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covenofwives · 2 years

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Safe Arms

Tommy's on the run from a masked psychopath and runs into the arms of DreamXD for help. Tommy needs help and somewhere safe and plan; but first of all, he needs to calm down.

The idea given by the wonderful @sleepy--anon of XD protecting and giving comfort tickles to Tommy since the recent lore stuffs. I did have the idea that instead of running into Phil, Tommy would have ran into XD but I probably wouldn't have written it if not inspired by sleepy

A part 2 might come from this, but it might be a while

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Fear. Anxiety. The dreaded sense of death. These were all feelings Tommy was sadly accustomed to. There was a time in Tommy’s life where that was all he felt, day after day. He pushed those memories away, trying to lock them up into the deepest corners of his mind. If he didn’t think about them, then they couldn’t hurt him again.

But that wasn’t true.

“Come here, Tommy!”

The voice was like a knife slowly scraping down Tommy’s spine. He ran, heart pumping in time with his footsteps through the snow covered forest.

“Go away Dream! Leave me alone!” Tommy screamed over the sound of his own heartbeat. He didn’t dare look back and see how close that green menace was.

“Y-You can’t do this again!”

“I can Tommy!” Dream yelled, and Tommy tried to ignore the fact that the voice was getting closer. Much, much closer. “Who’s going to stop me?!” He almost laughed.

Tommy tried leaping over a knocked down tree. He managed to get over it, in his defence, but he landed over an exposed tree root and tripped, tumbling into the snow.

He could feel when his knee battered on the ground and a bruise already forming. He stood up, stumbling as he heard Dream laugh behind him.

“Oho~ You fell Tommy! I’m just getting closer!”

“NO!”

With his muscles screaming in pain Tommy pushed himself up and ran again. He ducked under a low tree and sprinted further into the woods. He had to be close by something. Someone. Anything!

“Tommy!” Dream shouted again, this time his voice lost the playful tone, getting rougher. Like a growl. “This isn’t funny anymore!”

“HELP!” Tommy shouted in desperation. His eyes darted around between the pine trees and frozen bushes and he saw something. It was something green but it wasn’t the right colour of green. It wasn’t part of a tree and it fluttered, moving away.

A cloak. A green cloak!

A hopeful feeling swelled in Tommy’s heart. His mind latched onto the idea that it was Phil. Phil lived in a snow biome and he wandered the forest time to time. It had to be him. Without even the possibility to consider anyone else, Tommy welled up his hope into a shout.

“PHIL!!!” Tommy burst through the pines of the tree, feeling the branches scratch at his cheek. “Phil heeeeelp!”

“Tommy!” Dream shouted behind him. He was getting closer. Tommy wouldn’t look but he could feel it. Dream was right behind him.

“PHIL!”

The cloak stopped moving at the shout and the figure turned. Tommy stumbled his way through another tree. He fumbled in the branches, panicking as his top was caught. “Phil!”

“Tommy?”

The voice respond, soft and curiously, but it wasn’t Phil’s voice. From the less than familiar voice, and the closer Tommy got, he realised it was not Phil he was running towards. This person was taller, the blonde hair was the wrong shade, and instead of a face it was a mask that looked like the night sky.

It was a stranger. But it wasn’t Dream, so it was a saviour.

“Help!” Tommy stumbled, tripping and scrambling over to the cloaked figure. “Please! Help!”

“Tommy!” The stranger knew his name, which should have put more fear into Tommy but he couldn’t think of that. When he was within reaching distance Tommy grabbed onto the cloak, clinging to it like his life depended on it and pulling himself into the tall stranger, making them stumble. “Woah! Tommy! Calm down!”

“He’s going to kill me!” Tommy gasped. The green cloak seemed never ending and warm. Tommy gripped onto it with reddened fingers of cold and fresh scrapes. “Please!”

“Calm down!” A hand ran through the blonde curls. “Slow down, Tommy. Who? Who is going to kill you?”

“Dream!”

The hand on his head turned from comfortingly patting to a protective hold. Another hand came around Tommy’s shoulders and the voice was serious. “Where is he?”

“He’s there! In the trees!” Tommy unfolded himself from the comfort of the warm cloak, pointing to the tree line. His eyes darted left to right to find a trace of Dream, but there was nothing. The forest was silent.

“Wha…” Tommy pulled back, looking over the forest. “H-He was there! I promise! He-He was right behind me!”

The tall figure stood straight, looking through the trees as well. “I don’t see him…”

“I swear he was there!” Tommy’s voice cracked, breaking almost into a cry. “Please! Please!” He turned back, looking up with a pleading and heartbreaking face. “Please! You have to believe me!”

Tommy’s cheek felt warm as a tear trickled down his face. His voice warbled and he must have looked a sate, and yet despite how terrible he knew he looked the stranger calmly comforted him, wiping a thumb under his cheek and hushing him.

“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. I believe you, Tommy. I do.” The stranger’s face was an expressionless mask, their voice weirdly doubled, but they were soft and gentle. “I believe you, but he’s not here anymore. You’re safe now.”

Tommy felt a bubble rise up in his throat and burst out in a cry. The tears fell freely and fast as Tommy buried his head in in the green cloak and arms wrapped around him.

“It’s alright Tommy. I promise you, you’re alright.”

Tommy felt embarrassed for having himself fall apart so easily, but with the fear gone it only left room for the worry; not exactly in life threatening danger, but always looking over his shoulder.

That would be his life now. Again. Always looking over his shoulder.

The hand running through his hair fell onto his back, giving him a comforting pat and Tommy remembered rather quickly that he was falling apart and crying into the cloak of a stranger.

Tommy tried to pull back, noticing the hands around him let him move, but still kept him in contact.

“You…you know my name…” Tommy mumbled. He looked up the figure, who still looked down with his expressionless mask.

The stranger tilted their head. “Yes.” They nodded. “Of course I know you, Tommy. You’re one of George’s friends.” Their hand ran through Tommy’s curls again. “I know everyone on this server.”

George’s friend? Tommy hadn’t spoken to George in a long time and Tommy didn’t remember this person at all. What new friends was George making?

Tommy tried to remember the person. They seemed somehow familiar, but…off slightly.

“You… Who are you?”

The figure hesitated as though holding back their name. “I’m… DreamXD.”

The name sparked anxiety in Tommy like a firecracker. The comforts of the green cloak had suddenly fell away and Tommy jumped back. He tried to make another run for it, but DreamXD had caught his wrist and pulled him back.

“Wait! Tommy it’s not safe!”

“You have his name!” Tommy pulled at his wrist, surprised when XD let it go. He was only saved from falling when XD unfolded an extra two arms under his cloak and caught him. In Tommy’s defence it did not do much to calm him and instead made him scream instead. “You have four arms?!”

“I think that is he least of your worries right now.” XD grunted as Tommy struggled. He kicked and wiggled in the God’s arms till eventually XD had to lower him down to stand again, but still keeping hold of his arm. “Tommy please! I am not him.”

“You have his name!”

“He is my brother, yes. But I am not him.”

“If you’re his brother you’re on his side!”

“No Tommy. He is my kin but I’m not on his side, not with this. I promise you.”

Tommy’s anxiety eased to the sincerity of XD’s voice. He could not see the God’s expression and he he did not know them very well, but something about the softness in the doubled otherworldly voice made him believe them. He calmed down, enough that XD seemed to believe he wouldn’t bolt. The hold on his wrist loosened just slightly.

“You’re safe with me, I promise.”

“I…” Tommy’s voice warbled again. “I… I can’t go back… I can’t…”

“You won’t. I won’t make you.” XD promised. “You’re safe here Tommy.”

Tommy sighed slowly, his breath shaking as XD pulled him back in. “I promise you, you’re safe Tommy.”

“I-I’m not safe! I need to get home! I need to defend myself! Sh-Shroud! I-!”

“Right now you need to calm down. You’re going to give yourself a panic attack.”

Tommy’s breath was shaky, calming only when XD lowered down to his level. The God crouched down before unfolding their legs from under them, sitting down over the snow. They just opened their arms but Tommy shot in, climbing into the folds of their cloak and setting on their lap. XD’s arms wrapped around the boy.

“You’re fine now, Tommy.”

"I don’t…” Tommy’s hand fidgeted. He was curled up on XD’s lap, pressed into their chest. “I don’t feel fine.”

“How can I help that?” XD asked softly. One of his hands came up to Tommy’s face. He wiped away the dried tear marks before stopping, his hand pausing mid motion. “Tommy you’re freezing.”

Tommy blinked, as though suddenly remembering he had feelings other than panic. Yes he was cold. And tired. And sore. He looked down to his hands, seeing his knuckles and digits red and scraped. His knee started to throb with pain. He shuffled closer into XD’s chest. “Ran quite a bit through the snow.”

“You’re going to freeze.” Their lower set of arms reached back to their cloak, bringing it around themselves and Tommy. XD then noticed Tommy’s hand, bringing it up to inspect. “You’re hurt!”

“A bit…” Tommy mumbled, wincing when XD’s thumb brushed across his knuckles.

“Sorry.” XD soothed. “I’m sorry. I can try heal you if you would like?”

Tommy looked up. “Y-You can heal?”

“Sort of… It’s not my strongest talent.” XD shrugged softly. “Would you like me to try?”

“...Yeah.”

XD placed his thumb over Tommy’s knuckles again, this time pressing in firmer. Tommy winced again, holding back the whimper.

“Sorry.” XD calmed him. “I’ve not had to heal anyone in a long time. My friend…they taught me how to do it. A long time ago. They can heal any wound, which is weird because their personality does not come across as someone who heals.” The God chuckled.

Their words were doing well to distract Tommy. The pain wasn’t so bad when he had other things to focus on and then eventually the pain faded. When XD’s thumb rubbed along his knuckles, instead of irritating the scrapes, it left behind a tingling feeling along his skin. It was like a soft fizzle, fluttering along his knuckles and making him giggle.

XD smiled. He said nothing as he kept up pace, rubbing his thumb over Tommy’s knuckles slowly until reaching the end. He watched the scrapes slowly fade and mend the skin. When he was done Tommy was still giggling. “Feel better?”

“Y-yes…” Tommy swallowed back his giggling, trying to calm himself. He was already feeling a lot better. XD’s cloak curtained around him, protecting from the cold and shadowing him from the outside. He was warm, protected. It felt like nothing outside the cloak mattered.

“Is your other hand hurt?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, just cold.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it. His knee was bruised when he landed on it and he could feel it started to swell. He went to ask if XD could heal him again but then he thought of that tingling along his skin. If he was giggling just from that on his knuckles, he couldn’t think of it on his knees.

“Um…” Tommy tried to think if it was worth it, when his knee throbbed with pain again. “Y-Yes. My knee.”

XD pulled back to look as Tommy brought up his knee. It was a bad bruise. The skin was just red for now but it was purpling at the kneecap. “Oh, that does look bad.”

“Y-Yeah…” Tommy nearly jumped when XD’s fingers rested over his knee. The healing hadn’t even started but knowing it was coming was setting his nerves alight. “I… Um…”

“I’ll heal you.” XD nodded. It sounded like their voice held a smile, or a small grin. They seemed overly happy to do it. “It will hurt a bit. I have to touch the bruise. Are you still okay with that?”

Tommy nodded, afraid if he’d open his mouth he’d let out another squeak. XD placed his thumb over the boy’s knee. He didn’t press in yet, letting Tommy get used to the feeling first before lightly pressing in. The young boy whimpered, holding back the yelp as XD started moving. Soon, just like with the healing along his knuckles, the pain faded away to the tingling and it was just as Tommy feared.

It was ticklish. Very ticklish.

XD swiped his thumb over the top of Tommy’s knee, pressing in to a bad spot of nerves being closely followed by the tingling. Tommy just about held his leg back from kicking out, but it was worked into a small jump instead. He closed his mouth, holding back the giggles and trying to bury his head into XD’s chest. It was like tiny feathers fluttering along his skin.

“Does it hurt? I’m sorry, I’ll try to be quick.” XD voice was soft, caring but still giddy.

“I-I’m fihine…” Tommy muffled into XD’s chest. One of his hands gripped onto the cloak around him, pulling it more into himself. “Juhust h-huhurry.”

“I can try, but healing takes a lot of time, and I need to make sure I get eeeeeevery spot.” XD slowly dragged his thumb down the side, lightly drilling his thumb in and making the boy jump and shudder.

“Ehehex Dehehe!”

“I don’t want to miss any spot and leave you with a bruise. That would be irresponsible of me. I wouldn't want to do that to you.”

XD’s thumb moved down under the kneecap which wasn’t as ticklish of course but knowing the tickling to come on the other side of his knee just made Tommy more giddy.

“Almost done.” XD’s voice almost seemed to sing, and they rubbed over the other side of Tommy’s knee. While the boy was preparing himself for another tickle, the thumb hadn’t pushed in as much as he was expecting. XD only swiped their thumb along the side, the tingling running over his skin to tickle him slightly but XD never pressed in. Tommy made the mistake of relaxing, thinking it was all over and leaving himself vulnerable when XD moved their hand back up to the top of Tommy’s knee and squeezed.

“NAHAHA!” While Tommy had hoped the action was just a last check to see if he was healed, his hopes were quickly dashed when XD’s hand didn’t move away and they, in fact, kept squeezing over Tommy’s knee. “WAHAIHIT!” Tommy kicked his leg out, unable to hold back anymore. He tried to wiggle out of XD’s lap but the cloak pulled around him was tangling with his struggle and XD’s arms were not letting him go. “N-Nohoho! Thahat’s nohohohot hehehehalihihing!”

“I think some would say the best medicine is laughter.” XD’s voice was teasingly calm for the tickling they were giving the poor boy. They squeezed above Tommy’s knee, getting the boy kicking before quickly moving and skittering their nails under his knee. Tommy gave out an adorable squeak.

“Ehehehex Dehehehehe! Stahahahap ihihit!” He beat against XD’s chest, but instead of pushing away he shuffled further into XD’s chest. The cloak wrapped around him was pressed against his face to hide his growing blush. “D-Dihihihickhehehead!”

“Oh! Insulting me? Who so kindly healed you?!” XD stopped his tickling then before gathering up Tommy’s wrists in one hand. The bright blonde spitfire squealed. “That was a mistake.”

Tommy had little time to fumble out his apology before XD began to softly skitter their nails along his sides.

“Nohohoho! AHAHAHAHA! Pleheheahahase! Ple-EHEHEHAHAHASE! I’m sohohorry! I dihihidn’t meheheahahan ihihit!”

“I think you should be thanking me, Tommy.”

“THAHAHAHANK YOHOHOHOHOU! TH-THAHAHAHAHAHANK YOHOHOHOHOU!!!”

XD stopped tickling, letting go of Tommy’s wrists at the same time. The boy fell into a heap, practically melted into XD’s lap with his little giggles. He curled against the God’s chest as XD fixed their cloak around him again, arms wrapping around him.

“You feel better?” XD asked softly.

Tommy nodded slowly. He felt slow and warm and tired. XD hand slipped over his stomach, giving him softer tickles and making him giggle again. “N-Nohoho…”

“I can’t have you falling asleep.” XD excused, though they softened their tickling.

“I’m tihihired thohough.” Tommy weakly pushed at the hand.

“I know, but you have to stay awake for just a little bit more, okay? I’m going to take you somewhere safe, alright?”

Tommy’s giggles fell to a low moan. He huffed and softly nodded.

The little blonde complained when his blanket cloak was unfolded and XD moved. They still held Tommy in their arms, holding them to their chest and then they were off. Tommy could have sworn the world whooshed by them. His eyes were half closed and he wasn’t focused, but it felt like less than an hour and the two were out of the snow and into warmer lands. Tommy still didn’t focus on it until he heard a door open and another voice came.

“XD?”

Tommy’s ears perked up, lifting his head from XD’s shoulder. “G-George?”

Tommy’s eyes focused. They were no longer in a snowy biome, but a warm, lush green forest. A small cosy cottage lay under a mushroom tree, and in front of the door George stood. His cloak of white fluff and woven grass hung half off his shoulder.

“Is… Tommy?” George blinked in confusion. His mismatched eyes were a rare sight to see. “What happened?”

“Hello George.” XD smiled fondly, slowly lowering Tommy to the ground. “I found Tommy in quite a state and helped him out. He could use a place to sleep if that’s alright.”

Tommy yawned as though to prove the point, rubbing one of his eyes softly. “Do you have a bed?” He asked slowly, his words slurring a little.

“Suuure…” George answered carefully. He was still unsure of the whole situation, but he wouldn’t turn away Tommy. “Come in.”

George luckily had a spare bed, setting it out in his front room and Tommy collapsed into it, falling asleep instantly. The two left him alone as they talked outside again. “What happened to him?” George asked. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine now. Can he stay here for a bit?” XD asked. They wouldn’t have dared to ask if they didn’t know how fond George was of the younger boy. “He needs somewhere safe.”

“Why? What happened?”

XD paused, unsure if they should tell George. If it was their place to. Surely George should have known what was happening. The whole server was in shambles. But then…

XD noticed the bright red mushroom blush under George’s eyes. “Have you been asleep long?”

George crossed his arms, raising one hand up to wipe along his cheek. “N-Not long…”

“Well the server’s had…it’s had a bit of an issue. Sapnap should be coming back to the kingdom soon and he can tell you. I have something to do.”

George tensed at the sombre tone XD used, clearly realising it was serious. “What? Where are you going?”

“I need to find someone, and give them a stern talking to.”

#dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #lee!tommy #ler!dreamxd #it took me so long to post this. this almost got deleted about 3 times #covenofwords

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justauthoring · 4 years

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Treasure Hunt

Prompt: My treasure to find. A/N: I just watched Goblet of Fire and couldn’t help myself.

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader Word Count: 3,003 Please don’t plagiarize my work!

You were smitten the first second you saw him.

Stood between Hermione and Ginny, your attention had almost instantly been taken by the boy when you saw his charming smile and twinkling lights. Something in your chest had tightened and you felt your cheeks warm, almost on instinct, heart fluttering as he shook hands with Mr. Weasley and his father introduced him as Cedric.

Cedric...

You felt a slight pinch in your side and glancing to your left with a light hiss, your wide eyes found Hermione’s all too knowing ones. She was grinning ear from ear at you, and both embarrassed and appalled at the thought of being caught all but ogling the boy, you turn to Ginny, only to find the almost exact same shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oh, bugger off,” you laugh, shaking your head at the two girls as you quickly move to catch up with the rest. But Hermione and Ginny are right on their tail, and they have no attention of letting this go.

“You totally like him,” Hermione whispers, thankfully so only you and Ginny can hear her. A quick glance at her from the corner of your eye, you can tell she’s laughing and even wiggling her brows a little at you, almost suggestive that makes your cheeks burn even harder then they had before.

“Totally,” Ginny nods, grinning, “though, I can’t blame you. He is...” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but it’s pretty obvious what they mean.

Anxious and determined to get away from their teasing’s, you shoot them a half-hearted glare over your shoulder, picking up the speed in your step so you’re up in the front with the Weasley twins. You were relieved to find out Hermione and Ginny had decided to let it go, for now, but of course, being farther up in the front also meant you were just directly behind Cedric.

And you’re not even really sure what’s wrong with you. You’ve never reacted to some stupid attractive boy before, but for some reason, your heart was hammering madly against your chest. All else seemed to drown to the back of your mind, gaze stuck on the back of Cedric at he laughed along with something his father had said.

He was completely oblivious to you.

Just as you were completely oblivious to the tree root you happen to trip over seconds later. A small yelp leaves your lips as you feel yourself falling forward, mentally prepping yourself for the thud and pain when you hit the ground. However, you never do, and instead, you fall into a pair of arms. You blink, dazed and confused, until you flicker your gaze up to meet Cedric’s own.

Well, he was definitely noticing you now. Maybe just not in the way you wanted.

Your cheeks warmed in embarrassment but Cedric simply just smiled down at you, helping you to your feet. The Weasley twins passed you along the way, and you heard them call out some joke about something being on your mind but you didn’t really have the heart to listen to them. Not with Cedric so close and smiling at you with those warm eyes of his and...

and honestly, what was wrong you? You’d met this boy not five minutes ago.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you breathe, pulling at your shirt to straighten it as you nervously blink up at the much taller boy. “I... I just... just didn’t see the root.”

“Probably not,” he grinned, “especially when you were too busy staring at me.”

He noticed that?

“Pretty hard not to,” Cedric snorted.

You hadn’t even known you’d said that aloud.

Placing a hand to your cheeks, you groan out in embarrassment.

Cedric lets out a laugh. “It’s fine,” he whispers, lowering his voice so you’re the only one who can hear him. He leans closer to him, still holding gently to your arm like he had to catch you, and your breath hitches when he presses his lips directly next to your ear. “I definitely didn’t mind.”

Then he pulls back with a wink, moving to catch up with his father.

You’re stunned still for a moment before Ron and Harry catch up, and the former bumps into you. “What’s up with you?”

They both stare at you, but you don’t reply. A small smile curls onto your lips, eyes stuck on that of Cedric.

Later, after the game has finished, Cedric asks if you’d like to hang back with him, explore the grounds a bit more. You’re almost too quick to comply, telling Hermione to let Mr. Weasley know that you’re safe and with him, before rushing off to catch up with him.

Of course, not without Hermione sending a sly wink your way and a call of ‘good luck!’

You spend the entire evening with him, learning more about him. Finding out he went to Hogwarts as well was a surprised to you, and you wonder why you’d never heard of him before; especially because from the look of it, it seemed he was quite popular at the school. You blame on always being so focused in your books and studies.

Yeah, it had to be that.

“You know, I noticed you.”

The statement surprises you. With a blink, lips parting, you glance to your right, looking up at Cedric as he keeps his gaze lower, on his feet. You’re not sure what to say.

“Always with your head in a book,” he laughs lightly, meeting your eyes with a fond look. It catches you by surprise and your cheeks warm lightly in response, stomach fluttering in response. “The only ones who could ever get you to look up were the Weasley Twins.

With a light, nervous laugh, you shrug; “that’s just because they’re too annoying to ignore.”

“Still,” Cedric laughs, “didn’t make me any less jealous.”

Jealous?

Eyes widening, you turn to Cedric, lips parting to say something but you’re interrupted by the sound of some sort of explosion. It rocks the floor beneath your feet, toppling you over slightly that you fall against Cedric who doesn’t hesitate to help steady you. Frowning, you glance around, eyes widening when you notice fire erupting from somewhere to your left.

It’s then the screaming starts and mass chaos follows. People run madly, without purpose or care for anyone else. Cedric pulls you closer against himself when someone nearly barrels into you and knocks you off your feet.

“What’s happening?” You whisper, turning to Cedric with panicked eyes.

“We’re under attack,” he mumbles, glancing around, shaking his head. “We’ve got to back to my father or Mr. Weasley. Now.”

He pulls you with him, and you don’t fight his grip, quick to keep up with his pace. You try not to focus too much on the screaming and panic the surrounds you, knowing that it’ll only scared you more; more then it already has.

Cedric keeps a tight hold of your hand the entire time, not willing to lose you in the crowd. You don’t mind, even if pinches slightly. You don’t want to lose him either.

You catch sight of red and a bout of relief floods you when you find Fred and George. They catch sight of you two, and thus, you also find Ginny and Mr. Weasley. You move to ask where Harry, Hermione and Ron are but suddenly, Fred is grabbing you and pulling you out of Cedric’s grip and between them, urging you to follow them back to the port-key.

“But, wait--” When you turn to find Cedric, he’s already turning back, sending you one last look before rushing off.

Most likely to find his father, still, you can’t help but worry.

When you return to Hogwarts for the next year, you don’t expect anything to come out of it.

While you enjoyed that day with Cedric, despite the way it had ended, you didn’t really expect anything to change. You expected life to go back to normal. But from the minute classes started, you found out that in fact was not the case. Cedric seemed to be everywhere you looked. Everywhere.

And it only took him a matter of days before he approached you.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me.”

He says it with a teasing voice and a bright, grinning smile as he glances down at you. It causes you to roll your eyes lightly, shaking your head as you snort, closing the book in your lap to place your attention fully on him. Cedric takes this as an invitation to sit next to you on the bench, and with a soft blush adorning your cheeks, you let your eyes wander aimlessly across the courtyard.

“It’s hard not to,” you tease lightly, smirking over at him. “You’re everywhere I look now.”

“I told you,” Cedric shrugs, “you were always too busy reading to notice me. We’ve always had classes together.” With that, he reaches forward, snatching the book from your lap to which you react with a soft gasp, shaking your head as he inspects it closely. Brows furrowing, he turns back to you; “a muggle book?”

“They’re a lot more interesting then you’d think,” you huff, snatching the book back and quickly shoving it into your book bag. “Thank you very much.”

Cedric laughs, “i’m only teasing you, you know.”

Meeting his eyes, you smile lightly. “I know,” you nod, voice soft.

Silence echoes for a moment. Cedric’s shoulder softly touches your own, and you can’t help the way your heart beats erratically against your chest. It’s a comfortable silence, not at all awkward, but you can’t help the way you instinctively react to him being so close.

It’s honestly, unfair.

“I’m going to put my name in .”

And then the silence is interrupted and your heart starts pounding for an entirely different reason.

Turning to look at Cedric, your eyes widen. “What?” You ask softly, voice a whisper.

He meets your gaze with a gentle frown. He knew you’d be concerned, it’s why he had to tell you. “I know it’s dangerous, but...” and then he trails and even though you don’t know him all that well, even though you’ve only really started talking and being friends, you understand what he means. “But i’m going to.”

True to his word, the very next week, you watch as Cedric drops his name into the Goblet of Fire. He’s surrounded by his friends, as they all celebrate with him, their laughter echoing amongst the room. You’re too busy trying to pull a old Fred off of an old George to be able to celebrate with Cedric, even though you do feel his eyes wander on your back.

But you’re sure, even if you could, you don’t know how much you’d be celebrating.

And when his name is pulled, and the chaos of Harry also being chosen has dissipated, you make it your goal to avoid Cedric best you can. Part of you knows you’re being selfish and silly. That you were acting irrationally, but you really did care about Cedric and you were scared to get closer to him knowing what kind of game he was throwing himself into. People died in these tournaments, and stupidly, you thought maybe if you distanced yourself from him, the worry would lessen.

That wasn’t the case at all. In fact, you only worried more but just from the sideline. From a distance. Cedric had tried to approach you a few times leading up to the games, but you’d promptly rushed off the other direction any time he had. You ignored him in class and stuck by your few friends, busying yourself with him.

Then, the first challenge came about. Watching Cedric all but battle a dragon and nearly die more then once made you realize, avoiding him was pointless. You wouldn’t stop worrying no matter what, and you certainly didn’t want to witness his hurt expression any time you walked away from him one more time. It was already breaking your heart.

You found him easily enough after his challenge. Fleur was up next and then Harry, but you found yourself unable to stick around and watch.

You needed to find Cedric.

He was just finishing being patched up and healed from the fight when you came into the tent, the nurse leaving just as you entered. His eyes had snapped up in surprise at the sound of a visitor, but widened even further when he saw the visitor was in fact you.

A bundle of nerves flooded your entire being. You hesitantly stepped into the tent, wringing your hands nervously before yourself, as you slowly made your way over to him. You wordlessly took a seat next to him, and for a moment, silence hung in the air.

Then, you spoke. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Cedric nodded. “I wasn’t sure you cared all that much anymore.”

His words stung, but you couldn’t blame him for saying them either. “I’m sorry,” you whisper after a moment, finally glancing over to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for ignoring you. I just... I just couldn’t bear the thought of these challenges taking you away from me, and I didn’t want to ruin your excitement about them either. So I just sort of...--”

“Pretended I didn’t exist?”

“Yeah,” you cringe, “i’m sorry...”

“It’s fine,” Cedric assures and you ease, shoulders falling when you notice a smile curling onto his lips. Your lips part however when he slips his hand into your own, the act intimate and gentle as he squeezes. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you. “I don’t plan on going anywhere, Y/N. I promise.”

Smiling softly, you squeeze his hand in return; “yeah?”

He nods, without hesitation. “Yeah.”

Cedric had asked you to be his date to the Yule Ball. When he had, you felt as if your legs would give out from beneath you.

But now, wrapped up in arms, swaying softly to the tune of the music, you’re so glad you said yes. Even if, in the moment, there had been no doubt that you would, you’d been afraid you wouldn’t be able to force the words out. To physically say yes, you were so star-struck. Yet, you had, and you couldn’t be more happy.

When you lean back to glance up at Cedric, you’re all smiles and twinkling eyes. You realize then, that you’re one of the last two pairs still there and dancing, a lot having gone off to bed. How the time had escaped you, you’re not even sure.

You’d been so round up by Cedric.

Your eyes flutter in response as he uses one hand to brush back a strand of curled hair out of your face, leaning into his touch. The silence that echoes around you is completely comfortable, there’s no need to speak you find. Your actions and gazes are enough to tell each other how the other feels. You hold tight to Cedric, wishing this moment would never end.

When he presses his lips against your own, you’re stunned at first. It takes you about a minute to snap out of your revere and return the kiss. But when you do, it’s full of passion. You curl into him, pressing yourself firmly against him as everything in the background seems to fade to nothingness and all you can focus on is him, is him being so close, is him finally kissing you like you’ve wanted him to since you first saw him.

You pull back breathless, and Cedric settles for letting his forehead rest against your own.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for years.”

You wake with a startling gasp. Water spills from your lips as you choke and gasp, trying to find the air you so desperately need.

Once you do, it’s then you notice the arms holding you. You’re pressed firm against a chest, with a towel wrapped around you to keep you warm. It helps, even though your body shakes lightly in response, and instinctively, you cuddle into the warmth, confused.

Bewildered even.

You catch sight of the lake, and then you remember.

Turning to the right, a smile curls onto your lips as you find Cedric’s gaze. He’s smile at you, solely on you, despite those of his friends and more that cheer around him. A quick glance around tells you what you need to do, and your smile brightens when you realize he’d been the first one up.

He’d won the second challenge.

“It’s all thanks to you.” Cedric grins.

You’d said that aloud too, huh?

“I’m not sure I did all that much,” you shrug, shaking your head. “I was just asleep, really.”

Holding you close and firm, Cedric shakes his head. “You gave me the push I needed.” He whispers, so only that you can hear him. “You’re my treasure. You always have been.”

Your heart flutters again, pounding erratically against your chest. But you don’t shy away, not this time. No, instead, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his own, as cheers erupt madly around you all in response.

They fade with Viktor Krum emerges from the water. But you don’t mind. You’re only focused on Cedric, like you’ve always been.

