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xsugarysweetsx · 3 years

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hehe the way I smiled when I saw that your requests r open!!Thank you😗

May I request Cherry X Reader where they r in an arranged marriage. Like maybe the reader is from a traditional family and she agrees to it anyway since she loves her parents but is low-key scared of being his wife/a mother. They have a rocky start but end up falling in love. Maybe one day cherry takes her to S to see him race and meet the gang and she loves it. You can make it spicy at the end if you like 👀

idk why but I always think about this when I see him and also braiding his hair coz it's so much prettier than mine 😒💖

A/N:I don’t understand how a man can be so beautiful// much longer than I expected it to be....

Please enjoy~🍰

Warnings; Some mention of smut; Nothing too detailed, but it’s there

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“Come here your kimono isn’t tight enough“ your mother said as she went behind you to tighten it even more than before

“Mom! I can’t breath if it’s this tight!“ you said almost wheezing for air.

“You have to make sure your waist looks small and appealing” she said, even though, looks are not everything in a relationship. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to look your best today, it was important. You were going to meet the man you were to marry. You were part of an important family in Japan, and of course your family was very traditional. This only meant you were already expecting an arranged marriage.

Today you were meeting with him for the first time. From what you heard, he was a successful calligrapher, and popular with women. You didn't quite know how to feel with that, but this was your future. Most people wouldn't agree with arranged marriages but, you love your parents and this is what they wanted.

They told you that he was a gentleman, and very respectful. Well your hopes were up now, hopefully you’re not disappointed. Could you possibly end up in a good marriage? walking into the home you were greeted not by someone work there, but by a voice.

“Welcome, master Kaoru is waiting for you in the meeting room.“ for someone who is traditional he sure had a good AI system. Walking off to the right your father opens the sliding door and there he was. A young man with long pink hair and glasses, he wore traditional clothing and seemed very proper.

“Mr & Mrs Y/L/N, welcome please take a seat.” Not a hint of emotion on his face.

He was stoic but not cold. He poured you all some tea and your parents begin to discuss the marriage. Now that you say there and listened to everything, it really started sinking in. You were getting married to a complete stranger. You didn’t know the first thing about marriage! Or being a wife! Oh gods.....what if they expected children??

A million things were flooding your mind, you felt so lost. In all honesty, you were scared of what was to come..

“Y/N..” you were brought out of your thoughts by your mother gently shaking your shoulder “are you alright? You look sick”

“O-oh, yes I’m fine!“ you assure her swallowing the lump in your throat

“If you say so, we need you and Mr.Sakurayashiki to sign the papers as well. In 2 weeks time there will be a wedding ceremony but for now, we must fill out the papers.“ you watch Kaoru take the pen read the line and signs his name next was your turn.

He hands you the paper and pen, you bite your bottom lip as you read ‘spouse sign here’. You let out a shaky breath as the ink forms your name on the paper. After some more discussions on the wedding it was your time to leave. You all thanked him for tea and his time. Before you walked out the door he asked t speak with you for a moment, making your heart drop. You parents wait outside as you have a word with the pink haired man.

“Y/N, I just want you to relax, I noticed you were nervous before and you should know I won’t mistreat you and will try to be a proper spouse“

“Oh, uhm thank you Mr-“

He interrupts you “Please call me Kaoru“

<><><><>

Just as planned the wedding happened 2 weeks from then. You couldn’t stop blushing that day, from anxiety, to shyness, to even Kaoru. He looked very handsome that day, and he was just as much as gentleman. The ceremony was calm and heartfelt, friends and family gathered to witness your union. He saw you were very nervous that day so, instead of a general kiss he gave you a quick peck.

Only for you to duck you flustered face, he found it quite cute actually. He thought you looked beautiful that day in traditional wedding attire. He took mental note son how you were as a person. Although you seemed somewhat intimidated, you were considerate and kind. You helped people who needed it, and you put others before yourself. He just hoped this marriage will have a good outcome.

———

“We don’t have to do this” he simply said beginning to disrobe

“But-“ usually it was on the first night of the wedding when. It should happen

“If we get to that stage in our relationship, then you can tell me. You don’t have to force yourself. I can leave the room until you’re done getting changed” he left the room so that you can change. You take a moment to assess the situation, and you smile to yourself

“How considerate...“ you think to yourself. after changing, you both ordered room service and have dinner for the night. He was nice to talk to, it had some interesting topics to share with you. Even his calligraphy job seemed interesting. He offered to take a different room while you slept in this one's may be comfortable, but you said it was okay and you were fine with sharing a bed.

he's not like most men I hear about an arranged marriages. He's not forcing you to do anything, he's asking if I'm comfortable with everything. All the stories really kind of scared me into this, maybe it won't be so bad....maybe....

<><><><>

“Y/N, get dressed we’re going out tonight“ he says coming to you and kisses your cheek. It has been about 11 months, almost a year, since you married and it has been better than you thought. of course you had fears of Nami and expectations of a “good wife”. He made sure to tell you how much of a good job you were doing, even if you didn't do much. He thought you were perfect the way you are. He also believe that he could trust you enough to share secret with you--he was taking you to “S”

Usually you both go to events together, especially ones that associated with his work. But tonight was different he had different attire on. He wore his hair in a ponytail, no glasses and a mask covering the bottom portion of his face.

“Where are we going? A costume party?“ you joke

“After seeing one person you mat think that“ he said but was still serious about you getting ready ““make sure you dress comfortably you don't need to wear kimono for this.” he gave you more detail “Now listen to me, where we are going you cannot speak of after. Not to me, nor to your parents or anyone else if they know about it.“

“Huh? Are we joining some secret society?“ you giggle coming back out in some jeans and a t shirt with a sweater.

“In a way, let’s go.“ if you thought tonight was strange you only got stranger, you would expect a person like him to have a motorcycle. Or to be carrying a skateboard for that matter, just who was this person and was he really your husband. Holding on to him you take off into the dead of night. eventually make it to the gate where he showed an s-shaped sticker and was granted entry. There multiple women started to scream

“Cherry!!” “Master Cherry!!” Were they referring to Kaoru?

“Yo Cherry, ya made it- and you finally brought a girl with ya. It’s about time” a tall muscular man with green hair said patting Kaoru on the back roughly. Next came a man with dramatic makeup and a cape. Two boys who seemed to ebe in high school, one with red hair and the other with blue. Finally a much younger looking boy with a cat hoodie. Huh, interesting crowd...

“Get off me!“ he said kicking him in the ass “This is Y/N, she’s my wife“ he said standing next to you and all their jaws drop

“Cherry is married?!“

“Huh, she’s pretty quiet compared to these girls...it’s kinda nice“

“Damn, and to think you could have gotten anyone but got married.“ Kaoru seemed very annoyed at this point

“Yes I am married, she’s better than the screaming women here, and I will not toy with women like you do!!“ he answered all their questions in one go “Y/N, this is a place where skateboarders come to race, it’s called ‘S’, these are JOE, MIYA, Reki, Langa, and SHADOW“

“H-hello..“ you wave to the small group and they waved back

“Y/N, do you mind stay here with Reki and Langa? I need to race and I’ll be back“ he asked laying hand to the top of your head and you nod. He leans down and places his covered lips to your forehead. He then picked up his board, it was black with some purple lining and goes to the start.

There he and JOE get ready to race as a traffic light counts their start. After it turns green they were off like rockets. It was still a lot to swallow...how he kind of had a double life and you were just now finding out about it. It was a bit overwhelming when you really watched him go. The way he picked up speed and rounded corners, made you hold your breath and gasp with each trick he did.

When they approach the finish line he had won and the crowd was chanting his name. They both made their way back bickering about who was the best skater, when they were both equally amazing. Crowds joined around them but you just stayed behind still processing everything. It wasn’t a bad thing, but you were just wondering so many thing. Cherry pushes his way through the crowd and to your side lifting your head without warning captures your lips in a kiss.

This was the most intimate you had been with him, and in public! The crowd went quiet and some of the girls there complained or whined about not being in your place. After he pulls away he whispered to you

“Let’s go home...“ and you were on your way back to the comfort of your home. That night he had made love to you for the first time ever. It was passionate, and steamy, and full of love. He was your first ever so he made sure to go slow for you. Everything about it just felt so good, the way he held and kissed you. He handled you like glass but did not fail to meet your pleasure.

That night was when you opened up about your fears of being his wife

“..and seeing how amazing you were tonight only made me more aware of who you were. I just...hope I can live up to your standards as a wife, and don’t get me started on children. Imagine having a plain mother“ you vented to him as he held you close

“Don’t say that,“ he snapped back “You’re an incredible wife and you’d be an even better mother one day. When I heard about the arrangement I was honestly nervous. And the day I saw you only raised my anxiety, I thought you were stunning, and your shyness only made you cuter“ he admits with a chuckle

“I guess....we’re both nervous wrecks who married each other then?“ you giggle looking up at him as your head lays on his chest

“You’re my nervous wreck“ he said poking your nose with his finger “...I have something else to tell you...“

“What’s that?“ you ask. He cranes his head down toward you

“...I love you“ he whispered as he catches you lips in a kiss

*******************************************************

I hope this was okay!❤️

#cherry blossom x reader #sk8 the infinity x reader #kaoru sakurayashiki #sk8 the infinity fanfic #sk8 cherry blossom #sk8 the infinity #cherry blossom #anime #anime x reader #fanfiction

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reynita9 · 2 years

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my mom and I were talking about what items we leave behind when we die, and how the life we live, the objects we keep either blesses or burdens our descendants. If you’re a hoarder, you’re giving your kids a big job to do on top of grieving your death. Sorting through objects is what grieving feels like either way, so it could be on many levels cathartic. But not considerate to give the job to them anyways. I want to live a life surrounding myself with meaningful sentimental prized honored high quality lasting items. Rather than just keeping shit that fills space.

we went on to talk about journals she said. You have all these journals and you keep them. Do u hope somebody reads them one day? I tell her I don’t write for others, I write to empty it from my own energy field. but I think it’s inevitable somebody will read them when I die. I have like 8 consecutive black leather moleskins, chronologically organized..

Most my friends don’t write in journals most my friends write on walls and trains. They hope somebody will read what they write. They write to get it out of their body and they write to be seen. they leave monikers and hope that one day a buddy will pass the same train and get the message. Then maybe they will feel the pull to pick up a phone or paper and reach out. maybe I should have begun writing graffiti all those years ago. Instead of a shelf of books covered in dust, my words would traverse land and sky mountains and glittering bodies of water. writing love letters on steel seems about as emotionally available as I can be sometimes. Maybe if I wrote it in moniker form then my phone would ring more. would take 2 days north to get to desert yard and you’d pick up the phone.

I am still in love with my first boyfriend. We’re both kinda lost and kinda found at 24. My grandfather made a living as a calligrapher. My grandfather never met him but would love him. My mother was conceived on a Royal American Carnival Train. My grandfather smoked cigarettes since he was 11, and organized an escape from his all boys reform school. stacked chairs and gave the guards the finger. that’s how he ended up working in the carnival anyways. My phone doesn’t ring but I know you know my number. I remember when I almost didn’t pick up the call when u called me from jail. All paths led me here but I sometimes fear my finger-to-the-man self. I wish I stopped begging for him to prove he won’t abandon me like the others. I oughta find a career oriented earth sign man or something instead. I would pull my hair out with boredom or instigate shit to make it more fun, and then he would pull out his hair. Ok well that’s enough. Trains are hardly romantic. They’re dirty and loud and cold and a symbol of industry. And you can suffocate in a tunnel pretty easily or get dehydrated if you’re too lazy to carry enough water. Except maybe if these gas prices keep rising..

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simprisottowriter · 3 years

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Hey! Would you mind doing some fluffy hcs similar to the previous ones with Giorno or Bucciarati?

You got it, anon! Such a great choice for headcanons. Bruno & Giorno are just so lovable and elegant! I've been considering writing about Giorno today, and the timing of this request was just perfect! I'd be delighted to write fluff not only about Giorno, but for Bruno too! Hope you like them! ♡

°Fluff Headcanons°

◇ Being a Capo for many, many years has made Giorno even more busy than before, so whenever he isn't around or he's stuck all day working in his office, he leaves Gold Experience by your side. A stand full of personality and charm. Just like Giorno, Gold Experience loves showering you with gifts! Such as flowers and small cute animals. In this way, Giorno is content and happy that he is hanging out with you, even if his schedule doesn't allow him. Similar to Giorno, Gold Experience is very reserved and difficult to read. Though, you can see the excitement in the stand's eyes when you read a book together or watch a series, especially ones about nature or biology. By using his ability, he would let you see up close some of the most rarest (and harmless) fauna and flora.

◇ When he is staying home all day, he likes letting his hair down. But he is not fond of leaving his luxurious long hair this messy, while he is in someone else's presence. It’s different when he is in the privacy of his home. Outside, he wants to maintain an image. If you have seen him without his complicated hairstyle, that means the trust he has in you is unmatched! He'd definitely let you brush and braid his hair, while he is working or resting by your side. ♡

◇ He's the definition of a morning person. The moment you wake up, the sun hasn’t risen yet. But he has already prepared everything. His morning routine, his outfit, his hairstyle. He has even cleaned a bit around the house and made breakfast. All done in such a short amount of time. When you walk in, you see him finishing his paperwork on the table. As he notices you, he smiles and hands you your coffee. Even if his speech is so calm and quiet, he's so full of life and positivity at such an early hour. There's no way your day can go wrong after waking up to this! ♡

◇ And if you wake up a little bit later than usual, you might miss him, as he usually has already reached his office at that time. Though, a beautiful and vibrant bouquet rests on-top of the table, still staying fresh in its vase, hours after he left. A sweet handwritten card and some breakfast made for you rest near the vase. It's his way of showing how much he cares.

◇ Has a fragrant floral scent, that really reminds you of lavender, mixed with the delicate aroma of some of the finest perfumes. All his clothes delicately emanate this fragrance.

◇ Follows his morning routine religiously. Sometimes, you like waking up so much earlier than usual, around the time Giorno gets ready. As he stands in front of the mirror, you sit by his side, observing every gentle movement of his, sharing a few soft glances. The aroma of hair products fills the room, as with small and calculated movements he sets his hairstyle in place. He’s a bit confused, but finds it sweet how you look with such interest at every bobby pin and hair spray he uses. The moment he applies his hand cream, which has such a familiar scent, you know he has finished his morning routine. He smiles and looks your way again, treasuring the time you’ve spent with him.

◇ Master of time management. You're amazed on how he manages doing so much in a short amount of time! He fits his work, his hobbies and the time he spends with his close ones all in just one day, so effortlessly. Plus, he ends up having some free time too. It's surprising that, at the end of the day, he's not even tired!

◇ And that free time he finds, he'd much rather spend it with someone he's close to, rather than be alone. A walk in a beautiful floral garden or a hangout at a coffee shop sound nice, don't they? These would be the ideal pastimes for Giorno. For the garden hangout, Giorno would love answering your every question about the flowers and plants that surround you. He might be very knowledgeable about them, but he made sure to run through his notes beforehand. Just to impress you! And for the coffee shop one, he would definitely choose something sweet, like pudding. But he would let you order anything! Paying for anything expensive doesn't bother him. Because he values your company undoubtedly much more than money. He just wants to have a little bit more free time to spend by your side.

◇ Adores giving compliments and words of affirmation to the ones he loves. He wants the best for the ones he trusts, and will try everything to help them succeed, no matter if it is a personal or a noble goal.

◇ Keeps his workplace and office very clean! Giorno is generally a tidy person and has everything categorized. But his presence is so obvious from the decoration! A variety of plants and flowers, emerging from intricate vases, cover a great part of the room, while small animals, such as frogs, turtles and fishes, stay in their own terrariums. He owns a great amount of pets, which he cares for daily. Has done incredible amounts of research for each animal, so that he could provide perfectly to their needs.

◇ Has some of the softest and romantic pieces of blues and classical music in a variety of vinyl discs. Would love slow dancing to these with someone special, but till that moment, he just plays them whenever he’s feeling down.

◇ Fast, cramped and calligraphic handwriting. Favors fountain pens more than normal ones. Has one of the most beautiful signatures you’ve ever seen. His scribbles and doodles are mostly stars, wiggly lines, flowers and plant-like shapes.

◇ Loves capturing each special moment with his close ones, in small delicate photos. Keeps some of them in detailed metal photo frames on his desk. Their color has been faded over time. Owns numerous photo albums filled with memories of the past, and would love to have someone by his side, to help him make even more happy memories together.

◇ Might come off as very confident and bold, but in reality, he is not very accustomed to showing or receiving affection. His past wasn't kind and the love he never received his whole life makes it impossible for him to not freeze when someone shows him even a bit of appreciation. Just holding hands or a simple hug could leave him surprised.

◇ No matter how he is feeling, his first priority is making sure you are happy. He could be returning from a heart-breaking mission, or a task that failed so terribly, but the moment he is outside the door, he'll try his best to recollect himself and put on the brightest smile for you, as he walks in.

◇ But once you're used to his presence, you'll slowly realize how he is truly feeling. No fake smile can hide Bruno’s pain. He might continue not being honest about his feelings, even after you confront him. His voice would tremble, as he tries to keep his composure, and the slight whimpering in his tone would tell a story he himself refuses to. But with a hug or a soft touch on the shoulder, he’d immediately break the act. He appreciates with all his heart how supportive and understanding you are, but he doesn’t want to worry you with his work issues.

◇ Throughout the day you spend with him at home, you can feel his soft and gentle glances. He sometimes looks at you with awe. He believes in you and supports you with such kindness and selflessness. Just his smile could diminish any negativity and solve your every problem. For just some seconds, everything once again would be okay ♡

◇ Has a familiar and delicate aroma of coffee brewing in the morning, paired with a soft scent of vanilla. Bruno feels more humane than anyone else you've met. Warmth that reminds you of home. Whenever you are near him, your mind drifts off to some of the earliest, gentlest and familiar scents of your childhood. You feel safe again.

◇ An absolute sweetheart when it comes to animals. Doesn’t own any, but his heart shatters when he sees the malnourished stray animals in his neighborhood. He makes sure to take care of them, by feeding them and giving them shelter, since no one else does. He’s not as knowledgable as Giorno, but he is incredibly good at recognizing their body language. They feel so comfortable in his presence. Bruno would always go out of his way to make sure that no one is in danger, and this also includes animals. One rainy night, he returned home rain-soaked, with a warm and soft smile on his face. Holding a kitty, that was soaked and trembling from the cold, he explained that he found it alone out in the terrible weather and couldn’t bear to leave it on its own. You wouldn’t have expected anything different from Bruno. You love his caring nature!

◇ Equally good with dealing with others. He’s a people’s person. Very high emotional intelligence. Immediately recognizes how they truly feel, and reads them like they are an open book. No facades work on Bruno. He could notice and point out even a small change in their behavior or something that is bothering them. After spending a good amount of time with someone, he could fully understand the reasoning behind their actions, attitude or even have a vague idea of what their past was. He’s very attentive to small details that usually would go unnoticed by others. Details that reveal much, much more than the person wants to.

◇ Simply adores jazz! Smooth, calming but extremely elegant. Just like Bruno, thus making jazz his ideal music genre. His love for Miles Davis’s music is obvious. Owns a couple but good vinyls of his, an antique turntable, and all that jazz.

◇ Keeps items he treasures in the upper zippers of his outfit, close to his heart. Or generally uses his zippers for any item he might need at the moment. You could hear a ringing sound and suddenly he'd unzip his arm, pulling out a phone. Answering it casually like nothing happened.

◇ He might not have a lot of free time, but would definitely use it to spend some quality time with the ones he cares about. A night spent cooking at home or out at a fancy restaurant with his loved one is a night well-spent for Bruno. Even if he doesn’t have a lot of money, he would definitely spend more than usual for a night out with you.

◇ Not a morning person, but neither a night owl. Could be a strong mix of both. After Giorno, he usually is one of the first to wake up. Though, he limits his personal morning routine, so that he can devote his time to clean around the house and cook for everyone. Spends much more hours, compared to Giorno, on caring for the house and for the ones he loves, since his schedule is usually more flexible. But he is the last to nod off. He wants to make sure everyone is safe and well-rested. Plus, his paperwork is almost never ending, so he usually stays up late finishing it.

◇ The best to have around when you have troubles with your insomnia. Will make sure to plan ahead and prepare some chamomile tea for you. And if that doesn’t work, he would hold you in his warm embrace or play with your hair till you doze off ♡

◇ Delicate, neat and legible handwriting. Not necessarily cursive. Medium sized letters, full of character. His signature is his full name, written with such elegance. When he is not working on important paperwork, he mostly doodles shapes, such as squares and triangles, dotted patterns and criss-cross lines.

