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mandoinevarro · 4 years

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WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

2K notes · View notes

jungshookz · 3 years

Note

miss cee pd i have a request!!!! how about e2l tae x y/n but they're in law school and they're always arguing and debating inside and outside of the classroom and tae being a little shit is like "you wanna kiss me so bad" and they both don't realise that there's mistletoe above them which jimin put because he was tired of watching them constantly argue and wanted to fiZzle the tension hehe and then they KITH,, i hope this isn't too long aha

➺ pairing; kim taehyung x reader

➺ genre; sfw!! enemies to lovers!! everyone’s in law school!! mostly y/n and taehyung bickering with each other and wanting to jump each other’s bones at the same time

➺ wordcount; 4.3k

➺ what to expect; “don’t flatter yourself. i would rather throw myself into oncoming traffic than kiss you, kim taehyung.”

»»————-　❄　————-««

“-now, the particular case study that was assigned to our group involves a civil action for medical negligence and a criminal prosecution for gross negligence manslaughter, which means that there are seven elements that we need to hit when we’re acting out our simulation next class,” you explain, flipping to the next page of your notebook with a flick of your wrist, “firstly, the client - jimin - must be interviewed so that we may determine the facts that surround the claim/prosecution. secondly, we need to draft witness statements - from hoseok and namjoon - and assess the legal efficacy of said statements. thirdly, we must assess the propriety of police interrogation from officer jungkook of the defend-”

you pause when a crumpled piece of paper lands by your left foot and you clear your throat quietly before stepping over it and continuing to pace back and forth at the front of the classroom

your eyes skim over your scribbled words as you try to relocate your place

…

ah!

here we are

“-ant, seokjin, through all transcripts along with the custody record. fourthly, we move on to assessing the reports that have been produced by the forensic experts-”

another balled-up piece of paper hits your foot and your head immediately snaps upwards from your book before you twist around to face the room

“would you cut that out, please?” you snap, already feeling your blood pressure starting to rise from a single glance at taehyung’s smug face

“what? i didn’t know how else to get your attention!” he hums, his arm dangling in the air with a floppy wrist, “my arm’s been up for the past three minutes, and you would’ve known that if you didn’t have your nose buried deep in your book.”

the reminder that you wouldn’t last a day in prison keeps you from lunging forward to wrap your hands around taehyung’s neck and you press your lips together to stop yourself from saying anything too crass

the last thing you need is for some professor to walk past the classroom while you’re cussing up a storm

your self-control has really been put to the test ever since you met taehyung

after all this time, you still don’t know what the guy’s deal is

he’s been a pain in your ass since day one

and for what??

for WHAT?!

at first you just thought that being a complete prick was just his weird version of being charismatic, but then you realised that he wasn’t being charming at all and he was really, truly, genuinely being a straight-up asshole

and, for the record, you’ve tried several times in the past to try to make things better but nothing’s worked

you said that he looked nice in his suit = he told you to stop looking at him like a piece of meat

you asked him how he did on the midterm exam = he told you that it was his right to keep that piece of information private and that you were being a snake by even asking about it

you said happy birthday to him = he said, and you quote, “yeah. it was until you got here.”

the point is, you’ve waved many white flags of surrender and extended many, many olive branches to no avail

at this point you’re pretty sure taehyung just gets off on being a jerk to you

and it’s not fair because it’s literally just you that he picks on constantly

at first you thought that maybe he was just threatened by your presence because you made it pretty clear from day one that you weren’t here to play around

powerful women are intimidating!

you totally get it.

…but then you overheard him offering rosé some studying tips and you even saw him help wendy carry her books for her and everyone knows that rosé and wendy are two of the smartest girls in the class, so why wasn’t he threatened by them?

...

the point is, he doesn’t treat anyone else in the class like this except for you and you can’t seem to figure out why!

what makes it even more frustrating is the fact that his stupid face is very nice to look at, so whenever he’s being mean to you, your dumb girl hormones drown out the sound of his rich, honey-like voice and place floating pink hearts around his head instead

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t paying attention to you, mr. kim.” you force out before gesturing to the notebook cradled in the crook of your arm, “see, all my notes are in here and i’m just trying to make sure that i don’t miss out on any details,” you point out, “and… i thought i said to save your questions for the end, did i not?”

“did you? i guess i wasn’t listening. sorry, sweetheart.” taehyung chirps, folding his arms and leaning forward on his desk, “anyway- don’t you think it’s a little unfair that you get to play the hotshot lawyer in this simulation?”

“everyone gets a turn to be the lawyer - last week, it was jungkook. this week, it’s me. everyone gets a shot to play the hotshot lawyer because our roles rotate.” you shake your head in disagreement, “how am i being unfair?”

“you assigned yourself, like, the coolest case study.” taehyung scoffs, leaning back against his seat and crossing his arms, “i mean… medical negligence and a criminal prosecution for gross negligence manslaughter?” his left brow arches before he turns his head slightly, “jungkook, what was your case study on again?”

“my client parked in a no-parking zone!” jungkook beams, nodding to himself, “i didn’t mind getting that case, though. it was actually pretty fu-”

“you hear that, y/n?” taehyung turns his head back to face you before gesturing behind him, “jungkook also thinks his case was boring as hell- his client parked in a no-parking zone and you get to deal with corrupt doctors and accidentally-but-not-really-accidentally-run-over-by-a-car pedestrians.”

your jaw clenches in frustration and you resist the urge to take a heel off and bash taehyung’s skull in with it

being forced to wear nice shoes to school would be so much better if you were allowed to commit cold-blooded murder with them

“well, that was last week’s case, so even if jungkook thought it was boring…” you pause, turning to set your notebook down on the front desk before twisting back around, “he’s already had his turn. and now it’s my turn!”

“you could’ve given me this case.”

“oh, please.” you snort, rolling your eyes before leaning against the front desk, “you wouldn’t have been able to handle a case this big. this has my name written all over it.”

taehyung scoffs, rolling his eyes, “the only reason why it has your name written all over it was because you grabbed it with your grubby little raccoon hands before anyone else had the chance to-”

“i-!” you pinch the bridge of your nose before letting out a laugh of disbelief, “oh my god, i refuse to have this conversation with you again, taehyung- for the last time, it was a first-come-first-serve situation, and you probably could’ve gotten this case if you weren’t so busy watching netflix in class-”

“you guys-” namjoon clears his throat, his shoulders drooping when the two of you ignore him, “…never mind.”

this always happens

you guys somehow always find something to argue about no matter what

in fact, namjoon’s convinced that you guys could sit in complete and utter silence and still find something to fight over

“how long do you think the argument will last this time?” yoongi leans over, “i bet you ten bucks it’ll last longer than last week’s fight.”

“no way! last week’s fight was half an hour long-” hoseok chimes in, “…they can’t possibly argue for longer than thirty minutes… can they?”

“remember that time they fought over a sandwich?” jungkook sighs, leaning his cheek against his fist, “that was a forty minute argument.”

“they fought over a sandwich?” jimin frowns, turning to glance towards the front, “what was there to even argue about??”

“y/n said that the spread was dijon mustard and taehyung said it was horseradish mustard,” seokjin purses his lips, “…i actually ordered the same sandwich and i’m pretty sure it was just regular ol’ yellow mustard… but i’m too afraid to tell either of them they’re wrong about it.”

“oh my god-” jimin scoffs, “forty minutes arguing about mustard?? really??”

“yep! i even recorded the whole thing just because it’s actually pretty interesting listening to two people scream about mustard so passionately for so long,” jungkook pulls his phone out of his back pocket, the rest of the boys scooting in closer to his desk, “by the time we finish watching the video, they’ll… probably be done arguing with each other. maybe.”

“-ow thick is your skull, taehyung? were you dropped on your head as a baby??” you scowl, “if i was a teacher’s pet like you say i am, then i would’ve sweet-talked my way out of being in a group with you. also, you know what? i wasn’t going to bring this up, but the only reason why we’re here during christmas break is because it was your idea to practice during the holidays-”

“yeah! you get to practice your big show in a huge, empty classroom without getting nervous about someone overhearing you practice speaking in your dumb, professional lawyer voice-” taehyung gestures around at the spacious atmosphere, “if this is your way of being thankful to me, you have an awfully funny way of showing it-”

“do you know what i could be doing right now if i wasn’t here?” you scowl, placing your hands on your hips as you glare at taehyung

“hm, let me think…” he hums, leaning back against his chair before kicking his legs up onto his desk, “bending over and trying desperately to pull the fat stick out of your ass?”

jimin sits up a little straighter as he peers over the top of namjoon and seokjin’s heads to check and see if you and taehyung are done arguing yet

your ears are turning red and there’s an animalistic, frenzied look behind your eyes, so... nope. definitely not done yet.

after all this time, he still doesn’t know why you guys fight the way that you do

it’s like you enjoy pushing each other’s buttons and irritating each other until one of you inevitably snaps (you’re usually the first one to fall off the rocker because taehyung is alarmingly good at being irritating)

“ooh, hold on-” jungkook grins, pointing to the screen before whacking jimin’s arm in rapid smacks, “my favourite part is coming up, you have to pay attention-”

jimin looks away from you two and back down at the screen

“-the low acidity liquid gives dijon mustard that intensified heat and the classic pungent flavour which is very obvious in this sandwich!” you exclaim, peeling the top slice of bread off to reveal the inside, “and look at that colour! that is literally dijon mustard-”

“okay, fine! it’s dijon mustard.” taehyung responds while inspecting his nail beds

“no, you’re not listening to- wait… did you just agree with me?”

“yeah!” he sighs, crossing his arms, “the mustard used in your sandwich is dijon mustard. and also, the sky is green-”

“oh my god, you piece of-!”

jimin looks up again when he hears your voice rise a couple of octaves

this is the part of the argument when your ‘i’m-fine-don’t-touch-me-I’M-FINE’ voice comes out

“wow! you are-” you laugh, shaking your head as you lean down and place your hands flat on the surface of taehyung’s desk “you really are something else, kim taehyung. i-!”

you let out a yelp of surprise when taehyung suddenly reaches over and yanks at a section of your hair

“ow!” you whack his hand away before flicking your hair over your shoulder, “wha- what the hell was that for?!”

taehyung doesn’t flinch at your aggressive tone and he looks up at you, completely unfazed, before giving a half-hearted shrug

“it was hanging, like, right in front of me. i couldn’t not pull on it.”

“well, your tie is right there but you don’t see me reaching over and pulling on it to strangle you because it’s right in front of me-”

“oh, threatening to choke me, are we?” taehyung hums, “i’m suddenly feeling very unsafe. should i get one of the guys to call campus security for my protection, miss y/n?”

“do you guys think we should break things off?” seokjin glances over his shoulder at the escalating scene, “ideally, i’d like for this to not turn into a how to get away with murder scenario…”

jimin narrows his eyes slightly as the gears click-click-click away in his head, leaning back against his seat and reaching up to tap at his chin

there’s something about this situation that’s reminding him of something but he can’t quite put his finger on it

“oh my god, you are such a child-!”

jimin’s eyes suddenly widen in realization, a lightbulb appearing at the top of his head

does taehyung like y/n?

...

oh, wow

taehyung has a full-blown crush on you!

how could he not have noticed this before?!

taehyung is literally the bratty little boy pulling on your pigtails because he doesn’t know how else to get your attention on this playground!

a comment from a former conversation with you briefly flits through jimin’s mind as he continues staring at the two of you in awe

he doesn’t remember how exactly you guys started talking about it, but he does remember you saying these words to him:

“i mean… yeah. of course i think taehyung’s attractive. maybe in another universe where he’s not bullying me 24/7, i would be more open to admitting to myself that i might have a slight crush- i-i mean, i- what did we say we were going to get for lunch today?? sandwiches?? we should get sandwiches, the place is right here-”

how could he have forgotten you said that to him?!

it’s like he finally has his hands on the missing puzzle piece... and it’s up to him to finish this puzzle!

“i have a plan.” jimin whispers to himself before reaching over to grab onto jungkook’s wrist, “i know what i have to do!”

“huh?” jungkook frowns in confusion, pausing the video before looking over at him, “what are you talking about?”

“just-” jimin gets up from his seat quickly, the chair screeching against the floor, “just make sure they don’t stop arguing with each other while i’m gone because i might take a while to find what i need-”

“you know, i don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” yoongi snorts, everyone looking towards the front to see you glaring at taehyung like you want to rip his heart out of his chest and eat it raw, “check out that throbbing vein in y/n’s forehead.”

“forget about her forehead vein-” jungkook shakes his head, “has no one else noticed how tightly taehyung clenches his asscheeks whenever he’s pissed? those trousers do not hide anything.”

everyone’s eyes immediately gravitate down to taehyung’s ass, hoseok and seokjin bursting into giggles at the sight

“what the fuck is your problem?!” you scream, taehyung’s eyes widening at your sudden outburst, “you’ve treated me like shit from day one and i’ve literally done nothing wrong!”

“okay! i think we should all just take a step back and take a deep breath…” namjoon gets up from his seat slowly, “it’s getting a little intense-“

“nothing wrong?! oh yeah, because you’re little miss perfect-” taehyung spits out, “don’t play dumb, you know exactly what you did!”

“what did i-!” you throw your hands up into the air, “please, i am begging you to tell me what the horrible thing is that i did that made you decide i was public enemy number one-”

“i heard you talking shit about me at the very beginning of the semester when you didn’t even know me! we’d never met and you didn’t even bother trying to get to know me before you formed your own opinion of me based on the way i looked-” taehyung snaps, “you said that i looked like an entitled, obnoxious frat-boy who didn’t even know left from right and only made it to law school because his daddy gave the school a generous donation- so if we’re really going to talk about who the real asshole is in this room, i would suggest re-evaluating-”

you feel the blood drain from your face at the reminder of what you said about taehyung on the first day of class

...oh.

...

okay, yeah, you... might have said that stuff, but it was only because the other people you were sitting with at the time said stuff like that and... and you were so desperate to find a group of cool law-school friends that you were totally willing to say and do anything they wanted you to do or say!

it obviously didn’t work because you don’t sit with them anymore, so...

yeah, it was a bad move to talk shit about taehyung like that without even having spoken one word to him, but if this proves anything... it’s that peer pressure is dangerous!

“well, why didn’t you just-” you stammer, feeling your face starting to heat up from embarrassment, “why didn’t you just tell me about this earlier? we could’ve nipped it right in the bud-”

“i much prefer the bullying because the feeling i get after seeing the defeat in your eyes is equivalent to a full-body orgasm-”

“oh my god, you sick freak-”

“uh, you guys-” namjoon cuts in again, holding his finger up, “can i just s-”

“okay, fine!” you raise your hands in surrender, “i’m sorry, alright? i’m really sorry. what i said about you was shitty, but i don’t see how bullying me for months on end was a good solution-”

“can you two shut u-”

“oh, i never said it was a good solution, y/n,” taehyung purses his lips, “like i said - i just did it because it was fun-”

“guys, if i could just get one word in-”

“do you even realize how psychotic you sound right no-”

“HEY!” namjoon suddenly bellows, you and taehyung jumping and clamming up immediately in alarm

“what??” the two of you ask at the same time, pausing to glare at each other for a split second before looking back over at namjoon

“i…” he trails off, his eyes flickering upwards, “…know this is kind of awkward timing, but…”

you and taehyung look up simultaneously, your eyes widening to see a dinky little shrub of... mistletoe? taped at the end of a meter stick

oh no

oh hell no

“kiss first, and then you can apologise for what was obviously a huge misunderstanding and you can apologise for being a huge prick later - pucker up, lovebirds!” jimin chirps, waving the stick a little and watching your eyes go side to side like a ping-pong ball, “don’t be shy! also, i know the mistletoe looks like a clump of grass that i tied a red ribbon around- just don’t look too closely at it-”

“ha!” you let out a laugh before shaking your head quickly, “no way! i don’t know what you people think is going on here, but it’s certainly not that- you can’t just dangle a plant over my head and force me to kiss him-”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” taehyung scoffs in offence, tilting his head upwards slightly, “anyone would be honoured to be under the mistletoe with me!”

“yeah. anyone out of their mind.”

“aw, c’mon, you guys…” hoseok pushes his bottom lip out in a pout before clasping his hands together, “kiss and make up! we all know that’s how it works. let the christmas spirit take over your bodies and fuel your weird hate-love for each othe-”

“the sooner you two kiss and make out, the sooner i can get the hell out of here,” yoongi interrupts, snapping his fingers, “c’mon! plant a fat one on each other!”

“the only reason why y/n’s getting whiney about it because she knows she’ll fall in love with me the moment she kisses me.” taehyung suddenly speaks up and you immediately look back down at him with a glare

fall in love????

with him????

it’s not going to take a single kiss to fall in love with taehyung - it’s going to take intensive exposure therapy to fall in love with him!

“don’t flatter yourself. i would rather throw myself into oncoming traffic than kiss you, kim taehyung.” you growl, smacking your hands down on taehyung’s desk so violently that it rattles beneath you

“now, now. there’s no need to lie…” taehyung chuckles lightly as he pushes his seat back slightly and rises to his feet

“i’m not lying! i don’t want to kiss you!”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do TOO!”

“do NOT!”

“you know, you just sound like you’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t want to kiss me-”

“you’re the one who keeps pushing it-” you jab a finger into his chest, “maybe you’re the one who wants to kiss me!”

“you think i wanna kiss you?!” taehyung laughs, flicking your hand away from him, “now look who the delusional one is!”

“i thought this was supposed to fix the arguing?” seokjin mutters under his breath, jungkook offering him a shrug while keeping his eyes glued on you and taehyung

he was running out of things to watch on netflix and this makes far better entertainment

the only thing that would make this better was if you and taehyung had at it in a grimy boxing ring half-naked

“i can’t be the only one thinking that all of this could be easily fixed if they just boned each other.” jungkook snorts, the other boys turning to look at him, “…what??”

“i wouldn’t kiss you even if you were the last man on earth.” you snarl, your voice wavering slightly

“you really expect me to believe that?” taehyung tilts his head, “don’t think i didn’t catch the way your eyes just flickered down to my lips, y/n...”

you feel your heart starting to pound in your chest when he places his hands flat on the desk as well, the tips of his fingers brushing over yours

at this proximity, the little voice in the back of your head can’t help but point out how pretty taehyung’s eyes are... and how nice he smells... and how soft his lips look...

...do you wanna kiss him?

oh, god

do you wanna kiss kim taehyung?!

no, you don’t

yes, you do

what??

WHAT??

“you wanna kiss me so bad, and you know it, y/l/n.” taehyung taunts, leaning forward just a little more

at this point, your faces are merely an inch away from each other’s and it wouldn’t take much effort to just lean in and… you know.

“i hate you.”

“if you hated me so much, then you wouldn’t be making such a big deal over silly little mistletoe now, would you?” taehyung smirks, pulling away before making his way around the desk so that he can get closer to you, “you like me but you’re too much of a wimp to admit it!”

“i like you?!” you gawk, “more like you like me!”

