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apocalypseornaw · 6 months

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Wanna be Yours (Pt 5/5)

(A/N: I hate the scene this gif is from don't get me wrong but dayum is Sam gorgeous af in it)

Sam Winchester x Reader

Feelings are finally admitted and acted upon

@lacilou s idea that she graciously let me run with

NSFW things ahead

"Are we going to talk about whatever happened the other night when we were at the bar with Ronnie?" Dean cut his eyes up at Sam when he sat down across from him at the table and shrugged "Don't know what you mean?"

Sam leveled his brother with a look "I mean we were all getting along just fine, me and Ronnie were dancing then all of a sudden we needed to hit the road? And the twins never did show up" Dean shrugged again "Maybe they decided to stop off at a hotel, who knows with those two"

Sam shook his head, he wasn't ever going to get a straight answer out of Dean and since that night you would hardly be in the same room as him. He felt like he was being left out of a big secret and didn't like it. "I think there's more than that" Sam pushed and Dean let out a hard breath of air "You want the honest truth?" Sam nodded "Yeah, I do"

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

Dean glanced towards the hall then back at Sam "I see how you look at her Sammy. I've known you your entire life" Sam felt his eyes widen, so Dean knew. Shit, he hadn't ever wanted his older brother to know he had feelings for his girl.

"Dean, you got to know I never meant to develop feelings for her" he didn't miss the look of confusion that flashed across Dean's face "What do you mean never meant to.." but he cut him off "I know you and her are close and I wouldn't want to step on your toes with anything but she's just well she's her... she's beautiful and smart. She's as sarcastic as you are but the sweetest person you've ever wanted to meet at times. She's one of the most amazing hunters I've ever met, she'll stand toe to toe with a demon and not blink an eye but she'll tear up at some movie she's watched a thousand times or get into a book she's read a hundred times to the extent she'll throw it into the wall. She's a force of nature, she's got this pull to her.. I'm sorry man but yeah I've fallen for her. I hope you can forgive me"

Sam expected a lot in that moment. Yelling, Dean to walk out hell anything except for Dean to start laughing. "What?" He questioned and Dean shook his head, laughing harder "You've been thinking all these years that me and Y/N what exactly...keep quiet and mess around behind your back? You've seen me go home with women!"

Sam shrugged, feeling like he was missing out on a lot "I figured it may be an open relationship? I mean you two move on hunts like you share one mind. You have unspoken conversations, she likes a lot of the stuff you like and she's been a steady in your life since you were nineteen"

Dean shook his head again before wiping a hand down his face "Yeah, Sammy she's my best friend. She means a lot to me but we've never crossed any lines like that. Jesus I thought you two were smart"

Sam shrugged one shoulder "Yeah well...wait us two?" Dean's face was nearly comical when he caught his slip up "Shit she's gonna kill me. Don't tell her I said that ok?" A smile slipped onto Sam's face "Are you saying she feels the same?" Dean rolled his eyes at that "For fucks sake, you're a grown man she's a grown woman, go talk to her. I'm not getting in the middle of it"

Dean stood to walk out the kitchen leaving Sam to wonder what his next move should be.

You were standing in the laundry room, waiting for your load to get done when Dean popped his head into the door "Hey sweetheart, I'm headed to meet Donna and Garth. I'll be back in a few hours. You need anything?"

You shook your head "No i think im good. Might want to grab more detergent and dryer sheets. Is Sam going with you?" He held your gaze for a moment before saying "Nope. He'll be here" you rolled your eyes "Does Donna and Garth even need your help?" He simply grinned "I'll see you tonight" "Yeah. Be safe so I can kick your ass when you get back" he laughed "You got it"

You watched him walk out and shook your head. He was trying to force your hand, damn him. You felt a chill and regretted running around the bunker in just sleep shorts and a tshirt but most of your clothes had been dirty. You looked around and found a stack of folded shirts on a shelf, you grabbed a flannel out of the bunch and slipped it over your shoulders. You weren't surprised when it fell to your thighs considering how short you were compared to both Winchesters.

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

You waited until both of your loads were done and folded then grabbed your basket to head to your room and put them away.

You clicked your radio on to play music and started humming along to the song as you moved around the room, replacing what clothes went into drawers and repacking your go-bag.

The thought of Sam being somewhere in the bunker kept flicking through your mind. Dean was right, you needed to tell Sam. Neither of you were blushing virgins here. You shook your head and finished putting your laundry away.

Once you were done you turned the radio off then headed out of your room. The floor was cold under your bare feet but you were headed for Dean's tv room. The thought was to hide from Sam but you needed something to drink first.

You stepped into the kitchen and nearly ran back out when you spotted Sam pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge but froze when he looked up at you and smiled "Y/N"

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

Sam had gone on an early run then grabbed a shower after Dean left. He needed to clear his head and think about what to do.

He walked into the kitchen to grab some water and the moment he leaned into the fridge he heard a noise behind him and looked up to see you standing in the doorway. You were wearing black sleep shorts and one of Dean's old Led Zeppelin shirts but what struck out to him was the fact that you were wearing his flannel as well. The image of you only wearing his flannel flashed his mind and he cursed himself for it. He didn't even really know how you felt or what you wanted.

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

He felt a smile slip onto his face "Y/N" you smiled back at him "Hey Sam. Um pass me a bottle of water?" He held the one out that was in his hand "Here, I haven't opened it" you took it with a nod "Thanks"

You stood there for a moment then motioned towards the hall "Want to watch a movie?" He didn't hesitate to say yes. He grabbed another bottle of water and followed you down the hall.

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

You were acutely aware of Sam at your back as you walked down the hall trying to think of a good movie you could watch with him but all you could think about was how those black joggers fit him and how tight that shirt looked across his shoulders.

You walked into the TV room and flicked the string lights on instead of the overhead then grabbed the remote. You sat down on one side of the couch and Sam sat on the other. You finally decided on a slasher flic you and Dean had watched a thousand times.

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You settled back into the cushions and tried to concentrate on the screen but you felt Sam's eyes on you. After a minute you paused the movie and turned to face him, tucking one leg under your body "Yes Samuel"

He grinned slightly "That's my flannel" you raised an eyebrow "Oh, I'm sorry. I can take it off" You moved to pull it off your shoulders but he grabbed your arms gently "Looks better on you" you were a bit too aware of how close the two of you were in that moment and he quickly dropped your arms muttering an apology.

You stared at each other for a moment before you both tried to speak. He smiled "Ladies first" you nodded moving a bit closer to him "Cards on the table here Winchester. I have feelings for you. It's developed over times and just gotten worse. It's awkward because you're my best friend's brother and younger than me but it happened"

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

He was silent for a moment and you were mentally kicking Dean's ass when Sam suddenly reached across pulling you into his lap. You gasped at the sudden movement, bracing your hands against his chest.

He smiled up at you and your breath caught "Thank God because if I had to go much longer without doing this I don't know what I'd do" you were about to question him when he pulled you down to him.

The moment your lips met his you melted against him. His lips moved against yours like he was a drowning man pulling in his last breath of air. Your hands found his hair, tangling in it and he groaned lightly as he tightened his grip on you, rolling his hips up to meet yours as his tongue flicked into your mouth.

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When you were forced to pull away to catch your breath he rested his head in the bend of your neck, both of your chests were heaving slightly. You felt his lips teasing the skin of your neck and fought against the moan that wanted to escape you "Sam" He stilled his movements "I like you saying my name like that"

You smiled but pulled back further to force him to look at you "Are we both wanting the same thing?" He bought up one hand to push your hair back out of your face "I want you Y/N, not just for a couple hours or a couple days. I haven't felt like this about someone in a long time. It's been absolute torture thinking you were with Dean" you laughed at that "You thought me and Dean?" He groaned lightly "I did"

You shook your head "You beautiful, idiotic man. I've had eyes for you for so long it's kind of pathetic" he grinned "like having a crush on my brothers best friend isn't?" You shrugged then smiled at him "Where were we?"

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

He pulled you back into a kiss. He started at your lips then kissed down your jaw and when he made it to your neck you didn't try to stop the light moans that escaped you. You rolled your hips against his and he groaned again, grabbing your hips "Babygirl, tell me what you want here" you felt your stomach flip at his words and the way he said them "I want you to take me to your room and show me just how much you want me" "I can do that"

You stumbled into Sam's bedroom, lips never breaking fully from each other. Once the door was shut he pushed your back against it then leaned down to slip his hands under your thighs and lift you up. You gasped as you wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling how his body was reacting to you.

His hips rutted against yours as he swallowed every little sound he pulled from you. "Wanted you for so damn long....so fucking beautiful..." the praises falling from his lips for you had a fire growing in the pit of your stomach "Bed Sam. Please the bed" you mumbled against his lips and he nodded "I got you baby, I got you"

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He carried you across the room to the bed and laid you down gently, holding himself up on his arms as he looked down at you. You couldn't help yourself, you reached up to let your fingertips trace the light stubble gracing his jawline "You are so fucking gorgeous Sam" the smile he gave you in return was warm enough to put the sun to shame "Y/N, you're everything"

His lips found yours again and you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him down to you. His hips rolled down against yours and the feeling of his hard cock even through his joggers and your shorts was enough to make a moan of his name leave your lips "I want you Sam" He nodded "You got me"

You leaned up to shed the flannel and the shirt you were wearing and Sam pulled his shirt over his head as well tossing it behind him. The look in his eyes as he took in the sight of your bared chest had you clenching around nothing "So damn perfect" he whispered leaning down to catch one of your breasts between his lips.

"Fuck Sam" you moaned and felt one of his hands on your left leg, trailing up under the shorts you wore. His fingers got just shy of where you wanted them "Take em off Sam. Please" he chuckled against your skin before moving to the other breast giving it the same attention he had the other one.

He moved back up to your lips and time his mouth met yours you felt one of his fingers teasing at your entrance. You gasped into his mouth when it slipped past your folds. He added another after a moment, curling them upwards until he found that spot that had your back arching off the bed "You're so wet baby. Is this for me?" He teased working at your clit with his thumb while his fingers worked that spot deep inside of you.

You could feel that knot in your lower stomach building and when Sam moved his fingers just slightly to change the angle you felt it burst. You came with a scream of his name as he continued to finger you through your orgasm. When you pushed his hand away he slipped his fingers into his mouth, holding your gaze as he sucked them cleaned. "Taste so damn sweet"

You moaned "Fuck me Sam. Please" he grinned "Damn where is that smart mouthed woman that's always putting me and Dean in our place?" He reached for the hem of your shorts and pulled them down your legs before tossing them behind him "Sam Winchester I swear.." you started but was cut off by him laughing "Teasing babygirl. Just teasing"

He stood up to slip his joggers off and you felt your mouth drop open slightly. He was thick and long "Y/N, you good?" He asked, fisting his hard cock as a smirk slipped onto his face "I'm perfect baby, now C'mere" he climbed onto the bed, holding his weight up off of you.

When he got up to your face you pulled him down into a kiss and felt him push into you. A moan escaped you both at the feeling. He stilled once he was inside of you completely to give you time to adjust. His eyes fluttered shut just for a moment before he opened them "Fuck you feel fucking amazing" you laughed lightly considering the stretch of him had given way to pleasure "Good, move then"

He rolled his hips down into yours and you moaned "Just like that Sam" He buried his face in your neck, nipping and kissing the skin there as he worked his hips into yours, every thrust he was hitting that spot inside of you that had you seeing stars.

You were so damn close to coming again and he must have realized it because one hand slid between your bodies to play with your clit while his movements never slowed. You felt that knot burst again and your vision went fuzzy around the edges as he fucked you through your orgasm.

His thrusts started to get sloppy and more erratic and you knew he was close so you started to roll your hips up to meet his. "Come for me Sam. Let me feel how much you want me....you're so damn gorgeous and strong and fucking perfect for me..."

Your words pushed him over the edge and he buried himself inside of you with one final thrust and you felt when he came, filling you up.

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You could feel your legs shaking gently around him as he smiled down at you breathlessly "You are absolutely amazing you know that right?" You smiled "So my boyfriend tells me"

He gave you one of those heart stopping smiles again "Smart man, that boyfriend of yours" you nodded "He really is" He pulled out of you gently, apologizing when you whimpered a bit from the loss of contact.

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He reached down and found his discarded shirt to wipe you up a bit before laying down next to you and pulling you over on his chest. He traced the antipossesion tattoo on your shoulder as you traced the one on his chest "Wanna grab another shower, with me this time?" You asked and he laughed "Never feel the need to ask me just say cmon we're gonna go shower"

You looked up at him with a laugh "I think I love you Sam Winchester" He smiled brightly "Good because I think I love you too"

@foxyjwls007

@lacilou

@nelachu2423

@nix-rose

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #wanna be yours mini series

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the-sky-is-my-home · 10 months

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Endless list of things I love about post-ts haikyuu (various teams ver.)

Seijoh

iwaizumi's godzilla phone case

the whole seijoh team not giving a shit about their home country's national team or iwaizumi hajime (27) athletic trainer. oikawa is playing for argentina so they're cheering for argentina and that's that

funeral home employee mattsun

oikawa getting his banner at the olympics, the last one shown in the regular manga chapters, really makes it feel like this is HIS success story even if he lost during high school and was out of the story for so long because of it

I watched the original "petty pride" exchange when s2 came out. the amount of satisfaction I got from reading "What do you think of my petty pride now?" "I think it's fantastic." is unrivalled. it's one piece levels of delayed gratification good. I may love and be obsessed with other characters, but my heart will always be with oikawa tooru and rather than a win or a spot at nationals or whatever, this is what he deserves.

the last page of haikyuu canon we ever got featured oikawa being stupid and petty and cute and iwa bickering with him and it's like. what more could I ever ask for

Shiratorizawa

ushiwaka's relationship with kids. all of it

ushiwaka wanting his dad to watch his games being the reason he works so hard to get good, only to hear his dad being all excited and always watching any games he can it's just so sweet

shirabu still being so intense about ushiwaka all the time always

the shiratorizawa team still going to goshiki's to watch stuff together, just like they used his tablet and his dorm room back in the day. boy will never know peace

the documentary about chocolatier tendou with ushiwaka in it. look at them!!! they're best friends!!! I love them so much! and it's just perfect when tendou was the one assuming he'd be in ushiwaka's documentary

tendou's lil volleyball chocolate <3

Fukuroudani

bokuto's stupid chest receives. my boy hasn't changed at all lmao

that lil montage of hs age bokuto causing problems for his team

bokuto still doing a feint, the "special attack" he taught hinata ages ago

fukuroudani still supporting him so so much and calling him "our ace" just makes me emotional

akaashi interviewing bokuto and udai tenma just sitting there like "what in the fresh hell are these two talking about???"

someone (yaku) finally understanding and translating when bokuto makes some insane statement about what "normal" is wasn't necessary but I love it so so much you don't even know. my boy bokuto is understood and among his kind. he belongs. this is all I need in life

Others

hoshiumi asking hinata's height even tho he already knows

sakusa being on the same team as hinata AND atsumu AND bokuto. you know this man is getting roped into so many shenanigans against his will

sakusa meeting ushiwaka for the first time and being impressed not because of volleyball but because of his pocket handkerchief that he folds with the damp side in

also sakusa (presumably) choosing his (and komori's) high school based on a guy with a lint roller

hoshiumi seeing hinata as a rival but also more as an ally. short kings unite!!!

kanoka being the ace of japan's women's volleyball team and tanaka being so so supportive of her. like yeah that crush didn't work out for her but she's thriving and there's no resentment between them, she's not defined by romance. queen.

Nekoma

nekoma's "connect" flag being taken from the context of connecting in volleyball to connecting through volleyball is just. chef's kiss

kuroo's con man vibe even though he just genuinely loves volleyball and wants to spread that love to as many people as possible

yaku being the one who plays in russia when you could assume lev would, but no. yaku returns from russia and the first thing he does is make fun of model lev. it's perfect

kuroo in the special baiting everyone exactly with what they want like this man knows what kinda idiots he has at his disposal

yaku next to yoffe

also ending on nekoma's flag is perfect

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#seijoh #fukuroudani #nekoma #shiratorizawa

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serenailith · 1 year

Text

yesterday’s gone (we’ll make it through)—xxiv

on ao3 here

previous | next

there are comic spoilers in this chapter regarding nada!

Hob almost thinks he’s dreaming still, with the way Dream is clinging to him, kissing him as if the world will end if they separate. Hob almost thinks this—right up to the crash of pain when he moves to reciprocate. Hissing even as he tries to press closer, Hob groans when a hand, slender yet inhumanly strong, stops him in his place.

“You are still recovering,” Dream snaps, and Hob’s eyes fly open. Grey-blue eyes soften, storm clouds abating, and Dream brushes a lock of hair from Hob’s cheek. “Perhaps I should not have been so careless, as well.”

“I’m—I’m fine, really.”

Dream only shakes his head with a small smile. “It will wait.”

I just went against the bleedin’ Devil for you, and you won’t kiss me more? Hob bites the inside of his cheek to stem the words. He’s an intelligent man—damn well better be after six centuries of learning—so he knows that saying anything of that sort will definitely not earn him the kisses he so craves.

Exhaling slowly, he reaches for Dream’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Thank me?” A dark brow arches. “For what would you thank me, when it is you who put your safety and freedom so at risk?”

“Well, when you put it like that. . .”

“I do ‘put it like that’. Hob, you. . . You are an infuriating man, were you aware of this?”

“Nellie said as much more times than I count.” Hob grins when Dream rolls his eyes—a decidedly not-regal action, but damn, it’s rather cute to see. It makes him feel as if the two are on a level field in the relationship, even for a split second.

“You should have allowed me to face the Morningstar on my own behalf.”

“I knew I’d win, though.”

“You cannot possibly have known that,” Dream grits out. He makes no move to calm himself. Hob watches as the Endless sits upright and stares down at him with eyes glittering dangerously. “You put yourself in harm’s way for—”

“For you!” Hob protests, voice weaker than the indignation roiling in him.

Dream’s teeth clack together as his eyes widen. Even his anger, simmering just below the surface, doesn’t stop him from easing Hob into a sitting position against the pillows. Hob gasps in heaving breaths. Fuck, but he still hurts all over. Once he’s caught his breath, he turns his attention away from the pain tearing through him, back to Dream.

“I did it for you, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Do you know why?”

“Because you love me.”

The words are sure, but the tone is anything but. Dream stares at their clasped hands instead of meeting Hob’s eyes, but that’s okay. Hob doesn’t mind. He understands. He tightens his grip on Dream’s fingers and nods.

“Yeah. I do. I love you, Dream of the Endless, Morpheus, Sandman, whatever else name you go by. Part of loving someone is sharing the burdens. Sometimes, that means going toe-to-toe with Lucifer because some demon has something that doesn’t belong to them.”

“Fool.”

“You love it.”

It’s a quip. Something blithe and weightless, meant only to break the heaviness of the conversation, because if Dream keeps looking like Hob will disappear at any second— As if Hob is still in Hell and this is all an elaborate trick of Dream’s subconscious (does he even have that?). . . Hob doesn’t know what he’ll do. It’ll be drastic, he knows that, but otherwise? Not a clue.

So yes. You love it is nothing more than three words tossed in the ring to distract. To sidestep the conversation, the emotional weight that Hob is, quite frankly, too exhausted for at the moment. Anti-life is no joke, he’s learnt rather painfully.