◇ Like every other person that has high emotional intelligence, Bruno has learned to forgive and forget. Has never held a grudge, no matter how painful his past was, and turns his sadness into love for others. He wants no one to live through as much pain as he did, and goes out of his way to ensure that. Giving praise, helping others and being genuine. Main characteristics of Bruno’s behavior that show his empathy. For Bruno, lack of hatred doesn’t show naivety. It shows maturity.

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owillofthewisps · 4 years

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Do you only write Geralt? Because although I adore our dear Witcher, I am IN LOVE with Jaskier. If you are willing to write for Jaskier, could you do one where he’s a big puppy dog over the reader but she’s very insecure and doesn’t notice? I know it’s cliche, but I like it. If you aren’t comfortable writing for Jaskier, could you do the same request for Geralt?

notes: hi anon! i’m sorry this took me seventy years - i am always and forever at the mercy of my brain and what catches its attention. hopefully this is close enough to what you were looking for since i deviated a little bit!

(additionally! when doing even the vaguest hint of research for this i realized something i had always thought was a midsummer tradition for…everyone…is actually just something specific to russia/ukraine [which would be why my grandmother wanted me to know it] but also i’m often wrong so who knows. either way it threw me lol.)

pairing: jaskier/female reader

rating: teen

word count: 3k

——–

Jaskier finds you by the riverbank just before midday. You’re bedded down in the lush thickness of summer clover, sprawled indolently across the verdant carpet. “Ah,” he says, settling down next to you. “A four-leafed clover amidst the cloverbeds. How lucky of me to find her. Blessed for the rest of my days.”

You snort, shading your eyes so that you can peer up at him.

He grins down at you, his smile almost as bright as the sun that outlines him. “Too much?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him. You consider reaching up to sweep his chestnut hair back from his blue, blue eyes. Lapis eyes, Lidka calls them, because she is a merchant’s daughter through and through. She’s wrong, you think, but you hardly intend to tell her that Jaskier has eyes like a lake, the type of clear blue of a mountain spring, something fresh and pure. You know when something is out of your reach.

“So you keep telling me,” he says. “And yet it barely touches on the words you deserve.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up, Jask,” you say, shoving at his knee. “Don’t tease.”

Something passes over Jaskier’s face. It reminds you of a stormcloud on a summer afternoon, rolling through the sky to blot out the sun, swollen grey with rain. It passes like a summer storm, too, and that starlight smile of his blooms again. “I would never, dear heart.”

“Mhmm,” you say, letting your eyes drift closed again.

“Gods, has Geralt infected you? It’s bad enough trying to get him to use his words.”

“You use enough of them for both of you.”

“I use them much more prettily than he would!”

“S’true,” you murmur. “You use them more prettily than most everyone, though.”

The summer breeze stirs; it carries the scent of the season with it, soft grass and wildflowers, woven together into a fragrant bouquet. Beneath it all, the earthy tang of the soil, freshly tilled for summer sowing. The scent is not the only thing the breeze carries. The wind brings you the muffled joy of children, frolicking through the fields, and the steady song of a choir of hammers.

You roll over onto your belly and squint up at Jaskier. His cheeks are petal pink, the faintest hint of a flush coloring his skin, and you wonder if the heat is getting to him despite his open doublet. He reaches out and plucks a clover from your hair with his long fingers, the touch delicate.

“What, darling?” he asks, leaning close and teasing another clover from where it’s caught in your hair. The sun catches on the curve of his cheekbone, kisses soft against his skin, and you are frozen, a deer caught unawares, tail flicked high with nerves.

Darling, you think darkly. How unfair he can be, all without even realizing it. Women like you do not often hear anything but their name, and Jaskier seems to say everything but yours. You wish he would realize that sometimes it feels like scraping your knee against a river rock, to hear his smooth voice say that to you, knowing he means nothing by it.

Jaskier makes an inquiring noise, something soft and fluting, and you shake yourself out of the cobwebs of your thoughts.

You peer at him. “Are you trying to get out of building the summer shrines?”

“No,” he gasps, one hand flying to his chest. “How could you think such a thing?”

“Why else would you be out here with me?”

He blinks. “Why would I be anywhere else?”

You scoff. The clover crunches beneath you as you roll onto your back again. “Nevermind.” Why, you think. Why do you always ruin things, why do you open your mouth. Sometimes you think it’d have been better if you’d taken a vow of silence, had kept yourself from inflicting any attempts at conversation on unsuspecting folks. It’d be better than having them lie to you.

A hush falls, broken only by the far-off sounds of the village and the river’s quiet hum. You tear at the clovers beneath your hand, rip them up one by one as you squirm. Jaskier shifts beside you. You close your eyes again and tilt your face towards the sun. It is easier than being blinded by Jaskier’s light.

The bard sighs. He nudges closer, his thigh a warm streak of heat against your side, and you crack an eye open. His focus is solely on his lute, his eyes - the blue of the midmorning sky, deep and rich - trained on the strings. Better position to play, you think, nothing more, just another nip of unintended cruelty.

“Did Geralt tell you about the harpy?” Jaskier asks softly.

“Geralt speaks?”

The laughter spills from Jaskier like fine wine: everflowing and delicious. You gulp it down greedily, wishing your belly were a wineskin, so that you could carry some for later.

“You make an excellent point,” he tells you. “And how perfect. I’ve been waiting for a captive audience to test the tale on.”

The smile on your lips crumbles into dust. “Of course,” you tell him. “Go ahead.”

Jaskier launches into the story, tells it with twists and turns and beautiful flourishes, his voice a calligrapher’s pen. You listen intently, determined to be of use to him, knowing there is nothing else you can offer him. He spins his tale like a magic thread, spins Geralt’s exploits from straw into lustrous gold, makes the Witcher’s effigy something that is much more difficult to burn.

After he’s done, the two of you fade into idle chatter. You know you are boring him, can feel it in the way he shifts against you and the way his voice catches here and there, but you cannot help yourself. Finally, you fade into quiet and let Jaskier fill the hush with his lyrical voice. Beneath the sun’s warm kiss, you ride the edge of sleep.

“What does your crown look like?” Jaskier asks, his deft fingers plucking at the strings of his lute. Even his half-hearted chords meld together prettily to sweeten the air with their song.

“What crown?” you ask sleepily. You’re sundrunk, now, adrift in time, lost in a haze of heat and in the sweet perfume of the clovers. Sometimes you think the sun’s kiss will be the only one you ever keep.

“Do you have multiples?” he says, his voice laced through with laughter. “Your Midsummer crown.”

That washes over you like river water, runs cold over you like snowmelt.

“I don’t have one,” you say tightly, pushing yourself upright. You curl in on yourself like a nautilus shell, pull your chest snug to your knees, as if the arc of your spine can shield you. You’ve never made a Midsummer flower crown, could never bear to have the river whisper to you what haunts you in the dark of the night, what you hold in your heart. You’ll be alone, you know, plain little thing that you are. The river will carry your crown all the way out to the sea, and all of your prospects with it.

“What?”

“I said I don’t have one,” you bite out. “There’s no point.”

“Darling,” Jaskier says, his voice downy soft, “what in the godsdamned world are you talking about?”

“I don’t need the river to tell me my fortune,” you hiss. “And I don’t need it to confirm what I already know, that no one will want to catch it, that I’ll be alone.”

Jaskier wraps a large hand around your arm. He tugs you to face him, shows that hidden strength of his that had so surprised you all. Geralt makes him look small, but he is hardly delicate. “I would catch your crown, darling,” he tells you. That flush is back, peonies blooming pink across his cheeks.

The tears pool hot in your eyes before they spill over like rainfall, sweeping down your cheeks like a summer storm. You pull free of Jaskier’s grip and push yourself to your knees. “Don’t,” you say, chest heaving. “Don’t say something like that out of pity, Jaskier, that’s not fair.”

He gapes at you. You scramble to your feet, ignoring the grass stains bleeding across the front of your skirts, and wipe at your eyes.

“Darling,” he starts, and he is pushing to his feet, and you cannot take it, cannot take platitudes from a silver-tongued bard. Perhaps he’d thought it kind, to offer to catch your crown when no other would, that it would give you a chance to take part in a tradition that’s always scorned you. Instead, it reminds you of what you have always known - he is kind because he knows that you are to be pitied.

You stride off towards town, wiping at your eyes with a rough sleeve, and when Jaskier calls your name, you start to run.

—

“You’re such a godsdamned fool,” Sabina says, but her harsh words are gentled by the soft stroke of her hand across your hair. “The bard’s mad for you, everyone knows it.”

The two of you are tucked away in a patch of sunlight in a small copse near the river. The festival is blooming to life like a wildflower, cheers and music starting to lift to the sky. You’ll join them soon, you know, though you can barely stand the thought of it.

“That’s not true, Sabina,” you say.

She takes your cheeks between her work-rough hands. “He wrote you a song,” she says, her mahogany eyes flickering over your face.

The tips of your ears burn hot. “He didn’t,” you protest. “He wrote a song about the village!”

“Godsdamned fool,” Sabina mutters to herself, releasing you to throw her hands up in the air. She runs her fingers through her silvery curls. “Does the village have ‘a sunrise of a smile, lips that guide you to the warmth of day, a beginning unfurling across the horizon like a kiss’?”

“Those aren’t the words.”

“They very much are the words, I’ve just taken out the fluff in between.”

“Sabina, please,” you say, feeling the tears begin to prick. “Jaskier could never see someone like me as anything like that.”

She cups your face again, leans in to press her forehead soft against yours. “He can,” she murmurs. “And he does. Have you ever seen him sit at the riverbank for hours with any other woman? He asked you what your crown looked like because he wanted to dive for it, you ass.”

Sabina’s Midsummer crown is irises, you know, the deep purple of a fresh bruise to sit dark against her silver strands, and men will dive for it, will dive deep into the cold for the chance to place it dripping back on her head, to have the river bless their courtship.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” you say through numb lips, because - because you’ve heard Markus ask Lidka what flowers made up her crown, heard Iwo beg Tosia to use something unique so he knows which crown to pluck from the river’s fingers. Jaskier couldn’t have meant that. Not for you. You’ve never heard anyone ask about a crown for mere conversation, but - he couldn’t have meant that.

The sound that issues from Sabina would not be out of place in a filthy bar. But she knows you, grew up running in the streets with you, wove Midsummer crowns with you when you were both still far too young to actually sail them down the river, and she can see the crack in your stone. “He did,” she says. “He does.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say helplessly. “I didn’t make a crown.”

“I know.” She presses a kiss to your cheek. “Maybe next year.”

It’s for the best, maybe. Next year, Jaskier will be long gone, traipsing through the Continent. And Sabina’s confidence is not yours. She’s always been persuasive, always been able to convince others of her ideas.

“Come,” Sabina says. “It’s Midsummer.”

You follow her out onto the meadow that hugs the riverbank, into the flood of sunlight and cheer.

You dance, and laugh, and chase the children through the tall grasses, through the rolling fields of clover. The summer shrine sits regal in the distance. You think Geralt might be there, his broad form barely visible.

You stay with the children when the others flock to the river. Sabina plucks one of her irises from her crown and tucks it into the laces of your bodice, her deep brown eyes kind, before Anatol scoops her up and carries her off. The children dart about the meadow, barely minding you, which is fine. It’s Midsummer, and a festival, and also - you’re not sure why anyone thought you could corral them.

One of the older boys finally takes the other children in hand and guides them to a safe spot nearby in the meadow to play games. You sigh and flop back onto the soft bed of the clovers. The sun feels like a blessing against your skin, soft and warm, a lover’s kiss. You bask like a cat, stretch out in the sun, pillowing your head on your hands.

Eventually, you hear soft footsteps. The children are still howling in the distance. The footsteps slow, and then there is darkness cutting through the warmth of your sun. You open your eyes, pushing to yourself to sit upright, and go still.

“Hi,” Jaskier says. He’s soaked, his clothing clinging to him. Every inch of his wiry frame is outlined by it, and gods, he’s delicious, lean and hard with traveler’s muscles. The water drips from his pink lips, trickles down to his chest, beads in the thick hair there. You swallow.

“You dove for someone,” you say. The words creak out of you like an unoiled hinge.

There’s a flower crown hanging limp in his hand, dripping wet and sadly ruffled. He kneels not far from you and meets your gaze. Sometimes you think you have never known blue before you met him, before you saw his eyes. “I did.”

“Who?”

“You didn’t have a crown,” he says softly, raising the crown and presenting it to you, “so I made you one.”

It’s a crown of peonies, fluffy balls of petals pearl pink like the dawn. The petals are layered like ribbons over themselves, an unfurling promise of summer, and the soft color of them is all the softer against the hint of verdant green stems. And tucked in between the peonies like secrets, buttercups bloom gold, shining in the sun.

“Oh,” you say.

Jaskier shifts. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know. That you thought - that you thought I pitied you when all I wanted to do was slow down every moment with you, so that it could last through the ages.��

You make a small, hiccuping noise. It feels like there are words stuck in your spasming throat.

“It was never pity,” Jaskier says. “It was always so that I knew which crown to dive for.”

You reach out to touch the edge of a peony, let your finger trace over the delicate petal. It’s soft against your fingertip, even with the river’s chill still clinging to it.

“It’s yours,” Jaskier says. “If you want it.”

You draw back. Jaskier pulls in a tight breath. His eyes are like tidepools, deeply blue and glinting in the sun.

“I think I do,” you breathe. “You mean it? You aren’t -”

“Never,” he says. “It’s yours.”

“Alright,” you say, your pulse thundering like hooves, beating deep in your veins. You think you can hear your heartbeat. Even through the cotton that sits heavy in your head, muffling the roar of the river and the others as they draw close once again. “It - I - won’t be easy.”

“I don’t want easy,” Jaskier says, leaning forward, cupping your cheek gently, slowly, testing the waters, “not if it means I can’t have you. I’m not easy, either, or so Geralt tells me. When he’s speaking to me.”

It startles a laugh out of you, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside, and Jaskier’s lips curve into something sweetly pleased. He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone.

You push into him, catch his lips with yours, and he makes a noise before cupping your face in his large hands, pulling you closer. He kisses the breath right out of you, and for a moment - he kisses the fears from you too, teases them out of you with his tongue. You pull back panting, one hand knotted in the damp strands of his chestnut hair, and he coaxes you back to him.

He licks into your mouth with fervor, shifts so that he can pull you into his lap, and your chest is heaving as you press against him, as the cool river water starts to seep through your bodice. Jaskier is warm against you, and hungry in a way you didn’t think someone could be for you, not like the other men that have tumbled you. You kiss him until one of the children shrieks in the distance.

“Shit,” you say, pulling back, but Jaskier doesn’t let you go far. He presses another soft kiss against your lips before he lets you go so that you can fix your hiked skirts. He picks up the crown with his deft fingers, and sets it on your head.

The crown, you find, fits perfectly.

taglist (only including folks i know read jaskier/have requested all witcher fics): @witchernonsense @hina-chans-stuff @stretchkingblog97

#jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader

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96harmony96 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5

I had a vicious hangover on Saturday morning and figured it was no less than I deserved. As much as I’d resented Lauren’s insistence on negotiating sex with as much passion as she would a merger, in the end I’d negotiated in kind. Because I wanted her enough to take a calculated risk and break my own rules.

I took comfort in knowing she was breaking some of her own, too.

After a long, hot shower, I made my way into the living room and found Cary on the couch with his netbook, looking fresh and alert. Smelling coffee in the kitchen, I headed there and filled the biggest mug I could find.

“Morning, sunshine,” Cary called out.

With my much-needed dose of caffeine wrapped between both palms, I joined him on the couch.

He pointed at a box on the end table. “That came for you while you were in the shower.”

I set my mug on the coffee table and picked up the box. It was wrapped with brown paper and twine, and had my name handwritten diagonally across the top with a decorative calligraphic flourish. Inside was an amber glass bottle with Hangover Cure painted on it in a white old-fashioned font and a note tied with raffia to the bottle’s neck that said, “Drink me.” Lauren’s business card was nestled in the cushioning tissue paper.

As I studied the gift, I found it very apt. Since meeting Lauren I’d felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole into a fascinating and seductive world where few of the known rules applied. I was in uncharted territory that was both exciting and scary.

I glanced at Cary, who eyed the bottle dubiously.

“Cheers.” I pried the cork out and drank the contents without thinking twice about it. It tasted like sickly sweet cough syrup. My stomach quivered in distaste for a moment, and then heated. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and shoved the cork back into the empty bottle.

“What was that?” Cary asked.

“From the burn, it’s hair of the dog.”

His nose wrinkled. “Effective but unpleasant.”

And it was working. I already felt a little steadier.

Cary picked up the box and dug out Lauren’s card. He flipped it over; then held it out to me. On the back Lauren had written, “Call me” in bold slashing penmanship and jotted down a number.

I took the card, curling my hand around it. Her gift was proof that she was thinking about me. Her tenacity and focus was seductive. And flattering.

There was no denying I was in trouble where Lauren was concerned. I craved the way I felt when she touched me, and I loved the way she responded when I touched her back. When I tried to think of what I wouldn’t agree to do to have her hands on me again, I couldn’t come up with much.

When Cary tried to hand me the phone, I shook my head. “Not yet. I need a clear head when dealing with her and I’m still fuzzy.”

“You two seemed cozy last night. She’s definitely into you.”

“I’m definitely into her.” Curling into the corner of the couch, I pressed my cheek into the cushion and hugged my legs to my chest. “We’re going to hang out, get to know each other, have casual-but-physically-intense sex, and be otherwise completely independent. No strings, no expectations, no responsibilities.”

Cary hit a button on his netbook and the printer on the other side of the room started spitting out pages. Then he snapped the computer closed, set it on the coffee table, and gave me all his attention. “Maybe it’ll turn into something serious.”

“Maybe not,” I scoffed.

“Cynic.”

“I’m not looking for happily-ever-after, Cary, especially not with a mega-mogul like Jauregui. I’ve seen what it’s like for my mom being connected to powerful men. It’s a full-time job with a part-time companion. Money keeps Mom happy, but it wouldn’t be enough for me.”

My dad had loved my mom. He’d asked her to marry him and share his life. She’d turned him down because he didn’t have the hefty portfolio and sizeable bank account she required in a husband. Love wasn’t a requisite for marriage in Sinuhe Stanton’s opinion and since her sultry-eyed, breathy-voiced beauty was irresistible to most men, she’d never had to settle for less than whatever she wanted. Unfortunately she hadn’t wanted my dad for the long haul.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was ten thirty. “I guess I should get ready.”

“I love spa day with your mom.” Cary smiled and it chased the lingering shadows on my mood away. “I feel like a god when we’re done.”

“Me, too. Of the goddess persuasion.”

We were so eager to be off that we went downstairs to meet the car rather than wait for the front desk to call up.

The doorman smiled as we stepped outside—me in heeled sandals and a maxi dress, and Cary in hip-hugging jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“Good morning, Miss Cabello. Mr. Taylor. Will you need a cab today?”

“No thanks, Paul. We’re expecting a car.” Cary grinned. “It’s spa day at Perrini’s!”

“Ah, Perrini’s Day Spa.” Paul gave a sage nod. “I bought my wife a gift certificate for our anniversary. She enjoyed it so much I plan to make it a tradition.”

“You did good, Paul,” I said. “Pampering a woman never goes out of style.”

A black town car pulled up with Clancy at the wheel. Paul opened the rear door for us and we climbed in, squealing when we found a box of Knipschildt’s Chocopologie on the seat. Waving at Paul, we settled back and dug in, taking tiny nibbles of the truffles that were worth savoring slowly.

Clancy drove us straight to Perrini’s, where the relaxation began from the moment one walked in the door. Crossing the entrance threshold was like taking a vacation on the far side of the world. Every arched doorway was framed by lushly vibrant striped silks, while jeweled pillows decorated elegant chaises and oversized armchairs.

Birds chirped from suspended gilded cages and potted plants filled every corner with lush fronds. Small decorative fountains added the sounds of running water, while stringed instrumental music was piped into the room via cleverly hidden speakers. The air was redolent with a mix of exotic spices and fragrances, making me feel like I’d stepped into Arabian Nights.

It was this-close to being too much, but it didn’t cross the line. Instead, Perrini’s was exotic and luxurious, an indulgent treat for those who could afford it. Like my mother, who’d just finished a milk-and-honey bath when we arrived.

I studied the menu of treatments available, deciding to skip my usual “warrior woman” in favor of the “passionate pampering.” I’d been waxed the week before, but the rest of the treatment—“designed to make you sexually irresistible”—sounded like exactly what I needed.

I’d finally managed to get my mind back into the safe zone of work when Cary spoke up from the pedicure chair beside mine.

“Mrs. Stanton, have you met Lauren Jauregui?”

I gaped at him. He knew damn well my mom went nuts over any news about my romantic—and not-so-romantic, as the case may be—relationships.

