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sandsorghum · 2 years

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How Well (or Terribly) They Handle "No Nut November" - Ranked

Smuterdays

Disclaimer: MINORS DNI

This is a silly internet challenge that probably doesn't have great repercussions for urological health, I would not recommend it irl That said, this was insanely fun to write and as usual, I got carried away with Nanami's. But like, super extra carried away this time... Call it severe overcompensation for missing last couple weekends

N/A

How many days they last: - 100

Get a mirror - that's what insanity looks like, if you're under the delusion you can suggest this to them and survive

Srsly, don't even think about bringing this challenge up with them

They seem to be doing their own though, some variation of 'Nut Everywhere/Everyday November'

It never hurts to make sure you know your place

To that end, they'll be filling you up so copiously - there's no space for any stupid ideas to slip into that dumb little head of yours

How many days they last: <5

"I'm the strongest" - there's no challenge Gojo Satoru won't cum come out on top of (Literally, for you)

But the evening of October 31st's gonna be rough on you

"If I'm gonna go a whole month without, you gotta make it worth my while, hm?"

You suppose it's only fair to let him get as much of it out of his system while he can

You didn't think his 'Limitless' applied to this...supply, but it does

Man literally only stops for swigs of Redbull before he's back at it

You lose count and track of time, naturally

"Well, would you look at that? It's already after midnight. Oops. Guess there's no point attempting this since I've already flouted the rules before we began!"

But you suspected Satoru would try to pull some sneaky shit

So you set all the calendars and clocks back by a day/few hours

The look on Satoru's face is priceless when you tell him

Oh, but there is a cost (Spoiler alert, Ariel, it's your ability to walk)

After all, there's nothing in the challenge stopping him from making you cum multiple times, apart from your physical limits that is

And since you're pushing him to the extreme, he'll return the favour in the opposite direction

What breaks them

Honestly, it surprises you how poorly Power translates into actual self-control. But then again maybe it shouldn't. Gojo is so accustomed to having (almost) everything his way and acting according to his whims, being denied is a delicious new sensation

But the novelty wears off before even a week is up

Gojo Satoru may command the universe in the twist of his digits, but you have him wrapped around your finger

He should never have let you order the strawberry sorbet from that gelato parlour, he's certain it's a trap you strategically laid out

But on the off chance that it isn't, and the way your tongue is wrapping around the waffle cone isn't meant to tease - well, Shit, your innocence somehow makes it that much worse

It's the dribble of pink sliding stickily down the sinews of your wrist that makes Satoru snap, that makes him grab your hand and whisk you away back to your apartment

His teleportation technique is disorienting even when you're warned well in advance, so imagine your bewilderment when one moment your back is up against the leather booth seat and the next it's flung against the satin sheets of your bed

Somehow the strawberry scoop survived the journey

But Satoru's gonna make sure you get more than your just desserts

You yelp as you feel something cold smeared across your breasts, quickly chased by hot swipes of a hungry tongue, the sudden switches in temperature causing your nipples to stiffen between razor sharp, wicked teeth

"Sa-Satoru, what the f-fuck? The r-rules!"

"Glad you agree, doll - Fuck the rules."

You haven't allowed him anywhere near you like this in days (days that you could count on one hand, for that matter), you have a pretty accurate assessment of the extent of Gojo's self-control

Or lack thereof

Give him an inch, and he'll give you his length take the whole yard

Not only has the bedroom been off limits, but you haven't even let him visit you or set foot in your home

And yet here you both are now, Satoru guaranteeing you'll have to do your laundry again, way ahead of its weekend schedule

"Baby just let me taste you,' he begs. But he's not really asking for permission, fingers already gathering the rivulets of nectar saturating your nethers, sweeter than any ice-cream

Oh, he's going to make you melt

Yet you cling to the one last crystalline shard of your determination, before it dissolves upon Satoru's tongue

"O-only your, your mouth, 'kay?"

You should have known better. That's more than enough opportunity for him to take advantage of

Or maybe, you did know. And so does Satoru

He has you just the way he wants; shamelessly seeping, lasciviously leaking, wantonly writhing. A mess, in short.

All it takes is a single look of longing, exchanged even amidst the trembling of your thighs locked around your lover

You don't know the number of times Satoru's had you shaking like this, but it's still not enough. You need to fall apart

He's a terrible influence, rubbing off on you in more ways than one

It was a foolish mistake, banking on a mandate of physical distance as a barrier to both your lusts,too easily surmountable in retrospect

You've given your own capacity for self-control too much credit

And now, well - let's just say Satoru ain't gonna be cashing blanks for the next few nights (;

How many days they last: 12~

Initially, Choso is none too fazed

He's gone entire centuries without sex, he figures it'll be like reverting back to that, just the same. And only for a month, right?

He wants to be your good boy, he really does

But oh, new habits die hard

It's as if his body's become more mortal in the time he's been together with you, adapted to primordial appetites, ancient hunger pangs that he's never had to deal with before - let alone suppress

And god, he's sensitive to your cravings too, how you'll curl up against him in the evenings, needing the heat of his breath against your nape to lull you to sleep. Or how you'll reach for him at dawn, wanting to entwine your arm with his, the gesture so sweet and innocent

but then those slumber-blurred fingers will brush against his morning wood, sparking something deep-rooted within him. Choso has to choke back a groan, to avoid waking you up before he can deal with it

He knows if you realise how bad a state he's in, you might be inclined to take mercy on him, but he doesn't want to disappoint

So lucky for him, he's got certain built-in advantages that other guys on this list don't, like that 'Blood Manipulation' technique

Probably not what the Kamo clan intended it for, but hey, he's a Cursed Womb, he was born rogue from the start

He reasons it's not cheating, you're still making things incredibly difficult for him, either awake or asleep - whether it's the unconscious grind of your bum against his already aroused cock, or the kisses you pepper across his cheeks on the rare days you're up before him (and even then, he's already 'up' before you...)

As the days pass, it takes him more and more effort to will away his erections before you can detect them, more concentration to wield his technique

But it can't bury the hunger in his eyes, in his touch, roaming ravenous and stirring you from your dreams

You know, you recognise it, even in the dissipating spread of your stupor and the squint of sunlight, Choso's obsidian irises glinting with the desire to devour you whole

But you only snuggle closer to your danger, pressing a smile to the edges of his incisors and asking in a drowsy whisper, "Sleep well, darling? Or were you restless?"

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you, love?" he grumbles.

Your yawns don't mask your smirks as well as you think, and Choso has to wonder about your questing fingers, how clumsy they really are, how careless? How careful?

After about a couple of weeks, when either your prevarications or provocations become unbearable, he takes refuge on the couch, leaving you in the middle of the night, much to your disapproval

You chase him there, despite his calculated retreat, ready with a pout, "The weather's getting colder than even you. Spare a thought for chilly ol' me, won't you?"

Ambushed by this excuse Choso can only sigh and wrap you in his arms, suffering in silence as you delightedly wiggle your hips against him, getting comfortable. You find his reticence adorable, and his restraint, well, really quite admirable.

You'll have to see what you can do about that

What breaks them

One of the times, it's more "midnight" wood than morning

It's never happened this soon, you'd both barely drifted off several hours ago -not that his cock gave a damn about Circadian rhythms

Choso's about to activate his technique, to force his stiffness to subside when the source of his troubles stirs, sighing softly

He allows his eyes to settle on the inspiration of his insomnia, the prone form of you. Gorgeous as always, truly guileless for once

Or perhaps you'd taken to subtler stratagems, Choso muses, gaze tracing your silhouette in a satin negligeè, from the lace hem riding up your thigh, to the dainty decolletagè fluttering along your collarbones, mottled mauve from his attentions earlier

You had indulged him, just a little that evening - some sick, twisted kind of encouragement that he still craved

"You've been doing so good for me, Cho," you panted, praise barely escaping the prick and drag of his incisors along your throat, your fingers fisting ink, nails scraping his scalp

"I promise I've been just as miserable."

Somehow, he doubts that.

It's a terrible night for a full moon.

In these wee hours, you're a sound sleeper; perhaps he can find some relief, just for a few moments

Choso's apology for his inevitable indiscretion isn't verbal, but he applies his mouth all the same, lips languidly tracking along your shoulder as he slips the laughably thin strap off the curve your arm, appreciating the slight shudder tickling against his teeth

He bestows these kisses with a chastity intimately acquainted with irony, his hips, compelled and compensating for modesty, relaxed and rutting his cock against the accommodating swell of your ass

It's good, so good, to be in control of his own pleasure again, just for a while, a little longer. It's divine

Choso drops his head, utters a small prayer, hands seeking out a miracle, muffles his groan when he finds you bare, wet and welcoming

Or perhaps it's no act of Providence, it's another of your coy little ploys, beckoning on the edge of Eden, beyond fig leaf and fabrication. Choso doesn't care. He curls his fingers into the flesh of his forbidden fruit, ripe with desire, stem snapping with a whimper of warmth and damp, the peal of his name thundering mortar against the shell of his ears

"Cho...s'so...good...m-more.."

Your lashes are still stitched in seams, brows knitted in a dream where you've given up this pantomime of discipline

And Choso's never known a crueler satire of desire, desperation and every ache he's ever endured before this night reduced to pastiche, pathetic child's play

Waiting upon your wings, for your eyes to fly open and flay him apart in accusation, disappointment, betrayal even. Yearning for a rending of his soul in the sneer of your pitying chagrin, chastising him, before he tumbles into a ravenous ravine, your merciless maw

He's a monster, pleading.

"Choso..."

A monster named, a beast tamed

Hazy, half-flutter of your lids stirs a similar sensation in his belly, moths drawn to the lampshade glow of your hooded, heated gaze

"Choose...for us...for me..." Your eyes slip shut once more, sparks seemingly receding. Only, they've stoked the embers in his loins

A guttural groan like the crackling of bonfires, as his agency collapses into ash. Touch-starved and cum-drunk, you never had any intention to present Choso another option beyond release.

His illusion of choice, an ambrosia you savoured

Your bodies have already decided, by the plush of your thighs, the spur of his hips, the whittling of regret down to relief, splintering into his moans, settling deep at last, in the lumber of his bones

And in the morning, aroused before you again, Choso's rich timbre reverberates against the saccharine redolence of your smug smile, turning the question on you, "Sleep well, darling? Or were you restless?"

How many days they last: 29

Only agrees to it because he's got an even kinkier scheme up his sleeve, and wants you in a position where you owe him a favour

Unlike Satoru, is on a mutually assured path of horniness-denying destruction. Celibacy for the both of you or bust.

Why should you get to have all the fun while he suffers solo?

"Gender equality, babe" he abruptly drops a light kiss to your temple and you don't know whether to punch him in the jaw or grab his face and plunge your tongue into his mouth; it's the most contact he's given you in weeks

It's as if he's terminated/paused his libido just by flipping a switch

You're envious of how easy it seems for him

Channels all that extra energy by being productive about his grand plans

If he's at all bothered it's very low-key and almost imperceptible, but manifests itself as sarcasm or teasing

"Guess what, cult recruitment is up by 120%! And I have you to thank for it. You really do have the best ideas. Maybe we should keep this going through December?"

You make a declaration about how you're gonna re-download Tindr.

Or hit up Satoru

Suguru just laughs, completely unthreatened. "You know as well as I do he's more of a menace than I could ever be." Unfortunately true

What breaks them

Suguru's resolve is iron-clad, nothing can crack it. His plans do not 'fall apart', they are deconstructed by his own volition

Or perhaps it's a confluence of hubris, curiosity and comeuppance

On the eve of his victory, he has you huddled in his lap, admitting your defeat. You've more or less accepted that you lost the bet, and that there will be repercussions - whatever those mysterious circumstances are (Suguru's only made vague references to them)

Still, it's nice to be touching him again, to be held flush against him

Your lips latch to his pulse, steady as ever, gliding up and down the column of his throat, shadowing every inhale and exhale of the smoke you're sharing.

Your hands, equally idle, snaking beneath his shirt to trace lazy shapes across his chest, in rhythm with his lungs.

It's disrupted for a moment, when a low chuckle reverberates through them. "What's this, a last ditch attempt?"

"I'm not that desperate." You scoff, pettily tweaking his bud and he jerks slightly against you, brow arching.

"Your behaviour begs quite the contrary, this late in the game."

"You're the one who has me astride your thighs. Besides, y'know what they say. Past performance is not indicative of future results."

He winds one arm around your waist, the other lifting the cigarette to your lips. Suguru's gaze is illuminated in a crimson glow as your cheeks hollow around it, nicotine thrumming in your veins as his laconic fingertips caress your lips.

"What," he murmurs, "You're not so crazy about me after this last month?"

You turn your head to the side, blowing out a stream of smoke

"Maybe. Maybe not. I have my own hypothesis regarding why."

"Go on then."

You press your pointer to your smirk, "Verdict's not out for the next...59 minutes and 17 seconds."

Suguru's mouth mirrors the quirk of your own. "These few weeks have been an experiment then. What were you trying to prove to yourself, I wonder?"

You shrug, refusing to give anything away

Suguru coils a lock of your hair around his fingers, tugging you towards him. His mouth molds heatedly to yours and you shiver, tendrils of menthol curling cool between your lungs as your lips part to receive his exhale

"You think it was easy for me, don't you?"

Amidst the heady fumes and the fog of pleasure, your gaze flickers, surprised at this unprompted sentimentality

"It always has been," you grumble, "More so for you than me."

"And yet..." You feel Suguru's sentence trail off into the smirk pressed against your skin, the unsaid emphasised by the pinprick of his teeth. Desperation enunciated in the whimpers rolling from your lungs and your hips; you've learned bargaining with Suguru is more effective the less articulate you are.

"Wasn't this supposed to be an exercise in discipline?" he mocks, rocking upwards, satirizing satisfaction in the torturously slow grind of his pelvis against your still clothed cunt. "You're hardly in the position to grade the assignment objectively."

"Yea, yea. The student has become the teacher or whatever," you mutter, reaching for Suguru, palming him through his slacks, which are rapidly becoming a misnomer, based off his light grunts and the way he bucks into your touch

"Testing me right till the end, ain't cha?" Suguru pants, swiping his knuckles through your folds to find ample opportunity to be your invigilator as well

"You'll pass, with flying colours, I'm sure." Gratitude escapes you in gasps as Suguru curls two long fingers within your walls, already weeping with relief. But all too soon the sinful squelching is replaced by the subtle swish of a zipper. Before you can complain however, your hear familiar sounds of sticky rustling

"Su...what're you...we're almost there..." Your protests shrivel, dry upon your tongue as you witness Suguru coat his shaft with your slick, glistening as the tip teasingly dips past your entrance, catching on your clit. You flinch, wondering if it's on purpose, or if he's just that out of practice

There isn't much doubt about the former when you hear his dark chuckle, husky against your ears. "I'm contemplating...Forfeiting."

"Why...why now?" you groan, even as you spread your legs wider, Suguru immediately taking advantage of the new angle to drag his cockhead a little further between your unfurling pussy lips

"Oh sweetheart, did you really think I wouldn't see through you?" Suguru's tone is wry, relaxed, even as his grip tightens fiercely on your hip. "All this time...it's never been about self control, has it?"

The collision of his lips is sudden as the crush of oxygen from your lungs, filled instead with gasoline fumes and tobacco flavours

Equally abruptly Suguru pulls away, a single thread of spittle swaying between you, iridescent as the twin pools of crude oil glistening in his gaze. "Wanted me to have a taste of my own medicine, didn't you? I really must commend you on this masterclass in manipulation. Though I held my own too," he muses.

That same thumb you've seen so often perched on the plush of Suguru's lips while he's lost in thought, now roves languorous and cruel against your sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling pathetic little moans from you. You squirm, grinding heavier upon the too scant source of pleasure, hoping to lure him out of his reverie. It works.

"I do just have one last question, I suppose," he hums, harshly pinching your nub, unbearable arousal flooding your body electric afresh.

"What," you hiss, coherence fizzling out with every brush of his finger against your drenched hole - but that's just the way he adores you, vulgar, vapid - all pretense of eloquence evaporating

"What the fuck is it Suguru?"

Without warning or even a hint of a telltale smirk, he spears fully into you, guttural groan eclipsed by the scream wrenched from your throat. Fuckfuckfuck - it's too long, it's been too long.

"One of us has the answer darling," Suguru rasps as you mewl for more of his merciless thrusts, a sloppy cacophony percussive in your pussy

"Who's really controlled by this cunt. You, or me?"

You don't know if Suguru intended the question to be rhetorical that night, the answer lost in a miasma of sweat and cum. Oh well, it seems you'd have to conduct more research together...

How many days they last: All of it

Oh my god

Finally, the man I started this all for

I don't even know what to say, now that I'm here

Look we all knew Nanami would come out on top

You're the one who's gonna severely regret (suggesting) this

Obviously he thinks it's a ridiculous idea - he's denied himself of his desires for you, for months after you first met. Why would he make himself go through that ordeal again?

But he does you the courtesy of researching it himself at least

And comes across a few particularly intriguing anecdotes, about the alleged influence it has on a man's load and increasing chances of pregnancy

The two of you have been through several rounds of discussion on that topic, ultimately always leaving it open-ended

In all honesty, it made Nanami a little uneasy, how laissez-faire your approach was to becoming a mom, despite all his persuading

I don't know how you could get more gorgeous than you are now, and I know it's a lot to ask...if you'll make me the happiest man on earth twice in a row

If it happens, it'll happen, you shrugged, wolfing down a bowl of frosted flakes. You grin at him above your milk moustache. Statistically speaking, given how often the attempts are made...

You wanted to leave it to chance. Nanami doesn't believe in luck.

You married a rather deliberate man, remember?

So even if the odds are slim and it's totally unsupported by any scientific evidence, your sweet strategic husband Nanami is gonna give you a little push to convince you...

Besides, he can't help but recall how beautiful you look on your knees, pride and clothes cast aside

What breaks themyou

It's not like you notice absolutely zero changes in his behaviour

You know his hobby's baking but now it's an all-consuming passion

Nanami becomes rigorously, almost religiously you might say, committed to figuring out the perfect brioche recipe

The truth is, it gives him an excuse to escape slip out of bed early in the mornings before the swell of your ass give him any ideas he can't get rid of so easily

He has to redirect all his attentions to other kinds of buns, right?

But the way they rise in the oven makes his mind drift to more... pleasurable endeavours; skills you've recognised him for repeatedly

Oh, and when you sneak up on him by the kitchen doorway, lured out of slumber by the scent of freshly baked bread, draped only in his rumpled button up, sliding off one shoulder...it's a good thing he set a shrill timer, reminding him not to let his hours of labour char to a crisp

Though fires still burn low in his belly...

He feels them, these tongues of flame lapping at the base of him, as you perch yourself on the counter so prettily for him, swinging your bare legs, the hem of his shirt riding up the plush of your thighs as you munch into scrumptious French toast, blissfully unaware of the effect you're having on your husband

"You're gonna make me so fat, Kento," you sigh happily, sucking fluffy crumbs off your thumb

And yea, Nanami agrees, he'd like to see you stuffed, swollen, bequeathed with stretch marks even...

But your tiger has to earn his stripes

so he doesn't say any of this, naturally

just carefully watches the way a dribble of maple syrup trickles from the edge of your mouth, weighs the risk of chasing it with his tongue, to smear it all over your clavicle, down to the hollow of your throat where he knows those ruinous gasps reside. He's evicted them often enough

So yes, it would be too great a risk

Instead he mumbles something about moisture ratios and you absently nod along, licking none-too-discrete designs off your lips, disappointed that Nanami's resisted yet another day of your deliberate displays of innocence

You're caught between admiration and frustration towards your husband's discipline, especially given how he had scoffed so dismissively when you initially brought it up

But by the third week, Nanami at least succumbs to the pursuit of nectars sweeter than maple syrup Ok, idk how this got away from me and became a whole-ass fic but there's more explicit smut under the cut

He'd been getting testier, touchier, even out in public.

Curt where he'd usually be courteous with waitstaff, valets, sommeliers who beamed a little too broadly when you gushed gratefully about their recommendations, whose fingers lingered against yours a little too long, wrapped around wine glass stems (or so he imagines).

Nanami's grip around your waist is extra tight when you exit the restaurant, remains that way the rest of the night - until it doesn't. That's when he flings you onto the sofa, all of two and a half steps past the threshold of your apartment entrance, shredding apart a dress whose lofty price tag he's well aware of, he paid for it after all. Or rather, you're paying for it now (maybe you both are).

You've always been irresistible to him, and yet he's put himself into this predicament; the high slit snug and accentuating your hips, inspiring uncorralled allusions to roam wild in his mind all evening.

And well, you certainly won't pretend Nanami's face hasn't always been an inviting saddle.

But who has the reins, really, in this situation? With him growling at you to grind down harder, C'mon he can take it, needs it. Or had you already forgotten? Then he should remind you...

That he will be the only one, ever, responsible for the scarlet flooding your cheeks, the only one to witness your bright-eyed stupor, far from any protected regions in France. The only one to savour the dilation of your lust-blown pupils, to taste the thrumming in your veins as you remember: you've refined Nanami's palette rather well yourself.

"Allow me this," Nanami growls again when you beg him to stop, having spilled enough to fill jealously guarded, aged oak casks - the wine snobs could have them for all you cared. If it's his indulgence, why does it still feel like the tables have turned on you?

"There's nothing in the rules preventing me from making you cum repeatedly, is there?" Nanami clarifies with a smirk that gives away the rhetorical intent of his inquiry. You shake your head, dazed, drunk, barely aware of the torture you've agreed to.

"Excellent." Nanami's grin dips out of view as he lowers his head once more, but the very eclipsing of it behind your thighs is sufficient insinuation of sin you'll pay dearly for. Gladly for.

