#Nothing like giving the shit life throws at you a glowing middle finger | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chocsra · 7 months

Text

"Take the Gun and my Heart, okay?"

15! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

A/N: im back again 😜😜 please send more requests and ideas! i wanna try writing angst for my next fics

content: you're the port mafia's best markswoman/sniper & chuuya goes to you to learn ur ways, oneshot, fluff, pre-relationship, mafia work 😱, guns, coworkers? to lovers, rich chuuya era, could be gn! reader bc there are no descriptions but used she/her prns 😭

thank you sm @soleelia for the idea!

Sometimes, regular days of being in the mafia felt boring.

Most of your life was inhabited by the four same walls of the mafia's firing range, your body was free of bruises besides the callouses on your fingers from the amount of steel pressing against your palms; it almost felt like your hands grew with a silver pistol rested upon them as if royalty was granted with a crown.

When you were younger, a tall pale man with the name of Paul Verlaine taught you all the ways of a markswoman he could.

Your work consisted of staying in the firing range, assisting criminals in their weaponry choices, dealing guns; and the off chance you could go on missions.

But when you did, shit was amazing.

"Nice one, [Y/N]." A boyish voice rang through the single earpiece of your left ear, repositioning yourself planted on the ground of one of the Port Mafia's rooftops; your index finger positioned off the trigger, taking your face off of the scope. "The pleasure's all mine." You thank teasingly; even if your 'partner' was kilometers away from you, you could almost taste the cruel smirk on his face from the other side; plotting a decimation not even a mafioso with 30 years of experience could pull off.

Dazai Osamu, the youngest mafia executive in history.

He was the craziest fuck you've ever met, but you did partake in his affairs with murder and crime; just from afar. Word says he got himself a new partner on the battlefield; a boy a year older than you, he was the supposed King of The Sheep, but his mentality and brutal force screamed nothing more than that of a wolf.

"Careful, pipsqueak - backup has already been granted." the lanky boy with bandages covered all around the midst of his tainted body said with boredom sinking in his voice; blood dribbled down his forehead, emerging in the facial bandages covering his right eye. Men with firearms and knives surrounded the two teenage boys; more than ready to shoot the children under the guise of their boss.

The ginger next to him barely turned his head in Dazai's direction, his tongue swiped behind his bottom teeth in irritation; though owning a petite stature, the King of The Sheep was more than confident that all these men, despite their bodies, would fall to their knees under the crushing pressure of gravity. "I don't give a damn about your shitty backup, I didn't join the Port Mafia to be protected." the redhead smiled cheekily, a red aura glowing from his body as his right leg lifted in the air - about to throw a powerful repeating hook kick.

Bang.

Several collisions shot through the air, Chuuya was sure it was the force of his ass-kicking skills; Dazai would have flipped a coin to see if it was you or the midget who landed a shot.

The redhead launched in the air, he twisted his leg just so that his shin hit the man's forehead. However, upon doing so - blood spluttered out of the man's head, falling harshly to the ground. The small boy landed successfully on the ground, shoving his hands in his pockets with a proud smirk. Until Dazai gently pressed on his earpiece to enable the microphone. "Again, thank you, [Y/N]," he says with a sigh, watching as Chuuya's face contorts in confusion. Spinning around on his heels, the man died not by his kick; but by a metal bullet pierced through the middle of his skull; along with all the other men perfectly striked in the forehead with the small bullets.

"What?" the ginger mafioso asked with surprise, "Who the hell did that?" he sharply turned to the bandaged brunette with annoyance laced in his voice. "[Y/N], you haven't heard of her?" Dazai asks boredly, striding over to the fallen man who was their leader. "No? Dude, where'd that even come from?" Chuuya spins his head in several directions, trying to find the source of the bullets. "Up your ass." the lanky boy teased, bending down to ransack the man's clothing.

"Shut up! Guns are a good for nothin' weapon anyway! Like hell we need them!!"

"Huh? I thought you didn't like guns."

You stood across from Chuuya in the stained room of the firing range, it's length was more than long, with rather narrow walls. Bales of hay were stacked at the end of the room, protecting the wall from bullets and missed shots. From the small distance of the door creaking open, laid the only walking point of the room; as the rest were hidden by pillars that seperated individual's gunfire; and nobody wished to get shot.

The teenager ruffles his hair, almost loathing in the awkward silence of the room; even with noice cancelling headphones on. He was wearing casual clothing, usual black sweatpants and some sort of red biker jacket; accompanied by a swift movement of his orange hair, tangling between his fingers.

"About that- 'kinda feel left out, ya mind teaching me?"

"You don't know how to use a gun?"

A more awkward silence entered the room as you stare at him in disbelief, the ginger's face remained somewhat sheepish; but by his piercing azure eyes, he was irritated by something, pretty obvious. "Nah," Chuuya replies, gently pushing his hands in his pockets, walking up to you. "was never a fan of guns - ain't bullets shoot better with your hands?" the boy smirked cheekily, causing you to scoff and take off your headphones. "You're talkin' like I can manipulate gravity." you reply dryly with a creeping smile, finishing to sweep the lose bullets on the floor.

"Exactly, that's why I'm apart of the mafia." the redhead boasted defensively, rolling his tongue across his inner cheek. "I think you're the only mafioso who doesn't know how to shoot." you reply with almost a whisper, his sharp glare at you made you question your lifespan. "I've dealt with swords thanks to Kouyou, I've gone to daggers and knives for the look and practicality - so lemme ask ya this, [Y/N], why would I ever turn to guns?" you heaved a sigh at his smartass answers, sometimes you hated his stupid delusions that he always had to be right.

"Well you're here now, so technically you are turning to guns." you swipe a sleek pistol off a metal table, discharging the magazine to see if any bullets were left. "Tsk," Chuuya crossed his arms in annoyance, "You're putting words and my mouth." he scoffed, causing little bits of laughter to escape your lips. "Just shut up and listen."

"Chuuya- you can't shoot a gun with one hand." you scold in annoyance, gently taking the same pistol out of the boy's gloved hands. "Why the hell not? I see it all the time." he brushes off some dirt off his jacket, blue eyes gazing at the addition of bullets in the chamber. "You watch too many movies," you mutter in concentration, redjusting the safety junctures. "a pistol's recoil wouldn't allow you to shoot it properly, and you'd miss like, 90% of the time as a beginner." you grin mockingly, causing Chuuya to smirk in irritation.

"But Dazai does it all the time."

"I don't know- Dazai's fuckin' crazy."

"You have a point."

You laugh as you placed the gun in his hands, "Always treat a gun like it's loaded, even if we're mafia." you said softly, the ginger nodded, readjusting his position into some kind of sharp-shooter. "Got it," he rasps, pointing the silver tip of the pistol towards the cardboard target. Your eyes scan his whole body and stance with predictability, he was standing like he was holding in a shit. "C'mere," you proceed with a click of the tongue, cupping Chuuya's hands over the pistol.

The fabric of his gloves saved you from some embarrassment, but you couldn't help but feel the way his soft hair poked your face leaning over his right shoulder. "Your hand that's going to pull the trigger should only use 30% of force, all the other should be with the other hand, using 70% to support it." you inform in almost a whisper, applying pressure atop his right hand for a more firm grip, Chuuya's eyes glanced to yours with a slight pink tint on his cheeks before nodding. "Alright,"

"So, why'd you come to learn from me anyway?"

"'Cause I wanna learn from the best, yea?"

...

"What?"

"What? You don't like being complimented?"

Trying to readjust his grip on the firearm whilst his breath was fanning your face and neck was so damn distracting, you don't even think he knows how close or what he's doing; especially with his trademark smirk and alluring aura. Chuuya's always been a bastard, but he wasn't all bad when you had a civil conversation; actually, maybe you two had one too many civil conversations. "Okay, think I got it, ima shoot." he nods with confidence, you take a step back as the redhead takes a few moments to reposition his stance and well, learn how to shoot.

"There's two parts of a gun that allows you to shoot: 1. the front, 2. the rear, match those two up and it's like a puzzle." you inform, pointing to the junctures of the firearm before yet again taking a step back. "And don't forget double action, it holds more trigger pull than all other shots."

From all the talking you just did, there was only one thing on your mind; Chuuya. A conversation so little that felt so heavy, were you that touch starved? Nobody visited you in the range, only older men who were practicing their skills. Infact, Chuuya hates guns; he believes that it held no value over him in the mafia and a machine used by non-ability users and non-ability users only. And yet, he still learnt from you, he could've went to anyone else; he could've went to another person to watch him fail.

Too much of your previous conversations filled your head; wine, motorcycles, cigarettes, music.. maybe you did share one too many conversations, you hate the way someone so violent could you make you feel huma-

Bang.

For the first time in your life, with or without headphones; the sound of a bullet puncturing cardboard startled you, even just a little. Damn it, that ginger did a number on you. You tilt your head up to see if the bullet hit, indeed it did not. "Fuck," the redhead groans, causing you to snicker a little bit, attempting to stiffle it with your hand. "Man, shut up.." he scowls in irritation, a small smile creeping on his face. "C'mon, the chambers not finished, you can do it." you cheer the boy on, patting his back lightly, Chuuya only chuckles with a shake of the head before turning back to the target.

"You wanna know why I think you're the best?" the mafioso continues to shoot, gritting his teeth everytime the metal bullet pierced anything but cardboard. "Why?" you ask curiously, watching as he finishes the chamber, setting the firearm down at the decently shot target.

"Have dinner with me and find out."

He smirks confidently, watching as you stare at the ginger blankly. "You wanna shoot up a restaurant?" you cock a brow in confusion, taking off your headphones. "No- what?"

"What I mean is, let's go out and enjoy some good food tonight, 'kay?"

#Spotify #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #15 chuuya #15 light novel bsd #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai osamu #chocsra

400 notes · View notes

gimmethatagustd · 1 year

Text

cosmic collision (1) | myg + jjk

A responsible weedman, Yoongi always tests out new marijuana strains before selling them to his customers. When his supplier offers him a new strain, Cosmic Collision, Yoongi is eager to try it. What he doesn't expect is the alien that comes with it.

↳ pairing: weedman!yoongi x alien!jungkook

↳ wc/date: 6.8k | april 2023

↳ warnings: marijuana | yoongi blacks out from being too high, but i promise nothing bad happens to him | jungkook is so precious you might not survive | yoongi is TRYING HIS BEST

↳ notes: welcome to this silly lil world of galactic mysteries 👽 i hope you enjoy the journey. pls keep your arms, hands, legs, feet, and head inside the spacecraft at all times

↳ main masterlist // series masterlist

↳ what was jai listening to? know yourself - drake

✨ complete this form to be added to the taglist ✨

“What’s this one called again?” As Namjoon speaks, a thick cloud of white smoke rushes out of his mouth.

Hoseok is quick with a response, answering before Yoongi has a chance. “DJ Short Flo,” he reads the piece of masking tape stuck to the top of the glass jar on their coffee table. The name is scribbled in blue Sharpie.

Namjoon repeats the name to himself in a low and scratchy tone. He clears his throat a few times more than is really necessary. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Yoongi’s not sure the names of marijuana strains really need to mean anything, but he’s not part of the conversation. He’s too busy counting a rather fat wad of cash as he stands in the entryway of his apartment.

Suddenly, the chill vibes playlist Namjoon so artfully crafted for the group’s weekly Friday night smoke sesh pauses. He flashes a glare at Taehyung spread out on Yoongi’s bean bag as he passes the blunt off to Hoseok, who is now making grabby hands next to him on the couch.

“This is that nasty flow!” Taehyung belts the Drake lyrics prematurely, using his phone to switch from Namjoon’s playlist to the song that has seemingly popped into his head at the mention of Flo.

Hoseok’s eyes widen as he lifts the blunt to his lips. He takes a drag from it while his head leans over the back of the couch. “Hey, wasn’t that Yoongi’s rapper name in college? Or was it DJ Short Glow?”

“Top boy in this shit, I’m so international!”

Yoongi slams his foot into his dirty red Vans. He has to bend over slightly to hook his finger in the back of the shoe to pull it out from underneath his heel. Life would be much easier if he just untied his shoes and put them on correctly.

“It was Gloss.”

“Reps up is in here, got P Reign and Chubby and TJ and Winnie and whoa!” Taehyung’s voice cracks as he chokes out the lyrics, and smoke simultaneously puffs out of his nose and mouth.

“DJ Short Gloss?” Hoseok asks.

“Yeah, and you know how that should go!”

“Man, shut the fuck up.” Yoongi throws his middle finger up at whoever may be looking. “I’m not even short.” With his shoes on, Yoongi shrugs into a light windbreaker and stuffs the money into one of the pockets. He has to wiggle the pocket’s zipper a few times before it fully zips closed. “I’ma be back in probably two hours, okay?”

Hoseok and Taehyung are now belting an Ariana Grande song, so only Namjoon acknowledges Yoongi’s announcement. He throws his friend a thumbs up as smoke unfurls around the blunt squeezed between his lips.

“Have fun, bro. Tell Jin he better respond to my message on Discord. We got games to play.”

Yoongi gives the front door a sharp kick before he yanks it open. He reminds himself to figure out how to fix it from getting stuck constantly. The paint on the bottom corner is starting to crack from the number of toes that have jammed into it.

“Yeah, yeah. I got you, Joon.”

Seokjin is notoriously difficult to get ahold of. Yoongi can’t text him, which is understandable, even if using other apps like Discord to communicate is annoying. It always goes back to not wanting his real phone number associated with their conversations. Yoongi never feels like pointing out that a Discord account - like literally everything else - can be traced back to Seokjin’s phone. It’s a losing battle, and Yoongi isn’t the type to argue.

So he shoots WWHandsome#7451 a quick “omw” and drives the thirty minutes to Seokjin’s brother’s house. Or was it his cousin? Best friend? Yoongi can’t remember. All he knows is the guy is cute, and that is enough to make Yoongi not want to go to his house.

It’s a small house tucked away in the culs-de-sac of a modest but nice-looking suburb. Yoongi always feels dirty as he parks on the curb in his 2001 Honda Accord. The car has wires sticking out where the spoiler was once connected in the back (accidentally ripped off by Taehyung, who closed the trunk too hard). The metal below his front left headlight is dented and stitched together with black zip ties after Yoongi idiotically let Namjoon drive and his friend hit a mailbox.

The feeling of being out of place typically intensifies as Yoongi trudges up the walkway to the front door. He feels frumpy in his dad hat with a frayed bill, eccentrically-patterned pink button-up shirt over a white graphic tee, and forest-green joggers. He never cared about fashion; throwing on whatever’s clean is enough for him. But when Seokjin’s friend (Yoongi is now remembering they are just friends) flings the door open and lets his eyes roam over Yoongi’s frame, he wishes he’d at least ironed his shirt.

“Hello,” the man purs. He brushes blue-grey hair away from eyes that are sharp and heavy as he looks up at Yoongi through his bangs. Yoongi tries not to pay attention. “Jinnie’s in the basement.”

The basement is really just one giant gaming room with a spot off to the side dedicated to Seokjin’s rather impressive inventory of marijuana. He’s exceptionally organized, which Yoongi appreciates, with each glass jar and drawer stuffed with green buds neatly labeled. It makes the exchange quick and easy. Yoongi would prefer not to linger.

It’s not that Seokjin has ever done anything wrong. In all honesty, Yoongi can’t quite put a name to the feeling he gets in the elder’s presence. He just knows something about Seokjin makes him uneasy.

“Yoongi-ya, good to see you, my friend.” Seokjin’s hand clamps over Yoongi’s shoulder and his fingers dig into his clavicle.

“Good seeing you, too,” Yoongi mumbles. He shrugs off his backpack and holds it against his chest like a shield. However, it doesn’t protect him for long because Seokjin almost immediately pries it from Yoongi’s grasp. He watches as the older man tosses the empty bag onto the coffee table in front of a large TV, making the glass rattle.

“Sit.”

Yoongi plops onto the couch. Halo Infinite is paused on the TV. He knows nothing about video games, but he’s sure Namjoon would squeal over Seokjin’s setup. Yoongi makes a note to never tell him about it.

“Want your usual, right?” Seokjin asks though he’s obviously not in any rush to get Yoongi his supply when he settles beside him on the couch. He tilts his black bucket hat back, pulling the brim away from his eyes to expose dark eyebrows.

Seokjin wears clothes similar to Yoongi’s usual attire: comfortable graphic tees and joggers. He always manages to look better, though. Sleek and expensive, with logos of brands Yoongi doesn’t even know stitched into the fabric, all monochrome rather than the patterned clothing that makes Yoongi look like a rainbow threw up on him.

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums. “Chem Valley Kush, XJ-13, and DJ Short Flo sold really well.”

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle as he grins. In the dim lighting of the room, Yoongi swears his teeth look sharp. “XJ-13 put your ass in gear, didn’t it?”

This Yoongi has to smile at. “The most productive I’ve been in my life,” he laughs. “That tangerine aroma, too? Fuckin’ beautiful.”

Seokjin reaches for the clear glass bong atop the coffee table. He brings it to his lips, pausing momentarily to say, “It’s the Jack Herer in it.”

Yoongi watches the smoke furl through the intricately curled tubing. He’s always been more of a bowl kind of guy, but he doesn’t say no when Seokjin passes him the bong and a lime green lighter.

“I’ve got enough of all three, but try out this one.” Seokjin watches expectantly as Yoongi inhales and doesn’t continue talking until he blows a thick cloud toward the ceiling. “It’s called Cosmic Collision. Totally brand new strain, an experimental hybrid. Nobody’s got this on the street except me.”

“Cosmic Collision?” Yoongi runs his tongue across his teeth, then the inside of his cheeks, like he’s gathering the taste in his mouth. It’s fruity and went down so smooth it almost felt more like vaping or hookah than weed. “Tastes like cereal.”

“Good, right? Shit’ll take you somewhere otherworldly.”

Describing the strain as experimental and otherworldly is relatively accurate, Yoongi muses as he takes a few more hits from the bong. Each pull is smooth and surprisingly kind to his throat as he breathes it down. Weed like this is hard to come by on the streets. Most are harsh, perhaps from being doused in pesticides or growing in shoddy environments. Seokjin has never let Yoongi down, though. Everything he provides is always high quality, to the extent that Yoongi wonders if the man grows it himself or if he’s got the hookup with someone professional.

Before long, Yoongi sinks into the couch and forgets his promise of returning home after two hours. His phone buzzes in his pocket with text messages he can’t seem to find the desire to check. He doesn’t hear the notifications, only feels the vibration against his thigh. The sensation warms him to the point that the way his body tingles is a little embarrassing.

Something else buzzes in his ear, something he can hear as a muffled squeak that pulses against his eardrums. It’s rather annoying. Yoongi’s face twists into a slight grimace that quickly melts away when he feels something poke his cheek.

“Yoongi-ya!”

His head is almost too heavy to turn, but he manages. Seokjin’s image is blurry initially. It takes a few blinks for Yoongi to adjust, and only then does he realize his eyes have been closed for a good while.

“Hm?” Like his head, his tongue feels heavy to lift. His mouth tastes like Froot Loops. A small smile stretches his lips against his teeth. God, he’s so fucking high.

“Jimin and I need to leave; I’m sorry,” Seokjin gives him a sheepish look.

Yoongi blinks a few more times and wills his arms to lift up. He stretches his back with a groan. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t realize how long it’s been.”

His phone tells him it’s been nearly four hours since he arrived. His brain struggles to comprehend this new information, just like it struggles to accept that he has somehow migrated upstairs and is now sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water in front of him. When the fuck had he moved?

Seokjin gives him a knowing smile. “Drink more water when you get home. And drive safely!”

Nodding his head, Yoongi slings his backpack over his shoulder and follows Seokjin to the front door. The bag is heavy with what Yoongi assumes is weed - the whole reason why he came to the house in the first place. But he has no recollection of Seokjin giving it to him.

“That’s some strong shit,” Yoongi mumbles mostly to himself as he says his final goodbyes.

There’s the knowing smile again, though Yoongi doesn’t know what Seokjin knows that he doesn’t know. “Like I said, otherworldly. Have a good night, my friend. I’ll see you around.”

As he returns to his car, Yoongi decides that Seokjin most definitely gives him the creeps. A twinge of guilt accompanies the thought because Yoongi knows Seokjin hasn’t actually done anything to deserve such judgment, but he can’t help it. Knowing that he completely blacked out for hours with the guy sends a shiver down Yoongi’s spine. Smoking has never affected him like that before.

The car ride home is frigid and quiet. Yoongi leans forward against the steering wheel, grasping it with both hands and straining his eyes to see into the dark. Driving while high is a skill Yoongi has perfected over many years of smoking, but tonight he finds himself struggling to stay focused. His eyes keep flicking up to check the rearview mirror. He knows this means he’s so high that paranoia starts kicking in. He usually cuts himself off before that point, but tonight got away from him. Checking for cops in the rearview mirror is one of those paranoid habits of his. At least the sense of self-preservation isn’t too ridiculous. Driving while under the influence of marijuana is illegal, after all.

To his horror, the next time he looks into the mirror, the empty street isn’t what greets him. Instead, Yoongi stares into two large, bright eyes.

There’s a motherfucking person in his backseat.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi stomps on the brakes. The abruptness violently lurches the guy forward, making him smack his face into the back of the passenger’s seat.

The guy groans loudly and cups his hand over his nose. “Owww.” When he meets Yoongi’s eyes through the rearview mirror again, they’re shiny and wet. “You hurt me.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

It doesn’t matter that he’s stopped in the middle of the street. Yoongi puts the car into park and twists in his seat to see the person behind him better. Any feeling of intoxication has swiftly left his body. He doesn’t think he has sobered up so quickly in his entire life.

The guy appears to be a few years younger than Yoongi. His shaggy black hair falls into his eyes, though most of his face is obscured by the large hood of his mossy-green sweatshirt. Looking down, Yoongi sees that he’s in a pair of black basketball shorts that are inappropriate for the cool autumn weather. Tattoos of strange symbols litter his hands and creep up his arms, from what Yoongi can tell. The thought that his teeth look sharp like Seokjin’s do flashes in Yoongi’s mind, but he’s too freaked out to linger on that. Imagined sharp teeth are nothing compared to how the younger man’s eyes glow with a turquoise ring around his black irises.

Despite the fear those eyes strike in Yoongi’s body, he can’t help but admire how beautiful the man is. Something about him feels… otherworldly, Seokjin’s voice sounds in Yoongi’s head.

“My name is-”

Whatever the man says is lost to Yoongi. His supposed name is nothing Yoongi has ever heard before, sounding more like strange clicks and whistles instead of a real language.

Apparently sensing Yoongi’s confusion by his mouth hanging open, the man gives him a nervous smile. “You may call me Jungkook if that is easier for you to pronounce,” he whispers hardly loud enough for Yoongi to hear. “When I am in this realm, that is the name I go by. Elder Seokjin gave it to me.”

Realm? Elder?

Yoongi shakes his head while his palms press into his eyes. Maybe if he slowly counts backward from ten and focuses on his breathing, the marijuana-induced hallucination will disappear.

Silently, he mouths the numbers until he finishes his ten seconds of attempted meditation. To his chagrin, he opens his eyes to see the strange man sitting on the edge of the backseat with his hands clasped between his thighs. He watches Yoongi in earnest.

“I can tell that you are upset.” He speaks slowly as if he thinks Yoongi may not be able to understand him. “There was nothing else that I could do, sir. Elder Jimin and Elder Seokjin closed the portal when they left after they assumed I had returned home without them. But I was in the garden! I do not like the smell of marijuana. It hurts my head so badly. I needed to get fresh air until you left.”

The man waits rather impatiently for Yoongi to respond. He fidgets in his seat, though he keeps his eyes locked with Yoongi’s. His gaze is so intense that Yoongi has to look away.

It’s too much.

Before any more bullshit can spew from the guy’s mouth, Yoongi flings the door open, snatching the keys before slamming the door shut behind him. His hand shakes as he presses the button to lock the doors, leaving him standing outside and the younger man inside.

He looks up at Yoongi through the back window with confusion. Yoongi could swear that the turquoise rings around his eyes dim.

Turning his back to the car so he doesn’t have to look at the man anymore, Yoongi finally takes out his phone. It takes Namjoon three calls to pick up, but Yoongi can’t be mad; he’s just grateful his friend picked up at all.

“Yoong. It’s three-thirty in the morning. Hobi said you never came home.”

There was a reason why he called Namjoon instead of his roommate. Hoseok is such a heavy sleeper, Yoongi knows it would have been pointless to try.

“I need you to come get me. I don’t really know where I am, but there’s a guy in my car.”

Silence on the other end of the line makes Yoongi grow antsy. He lets out a loud huff, then another to indicate the sense of urgency he needs his friend to share with him.

“What?”

“I’m not kidding, man. There’s some random fucking dude in the backseat of my car.”

Yoongi takes a peek over his shoulder. The guy has crawled halfway into the front seats and is pushing the buttons on Yoongi’s radio. Probably fucking up all his saved stations. Yoongi lets out a hiss.

“Bro, you’re tweaking.”

“Fuck you, I’m serious.”

“Tweeeeeaking,” Namjoon drawls. There’s a giggle in the background, the soft deepness of the sound unmistakable.

“Give Taehyung the phone.”

For a few seconds, Yoongi only hears more giggling and some rustling. He tries to respect his friends’ privacy and not ask why they are still together so late at night.

Eventually, Taehyung murmurs a greeting. “Hey, boss man.”

“Come pick me up right now. This dude is refusing to get out of my car.”

“What if he hotwires it, and when you go back in the morning, it’s gone?” Taehyung raises a valid concern, but Yoongi isn’t in the right mind to think with common sense.

“Then it’s fucking gone! It’s a piece of shit car anyway!”

Taehyung gasps. “Don’t talk about Mary Jane like that!”

Yoongi pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe he is tweaking. The universe must agree since he turns around to see an empty car.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung’s voice is small and distant.

Yoongi holds his phone a few inches away from his ear and stares at his car in disbelief. He slowly approaches it, peering into the windows to inspect the backseat. There’s nothing.

“Uhh… nevermind. I’ll be fine. Make sure Joon drinks some water, okay?” He hangs up before Taehyung has the chance to question him further.

With trembling hands, Yoongi unlocks the car and slides behind the wheel. Another quick look around confirms that he’s again the only person in the car. How was it possible for the other guy to get out? Yoongi knows that he locked the doors when he got out. But perhaps he unlocked them from the inside, and the alarm didn’t go off? Yoongi can’t think straight, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. His car is empty.

It remains empty for the rest of the drive. Yoongi is on edge the entire time, but he has calmed down considerably by the time he parks on the street near his apartment.

However, Yoongi doesn’t feel true security until he’s in bed, after showering away the smell of weed and the tingling feeling of his skin. The marijuana is put away, although he hides Cosmic Collision in his closet. He doesn’t know why, but something tells him to keep the odd strain to himself for now.

With how droopy the weed made him and the stress of the ride home, Yoongi quickly falls asleep to his Pink Noise playlist and tries not to dream of turquoise-ringed eyes.

Yoongi loves autumn Saturday mornings. He loves snuggling into his blankets while the sun gently kisses his skin. He loves tilting his head to see red and gold leaves glowing in the sunlight outside his window. He loves knowing there’s nothing that needs to be done, that he has a day to slowly move through the kitchen in his pajamas with a cup of coffee and a blunt with nowhere he needs to be. He loves gentle days.

Today, he does not have the pleasure of enjoying a gentle day.

Rather than the sun waking him, it’s his roommate. Hoseok squeezes Yoongi’s shoulders a bit too tightly as he shakes the older man awake.

“Yoongi,” he whisper-yells. “Yoongi, you didn’t tell me you had someone over. He’s really fucking hot, I get it, but you have to tell me! I just walked out of my bedroom naked, which I should be able to do since it’s my apartment, and I knew you wouldn’t be up yet, and surprise! Some gorgeous man is sitting on the couch, eating my chocolate chip cookies, by the way, staring at my dick! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!”

With squinted eyes and a scrunched nose, Yoongi stares up at Hoseok. To be perfectly honest, all he heard was hot, naked, cookies, dick. Which… Is not what one expects to talk about before their eyes have even adjusted to the daylight.

“Wha-what, Hoba, what?” Yoongi forces himself into a sitting position.

Hoseok flaps his arms at his side and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Your hookup is still here. And he saw me naked. And he’s eating my food. That is what I’m trying to tell you.”

“My hookup?”

“Yes, fuck. He’s really sexy in an adorable kind of way. I was shocked. Not really your usual type, but an improvement, honestly,” Hoseok rambles.

Ignoring the subtle dig at his taste in men, Yoongi tries to focus on the meaning behind his roommate’s words. He is no stranger to casual sex but seldom brings people over out of respect for Hoseok. It’s a situation precisely like this that he tries to avoid.

“But I came home straight from Jin’s… Didn’t I?” Yoongi wracks his brain, desperately searching for some kind of missing link. “I swear on my life, Hoba. I swear on my life I went to Seokjin’s and came straight home. You can ask Joon and Tae. I called them after I left because-”

Hoseok leaps back as Yoongi rips the blankets off of his body. “Fuck!” He flies out of his bedroom, feet barely touching the ground.

