#god damn it my love of ahs and how cheesy it is just HAD to come back huh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hwangism143 · 25 days

Text

limbo (part 2)

synopsis: you weren't expecting to meet him again but maybe the influx of memories can help you piece what exactly had happened that fateful night five years ago

pairing: non-idol!minho x non-idol!fem reader

genre: angst, exes to lovers, heart break

warning: mentions of eating a drinking. heart break and swearing. just general warnings. pls lmk if i have missed anything!

word count: 3.2k words

a/n: here is part 2 of my baby, i do suggest reading part 1 though. pls leave you comments and do reblog. part 3 coming soon!

part 1 | masterlist | part 3

now (present day).

You were quite proud of yourself for how you handled the situation.

You stood there staring at Minho for a beat longer than you should have. You were taking him in, all of him. How could someone look this way? He looked like God had favorites, as if the most skilled angles had carved him out of the finest marble.

You stood there and stared and broke a little inside. Then, you swiftly turned around, checked out whatever you needed to, and started to walk to your car. After that you sat in your car, scoffing at your luck.

"The universe really is playing a cosmic joke on me, isn't it?" you mused.

And then here you were now, curled up in front of the TV with a streaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, watching rom-coms with happy endings to dull the fact that you didn't have one. You were grateful though; a happy ending was still an ending. You had so much more to write in your story.

Spending five years abroad had changed you. You weren't sure if it was for the better or worse, but it was certainly something. You had made friendships that you cherished and explored things you never had. You attempted to get into the romance side of things, but just never felt like you had met the right person. Part of you chalked it up to your extremely high standards (ah, the curse of being an avid consumer of cheesy media). Another part of you knew that it was Minho's reaction to you leaving.

He was your first love, your first... everything you could say, when it came to romantic relationships. To find out that he had never even loved you in the first place was a devastating revelation. It had been ingrained into your head that you were unlovable, that you were so pitiful that a man had to pretend to love in order to not hurt your feelings.

You did blame Minho because, after all, you were only human. However, you knew that you weren't the easiest to handle five years ago either. Old you was sensitive to nearly everything. You had a tendency to plunge into things without thinking about any of the consequences affecting you or anybody else involved, and that included falling in love with Lee Minho.

Your phone buzzed beside you and you opened it up with a smile on your face.

[1:47 PM]

hyune bun: BITCH YOU'RE HOME WAGHTHDHDJ?!?!

hyune bun: and i had to find out from your ex, the same one who caused you to come to me crying???

you: good fucking afternoon to you too hyune

you: it was supposed to be a surprise, hehe...

you: about the minho thing...

hyune bun: dw, he told me

hyune bun: a surprise bitch stfu you probably forgot about me -_-

you: damn okay drama queen

hyune bun: lix is gonna be so fucking mad at you lmaooo

You were nearly grinning at your phone now, texting one of your closest friends from college. It took you back to the good old days, when you weren't quite an adult nor a child. You and your friends lived in a balance of freedom and restrictions that you longed for. It took you back the the crazy stunts, exhausting days and wild nights, and since your brain had a habit to redirect to Minho, it reminded you of him.

then (seven years ago).

You weren't quite sure how you, Hyunjin and Felix came to be friends. It did make sense in some ways though. You were just a year older than them, and despite being in your second year of college, just as far from 'put together' as possible. You assumed it was the first astronomy class that you had attended since the school had began.

Since it was a fairly new course, both first years and second years were put in the same class. As a science major yourself, you didn't see it as much of a burden. Having dropped biology as an extra course from the year before, you had made the slightly dangerous choice (as you would come to know from an extremely difficult course load) to stick with physics and mathematics.

Space was always a fascination for you. From the stars to the moon, everything just wholly and completely enamored you. You were excited, if anything, for the class to begin. Your sentiments, however, were not widely shared among your classmates. It was common knowledge that a lot of the art majors just took an extra side course related to science to keep their families' mouths shut for a semester or two. The Asian parent stereotypes were very much true in this side of your world.

That was evident when you saw two adorable first years looking for a seat. They looked like they were positively dreading the idea of being in this class. You couldn't blame them. Everything about them screamed 'doesn't do well with numbers'. Literally. The taller boy was wearing a literal shirt that said that exact phrase. The slightly shorter one saw you eyeing them curiously and gave you a wave, causing the taller one to nearly trip over the stairs.

That was the day you had practically adopted Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin.

then (six and a half years ago).

"Come on," whined Hyunjin as Felix handed you a coffee, "you promised."

"No," you said firmly as you started walking alongside them, a swarm of girls making their way towards the three of you.

You sighed. Being friends with two of the hottest guys on campus could be very irritating at times. Hyunjin, Felix and the six other boys they shared a house with off campus were the heartthrobs of the university you all attended. You knew they eight of them were close, but the only other person from their group that you had met was the freshman, Jeongin.

You would jokingly call their friend group Stray Kids, due to the amount of times they had had to change housing. Despite it all though, the eight of them refused to live separately, opting to live together instead. Hyunjin and Felix had been very insistent about you coming to a party they were hosting this weekend to meet the rest of them.

Felix said so because he wanted to have his 'favorite people meet each other'. Hyunjin cited the same reason as him, but you knew that Hyunjin just wanted to play cupid and set you up with one of his hyungs. That was another thing they were notorious for: that group always rejected girls. The only one in a stable relationship (or any relationship to be honest), was the oldest, Chan. He was in a two-year relationship with a music major named Eun-bi.

You weren't immune to the comments that would be passed about you as well, having been associated with the school prince and sunshine personified. People would assume that the three of you were in a threesome, that it was an open relationship. Some even assumed that you were adopted siblings (and those some were much more bearable than the others). Often time both girls and guys came up to you asking about their status and their phone numbers. You would just laugh it off. Too bad for them, they would never know what big dorks Hyunjin and Felix were in reality.

Another issue though with being friends with popular people, was being set on an unwanted pedestal yourself. People were wary of you, opting to stay far away, or wanted to take advantage of you. You had very few close friends which, didn't really bother you, but sometimes had a tendency to get to you. Realizing that being friends with people high up in the social ranking meant that you could only be friends with people high in social rankings finally caused you to give in to Hyunjin's incessant whining and Felix's hesitant words of agreement.

"Noona, I love you," said Hyunjin, patting you head.

You rolled your eyes at him and started poking him in the side. He began laughing and shrieking at the same time as Felix grinned and whipped out his phone, not missing the chance to document such an event. You finally stopped, a heap of giggles yourself. Hyunjin mumbled something under his breath along the words of 'always conspiring against me' and the conversation soon shifted to what the three of you would be wearing.

"No offense noona," said Felix gently, "but your fashion sense is shit."

You gave him an Academy Award worthy side eye, although you knew he was right. You were well, to put it nicely, very messy. Your "fashion sense" was usually whatever fell out of your closet first when you opened it.

"Okay, fine," you give in, "what should I wear?"

The boys suddenly and very excitedly begin asking you questions. Monochromatic or colorful? What length of dress would you be comfortable in? Sleeveless or with sleeve? You couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm, content with just living in the moment.

"Fuck," you swore under your breath.

Somehow, brilliant old you, managed to sleep through three, three alarms. Quickly getting off your bed, you checked your phone. You had a couple text, one email from Quora (I'm 15 and pregnant...) and two missed calls from Hyunjin. Shooting him a text off 'I'm getting ready', you checked the time and saw that you still had an hour to get ready.

You let out a puff of breath. I can do this. After a lunchtime consultation with Hyunjin and Felix, you had opted for a white button-up crop top, black mini skirt and leather mini blazer. You put on light makeup because, for the life of you, you could not put on makeup. Sighing sadly after looking at your hideous reflection, you hollered for your roommate Sora.

"What is- oh my god my sweet child what have you done to your face," she said in one breath. Sora was two years younger than you (albeit calling you her sweet child) and was a majoring in fashion studies. She was also invited for the party, rocking straight hair, red lipstick and a silver dress.

She scooted over to you and applied eyeliner onto your eyes, chattering about her day. She was applying lipstick to your lips when she suddenly asked, "Yang Jeongin. He's single, right?"

You looked at her with an almost sisterly expression, "Yeah I think so but... don't use him as a rebound Sora.

Sora rolled her eyes at you. She had broken up with her ex-girlfriend two months ago. They had been together for little over half a year, until they realized that a relationship with barely any communication wasn't really a relationship at all.

"I was just asking, a girl in my class was planning on getting his number today."

The conversation continued as you grabbed a handbag and slipped pepper spray and your phone inside. The two of you stepped outside, deciding that Sora would be tonight's designated driver since you were the last time you both went to a party, which, as Sora loved to remind you, was the first day of school party ('hosted by the faculty of all people!' she would exclaim).

You and Sora were nearing the Stray Kids house when Felix ran over to you and wrapped you in a bear hug. "Damn noona, you look good," he said in excitement.

"C'mon, the boys are really excited to meet you," he exclaimed, "also, hey Sora!"

"Oppa," said Sora lightly tapping him on the shoulder, "I think you're suffocating her."

The three of you make your way inside, just to be hit with loud music, the smell of alcohol and excited shouts. Felix leads the three of you into the room when you finally see the other boys in all their glory. Felix quickly starts pointing at who's who.

You recognize Jeongin, the sweet Public Relations major, standing in the corner of the room looking at what you presumed was the boy's fish. Next to him was the host himself, Bang Chan, laughing at something his gorgeous girlfriend said, looking at her with literal heart eyes.

Then you see Hyunjin, goofing off with Changbin and Jisung. The three of them tried (and failed) at making a large tower with solo cups. Next to them, you see Seungmin, shaking his head as he was recording their antics. Finally, your eyes rest upon him for the first time.

He's wearing a white tee and black jeans, hair damp with water from what must have been a shower. He has an amused smirk on his face as he watches Jisung stuttering at a girl who must have asked him for his number. Letting out a laugh, he politely tells her that Jeongin is very much single and that the person who she was talking to was Jisung and she excitedly runs away.

"Go get your guy," hollers Sora who was near the fish tank, startling an entranced Jeongin.

You walk over to Hyunjin, noting Jisung's open mouth and Minho's curious eyes as you went. You crouch down next to him, snorting at how he was so concentrated in building the castle, that he didn't even notice your heeled boots clacking against the floor.

"I'm here you fucking dork," you huff with a roll of your eyes.

Hyunjin jumps backwards, clutching his collarbone, "You scared the living shit out of me, noona."

You stand up gracefully as you say, "Remind me to buy you a dollar store pearl necklace for your birthday, since you have such a large penchant for imitating extras on the Real Housewives."

At that, both Minho and Seungmin snicker. Hyunjin stands up as well and says, "Oh yeah, guys, this is Y/N noona."

The boys exchange polite waves and salutations. Changbin proceeds to stand up, look at you and then sit back down. "Ah fuck," he laments, "She's taller than me. There goes my chance to shoot my shot."

You break out into a laugh as Minho pads over to you. "Science major, right? Hyunjin and Felix talk a lot about how they're only passing because of you."

You give him a dazzling smile, "Yes to both of those. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm taking culinary classes but majoring in veterinary studies."

The conversation just flows from there, not feeling strained even once. The two of you are sitting on the couch soon, about an arms length of distance between you. You're sitting cross-legged with a pillow on your lap as Minho leans against the armchair of the couch.

Gosh, he's funny, and sweet. He tells you all about his cats as you tell him about your siblings back home. He brings you food (which you make sure to thoroughly check because, hey, you did just meet him) and offers to get you a blanket.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you though," you say in response to that.

The two of you seem lost in your own world, oblivious to the beer pong tournaments and obnoxious couples scattered around you. You're hit with the devastating realization that you could listen to Minho talk about the most mundane topics all day long.

It's just the alcohol. I do not have a crush on somebody I have just met.

Hyunjin catches your eye and makes fake kissing gestures behind you back as you flip him off. Minho catches whiff of the exchange and threatens to stick Hyunjin in the air fryer, eliciting a giggle from you. Felix even comes over to Minho, grumbling about how he wasn't expecting that introducing one of his favorite hyungs to his favorite noona would lead to said noona being stolen by said hyung.

You wish you could continue talking to Minho, but soon, Chan's girlfriend Eun-bi comes over and drags you to the kitchen.

"I have heard so much about you," she says with a smile, sipping a lemonade lazily while sitting on a barstool.

"All good things, I hope?"

"Oh," she throws her head back and lets out a pretty laugh, "You're literally an angel sent from heaven according to Lixie and a fellow hopeless romantic noona according to Hyunjin."

The two of you continued talking, and you found that you ended up liking her a lot. You understood why Chan fell for someone like her. She was everything a person could want in a partner. Hell, even you felt attracted to her.

Damn, what was in that drink I poured for myself?

You couldn't stop thinking about Minho though. You wondered what he was doing. Was he talking to a girl right now like he was talking with you? Was she looking at him as if his face held the key to her heart the way you were looking at him?

Did your interaction mean anything or was it all in you head?

"Oh no," same Eun-bi's voice, "Looks like I have lost you to them as well."

"What?" you ask, arising from your love stricken trance.

"You like one of them," said Eun-bi with a teasing lilt, "Don't worry. It happens to the best of us."

You looked at her, mouth slightly hung open. "Respectfully eonnie, what the actual fuck are you talking about."

She looked at you, mischief in her eyes. "Don't play dumb," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice, "Who is it? Changbin? Mm, no, too short. Hyunjin? Absolutely not, I don't think so?"

Eun-bi continued, "Minho? Maybe..." she looked at you intently, her expression turning from one of fun into one of accusation, "Oh my god. It's Minho, isn't it?"

"What," you scoff uneasily, "Nooo."

Eun-bi raises an eyebrow, obviously eager to continue the conversation, but you quickly interrupt her. "So, how did you and Chan meet?"

At that, a wistful smile etches onto Eun-bi's face. "He's a music production major. I'm a songwriting and vocal major. We had a combined project and even though I wasn't assigned to him, he had a habit to talk to everyone, causing him to talk to me. And the rest is history."

She continued, "He says that the first thing he noticed about me was how my eyebrows would scrunch up. And I noticed how his eyes disappeared when he smiled. I found him attractive long before I talked to him though. Obviously."