But then, it seems the universe has other plans when Nanami's phone rings; deprived (or made depraved) by the bell.

"Fuck."

You're not sure whether it's you or Nanami who utters the expletive, but you both know there's only one person obnoxious enough to call at this hour

"Gojo-san, nothing short of Sukuna's resurrection is going to get-"

"Nanaminnn~! I'm so Luckyyy to have caught yooou! Can't believe ya picked up on the first time, I usually have to try at least seven times - did you know I was having a dough-related emergency? You really are one with all things yeasty."

"A dough-related? - no," Nanami cuts himself off, determined not to be dragged in by the absurdity of Gojo's request. He'd learned the hard way not to let bafflement triumph.

"I see this is you being superficial and tedious as usual. If it's not urgent or a professional matter-"

"What are you doing up so late anyway? Can't be the missus, hm? A little birdy told me she's got you trapped with that November challenge."

The two of you freeze in absolute shock. You both know, you would never in a thousand years betray your husband that way, so how the hell did that menace guess?

"Ah? That was just a silly hunch of mine but since the silence is lasting longer than two seconds, I hit the nail on the head huh? Thing is, you've been so tense at work, Nanamin. You've barely complained about Overtime. Guess it's cause you can't get off even when you do get off, hm? No stress relief waiting for you at home?"

"My home life is none of your concern." Nanami says tersely - perhaps slightly too tersely.

"Eh? But it is my concern, as your colleague and friend! Affects your performance, don't cha know?"

You absolutely loathe the emphasis Gojo's loaded that term with, but you don't even have time to be furious at it before you're flabbergasted by his following outlandish remarks

"I sympathise with you, I really do. My own partner set me the same challenge. Didn't last the week."

Gojo's confession is of course, absent of any shade of shame.

Nanami clears his throat of the second-hand awkwardness that he's always forced to take on in any conversation with Gojo. Firsthand, really, given the irritant's imperviousness.

"That is unsolicited information which manages to surprise no one."

Gojo chuckles, and you pity the maniac who's somehow putting up with him. "Mh, she was, for one."

"What, at his utter lack of self-control?" you hiss under your breath, but apparently, not low enough.

You can practically hear Gojo's ears prick up through the line.

"Ah, that the lil' wifey? Put her on, it's been ages!"

Nanami's about to snap something impatiently but you gesture for the phone. He passes it over wordlessly, with an arched brow; trusting, but curious.

"Gojo-san."

"Mrs Nanaminnn, why hello! You're up late as well?"

"Yes, just fulfilling my wifely duties, you know..." You cradle the mobile device between your shoulder and chin, freeing both hands to gently stroke along Nanami's cheeks, silently asking him to resume his original ministrations, before you'd both been so rudely interrupted. He obliges, gratefully trailing a smattering of kisses across the lap which could block out all the world's nuisances.

Its peak example responds, "Hm? I didn't know Nanami married such a frank woman."

"Well, it's natural isn't it? For me to fulfill my husband's needs."

"Oh?"

Gojo's caught off-guard for once, as demonstrated by the single-syllable simplicity of his reply.

"Every couple has a different dynamic of course, and I respect whatever you have going on with your partner, Gojo-san. In fact, my admiration for their tolerance of immaturity is particularly high."

You hear a protest start to warble in Gojo's throat, but you've learned a thing or two from him, and barrel on.

"However, I could never subject Kento to such flagrant, unnecessary stress. I know how much of it he's been under."

"I can't stand to see him so on edge, so desperate. I want to comfort him any way I can, and the best method I've found is by opening up my..."

You pause, savouring the shocked silence coming from the other end, for once.

But then, Nanami gives a harsh nip to your inner thigh and your breath hitches. It's a warning, a prompt. Hurry up.

"My-my ears," you continue at last, raking your hands though the straw-blonde furrows of your husband's hair, fringe already sweat-slicked back, as his heated palms drag you forward on his tongue, harvesting another of your barely contained whimpers.

"Sorry, did you say ears? You sounded a little breathy there, missus." Your knuckles whiten against Nanami's locks, aggravated that you've allowed smugness to seep back into Gojo's tone.

"I'm breathing very well, thank you - and I'm not sure what you heard but I did say ears," you retort with a short, sharp inhale through your nose.

"You see, my husband's the sweetest, most respectful, most wonderfully patient man on earth," You bite your lip to hold back your moans as Nanami attempts to disapprove every single description you've given him with harsh sucks to your clit, alternating with vicious swipes of his cunning tongue.

"B-but even he- he has his l-limits," you say shakily, wrapping your quivering thighs around Nanami's strong neck, feeling the pulse of his thick tendons against your calves.

"And the chief grievance he came to me with was unfortunately, work-related. A pesky, inconsiderate colleague who has no regard for boundaries or other people's private time. So, for my dear husband's sake, I'll only say this once, Gojo-san. Are you listening?"

"Um..."

"Kindly, Fuck off."

And with that you hang up, switching off the phone and tossing it to the corner of the room

You hear Nanami's laugh reverberate against the apex of your thighs, even as your gaze catches his, glowing with affection and wonder.

He only parts briefly from your clit to murmur, "Fuck, I love you."

You grin down at him, "Then prove it, mister. Husbandly duties are a thing too, you know."

And of course he fulfills them, thoroughly, tirelessly. Repeatedly.

But it's still not enough.

"K-kento, n-need more," you beg, falling apart as his fingers squelch in symphony with your squeals.

"Your c-cock. Cock. Wan' w-want it sso bad. Please!" you sob.

"Cum, c-cum too. Gimme all'it. E-every drop. Want your babies."

Nanami stills, eyes narrowing as you shudder and babble incoherently beneath him. Glorious as the sight is, he peels his attention away to glance at the clock and calendar on the wall.

"You have...ulterior motives," he observes, thumb cruelly resuming its languid circular assault on your too sensitive nub.

"Nngh! nno-No!" you cry out, grabbing his wrist. "As many - as many as you want, that I-I can give you. Wanna make you proud Daddy."

Nanami groans for the first time that night, you both know how that word triggers him, it's your trump card - alas, played too early.

"In the morning," he murmurs, promise tender against your temple as he pistons mercilessly, four fingers deep inside you. Stretched thin, not ready to snap.

"If you still feel the same, in the morning...It'll change everything, there's no rush, my love."

You wail as your final climax wrecks you, a contrast of fullness and emptiness wringing your body and rending your heart apart as you you lock eyes with Nanami, adoration brimming over in amber, as if it could quench his brimstone hunger too...

You cannot demand the dawn to arrive sooner, you already know you don't need the clarity of day.

But, it turns out you don't have to wait that long.

The rustle of sheets and rhythm of his sighs are still spilling into ink, shadows still kissing your eyes when they flutter open. Nanami feels your smirk pressed to his mouth, your thighs parting readily to welcome him back. You switch on the bedside lamp.

"What happened to 'in the morning', hm?"

"It is...one minute after midnight."

"Well then, happy November 1st, Kento." You giggle, fingers trembling all too eagerly as you reach for him.

"What's this?" you frown, grasping the material taut around his length.

Nanami's hips twitch, despite the reluctance tinged sheepish shuddering through his lungs. "I meant that part."

His kiss is slow and deep. "There's no rush."

You stare at Nanami, face cradled in his gentle palms. Expectant, mildly hesitant, waiting. As always.

All it took was a moment. Perhaps poorly calculated, barely preconceived.

It flit past your mind, somersaulting past all the fences and gates of "what ifs" and "how's", buoyant as a bird on the breeze, a gale summoned by his gaze, one pure instant of desire that conspires to slip from your mouth as you whisper, "I was serious too. Let's try."

To behold his expression is like watching rapid weather changes, rays breaking golden in those amber irises for a few seconds, all marvel and wonder at the sun-soaked, burnt umber horizon writhing beneath him, before something clouds over, thunderstorm scudding in his eyes, beckoning the lightning you feel arcing down your spine. Heated breaths condense against each other, tongues like tendrils of clouds chasing each other, perspiration pelts down from his forehead to yours, flesh dewy from yielding to him, lips parting for rainfall, as for once, you both pray for your bodies to yield something more joyous and anguished, something more cacophonous and quiet, than mere, wanton satisfaction.

You will never deny Nanami of anything, ever again.

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yanderenightmare · 4 years

Text

BNHA HEADCANNONS

INTIMATE ACTIVITIES

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dubcon/noncon, abuse, kidnapping, abduction, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mind control

TIP-JAR

YANDERE ! BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

Katsuki enjoys several other things apart from bedroom activities. All he needs is to feel needed. He loves cooking for his darling, watching movies and snuggling on the couch or in bed, he even wants to dance on some evenings, all in the confines of his home though. Because he just loves those extra intimate interactions with his darling: his house is equipped with pools, a jacuzzi, showers and a sauna. He just wants and needs her in all those semi-naked situations. Needs to satisfy his ownership of her. He will allow her access to every room of their house. He has installed every safety measure he deemed necessary for it to be possible for her to wander about. Having artificial staff to clean instead of actual, interactable, distracting human beings. He loves ensuring his darling that he’s the only thing she’ll ever need. And, because of this, Katsuki’s favorite thing to do in the bedroom is going down on his darling. Whether it be before, in between or after sex, preferably all. He’s a giver, but for selfish reasons obviously. He likes to feel her squirm and squeal beneath him, under his lips and tongue and teeth. He likes to prove how well he knows her body and taste what a mess he’s reduced her to afterwards.

YANDERE ! DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA

Dabi is kinky. Not to an extreme extent, however more so than most. He rarely uses his quirks, but is not above doing so. He will brand his darling with his name and the occasional thumbprint hearts, but nothing more. He enjoys powerplay, as in collars and leashes and handcuffs, but rarely anything more than that, mostly because he isn’t that much of a patientperson. Dabi’s favorite bedroom service is a blowjob, of course. He loves seeing his darling down on her knees making him feel good, sucking him off as though her life depends on it. He loves every part of it, from her lips tightening around his shaft, to the walls of her mouth closing around him, hitting the wall in the back of her throat, even feeling her teeth slightly graze against him. But, nothing beats when she swallows so perfectly and gives him the outmost adorable little thank you afterwards, kissing his cock as if it were some gracious offering. He does enjoy other things apart from sex though. He loves the aftermath. Snuggling. Oh, how he loves snuggling. The soft drum of her heartbeat against him, the smell of her mingling with the smell of him. His darling’s soft skin pressed against the leathery texture of his purple marred flesh. He hopes she doesn’t scathe and annoy by it.

YANDERE ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA

Tomura absolutely worships his darling, he doesn’t take anything she offers for granted. Even if he has to threaten her first. He enjoys playing videogames with her, though… he’s too easily distracted. He’ll want something else, something more, quickly. Whether it be kisses, hugs, or for her to brush her fingertips across his skin. Simply feeling her warmth up against him is enough for Tomura to shiver in ecstasy. However… it’s far from satisfactory. Once he gets a taste, he almost immediately needs more, and he’s not one to hold himself back. He will take if she does not offer, and he does not take lightly to her teasing. During sex: Tomura enjoys the cowgirl position above all else. Seeing his darling kneeling so perfectly in his lap, the both of them cradling one another, her hands wrapped around his neck, his hands being able to touch each and every part of her. Savoring the moment, as she displays in offering to him. He takes time enjoying himself, dragging out every moment until he’s contently satiated. He returns the favor, never leaving his darling unsatisfied, even though she probably would prefer it that way.

YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI

Hitoshi wants to talk. To talk to and observe, dissect, analyze his darling’s every word. He wants her thoughts, her emotions, her everything. Talking is part of why he fell in love with her. Because she seemed to want to talk as much as he did. She wasn’t scared either, the words seemed to pour out like poetry; unrestricted. A social butterfly incapable of staying quiet, incapable of leaving his questions unanswered. She was perfect for him. Even after he took her, she still couldn’t stop herself. He needn’t even use his quirk… most of the time. But… Hitoshi just loves taking advantage of his quirk in the bedroom, as so to have his darling focus on the pleasures he’s giving her instead of how wrong it feels. Hitoshi, quite like Dabi yet even to a more extreme, is a very kinky guy. He loves gifting his darling with trinkets. Loving to dress her up in all straps and lace and chains and stocking and collars and leashes, all branded with his name on them… perhaps even cat ears and a cage and making her call him master while he calls her kitty. He has a lot in store for his darling.

YANDERE ! TAMAKI KEIGO - HAWKS

Keigo wants to find out what a relationship is. He doesn’t have a lot to go on, except for numerous romance movies and series. He isn’t shy though, he’ll get creative and experiment. Cuddling, wrapping his wings around his darling. It proves beneficial, both in being more comfortable for him and in keeping his darling in place. Showering together, shampooing one another’s hair. He’ll trap her mouth in his hand and make her breath in the water if she refuses to oblige his wishes. Cooking together. She’ll wish she just cut the vegetables like he asked. It’s a good thing she can never get a good hit in, despite however many times she tries. Keigo seems unbothered, never dwelling, never holding any grudges. There are too many other activities that needs his attention. Keigo prefers standing during sex. More control that way. With the freedom of his wings, something of which would be hard to maintain were they to be lying in a bed. He loves taking his darling up against the wall, whether she’s standing on her own two feet with her face mushed against the boards, or with him holding her up under her thighs with her legs cradling him. Keigo isn’t picky though, so any position where his wings are free is just fine with him.

YANDERE ! MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izuku just wants to be close, that’s really all he needs, they don’t even have to have any sex, they don’t even have to be that naked, or... at least not at first, not before she’s neatly settled in and come to terms with the fact that she is to love him until the end of times and won’t ever be leaving. Any position that allows him to reach and admire every part of his darling is perfect for him, yet he prefers to be able to see her face. He only allows her in the bed, anything else would be too rough for his little darling. The bed is the only safe place for her. So, that’s exactly where she’ll stay, out of harm’s way. He’ll bring her food and activities such as novels, notebooks, sketchbooks, anything she asks of him as long as she stays in the bed. He understands it when she gets restless. He too, would grow feral being suspended to a bed all day. But, he really can’t trust her with herself and risk her being free without his supervision. She’s bound to hurt herself, being as fragile as she is. He’ll insist on carrying her if she wants to go to the bathroom, pouring the right temperature into the bathtub and insisting on getting in with her. He’ll make it clear that he doesn’t mind, that he quite enjoys it. There will come a time where he enjoys it a bit too much, where he’ll insist that his needs and her needs are one of the same. By what time, he’ll have grown so demented, she’d count herself blessed if she’s ever given the time to sleep again.

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

Bubble-baths. His darling; surrounded by soap-bubbles. Her skin being smooth and slippery against his own; glowing. He wants her constantly, but if there’s a time where he feels his composure slip, it’s when they’re clean and perfect with only each-other and the soap surrounding them. But, despite being entitled, despite being impatient, despite wanting to have her in the outmost depraved ways… he’ll go about things rather professionally and respectfully, because Kai is, despite everything, a traditional guy. He believes in decorum and customs. So, his favorite position to have during intercourse is obviously missionary, the way it should be. That doesn’t, by any means, mean he is a mediocre guy. He just enjoys the contours and slopes and curves and dips of his darling’s face. How beautifully lit, bright and glossy her eyes get when he rams into her. How plump and juicy her lips are when they absorb the tears running down her cheeks. The soft crinkle between her brows and how her mouth hangs upon, shameful moans spilling past her lips. It’s all too much for him to ever want to face away from her whilst doing something so intimate. He allows himself to remove his gloves when they’re bathing. If only to feel the smooth, clean and warm feel of her throat under his fingers, as he fucks her into oblivion.

YANDERE ! TODOROKI SHOTO

Shoto is quiet. And, it’s strange, because she used to think it was because he was a soft soul. He isn’t. Shoto’s favorite sexual endeavor is spanking, to see how far that spirit of hers actually reaches, he’s never disappointed. Whether she’s bended over his lap, the table, the sofa, any surfaces really, or chained to the ceiling, or on all fours presenting her ass so delectably for him. He loves seeing his handprint branded on her plump flesh. Enjoying what different colors he can bring to the surface by exchanging which quirk he uses. He finds it very efficient as well, given that his darling rarely disobeys him. She often wonders in fear what fresh hell his punishments could possibly be when his awards are already so brutal. He never skips on aftercare though, even though his cooing and affection is unwanted. Never understanding that his affection doesn't make up for the brutality. He’ll hold her tightly to his chest, cool down the swollen flesh, stroke her hair, kissing her forehead almost so softly she nearly forgets what he just did to her moments before. He’ll balance everything out to an obsessive degree. For every slap, she’ll also get a kiss. For every burn, he’ll also cool it down and vice versa. Every time they do something unpleasant, he’ll be sure to have something softer planned the next day. She isn’t sure which she dislikes the most, but… there’ll come a time where she won’t be sure which one she enjoys more.

TIP-JAR

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years

Text

200 Followers Appreciation Post

I'll be very honest, two months back when I joined Tumblr, I hadn't expected that my writings will be read by many, and the last thing I had expected was to be followed. Now look far we've come, from 0 followers to 200.

A personal thank you and a lot of love to each and every follower of mine.

I think this is the best part of our fandom. We love each other like family.

As a little token of my thank you, I decided to publish two of my requests combined as one today. Hope you like it. 💓

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Request 1- Prompt "We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies."

Request 2- Reader was always in love with Tommy, thinking he can't love her back she starts writing cheap novels as a way to deal with it. Her books become popular and everything is cool until Tommy finds out about her hobby and notices similarities between her writing and real life.

Warnings - Angst

GIF Credits - @thomasshelbyltd thank you. ❤️

A Maid's Diary

You slumped against your desk, letting your head rest against the old wooden table top, your elbows on either side of your face. Your desk was a cluttered mess, with sheets of paper flooded all over. In your hand, you held a pen, as you were just seconds back, scribbling vigorously on a parchment as an idea had just hit you, and just as swiftly, the idea had vanished from your mind.

You couldn't forget and you couldn't forgive your best friend, Linda, for having betrayed you by sharing your diary to a local printing press, who had, without your permission, published your countless feelings that you had penned down in your little diary, without even your consent, although they didn't take the credit for it. You were still the writer, even though the publishers never published your real name on it, just a pen name.

As much as you hated to admit it, the little push made by your friend had worked tremendously and your popularity had grown amongst the lower middle class especially; as that is where you hailed from. They loved your modesty, they loved how humble and down to earth you were, although you were extremely talented.

Little did they know, that the book that had been published, as an act of mistake, was actually based on your life.

"What is it that you are reading?" Tommy pushed his round glasses over his eyes, as he looked through them and fixed his broody stare on his wife.

Grace was sprawled on the couch in his study, shimmering in a beautiful pearl white satin nightgown hanging loosely over her slender frame, her natural blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She seamlessly brought up her ring studded hand to her hair, running her fingers through the locks as her eyes came to rest on her husband.

"Would you look at this Tommy?" She raised a red little book in her hand, showing it to him briefly, before she sat back more comfortably. Their son, Charlie, crawled about on the carpeted floor, playing with a toy train. "I don't know who this woman is, but if you read this book, you would feel like you are a bloody part of it."

"Is it one of those fucking love stories again, Grace?"

"It's much more than that, love. It's complex. It's like reading a person's life, living her memories."

"Right, well, I'm out, I've got a bloody meeting with Arthur at the pub." He stood up, sliding his hand into his waistcoat and pulling out the pocket watch, taking a quick glance at it. He then kissed his wife a goodbye, lifting Charlie up in his arms, "Be good, you cheeky little oaf."

Little did he know, how that would be the last week, that he was spending home with his wife. The next week, Grace Shelby was shot, and she couldn't make it.

As days inched by, Tommy started growing more and more morose. Although he didn't show it, those around him felt it everyday. The snapping and the yelling increased, and Tommy found himself sleeping less and less, and chugging down more and more of that alcohol to keep his mind at rest. There were weeks when Tommy didn't see his son. Although he felt guilty, for neglecting him, as the poor child had lost his mother, just like he had lost his wife, he couldn't bring himself to face him, as he reminded him so much of her.

Soon, weeks turned into months and finally, Tommy's agony subsided to a bit. It wasn't as if it was an overnight process, but somehow, over the course of time, Tommy didn't feel the hurt anymore, as he initially did— or maybe, he learnt to live with it.

One night, when the nightmares crippled him to such an extent that he found himself unable to sleep, he decided to go through Grace's belongings, something he had kept locked up in the attic, afraid to touch them. Holding a lantern in his hand, he walked up the flight of stairs, the old floorboards creaking underneath the weight of his foot as he stepped into the dinghy little room. In a corner, a brown crate was hoarded up, keeping all of Grace's belongings.

Pulling off the the wooden board that was nailed shut, he pried it off and ran his hand through the dust coated silk dresses, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric. He let out a weak, pained exhale, slowly sliding down against the floor, pulling his hand out as he started fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette.

With a lit cigarette in his left hand, he slid his right hand back in, feeling around the box until his palm hit something hard. Pulling it out, he saw a little red book that was now turning a shade of purple at the edges. The book was coated in a sheet of dust, causing Tommy to squint his eyes slightly and scrunch up his nose as he brushed the dust off its cover.

A faint smile, a fond remembrance of Grace reading this book with such enthusiasm brought a weak smile to his lips. He took a drag of his cigarette, pulling himself off the floor and pocketed the book, walking out of the attic.

It was his eyes, eyes that could hold an entire ocean in them, that captivated me. I often found myself looking at him, stealing glances, when no one was looking. A part of me begged for his attention, hoping, yearning that he would atleast give me a glance but he never did.