My mother, who sat in the chair on the other side of me, leaned forward with her usual girlish excitement over a rich, handsome man. “Of course. She’s one of the wealthiest women in the world. Number twenty-five or so on Forbes’s list, if I’m remembering correctly. A very driven young woman, obviously, and a generous benefactor to many of the children’s charities I champion. Extremely eligible, of course, but I don’t believe she's straight , Cary. She’s got a reputation as a ladies’ pleaser.”

“My loss.” Cary grinned and ignored my violent headshaking. “But it’d be a hopeless crush anyway, since she’s digging on Camila.”

“Camila! I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. How could you not tell me something like that?”

I looked at my mom, whose scrubbed face appeared young, unlined, and very much like mine. I was very clearly my mother’s daughter, right down to my surname. The one concession she’d made to my father had been to name me after his mother.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I insisted. “We’re just…friends.”

“We can do better than that,” Sinuhe said, with a look of calculation that struck fear in my heart. “I don’t know how it escaped me that you work in the same building she does. I’m certain she was smitten the moment she saw you. Although she’s known to prefer blondes…Hmm…Anyway. sHe’s also known for her excellent taste. Clearly the latter won out with you.”

“It’s not like that. Please don’t start meddling. You’ll embarrass me.”

“Nonsense. If anyone knows what to do with men, it’s me.”

I cringed, my shoulders creeping up to my ears. By the time my massage appointment came around, I was in desperate need of one. I stretched out on the table and closed my eyes, preparing to take a catnap to get through the long night ahead.

I loved dressing up and looking pretty as much as the next girl, but charity functions were a lot of work. Making small talk was exhausting, smiling nonstop was a pain, and conversations about businesses and people I didn’t know were boring. If it wasn’t for Cary benefitting from the exposure, I’d put up a bigger fight about going.

I sighed. Who was I fooling? I’d end up going anyway. My mom and Stanton supported abused children’s charities because they were significant to me. Going to the occasional stuffy event was a small price to pay for the return.

Taking a deep breath, I consciously relaxed. I made a mental note to call my dad when I got home and thought about how to send a thank-you note to Lauren for the hangover cure. I supposed I could e-mail her using the contact info on her business card, but that lacked class. Besides, I didn’t know who read her inbox.

I’d just call her when I got home. Why not? She’d asked—no, told—me to; she’d written the demand on her business card. And I’d get to hear her luscious voice again.

The door opened and the masseuse came in. “Hello, Camila. You ready?”

Not quite. But I was getting there.

___

After many lovely hours at the spa, my mom and Cary dropped me off at the apartment; then they headed out to hunt for new cuff links for Stanton. I used the time alone to call Lauren. Even with the much-needed privacy, I punched most of her phone number into the keypad a half-dozen times before I finally put the call through.

She answered on the first ring. “Camila.”

W that she’d known who was calling, my mind scrambled for a moment. How did she have my name and number in her contact list? “Uh…hi, Lauren.”

“I’m a block away. Let the front desk know I’m coming.”

“What?” I felt like I’d missed part of the conversation. “Coming where?”

“To your place. I’m rounding the corner now. Call the desk, Camila.”

she hung up and I stared at the phone, trying to absorb the fact that Lauren was moments away from being with me again. Somewhat dazed, I went to the intercom and talked to the front desk, letting them know I was expecting her and while I was talking, she walked into the lobby. A few moments after that, she was at my door.

It was then that I remembered I was dressed in only a thigh-length silk robe, and my face and hair were styled for the dinner. What kind of impression would she get from my appearance?

I tightened the belt of my robe before I let her in. It wasn’t like I’d invited her over for a seduction or anything.

Lauren stood in the hallway for a long moment, her gaze raking me from my head down to my French manicured toes. I was equally stunned by her appearance. The way she looked in worn jeans and a T-shirt made me want to undress her with my teeth.

“Worth the trip to find you like this, Camila.” sHe stepped inside and locked the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Thanks to you. Thank you.” My stomach quivered because she was here, with me, which made me feel almost…giddy. “That can’t be why you came over.”

“I’m here because it took you too long to call me.”

“I didn’t realize I had a deadline.”

“I have to ask you something time-sensitive, but more than that, I wanted to know if you were feeling all right after last night.” Her eyes were dark as they swept over me, her breathtaking face framed by that luxurious curtain of inky hair. “God. You look beautiful, Camila. I can’t remember ever wanting anything this much.”

With just those few simple words I became hot and needy. Way too vulnerable. “What’s so urgent?”

“Go with me to the advocacy center dinner tonight.”

I pulled back, surprised and excited by the request. “You’re going?”

“So are you. I checked, knowing your mother would be there. Let’s go together.”

My hand went to my throat, my mind torn between the weirdness of how much she knew about me and concern over what she was asking me to do. “That’s not what I meant when I said we should spend time together.”

“Why not?” The simple question was laced with challenge. “What’s the problem with going together to an event we’d already planned on attending separately?”

“It’s not very discreet. It’s a high-profile event.”

“So?” Lauren stepped closer and fingered a curl of my hair.

There was a dangerous purr to her voice that sent a shiver through me. I could feel the warmth of her big, hard body and smell the richly musky scent of her skin. I was falling under her spell, deeper with every minute that passed.

“People will make assumptions, my mother in particular. She’s already scenting your bachelor blood in the water.”

Lowering her head, Lauren pressed her lips into the crook of my neck. “I don’t care what people think. We know what we’re doing. And I’ll deal with your mother.”

“If you think you can,” I said breathlessly, “you don’t know her very well.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Her tongue traced the wildly throbbing vein in my throat and I melted into her, my body going lax as she pulled me close.

Still, I managed to say, “I haven’t said yes.”

“But you won’t say no.” sHe caught my earlobe between her teeth. “I won’t let you.”

I opened my mouth to protest and she sealed her lips over mine, shutting me up with a lush wet kiss. Her tongue did that slow, savoring licking that made me long to feel her doing the same between my legs. My hands went to her hair, sliding through it, tugging. When she wrapped her arms around me, I arched, curving into her hands.

Just as she had in her office, she had me on my back on the couch before I realized she was moving me, her mouth swallowing my surprised gasp. The robe gave way to her dexterous fingers; then she was cupping my breasts, kneading them with soft, rhythmic squeezes.

“Lauren—”

“Shh.” sHe sucked on my lower lip, her fingers rolling and tugging my tender nipples. “It was driving me crazy knowing you were naked beneath your robe.”

“You came over without—Oh! Oh, God…”

Her mouth surrounded the tip of my breast, the wash of heat bringing a mist of perspiration to my skin.

My gaze darted frantically to the clock on the cable box. “Lauren, no.”

Her head lifted and she looked at me with stormy green eyes. “It’s insane, I know. I don’t—I can’t explain it, Camila, but I have to make you come. I’ve been thinking about it constantly for days now.”

One of her hands pushed between my legs. They fell open shamelessly, my body so aroused I was flushed and almost feverish. Her other hand continued to plump my breasts, making them heavy and unbearably sensitive.

“You’re wet for me,” she murmured, her gaze sliding down my body to where she was parting me with her fingers. “You’re beautiful here, too. Plush and pink. So soft. You didn’t wax today, did you?”

I shook my head.

“Thank God. I don’t think I would’ve made it ten minutes without touching you, let alone ten hours.” She slid one finger carefully into me.

My eyes closed against the unbearable vulnerability of being spread out naked and fingered by a woman whose familiarity with the rules of Brazilian waxing betrayed an intimate knowledge of women. A woman who was still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor beside me.

“You’re so snug.” Lauren pulled out and thrust gently back into me. My back bowed as I clenched eagerly around her. “And so greedy. How long has it been since the last time you were fucked?”

I swallowed hard. “I’ve been busy. My thesis, job-hunting, moving…”

“A while, then.” sHe pulled out and pushed back into me with two fingers. I couldn’t hold back a moan of delight. The woman had talented hands, confident and skilled, and she took what he wanted with them.

“Are you on birth control, Camila?”

“Yes.” My hands gripped the edges of the cushions. “Of course.”

“I’ll prove I’m clean and you’ll do the same, then you’re going to let me come in you.”

“Jesus, Lauren.” I was panting for her, my hips circling shamelessly onto her thrusting fingers. I felt like I’d spontaneously combust if she didn’t get me off.

I’d never been so turned on in my life. I was near mindless with the need for an orgasm. If Cary walked in right then and found me writhing in our living room while Lauren finger-fucked me, I didn’t think I’d care.

Lauren was breathing hard, too. Her face was flushed with lust. For me. When I’d done nothing more than respond helplessly to her.

Her hand at my breast moved to my cheek and brushed over it. “You’re blushing. I’ve scandalized you.”

“Yes.”

Her smile was both wicked and delighted, and it made my chest tight. “I want to feel my cum in you when I fuck you with my fingers. I want you to feel my cum in you, so you think about how I looked and the sounds I made when I pumped it into you. And while you’re thinking about that, you’re going to look forward to me doing it again and again.”

My sex rippled around her stroking fingers, the rawness of her words pushing me to the brink of orgasm.

“I’m going to tell you all the ways I want you to please me, Camila, and you’re going to do it all…take it all, and we’re going to have explosive, primal, no-holds-barred sex. You know that, don’t you? You can feel how it’ll be between us.”

“Yes,” I breathed, clutching my breasts to ease the deep ache of my hardened nipples. “Please, Lauren.”

“Shh…I’ve got you.” The pad of her thumb rubbed my clitoris in gentle circles. “Look into my eyes when you come for me.”

Everything tightened in my core, the tension building as she massaged my clit and pushed her fingers in and out in a steady, unhurried rhythm.

“Give it up to me, Camila,” she ordered. “Now.”

I climaxed with a thready cry, my grip white-knuckled on the sides of the cushions as my hips pumped onto her hand, my mind far beyond shame or shyness. My gaze was locked to her, unable to look away, riveted by the fierce masculine triumph that flared in her eyes. In that moment she owned me. I’d do anything she wanted. And she knew it.

Searing pleasure pulsed through me. Through the roaring of blood in my ears, I thought I heard her speak hoarsely, but I lost the words when she hooked one of my legs over the back of the couch and covered my cleft with her mouth.

“No—” I pushed at her head with my hands. “I can’t.”

I was too swollen, too sensitive. But when her tongue touched my clit, fluttering over it, the hunger built again. More intense than the first time. she rimmed my trembling slit, teasing me, taunting me with the promise of another orgasm when I knew I couldn’t have one again so quickly.

Then her tongue speared into me and I bit my lip to bite back a scream. I came a second time, my body quaking violently, tender muscles tightening desperately around her decadent licking. Her growl vibrated through me. I didn’t have the strength to push her away when she returned to my clit and sucked softly…tirelessly…until I climaxed again, gasping her name.

I was boneless as she straightened my leg and still breathless when she pressed kisses up my belly to my breasts. she licked each of my nipples, and then hauled me up with her arms banded around my back. I hung lax and pliable in her grip while she took my mouth with suppressed violence, bruising my lips and betraying how close to the edge she was.

she closed my robe; then stood, staring down at me.

“Lauren…?”

“Seven o’clock, Camila.” sHe reached down and touched my ankle, her fingertips caressing the diamond anklet I’d put on in preparation for the evening. “And keep this on. I want to fuck you while you’re wearing nothing else.”

#camren shipper #camren fanfiction #camren #lauren jauregui #lauren jauregay #camila cabello #camila and lauren #lauren and camila #fanfic #gip #camren gip #Laurengip #g!p #fifth harmony #Jauregui fire

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liberty-barnes · 4 years

Text

Switching Things Up

Louis Tomlinson x Female!Reader

University AU / Non-Famous AU

Summary: Five times Louis almost asked you out and the one time you asked him.

Warnings: cursing, fluffffff, bit of angst, misunderstandings, and Louis pining.

Word Count: 5k words

ERT: 20 minutes

A/N: i'm so in love with Louis it's not even funny anymore. also, it's finally out!!!!!!!

Inspired by: "Kiss You" "18" "Infinity" by One Direction, that one scene in the This Is Us movie.

Masterlist | Taglist

Louis's First

It was just another usual day for Louis. Wake up at six o'clock, drink his tea, go to class, pick up the girls from school, have lunch all together, and start his shift at Toys 'R' Us.

He genuinely liked working there. He loved kids, it was fun to be surrounded by toys, and they were quite respectful of his uni hours, so overall, it was quite a nice gig.

He was working on the floor today, greeting costumers, seeing if they need help with anything, trying to keep the shelves tidy. It was quite a slow day so since he was done with all his homework he took some time to play with the toys a bit.

"Okay, they've got to be here somewhere. Don't worry, we'll find you one just like it."

He lifted his head from where it was bowed over one of the pianos in the lower shelves, giving up on trying to get it to be straight and cracking his knuckles a bit.

The woman sounded pretty young and her voice was very nice so he started playing a random tune on the piano that was a bit more level with him (and sounded better too), just waiting for her to round the corner and spot him.

"Auntie, look, it's right there!"

The girl that passed right by him was absolutely divine. He'd never seen anyone as gorgeous as her and if the way his heart stuttered in his chest was any indication, his body seemed to agree. He straightened his shirt and ran his hands through his hair before turning around, ready to offer his help and maybe get her number after.

And if he pouted when she walked right past him with not the smallest reaction, nobody will ever know.

Louis's Second

He sat on a wooden bench as he waited in front of his youngest sisters' primary school. He was among parents and nannies, waiting for the bell to go off and the children to leave. His fingers tapped a random beat on his thigh while he hummed a melody that's been floating in his brain for a few minutes, trying to match some words to it.

So tell me, girl, if every time we touch

You get this kind of rush

He was about to take out his phone to write it down when a girl sat on the other side of the bench, taking out her headphones and putting them neatly into her bag.

But it wasn't just any girl.

It was the one he'd dubbed 'Future Mrs. Tommo', the girl from Toys 'R' Us. He refused to let her go this time, but he had no idea how to start the conversation.

That is, until she took out a familiar-looking binder, flipping it until she reached her desired page and started filling it out. It had been a mere thirty seconds before she started frowning.

He's never been so grateful to have chosen music as his minor.

"Are you in Charlton's class?"

The girl looked at him and he momentarily froze in place as his blue eyes met her (y/e/c) ones.

"Yeah, are you in his class?"

"Not anymore, I had him last year, though, he's a prick."

She huffed out a laugh and leaned back on the bench.

"Tell me about it, we've been talking about the Renaissance Era for two months and he still hasn't gotten to the interesting part."

"I thanked every deity imaginable that I got Natalie this year, I don't think I could do another year of that old man."

She turned to him and cocked her head.

"I've never heard of a 'Natalie' before."

"Natalie Dubois, she's a new teacher from France. Got a bit of a weird accent but she's a hell of a good teacher, and fun too, she gives us a bit more freedom, nothing like Charlton."

"What year are you?"

"Third, you?"

"Second."

He nodded and she tapped her pen against her binder.

"What're you studying?"

He was quite happy that she kept the conversation going.

"Drama major, music minor."

"Very artistic."

"I live to entertain. What about you?"

"Psychology major, music minor."

"Ooh, a brain doctor, I've always wondered if Psych majors could identify psychopaths from a single conversation."

She laughed at that and he felt his heart wanting to beat out of his chest. He wanted to record that sound so he could listen to it all the time. Use it as a ringtone, a melody for his next song, his alarm in the morning. He was positive he'd wake up in a much better mood if that's what brought him out of his slumber.

Unfortunately, he was interrupted before he could even ask for her number, or name, mind you, by the children's excited cheers.

Sooner than he would have liked, a little black-haired boy came running out and into her arms, Phoebe and Daisy only a couple steps behind.

"It was nice talking to you, I'll see you around!"

He could only wish her luck with that idiot teacher before she was gone and he had to care for his two little girls.

Louis's Third

The music room was quiet as he sat in front of the piano. He took out his notebook and started to play, following the notes messily scribbled on it.

I got a heart, and I got a soul, believe me, I will use them both

We made a start, be it a false one, I know

Baby I don't want to feel alone

He tried out, but something felt off. He tried a different note for the end, content with the way it sounded and scribbling it onto the notebook right after.

So kiss me where I lay down, my hands pressed to your cheeks

A long way from the playground

He frowned, changing a few notes here and there.

It sounded better, but there was still something missing.

"Try a key higher, it might sound better."

He heard her voice from the doorway, heart almost beating out of his chest for two entirely different reasons, though he chose to focus on the "I was startled" one instead of the "My dream girl is here" one.

He did as she told him though, and it did sound better.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

She looked entirely too pretty when she smiled. He wondered if the sun was really necessary given that she smiled bright enough to light up this galaxy and the next. He busied himself with writing the changes in his notebook while she went from table to table, searching up and down for something he wasn't aware of. He secretly hoped she wouldn't find it, just so he could stare at her for a bit longer.

"How're classes with Charlton going? Still a prick?"

"The day that man stops being a prick, angels will be falling from the sky."

He didn't see her fall, but he was pretty sure she was an angel.

"A-ha!"

He saw her lift a blue journal, the word 'Songs' beautifully calligraphed on it in gold. She put it back in her bag and approached him so she was standing right behind him, reading the words in his notebook.

He felt her shoulder grazing his and smelled her perfume. It was fruity and sweet. Peaches, maybe?

"That's a beautiful song, you're very talented."

He felt his cheeks heat up at the praise.

"Thanks."

He took a deep breath. This is it. He's gonna do it. He's gonna ask her out.

"Hey, I was wondering-"

"Shit!"

She got up in a flash and took her backpack from where she had put it down next to the seat.

"I'm gonna be late for my appointment but hold that thought 'til we meet again?"

She looked so sorry that he couldn't bear to tell her no.

Louis's Fourth

"I'm telling you, Niall, she's the most perfect girl to have ever walked this Earth."

He sighed as he faceplanted onto the couch, the blonde still strumming his guitar as if Louis wasn't having an existential crisis a mere six inched away from him.

"You don't even know her name."

"I'll just call her mine."

The punch that landed on his arm was deserved, he'll admit it.

"The way I'm seeing it, you just need to find out who she is and ask her out, it's really not that hard."

"But I don't know where to find her."

"Wrong, you know that she picks up her nephew at midday. A nephew that goes to the same school as your little sisters. Just figure out the kid's name, find the school records, and trace it back to her. Easy."

He lifted his head from the pillow and glared at Niall.

"That's illegal."

He shrugged.

"Most importantly, though, I'm awful with computers so we'd need to find someone to do it for us."

"I know a guy."

He nodded, that would be plan B, assuming they find a plan A first.

The door opened to the sound of Harry's amazing rendition of Juice, and Louis smiled unconsciously.

"Nialler, you home?"

"Living room!"

The brunette walked into the room and fist-bumped them, lifting Louis's legs so he could slide under them and sit.

"Why do you look like a kicked puppy?"

"I met the girl of my dreams but I don't know her name and have no idea how to contact her."

Unlike Niall, Harry was much more the romantic type. He believed in fate, love at first sight, and all that stupid shit in the books he read his sisters every night. It was no surprise when he gave him the most poetic, love-filled piece of advice Louis had ever heard.

"You just need to have faith, Lou. If she's the one for you then the universe will find a way to get your paths to cross again. Before you know it you'll be married with four kids and a cat, living on a little farm with a giant trampoline in your backyard."

"How did I end up with you two as my best friends? I either get a 'break into a primary school' or 'trust the universe', there is no in-between."

Niall laughed loudly and Harry patted his calves reassuringly before they heard the door open and their friends' voices echoing in the small flat.

"Hey, boys?"

"Living room!"

Liam came in with a couple of packs of beer, followed by Zayn and a third person whose footsteps he didn't recognize.

(Because yes, he'd memorized the sound of his friends' footsteps, sue him.)

"Lou, stop sulking, it's time to drink beers and be happy."

"I'm deeply sorry if my existential crisis is bothering you, Zayn, I'll try to suffer silently."

The laugh he heard made his breath hitch and his heart stutter in his chest.

He knew that laugh.

That laugh had been playing on a loop in Louis' brain for two weeks now.

He tried (read: failed miserably) to sit up naturally, though it looked a bit more forced than he wanted it to.

"Mystery Boy!"

She pointed at him with a gleeful expression on his face and if his soul hadn't left his body before, it sure had now.

"Hey."

Really? 'Hey'? That's the best he can do?

"I never caught your name."

She cocked her head to the side adorably, arm stretched over her knee from her place on the floor, leaning against the armchair.

"I never threw it."

It was stronger than him, he didn't even register his comment until she started laughing and he felt his cheeks burn up, the overwhelming sense of having fucked everything up taking over him.

"Drama majors, always clowning around."

He let out a relieved breath and smiled when she didn't seem to take any offense to it.

"You guys know each other?"

Liam, lovely Liam, looking like a confused puppy but bless his soul for asking because it made her speak and Louis loved hearing her voice so much, it sounded better than any music the world could provide.

"We've kind of met. I'm (Y/n), by the way."

