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topguncortez · 2 years

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The Professor | Chapter 4

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synopsis: You and Professor Seresin now have a system going, but how long can the secret relationship stay a secret.

word count: 3k

warnings: age gap, power imbalance, mentions of smut, making out, cursing.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks of Jake finding himself deep inside his student really, at his convenience. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel about it. He was never one for just random hookups when he was young. Him and Allison had been together since his freshman year. She had only been the third woman he had been with, the other two were high school girlfriends. Throughout his relationship with Allison, there had been times where they had broken up, and Jake found himself in bed with another woman, but again, that only happened about twice. He wasn’t really sure how to navigate the world of “just sex”, but he slowly caught on.

The first night after fucking you, he really didn’t think you were going to leave so soon. He was used to girls hanging around at least for a little bit, some pillow talk, maybe a glass of wine and round two, then he would walk them to their cars and kiss them goodnight. But after you declined his invitation to shower with him, he quickly understood the rules to the agreement. In fact, you had laid it pretty clear to him the next day.

“It’s simple, we fuck when we need it. Having a bad day? Yes. Hard as a rock at 11:30? Sure. One of your students said that Shakespeare isn’t real? I’m down. Just send the text,” You said and told him the emojis to use.

The first time he did send the text he thought it was very juvenile to use an eggplant and a water droplet, but it was something simple that wouldn’t distract from the various messages about grades and homework assignments. He waited patiently for you to show up, and was surprised when you promptly arrived ten minutes after the message. After screwing every legitimate thought out of your mind, Jake offered to watch a movie again, but you were sliding your panties up your legs (you took them off this time, not being able to afford another pair of ripped ones).

“Okay, listen old timer, I know they didn’t do hookups back in the-”

“I am only 35,” He rolled his eyes, “And for your information, I did hookups when I was your age. Though the women were much less annoying and demanding than-”

“Sorry I’m not going to pretend like you are doing something when in reality you are just rubbing my left lip.”

“I think I found your clit pretty eas-”

“Like I said, this is a hookup. Means you or I text one another, we come over, we fuck, we leave. There is no staying, there is no post sex cuddling, besides you sweat like a whore in Church.”

“Again, when I am doing most of the-”

“I was on top this time so you can’t even use that excuse.”

Jake huffed and rolled his eyes, “You can find your way out.”

“Im taking this,” You said and grabbed the sweatshirt he was wearing from the floor, and slipped it over your head. Jake watched as you grabbed your keys and baseball cap that you wore over. Once again, he didn’t walk you out, but peered out the window to make sure you got to your car safely. He also texted you to let him know when you got home safely. And you’d never admit it, but you smiled at your phone as you read the message.

Jake had guessed that the deal to relieve some tension was working. He had heard many of his students say that they noticed a change in his attitude. He was less angry, more willing to actually have a conversation about grades and topics and not call you stupid in the process.

Jake felt like there was a weight off his shoulders as well. He had more time to work on his next research paper with his friend Bob, and didn’t have to spend hours upon hours trying to decipher what first years were trying to say. He also noticed himself smiling, just a bit more than usual. Some chalked it up to his divorce finally going through, which he did celebrate with bending you over his desk at home, but it was more than just that.

“Many of you probably know this TV show, but it is a modern day example of Hamlet,” Jake said as he presented the slide.

“Jax fucking Teller,” You whispered to Lucy. Jake looked over at you. He was yet to meet Lucy, but from all the times you had mentioned her, he felt like he knew her.

“I’d let him do sinful things to me,” Lucy said back.

“Miss Y/N,” Jake said interrupting the conversation, “Care to explain why Jax Teller is a good example of Hamlet?”

You licked your lips as you sat a bit. The outfit you decided on today was something simple, a pair of black biker shorts and one of Jake’s old college sweatshirts. He had to refrain from looking at your ass as you bent over earlier to pick up your pencil. Somehow, you had managed to get Jake to start allowing note taking, and the whole class was thankful.

“Jax is a perfect example of Hamlet because of what happened to his father. He’s a tortured old soul with daddy issues,” You spoke and batted your eyelashes at him. Lucy had to bite back a smirk as Jake cleared his throat.

“Pay attention,” Jake said and turned back around.

“Yes professor,” You said softly. Jake closed his eyes and started thinking about anything other than hearing those words come out of your mouth as you were on your knees for him.

“If you read the assigned chapters, you should know what this slide is referring to.”

Jake was running late as he walked into the dimly lit bar. It was hardly crowded for a Wednesday night, but there was a good sized crowd. He easily spotted his friend Bob sitting at the bar chatting with Bradley. He looked up from the glass he was cleaning and shot Jake a bright smile.

“Look who decided to show up!” Bradley cheered and Jake shook his head.

“Some of us have real jobs, Bradshaw,” Jake grumbled and took off his suit coat, “Whiskey neat please.”

“And some of us aren’t miserable robots working a useless system,” Bradley said and poured Jake his drink.

Bradley Bradshaw was a smart man, a very smart man. He and Jake had gone to school together, though they studied different majors, they were in the same fraternity, so they saw each other often and had another mutual friend, Bob Floyd, who was studying astrophysics. Bradley was in his last semester of law school, already having completed and passed the Bar exam, when he came home one day to their shitty apartment in Chestnut Hill and announced he had dropped out. Bob and Jake thought he was joking, it wasn’t unlike Bradley to joke around like that. But he showed them the paperwork as proof.

“What the hell are you going to do?” Jake asked him, “Work at the bar for the rest of your life?”

“Yep,” Bradley smiled and sat back on the couch.

And that’s exactly what Bradley did. He worked at the “Main Street Bar” as a bartender all throughout undergrad and grad school. In fact, nearly three years ago, Bradley had become the owner of the bar when the previous one passed. Jake hated to admit it, but he had never seen Bradley so happy in his life, than when he was behind the bar or playing the piano. He envied Bradley for being happy with such a rash choice.

“Have you had a chance to look over that-”

“Hey, what’s the rules?” Bradley said, cutting Bob off.

“It’s not like I’m going to ask him for his dissertation notes, I just wanna know if he got my email,” Bob said and rolled his eyes. Bob had gotten his PhD in physics and also taught at Boston College. Bob was a science nerd, Jake could vividly remember the day Bob moved into the frat house and put his Star Trek sheets on his bed. Bob was quiet, shy and almost scary smart.

“I got the email, but I was a bit busy this afternoon,” Jake answered.

“Busy?” Bradley asked, and Jake nodded wordlessly, “You got a girl.”

“No, I don’t,” He rolled his eyes.

“Liar,” Bradley smirked, “Moving on so quickly after Ally? Lemme guess. . . you and Natasha finally stopped playing your stupid “i’m in town, lets fuck” game and got together.”

“It’s not Natasha,” Jake said, rolling his eyes again.

Natasha Trace was their other friend all three of them had in common. All four of them had met in a freshman stats class, and had just stuck together after that. Natasha was the only female of the group, and the three boys had decided early on they weren’t going to try and make a move on her. But Jake only half listened to that promise. Him and Natasha snuck around a bit, until he met Allison. Natasha was also the only one of the group who didn’t go to Boston College, instead, after getting her undergrad in Military science, she joined the Navy. Whenever she was in town though, Jake always made a plan to seek her out.

“It’s not Allison, again, is it?” Bob asked.

“No, god no,” Jake scoffed, “It’s uh. . . it’s a friends with benefits thing.”

“Certainly didn’t have that in my cards,” Bradley smirked, “At Least you aren’t hung up about Ally. I hate to say this now, but I never liked her.”

Neither did I, Jake said to himself.

“So, who is she?” Bradley asked, “Someone we know?”

“No,” Jake mumbled, “Listen, I don’t want-” Jake’s speech was cut off as his phone rang. He looked up at Bradley for a moment, before they both reached for his phone, but Bradley was quicker than him, “Bradshaw give it back.”

“Oh shit! Is this her? ‘Miss Thing’?” Bradley laughed. Jake shook his head, you had called yourself that once and he thought it was funny, “No passcode Jakey, tsk, tsk, dangerous,” Bradley scolded him, “Oh shit! Emojis! Bob, he got sent emojis!”

“Bradley, really give it back.”

“Nah this is just too good,” Bradley cackled, and continued scrolling, “Damn this is like every single . . wait. . . ‘Did you have a chance to look over the first draft notes I sent? Do you think it looks good?,” Jake reached out for his phone again, but Bradley pushed his arm away, “Seresin, are you fucking your student?”

“Holy shit,” Bob said.

“No, just,” Jake sighed, “Yes, but it’s not like that. It’s just for stress relief.”

“Jake, that isn’t-”

“Way to fucking go, Seresin!” Bradley laughed, cutting Bob off, “Finally doing something cool with your life.”

Bob shook his head, “Jake, you can’t be doing that. What if-”

“I know,” Jake shook his head. He had thought about what could happen if people find out that he was fucking his student it could all end badly. You and Jake had even talked about the dangers of being caught, which was why they made a promise to not do anything on campus, and always after 7PM. Jake swirled his whiskey in his glass, “We talked about it. And it’s strictly sex, I’m not doing her any favors. Only other thing she’s doing for me is helping me grade first year papers.”

“But she’s still your student, Jake.”

“She won’t be like a couple months,” Bradley shrugged, “You're half through the semester, she won’t be taking your class again unless she completely fails it. I don’t see a problem with getting to know your students.”

Bob scoffed and shook his head.

“Bob, I need you not to tell anyone. She consented all on her own, I didn’t force her. She knows that she can stop at any time and without consequence,” Jake said to his friend. Bob looked at him and clenched his jaw.

“Fine,” Bob said, and drank down the rest of his glass, “Well what are you still doing sitting here? She sent you emojis.”

Jake cracked a smile and Bradley handed his phone back. He said goodbye to them before heading out of the bar. Your car was already sitting on the street when he arrived. He didn’t mind that you always came to him, and he hadn’t seen your house, save for the time he dropped you off one night. You said that it was too risky for him to be there with your roommate and her boyfriend around. Jake whistled to himself as he opened the door to his house and jogged up the stairs.

“Took you long enough,” You said as Jake opened the bedroom door to find you in nothing but lace red bra and panties. Jake felt himself stiffen in his dress pants.

“Where did you get this?” Jake said and gestured towards her undergarments.

“Someone left a card with some cash in my backpack and said ‘buy something nice. And red’ on it,” You smirked and pushed yourself up on your knees at the edge of the bed. Jake walked over, his hands going straight for your hips.

“Glad you spent it on more than just alcohol,” He nodded.

You rolled your eyes and ran your hands over the expensive dress shirt he was wearing. Your hands helped push his suit coat off and landed on the floor. Grabbing his face softly in your hands, you pulled him in for a kiss. His hands went to your ass, squeezing it in his hands. You gasp and he slips his tongue into your mouth. Jake leans you back on the soft bed, and your legs wrapped around his waist pulling his hips to be flush with yours. You moaned at the feeling of his already erect cock hitting your core.

“You’re needy, you know that,” Jake laughed, “Already wet for me and I didn’t even do anything.

“I sit in class and listen to you rant about stupid shit and get turned on,” You admited.

“Really?” Jake asked, and you nodded, “Gonna have to show me next time. But for now,” He grabbed your hips and turned you around so you were on your front, he slapped your ass making you jump slightly, “That didn’t even hurt, quit acting like it did.”

“You going to fuck me or talk the whole time?” You looked over your shoulder, “Cause I can leave and finish this job myself. My vibrator does a pretty nice job.”

“One, shut up,” Jake said as he discarded his dress shirt, and trousers, “Two, bring your vibrator next time, I want to use it,” He slid his boxers down his legs and climbed on top of you. You sucked in a breath as his hands spread your cheeks apart. He groaned at the sight of your wet cunt. He ran a finger through your slit, and before pushing it into your opening. He pumped his finger in and out of you a bit, working you open for him. When he felt like you were ready, he lined his cock up with your weeping hole.

“Three, I will always fuck you,” He slid into you with ease. Every time he fucked you, it was easier for him to slide into your cunt, your body now getting use to his size. It was still a bit of a stretch, and Jake waited just a moment for you to adjust to his size, starting off slow and working up to a faster more brutal pace that had you screaming his name.

Derek was being pushed to the side and he couldn’t stand it. At first, he summed it up to you being busy with your studies. Everyone was busy as it was nearing midterms, stressing out on whether or not they should continue with certain classes, trying hard to make high marks on their upcoming exams and papers. You hadn’t been out drinking on Friday nights with Lucy and Zeke like normal. You also didn’t leave class with him and Lucy either, almost always staying after class to talk to Professor Seresin.

Professor Seresin. Derek hated him. Derek had spent nearly six hours writing on his last paper, even having it looked at by the writing and media center, and sent it in before the due date, and ended up getting an F on it. Derek had tried to ask Professor Seresin for an explanation on the grade, since he didn’t believe in rubrics or giving proper feedback. But Professor Seresin merely dismissed Derek and others and told them his famous line of “drop date is coming up soon.”

“Do you think something is going on with Y/N and Professor Seresin?” Derek asked Zeke as the two of them walked to class. Zeke looked over at his friend and shrugged, “It’s just. . . she’s ignoring me again. She hasn’t invited me over in weeks!”

“Maybe because she doesn’t like you,” Zeke laughed.

“She likes me.”

“No dude, she doesn’t. Lucy tells me nearly everything they talk about. And Y/N does not like you,” Zeke answered as he opened the door to one of the lecture halls, “And why are you here so early? Your class isn’t for. . . another hour?”

“Going to talk to Professor Seresin,” Derek said, “Ask him about this stupid lecture quiz grade. But I’ll see you later.”

Zeke nodded to Derek and went his separate way towards his class. Derek walked up to the floor of Professor Seresin’s office. He had rehearsed what he was going to say over and over. He was going to demand that Professor Seresin explained the reasoning for his grades and that he raise the grade of his last quiz. Derek fixed the collar of his sweatshirt as he arrived outside the door. He raised his hand to knock on the door, but froze, seeing two people through the crack in the blinds. He squinted as he moved his body over to the side a bit, so he could see through the blinds easier.

“Holy shit,” Derek’s eyes widened as he saw you perched on Professor Seresin’s lap, your hands tangled in his hair, and his lips on yours, “Jesus Christ. . . no wonder he’s been so nice lately. He’s fucking my girl.”

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asweetprologue · 3 years

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@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Favorite Food Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: G Content Warnings: None Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt a gift, and it makes Geralt realize he doesn't know enough about what Jaskier likes. He forms a plan to figure it out. ao3

The small cheesecloth package that was dropped in front of him wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but the way that Jaskier hovered as Geralt picked it up was.

“What’s this?” he grunted, sniffing the air subtly. The little package smelled like honey and flour and cream, and the thick, sweet smell of-- “Are those dates?” He pulled the cheesecloth off to reveal a neat little tart, gently browned on the edges, about the size of his palm.

“It is!” Jaskier leaned over him slightly, his arms holding several more packages. He continued, sounding a little nervous. “I know you don’t usually enjoy sweets, but I know the dates are your favorite. Must feed that witcher metabolism, no?”

“No,” Geralt eyed the tart. “Our metabolism is more efficient, not faster.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, deflating slightly. “Well, if you don’t want it I guess I can--”

“How did you know that date was my favorite?” Geralt interrupted, looking back up at Jaskier. Oddly, he could see the bard color slightly at the question, an appealing pink spreading across his cheekbones.

“You bought a jar of jam from that merchant from Toussaint, remember? You never buy jam, unless it’s for me, so I assumed you must have a preference for it. I mean, unless you don’t, which is fine, I can… Well, not eat it, I hate dates, but I’m sure I can find some mangy child to give it to, or a dog, or something. Do you hate it? You hate it.”

Geralt picked up the tart and bit into it, giving Jaskier a raised eyebrow. It was honestly more of a miniature pie than a tart, the flaky crust filled with dates and prunes covered in a custardy filling, sweetened through with honey. The flavors burst across his tongue, the tart still warm. Jaskier must have picked it up at the market and come directly here to give it to him. Geralt swallowed the first bite, looking into Jaskier’s apprehensive face, and said, “Thanks.”

Jaskier visibly relaxed, shuffling onto the bench across from Geralt and beginning to relay the events of the morning market. Geralt hummed where he was meant to and sipped his watered down ale and ate his tart. If Jaskier noticed his absent mindedness, he said nothing.

Jaskier… knew what his favorite fruit was. The knowledge should not have come as a shock, Geralt knew. Jaskier was often getting him gifts - oil for Roach’s tack, new clothes when Geralt’s last threadbare shirt gave out, potion ingredients when he ran low. Sometimes he bought Geralt useless things, little bobbles or trinkets he saw that he thought Geralt might like or find amusing, and Geralt kept them safely at the bottom of his bag, or in his room at Kaer Morhen. He cherished those things, things that told him Jaskier thought about him when he wasn’t near. It was nice, to be thought of.

But for some reason this little gift felt different. Jaskier had known his favorite food, and Geralt had never told him. Dates weren’t particularly common in the North, and it was rare that they were far south enough to meet merchants who carried them up from Nilfgaard. Geralt could remember when he’d bought the jam, hoping it would last him a while, but he couldn’t recall a single other time in recent memory that he’d eaten dates, or even mentioned them. He didn’t tend to wallow on things that were unavailable to him.

His eyes lingered on Jaskier as he spun a tale about haggling in the square. No, Geralt didn’t make a habit of wishing for what he couldn’t have.

Still, there was a problem at hand, one he had to solve. Jaskier knew Geralt’s favorite food. He might know Geralt’s favorite everything. Did he know that Geralt’s favorite color was blue, the wide, free color of the sky on the first day of spring? Did he know that Geralt’s favorite thing to drink wasn’t wine or vodka, but warm honeyed milk like his mother made when he couldn’t sleep as a tiny child? He certainly knew that Geralt liked the scent of chamomile and sage best in his bathwater, and that he preferred cotton shirts over linen, and that he would pick a song with a sad ending over a happy one. If he’d been paying this much attention, there was probably quite a lot that Jaskier knew about him, without Geralt having said a word.

And he didn’t know a thing about Jaskier.

What was Jaskier’s favorite color? Was it blue, like the doublets he so often wore, or was that just to match his eyes? Did he really like wine the best, or did he just like it better than ale? What was his favorite season? His favorite weather? Did he go to Oxenfurt every winter because it was where he could find work, or did he prefer Novigrad, or Vizima? Geralt could tell how Jaskier was going to react every time someone recognized him on the street, anytime a young lad or lass winked at him, even what he might say if Geralt gave the right sort of hum. But he didn’t know much about him, at the end of the day.

He needed to find out. As they packed up their belongings and set out on the road once again, leaving the small town behind them, Geralt ruminated on what could be done to rectify this situation. He couldn’t very well just ask Jaskier about all these things. After all, Jaskier had figured it all out with nary a word from Geralt. He didn’t need to ask; he was paying attention. Which made Geralt’s chest feel oddly warm and heavy, knowing that Jaskier was watching him, paying heed to his reactions and filing them away. Maybe it should have felt invasive, to know that he was being read so easily without his knowing, but instead it just felt… nice. To be known.

He wanted Jaskier to feel known too. He wanted to know Jaskier.

He would start small. Jaskier had given him food, something he knew Geralt would like. It couldn’t be that difficult to figure out what Jaskier liked. Geralt could start bringing him small things, pass it off as returning the favor, and guage Jaskier’s reaction. It would be simple, he mused, eying Jaskier from atop Roach as they walked side by side. His hair was mussed slightly from sleep, still, and he hadn’t bothered to fix it before heading out for the day. No one to impress, Geralt guessed, just the two of them and the road. He liked Jaskier this way, less pinned up and proper, more open. Letting Geralt see him without all of his armor, because that’s what it was, as surely as the leather on Geralt’s back was his. Right now, Jaskier was an open book. All Geralt had to do was pay enough attention to read him.

It was not easy to figure out what Jaskier liked.

The problem, Geralt quickly found, was that Jaskier was enthusiastic about almost everything. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. When he disliked something, he made his distaste abundantly clear. He was dramatic, which should have made it even easier to determine what delighted him the most. Geralt expected that, when he found it, poetic stanzas would be flowing like wine from Jaskier’s tongue, praising whatever it was. He had no reason to expect Jaskier to be subtle about his preferences.

And he wasn’t. The issue was that he seemed to react with the exact same level of excitement about everything Geralt brought him. On the first day they arrived in a new town, Geralt went to the market and brought Jaskier a small basket of strawberries, which Jaskier enthused over for half the morning. Geralt was pleased. Maybe it had been that easy, and he’d intuitively known what Jaskier liked. Maybe he had unconsciously been paying attention all along. He congratulated himself on figuring out at least one piece of the puzzle, and began thinking about how he might approach the next step.

But then he unthinkingly bought Jaskier a few sweetbreads when he was out the next day getting lunch. He’d been getting himself some, he thought of Jaskier sitting in their shared room, composing a ballad about the hunt Geralt had been on the night previously. He’d brought him the extra meats, and Jaskier had nearly the same reaction. Gushing over the gift, thanking Geralt for thinking of him. Lamenting his own forgetfulness, for getting so caught up in his work that he would forget to eat, as Geralt expected he might have. And Geralt was confused, because he didn’t think a few offal from a market stall in a half pint city in Velen was what Jaskier would like. Certainly not something he could call a favorite.

But he’d reacted the same to the sweetbreads as the berries. So Geralt was back to square one.

He reevaluated his metrics. So Jaskier reacted that way to anything he liked, apparently. It was odd; Geralt had seen Jaskier enthusiastically dig into a wide variety of foods over the years, but he didn’t praise them and rave about them the way he had done the berries and the meats. So he must have legitimately enjoyed both of them more than he would any old dish. But neither of them had seemed to outweigh the other. He still didn’t know what Jaskier liked best.

Over the next several weeks of their travel, Geralt bought Jaskier enough tortas and crepes and stews that he knew it was boarding on suspicious behavior. If it was any other situation, any other two people, he knew it might come off like courtship. Every time he offered Jaskier some new morsel, he could feel the back of his neck grow hot at the implications. But Jaskier only ever grinned in delight at whatever Geralt offered him, flushed and pleased no more or less than he had been at all the others. If he suspected any sort of foul play, he never said anything.

It was infuriating. After three weeks of spending more coin that he cared to count at markets and roadside stalls and taverns, he was no closer to figuring out Jaskier’s favorite food than he had been at the outset. It all seemed to go over well, which was gratifying, but he couldn’t tell what Jaskier liked the most of it all. Maybe he just wasn’t as good at reading Jaskier as he thought. He’d thought he was a master of it, at this point - he could tell when Jaskier was tired during a performance, even though his smile never flagged; he could tell when Jaskier was being dramatic about an injury and when he was actually in pain; he could tell the difference between righteous anger versus petty versus hurt. In most respects he felt like Jaskier was an open book, but there was nothing in his reactions to Geralt’s gifts that said he was anything less than entirely pleased to receive them.

He was running out of ideas. Giving Jaskier gifts one at a time was clearly not working; either none of them were right, or Geralt was misremembering Jaskier’s enthusiasm for the ones in the past. He needed to give Jaskier a selection and see for himself what was best, side by side.

It took another week to plan, mostly due to location. They needed to stay in one place for a few days, so that Geralt could collect the things he would need, and it was rare that the two of them were in one town for more than a day. Large contracts were few and far between, and it never took Geralt more than a single night to clear out some ghouls or drowners from an area.

As luck would have it, however, they were only a few days out from Carreras. Geralt pointed them in that direction, claiming that they would likely be able to find multiple contracts in one place there, and that Jaskier could take a few days to play for their small selection of inns and taverns. It wasn’t entirely a lie; there probably would be more contracts posted in a larger settlement, which would mean a solid few jobs to refill Geralt’s pockets. He would need the extra coin to execute his plan.

The first two days of their stay were filled mostly with real work. The city had been having issues with contaminated water, which sent Geralt out to investigate all the wells, and by the time he found the drowner that had fallen into the water supply a full day had passed. He was able to fill another two contracts on their second day, but the triple confrontations over less than 48 hours left him feeling bruised and exhausted.

It was Jaskier who suggested it, in the end. Pulling a comb through Geralt’s hair as the witcher let himself soak in the bath, Jaskier said, “What if we stayed for an extra day or two? The crowds have been good, and Barclay - the innkeeper, I don’t know if you’ve spoken to him - he offered us a discount if I play tonight and tomorrow.” His hand fell to Geralt’s shoulder, warm and comforting. “You could… take a few days.”

It had been his plan to stay, but Geralt felt an ache behind his breastbone at Jaskier’s careful suggestion. Always trying to take care of him, as if Geralt were someone who needed protecting, someone who deserved something like a vacation. He didn’t think he did, but it was nice, as always, to think that Jaskier cared. “Hmm,” was all he said, a soft sound of agreement. His eyes slipped shut as he basked in the quiet content of Jaskier’s company, and they said nothing else on the matter.

The next day he felt rejuvenated, the burn of overexertion in his muscles faded after a hard night’s sleep. Jaskier had played after getting him out of the bath and settled into bed, but he’d returned later, smelling of sweat and rosemary and catgut. Geralt had slept well with his solid weight by his side, pressed into the too-slim bed.

He spent most of the day preparing. The market was busy and bursting when he found it in the afternoon, though not as packed as he was used to seeing in larger settlements like Novigrad. There was a bakery on the corner from which the rich scent of fresh bread spilled out into the square, and the people at the stalls were standing around amiably, chatting about local affairs and peddling their individual wares to one and other. It was a homey little trade network, and despite his strangeness, Geralt didn’t feel unwelcome.

He made several minor purchases before he found his way to the bakery. It wasn’t as crowded as he’d feared, and he waited until the one or two customers before him had made their way out. The woman working the counter was twig thin despite her occupation, thin blonde hair tied up away from her face and covered by a light cloth, probably to keep flour out of it. Her eyes were blue, pale as diamonds. Geralt couldn’t help but think that Jaskier’s were nicer.

He made her nervous, it was easy to see, but she quickly warmed to him when he told her what he was looking for. Whether it was his gold that excited her or his plan, he couldn’t say, but regardless she helped him pick out his desired items with enthusiasm.

“If you’re planning to use them later tonight, I can make up a basket and have it ready for you. So nothing goes cold,” she explained, her forearms resting on the counter. “The pies are really best that way.”

Geralt nodded, and handed over her coin.

Jaskier would be back soon from where he was playing the lunch crowd at one of the taverns. Geralt rushed back to their room and put the purchases he had with him at the bottom of his pack, a blanket spread over them. Jaskier returned not fifteen minutes later, flushed and grinning. A successful performance, then. Good. When Jaskier was in a good mood he was more amenable to doing what Geralt said. “When do you play this evening?” Geralt asked, not looking up from where he was cleaning his sword at the small table they’d been provided.

Jaskier set his lute case down gently against the wall and then flung off his doublet with much less care, flopping down on to the bed. Geralt forced himself to keep his eyes on his work, though the image that awaited him - Jaskier, spread out, his shirt falling open to reveal the smooth line of his throat and his sharp collar bones - burned against the back of his eyes anyways. “Not until nightfall,” Jaskier answered with a content sigh. “After the dinner crowd. Why? Do you have plans?”

“Do you remember where we stopped on the first day, the hill just before town? By the brook.” He set his steel sword aside and reached for the silver, which was the one that truly needed attention. So many contracts in a row had left her chipped in a few places, and dull all around. Geralt set his whetstone down, but didn’t draw it across the blade yet. Waiting for Jaskier’s answer. He felt his stomach twist with something like nerves, which was ridiculous. This wasn’t anything risky, anything that Jaskier would read into - probably. Probably.

“Sure,” Jaskier answered easily.

“Can you meet me there?” Geralt asked. “An hour or so before you have to play?”

He heard Jaskier sit up, could feel the bard looking at him curiously. His gaze warmed the side of Geralt’s face, and he refused to look up and meet those bright blue eyes. “Did something happen? Do we need to get out of town?”