He’d promised...

He’d said...

His fathers screams echo in the back of your mind. The chaos that ensues around is distant, as if somewhere entirely else. All you can see, all you can focus on... as usual, is Cedric. But this time, it’s his laying, lifeless, and limp body that you can’t tear your gaze away from.

He’s... He’s dead.

I’m not going anywhere.

He turns blurry as your eyes water. You curl into yourself, frozen where you’re stood, heart wrenching, body shaking, desperately trying to force yourself to move, to get to him, But you can’t. You just can’t. It feels as if you’re stuck in place, frozen solid.

He can’t... Cedric can’t be dead.

But he is. He is dead.

He’s gone...

Let me know what you thought?

#Harry Potter #Harry Potter imagine #Harry Potter x reader #Cedric #Cedric Diggory #Cedric Diggory imagine #Cedric Diggory x reader #Cedric imagine #Cedric x reader #Robert Pattinson #Robert Pattinson imagine #Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire #imagine #imagines #my fics

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separatist-apologist · 3 years

Note

If you have the chance, would you be able to write something along the lines of Elain moving on from Graysen (the asshole) and deciding to give Lucien a chance?

Hi anon! I hope you don't mind but I made this a one-shot. It's on AO3, but I'll post it here as well.

1 year:

Elain sat in the window of Feyre’s home, staring down at the city stretched beneath her. She could see the people of Velaris moving about, smiling, talking, living. Some part of her was jealous, though not enough to prompt her into moving from the same spot she’d been in for weeks. Every time she stood, the memory of Graysen came crashing through the gates of her mind, demanding recognition. It would have been fine if all she thought about was that last, painful reunion but her mind replayed all their best moments. Over and over on a loop, Elain watched herself fall in love with Graysen like it was the first time. Every whispered compliment, every shared laugh, every promise, over and over until she could scarcely breathe.

Her skin felt too tight, unable to contain the breadth of emotion constantly roiling inside her. She barely slept and when she did, her brain convinced her she was still human, still his. Each time, she woke to the crushing realization he was really gone. She’d never hear his voice, see him smile, feel his touch. It was too much.

So she sat, waiting for the moment she could finally house the pain somewhere manageable. She knew she’d never love again and to that end, Elain only hoped to learn how to move around while she carried it. She thought if she could just force a smile and pretend, somehow everything would be alright.

She resented the strangers before, so blissfully unaware of her, of what was happening just above them. Look up! Her mind screamed. Look at me! But no one did. No one but him, without fail, every time. He was walking up to the house as she watched, a little package tucked beneath his arm. He tilted his head, the sun reflecting off his bright red hair, and their eyes met just like always. He held her gaze for a moment, as if to say hello, and Elain, like always, looked away.

Leave me alone.

He didn’t acknowledge her beyond those shared looks, didn’t speak to her, didn’t stand too close if he happened upon her. She wondered, at times, if he didn’t know how she felt. Perhaps he sensed she didn’t want to talk to him. Graysen’s replacement, she thought bitterly. Everyone was waiting for her to get over her engagement, to forget him and move on with him. She didn’t want another, didn’t want to try again, to start over.

She wanted Graysen. She wanted him so badly it made her teeth ache. Her stomach constantly bubbled with anxiety, her chest flooded with sadness. What good was life without him? Was Graysen missing her? Would he move on, love again? That thought terrified her to the point of distraction. She wanted to run away, to see him, to beg him to take her back. She crafted arguments in her mind, imagined scenarios in which he came to find her. She daydreamed of a way to become human again so she could have him back.

None of it made living alone any easier. So Elain stayed, curled in her window.

Waiting.

9 months:

Elain looked down at the pen in her hand with a sigh. Three months of letters, all unanswered. She wanted a chance to explain, to tell him what happened. To see him, if she was honest. She’d begged and pleaded and screamed all to no avail. Graysen didn’t respond, not even to tell her to leave him alone. His silence was a response, though it didn’t make things any easier. She set down her pen next to an untouched piece of paper and rose, resisting the urge to try again. She felt insane, constantly reaching out, constantly waiting. Nothing could fix what was broken, though it hardly made her feel better.

She’d stopped crying every night though the dreams persisted, and her appetite hadn’t altogether returned. Her sisters stopped watching her so carefully when she managed to plaster a smile on her face and pretend she was moving on. Was she? Was this what moving on felt like? She felt empty, numb. She was going through the motions, baking and gardening and reading but none of it gave her joy. She felt no sense of purpose.

At times she thought she could throw herself into the Sidra and it wouldn’t matter at all. She was wondering, again, if she ought to walk out to the bridge and see if this was the day she might hurl herself over the railing. How long would it take anyone to notice she’d left? A day? A week? Would they sigh with relief, no longer burdened by her presence?

She jammed the heel of her palm into the bread dough she worked. Perhaps they’d miss her cooking, but not her. No one looked at her long enough to see what was missing. No one really saw her at all. She could have been the paint on the walls, the—

“Elain?” A deep, male voice asked from the swinging door of the kitchen. Elain froze. She recognized that voice. His voice.

She looked over her shoulder wordlessly as he stepped inside, his black boots clicking softly on the tile beneath his feet. He seemed uncomfortable and out of place so finely dressed among her flour coated dress. Two steps were all he took, close enough to reach the black marble counter at the furthest end of the room. He set a small box atop it, his eyes fixed on her face. She didn’t move.

“Have a good day,” he murmured, offering her a slight bow before stepping back out. She breathed a sigh of relief and pulled her hands out of the dough to get the package he’d left. She wondered if he’d wrapped it, running her fingers over the shiny gold paper. Carefully, cringing when she accidentally ripped some of it, Elain opened the perfectly wrapped gift to find a hard covered book sitting inside. She opened it with trembling fingers.

Fairy tales, the kind she’d grown up with, complete with beautiful paintings done with vibrant oil. He’d left a silver foiled bookmark in front of one of the stories and Elain flipped to it, gasping softly. A brilliant picture of a sunlit sea and a story of mermaids awaited her and she wondered absently if he was trying to tell her that was his favorite. Elain closed the book reverently, hugging it to her chest.

It wasn’t until later that night, buried under a blanket with nothing but a candle for light, that Elain realized that book was the first thing that made her feel anything in months.

She wondered if he knew he’d kept her from trying to jump off a bridge that day.

She wondered if he knew how she felt at all.

6 months:

Ripping up weeds offered Elain a small amount of savage pleasure. Over and over, she imagined it was Graysen she pulled at, her mind angrily replaying the speech she wished she could scream at him. You act like I wanted this! She yelled silently at a particularly deep-rooted weed. You act as though I left you! She tossed the weed onto the pile she was collecting, tsking when she realized she’d broken another nail. Feyre would chide her for not using gloves, his gloves, but she liked the feeling of her hands in the dirt. She liked feeling the earth give way, bending to her will.

Retribution, she thought savagely, ripping another. You abandoned me! She imagined she’d scream. You promised forever and then left me to rot! She imagined how he’d blubber, what pathetic, cowardly excuses he might offer. Would he apologize? She wanted him to. She wanted him to get on his knees and beg her forgiveness so she could ruthlessly tell him no. She wanted him to feel every second of agony he’d put her through. It wasn’t fair he got to get on with his life, got to move on and be happy while she’d been left with the mess he’d made.

Truthfully, it was too cold to be out digging but Rhys’ magic kept that garden alive year-round, she suspected as a gift, and Elain wasn’t about to let it become overrun. It was something to do, a small thing that made her feel like she mattered. In the scheme of things, she didn’t matter. She laughed and smiled and everyone thought her all better. No one saw her, not that she expected them to.

It didn’t make things hurt any less. Elain sighed loudly, reaching for another weed when she heard the sound of boots crunching on the gravel. Something tightened in her stomach, that familiar cord humming softly as he approached. Elain kept her hands in the dirt, fisted tightly to prevent herself from getting up and yielding to the mating bond.

“Good afternoon,” he said, hidden from view by her curtain of hair. Her spine straightened ever-so-slightly at the rich timbre of his voice, washing over her like warm water. She wondered if he expected her to respond. She nodded her head instead, her thoughts drifting towards the book he’d left, dog eared, the spine cracked. She read it almost every night, despite having the entire thing memorized. He didn’t need to know that. How had he even known she was there?

“I recognized your handiwork on the way in,” he continued pleasantly. Handiwork? She thought. “Maybe one day you could show me how you manage to make the azaleas bloom so nicely, even in the cold.”

He’d recognized her gardening? That was impossible. Anyone could plant azaleas. She stiffened, swallowing hard when he crouched beside her, his impeccable boots pressed right up against her pile of weeds.

“From the continent,” he told her, setting an ivory pouch just beside her gardening tools. She looked up, finally parting her hair with her chin, but he’d already turned his back, revealing nothing but the broadness of his back hidden beneath a cerulean coat. Elain waited until she was sure he wasn’t watching to unearth her hands and pick up the bag.

Inside were tulip bulbs from the continent. She’d always wanted to see them, had heard they bloomed more beautifully there than anywhere else in the world. Her father had told her of valleys filled with nothing but tulips. Had he seen them? How had he known she wanted to?

She brought that little bag inside with her when she finished, tucking them carefully away in her sock drawer just beside the pearl earrings he’d given her for solstice. She’d hidden those so she wouldn’t have to see them but this…this should be protected, she thought. She wanted to plant them somewhere special, somewhere just for her.

“You look good today,” Cassian commented when Elain half skipped down the stairs for dinner. She paused, turning for a bathroom so she could look at her reflection. She was surprised to find Cassian was right. She looked…almost happy.

Someone had seen her.

3 months:

All she had to do was hand him the package from Rhysand. Simple, in and out, a hello and a goodbye and nothing more. Elain concentrated, having been dropped off by Mor on her way to do other business in the human lands. Mor assured Elain she could return to where they’d arrived and wait, that she didn’t have to remain with the humans…the band of exiles… if she didn’t want to. Elain didn’t. In fact, she wished Mor could do it all and she could have remained where she was.

She saw the manor, an estate really, made of polished gray stone that made it look like a thing of legend. A fortress that might repel the truly terrible, monsters and dragons and—

“Elain?” An all too familiar voice asked. Her heart sank to her feet and time seemed to stop as she turned to face Graysen. He was human…she was in the human lands…it hadn’t occurred to her that she might see him. She’d been too absorbed at the thought of seeing him.

Graysen looked exactly as she remembered. Thick, brown hair almost flopped into his soft, puppy eyes. Angular, strong face…toned body…Graysen.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, taking three steps towards her and Elain instinctively took one back. Hurt flashed over his features for just a moment before his eyes strayed towards her arched, pointed ears peeking through her hair.

She swallowed. “Am I not allowed to be here?” She replied, refusing to give him a straight answer. He’d forfeited his right to know about her life when he left all her letters unanswered. Graysen’s eyes shifted, looking towards the manor.

“You’re here to see him,” he said, disgust curling over his words. Elain merely shrugged, as if to say so? Why did he care, she wondered? Her fear began to settle, and Elain couldn’t deny that some little part of her still missed him.

“I would hate to keep the fine, Fae Lord waiting,” he sneered, his anger clearly not directed at her. Not completely, anyway. Did he miss her, she wondered?

I don’t care, a soft voice whispered in her mind. “So would I,” she agreed, offering Graysen a soft nod of her head. Everything she’d ever imagined saying to him, every angry accusation or begged plea slipped from her mind. Instead, Elain said, “It was nice seeing you.”

Graysen’s eyes warmed, not enough to convince Elain he still cared. “You, as well.”

Elain turned, then, readjusting Rhysand’s package, and finished walking to the manor. By the time she got to the door, her anxiety was back…and Graysen was forgotten. She blew out a soft breath, raised her fist, and knocked.

It was a servant who answered. Why was she suddenly so disappointed, she wondered?

“This is for—”

“Elain?” He asked, his body appearing in the hall behind. Elain sucked in air at the sight of him. She’d never seen him so casual before, in well-fitted, brown trousers and a billowing white shirt he’d half tucked into his pants, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He held them up with black suspenders that matched the color of his boots and his hair, typically pulled off his face, hung loose.

“From Rhysand,” she said when the servant melted away, leaving just Lucien standing in the doorway. Her eyes drifted towards his forearms, corded with muscle. Why did she like that, she wondered absently.

“Ah. I was told you would be Mor,” he informed her with a frown. Her heart sank.

“Sorry,” she murmured, moving to step off the porch and back to her meeting place with Mor. Lucien surged forward, one hand outstretched as though he meant to grab her but thought better of it.

“I’m not,” he assured her. From behind him, Elain saw a pair of bright blue eyes half hidden beneath copper colored hair peer at the pair of them. A tall, surly man stood just above her, his face etched with disapproval. “Would you like to come inside?”

She opened her mouth, about to say yes, when she remembered who this was. Who he was.

“I uh…I’m supposed to meet Mor,” she replied instead. He nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

“Of course. Another time.”

And Elain, for reasons she’d never understand, said, “I would like that,” just as Lucien was about to shut the door. He froze, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll send word?” He asked hesitantly, as though he expected her to back out. Her heart pounded painfully, her tongue sticky in her mouth. She nodded, unable to speak and he smiled.

“Another time, then.”

Elain waited until the door clicked shut to exhale the air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She walked back to where Mor was waiting, her expression one of apology.

“I’m so sorry,” Mor said the moment Elain was within earshot.

“For what?” Elain replied, still thinking of his smile.

“I didn’t know Graysen would be nearby. I heard he spoke to you. Elain…if I had known…” Mor’s voice trailed off as she studied Elain’s face. “Did you see him?”

“I did,” she agreed, blinking. “I guess I forgot.”

Mor arched delicate, blonde eyebrows and offered Elain her hand to winnow back to Velaris. She looked over her shoulder, back towards the estate hidden in the distance.

All she could see was him, standing in that doorway.

When had that happened?

1 year:

It had been raining non-stop for days and Elain was going out of her mind. She wanted to be out in the world, to see people, to do anything. Instead she sat in the window of her bedroom, looking wistfully out at the empty streets as lightning cracked across the sky. Spring storms seemed endless, trapping her in her bedroom to pace restlessly. She pressed her forehead to the glass, wishing for the barest hint of sunlight. Elain pulled her bare feet beneath her lilac-colored dress as her mind wandered towards a letter he’d sent two weeks before. He was traveling again and he wrote of what he saw, of the things that fascinated him, of what made him laugh. She’d written back, desperate to hear more but he hadn’t responded.

Perhaps he’d tired of their constant communication through letter alone. It disappointed her, each morning that she woke with nothing new on her desk. She didn’t want him to tire of her. She wanted to see him, if she was perfectly honest. She thought she’d been obvious regarding her intentions, but perhaps something she’d said made him think she was no longer interested.

Elain glanced back down at the street where a figure was walking, a dark hood pulled over their head, body covered in a long, cloak. Her thoughts of him vanished as her interest peaked. Who was brave enough to come out in the middle of the thunderstorm raging around them? What could possibly have pulled them outdoors? Elain watched as they approached, closer and closer until they removed their hood. Red hair, a flash of gold and Elain launched herself off the windowsill and out of her room without a second thought. Her feet slapped loudly against the floor beneath her even as thunder shook the walls. She practically jumped the steps, half-tripped over a carpet runner in the hall, and yanked open the front door. Warm, spring air hit her in the face as a bolt of white lit up the dark gray sky around her. She didn’t care. She plunged into the pouring rain where he was, still walking to the front door.

He caught her the second she flew into his arms. “Lucien,” she breathed into his neck, her hands in his hair. They’d never been so close before and yet it felt right.

He chuckled, his arms tight around her waist. “Hello to you, too,” he replied, lifting her off her feet. Water drenched them both, her dress clinging to her skin but she didn’t care. She touched his face as he lowered her back to the pavement, directly into a puddle of water.

“You didn’t write,” she said, her face mere inches from his own. His expression softened, that russet eye melting into flame even as the golden one clicked softly as though responding to her words. “Things suddenly became very hectic. I came to offer you my apologies in person—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she assured him as he held her face in his broad hands. Beautiful, she thought. He was so incredibly beautiful. Lucien smiled.

“Of course I do,” he assured her, lowering his mouth ever so slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed the moment they touched. Thunder boomed around them again, not that either of them noticed. It might as well have been her pounding heart, leaping with excitement. His lips were soft and somehow, and she couldn’t explain it, he tasted the way sunshine felt.

“We should probably change out of these clothes,” Lucien told her, eyes still closed, voice strangled, when they broke the kiss.

Elain burst into giggles. He looked at her, cheeks flaming. “I didn’t mean—”

“Of course not,” Elain agreed, her hand slipping into his own. “But perhaps you could help me all the same?”

Lucien nodded, following as she led him back to the house.

And as she walked through that door, soaking wet and beaming, Elain thought she’d never been half as happy as she was in that moment.

With Lucien.

#elucien #elucien fic #elucien one shot #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #i am so soft for these two #i genuinely enjoyed writing this #and would write more like it

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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant.

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail.

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him.

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage.

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you.

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline.

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then:

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus.

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing.

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano.

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck.

It's too much.

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you.

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him.

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you?

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before.

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach.

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing.

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—"

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you.

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot.

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car.

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth.

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice.

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of.

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair.

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight.

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts smut #suga x reader #joy.masterlist

3K notes · View notes

wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Something Old and Something New — Part Two

Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When life takes a turn and you take an unexpected break from college in Stanford with your best friend Sam, you return home to your job at your family’s co-owned garage. You return home to work alongside the guy you thought you hated—Dean Winchester.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol, fluff

Three weeks.

It’d been three weeks since you’d arrived back home in Kansas for an amount of time you don’t know if you’ve decided on yet. Three weeks of wondering the right way to tell Sam just how you felt about law school in actuality. Because since you’ve been back, you found it harder and harder to want to leave like you had planned to eventually.

Putting things off rapidly became your specialty when it came to this you’ve noticed, the very thoughts in your mind having revolved around this very subject yet you still can’t find it in yourself to pick up your textbook and study like you said you would. You’ve got a year left, you keep reminding yourself of that. A year before you finish and get your degree, a year before you can pack that up and put that chapter of your life behind you if you so pleased to do so.

But when you thought more about it, the worse it sounded as you mulled it over. Another year of doing something that didn’t make you as happy as it should. Studying law wasn’t something you believed to be thrilling even to the most eager student out there, even to Sam. You’ve caught him on more than one occasion throwing his textbook across his room. It was a complicated profession to study, one with a million endless words to read through and fully grasp should you want to be a success.

You wanted to be, but maybe you wanted to be a success in something else.

Your mind had been swimming with thought after thought on the matter, but apart from that things weren’t so bad. It hasn’t taken you long to settle back into your apartment, the place you’ve been missing ever since you left to go back to college a few months ago. It was a contrast to your place with Sam, housing quite a few more of your personal belongings. It was a place that’s all your own, and not that you didn’t love Sam’s company, but it was nice to come home to have time for yourself.

Even if you didn’t live an extraordinarily eventful life, you were content with your own company.

Things had fallen back into place at the garage over those last few weeks, some days far busier than others. Things were a bit different with Dean since that first day back. Not that he hasn’t been up to his usual tricks, not that the two of you hadn’t still bickered over trivial things like you’d done with each other for the better part of twenty-four years. That was still very much a part of your daily schedule and you don’t know if that’ll ever change.

But there was something different, something you couldn’t quite figure out.

The moment you saw the lack of cars in the parking lot when you’d pulled in you knew you were in for a day, could tell by the way the green eyed Winchester had leaned against the counter with his arms folded over his chest when you walked in the door with a squinting gaze.

“You’re late,” he says, head tilted and brow raised.

“No, you’re just always early,” you say.

He chuckles then, looking away from a moment before turning back to you, an expression on his face you knew all too well.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, tone cautious as you cross your own arms over your chest, keys jingling in the otherwise quiet garage.

The corner of his mouth quirks up at your words, something that only deepens the crease between your brows when you see it. You knew it meant nothing good, it had to, he doesn’t smile like that unless it’s something you don’t want to hear.

“Benny and Bobby went out to check out a new sign for the shop, ‘s just you and me today,” he says, his arms falling to his sides to slip his hands in his pockets.

Your eyes roll immediately, more so at the contentment filling his expression. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he says, pushing himself off the counter. “You were the one complainin’ about the sign anyway.”

You purse your lips at his words, ones that were very true but it didn’t help your cause for him to be right this time. It was doing the exact opposite and the grin sitting smug on his lips was more than telling that he knew exactly that.

“And,” he started, your sigh immediate as you tip your head back. “It’s a slow day today, so you get to help me work on Baby.”

“I don’t think I ever offered to help,” you said, putting your keys on the hook and your bag under your desk.

“Lucky for you, you didn’t have to,” he says, nothing but teasing in his tone as he reaches over the counter and swipes the candy from your jar.

“It’s 9 o’clock in the morning and you’re already steaming my stuff,” you say, huffing as you sway his hand away before he can get any more.

“Be in the shop in five, sweetheart!” He calls over his shoulder, finger pointed in the air in the direction of the clock before he disappeared around the corner.

It was hot, hotter than you’d like as you worked that day. The garage doors were open and the fan was on high, but the summer heat was proving to be just a little more persistent than your efforts. The radio had been turned up just a little louder than it would have been if Bobby had been there that day, a little louder than it would be had it been busier. All of the good classics had been playing in a steady list of hits all morning, Dean’s humming accompanying it along with a string of lyrics every so often.

Your hand stayed pressed to the wheel as you wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, returning your focus to tightening the very last lug-nut on the wheel.

“I gotta say, I’m impressed,” Dean says, muffled before he leans out from under the hood to look at you for a moment.

You miss the way he looks at you, at the way it’s far too easy for him to become distracted with the way your tongue pokes out in concentration or the smudge of grease on your cheek. You miss the beginnings of a smile on his lips before he ducks back down to work under the hood of his car.

“I know more about cars than you think, Dean,” you say, standing to your feet and wiping your hands on your jeans. “‘Sides, rotating tires isn’t rocket science.”

The smile he had widened a fraction, his head shaking as he leaned over the front end. It was only a matter of seconds before you heard a series of metallic clatters, a string of curses leaving Dean’s lips that had him huffing in irritation. You walked over to him with a raised brow, watching as he fished around somewhere under the hood blindly, his nose scrunched and his lip curled up as he struggled to reach what he was looking for.

He pulled his arm back out, empty handed and his knuckles were scraped an angry red as grease smudged darkly around them.

“What is it?”

“I dropped my wrench and the freakin’ thing is stuck,” he huffs, running his hands over his face. “I’m gonna need you to reach in there and get it.”

Your brow remained raised, eyeing his hand before your gaze flickers back up to his.

“C’mon, Y/n. Your hands are smaller than mine.” You roll your eyes at his words, peering over into the spot he’d been rooting around in before he spoke up once more. “Be careful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, shooing him away as you catch sight of the tool glimmering brightly amongst everything else.

A huff leaves your lips as you try and figure out how to maneuver around everything just so you could get to it, your other hand pressing to the edge of the car to steady your balance. You could see just a little better than him but not anything significant, and you find yourself patting around in hopes your fingertips land on what you’re hoping to grab. Your luck was rapidly becoming the same as Dean’s when you came up short, though you might just top his.

The moment you moved your hand down further was proving to be a mistake— you may have grabbed the tool you’d set out to look for but the feel of something you hadn’t seen ran sharp and unforgiving along the side of your hand. It sent a jolt of pain through you as you gasped, a soft yelp sounding as that same metallic clatter happened a second time.

Dean turned his head, the sight of your scrunched face having him cross the garage in a few bounding steps.

“Ouch!” You groan, pulling your hand out and groaning.

“What happened?” He asked, eyes bouncing from you to his car before returning to you.

“I scratched my hand on your car, Dean. What’s it look like?” You say, squeezing your hand in hopes that it’d make it hurt less, even if it was just a little bit better.

“Dammit!” Dean says the moment he sees your hand, the moment he sees the scarlet smudging around the scratch you refused to let him see to avoid this kind of reaction. “Y/n I told you to be careful!”

You could hear the frustration in his tone loud and clear, and if you hadn’t fed off of that very same frustration you’d be able to see that there was something different in the way that he looked at you. You didn’t know the way worry clouded his mind in that moment, or the flash of fear that ran through him when he’d first heard you gasp. But you didn’t, you did what you knew best when it came to Dean Winchester—you bickered.

“Okay, well that’s not helping me now!” You argue, your good hand wrapping around the other as you hold them to your chest. Your cheeks burned under his stare, narrowed and discontented. “And I was careful, by the way. Don’t worry, your pretty car is fine.”

“Y/n, you’re freakin’ bleeding, okay?” He says, voice still loud and still frustrated but the worry on his face was clear. “And don’t be ridiculous.”

“‘M fine,” you huff, turning away from him. You made it all but two steps before he spoke up, stopping you in your tracks.

“Y/n wait,” he said, voice softer than before. When you turn back, you can see the dimples at the corners of his mouth and you can see the flare in his nostrils—you can see the softer look in his eyes. You could see the bit of hesitation he held onto in that moment. “Let me patch you up.”

You shifted on your feet, a quiet huff leaving your lips. “Dean, I can do it myself.”

He shook his head, a laugh leaving his lips as he brushed past you to head into the garage. “C’mon.”

You rolled your eyes when he walked ahead of you, hopping over the counter by your front desk, patting your seat with a smile on his lips. You sit down as he squats to rifle through the cabinets, grabbing the peroxide and blindly putting the bottle on the counter. He snagged a fresh towel and a few gauze, a wrap and a few bandages that was a bit more than necessary.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this thing stocked with first aid supplies before,” you say, a laugh in your words as you feign surprise.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, standing to his feet as he sets the other stuff down. “Benny just might be even more clumsy than you. I gotta be honest, I never thought that’d be possible.”

“Would it kill you to be nice just once, Winchester?” You ask, squinting up at him as you bite the inside of your cheek.

He pretends to ponder the question just to get on your nerves, just to see you frown the way you do because he knows it never lasts long. You know he’s got something to say, can see it by the way his smile returns. “I like to think I’m very nice. But for you, maybe it’ll kill me.”

You lips pursed and your jaw clenches, his head tilting as he flashes you his award winning mocking smile. You could feel that same frustration from just minutes ago bubbling in your stomach, the urge to grab the supplies from the counter and do it yourselves having grown almost too much. But the moment he looks at you, all teasing aside, his gaze just a little bit softer, a little bit more intense, that’s what has you changing your mind.

He sits down on the other chair, his thighs parted so he could scoot closer to you to make things all the more easier and much less cumbersome. “Let me see what you got goin’ on, butterfingers.”

You give him an exasperated look before you glance down at the hand you still held close to your chest, eyeing the crimson smeared on the fingers of your other hand. It throbbed and it burned, the grease on your hands surely doing you no favors. But, with all the hesitancy in the world you pulled your hand from your chest and extended it out towards him, cheeks burning at the sight of it because it looked much worse than you thought it did. Much more than you played it off as not more than five minutes prior.

His brows furrowed as he took your hand, turning it to get a better look.

“Baby really got you good, didn’t she?” He hummed, grabbing the towel he’d gotten before pushing himself up to his feet to go wet it at the sink.

Your gaze cast downward at the cut running jagged along the outer side of your hand, swiping your finger along it in an attempt to brush away some of the dirt still smudged on your skin.

“Don’t do that,” Dean says, sitting down in front of you once more.

You roll your eyes as you sigh, eyes bouncing up to catch the way he bit the inside of his cheek as he looked downwards and shook his head, green eyes flickering up just briefly in time to catch your gaze.

“Have you always been this bossy?” You ask, watching as he takes your hand in his, gentle as he turns it.

“Oh, shut up,” he says, but you don’t miss the way the corner of his mouth quirks up, a smile he tries to hide as he swipes his tongue over his lips.

He takes the dampened towel in his other hand, careful as he blots and presses it over the wound, the once clean fabric now stained a crimson as he swiped it over your hand. His eyes look up at the way you tense, brief and wordless and he saw the way your lip sat between your teeth, at the way you’ve got your brows knit together. But he looked away before you could notice, lightening his touch before he cleaned away the dirt and blood on your other hand.

He set the towel on his lap, snagging the bottle of peroxide before flipping the cap open with his thumb.

“This is gonna hurt, sweetheart,” he mumbles, looking up when he hears the softness of your laughter. “What?”

You shrug your shoulders, your hand still enveloped in his own. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call me that in a way that wasn’t sarcastic.”

Your tone was full of faux shock, near theatrical as you pressed your free hand to your heart, one that made him roll his eyes immediately.

“Don’t get used to it,” he says, but you can hear the lighthearted tone he held. You nudged his boot with your shoe, heaving a sigh.

He moved his hand to hold yours a little more comfortably, the cold metal of his ring brushing across your skin. It brought you back to the current moment, but not quite as much as the clear liquid pouring over your skin, stinging and burning as it bubbled white over your irritated wound. A gasp sounded then, your brows furrowing once more.

“A little heads up would’ve been nice!” You say, nearly pulling your hand from his grasp.

“I did,” he says, offering a teasing smile.

You slump back in your seat with a huff as he releases your hand for a moment, for the first time in what feels like ages, ripping open a bandage before returning his attention back to you and the task at hand. He pressed it over the length of the cut on your hand, the one that still burned from the peroxide just a mere minute before.

It was then that your gaze fell on him, at the crease between his brows as he tried his best to keep from causing any more pain unbeknownst to you. At the sweat beaded across his freckled cheeks and nose from the warm summer heat, a single drop of it having trailed down to the very tip of it. As if you’d shared the same thoughts, he’d paused his actions and grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging it upwards to swipe across his face.

It was a matter of moments before he’d begun wrapping gauze around your hand, tearing it free from its roll with his teeth before tucking the loose end into itself.

“You’re good as new,” he says, looking up to meet your gaze.

You felt your cheeks burn at the fact that it became apparent to him that you’d already been looking, something you knew you should stop doing but for the life of you, you couldn’t.

Your eyes bounced over every inch of his face to avoid his gaze— at the slight raise of his brow, at the sweat accumulating on his cheeks once more, at the freckles smattering across his nose and more importantly, more distractingly, the freckle sitting pretty on his lips. You knew that the longer you averted his eyes the more foolish you looked, and right now you were batting a thousand at doing just that.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and words, whatever they may have, been sat on the very tip of your tongue and it became increasingly more obvious that your hand was still in his. The closeness of your proximity wasn’t far behind that either.

It was then that your phone rang, pulling your attention as your hand fell from his grasp. You sat for a moment longer, flustered, before you pushed your chair from him to reach it, the smile on your face evident.

