, Jask, I'll take care of you when we get there"

Please, what a strange word to express how much you care.

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Geralt practically carried him up the stairs to the room, Jaskier fell face first on the bed already half sleep. Geralt was placing his things when the bard murmured “Wake me up before you go in the morning." The thing is that even if he were on time to reach Eskel, Geralt didn't want to go anywhere.

Jaskier woke up sometime in the night when the mattress sagged next to him.

followed by a strong arm curling around his belly.

"Grlt'?"

"Sleep"

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·· · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

Jaskier woke up to the chirping of birds on the windowsill, it was still early, the sun was not up yet. Not even the drowsiness could prevent the joy he felt and finding himself tuck to Geralt chest, they're facing each other naturally as if they have sleep like this forever.

And like a bucket of cold water thrown over him he remembered the letter "Geralt" he called softly "Geralt it's morning"

"Hmm, I can see that" came the sloppy reply, but instead of getting up Geral cuddled him more, practically tucking his face against the other's.

as if sensing his distress Geralt added "I'm not going anywhere"

"But your contact..." he withdrew (a few inches) to make a point. Geralt opened his perfect eyes and hold him under them.

"Eskel, my brother. I already send a letter, he'll understand"

"I'm sorry" a kiss was place on his forehead

"Don't be, I want to be here"

"You...you didn't want to" Geralt sighed ashamed

"I know and i'm sorry. Now I know where i belong"

"Here?" replied Jaskier with a snort

"With you"

"With me?!" Now was Geralt's turn to snort happily, resembling Roach when they feed her apples.

"You risked your life even though I was an asshole to you, even when I told you that the poison would kill you if you got anywhere near the place. I...I'm sorry"

"You were an asshole, yes" Geralt gifted him with a smile full of teeth "To be fair i was behaving like a brat at the time"

"You are a brat, yes"

"Hey"

Jaskier wanted to say I love you, instead he kiss Geralt's lips softly.

Geralt wanted to do better, so better he did.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #jaskier #hurt jaskier #injury #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

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austarus · 3 years

Text

Harrison Wells (Eobard Thawne) x Reader Ballistic Confrontations (1/3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif belongs to me!

Yes, I’m alive.

*TW: mentions of suicide, drowning, and cutting. Along with Eobard being a dramatic bitch*

Word Count: 3184

Part 2 Part 3

Felicity deadpanned with Harry beside her on one of the Cortex monitors. She had glanced to all her friends. “The bottom line is that we have to catch these parallel-earth goose-steppers.” Everyone was well aware of her dislike towards Nazi’s. The things they had done on this earth to her ancestors and to people like her. Utterly Disgusting.

“This might help,” Barry stepped in, holding up a blood-stained arrow.

“Is that a kryptonite arrow?” Kara’s sister, Alex, unfurled her arms as she gently took the lethal arrow away from him.

“Yup,” Barry responded with a sigh, hands at his hips while the others rounded together. He felt exhausted from chasing around Eobard while Kara and Oliver dealt with their doppelgangers. Years later and he still wasn’t fast enough to stop the yellow speedster.

“I know I shouldn't have to ask this question, but I have to ask this question.” Felicity interjected with quick words; worry seeded in her chest. “Oliver didn't shoot Kara, did he?”

“Sort of,” Barry replied, further clarifying with a face. The days just keep getting worse and worse with these parallel-dimension-hoppers. “The other Archer and flying woman are Oliver and Kara of Earth-X.”

“When you said that Earth-X was horrible,” Caitlin glanced back at Harry, who had raised a hand in mock defeat, “you might have undersold it.”

“Wait a minute. How- how could there be another Kara?” Alex was thoroughly confused; she was still new to the concept of parallel earths doppelgangers.

“Well, there are 53 Karas, just like there's 53 Kryptons and 53 Earths.” Harry explained simply.

“And the Thawne from our earth is working with them.” Barry gave a look, clearly annoyed at the fact that Thawne was back. Again. Thawne coming back due to time travel and the Speedforce were already giving him a headache just thinking about it all over again.

Caitlin just gave Barry an incredulous look. “He's an idiot.” Harry plainly stated.

Felicity already was thinking up of ways to track them down. “Ok, if that arrow has not-so-Supergirl's blood on it, we c—"

“We could track it using quantum analysis.” Harry cut her off, but she just nodded at his words.

“We could.”