(Y/n).

(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n).

(Y/n) Tomlinson.

That had a nice ring to it.

A really nice ring to it.

Mrs. (Y/n) Tomlinson.

Perfect.

"Usually, this is the part where you tell me your name. I can't keep referring to you as 'Mystery Boy'."

She giggled and his cheeks heated up again, though he didn't mind embarrassing himself if it earned him a laugh from her every time.

"I'm Louis. Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson."

"Nice to formally meet you, Louis."

He smiled and thanked the sun, moon, and stars for this opportunity. Because really, there wasn't a better opportunity than this one.

She's here.

With him.

(And his friends, but who cares about them?)

And he finally knew her name.

He could ask her out.

No fear.

No time-clock.

No hesitation.

"Here's your juice, love."

"Thanks, babe."

She threw Zayn a kiss and he felt his heart break.

Oh no.

"Guys, I have to tell you about this girl I met."

Louis sat down properly on the couch so he had a clear view of Zayn's face.

"Ooh, gossip."

The younger boy swatted him before letting out a dreamy sigh.

"She's just- She's so pretty and kind, and her laugh, she has the most beautiful laugh I've ever heard. She's a psych major so she always has something interesting to say and her friends are so cool. She's... She's just perfect."

Louis's Fifth

And perfect she is.

Louis left the flat right after he realized that the girl he'd been pining over was the same girl Zayn had been seeing, muttering about homework and essays and studying or whatever.

Now here he was, working the register at Toys 'R' Us, his usually bright and genuine smile replaced by an incredibly awkward and forced one, trying not to let the heartbreak eat him alive.

"Tommo!"

His coworker came over to him.

"Switch with me, James asked to see you."

Great, and now he was probably gonna get sacked from the only job he ever liked.

He walked with a frown on his face to his manager's office and sat down on the chair, waiting for him to finish what looked like a very intense phone call about... mechanical kittens?

He hung up a couple of minutes later and turned to Louis, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Louis. Louis, Louis, Louis. D'you mind telling me why my best worker's been sulking all day?"

He shrunk down a bit on the chair, suddenly feeling very small. Toys 'R' Us is a magical place, workers are supposed to be happy all the time.

"Just... Stuff."

"It's okay to be sad, but we worry about you. I mean, some of our regular costumers asked if you were alright cause you weren't jumping and joking. Just tell me what's wrong so I can try to help."

He let out a breath and let his head fall onto the desk.

"I met this girl and she's amazing, and kind, and funny, and just overall perfect."

"So you're sulking because you met the love of your life?"

"No! I'm sulking because the love of my life is dating one of my best mates."

He froze for a while, definitely not expecting that.

"What?"

"Zayn's dating her. I found out yesterday."

Jame took a deep breath and got up from his chair so he could get closer to Louis.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

"Not a Jimmy Hug."

"Shut up, you deserve one right now, no matter how much you like to pretend you hate them."

When he came out of his boss's office, more relaxed and with a small smile on his face, he immediately spotted you next to the pianos.

He took his break at that moment and only returned when he saw you leave through his place in the alleyway right next to the parking lot.

Your First

You took a deep breath and tightened your grip on your nephew's hand, steeling yourself before entering the store.

"We have to get one with brown fur, just like Summer!"

You promised little Lucas that if he behaved at the doctor's you'd get him get a new plushie, a German Shepherd, just like your parents' dog.

"Okay, they've got to be here somewhere. Don't worry, we'll find you one just like it."

You looked up and down aisles, trying to find the plushies but not knowing where to look. You could hear someone playing the piano a couple of feet away and let yourself be lulled by the sound of the song, you'd always loved Tchaikovsky.

"Auntie, look, it's right there!"

Your nephew pointed at the shelves just on the other side of the piano (and the beautiful pianist standing in front of it). You let Lucas pull you towards the shelves and search carefully for the perfect plushie while you tried to not let the man get to you.

He was gorgeous. Like, model tier, plaster his face on your walls gorgeous.

And you were shy.

So you dragged the time out and mentally asked him to approach you, pouting when you realized he couldn't read your thoughts and your nephew was asking to leave.

Your Second

You speed-walked to the school, still riled up because of your class with bloody Charlton.

You wanted nothing more than to sit down on the bench, listen to your music, and people-watch until your nephew got out.

But you weren't expecting him to be there.

You were still too shy to approach him so you just took out your headphones and sat on the other side of the bench, taking out your binder and filling out a few things before purposely stopping somewhere and tapping your pen on the paper, pouting and wishing that he'd 'save you' from your boredom.

"Are you in Charlton's class?"

Bingpot!

You looked at him and were temporarily taken aback by just how blue his eyes were, but forced yourself to speak. You weren't gonna get anywhere by keeping quiet.

"Yeah, are you in his class?"

"Not anymore, I had him last year, though, he's a prick."

You huffed out a laugh and leaned back on the bench, trying to look nonchalant.

"Tell me about it, we've been talking about the Renaissance Era for two months and he still hasn't gotten to the interesting part."

"I thanked every deity imaginable that I got Natalie this year, I don't think I could do another year of that old man."

You turned to him and cocked your head.

"I've never heard of a 'Natalie' before."

That's a lie, you knew who she was, you'd even interacted with her.

"Natalie Dubois, she's a new teacher from France. Got a bit of a weird accent but she's a hell of a good teacher, and fun too, she gives us a bit more freedom, nothing like Charlton."

"What year are you?"

"Third, you?"

"Second."

He nodded and you tapped your pen against your binder.

"What're you studying?"

"Drama major, music minor."

"Very artistic."

"I live to entertain. What about you?"

"Psychology major, music minor."

"Oh, a brain doctor, I've always wondered if Psych majors could identify psychopaths from a single conversation."

You laughed at that. Usually, you hated when people were that shallow about your job but when he said it, it didn't sound shallow or mock-ish. It sounded like a legitimate concern, like those things you think of at three in the morning when you can't sleep.

You were interrupted by the school bell and cursed mentally to not have gotten here earlier so you could talk to him more. Your nephew came running towards you and two little girls followed, walking towards Louis. He looked so good with children clinging to him that you had to physically extract yourself from that situation before you said or did something embarrassing.

"It was nice talking to you, I'll see you around!"

Your Third

You walked to the music room, praying that your song notebook was left behind there. You don't know what you'd do without it. It has every single one of your creations there.

You heard someone play the piano and groaned. You were way too sleep-deprived to deal with human interaction.

But this wasn't just any human interaction now, was it? Because Mystery Boy was there.

(He's been dubbed Mystery Boy in your head since you have no idea what his actual name is.)

You stood in the doorway for a while, notebook be damned, just watching him play, then frown, then play again, and light up like a happy little puppy once he found the right melody. Until he reached a complicated part and couldn't find the right combination.

"Try a key higher, it might sound better."

He jumped a bit and you felt bad for scaring him, but the way he blushed after was cute. He didn't answer, just did as you advised and smiled once he found that it sounded like he wanted it to.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

You smiled and the blush on his face was entirely too adorable and you went from table to table, pretending you didn't remember exactly where you were sitting that morning just so you could spend a bit longer than necessary in his presence.

"How're classes with Charlton going? Still a prick?"

"The day that man stops being a prick, angels will be falling from the sky."

You couldn't stall anymore, it would just be awkward at this point.

"A-ha!"

You showed off your journal before putting it back in your bag and going down the stairs of the auditorium so you could stand right next to him.

Deciding to be subtle but a little more daring than usual, you stood next to him, shoulders grazing while you read the words on his journal.

He smelled heavenly, like cologne and deodorant, and something that had to be entirely him. You wanted to bury yourself in that scent.

"That's a beautiful song, you're very talented."

You'd never get tired of watching him blush.

"Thanks."

You heard him take a deep breath just as your eyes went to the clock and you remembered your doctor's appointment with Lucas, he had to get the second dose for his shots and you were the only one who could get him to quiet down.

"Hey, I was wondering-"

"Shit!"

You got up in a flash and took the backpack from where you had put it down next to the seat.

"I'm gonna be late for my appointment but hold that thought 'til we meet again?"

He answered a small yes and you dashed out of the room.

Your Fourth

You followed Zayn to his friend's flat off-campus. You had met him a couple of months ago through Gigi, your best friend. Those two had been flirting for ages and it honestly made you sick, but Zayn was an easy-going person and you got along great, so when you mentioned that you had plans of getting drunk alone tonight, he offered to take you to his friend's house so you could get drunk with some company.

You entered the flat with Zayn and who you now knew to be Liam, saying hello to the two men in the room and tilting your head in questioning at the man lying face down on the couch.

"Lou, stop sulking, it's time to drink beers and be happy."

"I'm deeply sorry if my existential crisis is bothering you, Zayn, I'll try to suffer silently."

You couldn't stop the laugh bubbling from your chest as you sat down next to the armrest.

He sat up way too quickly to be safe and you smiled brightly once you realized who it was.

"Mystery Boy!"

It was fate, it had to be. This was the universe's way of telling you that you belonged together.

"Hey."

You giggled at his awkward greeting.

"I never caught your name."

"I never threw it."

You started laughing at his sassiness. If you weren't completely smitten before you sure were now.

"Drama majors, always clowning around."

"You guys know each other?"

Liam asked and you jumped into an explanation.

"We've kind of met. I'm (Y/n), by the way."

He said nothing for a couple of seconds and you worried you were being too forward.

"Usually, this is the part where you tell me your name. I can't keep referring to you as 'Mystery Boy'."

He blushed again, he seemed to be doing that a lot and you wondered if that was as unusual for him as it was for you to be this confident.

"I'm Louis. Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson."

(Y/n) Tomlinson.

That had a nice ring to it.

A really nice ring to it.

Mrs. (Y/n) Tomlinson.

Perfect.

"Nice to formally meet you, Louis."

He smiled and you wanted to yell at the sun to hide because it was stopping you from seeing the true brightness of Louis's eyes.

"Here's your juice, love."

"Thanks, babe."

You threw Zayn a kiss and he rolled his eyes, already used to the fact that you were kind of nickname-addicted and very endearing.

And also kind of drunk, which is why he brought you the juice.

On second thought, that might be why you were being this confident.

You thought everything was going well, but as suddenly as it started, the object of your affection was out the door, muttering about appointments, or homework, or something you didn't understand, but that sure made you frown for the rest of the evening.

Your Fifth

You walked into Toys 'R' Us for two reasons that day.

The first is to get your nephew a birthday present.

The second is to (hopefully) see Louis.

You wanted to talk to him, the way he left the flat was strange, so you took advantage of the fact that you needed to get something from the store to try and see him.

You saw him go to the back as soon as you got here and decided to wait a bit for him to come back, looking at everything slower than you needed even though you knew exactly what to get. After fifteen minutes, you were pretty sure he wasn't going to come back. Maybe his shift ended already?

You took your present and left the store, looking around to see if you found him, to no avail.

The One

You marched to the door with only one goal in mind: ask Louis Tomlinson out on a date. It's been a week of him ignoring you, running away as soon as he saw you, barely answering your greetings and you were more than done.

If he wanted to turn you down, then it at least he would do it to your face, none of this ghosting nonsense. You don't want to spend the rest of your life thinking what might have been if you'd just reached out.

So, you talked to Niall, who gave you Louis's address and his schedule. You knew he was home and he had no way to escape you. He was babysitting his sisters, after all, so there was no way he could just run away.

You rang the doorbell and nervously wrang your hands in front of you, taking deep breaths and mentally going over what you wanted to say.

"I'll be right there! No, Daisy!"

His voice rang through the door and you smiled fondly at the sound, imagining him taking care of his sisters did something to you for some reason.

"Hi, sorry for the-"

He froze when he saw you, eyes going wide and mouth hanging open.

"Hi."

You said, and that seemed to bring him out of his stupor.

"(Y/n)."

"Yep."

"(Y/n)."

It seemed like he couldn't quite believe you were here.

"That's my name. Don't wear it out, though."

He shook his head and started stuttering his way through a response, trying to ask what you were doing here, at his house.

"Um, Niall told me where you lived. I had something I wanted to ask you."

When he didn't answer, you went for it.

"So, um, you've kind of been avoiding me lately which is quite unfortunate because I happen to like you... a lot... and so I-"

"Does Zayn know that?"

You were cut off in the middle of your rant and tilted your head confusingly at him.

"What?"

"Does Zayn know you 'like me a lot'?"

He looked angry, jaw clenched shut and arms crossed in front of his chest, which was no help to the attraction you felt towards him, that shirt did wonders for his biceps.

"Why should Zayn know about it?"

"Well, he's your boyfriend after all."

Wait, what?

"Well if he's my boyfriend then I should probably let Gigi know he's cheating."

He seemed to blanch at that.

"Gigi."

"Yeah. Gigi. You know, the girl he's been pining over since the beginning of the semester, they got together officially two weeks ago."

Only his sisters' voices could be heard.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So, um... you and Zayn... you're not..."

"Together? No."

You laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear nervously.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?"

You snapped your head up and grinned devilishly.

"I believe I asked you first."

He laughed and took a step forward.

"Then I will most certainly go out with you, as long as you let me pay. Take it as an apology for how stupid I was."

"I guess that could be arranged."

He was so close you could smell his cologne. Still so, so tasty. Still so, so wonderful.

"Do I have to wait until the end of our first date to kiss you?"

"I think you've done enough waiting already."

"I think so too."

And he kissed you.

And you were happy.

here it is babes! finally out!

i hope you liked it and if you do, don’t forget to comment, reblog, like and stuff

have a nice day/morning/afternoon/night/whatever

-Love, Libby

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Taglists: (if your name is striked through it means for some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you)

PERMA TAG

@jeezkiddo @beananacake @yoinkyourheart @averyfosterthoughts @onebigolemess @samoney69 @agirlwithpointlessideas @ddaawwssoonn @inhumanwithpowers @imagineshere-forall @stiles-banshees @orowit @spideynut @deathofmissjackson @parkersbliss @ephemeral-limerences @write-from-the-heart @cardboard-ben @my-alignment-is-bisexual @mendes-marvel @shawnsnovel @inthecornerchair @lovelynerdytraveler @niallssweetheart22 @incorrect-things @lost-in-the-stars03 @harishaanne

ACTORS/RPF TAG

@bubblegumbarnes @sofiaconlaz @hyluas

ONE DIRECTION

@hhighlydisfunctional1

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anavantgardener · 3 years

Text

Frost and Mischief Ch. 8

Summary: The seven friends find their way into trouble after Elska’s note leads them on a dangerous path. Loki gets a little to close to losing his new friend for his own comfort.

Pairing: OC x Loki

Warnings: fluff, violence

Word Count: 3,776

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Return of the Witch

The Warriors Three, Sif, Thor, Loki, and Elska all found themselves in Thor's chambers, mulling over their next move. The parchment, now unfolded and smoothed out, lay in the center of their usual dinner table. Elska sat, legs crossed, in front of the hearth; she drew designs out of ice on the brick, watching them melt as soon as they hit the stone.

"Meet me at midnight. Alone." Scrawled in calligraphic handwriting, an address in the middle district below the simplistic instructions.

Sif had relayed their encounter to the group, and Elska had told them of her brief experience, as well.

"I must go," Elska finally exclaimed from her spot on the floor.

"Absolutely not!" Thor stood from his seat, knocking the chair to the floor.

"You truly are insane to even think of the possibility," Fandral pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he spoke. Sif nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Essentially, you want to ignore this opportunity to uncover whatever scheme is taking place within our city?" Elska was astonished at their lack of understanding her point. "Asgard could be imminently threatened by whatever this meeting is in relation to, and yet you all see fit to wait it out and ignore all chance to halt it before it begins. Not to mention the repercussions of blatantly disregarding whoever did send this message." She tried to use her own safety as a means of convincing.

"At least here we can protect you, El," Volstagg was softer with her. At this, Hogun nodded.

"Yes, and at least here we won't learn a thing of whatever plot may be unfolding," while her words were sharp, her tone was that of a gentle warning. "I am going, and that is decided."

"Then we will accompany you," Thor stated matter-of-factly.

"Have you forgotten it specifically states I am to go alone?" Elska stood and pointed at the word on the parchment.

"Have you forgotten that you have a Master of Magic in your midst?" Loki, who had been silent up to this point, rose from his seat and crossed his arms.

At his words, the six others exchanged glances, all carrying different tones of worry and thrill.

Secretly, Elska was displeased with this development. Rather myself be the one in danger than my friends.

*****

Elska looked at the moondial by her window. An hour to midnight, enough time for her to get to the main hall a bit early. Before she opened her door to leave, she cast an enchantment ensuring she wouldn't be seen before she wanted to be.

Closing her door as silently as she could, Elska glanced around her surroundings to ensure she hadn't alerted any guards that might be nearby. Finding the coast to be clear, she began tiptoeing her way to the main hall, where Sif, the Warriors Three, Thor, and Loki had agreed to meet her.

Elska's head was on a constant swivel, her nerves on high alert. With each step she took, she grew more and more paranoid. Several times she could have sworn she heard someone behind her, but each time she looked, she saw no one. She probably would have arrived to the main hall even sooner had she not been attempting such stealth.

Rounding the final corner, she found her friends outfitted in complete armor and weaponry. They were apparently expecting a fight. Meeting each of their eyes, she gave a quick nod to the group.

"Well, shall we begin our trek?" She huffed, offering a small smile. Not waiting for an answer, she turned and the group began to make its way out of the palace.

Elska could only guess at how long they'd been walking before they arrived to the farming villages at the outskirts of the middle district. Upon their arrival to the villages, Loki cast his enchantment over all except Elska, shrouding them in shadows and invisibility. She would continue this journey technically on her own.

As she walked on, she wished she knew enough about magic to detect its traces; at least she would know where they were as she ventured closer to the small cottage that was her destination. Their absence increased her anxiety tenfold.

Soon enough, she reached the address from her note. Awaiting her was the rogue guard who delivered the note.

"I believe you said the note was not from yourself, yet someone greater?" She summoned a smirk from deep within her, masking her fears.

Snorting, he opened the door and shoved her inside. Elska resisted the urge to look behind her and seek out signs of her friends; it would only alert her newfound company to their presence.

Entering the home, she was greeted by an unexpected sweet smell, as if someone had been baking some sort of pastry, and warmth from a large stone hearth. Candles scattered throughout the room Elska now found herself standing in, each one a different color than the last. Moving closer to the blazing hearth, the light exposed a figure in the corner of the room, seated, hands folded, eyes patient.

Turning to face the seated figure, Elska realized it was a woman. She was draped in golden silk, a crown of flowers and bones adorned her head. She looked to be the queen's age, and as she stood, approaching Elska, the light from the hearth brightened her face, revealing colorless eyes lacking both irises and pupils. Scars and tattoos alike peeked above the top of her drape.

"I have been long awaiting this moment," the woman breathed as she crept closer to Elska. "Watching you grow from worlds away."

"I suppose I should find myself flattered," Elska tried to back away, but found herself blocked by the guard who brought her.

"Funny girl," the woman motioned Elska to sit at a table in the center of the room. "Are you hungry?" She waved her hand over the table, various cakes and biscuits scattered over it.

"I cannot lie, they smell quite enticing," Elska spoke politely and articulately, seating herself, but not reaching for the offered desserts.

"But you are nervous they may be laced with some poison or potion," a smile playing on the woman's lips, she sat across from Elska as the words left her mouth. Her voice was pleasant, a soft melody.

"One could hardly blame me, my lady," Elska bowed her head. "A secret rendezvous with someone I haven't had the pleasure of meeting, I believe anyone would be on edge."

The beautiful woman laughed, a bell-like sound.

"My, you are polite, aren't you," she tilted her head.

Picking up a biscuit, Elska shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Perhaps it is my etiquette training in the palace," she said before taking a bite. The flavors danced across her tongue as a wonderful warmth spread throughout her body. A child-like giddiness filled her spirit, and she couldn't contain her smile.

Sensing her delight, the woman nodded, encouraging Elska to finish her biscuit.

"Tell me, Elska, have you heard the legend of Gullveig?" she asked the girl as she took another bite.

"Once," Elska replied, finishing off her biscuit and debating another. "Her torture led to the war between Asgard and Vanaheim."

"I believe you mean tortures," the woman corrected with a sickly sweet tone as she began, rising from her seat and making her way around the table. Running her thin fingers through Elska's hair, the woman's close presence sent shivers down the girl's spine, and she felt as if a snake was wrapping its body around her head. The emotion was vastly different from the one she felt just moments ago. "Three times Odin burned her, three times she lived through it. Now, she stands before you, carrying a new name. I am Heior," the woman, identity now divulged, finished her statement.

Elska's jaw dropped slightly as the recognition zipped through her mind. This was Gullveig, renowned seeress, highly talented in the ways of magic. Caught performing dangerous enchantments in Asgard, the All-father punished her by burning her three times over again. It only contributed to the already growing tension between the Vanir and Aesir gods.

