#miserable… and yet. and yet. some little part of your brain full of the wonder from when you were small. full of that hope. some little part | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

junghelioseok · 3 years

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heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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astromaki · 3 years

Text

part 2 of 5000 $ - shoto todoroki x fem!reader (1597 words)

part 1. (previous)

tw ; minors dni, angst, nsfw, toxic relationship, mention of cheating and breakup, shoto is a complete bastard here

you finally did it.

you broke up with him a week ago. for real this time, not like the last hundred times you'd yelled at him that he was a heartless jerk. just so he could get you into bed the second you calmed down.

no, you threw him in the trash the day after that party. by message, but it was a start.

even your social media status had gone from 'in a relationship' to 'single <3', you'd even reinstalled tinder, and accepted follow requests on instagram from those boys in the same class as you in college.

and shoto seemed to have abandoned you too. no news from him, and you hadn't even run into him on campus in the last few days.

so why did it still hurt to think about him ? why did your lips refuse to say his name ? and why the fuck did your sheets still smell like him despite the many machines ?

so you could tell that you felt a little joy when you saw this message.

he had sent you this two days ago.

and it's been two days, you've been wondering if it was a good idea to see him again right away.

never mind, you were already at his door. besides, you didn't have to talk to him, just take back what belonged to you and go home. it couldn't go wrong ? right ? it's ridiculous, you even had to convince yourself now.

you knocked, once, twice, three times. you could hear someone inside. and you knew he didn't have a roommate. this rich kid could buy the whole building if he wanted.

fuck. you just had to go in and get your stuff, and it's like you were never there. he wouldn't notice you were there.

you opened the door, and were surprised to see a second pair of shoes at the entrance next to shoto's sneakers. which is more like a pair of rather feminine shoes, pumps.

a strange feeling made you shiver. it wasn't like you to track down your exes, but you don't remember seeing a new girl with shoto on social medias.

slight, imperceptible sighs escaped from his room a little further into the apartment. bed squeaks, that male growl you knew all too well.

fuck. fucking hell.

you knew what it was, you knew what those noises were, who was causing them. why he had asked you to come and get those so-called forgotten things.

and yet you still walked to his room, your brain screaming at you to turn around and stay away from that boy and his unmitigated evil. your heart telling you the opposite, to keep going to find out if he still cared about you. no matter how small, you wanted to know, you had to know, if you ever meant anything to him.

or if you were just a joke, that he could throw a little money around.

"shoto, fuck, yes, right there oh fuc-"

you felt tears welling up in your eyes when you finally saw shoto vulgarly fucking a girl in that room, where you used to spend all your evenings.

but that wasn't the worst part. it was that he had taken your best friend to bed, ochako.

"you're so fucking good, i -" he says in a low voice.

he had already created that crack in your heart. but now ?

his blue and gray eyes finally met yours, his gaze was nothing but arrogance and contempt. the only things he ever felt for you. and even though he was fucking your best friend, busy pacing back and forth, he had the nerve to look you up and down. a smirk lit up his face.

and that asshole finally said the three words he never disdained to say to you.

"i love you ochako," he finally said, looking you straight in the eye. you're the best sex i've ever had. "

his words were spoken clearly, slowly, so that they were articulate for you to hear. a mixture of anger, and sorrow suddenly overtook you

as if you had come back to reality, you suddenly left the room. your steps were disordered, you had lost all your balance, gravity seemed to be slightly stronger. your hands dropped some objects on your way.

what was wrong with you? why?

ochako had finally noticed you after her orgasm, and weakly called out your name, as if begging you to come back would make things better. that he was cheating on you was one thing, but with her ? the one who had pushed you to leave him?

you could hear heavy footsteps following you down the hallway to the front door. and a muscular hand grabbed your wrist to turn you around in one simple motion.

obviously, who else ?

"so you just walk into people's houses without knocking now?"

wow, how did he manage to make you hate him a little more every time he opened his mouth ?

"stop it. don't mess with me. you sent me a message to come in today to get my stuff." your voice was firm.

his face was as haughty as ever, yet he already seemed a little more natural and relaxed than the other times. you would have found it attractive if it wasn't after a romp with your best friend.

"ah, that's right. and so it's okay? you got everything? "

his deceptively kind voice made you want to scream. to take anything and throw it at him. he still had this annoying habit of driving you crazy even after you'd broken up. you wanted to hurt him like he'd been hurting you for months.

but your shaky, broken voice didn't reflect your desires. you were about to cry.

"i don't understand why? why you're being so mean to me. i'm not stupid, shoto, i know that you invited me here today just to see you fuck her."

his face hadn't changed, nor had his eyes. he was glaring at you miserably. as usual.

"i was hoping we could talk if i came to your door so we could maybe work things out, get off to a good start." and it's true, that message he sent you had falsely given you false hope. and you had fallen off the deep end.

a slight sigh escaped his lips. that slight sigh that made the cup overflow.

"why do you care ? we broke up, right ?"he said it in such a carefree tone.

"fuk you shoto. fuck you. you don't even realize how fucking toxic you are! you throw money around to get what you want, you fuck with people and play with their feelings! you're a fucking asshole. and you're a lot like your father for someone who hates him deeply. "

your words of hatred and anger that you had been building up for weeks, for fucking months, poured out on him like a lava flow.

it was mean, it was sincere, and it hurt shoto. it hurt him to see that he had done too much this tim.

his emotionless gaze watched you get angry, cry, push him, hit him, dry your tears that he couldn't tell if they were of melancholy or rage. he saw you push his hand away as he tried desperately to calm you down.

you couldn't see it, too busy screaming and drying your tears, but you managed to wring a sincere expression from shoto.

he was just panicking. he was panicking because he knew he had crossed the point of no return. that not even $5,000 or $10,000 or even $50,000 would bring you back.

his love, full of flaws, who never knew a healthy role model from his parents, would not be enough to make you stay. not to leave him alone.

because we know the cliché, the rich boy who didn't know how to love. didn't even know how to make the one person who always cared about his own selfish self, stay. but that was shoto though. he was that boy who only had toxic love to give.

but please don't leave him for good, he was begging you mentally.

if he had put his pride aside to express himself or even make you understand, maybe you wouldn't have left.

"i hate you shoto todoroki. i fucking hate you. but know that you'll end up alone, you and your stupid money. and i'll be the first to laugh. "

fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck.

" i- y/n just wait- "

he didn't think you'd hate him so much. the young man knew he was just an asshole with a fat bank account. he just thought that by fucking your best friend he'd get you to come back to him, out of desperation, out of a desperate love.

he didn't think he would feel such a pressure on his chest when he saw you slam the door, leaving him alone in the apartment with your best friend and a big hole in his heart.

he didn't think he'd regret his actions. he was a rich guy who always wanted what he wanted, whether it was money or sex. so you were easy. right ?

he never imagined that he would miss your perfume, your exasperating smiles, that he would miss you.

you were barely gone, and he knew he would miss you.

a/n ; i've never written such a nasty shoto sorry 😟 kinda want to leave this story like this...

please lemme know what you thought about this second part, should i make a third one ? (+ reblogs are appreciated <3)

🔖 taglist; @deepestranchgoopdeputy @kizuatonoaiko

#bnha x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x you #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto x you #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki angst #shoto smut #shoto torodoki #todoroki x y/n #todoroki shoto x you

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact.

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again.

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?”

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.”

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably.

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

***

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?”

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms.

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.”

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

***

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?”

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then.

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.”

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.”

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now, he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now.

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before.

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional.

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table. It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it.

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.”

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

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#maneskin fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david fiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #quiet music #bethanysnow #mywriting

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effeminateboyninja · 3 years

Note

I love the way you write 💕

Could you try writing something NSFW about having Kakashi as your neighbor? Thanks a lot!! For all your works ❤️

aw thanks so much sweetie! 💚

The ninja next door

(Kakashi x afab!reader) NSFW // 1.4k words

cws: no plot, just horny 🤷🏻‍♀️ unprotected sex

// 18+ minors dni! //

When you moved into your building a few months ago it was a last-ditch effort to leave behind your old roommate, who by all accounts was a miserable person to live with. The apartment was cheap, it was close to work, and most importantly it was a one bedroom where you could finally have your own space. Something that you’d come to appreciate much more since living with your old housemate.

The fact that your neighbour across the hall was probably the best looking man you ever laid eyes on was just a bonus. And the way he was currently running his strong hands over your body, pulling you tight against his own chiseled form as he kissed you… well you weren’t sure what to call that yet, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

When you’d knocked on the handsome ninja’s door a half hour ago you were only looking for some help moving in your new furniture, not a one night stand. Sure, maybe you turned up the heat a little so he would take off his shirt to reveal his impressive chest and arms, lithe but toned and artfully sculpted from years of training. And maybe you didn’t try very hard to hide the way your eyes ran hungrily over the way his muscles rippled as he pushed your new couch across the small space of your living room, a feat you definitely could have achieved yourself — but you’d assumed a situation like this was one that would stay confined to self-indulgent daydreams. Evidently though, the busy shinobi was as sexually frustrated as you were and all it took was a lip bite paired with a suggestive observation that he looked awfully tired, maybe he should “take a break” and the two of you were on each other in an instant. All tongues and wandering hands, both of your clothes frantically discarded on the floor as he pushed you back against the wall.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” his voice is husky against your neck, the hot breath of his words sending shivers down your spine and you throw your head back, giving him full access to access to continue kissing and licking sensually at the sensitive skin.

Head swimming with pleasure, the words left your lips of their own accord, “What took you so long?”

He let out a breathy chuckle, his hands never ceasing their exploration of your waist, hips, anything he could grab hold of as he guided you to the center of the room, “Well, you can’t exactly tell the girl next door you want to fuck her brains out just passing by in the elevator can you?”

“It would have worked,” you admitted as you pushed him down on the newly placed couch and he smirked. God he looked so good when he smirked. You knew he had to be hiding something worthwhile under that mask, but seeing him now without it — he was stunning.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” he noted.

You returned his sly smirk and took one last look at his uncovered face, doing your best to memorize the sharp curve of his jaw, the thin line of his soft lips accented by that adorable mole before leaning back in for another heated kiss.

He reciprocated it with passion, gripping both of your hips to guide you across the bulge growing in his boxers and soaking your underwear in the process. Without warning he lifted you off his lap and flipped you underneath him so that you were propped back on the arm of the couch. He traced a slender finger over your clothed heat, eliciting a soft moan from your parted lips. The corner of his lip turned up at your reaction and he slipped the last piece of pesky fabric between him and your waiting core over your ankles, peppering warm kisses down your legs as he went. He made his way back up painfully slowly, his dark eyes never leaving yours as his fingers traced feather light lines over your thighs.

“Stop teasing,” you pleaded, and he laughed lowly, the feeling of his breath against your skin doing wonderful things for the desire that was pooling between your legs.

“Sorry, just trying to savour the moment.”

Then he brushed his thumb over your clit before leaning down to lap at your wet folds eagerly. One hand found its way to knead at your breast, tweaking the nipple gently as he continued his ministrations, pulling soft gasps from within your chest. Your back arched against the arm of the sofa, body responding of its own volition to the intense pleasure that was coursing through it and he took the opportunity to push your legs open wider.

“You look so pretty like this,” he muttered, eyes trained on your exposed cunt, “I knew you would.”

He slid a finger inside your entrance, quickly following it with a second when you cried out at the sensation. His long digits pumped in and out of you, he tongue returning to flick quick circles over your throbbing bud as the coil in your abdomen tightened. Fingers tangled in his silver tresses, you grinded against his face, inhibitions lost to the electricity coursing through your veins and before you knew it your were coming undone, his name on your lips as your orgasm washed over you.

“I like the way you say that,” he said, voice gravelly as he crawled up to position his hips between your own.

You grasped either side of his face, pulling him down to capture his lips in your own, the taste of yourself still on his tongue.

“Fuck me… Kakashi.”

He groaned and kissed you once more, biting your lip as he pulled away and pulled down his boxers allowing his erection to spring forth. You took in the sight greedily. God, even his cock was gorgeous, you thought. Then with a quick thrust he bottomed out inside of you.

“Ah- you’re so tight,” he hissed, and you whimpered in response, lost in the feeling of being completely filled by him.

He started to rock his hips slowly at first, his length pulling against your walls deliciously. But soon it wasn’t enough.

“Please,” you begged, “more.”

That was all it took for him to turn from gentle and intimate to something wild, his eyes lighting up. “You want more?” He slid a strong arm under the small of you back, pulling you up and thrusting forward hard. “Want me to fuck this pretty pussy ‘till you scream?”

“Yes! Kakashi, please!”

With a low growl he pulled you up so that you were supported only by his grip on your waist and began bucking into you with a new determination, each thrust of his hips meeting yours with a muffled *smack*. The sounds of your moans mingle together in the otherwise silent room, but the way he feels — the intensity of his cock spearing into you contrasted by the feeling of his soft lips on your neck, you don’t care about the thin walls of the apartment and whether the neighbours can hear, all that matters is the pleasure.

Your toes curled and your grip on his shoulders tightened nails digging into pale skin as your body began to tingle.

“I’m close,” you gasp.

“You gonna come for me?” he groaned, savouring the sweet sound of your voice. “Come on baby, cum all over this cock.”

With a final thrust, he bottomed out inside of you once more and euphoria crashed over you, limbs shaking from the intensity. He felt your walls tighten around him and followed you into your bliss, a soft moan falling from his lips that you were sure was your new favourite sound.

He pulled out with a hiss and collapsed on top of you, toned chest heaving as the two of you recovered from your orgasms. You ran your fingers through his now damp silver hair and he looked up at you with a grin.

“You should’ve asked me to move your furniture a long time ago,” he said.

You returned his coy smile and shrugged, “I was thinking I needed a new desk for myself, maybe you can help me out?”

He craned his neck up to place a soft kiss on your lips and chuckled, “It would be my pleasure.”

#kakashi hatake #kakashi #kakashi x reader #kakashi x reader smut #kakashi x y/n #kakashi smut #kakashi hatake x you #naruto x reader #naruto x reader smut #naruto smut

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allandoflimbo · 3 years

Text

Ashens (Part 24)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,700

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat

I hope it's gonna make you notice

“…I’m in the military, sir…”

“…James, that’s my father, okay? If anything, let’s just be glad he didn’t kill you. He’s like that with everyone…And the soldier thing, he’s weird about that. I’m not sure why…”

Bucky lies awake in bed, fluffy pillow behind his head and one leg peeking out from the blankets, as random memories knack away at his brain in pulses. They weren’t new memories, but they were memories that he never looked at the way he was now.

He doesn’t know why now, he doesn’t know what triggered it, but they were clicking together.

After years of replaying the same moments in his head, there was a nagging feeling that was telling him that there was something not adding up.

He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s seeing things differently, if he’s feeling things differently.

Whatever it was, he knew there was something…off.

There was something off about Daisy’s story about her dad’s story, something was off about the way he was against Bucky fighting in the military, and her death was coinciding so much with his capture.

He doesn’t like the feeling in his stomach as he remembers.

When Bucky asked about her brother and what that whole commotion back at the club was she was blatantly honest with him.

“My father’s not a good guy. He’s been wanting some something from one of these performers that was suppose to be there last night, but turns out they weren’t even on the set list. He had lied about it, we don’t know where he is.”

Bucky raises a brow at this, “You do his dirty work for him?”

“No, I don’t like to get involved in that. It’s a dangerous lifestyle. I have to think about my future family. I was only there yesterday because my brother wanted to get me out of the house for once.”

Bucky isn’t too gleam on the fact that her family are borderline criminals and that she basically supports it, and for a fraction of a second he almost doesn’t buy it, but he decides to mention this later on, not wanting to ruin their moment.

Bucky shifts his leg as he continues to remember that conversation. Why was he not against it? Why did he never question the crimes? Was he that distracted by her?

Bucky smiles at her comment, but then his brows furrowed together in an adorable way that made Daisy giggle and bring her hand to his cheek, “What is it, James?”

What is it, James?

Bucky looks over to see you laying next to him, sat up with your back against the headboard reading some book with a beige cover.

You hadn’t taken notice of his self discomfort yet, emerged in your reading, tucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

Why was he remembering all of this now? Why was he feeling sick?

When they pulled away she slowly dragged her thumb across his plump bottom lip. He watched her like she was the most gorgeous and interesting thing on the planet.

“James?” He responded with a sound on confirmation and she continued, “do you think we are moving too fast?”

He grabbed her hand that was on his face and for a fraction of a moment she thought that that was it, they were over. This was clearly too unrealistic. But instead he brought her hand up over both his lips and he kissed her gingerly.

“Yes.” He whispered behind her hand, making sure he was making direct eye contact with her.

Her face dropped. “Yes?” Her voice was worried, cautious.

He started trailing kisses down her hand, her wrist, her forearms. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck making her groan.

It wasn’t that Daisy didn’t like being pampered but she wanted to take this very seriously. With a reluctant sigh - because what he was doing to her flesh just felt so good - she delicately removes her arm from Bucky’s grasp. He narrowed his eyes as she moved away towards the head board, suddenly wondering if maybe he said the wrong thing.

Her eyes trickled his features and down his perfect little nose.