He’s breathing hard when he bursts into the living room.

The man from the night before - Jungkook - is cuddled up on the couch. He’s wearing the same outfit, though his hood is lowered now. Yoongi can see just how disarmingly beautiful the man is without the fabric obstructing his view. His face is round with flawless skin that practically glows in the daylight. His bangs are sticking out in all directions, hair mused in what Yoongi assumes is bedhead. Yoongi can’t help but find him kind of adorable, especially when his cheeks are puffy from stuffing so many chocolate chip cookies in his mouth.

Except he shouldn’t be fucking real! Or in his apartment!

As Yoongi steps closer, he notices the turquoise rings around Jungkook’s irises. Fear that Yoongi can only describe as primal tickles the base of his spine. It’s impossible to stamp down, no matter how many deep breaths he takes.

“You.” He points an accusatory finger. “You.”

Not his most intelligent moment, but his brain doesn’t know how to function anymore. A cookie-covered smile makes Yoongi falter, but he does his best to maintain a stern expression.

“Good morning, Yoongi! Your apartment is kind of dirty, but it feels cozy. I like it.” Jungkook places the now empty container of cookies on the coffee table. The action draws Yoongi’s attention to the stack of other empty food containers, beer bottles, weed residue, and game controllers littering the table’s surface. Maybe he is dirty.

Nah, fuck that. This is not what’s important right now.

Yoongi shakes his head, his shaggy blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Why are you here? How did you get here?”

Hoseok makes an odd sound that Yoongi desperately tries to ignore. But then he feels the press of a warm hand against the nape of his neck, and he can’t brush him off from how tightly Hoseok is digging into his skin.

“Yoongi…” He sounds like he’s about to scold him.

Before he can start, Jungkook hops up from the couch. Both strangely-tattooed hands lift upward, about chest-high, and he twists them to hold his palms out.

“It is my fault, Mr. Hoseok.”

“Just Hobi.”

Jungkook nods. “I did not explain the situation well. Elder Jimin and Elder Seokjin told me never to speak to humans about this, but I don’t know what else to do. No one else from our team is here, and they must wait until the next cosmic collision for the portal to reopen.”

His voice trembles as he speaks, and Yoongi worries the guy is about to start crying. He tugs at the many hoops adorning his earlobe and rocks on the balls of his feet, much like children do to comfort themselves.

Maybe he’s a dick, but Yoongi would prefer not to deal with a stranger crying in the middle of his living room.

“Cosmic collision? Like the weed?” He understands all the individual words Jungkook uses, but none of them in how he has strung them together.

The man bites his lip. His teeth wiggle as they dig into the pink flesh. At night they had appeared sharp, but in the daylight, they are blunt and almost too big for his face.

“Not the weed,” he says without further explanation.

Hoseok’s grip on Yoongi’s neck tightens until he turns to look at him. Human? He mouths not so subtly.

Yoongi shakes his head. Nothing about any of this makes sense. With a sigh, he runs his hands down his face and grimaces at how oily his skin feels.

“Look,” he starts, furrowing his eyebrows in Jungkook’s direction. “I’m gonna take a shower. And then I’m gonna drink a cup of coffee. By that point, I expect you to have called Jin or Jimin, fuck, I don’t care who, to take you home. Okay?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, likely to protest, but Yoongi tuts his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Nope. I said what I said.”

“Yoongi-ya,” Hoseok protests on behalf of the bewildered man. He follows Yoongi back into his bedroom, awkwardly wringing his hands as he watches him look for clean clothes to wear. “He seems genuine…”

“Genuine?” Yoongi scoffs.

Hoseok shoots him a glare. “Yes.”

“Did you not hear him, Hoba? Humans? Cosmic collisions? Portals? Last night he said he goes by ‘Jungkook’ when he’s in this realm and made some weird ass clicking sounds like The Predator, like that was supposed to be his fucking name.”

“Okay… that is a bit strange… But I think you’re being harsh. Clearly, the guy is confused, and if he’s a friend of Jin, I think you should be nicer to him.”

“Jin gives me the creeps, too.”

“Yoongi!” Hoseok untangles his fingers to wave them around. “Just, just take your shower. I will get all of us coffee, and we will sort this out.”

They do not sort this out.

While Yoongi showered, Hoseok probed Jungkook a bit further. It was all more or less the same, though. Utter nonsense.

He discovered that Jungkook didn’t know what coffee was, didn’t seem to understand why Hoseok had initially been upset that he’d seen him naked because “nudity is the natural state of all humans,” and seemed shocked that Hoseok could “alter” his features - pointing at the deep orange he had recently dyed his hair. As if to explain his thought process about the hair observation, Hoseok watched with thinly-veiled horror as Jungkook’s hair turned a deep purple right before his eyes.

Needless to say, as Yoongi inches his way into the kitchen after a shower that should have been refreshing but only left him feeling cold, he does not expect to see Hoseok leaning across the kitchen table to stare unblinking at their odd guest. Their odd guest whose previously-dark hair is an icy blue.

“Umm?”

Hoseok lifts his eyes to Yoongi. They’re bright and full of wonder, so shiny Yoongi worries he might be on the verge of tears. Out of sadness or something else, he’s not sure.

“He’s magic.”

Jungkook giggles at Hoseok’s declaration. However, one look at Yoongi’s narrowed eyes makes him clap his hand over his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“He can change his hair color. And his eyes! See, look. Show him, Jungkookie.”

Jungkookie? In the time it took Yoongi to shower, they’d gotten on nickname-level?

Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Yoongi forgets about his previous threat to kick Jungkook out. Instead, he sits at the table, lets the mug warm his hands, and tries to tell himself that the wave of heat burning down his body is from the coffee and not the intensity of Jungkook’s stare.

A stare that glows brighter the longer Yoongi looks at him until he watches the turquoise rings turn a deep pink. When Yoongi finally pulls his gaze from his eyes, he sees that Jungkook’s hair compliments his new eyes.

“What in the actual fuck?”

“I can change other parts of my body, too!” Jungkook beams. He shakes his head, and his hair returns to its original black. His eyes’ turquoise rings replace the pink. “It takes a lot of energy to change big things, like my facial structure. Hair and eyes are the easiest. I made myself taller when I first got to Earth, though. I like being tall.”

Yoongi slumps in his seat. If Hoseok wasn’t here witnessing this, he would assume that the weed Seokjin gave him was fucking with him harder than he could have imagined. But Hoseok is entirely sober and untainted by Cosmic Collision.

That means only one thing.

This shit is real. Whatever the fuck this is.

“Where were you before you came to Earth?” Hoseok is too willing to go along with this. But, on the other hand, Yoongi feels like everyone is playing a game he doesn’t know the rules to.

Jungkook’s nervous lip-biting returns, but he seems to push through his feelings. “Our planet is called Zephipra.” He shoots a quick look at Yoongi. “It is further into the universe than you humans have visited. Your scientists do not know about us.”

“So you’re an alien?” It comes out like a challenge without Yoongi meaning for it to. He feels a tiny bit bad when Jungkook deflates, closing in on himself as he draws his shoulders inward.

“We don’t like that term.”

Hoseok reaches an arm across the table. He flips his palm upward as though offering it to Jungkook to hold.

“What is a better term for you?” he asks softly, and Yoongi envies his roommate’s ability to be unconditionally kind.

It takes a few minutes of silence before Jungkook hesitantly squeezes Hoseok’s hand.

“I suppose extraterrestrial, but my people are called Zephi. That is also the language we speak.”

The gulp of coffee Yoongi takes is scalding. He should have waited for it to cool, knows this means his tastebuds and throat are burnt to shit and nothing will taste good for days. But he needs something to do as Jungkook rambles on about the history of aliens like this is all real.

Hoseok hums along, asking a few follow-up questions when something Jungkook says confuses him. Yoongi finds it all confusing, but he doesn’t say anything.

“So,” Hoseok claps his hands together and startles Yoongi out of his thoughts. “You said you’re stuck here until some kind of space phenomenon happens?”

Jungkook nods.

“And there’s absolutely no other way to get home?”

Another nod.

“Hmm…”

Yoongi accidentally catches Jungkook’s eyes once again. He knows his cheeks burn, but he doesn’t understand why. The heat only dissipates once Jungkook averts his gaze.

“How long does it take, usually?”

Jungkook draws the coffee Hoseok fixed for him closer. He peers down at the dark liquid and gives the light steam radiating off the surface a few sniffs. Yoongi doesn’t want to find how he scrunches his nose adorable, but he can’t stop the thoughts once they start.

“Hmm, usually a few weeks.” He looks at Yoongi again, and Yoongi really wishes he’d stop doing that. “Sometimes a month or two, right?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up into his bangs. “How would I know?”

“Well, how often do you purchase marijuana from Elder Seokjin?” When Yoongi doesn’t respond, Jungkook sighs. It’s the first time he looks genuinely upset. “I have never been here alone.”

By the time what Jungkook has said clicks in Yoongi’s head, he and Hoseok have migrated back to the living room. Yoongi scrambles after them as he pulls up Discord on his phone. No new messages from WWHandsome#7451.

Scrolling through their history, he finds that there is a pattern to how often Yoongi buys from him. Once he sorts through stoner memes and news articles about the legalization of marijuana at the federal level, he can see that each conversation about picking up a new order occurs around every four to five weeks. Yoongi rarely initiates the conversation; he doesn’t have to. Seokjin will let him know he has a new supply, and Yoongi suddenly realizes that, yeah, he’s almost out. He mentally joked with himself about how astute Seokjin is, that he must have some sort of supernatural sense to know when Yoongi is running low.

Now Yoongi wonders if there’s more to it than that.

“Are you not supposed to be here on your own?” Hoseok drapes a blanket around Jungkook’s shoulders and tucks him into the corner of the couch where the cushions are the comfiest. With Jungkook taken care of, he flops onto the couch beside him, leaving Yoongi room on the opposite end.

Although Yoongi considers himself to be a pretty reliable guy, Hoseok’s ability to take control of an emotionally-charged situation is Yoongi’s saving grace. Unfortunately, he’s not the best when it comes to emotional shit.

Jungkook tugs at his earrings once again. His other hand curls into a fist he repeatedly hits on the top of his thigh. It’s not hard or aggressive, but it’s distracting.

“No. I am an… intern? I believe that is the correct term. Only researchers are allowed on Earth alone. Interns must stay with their research mentor. Mine is Elder Seokjin.”

Hoseok lets out an understanding hum. He peeks at Yoongi out of the corner of his eye, but Yoongi doesn’t think he gives Hoseok much to go off of. Yoongi still has no idea what to think about all this; his brain won’t let him.

The three men are silent for what feels like forever. The air is full of tension, although Yoongi wonders if he’s the only one who notices it. Jungkook simply looks worried, his fist still thumping against his thigh and his fingers playing with his earrings. Hosoek is almost completely relaxed. Yoongi knows his roommate well enough to tell from how his shoulders sag, and that he’s reaching for the pre-rolls and lighter resting on the coffee table.

“Is this the 93 Boyz?”

Yoongi shakes his head, amazed that his friend can casually light up a joint as if this is just a normal day. “Chem Valley Kush.”

“Nice,” Hoseok speaks out of the corner of his mouth before inhaling as he brings the lighter to the tip of the joint.

Jungkook makes a small noise, perhaps a cough, when Hoseok exhales. His cute little nose wrinkles up, and Yoongi remembers that he doesn’t like the smell of weed.

“Want some, kiddo?” Hoseok hands the joint to Jungkook, who hesitantly pinches it between his fingers like a snake ready to lunge at him.

With furrowed eyebrows, he brings the joint to his lips and sucks in the smoke. Yoongi averts his eyes when Jungkook looks up at him through his lashes, cheeks pink and hollowed. There’s something about the guy that makes Yoongi’s skin crawl.

Despite his dislike of the smell of weed, Jungkook takes a few hits of the joint like a champ, only coughing once, and even then, the sound was dainty and soft.

Yoongi accepts the joint from Hoseok when Jungkook passes it over. He tries not to think about how Jungkook’s lips had just wrapped around the end of the joint, the same place Yoongi is about to put his lips. He keeps the hit quick and deep, passing it on to Hoseok before he’s barely inhaled fresh air to push the smoke further into his lungs.

Only after Hoseok starts the second round of the rotation does he say, “Well, you’ll just have to stay here until the collision or whatever happens.”

Yoongi’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach while a blinding smile blooms across Jungkook’s face. “Whoa, wait a second. Why can’t he go back to their house?”

“We can’t leave him alone!” Hoseok chastizes him as though this is the most obvious solution to their dilemma.

“Hoba, where is he going to sleep?”

“Your room.”

Yoongi scoffs. If it’s Hoseok’s bright idea, it should be him giving up his bedroom. “Then where am I sleeping?”

“The couch.” Hoseok shrugs and passes the joint to a still-hesitant Jungkook. “Or with him, if you’re gonna be a little bitch about the couch. Do you care, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook inhales too deeply and sputters a rough “No, of course not” in between coughs that sound painful.

There’s no way in fuck Yoongi’s going to sleep in the same bed as an alien. “Do ali- I mean, Zephi, even need to sleep?”

Smoke rushes out of Jungkook’s nostrils. The rigid set of his jaw makes him look older and more angular. The masculine aggression of it makes Yoongi’s stomach twist - which he ignores.

“Yes,” Jungkook hisses. “We are not freaks.”

“No one said you were, kiddo.” Hoseok lightly flicks Jungkook under the chin before shoving the joint in Yoongi’s face with a grimace. “You, behave.”

With that, Hoseok rises from the couch. He places his hands on his hips and looks between the two men. Yoongi hates when he gets like this, calculating. Usually, whatever that over-imaginative brain cooks up is never good for Yoongi.

“Is there anything at your house you need while you stay with us?” Hoseok asks with his head tilted to the side as he examines Jungkook.

The alien - Zephi - chews on his bottom lip. His cheeks are still pink, as are his eyes. Except this time, it’s from being high rather than being some supernatural oddity.

“They took all my things when they returned home,” Jungkook admits after a long pause. He stares at his hands in his lap, lacing and unlacing his fingers to the point that Yoongi wants to grab his wrists and force them to his sides. “I don’t require much, though. I do not want to be a bother.”

At that, he steals a shy glance at Yoongi. Yoongi feels heat spread over his cheeks, so he opts to look at Hoseok instead. Which is a mistake because his roommate is glowering at him.

“Jungkookie, no matter how much of a dick Yoongi is, I promise you are not a bother,” he speaks to Jungkook but keeps his eyes on Yoongi.

“I’mnotadick,” Yoongi grumbles. He folds his arms against his chest and stares at his reflection in the TV. It’s not a clear reflection, but it’s enough to tell that his hair is, rather unfortunately, sticking straight up on his head.

“Anyway, I’ll let you borrow some of my clothes. I tend to wear them baggy, so they should fit you fine. I have to go to work soon - I’m a hairstylist. Fucked up, working on the weekends, right? Ahh, but anyway, you can stay with Yoongi.”

Jungkook merely nods with bright, round eyes gazing up at Hoseok as though the man is divulging his most remarkable secrets.

“And if he’s mean to you, you can, I don’t know, shoot him with lasers out of your eyes or whatever scary things you’re capable of.”

“Oh, I would never do that,” Jungkook quickly disagrees, turning those beautiful eyes to Yoongi.

“You can do that?”

“Yes, but I promise I wouldn’t do that to you. I promise.”

Yoongi throws his head back against the couch and groans. His body starts to slip down the cushions, but he does nothing to stop himself from falling onto the floor.

“You cannot leave me with him, Hoba.”

“Oh, hush.” Hoseok swats the back of Yoongi’s head as he makes his way to his bedroom to get ready. “You’ll be besties in no time.”

do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my work

#yoongi x jungkook #jungkook x yoongi #yoonkook au #min yoongi #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #cosmic collision #jai writes #gimmethatagustd

127 notes · View notes

xiaowhore · 2 years

Text

them as sappy lovers

includes: thoma, childe, xiao & albedo !

thoma

word spread fast when thoma gained a lover. but really, it wasn't circulating rumors nor gossipmongers at fault — it was thoma himself, who could never seem to shut up about his significant other. the lovesick chatter seemlessly leaves his lips without shame, and you swore the entire nation of inazuma knew he was dating you at this point.

it's incredibly obvious when something good happens concerning you, whether it be him receiving a kiss on the cheek or a simple “i love you” before parting ways to attend to your respective work; thoma would grin foolishly the whole day and skip along the grassy fields akin to a lovestruck maiden experiencing her first love, randomly picking out flowers to gift you later. conversely, it's also evident whenever an argument tears you apart; thoma bears a hilarious kicked puppy look, similar to a dejected golden retriever being reprimanded by its owner.

(this is also when thoma shares too much information about his private life as he drinks away his sorrows, mourning over the distance you've placed between you until you forgave him. “they'll never forgive me. what do i do if they want to break up,” he hiccups, shit-faced and slumped over the table. everyone knows he actually has nothing to worry about, especially when you arrive at the bar to take him home, catering to his every whim and putting up with his clingy nature.)

childe

the ruthless and coldblooded tartaglia is nearly unrecognizable when accompanied by his lover. frighteningly so, in fact; the subordinates under his care are often stupefied when they happen to witness their boss making kissy faces unfit for a harbinger to have.

it's never easy to keep a straight face on when tolerating the sight of their leader coddling you in the middle of an important meeting, fearless even in the midst of la signora's supervision. (he's not seriously thinking they don't notice him playing footsie with you under the table, does he?)

moments where his hand is vacant are few and far between, always found tangling with your fingers or holding your waist. yes, you're that annoying couple who flirts everywhere, but you're not at fault. he finds every opportunity to throw in some cheesy pick-up line that he's sure wouldn't make you swoon, but he says it regardless just to see you snort and poke fun at him.

“marry me?” he'd say jokingly while sliding a ring on your finger, yet another one of the presents he frequently showers you with. you stare at him in contemplation.

“sure.”

he chokes, makes an odd strangling noise, and loudly demands no take-backs.

xiao

he's like a wary stray cat that has finally been tamed.

he doesn't recoil from your touch anymore, even nuzzling to it on occasion. he remains as quiet as ever, but he's an attentive listener who's more than willing to hear you out. he's awkward with romance, clumsy when it comes to skinship, but he's so endearing that you find it adorable. (not that you'd tell him that.)

he eagerly waits for your visits at the top of wangshu inn, sharp eyes scanning the vicinity in search for your silhouette. he can hear the telltale sound of your footsteps from behind, but grants you a shocked expression when you give him a “surprise” hug nonetheless, if only to see your face lighten up to a triumphant grin. “did i scare you?”

if there's anything that scares him, it would be how fast his heart is racing right now.

thump, thump, thump. the setting sun graces your skin with a soft glow, golden rays illuminating your pretty eyes. your grin reduces to a gentle smile as you patiently wait for him to speak, fixing him with an affectionate gaze he feels undeserving of. the corners of his lips pull upwards, and he shyly takes your hand into his.

“you did.”

albedo

it's become a habit for sucrose to ignore the little sketches on albedo's notes without actively pushing herself to disregard them.

it was eye-catching at first, a series of rough drafts vaguely hinting at a figure she was familiar with. the shape of their smile, the brightness of their eyes, the hands holding their favorite flowers; sucrose could immediately tell who the pictures were trying to portray, and she could feel her face grow warm.

it's no secret that albedo is hopelessly in love with you. he gifts you trinkets he personally tinkered with, gives you the pretty flowers from his experiments, and shows you “magic tricks” with the help of alchemy. all to see your radiant smile, glowing in delight. it's a small happiness, one that he reminisces in fond when his thoughts are in disarray and he needs a moment of peace.

you're the burst of color in the dull passage of time, the vibrant reds and yellows that remind him of warmth, the calming blues that soothe his worries. the pinks that flush his cheeks and set his heart ablaze, the green that makes him think of pasture and new life.

he picks up his brush and turns to the blank canvas, humming to himself. he wonders if he'd ever be able to paint how beautiful you truly are.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #thoma x reader #thoma imagines #childe x reader #childe imagines #xiao x reader #xiao imagines #albedo x reader #albedo imagines

5K notes · View notes

celeste-clearwater-06 · 3 years

Note

hello. it is i. so! i was wondering if you could do a little ditty abt nail polish with the company and/or the fellowship? basically like modern girl in middle earth type stuff, and she realizes that she has nail polish on her which is something they totally don't have in middle earth. basically headcanons abt like how they would react to painted nails and which one of these mfs would let me paint their nails. cuz like - they dont know its just a "fem" thing here so no toxic masculinity. ty <3

OMFG I'M SO HYPED FOR THIS! I just picked a few random Tolkien characters that seem to have a lot of attention, so I hope you like this!!

Nail Polish (LOTR/THE HOBBIT X READER)

Frodo~

I feel like Frodo would be very skeptical at first

Because, come on, a girl falling into Middle Earth out of nowhere??

However, his interest is certainly peaked, seeing you twist the brush away from it's blue colored bottle as you smile down at it

"What's that, you've got there?"

"Oh, just some nail polish!"

He watches with curiosity as you perfectly decorate your nails with the periwinkle color

"How interesting..."

He may not want to have his nails painted at first, but has this deep fascination with how perfectly you can paint them without screwing up

Soon, he forgets all about the ring as you paint your nails, sitting cross-legged and starting with those huge blue eyes with interest

If he allows you to paint his nails, he would smile the whole time

I mean HIS TINY HANDS?!?!

What a bean 🥺

Tries his best not to chip the color when he leaves for Mordor with Sam

Gollum is actually really interested with his nails

"whAT IS IT prECI0us?!?1!1?"

But Frodo will swat his hands away, because "it's a gift from someone important."

The one thing that keeps him smiling along the way 😊

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Legolas

Elf prince is so interested!!

He thinks the spring green color looks so pretty in the bottle

He's obviously not used to most thing from your world

Asks politely;

"How do you use this?"

"...can I show you?"

So whenever the Fellowship stops for the night, he watches with amusement as your brows furrow and you stick your tongue out in concentration

Legolas sits very still, so it's easy for you to paint his nails

How does he keep them so clean?!

He's low-key obsessed with how satisfying it is...

wAIT...

Now HE wants to paint YOUR nails?

THE PRECISION...

He's so good at it!

Legolas is so patient and calm

He says it reminded him of making flower crowns I guess?

And he doesn't even mess up once 😳

THE MASTER NEEDS TEACHING, DAYUM-

He gets so happy with how the color matches him!

Forgets that you have to let it dry at first, so it gets a bit smudged when he draws his bow

Upset Legolas :(

But you fix it for him, and he's happy again!

CAN

NOT

STOP

LOOKING

He's amazed!!

And so proud!

Pretty Elf 🥰✨

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Pippin

Pippin is very confused, to say the least

He though it would be something relatively close to a nail filer

But once he sees the pastel yellow color, on your own fingers, he has to have some!!

WILL

NOT

SIT

STILL

While you're trying to paint his hands and feet (by request), he's telling you great tales of the shire, a throwing his limbs around to exaggerate his story

You've to clonked him on the head and scolded him quite a few times

For some reason, he's saying it tickles??

"It does! The brush is like feather!"

Painting his toes it a lot easier, seeing he can't really feel much on his feet

The color goes perfect with his green eyes 🥴

Also, let's not forget that Pip is the definition of "disaster-on-legs"

After the polish dries, it immediately chips, since he's busy causing trouble with merry or practicing his hand with Boromir

He really wants to paint your nails, and you let him do so...

Poor hobbit has zero clue with how this shit works 🤦‍♀️

He feels so bad about getting it all over your fingers, but you assure him it'll be fine and that it will eventually wash off in a few days

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Boromir

HE WANTS TO USE IT RIGHT AWAY-

Pink, as cliche as it sounds, suits him so well

He's just amazed!

Also, really likes the smell 🤔🤔

Is grinning like an idiot while you're painting his nails

"Such talent and patience you have!"

"Pfft, it's really nothing. Takes a bit of practice is all."

Afterward, is flashing his bright pink nails at everyone

"Look at Y/N's spectacular skill of hand!"

I think Boromir would have a habit of picking at the polish after it dries

But that's okay, he doesn't mind too much

It gives him more time to spend with you while you repaint them!!

He's afraid he'll screw up your nails if he tries to paint them, so he never offers

That's alright though, since you know he only means well 😊

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Thorin

Oh he's so regal

You were in Rivendell, digging through your purse, and suddenly

Tada!!

A deep navy blue bottle, probably about half empty was revealed

He was curious, but tried not to let it show, since that would damage his royal ego 🙄

"What is that?"

"Oh, just some nail polish. Wanna try some?"

Thorin would insist that you show him how it works first

And so, you did

He definitely admires the color

But defied any suggestion of you painting his own nails

That would be "un-kingly" 😤

Okay so maybe he lets you paint his pinky finger when nobody is around

But he smiles (a rare sight) while watching you paint your nails

And does give a somewhat compliment at your articulate handwork

"It looks exceptional as artwork."

"Erm... Thanks?"

He definitely thinks the color matches you beautiful skin tone 😌

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Kili ~

Prince Dumbass LOVES red

It reminds him of Tauriel 🥰

One night, you left your bag opened on the ground as you went off to get some food from Bombur, and Kili couldn't help but notice the glittering ruby bottle inside

He grabbed it, being the nosy prince he was, and examined its glow in the firelight

"What kind of jewel is this?"

"Oh hey, my nail polish!!"

Very confused

"Why does it smell so strange?"

Thankfully, being a dwarf, his fingernails are a bit bigger, so there's more room and it's easier to paint

He, like Pippin, has issues with sitting still and gets you really annoyed

"I swear to all things fluffy, if you don't sit still I will cut off all of that hair in your sleep-"

"😳"

He immediately smudges them, and then you have to paint them AGAIN

Once they FINALLY dry, he won't let anyone touch them

"Stop it, Fili! You'll damage them!"

He can't stop touching them, since it's so smooth!

The others tease him, but he doesn't mind, as long as they stay nice and clean

Turns into a whiny toddler the MINUTE they chip

"Y/nnn! I need you to repaint them!"

"I just painted them yESTERDAY-"

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Fili

A mix of Thorin and Kili when it comes down to it

Definitely prefers gold 😌✨

Sees you painting your nails one night in the library in Erebor

"What have you got there sagh (friend)?"

"Just some nail polish. Wanna try some?"

Once again, he wants to see what it does like Thorin

And you of course happily oblige

Admires the color greatly

He says it reminds him of the gold floors in his kingdom, and it makes you chuckle

Fili loves to have his nails painted, and especially with such a regal hue 💅😌

DAMN does it bring out those baby blues 🥴

After that, you stare at his hands a lot, proceeded by his flirtatious teasing

Shows up Kili's sparkly red polish with his "more extravagant" color

He is also very protective of his nails and tries his very best to keep them from chipping

You love watching him hold his weapons and spar with his pretty nails 😳

Even with his larger hands, made for forging and wielding huge swords and axes and smelting, he had an incredibly steady and gentle hand when it comes to this subject, so he's AMAZING at painting his and your nails

Fili insists that you have matching nails all the time, and it's a regular thing for you to hang out and talk about your day while you paint each others nails 🥺

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Thranduil

Have you MET this man?!

KING OF DIVAS 💅💅

At first, he's very weirded out

"What do you have in your hand, mellon (friend)?"

"Oh, just some nail polish."

"Interesting..."

Thranduil watches intently over your shoulder as you carefully decorate your nails with a glossy black polish, sitting directly next to his throne

"Do you want me to paint your nails?"

"Hm?"

He reluctantly agrees, placing his BEAUTIFUL hand in yours and stares down at your gentle talented work

He loves the color more than he cares to admit, and much like his son sits very still as you lead the brush over his clean nails

The elf king loves seeing your tongue stick out in concentration

You remind him that it'll need time to dry out

And as he says in his notoriously sassy voice;

"I thousand years is a mere blink in the life of an elf... I'm patient... I can wait."

Ofc, you just scoff at this and tell him it'll only take about five to ten minutes

He just nods and stares back down at them with admiration

Thranduil doesn't do much around his kingdom, except maybe get a bit drunk and direct orders to his guards, so it's no worry about him chipping or ruining his nails

I hope you liked this, just as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Have a lovely day, and don't forget that requests are open as always!! ❤❤😊

1K notes · View notes

peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Text

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

#john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby fluff #john shelby series #john shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinder fanfic #john shelby smut #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader

352 notes · View notes

wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Crawl Home to Her

summary: Stranded without coms, alone, and bleeding out in the middle of a Russian snow storm, Bucky is content to let nature take its course. Only you won’t seem to let him go. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8k warnings: passive suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, ghosts???, its all very confusing but humor me ok, a/n: based on Work Song by Hozier ✨

No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Laid amongst old wooden floors rotted in decades of weathering and the whistling brush of wind sweeping in steady drift of snow from the open doorway, Bucky wondered whether he might have preferred the coffin of ice Hydra once shoved him in for storage.

The chill nestled deep into his bones and he tried not to focus on the small puff of breath as it touched over chapped, cracked lips. It was the only warmth he had left and that, too, was leaving him.