***___***

“Harry, Cait, Iris,” Barry unfurled his arms and gestured to them with his head for a sidebar. The others were busy with Alex in isolating the city for Kara-X’s radioactive blood signatures. Felicity’s specialty. After all, she was able to track a deranged killer with just his face cream. “Whatever happens, (Y/N) can’t know Thawne’s here.” Both scientists gave odd looks to each other at the speedster’s words.

“Barry she’s going to find out one way or another, she’s part of this team too,” Iris voiced, side-glancing the door as if you’d step in at any moment.

“If he’s working with them, she has the right to know.” Caitlin added. “She should know what to expect.”

“Allen, unless you decide to lock her up in the pipeline until this is all over, she’ll find out.” Harry said. “You can’t possibly hide this from her forever.” The genius scientist hinted at the fact that when Barry had run back in time last year, Thawne had been the one to ‘fix’ things when really, he had altered the timeline. A timeline created to suits him and his plans. Even going as far to tell Barry that this was how the timeline was supposed to be before Thawne had caused the alteration when he had time-traveled back to kill Nora and escalated into what is now Team Flash. Three different timelines had been created, but this one, according to Thawne, is how the original one should have been. Just with a few… absences… Like Eddie and Ronnie. Barry had never mentioned any of this to you or the fact that Thawne had ended up escaping him that night. The scarlet speedster did not want you looking for the man in the yellow suit. But it seems that fate’s not on Barry’s side this time.

“Harry, I can’t have her chasing after him. Not with all this going on,” Barry protested. “One maniacal problem at a time.”

“Whether she does or doesn’t is up to her, Allen. You’re not a god.” Harry pursed his lips before heading to the side lab.

Barry ran his tongue over his lips tightly, frowning deeply at the echoed words. He didn’t need this right now. Those words stung the speedster, mainly with the aftermath of his time remnant – Savitar - claiming god-hood, wanting to alter everything and anything in his way to stay alive. Even to kill the love of his life. Jay Garrick told him that when he ran back to this timeline a year ago. ‘We’re not gods, Barry.’

How did Wells know about that? Maybe he didn’t. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that time-traveling powers shouldn’t be abused like that. Yet… Thawne always gets away with it. He gets away with barely a scratch. I can be one step ahead, but he’ll be 15 steps further.

Caitlin gave her friend a sympathetic look, exchanging one with Iris. Alex and Felicity were still present in the room, but too preocuppied with their blood sample. Barry’s intentions made sense, but it was your decision whether to chase after Thawne or not. It’s your choice on whether you’d even side with him for this battle.

***___***

You had stood right outside the Cortex in the corridor, your feet stopped when you heard Barry announce that “Thawne is working with them”. Your heart got caught in your chest. Eobard was here. He was back. But why in the hell would he ever work with Nazis? Nazis? Seriously Eo??? What the absolute fuck? You knew Eobard never had a tolerance for people like that. People like Eiling or Stagg, who would “poke fun” at those with disabilities, even if he had feigned his inability to walk in the end. People who would intentionally use their status to torture others. It just goes to show how people with that kind of caliber would think. So why this sudden change? Not ‘why now’. No, why at all?? How could he have stooped so low? That idiot. Unacceptable.

But what ached the most was Barry’s words. He doesn’t trust me… Even after all these years. Your heart shook and eyes narrowed as your eyes peered at the light being cast from the Cortex. You took in a breath. Taking a quiet step back, your feet carried you to one of the higher levels of STAR Labs- one of the tower levels. Your quiet place of refuge when this had gotten too much, whether it was because the shadows kept you safe from judgment or not, you didn’t know. If he wants to act like that, then two can play this game, Bartholomew Henry Allen. You looked out onto the city, subconscious scanning every light – every street. Lights winked in and out, the night progressing as the city remained unaware of the new monsters it currently hid. But what am I going to do?

***___***

Iris rubbed her eyes before taking a step closer to her almost-husband. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I can’t have (Y/N) fighting with us. Not now. Not in this battle.” Not when he’s lurking around.

“Why?”

“You know why? Thawne’s out there. Running, scheming.”

“So, you don’t trust her.” It was more of a statement rather than a question.

“Iris, she knew what he did to my mom. Lied to us about it for months back then and still chose Thawne when we locked him up. What makes this time different?”

“Barry, while all those sound like good points, first and foremost she’s our friend.” The speedster just shook his head, Iris huffed, “Look, it’s been -what?- 3? 4 years? Since she’d last been with him? Things have changed. You think after everything we’ve been through; she’ll throw that all away?”