“I knew it since the moment I laid my eyes on you. That’s how you know it’s real. This isn’t crazy, it’s ludicrous. But it works for us. I want to be with you.”

After his little speech Daisy looked him dead in the eye, not batting one lash.

“Then come have dinner with my family.”

Was it too fast? He had barely known her and she was asking him to meet her family. Criminals.

But why would she give away such dire information if it were true?

Bucky sat up slowly, as if if he were to move too quickly, the bed would collapse underneath him.

His eyes had a far away look in him, and he was as pale as he felt.

You feel him shift and your eyes flicker up to him.

You frown.

Her blue eyes glisten with gentle tears, probably thinking the same exact thing. None of it still feels real.

Her, she, doesn’t feel real.

They spent nearly every night together just talking about what Bucky would do when he came back home after camp. Things like how they would have to go see the stars on the back of an outskirts farmhouse, how they would have to go to every club in the city and laugh their night away, how he would take her to coney island with him and Steve and show her a “good time” on the ferris wheel, and how they would definitely have to meet her family.

“They’re great, you’ll love them.” She had said as they laid in bed together just hours before, merely cuddling with clothes on.

“Oh, come on doll, even your Dad?”

Daisy hesitated for a moment and her hand that was rubbing his chest stopped suddenly.

Bucky noted this and they met eyes.

Bucky feels his heart palpitate and he opens and closes his right hand, sitting up.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” You ask softly, closing your book.

“Dad has been gone for four weeks and I don’t know why. Jimmy has gone with him- it’s just me and mother. I overheard her saying something about Germany but I’m not quite sure.. Or maybe it was something else. Though none of that matters to me, James- I want you. Please come home to me.”

For some reason, a chill ran down his back as he reread the words “something about Germany”.

Like an awful memory that has never happened, he sees a child in front of him. It was a little girl and she screamed in agony for mercy. She was getting strangled to death by his own hand, a silver glint caught his eye-

“James!”

“Bucky.”

Your voice pulls him out of his trance for just a moment.

He looks up to you, your eyes interlacing in a silent conversation of understanding.

He was revealing something to himself and you could tell that whatever that was it was leaving him overcome by feelings.

At the end of the day, he knows that he’s just insanely protective of Steve. Which is why his arm instinctively goes around him when Rogers almost gets hit by a speeding vehicle that abruptly stops to halt in front of them on the curb. With his mind far away, he hadn’t realized they were already standing on the sidewalk in front of one bright sign labeled Cotton Club.

Had Bucky known better, he would’ve had him on his left.

After that introduction, the two boys look over to the object that almost killed them.

It was pure black, the countless lights coming from the surrounding buildings and cars bouncing off its surface. The rain must’ve made it even shinier, the lights made a reflection so bright that it had everyone staring. Men looked in awe and a young paper boy, standing on the corner working over time, wondered if that would someday be his future.

With a look of disgust, Steve was repulsed by the obscurity of the man’s driving having nearly hit him. He wondered why people had no respect and he desperately wanted to punch his face in. Either that or give him a pep talk about general safety.

“What a twit.” He snarls, dusting off his small suspenders and kicking the invisible debris off his lapels.

Bucky’s face held something different. It explained why the woman staring had looked on in pure jealousy. He stared forward completely emotionless. He was neither annoyed at the fact that he almost just got run over and killed and nor in obsession over the Duesenberg J.

It was the beautiful goddess emerging from the passenger seat that caught his full attention.

On her left hand was a pearl and diamond bracelet and she used it to skim over the top of the priceless car door for leverage to push herself gracefully up from the leather seat. Her other hand was wrapped up in a prestige white glove. It held onto the hem of her silver sparkling gown, a long white cigar between her digits. Her gorgeous dress looked heavy, you could tell it was so properly made and expensive because it must’ve weighed as much as her petite self. The reason being that it hugged her body at just the perfect places, showing off her curves gracefully.

Her perfect blonde hair was pulled slick back by a diamond hair clip to the side in huge voluminous waves. The dress showed just enough back, the material dipping down towards the floor, the dip ending just above her bottom. The entire thing was held by two tiny silver straps on her shoulders.

In a sentimental Mood by Duke Ellington seemed to have played perfectly in sync with the exact moment she shut the door behind her. She looked up to read the sign, her perfect profile looking up in awe.

Bucky stands up from the bed, back rigid and face hard with anger.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He swallows thickly, gaze going towards you again.

He doesn’t know why he keeps looking at you.

Ironically, beneath his anger and betrayal, he also began to feel embarrassment.

He’s momentarily startled out of his trance when he feels a small hand grab his elbow. He looks down and his eyes meet a small concerned Steve. Well, to be fairly honestly, he looked more pissed than concerned.

Bucky doesn’t feel the patience to deal with talking anything out, he’s too busy thinking about Daisy. But he feels like he should at least say something so he can get everyone off his back, “What is it?”

Steve looks at him likes he’s crazy and then manically gestures towards the entrance of the club, probably pointing to where Daisy just left through.

“Bucky, what the heck was that? Who was that? You know her?”

“I didn’t know her. No.” Bucky doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud.

He’s shaking his head to himself, mumbling.

“Bucky, who are you talking to?” You’re growing even more concerned by the second now.

The silence was broken by his strong voice.

“You’re real.”

She smiles in a way that makes him smile too. It was contagious and bright. He caresses her skin one more time.

He felt her own hand come over his and she whispers, “I’m real.”

“Not real.”

You are more than concerned at this point.

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe it was the fact that my body had finally developed into a women’s body. My breasts were now fully perked and my legs were long and porcelain gorgeous; all I knew was they figured I could be put to good use.”

He shook his head and Bucky blinked away heavy tears.“I-“

The pretty woman rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, revealing a long slit that ran up her dress. It was just enough skin for Bucky’s hand to get sweaty.

He waited until the perfect opportunity when the man had walked towards the direction of the stage, making his way into the back behind the curtain.

“It wasn’t real.”

“You do his dirty work for him?”

“It wasn’t real.”

“My father’s not a good guy.”

Bucky remembers them poking him with IV drops and then sticking his head in a blender. His owns screams fill his head. It was so painful.

“Reason unknown, ongoing investigation"

“I wasn’t going to let you keep her. She enticed you. She won you. It was always supposed to be you.”

“…blonde 21 year old was found shot…”

“Daisy,” he whispered. He traced her features with his hand, and just like that the fear escaped his eyes, and instead of scared he was now feeling complete love and he was ready because knew this is what he wanted forever. He wanted her, “Will you marry me?”

“…Her family has been under investigation after her father’s disappearance —…”

“But you jeopardized it, Soldat. It wasn’t real.”

The memories are sucked out of him like a vacuum and his dark eyes meet yours, again, across the bed.

You had never seen his pupils so blown before.

You were terrified.

Your eyes go down to his flesh hand that is twitching against his thigh.

“Bucky.” You say cautiously, one more time. It was almost like you were afraid to get closer to him.

“I—“ his voice was hoarse.

He looks away and clears his throat. He blinks away the heavy daze, allowing it all to sink in until it settles in his stomach in a surprising pool of acceptance.

He sees you again and for some reason he feels okay.

It scares him.

It scared him how you took something that had been bothering him for so long, away that quickly.

In that moment he knows.

“I remembered something.” Your eyebrows came together suddenly. Nearly moments ago he looked heartbroken but now he just looked shocked and angry.

“What did you remember? I thought you had your memories back. In Wakanda.”

“I-I did,” he squeaks out running a hand through his hair, “maybe I’m just remembering differently, or adding pieces together, I don’t know, I can’t tell. It has to be, because it makes sense. It makes so much sense now, and I can’t—and she—”

“Bucky you’re rambling,” he stops and you continue to look at each other. His face drops all traces of anger and it softens, “Talk to me, I’m right here.” You whisper.

Bucky looks down at you and nods. No hesitancy.

“Give me your hands.” You say, reaching for him. He doesn’t hold back from doing so, and once you have his hands in yours, you pull him up onto the bed so he’s kneeling on it next to you.

Bucky takes a few minutes to compose himself before he says it:

“I think Daisy and her family were Hydra.” He says it like he’s afraid of his own words.

As if every word in that phrase was a curse word.

Somehow, it relieves him.

His chest feels light, shoulders worn. He can breathe.

+ + +

“I should’ve known it was too fast. Too perfect,” you’re also stunned as he tells you everything, his hands still in yours, “but—but I don’t think she was always hydra. I think she wanted out when I was captured and they killed her for it.”

You don’t deny it, that hurts. Despite never knowing the girl and secretly holding envy for her, it pains you.

“Oh, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing together.

“But it was a lie. She enticed me, she fucking—“ Bucky sucks in a deep breath, “she was trying to lure me in. There was nothing real about it.” He says the word like it’s venom on his lips.

You feel him rub his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You don’t know that -”

He shakes his head again, “She was Hydra!” He doesn’t say it angrily as much as he says it in a way to announce it to himself.

He needed to say it out loud. He needed to let it sink in.

You watch Bucky as he becomes completely numb, and somehow free, in front of you.

For some reason you expected more heartbreak from him for discovering something so horrible about a woman he claimed he loved so much, a woman he wanted to marry, but instead all you got from him was anger and acceptance.

Little did you know, Bucky was in the same boat as you.

Why wasn’t he as heat shattered as he’d expect?

“I-“ he’s speechless as he looks around, trying to find something, but he does’t know what.

You think you’re more shocked than him and you quickly grab his arm, bringing him against you for a tight hug.

He hugs you back immediately, hand running up your shoulder blade and onto the back of your hair.

Minutes pass by. Many minutes.

“It was all a lie,” he whispers still holding onto. you, “All of it. I really was alone. I thought I finally had someone, but—It wasn’t real.”

You don’t know what to say as you run your hand up the back of his head.

It’s not until you pull him in tighter that he realizes it.

It was you.

You were there reason this didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. His heart no longer wanted to be with someone who was long gone.

It wanted to stay here.

Here.

He never thought he would ever feel this way ever again, and he never thought he would trust this hard ever again.

Realizing truth relived him of buried pain, and he wanted you to keep holding him, to keep helping him go through this.

He says your name softly.

“Yes?”

“I want to talk about everything.”

You stiffen for a moment as you let his words sink in. You weren’t exactly sure what he was talking about.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“All of it. Everything that I did. I need to get it out, I can’t keep doing this, holding it in, keeping it inside —”

The euphoria through your blood is addicting.

“Tell me.”

He loved slow dancing.

He loved the Yankees.

He loved math and Howard Stark.

He went to the Stark Expo every year.

He loved The Hobbit and he loved jazz.

He loved New York City.

He loved Brooklyn the most.

He misses flat hats.

He loved telling jokes.

His mother died when he was young.

His sister was taken away from him.

He cried when he couldn’t see her.

His father died not too long after.

He never enlisted despite his love for the military.

He was drafted.

He experienced World War II but on the enemy side.

He fought with Hitler’s and Hydra’s men.

He was loved by the KGB.

He loved Prague.

He trained the girls in the red room.

He remembers every young girl.

He was told to kill four kids on a mission once in Bucharest.

He was tormented, beaten raw, and kept in a concrete cell between cryo periods.

He was only occasionally fed, most years spent asleep.

He was treated like an animal. They tied him to the wall once in the cell, with a chain around his neck.

He was brain washed.

He was sexually assaulted by Hydra.

He doesn’t remember if he was raped, which could be his brain’s way of protecting himself from more trauma.

He reminds you that loved Howard Stark.

He killed Howard Stark.

He killed Maria Stark.

He was the one that stole the super soldier serum from the Stark’s and provided it to Hydra.

He was the fist of Hydra.

He killed many other good men. Over two dozen assassinations.

He killed JFK.

He never wanted to do any of it.

He remembers all of it.

They named him a hero on the Wall of Valor before S.H.I.E.L.D fell.

He was taken into Wakanda, freed of his trigger words.

He still loved New York City.

He was pardon him, despite everything.

They named him an Avenger.

He remembers it all.

You’re laying down facing each other and you continue to watch him as he tells you everything.

It’s one of the most surreal experiences of your life and you find yourself in total awe.

This was the Bucky Barnes you had been longing to see. This was the man you knew was hidden beneath layers of hurt and anger.

You had seen it before he even told you.

The fact that he even trusted you enough to be this transparent with you is what makes you so happy.

His eyes brightened as he played with a string on the blanket between you.

“And Friends,” his voice is small and there’s a little smile on his mouth. Your heart swells as you watch it, “I love Friends.”

You bite your tongue as you smile.

Bucky stared at you, just as amazed at himself as he was at you. He couldn’t believe he told it all to you.

It was as if Daisy’s image had begun to dissolve and he was finally seeing clearly.

He didn’t hate you. He never hated you.

His fingers peak out slowly to take a hold of your pinky.

It was the opposite. He wanted you.

He feels himself breaking when you pull away from his touch. His smile falls.

“I’m proud of you,” you say quietly, sitting up again, “For finally talking about it.” You mean it, “Thank you.”

It takes him a few seconds to eventually look away and he turns onto his back. Bucky drapes an arm over his stomach, letting out a long breath of contentment.

He felt free.

To do what?

He looks over at you again as you pull your book back out.

This. This is what freedom got him. You.

But it you weren’t his. He clears his throat.

“How are things with your boyfriend?”

You don’t like talking about Pietro with Bucky.

“It’s fine,” you answer anyway, “We only had one date. And I got sick, so hopefully the next one will be better.”

Bucky swallows thickly. Why was he feeling like this? He should be happy for you. You wanted this. You deserved this.

“What do you plan to do when it’s time for us both to leave and go back?” He asks.

You don’t miss the way he mentions both of you to leave and your eyes quickly flicker to him.

“I don’t know yet,” you say hoarsely, filled with unexpected relief.

+ + +

Bucky doesn’t remember experiencing this kind of happiness since he was nineteen and him and Steve went to go see a baseball game after scoring a date with two pretty girls on the F train.

He’s happy.

Ashen peaks up at him from behind dark lashes, smiling so hard his eyes peak up at the side, turning them into thin slits. Bucky’s aren’t too far off as he mimics the boy’s laughter.

“Connect four?” Bucky asks, chuckling.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta try it. It’s so fun.” The Ashens says happily, pulling out the little game from underneath his bed. Bucky wants to ask him why he has it hidden, but he doesn’t. He just reminds him that they need to stay quiet, “plus, it’s the only game I have anyway. But it’s fun Mr. Bucky.”

“Haha, alright lets try it.” Bucky says.

They sit across from each other on the floor, setting up the little game and dividing their colored chips. Ashen’s goes first, dropping in a yellow one.

Bucky picks up a red one with his flesh hand and drops it right next to the yellow. They continue for a bit until Ashens notices Bucky isn’t connecting his colors.

“No, you have to try to get a straight line and connect it!” He laughs, “you suck at this."

“Oh, no! What did I do?” Bucky exclaims, laughing.

“You’re not very smart for an Avenger.” Ashens remarks.

“Okay,” Bucky points at him playfully, smiling, “That’s mean.”

“I’m sorry but it is true.”

“Cut me some slack.” Bucky says, smiling.

They play for a little longer until Ashens ends up beating him.

Bucky sticks his tongue out at the boy, but smiles. He eventually caught on to the game and let him win. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Mr. Bucky,” Ashen says after he slides the game back under his head. He brings his legs up to his chest and hugs them, "Will you tell me now why you are here to save me?”

Bucky licks his lip and sighs. He looks out Ashens' high rise window and then back to him again. “Not yet.”

“Should I be afraid.”

“No. I won’t let anything happen you. I promise.”

Ashens doesn’t say anything as he lets his Mike Wazowski slippers hit each other.

“Do you have any kids? Like my age?”

The question surprises Bucky, and for a moment a feeling of longing hits him. “No. I don’t.”

“Aww okay.”

Bucky stares at Ashens little sad face and his heart breaks.

“I always wanted to, though,” Bucky whispers, “But that was years ago.”

“When you were in world war one?”

Bucky smiles.

“Two, not one, but yeah,” it’s not a lie, Bucky knows that if his loved would’ve went a different way, he would have definitely had kids. To know he could never go back to such simplicity broke his heart, “Something like that.”

There was something, that even so many months later, still bothered Bucky. It was something so small, and it probably didn’t really affect you as much as it affected him, but it was something you said to him.

It was one of your many fights and the way you had spatted at him about buying you plan B after you had sex.

He didn’t want to burden you. What you two had done had been irresponsible. An atmosphere like this was no place and time for an unwanted baby.

You weren’t ready for one, let alone his.

At the time, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t want the baby, if you were to have gotten pregnant, he would have loved that child with everything. He was thinking about you.

He hated to think that he gave you that pill as a gesture to say that he wanted nothing to do with you.

If so, you were wrong.

He wanted you to be happy, just smart.

He cared about you.

And now, possibly more.

As he continues to watch Ashens giggling over his slippers, that feeling of longing washes over Bucky again.

He knows he needs to tell you.

+ + +

You still weren’t feeling well. Maybe it was your nerves. The end of the mission was getting closer by each day and you never expected you’d have to leave with a little kid. You still hadn’t met Ashens, but Bucky says he’s a delight.

Ashens has changed him. You took notice immediately and it made you happy. This whole experience would be good for him.