“okay-” jimin huffs, lowering the stick before taking a step back, “i really thought this was going to work, but my arms are getting tired, so if you two aren’t going to kiss, then i- oh-” his eyes widen in surprise when you and taehyung are suddenly lunging at each other not a second later, your hands cupping his cheeks and his hands gripping your waist as you kiss far more feverishly than he thought you two would

oh my

“see, what’d i say? sexual tension!” jungkook kisses his teeth, leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms, “all that pent-up energy from arguing has led to this beautiful moment-”

“you’re an- mm- you’re an awful kisser, by the way-” taehyung mutters against your mouth, lips turning up in a boyish grin when you retaliate by shoving at his chest

“so are you!” you pull away only for taehyung to pull you right back in to press his mouth against yours again, “’m hating ehvery minute of this-”

“ah… isn’t young love sweet?” hoseok coos, jumping in his seat when taehyung suddenly shoves you up against the front desk with a thud, “so passionate!”

“okay, we’re just going to-” namjoon gets up from his seat gesturing for the boys to get up as well, “we’re happy to see that the argument has been settled!”

he hurries everyone to the front door and turns to glance over his shoulder, “when you guys are done, just… let us know! we’re going to pop over to starbucks for some hot chocolate. so... text one of us. or call! or you could use snapchat- it’s up to you, really-!”

namjoon doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before yoongi’s yanking his arm and pulling him backwards, reaching over to slam the door shut

a moment of silence goes by in which everyone takes a second to process what exactly just happened

“take your shirt off-”

“you take yours off first!”

“i... can’t tell if my plan was a success or a failure.” jimin mutters to himself, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck

“hey, if it makes you feel any better, at least they aren’t arguing with each other anymore!” jungkook cheers, clapping his hands quietly, “it’s a christmas miracle!”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

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iamanartichoke · 3 years

Note

Another totally unprompted ask, on the assumption that you are definitely no longer in need of them… another thing I’m trying to work out about Loki characterisation in preparation for perpetrating fic torture on him is how suicidal the poor sod is most of the time. This is another thing I’ve seen referred to a lot but only in passing. Though obviously this is a pretty triggery topic, so ignore if you want.

I am always in need of totally unprompted asks, otherwise I just assume no one wants to talk to me lmao

So, hoo boy. I have been mulling over this for, apparently, three days now bc there's just ... there's a lot to unpack here. Putting under a cut for obviously triggery content and also for length bc fml.

In my opinion, the response to "how suicidal is Loki most of the time" is "very, but whether or not he wants to do anything about it varies from moment to moment" (see what I did there? I'll see myself out). In other words, I have always had a headcanon that Loki is consistently, passively suicidal. This is a headcanon that comes straight from TDW, bc I'm certain that Loki never had any intention of surviving their mission. And that could be a whole other post, really, but the point is that even though this is a TDW-centric headcanon, I have come to adopt it as applying to Loki in general as well, not just in those specific circumstances.

When I say passively suicidal, I mean that Loki is just sort of ambivalent about the value of his own life. He feels like he doesn't deserve to be alive, and feels like there's little point in being alive. Which - I don't mean to sound all gloom and doom, like, poor uwu emo Loki (and I kinda hate that I have to pause to disclaim that, no, I don't just have a fixation on Loki being depressed for funsies/the aesthetic/whatever); I think that this mindset stems from really complicated places that I'm not sure I can articulate, but I will try.

I view Loki as someone who suffers from a severe inferiority complex, and I feel like it stems from being abandoned as an infant. Loki's life started with a traumatic event and, even if he doesn't remember the event itself, the feelings he experienced stayed in his subconscious. Feelings of loss, of fear, of despair and abandonment, of suffering - these are all feelings that burrowed into his bones and lived there for his entire life, feelings that colored how Loki viewed himself as a person as well as how he compared to the people around him.

Keep in mind that Loki didn't know he was abandoned until the events of Thor 1, obviously. We don't really know how old Loki is, in human years, but I have always assumed that he and Thor were at least adults (not teenagers), maybe the equivalent of early twenties - and the reason I bring that up is because it means Loki made it all the way to adulthood carrying the weight of a trauma that he did not remember or even knew had happened, so to him, there was no real reason for how wrong he felt. There was no explanation for the feelings of loss, of neglect, of fear. So on top of struggling with those feelings, Loki was also burdened with the alienation that comes with wondering why one can't just be like everyone else, why one can't just "snap out" of depression, why one's sense of self-worth has always been lacking.

So imagine what it's like to grow up as Loki. He was traumatized as an infant. The trauma has been with him his entire life, along with the confusion/alienation of not understanding why he feels the way that he does, and then on top of that, his basic personality lends itself toward introspection and isolation, so he likely felt even further removed from Thor and from his peers. Loki's too smart for his own good, and he's got an enormous capacity to feel and I feel like this is a combination that works against him as much as it does for him, bc it probably means he spent a lot of time examining himself and identifying all of his perceived flaws - and then berating himself for said flaws.

People with depression are probably pretty familiar with the bully that lives in your head, the one who is always there to remind you that you're stupid, or ugly, or that nobody likes you, or that you have nothing of value to contribute to anyone, etc. Loki's no different; he's got that bully in his head, too. Add onto this the fact that his brother is literally perfect, that he feels his father doesn't love him (or love him as much), that his interests in things like magic are looked down on in his culture, and that he's a prince (meaning that along with the privilege comes pressure, and being in the public eye, knowing that everyone around him is comparing him to Thor as much as he compares himself to Thor, well.) and you have a total clusterfuck of a mindset, and Loki's been existing inside of that clusterfuck for nearly all of his life.

I always go back to the quote where, when filming I think the vault scene, Kenneth Branagh directs Tom by saying, "This is the moment where the thin steel rod holding your brain together snaps." And it's such a significant moment for Loki bc this is where it all crumbles for him, learning the truth, but I also fixate on the "thin steel rod" part of the quote bc that's not how one would describe a healthy, stable person's mind. The implication, to me, has always been that Loki wasn't that stable to start with due to his general upbringing, his internal struggles, and his personality, so of course the devastation of learning he's adopted, and Jotun, would send him over the edge. One doesn't go from zero to 60; one doesn't fall over the edge unless they were balancing fairly close to it in the first place. And to me, the "thin steel rod" basically equals the aforementioned clusterfuck of a mindset.

THE POINT IS. (Holy shit, I ramble.) This is the foundation on which I'm basing my headcanon that Loki neither values his life nor feels as if he even deserves to live it - bc his default mindset is one of inferiority, of loss, of pain. And I think that going from being a general unstable person pre-canon to being passively suicidal post-canon is a thing that happened because, somewhere between the vault in Thor 1 and the dungeons in TDW, Loki just stopped caring.

Life is exhausting for everyone, but even moreso when your mental load becomes more than you can carry. Loki is exhausted. His experience is that things just keep getting worse and worse for him - he's never been valued, he's always been found wanting. He discovers that he was literally thrown away as an infant, unwanted and left to die, and things haven't gotten much better for him since then. Everything that can go wrong, does go wrong. His plans spin out of control. He's unable to prove his worth and his value and when he is, in fact, rejected, he literally tries to kill himself (only to survive and end up in an even worse situation).

It all just continually goes downhill, and Loki is fucking exhausted. He's done. He has no hope that anything is ever going to change - he will never be valued or even seen, he's unable to connect to anyone, he has no family (aside from Thor, but their relationship is so fraught with pain). As far as he's concerned, his life has been nothing but a waste since he was born and if no one else values it, why should he?

So - passively suicidal. He places no value on his life, and doesn't shy away from situations that could cost him his life. It's possible that the only reason he's not actively suicidal is bc his previous attempt not only failed but led to such a horrible situation that he's probably too afraid to intentionally seek out death again. He doesn't want to fail and end up worse off for it.

And - not that you asked this in particular, but - my biggest disappointment in the series is that none of what I've just written is addressed in a satisfying way (to me). That is, we don't get any real explicit acknowledgement of the trauma of Loki's abandonment as a baby or how that affected his mental health growing up; we don't get to explore how devastated he was to learn of his adoption; we don't ever see him reconcile his ingrained belief that jotuns are monstrous savages with the fact that he is jotun. He says "I betrayed everyone I loved, but I'm different now" and we're supposed to infer what he means without Loki actually articulating why he feels that he's the only one who should be held responsible for all these things that had happened or what "I've changed" even means to him (aside from not betraying Sylvie).

I would have liked to see these things addressed for a lot of reasons, but one of those reasons is that I would want to see how Loki comes to terms with all of his issues and his pain enough that he stops being passively suicidal. We never get to see that; after TDW, the time that passes allows for Loki to kinda chill, resulting in the Ragnarok version, but if there was any real healing or recovering going on, it was happening off-screen, with the audience expected to just go with "yeah Loki was going through it for awhile but he's kinda better now."

Furthermore, much of what I've written here is based on prime Loki's development through TDW, but doesn't account for series Loki's split from that timeline nor the theme of "Lokis survive" that's so prevalent in the series. So I don't think the "passively suicidal" headcanon is really appropriate for series Loki but, at the same time, I'd like to have seen why. I'd like to have seen Loki learning to value his life, or where the "we survive" mindset comes from, since that's not really been a thing before now. (Out of universe, I suspect it comes from the context of Loki just not dying whenever he tries to, but since TDW and IW haven't happened, and Loki didn't intend to survive his fall from the bifrost, framing Loki as an innate survivor doesn't really make sense, but to be fair, I'm just being picky.)

So, yeah. I'm not saying Loki doesn't experience growth or development in the series, I'm just saying that his arc left much unsaid and, furthermore, framing his growth as "wanting a throne to not wanting a throne" without addressing that Loki doesn't actually want the power of the throne, he wants the value and self-worth he associates with the throne, is - well, again, unsatisfying. Not bad, but it leaves viewers like me wanting bc we're cognizant of how much more could have been done.

I ... am going to end this now. This is probably nonsensical and all over the place, so I'm very sorry, and I'm sure this is why I don't get meta-starter asks lmfao bc no one's out here trying to read my dissertation submission for a Ph.D in Loki, but well, sometimes it just be like that.

Thank you for the ask and the opportunity to ramble.

#asks #charlotte replies #loki pokey artichokey #loki series #loki series criticism #loki meta #tw suicidal ideation #tw suicide attempt #tw suicide #tw mental health #tw depression #i spent two fucking hours on this yet i still feel like it's rambly nonsense #i hit stream-of-consciousness at some point and just went with it #and now i'm too lazy to revise #so i'm sorry #this'll probably only get like 10 notes anyway bc that's how it be on tumblr #put effort in and get little validation; put no effort in and everyone loses their minds

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kurohoely · 3 years

Text

mask (sakusa x y/n)

What happens when Sakusa realizes masks are better off than on?

genre: hurt/comfort, sakusa is in time skip!

wc: 2.2k

It was known that Sakusa is reserved, he only shows his most relaxed self to those who he trusts, which includes you. He can show those random, whacky emotions, teasing you and giving some gen z emojis but being open and vulnerable? That’s just not him.

You have been dating him for almost a few months now and a lot of people were surprised that you both actually worked out. The dynamic you both have was something people often quote as ‘not compatible’. You knew him before since you both have few classes together in college but who would’ve thought from those unintentional crossings lead you here. Sakusa’s character is pretty obvious and you kind of get it by now how he works and acts but was there any difference between before and now? Why does it feel like the walls are kept up, and builds higher than before?

You tried to initiate a lot of things. He does too but he was indeed more awkward, baby steps as you call it. Despite all that, you appreciate him, all the things he did were definitely out of his comfort zone. You kept saying to yourself that he's trying, remembering that he was the one that confessed first. You hold onto that memory in hope that it will be dynamic throughout the relationship.

But how about right now? With the new season up and running, you kept seeing less and less of him. Countless lonely dinners and cold bedsheets. Rescheduled dates and missing out on one another. You almost excused Sakusa for forgetting your anniversary, thinking it was a given. You signed up to be with someone that has no constant rhythm in their life, always the next big thing to keep their lives afloat. Again, you put on another layer, masking away, reasoning to yourself that things will work out. You don't want to bother him, let alone be the reason why he is stressing out. Patience has always been a good nature of you but sometimes, you question if you should stop being selfless and start being selfish. He is your boyfriend after all.

Sakusa noticed the subtle changes that happened. He felt that you were perfect. Too perfect, as a matter of fact. He wanted to sit down and try to understand why and where this was coming from because he definitely didn't confess to you for perfection. He wanted you. Not any other version. Pure and transparent. No mask. But as much as he wanted to, it is still out of his nature, and with the season starting, it will be quite some time before he can bring this again.

Mid through the season, work is piling up, matches are getting tougher each time they win. That’s a given. You came to almost all of his games and have them recorded on tv. Whatever the outcome, you will always be proud of him. He was basking in his prime condition; you were there for him and his plays were getting synchronized with the team at a rate that even the coach was surprised. He left the thought at the back of his mind, focusing on what he has to do first. After each match, you both have this little ritual, spending some alone time together starting with dinner as both of your schedules sometimes don't overlap quite nicely. Sakusa told you about his plays as if you weren’t there to witness it all and you can’t blame him. You love seeing the sparkle in his eyes when he talks about how good it felt when spiking. The conversation flows naturally and you both talked about how your days went. You were both walking diaries of each other. Not until Sakusa flipped a page that has been long overdue.

He cussed himself to have the audacity to forget about this issue. He doesn’t like this. It was as if he’s taking advantage of your facade, your mask. Even though Sakusa tells you many times that you need to wear one physically, this was something that he wished to be stripped off completely. He hates it. He hates that he can't be a safe space for you. Someone you can let yourself breathe from the suffocating expectations from the outside world. But what he hates the most is that you changed yourself to accommodate his own ignorance.

Sakusa flipped his match schedule. It looks like there won't be another match in 5 days. He called Meian and Iwaizumi if it’s okay if he takes a few days off from practice. Both of them were surprised that Sakusa would even ask for a day off but they agreed anyway. He’s not the type to ask for one so this must be something really important.

Saturday shifts are hard. You only have one day of rest before hustling again on Monday but oh you were SO GLAD that your manager said that you can have a paid leave on Monday after helping out on a side project for some other team.

You pushed your shared apartment door, dragging your feet inside. You saw Sakusa peek his head from the kitchen. He took off his apron and walked to you, grabbing your bags from the floor and giving a peck on your cheek. You went to the bedroom and saw the bath bomb that you bought impulsively on your previous date. A bath sounds nice, you thought to yourself.

Filling up the bath to a slightly hotter temperature, a much-needed one to shake that fatigue out from your body and start your long weekend with a fresher body. Gently dipping your toes, you hold the sides and lower yourself in, letting the heat seep into your skin. As you were shuffling your position, a knock on the bathroom door.

“Can I come in?”

“Doors unlocked so yeah baby come in”

Sakusa twisted the knob, letting himself in. He sat on the floor next to the tub, a rare sight for Sakusa and you. He folded his arms on the dry part of the tub and stared into your eyes. Losing himself in your mind, finding where he actually belongs. He knows this isn’t the right time, not even a good one, to bring up this matter but it has been pushed back for too long, he couldn’t care less about what setting it was in right now. You were always firm on your stands, confronting those to have the middle ground in everything but now, it was as if he’s with someone else.

“Hey sunshine, how's the bath”

You flushed at the pet name he called you. When was the last time you heard that softness, that warmth? The sense of home and belonging to another person, solely wanting to give your whole life away in exchange for his.

“It's pretty nice. Do you wanna join in?”

“Hmm sounds nice.”

He removes his mask and strips quickly, submerging himself into the tub in front of you. He pressed his muscular, toned back to your chest, taking its warmth into his body. Taking in whatever he could take from you between his skin and yours. Your scent, your heat, your touch, the friction, sensation - everything. He knows he wants everything but how about you? He sometimes thinks that he forced you into the relationship, going above and beyond to go with how he handles things. His fussy attitude when it comes to cleaning, being in crowds, and towards people in general. Whatever the train of thought was, he needs to know, He can’t bear seeing his future bland and monotonous because you were not there. You were his yellow, heck, you were his entire spectrum.

“Hey y/n, I know it's not a good time to ask this but, did I do something that makes you uncomfortable? I know I’m not good with words or being affectionate, doing all those sweet things that you see in movies but the last thing I want you to be is forcing yourself to be something that you are not.

“If there’s anything wrong that I did please tell me I…”.

“No! You did nothing wrong. You were perfect but maybe too perfect. I have this feeling that you weren't being yourself for quite some time. It's like you have this mask that you put on whenever you are with me. I know you are sensitive in nature - both to other people and towards yourself, which is why I fell in love with but aren't relationships supposed to be a two-way thing? I need to know what’s bothering you so please talk to me. I want you to feel safe with me. I want you to be your most comfortable as if both of us are the only ones that are living on this earth. I wish I could come and talk to you sooner about this but I got too caught up in the games. It's my fault. I’m sorry. I’ll try to be braver on confronting things like these. I’ll try to be more attentive to the small things”

Hearing this from Sakusa made your heart burst into so many emotions that were buried for so long. Happy, sad, hopeless, desperation, anger, guilt but most importantly, longing. You could only cry when he finished his last words. You were gasping for air, clawing yourself into Sakusa’s shoulders to grip on whatever you can. Wet streams trickled down Sakusa’s nape, dampening them. Sakusa was flustered as if it was the first time he ever saw you broke down. The first time? Oh God, how much has he been missing in this relationship...

“I’m sorry Omi. I was trying to be understanding. I tried to make this home at least a space where you can have at least some peace. I wanted to be with you more so badly but I know by asking it, you have to take time off or you might just think I'm annoying. And I hate it. Words cut more for me since it is the least effort to bring out but weighs the most. I don't think I can bear with it. So I avoided it. I avoid creating any chances that would lead us to fight. But then, it hit me when you started to slip away, distancing yourself subtly. Our dinner time became shorter, we didn't even cuddle anymore because your muscles were sore and I want them to heal fast so you can play your best. It seems like it backfired huh?”

Sakusa was taken aback due to a lot of things. How he finally was able to hear you say his pet name, the range of small things that you do, putting him as your topmost priority when you yourself are buried down, succumbing to earth more and more. How could he be so blind? It hurts him. It hurts him that you didn't even consider being comfortable with him. It destroys him that all of your actions were threaded with the thoughts of him when he did nothing, even worse, he forgot. Sakusa felt a sting poking through his heart, thin-like rods thrusting through it slowly. He felt a burning sensation that he was sure he didn’t like. If he felt this after hearing all of these, what about you? You’ve been carrying these for weeks, stretching out to months, yet you’re still here. How did he end up with someone as thoughtful and wonderful as you? He turned his body around, facing you. Your legs tangling together, bringing you inside his embrace, pushing your foreheads together. He lets out a breath after his thoughts finally reach a verdict.