Geralt rolled his eyes, amusement bubbling up within him. “No. Nothing bad. Just… meet me?”

Jaskier was silent for a long moment, long enough that Geralt gave up and turned to look at him. He was regarding Geralt with a curious expression, almost guarded. But all he said was, “Alright. I can do that.”

Geralt nodded, satisfied, and returned to his task.

He left before Jaskier, stating the need to drop by the herbalist's shop and that if he wasn’t back - as he didn’t intend to be - that Jaskier should go to the meeting place on his own. Geralt made his own way back to the bakery, where his basket of goods was waiting as promised. He tipped the girl well, and set out with his pack containing the blanket and other purchases on his shoulder, and the basket on his arm.

It was a nice evening, warm and thick with the last hints of summer. It would be fall soon; he could taste it in the faint hint of decay that lingered on his tongue whenever he took a deep breath of the air beyond the city. But for now it was still hot enough during the day that the evenings were comfortable. Geralt found his way back along the road to where they’d stopped to water Roach at the nearby stream, just before the landscape dropped down into the shallow valley that held the large town. He made his way off the path, far enough away that they wouldn’t be obvious from the road, to a raised patch of earth that looked down over the fields as they spread out below. It was a lovely sight, the landscape rich in the evening light, the dying sun casting the rooftops of the city in rich gold. Jaskier would appreciate the scenery, at least.

Geralt quickly set up, laying out the blanket and pulling out the supplies from the basket. He’d maybe gone slightly overboard. There was a meat pie, several stuffed rolls, a hearty cabbage stew in two small bowls kept covered by plates tied to them; a loaf of fresh rye bread, with cheese and jam and honey to go with it; berries and apples with cream; a plethora of desserts, including an entire apple pie, along with little marzipan candies and several little cakes. Two bottles of wine, one white, one red. As he laid out item after item, Geralt felt unease stir within him. It was too much, he realized, seeing it all together. That had been his goal, after all, to see Jaskier eat as many things as possible, to get a sense, at least, of where his preferences lay. But this was overwhelming. Jaskier would realize something was amiss. A picnic, laid out in perfect detail, in the warm light of the evening, fields spread out beyond them and the forest to their back. It was obviously, sickeningly romantic, he realized. So very obviously beyond what one might do to spend an hour eating dinner with a friend. Panic rose in his throat, choking him, and he grabbed one of the wine bottles, thinking to put it away. If he could put some of it back, maybe it wouldn’t look so much like--

“Geralt?”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, fighting the desire to curse, and turned around. He hoped none of his apprehension showed on his face.

Jaskier was a few feet away, carrying nothing but his lute on his back. He was looking down at the spread with a shocked expression, eyebrows pulled up nearly into his hairline and eyes open wide. “What’s… all this?” he asked, his gaze flickering back up to meet Geralt’s.

“Dinner,” Geralt grunted, putting the wine bottle down. In for a penny, he thought grimly.

He watched several different expressions flicker across Jaskier’s face, too quick to parse. For a moment Geralt thought he looked almost… sad, or maybe anxious, but then he broke into a wide grin. The honest delight pouring off of him made Geralt let out a slight sigh, relief blooming in his chest. “Oh, well isn’t this just wondrous,” Jaskier laughed. He pulled his lute from his shoulder and set it in the grass beside the blanket, and folded himself down amongst Geralt’s offerings. A hand reached up towards him. “Are you going to join me?” Jaskier asked, raising a playful eyebrow. Geralt grumbled, but carefully sat down next to the bard and began dishing out the food.

It was good, all of it, but Geralt hardly paid it any mind, focused entirely on Jaskier’s reactions. The constant flow of conversation was interrupted every time Jaskier took a bite of something new - “This is delicious, have you tried this yet?” and “We must find out what spices they used for this stew, it’s absolutely the best I’ve had in months” and “Geralt, where did you find marzipan? Look at these little things, the details are impressive.” Throughout it all, Geralt watched his face, listened to his words, paid attention to what he returned to and what he didn’t.

And by the end, he was ready to tear his hair out.

Jaskier seemed to enjoy everything. He finished every helping he took, praised every dish, thanked Geralt for each and every selection he’d made. Even with so many choices, it didn’t seem to matter. Jaskier liked them all, but Geralt couldn’t tell what he liked the best. Not the way Jaskier apparently could do for him.

Finally Jaskier flopped back into the grass, one hand on his stomach. “I don’t think I’ve been so full in years,” he groaned, staring up at the sky with heavy eyelids. “Probably since the last banquet I played at. You really outdid yourself, my dear.”

Fuck it. He had to ask. “Anything you liked in particular?”

Jaskier hummed, closing his eyes. “Mm, how could I choose? Everything was so lovely.”

Frustration clawed at him. Before he could stop himself, Geralt heard himself ask, “Do you even have a favorite food?”

Immediately he clamped his mouth shut, jaw clenched hard. He hadn’t meant to ask that. He wasn’t supposed to, he was supposed to--

“Oh, I don’t know if I have a favorite favorite,” Jaskier droned, blinking his eyes open to peer up at the sky again, this time with a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s just such a range, you know. I suppose when it comes to desserts, there’s these custards that they make in Toussaint, have you had them? Tiny things, very sweet, with saffron and cinnamon. Delicious. We’ll have to get some next we go so far south.”

Geralt was hardly listening, even though he knew that had been the entire point. He’d failed. Jaskier had told him the answer to his question, which meant he was never going to have the chance to prove that he could learn Jaskier as Jaskier had learned him. He couldn’t prove his friendship, his affection, through his actions. Jaskier would never be interested in Geralt the way that Geralt was in him, but he’d hoped he could at least let some of his true feelings bleed into his actions, into the careful way he paid attention. Jaskier had already done so as nothing more than Geralt’s friend. Now he would never be able to pay him back in kind, not truly.

Jaskier turned his head to look at him, brow furrowed curiously. He must have been silent for too long. Geralt quickly schooled his features into neutrality, but some of his distress must have peaked through, because Jaskier frowned at him. Geralt could feel the incoming conversation before Jaskier even opened his mouth. He tried to get ahead of it, talking over the beginning of Jaskier’s soft inquiry. “We should head back,” he grunted, rising abruptly to his feet. “You have to play.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, in a tone that made Geralt’s stomach fill with dread. That was Jaskier’s no nonsense, absolutely-you-will-not-be-getting-out-of-this tone. He turned back towards Jaskier, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The bard had clamoured to his feet when Geralt stood up, and was now stepping around the blanket towards him. Geralt wanted to retreat further, to shove the remains of the picnic back in his bag and hide the evidence, but he knew it wouldn’t save him. He was being too obvious, and Jaskier knew him too well.

The bard eyed him suspiciously, but there was a note of concern in the way his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” Jaskier asked, this time a bit softer. “I thought we were having a lovely time.”

“We… It was. It was nice. I just think it’s time to go.” Jaskier gave him a shrewd look. Not buying it then. Geralt sighed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s not you.”

“I certainly hope not,” Jaskier chuckled. The sound was thin, like that was exactly what he had been worried about. “You’ve been acting strange for weeks. I wondered if-- Well. But if it’s not about me, it’s something else? Are you trying to butter me up for something? Is there a big scary adventure you’re about to tell me I’m not allowed to come on?” His gaze turned sharp again, but this time there was something like fear underneath it. “Are you leaving me behind?”

“No,” Geralt said quickly, his hands rising in a placating manner. “I’m not leaving you, Jaskier, I swear it. It’s just…” He petered off, unsure how to continue. How to explain.

“It’s just what?” Jaskier demanded. “Why have you been so damnably nice to me lately? Are you dying?” His eyes widened. “Am I dying?”

“No, Jaskier, of course not, just--”

“Then why the gifts?” Jaskier spread his hands around their little picnic, an easy example of exactly what he was talking about.

Geralt’s resistance shattered. “I was trying to figure you out,” he snapped. “I don’t know you, not like you know me. You know everything about me. You pay attention, even when I don’t say anything. You knew I liked dates because I bought jam months ago. You know me better than anyone, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what your favorite food is, or your favorite color, or what you like to wear, or what your favorite kinds of songs are, or your favorite season. I’ve been looking. I tried to figure it out, I tried to bring things I thought you would like and see what you liked best, but it seems like you like everything. You don’t always… say what you mean. I can’t tell when you’re faking and when you’re not.” Geralt was tense, fists clenched at his sides, jaw hard. He knew he looked angry. Jaskier probably thought he was mad at him, for some reason, but all Geralt felt was fear. He wasn’t good enough. Jaskier had to see that now. Geralt had known him for years, and he couldn’t even say whether Jaskier preferred blueberry jam to strawberry. What kind of friend was he?

A hand took his, gently pulling his fingers apart. He jerked his head over to stare as Jaskier stepped forward to slip their fingers together, squeezing softly. When he looked up, Jaskier was regarding him fondly.

“My favorite color is yellow,” he said. “I wear the silk doublets a lot, because they’re in fashion, but I prefer a linen shirt because it’s not as sweaty. I like songs about adventure, but books about romance.” His other hand lifted to brush a bit of hair away from where it was stuck to Geralt’s warm cheek. His expression was difficult to look at, earnest and painfully affectionate. Geralt was trapped by those blue eyes, like falling into a clear sky. “And my favorite season is spring. You could have just asked.”

Geralt swallowed. “You never had to. I just didn’t want you to… I don’t want you to think that I don’t pay attention.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, laughing a little, “I know you’re not always paying attention. I’m talking constantly. There’s a lot to keep up with. I know you tune me out most of the time, it’s fine.”

“I’m still paying attention to you,” Geralt insisted, because it was important, critical that Jaskier know that even when he wasn’t listening, he was still attuned to Jaskier. His presence, his voice, the sound of his heartbeat always in the back of Geralt’s mind. Whenever the bard was around he could scarcely focus on anything else.

“Knowing my favorite color or food or what have you isn’t what proves that you’re my friend,” Jaskier said, still smiling. “You know me. It’s alright.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me if you didn’t like the things I brought you?” Geralt asked, feeling unmoored. “You acted like you loved everything.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but his chuckle was nervous. The hand he held in Geralt’s was sweaty, and his heartbeat, always in Geralt’s ears, was a bit fast. “Well, they were from you,” he said with a half shrug. “Of course I loved them.”

“But they weren’t--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaskier interrupted, soft but firm. There was a slight, bitter twist in his lips that Geralt wanted to wipe away. “I just… like to know that you’re thinking of me.”

They were standing so close together. Jaskier’s hand was in his, palm to sweaty palm. They were nearly of a height, but Jaskier was just the tiniest bit shorter, so he had to tilt his chin up ever so slightly to meet Geralt’s eyes. Now it was Jaskier who was tense, his shoulders squared as if to absorb a blow. He nervously dragged his teeth over his lower lip, leaving the hint of an impression in the soft flesh. Geralt watched raptly, swallowing against the urge to soothe the spot with his tongue. “I’m always thinking of you,” he finally said.

Jaskier took a shuddering breath, and Geralt watched as his eyes dropped down to flicker over Geralt’s mouth before they dragged back up to meet his gaze again. “When I saw all of it spread out like that, I thought maybe it meant something,” he said, nearly a whisper.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, helplessly. He lifted the hand not clutched in Jaskier’s toward his neck, tracing his fingers along the delicate line of Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier’s other hand came up to fist in Geralt’s shirt, inhaling sharply at his touch. It was an intoxicating sound, making his head spin more than the bottle of wine they’d consumed between them.

“Did it mean something more?” Jaskier pleaded, his eyes bright. His hand clutched at the fabric over Geralt’s heart, the fingers between his own tightening in a deathgrip. “Did it?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Jaskier gasped at the first press of their lips, opening for Geralt easily and without hesitation. He tasted like sweet white wine and meat pie and marzipan, and Geralt greedily mined the flavors from Jaskier’s tongue. He tried to pour all of the things he found himself unable to say into the press of his teeth against Jaskier’s lip, into the flick of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and the way his fingers tangled delicately in Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier gave as good as he got, humming encouragingly into Geralt’s mouth and hauling him closer by the hand in his shirt. He didn’t release Geralt’s hand from where he held it in his own, and Geralt made no move to extract himself.

Finally, Jaskier pulled back, panting against Geralt’s lips as he set their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, and Geralt watched them flicker open, savoring the dazed expression on his face. “I think I’m going to be late to play that show,” Jaskier rasped, and a thrill went through Geralt at the sound. And indeed, the sun had begun to set, dipping over the edge of the mountains in the far, far distance, coloring the air around them in rich purples and reds. Jaskier’s face was soft and ethereal in the glow, and Geralt never wanted to let him go, never wanted to leave this moment.

“Why spring?” Geralt found himself asking.

Jaskier smiled, and his face softened even further. “Because it’s when I get to see you again, of course. You should have known all along; you’re my favorite.”

It was a corny sentiment, and by Jaskier’s grin he knew it, but Geralt couldn’t help the way it warmed him up from the inside out, radiating out from within him and making his lips pull into an answering grin. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier again, and again, and a third time, in quick succession, each more soft and lingering than the last. When he was finished Jaskier had that dazed looking expression back on his face, and Geralt decided it was a good look on him. “Want to know something?” he asked, teasing. Jaskier nodded, the hand on Geralt’s chest snaking up to wrap around his neck, holding the both of them close. Geralt leaned in to press his lips just behind Jaskier’s ear, to press his secret against the soft skin there.

“You’re my favorite too,” he rumbled, and Jaskier laughed, bright and joyful, and both of them knew that it was true.

This is my last s&s fic!! So excited to be done with the challenge, and happy that I was able to finish! Thank you to all those who encouraged me over the last two months, your kind words and support mean more than I could say <3

tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire, @theamazingbard

#geraskier #geraltxjaskier #the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #fic #fanfic #my work #sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo #s&s #fluff

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americano-jowajowa · 3 years

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✒ [ 2:56 ] Highly SUGGESTIVE || Lee Felix — wc: 1123

✒ w: Food play

Sweets, it was always sweets. Not a single meal in a day did you ever skip dessert, and it is all your pretty freckled-aussie boyfriend's fault. Thanks to him, you have developed a sweet tooth. He is always baking those amazing brownies, those delicious chocolate chip cookies, and he never fails to spoil you with them. You two often played in the kitchen, you being his sweet little gorgeous sous chef helping him with everything, the both of you joking around and having the best time in your lives. However, playing can also mean a whole nother thing, it all gets a little too naughty in the kitchen and it starts when one of you plays with the ingredients. Today, you and Felix decided to make some cream-filled donuts, it was his idea after last night's activities. You dont know how it got into his head during such an intimate session. He talked about that certain word, something that goes like "a pie filled with cream". He genuinely wondered if that really does exist because if it did, he planned to make one. Though the thing is, it doesnt exist, so going for the cream-filled donuts was his second option. If he was talking about you representing the pie and him being the pipe bag full of whipped cream, well, he has done that countless of times already, but we're talking about the legitimate dessert here. What were you thinking, reader?? Tsk.. Whatever it is, you're correct.

Now Felix was just in the kitchen, already doing the recipe for the extra bread. You, however, are fresh out of the shower and what's the thing you should always wear in the kitchen? Precisely, An apron. So you wore just that. Nothing else... You felt a little naughty today, wanting to tease him a bit through your entire baking session and to get him riled up faster, this was your headstart. You walked over to the island table where he was, a cheeky grin on your face as you resisted the excitement of seeing his reaction. He was whipping the cream, trying to get it into a certain consistency but it was still quite runny. To surprise him, you took his hand which was holding the whisk in yours, lifting it up so that you could lick the cream off. It looked like it was taking him a second to process everything, but actually he was instantly captivated at how sensually you licked that sweet substance off. Cream just slightly running on your tongue. His heart raced, you looked so pretty doing it, so cute that he almost wants to devour you. It took him a long moment until he snapped from his dirty thoughts when you giggled at him.

"You need my help?" You smiled at him, hugging his waist in your semi-naked form while looking up to him like a mischevious child. He blinked twice then realized your current state and what you're up to. He grinned to himself, the naughtiness inside him finally surfacing. "I could use some help from..down below." He gave you that funny flirty expression, wrapping his arms around you so his palms rested on your butt. He squished it, like his own personal stress ball. You know what he wants, but if you give it to him right now then where's the fun? You backed away from him and grabbed the bowl and whisk so you can take care of the whip cream. He definitely did not miss your teasing grin, especially not your tiny giggle. He let you stand a few feet away from him with the bowl in hand, a smirk lacing his features when he checked you up and down in satisfaction. As usual, Beautiful when you're naked. You're probably more delicious than any dessert, that's for sure.

He unconciously licked his lips, then noticed the spilled cream on his finger tips which gave him an idea. Walking towards you, he postioned himself against your back to kinda give you a hug with one arm. He rested his chin on your shoulder and watch your hands do their work on the food. "Hiyaaa babyyy~ Watcha doin' Babyyy~~??" He childishly says in one of those pitchy voice of his. It made you smile, it always does because your boyfriend is an adorable dork. "Whipping cream." You casually reply. Felix then lifted his sugar coated fingers up and dragged them across your neck, the coldness of it making you flinch away a little but Felix pulled you back onto him and he planted his lips on that spot. He sucked on the sweetness on your skin, being so sweer yet erotic about it both of you couldnt help but moan. He pulled your body against his, making him grind his crotch against your butt in such a manner. He even dipped his fingers into the bowl in front of you to pick up some more. Then as you began whimpering uderneath his touch, he just slathered the cream across your chest where the apron didnt cover.

Knowing Felix, he surely left that there so he can have an excuse to suck your breasts later. "My little sweet cheeks, you look so delicious right now. Wearing this cute apron without anything else." He said that near your ear in his deep voice, still sucking on the skin on your neck. His fingers still have those cream residue, and what better way to clean that up than let you suck it off him. He placed his fiingers against your lips, still grinding his crotch onto you. Without hesitation you slipped him into your mouth, sucking and licking on his fingers, just the way he absolutely loves it. Now everything was going so fast, moans and groans exchanged between the both of you. The kitchen was getting hot, it kinda feels like the temperature went up a bit and that's weird since it is the rain season. It's supposed to be cold... Now, before you two could dive in deeper into your session, it surely began to feel really hot... It even began to smoke. "Felix??" You called out to him, only to squeak when he did a particulary hard thrust with his clothed hips. "..Y-Yeah?" He was struggling to reply. "Did you start cooking some donuts??" Lets say all the blood drained from his face and he quickly rushed to save his first batch of donuts. Curses slipped from his mouth as he completely forgot how he started those before you even came it. Meanwhile, you laughed at your mess of a boyfriend, observing his frantic state as he rush to tend on those donuts. Your session may have been interrupted, but let me tell you, once he fixes his mess, he'd go straight back to you and forget about baking...

#stray kids smut #felix x reader smut #felix smut #lee felix smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #skz suggestive

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gladerwolfstarkimagines · 3 years

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Not just a soft princess - Azula x female reader imagine: Part Two

You arrive at the fire nation and things do not go as Azula planned, mainly because she didn’t expect to be putting her own neck on the line to protect you from her father...but that’s exactly what she finds herself doing more and more.

Part one here

Part three here

Part four here

Part five here

Part six here

Your POV

The ship landed just as the sun was rising and you expected to be shown to a room to sleep but instead Azula started towards the palace and gestured for you to follow. The dai li were sent down another corridor and you hesitated but Azula called your name sharply and so you turned away. You had no idea where Azula was taking you, all you heard her say was “he will want to see her” to two guards who hastily got out of her way. You were so angry and scared you didn’t take in the grand decor or extravagant wealth of the fire nation. You just followed Azula as you went further into the belly of the beast. When you got closer Azula dismissed everyone apart from you but one person didn’t leave. Her brother Zuko stayed and Azula narrowed her eyes. She yanked him to the side and they argued in whispers but eventually Azula won. You wondered if she ever lost....Zuko turned back the way you’d come and disappeared around a corner. Azula carried on walking without saying anything and anxious not to be left behind you hurried after her. You finally reached a huge throne room lined with fire and gaped. "Father" Azula said sprawling on the floor in a bow. The figure in the fire turned and looked at you both before fixing it’s eyes on you. Azula shot you a look but you made no attempt to move "you said nothing about bowing, i am still princess of the earth kingdom". Azula narrowed her eyes when suddenly the figure moved out of the fire. Fire lord Ozai loomed before you and glanced over you “so this is the princess" Ozai said coming to stand right infront of you. He lifted your chin with his hand and stared in your eyes harshly. "You are now our ally so i will excuse this lapse in judgement just this once...but in the future you will bow to me and only me. We are allies but i your king, do you understand?". He jerked his hand away but you didn’t let you chin drop, the fire lord glared at you but you matched his eye defiantly. You saw Azula watching anxiously so eventually looked away "yes fire lord Ozai" and lowered your head. "Good" Ozai replied. You doubted you had a choice. “You will rest and prepare for tonight”. “What’s tonight?” you asked and Ozai smirked cruelly “why our victory party of course”.

Azula’s POV

After you left Azula stayed, anxious to hear her father’s praises but they never came. “She is your responsibility” he said simply and Azula looked up “the princess?”. “Well who else?” he snapped “it was stupid bringing her here, you should’ve killed her when you could”. “I couldn’t...there’s no way the city would’ve allowed it, they would not have surrendered if we harmed her, the only way to assure victory was with her help”. “She is not broken and that is a problem” Ozai glared “it will be your job to break her, if you fail or if she causes even a whiff of treachery....you will face the consequence” he glared “yes?”. Azula bowed her head “yes father”. Her father made a noise and swept past her, stepping on her sleeve as he passed. Azula frowned wiping away the dirt and stood up. If you were her responsibility then she had to make sure you behaved, she had work to do.

Your POV

You were led through another maze of corridors until you were eventually released into your room. As prison cells went it was beautiful. Large and tastefully decorated you found yourself admiring the room when suddenly the door was thrown open. Servants brought in boxes and boxes of supplies and you frowned “what is all this?”. “Clothes” Azula said appearing “you need to look nice for the firelord’s presentation tonight, the servants will choose what you are to wear and help you to get ready”. “Because I am incapable of doing that myself?” you asked and Azula glared. “Because this is too important an alliance to fail, you have no idea about fire nation customs or our traditions so if I were you i’d take every slither of help I could get...”. Azula backed away from you and went to leave but you weren’t done. “The dai li, where have you sent them? Tell me or I won’t go near any of these outfits”. Azula rolled her eyes “I have taken some for my personal protection but others will be deployed however I see fit”. You shook your head worried for the guards that had left their families because you said to. “I want to have some with me, I want them to be alternated regularly so I might make sure they are being treated well”. Azula glared “you are not in the position to bargain with me”. “Am I not?” you asked “you’re smart but you know if anything happens to me...if word gets back to the dai li or to Ba Sing Sei....your alliance falls away, what would your father think of that?”. You’d picked up on Azula’s fear of her father and felt bad using it on her but given what she’d done to your people you thought it fair. The servants all paused at the mention of Ozai and looked at you with obvious astonishment you’d dare test the princess but you didn’t care. If you were so important as Azula claimed she couldn’t touch you. With visible effort Azula’s shoulders lowered and she met your eyes. “I will see to it you always have a guard of four and they will rotate monthly, now is that all?” she asked sarcastically. You nodded your head and Azula strode from the room pushing over a servant that couldn’t get out of her way fast enough.

You unsurprisingly couldn’t rest and the ball came quicker than you expected. Before you knew it you were poked and prodded into a traditional earth kingdom dress nobody even wore anymore and thrust into the middle of the fire nation nobility. You were forced to sit by the firelord’s side for the duration of a large feast where he basically paraded you around as a trophy. He claimed you were allies working to strengthen your kingdom but you were a prisoner. Pretending to not be livid was hard and you took solace hoping your people were safe at least. That’s all that mattered.

Azula’s POV

"I feel sorry for her" Ty Lee sighed watching you “she looks so...awkward”. Azula glanced over to you and realised her friend was right. Despite looking every bit the beautiful exotic princess with a wide smile on your face your eyes were betraying you. You were miserable. “Well duh” Mai replied “do you think she’s happy to be here?”. The nobles had all certainly taken to you but Azula guessed that hadn’t helped. You were dressed in traditional earth kingdom clothes and primped like a delicate thing to sit in a display case. Azula noted you did look radiant and beautiful but you had been just as stunning when she first saw you in trousers and a loose tunic only that’d hadn’t looked half as forced. This, with your hair twisted up into an odd position and a corset squeezing you into a ridiculous shape, didn’t look like you at all...just a basic princess of the earth nation.

Azula watched as her father leant in to say something to you and you flinched away repulsed. You were still smiling but it was very clear you detested him. Her father either didn’t notice or didn’t care and he kept his close proximity to you. Azula thought it unwise for her father to keep pushing you, she wasn’t sure how long it’d be before you earth bent his chair away from you for coming close to you. Azula supposed that would be bad for appearances so made her way to her father. “Father” she said bowing “may I make a suggestion?”. Ozai nodded and she moved closer. “Perhaps if y/n could move around the room...people could see her better and it would look like more of an alliance, I could show her around if you liked?” she whispered. Ozai thought before nodding “yes that is a good idea”. Azula nodded and went to step towards you when Ozai cut her off “Zuko” he said turning to his son further down the table. Zuko jumped up and rushed over “yes father?”. “Y/n wishes to stretch her legs, take her for a walk around the room, give her a whole tour of the palace if you wish just make sure everyone sees the two of you together” he said pointedly. Zuko lowered his eyes and nodded “yes father”. You had evidently overheard and stood up as soon as Zuko looked at you. You rushed away from Ozai so quickly Zuko followed you in a daze.

Mai’s POV

Azula returned to Mai and Ty lee and she she evidently noticed Mai’s expression. “I didn’t mean for that to happen...”. “No, I knew it was only a matter of time before your father put his plan in place” Mai sighed. There were already chatters about you and Mai knew Ozai was anxious to assimilate you into the fire nation. An obvious and simple way would be to link your blood line to theirs and given you were only one year younger, you and Zuko seemed the obvious option. “I told you that won’t happen” Azula said sharply “she’s a princess she won’t be sold off like cattle”. “You sure about that?” Mai asked as the whole room followed you and Zuko with their eyes, whispers breaking out everywhere. Mai wasn’t so sure Azula was right this time. A marriage would so neatly tie up this whole business, any children you had would have claim to both the fire and earth nation meaning the fire nation could legitimately take over half the four nations. With you help Ozai wouldn’t even have to wipe the earth kingdom out, he’d more than double his population and reach an insane amount of power. Mai couldn’t see how he would resist that and so watched you warily.

Your POV

You’d only been in the fire nation a day but you were painfully aware of Ozai’s plan for you and so you were wary of Azula’s brother but honestly he seemed just as scared as you. He led you outside in silence, past all the people who muttered just loud enough for you to hear. He stopped at a balcony in full view of them all and silence settled. You were aware he probably also knew what his father had planned and were pleased he also seemed opposed to it. “So...how do you like the fire nation?” he asked awkwardly and you paused. “I honestly don’t know what to make of it, I haven’t been let out of my room all day so I haven’t had much chance to look around”. Zuko looked at you awkwardly “ow”. “Ow” you agreed and silence settled. Finally Zuko sighed “look I have to mention it...I know what my father has planned as do you...but I didn’t ask him for it and I won’t be speeding up the process I can assure you...er no offence”. You smiled surprised at his honesty “none taken, it’s a relief to hear you say that...no offence”. Zuko smiled dryly and silence settled again. You were confused by what Zuko had said though, why was he acting like he didn’t have a say? You were a prisoner but he was a prince, why didn’t he just tell his father no? “Not to sound rude but can’t you do something about it?” you asked suddenly and Zuko jumped. “Me? what makes you think I can do anything?”. “Well you’re the first born and the future king! Can’t you...refuse or something?”. Zuko laughed “things must’ve worked differently in your kingdom but here...lets just say speaking out against my father isn’t an option”. You frowned disheartened and Zuko touched his scar nervously before sighing “we should move around, my father wants them to see you...”. Zuko led you back into the party and you felt like a show dog being paraded around. You followed him dutifully until Azula appeared. “Princess Y/n” she said nodding to you “brother” she said sharply to Zuko “father has retired”. Zuko looked up and sure enough Ozai’s throne was empty. “He has?”. “Clearly” Azula snapped before turning to you “all he asked is that you stay at the party until the end but that does not mean you have to spend it with my brother, I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone” Azula smirked. You smiled without meaning to but immediately felt bad for Zuko. The prince scoffed and barged past his sister most unimpressed and Azula laughed. “Not the most charismatic” she told you “but then we can’t all be so lucky to be blessed with people skills”. “You have people skills?” you asked and Azula narrowed her eyes, “just because I wasn’t trained to be a pretty smiley princess like you doesn’t mean I can’t handle people, i’m very good at getting what i want...you’re proof of that”. “Me?” you asked confused and Azula smirked “do you think you’d be here if I didn’t want you here?” and walked away leaving you confused.