It was getting hard to breath under the sting of freezing temperatures barreling into the cabin; sharp, like crystals had formed in his lungs and punctured into his chest from the inside. The fireplace long extinguished, his rifle laid in a heap amongst his tactical vest and gear too far out of reach. He was unprepared when the mercenaries barreled in through the windows, leaving shattered glass along the floor, safe house exposed to the elements of a Russian winter.

He’d stopped shaking an hour ago, which he knew was a bad sign. His body had given up on fabricating false heat through the tremors in his arm and legs, the twitches of his breaths, the chattering of his teeth. The serum only did so much before he was left with the frayed remnants of his humanity to cover the slack.

Bucky’s fingers dipped down and glazed over a thick, warm pool at his stomach. He pulled his hand back to find an unsettling, deep red coating his skin. It was warm to the touch and it dripped down along his fingertips into his palms, soaking into the dried patches.

A violent cough suddenly broke through his chest and Bucky’s head fell back to the floorboards, a dull ache in his stomach from the effort. He could taste copper on his tongue as a fuzziness began to take over, like he was floating on the edge of a cloud, somewhere high up in the sky. It was a pleasant feeling, he decided, a break from the world that had not shown him kindness in nearly a century.

He stared up at the ceiling, at the blades of a fan lined in decades of dust, as it spun around and around and around and around and —

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky jolted awake, a sharp flinch through this nervous system like the current of electricity. Eyes wide open, he turned to find a figure sitting on the loveseat to his left. The fabric was torn in the trajectory of dozens of bullets, cotton lining oozing out the cushions and littered amongst the snow. It was too dark to see but the dim flicker of the swaying light in the kitchen illuminated the corner for only a second. It was enough to still his heart.

“Y/n?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a scowl on your face as lips pursed together.

“Hey Buck.”

No.

No. That—that can’t be right...

You were wearing a SHEILD crewneck with a rip on the hem of the sleeve, faded in color from the wash, and a pair of sleep shorts he’d seen you in dozens of times. The slight imprint of a pillow case fold on your cheek, your hair a little out of place in sleep, and cast in the glow of sunshine through his bedroom window despite the stars littering the night sky outside the cabin’s door.

It was what you were wearing when he left on assignment two weeks prior. He knew because he memorized every moment he left you behind.

There was always that uncertainty, that knowledge that every mission could be his last, so he took the time to bring you with him; a memory, an image, of you laying under rustled sheets, curled up against his pillow with that pout on your lips as you told him ‘five more minutes, baby’ when he was already ten late.

He held that memory close because he could feel himself slipping. The blood pooling at his stomach was seeping into the floor beneath him and he felt dizzy, the spin of the fan above him throwing him off balance even as he laid completely still. It was the last good thing he had left -- this image of you -- because he knew it was time to let go, time to let the universe make things right again, to take him from the time he never belonged in.

There was a relief in that... almost.

"You’re not giving up, are you?”

Bucky gritted his teeth as your voice pulled him back sharply from the edge of dreamless sleep. He glanced over to you and found there wasn’t a trace of goosebumps on your skin amongst the snow sliding along the floorboards by your feet. You were unbothered by the rush of wind barreling in through the open door though it picked up in the small wisps of your hair, carrying them away from your face before it settled again.

“This isn’t happening. You’re not real,” Bucky chanted under his breath, but the way you were looking at him—Jesus—he'd seen that look too many times before. The pinch of your brows, the slight tug of your cheek between your teeth, your eyes narrowing down on him from a distance, never in anger, but determination.

Bucky closed his eyes, clenched his jaw real tight, but he could still hear as you push yourself up off the couch, the slight squeak of floorboards under your feet as you paced. Bucky dared to steal a glimpse and you were kneeling down over one of the mercenaries he was able to get a shot in before hell broke loose. You pursed your lips, tilted your head just so, and pulled off his helmet to get a better look. It rolled a good few feet before it hit a sudden stop against the edge of the couch.

It was the wind, he told himself. His mind was playing tricks on him again.

“Jesus, they make ‘em big around here,” you murmured to yourself before you pressed two fingers to the side of the man's neck. You started ruffling through his pockets for weapons and Bucky could hear the jingle of coins in his pockets, the swish of the fabric. He was certain he’d gone mad.

“You need to get warm, Buck,” you told him and a coat dropped down on his left. “You’ll die if you don’t.”

“You’re not real,” he argued, keeping his eyes closed, hoping that you’d just disappear and let him die in peace. “You’re... you’re in my head.”

It was hard enough knowing he was going to die in Russia of all places before you ever knew he was in trouble, hard enough to imagine you crying over his body as his skin paled to blue and grey, hard enough that he’d already said his last goodbye, already had the last kiss from your lips…

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in your head or not, Bucky,” you warned, though he was almost certain he could feel the warmth of your breath touch his skin as you leaned down next to him. “You’ll die if you stay here. Do you understand? You’ll die."

Your hand slid into his hair and he could feel the trace of your fingertips, your nails, on his scalp; combing through locks matted in blood and dirt and drawing shivers in his spine untouched by the cold.

He whimpered, tears burning at the corner of his eyes, because you were right there and somehow not at all. He didn’t want to say goodbye but his energy was draining. It slipped from him in every breath, the pain becoming a tired memory and he knew his body was giving in.

He’d spent so much time fighting in his life. He just wanted to rest. That’s all. Just some time to rest...

“Bucky!”

He snapped awake, heart beating frantically for a few minutes before it lulled again; his breaths too short, too far apart.

You were hovering over him, hair falling down into your face and there was real fear in your eyes. Your hands settled on his chest, trying to draw his attention back to you and he was certain he could feel the pressure of it, the grip of your fingers to the fabric of his shirt. The touch of a ghost.

“You need to get up. We’ve got to get you out of here,” you ordered, hands fumbling for the coat you dropped by his side and trying to drape it over him, but he pushed your hands away. You sat back on your heels, wide eyed, desperate.

“I’m already dying, sweetheart,” Bucky choked out, voice raspy and raw. “There's nothing left to do. Coms are out... nearest town is a dozen miles away... I’m-- fuck—I've got at least four bullets in me. This is it, honey. I’m-- I’m sorry...”

It hurt as he said it and he dared himself to meet your eye. Draped in sunlight and all that was ever good in his life, you were an ethereal wonder; a stunning image of the women he left behind, even if his mind was fading on the edge of insanity. It was nice, he thought, to see this memory of you one last time, to hold onto it tighter as the darkness gently carried him away from this world.

His hand lifted slowly, wanting to touch you one last time, and he was surprised when it didn’t slip straight through you like a ghost, but instead, landed tenderly against your cheek. So tangible, warm to icy chill of his hand, he could feel the clench in your jaw, the strain of the muscle, the divot of a scar by your ear.

A final blessing he didn’t deserve.

“Bullshit.”

He winced as you grabbed a firm hold of his wrist and pulled it from your face. Everything started to hurt again, in his chest, his stomach. He was falling apart.

“I’m so sorry, honey, I’m—I’m not making it out of—”

“Bull. Shit.”

You slammed your hands to the floor beside him and suddenly, you were up and rummaging through the kitchen, tossing old utensils around and making a mess of the withering cabinets. You tore them to shreds, emptied the drawers onto the floor, the shattering of glass and the crash of metal to tile in an unsettling scream.

“You don’t get to do this. Do you hear me? Not after all you went through! Just to die in fucking Russia!”

Bucky swallowed though it tasted like bile. You tossed out the mugs from a cabinet with the swipe of your hand and the sound they made as they crashed to the floor skipped several beats in Bucky’s dimly beating heart.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky tried again, voice falling on empty, a whisper, “no one’s comin’...”

“Then you fucking get up and get to a goddamn phone!”

You froze then, your hand curling around whatever you were looking for with a sigh of relief. As you stomped back over to him, Bucky looked down at your grasp to find two sets of hand towels and an ace bandage clutched in your grip.

You were grumbling under your breath as you sank down to your knees. Hands shaking, you pushed up at the thin fabric of Bucky’s shirt. He didn’t even hiss as the cold air touched his skin. That wasn’t good.

You pressed a towel to his open wounds, hard enough for Bucky to groan at the impact and he bit down hard on his tongue. There was no apology as you wiped away the pools of blood, tossing aside the soaked towel to the corner and pressing down a new one in its place. You were angry, furious even, and Bucky had only seen you like this once before.

The Hydra base in Siberia. He was surrounded, ordering you to get back to the jet without him though he had no clear path to an exit. It was a diversion, one you saw through instantly, because he had no intention of leaving that warehouse, not as long as you made it out alive. You almost killed him yourself by the time the last Hydra agent fell to the floor. Panting, covered in blood, you had slapped him hard across the face before you gripped at his shoulders and kissed him.

The first kiss between you.

The beginning of it all.

Fitting it should end like this, too.

“Sit up,” you demanded, pulling Bucky back from his memories.

He sighed as he stared up at you, your teeth gritted as you pressed down harder to his wounds. Everything hurt. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

“Sit. Up.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered, voice breaking in the effort. “I-- I can't, honey. I’m sorry. Just—Just let me go. It’s time, Y/n. It’s okay…”

There was a silence, one that carried over the scream of the wind outside and the scratch of tree branches against the shattered windowpanes. Bucky’s own breaths were shallow, raw and wheezing through his lungs, and they sat in pained contrast to your silent, elongated inhales, the seconds you held them before you released it. He could have heard a pin drop even over the whistling wind and the mess in his chest.

“No.”

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat. “No?”

“No,” you gritted out, sinking back onto your heels. “No! You don’t get to just give up, Bucky. You don’t get to leave me behind!”

“You’re not even here...”

You clenched your teeth, biting on the inside of your cheek. “Maybe not. But you know exactly where I am back home, don’t you?”

Bucky’s jaw wired shut in an instant. It was what he’d been avoiding, why he clung so hard to the image of you as he left, the glow of the sunlight on your skin and the sleepy mess in your hair. The perfect memory to take when him as he died, but it was being ripped from him, torn away in an instant because as you knelt beside him, your ghost began to change.

Dark circles colored under your eyes, a sunken look hollowing in at your cheeks and temples. Your hair fell down from the bun at your crown and braided down the side, a nervous habit you’d taken up to keep your hands busy when you were anxious. Lines formed on your lips, cracking along the center; broken skin now exposed on your knuckles from a restless night in the gym.

Tear tracks burned down your cheeks; some old, some fresh, and your eyes were bloodshot red.

“Please, stop,” he begged, trying to will his mind to give him the memory he had before.

“You know what this is doing to me,” you told him. “You missed your checkpoint eight hours ago, Bucky. We both know what that means. We both know I’m scared out of my mind for you. I’m panicking. I’m desperate to find you and you’re going to give up before I can.”

Bucky closed his eyes, choking back tears as he pictured you frantically pacing back and forth in the intel room next to Steve, waiting by the satellite phone, waiting on a call that would never come. His coms had been destroyed in the shootout, torn and shattered under the boot of a Russian enforcer. There was no way to get word to you, no way for you to track his location. He was entirely on his own.

You would have figured that out by now, too.

He could practically hear your voice as you shouted for an update every few minutes, biting the head off of an Agent who dared to give you any answer outside of Bucky being found safe and on his way home to you. He could see you clenching at your fists, digging your nails into flesh, and shrugging off Steve as he tried to ease your distress. You’d be terrified, with a deep kind of unsettling dread burning like a hole in your stomach. He knew, because it was how he felt when you were on assignment. It was agonizing.

“Don’t do this, Bucky,” you said quietly, softer now, begging. “Don’t give up. Don’t—Don’t leave me.”

He could hardly keep his eyes open, every breath drawing him further away.

“You’ll be okay,” he said slowly, achingly, though a flash of shock widened your eyes. “You’ll be okay without me.”

Bucky’s fingers crawled along the floor to you, nails digging through a mess of blood and splinters before the curled sweetly around the palm of your hand. He squeezed it gently, the most he could manage, and he watched with a fading smile as you stared down to where he held you.

“How could you say that?” you whispered, gaze glued to blood stained hands. You swallowed, a tear slipping past your eye as you turned to find ocean blue. “How could you possibly think that would be true? You’re my life, Bucky. I need you. You can’t—Please, baby. You have to come home to me. You have to.”

“You’ll move on,” he exhaled, closing his eyes as the exhaustion started to pull him under. “It might take some time, but you’ll be fine, honey. You don’t need me. You never did.”

“That’s not true—”

“You were always too good for me,” he chuckled sadly to himself. “At least now you can find someone who really deserves you…”

“Dammit, Bucky!” you cried, hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt and shaking him until he opened his eyes again. “You don’t get to just throw your life away because you have some backwards, fucked up notion that you’re not good enough to love me because newsflash, you idiot, I don’t care! I love you! I love every goddamn part of you and there is not a person on this planet, or any other, that I want to love me the way that you do!”

There was a silence that followed. The whistling wind and the scratch of branches on exposed windows the only solace between you. Your features softened, your hands releasing from his shirt and you gently patted his shoulder, running your fingers along his neck to touch the side of his face. He leaned into the palm of your head, jaw quivering as he bit back tears.

“Why are you here?” he whimpered, voice cracking as a sob crawled its way through his spine. “Why-- Why won’t you just let me go?”

Tears spilled out the corners of Bucky’s sides, sliding down along his temples and soaking into his hair. He was exhausted and aching and – god—he just wanted to sleep.

You smiled sweetly at him, brushed the hair from his eyes. “It’s you, Bucky, don’t you get that? I’m in your head, remember? I’m apart of you. Stop fighting yourself and come with me. Let me help you survive this. It’s why you brought me here in the first place.”

“No... that’s…” Bucky shook his head, heart racing a little faster, “that’s crazy.”

“Crazier than talking to yourself?” you chuckled light-heartedly. “It’s been you this whole time, Buck. Look.”

You gestured to the floor leading into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was a trail of bloody footprints in the size of his combat boots leading into the mess of shattered mugs and scattered utensils. His palms had tiny pieces of broken glass in them, colored in the paint of the kitchenware on the floor.

Then, you showed him the wrapped bandage at his stomach, the one with his own bloody fingerprints at the clasp. He’d done it all himself.

“Your imagination can’t do all that for you, baby,” you said, a soft smile on your face, though it faded to something solemn as he stared at you in shock. “You’re dying, Buck, really dying and I know you’re scared. I know you want to come home. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself.”

“I don’t--” he swallowed, though his throat was dry and it burned amongst the cold air, “I don’t understand…”

“The mind is a funny thing,” you shrugged. “It does what it has to, to keep you alive. This is what you needed, to be reminded of the love you have waiting for you back home when you survive this.”

You nodded to the edge of the cabin, and sure enough, there was Steve standing at the door. Hands tucked into his pockets, wearing the thin white shirt and suspenders from their youth, though it looked a little funny now on the man he was today. He was smiling, that hopeful kind of look in his eye that Bucky never quite learned how to replicate.

Sam stood next to him, hand on Steve’s shoulder, smirk plastered across his face as he nodded at Bucky; the strange and varying brotherhood between the two of them full of bickering fights and unbridled loyalty.

Natasha was on Sam’s left, arms folded, scowl present as her eyes flickered down to the mess of bodies littering the floor. She raised an eyebrow at the burly looking soldier you’d rummaged through the pocket of— or, or maybe it was Bucky, he was still trying to wrap his head around it – and nodded as if she were impressed.

Then, there was Shuri and T’Challa. Lang and Barton. Wanda and Vision. Peter Parker sneaking his way in behind Steve, looking just damn excited to be standing in the presence of Captain America. Even Tony Stark stood in the corner of the cabin; arms crossed, sunglasses on, observing from a careful distance, but still present.

“You’re not alone, Bucky,” you said quietly, drawing his attention back to you. “Not here. Not at home. Please don’t give up on your family. Don’t give up on all you’ve built. We’re waiting for you, honey. Come home.”

A blur in his vision, Bucky couldn’t quite focus on your silhouette, not until you tenderly brushed the tears from his eyes, droplets on the edges of long lashes. He clenched his jaw, searching for a stronger breath as you held his face. Your lips pressed down to his forehead and he found his strength again.

“Okay.”

Bucky grabbed onto the edge of the couch and pulled until his muscles were at their limit. A scream tore threw him, his body raw and broken and falling apart at the seams. It burned in his throat, in his chest, and it echoed deep into the empty cabin. It was no louder than the wind outside.

“Okay,” he repeated as he sat up with his back pressed against the couch. He clutched at his stomach, heavy breaths in his lungs. The bandages were holding up, with little leakage onto his palm in all the effort.

When he looked back over to you, he found you smiling, proud, though your appearance had changed again.

Your hair was pulled down to a bun at the nape of your neck, a few strands falling out the sides. Dressed in a large winter coat with a thick fur around the hood and mittens on your hands; the navy-blue jacket you’d worn in your mission in the Swiss Alps last year where you’d convinced Bucky to stick around a few extra days in the blizzarding cold. You’d told him then how much you loved the snow, the mountains, but mostly the hot chocolate, the fireplaces, the snuggling in close to him at night. It was a pleasant memory.

Bucky smiled back at you, though it took most of his strength. He turned to look at Steve and the rest of his family, but they were gone, disappeared to thin air and his stomach lurched as he quickly shot his eyes back to you.

“You ready, baby?” you asked him sweetly, nodding towards the door.

“Stay with me. Please.” He felt childish as the words left him, talking to what amounted to nothing more than particles of snowfall and thin air, but it carried his whole world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, as if it was never a choice at all, and you offered your hand.

Bucky nodded, stringing together all the strength he had left in his body and slipped his hand into yours. He tried not to think of the logistics of it all, how he was really getting up on his own because you weren’t here to tug him to his feet. It created a dull ache in the back of his head and he figured he better not mess with the remaining functioning pieces of himself. Let his mind get him through this, even if he felt absolutely insane.

“Put the jacket on, honey,” you told him, bending down to grab the coat of the mercenary you’d swiped earlier. “It’ll be a long walk in the cold.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”

The wind barreled in from the open door and it pushed at the little balance Bucky had left, leaving him to sway unsteadily, grunting at the pain that resulted in his stomach. He clutched at the wrapped bandages, relieved when fresh blood did not add to the stains on his fingers and palm.

“Time to go,” you urged him, nodding to the door. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Bucky stared out into the blanket of darkness beyond the door, the snow falling and dancing amongst the violent sweeps of wind, illuminated by starlight untouched by the pollution of a city. He didn’t know where to go, but you promised you’d guide him; a piece of his subconscious that must have picked up on a sign along the road at some point, he figured.

As he made his way to the brutal cold, shivers tremoring in his spine and his feet limping dragging along the floor, facing a journey across miles of exposed land, he was thankful he wasn’t alone.

***

Bucky had never been so cold in his goddamn life; not even when Hydra would put him on ice.

It had been a relief then, a dreamless sleep and safety away from his captures, but this – this was torture in itself. His boots dragged through two feet of snow, the winds picking up the further he trudged out into the darkness. He wrapped the scarf tighter around his face, trying to shield himself from the cold, though ice crystals had formed on his lashes.

Everything hurt and each step was more painful than the last, but he kept moving.

“You’re almost there!” you shouted over the scream of the wind in his ears. You were smiling, jogging out a few paces ahead. It was easier for his feet to carry him when it was you he was walking towards. “Come on, sweetheart. One more mile. That’s it.”

Bucky panted, his breaths far too labored, his head feeling quite fuzzy, but as he looked over your shoulder, he spotted a light in the distance. Blurred by the snowfall, but still clear as day. A gas station with half the letters missing in its name. His saving grace.

“I’m coming, baby,” he whispered and for the first time, he wasn’t talking to the mirage beside him, but the woman waiting thousands of miles away.

Picking up in pace, Bucky pushed himself harder than he’d ever tested the limits of his body before. He knew that without the serum, he would have been dead before he even left the cabin. There were few moments Bucky was ever thankful for the hell he’d been through. This – giving him a second chance to get home to the love of his life – was one of them.

“Careful,” you warned him, gesturing to the trail of red droplets in his wake; blood that had seeped out from the soaked bandages at his stomach and trailed down under his coat to the snow below, marking his path.

Bucky nodded, determined as he finally broke through to solid ground, to dirt roads plowed just enough from the snow, and sprinted the rest of the way. You were on his heels, cheering him on like you did when he first got back on a treadmill after he broke his leg in New Mexico last year. He was smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks, laughing as artificial light illuminated his path.

He shoved his shoulder to the door, winced at the sound of the bell above, and charged straight up to the counter.

A man in a thick overcoat and a fur hat stood behind the counter, reading a newspaper quietly to himself, and paid no mind to the man frantically rushing up to him. He glanced up in Bucky’s direction, eyes flickering to the blood trailing in his wake, before turning back to his paper.

“Phone,” Bucky panted. “I need a phone.”

The man didn’t respond.

“Russian, Buck,” you reminded him quietly to his right.

“фона,” Bucky tried again, slamming his hand down on the table.

The man rolled his eyes and set the paper down. Stone cold expression, he took his time as he muddled around behind the counter, leaving Bucky on edge. You nodded at him, running a hand along his arm to keep him calm.

Then, the man set a flip phone down on the counter. He didn’t say another word as he sat back onto his stool and picked up the paper again.

Bucky grabbed the phone and quickly stumbled his way back to the far end of the convenience stores. Brushing up against rows of chips and shouldered a few to the ground, he was starting to lose his balance again. The dizziness was kicking in and it became evident as he tried to dial the SHEILD emergency call number and kept hitting the wrong numbers.

“Breathe,” you said softly as Bucky started to panic. “Try again.”

Deep inhale in, Bucky typed the ten digits and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times.

“Good morning,” a voice replied, deep and clinical, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky leaned his forehead to the glass of the freezers, cold compress on his skin touching a blaze of heat.

When did he start sweating? When did it start to soak through his clothes?

There was a stickiness under his feet and Bucky glanced down to find blood dripping down from the edge of his coat and staining the dull-white of the plaster floors. Dark red seeping into the cracks between tiles, filtering through years of dirt and dust and muddied tracks. The outline of his boots in perfect pattern.

“Good morning,” the voice said again, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to find his voice, but he was sure he’d left it behind in the cabin. He could hardly hold himself up, his hand slipping on the handle of the freezer doors, nearly taking him down to the ground amongst the blood and dirt.

Under hooded, heavy eyes, Bucky glanced over at you as you nodded encouragingly at him, but there was two of you; swaying over one another, blurred, out of focus.

“Good morning, this is—”

“Baklava,” Bucky muttered the code word between labored breaths, the meaning of it sitting somewhere along the line of I shouldn’t be alive but I am – Fucking come get me. The dizziness was starting to take hold on his body and he leaned his shoulder against the freezer doors in search of the cold glass to offset the burning heat on his skin.

A darkness started to tunnel at his vision, thick black rings closing in around him and he tried to grip at the handles on the doors, but he missed each time; his fingers too weak to grip onto the edge, his vision swaying and doubling over.

The agent on the other end of the phone was asking him questions, but they barely registered, like white noise no louder than the burrowing winds past the door. Bucky clutched at the handle, phone slipping from his grasp as it fell to the ground. He stumbled backwards, hitting a tower of plastic cups as they collapsed around him.

“Bucky, lie down,” you warned gently as he struggled to hold himself up.

“I’m—I’m okay,” he gasped, voice barely a whisper, unintelligible, before the darkness caved in completely and he met the floor.

***

When Bucky came to again, it was to hands gripping harshly at his arms, at his legs, dragging his body onto a rock-hard surface that smelled of plastic and the sting of sterilizing alcohol. Pain ripped through his stomach at the sudden movement and he whimpered quietly, painful breaths in, lips quivering as he tried to bite down hard on the dried, cracked surface; the movement jarring enough to make him wish he was back in the cabin amongst the snow and broken glass.

But there was a hand encasing his. One that was soft, impossibly gentle, a slight squeeze, and Bucky realized there were voices around him. Muffled, barking orders, but they were distant, like an echo at the edge of a ravine. They were too far away for him to hear.

All except one.

“Stop it! Jesus, you’re hurting him,” one of the voices warned; soft and melodic, even within the tension, within the slight tremor of panic. It was a voice that called to him, as the grip on his forearm tightened, and Bucky forced his eyes open.

He was seeing double, couldn’t quite focus on what was right in front of him, but he could see the three agents dressed in black combat vests huddled over him, strapping him on the stretcher while a petite Englishwoman with mousey brown hair and slender fingers worked to stabilize the mess at his stomach.

Then, he focused on the voice to his left, the kind voice, the familiar voice – yours.

“We’ve got to get him out of here, Simmons,” you urged, glancing back at the doors to the shop and the chaos of broken aisles in between. “God knows how long he’s been here like this...”

“I just need to stabilize him before we make a break for the jet,” the woman with the quiet English accent replied. She pressed down hard on Bucky’s stomach and he was surprised to find he didn’t feel a thing.

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat, trying to find his own voice, catch your attention in some way, but you didn’t seem to notice him watching you.

“It’s been ten hours since he missed the checkpoint. Ten hours,” you stressed, your free hand reaching up to brush back hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear. It was then Bucky noticed the braid sitting over your shoulder, the dark tactical suit, and the discoloration under your eyes. There were marks in the shape of crescent moons on your hand from where you’d dug your nails to your skin. You looked tired, scared; it was different than how you appeared when Bucky collapsed.

You gritted your teeth, brushing away tears Bucky so desperately wanted to reach to wipe away if he could only move.

“We don’t know how much blood he’s lost or— or if he has internal bleeding or--”

You froze suddenly, words pulled right out of your mouth as Bucky’s hand twitched under your grip. Slowly, you turned to meet his eye with a kind of panicked shock and relief and an array of complex emotion.

“Bucky?”

He nodded, a weak smile on his face.

You nearly cried. “Oh, thank God you’re--”

“You stayed,” Bucky muttered, voice groggy and slurred. A tired smile etching up against broken lips.

You blinked, biting back your tongue as your eyes shot over at Simmons. She shrugged, working quietly to reseal the bandages at Bucky’s stomach. There was a smile on Bucky’s lips, broken and cracked in dried blood, almost hazy, like he was floating high above in the clouds.

“Honey, I’m here now,” you told him, voice a little cautious, but Bucky shook his head, though his vision was starting to leave him again, the comforting pull of darkness wrapping its arm around him.

“You... you really stayed with me...” His voice was barley a whisper.

Your eyes widened, a fear taking over and your quickly snapped your attention back to the agents surrounding him.

"We need to get him out of here, now,” you ordered as Bucky’s eyes started to flutter closed again and he did not return the grip to your hand when you squeezed. Sudden movements and he was lifted into the air, though your grip on his hand did not leave him.

He fell back to the darkness before the cold air of Russian winter could touch his skin.

***

The first thought Bucky registered was that he was warm. Not warm enough for sweat to form on his brow, but enough so that a chill didn’t press its way into his bones, enough that the thin layer of a freshly washed blanket draped over his legs chased away the goosebumps on his arms.

He blinked his eyes open gently to take in the stream of light from the window to his left and the reflection held against bare, white walls. The room was not one he knew and quiet murmuring of strangers passing by outside in a language he couldn’t place didn’t help the rush of panic etching up through his veins.

Bucky turned to his left to see a monitor carrying his heartrate and the increasingly frantic rhythm of his pulse. There was a bruised mark on his right forearm around an IV that stemmed to a bag hanging over his head.

Could be filled with anything, he reminded himself. Always on the defense. It was how he stayed alive.

A hand settled against his stomach to find it wrapped in bandages, no longer searing in pain, but still sore; a dull ache left behind to remind him it was real, that he’d been shot and left for dead in the frozen wastelands of Russia, that he’d walked miles alone in a blizzard and found comfort in the ghost of –

Bucky jolted upright, a hiss pulling swiftly from clenched teeth as a sharp pain reemerged at his stomach. He groaned, breaths coming in a little heavier now as he glanced around the empty room. Up at the open door ahead of him, he watched as stray physicians and nurses passed by in white lab coats talking quietly amongst themselves in... German, maybe? His brain was too foggy to register much of anything.

“Y/n?” he called in search of your ghost, but his voice was too weak, he could barely hear it himself.

Kicking the blankets away from his legs, Bucky felt a chill sweep up his spine. The pain was excruciating, but he’d been through worse. He ripped the IV from his arm. He kept his hands gripped tight to the mattress, setting his bare feet to the cold floor and wincing as the pain in his stomach worsened with every movement.

But he needed to get out of here. He needed to get home to you. He’d promised.

He set his stance to the ground, careful to hold himself up on the edge of the bedframe, but his legs were shaky under him, muscles unused and tired and so incredibly useless, his left hand started to warp the plastic of the railing in his frustration.

“Bucky?”

Wide eyes shot to the door to find you standing in its frame, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in your hand, lips parted in shock. Your hair was swept to the side in a long braid, dark circles hanging under your eyes, your clothes wrinkled with days of use.

He tried to speak, but suddenly, his hold on the bed frame gave out. The smell of dark roasted coffee beans filled the air before he even met the ground and his skin touched the ice of tile flooring. Sharp pain in his hip and a heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, Bucky tried to find an ounce of his dignity on the ground.