Eun-bi says the last sentence with a shrug, almost matter-of-factly. She wasn't wrong though. It was extremely hard to not crush on at least one of them the entire duration that you were in college.

Eun-bi's words led you to foolishly hope. Not for Minho really, but for love in general. It was a dangerous yearning. The yearning to scream from the top of a building, professing your love. The yearning to be held with fragility and to be kissed with intensity. A yearning to be loved, the way poets wove their odes to the stars and the skies. A wanting to be cherished, like a treasured diamond, only reflecting the best that you could offer.

Unbeknown to you, Minho stood in the corner of the room, watching you erupt with laughter, a small smile on his lips and a million similar thoughts in his head.

#stray kids #skz #lee know #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #lee know x y/n #lee know x reader #lee know angst #lee know fluff #- via's fics <3

141 notes · View notes

idy-ll-ique · 3 years

Text

unlike any other

pairing: mob boss!bucky barnes x maid!f!reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut (AH THE HOLY TRINITY)

warnings: mention of blood, mention of wounds,,,,,,,,, sex (but only a lil bit)

requested: nope

word count: 1.8k

summary: bucky barnes, among many things, owns a strip club. y/n works there as a maid, but she has only recently joined so she has no idea who he is. one day, she catches him napping in one of the private rooms after closing time and, not knowing that he owns the place, asks him to leave because it's a "staff only" room. mesmerized by her, he leaves without a word but a few days later, she finds out who he truly is. sparks fly? sparks fly.

author's note: hiya peeps! enjoy!

masterlist

---

James Barnes was tired.

All he wanted to do was go home and get a good night's sleep, but this moron in front of him was proving it to be very difficult. "What aren't you getting about my plan, Johnson?" he growled, a deep glare etched on his face as he disdainfully stared at one of the men who worked for him. "Why are we doing this at all?" Oh, Johnson has quite the mouth on him, can't wait to break all his fucking teeth.

"Are you the boss or am I?" Bucky countered, putting his arms up, exasperated. Johnson was about to reply when Bucky decided he was too tired to deal with him at all. "You know what, how about we talk tomorrow, hm? Leave, now." With an audacious huff, Johnson got up and left the room. As soon as he was gone Bucky groaned loudly.

"That man," he muttered to himself, "Is a fucking idiot. I'm gonna have to talk to Sam tomorrow, why did he even suggest—" Bucky then relaxed back onto the couch he was sitting on, leaning further and further back until he was simply lying down, head resting on the armrest.

James Barnes was tired.

And he needed a fucking nap.

James Buchanan Barnes. He commonly went by the name Bucky, and he ran the biggest, most affluent mob in the city. Currently, he was at a strip club that he owned, which also had private rooms for… basically hooking up, but he never used it for that, using it only to hold meetings with potential allies or his men.

He dozed off on the couch but was able to sleep for only about 30-45 minutes before someone was shaking him awake.

---

“Phew, last room! Why does this place have so many rooms?” Y/N grumbled to herself, opening the door to the private room. She was a maid recently hired by the club, and her job was to clean up all the private rooms after the closing time. They paid her well so she didn’t mind doing the job. When she opened the door, though, she noticed a man sleeping on the couch.

All his clothes were still intact and his hair was also done nicely… She scrutinized him for a while longer, taking note of his handsome, chiselled features and how he dripped of power even when he was asleep. Finally, a few minutes later, she decided to wake him up. However powerful he might seem, the rooms after closing were for staff only and he needed to leave.

“Excuse me, sir?” Y/N gently shook his shoulders, startling him awake. He blinked his eyes open and in his hazy state of mind, he thought there was an angel standing above him. “What?” he yawned and Y/N offered him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room,” she told him and he blinked.

She didn’t know him? “I, uh, yeah, I’m sorry,” he complied, sitting up. He took in her appearance as well; she was wearing a cheesy maid’s costume that fit the aesthetic of the strip club perfectly, yet there was a sort of innocence to her, the kind that would make even the most cold-hearted and powerful of them all want to cater to her every whim without question.

“Uh… see ya around,” she raised her eyebrows and Bucky offered her a quick smile, getting out of the room. “Behaving like he owns the place,” Y/N scoffed to herself as she began cleaning up the mess in the room starting with the empty alcohol bottles. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long, though- his handsome face could make anyone’s heart melt. As the thought passed through her head, a small smile bloomed on her face.

Oh stranger, I really hope we meet again soon.

As Bucky drove home, he, too, thought of the maid. Who was she? Why had he never seen her before? And why didn’t she know him? That night, as he went to bed for the second time, all he saw in his dreams was a lovely maid’s costume and a pretty, pearly white smile.

---

“I’m firing that guy,” Bucky told Sam determinedly. A few days had passed since Bucky’s meeting with Johnson and he was more determined than ever to get rid of the guy. Something about Johnson seemed off. “Wh- You hired that guy like a week ago, what happened? He used to work with Pierce and Rumlow before, he can give us valuable intel-”

“What if he never stopped?” Sam quieted at the retort. “He told us how horribly they treated their own men,” Sam answered a little while later. “What if he’s lying?” Bucky asked impatiently. “Give him a chance-” Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Bucky sighed and Johnson poked his head in. “Got a minute, boss?”

“Oh sure, come in, we were just discussing you! Have a seat!” Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky’s sudden cheerfulness as Johnson happily bounded into the room, plopping down on the couch. “What were you discussing?” he questioned. “How I was just about to fire you,” Bucky smirked and Johnson’s face fell.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes, causing Sam and Bucky to glance at each other. “Hello…?” All of a sudden Johnson stood up with a fit of rage. “Damn it, Barnes, you ruin everything!” Bucky shouted triumphantly as Sam gasped. “I knew you were a fucking two-timer, you son of a bitch!” Bucky yelled at him. “And you made it so easy!” Johnson laughed dryly.

“Why you-” Bucky swung a punch at Johnson’s face, breaking his nose. “What have you told Pierce?!” Johnson retaliated right back by kicking his knee into Bucky’s abdomen, making him fall back. A fight soon broke out between all three of them, so loud that the commotion could be heard from outside.

Approximately 20 minutes later Y/N, who was passing by the room at the time, heard the loud noise and stopped in her tracks. It sounded like… two people fighting. It wasn’t her cleaning time yet, but she still rushed to the door, opening it up with such force that the door loudly banged on the other side. At this, the fight instantly halted.

Bucky was holding an unconscious Johnson by the collar, his fist an inch away from Johnson’s jaw. Both of them looked pretty beaten up, with blood all over their faces and clothes. Sam, meanwhile, was half-lying on the couch, clutching the side of his abdomen with a pained look on his face. Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth at the sight of them.

That was when she recognized the man from a few days ago. Oh shit, he does own the place. Bucky immediately got up and dusted his suit, staring down at a passed-out Johnson with a sneer. “Sam, take him to Wanda, she’ll know what to do with him. And please, for the love of God, go to the hospital.” With the help of a few others, Sam and Johnson left.

It was only Bucky and Y/N in the room now. She continued staring at his face in horror and Bucky chuckled, wiping away a trail of blood near his lips. “That bad?” She snapped out of her trance. “You…” Bucky gave her a wry smile. “Bucky Barnes at your service. And you are?” Y/N blinked a few times before answering. “Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N.” Bucky looked around.

“Well, Y/N, if you’d be so kind as to fetch me a first aid kit.” She instantly walked out of the room and got the first aid kit for him. When she returned to the room, Bucky was sitting on the couch, his jacket and shirt removed. Even his torso was covered in black and blue bruises. "It looks bad," she blurted out.

"Will you help me clean up?" Y/N couldn't deny him. He was her boss, after all. She sat down next to him and wordlessly started cleaning the blood off his face. He didn't so much as flinch, which Y/N found to be extremely impressive. After all the blood was cleaned, Y/N grimaced when she saw his broken nose. "Your, um, your nose…" Bucky easily grabbed his nose in both hands and clicked it into place.

Y/N flinched badly at the action, making Bucky laugh. "Come on, princess, it's not that difficult," he teased her and she shook her head, a smile blooming on her face. "So, um, I'm sorry about that day," she mumbled as Bucky kept the first aid kit away. "Sorry? For doing your job? Don't do that."

She looked up at him. "No, I- I should've known it was you, and I just… maybe I could've been more polite-"

"Sorry, you gotta go, the club is closed for the night and this is a staff-only room," Bucky quoted verbatim, "You couldn't have been more polite." Y/N's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and she shuffled her feet. "Please don't fire me," she whispered under her breath, yet Bucky managed to hear her. And when an opportunity presents itself…

"On one condition."

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and nodded excitedly. "Anything you want." Bucky smirked and sat back down next to her, placing his hand on her bare thigh. "Go on a date with me," he breathed out, leaning close to her. Y/N's breath and heart rate hitched at his forwardness, but she didn't have the will to deny him.

He was good-looking, he was rich, he was polite, why not give it a try? Y/N offered him a small smile. "Um, okay, I'd like that a lot," she agreed truthfully and Bucky grinned, pressing his lips to hers without wasting a moment. Y/N kissed him back, cupping his face with her hands.

In the heat of the moment, Bucky bent forward until the back of Y/N's head touched the armrest; still, they didn't pull away from each other. Bucky sneakily got his hand under Y/N's blouse, the skin on skin contact making them both groan. "Ugh, you really are very pretty, you know?" Bucky whispered as he unbuttoned her blouse and threw it away.

He stared in awe at her bra-covered breasts, his shaft twitching impatiently. But, just as he was about to unbuckle her bra, the door swung open. Bucky immediately hid Y/N under him and looked up at a horror-struck Sam, who ran out of the room screaming, "At least lock the door next time, asshole!"

Y/N giggled when she saw Bucky's flustered face. "He's right, you know," she whispered cheekily and Bucky playfully narrowed his eyes at her, attacking her neck with kisses and love bites.

"Talk to me like that again and you'll be in for a long night, pretty face."

"Oh, I'd like to see you try, boss."

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed it!

431 notes · View notes

thxmanix · 3 years

Text

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚙𝚝𝟸 (genshin impact)

fem!reader [ft. Kaeya, Diluc, Zhongli, Tartaglia, Dainsleif, Tohma, Gorou]

𝗞𝗮𝗲𝘆𝗮 • ohohohoohohohohohoh • this is the biggest mistake you've ever did, but it was worth it • he'll immediately start teasing you with the best cheesy lines of his out of nowhere • BUTT still he loves you very much for a long time now, when you both got very close over the past few months • yes he accepts • he finally claims you as his girlfriend, whatever you humans called it /hj

𝗗𝗶𝗹𝘂𝗰 • God damn this took you a lot of courage to confess to him, • it took you like, how long? hell if i know anything • He's really a straightforward person, but around you? nahhhhh-- unless he's serious about something then maybe?? • "Hmm, took you long enough. Shall we?" yes he's asking you out on a date • "Before you could say anything, yes I've had feelings for you for a long time now. I'm glad you feel the same way." he gives you a soft smile • oh if only if he confessed first smh /hj

𝗭𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗶 • hey look its zhong-dong /j • despite about him being the most hottest man in Liyue, especially he's an archon, because all archon's are hot, unlike Venti- /j • "Hmm, it's been years since I last love someone. But I think it is now I shall try to love again. Thank you, for being here with me. I too feel the same way as you are." • SHEESH HIM AND HIS FANCY WORDS • He'll ask out out on a date few days after and yeah :) 𝗧𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝗮 • wtf • The same as Kaeya, but even worst /hj ig • "My my, I didn't know a cutie like you have these kinds of feelings for me~" • you wanted to punch this fucker • you even question yourself on why did you even like him again • " Haha, anyways thanks for your confession, it's really cute! Might as well I feel the same way around you. You're lucky don't you know?" • he'll spoil you with every gifts he buys

𝗗𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗶𝗳 • Ahhh yes the Abyss Order Hunter • Hot guy amirite aH a • He sometimes find himself comfortable with you when you're around • Now that you finally confessed you feelings to him, his facial expression look stern. But inside him, he's so fucking happy like he just wanted to kiss you out of nowhere, tho he wouldn't since it's not his characteristics thing, and it would be very akward of him to do that. • "My goal is to hunt down the Abyss Order, but sometimes when I am, I would always ended up finding you to myself. I would thought it was just a coincidence. But when I realised, I'm glad I have feelings for you."

𝗧𝗼𝗵𝗺𝗮 • I wanna scream for this guy so bad • he's so fucking cute, I'm saving primos for him • After having a long though just to make a simple desicion whether you want to confess him or no, you just did it anyways (and with the help of Ayaka) • He probably just screams out of nowhere when you confessed, and it's kinda cute but you want him to lower down or else the inazumian people would think he's weird or something • he's a happy boy :D • "I finally have a girlfriend" • as expected, yes he's really crazy for you, and would buy anything to make you happy even tho you told him no need to buy things. He just wanna spoil you and shower you with kisses everywhere

𝗚𝗼𝗿𝗼𝘂 • YESYEYSYSYEYSY • HIMMMMM, I'M SAVING FOR HIM TOO • "O-oh...I didn't know you felt the same way.." • He was on his way to confess you, but nahhh too late you did it first • He's really happy and glad you we're introduced to his life • He would often wag his tail, or twitch his ears whenever he feels you around • "My love, you don't know how long I've been holding myself from you" • Shit he's hot • He'll ask you out on a date right after he's done with work

#genshn #gorou #tohma #kaeya #diluc #dainsleif #zhongli #tartaglia #x reader #reader #zhongli x reader #tartaglia x reader #tohma x reader #gorou x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader

360 notes · View notes

dovechim · 4 years

Text

lonely hearts club (m)

➾ 11k

➾ summary: jeon jeongguk has annoying little brother energy™. you know this deep in your bones. wedding after wedding, you keep running into him at the goddamn singles’ table, and he just won’t leave you alone. until you start to wonder... is he your ticket out of the lonely hearts club?

tdlr: enemies to lovers

➾ warnings: hate sex, public sex (in a photobooth lmao), impregnation role play, oral (f receiving), jk has intensely annoying energy, it gets unbearably cheesy towards the end

➾ a/n: wow, addie is back???? finally??? gosh, even I can’t believe it. please enjoy, and thank you for waiting :)

The first few times, it was lovely. Watching your friends find their partners and get married in holy matrimony, their faces filled with bliss as they walk down the aisle together towards their happily ever after. You tell yourself that you are truly happy for them, and you are. But you can’t deny that deep seated feeling of envy buried within you, and the sense of dread every time you receive a new wedding invitation.