1 week later

You soon realised you’d been premature to complain about your treatment on your first day in the fire nation. The day after the party you were awoken early and forced to dress and show your face around the fire nation nobles. Then you were drilled incessantly by some twin women about everything fire nation. The correct titles to use, who you must bow to, how you must style your hair....the list was endless and the women cruel and harsh. Your days were spent being prodded around by them, your evenings been paraded around whatever formal event was being thrown and the fire nation seemed to have an endless amount of events to prove their honour and pride. You soon caught on that the events were merely a way for Ozai to force you and Zuko in proximity to one another and so in response you tried avoiding the prince as much as was humanly possible. In truth you had nothing against Zuko, he seemed fine but you didn’t want to encourage any more contractual alliances, a marriage least of all. The only good thing about the situation was Zuko wasn’t the only fire nation royalty around. Strangely Princess Azula had been...helpful in that respect. Anywhere Zuko could go so could Azula, so anytime Ozai demanded Zuko go somewhere just so he could force you to do the same, Azula would also show up. So what would’ve turned into a date was just a royal outing. Even tonight, the fire lord had purposefully attempted to seat you and Zuko at the centre of the table. Azula had swiftly placed herself in the centre instead, both of you blocked by her and you found it rather entertaining. She was definitely the brains of the fire nation and for whatever reason she did not support a union between you and her brother.

Azula was oddly the member of the royal family you saw the most. On your “royal outings” you and Zuko largely ignored one another and with Azula and Zuko not getting on, it would be the two of you trading quips or light insults at one another all day. She’d also regularly appear in your schooling sessions too and when she did the women were a lot nicer to you. They obviously wanted to impress the princess and needed you to do that so went from shrieking furies to kind old women. You began to look forward to Azula’s visits in your lessons and found her presence oddly comforting in certain situations, like the formal events. Nobody dared approach you when Azula was next to you and it was refreshing. In her presence you were protected from the stares and rude behaviour of the fire nation nobels who had gotten bolder with their behaviour to you. Zuko would just look away but Azula would directly challenge anyone who showed you disrespect. She claimed it was because disrespect to you was disrespect to the fire lord but you weren’t so sure...there was something oddly endearing deep down in the princess. You didn’t see it often but when you did...you liked it.

But Azula wasn’t often vulnerable and you more often saw the harsher side of her, especially if she was in a bad mood and particularly if you were too. The two of you would clash and after a hard day of training you suspected the same could happen tonight. You’d had a bad day from being summonded to oversee the contract of your alliance you had no control over to the painful dress you’d been placed in tonight but the worst bit was Azula hadn’t shown up to your training session like she did every week and your teachers had taken it out on you. So you were already slightly miffed at her when she sidled up beside you in the throne room.

You were stood watching the other nobles lost in thought and clear confusion showed on your face. "What’s wrong with you...never been to a party before?" Azula asked. "Not one like this" you admitted and glanced at Azula. You were annoyed to see she looked nice (as always) but she was constantly dressed so formally. You hadn’t once seen her in normal clothing and it seemed as if the fire nation lived in formal wear. “So what’s with the face?” Azula asked jolting you out of your theory. "Is there no dancing in the fire nation? I’ve been here over a week and not once has anyone danced at any of these things" you said dismissively and Azula smirked "you like to dance?". You shrugged "my uncle loved it as did Bosco...it was infectious everyone would get up and dance too" you smiled at the memory "but here nobody seems to do much smiling or laughing…do you know how?". Azula narrowed her eyes "maybe if your city focused less of bears and parties it wouldn’t be ours now". You’d provoked her with your comment but you hadn’t meant to make her so angry. You’d learnt her temper could be far more fragile than your own but you were sick of appeasing it. She needed some to snap back at her and you’d give it her. You sighed deeply and glared "don’t pretend you won on merit alone you got lucky...the avatar gone, long feng over thrown, it wasn’t all your talent that won you the city and what was the point of it all anyway? Even with my city the fire nation’s still a miserable place. Nobody here seems happy or to like each other. That’s probably why you focus so much on other nations but what happens when you've conquered the world and you’re all left to your unhappy selves? At least we were happy on our own could the fire nation say the same?".

Azula’s POV

You turned and strode away before Azula could reply and she slammed her drink down in response. How dare you get the last word! It angered Azula so much she tried looking for you to continue the argument but couldn’t seem to find you. She was sure you’d disappeared on purpose and that made her even angrier. You were so spirited and had such a sharp tongue, it matched hers and that infuriated her. She had to admit you were similar to her in many respects and that made her both interested and agitated by you. "Princess Azula" a servant called and Azula snapped "what?" she yelled and the man cowered "your father wishes to speak to you and your brother...before the contract signing with princess y/n tomorrow". Azula straightened and ignored the people looking at her. She made her way to Ozai’s throne room and was annoyed to see she was the last one there. "Ah finally" her father called and Azula resisted the urge to point out if he’d have told her earlier she’d have been on time. "The contract is all drawn up, we will present it to y/n tomorrow. AIl the agreed terms are there plus an added clause for us". "What sort of clause?" Zuko asked and Ozai glanced at him "a clause that ensures y/n will always be of use to us". Azula found said clause and tensed, the clause basically signed your life over to the fire lord, he could use you however he saw fit. This meant Ozai could do whatever he wanted to you and it would be part of your alliance. Azula knew exactly what her father had in mind and he was stood across from her. Zuko looked at Azula confused as she stared at him and Zuko went to say something before she looked away. "It all seems to be in order why don’t i take it to her tonight?". Ozai shook his head "no it needs to be overseen by officials so there can be no question of it’s legitimacy". "We have a room full of them, i can get it sorted for you by tonight why wait for tomorrow?". Ozai frowned before nodding "why not" and handed it to her. Azula nodded in relief and clutched the document to her chest "i will return for you to sign it after y/n has" and she set out to find you.

1 hour later

Two dai li agents and two fire nation nobles gathered as your witnesses. You and Azula stood beside one another as she explained the terms to you. Hearing her voice made you angry again so you just sighed "give it here". Azula paused "but i haven’t finished". "I don’t care i know what we agreed to and i know the fire nation is stubborn so you obviously put it all in there, i read it before i don’t need to read it now". Azula shrugged and handed it over. You signed it and managed not to flinch as you saw your name printed on the line. "Done" you said "i’m officially fire nation property". Azula didn’t reply, she stared at the contract her mind clearly elsewhere. "Azula?" you asked and she looked at you "what?". "I was saying...never mind, can i leave?". Azula nodded her head "yes" and she sushed from the room.

That night

You were still moping in your room unable to get any sleep when you heard yelling. Your room was annoyingly close to the firelord’s and so you could hear when he was in a mood and that was often. However this one seemed particularly bad. You heard many feet running past your room to his study and frowned. You opened your down and called to one of your guards “what’s going on with the fire lord?”. The guard frowned "i shouldn’t say princess". "Is it bad?" you asked as doors slammed shaking the palace "can you tell me that at least?". The man frowned and you looked at him, he was one of your dai li, a man named Guomir that you had known since you were a child. “Guomir please?” you asked. You kept your gaze on him and he eventually sighed rolling his eyes “okay but don’t tell anyone I told you”. You smirked and gestured for the him to come into your room. He shut the door and turned to you “If the rumours are to be believed it is in relation to your treaty". "What" you cried "but i haven’t done anything, i signed exactly where they told me to". "There was a hidden clause it seems and fire lord Ozai thinks you betrayed him over it". "Hidden clause?" you asked "but i didn’t even write the contract!". "Yes but he thinks you have wormed your way to those who did, it has ruined his plans for you". "What clause is it?". "A marriage clause, it prevents your marriage to the prince of the fire nation permanently".

You were called to the throne room an hour later despite the time and you walked in with your head held high. You saw the two officiates who had been there when you signed the contract and neither of them dared to meet your eye. They stood close to the princess Azula terrified and you were sure they both figured you were doomed and you supposed you were. You’d been summoned so abruptly you knew this wouldn’t be good but you surprisingly weren’t scared. You kept your head up as a few more people appeared in the room and then the doors were sealed shut. The fire lord entered and you managed not to jump as he slammed the door. "Lets not waste time, do you wish to confess?" Ozai barked at you. You stared at him and shook your head "i had no part of this, i signed where you told me to sign". "So you expect me to believe as the only person to gain from this you didn’t do it?". "She didn’t" someone spoke up and you froze. "I added it" Azula said simply. There was silence and then suddenly Ozai reacted. “Leave us” he yelled and you saw Azula flinch despite her brave face. The men filled from the room leaving you, Azula and Ozai. "Azula! You know what this marriage could’ve done, why did you do this?". "Because y/n is more use to us than as Zuko’s wife, she is a princess and we have her loyalty, we don’t need to hand too". Ozai rolled his eyes "but whoever else she marries has claim to the earth empire that could sway her loyalties. A marriage would’ve fixed that". "No it never would’ve ensure her loyalty and actually could’ve resulted in the opposite. The earth kingdom would know her and Zuko didn’t fall in love within a week, they’d see you were selling her off like cattle and we could’ve lost the city. We have her contractual word, we do not need anything else". “If she ever shows questionable loyalty” Ozai yelled in Azula’s face “I won’t just banish you, your fate won’t be that kind...do you understand?”. “Yes father” Azula said and she stared at the ground. Ozai pushed her and stormed from the room. You watched as Azula unclenched her fists and her hands shook in fear. She was terrified of her father and she risked his wrath for what possible reason?

You intended to find out but Azula didn’t seem keen on sticking around. “Azula” you called but she strode from the room following her father. Nobody telling you not to, you rushed after her calling her name. You caught her arm and she pushed you away “leave me alone I saved you what else do you want from me?”. "An explanation, why did you do it?" you asked angrily "what do you want in return". "In return?" Azula asked confused and you nodded "well you don’t strike me as a person who does anything without expecting something in return. You must want payment". Azula’s angry expression relaxed and she looked at you "you're right i don't act for no reason but i do not expect payment actually". Your jaw dropped and it took you a few seconds to form a sentence "but....why?". Azula smiled and went to walk away. "No” you said grabbing her arm “please don’t...you’re the reason i’m here but you’re also the only one who acknowledges me and not just as someone to sell off...just tell me why you did it”. Azula brushed your hands off her and carried on walking. You sighed in defeat when suddenly she looked back “are you coming or not?”. You smirked and rushed after her.

Azula led you around the palace grounds and you stared like a tourist. You’d not been allowed free reign of the palace and so this was the most you’d seen of it. You were happy to walk in silence but Azula seemed to want to answer your last question. "I don’t agree with arranged marriages" she said suddenly "my father’s first attempt to arrange one for me was when i was 12, he said he would wait a few years of course but he was still planning it all out" she spat "so i made him a deal, if i finished at the academy with the best record anyone had ever seen, beating any man or woman who came before, he would postpone his plans. He agreed smugly and i smashed every single record ever set in this nation" Azula grinned "he never brought up the marriage again". You laughed "that’s amazing...how did you do it?". "I guess i’m just the best the fire nation has ever seen" Azula boasted and you found yourself agreeing "you must be...that or you’re the most determined one to ever exist. Either way that’s impressive". Azula stared at you as you said that making you blush at her smirk. "I know" she replied and you realised you’d reached the corridor of your apartments "it is late you should retire”. You nodded your head unable to meet her eye and Azula smiled “goodnight princess". She bowed never taking her eyes off you until she had to and when she did you felt cold. The princess may be hard to read but she was making things interesting. She was quickly becoming your favourite thing about this damn nation and something told you that wouldn’t be changing any time soon...

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155 notes · View notes

sevlgi · 3 years

Text

aphrodisiac

requested: no

group: twice

pairing: mina x fem!reader

genre: fluff, extremely mild and short angst

contents: witch!mina, love potions, college!au

warnings: none

synopsis: You’re broke and desperate, so you don’t think twice before taking a love potion that’ll make you fall in love with a mysteriously perfect girl. But maybe you should.

a/n: hehe i like the idea of this!! i’m just not sure how well i executed it 🤔 happy valentines day, my loves ❤

word count: 6.0k

While everyone knew that working the 9-12 weekday shift at the campus bookstore was the worst job you could possibly get, you didn’t feel quite as exhilarated to have been laid off as you should have.

As the one who had suffered at the hand of old Mrs. Lee for almost the entire duration of your time on campus, you knew the torture better than most. So it was an understatement to say that you were exhilarated to be free of ironing book pages out and restocking the shelves at Mrs. Lee’s whims, that you were practically beaming when you got the email.

But on the other hand, it wasn’t like you had much money to spare, or like you had the ability to find another job in the crowded university. When you felt your wallet in your back pocket, completely empty save for a couple crinkled receipts, the grin faded from your face; after all, it would be even harder to survive without the aid of your measly salary.

So as you pinched together a couple quarters to buy yourself a consolatory iced chocolate, you found that being let go from the shittiest job in the world didn’t feel as triumphant as you had expected. Not when you were, once again, scouring the papers stabled to the lightposts around the campus for anything that offered a quick paycheck.

Well, almost anything.

“I will not.”

“Why?” Lisa was close to whining, though the pout that she directed fully at you did her no favors. “You said you needed to get paid.”

You sighed, “I said i needed to get paid, not launched in the air like a damn cannonball.”

Lisa scowled and tapped her fingers on her face, her hands still cupping her chin as she attempted to convince you. “Come on, the dance team’s willing to pay. It costs less to pay you than to get a dummy, so--”

“That’s not helping to convince me,” you warned. As desperate as you were, and as much as you liked Lisa and her fellow dancers, you definitely didn’t trust them not to launch you in the air and break your neck. “Are you sure that you don’t know about any other job offers? Anything that won’t murder me?”

She considered it, chewing on her bottom lip. You could feel other students eyeing where you sat, one of the only seats in the incredibly tiny boba shop, but you refused to budge until Lisa gave you an answer. “Oh! There is one I can think of, actually. You know the bio lab?”

“Yeah.” You watched her suspiciously, arms crossed. “I’ve been there a couple times. Why?”

“Well, it isn’t a normal bio lab,” Lisa mumbled, leaning in as if what she was about to tell you was the greatest secret in the world. “A lot of them are witches, you know.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t believe in witches, or the supernatural-- both had been proven to be true eons ago, and almost half of the students attending your university weren’t completely human. But you were still a little skeptical that the pretty and equally brilliant girls who ran the campus’s bio lab were... “Witches? Are you sure?”

“Why would I be lying?” Lisa rolled her eyes. “I’m friends with a couple of them, and I know that they’re doing an... experiment of sorts, and they need--”

“Lab rats,” you finished for the dancer. In all rationality, being a lab rat for a couple of young witches with access to a high-tech lab was probably worse than getting launched up in the air by a dance team, but when Lisa slid a flyer over and your eyes widened at the offered money, you instantly stood. “Take me.”

Lisa pouted but stood anyway, taking the flyer back to squint at the tiny scribbled building number. “I can’t believe you trust Mina more than you trust me.”

“Mina? Is that the name of the ‘witch’ I’m selling myself to?” you asked, slightly sarcastic but also slightly curious. At the dancer’s nod, you exhaled lightly and shoved your seat in just to watch the next people scramble for it, and hummed on your way out, “Then let’s meet this Mina.”

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that your entire school was close to dilapidated, but something about the bio lab was almost creepy as you approached it. Lisa had long since set off for the dance room (something about Seulgi breaking Ten’s ankle, she claimed), so you hesitated in front of the cloudy glass door alone. But the thought of the $600 dollars scrawled onto the flyer scrunched in your fist prompted you to push the doors open and step into the lab.

There was already a decent amount of people buzzing around inside; you recognized quite a few of them and nearly laughed at the amount of students willing to possibly be poisoned. But you took the nearest empty seat as someone appeared at the front of the room.

“Wow, this is a great turnout.”

The crowd chuckled lightly, and your eyes nearly bugged out at the sight of the girl standing at the front with papers in her hands. Honestly, she was the kind of girl that you imagined people wrote love songs about-- absolutely perfect without having to really do anything, elegant and soft in a way that still stood out. She smiled slightly and waved, eyes darting around the room. “Hi. I’m Mina, I’m part of the coven that sent out the flyers.”

You joined in the chorus of greetings, but your eyes stayed fixed on Mina at the front of the room. You could see several other girls lurking around in the shadows, probably the other members, though they kept beckoning Mina to speak on her own. “Um, I’ll just... explain the project to you,” she chuckled nervously, darting over to the computer.

Once a slide was displayed on the wall, she rushed back to the front and explained, “Being a potions-focused coven and also biology majors, we wanted to conduct an experiment. A love potion, or an aphrodisiac in scientific terms.”

Murmurs arose around you, and even your eyebrows scrunched together; as far as you knew, aphrodisiacs weren’t real, and if they were, they were probably illegal. In response, Mina raised her hands and her voice slightly to call out, “Hey, hey. It’s an experiment. We were originally planning to accept all of you, but... I think it’ll be hard to conduct an experiment with 50 people, so please fill out the form we pass out.”

And like that, Mina joined the rest of her friends in passing out the clipboards. You didn’t watch them, only scanned the lab for any signs that you were about to die, so when you were tapped on the shoulder, you almost fell off your stool. It was Mina herself, a slight pink tinting her pale skin as she held out one of the forms to you. “Uh. Thanks.” You accepted it with a bow of your head, staring down at the paper. It looked legitimate, with areas for your age, your height--

“What’s your name?”

In your haste to read over the paper, you hadn’t noticed that Mina hadn’t left. When you looked back up, you could feel heat burning at the tops of your ears, and you answered, “Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N, though you’ll read it on my application.”

“Oh. Of course. Thanks for coming, Y/N,” Mina mumbled, bowing before moving on to someone else. You noted that she didn’t ask for the name of anyone else, but you passed it off and turned back to the form. Since when did becoming a coven’s lab rat require your blood type, anyway?

After nearly a week, you had almost given up on being accepted into the experiment. But just 5 days after turning your form in, you got the text.

Unknown number [4:57] Is this Y/N Y/L/N? My name is Mina, we met at the bio lab last week. I’m texting to tell you that you got accepted into the program; we’re meeting at the lab again at 9:00 tonight to discuss the experiment further.

You [5:00] yeah, it’s me. i’ll be there.

It wasn’t like what you wore to the meeting mattered; all you were doing was being briefed on exactly what was about to happen to you. But all through your classes of the day, through your futile studying, you couldn’t keep your mind off the experiment that you had somehow been accepted into, and whether it was a good idea to go at all.

Suffice to say, you went.

“Y/N?” the girl at the entrance of the lab asked. You recognized her from the week before-- dark hair, bunny-toothed smile. “You are Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you answered, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” she smiled. “We’re just taking roll, making sure everyone’s here. Take a seat inside, if you will.”

You obliged, nodding awkwardly before brushing past her. To your relief, the lab was nowhere as packed as it had been the week before, 7 people including yourself seated on the stools as the girls fiddled with test tubes in the back. One pair of eyes in particular lingered on you, before Mina was pulled back to talk, but your cheeks warmed nonetheless.

“Okay, everyone!” someone else announced, clapping her hands together. “My name’s Jihyo, I’m the head of the coven. This is Nayeon” -- the bunny-toothed girl from earlier waved-- “and Mina. We’ll be explaining the experiment to you today.”

She pulled the projector down and Nayeon stepped up, flashing a grin at all of you. “Basically, we made an aphrodisiac. And to test it, we’ll have all of you do the exact same things with the exact same person-- Mina.”

Mina stepped forward this time, and you couldn’t help smiling at the shy smile that tugged at her lips. “To keep conditions equal, you’ll all be going on the exact same 2 dates with me,” she explained. “I’ll take notes on how you act around me, and we’ll test how you feel about me at the very end. Any questions?”

The room was basically silent and honestly, you couldn’t see a downside to it either. Take a potion once and go on dates with a pretty girl, then get observed like a hamster on its wheel so you could get paid? A million times better than your old job. “Great,” Jihyo nodded. “Then, we’ll get started. If Y/N could be the first one? You’ll just go into a room with Mina to get interviewed and take your first dose.”

“Don’t die,” someone called out as you passed, and you flashed a glare despite not knowing who it was. Nayeon giggled as she opened the door for you and closed it behind you, leaving you in what you assumed to be a supply closet. Romantic.

“Hi,” Mina greeted softly, already seated across the table. “I’ll just ask you a series of questions, if that’s okay.”

“Go for it.”

“Rate how attracted you are to me on a scale from 1 to 10.”

Your jaw dropped immediately; for the first question, it was awfully invasive, especially when Mina voiced it with such a straight face. But you straightened your spine and answered stiffly, “9.”

It should’ve been 10, but you weren’t trying to look like a literal creep; Mina only hummed and marked a circle on her form, moving on to ask, “Are you considering dating anyone else at the moment?”

“No.”

And in that manner, the questions passed decently quickly, with Mina asking them as flatly as possible and you answering them with the exact same tone. As soon as she set the clipboard aside, though, she returned to her original sweet state. “I’ll just have you swallow this now, if that’s okay.”

The test tube was cold to the touch when you uncapped it, and the liquid inside was suspiciously clear. But you barely gave it a passing glance before downing it like a shot, asking with narrowed eyes, “Is it supposed to taste like nothing?”

“Well, we figured that not everyone would like to taste tequila once a week with none of the good effects,” Mina chuckled and placed the empty test tube in its place.

“How fast will I see results?” you questioned as you stood. “Like, am I gonna wake up in a cold sweat tonight because I can’t handle how much I suddenly love you?”

The girl shook her head, though it was a bit hesitant. “I don’t believe so. It should only become more prominent once you see me more often. Which reminds me, I’ll text you about our first date as soon as I can. Thank you for participating, Y/N.”

You snatched your jacket up and stumbled your way out of the room as quickly as you could, hoping no one was looking as you closed the door behind you with a quivering pulse.

Despite the witch’s words, you were sure that the potion was already taking effect. Why else would your heart start to throb terribly as you looked at her smile?

mina [8:16] Hello Y/N! I was wondering if you had class today?

Mouth full of cheap cup ramen noodles, you stared at your phone screen. If Mina was asking you about your schedule, she had to have something planned (for the experiment, of course. You weren’t delusional). And you weren’t sure if you were mentally ready to see her shy smile again.

But when the thought of the $600 dollar check popped into your head, you reached for your phone and started to type again.

You [8:19] hey, mina. i don’t have class, actually, is this something about the experiment?

mina [8:20] Yes! If possible, please meet me at the front of the school, we’ll be visiting the food trucks at the beach. I’ll pay!

Your stomach growled at the thought of the renowned food trucks at the beach by your university, and you typed out a hasty agreement before stuffing your phone into your bag and setting off for your apartment. There was no way you were enjoying such an opportunity for good food (and perfect company) in a slightly ramen-stained hoodie.

Thankfully, Mina didn’t seem to mind you being late when you approached her. “Hi, Y/N,” she smiled and hitched her bag higher up her shoulder. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Hi,” you breathed. Well, at least you tried to-- you could barely remember how to function when faced with Mina in a slightly cropped red top, her hair tied up in a little ponytail. But you followed her down the street well enough, towards where you vaguely remembered a fleet of various food trucks to be. “So, have you already conducted this part of the experiment with everyone else?”

Mina shook her head and answered, “No, you’re the first. You took the dose first, so you’ll be a bit like the guinea pig within guinea pigs.”

You snickered at that, nearly tripping over one of the raised cracks in the ground. Sure, the way down the hill to the beach wasn’t the safest one ever, but at least it was convenient for conducting test dates. “The lab rat. You know, this doesn’t seem remotely like a scientific experiment.”

“What do you mean?” the other girl asked, eyes on yours.

Coughing, you looked away from her gaze, though you could feel her still staring at the back of your head. “I mean... it’s not exactly normal for 7 people to drink a potion that tastes like nothing, then go on dates with a pretty girl and treat that as testing.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“That’s what you got from my whole spiel?” you sighed in disbelief, turning to look at Mina. She laughed, gums showing slightly and her eyes twinkling, and you were forced to turn to the front yet again. “Whatever. Which trucks are we raiding first?”

And as it turned out, Mina was... generous. You were tempted to ask how she was going to keep herself from going broke if she bought that much food for everyone, but watching her bring yet another load of snacks over to where you sat on the wall, you weren’t sure if she cared too much. “Hey. Are you gonna pay for every date?”

“Hm?” She looked up from her Americano and considered the question. “Well, yes? I mean, we planned for the second date next week to be the fair, and I wouldn’t want any college student to have to pay for those overpriced tickets.”

“Aren’t you a college student?”

Mina hummed lightly and dug into her ice cream, sucking thoughtfully on the spoon. “Well, my parents are... well off? I’d like to put it that way, at least. And I think that when I can, I’ll use that to make others happy. Or to further our coven’s experiments.”

“Rich family,” you observed. “Cool.” To be honest, you didn’t really care about how much money anyone’s family made, but it was nice to have all that food paid for. After all, the sheer amount of things Mina bought could’ve covered several months worth of the finest ramen that the restaurants around campus could’ve offered. “Then why’d you end up going to college here with us normal people?”

She raised an eyebrow jokingly and gathered her knees to her chest. “Am I not a normal person anymore?” When you opened your mouth, slightly sheepishly, she giggled and waved a hand, answering, “I ended up choosing this college because my best friends came here. We’re all Japanese, and Sana wanted to come to Korea, so Momo and I just came along for the ride.”

“Ah.” You turned to watch the sky, the sun melting golden into the surface of the waves just a couple dozen feet away. You understood why it was called golden hour as you watched bright yellow rays flicker in Mina’s eyes and glow in her hair, and you had to resist the urge to pull out a camera and capture the feeling of a first date, as much of an experiment as it was. “Makes sense. Then-- how’d you find your coven? I don’t remember a Momo or a Sana.”

“Our coven is a bit... unconventional,” Mina nodded. “It’s just me, Nayeon, and Jihyo. You know that most covens form as children, and they train together, but we only met in college. See, none of us had our own coven, so it was natural that we came together. Momo and Sana aren’t witches, or we should’ve been together.”

You nodded in silence, prompting her to go on. And she did, a soft smile pressing her lips against her teeth as she thought about the girls eh seemed to consider her friends, or her family. “And, well, none of the three of us have had great luck finding someone to love. Or, to love us,” Mina added as an afterthought. “A love potion was just the first thing we fixated on.”

“Finding someone to love you?” you repeated, hand pressed up against your cheek. “I don’t mean that I don’t believe you, but it’s kind of hard to imagine that it’s difficult to find someone to love you. You’re pretty great, Mina.”

She laughed, “I’m glad you think so. But there’s a reason why we chose me as the one to test the potion with.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Mina looked you right in the eyes, a kind of softness swirling in the brown of her own eyes, and responded equally quietly, “We chose me because we thought I was the hardest to fall in love with.”