“Yes! Old feelings come back; they always do and she’s going to get her revenge.”

“How do you know that? How do you know that she wants revenge?”

“Thawne will coax it out of her. He’s good at manipulating a person’s feelings.”

“And what would she get in the end?”

Barry didn’t answer her, instead he wrung his hands together.

“Barr, if she had wanted revenge, she would have done so already after the incident. But she didn’t. (Y/N) was depressed after Thawne was erased. Vulnerable. The love of her life was gone, just like that. Don’t you remember? How she wanted to end it all, but we stopped her.” Barry’s eyes flickered to the ground, remember the sight he had seen. Drowning. You were purposefully drowning yourself in your tub. The way your looked back at him- lifeless- when he had gotten you back to your senses. The blood the dripped, your cold skin. The monitor beeping every so often in the Cortex. Iris’ own mind shifted to when she had seen the scars littered on your arms when Caitlin had fully examined you. Your dull hair and gaunt face, nothing like the brilliant fire that rang through you months prior to Eobard’s erasure. “We helped her work through it when we found out. Caitlin and I looked after (Y/N) every second of the day until she was ready to get back on her two feet. And then Zoom happened and he was breaking you. Breaking your bones and your spirit- when you broke your back, she was all-hands-on-deck to step in and help in your place while still dealing with her own issues.”

“I know, it’s just- something just tells me otherwise with Thawne here.”

“Barry-”

“-She’s going to choose him, Iris. Nothing will change that. To her, everything we’ve been through until this point won’t mean anything. Not when Thawne’s at the end of the tunnel waiting for her. She’s going to choose him and help him.”

“But what if she doesn’t? What then, Barr?”

Barry just shrugged. “I-I don’t know, but I can’t take any chances. Not this time.” I can’t hesitate with Thawne here. One misstep and that’ll be all he needs to make his move.

Iris reached out to her fiancé, gently caressing his cheek. She knew that he won’t change his mind, no matter the reasons she could come up with. Barry thought in absolutes when it comes to Thawne. And your past emotional ties with the evil speedster only further drove his current mistrust. “Come on, we have to help the others.”

***___***

You threw the ball against the concrete wall opposite to you, all your strength forced into it. The stress ball ricocheted back to where you sat. You caught it with ease, giving it a firm squeeze as your eyes shut.

“How could you betray us? We were your friends, your family!-”

“You are-”

“We stood by you!”

“I just-”

“-Just what!? He took everything from me!”

You cringed at the voice from years past. Breathe in, breathe out.

“You’re just as guilty as him. No wonder, like calls to like.”

“I-”

“I don’t want your excuses.”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“I hope you rot with him.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Swallowing harshly, you did your breathing exercises to push Barry’s cold voice away. You had stolen the malleable ball from Harry- or rather, he had allowed you to take it from him. It was an unused gift from the others for Harry to deal with his anger issues. Instead of throwing beakers and graduated cylinders off desks, the Earth-2 scientist can simply channel his anger into this stress ball… Which had been a hard pass for him. Rather he preferred his method of anger outbursts, even if he did end up hurting himself in the process. So you put it to use instead; a tool for simple meditation, as well as the redirecting your certain senses. It’s made of rubber polymer so your electrokinesis didn’t harm your new toy in any way.

Your eyes lingered back onto the city, your arm hanging over your bent leg while your other remained outstretched. No good in hiding up here forever, it’ll make things more suspicious. Not like Barry isn’t suspecting anything anyway. But you had needed time to think, to collect your thoughts and assess what actions you would take. You touched the necklace Eobard had made for you in rich gold- a Columba. It’s a constellation signifying the dove in astrology as he always called you his little birdy. But also, because gave him a sense of peace which the dove has generally symbolized fore. A finger ran over the one of the six diamonds that twinkled for the constellation, connected to each by a trail of gold. Eobard. Licking your lips, you got up, you pocketed your ball and brushed any dust particle from your leggings.

Upon entering the Cortex, a group of heroes left: Oliver, Kara, Barry, Sara, and so on. Barry had shoved past you, your eyes meeting briefly as you raised an eyebrow. His expression was guarded, but you said nothing.

“I’m guessing they’re going on a little midnight excursion?” You turned to Felicity and Iris with a thumb pointing in their direction. Mick was nowhere to be found so you can assume he’s already raided the lounge fridge. Caitlin had already prepped the med bay for incoming injuries, which isn’t an uncommon expectation, but wasn’t in the Cortex.