The more he read through the passages, the more he realized what Grace had meant. This was not just a book, it was someone's life, it was someone's feelings. The words were simple and not at all fancy, the backdrop set was not that of a fine mansion, it was a tiny little house, in a clamoured street, a family of five siblings, four boys and one girl, and the writer, who was just a servant. The writer knew the love she felt for one of the sons of the house was wrong, improper and it was forbidden because she was a servant and they were her employers but she couldn't help how she felt, no matter how hard she tried to forget. Tommy couldn't help but feel drawn— drawn to the writer's pain, her anguish and the feeling of being stuck at the end of a self destructive, one sided love. He knew what it meant to not get to be with the person you loved. He had experienced the pain, although in a different sense but somehow, he could relate. Although Thomas Shelby didn't show any feelings, he had eventually fallen head over heels in love with Grace Burgess and life with her had been a life of roses and poppies, while he was a crown of thorns; that Grace bravely adorned on her head.

It was a cold night, and I was freezing. I could feel my cheeks turning to stone and my hands fervously rubbing against my arms to keep myself warm. I could see them right in front of my eyes; the whole family. They looked happy. They brothers were teasing their sister, who had a look of dismay plastered over her face, and the youngest brother, who was just a toddler, ran about the parlour, sucking on his thumb. I wondered if it was selfishly wrong of me to think of him in this way, to imagine how our little household would have been, had I been bound to him by marriage. I wondered if it was a sin, wondering what I would have named our children if we had a handful of them.

Thomas found himself leaning back comfortably in bed, straining into his glasses, wanting to read more, although his body and his eyes were beyond tired. It was as though he could see a glimpse of his life before the war had been, right through someone else's eyes. He could see little Finn, perched on the carpeted floor, running his toy train all over it, making a weird engine sound with his mouth while John and Arthur teased Ada for something she had probably said. He could picture himself by the window, staring at the dimly lit sky, the illuminating stars, thinking of the moment Greta took her last breath, her frail hand falling limp in his warm one.

How unlucky had he been with women, he had watched the women he loved die, in in his arms.

As I scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen, I could hear the curses in the parlor. He was screaming at himself, bringing the dishes down, breaking them one by one. No one dared stop him, because no one wanted to be slammed against the wall or have to be the one taking a porcelain hit on his face. I wondered if I should step in, maybe give him some tea but I didn't. Maybe, he didn't need it. It was only later that I found out he had lost the love of his life.

He shoved the book aside and sat up straighter, running his palm through his face, his breathing shaky and rushed. He grabbed his cigarette box off the bedside table and lit himself a cigarette. Maybe reading this book had been a mistake, it was opening up all his raw wounds that he had buried away.

He was leaving. I wanted to ask him when he would be back but of course, that would have been such a silly question. And besides, he had a lot more on his plate, why would he want to speak to a servant? I stood behind the kitchen wall, listening to the solemn parting, the shuffling of feet, listening to them leave until finally I could hear them no more— I could hear him no more.

Years after years, I went on with life, with a smile on my face. I did what I always did in the mornings; scrubbing the floors clean, washing the dishes, preparing supper and doing the laundry. At night, though, I thought of him and his blue eyes. I wondered if there was any news, for I hadn't heard anything about him in ages. Maybe my prayers were finally answered, the war ended and they all were back home. Only they weren't themselves. The war had killed a part of them. They were the ghosts of war, left to meander the Earth until they finally died.

"Mr. Shelby?" Tommy sharply looked up, his eyebrows straightened into a visible frown.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Charlie's asleep, the supper's ready. I was wondering if I could get a night off—"

"Mary, you may. You have bloody worked hard enough to earn a night off. Go on then, hurry up, it's pretty dark outside."

He watched her leave, staring at the door before bringing his gaze back to the book, wondering if the writer was out there somewhere. And he wondered, and hoped, that she had finally gotten to be with the man she loved. She deserved it. She deserved all the happiness in the world.

I finally mustered the courage, after what seemed like eternity, to speak my heart out. I was afraid of rejection, but he deserved to know. I deserved to be free of this heavy secret in my heart. I didn't care if he would ask me to leave, stop coming to work from tomorrow but he needed to know I loved him. So, I stepped out into the chilly night, wrapping myself with whatever warm I could find. I walked and walked, until I was at his pub. Of course, he wasn't there. With a heavy heart then, I thought of going back home, through an alley, that was a shorter route. Little did I know, I was never going to get the man I loved for he already had the woman he loved, the woman from the pub; that barmaid. I saw the man I was in love with, from a window, the way I always imagined him to be with me, kissing her and stroking her cheeks. It was as though I heard a devastating sound somewhere close by, but it was nothing but my heart—shattered into two.

Thomas Shelby was many things, but he was not ignorant, or dumb. He slammed the book shut, shoving it on the bedside table. His heart was racing rapidly and he could feel blood rush through his veins. Arching his body forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, he buried his face into his palms. Every single detail in the book, every single piece of writing was something he had experienced before. It couldn't be a mere coincidence, could it? He slid out of bed, stomping through the hallway into his study until he was perched on a stool by the telephone his fingers frivolously moving against it. He knew what he had to do now.

"Pol?" He mumbled into the phone the instant he heard her on the other side.

"Tommy? It's fucking midnight, what's the bloody matter?" Tommy didn't mind he had woken her up. He needed answers.

"Do you remember a maid that worked for us?" He sighed into the receiver.

"Tommy, we have hired a dozen fucking maids, which one are you talking about?"

"She was with us when Greta died, when we went to war—"

On the other side of the telephone, Polly's demeanour softened. She remembered you, she even knew how you loved Thomas, but she could never bring it up to her lips, because she knew that you and Thomas had no future.

"Yes."

"Do you know where she is? And for fucks sake, don't lie."

Your coffee mug lay on the table untouched, smoke bellowing out of it in waves. Outside your window, snow drizzled from the sky, like tiny droplets of fur falling to the ground, your garden sheeted in pristine virgin white.

"Love, you have to bloody see this," your friend Linda's voice echoed through the closed door, loud enough to alert you.

"What is it?" You threw open your window, watching your bestfriend stand at the gate, her eyes fixed to your window, "Just get your bloody arse down here (Y/N), I have to show you something. Come on out, now."

Annoyance.

You practically ran down the flight of stairs, not even stopped to calm your breaths.

"Jesus, Linda, it's fucking snowing, I'm going to freeze to—"

"Sorry love." Linda gave you an apologetic smile, her index finger pointing towards the silhouette of a man leaning by your front gate, slowly sliding out of the periphery of gaze. Neither were you watching her. You were watching a ghost of your past, that stood leaning by the metal gate on your front door, a cap on his head, a long overcoat drawn over his scrawny body. He had gotten weaker than you had last seen him.

"Miss (Y/N)." His voice was curt, yet warm, without a trace of malice in it. After all these years, he was right here, on your doorstep.

"Mr. Shelby? Would you like to come in?"

He shook his head, rather, his eyes and you knew that he didn't want to talk in the confines of your home, under prying eyes. He slowly pulled out a book from his pocket and your eyes widened. Your fingers flew to your lips and you felt a rush of blood in your body, an instant feeling of being in the warmth of a fireplace. You wanted to reply, but you couldn't find the words.

"You read my book, you found me out."

"It wasn't that fucking difficult to figure it out, love."

"Jesus, would you please come in? It's freezing out here, you're going to bloody catch a cold—"

He cut you off as you turned to walk in, grabbing you by your arm, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from walking. He then pulled you towards him, your front hitting his hard chest, to look into his face.

"It was you all along?"

You didn't know what to say anymore. He had found you out. After all these years.

"I don't understand—" You whispered, shaking your head. You couldn't lie, his eyes were making you nervous and all the feelings that had simmered over the course of time were finally lighting up again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it will get published."

"Do you believe in destiny?" He cut you off.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to mentally think where he was going with this, "Perhaps, Mr. Shelby, but you need to be clearer than that."

"I didn't believe in fucking destiny, until this minute. I can't believe I'm fucking saying this—" You could see reluctance in his eyes, an inward fighting. You could see that he was thinking hard, probably having a hard time figuring out what he should say to you. "You remember Greta?"

You were hundred percent sure you weren't smiling, but had you been smiling, it would have withered.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby, the girl that died holding your hand, the girl you loved."

"Good, and what about Grace? The woman you saw at the fucking window."

Your cheeks reddened at the remark with embarassment, making you regret how he had read that part. That was a private thing between Thomas and Grace.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just passing through the alley and I looked up and I —" You voluntarily bit on your tongue in an attempt to silence yourself because you knew you were babbling and your words were not making much sense. You needed to compose yourself, compose your thoughts.

"I married her, yeah? And do you know what happened then?"

You closed your eyes briefly, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in your eyes. When you blinked your eyes open again, you straightened slightly, almost taking a step away from him. He caught your arm, pulling you back to him.

"We have a lovely boy together, Charlie, he's three almost."

You wondered if Tommy was here to chastise you, to make you apologize, or maybe, your book had caused a rift in their marriage.

"She was shot. Fucking took a bullet that was meant for me. I fucking watched her die. Twice, (Y/N). I think it was my destiny. Will you ask me why?"

"Mr. Shelby—" You hopelessly began, trying to tell him how sorry you were about what had happened. But what could you do? It wasn't as if you had shot Grace.

"Just bloody ask me why."

You stiffened at the harshness of his voice.

"I- Why?"

"Because this fucking destiny had something else in mind for me. Perhaps it was you all along, the one I was maybe meant to be with."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, a sudden palpitating feeling in your heart, a sudden throbbing in the back of your mind. You pulled your arm away, wincing slightly at his sudden outburst, instantly moving away.

"Your words make no sense. Will you please stop?"

He parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of his plump lips was foggy winter air and he shut it. His hand flew to the side of your face, but he didn't touch you. He merely took a loose strand of your hair, curling it over his index finger. You could feel the sudden tension, his lips so close to you, you knew if you didn't stop him, he would kiss you. And later regret it.

"Mr. Shelby, this is a mistake. If I was your destiny, I would be the one buried in a grave and not the women you loved. I did love you," you spoke, hopelessly pulling yourself one step away but this time he didn't make an attempt to pull you close, perhaps having sensed your reluctance.

He raised his eyebrow, "Did?"

"I still do, but I don't think we were meant to be."

"I see," he almost stepped closer, reluctantly, fighting for control at the back of his mind. This was a new feeling. He knew he didn't love you yet, but at the same time, he knew he was in love with the woman from the book. The woman who had always loved him.

"Why?"

A single word can hold a vast meaning. A single word can have an answer that you could probably write a book on.

"Because Thomas .. We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies," you whispered in a low voice, tears shrouding into your eyes.

"Yet there's a bloody thing that binds us to each other. Something neither you nor I can see," he mumbled under his breath, sliding his hand into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes.

You didn't know what to say to him. Your mind was fervently throbbing through your skull. Your heart leapt with joy but your mind didn't let you be at ease. He waited a few seconds but when he realized you had made up your mind, he decided he will not push you. You had given him the answer. You didn't want him. He nodded softly, letting his eyes wander down to your feet for a bit before giving you a last look as he turned his tail and started walking off, his boots crushing the snow as he started walking away.

And just like that, you realized that history was repeating itself. But this time, it was all your fault. You were letting him walk away when you could finally be happy.

"Thomas stop.." His name flew out of your mouth even before you could clamp your mouth shut. You saw him freeze, but this time, he didn't turn your way, but with his back turned towards you, you missed the hint of a smile that crossed his lips; the way you had stopped him meant that he still had hope.

"I would like to work for you again, does Charlie need a nanny?" You bit your lip.

It was nothing, but yet, it was a start. If destiny really wanted the two of you together then you wanted to try it out from the beginning, maybe make the man fall in love with you and not the woman who wrote the book. You wanted him to love you and not pity you.

"Twenty shillings, you stay at the Arrowe House, no further will be discussed on that, yeah?"

You gave him a weak smile, although you could not see his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Shelby, first thing in the morning at 9."

He nodded and then, sliding his hands into his pockets, he walked away, his heavy boots crushing the snow underneath, generating a squishing, crunching sound until you could hear him no more. You couldn't wipe that smug smile from your face as you looked up at the sky, scrunching up your nose when you felt something cold; perhaps a snowflake had landed on the tip of your nose. It was a start, a start of a new day and who knew, perhaps a new life for you. Needless to say, you were excited.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders x reader #200 followers appreciation #thank you for liking my work

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

A Chronicle of Loss

Summary: 5 people Spencer Reid lost and 1 person he gained. A look at the traumas Spencer faces over the series, and giving him the happy ending he deserves.

Tags: grief, loss, abandonment issues, insecurity, depression, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, getting together, ‘didn’t know they were dating’, protective derek, autistic spencer

TW: self-harm, drug addiction, grief

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

The Inescapable Unravelling (<)

1. William

Spencer’s only ten years old when he watches his father pack his bags in his parents’ bedroom, watches as he smiles sadly at the sorry sight of him and his mother begging him not to leave, only to ignore their pleas and walk out the door. He remembers the anxiety written on his mother’s face, the shame in her eyes at being left in such a cruel way, the uncertainty as to whether they’d cope without William like it’s branded onto his skin, an egregious mark he can’t ignore.

Just like that, he became the man of the house. He became the voice of reason, the sensible one, the person dealing with Diana’s episodes, all while balancing his school work in a desperate attempt to live a different life to the one he existed in as a child.

He knows it wasn’t solely Diana, or Riley Jenkins, or any average marital issue that caused him to leave, he knows it was partly that William simply didn’t know how to handle an autistic child prodigy. He had a genius son who struggled with communication, had no friends, and refused to engage in any of the bonding activities he came up with. In the end, Spencer being different only compounded his desire to leave and, eventually, he stopped suppressing it and gave in.

He’d never blame his mother, but her confusion in her episodes often sent him flying down half a flight of steps or clutching a stinging cheek or banging his head on a door frame. She called him clumsy and he didn’t correct her. She called him ‘crash’ and he accepted the nickname. Without William there, he was completely and utterly alone, left to deal with the grief of losing a father and a schizophrenic mother who struggled to look after herself, let alone him.

He still thinks about it all these years later. He thinks about what his father said to Diana when he left: “you refuse to take care of yourself.” He reflects on the fact that he was well aware Diana wouldn’t be able to take care of him, that he would be left to fend for himself, that a 10 year old can’t provide adequate mental health support no matter how hard he tries, and he still left. He thinks about what that meant, how little his father actually cared for him.

He still thinks about it, and he still cries. His first encounter with grief, and he was only 10 years old.

2. Innocence

Spencer had joined the BAU at 22: three PhDs under his belt and a lifetime of expectation on his shoulders, but somehow he’d managed to remain the most innocent member of the team throughout the first few years of his job. Until Tobias Hankel had taken it and completely obliterated any shreds of naivete he had left.

Of course, he knew evil. He’d even experienced it first-hand, he’d been viciously bullied growing up and he’d encountered his fair share of violent, deranged serial killers, but Tobias -- or, more accurately, Charles and Raphael -- introduced him to evil on a completely new scale. The pain and fear that had tormented him in that cabin lived in a secluded, festering part of his psyche, reproducing at a terrifying rate in his memory, never resting, never quieting, unless dilaudid was streaming through his veins.

His innocence was gone; there was only darkness, loneliness, corruption, and he was grieving for something he’d never get back. His life was now separated into two distinctly different eras, marked only by his kidnapping, by the cruel torture he’d been subjected to.

Along with his innocence, he’d lost his relationships, he’d lost the family he’d found and loved so dearly. Nobody tried to help him escape the clutches of his PTSD or addiction, he felt like he was drowning right in front of his friends while they talked and laughed among themselves, muffling his desperate cries for help, and the frustration and abandonment joined the pain and fear in their festering corner of his mind.

He eventually gets clean, he eventually recovers. But he’s never the same. He’s forever tainted by the actions of one man -- a man he struggled to blame -- and he can’t help but mourn the life he had before Tobias, the optimistic, brightly coloured world-view he used to hold before it was ripped up, stamped on, and burned to ashes right before his eyes.

3. Gideon

Gideon leaves. Gideon leaves and the blow is almost as crushing as it was when he was ten. His mentor, his father figure, his friend abandons him with no warning, no goodbye. It hurts that he didn’t think Spencer worthy of anything more than a useless fucking letter that he left for him in a cabin because he knew that Spencer loved him enough to drive out there and find it; he knew that Gideon was much more special to Spencer than he ever was to him.

This pain feels almost worse because he’s surrounded by people feeling the same way, if to a less extreme extent. He finds himself comparing himself to Hotch, Derek, the whole team: it makes him feel as though he’s overreacting when even Penelope, arguably the most emotive member of the BAU, seems back on her feet within a few days and Spencer still feels as though he’s been hollowed out and all his insides replaced with the smouldering ashes of grief filling him up, weighing heavy in his stomach, climbing up his throat and choking him.

He drags his feet, he doesn’t sleep, he drinks coffee, he runs on auto-pilot. Others notice, of course they do, but there’s nothing any of them can say to make it better, not even Hotch when he’s pulled into his office and sternly told that he needs to open up. Spencer just looks at him with empty, exhausted eyes and shrugs. Weeks ago, he would’ve cried but there aren’t anymore tears to cry, he’s reached a truce with himself. He isn’t happy but he isn’t crushingly depressed anymore: he feels nothing, an abyss of grey matter circling around inside him as he struggles to perform basic functions.

“It’ll get better, kid,” Derek says seriously one day when he sits down at his desk, dullness settled deep in his eyes and numbness deep in his veins. It doesn’t feel like it.

Rossi joins the team and he’s nothing but cold towards Spencer and the rejection only adds insult to injury, and nobody seems to care. His stomach hurts all the time and he’s losing weight again, he knows, but he can’t seem to put any effort into anything at all, least of all trying to be happy, trying to look after himself.

He’s lost his protector and he’s replaced by another person who sees him as an intentional but irritating robot to be used and discarded, not thought of again until another geographical profile is required, or an obscure fact would help the investigation. The agony of existence for almost a year after Gideon’s disappearance feels almost too much to bear, even if Rossi does warm up to him, even if he does eventually begin to heal and forgive. It’s the first time grief almost kills him, and he isn’t even mourning the dead.

4. Emily

Emily’s death tears him apart. For the first time since the year after Hankel, he considers many things. He buys dilaudid and fiddles with the bottle every evening, torn between the sweet relief he knows would be guaranteed the second it’s flooding his bloodstream and the torment of knowing it was Emily who helped him get clean the first time, how disappointed she’d be if she knew he was throwing away all those hours she put in, disregarding the belief she had in him.

He holds a razor over the top of his thighs and slashes as deep as he can bear, daydreams about burying the blade deep enough to slice open his femoral artery and give up, embrace the darkness that’s been living inside him for years anyway. But he can’t stand the grief it would bring JJ, losing another sibling to suicide, even if he isn’t blood related. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone but himself, but it’s so cripplingly tempting and the frustration at not being able to give in to any of his darker fantasies has him tearing his heart out.

Instead he cries, sobs, weeps, over the death of his best friend, shouts in anger at the unfairness of Emily’s life being taken by a dirty criminal while he gets to live as she’s six feet under, dark and cold in the ground. Images of her beautiful face he loved so much rotting away, turning into something grotesque and mangled roam around in his brain and he berates himself relentlessly for not appreciating her wide grin and teasing eyes more, hates himself for not appreciating every single moment with her that he could.

And when she miraculously rises from the dead, he can’t even appreciate it because he feels as though he’s lost another friend. JJ, the one person he tried every day to live for, pictured in his mind every time he considered ending everything, had deceived him, had held him while he cried, held a cool washcloth to his forehead after he threw up from the force of his crying and the extremity of his grief, had watched him writhe in agony, all while having the power to stop it and doing nothing.

The betrayal dizzies him: he doesn’t know who he can trust and the shock of Emily’s return leaves him reeling. He’s cold to the people he loves, and he can’t rejoice in Emily’s return, can’t sit down with her and chat like they used to, or hug her again, or joke with her, or prank Derek together. Again, he’s drowning and this time everyone’s focus is on him but he’s refusing their hands reaching out to help, stubbornly accepting his fate, too scared to take an outstretched arm in case it lets him go again. Surely the cold darkness of the cruel waters is kinder than another rejection or deception?

Finally, finally, he decides to trust one hand and he’s pulled above the waters again, not quite out of the ocean but at least he can breathe. Eventually, he finds the strength to walk to shore and he’s wrapped up in Emily’s strong arms, burying his face in her hair and swearing he’ll never let go again.

5. Alex

He never, not for a moment, blames Alex for her decision to let go. If anything he admires her for it, he’s proud she made the right decision for her and her family, and at least he saw this one coming. He’s lost enough people by this point that the loss doesn’t ache and burn and fester in the way it used to, and they stay in contact; they have a bi-weekly FaceTime call and she texts him memes that he doesn’t understand and book recommendations regularly.

But that’s not to say that losing his maternal figure on the team, the woman who he’d connected with the fastest out of any BAU member, who had understood him in a way no-one else could, who loved and cared for him like a son, doesn’t stab him in the gut.

He’d take a bullet for absolutely everyone on the team, but he hadn’t taken a bullet for Alex out of some misguided loyalty to a coworker or because she was a member of the BAU, he’d taken a bullet for her because she was the best person he knew, and - plain and simple - some inner, more primal instinct within him wanted to save her life. And she’d stayed with him at the hospital, a little due to her guilt, a little due to her seeing Ethan in him, but mostly because she loved him.

And he loved her. So seeing her walk down those stairs and knowing she wouldn’t walk into the bullpen the next morning - no matter how much he knew that this was the right thing for her to do - left him feeling hollow again, a little broken, a lot sore. He missed her deeply, both because she was an amazing asset to the team, but also because she’s a beautiful person who brought sunshine to his gloomy world. She had an indescribable talent for making him happy, and he felt her absence in his every-day life bitterly.