“Bullshit,” you responded instantly, heat rising to your ears immediately after. But thankfully, the Japanese girl only looked endeared, and you continued, “I mean, I don’t know if this is just the potion talking, but you’re awesome. I... I think I’d like you even if I wasn’t part of this damn experiment.”

She blushed, the hue of her cheeks matching the pink clouds in the sky. “Well, I think you’re exaggerating on that. But it’s not them, I just volunteered myself. I think people just misunderstand me, you know? It’s hard to find the right person for you when you don’t let people see you. And-- I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. On a first date, too.”

“Hey.” When she looked away from you, you reached over to squeeze her hand. Mina didn’t look back up to you, but you knew she was listening from the way she chewed at her bottom lip. “It’s okay. I know what you’re saying. And I can’t say I know you yet, but I can say I wouldn’t mind knowing you. I’d like it, even.”

Mina laughed, barely loud enough for you to hear, and squeezed your hand. “Thank you, Y/N. I think we should finish our food before it gets cold.”

“Oh, yeah.” You let go to reach for one of the many desserts displayed in front of you, barely fazed by the topic change. “Wouldn’t want your parents’ money to go to waste.”

“Please let that go,” she whined.

“Not a chance,” you winked in response, laughing at her pout. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Lili, I think I’m done for.”

“Like, literally?” Lisa asked mindlessly, receiving a light hit on the head in response. “Ow, what was that for?”

You whined, “This isn’t funny. I can feel myself falling, and there’s no cushion underneath me for me to fall onto.”

The dancer rolled her eyes and reached for her milk tea. “Okay, Miss Overdramatic. You know falling doesn’t work like that, no one’s kicking you off a cliff. Especially not Myoui Mina.”

“I’m not being kicked off, I’m sliding.” You made the motions with your hand, a despondent expression on your face as you scowled, “I’m slipping through a puddle of aphrodisiac, that’s what, and Mina poured it at my feet.”

“Okay, enough with the metaphors, I’m not an English major,” Lisa sighed. She tossed a chip at your face, as if being smeared with salt and oil would wake you up from your Mina-induced trance. “You’ve gone on one date with her and spoken to her approximately twice, I think you aren’t falling just yet.”

“Did you forget the part where I’m drugged to fall in love with her?” you deadpanned.

Lisa paused at that. “Okay, I did forget that. Then what? There’s an explanation as to why you’re feeling this way, and there’s a way to get rid of it. Once you get your paycheck, you just stay away from Mina, should be easy enough, since you never met her before this. And you wait for the potion to wear off.”

“Does it wear off?” you groaned into your hands.

“Did you never ask?” Lisa asked in disbelief. “Wow, Y/N, ever heard of fine print?”

You smacked her with your rolled-up notes yet again. “Shut up. But I have a date with her tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do. I’m feeling like this because of the potion, sure, but I’m still feeling like this! And Mina has 6 other people vying for her now, all under the same effect as me. And it feels... bad.”

“Eloquent,” your friend sighed. “Then I have the perfect solution for you. Don’t go on the second date.”

“I need the money,” you shook your head. “Gimme another one.”

Lisa considered it, sucked on her straw as she did, until she shook her head. “I got nothing. All I can tell you is to enjoy it while it lasts, then just... wait. And if it doesn’t wear off, Jisoo unnie’s studying law.”

As horrible as her suggestions were, you could admit that you felt the slightest bit more assured. In the worst case scenario, you could sue Mina for winning your heart, and in the best, the somehow blissful stabs at your heart would be alleviated soon enough.

As it turned out, you got a chauffer to the fair. Not an actual one, of course-- it was just Jeongyeon, introduced as one of Mina’s friends who could actually drive.

You really weren’t intending to talk to her at first. She was quiet, too, didn’t even turn on the radio once she started driving, but when something that Mina said crossed your mind, you had to speak up. “Hey, Jeongyeon. Can I ask you something? About Mina?”

“Shoot,” she answered simply, keeping her eyes on the road.

“Do you think Mina’s hard to fall in love with?”

Jeongyeon glanced at you at that, her expression slightly quizzical. “What do you mean?”

“She said something yesterday,” you explained. “Mina said that they chose her for the experiment because they thought she was the hardest to fell in love with. She said-- something about being misunderstood?”

The older girl nodded in understanding at that and blew her hair out of her face. After a short pause, she sighed, “I think that’s more of what she thinks than the rest of us. Mina... she thinks she’s unapproachable, you know. She doesn’t open up easily, so I’m surprised she told you that at all. But... she’s been hurt several times, and a lot of people think she’s mean or something similarly stupid just because she’s quiet. That’s all.”

“Oh.” You wet your lips and looked forward to the road, where you could see the fair’s Ferris Wheel already in the distance. “I see.”

And that was that. The two of you fell back into silence, and as comfortable as it was, it only gave you more time to think about what you wanted to say.

Maybe you could see why they would choose the girl who thought of herself as unapproachable and quiet to be the test, but they also didn’t seem to think about the obvious warm color to Mina that she presented. She was quiet, sure, but she was sweet, kind... there was plenty to fall in love with, and even if there wasn’t magic coursing through your system, you thought that you could’ve fallen in love with her anyway.

After bidding goodbye to Jeongyeon at the entrance, you found Mina waiting for you by the fair entrance. “Y/N!” she called out, though her voice still wasn’t loud. You could’ve spotted her anywhere anyway, and made your way over. “You’re a bit early.”

“You were earlier,” you smiled. “So. Are we ready to go in?”

“Absolutely.” Mina linked her arm in yours slightly hesitantly and surprised the both of you, but you took it in stride and swung your arm slightly to bring a smile to her face. “I’ll get our tickets, you get in line.”

“I can pay for myself,” you protested, but she waved you off. “...Okay then.”

The fair was loud, a bit too loud to hear Mina’s voice if she talked normally, so you found yourself leaning in every time she spoke. You really didn’t mind it either, feeling her words tickle your ears-- maybe it was closer than you should’ve been comfortable with, but there was a certain adrenaline pumping in your blood that you weren’t really used to. So you continued on, fed cotton candy to her despite her blush, shared a soda, won a teddy bear for her. Nothing that should’ve made your heart beat as fast as it did.

Nonetheless, time ticked by all too quickly, whirling past in a gust of quiet laughter and honestly terrible jokes. The sun set yet again, the streaks of pink and purple across powder blue oddly similar to the first date you had gone on. Mina checked her watch and frowned, “I think we only have time for one more ride before Jeongyeon comes to pick us up. What do you think?”

You barely had to ponder it before you pointed at the tall, neon-lit Ferris wheel with a smile. “Classic date ride, of course.”

“Classic,” Mina laughed in agreement. She let you tug her towards it and stood in line with you with no complaint, digging a selfie stick out from her bag. “Should we take some pictures up there? It’d be a waste of a beautiful view if we don’t.”

You shrugged, “Of course. Might as well have some pictures to remember our last date by, right?”

Mina looked caught between saying something and staying silent, but she settled with a quiet, “Sure” before starting to set her phone up. Your hand in the crook of her elbow, you tugged her forward when it was necessary, keeping your eyes away from her red-tinted lips as much as you could.

Soon enough, wind was blowing your hair off your face and the cart of the ride was creaking slightly under your weight as someone started the wheel. “Whoa,” Mina laughed breathlessly and peered over the edge. “It’s really high up.”

“And we’re only starting,” you agreed, tugging her back by the wrist. “Don’t fall over, I don’t want to get off this ride with a murder charge on my hands.”

“Hm.” Mina reached over to set the selfie stick on the seat opposite the one the two of you shared, shoving you to get you to match her smile. “Come on, 1, 2, 3.”

With every click of her phone camera, you felt yourself coming closer to her, until you could feel the rise and fall of her chest beside you. You were almost at the top of the ride in barely a couple minutes, the soft sunlight almost blinding you. As you waited for the next camera click, you felt Mina’s hand creep up your arm, up, up, until her slightly cold fingers rested on your neck.

And then she tilted your head, fit her nose right next to yours like it belonged there, and slotted your lips together. You couldn’t think, much less fight whatever force pushed you up against her. You kissed back as best as you could with your senses battling within you, until you realized that the camera shutter had gone off at least ten times.

Mina couldn’t meet your eyes when you did pull back, and she reached over to fiddle with the camera. “Was that a part of the experiment too?” you questioned, your voice raspy.

“Maybe,” she answered, and your heart sank. But she looked up with a smile, her eyes just as confused as you felt. “And maybe not.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said dumbly, then reached over for her hand. There was nothing left to say, anyway, nothing that the slight swell to your lips didn’t already say for you, nothing that wasn’t conveyed when you leaned over to kiss her again.

The idea of allowing a love potion to work its wonders on you was like allowing yourself to be tossed into a trap. But instead of a cold, rough, and terrible trap that you would actively try to escape, you found the trap to be warm, cozy, a place that you wanted to stay-- and a place you knew that you would eventually be ejected from by force.

Once you were in the trap, though, there was no way you could pull yourself back out, especially when you didn’t really want to escape at all. You stayed up for all the nights leading up to the last time you would talk with the bio lab, just thinking about what you would do if everything that had passed by in the last couple weeks was just a figment of an aphrodisiac-induced haze. After all that time, you still didn’t quite know.

But Mina texted you often enough to pull you from that stupor. Thankfully, it wasn’t like one of those stories or dramas, where the main leads somehow fought after their first kiss-- maybe that would’ve been easier than being pulled in deeper. Instead, the two of you talked every day, even if it was only for a little while, and Mina was only worsening whatever situation you couldn’t seem to get out of.

And eventually, the day came where you’d be paid, a day that you had been looking forward to, until you began to dread it.

“Well, doesn’t someone look like a newlywed,” Nayeon greeted at the entrance with a smile, though she didn’t seem to be mocking you. “Come on in, Y/N, we’ll get you started right away.”

The closet was the exact same as it had been the first time that you stepped inside for the interview, but Mina’s smile was much more warm. “Hi, Y/N. How’re you feeling?”

“Good. Fine.” You cleared your throat and attempted to peer at her clipboard. “Questions for me?”

“Yes,” Mina nodded, flipping the pages over. “Are you ready to get started, then? On a scale from one to ten, how attracted are you to me?”

“Ten,” you answered without hesitation this time, and your smile only grew when Mina flushed.

“Okay. Are you considering dating anyone other than me right now?”

“No.” You shook your head, but gulped slightly and leaned back when Mina leaned forward to observe you.

“What about me?”

You paused, blinked, though Mina didn’t seem like she was going to move until you answered, “Yes. I would date you, absolutely.”

She flicked through the pages listlessly before setting them aside and turning back to you. Somehow, Mina looked like she was about to drop a bomb on you, her lips quivering as she calculated the right words. “I... Y/N, I have to tell you something. About the experiment.”

“I’m not going to die, am I?”

Your shitty attempt at humor did manage to prompt a smile from Mina, but she remained serious. “Not that. But- do you understand control groups? In experiments?”

“Um. I think so?” you answered, racking your brain for whatever limited knowledge of science remained with you. “It’s the normal group, right? The one that isn’t experimented on.”

“Yes, just about,” Mina nodded. She reached for your hands and clasped them within hers, eyes pleading for you to understand something that you hadn’t heard yet. “Y/N, you were the control. I... we had to make sure that it was the potion working, and not me, and you- we used you for that. You were never given any potion.”

“I...” you stammered out. Every instinct in you was screaming out to pull away from Mina’s grasp, to question every aspect of your existence that had led up to you being tricked into loving her. Somehow, everything being real only made it feel more fake, even though you now knew that what you had felt was completely you. “I don’t understand.”

Mina said softly, “You fell in love with me, or at least liked me, on your own. You didn’t work as a control group because the same thing happened to you as it did to the others, even though you never took the aphrodisiac.”

“So,” you faltered, “all seven of us fell for you. I’m just the sucker who’s in it for real, huh?”

“I was willing to sacrifice my own feelings for the experiment,” Mina clarified, shaking her head. “I knew I would fall for one of you, but I didn’t think that you, as the control, would be the one who I fell for. And who fell for me.”

Silence fell over the two of you, though you remained there, hands clasped together and eyes meeting with a clarity that speech could never capture. But you tried anyway. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” Mina questioned.

You smiled weakly as a response, “Yeah. Um... how about we go on another date to talk? After you finish interrogating everyone else?”

Mina let go of your hands and let you stand up, but you could feel her smiling at your back as you closed the closet door behind you. Like a repetition of when you thought that you’d be induced into loving her, your heart beat in your throat as you leaned against the wood.

But when you knew it was real, when you knew that it wasn’t magic seizing you by the hand and pulling you into the unknown, you smiled. Because it felt... right.

#twice #twice x reader #mina x reader #mina imagines #mina scenarios #twice imagines #twice scenarios #twice reactions #twice mina #mina #mina myoui #myoui mina

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collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

Marks - John B Routledge

Request: Hi would you be able to write something about John b (outer banks) were the reader and him have been secretly seeing each other and one day they are all one the boat and she's wearing one of his shirts over a bikini and the others see the marks???? Love your work btw and sorry if this makes no sense and it OK if you can do it and thank you 💛🌻🌼

A/N: So I hope this is what you wanted?? I like how it turned out.

Outer Banks Masterlist

///

No one knew where the unofficial rule of Pogue life in the Outer Banks had come from but you all agreed that it felt like it had been around forever. Was it something Kiara made up in seventh grade when boy/girl parties meant more pressure to kiss whoever the cutest person in the room was? Was it something someone else made up that was overheard and adopted? Had it been around for a long time? It was hard to say, all you did know was that the rule was the rule, no Pogue-on-Pogue macking, and the rule was sacred. It hadn’t been transcribed in stone by a burning bush but it might as well have been the way that everyone talked about it. Some people broke the rule but never your group.

You’d kissed tourons, a odd kook once at a party that you never spoke of again for fear of retribution, but never a Pogue. It was a stupid rule, honestly, but it’d helped you not make terrible decisions. Like when you and JJ got so high in ninth grade that you almost kissed him. But even in the haze the rule was the rule and you didn’t break it.

“How am I supposed to get a boyfriend when the guys I’m allowed to like leave after two weeks?” You questioned, laying on the end of the HMS Pogue. It was this very conversation that had changed your opinion of the rule. Before that afternoon you followed like it was written law and you were afraid of burning in hell for breaking it.

But as you turned your head to the side to look over at your friends, at John B steering the boat through the marsh, it suddenly occurred to you that your question wasn’t a vague observation but rather a specific wanting. You didn’t want any guy to be your boyfriend, you wanted John B. You must’ve looked at him a thousand times in your life, you’d known him through bad haircuts, the summer before high school when his face broke out, the year he only wore stupid graphic tee’s from five below, and ill attempted bucket hat phase. All the unpleasant, unattractive moments in life that were supposed to deter you from even thinking about him that way didn’t seem to matter when you gazed at him across the boat. Tanned, unruly hair getting a little close to too long, some ridiculous Hawaiian shirt that he had the inability to button correctly.

“I’ll be your boyfriend.” Pope offered, handing you a beer.

You sat up to drink and gave him a skeptical look, “you going somewhere I don’t know about?”

“No Pogue on Pogue macking,” Kiara piped up like she was the spokesperson for it.

“Oh my god; I know!” You groaned and Pope laughed, “why do you think I’m in this dilemma?”

“You could date a kook,” JJ teased.

“Fuck you JJ.”

“Just mack on some Pogue we don’t know,” John B suggested. You looked over at him and took a long gulp of your beer, if he only knew.

“You know everyone,” Kiara pointed out.

“See, Kie understands my dilemma.”

“Actually, I kinda prefer not being tied down.” Kiara replied.

“Okay, archaic...I’m not trying to be someone’s property or something but it’d be kinda nice to have someone ya know? To not have to flirt with rando tourists all summer.” You complained. It was a legitimate problem.

“Sure. I hear that.” Pope agreed.

When everyone else had dispersed for the night, Pope back to his house, Kie to the Wreck, JJ to sleep in the hammock outside the Chateau, you and John B sat on the couch watching a movie on your laptop. You had your head on his shoulder and he was slumped against the cushions, far too quiet for a movie about a mega shark attacking people. He hadn’t said much else after your discussion about dating had died down. John B talked the talk, he flirted easily with tourons at parties but you never knew him to really be with anyone. You couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever called someone his girlfriend but you also didn’t know him to be the type to have random hookups.

“You’re so quiet.” You observed, “we haven’t even ragged on the stupid CGI.”

“The CGI is stupid.” John B said, tilting his head to look at you and smiling.

“Loser.” You shook your head. You wanted to tell him, you had decided on the boat that you had to. If he wasn’t interested in you, if the idea of dating one of his best friends freaked him out that was fine, you could be friends and move on. But if you just thought about it, obsessed over it, you would make it awkward. It would never be normal between the two of you because all you would focus on would be the what-ifs.

John B shrugged.

“Hey John B, can I ask you something?” You sat up, shifting away so that you could look at him.

“You just did.”

“Okay dad,” you rolled your eyes at him when he smiled.

“What’s up?” He asked, turning to face you, movie forgotten. The mega shark could eat whoever he wanted, John was focused on you and that was better than a movie.

You were never sure how these things worked. Did you say that you liked him and you wanted to be in a relationship with him? Did you tell him you wanted to kiss him? How did you say okay to him when he inevitability said he wasn’t interested? He probably liked someone else. Sure, you had never seen him with anyone but that didn’t mean he didn’t like someone else...maybe Kie, everyone liked her. And if he did you couldn’t be mad about that.

“Hey, E.T., phone home.” John B teased, waving a hand in front of your face.

You laughed and grabbed his wrist, “sorry.” You moved his hand to your lap and held it there, taking a deep breath. You could do this. This was John B, best friend, dork, treasure hunter. You talked to him about everything, you could talk to him about this. “The thing is-” You leaned forward, getting a rush of adrenaline as you closed your eyes and pressed your lips against his.

John B’s eyes went wide as he sat there, his brain working overtime to catch up with what was happening. His free hand gripped the back of the couch as he leaned more into the kiss. When you’d mentioned wanting to date someone, he never imagined that you could be thinking about him. You’d been friends for a long time but that didn’t erase the fact that you were attractive. He’d never do anything that you didn’t want but there were plenty of times when he stared a little too long or hugged you a little too long. He was sure JJ and Pope had too, it wasn’t anything unusual for a group so close to have crushes on each other but he couldn’t even wrap his mind around the two of you.

As the kiss deepened you let go of his hand to hold onto his shoulders, shifting yourself to straddle his lap. John B wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against him completely as he laid back on the couch, the sudden motion making you yelp a little.

“Oh my god, JB!” You laughed; foreheads pressed together as you laid there on top of him.

“So uh, definitely broke a rule or two,” he joked. He watched as you sat up in his lap.

That was two weeks ago and in that time you and John B had almost perfected your ability to sneak around. Though no amount of perfectly crafted excuses, late nights at the Chateau without your friends, or actively pretending you were interested in other people when you were at a party could have helped you avoid the most obvious clue that one of you might be fooling around behind the group’s back.

You were on the HMS Pogue with the others, sitting cross-legged at the front with JJ smoking while Kiara and Pope swam. It would be dusk soon and the air was getting colder this far out. You would have just put your shorts and shirt back on but JJ had thrown you in the water earlier, fully dressed, and now you sat there, cold, with your wet clothes hanging over the side of the boat.

“Just give me your t-shirt.” You begged. You’d been asking JJ for his shirt to keep you warm for the last ten minutes.

“No. Then I’ll be cold.”

“So much for chivalry.”

“I’m sorry,” Pope called, “is your complaint that JJ isn’t chivalrous?”

“Yeah you’re right, my bad.” You stuck your tongue out at JJ and he smiled in return. John B was at the wheel, wearing your favorite of his numerous Hawaiian shirts. The one with the girls surfing. “Hey John B!” You called, leaning toward him and smiling.

“Yes?” John asked, smirking at you and raising an eyebrow in question.

“Can I have your shirt? JJ’s a douche and won’t give me his.”

“You’re such a baby.” JJ laughed.

“I guess I can spare it.” John replied, unbuttoning the only two buttons he’d done up and slipping the shirt off. You smiled, holding your hand out to him to accept the shirt.

Once he handed it over he walked back to the wheel, JJ sliding his sunglasses down his nose dramatically and letting out a low whistle. “Hot damn John B, didn’t know you liked it so rough.”

“What?” John whipped around, looking at JJ questioningly. The other boy slipped his sunglasses into his necklace and signed toward John B.

“You have, uh, scratches...on your back.” You supplied. JJ was still smirking.

“Wait what?” The commotion had caught Kiara and Pope’s attention, both swimming over to the boat and climbing in.

John’s eyes shot instinctively over at you and you looked away as he reached back and felt the slightly raised welts on his back from the previous night. None of the other pogues had stuck around last night, leaving you and John B in the Chateau alone.

JJ was watching your behavior and, when you turned away from him, noticed something off. “Hey Kie, hand me a water?”

“Seriously JJ?” She tossed the water at him as Pope followed up his “wait what” with twenty other questions. Who was it? When did you meet them? How long have you known them? Where they a pogue, a touron, worse? A kook?

JJ, meanwhile, spilled some water on his fingers and reached over, rubbing your neck without warning, “what the fuck JJ!” You shouted, jumping to your feet and moving away from him.

“Think I can answer your who Pope, unless that’s a coincidence.” He joked, pointing to the newly revealed hickey on your neck. You’d covered it with bronzer and foundation that morning but hours in the sun had sweat some of the makeup off and JJ had rubbed the rest.

“Oh my god!” Kiara grabbed your arm, turning you to look at the mark, “oh my god! For christ sake, we have a rule.”

“It’s a fucking stupid rule Kie and you know it.” John cut in immediately.

“Can’t argue with that.” JJ announced.

“Shut up Jay, you aren’t helping.”

“Guys...why didn’t you just tell us?” Pope asked.

“Cause I knew exactly how Kie would react.”

“We have a rule for a reason! What happens when you break up and then shit is awkward because we have to choose who to be friends with?” She argued.

“We aren’t gonna break up.” You insisted.

“You don’t know that, all summer you’ve been ‘I just want a boyfriend to mack on, it doesn’t have to be serious’ and so what? Some tourist won’t do because two weeks is too short but you and John B are gonna hook up? Until when?”

“Whoa, don’t turn on me!” You snapped.

“She’s got a point...not just you,” JJ quickly clarified. “But both of you...what happens when you get sick of whatever this is?”

“I’m not getting sick of anything and we’re not just hooking up for the summer Kie,” John B said, looking between his friends.

“You say that-”

“I love her.” He cut in. Turning to look at you he continued, “I love you, not exactly how I imagined telling you but...I love you.”

You bit your lip as you smiled, “I love you too.” You had known that first day on John B’s couch that there was no way the feelings you had for him could be contained to a random hookup. You weren't just dating for the summer to break up, this was something real. Something serious.

“Good, now I’m turning this fucking boat around and all of you can go the fuck home.”

“You’re kicking us off the boat cause Kie threw a tantrum.”

“I did not throw a tantrum JJ!” Kiara said, smacking his arm.

“You kinda did.”

“I’m not kicking you off the boat cause you threw a tantrum-”

“I didn’t throw a tantrum!” She laughed this time as she cut John B off.

“I’m dropping you off cause you definitely don’t wanna be around for the next couple of hours.” John B announced, glancing over at you and winking.

“Oh my god!” Pope groaned, “can you guys not talk about it.”

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @calumhoodsbuckethat @millie-753

If you want to be tagged let me know!

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witching-hour · 4 years

Text

Best Friend [Jax Teller x Reader]

REQUESTED BY ANON 20,21,22 from 100 prompts with jax teller x reader plz

REQUESTED BY ANON Hi! Can I request a jax teller x reader with something along the lines of the reader being jax’s best friend and getting into a fight with a crow-eater because she’s jealous? Thank you luv

(A/N): so since you both had somewhat similar requests, i decided to use the second one’s synopsis with the prompts from the first one. i did change the first prompt a bit, though. “I was so stupid to make the mistake of falling in love with my best friend” (20). “Because I love you, you asshole!” (21). “Come over here and make me” (22)

SUMMARY: the reader let’s her jealousy over her best friend consumer her, which causes her to get in a fight with a crow-eater

TW: violence, blood

THE music was loud. Very, very loud. You could barley hear your own thoughts over it, and were surprised how you haven’t gone deaf yet. Sitting at the bar in the Clubhouse during one of the notorious Friday night parties the club loved throwing, was how it looked like you were spending your night.

Opie was sitting at a table in the corner of the room with Lyla on his lap, smoking a joint that was being passed around with Bobby and Tig. You saw Juice get dragged off to the dorms early on with two sweet-butts that managed to capture his attention. Happy was tattooing a nomad, Quinn, who had stopped in town to visit his fellow patched brothers. Chibs was on the other end of the bar speaking with Gemma and Nero over the shortbread she made the other night during a family dinner. And Jax—you didn’t know where he was.

Probably getting his dick wet with some random crow-eater or sweet-butt on the lot. You scowled at the mental picture your brain was creating. Charming’s favorite playboy was at it again. Wonderful.

Sure, you could admit you were jealous that Jax had slept with almost every woman in Charming except you, which you should have held pride for for not being just another notch added to the Prince Charming’s belt. Yet, you didn’t. You made the stupid mistake of falling in love with your best friend. What a cliche, (Y/N). Your mother would be laughing at you right now.

You couldn’t help it. Jax wasn’t even trying and he’d managed to swoop you up from under your feet. With his infamous panty-dropping smile and perfect teeth, even with him being a smoker—which he also made hot for a habit you found disgusting. His grown out, slicked back blonde hair which matched his personality perfectly. Man, how you wished to run your hands through it. His broad shoulders and arms were enough to make you drool. And that six-pack hidden under his layers of t-shirts, flannels, and his kutte...you were done for. With all that, you definitely knew that man was packing some serious heat. Plus all the talk from all the the women he’s been with over the years.

His physical features were more than appreciated, but they weren’t the ones that reeled you in. It was the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. How he was so calm and collected in the most life-threatening situations, calculated. How protective and compassionate he was. His loyalty for his family, brothers, and friends. His undevoted love for those he cared about, because you learned when Jax Teller loved, he loved hard. The way he was with his son, Abel, made you swoon each time you saw them together. He was an amazing father, there was no doubt about it. Especially when he pushed the club into legitimate business in the name of the boy, who looked and acted so much like him, and to honor the father that was taken from him too soon. He sought out the dream his father envisioned, and executed it.

Jax was a bad boy, but a good man at heart. He had done unspeakable things, you knew that. The same hands he used to stroke your cheek, or to hold your hand, or to hug you, were the same hands that had been coated in the blood of his enemies. And was it stupid of you to say you weren’t scared of a man so violent and with the power to hurt another being? Maybe. But maybe it was the gut feeling you had that told you were safe with him. That he would never hurt you, and always protect you.

He was your best friend. Of course he would protect you. Of course he would hug you. Of course he cared about you. He loved you. He’s said it before. Just not in the context you always hoped for.

Glaring down the bottle of beer you had had in your grasp, caught the attention of Lyla who had gotten up from Opie’s lap and zigzagged through the crowd looking for you. Once she saw you alone at the bar, she frowned.

The minute she found a place next to you, she didn’t hesitate to ask you what was going on in that head of yours. “Are you okay?” She may not have been innocent when it came to her work, but she acted as sweet and polite like she was. She was an angel and your female best friend, like a sister.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You sighed. No you weren’t good. Thinking about your (male) best friend’s adventures with women that weren’t you, was not something that would put you in a good mood.

Her eyes ran over your face again, letting a sympathetic half-smile rest on hers. “Jax, again?”

“Mm,” you nodded sarcastically, a tight-lipped grin taking its place. “How’d you know?”

Before she could reply, you felt the air in the room shift. Her gaze left you and fell in the doorway that led to the dorms for patches. Jax walked through, his usual cocky and cool vibe flooding in as he took long strides to where you both stood. And neither of you missed as the infamous porn-slut no one could stand stroll out behind him. Ima Tite.