You slid up on your knees beside him; coffee cup noticeably missing from your hands as it laid in a puddle by the door to his room.

“Jesus, Buck, what were you thinking?” you gasped, hands roaming down over his arms, fingers warm to the touch from the coffee you’d held between your palms. A worry line creased in your forehead, lip tugged between your teeth as you grazed your touch over his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and jawline in concentration as you inspected for damage.

Bucky closed his eyes, a little lost in the feeling of it as he leaned into your touch, missing you and wondering how he could possibly feel that heat from your skin.

“You’re lucky you didn’t reopen your stitches,” you murmured, hands touching gently at his wrapped bandaged around his waist. It was still white, at least, so that was something. The scowl on your face was a comfort, something familiar, and he was thankful to have it.

But there were small differences he noticed as you tried to help him back up into the bed. Like how when the light from the window touched your skin, it reflected a little differently, got caught in your eyes and you’d have to squint away from it. Or how there was a new scratch on your jawline he hadn’t seen before. You huffed a hair away from your face as you struggled to life him back to his feet and it fell back into your line of sight almost instantly.

“Give me a sec, I’ll be right back,” you told him before you pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, hands sinking into his hair. It felt so real, he almost convinced himself you were really there.

When you came back into the room, a nurse was at your side, hands planted firmly on her lips.

“I thought you were joking,” the nurse huffed in a thick German accent, exchanging a glance with you. You shrugged, scowl present but lips curved up in a smirk. The nurse groaned, sinking down to the floor to grab Bucky’s arm. “Why would I expect a man who’s been under for nearly a week to just up and walk out the room? Huh? I wouldn’t! No one is that foolish, Sergeant Barnes.”

You were laughing quietly beside her as you helped to guide Bucky back up into the bed. As he settled back into place, he found himself watching you intently as you conversed with the nurse. She told you keep your eyes on him, that he was a flight risk, and that she’d be back to check on him again soon. You nodded, thanking her for her time and quickly pulled up a chair beside his bed.

“You've got terrible timing. You know that, right?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I haven’t left this room for days, Buck, and the second I go to get coffee, you decide to wake up.”

“How long?” he asked quietly and the smile faded from your cheeks.

“Five days,” you told him. “Almost six.”

“Longer since I missed the checkpoint, then,” he reasoned, pinching at his brows. “We should get moving again. I’ve got to get home.”

“What? No,” you said quickly, leaning forward in your chair in an attempt to set your hand on him, but he pushed it away. It seemed to surprise you because you paused for a moment before you said, “Bucky, you’re still healing. You need time before we can—”

“I didn’t almost bleed out in a goddamn cabin in middle of Russia just to end up trapped in some hospital in Germany and still not make it home!”

Bucky threw the blanket off of him again, pushing himself to the edge.

You rushed forward, grabbed a hold of his shins before he could swing his legs off the side of the bed. Your grip was forceful, but not enough to hurt. You planted your hip down on the bed to block his path.

“We’re staying here, Buck,” you pressed, a slight tremor in your voice. “You almost died.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this now?” Bucky groaned and the flash of confusion on your face went unnoticed. “You’re the one that convinced me I had get home, aren’t you? You’re the one who wouldn’t just let me die and made me walk into a fuckin’ blizzard while I was bleeding out! I have to get home to you, right? That’s what you said! I’m not giving up on her – or, or us – or... fuck it— on myself, ok? Whether you’re with me or not. I have to get home to her. Even if I have to fucking crawl.”

Through the frantic swelling in his chest, the heavy pants of his breath, and the dizziness forming back in his head, Bucky didn’t register how quiet you’d become until his eyes flickered over to you. Your body was rigid, lips parted just slightly, a semblance of shock in your eyes and Bucky’s stomach sank.

“Is that... Is that what you meant when you said ‘I stayed with you’? Back in the gas station in Russia? Do you... Do you think you’re just imagining me here?” you asked slowly and a burning heat ached into his cheeks. Something like shame or embarrassment or guilt, but none of it stronger than the relief that coursed through his veins as your hand reached out for him, fingers encasing his. Smaller than his own, warmer, and so real he could feel the divots of your lifeline and old scars and the soothing trace of your nails. Tangible. Real.

“I...” Bucky started, stealing a glance up at your eyes before they darted back down to your hands wrapped so tenderly around him. He exhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, bringing his hands up to your lips and kissing sweetly at his knuckles. You pressed the chill of his fist to your cheek and he could feel the warmth burning there. The way you watched him, with eyes so filled with the kind of love and adoration he’d longed for his entire life, it was enough to mend his heart whole.

“I’m here, Bucky,” you whispered, another kiss to the tips of his fingers and it took the breath straight from his lungs. “I’m really here, honey. Your mind isn’t playing tricks on you anymore. You’re not alone.”

Bucky nodded, watching as you peppered kissed along his hands, over flesh and metal like they were one in the same.

“It felt so real...” he murmured, sinking into the way your hand stretched up along his arm, rising over his neck like the crest of ocean waves, and rested to his cheek. He leaned further into the touch.

“I know,” you soothed, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. “But I’m here now, love. You found your way home.”

Bucky nodded, shifting in the bed just enough for you to crawl in beside him. The dull ache in his stomach lingered, but he didn’t mind, not when you curled up into the crook of his neck, your hand gliding down over the marred scarring on his shoulder, your breath warm against his collar.

“Home,” he echoed, the word slipping from behind broken lips, a curve of a smile etching into his cheeks. He leaned his cheek to the crown of your head, eyes closing in a relief that spread through his chest and through the very ends of his body in a gentle kind of warmth he could only ever hope to find with you resting in his arms.

He found his way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes

3K notes · View notes

sugardaddytonystark · 3 years

Text

Love Bites (Love Bleeds)

author: sugardaddytonystark pairing: vampire Tony Stark x Reader word count: 4000+

*Explicit*

🔊 Love Bites

At thirty-eight years old, Tony Stark was bitten.

That was ten years ago, and he’s been either blessed or cursed to live out eternity in that same body, hidden away from the light, from people. Few know that he’s fallen victim to the virus. Rumors say that he’s just a shut in, an eccentric, only leaving the house when he’s in his armored suit. But you know better.

You have been his court-appointed guardian for a few months now, and you’ve spent more time with Tony in that short time than most people have in the last decade. You two were getting close, but lately he’s been distant, holed up in his basement workshop. And that’s the one place you don’t go, his private sanctuary.

You have free reign of the rest of Tony’s house, it being your home now as well, and you make good use of it. It’s dark now as you make your way down the stairs in a half-stumbling, middle-of-the-night daze. But you know every step by rote, every creak and every corner. So, even though there aren’t any lights on in Tony’s Malibu mansion, you can navigate it just fine.

You do turn on the light when you round the bar nestled into an alcove in the sitting room. You don’t feel like walking all the way to the kitchen, and you know that the mini bar will have stocked some kind of juice for making cocktails.

As you sip on your drink, you look out into the darkness of the living room and see two shining eyes staring right back at you. The glass slips from your hand as you startle, and in your panic, you step directly on the broken shards.

“OW! SONUVA B—”

Before you even realize what’s happening, you’re off your feet, cradled in a pair of strong, solid arms. You look up and it’s Tony, brows furrowed above concerned, blackest-brown eyes. He tries to give you a little smirk when he sees you staring up at him, but the space between his eyebrows is still pinched, the look of worry on his face.

“If you wanted to join me for a nightcap, honey, all you had to do was ask,” he says, voice low and smooth as he carries you into the adjoining living room.

You clench your jaw, trying not to show how much pain you’re in. “Well, you know me,” you say, “can’t do anything without a little flair.”

“Something we’ve got in common,” Tony replies as he lays you down on the couch. He gently places your head against the arm before getting a throw pillow from the chair and placing it behind you. He sits down on the other side and puts your feet in his lap.

“Here, drink this,” he tells you as he leans over your legs to pick up a glass from the coffee table. “Your nightcap.”

You take the drink and just hold it for a moment, letting the cold radiating from the glass sink into your fingertips. You bring it up to your lips and catch the scent of whiskey, of citrus. You didn’t even know Tony could drink alcohol.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he mutters, looking at the sole of your foot, “next time, a little less flair.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, the glass perched at your lips.

He looks up at you beneath thick eyelashes, a flash of crimson in his otherwise dark eyes. He places two fingers under the glass and tilts it up. “Drink,” he tells you. “You’ll thank me later.”

You tip your head back as you down the rest of Tony’s drink. It goes does smooth, heating up the back of your throat, the warmth blossoming in your chest. You hand the empty glass back to Tony and he sits it on the table.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

You nod your head and close your eyes, fists balled and nails digging into your palm as you prepare for the pain. You can feel Tony’s grip on your ankle tighten, and when he pulls the shard of glass out of your foot, you have to try your damnedest to suppress a scream.

His grip tightens even more, managing to ease the pain a little, slow the flow of blood, as he gently slides your bloodied sock off your foot.

“Shit,” he says, dropping the sock from his one hand and your ankle from his other.

Tony grabs the hem of his shirt, brings it up and over his head. He presses it to the sole of your foot to stop the bleeding and you hiss at the pressure, recoiling at the touch. He wraps his palm around the fabric, keeping his shirt tight against the wound, fingers curled up and over the wounded appendage.

His hold on you is tight, forcing you to stay still. His other hand is stroking your ankle, up your shin - a soft, soothing motion. His eyes are cast downward, fixed on the place where you’re bleeding into his wadded-up shirt.

You watch Tony as he works, trying to distract yourself. He’s nice to look at. More handsome in person, even, than in pictures. He has a lean build, slender but with strong muscles under cool, winter-pale skin. His eyes are the darkest shade of brown, flashing with crimson when they hit the light. They’re big and round and warm, making him look innocent and young, even younger than his everlasting thirty-eight years. His hair is dark, his beard slightly longer than stubble. His lips are flower-petal pink.

The angle of the light from above the bar casts half of his face in the shadow, highlighting the slope of his nose, the curve of his cupid’s bow. A glow emanates from the metal embedded in his chest, and now more than ever, you’re reminded that Tony is part man, part myth, and part machine.

He is truly incredible, you think, and not for the first time. He glances up at you, catches your gaze, then quickly averts his eyes.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

“I just… feel like I haven’t seen you in a while,” you reply, feeling like velvet – throat dry, head thick and fuzzy. You don’t know if it’s the blood loss, the drink, or just being in Tony’s presence, but everything is starting to feel slow-moving, like you’re stuck in a daze.

The corner of Tony’s mouth turns up in a smirk, but still, he doesn’t look at you. “Have you been missing me, honey?” he asks.

“Yes,” you tell him, unabashed.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, shakes his head, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he gently peels his shirt from the sole of your foot, inspecting the damage. It must be bad, because you can see his brows furrow again, his nostrils flare.

“Shit, you’re gonna need stitches,” he says. “I’m gonna call the Doc, alright?”

“Wait, Tony,” you say, before he can stand up. “Can’t you just… you know?”

His grip tightens on your ankle. “No,” he says sharply, but he doesn’t try to stand up again.

You’re tired and weak and in pain, so when you whine, “Why not?” you don’t even feel bad about sounding so infantile. “You can heal me in a minute. If not, I’ll be limping around here for weeks.”

Tony, being what he is, can heal a wound almost instantly. His saliva mixed with his blood, and whatever science or magic that is involved, can keep you from being bedridden for however long it would take your wound to heal on its own. You wouldn’t ask normally, but he’s here and, well, you’re curious, not to mention that you’re not ready to be without his touch once again.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to control myself,” he admits to you, softly, as if ashamed.

“I’m bleeding everywhere and you’re controlling yourself now.”

“Do you think this is easy for me?” he responds, almost a growl, his voice deep and low. “I wouldn’t call how I’m feeling ‘being in control.’”

“Maybe not, but you’re doing it!”

You two just stare at each other, neither of you budging nor relenting. It’s not even awkward, just tense, this silent battle of wills. But you know that Tony is more stubborn than you, so finally, you give in.

“Fine,” you say. “Just get someone to sew me up.”

But Tony doesn’t move. He just looks at your wounded foot, your ankle still in his painful grip. His stillness is almost unnerving, his dark brown eyes unblinking, his pale face statuesque against the darkness of the room.

“Tony,” you say, nearly frightened. “Please, do something. I’m bleeding!”

“I know,” he replies, his voice soft again, as he seems to shake himself from his stupor. “I know you are.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Tony lifts your leg and presses his nose against the inside of your ankle. He breathes in and closes his eyes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your foot, his short beard brushing over your skin.

“You have no idea how incredible you smell,” he says, so low you barely hear him. “How tempting you are. It’s not that I don’t want to…”

And as he speaks, your hands curl into fists beside you, his words shocking you into near panic. It’s too much, this quick shift, this sudden change in atmosphere. You’re suddenly too caught up in the scene playing out before you to manage any coherent though, let alone words. Do it, you want to tell him, but you can’t, heart pounding, voice caught in your throat. Do it.

“...it’s that I want it too much.”

Tony brings up one of his knees to kneel on the sofa so that he’s turned toward you, between your legs, your ankle still in his hand, your other leg resting across his thigh. He eases up on the pressure around your ankle and you can feel the blood start flowing to your foot again, wet heat running down your wounded sole.

You watch him, enraptured, as he wipes his mouth across the bottom of your foot. You don’t even flinch from the sting of it, too fascinated to move. But you can feel him trembling, his breath coming out ragged against your skin.

When he lifts his mouth from the arch of your foot, there’s a smear of dark blood against his lips. And then, behind, sharp teeth shining white and deadly. His eyes flash with a nocturnal sheen – deep, deep burgundy all but glowing in the darkness. He looks dangerous and feral and like nothing you’ve ever seen before in your life.

You barely register that the pain in your foot has faded, the wound now a mere memory. You can only focus on Tony’s lips, painted red, and the intense pounding of your own heart. Never have you been more aware of the blood rushing through your veins. Or the reality that you’re living under the same roof as the person who would desire it the most.

Tony doesn’t relinquish the hold that he has on your ankle, but the other hand lightly grabs hold of your calf on the same leg, and then slowly, slowly, you feel his palm slide up to the back of your knee. He doesn’t stop. He keeps moving up, palm sliding across the inside of your thigh, his hand squeezing your flesh and staying there.

In the stillness and in the quiet, you can feel your pulse pounding beneath his palm.

Tony then sets your ankle on his shoulder, his hold giving up its claim. He smears blood from his lips up your ankle, kisses the side of your calf. From behind coal black eyelashes he looks up at you, mouth hovering above your skin.

“Aren’t you gonna stop me?” he asks, placing his lips on the inside of your knee. He kisses you there and you shiver, almost tickled by the soft touch against your sensitive skin, overwhelmed by him worshipping places that no one else has ever even cared to touch.

You slowly shake your head no and he closes his eyes, dragging his cool mouth up the inside of your trembling thigh. You arch your back as he moves higher still, planting a line of kisses up your delicate flesh.

“There are places where you smell the most you,” he whispers, almost absentmindedly, lips grazing your skin as he speaks. “The back of your knee... the inside of your elbow... your throat, your hair… your cunt.” He buries his face between your legs and inhales deep, moaning. “You should really tell me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you tell him, your voice hardly even a whisper. “Don’t stop, Tony.”

“What do you want?” he asks, mouth hovering over your pussy, those shimmering black eyes looking up at you from behind dark lashes.

You roll your hips up. “I want you to bite me.”

He rears back so fast that you jump in surprise. You sit up and grab his arm, afraid that he’s going to leave. You must have gone too far this time. Too far too fast and now you’ve pushed him away.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he says, voice hoarse and rough. “You don’t really want that.”

You lead him closer by his arm, then wrap your other hand around the back of his neck. You lean your forehead against his and you hear him take a shuddering breath. You close your eyes and savor the feeling of him being so close to you – forehead to forehead, the sides of your noses resting against the other, your fingertips against his flesh and his hands noticeably absent from your body. You shiver, chilled at all the places that you two are touching, his skin cold against yours.

“I do,” you tell him. “I want you, Tony.”

You stare at him, waiting. He stalls a heartbeat before he tilts his chin, angling for a tentative kiss. He presses his soft lips against yours, wraps his arm around your waist. You cup his face in your palms, thumbs running across his cheekbones. He nips softly at your bottom lip, not even close to breaking the skin, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

It should disgust you – having Tony’s mouth on yours after he licked up your blood – but you only taste a slight metallic tang, mostly masked by the whiskey that both of you drank. It’s intoxicating, Tony’s cool mouth, his sharp teeth against your sensitive lip, his taste, yours, the sharp sweetness of the alcohol.

“More,” you moan. “Please.”

“Impatient,” he chides, then plants a kiss on the side of your mouth. “Greedy.”

Tony turns his head and kisses the inside of your wrist, your hand cupping his cheek. He runs his tongue over the delicate veins, and you gasp, trembling in anticipation. He doesn’t stop, though. He keeps moving, kissing up the inside of your arm, his mouth leaving a trail of goosebumps on the surface of your skin.

He moves his arm from around your waist, bracing one hand against the couch behind you as he slides his other hand under your shirt and up your stomach. His fingertips are cold and soft against your body, the temperature almost a shock, and you’re torn between moving away and arching toward him. But the sensation is nice, you’ve never felt anything like it, and you know you won’t be forgetting it any time soon.

Tony’s lips touch your bare shoulder, once, slowly, and then once more, lingering against your skin. He moves upwards and your breath catches when you feel his open mouth against your neck. He sucks the blood to the surface of your throat like he can taste it through your skin, marking your soft flesh with soon to be tender bruises that you’re sure will last for days.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, hear your quickening heartbeat. Tony is saying something, but it doesn’t register in your mind, you’re so caught in feeling of his lips against your skin as they move.

“Where –?” you sigh, echoing what you think you heard.

You groan as Tony pulls away from you, and when you open your eyes, he’s staring down at you, half-smiling. “Where do you want it?” he asks again, cocking an eyebrow. “The throat is conventional, but –"

“Yes,” you reply, impatient. “I – anywhere. Everywhere. Just… please.”

You want him to devour you, consume you. You want his lips against your body, to feel his teeth sink into your skin. You’ve dreamt about it almost every night, giving yourself to him, him having his way with you, doing whatever he wants to do with your body.

Tony’s smile grows wider, and he bites down on his bottom lip, sharp white teeth gleaming in the low light. He bends down, chest to chest, and kisses you again, his cold skin melting against your warm body, the two of you separated by just your shirt. He makes quick work of that inconvenient piece of fabric, his lips leaving yours just long enough to pull it over your head and throw it out of the way.

His mouth moves down your throat, slowly, across your collarbone, down your breast to latch on to your hard nipple. His tongue licks across it, then he lets his teeth graze the taut peak, his hand coming up to pinch and pull at your other one.

The chill of his fingers has you shivering, arching your back up toward him. Your eagerness must spur him on because he grabs your breast in his palm, almost too rough and desperate, fingertips digging into your flesh.

Too soon, Tony moves between your breasts, then kisses down your stomach. You roll your body to meet him at every place his lips touch – sternum, then stomach, then hips. He grabs the waistband of your shorts and panties, pulling them down your legs as he sinks to his knees on the floor.

His hands grip the back of your knees and pull your legs apart, opening you up to him. The way he’s handing you now is neither gentle nor shy, maneuvering you so that he can get his shoulders between your thighs, his face level to your cunt.

It’s jarring, to realize that you’re naked on Tony Stark’s living room sofa, with Tony himself below you, in just his sweatpants and socks. That his blood, no matter how little of it, is inside of you now. Your blood in him. This joining seems irreversible, more momentous than you would have ever imagined. There’s no possible way that you will ever be the same after this, regardless of what happens.

What has happened will have been enough to change you completely.

And then Tony tongues the sharp point of one of his deadly teeth, a strange glint in his dark eyes, and you are thrust back into the present, aware and frightened of what you’ve asked for.

Tony no longer seems hesitant, not when he grazes the tip of his nose against your clit. Not when he inhales your scent, moans on the exhale. And certainly not when he covers your clit with his mouth, lips and tongue shockingly cold against your hypersensitive flesh.

“Tony!” your practically scream. “Fuck, Tony!”

And he moans at the sound of your voice saying his name, the noise vibrating against your pussy, making you squirm. Your hands find his hair, soft between your fingers. Having something to grab on to is somewhat grounding, but you can feel him move against you, your hands not guiding him but just touching, and that only adds to the realization of what you’re doing. Only makes you that more desperate.

There’s no build up to get used to the sensations. Tony starts immediately licking and sucking your clit like he can’t help himself. Like he’d want nothing more than to eat you up here on his sofa. And you’d let him too, let him have all of you if that’s what he wanted. More than just your blood or your pussy. You’d let him devour you whole.

Your body arches and you push against him, making him bury his face harder against you. Tony flattens his tongue and licks at your clit, then moves lower, and lower, tongue lapping at your entrance, then, the sensitive spot between your pussy and asshole.

You’ve wanted this, dreamed about it, and now that you have him, it’s so much more than you could have ever imagined. And when he slides a finger into you, easily with the aid of how wet you are for him, you can barely hold yourself together.

Tony pumps his finger in and out of you, slowly, while his tongue plays with your clit, explores your folds. You could cry, you feel so good, and when he adds another, you do. Tears spill down your cheeks as his fingers fuck you, pressing against your soft inner walls and curving just right.

As he pumps into you, the inside of his knuckles rub against a spot below your clit that you never even knew was there, and you can feel that pressure building, that feeling growing low in your belly.

Tony’s mouth leaves your pussy and his thumb finds your clit, his strong, dexterous fingers touching you in all the places that you need. He kisses your inner thigh, licks at the skin there, sucks, nips, and you jerk at the sensation. His works at the soft skin, sucking a bruise into your flesh.

You couldn’t stop it if you wanted. You come. Hips rolling as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You hands still gripping his hair tight. Your eyes are pressed closed, the wetness of your tear still lingering on your cheeks.

And then – he bites. And it’s euphoric. There’s ringing in your ears like the aftermath of a scream, and maybe you did, your voice rough and raw as you call his name, as you plead for something that you don’t even know you want.

Everything is black, your entire body narrowed down to his fingers filling you up and his mouth sucking your blood. You can’t even hold on to him anymore, your hands drop from his hair as you come down from your orgasm, Tony still sucking on the tender and bruised skin of your punctured thigh.

You feel weak, only moving when Tony wipes his mouth on the inside of your thigh. And then he lifts up, face to face with you and you make a feeble attempt to kiss him, instinctively. You can smell the bitter copper scent on him as he turns his face to the side, nuzzles his cheek against yours.

He’s warm now, such a drastic difference than from before. Warm, pink cheeked, thin lips red and slightly swollen. You could mistake him for human.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Tony says. “Can you walk?”

You nod your head, but you sway as you stand. Without hesitation, he picks up like he did before, and carries you effortlessly up the stairs and toward your room. The walk is peaceful, silent, and you let the lull of his footsteps calm you. You close your eyes and almost as soon as you do, you are in your bed, warm and comfortable under the blankets.

Tony stands above you and you hold onto his hand, then run your fingers up his arm, from his wrist, softly, to his elbow. How long will you be able to touch him like this? Now that you’ve had him, you’re not sure you’ll be able to let him go.

“Will you come see me?” You ask. “Tomorrow night? Please.”

Tony gently takes your hand off of his elbow and brings it up to his lips. He kisses your knuckles, almost chaste. “Goodnight,” he says, eyes shimmering in the darkness of your room. “And sleep well. You’ll need your rest for tomorrow.”

if you’ve got love in your sights,

watch out, love bites

#tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #vampire tony stark #marvel imagine

167 notes · View notes

dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

originally i just wanted dream to recover, preferably in the syndicate. but after today's quackity lore? he deserves to fuck shit up for a bit. let him get his revenge. tommy got his revenge on dream, techno got his revenge on l'manberg, dream deserves to get revenge on quackity and sam! then he can recover after that lol

(context: ask was sent on march 16th and i am very. very late.)

but YEAH !! logic brain says revenge bad and cycle of violence will continue BUT emotion brain wants c!dream to go crazy go stupid !! go beat them up honey we’ll be here with juice boxes and fruit snacks when you’re done <3

i wrote this while looping casino royale by derivakat for (checks time) something like 12 hours straight so uhh,,, yeah LMAO have some of c!dream going apeshit bc honestly he deserves it (/hj)

tw: implied torture, abuse, mentioned injuries, suicide, murder, explosions, death, violence, dark portrayals of c!dream, c!quackity, and c!sam, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault

Sam is uneasy long before he enters Las Nevadas - Quackity’s terse, serious-sounding string of texts he’d woken up to had sent his heart racing before the country even came into sight, and he’s pretty sure the pit in the middle of his gut since Dream escaped a week ago won’t disappear until the prisoner is either jailed or dead at his feet. Still, the city hardly does his anxiety any favors - each step within its limits feels a bit more like walking to his own death, the silent storefronts and looming, boarded up casino seeming to watch his every move, making him pick up his pace to move a little faster and avoid their judging gazes.

Stuck in his head as he is, it’s not until he’s halfway to the meeting place that he realizes how eerily quiet the place is - Las Nevadas has yet to be a particularly busy country with the casino yet to open and their recruits usually doing their own thing in the meantime, but still there’s usually at least one of them lingering on the city grounds, between Fundy’s work on his yacht and Foolish’s construction and whatever Slime does, usually involving an immense amount of following Quackity’s every move. The city as it right now feels much more like when it had been no more than a secret of his and Quackity, months spent with just the two of them working to make Big Q’s vision a reality. There’s something uniquely unnerving about it, like stepping into a ghost town, and Sam’s unease only grows.

“Sam!” Quackity calls from the base of the casino - Sam shades his eyes from the sun as he jogs over. Even from this far, it’s clear Q is displeased - his lips are flat in a small frown, skin taut from where the corner of his mouth is pulling at his scar. His tie is slightly askew and shirt rumpled - he looks disheveled, eyebrows narrowed irritatedly as he taps at something on his communicator. Sam smiles slightly, hollow.

“Hello Quackity,” he responds simply, drawing his trident and bringing it to his side. “You said we needed to meet?”

“Yeah,” Quackity’s voice is distracted, and he mumbles a curse as he jams his finger particularly hard against the communicator screen. “What is up with everyone today? They sent me these- weird fucking messages and then we get here and nobody’s here-”

“Who?” Sam’s lips press together. “You mean like- Fundy? Or Foolish?” They seem to be the ones that Quackity got messages from most frequently, if he remembers right. He doesn’t know for sure - usually, Quackity handles the social side of managing Las Nevadas.

“Fundy, Purpled, Foolish, Slime-” Quackity makes a vague, affronted noise. “All of them! Where the hell are they?”

Sam pauses.

“Q, when did Slime learn to use a communicator?”

“That’s the green one, right?” Both of them freeze, whirling around to the voice behind them, seeing nothing but the empty, arched doorway of the still-locked casino. “Naïve. Easy to fool.” The voice pauses, barks a sharp, quiet laugh. “Made my job easy, at least.”

The voice is familiar- too familiar. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get that cadence out of his head, not after months after months spent in the prison, hearing it in every possible tone and form. Quackity’s shoulders are hunched up to his ears, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Dream- I fucking swear- where the hell are you?”

“Aw, not so brave when the other person can actually fight back, are we?” Dream’s voice is lilting, mocking, and Sam’s hands tighten on the trident. “Fine, I’ll show myself. I’m not like you- no need to extend this game any longer than necessary.”

Dream slinks out from the shadows, wearing all black and covered in netherite armor, seeming fiddling with a small, grey thing in one hand. HIs stance is wide, torso pulled close to the ground - instead of a mask, his outfit includes a hooded black cloak that pulls down over his face, barely offering a glimpse of his eye glaring from underneath it.

“I’m giving you three seconds to tell me why the hell you’re in my country,” Quackity growls, sword forming in his hand, blade still crusted over with old blood, “And I’ll make your death half as painful as it’ll be otherwise.”

Dream laughs, high-pitched and unstable. “Please- what are you gonna do with that thing?” Quackity stalks forward with a low, wordless yell and Sam only barely manages to snag him back by the wrist.

“Watch it, Q,” Sam mutters, looking closer. Sure enough, there’s a faint, reddish haze rising from Dream’s body, only barely visible, interspersed with some lighter blue wisps. Strength and Speed. “He’s got potions.”

“Outmatched, aren’t we?” Dream cocks his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile visible under the hood’s shadow. “What a shame. I was hoping for a good fight.”

Quackity curses at him, loudly, but mullishly stays in place instead of lashing out like earlier, and Sam hisses a small sigh of relief. He looks back over at Dream - under the sun, he looks worse than ever, armor doing little to hide the gaunt edge of his face, limbs skinny and shaking. His hands tremble, wrists kept close together, as he continues to move the thing within them from hand to hand, small and grey and smooth from what he can tell in flashes between scarred and calloused fingers. He’s still favoring his left side slightly, but his eyes are cold and clear as they follow his every movement, clearly lucid and intelligent. Unfortunately for them, Dream is the best of fighters at the worst of times, and he has no doubt that with potions on his side and themselves relatively unprepared for battle, any fight with him won’t go particularly well.