Although she’s still around, she still finds ways to brighten his day, still has some creepy telepathic ability to know when he’s down and exactly how to make him feel better, it’s another loss to add to the many he’s somehow managed to have collected over the years. And he can’t seem to tell the grief in his heart any different.

At least this time it can be temporarily alleviated by a text message. It’s more than he could have asked for, really.

The Gradual Intertwining (>)

+1 Derek

He falls in love with Derek like the kind of slow and steady drizzle that’s almost indistinguishable from heavy mist; so easily confused for the ordinary, familiar platonic feelings he’s harboured for years. It’s because of this that he doesn’t put up an umbrella, he continues walking as he’s gradually soaked in deep, entrenched yearning, until one day, he finally realises it’s raining.

It’s on the morning of Rossi’s 60th birthday party that it finally clicks and, suddenly, it’s obvious. He let Derek carry him to bed last night after he fell asleep watching a movie, for God’s sake: he’d even woken up on the way but faked it just so he wouldn’t put him down. He’s known for years that a 187 IQ doesn’t mean his emotional intelligence is excellent, too, but this feels ridiculous even for him. He’s practically been in a relationship for years and he had no idea. This must be why he always got that strange feeling in his stomach when Derek talked about literally anybody else.

This is not an ideal realisation to come to when Derek is currently cuddled around him, about to wake up any minute. Spencer tries very hard not to think about the fact that he won’t blink an eye at their entwined limbs and what that means, but he’s not exactly in control of his thoughts right now.

He feels like he sleepwalks through the morning, trying to pay attention to what Derek talks to him about as he cooks him breakfast, but his mind has sort of short-circuited, not knowing how to adapt to this new information. His brain is not equipped to process being in love, and zoning out is as good a coping mechanism as any for now. It’s not until they head back to the bedroom to get dressed and ready for the day that he snaps out of it.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Derek says loudly, clicking his fingers in front of Spencer’s face to get his attention.

“Hm?” Spencer hums, feeling the world fade back into focus despite the haze of confusion still dizzying him somewhat.

“Alright, you’ve been spacy with me all morning,” Derek says, shifting his weight slightly as he levels Spencer with an inquisitive gaze. He can’t help but feel a cool kind of dread pour down his spine at the idea of that look figuring him out. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, sorry,” Spencer says, forcing himself to snap back into action as he attempts to compartmentalise. “Just… didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

Derek looks doubtful but takes him at his word. “Okay,” he acquiesces. “Better get dressed, though. We’ve got a lot to get through today.”

“We do?” Spencer asks, ignoring the fact that he’s still stood in his ratty, oversized shirt and underwear in front of the man he’s deeply in love with, maybe for the sake of his sanity, maybe because he finds it hard to be embarrassed in front of Derek Morgan, not after all these years.

“Yeah,” Derek says, like it’s obvious, “we gotta run to the grocery store and pick up a present for Rossi - probably some food for this barebones apartment of yours, too - pick up my clothes from the dry cleaners, and swing round Penelope’s to give her the blender I borrowed back. And I know for a fact you have some work to do on your latest paper, as well.”

Spencer, with his new perspective on the situation, considers the fact that Derek has included him in errands that are pretty exclusive to his own life. He also considers the fact that he never would have stopped to think this odd if he didn’t have the knowledge he has now. Unfortunately, simply considering does not shed much light on the situation.

Because of this, Spencer does what he’s always done. He nods and gets ready for his day of driving around with Derek doing very mundane chores and wonders why he feels so excited.

(While they’re out and about, it strikes Spencer why the realisation that he’s in love with Derek feels so paralysing: almost everyone he’s ever loved has left. He’s 34 and he’s never had a loving, committed relationship, and that’s for a reason: there’s only so much grief one heart can take. How could he ever give himself over to someone, hand them the key to his heart, open the door into his life, knowing that they could leave? Forever simply doesn’t exist, not for Spencer anyway. And truly, he doesn’t think he’d survive the loss of Derek, he can’t think of anything in the world that would be more painful.)

Despite the emotional exertion of the day, Rossi’s party is actually fairly enjoyable, probably aided by the glass of wine Spencer had accepted immediately upon entering the garden, he bloody well deserved it after the day he’s had. He gets chatting with JJ and Hotch and he barely even notices the absence of Derek by his side, having been roped into a conversation with Rossi and one of his famous poker friends that Spencer wouldn’t be able to place with a gun to his head.

It’s not long before they reconvene though, programmed with some kind of homing instinct that always leads them back to one another, and Derek’s leaning a bit too close. Spencer finds it a little hard to breathe with his body pressed so close to his own, Derek’s warm, wine flavoured breath on his ear making his insides flip and setting butterflies free to roam his stomach.

They spend the rest of the party like that, pressed away together in a corner, tucked inside one another’s pockets, and Spencer knows that he’s responsible for at least half of the instigation: he’s pressing back against Derek’s side with just as much pressure, leaning in closer, laughing a little louder, not bothering to hide the adoration that must be plainly written across his face.

“Wanna come back to mine for a drink?” Derek asks as the night draws to a close, and how can Spencer refuse? They spend more nights together than apart at this point, and the last thing he wants is to feel lonely tonight, not after today.

“Please,” is all he says.

No-one says anything when they leave together, Derek’s hand loosely placed on his lower back.

Derek’s apartment is warm and tidy, the opposite of Spencer’s, but it feels just as much like home as his own when he steps over the threshold. He’s about to tell him just that, but as he turns around to face him, Derek’s looking at him in a way he’s never seen before and his breath catches.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

Derek steps a little closer, crowding into his space even more. “Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Spencer doesn’t bother answering, instead closing the gap on his own and pressing his lips to Derek’s. His hands go to Derek’s side on instinct but as he kisses back, Spencer feels one hand tangling itself gently in his hair, and another cupping his jaw and he gives way, melting into the touch. The whole thing goes right to his stomach, feeling it bottom out as the intensity of the moment threatens to overwhelm him before a small sound escapes Derek’s lips and he’s reminded who’s kissing him, whose hands are on him, who’s making him feel these things. All of a sudden, it’s easier to let go.

Their lips mould together as they collapse into one another, the final piece of the gradual intertwining of their lives and bodies over the last twelve years. A fire lights under Spencer and he feels his world tilt on its axis, except unlike previous life-altering experiences, this time it feels like its tilting into place, as though he’s been off-kilter this whole time, finally returned to his natural state.

“You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this,” Derek whispers as they pull away.

“Why didn’t you kiss me sooner, then?” Spencer asks.

“Today is the first day you knew you wanted it,” Derek replies, before he’s kissing him again.

(Later that night, when they’re tucked into Derek’s bed, Spencer lies with his head on his chest, comforted by the steady, reassuring heartbeat as Derek whispers promises of forever into his hair. Spencer knows that nobody can ever really promise anything, but for the first time in his life, he decides it doesn’t matter. They’ll have to part some day, in one way or another - maybe Spencer will be the one to go first this time - but he realises that he’d rather have known Derek like this, to have known how it feels to love and be loved back, only to have him leave, than to have him stay and never know it at all.)

@criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii

#my writing #moreid #moreid fic #moreid writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #derek morgan #spencer reid #Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #tw substances #tw drugs #tw sh #tw self harm #tw grief #tw depression

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jalapeno-princess · 4 years

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JB NSFW A-Z RATED 18+

A-Aftercare

Although he can get extremely rough during sex, his whole demeanor changes once the two of you are finished with your love making session. Since he is the leader, JB has a nurturing and caring nature to him and he makes sure you are taken cared of. If you’re not too tired or sore, he’ll run you a bath and help you inside. He’ll usually sit next to you and wait for you to be done because God knows this man will not be able to get in to the tub with you without wanting to Fuck your brains out and he wants you to relax and recharge before having his way with you again.

B-Body Part

Your thighs. He cannot get over how thick and beautiful he thinks they are. He loves how they feel when he picks you up and wraps them around his waist, he loves gripping his fingers against them when he’s pounding in to you and he goes crazy when you clench them around his head as he’s eating you out. When the two of you are cuddling, he’ll run his fingers along them because they’re always so soft. He’ll buy you multiple pairs of leggings because he loves the way your thighs look with the tight material hugging against them. Since he knows he can’t leave his love bites on the upper part of your body in fear of getting in trouble, he always leaves hickeys all along your thighs to remind you of how sexy he thinks they are.

C-Cum

Depending on what the two of you are doing in that moment, he’ll release his load wherever his cock is located in that moment. But he enjoys coming inside of you the most. He loves the feeling of fucking you raw, your wet and velvety walls never fail to milk him of all he’s worth. The first time you told him you were on birth control, he didn’t waste any time in taking off your clothes and showing love to your body (with your consent of course) and although he didn’t want you to feel like you had to go on birth control if you didn’t want to for his sake, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy having sex with you without protection.

D-Dom or Sub

DOM. Definite dom. Is that even a question? JB has to be the superior in all that he does. He’s quite intimidating and has such a powerful aura. He’s the leader for a reason. In the beginning of your relationship, he allowed you to dom him a few times because he liked the idea of you going rough on him and teasing him till he could no longer handle it. However, he loves how submissive you are when he takes control and prefers to hear you beg for him to do anything rather than to be the beggar. But on a special occasion, he’ll find himself doing whatever it is that you ask him to.

E-Experience

He’s had a couple of girlfriends and a few one night stands before so the boy knows exactly how to treat a lady. However, he makes it well aware that you’re the best sex he’s ever had because you are the only girl he’s ever loved. Plus, the longer the two of you are together, the more locations and positions you experiment in.

F-Favorite Position

Missionary. He loves making eye contact with you while he’s pounding in to you like his life depends on it. He also loves the feeling of his pelvis hitting your ass every time he rams himself balls deep inside of you. He’ll also intertwine your hands together and leaves sloppy, wet kisses all along your face while the two of you go at it. Although this is the most common and considerably “boring” position, JB loves how intimate and romantic missionary is. Sometimes, he’ll lower himself if he gets too tired and although the atmosphere is hot and sweaty, he loves being pressed up against your body and listening to your heart rate increase the longer he’s inside of you. He also loves watching your titties bounce with every thrust.

G-Grooming

He’s not exactly bare down there, but he tries his best to trim every so often and he doesn’t care what you look like down there either. He’s happy with whatever makes you comfortable.

H-Humor

We all know how flirtatious JB can be and how he can say and do things to embarrass himself at all the wrong times, sex being one of those times where he makes a joke when he shouldn’t. Loves pick up lines and will throw one in there at least once during sex. One minute, he can be buried inside of your pussy whispering naughty things in to your ear and the next minute, he’s telling you a knock-knock joke causing you to fall out of the mood real quick.

I-Intimacy

I honestly feel that if JB is in love with his significant other, he will be the biggest baby for them. Always needs to be holding them or craves to be held by them. He’s also huge on kisses. You could be doing your homework or cooking dinner and he’ll come out of nowhere to steal a kiss. Constantly holds your hand, no matter what the two of you are doing. Even when you’re lying in bed together, he’ll reach out and search for your hand and hold it until you both fall asleep. He also loves taking showers with you and although most showers end up in hot, steamy sex, some of them are platonic. He’ll help you put shampoo and conditioner in your hair and enjoys when you gently scrub his back.

J-Jack Off

I have a gut feeling that this man watches porn and I’m all for it so I feel like he’ll jack off while watching porn. But in all honesty, porn doesn’t really do much for him as much as the real thing does. He’s still building up the courage to ask you if you guys can film a couple of home made videos together for him to watch when you’re not around. If for some reason, the two of you aren’t together and he just so happens to become horny (you’re at school or work ore he’s on tour and you can’t help him fulfill his needs) he’ll look at some nudes you’ve sent to him and help relieve the problem in his pants on his own.

K-Kinks

Ever since he said in that one video that he wants to melt chocolate and put it on himself to impress his date I’m still not over that I feel as if he has a food play kink but to an extent. Like, he’ll spray some whipped cream on your breasts and suck it off or the two of you could be eating ice cream and he’ll purposefully spill some on his chest so you can lick it off but that’s pretty much it. He also has a stockings and heels fetish. He gets turned on whenever you wear heels and/or a pair of stockings while he’s fucking you. Something about seeing your luscious, long legs wrapped in tights while wearing a pair of high heels is extremely seductive to him. JB also has a tiny bdsm kink. Loves the idea of tying you up and edging you while you can’t do anything about it. He also loves seeing you in hand cuffs and doing some role play but the two of you have a safe word for if things get a little too rough for either of your likings. Also, he’s a huge fan of hair pulling. More so when you tug on his while he’s going down on you because he loves knowing the effect he has on you and the fact that he can bring you to sheer ecstasy with his fingers alone. But when you’re going down on him, he has to have a steady grip on your hair and tends to pull all but gently the deeper you swallow him.

L-Location

His studio. It’s his sanctuary, his hideaway. Other than your shared apartment, he feels the safest and most serene in his recording studio. He loves fucking you up against one of the walls and on top of his couch. The two of you even fooled around in the booth a couple of times. You have yet to listen to some of his songs, so you weren’t able to hear a few of your moans used on some of the tracks and he is both excited and nervous to see your reaction.

M-Motivation

Whenever you beg. He loves hearing you ask him to touch you, to fasten his pace and to enter you if he’s been teasing you for too long. He also enjoys whenever you send him naughty photos and even naughtier text messages about what you want him to do to you. It makes him yearn for you and your body and whenever he finally gets his hands on you, the sex is indescribable.

N-No

Refuses to do anything that will hurt you, that’s why he’s still hesitant on tying you up and handcuffing you even if you’ve told him many times that you’re okay with it. Definitely no anal. The two of you tried it once because you were curious as to what it felt like and although JB loved the feeling of how tight you were, it was obviously so painful and not pleasurable for you at all. JB wants the both of you to have fun while having sex so if you’re uncomfortable, so is he.

O-Oral

This man loves eating you out and is extremely good at it. Every little suck, lick, and nibble drives you to the brink of insanity. I’m sure you all have seen how much he enjoys sticking his tongue out and licking his lips so I have a feeling I know exactly what that mouth does. He also loves receiving head just as much as he gives it but he never asks no matter how much he wants you to suck him dry. He’ll hint at how good you are at blow jobs and how long it’s been since you last given him one, but he doesn’t like asking you because he doesn’t want you feeling as if you have to go down on him.

P-Pace

Depends on what led to sex. If the two of you got in to an argument prior to your love making, or if he got jealous when a guy friend got a little too close to you, he will pound in to you faster than the energizer bunny. JB has no filter, so he isn’t afraid to be vocal about why he’s being so rough and ramming in to you so quickly. But if either of you had a rough day or you’re tired and he was in the mood to make love to you, he would be extremely gentle.

Q-Quickie

Loves quickies. Honestly, he loves having you in whatever way he can. Sure, he prefers taking his time with you so that you both can explore with foreplay for a little while, but if the two of you are short on time and he’s horny, he will fuck you for however much time he has and will continue from where the two of you left off later.

R-Risk

He isn’t an exhibitionist because he hates the thought of anyone else seeing you naked but he won’t lie, the idea of having someone walk in on the two of you fucking each other’s brains out does rile him up and he gets off on the idea of getting caught while he’s buried inside of you.

S-Stamina

Not exactly a nymphomaniac but he loves sex and he enjoys every single love making session the two of you share. With that being said, he needs to have sex with you at least once a day or every other day and depending on whether or not he’s tired, he can go for four or five rounds. Once the two of you are done with one round, just looking at your fucked out state drives him crazy and the next thing you know, he’s back between your pretty thighs again.

T-Toys

Hand cuffs, blind folds, vibrators and a cock ring. One day, he was looking through your drawers for a first aid kit when he stumbled on your little rubber friend and he was a little upset but more so turned on knowing you play with yourself when he’s away so he used it on you later that night and edged you five times. You bought the cock ring for shits and giggles but honestly, it’s the best purchase you’ve ever made. When you asked him to try it out, he was hesitant at first because he hates being dominated, but he was also curious about what exactly it did and when he almost came only three minutes of it tightening and vibrating against his dick, he decided that he’ll only ever wear it again if you beg him to.

U-Unfair

He has a tendency to hold a grudge sometimes, so if the two of you fought or you did something that pissed him off, he’ll take his anger out on you during sex but he won’t let you finish, at all. He’ll tease you, edge you and even bring himself to his release, but he won’t make you come. If you want to come that night, you have to do it yourself.

V-Voice

Can get extremely vocal. If you’re blowing him, you can expect a few breathy moans and some curses to fall from his lips. But if you’re riding him or he’s hitting it from the back, something animalistic awakens inside of him and he will whisper extremely dirty things in your ear. If you clench around him, he will definitely grunt and groan. If you’re using the cock ring, this man will practically sing for you.

W-Wild Card

Loves it whenever you wear one of his shirts/flannels while the two of you are fucking. Something about seeing you in an item of his clothing drives him to the brink of insanity. That’s why a lot of his clothes are in your closet but he likes it like that. Also secretly enjoys when you call him daddy but we’ll save that for another time.

X-X-Ray

I honestly thing he’s a good enough size. Around 6 inches and he’s pretty thick. No matter how many times the two of you have sex, you’re never prepared for the stretch once he enters you and you can barely fit all of him inside of your mouth. In my opinion, penises are extremely ugly but JB’s definitely gets your mouth watering at just the idea of it.

Y-Yearning

The two of you have sex practically all the time, so he doesn’t feel the need to necessarily yearn for it. However, when he’s on tour or you’re studying for finals and can’t have any distractions, that’s when he’ll want you the most.

Z-Zzz

Normally out like a light. Once the two of you have decided to call it a night, he’ll help clean you up and fall asleep right after. Since he’s always so busy at practice or recording in the studio, he’ll already be tired and your love making session will practically knock him out but he makes sure to take care of you before he goes to bed.

#got7 imagines #got7 #got7 jaebeom #got7 smut #im jaebeom smut

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burntmcnuggies · 4 years

Text

Hawks NSFW Alphabet

Sexual content ahead! :D please don’t read if it makes you at all uncomfortable and you are not over 18+ thank you!