Why’d all of your friends have to be so good at getting their shit together?

Which then begs the question, what are you actually doing here?

Other than celebrating your friend’s wedding, obviously. You crane your neck to look around the large, luxurious ballroom for any sign of Kim Seokjin and his husband, and you think you spot them at one of the tables up front.

You scan the attendees at your table surreptitiously. It goes without saying that anyone can see that this is the singles’ table, it’s obvious enough by the way no one talks to each other and how the host has made the painstaking arrangement to alternate the genders. You have no idea where this tradition of a singles’ table came from, and why you’re relegated to it at every single wedding you attend.

You sniff in indignation as you take a sip at the flat soda in your glass. For all they know, you could have a secret celebrity boyfriend hidden away somewhere. The both of you have decided to keep your relationship under wraps so as not to risk the wrath of the public, so that’s why you can’t bring him to events like this. There. Let that be your saving grace.

It’s embarrassing to be at the singles’ table at a wedding, even more embarrassing when you realise that the faces at the table come and go, all except for yours. In fact, you spot a few familiar faces integrated into other tables, drinking and laughing happily with their significant others by their sides, while you remain a permanent resident of the singles’ table.

This is your fifth wedding in as many months; and at this rate it seems like you’ll never graduate from the singles’ table.

A sudden movement interrupts your moment of drowning in self-pity, and you glance to the side only to realise that the empty seat beside you has been filled. All night long the empty seat had been mocking you, reminding you of what could have been a lovely night in with a few bottles of soju and some chicken, but now it presents you with a new contender to the singles’ table.

And God damn, you can feel the women at the table perk up at his presence, some of them shooting you envious looks because you happen to be seated next to him. The girl on his other side seems to be swooning already, but you staunchly refuse to react. Refuse to even look at his side profile.

Two singles matching up at the singles’ table is practically every host’s wet dream. So much so that you refuse to let it happen. No matter how good looking he is, you won’t let yourself stoop so low.

Are you bitter? Yes.

But are you willing to admit it? Most definitely not.

“No way- Jeon Jeongguk?” The gentleman on your other side stands with his arms spread in what can only be the bro code. “What are you doing here? God damn- I never thought the day would come when I meet Jeon Jeongguk at the singles’ table!”

Wait, why does that name sound so familiar? You can hear the smirk in the newcomer’s voice as he stands as well, and the two men embrace each other in a manner that involves a lot of back slapping and chest bumping.

It’s only then that you unwillingly catch a glance of his face, and immediately an unwanted thought occupies the front of your mind persistently. He is most definitely, without a doubt, the most eligible single man at your table right now.

Jeon Jeongguk looks like the kind of man who is aware that eyes are on him at any given moment and milks every single second of it to show off. His broad shoulders are the first thing that catch your attention, he fills out the jacket of his dark blue suit just right, and yet the tapering of his torso into an impossibly slim waist has you questioning if he’s even real. You stop yourself from going any lower.

His face is a whole other matter, a cocky smirk pasted onto his face, charming doe eyes that lock right onto yours as he sits back down.

“Well, for my first foray into the singles’ club, I can’t say I’m disappointed,” he lowers his voice so that only you can hear it.

Scandalized at how he’s already prepositioning you within minutes of meeting, you make the mistake of turning to face him, witnessing how he adjusts his suit jacket as he makes himself comfortable in his seat, spreading his muscled thighs under the banquet table.

“For someone who’s sole hobby is the gym, I’m surprised your vocabulary range is better than a five-year old’s,” you shoot back at him, immediately annoyed by his very existence itself.

“So you admit you think my body is nice?” He raises an eyebrow and leans into your personal space, causing you to cross your legs and angle your body away from him in response. “You aren’t wrong there, but I could give you a much better idea of what’s under these clothes.”

Your hand tightens around your glass, getting ready to swing your entire body and drench his stupid good looking face with flat, lukewarm soda, but a loud burst of laughter ruins what could have been a perfect moment of humiliation.

“Ah, _______! Jeongguk! I see you two have met!” Kim Seokjin, approaches with Kim Namjoon on his arm, and the two of them look like they are glowing with happiness. “It’s about time, I can’t believe you guys are finally here!”

Finally? What is he on about?

You stand and Seokjin gives you a warm hug, a kiss on the cheek and you immediately feel slightly better, and more than slightly guilty at almost having caused a scene at one of your closest friend’s wedding. Namjoon greets you with a bright smile as well, holding out his arms and embracing you tightly.

Having always been the more sensitive of the couple, Namjoon holds you at arm’s length for a moment. “You alright there?” Namjoon’s gaze wanders over to the table behind you, and it’s like an epiphany strikes him. “God, I’m sorry! I wanted to put you at the table with my parents, seeing as you’re already like a daughter to them, but Jin wanted you to have another chance at…”

“Love,” you grimace as you complete his sentence for him. “I’m used to it by now.”

Namjoon looks like he’s about to say something else, but then Seokjin gets your attention, his arm slung around Jeon Jeongguk’s neck.

“______, as I was saying, I can’t believe you guys only met now. Jeon Jeongguk, meet _____. The sole reason why I managed to graduate from university on time. And ______, meet Jeon Jeongguk, the reason why I almost couldn’t graduate on time.”

Jeongguk snickers and elbows his hyung in the ribs, and you stare in shock at their camaraderie. Seokjin takes in your frozen expression and gestures wildly to get his point across.

“Hello? Remember Jeon Jeongguk?” Seokjin waves his hand in front of your face. “He basically lived in our dorm for a year without even attending our school because he wanted to see what university was like. You always complained about him leaving his cereal bowls in the sink!”

No fucking way. That snot faced brat became… this?

“How you doing, _____?” Jeongguk has the audacity to wink at you. “I see you’ve grown up a little.”

You eye him up and down in shock. From what you remember, Jeon Jeongguk was a scrawny little kid who shadowed Seokjin everywhere, to classes and even to the washroom. He was just a wide-eyed high schooler who worshipped both Seokjin and Namjoon back then, and cowered at your very presence.

“I see you haven’t,” you reply coolly, inwardly praising yourself for thinking of a comeback that quickly. You will not let this stupid brat intimidate you with his looks. Just because he grew up a little and got some muscles doesn’t mean he isn’t the same person who begged to carry your books to class for you.

You remember how he basically lived as a parasite in your dorm that year, irritating the hell out of you with his messy living habits, puppy dog eyes and basically taking turns to follow you everywhere you go. Now the memories are coming back, and so are the teasing laughter from your friends who thought he was your cute little younger brother and doted on him every chance they got, not aware that he’s actually the devil incarnate.

“You guys are getting along right?” Seokjin grins from ear to ear, likely already more than tipsy. “My two bestest friends, and my husband, all in the same place. This calls for a toast!”

“We’re getting along amazingly, aren’t we, ______?” Jeongguk says with a sickening grin as he passes you a champagne flute. “In fact, she was just complimenting me on my workout routine, and I was about to tell her that I’d be more than glad to incorporate her into my home workout too-“

“Toast to the happy couple!” You immediately cut him off, feeling your cheeks burn at his insinuation, raising your glass and avoiding Jeongguk’s gaze. “Congratulations Mr Kims!”

The happy couple moves off, and in your wealth of experience, you know that the night is coming to an end, and so is the event that you dread. You start to gather your things just as everyone starts to rise from their seats to gather in the middle of the ballroom, where a space has been cleared out. Instead of making your way with the crowd, however, you go the opposite direction, ready to make the practiced and unnoticed slip away out into the night.

But this time, a hand on your wrist stops you. It’s Jeon Jeongguk, a slight frown on his handsome features.

“Hey, where are you going? They’re about to do the bouquet toss.”

You pry your arm out of his grasp. “I know.”

And without a single glance back, you slip out of the back entrance of the ballroom, unnoticed by all except one.

The next time you see Jeon Jeongguk, it’s at Kim Taehyung’s wedding.

It’s a lovely wedding, a little abstract for your tastes, but totally Taehyung’s style. Expensive paintings worth more than your entire lifetime’s earnings adorn the ballroom, the menu is Italian cuisine, and the wine is exquisite. Him and his blushing bride are gorgeous, the night is perfect, were it not for one tiny little…

“Nice dress, bet it’d look nicer on the floor of my bedroom, though,” Jeongguk eyes your navy blue halter dress that shows off your shoulders.

The two of you are once again reunited at the singles’ table, and the fact that he’s seated right next to you has you in a foul mood.

“Why don’t you just slither off back to whichever hole you came from?” You hiss at him, finishing your third glass of wine for the night. “I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing you again.”

“And leave you all sad and alone at this miserable singles’ table?” Jeongguk grins. “I don’t think so. In fact, I can’t imagine how you managed to survive all these weddings without me. Why do you even hate me that much?”

What a question indeed. There are a million and one reasons as to why you hate Jeon Jeongguk, number one being his cocky personality, number two being his unfair glow up, while you’re still stuck looking pretty much the same as you did back in the first year of uni, if not more tired and world-weary.

“Oh, I managed alright,” you say through gritted teeth. “Not that I’m curious or anything, and I’d hate to give off the impression that I care even one iota about your existence-“

“Don’t worry, you can ask anything about me and I’d be more than happy to indulge,” Jeongguk says with a maddening smile.

“… why don’t you just get a girlfriend and graduate from this sad little island of singles? It’s not like you don’t have a ton of girls falling at your feet everywhere you go,” you roll your eyes as you witness the girl on the other side of him leaning over so far to show off her cleavage that she nearly falls off her seat. “It should be so easy for you.”

“Why would I do that when it’s more fun to stay here and annoy you instead?” He grins, topping up your wine glass, and that’s the only reason why you hesitate from smacking him on the head. His arm lingers on the back of your chair in a manner far too intimate for your liking, but if you were to smack him it would mean you have to touch him, and that’s a definite no-no.

Today he’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing a hint of his toned chest. His jacket features a dark grey floral print that matches nicely with the abstract, artsy theme of the whole wedding.

You’re saved from having to reply when it’s time for the couple to cut the cake. In true Taehyung fashion, he smears a dab of wedding cake on his bride’s cheek, causing her to gasp in shock and everyone around them to coo in adoration. Photographers are snapping away, capturing the perfect moment.

“I’d want to get married on my birthday too,” Jeongguk remarks off handedly beside you as the applause dies down. “You know it’s Taehyung’s birthday today, right?”

“Of course I do, what kind of friend would I be?” You roll your eyes at him. “And in response to your other statement: I don’t care.”

But Jeongguk continues as if you haven’t said a word. “I bet they’ll be spending lots of time in their birthday suits tonight.”

“Ew!” You can’t help but react as you turn and smack his arm. Just the thought of imagining Taehyung, your best friend since childhood, naked and doing… those things…

Jeongguk grins salaciously. “First contact: success.”

Still trying to stave off all the unwelcome images of Taehyung, you frown at him in confusion. “What?”

“It’s a rule I personally go by. No matter how interested I am in a girl, I always keep my physical boundaries until she breaks the touch barrier by initiating physical contact with me first.”

Hmm, who’d have thought the bastard would have a sense of morals?

“Well, you’re completely wrong because I’m not interested in you at all,” you turn your head away from him. “And if you think that one touch from a girl entitles you to do all kinds of lewd things, then you’re sorely mistaken on what it means to be a gentleman.”

“Who said anything about lewd?” He leans in, and you smell the sweetness of the tiramisu on his breath that is oh so tantalizing. “I think you’re the one who brought it up first.”

Snagged, you reach for your wine glass to take another chug, hoping that it might explain away the redness on your cheeks.

“You know, most people become more relaxed the more they drink, however with you I think it’s the opposite.” Jeongguk comments, swirling his wine in his glass casually as he studies your side profile.

You can’t help but get a little flustered at his attention. You can see the envious gazes of the other women at the singles’ table, and once again you are reminded of how very eligible Jeon Jeongguk is, especially amongst the rest of the males at the table.

“What would a guy like me have to do for company for his lonely heart?” Jeongguk turns his sparkling doe eyes on you, and at the same time, the lights in the ballroom dim as Taehyung directs everyone’s attention towards the ceiling.

While everyone looks up at the now bedazzled ballroom ceiling, amazed by the projection of multicoloured galaxies and shooting stars, you find yourself unable to look away from Jeon Jeongguk.

Then, while the lights are still off and everyone’s attention elsewhere, he leans in closer until you can feel his breath on your cheek. When you don’t make a move to push him away, Jeon Jeongguk places a hand on your chin and coaxes you those last few inches towards his lips, and you find that you don’t exactly hate the feeling of kissing this obnoxious brat.

His lips are soft, and the kiss is more demure than you’d expected it to be, judging from his fondness for dirty jokes and double entendres. You taste a slight bitterness from the coffee powder in the tiramisu on his tongue. He takes it slow, exploring every inch of your mouth with his, and it’s obvious that he enjoys kissing.

Jeongguk draws away just before the lights come back on. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you jerk away from him in a panic, just as the emcee calls everyone together for the bouquet toss and hightail your way out of the ballroom.

* “Why do you always leave before the bouquet toss?”

“God, you have such annoying little brother energy,” you sigh, taking your eyes off Jung Hoseok’s grinning face as he dances and sings on stage, with his bride standing off to the side.

“Do you still think of me like that?” Jeon Jeongguk looks a little taken aback at this statement, though he recovers quickly. “My sources tell me that we aren’t far apart enough in age for you to be calling me that.”

“I don’t know who your sources are, but they’re wrong,” you shoot back at him. “Wait, are you stalking me now?”

“I hardly think asking around constitutes stalking,” Jeongguk says defensively. “And is that all you think of me? An annoying little brother?”

“What else could you be to me?” You cover a yawn with one hand as one of Jung Hoseok’s relatives comes on stage to make a speech.