Elska was dumbfound, clueless as to how to react.

"How sweet, she is struck silent in adoration," Gullveig danced over to her guard, clapping her hands. Tapping him on the nose, his appearance changed and Elska recognized him as the prisoner who she'd seen sentenced.

"I do not understand, the All-Father led us to believe you dead," as Elska tried to stand, she found herself unable to move, struggling and shaking as if there were straps keeping her in the chair. Her limbs felt as if they had been replaced with stone, and anxiety set in once more as her fingers began clawing at the wood her hands rested on.

"Do not be afraid," Gullveig's voice was syrupy, a sort of sweetness that slowly trudged through each word. She drew out her words, and as she spoke, it felt like rocks were chafing against Elska's bones. The young woman writhed in her seat, fear constricting her ability to think logically, the spell being cast on her body contradicting the words being spoken to her.

"Please stop," Elska's voice came out in a gasp, the futility of her efforts setting in.

"Then listen," Gullveig eased whatever spell she'd been casting, but ensured the girl in front of her remained without movement. Seating herself across from Elska, she maintained eye contact with her.

Elska breathed a sigh of relief as she devoted all her efforts to focusing on what the seeress was saying, unable to determine just how nefarious Gullveig truly was..

"I know who you are, I know your heritage, I know the despicable thoughts filling the minds of every Asgardian when they look at you," Gullveig rested her head in her hands, giving Elska a falsely pitiful pout. "I have had my eye trained on you for nearly three hundred years, just waiting to see what such an interesting hybrid would become."

"You see me as a weapon?" Elska asked, the wheels in her mind spinning.

"If the All-father were smart, he would, too," Gullveig stated. "The Asgardian people, they have not the slightest clue of what you are capable of, the power of the giants and Valkyries running deep through your veins. You could freeze their hearts with one look, so why don't you? What stays your hand?"

Aside from my inability to master my own capabilities? Elska quipped to herself.

"My love for my home, my desire to see Asgard thrive with acceptance," Elska surprised herself with her ability to compose comprehensive sentences. "I know it starts with me."

"Please, you know they will never see you as one of their own," Gullveig rolled her eyes.

"They do not have to," Elska began. "Why should they? I am no Asgardian, you said yourself my blood is that of Jotunheim and the Valkyries. One needs not be the same to be accepted."

"Your words are purely deception," Gullveig shrugged. "Perhaps your mind believes what you speak, but your heart does not. You know what you desire, and you know it is unattainable in Asgard. That is why I offer you the chance to end the Realm Eternal, side by side with me."

Elska could not help but consider what the witch was saying for at least a moment; did Elska truly believe that she could achieve acceptance within Asgard? And if she didn't, what then? What would come of her once the Warriors Three and the princes grew tired of her, realizing the truth of her abominable heritage.

Abominable, yet a heritage she was proud to have.

"This is a golden opportunity to reclaim your life, to take your fate back from Odin and those insolent royals, to make your destiny whatever you wish it to be," the seeress's eyes were wide with passion, emphasizing her point.

"They are not as insolent as you think," Elska said under her breath, her thoughts drifting back to her friends waiting just outside.

Outraged by her comment, Gullveig rewarded Elska's statement with a stinging slap across the face.

"My fate belongs to the Norns, and I am quite comfortable with that," Elska's words were steel as her face jerked back towards the witch. As Elska's anger rose, she glared at the woman in front of her. Her words were packed with bravery even as her eyes brimmed with tears, cheek still aflame from where she was hit.

Gullveig released a ferocious scream of anger. As she stood, she slammed her fists down, causing Elska to flinch. Readying her hand for another slap, the seeress was halted as a loud series of bangs came from above them. Heads whipped upward as the noise continued. Beside them, seemingly out of nowhere, the hearth fire grew and grew. Gullveig and the thief began backing away.

“Loki…” Elska whispered so only she could hear, knowing the sudden increase in flames must have been his doing. Still unable to move, she felt the heat begin to blister her skin.

"What in the Nine Realms is this?" Gullveig screamed, an insane look in her eye. Grabbing her henchman's arm, she snapped her fingers and they vanished, leaving Elska alone to burn in the growing blaze.

Letting her emotions overcome her, Elska became frantic. Her friends were not aware she had been cursed, they wouldn’t know she hadn’t the ability to move, to escape the raging fire on her own. She did not know which was worse, the pain, the fear, or the regret in coming to this meeting. Despite the hatred the All-father felt for her, Elska began praying that he deliver her friends out of this situation. Did the Aesir acknowledge prayers from Devourers?

Then, Elska felt herself being pulled from her seat and hoisted over someone's shoulder. Unable to see who had a hold of her, she began shrieking.

This is it, they’ve come back to kill me, keep me quiet, she thought to herself, waiting for the end, but it never came. As she was carried out into the night, her unknown captor set her down in a grassy area behind the cottage. Still powerless over her limbs, she watched helplessly as the mystery being ran back to the house.

Eyes fixated on the house, Elska heard stirrings in the grass around her. As her gaze continued, she watched as the flames were tamed, dying down to embers. Eventually two men retreated from the wreckage, making their way toward her and she realized they were the two princes. Reaching her, Loki allowed his enchantment on the beings around her to fall, and Elska realized that the stirrings she heard a few minutes ago were only Sif, Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg standing guard around her shuddering body.

"What in Odin's name were you thinking, challenging her like that?" Loki yelled at her as she cried. "She would have killed you in an instant, you’re damn lucky we were there." Loki gave her the same look a parent gives a child who has just touched a hot kettle. The others stood silent, watching the scene before them unfold.

"Why are you just laying there?" he asked, frustration evident in his tone.

"I cannot move," Elska said in a weepy whisper. Realizing her situation, Loki knelt next to her and placed his hands on the side of her face. Closing his eyes, Elska watched as his lips moved, but no sound came out. The counter spell. Within moments, she had regained her mobility.

Mobility regained, she rose and pulled Sif and Thor, the two closest to her, into a tight hug. She threw her arms around the young prince, pulling him close to her. Within seconds, Hogun, Volstagg, and Fandral joined the bundle. Noticing Loki had yet to come over, Volstagg reached the couple feet over to the man and yanked him into the embrace. Stunned, Loki's arms sat at his sides before he registered what was happening. Slowly, he lifted his arms and leaned his head on the shoulder of the body in front of him.

"I did not know what would happen," Elska already felt the guilt seep through her bones as she whispered to her friends, still clinging to them. "I never thought this would become something so big."

"None of us did," Sif whispered back.

"We are all safe, and that is what matters," Volstagg added as the friends stood in the embrace, appreciating the safety and companionship of the moment.

*****

On their way back to the palace, the seven debated how best to inform the All-Father of the night's occurrences. They came to the conclusion that the best choice was to first inform the queen, then allow her to inform the king while they awaited the consequences.

Once they finally returned, Vosltagg, Fandral, Hogun and Sif returned to their own chambers for the night. Thor and Loki, however, accompanied Elska to hers. Immediately upon arriving to her room, Elska went to her bathing chambers and retrieved a healing salve for her burns. Lathering and wrapping her wounds, she returned to her main chamber and stood at the window, looking out at Asgard. The eldest prince came over and took Elska's hands in his own, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

"If we had lost you tonight, had Gullveig successfully stolen you away in any sense of the word, the people of this realm would have mourned you, whether you believe that or not," Thor released her hands and stood. "Sif, the Warriors Three, myself and my brother, we would have mourned you. I know you already know this, but I must emphasize it to you. You are our friend." He paused. "Besides, who else would be there to ice over our enemies." He gave a hearty laugh.

Then, he bid her goodnight, leaving Elska alone with Loki once again. The exhausted man was sitting at the foot of her bed, leaning against the bedpost with his eyes closed.

"Loki?" she whispered, walking over to sit by him.

"Hm?" he remained in his relaxed state.

"I am scared," Elska looked at her hands, ignoring the desire to peel the skin off her quickly healing blisters.

"It took you long enough," Loki quipped, getting a pathetic laugh out of Elska. "You are safe now, and I think you have learned you are not alone in this fight."

"I know," her eyelids were growing heavy as she climbed into her bed, sinking under the covers. "I am so sorry, Loki. You do not deserve how horrid I have been to you."

"There is no need for apology," he opened his eyes, watching her struggle to maintain consciousness. A light smile appeared on his lips as he maneuvered himself closer to her. "I most definitely have deserved at least a bit of it."

"I find myself quite baffled by you, my prince," she whispered.

"And I, you," Loki's voice equally quiet. "Perhaps time will ease such notions." Watching the young woman's eyes flutter one last time, he ensured she was adequately covered before standing up to leave. "Goodnight, my dear friend."

"Sweet dreams," Elska's words were barely comprehensible.

*****

Loki, Thor, and Elska had told the queen of the night's events first thing in the morning. Hearing their story, Queen Frigga brought down a wrath of punishment on the three so severe one would have thought Ragnarok came right then and there. Truthfully, Elska found the situation oddly comforting in that it felt... familial. Here she was being scolded alongside the two princes as if she was the queen's own daughter. Although, where the other two handled the situation with ease, Elska had been quite frightened by the queen's anger - she'd never seen such an emotion from the woman.

The queen had relayed every bit of their story, down to the tiniest detail, to her husband. Upon hearing it, he immediately sent for the prisoner they previously thought was the thief. Now that they knew the magic that had likely been cast, it did not take very long for Loki to reverse it. Elska was not allowed to interfere in the counter-spelling; Once King Odin learned Gullveig had sought after an alliance with her, he trusted Elska even less than before.

"I cannot believe she has returned." the All-father said, rubbing his beard. He had repeated that sentiment a minimum of four times since hearing of Gullveig's appearance the night prior.

I would think the All-father was accustomed to old enemies plotting their revenge, Elska remarked to herself.

"We knew she was not dead," Queen Frigga replied. "We always knew it was a possibility."

I suppose that's an easy detail to keep from your city, the lady in waiting seethed,

"And what in the Nine Realms could she want you for?" he spat in Elska's general direction, refusing to look at her.

"Perhaps she is like the queen in that she does not underestimate my ability," Elska's nerves of steel had apparently returned. After a gentle nudge from the queen, she continued, more politely this time. "She said she had been watching me for hundreds of years, curious what someone of my heritage could turn out like. She believes I have some sort of exceeding power. I believe, in referring to me, she preferred the word 'weapon.'" She cocked her head with a mischievous grin on the last word.

"I see," King Odin paid her gesture no mind, still stroking his beard as if it were the key to the biggest secrets in the Nine Realms. "We will need to increase guard numbers in every district immediately. Do not spread this information around, though. If our people find out about this, their fear will only complicate the matter."

"If you believe that, then you truly underestimate the strength of your own people," Elska snapped at the All-Father. "Do you honestly have so little faith in them?" She began approaching the throne only to feel a hand hold her back, this time Thor's. Looking over to him, he gave her a gentle shake of his head, attempting to dissuade her from her current course of action.

"Are you quite finished?" King Odin glared daggers at the young woman.

"Yes, my king," Elska spoke through gritted teeth.

"Good, then," as the king spoke, Loki returned with a guard who now looked quite bent out of shape.

"I present to you our guard turned prisoner turned guard," the youngest prince informed the group as he grew closer.

"It is good to be able to speak once again, All-Father," the guard knelt before the king. "I have information that may be of use."

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wordsturnintostories · 5 years

Text

king of bangtan | namjoon

summary: Namjoon. Boyfriend. Recently bitten werewolf. Alpha. Kissing. word count: 2.4k note: okay I wrote this a long time ago, before I even knew bts and now i read though it again, going, “oh wow, this is basically Namjoon…” Did you see his instagram post in Vienna or where was it, with the one fan on weverse commenting how Joon has buffed up? lmao i thought this would fit so well. anyway, thank you to @taeshuworld for pointing out how well Woosung's Face goes with this. i also recommend listening to Wolf. warnings: fluff, werewolf-theme, shirtless Namjoon

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

It’s the third time today that your boyfriend stands (shirtless) before the full-body mirror in your room. It seems he’s discovered something and now he can’t stop checking up on it. It’s probably pointless to tell him now that you’ve been noticing it for a while (to be precise, ever since he was bitten). When Namjoon turns around, nervously glancing at you, probably to gauge your reaction, you shrug. Why is he so afraid of becoming more muscular?

“Don’t look at me”, you chuckle, “I will never complain.”

He turns around, giving you the real thing to admire. And you do, those wide shoulders with the extra neck space to kiss, the chest that has become your second pillow recently, those strong arms that provide comfort, protection, and joy. And you do wanna let him know. He shouldn’t be insecure about how his body changes. No one could have guessed becoming an Alpha would affect him physically so much but now that it does, you are determined to give him all of your acceptance and admiration. You beam at him and softly place your hand on the warm skin above his heart. It’s a simple touch but you love to offer it to him. So he can remember it forever like he does with some of the other spots you have touched him. Somehow, it’s really important to him to keep them. Maybe it’s a werewolf thing but it’s probably just a Namjoon thing.

When his face turns soft, you reach up, caressing his jawline and gently tugging at the soft strands of hair in his neck. He purrs, what a glorious sound. He only stops to place a kiss on your lips.

“Maybe I should have become an Alpha straight away”, he says.

“Why?”

“Well, it would’ve saved me all those hours at the gym, for starters.”

Laughter is bubbling out of you and his face lights up. He beams at you. Suddenly, he’s glowing, this bright happiness is all over his skin like a wrap-around blanket. It’s as if his emotions are pouring out of every pore of his body. Are all Alphas like this? You watch his lips as his mouth opens to laugh with you. He has fangs. Oh God. He looks hot. You can’t stop the blush from making its way onto your cheeks. Immediately, your mind presents to you a hundred different images of Namjoon grinning, and those fangs show every. damn. time. You wish you could just hide somewhere. You’re so not ready to admit what those fangs make you feel. One look into his eyes and you know he noticed. God, he noticed. Your head spins.

“What is it, babe?” he asks and you shake your head.

“Tell me”, he coos, voice husky. You wonder whether he remembers the first time he said those words to you. That night he had crawled on top of you and left you trembling. That night he had made you feel so bold you wanted to trick him, where you had almost kissed him, where you had almost done it because you had wanted to so bad. On his sofa. Blood rushing in your ears. Heart exploding. A raging amber fire burns in his eyes and you know he does. God, he does. He’s turned that memory into his weapon against you. It’s an understatement to say he’s trying to get you all flustered, to turn you on. Another to say it’s working.

“Tell me, baby.”

“Your fangs,” you breathe. It’s impossible to withhold information from him, especially now.

“Mhm,” he hums, giving his lips a delicious lick as he pulls you against him. He grins. There they are. He knows exactly how to get you to your knees. “What about my fangs?”

“They - you”, you breathe and weakly, you blush, “Joon, have mercy.”

Suddenly, he presses you backward, against the wall. His lips crash into yours with all that newfound boldness of his, completely stealing your breath. As promised, you don’t complain. You embrace what he gives and you give what you have, moving against him, using your hands to invite him.

It’s a loud kiss, his purrs and growls vocal love letters from his body to your soul. He has his big hands on your waist, grabbing for your back and moving you to closer to him as he blazes for all the skin you give him access to. You are rewarded with the soft tingle of his hair beneath your jaw as he works on your first hickey ever. You can’t help sounding needy when his tongue is there, licking and planting sloppy fires on your tender throat. Oh God.

His hands are even worse, lifting you up, slowly, so you can wrap your legs around him and you wonder why he’s never done that before. It’s like he’s hungry, like he hasn’t eaten for a long time and now he’s gotta taste you no matter what the cost. Love usually is a sparkling delicacy with him but it turns into an inferno now that he seems to have found a rough vein in himself. Your hands feel the heat on his bare torso. Namjoon moves back, finding your eyes and then he’s against your mouth, wild like his breath. His fangs give you shivers, sharp and sensational when they graze the side of your tongue. Your lips get to feel them too, their exhilarating pressure, their smooth solidness, when he starts nibbling on your bottom lip. He works you with a fire he’s never given you before. Your hand grips his necklace, pulling on it softly. The first second your boyfriend draws away, his tongue swishing over his pink lips, with a grin a hundred times better than what your mind had made up for you, you pull him back, arching your body into his and he growls. That’s the first time you open your eyes and grin, admiring the pink blush on his cheeks, on his throat. His eyes are glowing. You secretly wish you had that same amber fire to give back to him, just to show him how beautiful it is to look at while he is kissing you. He just stares into your eyes.

“I wasn’t done,” you breathe, going straight for his neck. Your body goes into an adrenaline rush when his breath hitches, when he shudders, especially when his heart misses a few beats under your fingers. As if his efforts flipped a switch in you. Yeah honey, I can do hot heavy mess too. You love the soft feeling of cheek sliding against cheek, of cheek against neck; it’s all perfect and rhythmic and you get to smell him as a bonus. Today, there’s perfume mingling with his body’s own scent, it’s all a swirl of woody and sweet, lemon and cologne. Giving attention to his face, you take his lips captive between your teeth and he moans your name as you run your nose along his eyebrows all the while keeping his face in your hands. It’s too precious to let go. Does he know that? You sigh when your shirt slips up and his biceps touch your bare sides. It’s all messy now, wild blood, wild everything as he’s got you and you’ve got him. His hips are dancing against your middle. He’s panting and his eyes are still blazing.

“I wanna - I wanna-” and you can feel something is happening because for a few moments, there is a new tension in his body, a powerful streak of energy. Namjoon shakes his head, his hair as he breathes heavily, as if he’s trying to shake something off. Your chest is still heaving for air and your fingers are shaky but they find his neck. Maybe that touch is the spark that set the explosion off. He trembles. A deep growl fills the entire room. His torso presses you against the wall with him in between your legs and a golden determination fuels him when his mouth hits your neck. It’s all instincts now. “I gotta-“ He almost can’t speak, it’s all low and growly and it gives you shivers. “Joon, do it,” you don’t know what will happen. Love, maybe. It’s Namjoon. It will be good. He’ll take care of you.

His lips press against your skin, his tongue joins. He bites you. Your hands grip him tightly, holding on. There’s a force that takes your body captive, that has it slack against your boyfriend. Total surrender and your head rolls against his shoulder while he keeps nibbling. Whatever it is, pain, ecstasy, exhaustion, you can’t keep your eyes open. It’s the best thing you’ve ever done. Holy. There’s a clicking noise in his throat. When he looks back at you, he looks the proudest you’ve ever seen him. Must be some Alpha shit, you think as you give him a kiss. His pupils are dilated, as if he’d just drugged himself up on you. You would have had to swallow a giggle if all the excitement in your chest wouldn’t have you panting.

“You’re so good to me”, he hums, letting you down with a hazy grin. “You’re a queen.” His cheeks are red, as are his lips and his throat. Even on his chest, you can see traces of rough love. Was that - me? Holy. What is he doing to me?

“Then where’s my crown?”

Breathing is difficult but you manage. His brown eyes widen, as if he’s just realized something important and he runs to the other side of the room. The barrier between you and the mirror is gone and your reflection stares at you. That’s even more insane; your hair is tousled as heck, where you’d imagined one hickey on your throat, there are constellations of them, and your shirt is totally messed up. Maybe becoming an Alpha had more to it than just physically growing and feeling more responsible. This was a whole new level of needy. Namjoon fumbles through the squeaky wooden drawers of his nightstand and returns with an ornamented paper envelope. Your name is calligraphed on it. Excitement is all over his sweet face when you open your hands for it but he hesitates. You feel a speech coming.

“Happy Birthday, love. I hope you like them.”

The first piece is a necklace. It’s the same necklace that he wears, the same one you’ve secretly admired so many times while he had been sleeping. The silver plate with the engraving looks so nice, you’ve always enjoyed feeling the smooth plate between your fingertips.

“How did you know I liked this?”

“You tug it every time we kiss. Now you can wear it and every time you feel down or lonely, you can touch it and think of me.”

“That’s the sweetest thing. Thank you. You’re the best, Namjoon, honestly.”

“You say that now.”

“Yeah, and I will put it in my phone’s calendar to remind me to repeat it any day you need to hear it. Any requests?” He chuckles. “No, I know I’m the best-“

You raise your eyebrows. “Getting cocky now, eh?”

“That’s not how I wanted that to come out. I meant, just you wait until you see the second gift.”

“Well, you better pray it’s great.”

He smiles at you and you pull it out. It’s a delicate silver ring with three white crystals worked into it on the top. They shimmer fierily in the sunlight that streams through the window. When you turn the ring over in your hand and the light hits the crystals at a certain angle, they light up in a hot amber, just the same amber as Namjoon’s eyes. You gasp, surprised. That’s a ring truly worthy of a queen’s finger.

“Where did you get it? Who on earth makes there?”