Your jaw clenched, slightly shaking you head in disbelief. He actually slept with the so called “rancid pussy” he and the club nicknamed her. Out of every woman to throw themselves at him, he settled with the daily used whore. You weren’t one to use such degrading terms for women, especially pornstars and prositutes because not all of them had a choice or they saw it as the only option to support their family, but Ima was not Lyla, or most of the girls you had become friendly with at Diosa. Lyla was genuine and kind. She did what she did because she was raising three kids and was expecting more since she just gotten off her birth control pills.

While Lyla upgraded from sucking dick to directing it, Ima had stuck to ground zero. Lyla became the sole producer and director of Redwoody Productions, and you couldn’t be more proud of her. She even worked Nero’s escort business as his assistant manager. Ima, on the other hand, wanted any and every guy up in her cooche. Especially the Jackson Teller: President to the Sons of Anarchy and Prince of Charming.

But really? Ima fucking Tite.

You felt Lyla’s hand rest comforting on your shoulder as her ex-coworker adjusted her top. The porn-slut not being subtle at all about it either. She ran her pinky down the corner of her mouth when she noticed you two at the bar, smirking tauntingly. She strutted to a pack of crow-eaters and sweet-butts that wanted to hear all about what she managed to snag. You scoffed under your breath, turning around in your seat and taking a long swig of your beer, letting the burn of the alcohol settle within you.

Jax noticed the tension in your posture, cocking an eyebrow up in curiosity and concern. He made his way over, standing in between the seats you and Lyla sat in. “Hey,” he glided his hand across your back in an attempt to comfort you, “everythin’ alright darlin’?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, sounding stiff and defeated, making him shoot a glance to Lyla questioningly.

Lyla didn’t want to lie to Jax. She only wanted the truth to come out about how both were secretly in love with each other so this high school nonsense would dissipate into thin air already. But being the good friend she was, and knowing you would do the same for her if roles were reversed, she covered your back. “Yeah, it’s just getting late. You know how she gets.” She laughed, flipping a piece of hair over her shoulder, and seemingly selling it to the biker.

“I’m just tired, Jax. I’ll probably head home in a little bit.” You added.

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but seemed to buy your bullshit for the time being. “You want me to give you a ride home?”

Not the ride you want....

Down girl!

“No, that’s okay. I’ll probably hitch a ride with Gemma and Nero. It looks like they’re heading out soon anyway.” You nodded your head towards his mom and business partner.

He looked dejected at your decline at his offer, but covered it up as soon as it showed with his usual mask of a neutral expression. You always jump up at the opportunity to ride on the back of his Dyna, always taking the long routes so you didn’t have to get off so soon. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You replied with a small close-lipped smile, noting that his face had fallen for a split second. Lyla too.

He nodded hesitantly, giving you one last look of concern before sauntering over to Opie, Bobby, and Tig.

You sighed when he sat down with the guys and shaking your head when you faced Lyla once more, “Fucking Ima.”

“I doubt he did anything with her, (Y/N/N).” She tried to assure you.

“Please,” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“Jax isn’t into her. He’s made that clear time and time again.” She continued. “None of the guys like her.”

“Maybe because he was using his upstairs head at the time, Lyla. When it comes to pussy, Jax only thinks with his dick.”

She was stunted. That was true. As much as she loved Jax like the brother she never had, he could be an asshole when it came to girls and relationships. She heard the stories about Tara Knowles, and had met the girl briefly a couple of times, but both times she was judged and commented on for her line of work. Jax and Tara were immature teenagers infatuated with each other to the point of toxicity. They wanted the other to be something they weren’t, and were pulled in opposite directions. They both grew up since then, but when put together, they were stuck in the memories they created long ago, bringing out the worst in each other. Jax was a cheater and hypocrite, while Tara was a green monster wrapped in high morals that clashed with his lifestyle. They were not meant to be together.

But you and Jax were. You brought out the best in him. Made him want to be a better man. Hell, you pushed him to turn the Club around, go legit. You were the only woman to make him fall to his knees, and everyone around the two of you saw that, even Jax. But not you.

“And that’s Ima—she’s borderline delusional when it comes to Jax.” Lyla argued. “Trust me, (Y/N), no one’s touched that since CaraCara burnt down.”

You only gave the ex-pornstar a sideways glance before taking another sip of your beer, causing your friend to give up, despite her exasperation with the situation. You changed the subject, asking her how the newest RedWoody film was coming along. You both chatted about her work until a crow-eater you noticed was chatting with Ima earlier ended up standing in front of you and Lyla.

She had dark hair with cheaply done red highlights, an eyebrow piercing, with a tattoo sleeve of the adult horror version of fairytale characters up and down her arm. You would have complimented the tattoos if she didn’t have the snarky and taunting look on her face. Her shirt was two sizes too small, and squeezing her exaggerated breasts so hard you thought they were gonna pop out of her top. Her shorts were daringly close to letting her ass hang out, and the usual three inch wannabe biker boots adorned her feet like every other crow-easter or sweet-butt in the Clubhouse.

She stood there not saying a word, making you and Lyla share a look. Trouble.

You rolled your eyes, only anticipating what could possibly go down in the next couple of minutes. “Can we help you?” The question was filled with an annoyed attitude, you knew that, but did you care? No.

“Yeah, actually you can.” She smiled with a sickly-sweet tone you only knew meant you were gonna be ripping out those red highlights from her scalp. “Stay away from Jax. My girl, Ima, is finally reelin’ him in, and she gonna be his Ol’ Lady real soon.”

You could feel the entitlement she wore as a crown hit you in waves. Your anger only sparking and spreading through your body. You matched her smile sarcastically, and tilting your head at an angle that anyone who knew you knew you were about to snap. “Thanks for the info, sister. Bye now.” You’ve had enough of this bullshit tonight. You just wanted to finish you beer and go home to your nice warm bed.

“Did’n you hear what I said? That was’n news. It was a warnin’.” She narrowed her eyes in threatening way, but to you only seemed mockingly comical because did she really believe you were scared of her? Ok. “Jax is off the market from your nasty ass cunt. Steer clear or else.”

“Oh shit...” Opie’ coughed on the blunt, shoving it in Bobby’s hands. “Jax!” His hand swatted his best friend repeatedly, motioning to the tension forming on the other side of the room.

Jax looked away from Tig, getting annoyed from being hit. “What the fuck, Ope?” His gaze followed his VP’s line of sight and widened when he also caught wind of the shitstorm brewing, and staggering to get up. “Oh fuck!”

“Or what? You’re gonna unleash your cat claws?” Your patience was wearing thin, and this girl was just not taking the hint to leave. “Bitch, I’m tired and wanna go home; take a nice long shower and go to bed. Not deal with your fake tits and bad attitude.” You rolled your eyes once more, reaching behind you and grabbing your beer from the bar. “If Ima’s delusional ass has a problem with who her imaginary boyfriend of the week hangs out with, then she can take it up with him.” You sent her one last smile before taking a swig from the the bottle.

The steam was flooding in thick streams out of her ears. The crow-eater’s jaw clenched and hands balled into fists.

You smirked behind the bottle up to your lips. You weren’t one to back down from a fight, but you also weren’t one to create conflict. You offered the bitch the easy way out, but she kept coming for more. She wants a cat-fight, you’ll give her one.

Her tell was the way her jaw twitched. It gave her straight away when she swung her arm up to throw a sloppy right hook. You ducked under her arm, holding your bottle by the neck and swung it towards the side of her head, and causing the bottom half to break on impact. She let out a loud cry as she tripped over her feet, her hand flying up to touch the now bleeding side of her head.

“You bitch!” She shrieked.

“Takes one to know one, darlin’.” You quipped, looking down at the broken bottle in your hand.

She let out another yell, lunging for you, but Lyla jumped in and pushed her into the bar away from you, causing two more from her little crew to flank her side in defense.

“She could have a concussion!” One squealed dramatically.

“Crazy bitch! Why’d you hit her head with the bottle, you could’ve killed her?” The other seethed.

You rolled your eyes at that. So. Damn. Dramatic. “Why’d her head hit my bottle, she wasted a perfectly good beer?”

Lyla elbowed you in the side in warning, making you toss the broken bottle to the side with a shrug. The three women glared at you two. One even had the courage to walk up to Lyla and spit at her feet. Your blood boiled at the action, so you gripped the bitch by her engine-red hair and yanked her head back harshly, throwing your fist back and knocking it right into the center of her face.

You don’t remember what happened next after your first collided with her nose, but you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, and pulling you up off the floor. When your vision zoned back in you saw Opie with his arm around Lyla protectively, and Tig, Happy, and Kozik grabbing the crow-eaters that decided to pick a fight and escort them outside.

As you struggled against the person who still held you while you eased off the high from destruction, you heard a rough voice tell you to calm down.

Jax.

You stopped your attempts to fight him off; the adrenaline slowing down. You huffed in defeat, turning your head to look up at the man who was only staring down at you with a cocked eyebrow. You were in trouble.

“Shit.”

While the prospects cleaned up the mess you made, Jax escorted you upstairs to his dorm. You knew he wasn’t pissed or upset with you, most definitely amused, but you knew he was gonna question you about what went down. It was SAMCRO’s house, and he was the president.

He opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside first. You sat down on the corner of his bed as he closed the door and and disappeared into the bathroom.

Jax came back into the room with a partially damp rag, peroxide, and a couple gauze wraps. You cringed as you looked down at the back of your hands and took notice of how bruised and bloody they were. Your knuckles looked like you went toe-to-toe with a brick wall. You flinched as you flexed your hands, stretching and curling your fingers, hoping that none were broken. You heard a couple cracks but it seemed to be from the cramps already forming as the only pain that seared was from the cuts and darkening bruises.

He kneeled in front of you, dropping the peroxide and bandages next to you on the bed, and keeping hold of the rag. “Mind tellin’ me how you goin’ home turned into this?” He asked as he gingerly took one of your hands in his free bigger one, gently dabbing the warm, wet towel to your knuckles, earning a hiss from you at the contact.

“I was just enjoying the rest of my beer, and I was interrupted and a bitch’s head broke the bottle.” You snarked, hissing once more when Jax pressed a little harder on a cut on your middle finger. “Damn it, Jax!”

“Ok, smartass. Wanna try that again?”

“She was talking shit and my fist high-fived her face.” You couldn’t help but let the sarcasm flow. “Ow! Jackson stop it!”

“Quit being a smartass.” He warned you. “You’re smarter than this. You wouldn’t get into a fight over some crow-eater openin’ her damn mouth.”

“Oh, that’s rich. You’re gonna patronize me over fighting? Really, Mr. SAMCRO President?” You scoffed in disbelief as he attended your other hand.

“Well, then what did she say?” He retorted, grabbing the disinfectant from next to you.

“Nothing important.”

“If it was nothing important, why did it cause a damn brawl in the middle of the Clubhouse?”

You jumped from your seat on the bed, not containing the anger that was bubbling inside you from his persistent questions. “Because I love you, you asshole! And it hurt that I didn’t see you all night at a party that you invited me to, only to finally see you with the fucking porn-slut of all people! I thought you hated her?! Apparently not!” Your hands were flying up to meet your anger and exasperation. Once Jax stood at your level, you shoved a finger into his chest, “And it didn’t help that some bitch was trying stake Ima’s claim on you for her! Oh, and I tried not to fight her because she wasn’t worth it! I was just gonna go home but she wouldn’t leave me alone! She was asking for it! Fucking ask Lyla if you don’t believe me! Then her backup showed up and it all went to shit! I am so sorry it was inconvenience to your night!”

Once your rant was over and you were catching your breath, your glare only sharpened as you saw a smirk resting on his face. You furrowed your brows. Why the fuck is he staring at you like that? It only broadened as he took in your expression. Leave it to him to read you like an open book.

“I love you too, you smartass.”

What, now? You blinked rapidly, drawing blanks at what he said. You had to backtrack through every statement you made through your entire rant, only to pause, your face contorting from realization to shock to embarrassment. “Oh, fuck me sideways with a golf club.”

He licked his lips, glancing away for a split moment before shrugging. “I’d be more than willin’ to darlin’, but I wouldn’t use a golf club.”

Your eyes screwed shut as your lips drew a flat line, cringing even more into yourself, and wishing you could go crawl under your blankets at home. Oh, fuck. I said that out loud, didn’t I?

You peeked an eye open and groaned loudly, covering your face with your sore hands. “Quit looking at me like that!”

“Come over here and make me.”

SOA TAG LIST: @cutekittylexie @talicat713 @woahitslucyylu @xx--day-dreamer--xx @sweetpeaflower01 @rebelwrites

#jax teller x reader #jax teller #jax teller one shot #jax teller imagine #jackson teller #jackson teller x reader #soa #sons of anarchy x reader #sons of anarchy #soa imagine #soa one shot #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy one shot #samcro #samcrow

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mercury-retrograde-concept · 3 years

Text

Tarot reading: NCT Mark and Haechan’s (possible) summer 2017 fight

Okay, doing another reading on a conflict. Unlike my previous reading on Hyunjin and Han, the fight here is more hypothetical. I don’t think Mark and Haechan have ever really talked about it, but their group members have talked about them arguing loudly during this time period. Also, every time this mysterious summer fight comes up on places like reddit, it lives rent free in my head for an hour or two. So it was time to to do this for my own curiosity, hahaha.

Disclaimer: This tarot reading is for entertainment purposes only. All speculation comes from my interpretation only.

Root cause of the conflict: Two of Wands, The Hermit

Clarifier card: Ten of Cups (Reversed)

Was there an instigating incident?: Two of Swords, Justice (Reversed)

How Mark saw the situation: Ten of Wands (Reversed), Six of Cups How Haechan saw the situation: Ace of Cups (Reversed), The Magician (Reversed)

What Mark didn't understand about Haechan: Three of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles What Haechan didn't understand about Mark: Judgement, Two of Pentacles

How did the conflict evolve?: Five of Cups (Reversed), Emperor (Reversed)

Clarifier card: Three of Wands (Reversed)

Oh, the drama of it all!

There are a lot of pentacles and wands here, AKA the minor arcana suits associated with money and emotions, respectively. That can be a very combative combination, even if you tend to expand your view of Pentacles to encompass intangible resources (i.e. time, networking connections, amount of energy, etc.) as well as finances. Likewise, there are a lot of major arcana cards here. This indicates to me that the summer fight was a fairly big deal.

First and foremost, the cards seem to be indicating that this is almost entirely due to roommate squabbles. Sometimes two roommates can both be entirely good people. They can get along in every other realm of life. But it turns into a disaster when you throw them in a room together for months or years. I really feel like that’s what happened here. Once the shine of debuting wore off, it was really starting to sink in how busy and difficult things would be for them for years on end. Likewise, being around the same people day in and day out was really starting to wear on them at this point. After hours spent in a rehearsal room, both of them kind of wanted to scream when they came back to their dorm room and saw each other. Little annoying habits began to grate on each other far more than if they were roommates who went to separate jobs. And it just continued escalating.

There wasn’t any particular instigating incident. If anything, for the longest time they put off any sort of argument that might have allowed them to clear the air. Instead, they avoided each other as much as possible. Both of them noticed that they were being ignored and took it deeply personally, even though they were both doing the same thing. They also would shit talk each other to other group members. And, of course, all the gossip made its way back to each other. The tension grew and grew until arguments started sparking.

All that being said, they also brought different things into this conflict.

Mark had a lot of responsibility at the time and it was really wearing him down. His frustrations with work were largely legitimate, but he also had a bit of a martyr complex that Haechan found annoying. In particular, Mark was struggling with Dream’s upbeat concept when mostly he was just super tired. It sapped all his energy and he had no room left to be cheerful when he got back to the dorm. Haechan was also aware of this and was sympathetic about it. Maybe even felt a bit of misplaced guilt (after all, he wasn’t exactly deciding their schedules!) and guilt can make a person lash out. This probably led to some incredibly over the top fights over who had more to do.

Meanwhile Haechan was also tired, but unlike Mark thought he wasn’t doing enough. The pressures and scrutiny that came with fame were getting to him, but he felt like he couldn’t confide in Mark about any of it because he knew Mark was also very busy. And, again, this gave him some guilt that he tended to displace because no one likes feeling guilty. He was also probably prone to compliment fishing during this era because, again, his self-esteem was pretty low. Mark wouldn’t play along and this also caused some hurt feelings.

The way they avoided each other was pretty visible and lasted for a couple of months. For a while it exacerbated things, but eventually they cooled down and were able to look at the situation more rationally. They both admitted to their faults and made up. However, they’re definitely two people who aren’t meant to live together. Eventually they admitted that, took steps to live elsewhere, and it actually improved things between them in a measurable way. The experience taught them both how to approach conflict and how to not approach conflict.

#markhyuck #nct #lee mark #mark lee #lee donghyuck #tarot #kpop tarot #twelve card #clarifier card #soooo many clarifier cards this time

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nimmy22 · 3 years

Text

A Mistake: Chapter 12

~ The following day, Saturday ~

"Do something, Wesker! These fucking imbeciles at the papers are starting to question my competence as chief all because of a pathetic group of boys you can't seem to dispose of." Irons seethed, slamming his cup of whisky on the desk, knocking his nameplate to the ground.

Wesker gave nothing away of his emotions, save for a tick in his brow. His hands craved to wrap around Irons’ neck, giving it a swift snap. It's how he felt most of his days at the station. Irons was replaceable. The man didn't realize just how worthless he was to Umbrella. His replacement could arrive this very afternoon.

"We are working on finding the gang's nest. The big players keep using young boys for the jobs but tell them nothing about insider information. There are too many eyes watching us right now. We cannot use any special means to dispose of the group in order avoid questions."

"Just Do your fucking job right. I can't stand the news conferences anymore. the journalist's questions make me look laughable." Irons clutched his glass, throwing it hard against the wall. Tapping a finger on the armrest, Wesker didn't bat an eye at the behavior of the chief of police. One couldn't expect much from such a lowly creature.

"You seem to forget why Umbrella put me as captain of STARS. It isn't to keep up your public appearance but to protect theirs. I'm not the one who isn't doing his job. Deal with the journalists while I handle the little boy scouts." pushing back his chair, Wesker made sure to leave deep grooves on the freshly varnished floors. The scraping sound was like music to his soul. He didn't miss the deathly glare on his way to the door like hot iron rods.

Returning to the STARS office, Wesker ignored the gossiping of Chris and Jill about the newest trouble between their captain and Irons. Shutting the door to his office, he took a seat behind his desk. Through the office blinds, he eyed each present member of STARS. of course, no one was getting any work done, lazing around the office, making meaningless bets.

This simply will not do.

It was time they did some undercover work, gathering information about Raccoon city's newest crime family. These boy scouts wouldn't last long around here, especially since they fell on the radar of the real monsters in the shadows of Raccoon.

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

She sat alone on the staircase, elbows resting on her knees, wondering how the hell she got here. The house was familiar to her. How many times has she looked after Sherry here? Still, it felt strange. It was his space, and she was invading it.

This was now supposed to be her home. The place gave no hints as to who lived here, lacking any personal touch. It was likely the work of an anterior designer following the most fashionable trends. The home of a bachelor.

Speaking of Wesker, he left after dumping her here last night and vaguely pointing her towards the guest room with a 'help yourself' to any food. As always, he gave her the bare minimum of info, not that she asked what he was up to. She didn't care whether he spent the night hiding bodies or doing legitimate police work. She was too terrified to sleep under the same roof, only a few walls apart. Does the man ever sleep? Shower? Eat?

She won't lie. She was glad Wesker left. But even with him gone, she couldn't stop thinking about what happened. More so the kiss than almost becoming a guinea pig. It was a lot to process, and she couldn't even begin.

For the nth time, she forcibly pulled her fingers away from her lips, scolding herself for replaying the memory again. This man was absolute bad news. She needed to get out of the house, and an incoming call from Claire had her scrambling to answer as quickly as possible. Her friend presented an idea, and Cara was all too grateful to join in.

Pulling up Wesker's name in the contacts, Cara's fingers hovered over the letters, unsure of what and how much to tell him. Where did they stand? Did he really mean everything, or was it a trick? Was she free to leave? Did he give up completely on the idea of killing her?

"Going out with Claire. I will be back late." she texted, fully knowing a lot of info was missing. But it's not like he ever gave her a ton.

"Stay out of trouble.' came a replay moments later.

The words were unsaid, but Cara definitely heard them. 'I don't have time to drop everything and run over to the rescue each and every time you get in trouble,'

'I asked for help only once. The other time's nobody asked you to come.' Cara grumbled but deleted what she wrote. she could've gotten herself out of those situations...with a little bit of thinking. Actually, a lot of thinking.

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

Cara had to walk several blocks away from Wesker's house to prevent suspicion. If by any chance, Claire knew the address of her brother's captain, it would be a hole she did not want to leap into.

Standing in front of an old bookstore, she waited for her friend. The building was slightly rundown, its walls covered in graffiti, but the owners were a kind elderly couple. They pushed discounts her way, and she was guilted to buy something. She ended up buying a useless cat plushie toy after seeing that most books were non-fiction or raunchy romance novels. She would rather die than have Wesker coming across an erotic novel lying around his house.

She stared at the plushie as she leaned against the wall outside the shop. Cara considered giving it to Sherry the next time they met. This would be the first present she ever gave the young girl, and she could almost imagine the excitement on Sherry's face. It made her smile.

A helicopter passed overhead, sleek black and adorned with the Umbrella white and red symbol. Cara watched the chopper get smaller and smaller until it disappeared, heading in the direction of the Arkley mountains. she wondered about their business up there was. Looking around, no one else seemed to notice nor care. Maybe it was best to keep all knowledge to herself.

Seeing a familiar redhead and a motorcycle, Cara waved as Claire pulled up, handing her a helmet.

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

The barn smelled of sweat, dust, and old wood. The unmistakable smell of alcohol was thick in the air as it was passed around freely in cheap red plastic cups. She recognized kids from school, but many more were older, likely from Raccoon university. A light disco machine was nailed to the wall, casting the barn in a series of flashing lights. Tall Straw piles of hay distributed across the barn ensured there was no shortage of dark corners for people to disappear to. For a moment, Cara considered hiding in the straw and then going home when the party was over. But seeing the sparkle in Claire's eyes about hanging out with her best friend threw the idea out the window. With a sigh, she followed her friend.

Over the course of the night, the girls danced and drank, carefree. A blond-haired boy was staring at her, Cara noticed. He attempted to walk up to her but turned around before getting within ten feet. He tried multiple times but always chickened out despite his friends constantly cheering him on. Claire thought it was cute and refused to stop openly staring at him and giving a thumbs up. Cara swatted Claire's hands before holding them behind her back in a pretend arrest, pushing her against the straw pile.

"Sorry Officer! I was just trying to help you get laid," Claire giggled. "I hope you're into blonde's though,"

"This is so embarrassing. Stop, or I'm leaving," Cara snapped, feeling a blush heat her face as Wesker crossed her mind. Fuck, why now?

"Oh? so you are into blondes," Claire's smile was cunning. "Let me help you,"

"No. Bad Claire, bad, bad girl. No treats for you tonight." Cara scolded, Stealing the can of beer her friend stole from a guy before cracking it open and downing its contents. She wouldn't yet consider herself drunk, just pleasantly buzzed.

The boy ran off again. Cara felt bad for him and was actually tempted to go up to him instead. His friends kept a steady stream of alcohol into his hand.

"H-hey, " And then he did it, with the help of liquid courage, of course.

For the effort, Cara decided not to openly embarrass him with rejection but not lead him on either. Walking away backward, Claire gave her a thumbs up along with a suggestive motion of the eyebrows, making horrid shapes with her hands. Cara covered her face, hoping to purge the image out of memory. She'll get her back in no time.

Ben was a bit shy at first, but soon they got talking and enjoyed themselves. His hair was a few shades darker and shorter than Wesker's. She didn't have to look up at him as they stood at a similar, comfortable height. Slender and skinny, he would shrink to nothing beside the captain. Cara grimaced, realizing she had been comparing the poor guy to a demon. It wasn't his fault that her mind was occupied with someone way out of her league... the legal kind.

The barn was becoming more and more crowded, and the dancing crowd swallowed them. Sticking out like two sore thumbs, they did their best to dance. Cara felt awkward but seeing the dimples in his smile made her feel better even as it became a tighter fit among the crowd. They had to dance closer lest they got separated.

She wondered what it would feel like to dance with Wesker. He seemed like the sophisticated type. The awkward moves of a teenager would never be adequate for him. Did he ever do anything that was remotely recreational? What do villains even do in their spare time? Manipulating the feelings of underage girls looks like. What stupid, stupid thoughts.

She prayed all these ideas would go away soon, as the thrill of the kiss wore off, and everything went back to normal. Did she want to go back? Why in the world would he like her? she knew who he really was, and he still let her live. Why take the risk with her? she was just a seventeen-year-old. Useless to everyone, with no connections and no money.

Fuck it. Cara refused to think about Wesker anymore tonight. There was a perfectly alright guy in front of her, someone her own age, someone in her league, someone she wouldn't have to hide. Someone who was looking at her with a soft expression, blinking slowly.

Cara placed her hands on either side of Ben's face and pulled him towards her, connecting their lips. He reacted instantly, kissing her back. His hands awkwardly hovered over her arms before stroking them softly.

He was a nice guy, not a terrible kisser, but she hated it. Hated every touch because it wasn't as good as with Wesker. She couldn't stop comparing, and it was frustrating, spurring her to kiss Ben harder.

She continued, out of spite, to kiss the boy who looked at her with affection. in the background, she heard a few boys cheering, likely his friends. This was wrong, very wrong.

A firm hand gave her waist a painful squeeze before it was gone, and she thought it was Ben. Her eyes flew open as she felt a warm breath by her ear. It wasn't Ben.

"If I was not undercover right now, this lesser specimen of a boy would've made some unforgettable acquaintances a lot sooner. You could've done so much better, yet you have chosen to this..." Wesker seethed by her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Her body froze, but Ben didn't pick up the cue. Wesker's muscles were tense as he pressed against her back. She could almost hear the exhale through clenched, grinding teeth.

Then he was gone, slipping through the crowd just as he came. No one notices anything. Cara broke the kiss and shoved Ben away. "I'm sorry, it isn't going to work out." She hurried after Wesker, but he was already lost in the crowd.

She shoved her way through the throngs of people but only managed to find other members of STARS in civilian clothes. None seemed to notice or recognize her. They must've been here on undercover work, but why? she put that question aside as there were more pressing things to worry about.

She felt sick and wanted to throw up, but nothing was coming up. she burst through the doors of the suffocatingly hot bran, raking her hands through her hair. The cool night air hit her heated skin, but she couldn't find relief. She wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

She needed to find Wesker. But then what? Apologize? Apologize for making her own choices? They weren't a couple.

She continued to look for him nevertheless. She walked further from the barn towards an old car junkyard. She thought perhaps a fuming man would need some privacy. A strong feeling in her gut told her this was the right way.

Cara walked far enough from the party that the music was nothing but a distant noise. It was dark and quiet, the perfect place for an assault. If Wesker decided to murder her, no one would find her for at least a week, stuffed in the trunk of a car. If ever.

Grabbed from behind, she was thrown against a car. Sliding to the ground, she cradled her aching arm, squinting in the dark to see her assailant. Wesker kneeled beside her, his civilian clothes dark and expensive.

"Why cut it short? You should've kissed him more while you still can because he will be the last boy you will ever kiss." squeezing her cheeks harshly, he dragged his thumb with heavy pressure over the flesh of her lips, still swollen from kissing Ben.

As Wesker let go of her face, she felt the cold muzzle of a gun pressing against her temple. Her heart skipped a beat, but she glared at him straight in the eye. Daring.

"I don't know what you want from me! You told me to keep out of trouble, and I did. Yet here we are," Cara lied. She knew what he wanted but didn't know why he wanted it.