“I highly doubt you kiss your younger brother like that,” Jeongguk smirks, one hand brushing your hair off your shoulder to expose your collarbone. “Unless…”

“I don’t,” you hiss at him, half annoyed at him, and half at yourself for letting him wind you up like this again. “You’re like… an annoying little punk who thinks he’s a man.”

To avoid any further conversation with him, you get up and head for one of the photobooths hired for the occasion, fully intending on getting a photo to prove that you’d been here, say your congratulations to the happy couple, and get out of here as soon as possible.

Jung Hoseok has chosen an outdoor wedding, and the venue is nothing short of spectacular. It’s a starry night, Shakespearean theme, and the décor is absolutely gorgeous. Having attended ballroom weddings for the past few months, this is most certainly a breath of fresh air, but you’re a little worried about how you’re going to get out of here, seeing as it’s quite literally a field in the middle of nowhere.

You’d better leave after this photo and try and call an Uber outside.

However, much to your consternation, Jeon Jeongguk follows you into an empty photobooth, planting himself right next to you on the tiny little loveseat, with his solid thigh against yours. He draws the curtains shut, and since the photobooth is automatically set to go off on a timer, it means that the two of you are currently very much alone in a confined space.

Inwardly you curse Jung Hoseok for having even the photobooths built for two.

“What are you doing? Get your own photobooth!” You growl at him.

“Not until you tell me why you’re running away from me,” he persists, crowding you on the small seat so that you’re nearly on top of him.

From this close up, you feel your resolve weakening, he might be a jerk but he’s a damn good looking one.

“I can feel you want me.” Jeongguk says with his lips pressed against your ear. “Don’t fucking deny it.”

Oh fuck it. It might be the folly of those earlier shots at the bar that makes you grab his collar and pull him into you, your lips crashing together in a clash of tongue and teeth. Unlike last time, the kiss is anything but gentle, and your touches are anything but demure as the two of you grope each other like animals in the small confined space.

“I fucking hate your cocky little mouth,” you hiss at him, biting down hard on his lower lip and eliciting a delicious little whine from the back of his throat.

Jeongguk responds by grabbing your waist and pushing you onto the seat, just as he swivels to end up on his knees. He’s tall enough so that he’s able to kiss down your neck, sucking and leaving behind bruises on the way.

“mhm… show you what this cocky little mouth can do,” his muffled voice sounds more like a threat, growing bigger by the minute as he kisses his way down your throat, to your collarbone as he pulls down the sweetheart neckline of your dress to mark the top of your breasts with his lips and teeth.

There is a moment of hesitation as his fingers pause at the top of your glittery black dress, just shy of exposing your bra. You answer his unasked question for him by pushing it down yourself. Once your breasts are exposed to his reverent gaze, he doesn’t waste any time in cupping them with his large hands, rolling your nipples expertly with both hands, pinching it every so often to make you wince.

“I hate your stupid, gorgeous hands,” you gasp at a particularly hard pinch. “And I hate your fingers.”

It’s those very fingers that are currently travelling up your bare thighs, your dress having ridden up from sitting down. You can feel the cool metal of his rings on your heated skin. Jeongguk doesn’t respond to your declarations of hate for him, instead he’s far too interested in exploring what lies between your thighs, in finding out whether the noises you make are the same as what he’s been imagining all these nights with just his hand for company.

You hate how he leaves you feeling, desperate for his touch and just to feel him everywhere. Hate how exposed he makes you feel, dress and bra pushed down inside a photobooth in the middle of a wedding.

“Could someone with little brother energy make you feel like this?”

With a surge of strength you hadn’t expected, Jeon Jeongguk pulls you to the edge of your seat so that your thighs are draped on his shoulders, legs spread to his liking. He has a front row view of how your panties are already soaked. Pushing the saturated material to the side, his tongue explores your folds eagerly, lapping up every drop of you and teasing the hell out of your clit.

It’s all you can do to keep silent, other than cursing him and his stupid mouth over and over again as he eats you out. His fingers dig bruises into your inner thighs as his lips start to suckle at the most sensitive part of your body, tongue flicking in and out. This for sure isn’t his first rodeo, for he adds his fingers into the mix deftly. You can feel yourself completely drenching his face, and a part of you would be embarrassed had you not already thrown your pride away when you first let Jeon Jeongguk kiss you with that filthy mouth.

“Oh my god,” your arms flail out in search of something to anchor yourself with and find purchase on his hair. Taking pleasure in messing up his perfectly styled hair, you urge him not to stop, both with desperate tugs on his silky black locks, and egging him on with every insult you can think of. “Don’t fucking stop, I swear to God…”

“Like my cocky mouth that much?” Jeongguk grins as he takes a breather, resorting to his slim fingers as he glides them in and out of your drenched cunt. “How about my fingers? Or my cock?”

“Shut up and make me cum,” you dig your nails into his scalp, making him wince a little. “Your fingers are probably the only part of you that doesn’t disappoint.”

His eyes darken just a smidge before he re-doubles his efforts, flattening his tongue against your clit and licking until you are near tears. With a final thrust of his fingers inside you, he sends you over the edge, relishing how you tighten deliciously around him as your body tenses in orgasm.

Jeon Jeongguk lazily thrusts his fingers in and out to help you ride out your high, pulling out to lick your essence from his fingers when you push him away.

“Well, doesn’t seem like you hated that,” he grins in a self-satisfied way that immediately irks you once more.

You close your legs and pull your dress to cover yourself, ignoring the fact that your thighs are still shaking from that orgasm. “I guess you aren’t that bad at going down on someone, which is a blessing considering that disappointment you’re packing in your pants.”

The dark gaze that you caught a glimpse of earlier comes back into view again, and just as your standing up, straightening your dress and gathering your wits about you, Jeon Jeongguk slides his arm around your waist, pulling you against his body in with a sudden movement.

“Does this feel disappointing to you?”

You can feel him pressed up against you, the considerable bulge right against the swell of your backside has your words caught in your throat, and you can’t bring yourself to refute his claim.

Jeongguk gives a low chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. “Didn’t think so. But don’t worry. I won’t fuck you here. Only good girls deserve my cock.”

He finally pulls away, and the space in between the two of you allows you to breathe and get your senses back once more. Throwing a disinterested glance over your shoulder, you bend over to collect the pictures that have dropped into the little slot on the machine, well aware of his eyes jumping from the curve of your ass just exposed to your chest still marked with the imprint of his lips.

You toss him one strip of the pictures, along with a parting shot.

“Who said I wanted to be your good girl?”

If you thought that weddings were bad, that was because you hadn’t experienced baby showers yet.

It hadn’t even been more than a month since you attended Kim Taehyung’s wedding, but the baby shower cum announcement invitation shows up in your mail anyway. You highly suspect that this wasn’t the result of their wedding night, but you all knew that Taehyung was the most eager out of all of you to start a family.

Right, back to why baby showers are even worse than weddings.

There isn’t even a hint of a singles’ table here at baby showers. Everyone here is happily married at least, some of them are pregnant, but either way they are more taken than your sad, single self.

“_____! So glad you could come!” Taehyung approaches you with what looks like a diaper stuck onto the front of his suit. “Ah, sorry about this, I was playing pin the diaper on the diarrhea…”

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from grimacing as you intercept his full-on bear hug with a side embrace instead. You can see Namjoon and Seokjin off to one side, laughing and proudly showing off scan pictures of their surrogate baby. Jung Hoseok and his wife are grinning happily just behind them, tanned and blissful having just returned from their honeymoon trip, and judging from the way that his wife has one hand protectively on her lower belly…

“Did you manage to get a drink yet?” Taehyung grins, an arm around his suddenly very pregnant wife. You have no idea how she managed to appear svelte and slim at her wedding just a few months ago.

“Ah, no, I was wondering if there was anything… stronger,” you grin weakly, holding up a glass of orange juice.

“No there isn’t,” Taehyung says with an embarrassed frown, reaching to scratch his neck. “I thought since this would be mostly couples who were kind of starting a family themselves…”

You force a smile onto your face at the confirmation that there isn’t a single drop of alcohol at this god forsaken baby shower. Surely the rules don’t apply to Namjoon and Seokjin??

“It’s fine,” you wave away Taehyung’s embarrassment. “Congratulations, by the way! Do we know if it’s a girl or boy yet?”

“Not yet,” Taehyung’s wife giggles, exchanging a look with her husband. “We want it to be a secret.”

You smile awkwardly as husband and wife exchange a loving kiss, but glance at your watch to see how much time has passed. Off handedly your thoughts suddenly stray to one Jeon Jeongguk, and you wonder if he’s here.

You have to say that having him present at one of these events really makes them a lot more tolerable, and you are feeling the effects of his absence, especially so without alcohol. It’s not that you like him, god forbid, but it’s just… he’s become somewhat like your partner in crime at events like this. He may be annoying, but his stupid jokes and handsome face helps pass the time quicker.

You suddenly find yourself wishing Jeon Jeongguk were here.

“Miss me?”

And the devil speaks. You whirl around to find Jeon Jeongguk dressed down in a pair of ripped black jeans and a white shirt with a casual blazer thrown over, hair grown out a lot longer than the last time you saw him. It frames his face in slight waves, giving him a far more carefree look than the last time you saw him, sharply dressed in a suit with his hair pushed back off his face. He looks even more annoying with his long, unkempt hair like this, and you have a great urge to just tangle your fingers in it and pull till he cries.

“No,” you say just to spite him. By now, Taehyung and his wife have wandered off to another group, so you feel safe enough to say your next words. “This party was a bore. Just looking for a semblance of intelligent life.”

“And alas, I come when called,” Jeongguk smirks at his double entendre, placing a hand on the small of your back to lead you to a small corner of the garden party. His touch sends shivers down your spine, brings your mind back to the last thing you did with him.

“I’m afraid I’m still looking,” you retort without any real heat in your voice. Bickering with him has become normal now, it’s comfortable with him like this.

Jeongguk feigns being stabbed in the heart, then takes a swig of his drink. Judging from his reaction, that is most certainly not plain soda, and you grab his hand, bringing his glass to your lips for a taste.

Definitely not soda.

“Where’d you get this from?” You hiss, feeling like a druggie on withdrawal.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Brought my own. Y’know, since this is supposed to be a baby shower and all, I cam prepared. You’d obviously come expecting virgin drinks.” He takes out a cleverly concealed flask from his blazer.

You help yourself by uncapping it and tipping it into your half full drink, sighing when you take a sip and the alcohol burns on the way down. Jeongguk watches you with an amused smirk, thinking how there isn’t any other girl who gets him just like you do.

“What?” You catch him staring at you, finishing your drink with one more gulp.

“I was thinking…” Jeongguk starts with a slow drawl.

“Oh wow, that’s a first for you-“

“… why haven’t you jumped me yet? You and I both know I’m the most eligible man at the singles’ table. Being here only strengthens my argument, I’m the most eligible single man here.” Jeongguk is enjoying riling you up, likes watching you spit insults at him and exchange banter like there’s no tomorrow. Just for good measure, he throws in a last jab. “Judging by your age too, I don’t think you have much time if you want to pop out at least three of my children.”

For a moment your eyes narrow in your annoyance. “I have plenty of time left, thank you very much. I’m still on the right side of 25-“

“-not for much longer,” Jeongguk helpfully throws in, gleefully delighting in the way you glare daggers at him.

“- and who said I want three of your children?” You cross your arms, stopping just short of stamping your foot. “Maybe I’ll go and be Namjoon and Seokjin’s surrogate!”

“Be my guest, I’d very much like to see how you look when you’re swollen and pregnant,” Jeongguk lowers his voice as he crowds your body with his, and you realise how much taller and broader he is. “Preferably if the baby is mine too.”

“W-why’d I want a baby who’ll grow up to be as insufferable as you?” You know your comeback is weak, but you find your mental faculties really at a limit especially when he’s this close. “He’d have the mentality of a five-year-old for his entire life.”

Jeongguk gently takes your empty glass from your hand and sets it down on a nearby server’s tray. Taking your hand, he leads you into Taehyung’s house, where much of it is empty as compared to the garden party outside.

“He’ll at least be as handsome as me,” Jeongguk offers with a hopeful grin, closing the door behind him to ensure no one accidentally wanders in. “So, do I still have that annoying little brother energy after what happened last time?”

At this point you’ve gone too far with him to straight up deny it. “Fine,” you admit. “You might be half decent at oral. But my theory that you have small dick energy still stands. You’re just a little brat who thinks with his dick and is used to girls dropping their panties for him-“

“I seem to recall you spreading your legs for me just as easily,” he hums as he traces a finger down your covered thighs, slightly displeased at your choice to wear a longer dress today.

“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you,” Jeongguk tsks under his breath, his tattooed fingers coming to rest on the front buttons of your modest midi dress. “Pretending to be all demure and modest like a good girl when in actual fact you’re a slut who lets random men eat her out in photobooths.”

“You’re not just any random-“ the words slip from your mouth before you realise it, and Jeongguk looks up sharply at you.

“What was that, babygirl?”

You cover up your own slip by bursting into slightly exaggerated laughter at his pet name of choice. “Babygirl? Oh my god. You’re the kind of guy who likes to be called ‘daddy’ in bed, aren’t you?”

Feeling slightly attacked, Jeon Jeongguk’s sky high confidence dips a little, and you spot the tell-tale signs of his eyes widening in shock, giving you a glimpse of his younger, more vulnerable side.

“Wh-what’s wrong with ‘daddy’? It’s a classic.”

“Only for those who actually fit the bill,” you say, placing your hand on his cheek and trying your best to ignore the sharpness of his jawline. “For your information, I only use ‘daddy’ when it comes to real men. Not stupid young punks like you.”

His eyes flicker with anger, jaw clenching even tighter so that a muscle jumps in his cheek, and the sight of it sets off a thrill in your lower belly, your heart racing in your chest, and it makes you feel even bolder.

He attempts to take back control of the situation by grabbing your waist with both hands, pushing you up against the wall and supporting your entire weight as if it’s nothing. Jeon Jeongguk obviously likes to show off his strength, and while you are indeed impressed, it’s not like you’ll ever show it, not unless you want to stroke his already inflated ego.