You love it was not meant to be met with an unwavering gaze, strong grip of hands, and:

“No. I love you, Hob Gadling.”

There’s this thing with computers, Hob learned long ago. You introduce something completely new, something the computer isn’t designed for or malfunctioning hardware, and it causes something called a “blue screen of death”. It’s terrible, really. It renders the PC completely unusable without a restart, reset, and luck.

He’s been lucky in the last few years to not experience the phenomenon. But when computers first became mainstream? It happened numerous times. He lost track, really.

And right now, he feels an awful lot like an old desktop computer with malfunctioning hardware, improper drivers, and overheating components. Because he certainly blue-screens as he stares unblinkingly at Dream. He thinks he can even hear that old internet dial-up tone.

“What.”

There’s an amusement in Dream’s light eyes now, hand-in-hand with the gravity of his words. He raises a hand, brushes his thumb gently along the curve of Hob’s cheekbone. Hob bites back another hiss when he turns his head to kiss Dream’s palm.

“It is unwise to love an Endless,” Dream murmurs. “As I cannot change your emotions, nor would I dare try, I shall leave you with nothing more than that warning.”

“Because you don’t love back in the same way?”

Hob’s heart rabbits in his chest when Dream doesn’t reply immediately. Dream’s just said. . . Is he taking back the words? If he plans on doing so with that damn smile on his face, Hob will never forgive him.

“It is unwise because our loves are doomed. At times, the consequences are trivial in the grand scheme, such as a broken heart when the relationship fails or other such sufferings. Other times, however, the consequences are disastrous. My realm, for example, is me, and I am it. What I experience affects the Dreaming as much as it affects me.”

“So if you got your heart broken, the Dreaming would reflect that.”

“Yes.” Dream exhales slowly and runs the tip of his finger down the bridge of Hob’s nose. “There is a rule of sorts, to not fall in love with a human. Love between an Endless and a mortal never works as planned.”

“Fuck that.”

Dream blinks owlishly at Hob’s words. The harsh tone. “Pardon?”

“Fuck. That. It may be ‘unwise’ to love you, but you’re right. You can’t change my mind or heart on this. I’ve loved you for too long to let you believe you can. Besides,” Hob continues with a roguish grin, “have you ever considered the fact I’m not mortal?”

The stupefaction on Dream’s face would be hilarious, Hob thinks, if it weren’t so damned sad in its wary hopefulness. Dream stares at him as if he’s just opened a door to reveal a prize long thought of as being out of reach. Hob isn’t sure he’s quite that much of a catch, but there is no way he will ever try to dissuade Dream.

And maybe it’s not so much that it’s Hob. Maybe it’s the fact that love is within grasp. All he has to do is accept it, to give and take as much as Hob will. They can make this work if they both want it so.

But first—

“Tell me about Nada.”

Hob swallows as the shutters snap into place behind Dream’s eyes. There is clearly an ocean between Nada and Dream falling in love and him sticking her in Hell for ten thousand years. What could she possibly have done that was so horrible, to deserve such punishment?

Dream yanks his gaze from Hob’s face to somewhere just over the man’s shoulder. Hob winces as he raises an arm, but then he has his hand cupped against Dream’s cheek. Something tells him everything is about to change, but he needs Dream to tell him.

“Please,” Dream whispers finally, and Hob’s breath hitches at how wrecked he sounds.

“Dream—”

“It is not a pleasant story.”

“When you’re older than humanity, most stories tend toward the unpleasant.”

Dream hums quietly but doesn’t speak. Hob stifles a sigh. He knows to not push for conversation—he learned that particular lesson about pushing for more than Dream is ready to give back in 1889—but he wants so badly to know. Not knowing could be the end of them, Hob fears.

They haven’t even started. Not really.

It is going to be hard enough when it’s over, when he has to put this dream-come-true to rest. But for it to end because he’s asked for more than Dream is willing to give?

Nada was a queen of the city where man began. She was young, foolish to instantly fall in love with the stranger beneath her tower. She learned he was Endless, that it was never to be, but still she professed her love. The Stranger—Kai’ckul, as he was known to her people—pursued her even after she rejected him numerous times.

Hob doesn’t want to see it, doesn’t want to think of it, but the mental image comes unbidden to mind. Dark skin against alabaster, beautiful brown eyes staring up into night-sky irises. He can hear the whispers between the two, spoken in a language he has no hope of understanding, but the tone. . . It takes no brainpower to understand the love buried in the words.

Kai’ckul and Nada’s love was punished with the destruction of Nada’s city.

Hob flinches at the sight of a body crumpled at the base of the mountain. A tall, regal, imposing figure stands at the top.

Even in the realm of his Sister, Nada rejected Kai’ckul. She refused to become Queen of the Dreaming—it was not meant to be. There would be nothing but destruction and suffering placed upon the world were they to accept each other as lovers. As her King and his Queen.

“He was just as foolish for falling in love with her, knowing it could never be.” Hob’s jaw tics, and he stares out the window instead of looking at Dream’s face. “He was selfish for feeling betrayed when she had valid reasons to reject him.”

“I. . . Perhaps it was—”

“No. No ‘perhaps’. That was fucking cruel, Dream. Would you have done the same if I hadn’t pursued you? If you’d been the one who wanted more and I was content with being only friends?”

“Of course not.” Hob feels Dream shifting but doesn’t look. When a cool hand lands on his, Hob pulls away, eyes fluttering closed. Dream sighs. “Much has changed in the last century.”

“Yet you left Nada in Hell because of your wounded pride,” Hob spits out. How his heart aches more than his bruised and battered body.

“I had something more important to concern myself with.”

He exhales slowly and finally meets Dream’s gaze. “I think I’d like to be alone right now.”

“Hob. . .”

“Please don’t make this harder than it already is. I’ll—I’ll find you when I’m ready.”

Dream swallows, and Hob’s eyes burn and prickle at the dampness in Dream’s. But they both remain silent as the Endless levers himself off the bed, scrutinises Hob closely, then nods once before disappearing in a swirl of fine, golden sand.

The tears spill over.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream of the endless x hob gadling #dreamling #dream x hob #my writing #yesterday's gone

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kindan-no-kanojo · 2 years

Note

Truth: How do you TRULY feel about Ruki?

Dare: I dare you to write a love song about Ruki.

TRUTH OR DARE

"What are these options?!"

"I don't compose, but if I did it would be far from lovely. And if that wasn't the case, I wouldn't waste that on him. I will humor you with the truth then."

She huffed, exhasperated.

"How do I TRULY feel, huh? I don't need a silly game to answer that. Thank you for asking for once, though, so here you have it: I feel miserable. Most of the time, frustrated. Annoyed. Angry. For whatever condemned, superior causal power that makes us meet more often that I'd ever wish to happen, it's only luck and turn of events what will determine the way I react to that man at the given moment. Right now, I am infuriated by his name appearing twice in this question. I suppose that is my default reaction when he comes to my mind."

She breathes in, deeply, and exhales.

"Well then, I will elaborate a little. I did not come back from hell itself to enter another, no, thank you. In all honesty, I don't like him, he confuses me. He did before, he does now. I don't trust him. At first I was as curious as ever to approach him, but after he took advantage of my vast weaknesses he's next to dead to me. I don't care how much he tries to fix it, I don't plan to trust him again anytime soon."

She massaged her temple.

"And yes, I know he is a demon. And, guess what? So am I. If I can't rely on another of this species, then I have no reason to form any type of relationship. I am, however, grateful that he at least uses my name now, instead of that godawful alias he uses to address everyone else. But little does that do when he treats me with such equally little respect and still insists to act nice around me at times, as if that fixed everything."

"In short, I don't think he is even interested in fixing anything at all. I won't be surprised if he thinks there's nothing to fix. No matter. He has already proven how low and insignificant I am to this world, how poor can my actions be, and I don't need his, or anyone's, pity."

Mun!R: ...

Mun!R: ... well, if that's all, then @—

"Don't."

Mun!R: wh-

"He doesn't care. He won't care. In fact, he might use that against me in some way. But, if this inevitably gets to his ears in one way or another, let it be known that no matter how much we share, how much I'm willing to help him get rid of nuisances, that doesn't make him special in a positive way. I still despise his guts. I will continue to do so, so long as..." Sigh. "Forget it."

"I have nothing more to say."

Mun!R: ... So there is a way to fix it...

"... Do you think I am delusional enough to believe that that can even happen? With his unmeasurable pride and entitlement?"

Mun!R: I don't know, let's hear your conditions... *sips invisible tea*

"You and I know that I will be the one regretting this... I'll just kill you if that turns out to be the case."

A long, deep breath followed.

"To no one's surprise, I like equality. Therefore, if I can make him feel as humiliated, helpless, pathetic, used, worthless, the very equal to the dirt he walks on... like I felt, and keep feeling sometimes, it would be a great start. And I know he has weaknesses as well, so, an eye for an eye. But, of course, given my lower level of strength, I can't simply go and do it. I need cooperation, or, in other words, I need some help. He most likely won't agree to that, sadly, he's not stupid. I don't think his so-called appreciation towards me goes that far, anyway. So, there's that."

"Ahh... I don't usually wish to force anything on anyone with this wrath, I do try to be better... but I don't want to be better now. Being good, being friendly didn't take me anywhere good, so I want him suffer, hurt and perish. By my hand, if possible. Then I will maybe forgive him, if my forgiveness has any meaning at all."

#📭Asklett #scarlett wakahisa #Megan Star #mchallwrites #🔗Megan #hi its me #im the condemned superior causal power #⚠️TW: Rukilett #me still tagging the ship like 🤡🤡#the tw part is strong in this one lmao #will tw: rukilett ever become just rukilett?#we might never know #⁉Truth of Dare

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wellofdean · 2 years

Text

Endversetober, Day 17 - Rain

Cas and Dean finally reach an understanding.

This is a silly one.

One dark and rainy night in Camp Chitaqua, Cas and Dean finally come to an understanding. This is how it happens:

Dean knocks on the wall of Cas's cabin next to the stupid fucking beads. Cas comes to the door and looking through them says:

"Hello, Dean."

"Uh, Hi. Cas... Uh... There's uh. um. A problem with the... uh..." he looks down, rubs the back of his neck with his palm, empties his lungs, "Uh... patrol..."

"Come in, Dean." Cas says, thinking: FINALLY.

"Uh, yeah. ok."

"Would you like a drink?" Cas asks, "and a towel?"

"Uh... yeah. Yeah." Dean looks up, meets Cas's eyes for a hot second for the first time in weeks. "Yeah. That would be... yeah. Thanks." Relieved.

Dean comes into the cabin, trips over a chair leg, steadies himself against the table. Looks up apologetically. Smiles tightly. Red-faced.

Cas hands him a glass of something dark and strong and a towel, and offers him a seat on the sofa. Dean hesitates, no doubt remembering the last time he sat there, and then sits gingerly, dries his face and hair, rubs a hand over his eyes and then looks up at Cas. An attempt at steadiness is made.

"What's the problem?" Cas asks him, very, very seriously.

"Uh, yeah. I wondered. Do you think we should rotate the teams? For the, uh... for... uh... the patrols?

Cas barely contains himself. "Sure, Dean," he replies, "whatever you think."

Dean tilts his head back, stares at the ceiling for a moment.

"Anything else?" Cas asks him, prodding.

Dean looks at literally everything in the room that isn't Cas, and then visibly steels himself, levels his eyes and says "Cas... we need to uh... talk..."

"Do we, Dean?" Cas replies, "Do we really?"

Cas steps closer, looms a bit. He's enjoying this, Dean realises. He bites his lip and looks up.

"Uhm...Yeah, Cas...I...Uh..." He stops. Lets his eyes say it. He hopes. Cas just looks down his nose at him. Nope. "C'mon Cas," he finishes, articulately.

Cas decides to have mercy.

"Dean, do you have a little angel in you?" Cas asks him.

Dean sits there, looking stunned. "Uh...what? No?"

"Would you like some?" Cas finishes, barely holding onto a straight face.

Dean's brain is offline. How did he fall for that?

"Actually, though, Dean, you do... have a little angel in you. When I raised you from hell, some of my grace mixed with..."

"Cas," Dean says, "Shut up."

Cas does.

"I don't think we should talk," Dean tells him. Then he stands up, crowds Cas up against the wall, presses his hips against Cas's hips, looks at him hard for a moment, and kisses him very deeply.

Cas gives back as good as he gets.

It escalates quickly to include frantic stripping, nakedness, hands everywhere, blowjobs, literal miles of stroking, mouths everywhere, more kissing, penetration, panting and moaning, orgasms, laughing and then listening to the rain fall on the roof the the cabin while they do something that can only be called snuggling...unless you want to call it cuddling. Whichever.

Afterwards, Cas is very satisfied, and Dean sleeps like a drunk baby.

They almost forget about the Apocalypse for a minute.

___

Also here:

Endversetober 2022 (6238 words) by unreconstructedfangirl

Chapters: 7/?

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Endverse Dean Winchester, Endverse Castiel (Supernatural)

Additional Tags: Endversetober | Endverse Inktober (Supernatural), cocks vs hands, Feelings, References to Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), suggested misuse of a gun, angst and sadness, magic mushrooms, Origin story for Endverse!Cas, Cas is a medicine man of love, Group Sex, Shame, alcohol and drug use, Cigarettes, Mutual Pining

Summary:

Short fics and drabbles in response to Endversetober prompts that focus on the relationship between Endverse Cas and Dean, and how they got that way. The chapters don't follow each other in a linear way. Events are our of order.

#Endversetober #Destiel #Endverse #kinda cracky #my fic #this gif... are you kidding me?

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bibaybe · 1 year

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tell me everything about rika! please! gush!! release the info dump!!! AAAAA

HELL YEAH i saw this at my morning break and have been thinking about what i wanted to say ever since pls know you kept me from a complete mental breakdown today and i appreciate you vv much. this got really long, so i put it under the cut!

anyway!! rika is actually emi's, karube's lover, younger sister. before the borderlands, she was in college studying to be a lawyer and tended to spend her free time debating her fellow students and hanging out at the bar emi and karube worked at, which is how she met karube. they were hooking up for maybe a year? not sure yet. but either way, he starts hooking up with emi, rika finds out and storms off, and that's the last time they see her, leaving them with a fuck ton of guilt to deal with bc they're all like ??? where'd she go?? was she that hurt?? did she run away or worse???

awkward, bc after the initial pissiness of he sleeping with her SISTER who has cheated with many a guy and she wouldn't be surprised if she finds out she has an STD, she's honestly not that mad about it. she's more annoyed with emi than karube, but like, whatever. she's got more important things to worry about like suddenly being in a NEW WORLD?? that makes her fight to survive?? yeah, she's not having a great time.

rika's on her own for a while and figures out the whole suit - type of game thing, realizing her specialty is hearts games bc she's really good at manipulating a situation to go her way. she's moderately deaf, so she's gotten very good at reading lips, opening her up to a lot of information people don't realize they're giving her. that's how she meets the hatter, who catches on to her ability and willingness to sacrifice those who she doesn't have a connection to. he extends an invite to the beach and at first she's hesitant, but ends up deciding to go with him in order to gather more information about the borderlands.

while there, she ends up seducing aguni, knowing that with the lawlessness of the Beach, she'll need someone who will keep her safe when her own limitations come into play. at first, aguni is cold to her, but begins to warm up to her when he realizes that she's not intimidated by him like most are. he starts to fall for her and she plays along, unwilling to lose her most prominent form of information, especially when he starts to open up to her in a way he never does with anyone else.

but as she realizes that the relationship between the militant guard and the hatter's group is too fraught to stand for long, she starts trying to figure out the best way to play her cards, which leads her to chishiya and kuina. they'd already been debating bringing her into their plan, but when she shows up and is just like 'sup, what're you guys plotting and can i be in?' they're just like,,,, uh okay? so she joins their group and is basically a double agent, relaying information that she finds out to them. chishiya and her start to fall for each other, but due to her double agentness can't really do anything about it.

for a long time, chishiya, kuina, and - on some level - aguni are the only people she really cares about. until she runs into karube and arisu during the game of tag, which is very interesting due to aguni also being there. ultimately, usagi and arisu end up becoming people she care about enough to worry about, though her relationship with arisu is tense for most of season 1 due to her last conversation with karube being her being a bitch and making fun of the idea that she cared enough about him to run away.

basically, rika is smart, manipulative, and ruthless, but fiercely loyal to the few people she actually cares about. most of her season 1 arc is just her balancing keeping aguni's trust and love while working against him and keeping her own feelings for chishiya under wraps. season 2 - so far, given i haven't finished the last few episodes yet, but i probably will within the next few days - focuses on her coming to terms with her own shifting morals - aguni trying to kill everyone but her at the Beach makes her wonder if she's as bad as him while also grappling with his (assumed) death and her part in it. along with the fact that she can finally pursue a relationship with chishiya, but being uncertain whether that's something he wants, given the dumbass won't make a move and she's just like ??? we like each other KISS ME GODDAMMIT

also unrelated to literally everything but heiya getting rejected by aguni bc he loves rika and then trying to flirt with chishiya when(if?) they meet and getting rejected again bc he loves rika is so fucking funny to me i'm sorry heiya you'll find someone who isn't into someone else i promise its just not arisu, aguni, or chishiya lmao

#oc: miyata rika #answered #anonymous #series: knife's edge #someone ask about chishiya and rika's relationship next pls pls pls #ALSO thank you so much for asking about her i've been thinking about her nonstopfor days now #can't wait to write her bio when i finish the show/have time

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tteokdoroki · 3 years

Text

assistance please! | e.kirishima.

♡ pairing: eijirou kirishima x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 6.6K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: workplace!au, internship!au, fluff + smut.

♡ summary: eijirou kirishima loved being an intern, he had great co-workers, had a shot at his dream job, his boss had taken quite liking to him and of course, being the favourite intern had many, many perks.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, ( kirishima is in his twenties ), power dynamics, sub top!kirishima + power bottom!reader, heavy!praise kink, heavy!miss + mommy kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), oral ( female receiving ), squirting, tummy bulges, cumplay, creampie.

♡ author’s note(s): hihi everyone!! today i present to you my contribution to the bnharem on the job collab! i had a lot of fun playing with different dyanimics in this fic, i hope you enjoy it nonetheless!! make sure you chek out the other works from the other amazing creators!! <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“oi! ‘shima! you’re needed in the boss’ office right away, she’s got important business for ya!, wants t’have a word. now.”

eijirou ducks his head politely in a sign of gratitude, thanking his co-worker and superior, keigo— for the heads up. keigo, or better known as hawks around the office ( for his fast speeds in completing work and luring lonely interns into his bed ), was a nice guy— second to the lady in charge and way too chatty. he was a bit of an air head, got the job done when it needed to be but that’s what kirishima was for, the replacement while keigo took his vacation time in the middle of the year like an idiot.

he wasn’t too sure why you kept the blonde around, he supposed it was because he was pretty but eijirou wouldn’t dare question you— he needed this internship if he was going to make it big in the sports news reporting scene. he’d been majoring in sports and healthcare at college, two years away from graduating when the opportunity to work for yn ln, one of the biggest sports journalists in japan had landed right in his lap. of course he was going to take it, of course he was going to do everything he could not to fuck it up.

in the cubicles beside him, the other interns try to muffle their giggles and titters of curious laughter as the red head gathers himself for the meeting.