"Were my intentions not clear enough? Do I have to spell it out for you? But I suppose intelligence was never your strength,"

Wesker pressed the gun harder against her temple, her glare unwavering. "Go ahead. Shoot me. why do you even bother?"

Neither moved, naked eyes locked with no shades between. Cara reached up and pulled the gun out of his hands with ease. He didn't resist, glaring at her with a tense jaw. Looking down, she almost laughed, seeing the safety was still on. This man couldn't bring himself to kill her. It was all a show of intimidation, and she wasn't falling for it. Not anymore.

As she made to stand, his hand pushed her down. Thinking he wanted the gun back, she returned it to his hand and tried to stand. again, he pushed her down. "Can I get up now?" she scowled, staring up at him.

Things happen too quickly for her to process. The hands on Cara's shoulder grabbed her legs, lifting her off the ground as Wesker wrapped her legs around him before slamming her against the car. She was winded, gasping for breath as he watched her with a smirk. She grabbed his arms, digging her nails into his defined muscles.

"You're up now," he whispered before his lips kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling the skin. A moan escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth immediately.

Grabbing both her hands, he pinned them against the car. "I need to clean your mouth of all traces of that boy,"

"Are you going to rinse my mouth with soap or something? This is childish and-" Cara's words settled in a moan as Wesker began grinding a very defined length against her growing sickness. She tightened her legs around his waist, drawing him closer.

Trailing his nose across her skin, he followed the curve of her neck to the ear, taking the lobe between his teeth. She melted against him when his hot tongue entered her ear. His tongue plunged in and out repeatedly like a preview of what he could do to her. Her heart went on an overdrive.

"Just kiss me," Cara breathed, a tension building in her belly. She wanted to taste him. in addition to sparing any additional marks on her neck to hide.

"No,” nuzzling into her neck, he grinded harder against her, earning a series of moans.

"You know who else wouldn't mind kissing me-" Wesker slammed his lips to hers, kissing her roughly, their teeth clashing. Cara melted further, a smile on her lips as her tongue danced with his. She savored everything, The taste of him, softness of his lips, his warmth, and the building friction between their bodies. There was nothing more she wanted.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three gunshots were fired.

Cara was barely steady on her feet when Wesker dropped her to the ground, his eyes scanning their surroundings. What little they heard of the music was drowned out by distant screams of the partygoers.

"What's happening?" she questioned, grabbing his arm, but his attention was fixed on the barn.

"Stay here," Wesker warned, already talking to someone by an earpiece she hadn't noticed before.

With his gun ready, he took off, running towards the barn. Cara made to follow him but was pulled back towards the car by her hand.

The fucker handcuffed and left her in the middle of a junkyard in the dark.

#resident evil #claire redfield #albert wesker #Albert Wesker X OC #oc

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paperbodiesamongthestars · 3 years

Text

Day 24: Afterlife

Billy woke up with a jerk and looked around. He was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, and he had evidently been sleeping with his head tipped back against the wall. He appeared to be in some kind of waiting room, but he didn’t remember where he was, or what he was waiting for. He glanced around, but there weren’t any signs to help him out. There was a desk with a bored-looking woman behind it at the far end of the room, but she didn’t look like she was eager to field any questions; her glare was noticeable and legitimately intimidating.

Billy glanced around again, and saw that the room was pretty full. Oddly, the other end of it seemed to stretch way off into the distance. He blinked a few times, but the room still looked endless. He felt the first stirrings of apprehension in his chest. He looked at the people in the chairs around him, but no one was else was even looking up. They all just seemed content to wait.

He stayed where he was for maybe another ten minutes, scanning the room uneasily the whole time. People kept getting up and walking to the woman behind the desk, handing her something, and disappearing through a set of double doors behind her. He didn’t know how they knew to approach, or what it was they were handing over. He looked down, but there was nothing in his hands. He felt overwhelmed for a minute, and closed his eyes against the sudden threat of tears.

Then a familiar voice caught his attention. He looked up to see Steve Harrington, of all people, talking to the woman at the desk. Steve looked different. He was wearing dark jeans and a red sweater under a dark, high-collared coat that fell to his knees. There was arrogance written in every line of his body, and his tone made it clear that whatever he was doing here was beneath him. They weren’t even really friends—thanks mostly to Billy—but Billy still felt a surge of pure relief at the sight of him.

“There’s been a mix-up,” Steve said to the woman. “Someone was sent here by mistake, so they sent me to collect him.” The woman looked at Steve, clearly unimpressed.

“That’s impossible,” she said flatly. Steve rolled his eyes and sighed, clearly communicating that she was wasting his time.

“I have the paperwork,” he said, sliding something across the desk. “It’s all there.” She glanced through the papers and narrowed her eyes. Then she looked back up at Steve.

“This wasn’t our mistake,” she said, and now her voice held a thread of uncertainty. Steve grinned at her, smile sharper than Billy had ever seen it.

“No one said it was,” he said, in a tone of voice that indicated that someone had absolutely said that. They stared at each other for a long moment. “Do you need to get approval from a supervisor?” Steve finally asked, all smarmy condescension. Billy was a little impressed. The woman glared at him, but shook her head. She slid the papers back across the desk.

“You’re fine to take him.”

“I’ll be sure to note your cooperation in my report,” Steve said drily. Then he turned away from the desk, tucking the papers back into the inside pocket of his coat. He walked over to Billy. As soon as Steve got close enough, Billy opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on, but Steve spoke before Billy could.

“Let’s go,” he said, and nothing in his demeanor gave any indication that he knew Billy at all. It wasn’t until Billy cautiously stood up that Steve added in a low voice, pitched so that only Billy could hear it, “Follow my lead and please keep your mouth shut.” Billy had a number of valid questions, like where are we? and what the fuck is happening? and why does bored arrogance look so fucking good on you?, but there was a thread of what sounded like real fear in Steve’s voice, so Billy didn’t ask any of them. He kept his head down and his mouth shut as Steve wrapped a hand around his upper arm and steered him out of the room, away from the woman behind the desk, who was watching them with narrowed eyes.

Steve led Billy through a confusing warren of corridors. They passed through at least a dozen hallways lined with doors that all looked the same to Billy, but Steve seemed to know exactly where he was going. Finally, they turned into a tiny office that contained a desk, a filing cabinet, and a tall cabinet with double doors. Steve closed the door behind them and locked it, and then he exhaled loudly and his shoulders sagged with relief. He shot Billy a weak smile.

“I can’t believe that worked,” he said, and then rubbed his hands over his face. Billy just stared at him, a little thrown by the abrupt change in his demeanor.

“What the fuck is going on, Harrington?” Steve looked at him a little warily and didn’t say anything for a long time.

“How much do you remember about the last few days?” he finally asked. Billy thought about it and frowned.

“I hit something with my car?” he said tentatively, and it came out as a question. Steve nodded and then hesitated.

“Nothing after that?” he asked. Billy furrowed his brow and thought about it, but he only had the barest flashes of memory after that, and none of them made any sense at all.

“You’re starting to freak me out, Harrington,” he said. Steve stared at him for a long moment.

“Ok, I swear that I will give you a far more in-depth explanation once we get out of here, but time is not on our side right now, so I have to give you the short version.” Steve took a deep breath. “There’s at least one other dimension, there are monsters in it, you got possessed by one, then you died, and now you’re in the afterlife. I’m here to try to sneak you out of hell.” Billy stared at him, frowning.

“You’re fucking with me,” he finally said. Steve sighed.

“What about me suggests that I am fucking with you right now? The anxiety? The fear? The way I am definitely not laughing?” he asked, and Billy studied him. His eyes were big and dark and sincere. Billy recalled the endless waiting room and the way Steve’s relief had been palpable when they made it out of the maze of corridors and into this office.

“You’re serious?” he asked. Steve nodded.

“I wish I wasn’t, but yeah. That’s what was happening that night at the Byers—I was trying to keep the kids from fighting monsters, which did not work out, by the way.” Billy barely heard him; he was still stuck on the fact that he had died. He almost asked how he had died, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The flashes of memory he did have were making him uneasy. Then something occurred to him.

“Wait, if this is hell, what are you doing here? Did you also die?” He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He didn’t want Steve to be dead, but he was happy not to be here alone. But Steve shook his head.

“No,” he said, hand going to the back of his neck. He grimaced. “My dad works here, so I can go back and forth.” Billy’s jaw dropped.

“Your dad is a demon?” Billy asked incredulously. Now Steve had to be fucking with him. Steve snorted.

“God, no. My dad wishes he was a demon. He’s some kind of manager in the Records Department.”

“What the fuck?” Billy whispered to himself. “Your dad is a bureaucrat. In hell,” he said flatly to Steve.

“Yes, and I promise I will answer all of your questions about that later, but for now, we kind of need to hurry.” Steve crossed the room to the tall cabinet in the corner. He opened it and pumped his fist. “Yessss,” he said to himself, and then he pulled something off a hanger and tossed it to Billy. Billy didn’t catch it. He squared his shoulders instead. Steve’s mention of that night in November had raised another question.

“Why are you helping me?” he asked. Steve turned from where he was still rifling through the cabinet, muttering come on, come on to himself.

“What?” he asked.

“You heard me,” Billy said. “I was a dick to you, kind of generally, so why?” Steve rolled his eyes, impatient.

“Because El can read minds, so she’s known what my dad does for a while now, and Max was devastated when you died, and then El looked at me expectantly when they were talking about it, and I can’t disappoint her. So. Here I fucking am.” He nodded at the pile of fabric he had tossed to Billy before. “Now put that on.” Billy continued to ignore it instead.

“So you’re here because of Max?” he asked slowly. “And El?” Something about that hurt, for some reason. Steve blinked at him, and then his expression softened a little.

“No matter how big of a dick you were, you didn’t deserve to die,” he said firmly. “Now change so we can get out of here.” Billy picked up whatever Steve had tossed at him earlier, and discovered that it was French maid’s costume, with a short little skirt and apron. He looked at Steve.

“No fucking way,” he said. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Hell has these, like, interns, okay? It’s a fucking terrible job and everyone’s a dick to you, and you have to fetch just a staggering amount of terrible coffee, and you have to wear the stupid fucking maid outfit.” Billy grinned suddenly.

“Are you speaking from experience, pretty boy? Because it kind of sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Steve flushed.

“I am not having this conversation,” he said. “Just put it on and keep your mouth shut, and maybe we can get out of here without getting literally flayed, ok?” Billy crossed his arms and leaned back against the desk.

“Answer the question or I’m not doing anything.”

“I don’t think you’re grasping the stakes here, amigo,” Steve said, but Billy just stared him down until Steve finally threw his hands up and caved. “Fine, yes, I interned for my dad for a summer, and I wore the fucking outfit, and it was the worst summer of my life. On the plus side, that’s where I picked up all the skills I needed to forge the papers I used to get you out of intake, so at least it was good for something. Now please get dressed.” Billy eyed the outfit again.

“The clothes I’m wearing now were fine on the way here,” he pointed out, and Steve huffed impatiently.

“Yes, because we’re still on the intake floor, so it’s not unusual to see Souls wandering around. Unfortunately, there’s no exit on this floor. We have to go further into hell to get to an exit, and we’ll get caught instantly if you look like that.” He gestured at Billy’s dirty jeans and tank top. Billy looked at the maid outfit again.

“This is humiliating,” he said. Steve shot him a look.

“Yes, obviously, this is hell. The humiliation is intentional.” Billy sighed.

“I’m only putting it on if you promise to model yours for me later,” he tried. Steve narrowed his eyes.

“I’m already rescuing you from hell, Hargrove—don’t push your luck.” Billy huffed, but didn’t move.

“You know, I’m not sure it’s worth coming back from hell if I never get to see you in this outfit,” he said, holding it up in front of him.

“You cannot be fucking serious,” Steve said. Billy still made no move to get dressed. He just cocked an eyebrow at Steve.

“Fuuuuuuuuck,” Steve groaned. “Why are you like this? Fine, whatever, just put it the fuck on so we can go.”

“That’s the spirit,” Billy said, and reluctantly got dressed. Once he was ready, Steve hesitated, looking uncertain. “What’s the problem?” Billy asked, wanting to get this over with. The skirt on his outfit was short.

“I was hoping to find another badge in the wardrobe,” he said. “The fact that you don’t have one might be a problem.”

“Badge?” Billy asked, and Steve gestured at something that was pinned to the lapel of his coat. It looked like an ancient coin, made out of some kind of dark metal, old enough so that whatever had been inscribed on it was worn almost smooth. Billy didn’t recognize the language.

“It’s how you get into, and more importantly out of, hell,” Steve said, and then he shrugged. “Guess we’re winging it. Be ready to follow my lead, and try to act like a scared intern.” Steve squared his shoulders and led the way out the door.

They passed through five floors without incident, though Billy stopped really looking around after the second floor. Some of the doors were open, and he saw and heard things that were definitely going to haunt his nightmares forever. After that, it was surprisingly easy to act intimidated. He kept his head down, glancing up occasionally at the tight line of Steve’s shoulders under his clearly expensive coat. Steve had put the expression of bored arrogance back on as soon as they left the office, and his strides were purposeful. He moved like he had somewhere to be, and no one questioned him.

Soon, they were standing in front of a bank of elevators, and Steve’s shoulders relaxed just slightly as an elevator opened in front of them. He stepped inside and gestured for Billy to follow. A triumphant smile was just starting to grow on Steve’s face as the elevator doors closed, and then a slim hand reached between the doors, causing them to open again.

Billy was watching Steve, so he saw the way Steve’s eyes widened when a tall, curvy woman stepped onto the elevator. She smiled at them, and somehow the smile seemed to contain too many teeth. She was wearing a low-cut red dress that hugged every single one of her curves, and a fitted black blazer. A large gold badge was pinned to the front of the blazer.

“Floor negative thirteen, please,” she said to Steve in a low, husky voice. He swallowed hard and hit the button for that floor, and then the button for the lobby. They rode in silence for a couple of floors, and then the woman spoke again.

“Where are you two headed?” she asked pleasantly. Steve opened his mouth to answer and she held up a warning finger. “Before you say anything, I should warn you that some people like to say that I invented lying. So I’m very good at recognizing it.” She gave the shark-toothed smile again, and Steve took a long breath. Billy was a little impressed by how even his voice was when he finally spoke.

“Just headed home,” Steve said. The woman raised one impeccably groomed eyebrow.

“With a Soul dressed as an intern?” she asked, and Steve closed his eyes and winced. The woman gave a wave of her hand and the elevator slowed to a stop. “Why don’t you try that again?” she said, her tone icy. Steve opened his eyes and squared his shoulders.

“I am heading home,” he said. “My dad works in the Records Department, so I’m just visiting. I’m not technically authorized to take him with me, but I’m doing it anyway,” he said. Her smile this time was a little less threatening.

“Better,” she said, and then she cocked her head. “Why?” she asked.

“What?” Steve asked blankly.

“You’re taking an enormous risk. We both know what happens if I turn you in, and we both know that it’s going to be very, very painful.” She took a step toward Steve as she said it, but Billy stepped between them before he even really thought about it.

“Leave him alone,” he said in a low voice. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be here, so if you want to threaten someone, you can threaten me.” Billy heard Steve sigh behind him, and then Steve grabbed his arm to turn him around.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

“We already got caught,” Billy pointed out, “and the only reason you’re here is to help me. Let me deal with the fallout.” Steve frowned at him, eyes dark. He stepped further into Billy’s space.

“You didn’t break any rules,” he said firmly. “I did.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Billy said angrily. Steve threw his arms out in frustration.

“Oh, I’m being ridiculous?” he shot back. “You don’t even know what you’re volunteering for. Have you ever seen someone get drawn and quartered? Because I have.”

“Oh, interesting,” the woman practically purred, and they turned to look at her. She was watching them, her eyes wide with delight.

“Both of you have a little fire, don’t you?” she said thoughtfully. Then she turned to Billy and eyed him critically. “You’re never making it past the lobby dressed like that,” she said. She waved her hand again, and Billy was wearing jeans and a dark red button-down. Only the bottom two buttons were buttoned and she smiled, amused. “I see we both appreciate a deep vee,” she said, and Billy flushed a little. She laughed. Steve was watching her, his brow furrowed.

“Why are you helping us?” he asked. “Not that we don’t appreciate it, but…” Steve trailed off, but she nodded as though he had finished the sentence. She shrugged and then smiled brightly.

“Because chaos is often far more fun than upholding the rules. Besides,” she added thoughtfully, “I can’t say that I feel any particular sense of loyalty to either side of the afterlife.” There was just a hint of bitterness to her tone and Steve’s eyes widened as realization hit.

“You’re Lilith,” he breathed, and her smile returned.

“I am,” she agreed.

“Lilith?” Billy blurted out before he could stop himself. “Like, from the Bible?”

“From some versions of it, yes,” she said.

“So you’re a demon?” Billy asked.

“No one seems to be able to agree on exactly what I am,” she said cheerfully.

“But you’re definitely supposed to be evil,” Steve said, frowning. “All the stories agree—“ She rolled her eyes as she cut him off.

“Never underestimate the power of a story that people are eager to believe,” she said. She looked at Billy as she said it, and he found himself thinking about all the times that Neil had managed to convince some authority figure or another that Billy needed a firm hand to keep him in line. He shuddered a little. She kept talking. “Besides, it’s extremely rare that anyone is either completely good or completely evil. Even here in the afterlife, people switch sides all the time. Lucifer gets the most attention because he made a gigantic production out of it, as per usual, but it happens very regularly.” They both stared at her. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but she glanced down at her watch. “Oh hell,” she said, “Now I’m going to be late.”

She casually waved her hand and the elevator started moving again. Moments later, they heard a ding and the doors slid open onto what could have been the lobby from any moderately fancy high-rise office building.

“Good luck,” she said as she rushed them out of the elevator.

They almost made it. They had crossed the lobby and could see the wide glass double doors that opened onto a busy sidewalk when a uniformed guard stepped in front of them.

“Just need to see both of your badges,” he said with a glare at Billy. “You are of course aware that it is building policy to have your badge visible at all times,” the guard added in a monotone.

“Of course,” Billy said with a smile. “Let me just…” he patted at his pants pockets, as though he was going to find a badge in there, and he felt something in one of the back pockets. He pulled it out and looked at it. It was a shiny black rectangle the size of a business card. It felt heavy and cool in Billy’s hand. As he looked at it, the name Lilith seemed to rise up out of the depths of the card. It flowed across the front in a blood-red script and then vanished again. The guard paled as he looked at it.

“Sorry, sir,” he said quickly, eyes glued to the card. “You didn’t say that you were one of the Lady’s special guests. My sincerest apologies, and please enjoy the rest of your day.” The guard escorted them to the glass doors, and even held the door open for them. He gave them a little salute as they left.

“Wow,” said Steve, once they had made it a few blocks from the building with no sign of pursuit. “I gotta be honest—I was not expecting that to go as well as it did.”

“Yeah,” Billy replied absently, turning the card over in his hand. As he looked at it, he saw a message floating into view on the back in the same blood-red script. He read the four lines and felt the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. That was the least boring part of my day. You’re both adorable, and I hope you make it work. If you ever get back into trouble, feel free to do a summoning. I might even answer.

Billy slung one arm around Steve’s shoulder as they made their way down the busy sidewalk.

“You owe me any number of explanations, pretty boy,” he said, “but first, about your promise to model that intern uniform for me…” Steve sighed heavily.

“You have the weirdest fucking priorities,” he said.

#Harringrove April Challenge #my writing #I don't know either #my brain is just Like This #steve harrington #billy hargrove #hell

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 4 years

Text

I used to be seventeen.

Character: Steve Rogers x Tall!Reader – High School AU

Summary: Steve Rogers doesn’t think fondly of his teenage years. Well, there was one thing he did remember fondly – or, more specifically, one person.

Word Count: 4,300 - One Shot

Warnings: Bullying, homophobic themes

Steve always hated coming back home. Yes, he loved seeing his mom and friends. But even the glamour of the holiday glow couldn’t get rid of the bitterness Steve held for his hometown.

He didn’t know how Bucky convinced him to meet him at the one of the town’s few bars. But there he was, walking into the divey establishment. To be fair, it did feel cozy with all the wood and the hundreds of Christmas lights that probably had nothing to do with the holiday season.

Steve was grateful when he spotted Bucky at the bar, not wanting to be the first to arrive.

Before he made it to Bucky, he felt someone jump on his back in an involuntary piggyback.

“Who could this possibly be?” Steve joked when he heard the giggle in his ear.

They jumped down, and he turned to find Rebecca Barnes smiling up at him.

“Stevie! I haven’t seen you since last Christmas! What the fuck?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I believe Bucky and I have both invited you to New York multiple times.”

“I know. I know. It’s just hard getting enough days off of work to make the trip from San Francisco worth it.”

“I hear ya,” Steve said as he pulled her in for a proper hug.

They both made their way to Bucky and ordered some drinks.

Bucky and Steve had both lived in New York City after college.

Steve had gone to SAIC in Chicago for art school. Bucky had gone to Columbia for engineering.

They both hated the 4 years where they were apart. Bucky told Steve that he would love New York City and convinced him to move into a place in Brooklyn together after college graduation.

Bucky enjoyed going home to their small town. It didn’t hold the bad memories for him like it did for Steve. It was all healthy nostalgia and a place of comfort to him. He had been popular, a jock. Even though he was smart and nice to everyone, he was a golden boy at their high school.

Why Bucky ever befriended him was still a mystery to Steve.

Steve’s high school experience was rather different. His puberty was delayed. He was short and scrawny. He preferred the arts over sports. He was on the shyer side. All of these things mixed together apparently made him an easy target for the bullies. Not even his friendship with Bucky Barnes could save him.

It hadn’t usually happened in front of Bucky. And if it did, he stopped it countless times. But no matter how hard he tried, Bucky couldn’t put a stop to the bullying completely nor could he be Steve’s full-time body guard.

That time was past Steve now.

But he still hated coming “home.” Besides his mom, there was nothing left for him in this stupid town. The only people he stayed in contact with from that time were Bucky and Rebecca, and he lived with Bucky now.

“We’re doing tequila shots!” Rebecca cried out.

“Dear God, Becs. Calm down,” Bucky groaned.

“Nope! The three of us haven’t been together in forever. We must get properly wasted. Tis the law.”

Bucky gave Steve a look and just shrugged with a smile. It wasn’t like they had to work tomorrow. It was Christmas Eve and they were technically both on vacation for the holidays for the whole week.

An hour later, Steve was happily buzzed. Rebecca was talking to friends she had kept in touch with after high school. Steve and Bucky kept to themselves. Every so often someone would come over and say hi to Bucky.

No one said hi to Steve.

He couldn’t figure out if it was because they didn’t care to or because they legitimately didn’t recognize him.

Steve was a different person since high school. He finally had his growth spurt during his freshman year of college, now standing at 6’1. And it seemed his body decided to actually hold a few pounds instead of keeping his frame stick thin. On top of that, Steve started taking his health to a new level. Bucky would tease him that he looked more like he was a Big 10 football player than an art student. The beard probably didn’t help his past peers from recognizing him either.

Bucky was in the middle of telling Steve about his most recent date when the bells chimed, signaling a new person entering the bar.

Steve did a double take when he instantly recognized her.

He swore his heart dropped to his stomach.

Bucky caught his friends expression and how he was staring over his shoulder. He quickly turned around to see what Steve was gawking at.

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

Steve would never forget her name, even with his passionate efforts to forget all of high school.

There was a cry of cheers from a group of girls at her arrival. Steve recognized them as her friends from back in the day. They were some of the few people that hadn’t harassed him. They seemed to pity him…just like she had.

Y/N looked amazing.

She stood out for multiple reasons. The first being her height. But Steve noticed she wasn’t slouching like she had in high school, always trying to make herself appear smaller and getting down to everyone else’s level. Now her shoulders were back and her head was held high. Then he noticed the heeled booties. She had never even considered wearing heels when she was in high school. Now she wore them proudly.

The second reason was her clothes. They were far too stylish for their small, close-minded town. But she didn’t seem to notice the second glances or the judgmental looks.

The final reason was because she was beautiful. At least, Steve had always thought so. Turned out, even after 10 years, Steve’s heart still beat a little faster when he saw her.

“You’re staring,” Bucky pointed out.

Steve cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from Y/N as she hugged all of her friends and had a beaming smile.

“Shut up,” he muttered as he took a big gulp of his drink.

“Why don’t you go say hi?” Bucky asked with a mischievous smirk.

“As if she’d even remember me…” Steve mumbled.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

Bucky didn’t push him more and kept talking.

But Steve was thrust back into memories he hadn’t repressed for quite some time. But seeing Y/N just thrust them to the forefront of his mind.

———————

Steve was struggling to put all his sketches back in his folder as he rushed through the halls. There were just a few finishing touches that needed to be made on one of them when the bell rang. Now he was going to be late to his next class.

He was about to turn the corner when someone slammed his books and folders out of his grasp. His jaw dropped as he saw dozens of his loose sketches go flying around the hall.

He looked up to see his assailant.

Brock Rumlow.

Next to him was his best friend, Jack Rollins, and a few of the other guys on the football team.

Steve ignored them and crouched down to pick up the papers, taking the higher ground for once. He wasn’t in the mood and he didn’t want to get another tardy. Nor did he want to get another detention for fighting.

But Brock wasn’t letting him go so easily. He crouched down and picked up a drawing. It just happened to be one of Bucky. Steve had asked him to sit for him a couple of weekends to practice his portrait drawing skills.

“Fucking Christ! You really are in love with him. I don’t understand why Barnes lets your gay ass hang out with him,” Brock growled before ripping the drawing into pieces.

Then he picked up another one, it was of a woman. But just her lips and down to her clavicle. Steve prayed Brock wouldn’t recognize who it was based off of. He should, if his crush on Y/N was as strong as he pretended it was. In Brock’s mind, she belonged to him despite her never reciprocating the feelings.

Steve didn’t want that one to get ripped up.

He lunged forward, trying to grab it from Brock’s grasp.

This was exactly what Brock wanted. He picked on people he knew he could beat to make himself feel strong.

Before Steve could even tackle Brock to the ground, he pushed Steve to the ground so hard that Steve’s head slammed back onto the hard tile, even blinding his vision for a moment.

“Is that a fucking joke, Rogers?” Brock laughed at him

Then he reached for Steve’s collar and pulled him onto his feet again.

“You really think you could even land a hit on me?” Brock whispered. He raised his hand to hit him, most likely in the gut. Brock seemed to like watching Steve keel over in pain.

“Brock!” A voice screamed from behind Steve. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Steve stopped breathing when he recognized the voice.

Y/N.

“What?” Brock asked innocently and immediately let Steve go.

“I saw what you did,” Y/N accused, making sure to put herself between Steve and him.

“He was asking for it,” Brock shrugged. “He was walking to class, asshole.” She glared at him. “Just because your shit got rocked on the football field last game doesn’t mean you can just take out your embarrassment and anger on another person.”

“Whatever,” Brock rolled his eyes and then walked away with his friends. But he gave Steve a final glare that said, ‘You’re lucky this time.’

Y/N finally turned to look at Steve. “Are you OK? I saw how hard he shoved you.”

“I-I’m fine,” Steve stuttered.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should go to the nurse. I really think you could have a concussion.”

But Steve just shook his head.

Y/N sighed but didn’t continue arguing. Instead, she started helping him pick up all his papers.

“You’re really good at drawing,” she said as she looked at a portrait of his mom before handing it to him.

Steve blushed. “Thanks.”

The bell interrupted them.

“Shit,” Steve cursed under his breath. “I’m gonna be late again.”

“What class are you going to?” She asked.

“Math.”

She bit her lip. “With Foster?”

He nodded.

“I’ll walk you there.”

Before he could protest, she grabbed one of his folders, the one with all of the drawings and started walking towards Mr. Foster’s classroom.