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex) this man loves to cuddle. Once he's finished, he'll sigh in relief and happiness and just flop on top of you or beside you. He'll whine a bit for you to play with his hair, and with a roll of your eyes you gently run your fingers through his hair looking at his long eyelashes and dark markings near his eyes. Once the relationship is really far along, he'll let you stroke his wings while they're spread out and laid on the bed while he's asleep.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's) Hawks likes his arms and hands. Though he's not extremely muscular like All Might or Endeavor, he's got just enough. He likes to roam his hands over your body and hear you comment how warm they are. Makes him feel happy. It's the small things. He loves your eyes. From the moment he laid eyes on you your eyes were sad, and he wanted nothing more than to brighten them up. Just seeing your eyes glimmer with love for him makes his heart soar out of his chest.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) he's a raptor, and will claim his territory and let everyone know what belongs to him. He'll gladly cum inside you. Luckily you always have "Plan B" in your nightstand just in case he gets a little too carried away with it. Especially when he's happy, he'll definitely come home and cum in you lots and it fills his chest with pride knowing you're his. When he’s in rut though, prepare yourself, it’ll be a bumpy ride.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He wants to "mate" with you like a red-tailed hawk. They mate for life and in the air. They lock talons and spiral before they break apart. Unlike that, he wants to just fly out of his apartment with you and officially mate with you like a real hawk. After that, expect a lot of talk about having little chicks and making a nest.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?) he's young and handsome, of course he's probably had some experience. He's quite lazy and carefree. He has indulged a couple people in flings, but never once stayed long or felt the slightest bit satisfied. But with you, he becomes a mess. He's never composed or slow (cumming wise). He's always quick to cum and satisfied greatly.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) because of his large crimson wings, he has to be on top in order not to hurt his wings since they're sensitive. His favorite position of all time has to be doggy. Or having you on his lap. Grabbing your hips tightly and just hearing the wet sounds gets him off. He also likes missionary just to see your lewd face calling to him. Sometimes he'll let his feathers roam over other parts of your body like your breasts or down to your lady parts. Don't worry, they're clean.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) He is very goofy in general and has a very laid back personality. Of course during the moment he's a little more serious and wanting to pleasure you both, but all leading up to he's very goofy. He's also the worst person at making puns, all of them have to do with birds, or chicken. "Mmm, you're almost as tasty as Yakitori~!" "I'm gonna make your insides like a scrambled egg, baby~" Needless to say you need to get used to bird puns.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He's carefree and doesn't really care what people think, but if he knows for certain you both will be doing it, he'll make sure it's at least cut down and groomed for you. He didn't care what others thought, but with you, he gets a bit embarrassed. At least he won't have his jacket on to hide behind the lengthy collar to mask his flustered cheeks.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) you can always tell how he's feeling by the faces he's making. His eyebrows are always scrunched with that really fucked out look in his eyes. His lip is usually between his teeth, showing you just how good you make him feel. He loves to kiss anywhere on your body he can get to while panting praises in your ear about how amazing you are. Right after he cums he'll shake a little with his wings spread to the fullest and shaking a bit, and right when they slump down in happiness and exhaustion he'll tell you he loves you, and cuddle.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) he'll do it if you aren't around, or not in the mood for sex. If you're busy he'll whine and plead for you to at least help him a little with big puppy dog eyes. When you decline, because you're busy, he'll just jerk off right there on the couch for you to see and hear him. He'll purposefully be loud and call your name to try and bug you, needless to say it works 90% of the time. If he's away doing hero work, he'll text you straight up and say he's horny and wants to see you. If you're not working or out and about, you'll indulge him and sext him, or FaceTime him and have phone sex.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) He has a breeding/mating kink. Because his quirk is mutant type, he has some characteristics of a hawk. And he always loves to bring up that Hawks mate in the air together. Sometimes when he's really wanting to "mate" with you he'll jump off the balcony and do a couple cool tricks to impress you. It's part of a small courtship thing hawks do. He loves to bring up Hawks mate for life, so when you finally agree to have sex with him while he's flying (if you do), you'll be stuck with Hawks forever. And you bet he'll be jumping your case about having little chicks and getting married.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, balcony, couch, basically anywhere in your home, even by the door. Occasionally if you have to bring something to his office, he'll either bring you over to his desk, the couch, or against the glass windows where anyone can see. You always scold him later about being caught and ruining his image. He always says he doesn't care and cuddles you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) your hips and your breasts turn him on to no extent. If you're in his office and you leave, your hips swaying when you walk, he'll quickly fly over and pin you against whatever he can find and have his way with you. He doesn't care what size your breasts are, he loves sucking on your nipples. He's convinced that milk will come out of them one day when you have "hawklets" or "chicks" as he calls it. He can't wait for you to be pregnant. It's part of the bird in him.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs) hurt you, anything that can hurt you or him is a huge no no. Also fire, he won't do fire at any circumstance. Since fire is he weakness, he doesn't like being extremely alert when he's spending these moments with you. He wants to be relaxed and at ease with you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) 50/50. He likes when you give it to him, especially if it's on the couch or in his office under his desk. It's hard for him to keep himself composed when you're down there. You'll notice his wings twitch and fluff up when you're making him feel the best. He likes giving it to you because usually when he's down there, he thinks that your juices are practically chicken sauce, because he thinks it tastes good, when really it's not like chicken sauce at all, of course not. It's his favorite thing to eat besides chicken.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) he's too fast for his own good, but in the bedroom he's always slow and rough, taking his time to savor your body rather than being done with it extremely fast. If you beg him or get him extremely riled up, he'll indulge his animalistic side and fuck you like a real beast. Your legs will be like jelly when he's through with you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) because of his hero work he's not opposed to quickies, however sometimes he doesn't care about some of the jobs he's assigned or gets someone to cover for him and then goes straight to you. If he has to leave in five minutes and he's horny, you best believe he'll make you both cum in three.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) he's willing to try anything if you want to. He's pretty lazy and carefree and doesn't really worry about you leaving him. His possessive side would definitely activate if he were to believe you were getting bored of him. Low key wants to have a threesome with endeavor. Watching his idol with his girlfriend would probably make his day. But of course he'd be beside you the whole time and teasing you and the No. 1 pro hero.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) he's 22-23, his sex drive is almost as high as a teenagers. On average, you have sex almost everyday, sometimes two or three times if he's feeling rather possessive or missing you too much. Occasionally you won't have sex and instead have a romantic date or just laze around. It's his favorite thing to do.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) he's bought a few toys for you, and bought some for himself when you tagged along. Sometimes he'll make you wear an apron that says "mama hawk" and nothing else and put a vibrator in you. He'll be hugging you from behind and grinding on you just to make you plead for him. When you want to use the vibrating cock ring you got him, he whines and begs you not to, but you stand your ground and he's a loud whining mess.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Hawks loves teasing you. He's playful and will ask you all sorts of embarrassing questions to make you beg for him. He knows your limits, so when you've had enough of his teasing he'll know and get straight to giving you what you want.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) usually very vocal. You've gotten a couple complaints from neighbors in his apartment about you both being too loud. 9/10 it's usually him that's the loudest. He has a sensitive body and is weak to pleasure. Especially when you touch his wings. Where his signature crimson wings meet his pale back is where he loves it the most. He'll groan and grunt, and his pants are usually quick desperate and loud. "It feels good! So damn good! Ngh~! I can't get enough! Hah! Hah! Ahh I'm cumming! Wait!" Sometimes makes you wonder who's the real woman in the relationship.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Hawks likes fashion, and has made a couple shirts and designer jackets. He loves to order them and make you try them on for him and do a little fashion show. He'll be watching you intently with his eyes sparkling seeing you walk around in something he designed. Sometimes he collabs with Mirko, and gets a little jealous when you wear it around. He only wants you to wear his stuff. It also always makes his heart flutter hearing you praise his designs. He loves it when you're proud of him.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes) he's muscular but not too over the top big like all might and endeavor. Love part wise... he's average. A little on the thinner side but has absolutely flawless technique. He knows where you like it, how to make you cum the fastest, and always seems to find your G-spot in a matter of seconds. He's quite talented.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) he's 22-23, his sex drive is through the roof. He knows he's attractive and likes when you compliment him. It feeds his big ego. "Awe come on, babe. I know you want me! You're hot, I'm hot. Let's date huh?" No joke, that's a line he used on you while flirting with you trying to get you to date him. It sorta worked.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) when he's finished with sex for the night he will fall on you or beside you and mumble he loves you with a cheeky smile before sprawling his wings out and going to sleep. His wings are warm and almost like a blanket. So sometimes when his wings are largely draped over you, you'll cuddle to his wings and stroke them gently before falling asleep protectively under his fierce wings.

#hawks smut #my hero academia #my hero headcanons #takami keigo #boko no hero academia

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chooseyourownavenger · 3 years

Text

[START] [ABOUT AND WARNINGS] [FAQ]

Steve/ How about Sarah for the middle name?

“I’m not sure about Sarah for a first name,” you admit, worrying at your bottom lip. “I do want to honor your mother, and that is such a nice way to do it, but I also think her name should just be hers. She should feel like she doesn’t have anyone else to live up to.”

You worry your suggestion might hurt his feelings, and for a moment it looks like it has. He slowly gives a nod and picks up his sandwich. “I guess that’s a fair point. Do you have any suggestions at all?”

Finding a name for your daughter is not easy. The two of you can’t seem to agree on a name that you both like. Arguments are made based on being too old-fashioned, too modern, being the names of people you don’t like, and just seemingly arbitrary.

Eventually after what feels like forever the two of you settle on a name. It’s not your favorite name, nor one that has particular meaning for either of you, but it’s nice and it will be her name.

Your pregnancy progresses well, but things with Steve seem to stall. He shows up to doctor’s appointments and if you need him, he’s there within five minutes (assuming the Avengers haven’t called him out for some emergency), but you’re still dating the way you would when you first meet someone. Just a date every couple of weeks. Sleepovers are rare, and either require preplanning with an overnight bag, or a walk of shame in the morning, as neither of you keeps anything at the other’s place.

You start to worry that while he’s going to be a good father, you’re going to be a single mother sharing custody with an Avenger.

Despite the fact you feel yourself drifting away from him, he still remains the romantic he has always been, and he’s extremely generous. He takes you shopping for baby supplies and pays for everything. You’re left wanting for nothing, except to figure out where you stand with him, and whether or not you’d have broken up by now if you weren’t pregnant.

You have both been working on nurseries in your respective places, and have been shopping together more than once to buy things such as cribs, and change tables, and diaper genies. So while you know that he had been setting up to prepare for her arrival, you are shocked to see how much work he’s put in.

The nursery in your small apartment is just a corner of your bedroom you have put a partition around. There’s a crib and the change table and that’s the extent of it. Steve, on the other hand, has a full room. There’s the crib and change table both painted white. The crib has a mobile above it depicting stars and the moon. A shelf sits to one side with cushions and small chairs. It’s a partial bookshelf toybox and there are already both books and toys taking up their rightful places. Two of the walls are painted pale pink and have a wallpaper border featuring ducks in light blue and yellow. The other two walls have an elaborate mural depicting Dorothy, Tin Man, Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion walking down the yellow brick road with the emerald city glimmering in the distance. Toto is running ahead and the field of poppies can be seen leading up to the city. It is so detailed and beautiful and it makes your heart ache to think of how much effort and love he is putting in to get ready for his daughter.

“Wow,” you say, looking around. “You’ve gone to so much effort.”

“I just… I never want her to feel like she was an accident,” Steve says. “Or that she’s an inconvenience.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle into his neck. “She’s going to love it. Did you hire someone to paint this?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I did it,” he says. “I had to restart a few times, I’m out of practice and paint wasn’t my medium.”

“What?” you squawk, pulling back and looking at him. “When were you going to tell me you could do this?”

“Not just a pretty face, huh?” He teases.

“Definitely not just that,” you say, pulling back from him and looking around the room again.

He takes your hand as you pull away and you turn to look back at him. He looks like he’s going to say something, but the moment passes and he lets you go.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Steve asks.

“She’s going to love it,” you agree. “She’ll be the most spoiled girl in the world.”

“Well, hopefully not too spoiled,” Steve says. “But I want her to have what I never did.”

You approach him and kiss his cheek. “She will,” you assure him. “We’ll make sure of it.”

That feeling of limbo within the relationship sticks for what remains of the pregnancy. Thankfully the pregnancy itself goes well because the closer you get to the due date the more you feel like this will end up with you as a single parent sharing custody with Steve.

It isn’t that you don’t care for him. You definitely do. You may even love him, but you can feel him pulling away and you’re not sure why.

He seems to start worrying about his ability to be a father and the world being a terrible place to raise a child, yet if you try to get him to elaborate on those points he shuts down and tells you he’ll take care of it.

Taking care of it seems to involve going on more and more missions. It’s like he’s trying to fix the world for his daughter before she joins it. You begin feeling alone and like maybe you’ve made some bad choices along the way.

You’re alone when you first feel the pain of a contraction. Worse still, you’re early and Steve had taken one last mission before your due date.

You ignore the first contraction. It’s light after all, and you have already experienced Braxton Hicks, and besides, you’re early and Steve is out of town so you can’t possibly be in labor.

An hour later, your water breaks and you know for sure.

It isn’t a trickle either. You feel the pop and abiotic fluid gushes from you. You stare down at the puddle on the floor and burst into tears. You’re frozen with anxiety, not sure what you need to do first and you’re alone and without anyone to help you make the decision.

When you finally unfreeze you grab your phone and dial the number that Steve gave you in case of emergencies while he was away.

It rings once before picking up. “Who is this, and how did you get this number?”

There’s a lot of background noise, including what sounds like explosions, but you recognize Tony Stark’s voice.

“Sorry,” you say. “Steve gave it to me. In case something happens while he’s out of town. And something has happened.”

“Oh…” Tony says. “You’re the baby mama. Is everything okay?”

“No. Yes. I mean, no. I’m in labor,” you explain.

“Fuck. Shit,” Tony curses and there’s a pause at the other end of the line while a series of blasts and explosions sound out. “Alright. I’ll get the message to him. Do you have someone in the meantime? We're kind of in the thick of it right now, and even if we weren’t… I don’t know how long it would take for us to get back.”

“Is Hill with you?” You ask.

“Nope, she’s back at the tower,” Tony says. “Seriously though? Hill as the birthing partner?”

“She’s not my first choice!” You shout in frustration.

Tony laughs. “Right, I’m sorry. I’ll get him back to you as soon as you can. And I’ll get him to call you even sooner.”

“Thank you,” you say and disconnect the call.

The next call you make is to Hill.

“Hey, kid,” she says when the call connects. “What’s up?”

“I’m in labor,” you say simply, and another contraction hits. You groan and double over in pain.

“What?” Hill asks. “No, you can’t be. Cap is out on a mission.”

“I know that, Maria,” you say. “But I still am.”

“Shit,” she curses. “But… what… how?”

If you were in labor right now, you’d find her panic quite funny. She is the most in control person you know, and the fact something like the impending arrival of an infant has thrown her is objectively funny. But you’re pretty far from a laughing mood. “Maria,” you implore. “My family isn’t from here and you’re my best friend. I need you.”

“Right,” she says, and lets out a breath. “You sure you want me?”

“I want Steve,” you say. “But given he’s not even in the country, you’re my next choice.”

“Okay,” Hill agrees. “I’ll be right there. Call the hospital. See what you need to do.”

You disconnect the call and dial the hospital next. They give you instructions on what to do to get comfortable and when to come in and to call back if you have any concerns.

When you get off the phone you begin timing your contractions as you take a shower and change your clothes. Hill arrives while you’re cleaning the puddle you’ve left on the floor.

The labor is long and while it isn’t as hard as the more traumatic birth stories you’ve heard, the fact that Steve isn’t there is difficult for you.

Maria does her best as a birthing partner, but it’s clear that she has no idea what she should be doing. She is also bossy and keeps trying to control everything. Most of all she isn’t Steve and even though you are glad she is there, she serves as a reminder that she’s not the one that should be.

You end up opting for an epidural just to get through the ordeal without too much stress. Hill is much better as a partner when you’re also not dealing with severe pain and hot flushes.

She is born after seventeen hours of labor, and it’s the doctor who cuts her cord. Steve doesn’t show up until the following day looking even more beaten up and exhausted than you feel.

“I’m so sorry I missed it,” Steve says, picking up his daughter from her little plastic bassinet and sitting beside you. She doesn’t stir and you are filled with such relief that he’s here, that it makes you panic a little. The two of you haven’t even said ‘I love you’ and he wasn’t here for her birth, yet all you can think is how happy you are that the three of you are finally together.

A tear rolls down your cheek and you move a little closer to him. “I am too,” you say. “I really wanted you to be here. I was so scared.”

“I think that’s how I’ve felt this whole time,” Steve says. “Everything happened so fast - and I love you. I know now is the worst time to say it, and you probably don’t even believe me because I wasn’t here. But I do, and I thought… everything felt so out of control and if I could make the world safe for you and this little one, maybe … maybe I would feel like I was the man you deserved.”

You lean against him and he wraps his arm around your shoulders. You are so tired it’s hard to take everything in, but one thing stands out. He loves you. You had thought he was pulling away because you’d trapped him and he wanted to be free again, but he loves you.

“Will you always miss things because of missions?” You ask.

“I can’t promise you it will never happen,” he replies, resting his cheek on the top of your head. “I will promise to try. I won’t go on missions that don’t need me when important events are coming up, and I’ll try to take a more directorial role so I can come home to you.”

“This will be hard, won’t it?” You say.

Steve nods. “It could be worth it,” he says.

You nod and close your eyes. Steve presses a kiss on the top of your head. “You should sleep. You’ve had a big day.”

“So have you,” you argue.

“Then I’ll sleep too,” he says. “And tomorrow we can talk about us.”

You let yourself drift off to sleep in his arms, feeling hopeful for the next chapter of your life and the choices it brings.

~ END ~

#How about Sarah for the middle name?#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #marvel #marvel fanfic #pregnancy #choose your own adventure #choose your own avenger #steve #path end #end path #labor

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jeongyunhoed · 4 years

Text

Past-Present-Future

What do you do

When everything you’ve done

Comes back to haunt you?

Group: ATEEZ

Superpowers AU!

Mutants, assassins, confronting the past! a little dive into the concept of romantic soulmates!

with OCs

Genres: Fantasy, Supernatural, Adventure, Angst, Implied smut, Fluff, Gen

Flashback-heavy

Featuring mentions of: Park Jihoon (solo), Chanyeol, Dean, Zelo

Warnings: Blood, gore, death, violence, character deaths

She has lived with guilt. Slowly remembering details of her checkered past when interned at a sanitarium years ago. The sudden reemerging of a person she remembered dying and the resurgence of a powerful crime syndicate will have her trying to walk the line between the person she has become and the person she was once destined to be.

A/N: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this at all, but I guess it’s worth a try to increase my works on this platform again. The masterlist for this will be up shortly once I figure out/try and make a good graphic. Keyword: TRY (as I suck at photo editing)

Chapter 1.

“As of today, the seven of you will become a unit, a covert unit. To put it simply, if I want someone killed, you will do it for me, if I want people killed, you will do it for me, if I want information, you will retrieve it for me, all in all, if I want something, you will get it for me, I am good they are bad,” A woman, whose face was obscured in the dark, told the seven people - six men and one woman, all of whom had vacant expressions and were staring into space.

They were lined up in a padded room, a secret room in the sanitarium that doubled as a training room from the shelves upon shelves of sharp weapons on display at the very end of the room. She knew they could hear her, they just couldn’t speak.

“Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, Jeong Yunho, Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho, and,” A man said this time, his face also obscured in the dark, reciting each of their names before rounding on the sole woman in the lineup of people wearing sanitarium uniforms. “Lee Mirae,” the man was smirking in the dark. “The future of our program, you will lead this unit, your progress from all the training these past few years has been exceptional, near-perfect, I would like to think.”

Mirae said nothing. “Quite an impressive one you are, Lee Mirae,” The woman spoke again. “It’s almost as if you were born for this kind of job. Changseok, what do you think? She is the most successful one we’ve trained under the program, right?”

“Quite right, honey. Lee Mirae, you are the most successful experiment in this program of ours. It’s not hard to see why, you were born with the mutant gene,” The man seemed to stare at her. “Your own parents didn’t realize your true potential when they interned you in here, but consider this as a way to lead you to what you are destined to be. The most-feared mercenary the world has ever known. The mere sight of you will bring even the most powerful people to their knees, begging you to spare their lives.”

Mirae still said nothing. Like the others, she could hear them, she just couldn’t speak. “You will be pulled out whenever we have a mission for you. This will entail traveling to faraway parts of the world. While you’re all built to be killing machines, I don’t think any of you are invulnerable to harm. But don’t worry, after every mission, upon returning, you will all be subject to electroshock therapy. Just enough to make you forget what you’ve done, where you went, and whom you might have killed,” The woman spoke again.

They could hear her. They just couldn’t speak. “You are all ready for your first mission. It’s in Busan. You will be briefed on the way. It’s time to open Pandora’s Box.”

The seven of them twitched in their places. As the man known as Changseok began to repeat the last two words, the seven of them continued twitching, tilting their heads as if hearing something that hurt their ears. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard, forks scratching ceramic plates. When Changseok stopped, all of them stood still, a blank look in their eyes as if in a trance. “Remember, regardless of the weapon you pick, you are the true weapon.”

Seoul. 9:00 p.m. Present day.

Five years have passed since the Seoul attack that changed everything. Almost everyone that was part of trying to stop it was gone, either dead or missing. Lee Mirae stared at the rain tapping on the windows of her apartment. It was now four years since the Utopian cult, the encounter that gave her a rude awakening, the encounter that made everything seem like a lie, the encounter where she lost her adoptive brother Jihoon. There was a memorial in place for the lives lost during those times, placed on the site where the Center for Paranormal Research once stood.

This was no longer the place she once knew. Even the brightest colors from the lights by the river seemed to have a grey, almost black tinge to it all. For some reason, the place she called home was no longer as bright as she knew it to be. It was a lot darker, and it wasn’t only because of the constant dark clouds hanging over the city, but it was also because the crime rate was still at its highest. Gangs were rampant all over. Law enforcement couldn’t be trusted. It wasn’t hard for Mirae to realize how much things weren’t so bright and cheerful since the Seoul attack. It was never bright and cheerful. She just wasn’t paying much attention.

Mirae was a mutant, and had the ability to manipulate energy. She turned the smallest things into extremely explosive projectiles, and she often did it with a deck of cards. Being an omega-level mutant, the fullest extent of her powers allowed her to turn into an energy being, aside from a healing factor that made her almost immortal, and it also slowed down her aging process. She was a fighter, gifted with many forms of combat, and she was often told by her adoptive brother that no one could beat her in any way, but she knew that wasn’t true nor was it going to be true. She often used a steel bo staff made for her by Junhong, one of the surviving tech guys from the attack, who also took it upon himself to make changes to some of her things, including her car and the windows of both her apartment and the record store she owned and operated.

Her powers didn’t stop there. From the two big events that shook the city came her ability to trap souls into objects, usually her cards. This also resulted in a white streak in her hair that she never bothered covering up, not even when she tried to dye her hair.

She heard the door open and turned around. It was her half-brother, Choi San, coming back from getting take-out at the nearest restaurant. San was a mutant like her, and was also gifted with the ability to manipulate energy, only he channeled it through his harpoon. His healing abilities were just as strong as hers, granting him near-immortality. San was also skilled in combat, and when they reunited, he was working as a mercenary for hire. He still was one. Like her, he also had a streak in his hair, a purple one that seemed to cover up the white that formed upon using his powers to their fullest extent.

Mercenary. The mere word made her shake her head. That wasn’t her. If it was, then it was the old her. She was no longer under the control of her Utopian cult. The trigger was gone, taken out of her head. She knew this well. She was the one who drove the sword into the leaders of that cult, her own adoptive parents.

“I’ve come back bearing meat, I figured we could grill some over the stove for dinner tonight” He said, holding up a black plastic bag. San tilted his head. “You had another dream, didn’t you?” He figured.

“Yeah,” Mirae let out an exasperated sigh. She had trouble sleeping, knowing that her dreams would present her flashes of memories from her time at the sanitarium. Only this time, the memories she would have would lead her to wake up in tears as those memories were of Jihoon. Jihoon, whom she promised to protect with her whole life when he got out, whom she practically raised, and whom she ultimately failed to save.

“What was it this time?” San asked, already bringing out a griddle pan to pan-fry the meat instead.

“The first mission I had, or at least that’s what it sounded like, the usual stuff,” She replied, setting the table while he cooked the meat.

San’s expression turned into that of concern as he glanced at her. It made him wonder how he could somehow help her get out of this, out of her inability to sleep. “I could get you sleeping pills if you need it,” He said carefully.

“Thanks, but no thanks. Whether or not I take them, I still have those dreams,” Mirae shook her head, helping him out with cooking this time.

“Hasn’t Junhong… tried to come up with something to help you? What about your friends? Chanyeol? Hyuk? Have they thought of helping you?” San’s tone was becoming increasingly concerned.