After Bucky had poured out his heart to you, you knew you needed to get away again. That was the dance now. You get pulled, you take a step back. You couldn’t let yourself go there anymore, no matter how hard it was.

Pietro would be the driving force to help you.

You just wish Bucky would stop doing things that he probably realized he wasn’t even doing. The way he touches your face and your hand, or some times the way he looks at you, was not appropriate for two fuck buddies who stopped…fucking.

You were still convinced that he wanted you two to go your separate ways at the end of this mission. Him indirectly saying he was going to walk out with you made you happy, it could’ve been Ashens that helped him have a change of heart, whatever it was, this thing between you had to dissolve anyway.

You couldn’t keep doing that to himself, even when he would blur your lines.

You really wished he would stop doing that.

That night you after the ball, you were almost sure that he was developing feelings for you - finally - it’s why you tried to get him to finally tell you why the kiss bothered him.

Bucky never told you the truth, and you were too tired to keep digging.

You were glad that was the last time.

It was over. All of it was over.

Your stomach churns again and you decide to make yourself some tea and head to bed.

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#bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes smut #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #tfatws fanfiction #winter soldier fanfic #Bucky Barnes x reader series #enemies to lovers #sharing bed #fwb

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bucksfucks · 3 years

Text

amorosa // steve rogers

chapter seven: scattered touches

chapter one // chapter two // chapter three

chapter four // chapter five // chapter six

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

main masterlist

series masterlist

summary || three months after you’d called it quits with steve you realise you miss him more than you thought you would.

pairing || sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader

word count || 1,979 words

warnings || sugar daddy/sugar baby themes, financial issues, undefined age gap, sloppy car sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, angst, fluff — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes || yes this is full of cliches and tropes, let me live out my fantasy hehe

It was easy for the days to turn into weeks and the weeks into months. With nothing to ground you to reality, life felt like it was slipping through your fingers; not that you really minded.

Moving out of Steve’s place was by far the most miserable you had been.

He wasn’t there, you weren’t sure if he even lived there anymore.

Steve had let work consume him just like you had let your thoughts consume you.

Three months passed, in the time you had managed to find a new apartment for yourself. A good, fun job that you actually liked. A job where you wouldn’t have to run around waiting on tables of rich men.

A job that wouldn’t remind you of Steve.

“Do you ever wonder how he’s doing?” Simoné’s voice filled the cozy kitchen the two of you shared.

She was still working at the restaurant, but she always enjoyed it more than you ever did.

“Nope.”

Yes you do. You lie awake wondering who he’s with now. If he’s found someone else to spoil.

“I can tell when you’re lying to me,” she chuckled, giving you a knowing look over her shoulder.

You sighed, a sympathetic smile on your face as you knew she was just trying to be a good friend and help you.

It was pasta night which meant you were on noodles and she was on sauce.

That’s the one good thing about working at a restaurant, the cooks are nice enough to give you free cooking tips.

“I do, yeah,” you admit, “I just hate that I do.”

She nods, a warm hand on your shoulder as she plates some food for the both of you as you open a bottle of wine, pouring two generous glasses.

“He never said anything about Peggy?” She asked as you grimaced at the sound of the other woman’s name.

“She was his wife, they ended on bad terms, and that she’s definitely not one to mess with. That’s all I know.” You sighed as you fell into one of the dining room chairs.

Simoné gave you a look that said she had more questions, questions that you probably didn’t have answers to.

“Peter was nice enough to offer getting some more information on her, but,” you stopped, the sound of your ringtone filling the small apartment.

You picked it up, seeing Steve’s name pop up.

There were no emoji’s, no sign that you had ever been in a relationship of any sorts with him.

“I’m not picking it up.” You told Simoné as she rolled her eyes, “you know curiosity killed the cat, but the answer brought it back.”

You narrowed your eyes, gnawing on your lip as the device vibrated in your hand.

“Fine,” you groaned, swiping across the screen and quickly retreating to your room as Simoné shouted various words of encouragement.

“Steve what is it?” You said, perhaps a little harshly as you heard a soft sigh on the other end.

“Sweetheart, just let me explain everything. Please, I know I sure as hell don’t deserve this chance, but if you let me, I’ll make it up to you.”

His voice was low and sweet, slightly hoarse as you hated to admit that you missed the sound of it.

There was a hollow feeling inside of you ever since you, in a way, broke up with Steve.

“One cup of coffee.” You said, trying to hold back the emotions in your voice.

“One cup of coffee.” He echoed your words, your stomach fluttering as you heard him chuckle, “that’s all I’ll need.”

“That’s all you’ll get, Rogers.” You chid back, playful edge in your voice before you hung up the phone in an attempt to put together what you were about to do.

Leave it to Steve to pick the fanciest, classiest, and nicest café in all of New York to take you to.

You still felt out of place, the hoodie you were wearing must’ve been a dead giveaway that yes, it was your first time here.

Yet, you couldn’t stop the feeling of excitement as you lifted your head each time a new patron entered the small shop.

It never ended up being Steve.

Until it did.

He walked in wearing nothing less than what you expected; a neatly tailored suit, polished shoes, and the posture of a Greek god.

Fuck.

You, along with everyone else, had their eyes on Steve as he stalked through the tables and stopped in front of you. He bent down, placing a kiss to each cheek, “how are you?”

“Fine,” you replied, slightly mesmerized by his presence.

He smiled, taking a seat across from you before a waiter quickly took both of your orders, Steve reciting yours from memory.

“How’ve you been, sweetheart?” He asked, the pet-name making your heart ache as you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.

“Okay, living with Simoné now. And uh, I got a job too, so it’s been good.” You told him, and you weren’t lying.

He nodded his head, eyes trained on you as your cup of coffee was placed in front of you.

“Have you been?” You asked the dreaded question, figuring it was now or never to rip off the bandaid and find out if he’s been seeing someone new.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair; a nervous habit.

“I’ve been better,” he gave you a tired smile, taking a sip of his coffee as he leaned on his elbows in an attempt to get closer to you.

His musky cologne washed over you, it wasn’t the same one from before.

You didn’t know why it broke your heart.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said, not really knowing how else to fill the silence.

He chuckled, “I’ve missed you, you were always so,” he trailed off, “polite.”

It didn’t take much to realise it was a euphemism and you had to fight back a shiver.

You swallowed thickly, inhaling a shaky breath as Steve leaned in closer.

“Let’s cut to the chase, yeah?” He asked and you nodded, eyes darting around the little café suddenly feeling as if all eyes were on you.

You sat and you talked, you took turns listening, a pastry and a few cups of coffee later, you felt like the old Steve, your Steve, was back and sitting in front of you.

“I never meant to hurt you, sweetheart. Peggy,” he whispered her name like it was a curse, “is a part of my past, my past that I wish I could erase.”

You wanted to reach over and hold his hand, your fingers twitching and aching for him warmth, but you stopped yourself.

“My intentions were never to hurt you, I’ve always wanted to protect you.”

“You lost my trust, Steve,” you almost whispered as his eyes softened.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, all I want is to know you’re safe and taken care of.”

You nodded your head, averting your eyes as you fiddled with the rings on your fingers. This was the Steve you fell in love with.

“Can I give you a ride home? It’s getting late and I hate the thought of you on the subway alone at night.”

You nodded your head, grabbing your things and following Steve out as you let his words replay in your head.

You were on autopilot as he opened the door of his car, a new one by the looks of it as you crawled inside.

The drive back was quiet, the subtle roar of his engine mixed with soft music consumed you both as you slowly relaxed into the seat.

“Right here?” Steve’s voice brought you back to reality as he pulled up outside of you apartment building, “the one and only.” You chuckled, the first time you had smiled a genuine, carefree smile that night.

“I would invite you up, but I think Simoné has an early morning tomorrow.” You said, a small flame erupting inside of you.

The tension between the two of you had been thick ever since you got into the car. Steve nodded his head, “no worries, sweetheart. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

You didn’t want to leave, your brain telling you to tell him goodnight, but your body wanted to pull him in by his tie and let him taste you.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” He asked, a small smirk on his lips as you shook your head, “yeah, uhm, just thinking.”

He hummed, “what about?”

You could feel his breath over your face as he leaned in, yours shaky as you met his eyes.

“Just stuff,” you could barely get the words out before his lips sealed yours.

You gasped into his kiss, your fingers going to tangle in his collar, pulling at his tie as he hummed.

“Did you miss me, Princess? Did you miss Daddy?” You whimpered at his words, skin feeling on fire as he let his hands roam up your arms.

“Daddy sure as hell missed you,” her growled, pulling you over his lap quickly as you let out a squeak, laughing as the way his tie got tangled in your hoodie strings.

Your laughter was short lived, a moan replacing it as he ground your hips over his.

“Fuck,” your words were strangled as he gently sunk his teeth into the skin of your neck, “that’s it baby, feel what you do to me? How fuckin’ hard my cock is for you already?”

You shivered, your head falling onto his shoulder as you whined.

“Shh, it’s okay, Daddy’s here, ‘m right here,” he whispered, “let me take care of you.”

He cradled your face, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt, “please.” You croaked, throat dry before his lips were on yours once again.

“Wanna feel you,” you nearly begged, both of your hips rocking against each other as he threw his head back.

His lips were red, wet, and slightly swollen as his tie hung loosely around his neck as he made quick work of his belt.

“Fuck, Princess,” he groaned, “that’s what you want? Need Daddy’s cock?” He cooed as he slipped your leggings down one of your legs, not bothering with the other.

It was a tight, crammed space, both your backs would feel it tomorrow, but in the moment, neither of you cared.

“Move your panties to the side, that’s it, Princess,” he praises, feeling the head of his cock at your entrance as you throw your head back.

Sinking onto him has you breathless, nothing else mattering as he fills you up and grips at your hips like he’s afraid to lose you again.

“Fuck, I-I thought I’d lost you,” he pants as you move your hips over him, “thought I lost the one good thing in my life.” He admits, your heart skipping a beat as your bodies move in sync with each other.

You press your forehead against his, the feeling of his warm skin enough to bring a tear to your eyes as he rocks you against him.

It’s embarrassing how close you are, but you didn’t realise how much you’d needed to be touched. Not be anyone, but by Steve.

“Want you to come for Daddy, don’t hold back,” he grunts, eyebrows knit tightly together as you both sloppily reach your highs in just a matter of minutes.

You’re left panting, the windows foggy as Steve presses kisses to your face.

You don’t care about the implications, not wanting anything or anyone other than Steve right now.

It’s a cool night when you finally step out, Steve doing the same before he’s pulling you into one last kiss as he watches you walk away.

You give him one last look over your shoulder, “hey Steve?”

His head perks up, “call me.”

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers au #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers blurbs #steve rogers drabbles #steve rogers drabble

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yandere-wishes · 3 years

Text

A Story Told In Maybes {Part #1}

🗡️Yandere! Enma Yuuken x reader

🗡️Summary: Enma Yuuken lives on the fine line between "Hero" and "Villain" but his story will never end in a "happily ever after" or a "tragically ever after" it will only end in Maybe...

🗡 Edited by the amazing @tealyjade-libran

🗡️ Alternative title: How many times can Genie use "Damn" in a story...

Maybe in some other world, they could have been lovers

Imagine that...

picture it as vividly as a fresh stab wound to your heart. Sketch the vision of a red waterfall carrying away your life.

Now picture two people. A young man and woman, sitting on a park bench, holding hands and laughing, inching closer and closer.

Imagine love, happiness, tranquility...

But those things only exist in fairy tales. And his life was most certainly not a fairy tale.

They were foreigners, outsiders, aliens. Banished into a strange land were twisted fairy tales, roamed the earth. Where magic and mischief came as naturally to the inhabitants as breathing. Where nothing mattered, because nothing was. Everything is and thus it isn't. Nothing made sense, and sometimes, in some rare moments of stolen repose, Enma Yuuken was scared that nothing would ever make sense again.

All of it, every microscopic thing about this 'new world' was wrong, abnormal, twisted.

Everything except his traveling companion. Another lost soul as disjointed and out of place as he was. Another ghost trying to survive in this matrix of a so-called reality.

There was no shock initially, no surprise in not being the only normal creature to be transported to this bizarre world. Enma knew full well that he wasn't special in any way. Another foreigner being here was one of the few things that actually made sense.

But as the old expression goes, everything comes at a price.

Someone else just like him being here, being stuck in this nightmare, made sense. Yet the price of logic was a thread of hysteria that had woven itself deep within his battered heart. A maddening sense that gripped his lungs, robbing them of breath. That picked off pieces from his tattered mind, replacing them with clear cutout thoughts of her. It was always only her.

His companion in this broken world just had to be you. A frail, naïve little girl with no sense about her. Some pretty-girl protagonist straight out of the pages of Shojo Beats. The kind of girl who finds her happily ever after no matter where the hell she is.

Yet he did not have that luxury, his life was dictated by a series of maybes and could bes. He was a secondary character at best, a background shadow at worst. With no purpose other than smiling and waving. And listening to the protagonist weep about their love-driven woes.

Some days, when the dreary bell chimed for the last time, when the students marched back to the solitude of their dorms, Enma would wander around the halls, squirming in his own misery. Pondering why, oh why of all the people, in all the towns, in all the worlds, did you have to be the one to wind up in this grim land along with him.

Why fate always had to be so cruel, so domineering, thinking it knew better than the people whose miserable lives it toyed with. He wanted to be your lover, your prince, yours. But what would a guy, who doesn’t even belong in this backward world, have to offer some heroine-type sweetheart?

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The Ramshackle’s flickering porch light glows in the distance. Like a dying star beckoning him to a destroyed paradise. He knows what's waiting for him behind the worn door. He knows you'll be there standing by the cracked dinner table, laying out days-old sandwiches for dinner, while Grimm rangles with an expired can of tuna. He knows you'll smile with tears in your doe-like eyes as you retell the fables of your endeavors. Telling him in great detail how the so-called king of beasts overpowered you in the school garden. How the King of poisons stole yet another kiss. The tales go on and on. Never-ending, never stopping, never giving him the chance to scavenge the fragments of his shattered heart.

You play your role so damn well. You know how to be the damsel in distress, the poor thing in need of saving. It's repulsive, disgusting...but only because he doesn't know how to be the hero that you need.

If he was being honest -something he rarely did nowadays- Those "prefects" were the root of all his problems. They were the evil that made this dark world an endless horror. They'd been the ones to drive him into the "caring older brother" role. They had twisted his hand, leading him to the role of the "side-hero" like a lamb to the slaughter. Made him into a prince charming in a world that ate princes alive and spat them out once more.

They had sealed his fate with a few insults and loaded threats. With just a few longing stares overflowing with lust and envy. They were villains, in a world that celebrated sinners. A world that cheered when the dragon steals the princess and rejoices when the evil king sits upon his skeleton throne. They were villains in every dreadful sense of the damn word.

It's hard to be in love when all odds are against you.

When your fate binds you into one role with no way out.

Like a rabbit hole made of quicksand. It dragged him deeper and deeper into intimate madness.

Maybe in some fair world, those leeching villains could keep their greedy blood-drenched hands off of you.

Maybe in a world where the sun never dies, you could bring yourself to love him.

Maybe he could have been the love interest, maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's always only MAYBE!

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Welcome home Nii-san,"

It's a sweet greeting that ties his guts into ribbons. His hands grow damp as his heavy eyes stare into yours. His lips curl into a painted smile, shielding you from the pain that's clawing in his stomach.

"Hi..(Y/n)"

His voice cracks and croaks like a dying frog. His lips feel abnormally dry and his eyes sting as if they've been pierced by diamond daggers. His steps are heavy as he plops down in his seat. The weight of his worries pulled him down harder than gravity ever could. He watches you through tried, restless orbs. Watches as you waltz over to your seat and sit down with the half grace of some future queen to be. It's bitter, dreadful, leaving a sickly toxin-like taste in his mouth. The mere thought that someday one of those, sinners, will take your hand and drag you to some kingdom far far away makes Enma want to claw his brain out with his bare nails.

Enma's focus shifts over from his traveling companion to the silver-coated fireball licking his paws. Grimm's teal eyes scan him nervously before he offers a nervous smile, a rarity for the narcissistic cat. He's usually so talkative, so boasting, there was never a moment of tranquility with that cat around...

It takes a moment. A steel coated moment before the gears in Enma's head begin to turn. Before he can place his finger on the heavy abnormality weighing down the atmosphere. His nerves jolt to life, leaving a freezing sweat behind their trail. The room is spinning like a ballroom floor. Something's off, something big and obvious and hidden and...

Maybe...

"So..."

It's your sweet voice that breaks the tension creeping into the air. Melodic and luscious just like the sensation of a blissful dream. The room freezes in its tracks. The heavy atmosphere melts away like a cube of ice. Normality has one foot through the door. Behind it, hope and tranquility peek their heads through the tiny gap.

Maybe just maybe everything is alright. Maybe it's just him, his stress and anxiety are starting to play cruel jokes on his wonder mind. Maybe he's just going mad. Yeah, that's the sanest conclusion to draw from all this.

Enma cranes his neck to the side to get a better view of your face. Distress is scribbled all over your skin, like pristine razor cuts. You shift around in your seat, clawing at your uniform skirt as if the midnight black fabric is cutting off your circulation. Your fingers nudge the entrance to your pocket fiddling with something he can't quite make out.