“oooo, i wonder what you did this time,” kaminari teases from the right, leaning over his side of the cubicle to fiddle with the odd bits on kirishima’s desk. denki kaminari was another person kirishima wondered how the hell he got into the programme, but then again he was pretty to look at and brought a lighter air to boring office days.

“nothing! i’m innocent!” eijirou defends, hands releasing his files to fly up in defence.

the other interns, going by the names of mina ashido, kyouka jirou and hanta sero snicker amongst themselves at the interaction.

“don’t believe it, s’obviously more than nothin’ if you’re always getting called down’ta the boss lady’s office.” bakugou, another intern, grunts out with his nose deep buried in files for upcoming reports. he was a little too rough for the journalism lifestyle but got the job done. his attitude wasn’t for everyone. “they’re probably fuckin’.”

mina giggles and kirishima steps out into the paths between desks. “don’t be such a sourpuss ‘suki, just ‘cause you’re not her favourite.”

a lose ‘shut up’ is huffed, before katsuki turns to face his taller, buffer companion. “just don’t be late, bunch of us are goin’ for lunch later.” he adds and turns back to his paperwork.

“affirmative, catch ya later!”

the group waves the red head off as he heads to the elevator directing him to the main floor— this is where all the higher ups worked. the journey wasn’t unfamiliar to the intern, he wasn’t like the others and had the steps to your office memorised by heart. sometimes it was like walking home, to his comfort and sanctuary away from the stressors of work and the outside world— he knew that was bad, but you were so kind, such a sweet and understanding boss he couldn’t help but develop some level of comfort towards you.

to most, it seemed like eijirou kirishima was just unbelievably close to his boss, that you’d taken him under your wing.

he however, knew what you had, meant more.

a fluttering warmth spreads across the intern’s chest as he approaches the door to your main office and he knocks. behind it lay mountains of secrets upon secrets, things that kirishima knows about you that no one else does. the walls have hidden words, written across them in fonts of passion and admiration and it’s all that he can think about. you’re all that he can think about, and it’s still wrong. there’s a shuffling deep in the room and some flitters of paper here and there before your soft, velveteen voice breaks through the barrier between you. the one thing keeping you apart.

“come in,” you call smoothly and kirishima follows your orders swiftly, if not eagerly, entering the four walls of your office. ruby eyes dart across the room to locate your position and his heart skips a beat when he finds you, body leaning over your dark oak desk, papers scattered across it while you frantically sift through numbers and stocks and nonsense way above the level of a journalism intern. but even amongst the chaos, you’re beautiful— eyes sparkling with productivity, lined in little flecks across the colour of your orbs. the way you dress never fails to steal away eijirou’s breath— a tight fitting leather skirt that hugs your mature curves and a white blouse with the bottoms popped open— just enough for him to get a peek at your cleavage.

the poor intern has to hold himself back from blurring the lines of work and pleasure to shove himself deep into your chest, suck and lick at your plush breasts until he was high off the taste of your skin. but he wouldn’t do that, yet. not without your permission. “oh eiji baby, there you are!” you coo to the red head, bright smile stretching across blood diamond painted lips. you cross the room in three short strides, tall black heels clacking against the smooth white marble until you’re standing in front of and looking up at kirishima. “was starting to think keigo had ditzed like a pretty boy and had forgotten to send you my way, darling.”

eijirou’s cheeks flame at the smoothness in your syrupy voice, like sweet honey to his hears, the pet name striking a familiar heat deep within him. you always had a way with your words— enticing, almost like a siren calling out to him despite the taboo aura that surrounded what you had. whatever it was— he just knew it was more than your typical boss-intern relationship.

“even if he had, ‘m more than happy to be of service to you ma’am,” he responds almost a little too quickly, large hand rubbing the back of his neck and tugging at his baby hairs to ground himself.

you cock your head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “always such a helpful, good boy eijirou,” you hum, lips pulling into a devilish red smile and the praise causing a new spark of lustful electricity to crackle through the air. “i could use a little assistance, please, i have this awful meeting with the board today, spent all night preparing and couldn’t go home, i could use some stress relief,”

kirishima’s gaze becomes hooded as he looks down at you, a familiar and bright desire burning in the pits of his stomach. “oh yeah? sucks that the paperwork kept you up all night ma’am…” he trails off, choosing to let his fingers dance up and down your sides— snaking an arm around your waist to pull you into him. you couldn’t or you wouldn’t go home. he’s not sure if he cares about the answer right now— not when you tremble in his grip, itching for something, anything from him. “how long do you reckon we have ms. ln?”

“ten to fifteen minutes sweetheart, give or take,”

you grin widens, taking an impossibly closer step to your intern— pressing the swell of your breasts against his hard chest. he can feel your nipples pebbling through your blouse, almost visible behind the white fabric and god the way you look up at him— he can no longer wait, he needs you. right here and right now.

“will you be needing my assistance throughout, ma’am?” kirishima asks, voice dropping a few octaves until it falls into a low growl.

“i expect it. you are my intern after all.”

the words laced with deep huskiness, the proximity of your bodies and the rising heat in the room is what leads you both to tumble into the next series of events. before he can’t register it, your mouths are slotted together in a fast paced and sloppy kiss, kirishima’s body manoeuvres you around the office, marking out a familiar pathway to your desk—his tongue remains sliding over yours in rapid movements as he commits your taste to memory, refreshing those from the last time he had you like this. yet every time you kiss and his tongue glides over yours, you taste sweeter than before; like peaches and morning coffee— you feel softer in his grip, every dip and curve to your body like it was built for him.

eijirou can't stop thinking of that last time, tucked away in your office after dark when your dainty hands pawed desperately at his hips to bring him closer or scratched at his back from sheer pleasure— kirishima wants to see you like that against, using his own hands to tear through your shirt and send buttons flying across the room. something in him just wants to do good for you, have you ache for him and earn himself some of your sweet praise. even as you step and stumble towards your work desk, the red-head lets his lips break away from yours, connected by a string of your own saliva before he drops to your neck, lapping tracks over your skin with the temptation to bite down and paint it shades of deep purple and blue.

but there are rules that you both have in place; ways to keep what you have a secret and hidden away from the public eye so that you don’t lose all that you’ve worked for and so kirishima can keep being your precious little intern.

“jump for me, please ma’am,” he whispers heavily into the junction between your neck and your shoulders, breath laboured and warm against your skin that begins to shine with light perspiration. mindlessly, you follow his orders, jumping up while your fingers curl into the mass of red on kirishima’s head and ankles lock around his waist—his hands meet the backs of your doughy thighs, squeezing the flesh between calloused digits while you toe off your heels.

“eiji, you’re so good,” you manage between feather light breaths as they clatter to the floor as the pair of you somehow make your way to the desk chair, pushing and tearing the clothes from one another’s bodies— including your crisp shirt. now seated and left in nothing but your bra, you tug harshly at your intern’s locks and bring his mouth down to yours, allowing them to move together in a dirty, messy kiss. there’s barely any time for you both to mess around, for him to tease you until your limit and you’re crying out for any type of touch from him, so eijirou quickly

flips down your bra, exposing your chest to cool, air conditioned air—not even bothering to unclip the material as his fingers descend on your nipple, pulling and twisting them until your back arches from the stimulation. “hurry, please eijirou,”

obedient as ever, your favourite boy drops to his knees in front of the chair you stay slumped in and with his height, he still manages to tower over you, practically at eye level with hunger framing the ruby of his own. large hands knead at your plush thighs, hiking your skirt up and up to give you room to spread your thighs, cunt growing sticky from anticipation— all from a few measly touches in familiar places. but this is kirishima, and he knows how your body works from countless hours spent after the office closes up— using one another to blow off extra steam. he knows just what makes you tick and moan his name.

logically, eijirou knows that your meeting could start at any minute and even though you’re both in a stickler for time, he still wants to get a taste at your skin before devouring your most intimate parts. he’ll make time to explore every part of you, to assist you in your stress relief. “‘m sorry miss, yn,” he whines needily, watching your chest rise and fall with want, feeling your body heat up and twitch from the ghost of his fingertips across your blemished skin. “gotta have a taste of you before the real deal, hope’ya don’t mind…”

latching onto the left mound of flesh at your exposed chest, kirishima sinks the point of his teeth into the area around your nipple— just enough to graze your skin and pull a sweet mewl from your mouth. you’re both lucky for the soundproof walls, your head thrown back in a lewd moan he lets his pink tongue roll over your bud in vicious circles. heavy, fat globs of saliva pool over the pink muscle, pouring down kirishima’s chin and painting your skin with a slick shine. “h-how...how could i mind angel, not when you treat me s’good,” you heave, vision fading in and out due to the overwhelming amount of pleasure flashing through your body in waves of hotness. “always doin’ so well for me eiji, aren’t you such a good boy?”

“yes ma’am,” the intern confirms with a erogenous slur, pacified and content on his knees for you— sucking, licking and biting at your chest to his heart’s content. “‘m your good boy,” he corrects you, however. eijirou feels most happy when grazing his tongue over the swell of your breasts, watching your face carefully for any twitches of delirium, it lets him know how hot aroused he makes you feel— that knowledge shoots straight to his cock, rock hard in his slacks while the redhead watches his boss writhe in her seat all for his eyes only.

such a dazzling view, and it’s all for fucking him.

your perfectly manicured nails run through red hair, scratching deliciously at his scalp until you’re forcing his head back and pulling kirishima off of your breast with a pop. “as much as i love seeing a pretty boy suck on my tits like a baby, we’re pressed for time angel, gonna need you to speed it up a little,” despite the softness to your face and the sudden evenness to the tone of your voice, the words that you speak to eijirou are vulgar, nasty, and turn him on to his wits end. “want you to eat me out eiji, can you do that for me?”

shaking his head, yes, beautiful claret eyes shining with acquiescence, kirishima wipes the spit from his chin with the back of his hand— like the tainted, dirty intern he is. you sigh down at him salaciously, ready to tear his innocence apart all over again. eijirou was always so willing to please, both in his work and behind closed doors— you would be a fool to not take advantage of that. with brute force, your intern forces your legs apart, eyes rolling back in his skull from the scent of your sex, dripping with your juices right through your underwear and stockings. overexcited, he rips through the flimsy material at your cunt, exposing your panties for him to see.

“you’re so...so wet ms.ln,” kirishima comments observantly, not even bothering to pull your stockings the rest of the way down your legs, instead opting to pull on the whole until it’s wide enough for his mouth to fit. “smell s’good, bet you taste even better,” there’s a patch on the crotch of your panties, darker than the rest of the material from where you leak and without a second thought, the red head instantly surges forward to lick a stripe over it, letting out a choked gripe as the taste of your cream from over the fabric invades his tongue.

you let out a shrill cry, hips jumping up at the first brush of his tongue against your untouched, clothed pussy. you wriggle even as kirishima holds you down, needing the heat of his mouth against you before your meeting starts. but he’s so good, so well trained, reaching up to your hips to yank your panties down in one fluid motion. leaning forward, kirishima savagely buries his face between your doughy thighs, hiking them over his shoulders from beneath the desk. his nose bumps against your clit, swollen from the lack of touch as he greedily inhales your scent once more— without warning, the intern kicks a stripe up the length of your pussy, sucking your juices into his mouth and smiling against your heat.

“d-don’t tease baby, be good for me,” you remind kirishima, your body trembles with anticipation, craving an orgasm to expel the stress of your work days out. the boy between your legs only hums, the sound running straight though cunt and vibrating against it, causing you to gush and spill your arousal out onto the leather seat beneath your cheeks. eijirou feasts on the slick that seeps from your fluttering hole, gliding his tongue up and down your sex, allowing the occasional pressure from his nose to stimulate your bundle of nerves.

the pads of his thighs burn marks into your legs, using them as leverage to pull your heated core further into his mouth, “can’t help it ma’am, y’got such a pretty pussy...s’only right that i worship you…” eijirou breaths right against your puffy folds, eyes trained on the way your hole clenches around nothing. a primal urge flares in his chest, a desire— no, a need— to see you filled with something, any part of him that can make you see stars and fuck you dumb. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry you jus look s’fucking pretty miss…”

attaching his lips to your clit, the redhead pushes the spit gathered on his tongue right over your sloppy sit, hazy ruby stare watching as his saliva mixes with your juices and slides over your empty hole. he follows the oozing trail with his tongue, lapping it up and spewing it back into your sex until the pink muscle slips past your entrance— slipping inside of you with no prior warnings. your knuckles that grasp the arms of the chair as you’re spoiled between your legs by your top intern, his hands snaking their way around the tops of your thighs to spread your sticky pussy lips apart in order to bring more of you to the cool air of the office.

“you like this don’cha? dirty little boy,” you tease the poor boy, watching as his cheeks flame with embarrassment. “being a naughty little intern between your boss’ thighs all to keep on pleasing her, keep your position at her company, huh? fuck eiji, you just love miss riding your naughty tongue—ohmygod—“

the way you sound, voice smooth like chocolate over the obscene slurping that fills the thats air heavy with the scent of sex and, makes eijirou’s cock jump up, precum oozing from his tip as he begins to rut against the hard floor beneath your desk. he makes an attempt to respond, but your thighs lock his head in place and his words come out muffled against your core. “mph, luh it, you’re s’sexy, please ma’am—“ he mumbles sordidly against you, practically humping the ground at your feet as you pick on him.

for a brief moment, kirishima pulls away to watch you roll your hips into nothing, hot tears beginning to brew into our hooded eyes from the satisfaction he brings you with every flick and flit of his tongue against where you need him most. written in your eyes is the command to keep going, your hands twistingly sharply in red roots to bring the intern back to your sluice, spasming cunt. so he does as he’s told, shoving his tongue deep inside your ribbed, iron hot walls and dragging tip along them to collect and taste strings of your viscous juices.

biting your lip, you do your best to hold back a voracious howl, bucking your hips feverishly into your intern’s face and staining his cheeks with everything that you have— he thrusts his tongue into you to the pace of your own hips, moaning against your slippery slit until your eyes are rolling. “gonna cum from this eiji, from you eatin’ me out like this...jus need a little more— need your fingers pretty boy,” you can feel the twist of the knot in your lower tummy starting to unravel, signifying your oncoming high, and the room starts to spin while kirishima eats you out with new vigour.

“yeah? miss? you’re gonna cum for me?” the intern practically whines and pulls his tongue from your hear, almost crying as his hips thump against the floor desperate for friction. “wanna see you come undone s’bad, please cum for me, please, please—“ eijirou chants, replacing his tongue with two of his thick digits, watching as your slick cunt stretches around them accommodatingly. he jackhammers them inside of you, grunting lowly underneath the slaps of his palm against the meat of your ass, as he returns to your clit to suckle on it hungrily. his fingers curl instantly in search for the spongy spot inside of you— bearing down hard against it once it’s located.

“oh—hah, right there baby— right fuckin’ there—!” you squeal, only egging him on as white starts to cloud your vision, everything sounds so nasty and wet, while eijirou stimulates both of your pleasure spots. it becomes hard to breath, legs wobbling around his broad shoulders, but your intern doesn’t let up, determined to bring you to cloud nine.

“that’s it ma’am, right there—you’re almost there, can feel you clenching around my fingers...please cum, fuck i want your cum, wanna taste you so bad, cum. cum. cum!” and that’s all it takes, eijirou’s pleading voice between your thick thighs to make the coil inside you snap and for your orgasm to wash over you. you convulse in your chair, nectar gushing freely from your raw and overstimulated cunt, spewing all over the redheads face as he continued to lap at your clit to ride out your high.

but he doesn’t stop there, scissoring his fingers deep within your velvet walls as you continue to cum, making you shake your head and wail from the high levels of ecstasy.

“please eiji—n’more, can’t, no—“

“you can miss, i know you can—fuck you look so pretty when you’re about to squirt for me, please…”

as quickly as your first high ended, another one comes crashing over you in harsh waves— rocking your world as clear liquid floods from your pussy— the sheer force of you squirting, pushing kirishima’s fingers out from your tight, sappy hole. your release hits the floor with a crude slap, both of you moaning loudly almost for the whole world to hear. he doesn’t stop sucking, clearing up your pretty cunt even as you fade in and out of consciousness from pleasure— he stays lapping at you with burning, languid strokes of his tongue between your folds even as you weakly attempt to answer the phone now ringing from your desk.

clearing your throat, you muster up the strength to sound professional over the line before picking up the phone and bringing it towards your ear. “good afternoon, this is yn ln of shinku sports reports, bringing you the latest sporting news, how may i help you?”

‘this is the board, we need to discuss this month's stocks and reports.’

from the corner of your eye, you can see kirishima rise from his place underneath your desk— standing tall over you once more while you converse with the directors on the other end of the phone. as quietly as he can, the redhead tears through the buttons on his shirt in a similar way to you, prior to you fucking and unbuckles his slacks. he pulls down his boxers and pants in one go, revealing his thick, hard girth that stands tall and slaps against his stomach— tip an angry shade of red as precum smears across his lower belly.

you nod into the phone, forgetting that the board can’t see you as kirishima lifts you from the chair and lays you on your back across the desk littered with unread papers. “ah yes, i’ve been expecting a call from you…” you whisper so quietly instead, not caring if they’ve missed what you said. you’re hardly paying attention, choosing to wrap a fist around eijirou’s cock, slickly pumping him to prepare him to take you— he parts your thighs, eyes closing and body shuddering above you while you continue to converse with the board.

spreading the droplets of precum across his slit and iron hot tip, kirishima takes his cock from your grasp— heavily slapping it against your sensitive and swollen clit to see you jolt up the desk. “gonna fuck you so good miss, jus’ be good ‘n stay quiet for me okay?” he says, a whimper catching in the tail end of his words. you nod to him, rushed and way too eager, laying your head back on the hard wood your swimming gaze settles on kirishima as he taps the head of his cock against your hole, teasingly pushing it just past your entrance before withdrawing again.

‘ms. ln, are you still there? we really are pressed for time so we would love to start by discussing interviews for the next issue—‘

you forget that you’re still connected on the line, settling for wriggling impatiently underneath your intern, who’s caramel tinted skin glistens with sweat and his cheeks begin to flush with unadulterated desire— all from watching the way your puffy folds lube up his shaft with every push through them. you can see him losing his resolve, just as sensitive as you since he’s been holding back an orgasm and without the hint of a warning, eijirou’s hips jump forward and drive his cock into the deepest parts of your sex— brushing against your cervix. you gasp out in surprise, finally losing focus and barely manage a more comprehensive response to the board you have waiting on the line. “y-yes!— yes, yes, i’m still here… you may proceed with the meeting.”

he’s big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had— and you’d seen a lot being a woman of your caliber this high up in the industry...but no one could compare to the way your sweet, doe eyed gentlemanly little intern filled you up, fat cock stretching your walls even with the shallow thrusts into your cunt he gives you to adjust. the weight of his girth sits heavily inside you, twitching as kirishima slides into you easily due to the stickiness lining your gummy walls, breath shaky and uneven as he holds out for you during this time. you can tell the poor boy isn’t going to last long, fingers sinking into your thighs with a harsh grip while he tries to hold himself back.

such a good boy, always waiting for your every command.