He watched that smile grow as you pressed the phone to your ear, the rest of your attention rapidly becoming stolen for the time being.

“Sam!” You say when you answer.

At first, you miss the way Dean swallowed thickly, still sitting in the same spot. But it’s the muffled squeak of the chair’s wheels rolling across the concrete floor that had you glancing over at him, seeing the familiar furrow of his brows that was more than just nothing, at the tension heavy in his jaw as he looked away from you. You watched him while you listened to Sam, at the way he swept off the trash and crinkled it in his fist, tossing it in the garbage before disappearing around the corner.

His change in mood wasn’t lost on you, but it was something you quickly pushed from your mind with mere confusion when Sam repeated your name what had to be two or three times.

—

It was much cooler that evening as the clouds started to accumulate, the sun dipping low enough to stave off the heat that hung heavy in the air. The sunshine that did peek through the windows, broken into stripes by your blinds had painted everything it landed on a deep orange, dimming the later it’d gotten.

You sighed as you rinsed off your dishes from dinner, loading everything in the dishwasher for the night. When the doorbell rings your brows furrow, gaze shifting to the clock on the microwave. 8:14 pm.

You dry your hands on a tea towel, trying your best to avoid your bandages as you smoothed down your clothes, heading to the front door in curiosity to who could have been at your door at this time of day.

When you unlock the door and open it a crack, the crease between your brows deepens, the door opening wider once you see who’s standing on the other side of it.

“Dean?”

He stood there, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He’s got a change of clothes on now, a pair of jeans on that have a rip in one of the knees and a t-shirt that’s free of black grease stains and sweat. And despite the summer weather he’s got a flannel on over top the sleeves rolled up to his elbows in true Dean Winchester fashion. But perhaps the most noticeable thing was the half-smile he wore as he looked at you.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, leaning against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest.

“You uh—you left this at work today,” he says, lifting his hand as your sweater dangled from the tip of his finger.

You laughed softly at the sight of it, eyes rolling at the sight of the sweater you never failed to show up with should you get cold at work or anywhere you are. Odds are, you didn’t need it most times but sometimes you do.

You tilt your head and raise your brow, knowing full well that he himself knew he could have just left it there overnight.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted an excuse to come and see me.” He rolls his eyes then, tossing the sweater at you as his lips purse. “Spit it out, Winchester.”

“Just wanted to see how your hand’s holdin’ up, that’s all,” he says, shrugging his shoulders as he glances down at the bandage still wrapped around your hand. It’s got a few dirt smudges on it from his hands earlier that day, but that was the least of your concerns.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

He nods, hands stuffed in his pockets before his brows furrow.

“You still haven’t unpacked?” He asks, and you follow his gaze to the suitcase and duffel bags still sitting where they’d been in the corner by the doorway. The same spot you’d left them the day you came back home.

You turn back to him, breathing out a sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“I got time,” he says, the corner of his mouth turning upwards into a half smile.

“Is this your way of inviting yourself inside, Dean?”

“Is it working?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you squint up at him, a few moments passing before you let out a huff and step to the side as his grin widens.

“Nice place. Who would’ve thought you’ve got decent taste,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“That’s not exactly a compliment, you know.”

“Isn’t it?” He says, eyeing the records you’ve got stacked by the tv.

You shake your head as you make your way to your kitchen, opening the fridge to grab two beers off the shelf. When you spin on your heel you find him leaning against the little kitchen table you’ve got, his gaze bouncing around the room as if to take everything in as his fingers tap against the hardwood.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before,” he says, taking it from your outstretched hand.

“I’ve tried to keep it that way,” you jest, catching the way he laughs at first, his expression falling neutral once he realizes your words before he follows you out to your back porch.

It’s quiet when you take a seat, the colors of the sunset becoming more muted the lower the sun dips into the horizon. It’s become routine for you to come out here in the evenings, taking a moment for yourself to unwind at the end of the day. Your apartment back with Sam doesn’t have a backyard, not even a balcony though you suppose it wasn’t quite so bad. But it wasn’t this.

He took a seat by you, cracking open his beer and taking a long swig or two as he looked out at the trees.

“I wasn’t worried about you ruining my car earlier, you know,” he says after a few beats of silence.

You laugh softly to yourself, nodding at his words. “Either you’ve gotten good at lying, or you really mean that.”

“What do you think?” He asks, amusement in his tone.

“With you, I can never tell.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” he says, nudging your foot with his boot as he shakes his head and looks forward.

You knew he meant it, by the way he’d looked at you when he said it you knew he did. Dean Winchester might not outright say how he’s feeling unless it’s in the form of his teasing at you in particular, but his looks give it away every single time.

“So why did you come back,” he asks, tipping his head back and taking a sip from his beer. You chuckle at the question, soft and half of humor, half not. “Oh, c’mon. It can’t be that bad.”

You tilt your head as you look at him, lips pursed for a moment as you shake your head. You were hesitant as you mulled it over in your head, but you found there was no use in playing it off. There was no way around it.

“It doesn’t exactly feel good being a twenty-four year old running away from college to come back home because they decide they don’t like the degree they’re studying a year before graduation. ‘Sides, I also ran back to a job where I’m stuck working with a green eyed dork,” you say, eyes glimmering with mischief as you hide your smile behind your beer bottle.

“Speak for yourself, I’m a joy to be around!” He scoffs into his own bottle, his smile in his voice. You sigh, resting your head against the back of your chair as your eyes fall closed for a moment. “It ain’t that bad. Can’t blame you for leaving if you didn’t like it.”

“Whatever you say, Winchester.”

It’s quiet save for his chuckle, the crickets singing and the lightning bugs flashing whenever they so pleased amongst the backyard.

“Have you told Sam?” He asks after a little while, watching as you pick at the label on the tinted bottle.

“No,” you say, softer as you exhale a sigh. “Not yet.”

“Wow,” he says, brows raised slightly in surprise as he nods. “I thought you told him everything.”

There’s a laugh in his words, quiet and it held something a little different than humor, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you didn’t question it too much as he looked at his feet.

“Yeah, well, not this,” you say, swiping your tongue over your lips as you thought about just how you were supposed to do it. You didn’t know. “Speaking of Sam, why’d you get all broody when he called earlier?”

“Broody?” He asks, brow raised slightly.

“Yeah. You had that pout goin’ on like you do when you sulk.”

He chuckles then, shaking his head as he fumbles and twists the bottle in his hands. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/n/n.”

You only nod, eyeing that look on his face.

“He’s coming up here to visit in a couple weeks,” you say, your smile evident the more you talk about it. The more you think about you the more your face lights up. The more you beam.

That’s what it was.

The thing that had him all broody. He sees the way your face lights up when you talk about him, when you talk to him. He sees that smile, the one that makes him weak in the knees so much that he’d never ever admit it because there isn’t ever a reason to. Because you smile just like that over his brother. He doesn’t even have to be there for you to do it. He gets it though, he does.

He was excited to see his baby brother, there was no doubt in that, but he couldn’t help the feeling that was simmering in the pit of his stomach.

His mouth opens and closes once, words sitting on the tip of his tongue. He clears his throat then, glancing at the watch on his wrist.

“I uh—I gotta head home. Wanna get an early start tomorrow,” he says, standing to his feet.

“Oh,” you say, watching as he flashes you a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding as he stands there and looks at you a moment more. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Dean.”

You watch as he slips through the door and back into your apartment, setting his empty bottle in the sink before walking out of view. It wasn’t long before you heard the rumble of his car when he started it as you sat by yourself on your back porch, that familiar rumble heightening as he put it in drive before he drove off.

You bit the inside of your cheek then, resting your head against the back of your chair as you sighed. You sighed because as you sat there by yourself, you found yourself wishing maybe he’d have stayed a little bit longer.

—

Series Taglist: @myloversgone @colereads @stoneyggirl2

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#dean winchester #dean winchester series #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x you #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic

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just-come-baek · 3 years

Text

Merry Crisis

Pairing: hockeyplayer!jungkook x pickpocket!reader

Themes: smut | fluff | sports!au | christmas!au | yyy... action?

Word count: 12k

Summary: During a casual meeting with friends at a local ice rink, a handsome boy bumps into me. Though it was just a small accident, a series of extraordinary adventures follow, helping me realize I should really change some of my life choices.

A/N if you get uncomfortable during this story, just stop reading. it gets weird later on. Also, sorry for posting it so late, it’s still Christmas somewhere!

4 DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

“What the hell are we doing here?” Kibum asked for the tenth time as he nearly slipped, even though his hands were glued to the railing. “None of us can skate for fuck’s sake,” he remarked, not being careful enough to watch his tongue, letting children hear his foul language. “We should’ve gone drinking mulled vine instead of this nonsense.”

“Speak for yourself. I am a decent skater,” I argued, though it was maybe my third time on the ice rink. The surface was slippery, yet I was brave enough to try my luck without sticking to the railing at all times.

Whoosh!

Kibum and I turned our heads around to see a few men racing on the rink like lunatics going probably at least two thousand miles per hour. They were skating so fast we barely could get a blurry image of their backs – fucking show-offs.

“Can you believe it? Fucking road hogs wanting to kill us all,” Kibum complained, searching for an exit with his eyes, desperate to get the hell away from the ice rink. “I’ve seen enough TV to know how this ends. Someone is going to leave this paddock with a blade in their neck,” he added, and I cursed in disgust, trying to erase the vivid picture my mind conjured.

“You really can ruin everything, can’t you?”

“Isn’t why you brought me here in the first place?” Kibum challenged, readjusting his woolen scarf around his neck in a fabulous diva manner. “Come on, go get Yeri. I’ll wait on the bench,” he ordered, clumsily escaping that icy trap.

“I think your cousin wouldn’t appreciate me going over there,” I stated, spotting her on the other side of the rink, flirting with a cute guy. “Now, that would be so cruel,” I added, leaning over the railing, staring at Kibum ineptly wobbling to the bench.

“What?” Kibum barked in an over-protecting manner, looking for the unworthy punk wasting Yeri’s time. “Just bring her here, please. I’m gonna treat you to lunch.”

“You should’ve said that earlier. I’m on it,” I said, content with how much I stalled the conversation to get a free meal from Kibum for completing such an easy task.

Having pushed myself off the railing, I made my way towards Yeri. She was basically at the opposite end of the ice rink, so I was forced to skate around lovely-dovey couples in the rhythm of overhyped Christmas songs.

Halfway there, the DJ ordered changing directions, so with a loud groan, I obediently turned around. Unfortunately, one of the speeding men didn’t halt quick enough and smashed right into me, ungracefully knocking me into the ice.

Crash!

It was a painful fall for both of us. If it wasn’t for the beanie with a big fluffy faux ball at the top of it, I’d most likely end up in hospital with a third-degree concussion and possible skull fraction.

Though I was in a mild shock, I could feel a nearing headache and blood dripping down my chin after his forehead collided against my nose. With his knee sharply boring into my thigh, I whined, trying to push him off of me.

At this point, I didn’t care about his injuries. He was the one who bumped into me in the first place; he deserved all the pain he was experiencing. Hopefully, it was similar to mine. According to Newton’s third law of motion, he ought to feel the same amount of pain, and if he sensed it any less, I was about to become livid about the lie I had been told at school.

“Get off of me!” I yelled, once again trying to shove him to the side. Huffing in defeat, I accepted my death by freezing my ass off due to a motionless pile of muscles lying on top of me. “Dude, move,” I tried again, and the man winced, sliding to the side.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered, whimpering in ache. “Are you okay?”

“Been better,” I remarked, trying to sit up. However, as soon as I was in a sitting position, I started to feel dizzy – the surroundings just kept spinning in front of my eyes.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Two men and Yeri scared in unison as they made their way towards us. “It was quite a fall,” one of them added, making me roll my eyes. His friend literally smashed me off the ice like a bulldozer – I wouldn’t call it a fall.

“She’s bleeding,” Yeri mentioned, looking for a bag of single-use handkerchiefs to give me one to aid my problem.

“How many fingers do you see?” the other man leaned over, showing me his palm, and I swatted his hand away with an angry hiss. “You’ve hit her bad, Jungkook. Good luck apologizing to her,” he commented, making it really difficult for me not to kick him in the shin with the blade.

“Is this a joke to you?” Yeri challenged the man, not particularly enjoying his comment. Attagirl! “You better make yourself useful and carry them off the rink,” she ordered sternly, her voice laced with concern.

“Hold on, beautiful,” the shorter one said before he bent to pick me up and wrap his arms around my shoulders to carefully escort me out of the ice rink. Slowly, we staggered to the benches where the man helped me sit down. “I’m Jimin, and you are?”

“In a tremendous amount of pain,” I replied, massaging my head, trying to ease the throbbing. I was about to get a headache of a century, and they kept asking me these stupid questions.

“I’m fine, Hoseok, put me down,” the man, who had smashed into me, complained as his friends dropped him at the bench beside me. “I’ve been through worse,” he groaned, and I gritted my teeth, trying to stop my instinct to cause another scene.

Thankfully, I’ve got Kibum, who would channel his inner Karen to argue for me.

“You stupid fucks, look what you’ve done!” Kibum yelled, hitting Jungkook in the back of his head, making everyone gasp in shock. “What were you thinking, skating this fast? You’re lucky she didn’t end up with a blade stuck in her throat, or else, I’d have to murder you!”

“Guys, stop shouting,” I whispered, barely withstanding the pain. “Can we please go somewhere quiet?”

On cue, Kibum and Yeri went to get my stuff. At the same time, Jungkook’s friends walked away from us to get their belongings, leaving me alone with the villain himself.

“I’m really sorry,” Jungkook apologized once again, being considerate enough to volume down his words. “Come on. Let me help you,” he stood up, offering his hand to escort me out of the tent. Unwillingly, I grabbed his palm, allowing him to save me from random shouts of joy and repetitive Christmas hits.

Once outside, I felt a little bit better, but it was still far from perfect.

“How are you feeling? Should I take you to a hospital?” Jungkook inquired as he looked into my eyes, trying to detect any lie.

“Nah, I’m good. I think I’ll just walk it off,” I shook my head, trying to stand up to demonstrate my current state. Unfortunately, I was still a little bit shaken after the fall, almost collapsing onto the ground. “On a second thought, I’m gonna sit here for a while,” I added, sheepishly, experiencing an unfamiliar feeling of helplessness.

In silence, Jungkook and I started at each other, unsure what to do or say next. We were just two strangers who participated in an accident. Our friends were nowhere to be found, giving zero fucks about the uncomfortable moment between us.

“Should we exchange numbers?” Jungkook suddenly asked, making me crease my eyebrow in confusion. What did he need my phone number for? “When there’s a car accident, both parties exchange contact info to work out a settlement,” Jungkook explained, and I sighed, trying to digest what he just said. Apparently, he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. “Please, don’t sue me,” he added with a light-hearted giggle to his tone as he sat down on the bench.

“I didn’t plan on doing that, but since you’ve mentioned it, I’ll think about it,” I teased, reaching into my coat’s pocket to get my phone. “Give me your number, I’ll ring you,” I muttered, carefully typing Jungkook’s digits into my device. After a few seconds, Jungkook’s phone vibrated, flashing my number.

“Under what name did you save me?” Jungkook asked in curiosity, looking over my shoulder, cackling when he read totally suing this guy on the screen. “Well… at least you didn’t save me under do not pick up the phone, so that’s a relief,” he added, laughing at his joke.

Though I was a little bit curious how Jungkook saved my number, ultimately, I decided not to entertain this impulse. After all, the chances of him actually calling me were slim, if not none.

“What’s your name?” Jungkook asked, but before I managed to give him a proper reply, Kibum shouted it loud and clear from afar. “Duly noted,” he added with a tiny grin.

Along with Yeri and Jungkook’s friends, he made his way toward us, having the guys carry all our stuff like indebted servants.

“You’ll never guess,” Kibum stated, plopping on the bench beside me. At this point, I wasn’t in the mood for charades, so I just rolled my eyes, failing to accordingly react to Kibum’s attempted suspense.

Thankfully, Yuri chimed in, revealing the big plan. “We’ve talked to the guys, and they proposed to treat all of us to dinner. The race was their idea, so they figured it’s one way to make it up to you for you know what,” Yuri explained, and I sighed.

Hooray!

That’s exactly what I needed, to spend more time with the asshole that slammed into me with the force of a hundred horses.

Perfectly splendid.

“Sure, that sounds amazing,” I replied through gritted teeth, staring at that cheap bastard Kibum. He owed me dinner, so he used his sly manipulation to guilt-trip these naïve boys into treating all of us for a meal.

“See? I told you guys she doesn’t hold grudges against people who provide her with food,” Kibum answered, not surprising me all that much. I was accustomed to his ways. Jungkook, Hoseok, and Jimin, on the other hand, were about to get exploited to Kibum’s heart’s content.

But hey, free food, there’s no way I’d say no to that.

Fifteen minutes later, we were walking down the alley, looking for a restaurant or a diner that was able to provide a table for six. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on our side.

It was a long stroll. All establishments were either packed with people, or they simply weren’t capable of catering for such a large group like ours.

We didn’t give up, though. In pairs, we walked further, our stomachs growling louder and louder. Hoseok and Jimin were leading the way, chatting about some hockey game somewhat this week. Right behind, Kibum was giving a lecture on relationships to Yeri, being the highly unnecessary third parent to her. And lastly, there was Jungkook and me, awkwardly trailing behind all of them, talking about nothing in particular, unable to find a ground topic for a proper conversation.

At some point, a man in an expensive black coat bumped into me, smashing his shoulder against mine. It was quite a powerful collision on the sidewalk, resulting in me falling right into Jungkook’s arms.

“Hey, watch where the hell you’re going,” I yelled, massaging my limb to ease the soreness, while the man didn’t seem to pay any attention to my angry shout.

“Hey, you should really apologize,” Jungkook hollered at the man, standing up for me. Unfortunately, the man didn’t reflect his misbehavior even after Jungkook stepped in. He barely turned his head around to check what that was about, dismissing it a few seconds later.

“Let it go; he’s not worth it,” I wrapped my hand around Jungkook’s shoulder, stopping him from confronting the rude asshat. “Karma is gonna get him,” I added with a smirk upon my face as I imagined how much cash he had in his wallet – which, in fact, was at the bottom of my pocket right now.

It ought to teach him a lesson.

“It’s your unlucky day,” Jungkook admitted, feeling sorry for my misfortune.

“Well… it’s not that bad,” I assured Jungkook with a happy beam, realizing my mistake the second the words left my mouth. Fantastic, I was just enthusiastic about the cash I found lying all over the ground. However, now, Jungkook must’ve thought I was into him.

Dear Lord, save me from this misunderstanding.

Before Jungkook managed to question my ambiguous comment, Jimin and Hoseok shouted. Apparently, they found a restaurant with a large enough table to fit us all.

At last!

Once inside, we quickly sat down, ready to skim through the menus. Honestly, we were all hungry way past the I-need-my-food-tasty stage, so we decided to order two giant pizzas and six pints of Christmas Ale beer.

“I think we should play a game before our food arrives,” Jimin proposed as he looked at the people by the table, not appreciating the awkwardness. Within Jimin were two wolves – one was a social butterfly, and the other was a people pleaser. Sitting in an uncomfortable silence irked him immensely. “How about a little integration, anybody?”

“You have to excuse him,” Hoseok interjected, trying to calm the angry crowd of grownups. “Jimin’s going to be a counselor on a hockey camp during the winter break, and sometimes, he forgets he’s not talking with middle-school pupils.”

“You’re never too old for some good old bonding,” Jimin fought his case, really keen on getting to know us better. “Especially over some beer,” he added when the waitress walked up to our table with our beverages.

Though none of us wanted to participate in Jimin’s fun activities, we eventually gave in, realizing his persistence was even more energy-draining than the bonding games themselves.

The rules were simple, you had to name three finds you love and three things you hate. Jimin went first, and it was actually quite funny to see the contrast between him and Kibum, who was the second to speak up.

“I love Mexican food, horror movies, and money,” I confessed when it was my turn, having no regrets. After all, we would never meet again. “I hate banana milk, wireless earphones, and doing laundry,” I added, completing the horrid task, making everyone at the table grow silent. Cocking my brow upward, I asked, “what?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok replied, still trying to comprehend the situation. “It’s just unbelievable.”

With each syllable that rolled off Hoseok’s tongue, I knew less and less. What the hell was going on? Could somebody explain to me what the fuss was all about?

“Basically, Jungkook loves all the things you hate,” Jimin finally explained, making Kibum cackle in entertainment.

“Ooh-la-la, the plot thickens,” Kibum snickered, laughing loudly, kicking his head backward.

“Ignore him. He’s just being a drama queen for no reason,” I interjected, ignoring Kibum’s ridiculous reaction.

“Guys, look, the food is ready,” Yeri said in excitement upon seeing our waitress walking toward us with delicious pizza in her hands. “I am so hungry,” she added, rubbing her hands together, licking her lips with appetite.

Thankfully, the rest of the evening went smoothly. After the beer and the food, the conversation sailed without any disturbance, everybody chiming in once in a while. A friendly atmosphere surrounded us, but we all felt it was the first and final meeting. Our groups had completely different vibes, and though we had somewhat fun, there was no point in forcing this friendship any further.

In an amicable mood, we parted ways.

Having dropped Yeri at her dorm, Kibum and I took an Uber to our shared apartment.

“I am dying,” I complained, stretching my arms as soon as I walked through the threshold of our comfy place. Having hung the coat, I fished out the stolen wallet. “I deserved a long bath,” I added, plopping down onto the couch, looking through the content of my newest possession.

“You really have to stop doing that. You’re gonna get caught one time,” Kibum mentioned as he sat down beside me, tearing the wallet out of my hands, browsing through the loyalty cards, looking for a bargain. “When did you even steal it? I was by your side the whole time,” Kibum wondered as he found a coupon for a free coffee amongst the plastic cards.

“You know what they say,” I started, counting the cash in my hands – almost two hundred bucks, not bad. “The first million is the hardest and is meant to be stolen,” I finished my thought, putting the cash into my purse.

“First of all, nobody has ever said that,” Kibum argued, groaning. It wasn’t the first time we had this conversation; at this point, we had this pep talk rehearsed to perfection. “You’re pushing your luck here. One day you’ll pick the wrong pocket.”

“What do you want me to say? I can’t stop now,” sighing, I replied. Maybe in the future, once I land a stable job with an adequate wage, I’ll quit. In this economy, it may be quite challenging, but that’s the goal. Right now, I was as poor as a church mouse, barely getting by each month on my level of living.

“I’m gonna be so pissed if the police catch you,” Kibum complained, giving up on his daily lecture. Trying to convince me was a vicious circle. Kibum felt as if he was trapped in some lame remake of Groundhog Day, only failing at knocking some common sense into his friend’s stubborn head.

“Take it easy. They won’t,” I mused with a light-hearted smile. “If you’re forgotten, you’re like super old. You’ll get bald if you keep worrying so much.”

“That’s a low blow,” Kibum mentioned, frowning in annoyance. Ever since he reached the dreadful thirty mark, it was his biggest insecurity. “Alright then,” he carried on, ready to attack me with just as strong jab. “What about Jungkook?”

“What about him?”

“You’ve had a moment.”

“What moment?” I inquired, pretending to be way clueless than I really was. “If, by moment, you mean that he basically nailed me into the ice, then yes.”

“You should’ve given him your phone number,” Kibum commented casually, and I turned my head around, avoiding his gaze. “Oh my, you actually gave it, I knew it,” he realized, looking right through me. “Finally, you need some. Later on, maybe he’ll talk you out of your bad habits,” Kibum carried on, blabbering nonsense.

“Don’t you think you’re getting way ahead of yourself?” I questioned, folding my arms over my chest. “I guess Jungkook’s a good guy, but he ain’t gonna call me.”

“You never know,” Kibum reasoned, and I sighed, walking away to the bathroom to run myself a relaxing bath, which was all that I needed.

3 DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

It was a terrible day.

First of all, I was still a bit sore after the ice rink accident. Then, I tried strolling along the bustling alleys, picking a few pockets. Unfortunately, people didn’t carry that much cash.

Having stolen three wallets, I only collected fifty bucks.

That was pathetic.

Sighing, I decided to call it a day.

Kibum would be so proud of me, I thought as I made my way to a random coffee shop, wanting to accidentally lose one of the wallets. That way, the rightful owner would have a chance of actually finding it if he decided to trace back his steps.

On my walk of shame back home, my phone randomly stopped playing music. Instantly, I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to fish it out of my pocket, knowing there was an incoming call waiting to be answered.

Normally, I’d either ignore it because I knew it was a spam call or just ignore it because I preferred texts to calls. Whoever opted to dial must’ve been devil’s spawn. No doubt.

Totally suing this guy.

Hmm… what does he want? I wondered as my thumb hovered over the answer icon on the screen. I wasn’t serious about suing him; it was just me teasing the poor guy. I didn’t actually mean it, and I thought it was obvious.

Before I managed to make up my mind about picking up the phone, Jungkook must’ve given up and hung up. Unfortunately, right when I was about to put it back in my pocket, I received another incoming call.

Totally suing this guy.

“Hello?” I asked, picking up the phone. Hopefully, he would check up on me and end the conversation. It was weird and uncomfortable, so it better be the last time.

“Hi, it’s Jungkook,” he said, sounding somewhat shy and timid. “From the ice rink, how are you feeling?” Jungkook inquired, and I sighed, getting mentally prepared for my reply.

“I’m better,” I answered shortly, not giving him any details on my condition. It was just a few bruises; I wasn’t dying. “Your knee left a bruise, but in a few days, I’m gonna feel all good,” I added, remembering the large mark on my thigh. It looked like a big ass hickey, but that’s the comment I was about to keep to myself.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he spoke through a tumult on his side of the call. He must’ve been in a crowded place, like a locker room packed with fellow hockey players or something. A second later, I heard a noise of shutting the doors close, assuming Jungkook must’ve left the room, wanting to continue this talk without any further disturbance.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I reassured that he cared so him. It was adorable much about my condition, but it was starting to feel a little bit excessive. A regular amount of repentance would be understandable, but he was quite over the top.

“Actually, it’s not why I’m calling,” Jungkook admitted, taking me aback. Why else would he call then? “It was just an excuse,” he added, and I genuinely started to wonder what was going on inside his head. He didn’t want to ask me out, did he?

Nah, it didn’t make any sense.

Get a grip, woman.

“Oh, why are you calling me then?” I challenged him as I couldn’t wait any longer for the big reveal. “What is so important that couldn’t be a simple text?”

“Well…,” Jungkook started, and I smiled, hearing in his tone that he was beaming. “To be completely honest, I really suck at texting. One time, I texted back my friend after a few months, so yeah, I’d rather call,” he explained, and though that’s not my preferred way of communicating, I found it adorable.

“Nobody’s perfect.”

“So, I was wondering if you’d like to hang out,” Jungkook asked, and I became speechless.

“Really? Why?” I questioned as I couldn’t find any reason why Jungkook would like to meet up with me. Yesterday, I had been grumpy as fuck – it was hard to believe he wanted to see my face ever again.

“What do you mean why?”

“I wasn’t particularly nice to you yesterday,” I admitted, looking down at my feet.

“You were just angry, it happens,” Jungkook claimed, once again surprising me – he wasn’t just good-looking. Besides his gorgeous looks, he, most importantly, was a kind, soft-spoken person with a heart of gold.

“Yeah, but still, I was an asshole.”

“No, it must’ve been that spur-of-the-moment kind of attitude,” Jungkook brushed it off without my thought, and I sighed in relief. Thankfully, he didn’t think I was a complete bitch. “I would be pissed too if someone tackled me down at a public ice rink.”

“Could we please stop talk about it?” I proposed, willing to put it all behind us.

“Sorry,” Jungkook apologized sheepishly, and I giggled, shaking my head, unable to process how adorable he was. “So, back to the topic, I was wondering if you’d like to come to that charity hockey game tomorrow,” he trailed off, a little bit insecure about my answer. “And after that, we could grab some coffee. I mean, if you don’t have any plans, I’d really like to meet up,” Jungkook added, sounding like a ball of a blabbering mess.

“Hmm… tomorrow, I am busy in the morning and early afternoon. What time does the game begin?” I questioned, buying myself more time to think over Jungkook’s proposition. He was a good guy, and I’d love to hang out, but I still had doubts.

“At three o’clock!” Jungkook exclaimed in excitement, probably hoping I was available to attend this charity event. “We’re raising money for a winter camp for kids from St. Paul’s orphanage. That’s the one Jimin’s gonna volunteer at.”

Now, there was no way I could say no.

“I should be free by then,” I answered, hoping I wouldn’t regret my decision later on.

“Fantastic, see you tomorrow,” Jungkook exclaimed happily, and I giggled at his enthusiasm.

“Ayo, Jeon, what are you giggling at?” Someone in the background hollered, teasing Jungkook. Though I thought it was cute and playful, Jungkook must’ve felt so embarrassed that he hung up before I managed to say my farewell.

2 DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

According to Jungkook’s instructions, the charity game out to start around 3 in the afternoon. A bit too early if you ask me, but who am I to judge the authorities who organized it? Nonetheless, I put on a nice outfit (effortless though chic) and made my way to the university’s stadium, ready to sit through the entirety of the game, already suspecting it wouldn’t appeal to my preferences. It was far too brutal to be enjoyable.

I had no interest in hockey, nor even knew the basics; however, Jungkook wanted me out of all people to support him. Normally, I’d skip, but there was just something about him that made it really difficult to say no to him. There I was – on university grounds during the holiday break, heading to the sports department where I had never stepped my foot willingly.

It was a charity event our university annually hosted. To be completely honest, it was the first time I heard of it. Moreover, there was a high chance I wasn’t the only one. Right in front of the entrance, there was no queue – I was the only one, and it was suspicious as fuck.

Unless I had first-hand info about the beginning of the game, I would just turn around and leave. However, Jungkook had specifically said 3 p.m., so I walked up to the entrance, seeing a man distributing tickets. He must’ve been one of the volunteering students. Admirable.

With a deep sigh, I pushed the doors open and entered the building. “One ticket, please,” I spoke, pulling out my wallet to pay for the entry fee. It was all for charity, so I gladly paid up the round sum. These kids really deserved a treat, and I’d love to contribute.

“You’re the first one to arrive; you must be a hardcore fan of our hockey team,” the friendly man said, and I just giggled at this obvious misconception.

Me? A fan? A hardcore one at that? Wow.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m here to support a friend,” I answered, denying the accusations with a casual response. “Where should I go?”