Negotiation it is, then. “Why are you here, Dream?” If they stall long enough, then the rest of the server can come to back them up, and then even Dream won’t be able to fight back for long. He and Quackity can figure out what to do with him once he’s safely back under their control - for now, they have to play things safe. He pulls out his communicator carefully with one hand, trying to avoid drawing attention to his movements. “I doubt you’re here for a housewarming visit.”

Dream waves his hand slightly. “Something like that-” he bares his teeth in a small smile. “How about a housewarming gift, instead?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Quackity bites, aggressive in a way that speaks of how threatened he feels, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only grows. Dream’s eye seems to glow as he turns and presses his hands to the nearby wall; when he pulls them back, there’s a stone button fastened on the quartz.

“Say, Quackity,” Dream’s voice is too light to be anything but forced levity, rolling his shoulders back to try and hide the way his entire body has begun to shake even more violently than before. “How much TNT do you suppose it took for Wilbur to blow up L’manburg?”

Sam gasps, low and harsh through his teeth, a quiet, breathless no falling from his lips. Quackity’s head shakes, eyes widening in fury and denial.

“No- no what the fuck did you do- Dream what the absolute fuck did you do-”

“Eleven stacks of TNT, to blow up that country to kingdom come.” Dream laughs, directing his wild, manic expression to look them in the eye. “The amount of TNT hooked up to this thing is ten times that.”

“You’re a liar-” Quackity rushes forward, sword raised, “I’m going to fucking kill you-”

Sam grabs him, again, ignoring his yells to look at Dream, who’s still standing, seemingly unruffled, one hand hovering over the button that’ll spell doom for them all.

“That’ll kill all of us,” he tries to reason, panic clawing up his lungs, “You’re on your last life. You can’t-”

“And what, Warden, makes you think I give a single goddamn fuck about that?” Dream’s voice cracks, slightly, and for a moment Sam almost thinks he’ll break, that he can press the point until the other backs down - but Dream is nothing if not stubborn, and within seconds he’s composed himself again, looking at them with a determined set to his jaw that Sam recognizes well enough from Quackity’s visits to know that he won’t back down. “Everyone else is far away from here. I made sure of that. It’s just you, and Quackity, and me, and I’m pressing this button if it’s the last thing I do. Call it a parting shot, will you?”

Sam pulls at Quackity, wrist still locked in his grip. “Q, we have to leave.”

“I’m not letting him destroy this place Sam, are you out of your fucking mind? This- Las Nevadas- it’s everything- I’m not letting him take this place from me not again-”

“He’s going to kill us all, Quackity,” he throws a water bucket at his feet, charging up his trident. The sign taunts him at the edges of the city borders, far too far away for any of them to even hope to reach. “We have to go now-”

“Say your goodbyes,” Dream taunts, and there’s a quiet click. Sam smells the faint, smoky smell of redstone being activated, hears a hum growing in volume from the ground beneath him. He looks over to Dream, who has a hand pressing the button to the wall, fever-bright eyes wide and wet as he stares at his own hand before shutting them with a soft, almost serene smile. “And see you in hell.”

The world goes white.

[Dream was blown up by Dream.]

[Quackity was blown up by Dream.]

[awesamdude was blown up by Dream.]

#-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks #tw torture #tw abuse #tw injuries #tw suicide #tw murder #tw explosion #tw death #tw violence #tw emotional distress #prison arc #pandora's vault

281 notes · View notes

messwriting · 3 years

Text

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Western AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

(i'm gonna make you) feel it

a.k.a. ✨ MAKKI’S ADVENTURE TIME ✨

Hanamaki “Big Tease” Takahiro x Female Reader

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: Porn With Plot. Corruption Kink. Reader’s engaged to be married - a bride. Cheating. Highly inappropriate touching and dancing moves (that’s their job tho). Alcohol. Completely unresearched strippers industry. Lowkey exhibitionism. Fucking in a public space (private room). Fingering. Oral sex. SMUT: Doggy style over a sofa. Makki’s a little shit. Overuse of the word “cute” (for real, so many times omg).

Word count: ~7.3k

Note: Saint Dymphna and poor little me would like to introduce you all to the: 🤠 LAWBREAKERS MULTIVERSE 🤠

So, @dymphnasprose basically came at me with: “what about we take cowboys and make them skskskskskssk like magic mike style strippers” and thus was born the wicked duo newest adventure. We had a lot of fun (and a lot of panic) but here it is! Anyone asks why I’m doing two once again it’s also dymph’s fault and my sheer love for Iwaizumi. Also, dymph I love u and I’ve had lots of fun doing this little group project together🥺💕

That being said I’d also like to thanks @mixedhell who once again is a mage of dialogue and helped me several times; Tay, my love @deathcab4daddy, who helped beta part of this and also @xmyshya who was kind enough to beta this too <3

Makki’s songs: Cowboy Casanova (dymph’s courtesy) + Feel it

You can also read: IWAIZUMI | MATTSUN

Hanamaki is focused.

He surveys the screaming crowd inside the packed nightclub, sees the different groups occupying the big booths, the pretty decorations that never fail to distinguish his targets inside the dimly lit room.

Makki likes the meaning behind the different outfits and colors; the details merging into the allegory of remarkability, crafting the idea of uniqueness in their special day where screams of freedom swimming inside intoxicated heads build a tendency into wildness. In building lasting memories of a singlehood that doesn’t really exist anymore, into falling prey of sexy, large men who could take them into a one-time intoxicating memory that they can savor into the end of times.

Marriages can end, Makki thinks, but memories like the ones he makes are forever.

And tonight he has already found the one.

You must be the prettiest little thing he has seen in months, all beautifully clad in a sparkling white party dress, a sexy slit that shows the classical frilly garter adorning your thigh, with a golden black banner that announces for the whole world that you’re taken, soon to be married and enjoying your bachelorette party. It’s almost a challenge, really.

Great. That’s exactly how he likes it.

A brilliant and ridiculous white cowboy hat decorated to leave a tacky gown falling from your head is perched on the table where your small group sits, about eight women dressed in black and a beautiful entourage of bridesmaids if he ever saw one, but it’s you; cute, happy little you who blushed at the very first look at his partially naked torso when all Hanamaki did was pass by your table in his low cut jeans and open flannel shirt, a tilt of his cowboy hat made with half a mind to compliment the ladies until his eyes laid on you.

Your bright eyes had shined with embarrassment at your interest, chest filling with a renewed pull of air at the mere sight of him, a burning in your face that he could notice even in the poorly lit room, flashing lights giving him just the best of peeks -- your plush lips punished by the row of white teeth that closed around the soft muscle and pulled.

That was all he needed, the smallest of sights and still, the biggest of hints.

You were going to be his tonight. He’ll taint that pristine white and you’ll beg for his every move, he knows it just as he knows the women will scream for him as soon as he steps on the stage.

And, in fact, that will be sooner rather than later.

He’ll make sure of it.

The loud music is pulsing through his body, like waves crashing against his skin, his heart seemingly beating alongside the bass in deep, sexy strokes of the R&B music echoing through the club. The youngsters are doing their dance, a coordinated thing between the six newbies of the Club, while Makki and Mattsun wait by the side of the backdoor of the stage, ready to take their places in the next performance.

“Anyone in your sights yet?” Issei asks him as he passes him the bottle of water, which Takahiro puts on top of one of the structures before sending a small grin at the dark-haired man. They’ve been here for four years now, and they have joined the place together, looking to make a good buck while going to College. Stripping is fun, easy, and profitable when you’re young and hot and Matsukawa and Hanamaki are nothing else but.

“The one by the left, the table with the tacky cowboy hat and the golden balloons.”

“A fan of the work, I see.” Matsukawa pulls the curtain to the side just an inch, his eyes quickly surveying the space and centering on the acquired target. Makki knows exactly what he’s seeing, a table filled with a group of beautiful women and you in white shining over them all, the balloons above the wall seeming way more ridiculous once he knows about Makki’s plan of action.

One dick for life. Ha.

“Poor little thing doesn’t know what she’s in for tonight.” Mattsun’s grin is mischievous and all-knowing. Hanamaki has a type, it’s a running joke, but every good joke starts from a glimmer of truth. And in Makki’s case, it may as well be the truth itself.

“And that’s a sexy little group.”

“Yeah, it is. But you already have plans for tonight, don’t you. I’ve heard about it from Oikawa.”

Mattsun doesn’t answer, only a chuckle and a lopsided grin marking his face as he keeps studying the crowd.

The group performance wraps up quickly, being one without public interaction and soon enough Oikawa is making a show, threading between the public with his mic, hyping the crew out with just the right few words.

The lights start going down, softly casting the audience in shadows while the stage is tinged in bright colors before becoming red and by the time people’s eyes are focusing at the center again, Hanamaki and Matsukawa have taken their places.

The music starts to play, soft and calm, pulsing through the bodies of everyone as their eyes focus on the attractive duo in center stage. They’re not supposed to end up naked yet, that’s saved for the end, but as the choreography flows, sharp hip movements, thrusting motions like ocean waves crashing on rocky shores, still get women screaming at the top of their lungs enough for it all to merge with the song as if it’s part of the original bass.

Makki’s wearing a half-opened plaid flannel shirt with nothing under it, and he pops every remaining button open along to the song, the screams getting louder. His jeans are tight enough that every plane of muscle is noticeable, and his belt is black and striking, with a big, bull-shaped buckle. Later he’ll change his outfit to leather chaps and a vest, but right now, he’s more laid back. He looks good, he knows it, but the appreciation in your eyes as you coily drink his from from across the room is like a fucking golden star on his pride.

On top of his head, locked tight, it’s his pinched front cowboy hat. As Makki throws it in the air and catches in the middle of dancing, the screams engulf him from all sides.

But everything else is fading to the back of his mind as his eyes find yours in the dark, the appreciative, enthralled shine in them not lost to Makki. Could never be lost to Makki, who holds onto it as if it’s a life-line; You’re interested.

Ok, that’s good. But it’s also the basics.

Makki twirls and fall on the floor, hips fucking into nothing as the crowd goes insane. He kneels on stage, his shirt flying to the spectators; two women take hold of it, pulling in contrary directions until it rips.

Makki throws you a wink, every woman in that direction claiming it as theirs. You, however, shrug into yourself, eyes looking away as your hands tight their hold around the champagne glass they’re holding. You’re so cute, hands in front of your face as if that would keep you from staring. Makki feels himself glowing, growing excited at the mere sight of your scurrying eyes as they choose the floor instead of his body.

So fucking pure.

Takahiro wants to force you to look up and revel in the guilty desire he’s bound to find there. There’s no need to avoid him if he doesn’t charm you, that’s the beauty of soon-to-be brides. There’s such a deep will inside them to be faithful to the allegory of a husband they do not have yet, lost in a daydream of happiness in finding the one when they haven’t even tasted anything but. Makki eyes the golden balloons floating around the table while he dances -- one dick forever.

Poor little thing. He can’t let that happen, can he?

When Makki hops off the stage and walks over to your table between deafening screamings and pleads for him to take them, instead, his hand closes around your dainty little one, adorned with pretty french nails and just a single golden ring and even the soft, smooth skin of your hand against his rugged palm is a thrill inside his veins.

Your eyes are shining, nervousness sweeping from them as they lock with his. Hanamaki tries to be lowkey, giving you a reassuring smile supposed to be nice, to be trusting -- a complete disconnect of the way his guts stirs in the excitement of your touch.

He lowers his lips to your ears, pretends the way his nose runs over the shell is a mere accident. “Let’s go for a ride, sweetheart.”

Your lips fall open by the side of his face and Makki can feel the way you suck a breath, a little gasp ruining your efforts when he lets his lips brush against your jaw. Another accident, whoops. He’s such a careless boy, isn’t he?

Your teeth punish your bottom lip as your eyes seem to look anywhere but him, trembling hands as you seem half-way into telling him no. Makki can't have that, though. He brings his face to look deep in your eyes, a lopsided smile he can manoeuvre into being just the right amount of kind by now.

"You're not gonna let me go up there alone, will you?" He almost pouts, big hands finding their way on your arms in up and down motions that drag just the right amount of trembles from you for him to know he's winning. "There's no fun without you, sweet girl."

He dips his lips onto the shell of your ear once again, just in time to hide his mischief. "You're the star of the show. I'm just your ride."

That seems to make you giggle and Makki uses that to bring his grin into your view, palms sliding down your arms to clasp your hands and - finally - guide you up with him.

One thing Makki knows is that he likes his brides sweet.

Pliant.

And as you get up and follow him quietly and sheepish, clumsy tripping over yourself when some of your bridesmaids erupt in cheers, he knows he is right once again -- you’re just his type.

Thing is, Makki doesn’t waste time. He makes you twirl in your high heels just to have you falling in his arms, he picks you up without effort, a little gasp breaching your lips as your hands plant against his chest.

Makki just has to grin at the way in which you close your palms and retreat them back to yourself, quick, burning up in a beautiful, delicious expression of shame. Fuck, he wants to make you beg.

When he’s at the stage, he drops you on your feet with enough aggression to get you to slide straight to the floor, unsteady knees opening under you until your ass is planted on the stage.

Makki thinks your open mouthed expression, little breaths breaking through your lips as your anxious eyes stare up at him, have to be the best thing he’s seen in a while. And he’s just starting.

He bends at the waist, his hands to reach your knees and push them open, your bright little white dress sliding up so much he can steal a peek at your fancy underwear.

Such a vixen, aren’t you? All wrapped in lace.

Makki lets himself fall on top of you and you gasp, even as he stays holding himself in a plank, not one bit of skin touching yours. The song is pumping, slow and sexy even if the screams sound louder in the close space. He twists his hips, the rolling motion has them right between your juicy thighs. You’re forced to keep them wide open and the way in which you look mortified just may be what ends him.

Makki drops his knees in the ground, lets the screams wash over him as he drags his hips against your center, soft, then hard. His hands by the side of your head, his toned chest right in front of your face. He knows by the way his skin burns that you’re staring at him -- good, he wants to be the center of all your attention tonight.

Your hands are in front of yourself as if you’re afraid at your own excitement, eager eyes looking for his in a wirlwind of emotions and it makes his fucking skin erupt with goosebumps that the most noticiable one is desire.

Oh, Makki’s going to wreck you. The song turns frantic just as he comes to slide over your body, nose trailing along your collarbone and chest, teeth nipping at your clothes as if he would prefer to be doing it to your skin instead, and he feels the way your shame almost consumes you, body shaking as he finally reaches destination: right above your beautiful open thighs, so close he can almost taste you.

Unfortunately, it doesn't last. And Makki is forced by the choreography to climb back up your body even as he lets his hands linger a bit too close to your clothed center, every woman around screaming as if they can read his mind.

He gets back up and kneels between your open legs, thrusting in time with the music as if he’s actually still thinking about choreography and not in doing this to you later. You’re growing more embarrassed by the moment, your whole body burning and tense, but responsive to his movements and, better yet, his smiles.

His body is used to the motions, to swirling and grinding and thrusting in a wave motion, crashing over your hips time and time again until your lips fall open, and he knows he hit the jackpot.

Makki holds himself in a plank again, his skin turning clammy with the exertion, but he angles his crotch just right and has you singing a groan for him again -- then turning bright with shame in sequence.

Such a precious little thing indeed.

The ground choreo ends way too soon for Makki’s wishes, but he’s soothed by the way in which you let yourself be picked up, hands clinging to his shoulders with such a fierce hold he almost wants to test it out. He throws you up for a moment, relishes in your nails at his back, and his forearms hold you by the underside of your knee, closing on your hips.

And that makes your pretty little clothed cunt roll right against his semi-hard on. There’s a ripping sound, probably your slit getting wider to acomodate your open legs and thus, him.

Lovely.

Makki rolls his hips, right against your center once, and the crowd erupts in screams just as he starts mimicking fucking you standing. A beautiful option he saves in the back of his mind for later.

You let out a yelp, then proceed to try and hide your head against his neck, your pretty mouth gliding against his skin gives him such a high he almost loses the tempo of the song. He tells you to hold on and plants his hands on your bare ass, lifting you until he can have you in front of his face, a bit uncomfortable move but one that has every single woman in the club wet -- it’s in the air by now, and he can smell it. The idea makes his skin prickle, your hands holding his hair for dear life as if you’re afraid to fall, but your clothed cunt is right there, and he can’t pass the opportunity to steal a little touch as he pretends your hold is what pushes his head flush against your pussy.

You let out a beautiful sound almost in time with the song, and he is letting you fall once again on his arms, the smile on his lips the last nail on your pure coffin.

And unfortunately that means time’s up.

Makki lets your legs fall but holds you by your waist, depositing you on your own two feet at the stage and snickering at how your legs falter to hold you up on the high heels. So, as a gentleman, he takes your hand in his, helps you down the few steps on the stage, almost groans at how your hand seems to not want to let him go.

Before he leaves you, he pulls your hand into his lips, absolutely glowing at how breathless you look from the little action after he literally ravished you on stage. It physically pains him that he needs to pick up another bride into his show.

“See you later, pretty one.”

Under you, your legs are faltering, knees trembling like a newborn deer as you’re left alone to fend for yourself in the long path back to your table. Women congratulate you, screaming on your sides at the men who was almost fucking you dumb on stage and his friend, as they continue their show.

Your heart is beating in your ears, leaving you stupid and lost as you’re finally - finally - rescued by your friend, who brings you back to the table with loud congratulations and happy cheers. You feel your body sweating and throbbing, weirdly pulsating for something you can’t name.

Recognizing it would make it real and you cannot believe that after five years in a nice relationship with your only boyfriend and soon-to-be-husband, this is the first time you feel this wet.

You plop down on the closest seat, hands pressing to your chest as you try to both fan yourself and hide behind them. It proves, as expected, a hard task.

Your childhood friend has arrived and you hug her sideways, the short conversation you two exchange somehow lost to your poor heated brain as your eyes keep sliding to center once again at the stage.

The way he dances on stage feels overwhelming, this bride-to-be suffering way less touching and grinding than you, as “Big Tease Makki” stays standing up, his hands groping everywhere in his sculpted body as he dances to the sensual song, including the considerable bulge in his pants.

Something flashes and he turns his head your way so sharply you feel the need to melt further on the sofa, poorly hiding away as everyone around you cheers once again.

His eyes on you were burning a hot trail that slithers over your warm skin even in the dark, the ghost of a feeling of touch, erupting goosebumps along their way as they circle your neck and dip down your side, strutting over your chest to end by your face. Even in the distance, you swear you can feel the way those lips slip into an easy grin, satisfied at the way they have you breathless and weak by thought alone.

The idle chatting of your friends, excited and drunk are dulled by the pounding of your heart inside your chest, and you feel constricted by their presence on your sides at the booth, both ways filled with testimony to your inner turmoils-- can they see your sinful thoughts while they stay that close to you? Can the pounding of your heart and the heat in your face be felt at such a short distance?

The mere idea that they can pry inside your skull and discover the sinful dreams unfolding is too much for you right now, your spine shooting up while you balance yourself in your pretty heels and ask in a meek, nervous voice for the girls to let you pass. Some ask if you need help or if you’re going to the bathroom, and in both options it feels like you’re going to be flanked immediately, so you deny it and say you have to make a quick phone call about something you forgot to confirm and they all nod away, drunkenly squealing for you to be quick.

You’re almost free when one of your bridesmaids, your childhood friend, looks up at you with puzzled eyes.

“Hey, everything's okay?” She’s not drunk, only happily buzzed with sparkling wine, but her eyes are attentive when they lay on your face, worry etched in her brow as she looks for hints hidden in your dolled up face.

“Yeah, just need to take a breather.” You give her what you hope is a reassuring smile even as sweat drips down your back, but the place is dark and loud and she lets you go without much prodding. The place is full and swarming with women, groups of men present but fewer, waiters clad in skimpy clothing as they work the tables full of drinks, shots and champagne. Some are flirtatious, charming smiles along with muscles as they sweep women off their feet and leave their wallets thinner; others are pretty serious, and the mysterious aura has their pull, the ecstasy of conquest working as an aphrodisiac.

You pull past the bodies, feeling a bit light headed as your chest pounds and the booze traverse your body, clumsy steps on too-high-heels you’re not used to, but your bridesmaids had pushed you to wear along with screams to live a little and say hello to the last night before you’re a proper married lady. You’ve never really felt the weight of those words as the last two days, tasting for the first time the sweetness of night as you’ve never before.

If brown, bored eyes make a appearance in your mind as you flee to the corridor leading to the private rooms and women’s bathroom, you’re quick to stop the train of thought before it leads down a muscular torso clad in a tight jeans with a firm ass and a hot, big cock that humped against you in every opportunity while he took you to the stage.

A drop makes it way past your cunt lips to stain your fancy underwear and you groan, ashamed. You’ve never felt this unbecoming need before, the arousal so thick your breasts seem to be heavy against your ribcage, dress feeling too tight on your heated, oversensitive skin.

You’re reaching the curve left that will take you to the bathroom when big hands engulf your frame, palm over your mouth and you’re pulled inside one of the private rooms, too breathless to even make a sound.

“Howdy,” his voice sounds right by your ear, as you’re caged against a burly body and the closed, probably sound-proof door. “Got a fugitive here.”

“Uhh, sir, I--”

“Sir?” He laughs, head thrown back prettily as you drink the arch of his throat. “Oh my god, call me Makki, pretty one.”

The petname makes you flush, tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth around words. “Uh… Makki, I’m sorry but I, ah…” You fumble with your hands, avoiding touching him, eyes downcast as you try to also avoid even looking at him. It’s too much, he seems everywhere.

“You’re engaged? I can see that, love. You have a banner right there.” He sounds so nice, mischief and boyish glee as he stands way too close to you.

“Then you understand…”

“I understand this is your last night of freedom, right? The last chance for you to be bad,” He breathes against your jaw as he noses along your skin to your ear, his cowboy hat gliding softly against the side of your face, “To be wild.”

Your mouth opens and closes but not a single sound comes out, your brain completely lost to the science of mixing letters into words. All you can think about is how your blood seems to be galloping in your veins, the pounding of your heart so oppressingly loud the beat of the song seems to mimic it and not the contrary.

You are lost to everything but the unbelievable feeling of painful arousal, so sharp and deep your bones seem to be melting out of their places and dripping into the outside by your cunt.

“But,” Leaves your lips dumbly and Makki’s fingers silence you, his lips so close you can taste his every exhale, the flap of his hat managing to blind your vision to anything past his face.

“You’re going to be married to the exact same man forever, sweetheart. You can let go one night. One night for you to feel good.” Makki licks at your throat and your lips fall open with a shameless moan as you burn with shame. “Has he ever made you feel this hot, sweetie? Hm? Have you ever even felt like this? It’s your last chance tonight, right? Don’t lose it.”

Makki’s hands massage their way down your sides, grabbing at the flesh of your hips, brushing your ass, and you’re dead silent as you drool away in your panties. Unable to think, unable to speak, embarrassment clogging your throat together with an impossible, unacceptable yes.

“C’mon, sweetie, let me take care of you.” It’s a plea, and he knows your chest will hurt with the same need that is in his tone. “Just this one time, so you can know what it feels like… how great it can be.”

“One time.” He promises you, earnest eyes boring into yours and, dumbly, enchanted, you nod… and agree.

Well, Makki ain’t waiting around for you to change your mind.

His hands loop around your thighs immediately, pressing you against the door until he can press his body between your open legs. The slit of your dress gives in just the little bit needed to allow his hips to make their way against your core, his lips busying themselves with planting kisses along the arch of your neck, teeth nibbling at the lobe of your ear, tongue gliding over the shell.

His breathing is soft, but so close it feels like it engulfs the room, slithering inside your head and scrambling your thoughts. His crotch presses against your center enough to hold you high and open, one of his hands relieved of their place as it climbs your side and closes around your jaw, angling your head back until you’re trapped between his face and his chest.

You shudder, eyes fluttering closed as if you cannot hold them open, and Makki feels his skin prickling, warmth spreading from his limbs to his chest and down his hips to center themselves at his burning length. You’re such a little vixen, all big eyes and open mouthed staring at him while he has hardly done anything.

He can barely wait to see how you’ll burn when he buries his face in your pussy.

Right now, though, Makki reigns in his excitement, fingers caressing your cheeks until your pretty eyes open up again, dazed. There’s just something about getting pretty little things like you to yield, to breathe out as his lips plant themselves carefully, softly, against your cheek, then the line of your jaw, your chin and your nose.

Every little kiss has you getting restless, trembling in his arms while your hands close around his shoulders, painful little welts that he loves to see. Such desperation.

It’s really the best.

His lips press against the corner of your wobbling plush lips and you shudder, but they push it back, and when Makki finally decides to kiss you, you’re opening your mouth in your eagerness, tongue lapping awkwardly at his lips as he chuckles and decides it’s time to stop playing.

When he kisses you then, you gasp, precious little sound leaving you as if you had no idea you could even make it, and then you’re melting against him, pressing against his chest as his mouth works its wonders on yours, tongue circling, searching, sucking. He nips at your lips, steals all the short bits of breath from your lungs until you’re writing against him, pressing sinful hips against his crotch in such a desperate way it’s endearing.

The hand on your thigh dips further under your dress, finds the plush meat of your ass and engulf it in its palm, delighted at how inexistent is the small little thing you’re wearing and how fucking delicious it feels. His fingers dig into your bottom until you break the kiss to gasp at how easily he can slip his long indicator from your ass to your pussy.

It’s his time to lose his air at how fucking wet you are, ruined fancy panties and moist thighs.

“Oh god, look at that. Little bride is so wet for this cowboy.”

You make a face, lips pursing in an awkward turn and coily shifting to look down, appraising looks on his chiseled chest. “Okay this one was bad!” Makki offers with an easy smile, the hand on your neck dipping into your breasts, palms pressing on your chest as he turns his focus on circling the hard nipple through your clothes, closing around the plush meat until your offending honest little lips part once again to him. He can see in the turbilion of your eyes how you’re still swirling against guilt, holding back from him.

“But can you blame me? Look at me.” He makes a mention with his head towards the big bulge straining his tight jeans, which have you unconsciously looking down, his hand sliding over your jaw to tilt your head up to meet his eyes, charming, easy-going smile in his lips. “Look at you.”

He rolls his hips once against your sex, feels the blistering heat even through layers of clothes but he’s done this enough to know exactly where to aim, having a moan escaping through the tight cage of your lips before you can hold everything else in by the lock of your teeth.

He can’t have that, though. He thrives on applause after all.

“Now, beautiful, I’ll need you to stop that right there.” His fingers dip under you to slide against the soiled fabric clinging to your folds and you all but tense, melting after as if you cannot conceive how good is his mere touch. “I want to hear you, c’mon.” Your eyes drop on his in hurt, but you free your bottom lip, mouth imediatelly falling open around a groan as Makki presses aimless around the entrance of your sex. Damn, Makki likes this.

“Yes, like that. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” His cock is straining against his boxers already, length rolling in perfect aimed strokes over the apex of your sex as his fingers thread on the outline of your beautiful cunt and when he dips inside a single fingertip, your sex and hands cling to him, all the beautiful curves of your body against his and he just-- He wants to see.

“Ok, dinner time!” Makki chuckles as he brings his hands once again to hold you firmly by your thighs, fingers spread enough to keep rolling against the edges of your cunt.

“Wha-What?” You give a charming yelp at the way he holds you effortlessly while abandoning the door to walk over to the couch. It’s just a cheap upholstered thing in front of the circular stage with the pole hanging from the ceiling, but it’s just the perfect length for what he needs.

He lets you fall, open and disheveled over it, legs spread to show the lace he saw earlier, stained and soiled after just a bit of makeout.

“You’re so cute.” It’s mockingly, really; meant to be a jab at how you’re so hazed and undone by just a few moves of his, but the way in which your doe eyes thread up to him, shiny and unfocussed; your hands closing around your frame as a hand plants in front of your breasts is just… cute. There’s no other word. You’re just a cute little thing and he wants your demise.

Makki groans and pulls you to the edge of the sofa by your legs, easily dropping between your thighs in a wave move, face planting itself on your breasts to suck at sweaty clothes, teeth pulling the fabric down until your nipples peek through and he sucks them inside his mouth, too.

You tremble so easily, even worse when he abandons it to nose his way down your body tightly clad in the white dress, kisses over your belly until he’s nosing at your clothed cunt, open mouth kisses adding to the moistness in your poor underwear.

“Delicious.” Makki says for no reason other than to state his thoughts, tongue rolling over the clothed slit as if its skin, reveling in how your poor legs start to shake, needing the aid from his hands spreading them to finally stop. “Tell me, honey, have your fiancé ever fucked you good? Hm?”

The mention makes you stiff, head pressing to the side of the sofa as if you’re fighting a battle inside your own mind, triggered by the piece of trivia question.

“I bet he hasn’t,” Makki laughs, nosing at your pussy with such pressure his whole face gets smeared in your juices. “Is he your first boyfriend? Tell me more.”

“I--how do you--” You stutter through bitten lips, truth tipping out once he easily spreads you open with his thumbs on each side. “Yes.”