‘so we’d like to talk about the main feature for next month’s issue, do you have anyone in mind?’

the monotone voice of the board member is drowned about by kirishima’s shaky breaths above you, his pleading puppy dog eyes while he stills himself inside your spasming, puckered hole— he waits for permission, following orders like a trained pet even though he can hardly stand it, overwhelmed by the flutter of your sex around him and heat from your body despite thrown over the desk. “y-you’re s’warm...god ma’am...need to—need to move,” the redhead huffs weakly in order to keep himself quiet, a line of sweat dotting his brow. “please,”

you sit up on the desk, legs locking around his slender waist to draw him closer, sheathing more of the poor boy inside of you until he’s completely bottomed out and balls deep inside your pretty cunt. he drops his neck to your shoulder, tongue lolling over your salt licked skin before biting down to pacify himself, sharp teeth almost drawing blood while you adjust the cord of the phone. “i was thinking…thinking that we got the hockey player— the oylmpic champion…” your eyes drift to kirishima’s complacent face, giving him a nod to start moving while he sucks another bruise further down his onto your collarbone. “t-touya...touya todoroki—!”

you hiccup but play it off with a cough when kirishima pulls back his hips, so far that his girth completely leaves you, before he drives himself forward with one powerful thrust and fills you right up again. looking down, you see him bulge in your tummy, the line of his girth prominent against your body— slightly dwarfed in kirishima’s arms. you rock your hips, coaxing your intern into your warmth to help him build up a momentum of thrusts.

‘sounds like a good choice, do we have anyone who could interview him? i believe we can have PR set up an interview this week.’

the desk creaks below you, hard wood groaning along with the red head who hides himself in your neck, squeaking pathetically as he moves inside of you— precum smearing along your gummy walls that welcome his hardened shaft. your pussy opens up for eijirou like it’s welcoming him home, still growing used to the pleasure-filled burn and stretch of him pushing in and out of you. the nerves on his head catch amongst your inner ridges, making his toned body shake in ecstasy.

“m-ma’am, feel s’fucking good, so fucking good...” your intern hums against your salty skin mawkishly, large palms dropping to the flesh of your ass— kneading it to bring you closer to his body— cock barely leaving you due to your proximity. with slow strokes, eijirou fills you up, painting you with what leaks from his tip— prodding at your cervix and brushing up against your sweet spot in ways that make sweet nectar dribble from your hole.

your digits curl in his hair once more, the phone slipping from between your neck and creating rustling on your end. “eijirou,” you sigh breathily, humping back his cock while you squeeze around him selfishly, keeping your intern inside of you. “i-i mean eijirou kirishima, he’s an intern— such a… a good one at that…”

a immodest whimper brews in the base of eijirou’s throat, bubbling against his bruised lips while you shower him with praise, indirect to him, hand snaking up to the back of your neck— tangling in your baby hairs as he pulls you up to a sloppy kiss, slotting your mouths together and running his tongue over yours. “f-fuck mommy, ‘m i your good boy? please tell me yes, fuck, yn— ma’am,”

kirishima’s voice rises in octave as it does devoir and pathos, vulnerability stays written across his handsome features as he succumbs to the mind break the heat of your damp, creamy core as he fucks into you. you throb at his use of mommy, shakily pulling the phone away from your ear to reach up to his own, nipping the earlobe and tugging on it gently. “you’re my good boy baby, keep being good eiji, be quiet...you gotta stay quiet if you want to keep fucking mommy okay? you wanna cum inside me right?” you say, words aberrant and low toned on your tongue, your intern hisses and whines in response— nodding his head again and letting out a barely coherent ‘yes’. “then shh, baby, let mommy talk yeah?”

“hm’kay,” he babbles, dropping his ruby framed gaze to where your bodies meet, hiking your skirt further up your thighs to get a better view of your cunt staining his heavy balls with a layer of your slick.

‘ms. ln, are you sure that you want an intern to cover this case—’ the board begins to ask you, muffled from the distance away from you both.

picking up the phone again, you pull the line towards you again— mindful of capturing eijirou’s weak little mewls over the device as he languidly pumps himself in and out of you. “i know what i—fuck, what i want. eijirou, will be—oh— on the case. that's final.” you huff, watching your intern fall into a pussyhaze, his precious mind fogging with thoughts of only painting you white inside and out as a reward for helping relieve you of stress. the slow roll of his hips into yours are accompanied by the soft slaps of his skin against your own, wet and sticky— determination to make you feel good crackling across his mind.

‘there’s no need to curse, ma’am, do you need a moment to recollect yourself before we proceed with discussing the other features.’

“i’m fucking fine,” you growl, in anger or need you don’t know. but kirishima frowns, you can feel it as he start nosing up your cheek— swiping his tongue over areas of skin he hasn’t touched just yet— he grunts possessively , unhappy with the use of your title coming from anyone other than him. to prove his point, he pushes your thighs wider apart, letting you drip all over the documents sitting below your ass and ruining the ink— important or not he starts a brutal pace into your cunt and presses down on your tummy so you can feel exactly where eijirou is inside you and know that only he can make you feel this way.

‘ms.ln—‘

“i’m fine. keep going.” you grit your teeth, biting your lip to hold down your panting— again you don’t know who you’re speaking to. your intern who slows the movement of his hips, postponing in and out of your tightened hole, clamping down on him eagerly or the stupid board member giving you grief on the phone.

they proceed to talk, barking out suggestions to your sports magazine, that you hate— even considering bringing in good for nothing athletes who’d treated you like shit in the past, and you’d sworn to never work for them again.

but it’s almost silly, how kirishima lets out small moans of mommy and ma’am, trying to keep your attention on him like you would give up grinding down on your intern’s dick for some prissy member of the board over the phone— but you love the slight possession eijirou has over you, moulding your iron hot walls into the shape of his fat dick that presses up against your pleasure spots, makes you convulse and drawl and become addicted to everything that is him. eijirou kirishima.

“takin’ me so good, so well ma’am...don’t think i can hold on anymore…please,” eijirou warns you, losing control of his body as he takes you for his own like he’s done many times before after hours— your gazes lock, you can see his desperation to ruin you, moan for you despite the people on the phone and the people outside your office.

if he grows too loud, he could give you away— they could be listening in to your poor needy little intern humping you like a feral dog and whining your name. and as much as that thought makes your hole spasm around his fat cock, make his thrusts stutter and eyes screw shut while you moan in sweet, almost silent harmony, you love your job and so weakly, you take two of your fingers, shoving them deep into eijirou’s mouth as it hangs open in heavy pants of warm air. you press down on his wet tongue, fucking into his mouth in tune with the pace of his hips plunging deep within your walls, churning up your syrupy and sticky insides.

“keep quiet, baby,” you hiss to the redhead, who’s eyes start to brim with fresh hot tears from the overwhelming pleasure. “let mommy take care of this, yeah? finish up so you can let it all out on me.”

he sucks on your fingers to calm himself down, shallow breathing while he paws at the flesh on your sides and circles his hips into yours— letting his leaky tip bare down on your sweet spot and forcing the air out of your body. white hot pleasure flashes through your bloodstream, replacing any air of professionalism flooding through them. you can’t, you physically cannot hold back either of your orgasms— you can’t concentrate as your mind starts to fall away with the world and your gaze hones in on the way kirishima takes your fingers in his hot mouth so deep in an attempt to hush himself.

the coil in your tummy begins to unwind and the room swims once more. ‘ms.ln is everything okay over there— we need to progress with his meeting if we’re—‘ the annoying board member sounds underneath kirishima’s sloppy groans, saliva dribbling down the sides of his mouth. your dirty, good boy.

“i’m going to need to take a rain—hah— a rain check on this meeting. you’ll hear from me when my interns and i are ready—“ you huff, cutting the staff off and quickly throwing the phone onto the hook, you’ll have keigo deal with the consequences later but for now you focus on kirishima who picks you up by the ass, lifting you up and down on his cock in frantic movements as he finally loses all connections to his control. “ohmygod—eiji baby, slow—fuck, down—“

he shakes his head, latching onto your collar bone as he revels in the way you leak down his shaft and drip between his balls, lewd squelching sounds fluttering through the air hot, sex scented air at full volume. “‘m sorry ma’am— i can’t… i’m really close, i really need’ta cum...please ma’am...mommy, i’ve been good—please let me cum...“ eijirou groans heartily, from deep in his chest as if he’s finally releasing what he’s been holding back— arms flexing and the sweat from his body slicking up your own.

limbs shaking you wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your foreheads against one another, while you nod. he worked so hard to make you feel good, all day long to do the best job that he can— pressing small kisses to his lips encouragingly. “you can do it baby, one last thing for me— fill me up eiji, cum for me.” you whisper between bites and sucks on his lower lip, lined with a vibrant shade of red.

“cummin’, cummin’...miss yn, mommy—!” and then his hips come to a halt, his dick pulsing as waves of his cream line your insides with an opaque white, thick and seeping down your thighs. his fingers drop to your sensitive cunt, slipping quick circles over your swollen clit to bring you to your high. his cock never stops pumping in and out of you, pushing his seed further into your sex while you writhe and fall over the edge into your orgasm— gushing so hard you force him out of plugged and full hole.

losing his strength, kirishima collapses on top of you, pressing out both to the hard wood seat which you’re surprised is still standing, his lips pressing fleeting kisses across your face and neck while you both come back down to earth.

and then he looks up at you with a weak smile, “did i do good?” he asks you lazily and almost sleepily— refusing to budge from laying atop you and almost crushing you with his weight.

pushing back his hair to soothe him. “always eiji, you’re not my favourite intern for nothing,” you coo at him, pulling him up to press your lips to him in a soft kiss.

“i sure hope you don’t have any other favourites, i want to be the only one who assists you like this,” kirishima says, remaining tangled with you for a moment more in your office, content with snuggling into your exposed and bruised side.

you share a sleepy giggle, intending to clean up later— eijirou completely forgetting about the lunch he’d promised the other interns after your meeting.

oh well, assisting you was a much better treat than spending time with any one else.

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Anakin Assists the Jedi Council While On Medical Leave

AU brainstormed primarily by @atagotiak, @gelpenss, and myself.

Basically, a fix-it based in Anakin getting a peek into the daily life on the Council early, and accidentally Figuring Some Shit Out along the way, mostly because Palps Fucks Up.

So, Anakin gets injured in a way that limits him to Coruscant for a few weeks. He can still walk and talk, but he can't fight. The specific injury doesn't matter, just this:

Anakin runs errands on behalf of the council and sits in on meetings to take minutes as a "you're on medical leave but we need all hands on deck, congrats you get to be the secretary until we can send you on stabbing missions again" thing.

Also, there just aren't a whole lot of people with Anakin's clearance level. They had to send out Stass Allie to handle the mission that was originally next on Anakin's roster, and Anakin's the most convenient person to substitute into her position.

He's not super happy about this but he can more or less understand the point of it. Given that he gets antsy about needing to fight almost immediately, he can acknowledge the worth of having something useful to do, if only as the person who's writing down who says what and making sure everyone has the right file on hand.

(Besides, Obi-Wan jokes in a way that Anakin thinks might be encouraging, this is good practice if Anakin ever wants to be on the High Council himself!)

(This is a very helpful conversation.)

BASICALLY, Anakin is resigned to this but agrees because "Usually we have Master Allie handle this but we need her running that mission that was originally set for the 501st, so you get to fill in for her until you can switch back. Think of it as training for eventual mastery or admin or--listen, we're just really stretched thin."

Here's the key thing, though: Anakin isn't supposed to leave the Temple, for medical reasons, so Palpatine doesn't know Anakin is sitting in on Council meetings. They haven't met up since Anakin's last surgery, and because [muffled hand-wave reason] he didn't find out another way, like Anakin comming him or the Council giving him the heads-up about the change in attendance.

It's fine. He's just taking notes and doing preparatory research, he has the clearance, the Chancellor likes him anyway. Hell, they'd have had someone's Padawan doing this, before the war increased the necessary clearance levels. They'll toss in a quick message in the brief they send to Palps that he never reads anyway, and that's really all they need to do. Skywalker's getting some rounded experience and this way the medics won't be freaking out about him stressing his heart after getting electrocuted by trying to spar too early.

Palpatine doesn't talk directly to the Council, he just sends a recording the first time Anakin is there. It's a bit weird, but nothing goes wrong. Anakin's off-screen from whatever device they use to send a response, since he's not technically a member, just assisting for a bit on the part of Master Allie's duties that he's actually allowed to touch (and not the bits that are getting added to Mace, Plo, and Shaak's stuff).

The first four or so meetings are like that. Anakin starts having a bit of sympathy for the Council as he sees how many things they want to do that are hampered by the need for Senatorial approval, things that he would also want to do and didn't think required this much red tape.

About a week in, still mostly recordings with Anakin just sitting on the side playing paralegal, the wheel of fortune turns a few pegs.

Palpatine hands over a an order on the range of injury that a soldier should be treated for, "to ensure that republic resources aren't being wasted on clones that, while expensive, would actually be cheaper to replace than repair."

Oh, he dresses it up in prettier language than that. Anakin doesn't process it as such first.

The Chancellor manages to couch his phrasing in "prioritizing resources for taxpaying republic citizens and employees of the GAR," which... well.

The natborn commissioned officers pay taxes. The Jedi are employees. The clones are neither, because they're slaves.

Probably he frames it as the employees thing, very much the kinda language that sounds halfway ok unless you’re fluent in political bullshit.

And Anakin is really confused at first about why the council is upset by the order because, okay, he would PREFER to be able to use medical supplies on refugees when possible, but he understands prioritizing the soldiers?

He just looks up, totally lost, when someone groans and goes, "That's the third time this year, is he trying to get us all killed?"

And it vibes as such a genuine, aggrieved, sad reaction that Anakin is completely blindsided because it's not the sarcastic, petty resentment he kind of expected? It's just... desperate depression.

And someone gently has to explain that this is the third time they've had resources restricted to only GAR employees and that it's a polite way of saying "prioritize natborn officers, stop wasting resources on clones, we can replace them easier."

Or maybe he doesn't ask, because he's just there to take notes, not argue, and he can see the masters drawing up a response that amounts to "We would like to remind you that our soldiers do not fall into that classification, and to limit their access to our medical supplies is liable to cause a loss of life that we find unreasonably high. Please see the annotations attached to adjust wording so that the clones may receive the same level of care."

Anakin's internally just like "Yeah, that's phrased nice and addresses the main problem, Palpatine will obviously agree and change it!"

And then he comes in the next day and the response comes in and it's just dripping condescension about considering the clones actual people.

"This is why we can't use the bacta tanks on clones anymore, just the patches. We could use them at first, we had a few of the CCs get through fatal injuries with them, but they cut that off and said we could only use the tanks on Jedi and non-clone officers a few months ago. The Banking Clans keep tightening their belts on the army, and the Chancellor insists we put citizens first, and the clones aren't citizens. We've been arguing back as much as we can, but he keeps going on about the economy and we can't... we just can't, Skywalker. We're trying to save as many of our men as we can, but..."

Something like "Allocation of resources reiterated, the Kaminoans have assured the senate that the Jedi are far from exhausting the resources ordered."

And Anakin's like. He can't blame the council for lying about Palpatine's past or future actions. He just saw Palpatine's actions. Those actions were to order people under his control to throw away lives he saw as replaceable commodities.

These are his friends' lives.

His soldiers are being thrown away by a man in a tower that he trusted.

And then that man has the gall to suggest it's the council's fault.

Palpatine is good at what he does, especially in public, he dresses it up in flowery language and everything, but Anakin's just like "Those are my FRIENDS and also this is??? How slavers talked about their property on Tatooine???? FRIENDPATINE, WHAT THE FUCK."

Anakin can be passive aggressive sometimes as well as outright aggressive. So if he brings up the guidelines and why they make him upset in general terms, and Palpatine says something about how he’s sad the council doesn’t care about the clones...

Anakin, internally, having just watched the council scramble to save as many clones as possible within the guidelines that Palps handed down: Uh-huh.

(Anakin is just the gay horror teeth gif from queer eye.)

Just. “Yeah, funny you say that, Palpatine! Because as I remember, you told the council not to waste more resources than necessary while Mace Windu was arguing to expand the treatment range!”

Palps doesn't even have time to salvage the situation or attack Anakin because Anakin just bulldoze rants for fifteen minutes and then storms out.

Anakin... maybe does a little treason and gets a copy of the orders so he can ask Padme "Hey, can you explain the politics of this?" and doesn't tell her who wrote it so she isn't biased (he tells her that this is why he's not sharing the author's/speaker's name), and just lets Padme pick apart all the 'this is a nice way of saying they don't view the clones as people' details.

Alternately, someone on the Council sees Anakin dithering and manages to get him to admit that he's not great at political language and wants to ask someone to help him understand the full implications. The person--Mace? let's go with Mace--is aware that Anakin is on good terms with Senator Amidala, if not necessarily aware of the depth of said relationship. Mace points out that he's probably going to be seeing her soon just because he usually does and, as a Senator, she can get easy access to these sessions since they're not about specific missions, just allocation of resources, etc. It's not an optimal solution, but she's got a bit more free time than anyone else Anakin knows with the clearance levels, like Order members that are actively involved in the war effort.

Anakin dithers and panics and Mace, trying to be helpful, tells him that plenty of Jedi have made friends among the Senate over the years, didn't you know Qui-Gon Jinn was a personal friend of Former Chancellor Valorum?

At any rate, Anakin goes to Padme and asks her to explain it to him, because she knows how to phrase things so he gets it.

Anakin has to have her pause and he goes outside and destroys some things halfway through.

(Anakin maybe thinks back to the times Padmé or Obi-Wan were really obviously frustrated and when he asked, they said stuff like “I can’t stand Palpatine rn, sorry Anakin I know he’s important to you and you don’t want to talk about politics, let’s just talk about something else.”)

(Obi-Wan: I don’t trust Palpatine Anakin: you just don’t like politicians in general Obi-Wan: yes that is also true)

(Obi-Wan does like Bail and Padme but he does also talk a bit about how politicians generally aren’t to be trusted.)

#Anakin Skywalker #Sheev Palpatine #Jedi High Council #Mace Windu #fix it fic #star wars #star wars prequels #Phoenix Posts #Padme Naberrie

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

Text

Spider’s Thread [Reverse AU]

Possessive Red Xiao x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Commissioned for: @profoundwitchsalad

Art Credit: @ruoyeahs

Warning: Unhealthy relationships.

Prompt:

“You’ve ruined my life because I have a warped idea of what love is and I can’t live without you. But now you’re trying to leave me and I won’t allow that. You left me alive. You have a duty to live for me and by me. I’m not letting you go.”

---

Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ] [ Opposites Attract ] [ String Of Fate (Soulmate) ] [ Fainting ]

Link to original posts: [Red! Xiao.] [Reverse AU]

[Masterlist]

Alatus was once told a story by his Master. A sinner who falls into hell is rewarded for his only good deed, choosing not to kill a spider. As his reward, a thread is lowered down for him to climb out of Hell. In the end, the sinner remains in Hell because he kicks aside others and the thread breaks. Alatus doesn't remember why his Master told him this story but he still empathizes with the sinner. He would have done the same or asked for this 'saviour' to extend their hand down instead. That way he could pull them down.

"Xiao? Are you okay?"