“Right this way, the first doors on the left,” the man answered with a happy beam. “Seats are not assigned, so be free to sit anywhere you like,” he added, and I bowed, thanking him for the directions. Though I was near graduation, I had no idea how to move around the building.

Having pushed the heavy doors open, I made my way to the bleachers.

A few players were skating across the ice rink, while the area for spectators was empty. As if that wasn’t awkward enough, all the players looked at me, whistling like a bunch of starved wolves. What the hell was that all about?

Ooh! Ooh!

“Wow, Jungkook, this girl really came,” one of the boys, probably Hoseok, shouted loud enough for me to hear. What? Did Jungkook talk about me with his teammates? What for? Or did they listen to us chat on the phone the other day? Even so, what’s with the reaction?

At first, I wanted to turn around and run away. I didn’t like the way they looked at me. It resembled a combination of concern for their younger teammate and playful support for whatever was about to stem between us. Ridiculous!

Then, I considered sitting in the last row, ignoring their curious glances. I’d probably pull a book out of my bag and devote myself to the plot for the duration of the game.

Unfortunately, none of my ideas seemed to be possible – especially not when one of the players with number 1 written on the sports uniform skated toward the railing. It must’ve been Jungkook. I mean… who else would that be?

Once he took off his helmet, I realized that my suspicion was right. It was indeed Jungkook with his messy, sweaty hair and a goofy smile upon his face. He was waving at me, enticing me closer to the ice rink.

“You really came,” Jungkook whispered when I walked up to him. “I really doubted you did,” he added, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“If I didn’t, you would keep calling me,” I answered playfully, still unable to comprehend how, on earth, he preferred calling to texting. It was ridiculous; he couldn’t be that bad at replying as he had claimed. “And also, why am I here this soon? Where is everybody? Care to explain?” I asked, my tone slightly laced with anger.

“Did I really say 3 o’clock?” Jungkook inquired innocently, staring at the big clock on the scoreboard. “My bad, I fucked it up, sorry,” Jungkook apologized, but I suspected his words weren’t entirely genuine. Apparently, he wanted me to come this soon, and I had to figure out why.

“Also, care to explain why your teammates stare at me like that,” I questioned, cocking my eyebrow, looking past Jungkook’s shoulder. The hockey team really seemed to be invested in what was going on between Jungkook and me, and I didn’t like the way they were gawking at me as if I had two heads growing out on my shoulders.

“Oh, I might’ve got caught talking to you yesterday,” he mentioned as if I didn’t already suspect that. “Apparently, I looked like an embodiment of teenage crush, and they keep teasing me about it. I am sorry if they creep you out,” Jungkook explained, and I beamed, thinking it was actually pretty cute.

“They’re your friends; that’s what friends do.”

“Hey, Jeon, quit flirting and get your ass on the rink. We’ve all gotta warm-up,” the coach hollered, urging Jungkook to return to his teammates. Though it was just an out of the season game, their coach didn’t want to lose anyway.

“Good luck, Jeon,” I whispered, shooing him away from me, really trying to give him a chance for a proper warm-up before the match. “Don’t let anyone tackle you down. It’s not that pleasant,” I added with an encouraging smile.

“I got it,” Jungkook spoke, sending me a cute wink.

Just as I asked him to, Jungkook skated away, only to come back around ten seconds later.

“By the way, you’ve got any plans after the game?” Jungkook asked, waiting for my answer with utter impatience. “I thought maybe we could grab something to eat.”

“Well… that depends,” I replied, and Jungkook cocked up his eyebrow.

“Depends on what?”

“Ask me again after you win the game,” I teased, giving him some extra motivation to try his best on the rink. “Go, they’re waiting.”

And with that, Jungkook finally got his head in the game.

The coach shouts tips and occasionally scolds players that aren’t on their best performance. In the meantime, people fill up the seats on the bleachers, excited to see the match and open their wallets for the laudable cause.

By the time the match finally begins, I am bored out of my mind. I gave hockey a fair shot, but it didn’t raise my interest in the tiniest bit. It just wasn’t my thing.

Thankfully, I had a newly purchased book in my bag to pass the time. It was just a Christmas themed erotica with a half-naked Santa with a six-pack on the cover. It wasn’t anything promising, but the holidays were around the corner, so maybe it’d put me in the right mood.

Though I didn’t have high hopes for the novel, it felt disappointing. The plot was cliché, and the pace was too rushed, but nonetheless, I’d still choose it over a hockey game. Contact sports weren’t really my thing, especially when it was giving me PTSD.

From time to time, my eyes would locate Jungkook on the rink. He was really out there, showing off his talents, making people gawk in admiration. He was one of the best players in his team, scoring goal after goal. Or whatever they score in hockey.

It was an even match, but ultimately, our team won by two points.

“On children’s behalf, I’d like to thank everybody for coming,” a woman in smart clothing spoke through the microphone. It must’ve been the orphanage director showing her gratitude for all the money they had managed through the ticket sale. “My heart really melts when I see how many people decided to help our children, especially in this difficult time of the year,” she recited, putting the microphone away from her mouth before a grateful tear rolled down her cheek. “Thank you so much!”

Shortly after, she handed the microphone to Jungkook’s coach.

“Hi, everybody, I’m coach Min,” he introduced himself, and the spectators clapped their hands in gratitude for leading the team towards victory. “I’d like to thank everybody for donating the money. I hope the kids will enjoy their winter break,” he added, looking at the crowd, proud of so many people gathered to support the cause. “However, if you’d like to contribute, even more, my team will wait outside with boxes. With this extra money, we would like to buy Christmas gifts for these amazing kids. I wish you all – Merry Christmas.”

Another round of applause echoed among the walls before people slowly started to head towards the exit. Taking my time, I followed the crowd, looking for Jungkook. It was difficult; people were feeling generous today.

“Over here,” I heard somebody call my name, so I turned around, recognized Jimin. He was standing a few meters away with a heavy box stuffed with cash. “Would you like to make some children happy?” Jimin asked, placing the box right under my nose, wanting me to contribute some more. “What do you say?”

Although I had already paid the entry fee, I still wanted to give more. All the goodness I had witnessed at the stadium pulled my heartstrings; it was impossible to say no now. Once I started, I just couldn’t stop.

With a genuine smile, I pulled out my wallet. I had plenty of cash in it. Everything I had stolen during this week. It was about four hundred bucks. Without a slimmer of doubt, the team would spend it wisely. Better than I ever could.

“Are you sure? It’s a lot of money,” Jimin asked, wondering if I was in the right state of mind donating so much.

“Yes, I am sure,” I confirmed, giving all of the money away. The feeling was deliberating, and it was really nice. “Oh my God, Jimin! What are you doing?” I asked in panic when Jimin put the box on the ground and picked me up, spinning around.

“Ahem,” someone cleared their throat before continuing, “am I interrupting something?” A familiar voice asked, making Jimin drop me down. Thankfully, I didn’t stumble. Somehow I found my balance before I hit my face against the pavement.

“Oh, Jungkook,” Jimin whispered, smiling awkwardly, almost as if we were caught cheating. “It’s not what it looks like,” he started, and I rolled my eyes. Literally, it was the worst phrasing he could choose, especially given the reputation this line holds. “I was just showing my gratitude after her generous donation.”

“Let’s just go,” I interjected before Jimin managed to embarrass me even more. With a smile upon my face, I grabbed Jungkook’s box and handed it over to Jimin. “Take care of that, okay?” I said, grabbing Jungkook’s hand, pulling him away from the campus ground.

Since it was quite chilly outside, Jungkook and I decided to grab drinks at the campus café. Having taken seats by the window in the back, we looked through menus to choose something delicious for our little informal date.

“Order anything you like; it’s my treat,” Jungkook mentioned before he proceeded to look through the menu. “You were my lucky charm today.”

“Well… of course, it’s your treat. I gave all my money away to charity,” I spoke, looking through the tea section for something I haven’t had before. “I’d like vanilla cinnamon tea,” I read out loud the position off the menu that really caught my attention.

“On it,” he added before he walked up to the counter to order. In a minute, he was back at the table, sitting comfortably at the other side of the table. “So… you and Jimin, huh?”

“Speaking of which, what kind of jealousy scene was that?” I inquired, teasing him for completely misunderstanding this situation.

“Sorry for that,” Jungkook apologized sheepishly, looking away. “It’s just it was so unexpected. I mean… you don’t know Jimin that well, and acting like that was quite strange,” Jungkook explained, and I nodded, trying to understand his reaction.

“Jimin’s cute. Is he single?” I asked, and Jungkook frowned upon my question, visibly upset with my wording. “What I meant is that I have a friend. I have a feeling they would click, you know,” I clarified, giggling when I saw relief wash through Jungkook.

“In that case, he’s very single,” Jungkook gladly answered, smiling brightly like an idiot. “After the last girl he was seeing dumped him a few months ago, he didn’t date. Maybe it’s about time he gets back to it,” he added, and I nodded, scribbling down my friend’s number on a piece of paper, sliding it over to Jungkook, believing he would pass it to Jimin.

“So… what are your plans for Christmas Eve?” I asked when the barista brought our order to the table. Apparently, Jungkook is quite a sweet-tooth. Beside my tea, he ordered a large cup of hot cocoa with roasted marshmallows on top along with four beautifully decorated cupcakes. I got cavities just by looking at it.

“I’m going Christmas shopping,” Jungkook answered, licking off some whipped cream off the pink cupcake. “I gotta buy gifts for the kids,” he added, and I smiled at the boy in front of me. Although I knew him only for two days, he kept surprising me.

In a good way, of course.

“Do you have any idea what I can get them?” Jungkook inquired, stuffing his mouth with the cupcake, enjoying his sweet treat. “There’s like thirty-five of them. I am clueless.”

“I don’t know… board games? Art supplies? Lego blocks? I’m sure you’ll figure this out,” I replied, suspecting I wasn’t much of a help.

“You could always come and join me,” Jungkook proposed, reaching for another cupcake. “I could use some help,” he added, pushing the tray with sugary treats towards me.

“I’d love to, but I will be at work, sorry,” I answered truthfully, now kind of regretting replying to that ad on Craigslist. “I’m babysitting tomorrow. Parents of three go on some business trip, and I have to watch them until their grandparents take over,” I explained, and Jungkook nodded, sipping his hot cocoa.

“Any plans after that?”

“I’ll just come back home and watch some Christmas movies on Netflix. This year, I don’t have time to go to my hometown. I gotta go to work as soon as Christmas is over,” I explained with a deep sigh. Although I wasn’t exceptionally family-oriented, it still felt a little bit odd to spend Christmas alone. “What about you?”

“My parents finally saved up enough money for the second honeymoon they always wanted to go, so there’s no real celebration this year,” Jungkook mentioned, showing real support for his parents. If that’s what they really wanted, he didn’t want to be a burden. “I’m really happy for them. Raising me and my brother wasn’t easy, so that’s the least we can do.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” I commented, wondering about Jungkook, his family, and their customs. “We could hang out tomorrow evening if you want to,” I proposed, and Jungkook beamed in utter joy, almost as if he waited for my offer.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Jungkook admitted, grinning like a child. “Come on, have some cupcake. I bought them for us.”

“I’m fine with my tea,” I replied, raising the cup to my mouth, taking a tiny sip. “I’m full just by looking at you eat,” I added, encouraging Jungkook to devour the rest of the goodies.

As if I didn’t know already, Jungkook proved to me one more time how charming he was. Though we had different opinions on some topics, we also had a lot in common.

This date was really informative. For example, I had no idea that Jungkook only plays in the hockey team for the scholarship. His true passion is photography and directing, and it’s actually his major. Moreover, he shared how much he likes to sings in the shower, for which he often gets teased by fellow teammates.

Maybe our first meeting was a tragedy, but the more time I spent with him, I began to realize that it was actually worth it to take this fall.

CHRISTMAS EVE

“My parents should arrive around seven,” the mother of three boys announced when she finally found a second to talk to me. “Jin is ten, Namjoon is eight, and Taehyung is five,” she added when the boys ran across the corridor, chasing one another.

“They’re adorable,” I commented, though I didn’t really mean it. I had no idea how the kids would behave when their parents would walk out the door.

“My sweet little angels,” she said with a deep sigh, feeling a bit sad that she had to leave her children alone on Christmas day. Unfortunately, whatever they had to tend to at work was way more important than spending holidays with their children. “How much money do I owe you?” She asked, being unaware of the amount her husband put on the advertisement.

“Five hundred,” I answered, and she nodded her head, giving me the correct amount.

Thankfully, the kids weren’t all that troublesome.

After their parents left for the airport, the children were a loud mess playing some console games. As long as they didn’t want me to participate in their fun activities, I didn’t mind the noise. I’d just simply wait for the grandparents to arrive.

Just two more hours; I can handle that.

“Can I have some candy?” Taehyung asked cutely, holding a bag of jelly beans in his hands. Usually, I’d say no. Kids tend to be hyperactive on the sugar rush. I didn’t want to have to deal with it, but then, I was quite impressed that he even bothered to ask for permission.

“Of course, sweetie, it’s Christmas,” I replied, tearing the packaging for him.

After the boys got bored, they wanted to play some board games with me. I wasn’t particularly interested in interacting with them but ultimately decided to join in. It’s been a while since I destroyed someone at Monopoly, so I might as well do it now.

Just one more hour; it’s almost over.

The boys had a particularly short attention span. The average game of Monopoly should take at least two hours – Jin, Namjoon, and Taehyung returned to their previous shenanigans, running around and screaming at one another maybe twenty minutes into the game.

Just when I was about to yell at them to keep quiet, I heard my phone ring. Under these circumstances, it was a blessing. At this point, I’d diligently answer all the questions the spam caller wanted to ask me. I was desperate for some interaction with an adult.

Having locked myself inside the bathroom, I answered the call, enjoying a little bit of peace and quiet. “Hello?” I asked, waiting for Jungkook to brighten my day.

“Hi, there,” he spoke cheerfully, “all gifts are bought and wrapped,” he added, proud of his today’s achievements. “What time do you finish up?”

“In an hour or maybe earlier,” I answered, looking at the wristwatch.

“Do you want me to pick you up? We could take a walk, and then just go with the flow,” Jungkook proposed, and I immediately said yes as I couldn’t wait for him to show up and rescue me from these children.

“I’d actually love that. I’ll text you the address,” I spoke, biting my bottom lip in excitement. One more hour and I’d walk away with five hundred bucks in my wallet.

When the clock struck seven o’clock, the grandparents were nowhere to be seen. They were running late, and I was growing impatient. Jungkook would be here any minute, and I wanted to leave. I tried calling their parents but to no avail. They must’ve already boarded the plane.

This situation was helpless – they were just little boys, I couldn’t leave them alone.

Thirty minutes later, I heard the bell. In a hurry, I opened the doors, wishing to see the grandparents on the other side. Unfortunately, much to my dismay, it was just Jungkook.

“Shall we go now?” Jungkook asked, eyeing me from head to toe, biting his lip. “Wow, you look amazing,” he added, and I stared down at my outfit consisting of a cute tight purple turtleneck, a short black skirt, and a pair of warm tights.

“I can’t go yet. Their grandparents aren’t here, and I don’t have a way of calling them,” I explained, and Jungkook sighed, taking off his shoes, willing to help me babysit.

“What is he doing here,” Jin asked, as he folded his arms around his chest, judging me for inviting someone to their household.

“He’s my friend who was supposed to pick me up after I’m done here, and since your grandparents are getting late, he’s staying, so be nice to him.”

“Whatever,” he grumped before running to the living room, joining his brothers on the couch.

We tried watching a movie. However, once again, the boys couldn't focus enough to last to the end of it. Then, I realized I royally fucked up by giving them sugar earlier. They wanted to play hide and seek, and I agreed with a tired sigh.

Unwillingly, I turned around to face the wall. I closed my eyes and began counting, giving them more than enough time to find the perfect hiding spot.

“Three, two, one,” I hollered, making sure they heard me.

The apartment was suspiciously silent and pretty dark. I could definitely feel that weird vibe often present in horror movies. First of all, I checked all the hiding spots in the living room. Then, when I was about to enter the corridor, I felt a presence behind me. Before I managed to react, a hand snaked around my body, covering my mouth, muffling my unexpected screams.

In a second, the person turned me around. I should’ve figured it out it was Jungkook. With a goofy smile, he mentioned me to remain quiet.

“What are you doing? This is not how you play this game,” I whispered, giving him a lecture, but Jungkook only laughed at my reaction.

“Look, they’re finally quiet. You should take your time finding the kids,” Jungkook suggested, and I hummed in agreement. He was right – I should cherish the silence. He was a genius. “Shh…,” he added, pressing his forefinger against his perfect lips.

Maybe the atmosphere wasn’t perfect, but I just couldn’t help myself. We were standing there in the dark, completely still. I couldn’t fight this temptation.

Acting out of my urge, I took a step forward and gave him a chaste kiss. It was a delicate brush of my lips against his, but it was just perfect. And apparently, I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed this innocent form of affection.

The moment I pulled away, Jungkook grinned, placing his hands on my hips. Staring down at me, he yanked me against his firm body, leaning forward for another kiss. Tenderly, his mouth moved, feeling my lips.

Within seconds, the kiss became even more passionate. Smiling, Jungkook began to nibble on the sensitive skin of my lips, and I hummed in pleasure. With my arms wrapped around his neck, I opened my mouth slightly, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“Fuck,” Jungkook loudly cursed as he bit my bottom lip, making me shriek in pain. At first, I thought he was just getting turned on, but then I realized what happened. It was Taehyung. He was standing right beside Jungkook, smiling as if he did something inappropriate. “He bit me!” Jungkook exclaimed, massaging his thigh, trying to ease the pain.

“He bit you?” I asked, being confused as ever. “Is that true, Taehyung?” I questioned the boy, but instead of answering me, he ran away to another room, chuckling like a maniac. Now, that was odd. “What is going on?”

The grandparents were supposed to arrive over an hour ago; I was losing my patience here.

“This kid bit me,” Jungkook carried on, unable to comprehend this entire situation. Well… he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t wrap his head around this. What the fuck was wrong with them? “What is this?” Jungkook asked as he felt something on this thigh. “Ew, it’s his tooth!”

That was enough.

It was about time I set up some rules.

“Let’s find them, meet me in the living room in five minutes,” I ordered before we split up to search more ground. The boys were getting out of hand, and they had to be stopped. For the love of God, Taehyung bit Jungkook!

“Have you found them?” Jungkook hollered, and I shook my head.

They vanished.

“I know it’s very irresponsible, but how about ditching this place?” I offered, even though I already knew the answer. They were just kids; we couldn’t just walk out, leaving them alone.

“It’s tempting, but we shouldn’t do that,” Jungkook spoke, regretting making the adult decision. “Isn’t that Namjoon?” He asked, and I turned to look where he was pointing at.

“Wait there, young man!” I yelled, storming out of the room, following Namjoon. The second I turned to the left, Namjoon was nowhere to be seen. It was weird; he must’ve run into one of the rooms. Unfortunately, before I managed to make up my mind, which room I should check first, someone pushed me onto the ground. It made me fall on my knees, painfully bruising them. “What the fuck?” I looked behind my shoulder, seeing Jin bolt off to the living room.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked in concern as he approached me, helping me stand up. “What is wrong with them?”

“I have no idea. The boys seemed fine earlier,” I spoke, seeing Taehyung run towards us. In a matter of seconds, he jumped at Jungkook, wrapping his hands around his neck, dangling off his back. “Hold still,” I ordered, but Jungkook was in panic, afraid of earning another wound.

I wanted to peel the kid off Jungkook’s back, but there was something wrong with Taehyung. Though he was a good boy, right now, there was something inhuman about him. He behaved like a wild animal with rabies, and it crept me out as fuck.

Jungkook smashed his back against the wall, hoping Taehyung would loosen the grip around his neck. At this moment, Jungkook felt as if the little boy was strangling him.

Unfortunately, the impact didn’t do much help.

Then I saw it. There must’ve been something really wrong with them. Taehyung’s eyes were all black with a few black veins around them, making him look extra creepy.

“Fuck this shit, let’s go,” I yanked Jungkook’s arm, wanting to get the hell away from this apartment. There was something wrong with them, and it wasn’t a part of my job to find out what. I was about to babysit them until seven o’clock and leave.

It wasn’t a part of the deal.

“We can’t leave,” Jungkook argued, but I didn’t want to listen.

“We’ll call the police,” I spoke, desperately trying to convince Jungkook to escape this trap. “They’ll send someone here to check up on them,” I added, running to the living room to get my bag. “Let’s go before I drag you out of here.” Maybe my words sounded like a threat, but it successfully made Jungkook move.

“It’s locked,” Jungkook said when he tried to pull the doors open. Though I didn’t lock it after Jungkook’s entrance, the doors wouldn’t budge now. “Do you have a key?”

Trapped inside the apartment, we looked at each other. None of us knew what to do next.

Then, the lights went out.

As if we weren’t already crept out.

“What is the plan?” Jungkook inquired, searching for my hand to hold onto something.

“Stay calm,” I answered, not realizing that quoting the office wasn’t the best idea at the moment. “You try everything to open the doors. Kungfu the shit out of them if you have to,” I ordered, and Jungkook hummed in understanding. “I’ll distract the kids.”

It wasn’t the wisest decision to make, but somebody had to do it. I wasn’t exceptionally proud of myself, but what could a bunch of weird kids do to me?

“Be careful,” Jungkook whispered before I turned on the torch on my phone, looking for the kids around the apartment.

They had to be hiding in one of the rooms. Having taken a confident sigh, I pushed one of the doors open, stepping into Namjoon’s bedroom. The space was spotless, and it was hard to believe it was one of the children’s rooms.

“Game over, Namjoon,” I spoke, urging him to show himself. “You won,” I added, as I kneeled on the carpet to check if he was hiding under the bed. He wasn’t there. “It’s not funny,” I exclaimed, marching towards the closet, anxious about opening it.

It had to be done, though.

Abruptly, I opened the closet, hoping I’d be the first to react if it was indeed Namjoon’s hiding spot. Unfortunately, I wasn’t. Before I managed to prepare myself, Namjoon pushed me, making me painfully fall on my back.

“You little fucker,” I yelled, groaning in pain, earning probably another big ass bruise. “You’re gonna regret that,” I added, unable to control my anger any longer. I was getting easy on them, but it was enough. Now, I’d punch them in the face if I had to.

Namjoon was staring down at me with these creepy black eyes of a demon. His eyes studied my movement, almost as if he was a predator, waiting for the best moment to strike its prey. Then he screeched, jumping right at me in an attempt to bite me.

This time around, however, my reflexes were quicker. Before Namjoon landed on top of me, I rolled to the side, kicking him in his stomach, sending him flying across the room. I couldn’t believe I just did that, but when Namjoon stood up as if nothing happened, I understood I had to go all the way if I wanted to make it out alive.

Quickly, I jumped to my feet, determined to Bruce Lee kick the devil’s spawn into another dimension with my close-to-none self-defense skills. Women in stress could pick up cars, and I had to beat up an eight-year-old.

I could handle it.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Bouncing on my legs like on the ready mode in a fighting game, I stared at my opponent. Namjoon was the first to attack, and I just jumped at the side, not wanting to get bitten. Unfortunately, Namjoon still managed to scratch my arm, drawing blood.

“You’re dead,” I threatened when I saw that he tore the sleeve of my favorite turtleneck. With anger in my eyes, I approached him, throwing punches left and right. My fists collided against Namjoon’s jaw, but no matter how much force I used, it didn’t seem to have any impact on him. He didn’t feel any pain, and it pissed me off.

With a hiss, Namjoon jumped at me, wrapping his hands and arms around my torso. His mouth was dangerously close to my throat, so in a state of complete panic, I started to spin around, trying to shake him off of me.

Now, Namjoon’s room was a complete mess – especially when I walked into a mirror, smashing it into a thousand pieces. Namjoon and I were rolling in the broken glass, earning plenty of tiny cuts across our bodies.

“That’s enough,” I warned him as I spat blood on the carpet. “Say hello to Satan for me, will you?” I added before I pushed him out of the window without any regrets. Namjoon kept screaming, but when his tiny body smashed against the pavement, the peculiar screeching finally stopped. “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker,” I whispered, unable to control myself.

I just killed a kid, and the first thing that came to my mind was quoting Die Hard.

It wasn’t the time for celebration. There were still two children running around the apartment.

Looking around Namjoon’s room, I found a baseball bat. That’ll do, I thought to myself as I stared at my new-found weapon.

“Jungkook!” I shouted.

Once I was in the corridor, I saw the doors. They were open, but Jungkook was out of sight. Did he seriously ditch me here alone? No, it wasn’t possible. Jungkook would never do that.

The boys must’ve done something to him.

One by one, I checked all the rooms, but I found nothing. It almost felt as if I was alone in this creepy apartment.

“Cut the crap, boys,” I hollered, ready to smack anybody in the face with my baseball bat. I was done playing games. I just wanted to go home and wrap myself in blankets in front of a television. “Come out! I don’t have the whole day,” I added, looking around.

I was on high alert. Adrenaline and other hormones were running through my veins, enhancing my senses. Then I heard it – the sound was coming from the staircase. Quickly, I ran out of the apartment, checking the reason behind this commotion.

It was a yellow ball. Somebody must’ve thrown it. Leaning over the railing, I looked up, trying to spot the villain behind this prank. Then I heard giggles. It must’ve been Taehyung.

“Get down here, right now,” I ordered, but the boy didn’t listen. “You’re going to be so dead when I get up there,” I warned, skipping two steps at a time, climbing the stairs.

On the top of the stairs, Taehyung was sitting comfortably, playing with a yo-yo. His face was stretched into a creepy smile, and in all honesty, it gave me chills.

“Get down here,” I repeated myself, but Taehyung didn’t even budge. “Where is Jungkook? What did you do to him?” I asked and received no answer.

Angrily, I walked upstairs, swinging my baseball bat around. Taehyung tried to mess with me with his yo-yo, but I managed to catch the toy and pull it out of his hands.

Like a maniac, I swung the bat, repeatedly hitting Taehyung’s head until it turned into a pulp. Wiping the blood off my face with the back of my hand, I turned around, studying the area. There was one more child out there, and I couldn’t lose my focus just yet.

“Where are you, Jin?” I shouted, waiting for a sign from the boy.

“Here,” Jin whispered, as he emerged from the shadows, pushing me off the stairs.

It was a painful fall, but thankfully, I didn’t break my neck. I felt a pulsating sensation in my left ankle, but besides that, I was fine.

Groaning in pain, I watched Jin slowly descend the stairs. His weird-ass demon eyes were drilling holes in my face, his lips turning into a devilish sneer. Step by step, he made his way downstairs, enjoying the way I tried to crawl away from him. The anticipation was draining me of energy; he was going to murder me, and I could just watch him do it.

“Help!” I shouted though I doubted anyone could hear me. “Somebody call the police!” I carried on but to no avail.

Jin was maybe thirty centimeters away from me, savoring my misery. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, showing me his teeth, ready to tear me apart.

I had maybe a minute of life left, and I was going to spend it looking into my killer’s eyes.

That was sick.

When Jin was about to jump at me, I heard a noise coming from the apartment.

The scene unfolded in front of my eyes so soon, I couldn’t properly react to it. Right before Jin took a final leap towards me, Jungkook emerged out of the apartment with a fireplace poker, piercing it through Jin’s neck.

Jin’s blood, like a fountain, squirted on me. With my eyes closed, I waited for this moment to end. A few seconds later, I could hear Jin’s dead body collapse to the side.

“Are you okay?” I asked Jungkook, who dropped onto the floor beside me in shock.

“I just killed a kid,” Jungkook whispered, still unable to process what just happened. “When you walked away to look for the kids, I heard a noise in the kitchen. It was Jin, and when I entered, he began throwing shit at me. That motherfucker cut my face,” he added, showing me his fresh wound on his beautiful cheek. “Then, he stabbed my side with the knife and locked me in the closet,” he added, squeezing his side, trying to numb the pain.

“Let’s get the hell away from here,” I spoke, trying to stand up. It was difficult with all my wounds, but I couldn’t stand being inside this building.

CHRISTMAS DAY

We just killed three children.

At first, we had no clue what to do next, but then, I listened to my voice of reason – Jungkook. No matter how bad it looked, we had to go to the police.

Hand in hand, we slowly walked to the nearest police station. People were turning their heads when we were passing by them. I couldn’t blame them. I looked like Carrie with better clothing, while Jungkook seemed to have survived a zombie apocalypse.

When we entered the police station, everybody stared at us. Wobbling, we approached the front desk. “We killed three children,” I admitted, realizing how bad it sounded without the context.

The policeman was shocked. He didn’t witness this kind of thing regularly.

A few minutes later, we were escorted to a questioning room, where we could describe everything in great detail. Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to buy our story, thinking we were trying to pull some kind of a prank.

Taking all precautions, they called in an ambulance. We were seriously injured, and we needed some medical care. Though the doctor did a great job, I’d kill to get some better painkillers.

Once our wounds were dressed, the police locked us in custody. We had to wait until a pair of policemen checked the apartment and secure the evidence.

“Merry Christmas, Jungkook,” I whispered as I looked at my wristwatch, realizing it was already past one o’clock. “I know we had different plans, but out of all people, I am glad I was stuck there with you. You saved my life,” I carried on, looking at Jungkook fondly.

“We killed three children,” he replied, still shaken after what had happened. Perhaps, he didn’t need me now, but I really wanted to hug him and tell him that everything’s gonna be alright. Too bad that we were locked in two different cells.

“In self-defense,” I added since Jungkook often seemed to forget that part.

After ten minutes of painful silence, one of the guards walked up to the custody, unlocking our cells. What else did they want to know? We already said everything we knew.

“You’re free to go,” the guard announced, surprising us immensely. “It was an elaborate prank, but don’t ever do that again, or else, we’re going to seriously put you in jail,” he warned, urging us to leave.

“I don’t understand,” I wondered out loud, unable to process what was going on. “I thought you sent your men to check out the crime scene.”

“We did, and the apartment you wanted us to check out was empty. We talked with the landlord, and he said this flat has been vacant for the last year,” the guard explained, making me and Jungkook gasp in shock.

What the fuck was going on?

In complete silence, with our heads hanging low, we exited the police station.

“What now?”

“Let’s just go home and watch Die Hard,” Jungkook whispered, still trying to wrap his head around what had happened inside the apartment. We almost died in there. However, when the police checked it, it was like we had never been there.

My apartment was closer, so we both headed there. Our moves were robotic, our heads were empty. At this point, we just wanted to sit down and keep our minds busy, so we wouldn’t try to analyze what happened back there.