“Long story. I found it when we were on vacation in Italy. The day before, the boys and I did a tour of a castle that belonged to some duke back during the renaissance. The next day, we stroll through Florence and I saw this ring in the sun on a street vendor’s wooden table. It reminded me of the duchess’ jewelry and I bought it. I think the vendor gave me a discount but it’s real silver and if you’re wearing it, I would’ve paid every other penny I have to get it for you.”

“I will only accept this if you promise to be my king.”

“Well, technically, I’m your Alpha.”

“King of Bangtan.”

“Okay, I’ll take that. I promise.”

bonus:

With those words, you feel your body starting to tingle strangely. Namjoon doesn’t notice, from the way his eyes rove over the room, where he’d held you against the wall, where the kiss had started. You’re sure he’ll burn every moment of your kiss into his mind until it’s irreversibly stuck, until he’s sure it will never go missing. But something is missing, you can feel it deep inside, like an ache, like a letter written and sent but not returned. This thought tugs on your mind.

When Namjoon stands up, eyes fixed on your wardrobe where his clothes have taken home long ago, a sudden panic rises in your mind and strikes your legs. It’s an indescribable feeling, like you know you have to do a certain thing, but you don’t know what it is. It feels like ants are crawling in your chest and over your neck. You jump up, right after him. Stepping right up to him, the panic calms down but you still feel it.

“Joon, I-“

“Yeah, baby?”

Do it, do it, do it. Now!

You dive in for another kiss, pushing him this time. He’s surprised, takes the hit against the wall with a deep “ooof”. It only adds to your determination. And as if suddenly, there’s only one thing left to see, next to those red lips, next to those glowing eyes, next to the fire in his chest.

“I need to do it back, I can’t- Namjoon,” you’re surprised yourself at how you’re panting, so worked up about something you can’t even understand logically.

His lips pull into a grin and those fangs just - ugh. One shove and you’re there, feeling driven and bold with the way he’s supporting your back, the way you’re standing in between his muscular thighs. And then, he bares his neck. And your body tells you to go for it. To claim him. Just like he claimed you.

“I promise too.”

masterlist | moodboard masterlist taglist: @taeshuworld, @xmagicxshopx, @justanemptydream

#kim namjoon #rm #bts #bangtan #namjoon #werewolf!namjoon #alpha!namjoon #namjoon x reader #sep22 #wordsturnintostories

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snowfall-fanfictions · 4 years

Text

Beware the Frozen Heart Ch. 15- The Incident

Time to crank out some angst! If you comment, try not to spoil what happens in here pls

“I can’t believe I’m doing this…” Eryn muttered as he and Linaeus made their way to the governor’s residence. The sun began to set over the mountains as twilight soon came. The streets were empty, save for a few guards on their patrols, all of whom gave Linaeus a quick salute.

“Come on, Eryn,” Linaeus whispered, “I’ve heard you’ve done much worse than this.”

“Usually I get the basic information before jobs like these. Guard patrols, entrances, exits, things like that. Going in blind is an easy way to get killed.”

“Not to worry, just stick with me until I’m alone with the governor and you’ll have free reign of the place.”

“What do you need me to find again?”

“I’ve been giving my reports to Governor Haadrikson for the past month. I just need you to either find them or find out what he did with them. Without him knowing, of course.”

“Pretty underhanded, for a man of the law such as yourself.”

“But just the right kind of underhandedness for a cutthroat outlaw, like you.”

Eryn shrugged his arms, “Eh, can’t argue with that.”

“Alright, now that we’ve established that, how and why did you get to be Elsa’s personal guard? Something about a shooting?”

“Long story short, some old bastard tried killing Elsa in broad daylight, I stepped in, took a bullet, and, well, here we are.”

Linaeus leaned closer to Eryn, “If you’re here to kill her, why save her?”

“I forgot what she looked like, okay? Not like I was able to see her before, you know.” “I guess ‘basic information’ doesn’t include appearance, then?”

“I wasn’t expecting to run into her on the street. Monarch’s don’t really do that anywhere else.”

“Elsa’s different like that, if you haven’t noticed. Alright, looks like we’re here.”

The two men stood in front of the large mansion that had greeted Eryn and Elsa when they first arrived. It resembled Arendelle castle, though not anywhere near as large and much duller looking without magical ice accenting the building. A small gate stood between the two of them and the palace itself, manned by a younger looking man, no older than eighteen. He stood at attention as he gripped his poleaxe tightly. Eryn looked over to Linaeus, who seemed to be chewing on his lower lip and clenching his fists.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, Lenny.”

“It’s just, I-I’ve never gone behind a government official’s back before. I haven’t been this nervous since-”

“Since we accidentally spilled mead into the horses’ feeding trough when we were recruits?”

“Since you spilled mead in their trough, you mean?”

“How could I forget you grovelling for mercy when the general asked about it? We ended up cleaning the barracks for a month.”

“Because you tried to lie about it,” Linaeus let out a small chuckle, “Said that Valkyries came down and hid it in the troughs-”

“-so that the gods would sober up,” they both said at the same time. The two men let out a hearty chuckle as they reminisced on a better time.

“...Linaeus,” Eryn said once they were done laughing, “Once this is all done, can you check on Rolond and Astrid for me? I doubt I’ll have time before I leave to say my goodbyes.”

“I was planning on checking in on them once I went to verify your claims against Urlaf. But that’s neither here nor there, we have a job to do.”

Eryn nodded as they made their way up to the young man guarding the entrance. He had a feeling that Elsa goaded Linaeus to look into Urlaf’s crime, but he was still thankful nonetheless. Eryn let out a deep sigh, thinking about how he wouldn’t be able to see Malia get the peace and justice she was denied so many years ago. But he knew that it was for the best that he disappeared, for himself and everyone else. The young guard snapped to attention as Linaeus walked up to him, hands clasped behind his back.

“Captain Torvond, sir!” The guard saluted, raising his hand to his head.

“At ease, son,” Linaeus commanded as the young man relaxed his arm, “I’m here to speak with Governor Haadrikson. Is he available?”

“Yes, sir. He’s currently in his office at the moment.”

“Take me to him, then.” As the two soldiers began walking past the gate, Eryn followed suit, only to have the young guard point his poleaxe at him.

“No citizens are allowed in here!” he growled.

“Keep your pants on, soldier. Er- I mean, ‘Derrik,’ is here with me.” The soldier immediately returned his poleaxe to its resting position, fear enveloping his face. “I-I’m sorry, sir. I had no idea.”

“It’s fine, cadet. Now, to the governor, if you will.”

The young soldier turned around and led Linaeus and Eryn inside the mansion. Linaeus leaned back to Eryn and whispered, “What’s your alias’s last name?”

“What?” “Just in case Haadrikson needs to know.”

“Ormeister. And the story is I’m from Weselton.” Linaeus simply nodded as they entered the front door into the main hall. It was certainly in Arendellian fashion; crocuses were intricately painted into the walls and carved into the railing of the staircase in front of them, green and purple banners hung from the walls, and various paintings of the kings and queens of old lined the room. At the base of the staircase stood a fat man,lavishly dressed in a suit that barely fit his wide frame, discussing something with a guard. He was balding at the top, with wisps of dark brown hair on the sides of his head and a rather short and thin beard. He turned to view the men that arrived and gave them a somewhat surprised and forced grin.

“Ah, Captain!” he said, his voice heavy and lethargic, “How… unexpected!” “Apologies, Governor Haadrikson,” Linaeus said, “I just needed to discuss a few things about the city’s defenses. The queen has approved a few more soldiers to be transferred to Fjellby.”

Governor Haadrikson beamed at the information, “Yes, yes, wonderful!” He then turned to face Eryn, “And who’s this?”

“Derrik Ormeister, sir. He’s here on behalf of the queen.”

The governor clasped his hands together, “Ah, yes. I’ve heard about you, Mr. Ormeister, and your heroic deed.”

Eryn gave a small bow, “It was nothing, sir. I’m sure anyone else would’ve done the same.”

“A commendable effort, nonetheless. Now, captain, shall we discuss these matters in private?”

“Yes, sir.” The two of them proceeded up the stairs as the man Haadrikson was talking to returned to his post. Eryn proceeded up the stairs with them, tailing behind ever so slightly as they discussed a few things. The hallways were similar to that of the castle, but instead of portraits of Anna and Elsa, they were filled with portraits of the governor, slightly thinned out and performing various heroic deeds. Eryn rolled his eyes as he continued to follow the governor and Linaeus until they reached a large oak door embroidered with gold trimming. He watched as the two of them entered inside and quickly slammed the door shut, leaving Eryn alone in the hall.

“Pompous cock,” Eryn muttered as he surveyed the immediate area. No guards around, thank God. Made his job a lot easier. “... Now where to start?”

XXXXXX

Kristoff ran his finger across the spines of the library’s books, scanning their titles with determination. True, he had tossed the Arendolk into the fjord, but something still didn’t sit right with him. If the dagger was so important to this region, why would someone from Weselton have it? He remembered hearing something about Aren the Red during the few talks he had with Elsa, but that was a while ago. Anna would most likely know about Aren the Red and the Arendolk’s history, but he didn’t want to interrupt her meeting with the council. He never understood why the council scheduled meetings this late, but he didn’t bother to argue. They’d just brush him off as some uncultured barbarian or something, anyway.

“Ah, this one should work,” he said to himself as he pulled an old looking book off of the shelf, “Histories of the Peoples of Arendelle.” It was a massive book, bound in leather with the book’s title calligraphed along the spine and on the front. Kristoff cracked the book open, searching for any information regarding the knife. After a moment of searching, Kristoff found an entire section on the founding of Arendelle, including a section on the Arendolk. Kristoff read the passage in his head:

THE ARENDOLK: forged around 840, little is known about this mysterious weapon. It was the personal hunting knife of Aren the Red, later Aren I, the founder of the Kingdom of Arendelle. The knife was lost in 890, after Aren’s son, Alen Arenson, killed his father to gain the throne. No record exists on what happened to it after this date, nor if it still exists. Ancient Arendellian legend says that Skyne, bastard son of the moon god Máni in ancient myth, was sealed within the blade by trolls, but this is unfounded.

Kristoff closed the book with a loud groan. It was a step in the right direction, but it was incredibly brief. He returned to the shelves, peering at the books, when he found something peculiar. A miniature old book, barely held together by a few bindings and leather, sat behind where Histories of the Peoples of Arendelle rested. Kristoff pulled the book out and flipped it open. It appeared to be a series of ancient poems and stories, many of them translated from ancient runes. Kristoff read the first one aloud:

Hail to Aren Redbeard,

The Conqueror of men

Who banished wicked Skyne,

The Son of the Blood Moon,

With the help of stone-men,

And united our lands

And people together

For thirty years you reigned,

As a wise and just king

Many years of peace came

Until the back-stabbing

Betrayed by next of kin

Felled by blade of Skyne’s bane

May you drink with Odin

In the Great Hall above

Kristoff scanned through the other passages, trying to track where the knife went as the years went on, but these poems held no more information. All he knew was that Aren’s son killed him, presumably with the dagger, and not much else. He returned to the shelf, scrounging around for any more history books.

It was then when he heard a loud explosion, coming from the direction of the meeting hall

Moments prior…

“That should cover just about everything, Your Highness,” Kai stated. The sun was beginning to set behind the large window behind Anna’s seat as she glanced over the various documents sprawled across the large mahogany desk before organizing them into neat little stacks. The other advisors began gathering their own documents as they shuffled out the door

“Excellent,” Anna stated as she placed her quill back into her inkwell.

“I must say, princess, you managed that incredibly well. The queen would be most proud of your work here.”

“Thank you, Kai, it means a lot to me,” Anna beamed. Rarely did anyone praise Anna on her own work, save for Kristoff and Elsa. Most advisors and diplomats seemed only interested in how Anna stacked up to Elsa (which most of the time she didn’t). Hearing Kai say this filled her with a great deal of confidence.

“Will you be needing anything else this evening, Your Highness?”

Before Anna could say anything, a loud crash from behind distracted her. She rose from her seat and peered around, trying to find the source of the noise. To her right, a large black ball sat on the floor, nestled in a sea of shattered glass while it… hissed? It was then when she noticed a large wick protruding out the top, currently lit and burning down to the base. She reeled back in horror as she realized what it was

“BOMB!” was all she was able to get out when she was thrown across the room with a deafening explosion. Her vision went white as her entire body screamed out in agony. She couldn’t feel her right leg, only emptiness and pain. It felt like she had been kicked by a horse multiple times. Anna couldn’t hear anything but constant ringing as her eyes readjusted. Kai was laying on the floor, motionless as two guards stood above him. Kristoff stood over her, gingerly propping her torso up. His face was drained of color as his warm brown eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He was shouting something, possibly her name, but all she could hear was constant ringing.

“K...Kristoff…” Anna muttered as her body went limp and her eyes closed softly.

“Anna! Stay with me!” Kristoff pleaded, cupping her head in his hand, “Nononono! Don’t leave me!” He placed an ear over her heart, praying to God for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Kristoff let out a small sigh of relief.

“Sir Bjorgman, the royal steward is…d-dead,” one of the guards explained, “what are your orders?”

Kristoff hoisted Anna into his arms, “Get any doctors you can find. And send someone to Fjellby to inform the queen.”

“Yes, sir!”

The soldier ran out of the room with haste as Kristoff rushed out of the room with Anna in his arms.

“Anna…” Kristoff whispered, “I-I’m sorry…”

XXXXXX

“Hmmm, not this one,” Eryn said as he closed another door. This was about the fourth or fifth room he’s checked and there was nothing of interest in there once again. Those reports had to be somewhere. As Eryn snuck around, his mind wandered to what he would do once he was done with this. Corona was a decent option, as it was the closest country to Arendelle. But its alliance with Arendelle might make things difficult. Maldonia was attractive too because it was distant and slightly isolationist. No, Eryn was too different looking for Maldonia. To hell with it, he’d just be better off finding the nearest cliff and jumping. Less mess, plus no one would know who he was. Dying a nobody, Eryn thought, Like father, like son, as they say.

His mind wandered back to Elsa. No way in hell he would be able to go back to her once this was all over with. Eryn wasn’t sure if he could look her in the eyes anymore. For the first time in his life, Eryn felt disgust in himself and his actions. What in the hell did this woman do to me? He shook off this feeling as he peered into another room.

This room was much more spacious than many of the others. It appeared to be a guest bedroom, with a large king size bed in front of a gothic looking fireplace. On the nightstand just to the bed’s left, Eryn could make out a stack of papers cluttering the top of it.

“Bingo!” Eryn said as he stealthily entered the room. Reaching over to the papers, Eryn grabbed one and began reading it. No doubt, it was one of Linaeus’s reports, discussing how there was no danger in or around the settlement. With no hesitation, Eryn scooped up the letters in his hands, placing them in various pockets. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smaller letter lightly float down to the floor. Eryn scooped it up, unfolded it, and began reading:

Good News,

I’ve managed to hire a killer out of some backwater town to kill the queen. Someone familiar with the region would have a far better chance at assassinating the sorceress than either of our men. And if he were to fail, The Southern Isles and Weselton would appear innocent. Just have Haadrikson continue requesting more and more soldiers for this town so that we can prepare the invasion fleet. I had to pay an exorbitant amount for this “assassin,” so I better be getting a good return on my investment.

Instead of a signature on the bottom, Eryn noticed a wax seal stamped onto the parchment paper. The symbol of the Duchy of Weselton was embossed into the wax.

“I was hired by-”

“The Duke of Weselton, yes,” A mysterious voice said behind him accompanied by the sound of a gun cocking. Eryn turned around to see who it was that cornered him. A young looking man, about the same age as Eryn, greeted him with a small revolver in his hand. His emerald eyes looked Eryn up and down, surveying Eryn with intrigue, “you’re the assassin he hired? I was expecting someone… older.”

“Wait, I recognize you. You’re-”

“Prince Hans of the Southern Isles,” The man gave an exaggerated hand wave, “or former prince. But that doesn’t matter anyway, since once the queen is dead, I’ll have this country all to myself. She is dead, isn’t she.”

“Well first of all, you can put that thing down. And second of all, I’ve come to tell you that the deal’s off. Now take your gun and-”

“There is no getting out of this one, Mr. Odrikson,” Hans put the gun up to Eryn’s face, “But I can tell you’re not playing this game anymore. Very well.” With that, Hans pulled the trigger. Eryn brought his hands up to protect his face when he felt a slight weight in his hand. As he lifted his head, he saw the dagger, its runes shining brightly, as shadowy tendrils emerged from Eryn’s wrist, suspending the bullet in mid air. The familiar sound of Skyne filled Eryn’s mind, and in a familiar angry tone as well.

You have a lot of explaining to do, boy...

#frozen fanfiction #disney frozen #OC #queen elsa #princess anna #olaf #kristoff #duke of weselton #hans #fanfiction #assassination #Eryn Odrikson #blood tw #gore tw #mature

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deliciousscaloppine · 4 years

Text

Unclean Realm

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Little short story about Meng Yao becoming Nie Huaisang’s attendant in their childhood and some of their adventures as they grow up. Huaisang and Meng Yao are on their path to adulthood and everybody is going to regret it when Huaisang finally decides to “wisen up”. Nie Mingjue appears in this. (I have written two more parts in this, and it doesn’t seem to be going away, so maybe i’ll move it to archive of our own, after some corrections)

It's been an hour since they’ve returned, but Meng Yao is hard at work, organizing the gifts and labeling everything for him. When they are alone in Huaisang's apartments they can both pretend they are princes, with no admonishments or mean looks from the court. Meng Yao might still attend him, but he wears his handsomest clothes, he speaks honestly about anything that might be on his mind, and sometimes when pestered enough he plays the guqin. A guqin Huaisang swore he'd learn how to play, but gave up just after he saw how good Meng Yao was.

Anyway, he prefers listening to playing, and having Meng Yao in his rooms is always music; whether it's the cadence of his voice, or the rustle of silk against the wooden floors. It's rather reassuring to have someone so elegant and accomplished wholy devoted to his comfort and success.

“You still have to finish these scrolls once I am done with everything” Meng Yao sings from the other room.

Huaisang “moos” his acquiescences from his position on the quilt, where he peruses a rather interesting volume of Breeze and Moonlight stories. He has found that these kinds of books are a sound solution for someone whose brother has never shown an interest in women- and assumes no one else would either- and a wily attendant who becomes pale and silent at the mention of the pleasure houses Young Masters sometimes like to attend.

If he however paid less attention to the book, he would notice that the sound of rusling silk next room has stopped.

“What is this!” Meng Yao shrieks and pounces like a street cat upon the book, before Huaisang can shove it under his quilt. He struggles to get it back, but Meng Yao's time in the battlefields has made him taller and stronger.

“It's so encouraging to see that prince Huaisang always finds something new to amuse himself, while others do all the hard work for him.” Meng Yao says settling next to him after their brief altercation. Huaisang fixes his ruffled hair and wishes he could tell him how unsettling it is from time to time to have him so close. Especially now that his reading material has revealed Huaisang’s awkward fixations.

“A-Yao, how can you admonish me? I only read about these things. You are the one who does them.”

Meng Yao loses no time in bringing the book hard on his head.

“How can you say that! Aren't you ashamed?” he yells as if offended deeply by such a remark.

Huaisang bites his tongue.Cut the act, he would like to say, but even at the thought of being honest about these things, his cheeks flush red. So Huaisang is not supposed to have feelings, or urges, or needs, or thoughts of his own about love or sex? Is this Meng Yao's revenge for letting Huaisang keep him like a living doll in his rooms? Is he supposed to remain a child forever?

Then Meng Yao suddenly remembers that he struck a prince, so he becomes soft again.

“A-Huaisang, when did I give you the impression that I do these things?” he asks with coy distress.

“So you don't want Nie Mingjue to kiss you?” Huaisang asks, and receives a rather mean-spirited jab- not that such a half-hearted retribution will stop him now. “You don't want him to rub his moustache all over your face?” he says and attacks Meng Yao. He might be strong, but this Huaisang has some strength too. He throws him down the quilt and swings his hair all over his face.

Meng Yao laughs, like he usually does when someone is hurting him. “Stop!” he says with wet eyes but a wide smile of strange mirth. If Huaisang could he would kiss him right now. But Meng Yao would probably kill him for that, in fact that's exactly what he attempts next with his hands crawling up his sides to tickle him.

They roll around fighting, Huaisang spasming and wailing in agony, from the very heavy tickling Meng Yao chastises him with. And then Meng Yao finally releases him with a face flush with victory.

“You should start reading these books when you stop being so ticklish.” he says mischieviously and stands up to fix himself.

“You are mean to me, Meng Yao! You like to see me suffer!”

Meng Yao who has become very proper again, who has smoothed his hair and fixed his collar, kneels next to him.

“Who told you that?” he asks. “When has Meng Yao made his master suffer?”

“I know what's your problem.” Huaisang says. “If it weren't for me, you would be my brother's brother. And he would dote on you as he dotes on me.”