You loop your arms around his neck to keep your balance, feeling his hands on your ass and thighs and his bulge right against your centre. Taking advantage of your proximity, you lean in to suck right under his ear, leaving behind a red mark.

“’Daddy’ is only for men with big dick energy,” you whisper, breath hot against his neck. You draw back to take in his reaction, and he does that thing with his tongue against his cheek that tells you he’s really pissed off.

“Shut up,” he growls, one hand on the front of your dress as he tears the buttons open, exposing your bra in one movement. “I’ll fucking show you what ‘Daddy’ is.”

Another rip and your bra falls open, exposing your breasts to him as he harshly bites and marks you, enough to replace the fading marks from last time. While doing this he also grinds into you, letting you feel how hard he is through his jeans.

“I’m gonna fuck you right up against this wall, with all our friends just outside,” Jeongguk breathes into your neck, taking one hand off your ass to push your dress up. “Gonna rip your panties off so you’ll have to go home with no underwear like the whore you are.”

“Do it, if it makes you feel more like a man,” you urge him on, and that bastard really does rip your underwear, tucking it into his pocket for later like the pervert he is.

He ignores your jibes at him to push your body weight against the wall with his own, one hand supporting you as he slides two fingers against your core to find out how wet you are. They come away soaking, and it boosts his confidence further as he licks his fingers.

“Could anyone but a man make you this wet? Even without touching you?” He smirks, using one of his thighs of steel to support you better as he starts to stroke your clit with his thumb, plunging his fingers into your tight cunt to stretch you out.

“Still so fucking tight for me, creaming all over my fingers like a dirty girl,” his words are getting filthier and filthier the more you egg him on, and you are indeed coming all over his fingers embarrassingly quick. You bite into his shoulder to conceal your moans, and he hisses a few curses under his breath.

“You’ll be calling me Daddy by the time I’m through with you,” Jeongguk casts you a dark look as he struggles with the zipper on his jeans with one hand.

You throw your head back with a laugh. “Go ahead, baby boy.”

The nickname only infuriates him more, and he spanks your clit once, making you dig your fingernails into his arms. Already overstimulated from the first orgasm, Jeongguk doesn’t let up as he continues to rub your clit until you weaken in his arms, only then does he feel like he’s got the upper hand once more.

You have to say that you’re impressed with his strength so far and you help him out by unbuckling his belt, tossing it to the side and lowering the zipper on his jeans. He pushes it, along with his underwear, down to his knees, and while he’s doing that you take the opportunity to push his shirt up, exposing his rock hard abs that make you want to grind against them.

“Like what you see?” Jeongguk is smirking, he knows all his hours at the gym pays off well.

“I’ve seen better,” you say with a sniff, but you’re lying and the both of you know that from the way you can’t keep your hands off his chest and abs.

Jeongguk pushes his underwear off, and his cock slaps against his belly, the head an angry red and fully erect. At the first sight of it, you’re tongue tied. While some men are blessed in girth and some in length but not both, he seems to have the best of both worlds, and his entire length spans almost three quarters of your forearm.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” He presses a suckling kiss against your collarbone, pushing his sticky cock against your inner thighs.

He’s left with a satisfied smirk when you really do have nothing to say, instead reaching down to stroke him. The feeling of your small hand on his cock makes him swear under his breath, sweat dripping off his forehead as he thrusts forward into your grasp involuntarily.

“Have protection?” You remember at the last minute, placing a hand on his abdomen to stop him from thrusting into you bare.

“I got a vasectomy,” Jeongguk answers, and you nearly choke on your saliva.

“Wha- whe- I-“

“I knew it! You want to have my babies,” Jeongguk snickers at your reaction, but not for long when you grip him tighter and he groans. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry, I’m as fertile as a bull in the china shop.”

“That’s not how the saying goes- you know what, just shut up and tell me if you have any condoms. You’re a lot more attractive when you aren’t talking.”

“In my blazer pocket,” he answers, and you reach for it, finding a foil packet and tearing it open, rolling it over his cock.

You note how the packet says extra-large, and in your mind, you can already imagine his cocky little self walking up to the pharmacy and fucking asking for the extra larges even though there is stock on the shelf.

Jeon Jeongguk is just that kind of cocky little bastard.

“Big dicks aren’t everything, Jeon,” you say at last, guiding him towards your centre. “Not if you cum after the first three strokes.”

“I’ll fucking show you what stamina is,” Jeongguk growls as he surges forward into that delicious, warm heat, your pussy tightening around him despite having been stretched out earlier. You cry out against his shoulder as he fucks into you, having mercy enough to give you shallow thrusts at first before building up to sheath his whole length into you.

“Haven’t cum yet? I’m surprised,” you mock him, tightening your core around him and feeling his steady rhythm falter.

“Fuck you,” he grits his teeth, using the power in his thighs to fuck up into you.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you’re gonna cum too soon aren’t you,” you coo at him, petting his cheek and babying him, all of which you know by now he absolutely hates. “Cute little Jungkookie’s all grown up.”

“Don’t fucking call me cute when I’m pounding my cock inside you,” Jeongguk leans forward to bite your lower lip in a harsh, punishing kiss, effectively shutting you up as he pistons his cock in and out at an unforgiveable pace.

Since you came once already, you thought your second orgasm would be way far off, but you’re proven wrong especially when Jeongguk buries his cock deep, limiting his thrusts so that he’s just grinding his cock against you, his pelvic bone rubbing against your clit just right. He then shifts so that his arms slide under both your thighs, opening you up even more for him as he fucks you against the wall with his incredible strength, and you feel yourself tightening around him again.

When he smirks against your neck you realized you must have called out his name when you came. But in this position you can’t do much other than wrap your arms around his neck as he gives you the pounding of your life.

“Ready to call me daddy yet?” Jeongguk pants against your neck, leaving his cock buried so deep that he can feel your cervix.

“No fucking way,” you refuse to relent.

“Then how ‘bout you make me a daddy instead?” He proposes, pulling out suddenly to the tip and slamming back in, making you whine his name again. “That’s right baby girl, I saw all your envious looks at all the couples out there.”

“Wha-? I…”

“Don’t fucking deny it. You’d look so much better swollen and pregnant than all of those women out there. You know you want to, especially when I started teasing you about getting too old. You want a baby, you want mybaby fucked into you.”

You don’t know what kind of roleplay this is, but all you know is that you get even wetter around his cock, and all you want is for him to fuck you against this wall until you forget your own name and you can’t walk tomorrow.

“Fuck… keep going. Tell- tell me more,” you pant against his neck for more as Jeongguk starts fucking his cock into your pussy once more, every thrust ending so deep that it taps your womb.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you at our friend’s baby shower,” Jeongguk grips your thighs hard. “You want that? Hm? Then next it will be our turn to have a baby shower. Though I think we’ll have it before our wedding, where everyone will see you round and swollen with my baby.”

“Wh-who fucking said I wanted to marry you-?” You can barely get your words out of your mouth as you dig your fingernails into his shoulders. There’s something about how primal his thrusts feel when he talks about fucking a baby into you, and you want more.

“I can give you a baby right now and then you’ll have one more reason to marry a cocky little bastard like me,” Jeongguk smirks against your neck as he lets one of your legs drop to rub your clit, and you squeeze around him again, crying out into his neck.

Your thighs are quivering, cunt clenching around his still pounding cock as Jeongguk grunts. You feel his cock twitching, and even though all of this is make believe- the condom wrapper on the floor reassuring you… you wouldn’t exactly hate it if it were all real. Being with Jeon Jeongguk… doesn’t sound that bad after all.

Feeling him close to his orgasm, you wrap your arms around him tighter, legs around his waist as you feel his desperation soar.

“Give it to me. Your baby, I want it,” you whisper against his cheek, not knowing how much of it is just for the heat of the moment, and how much of it isn’t. All you know is you love his reaction to your words, the way his thrusts stutter in rhythm and he lets out a deep groan.

He moans your name in the most beautiful way as he spills his load, continuing to thrust to ride out his orgasm, his hips pinning you against the wall as his hands encircle your waist.

The both of you remain like that for a moment, his harsh breaths against your neck as you find yourself stroking his back and leaning your cheek against his broad shoulders. Gingerly, Jeongguk puts you down so that your feet are once more touching firm ground, and he slips out of you in the process.

It’s slightly awkward now that everything is over, and Jeongguk turns away, pulling the used condom off his softening cock. While his back is turned, you start to straighten your clothing, realizing that the bastard has really ripped all your underwear and even your dress too.

Cursing him loudly enough so that he hears it too, you stuff your now useless bra into your bag, trying the best you can to button your light blue lace midi dress back together again and failing miserably. You cross your arms as you glare at his broad back, until Jeongguk feels the weight of your glare and turns around.

He disposes of the used condom in the trash, and has the gall to check you out, particularly lingering on your half exposed chest.

“Quite a number you did on my arms… this’ll last for a while definitely-“

“You fucking ripped my dress! How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?”

Jeongguk can’t keep that stupid smile off his face as he shrugs out of his blazer, coming towards you and draping it across your shoulders so that it covers you adequately. Despite being pissed off at him, you can’t help but notice how much bigger he is- his shoulders stretch as he assures his blazer is securely on you and the concentration furrows his brow as he buttons it up.

“There. Like that. I think you look much better, to be honest.” He takes a step back, smirking in satisfaction before he turns you around with one arm around your shoulders. “Look. I am a gentleman. I’ll even walk you out so that we can call a cab together.”

“Are you crazy?” You shrug his arm off violently. “We can’t go out like this together! Everyone will know we just fucked!”

“Well, we just did…” Jeongguk has a stupid grin on his face as he states the obvious, and it makes you want to smack him.

“You stay in here for five minutes then come out. Look like you just came in here to piss or something,” you shove his chest in an attempt to get him to stay, trying to ignore how firm his pecs feel under your touch, and how he barely even moves.

Jeongguk has an amused smile on his face as he watches you arrange your hair, check your makeup for any smudges before gingerly stepping outside, all while oblivious to that fact that you wearing his blazer is the biggest telltale of all.

Truly, he’s never met a girl like you.

Jeon Jeongguk’s goal is to get you to stay for the bouquet toss just this one time.

More specifically, he wants to find out why you always leave before it happens. Personally, it’s his favourite part, aside from the free flow booze and food and cake. He particularly likes seeing the women’s faces when they spot him, and then see how desperate they are to catch the bouquet later on especially when he’s in the crowd.

But today he’s more interested in seeing one particular person’s face when the bouquet goes sailing through the air.

Jeongguk rubs his hands together in glee with a devious smile on his face, peeking around the corner to find his best friend Eun Woo and his bride at the center stage, taking pictures with guests.

“Bro! So glad you came!” Eun Woo greets him with a wide grin that reaches his eyes, spreading his arms wide to embrace Jeongguk.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jeongguk grins back, slapping his friend on the back a few times before pulling away. “You remembered my request, right?”

Eun Woo clasps Jeongguk’s hand cordially. “Of course man. Just point her out to me and we’re good to go.”

Jeongguk steps back to let Eun Woo go back to his bride and entertaining his guests, all the while keeping a close eye on the door. You hadn’t showed up for the wedding ceremony nor the dinner that followed, and Jeongguk knows from sources that you’d been invited to this wedding too. He fidgets anxiously, wondering when, or if, you’ll show up.

After what seems like forever, you slip in quietly, alone as always, wearing that same light blue midi dress that he had the pleasure of ripping off your body.

You weave through the crowd in order to get to the front, wanting to get it over and done as quickly as possible. When you catch a glimpse of Cha Eun Woo dressed to the nines, smiling and laughing with his bride, you feel a small little pang in your chest, considering that you had a crush on him once.

In fact, that was the main reason why you decided to only show up at the end. When you received the invitation, it wasn’t like you were shocked or anything because you knew the two of them had been dating for a while, but the same old blues just crept up on you, and you don’t think you can bring yourself to sit through another wedding and watch another couple find their happy ending, when all you wanted was to find it yourself.

So here you are, forcing a smile on your face as Eun Woo springs to his feet once he sees you, engulfing you into a hug for old times’ sake.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” he says with a pout, and your heart almost melts.

Eun Woo just has this way of speaking that makes anyone feel incredibly important to him. It’s the way his voice softens to an intimate tone and his eyes focus on you entirely. He holds you at an arm’s length to really look at you.

“Long time no see,” you laugh, extricating yourself from his embrace, all too aware of his bride standing beside him looking a little out of place. “Congratulations, brat. I’m so happy for you.”

Eun Woo grins, a heart-achingly handsome smile directed just at you, and damn if it doesn’t make you feel special even when you’re here attending his fucking wedding. Your moment of regret is interrupted by a slight shove to your back that puts some distance between you and Eun Woo, and you turn your head in annoyance to see who it could possibly be.

Jeon Jeongguk sure knows how to ruin a moment, for he steps in between you and Eun Woo, bro hugging him generally making a lot of noise. Before you can quickly slip back into the crowd, however, Jeongguk grabs your arm, tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

“Did you meet ______ yet?” Jeongguk says, winding an arm around your shoulders tight to stop you from escaping. Slippery little minx you are.

Eun Woo hesitates for a second, and some kind of unspoken communication goes on between the two men, and you roll your eyes, wanting to just leave now that you’ve shown your face.

“______?” He says your name with such surprise in his voice, and his eyes widen, as if seeing you for the first time, taking in Jeongguk’s arm around you. Then he coughs awkwardly and tries to play it off smoothly. “Dude, we go way back since uni, my partner in crime when it comes to project work,” Eun Woo shoots you a fond little grin, and you feel your heart flip.

Jeongguk catches this little interaction and frowns. “Wait, you guys… know each other that well?”

“Yeah. We even-“ you cut yourself off, realizing that this isn’t the best time to bring it up.

“Oh, you can say it, Eun Woo told me and it’s all cool,” his bride grins, casually looping an arm around her husband. “I know you guys used to date for a while.”

You can feel Jeongguk’s grip tightening slightly around your shoulders. “Um… wow. Okay. That was… uh, unexpected.”