“What a waste, such a wet fucking pussy and not one single effort from your hubby to-” Makki pulls your underwear aside, tongue lolling out to lick a long strip from your entrance to your clit, “lick”, once, it”, twice, “clean.” and thrice.

You let out a cute little noise and he gets impatient, pulling the lace at the side with enough force it rips easily under his hand. Your indignant noise doesn’t even sound right, lost in a moan at the way he closes his lips around your clit and brings his tongue to play with it fast. His hand presses harder on the skin of your thighs, leaving you open as a present, ripe and wide.

If Makki says he eats pussy as a fucking meal, it’s not out of vanity. He doesn’t like to stroke his own ego, it’s just the plain truth. He works his tongue around your cunt, licks at your puffy lips, slither his way over the labia, gathers all the dripping …. and lets it drip over your pussy, just to suck it up and spit on it, after all he never understood the whole don’t spit on the plate you eat. If it’s pussy, he’s sure it’s the fucking other way around.

You’re writhing and moving around, a symphony of gasps and moans fighting their way past your tight lips. Makki doesn’t mind. As he brings his thumbs to stroke up and down the sides of your cunt, he knows you’ll be screaming in no time. It’s just too much. It’s clear you’ve never had anything like this just by the frantic way you’re humping his face, hands grabbing at anything and everything they can, unable to hold on. His only shame is how busy his mouth is, unable to tease his way into the pure debauchery you’re demonstrating.

He pauses a bit to angle himself back, eyes trained at your pussy, dripping fucking wet all over the dress and the sofa. His thumbs spread at the sides of your entrance, pull it open just to see it blink and gap, begging for his cock without a word leaving your lips. Shit. His cock is straining against the tight jeans in such a painful way he has to let one hand go, open his button and fly, let the poor warrior fight its way past the band of his calvin kleins.

Then he’s back at his work, one thumb keeping you open as his hand returns to plunge his indicator inside slowly. Makki’s mouth almost falls open at the bewitching way your walls give in, letting him sink inside the velvety wet inside with ease. You’re clenching around him, groaning above and begging below, so he lets a second one inside at the retreat and advance of his wrist.

“Have your little husband ever made you feel like this, huh? Have he eaten this little pussy so good you make a mess?”

“Jesus Christ!” You moan above and Makki laughs. He loves this. Loves the little religious bout he gets from tight little brides when they actually taste heaven amidst sin. You try to ride his fingers, but he presses the back of your knees higher, and you let out a breathless “God!” at the new angle.

Then he starts the real game, fingers moving around your heat in search of a specific spot he finds with little prodding and then abuses until you’re begging.

“Oh my god! I, fuck--Jesus!”

“Yes, just like that sweetheart. If you beg for me real pretty I’ll give you what you want.” He says as his fingers keep plunging in and out of your heat in an upwards motion, strong but slow, dragging the feeling of his thick digits inside your walls. It’s close, he can feel it in the way you’re swelling around him, restless kicking out legs and praying for God as if it isn’t Makki who’s giving you all this.

“My name, sweetie. Beg for it, c’mon. Say it out very loud, how you want my cock to fuck you nice and hard as you’ve never had before, huh? Just--”

“Fuck!”

“Just tell me more how you had no idea it could be so good and how you need me to show you how fucking good a man can actually fuck.”

“Oh my god,” you all but yelp, but then sighs a, “yes, please.”

“Hmmm? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Oh fuck, Makki please fuck me!” There’s a breathless, outstandly maniac laugh breaching your lips after that, a flow of quick words falling from your lips as a train of thought, “Jesus I’ve never felt like this, oh my god I think I’ll actually die without--”

“There we go!” Makki laughs, voice loud as he stops everything to get up and once again bends down to pick you up.

“Wha--Wait!” You squeak, body tense and trembling at the loss as Makki only kisses around your tearstained face and makes his way around the upholstered couch. “Makki!” That has to be the needier, whinier tone he has ever heard his name in.

And he loves it.

He lets you slide through his hands, bends you over the back of the couch, your ripped panties sliding to the floor by one of your legs. One of Makki’s hands descends hard on your ass with a loud slap, your lips opening around a beautiful moan. The other does the same, both circling and massing the plump flesh as your ass and pussy blinks seductively at him.

That does it. Makki curses as he pulls his pants and underwear down, his hard, bloody-red cock slapping up against his navel; he closes his hand around it to slap it between the crack of your pretty behind and feels everything in him tingling at how wanton you sound in your moan, angling your back so that your ass can climb higher, head against the seat cushions.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Makki praises you as he tilts his cockhead on your slit, up and down, up and down against your clit, labia and entrance. It’s absolutely delicious how you clench to try and hold his cockhead, but it slips up to bob against your ass. “Ops, let’s try again.”

He does the same thing a second time but then you groan and whine once again, “Makki, please!”

Well, fuck, who’s he to deny you, right?

He pats your ass and supports his weight at the back of his feet, cockhead right against the beautiful hole weeping for him and, carefully, slowly, deliciously starts dipping inside. Your pussy sucks him in as a vice, muscle clenching and releasing; loud, satisfacted moans in your lips. It’s almost choking to him that the loud noise in the room comes from him, too, mouth falling open in a growl.

When his hips are nested against your ass, Makki has the urge to kiss you but squatches it down in favor of holding you strongly and fucking you throughly. Motioning himself in waves as he had on the stage, his cock slides in and out of you with such delicious, timed precision he thinks you’ll come twice on him before he’s done.

Your tight heat is velvety wet around him, squelching sounds sinful in the room as he grinds his hips against your ass, cockhead nestled against the firm pressure of your cervix. There’s babbles tipping from your lips, as if your mind has broken and you have to pronounce your mess of thoughts out loud. It’s cute.

Maybe he'd appreciate it more if his mind wasn't falling him also; his whole body feels constricted, strained, hips rolling in long, deep, strong strokes that make his cock into a pleasure antena, broadcasting to his whole being, blistering heat spreading through his veins and turning sharp at his spine and to start pooling at his balls.

He is about to dip his hand to your clit and end you when your body seizes, legs kicking while dangling from the backrest of the couch and your pussy starts creaming hard like a vice around his cock.

“Fuck!” He groans, tensing his whole body before you bring him over with you, hand slithering to hold the base of his cock, hard. Then he laughs, no breath to spare. “Wow, baby, no heads up? Now you gonna have to give me one more, I’m not done with you yet.”

You let out an indignant groan, but rest boneless under him. Makki retreats his hips from your snug grip and starts pistoning his way inside your heat, unforgiving even as you yelp and whine, oversensitivity probably making you burn. Makki lets one of his hands let go of your hips and fall hard on your ass, in time to feel the way your pussy grips at him, yelp turning into a moan. Makki lets his hands slide down the side and curve his wrist so your fingers can find your clit, rubbing him frantically as he angles his hips just right, every wave of his body aimed against your precious spot.

“Yup,” Makki groans, growing exhausted. “Just like this.”

Your eyes snap open, hands frantically reaching to hold on anything by them as you look back at Makki with shiny, big, dazed eyes in absolute terror at the fact you are, indeed, going to keep cumming on his dick, second orgasm hitting you so hard and fast Makki actually tips over with you, the pressure in his balls releasing in one blissful climax at the incessant contracting of your cunt and the wave of your orgasm gushing out of your pussy in the closest thing to a squirt he could pull out of you amidst a unending orgasm.

Makki stays inside you as he rides his high, grinding his hips even as you cry from the oversensitivity. When he pulls out, he’s careful with the condom and also has half a mind to hold your body, throwing the used thing somewhere to be cleaned after. Almost as if perceiving the breach, his cellphone starts ringing somewhere, loud as fuck in the closed room.

“Damn, fuck,” Makki scrambles to the sound, his legs almost giving out under him and his fingers so numb it takes three tries to actually accept the call. Which he didn’t read who from.

“MAKKI! WHERE ARE YOU, WE’RE STARTING IN FIVE.” Iwaizumi nags at him, stern and loud, piercing through his haze enough to make his brain drop some adrenaline into his bloodstream, suddenly alert and kicking, muscles straining but holding as he pulls his underwear and jeans quick over his ass and searches for his cowboy hat in time to dip and run to the presentation.

“Sorry baby, gotta go.” He saunters to you, plants a kiss on your sweaty head and another at your swollen lips and smiles the same sinful smile that ended up bringing you here, along with a tilt of his cowboy hat. “Duty calls.”

#hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut #hanamaki takahiro smut #haikyuu smut #thesmutpilecollab

352 notes · View notes

lizzy-williams · 3 years

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐏𝐭. 𝟐

🐺Warnings: Mentions of smut, mature themes, alpha/omega dynamic

🐺Masterlist

🐺Summary: It’s been a few months since the coffee shop events, and you and Tom are going steady. When you decide to go out to dinner as celebration for a work promotion, the waiter begins to flirt with you. When you two get home, he shows you who you truly belong to. Not to mention... it’s a full moon.

🐺Theme: (dream), Salvia Palth

🐺 A/N: Bruh one of the pics got cut off-

Thomas Stanley Holland was angry. No, he was livid.

Tonight was supposed to be a proper date with his mate, a calming way to spend an evening, not getting worried about anything and everything else. By now, his bite mark had been healed, a delicate scar decorating her neck.

That, coupled with her black evening dress, made her look so stunning, it made Tom’s chest swell with pride. That was his. She was his.

But now, he was just pissed off, trying his hardest not to let his glowing gold eyes catch anyone’s attention. But there was only one person who noticed it, and thankfully it was the only person that understood.

[y/n] was an understanding girl, especially when it came to territorial instincts that came with having a claimed mate. So when the waiter that was serving your table was getting a little too comfortable in your presence, you knew Tom would be agitated.

She did your best to distance yourself from the flirty staff member, but it was hard when he was going to be serving you the rest of the night, and they hadn’t even ordered their entries yet.

All Tom wanted to do was take her right on that table, showing that snobby waiter and the rest of the fucking restaurant who [y/n] truly belonged to. He wanted to rail into her as she let out the most perfect noises as he sucked hickeys on her neck, and made her cum so hard she cried, showing true dominance and-

“Tom,” [y/n] moved her chair closer to him at the table, putting a hand on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped up, but softened as he looked at her reassuring smile and comforting expression as she leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder.

“You know I’m yours,” she whispered in a tone only he could hear.

Tom could already feel the tension roll off of his shoulders, knowing that even if there was an overly cocky waiter, [y/n] was faithful. He trusted her, their strong bond was not going to be broken by some douche with a bow-tie.

“I’m sorry, tonight’s about you,” Tom looked over at her, gently kissing her nose, “We’re here to celebrate your promotion, darling,”

[y/n] gave a grateful smile, muttering a small ‘thank you’ before focusing on your expensive cocktail and appetizers.

At first, everything was fine, and it was comfortable, [y/n] and Tom getting into conversation, talking about what was going on in their jobs, or how the rest of the Holland family was doing.

But when the waiter came back, Tom tensed up slightly.

“You ready to order?” he asked, whipping out his notepad and waiting for at least one of them to speak.

Tom was the first to order, hesitantly adding a tense ‘please’ at the end of his request. After all, he knew that [y/n] valued manners. He did it all for her.

“And for you, beautiful?”

That motherfucker.

[y/n] cleared her throat, “Ma’am will be just fine with me thanks,” her voice was clipped in annoyance, not daring to look over at Tom, knowing that all the comfort she just gave him meant close to nothing now, Tom surely back to square one, like a child’s building blocks knocked down after building them up to satisfactory.

After she gave her order, the waiter walked away, muttering ‘prude’ as he made his exit.

The time to get their food was silent, partly because she didn’t want to disturb him, simply putting her arm around his waist, her free hand holding his as he held it back.

Thankfully, a different waiter came to deliver their meals, which released tension that was being held within Tom like a caged animal. Almost literally.

Finally, after he seemed to calm down a little, [y/n] tried to resume conversation and banter, and Tom reluctantly went along with it, soon restoring his hope of a pleasant night with his mate.

Tom was grateful for her, really. She would do anything for him, and he knew it, and all that time she was looking out for him, comforting when he needed comforting. And he couldn’t help but silently gush as she went on about a subject that she was truly passionate about.

And soon enough, the food was finally finished, the platers almost literally licked clean, everything cleared, and the couple knew that the dishwasher hidden in the back of the kitchen would be secretly grateful, their work getting cut down by half.

Shit. He was back.

And back he was, the flirty waiter returning with the check. Tom desperately tried to stay calm, tired of feeling like he wanted to rip the young man’s throat out.

But what he was about to say pushed him passed the point of redemption.

“I wrote my number on the check, darling,” he started, “you know, once you get tired of dealing with this man-child,”

Oh that was fuckin’ it.

Tom didn’t care anymore, blinded by anger, he looked at the waiter with his vicious glowing yellow eyes, his jaw clenched. That coupled with his clenched fist made him look absolutely terrifying.

But before the waiter could flee in terror, Tom grabbed [y/n]’s jaw tightly before jerking her forward as she let out a whimper, forcing her mouth open. To assert dominance, he spit directly in her mouth before turning back to the bastard that really pushed him over the edge.

He turned around, walking to the back of the restaurant, and if he had a tail, it would most certainly been between his legs. Tom couldn’t care less about the rest of the people around then, gawking at the two, shocked by the display of such a lewd act in the middle of a high-end Italian joint.

Tom dug into his wallet, tossing two Benjamins on the table before grabbing her hand, guiding her out to the car, opening the door for her. Even if he was blinded by rage, he always found a way to still be a gentleman.

The car ride home was dead silent, the sexual tension polluting the car, so thick it seemed as if one could cut it like butter. It took Tom everything not to swerve the the car to the side of the road, taking her right in the back seat, the smell of her arousal making him painfully hard.

Oh, he was going to wreck her.

As soon as they got back to the flat complex, he picked her up, carrying her to the elevator, not feeling like dragging her along like a wagon. Besides, he knew if he held her hand, he would probably break it.

His keys violently jingled in his hand as he unlocked the door to his abode, and as soon as he heard a click, he waisted no time, going to his bedroom at almost an inhuman speed, throwing her on the bed, making her giggle, Tom letting out a growl in response, stripping so quickly he almost ripped his shirt.

It thrilled [y/n] to think about all the ways he could ravage her, taking her anyway he pleased, knowing there was nothing in this world that could stop him from making her feel nothing but ecstasy.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to take you right there on that table, love,” he started, undressing her with vigor, his body language wreaking of impatience, “You would like that, wouldn’t you? To have everyone watch as I took you on top of your pasta that cost me a shit-ton of money, huh?”

He teared her underwear off of her, unclasping the omega’s bra as she let out a whimper. Normally, she would have cared that her favorite pair of panties were now nothing but a scrap of cloth on the floor. But at the moment, she couldn’t care less, lust glaring her senses.

He paused, taking in the form of his mate’s nude body. No matter how many times he saw her like this, it was always like seeing her for the first time. God, she was fucking perfect. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around his cock, giving a few jerks before returning to an unholy position on top of her.

“Spitting in your mouth was the closest thing to heaven, darling,” he hovered over her, sucking and biting at all her sweet spots on her throat, growling and muttering dark and sinful nothings in her ear.

“I’m not going to lie to you, bunny, I’m not really in the mood for much foreplay,” he admitted, “I can’t wait to watch my seed drip out of you,”

Before [y/n] could even respond, he had already lined himself up, sliding in, millimeter my millimeter, making sure she felt every vein and ridge of his aching cock that was caused by her and her alone. She made him like this, so it was only fair.

As soon as he bottomed out, he stayed there, peppering soft kisses across her face, a stark contrast to his mood only seconds before, basically cockwarming as he waited patiently for her to adjust. No matter how many times he was inside her, it always felt as if he was tearing her in half like an axe does wood.

Soon her small, nimble fingers made their way to his chestnut hair, tugging slightly as her fingernails lightly and gently grazed his scalp, signaling that she was ready for what was to come.

Tom slowly pulled out, only to slide right back in, hanging onto every whimper and whine she made, noises that he was ready to hear for the rest of his life. It was a strong bond that they had, and even though he was getting ready to plow into her, he couldn’t help but place a soft kiss and muttering a soft ‘are you okay?’

To this, she gave a nod, “Please Tom, ruin me... show me who I belong to,”

She most certainly didn’t need to repeat herself, Tom’s eyes returning to a dark lustful gold as he began to go harder without warning, which was exactly what his mate wanted.

“This what you wanted?” he grunted, his pace progressing into swift and quick thrusts, “For your alpha to wreck you? Fuck you until you cried?”

“Y-Yes! Please Tommy, I-” she stuttered between moans, his pace never faltering.

Suddenly, he yanked her to the edge of the bed, placing her legs over his shoulder as he stood, still inside her, soon resuming his pace, both of the pleasure they were feeling ten times more intense.

Then, Tom made the mistake of looking down. He could see her stomach bulge with the outline of his cock, almost reaching her fucking guts. He almost came right then and there.

“Can you feel me, darling? So fucking deep, you like that don’t you? When I rearrange your guts?”

His words made [y/n] let out a loud whine, just thinking about the fact that he was buried inside her, she could feel him everywhere. It was just him.

Him. Him. Him.

Her coil tightened as she reached down, rubbing soft circles around her clit before Tom snatched her hand away, growling.

“No touching what’s mine.” he slammed into her harder, “This cunt? It’s fucking mine, understand?”

“Y--Yes, Tom,” she muttered out, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours, T-Tommy,”

“Sorry, darling, couldn’t quite understand you,” he taunted, driving in at an inhuman pace, his supernatural abilities making his stamina and strength almost limitless, “Who’s cunt is this?”

“Yours Tommy!!” she cried out, not stuttering once as the coil in her core was tighter than ever, “Please, please Tommy, touch your cunt! Please, I’m so close!”

“Tell me I’m yours. Tell me I’m the only one,” he desperately pleaded, the need for validation the only thing that was holding him back from his release.

“Tommy, y-your mine, you’re the only one --oh god yes, you’re the only one”

And that was enough to get his fingers to rub on the small of her clit, making her cry out, the pleasure unmeasurable as she felt every part of him.

“D-Don’t stop!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,”

Finally, the coil inside her snapped like a whip, making her release the most pornographic moan she had ever let out, the neighbors most definitely wishing the complex had thicker walls.

Feeling her tighten so harshly was what tipped Tom over, her mound squeezing him tightly, his seed spilling inside of her, the warm liquid coating her walls like paint as they road out each other’s highs, the both of them feeling as if they were floating.

When Tom felt as if he could move again, he pulled out, stepping back to admire his masterpiece, watching as his seed spilled out of his perfect girl’s core like a waterfall, dripping onto the sheets, making him groan. It was almost enough to make him harden again.

He then helped [y/n] move vertically on the bed, plopping down right beside her as he did his best to catch his breath, the both of them basking in their love for each other. It was a beautiful, really.

“I want you to move in with me,” he finally said between pants, [y/n] stopping dead, looking over at her alpha.

“Wh-what?” she stuttered, her cloudy post-orgasmic haze making her question whether or not she heard him right. She turned her body slowly, facing him as he continued.

“I want you to live here. With me. I wanna be able to be with you, protect you. I love you so much, and I can’t think of anyone else I would want to live with. Besides, I wouldn’t mind this becoming a part of a nightly routine,” he wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“Yes. I would love to,” [y/n] finally replied after a dramatic pause.

Tom smiled and pulled her in close, the two of them fitting together like puzzle pieces. He held her tightly, his hands rubbing up and down her back.

“Mine,” he muttered into the crown of her head, breathing in her scent.

“Yours.”

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter #peter parker #Arvin Russell #arvin russel #arvin russell x reader #arvin russel x reader #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland imagine #werewolf au #wolf!tom holland

464 notes · View notes

kaylathekittykat225 · 3 years

Text

Carnival Ride of Horror // Steve Harrington x Reader

Carnival of Horror // SH

Warning/s: Cursing, laughing at inappropriate times, (very minimal) mentions/implications of abuse/stalking (just wanna warn, its super small but just in case!)

Word Count: 3.5k

Hey guys! It’s been a bit since I’ve written, lemme tell you, life has been kinda crappy and its just a little less crappy now! So I decided to start pecking at the keyboard again and this is what came of it! This lovely person requsted this work and I just got around to starting to really write because I had a free week. Anywhoodles, it’s good to write something again and I hope yall enjoy it!

Again thank you for this idea @seraphiiii

omg i came across your post about writing ideas in my feed and got so excited to see both steve harrington and young justice in the tags lmao. but i think a steve harrington x reader where reader and him go to an amusement park and reader is terrified of the rides so he’s like comforting her throughout them and encouraging her but also laughing (in a good natured way obvi) about how scared she is and stuff? i think that would be so cute!!

Here’s my Masterlist.

Enjoy.

-----

“Stevie, when we agreed to have a date night away from the kids, I didn't think we would be going into a mass of more kids.” As he pulled the keys out, you stared at the bright light shining machinery that had been set in the middle of a field outside the city. The annual summer fair had finally made its way to Hawkins, and it had left a buzz in the air as everyone planned when they would go, talked about what rides had come this year, who their ride buddy would be; it had been all the kids had been talking about for weeks. They put a day together the coming weekend to go as a group and they planned to drag Steve and you along on the off chance that they needed an “adult” to allow them on the rides.

Funny how they assumed either Steve or you knew how to adult.

“Cause I thought it would be a nice change from us just watching movies or having dinner.”

“Oh, so dino nuggets are no longer date-worthy for you.” Steve almost took you seriously, but he saw the grin that has graced your lips at your own comment. He relaxed a little knowing that you weren’t upset with his idea for date night, but he had always wanted to kiss someone at the top of a Ferris Wheel, and he would do anything to get you to the top of the rotating ride.

“So, you’re not mad that I chose here for tonight?” You shook your head and pulled at the door handle separating the two of you from the outside life.

“Of course not Stevie, I just thought it was an interesting choice.” The smile you chose to have was one that hopefully convinced him that you were okay with where the pair of you were going, even if you weren’t happy with the choice.

You can be happy with the idea of going to a carnival as long as you don’t go on-”Cool, so what ride do you want to do first?”

“Shit.” The world slipped out before you could stop yourself as Steve finished paying for your tickets and asked what you had said. “Nothing just kicked myself. Um…” You looked around frantically for something to do that wasn’t flashing brightly and spinning faster than the legal highway speed. “Let’s go over there!”

Steve followed your hand as he saw you point towards the stands of games that were rigged and way too fricking expensive, but he would do it for you. “Alright, starting out with some games I see, I like it.”

The two of you ran through a few of the games, most of them where Steve got way too into it and you had to step between them as he tried screaming that he deserved that stuffed bear/pony/cat/fish, because he almost had it every single time. He did beat out the basketball one, one of the last ones the two of you did on that strip, bolstering his confidence just enough to get him into a cheery enough mood.

“Alright! We played some games, and let the crazies test out the rides so I’m pretty sure they won’t break down on us. Which one should we do first? They got a drop tower, or how about the pit viper swings? Or, or, or how about we…” The night had been going enjoyable up until Steve turned to the rides you had managed to distract him from and pointed at the glowing and fast-moving monsters.

“How about we do the haunted walk over there?” Steve followed your pointing finger with a quizzical look, he hadn’t really taken note of the scary attraction before, never thought to really look to it with everything else going on. “I bet it won’t even be scary to us after everything we’ve been through right ha.”

You took off with a dry laugh without waiting for a response from him; his cries were head behind you, but the haunted house looked better than anything else around you. “Y/N.” He called you again, but you walked faster. By the time you got to the stairs leading into the building, you were practically running up them to get into the dark house with smoke billowing out of it.

“Y/N!” Your name was the last thing you heard before diving through the door and physically bumping into one of the scarers dressed as a zombie. He seemed nice, breaking character enough to ask if you were okay before you had already turned the corner and left him behind too.

Twisting and turning, you didn’t pay much mind to the screaming witches, zombies, skeletons, or anything that happened all around you; over the music and screaming, you could vaguely hear your name, giving you an indication that Steve followed you.

Not too far in, you found a quieter corner with only a couple cobwebs around it where you quickly ducked back into and tried pressing yourself into it deeper, hoping to watch Steve walk right by you.

Why the hell were you running from your boyfriend? You gained a sense of logic for a second where you paused. Why were you running? This was super childish of you and really had no reason. All Steve wanted to do was go on a few rides and you were being selfish and completely ruining what was going to be one of the few evenings you didn’t have to babysit the kids.

As the guilt started to swirl with your desire to not be found, you didn’t notice as the Frankenstein in the room had taken notice of you hiding in the corner and started to tromp over to you. “Hey, miss, you can’t be hiding in here, you gotta keep moving.”

“I’ll be out in a second, sir, let me just-” “You can’t be here-” “If you give me a second, I will leave as soon as I can-” “Miss you have to leave-” “Give me one dan minute-” “Y/N!”

Among all the screaming the Frankenstein and you had been doing was your name being called by a third and new voice along with a hand clasping onto your shoulder. Looking to the hand, you saw the unmistakable outline of the man you were hiding from. “There you are babe, why were you running off.” Just looking at the Frankenstein’s demeanor, you could tell he went into defense mode suddenly.

“Were you hiding from him miss? Are you okay? Do you feel safe?” The painted man moved to step between you and Steve in an attempt to separate you two.

“Whoa, whoa buddy, back off. She’s my girlfriend, chill out.” Steve tried stepping around the man o little success.

“Oh, your girlfriend? And she’s running from you? I don’t think this is looking very good for you, buddy.” The two were shooting back and forth at each other, getting chest to chest, and starting to cause a larger disturbance that started o be heard over the music and background scream noises. More workers it looked like started to slip into the room and try to get the two men to quiet down, going so far as to begin threats of throwing them out of the haunted house.

You were pulled away from the situation before being pushed away and into the next room, looking like it was on its way to the exit in the next two or three rooms: your destination.

-----

“Y/N?” His voice finally chirped up next to you as Steve took a seat next to you on the grass at the edge of the carnival. “You okay?” When he saw you sitting over here, he had quickly jogged over and took her in as he did so: sitting with her face pressed into her knees and arms wrapped tightly around her legs as she kept herself in as tight of a ball as possible.

You didn’t respond at first, only moving your head to look up at your boyfriend, the person you have embarrassed tonight and most definitely pissed off with your childish antics tonight. “I’m sorry.”

“Whoa what do you have to apologize for? I’ve been worried about you and wanted to make sure that you are okay.” His hand found its way to your back and began rubbing circles into your shoulder blade.

“I was really childish today and you didn’t deserve it, all because I was scared of the stupid rides.” Your words may have been mumbles, but he heard every word clearly.

“Hold on. Babe, did you say you were scared of the rides?” Your small and timid nod was enough for him to understand. “Why didn’t you tell me? I never would have brought you here if I knew that!”

Swallowing the thick feeling in your throat, you looked up at him and saw the disappointment and hurt in his face and that hurt. “Because you were so excited about it, I thought I could get through it and do at least one or two with you. But as we got closer, I guess my nerves got the best of me and I just...ran. Like a stupid child.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no.” Steve quickly shuffled to kneel in front of you and grabbed your hands, holding them in his own and your legs fell down to where you were now criss cross apple sauce. “I’m not gonna force you to do any of these rides if you don’t wanna. If you want to just go home, we can make this a movie night if that works better for you.”

“No, Stevie,” His mouth quirked up at this name. “You already bought the tickets; I don’t want you to waste the money you earned because I’m a scaredy cat.”

Steve took a second to think, racking his brain on how to salvage what has been an eventful evening. “How about…” He paused again and just stared at you with you staring back at him, waiting to hear what he wanted to say. “You can say no, how about we try a few rides, to try and get you on some. If you don’t like riding after one, we can go home, and you can at least say you did it.”

Mulling this idea over in your head, your eyes shifted from where your boyfriend sat in front of you to the bright and joyous scream filled rides were. “I suppose they don’t all look so bad.” You murmured to him, staring particularly at the giant Ferris Wheel that turned, a small memory from early on in your relationship popping into your head. Steve had mentioned a few times that his dream date would be to take a girl up on a Ferris Wheel and cuddle her and kiss her when they got to the top.

“Okay, we can try a few.” Though shaky, your voice was a little stronger this time and you gave Steve a small smile.

“You sure?” A nod. “Okay, I’ll let you choose which one we go on, okay?” Another nod.

Together, the two of you stood to your feet and approached the hustle and bustle of the carnival grounds again. “What did that Frankenstein do to you? I hope he didn’t get you in trouble or anything.” You asked as you laced your hand with Steve while the other went to hold onto his arm, squeezing it slightly as you got closer to the machines and your stomach growing heavy again.

“Oh him, he didn’t do much, just tried scaring me when he though I was some creep chasing you.” He chuckled at the short story, glancing over to you as you took in the carnival for really the first time, looking for something that didn’t freak you out. “How about we start with those spinning pods over there? All they do is spin around and if you want it to, we can make it spin on the inside too.”

Following his finger, you saw what he was referring to as it did spin around, the four small egg things with windows in them were spinning on the main machinery but also appeared to be spinning on their own. As you got closer and apparently joined the line, you could see inside one of them a group of middle school boys cackling as they pulled on the weird center disk that kinda looked like a pizza pan. “Yeah, we can give it a try.” The shakiness in your voice had come back and your grip on Steve tightened.