His voice is low, shaky, as he replies. The unusualness of the situation has him on edge. Nervous to the bitter bone. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his nerves were right to be wary of whatever this was. This uncertainty permeated the air-tight room.

"What is it?"

Slowly you drag out a white envelope flooded seven times over from your pocket. You stretch out your hand placing it in between his fingers. Enma throws a passive look at the note, his nose wrinkled up at the familiar scent that pervaded from the paper.

"What's this?"

It was rhetorical, asked out of dull, morbid courtesy. This time he didn't bother looking at you, in fear of seeing you look -lord forbids- gleeful.

"A love letter, Grimm found it in our locker after class."

There was a pause, lengthy, nerve-wracking, heart wrenching. Yuuken could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat, he could almost feel the excitement radiate off your body.

"Can you believe it Nii-san? Someone actually left me a love letter!"

It hurt it really did, this time his heart didn't shatter. It simply broke, in two or three or maybe four. Who knows, who cares. They had escalated from simple harassment and unsightly displays of public affection to leaving you love letters. How ungodly, how absurd, how brave...

He laments, eyes tracing over the fog of his breath as it wafts through the musty room. He wants to rip that damned piece of paper, shred it into millions so the words become ineligible, so you'll never read those horrible words again. So you'll forget that some damn fool other than him can actually love you. But he doesn't, he has too much self restraint and too much respect for his dear "little sister" to actually do it.

His arm stretches over the table, skin illuminated by the dying candle on the center. He places the letter back safely in between your fingers. His eyes meet yours for only the second time that night. He takes in your face, Committing every piece of it to his miserable memory. The heartily glow in your crystal eyes, the faint schoolgirl smile dancing across your lips, the rose blush kissing your cheeks, the way the candle illuminates your skin, wrapping in a sparkling glow like the princess from those tales of old. You're mesmerizing in every way, it would be reasonable for other men to notice your elegance. No wonder those "prefects" were drawn to you so naturally like moths to a golden flame.

"Who sent it?"

His voice comes out like a block of ice, shielding away any and all his stray emotions. He doesn't want to know how doleful he is, he just can't have you taking pity on him.

Your smile fades ever so slightly, your brows draw closer. Confusion is etched on your face. You haven't got a clue.

"Well...I'm not sure, but they did say to meet them at the school gates when the clock chimes twelve."

Oh, joy, another fairy tale reference. It's comedic how fairy tales have begun to dictate his life. Everywhere he turns there's a grim tale awaiting him. Yuuken spares a quick glance at the crooked clock hanging by a loose thread. It’s a minute to midnight.

"I should come with you"

It's not a request but you take it as so.

"No need to bother, I'll take Grimm, he could use the walk. He's starting to bulk up a bit"

"HEY! The great Grimm-Sama doesn't "Bulk up" He only gets more powerful!"

Before the older male can protest, you're already halfway out the door. Grimm scurrying to follow you on all fours like a pesky rat. The door slams on your way out, leaving Yuuken alone with his morbid screeching thoughts.

There goes the only good thing in his life. Into the arms of another.

For a second he contemplates leaving you to fate, after all, who's he to disobey fate, go against whoever orchestrates this universe. But it's only a second, short lived and quickly died.

Maybe he's a hero.

Maybe he's a Prince Charming.

Maybe he's a villain.

Maybe he's just some honorary older brother looking out for his kid sister.

Maybe, just maybe, he's your future lover;

and he'll be damned if he lets you slip out of hands.

Enma's quick to grab his old practice blade from the overstuffed closet. It's not much, but it's all he has from the normal world, from his world.

The door grates for the last time that night as he steps out into the cold midnight air. The stars blink in some sort of secret tongue, either warning him or encouraging him, he doesn't know. Nor does he truly care, for Enma Yuuken is done letting life and fate and villains decree his meaningless life. Here and now that's where he'll make his stand, he'll save you. Kiss you. Love you. Marry you. You, You, YOU

But there's still one nagging thought that screams inside his head as he dashes for the school gates. This world worships villains, prays at their feet, and hands them death and destruction on golden plates. And he's no villains, he's some sort of upside-down, in-between. Rotting alone in the border between Hero and Villain. By law of society, he's a reject, a useless foreigner, an alien, an outsider.

and MAYBE he's already too late...

Who wrote the love letter? Was it the head of the savanaclaw dorm or maybe the head of the heartslabyul dorm ? Maybe it’s the ever mysterious Tsunotarou...

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 3 years

Text

Touch it for Real, Part 7

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Angst / (Eventual) Smut 18+

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / idiots to lovers / unresolved sexual tension

A/N: DON'T YELL AT ME ABOUT THE TENSION. I KNOW IT!!! Be nice.

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

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

Nothing had changed.

Nothing outwardly had changed. Baekhyun moved about as he always did.

Nothing had changed at all about your home life and yet you had been stumbling around on two unsteady feet for the past week with this new and terrible ache building inside of your belly and yet, nothing had actually changed. It was a longing. A desire to possess something that you could not have.

It was as if the realization that you loved him and had loved him for a long time had turned up the brightness on your view of him. He was luminous. You’d been wearing dark shades for so long and when you took them off you were blinded by him.

You were aware that you were acting weird around him. How could you not be aware; it was turning into an obsession at this point. You woke early and slept late, eager to find any reason to be around him for the simple pleasure of watching him.

Things you’d found annoying in the past, his crazed deafening outbursts while gaming; the sloppy way he took too-big bites and stuffed his cheeks with food as he chewed, barely able to close his lips; the half dazed foot shuffles through your home at two in the afternoon when he’d just rolled out of his bed and moved like a zombie toward the fridge for water and sausages from the cupboards; all of these things that made you roll your eyes before were now doing something else to you that you couldn't excuse. You found yourself smiling just thinking about him. You were looking at him now with new eyes. Eyes that were biased and eyes that were crazy.

You were so very drawn to him.

It felt like a new hobby; 5am wake up with a buzzing alarm on your phone, shower, change, slip over to his door and press an ear to the wood for a chance to catch the sounds of his voice speaking into an ear piece to someone on the other side of the world. A soft knock against the wood and a low voice, his grunted voice returning your knock and you’d slip into his space for what you could only describe as a sick voyeuristic chance to watch him play his game. You just wanted to look at him. The urge was so strong; to see him. You just wanted to look at nothing but him; the first thing you saw in the morning and the last thing you saw at night.

Baekhyun would turn around to look at you as you crawled sleepily into his bed and you’d pretend to fall asleep until he turned back to his game and then you would just watch him.

You liked the shape of him when he sat at his desk. You liked the broadness of his shoulders and the curve of the back of his head. How could his back be so attractive? He had a strong and reliable back. You felt an immeasurable comfort in the rapid, rhythmic sound of his fingers typing on his keyboard and the way he lowered his voice into his headset when he thought you were sleeping in his bed behind him. Sometimes you’d actually drift off though. Lulled into a deep comfortable sleep that felt so much better than any sleep you’d managed in your own bed until you’d be lightly roused by a hand on your shoulders and the sound of his voice calling your name in a whisper.

“Bug, it’s almost time for work,” he would urge and you would groan and stretch, surprised that you had slept so well.

You’d stay there every possible second until you had to report to your work on your own computer.

It was late in the afternoon on a Thursday. The weather had been cold and miserable all week but through your window for the first time all season you felt the warm sun rays landing against your face. How long had it been since you felt the sunshine? You thought perhaps this called for a celebration. Maybe winter would be short this year and you could celebrate a little early with a dinner time barbecue out on the terrace. You knew the wind might still be cold despite that warm sunshine that peeked through the cloud cover but you could handle that much.

It was your turn to make dinner and you hit the final keys on your work assignments and rushed through your room getting ready for a quick trip to the market. You’d get some meat for grilling, some delicious fresh veggies and maybe a bottle of alcohol to sip on. Nothing too crazy, you didn't really trust yourself drunk.

Outside, the air was crisp but at least it wasn’t raining, or worse, snowing. This would do just fine.

When you returned from the market with your arms full of shopping bags your happiness about the unseasonably warm weather outside and your excitement for a tiny cook-out spread rapidly to your roommate who was happily pulling on a soft cable-knit sweater to go outside with his little bluetooth speaker as he set up the portable grill out on the patio table.

The buzz you felt inside of your chest while watching him was incomparable. His smile was wide and beautiful. His teeth were white and perfect and the way his eyes closed up when he really got to smiling wide made your heart do little flips. You couldn't contain your own wide smile when his eyes bounced over to touch yours and that smile on his lips pulled even wider — it sent a jolt straight through you — he was electric. He was a lightning bolt and you felt so high up, of course you were hit first.

The meat was sizzling on the grill and Baekhyun was sitting across the table from you just watching as you snipped the long strips of pork and beef into smaller bite size chunks with scissors and flipped them with long cooking tongs when they started to turn brown.

He was unusually quiet as you worked and it took nearly all of your fortitude to keep from staring at his face openly with an obvious love struck expression. You were thankful that it was your turn to cook this dinner and Baekhyun didn’t even try to take the tongs away from you and take over the grilling. At least you had something to do that wasn’t just staring into the softness you caught in his eyes across the table. You wondered what had to be on his mind that made him look at you this way.

Some of the meat was done and you moved it toward a cooler section of the grill pan, motioning with your tongs toward the quiet man to grab it and eat it but he just sat there with a disconnected look on his face.

He was moving so slowly today. Maybe he wasn't that hungry. You hoped it wasn’t getting too cold out here now that the sun was slipping lower in the sky.

When he didn't immediately move, you sighed and grabbed a piece of lettuce, wrapping the meat inside with some veggies and some of the fillings you knew he liked and you stood up in your seat, holding the wrap up to his face, expecting him to lean forward and grab it with his hands and begin eating already.

When he finally did move it was preceded by a bright smile and he leaned forward and opened his mouth, grabbing the food firmly between his lips, he bit down with his teeth and you felt the brush of his soft lips against your fingertips as he took the bite of food into his mouth straight from your hand.

You could feel the warmth and it was instant. As if someone had turned on a space heater in front of your chest and turned it on full blast.

The ghost of that tiny brush of his lips against your fingers lingered and your mind grabbed hold of it, echoing the sensation again and again with each pound your heart made inside of your chest.

Baekhyun was chewing and he hummed out in appreciation at the deliciousness of the meal you’d provided. You lifted your glass of wine to your lips to hide the smile that took over your face and you noticed he finally picked up his own chopsticks and began building himself another bite to eat. He was grabbing meat, two pieces, added a dab of sauce on top and grabbed a few delicious additions and he was carefully wrapping the tasty package into a tight ball with his fingertips.

You’d just swallowed the wine and had looked down to flip the meat when you caught his movement. He stood from his chair and he leaned, in the exact same way as you had done and you laughed out loud at the sweet expression you saw on his face as he held the food up to your face.

“Ahh,” he said and you leaned forward to receive his offering.

When your lips parted, his fingers pushed forward and your brain buzzed in chaos when his thumb grazed slowly along your bottom lip. He moved too slowly. His fingertips lingered. You let out a breath of air through your nose and his fingers did not break contact with your lips until you’d closed your mouth up and started to chew the food he’d given you.

You felt as if your face was burning. You chewed quickly, hardly even tasting the food that was in your mouth as your eyes tracked his movement; you could not look away from him if you tried. He sat back in his chair with his empty hand held up and the pad of his thumb brushing back and forth over his fingertips, the fingers that had just touched your mouth so carelessly and as he sank into his seat he brought his hand up to absentmindedly touch along his bottom lip.

Your thoughts were fuzzy. Everything outside of his brown eyes took on a soft dreamlike blur.

The eye contact he was holding broke suddenly and he inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, dropped his hand from his lips and looked down at the table of food spread out before you both.

He had a glass of ice water beside him and he lifted it to pull the cooling liquid into his mouth.

You watched the way his jaw worked when he swallowed. You watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in and out.

You had lived with Baekhyun for more than two years and you’d never been quite this affected by the man having a drink of water before.

He set the empty glass down roughly on the table and the noisy thud the glass made woke you from the silent reverie. It sharpened your mind and lit a match under your tongue fueled by a growing curiosity that had been filling up your every waking thought lately.

“Baekhyun,” your voice came out a whisper and the sound of his name made his eyebrows lift and he looked across the table at you. “Have you ever fallen in love?”

You weren’t sure where this question came from or why you were suddenly so bold to ask him such a thing, but you were burning with curiosity about the man. Maybe it was the half of a glass of wine that had already made its way into your bloodstream as you sat here and picked at this delicious meal you shared with him.

He was chewing now and the corners of his lips had turned up into a small smile as he looked across the table at you.

There was a strange pause in his movement to reach for the water pitcher so he could refill his glass.

“Yes,” he said softly after he swallowed his food he continued his reaching, finding the pitcher and pouring more water inside his empty glass. His small answer quenched a small bit of the thirst you had inside of you and this new found knowledge about him made you feel warm inside.

He drank and you smiled wide and genuine, somehow elated at the idea that he’d felt this wonderful feeling at one point in his life. The idea that this beautiful man knew exactly how good this feeling of love was; it made your head swim.

You reached for your wine again, draining the rest of your glass and immediately followed it with a big spoon of rice to somehow combat the alcohol with the only weapon you had to fight it. If only the wine hadn’t tasted so damn sweet on your tongue. You’d drank the glass too quickly and you considered the waiting bottle that sat beside you on the table, begging you to give in to just one more glass.

“Have you?”

It was Baekhyun’s turn to ask now and you turned away from the begging bottle to look into that tempting softness he had in his eyes. What was this mood he had fallen into? Was it the sunset? The clouds rolling in front of the setting sun created a beautiful scene. You saw purple, blue, red, and bright orange. The view was absolutely perfect.

“Have you ever fallen in love?”

His voice was so quiet and the warmth of his tone was enveloping you entirely.

“Yes,” you said. You reached for the bottle and tapped into some source of super-human self control you hadn’t known you had in you; you poured only half a glass.

This one, you would sip. For your own good, for the love of God, you would sip it.

“How do you love someone?” Baekhyun had leaned forward in his seat and his eyes tracked the movement of your glass as you lifted it to your lips and you took your first sip. Sweet wine, sweet man with sweet looks in his eyes and sweet questions on his lips. For the first time you wondered if you might be in real danger of making a mistake tonight.

Your brain kicked in. He was asking you important life questions now and you looked upward toward the darkening sky as you pondered this. This must be one of his life lesson questions. Maybe he wanted some advice on how to treat a girl he loved properly. You considered your words thoughtfully.

“Umm...I think...people show they love someone by—”

“No, not that,” he interrupted your answer, stopping you with a raised hand. Then he pointed a finger across the table toward you, “not other people. How do you love someone, Bug? What is your love like?”

Oh.

It was such a raw question.

You were suddenly thankful for the wine you’d already had to drink because you’d never been asked something like this. Not by him or by anyone. In fact, you’d never even thought about it.

How were you, when you were in love. What kind of a lover were you? He was watching you as you considered and your lips opened and closed twice as you tried to think of the perfect answer to this very difficult question.

You thought about your past relationships. Honestly it was hard to remember the good in hindsight. The bad times seemed to jump out at you. The childish way you sometimes acted, the selfish things you’d done and blamed it all on love at the time. Maybe you had been too young to really know what love was. This was part of the reason why you felt so resistant to it. You’d never had a love that hadn't turned bad and burned you from the inside. Maybe you just weren't cut out for love.

And now, with him, the pining, the scheming, the watching, and daydreaming. The fantasies of his touch, of his laugh, of his kiss. Going out of your way to make him smile. Little things you would do just to get him to look at you. The ache you felt in your fingers to touch him. The sweet satisfaction of actually doing it. You’d do anything for it. For him. You’d been doing anything; slipping into his bed just to smell him all around you.

“Shameless,” you said out loud — because you’d do anything. You didn’t even know what you were capable of yet, but you felt like a dangerous woman just thinking about it.

His focus drifted and he exhaled a puff of air through his lips. You heard the smallest chuckle from his throat and a smile pulled at his lips.

“Shameless?” He asked with a bounce of his eyebrows. His water glass was in his hand and he lifted and poured the last few drops into his mouth. It had been hardly anything at all and you watched him curiously as you forced another bite of rice down your throat.

“What does that mean? How do you love shamelessly? Explain that to me.”

You’d been watching his hands as he talked. There was an electricity buzzing around in his eyes that felt almost challenging and you’d expected him to reach for the water pitcher again to add another tiny sip to his glass and make a big show of drinking it down but instead of reaching for it, his hand shot across the table to grip around the neck of the wine bottle.

You were positively transfixed. He lifted the bottle and brought it to his side of the table and you heard the glass spout clink against the rim of his empty glass and the steady glug glug glug of liquid poured too fast through the small opening and he filled his glass most of the way full with deep blood-red liquid.

It was at least as much as you had had to drink already.

Baekhyun was drinking with you. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long pull of the alcohol into his mouth and he swallowed roughly with his eyes closed. You felt amused by the sight. Strangely comforted by his company even more now that he had joined you inside this bottle of wine.

When he looked up into your face, your shocked expression must have been funny to him because he laughed just once before opening his mouth to speak again.