You shoot him a sharp glance, wondering why he’s being so weird and saying such weird things and trying to figure out if he’s trying to be funny and embarrass the both of you. But Jeon Jeongguk seems genuinely flustered, the tips of his ears growing red.

“Anyway, uh, congrats you two,” you clear your throat and give them a slightly subdued smile. “Wishing you guys happiness always.”

Eun Woo reaches out to grasp your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Thanks, ______. I really appreciate it. You guys, stay till the end of the event, ‘kay? We have something really special planned.”

The two of them are soon dragged away by another group of friends, leaving you and Jeon Jeongguk alone in the crowd of strangers.

“Okay, what was that?” Jeongguk demands, folding his arms across his chest.

You’re still staring somewhat wistfully as Eun Woo and his wife as they wrap their arms around each other. “What? It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You were practically making love eyes towards him!” Jeongguk points out indignantly.

You roll your eyes and start to head for the refreshment table, figuring you should at least get something to eat and drink while here. “It’s all in the past. We used to date for a while, that’s it. Maybe there’s still some lingering feelings for him. Maybe I’m feeling a little bitter while attending my crush’s wedding. What’s it to you?”

Picking up a flute of champagne, you down it in one gulp, feeling much better once the alcohol hits your system.

Feeling the urge to outdo his best friend, Jeongguk steals a chocolate covered strawberry off your plate and pops it into his mouth, making sure his lips wrap around the strawberry. He sucks it for a moment, making eye contact with you to capture your attention before he bites it off, closing his eyes as the sweetness bursts on his tongue. Jeongguk has to make you forget about your long lost crush.

“Stop it!” You hiss at him, at the way he licks his chocolate covered fingers obscenely.

“What?” Jeongguk shoots back, eyes wide and innocent. “I’m not doing anything!”

It’s ironic, the way practically everyone here is dressed for a black tie event, and here Jeon Jeongguk is, bow tie and suit, licking chocolate off his fingers like a five year old. But strangely, rather than irritate you, it’s kind of… endearing.

You like how he’s not afraid to make a fool out of himself even at events where everyone seems to be doing their best to pretend they’re sophisticated adults. He makes boring, stuffy old events like this more fun, and you realise… you want him in your life.

“You’re an idiot,” you say without any real heat in your voice, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“I see you’re wearing the same dress,” Jeongguk comments with a glance down your body, and you fold your arms protectively.

“Yes, because washing machines are a thing,” you roll your eyes at him. “Sorry I don’t earn enough to debut with a spanking new dress every time one of our friends decide to get hitched.”

“God, you’re so defensive,” Jeongguk attempts to pry one of your arms loose. “I was just thinking that perhaps I didn’t do a good enough job of tearing off your body. How’d you even get it to be in one piece again?” Jeongguk watches the way red blooms across your cheeks. “So, am I still little brother energy?”

Judging from the way the cocky little bastard grins, he already knows the answer, but he just wants to hear you say it.

“No… but you’re far from daddy,” you add the last bit just to stop his ego from inflating so much that he can’t walk out the door later. Doing him a favour, really. You take your plate of cakes and pastries and find a seat somewhere in the ballroom, in a nice and secluded corner where no one will notice you stuffing your face.

Jeon Jeongguk follows you, grabbing more glasses of champagne along the way and handing them to you once you’re seated. “You said you had feelings for Eun Woo.”

“Yeah. Key word, had,” you clarify. “Past tense.”

“And me?” Jeongguk holds his breath in anticipation. “Do you… have feelings for me?”

You let the plate rest in your lap for a moment, considering how to best word your emotions. As much as you want to deny it and say he’s just an annoying little punk… it’s gone too far for you to do that. “I guess… yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong though, you’re still annoying as fuck and you irritate the hell out of me sometimes, but I guess somewhere along the way… I stopped minding it so much and even started to miss it when you weren’t there to annoy me. It’s not just because we fucked or anything like that, but… having you beside me at all those weddings made me see how happy everyone around me was, only because… you kind of made me happy to begin with. Attending all those weddings by myself and seeing everyone get their happily ever after… I was kind of lonely, but now I’m not anymore.”

Embarrassed at your sudden show of emotions, you glance away, nearly spilling your glass in the process, but Jeongguk saves you by taking it away from you. An insatiable grin is on his face. “So… you’re saying I make you happy by annoying you?”

“And your dick is pretty nice too,” you grumble under your breath, in an attempt to distract him from how raw your emotions are feeling.

“I know,” Jeongguk steals a monster bite of your cake without asking. In the midst of his chews he sneaks a kiss on your cheek so that he leaves some cream behind. “I like annoying you too. I want to keep annoying you for the rest of my life.”

Just when you’re about to smack him for being so cheesy and disgusting, a voice comes over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our lovely bride and groom will now be preparing for the bouquet toss and the garter throw. If you would kindly gather, please.”

Jeongguk takes your plate and puts it aside before grabbing your hand securely in his, but there’s no need to, because you’re not going anywhere without him at your side. There was a time where you would have rather died than witness the bouquet toss, see the bundle of flowers being thrown into the air and hoping against hope that you’ll be lucky enough to catch it… but this time, with Jeon Jeongguk by your side, all you feel is warm and content, like you’ll be happy as long as he’s with you.

Jeongguk guides the both of you to a prime spot at the front, where you see Eun Woo’s bride seated in a chair, and Eun Woo on his knees before her. Realising you’re about to witness what’s called a garter toss, your eyes widen in shock when you see Eun Woo dive under his bride’s skirt. The crowd reacts with giggles and wolf whistles as Eun Woo seems to struggle a little, but a few minutes later he emerges, hair ruffled, but victorious with a lacy band between his teeth.

“We’re so gonna do that at our wedding,” Jeongguk murmurs under his breath with a squeeze of your hand.

“Getting a little ahead of yourself hmm? I never said I’d marry you,” you reply with a half-smile.

Eun Woo stands up, holding his wife’s garter high in one hand before he extends his other hand towards her, and together they turn their backs to face the crowd. You can see his wife’s beautiful bouquet of pastel peonies, tiger lilies and baby’s breath, held over her head.

The crowd is holding their breath with anticipation, and you can feel the people around you jostle slightly in their eagerness. You see Eun Woo lean down to whisper something to his wife, and she giggles, nodding in return before casting a glance backwards at the crowd behind her.

Eun Woo does the same, and his eyes lock onto yours before shifting slightly to beside you. Then he turns his back, and with a count of one, two and three, husband and wife toss their respective items high into the air.

For the first time, you see the bouquet sailing in the air towards you, and it’s as if everything is in slow motion. The crowd around you disappears, miraculously no one is pushing or shoving against you, and… could it be? The silk wrapped bouquet looks like it’s actually going to… this is impossible. The chances are so slim, there are so many people here…

And yet, your arms move of their own accord, the bouquet lands in your grasp, and you smell the sweetness of the flowers immediately as the sheer size of the entire silk wrapped bundle blocks your vision entirely.

Then, time unfreezes and sound filters back in. People around you are cheering and clapping, they’ve given you some space now. You start to shy at the attention, lowering the bouquet and half-panicking over what Jeon Jeongguk will think- will he take this as a sign that you’re a psycho who wants to marry him even though it’s this soon? What if he’s scared off by this?

But as you lower your bouquet, you realise that Jeon Jeongguk isn’t empty handed either, he’s holding a lacy garment in his hand, grinning from ear to ear with that annoying little smirk of his that tells you this went exactly as he planned.

Welcome to the lonely hearts club: table for two, please.

#bts #bts smut #btssmutclub #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #I can't even remember what networks im a part of anymore...#ksmutclub

3K notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that?

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

✰ ✰ ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

✰ ✰ ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead.

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

✰ ✰ ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking��I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated. “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room.

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.

1K notes · View notes

tothemeadow · 3 years

Text

Art trade with @azurenocturne

Art originally done by @ Lsjenjen on twitter

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

- Kyojuro decides to take your relationship to the next level while teaching you how utterly amazing you are, no matter what anyone else says. -

warnings: NSFW, oral sex, mentions of emotional abuse, Douma is kind of a dickhead

words: 2k

“You’re doing it again.”

Snapping away from your reverie, you nearly drop your phone as you fumble around, embarrassment heating up your insides. You hadn’t even realized you were spacing out again. Still, Douma cracks a smile. You tense as he reaches over the table, the rings adorning his fingers catching the afternoon light streaming in through the windows. He merely pats the crown of your head with a gentle touch; you know that this is all for show since the two of you are in public. While Douma has never struck you during the course of your relationship, he isn’t gentle either.

“Stupid girl,” he mutters. “There isn’t anything that important in your life to distract you this much.”

Ah, there it is.

You’re used to the biting words, the snarky comments, the endless insults. On some days, it’s like his sole mission in life is to yell at you constantly, but what can you do about it? It is your fault, after all. Maybe if you had your head on straight or weren’t so sensitive, things could be better for you in life.

You swallow dryly. The plate of half-eaten food sitting in front of you doesn’t even look appetizing anymore. “I’ve got exams coming up, you know that,” you tell him, voice low. You know better than to talk back to him, especially when you’re in public like this.

With a scoff, Douma leans back in his seat. It’s unfair that he’s still unbelievably attractive even when irritated; strong jaw set, eyes heavy lidded, and birch hair pulled up high, he looks like he’s ready to set foot out on the runway rather than be sitting here on a lunch date with you. The houndstooth material of his jacket ruffles as he crosses his arms. He’s just so pretty, incredibly so, and you’d be damned if you said you couldn’t bear to stare at him all day.

“Well, you’re with me,” he spits. “Exams be damned.”

“Douma, you know I can’t fail these courses if I want to graduate-“

“I don’t care,” Douma interrupts. “Christ, all I did was ask you out to lunch, and all you do is think about it your classes? What am I, chopped liver?”

“No,” you say frantically, “of course not. I’m sorry. Please… Please don’t be mad.”

Douma sighs. His expression softens, then; getting up from his chair, he opts to take the spot next to you instead. “I know you’re sorry, my little cherub. You know all I want to do is to be stuck in that pretty little head of yours, right?” With a gentle hum, he slings an arm around your shoulder and nuzzles the top of your head. “You’ll be a good girl for me, won’t you?”

It’s those simple words that makes your tummy flutter and the ice around your heart to melt. This is why you love Douma, after all. Sure, he can be mean sometimes, but he means well.

A smile blossoms across your face as you lean into his warmth. “I promise.”

When it comes to playing life, you always act the fool.

Words are cheap, enough said. It just so happens that Douma’s are practically dirt.

Although he knows you’re sorry about focusing on your studies lately, it’s almost if he never drops the subject. He has a point though – he is your boyfriend, after all. It’s just your fault that you have the improper abilities of juggling your love life and schooling at the same time. It’s when he’s attending his own classes that you’re finally able to breathe, even though you feel guilty about thinking that way in the first place.

You still can’t shake off the guilt as you venture through the school’s library, browsing for books your professor recommended for you to better understand the material. It’s a slow process, your eyes scanning over each of the exposed spines. “No… no… no… “ you say to yourself, the quiet mantra continuing on while your search comes up with nothing. “Dammit, why can’t I – ah!”

Before you know it, your body is colliding into someone else’s; as you’re about to take an inevitable tumble and land on your ass, a strong hand grasps onto your forearm while another lands on the small of your back.

“Whoa there! Sorry about that!” a deep, attention-getting voice whisper-yells.

As you open your eyes (you didn’t even realize you closed them to begin with), your met with a boy around your age, eyes bright and blond hair held back with a backwards ballcap. As he flashes you a cheeky smile, you’re struck by how white his teeth are compared to his golden skin, the sharp line of his jaw. Your heart thuds in your chest, and for good reason, too – this man is hot.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” this stranger continues. He pulls you upright, making sure you’re properly balanced before giving you a onceover to check for any bruises.

“I’m alright, thank you,” you say awkwardly. It’s incredible how quickly your body heats up under his gaze despite literally just bumping into the guy. “I wasn’t paying attention anyway, it’s all my fault-“

“Hey,” he interrupts, his eyes crinkling even further, “I wasn’t paying attention either. Don’t take all the blame for yourself, eh?” He sticks out a hand, then, the prominent veins in his forearm and hand instantly catching your attention. “Rengoku Kyojuro, at your service. You can just call me Kyojuro, though.”

Kyojuro.

The name rolls around your brain like a loose bolt. You wonder how it tastes on your tongue, how your lips feel when you say it. “Kyojuro,” you say, testing it out. You immediately decide you like it. Grasping onto his hand, you introduce yourself, an easy smile making its way onto your features before you even realize it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Right back at ya,” he chirps.

His hand is large and warm. In fact, heat seems to radiate off his body, tempting you to lean in and hold him close.

“Say,” Kyojuro says, a hopeful glint shining in his eyes, “do you want to grab a coffee or something?”

Your heart nearly gets stuck in your throat. For a moment, you think of Douma and what he would he say if he found out about you grabbing coffee with some other guy. However, Kyojuro just seems so nice and, well, perfect.

“Yeah,” you tell him, “I’d love to.”

After that fateful meeting, things started to change.

During the free moments you had, you would meet up with Kyojuro, either to go out to eat or simply have a study session together. You quickly found yourself thoroughly enjoying his company, and all for the right reasons. Despite his excitable, bold behavior, he was kind, more so than most people you know. You craved to be in his presence, to have his pearly smile directed at you. Hell, even the thought of him made your heart throb.

Of course, it didn’t take long for Douma to start noticing your “odd” behavior. You acted distant whenever the two of you were together, so much more… closed. What really got him, though, was when he confronted you about it. I found someone else, you had told him, face and voice equally solemn. This is the end of us. Even you were shocked by the mere fact that you had dumped him; after all this time, you were finally free of his cruel words and the endless pain.

“You’re doing it again, sweetie.”

Just like that, you’re snapping back to reality and away from your thoughts. “Sorry,” you mutter, “I was just thinking of… things.”