“Hey bub, it’s okay. We’re here now. I’m sorry it took my dumbass this long to have this conversation. You don’t know how much you meant to me even though I barely show it. Please know that at least. I love you. I love you so much, too much that I cannot imagine waking up the next day without you. You were the reason I can handle Atsumu’s ass, thinking about if I can go through that part of the day, I can see you again. A little reward from me to myself. I asked for a few days off, shall we do a bit of catching up session?”

A tint of coral pink brushes lightly on top of your cheeks. Seeing Sakusa being all vulnerable and open, is a view that you wish no one will ever see besides you. You smiled and chuckled lightly.

Sakusa's heart swells. There it is. The smile that got him smitten all over. The small chuckle that you made was a symphony to his ears. It was as if at this moment he fell in love again. He found the you that he fell for but even deeper. He swore that day he would never make you feel like this.

You both get out, drying yourself together. Omi blow-dried your hair and you did his. He's pretty good at managing your hair because of his curls. You both did a random 14-step Korean skincare routine and cuddling around watching your favorite movie - Pride and Prejudice. Sakusa never understood why you liked this movie so much but today he finally does. When two lovers placed down their masks and finally faced each other, all became visible. The adoration in one's eyes, longing for the warmth of the other, to finally be together.

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knifefather · 3 years

Note

*stops car at your drive thru* CAN I GET UUUUHHHH hate fuck with prosciutto after a paired up mission?? like a heavy discussion about how it went and then 🥴 uhhh yeah and extra fries

will that be all for your order?? ok your total is $4.69, please pull up to the first window

Content Warnings: Hate sex, physical violence, blood, abusive language, breeding, impact play. This is not a healthy relationship. Somewhat happy ending! 18+ ONLY.

via porunareff

Prosciutto was stone-faced while the two of you checked into the soddy hotel, located on the outskirts of a small town. You had just finished a mission with your partner and were hunkering down for the night before returning to Napoli. Prosciutto was curt with the front desk receptionist, taking the key and turning on his heel, expecting you to follow. You did begrudgingly.

It was obvious why he was ignoring you--you had put yourself in danger during the mission to make sure that the two of you succeeded. Prosciutto’s Stand was strong, but not the best in hand-to-hand combat situations. You took it upon yourself to use your Stand to knock back the enemy. He tried to whisper to you a plan, but you didn’t listen. It was a 2 versus 4 fight, and by jumping in the middle and using your ability, you managed to knock out 3 by a sheer stroke of luck. Prosciutto was furious even after his fist collided with the face of the only remaining enemy. Even then, he didn’t raise his voice to you but called you, to quote him exactly, “The stupidest dumb shit I have ever met in my life.” You took his insult with a grain of salt. You had to control your temper, or he would be the one that you fought next.

But now you were considering that grain of salt as the two of you silently boarded the elevator. The doors closed with a sliding sound, the apparatus taking you up several floors. Prosciutto still wasn’t looking at you or talking to you, standing with his hands folded behind his back. You had enough of this crap. “You’re still mad? Really?” you asked, turning to face him, hands on your hips.

“You could have gotten yourself killed and jeopardized the mission. I had a plan,” he shot back, his words like a dart.

“But I didn’t, and we’re fine.”

“You’re missing the point.”

The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Without missing a beat, Prosciutto and you exited and you came back with your rebuttal. “What point am I missing? We got the info Risotto told us to get and killed the bad guys. I don’t see a problem,” you argued, folding your arms. The both of you walked and talked, Prosciutto checking out the room numbers while also listening to your ridiculous excuse for an argument.

“Your recklessness could have cost us dearly. You don’t understand the consequences of your actions.” He came to a sudden halt in front of a door, checking out the number a second time before swiping the keycard on the reader. The fact that he was being so casual about insulting you and your abilities tapped into your hidden temper, the temper that you tried to keep in control of. That control was slipping away, and you were glad that Prosciutto found the room because as soon as the door closed, you were on him like stink on shit.

“It’s like you want us to fail. It doesn’t matter if something could have gone wrong, nothing went wrong! Get off your high horse and stop acting like you’re fucking perfect or something,” you shouted at him. You were almost nose-to-nose with him, puffing your chest out in anger. Your reasoning was irrational and you knew that, but the pent up anger from all the snarky remarks that Prosciutto has ever said to you consumed you at once, and you let him have it. His expression was neutral, but you could see behind his eyes were his patience was beginning to wear thin.

“Stand down, y/n.” His tone was harsh, his nostrils flaring as he controlled his breathing.

“I hate your fucking guts!” you shot back. Black spots consumed your vision and you lost control of your body. You swung, hard, and nailed Prosciutto dead in the nose. He exclaimed and staggered back only a bit before bouncing back, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, brows knitted tightly with anger. Blood was beginning to trickle from his nose now crooked nose.

You didn’t say anything, but wrenched one of your arms from his grasp and moved to hit him again. He anticipated you this time, catching your smaller fist in his larger one. He grabbed your wrists, restraining you and trying to lead you to the office chair nearby. “You’re being unreasonable,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. The black-clad man had a good hold on you, but your strength tested him. You made eye contact as you struggled, a few strands of hair dangling in your face. He maintained his smoldering gaze on you, shoving you down into the chair and holding your wrists to the arms of the chair. He leaned down, putting his weight on them, and stared you down.

You felt some of the fires of wrath die down in you, only to ignite something else in the same vein. The same hazy, intense look crossed over Prosciutto’s face. Sucking in a breath, you took a leap of faith and crashed your lips against his. He made a startled noise but only took a few moments to respond. He didn’t release your hands, but kissed you back harder, tilting his head to the side. Even now, he wanted to tame you, wanted to show you that he was in charge as he slotted his mouth against yours. You huffed into the kiss, your tongue slipping in to mingle with his. Prosciutto was already on it, fighting you for control of the situation. He took his weight off of your wrists and hoisted you up, holding you close before shoving you on the bed. The reserved way he grabbed you initially was gone--he wasn’t scared to be rough with you now.

The realization of this dawned on you when Prosciutto climbed on top of you, pinning you to the mattress. He returned his lips to yours, groaning softly against your mouth while he grabbed for your clothes. His blood was starting to get everywhere, but you paid no mind to it. The gangster was passionate, yet methodical, something that you loved but hated about Prosciutto. At this thought, you shoved his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it on the floor. He pulled back from the kiss to bitch at you for throwing his clothes, but you chased him, pressing your lips to his against before he could speak. It was sloppy, disorganized, very unlike Prosciutto in every way, but amazing. Your fingers worked the tight buns on the back of his head, pulling the ties off. His hair spilled down onto his shoulders gradually, all the while he was kissing you feverishly. He yanked off your pants with his own to follow, not pausing even for a moment. You loved the intensity, the heat, the way his body pressed into yours. He handled you with pure desire behind his touches even though his forehead crinkled in irritation from your incompetency. He ripped off your shirt, and you undid your bra before the garment could face his wrath. He began kissing down your sternum, nibbling you harshly as he did so. The sexual tension you felt was heightened by the frustration you felt. Even the pleasure he gave you pissed you off, it left you wanting more, and you roughly thrust your hips against him. He growled against your lower stomach and breathed over your sex through your panties. “Impatient brat,” he gritted, running his fingertip over your pussy. “Always so quick to jump the gun.”

A frustrated sound came from your throat as he hovered over your panties. “Come on,” you encouraged, bucking your ups into his face. Prosciutto grumbled something to himself before ripping your panties off of your body, the dainty cloth reduced to shreds. You gasped in surprise at the sudden action but was quickly relieved as his tongue made contact with your clitoris. The burning feeling of need revved hot in your tummy as his tongue grazed over your clit. He had no reservations, because as soon as he adjusted to your taste, he dove in, lapping and licking your cunt for all that it’s worth. You squirmed under his mouth, the wetness between your thighs increasing with each swipe of Prosciutto’s tongue. Your flavor burst over his tongue and made his cock impossibly harder in his pants, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. The blond man quickly undid his trousers and wrestled them to about his mid-thigh, enough for his member to spring free. Prosciutto’s cock was flushed and standing at attention, ready to be dropped inside you.

With this in mind, Prosciutto was ready to move on from toying with your pussy. Besides, you were beginning to become almost too squirmy, which pissed him off even more. “Hold still,” he rumbled out, rising to his feet and discarding the rest of his clothes. Your eyes widened as he removed the rest of his clothing; it was amazing to see his completely naked form. His lean body was riddled in faded scars, the jagged edges all telling their own stories. You watched his arms flex as he tossed aside one of his socks, eyes moving downwards from there. Even with the distance, a shimmering bead of precum gathering on his swollen tip was visible to you. Your body thrummed with excitement, from the top of your head to the very tip of your toes, as Prosciutto approached you. His body was poised, his expression hazy and lustful but also vindictive. He stopped at the edge of the bed in front of you. You had already propped yourself up on your elbows at the point, intrigued by his sensuality.

“You’re not going to be so rude as to not return the favor, are you?” Prosciutto said, his eyebrow cocked condescendingly at you. You couldn’t help but sneer before rising to his erect member bobbing in front of you.

“Honestly, have a little bit more faith in me,” you said, rolling your eyes. You decided to suck his cock before his shitty attitude made you change your mind. The salty flavor of his precum was smeared across your lips as you mouthed the tip. Slowly, you took more of him, his girth stretching your lips the farther you went down his shaft. You breathed steadily through your nose, the smell of his musk strong the closer you drew to his pelvis. Prosciutto wasn’t overly vocal, but the breathy sounds he allowed himself to make were like music to your ears. When you took him in almost to the hilt and swallowed around his member, he made a strained noise, sweet and wanton. Impatience overtook him, because he reached down to grip your hair before thrusting into your mouth. The hitman was gentle at first but quickly became rougher with his actions. The blunt head of his cock hit the back of your throat in a brutish, steady rhythm. Tears began to prick the corners of your eyes as Prosciutto fucked your throat. A twisted part of him enjoyed seeing you gag and slobber on his dick after he had to deal with your obnoxiousness for so long.

The thoughts swirling around in Prosciutto’s head made his dick twitch warningly in your throat. He quickly pulled you back by your hair, a rush of air hitting your lungs so speedily that it disoriented you. Vision still blurry from the tears, you felt his hands around you, pulling you up and onto the bed as if you were nothing more but a ragdoll. He pushed you onto your back, dragging your ankles up to his shoulders and rutting his meaty cock against your pussy. He rubbed against you for a while, the head of his cock catching on your clit several times, the stimulation amplified by your desire. It was beginning to make you crazy, so crazy that you grabbed the back of Prosciutto’s hair and shook him, pushing your hips down. You met his dark blue eyes and let out a whine at the predatory look that greeted you. He growled before angling himself downwards and thrusting inside you, most of his cock sinking into you with one stroke. A jolt went through your body as you stretched around him, the discomfort dissolving into pleasure as you adjusted to him.

Prosciutto looked right into your eyes as he pushed you a little further, hilting inside of you. That’s what he always did--he pushed you. He pushed you when you wanted him to stop nagging you, he pushed you to do better during missions, and now he’s pushing your sexual limits. What you saw when you looked at him was a challenge. Your gaze communicated it all because Prosciutto gave you a little grunt as if to say, ‘I accept’. He started with a slow, rough pace, making a show of pulling most of the way out of you before snapping back in. It was agonizingly slow but wonderful; you tried to use your legs to keep him from pulling out, but his strength bested yours every time. He watched you carefully as you took him, his eyes moving back and forth between your face and his dick disappearing inside you. The bleeding from his nose had stopped for the most part, but a line of blood trailed down his face and neck. It fascinated you, you couldn’t take your eyes off of his skin.

Eventually, you found your voice. “S-Speed it up, I don’t have all day,” you managed to say. Your harsh words didn’t match the soft, kitten-like tone that you used. Prosciutto tsked you before pulling out completely. You were getting ready to bitch him out until he reached under you and flipped you onto your stomach. He pulled your hips up to meet his and sank back into you, any words you were going to say dying on your lips. Body pressed into the mattress, you braced yourself, your hands fisting in the sheets. Prosciutto panted next to your ear, holding himself up over you while his hips snapped into yours. His movements grew choppy but rough, and he drove his hips into yours over and over. “This what you want?” he rasped out, earning a moan from you. His sack was slapping lewdly against your ass now, heavy and warm. The smell rolling off of his body was intoxicating; it made you furious. “Wanted to get me all mad so I’d pound you into this mattress?” Whining, you nodded your head, sticking your ass up for him despite him driving you back down with his pelvis. “You fucking got it. Y-You almost got us killed, too,” he said, his voice less angry than it should have been.

“T-This shit again?” Your irritation with him was almost tainting the amazing way he was filling you up. “Get over it.”

This must have struck a chord in Prosciutto, because he moved to grab the back of your neck, pushing your head into the pillow. “Shut up.” His unimpressive comeback was lost to you while he hammered into you. Months and months of frustration, all sparking into a flame between you both, melting each other with your touches. Your pussy was so tight, so wet, begging for him to take out his frustration with you. Prosciutto huffed from the exertion, his orgasm nagging at his core. You were very close behind him, unable to take the searing heat building up inside you any longer.

“P-Please...” you whimpered out, your voice still muffled. His thighs thundered against the backs of yours. This was accompanied by the sound of your sopping wet pussy, gushing over Prosciutto’s cock as the both of you drew closer to orgasm. But it wasn’t enough--you were right on the edge, about to cum, but there was something that you were missing. You attempted to buck your hips back against Prosciutto, hoping the extra force would be the last bit of pleasure you needed before it all came toppling down. The flurry of sexual frustration inside you manifested as you being enraged by Prosciutto; he talked big but wasn’t fucking you hard enough, wasn’t putting his dick right where it needed to be inside you to make you see stars.

“Please what?” The blond gangster taunted in your ear.

“Please... Do something right for once and make me cum,” you gritted out, craning your neck to look behind you.

The look on Prosciutto’s face was a cross between absolutely furious and incredibly turned on. His eyes were stormy as he looked at you, holding a promise inside them. He choppily halted his pace to move you onto your side, disregarding your hands scrambling to find purchase on his strong arms. He spread your legs roughly, almost forcefully, before burying himself inside you again. Prosciutto stroked your cheek thoughtfully for a moment before landing a smack on your face. You knew that he could hit you harder, but a moan toppled out of your mouth anyhow and sent a shock of electricity down to your cunt. He leaned down close to your face, his gaze now mischievous as he thrust his hips into yours. “Do something right for once? Why don’t you do something right for once and take every fucking drop my seed I give you,” he huffed, his breath tickling your face. With a few more deep thrusts and another smack to your face, you came with a choked cry. Prosciutto’s lower stomach was sticky with how much slick you made, but it only served to make him more aroused. He followed you as faithfully as he does during a battle, cumming inside you. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, his mouth agape as he emptied himself within your warm walls. He rutted into you as he did, his instincts telling him to bury his spunk as far inside as he’s able to. He’s finally claiming you, taking you down a peg and showing you your place.

All of the moxie you felt from earlier was drained from your body as his cum spilled from you. After Prosciutto regained his breath, he pulled out and collapsed at your side with a sigh coming deep from his chest. You weren’t exactly in a good state to find something to clean yourself with, so after you caught your breath, you nudged him in the side. “Towel, please,” you requested airily, your gaze unfocused from the lack of energy.

Prosciutto furrowed his brow at you and looked as if he were about to say something venomous. Whatever he wanted to say, he dismissed, because after a moment he was hoisting himself to his feet. He disappeared from your field of vision and into the bathroom and you were left to your thoughts for a moment. Post-orgasm clarity was hitting you pretty strong, and you felt regret for attacking him earlier. Even if he was still genuinely pissed at you, you wanted to apologize. When he returned, his face and pelvis were clean. He handed a clean towel to you wordlessly and found his trousers laying on the ground. He fished his cigarettes from his pocket and laid next to you. Pulling the ashtray closer to him on the nightstand, he lit one and inhaled. You crinkled your nose at the smoke. His habit disgusted you and you were always verbal about it. Prosciutto caught sight of your grimace and snickered at you. “Something bothering you?”

“You know what’s bothering me,” you said while toweling yourself off.

After another drag or two, Prosciutto put it out as if he actually considered your feelings. You narrowed your eyes before bringing them back up to look at him. “I’m sorry for trying to beat you up earlier,” you said, your tone sheepish. Prosciutto raised his brows, surprised that you would be moved to an apology. He looked as if he didn’t know how to take it for a moment before responding.

“It’s fine. You’re lucky you didn’t fuck up my nose too badly.”

You could feel yourself becoming defensive, so you were quiet and put aside your pride. Picking your battles is a skill you knew that you still needed to learn. You dropped the towel beside the bed and drew closer to Prosciutto, who was laying quite far from you. Snuggling into his side, you draped your arm over his middle and made yourself comfortable. He made a soft noise of indignation before accepting your embrace. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close to his bare chest. A fluttering heartbeat could be heard as you pressed your ear against him. While you both laid in silence, your mind wandered. Without a shadow of a doubt, you knew you’d have to omit this part of the mission from the report Risotto was bound to ask you for in the morning.

#i hope u like it anon!!#prosciutto #jjba #not sfw #knife asks #my work #la squadra #prosciutto x reader #cw hate sex #cw violence #cw abusive language #cw breeding #cw blood #cw impact play #knife requests #cw smoking

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rosesvioletshardy · 3 years

Text

Just Like Old Times - Frank McCullen (b.h. - Pixie)

wow i actually wrote something shocking ! but i’m sorry that i’m posting today and not yesterday like I promised. i was having trouble writing everything and such. this idea actually came from when one of my friends and i were watching Pixie together and quoted what Pixie said and i ended saying i should write something based off that line

thank you so much to andi ( @venombxby ) for helping with and encouraging me when writing and helping me when it came to explaining things you truly are the best and our conversations helped so much

i’m really sorry if it’s really bad i haven’t written in a long time, let alone smut in a long time so i hope you like it ???

masterlist

warnings: drinking, language, drug use mention, SMUT (18+) (please don’t read if your under 18 !!!!!), oral (both m and f receiving), riding

# of words: 2,187

---

Going to the club wasn’t necessarily the way y/n would spend the weekend or even bother to think about going, but something felt different for her and she felt the need to go after Pixie convinced her to. She didn’t really have anyone else to go with but she felt like if she went, she would find some people she knew seeing that everyone knew everyone in Sligo and how you had to be careful about everything. Pixie Hardy was the only person who would be able to convince her to go out and it didn’t matter as to what it was but seeing that she was back in town, she would go. There were only two people y/n was hoping she didn’t see and that was Frank McCullen and Harland McKenna. It’s not necessarily that she hated them, but it was something with Frank that made her always annoyed at him. Maybe it was him always bothering her for no apparent reason or the fact that he felt the need to try and sleep with every woman in town. But then again it beat sitting on the couch alone in her apartment.

“You need to go out.” Pixie told her as she saw Y/N coming out of her kitchen with a glass and bottle of wine

“I do go out, and have fun. Just don’t feel like it today” she answered back, completely lying seeing that the only time she went out was when it involved her family or work

“When was the last time you actually went out and had fun that didn’t involve your family, food, or some form of work?”