It wasn’t a figment of our imagination. Our wounds were concrete evidence that we were telling the truth. Unfortunately, the police didn’t want to believe us. However, as the saying goes – no body, no crime.

In light of the law, we were innocent.

As soon as we entered my apartment, we sat down on the floor, resting our back against the sofa. Mindlessly, I grabbed the remote and turned Die Hard on Netflix.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I whispered as I interlaced my fingers with Jungkook’s, resting my head on his shoulder. “Or we can just pretend it never happened. Let’s just say we watched a really weird movie or went to a hardcore escape room,” I added, studying Jungkook’s arm tattoos, getting lost in his skin art.

“I’ve known you a few days,” Jungkook started, staring into my eyes. “But I’ve experienced more stress than in my entire life altogether,” he added with a sigh, placing a delicate peck against my neck.

“Actually, my life is pretty boring,” I admitted, though I knew where Jungkook’s words were coming from. I wouldn’t believe myself, either. “It took a 180 on that ice rink,” I reasoned, trying to find a connection.

“You’re beautiful,” Jungkook confessed genuinely, staring at my face with his big sparkly eyes. He was bullshitting me, but I didn’t have enough energy to argue with him. How could I be beautiful? My hair was all sticky due to all the blood which the doctor hadn’t washed off. My skin was covered with cuts and bruises. Even my clothes were ripped. I was certain Jungkook didn’t mean it, but I wasn’t going to admit that.

“You’re beautiful, too,” I beamed, teasing him. “Even after what we’ve been through today, you’re absolutely breathtaking,” I added, and Jungkook looked away, trying to hide his red cheeks. Carefully, I cupped his face, pressing another delicate kiss against his lips.

Just like feathers, our lips moved against each other. No rush, no hastiness, just pure delight.

Though we were both sore and exhausted, we took our time. Maybe it was past three o’clock now, but we didn’t care. I could stay up all night, kissing him like that.

Slowly, Jungkook’s hands found purchase on my hips, carefully pulling me closer on top of his thighs. Gently, I began rubbing my sex against his muscular legs, trying not to make him hiss. His beautiful thighs had already suffered enough damage when Taehyung had bitten him – I didn’t want to inflict any more pain.

“I wish I could fuck you the way I want to,” Jungkook confessed, taking me aback with his filthy words. He was a good soft boy with a heart of gold; how could he talk dirty to me like that? It was out of his calm and collected character, but I absolutely loved it.

“Don’t worry, I think I’m gonna stick around at least until you’re fully recovered,” I answered with a teasing tone as I reached down to his zipper, freeing his semi-hard cock. “Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve? Or Valentine’s Day?” I questioned, but Jungkook was too busy to answer right away, ripping my tights apart.

“Actually, I do,” Jungkook mentioned with a lopsided smirk upon his face. “I’m gonna be sitting here between your thighs, buried deep inside your pussy. How do you like that?” He asked mischievously, biting my bottom lip before I managed to reply.

“I hope you’re not all talk,” I answered, staring down at his dick. Carefully, I pulled it out of his pants, giving it a few strokes before I raised my hips, slowly sinking down on his length. “Mmm…” I purred, feeling a pleasant stretch.

“I should’ve prepped you,” Jungkook whispered as he felt my walls slowly adjust to his girth.

“Nah, it’s all fine,” I spoke, getting all comfortable on his dick. “There’s always a next time.”

With a languid, stable pace, I rocked my hips back and forth, riding him. Going this slow allowed me to properly feel every inch of him. It was intimate, and I enjoyed it much more than any mindless pounding, which didn’t always get me off. With Jungkook under me, I was in complete control. He was obedient and responsive to my movements, really making it look easy to push me over the edge.

“I’m coming,” I moaned, feeling the approaching orgasm. Jungkook, instead of messing with my tempo, grabbed my hips, helping me maintain my current pace. “Fuck, Jungkook,” I hissed when he gently pushed his cock deeper inside of me, being seconds away from his own release.

“Come around my cock,” Jungkook ordered, and I obeyed his order, falling into a million pieces on top of him, screaming his name. Thankfully, Jungkook’s hands held me in place. Otherwise, I’d once again collapse onto the floor. “Argh,” Jungkook grunted, shooting his load inside of me. “I want to go again,” he added as soon as he calmed down after the powerful orgasm.

“I think it’ll have to wait,” I answered, though I’d love to go another round. “We can try in the morning. Right now, I need a shower,” I added, and Jungkook nodded his head, resting it between my boobs, too lazy to let me go.

He was still balls deep inside of me, and his cum was slowly oozing out of my pussy, but none of us wanted to move. It felt as pleasant as it was nasty, but we didn’t mind.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Jungkook asked innocently, batting his eyelashes in an attempt to woo me. “That would save lots of water,” he added, and I didn’t want to argue with his reasoning.

“Why the hell not? Let’s go before I change my mind,” I spoke, giving him a hand, helping him stand up. “But,” I added, sternly staring at the boy beside me. “Until we’re fully recovered, it’s just a shower.”

“Sure thing.”

#jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jeongguk fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts fluff #christmas smut #bts christmas #bts #bangtan smut

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makeadealwithdean · 3 years

Text

can’t touch us (dom!sam winchester x fem! reader) -- part 2 of ftfuwc

Hi everyone!! I’m back faster than usual with Part 2 of the Sam Winchester Valentine’s Day fic, fueling the fire until we combust! To the anon who requested this: again, I’m so sorry it’s later than I wanted it to be, but I do hope you read and enjoy it! Feedback is always appreciated, and if you like reading on AO3 better, you can find mine here :)

Word Count: 4946

Request: "Sam Winchester Valentine’s Day smut? Is that too vague for a request lmao" "I’m up to anything happening before the fun, but I was thinking they’re dating already and are both hunters and they were on separate hunts and now they’re happy just to be back together. I’m a sucker for reuniting -Sam valentine anon"

Warnings: SMUT, like for real this time, dom/sub, spanking, face slapping (a little bit), dirty talk, sir kink, daddy kink, soft dom!sam, less soft dom!sam, fingering, slight degradation (name calling, i guess), general rough sex, fluffy aftercare, i think that’s it

Part 1

My Masterlist

You set the box on the counter, untied the ribbon, and opened the lid. Inside was a strappy black bra made of sheer lace, matching panties, and garter set nestled in the middle of red tissue paper. You held the pieces up, and felt your cheeks flush at the thought of Sam’s eyes on you in that. You dropped it back into the box and began wiggling out of your tight little red dress. Finally, your dress hit the floor, along with the bra and panties you’d been wearing. You put on the new outfit Sam had given you and checked your hair and makeup in the mirror. After a deep breath to calm your nerves, you opened the door and stepped back into the bedroom.

Sam was sitting in your armchair over by the wall across from the end of your bed, leaning back, legs spread wide as he waited for you to finish changing. He looked up as you stepped out of the bathroom, and his lips curved into a wicked smile. Sometime since ditching his jacket in his room, he had rolled up the sleeves of his white button-up; you knew he was well aware of what that did to you. His hand resting on the arm of the chair lazily beckoned you closer. You took small timid steps towards him.

“C’mere, kitten,” he said, readjusting himself in the chair. You came closer, and he reached out his arm and gestured for you to sit on his right knee. You perched softly on him, still holding up most of your weight with your legs in between his legs. His big hands grabbed around your waist, picking you up and guiding you further onto his lap, so that your toes barely touched the ground. You looked down and saw the outline of his thick cock visible through his black dress pants, and all you wanted to do was touch it. But you knew that would get you in more trouble, so you placed the heel of your hand on the end of his knee to steady yourself instead.

“Now,” Sam said in a low voice, “would you like to tell me what you’ve done wrong tonight?” He leaned forward to look at you and placed his arm over your lap to grasp your thigh.

You swallowed, and your voice was shaky when you spoke, “Umm, I… talked back to you…”

“And?”

“And I touched you--” you had stopped speaking, but Sam’s hand around your waist squeezed hard, and you squeaked out “--even when you’d already told me not to.”

“Right,” Sam said sternly, turning your head towards him with his hand. “And why did you think that was okay to do? You know better.”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, sir,” you said in a voice just barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know isn’t an answer, Y/n,” Sam said, looking you in the eye and threading his fingers up your neck and into your hair to hold you still. He repeated a little more forcefully, “Why did you do what you did? Do not make me ask again.”

“I wanted to tease you, because I didn’t think I’d get in trouble today,” you said in a rush, wanting to get it over with.

Sam raised his eyebrow and huffed in surprise, “Didn’t think you’d get in trouble? Well, babygirl, guess you were wrong about that.” He hooked his left arm under your knees, right arm around your back, and lifted you as he stood up. “I think you need to be reminded who’s in charge here. That’s okay, princess. We’re gonna fix that right now.”

He threw you onto the bed on your back, but before you could get comfortable, he grabbed your legs and dragged you to the edge of the bed, flipping your body over so that your legs hung off the side, toes resting on the ground. You could feel Sam standing behind you, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He yanked you backwards, just a bit more until your feet were flat on the floor, and his hips were flush against your ass. His cock strained against the fabric of his pants, and he let a sigh of relief as he grinded against you. You let out a quiet moan and turned your head to look back at him.

“Uh uh,” Sam snapped, and his hand smacked the side of your ass sharply. You yelped, and Sam said, “Eyes forward.” You turned back around, your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. He shouldn’t have had to tell you to face the front, you knew better.

“Do you know your colors, little girl?” Sam asked you, slightly softer now, and you knew this was his way of making sure you were okay with everything that was about to happen. You nodded your head, and Sam said, “No, use your words, baby.”

“Red, yellow, green, sir,” you listed off quickly.

“Good, and what’s your color right now?” Sam asked gently, hands now rubbing your ass over the lace of the new panties he’d given you.

“Green, sir,” you whimpered, voice laced with anticipation. As soon as the word left your lips, you felt Sam step back, his hands leaving you, and you whined again at the loss of contact, but stayed where he’d put you. You heard Sam move somewhere behind you and felt a rush of air as the first smack came down on the sensitive skin of your ass. Your body jolted forward as the force of his hand pushed you up the bed, and you yelped in surprise.

His hand grabbed your waist and pulled you back to where you’d been a second ago. This time he kept his hand pressing firmly down on your lower back, keeping you in place while he yanked your panties down and off. He crouched down and blew a long, cool breath onto your exposed cunt. You whined and thrashed a little, already so sensitive for him. He chuckled darkly, and you felt his presence leave you as he stood a few steps away.

The second smack was even harder than the first, and you closed your eyes tightly, burying your face in the comforter. Your hands moved from resting beside your head to fisting the sheets. You struggled not to let out a cry and held on as the swats got faster and harder.

Yeah, it hurt, and it stung, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the burn. With his big hands, Sam could inflict a hell of a lot of pain, but somehow with you, he was always loving, even when he spanked you until tears ran down your cheeks.

Like now, it was physically impossible for you not to cry out with every smack of his hand. You couldn’t tell which was worse, the burning on your ass or the heat in the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t your fault that being punished for bad behavior turned you on like nothing else. And the heat became more and more intense with every slap.

You could hear Sam grunting with effort, and even as he stopped, he was breathing hard. He stood behind you again, both hands on your now red ass, feeling the heat rise off of it. He ran one finger delicately up the slit of your pussy and hummed his approval.

“Oh, you’re soaked for me, aren’t you baby?” He rasped, his voice low and gruff, loving the way you sounded so desperate for him. “Bet you like that, huh? Listen to yourself, my little slut can’t help but cry for me.”

He let his finger hover over your dripping hole, teasing you, and your hips involuntarily moved back, searching for more. You heard the smack before you felt it this time, his hand coming down loud on your ass, forcing a whimper from you.

“Behave, kitten,” Sam growled. You went limp again under his hands, too tired already to resist his commands, and he wasn’t even close to finished with you. He ran the tips of his fingers over your ass and up your back, light soothing touches that he knew you liked to help ground you. “Now, do you think you’ve learned your lesson, baby? Not to disobey me again, especially in public, when I’m trying to take you out for a nice date?”

“Mhmm,” you whined into the comforter. Sam answered with another several hard smacks on both sides of your ass. You hissed at the contact. The familiar burn that had faded slightly came rushing back, causing your legs to twitch and heat to shoot straight to your core.

“Nope,” He said, popping the “p” and twisting his fingers into the roots of your hair, pulling you upward and causing you to arch your back. You could see his snarl out of the corner of your eye. “You’re gonna answer me out loud or I’m gonna put you over my knee, and believe me, that’ll be a lot worse for you. Let’s try this again: have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, sir!” You cried, much louder than before. “Yes, I promise I have. Please!” The waiting was getting too much for you to bear, and your voice slipped into the tone you only used for begging.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me, princess?” he sneered, turning your face towards him and coming much closer. God, he’s intimidating, you thought as more tears welled in your eyes, and at least you knew he’d never truly hurt you. Wouldn’t wanna be his enemy. No way.

“Yes, sir! I’ll be good for you! Just-- please-- please--” you paused, panting, almost sobbing now, not entirely sure what you were begging for. You just needed him, desperately. His light touch, his scent-- it was all too much without fully having him. You wanted him inside you, now.

“Please what, little girl?” Sam’s gravelly voice hissed. He let go of your hair, pushing off like he was disgusted with you so that you dropped back down, hard, onto the mattress.

“Please, sir,” you gasped, taking deep breaths, fists clenching beside your head. “Please, please, fuck me! I swear, I’ll never disobey you again!” You both knew that probably wasn’t true, but your desperate begging seemed to satisfy Sam because he groaned at your words. His big hands grabbed your waist, flipping you quickly over onto your back. You hissed as your sore backside came in contact with the comforter, but Sam didn’t appear at all sympathetic.

His hands landed on either side of your head as he hovered over you, slamming his lips into yours harshly, all technique flying completely out the window. It was all teeth and tongue and passion, and you loved it. You moaned into his mouth as he bit your lower lip, drawing back slightly, dragging it with him for a moment before letting go, all the while rutting his cloth-covered cock on your sensitive pussy.

He threw your arms around his neck, having you hold on so you sat up slightly, while his nimble fingers swiftly undid the clasp of your bra. He pushed your shoulders back down onto the bed, and you released his neck as he dragged the lace from your arms, throwing it somewhere behind him onto the floor. It had served its purpose for the night.

You lay on the bed, a little further up so your legs weren’t hanging off the side, and now completely naked as he stood over you, still completely clothed. You’d always sworn Sam could read your mind, and now was no different clearly, because his fingers flew down the front of his shirt, undoing all the buttons as quickly as possible. He yanked off the button-up, along with his white undershirt. Next to go were his dress shoes and socks. He kicked them off before undoing the clasp of his black leather belt and his dress pants and shoving them and his boxers down his legs. He stepped out of them and was back on top of you in a heartbeat.

Sam kissed you again, hand fisted in your hair before moving his kisses to your jaw, then your neck, travelling downward, nipping and biting until he reached your chest. His tongue flicked over each of your now hard and pointy nipples. He took one point in his mouth, lightly sucking and licking until you were arching up into him. He rolled your other nipple in between his fingers, before his mouth moved to cover that one instead. He kept dragging the edge of his teeth along your sensitive points until you were practically crying under him.

With Sam, you never felt unbalanced. He gave each of your tits an equal amount of attention, whether it was his hand palming and grabbing and pulling, or his warm tongue lightly teasing the sensitive skin until you practically sang his praises. You’d never understood the importance of nipple play until Sam, but he’d helped you to branch out, and at this point, you’d try almost anything if he suggested it. You highly doubted that Sam Winchester could be “bad” at anything in the bedroom.

His mouth travelled downward still, leaving gentle kisses on your stomach, hands caressing your sides, until he knelt in between your legs, pushing you thighs open, giving him a full view of your dripping entrance. The way he looked at you was downright predatory, and you whimpered under the intensity of his gaze. “So sexy,” he whispered in a raspy voice, tongue poking out to wet his lips, “and all mine.”

As the last word left his lips, he thrust two of his thick fingers inside of you with no warning. You gasped and moaned, arching your back up off the bed, much to Sam’s delight. He groaned loudly and fisted his cock, now dripping with pre-cum, with his other hand. He swiped his thumb over the slit, collecting the liquid on the tip of his finger.

“Look what you’ve done to me, kitten,” he said, his voice full of lust, as he stuck his thumb onto your tongue, letting you lick it clean before hooking his thumb into the side of your cheek and jerking your head to the side, watching as you sucked on his thumb. Sam had once said that he could tell just from looking at you that you had an oral fixation, and he was definitely correct. You were so desperate for something in your mouth that almost anything would do at this point, and Sam loved to watch the way your mouth moved around his fingers.

He fucked in and out of your pussy roughly, watching as you keened with every drag of his fingers. He yanked his other hand away from your mouth so he could press one of your thighs down flat onto the bed, effectively changing the angle of his shallow thrusts. Pressing his fingers inside of you as far as they could go, he fluttered them up and down, watching your face as your jaw dropped and you cried out in pleasure.

“Please, sir,” you begged. “Please, I’m getting close! Can I— can I come, please, Sam?” You felt the faded heat from before come surging back, much faster than before. The coil in your stomach was growing tighter and tighter, and you fought to push it back down.

“No.” Sam slapped your cheek with the hand that had been in your mouth, still wet from your saliva. “And what did you call me? Whose are you?”

“Yours, Sam! Yours, sir!” you cried loudly, gasping from the smack he’d given you, the slight sting giving you a brief high. “Only ever yours, sir!”

He grabbed your jaw in one hand forcing you to look at him, mascara and tears running down your face, just like he liked you, “You already won’t be able to sit for a week,” he growled, “and now, you won’t be able to walk either.”

Pushing your thighs up and back, he pulled his fingers from your soaked and trembling pussy, lined himself up with your slick entrance, and thrust completely into you in one motion, forcing a guttural noise from you at the impact. Sam grunted as your walls tightened around him, and without pausing to give you time to adjust, he picked up a brutal pace. Your legs tightened around his waist, hooked over his hip bones as he practically folded you in half. He groaned at the feeling of you and intertwined his fingers with yours, pinning your wrists flat to the comforter on either side of your head. He held himself up over your body as he fucked into you, supporting most of his weight on his forearms. His teeth nipped at your shoulder, as his head dropped to plant bruising kisses all over your neck and collarbone.

Loving the noises he drew from you, Sam had no intentions of slowing down anytime soon, and you were hurling towards your climax faster than ever. As your pussy tightened around him, he made a noise halfway between a moan and a growl, thrusting in as deep as he could, trusting you could take it. Soon enough, your cries of pain turned to whimpers of pleasure, nearly drowned out by the sound of skin on skin as his hips slapped repeatedly against your ass. Fresh tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, but you were helpless to do anything, except lie there and take it.

“Fuck, sir! Please— I’m about to come!” you cried. “It’s so so good— Please, can I come, sir?”

“Oh, fuck, babygirl. You’re doing so well for me. You can hold it just a bit longer, princess,” Sam moaned in your ear, holding you down still so you wouldn’t slide around from the force of his hips pistoning into you.

“I— I can’t! Please, sir!” you were sobbing again, gasping for breath. “I just need to— Please— let me, please!” You were panting now, eyes closed tight, and every word was bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Not yet, little girl,” Sam let go of your hands and pushed up off you, pulling out of you at the same time. You whined pitifully at the loss of his touch, your walls now clenching around nothing. You looked up at him and saw his brow glistening with sweat, pieces of hair clinging to his forehead. His chest rose and fell as he sucked in deep breaths. His huge hands grabbed around your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach. He yanked your hips back, pulling your ass into the air and slamming into you again, with no regard for the heat still burning in your stomach.

“Sam, I—” he cut you off with a harsh smack on your ass, and you cried out loudly.

“I know you didn’t just call me that again, princess,” Sam practically spat the words at you, his already low voice made even lower as he grabbed your arms, yanking you up against his chest. With that leverage, his thrusts slowed considerably, but it hardly mattered, because the new angle allowed him to hit the parts of you that only he could. You moaned desperately, recalling how before him, you hadn’t even known it was possible to feel that much that deep. You felt your walls clench again, and you were sure he felt you tighten around his thick length.

“Tell me,” he demanded, calmer this time, reaching down to rub circles around your clit in time with his thrusts, eliciting several much higher pitched noises from your throat. “Who fucks you so good every damn time? Who owns this pussy?” His hand moved from your shoulder to your throat, not yet squeezing your airway, but pinning you to him, and effectively cutting off any other movements you’d tried to make.

You could only moan in response. He was hitting so deep, and you couldn’t focus on anything else except his thrusts and his hands holding you against him, his hot breath panting in your ear. When you didn’t give him a sufficient answer Sam’s fingers on your sensitive clit stilled. You barely had time to register the loss before his hand came down with a smack, right where his fingers had just been. You bit back a scream, but when his hand came down on your pussy for a second time, you couldn’t help the high-pitched yelp that fell from your lips.

“Tell me whose this is! Now.” Sam’s hand on your throat tightened quickly with the last word before loosening again to allow you to speak, or as much as you could with him pounding into you relentlessly. This time you gasped and managed to speak, your voice sounding like the words had been dragged out of you.

“Yours, sir! It’s yours-- only ever yours! You own it, ruined me for anyone else! You fuck me so good, please-- Please, can I come, sir? Please, Daddy!” Your orgasm was so close now, it was becoming physically impossible to hold off, so you pleaded with him one last time. Using the nickname you knew he couldn’t resist, you let go of the last bit of your pride, completely submitting to the man behind you.

Sam made a guttural noise, as his dull teeth bit into your shoulder, and you felt him start to twitch inside you. He must’ve been painfully close, too. He raised his head, rasping, “Yes, baby. You can come, been so good for me--”

His fingers began to stroke your clit again, faster and harder, and his hand slowly tightened around your neck. You closed your eyes as you felt the overwhelming sensation begin to wash over you.

“Yes, baby-- That’s it, kitten. Come on my cock-- lemme feel you, sweet girl. So pretty, baby… Oh--” he cut himself off with a moan as your walls constricted around him, and he let go off your throat. With the sudden intake of oxygen, your orgasm hit you like a truck, and your mouth fell open as your head dropped back on his shoulder. It was a good thing Sam was still holding you up, because had you been standing or supporting your own weight, you would’ve collapsed immediately.

Once you found your voice, you screamed so loudly, you were positive the whole bunker knew how good Sam was to you. You cried out again as your pussy spasmed in waves, “Daddyyy-- Ohh, fuck! So good--”

Sam groaned deeply, his hands squeezing harshly at your tits, and as your orgasm began to fade, you felt his dick twitch violently. Seconds later, he was spilling hot ropes of cum deep inside you, and you moaned again at the feeling of him. He hugged your body tightly to his front, gasping against your neck as he rode out his high. With one last push of his cock, he collapsed, on top of you, careful as always not to crush you. He lingered there for a few seconds more before gently pulling out of you, sucking in a gasp of air as he did.

He rolled over on his back next to you, and his green eyes met your droopy ones. “How ya doin’, darling? You with me?” You whined pitifully, and he pulled you into his strong arms, holding you tightly, grounding you. “Shh, shh, shh,” he petted your hair gently as the noises from you gradually ceased.

He held you like that for a while, letting you recover a bit before murmuring, “You’re okay, princess. My good girl, did such a good job for me, baby. My perfect, precious little girl. You wanna go get cleaned up, so we can sleep, kitten?”

You whined again, burying your face tightly into his chest, not wanting to move or leave his arms, even for a second. Sam kissed the top of your head gently, pushing your hair back from your forehead and sighed, recognizing you were still pretty far under, “Oh, I knoww sweetheart. I promise we’ll be quick, and then we’ll come right back to bed. And I’ll put lotion on you, so you won’t be as sore tomorrow. Come on.”

He grunted as he got up from the bed, lifting you to his chest and carrying you to the bathroom. He set you down on the toilet, making sure you went pee, before carefully lifting you into the hot bathwater he’d just prepared. You cried out for him, hands opening and closing as you reached for him.

“It’s okay, honey,” he shushed you gently. “Daddy’s coming.” He stepped into the warm bath and settled down behind you, pulling you flush against his chest, calming you down instantly with his touch. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you all cleaned up.”

His big hands cupped the water, gently pouring it on your head, careful to avoid getting soap in your eyes as he gently washed your hair, rinsing until the bubbles disappeared. He wiped away the remnants of your makeup with a washcloth, mascara smudged with tears and glittery bits of eyeshadow. You leaned against him the whole time, feeling dazed still from your post-sex haze, and unwilling to part from him, his very touch soothing you. Tucked into his chest, eyes closed, you let Sam’s hands wash all over your body, massaging most of the tightness and soreness from your tired muscles.

Once he was finished, he pulled on the drain, letting all the soapy water start to slowly spiral away. He stepped out first onto the bath mat, grabbing several fluffy towels from the rack near the tub and drying off quickly, before taking your hand and helping you stand. You held onto his strong arms as you climbed over the tall edge of the tub. Once you were standing steadily on the bath mat, Sam wrapped the soft, warm towel around your shoulders, rubbing down your legs with another to help you dry off.

You sniffled and rubbed your eyes as Sam helped you into a bathrobe. He cupped your face in his hands, looking into your eyes, and kissing you on the forehead. Sam tugged the robe tighter around you before tying it closed. He slipped on a clean pair of boxers and took your hand, leading you back into the bedroom. He helped you climb up onto the bed and lie down.

You hissed as the fabric of the bed came in contact with your sore and tingling ass and the bruised backs of your thighs. You whimpered and rolled over quickly onto your stomach to relieve the pressure, looking up at Sam pitifully from under long eyelashes. Sam looked down at you sympathetically, stroking your hair.

“Oh, my poor sweet baby,” he fussed over you, rubbing the tips of his fingers up and down your back. “Let me go get your smell-good lotion, so I can help some of those bruises not hurt so much, okay?”

“Uh-uh,” you said, shaking your head. Sam looked at you, confused. “Your lotion, please? Smells like you,” you explained shyly, staring down down at the comforter.

Sam smiled, nodding, “Of course, baby. I’ll be right back.” He slipped into his room to find his lotion while you waited for him on the bed. He tried to move as quickly as possible, knowing you hated being without him in your current fragile state of mind. He snatched the lotion from his nightstand. It wasn’t like he was in his room often anymore; he always slept with you in your room, but he still kept most of his stuff here.

He jogged back down the hall to where you were waiting on the bed. “Okay, little love, do you wanna keep the robe on or take it off?” You began shrugging off the robe as an answer, and Sam helped you untangle yourself from it before laying it over the back of the chair near your bed. He knelt on the bed next to you and pumped some of the lotion into his hands.

“This might be a little cold, darling,” he murmured before rubbing the lotion gingerly onto the backs of your thighs. You whimpered a little because of the cold lotion and Sam’s hands moving up to soothe the skin on your ass. He looked at the bright red skin where he’d left handprints a little while ago. He winced as you did when his hands passed over it, questioning if he’d gone a little too far. He rubbed the lotion in gently until your skin felt smooth and no longer as hot as it had been before.

He looked at your face, turned towards him, resting on the comforter. Your eyes were closed peacefully, and he knew you were ready to go to sleep. He turned off all the lights, and whispered gently to you, “C’mon, honey. Let’s get you under the covers so you can get some rest, huh?”

You nodded sleepily and yawned as he lifted you up to his chest, pulled back the covers, and tucked you in, your head now resting on the pillow. You looked at him with droopy eyes and reached towards him, opening and closing your hands, wanting him to cuddle you.

He did the gesture back before walking to the other side of the bed and climbing under the blankets himself. He pulled you gently into his arms, and you let your head rest on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, allowing it to soothe you. Sam stroked your hair, kissed the top of your head, and hummed, “Was everything okay tonight, my little Valentine? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?”

You shook your head barely, exhausted, but wanting him to know how much you’d enjoyed it, “Nuh-uh, it was perfect, Sam. You’re always perfect.”

“I don’t know about always perfect,” he chuckled softly, hugging you tightly to him. “But I do love you, princess.”

“I love you, too,” you sighed happily, nuzzling your cheek against him.

He kissed your head once more, “Go to sleep, lovey. Got lots of time together to catch up on tomorrow, hmm?”

You didn’t answer. Your breath had deepened and steadied as you slipped off into sleep. Sam smiled to himself at how peaceful you looked. Yeah, no more separate hunts for a while, he thought, before he too drifted into a dreamless sleep.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! if you made it this far, you literally have my heart. please consider leaving me a comment or a reblog :))

Forever Tags: @downanddirtydean @klinenovakwinchester @deanwanddamons

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screechthemighty · 3 years

Text

Resident Evil Brain is still going brrrr, so here’s a new short fic! I actually came up with the idea for it ages ago, but finishing up everything stays gave me some breathing room to finish it off. You can read the full story below, but I’ll also post it to AO3 (same user name as here) and include a link to that in the reblogs!

If it were up to him, he wouldn’t have slept. He would have powered through, gone after the next Lord. Stopping to eat was one thing; stopping to sleep felt wrong. Almost like he was giving up, or wasting valuable time that could be the difference between life and death for his daughter.

But Ethan had nearly tripped while catching a chicken to eat, and deep down he knew he'd just get himself killed if he didn't rest at least a little. He wasn't expecting that somewhere to be the back of the Duke's wagon, but the man had offered, and Ethan was too tired to complain. He kept the two flasks he'd managed to gather close to his chest as he curled up in his corner. "It's gonna be okay," Ethan whispered. He wasn't sure if Rose could hear him; the Duke had said her essence was intact, whatever the hell that meant, so maybe. It couldn't hurt to try. "I'm coming for you, honey. I promise."

He just needed enough of a nap that his limbs would stop feeling so heavy. Ethan's eyes drifted shut. He thought between the stinging pain in his hand and the memories of that awful house with all the dolls, sleep wouldn't come easy, but he dozed off pretty quickly.

He woke up to a feeling of dread seizing his body.

At first, he thought he’d had a nightmare, but...no, it was deeper than that. Maybe it was his paranoia, but something wasn’t right. Ethan carefully moved off the cot and crept towards the front of the cart. He could just see the Duke’s shoulder, and past it...

Black robes, the flutter of feathers, no, no, she couldn’t be here, not now.

The other man glanced over his shoulder, pressing a single finger to his lips. That was the only thing that kept Ethan from panicking. He thought about making a run for Rose, but that would mean making noise. It was a miracle that Miranda hadn’t heard him move the first time.

How hadn’t she noticed them? The Duke wasn’t exactly subtle. Ethan kept bracing himself for her to turn her head, try to talk to the Duke, maybe even try to hurt him. She did look their way at one point, causing Ethan to duck back behind cover, teeth clenched, trying to steady his breathing. But when he looked again, she just moved on. As if there were nothing out of the ordinary about the Duke being there.