Even after a few months of ditching Douma for Kyojuro, you still find yourself spacing out. Kneeling on the bed like this, your hand hangs in the air, absentmindedly holding a brush while the other is still holding onto Kyojuro’s blond locks. Turning around fully, Kyojuro’s thick brows furry together as a glint of worry sparks in his eyes. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he urges, taking your face into his hands. “I am not Douma. I’ll never be like him, you got it?” Gently stroking your cheek, he flashes you a soft smile. “I couldn’t bear to put you in pain like that, my sweets. You’re too special for anything like that.”

Oh god, he’s so gentle, so freaking sweet that you’ll get a toothache. As cheesy as it sounds, your heart yearns for him, for his promises, and for his loving touches. You don’t think you’ve ever met someone like this in your life.

“So please,” Kyojuro continues, gaze dropping to your mouth, “trust me.”

And you do. For the love of everything high and mighty, you trust this guy with your entire being. The kiss you two share starts off slow, yet it’s so full of unspoken feeling that it makes your heart soar. You can’t deny the fact that his hands feel good as they trail lower, brushing over your neck and shoulders before settling on your waist. Hell, you love it when he presses you onto your back, his weight hovering over you protectively. Like this, Douma can’t hurt you. Douma can’t even get near you, not when Kyojuro is around, not when he’s treating you this softly.

It didn’t take very long for you to confide in Kyojuro about how your relationship with Douma went. Appalled by Douma’s so-called methods, Kyojuro promised to treat you like the queen you are because you deserve it.

Even as you quake, Kyojuro holds you steady. And he’s always so warm, so wonderfully warm as he rids you of your shirt before following suit. Your fingers drift over the swell of his pectorals, the divots of his abs. Now, things have escalated between you two before, but nothing to this extent. The last person you slept with was Douma, and even then he would degrade you and make you feel like utter trash. But no, not with Kyojuro. Never with Kyojuro.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mutters, mouth slanting over your neck and down your chest. Your heart quickens as mouths your breasts, hands slipping around and unhooking your bra. “And you’re so soft and sweet…” Trailing off, he lifts himself back up, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re perfect, (y/n). I’ll be damned if anybody tells you differently.”

Heart leaping to your throat, you sling your arms around his broad shoulders and pull him back into a kiss. You refuse to let yourself shed any tears, but you can’t deny the dampness gathering in your eyes.

“Pretty girl,” Kyojuro says, mouth beginning its descent once more. This time, he carries on past your chest, lips brushing against your tummy as he carefully removes your pants. Your fingers comb through his hair as little gasps slip through your lips; nuzzling you through your panties, he openly gropes your thighs and ass, deep, rumbling moans vibrating in his chest.

“Kyojuro,” you breathe, back arching as he yanks down your panties and presses his mouth against your quivering pussy. His movements remain slow, but the deep stroke of his tongue inside your pussy or the strong suckling on your clit has you seeing stars. His bright eyes never leave your face, a lustful yet loving expression carved into his handsome features. A slight yank on his hair has him redoubling his efforts; easily bending your thighs to your chest, he works at your pussy vigorously, the lewd noises and his husky groans filling your ears.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters, thick fingers slipping past your folds. You keen at the touch, your velvety walls fluttering around his digits. “You’re wonderful, my sweets,” he coos, pressing his mouth to the inside of your knee in a quick kiss. “I love you.”

“Kyojuro, please,” you pant. The tears building up in your eyes finally break free as you reach out towards him. “Make love to me… won’t you?”

Drawing away from your dripping pussy, Kyojuro hovers over you, a dazzling grin painted on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. I… I trust you, my love.”

Hearing the pet name tumble from your mouth has Kyojuro’s eyes crinkling. “Anything for you, sweetie,” he purrs, reaching down and undoing his pants. “Everything for you.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro rengoku #commission #art trade #azurenocturne

325 notes · View notes

cr0wbonezz-wr1ting-inc · 3 years

Text

One more time

Summary: Alex regrets ever saying yes. All he wants is a second chance.

Trigger warning: Mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, swearing, angst

Author's note: my first piece off hiatus !! - you're a twitch streamer in this fic but it won't come up too much :) hope u like it <3

Based on: Break My Heart Again - FINNEAS

you sigh. your ex-boyfriend called again. you've been ignoring your phone for 5 minutes now. was he really this desperate?

you pick up your phone and slide the green button.

"what do you want, alex?"

"___, you picked up!"

he sounded extremely relieved, like he needs you to breathe.

"i did, now what do you want?"

alex sighed and leaned on a wall in his bedroom.

"can i come over? there's some stuff i still need to pick up."

you suck in a breath sharply. the air is thick and tense.

"no."

you clench the phone you were holding and bit your lip.

"i don't want to see you right now."

alex closed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall.

"i understand, you need time."

there was silence for a moment. neither of you wanted to say anything.

"if you want to come over that bad you can get your things tomorrow morning."

"sounds good. i'll be there around 11, okay?"

"fine."

"good-"

you ended the call.

"-bye..."

alex let his arm drop beside him. his eyes were watering, but he wiped it away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

it's his fault, he knew. but why is he still so upset? he shouldn't feel like this - it's is his own doing, after all.

you open the door to your home. alex was standing on the porch with a few empty bags in hand. the morning sun blinded you slightly, making you squint at the man in front of you.

"hi ___."

"hello, alex. all your belongings are on the couch.

"great, thank you."

he looks over as he's folding a shirt.

"what are you looking at?"

you say without looking away from your laptop.

his face was getting red slightly from embarrassment.

"nothing, you seem busy."

alex directed his eyes back to the clothes in front of him.

"otherwise you would've said something about me."

alex snickered slightly, trying to lighten the mood.

you sigh, holding your face in one of your hands.

don't say it. ___, keep it in. there's no point in fighting him. ___-

"if i wanted to make a comment it'd be about the fact you can't keep your dick in your pants."

god damn it, why did you do that?

he fell quiet. you hated his guts, but even you felt kind of bad for being so blunt with it.

a part of you still loved him. his loud, yet charming laugh. his sweet kisses. his adorable clinginess. his blushing face when you teased him.

you shake your head, trying to physically get rid of your pity for him. he doesn't love you anymore. he shouldn't, and neither should you.

after filling the bags with alex's belongings he stood up and wiped his forehead. you waver from your work and look him up and down.

"you done?"

you asked him. he turned around and gave you a weak smile.

"yeah, i think so."

"good, you know the way out."

you turn back to your computer.

"___, wait. can i ask you something?"

you make eye contact with him, fully aware it makes him nervous.

"what do you want?"

alex took a quick breath.

"can we talk sometime?"

you look at him like he spoke an alien tongue.

"why the hell would i?"

"i want to talk about what happened between us. i hate that our relationship is so sour."

he set a step forward.

"i just want this to end peaceful - or at least neutral."

"why the fuck would i want to be peaceful with you of all people?"

"i hate ending things on the wrong foot, you know that."

alex stands his ground, making you livid.

"then we make up, and then what? you'll just break my heart again!"

you stand up, simultaneously pushing the chair away with your legs.

"then i can lay awake and think about why i even let you inside my house again in the first place?!"

if looks could kill, alex would be on the floor.

"fine. if you don't want to, then i guess everything will just stay the way it is."

alex turned around and grabbed his bags. there's no way he's getting through to you right now.

"oh, so now it's my fault?"

you slam your laptop and walk away from the table.

"well, i'm so sorry for being angry at you for cheating on me!"

you don't hold your anger in anymore, he crossed the line.

"i never said that, ___!"

alex yelled to match your energy.

you took a step back. the audacity to yell at you in your house.

"out. now."

alex grabbed the second bag of clothes and without a word walked to the front door.

"goodbye, ___."

alex pushes the door open and steps outside. you go after him but stop at the doorstep.

"fuck you!" you sob out. you grab the doorknob and slam the door shut.

your knees slowly got weaker and you sit against the front door, shutting your eyes.

it's been a month since you've seen alex. you've blocked him on everything since then.

you were doing a q&a on your twitch channel and everything was going well. chat was filled with questions and you answered the one's you could.

your thoughts were somewhere else, though.

you still miss him, you really did. alex used to watch your streams all the time. he sent you donations with cheesy pick-up lines, he called you during streams to make fun of you for dying in a game or just to chat while he's bored.

but that didn't happen anymore.

you realize you haven't said anything in a while and you apologize. your chat was spamming purple hearts and 'are you okay?'

"ah, sorry everyone, i'm still tired from yesterday. i think i'm going to end the stream for today, thank you all for coming!"

after saying goodbye you turn off your computer.

why are you still so obsessed over him?! he cheated on you! he even tried to cover it up with a bullshit story about "not being the first to kiss her," and "she forced me to," like someone would believe a lie like that.

yet, you still love him. something inside you wants to believe him, like he really was telling the truth.

the next morning you open twitter and scroll for a bit. you made a tweet earlier in which you stated you weren't going to stream today.

you looked at the trending topics and saw your name in bold letters. you clicked on it and read the first tweet that popped up.

'i really hope ___ is doing better, they looked so sad on stream :('

an image was attached to it - a screenshot from the stream you did yesterday where you were mindlessly staring at your computer screen.

you sighed. at least they're not thinking too deep about this.

you scroll further down, replying and liking a couple tweets saying you were alright, thanking them or cracking a joke. this should keep them off your back for a while.

after scrolling for a bit one tweet catches your eye. you clutch your phone as you read the comment.

'kinda obvious they miss quackity :/ it's a good cover-up story tho '

alex was staring at his ceiling. he'd seen the tweets about you - about him.

he hates this feeling. he hates the fact that he knows what you're thinking. he hates that he knows it's his fault. he didn't mean to. he didn't.

"come on, alex. you know you want it." the woman said.

"i told you, no! i have a partner!" alex pushed her away for the second time, trying to find a way past the girl and out of this small alleyway. he should've never gone to this stupid bar.

"tch, whatever. but know you'll regret rejecting someone like me!" the girl pushed him to the brick wall and fixed her dress as she walked away.

alex fixed himself for a minute and walked past the bar and into his car. he pulled out his phone and shot you a quick text.

'hey bb i'll be over in a few :)'

'don't come back.'

you responded almost immediately. alex froze as he looked at the screen.

'wdym?'

'you know damn well why'

you sent him a photo of him next to the bar in the alley. the girl was all over him while her lips connected lustfully to his.

'it isn't what it looks like, i didn't start any of this!'

you don't respond. alex tries to send you another text when an error pops up.

'unable to send message. user has blocked you.'

you hover your hand over your phone's keyboard. you thought anbout alex's offer to talk, and decided that maybe it was a good idea after all. you couldn't get your mind off him, you thought that hopefully getting some closure could help.

but how were you going to ask him? 'hey, i know i blocked number like a month ago but can you to meet me at some random park? see you there!'

after typing and deleting multiple texts you eventually landed on a message.

'hey alex, i've been thinking about your offer to talk it out, and i wanted to ask if you're still up for it?'

you send it and immediately turn off your phone and place it on the coffeetable in front of you. you did it, finally. you fall back on your couch and pull your knees up to your face, waiting for a notification.

after a nailbiting five minutes a light emits from your phone. you pick it up and read the name calling you. 'alex'. you take a deep breath and answer the phone.

"hi alex."

"hey ___, it's been a while."

you sit up straight, preparing yourself for the conversation you're about to have.

'yeah, you can say that."

the atmosphere was a lot less tense than you expected. it was weirdly... comforting? you can hear alex's raspy voice through the phone. has he been crying?

"i saw your text, you wanted to meet?"

"yes, i did. i wanted to get some closure, at least."

alex chuckled, his laugh making you a little flustered. trying to brush it off, you laugh with him.

"what's so funny?" alex asked.

you rolled your eyes and smile.

"you, dumbass."

he gasps cartoonishly loud. his goofy personality is something you could never get enough of. maybe you were wrong after all.

"ok, but seriously, when do you want to meet?"

he gets back on topic. you snap out of your smile and remember why he called in the first place.

"right, right. i'm free this whole week, you can choose when."

after some planning and back and forth, you decide to meet at a small family-run café in the afternoon. coincidentally, it's the same place you two had your first date.

you settle down at a table on the terrace of the café, the sunday sun greeting you warmly. you were a little early, so you decided to think of some questions. it didn't take you long to come to a few, though. your main question was the photo. what was that all about?

as you were handed a menu you saw alex walking on the pavement fidgeting with his fingers.

"hey! sorry if i'm late, i took the bus instead of my car."

he took the seat parallel to yours and exhaled.

"oh no, you're right on time. i was just a little early."

the waitress gave alex a menu and disappeared into the establishment. you both decided to stay quiet before getting on topic. neither of you want to start the conversation.

after both ordering and having surface level conversation for a while silence fell. you both know why you're here, it feels off to talk like nothing ever happened.

"okay-"

"so-"

you both start at the same time. alex awkwardly chuckles while covering his mouth.

"you first."

alex proposes. you nod and like magic lose the somewhat content mood you had prior. you steadily breathe in and pull out your phone.

"so, first things first; my main goal is to get closure and an explanation - there's no point in lying to me."

alex hums in agreement. you could tell he was nervous, you knew him better than anyone. you tap on your screen a few times until you reach the photo that was sent to you.

"now, i want a clear answer. what happened that night?"

you ask him firmly as you put your phone on the table to reveal the image.

"that's my ex-girlfriend."

alex said. you raise an eyebrow - his ex? you've heard some wild things about her and her antics, which is exactly why alex broke up with her in the first place.

"she said she wanted to ask me something in private. my dumbass said yes, because i can't pick up on context clues, apparently."

you cross your arms and lean back on the chair.

"you got that right."

alex looks up from the photo and makes eye contact with you.

"long story short, she pushed me to the wall and kissed me. i tried to push her off but she didn't let me go. after shoving her, like, twice she finally got the hint and left."

"so she set you up?"

"she hasn't changed a bit since all those years."

you say with a hint of condescension. his explanation made sense, and from what you heard he wasn't lying. your gut told you to believe him, yet your mind had an itching feeling that there was something else.

"are you sure that's all?"

alex flinched slightly.

"y-yes, ___. i don't know what else to tell you."

you mess with your hair a bit, clearly conflicted. there was nothing else, you knew that. but your brain wouldn't let it go. you decided it's better if you just sleep on it.

"alright, then.-"

you grab your bag and stand up.

"-i think we're done here."

alex stays seated and looks up at you.