“Exactly my point. Now i didn’t come back to Sligo for us to just sit around and watch shit movies. We’re going out.”

-----

“See isn’t this fun?” Pixie asked Y/N handing her a drink while taking a sip of hers

“What’s your definition of fun? Because i’d rather not be pushed up against sweaty bodies while people are high or drunk, or both”

“You need to let loose a bit. Have a few drinks, maybe hook up with someone” she nudged at y/n smirking hoping that it’ll make her have some sort of fun

Y/N couldn’t help but glare at her when she said that and shake her head. It’s not that she didn’t want to hook up with someone it’s just that she didn’t want to hook up with someone and it would be someone she’d instantly regret it with seeing that everyone knew everyone

“Don’t look now but i think a Mr. Frank McCullen is looking at you” Pixie smirked causing her to look behind her and he looked away and back at Harland and Daniel

“What’s going on with the two of you? What happened?”

“Not sure, he’s the one to ask since it was his fault.”

“Oh I think I remember. Did it really end that bad?”

“Mmhm, clearly he doesn’t know how to keep it in his pants. Even when we were together”

“And the fact that he got really high one day and told me he had a crush on you and was using me as a rebound to get over you.” y/n finished looking down at her drink, making the two of them go silent until Pixie spoke up

“I’ve got an idea.” she said getting Y/N’s attention as she took a drink

“Dance with me” was all she said

“What-” Y/N managed to get out before Pixie grabbed her arm and pulled her to the dance floor and begun to dance

“Listen, Frank still has feelings for you and I know you still have them for him and getting him jealous is something that might come good for the both of you, and since he used to like me, it’ll make him even more upset. Now grab my hips, and dance” she yelled over the loud music

“Are you sure this is going to work though?” y/n answered back putting her hands on Pixie’s hips

“I’m sure of it. And by the looks of it, Harland's telling him what’s going on. I’m going to move my hands a little lower and I want you to move your hips, and i’m going to make it look like i’m kissing your neck is that alright?” Pixie whispered in her ear

“Yeah that’s fine, just as long as he sees and gets jealous”

“Frank, man? I think you’re going to want to see this.” Harland said hitting frank’s shoulder to get him to look at the scene in front of him and stop talking to daniel

“What could possibly-” Frank starts as he sees Y/N and Pixie grinding against each other

“Shit” he finished

“Exactly. You need to do something Frank. I know you still love her and if you’re not careful, you’re going to miss your chance of getting her back. So you might want to go over there and get her away from Pixie Hardy quickly. Who knows what could’ve happened the last time you saw her” “Don’t worry nothing’s going to happen. I know the both of them too well.” Frank smirked finishing the rest of his beer

---

“It’s working” Pixie mentioned as they moved to a corner where frank couldn’t see them

“You should’ve seen his face. I think if he clenched his jaw any tighter, he’d break his teeth and need a dentist.” she finished laughing at the thought of it

“Really? I guess it’s working then.” y/n shrugged then laughing

Pixie and y/n continued to talk, but after a few minutes went back in to continue what they were doing to continue to make Frank jealous. Frank on the other hand was back at the bar and would look back at the two women every now and then turned back to the two men he was with. Frank couldn’t help but think about where he went wrong. He knew that using her as a rebound was wrong and he should’ve gotten over Pixie the moment him and Y/N got together. He did enjoy those two years but when Pixie left, something inside him felt like he needed to let go of every memory they had together.

Y/N kept eyeing Frank every now and then to see what he was doing but she always got the same thing. Him sitting at the bar and drinking his beer. Pixie noticed and went over to wear he was and made sure that Y/N was with someone to make him more jealous

“Hello boys”

“Pixie, what are you doing here?”

“Cut the crap. now I know that you, Frank McCullen, still miss our dear Y/N and would do anything to get her back now that she’s also back.”

“Wait how long has she been back?”

“Don’t know, maybe a year? Anyways it doesn’t matter. I just wanted to come over here to tell you that you better make a move now because it looks like someone is about to get to her” she finished grabbing another drink, smirking and walking away from the two men and walking towards y/n and whispering in her ear

“I got you his attention, now’s your chance”

Y/N continued to dance with the stranger as she could feel Frank's eyes burn into her. Smirking, she gave the stranger a kiss on his cheek, close to lips which caused Frank to set his drink down and go over to her.

“We need to talk.” Frank yelled over the loud music and grabbed her arm. Y/N ignored him and pushed him off to set him even further

“Did you not hear me?-”

“I heard you, can’t you see i’m busy?” “Y/N-” “Mate just leave her alone.” the stranger told him as he moved her away

“You be quiet. Y/N i really need to talk to you.” Frank told her, looking dead in her eyes. She looked back at the stranger and then back at Frank as he raised his eyebrows before she looked back and apologized and went with Frank. Y/N didn’t know what would happen with him or if anything would happen before she was snapped out of her thoughts when the music was dimmed out and she and Frank were alone. There was a moment of silence and awkwardness between them as they stared at each other before she leaned in and kissed him. Frank was shocked that she did what she did but didn’t hesitate to start kissing her back.

“Let’s go to the bathroom”

---

“You know what you were doing wasn’t so nice” frank said kissing her neck as he held her against the wall as she moaned

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have done it if we were still together.” she moaned out causing him to pull away

“Oh really, you’re still thinking about what we used to be? What I used to do to you? How easily you fell apart whenever I kissed a certain spot.” he whispered, placing small kisses over her neck as she felt herself get wet

“Are you still rooming with Harland or did you finally move out after saying it for 2 years?”

“Well, I did end up getting a place of my own and you’re welcome for that.” he tells her going back to kissing her lips

“Then what are we still doing here in this dirty bathroom?” she whispered in his ear, pulling away from his grip and walking out as she made sure to walk in a way so he would look.

“You fucking minx” he whispered to himself as he followed her out

When they got out of their cab, they quickly reconnected their lips as he tried to open the door pushing her inside and closing the door. Y/N started to take off his jacket and his shirt as he took off his shoes and grabbed the zipper from the back of her dress and brushed the straps down and pushed down the dress, leaving her in her bra and underwear. They walked over to his bed, not breaking apart as he laid her down, his chain dangling over her as she ran her fingers through his hair

“You’re still wearing too many clothes” she mentioned as her hands went to his pants and began to fumble with his belt, pushing his pants down and leaving him in his underwear

“Yeah? So are you” as his hands went to the back of her to unclasp her bra

His hand wandered over her exposed chest before grabbing one of her breasts, causing her to moan. Frank continued to kiss her before pulling away and slowly went down her chest, leaving marks all over her.

“You’re still so beautiful as I remember. I was an idiot.” he mumbled against her skin

“Yeah you were, but i guess you’re making it up for now” she managed to let out as he took her underwear off and began to tease her by running his fingers over he slit causing her to moan.

“Already so wet for me? How long have you been this wet? Hm? Since maybe you and Pixie were dancing? Or was it the random guy you danced with? Tell me.”

“None of those. It was when I first saw you at the bar. I realized that I-” she gasped out as he pushed a finger in

“Realized what?”

“Realized that I still have feelings for you. Oh fuck” she finished as he pushed another finger in and using his thumb to rub her clit, her back aching as he leant down and began to lick her

Letting out a mix between a moan and a groan, he continued to finger and eat her out before he took out his fingers and put them in his mouth, smirking while looking directly at her and edging her

“I forgot how good you tasted. Do you want a taste? Go on and taste on how much of a slut you are.” he whispered to her as he put his thumb near her mouth as he rubbed his thumb across her lip. Y/N took the opportunity to take his thumb and suck on it causing him to become weak enough for her to flip him over so she was on top of him and kissed him

“Remember how I used to ride you? How you held my hips, while I took control?” she whispered into his ear while one of her hands went down to palm him through his boxers, making him let out a groan

She hooked her fingers around the band of his boxers and pushed them down letting his dick free. Taking it in her hand, she began to move her hand up and down as her thumb brushed over his tip as she left small pecks over his chest before moving down and putting him in her mouth. His first instinct was to grab the sheets in a fist as she bobbed her head, sucking him while moving her hand. Taking her hair to put into a makeshift ponytail, he caressed her face as she looked up at him as he groaned, thrusting into her mouth. Her hands gripping his thighs, Y/N kept taking more of him, making her gag as she felt him in the back of her throat but it didn’t stop her until she felt him become close

“Fuck, shit. ‘M going to cum, fuck.” frank whined as she began to suck him harder before letting go

“What’d you do that for? I was close” he asked her as she came up and straddled his lap as he sat against his headboard

“Aww, did you really think i was going to let you finish? Funny” she told him faking a upset face

“You really haven’t changed a bit have you?”

“No, and it looks like neither have you.” she smirked before grabbing his dick and teasing the tip of him with her entrance. She slowly slid on top of him as his first instinct was to grab her hips, tight enough to leave bruises in the shape of his hands as he groaned and looked up at the ceiling. Y/N’s first thought was to grab his jaw and point it towards her.

“Eyes forward like a good boy now.” she whispered as he let out a groan as she sank down and traced his jawline, his lips parted as she kissed his bottom lip and pulling it

“Fuck you’re so tight. I forgot how good you felt.” he whimpered making sure that she was still secure around him

Smirking, she started to roll her hips, letting out sighs of relief and breathy moans. Circling him, he groaned out her name, his grip loosening as she clenched around him.

“Oh shit.”

Y/N began to move her hips faster, moving her head towards him and attaching their lips together as one of his hands let go of her hip and went to one of her breasts, his thrusts hitting getting sloppier and hitting her G spot, her hand leaving his shoulder so she could touch herself.

“I’m close”

“So am I.” Frank panted out as the two were on the edge of their orgasms. Moans and groans both left their mouths, with small pants of breath escaping them. Y/N could feel the build up in her stomach as her fingers digged into Frank’s shoulder. At this point, her makeup was smudged, hair messy, and lipstick stains were visible all over his body and neck. Frank wouldn’t have thought that this would be happening again after what had happened between them and he wanted to make sure that she would feel and be treated better than the first time they were together

“Fuck, Y/N” he groaned

Letting out a cry of his name, she came undone, both of them having the feeling of their first time together. Waves of pleasure both escaping each other as he let out one final thrust, his cum coating her walls inside of her. Her vision going white as he released inside of her. The pair sweating and heavily breathing, knowing how good it felt to be back together. Y/N fell and laid beside him on his bed he got up to go get a towel for the both of them. When he came back, he pressed the damp towel on her, cleaning the mess they both made as she let out a small whimper, before he handed her some clothes to borrow.

“Do you think we can try again?” he asked Y/N, handing her one of his shirts.

“Just like old times? Other than what happened?” frank finished looking into her eyes as she took the time to think before nodding

“Yeah, I think we can do it if we tried.”

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hexmione · 4 years

Text

Journey to the Quidditch World Cup - Fred Weasley Series Part 1

A/N: Hello there! It’s been a little while since I’ve written a proper reader fanfic so I hope everyone enjoys. Since quarantine, I’ve been getting back into Harry Potter. This meant that I rekindled my love for the one and only Fred Weasley. This idea had been stirring in my head for a while and I finally gave in a wrote it down. This is a Reader Potter!TwinSister x Fred Weasley fic and I hope you enjoy.

This is part one of a series. I’m not sure if updates will be consistent because I am very much winging it at this point.

Description: As (Y/N) Potter and her friends head to the Quidditch World Cup, there is some fast brewing tension.

Date Posted: August 29th, 2020

Word Count: 1429

---

"(Y/N), get up!" You heard Hermione yell. You groaned and moved your body over to the other side of the bed you were sleeping on in Ginny's room.

"Here, let me try," you heard Ginny say. It was almost like you could hear the smirk in her voice. You heard the creaks and groans of Ginny's old wooden floor as the youngest Weasley bent down to your cot, "I could get Fred and George up here," she whispered, "I'll tell them all about what we spoke of last night," she paused, "and I doubt they'll pass up the chance to wake you up."

With that, you slowly opened your eyes and flashed the girls a sheepish smile, "Lovely morning, innit?"

Hermione let out a groan of exasperation, "Mrs. Weasley is waiting for us, (Y/N). I have to check on Ron and your brother."

"Good luck!" You said with a smile.

As Hermione left the room, you got up from your bed and walked over to your trunk. You looked at Ginny and grinned, "Now, what to wear?"

---

As you, Hermione, Harry, and the rest of the Weasley family trekked through the early morning dew - you couldn't help but yawn.

"Hello, darling," Fred said, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

You rolled your eyes, "You know better than to call me darling, Weasley."

Fred ignored your comment and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "Something keeping you up at night, (Y/N)? A certain Weasley twin, perhaps?"

With that, you could see the girls in your peripheral vision turn around. You bit the inside of your cheek and wondered if the boys had heard you last night.

You quickly regained your composure before answering, “Oh of course! How could I forget?”

You turned to Fred and gave him a sickly sweet smile, which was something that he wasn’t expecting.

“Georgie!” You called.

You could see Ginny and Hermione quickly cover up their laughter as George walked towards you and Fred.

“You called?” George said with a smirk. You watched as he studied Fred's arm around you. You gave him a quick glare, warning him to hold his tongue.

“I forgot to tell you that I had to most wondrous dream last night!”

“Oh?” George said as he wiggled his eyebrows, “and what was this wondrous dream about?”

You put a hand on his shoulder, “You of course.”

“Oh, (Y/N). You flatter me.”

“Enough, enough,” said Fred.

“What’s wrong Freddie?” You asked with a smile, “can’t handle the fact that you're not the man of my dreams?”

“Yeah, Freddie?” George said in his signature teasing tone.

You were confused as you felt Fred's arm slowly remove itself from your shoulders, “You've proved your point, Potter," he said with a steeliness in his voice that he only reserved for people like Malfoy.

You couldn't help the small twinge of pain in your chest as he walked away to join Ron and Harry.

You turned to George and you took in his unreadable expression. You knew that George would know why Fred's mood suddenly turned sour.

As if George could feel your gaze, he gave you a quick shrug and an apologetic smile before running to catch up with his brother.

---

“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?”

Despite being at Hogwarts for a couple of years, you never were sure if Cedric Diggory was as handsome as the older girls made him out to be. Now seeing him face to face for the first time, you made a mental note to tell them that they were right.

“Hi,” said Cedric, looking around at you all. You shared a secret grin with Ginny and Hermione, something that only girls your age would understand.

"Hi," you said once Ginny and Hermione finished introducing themselves.

"Blimey, you're (Y/N) Potter, right?" Cedric asked. You nodded. This was a common occurrence. You had survived the Killing Curse and Voldemort just as your brother had, but you and Harry tended to get the same reaction everywhere you went.

As Amos and Mr.Weasley spoke, you and Cedric fell into steady conversation, "How come I don't see you on the Gryffindor Quidditch team with your brother and the Weasleys?"

You let out a soft laugh, "My brother and the Weasleys are talented flyers. Me, on the other hand, not so much. I prefer the sweet, sweet ground, or on special occasions, the Quidditch stands."

Cedric let out a husky laugh, as though he had just woken up. That would have caused you to blush in any other circumstance, but once you caught sight of Fred's glares and George's rolling eyes, you felt the heat in your face die down.

Cedric followed your line of sight and caught the twins stares, "I don't think they've quite forgiven me after the first Quidditch match against Gryffindor last year. I've tried apologizing, I swear."

You gave Cedric a reassuring smile, “Don't worry, they'll get over it.”

“Are you sure? The one on the left looks like he wants to hex my balls off!” Cedric exclaimed.

You snorted as Ginny turned around and raised an eyebrow, "That's Fred. I wouldn't worry about it that much, but I would be careful once we get back to school." Cedric shot you an alarmed look, but before he could reply, Mr. Weasley called you all towards an old boot.

You settled between Fred and George, you and Harry shared a look of mutual confusion across from each other as you touched the boot, "Three . . .” muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, “two . . . one . . ."

You felt as though a hook just behind your navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. You felt Fred and George on either side of you, their shoulders banging into you. You were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color. You felt your body hit the ground with bone-rattling pressure. You lifted yourself up just to see Ron staggering and falling over Harry, you silently laughed until you felt a similar pressure fall on top of you.

"Oomph!" You heard Fred say as he landed on top of you.

"Fred!" You exclaimed. You attempted to detangle yourself from Fred, but he wouldn't budge.

"Fred! Get off!" You yelled again. You looked around and saw Hermione, Ginny, and George snickering as they were all lying on the ground.

"Actually, I'm quite comfortable," Fred retorted.

"C'mon Weasley, give the girl some space," you looked up and saw Cedric, who was still standing but looking very windswept with a smile on his face.

Fred mumbled something that you couldn't hear before pushing himself off of you. He stomped over to George before lying back on the ground.

Cedric offered a hand and you gratefully took it. As he hauled you off the ground, he pulled you very close to his chest. He chuckled as you pushed away, "Sorry about that."

You gave him a soft smile, "It's alright. No harm done. Thank you for getting me off the ground."

"No problem," he watched as the rest of your friends started to lift themselves off of the ground, "Well, I guess I'll see you at school then?"

You nodded, "See you at school."

You, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys watched as Amos and Cedric walked away. Hermione and Ginny flanked around you quickly, "What?" You asked with a smile, trying not to laugh.

Before any one of you could get a word in, the three of you burst out in a fit of laughter.

"What? What's so funny?" Harry asked.

This made the three of you laugh even harder, "Oh, Harry," George crooned as he grabbed him by the shoulders and directed him away from the giggling trio, "let's just say our dear Fred is going to have quite the competition this year."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, still completely clueless.

Ron groaned, "And they call me dense."

"It means, dear Harry, that Freddie is going to have the win the heart of your sister faster than he expected," George whispered.

Fred shot George a wicked glare, "He's going to what?" Harry exclaimed loudly.

The girls suddenly stopped laughing and turned to Harry, "Is something wrong, Harry?" you asked.

“No, nothing at all," Harry mumbled, glaring at Fred.

"What is with them today?" You asked Hermione and Ginny.

They both shrugged, "Boys," they said in unison.

You nodded, "Boys," you said in agreement.

---

Quotes from the book used:

“‘This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?’”

“‘Hi,’ said Cedric, looking around at [them] all.’”

“‘Three . . .’ muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, ‘two . . . one . . .’”

“[he] felt as though a hook just behind [his] navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward”

“[they] were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color.”

---

let me know if you would like to be tagged!

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley x reader #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #ginny weasley #harry potter fic #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasely fic #harry potter headcanon #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley x you

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echotrinityme · 3 years

Text

Regretful Chapter 4: Crushes and A Good Time

Rupert was still holding Henry while he carried him back to his tents, other soldiers saw them with confused looks but Rupert glared at them making them turned their attention somewhere else. Henry didn't look at anyone and still kept hiding his head into Rupert's neck.

Rupert got to his tent and went inside, he sat down on his bed and he checked on Henry. He still wouldn't look at him, in fact, he hadn't said a word since his breakdown. Henry's right hand was still bleeding and Rupert got the med kit next to him to fix his wounded hand.