“Hey, you got this I’ll be right here with ya.” He returned the squeeze to your hand and fishes through his pocket for two tickets to hand over at the entrance. “Up ya go.” He mutters as he helps you up the three stairs leading into the egg ride thing you were entering before he stepped in behind you and took his place next to you. You were already holding a death grip on the center console when the door was shut, and Steve sat next to you. “You know what this is?” He asked gesturing to the disk you were holding onto with the vice grip.

“Something for me to hold onto?” You shocked yourself with how violently your voice was shaking as you heard something start to rumble around you. “Oh, shit its moving.” Steve let a quick chuckle out before he stopped himself and tried explaining the center console would cause the pod thing to spin. “Fuck no! Don’t you dare make this thing spin.” Bloody murder was not even near definitive enough of how much you were screaming.

“Babe, babe calm down, it’s fine! I promise, ha!” In comparison to your screaming, Steve seemed to be having the time of his life as he laughed; at least he wasn’t making the ride spin. “Babe, babe, babe, I’m so sorry I’m laughing, I promise I didn’t mean to, but you were screaming so much! And it was hilarious!” Steve held onto his sides as he nearly fell out of the pod and waited for you to follow his laughing self. When you didn’t step out, he turned back around and saw you still had your hands clenched very tightly to the metal plate, your eyes wide and your lips pursed together. “Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the rides, do you wanna go home?”

Hearing him soften up got you to finally look at him and slowly let go of the wheel. “N-n-no. I’m…” You paused to catch your breath and steady your voice. “I’m good, I just don’t know if I can do any more of these kinds of things.” Taking his hand, you pulled yourself up and stepped out from the ride and have yourself a few seconds to remember how to use your legs.

“You okay?” You nodded at him and gave a shaky, but okay smile. “You sure you wanna do another one? Cause we can go-”

“No, no, I can do…” The carnival really did have more rides than just ones that wanted to make you die, but none that really made you want to jump on them. “Can we do the carousel? I know I can do that one at least, my mom took me on them enough as a kid to be desensitized to those ones.” Steve looked over and saw the carousel that was filled predominately by smaller children, but if you wanted to do this and it was because he bought the tickets, he couldn’t make her do something else.

“If that’s what you wanna do, then we can do the carousel all night long, babe.” You nodded at him and followed him as he took your hand and the two began the walk to the carousel.

The carousel ride was much less curse filled, thankfully. You and Steve had found a pair of horses sitting side by side and the two of you quickly claimed them. Like you had said, you did get to enjoy this ride due to having done it before and you were able to just chat between the two of you, talking about how the kids were cute, how excited you were to take the kids to the park and not have to rides. It was a fine ride, definitely better than the last one.

“You ready to go home, babe?” Steve turned to you with a smile on his face. Getting you to ride two of the rides was honestly enough for him, plus, he knew Dustin would ride all of them with him later, with you waiting at the end for him.

You were about to agree and leave this eventful evening behind you, but you saw what Steve was standing near and bit your lip. Should you do it? Could you do it? “Actually, I wanna do one more.” He gave a quick quirk of his head before he followed your eyeline and turned around.

“What? Babe, we don’t have to do that, you have been through enough today and you were great, you don’t have to prove anything.”

“But...you have been wanting to do it, you told me about it one time.” You responded a little shyly as you confessed that you were doing it back of what he told you that one time. “I just...I really want you to be able to do it.”

“You...you remembered?” Steve was kind of shocked that you remembered him mentioning it, he had told that to girls in the past, but none of them really went out of their way to think about it, hell, even to remember it. “Are you su-”

“Steve, yes, I wanna do it with you.” The grin on his face was immaculate and contagious as one grew on your face as he quickly took this well and pulled you towards the line to the Ferris Wheel and dug around in his pockets for another round of tickets.

As it went around, you felt your stomach grow heavy again when you finally saw how high it got and had to calm yourself down without causing another scene. “Come on, babe, looks like ours is up.” He gently tugged on your hand and pulled you into the seat next to him before the handlebar was lowered and locked in front of you. “And here we go!”

The squeak that left your mouth was nothing but surprise and terror as you clung onto the bar for your life, your knuckles turning white with the sheer force you were holding on. “It’s really stupid you know that the only thing holding us back from falling to our death is this small bar and it’s really stupid because was if I was reall-holy shit this is really tall!” You finally removed your hands from the bar and moved to press yourself in Steve.

You could feel him trying to stop himself from giggling as he moved his arm to wrap it around you. “You can laugh you know; I really don’t care. I’m the coward of an almost twenty-year-old who’s scared of a carnival.” A chuckle did come through as the ride kept rotating and you slowly moved closer to the bottom.

“I’m not laughing at you, babe, but the noises you are making are fricking hilarious.” His voice still held the chuckle as he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and you responded with another squeak of shock as you started rising again.

Making it to the top again, you were waiting for it to hit its peak and for the relief of lowering the cart to begin, but instead there was a shudder before the ride stopped. “What’s going on, what’s going on, why are we stopped? Oh god we are about to die, fuck, shit, I don’t wanna die.”

“Babe, calm down, someone below us is getting off so they had to stop the ride for a bit. Remember when we had to get on? Same thing probably happened to someone else.” You nodded your head and just stared ahead to the tops of the trees you never thought you would have seen.

“It’s...it’s not too bad up here.” You finally mutter after a few beats of silence and getting your bearings. “I wouldn’t want to stay up here, but it does look nice.” Steve hummed in agreement and pulled you a little closer. “Hey Stevie?”

“Hmm?” He responded looking down at you.

“Thanks, tonight was fun.”

His face broke out into a grin again at your thanks. “Of course, thanks for giving a few of these rides a chance.” Smiling up at him, you sat a little straighter and caught his lips with your own, the two of you humming to the other that you were happy with your evening.

Though it was not as long as Steve would have wanted to stay in that moment with you (the ride started again and you broke away with another shriek), but he wouldn’t have traded that moment for anything else in his life.

#steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve #stranger things season 2 #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things season 3 #stranger things #joe keery

144 notes · View notes

mylifeisactuallyamess · 3 years

Text

Here is my one shot for Writer Wednesday, set in the storyline of the current fic spawning from last Wednesdays prompt 😅 @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

General Hux x Female Reader

Prompt: “I’m in love with you.”

Warnings: None except a shit ton of angst.

Word count: 4216

Read here on AO3.

Your hand brushed down the soft fabric of your dress as it cascaded down your body. The top was midnight black which blended into a deep red colour all the way to the floor. It was stunning, the emblem of the First Order sat proudly around your neck, the silver glinting in the light as the delicate chain rippled against your skin. Your hair was up exposing the column of your neck and the soft line of your shoulders, you had put on some makeup but not a lot, just preferring to accentuate your eyes and lips. Your hand paused over your stomach trying to settle the nerves that fluttered there but nothing could stop them.

You were in a hotel in Canto Bight, the First Order High Command were gathering here to celebrate the victory over the Resistance on Crait. Things had gone wrong, and some members had slipped away but to the rest of the Galaxy the First Order right now had no opposition and they were going to flaunt that as much as they could. This was a show of power and you were all for it. You hadn’t seen Hux the last couple of days and your hands trembled slightly at finally being able to see your husband looking like this. A soft knock sounded on your door.

“Come in!” It opened to reveal Lieutenant Mitaka, his eyes widened slightly at the sight of you and it made you smile. Just a fraction of a reaction like that from Hux would make your heart soar. Your smile dipped slightly in the absence of Phasma, you missed your silver shadow.

“I have been sent to escort you, My Lady.”

“Will I do Dopheld?” You asked, giving a quick spin, the material of your dress rustling slightly and he nodded vigorously while trying to hold his posture. “Will my husband approve?” You didn’t miss the quick flinch from his brow at the mention of Hux, the nervous flicker of his eyes as he swallowed.

“Y-Yes, I think so,” he managed to stutter out. You tried to ignore the heaviness that threatened to drag you down, you were still in the dark about what had happened on the Supremacy before the Raddus had blasted through it and destroyed half of the fleet. You had been on the Finalizer, all you knew was Hux had survived and Kylo Ren was now Supreme Leader.

“Is he here?” You breathed looking back at your reflection, frowning when Dopheld refused to give you an answer. “Lieutenant. Who sent for me?” He jumped as you snapped his title at him.

“T-the Supreme Leader.” Your eyes widened, so Ren was here but no one knew where Hux was. You straightened your back and pulled on the black lace gloves that covered your forearms, which were also dotted with the emblem of the First Order leaving no one in any doubt of your affiliation.

“Best not keep him waiting,” you murmured, turning and heading to the door. You slipped your arm into Dopheld’s and you both fell into an easy stride down the hallway, the ride in the lift was silent and you tried not fidget, watching the lights count down until the doors opened before you, revealing the area you were to spend your evening. The first thing you noticed was the sheer size of the room and the height of the ceilings. You were used to grand surroundings but nothing on Arkanis could even come close to the splendour that filled your vision. You stepped out of the lift and moved to look over the banister, you were on a type of landing that led to two branches of sweeping staircases, finally merging into one grand staircase. You looked up at the intricate marble work, feeling overwhelming awe at the carve of the stone, the detail and skill not to mention the time it must have taken almost blew your mind. Your lace gloved hand rested lightly on the marble banister as Mitaka waited patiently for you. Your eyes were drawn to the golden chandeliers that hung from the vast ceiling, the lights in them flickered trying to create a warm glow, the branches dripping in shiny clear gems all glinting and reflecting, throwing beams of fractured light around the enormous room. Your gaze was drawn down the crowd below, their echoey chatter punctuated by music from the band on the stage over the far side. You could see the Officers and Generals all in their finest uniforms, and you experienced a little tremor as you realised Hux would also be in all his splendour this evening. You felt someone staring and you leaned over the banister slightly to capture the eyes of the one and only Kylo Ren. His amber gaze was piercing and you couldn’t look away as he began to make his way through the crowd, people moving respectfully out of his way as he swept his way up the stairs, his black cape flowing behind him and he took the stairs two at a time in giant strides. His raven dark hair falling over his brow, the scar the Jedi girl had given him reached across his face marring the handsome features but not ruining them. He paused a few steps away from you, his gaze drinking you in, ignoring the nervous Lieutenant who stood between you.

“I shall escort her, Mitaka.” His voice was deeper than you remembered, but still just as devastating on your ears.

“Where is my husband?” You asked pointedly, hopefully getting across you were in no mood for games this evening.

“He is just finishing up some tasks for me. He will be along soon.” He took a step towards you and offered his arm. You eyed it distrustfully remembering the first time you had taken his arm on the Finalizer and the way he had tried to make you cower with his show of strength. But right now you had no choice, he had clearly detained Hux on purpose and this was the Supreme Leader. You couldn't refuse him without offering insult. Holding back an irritated sigh you pushed away from the banister, sliding your arm into the crook of Kylo’s and he rested it gently into his body. He guided you down the stairs, his eyes surveying the room and you noticed people were staring. You were coming down the stairs on the arm of the Supreme Leader, the most powerful man in the Galaxy and people were noticing you with looks of admiration and awe. It was intoxicating, and you basked in it. When you reached the bottom of the stairs you saw the Generals casting sideways glances as Kylo’s large form cut a clear path through the crowd.

“Would you like a drink?” He rumbled and you nodded in reply. Your nerves were accelerating at an alarming rate, each second ticked closer to you finally catching a glimpse of your husband and you couldn’t wait. Taking the delicate glass full of a pale bubbly liquid from Kylo with a murmured thanks as you looked at the doors studying the people coming in. But to your disappointment none of them had the bright red hair you were looking out for. You both sipped your drinks, your mind tripping over questions you had for Kylo but not knowing where to start. Your gaze darted up to look at him, finding his eyes were already settled on you. “What do you wish to know?” He asked, leaning down slightly to talk into your ear, his warm breath tickled your bare shoulders and you felt the little hairs rise all over your body.

“I don’t really know where to start. All I know is Armitage survived. Was he injured? Is he alright? What happened to Leader Snoke? I’ve been very much kept in the dark and I am not happy about it. Supreme Leader.” You attempted to finish on a respectable note, and tried not to think how this man could snap your neck with just a click of his fingers. He had certainly killed people for less.

“He is alright,” he replied, feeding your own words back to you. “He’s not happy as the Jedi, Rey killed Snoke before he could bestow the promotion that he wanted.”

“But you could?” You pointed out. “You could give him the promotion he deserves.” Kylo’s gaze scanned the room before meeting your questioning gaze and you swore you could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“His accomplishment with Starkiller was negated the moment the Resistance destroyed it.” Your hand tightened around your glass, annoyance flushed your body and you clamped your teeth together as you reminded yourself with who you were conversing. “He needs to find another way to prove himself worthy of such a title.” You could feel the flush creeping under your skin, the heat of it prickled and you tried to ignore the feel of it. “Would you care to dance?” You looked up sharply to catch the slight wistful look on the taller man’s face as he watched the couples moving gracefully on the dance floor.

“Do you know how?” You asked before realising how you sounded, but his reaction surprised you even more. A smile cracked his face, revealing dimples you’d never seen before giving him a much younger look.

“I am the son of some regality, of course I can dance,” he divulged. You’d never thought of who his parents were, he’d just entered your life as a creature of anger and hatred, you never once assumed he had parents, or regal breeding. He took the glass from your hand and put them down on the table next to you before stretching out his leather gloved hand ready for you to take. You hesitated, looking up at him seeing the earnest look in his eye as he patiently waited. Your hand shook slightly, your fingers flexing as his much larger one clasped around yours dwarfing it considerably. He led you to the middle, your eyes never leaving his face as he politely placed his hand on your body, settling it just above the curve of your waist on your back, his other hand open letting yours rest lightly in his palm. You placed your hand on his shoulder, letting him take the lead, your feet moving from memory alone as he proved he was just as graceful on the dance floor as he was on the battlefield. He twirled you away from him and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest, it had been such a long time since you had any fun like this. And you finally began to enjoy yourself, you offered your dance partner a smile and he dipped his head down to your level.

“You don’t smile enough.”

“I shall try to smile more,” you breathed your eyes seeing over his shoulder only to lock with the intense gaze of your husband. Your smile faltered at the glare he gave you from under the visor of his hat, like a blaster shot it blazed through your body sending an icy sensation down your legs and you stumbled only for Kylo to tense his arm around you so you didn’t fall. You pulled away looking fearfully up at Kylo as his hands dropped away from you. “Forgive me, I should see my husband.” He stepped to the side and you brushed past him but Hux was gone.

“Drink,” Hux all but snarled at the serving droid behind the bar. He watched the amber liquid fall into the glass as he leaned heavily on the bar, his coat covering his body, the visor of his hat low over his brow as he attempted to shut the gathering out from around him. He tried not to think anything of it but seeing you smiling in the arms of a man he utterly despised made his insides twist and knot over and over again. He had been so looking forward to seeing you, hoping those smiles you gave out would be just for him. He had daydreamed of the delicate touch from your fingers and his mind travelled frequently to the moment in the corridor when all barriers had crumbled between you both and he gave more of himself to you than he’d ever done before. But the illusions he had of some sort of reunion were now in tatters, because you’d been in the arms of Kylo Ren. The man who Hux was pretty sure had killed the Supreme Leader himself and just shifted the blame to that girl.

His hand subconsciously rose to rub his neck as he remembered the way he had ceased breathing when he questioned Ren, the pressure of the force stopping his body from functioning. The loss of the Resistance on Crait had been Ren’s fault but no one would believe Hux anyway, not now he was cementing his position of Leader of the First Order, a position that Hux should be in. Not some turbulent man child with barely any real life experience.

“Armitage,” the sound of his name coming from your lips shot straight to his heart making it stutter in his chest but he didn’t turn. You came up beside him, your hands resting on the bar next to him as you tried to find some words but knowing there was nothing you could say. He looked at you in the mirror behind the bar and he couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you looked. The dress was stunning, the colours perfect and it made you stand out magnificently. He saw you were wearing the necklace he gave you with the emblem on and it matched the black lace pattern on your gloves. The effort that went into your outfit was impeccable but was it for him as a General or was it to grab the attention of someone more prominent? He downed the drink, his neck tensing at the burn as it pooled warmly in his belly and gestured for another.

“You look handsome,” you finally offered.

“Surprised you noticed.” He shot at you, perturbing himself at his venomous candor. He’d never looked at himself as handsome, he’d never needed to, never wanted to and always just assumed no one would ever look at him like that. So when you said it, you who was so beautiful it stole the breath from his lungs he just couldn’t process it and it felt much better to just palm the compliment off.

“Of course I noticed, I—I have missed you.” The glass paused on it’s way to his mouth at the soft sound in your voice. It tugged on parts of him that he didn’t know even existed but all he could see in his mind was that man’s hands on your body and you smiling for him. “I had no idea what happened, I’ve literally been in limbo for days with just the news that you were alive and Phasma…” your voice broke and he felt the echo of it in his very soul. Yes, Phasma. The one person who he trusted with his life, the person he relied on the most was gone. He downed the liquid in his glass, draining the very dregs and asking silently for another. “Don’t you think you should slow down?” You whispered, your hand creeping across the bar to his arm.

“No.” He stated firmly, your hand stopped and curled into a fist at his abrupt tone. “Haven’t you got socialising to do?” He dared to look at you, seeing the hint of tears in your eyes, or was that just a trick of the light? Right now he didn’t care. His anger was shimmering at the back of his mind like a caged animal and he didn’t want to unleash it on you so it was best if you left him alone. You turned your back to him before striding off and he expelled a silent sigh as another glass was placed before him. He already missed you beside him, but it was for the best. He downed this glass in one go, checking his hat was straight in the mirror before falling behind that blank barrier that carried him through these situations and he strode off to make himself known.

He stood in the group of High Command Generals, Admiral Griss was recounting some story of a prisoner pulling raucous laughter from the others, General Engell chiming in with comments and more laughter burst from them all. General Parnadee sidled up next to Hux and he eyed her out of the corner of eye.

“You’re very stoic this evening General Hux, surely you should be celebrating?” She turned slightly. “Maybe with that gorgeous wife of yours?” She stated pointing over his shoulder. That grabbed the attention of the group and his whole body tensed, he knew he had to tread carefully here.

“I’m sure she’s having a lovely time,” he commented looking down into his glass.

“Hux, are you serious? The woman is gorgeous and you’re just going to let her socialise, alone?” Asked General Domaric Quinn incredulously. He did not want to talk about you. He was well aware of how attractive you were, he didn’t need reminding.

“It was an arranged marriage, was it not?” Asked Parnadee, a sly look glinting from her gaze.

“It was,” Hux confirmed stiffly. She smirked and spoke a little louder.

“So it would be safe to say you have no feelings towards the woman at all?” He sighed.

“No, none. I married her to stop her family falling into ruin, if I had my way she’d be back on Arkanis where she belongs.” A hush fell over the group and Hux noticed them all looking over his shoulder, he turned only to lock eyes with you and his body froze. Your head was held high, a heated steely look emitted from your gaze, he could see the slight flex of your jaw as you processed his words. His brain ceased to function, he hadn’t meant the words that fell from him, he didn’t want them to know how he really felt about you because if they did, you could be used as leverage. Your life could be threatened, he wouldn’t put it past any of these people standing with him not to kill you or hold you hostage. His position was right next to the Supreme Leader, if they knew you were his everything it wouldn’t take much to topple him from that position. It’s better this way… but was it? The look on your face told him it wasn’t but all he could do was turn back to face the group, listening as your shoes clicked smartly on the floor carrying you away from him. Yes, it’s better this way.

The conversation restarted, quickly picking up pace but it left Hux behind, floundering in his thoughts. It was happening again, the sensation of his chest tightening and he knew he couldn’t have an attack here, so excused himself. Ignoring the knowing looks and smirks that were tossed his way as he shoved his way through the crowd. He took the stairs two at a time, urgency making his movements jerky as he struggled to keep himself together, thankfully his hat hid most of his face but the nausea was swirling around inside him as he replayed the hurt look on your face again and again. It pierced him like a blade, slicing its way through his body ripping a wound so deep he wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover from such damage. He finally found himself alone and he closed his eyes, falling into the familiar pit of panic, his heart fluttering erratically, his lungs refused to expand and his head felt feather light on his neck, like someone had detached it from his body entirely. He turned away at the sound of footsteps and he tried to lean against the wall and look like he wasn’t dying of an intense pain that catapulted him into the stratosphere. He didn’t want to be here, he had tried to do something that benefited you, that helped you stay safe and all he could see was the beginnings of hatred in your eyes. It was then, in this moment, when he was faced with the threat of not having you anymore he realised.

He loved you.

The footsteps stopped just behind him and he knew it was you, your scent curled comfortingly around him and he felt himself begin to relax.

“Did you mean it?” The emotion clogging your voice made his eyes fly open. “You feel nothing for me?” He wanted to reply, he wanted to tell you but his body refused to respond. The realisation of how he actually felt had made all cognitive function abandon him completely. You stepped in front of him, streaks of makeup marked your face and still the only thought he could muster was how amazing you looked. “You’ve been holding a return to Arkanis over me for so long, I guess you should just execute it now. Why do you keep me around Armitage? Am I really just something for you to dip into when you feel like? I’m not a toy. I’m not a prize. I am a person with feelings!” Your hands rose and splayed across your chest as if you were trying to contain the emotion inside you and failing. Fresh tears leaked with every blink, soaking your lashes and he still found he was frozen, unable to move or react in any way. “I thought I loved you, Armitage. But I guess I was wrong.” Finally he moved, your eyes refusing to look at him as he straightened to his full height before you. He could feel it, the subtle crumble of all his internal barriers, the words you had said spun round and round in his mind repetitive and devastating to him. You had never hurt him, you had never laid a rough hand on him, you had stood by him, praised him, admired him, congratulated him, accepted him. Why had it taken him so long to realise just how perfect you were? And here he was breaking your heart, he didn’t know if he could fix this. He had no idea if you were forever done with him, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t try.

He inhaled, his throat was dry and at first he didn’t think he’d be able to utter anything at all. Your face screwed up and you nodded in resignation as you mistook his hesitancy for dismissal. You turned, your shoulders pulling inwards at the hurt that exploded from your chest. You were leaving. Hux internally screamed, he knew if you left now this was it, he’d never get another chance like this and finally his body moved. One big stride took him close to you, close enough to grab your hand and forcefully whip you round to face him. He held onto your upper arms, sure his grip would bruise you but he needed to feel you. He needed to experience a physical connection with you. You winced as his fingers dug into your flesh, a slight gasp escaping you as your chest heaved with a sob. You looked up at him, hope shining in your eyes and he fought with himself to ultimately let go.

“I…” his voice choked. Panic suddenly rendered him speechless but he refused to give up. His lips moved but no sound came out and you inhaled slightly. “I—I love you!” He finally spat. His brain stuttered to a complete halt but his entire body relaxed. He’d said it. A breath expelled from him and his chest stopped aching, the beat of his heart began to rocket in his chest and his eyes frantically searched yours. “I’m in love with you.” It was easier this time, flowing from him like he’d been able to say it this whole time. You swallowed, the feather of your throat caught his attention and he felt the overwhelming urge to pull you in for a kiss but he wasn’t sure you wanted him to.

“Armitage…” You whispered. “This—this is where you kiss me, like you mean it.” He didn’t hesitate, his lips crashed into yours almost painfully as he dragged you towards him, his hands moved round to your back pressing you into him as hard as possible. He got lost in the feel of you, the scent of your skin, the softness of your lips, the heat of your tongue as it slid into his mouth. You were everything to him, and now he had admitted it to himself, he had no barriers left. You were inside him, encroaching on his damaged soul, repairing him from the inside out. You were a breath of fresh air, an ocean under the moon, the light of the stars all collided into one place. You breathed new life into him, showed him things no other person had ever done before and that made you precious to him. You were the most valuable thing Armitage Hux had in his life and he would obliterate anyone who threatened to take you from him.

#writer wednesday #star wars #general hux #general hux x female reader #kylo ren #general hux x reader #general hux x you #armitage hux x female reader #armitage hux x you #armitage hux x reader #general hux fanfiction #armitage hux fan fiction #Star Wars fanfic #my writing #mylifeisactuallyamess #angst

84 notes · View notes

lune-hime · 3 years

Text

Future (Chocobros x f!Reader)

“How did you imagine our future?”

↞Noctis↠

The blossoms tickled your cheek as you turned to regard the prince. His question was asked with a tone as light as the crisp night air.

“Well, last I checked we were still getting married.” You chuckled, reaching out to idly caress a velvety petal between your fingertips. “It will be a grand wedding, no doubt.”

Noctis hummed contently next to you, your forms spread out in the vast field.

“We can expect nothing less from Specs.” He added. The two of you giggled at the image of a Ignis as a wedding planner.

“What should we do for the honeymoon?” You speculated to the starry sky, gaze getting lost in the endless maze of constellations.

“Sleep.” Noctis replied dreamily. You huffed and shook your head in disbelief, the movement causing petals to fall into your splayed locks.

“How about going fishing?” He proposed. The scowl you gave him caused an amused smile to settle on his smooth features.

“Altissia and a little sleeping and fishing on the side?” He offered in a last ditch attempt to fit his two favorite activities into the plans.

“That sounds more like it.” You sighed happily, letting the coolness of the midnight breeze delicately prickle your skin.

“Y/N.” Noctis cooed, the sound as smooth as the surface of the flowers. You turned back towards him, heart lighting up when you were met with his smile. The euphoria only lasted a moment, however, before the once pleasant chill of the night began giving you goosebumps.

“Promise me something.” He requested in a feigned upbeat tone. You could tell he was trying to mask the sadness in his voice.

You nodded once, watching the corners of his mouth quiver slightly.

“Anything.” You whispered. Noctis’ touch was temperate in contrast to the brisk air as he reached out to run his palm along your jawline.

“Promise me you won’t let me ruin your future."

Every physical aspect of reality had seemed to halt in that moment. You no longer had any sense of time nor of the itchy feeling of the blades of grass against your bare legs. You could no longer see the complex colors of the heavens and the moons seemed like dull street lights in the sky. The cold wind no longer bit at your skin. You felt completely numb to everything except Noctis.

“What?” You choked, suddenly feeling like a rock was lodged into your throat. Noctis’ shook his head, silently telling you not to cry, and flashed you another grin.

“Please do everything we just talked about, either for yourself or with someone who makes you happy.” His voice cracked at the second half of his phrase, but he retained his grin.

“I’m so sorry I’m not able to give you that future, goddess knows I would have given you the entirety of Eos.” His sapphire eyes reflected the dazzling lights in the sky and his gaze was filled with thousands of words he would never be able to say to you.

“Instead of living in my memory, live for my memory, okay?” His eyes softened into a smile of their own as he regarded you like it was the last time he ever would.

Suddenly, you felt the sudden urge to embrace him but before you could throw yourself into his arms, he had disappeared on the wind and you felt yourself being dragged out of the field with a swift tug.

“Rise and shine, Y/N. By the six, we need to find a new expression for that now. Time for another hunt.” Iris sang as she gingerly shook you awake. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you craned your neck to peek out the tent window to regard the dark world that awaited for you. Heaving yourself up from your sleeping back, you rubbed your eyes and cracked your back with a resounding pop before getting to your feet. After slipping on your boots, you gave the jewel around your left ring finger a loving twirl as you walked out to the campsite. Even in the shadows of Eos, the little gem still managed to shine.

“I promise, Noct.”

He was now your past, but you would forever be his future.

↞Prompto↠

He was the personification of a wilting flower. His once bright eyes were now sunken and bordered by heavy bags. He barely showed his dazzling smile anymore, so you had said goodbye to the little dimple on his cheek weeks ago. Even his once vibrant golden locks had seemed to dim in hue along with the rest of the world. When Eos lost its sunlight, so did you.

You barely registered the question he posed into his lukewarm coffee. Your heart broke when you hear the hopelessness in his voice.

Turning towards him, you reached over only to brush past his arm to grab his camera lying on the diner counter. Prompto looked over to you with slight interest, still slumped weakly in his chair. You flipped through the photos, pressure bubbling behind your eyes at the happiness of your youth. He always kept old pictures on his camera to make sure he never forgot what life used to be like. Photos were physical and more tangible compared to memories, anyway. You blinked back the wetness in your eyes until you found it.

Wordlessly you slid the camera over to him, and he picked it up with gentle hands. Once his gaze met the screen, they starting shaking and the camera began to fall from his grasp. You placed your hands firmly over his, securly holding the device in place.

It was a selfie Prompto took of the two of you at Wiz’s Chocobo Post early on in your journey. Sandwiched in between the two of you was your own Chocobo, Blueberry, his periwinkle feathers bristling in excitement and his beak open in mid chirp. Happiness radiated off you and Prompto, your smiles overtook all the other features of your face and the afternoon sun casted a cheerful glow over the image.

Prompto sucked in a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

“This was our future.” You gestured towards the photo with a sad smile. You removed your hands from his and used them to cup his cheeks, turning him to face you. It was the first time in a while you had gotten him to directly look at you.