No. As if she hadn’t seen them at all.

Ethan stayed frozen in place until Miranda was out of sight. Even then, he kept his voice down to a whisper: “Is she...?”

“She won’t be a problem,” said the Duke. Ethan was taken aback by the other man’s tone—not quite aggressive, but definitely hostile. “Not for now, at least.” And then, just as swiftly... “It’s good that you’re awake! I’ve just finished preparing lunch.”

That tone was gone.

The smell of food was the only thing that got Ethan to leave the cart; even then, he made sure everything was packed away and secure before he did. He wanted to be ready if he had to run. The Duke didn’t seem worried, though. He just served up the dish (Ethan had already forgotten what it was called, but fuck it smelled good) and started eating his own portion as if nothing were wrong. As if he hadn’t just had the one and only major change in his mood that Ethan had seen in the time they’d known each other. It wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but when the guy had been so consistent up until then, it was noteworthy. Weird, even.

Why are you doing all of this?

Why, it’s all part of our first class customer service.

Or maybe it was personal.

Ethan sneaked a few glances at the Duke as he ate. The man seemed genuinely unbothered, but maybe he was just good at hiding whatever that venom had been. “How didn’t she see us?” Ethan asked. It felt almost rude to ask, but if he was throwing in his lot with this guy, he felt like he had a right to know. “She wasn’t too far away.”

“I’ve been in this village longer than she has,” said the Duke. “It seems to agree with me more than it does her.” He noticed Ethan’s immediate frown. “What’s the longest you’ve ever lived somewhere, Ethan?”

“The same...place? I mean, I was in Dallas for a while. Not the same house the whole time, but...probably Dallas?”

“Well, after a while, wouldn’t you say that you get a feeling for a place’s...essence? How it moves, how it breathes? You could navigate it more quickly than a person who hadn’t been there as long, could you not? Stay hidden in places and ways they wouldn’t know about?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “...we’re right out in the open, there’s nothing...” Ethan sighed. “You know what, never mind. This is sounding like a conversation I should be drunk for.”

The Duke laughed. It didn’t sound mocking, at least. “Well, if you find anything left to drink in this place, bring it back with you. We can split the bottle.”

“Maybe. Once this is over.” And as long as it wasn’t from Dimitrescu’s winery. That stuff definitely wasn’t just fermented grapes.

Ethan kept eating, trying to focus on the food and not on the questions still nagging at his mind. Nothing about this place made sense, and the Duke was high up there on that list. Even if Ethan was choosing to trust him for now...

No, I have to knw.

“So...you know Miranda? Maybe not personally, but...” Ethan glanced up at the Duke, carefully studying his nearly unreadable face. “...I take it you don’t like her very much?”

The Duke hesitated. Even though his face stayed impassive, that alone was enough to catch Ethan’s attention. He wasn’t usually so slow to answer. “I am not one of her devotees, no,” the Duke said. “Which means I can clearly see she is the root of much suffering in this place.”

“The Lords? All those monsters?”

“In more ways than you realize. They were people once, you know. They might be monstrous now, but they are monsters of her making.”

Ethan understood what the Duke meant. He thought about the Bakers. The madman that had cut off his leg versus the man with kind eyes who’d begged him to save his family. The shrieking banshee with her bugs versus a woman who could’ve been his own grandmother. He wasn’t sure if Eveline had ever been anything but cruel, but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have existed if it hadn’t been for someone else’s greed. Even the molded had been people once. Ethan didn’t regret defending himself and Mia, never would, and he’d keep defending himself here as long as these people kept screwing with him. But...

How different might things had been if someone somewhere down the line just hadn’t screwed with everyone? Just left the Lords, whoever they had been once, and the villagers in peace?

“Yeah,” Ethan said quietly. He took his last few bites of the food. “Fuck that crazy bitch, huh?”

The Duke laughed boisterously. "I'll certainly eat to that."

Ethan didn't entirely relax. He wasn't sure he was capable of that. But he was able to relax a little. Even if he didn't know how, it seemed like the Duke's little setup was a safe place.

There weren't too many of those in this place.

---

Knowing what to say and when best to say it was one of the most important parts of customer service. It was the only thing that kept the Duke from saying more to Ethan Winters. The poor man had enough on his plate, much he had to grapple with, most of it beyond the scope of his understanding. Further truth might not break him, but it would cause him unnecessary stress.

There was much the Duke would have told him if it weren’t for that concern. What centuries felt like. How this little village had changed, people coming and going, living and dying. How many had tried to seize the power the mountains held. None had truly succeeded before Miranda, the self-proclaimed mother of this place.

The Duke may have long forgotten the face of his own mother, but he remembered enough to know what maternal love felt like. Whatever Miranda had to offer was not that love. Just a twisted perversion of it, as the Lords were twisted perversions of children. She was an infection in these lands, but unfortunately, one he could do nothing about. The Duke had a great many tricks up his sleeve, but he was only a seller of arms. He had never learned to use them himself. He had always been keen to supply those who might oppose Miranda, but none had succeeded yet.

Out of all of them, he felt that Ethan Winters had the best chance of succeeding.

It wasn’t just the man’s biology, though that was clearly giving him an edge. It was something else: the spark the Duke had in his eyes from the first second they met. Determination. Rage. The kind of drive that couldn’t be found in any mold or virus in the world.

And what better to defeat a perversion of parental love than its true counterpart?

Ethan kept his bag clutched close to his chest as he ate, the bag that contained two parts of his daughter. The Duke had heard him whispering to the flasks before he fell asleep, trying to soothe and reassure the child. Even now, as he paused in eating, Ethan hummed quietly. A jaunty tune, one that the Duke didn’t recognize. “A favorite song of hers?” he asked.

Ethan glanced up. “Oh, uh. Yeah. ‘Doctor Worm.’ Never too early to get started on good music.” He held the bag a little closer before finishing off his meal. “Thanks. For the food. And for...” He gestured. “Whatever it was you did back there. If you did anything.”

His tone cemented the Duke’s decision to keep some things from Ethan. He sounded exasperated by even a simple cloaking technique. The Duke’s true age would only elicit a similar response.

Maybe if Ethan survived this, when he had less on his mind, the Duke could tell him everything. His full, dark history with Miranda. The full scope of the horrors he’d seen. The horrors that Ethan would have put a stop to. But for now, the Duke took Ethan’s plate with a smile. “Do keep an eye out for more meat as you go,” he said. “It would be an honor to have dinner with you.”

“Yeah,” Ethan said in a quiet huff. “Assuming I make it that long.”

That was always a risk, of course. That Ethan wouldn’t make it. But despite knowing that...

“After what you’ve done, Mr. Winters? I think you’re more than equipped to handle what’s to come.”

And he meant that. He truly did. Even if it was to be the death of Ethan Winters...the Duke had a feeling it would be the death of Mother Miranda as well.

He just hoped he would be able to explain exactly how truly important that was.

#resident evil #resident evil village #the duke #resident evil the duke #ethan winters #just two special boys having a grand old time in the village

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uwuwriting · 3 years

Text

TW: Shibuya arc SPOILERS *and my very mediocre writing that’s deteriorating as days pass*

“You’re late.” Chattering and giggles filled the air as hundreds of people poured in and out of the train station, all dressed in their costumes for the holiday awaiting them. Your foot tapped on the tiles as you stared at your husband who was strolling up to you with a sheepish smile on his lips and before you knew it he was dipping down for a kiss, lips softly connecting with yours in a form of an apology.

“Eight minutes princess, it’s my charm.” He smiled at you again, linking his pinky with yours as he led you deeper underground, cursed energy becoming thicker the further you descended. Intertwining your fingers you gave them a firm squeeze, grounding yourself more than anything else. Of course, he squeezed back tugging at your hand to bring you closer, keeping you glued to his side, head remaining locked on the path in front of him. You could feel his nervousness. He would never show it -and god forbid he ever admitted it- but it was there lingering in the back of his mind. Thoughts of leading you into a situation in which he couldn’t fully protect you, putting you in danger or even worse getting you injured. He couldn’t care less about himself, the only thing occupying his mind while fighting was always you. His palms were getting sweaty and he feared that you could feel it. Maybe he should let go before you make a comment about it. But try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself; he didn’t want to anyways. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Mindlessly nodding your head, you held on even tighter, almost cutting his blood circulation. The air had become heavy, almost suffocating, as you stepped into the platform, swarms of people occupying the platform, patiently waiting for the train to arrive. Nothing seemed amiss. The huge amounts of cursed energy said otherwise. Scanning the room, your eyes bounced from head to head until they landed on a mop of sky blue hair followed by a pair of mismatched orbs. Mahito was a pain in the ass. His presence meant trouble and lots of it. When patchface smirked at you all hell broke loose.

Another pair of special grade curses appeared ganging up on Satoru as you were completely ignored, the volcano head that had attacked him a while back going all out on him as revenge for its decapitation. There wasn’t enough space for Satoru to move around freely, screams and yelps coming from the crowd as they watched everything unravel in utter horror, their legs rooted to the floor. Leaping into action you took it upon yourself to distract Mahito who was having a blast disfiguring poor bystanders in an attempt to get Gojo to surrender. The curse mocked you, belittled your abilities as it dodged your attacks, your anger surging with every innocent soul lost to its cursed technique. You could hear Gojo fighting behind you, the other two special grades spewing nonsense at him while blasting out enormous amounts of cursed energy. He evaded every single one, maneuvering his body this way and that making the curses completely miss their target and before you knew it, one of them was exorcised. You watched in triumph as the plant curse crumbled to the floor, eyes locking with Satoru’s in a silent ‘are you okay’ only for a cheeky grin to be shot your way. Rolling your eyes you went back to attacking Mahito, landing a handful of blows before Gojo’s voice boomed through the station.

“Y/N. Behind me. Now!” Asking no questions, you rushed to him, his fingers circling your wrist as he activated his domain, exorcising every minor curse in the span of a few milliseconds, his eyes frantic, an expression you had only seen once before on his face. Gojo Satoru was livid. Making your way through the frozen crowd you noticed him stopping dead in his tracks looking at something on the ground.

“Prison Realm Open.” And from the shadows emerged a face you thought you would never see in person again. His robes swished as he moved, saluting Satoru before turning towards you flashing his infamous grin. You both could only stare in awe as your dead friend from all those years ago paraded through the crowd, the words leaving his lips falling on deaf ears, your breaths coming out shallow. Dark liquid wrapped around Gojo, forcing him to stay still, his arms glued to his sides and despite his efforts, he couldn’t break free. He let Geto - or the thing that looked like him- blabber away, eyes frantic in search of yours the only thought prevalent in his mind being you and your safety.

Finally catching your attention, he begged you to go, leave, get somewhere safe, somewhere away from here. When you simply shook your head he mouthed the words which soon turned to whispers, ‘go’ dripping from his lips like a mantra but you didn’t budge, slowly moving towards him in an attempt to get him free.

“Y/N-chan I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Getou turned to you then, a sick grin spreading across his face when his eyes landed on the matching rings on your fingers. He let out a chuckle before looking back at Gojo. “Time’s up lover boy.”

Gojo’s last word was ripped from his throat. He wanted to say more. Remind you of his love but he could only scream for you to go before he was sucked into the cursed cube, the tears running down your cheeks being the last thing he saw.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @threeamwriting @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses @wolfkid22 @reinyrei @dnarez @axerrri @storage11037 @ysatrap @angel6786 @aliteama @yashinosakura @ezoyscorner @letscheereachotheron

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fatgum-sugarplum · 3 years

Text

honey make this easy

For @natsuonii and @viixens Creature Feature Collab!

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Violence mention, death mention, murder mention, blood mention, choking, light condescension, bittersweet ending, smut

It was his eyes. Those dark eyes that held you in your sleep, following you through nightmare and dream alike, those dark eyes that belonged to a dead man.

“We killed you. You’re dead.” The words were barely a whisper in the dim light of the room. They trembled like your limbs.

“It didn’t take.”

18+ Only Minors DNI

It had been quite awhile since that fateful night, the night you’d chosen exactly whose side you were on. No going back from what you’d done. Nights like this it kept you awake, the images running through your mind like some movie you’d seen one too many times. You always revisited it somehow. You shouldn’t feel guilty for it, not with everything that’s come after, not with the lows you’d sunk to since, but somehow…

It was his eyes. They were dark enough to fall into and drown and if things had been different you could see yourself doing exactly that over and over again. Instead he was six feet under and you were absolutely the one who put him there whether you pulled the trigger yourself or not. You’d thrown your lot in with your current employer and hardly looked back. Everyone after him had been a breeze, some of them you even sent under entirely on your own. Their eyes didn’t haunt you, their voice a ghost in your ears. They didn’t make you wish you’d been different, not like he did.

Tonight it should have been something else keeping you awake. Bodies had been piling up, bodies of people you knew and worked with. Eviscerated brutally, but according to the whispers that was never the cause of death. No matter the cuts and lacerations, every last one had the telltale angry purple markings across their neck of strangulation. To hear your partner say it, it looked like a hell of a painful way to go. It should be thoughts of them coming for you next. Instead it was that long ago night that you just couldn’t seem to get away from.

A sound somewhere in the quiet of your apartment caught your attention. It was mundane enough, a sort of rustling sound that easily could have been the curtains or your cat, but some deep instinct inside of you awoke that said it was anything but the usual. Your hair stood on edge and all you could think of was danger. You sat up in bed staying stock still as you strained your ears to hear anything else. A heavy silence was all that hung, somehow a physical weight on your chest and shoulders, threatening to choke you with its presence. Something was wrong. Something was here. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the sensation made you feel distinctly prey-like.

Slowly you put your feet to the floor and started your way out of your bedroom, groping blindly for the first thing you could grab for a weapon as you kept your eyes up, scanning the room. You froze in your motions when your eyes finally landed on a figure in the corner of the room next to the now open window. It was tall, masculine as best you could tell in the darkness, wearing all black. Despite everything about your occupation as the right hand to a villain, dangerous in your own right, you found yourself shaking. You opened your mouth to ask him who he was when he moved, sliding the window closed and reaching next to him to flick on the light.

It was his eyes. Those dark eyes that held you in your sleep, following you through nightmare and dream alike, those dark eyes that belonged to a dead man.

“We killed you. You’re dead.” The words were barely a whisper in the dim light of the room. They trembled like your limbs.

“It didn’t take.” The voice was gruff, low. You remembered it well.

“Why are you here? How did you even find me?” You paused, a cold realization hitting you. The bodies. Quieter this time, “Are you going to kill me?”

He didn’t answer, moving from his place near the window to your couch where he lounged far too casually. He didn’t regard you fully, instead glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Clearly he wasn’t concerned about you attempting to fight him. “Where’s your boss?”

“Are you going to kill me?” You asked again, moving slightly closer to him on shaking legs.

“Are you going to answer?”

You swallowed. Did you want to live? Absolutely. Betraying your boss would kill you just as quickly as he would, though maybe less painfully. Maybe. He just as easily could torture you for hours for your insurrection, make you die begging and pleading for forgiveness because there’d be no point in begging for your life. But maybe…

“I find it hard to believe that none of us answered.” Your voice had more of its steel back now.

He sighed and ran a hand through a mess of black hair. For some reason the only thing you could think of was how soft it looked. How it might feel between your own fingers. You shook the thought away before it could take root any further. “Think so little of your colleagues?” The question had no actual interest in it.

“I just don’t think many of us are so blindly loyal that we’d rather die than turn in our employer. We can find other work.”

“Are you?”

“I’m deciding.” You moved to your arm chair across from the couch, closer than he seemed to expect by the raised eyebrow and quiet interest in your form.

“What is he to you?”

“Money.”

“You’d kill a stranger for money.”

“I didn’t kill you.”

“Funny how you thought I meant me.” He sat up then, leaning in. You noted how he seemed almost weary. Was it some sort of trick to make you feel more at ease before the kill? Or was it an unintentional slip of a mask? Maybe he just didn’t care what you saw. You didn’t care to question it much further.

“So what are you then?” You leaned back in the chair. “We buried you.”

“Like I said, it didn’t take.” He chuckled, the noise sending a heat through your limbs you didn’t expect. He spread his arms in a mock showmanship and in an exaggerated and exhausted tone, “I’ve returned for my vengeance.”

You snorted. “Been working your way up the chain? Half of these people weren’t even working with us when…” you swallowed.

“When your boss put a bullet between my eyes? I know. It’s the message that counts, I think,” He frowned. Definitely a slip.

“Do you...know what you’re doing?” You ventured.

“Most of the time.”

“He’s either at the base or his apartment.”

“Good girl.” He rumbled. That sent a shiver down your spine, the heat in your core growing worse. God, he had to know, didn’t he? He stood, patting your head twice before starting for the window again.

“Wait.” You didn’t turn but heard his footsteps stop. “What are you going to do?”

“I thought a smart thing like you would know.”

“I was there. Why only kill him?” Maybe it wasn’t the best question to ask a man who’d already murdered several of your colleagues, but thinking before you spoke was never your strong suit. You felt more than heard him turn to regard you, and then he was at your back, a hand on the chair as he leaned into your ear.

“It’s all purpose, drive. I want to sink a knife into him and let him see just how it feels. You…” he paused and you could swear you heard him growl, “I think I’ll sink something else into you.” And then he was gone.

The next two hours passed at a snail’s pace. You couldn’t get back to the comfort of your bed and so opted for returning to the armchair you’d previously been in, curling up as you turned on the television for background noise. You thumbed your phone and swallowed down a nervous lump. What did you just do? What if word got out, what if they all knew you’d done it? You could skip town. You’d done it before, you could do it again. Disappear, become a ghost--

No. No, no one would know. You had to believe that. No one would know, and this...man? Monster? Your own ghost? You knew his name, saw it in the news, why was it so damn hard to just think of him with his name. He--Aizawa--wouldn’t come back and you’d be left alone to follow the new boss or pack up and find your own. Hell, maybe it was all a dream. Dead men don’t walk.

But you wanted him to come back, didn’t you? Wanted to hear that growl in your ear again, the strangely alluring danger of his presence. Wanted to know what the strength he possessed that led so many of your colleagues to the grave could do when pinning you to your bed. They weren’t useful thoughts but god were they not going away any time soon.

Your eyes snapped to the window as a soft click reached your ears and broke through your thoughts. Sure enough there was the form you’d been half hoping and half dreading to see once more, crawling through with a predator’s ease. It set goosebumps dancing across your skin, a soft warmth radiating from your abdomen through the rest of your body. Your eyes met his and for a brief moment you imagined him a secret lover sneaking through your window at night against both of your better judgement. The metallic scent of blood threw you out of that fantasy fast enough, grounded you to the reality of the situation. He maybe hadn’t been before--no, he certainly hadn’t been before--but he was a killer now. A killer who had dispatched most of the crew you ran with. Could you have been so stupid as to believe he wasn’t viewing you as a loose end? So daft as to think the words he’d left you with earlier weren’t malice?

“You’re still here.” His deep voice broke the silence between you. You swallowed.

“Was I not supposed to be?”

“The smart thing would have been to run.” He crossed to you, slow and deliberate, “After all, what can I do to you? You must have thought it over, you’re an intelligent girl.” If anyone else had dared to call you a girl of all things you’d have put a bullet between their eyes. As it stood, hearing it rumble from his chest had you clenching around nothing.

“Maybe I wanted to see what you meant by ‘something else.’” You mused, swallowing down any fear. He chuckled at that, leaning in as he placed a hand on the back of the chair above you. He dwarfed you in this position. The smell of blood was stronger now with him so close, but you couldn’t make out any of it on him. It was almost as though he was the scent. Like the deed he’d just done marked him somehow. It thrilled you more than it should have.

He brought his face close to yours so his breath ghosted across your lips as he spoke, “You know, for a woman who stood by while her boss murdered me...you’re awful compelling.”

“Compelling?” The question was far quieter and breathier than you meant for it to be. Your heart pounded against your ribcage, so loud you could swear he could hear it. His soft chuff of amusement didn’t help with that notion.

He ran the back of his free hand slowly down your cheek, along your jaw, down your neck. His eyes never left yours, watching for every minute reaction. You were giving him a damn feast, your pupils dilated, your lips trembling, short, soft breaths leaving your slightly parted mouth. He wanted to eat you up, take everything you’d give him and then some, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to savor this last meal.

Aizawa had felt himself slipping the minute your boss’s body had crumpled to the floor in front of him. He didn’t question why the force that had pulled him from the grave decided you weren’t on his revenge list. He was more than happy to leave you alive, more than happy to use his last night on this earth absolutely ravaging your body. He’d left that place without his customary clean up, quite aware that even if there was evidence left behind it wouldn’t matter to him come morning. Besides, he had a different kind of prey to get back to.

Now here you were, trembling beneath him, so beautifully conflicted between if you should run or if you should give in. As his hand ghosted across the skin of your neck he turned it suddenly, pressing down ever so slightly. Your breath hitched as you involuntarily arched it into his grasp, a silent plea for more. A beat. Your eyes locked together. A beat.

All at once the tension snapped as his lips came crashing down on yours with a growl that was absolutely feral. You moaned into the kiss, hands coming up to tangle in that soft hair as you roughly tugged. He groaned in kind, pressing down harder against your neck, just enough to cut off your airway. The deprivation was absolutely delicious. His heated kisses started to trail along your jaw, mixed with rough nips and licks. You angled your body in an attempt to press it up against his and he chuckled.

“What a needy little mouse…” He let go of your neck and listened to you take that instinctive gasp of breath to fill your lungs once again. He replaced his fingers with his mouth, biting down hard. You whined, tugging hard at his hair again which earned you a growl in turn. Fuck you needed him in you.

“P-please…”

“Please what, little mouse?”

“Need more, please!” You whimpered out, squirming in that chair. He watched you with such a fierce hunger in his eyes you were certain you’d die on the spot.

“More what, little mouse? Be specific for me.”

God damnit. You squirmed more, movements desperate. “Need you against me, please...want you in me…” Some part of you registered that you were supposed to have more dignity than this. Maybe it was the danger or the regret or some fucked up mix of the two but he was making you absolutely dizzy with want in a way no one else had before.

“There we go. Was that so hard?” He practically purred into your ear just before yanking you up against his frame. You remembered how strong he’d been before, how difficult putting him down had been for you and your boss, but god it was like it had been enhanced tenfold. You pushed against him, hands feeling along the corded muscles beneath his clothes as he kissed you, walking you backwards toward your bedroom.

You managed somehow to not stumble, falling back the second you felt your legs hit your bed. You scrambled back up to the pillows, keeping your eyes on him the entire time as he followed you on hands and knees. He reminded you of a panther stalking its prey, gorgeous and so very lethal. You shivered, biting your lip at the thought. He brought his lips to yours again, tongue finding its way into your eager open mouth to taste you.

You started at his shirt, tugging it up as far as you could without his help. He broke the kiss long enough to tug it over his head and throw it to the side before diving back in, holding you close against him as your hands traveled along his bare skin. It didn’t take long for him to treat you in kind, hands fisting in the material of your flimsy tank top and wrenching it violently. The sound of ripping fabric sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You could get a new top later, right now all you cared about was getting the rest of these damn clothes out of the way.

You pushed your shorts and panties down your legs, impatiently kicking them off the second you could. He watched you, not bothering with his own further than moving them down enough to pull his hard cock out. You licked your lips as your eyes flicked between his face and that damn beautiful cock. You spread your legs for him and he smirked.

“Beg.”

You groaned, pressing your head back against the pillows. “I already did!”

“I could just go. Leave you soaked and wanting, poor little mouse. You and I both know your toys just won’t make you cum like I can.” The wicked, lopsided grin on his face made you want to punch him. You whined loudly.

“Please fuck me, Shota...” You squirmed your hips a little, giving him your best doe eyes, praying it would make him merciful, “Please...want you to make me cummm…”

He leaned in then, caging you in beneath him as he nipped your earlobe, “Aw, you do know my name, little mouse.” He pushed in then, using your slick to hilt himself entirely inside your warm cunt. You let out a ragged gasp, hands flying up to grip his back, digging your nails in. He groaned, resting his head against your shoulder for a brief moment, “Fuck you’re tight.”

He started moving in earnest then, hips snapping against yours as he drove his cock into your already sensitive hole over and over again. Little cries and curses left your mouth as he fucked you. God this was perfect, he was perfect. It felt like you were made just for him to break. If things had been different, maybe you could have had this every single night. The part of your mind that still clung to solid ground felt the pang of guilt. You pulled him down into a rough kiss, letting him swallow up your noises.

He gripped both your hands, holding them down against the mattress as he pushed up to get a better look at you, gaze ravenous as he took in your bouncing tits, the sweat sheening against your skin. They traveled to where his cock drove into your tight cunt, watching as he abused your soaking wet hole. Through gritted teeth, “Fuck baby you were made to take my cock.”

You whined again, tightening around his thick length at his words. The heat in your core grew worse, a coil threatening to snap if wound too tight, and damn was he doing his best to do just that. You panted out between moans, listening to the groans and growls he let out above you, no thought at all for how loud either of you were being. Fuck the neighbors, they could listen in and wish they were getting fucked this good.

“F-Fuck Sh..Sho gonna...gonna cummm~!” You managed, words clumsy on your tongue. He groaned, low and deep, fucking you harder into the mattress. You nearly screamed then, the pleasure too much to handle for your sensitive body.

“That’s it, little mouse, cum on my dick..” He groaned out, a primal growl in his voice. You moaned loud, reaching up to grapple at his back as he let you out of his grasp to once again cage you beneath him, picking up the pace as his own thrusts became erratic. You dug angry red lines down his back as you came undone around him, that coil snapping inside you as you screamed out your pleasure. The deep groan in your ear as he pumped your abused cunt full of his cum had you tightening around him, milking his cock for all he was worth.

You weren’t sure how long you two stayed like that. All notion of the passage of time was alien to you, the only thing keeping you grounded his hot skin against your own. The heat was almost suffocating. With it all still that scent of blood that you were certain now was just him. Slowly he pulled his cock from your dripping cunt, chuckling when you gasped in response.

“Doing okay there, little mouse?”

You snorted once you had your bearings, “Quiet.”

“Never.” He placed a kiss to your cheek, far more affectionate than you expected for the situation, before rolling off of you onto his back. He draped an arm across his sweat slicked forehead and looked to you with tired eyes.

“Planning on staying then?” You questioned. You didn’t understand the anxiety that twisted in your gut in the split second it took for him to respond.

“I’ve had a long night.”

“You have.”

“Let’s play pretend then. You let me hold you tonight.”

“And pretend you won’t kill me in the middle of the night?”

“And pretend I’m not the man you murdered.” He responded. There was an ice to the words that had your gut twisting again. You didn’t reply, just slotted your body against his, placing a hand on his chest that felt so cold to you now. You rested your head against his shoulder as he wound his free arm around you, pulling you in close. You waited a few beats, the only sound in the room your ragged breathing. Why it struck you as odd took a few moments. Normally at this angle you’d have heard your partner for the night’s heartbeat hammering against his chest, but Aizawa’s own body was so silent.

“Your heart--”

“Don’t.”

“Right.” You swallowed. He may be walking around and, at least, semi-functioning, but he was still dead. You still did that. “In the morning…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be here.”

“Right.” You fell silent then, a deep guilt and anxiety taking over the post-orgasm glow. You didn’t want him gone in the morning. You wanted to fix what you’d done, you wanted to have him here, to give him a proper apology.

He let out a soft sigh. He expended more energy than he expected and already he could feel himself slipping away. You didn’t need to see it, should be asleep when he finally faded away. It was a few minutes before he spoke again. “Good night, little mouse.” Your soft breathing was his only response in the dark. Good, at least he tired you out properly. He pushed himself up slightly, looking down at your face. There was a troubled look on that sleeping face, one that some odd part of him wanted to soothe away.

These feelings were confusing, too much for him to unpack in the short time he had left. At least they weren’t something he had to unpack, really. Just something he had to “live” moment to moment with. He placed a soft kiss on your temple, carefully untangled himself from you, and started for the door to your room when he paused. He reached down, scooped his shirt up from the floor, and left, draping it across the chair in your living room.

In the morning you wandered bleary eyed from your cold bed to the soft light of the living room. The window was partially opened. You frowned, crossing to it to close it when your bare foot stepped into a soft pile of...something. You looked down, squinting. Ash. Next to the window was a small pile of ash. Your eyes scanned the room then, landing on the black shirt laying across the back of your chair and you knew.

Gone. He was gone. Mission complete, nothing tethering him to the world anymore. You pulled that shirt to your chest, cradling it against your heart. Your heart felt cold, that guilt writhing in you as you swallowed hard. You didn’t deserve what this meant, but you’d take it anyway. Forgiveness.

#shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #eraserhead #eraserhead x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #eraserhead imagine #gonna make this a nice banner tomorrow but for tonight I must sleep

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caker-baker · 3 years

Note

Hi!! I hope your having a wonderful day or night! I was wondering if you could do another part to the speedster and telepath? No worries if you can’t!

Tracking a hero who theoretically ran faster than a bullet was proving difficult, especially when there was no longer a customized mental hold on said hero.

The villain didn’t give up, though, and they wouldn’t now, but their attention was being pulled away.

Normally, the villain would have put aside any crimes to find their hero, but this was also a matter of pride. Their intel told of some new villain, someone in their city, their terf.

They were ready, their mind warded to the brim if the other villain happened to be a telepath, and most other defenses didn’t stand against the villain’s mental strength.

Except super speed, apparently. They thought bitterly.

The villain wasn’t proud of their little tantrum a few months ago, but it gave them some perspective - how much they need the hero.

They had a contingency plan now, albeit a somewhat weak one. The villain had never been outsmarted like that before, even if it wasn’t so much about outsmarting, and more of the villain’s cuff going faulty.

Then the hero phasing through the cuff.

And predicting the villain’s moves.

And managing to avoid the villain’s mental grasp.

Maybe the hero was a tad more quick than the villain gave them credit for, quick in more ways than one.

With rolled up sleeves and an outfit they didn’t mind dirtying, the villain entered the supposed base of operations for this other villain, some run-of-the-mill dilapidated factory building, just outside the city.

It was a well educated guess, their intel could be wrong, but it looked too calm, something similar to when the villain just started.

“Hello.” The villain drawled in a mocking tone. “Surely you knew I was coming, wherever you are.”

The darkness wasn’t an issue, the villain could just extend a mental reach, what was an issue was the lack of thought to take hold of. There was just nothing.