After he was done dressing up Henry's right hand with bandages, he lift up Henry's chin and he noticed his eyes red and glossy from his sobbing earlier.

"What's wrong, Henry?" asked Rupert, gently and softly.

Henry didn't spoke but he got out his earpiece and placed into Rupert's ear, Rupert was confused and about to say something until Henry played a transmission. His eyes widened when he heard Charles' voice and he felt Henry trembled a bit.

Charles was saying to Henry that he's ok and he will find another pod, but the sound of his tone made Rupert realized that Charles knew he was not gonna make it. He also said one of his favorite quotes, "This has to be the grea-" until it cut off. Rupert was breathing heavily and he hugged Henry tighter.

"That's what happened..." spoke Henry, his voice cracking.

"Who send it?"

"I don't know. I just got it when I went back to my apartment."

Henry was staring to cry again but Rupert shushed him. "Hey don't cry. I'm here." he reassured him softly.

"But it hurts so much and it's my fault he died."

Rupert got angry at that statement and he stared at Henry who was trembling and wanted to cry, he buried his face into Rupert's chest once again but Rupert is not having it.

"Listen, Henry." said Rupert, firmly. "It's not your fault that Charles is dead, it's the Toppats' fault."

Henry lifted up his head and glanced at Rupert, he had tears streaming down on his cheeks. He wanted to argue but sighed sadly, he wiped his tears and got up from Rupert's lap. Rupert wanted to protest cause he liked having him on his lap which he gave himself a mental slap in the face.

"Then why do I feel that way." questioned Henry, angrily. His eyes stung from the excessive crying and his head pounded.

Rupert stood up and he faced Henry, he went up to him and brushed his tears away with his thumb.

"Have your therapist told you about Survivor's Guilt?" questioned Rupert.

"Yes." replied Henry.

"I know it feels like it's your fault but it's not. You felt powerless to help Charles and wanted to make sure he was okay, he stopped a Toppat from getting to you. You guys stopped the Toppat Orbital station and his sacrifice was not in vain."

Rupert explained all those stuff to Henry, sincerely. Rupert was right when it's not Henry's fault that Charles is dead, he sacrificed himself to protect him and stopped the Toppat clan. Henry bowed his head down and rubbed his arm with his uninjured hand awkwardly.

"I guess you're right." said Henry. "I'm so sorry for my breakdown in the training room."

"I have never seen anyone destroyed those dummies like that before." chuckled Rupert, slightly but turned his tone serious. "But you could have hurt yourself."

"I know...I was so angry." said Henry, sadly. He was staring at his bandage hand and glanced up at Rupert.

"Yeah...it was my idea. I made Calvin shot your hand to drop your gun." admitted Rupert, sheepishly. "We were afraid that you were gonna hurt yourself."

"I would have but I'm glad someone stopped before I could."

"Are ya okay?"

"Yeah...just in pain, both emotionally and physically."

"I can't blame ya."

They both laughed but it didn't reach their eyes, they stopped and awkwardly stood there. Henry sighed and he started to head out the tent but a hand grabbed his arm, he was pulled against Rupert's chest.

They both immediately turned red and Rupert asked himself why he did that. Henry on the other hand, felt a warm feeling in his chest. Their hearts were beating rabidly as if they both ran a mile, time stopped for them and before Rupert can apologized to Henry, Victoria came in.

She saw them and raised an eyebrow but dropped it when Henry pulled away from Rupert, she also took note of the sad look that Rupert had on his face.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked, her lips twitching. She was trying not to laugh at them but failing.

"Uh...no? No!" replied Rupert, anxiously. He turned to Henry, who was nervous and wasn't looking at him.

"Uh huh...The General wants you and Henry in his tent."

"Ok, we'll be right there."

She went to wait outside, leaving the boys alone once again. They both glanced at each other and quickly turned away from each other, they headed outside and followed Victoria to the General's tent. They all went inside the tent and the General looked displeased.

Henry explained what caused his breakdown earlier, he brought his earpiece and played back the transmission. Galeforce and Victoria were sad about the whole transmission and it looked like Galeforce wanted to cry, they now understand why Henry reacted like that.

Galeforce warned Henry not to do it again and send him off his way, Henry waved goodbye to everyone. Rupert wanted to talk to him some but left quickly, he sighed as he left the tent soon after. Victoria followed him and she stood next to him and she smirked at him, Rupert stared at her quizzically.

"What?" he asked.

"So...what's up with you and Henry?" questioned Victoria, slyly.

"I have no idea, what yer talking about." replied Rupert, feeling a pit of dread in his stomach.

"Don't play dumb, I know you're hiding something."

"I am not!"

"Then why are you acting defensive about it?"

Rupert froze at that question, why is he acting defensive? He pulled his hat down to cover his face, he felt hot and wanted to die. Victoria saw he was acting strangely and his face was scarlet, she got an idea in her head.

"Do you have a crush on Henry?" asked Victoria.

Rupert turned even redder and he clutched his fists tightly.

"None of yer business!" he exclaimed. He went back to his tent in huff while ignoring Victoria laughing her head off.

A week went by after that incident and Henry seems to be doing good, he's been hanging out with Rupert and he's also starting hanging out with the Bukowski twins. He still get nightmares and his right hand still hurts but healing, he still sees the therapist about his trauma. However, Henry was feeling...weird for Rupert.

It's not a bad weird...just weird, it's like he likes to spend time with Rupert. Does Henry has a crush on Rupert? Rupert has been there for him since Charles' death, he's been helpful and listening to him about his problems. Henry also felt warmth when Rupert comforts him, spending some nights with him, making jokes with him, and sometimes helping him with sparring.

Henry's POV

I hummed as I walked to meet with Rupert and the others, for some reason I felt happy to spend time with Rupert. I haven't felt happiness since Charles' death, ever since his death, I had felt nothing but depression.

I also felt anger...but not anymore, I think.

I thought I was doing fine before until I snapped when I heard the last thing Charles had said to me...I had never felt so much rage and pain before and it scared me.

if it weren't for Rupert, I would still be miserable. He has been so kind to me lately which I was glad and kinda confused. There was this one time he spend the night with me and we were watching a movie.

It was some random movie, it's not important. He was eating popcorn and I was trying to stay awake but I dozed off, I heard the TV turned off and some shuffling. He was laying down and me on top of him, we fell asleep on the couch.

I never felt so much safe before...do I have a crush on Rupert?

No One's POV

Henry arrived at the meeting spot where Rupert, Calvin, Konrad, and Victoria were already there. They were all gathered around a campfire, it was a perfect night to hang out. Rupert saw him and waved at him, Henry smiled and walked over to him. Rupert patted the empty seat on the long he's sitting and Henry sat next to him.

The rest of the night, they all spend talking and laughing. Rupert and Henry gotten closer, practically being squished together. They didn't noticed but the others did, it was starting cold and everyone was wearing jackets but Henry.

Henry was shivering and Rupert took of his jacket to put it around him making him blush, Henry leaned to him and sighed contently. Rupert's face was warm and wrapped an arm around him.

It was a good night for Henry and Rupert.

#Henry Stickmin #henry stickmim collection #henry stickmin x rupert price #stickprice #thsc #thsc rupert price #hubert galeforce #thsc hubert galeforce #victoria grit #thsc victoria grit #calvin bukowski #konrad bukowski #thsc calvin bukowski #thsc konrad bukowski #thsc henry stickmin

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

Text

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part six

I keep forgetting to post this story OOPS

Warnings: panic, general self-deprecating thoughts, unrequited love thoughts, maybe slightly ooc!Tony, I think that’s all

Sam, Steve, and who you learn to be T’Challa, now King of Wakanda after his father died in the bombing at Vienna -- which makes his obsession with clawing Bucky’s eyes out make much more sense -- are shoved in a vehicle alongside you.

You have no idea what they did with Bucky -- other than he’s still alive -- and you have no fucking clue where you’re going, but the ride is long. Too long to be in a car with Sam and Steve, especially with Sam trying every second he can to get on T’Challa’s nerves.

“So you like cats?”

“Shut up, Sam, please, for once in your life,” you groan from your spot next to him.

Even Steve gives him a look.

“What? Dude shows up dressed like a cat and you don’t wanna know more?” Sam asks.

“Your suit…” Steve narrows his eyes. “It’s vibranium?”

“What is that?”

You don’t get an answer.

“The Black Panther has been the protector of Wakanda for generations. A mantle, passed from warrior to warrior. And now, because your friend murdered my father, I also wear the mantle of King. So, I ask you, as both King and warrior,” T’Challa pauses. “How long do you think you can keep your friend safe from me?”

The silence is deafening.

“It wasn’t him,” you blurt, earning yourself a glare. “Laugh at me all you want, but it wasn’t Bucky that killed your father. Don’t get revenge on the wrong man.”

T’Challa turns to face forward, refusing to say another word.

You do the same, instead focusing on what Bucky is feeling. You wonder if he can feel just how pissed off and panicked you are. You’re pissed, of course, because all of this fighting wasn’t necessary. You jumped off buildings for that man, and he still insists that he doesn’t know you.

Maybe you’d be able to write it off as a dreadful miscommunication for the past decade of your life, but you can’t. Not when you can physically feel that he is lying. The tightness in his chest doesn’t lie. Neither do his eyes.

But God, you wish they could.

You turn your head to hide your quivering lip. The last thing you need is to break into a sobbing mess in the back of this vehicle with three men surrounding you — especially when one of them was just trying to kill the same soulmate you’re upset over.

You know it’s not true, but part of you does wish Bucky was dead.

It was a lot easier on you to fantasize and dream about him when you thought he was dead.

+++

The government facility in Berlin looks far more secure than anything you’ve ever seen. Having guards posted all around when the four of you step out of the vehicle almost seems like overkill. They already took your weapons, what are they expecting any of you to do?

You glance over your shoulder to see Bucky in a small container. Your heart breaks at the sight of him, being restrained and in such a tight space. But the fact that he won’t even look your way breaks your heart even more.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Steve asks, having the courage to voice what you want to know.

“Same thing that ought to happen to you,” the man replies. He’s short and wears a gray suit. It’s hard for you to take him seriously as an authority figure when it looks like his pants need to be hemmed. “Psychological evaluation and extradition.”

You cross your arms over your chest, keeping your mouth shut. Sharon stands next to the man, but at least she looks like she’s on your side — or Steve��s, since she obviously has a thing for him.

“This is Everett Ross, Deputy Task Force Commander—” Sharon begins introducing him, but you stop her.

“A guy too big to introduce himself?” You raise an eyebrow. “Wow.”

Everett barely smiles, but it isn’t friendly. “Yeah, uh, who the hell are you?” It’s taunting, but you’re too exhausted to give in.

“No one,” you wave your hand, letting Steve keep going.

“What about a lawyer?”

Everett finds that about as amusing as your sentence. “A lawyer, that’s funny.” He turns to address Sharon. “See that their weapons are placed in lockup.” Then turning to the four of you, he says, “We’ll write you a receipt.”

As if on cue, men pass by holding Steve’s shield and uniform, Sam’s wings, and your gun and bullet proof vest. You had almost gotten away with the vest, but once they felt it, they wanted it off -- probably afraid it had some explosive inside it. So, now you’re without your protection, and you miss the weight of the vest. Something about it soothed the ache inside you.

Sam looks ready to burst at the seams. “I better not look out the window and see anybody flying around in that.”

You’re ushered forward by some guards and you go without resisting. You see Steve take one more look at Bucky, but you don’t bother. No sense in looking at someone who doesn’t want to see you, anyway.

Everett walks ahead, leading the way across a glass bridge to the other side of the facility. “You’ll be provided with an office, instead of a cell.”

“How kind,” you snort.

He ignores your comment. “Do me a favor: stay in it.”

You roll your eyes. What does he expect you guys to do? Start a fight when the ratio of unarmed super-soldier to heavily armed guards is about 1 to 1,000 in here?

Natasha joins the group, giving you a particularly cold stare before talking to Steve. “For the record, this is what making things worse looks like.”

You manage a chuckle. She has a point, after all.

“He’s alive,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

Yeah, you think. A lot of good that’s doing to everyone.

By the time you reach the other side of the bridge, you’re ready to ask T’Challa to claw your eyes out instead. You won’t even put up a fight. You’re just tired of holding these tears back and feeling this burning pressure in your chest. You don’t know if it’s yours or Bucky’s emotions at this point, all you know is that you want to be left alone.

The weight of it all is crushing down on you now that there aren’t guns firing at you.

He doesn’t want you.

Your soulmate doesn’t want you.

Fuck.

You wipe a stray tear away, spotting Tony Stark up ahead. Tony seeing you cry is not something you ever want to happen, so you chew on the inside of your cheek instead, hoping you can slip past him quick enough that he won’t notice.

But, of course, that’s too much to ask for when you’ve got Sam and Steve next to you. And when the three of you are now criminals.

“Colonel Rhodes is supervising clean up,” Tony says to someone on the phone. But, because he’s Tony, he has to glare at the three of you while he says it. “Consequences? You bet there’ll be consequences. Obviously you can quote me on that because I just said it, anything else? Thank you sir.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. Here we go.

“Consequences?” Steve inquires, very obviously not giving a damn from the sounds of his tone.

“Secretary Ross wants you prosecuted,” Tony pauses, looking pointedly at you. “All of you.”

You glare at him. “I wasn’t expecting to be an exception, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Tony replies, always having to have the upper hand. “What I was thinking, is that when I paid for you to have top of the line combat training, I didn’t mean for you to use it on something like this.”

“For God’s sake,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring Steve and Sam’s bewildered stares. You should’ve known he’d use this moment to blast your secret to everyone.

Your training is something you kept under wraps because naturally, if someone knows you’re going to be a challenge, they normally take it. You wanted to be as off the grid and as normal appearing as you could, so you quietly trained while loudly posting about your degree and only your degree. No pictures with Sam or Steve in them when they’d come to visit. Just you or your best friend, nothing more. You wanted to appear as though you were staying out of the way of any and all affairs that could deal with The Winter Soldier. You knew you’d be left alone if you acted as if you didn’t care. You even went on random dates and posted about them. You slipped under everyone’s radar just like you wanted.

“I’m not doing this right now,” you push past Tony in search of an empty office.

“No, I think we are doing this now,” Tony pulls you back by your arm, which you wrench out of his grip immediately. “I paid for those classes so you could defend yourself, and now you’re a criminal. How do you think that makes me look?”

“I don’t know. Grab a goddamn mirror. It’ll tell you.”

Your sarcasm only fuels his anger. “Listen to me—”

“No, okay?” Your voice cracks and you hate it. You hate the way Steve has been looking at you, like you’re about to break into a million pieces right on the floor in front of everyone. You hate that Tony thinks he can just lecture you about something he has no fucking clue about how it feels. You hate that Bucky doesn’t want you and you hate that he’s in a tiny box right now and that if you never would’ve met Steve two years ago then you wouldn’t be hurting like this right now.

Tony stares quietly at you, waiting for you to finish.

So, with as much strength as you can gather, you finish. “I’ve just jumped off buildings and almost taken bullets for my soulmate who does not even want me.” You pause to let it sink in. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d really love to go cry my eyes out for thirty minutes. You can lecture me after.”

Tony’s face falls and pales a little even, but you’re too exhausted to notice.

By some stroke of bad luck, Everett Ross happens to overhear your words. His dumbfounded expression comes into view and it takes all of your leftover energy to not deck him right in the jaw.

“Did I just hear you say that you’re his soulmate?”

“No,” you snap. “Because he doesn’t know me and doesn’t want to talk to me. So, sorry, you won’t get to weaponize me today. Now, do you have an office I can cry in? Or do I need to go find it myself?”

Stunned, Everett flounders for a response. “Uh, you can just pick an empty one.”

“Great,” you swallow around the lump in your throat, keeping your eyes on the ground as you finally escape from everyone around you.

The office is glass, so it isn’t like you’re getting much privacy at all, but it’s enough. You take the farthest one, turning to face the wall so no one else has to see your pathetic tears as they stream down your face.

Saying it out loud made it real.

Bucky doesn’t want you. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care what you feel. He doesn’t care that you’re his soulmate. He doesn’t want any part of any of it.

Your chest feels like it might rip itself open just for your heart to escape, and part of you wishes it could. You wish you could be without your heart and this soulmate business just for one day.

All those years. Thinking he’d want you.

The past two years. Rehearsing how to talk to him. How to make it work because you weren’t foolish enough to think it’d be easy. You knew it would be hard, that he’d be troubled with his own issues. But you never thought about the possibility of him straight-up rejecting you.

All of it. For nothing. For a soulmate who insists he doesn’t know you.

You try to muffle your choked sob as best you can, but you fail, the noise only causing more tears to fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He was brainwashed by HYDRA and you were stupid enough to hope that he’d want you in his life, that he’d remember you.

Maybe he doesn’t remember you. Maybe when they did something to his mind, it erased all of you.

But he remembers Steve, you remind yourself, and the hurt takes over once more.

You turn and press your back to the glass, shutting your eyes so you won’t see if anyone is watching you. You know how absurd you must look. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want you. What does any of it matter anymore?

You slide down to the floor, burying your face in your knees. God, it hurts. It hurts and it hurts and it hurts and you want it to stop. You wish you never went to that damn exhibit with your best friend. You wish you never knew about Bucky. Living in blissful ignorance was painful, but at least you had peace alongside the pain.

At least that image of your soulmate wanted you.

+++

Back outside, Everett watches your shaking form with a newfound worry. “Is she gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know.” Tony hangs his head. “Do you need me for anything?”

Everett glances at his watch. “No, actually I’ve got things to get to.” He disappears without another word.

Tony thinks it over, wondering if he should even go check on you. You’re like a daughter to him, though he’ll never admit that to you, and you’d never suspect it. The two of you hardly speak. You were surprised when he reached out about your protection. Steve had apparently mentioned you, and Tony being Tony, knew he had the money to make you feel safe.

And he did. The classes helped. Keeping everything about you, except what you wanted people to see -- that you were an Honors student, a well-supported, intelligent young woman -- a secret helped.

The two of you bicker. You argued when you first met. Tony wanted to pay for extra security, personal security that would follow you around. He wanted to move you from the college apartments to some fancier complex where he could control the security protocols. You turned him down, asked about classes. He compromised. But not without some off-handed, pissed-off remark, that you promptly replied to with, “Fuck off.”

You’re strong, he’ll give you that. Anyone else would’ve denied their feelings, sworn they weren’t the soulmate of the fist of HYDRA. But you embraced it. You knew you couldn’t change it. You knew you would get Bucky back one day -- your Bucky.

But you never would’ve guessed that he would’ve reacted this way. Shielding you from bullets while insisting that he has no idea who the hell you are.

His insistence is what hurt you the most. You had thought when you confessed that you can feel when he’s lying, he would’ve given in. That maybe he needed a confirmation, a reason to believe it was really you, because anyone can lie. Technology -- Stark’s, at least -- has advanced, anyone can look like whoever they want. You thought Bucky needed proof. But that wasn’t it.