“How can they? Hyuk’s not that powerful a telepath, what can Chanyeol do, burn my head? Ino… well, he’s too caught up in trying to manage his own powers to even try and help out other people,” Mirae answered. “Even if they tried, when the trigger was taken out of me, the psychic block in my head grew stronger, they can’t read my mind even if I wanted them to.”

San frowned. He hated that he couldn’t do anything to help her either. “I hear you crying in the middle of the night sometimes,” he said, partly wondering if it was the right time to point it out. “At first I thought you were crying because you missed Jihoon, but over time I realized it was something else,” He quickly turned the meat over in time before one side burned.

“I will always miss him. But every time I go to sleep I’m always haunted by what happened to me before,” Mirae muttered. “I’ll be fine, San. Really, I’ll be fine, I can cope with it,” She assured him. “Maybe some sparring will help clear my head. Want to spar with me later?”

“Will you let me win this time?” San teased, in an effort to lighten the mood.

“I can’t promise you that,” Mirae teased back.

“I thought you said you were training yourself?” Mirae asked later on in the training room down the hall from their apartment later that night. She managed to put San down on the mat in less than a minute during their first try.

“I was!” San argued, sounding frustrated as he got back up on his feet. “You’re just that good!” He pointed out, charging towards his sister, who easily blocked every strike he made while he did the same yet with a few maneuvers later, he was back down on the mat.

“That’s not true, you’re probably just not training enough,” Mirae pointed out, helping him back up.

“Hey! I really was!” San got back up. “Maybe we should just go through the obstacle course kind of training instead,” He said. Although he was frustrated at how he never seemed to be able to one-up Mirae, he couldn’t stay frustrated for long. He wanted to help her clear her head and he was determined to make it happen, even if it was at his own expense.

“Deal. I would never fight you anyway, unless you need to because I might be hypnotized or something,” She assured him, flipping one of the switches to start the courses in front of them. Several dummies were already positioned at the end along with spiked gauntlets that were rotating.

When Mirae flung a few cards towards the dummies in front of her, it signaled San to attack as well, his harpoon gun piercing through the dummy head and as the arrow pulled back, the head was nearly ripped off. The two of them rolled over to either side of the room, picking up the nearest weapon they could get their hands on: Mirae, her staff and San with a pair of nunchaku.

They attacked the spiked gauntlets at the same time with their weapons, kicks, and punches. Their attacks seemed incredibly effortless and precise. San smiled to himself at how they attacked at the same time, and he could tell Mirae was smiling as well, some blood staining the backs of their shoes from kicking a little too hard and breaking the spikes off. When they reached the end of the course, they looked at the nearly broken down obstacles, satisfied with what they did. Mirae handed him a pair of shurikens and the two of them kicked each one towards the dummies that fell out from the ceiling. While San’s hit the dummies on the legs, Mirae’s hit them squarely on the chest and on the head.

They hit high fives. “Close enough, but we did great!” San enveloped her in a hug with one arm. “One day, I’ll hit those dummies just as good as you did” He said, eyeing the shurikens on the legs of the dummies hanging from the ceiling. “I’ve always wondered why you don’t have guns in here.”

“These weapons existed long before there were guns,” Mirae pointed out, retracting her staff. “And they’re a lot cooler to use,” She winked, making San chuckle.

“Okay then, let’s call it a night, I’ve got a game to play and we’ll clean all of this up tomorrow, don’t clean it up, let’s do it tomorrow” San pushed her towards the doors before she could object.

Mirae allowed herself to be led, still feeling the rush from their training session. As she set foot outside the room and into the hallway, she froze as she saw a tall man dressed in black from head to toe, wearing a mask and a fedora. She could tell he was looking right at her before he fled. The way he was dressed seemed familiar to her yet she didn’t know how, it felt a little too familiar as if she wore something like that before. He himself also gave off that familiar feeling.

The man fled before she tried to follow, but as Mirae ran and tried to catch up by the elevator, he was already gone. San caught up to her. “What is it?” He asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing, a stray cat got up here” She muttered. “Let’s go back inside.”

San frowned. “We could’ve taken that cat inside, gave it food, it was probably hungry” He said as they turned back to their apartment. “We could’ve even taken it in for good, like a pet” He eyed her.

Mirae shook her head again as they entered their home, taking their stained shoes off, revealing the bloodied socks they were both now sporting. She was still thinking about the man in black. Why was he so familiar to her? “You can shower first, I’ll go in after you” She said, heading to her bedroom.

“Really? Okay then, I’ll let you know when I’m done” San raised a brow, sensing that something was on her mind. Not wanting to ask further, he went straight to the bathroom.

“Remember our promise, okay?” Yunho choked, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth as Mirae tried to hold him. They were in the middle of a desert-like place, somewhere far away. “Remember it-I’ll look for you-I’ll find my way to you when either of us get out, okay?” He sputtered, looking up at her, eyes becoming glazed over.

The strong wind hit their faces but Mirae didn’t care. Hot tears were streaming down her eyes as she held him, trying her hardest to stop the bleeding coming from his side but failing. “Mirae! Get back here! Leave him!” Hongjoong was yelling as they were on their way back into the military plane, trying to get away from the larger group of what looked like soldiers that worked for their target.

“He’s a lost cause, you can’t save him, Mirae,” Seonghwa tried to pull her up but Mirae refused to budge. “You’re our leader, we’re not leaving without you” He added.

“Go with them-go with them” Yunho sputtered. “I love you, Lee Mirae. I love you. Remember that” and his eyes closed, his form collapsing under her.

More tears fell down the sides of her face as she held his lifeless body close. The pain she felt was slowly being replaced with rage, and as she saw the oncoming soldiers running towards them, about to fire their weapons, her eyes glowed red making all of them combust, exploding in front of her including the weapons they were carrying.

Seonghwa and the others stared at the scene in shock. Tears were still flowing down the sides of her face as the glow in her eyes faded. He was gone. Yunho was gone.

Mirae’s eyes shot open in the middle of the night and she sat up. An overwhelming sadness came over her and before she realized it, tears were already flowing down her face. Her hands were shaking as she sobbed into them, She had forgotten his name, but he must have been someone important to her. Whoever he was, his death felt like a heavy blow, like her heart was being broken over and over.

She had been dreaming about him a lot more lately. Mirae got out of bed and stepped out of her room, sneaking past the sofa bed that San was sleeping on and going to the kitchen. She still felt that overwhelming sadness as she took a drink of water, trying to wipe her eyes from the tears that managed to escape even as she felt like she had already cried her eyes out for the past few minutes.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized how her time at the sanitarium was more than just a blur, more than Jihoon, more than the electroshock therapy sessions she often had to go under. Mirae figured she fell in love while interned, with the guy she was dreaming about, the guy whose face she was being made to remember.

“Mirae,” San was already sitting up, looking at her with one eye open. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Go back to sleep, I’m fine,” Mirae assured him quietly.

“It’s getting harder for me to see you like this, I can’t just go back to sleep,” San got up and made his way towards his sister. “What was it this time?”

Mirae didn’t know how she could tell him. “Someone who isn’t Jihoon, dying in front of me, I killed a lot of people in return. I can’t remember his name, but I’m remembering his face more and more.”

“Must be important to you, whoever they are” San said.

“He must be. Otherwise I wouldn’t have killed all of those people in front of us.”

San rubbed her back and wrapped an arm around her. “Like what you told me, sis. You’ll be okay. This is what’s helping you heal.”

“I hope so, San,” She looked up at him, feeling the overwhelming sadness and heartbreak again. “I hope so.”

San stayed up with her to keep her company for a little while more until she urged him to go back to sleep. Neither of them were aware that the man, dressed in black from head to toe with a mask and a fedora hat, was looking up at them from outside the building.

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thespianbooks · 4 years

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A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 7//

(Chapter one) (Chapter two) (Chapter three) (Chapter four) (Chapter five) (Chapter six) (Chapter seven) (Chapter eight) (Chapter nine) (Chapter ten)

(tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn , @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red)

Two things were becoming increasingly apparent: the first being that Rhys wouldn’t be the only one to coddle me for the duration of my pregnancy, and the second being that my adverse symptoms wouldn’t be alleviating any time soon.

I had a full week of reprieve where I was beginning to gain back some of my energy, and I was able to fall into a new work routine with Rhys; one where he insisted we work together in my office so he wouldn’t have to leave my side, before the waves of nausea and extreme fatigue returned. My vivid and violent nightmares also reappeared with a vengeance, and there was a night I awoke with quite possibly the worst I have ever had and spent the rest of the night in the bathing room. The next day I couldn’t leave the bed or lift my head without being overcome with a terrible dizzying spell, and barely managed to hold down the broth Rhys tried feeding me.

It took hours of negotiation to convince him not to summon Madja after I insisted that this was all, unfortunately, part of early pregnancy I would have to endure for the time being. Seeing me in such a state left him feeling anxious for my health, and I knew the same was true for the rest of our family as well. When I had confined myself to our suite after my symptoms flared up, the Illyrian males would take turns poking their heads in the door to check on me before Rhys eventually shooed them away—trying his hardest not to snap at them. At one point, when Rhys had a meeting with a palace lord that he couldn’t reschedule and begrudgingly attended, Cassian was the one to hold my hair back and comfort me during a particularly brutal wave of nausea.

Even Mor and Amren wanted to ease my burdens; both going so far as to take over my paperwork duties. Their reasoning being that as my second and third in command, they could sort through “frivolous” desk work. Elain, aside from Rhys, fussed over me the most. She was up earlier than normal in the mornings, brewing plain broths and my prenatal herbal teas that Nuala and Cerridwen taught her to make in the kitchen. Throughout the day she delivered my meals to either my bedroom, which I couldn’t leave until the day before last, or my office—where I now worked exclusively from my loveseat. Once I had the energy to resume my work, Rhys rejoined me in my office; picking up on his own work he had abandoned in order to tend to me. There were times when even Nesta would join Elain on her frequent visits, sometimes just surveying me from the doorway. I didn’t mind her distance, however, and gratefully drank the anti-nausea teas she acquired for me from Madja’s clinic.

I sipped on it now as I lounged in my office with Rhys, both of us going over our annual reports as he ran a finger along my calves that I draped over his lap. Every few seconds I felt his glances over in my direction, checking my overall well-being and ready to nurse away any sudden ailment. After what seemed to be his hundredth glance, I finally set my stack of papers down.

“Rhys,” I warned.

“Yes, darling?” he asked innocently.

I rolled my eyes, “Will you stop? I’m fine. I actually feel a little better today,” I promised.

“That’s your second mug of that anti-nausea brew today, you’re not fine,” he said simply.

I sighed, settling back into the lounge pillows as I took another sip. “Just because I’m a little nauseous doesn’t mean I’m not alright,” I reasoned. “You don’t need to sit in here and babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you, I’m babysitting my son.” He said nonchalantly, a hand coming to sneak under my lightweight sweater in order to rest on my bare stomach.

“You can’t babysit a baby that hasn’t been born yet.” I deadpanned, only mildly annoyed.

“Are you trying to kick me out of your office, Feyre darling?” He teased.

“Maybe. This is my personal space, after all.”

“Ah, but you know what a fan I am of your personal space.”

I tried not to smile at his remark and set my mug and paperwork aside, relaxing again and inviting him to lay beside me—which he happily obliged to as he settled in beside me, placing his own work aside as his mighty wings curled over us easily. His hand resumed its position on my stomach, pushing my sweater up in order to admire the ghost of an outward curve that resembled more of a full belly than an actual baby bump.

I placed a hand on his cheek, but before I could say anything, he stiffened and growled darkly with his wings flared as we both heard a set of voices on the other side of my office door. Cassian had been about to knock on it when Nesta stopped him with a sharp slap on his hand.

“Don’t bother. She and that High Lord of yours have been in there since breakfast, she’s fine,” Nesta scolded.

“Ow! I just wanted to say hi,” Cassian complained.

“There’s no need. One insufferable Illyrian is enough for a pregnant female,” she retorted.

“You’re one to complain about insufferable Illyrians,” he taunted, and I could practically see the pompous grin on his face as Nesta shushed him fiercely.

I couldn’t hear her comeback as she presumably pushed him down the hall and away from my door. I returned my gaze back up to Rhys, who instantly started to relax as their voices drifted away.

“Mating bond chafing a bit, Rhys?” I teased, repeating the same words Cassian had taunted him with after we first mated.

He barked a laugh, despite being feral just seconds before. “I can’t help it, Feyre darling,” he admitted. “Just the thought of another male coming near you sets me off.”

I stroked the hard plane of his cheekbone with my thumb, “I know, but it wouldn’t hurt to release some of that aggression, like you’ve done before,” I suggested.

He shook his head, “I don’t want to be that kind of male; one who can’t control himself or his temper.”

I frowned, knowing who he was referring to and cupped both sides of his face, “You aren’t that kind of male Rhys. You never have been, and never will be. Working off some steam doesn’t mean you can’t control yourself,” I promised.

He further relaxed into my touch, his brow coming to rest against mine as he breathed in my new scent—the baby added the smell of jasmine to my normal lilac and pear that he previously described to me.

“I can’t bring myself to leave your side,” he said quietly. “Every second I’m away is agonizing. Not just in an intimate sense like before, but...I feel a sense of danger that grows stronger the longer I’m away.”

I kissed the tip of his nose, wrapping my arms around his neck loosely—silently reassuring him of my understanding. The mating bond was stretched tight for the both of us. Just as harrowing as it was for him every second we were apart, my own instincts left me completely and irrationally distraught. I made a mental note to mention it to Madja at our next appointment in a couple of days, but I chalked it up to our bond being hypersensitive thanks to the new life I was growing. That new life that also had every one of our friends and family doing their best to cater to my needs.

It was odd, but strangely comforting seeing their concern and their willingness to help. Apart from my sisters, I still worried that they only offered said help due to their sworn oaths to me as their High Lady and the child I was carrying.

“They’re not,” Rhys quietly interjected. I sighed, knowing my mental shields were left wide open again since I didn’t have the energy to build them back up. “They help and check on you because they genuinely care and worry about you, and the baby.”

I nodded, “You’re right. I guess I just know that even if they absolutely hated me, they still would.”

Rhys snorted, running a hand along my spine lightly as he contemplated. “I’m starting to worry, Feyre. I know Madja said to expect some nausea and fatigue, but your symptoms are well beyond that. I don’t know how much longer I can watch you suffer before I override your decision to call her,” he explained.

“I told you before, this is all a part of the process. If it makes you feel any better, we’ll bring it up to her at the next visit,” I reasoned.

He sighed deeply but reluctantly agreed, “We’ll wait until then, but if you try to underestimate any of your symptoms, I’ll be sure to set her straight. There must be something she can do.”

I giggled and nuzzled into him further, breathing in his salt-and-citrus scent as I closed my eyes, “Someone’s still being bossy,” I teased.

“Forgive me for not loving the sight of my pregnant mate hurling her guts up and having to take seven naps a day,” he retorted softly, still rubbing my back.

“But you said I’m cute when I’m sleeping,” I complained quietly, on the edge of unconsciousness.

“You’re even cuter when I’m assured that you and our son are healthy,” he said.

“You’re cute when you’re quiet and let me sleep,” I yawned.

A soft chuckle was his only response as he buried his nose in my hair, taking this opportunity to join me in a nap he rarely took. After a week of nightmares that left me restless at night, I knew he wasn’t getting any more sleep than I was. Any nap he took was just as well deserved as mine, and I relished in falling asleep to the sound of his even breaths.

“Your lingering fatigue and nausea are a bit concerning,” Madja began after her routine examination. I made good on my word and informed her of the extent of the symptoms I was experiencing. Despite feeling a little silly and worried that I would end up sounding like I was whining about the things she already warned me to expect, Rhys insisted we emphasize just how severely I was being impacted by them.

“In another two weeks, you’ll officially be in the second stage of your pregnancy—which is presumably when your early symptoms should be mitigating,” she continued. “That’s not to say they won’t, a lot can change in a couple of weeks, but most females tend to experience these symptoms until giving birth.”

I squeezed Rhys’s hand reassuringly, “See? I told you this is normal,” I said as I glanced up at him from my spot on our bed, and he helped me sit upright—noting my strain.

“Even the nightmares?” He asked with a frown.

The healer nodded, “Even the nightmares. I’m afraid pregnant females frequently experience more lively dreams—horrible as they may be.”

“I’m concerned with her stamina as well,” Rhys added. “She’s been practically bedridden this week.”

I sighed and reluctantly admitted, “I do get dizzy from regular activities now, like walking from one end of the estate to the other.”

Madja acquiesced, “That is common as well, and I assure you both that these are not signs of an unhealthy pregnancy, but rather a taxing one. You are both substantial high fae,” she said and motioned to Rhys and then to me respectfully, “As you are the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, and as you were resurrected with the combined abilities of all seven High Lords, your child will be a powerful high fae—perhaps more so than you both. It is likely that your developing youngling is draining your energy as your body attempts to keep up.”

“Is that dangerous?” I asked before Rhys had the chance to.

The healer shook her head, “No. In fact, this is a good sign. It means you are able to maintain a pregnancy this extraordinary. Odds are, as the youngling progresses into further stages of development, your body will continue to accommodate and you’ll begin to gain back some of your energy.”

I gulped, not exactly relieved. Rhys cleared his throat as he spoke up, his hand coming to rest on my back, “We don’t have anything to worry about then?”

“Not at all,” Madja reassured, touching my knee gently. “It will be a long journey, but you will carry to term and deliver a healthy baby. So long as you keep resting, eating well, and limit any stress on your physical and mental health I see no cause for concern. I will change some of the dosages in your prenatal and anti-nausea brews, so that you are able to stave off the queasiness better and hold down your meals. Hopefully, in the coming weeks, your desire to eat will increase.”

“Are there any other alarming symptoms we should be aware of? Any warning signs we need to look for?” Rhys asked.

“Of course, and I have created a list of normal and abnormal symptoms, some I’ve mentioned before and some yet to come as things progress,” the older female replied, handing my mate said list. “As of right now, I’m confident you and your youngling are both in top condition.”

I nodded, still a bit tense as I asked, “Should we be worried about our mating bond? Both of our instincts have been a little...intense.”

Madja chuckled, the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkling in amusement, “I did warn you the mating bond would heighten your instincts now with a little one to consider,” she said.

“It's normal then, to feel a sense of...panic, when we’re apart?” Rhys asked.

“And to feel overprotective, and desperate,” the healer said, as if she were reading my mates mind. “You two are soon going to be parents to a beautiful, strong, and healthy baby. Given this is your first child, and considering your positions of power, you are going to be anxious—rightfully so. I want you both to realize your anxieties are normal, so long as you don’t allow them to cause you to live in fear,” she explained, taking our hands and squeezing them warmly with her own small wrinkled ones.

Her short speech caused my eyes to burn and without warning I burst into tears, a sob tearing through my throat as Rhys instantly wrapped me in his arms to console me. “I’m guessing this reaction is normal as well?” He asked, albeit sympathetically as he rubbed my back soothingly.

A warm smile graced the healer’s wrinkled lips as she nodded, “Yes. Expect more changes in mood from your pregnant mate, my lord. If she wasn’t prone to tears before, happy or sad, she will be now.”

I sniffed as I composed myself, willing the tears to stop, “I’m just...grateful. You’ve assured us on every front, and eased our concerns, and I’m so grateful to you.” I said, sniffling a bit pathetically.

“That is what I’m here for, my lady. And for you as well, my lord.” She said to both of us.

Rhys nodded appreciatively, “Thank you.”

She bowed her head and began gathering her things as Rhys turned back to me, taking a step back to kneel in front of my spot on the bed. “You were right. This is all normal,” he said as his hands came to rest on either side of my thighs.

I nodded, wiping at my tears, “Just exhausting.”

We both nodded in earnest at Madja as she excused herself from the room; Rhys coming to sit beside me on the bed.

“Maybe it's time we hire an assistant, just to lighten your workload a little,” he suggested.

“I suggested an assistant for both of us, not just me.” I reminded him.

His returning grin was wicked as he shrugged casually, “I wouldn’t mind having an assistant.”

I sighed tiredly and moved my head to perch on his shoulder, a hand resting on the small curve of my stomach. It was barely noticeable through my wool sweater, further hidden by the leggings I wore around the estate, but since noticing the small swell in my abdomen, we both couldn’t resist caressing it.

“Having an assistant would give us more time together, especially when the baby comes,” I said.

Rhys’s hand came to cover mine, squeezing gently, but when I turned to smile at him, I was met with a furrowed brow as he stared at my stomach. “What’s wrong?” I asked hesitantly.

“So small and already giving his mother a hard time,” he said softly, and I could hear the concern laced behind his words.

“Well he is his father’s son,” I tried to joke in an attempt to ease back into our relief after Madja’s exam, but his frown remained.

“His power is going to surpass both of ours,” he said, a sense of alarm gathering behind those violet star-flecked eyes—the same I had experienced after the healer first confirmed my pregnancy.

“I once warned you what it meant to marry me, to carry my offspring. A life with a target on your back. I wasn’t worried so much about you because I knew how strong you were, especially once you came into your powers, but now—with our child…” his voice trailed off as I moved to straddle his hips, wrapping both my arms around him as my hands tangled in his hair. I brought his head to rest against my chest in an effort to calm him.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he breathed in my scent, his own arms encircling my waist and relaxed as he kept his brow pressed between my breasts. “He’s going to be okay,” I whispered after a couple of minutes. “We have alliances with all but two courts now. Our world isn’t what it was before the war. Things have changed, even with the Mortal Lands,” I explained quietly as I stroked through his hair lightly.