“Go on,” he said as he lifted his hand across the table toward you. You couldn't tell if he meant you should drink your wine too or if you should answer his question so you lifted your glass to your lips for a big swallow and then you opened your mouth to put your thoughts into words.

Baekhyun was still drinking the wine in his glass and you hoped his full belly of meat and veggies would keep him from becoming too wasted too quickly. You were enjoying his company too much for him to suddenly hit the table and pass out. You were also pretty sure it would be difficult to carry his body into his bedroom if he was unable to walk himself. While you’d never seen him wasted, you’d always assumed he abstained from drinking simply because he could not handle the alcohol.

“I’m shameless, I mean,” you began, trying to find the words to explain what a disaster you were when you fell in love without incriminating yourself too much, “I’m dumb. I’m jealous. I’m clingy and needy and desperate.” This was sounding awful. Why were you such a mess when you fell in love. “I’m probably very annoying to whichever poor soul...”

Baekhyun had emptied his glass as you talked and he licked his lips, leaving behind a telltale red hue along his bottom lip. “Sounds brave to me,” he said quietly to the inside of his glass.

“But, Peanut I thought you couldn’t drink.”

“I never said I can’t.”

The wind changed suddenly and a surprising gust flew over the table, taking a napkin and tossing it across the surface of the table. You reached for it at the same time as he reached and his reaction time was faster. As he gripped the cloth, your hand landed over the back of his warm hand and the surprise of that unintended warmth of his smooth hand made you recoil quickly.

If he noticed he didn’t react. For all you knew this struggle was taking place entirely inside your head. Baekhyun was just having a casual dinner conversation with his dumb roommate who had just acted like his hand was fire as she’d just been singed.

“But you don’t,” you said carefully, coming to some new realization about the man’s habits in self control. In his own personal dos and don’ts.

With this Baekhyun smirked and nodded his head once.

“Not usually, no. I try not to, at least.” His lips pulled wide. It wasn’t a smile, but more of a grimace. When he moved again he was gripping around the wine bottle once more and you left him to it. He refilled his own glass and your eyes followed the movement as he tipped the bottle over your wine glass and emptied the remaining liquid into yours.

So much for only one drink. (OKAY, one and a half. Shut up…)

“So what’s got you drinking tonight?”

It occurred to you that while you had been lost in the ocean of your silly crush on him, Baekhyun might actually have something on his mind that was troubling him.

Something that had turned his mood quiet like this and something that had bothered him enough to be drinking half of your bottle of wine tonight.

The last time you’d seen him drink wine was after he’d bombed that first phone call with Mia. The taste of her name on the back of your tongue soured the sweetness of the wine some.

“Nerves, I guess.” His small confession traveled on the chilly wind and you felt a tiny raindrop on your cheek that signaled trouble.

Baekhyun lifted his glass to his lips once more. It was almost empty now. The light in his eyes was much dimmer than when this evening started. He pulled his lips wide with a wince, “the date...on Saturday.”

His words were sticky as they made their way across the table and you felt another cold rain drop. Was he feeling this too or was it just you.

He must not have felt what you did because he kept talking, “do you know I’ve been stood-up before?”

The wine seemed to have loosened his jaw. Baekhyun didn’t usually talk openly about the embarrassing dating failures he’s had. He definitely didn’t smile ruefully with a deep wounded sadness in his eyes as he did it.

The sad smile pulled his lips wider and he found your eyes across from the table as he lifted both of his hands and raised his fingers. He was counting something. Showing you a number with seven fingers raised and he mouthed silently, “seven times,” and he licked his lips and bit down on his bottom lip and hung his head with his chin down to his chest.

You were shaking your head widely. Madness, that any woman in her right mind would look at this man and find enough fault to stand him up. That someone with half a brain in her head wouldn't jump at the chance to go out with him.

“What if,” he mumbled and the wind picked up again blowing your sweater tightly around your arms and your chest.

“She will come.” You said confidently, interrupting his anxious thoughts with your determined certainty at what you were positive was true. Mia liked Baekhyun at least as much, if not more, as Baekhyun liked Mia.

He was watching your face now. Waiting for the cold wind to die down enough for you to hear what he was saying to you without having to raise his voice.

“What if she doesn’t?”

You didn’t like the defeatist attitude he was sporting now. He was losing this fight without having ever set foot on the battlefield. It filled you with even more determination than you had when you started this whole dating coach thing.

“If she doesn’t show then she’s a fucking idiot and we’ll just have to ditch Ben and go have our own hot date; just me and you.”

At last he laughed. It was a single guffaw straight from his chest and it sounded glorious. Somewhere off in the horizon you caught a flash in the clouds. A storm was coming.

“You’d do that for me, Bug? What if I’m too upset to be any fun? What if I get bad again?”

At the mention of his moods you felt a pang in your heart. The darkness that sometimes followed him around when he stayed locked in his room for days, hardly ate anything and refused all attempts you’d made to coax him out.

It hadn’t happened since you’d grown close to him and you had begun to think you’d dreamed such occurrences that felt like such a distant memory to you.

“I won’t let you. I’ll do whatever you need me to do to make you feel better. Hell we can even practice making-out in the back of the theatre.”

This made him laugh harder. His cheeks were pink and his smile was beautiful.

“That would certainly take my mind off of anything, LoveBug.”

You knew he said it as a joke. He was laughing and everything when he said it. Yet the words he said paired with the nickname that always sent your heart racing had a rapid effect on you. Your breath quickened and you were so thankful that the sun had gone down and taken with it all of its incriminating lighting that would allow him to see you clearly. You were certain that you were blushing and you’d now gone completely silent.

But Baekhyun was still giggling to himself at the thought and you felt the smallest tinge of disappointment that he found the idea of making out with you in the back of a movie theater like a couple of high school kids so hilarious that he was still laughing about it. You lifted your wine glass and shook the last few drops into your open mouth. The bottle was empty and you were consumed by a mountain of regret at only buying the one.

It happened in an instant. The cold air quickly picked up speed around you took on a crisp fragrance and in that same moment there was a flash of bright light with an instantaneous loud boom that echoed inside your eardrums and made you scream as you covered your head from the loud scary noise. It echoed inside your chest and you could feel the shaking inside of you at the shock. It had been so fucking close you could feel the hairs on your arm standing upright. Without realizing it, your scream had turned into a quiet cry of fear and you could feel the trembling in your fingertips as you tried to wrap your arms around your body protectively.

“Shh...Let’s go inside,” you could hear Baekhyun’s voice against your ear and you could feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around your shoulders. His arms were rubbing calming motions up and down your back as he steered you carefully around the corner toward the doorway that led to your bedrooms. As quickly as the lightning strike had filled you with a trembling terror happened the skies then opened up and a thunderous deluge of freezing water fell from the heavens and instantly soaked you both from head to toe.

“Shit,” he cursed out loud. Ice cold rainwater slapped hard against your skin. Frigid winds whipped the streams of rain over your head, biting and stinging against your face and you both ran for cover as his hands found the door and pushed it open in front of you and you stepped inside the silent darkness of his bedroom with two or three steps in with Baekhyun pushing through the doorway behind you. You heard the grunt and the effort behind you as he pulled the door closed tightly and when the door was shut you were bathed in complete still blackness.

“The power’s out,” you heard him say through chattering teeth and after a second of rustling sounds a beam of light from his raised cellphone illuminated the darkened space.

It felt so foreign to you. This room was always a hum of lights and sounds and noise and everything was just dead. The plug pulled; the life snuffed out, you were overwhelmed by just how loud the silence in this room felt. It was suffocating.

You were shaking where you stood. Too cold and still trembling too hard from the close call with the lightning to feel comfortable moving, you jumped and yelped when the sounds of Baekhyun moving around his room shocked you again. He was moving through the darkness, using the flashlight from his cell phone to see. You heard so much movement but could hardly make out what all was happening until you felt someone tugging at the soaking wet hoodie you wore.

“Take this off before you catch a cold.” Baekhyun was speaking to you in the darkness and you felt cold slim fingers pushing dry garments into your hands.

The light from his phone went out and you were bathed in darkness again.

“Hurry and change, you’re shaking too much.”

You could hardly grip the hem of your soaked sweater with how badly your hands were shaking and you had dropped the warm dry clothes he had given you somewhere down at your feet.

“B-Baek, I d-drop-ped — c-can’t s-see,” the chattering of your teeth felt violent. You felt as if you could bite off your tongue or crack a molar with as hard as they were chattering. Was this just the cold or had you been hit by that lightning outside and were you about to drop dead from the electric currents running through your body?

A person appeared before you. You felt him there. Your eyes were beginning to adjust to the blackness and occasionally flashes of lightning through the window would illuminate bits here and there. You could make out the outline of his broad shoulders. There was a flash were you saw his skin. Another flash with a fresh shirt pulled over his head and you were beginning to feel numb to the cold. Numb and dizzy feeling all over; like you could drop to the floor right here.

“Lift your hands.” His voice called to you and you did as you were told, feeling the sticky way your clothes clung to you and tried to hold on. Your skin below was icy and bare. Fingers that were so much warmer than your own slipped down your hips, pushing wet garments down. Heavy soaked jeans. Wet panties. You even dropped your arms to let your bra fall to the floor at your feet and a warm fluffy towel wrapped you up quickly as he rubbed over the surface of you, drying your skin and warming you with the friction.

It felt like life. Like you might just make it.

“I don't have any underwear for you, I’m sorry. Just put these warm pants on.” You stepped into the legs of the pants and looked down at the sight of him crouched down on his knees before your nakedness. A flash of light illuminated the room for a fraction of a second. Just long enough for you to catch the drift of his eyes. Just long enough for his eyes to lift into your own and you knew that flash had been enough to imprint the image of you completely bare before him into his memory.

You did not have enough heat in you to blush. He was moving faster, pulling a long sleeve sweatshirt over your head, covering your breasts and belly with the soft warm fleece.

“Come lay down,” you were pulled by both arms. Your bare feet felt like ice cubes but they moved where you were led to lay down under the warm covers of his bed.

Despite the fluffy blankets and the soft mattress below your feet, you still shivered. It was awful. Nothing you tried seemed to make you warm and Baekhyun had disappeared somewhere in the darkness.

“Baek,” you called into the black but it was silent. He did not respond. You could feel a fearful panic begin to rise up. You just couldn't get warm enough. Where was he?

The wind shifted and you heard the rain hitting the windows of his bedroom harder and somewhere in the distance you heard a sound. It sounded like a struggle between a man and a patio door. Banging and thumping and cursing right out loud and then he barged back into his bedroom breathing hard and soaking wet again.

“Here Bug, catch.”

Something was coming. You felt panic then. You absolutely could not see anything in front of you and he’d just said the word catch which told you he was about to throw something at you and you screamed and buried your head deeper under his covers.

You felt a light thump land over your chest. Something small. How dare he throw something at you during a blackout. You slipped your hand out cautiously and felt a plastic cylinder. It was a small flashlight.

You turned it on and shone it across the room and Baekhyun was standing in the center of his room with his arms tight around his stomach, dripping wet from head to toe again from whatever he felt he needed to go back outside for.

You could hear his heavy breathing and the shaking from across the room.

“Baekhyun, get over here. You’re shaking.” His teeth chattered audibly and he rocked back and forth on his legs where he stood but he still wouldn’t move.

“I h-had t-to get th-the st-st-stove—”

You didn't need his explanations right now. He needed to get those wet clothes off and get under this blanket with you right now before he died of hypothermia.

“Byun Baekhyun shut the fuck up and take off the wet clothes right now. Come here and get warm. I swear to God if you die—”

Finally he was moving. Your threats must have sounded serious enough for him to move close to the bed. The will to survive was strong. You clicked the flashlight off when he pulled off his shirt. Through the limited light from the windows you caught the drop of his pants and you pulled your focus up on the blackness of the ceiling above you when you felt the blanket move and the bed beside you dipped.

The temperature of his body was a shock. He was so cold. All over; his skin was absolutely freezing and you turned into him as soon as you felt it. You laid your arms and legs over him and pulled his bare shoulders into your chest in a tight embrace. The hair on top of his head was very wet and you used the blanket to rub over his head, hoping the friction would help some; hoping to dry some of the wetness.

He was shaking so hard. Small vocalizations came from his throat with every other tremble as he tried to control it and you tried not to jump when you felt his icy fingertips make contact with your bare stomach when he’d reached for your warmth and the loose sweatshirt you wore had shifted to expose your skin. His fingers did not pull away. The desire for your warmth was too strong and his entire palm laid over your bare skin. Cold. So cold. You shifted then, moving your own hand over his own to cover where he was frozen. To warm him back up. The spot of your skin where his hand laid had lost too much heat and you gripped his hand in yours and placed it up higher on your rib cage where you had more warmth for him.

You knew this was about survival.

He was warming up. You could feel the change as his chest stopped shaking and he stopped moving his hand up higher on your skin. He’d stopped just short of your breast and your heart was racing so fast in your chest you figured he had to be able to feel it.

The desire was a raging fire inside of you. His hands were warmer now and yet he was still touching so much of your bare skin. His legs had given up the vibrating tremble and you still felt the tightness of his thighs holding your legs hostage.

The storm roared outside and inside here you both cocooned under this warm blanket in this shared bed and slowly, little by little you felt the warmth return to his body as it had returned to yours.

He had gone motionless when his shaking stopped and his breathing evened out. You’d briefly considered that he might have fallen asleep until you felt a slight flex in his fingertips. His hand flinched and moved and you felt a delicate sweeping motion in his fingertips that touched the warm skin over your rib cage.

Your eyes were closed as you focused on that movement and a small gasp of breath betrayed you when his thumb brushed along the underside of your bare breast.

You had to breathe. You had to inhale to stay alive and the act brought with it the heady fragrance of his body that joined you under this blanket.

You longed for more. You craved it. Shamelessness. With your eyes closed and his body heat pressed against you this way, what you wouldn't give to succumb to the desires that were flooding your body with more warmth than you could stand right now.

You moved a hand then, trailing your fingertips lightly up his shoulder, curving toward his neck to lightly touch the softness of his cheek.

His face turned with the feeling of your touch and you felt the hot breath from his parted lips that you touched with your fingertips. His breathing was heavy and it matched the labored breaths that came from your own chest.

Baekhyun’s lips were soft to touch. You felt the motion of them as he pursed them lightly and kissed the tip of your fingers that touched his mouth so freely like this.

You couldn't even remember what it felt like to be cold now. Every inch of your skin felt like it was burning.

“I’m...dizzy,” his low whisper filled the air with more warmth and on his voice was a whining complaint, “I...think I am drunk.”

His words made you pull your hand back down from his lips and you rested it over his chest as your mind whirled.

Baekhyun rarely drank any alcohol at all. He’d consumed a half a bottle of wine, had an encounter with near hypothermic temperatures and now you had him naked in his bed with truly wicked and shameless intentions. While it didn't start out that way, the situation had quickly escalated and you’d done nothing to stop it.

You were at war. Your desires and your conscience and you knew, you knew which one was on the right side.

“You feel so warm,” his whisper was back and he leaned into you as he said it against your ear. Against your neck he breathed in deep and spoke again, “mmm...fuck — you smell so good. I feel like I am making a mistake. This is a mistake. Please, not like this — not drunk.”

You had never felt this frustrated and this turned on in your entire life.

He shifted then and you felt the dip as the bed moved and Baekhyun pushed up with his arms and pushed with his legs and he rolled over you on the bed, placing a knee between your legs. As he rolled you felt the push of his hips where they landed perfectly between your thighs.

You wanted him. He felt so good on top of you. He fit perfectly between your parted legs, you wanted him.

You wanted to kiss him and hold him and you wanted the sex; you wanted to wrap your arms and your legs around his waist and pull him down into you but his words were protesting. You knew, you knew this could not happen.

You wouldn't do that to him. You would not, absolutely would not let his first time be a drunken mistake. You had more self control than that.

Something on the bed rolled when he moved and it knocked against your hand. Something hard and plastic. You reached for the flashlight and clicked the button, sending a burst of illumination up into his face where he hovered over you on the bed.

His eyes shaped shut at the sudden brightness and you struggled to keep yours open.

“Baekhyun,” you said through clenched teeth. Your own breathing was too ragged to try and sound calm as you spoke and he dropped his face, turning away from the bright light.

“We can’t.”

You bit down on your bottom lip. You were insane. You had lost your entire mind. You were in love with him, he was so beautiful and he was practically begging, begging you to fuck him right now. You felt the push of his hips between your legs and everything. But his words. And when his eyes opened you could see how glassy and disconnected his focus was. He was drunk and you would not do that to him.

“We can’t do this.”

It took a palm placed gently on his face for him to look into your eyes with any real focus and realization. “You know we can’t.”

With his chest heaving and his cheeks pink and flushed he looked into your eyes and nodded his head, knowing that you were right. Knowing that this had been a weak moment brought on by alcohol, made worse by the storm and the compromising position you had found yourself in and you felt him shift and push himself off of you.

You turned off the flashlight as he moved; in some attempt to save your sanity from having to relive the beautiful image of his naked body positioned on top of yours. It didn't really help. You were a mess anyway.