He just didn’t care.

Tony watches as you turn around, pressing your back to the glass. Your eyes are closed, face wet with tears and hand pressed over your mouth. You slide to the floor, and that’s the last straw.

You look up when you hear Tony knocking on the glass.

Once you see it’s him, though, you put your head back in your hands. “I said thirty minutes,” you mumble. “I know damn well it’s only been ten.”

“Just shut up and come here.”

You look up again, your expression pained as if he just slapped you. Tony frowns. He’s making it worse when he wants to make it better.

“What do you want?” You ask tiredly, rubbing both hands on your face to wipe the rest of the tears away. You sniffle loudly, grimacing at the noise. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just come here.”

“What do you want?”

“To give you a damn hug,” Tony mutters, invading your personal space by sitting next to you on the floor.

You accept his hug, but only for a few seconds. That’s all you can take.

“Sorry,” you murmur, shrugging him off and scooting a foot away. “Anything that touches me makes me want to punch. I don’t know if it’s him feeling that, or me, but…” You sigh. “Regardless I’d just like for this to be over.”

“You and me both, kiddo,” Tony exhales, leaning his head back against the glass. “Why did you go with Cap and Sam?”

You shrug. “If it was Pepper...wouldn’t you?”

“Pepper wasn’t brainwashed by HYDRA,” Tony says. “And Pepper didn’t assassinate dozens of people.”

“But if she had, if it was Pepper in that box right now, wouldn’t you have done anything? Even if you knew it was a losing battle?”

Tony stays quiet, thinking. “Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I would.” Then he lets out a dry laugh. “I don’t think she’d put me in that position -- I think it’s more likely the other way around.”

You look over at him, frowning.

He sees you looking and sighs, closing his eyes. “We’re taking a break.”

That explains it. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. In her defense, I’m a handful.” Typical Tony. Deflecting his real feelings with humor. “Anyway, I’m sorry, too. Earlier. I shouldn’t have spilled your secrets like that.”

You shrug. “It’s whatever. It’s out there now. I’m sure Everett is thinking of every way he can to somehow get through to Bucky through me.” The mention of your soulmate has tears jumping back into your eyes.

Then a wave of panic rushes over you.

Your eyes shoot open and you scramble to your feet, moving to the farthest corner of the office to get a good look at the screens. Without audio, you can’t tell much, but that doesn’t make it any better.

“What wrong?” Tony asks, joining you.

“He’s panicked,” you murmur. “Where’s Steve?”

Tony doesn’t have time to answer you before you’re practically running out of the office to find Steve. You find him with Sam and Sharon in another office.

“Steve--” You stop when you hear the audio. It’s Bucky’s voice.

“Where’s Y/N?” He says. You look at the screen, thinking your ears have deceived you, but he says it again. “Y/N, I need to talk to her.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, noticing the look on your face.

“Something’s wrong,” you say, shaking your head. “I don’t know what. But he’s panicking. Or maybe it’s me. Something’s wrong.”

About that time, the power goes out.

Literally. Everywhere. Emergency lights coat the room in a soft blue glow, the red of the exits the only other light working in the place.

“Fuck!” You smack the table, looking to Sharon. “Where is he?”

“Sub-level five, East wing,” she answers quickly.

You don’t look to Sam or Steve, you just start running.

The slapping of footsteps behind you is the only indication you have that they’re following you. Tears spring to your eyes as another wave of panic comes over you, nearly choking you this time. Something bad. It’s something bad.

Anger comes next, burning in your chest. What the hell is happening? That psychiatrist -- what’s he doing to your Bucky?

Then you feel it.

It spreads throughout your whole body. The old feeling you had once forgotten. Two years is long enough to get used to Bucky and forget all about The Winter Soldier, but not long enough to not recognize it when it returns.

You push forward, running as fast as you can. You slow once you’re at the correct sub-level, waiting for Sam and Steve. You hold your hands up when they come into view.

Steve comes skidding to a stop. “What?”

“He’s not Bucky right now,” you say quietly, despite the thrumming in your ears. “He’s the Soldier. We have to be careful. I don’t know what happened, but I felt it.”

“Shit,” Steve cusses. “Okay.”

Back on track, the first sign that the Soldier is here is all of the guards lying unconscious on the floor. Inside the room, the psychiatrist sent to evaluate Bucky -- though you’re suspecting he isn’t the psychiatrist -- lies in the middle of the floor, barely conscious.

Steve walks in and drags the man up off of the floor, pinning him to the wall.

You’re right. He’s not who he says he is.

While Steve is handling him, you and Steve step up to the doorway, but you pause, pressing your arm to Sam’s chest.

Shit. He’s in there.

Sam either doesn’t catch your signal or doesn’t want you walking in by yourself, because he ignores you and steps into the room. Regardless, it earns him a punch to the face that he barely dodges.

“Bucky!” You scream, pushing Sam out of the way before Bucky’s metal fist can smash his head in. “Bucky, stop!”

But he doesn’t. He keeps going after Sam, and only stops once he has thrown Sam halfway across the room into the box he was kept in. Sam falls limply to the floor, unconscious.

“Bucky, look at me,” you plead, tears pushing to the front of your eyes, but you blink them away. “You have to come out of this!”

Bucky pushes past you, going after Steve this time. Well, you think. First, he knocks the psychiatrist out cold, but you don’t mind that. What you do mind is when Bucky focuses back on Steve, choking him up against the wall.

You try to pull on his arm, but you know it’s useless. He holds you back, keeping you away from him, but still not hurting you.

You think. Quick. What would help? Why isn’t he hurting you? He’s capable of handling more than one person, and you’re obviously provoking him in some way right now as you claw at his back. But still, he isn’t hurting you. Why?

A long shot of an idea pops into your head.

“Soldier!” You raise your voice, straightening your shoulders, hoping it’ll give you the look of an authority figure. “Soldier. I said stop.”

Steve hits the ground with a thud, coughing loudly.

“Soldier,” you repeat, keeping your voice even. “Look at me.” Slowly, Bucky turns around. He’s still the Soldier, but at least he isn’t trying to kill Steve. “What are your orders?”

“You give them.”

You blink. “What?”

“Orders are to protect you,” the Soldier says. “Keep you safe.”

Your breath hitches. You push away your emotions, thinking instead how you can use his orders to your advantage right now. You don’t exactly like using him this way, but you don’t have any other option when he’s a highly trained and chemically enhanced assassin.

“Steve is a friend.” You pause, nodding to Sam who is slowly coming back to consciousness on the ground. “So is Sam. Do not hurt them. Understand?”

Firmly, Bucky nods.

You look over your shoulder at Steve. “We’ve gotta get him out of here,” you say. “They’ll kill him if they find him like this.” Regardless of the fact that he’s listening to you.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, voice hoarse. He goes over to Sam, pulling him off the ground. He’s disoriented, but awake. “Come on. We gotta go.”

“Okay, Soldier,” you almost wince, hating talking to him like this. “Get us out of here. Can you do that?”

Again, he nods. His flesh arm wraps protectively around your waist, practically picking you up as he begins to walk.

You try your hardest to ignore the effect it has on your body, but you can’t help it. The combination of his strength and this being the most intimate way that he has touched you yet leaves you breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Wait,” you pause, and Bucky stops. “I’ll hold onto your arm,” you say, slipping his arm from around your waist. You grip his bicep, your other hand sliding into his. You hate to be doing this because you know once Bucky remembers, he’ll probably hate you even more for it. But right now, the Soldier won’t walk two inches without some sort of grip on you. “Is this better?”

The Soldier’s bicep flexes underneath your fingers. You swallow thickly. Maybe this was worse.

“As long as you’re safe,” is all he says, before continuing on.

You look back over your shoulder to find Steve watching with a sad smile.

You shove down the swelling sadness in your chest. You know this is the last time you’ll get to hold his hand, or hold onto him like this. But he can’t stay the Soldier forever. He needs to be Bucky again.

Even if Bucky is the one who doesn’t want you.

#i knew you #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes soulmate au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #angst #angst city #all angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #the winter soldier #cacw

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dickspeightjrs · 4 years

Text

Dean still thanked Bobby every day for giving him a job at his store. Bobby would only respond with ‘shut up and stop thanking me ya idjit!’

But still, Dean was grateful. With Sam in his first year of college (Stanford Smart-Ass), even with a hefty scholarship, affording to live is still a bitch – especially in one of the most expensive states in the country.

So, on top of his job during the week as a TA at the local university, Dean picks up a couple shifts over the weekend at his Uncle Bobby’s vintage antique store.

Now, while Dean was extremely grateful, the gratefulness didn’t stop the fact that the job was boring as hell.

If you asked Dean, half the stuff in the store looked like it should be donated to Goodwill not be in a vintage store on sale for hundreds of dollars.

(It’s not that Dean didn’t understand the appeal of vintage items. He could appreciate a vintage beauty. His car was a prime example of that. However, despite what the price tags may say, none of this junk held a candle to his beautiful 67 Chevy Impala.)

The place was hardly heaving, even on weekends. And when customers did come in each interaction went one of two ways:

People brought in their old junk in an attempt to pass it off as some rare artefact. Trying to convince those people that what they thought was a valuable medal, passed down through generations may as well have come out of a Happy Meal was not Dean’s favourite way to spend his Saturday.

The second, and perhaps the worst, type of customer would be the rich, entitled people who come into the shop wanting to expand their collection of antiques (which Dean knew without having to visit their homes that they only purchase to show off their wealth and don’t particularly care where they come from). They could be buying a Victorian butt plug to display on their mantelpiece but wouldn’t care as long as it’s as old and expensive as possible.

Dean had a customer just last week who took hours trying to haggle on the price of an antique brooch, despite clearly being about to afford it at full price. If Dean didn’t need the job to support Sam he would have told the woman exactly what he thought of her. (Even Bobby had rules when it came to professionalism). Regardless, she was a total –

“I need a ring!”

Dean was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of a man entering the store looking pretty flustered – emphasis on the pretty.

The man made quick strides of the distance between the door and the counter where Dean was still stood – transfixed by the frankly beautiful man coming towards him.

The man stopped and let out a deep and calming sigh.

“I need a ring.” He repeated more smoothly.

Regardless of how he feels about the customers, no one could say Dean wasn’t awesome at his job. So he put on his best customer service smile, tried to ignore the things this man was making his body feel and silently thanked Bobby once again for this.

“Of course, Sir. Was there anything in particular you had in mind?”

The man frowned.

“Please. There’s no need to call me ‘Sir’. Just call me Castiel.”

Castiel. Angelic

Go figure.

“Okay, Castiel. Are you looking for any kind of ring in particular?”

As he spoke, Dean started to move towards the key box that held the key to unlock the glass cabinet, which housed all of their rings.

“Your most expensive if possible, please.”

Dean stopped in his tracks and looked momentarily at Castiel with wide eyes.

Not only is this dude hot as fuck, he’s rich as fuck too?

Dean was used to asshole rich people throwing their money around but even they had a limit. Coming in and asking for the most expensive ring before even seeing it? Dean didn’t care how gorgeous this guy was, or how blue his eyes were, or how rough his voice sounded, or how sharp his jawbone looked, or –

Anyway! This dude was clearly a douchebag so Dean wasn’t interested.

He opened the glass case and lifted out the most expensive ring, placing it delicately on a black cloth for Castiel to look at.

Castiel picked it up between his finger and thumb – inspecting carefully.

He seemed so quiet and unassuming – nothing like the normal wealthy douchebags Dean encountered. Maybe he got him wrong. Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“Yes, I think she’ll like that one.”

Ah. So not a douchebag but definitely not single.

Dean sighed internally. That put an end to that before it even began.

Castiel dropped the ring back onto the surface and reached into his pocket for his wallet. Dean picked up the ring and carefully placed it inside the matching box. He was painfully aware that ring was worth more than he could earn in almost a year. Even if Castiel was single, Dean would never keep up with that amount of wealth.

He tried not to let the disappointment of Castiel’s impending engagement affect him – he was still just a stranger after all (a beautiful one at that his brain unhelpfully supplied). Dean plastered on his customer service smile.

“Would you like our complimentary cleaning cloth to help maintain its colour? We recommend cleaning it properly every week or so with this cloth as it is one of the older items in our collection.”

Castiel thought for barely a moment, “Sure.”

Gee, for a guy about to spend the rest of his life with the love of his life, he sure seemed uninterested in a pretty essential part of the process. This was just getting more and more depressing – and confusing.

Dean rushed to finish the transaction so he could get back to the normal status quo of the regular two types of customers and not a third who comes barreling in and turns his system upside down.

He finished the payment – Castiel barely flinched when Dean told him the price – and packed the ring carefully with the cleaning cloth into a gift bag.

“Thank you and I hope you and your soon-to-be fiancée have a wonderful life together.”

It pained Dean to say as he looked into Castiel’s eyes. Bobby should give him a raise just for the smile he was fighting to keep on his face.

As if Dean couldn’t take anymore, Castiel tilted his head and squinted his eyes making himself look adorable as hell.

“I’m not getting engaged.”

What?!

“What?”

“I’m not getting engaged.”

“B-but you just bought a really fucking expensive engagement ring!”

The confused part of Dean’s brain was overpowering the other part screaming ‘He’s not getting engaged – he might be single!’

“It’s for my mother.”

“Okay dude, you’re gonna have to walk me through this one. I mean, I love my mom but who drops that much on a ring for their mom?”

“My mother loves material things and good reputations – perhaps more than her own children. She has been rather angry with me for a few days so in order to ‘get back in her good books’ I needed to get the most expensive and oldest piece of jewellery I could. I see her tonight, hence why I was so flustered when I came in.”

Dean chose to ignore how adorable Castiel looked doing air quotes – his bran was about to explode.

“Ouch. What did you do to make her angry enough to need something as pricey as this?” Dean indicated to the bag he realised he was still holding out.

“My brother accidentally told her I’m gay.”

At this point, the other side of Dean’s brain finally took over.

DUDE HE’S NOT GETTING ENGAGED. HE’S PROBABLY SINGLE. AND HE’S INTO DUDES! ASK! HIM! OUT!

After a few prolonged seconds of Dean having an internal breakdown, Castiel started to look uneasy. Dean immediately recognised that uneasiness and managed to spit out a sentence that actually made sense.

“She’s angry at you for being gay? Sounds like a complete bitch to me.”

Dean realised what he’d said and instantly went to take it back but was stopped by the smirk on Castiel’s face.

“Oh don’t worry. She is. But as I said, she puts good reputations before her children and that means she’s paying for my law school. Well, what she thinks is law school.” There was that smirk again. Dean might just die. “I’m actually getting a degree in Education and Psychology. But I’ve got a year left so I need her to keep paying for my tuition. The day I graduate is the day I walk away from that family for good.”

Castiel held his head a little higher at that and Dean couldn’t help but admire the guy. Sucking up to a homophobic mom while tricking her into paying for the degree he wants? Frickin’ badass!

“Dude, I don’t know you from Adam, but, going on that ring alone, are you sure you could give up all that money?”

Castiel shrugged. “I’ve never been interested in it. I suppose that made me a bit of a black sheep. Add in the fact I’m gay, it pushed my mother over the edge. Hence the much too expensive ring.”

Wow. Was this guy for real?

Dean stood up from where he’d been leaning on the counter, listening with rapt attention. He put his hands in his pockets, looked down at a scratch in the counter top and looked up again slowly meeting Castiel’s eyes.

“So you’re not getting engaged?”

“Nope. Far from it, in fact.”

“You’re giving up the family money to live your own independent life?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re definitely into guys?”

Castiel smirked. “Yes. Very much so.”

“So… would you wanna go out some time? I promise it’ll probably be the cheapest date you’ve ever been on – I’m not exactly loaded myself.”

Dean avoided Castiel’s gaze, picking at the scratch on the counter.

A finger came out and lifted his chin, forcing him to meet Castiel’s eyes again.

“That sounds perfect. I’d love to go out with you but I do have one condition.”

Dean’s heart soared. He was starting to wonder where this guy had been all his life.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me your name.”

Dean threw his head back as a sharp, loud laugh burst through him.

The one day he forgot to wear his name tag. (He could hear Bobby’s ‘idjit’ ringing in his head.)

“It’s Dean.”

“Okay Dean, I’ll be out of town for a few days – to deliver the ring and reassure my mother that my brother was wrong, that her law school son is just looking for the right woman to settle down with.” Castiel rolled his eyes. “But when I get back I’d love to get burgers and see a movie or something?”

Dean’s smile could outshine the sun.

“Sounds awesome.”

* * *

A year later, they were all gathered in Dean’s garden celebrating Castiel’s graduation.

Since they met, Dean’s family had slowly started becoming Castiel’s too.

Now, Castiel was free from his biological family and was surrounded by his found family.

Dean was telling his Aunt Ellen the story of how they’d met but Castiel had zoned it out, focused only on looking at the beautiful man he got to call his.

“What a bitch!”

Castiel was drawn back into the conversation by Dean’s ‘cousin’ Jo’s outburst. Ah. They’re up to that point in the story.

Everyone in the group was looking at Castiel with sympathy and anger in their eyes.

Castiel shrugged.

“It’s fine. I used the family credit card to pay for the ring anyway. Plus I left with the most priceless item in that store anyway.”

The small crowd aww’d as Dean rolled his eyes and pulled Castiel in for a kiss.

This was my first fic since 2016 so please forgive if it’s a bit naff! I’m still re-finding my feet.

If you’d like to be tagged any of my future stuff just drop me a message and let me know. :)

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #supernatural #myfic #fluff #misunderstandings #au #2k #jealous!dean #slightly

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aellynera · 4 years

Text

Frayed Wires (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

FRAYED WIRES (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

(so i decided i may turn the drunk texts thing into a series? i decided at least to do one with Nathan because...well...it’s Nathan. the poem he quotes is Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was incidentally married to Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein (or: The Modern Prometheus) which is also kind of appropriate for Nathan and anyway i sat down today and this happened.)

Word Count: 2122(ish)

Summary: All you want to do is sleep. All Nathan wants to do is talk.

Warnings: Language, naturally.

(Nathan’s texts are in bold. Your texts are in bold and italic.)

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You reached blindly for your phone as it rattled on the bedside table. You had no idea what time it was but you did know it was the middle of the night, your phone should not be going off, and you had gotten entirely too little sleep. Like, maybe two hours worth. You were so tired and groggy that you made the mistake of checking your messages before you actually even thought about what you were doing.

Do you ever think about the meaning of life?

I mean like really think about it.

Why we’re here, why the sky is green and the grass is blue?

No wait that’s not right.

You sighed and buried your face in the pillow. It was 3:27 in the morning and Nathan was texting you. Which was just odd anyway, since he knew where your room was and it was much more his style to just walk in and start a random conversation with you in person.

He was probably drunk.