I was glad that much was true. In the decade since the end of the war with Hybern, our alliances with the Summer, Winter, Day and Dawn Courts had solidified. As the years went by, we had been able to strengthen our relationships with Tarquin, Thesan and Kallias—more so with the latter since Viviane and I had developed a closer friendship. She was now the first High Lady of the Winter Court, just as much Kallias’s equal as I was Rhys’s, and we both held our heads high among the males surrounding us.

Once a year, we made a tradition of gathering all the High Lords—and Ladies, of Prythian as we had before the war began and met at the Dawn Court Palace. Lucien, Jurian and Vassa also attended those meetings; Vassa and Jurian representing and speaking on behalf of the Mortal Lands, with Vassa having taken over as the sole ruling Queen thanks to Jurian’s help at overthrowing the other traitorous queens. Collectively, we thought it best to let the human forces work together during that conflict—offering assistance if the humans needed it, but allowing them a chance at rallying their territory before we officially created a new alliance without the need for a wall.

At our new meetings, high fae and human finally together as one, we made it a point to keep each other in check—although no one had the urge to try and overthrow the other or expand their lands, but in recent years our main concerns were with the Autumn and Spring Court.

After his losses in the war, our alliance with Beron remained tentative, and it was Eris who appeared at our yearly meeting on behalf of the Autumn Court. Since he wasn’t a High Lord, however, and continued to have little sway on his father, the eldest son of the Autumn Court only attended to inform and assure us that Beron wasn’t making any advances on expanding into the Mortal Lands or staging any kind of uprising against the other courts. Still, with his cruel facade ever-present and his occasional visits to Keir in the Court of Nightmares, it was hard for the rest of us to completely trust him. Rhys, Mor and I made it a habit to pop into the Hewn City unannounced whenever Eris was there; making sure to send a clear message that we wouldn’t allow any secret negotiations to take place between the heir to the Autumn Court and the steward of our throne.

Tamlin was a separate issue. After reluctantly agreeing to allow Tarquin’s forces into his territory and reinforcing his borders, he was slowly able to rebuild his own army—some of his old sentries returning to serve him, appreciative of his assistance during the war and the attempts to bolster the Spring Court lands. The rest I wasn’t sure of, and the little I did know of had been gathered from what Lucien told us. It was no secret things were still, and would probably always be, strained with Tamlin and his court, and neither he nor any representative to speak on his behalf attended our meetings. At first, Rhys would occasionally visit on Tarquin’s behalf, checking on the warriors he supplied, but as the years went by and things seemingly improved, he stopped when Tamlin hadn’t bothered to greet him anymore.

However provisional things seemed to be with the Sprint and Autumn Courts, I knew our friends in the others would be happy to hear that we were expecting—especially Viviane and Kallias, who were also due to expect their first child in a couple of months. I made a mental note to contact Viviane and ask for advice on how she was coping with her pregnancy.

“Something isn’t sitting right with me,” Rhys finally admitted after a couple of minutes of silence passed between us.

I pulled back to meet his eyes, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Just as he was about to speak, his shoulders tensed and his wings flared as a hard knock was heard on our door. It was Azriel’s voice that came from the other side as he said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have news from the Illryian war camps.”

I climbed off of Rhys as we both moved to stand, Rhys answering the door before I could reach it. “Kallon?” He asked Azriel, who nodded grimly in return.

Rhys swore under his breath, “Get Cassian. We’ll meet in my office in two minutes,” he ordered the shadowsinger. Azriel nodded and left to do as he was instructed.

I frowned, “This is more than just Kallon spreading dissent, isn’t it? What if he’s planning something, an uprising of some sort?” I asked.

It was a possibility we hadn’t wanted to face, but after Azriel began to gather more and more intel on the camp lord’s resistance since their presence at the Blood Rite, it was now something we couldn’t ignore.

“It’s likely. The bastard has always hated us, and this is something he would try to pull after years of silence,” Rhys growled as he went to the desk we held in the corner of our room, searching for Az’s previous reports.

“He wanted us to think he wasn’t a problem,” I said as I went to help him look.

He grabbed my hand gently, “Let me handle this, please. Madja said you shouldn’t be under any stress,” he pleaded.

I stared back at him, my eyes hard, “I am High Lady of the Night Court, that includes the Illyrians as well. We handle this together.”

He chuckled humorlessly and only nodded in return without a second thought. He found the reports and we left together to meet Cassian and Azriel in his office. The two Illyrian warriors were in a fierce conversation as we walked in and Cassian immediately turned to face us as he growled,

“The bastard is planning a coup.”

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hi-hey-haechan · 4 years

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Can I get a reaction with nct 127 when u purposely make them mad and they punish u please

Taeil

You’d told the members about that one time you came home late to see him dancing around the living room in just his underwear. He was embarrassed, but as his members began to taunt him more for it, he grew angry. As soon as you two got inside of your shared apartment, he shut the door with a resounding slam and pushed down on your shoulder, forcing you to your knees. He didn’t hesitate in unbuckling his belt and pulling down his jeans and boxers. Taeil’s hand went to the back of your head, forcing you down on his cock. From the start, he’d be rougher than usual, fucking your mouth and tugging on your hair. He would make you gag around his length, clutching onto his thigh as tears and drool run down your face. After sucking him off, he would refuse to pleasure you.

Johnny

You “accidentally” spilled his coffee (which had gone cold) onto his outfit, ruining his white t-shirt and black sweatpants. You looked straight at him when you apologized, not even bothering to make your voice sound sincere. You had both ruined his outfit and his caffeine. Johnny decided to change after finishing his breakfast. However, he fit a hand down your sweatpants and rubbed your clit roughly. You had been in a conversation with Doyoung, so you attempted to continue talking, stuttering and sighing. When he plunged two fingers into your core, bringing a slight amount of pain to you, you had to stop mid-sentence and bite your lip, clenching your jaw to hold back a moan. You played it off as “painful cramps.” He would curl his fingers, rubbing up against your sweet spot. He’d deny you your orgasm, making you whimper out loud. The boys were looking at Johnny, not one of them oblivious to what he was doing to you.

Taeyong

If there was one thing Taeyong hated, it was reliving the time he had to explain “Whiplash.” You kept bringing it up, saying things like, “are you sure it was your sister you were writing about?” The members continued to laugh at him, too, teasing him more and more whenever you’d mention it. He was pissed off if you for embarrassing him like that, so when you got home, he was the one giving you whiplash (exept, like, you know, actual whipping). Legitimately, he’d spank you so roughly. That’s as far as he’d go with whipping, refusing to actually use a belt or rope or whip, which could genuinely cut into your skin. However, he would spank you until your ass was red and stinging, hand coming down harshly. The room was filled with your cries and the sharp sound of his hand making contact with your skin. (Aftercare, though...that’s a different story)

Yuta

Everything Yuta asked you to do was something you refused to follow through with. Doing the laundry, ordering take-out for dinner, etcetera. You claimed that you had to work all day, which was true, but you still didn’t do the tasks when you normally would. He came home tired and hungry, so he just made himself some ramen, being short and snappy with you. What you didn’t expect was for him to tie you up completely. Your arms were bound to the headboard, and your legs were tied down and spread apart. He placed a vibrator inside of you, placing it on the highest setting, before leaving to go do the laundry. You were screaming from overstimulation at some point, but Yuta didn’t return for a solid forty minutes. Your face was tearstained and red. Your throat was raw from the cries that had been ripped from you. Your slick was dripping down your legs, and the bedsheets were wet with the fluid that had squirted out of you from overstimulation. Don’t make Yuta mad, is the message here.

Doyoung

You decided to help the younger boys of the group pull a prank on Doyoung, for his reactions and indignance to their antics were humorous. It ended up with his pillow ripped, feathers all over his bed, and his sink in the bathroom at the dorms overflowing. Since he wasn’t a fan of messes, some part of you said, “Hmm, let’s piss off Doyoung to the fullest extent by ruining some stuff!” Your boyfriend’s response to that was him ruining you. He pounded into you relentlessly when you got back to your shared apartment. He did not find your humor, in this circumstance, funny, and so Doyoung showed you that he was not, in any way, a person that you should mess with. His thrusts would continue past your own climax, and even when your arms and legs gave out from supporting your weight, he fucked your limp body. He chased his orgasm, which, in turn, literally turned your body to putty for him.

Jaehyun

You sat on your phone the ENTIRE date. Seriously, while eating dinner, you scrolled through Twitter, sometimes texting your best friend about Jaehyun’s reactions to this. Your words were short and sort of dry. Seeing his face fall literally made you want to cry, since all you wanted was for him to be happy. You made a comment when you came home about your phone being almost-dead, and that was when he snapped. Jaehyun stripped you down, being so dominant that it almost scared you. He was already hard, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. Your face was mashed against a pillow, and your ass was up. His hands grabbed your hips as he fucked you so hard to the point where you were yelling out his name. Jaehyun went fast and deep, leaving a spank on your ass occasionally. “Your phone could never give this to you, never,” he hissed into your ear. You had cum twice before he came once, overstimulating you to the fullest extent.

Winwin

You were flirting with Ten right in front of him. He watched, glowering, as you sat next to his friend. Ten was naturally just a flirt, always talking, smiling, and sometimes going as far as to show off. He also had to admit that seeing Sicheng mad amused him (Ten is chaotic evil, what can I say?). You reunited with your boyfriend after practice, and he was having a difficult time hiding his hurt. Sicheng wouldn’t be obvious about trying to punish you. Instead, he’d have his head between your legs later, overstimulating you until you were crying, but never saying his motivation for doing so. When he said, “Ten could never make you feel this good,” you knew his motivations behind his actions. Just because he was subtle about his jealousy didn’t mean that it wasn’t there, and he made sure you knew it. He wanted to make you forget everything else except for his name and the way you felt as he pleasured you with his tongue and fingers, bringing you to your climax over and over again.

Jungwoo

You ate all the food that he’d bought for himself. When it came down to love, you and food were competing for Jungwoo’s heart. You, in turn, decided to temporarily remove your competition. When he came home, he was already sort of upset. Seeing that all his food was gone, he was sent over the edge. You rarely saw angry Jungwoo, but when you did, it was scary. He decided quickly that instead of eating food, he could just eat you out instead. What you weren’t expecting was orgasm denial for what felt like an eternity. His tongue movements were already quite wild, eating you out with no mercy at all, whatsoever. Even when you eventually stopped warning him about your approaching climax, he could tell by the clenching of your core and volume of your moans that you were close. If he didn’t get what he wanted, food, you wouldn’t get what you wanted: to cum.

Mark

You decided that it would be humorous for you to photoshop his head onto the body of the bee, just because of the “Mark Bee” meme that NCTzens came up with. You gave them to the boys to post all around the company, and all day, you spammed Mark’s phone with memes of him and a bee. You even sent a terrifying fanfiction you’d found about his bee form (It’s a real thing someone sent me. I can send it, if you’d like). In turn, he had to consider a decent punishment. As a result, he decided to get himself off later that day, while making you watch. Seriously, he wouldn’t let you leave the bed as he ran his hand up and down his hard length, forcing you to watch and hear the sounds of his literally perfect moans. Mark didn’t want you to pleasure yourself, so he tied up your hands to the headboard using one of the scarves you had. He overstimulated himself, too, making you even needier, but never allowing you to have relief.

Haechan

You ignored him practically all day, pushing him away when he tried to hug you or saying short, cold sentences in response to his. He was being his bubbly, sweet, affectionate self, and you were pushing him away, just for a punishment. Haechan caught on quite quickly, knowing fully well how much of a brat you could be, just for his attention. His punishment? Ignoring you in return. Later that day, when your acts were up, he was pushing away anything more extreme than a hug. He would refuse to kiss you, and he’d push you away whenever you tried to grind down on his lap, your needy self begging for friction of any kind. You even laid next to him on the bed and began pleasuring yourself, moaning out his name as your fingers delved in and out of your core, simultaneously stimulating your clit. He just watched, not even reacting when you moaned out his name.

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct reactions #nct hard hours #kpop hard hours #kpop smut #i have to wake up in less than two hours #to bike to see the sunrise #i will regret this #but i had to post

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iheartsunset · 4 years

Note

PL headcanons!? Alberto headcanon, can we? OwO

Papa Louie Alberto HCs

(Sorry if this was late, I haven’t had school all week bc of Hurricane Sally and my power’s been out for a few days and internet connection is difficult)

-Alberto Marroquin is 19 years old and has recently moved to Calypso Island from Burgerburgh to be closer to his friends and parents, Daniel and Juana. When he isn’t working at the Freezeria, he’s spending most of his free time running a prank channel online and working as a professional soccer player. He’s a member of the Calypso Fam and shared a close bond with the other members, often being noted as the smartest one (in terms of academics, that is, he’s got no common sense, that’s reserved for Okalani and Nevada to some extent).

-His personality is extremely energetic and studious, but he hates feeling competitive, although he can’t help but feel that way on any sports’ field. He is either the friend that constantly goes “Guys we shouldn’t be doing this, I think the teacher’s coming! We’re all gonna get in trouble!” or “Hey guys, I found these cool fireworks, let’s set them on fire indoors and make s’mores!” and there’s no in between. He’s also the most mischievous out of the Calypso Fam, as he likes to conduct harmless pranks all the time. If anyone was hurt because of his pranks, though, he’d feel super guilty and would do whatever he could to help make anyone get better.

-Alberto was born in Burgerburgh, but his parents’ transferred them to Calypso Island when he was 4. There, he met Utah and Gremmie after pulling pranks on them, the three soon becoming best friends. He also grew a close bond with Kahuna, Okalani, and Nevada. Alberto regularly texted and video chatted them during high school and even gave Utah some ideas for her senior pranks.

-Alberto usually reads graphic novels with Penny or dances with her in the park for their dates. They also play soccer, relax on the beach, or play video games. Alberto’s not nearly a good enough ballet dancer to keep up with her, so he and Doan take mixed genre dance classes under Timm’s guidance.

-Because of his outstanding GPA and amazing soccer skills, Alberto was scouted to attend Croquembouche Preparatory Academy in Tastyville for high school. He tearfully had to leave his loved ones behind and moved into his grandfather’s apartment in nearby Burgerburgh since his scholarship didn’t cover room and board. He was looked down on and teased by many others due to his less privileged background and his homesickness, but he met an underclassman named Penny who he began dating. He also gained recognition from multiple college scouts for his soccer skills. He was still incredibly homesick, though.

-Because of all the AP classes and dual enrollment he did, Alberto really only has to attend 2 years of college to get a degree. He’s majoring in kinesiology while still being a soccer player. That being said, Alberto still finds balancing classes, work, and his channel a real hassle.

-His senior prank was one, of not, the most infamous in Croquembouche’s history. The story varies depending on who’s telling it, but the truth is that the meaner teachers’ and students’ cars were piled up on the soccer field with caramel running down all of them. Other rumors add on that the fountain itself was filled with caramel instead of water, as were all the toilets, sinks, and teachers’ thermoses. These are all untrue, though, but Alberto was never caught.

-Any time he goes to the beach, he’ll always make someone play soccer with him. He likes to challenge Maggie, Koilee, Penny, and Cooper to marches all the time, but they’re mostly rusty on their skills or just plain tired of soccer.

-Alberto can speak some Spanish and often practices and gossips the language with Rita, Rudy, and Cecelia. He likes to use what he learned to secretly plan pranks with Utah and Gremmie (who only have a two year high school education on the language and can’t really understand him, but smile and nod anyways).

-Alberto knew dang well that Calypso Island didn’t actually have only 12 inhabitants (it actually has about 237), he just wanted to feel closer to Penny and his friends through the Freezeria job.

-Alberto doesn’t associate himself with Utah and Gremmie’s matchmaking service , but he does like to observe whatever chaos comes out of it, including Hank’s many failures wooing Johnny (they ended up together anyway) and accidentally encouraging Robby to ask out Koilee’s aunt (Koilee was NOT happy to say the least).

-He started playing soccer because his grandfather loved it and taught it to him as a child. Even though his parents and the Calypso Fam weren’t huge soccer fans, they still encouraged him. They were all basically his personal cheerleaders.

-Alberto was that dude for me, the OG is you will. Actually, the OG was Mitch for me, but whatever, stan Alberto.

(Sorry if this was too short, internet is choppy and my phobia of the dark is suffering under all the not working lights)

#flipline studios #papa louie #flipline #my hcs #alberto #calypso fam #i am not vibing well in this power outage #dang you hurricane sally #btw alberto has a prank channel

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eternaljouska · 4 years

Note

Title : you're not a burden; jungkook??

∆∆∆∆∆ Title Request 1/6 ∆∆∆∆∆

a/n: the plot is kinda questionable imo, but this is the best i can get out of my writing slump. and sorry for the long wait. enjoy nonetheless~~ Thank you for sending this request dear anonnie ♡

Sleep has become such a burden. For Jungkook, who is lying on his stomach and burying his head into his arms and pillows, sleep is a dead weight on his spine. It is a weight so heavy he’s not sure he can ever wake up or walk again afterward. He’s not sure he wants to either, though. Not after you heard those words he used to describe you. Those vile, wicked words. He doesn’t mean any of those, of course, but his notoriously poor track record with you will do nothing to convince you—or even his friends—of his innocence.

Some would say that he has an anger management issue, but he would beg to differ. He would like to prove to you that the only issue he has is just a stupidity issue, although he can’t. He doesn’t know how to do that without looking very much like the dumb ass that you think he is. And it’s not like he can try, you would never deign to even spare him a single motherfucking glance after that night. It’s been two days, and a few of his friends are still not talking to him. Even his friends won’t talk to him, how pathetic.

Well, that word. He spat out those words for you that night. How pathetic, he had said.

In your room, there is this small space between your bed and the drawer next to it, a bigger space than how Jungkook knows people normally set those two items together. That night, they—he and his friends—found you sitting there again, folding in onto yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. Your eyes, they were… Jungkook doesn’t want to call that image to explain it. The only thing he can recall is the ache he felt inside his chest, the remains of which he still bears with his every step. But that night, like every other night, the immense pain stopped him from walking towards you. And that night, like every other night, it was Jimin who ran to your side. It was sweet, affectionate Jimin who cradled you and walked you out of your down-spiraling thoughts. It would never be him. Nobody could ever win against the perfect Jimin, not a coward like him.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.” Jungkook’s voice is nothing if not a whisper of dwindling courage. He had called you thrice before you finally answered. His dumb ass probably doesn’t realize how late it already is. You know the core of the talk he wants to have. Honestly, you’ve been waiting. You both have this complicated friendship—if you’re able to call it that. It was you who started with the small pranks here and there, but something happened and you didn’t feel like responding to his prank anymore, so you stopped. And of course, he got mad. He got mad when you didn’t value his effort. You’d told him to stop too, but he refused, opting to rather explore his creativity in the foul pranks department.

“Y/n?” It feels like forever since he called you by your name like this, and you have the sudden urge to cry and end his call. You didn’t want to answer him in the first place. It was Jimin who told you to. Whose fault it was to even ask for his advice? The moment Jungkook’s name popped out on your screen, you fumbled around for your phone and sent a hurried message to Jimin, half-hoping he’s already asleep so that you can blame him for not answering Jungkook’s call. But Jungkook keeps calling, and Jimin texted you in the end. He said Jungkook has been miserable after that night, as he should be for saying those cruel words about you.

“Y/n, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, that night, I was— You- you know me, right? I said stupid words without thinking. I did stupid things without—“

“I don’t think you can execute those pranks you did without thinking, Jeon. And I did know you, but I think I no longer do.” The words taste like bile in your mouth, but those are the truth.

“Y/n, please—“

You hung up. Jungkook should’ve known better. I don’t think you can execute those pranks you did without thinking. True. In fact, he did a lot of thinking for each and every prank he made. He did a lot of effort to rile you into pranking him back, into falling to that silly tradition that you both had not even two months ago. You said that you no longer know him, but it’s all because of you. You just suddenly stopped paying him any attention and went traipsing around with Jimin and Taehyung as if he was not the one who introduced you to them.

You both were not close or anything. You could’ve, if you had talked to him instead of ignoring him as you did. You could’ve become close, and it could’ve been Jungkook on your side instead of Jimin. But no, you acted all closed off or whatever without explaining why. You’d asked him to stop with the prank, but that’s it. You didn’t even give him a second warning; just that once and then you gave up. You gave up so easily on him that it frustrated him, to the extent that it becomes easier for him to spit out ugly words just to hurt you. Stupid, but again he has zero ideas on how to deal with his stupidity issue.

“Yoongi hyung,” Jungkook whispers to the man in front of him. He is currently flipping through a thick book Jungkook can only imagine using as a weapon rather than reading material. “I need your help.”

“Just tell her the truth,” Yoongi says without looking up.

“It’s not—“

“I know it’s about her. You guys weren’t like this before. What changed? You need to control your anger and have that talk with her.”

Jungkook deadpans. “Hyung, how many times have I told you, I don’t have an anger management issue!” The older man only raises his brow, again, without taking his eyes off his book, and Jungkook takes that as his cue to leave.

After what feels like three laps around the school ground, Jungkook finds you sitting on the bleachers with a book in your hand. Honestly, what is wrong with people, all of a sudden they are into reading or what now? You must have noticed his arrival, for you quickly close your book and raise your face to look at him. You must have also expected it would be anyone but him if your expression is anything to go by.

“Hey, we need to talk.”

“There’s nothing—“

“I have something to say, to ask. So please…” Jungkook trails off, but you don’t make any more attempts to escape him. “I’ve been a coward. I am still,” he quickly adds at the sound of your scoff, “I’m sorry… for those bad things I said, bad pranks I played. I went overboard, I know. But Y/n, I would really like it if we can start over. I mean… we were… fine. Back then. It was all fun. But why—“

“You, Jungkook, are such a fool!”