“Hm.” The villain was resigned, and already back to focusing on the hero.

That’s when it hit them, this - this nothing felt a lot like something else.

“Hero?” The villain asked.

The answer was clear when the villain was knocked onto their back by a seemingly invisible force.

“Of course. You made it away from me once with knowledge of my telepathy, so why wouldn’t they send you back?” The villain stood and dusted themselves off. “Was the intel wrong as well? No new villains I need to take care of?”

All the questions were rhetorical, they both knew that, just like they both knew they were only building up to the inevitable.

The hero stopped. “You’ve...you’ve been quiet.”

Immediately the villain knew something was wrong, but they could play around this for as long as necessary.

“Yes, my plans have been otherwise put on hold until a certain pet finds it’s way back home.”

The two began a slow circle around each other.

“Why,” the hero staggered to the side, the villain raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just freeze me then?”

“Something’s different about you.” The villain acknowledged, almost sing-song “Since you’ve so kindly locked me out of that pretty head, I’ll have to figure it out the old fashioned way.”

With that, the hero zipped around, the villain very narrowly dodging their attacks. Once or twice, the hero would stumble again, slowing them down.

After another trip, the villain figured out the hero’s pattern: left to right, side to side. Knowing that, it was easy for the villain to shoot out their hand and snag the hero back by their collar.

They figured if the hero could phase through objects touching them, phasing through the villain would be no problem, hence grabbing the hero’s collar. The hero could always, however, phase through their own uniform, but the villain doubted they would want to be shirtless.

“Are you really so,” the hero stopped and panted, as strange as that was. “So hurt?” The words were supposed to be mocking, but the hero’s tiredness made it less so.

“Hurt? No, pet. This is all a matter of pride.” The villain didn’t hesitate, not wanting to give the hero a chance to run.

With their free hand, the villain placed their fingers on the hero’s temple, and plunged.

The villain could still vaguely sense what was happening in the outside world, but the hero’s mind was much more occupying.

It was chaotic.

The villain could feel any and all of the hero’s piece of mind torn to shreds, not gone, but broken. Then there were the surface level thoughts: Stop it. Get out of my head. You aren’t supposed to know how.

The villain went deeper.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts.

Memories began to bubble up, memories the hero very much wanted to stay hidden.

“It’ll be ok,” a whitecoat promised. “It’s just so they can’t control you.”

The villain felt the hero’s pain as something sharp and quick took them over, felt the hero’s mind synch up with something not their own, felt barriers upon barriers, layers of pressure too heavy for one head.

Almost as if someone dragged them out, the villain was forced out of the now angry teared hero’s mind.

“Hero,” the villain spoke low and soft. “I want to help you, but I need you copoorate”

“No. No.” The hero tried to pull away, but the villain held fast.

“They tried to make your mind as fast as the rest of you, so fast I couldn’t touch it.” The villain snapped. “They did it poorly. It will kill you unless I find a way to undo that. Let me find a way to undo that.”

The hero wasn’t as frantic anymore, but their face was still red and tired, the occasional tear slipping down their cheek.

“I’m not going back with you, I don’t want to be under anyone’s control.”

The villain buckled after a swift kick to their shins, the hero released from their grasp.

“You-” they growled. “Stay still.”

“Screw you.” The hero said from somewhere in the building, too fast for the villain to tell.

“Was I really that bad to you?” Asked the villain, eyes searching frantically for a stumbling hero. “It doesn’t have to be compulsion, pet, it doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be, just come back with me, let me fix whatever happened.” Contingency plan be damned.

The hero tripped over their own feet, tired and sweating.

“How often do you tire like that?” The villain asked, slowly walking to the hero. “You know it’s not normal, I know it’s not normal, so why pretend it is?”

This time around, the hero was predicatable, and before they could move, the villain tackled, pinning the hero on the ground.

With one hand on the hero’s head, the villain mustered all the command they could.

“Sleep.”

And the hero did, suddenly out like a light.

Truth be told, it probably wouldn’t take that much to put the hero to sleep, they were already exhausted.

“I promise, pet, I’m not trying to hurt you.” The villain whispered, before taking the plunge again.

They didn’t know if it would hurt the hero, going through their unconscious mind. This was something they had only done twice, both times were out of necessity, somewhat like this now.

There was the whitecoat again, whispering soothing words to the hero as something took root in the base of their neck.

Go back. The others urged the hero. You know how to finally beat villain.

The villain felt the hero’s humming head, the heaviness sinking in deeper. Wide eyed, the villain left the hero’s mind to flip them onto their stomach.

It was hardly noticeable at first, but the villain was good with gadgets, good at knowing what to look for.

The chip at the base of the hero’s neck was killing them slowly as it worked. Rewriting a prefrontal cortex through the spinal cord was horribly stupid, and something even the villain couldn’t do.

The villain needed total silence and a cleanlier place of work if they were going to detach the chip from the hero’s spine. And that’s just what they would get.

Every so often while working on the hero, the villain seriously questioned who the good guys were.

They didn’t delude themselves into thinking they were a good person, the villain knew they weren’t, but they wouldn’t try and rewrite someone on a mental level like this.

What the villain did was gentle, what the other heroes did was sloppy. The villain just urged the hero to stay, they didn’t try and force them to change completely.

It wasn’t right to do that to a fellow hero.

When the hero woke up, they would be angry, angry at the villain for taking them back, angry they had lost, but hopefully themselves again, that’s what mattered.

The villain watched the hero intently, wondering what their anger could afford them, and considering the fluttering eyelids, the villain would soon find out.

“Please don’t move too fast, pet. As hard as that is for you.”

The hero didn’t heed any warnings, a hand flying up to the base of their neck, legs already planted on the ground.

“Just hear me out!” The villain had raised their voice over the hero clattering throughout the small room.

The hero continued to zip about, almost to the door, but the villain was standing in front of it.

Now they were face to face.

“While I have no doubt in your abilities and think you could match your frequency with mine easily, I also don’t believe phasing through me and the door is a risk you want to take.”

The room was otherwise unhelpful to the hero, no windows, and there was no telling they would come through somewhere safe if they tried a wall.

“Surely you don’t expect me to be civil.” The hero spat.

“Well, I was hoping you would take into consideration that I saved your life.” The villain knew they were guilt tripping the hero, but they really needed to hero to comply, which they did.

Now sitting, the hero didn’t bother to look the villain in the eyes.

“Your hero friends,” The villain began, sitting opposite the hero. “Sent you to fight someone viewed as a psychopath, armed only with experimental technology and super speed.”

“Are you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“A psychopath.” The hero explained. “I never asked in the time we were together.”

“No.” The villain said slowly. “And that isn’t the point. You don’t want to get to the point, because then you would be forced to admit your hero friends are bad people.”

“Don’t read my-”

“I didn’t. I don’t need to anyway, you have confirmed my suspicions.”

“No!” The hero protested. “You’re just twisting around the situation!”

The villain tilted their head up. “Am I?”

At that, the hero stayed silent.

“I’m not going to make you stay, pet.” The villain said, much to the shock of them both. “I just have a favor to ask.”

The hero’s eyes narrowed. “And that would be?”

“Stay away from your hero friends, just a couple of days.”

There was silence, and for a second, the villain was worried the hero wouldn’t agree, but their thoughts told a different story.

“That’s all?”

“Scout’s honor.” The villain held up a hand in a mock pledge.

It was difficult for the hero to stifle a laugh. “For some reason, I can’t imagine you as a happy camper.”

“Ah,” the villain grinned. “Well, a budding telepath rooming with more loud children, you know how these things go.”

The hero stood again. “Will you be unlocking the door?”

“If I must.”

Then the villain was alone. “Goodbye, pet.” They whispered.

It was unfortunate the hero didn’t seem too angry at the other heroes, it would have made going after their reckless friends easier. Still, they didn’t need the hero’s approval, they would be doing it one way or another.

The new mental track was still in place, so the villain knew if the hero went back on their word to see those apparent friends.

Yes, it would all be a choice this time around, but the options would grow slim.

A note: I hope you are having a wonderful day or night too.

#hero #heroine #heroes #villain #villains #villainess #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #requested #part three #I’m sorry #I had no clue where this was going #I still don’t #thank you for requesting though

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angelanimedesaray · 3 years

Text

Wings in the Dark Chapter 1: Encounter

AN: All right...we’re flipping the script with this series, hehehe. Also, I’m doing MOSTLY similar vampire rules to the Investment series, but there’s gonna be some key differences to make things more...interesting. hehehe.

Listen, I’ve honestly had this idea for over a year, and it’s finally coming to fruition, I’m gonna be excited.

Tell me if you want tagged!

Characters: Levi, Vampire!Reader, Numerous BG Characters

Pairing: (Eventual) Levi x Reader

Warnings: Language...don’t really have anything else for this chapter

Word Count: 5616

Masterlist Next Chapter---->

*Reader’s POV*

The sound of new recruits in the midst of combat training filled the air, a cacophony of moving feet, cries of attack, sounds of pain, accelerated heartbeats and the occasional shouted order from a supervisor. The wind was strong enough to blow hair about your face, but not enough to be cutting, the sun beating down from above warm enough to drive away any chill from the wind. The occasional sliding foot kicked dust up into the air, making it hard not to sneeze as your sensitive nose became agitated from all the dust in the air. Your arms were held up in an at the ready stance, but your mind wasn’t entirely on the training that was happening in front of you.

The Survey Corps. At long last, you managed to make it past your training in the Cadet Corps and choose your branch of the military to go into. Despite the high death rate and the negative publicity the Survey Corps got, it had been your clear goal since day one. It was the only place you felt you could go where you might feel useful, where these abilities of yours could finally be put to good use.

Of course, you weren’t through with the training phase quite yet. The Scouts had their own tests to put the new recruits through, unique maneuvers and combat preparation that would also help determine where you were going to go within the regiment. You still had to get past this sorting period, so you didn’t let yourself get celebratory yet.

But still, two years of hard work in the Cadet Corps, learning to readjust, learning your limits, refining mannerisms, careful planning and consideration into your every move.

Of course, that wasn’t what it looked like to your classmates. To them, you were well aware that you were the cold and aloof antisocial bitch that would knock everyone to the ground like they were nothing in the combat training, and always kept everyone at a distance.

It wasn’t that you were hateful, far from it. You just didn’t want to risk anyone getting too close to you while you were in the Cadets. And it wasn’t your fault if the training came too easily for you--you couldn’t help your nature. Hell, most of your focus had gone into holding back and restraining yourself since day one. While you wanted to make an impression and prove your skill and worth in combat, you didn’t want to stand out too much and draw unwanted attention. It had taken ridiculous amounts of concentration and effort, carefully planned throws on tests and combat evaluations, in order to purposely place at sixth in the top ten. Skilled, but not a shining star that would get full attention.

But that first place spot could have easily been yours, if you didn’t have to be so careful about how you presented yourself.

As important as it was to do well in these tests to get properly placed somewhere you and your abilities could be of use, you still had to maintain the front of someone who ranked sixth, not suddenly display all the skill and strength that belonged to someone easily top of the class. Not to mention, you were on a time limit for something far more important to your stay in the cadets for the long run.

This was your grace period to figure out what you needed to do in order to blend in with everyone else. And not just in skill. Your main concern was your food source.

Back in the cadets, in had started as a painful struggle, having to find ways to sneak out without anyone noticing so you could get a proper bite that would last you at least half a month. The cadets had also been your trial by fire to see how well you could handle freshly spilled blood in front of you, though you were painfully aware that particular test was only going to get more difficult when you went out into the field and Titans started eating people.

Right now at the Scouts, though, you didn’t even have escape routes, predetermined, best routes to sneak out and get a drink without anyone noticing. You hadn’t pinned down sleeping schedules for everyone yet, either, so you could figure out who you needed to be wary of when you were trying to sneak out. If you couldn’t find good times to sneak out and the best ways to leave and return undetected, then your time with the Scouts would prove to be painfully short, for your own safety.

And you wanted to stay here as long as possible, for reasons that had taken root deep in your heart.

Of course, you still had to worry about the training and some basic parts of being a Scout, as well. You were still frustrated with yourself for forgetting one of the simplest things--the horses. Of course, you got a painful reminder when you entered the stables and the majority of the horses got nervous and skittish while the rest went wild.

Not everything was easy to you. You now had to find and befriend a horse that you could hopefully keep with you that wouldn’t be afraid of the predator it could sense in you. It was going to take time, and you were certain this oddity about you had already been noticed, but hopefully when you befriended one of the horses, any sparked suspicions would go away.

Then there was the ODM gear. Obviously you could operate it, you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t. The problem was that your instincts and reflexes could happen faster than the gear could operate. It made it difficult to slow down and operate it properly when you were running on instinct, and even after two years in the Cadets you were still trying to temper your natural instincts to slow down to something the gear could keep up with. Though you had managed in your personal training time to also craft some maneuvers of your own that was more forgiving to your sharp reflexes and instincts, maneuvers that actually required more physical movement and less dependability on the cables. The less you tried to do with the gear and more you did with your own body, the less of a chance you had to screw up a maneuver by going too fast for the gear to execute at a costly moment.

But out of everything in this grace period that was going to be the most difficult, it was the social aspect. You always kept everyone at a distance because you didn’t want anyone to get close enough to find out what you were, or to risk them getting hurt. As such, you usually came off as antisocial or rude, when really it was maddeningly lonely for you. But what else were you supposed to do? You didn’t even want to think of what kind of a disaster could unfold if you allowed yourself to get close to someone, they found out what you were, reacted negatively and then...and then what? What were you supposed to do with a threat to your safety when it was someone you’d grown close to?

You shuddered at the thought every time it wandered into your mind. This was one of your greatest concerns with being around people again, but now, you were in a situation where you were going to have to do the balancing act flawlessly anyway. One thing you had learned watching the Scouts so far was that there was a degree of trust and closeness in the community. Privacy was still a thing, obviously, and you didn’t have to be best friends with everyone...but people had to know you could be trusted, that you would have their backs out in the field. You had to be amicable at the very least with people--you couldn’t keep them all pushed far away or give them a reason to think you might be hiding something. You were going to have to start making friends with your comrades despite your reservations, but you couldn’t quite figure out how to start.

This was what you got for being a hermit living by herself for oh so long before coming back to the surface, back into daylight, back around people--

Your sparring partner shifted, and your eyes refocused slightly on the match in front of you. It seemed he was going to be one of the many who had seen the glazed over look in your eyes and assumed they could get the drop on you because you weren’t paying attention.

Just like everyone else, he was about to find out how wrong he was.

As he charged you, you reacted rather instinctively, grabbing at his arm and sweeping his leg out from under him before sending him to the ground on his own momentum.

“How?” he fumed. “You weren’t even paying attention!”

“You probably shouldn’t assume that of your opponent,” you returned calmly. Just because you’d been lost in your own thoughts didn’t mean you weren’t paying attention.

Your partner wilted slightly, looking dejected, and you had to stop and do some mental math to figure out how long the two of you had been sparring. It was probably best if you let him win this next one. Both so you could break this perfect streak and so he could get a bit of his pride and confidence back. Plus, you’d get to rotate to a new partner, and the cycle would start fresh. He could probably use some time matched more evenly against someone anyway. It wasn’t fair to anyone who got matched with you, even if they didn’t know it.

What were they supposed to do against someone they thought was human, that was anything but?

You fell back into your at-the-ready stance, watching him closely this time to make sure you knew exactly what he was going to do. He came at you again, his feet planted firmly, form practically perfect--

--you shifted one of your feet so that you were standing just a little too wide--

--and this time as he tackled you, he was able to easily knock you off your feet. Not too easily, you made sure there was enough resistance he found it believable, but for the most part, you let him knock you to the ground.

“Yes!” he cried successfully as he sprang back to his feet, the elation of finally receiving a victory causing his blood to rush in your ears. You closed your eyes and took your time getting calmly to your feet, brushing yourself off as you regained control of yourself.

You’d had a brief spike of hunger with his blood pumping so close to you. Thankfully, you had some practice controlling your thirst in these kinds of situations after so long in the Cadets.

While you were getting up, one of your overseers called for a switch in partners now that he had finally won a bought against you. You got to your feet as your partner scurried away in relief, brushing hair from your face as you waited expectantly to see who would be matched up with you this time.

Unfortunately, it seemed someone had caught your throw this time.

Instead of another new recruit stepping in front of you, a well maintained shock of raven hair and sharp pale blue eyes entered your vision as Captain Levi himself approached, his gaze centered solely on you.

You’d known he was helping supervise the new recruits--all the squad leaders and section commanders were rotating through so they could get a feel for the new recruits and see if there was anyone specifically they wanted with them. You hadn’t realized, however, that you’d caught his attention. But instead of looking pleased, he seemed a little irked.

Quickly, you snapped to a salute, body tense for a few moments as you waited to see what he was going to say. You already knew it wasn’t going to be praise.

“Throwing matches doesn’t help anyone,” Levi said bluntly, his sharp gaze fixated on you.

Fuck, he’d noticed that? You supposed anyone paying close enough attention could catch it, but you’d hoped you were being subtle enough your throws would go undetected.

Then again, this was an entirely different field from the Cadets. You were among the true elite, if you were going to put a bit of your bias in there, and if anyone was going to catch on…

You needed to be more careful.

“I felt he would benefit more from a different sparring partner, sir,” you said stiffly. It wasn’t a lie--hell, anyone would do better if they were paired with someone other than you. You didn’t mean for that to sound cocky, but it was the truth. You were naturally designed to outmatch humans.

“You don’t seem to be putting much effort into this training, either. Do you feel it’s beneath you, cadet?” Levi asked, his voice low. Some of your old classmates that had come to the Scouts as well were letting their eyes wander to the scene in the middle of the training field, most likely looking forward to the frigid ‘slacker’ finally get what was coming to her.

“Quite the opposite, sir. Titans aren’t the only threat in the world--you never know when you’ll need training like this,” you countered, meeting his gaze as you gave a reason that you’d once uttered to shut down the dismissal of other cadets for these person on person combat training exercises. You had your own demons these kinds of moves could be used against, but there were also plenty of...unpleasant...people in the world. You never knew when your life would be threatened by another person, and it was in those moments when you would want this kind of training.

Of course, with your reflexes and strength, it was easier to execute them. Your learning process went into learning the techniques, and once you had that down, you really didn’t have much to worry about.

There was a spark of curiosity in Captain Levi’s eyes at your answer--apparently it hadn’t been a wrong one. You recognized the training’s value instead of brushing it off like most people. And most people who did realize its value usually didn’t state it openly like you just had. Maybe you should have cut that last part out.

He still didn’t look pleased, though, which was understandable if his observations had led him to believe you weren’t taking this training as seriously as it should, that you were brushing it off.

“Then you wouldn’t mind showing me what you’ve learned. I’ll expect perfection with that attitude of yours,” Levi said in a flat voice, taking a few more steps until he was standing opposite you. There was a dangerous note in his voice, and you had the feeling he intended to make you take this sparring seriously, with full attention.

“Sir?”

Levi didn’t answer. He fell into an at the ready position across from you, and you realized he wasn’t going to give you time to ask any more questions. He was about to attack, and you had better be ready for it.

You finally dropped the salute that had loosened during your brief conversation, falling back into a similar at the ready position and feeling your attention start to sharpen. Around you, people were turning their attention away from their training to see Captain Levi give the careless newbie a lesson.

A small part of you whispered that perhaps you should let him take you down right out of the gates, have him teach you the lesson and then move on, deal with the fact you’d made a poor impression on the captain of the Elite Squad.

You let out a slow breath, the world snapping into attention as you honed in on your opponent, Humanity’s Strongest.

Something inside you refused to lay down and take it. You were going to at least show him that you had potential. This was your moment to prove that it wasn’t all bravado and charades. You had skill to back it up, you were capable, and you were not some slacker that wasn’t taking any of this seriously. You were here to fight, to help in the push against the Titans,, no matter what anyone thought from their first impression of you. You were here to stay.

Levi’s eyes flashed, and your body instinctively tensed for the oncoming attack as he darted forward with an almost inhuman speed. You clamped down on your instinct to use your truly inhuman speed to step out of the way, instead choosing to block or at least re-direct the blow with his foot with your arm as you went low, ducking under the kick and coming up on his side. Levi was already turning when you were halfway up, and his fist connected with your side, causing you to take a few steps back.

Shit, that hurt. He really was going to teach you a lesson to take this seriously, wasn’t he? If you didn’t want to end up beat to hell, you better be ready to show him you were learning.

And after the strength of that blow and the speed of his attack, you were going to have to put some actual effort into this.

Levi was already coming in again with another attack, fist cutting through the space between the two of you. You turned your body aside to avoid it, knee coming up to try and get him in the gut. He knocked it aside with his other arm as you blocked the one that had tried to punch you from coming at you again, grabbing onto his forearm and bringing yourself into his space. You threw a punch of your own, still holding back to avoid seriously hurting him, but he blocked it just as quickly, the two of you grappling up close with a series of punches, blocks, and shifted feet before you decided to break away, fists still up and ready for a pursuit. He kept using his small stature to get under your defenses and go after your weak spots, using momentum and your own weight against you. But you were able to return in kind, upping the effort you put into your offense and defense with every block or failed hit.

You could hear his heart, which had started so steady and calm, starting to pick up from effort and exertion as well--so you weren’t the only one who had started to put effort into this fight. You were both two combatants that rarely found someone on their level to fight, and now here you were.

A voice in the back of your mind screamed to stop and throw the fight before you gave away too much, but you couldn’t stop yourself, your own heart pounding with excitement. When was the last time someone could actually challenge you? Which one of you was actually capable of winning this fight?

Hell, you’d never thought someone human could stand toe to toe with you in basic hand to hand without bringing some dirty tricks to the match, but here you were. As exciting as it was, there was also something strangely...relieving, about it. Reassuring.

Levi’s knee flashed through your vision, and you had to lean back, hands coming down to meet it and stop the assault before it could connect with your chin.

Reflection could come later, right now...well, you should really be throwing this fight, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You kept meeting his attacks and coming in with your own, no matter how much reason screamed at you to stop.

Suddenly, Levi switched tactics, and instead of coming in to hit you, he grappled you to the ground, the two of you now caught in a tussle to see who could pin the other and end this fight. His arm started to snake around your throat, and you quickly placed an arm against your throat to break the incoming hold, dropping your shoulder with hands wrapped around his forearm to throw him over you. He managed to keep his grip for the most part, but he was no longer in the position to choke you out from behind.

His heartbeat, as well as your own, continued to pound in your ears, telling you just how much you both were fighting. This had rapidly changed from a lesson to be taught into a straight up match at some point, both of you fighting for dominance, with not a single peep from the onlookers as both of you started throwing in dirty tactics that looked more like skills learned on the streets than something taught in military training.

He’d landed some solid hits on you, easily bruising your body where he connected, but so had you. Of course, you were still trying to be careful and not hurt him, but the longer this fight went on, the less restraint you showed, because all the while you were testing his limits, seeing how far you could safely go, and you had yet to see a sign that it had been to far.

At this rate, I wouldn’t mind this being a regular thing. This is exhilarating.

In the scuffle, Levi ended up below you in the middle of a roll, and you took advantage of the position, leg planted firmly behind him near his head, arm grasping his and pulling it up, about to trap him in a position where he wouldn’t be able to move without breaking a limb.

You felt a tingle on the back of your neck as your eyes met.

Levi’s eyes widened in surprise.

Your ears perked at the first sign of whispers among your spectators.

“Is she...gonna beat Captain Levi?”

“I thought he was Humanity’s Strongest?”

“Some random cadet is gonna beat Levi?”

Your heart froze, even as your body kept moving.

He couldn’t hear the whispers, not that you felt he cared much about such a moniker, but you could hear, and you did care. Levi knew he was about to be beat, you could see the flicker of realization in his eyes. And right now, with both of you putting effort into this fight and no attempts to throw from you so far, he might pounce on an opening without seeing it for the throw it was.

Maybe.

Whether that was true or not, this fight had to end, and it had to end one way.

Your grip shifted slightly on his arm, your foot slid slightly to the side, and you changed your weight distribution, giving him a split second window he could still get out of this. And just as you’d hoped, he took full advantage, breaking your grip on his arm and knocking you off balance with your now unsecure stance and uneven weight distribution. As quickly as you’d started to pin him, Levi suddenly leapt on top, his arm pressed hard against your chest as you found yourself flat on your back, wind knocked out of you abruptly by the fast move.

In the brief second before Levi pulled away, you saw disappointment in his eyes.

Right.

This all started because he realized you were throwing fights. And now you’d just thrown the fight with him. Whether or not he knew why was up for debate, but what matters was he knew you threw it at the last second.

Levi got to his feet, brushing dirt off himself with distaste before he stared down at you with a face that looked perfectly controlled, though those eyes of his were gazing at you with a thousand thoughtful emotions that made you uneasy as you sat up.

“Put that effort into sparring with your comrades, and they might learn something,” he said dismissively, then turned and left the field, most likely to go clean himself up.

You got to your feet, expression hidden by hair that had fallen loose in the match. Now that it was over, you were able to think more clearly, and you were chastising yourself thoroughly on the inside for such a stupid move.

Who cared if it had felt exhilarating to spar with someone on even ground? Who cared if you hadn’t wanted to give him the wrong impression of you on what might have been his first time seeing you? Who cared if the feeling of realizing there was someone out there that wasn’t what you were, that could fight you like that, was akin to not feeling so alone for the briefest second?

You shouldn’t have done that. You weren’t supposed to be drawing that kind of attention to yourself. It was sloppy and stupid and you could only see it resulting in trouble. You should have thrown the match far earlier than when you had, you shouldn’t have given everyone the impression that you could take Levi’s title from him.

Because even if it could, even if you were able to best him in a fight, you shouldn’t. Not in public, anyway, where word could spread and people started calling you the strongest instead. It wasn’t right, and the thought made you feel dirty and ashamed.

A vampire shouldn’t have the title of Humanity’s Strongest.

*Levi’s POV*

Coming out of the bath with damp hair still hanging on his face and shirt not buttoned up yet, Levi let out a soft sigh and leaned against the wall beside his office window, hand brushing thoughtfully over a nasty bruise he’d gotten in that sparring match from the cadet, his mind lost in thought even as he started carefully buttoning up the shirt.

That...had not turned out like he’d expected it to.

When he saw her throw that match so cleverly after watching her act with such clear distance during the training, he’d been irritated at the thought that she wasn’t taking the training seriously. Or that she might think throwing the fight helped her opponent somehow by making him think they’d won on their own merit. They weren’t going to learn if they were allowed to win. If anything, such a move hurt their progress more than it helped, so he’d intended to put a stop to that thinking before it got too far. Besides, with how carefully she timed and planned that throw, she had to have some kind of real skill she was hiding.

What he couldn’t understand was why she would hold back. Especially now, at the stage where the aptitude shown decided where each recruit would be tasked.

No matter what the reason behind it all, he’d felt a push was necessary to make her step it up and start trying. Seeing her standing there appearing not to take any of it seriously had been irksome, and he wasn’t going to let it happen while he was on the training grounds.

As he’d thought, she’d sharpened up when he challenged her. There was no far away glaze in her eyes when he stepped up to spar her, just unbridled focus and determination, perhaps even a bit of excitement. For a moment, he’d despised it because he thought it was because she was one of those, so hell bent on impressing him, everything else be damned. The kind of attitude that got people killed out in the field because they were too busy trying to impress instead of actually learn, that showed people to be nothing more than squabbling children who weren’t taking any of this seriously.

As the fight progressed and she started to show her true strength, though, it started to make more sense.

He could still vividly picture the shift in her demeanor, the glint in her eyes the second before their spar began. How at that moment, he knew he was about to see if she was sitting on true potential and was paying attention, or was just blowing smoke up people’s asses and blowing it all off.

He’d been fully ready to knock her into the dirt in that first strike to knock reality back into her, but that wasn’t what happened. He’d been genuinely surprised when she managed to block and keep up with him, even more with how well she was able to return what he gave her. Quickly he’d abandoned the thoughts of teaching an arrogant cadet a lesson and instead started to prod at her capabilities, intrigued and impressed with what he found. Being able to spar with someone on such even ground was a rarity, and he’d found the experience rather...exhilarating.

She was faster and stronger than she appeared, just like him. She was also quite clever--predictably, considering the care she’d put into throwing her matches--and had clearly been paying attention to the taught techniques. However, when he’d thrown something street learned and not taught by the military, she hadn’t flinched, and pulled a few underhanded street fighting techniques of her own.

Which gave him a peek at her background, as well. If he was to look, he would bet his salary that he would find that she got into some kind of trouble in the past--the illegal kind.

Several of her blows had, clearly, hurt, which told him she wasn’t holding back anymore--at least not as much. A part of him could tell, through their whole fight, that there was still something she was holding back with, just like he was. He hadn’t tapped into that strange power of his, not fully, and she had also kept herself from using her full potential--something tipped off by the fact her attacks had been getting progressively faster and harder. Of course, in a spar, you weren’t supposed to go all out--for example, neither of them were trying to do anything lethal. But even then, she was sitting on something.

Now he was fairly confident the reason she’d been holding back on the others had been to avoid hurting a comrade by accident. That he couldn’t fault her for, but she still shouldn’t have been throwing the fights. They needed to learn, and making them think they’d won didn’t help them.

Of course, there was also the glaring fact of how she’d ended that fight.

He had definitely been shocked the moment he’d realized she was about to pin him. Of course it hadn’t been anywhere in his mind that a younger rookie would beat him in a spar--before today he would have thought that kind of suggestion was madness. But she’d done it, and for the briefest moment, just before she would have pinned him, he saw the faintest red glimmer in her eyes.

Then some kind of realization hit her, she seemed to register she was about to win as well, and she’d shifted. At first, he’d thought she’d simply hesitated, that her unbalance had come from getting inside her own head in the middle of the fight, and he had pounced on that opportunity. There was another part of that moment that was worrisome to him, though.

For some reason, he’d reacted off a survival instinct, even though he was well aware that it was a spar. It hadn’t been a mere moment of ‘I want to win this fight,’ but a split second where he felt like an eagle pinned down by a horned owl, where natural instinct told him if he didn’t break free…

But of course...it had just been a spar, no matter what the novel moment had made him feel for a split second.

Of course, once he had her pinned beneath him, he realized how easy the motion had been--to easy for someone who was a hair’s breath away from being pinned and the fight being over. And he could tell from the look in her eyes, the dulling of that sharp gaze and the distance in her posture, that she’d thrown the fight.

Again.

Of course he was disappointed. The entire spar had started because she’d been throwing matches with her fellow recruits, and at the last second, when she would have pinned even him and proven what she was capable of, she backed off. She held back.