When he was off of you and covered on his bed, your only course of action was to leave this place. You could not stay so close to the temptation that had nearly undone everything. You could not even imagine waking up the next morning after such a drunken occurrence had occurred. At least you were leaving with your pride still intact. At least you would be able to look him in the eyes tomorrow morning and still feel like you were a good person.

You sat on the edge of his bed for a moment. Willing the chaos inside of your body to slow down some so you would not stumble as you walked out of here.

It took some doing. You could still feel it all over your body and you turned to look behind you at the man laying on his bed fighting whatever internal battle he was fighting and you found his eyes open, watching you.

He moved a hand and laid it over your own, squeezing lightly with his fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, “I’m sorry,” he added with a wince on his pretty face.

A wave of distaste rose inside at the sight; a feeling so powerful it led your movement down to him.

You leaned into him and you pressed your lips into the softness of his cheek, kissing him once. It took considerable strength to pull your lips away from him. It took even more strength to push yourself into a standing position and walk out of his bedroom, but you did it. You would even be okay eventually. After a shower and a glass of cold water, you would get past this and you would be able to keep living here without having fucked up the only good thing in your life during a moment of weakness.

You would be okay.

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

Tag list: @j-pping @blahblahblah-boo @his-mochi-cheeks @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13 @baekinmylife @insta1010 @nana-banana @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth @totallynerdstuff @byunbabybaek @maijinki @bbyunz@theclawofaraven @kingkushdealer @uhobob

#baekhyun #exo #baekhyun Fic #baekhyun fanfic #exo fic #exo fanfic #baekhyun fluff #exo fluff #baekhyun smut #exo smut #baekhyun series #exo series

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imissjoongsmullet · 3 years

Text

My Prince (6 - final)

Pairing: Minghao x reader

Genre: fluff/(angst)

Summary: Life is not exactly easy being the royal gardeners’ daughter but at least it’s simple. When you’re suddenly called upon to serve as the prince’s personal servant, things get a little more than complicated, especially considering the secret history you and the prince share.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Warnings: general angstiness, a bit of a slow burn, very romantic, very soft, the fact that this will most likely become a long series cause I have no chill

Word Count: 6.5K

Author’s Note:

This final chapter finally fulfills the premise that this is in fact fluff. I promise I’m done breaking your hearts now, woohoo!

My Prince has grown so near and dear to my heart. I don’t usually write long fanfics so this was really quite special. I know I might sound overly dramatic or corny to some of you (and that’s okay). It’s just, I try to be intentional with everything I do. That’s why I wanted to do this right. That’s why I’ve gotten so attached. That’s why it’s taken me forever to finish as well probably haha!

This story is far from perfect. There are countless things that I would have liked to sculpt out more... but I think for that to have happened this would have to become a full on novel and that’s not what this was ever meant to be, so I’ve got to let go of those thoughts and just send it out into the world as it is.

In any case, I sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed reading this story as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. As always, please let me know what you think. As a writer, any type of feedback makes my heart flutter~

Thank you for all the love and support ♥

►

You fell to the floor, your shriek buried in the chaos that surrounded you. There was so much noise so suddenly and none of it sounded good. Panicked, you raised your head to see the entrance to the room had been broken wide open and soldiers in silver and black attire were pouring in, brandishing swords, fire and crossbows. Yientan. Another cry left your lips as you scrambled backwards until you hit the wall behind you. They were here. They must have found out about the wedding and wanted to stop it before a legend could take away their power.

Strong hands grabbed you by the collar and you screamed out for help. You struggled in your attempt to pry the stranger off of you until you noticed the face that belonged to it.

“Come on!” Minghao ordered, dragging you up. He took your hand and set off at a sprint, leaving behind the bulk of the commotion. You could hear banging and screaming from other directions as well though. They must have the whole castle surrounded. Luckily Minghao knew all the secret, little passages attackers tended to overlook. It didn’t take long for you to realize where he was taking you. Before you could come to your senses, you were dragged through the heavy doors to Minghao’s private chambers and sat onto his bed.

“Stay here,” he said, kneeling at your side, clasping your palms in your lap, “don’t leave until it’s all over.” He got up and turned to leave.

“Wait!” you called, stopping him midway, “you can’t go out there!”

“I have to,” he replied stone faced.

“No!” Now it was you holding onto him. “Please don’t—” Your fingers dug into his robes with desperation.

“I have a responsibility,” he said, “I have to go—”

“Then I’m coming too,” you cut in but he shook his head.

“You can’t help,” he explained, “I can so I’m going.” He eyed you sternly for a few more seconds before softening. He sighed, brushing his hand over your cheek lovingly and finally saying, “do not follow me.”

“Hao, please,” you called as he pulled away. You ran to him just in time to keep him from shutting the door behind him entirely. Only a sliver of his face was visible in the gap.

“Stay safe,” he said, before vanishing.

In stunned silence you let the doors fall shut. You walked over to the bed and sat down because your legs felt shaky and your head dizzyingly light. Outside, the uproar continued to grow but Minghao had told you to stay. Your heart ached. It pulled and tugged at you, trying to get you to move but you couldn’t. You didn’t want to disappoint him. Your fingers wrapped around one of the silk pillows on his bed. Closing your eyes, you hugged the thing close. It was all you could do not to cry. You just wanted everything to be okay— for everything to go back to normal. But you supposed none of Minghao’s life had ever really been normal.

A loud crashing sound made you jump. Some large piece of glass must have just shattered somewhere. You got up from the bed and began to pace the room. You clamped your hands over your ears in a miserable attempt to shut out the madness. Shutting your eyes didn’t help either. The itch to do something was growing unbearable. When a few minutes later a crack so deep it was like walls crumbling made the wooden floor tremble, you decided that enough was enough.

Head in overdrive, you went for the window. Its balcony was wide and looked out over the east side of the gardens. Tonight, there were only balls of fire within the dark. With a sickening lurch, you thought of your parents. Had they managed to hide or escape? Or had the attackers set flame to their house while they slept, trapping them in an excruciating death? Panicking, you went for the balcony ledge. Once your feet found balance, you grabbed onto the ornate pillars and started to climb. The plan seemed insane and yet, somehow you felt like the adventurous prince had definitely made this climb before. With that information fueling your confidence, you made it onto the roof above the prince’s chambers.

From here, you could see most of the castle and its grounds. A landscape of hills and valleys lay before you in the form of various curved rooftops. It would have been quite beautiful if it hadn’t been for the screams and the fire. You didn’t know what you were doing, really. You just wanted to know everything was going to be alright. Besides, you’d never forgive yourself if something happened to Minghao while you hid away like a coward.

How many people were fighting down there? How much of a chance did they stand against Yientan? And what could Minghao possibly do in all this? You didn’t even know if he knew how to fight.

Hunching down to a crouch, you made your way toward the center part of the castle. You looked down wherever you could, trying to get a feel of the situation. You saw two servant girls running on a deck as they cried. You saw men fighting in little courtyards, blood staining their clothes. You saw the wooden walkway towards the prince’s library collapse in flames. All of this roused an anger in you that surprised you. You’d never been the bravest of people— you still weren’t. But something was taking over you. It didn’t matter that this castle had been the bane of your existence for the past few months. The castle was under attack and you felt it as you’d feel an attack on your own family. You jumped from roof to roof, wracking your brain over a way to help.

Something sharp whooshed past you and you gasped. You were just in time to turn around and see the Yientan soldier standing on a nearby rooftop, reaching for another arrow. You ducked away towards a lower part of the roof, suddenly feeling the sharp sting on your cheek. There were hurried footsteps behind you and you were running out of options. Your rooftopped landscape came to an end as you happened upon the center courtyard of the castle, where more soldiers fought.

Hoping fiercely you weren’t making the wrong decision, you jumped.

The landing was harsh and you failed to stifle the noise that fought to come out your mouth. A man dressed in silver and black turned your way.

Wasting no time, hopped onto the deck and dashed into the nearest corridor, running as fast as you could in your clumsy servant’s robes. You were disoriented and scared but also determent to outrun the soldier. The long hallways of the castle once again felt like a devious maze, trying to suffocate you. You turned a corner and half-fell-half-jumped down a narrow flight of stairs. Ignoring the sting in your left leg, you rushed along a half open deck, ducked under a low archway that lead you down to the underbelly of the castle. Here, it was pitch black except for the spaced out torch light that hung from the walls. Luckily, you knew where you were going. This lowest level of the castle was used for storage and servant work deemed too dirty to be looked upon by the masters. You took a right through a small door, finding yourself in one of the washrooms the servants used. Just as the soldier’s feet hit the wood floor behind you, you opened one of the closets and grabbed as many fresh sheets as you possibly could, throwing them over him. You watched him struggle for only the fraction of a second before escaping through a side door. You knew exactly where to hide.

You reached your destination within a minute, lowering yourself into a little crawlspace underneath the floorboards of the broom closet servants used to hide from Tou Ma when she was angry. You’d only have to wait a few minutes for the soldier to give up and leave and then you’d be safe. You were about to close up the floorboards when you heard the most dreadful sound in the world.

It was Minghao. He was screaming.

Without a second thought, you burst back into the corridor. You followed the echo of the scream in your mind. It wasn’t far off. It was right here, under the castle. You tried every door, finding deserted room after deserted room, wondering why Minghao was even here, hidden away from all the commotion.

Aside from the soldier that had followed you down, you hadn’t seen a single person down this low. Perhaps you’d imagined it, you thought, just as you slid through another open door you knew lead to the pantry.

The most shocking thing was not that Minghao was there; it was that the emperor of Namin was there too.

Minghao was knelt over his father’s form, shuddering slightly.

“Hao,” you whispered as you approached, an awkward feeling settling in your stomach. Something was very wrong. Tentatively, you knelt down beside the prince, gasping when you saw the blood. Panicked, you looked down, now noticing the dark trail on the floorboards.

“What— what happened?” you stammered. Minghao hadn’t acknowledged you yet. He was doubled over, tears falling down onto his father’s chest.

“Don’t leave me.” His voice was so thick with emotion the words were barely audible.

You knew the emperor wouldn’t reply.

“Please, father,” Minghao whimpered.

You’d never seen him like this; torn apart like an old book. Afraid of making things worse, you sat by and waited. The war outside didn’t matter now. You allowed his sobs to turn to quiet slowly.

When they had, Minghao straightened his back and looked at you. His face was red and blotchy. The pain in his eyes made you want to wrap your heart around him.

“He got shot,” he said at last. His hand reached out for yours and you took it, surprised at the tightness of his fingers around you.

“I found him back in the celebration hall I— I didn’t know what to do. I just knew I couldn’t let Yientan have him so I tried to find a place to hide him but by the time I got here he was barely breathing and—” fresh tears burned in his eyes, “he just— I can’t do this without him I can’t—”

“Hao— ” you started just as a creak in the floorboards made you both jump.

Over a dozen people shuffled into the room, each person looking more perplexed than the next at the sight of Minghao and the emperor. You blinked in surprise at the appearances of the Zhong family, a bit battered and stunned-looking but otherwise fine. Last to enter the room was Tou Ma. Her face paint had smudged, there was blood at her temple and her robe was ripped at the sleeve.

“Stay back, girls,” she said with a voice just as stern as ever before coming over. Her face turned grim the moment she got on her knees and took in the sight. Her eyes widened, her nostrils flared and her thin lips parted. She took a few moments to regain her calm. Gently, she flattened out a crinkle in her robe as she cleared her voice at last.

“My prince,” she spoke solemnly, “from the heart of Namin, I offer my deepest condolences.”

Minghao continued to stare down at his father’s chest.

“Tomorrow we mourn the end of the era— tonight—” she paused, her wrinkles tugging into a frown, “tonight lies in your hands.”

The words hung in the dusty storage room air, settling over the people within it, slowly, like bits of falling snow.

“My prince?” Tou Ma said and her voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

Minghao hadn’t moved an inch. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking either.

Strands of messed up hair hung in front of his face as he looked down at the emperor. You knew Minghao understood what Tou Ma had implied. Now that the emperor was dead, Minghao was automatically in charge. It was time for him to fulfill his prophecy and become the legend he was destined to be. Except that Tou Ma hadn’t said it like that exactly. She’d left the decision up to him. Tonight lies in your hands. Somehow, you felt like the head servant understood the pressure that weighed on the prince. She’d left the course of action open so that, should he choose to do so, Minghao could hide away with the rest of the castle’s residents. Should he choose to do so, he could surrender to Yientan. It was up to Minghao to decide his fate, not some legend assigned at birth.

Finally, Minghao looked up at Tou Ma.

“My mother,” he said, “is she safe?”

“Of course, my prince,” Tou Ma replied at once, “she was my first priority. I sent her through the royal passage behind the west room tapestry before bringing others to safety. She must have reached the safe house by now.”

Minghao nodded. “Thank you.” He sat there, thinking for a few more seconds before he stood up.

“I’m going out there. Everyone else stay here.” His voice was monotone, matter-of-fact. “I have to speak to the emperor of Yientan and put a stop to this.”

No one spoke as he turned to leave the room. Even you were too shocked to speak. It was only after he’d left the room that you found the strength to move.

“Silly girl,” Tou Ma said, her voice sharp once more as she grabbed hold of your wrist, “this is the last time I tell you to stay away from him.”

You looked the head servant dead in the eye.

“Then this will be the last time I defy you,” you answered, breaking free from her grasp and running out of the room.

You caught up with Minghao halfway up the stairs. You tugged at his sleeve and called his name, softly, inquiringly. He looked back at you, looking apologetic.

“I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you,” he said quietly, “you’re already hurt.” His eyes went to your cheek, where the sting of the arrow still lingered.

You sighed. “And I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.” You took his hand. “Hao, please,” you went on, “whatever happens, let’s do it together.”

Slowly, a smile formed on the new emperor’s lips. It failed to erase the pain in his reddened eyes but rather coated them in a temporary haze. His fingers tightened around yours and he whispered, “okay.”

“Where are we going?” you asked as you tiptoed through the castle, slipping from shadow to shadow.

“I know where he is,” Minghao replied.

You knew he was talking about the emperor of Yientan. You had no idea what he looked like but you’d overheard plenty of conversations about him during your time in the castle. He was a fierce ruler and a strong man of combat.

“Wait, you’re not going to fight him, are you?”

“No,” he replied, “I’m going to talk to him.”

The throne room looked smaller than usual. A pillar had fallen, dust and debris littered the usually shiny hardwood and on the golden throne sat, not Xu Yilan, but a younger-looking man. He was broad-shouldered and his dark hair fell in a single braid down to his waist. His black and silver armor was still spotless aside from the couple droplets of red that had splashed onto his chest. You almost couldn’t believe he was an emperor and not a war general. Xu Yilan had surely never fought like this. Judging by the tenacity in his eyes, he was enjoying this. Upon noticing Minghao he raised himself from the throne, eyes narrowing.

“Emperor Wu,” Minghao spoke up as he walked to the center of the room.

You decided to stay in the shadows for now. It was better for the Yientan leader not to know a second person was in the room.

“My father, Xu Yilan, is dead by your men’s hands.”

You had no idea how Minghao was keeping his emotions at bay but it was clearly a good thing. The man on the platform drew back, his eyes going wide.

“You,” he said in a gravely voice, “you are Xu Minghao?” He spoke loud and clear but was unable to hide his uneasiness. It was in the way he stood, overly square, and in the stark way his eyes stared ahead.

“I am,” Minghao said, “and I want you to listen to me for a moment.”

Silence. This was good.

“I do not want to fight you,” he went on, “I just want to talk. I want to restore the balance between Namin and Yientan.” He took a deep breath. “I want Yientan to give us back the highlands.”

A low yet booming laughter filled the empty throne room.

“You expect us to just give you back the highlands?” the emperor scoffed, “and what will Yientan receive in return?”

You watched Minghao as a silence trickled into the air. He was completely still, his mind probably racing like a warhorse.

“In return,” he said at last, his voice deep yet clear, “Yientan will be spared the dragon’s wrath.”

You could see the fear spring into the emperor’s eyes.

“You lie, young man,” he said, though it was obvious Minghao’s words had derailed him a bit. Slowly, the man unsheathed a long sword and pointed it at Minghao.

“There is no dragon,” he spat, starting to walk down the platform, “where is your dragon now, huh? Did it come when our people charged your gates? No, it did not.”

Minghao’s chest heaved but he stood his ground. You couldn’t understand how he stayed so calm. He had nothing to defend himself with.

“Did it come when your father was struck down by one of my men?” emperor Wu continued as he approached, “it did not.”

This was all wrong, you thought, panic taking over you.

“Up on the roof of this broken palace, a golden dragon stands, yes,” the emperor said, a wicked smile spreading onto his lips. He was getting too close.

“It is nothing but a symbol of wealth, a meaningless decoration!”

Minghao stood as a statue, defiant.

“It could not save your father, nor your people,” he grinned, “and it surely won’t save you.”

“Stop!” you screamed, breaking away from your hiding spot. Both men turned their heads in surprise, a moment you took to jump in between them, arms out, shielding Minghao from his attacker.

“Don’t hurt him, please!” you cried. You knew you were making foolish decisions but there wasn’t a single cell in your body capable of doing anything else in that moment.

Pain shot through your arm as general Wu grabbed hold of you.