He slowly opens his jade eyes to see you hunch over, peering down above him, eyebrows furrowed together in concern as you reach down and softly tap his temple. He allows you to take a moment to do whatever you want with his face before he reaches up to grasp at your wrist gently, holding back on his want to rub circles into your skin. His reminiscing can wait for now.

"What is it?" he asks curtly, sitting up and resting his elbow on his raised knee. You pout at his curt tone but shrug it off as you take a seat next to him and lean your shoulder against his. You dig into your bag and pull out slips of commission papers and hand it over to him to read through what needed to be done today. A few Hilichurl camps needed to be taken care of, sabotaging a slime balloon, all tasks that seem mundane to someone who fought in a war. As he's preoccupied, you take a moment to look at Xiao's face. He's just the slightest bit unnerved whenever you do this because you always seem to know what's bothering someone.

"Were you dreaming of her again?" you ask quietly. The silence is a good enough answer but you nod understandingly. You never knew his Master personally but you did fight a long strenuous battle against her. From one look you could tell she was a manipulative and cruel woman. While it may not be very kind to say, you were glad that with her passing, Xiao would be free from her physically. But mentally...there were still some things to work out. But Xiao was a very reclusive person, especially with his emotions, so pushing him any further would only make him irritated and closed off.

"Venti and Zhongli are joining our party for a bit if that’s alright. They'll help out a lot with our commissions and travelling. I like Liyue a lot but climbing mountains stresses my shoulders out," you laugh as you change the subject to something less depressing. Standing up as you dust your clothes off before turning to Xiao and holding your hand out for him to take. He stares at it hard for a few moments before huffing and reaching over to clasp your hands together.

It has been so frustratingly peaceful since the war ended. He's not used to it and he can still feel the lick of cutting winds and the heavy pressure of rocks against his body when he sees the bard and funeral parlor consultant just on the horizon. If it were up to him, he wouldn't play nice with these two Archons but they're important to you so he bites his tongue until he tastes blood. He knows the Archons do the same. As soon as the two of them spot you both, Venti is already rushing and tackling you to the ground in his excitement.

"Traveler! I haven't seen you in ages. You need to come and visit Mondstadt more," Venti cried into your shoulder as you awkwardly patted him on his back. Always with the dramatics but you cared about Venti all the same. Xiao scoffed before flicking his jade eyes to meet gold as Zhongli stared down at him cautiously. Since the war ended, everyone seemed to have this warped idea that Alatus had some vendetta against the Gods and Celestia but he was fighting because he was told to.

"Xiao. It's good to see you again," Zhongli said to him. Xiao just nodded in acknowledgement. Even with this new mortal form, Morax never bothered to change his eyes. His gaze alone held the weight of the mountains he had thrown. If Xiao hadn’t been under one of them before, he might have crumbled under the pressure.

"Alright alright, Venti. I promise I'll drop by sometime this month but we still have commissions to do!" you laugh as you haul the bard onto his feet and swat his cape down from the speckles of dirt. He grins cheekily at you, linking pinkies with you to seal your promise, before suddenly lighting up as if he just remembered something.

"Actually! Before we start anything, I need to speak to Mr. Zhongli and Xiao. Super important archon things, you know?" Venti nodded to himself as the two mentioned people stared at him with varying levels of confusion. But Venti just waved their worries off and linked his arms with both men as he dragged them off to a more secluded corner with a surprising amount of strength, “We’ll be right back!”

"Do what you need to do but don't take too long," you called after the trio as you trailed off to the side, messing with your bag of commission papers and gear. Xiao hated that. He knows that these two Archons are your...friends.. but shouldn't you be a bit more cautious? Just because they have mortal forms doesn’t make them human, it doesn’t make him human either.

"Hey, there's no need to look so scary. There really is something important I wanted to talk to the two of you about," Venti speaks up as soon as you're out of earshot. It still gives Xiao whiplash whenever he drops the persona and switches back to Barbatos. "Since Morax is the only Archon I trust with this information and, while I don't trust you one bit, you're the one that's with her all the time you should also know. She's ascending to Celestia."

Barbatos gauges both of their reactions. Morax seems visibly surprised, his eyes slightly widened a fraction, while Xiao has no idea what that means. His Master didn’t exactly give him a history lesson on Celestia or Archons, just pointed to who was his enemy and dealt punishments when he failed.

"And what the hell does that mean?" Xiao asks as he crosses his arms. Venti appears for a second as the bard pouts before continuing.

"It's like I said. A mortal who performs great, heroic feats can ascend to Celestia and achieve godhood. Where they will watch over their people from above. I've only seen this once before so it took me a while to recognize the signs. But 1000 years ago, I helped a woman named Vennessa with her ascension and with the traveler's recent actions with winning the war. Well, you don't need me to explain the rest," Barbatos finishes. Zhongli simply hums as he cups his chin and absorbs what's just been heard. He doesn’t seem troubled by the news at all.

"Have you told her about this?" Zhongli questions as he looks towards the direction that you left. Venti shakes his head. “That would mean that she would vanish from this world."

“I know she loves this world. Whether she wishes to ascend or not isn’t my choice but I want her to continue her travels with that beloved smile on her face. But if she does choose to ascend, she will need our help," Venti stares at the two of them in a mix of pride, sadness, and determination. "Can I count on you two for your help?"

It's a complete white noise in Xiao's ears as his surroundings fade out. He thinks he can see Zhongli nod to Venti wishes, the ever calm smile on his face to match the cheery grin on Venti’s. What, now you want to become a God? Leave this world behind? That’s not funny. You made him give up everything. While in your eyes, your blinded hero syndrome, you think you've liberated him from a soulless conquest but he still has nothing. You still took everything away from him and your only compensation was to have him by your side until he left himself. But now you want to leave without a warning? That’s not fair. You don’t get to take back what you owe. He won't allow you to leave him behind.

“Did something happen? Did Venti say something unnecessary again?” you ask out of the blue. Zhongli and Venti had returned to their respective regions once your commissions were all finished. Since the three of them disappeared to talk Archon business, Xiao had seemed even more tense and aloof than usual. As if he was out of it? You knew that everyone was still suspicious of Xiao and they were angsty to leave you alone with him, but you knew Xiao would never do anything to hurt you. When he doesn't answer, you slowly reach over and you subtly nudge his head up onto your lap and look at him curiously. Before reaching down and cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch before turning his face into your palm and leaving a soft kiss. It makes you giggle at the ticklish feeling as you look at him so softly. It annoys him.

"You were never connected to the war and yet you fought against us anyways. Even when I killed so many people, why did you choose to spare me?" he asked as you blinked at him before giving it some serious thought. He went on a rampage and almost destroyed the world. It was fun. He doesn't have any regrets at all because he hated humanity. His own Master was human after all. But then you appeared and stopped him. A random outsider that wanted to play the hero. He thought it was cute. Perhaps he had underestimated the lengths someone would go to to save the world they loved but when he fell defeated at your feet. He said that this wouldn't change a single thing. He would still scorn humanity and what they did to him. He was so sure he would die there but you chose to extend your hand down to him instead despite what your companions felt. Even when the war ended and he had nowhere else to go, you offered him to travel with you. Nothing changed about his mentality, every person that chose to talk to him was quickly scared away with piercing eyes. Every conversation started would end in silence. Every touch would be met by the tip of his spear. But you would link your hands together with his and smile brightly, and he would always end up forgetting his trauma for a moment. You’ve... become precious to him.

"I love this world and everyone in it. You are a part of that world even if you tried to destroy it. It...didn't seem fair to leave you behind when you've suffered just as much," you finish but it only seemed to spark a wave of deep anger inside of Xiao. He quickly lurched up, almost knocking your forehead with his, before grabbing the scruff of your shirt collar and yanking you forward.

"Cut it out with that "love of everything" crap. It's revolting. So you're saying the people I killed weren't worth avenging? Do you think I'm so weak that I need protection? It's one thing to try and please everyone but at least have some awareness would you?" he snarled as he pushed you to the ground. He knew he was being harsh on you and you had every right to walk out and abandon him but you didn't. Of course, you wouldn't. You needed him as much as he needed you. You just reached over and tenderly reached your hand and placed it next to his. Damn it, why is he always the one stuck worrying about you.

"Then you want to protect me, right? Then don't break your promise. You left me alive which means you have a duty to live for me," he takes your hand in his and squeezes hard. Digging his nails into your own until crescents appear and tiny specks of blood appear so you know he's serious. He doesn't care how you interpret his words, just so long as you never leave him.

"Don't die on me, Hero."

It's been a few hours since the conversation so it's pitch black outside but Xiao was never one to sleep. Even if he could, his mind is too loud to fall asleep too. He's startled when you melt against him fully asleep. Honey smooth as you curl up to his warmth and cling to him like moss to a rock. He can feel his cheeks start to flush as his heart begins to pound against his chest. He can't breathe as his world is filtered through each beat that drums against his ears. He's not sure if there's actually something wrong with him or if it's just been a while since someone got so close and his instincts haven't left.

He's just realized it. He's feeling pain. The feeling in his chest is black but he can't claw it away. It's strange in a way that he can't explain it, that he's never felt before, that he's never felt the need to experience. His life had been warped by battle and a constant push to submit to his Master. They are all things he knows but the gentle words that come from your mouth, the bright eyes that hold the world, the horrible ice-hot feeling inside of him is so foreign yet too easy. He doesn't like it.

It makes him feel...clean in a way. Enlightened perhaps? His Master is long gone and it's like you said. He's free now. Free to make his own decisions and live his life how he wants to. He carefully turns over so as to not startle you away as he really looks at you. You look so peaceful in his arms, eyelids shut without worry, face slack without nightmares, breathing so softly against him. If you weren't so close to him that he couldn't feel the rise of your chest, he wonders if he would think you were dead. He stares at the lock of hair swaying back and forth with each breath like a starved man. The strange feeling doesn't stop. He hates it. It's everything that goes against him and what he knows and everything he should want. He's supposed to be the villain in your story, he should kill you right now-

"Xiao..." he hears you mumble beside him as you lean further into his arm. Damn it. How low is he going to go?

“What are you thinking about now? You just need to think about me. Don’t think about anything else...but me” Xiao sighs before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him until you're snug against his chest. Close to him, where he can touch you, where you belong. Not with Morax or Barbatos. Not with humans but beside him. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his head into your hair and he stares off into the distance. The feeling never leaves him for the remainder of the night.

"Ah! There you are. I was running around crazy looking for you," he turns his hair to see your flushed form pulling yourself up onto the mountain cliff, "When I woke up I couldn’t find you anywhere! You gave me a scare there."

He hates you. He hates you.

Words of his previous master ring in his ears, almost as if her very soul is wrapping around him as she whispers in his ear how weak he is. Ones with power that refuse to take what they want because they rather live in the comfort of nothing. Be greedier, take what belongs to you.

"Xiao?" you say as his piercing eyes stare directly through you. His Master always told him that she loved him. Even if he hated her he still clung to that false love. Of being wanted. Isn't love for a single person vile? Would feeling such emotions for one person instead of "everyone" bring you down to reality? It's not fair that you've crawled your way into his heart while you walk along in bliss. Now that he thinks about it. It was so simple. He just needs to monopolize your thoughts and love. This time it won't be as friends.

"I love you."

He'll pull you down to where he is. You extended your hand down to hell so it's your fault. He'll drag you down kicking and screaming if he has to. You left him alive. You have to live for him and by him. He's not letting go.

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divine-mistake · 3 years

Text

it's just a curve upon the lips (a kiss)

Summary: “Did it really look like I needed your help?”

“Yes. Horribly.”

Characters: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes/(f)Reader

Warnings: 18+ (no smut), possible TFATWS SPOILERS, strong language, canon typical violence, fluff, humor, established relationship, idiots in love, is this a john walker hate fic?, totally not divine's normal bag of tricks

Word Count: 4500

A/N: Well, I have 0 patience so I am posting this fic this morning. This fic was written for @kitkatd7 and her 600 follower writing challenge! The prompts I used are bolded. Congrats again lovely 💖 hope you are doing swell and that you enjoy this! Thanks for hosting!!

main masterlist

Bucky’s going to kill you.

Or, more realistically, he’s going to kill John Walker. Not that it’s really Walker’s fault that you’re in the predicament you’re in. Well—okay—he’s not faultless. If anyone ruined this mission first, it was Walker. All you’re doing is trying to save it.

But being pressed up against the wall of some dirty nightclub in Madripoor, John Walker’s lips inhaling your own, his hand wandering dangerously close to your ass where he could easily slip his fingers up the hem of your dress and feel that you aren’t wearing panties, well, that’s gonna be a hard one to explain.

It all started when you were born—

But more seriously, it started in New York, when Sam Wilson showed up on your doorstep with a new mission.

“Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, don’t make me beg!” Sam’s standing in front of you, hardly out of the entryway, giving you the big puppy dog eyes as if he’s asking for something simple, like taking you out for a milkshake. Or jetting you off to Italy for a long overdue vacation. Or, fuck, anything but whisking your boyfriend off to Madripoor for an off-the-books mission.

You stare at him, hard, for five seconds. Then you point to the ground beneath your feet.

“Beg,” you command.

He recoils in absolute shock, mouth falling open, and then his lips pull back to reveal a set of pearly teeth bared in a cheesy grin.

“Damn, Barnes,” he says with a whistle. “You better watch your back or I’ll snatch her up, quick as can be.”

Not even moving from the couch he’s lounging on, Bucky throws his hand up in the air, waving lazily at Sam.

“You couldn’t handle her.”

Your head falls to the side, eyebrows raised, as if you’re taunting him— waiting for him to say something. Sam’s mouth shuts with a click of teeth and he gulps. With a smile, you narrow your eyes into a glare.

“Fair point,” he says.

“I’m serious,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “If you want him, you better start begging, Wilson.”

Sam purses his lips, like he’s seriously thinking about it, and lets out a loud sigh. He’s folding. But just as he’s about to concede, you hear the squeak of your old couch crow and then two large hands, one warm and one cool, fall upon the sides of your jaw, tipping your head back.

Bucky looks down at you sternly. “Baby,” he warns.

You huff, pouting a little. “Really?”

The corner of his lips curl. You hate that he’s tall enough to tower over you like this, the bastard.

“Really,” he says, and leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Your eyes flutter closed and you sigh, melting back into him. When you open them again, Sam has his gaze averted, almost embarrassed, like he knows he’s intruding on an intimate moment. As if he hasn’t seen you wrapped around Bucky like an octopus, making out with him as soon as he got home from Riga. It makes you snort.

Bucky’s hands fall from holding your face and wrap around your middle. “So what’s the plan?” he asks, squeezing you gently. “And why is it off record?”

“Got a lead on one of the Power Broker’s old friends,” Sam says, suddenly snapping from Goofy Sam into Captain America, face set stoically, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Why do we care?”

“‘Cause Walker’s already there.”

Bucky’s arms tighten around you until all the air is pushed out of your mouth in a wheeze. You’ve become a squeaky toy, and you’d take a minute to snark at him about it if you could breathe, but you manage to slap your hands against one of his wrists. He lets you go instantly, cursing.

“Shit, sorry doll. Sorry.” His hands soothe over your sore skin. “What do you mean Walker’s there? In Madripoor?”

Sam gives him a curt nod. “He’s gone rogue—not that anyone’s surprised. But we’ve got to intercept. Or at least go and clean up the mess he’s about to make.”

“No,” you interject. “Nuh uh. No fucking way, Samuel. No.”

He frowns at you. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

“The hell you don’t! Let Walker get himself in trouble, who cares? He isn’t your responsibility, and he sure as hell isn’t Bucky’s—who is on a strict pardon, might I remind you.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need him, girl.” For what it’s worth, Sam looks apologetic, and like he means that, but all you can feel is the frustration and anger at what Walker’s done rising up in your body. Stealing the mantle from Sam, calling the love of your life an asset, disrupting his therapy, being a smug asshole, the events of—of everything that happened in Riga.

Bucky and Sam share a look that you don’t really catch, and then Bucky is pulling you toward the living room and spinning you in his arms so you’re smushed to his chest. He takes your face in his hands again and forces you to look at him as you twine your arms around his waist.

“Hey,” he calls gently. “What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s Walker,” you stress. “And Madripoor. And the Power Broker and you’re gonna get in trouble, Bucky. You might be a free agent but you have to be responsible.”

“You know this is my job. And you know Sam’s not gonna let me get into trouble. So what’s really wrong, baby?”

Sighing, tears starting to sting the backs of your eyes, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest. The softness of his henley catches a stray tear that you blink away as you nestle there and he curves his hands around your back to pin you against him. He smells clean, a little like pine and something smoky.

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper. “You just came home.”

“Baby.”

Bucky pulls you up to meet him, his lips pressed against your own, a little chapped and familiar. It’s gentle and slow, not all-consuming, but a reminder of how much he loves you. His thumb swipes over your cheek to snag a runaway tear and wipe it away. He kisses you like he’s saying, I’m home. You’re my home.

When he pulls away, he’s not smiling, but his brow is furrowed like he’s pained. There is so much fondness for you in the blue depths of his eyes, so much love in the way he caresses your skin with his calloused fingers.

“Come with us,” he says, softly and in love.

And in the background, Sam Wilson shouts: “What?”

That’s how you find yourself in Madripoor.

Now, how you got yourself in this slinky black dress and a pair of stilettos, about to infiltrate a seedy nightclub in the middle of Low Town with a certain rogue John Walker—that’s a whole different story.

It’s a short one, really. You touched down in Madripoor, Sam found Walker making a mess of things as per usual, and then they were left with one single lead: Matthias Crowley. And, unfortunately for you, Crowley knows everyone’s face who is sitting in this town car on their way to Vanish, the club he frequents.

Except for yours.

Bucky is sitting beside you in the back seat, trying to angle a comms device into your ear. But his hands are fumbly, nervous, and yet again he ends up missing his mark.

You hiss in pain as the unit is jammed against the cartilage of your ear and Bucky curses.

“Sorry, baby,” he murmurs. “Your ear is just so small.”

“Give it to me,” you snap, a little harsher than normal, but he’s been at it for a few minutes now and just won’t let you do it. With a sigh, Bucky drops the piece into your awaiting palm, and within the next few seconds you have the little black device squished into place. In the darkness of the club, it won’t be visible.

“Sorry,” he says again, looking at you like a kicked puppy. You lay your hand on the cut of his jaw, nails scraping over his skin in a manner that makes him suck in a breath. A preview of later.

“I’ll be fine, babe. I promise.” You curl your lips in a smile. “Don’t worry so much.”

Bucky’s hand falls upon your own, squeezing your fingers. “You’re my best girl,” he tells you.

“Onlygirl.”

“I can’t help but worry. If you get hurt—”

“You don’t have to worry, Bucky. She’ll be with me, after all,” Walker says from the front seat, glancing at the two of you in the rearview mirror. Sam just sighs.

“And now I’m even more worried,” Bucky says, loud enough for Walker to hear. He takes both of your hands in his and presses kisses to your knuckles. “Promise me you’ll be safe, doll. That you’ll listen to all our directions. And that you’ll call me if you need me.”

“It’s going to be fine,” you reassure him, but he squeezes your hands again. “I’m not going to risk ruining the mission.”

“Fuck the mission,” Bucky grits through his teeth. “Madripoor is dangerous. Promise to call me if you need me.”