The only two who knew she really won that fight was him, and her.

He knew she’d been holding back the whole time. That she threw at the end. That there was a dangerous edge to her. That even if he went all out, there was a chance she could take him.

Levi looked out his office window, which overlooked the training grounds that were now empty after combat training had finished. Why did she do it? Why did she throw the fight? Why was she hiding her potential instead of showing what she was truly capable of? What did she want to hide, and why was she trying to hide it?

Who was she?

Did she have a power similar to his own?

Did he want her on his squad? That question he was far more unsure about, because while her raw skill alone tempted him to recruit her to the Elite Squad, something stirred uneasily in his gut about her. From the look in her eyes, that glint, that moment of survival instincts kicking in, all the unknowns...

There were too many questions and too many unknowns about her right now. He wasn’t about to act hastily. First, he needed to learn what he could about this new recruit, ask around and keep an eye on her from a distance. Once his questions were answered…

Well, that all depended on what he would find after some digging.

Next Chapter---->

Levi Tags: @humanitys-hottestsoldier @clary-quinn @sunny-flo @whalerus

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beskarberry · 3 years

Text

Krayt’s Teeth

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 3 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead of you, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.7k

Content warnings: Canon typical violence, killing in self defense, headcanon angst, FLUFF, sensory deprivation, body worship, oral sex (f receiving).

A/N: These are my headcanons regarding Mandalorian culture in terms of sex, I didn’t find much lore on it so whether it’s accurate or not idk but I like them and that’s all that matters! Enjoy~

<-Previous Next->

You could have slept forever, even on that horrible little cot you were so comfortable that you could have been out for days, but the only one on it was you. You did’t know when Mando got up from the tiny space you both shared through the night, or how he managed to get out from your tangled bodies without waking you up. You opened your eyes to tiny green baby hands tugging at your fingers.

“Hey booger, is it time for breakfast? Where’s your papa?” You started to sit up, but the horrible sticky mess underneath you made you reluctant to move, a mix of passion and pain from the day before. “Yikes. I’m gonna run all his water out if I have to keep using the fresher. Come on, let’s get scrubbed up.” The baby gibbered excitedly at you, though you weren’t sure how much of what you said he actually understood. You scooped him into your arms without looking back at the sad little cot and all its stains. “You’re water proof, right?”

The ship’s engines were rumbling away, so you guessed tin man was up in the cockpit flying you towards your next bounty. Or Nevarro. You would have to find Mr. Mystery later, the grossness that was you had to be dealt with. Between you and the child your shower took forever, the two of you getting water and soap bubbles from top to bottom. You didn’t care. You had been on Tatooine for months without having a real shower, being consigned to the sonic freshers that vibrated the sand off of the moisture farmer’s bodies; and this was the second real shower you’d gotten to have in twice as many days. You spent a good deal of time trying to get your chatty friend to hold still long enough to be dried off, the little fart squealing with joy every time you went for him with the towel.

An ordeal later you were both fresh and presentable, but your host was still nowhere to be seen, though the ugly sheets had thankfully disappeared from view. The ship was quiet now, without the engine running you knew you had to be back on the ground, and you could hear a distinct hum of activity coming through the walls. Space port? He flew us into town? The thought was replaced immediately with a rich, savory smell coming through the air vents: FOOD! Your gut grumbled loud enough to resonate through the cabin and earn you a confused look from the baby. When was the last time you really ate? You’d been living on ration packs for the last couple of days. That was going to change right now.

“Ya hungry buddy? Me too! Maybe that’s where your dad is, hmm?” Grabbing your old backpack and hooking the baby under your arm you started punching buttons on the wall to get the door open, sending walls sliding and cabinets opening before you got one of the access ramps open. Bright double sunlight nearly blinded you, and on reflex you covered the baby’s giant googly eyes. It took a moment for your own to adjust to the radiant light of the Tatooine morning, and the smell of cooking food hit you like a ton of bricks, making your mouth water. As your eyes adjusted you were able to take in your surroundings: though it was bright outside you were parked low inside a maintenance bay, the walls of which soared high above you; littered with engine parts and humming with droid activity. Sound was the last input your hungry brain could process, but when it did you didn’t like what you heard. The sounds of an argument echoed around the hangar, high and shrill.

“I already told you, you can’t park here! You’re bad for business!”

“I just need to park here long enough to get supplies.”

“Well you’re gonna have to pay up, Mando! I’m not running a charity here! You got credits for supplies you got credits for parking! Up front this time!”

Oh no.

Of all the mechanics and docking hangars in Mos Eisley he had to pick this one. The fireball of a woman barely came up to your partner’s chest, but she made up for it with unbridled fury; and the giant cooked animal leg she was swinging around like a club between bites made her look even more formidable. She noticed you coming down the ramp and stopped grilling your comrade long enough to glare daggers through your skull.

“Oh NO! No nope nuh uh! You can turn right back around and get back on that ship, missy! I knew it! I knew you were bad for business, Mando! What’re you doing running around with her? I hope she’s your bounty because she’s your problem!”

“Peli.” Your words were cold as ice, but the squirming baby in your arms took all the malice out of your stance. He wiggled until you set him down, and he ran towards the mechanic with open arms.

“Baby! You can stay but your dad’s gotta take the mean lady somewhere else! She cheats at sabacc!”

“You lost fair and square, Peli! Try playing a better hand next time!”

“Ladies please!” Mando cut through your bickering, holding his arms up between the two of you like he was trying to corner a pair of wild blurgs. “If I let the child stay with you for the day, will you let me park the Razor Crest here? Just for a couple hours?”

Peli bounced the child on her hip, offering him a bite of her breakfast. The baby squealed happily while he sank his little teeth into the mighty snack, though the size of it comically dwarfed his itty bitty hands. “I’ll tell you what, you let me keep him and then maybe I’ll let you park here in a week.” Mando cocked his helmet at her with disdain and she huffed loudly, “Well if you put it that way, I guess you can park here, but you gotta put five hundred credits down, and not a cent less!”

Mando reeled, stabbing his hands to his hips with indignation. “Five hund- absolutely not! What am I going to buy our-” You interrupted his tirade with a hand on his shoulder, waving a slew of credits in front of his eyes. Peli snatched them out of your hand, fanning them out like cards to count them.

“Who’d you cheat these outta?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You leaned casually against your metal man, eyeing Peli with a smug look on your face. “Let’s go, Mando. Bye baby green bean, have fun with Auntie Cheats-at-Sabacc!” You spun him around by the hand and dragged him towards the exit, ignoring the insults being slung at your back. “We are getting breakfast and that’s final!”

The Mandalorian allowed you to pull him along a few feet before grinding his heels into the sand, shaking his head. “You have to stay here.”

Now it was your turn for sassy head tilts. “I just paid for your parking, buckethead, that makes me in charge and I’m hungry! I’ll buy you breakfast too if you want.” He didn’t budge, fixing you with that intense stare of his and grabbing you by the shoulders.

“You are still being hunted. Mos Eisley isn’t safe for you.”

Ah.

You knew you could look after yourself, and he himself had compared you to a ferocious rancor just yesterday. You groaned loudly, “Shit balls of hell. But dad, I’m huuunngry!” The man bristled at your paternal harassment, sighing heavily and letting his helmeted head fall to the side like the world was ending. He glanced around the hangar exit, his shiny beskar snapping to each object of interest until he located a protocol droid corpse that was missing everything from the waist down. He strode over to it and held it down with one boot, yanking it by the head until it popped off. He began prying the droid’s vocorder apart at the mouth, pulling it wide until the droids face plate broke off with a snap! Tossing the rest of the logic processing unit to the ground, he held the face plate up to the light, inspecting the clarity of its photo receptor casings. He bent back down to the junk pile and fished out a stray wire to thread through the ruined audio processors, then tossed the finished creation to you.

“Put that on.”

You turned the makeshift mask over in your hands to check for sharp edges before you pressed it to your face. The bug eyes on the front were dirty, but you could see well enough. Before you could clean them more thoroughly you felt the weight of fabric on your head, his cloak now worn as your own. The thought of how you must look made you giggle. “You make me take my clothes off, now you want me to put clothes on. It never ends with you, Mando. Next you’ll be forging me beskar. Now can we eat something, please?” Without a word the armored man turned on his heel and walked out the hangar exit. I’ll take that as a yes.

Mos Eisley buzzed with life, people and animals and things you couldn’t explain made their way up and down the bustling streets. The smell of food led you to a vendor selling something that could have been a root vegetable, covered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. You couldn't wait, all thoughts of self-preservation went out the window as you hauled ass to the stand, waving two fingers in the air. When you had both of your prizes in hand you stuffed the savory veggie under your mask, sighing contentedly at the taste of real honest-to-Maker food. “Hey tin man, I hope you like... whatever this-” You turned to offer your partner something to eat, but he had disappeared from the crowd. “Alright... more for me.”

Taking a newspaper from the vendor you wrapped the extra snack up tight and threw it in your pack for later, continuing to chow down on your own. You would find Mando eventually, and you had credits to spend. You had held onto your hush-money for months to avoid suspicion, but now it was burning a hole in your pocket. Wandering the streets of Mos Eisley from merchant to merchant you began accumulating a small hoard of supplies, ranging from bacta to hand tools, and food. Whatever you could get your hands on that would survive hyperspace when you inevitably left this fucking dirtball for good; though you still weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be making that flight in carbonite. You picked out new clothes and underwear, a much-needed bedroll, and some soft bantha-wool blankets. Something further down the marketplace caught your eye, and you made your way to the fancier items that glittered in the double daylight. You didn’t wear jewelry yourself, a poor choice of attire for a hunter, but the way the trinkets caught the light still made you wistful. Your hidden eyes danced over the glittering treasures; jewels and geodes that had been found deep in the sands and polished to a radiant shine.

You spotted something opalescent at the end of one table and found a pair of krayt teeth, each about the size of your palm. They had been sanded to a smooth, flat finish and carved with intricate desert patterns. The backs of them had tiny fittings that could be sewn on as buttons, or pulled off to reveal magnets. Something about their shape seemed familiar, though you couldn’t imagine why in that moment. You purchased the unique pieces anyway, something to remind you that even the harshest of places could hold hidden beauty. After a while you had so much junk piled in your arms that you could barely see over it, and tin man was nowhere to be found. You spotted a courier droid and paid for it to deliver your treasures back to Hanger 3-5, though you kept the pricey teeth in your pockets. With your arms free you started looking for your missing comrade.

The streets were busy with people, you would have to get somewhere out of the way in order to scan the crowds. Your eyes went from shimmer to shimmer, looking for his reflective chrome dome. “Big jerk,” you mused to yourself “‘Mos Eisley’s not saaafe...’ If he’s so worried then where the hell is he? Bah!” The scratched-up photoreceptor casings of your mask made it a challenge to see through the crowd, and you took a moment to adjust the iris apertures so you wouldn’t have to keep squinting into the double sunshine when you felt a hand on your back. Finally. “Mando, where have you-”

“Mando? Whos’sis man-do? Nah sssweetheart, I think you got me confused wi’ sssomeone elssse.” The slithering voice in your ear made your blood run cold. Not Mando! You rocketed your elbow backwards, connecting with the gut of the stranger on your back with an -oof! The hand let go long enough for you to make a run for it, and you tore off down the streets of the busy spaceport, smashing into bystanders in your wake. You cast a quick look behind you to see a large reptilian body flying after you, brownish scales catching the reflection of the noonday suns. Though you had your blaster, the risk of hitting a civilian was too great, so running would have to do. You were thankful for the courier droid that had freed your hands just minutes before as you barreled down the busy streets.

Market stalls flew past you, your boots kicking up sand and dust. The mask on your face, as dirty as it was, kept the debris from your eyes as you raced through the sunburnt city. You had to lose this fucker and fast. You turned down an alley, left, right, another right, leaping over supply crates and low fences like a lothcat. You turned to see if you had lost your chaser, breath heaving and heart pounding. Behind you was clear, but you took your eyes off your path for just a second too long, and were taken by surprise when a heavy weight fell on you from above.

The Trandoshan had gone over the low sandstone roofs, chasing you easily through the alleyways of Mos Eisley while you were none the wiser. He pinned you under him quickly, ripping your blaster off your hip and pointing your own barrel in your face. “Tha’ss enough, princesss! Nice n’ quietlike now. You gonna make me a pretty penny you are.” The lizard’s words dripped with metaphorical venom, though you were sure by the look of those fangs that real venom was probably right behind. “Ahm gonna cart yer arse right back to th’ Guild’n I’ll become th’ most famous hunter in th’ galax -urk!” With a sickening gag the hunter above you grew a shiny new fang in the back of his throat before falling down dead on top of you, a vibroblade protruding from back of his skull.

“Took you long enough!” You hollered at your chrome companion, who was stepping forward to kick the carcass off of you. “Where the fuck have you been? Getting your rifle polished?” He pulled you to your feet, handing you your blaster while readjusting the mask on your face. You swatted at his fussing hands, but when you looked at him you were shocked to see not one but three blinking bounty fobs dangling from his belt. On the ground by the dead lizard was a fourth, flashing rapidly in the sand.

“I told you you weren’t safe! We need to leave right now.” You were barely able to grab the remaining bounty fob while you were being tugged away by your allied hunter. He had a death grip on your hand, pulling you along behind him towards what you hoped was the docking hangar. You would have to cross the main street to get there, and as the pair of you plowed across the dusty, busy road there came shouts from either side. More hunters, fucking Guild! You didn’t have a single second to assess them before you were lead through an alley on the other side of the street. These were darker than the ones you had run through on the west side of town, and shady bodies moved quickly out of the way of your living locomotive.

At the end of a narrow alley you both burst through a door leading into an abandoned building. The darkness was almost worse than the blinding sunlight, you would need time for your eyes to adjust but the Mandalorian had enough sensory detection equipment that he ghosted through the ruinous building with ease; never once letting go of your hand as you tripped and stumbled through the dark. The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

“There! Get down!” Mando pointed at a pile of rubble, probably big enough to hide behind, but that’s not how you handled business.

“Fuck you! I’m not going down without a fight!” You pulled your blaster out and aimed at the incoming assailants. He growled at you and stepped closer, putting his body in between you and the door. The reptilian hunters burst from the darkness of the warehouse, firing rapid shots of blaster charges that bounced off of Mando’s beskar. You fired over his protective arm, taking out the first one and tripping up the second, who fell over his cohorts limp body. Mando took shot after shot to the chest, reeling with each impact. His other arm cocked back and shot out, sending a wall of fire into the last of the Guild’s hired guns.

Both of you were panting, shaking and sweating from flying through Mos Eisley, but the sound of blaster fire would draw attention and you knew there was no time to waste. You stepped over the incinerated corpse, making sure the fob it carried was melted, the second body still squirmed in the dirt, and you weren’t going to let it get a second chance, firing your blaster through it’s scaly skull. You picked the remaining two fobs and stuffed them in your pockets, making a run for it back through the building with Mando right behind, the blaze of his flamethrower lighting your way.

You took a different door out of the building and were relieved to see the words ‘HANGAR 3-5′ painted in bright blue Basic straight ahead. You skittered through the entrance, rounding the corner and dropping down behind the edges of the hangar doorway. Mando did the same on the other side, both of you pointing your blasters back towards Mos Eisley’s dark heart. Bootsteps behind you made you snap around, and you nearly shot your mechanically inclined host.

“You kids have fun out there?” Peli stood over where you were hunched, and you lowered your blaster to the ground. At her feet your little buddy was holding onto her pant leg, making big puppy dog eyes at you. You looked over to Mando to make sure there weren’t any more coming, but he still held his blaster out ahead. After a few tense seconds he lowered it down until it was back in its’ holster, then pulled himself to his feet.

“We can’t stay any longer, we’re putting you in danger. Time to go, kiddo.” His charred beskar still shimmered when he bent down to pick up his adopted son, who chirped with delight. “Thank you for watching him.”

“He can stay any time! Oh and thanks for all the snacks you made that droid bring me!” Peli called after the three of you as your party quickly boarded the Razor, making you turn around and stick your tongue out at her. She happily flipped you off and started closing the ground entrance to the bay, letting you board the ship uninterrupted. Fortunately, the courier droid’s delivery had made it to the ship, though you couldn't help but notice a few of your most carefully picked snacks had been taken as collateral. Fucking Peli. As much as she infuriated you, there wasn’t another person on all of Tatooine that you would rather play sabacc with.

The old rust bucket rumbled to life, taking off into the midafternoon sky and pointed towards the stars. Finally! Bye motherfucker. The hazy atmosphere of the outer rim planet fell away below you until the light of the bright yellow world illuminated the Crest’s stern. The pre-Imperial scrapheap started howling with noise, and you were almost thrown to the deck when it blasted into the safety of hyper space.

Your heart was still racing and you struggled to catch your breath. Once you had yourself in order you started busying yourself with putting the supplies away, filling the food larder to capacity. The child was contentedly telling you about his day with his auntie in his cute baby gibberish, and you picked him up off the ground to give him a much needed hug, pushing your stolen identity onto the top of your head to give him kisses. You almost wanted to ignore the sound of heavy armored boots hitting the floor panel under the ladder, their wearer opting to jump down from the cockpit rather than climb. You could feel the fury coming off of him as he stalked over to where you were sorting your treasures.

“You could have been hurt! I knew it was a bad idea to let you go wandering around, even with your face covered. What if they’d caught you? I picked three of them off before you even saw one!”

“I had it under control, Mando! I’m not some princess that needs you coming to her rescue at every sign of a struggle. And you don’t get to let me do anything, you don’t own me!” The man under your scrutiny paced the cabin on stiff legs with his hands on his hips, helmet snapping with rage.

“I know you can handle yourself, but I need to protect you.” He said with a huff, “And that lizard was... he had you pinned down, had his filthy, scaly claws on you... Nobody should touch you like that! What if.. what if he... I- I- didn’t like that he was...” Listening to the sound of the gears jamming in his head made you realize the ridiculous thing he was trying to say.

“Are you.. Mando are you jealous?”

“No! I- I’m.. Cyar’ika I... ”

Oh no, you don’t get to be cute right now. “I don’t know what that means, Mando! What is that, some kind of sexy little pet name you use on all the girls you take underneath of you?”

“NO! I didn’t- I would nev- I’ve never had... There’s never been- no!” Oh how you wished you could see his face, watching him flail trying to defend himself from your accusation, he was probably white as a sheet under all that armor.

“Never what, Mandalorian?”

“I’ve never had anyone in this ship before!” The Mandalorian’s confession lost steam halfway through as embarrassment and fear crept into his throat, threatening to choke him with his own secrets.

“Wait.. wait wait. Never? You’ve never had anyone in this ship or...” You started approaching him, analyzing his visor for hints of meaning. “Or you’ve never had anyone at all?” The Mandalorian stopped his pacing, but his shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the galaxy. His silence told you everything, and the last piece of his puzzle fell into place. “Mando...was I your first?”

“Y-yes.” His visor tilted up to you, hands fidgeting at his sides. His voice was faint and sheepish, a stark contrast to the thunderstorm you were arguing with a moment ago. Your eyes were full of questions, all racing through your mind so quickly none of them made it to your mouth. The metal man answered them all for you in one singular motion, raising his fist to knock a couple times against his beskar helmet. His creed.

“So, what, you guys aren’t allowed to have sex?”

He sighed his heavy, trademarked sigh and plopped down on the nearest supply crate with a defeated thud, cradling his head in his hands. “No it’s not that. Not... not exactly. In Mando’a the word we use is me'dinuir. It means ‘to give’, specifically to give yourself to another. And... when you give yourself away to someone-“ He turned the black gloss of his single eye up to you, “-you belong to them. That is The Way.”

The weight of his words made your blood cold. He was jealous, but not just because that other hunter had put his scaly hands on you. Everything about his attitude around you suddenly made sense, the way he had looked at you when you were presenting yourself to him that first day, why he never threw you in carbonite when he probably should have, and how he had stayed with you through the night after you nearly died hunting his bounty. His mysterious way of life decreed that giving his body to you meant that he had also given you his soul, and that made you just as important to protect as his foundling.

Mando reached out to pat the fuzzy green head of the baby you were still holding, who gibbered sleepily up at his armor plated papa. “I’m sorry to put that on you, and I’m sorry for how I acted. You’re not my bounty anymore, and I shouldn’t try to control you. I understand if you don’t want to continue with me to the next bounty. You can take whatever you want from the armory when we land next. I’m.. I’m so sorry.” The monolithic man looked so tiny now, sitting on the edge of the crate with his shoulders hunched. He reached his arms out to take his infant son from you, hugging him to his blast-burnt chest and smoothing his massive ears. "I didn’t get to thank you for washing him earlier, he smells really good.”

You desperately needed to know more, though the sight of him fawning over his sleepy son made your heart swell. “I kinda got the feeling that you were rusty when we met, but that was actually your first time? And what does that mean ‘you belong to them’? How can you belong to me? I don’t even know your name.”

"It means that I’m now sworn to protect the one that carries my soul. I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian.”

His words made you feel sick, ashamed that you had taken something so sacred from him without a second thought, but how could you have known? He could have stopped at any time, you were the one in cuffs that day, not him. No, out of trillions and trillions of sentient beings in the galaxy he chose to give himself to you, knowing full well what his heritage decreed. Why you? Arms crossed, you dug deeper. “You’ve never seen another naked body than your own?”

He shook his head. “Just... holo-vids...”

You were going to have to ask him about those later. “Nothing? You’ve at least kissed someone before though, right?”

“Kissed?”

Maker fucking help you. “Yeah you know, kissing? The thing you do with your... oh, right." You reached up and tapped him twice on the beskar. “You need your face to do it.”

He cocked his helmet at you. “Can you show me?”

The innocence of his question made you melt. Fuck you, tin can, you’re not supposed to be cute when you’re in trouble. You reached your hand out, demanding he give you his, and shyly he obeyed. You pulled his hand to your lips, unsure of how much he could actually feel through his thick leather gloves. You pressed his hand to your lips and watched his whole body snap straight. “Kiss, like that.”

He was staring at his hand like he’d never seen it before, and after a moment he pulled your locked fingers to his head, tapping his forehead with the back of your hand. “Kov’nynir, But we do it with our helmets.” At this rate you’ll be speaking Mando’a in no time. He still held your hand gently, running his thumb over your fingers. “I think I like your way better. Could... Could you do that again?”

So polite, maybe having him stuck with you wouldn’t be so bad. You pulled his hand back to you, giving him another soft kiss on the side of his thumb, and you heard the sound of his breath catching in his modulator. Your lips pressed to each of his knuckles, and then you turned his wrist to kiss his palm. “How’s that?”

“That’s amazing.”

“You like that? Watch this.” Addressing the bantha in the room would have to wait. You tugged his glove off, revealing the warm bronze skin underneath and kissed him again. The hitched breaths coming out of his modulator were honey to your ears, and you turned his wrist over to kiss his bare palm again, hunting for more sweet sounds. His body was so stiff, so tightly wound you thought he might snap. “Are you ok? Do I need to stop?”

“I- I- want to... Can... Can I try?” You nodded, your heart jumping to your throat at the thought of him removing his helmet in front of you, but instead he gently reached up to the busted droid face you still wore on your head. With a twist of a knob the armatures inside of the eye casings coiled shut, and when he slid the mask down into place you were thrown into total darkness. “Can you see?” You shook your head. “Promise?”

You sighed, long and frustrated. “I promise, dark as a sarlacc’s backside.” You were met with only silence. Then, after what felt like an eternity you heard the sliding sound of metal as the child’s pram shield slid closed, then the shuffle of armor being removed, and lastly the dull thunk of something heavy being set down on the crates. His hand found yours again, and he pressed his lips against your skin. They were hotter than you were expecting, and soft, almost plush. You understood right away why he was so rigid when you were doing the same, it was amazing. Gentle kisses made their way over the back of your hand and made heat flood through your veins. He moved slowly over each joint, following the same pattern you had shown him, then turned your hand over and kissed at your fingertips. Something fuzzy brushed along with his lips, and you imagined that he might have a mustache. The shivers that crept their way up from your captured hand knocked all the strangeness of your conversation out of your mind, but when he reached your wrist he stopped.

“Where else do you kiss at?” You nearly fainted at the sound of his unfiltered voice, a rich baritone that dripped with dark intentions and stole all the words from your mouth. You could only point with your other hand at the forearm attached to the hand he held. Again you felt his lips on your wrist, then slowly, inch by agonizing inch he made his way up your arm, each kiss slower than the last until your toes were curling in their boots. When he reached the edge of the tunic’s sleeve that hung at your elbow he paused again. “Where else?”

“Everywhere.” Your tormentor hummed at your consenting words and let go of your hand to run his palms down your clothed thighs. When he reached your knees he pulled on their joints, bidding you to bring your legs up over his lap. When you were seated on him he resumed his trek up your arm, kissing at the crease of your elbow and then upwards over your tunic until he reached your shoulder. When he got to your neck you almost buckled over, but his hands were at your back in an instant, wrapping heavily around your waist. Your own hands made their way to the nape of his neck, and your fingers found the edge of his hairline that you had felt before. To your delight you felt that the tousled curls went all the way up, and you tangled your fingers in them, exploring their softness while he explored you.

His journey led him up your neck to the base of your jaw where he nipped gently at the sensitive skin like you had done to him last night, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps from your head to your toes. When his nose bumped the edge of your mask you were suddenly aware of how silly you might look with your big bug eyes. “Can I take this thing off?” you asked in a whisper. “I won’t look.”

“I have a better Idea. Hold on tight.” You dug your hands into his shoulders and felt his arms wrap under your legs as he stood up, lifting you with such ease that you wondered if he felt your weight at all. His boots echoed through the cabin until he stopped at the other end. You hung on for dear life while he climbed the ladder with you still wrapped around his front. When you both reached the top you let yourself unwind from him and scooted on your butt over the floor, listening to the sound of him pulling himself all the way up. You remained seated as your host fussed around the flight deck, the noise of buttons pressing and switches being thrown the only input to your deprived senses.

You were only unattended for a moment, then his hands found your waist, fishing for the edge of your shirt. The tunic was pulled up and over your head, taking your mask with it, and you squeezed your eyes shut to protect his modesty; unsure of what his unconventional oath to you included in the fine print. Your diligence was rewarded with a kiss on your forehead, then down to kiss both of your closed eyes, and then lastly to your lips. The searing heat of his mouth on yours threatened to throw your eyes open, but when they fluttered all you saw was darkness. The transperisteel’s blast shielding had been closed, and the only light in the cockpit came from a handful of illuminated buttons on the dash.

He was lying over top of you on the metal floor, one arm wrapped under your neck for support. The cold decking under you was uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to care, letting yourself be consumed by his kisses and becoming drunk on the scent of leather and adrenaline. The soft fuzz of his facial hair tickled slightly as he pressed into your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile. Your hands went to his face, running your thumbs over his cheeks and feeling what you weren’t allowed to see. His face was scruffy but not unkempt, and the bristles went all the way from his jaw up to the bottom of the defined nose that bumped against your own. You felt the creases on the corners of his eyes, wishing you could see his smile lines and all the stories they would tell.

You kissed him back, letting your tongue glide over his plush lips and making him inhale sharply. You licked into him again, and this time you were met with his tongue as well, just the faintest touch of its tip. He hummed in your mouth, and the sound of him so close made your belly pool with heat and your kisses bolder, sending your tongue deeper into his mouth until he was almost vibrating with the sensation of you exploring something as forbidden as his human body. He mirrored you as best he could, rolling the smooth muscle over your lips and the edges of your teeth until you were both lost in each other’s taste. He pushed his forehead against yours, pulling his mouth away with frantic breaths that spread fire over your skin. “Everywhere?”

You pushed your lips against his again, giving him an ambitions ‘Mmhmm’ as an answer. His growl made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you realized where his goal was. He kissed and nipped his way down your throat, letting his tongue glide over your skin. He made his way to your breast, taking its’ tender tip between his teeth and making you gasp. He sucked at it gently, rolling his tongue around it while it grew harder for his efforts. The hand not under you groped at your free breast so it wouldn’t be ignored.

"Beep!”

An urgent chime echoed in the tiny space, the hyperdrive indicator was flashing its countdown warning: 10 minutes remain.

The Mandalorian’s growl on your breast made your blood turn to ice and your core flush with heat at the same time. He wanted to devour you, taste every single inch of your exposed skin, but time was not on your side; and he became a man on a mission to prove himself worthy of you. Bristles dragged over your skin as he slid down your belly until he hit the edge of your pants. They were yanked off so fast you briefly worried about the krayt teeth that were still in their pockets, but you didn’t have long to think before Mando was poised over the apex of your thighs, kissing at each leg to make his intentions known. Those must be some good holo-vids you’re watching, tinman. You let him push your legs apart with his chin, receiving a soft kiss on each one once they were far enough apart for him to stuff his face in between.

Your back arched, hard, followed by the most ragged moan you‘d ever heard escape your throat. The grip on your thighs kept you in place as he lapped at your clit, sucking and teasing in an experimental way. His inexperience didn’t seem to matter, his hunger for you fueling his efforts and making you squirm in delight. Your hands sought desperately for something to grab onto to keep yourself grounded, finding his lovely curls to bury your fingers in deep. It was all you could do to hold on for dear life, tangling in his hair and struggling to breathe as he worked you into a frenzy.

The noises coming from below your waist were heavenly, wet and greedy in between his hums of contentment. It took you a while to realize they weren’t hums at all, but alien words of worship being prayed at your sinful altar; but the blood pounding in your ears and the gasps from your throat were too loud for you to hear his devotion.

“Beep beep!” Five minutes remain. Fuck.

The Mandalorian’s efforts doubled, running his tongue almost too quickly in his attempt to eat you alive. You let your hips grind into his mouth, begging him to bring you your release, and it wasn’t long before he succeeded. Stars flashed behind your eyes as you came into his hot open mouth, but he refused to leave until he had drank his fill of you. Eventually he pulled his face away from your spent heat with agonizing slowness, as if he would rather drown than address the impending drop from hyperspace. He kissed at your shaky thighs, your soft belly, and each breast before pressing his lips into your panting mouth, pushing the taste of you onto your own tongue. His breath was ragged, and you could feel the sweat of his brow where it was pushed against your face.

He lifted away from you, and the weight of the handmade mask was draped over your face, making you groan with the displeasure of your passion being cut short. However, once it was in place, it was almost immediately pushed under by strong fingers to lift its edge, and you were given one last kiss to swear his promise of return to you.

“Din. My name is Din.”

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