“No!” Minghao yelled, immediately jumping for the general’s second arm in an attempt to tear the sword from his grasp. Your head spun as you were tugged around, the three of you in an awkward tangle until you heard a gasp that could only be Minghao’s. You watched him fall to the floor, clutching his side, where the fabric of his shirt started to color red.

You wanted to scream but before any sound had the chance to leave your lips, the whole room began to shake.

Emperor Wu backed towards the wall, dragging you with him and that’s when you heard it. An ear-piercing cry coming from somewhere up above. The ceiling cracked and gave away right where Minghao crouched. You cried out his name in a desperate attempt to save him when you realized the falling debris wasn’t crushing him. Instead, it turned to dust mid-fall, scattering over the floor like sand on a windy day.

Emperor Wu gave a startled shriek behind you. A massive creature burst through the broken ceiling with another deafening cry. It looked like a giant, glimmering snake with horns. Its fanged mouth was the size of two grown men and its golden scales reflected the devastation in the room. It curled itself around Minhao, who was still on hands and knees on the floor, obscuring him from view. “It— it’s— it can’t be!” the man behind you stuttered, shivering all over. You took the opportunity to yank yourself from his grasp.

The dragon let out a large huff and steam released from its dinner-plate-sized nostrils. You couldn’t help but feel a trickle of fear pulse through you as you approached the beast. But you had to trust.

The dragon’s body uncurled once more, revealing Minghao. He was standing; even more, he looked revitalized. A determent look had taken over his face. He stepped in front of the dragon and addressed the cowering emperor.

“As I said before,” he said, his voice strong and demanding now, “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want this war. Yientan and Namin can live in peace. Even better, we can make each other stronger.” He glanced at you and his eyes filled with warmth. “I know we are different but Namin will no longer fear those differences. It is by cooperating that we will learn and grow—”

The emperor scoffed. “And to achieve this peace of yours,” he grumbled, “I assume you want the highlands back?”

“They belong to Namin,” Minhao replied calmly.

“And what’s next?” emperor Wu went on, his pitch rising, “you’ll invade us with your big dragon protector and we’ll have to give up everything?!”

“No.” Minghao shook his head. “Namin doesn’t need any more. Just the highlands and harmony with Yientan. If you promise me these things, emperor Wu, this dragon will never be used for violence. It too can be a symbol of peace.”

The emperor of Yientan stood there, fighting a fight within himself. All you could do was wait. Minghao didn’t look scared anymore though. The dragon had taken his fear. The cold mask had vanished as well, leaving his eyes exactly the way you remembered them from years ago; kind, curious, inviting. Years of pressure had fallen off of his shoulders, allowing him to stand up straight and confident.

His gaze went to you for a moment and he reached out his hand.

Heart swelling with joy, you took it, feeling more than ever before, like you belonged.

Emperor Wu observed all of this with pain in his eyes. You still had no idea what the man was thinking but you felt safer now, so close to Minghao.

“Alright,” he said finally, starting to walk towards you, “you win, little emperor.” He shook his head in defeat. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about ruling and, mark my words, you will regret the things you’ve said today— all this talk about peace and harmony—” he stopped just a couple feet away from Minghao, “but at least for now, Yientan will bow to Namin.” He bent over into a ninety degree bow and Minghao let show just the tiniest smile. He was proud— and he should have been. You squeezed into his hand and felt him squeeze back when, all of a sudden, a lot of things happened.

Emperor Wu raised himself, drawing from a loop in his belt a tiny dagger and driving it into Minghao’s chest. At the same time, the dragon behind you let out a magnificent roar as it charged at Yientan’s emperor, knocking the breath right out of his lungs. All this time, you stood, frozen to the spot in complete and utter shock.

When you felt Minhao’s hand slip from yours, you cried out his name. You caught him as he staggered and the two of you landed with a soft thud on the floor. Panicked, your hands dove to his chest, looking for the stab wound as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

“Hey,” you heard someone say softly, vaguely but you didn’t have time now. You had to stop the bleeding.

Something took hold of your chin, lifting it. It was Minghao. He was smiling the sweetest smile and you didn’t understand.

“I’m okay,” he said, pulling aside his robes, revealing nothing but a light cut along his ribcage.

“Hao,” you sniffled as his thumb came to wipe away some of your tears.

“I’m okay,” he said again, nodding softly.

And so all the adrenaline fled your body. Without a second thought, you flung your arms around his neck and hugged him close. It was a hug such as you’d shared when you were children; one made of pure happiness. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You were still crying, sort of, but you were sure it was the good kind of crying.

A gentle hand landed on top of your head, patting it in a soothing manner. You took it all in, the feel of him, his scent, the way his heart beat against yours.

“Everything is gonna be alright now, right?” you mumbled into his chest.

You felt him sigh.

“I think so.”

The following days were some of the strangest of your entire life.

The emperor of Yientan wasn’t dead. The dragon had hit him pretty bad but it had ultimately left the decision up to Minghao. Minghao, who of course decided to have the foreign emperor nursed back to health by Namin’s finest doctors. He still believed that peace between the two lands was possible.

You and Minghao, along with all remaining castle staff, had temporarily moved into the castle gardens. Most of the garden staff huts had apparently been spared from the fight. It wasn’t spacious by any means, but it was enough for the time being.

Not that you didn’t have any other options.

News of the attack and especially the return of the dragon had spread like wildfire through the cities and towns of Namin. Wealthy traders and investors offered their own residences in honor of the new legendary emperor but Minghao had turned them all down. He said he wanted to help rebuild the castle.

“Besides, I don’t know if I’m ready to face them yet.” Minghao’s face was contemplative as you two sat overlooking the rose garden from a hilltop.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He leaned back onto his hands. “I don’t know,” he said, “I’m not ready to be their legend, truly this time. How am I supposed to— after my father.” He shook his head. “I’m no better than him. He was just a man and so am I.”

Up in the sky, the golden dragon trailed patterns in the afternoon clouds. It had fluttered around the gardens all day; a beacon of hope.

“I know I have a job to do but—” he said finally, “I still can’t help but feel like I’m losing something precious.”

You nodded, leaning your head onto his shoulder. “Things will be more complicated,” you admitted. It was true. You didn’t want to sugarcoat that for him. However, you weren’t worried.

“But you won’t be doing any of it alone.”

You could feel him start to smile as his arm slid around your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Your majesty,” a tense voice said.

It was Tou Ma. You were surprised to find you were happy to see her.

“We have received word from your mother. She will be coming home in a few days. The Zhong family meanwhile have arrived home this morning. They are well.”

Minghao nodded, his face stony but a lot going on behind his eyes.

“Should I send word back?”

“No,” Minghao was quick to answer but then he caught himself, “I think I’ll write Zhong Mei and her parents a letter myself. They deserve that.” He was frowning to himself now. “And tell my mother I’m sorry— and can’t wait for her arrival.”

“I will,” Tou Ma said solemnly, her eyes trailing off. She was searching for words.

“What is it?” Minghao questioned.

Tou Ma pursed her lips.

“He is awake.”

You followed Minghao to one of the larger huts in the garden, where emperor Wu was being treated. The room was bare, save for a bed and a night stand upon which stood a bowl of water and a clean cloth. A middle-aged lady in simple blue robes stood by his bed. The moment she noticed Minghao, she fell into a deep bow.

“That’s alright,” Minghao said, taking her hands as she rose, “thank you for your amazing work.”

The woman went red in the face but smiled brightly back at him.

The emperor of Yientan still suffered a few bruises, one below his left eye. You couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy around him so you watched Minghao approach from a distance.

“How are you feeling?” he asked the man in the bed.

Emperor Wu let out a heavy sigh as his eyes landed on Minghao.

“I’ve been better,” he said.

There was a silence you weren’t sure of the meaning of. Minghao seemed to be waiting.

“I’ve sat here for a while now, you know,” he went on, “been awake since sometime last night— in and out of it most likely— but I’ve been thinking.”

The man in the bed looked nothing like he had during the battle. He’d been full of fire then. Now, he had a depleted look about him.

“Do you know what I was thinking?”

Minghao shook his head softly.

To your surprise, the emperor of Yientan let out a chuckle. Maybe he really had suffered brain damage after all.

“I was thinking, why am I in this comfortable bed?” he snickered lowly, “I thought I might have died. Thought it might be the afterlife. But then I was informed of your decision to let me live. To let me go.” His face went sad suddenly, brows furrowed. He looked almost silly.

“I realized I admire you, your majesty. You chose to spare the life of the man who invaded your land and took it for his own, the man responsible for your father’s death, the man that might have been responsible for your own death—” he let out another chuckle. “I thought you must be either mad or genius— I, um— I’m still not truly certain which one it is but I can say one thing for sure: you’ve got more bravery in that little body of yours than I’ve seen in any ruler of my lifetime. And I have no choice but to respect that.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your hands were anxiously clutched in front of your chest.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Minghao said, his shoulders relaxing a bit.

Emperor Wu raised himself in the bed, took the cloth from the nightstand and wiped his face with it. When his face was revealed once more, he was smiling.

“Alright,” he said, looking up at Minghao, “let’s get this over with. Let’s talk.”

This is how Namin was restored. The highlands were returned and multiple treaties were formed between Namin and Yientan, promising peace and collaboration for all time to come.

Minghao hugged his mother close a few nights later, and a ceremony was held for the death of Xu Yilan. It was a sombre meeting in a nearby temple, the only other attendees aside from direct family the thousands of fireflies that lit up the air.

Then, finally, it was time to go public with everything that had happened. The coming of the legend emperor had to be celebrated and the people of Namin were not going to let that opportunity go to waste. Banners were raised, fireworks set off, as a magnificent parade made its way through the capital.

Throughout all this, you found yourself completely overwhelmed, not only because so much was happening at once, but also because Minghao wanted you to be a part of it all.

“Are you alright?” Minghao whispered into your ear.

You hardly knew how to respond to that. You were sitting in a luxurious golden carriage, wearing the most beautiful silk you’d ever laid eyes on. Layers of pale pinks and greens, adorned with gold thread fell from your shoulders. Your hair had been elegantly put together by Tou Ma herself that morning, with flowers and ribbons she’d handpicked for you. If all that wasn’t enough to make your heart do cartwheels, Minghao, the new emperor of Namin sat beside you, holding your hand while he waved at the people cheering. And there were a lot of people around you. It seemed as if all of Namin had come out to watch the procession. You weren’t as confident as Minghao, darting your hand up occasionally to wave at the public, only to change your mind the next second and put it back down.

“I’m terrified,” you replied, “ecstatic and overjoyed and terrified.”

“That sounds about right,” he said, grinning, “but don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”

Surely enough, the procession halted in the main square of the capital. A tall platform had been put up in the center of it. As you’d expected, your carriage opened its doors right beside it. It was time for Minghao to give his speech. With one last smile in your direction he left for the platform. You watched him breath in and out, visibly shaking the nerves out of his body before he began.

“People of Namin,” he spoke loud and clear, “in the last week, a lot of things have happened and rumors have run rampant. I believe you all deserve to know exactly what has happened at the castle and what this means for the future of Namin.”

You looked in complete awe and adoration, as Minghao explained the events of the past weeks and even before that; the protests, the arrival of the Zhong family and their plans, the attack, death of Xu Yilan and finally, the legend of the dragon.

“It is true,” Minghao said, “the dragon lives once more.”

Just then, a bright glimmer fell all over the square and the people squinted upwards to see the golden dragon fly overhead.

“It will protect Namin for as long as I live and hopefully longer.”

The crowd erupted in jubilant cheers. Minghao took this opportunity to look back at you. You were suddenly highly aware of the ridiculously wide grin that had been plastered on your face ever since he’d begun his speech. He returned it gladly and, to your surprise, beckoned you to join him onto the platform.

Your eyes went the size of daisies as you vigorously shook your head at him. He only smiled kindly at you and turned back around as the commotion had died down mostly.

“My dear people, it has been a glorious day!” he yelled “but I have one more announcement to make.”

This turned the whole crowd silent.

“Throughout the challenges of the past week I have had to be strong. In order for the dragon to arise, I’ve had to be strong. I’m the true leader, I’m Namin’s hope, I am a legend come to life— I’ve been hearing these types of statements all around and I would like to say that, while your praise is appreciated, I fear I’m not entirely deserving—”

“There’s a reason I’ve been able to be strong. There’s a reason I’ve been able to keep my head on the right track, there’s a reason I feel like I can be a worthy leader to you all and it is a reason entirely outside of myself.”

He turned back around to face you. Your face went hot when you realized he was actually coming down to fetch you. He took your hand, gave you the most loving smile and pulled you up.

Everything looked simultaneously tiny and overwhelming from up on the platform. Luckily you had Minghao holding onto your hand or you for sure would’ve fainted.

“I can be the leader I am because of this woman,” he said, “she has been the one thing that’s grounded me in all of this and if it hadn’t been for her, I’m not sure I’d be standing here making this speech today.”

Your heart was pounding out of control and you felt lightheaded. You were grateful when Minghao’s arm slid around your waist and steadied you.

“On this special day, we celebrate the resilience and rebirth of Namin,” Minghao stated confidently, “but I would also like to use this day to profess my undying love for the girl standing beside me.”

A sea of murmurs welled up from the crowd. Minghao came to face you again and suddenly, he looked less like an emperor and more like the boy you’d always known.

“I’ve always loved you,” he said quietly, “it’s always been you.” His hand came to hold your face gently. “I know the life I lead from now on will be full of challenges and responsibilities, it will be a life in the spotlight, maybe—” he sighed, “maybe nothing like the life you’d imagined for yourself but—” he was really searching for words now, his eyes darting in all directions until they finally landed back on yours.

“If you’ll have me, I would love for you to share that life with me.”

It was as if a collection of fireworks set off inside of you, shooting from the top of your head all the way down to your toes, setting you aflame. It was an overload of feelings. You didn’t even notice the tear trickling down your cheek until Minghao wiped it away.

“So, will you?” he asked, looking like he might collapse from nerves as well now.

The smile burst free from its own accord as the reality of the situation finally sank in.

“Yes, of course!” you let out and your arms flung themselves around Minghao’s neck.

Now the people of Namin were really cheering, their noise like drums in your head as you embraced Minghao. Even when you broke apart the cheering didn’t stop; it only grew wilder as Minghao pressed his lips to yours.

In all your life you’d never thought this would be yours. Even as a child you’d known that Minghao, your playmate wasn’t to be wanted. He was different, above others, untouchable, and for years you’d struggled to come to terms with that grim fact. And yet here he was, in front of you and all of Namin, telling you he loved you. It was the beginning of a new era for Namin and it seemed that its residents were ready for change. And you were more than certain Minghao was the right person to lead the people with justice and, above all, love.

♥

#minghao #minghao fluff #the8 #the8 fluff #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #prince au #prince minghao #minghao imagines #minghao scenarios #xu minghao #royal au #minghao x reader #minghao x you #seventeen fluff #series #fluff #angst #thank you

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pastelwitchling · 3 years

Text

“This is torture!” Michael panted, falling forward on his knees, heaving. “You do this for fun?”

Alex raised a brow at him. Aside from the slight flush in his cheeks and the hair sticking to his forehead, he looked completely unaffected by the five mile hike up a steep hill they’d just made.

“I can carry you, if you want,” he offered, his lips quirked in that infuriatingly gorgeous smug smirk.

Michael huffed. “Screw. You.”

It was worth the pain in his ribs to hear Alex laugh like that, to see the way the sun shined off his dark eyes and turned them to bright hazel. He wouldn’t tell Alex that though. Not now.

“Keep making jokes,” he straightened, and threw an arm over Alex’s shoulders, leaning his weight against him. If Alex’s leg bothered him at all, he didn’t show it.

Michael watched as a bead of sweat rolled down Alex’s neck, and he bit his lower lip before he leaned in and licked it off, eliciting a startled gasp from Alex.

“I might just take you up on that,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of Alex’s ear.

“Get off,” Alex laughed, halfheartedly shoving Michael back.

Michael grinned defeatedly, though his heart ached to pull Alex in and kiss him here, next to this line of trees high up in the mountains where no one would find them. But Alex and Forrest had amicably broken things off not too long ago, and Alex and Michael had decided they wanted to take things slowly this time around. Well, it was more like Alex had said it when Michael was halfway to unbuttoning his shirt, and, eager to feel his skin, Michael agreed to anything that came out of his mouth.

He had hoped that by slow, Alex meant they’d keep from touching each other for . . . a day. Maybe two. But it had been two weeks, and he was pent up on need and desire, not an unfamiliar feeling around Alex, but made infinitely worse now as Alex was always at arm’s length, and staying at arm’s length. Needless to say, they hadn’t quite hit the physically intimate part of their relationship yet. (Michael hoped that if he kept saying yet at the end of every thought to do with Alex, their time would come sooner. It hadn’t worked. Yet.)

“I didn’t bring you up here to take advantage, Guerin,” Alex winked, and forged on ahead.

“Please,” Michael groaned. “Please take advantage!”

“Hurry up!” Alex called, ignoring him.

Michael followed through the grove, over a narrow stream, and came up to a cliff’s edge. The land was flat, and the edge was lined with boulders that reached their knees, so they were in no danger of falling, but what lied below knocked the breath out of Michael’s lungs regardless.