“Bucky—”

“Promise,” he pleads, his blue eyes all big and wide and worried, and you can’t refuse him.

“I promise.”

He gives you one last, lingering kiss in the backseat of the town car, nearly pulling you atop his lap like he can’t fathom not feeling you against him, and then Sam’s pulling up to Vanish and Walker is calling your name.

The plan is fairly simple. God, isn’t that what they always say though?

You cause a distraction. Spill your fruity drink on Crowley’s lap, get a little teary, show a little cleavage (you left that part out when Bucky was listening), and hold his attention long enough that Walker can sneak up onto the top level and into Crowley’s rented room. There, he’ll knock out the guards and break into the room to get the hard drive that everyone’s ninety-five-percent sure has info on the elusive Power Broker.

And, spoiler alert, most of this does not end up happening.

“You little whore!”

One of Crowley’s bodyguards, or shooty-guys, whatever they are, jesus, has his hand threaded through your hair so tightly it burns. You’re on your knees in front of the man himself, the strap of your silken dress falling off your shoulder, as the bodyguard dude is pulling your head up by your hair to look Matthias in the eyes.

The man himself, blond and kind of thinner than you thought he would be, leans forward in his seat to get a closer look at you. He’s kind of got a stick bug vibe. Like, Bucky could probably crack this man’s spine over his knee.

You feel a giggle try to worm it’s way out of your mouth and you clench your teeth together so hard you draw blood from your tongue.

“Do you even know who I am?” Crowley seethes at you, eyes narrowed into slits.

“No,” you stammer out, pulling out the doe eyes and the wobbling lip—the innocent angel face you tend to use when Bucky’s pissed at you for something you definitely knew you shouldn’t be doing but you did anyway because you’re a brat sometimes.

Men in love are the weakest link, you swear.

Crowley looks over you, gaze roaming up and down your body, and you squeeze your thighs together because you are definitely not wearing panties under this dress and, well, you aren’t looking for anyone to get a glimpse of that except for a man with a metal arm.

But Crowley mistakes it for something else, and a smirk breaks through his lips.

“You’re pretty,” he regards you, “for a whore.” Ouch. “Take her upstairs and I’ll deal with her later.”

Oh fuck. You really, really hope that Walker is up there and has the hard drive already. But as the bodyguard drags you up off the ground and toward the stairs, the pounding of your heart gets faster and faster and you’re pretty sure you’re sweating and wow, no one said that missions were this scary.

But you’re not about to call Bucky yet. Walker can get you through this. Probably.

In complete silence, the shooty-guy who definitely has a gun in his hand forces you up two flights of stairs and into a long, dark hallway. The only light is a flickering row of yellowed-out bulbs hanging haphazardly from the ceiling.

And, maybe it’s all the horror movies that someone likes to watch on movie night or something, but you get this horrible sinking feeling that you’re going to die in this ominous hallway, so you decide to act before you get dragged off to Crowley’s room.

You jerk to a stop, digging your heels into the stained carpet. Shooty-dude was not expecting that. He falters just enough that you whip out your leg and aim for the backs of his knees. You reach for the gun. Wrist in hand, you point it up, up, up at the ceiling. Dude lets your hair go to grab you. You send your head back with the force of a thousand suns, hoping it breaks his nose. Too short—clips his chin. Now you’re dizzy and your vision is going black at the edges.

His wrist slips your grip because you don’t know how to fight. Bucky taught you about twenty things and you remember exactly three of them—backs of the knees, head butt, and, oh, right.

You take your palm and shove it straight up into his nose. He dodges.

Shit.

And then, very suddenly and out of nowhere, bodyguard shooty-dudey is literally ripped away from you and thrown onto the carpeted floor, and Walker is on him. A sickening crack of his neck is all you need to hear to know it’s over.

You slump against the wall of the hallway, panting, looking at him.

“Did it really look like I needed your help?”

“Yes. Horribly.” Walker wipes a bloodied hand on the bodyguard’s jacket, glancing back at you. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you reply. “Did you get the drive?”

He swipes a black box out of his suit jacket, shaking it at you, and you nod.

“Then let’s get the fuck out of here,” you say, still trying to catch your breath. You press the tiny button on your comms device. “On our way down.”

A voice crackles to life. “You okay?” Bucky sounds worried and it makes you smile.

“Yep.”

“Good. Take the back entrance out of the club. Sam’ll pick you up. You’re doing great, baby.”

“This mean I’ll get a reward, Barnes?”

He laughs into the comms. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, doll. Be safe. I love you.”

“Love you more,” you tell him, and then you and Walker are on the move, out of the dingy hallway and toward the exit.

“So,” Walker starts, his voice still kept to a low rumble. “You and Bucky, huh?”

“Don’t.”

“Okay then.”

Thankfully, the rest of your trip is silent, because not only do you want to punch Walker in his stupid face every time he opens his mouth, but also because you hear the sounds of footsteps approaching, along with a familiar voice.

“Hope he tied the little whore up for me. Easier to fuck ‘em and kill ‘em like that. She didn’t seem too feisty though. Maybe I can keep her.”

You curse, grabbing Walker. Think fast, think fast, think fast.

“I need you to cover me,” you hiss. “Need you—God, can you work with me here? I need you to—”

Walker is very heavy and very uncooperative, you realize, as you pull him to the shadowed corner of the stairwell and try to arrange his limbs around you. He’s not very quick on the draw, lumbering and looking down at the stairs where the voices are floating up from, and at this point, you need to find whoever tried to make him Captain America and slap them in the fucking mouth.

Finally, you duck down and slam your back against the wall, pull Walker atop you, and take his face and slam his lips to yours.

And boy, it doesn’t take him long to get into the swing of things.

So yeah, in hindsight, you probably should have thought more about how your broody boyfriend was going to react to this. But also, your life was kind of on the line, and you really really really did not want to screw this mission up. It was bad enough that it was off the books thanks to Walker—no one but Torres would know where you guys were if you happened to die—but ruining the mission might mean that Bucky would be back on the chopping block.

It’s his job, you know. He’s a free agent, you know. He’s Sam’s partner and Sam won’t let anything happen to him, you know.

But also you’re just a tiny girl in a big world who shelves library books for a living. The only reason you know any self-defense is because your boyfriend is a reformed assassin. It’s like you’re living a double life. And, for god’s sake, he’s out there saving the world and shit. The least you can do is not fuck up one mission. Just one mission.

But man, Walker’s lips kind of taste like flat beer.

It’s enough that Crowley and his men brush past the two of you with little but a sneer and a shove of Walker’s back, who stumbles right into you, but you keep moving your mouth against his because you still hear them walking, and walking, and walking, and you aren’t ready to die but Walker’s nose keeps bumping yours and you haven’t kissed anyone besides Bucky in like three years, so this is super unpleasant.

And, god, if Walker’s hand doesn’t quit moving up your thigh, under the hem of your slick black dress, you’re going to have Bucky break his fingers.

In warning, you nip his bottom lip, and Walker pushes harder into you, caging you against the wall. As his fingers approach your hip, where he definitely will realize you aren’t wearing underwear, you slap his hand down and send your knee into his junk. He grunts into your mouth, but takes the hint.

Sam’s voice comes alive in your ear. “Where are you two?”

You don’t hear Crowley’s footsteps anymore, but you count one, two, three more seconds and then shove Walker off of you. He falls back, catching himself on the stair railings, wiping his mouth with a dopey look on his face.

“Damn,” he says, grinning.

You press your comms unit. “Ran into trouble. On our way now.”

“You good?” Sam asks, and this time, Walker chimes in.

“Better than good,” he replies, still staring at you.

“Gross,” you spit, then you’re breezing past him and rushing down the stairs.

He trails behind you, too close, and part of your brain reminds you that he has to stick close to you because it’s a mission, but another part of your brain is screaming that he’s acting like a puppy dog and not like you kissed him to save both your asses.

“Why are you even with Bucky? I don’t get it,” he murmurs in your ear—the one without your comms device—and even under the loud music of Vanish you can hear him.

“You don’t have to,” you snap back at him. “Our relationship is between us. Get lost, Walker.”

The door is right there. You can see it now as you slip past sweaty, drunk, dancing bodies. You just have to get out that back door and Sam will be waiting to pick you up, just like Bucky said.

But Walker’s hand slides over the silky fabric of your dress and his arm winds around your waist.

“But that kiss,” he says, near dreamy. “And Barnes isn’t your type of man.”

You turn back to glare at him. “Didn’t your wife leave you or something?”

His eye twitches. “C’mon,” he says. “I think we’ve got real—”

Before he can finish, you reach the exit and burst through the door and out into the back alley, the smell of rotting garbage, old piss, and blood filling your nose. Frankly, you prefer this trash over the trash spilling from Walker’s mouth right now.

But Sam, unfortunately, is nowhere to be seen. Immediately, you go to press your comms unit to find out where he is, but then Walker’s hand falls on your shoulder.

The next thing you know, your back is on the brick wall of the alley and Walker’s hands are on either side of your head, trapping you there. It doesn’t scare you in the least bit, even though you know it should, what with the fact that he’s a super soldier too. But your super soldier will come kick Walker’s ass, you know for certain, so there isn’t even an ounce of fear in you. Only anger.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you grit through your teeth.

“Just listen to me for a second,” he says.

“No!” You move to duck under his arm, but Walker grabs you and holds you there.

“I’m not asking.” He takes your chin in his hand. “I just want to know why you’re all over Barnes. He’s barely a person. Probably not even a good partner, if I had to guess.”

“Fuck you.” You gather the saliva in your mouth and spit directly at Walker’s lips.

The way his face contorts into fury, shadowed by the darkness of the alley, his eyes lit up by the neon of Madripoor, makes him look like a feral animal. And now you’re scared.

You saw the videos from Riga. You know what he’s capable of.

His grip on your chin tightens considerably, fingers digging into your jaw, and try as you might to swallow it, you whimper in pain. Walker tilts his head to the side, watching you, a tight smile finding its way onto his mouth.

“Is he better than me?” Walker demands. “You’d rather a brainwashed, broken super soldier than a decorated one?”

You try and speak but you can’t open your mouth. God, you’d give anything to tell him how much of a piece of shit he is, in fucking gory detail.

Like he’s reading your mind, or maybe he just wants you to stroke his ego, Walker’s grasp loosens only slightly, the pain still searing through your bones. But it’s enough that you can move your mouth, if only a little. It’s enough.

“He’ll always be better than you,” you manage to say.

Oh god. This is going to hurt.

You shouldn’t, you know, but you close your eyes anyway. Maybe it’ll help the pain of it. With a deep breath in, you steady yourself and wait for whatever Walker’s about to throw at you.

But nothing comes, and then suddenly his pressure is gone and you hear the familiar—god, thank god—sound of a nearly-silent metal arm invades your ears and your eyes pop open just in time to watch Bucky kick a heavy boot straight into Walker’s middle, the force throwing the blond across the alleyway.

You scream his name at the very same time that Sam rounds the corner, shouting, “If you kill him, they are not gonna give a shit about your pardon!”

Sam stops, takes one look at you, and his eyes widen.

“Are you okay?” he asks, taking a step toward you.

You point your finger at your boyfriend who is currently lifting Walker up by the goddamn neck—with his flesh hand, just to make a fucking point—and about to smear the poor dude’s guts across the brick.

“Stop him!” you yell, and Sam jumps into action.

“You think you can just touch her like that?” Bucky roars, slamming Walker back into the alley’s wall. “You think you that’s fucking okay? You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Walker tries to defend himself, stumbling onto the ground as Sam pulls Bucky off of him.

“Pardon,” Sam keeps repeating. “Conditional pardon. A very conditional pardon, Buck.”

“Her comms were on, you moron!” Bucky yells back, but ultimately lets Sam drag him away.

Your fingernail scrapes over the device in your ear and—lo and behold—the button had gotten stuck.

“You touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you, Walker.” Bucky is downright seething, anger rolling off him in tangible waves. “Pardon or no pardon, I will fucking murder you if you even look at her ever again. You think the Raft is bad? I’ve had much worse.”

“James Barnes!”

In an instant, Bucky’s eyes snap to yours, and then he’s rushing toward you. In barely two long strides he’s scooping you up in his arms and off the brick you feel indented in your skin, and he’s rubbing and soothing your hair and your back and your face and—goddamnit, Bucky Barnes—your ass, too.

“Baby,” he breathes, as if he hasn’t breathed in a millenia. “You okay?”

“James fucking Bucky Barnes,” you huff. “Right now I don’t even know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge.”

Bucky peers down at you, looking over you like he’s trying to make sure you aren’t bruised or scraped anywhere and that you’re really okay, and once he’s satisfied with that, a charming grin breaks through his lips.

“Can I pick?"

“Fuck you.”

You grab onto the collar of his leather jacket and pull him down upon you, and as if his lips were made for yours, as if he was made for you, your mouths slot together in a perfect kiss.

He tastes faintly of smoke and a little like blood, something you’ve become used to at this point. And his nose never bumps yours. Bucky knows exactly how to angle his face to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips as you let out a quiet moan of perfection, and his hands don’t wander. They only press into the small of your back so he can feel you against him.

Nothing like Walker. Only Bucky.

You pull away, gasping for air, and Bucky finds the crook of your neck and shoulder. He plants kisses up and down your neck as he holds you, your knees going a little weak, and you turn to find Walker.

He’s standing at the end of the alleyway, staring at you with a look of pure disgust.

You mouth one word to him before Bucky is calling you baby, grabbing your face, and kissing you again.

Told you.

#kits600challenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfic #divine masterlist #thanks for supporting me

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wh6res · 3 years

Text

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

#nct imagines #yandere nct #yandere kpop #nct smut #nct scenarios #yandere jaemin #yandere jeno #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #jaemin smut #jeno smut

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing v.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 435

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a glimpse into the past

“Yes. I’ve literally just stepped foot into my apartment.” Jungkook huffs with his phone between his ears and his shoulders as he attempts to multitask, hands moving a box of the dining table.

But Jimin is persistent and he’s yapping his ear off, something about dropping by in a few but Jungkook is barely paying attention, not when the existential crisis of no longer being a high school student that could hide under an institution with a false sense of security. College was different. He was on his own, even with the presence of his friends; and Jungkook was both terrified and excited.

He’d always dream of the start of his college life. Jungkook was a bit of a dreamer, and he aimed to live out the best life possible; all while trying to juggle his academics and do some extracurriculars on the side. When he told Taehyung about his ambitions, his friend just blinked and him and offered a snort; with an almost taunting pat on his shoulder.

You’ll see.

Jungkook didn’t know what he meant then, and he can only wait to find out.

“Do you need help moving in? Tae and I just finished a lecture and we’ve got the rest of the day off.” Jimin asks over the phone, and while Jungkook wants to start off his journey being independent; there were boxes of his belongings that looked way too unappealing to deal with alone.

“You’d to that?” Jungkook sighs, eyebrows furrowing when he searches for the box that goes into his bedroom.

“Come on, Kook.” Jimin whines, “You think your own hyungs won’t help you out?” His jibe is lighthearted, which only makes Jungkook roll his eyes at his friends' words.

“I know.” Jungkook affirms, “Just college life, you know? Thought you’d be busy having your third existential crisis of the week to help out.”

Jimin snorts over the line, “Try this day, kid.”

Jungkook chuckles, and mumbles something under his breath before puffing; grabbing his phone with his hand as he thinks of a question he’s meant to ask for a while, ever since he stepped foot onto campus and his accommodation.

“Is ____ with you?” Jungkook asks.

Jungkook did so some growing in the time after you’d graduated, and he supposes that he relied a little too much on you as well as Jimin and Taehyung growing up in high school. Because once the three of you graduated, Jungkook was essentially left to fend for himself when you no longer were able to pick him up with a call away or help him out with difficult math problems when you had college to worry about.

It was horrible at first, purely because Jungkook missed you and your kindness. Sure, phone calls and texts worked—but your presence was always more than what words could ever offer, and Jungkook found himself searching for other methods to survive the next two years in high school without you there looking over him.

His football teammates had always been just his football teammates until he was forced to fraternise with them on a deeper level, and he realised that they weren’t too bad. They were fun and full of life, definitely the type of people that he found himself having fun with. He’s always been surrounded with people that were older than him, you, Jimin and Taehyung for example—and having peers his age to hang out with was a pandora box he never knew he’d ever get used to.

Take Eunwoo for example. Jungkook was petrified of him because there was no way a sixteen-year-old could look that could, and if he looked like that before puberty finished its course—then what the hell was he going to look like after?

But he was a nice guy, a fun person to hang out with and he definitely taught Jungkook some things he’d never dare ask Jimin or Taehyung. Things about women and men; the interrelationships that could be navigated with enough practice.

And enter Yuna, the first girl he’s ever had the ability to get to know in his life besides you. It was the typical cheerleader-meets-footballer trope that Jungkook would always scoff at, but according to Eunwoo “it’s only right that the same type of people minded together.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows when Eunwoo clasped him on his back when he told him that with a wink, suggestive eyes when he exposed a not-so-secret that Yuna had on Jungkook after one of their football games during his senior year.

But Jungkook thought otherwise, probably because he remembered you telling him that people were fundamentally different and social interactions with different walks of life only made life more beautiful and worth living. Seeing the diversity in cultures and experiences opens up our hearts to a world that doesn’t exist for us—it keeps us humble.

Jungkook blindly agreed then, likely entranced with you in general to consider the weight of your words. But Eunwoo was like a constant reminder, and he was older then—a little more subdued enough to pay attention to the words of his friend.

And when Jungkook continued his high school life, it seemed like more and more people seemed to pay attention to him. It wasn’t like he was unpopular before, he definitely caught the eyes of many—but it was different then. It was like Jungkook was his own person and people thought he was cool enough to approach.

So when Yuna shyly asked him out for a date, Jungkook said yes even though he still thought of you.

And when Eunwoo slapped a pack of condoms into his palm while his other football teammates hollered, Jungkook took the leap of faith and lost his virginity the same night.

So, yeah. Jungkook did some growing up—and he hopes that it’ll be enough for you to see him as a man.

“—she’s always doing so much that she barely has time for us and I get that she’s always been an overachiever but we miss her, you know?” Jimin complains, and Jungkook just about returns back from his flashback.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Jungkook says sheepishly.

“Were you not listening to me rant for the past five minutes?” Jimin exasperates and Jungkook hears some shuffling and a chuckle, possibly coming from Taehyung, on the other end of the line.

“You do have the tendency to go off tangent, Jimin,” Jungkook mutters.

Jimin scoffs, “It’s called paying attention to the details you brat. But anyway, to sum it up for you since you wanna be annoying—_____ isn’t with us. She’s got this student council thing and a meeting with a bunch of ambassadors visiting the campus in the evening.”

Jungkook blinks, taking a moment to process the information. He smiles fondly to himself, realising that you always did fine on your own—and he supposes it’s always been that way. You were quiet and never imposing, but you still did your best.

“Oh.” Jungkook says, “Will I be able to see her soon?”

Jimin snorts on the other end.

“Why are you asking me? You have her number right?” Jimin retorts, “Though it may be difficult reaching her cause she takes like five business days to reply if you aren’t work-related.”

Jungkook chuckles while he fiddles with his thumb. He can see you working hard, eyebrows furrowed as you type out emails and organise events like the efficient woman you were.