And now he could see that you had read the messages, so you were going to have to reply, or he really would show up at your door. Technically it was his door, it was his house, you just worked for him and stayed there, but the point was you were not in the mood to deal with him at all right now, and most decidedly not in the flesh.

You rolled your eyes before sending him a reply. You really should just ignore it, but...you were annoyed. Nathan was annoying. And it was now 3:30 in the morning and you were going to push a few buttons. Figuratively AND literally! your sleep-deprived brain cheered.

And things like why is water wet and air is invisible?

YES exactly see that’s why I want you.

I’m sorry?

Your brain. I want to pick you up. Your brain I mean. Pick your brain.

You just want me for my brain, huh?

You have a very nice brain.

Yep, Nathan was definitely drunk.

Not that him being drunk was anything out of the ordinary. But a few hours ago, when you were both in the lab testing some of his most recent ideas about the AI code, he had seemed...normal? Well, normal for Nathan anyway. He wasn’t irritated, he wasn’t condescending, he was actually (you honestly could not believe you were even thinking this) pleasant to be around.

You had been working for Nathan as his personal assistant for a few months. It was a promotion for sure over being a code slinger in a cubicle, but sometimes you honestly wondered what made you say yes to this bizarre existence. It was a beautiful house, beautiful scenery, interesting and highly intellectual conversations...when Nathan was sober.

There was also something you could never quite put your finger on. Something that was shifting as the weeks went on and you spent more time working alongside Nathan in the lab. As you spent evenings eating sushi and steaks and whatever else you were in the mood for that night (most nights, he actually let you choose the menu, you realized.) As you took afternoon walks around the estate, just taking in the scenery. As you debated various philosophies and ideas and theories and tried your damndest to prove Nathan wasn’t always right about everything. He almost seemed like he appreciated it all, but he would never say anything.

And you weren’t about to open that can of worms. Especially when he wasn’t sober.

How drunk are you right now?

On a scale of shitfaced to really fucking blitzed I would say I’m feeling no pain.

Jesus Christ. Well that was obvious. It was obvious just from the fact that he was texting you. Nathan was so uptight about security and data leaks and wiretapping and signals being hijacked (he’d admitted to doing it himself, so he did have a point) but had decided, after much insistence from you, that rigging the cell phones to only work inside the compound was an acceptable idea. It was so vast, you’d said, and what if something happened and one of you was all the way across the house or down in the lab, how were you supposed to let the other person know? It made sense at the time.

Now you were vaguely regretting it.

You could count on one hand the number of times you’d actually considered your boss to be pleasant to be around, and you still had your thumb left over just in case you needed to add to that tally.

At least personality wise. He was definitely pleasant to look at. Very pleasant.

You coughed and cleared your throat. That was not a line of thought to travel right now. The proper course of action was to get him to stop texting you.

A few minutes passed in glorious silence. Maybe a new, shiny thought had occurred to him and he was madly writing it down on a Post-It note. Maybe he just got bored and went to get a new drink. Maybe he’d finally just passed out and---

What are you thinking about?

Dammit. How to make you shut up, your brain snapped back. How to get you to let me sleep. How good your arms and shoulders look in that tank top after you’ve been hitting that punching back and you’re flushed and sweaty and…. Oh no. No no no. Stop it right now, brain.

Nathan hated to beat around the bush. Straightforward was the best policy with him, right?

How to get you to shut up and let me sleep.

Wonderful, glorious silence for exactly forty-six seconds.

Bro...that’s...so not cool.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Why were you participating in this? Why was he? You narrowed your eyes and looked toward a corner of your room. You hoped he could see you glaring into the camera that you knew was there and that he was watching while he was texting you. If not, you were sure he would watch it in the actual morning and you hoped the look was withering enough to make him think twice. Probably not. Because this was Nathan Bateman.

Your incredibly narcissistic, incredibly intelligent, incredibly attractive...stop it brain.

But he was pushing your buttons right back. Neither of you could ever really back away from an exchange like this..

I’m not your “bro”, Nathan. Please knock this shit off.

Dude, it’s a figure of speech.

I’m not your dude, either. Please just stop talking.

What’s wrong with dude. Dude is a gender neutral term, anyone can be a dude. Guys are dudes, chicks are dudes, dudes are dudes

Yeah, well, you’re kind of being an asshole, dude.

Dude. Chill.

Turning my phone off now.

No, wait, don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.

Now that was...unexpected. Nathan Bateman just apologized to you? For being a drunk asshole in the middle of the night? Your eyes narrowed again. Suspicious.

You’ll stop texting me so I can go back to sleep?

No not that. I’ll stop calling you dude.

Oh for the love of...you closed your eyes and briefly considered the merits of hurling your phone at the surveillance camera.

Nathan, seriously, can we please just leave this until the morning?

A whole minute of wonderful, glorious, blessed silence this time. You couldn’t believe he might be considering this.

You were right.

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away

If a brain cramp was an actual thing, yours would most certainly be doing it now. You could barely even process it. He was drunk as hell and he was quoting poetry to you? You supposed you probably shouldn’t be entirely surprised, he’d quoted Oppenheimer once in a worse stupor (which you could only quantify because he had actually passed out that time.)

Are you fucking serious right now.

What.

Are you fucking quoting Ozymandias to me right now?

I am.

You couldn’t get the color of the sky right earlier, and now you’re just flawlessly quoting philosophical Romantic poetry at me?

I am.

You are not a normal person, Nathan Bateman.

What is normal anyway, besides really fucking boring? Who wants to be normal?

I would like to be somewhat normal, at least between the hours of midnight and 8am.

See, I knew there was a reason I liked you.

That was the second time he said that, you noted. You found it hard to believe. Nathan liked his work, his routine, his own brain. He liked talking about his work and how smart he was. Other than telling you that you were doing a great job, he barely handed out a single compliment, and if he somehow accidentally did, it was so backhanded you weren’t sure you could actually define it as one.

You mean you like my brain.

Well, yeah, your brain is fucking amazing. It has to be if you work with me.

I work for you, Nathan, not with you. But thanks?

No, no, see, that’s where you’re wrong. You work with me. We’re like partners. None of that employer employee bullshit.

Oooookay now I am one thousand percent sure you are completely piss drunk.

I am but that doesn’t make it any less true.

You could almost hear him saying those words in your head. You could see the way his eyebrows went up, the intensity in his eyes, the way he held his finger up to make the point.

The thought made your brain go slightly fuzzy, and not from exhaustion. Because now you were wide awake. Damn him.

Okay, Nathan, I’ll bite. What do I have to do to get you to stop doing this right now?

There was a pause before he answered, and you swore you’d heard a phone alert that wasn’t your own. It sounded like it was coming from...oh no, he wasn’t…

Getting tired of typing. Can I come talk to you for a while?

Are you outside my door right now?!

You heard the phone chime very clearly this time. He was, definitely.

I am.

You sighed, deeply. So deeply.

Is that really a good idea?

I think it’s a great idea.

Nathan, being serious here.

You could have sworn you heard him sigh from the other side of the door. He could have just come inside. It was his house, his keycard worked on all the doors.

But the door didn’t open.

So am I. Please can I come in? My mind just won’t shut off and I really am fucking drunk but talking to you is helping but tired of typing shit out, I’d rather say it to you.

I wanna see you. And tell you how sexy your brain is.

And that I like you for more than your brain.

And you knew in that instant there really was only one way to get him to shut up. And it was to just let him talk. It made sense, in an oddly Nathan kind of way. What’s the worst that could happen, really? He’d come in, you’d talk, he’d eventually pass out, maybe you could get a couple more hours of sleep, and then in the morning you’d either talk about it on a very deep cerebral level or you’d just pretend it had never happened at all.

A press to the door release button on the side of the table and the latch let go. The door opened, revealing Nathan standing on the other side. Still wearing what he’d been wearing in the lab earlier that night, black lounge pants and that tight white henley he seemed to love so much. The corner of his mouth turned up in the most miniscule of smiles, but it was there.

You were about to toss your phone back onto the bedside table, when the text alert went off again. You shot an exasperated look in his direction, but gamely checked the message.

Did you mean what you said before? About biting?

You glanced up at Nathan and saw that the sliver of a smile had taken over most of his face and his eyebrows had raised to emphasize his question.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t text him back. You just nodded your head to the empty spot next to you in your bed.

You had a feeling you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight after all.

~end~

taglist: @anetteaneta @rosemarysbaby13 @darksideofclarke @girlwiththemostcake

(taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future fics)

#oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters #nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #ex machina #ex machina fic #writing #fanfic #drunk text fic

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myfriendthedictionary · 3 years

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@theheartandtheflame AHSKDHSKJSKN I saw your tags on my last post. And well! Funny story! (This got so long I’m so sorry, but it’s literally the only way to describe this story and I genuinely had to tell someone)

When I was living in London for uni, I had friends that lived in Germany. It was super expensive to fly home for spring break, but the dorm I was living in was being repainted or something so they wouldn’t let us stay. So, I don’t know how we came to the idea that we’d all just meet up in Italy, but we definitely ended up being like. Okay. It’s off season in Italy. Airbnbs are cheap. It’ll be the best place to go.

Anyway, it’s an okay trip. I don’t really know most of the people except for my friend. And I had made the mistake of letting them convince me they knew how travel worked. Keep in mind, they only have to take a train back when they go back to Germany. I have to take several trains to the airport from the Italian coast on off season, which means like nothing is running because like why would it? Anyway, I had booked my plane early in the morning because there was a huge storm coming in or something and if I didn’t get back, I’d risk not being signed up for my classes.

Well. As it turns out, they had *not* in fact actually researched whether I could get back by bus like I had asked them too when they made the airbnb reservations. There was in fact only one bus that ran at that time in the morning, and it was 2 miles away from where we were staying. When I mentioned. Hey. Hey maybe I would like to get?? Back to London?? They kept telling me like no it’s fine the bus will come. It’ll be there. But they also weren’t willing to get up with me or stay with me (hence why I am no longer friends with them lol).

(We’re getting to the tractor part I promise)

Anyway. It’s the day of my flight. If I had a bus, it would have taken an hour to the train station, an hour on the train, and then two hours by flight to get back to London or something. Keep in mind that I am literally terrified of flying in general, so this whole time I’m like on the verge of a breakdown without anything going wrong. So I wake up at 4 am and they let me walk TWO MILES IN ITALY BY MYSELF TO A BUS STOP IN THE DARK. Because they, and I quote, “don’t really need to take the bus that early”.

So me and my carry on suitcase are wandering to the bus stop on the Italian coast. In the dead of night. Alone. I do not speak the language whatsoever. And I’m also like? Definitely not a threat at all by any means. I’m like 5’2 on a good day, and I genuinely do not look like someone who could put up a fight if necessary.

And then the bus DOESNT COME.

So I’m like. On the phone with my parents but they’re. Uh. Them. And so I’m having a breakdown like what’s happening. I’m literally like. At my breaking point. I need this bus, I have literally no way else to get back, they don’t have like Uber / Lyft in most of Italy and their taxi service on the coast has to be scheduled 24 hours in advance because of how isolated it is at that time of the year. And my mom is like oh my shows on bye sweetie and HANGS UP ON ME. so there I am. By myself. At this bus stop in the middle of nowhere.

Well. I hear this noise kind of coming down the road and I am literally sobbing. I’m like. Oh my god this is it. I’m gonna die here. I don’t know how to get back and my friends left already for their day trip by this point. And now this terrifying noise is like. Coming. And I see these like weird flickering lights. And before I know it, this very, very old man is pulling up to me on his tractor. I literally do not know why it’s a tractor. It just is. And he’s like saying something in Italian which I cannot understand and eventually he gets out and is gesturing to me, and I get that it’s like “get in the tractor”. And he’s being like. Very Nice about it, not like serial killer vibes or anything, but his tone is reassuring and HONESTLY at this point I literally have no other option.

So. I get in the tractor—

Anyway. He’s definitely not kidnapping me by any means, he’s just a very nice man who was trying to get me to the right bus stop because apparently they’d changed where the bus came. But The new bus stop is in this weird back parking lot of a car garage which is currently open. Which is like never where you think something good is going to happen. Hence the crime scene line. And there’s a ton of other older men just like trying to figure out what on earth my American ass is doing at their garage at 4 am. None of them speak much English either and I think they didn’t want to like obviously freak me out by coming closer. But they’re just like shouting to me in Italian and I’m trying to be like I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, because for all I know this dude in his tractor (who’s gone now, he just LEFT) dropped me off at like. Private property and I’m trespassing or like anything. There’s like no sign for a bus stop. Nothing. I’m just like literally shutting down. I’m so tired and stressed and I just am like. Not processing anything. When this younger guy comes up behind me (to this day I don’t know where he came from) and sort of tugs me along.

And hes sort of pulled me a few feet down the road and then finally he’s trying to say something, and then he tries french, and I’m like. Answering in my few words of French, and then he gets I’m American and he goes “Oh! I’m an English teacher at the school down the road” and I’m like sobbing in this dude’s arms because it has been so much and my friends and parents were just like “bye Jenna guess I hope you don’t die” and were ignoring all my texts and stuff. Which is it’s whole other thing

Anyway, he just ends up driving me in his car to the train station which was incredibly nice of him and it was like 2 hours away and he probably missed his class for me and I did make my flight back, and it’s now honestly a very funny story now about a tractor and genuinely? How nice people were to me?? Also?? Like so many strangers really tried so hard to get me where I needed to go. But at the time it was absolutely not funny at all, and I literally went back to my dorm and promptly did not leave inside for about a week.

#this is the best story I have of anything tbh it’s the one I pull out to tell #it made my roommates laugh so loudly we got a noise complaint yesterday so i guess it was worth it in the end #the moral of the story is my parents are really on something else ahskshs but also everyone i met in Italy was literally so nice to me #and the other moral is I need new friends #anyway i am so sorry this got long i just had to explain ahskdh #also I feel like I owe an apology to patroc for when I was hard on him for walking alone in London #agskdhsk to be fair i vaguely repress this memory but yeah this was definitely stupider on my part-#mutuals #the tractor story #okay to reblog!#long post #caps tw #swearing tw #panic tw #crying tw #parents tw #ask to tag

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katebacks · 4 years

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Under The Mat (M) - 1

— pairing | Jeon Jungkook /Reader

— word c | 5.600

— genre | Ceo!Jungkook, angst , Smut, series.

— summary | He was your boss and you hated him, but he knew that wasn't exactly what you felt.

— warnings/tags | Adult content, oral (female receiving), eventual smut, low slang words, cheating, mentions of alcohol use.

| 1 | 2 |

This is wrong. This is fucking wrong. You have to stop it. You have to put an end to it now, (Y/N). Yes, this is what you will do now. You will enter this room, you will tell him that you don’t want to do this anymore, and if he tries to persuade you, you will tell him to fuck off. You're strong enough to do that, (Y/N). I believe you. These were the words you repeated to yourself in your mind as you stood in front of your boss's office door.

You squeezed the paper between your fingers, distressed by what you were about to do. You worked in that company at Jeon Jungkook's command for almost two years as his secretary, but you literally couldn't take it anymore. He was the most stupid and rude man you had ever met on earth. He was smug, cocky, and made you as a maid. He would send you to pick up his clothes from the washing-house, distribute coffee to his partners at meetings, he would call you late at night, drunk, ordering you to pick him up wherever he was.

And because of all that, your relationship with your boyfriend was worn out. You were always tired, never had time for him or to take care of you. You were tired of Jeon's ironical answers and the insults you were force to listen. You deserved more than that.

It was almost the end of your shift when you finally got up the courage to talk to him. You took a deep breath, knocked on the door announcing your presence, and entered the room. Jungkook was sitting in his chair, his back to that big window that showed the city. He was focused on something on the computer, and didn't seem to mind your presence, which you were used to. And as much as he was an asshole, you would never deny that he was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen in your life.

All the women in that company dreamed of working as close to him as you were, but none could do what you do, he had said it himself, and that had been the only compliment he had given you since you began working for him. He was tall, with black hair and dark eyes. He was literally the only man on the planet who looked great wearing anything from a suit to a sweatshirt. He was smart, spoke three different languages, never needed a calculator to do the math, was good at video games, and won every game he played. He had a great taste for music, clothes, cars and places to travel. And his smile could charm anyone, even those with the hardest heart. If he wasn't an ogre, he would be the man of your dreams.

"Mister Jeon." You said, making him nod his head without taking his eyes off the computer.

"What?" He asked in a dull voice.

“I came to bring you this.” You said walking toward his desk and placing the envelope next to your computer screen, and taking a few steps back. And he didn't even move his eyes to know what it was. You waited for two or three minutes, and when you realized that he had no interest in looking at the paper you had put on the table, you decided to talk, after all, he didn't seem to care. “It's my resignation letter.”

And like a lightning, his eyes left the computer screen and went toward you. Now it looked like you had his attention. He stared at you for a few moments, watching you with raised eyebrows, trying to figure out if this was a joke. You hated it when he looked at you like that, it was like he could read your mind and judge you for what you were thinking.

And when he realized it wasn't a joke, he looked down at the envelope, took it but didn't open it.

"Why are you quitting?" He asked looking at the envelope in his hands. Because you are a selfish, heartless pig. You thought about saying, but preferred to avoid disagreement.

"Personal reasons." You said it and he immediately looked back at you, this time with a confused expression, as if he didn't know you had a life outside that building. "I will work until the end of the contract and …"

"No." He said gruffly, interrupting you. "If you want to leave, leave. If you really want to resign, you can get your things and leave, you don't have to go back to work the last days of the contract." You were left with nothing to say, even though you spent so much time taking bad answers, you were still surprised at how rude he could be. So there was nothing more you could say to him, you just nodded and turned your heels out of the room.

You were shaking inside. You took all your stuff on that table and entered the elevator, and as soon as the doors closed, you couldn't help but smile, with relief taking over your body, thinking that you would no longer have to accept Jeon's ignorance. You were free.

A week had passed since you had resigned, and even though you were happy that you no longer had to wake up at 3 am with your boss calling you to pick him up from some brothel, you felt strange, as if you were missing something.

You were in a nightclub with some of your friends and your boyfriend, one of your friends had just been promoted and you were celebrating.

"That guy's looking this way since we got here." Irina said, getting you out of your thoughts and looking in the direction she was looking at, only to be startled to see who it was, Jeon Jungkook in flesh and blood. He was sitting on the other side of the club in the VIP area. He was all in black, and he was alone, holding a glass of drink in his hand. And he was stunning, as always. "He looks like an angel." She said, amazed at his beauty, as everyone always were. He was really looking in your direction. Maybe he were drunk and thought he knew you, or were just thinking of a thousand and one ways to kill you because you resigned. You didn't know what to think about him staring at you, but you knew your heart pounded when you saw him after a week without looking at that beautiful face. If he wasn't so bad, he would be so good to you…

“Yeah, he looks like an angel, walk like an angel, talk like an angel, but be wise, he's the devil in disguise.” You said with a hint of irritation, taking your alcoholic drink in one gulp.