“I know… I have a stupidity issue.” You let out a soft ‘a what?’ at this, but Jungkook keeps going, “So I’m sorry. I’m even sorry for myself. What happened, Y/n?”

And you know exactly what he’s asking, know exactly the answer, and it hurts you that he’s still oblivious after all this time. “Y/n is such a crybaby. She’d go to the corner and cry out of the blue. Why would I ever like someone like that? That would be such a burden. Do you remember that, Jeon? Because I do, word by word.”

Jungkook doesn’t. He doesn’t remember his exact sentences, but he knows he said those ugly words, just as he did a few nights ago. What he didn’t know, until today, is that you’ve heard him. It was the day before Jungkook repaid you for your latest—last—prank, which had half of his head dyed pink. Taehyung had been bothering him about his crush on you nonstop, and Jungkook’s stupid brain was on its lowest performance due to the history test he had earlier and the pressure to top your prank and the constant nerves of being near you. It’s only normal for it to be extremely defensive against Taehyung accusations and teases of how you had that look on you when Jungkook was mentioned; it didn’t need more anxiety from thinking the probability Taehyung suggested. So it did what it does best: vomiting stupid words.

Now looking back, if you had known about that all this time, it becomes clear why you had stopped caring about him and his childish pranks. It all makes sense. “So that’s why?”

From the moment you finished speaking, you can see the gears on his head spurring back to life, can see the realization dawning on his face. Jungkook has his eyes to the ground, his expression grows somber as he mumbles out his question and you feel your heart becomes heavier as he stays silent for the longest minute of your life. His voice trembles slightly when he speaks up again. “I… am so stupid, aren’t I? I don’t even know what to say. I can say I’m sorry and I don’t mean those stupid words, but it doesn’t matter. You’re already hurt.”

“Why had you said it if you didn’t mean it then, Jeon? You know that I don’t just cry out of the blue. Even that night, two days ago, I didn’t cry because I wanted to. I didn’t think of those horrid thoughts because I wanted to. There… There are things that you don’t know, things you don’t care to know. And it hurts me to hear how bothersome or burdensome I am for those people I care about.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to look at you. His breaths are ragged from the effort to control his emotion and the even way in which he has to speak, as to not blurt out more rubbish from his mouth. “I care. I care to know about those things, about you. I desperately want to know. That’s why I followed Jimin and Taehyung to your apartment that night. But it’s always Jimin for you. I’m just a dumb ass who plays bad pranks and says hurtful words for attention.”

You call his name over and over, asking exactly what he means by that, but he’s too deep in his own thought, carefully picking the words he needs to say to you. “When you stopped responding to my pranks, I felt like you’ve given up on me. I didn’t know it was because of me, my words. Taehyung,” Jungkook scoffs, “he wouldn’t stop going on about my crush on you, so I did the only thing I could think of to make him stop. I didn’t know you would be listening. I’m sorry.” The fact that he just admitted he’d had a crush on you on some point in the past doesn’t escape you, and it somehow sends warmth throughout your whole body.

“I’ve been very annoyed with Taehyung and Jimin ever since. I introduced you to them, you remember? And suddenly I’m not part of the team anymore. And it hurts, too. I still like you, you know? I—“

“You what?” You can’t help but interrupt. There’s no way. “Now you say you like me? You say that it hurts? Then what about me, you dumb ass?!” Jungkook lets out a single ow where you hit him on his chest while your own voice is choked out by your tears. Damn hormones. “I just ignore you and you say it hurts? Imagine being called a crybaby by the person you like? What if I call you a burden? What if I call you pathetic? Because that’s what I am in your eyes, right?”

Jungkook stands still in front of you, accepting the waves of punches that you throw. “What are you saying?” he says slowly.

“What do you mean what am I saying? I’m saying that I like you, too! Why do I like a dumb ass like you?”

“What? You like me? But—“

“I’m tired and sick of being the last and only hope of the family, carrying the responsibility of my stupid, unemployed brothers. Our little pranking tradition was my escapade. But then I heard you said those things. I know it seems too dramatic, but it’s—“

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I should’ve- I should’ve asked or- I don’t know. I’m sorry, Y/n. I swear… I swear you’re none of those things I described you with, okay?” By this time, Jungkook has already had his hands cupping your wet cheeks. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with a dumb ass like me. I’m sorry I said those words, but you’re not bothersome, Y/n. You’re not burdensome or pathetic. If there’s anyone in this school who is pathetic, it would be me, playing horrible pranks just to catch a girl’s attention.”

Your giggle is cut short by a deep mocking voice, “I swear you’re not a burden, Y/n-ah. I’m stupid, I’m pathetic, but I like you.”

“I like you, too,” another voice adds into the conversation, this one is shrill in an attempt to mimic a girl’s voice. “You don’t know how much I’ve complained about you to Jimin and Taehyung.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung replies in his real voice, “I’m so tired of it, I swear, but not like, in a mean way or anything. I love you, Y/n-ah!” He sends you a big heart with his arms and you pretend to come closer to accept his heart before you yell and tickle him with all of your might.

“Jungkook-ah! Go grab Jimin!” you command, but the short man has managed to escape even before you finish saying Jungkook’s name.

“You’re so gonna pay for the unreasonable jealousy that I felt, Park Jimin!”

#title request #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jeongguk fluff #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeongguk angst #bts angst #jeon jungkook angst #fluff #angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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lia-jones · 4 years

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Growing Stronger - Chapter Thirty-Five - The Gift that Keeps on Giving

The sun was setting when we finally left the florist, where we had met with the wedding planner. Miraculously, I managed to not laugh at the mention of peonies, and the afternoon turned out to be quite productive. The flower arrangements we had picked were beautiful, and Victor was in a good mood. The day was going extremely well.

“I can’t believe we just ordered 500 flower arrangements. That’s crazy.” I commented. It was beginning to dawn on me just how big of a wedding I was having.

“Four hundred people.” Victor explained. “Forty-two tables, plus the arrangements on the floor and ceiling. That is for the reception venue alone. Then the wedding venue, decorating the gazebo, the chairs, the bar, the road that leads to the farm, the gates and the wall…”

“Yeah. Four hundred guests. And the media. And God knows who else.” I pouted. All of that still bothered me to some extent, but the recent fight with Victor had really put things in perspective. And the truth was, it didn’t matter how I got married, wearing jeans or a designer dress, in front of an Elvis impersonator or the cream of the crop in Loveland. What mattered was who I was getting married to.

“You were the one that wanted my father to be involved.” Victor complained. “And make no mistake, I know your intentions were good. However, that’s how he does things, it’s all for the public eye. Everything must be grand, whatever he considers a public scandal must be hidden. Even my aunt Terry has to hide her relationship with Susan.”

I was flabbergasted.

“Terry has to hide her what with who!?”

“You never noticed?” Victor frowned at me. “You are usually so in tune with these things.”

“No! Why didn’t you tell me?” My mind was reeling with all the implications of this new information. “We didn’t invite Susan to the wedding! God, how rude was that?”

“I honestly thought you noticed it, Susan is always there.” Victor retorted. “Besides, it’s not really my business to talk about other people’s private lives.”

“I thought she was her assistant! She has some serious Goldman vibes.” I shrugged.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Victor glared at me.

“Oh please, Goldman is your work wife and you know it.” I teased. “You spend more time with him than with me.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” He scolded, and I laughed. “Do we really need to go home for that flash drive?” He changed the subject. “Couldn’t it wait? We are already running late as it is.”

“It’ll be quick, I promise.” I gave him a reassuring look. “Olive will keep nagging me if I don’t give it to her as soon as possible.”

The apartment was dark when we arrived, and Victor had to fumble for the light switch in the hallway.

“I must tell the housekeeper not to pull all the blinds down.” He commented as he checked if the pet lobster had food. “Where is the flash drive?”

“I think I left it in the living room.” I walked towards the darkness again, but Victor stopped me.

“I don’t like you walking in the dark alone. You may stumble on something and hurt yourself.” He warned. “I’ll go with you.”

Victor held my hand protectively as we walked into the living room. On a normal day, I would have laughed it off, called him an idiot for once, saying that I was perfectly capable of going by myself. Except this time his protective ways were working to my advantage, so I obediently followed him, waiting for him to find the light switch and turn it on. The coming of light was accompanied by a loud roar that echoed through the entire penthouse.

“SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!”

Greatly startled, Victor jumped, quickly and quite forcefully pulling me behind his back, holding my arms tight, his senses high and alert to an impending attack. His heart was beating so hard I could feel it on his back, as he pulled me closer behind him. I placed my hand gently on his shoulder, letting him know everything was alright.

“Surprise, handsome.” I said in a soft tone, and his grip on me slackened, allowing me to move to his front.

I looked at him carefully. Victor was pale, his grey eyes dark, as his pupils enlarged, like a cat ready to jump. It was obvious we gave him the scare of a lifetime.

“Victor, man, don’t pass out, ok?” My brother Joshua came to him, shaking his hand.

Still dumbfounded, Victor was able to return the shake and offer a weak smile, gulping, blinking, trying to recover from the fright. He quickly scanned the room, probably trying to figure out who was there. In our large living room stood my parents, Joshua, Cristina and Ana, Goldman and Diana. I had invited several members of his family, his father included, but only Terry and Mina had shown up.

“What are you all doing here?” He managed to say.

“Celebrating your birth, Hummingbird.” Mina came to him, hugging him. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you.” He was able to get himself together, starting to greet everyone. But I could see he was still a bit unsettled with the surprise, emotional even, speaking very little, his arm never leaving my waist.

“Ok, birthday boy.” My mother took Victor by the arm, leading him to the dining area. “We prepared a feast for you. All your favorite dishes, including the Portuguese ones.”

“When did you arrive?” Victor asked, probably still not believing what he was seeing. “You came all this way for my birthday?

“Yes, of course.” My father chimed in. “Besides, I wouldn’t miss a chance to see your cellar.”

“Absolutely.” Victor raised his glass to my father. “I hope Andrea arranged for you all to stay here with us, and not in some hotel.”

“You don’t need to worry about us.” My mother retorted. “We are far too many, there’s the baby, we don’t want to disturb your peace.”

“Nonsense. I insist.” Victor replied as he held Ana, who was playfully pulling his tie, giving him a wide smile. “And my jet will take you back to Portugal anytime you want to. Ana shouldn’t be taking commercial flights, it must be exhausting for her.”

We all sat down to begin our feast, talking and drinking. Eventually, Victor relaxed, a happy smile creeping in, enjoying the presence of everyone. Maybe it was a good thing his family hadn’t shown up, apart from the two people I knew were very important to him. It was clear to me, as I had observed at the engagement party, that affection didn’t run very deep in his family. More than that, there was a strange friction between all the members, and that seemed to affect Victor more than the others. He had been uncomfortable all night, seeking solace in me whenever he could, pretending to belong to a tight family for the sake of appearances, his father only showing up to parade one of us off.

With my family, however, Victor behaved like himself, the Victor I knew and had learned to love. He was extroverted, witty, sweet, and it was blatant that here he felt welcomed and loved. This was the side of him I wanted to see, always. That dreadful night in his father’s mansion, I promised myself I wouldn’t force Victor to forge any kind of relationship with that self-absorbed man, as it brought him more pain than comfort.

After singing Happy Birthday to a very bashful Victor, we ate the amazing chocolate cake Mina insisted on baking and drank some champagne. Joshua rose from his seat to make a toast.

“I’d like to make a toast to Victor, our baby business mogul here.” Victor shook his head chuckling. “May we celebrate many of your birthdays, and may you always take the check.”

Everybody laughed, including Victor. Josh continued.

“Now, if you don’t mind, as your best man and future brother-in-law, I would like to present you your gift.” Josh continued, very formal. “It’s not something you want but it’s definitely something you need. Tonight, my brother, you say goodbye to your life as a singleton. We are having a bachelor party!”

All the men cheered, except for Victor, that shook his head in disapproval.

“Josh, we said no bachelor or bachelorette parties!” I intervened. “It’s not something we enjoy doing.”

“I’m sorry, Andy, you are my sister and I love you, but Diane and I both agree, you two are behaving like an old couple!” Josh argued. “You are staying here with the girls and having some fun. Me and the guys are taking Victor out for drinks and pool and I promise you I will bring him ready for bed.”

“Oh no, Josh, you are not bringing him home drunk.” I already knew my brother, and what he was capable of. I was sure Josh would get Victor completely sloshed. It was like his superpower.

“I’m not coming home drunk.” Victor practically rolled his eyes at him. “When have you ever seen me drunk?”

“Oh no, you don’t know my brother!” I warned him. “He is very compelling when he wants to be! I swear to God, Victor, if you come home stumbling…”

“He won’t be stumbling, I will carry him like the sweet prince he is.” Joshua joked, getting up from his seat. “Come on, guys, let’s get this bachelor party started!”

“I just need a moment, I’ll meet you outside.” Victor got up from his seat and took my hand, taking me to our room. When we got there, he spun in my direction, his hands lovingly resting on my shoulders.

“I mean it, Victor, be careful with my brother. He’s vicious.” I warned again, worried to see Victor so confident. In my eyes, he was a sitting duck. “You should see what he did to Cristina’s dad at his bachelor party.”

“Who do you think you are talking to?” He chuckled. “He’s not going to get me drunk. I promise.” He smiled at me, and I relaxed to see him happy. “Now come here.”

His arm snaked around the small of my back, his other hand holding the back of my head, fingers entwined in my curls. He kissed me softly, gently, lovingly. Loving me. I loved him back.

“Thank you.” He gave me a knowing look.

“I was afraid you were going to hate it.” I confessed.

“It was very thoughtful. I enjoyed it very much.” He pecked me one last time on the lips before turning to leave. “I will return in three hours, and I will show you how much I’ve enjoyed it.” He pointed a playful finger at me. “Sober.”

I returned to the living room, a pitcher of margaritas already waiting for me.

“Here comes the sexy bride!” Diane screamed the moment she saw me. I couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm.

“Let’s get you served…” My mom filled me a glass. “Diane won’t drink, will you?” She turned to Diane with a knowing smile.

“Diane won’t drink?” I snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Diane smiled, her face bright red.

“Actually, I can’t drink… Not for a little while.” She confessed.

“I knew it.” My mother snapped her fingers in satisfaction. “My radar is never wrong.”

I blinked. The room was suddenly very quiet, everybody staring at me.

“You’re pregnant?” I asked quietly. She nodded.

I know, I’m petty. I know I should be happy for my friend. And the truth was, a part of me was exhilarated for her. There was nothing I wanted more in this world than to hold her child, and spoil her like a good aunt should. I never had this feeling when Cristina announced her pregnancy, or when Ana was born, but then again, I wasn’t starting a life with anyone either.

But my heart sank low, so low I thought I wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Victor surely knew about this and didn’t tell me anything to spare me from the hurt. He probably considered asking Goldman not to tell me until we were married, but figured that was something he couldn’t possibly ask. I wondered if he also felt his heart sink, knowing he wouldn’t have the same joy. I wouldn’t come home with a positive pregnancy test, he wouldn’t post on Moments that we were going to be three. We wouldn’t have doctors appointments and ultrasounds, and weird food cravings, and large hands on a very swollen stomach, or kicks. No gender reveals, no people cooing over a newborn, stating she looked like Victor or me, although we both would know at that point she looked like nobody. I was robbing him of those moments, with a lousy legacy my ex had left me. My heart sank lower.

My introspection lasted barely a second. I put on the happiest face I could muster. Diane deserved it.

“Oh my God, Diane!” I shouted, wrapping my arms around her, pretending the tears I was letting out were happy ones. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!” That wasn’t a lie.

Diane immediately started crying.

“Oh Andy, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I wasn’t sure if I was going to hurt you, I’m sorry. I’m so happy to see you are happy!” She hugged me again.

“Are you kidding?” I smiled as widely as I could. “It’s wonderful news!”

I beelined into the kitchen, with the excuse of coming back with another jar of margaritas. Well, it was half an excuse. I felt like I needed all the alcohol I could get. Victor would come home completely sloshed, I could do the same. But of course. Dr. Mariana wouldn’t let me. She had to psychomom me.

“Everything alright?” She asked softly from the door.

“Mom, I beg you, not today!” I threw my head back in frustration, as I got some ice from the freezer. “I can be happy for other people, you know! Just because I can’t have kids-”

“That is not what I was asking.” She interrupted me. “How are things between you and Victor?”

Ugh . She noticed something. I did not feel like spilling the beans though. Nothing I could say would make me look good in that particular picture.

“Things have been stressful, as I’m sure it happens to all couples before a wedding. Lots to do, not enough time.” I threw all the excuses I could think of as I threw ingredients into the blender. “Nothing unusual.”

“I see.” She came closer, as if she was ready to play her card. “Is that why you look like you're on the verge of collapsing? I can tell, you know. You’re my daughter.”

And just like that, she had me cornered, showing me that no matter what I said, she would read into it. Fine.

“Please don’t make a big deal out of this, ok?” I looked her in the eyes. “We did have a fight. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are things better now?”

“Yes, we are getting there.” I sighed. “Not what I would want before the wedding, but at least I got to understand what’s bothering him. I think he’s afraid I may leave him.”

“It’s pretty clear to me that Victor, despite his detached, independent stance, can be very insecure sometimes.” My mother offered. “Judging by the absence of his father at his own son’s birthday festivities, I think it’s safe to say that he might have abandonment issues.”

“Victor doesn’t really have a relationship with him. It’s messy.” I shook my head, remembering the time Gregory stormed into Victor’s hospital room, more worried about not getting a call than his own son.

“And still you invited him?” My mother frowned. “Andrea, we do not fabricate a relationship like that. If Victor can’t have a healthy relationship with his father, you have to accept it. It’s his thing, he has his reasons.”

“I know.” I hung my head. “It’s useless anyway, he couldn’t find the time to come to his son's birthday. I bet he didn’t even call.”

“Something tells me from his reaction, Victor’s not used to being the center of attention. At least not in a loving way.” Right to the point, as my mom always was. “Maybe it won’t be easy to get him to fully trust you; he’s probably been let down so many times. But do try and show him, to the best of your ability, that he matters to you. That’s what will make your marriage work. You already have a good dynamic, all you need is to make sure he doesn’t shut down.”

“Right.” I frowned. “How exactly do I do that?”

“The way you’ve been doing it until now. You love him, you show him you are there.” She took my hand lovingly. “That’s all he needs.”

“Right.” I nodded, the pep talk making me feel more grounded. “I will, thank you.”

We resumed our drinking in the living room, bantering about married life and other subjects. Diane had prepared some games to play, but we didn’t care. All girls, including Mina, who wasn’t drinking but was chiming in with wise words now and again, were basking on that moment of female bonding, sharing experiences, and laughter, and love. Who needed strippers? We had friendship.

After a few hours, the doorbell rang. It was Goldman asking for paper towels.

“He threw up all over the upholstery.” He complained. “I’m going to help take him out of the car, I’ll be right back. Get ready to leave, Di.”

My heart froze. I knew it.

“That bad?” I grimaced. I was going to kill Josh. All I needed was a good place to bury the body.

“Completely wasted.” Goldman shook his head. “Let me help them.”

I went to the bedroom, to prepare the bed. I grabbed a pair of his pajamas and clean underwear. I would probably have to give him a shower and put him in bed. How I would do that to a very drunk and very tall Victor, I had no idea.

I returned to the door and opened it, expectant. Starting to get furious. The ding announced the elevator door opening.

And I couldn’t believe my eyes. Victor stepped out, fresh as a daisy, a smug smile on his face, carrying a nearly passed out Josh, with the help of my dad.

“I’m so proud to have you in the family, man.” My brother slurred to Victor, who chuckled. “You are a top-notch guy. I love you, man. I love you so fucking much.”

“You already said that, son. Victor knows.” My father answered with a sigh. “Let’s get you in bed, preferably without waking up your daughter.”

Victor left Josh with Cristina and my dad, taking off his vomit drenched suit jacket with a frown.

“Oh no, there were casualties…” I joked, amused to see Victor immune to my brother’s charms. “You got him drunk instead.” I smiled widely. “Genius.”

“Ye of little faith.” He grabbed me by the waist, kissing me softly on the lips. “What did I tell you?”

“Indeed.” I stroke his cheek softly, going down to his chest. “I see you are worthy of your present.”

“If it involves nudity, I will need a shower first. My jacket wasn’t the only casualty.” Victor frowned again.

“Wait, before you do that, Let me show you your other present.” I beamed at him. “This one does not involve nudity.”

Sitting in our bed, Victor carefully unwrapped his gift.

“It feels like a book.” He said, opening the paper to reveal his gift. It was a customized planner, with a leather cover, words engraved in gold spelling Victor . “A planner?”

“Open it.” I urged. As he skimmed through the pages, he could see several pictures of us, transparent in the background of the pages. “I made one for myself too, want to see?” I got up and took mine out of one of the dressing drawers. “Here. So you know that even if sometimes I may be busy, I will always be thinking of you. And you’ll be thinking of me too.”

“What’s the flash drive stuck in the cover for?” He picked it up, examining it closely.

“I know you like to use your planner on your computer and your phone, so I had it made in digital format too.” I smiled at him, aching for a reaction. “Do you like it?”

“So we did have a flash drive to pick up after all.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “Thank you, I love it. You were very thoughtful.” He pecked me on the lips. “Now let me get a shower so we can go to the… second? no, third part of my present.” He smiled.

“Hmmm, how about if I join you and we make it a four-part birthday present?” I started unbuttoning his shirt, and he promptly started pecking my neck.

“Miss Jones…” His voice rumbled in my ear. “I do like the way you think.”

#growingstronger #Growing Pains - Series #mister love queens choice #love and producer #victor x oc #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic

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