The class had already started when they walked in.

Steve’s cheeks blushed once again as all eyes in the classroom went to him and Y/N.

“Y/N, what brings you here?” Mr. Foster asked pleasantly instead of reprimanding Steve for being late once again.

“I ran into Steve in the hallway – literally. I made a mess of his papers and was just helping him pick them up.”

Steve watched as she gave him a shy smile and played up her guilt.

“Well, that was nice of you,” Mr. Foster said.

Steve went to his seat before he could remind his teacher that he wasn’t on time. He looked up at the doorway to give Y/N a thankful look, but she had already disappeared and the door was slowly closing.

And that wasn’t the last time she saved him from bullies.

The next time was a month or so later. It wasn’t Brock that time. He’d learned not to pick on people while Y/N was present. He knew he’d never gain her affections that way.

This time it was one of his lackeys.

“Hey, Rogers? Can’t find any clothes that fit you properly?”

Steve ignored him.

“Have you tried looking in the little boys section? Maybe try Babies R Us!”

That didn’t make Steve turn around. What made him turn around was the sound of someone being shoved into the lockers.

Steve whipped around, fully expecting Bucky to be his savior.

Instead it was Y/N, who had her forearm crammed against his bully’s throat. Y/N was towering over him. She was taller than most of the boys in their school. But somehow no one picked on her for it.

“What the hell?” The kid said, struggling to say words with the pressure on his throat.

“I hear you pick on him again and I’ll make sure the whole school sees me kick you in the dick,” she told him.

Steve was stunned, convincing himself he was imagining all of it.

But the kid nodded his head.

Y/N knew none of the guys would ever hit a girl. Even if they wanted to, she was taller and probably stronger than most of them. So she used that privilege to her advantage.

She let him go. A group of her girlfriends laughed at the bully as she returned to them. Before she disappeared down the hall, she gave Steve a small, reassuring smile.

Steve wondered if she felt the same way about being tall as he felt about being short. Maybe that’s why she felt the need to defend him.

But Y/N’s attention toward him didn’t stop there.

Steve wouldn’t consider them friends. But Y/N did acknowledge him at school quite frequently. If she managed to meet his gaze, she’d give him a little smile and maybe a wave.

When Bucky caught on, Steve waited for him to tease him about it, since Bucky could tell Steve’s crush immediately. But he gave Steve his space and they never really fully talked about it. It was just known from then on.

————

Steve’s mind raced through all his memories like flashes. But then it seemed to settle on the last time he ever talked to Y/N.

————

It was the night of prom.

But Steve wasn’t there.

Bucky begged him to tag along with him and his date. But Steve knew Dot would not be fond of that, despite her forcing a smile and nodding when Bucky recommended it.

So Steve decided to go to a coffee shop. It was one of the few places he liked in their stupid town. It was open late and had plenty of space. Every once in awhile, he’d go there to just sketch or read. It was just an excuse to get out of the house and go somewhere.

Now he sat at in his usual corner that had good lighting and a bigger table, which was good for drawing.

Steve was listening to music, drinking coffee, and sketching away.

But for some reason, a new patron coming in made him look up.

He did a double take when he recognized Y/N.

She walked in and looked a bit like a tomboy. She was wearing boyfriend jeans, a graphic tee, a baseball hat, and a zip-up with the hoodie pulled up. Yet Steve recognized her immediately.

He tried not to stare, but definitely wasn’t successful. He watched as she ordered a latte and two chocolate chip cookies.

Why wasn’t she at prom?

She turned and her eyes were going around the coffee shop, trying to find a table she wanted. That was when she spotted Steve.

With her latte and cookies in hand, she slowly made her way to Steve.

“Hey,” she said quietly with a smile, as if not to disturb the few other customers.

“Hi,” he responded.

For the first time, he didn’t feel ridiculously nervous talking to her.

“Do you mind if I sit for a bit?” She asked.

Steve was shocked.

“You can say no. I won’t be offended,” she laughed.

“N-No, of course. Please, sit.”

She smiled and sat down.

“Shouldn’t you…uhh…be at prom?” Steve asked shyly.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh. “Well… no one asked me.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. That seemed impossible. “That can’t be true.”

She rolled her eyes will a smile. “Think about it, Steve. Yeah, I have some guy friends I could’ve gone with…but they all have girlfriends.” She took a sip of her latte. “It’s fine. I don’t really like dances. I only really like the whole dressing up part.”

Then she looked down at her tomboy outfit and started laughing. “Not that you would know by how I’m dressed right now. I look like a little boy.”

Steve smiled. “No, you don’t. You always look beautiful.”

Y/N sat up straighter, completely taken by surprised from his compliment. Steve shifted in his seat and dipped his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” she replied with a grin.

He let out a sigh.

“So, why aren’t you at prom?” She countered.

“Ummm…doubt anyone would’ve said yes if I had asked,” he mumbled.

Y/N squinted at him.

“What?” Steve asked.

“You do realize that you’re like the sweetest guy in our grade, right? I know so many girls who didn’t get asked that would’ve loved to have gone. And they would’ve been more than happy to have gone with you, too.”

Steve blushed. “Whatever you say.”

Y/N then looked around them shyly. “Do you mind if I just stay here and read my book? I won’t bother you. You can just keep drawing.” Then she smiled at him. “Again… you can say no and I won’t be offended.”

“No, no, no,” Steve quickly said. Then he winced. “I mean, ‘no, I’m not going to tell you no.’ Not ‘no to your offer.’”

Y/N smirked at his fumbling.

So the two of them sat together in a comfortable silence. Y/N read her book and Steve continued his drawing.

He wanted to ask her a million things. He wanted to get to know her. The real her, not the the person everyone at school thought she was. But this – this whole just appreciating each other’s quiet presence was nice too. Steve didn’t know how to explain it, but it made him think it was more meaningful than asking her a million questions.

At one point, she pushed her plate toward him, silently offering him her other cookie.

That was the last time Steve talked to her.

He saw her at graduation, but they were never close enough for any sort of interaction. She was surrounded by her friends and family. He was just with his mom and the Barnes family.

————

And that was it.

They both went off to college and Steve never saw her again.

Until tonight.

The bar got a bit more crowded. But Bucky, Rebecca, and Steve stayed in their little area. Every so often, Rebecca and Bucky would get pulled into other groups of old friends, but they’d always find their way back. Steve didn’t mind.

It was towards the end of the night when Steve went to the bar to get another round of drinks for them. He was very happily buzzed. The miserable feeling of being back in his childhood town was just a bit weaker – for the time being.

“I don’t know why I expected you to come over and say hi. You always were so shy.” A voice said beside him.

Steve quickly turned to find Y/N leaning on the bar waiting for his attention.

“Hi,” was all he managed to blurt out.

“Hi,” she laughed. “I gotta be honest: I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Her eyes went up and down, taking in his tall frame. She used to tower over him. Now, even with her heels on, he was just a tad bit taller than him.

He chuckled awkwardly, never knowing what to say when people noted how much he’d physically changed.

“Can I make up for it by buying you a drink?”

She smirked and nodded. “You may.”

They chatted for a bit, friendly banter. Before Steve could use Rebecca and Bucky’s drinks as an excuse to leave the conversation, Becca practically came skipping over to take them away and return to her brother. She gave Steve a look that said, ‘Don’t you dare try to leave this conversation, idiot.’

“So what are you doing now? Where do you even live?” She asked Steve.

“New York. I’m an artist,” he decided to keep it generic.

“No way. I live in New York, too.”

Steve paused. “No shit? I’m in Brooklyn – Williamsburg, actually.”

“Ahh… Well, that would explain why we’ve never run into each other. I’m in Nolita.”

“So trendy,” Steve teased. “Though, I’m not surprised.” Then he gestured towards her outfit.

She acted offended. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You were always stylish. Nolita suits you. It’s a compliment, I promise. What do you do for work?”

She hesitated for a second. “I’m a stylist.”

“No shit,” Steve said in awe. “Like celebrities or…?”

“Yeah, a lot of celebrities, actually. They’re pretty much all of my clientele.”

“I’m sure you’ve got some crazy stories,” he pointed out.

She laughed and shrugged.

“You seeing anyone?” Steve asked then. “In New York, I mean.”

It didn’t feel awkward or forced, just like it was the natural next step in their conversation.

Y/N winced slightly and sighed. She didn’t look him in the eye. “Being a tall, successful, and independent woman doesn’t exactly have men lining up in New York City…”

Before Steve could say anything, Y/N laughed. “It’s like prom all over again,” she joked.

But he wasn’t laughing exactly. “Well then, I think the same thing I did that night at the coffee shop.”

She tilted her head. “And what’s that?”

“Men are fucking idiots. All of them.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Even you?”

“Oh, me more than any of them.”

“What! Why would you say that?”

Then his laughter died down and he took a sip of his drink, a little liquid courage. “Because…if I had known no one had asked you to prom, I would’ve taken you – in a fucking heartbeat.”

“You didn’t know,” she pointed out in a sigh. “But you did know so many other girls who didn’t have dates.”

He shook his head. “They weren’t who I wanted to go with.”

Her smile dropped ever so slightly, catching on to what he was trying to say.

Y/N cleared her throat. “We probably shouldn’t live in the past. It’s not like it would do us any good.”

“But I’m the same person,” Steve challenged suddenly.

She looked at him, waiting for him to say he was joking. “You’ve probably changed more than anyone we went to high school. I mean, look at you!”

Y/N grabbed her coat and Steve stood up without thinking and helped her back into it. The gesture seemed to catch her off guard.

Then they realized how close they were standing to each other because of it.

“You didn’t ask me,” Steve said quietly.

Her eyes flickered from his eyes down to his lips without meaning to. “Ask you what?”

“If I was seeing anyone…”

She sort of scoffed at the idea. “I’m sure you’re seeing many people, Steve.”

“That’s not even remotely accurate,” he chuckled lowly.

Her eyes softened then. “You’re one of the good guys, Steve Rogers. And sadly, the older I get, the more I realize how few of you there really are in the world.”

Steve didn’t know how to respond to that.

A beat passed between them. It was filled with opportunity. Make a move, a part of his head was screaming at him. No, don’t be an idiot, was the other part.

And then the moment passed just as quickly as it arrived. And Steve missed his chance.

“Well, it was really nice seeing you again,” she told him.

“You too, Y/N.” He blinked. “Here, let me get you an car home.”

“Oh, you don’t–”

“If I hadn’t been drinking, I’d drive you myself,” he cut her off before she could actually argue.

5 minutes later, he was closing the passenger door for her and he watched the car drive away.

When he walked back into the bar, Bucky and Rebecca were giving him a sympathetic look. They already knew he let her go without trying. Because they knew him better than he knew himself sometimes.

“Don’t,” he warned them both.

“I think…we should do another round of tequila shots!” Rebecca announced.

“Fine. But then we’re going home before I have to carry you back home over my shoulder,” Bucky warned his little sister.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever,” she shooed as she went to the bar.

Steve was quiet for the rest of the night, thinking about everything Y/N and him had said to each other that night.

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

Steve woke up the next morning with the worst headache of his life. That’s what he got for drinking the world’s cheapest alcohol.

When he grabbed his phone from the nightstand, he noticed he had a text from a number that wasn’t in his phonebook.

He opened it to read: “Barnes told me to text you so you didn’t ‘make the same mistake twice.’”

Steve swore his heart stopped. There was no one else it could be .

With a smile, he texted back, “I’m gonna beat that punk up later.”

To his surprise, she texted back right away. “So, are you saying he was wrong to give me your number?”

Steve thought for a moment. “No, he was definitely right to do so. Apparently, I’m incapable of doing anything for myself.” He hesitated. Enough of being safe and careful. Might as well go for it. “As soon as I closed that car door, I regretted not asking for your number.”

“You know...we don’t have to just be people from each other’s past.”

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”

“Nothing.”

Steve smiled. “Well, that’s not the case anymore. I’ll see you in NYC, Y/N.”

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

So, a lot of the reader was basically me in high school and a lot of it was not. I’ll let you guys figure that out for yourself.

Let me know what you thought of it!

Oh the title was inspired by “Seventeen” by Sharon Van Etten.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x tall!reader #tall reader insert #steve rogers x tall!fem!reader #steve rogers x tall girl #steve rogers high school au #marvel high school au #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers reader insert #I used to be seventeen #I used to be seventeen - one shot #marvel tall reader insert

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

Text

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says and @eleveneitherway who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further.

In the absurdity factor, at least.

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying.

About the whole goddamn thing.

She’d never shut up about it, he knew.

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people.

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking.

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors.

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue.

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game.

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too.

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them.

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them.

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream.

Belle elbowed him.

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand.

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award.

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty.

Like in a fundamental sort of way.

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either.

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck.

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses.

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head.

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted.

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will.

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level.

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate.

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth.

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary.

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them.

Where it wasn’t a game at all.

Damn.

Ariel was going to be so annoying.

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly.

Belle pinched the side of his wrist.

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening.

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him.

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough.

He wasn’t enough.

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing.

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero.

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now.

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.”

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent.

Gotten better shin pads, probably.

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem.

Heart, too.

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips.

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks.

He kissed the bridge of her nose.

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew.

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that.

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course.

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections.

Zelena probably did.

Ariel would use that.

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly.

Which had to count for something, he figured.

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic.

Something in the same realm as melting, probably.

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing.

They’d get there eventually.

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.”

She scrunched her nose.

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request.

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream.

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went.

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away.

Belle took the phone.

The kid’s phone.

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster.

In, like, the history of photography.

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high.

Without the threat of inevitable crash.

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe.

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

#scarlet beauty #scarlet beauty ff #scarlet beauty fic #will x belle #blue line one shots #what did i use yesterday as my tag for this?#so as not to also confuse it with the au of the au staring will scarlet?#defensive!blue line #that wasn't it but it is now #anyway these have been real fun to write #because as we all know i am certified trash for alternate stories in the same 'verse #also giving belle a personality finally is a delight #seriously i hope the five people interested in this enjoy it

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

LINGERING EYES

pairing: Isaiah Jesus x Shelby!Reader

summary: The Peaky Blinders spend their night at a ball, however, Isaiah notices the wandering eyes of other men on the second youngest Shelby.

word count: 3.5k

warning: slightly nsfw ?? jealousy, mention of blood, mention of violence, language

note: I loved writing this one! The flow was so smooth and I couldn’t stop writing, so here it is! I was hit with inspiration after checkin’ out some prompts (i saw them on pinterest so i don’t know who’s the original blog, if it’s you please dm me 🥺)

“Take my coat.”

White— pearly beads of opal tears were poked through with a piercing needle. The bawling drops of clams drooped from the yellow ceiling, hanging low as gravity clung onto the strands. While shuffling of polished shoes screeched into the air, ear-drumming squeals from yanked corks paced to overlap obnoxious laughs. The laughs worthed grands; the laugh of slithering serpents.

Despite the approaching night, there was no heaviness resting upon the awaken eyes, which only led to the fact that they have tolerated and befriended the aspect of long nights. Long nights of claimed hard work. Long nights of staying at work late to complete the pending task, allegedly. Bitterly, the woman who strayed near the marble bar assumed, even though she knew she was right.

The lavish dress she wore that she plucked out of the most expensive rack in the store were no different than those women who were present. The women who had been dragged out from the comfort of their home to flutter a smile while they drowned in their husband’s gold, not knowing their mistress circled nearby. However, her privilege of wearing the fabric that was enough to feed a whole village was not the same as them. While it might not be her money, she knew that Thomas’s money was now as legitimate as the rest, despite the fluttering rumours weaving from mouth to ears.

Y/N grew up on streets that reeked of feculent piss and mud as face-paint. They, on the other hand, were nurtured by a maid, money already swimming in their bloodstreams while their parents spent days on end overseas.

‘You’re not a Peaky, Y/N.’ As the tornado in her champagne flute swirled, she glared at the red wine with irritated eyes. Despite her hating the proper way of holding the glass which was as posh as it could be, she reminded herself to where she was and who breathed in the same room as her. Recalling the talk she sat with her older sister who believed that the woman shouldn’t even bother to relieve her presence to the party, Y/N beamed her eyes at the smearing grey against the whites of the marble counter. Y/N wasn’t sure if it was the destiny the Shelby’s will be cursed by, but heartfelt conversations were rare. The woman needed to get it out of her chest. She needed to tell her older sister the lingering eyes when she would walk down the streets. The elderly knew of the tainted reputation of the Shelby’s name, the main theme of the conversations whispered behind their backs. ‘No, but I’m a Shelby.’

That’s what she’ll always be. Just a Shelby. Not the woman who struggled through the obstacles of maintaining a deaf ear to her colleagues who would whisper under their breaths about her and her background. No matter what curtain draped over her, she’ll be seen as the younger sister of a gangster. Gypsy Shelby. Carnival wanderers. Y/N, the woman who sipped on wine in the dress of the same colour, will forever be known as Birmingham’s Infamous Gangster’s Little Sister.

Y/N was no longer the giggling child who swam through mud; she was no longer the girl with dangling tooths who hid her older brothers’ socks under her bed. Even Arthur, the eldest, has admitted how times have changed. Sitting on the stool was a woman, not a girl. A woman with cold, crystal eyes of a smeared cerulean blue that can only be glistened at a certain angle of light, a woman who had been prize hung upon the fair’s walls for men who were up to the challenge- that was until they heard of her last name. Unless they were cowards, they tiptoed away with the utmost silent steps. It was barely a handful of men who found the challenge of swooning the woman to be entertaining.

However, to be in radar with the Peaky Blinders themselves; to be in their loyal, trusted ranks, Isaiah Jesus just couldn’t find a fuck to give. There had been countless times he had seen eyes grazing over her figure, ogling her as if a taunting piece of meat. Would he be different to their scandalous actions? No, because he would do the same. The man just had a more discreet manner of observation. People with a name and money to flaunt might’ve shoved him to the edge since deep down, he knew that he’ll never be like them. But, at the end of the day, who was deep in her while she breathlessly screamed out?

“What?” Once her eyes peeled away from the intense rolling of liquid in her champagne flute, she shot a perplexed glance at the iconic oversized coat he would constantly wear. It seemed the memo to wear different had not reached the man. Her orbs glimpsed back to his face as if he had gone mental. The room had a barely noticeable breeze of wind that only kissed those who strayed next to the golden, colossal windows.

“I said take my coat.” Isaiah repeated, arm extending, urging the woman to take it.

There was no jest in his eyes. Isaiah wasn’t playing around, “It’s fucking hot in here.” There weren’t any trails of sweat visible on the woman, but there were beads of them crawling down her back. It seeped down through the minuscule crack of space between the velvet dress and her glossy back. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the same case for those who did not handle well with heat as some elderly men incessantly wiped their foreheads with their lavish cloth.

“Just fucking take it.” Isaiah didn’t mean to take another glance, but he did. Accidentally. The group of vigilant observing eyes did not quiver from the pair, well, it was mostly attached to the woman who was sipping on the red wine. However, the closeness of Isaiah and the Shelby had brought alarming thoughts in their heads. There wasn’t a plan so it wjasn’t part of it, it was more of an impulsive act of decision when one of them shot up from the seat.

In the corner of Isaiah’s eyes was a blur of an approaching figure, increasing in size. The pace was casual, gait relaxed with his hands tucked in the pocket of his waistcoat. A haze of shimmering gold sparkled, the intensity of the blaring reflection multiplied by a tenfold.

“I’m gonna suffocate, I can’t breathe already.” Y/N scoffed, mouth finding solace in the half-drunk wine.

With every step, Isaiah’s eyes wavered back onto the woman. A fire burnt in his chest, no, it roared behind his eyes as fury dumped a barrel of petrol into the growing rage. Doubts settled in. Was it truly rage? Or was he scooting around the idea of jealousy? Before his head caught a glimpse of his peripheral, his hands were already chained around Y/N’s wrist. A satisfied smirk crept up on his lips when the figure halted in his steps. Watching the woman he was about to approach thrash in the man’s grip, he gawked.

“Isaiah!” Although eyes were darted towards the catastrophic scene, Isaiah didn’t bat an eye, head too blurry with satisfaction. Y/N with ajar opened mouth was yanked away from her barely finished wine. It tasted rich. A privilege she had been surrounded with only recently. “What the fuck was that?”

Once he managed to drag her into a hallway of stacked barrels, he finally noticed the dripping beads of tears from the leaking metal pipe. As teardrops descended from the sobbing pipe, it puddled on the miniature lake. The hallway felt exposed to the frosty night of London. A breeze of the chilly air overflowed through the cracked open hopper windows.

Not too long ago Y/N was clamouring with the pungent odour, now, she was sure the secretion had become icicles, frozen. Isaiah wasn’t so different, his shoulders remained in the stance of shock. After yanking her hand out of his grasp, the dishevelled woman beamed at the man. His flared nose was tinted red. While he pressed his lips shut, the echoing noise of the bawling pipe trickled in to fill in the pregnant silence.

An exasperated sigh fell off his lips, “They were fucking you with their eyes.” Blinking in disbelief, she let out a scoff. The reason he had dragged her was because people were looking at her? Well, fucking her with their eyes?

“So what? And who the fuck are you to bother?” Isaiah’s jaw ticked. How was he to answer? The man himself didn’t know how to reply. Thoughts resounded off his head, springing from one side to the other as he tried his best to think of an answer. There was fire roaring in his chest. A flicker of blue plastered across the dancing red canvas. It burned hotter than a summer’s day, flaring scorches of heat than heatwaves when one would stray around the furnace who had been chugged by boulders of dusty coal. But actions speak louder than words. As his eyes flickered to meet hers, the flame on the candle died with a blow of air.

Isaiah was fired up, chest taut, fingers clenched, ready to hurl it in their faces’. It all vanished. The anger, the fire, the stirred up hurricane, it all wiped off from existence. Her hair that was once a coiled perfection which was a result of an hour of refining each and every lock, had become a wild, untamed bunch. It was no different to that of her hairstyle she would wear in the creaking morning after an exhausting night of moans and groans. The pearl necklace that draped down her neck sat on her shoulder, clumping up a rubble even though it hung above her cleavage a few minutes ago.

Frigid bites of the brick wall pierced into her skin. The bleeding words that rested on her tongue were exhaled into a familiar warm mouth. Long forgotten, the coat he could’ve used for defence to crawl out of the fancy ball to protect him from the chilly night, puddled into the ground. A groan grumbled out of his lips to puff into her moaning ones; although, Isaiah wasn’t sure if it was because his coat would be the absorbing cloth, soon to be drenched by the unknown liquid from the pipe, or it was because her wide open legs had curled around his hip.

There were no words exchanged, only wanton moans and guttural groans. The world around them faded into black and white before it all was swirled in a hazy blur. The tiles of the mosaic painting were soon plucked out. The world didn’t exist, just each other. There weren’t any irregular singing notes of the pipe, no blowing of wind into the cracked orifices and no boisterous thrumming of heart in their ears. It was just each other's breathing and their fingers rustling faint noises of caress.

An exhalation rolled out of her chest to gush out into the tensed air. Air that was once struck with chords of anger and jealousy, but now, it was trickling with need and lust. Knocking the back of her head into the wall, the gaps between her fingers were spurting of his curly locks. The piercing cones smeared over the brick walls embedded into her skin. If his mouth wasn’t planting bruises on her skin, it would’ve hurt a lot more.

“Saiah... fuck, no hickeys...” Stuttering between heavy breathing which was from the nipping of his teeth on her skin below her ears, Y/N finally managed to breathe out the words. Although it had been an unspoken rule which was brought up only once (the first time they fucked), Isaiah couldn’t give a fuck. To have the Shelby’s as a boss, Isaiah had somewhat familiarized himself with the gears spinning in their heads while he watched them work on the field. Not Thomas Shelby, never Thomas Shelby. The man was impossible to see through, just like the murky canals of Birmingham. If his siblings had not succeeded in reading his mind, what miracle did he possess if he could do so?

So it was no wonder the pair had not taken the risk of overlooked details such as markings on their necks to be seen. There was one thing Y/N could do when having scandalous ties with her brother’s employee, and that was to be one step ahead of any of them. Preferably Thomas Shelby. It was the least she could do. Nights when Isaiah would climb through her windows, she would complain about the aching in her stomach beforehand. Although, that plan nearly blew up on her face as Polly had incessantly banged on her door to check up on her paining niece. Oh, how they all would’ve lost their shit if they knew Isaiah was deep in her, thrusting his hips with lust before her aunt lingered outside her door.

Y/N always pondered to how everyone would react to their relationship. Relationship? There never was an appropriate time where the two sat down to discuss the fire sparking between them. Even though she had tried to bring it up at points, it always led her to a moaning mess. The pair had scooted around the topic, ignoring its existence. But for how long? The stunt Isaiah had pulled back not too long ago was of pure jealousy, the feeling of someone else eyeing something of his. It was not something he had felt before, ever.

Pulling his lips away, his eyes grazed over the masterpiece he had painted. Streaks of red trailed across the side of her neck in peculiar directions. While Isaiah admired his prominent markings, Y/N noted the curled up corners of his lips and his gazing eyes on the scene. Oh, she was too late. Worried if her brothers were to see Isaiah’s branding, formulas were scribbled in her head. All she had to do was avoid everyone, Finn and Arthur especially if she didn’t want a wildfire to burn. Finn who was still a babe had curious eyes and quick fluttering lips, Arthur on the other hand just had an agile tongue and a rock as a fist. If one of them was to even peek a glance at the hickey, the news would’ve crossed the other side of England. Ada was easy to avoid as the woman was not present at the party; however, Y/N could not imagine her never-ending rambling. Knowing her older sister, she was sure it would lead to pregnancy and stubborn questions about the mysterious guys.

The trio of Thomas, John and Polly was one to keep in mind. Y/N herself wasn’t sure why she had grouped the three together, but she knew they had one thing in common. Merciless. She wasn’t sure how it would proceed if one of them was to gaze upon the marking; she never wanted to see it happen. While the woman who had a painted canvas on her neck was concerned with future issues to which she hoped she would never have to stumble upon, Isaiah was a smirking mess. The thought of them seeing the art he had created flicked a lighter to his gun powder. Once his eyes grazed over her shut ones and her lips pecking of silent mumbling, he let out a sigh. The woman was overthinking again. The noise of her saliva smacking on her swollen lips only made sense to her head as she went over the whole plan. Avoid, avoid and avoid. Isaiah’s eyes brushed upon her smeared lipstick, he wouldn’t be surprised if some made way on his lips.

Her train of words halted once a warm thumb grazed over her bottom lip. Although scribblings of words jotted in her head, nothing made sense as Isaiah’s lips were on hers once again. The layers of planning and never-ending what-ifs vanished, wiped from her head to be buried deep underneath the bedding of soil. Back splayed against the wall and legs around his hip, Isaiah’s fingers trailed down to clutch on her thighs, nudging the stubborn hem of her dress up, coiling it in a bunch. Tongues caressing one another while strings of wanton moaning brushed down the bristles of their throats, everything was long forgotten. There was no Thomas Shelby. There was no Peaky Blinders. Just the two of them.

“What the actual fuck.” With the familiar straining voice echoing through the narrow hallway, the feeling of need vaporized. Heat that was once beaming through their chest seeped into the air, dancing in the wind. The glass bottle in his hands shattered. Piercing shards of glass embedded into his skin, slashing through his blood vessels, but he could see nothing but red. Snapping the neck of the bottle into millions of fragments, Arthur no longer cared the good chug of whiskey he wanted to have away from all the lying cunts. Tonight was full of people who had dollar signs in their eyes while they grasped onto leashes around those who needed to pay back stacks of cash. More than fucking enough. If Arthur heard any of their voice, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

So, when Arthur decided to pull away from the crowd to enjoy even the crappiest stench of whatever the fuck liquified the soil that smeared along the bricks, he did not expect to see a Peaky boy’s tongue down his little’s sister throat. Even though the eldest Shelby wasn’t in many conversations (there was no need to ponder that all they wanted was Thomas’s cock), he barely noticed the disappearance of the second youngest Shelby, most likely because he was too focused on maintaining the position of his curled fists which were stuffed deep in his coat’s pocket. Despite him yanking out his red, thrumming hand multiple of times, a glare from Thomas was enough to remind him of the lingering eyes.