Meng Yao listens to these complains silently as he combs Huaisang's hair, as he straightens out the shoulder line of his prince’s brocaded robes. As if now Huaisang is the doll, and Meng Yao the one who has played too hard with it.

“If anything I am twice as fond of the Young Master on account of this other affection.” he says.

“Please, explain.”

“It's as if Huaisang is my brother too. Don't I do everything for him?”

“That's not true. If you left you would not take me with you.”

Meng Yao puts the comb down in distress.

“Where does Huaisang think I would go if they sent me away? And if that day ever came, would he really follow me? I know what's the matter. It's Huaisang who is jealous. Although I don't know what for. Meng Yao is here with him. His brother is the king of Hejian! Look at all these fineries? How more spoiled could this Huaisang really be?”

Huaisang is left without breath. How could he say he would rather have all his paintings, and all his silks, and all his porcelains burned and smashed in a terrible fire if it meant he could have Meng Yao. Surely he sees, surely his heart is transparent, surely his sorrow is known. But Meng Yao says no. He smoothes over his heated cheeks with his cool silk, and says no.

“Fine, I am pleased. If Meng Yao were a woman and my brother's wife, I wouldn't be more pleased. It's like I have wonderful sister-in-law to dote on me.”

Meng Yao's face becomes red, but he doesn't say anything. Huaisang wonders why that is. He just insulted him. Won't he stick to his story, that everything is innocent, and it's only Huaisang who has been overcome with strange ideas?

“You always have someone pick your work for you. That's why you entertain such abnormal thoughts. I am done here, do what you like.” Meng Yao spits angrily and storms out of the room.

So the game of the two princes is over and Huaisang is the spoiled ward that will have to do some work if he is to appease Meng Yao. So he stands and moves to the room where the numerous gifts await. The gifts for the delegations they are expecting soon, neatly placed in rows on a beautiful mat on the floor, each perfectly labeled with who will receive them and what for.

Atop of them lie the beautifully painted scrolls he is supposed to fill with calligraphic wishes of gratitude for the families that supported them through the winter raids.

Picking one up he thinks, If only he could be a virtuous prince, like his brother was before him. Sometimes he feels rotten for thinking unpleasant things about him and Meng Yao. Like right now, he regrets everything. Isn't Meng Yao perfectly proper in the next room? And isn't Nie Mingjue atop his throne overseeing matters of security before his assembled court. Why does he keep feeding himself poisonous thoughts?

Why does he try to extort Meng Yao's favors with jealousy? If it is because he knows Meng Yao's past, then he is no better than the people Meng Yao hates.

As he picks a scroll to adorn with his calligraphy he wishes he could find it in him to truly apologize. To prostrate before Meng Yao and ask him to be the master, to chastize him with something other than silent disapproval. To strike him like he would some mean servant.

A sudden melody blooms from the next room, along with the fragrance of incense. Meng Yao must be really mad, to play something umprompted. The music sounds like he is blaming him for a ruined evening, but Huaisang doesn't know how to express regret. He'll have to work until Meng Yao forgives him. So he works on the scrolls. Filling them with the most sumptuous words of adulation, writing them all down for Meng Yao instead.

He doesn't know how much time passes before the music changes, when it becomes more soothing and pleasant. It's Meng Yao's way of telling he might have been forgiven after all. Like this he could work all night; Meng Yao playing and himself writing on the finest paper. And then perhaps they could drink together. They could drink until they become drunk and fall asleep together on the same mat. If that’s the only happiness he can take from Meng Yao, it’s enough for him.

Their door slides and Nie Mingjue enters. He walks in the room, his eyes darting briefly on the arranged gifts on the floor and Huaisang, who is scribing the elegant mementos. But he has not really come to oversee this menial work. His ears brought him to this room. Without saying anything, he comes and sits next to him at his desk and says in a quiet voice “Well done” and “Thank you for your had work.”

Huaisang should take great pleasure from such a comment. His brother never thanks anyone. But it's not for him that he has come. The object of his affection is behind several light curtains, beautifully carved partitions and elegant screens. Unseen, obscure at the far interior of their spacious rooms.

Nie Mingjue sits next to him and pretends to admire the scrolls, but he is really listening at the music. He is not at ease, though. He surely feels like he doesn't belong in this room. Moved as he is by the elegance of their surroundings, he could never hope to understand it.

Nie Mingjue never had the time to be a refined prince. He never listened to artful melodies, arranged with the appropriate fragrance of incense. He never did beautiful calligraphy while someone so elegant played the guqin for him. Nor did he ever spend time arranging his silks so he'd make a fashionable impression.

He trained and trained in the courtyard full of angry men, and then he fought with viciousness the same viciousness Qishan burned their towns and villages with. When did he have the oppurtunity to tumble down on a silken quilt with a fine boy like Meng Yao. Nie Mingjue didn't even take a wife. And now that his power has granted them some measure of peace, what does he have? He doesn't have any of these pleasant and cultured things.

“Is that Meng Yao?” he finally asks with a strange look on his face.

Huaisang offers to call him, but his brother just shakes his head. “No, let him play.” he says as if he is experiencing some grief.

Unlike Huaisang, Nie Mingjue probably has no idea what to do with a pretty boy like Meng Yao. Or if he does, he's just as ashamed about it as Meng Yao. The more accomplished their talented attendant becomes in the Nie court, the more pronounced his past becomes. There is no one who doesn't whisper it now behind his back. It's as if sometimes he himself is the prostitute, completely out of a place in such an ancient and noble hall.

That's probably Nie Mingjue's grief. That the boy of his liking is no one of equal value. No one Mingjue could contest with and take pride in defeating. Meng Yao is so soft and easy with love, he might seem fair game to an idiot prince like him. But Nie Mingjue is probably ashamed of this affection.

“He is so accomplished, isn't he?” his brother says. “You should hold him as an example. This is a man who had nothing, yet proved his worth in very little time.”

“Is that why you like him?” Huaisang asks careful not to raise his voice above the music. He wouldn't want to alert Meng Yao before he can gauge Mingjue's feelings.

“I feel for him” Nie Mingjue says. “It must be a terrible shame for the son of another Clan Leader to make himself a servant to others. I hope you are treating him with respect, Huaisang.”

“You say that like I was the one who made him pour wine, or fetch water.”

Nie Mingjue draws in a difficult breath. And then he rises to leave as if the room suddenly run out of air. Huaisang feels silly again for being so self-important. If anything he should want his brother to have Meng Yao. It would annoy him to no end if both brothers wanted him, but neither of them got to have him. “Wait a minute” he asks. “Let's go see him play. All three of us can have wine afterwards and talk like friends.”

“You really seek every opportunity to ditch your work” Nie Mingjue says incensed.

“It's not that, brother. You came all the way to hear him play, but you do not want to praise him. How do you think he feels knowing a great man like yourself keeps him around for his merits, but shuns him socially. Do you think he does not notice how others speak of him? Would it not grieve you if he thought you are like them?”

At that his brother is at a loss. As if Huaisang revealed to him a truth that had never crossed his mind.

“Come, show him your friendship.” Huaisang urges. “I would understand if it was a disfigured person. It's hard to spend time with people whose defects you have to observe up close. But Meng Yao is handsome, and he is the son of another Clan Leader. He should not be shunned.”

Huaisang does not know what weird pleasure this is. He does not have a word for it, but it's as luscious as if he got to fill Meng Yao's mouth with kisses. To have his brother so enthralled at the prospect of seeing the handsome boy. To offer Meng Yao to him. It would be the greatest delight he could taste from both of them. And then he would repay Nie Mingjue's debt, for having been so kind to him even if Huaisang himself is a bastard son.

So he takes his brother by the sleeve, almost as if he is a shy child, to show him how pretty Meng Yao is with his blue silk adorning his shoulders. With his pleasant eyes fixed on the chords of the gukin, the dark ink of his hair cascading over his shoulders, with his expression of serenity and a faint smile fixed on his lips. And Nie Mingjue sees, behind the half-drawn veils, behind the corner of black laquered screen that most becoming sight of him.

And Nie Huaisang looks at his brother looking and thinks: Thank you for not throwing me down the stairs.Thank you for not letting me languish in poverty, while you enjoy every lavish excess. I would have never survived had I need to depend on the whims of the fortunate.

#the untamed #the untamed fic #nie huaisang #meng yao #nie mingjue #the qinghe boys #unclean realm fic

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deanssweetheart23 · 6 years

Text

Something Borrowed - Chapter IX

Title: Something Borrowed: September 2015 (Chapter IX)

Chapter Overview: The day of the wedding arrives. Dean has to make a decision.

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Frank Weber, Sam Winchester (only mentioned)

Word count: 1389

Warnings: Some language, angst and Stuck Up Asshole Frank™ ( @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba came up with that name and I must admit I kinda love it).

Author’s Notes: This was beta’d by @trexrambling. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her. Thank you, my sunflower <3

Thank you, guys, for all of your love. When this series is over, I’ll make a detailed post for all of you. <3

Catch up here. Enjoy <3

Saturday, 26 September, 2015

New York City, New York

Dean knows he shouldn’t be here.

He knows it deep into his soul, knows no good can possibly come out of this, that he’s practically pouring salt over jagged scars, but he still feels like this is something he needs to do, the least he can do for her before he lets her go one last time.

He needs to make sure that no one will ever hurt her the way he did.

He needs to make sure that when his brother told him she sounded troubled over the phone the night they talked about the wedding that he was only lying to make him feel better.

He needs to make sure she’s better off without him.

Taking a deep breath, Dean locks his car, adjusts his tie and slips into the church quietly.

The venue is already crowded, filled with all the people the couple has invited, and, as Dean looks for that small room in the back of the building, he thinks he sees Charlie and his brother with Eileen looking for their seats. Somehow, he feels grateful that they can be there for Y/N in ways he no longer can.

Navigating his way through the church, he takes in the decoration; beautiful, though a bit pompous for his taste, with the couple’s vows hand-calligraphed onto the aisle runner, antique bird cages for the guests’ cards and vintage lanterns surrounded by roses and peonies in every corner.

Dean’s almost impressed until he remembers how much Y/N hates peonies.

His heart sinks a little in his chest.

He finds the room he’s been looking for shortly after that, waits a few seconds before grasping the handle and rapping his hands down on the wood.

“Come on in,” comes the gruff response.

And, so, Dean opens the door and steps inside to find the blue-eyed man he’s been looking for standing right in front of him, dressed in an impeccable black suit and the most expensive pair of lace-ups he’s ever seen, a bow-tie half wrapped around the collar of his shirt.

“Frank,” he nods.

He’s surprised to see him.

Dean can tell that much from the way his eyes widen and his jaw clenches at the sight of him, from the way the stone-cold demeanor cracks for just a second and lets Dean see through him, see a man who’s almost afraid of him.

“Dean,” Frank manages after a while, lips stretched into a venomous smile. “Now this is a surprise, man. Y/N said you wouldn’t be coming,” he adds, and there’s something so arrogant, so possessive in the way he calls her name, that Dean feels sick.

“She doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Ah,” he laughs a little under his breath, but the sound’s made of plastic, “I take it you’re not staying then.”

The muscles in Dean’s jaw twitch. “No, not really.”

Frank clasps his hands together, contemplating his next words, then pours himself a glass of whiskey. “Too bad. She’d be really happy to see you.” He sips some of his drink. “She’s missed you, you know.”

The words are meant to slice through his skin and they do so, tremendously well, leaving a trail of bleeding bruises behind them.

He hates this, hates how Frank knows more things about her now, how he knows her better than he does, almost as much as he hates the fact that what they had, all those years of friendship, will slowly become a parenthesis in the narrative of her life and his name will fade into darkness, as someone she used to know, but means nothing to her anymore.

It takes him a moment to speak. “I’m not here for some Dr. Phil hour, Frank.”

“Fair enough. You did come a long way though, so I’m guessing there must some reason you’re here.”

A pause.

Brow knitted into a frown.

“Do you love her?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“Do you love her?”

“What do you think?” Frank asks, eyes a bit softer now. “She’s perfect, man.”

Y/N’s not perfect, of course.

She can be stubborn enough to drive Dean up the damn wall, witty and sarcastic in all the wrong moments, impulsive, reckless. But she’s the kindest, most loving person he knows, the kind of girl that lights up a room just by being in it, the kind of girl you hold on to.

Still, Dean chooses not to say that to Frank, chooses to keep that small part of her for himself.

“Is she happy?”

“You came all this way to know if I can make my fiancée happy?” Frank laughs, a dead sort of laugh, takes a few steps towards him. “Yeah, she’s happy, Dean. Happier than you’d ever be able to make her.” He runs a hand over his mouth. “You know… You hate me so much for stealing Y/N away from you, but really… You handed her over to me.” A small, brash shrug as he pats Dean on the shoulder. “Should have done something about it while you still had the chance.”

Hot white range bursts through Dean at that and, before Frank even knows what’s happening, he’s wrapping his fingers around his wrist, pushes him against the wall.

“Y/N’s not some kind of prize, you dick-bag.”

“God,” Frank sneers, eyes flooded with pity, “you’re so in love with her, it’s pathetic.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Dean bites out, leaning down to get in his face. “You know what’s the weirdest thing about being pathetically in love with someone, Frank?” he asks, fingers gripping the front of Frank’s suit jacket. “You’d do anything to protect them. So, you better treat Y/N the way she deserves, or, so help me God-”

“Are you threatening me, Winchester?”

“Damn right I am. You hurt her-” he stabs a finger at him– “and I’ll rip you to fucking shreds.” He juts his chin. “Are we clear?”

Darkness coats Frank’s features and, for a second, Dean believes he’s about to punch him, yet he only nods, numb, but hard.

Dean pulls away. “Better get going then.” He rolls up his sleeves, smirks with a satisfaction he doesn’t feel. “It was nice talking to you, man.”

And then he’s gone, walking down the corridors quickly until he reaches the hall where the wedding’s supposed to take place and finds a shady seat in the back row. And he knows, again, that doing this to himself, staying there while she marries someone else, is probably the worst idea he’s ever had, but he needs to see her, needs to convince himself that it’s finally over.

She walks down the aisle almost twenty minutes later, the brightest thing he’s ever seen, a dream dressed in white. She wears her hair down in waves, holds a bouquet of red roses that seem striking against the lace ballgown, and Dean allows himself to imagine that it’s him she’s walking towards, that all that happiness, all the joy scattered around him isn’t poison to his heart.

He opens his eyes, sees the way she’s looking at Frank.

She’s smiling, that smile of hers that could cut him in two, but there’s something else there, something he can’t quite put his finger on.

He tells himself he’s imagining it, because she never answered that voicemail, never tried to contact him.

He tells himself he’s imagining it, because if he’s not, he’ll probably go insane.

His eyes drift to Frank.

The blue-eyed man that had been so spiteful, so full of hatred only a few minutes ago, seems soft now, almost sweet, as he looks at her like she’s everything he’s been waiting for, and Dean knows.

He loves her.

They both do.

He waits until the vows begin, each word of eternal devotion that comes out of her mouth a punch in his gut. Then, he gets out of his chair, smooths his shirt and drives back to Ithaca, back to Charlie’s apartment. He climbs up to the rooftop where they first met, the first time he’s been there in over a year.

The flowers he’d planted with Charlie are withered now, the petals broken, and he rips them all off, one by one, until there’s nothing left but tender soil, nothing left but dirt.

He never, once, looks back as he walks away.

A/N: Next chapter coming on 9/15 :) Remember, I love you <3

Forever Tags: @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @trexrambling @percywinchester27 @atwistoffate @there-must-be-a-lock @torn-and-frayed @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba @atc74 @dancingalone21 @kathaswings @dreamingdean @jayankles @winchesters-flannels @winchestersnco @caeruli @princess-shurii @tiny-friggin-human @polina-93 @mandilion76 @juanitadiann @pickupthatamulet @yourvoiceislikearose @becominglionhearted @ravengirl94 @ravenangel33 @holahellohialoha @starry-chaos @masksandtruths @lipstickandwhiskey @hannahindie @sunlightdances @wordstothewisereaders @ruprecht0420 @sgarrett49 @escabell @becs-bunker @imagining-supernatural @iwriteaboutdean @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @spngeronimo @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @wellthatsrandomkek @persephone-divine @akshi8278 @keepcalmandcarryondean @superflurry @superapplepie @sinistersaltqueen @carryonmyswansong @carryonmywaywardcaptain @emoryhemsworth @bebravekeeponfighting @sebastianshoe @jessilliam-caronday @kleinkariertebetrachter @stellaa33 @samisimportant-blog @shutupiminlooove @no-shit-sherl0ck @caitthejourno @annoyingpeople-postingthings @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @mrswhozeewhatsis @may-darling @novaddictx @rlawson418 @itssmallerontheoutside-13

Something Borrowed Tags: @girliciousdreams @ellen-reincarnated1967 @superwholock-fangir1 @my-proof-is-you @ms-baekhyun @satanwithapencil @hayleighr4 @keepcalmandbeajunkie @pjofangirl18 @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @maralisa124

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #au!dean x reader #au!dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x reader spn #supernatural imagines #supernatural fanfiction #dean x you fluff #dean x you #you x dean

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wehaveabucky-archive · 5 years

Text

Cookie Dough

pairing: bruce x reader

word count: around 2k

summary: bruce finally comes home to you

warnings: fluff

masterlist

Before, even when Bruce was just a doctor, you’d sometimes wake up in the middle of the night because of the breeze coming through your open windows. It would waft the curtains out into your room, the slightest sound shifting you awake. You’d lie for a bit, held tight in Bruce’s arms, and then eventually, you’d crave cookies. Soft and warm chocolate chip cookies straight from the oven.

You’d never wake Bruce up, slipping from beneath his arms silently until he was curled around nothing. You’d creep across the floorboards, around the bed and through the door into the living-kitchen area. Then you’d get to work, sleepily pulling out ingredients from the cupboards to make the cookies.

Despite thinking you were quiet, you’d always make some noise that woke Bruce up. It was usually the clanging of the baking tray on the kitchen counter or the tearing of greaseproof paper. It stirred him and he’d reached to pull you closer only to find you missing from the bed. Then he’d hear the soft sounds of movement from the kitchen, the quiet music playing over the radio on the stove, and he’d smile.

He’d lay for a little while, staring at the ceiling with his eyes fixed on nothing in particular, just imagining you moving across the apartment floor, head probably nodding along to the music. Eventually, he’d clamber out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt only occasionally before joining you in the kitchen.

“Baking again, love?” You’d snap your head up at his words, freezing your movements.

“Did I wake you?” You always asked when you saw him in the doorway, a ball of cookie dough held in your flour-stained hands. Bruce would always shake his head and lie.

“No, it was the wind.”

Bruce had gone now. It would’ve been easier if he’d told you. If he’d said he’d had enough of your life together. That he wanted more. That he didn’t love you anymore. It would have hurt you and it would’ve been hard. But there was no doubt in your mind that it would have been easier than this at least.

It would’ve been easier than not knowing why. It would’ve been easier than not knowing where. It would’ve been easier than not knowing when he was coming back. If he was coming back.

There was no easing into it either. One night he had his arms around you as you carefully lifted cookies from the baking sheet onto the cooling rack at 3am, and then the next night you were alone, left with an apologetic message from Tony and an ache in your heart.

Now when the wind rustled your curtains and roused you from sleep, you opened your eyes and always expected to feel the familiar warmth of his body behind you. You never did, just the cold wind, and you climbed out of the bed leaving no one behind.

At first, your baking sessions stayed the same. You still tiptoed around the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake the non-existent Bruce you constanly hoped would materialise in the doorway – like he’d never gone.

But then a year passed by and you’d walk with your heels on the floor, measuring ingredients with a clatter of equipment and not caring about the loud banging of the baking tray against the counter. The soft music from the radio was replaced with loud, guitar heavy music blasted from your iPhone speakers. Instead of making coffee or tea to drink with your cookies, you poured wine into glasses, watching the cookie dough in the oven bloom into cookies.

One thing that never changed was the amount. You made the same perfectly round batch of a dozen cookies. You put them on the same cracked plate Bruce’s cousin had bought you when you first moved in together, the print on it a classical floral pattern surrounding a beautifully calligraphed “fuck my diet”. But twelve was always too many. You got through three, chewing them in between sips and then gulps of wine.

But there was always nine left over.

You’d sit there staring at the cookies, finger circling the rim of your almost empty glass of wine, before you stood, draining the glass, and making your way back to the bedroom.

In the morning before work, you washed the wine glass in the sink and you’d take the cookies into the office, transferring them from the “fuck” plate to a Tupperware box.

When the wind stirred you awake this morning, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying desperately to quash the need to continue this routine that only brought you pain. But your feet compelled you out of the bed towards the kitchen.

You poured the wine first, leaning against the counter as you stared at the cupboards before you.