“And it still is.” You stated, voice unwavering. As you looked into his eyes, all the memories of your Prompto flashed through your mind like the title credits of a movie. A happy smile found it's way to your lips this time.

“You are forever my sunshine, even more now so that the world has grown dark. And we will find the light again.” You sealed your promise to him with a soft kiss, his arms immediately coming to cup your forearms gently. When you pulled away you saw a few stray tears had begun staining his cheeks but more importantly that dazzling smile that could drive the darkness away with one glance.

↞Ignis↠

The soft puff of air that left your mouth tickled the corner of Ignis’ lips. Your hesitation caused his heart to sink. He bit his lip nervously, teeth worrying over the chapped skin. He didn't mean to sour the previously sweet and intimate moment but the question had become a chronic worry of his. The various fictional situations of his disability somehow ruining your constantly ran through his mind and were gnawing on his insides.

In the absence of a response, he felt his intrusive thoughts begin to manifest into reality. Before he could turn away, however, your hands on his chest rose to gingerly clasp onto his cheeks, forcing him to face you. Through his clouded vision, he could only see the shadow of your movements but he knew your features were contorted in the way they did when you were trying to articulate a particular feeling.

“I didn't picture it like this, but I know you didn't either.” You almost laughed, bringing his face closer and looking into those milky green orbs. Although seemingly lifeless, they still sparkled with the same vigor the man had expressed before the incident. Brushing his eyelids shut with gentle fingertips, you replaced your touch with a feather light kiss to both of them. When you pulled back, the look of adoration on Ignis’ face made your heart swell. Who knew such a simple thing like a kiss could calm the tidal waves of insecurity that resided within the man.

“But I wouldn't change a thing, because even though the world went to shit, I still have you. And you are still you no matter what happens.”

↞Gladiolus↠

Gladiolus’ question replaced the comfortable silence between the two of you as you maneuvered through the briarwood. The inquiry made you laugh and you almost slipped at the minor distraction, boots squelching against the muddy ground. Gladiolus, reflexes as nimble as ever, gripped your arm thus preventing you from coming into contact with a sizeable bramble bush.

“Well, our lives haven’t exactly been a fairytale now have they?” You replied sarcastically, the both of you chuckling as he lifted up a low hanging vine so you could step under.

“I mean, sure I obviously thought it would be a lot different than this-” You started, abruptly stopping in the middle of the path much to Gladiolus’ confusion.

“But look.” You smiled, pointing to the sky. Gladiolus followed your finger to the thick canopy of the woods. A clearing in the branches allowed for pale rays of sunlight to seep through the dense foliage, the sun warming his skin and causing him to squint. His eyes started to sting from it’s intensity, but it was a welcoming feeling. What wasn’t welcome, however, was the moisture that began collecting in his eyes.

“And we have this” You stated, taking his hand and guiding it to rest on the slight bump of your stomach. He splayed his palm and rubbed soothing circles against the fabric of your shirt. He regarded you with an adoration he never knew he would get to experience.

“Thank you, Noct, for giving us this future.” Gladiolus said to the sky, his voice thick with a menagerie of emotions. The sun had given back their ability to live, but it was the boy behind the sun that had given Eos a second chance to shine.

↞Bonus↠

“Noct for the thousandth time NO we are not spending our honeymoon at the recreational fishing area.” You retorted over your shoulder as you sped walked to keep up with a swift paced Ignis. Why did he have to have such long legs?

Ignis was simultaneously speed firing you questions regarding the shapes and materials of various dining wares and whether or not you wanted hydrangeas or lilies placed in the center of each table as the three of you maneuvered through the elaborate department store. Well, it was more like the two of you with how far back Noctis was straggling behind. While Ignis was like a worker bee buzzing from section to section, the prince on the other hand was taking a leisurely stroll; touching random items here and there but not regarding them with much enthusiasm. You had told him that it was fine if he didn’t come; you were enjoying planning out your wedding enough for the two of you. But Noctis protested, saying that even though it wasn’t his favorite thing to do, he wanted to be there because at the end of the day it was both your wedding.

Ignis abruptly stopped in front of a vast display of fabrics, carefully inspecting each one with fine detail. You patiently waited behind the advisor, giving Noctis some time to catch up.

“On any other occasion a weekend fishing with you sounds heavenly, but I don’t want to spend our honeymoon smelling like trout and stinky worms.” You stated, grimacing at the thought of your cute outfits smelling like dead fish.

“Which one of these do you fancy would be suitable for the table cloths for the reception?” Ignis inquired, shoving a book of samples into your hands as he slowly moved down the line of textiles. A moment later, Noctis popped up behind you, idly looking at the samples from over your shoulder. Once you noticed his presence, you held them up so he could get a better view.

“Black obviously.” Noctis declared blandly. It was clear to everyone that he wasn’t that into the whole wedding planning process and was more excited for the actual event than having to be involved in everything that went into arranging it. It didn’t help that he had to get up two hours earlier than he normally did either.

“Of course, Noct, but which black.” Ignis exhaled, looking close to short circuiting. The cloth samples were indeed both a dark shade of cobalt, but they differed in pattern and sheen. Taking matters into your own hands you pointed to the silk cloth with intricate silver embroidering.

“This one is pretty, Iggy.” You chimed in, wanting to keep Ignis’ sanity intact and let Noctis be done with the whole process as soon as possible.

“Couldn’t agree more, Y/N. You always have had the better sense of aesthetics out of the two of you.” Ignis praised before immediately moving onto the next item on the list, leaving behind an annoyed Noctis. You choked back a laugh and turned to face him, poking his puffed cheeks until his pout turned into a smile.

“How about we go to Altissia, with some fishing on the side?” He proposed, grasping your hands and lowering them from his face to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“It’s a deal!” You beamed, bouncing on your heels. The excitement on your features set off sparks in Noctis’ chest.

“If I receive some persuasion, maybe we can throw in a few naps in there too.” You added playfully, swaying your entangled hands from side to side.

“Oh, we can do more than just nap.” Noctis grinned, taking his hands out of yours and fluidly moving to lightly tickle your sides, offering an animated shriek from you. Just as you were getting into a small tickle fight, the buzzing of the store’s intercom system activated.

“Stop dilly-dallying lovebirds and lets get a move on, we still have to go to the caterer’s office after this. I am in isle 24, the silverware section.” Ignis’ unamused voice echoed off every surface of the building.

The two of you exchanged a look of disbelief before breaking out into hysterical laughter.

“Better not keep him waiting.” You patted his chest and broke away from his embrace. Noctis rolled his eyes and placed a kiss to your forehead before the two of you ran hand in hand to your lovely wedding planner.

#ffxv #ffxv gladiolus #ffxv noctis #ffxv prompto #ffxv ignis #noctis x reader #Noctis Lucis Caelum #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #gladiolus amicitia #gladiolus x reader #ignis scientia #ignis x reader #ffxv imagines #fanfiction #final fantasy fanfiction #chocobros #chocobros x reader

153 notes · View notes

kuroos-moon · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s and Pretty Roses

☀︎︎ request: Hey loveee! Could I please have a hc request where Oikawa, akaashi and kuroo’s crush or s/o receives a valentines rose from them and are so happy Bc they never ever had gotten a rose from anyone for Valentine in her life.

☀︎︎ pairing: oikawa x reader, kuroo x reader, akaashi x reader

☀︎︎ genre: fluff

☀︎︎ warning/s: none

Oikawa Tohru

he CAN’T just give you a rose without any extra cheesy stunts

he just can’t rlly

“y/n-chan, come see me at the gym straight after class, yeah?” he fondly smiles at you

doesn’t care about the others trying to eavesdrop bc c’mon they wanna know how the grand king would treat his girl this very day

had it so well-planned, literally poured his time and effort to make you feel special <33

you’re speechless when you first bump into Kunimi on the way to the gym as he hands you a small folded piece of paper

‘smile for me everyday,’ the note says

this went on the closer you got to the gym and you seriously wonder how he got the whole team to participate

your personal favorite message would be: “ever notice how our fingers perfectly lock into place? I do, hold on to me forever, love.”

when you enter the gym, Tohru stood alone at the center in a suit and tie while faint music was heard in the background

you couldn’t even believe he’s done all this as he smiles back at your surprised figure

“happy day of love, my y/n-chan,” a literal prince, bends over to kiss your hand in his before he hands you a single red rose

he’s just so handsome??? and dashinng??? he literally put in effort to look even better as if he wasn’t already a god to you

romantic slow dancing, hours felt like seconds and he holds you so close and lovingly 🥺

“oy shittykawa we stalled the guard as much as we could but he really has to close up the gym now!” Iwaizumi calls off

Mattsun was expressionlessly taking pictures of both of you from the sidelines on different angles

you and the third years had to walk home together and they pretend to not know Tohru

“how did you even get to look at him with a straight face y/n he totally went overboard,” Makki shudders, eyeing Tohru in his suit while he held your hand

“he practically threw an early prom,” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes

“shut up, he was cute”

you look at him again bc he’s just so handsome yk but he was already looking at you <33

was just so happy bc he knew you’ll treasure the rose he gave you

his mom asked him why he was in a suit once he got home

Kuroo Tetsuro

he’s sweet that’s no surprise

but he’s a little shit sometimes too

he purposely pays less attention to you during Valentine’s Day and you’re lowkey hurt

“Tetsu, it is Valentine’s and I don’t care about gifts let’s at least go on a date”

“can’t, I’m studying chem later, kitten”

pretends he doesn’t hear you grumble that there was no upcoming test

also knowingly smiles to himself as you sulk bc he has you fooled

“so he really didn’t get you anything?” Yaku and Lev ask you during lunch

Yaku’s out to kick his ass when you shake your head while Lev just kinda snobs at him when they meet eyes

your stomach churns at literally every couple walking away hand in hand off to dates and whatnot

meanwhile you couldn’t even find your dork of a boyfriend though you assume he’s in the chem lab studying

you finally receive a text from him and you expectantly read his message

“what is it y/n? is he finally taking you out?” a friend asks

nope, he just asked you to hand him his book he left on his desk

you’re stunned when you enter the lab though because the lights were off and you’re kinda scared

but he answers when you call out his name, “over here”

“Geez, why didn’t you turn on the lights?”

you stand before his figure which you can’t really make out if it weren’t for his silent breaths

“I’m kinda hurt y/n, you really thought I got you nothing?”

from behind him, he finally pulls out the bouquet of bioluminescent roses as he watches your face light up from the glow

you just look at him in surprise before it registers that he made them, so you throw yourself at him in a hug

he had to bend a little of course, but he can’t help but chuckle as you litter him with kisses

“don’t worry there’re no thorns”

wounded himself time and time again in removing the thorns

you fall harder once he explains he grew white roses himself months ago and he failed a few times too

also explains how he made the flowers bioluminescent and though he sounded kinda dorky you just keep on falling for him??

“you like them?” when you grin and nod, he was just so happy he’s pulled you into a hug again

as always, you felt so right against him and he can’t help letting an ‘I love you’ nonchalantly slip past his lips

definitely took you out on a date after that

Akaashi Keiji

remembers every single detail about you

you said you’ve always liked white roses so of course he’s getting you them

he’s sweet but you doubt there was anything special for the day prolly bc of your lack in dating experiences too

but oh, he does, he desperately wants to make your heart flutter more than any regular day together

didn’t plan anything flashy, he was just treating you extra special today as he worked up the courage to give you a rose

saying you were breathtaking, holding your hand more and kissing your forehead at the most random times-

you assume it was his way of celebrating Valentine’s with you

but his words and actions were sincere, he’d do them on any other day he was just not holding back as much now

lowkey overthinking how he’ll give you the rose, what if you weren’t really into cheesy things?

but he knew you appreciated the smallest gifts though he’s still anxious about it

not to worry, Bokuto has shy Akaashi’s back

fr though he did kinda ruin Akaashi’s initial cooler plans

Bokuto escorted you in the locker room with only Akaashi there

“AGAASHI HERE’S YOUR Y/N,” totally did not know how to read the room

the poor setter was in the middle of changing and was yet to put on a shirt

“y/n I- Bokuto-san, not now please,” he now regrets telling Bokuto about the rose sitting on the upper shelf of his opened locker

“but what about the rose you were gonna give to her?”

“what rose? uh it’s fine, i’ll leave you to dress up Keiji,” you’re flustered, his chest was bare after all

so the surprise is ruined he knew he had to give it to you now

acts before fully thinking so he grabs you before pushing you lightly to the locker beside his and—

HE DOES THE KABEDON ON YOU, hand beside your hand as he leant close

you can’t breathe at this point- i mean- his eyes staring you down like that? girl, so lucky

but he was lost in a thought process of what to do next

still cooly manages to pull out the rose from inside his locker before he gives it to you with a soft smile, letting go of worries

“Happy Valentine’s, love. Uhm, I’ll do this cooler next year, and uh, with a shirt on”

Bokuto covers his eyes when you both lean in for a kiss <33

General Taglist [Open]: @noyasbitchh @dinablossom @haru-the-secret @strayczennies @lalisbitch @tinymidgetsstuff @animebs @astrealia @kittykitkatstrawberry @hajimesbbygrl @kellesvt @24hr7dysdizzy @arnxldss @elianetsantana @vicassa @floraraine @beanst0ck @leinnah @kageyamasgirl @deafeningart @minibobabottle @franko-pop @moonlightaangel @throughtheinterstices @micasaessakusa

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #oikawa x reader #kuroo x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu!! headcanons #haikyuu!! scenarios

273 notes · View notes

senjuside · 3 years

Text

“Uchiha Izuna,” it—he rasps dryly, face cold as marble. “Good morning. Would you tell me why your brother keeps throwing gifts in my face everytime we meet?”

Looking at the sides of his futon with the sudden realization that Tobira isn’t letting him goes anywhere, with the heavy body almost smashing him in the mattress, Izuna thinks about how he should tell a fucking siren that his absolute insane brother is trying to propose in a very, very archaic way.

Giving a trembling, wry smile at the thing, Izuna shivers heavily when the siren smiles back, with too many sharp teeths to be peaceful or friendly in any way.

And they’ve the audacity to tell Izuna was the one who hadn’t any survival instinct remaining.

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Rating: T

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2734

Written for @madatobiweek, Week 1: Folklore and mythology // The moment I knew. Read on AO3 or under the cut :)

(my bad for any mistake or something guys. english, as you'll see, isn't my first language :p good reading, anyway <3)

Madara had never been a usual lover—always all sharp barbs and rough language used as a comfortable shield to hide the soft gazes he’d give Tobirama—even if, Tobirama supposes, they’ve never been a usual couple either.

Madara is a peculiar creature, Tobirama knows. He’s harsh to deal with, hurdle, and for onces paranoid. But, Tobirama thinks with a nearly fond, in love smile, he would’ve his moments as well.

Like his apparently newly gained obsession with gifts.

It was quite cute from the very first time. A weighty book written in the old language of the dwarfs, that lived in the south. An anklet of silver, and a ring of amestice. Even a couple of heavy fur collars, soft that hurted at the touch, smelling distinguly like Madara.

All the gifts are carefully bestowed inside of his cave, in a safe bubble of air to not screw up with nothing. Was a really sweet action of such a rough man like Madara, rude like Tobirama is pretty aware he usually is, so Tobirama wouldn’t like to waste those kinda rare openly ways to show affection.

Unlike the dragons, sirens like Tobirama in general don't really give a matter to the thing’s price, gold or diamond—even if Tobirama is pretty sure that sirens do not usually get gifts from pleasure. They’re usually too busy with the ‘charming pretty sallys underwater and so devour’-thing to make good first impressions or build relationships.

But, Tobirama supposes, everything certainly has a limit.

And now Madara is nearly to overtake it. Hard.

“FOR YOU,” Madara yells, even if he's one step away from Tobirama, sitting poorly in the river’s muddy margens.

Tobirama blinks at him, wordlessly for a second, but Madara doesn’t offer anything more but turns into his back and runs away, giving Tobirama no chance to thank or say a word.

For the fifty time, just this week.

It’s starting to turn… cansative, Tobirama ponders, looking carefully at the golden mirror in his hands.

Pursing his lips down, Tobirama honestly thinks that this shit is elongating itself for a way more than it would be necessary.

If Madara isn’t going to get his head out of his ass, Tobirama may have some questions to ask the Uchiha.

———————

A drop of water falls down to rest on Izuna’s cheek, followed by another, and another. Izuna struggles himself over asleep, frowning.

Another drop falls through his jaw, to dive inside his open sleep-yakuta, cold as hell, making Izuna quivers hard and wake up suddenly, shaking, just to blink open his eyes, his vision cloudy by the sleepness, and get himself face to face with—all Izuna’s words — a sharp feature elevated above him, pale as a paper with devilish red eyes, imobile, gazing at him deeply.

The only thing that hinders Izuna to scream for help is the creature’s hand put against his mouth. The room still was shadowish by the close fusumas, and a thick trail of water left spots on the tatames. Not daring to look away, Izuna inbreate sharply, wide-eyed looking at the impassive face of the thing above him.

A vision that, for Izuna’s total and absolute terror, slowly starts to remind him disturbingly of some of Madara's descriptions.

And, although Izuna knew Madara has a lover outside the clan—and probably any person that could hear or read lips in the Uchiha did notice Madara being insupportable and repugnantly sweet when he was singing praises at his dearest Tobira— he could never expect a fucking siren just out of Izuna’s wrostes nightmares.

“Uchiha Izuna,” it—he rasps dryly, face cold as marble. “Good morning. Would you tell me why your brother keeps throwing gifts in my face everytime we meet?”

Izuna shallows hardly, repentinaly regretting deeply having fought with Madara to sleep for one more hour instead of attending the clan’s reunion this morning. Looking at the sides of his futon with the sudden realization that Tobira isn’t letting him goes anywhere, with the heavy body almost smashing him in the mattress, Izuna thinks about how he should tell a fucking siren that his absolute insane brother is trying to propose in a very, very archaic way.

Giving a trembling, wry smile at the thing, Izuna shivers heavily when the siren smiles back, with too many sharp teeths to be peaceful or friendly in any way.

And they’ve the audacity to tell Izuna was the one who hadn’t any survival instinct remaining.

———————

Dragons are such beautiful, sweet and possessive creatures, Tobirama learned with the time. Differently from his specie, for onces cold and kinda cruel, hovering in deep, cold waters, so deep that even the light couldn’t come in there sometimes, the dragons aren’t any different from the fire they could spit out.

Their love would burn, deep and beautiful, as blaze fierling all along the night.

Tobirama is a child from the sea; his love isn’t scorching as the dragon’s love is but silent and peaceful like a quiet summer night browsing in calm sea, at the same it is furious and instotable like the worst of the storms. It is measureless as is the ocean, for sure hurdle, for times, but never flawed.

Dragons are explosive as the fire that growls into their veins. They’re imediatalist, and they trust deeply or simply do not. There’s no middle term in love, in family. You’re theirs, or isn’t.

They’re explosions of emotions, stars collapsing in supernovas—all the opposite of Tobirama, cold and racionable when the situation needs, treacherous in confidence, never trusting in no one but himself, despite using it to climb at his objectives, and there’s no shame in admit that: he’s what he’s and wouldn’t change for nobody.

Tobirama knows he’s hard to deal with, but, if there’s a single resemblance between sirens and dragons, when you’re into his heart, you’re there forever—because the tide may change, but the trail will be always there for thoses who venture to travel and conquist. And when Madara stole that kiss from him, Tobirama allowed him to stay, for forever, if he wanted to. He was from Madara from body and soul since that time when Madara’s fingers nuzzled down his scales.

Tobirama chuckles softly to himself, nestling the pearl necklace Madara had given him this week against his chest. He’s just Madara's, but it seems like his koibito doesn’t notice this yet.

Little fool.

———————

“You were building a treasure for me.”

It is the first thing Tobirama says, his voice dry as usual while he points out, when Madara comes into his field of vision.

Naturally, Tobirama knew of the dragon’s tendencies to accumulate, of course. He may have spent half a life peeking around deep waters, but he’s not oblivious. Even Madara already had prided himself for Tobirama after he stole—”found around the battlefield, I ain’t a thief, siren of hell”— a sword or a helmet he considered good enough to be on his particular treasure.

He never thought, however, that this would extend to their partners.

Madara seems to freeze in half a way, a few steps from where he meets Tobirama almost every night. His heavy cloak rock softly with the wind, the stiff scale next to the horns in the temples fading out with the creamy skin the moonlight's light—light that doesn't do anything to hide Madara's soft flush when he stops throughout the trail to the river’s margers, looking anything but absolutely cute.

Who’d say that this ugly mug may be so adorable, Tobirama scoffs mentally, playful, as he perceives Madara starts to look more and more ashamed. So different from the pride warrior he had seen Madara transformed himself amidst the battlefield more than one time, tearing apart flesh with his claws as he'd cutting raw silk.

Tobirama smiles softly, although he’s been pretty aware that his sharp, long teeths probably doesn't seem like an amorous expression at all. "Stop get stood here like a idiot and come here, stupid," Tobirama scoffs gentily.

Madara's eyes narrow thighly, the narrow slits brighting in the night with a soft red glow, but does, taking a step in to sit in the river's margers

Tobirama pushes his body up to rest his head next to Madara's lap.

“You made quite a mess, you know that?” Tobirama said softly. “Your brother seemed to be absolutely terrified when he saw me.”

Madara frowns, widening his eyes a bit. “Did you go see Izuna?”

“Any problem?” Tobirama asks dryly, arching a cheeky eyebrow. “I was getting tired of having my partner throwing things at me and so turning away to run off, you know.”

Madara grimaces, poking Tobirama’s forehead softly. “Peace, siren of mine. I was just asking.”

Tobirama huffs, as the pride creature Madara knows he’s, narrowing his eyes before getting started again, “he didn’t help, though. I suppose he was too afraid of me eating him alive or something to mutter more than a couple of words without passing out.”

Madara cannot help but laugh. “Sounds like him. And explains why he was looking like a crazy man to the koi pond when I went off.”

“Of the couple of things he could make minimally undestable, I discovered some interesting things,” Tobirama continues dryly, but there’s a background of palpable diversion in his voice. “He said something about ‘absolutely insane relatives’—” Madara turns his eyes there, “—‘stupid courtship’ and I’m pretty sure he did yell a think alike ‘engagement.’”

Madara suddenly curses mentaly his pale skin when his cheeks sembles to catch on fire again, as well the always trained eyes of Tobirama, shining like two rubies in the damp, his gaze burning in his face, watchful at all his little reactions. Huffing to get away his sudden embarrassment, Madara grumbles grumply, “and you connect the dots. Of course you did, fuckin’ genius son of a bitch.”

Tobirama smiles, a simple contraction on the edge of his lips. “Naturally,” he brags himself, the insupportable. “I’d appreciate a contribution of yours, throught.”

Madara grimaces, but doesn’t take a word against him. Cleaning his throat with a soft disgust contraction on his lips, he gets started, “... yes, it’s kind of an engagement, but more like… a proposal. You know that every dragon has a collection of something, right? I collect bright, mortal things. Such as weapons,” Madara explains calmy, but he’s feeling anxious, Tobirama can say by the way he keeps his gaze trained in his hands, an adorable soft flush covering his pale cheeks. “Therefore, when we’ve got interest in someone, it was usual for the dragon to give his interest with gifts to add to their treasure. That’s why I wanted to give you something that would… fit with you. Not just. Trinket."

“I supposed it would be something like that,” Tobirama sings, smiling. “So, I should return your gifts, shouldn’t I?”

Madara whips up himself, stumbling around the words, “I-I mean, if you’d accept the courtship—”

Tobirama laughed. “Oh, you’re such a fool sometimes, my love.” Madara opens his mouth to hash out wrathful, but Tobirama keeps speaking before Madara can have the chance for saying anything, “of course I’d, Madara. If a siren matches, they’d match for a life. There’s no dating. You’re mine and I've been yours since the day I accepted you inside my home.”

Madara blinks. He breathes, “oh.”

Tobirama scoffs before he could hold himself, “oh, fuckin’ jerk.”

Madara squawks aloud, opening his mouth to fuss, but Tobirama just chunkles, getting on his elbows to stand up and press their lips softly.

“I hate you,” Madara murmurs against Tobirama’s mouth a second later, just to make his point.

One of Tobirama’s teeth nips on Madara’s lip lightly, not enough to hurt or to take off blood, but teasing. Feeling playful, Tobirama gently pushes down a handful of Madara’s hair to make him curve next to him, easing the angle for Tobirama to lick inside Madara’s mouth. “I hate you too, sweetheart,” he scoffs, “no worries.”

Madara turns his eyes, sighing when he presses their foreheads together. “Shitty idiot. I was trying to be romantic, y’know.”

Tobirama arches an eyebrow. “I highly doubt you were romantic for a second of your entire life.”

Madara seems to be offended, bristiling like an urchin. “I’m very romantic, thank you! And thinking I did an entire courtship plan to you bawl me out like that…”

Smiling easily, Tobirama nudges softly, “did you, so?”

Madara flusters himself with a petty whiff, getting started grumply, “I mean, it’s a little anquite, but… I wanted to show you that, mm-I mean, like the tradition says. That you aren’t something I’m taking ownership of, but that I am sharing my treasure with you, and what’s mine is yours.”

“That’s,” Tobirama says a couple of moments later, blinking a bit of surprise, but with his voice repugnantly soft and gentle, “especially sweet of you. Thank you, Madara.”

Madara huffs. “Don’t mention it.”

Tobirama rolls his eyes, playfully poking Madara’s tight with sharp teeth. “Don’t be so smug about it.”

Madara arches an eyebrow. “Hope you haven’t forgotten I am an Uchiha. It’s in my blood.”

“Stupidness?” Tobirama asks dryly.

“No. We do like to exhibe our things. Especially those mortal and beautiful. Or just the ones that bite.”

Tobirama’s face covers quickly with red. He grumbles, pouting sulky, “shut the fucking up, Uchiha. That’s the only thing your pea-sized brain can think about?”

“When I’ve a willing, beautiful siren only for me?” Madara smirks. “Absolutely.”

Preening a hand across the soft, sleek scales where it united together with the almost phantasmagoric white skin from Tobirama’s belly, by where it is out of the water, resting in the mud next to one of Madara’s legs, Madara hums happily. “Sirens don't have some type of honeymoon?” he asks serenely.

Tobirama chuckles. “I think they’d.”

“I suppose I’ve to celebrate with my pretty fiancé.” Madara shudders. “Haven’t I?”

“I’m sure you’ve,” Tobirama replies easily, spreading out his arms to deliberately offer Madara a better vision of his chest, letting the way down his belly free, easy for Madara to slip with his hand. Arching an eyebrow, Tobirama asks, “shy now, Madara?”

Madara scoffs aloud. “Nothing I haven’t seen yet, bastard.”

“Tired already of, so?”

“Never.” Madara’s quick to ensure. “You’re always a show aside. And I’d suppose we'll have to consummate. Again. Dragon style.”

Tobirama cannot help but laugh. “Why are you always a shitty mood killer? Better—why do I accept getting engaged with you, from all the people?”

Giggling, Madara noses Tobirama’s jaw absently. “Because you love me, clearly.”

Tobirama does, of course—but it wasn't like he’s going to say it and inflame Madara’s ego more than it already is.

Instead, Tobirama just moans softly when Madara scrapes his blunt teeth in his neck, huffing a blow of heated air against the bruise he certainly left.

Greedy, his lover is, and Tobirama doesn’t do anything to appease that when Madara growls softly some verbal affirmation of that but smiles, his teeth scraping dangerously Madara’s pants, sucking a bruise next to his hips.

Tobirama’s smile is all teeth. “Cute of you to think dragon’s are the only ones with possessive tendencies here.”

———————

“There’s a motherfucker demon living on your koi pond, Madara! Are you fucking crazy?!”

“The demon surely has a name,” Tobirama rumbles, thicc and sharp, a dark playfulness trickling on his tone, from where he’s upholding his head on his hands, above the engawa, arching an eyebrow to Izuna as he smiles, all teeth.

“Madara!” Izuna cries out. “He’ll pull my feet when you’re asleep and so drown me! Look at him!”

Tobirama hums, without any shame, and, perhaps propositaly, arches his upper lip a bit to show his teeth better, as he’d growling.

“He’s learning how to smile,” Madara grumbles at him, blind by passion. Or charmed, Izuna thinks, narrowing his eyes to the thing, floating in the koi pond, looking absolutely suspiciously serene. “And Tobirama will be perfectly fine. He’ll not drown you or anyone. Stop being rude with my bride, Izuna! Where’s your manners?”

While Madara keeps talking around and complaining about Izuna, Tobirama arches a sharp eyebrow at him. “Easy now, Izuna. I’m living here, and I’d hate to eat my brother-in-law accidentally.”

Whimpering, Izuna would like to know where he could sign up to change from his family, thank you so much.

#madatobi #madatobiweek2021 #folklore and mythology #senju tobirama #uchiha madara #uchiha izuna #dragons and sirens #kinda suggestive #tobimada #tobirama x madara

60 notes · View notes