He’s seen pictures of you on social media, courtesy of Jimin and Taehyung who’d post stories of your pouts when they’d drag you out for some social time, according to their captions. And God, did you grow up even more beautiful than you were in high school.

Jungkook saw you as the girl he admired in high school and it was mostly his puppy-loved up brain thinking of you like this super smart and out of his reach senior that he wanted to respect. But now that Jungkook was … older. He still thinks you’re admirable and smart, but he can’t lie and say he didn’t notice other things.

Like how certain tops flatter your collarbones so nicely that he wonders what it’s like to sink his teeth into them. Or how you’ve experimented with tennis skirts that look like easy access for a territory Jungkook’s used as one of many of his spank bank materials. Even the way your eyes innocently glance up in pictures makes Jungkook’s brain hazy.

Jungkook was older, and so were you. The two of you were in college and it was different. You weren’t just his high school senior and he wasn’t just the little kid that worshipped you. It was free game and Jungkook wanted to make to most out of it.

“I will.” Jungkook nods with a declaration and a sense of determination in his chest. “What time does she finish?”

A brief moment of silence until Jimin responds, snorting to himself.

“She usually gets off her meetings at—10 pm?” Jimin ponders out loud. “You’re really going to wait for her?”

Jungkook wants to add he’s been doing that all this while, but keeps it to himself.

“Just can’t wait to see her.” He shrugs casually.

“You still have that schoolboy crush on her?” Jimin teases. But Jungkook doesn’t flush this time. He’s had his handful of experiences to navigate his way with feelings and desire.

“Not a crush.” Jungkook rolls his eyes. But he wasn’t going to admit that to Jimin or Taehyung just yet. “Is it bad to want to see an old friend?”

“Whatever you say, Jungkook.” Jimin sing-songs. “But I will warn you; _____ isn’t the type.”

At this, Jungkook furrows his eyebrows.

“What?”

Jimin sighs, “Whatever it is you’re thinking … stop.” And his words oddly set off an uneasy feeling in Jungkook’s chest that he doesn’t like. “You know _____. She’s not the kind of person that dates or fucks around. I don’t think she’s even looked at any guy on campus ever since we were enrolled two years ago.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, feeling slightly ashamed that he’s been caught so early on. But along with growing up, Jungkook’s grown quite a bit of an ego too.

“What makes you think I want to fuck her? What if I really just miss her?” Jungkook snaps.

“Kook, I love you and you’re my best friend but I’ve seen your Instagram stories and escapades. I have no problem with you being sexually active or whatever—you do you, as long as it’s consensual and within respectable boundaries. I know you think college is like this unobstructed territory where you can just fuck around with people but _____ really isn’t like that. I’ve been there and I’m telling you to drop it.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw, “You’ve wanted to fuck her?” Jungkook accuses.

He can practically hear and feel Jimin’s eye roll over the phone.

“No, you idiot.” Jimin sighs, “I’ve had the same intentions as you with other women. While they may be receiving and comfortable with that, _____ won’t be. I hear and recognise your tone and I’m warning you against it.”

Jungkook purses his lips, wanting to defend himself further. But he realises, who is Jimin to tell him what to do with his life? He isn’t a kid anymore.

“You’re reaching.” Jungkook tells Jimin, “You don’t have to worry okay? I just miss ____ and I want to see her before orientation on Friday. Is that a crime?”

“Again, I don’t know what you really want so I won’t project anymore. But I’m telling you, ______ is _____. You don’t think dudes have tried with her before?”

Somehow the revelation of the fact that you did have two years to mingle around with other people and potentially get with men (or women) that weren’t him causes a different type of dread to fill his stomach, an ugly emotion of jealousy. One that he’s never felt before and he doesn’t like it at all.

“God, I haven’t even seen you yet and you’re already micromanaging my entire life.” Jungkook scowls.

“The double standard is real.” Jimin scoffs, “You used to follow _____ around like a lost puppy when we knew each other first? I feel betrayed, man.” Jimin is joking but the reminder makes Jungkook still.

"That's ... different." Jungkook protests.

Jimin snorts as if he doesn't believe his friend.

"Oh, it is different all right. You, my friend, are whipped." He snickers, "Too bad the two of you are basically polar opposites, huh?"

Jungkook freezes on the other end when Jimin casually lets it slip the thought that somewhat plagues his mind, too.

"We're not that different." Jungkook defends himself.

"Says you Mr Athlete all throughout high school. I bet you ten bucks that you were already recruited by one of the football dudes here."

Jungkook scowls because Jimin was spot on.

"Okay. I do sports and she doesn't. That's it." Jungkook snaps.

Jimin clicks his tongue, "You're all for the attention, dude. _____ always keeps it on the down-low while you do your best when people are cheering you on. It's like the spotlight follows you wherever you go and she does her best avoiding it."

Jimin clenches his jaw because while Jimin's words were lighthearted, and he knew better than to ever put you down because the three of you were all good friends—the fact that someone as close to the two of you as Jimin; was laying out the obvious makes Jungkook doubt himself a lot more.

"Oh, and you're the best at psychoanalysing people right?" Jungkook sneers.

Jimin snickers on the other end but Jungkook can't find it in himself to laugh.

"Relax. I'm joking, all right?" Jimin reassures his friend. "You don't even like her that way, right? That's what you said anyway."

Right. He didn't. That's what he told Jimin.

"Right," Jungkook says stiffly.

"If the two of you ever ended up together, though ..." It's as if Jimin was the one dead-set on pushing for it as Jungkook wishes for him to drop it. "Nah. It wouldn't happen. It probably wouldn't work out either."

Jungkook forces a dry chuckle before muttering a lame excuse and hanging up.

He loved Jimin, the guy was a good friend on an average day and an absolute sweetheart on better ones. And Jungkook knew that Jimin meant no malice when he spoke of the potential relationship between you and Jungkook because, well ... Jungkook has always been the younger guy. And that would be weird, wouldn't it?

But Jungkook knows he's done some growing up. And he'll prove it—in whatever way possible.

Jimin doesn’t need to know.

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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I keep seeing people calling Good Omens queer bating and a I can't help but ask why? I read the Aziraphale/Crowley relationship threw an Ace lens and they are clearly as close to married as they are probably going to get without stepping on holy ground.... and they love each other... why is it considered queer bating?

Personally, I think it's mostly young queer fans turning legitimate grievances on the wrong target. A case of getting so fed up with queerbaiting in media as a whole that they're instinctually lashing out at anything that seems to resembles it on the surface, without taking the time to consider whether this is, in fact, the thing they're mad at. Good Omens is a scapegoat, if you will. The equivalent of snapping at your partner after a long day. Your friend was an asshole, your boss was an asshole, the guy in traffic was an asshole, and then you come home to your partner who says something teasing and you take it as another asshole comment because you've just been surrounded by assholeness all day, to the point where your brain is primed to see an attack. Your partner wasn't actually an asshole, but by this point you're (understandably) too on guard to realize that. Unless someone sits you down and kindly reminds you of the difference between playful teasing and a legitimate insult - the nuance, if you will - your hackles are just gonna stay up and you'll leave the room, off to phone a different friend to tell them all about how your partner was definitely an asshole to you.

Only in this case, that "friend" is a fan on social media doing think pieces on the supposed queerbaiting of Good Omens, spreading that idea to a) people who aren't familiar with the show themselves and b) those who, like that original fan, have come to expect queerbaiting and thus aren't inclined to question the latest story with that mark leveled against it. Because on the surface Good Omens can look a lot like queerbaiting. Here are two queer coded characters who clearly love each other, but don't say "I love you," don't kiss, don't "prove" that love in a particular way. So Gaiman is just leading everyone on, right?

Well... no. This is where the nuance comes in, the thing that many fans aren't interested in grappling with (because, like it or not, media is not made up of black and white categories; queerbaited and not-queerbaited. Supernatural's finale is proof enough of that...) I won't delve into the most detailed explanation here, but suffice to say:

Gaiman has straight up said it's a love story. He's just not giving them concrete labels like "gay" or "bi" or "asexual," etc. because they are literally not human. Gaiman has subscribed to an inclusive viewpoint in an era where fans are desperate for unambiguous rep that homophobes cannot possibly deny. The freedom to prioritize any interpretation - yes, including a "just friends" interpretation - now, in 2021, feels like a cop-out. However, in this case it's an act of world building (they are an angel and a demon, not bound by human understanding of identity) meeting a genuine desire to make these characters relatable to the entire queer community, not just particular subsets. Gaiman has said they can be whatever we want because the gender, sexuality, and romantic attraction of an angel and a demon is totally up for debate! However, some fans have interpreted that as a dismissal of canonical queerness; the idea that fans can pretend they're whatever they want... but it's definitely not canon. It is though. Them being queer is 100% canon, it's just up to us to decide what kind of queer they are. This isn't Gaiman stringing audiences along, it's him opening the relationship up to all queer possibilities.

We know he's not stringing us along (queerbaiting) because up until just a few days ago season two didn't exist. Queerbaiting is a deliberate strategy to maintain an audience. A miniseries does not need to maintain its audience. You binge it in one go and you're done, no coming back next year required. The announcement for season two doesn't erase that context for season one. No one knew there would be more content and thus the idea that they would implement a strategy designed to keep viewers hooked due to the hope for a queer relationship (with no intent to follow through) is... silly.

In addition, this interpretive, queer relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale existed in the book thirty years ago. Many fans are not considering the difference between creating a totally new story in 2019 and faithfully adapting a story from 1990 in 2019. Good Omens as representation meant something very different back then and that absolutely impacts how we see its adaptation onto the small screen. To put this into perspective, Rowling made HUGE waves when she revealed that she "thought of" Dumbledore as gay in an interview... in 2007. Compare that to the intense coding 17 years before. Gaiman was - and still is - pushing boundaries.

Which includes being an established ally, particularly in his comics. Queerbaiting isn't just the act of a single work, but the way an author approaches their work. Gaiman does not (to my knowledge) have that mark against him and even if he did, he's done enough other work to offset that.

Finally, we've got other, practical issues like: how do you represent asexuality on the screen? How do you show an absence of something? Yeah, one or both of them could claim that label in the show, outright saying, "I'm asexual," but again, Gaimain isn't looking to box his mythological figures into a single identity. So if we want that rep... we have to grapple with the fact that this is one option for what it looks like.

Even if he did want to narrow the representation down to just a few identities for the show, should Gaiman really be making those major changes when he's only one half of the author team? Pratchett has, sadly, passed on and thus obviously has no say in whether his characters undergo such revisions. Even if fans hate every other argument, they should understand that, out of respect, Good Omens is going to largely remain the same story it was 30 years ago.

And those 6,000 years are just the beginning! Again, this was meant to be a miniseries of a single novel, a novel that, crucially, covered only Crowley and Aziraphale's triumph in being able to love one another freely. That's a part of their personal journey. Yeah, they've been together in one sense for 6,000 years, but that was always with hell and heaven on their backs, to say nothing of the slow-burn approach towards acknowledging that love, for Aziraphale in particular. We end the story at the start of their new relationship, one that is more free and open than it ever was before. They can be anything to one another now! The fact that we don't see that isn't a deliberate attempt on the author's part to deny us that representation, but only a result of the story ending.

So yeah, there's a lot to consider and, frankly, I don't think those fans are considering it. Which on a purely emotional level I can understand. I'm pissed about queerbaiting too and the knee-jerk desire to reject anything that doesn't meet a specific standard is understandable. But understandable doesn't mean we don't have to work against that instinct because doing otherwise is harmful in the long run. We need to consider when stories were published and what representation meant back then. We need to consider how we adapt those stories for a modern audience. We need to acknowledge that if we want the inclusivity that "queer" provides us, that includes getting characters whose identity is not strictly defined by the author as well as characters with overtly canonical labels. We need both. We likewise need to be careful about when having higher standards ends up hurting the wrong authors - who are our imperfect allies vs. those straight up unwilling to embrace our community at all? And most importantly, we have to think about how we're using the terms we've developed to discuss these issues. Queerbaiting means something specific and applying it to Good Omens not only does Good Omens a disservice, but it undermines the intended meaning of "queerbaiting," making it harder to use correctly in the future. Good Omens is not queerbaiting and trying to claim it is only hurts the community those fans are speaking up for.

#good omens #mymetas #queer

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

Text

Be Forever Young (Reid Fluff Fic)

Summary: After Penelope’s resignation from the BAU, she attempts to set up her tech protégé, Reader, with Reader’s intellectual match yet much older counterpart - Dr. Spencer Reid.

A/N: The POV switches between Reader and Spencer, just use context clues to detect who the narrator is. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: 21 year age gap, headcannon proposal Playlist: Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny Word Count: 6.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Prologue

Events like these weren’t exceedingly rare. They weren’t anything like Halley’s Comet, by any means, where it only happens once in your lifetime - if you’re lucky. But they weren’t exactly sunrises - something that you can count on occurring every day without fail.

The best celestial phenomenon I could compare it to are blue moons. Rare enough to still have an element of surprise when they came, but not so rare that I should never expect them.

These ‘blue moons’ are actually the events in which I meet an intellectual match.

It’s not too often that I find a mind quite like mine, so you’ll forgive me for the reaction it elicits to watch them transcend the physical level and connect with me on the psychological one. There’s only been a handful of people who’ve ever had the exact standard of aptitude to be permissible into this metaphysical world with me, but now - there’s a handful and one.

The newest addition to the list is her.

_ _ _

Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia is nearly impossible. Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia about Dr. Spencer Reid is impossible.

I couldn’t tell you when the first time she brought him up was, but I could probably tell you just how many times since then she’s mentioned him.

A trillion. At least.

For months on end, he was the only thing she would talk to me about. Morning, noon, and night. Every single day she’d gush about him with the same unrelenting zeal as she had the day before and the day before that. It was both scary and impressive how she never seemed to run out of good things to say about him.

“You would just die for his apartment. It’s got this super chic dark academia thingy going on. You’d be really into that,” she would say. Or something to that effect. I was never really listening.

Not that I wasn’t interested in learning about Dr. Reid - I was very interested in him.

As a superior.

I first learned of him when he taught my Psych 101 class. Freshman year me was simply enthralled with him as a speaker, probably due to the charm of his awkward humor. I found it eerily relatable and touching, in a way. That was probably my favorite class, minus the assholes who made it less than enjoyable at times. (That’s a story for later).

The next interaction I had with him happened not even a year later when he came back after temporarily teaching to sit in on a philosophy class. Even though he was only auditing the lecture, whereas I was enrolled in the course, he ended up sitting in the seat right beside me. Had he not been gifted with an eidetic memory - a fact I found out during one of my obsessive research sessions - I doubt he would’ve even remembered sitting next to me.

Our shared field of work helped to bring us back together repeatedly throughout college. I would run into him at seminars, workshops, once even at a library where we were both looking for the same book.

But for the most part, our relationship was parasocial. It largely consisted of me learning from him at a distance. I would use his brilliant research to support my own assignments, read the books he recommended, audit the classes he would teach.

Rather than accurately interpreting my very limited, very professional connection to Dr. Reid, Penelope was deliberately using it as ammunition for her arsenal of reasons why I should consider dating him.

“You guys are basically already friends, and nothing is cuter than the friends-to-lovers trope!” Now that she actually did say, and the only reason I remember it verbatim was it was so outrageous I couldn’t not remember it.

And probably because she just said it to me right now.

“We’re not friends! We’re ... acquaintances. Colleagues, if you will.” My attempts to gain distance from Penelope and this topic of conversation were crashing and burning. The more I tried to walk away from her, the faster she would chase me. It was inconceivable how she managed to do that and continue to pelt me with her perky persistence.

“Even better! You know I’m no stranger to workplace romances.”

That I did. One Derek Morgan or one Luke Alvez ring a bell?

“Dr. Reid and I don’t work together,” I reminded her, if only to burst her bubble of insanity.

“Exactly my point! If you two don’t work together, then there’s nothing keeping you apart.”

I was stopped dead in my tracks, almost causing Penelope to trip since she was right on my heels.

“Nothing? Really? Try 21 years.”

That surely kept us apart.

Our age gap was one of those glaring disparities Penelope couldn’t wave away with her magic wand. Frankly, it wasn’t an age gap so much as it was an age Grand Canyon. He was a whole person of legal drinking age older than me!

Hell - our age gap itself was older than me!

Maybe there weren’t any contracts or agreements or supervisors to keep us apart, but there was still one significant thing doing that.

Time. Arguably the most important thing you needed to get right for a relationship to work.

If there were any chance that he and I were good together, that was squandered by our divergence in age.

Right person, wrong time ... but wrong time by more than two decades.

I could see the smallest fragment of hope wither away in Garcia’s eyes, and it actually hurt to have known that I caused that. Her voice was more solemn when she said, “You don’t have to date him, I just want you to go on a date. Get to know each other better. Who knows? You might finally graduate from colleagues to BFF’s.”

Not that I was seriously considering the possibility of growing closer to Dr. Reid, but there was one question lingering in my mind.

“Does he even want to go on this date? Have you asked him how he feels about it?”

Part of why I was wondering was on the off chance that she’d tell me he had the same objections towards this that I did, which would be good news for me since it would mark my reluctance as a sound judgment. If there was anyone whose opinion was worth something, it was his, right? After all, he was the provable genius in the same compromising position as me.

“Trust me, he’s been dying to do this.” In spite of her preface to trust her, I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure if she was suggesting that he’d been dying to go on a date with me or if he’d been dying to go on a date in general.

No offense to him, but I guessed it was the latter, and if that was the case, he was only being a team player because she hadn’t told him it was me she was setting him up with. Already suspecting that I’d probe further to navigate through her vagueness, she cut in with one last Hail Mary. “One date! That’s all!”

Whether you believe me or not, 100% the only reason why I said what I said next was to put an end to this madness. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Maybe 99.99%.

_ _ _

I never knew how I could lose so much time. Sure, if anyone asked, I could probably account for everything I’d done in my day, second by second. But still, there was this cloudiness, a fog, inhabiting my brain, casting this haze on whatever else dwelled in my mind, too.

I couldn’t focus on anything for more than 4 seconds at a time, and while that wasn’t incredibly concerning for the average human, it was disconcerting for me.

What was going on?

What is going on?

“What’s going on?”

Suddenly, a hand began to wave in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo? Anybody in there?” JJ wondered aloud, causing me to realize it was her voice that asked the question from before.

“Yeah, sorry,” I shook my head to regain some clarity, but that did me no good. My foggy brain still remained. It goes without saying my words were worth nothing as well. JJ saw right through me in a way that never failed to scare me shitless. I could never conjure up a lie good enough to follow that look she’d give me. So I settled for the truth. The question that cast the haziness in my brain to begin with.

“What do you think about me dating again?”

If I thought that first look was bad, then the one she was giving me now was something of a nightmare. At least with the first, I knew what she was thinking. With this one, I hadn’t a clue.

To relieve us from some of the insufferable silence, I found myself speaking again in my defense. “Garcia mentioned something earlier about setting me up with someone and it got me thinking.”

Thinking about Max that is.

Being my most recent girlfriend, it made sense why she was freshest in my mind. That being said, we’ve been broken up for 14 months, which in any other context would seem like more than enough time to start dating again, but therein lies the catch.

We didn’t just break up. She said “no” when I asked her to marry me, which, if you ask me, is one hell of a way to break up.