Feet descending down the wall, Y/N’s eyes didn’t blink once as she stared at the abrupt appearance of her eldest brother. Well, fuck. Fuck the plan. Fuck avoiding. Because the future she didn’t want ever was now, “Arthur.”

Without a word uttered between the two, a distance increased with every shove down their throats. Arthur Shelby was here. Arthur Shelby saw the son of the man he trusted pinned his little sister to the wall. Eyes were lassoed, ropes were thrown around, yanking stammering thoughts. Arthur’s eyes that were popped out of his eye socket did not quiver from Isaiah’s figure. The smear of red against the boy’s lips and his dishevelled waistcoat was enough for Arthur to go mental. Isaiah wasn’t sure how he felt. There was a jolt of inhumane voltage zapping through his heart before a snip of a scissor prevented it to ever be alive again.

The man whose face oozed of litres of blood was a victim of whatever lurked under Arthur Shelby’s skin. If Isaiah wasn’t there to notice his motionless body, he couldn’t give a fuck, but he was. He saw men struggle to hold Arthur’s thrashing body back. The devil they called it. The plunging noise descending his throat and into the green lake in his gut trickled through Isaiah’s ears. He was dead meat, “Arthur, it’s not what it looks like- I can explain.”

“Fucking not what it looks like?” Although the eldest Shelby stood at the other end of the hallway, his booming voice was as if he was right in front of them. Wavering the cracked neck of the whiskey glass, furious spit gushed out of his lips. Hair curtained to flare up, the man was beaming with steam. “Fucking explain why you looked like you were about to fuck Isaiah!”

Speckled soil shivered from its land to rest upon the ground. The ground the building sat upon shook, shaking the glass panes to send raining shards of glass across the marble floor. Thomas stepped down the stairs. Seconds ago, the man was under the ceiling of solid gold, now, he was under dripping tainted water that pecked his shoulders. His face was unreadable although a twitch of his jaw gave away the underlying anger, “One fucking day, Arthur, you couldn’t give me one fucking day of silence?”

Trailing behind him was John and Finn who were laughing at an obnoxious joke uttered by the youngest himself, something about his boxers ending up on the street. It fell into silence. Despite the warning Thomas had incessantly, stubbornly pressed on his accompanies of the night, a part of him had already predicted this was to happen. There was hope. There was hope that the night might’ve flown pass smoothly without a bump over the road. And then there was reality. Awry reality never resembled the plans in Thomas’s head. However, there was a second he had missed in his life. A second was forgotten, jumped over to the next beat of his heart. He didn’t need many words from the blood gushing out of Arthur’s curled fist and the mussed hair of the pair.

Well, there goes the plan. Out the fucking window it was. With a cigarette sighing on his lips, he gestured, “Go ahead. Talk.”

Maybe Y/N should’ve listened to Ada.

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fanficsandfluff · 3 years

Text

Squealing Santa 2k20: Her Place

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Characters: Emily, JJ

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to @ticklishraspberries!!! I was so excited to see this prompt because I have NEVER written w|w fics. like.... maybe one. maybe two. IT’S NOT A LOT OK. (side note: why do i feel like we’ve been each other’s gifters for a couple years now??? or at least i’ve written for you more than once. idk but it’s an honor bc you’re a legend). Also my writing block has been so severe ever since the end of tickletober. So I legitimately woke up at 2:00am on Christmas Day because I had a SMIDGE of inspiration to finally sit and write this fic up. I’m nervous as hell because I am still only on like Season 2 of CM, so my characterization of the characters is solely based on what I know up to that point.

Okay, enough rambling, get to the fic, Michelle. Another thank you to @ticklygiggles for hosting Squealing Santa this year!

~~~

The two-days-before-Christmas-Christmas-Party came and went and things went shockingly smoothly for the crew at the BAU. JJ twitched every time her cell buzzed in her pocket, flicking it open and checking to make sure they were indeed clear of any new cases for the time being. At least for the holidays, she prayed.

Emily took note of how not-into this night JJ was. It was strange to her because she understood (at least from her minor experiences at fun times with the BAU) JJ was usually a life of any party. Emily started telling jokes to her table of her, JJ, and Penelope. JJ would laugh but it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. And yeah, she noticed her checking her phone a lot.

“Hey,” Emily leaned in a little closer to JJ to get her to hear her over the noise in the bar, “The world isn’t going to end if you click your phone off for the night.”

Wow, what an inconsiderate thing to say, Emily. Nice one.

JJ smiled sadly at Emily, “I’m that much of a downer, huh?”

“No! No, honey, not at all,” Emily reached her hand over and placed it on JJ’s, “Sorry I said anything. This job is just... ooof,” she made a groan come out like a huff and she and JJ giggled together at the noise.

“I knohow. I know,” JJ brushed her blonde locks behind her ear, “Habit, I guess.”

“Come over to my place after,” Emily said maybe too brazenly.

“Tonight?”

“Was ‘after’ not clear enough?”

The women smiled at each other, and it was only after this few seconds of staring that Emily realized she still had her hand over JJ’s. She lifted it off and offered to get them both another drink.

Drinks, bad jokes, and only one more check of her cell later, Emily and JJ walked to her apartment, not far from the bar. They were both equally tipsy and Emily noticed how much gigglier JJ was getting as the hours of the night wore on. Drink to blame, definitely. But there was something else. An added element Emily couldn’t quite place yet. JJ would bump into her during their walk, and at the bar she seemed to get more handsy with her, poking and shoving and hugging. Emily buzzed them in and she unlocked the door to her place, realizing at that moment that JJ hadn’t ever been up here before.

“Make yourself comfortable. I would offer booze, but--”

“Yeah, I’ll take whatever you got.”

Emily’s brows raised, not unlike the look she gave when disbelieving how crazy some of the cases they worked on were. He did what to their kneecaps? Yeah, ew, ok, no work think tonight.

JJ went and ran her fingertips over the countertop in the kitchen as Emily hurried to get together some wine for the two of them. Wine is a better close to the night than tequila, she figured.

“You have a... really nice place,” JJ said through a near gasp as she turned the corner and went further into the living room space. She stared at the Washington Monument in view from the window.

“Thank you,” Emily said, walking over and handing JJ a glass, “Merry Christmas,” she smiled and clinked her glass to JJ’s.

“Merry Christmas,” JJ said in return.

Emily got JJ over to her couch and the two sat and chatted. It was fun. Genuinely. They were just talking about everything and anything other than the BAU and it was wonderful. Emily snorted and barked out a loud laugh when JJ got very animated over a point she was trying to make. It was just too adorable.

“Dohon’t make fun of me, you know I’m right!”

“I’m not making fun! Some part of me is believing that but I think it’s only because you’re the one telling me.”

JJ leaned into the back of the couch, already comfortable and curled up into it. Something like a blush creeped up her neck to her ears.

“You still laughed at me.”

“Alright, yes, Pop Tarts have gotten smaller.”

“And everything else!”

“I got it--”

“Donuts, too!”

Emily laughed again, so wrapped up in the silliness and joy of the moment, that she just reached over and gave JJ’s sides a pinch. JJ jerked, her legs spazzing.

“Hehey!”

“Ohohoho...” Emily covered her hand over her mouth when that embarrassing chuckle made its way out, but this was too good a discovery.

She scratched her nails over JJ’s kneecap and the media liaison squeaked, batting at Emily’s hand, “Plehease don’t.”

“I must,” Emily sounded earnest but then she went for the kill, digging her fingers into JJ’s sides. JJ slid down the couch until she was on her back, lost in laughs and higher-pitched giggles. There was something about how rough Emily was being with her tickles, but it still felt teasy when her nails came into play.

“E-Emily!”

“I’d love to hear another conspiracy, please, Jay,” Emily chided and she scritched her nails against JJ’s belly after sliding her hand under her sweater.

JJ cackled at the initial contact and arched her back, “Dohohon’t patronize m-meheheHEE!”

It had only been maybe a minute of tickling, but Emily was certain her favorite spot was JJ’s belly. It came with such a variety of reactions depending on how pressure was applied. Dipping a finger into her bellybutton brought forth a snort. And Emily melted on the spot. A snort! From JJ! Emily was used to knowing that her own laugh usually came accompanied with snorts, it was just how her laughter came out. But to think JJ could make the same noise, but somehow so much cuter...!

“Ahaww,” Emily cooed, unable to help herself. To cap off JJ’s tickle attack, she pinched, stroked, scratched, and dug everywhere. Madly. Up, down, sides, back up again, neck, socks, it was so rapid fire that JJ was lost in her highest laughter yet, frantic and desperate.

Emily found herself leaning over JJ by the end of it all, watching her breathe and giggle herself back to composure.

“Thahat... You... I cahan’t,” JJ covered her hand over her eyes, “Evil.”

Emily snickered. JJ lifted her hand from her face and was smiling so broadly. She booped Emily’s nose. She had such a great nose, too. Unique. Not a princess nose by any means, but it made her so...

JJ leaned up just as Emily tilted her own head downward, and their lips collided.

JJ’s phone did not buzz the rest of the night, nor did she find the need to obsessively check it. No, not tonight. Tonight they were good. For the holidays.

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Note

So I’ve been plagued by this since I read mirror AU. For your spice week, how would you feel about obikin sex with an audience? Can be purely for pleasure or a ritual thing or an accident, but like, thinking of Anakin staking a claim in front of Cody in agaptfaa may have awoken something in me? Ditto prime Anakin and mirror Anakin with either Obi-Wan. I know Obes would think it riduculous/primitive but maybe find it hot anyway?

Anonymous said:

hmm this isn’t particularly spicy on its own but it can be added to a spicy september fic? like ur prompts are the ice cream and this ask is the extra toppings haha. but like obi wan’s pale skin being marked up with finger shaped bruises and hickeys and his own flush? bonus points if he’s ‘pleasantly sore’ 🥺

Mmmmm, I like these ideas very, very much! I went with ritual sex with an audience because I’m legitimately so, so weak for that. Marking ended up fitting in very well with this particular plot bunny. Hey, if we’re staking a claim…. No reason for half measures. Established relationship set during the Clone Wars (close to the end, with Anakin’s mental state being frayed).

This is NOT SAFE FOR WIZARDS. No real warnings beyond that. We’ve wrapped up Spicy September Week with this fic! I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks for all the wonderful prompts! I’ll be posting all the fics over on ao3 to make sure they don’t get lost etc. Hope everyone has a great rest of the week, time for me to get back to prepping for Whumptober!

~~~~~~~

They landed on Tuls on a clear, cool morning, with frost across the ground. Technically, Anakin wasn’t even supposed to be on the mission, but he’d been working with the 212th when Obi-Wan’s orders came through and…

Well. They’d had enough things go wrong for Jedi sent on solo missions from the Senate. He’d decided he ought to tag along, and Obi-Wan hadn’t protested. They’d even had some time to sleep, on the flight to Tuls. Anakin had hoped they might have time for a bit more than sleep, but Obi-Wan had still been recovering from...whatever the kriff had happened to him over Raydonia.

Anakin took one look at the fading bruises all down his ribs, and lost the urge to press the issue. It was more than enough to hold Obi-Wan close while they slept, to pour healing energy down into his skin, hoping to ease as much of the damage as he could.

By the time they arrived on Tuls, most of the marks had faded away. Obi-Wan had stretched that morning, when he woke, and looked down at his side with a surprise written all over his expression. “Feeling better?” Anakin had asked, dropping a kiss against his ribs, and Obi-Wan had smiled at him, looking soft and still mussed from sleep.

But that had been earlier, when it was just them. Obi-Wan looked nothing but professional as they set foot on Tuls soil, met by an entire delegation of tired, stooped humanoids, who looked at them and said, “Thank goodness you have finally arrived, Jedi. There is no longer much time.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said, after the Tuls delegation had hurried them along, out of the cold and into a finally appointed meeting chamber. There was a fire crackling in a large hearth along one wall, which was a relief. There was a bitter chill in the air, which seemed odd. Anakin was almost sure Obi-Wan had said that it was supposed to be late spring on the planet. “I was not informed we were on a time-table, but you mentioned--”

“We are very late to bring the spring,” an older man said, rising heavily from a chair by the fire. He was solidly built - Anakin guessed he’d probably been all muscle, once. Time had added a healthy girth around his waist. He wore a crown of dark stone cut through with pale lines.

Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin, and Anakin shrugged. Obi-Wan looked back at the man and said, “And you… require our help, to bring the spring?”

The man nodded. He said, “Forgive my manners. I am King Urtus. And, yes. We need your help, specifically, Master Jedi.” Anakin could feel the relief radiating off of all of these people, even as their leader spoke.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, shifting around, loosening his shoulders in a little movement that Anakin wasn’t sure anyone else would identify as the first step towards a fight. “May I ask why? I’ve not heard of such assistance being required before.”

Urtus grimaced, looked to the side, and spat into the fire. “We did not need outside assistance. Not before the Separatist attacked us. The Keeper of Seasons was killed in the attack. Her apprentice…” He gestured to a boy standing to one side; the kid looked to be in his early teens. “Is not yet of age to bring the spring.”

“I think…” Obi-Wan said, as a creeping feeling ran down Anakin’s back, “that you ought to tell us, exactly, how one brings the spring, here on Tuls.”

“Are you serious?” Anakin said, after Urtus finished explaining exactly what it was they wanted Obi-Wan to do. He felt a prickle across his shoulders as everyone in the room turned to look at him, including Obi-Wan, who raised an eyebrow for good measure.

“We are quite serious,” Urtus said, as though he had not just suggested that - that Obi-Wan come down to some - some kind of ritual chamber and take off all his clothes and--

“Getting kr -- engaging in intercourse doesn’t make the seasons change,” Anakin said, feeling his cheeks getting far too warm. He, abruptly, didn’t like the way any of the people in the room were looking at Obi-Wan.

Urtus shrugged. “It ever has on Tuls,” he said.

Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, hoping for support on how mad the entire suggestion was. He got a shrug, instead, and a thoughtful look, as Obi-Wan said, “I can feel the Force flowing through the core of this world. It is possible the seasons have become tied to… rituals, of a sort. And carnal relations are often tied to the advent of spring.”

Sometimes Anakin wanted to shake him. Not everything had to be a science project.

Urtus cleared his throat, before Anakin could point out that now was not the time to get curious about the ecosystem of some new world. “Please,” Urtus said. “It should be nearly summer now. We beg for your assistance with this matter.”

“Why does this have to be Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, shifting to put himself between them and Obi-Wan, just in case they got grabby.

“We can feel his connection to the Force,” Urtus said, straightening and meeting Anakin’s gaze for the first time. “The planet responds to him, already.” Anakin figured he’d have to take Urtus’ word for that.

And Anakin knew damn well there was no way Obi-Wan was actually going to decline. He’d be full of concern about the fate of the planet and the safety of these people and if it meant him getting fucked on an altar to set things to rights, then so be it. So, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Obi-Wan said, “Of course, I will assist in any way I can.”

Urtus sagged with relief. Anakin felt the emotion vibrating through the rest of the crowd, and fine, he supposed they could make this work. He could help and they’d just get this over with, and-- Urtus said, “We will prepare you and arrange the melee immediately, then.”

The back of Anakin’s neck prickled, even as Obi-Wan asked, “Melee?”

Urtus nodded. “Indeed. To determine who shall have the right to assist you. So you may remove winter’s veil and bring the spring.”

Anakin tightened his grip on Obi-Wan’s arm; he felt Obi-Wan’s emotions shift, some hint of worry entering his feelings for the first time. None of it came through in Obi-Wan’s tone when he said, “Surely, I select who has the...right?”

Urtus shook his heavy head, making a deep humming sound. “No. It must be whoever is touched most deeply by winter, as decided by the Force,” he said, “it has ever been thus.”

Anakin looked over the crowd in the room. He really disliked the way they were eying Obi-Wan, and wondered, if he picked Obi-Wan up and bolted, what his odds were of getting to the ship. Probably not high, if Obi-Wan decided to fight him. Which he almost certainly would.

Anakin blew out a breath, instead, and said, “Is anyone allowed to join this melee, then?” Because, kriff, if it was a fight they wanted… Well. He was more than happy to give it to them.

In the end, the Tuls were agreeable to the idea of Anakin joining the melee. He had no idea what they meant by ‘touched by winter’ and he didn’t really care. He was taken to a chamber to prepare with all the rest of the entrants, while Obi-Wan was spirited off elsewhere. They were only to use weapons with blunted edges, apparently, but that was fine. Anakin had long ago learned how to fight with whatever was to hand.

He cracked his neck side to side, selected a weapon that fitted his hand, and waited, ignoring the chatter around the rest of the room.

It seemed to take an age and a half before the doors were opened again and they were led out, across a frozen expanse of ground, and into a small entryway, directly into the earth. It was dark inside, and warmer. There were steps, leading down, and Anakin followed the figure in front of him, flexing his fingers in and out until they, finally, reached the bottom.

They were… in a large, open space, ringed with seats stretching upward, many of them filled. The walls glowed, faintly. Anakin barely noticed any of that, because, in the center of the… well, the arena, there was a familiar figure.

Someone had taken Obi-Wan’s tunics and left him wearing…pieces of white fabric, tied in bands around his body. His eyes and mouth were both wrapped. There were more bindings around his arms and hands. He was standing in front of a tall lump of stone. Anakin assumed, with a hot lurch of his gut, that this was the altar.

Which meant the Tuls fully expected someone to fuck Obi-Wan right there in the center of this arena and, well. There was no way Anakin was going to let anyone else touch him. He took a breath, adjusted his grip on his weapon, and waited while Urtus made some kind of speech that he didn’t care about.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, waiting for the moment when the melee started, and then springing into action. The Tuls were determined, he had to give them that. And they seemed to have decided that they didn’t actually care who won the right, as long as it wasn’t him.

They swarmed him, and Anakin snarled. Even with numbers, they were not a match, and he knew it. They had not a fraction of the practice and experience he’d gained, and he knocked them aside, one after another.

One almost cracked him over the back of the head with a cudgel, only to slip on nothing a moment before the blow could land, falling into one of his fellows, instead, and Anakin half-laughed at the feeling of Obi-Wan’s presence against his skin.

The Tuls woman in front of him balked at his laughter, and Anakin took the opportunity to elbow her in the gut, listening to the sound she made as she folded up, flinging himself back into the fight. There was no real strategy to it, it was nothing but a brawl, fierce and vicious, devolving, finally, into a bare knuckled scrap between the last contenders.

Anakin had something of an advantage in that area, and grinned fiercely at the sound his fist made hitting the jaw of the last Tuls standing between him and Obi-Wan. The man had a half a head of height on Anakin, but went over backwards with a satisfying thump.

Anakin stood, for a moment, in the midst of the groaning fallen, breathing hard. His clothes were torn and bloody, he noted. He throbbed from a dozen different places, wounds aching. He tasted copper on his tongue and turned his head to the side, spitting, even as drums started around the room.

He distantly remembered being told about the drums, and grinned, because they meant he’d won.

He met Urtus’ eyes across the arena, nodded, and stalked towards the center of the space. Obi-Wan hadn’t moved, standing there still as a statue. There were, Anakin noticed, as he got closer, clothes wrapped around his knees and ankles, too. His feet were bare on the stone and there were strange tendrils of light winding away from him, out through the stone.

Anakin decided he didn’t care about the light, right at that moment. His blood burned in his veins, his gut full of fire from the battle. He was already hard, when he stopped in front of Obi-Wan and reached out, grabbing the wrap around his eyes and pulling it away.

Obi-Wan blinked open his eyes, so clear and blue, and did not look surprised to find Anakin before him. Anakin grabbed the wrap over his mouth, hoping he was doing an adequate job removing winter’s veil, and Obi-Wan said, quietly, something tense in his expression, just for a moment, “I knew it would be you.”

Anakin shivered and could not stop himself from sliding a hand back into Obi-Wan’s hair and leaning closer, kissing his mouth, aware he was leaving smears of blood behind and - and liking it, liking the way it marked Obi-Wan’s clean, perfect skin. “I think I had some help,” he murmured, against Obi-Wan’s mouth, and felt Obi-Wan smile.

“Maybe a little,” Obi-Wan agreed, and Anakin kissed him again, pleased to know it had been him Obi-Wan wanted with him, here in the middle of an arena, here at this crude altar.

It made his pulse beat faster, instructions for what he was supposed to do jumbling together in his head. The Tuls had been specific about some things, but it was hard to focus on what they’d wanted. He’d needed to - to take Obi-Wan out of these bindings, definitely.

Anakin could do that, He kept one hand in Obi-Wan’s hair, aware of all the eyes on them. He expected a prickle of anxiety across his nerves, he even anticipated, in a flash of worry, that he would not be able to maintain his current state of interest, not while knowing so many people were watching.

But these people had thought they could have Obi-Wan. Thought they could just use him for their ritual. And he, abruptly, quite liked the idea of showing them all just how wrong they were. He slid his mouth to Obi-Wan’s neck, nipping at the skin and then sucking, hearing Obi-Wan make a loud, surprised sound.

He slid his other hand down, tearing at the white wrappings, careless and rough. He just wanted them off.

“The altar,” Obi-Wan ground out, his hands freed to come up, to grip at Anakin, pulling him closer. “We need to--the stone is Force-reactive, we need to be on--”

Anakin got the idea. The altar was the size of a large table, rising directly out of the floor. It came up to his thighs, he noted, even as he pulled the last of the wrappings away, grabbed Obi-Wan’s thighs, and lifted him.

The stone lit up beneath Obi-Wan, when Anakin turned and put him down on the altar. Veins of color shot through it, so bright they were almost blinding. A murmur went up through the crowd, relief and joy, but Anakin barely noted it.

Obi-Wan lit up, as well, and that was far more interesting. Trails of light stretched under his skin, glowing. He looked like something out of a dream, something magical. But then, he always had. Anakin groaned and crawled onto the altar, falling forward to kiss him, hands all over his skin, warm and soft and perfect.

He left behind smears of blood, marks that showed where he’d touched, and groaned at the sight of it. Everyone on Tuls had wanted Obi-Wan, but he was the only one who got to have this, the only one who got to touch, and he wanted, suddenly and fiercely, for them all to know it.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan panted, tugging at the closures on Anakin’s tunics. They were hanging off of him already, and Anakin yanked the outer tunic off, tossing it aside. He cared little about the under tunic; it wasn’t in his way. He slid a hand down, curled his fingers around Obi-Wan’s cock, and watched the light beneath him shift, spreading away from the altar, out across the arena.

Obi-Wan’s hands clenched at his belt. He made a sound, thick and pleasure-drunk, as Anakin stroked him, setting a fast, brutal pace. He had not patience within him, at the moment, he just wanted. Wanted to watch Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter, wanted everyone in the arena to see what he got to do.

He bent forward, kissing Obi-Wan deep and filthy, the drums pounding around them, almost drowning out the sound Obi-Wan made when he spilled all over Anakin’s fingers.

“Force,” Obi-Wan panted, and Anakin grinned, rubbing his fingers together and considering. They’d not given him anything to ease the way. He shrugged, decided to make do, and slid his fingers back, between Obi-Wan’s legs.

He found Obi-Wan slick already, slick enough to slide two fingers in at once, and the revelation punched a groan out of him. “I thought,” Obi-wan gasped, deliciously flushed and glowing, “I’d better, ah, be ready.”

Anakin nodded. He felt quite beyond words, aching with so much want it felt hard to think. He wanted, so badly, to stretch out over Obi-Wan like this, to touch his glowing skin and let all the Tuls see how good he could make Obi-Wan feel, show them his beauty, the light of him--

The Tuls had warned them both that they might be...affected by the ritual. Anakin was willing to blame the hot jump of his pulse on whatever the kriff the Force was currently doing, whatever was making Obi-Wan light up, the glow off of his skin chasing away all the shadows in Anakin’s head, leaving him… singularly focused.

The urge to make everyone see swallowed him. Anakin took another kiss, hard, and then rocked onto his heels, batting Obi-Wan’s hands away - he’d gotten Anakin’s slacks open, that was more than good enough - and gripped at Obi-Wan’s hip.

Obi-Wan made a thick sound, surprised, when Anakin dragged his fingers out. His gasped beautifully, his skin all aglow, brighter spots of light at his freckles. Anakin ran a hand over his chest, awed, and then settled his hands, pulling Obi-Wan’s hips just so, gripping tight.

He heard the sound Obi-Wan made over the drums when he pushed in. Around them, the light started picking up colors, purples and pinks and blues, greens, spreading around the room, spreading across Obi-Wan’s skin, like an aurora, a celestial event, right in front of him.

Anakin jolted at the feeling of being in him. It was always amazing; he could have happily fucked Obi-Wan for the rest of his life, but-- Sinking into him on the altar felt like something else, the sensation spreading out to each nerve, clearing his head, leaving nothing but want and need and desire behind.

Anakin needed to fuck him, needed to drive into him, needing to make him gasp and cry out. Anakin gripped him, hard, keeping a hold on him, knowing he was leaving marks behind and - and liking it. He wanted marks, his marks, all over Obi-Wan’s skin, wanted everyone on Tuls and all the other worlds in the galaxy to know that Obi-Wan was--

Obi-Wan’s trembled, light spreading out from him, through the stone, the colors getting brighter, sharper. And Anakin wanted everyone to see, deeply. Force, he loved the way Obi-Wan looked when he was getting fucked, loved the way Obi-Wan’s mouth got soft, the way he flushed all across his cheeks and down his throat.

Every inch of him was beautiful, and Anakin groaned, driving into him as the light curled and flowed around them. He wished he had another hand, to curl around Obi-Wan’s cock, and in that moment saw no reason not to utilize the Force.

Obi-Wan jerked, full-bodied, when Anakin curled tendrils of the Force against his skin, pressure and sensation. Anakin thought he heard his name - it was hard to tell, the drums had gotten louder and his blood was pounding in his ears - and he took it as encouragement.

It felt like encouragement, through Obi-Wan’s emotions, overspilling into Anakin’s head.

He touched and touched and groaned when he felt Obi-Wan quake, come spilling across their skin and the altar and--and something shifted in the air around them, in the presence of the Force through the room. Anakin felt like lightning grounded down through his spine, pleasure and primal want swimming up through him.

He lost himself, for a moment, aware of nothing but pleasure, but needing to fuck into Obi-Wan, desperately, but the sheer joy of spilling within him. Anakin groaned, cock pulsing, and slumped forward, over Obi-Wan’s glowing form.

He held Obi-Wan - almost limp - and buried his face against Obi-Wan’s throat. He sucked hungry kisses against the skin, wanting to leave more marks, wanting to stain the pale flesh, wanting to leave no room for doubt that Obi-Wan was--

Was breathing shakily, trembles moving through him.

Anakin swallowed, hard, wrestling back control of all his riotous wants. He was aware, distantly, of cheering and the brilliant lights filling the chamber. But that all felt far away as he stroked a hand comfortingly across Obi-Wan’s stomach, pressing softer kisses to his skin, and holding him, there on the altar.

He managed to ask, as he got his breath back, “You think that did it?”

Obi-Wan laughed, tilting his head further to the side in what Anakin took as an invitation, and said, “Darling, you may have overshot us right into summer.”

#obikin #glimmer replies #ask me anything #Spicy September Week #public ritual sex #marking #spicy #not safe for wizards #established relationship #seriously thank everyone for all the prompts and support through this week #i was very nervous about doing so many spicy fics #i still remember that comment i got about my writing being good even if the sex is bad #so #thank you all of you #see you next year for another spicy week?#or maybe we'll do one in the spring #WHO KNOWS

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