“Ding ding ding, you’re correct,” Felicity piped up, typing away at her computer screen. She was already hacking into cameras around the warehouse as the inside had ones out of commission. “The remaining Legends are to be on standby, should something happen during the warehouse fight. Per Sara’s orders.” At least Felicity isn’t treating you any differently, especially with how close she is to Barry. He probably told her to.

“And we’re going to be…?” You raised an eyebrow, a bit offended no one decided to volunteer you for the fight. You wanted to kick some Nazi ass too. Fry those fuckers. Guess Barry told them all to not trust me. Great, thanks Barr. Bitterness welled up inside but didn’t show it. Felicity and Iris aren’t the ones to be at odds with. Maybe it’s a good thing if Eo’s there. Barry would have his eyes all over your interaction with him.

“Just doing some monitoring and staying on comms. The usual Overwatch stuff,” Felicity smiled up at you then quickly turned to her tech. You could tell that her mind was wondering. About what? You had no clue and decided it’d be best to not involve yourself should things go sour if you did and Barry would find a reason to blame you.

No, this reunion needed to be on the downlow. One away from prying eyes. Your eyes drifted to Iris’ back in a subtle manner before pulling out your phone to check the time.

“Where’s Harry?” You asked, if anything he was one of the people who hadn’t seen you for just your past. Didn’t care for it as Zoom terror and Jesse’s rescue were more pressing matters. And you had seen him for more than a doppelganger to Eobard, even if their tendencies and bristliness seemed similar. Harry was Harry and Eobard was Eobard. Both were their own men, it wasn’t that hard to see and understand. He had done his own share of horrors and dark deeds for Jesse that Harry was dealing with his own darkness, while your demons haunted you. In an odd way, you both understood one another. Begrudgingly at first, though. Plus, you needed to return the stress ball back to him, thinking he’d need it now with Thawne around. If anything, you found it funny how Harry got mad when people would call Thawne a Wells. The Wells doppelganger would spectacularly blow up, which was always a site to see. Though you were hoping the two would never meet. You chewed on the inside of your cheek on how that interaction could possibly go. Would you-

“He’s probably back in his lab,” Iris spoke up from the other side of the Cortex, padding up to you. You nodded at her, mind drifting once more as you strolling to the Cortex exit. Harry could hold his own, but up against Eo, with all his speed… You’d choose-

“Hey,” Iris stopped you, snapping you out of your thoughts and placing a hand on your arm. You blinked. A small smile was woven on her face, one of those comforting smiles that said that you can come to her for anything… But could you?

“Hey,” you returned it, feigning any indication that you had overheard what Barry had said earlier. Schooling your features, you calmed your nerves. I’ve done this before. Pretended not to know. I can do it again. I can’t trust no one, and it seems like no one can trust me. I’ll be the actress again in this drama, spun by Barry this time.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure”

Iris was perceptive, she didn’t miss the slight strain in your voice. The guarded look that the young journalist had become accustomed to receiving when approaching you. There were times where she’d realize you were walking on eggshells with her. Because of Barry. Because of the serrated words he had thrown at you like knives all those times ago. But there were times where all was well with the world, the past forgotten and the strength of your friendship with the team more prominent than ever. Then again, having Nazi’s return and who are hell bent on ruling this Earth by eradicating its heroes then move on to the next Earth in the multiverse does tend to throw tension into the air. Iris bit her lip. Especially if she doesn’t know about Thawne.

“(Y/N), look there’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“…”

“Iris, is something wrong? Are you ok?”

She noted sincerity on your face. “Thawne’s here.”

You pursed your lips, internally confused. “Iris-”

“And he’s fighting with the Earth-Xers.”

“I… what?!” Your rage was not false. Sure you knew about it earlier, but now it was necessary to unleash it. It’d make your surprise all the more legit.

“I needed you to know,” Iris swallowed.

“How?”

“When Barry, Oliver, and Kara intercepted their heist.”

“…” It was your turn to be silent. You knew, but you had to play a little longer until you could leave.

“I trust you, ok?”

“But” You knew there was a ‘but’. There always is one. Iris blinked, opening her mouth a few times then looking away before meeting your gaze once more.

“But I need to know you’re with us on this.”

Your eyes never left hers, your hand was held in both of hers. Before you could even respond an alarm had gone off. Both your necks snapped to Felicity, who snapped up from her sitting position.

“That was the corridor alarm.” Fear crippled its way in the air. “This is a setup.”

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