So from that perspective, it obviously begs the question: is 14 months too fast to move on from something like that?

JJ sharply inhaled. “Well, are you ready to start dating again?”

I still didn’t have an answer for that myself. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly a rulebook on how long you have to wait until it’s socially acceptable-”

“Lemme stop you right there, Spence,” She placed her hand on top of mine. “You can’t just do whatever statistics or studies or science say is right all the time. You not only need to be more in tune with your own needs but accepting of them, too. Screw what anyone else has to say about you dating again - including Socrates, including Einstein, including Aristotle ... including me. Do whatever you think is acceptable by your standards - not society’s. Do what you wanna do and I’ll support that.”

There was something special about having JJ’s approval. It was like getting permission to be excited, something I didn’t know I needed or wanted.

“I’m ready.”

Born ready, as Penelope herself would say.

_ _ _

I was starting to get suspicious that maybe I had an invisible string attached to me and on the other end of that string was Penelope. It was the only explanation as to how she managed to trail behind me at an isochronal pace. Perfectly equidistant, perfectly equal intervals of time. Must’ve been some form of magic that she was able to synchronize that connection for as long as she did as we pranced around the office, basically chasing me.

“Okay, I know the date isn’t until Saturday, but I really think we need to amp up your wardrobe choices ... like stat.”

Hearing that I was seeing my superior still didn’t settle well with me. I don’t think I could ever get used to the thought.

I should’ve been offended at her suggestion to change my clothing taste as it implied my stylistic choices weren’t up to par, but a part of me, a very small part of me, knew she was right. And just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of going on a date with Spencer didn’t mean I didn’t want to look nice for him for it.

“I’m assuming you’ve got some ideas in mind,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing that’s precisely why she brought it up.

“See! You are a genius! Exactly why you and Spencer are meant to be together!” Her exclamation was just as loud as it was outlandish.

“Alright, calm down sparky,” I shot a warning look. “It’s just one date - we’re not soulmates.”

Then, talking in the quietest voice I didn’t think Penelope was capable of speaking with, she said, “Not yet.”

I knew the minute I showed even the littlest bit of interest in Penelope’s fashion guidance, I’d end up draped in ruffles, sequins, glitter, tulle, rhinestones, or all of the above. Nothing again Penelope’s personal style - it’s just not mine.

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. “So what were you thinking?”

Before my very eyes, Penelope’s constantly-there smile transformed, something akin to the mischievous grin of the Cheshire Cat. “I was thinking …”

In a Mary Poppins-esque fashion, Penelope produced a dress that in no feasible reality should have been able to fit within that little Hello Kitty side bag.

I suppose it must’ve been absolutely backbreaking for Penelope to refrain from choosing a multicolor or at least pattern-riddled dress, so as compensation for the fact that it was only one singular color throughout, it had to be a bold one.

Red.

“Not too shabby, right?” Her eyebrows jumped on her forehead, knowing she’d made a good choice.

And a part of me actually died saying this, but it was pretty perfect.

_ _ _

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, per se, the moment I finally arrived at the delicatessen. It was more like a very specific, singular memory had flashed before my eyes.

That story for later? This is the one.

Psych 101 was my best class in Freshman year ... by a long shot. Come rain, wind, or snow, I was always excited to go. It was a standout course on its own, but not because it was terribly spectacular or the most fascinating subject in the world, but more so because of how it changed my own person. It challenged me, like all worthwhile things do.

There were more judgmental meatheads - boys, if you will - than not, who would jump down my throat for being a smart ass or a teacher’s pet if I so much as answered one of Dr. Reid’s questions. Par for the course, really.

As a result, I had a proclivity to avoid raising my hand. It wasn’t that I was hyper-fixated on managing my reputation, just that participating wasn’t worth the eventual harassment from my dimwitted classmates.

Nonetheless, one day, I felt compelled to answer Dr. Reid when he asked what our thoughts were about the sampled, pretense manifesto.

No one else was jumping at the chance to speak, perhaps they were just as cowardly as I was, and it was clear that he was going to stand there waiting until someone finally would. The silence was painfully awkward for everyone and so I felt obligated, as a student who was actually enrolled in the class for credit and not just to audit like 90% of the other girls here, to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand hesitantly inched up into the air until it floated just high enough above the student in front of me’s head. As soon as I knew he saw it, I let it plunge straight back down.

“Yes, Ms. (y/l/n)?”

I could already feel the dirty looks and snide comments coming before I even said a word.

“I know we’re all collectively referring to this unsub as a man, and while that might just be a general assumption or Freudian slip perhaps ... I think the language is steeped in betrayal and contempt. And it would be ignorant not to notice how it reads more like the wrath of a woman scorned than your typical jilted male lover.”

“Lover?” Someone two rows back snickered quietly, clearly to mock my choice of words. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Brad who had said that. Nevertheless, Dr. Reid was impressed with my answer. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he nodded his head. If he had heard the commentary of one Brad Sterling, he made no visceral reaction to it.

With an extended hand, palm facing up, he gestured for me to, “Please. Stand up.”

I fumbled my way up and out of my seat to possibly delay the shit I’d get for this mere action.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like to have courage,” He underlined his words with a grand flourish of his hand in my direction. “Putting yourself on the line even in the event you’ll be mocked and ridiculed or deemed wrong. That’s something you’ll need if you are seriously considering being part of the BAU, or the FBI at any capacity.”

My face was flushed from the acclaim he was showering me with. Suddenly, I was glad I volunteered.

Taking me completely by surprise, Dr. Reid wasn’t done yet.

“So, Mr. Sterling,” He began, directly calling out the boy in the back who without a doubt made the remark. I wouldn’t have had any reason to believe he heard it since his attention never diverted away from me long enough to catch the comment, much less the culprit. I wonder if he’d heard all the times Brad made jokes at my expense. Was he finally at his wits end with the sarcasm? “Make fun all you want, but might I suggest that if you like a girl, you do the opposite of that.”

His sickly sweet drawl was followed by a short wink at me as if to say ‘I have your back’, and I was lucky to have already been in the process of sitting back down because my knees would’ve given out underneath me from the sheer exhilaration of his praise.

The thought never once crossed my mind that Brad was so fixated on me because he had a crush, but it all made sense once it did. And if I didn’t know any better, Dr. Reid only humiliated him and brought it up because the realization dawned on him, too.

Was it possible that Dr. Reid was ... jealous?

In the spirit of complete transparency, that suspicion may have lit the tiniest wildfire imaginable in my chest. A wildfire that, even now, has yet to extinguish. Perhaps that little flame is the 0.01% of the reason I said yes. I could only imagine what kind of omnipotence it would soon gain if this date went well.

If he could light such an enduring kindle with simple praise, think about what would happen if he smiled at me. If he laughed at my jokes. If he held my hand.

If he kissed me.

Dr. Reid’s validation would be something I actively sought from all walks of life, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was how far that desire would take me.

I would have never guessed it would lead me here.

Standing in front of a fancy restaurant in a pretty red dress with the tenuous hope that the professor inside might just like it so much that he’ll end up liking the girl wearing it, too.

_ _ _

No matter how many times I adjusted the bouquet of poppies, they sat perpetually crooked on the table. Much like the dark gray tie around my neck that tightened around my throat with every passing second. I had to keep messing with it to loosen the noose-like grip it had on me. Who knew if it actually was becoming more restricting or it was the flourishing bundle of nerves in my stomach that made it harder to breathe.

I was never very good at lying in wait patiently. Especially if I was expecting something. Now that I was expecting someone? I could say with perfect clarity - I was not good at waiting.

I don’t wanna seem the way I do

Every time the door opened, my eyes flashed to it instantaneously. And every time it wasn’t her, a little part of me was disappointed. It was still too early to say for certain that she was standing me up, but my mind was doing what it did best. It wandered. There was nothing else to do after all.

Except maybe adjust those blood orange poppies one more time.

I’d picked them out specifically because Penelope slipped in a not-so-subtle comment about her dress being “a perfect match to the color of papaverales” - her words exactly. I thought if she went through that much trouble to find a color coordinated plant and say the scientific name for me to decode, it was worth picking up a bouquet of them on the way.

It was only the most ironic occurrence in the world that when I went to rearrange them one last time, I devoted my full attention to the action, missing the very moment I was on the lookout for the past hour and a half.

I didn’t even see her until the red poppies camouflaged into the identically colored setting of her dress.

Then there she was.

All the disappointment in the world was worth that first time I saw her with fresh eyes.

I was dumbstruck for a moment, long enough that it warranted an apology for not standing up sooner.

“(Y/n)! Hi!” I accidentally squealed. I couldn’t control myself, let alone control the pitch of my voice apparently.

I could see, in her, youthful naivete where, in others, I saw their age. She paradoxically had not aged a minute, and yet a new womanhood was piercing through her ultimately adolescent appearance.

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” She said through a laugh and a smile, shaking my hand politely and professionally. She was greeting me like I was still her professor and she’d just happen to run into me on an errand. Next, she’d be attempting small-talk for as long as it took for me to let her go.

Unfortunately for her, I had no plans for that.

But I’m confident when I’m with you

“Please, it’s just Spencer,” I reminded her, hoping to break down that governing image of me she surely maintained.

“Spencer,” She tried again; doing it more to be obedient to my instruction than to satisfy her own desire. It sounded so unnatural to her, just as it did to me. I found it adorable, actually. It seemed like she was breaking this unspoken, and very much illusionary rule to say my first name. “It’s nice to see you again,” She added after I pulled out her chair for her.

“Is it?” I asked when I rounded the table to get to my seat. “I get the feeling you’re a little disappointed.” The only reason I pointed it out was that it was true, not just that I’d observed the notion grow more poignant in her face for the past minute.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, which luckily for me, drew a line of congruence between her body language and verbal language. At least, she was being truthful. “It’s just that I’m sort of embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” I repeated in astonishment, unable to cultivate a list of reasons that would justify her feeling that way. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to provoke that emotion, and it nearly broke me to consider her internal being substantiating it.

“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but I can’t find a more accurate one for what I’m feeling,” She shied away from my eyes when she lowered her head as she spoke.

“You could try to explain it to me?” I offered gently. It took an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to not offer my hand with it. It would’ve been so easy to slide my hand across the threshold to enter her territory of the table, but who knows if doing so would just make her that much more uncomfortable.

“Well for one thing, I don't really go on dates,” From this alone, I could already relate to her enough to laugh at the fact. “Don’t laugh at me! You know how dangerous first dates can be,” She swatted her hand in my direction to chastise me.

“I do! I do! I think it’s really good that you’re protecting yourself to the point of avoiding dates,” I was teasing the implication that she wasn’t asked to go on very many, which was thankfully delivered well enough to make her laugh again.

“Hey! Many people have wanted to go on dates with me, thank you very much. You included.”

“Me included.” I nodded in approval. We sat in a short period of silence while we exchanged one soulful glance, borne from the insinuation of what I just said.

“And for another ... I respect you too much as a figure of authority to see you in that way.”

_ _ _

“In what way?”

Rather than tossing me a lifeline, he was feeding me to the sharks. Forcing me to dive into the deep end. He wanted to see me struggle to stay afloat in the sea of his sticky toffee eyes. He knew I'd get suspended in them when he gave me that look. How much I’d be willing to get lost in them just so I could wander in the depths of his honeyed orbs for a little bit longer.

That look ...

“You don’t find it weird?” This was the most honesty I could’ve demonstrated.

“Find what weird?” For someone with such a high IQ, you’d think he’d be quicker on his feet.

“This! You - me. On a date!” I gestured to the space between us. “You’re ... well frankly, Spencer, you’re old enough to be my father.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He genuinely cared about the answer.

“Only in theory. Not in actual life,” was the most precise response I could give.

“So what is making you uncomfortable?” Again, I could tell my answer mattered to him.

“You were my professor once, and now I’m just supposed to go on a date with you and see you as my equal when I’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you, putting you on a pedestal? Do you know how much pressure that puts on me? To be perfect?”

“Who says you have to be perfect? Who says you’re aren’t already?”

That one caught me off guard. I had to gulp down the lump of shock.

“You think I’m perfect?”

“That, or you’re pretty close to it.”

Lately all I feel is bad and bruised

I could’ve smiled, I could’ve thanked him, I could’ve fallen at his feet and thrown my dignity down there along with it, but I just laughed. I laughed.

“That’s ridiculous! You barely know me.”

“You’re wrong,” He simply replied with a firm shake of his head and a cavalier sip at his drink. It showed just how confident he was in his answer. How cocky he was.

“How am I wrong?”

He cleared his throat as though he were preparing to deliver the world’s greatest speech. Then, he leaned forward, motioning with his fingers for me to do the same.

“If I’m remembering correctly, which you know I am, you were the student who had the gall to raise your hand and correct me on my gender identification of the unsub, right?”

The second the sentimental thought, ‘aww he remembered’, came into my head, it was soon followed by, of course, he did, idiot. Eidetic memory, remember?

Tired of tripping on my shoes

“What does that have to do with me being perfect? Or so you claim?”

He was piercing deep into my eyes now, his gaze overwhelming my senses and sending shockwaves akin to the feeling of butterflies everywhere … and I mean everywhere.

“Bravery is the audacity to be unhindered by failures, and to walk with freedom, strength, and hope, in the face of things unknown.”

I recognized the quote as one of Morgan Harper Nichols, but the words went right to my chest like they were his own.

That damn wildfire just got a whole lot bigger.

“I’ve always thought about how if I could be unfazed by failure or even just the prospect of it, if I could just be strong enough or have enough hope to face what I couldn’t predict, I’d be set. I’d be golden,” He paused. “I’d be perfect ... but you? You, little one, have already got that figured out. So whether that means you’re perfect on your own because of your bravery or you're a perfect match for someone fainthearted like me, is up for you to decide. Whichever interpretation of being perfect you choose would be correct, but you should know - I meant both either way.”

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked when he finally refound his voice.

“Since the minute I walked in.” I replied after refinding mine.

_ _ _

“You always take girls to your apartment on the first date, Doctor?” Asking this in the name of taking a jab at him was the most clever way I could think to conceal my underlying motive of trying to gauge how giddy I could let myself feel about the fact that he’d taken me to his ‘super chic dark academia’ themed residence - Penelope’s words, remember?

“Well, in my abundant dating history,” He sarcastically began, “I can’t say I ever have, no. You’d be the first.”

That shot another quick bolt of lightning to the wildfire in my heart that I’m ashamed to admit made the heat reinvigorate. The flame must’ve been too much for my chest to contain so it had to relocate to my face, where my cheeks were left to burn under his gaze and thanks to his admission.

I was the first.

He must’ve seen the glint localizing on my countenance and decided to speak on it. “Why does that amuse you?”

“I don’t know,” I dumbly but truthfully replied. He didn’t need any more information to get his answer, though. Because even if I didn’t know what amused me about being his first, I never denied that it did, and that was more than enough confirmation for him.

“You promise to be here when I come back?” He wagged a cautionary finger at me like it might persuade me to stay and hold me accountable if I didn’t.

Spencer needed to go into his room to collect an item that ‘shall not be named’ but was apparently essential for our super secret plans tonight (secret to even me) and he was leaving me in the living room while he did so. I guess being the initial girl he took home on a first date was okay, but being the initial girl he took into his bedroom on a first date was crossing a line.

That was alright with me, though. I was in this for the long haul.

“I promise I pose no flight risk, Your Honor,” I taunted with a coy tone. “But I can’t promise I won’t snoop around some.” Hey, at least I was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“Snoop around all you want,” He laughed ruefully, demonstrating an openness I quite envied and admired. “You’ll probably learn a lot about me that way. And you won’t even have to talk to me to do that!” I knew he was only saying that out of self-deprecating tendencies he harbored, but I couldn’t help feeling that a small part of him actually believed that I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

“Spencer, you know I do like talking to you right?” I caught him just before he ran into his room. Already halfway in the door, I could still catch the megawatt smile on his face.

“So stay then,” His smile grew impossibly bigger. “We can talk all you want when I get back.”

The door closed, and then suddenly reopened to let just his face through, a face that said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

After a few minutes of loudly sorting through his room, I heard the sanctimonious cry of victory. “Found it!”

I could hear the little pad of his feet and he happily trotted out of the room. “Ta-da! My stargazing kit.” He said it as though he were introducing the basket he was holding to me, and me to it. Like it was a real person he wanted me to know. I almost felt obliged to say, ‘Hi stargazing kit! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m (y/n)!’

“Let’s go,” He smiled, reaching for my hand.

I unabashedly took it, because although it meant that I was truly leaving his apartment, I had a very strong feeling that I would be back here again one day.

_ _ _

We were lying there on this big quilted comforter that was stashed away in that stargazing kit of his, staring up at the sky, drunk on the sound of our occasional fits of laughter.

“It’s Earth Day, you know that?” I wondered aloud in a state of complete euphoria.

“I actually did,” He said through a sheepish laugh, almost as if he was admitting the knowledge of it against his own will to protect my fragility.

From out of nowhere, there was a small tug on the skirt of my dress. I looked down to find Spencer’s hand there, playing with the fabric until it lay perfectly on my leg.

I coughed to possibly relieve the tension brewing in my loins. “So then you know the Lyrid meteor shower is tonight,” I moved the tiniest bit closer to lean into his touch.

“At exactly 4:33 a.m,” He moved too.

“Is that why you brought me here? To watch the shooting stars? To make a wish?” I thought for a second that I would appear exceedingly childish - more so than I already did being 21 years his junior. But he didn’t judge me at all for the kid-like notion of making a wish on a shooting star or the implication that I still believed in those things.

In fact, I piqued his curiosity, telling by the way he moved only his head to the side to watch my reaction. “Say I did. What would you wish for?”

In the throws of dreamy elation, I softly murmured the only honest answer. “To be older. But not the unfulfilling 9 to 5, loveless marriage, ‘I do my taxes for fun’ older. I want to be old in the ways that the stars and the sky are old. I want to be infinite.”

“...To be infinite.” He whispered my wish back, sounding sort of in awe of me.

Just then, the overhead horizon grew larger. With no buildings or people to block the view, it was just us, the stars, and the sky. I could actually feel that I was lying on a planet. It was so wide. So infinite.

“Can I hold your hand?” I asked softly, in a manner so vulnerable it scared me.

Without any words or hesitation, he put my hand in his.

“The universe seems so big right now. I just needed something to hold onto.” I explained quietly, practically with the hopes that he wouldn’t hear me. But he heard.

“I’m here.”

We didn’t know what was ahead of us then. We were just two people, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. We weren’t divided by power, or age, or space. We were ourselves and no one else.

My eyes fluttered shut again and a smile stretched across my face. “Stargazing was a good idea.”

The world and the sky and the stars and I - we were all infinite. I couldn’t have felt bigger in my own body. In the best way possible, I was taking up so much space. I was occupying the earth. I was made up of matter. I mattered.

Just as I began to open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a fading shooting star. Though I had wished to be older, I still felt like a child. Then it hit me. I didn’t feel older because I wasn’t older.

I was infinite.

Yes, I was a child, but not in the pinch your cheeks, bottles and pacifiers, babyish way. I was a child in the ‘you have a life full of possibilities ahead of you’ way.

You are young. He tells me with his eyes. And that is a good thing. Be forever young.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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