"yeah, i think so."

you pick the phone up that's laying on the table. you pull out your wallet and put a $5 bill under your teacup.

"goodbye, alex."

"wait!"

alex stands up and grabs your wrist, the gesture scaring you little bit.

"are you still mad at me?"

those eyes. they're so pretty, almost sparlking. you snap out of it when he lets go, just realizing how weird it is to grab someone's arm out of nowhere.

"sorry, my bad. i wasn't thinking."

alex scratches the back of his neck.

"i'm still deciding if i can trust you, but i appreciate you showing up, at least."

"that's enough for me."

alex smile at you, not trying to pry.

"goodbye, ___."

"goodbye, alex."

you heard the chirping of the birds outside your window and groan. why is it already morning? you sit up and grab your phone from the nightstand next to your bed, the phone reading 11:23 - tuesday - xx-xx-xxxx.

you sigh and fall back onto your bed. you've been thinking about alex for a few days now, still not getting him out of your head.

after going downstairs and eating some toast you pull out your phone again, the clock now reading 12:44. you look through your contacts and eventually land on his name.

you hover your hand over the green pixels while sitting down at the dining table. you swallow audibly and click the call button.

it goes once.

it goes twice.

"___?"

'Hey alex, i wanted to ask you if you wanted to meet up again?"

ty for reading <3

m.list

taglist: @adoring-ghost @sakisaralazy @for-memories-sacrifice @ialexabsuniverse @shiyanchan @bioluminescentfrog @esylwen

reblogs >> likes !

#cr0wbonezz-wr1ting-inc #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #quackity x reader #dream smp angst #mcyt angst #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #quackity angst #dream smp fanfiction #mcyt fanfiction #quackity fanfic

311 notes · View notes

imaginethebeautifulworld · 3 years

Note

Let’s say England has a long-term girlfriend he knows isn’t the biggest fan of marriage bc her family had been really really pushy (before she got the heck out of dodge) about her marrying + reproducing ASAP. How might he react if she came to him and said she was kinda starting to like the general concept of marrying him — that is, the whole ‘together forever’ bit. Thanks!

I confess darling that I have been trying to finish this prompt for well over a year, and I offer my sincerest apologies that it’s taken me this long to finish it. Still, despite my tardiness, I hope you enjoy, and I thank you for your patience with me.

You had never intended to fall in love, not with the constant push of your relatives to fall in line like a perfect child.

First, marriage to someone they deemed acceptable, raising the perfect 2.5 children, followed by quietly settling into parenthood and complaisant contentment until the day you last drew breath.

Truth of the matter was, you had avoided all chances of romance for the first few years after you moved away from home, carefully slipping away from anyone who seemed remotely interested in you.

You knew your folks would have disproved such behaviour had they learnt the truth, but you couldn’t find it in your heart to care. You had your own dreams to pursue, your own story to tell, your own life to live; you didn't need someone by your side to feel complete.

You were happy as you were, finding enjoyment in your work and figuring out your place in the world.

You didn’t need, or frankly want, anything more than that.

That was of course until you met him.

Falling in love with Arthur Kirkland had been a complete accident. He slipped past all of your defenses and took up residence in your heart as if he had always belonged there.

It started out slow enough; at first you simply knew him as a familiar face from the cafe in Waterstones, steaming cup of Darjeeling and a chocolate croissant sitting forgotten on the table in front of him, always too focused on his reading to pay any attention to the outside world. After one particularly crowded Sunday afternoon, he began to transition into your favorite dining companion, the two of you often taking turns paying for each other’s food. Slowly but surely, you began forgetting about your books, too wrapped up in conversation, and before you knew it-

You had come to love every part of him- the gentleman that you begrudgingly introduced to your parents, the rebellious and passionate activist, the cocky and playful little shit who had long ago memorised all the best ways to disarm you, and the ancient soul who cared so deeply, who still stretched himself thin most days in effort to protect each of his loved ones.

You fell in love with his voice, whispering sonnets and sonatas and sweet nothings in your ear while his arms cradled you from behind.

You fell in love with his eyes, still losing your footing sometimes when the light caught them just right, dreaming momentarily of summer forests and grassy glades and the misty dews of spring.

You fell in love with his smiles, from the satisfied grin at stirring up Peter’s ire to the breathless wonder each time you kissed or complimented him, to the bright, beautiful, blinding smile he wore when he was incandescently happy, his entire countenance iridescent from his joy.

You loved him completely- for his devotion, for his sweet gestures, for his damned impishness, for his wit, his sass, and the soft spoken affection.

You loved him: for his patience, for his recklessness, for his resilience, for his possessive pride that was somehow more charming than alarming.

He was unique, an enigma that, even after having lived together for years and dating even longer, kept you on your toes, his energy and random spouts of spontaneity proving to you that, even if you spent one hundred lifetimes with him, he would always remain a puzzle you would never fully solve.

And by God did you want to.

Arthur had stolen your heart away from you before you had even noticed he was close enough to take it, offering his own in its stead.

You had remained reluctant, confided in him your fears about settling down, how much you dreaded becoming trapped in a monotonous rut of tedium. He was quick to reassure you, showing through words and actions far more impassioned and teasing than he had ever shown prior, that an eternity with him could never be boring.

Even on quiet days, like today, with a steady drizzle painting the world in greys, Arthur humming quietly while adding another patch to his denim vest, and no other disturbance apart from the cat’s chittering at the robins playing in a puddle by the iron fence- Even now, you weren’t so much bored as you were pensive.

You had been thinking about a future with him a lot in the past few days, some irrelevant ad on your mobile about wedding venues catching your attention and slithering into the back of your mind.

What kind of wedding would he like? Would Arthur prefer something small and intimate, or would his hubris crave a larger venue, giving him yet another chance to prove to the world that he belonged at your side, no one else? You couldn’t help but wonder if he would wear his uniform or a suit, if he would leave the rats' nest he called a hairstyle untouched, or if he would perhaps slick it back in that way that somehow made the normal rakishness disappear, a confident, refined cavalier standing in his place.

You knew of course that none of this mattered unless you actually talked to him first; as far as you were aware, he was content with the current arrangement, and he respected your views of marriage.

He had known, for a long time, just where the grim outlook stemmed from, and he never breached the subject again.

But now-

You had thought it was enough to hold his love, his faith, his vulnerabilities. But life was so fleeting, and now those few things were no longer enough.

You wanted to wake up every morning next to him, wanted the cheesy partners’ towel and flip flop sets. You wanted the physical reminder that you held his heart, the comforting reminder that he completely possessed your own. You wanted to be by his side forever, holding his hand through the good and the ill, facing new worlds and challenges and the uncertain future together.

You knew the risks, of course.

Marriage to a Nation carried an even heavier burden than the simple oath of “till death do us part.”

No, marrying Arthur would mean weaving your entire lives together, binding you on a spiritual level far surpassing mortality; it would mean sacrificing your chance to ever grow old, to eternally give yourself away: heart, mind, body, and soul.

But this was Arthur, who sang showtunes in the shower, who spent hours making silly faces at the cat, who was ridiculously competitive about Halloween costumes, the man who sat down and memorised the entirety of The Tempest in one night just for the bragging rights.

He already owned your heart, constantly invaded your thoughts and daydreams, and God knew he had long, long ago claimed your body, making certain not a single millimeter of his new territory went unexplored.

Would it really be so bad to give him your soul, too?

Glancing back up, seeing his eyes narrowed in concentration, his fingers handling the needle with expert precision, lips slightly parted, reading glasses fallen halfway down his nose-

You knew your answer.

It was always going to be Arthur for you, only Arthur.

Forever, should he have you.

But now you faced the challenge of telling him that.

It should be simple enough; you really held no more secrets from him, and he no longer bothered trying to hide anything from you. You loved how open you were with one another, cherished the honesty that served as the very foundation to your relationship.

But the truth was that you were terrified.

It had been so long since either of you had spoken of marriage, since the topic was even a thought in your minds, and-

What if he didn't want you anymore?

What if he-

"I can see the steam coming outta your ears."

The unexpected presence of Arthur's voice startled you, eyes darting back over to the very man who was unwittingly tormenting you.

He had barely moved from his earlier position, though his glasses had been pushed up into his hair and he was studying you curiously, if not bemusedly.

"You good there?"

By default, you nearly responded with an affirmative, some playful, lighthearted thing that would have dismissed his concern immediately. You cut yourself off mid-start, then, while shifting to sit properly in the armchair, you decided to push forward. "Can we talk?"

You watched as his expression shifted, revealing his concern as he tied off his thread, setting aside the patchwork and gestured for you to join him on the sofa.

There were a few awkward moments where you took up your favourite positions, Arthur tossing an afghan across the pair of you despite your insistence that you didn't need one, the flicker of a grin as you begrudgingly thanked him, and then shifting around as you both got comfortable, but soon enough-

"Alright, now; talketh at-eth me."

It was impossible to fight the smile his choice of words triggered, a reference to an inside joke so old now that you could scarcely recall its origin. Seeming to deem it a success, his own soft, reassuring smile greeted you.

"Seriously though, luv-" His hand came to rest atop your own, his fingers gently tapping a familiar rhythm against your skin. "What's troubling you?"

You were half-tempted to offer something short of sincerity, something innocuous and mundane that you could both laugh over and forget again within a few hours. Yet, you knew that if you didn't tell him now, didn't ask him now, you would never find the courage again.

"I've been thinking-"

"Ah. A scary premise in its own right."

"Oh, shut up," you retorted to his tease, smacking his arm for his troubles. He rewarded you with a grin, all fondness and mischief. Opting to ignore him, you pressed on, eyes downcast to avoid whatever judgement he may offer.

"As I was trying to say earlier, before I was so rudely interrupted-" The teasing fell off, and the worry crept back in. "I've been thinking. About us."

"O-oh?"

Were you not so consumed by your own anxieties, you would have noticed his stutter, would have seen the sudden tension in his posture, the fear in his eyes. As it was, you were completely oblivious to all of it, and made yourself continue at his prompting.

"I- I think I'm ready."

He mimed the word "ready" to himself, parroting it with utter befuddlement. "For wha-"

"I mean, I know I wasn't for such a long time, and-" Suddenly, you were off, half unhinged. Now that you had admitted the truth aloud, it was all rushing out of you, everything you had come to love about him, everything that-

A finger pressing firmly against your lips stopped you mid-tangent, and when you glanced up to find piercing, blazing emerald focused on you as if you were the very center of the universe, whatever remained of your ramblings disappeared entirely.

"What are you trying to say?"

A simple question, so easy to answer, yet it carried with it the weight of Infinities, demanding nothing save the truth, in its most basic state.

You were lost in his gravity, half-drowning in whatever this new feeling was. It was addicting, another riddle to be solved.

"Marry me."

Time stood still, the words weighing heavily in the space between you, now seemingly insurmountable despite being no more than mere decimeters.

Arthur showed no reaction, revealed no indication that he had even heard your plea, your query, your command, your request, and yet it echoed over and over in your own mind, the tone, the weight, the untimeliness-

Every facet- from your inflection to chosen tempo- crescandoed as an accusation, a mocking symphony that he would reject you, that you would be left with only the haunting strains of your ill-conceived proposal.

And yet-

There was a hesitation in his eyes, the face of a man who wanted wholeheartedly to believe what he had heard, but had been burned far too often in the past to dare allow himself hope.

"You-" His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed as he studied you once more, only for the suspicion to disappear again almost immediately, disbelief swiftly taking its place. "You're serious?"

It was then that you finally read his nervousness, understood the strange emotion reflecting in his eyes.

You had lead him to a precipice, the vast Unknown before you both, and-

And he was just as fragile as you were, even if he was better at hiding it.

You gave his hand a light squeeze, hoping to ground you both, and offered him a nod. “If you’ll have me, anyway.”

His eyes flickered between your own, darting back-and-forth so quickly in search of a lie, of any doubts, of any hint that you were less than certain- yet you knew he would find none of that.

“What about your family?”

The question took you by surprise; in the moment, you had completely forgotten anyone else even existed.

You weighed his question carefully. Marrying Arthur would give your family leave to gloat in self-satisfaction, and you knew with absolutely certainty that they would hold it over your head for the next three decades. But looking into the eyes of the man before you, remembering all that you had already seen and done together, you found that others' opinions no longer mattered, really hadn't mattered in a long, long time.

“I couldn’t care less about them. Arth-”

Whatever you were going to say was forgotten as he closed the remaining distance between you, moving so swiftly that you scarcely had a moment to steady yourself before he captured you in a searing kiss, one of his most passionate by far.

Somehow, despite the suddenness of it all, the initial force, the intensity-

He was being incredibly gentle, and moving slowly enough to almost be more a torment than a treat. Almost.

You found yourself lost in a daze when he finally pulled away, just enough for each of you to catch your breaths, just far enough that he could study you with rapt attention. You could have drowned in his eyes, endless greens magnetizing in their intensity. His hands were still cradling your cheeks, still holding you firmly in place, a not completely foreign expression creasing his features.

You couldn't quite place it, even as your memories shifted desperately in search of its mate.

"'If I'd have you?'" His words, a rhetorical refrain of your own mere moments earlier, were scarcely a shared breath between you, murmured in timbre so low it summoned a shiver. There was the smallest twitch of his lip, his head tilting ever so slightly as more of that damned deviousness made its presence known. "I fully intend to have you regardless, luv. But the formality of it all certainly adds a particular je ne sais quoi, wouldn't you agree?"

You'd be damned if he knew just how that made your heart flutter, if he knew just how much weight that reassurance had lifted from your shoulders.

Carefree, content, you offered a playful smile. "Till death do us part then?"

Arthur no longer bothered trying to restrain his smile, soft and sincere in a way that left you breathless. "I'll love you till even the stars go cold, my dear."

Thanks for reading~

#england x reader #aph england #arthur kirkland x reader #hello lovelies~!#hws england #hetalia england #aph arthur kirkland #hetalia arthur kirkland #hws arthur kirkland #reader insert #hetalia x reader #hello lovelies!#readerfic #thanks for reading!#aph england x reader #hetalia england x reader #hws england x reader

328 notes · View notes