"Did you just quote Elvis Presley? And why do you say that? Do you know him?” She asked curiously and you peeked at him, seeing that he was still looking at you before you looked back at her.

"He's my former boss." Irina widened her eyes and looked alternately between you and Jungkook.

“He is the famous Jeon fucking Jungkook?” You shook your head nodding and she started laughing like crazy, making you arch your eyebrows. "Fuck (Y/N), I thought he was handsome, but not that much. He looks like a Greek god."

"Yes, he is Hades, and he made my life his hell." You responded, looking at the others at the table who were talking to each other and were entertained. You glanced at Hoseok, your boyfriend, who was laughing at some joke one of the guys had told you before turning to Irina again. "Do you remember Hobi's birthday that I couldn't go because I was in a meeting?" She nodded. "I had told Jungkook that I would have to leave early to go celebrate my boyfriend's birthday, but then he went there and set up a meeting at the same time as the party, and I had a bad fight that day."

"I think he wanted you just for him." Irina laughed and you laughed scornfully.

“No, he was just bored and seeing my suffering was his entertainment.”

"But damn, he's so hot. I need to have sex with him." She said biting her lip and getting up from the chair.. You just shrugged, not caring with what she was going to do, deciding to join your friends' conversation.

It was not long before she returned, totally upset.

"He dumped me." She said loudly, catching the attention of everyone at the table.

"He who?" Rosie asked, completely confused.

"(Y/N)'s former boss. He dumped me, said he doesn't have ballad girls." She said annoyed. Hoseok's arm around your waist tensed and you looked at him as he began to look around, probably looking for Jeon. If there was one person who hated Jungkook more than you, that was Hoseok. He hated the fact that Jeon always had a way of interfering with your dates and appointments, ruining special dates and making you leave him to go to your boss. He had been so relieved that you had resigned that he almost exploded with joy to know that you were all his again.

"What is this son of a bitch doing here?" He asked threatening to get up, but you grabbed his arm, making him stay in place.

"Let's not ruin our night because of him, please." You asked. Hoseok sighed and nodded, he did not want to fight because of your former boss.

…

A short time later, everyone had forgotten what had happened and returned to drink. Everyone at the table except you was drunk, laughing at the walls. You excused yourself and walked toward the ladies' room. The music wasn't so loud inside and your ears thanked for it. As you entered the cabin and closed the door, you heard the bathroom door open, the loud music burst into the room, but as soon as the door closed, everything was quiet again, you could hear only the footsteps of someone approaching the cabin where you were.

When you opened the cabin, you let out a startled scream when you saw Jungkook standing in front of you, arms folded.

"Jeon ... I mean, Mr. Jeon, what are you doing here?" You asked wide-eyed, feeling that your heart was almost out of your mouth.

"You spent the whole night ignoring me, you didn't come to me to greet me, so I came to you."

"In the ladies' room?" You asked with a frown and he just shrugged, giving you room to get out of the cabin and go to the sink, wash your hands. "Couldn't you have gone to my table?”

"That little shit you call boyfriend is there, I don't like him."

"Don't talk about him like that, he's got a name, it's Hoseok, and he's not a shit." Unlike you, you thought about talking. Jungkook laughed and leaned against the sink beside you, looking at you. Shit, he was again with that look of who was reading your mind.

"Already working elsewhere?"

"No, I want to get some rest before I start working again." You said taking the paper towel to dry your hands, you wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Fine. Rest for another two weeks and return to the company on February 1st."

"I will not go back to work for you, Jungkook." You said calmly and firmly, without even waiting for his reaction, you walked toward the door, but before reaching it, he grasped your arm, turning you to him. “What...”

"That's not how things work. We need to talk." He said angry, his eyebrows drooping and his jaw clenched. On another occasion you would bow your head and accept his demand, but at that moment no, he no longer ran you. You gripped his wrist, pushed his hand away from your arm and lifted your head.

"You're not my boss anymore. You don't rule me. Have a good night, Jungkook."

And so you left, leaving him completely baffled inside the ladies room. As you walked away, you felt you could breathe again and paused at the bar for a drink before returning to the table and joining your friends who were already wondering why you were taking so long. Shortly thereafter you were paying the bill to leave. Being the one who drank the least, you drove Hoseok's car, driving Irina and Rosie home before heading toward the house of your boyfriend who was completely drunk in the passenger seat, almost fainting.

You locked the car and let Hoseok lean on your shoulders, laughing and trying to dodge his hands as you made your way to the porch. As soon as you laid him on the bed, you helped him take off his clothes, leaving only his underwear and he fell asleep. You laughed as you took off your boots, knowing that the next day he would wake up with a terrible headache.

Your cell phone beeped in your pocket and you picked it up, seeing that Jungkook had texted.

Asshole: I'm outside the house waiting for you, we need to talk.

You rolled your eyes, with no patience to argue.

Me: I'm not home.

And seconds later he answered

Asshole: I know. I'm in front of your boyfriend's house.

Unable to believe it, you ran toward the window, seeing the black Jaguar parked behind Hoseok's car. He really was there. How did he know where Hobi lived? You left the room closing the door behind you, not bothering to put on a slipper, and marched out of the house.

“What are you doing here?” You asked leaning over the passenger window, seeing him inside with his cell phone in one hand and the other at the wheel. You almost lost focus when you saw those big venous hands.

"I told you, we need to talk." He said in a boring voice. "Get in the car."

"No, I can't leave. Hoseok drank too much, he may need me. Just leave, really, I don't think we have anything to talk about. I already said I'm not going back to work for you, and there's nothing that you can do to change my mind. "

Jungkook stared straight ahead for a few seconds, his clenched jaw showing that he was even angrier than before. He bit his lip before dropping the phone, pulling the parking brake, turning off the car and getting out of it, making you stand up in confusion.

"Fine. If you don't want to get in the car, I'll get in the house." He said and started walking toward the house, stuffing his car key in his pocket, leaving you wide-eyed, static, watching him enter Hoseok's house. You blinked and then ran back into the house, seeing your former boss looking around the room in disgust. "This asshole has a bad taste for decoration." He said and so looked at you, standing in the living room door. "Everything here is as boring and bland as he is."

"Jungkook, what do you want? Really, I don't understand why you're insisting so much today on talking to me."

"I just don't understand why you don't want to go back to work for me, (Y/N)." He said raising his voice, making you run towards him and use your hand to cover his mouth, afraid that Hoseok would wake up. And as you stared up at the ceiling, trying to hear some noise from upstairs, Jungkook stared at you, analyzing you, as he always did. It was the first time you were so close like that and he was loving it. He then held your wrist away from his mouth, and made you look back at him, realizing that he was really close. That feeling of attraction was no stranger to you, because even though he had been a jerk all this time, Jeon Jungkook was the definition of sexy.

You shook your head, sending those thoughts away and sighed, waving toward the kitchen door. He followed you and watched you grab a glass of water and drink it, a drop escaped from your mouth and down your throat, falling between your breasts, and Jungkook saw it, and that caused something that was already inside him to spread like fire on a dry straw.

"It was because of him that you quit?" He asked, this time in a lower voice, making you duck your head and face the empty glass. "Was he the one who told you to resign? Was he jealous of our relationship?"

"Relationship?" You turned indignant at him. "What relationship, Jungkook? You were my boss and I was your employee. There was never a relationship between us, what the hell are you talking about?”

"Oh please. Are you telling me you never felt this sexual tension between us?" He asked confused and angry at the same time, pointing to the space between you two, making you perplexed. "Are you telling me that in those two years you never realized that I always act different around you?"

"Different how? More asshole than usual? Because that's all you did, Jungkook, you've always been an asshole with me. Always." You said, this time you were raising your voice. And for the first time in the time you knew him, he was silent, so you continued. "Want to know why I resigned? Because you made these two years the worst of my life. You made my life a hell. Your ironies, your insults, your lack of empathy with me hurt me. And all I wanted was to be far away from you, the only thing that made me feel good was to know that at the end of the day I would come home, rest in the arms of the man who loves me, but then you would call me, drunk, out of my shift to pick you up at some bar as if I were your fucking private driver.” You said holding to not scream. Jungkook just remained silent, listening to you, not daring to interrupt. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down before you spoke again.

"You have no idea how much I hate you, Jungkook. God. I hate you so much. And I screamed with joy when I woke up the day after I resigned to see that I would no longer have to endure your arrogance. That I wouldn't have to be your little toy anymore. But, you know what? I pity you. Because you're going to be alone and bitter for the rest of your life, surrounded by fake people who want you for your money, because no one can love a rubbish person like you. Spoiled, cocky, arrogant and spiteful. What's the point of being beautiful on the outside but being so horrible on the inside?”

And then you shut up again, staring at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, almost as if your lungs were bouncing from your chest. It's been a long time since you wanted to say all that. And when you looked at Jungkook, you realized that it was a bad idea to say that to him. He was standing, staring at his feet, his hands in his back pockets and his shoulders slumped. You put your hand over your mouth, realizing that everything you said had been too cruel and that you had probably hurt him.

"Oh my god, Jungkook, I'm sorry. I ... I'm so sorry."

"It's all right." He said softly, lifting his head, making your heart clench at the sight of his watery eyes. He smiled at you before turning around and leaving the kitchen. You sighed sadly that you were the reason for that and when you finally went after him, he was already getting in the car and leaving.

Yes, he had made you suffer for a long time, but you never wanted to make him went through the same. You scratched your head, having nothing else to do, then walked into the house, leaning against the living room door, staring at the empty room and hearing only the crickets singing. You closed your eyes in regret and locked your jaw. You hated to be the reason for the sadness of others, so surely you couldn't sleep that night.

You sat in the living room chair until daybreak. As soon as Hoseok woke up already complaining about the headache, you told him that you need to go to your apartment because your friend was waiting there and then took a cab.

After taking your shower, you decided that you would talk to Jungkook, apologize once again for what you had told him. You put on a black skirt, white blouse and boots, something you would never wear during your work hours.

As soon as you arrived at the company, just over eight in the morning, everyone who worked there greeted you, happy to see you there again.

"Good to see you here, came to visit us?" The receptionist said as soon as you approached.

"I actually came to talk to Jeon. Has he arrived?"

"Not yet. If you want you can wait upstairs."

"Don't you have to tell his secretary first?" The woman laughed.

"He hasn't hired another secretary yet. I think he's still hoping for you to come back."

You thanked her and got in the elevator. When you stepped on the floor of his office, you felt nostalgic to see your old empty table. You now remembered some things you had forgotten, like every time you got stuck in papers and couldn't go out to lunch, Jungkook brought your food. And when you stayed up late in meetings, he would take you to dinner. You remembered the one-week trip to Cancun that he gave you as a birthday gift. And that he was always by your side when you needed him, like the day your younger brother went to the hospital and he took you there, and didn't leave your side, even though he had been quiet the whole time. Yes, he had been a bad person to you sometimes, but yes, he was different with you in some ways.

"Something happened?" Jungkook's voice made you jump and turn back, seeing that he was standing in front of the elevator door. He was a mess. His hair was messy, his tie was untied and he was carrying his jacket in one hand. What you said to him should have really destabilized him, because that was the first time you saw the great Jeon Jungkook all messy.

"No, I just wanted to talk to you." You said biting your lower lip, getting ready to get an ironic answer, but to your surprise, he just nodded and pointed toward his office. As soon as you walked in, he closed the door behind him and walked toward his desk, tossing his jacket on the small leather sofa beside him. Before he sat down, he started fixing his tie, but you knew he wasn't very good at it, so you approached."Can I help you with this?" You asked and he nodded, letting his hands fall to his sides and letting you fix it. You both kept quiet, Jungkook was trying not to look at you and then looked at the bathroom behind you. The door was open and the sink mirror was reflecting you bare legs, which made him swallow hard and try to look at another place, getting restless.

When you were done, you took a few steps away and he thanked you.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I want to apologize to you, about yesterday." You started as soon as he sat in his chair. You kept standing in front of him.

"No need to apologize, I deserved it."

"Deserving it or not, I shouldn't have said that. I'm not a bad person and I would never say anything of that kind with the intention of hurting anyone, not even you.”

"So you didn't want to say that to me?" He asked, lifting his head a little to look at you and for some reason, you felt like laughing and ended up smiling.

"I wanted to, but I shouldn't have said." You said it and he laughed shaking his head. "Seriously, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I understand."And then you both fell silent and stared at each other. This was the first time you two talked like two normal people. And you liked that.

“But I'm still curious about one thing.”

“And what is it?”

“Why do you do so much matter that I may go to work for you again?”

"Because of all the people I've worked with, all the people I've met, you're the only one who didn't care to stand by me, to flatter me. And I like that about you." He said with a shrug. "You do your job and that's it, you don't ask me anything anymore, you don't ask me anything else. Actually, I was the one who demanded too much of you, (Y/N). And you always remained so professional, even if sometimes I blatantly flirted with you, you were still there, not giving a damn about me. And it fascinates me. You fascinates me.”

You blushed when you heard that. Did he flirt with you? How did you never notice?

"What, were you surprised that there is a woman in this world who is not attracted to you?" You asked, trying to look cool. Jungkook gave a low, ironical laugh, as he used to do when he wanted to mock something.

"Oh, you were attracted to me, but you never realized that because you were too busy hating me."

And without restraint, you shyly bit your lower lip and looked elsewhere as you felt your face burn. Well, maybe he was right, and if he really was, you'd be fucked, so you understood that this was the time to get the hell out of that room.

"Well ..." You rubbed the back of your neck, bewildered. "I'm glad we're okay ... hm ... I better go." You said turning your back and walking towards the door, but Jungkook was faster, running towards the door and resting his hand on it, not letting you open it, standing behind you, who froze to feel his breath near your ear. Your heart started beating fast against your chest, and you almost thought it would jump out. That was weird. Jungkook was acting weird. Why did he look so different now?

"Wait (Y/N), don’t you think I deserve to speak too?" He whispered and that made your whole body tingle. You swallowed and turned to face him, taking a few steps back and knocking your back on the door. You fell silent so he could talk. “I won't apologize for the way I've acted with you in the last two years, because no excuse will change what has already happened, but god, you have no idea how hard it was for me to spend all this time looking at you walking around in that tight skirt, and do nothing. I'm not saying you were trying to tease me or anything, after all that was your uniform, but that didn't stop me from imagining you naked. ”

“Jungkook...”

"Shh, babe, let me finish, hm?" He asked placing his index finger over your lips. “I just wish I could get you on all fours on that couch. I just wish I could come every day and kiss you, I just wish I had you for me, if only for a day.”He whispered moving his face close to yours, giving you a peck.

"Jungkook… I have Hoseok." You said, almost begging him to walk away.

“I know, honey.” He whispered giving you one more peck. "It's fine." And one more. "I won't tell him, I promise." And he kissed your neck, leaving wet red marks, making you automatically put your hands on his shoulders. “It'll be all under the mat until the day you're ready to be mine for the rest of your life.” And so he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into a kiss you didn't refuse to give.

Wasting no time, you dropped your hands to his waist, tugging at his shirt and pulling it out of his pants, unbuttoning as he walked backward until his thighs hit the edge of the table. Jungkook broke the kiss and pulled you, spinning and putting you onto the table, pushing the papers, pens, and even the computer to the floor just to make room for you to lie there.

He pulled your skirt up, and pulled your waist, fitting between your legs, leaning over you, kissing your neck again, kissing down to your breasts. His big hands massaging your thighs as you arched you back and moaned beneath him, gripping his hair and pulling. The telephone, which had been the only object on the table that had not been thrown to the ground, rang. Jungkook let out an angry growl and had no intention of answering.

"It could be important." You said and he chuckled, taking his mouth off your breast and looking at you.

"The only thing that matters to me now is to eat out your pussy, honey." He said shoving his hand under your skirt and pulling your panties down. Jungkook rested one knee on the floor and put his face between your legs, letting his lips touch with almost desperate delicacy the soggy spot between your legs. making you sit with your hands resting on the table and head thrown back, moaning. His tongue is hot, and when he moves it from the bottom up, slowly makes you feel him stimulate every tiny point of pleasure there, the sound that drips from his lips is pure desire. And when Jungkook finally reaches your clit, the way he sucks that point makes you lie down on the table, letting your head hang on the other side as he puts your thighs over his shoulders and reaches your hands on the table, lacing your fingers.

That was too wonderful. His touch made it sound like this was the first time anyone was giving you an oral, as if all the other times you'd received was nothing like it like it was nothing like Jungkook. The phone starts ringing again and you try to use one hand to answer it, but Jungkook squeezes your fingers, signaling that he wouldn't let you do any of that.

"Let it ring." He whispers against your pussy before using his tongue on it again. Your body shudders with the horniness, looking like you're electrified. He brings one of your hands up to his hair, letting you hold the black strands between your fingers, letting you take control, pulling him closer. The feeling intensifies each time his lips run through it, and with every second you feel the climax get stronger and you can't think of anything but cum in his tongue.

"I ... Oh ..." You could barely speak as he increased the speed of his tongue, and when you realize it, your body feels like free-falling, the adrenaline rush, your whole body shudders in uncoordinated spasms, and you can not help yourself and moan as loud as you had done in life.

Jungkook is pleased to see you so vulnerable like that. He stands and holds your arms, making you sit up. He holds your face and kisses you warmly, letting you hold his waist as he reaches down to your shoulders, caressing your skin. It was so soft, so smooth, you were so inviting, and he could hardly believe he was finally having you there, just for him.

"Mr. Jeon-oh my god." The voice of a third person made Jungkook look over his shoulder at once, seeing the receptionist standing wide-eyed at the office's door. He hugs your body protectively, standing in front of you and preventing her from seeing you in the state you were in.

"Close it." He growled, glaring at the standing woman.

"I'm so sorry…"

"Fucking close it. Get out." He shouted angrily, causing the girl to jump and leave the room, slamming the door. Jungkook breathed for a second and moved away from you a few inches, analyzing you. "You okay?" He asked and those words made you break out of a trance and finally start thinking about what had just happened. Your former boss had given you an oral in his office on his desk, you were almost caught and the worst, you had cheated on Hoseok.

“Oh no.” You put your hands on your face, feeling ashamed of yourself, not believing you had been able to do something like that.

Jungkook realized that you didn't look happy like a few seconds ago and took your hands away from your face, looking at your red face. And before he could say anything, you jumped off the table, moving away from him.

"That shouldn’t have happened." You said with tears in your eyes, walking backwards towards the door, making Jungkook frown. "Please forget that this happened." You asked before lightning out of the room, leaving a disheveled, confused and frustrated man standing in the middle of the office. You didn't even want to use the elevator, using the emergency stairs to leave, running out of the building without even looking back.

Jungkook sat on the table and sighed, running his hands through his messy hair as he growled in rage and confusion. He had come so close to finally getting what he wanted. He was definitely going to fire that woman because she had gotten in his way.

And so looking at the floor, his eyes fell on a piece of black lace near his feet. Your panties. He smirked and bent down to pick it up.

Something was telling him that it was not over yet.

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