He’d never seen the sunset over the Roswell desert from this angle before, but everything was showered in gold and pink, the clouds turned to splotches of vibrant paint in the sky, and Alex’s eyes had changed from hazel to orange, like flames lit him from the inside. Michael couldn’t stop staring.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Alex marveled.

Michael swallowed, his eyes unmoving from Alex’s face. “Beautiful.”

If Alex noticed that Michael wasn’t talking about the sunset, he didn’t mention it. He sat down on one of the rocks instead, and waited for Michael to sit down beside him before he said, “This is my favorite place in town. I used to come here all the time when things got bad.”

“With your dad?”

Alex’s smile dimmed slightly, and he nodded. That had been his general reaction since Jesse Manes had died; reserved, quiet, like he still didn’t quite know how he felt about losing his father. Or, instead, losing the father he could’ve had. After everything, Alex still seemed to believe that he could’ve gotten through to his dad if he’d had enough time. Michael quietly disagreed, but he never minded taking Alex’s hand or kissing his cheek when he got lost in thought like this.

The touch of Michael’s lips to his fingers seemed to awaken him from his trance, and he blinked, the light returning in full to his eyes as he turned his gaze to Michael.

“Yeah,” he murmured softly. “This was my secret hideout. My brothers don’t know about it, Liz and Maria don’t know about it, not even Kyle.”

Michael perked up at the thought. Lately, it had seemed like Kyle and Alex were part of one person. Always together, always in agreement, always the wisest people in the room. Michael had come to expect genius from Alex, but it was annoying to see how much he fit it with Kyle’s kindness. Not that he’d ever admit Kyle was kind.

“Really?” he said, some of the smugness from Alex’s smirk earlier seeping into his voice now. “Not even your bestie knows?”

Alex rolled his eyes, and tugged at his hand in Michael’s. “Envy is an ugly color on you, Guerin.”

Michael’s smile widened, and he held Alex’s hand tighter, refusing to let go. “Nice try, Private.” He leaned in, his eyes falling to Alex’s lips. “But I look good in everything.”

Alex shook his head, his eyes and smile fonder than Michael thought he’d ever deserve. “Yeah,” he said without any hesitation or doubt. “You do.”

Michael’s forehead fell forward onto Alex’s as he sighed deeply. That happened sometimes; he wouldn’t realize he was holding his breath until he was close enough to Alex to feel him, and then his heart would heave, like it had been waiting for such a satisfying release.

“I love you,” he murmured before he could think twice.

At the way Alex’s cheeks turned pink and he smiled as if didn’t even realize he was doing it, Michael couldn’t find it in him to regret a word. It was the truth, and, after all, he’d been tired of lying to the people he loved for a long time now.

“I love you, too,” Alex whispered, and caught Michael’s lips in a quick kiss.

Michael moaned, and wrapped a hand around the nape of Alex’s neck, pulling him back in. “Kiss me again,” he breathed against Alex’s mouth, their lips brushing.

Alex’s eyes fluttered and he tilted his head, almost involuntarily. “I want to,” he confessed.

Michael parted his lips against Alex’s, their mouths slotting perfectly together for just a second before Alex was pulling back again, shaking his head. His mouth pinched into a frown, his brows furrowed, as if it pained him to move away from Michael’s touch at all.

“I don’t . . . I don’t want this.”

“Okay,” Michael tried, cupping Alex’s jaw. He didn’t want distance, he didn’t want Alex shutting down in front of him. Not now, not ever again. “Okay, hey, it’s okay! We don’t – we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”

“No, I –” Alex pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I want to kiss you, Guerin. I want to – I want to do more than kiss you.” He clenched his jaw. “But I don’t want this. I don’t want to just be someone you – you want like that.”

Michael frowned. “What do you mean?”

Alex groaned and pushed himself to his feet. “I mean . . .” when he turned, Michael saw his eyes red-rimmed, his expression vulnerable. He was scared. “I mean you talked with Maria.”

Michael’s shoulders fell as understanding dawned.

“You have that whole science thing with Liz. Even Forrest knew a side of you that I didn’t.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. The sunset followed every strand, turning the tips to gold. Even hurt, Alex was painstakingly beautiful.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like to know that I . . . don’t know you?”

The corner of Michael’s lips quirked up sadly. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.” He stood, and shrugged. “I knew what that felt like when your Air Force buddy’s family called to tell you he was gone. And when Sergeant Ramos showed up and hugged you like you were his favorite little protégé. And during the Project Shepherd raid, when five guys as big as tanks followed your orders like you were freaking Captain America.”

He gripped Alex’s arms. “You’re my favorite person in the world, Alex.” He huffed a miserable chuckle. “Hell, you are my world. You know me. You know how I feel even when I don’t. You make all the crap in my head go quiet like nobody else can.” He ran his hands up to hold Alex’s face. “You’re not just my family, Private, you’re my home. Don’t say you don’t know me. You’re the best part of me.”

Alex’s lower lip trembled, but he gripped Michael’s waist like his life depended on it. it was a silent promise that he would never let go.

“So you’re all mine?”

“All yours.”

“And if I said I didn’t want sex until after we were married?”

Michael barked a laugh and pecked Alex’s lips. “We can get married as soon as we get off this damn mountain.”

Alex wrapped his arms around Michael’s waist, pulling their bodies tight against one another. “All mine,” he whispered.

Michael held him back just as tightly. “All yours.”

Alex tilted his head, his open mouth hovering barely half an inch from Michael’s. When he spoke, Michael tasted his warm, strawberry breath, and his eyes fluttered.

“Then what’re you waiting for?” he breathed. “Kiss me –”

Alex barely got the words out before Michael closed the distance between them, and kissed him hard. Alex’s hand came up his shirt, and he groaned, thankful to the stars. As he tore off Alex’s own shirt, as he shoved his pants down and took him on the cliff’s edge, as he breathed him in as deeply as he always did, he half-wondered if Alex had been serious about marrying him, and every fiber in his being surprised him by yearning for it.

But no, the annoyingly rational part of his brain thought. They probably weren’t getting married.

Michael smiled to himself later on as he lay down on his back beside Alex, watching the way his eyes closed, his lashed curled against his red cheeks, his naked chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing.

In secret, Michael thought, Not yet.

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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heliopauseentertainments · 3 years

Text

Solar Flare

Just over 2k words. Continuity: IDW1 Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus

Characters: Megatron, Rodimus, Starscream

Warnings: None, canon typlical violence. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags. AU: Canon divergance, gods/goddesses, early war

Summary: "To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one." In which Megatron makes a mistake by sparing Rodimus, the Prime of the Sun.

Crossposting: In a reblog

Note: inspired by this art piece on Tumblr.

Fic under cut.

"To destroy a corrupt system, we must first destroy its gods, starting with this one." Megatron, at first, had been so sure of his words as he pointed at the red and yellow mech across the hall, bedecked in jewelry and silk. The ornate metal doors that had blocked off the throne room laid crumpled on the polished marble floor under his feet. After storming the Temple of the Sun in Nyon, he had thought killing a false god would be the easy part. Especially since this Prime did not have a Lord Protector dedicated to defending his worthless spark, he had assumed that there would simply be one less obstacle to his goal.

The defenses had been minimal, at least here. Pathetic guards ran screaming for their lives after the frontal assault on the main reinforced doors. There had been no point in giving chase, so Megatron had ordered his soldiers to let them flee. If the other Primal temples were built like this one, their job would be a lot simpler.

Now he watched as Primal acolytes pulled on the Prime’s arms and hands, trying in vain to tug him to safety, away from the armed intruders. The Prime shook them off with a curse before marching unhindered towards Megatron, whom he’d fixed with a glare. Not one of anger, no, one of being inconvenienced.

“What are you doing in my house? You’re freaking out my dudes!”

What.

He had just blasted through reinforced doors with his mechs, neutralized several guards, and kicked down the door to the sacred throne room where the Prime was expected to waste away his days in luxury and splendor. Yet this… this half-pint approached him with neither fear nor hesitation.

Megatron hadn’t been prepared for this.

He had been prepared for the pampered brat cowering on the beautiful, shining marble, begging for his miserable, privileged life. He had been prepared to mercilessly terminate that wastrel with a fusion cannon blast, right through the spark and through that stupid Matrix. Just as soon as he tired of the sniveling, of course.

Consternation on his face, he powered down his cannon with a soft whir as it was lowered to his side.

“Excuse me?”

The Prime planted his hands on his hips, the bejeweled and festooned fins of his spoiler tilted upward in bold defiance.

"You heard me, bolt brain."

Now that wasn't a very godly thing to say at all.

For all the supposed elegance and grace of a Prime, especially the Prime of the Sun, this was a smart-mouthed little punk. This wasn't remotely what he expected.

Megatron scowled down at the mech who dared call himself a god. With a wave of his arm, some of his soldiers dispatched towards the back of the throne room to seize fleeing acolytes.

"Don't you realize what's happening here?" he asked, staring right back into the burning blue gaze. "Are you really that brave or are you just foolish?"

"Oh, yeah, I know what's happening.” Megatron sincerely doubted that, but better to hear what nonsense this unknowingly condemned moron could come up with. Maybe it would be amusing. “You're being a total spike right now, bursting in unannounced and trashing my house like one of those medical academy parties they show on the holonet. Wreck your own house!"

What in the damned hell was this punk talking about? No wonder this one had no Lord Protector. Who would tolerate this? Shooting him now would do the world a favor. Making a political statement at this point would be a bonus.

"Didn't your caretakers teach you any manners? Rude." Well, Terminus tried but…. That was beside the point. The sheer impertinence of this idiot who had no idea he was about to have a hole put through his spark by a fusion cannon.

"I'm about to kill you and you're upset by my lack of aristocratic manners?"

Manners hadn’t really mattered much where he came from, the predominantly manual-class and disposable-class underground city of Tarn, in the various mines where he’d labored in dangerous conditions for ages, or in the black-market pop-up arenas of Kaon. He had never had use for such niceties and this punk was upset that he wasn’t holding his little finger out while taking the Primal temple. Ridiculous. What next? Did he expect Megatron to use a napkin when painting the floor with the Prime’s lifeblood?

The Prime relaxed slightly, seeming to consider the words, rubbing his chin all the while.

"I suppose when you put it like that, but only a Prime can kill a Prime so like do whatever—Hey! Wait!" The hand rubbing his chin abandoned its work to point right at Megatron's nose. "I know you! You're that lunatic that got Kaon blown to slag!"

“Enough!” he bellowed, smacking that accusing point away with the back of his hand. “I don’t have time for you inane blathering!”

“Hey, rude—“

“Seize him!”

Mechs surged forth, several making grabs for the Prime’s limbs. The Prime struggled, swearing as he strove to himself free of unwelcome hands. He kicked and punched, denting plate. More than a few titanium teeth from Decepticon mouths pinged against the floor after being knocked out. Flatline would be rather busy later, Megatron thought, intrigued by just how much of a fight this pampered fool was putting up.

The struggle went on until the soldiers managed to immobilize the Prime’s limbs, removing any space for him to get in another good swing.

"Might I suggest something?" A high-pitched voice piped up behind him, persuasively smooth with all the owner’s public speaking practice despite the underlying screech.

"You may not, but you'll do it anyway so out with it, Starscream. Let’s get your suggestion over with."

Starscream stalked closer and began to circle the Prime, as though inspecting a new, expensive purchase. His thrusters clicked against the smooth floor with every step.

"Rather than immediately dispatch this 'god,' why not simply keep him prisoner?"

"What purpose would that possibly serve?" What a waste of precious fuel and man-hours that could be better allocated elsewhere. Why take on the unnecessary responsibility of babysitting?

"Well, would not a new mech simply be chosen as a puppet to take their place? A supposed reincarnation plucked from a hot spot like a miracle. The Senate and their lackeys will rally around the divine newspark, stir up the people's faith, and so on and so forth. Keep him alive and that little problem just solves itself, doesn't it?"

“What of the Matrix?” he asked, gesturing with his thumb at the Prime’s chest. Each Prime had one, bestowed upon them by the priesthood that served their predecessor. Relics passed down between supposed incarnations, a symbol of divinity. Turning that worthless relic into a trophy… that would almost as profoundly undermine the blind faith of the populace as actually murdering one of their so-called “gods.”

Megatron tapped his finger against his chin in thought.

“Would not destroying the Matrix render the point moot?” A new god couldn’t be reformatted without it, right? At least, not as far as he knew. The whole thing was rustwash anyway.

Starscream scoffed, waving a hand flippantly at the very idea as he continued to circle the immobilized Prime.

“Please. They probably keep a bunch of them in the basement or in a bunker somewhere or something. You break one, someone steals a backup and claims it’s the real thing. You get accused of having destroyed a fake one for publicity. You know how it is with these ‘relics.’ A shanix a dozen.”

He hated that Starscream had a point. Telling the seeker so, however, would just cause more problems—the overinflated ego sort—down the line. Megatron would settle for a simple acknowledgment as he leaned down to get a better look at this bedighted speedster. The Prime was practically encrusted with jewels and precious metals in the form of ornate jewelry, brocaded mesh draped luxuriously over the fins of his spoiler. Feet planted firmly on the ground, the Prime glared defiantly back up at his captor. In any other situation, Megatron would have thought him a beauty to behold, but now the red mech was just a symbol of resources squandered on mere opulence. The sight disgusted him.

“Very well. I haven’t decided what his fate will be just yet,” he said, straightening back up. “Lock him up somewhere. I don’t care where. It doesn’t matter. Just get him out of my sight.”

A few of his mechs hesitated, the ones holding the arms and shoulders of acolytes, as though they weren’t sure what to do with their prisoners. Megatron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stood back up. Did he have to spell out everything for these idiots?

“The cultists too! Just go!”

—

Finally. The throne room was at peace without that Prime spitting and screaming. Now that he had been hauled off somewhere in the temple complex, preferably kept under lock and guard. Megatron could really get a look around, take stock of the damage and what exactly they had just conquered. This place held many, many valuable resources that they could utilize, either directly or by fencing the goods. Furthermore, he’d gotten it all for the low price of a few explosives, a couple of boot-licking lives, and a very rude little “god.” He would figure out what to do with that brat later.

Megatron took a long and slow ventilation before approaching the now abandoned, golden throne at the far end of the room. It glittered in the warm yellow-orange light from the lamps. An impression of the sun was embossed into the high back of the throne and again, smaller, on the arms and seat. It was almost too small, hardly having room for the treads on his back. It was made for more regal frames than his own, intended for heavy industrial work below ground.

The soldiers that still lingered in the room, along with the lieutenants that had accompanied him, watched in silence.

“We will reinforce the Temple of the Sun, make it an impregnable fortress,” he said, sitting and relaxing into the Primal throne. He supposedly “desecrated” it merely by touch, let alone smearing it with spilled energon and oil from fighting his way through the temple. A shame some of that shed fuel didn’t belong to the previous occupant of this glorified chair.

No matter. It belonged to him now.

From here, it was a short step to de facto controlling the city of Nyon and its weak council.

“With a little work, it’ll make a fine base.” The first, in fact, unless one counted the ruins of Kaon, the last city he and his forces held, he thought, caressing one of the cushioned arms of the throne. After Senate forces bombed the city from the surface of Cybertron, the revolutionaries were forced underground.

Megatron gestured for his lieutenants to approach. Starscream strode forward, an impatient twitch to his wings and several complaints no doubt already at the tip of his tongue. Soundwave, ever the professional, simply walked and waited in inscrutable silence for his orders.

"Now, as you know, the Senate is de facto independent, even if they nominally operate under the First Prime in Iacon. They serve no gods but themselves,” Megatron began, “we need to work quickly to fortify our position here. We have some time because they need to calculate the political risk of assaulting Nyon."

They could make good use of this place if they were quick, before the Senate could retaliate for the revolutionaries’ transgressions against the gods. Nyon, however, had one beautiful advantage that Kaon did not: a Primal temple. Even they would hesitate to simply annihilate a sacred location, no matter who held it. Not because they believed, but because the face they would lose would be incalculable.

Megatron smirked, getting comfortable in the stolen throne. Just sitting here was daring the Senate to do something self-destructive and drastic. It was perfect.

Starscream opened his mouth, probably to object, but before he could get words out, he was cut off by a finger pointed in his direction.

“Organize the fortification efforts and recall Shockwave to our new position. Soundwave—“ The blue mech straightened up further to show he was giving his leader his undivided attention. “Round up and contain the remainder of the priesthood. We’re moving in.”

With a nod, the Soundwave turned on his heel to carry out the command.

Now he just needed to figure out what to do with the blasted Prime of the Sun. Starscream loudly cleared his vocalizer, apparently having something else to say before getting on with his duties.

“What is it now?”

“Well, if I may, I have a potential solution to your little Prime problem, one that could legitimize our position here.”

Megatron narrowed his optics but said nothing as he leaned his face on a raised fist. The seeker took that as permission to continue, a slippery grin stretching across the smooth metal of his face.

“What do you think of the title of Lord Protector? ‘Lord Megatron’ has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

#fic #one shot #megatron #rodimus #megarod #idw1 #maccadam #I haven't decided if this will turn into a chapter fic or not yet #fic solar flare

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