Why not make brownies? Quiche? A fucking Crème Brulee?

You took out flour, baking soda, butter, sugar, vanilla, eggs and chocolate chips and got to work.

Bruce had asked about you right away. Tony had diverted from answering that question, urging him to get medical tests, demanding answers to his space-related question.

“Alright, Tony, space is a giant shit show that basically makes no sense,” Bruce snapped, head in his hands. Tony hushed, watching the eyes of his friend turn green for a second only to settle again in desperation. “Tell me. How is Y/N?”

Tony hesitated, twirling his phone between his fingers. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand across his stubble.

“She took it hard. You just disappeared with no warning,” Tony noticed Bruce take a sharp inhale of breath as he began to panic. “I tried to keep in touch. I tried to help. But… it hurt her a lot and you… I didn’t know where you were. I couldn’t give her the answers she wanted.”

The silence hung over them like a darkness, filling the room with a cold that could not be fixed with central heating. Bruce chewed his lip, feeling the guilt tear is soul apart at the thought of hurting you. The Hulk hurt too, yearning for the time when you fixed his heart rather than wounded it.

“I should go see her. Tell her I’m okay.” Bruce didn’t meet Tony’s eyes. “Did she-“

“-she never moved.” Tony answered before he could even ask and Bruce looked up at him again. “She never moved.” He repeated. But he was saying something else and Bruce knew it. You never lost hope.

The music was so loud that you didn’t hear the key in the lock turning. You were focused on mixing the dough into the right consistency, spoon reverberating off the glass bowl loudly now that you didn’t have to worry about waking anyone. When it was done, you let the spoon drop from your hands, reaching for the wine glass the song faded into a new one.

It was in this slip into silence that you heard the footstep on the floorboard. You whirled your head around, facing the noise. In shock, your fingers loosened from the wine glass and it fell to the floor with a smash. Bruce winced at the sound, stepping forward only for you to step back, stumbling slightly away.

“Y-you..I…” You tried but nothing worked, you shook your head, sure it was the longing. Sure it was a dream. A Hallucination. Anything but reality. But Bruce remained before you, eyebrows drawn together in a look of despair and lips parted in an attempt to find the words himself.

“I’m back.”

You froze, both staring each other down as your breathing quickened, chest rising up and down rapidly. Bruce raised his hands as if he were approaching a wild animal.

“Y/N,” he tried to sooth but you lost it, stepping forward. Bruce stepped forward too, quickly kicking the glass away from your path so you didn’t cut your bare feet.

“How dare you,” you screamed, picking up the dough from the bowl. “How fucking dare you,” you threw a piece at him, peeling off chunks of dough and throwing them at his hair. You tossed the dough aside, Bruce sighing in relief until you stepped right into his face.

“You left-“ you hit him on the chest, pushing him backwards slightly so his hands reached out to rest on your arms. “-me here alone. You-you didn’t even tell me, I waited… all this fucking time and you… you…” you let out a sob of frustration, balling your fists into his t-shirt and resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he soothed in your ear, hands moving up and down your arms to try and comfort you. “I got lost but I’m back now. I’m back home.”

Bruce let you cry into his shirt for a while, his own eyes welling with tears at the feeling of being with you again. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around the fabric, making sure this was tangible and real. You made sure you could smell him, the familiar smell of the Bruce that had left you. You felt his heartbeat beneath his clothes, the rhythm as recognisable to you as your own. He was home.

“Where were you?” You whispered, pulling back to look at him again. Bruce smiled sadly, raising a hand to your cheek to brush hair away from your face.

“Not now, love. Later. I’ll explain everything later.”

You chewed your lip, half of you wanting to make him tell you everything and the other half not wanting to do anything to push him away again. You decided to wait, letting out a jagged breath as you shook your head in disbelief. When you looked at him again, you let out a breathy giggle, fingers reaching up to his hair.

Bruce watched your face as you tugged at his hair, moving your fingers away and holding something before him. A small ball of cookie dough that had stuck. Bruce smiled, hands moving from your arms to your waist.

“Baking again, love?” His voice was smooth and warm, just the way he’d always speak to you in the morning. You sighed, eyes fluttering closed as you clung to him again.

“Cookies,” You stepped away and turned, Bruce’s hands leaving your waist for only a second before they returned to your hips, walking behind you until you reached the bowl. His arms wrapped around your waist, head resting on your shoulder as you balled the cookie dough into cookie shapes, placing them neatly on the tray as Bruce occasionally dipped his finger in the mixture and brought it to your lips.

Once you had twelve perfectly round cookies on the tray, you pulled out of Bruce’s arm and slid them into the oven. Bruce watched, mesmerised by the way you’d slipped back into your normal routine. He ran his finger in the bowl, picking up some excess cookie dough just as you turned back to him. He raised is finger to your lips and you smiled, biting his finger playfully before you ate the cookie dough from it.

Bruce smiled, pulling you into a hug that had the two of you knocked out of breath. You tightened your arms around him, squeezing him for what felt like hours. Finally, his grip loosened and your loosened your own in response, only enough to give the two of you space to look at eachother.

“I don’t want to let you go again,” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his. Bruce grinned, nudging his nose against yours as his breath fanned your face. His lips brushed against yours and you melted into him, like a warm chocolate chip cookie straight from the oven.

“I’m not leaving you again, love. Never again.”

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner fluff #fluff #bruce fluff #oneshot #bruce oneshot #bruce romantic #romantic #bruce

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ryewi · 6 years

Text

When I’m With You I’m In Utopia [Chapter 11]

Summary: 9 years ago, the world split in two halves, Utopia and Dystopia. One of the laws allows citizens of both worlds to visit the other once in their lifetime, for a whole week, after which, they’re forced to return home. If by any chance, they don’t return, a death punishment is sentenced. Jeon Jungkook, a citizen of Dystopia seemed to be desperate enough to challenge that exact law.

Genre: Utopia!au, Dystopia!au, fluff, A N G S T, drama, to be added~~

Words: 2,1k

Warnings: none!

It had been minutes, hours, days, since she was taken away. Faith’s hurt eyes haunted him, each second less bearable than the last one. Jungkook wasn’t able to sleep properly for the previous three nights, always somehow kept awake by the image of Faith’s eyes screaming for help. How they played between a man inducing fear and another one causing disappointment. Jungkook never wanted to be a letdown, not again at least, yet that’s exactly what happened. He could remember every rational thought in him screaming run, fight, help, while the heaviness of his limbs refused to cooperate. That’s your faith slowly disappearing, that’s the only hope you have, wiped away. Jungkook was an asshole, an utterly egoistic animal.

Somehow, after the whole accident, Jungkook managed to hurriedly pick the lock on Faith’s door and enter inside, mind still in complete fuss over what just happened. There really was no reason as to why he didn’t react, or why he was currently spending time doing absolutely nothing. Maybe it was their huge physique or their formal outwear that intimated the smaller boy and made him obey their silent orders. There also was no reason why Jungkook wasn’t cuffed and forced inside of the black car together with her. Not sure if that was a part of a plan, he decided not to think about it for long and get on with making a ploy of his own.

On the kitchen counter, Faith’s shopping bags remained unopened, vibrant hair color and bleach peeking through a layer of bright t-shirts. Jungkook eyed them often, eventually unpacking the contents and finding out that the shirts were bought for him. Although not so certain about the dye, Jungkook decided to use it when a sudden idea popped up in his head.

As if on que, the TV screen flashed a bring red, bold white letters spelling out HOT NEWS on the obnoxiously vibrant background. After a five-second-long intro, a woman dressed purely in white, with short black hair that barely reached her shoulders, started apologizing for the sudden interruption. Mrs. Wells, as she introduced herself, seemed just as out of place as everyone else, the urgency of situation providing so much tension for the panicked woman. Jungkook’s full attention was on the screen, patiently listening to every single word that left her thin lips.

“Today, marking the 25th of September, debates around the experiment Utopia/Dystopia coming to an end, after nearly a decade, have officially begun. Sessions will be held throughout the rest of the week and one final decision will be made at Sunday, 9am.”.

»»————-　♡　————-««

In a miniscule room, the single light source seemed way too bright. In that same room, the walls seemed to close in with each passing second, suffocating the tiny creature inside. Air felt too thick and hard, temperature couldn’t stop rising, only to drastically drop at, what Faith assumed was, night. If someone was to ask her what day it is, Faith wouldn’t know how to reply. That awful thought bothered her too, the loss of awareness in time and space aroused confusion.

Maybe it was because of the way she was handled food on a cheap plastic tray, or the way she was spoken to, that made Faith feel vulnerable and gullible. Only a slight raise of their strong tone was enough to get her exhausted muscles to obey and follow in whichever direction they walked towards. Faith just had no more energy or will to stand up and show her fangs, allowing whoever and whenever to throw her body around and have their way.

In reality, it wasn’t as bad as she thought it was. In crucial moments of one’s life, their brain tends to overthink and believe in an extremely hyperbolic picture of the situation. Not being any different than the next person, Faith fell victim to her own deceiving.

She was handled meals regularly, three times a day, with enough proteins to keep a human healthy. The guards only ordered for her to move one room to the right, every other day, but they did that to everyone else. What happened to the person whose room she took yesterday, was unknown. Or maybe, she just didn’t want to think about it.

She didn’t want to think about it because there was a chance that she could be next.

There was a vent through which fresh air entered daily, at 5pm, but Faith failed to notice it. She also failed to notice how every once in a while, a speaker placed outside of the cell, played calming music. It sometimes even transmitted important news from a radio that was connected to it. News and music were rarely ever loud enough to reach past the thick unknown material of Faith’s door, cutting her out even more.

People on this floor were all like Faith. Every single person here felt emotionally attached to someone they shouldn’t have, which was only normal. They have ended up behind the bars for being human, for wanting to save and cherish someone who offered them comfort. Everyone was fighting, counting down seconds and flinching each time their name was called. Their hearts stopped too whenever the rooms were exchanged, expecting quick and sharp pain of a small caliber against their temple.

It was a constant game of cat and mouse, although this time, the cat was already the winner.

At 2pm, right after lunch, the music suddenly and drastically increased in volume, sending waves of vibrations throughout the whole floor, only to abruptly stop. Not for long though, as the calming noises were replaced with a powerful, yet shaky voice of an unknown woman.

“Today, marking the 25th of September, debates around the experiment Utopia/Dystopia coming to an end, after nearly a decade, have officially begun. Sessions will be held throughout the whole week and one final decision will be made at Sunday, 9am.”.

Faith’s ears perked up at that, a slight sparkle of hope overtaking her weak body. The female grew extremely pessimistic in a matter of days, but one could argue that being optimistic while waiting for a death sentence was insanity. She rarely smiled, only letting a pair of lips curve up during occasional day dreams, images of life back to normal filling her tormented mind. The description of a Dystopian was more fitting for Faith than who she actually was.

That exact glint of hope was soon blown away as the door to Faith’s room were opened and one of those two strong men walked in. It was the one that didn’t dare speak a word while his colleague handled all the harsh talking and emotional abuse. He was swearing the same suit and neck tie from a few days ago, although today, there was a nametag stuck on his front pocket, presenting a shiny, calligraphed Lucas. Faith looked up and flinched upon noticing his towering figure in front of her. Just a thought about that monster was enough to freeze Faith’s tense muscles, let alone such proximity in person.

“Ms. Keith?” Lucas spoke up, tone somehow soft, harmless and, friendly. His eyes showed deep remorse as he crouched down next to the bed Faith was sat on. It seemed as if there were a thousand words on his tongue, but no time to say them all because time kept disappearing and every second was important.

“Yes?” Her voice was quiet, eyes wide and attention sharp, “that’s me”.

“Please follow me” He replied, slowly standing up and offering a strong hand for Faith to hold on to. Eyeing him cautiously, then moving on to the held-out hand, she shook her head and looked away. The man nodded along and beckoned for her to follow as they left the tiny room together.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m not supposed to tell you, sorry”

Faith remained silent for a couple of moments, trying to keep up with Lucas’ long strides. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, that had no right time for an answer. Maybe even now, wouldn’t be the most suitable, but it was the best opportunity she was given in a while.

“Do you enjoy your job?” She asked, small hand reaching out quick to hold the strong man back.

“Miss, I-”

“Do you enjoy sending people to slaughters for being human?” Faith’s eyes began to slightly water, voice beginning to break as the sole weight of the whole situation hit her. Her book is already entering the last chapter, leaving thousands of pages after it clear.

Lucas looked hurt, face showing slight discomfort at the straightforward addressing. If he had to be honest, the reply would be no. There was no moment that the feeling of pity towards every imprisoner wasn’t present. He shared the same opinions like the female in front of him, it was all too wrong. Hunting down innocent people, invading their privacy, leading them to secure death, just for loving. Surely, if he wasn’t blackmailed, Lucas would be out of this place for good.

“Do you think I gain pleasure from knowing that I’m someone’s last memory? That I cheer when I hear an agonizing scream twenty seconds after we said our goodbyes? It’s a constant burden of counting one more life on my soul, gosh Miss Keith there’s nothing I can d-”

In that moment, a woman formally dressed in all grey appeared around the corner, surprising the man. Lucas jerked his hand out of Faith’s grip, an unreadable expression reappearing on his facial features, before turning away quick. Faith regained her own cold expression, trailing behind a tall and strong physique that still led her towards an unknown location. Faith wondered when will her time arrive, when will she come face to face with someone who’ll be able to justify murder in a couple of short sentences. Someone who’ll throw 20 years of life into water for simplistic moral reasons.

There was no time to wrap her head around the passing thought, well maybe that moment might be just now, as Faith was shoved inside of an obnoxiously light room. Squinting and trying to adjust to the sudden change of light, her eyes tried to make out the silhouettes of three unknown men. It took a couple of seconds, but even when she was able to see normally, their faces remained unrecognizable. The three men seemed to be shocked at the sudden intrusion, obviously not expecting to see their next case in person.

“Miss Keith, welcome to the discussion room” The tallest of them said, extending his palm for a shake, which Faith felt obliged to accept. “My name is Mr. Cole, I’m in charge of monitoring imprisoners during special sessions”, he motioned towards the other two, somehow not bothering to formally introduce them, “these are my co-workers”. On the quick mention of monitoring, Faith’s eyes scanned the room quick, immediately noticing a rather big mirror. A one-way mirror.

Got you.

“We won’t be bothering you for long, just the formalities, in case we see each other around” Mr. Cole made sure to emphasize the last bit of his sentence, clearly sure that Faith would understand what he meant. Just when his crew was beginning to clear out, Mr. Cole moved away, letting Faith’s eyes glide over a man that had his back turned to them, reviewing a couple of papers. His posture seemed familiar, especially in a black suit that expressed his figure perfectly.

“This is the man that’s going to have a talk with you. You’re free to leave if you feel uncomfortable, although I advise you not to” Pulling out a sickening smile, he excused himself and left the room with a loud “she’s yours”.

Faith was hesitant to move and approach “the man”, already feeling a slight urge to leave. The aesthetically and morally unpleasant mirror provoked her attention, calling out for a glance every two seconds. Faith was aware that there was a team of at least five people behind that glass, and she wasn’t certain if that relaxed or freaked her out more. Flipping a middle finger towards what she calculated was center of the glass, Faith cautiously walked towards a lone table and chair in the middle of the room.

As if on que, a second after Faith’s bottom was safely placed on a strong hold of the wooden chair, the man turned around, throwing Faith’s documents all over his workplace. His huge palms were outstretched on it, fingers and arms shaking in fear and anxiety.

A few moments and flinches later, she dared to look up. Faith’s eyes roamed from their vibrating fingertips to strong biceps and eventually focusing on the scrunched-up face that she could only recognize as,

“Namjoon?!”

AN: Hi I’m aware this might seem rushed, but I’m really under so much pressure bc of school and I’m trying to deplete the last of my inspiration before I turn into an unmotivated mess. Anyway, there are like 3-4 more chapters to go, and it’s all really just high-end tension and cliffhangers from here. I already have the ending written so I can with confidence say it’s staying like that till the end. Thank you for reading, have a great night/day!

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sunnymagick · 6 years

Text

Routine

Word Count: 1066

Y/N sat in her bedroom, phone thrown onto the bed and her hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the noise of her brother and father fighting. She doesn’t notice her phone ringing as she throws her body onto the bed near her phone. Y/N pulls her hands away from her ears when she thinks that the yelling has stopped and picks up her discarded phone, noticing unanswered messages from her boyfriend, Hyunjin.

Hyunjinnie:

Jagi, are you busy?

Hyunjinnie:

I miss you, baby.

Hyunjinnie:

I’m coming over.

You type back a response quickly and set your phone aside, going to change into your pajamas quickly.

Y/N:

Don’t worry, I’m fine. I was busy.

She knew he wasn’t going to believe her but he also wasn’t going to question her. Laying in bed, the house finally quiet for the time being, she shut her eyes and start to drift off when the sound of breaking glass filled the air. At that point, she knew she should’ve left and accepted Hyunjin’s offer to come over. She notices her phone light up and she grabs it, reading over the text from Hyunjin.

Hyunjinnie:

Too late. I’m already here and I can hear what’s going on, climb out your window. I’m here.

She smiles softly and opens her window, sticking her head out. Hyunjin is standing under her window, smiling when he sees her. Y/N slides her phone into her pocket, carefully climbing out her window and down the trellis until she feels Hyunjin’s hands around her waist. She turns around and kisses his cheek. Hyunjin grabs her hand and pulls her away from the house.

“It’s a good thing I decided not to listen to you.” He looks over at the female and smiles, “You’re staying the night at the dorms.” Y/N smiles and squeezes his hand, moving closer to him. Hyunjin lets go of her hand only to wrap his arm around her waist. She leans her head against his bicep as they walk in a comfortable silence. She smiles and looks up at him, taking in his features again for the thousandth time. Hyunjin senses his girlfriend’s eyes on his face and turns his head to look down at her. As their eyes meet, the female blushes and looks down at the ground as she brings her hands up to cover her face. Hyunjin laughs and stops walking, pulling her into a hug before kissing the top of her head.

The couple starts walking again, finally reaching the dorms. Hyunjin enters first, the female following soon after. Once the door shut, Y/N was pulled into hugs by the other members as they asked her many questions. The female smiles and answers all their questions, feeling awestruck by the boys’ compassion towards her. She looks over at Hyunjin, noticing him leaning against the wall.

Hyunjin smiles softly at his band members, glad over the fact that when they first met Y/N, they accepted her quickly and she became the unofficial tenth member of the band. He was grateful that they were willingly to let his girlfriend come over whenever she needed to and we’re okay with her spending the night as well. The male pushes himself off the wall once the crowd of boys dispersed and left the female standing awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

Y/N was never sure what to do when she was over at the dorms. She always felt like she was intruding and that wasn’t what she wanted to do. She voiced this concern with Hyunjin who said that they didn’t mind her coming over. She still felt that way no matter what any of the boys said but she was slowly coming around.

There was a routine that was followed every time Y/N came over to the dorm. It started the very first time she ever stayed the night. Chan and Woojin would make her shower before Minho and Changbin teamed up to make her something to eat. Hyunjin would get her a spare change of clothes while Jisung would throw her dirty clothes into the wash. Felix would find a random movie and Seungmin would get blankets and pillows to put around their living room for movie night. While everyone was doing their thing, Jeongin would find the latest book he read so he could give it to her to read. The routine worked without fail, no matter how horrible the movie Felix chose, to cheer the female up. It felt normal, like she was with her family.

Today, the routine happened almost like normal, the only thing different was that Minho and Changbin made plenty of food for everyone to enjoy while watching the movie. Everyone was settled in their seats, Y/N sitting half on her boyfriend, half on the maknae. While they watched the previews, Jeongin handed the book to her. She reads the title, The Calligrapher's Daughter, and smiles at the younger as she tucks the book in her lap. Soon enough the movie starts and the group gets quiet as the opening credits roll, Y/N rests her head against Hyunjin’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around her waist, Jeongin moving to lay across her lap, letting her run her fingers through his hair while they watch the movie. Hyunjin smiles when he sees his girlfriend and his dongsaeng’s interaction, happy that she was getting comfortable with his second family.

Once the movie finished, the routine continued most of the boys went to their rooms, leaving Hyunjin, Jeongin and Seungmin sprawled out in living room with Y/N. She was cuddled into her boyfriend on the couch, slowly falling asleep, the others on the floor as they were talking to each other. The talking in the room ceasing slowly as the people in the room start falling asleep, leaving a half awake Y/N and wide awake Hyunjin. She hums quietly, feeling his hands run up and down her back, an attempt to help her fall asleep. Her breathing becomes quiet and even, a telltale sign that she fell asleep on against his chest. He smiles softly as he kisses the top of her head before whispering in her ear three words that they haven’t said to each other while the other was awake, only when one was sleeping.

“I love you, Y/N.”

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