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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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God the idea of Simon having a s/o that's like wayyy shorter than him something like 5'5 is doing things to me. This man is 6'4 something and he's HUGEEE AF, like i think it would be a turn on for him, having his babe so small underneath him. And i don't even need to get into how probably big he is down there too? The struggle to take him in everytime but the afterwards is a pure bliss. Ugh.

Like, i agree with what you said, this man is an epitome of masculinity. And the need and want to take care, love and protect his mate. <3 <3

Mmm. Mmmm.

Ok I'm just gonna leave this here.

Original photo: @ S0CIALHUNTER on Twitter

This is not a Drill

Word count: 2.2 k

Tags/warnings: SMUT 🔞, a dash of fluff, size kink (obviously), size difference, swearing, premature ejaculation, penetrative sex toy. F!Reader.

A/N: Gaahh. No poetry this time. Just pure filth. Enjoy 🍽

This might just be one of your better ideas.

You've done this in secret for two weeks now, hoping by the time he arrives, you'll be able to surprise him with how well you've trained yourself to receive him.

If you can take a large toy so well, day after day, it should help with taking him in more easily too. Right?

As in, take in the biggest dick you've ever had and, god willing, will ever have.

You're actually quite proud of yourself. Not only does this thing keep you juicy, but it also makes you thirst for him even more. The need to have something even bigger inside you, the knowledge that he can provide that bigger thing, makes your lips purse, makes your walls throb as you remind yourself that tomorrow, your man will finally come home.

…Except that the stealthy fucker has chosen to arrive a day early. You don't even hear him before he's at your bedroom door. Fuck his profession, fuck all that experience in sneaking around, even with all that mass…

He comes in just in time to see how the said dong comes out, slick with your wetness.

Oh shit–

"Well. What do we have here?"

He looks at the brutal object in your hand, then raises his eyes to you – flustered you, lying all naked and throbbing and flushed on the bed. He can barely hold back a smile, but it's his eyes that laugh with an amused gleam.

"Careful or you'll hurt yourself with that thing."

That's some cheese coming from someone who's even bigger than the crude thing in your hand…

"You said you'd come tomorrow," you mewl as your excuse. He cocks his head a little, raises an eyebrow.

"Disappointed?"

"No, of course not, but–"

"You want help with that?"

He gives a side eye to the toy still in your hand. You blink a few times, then reach to set it somewhere, anywhere – the bedside table has to do, but you're too clumsy, and the toy drops to the floor and rolls at his feet.

Jesus, could things get any more embarrassing?

He examines the sorry thing with a stare that says How pathetic. Because even if to you, it's gigantic, it's nothing compared to what he's got in those pants. And he knows it too.

"Now ain't this convenient. I can go straight in, right?"

"I– I'm not sure," you breathe with anticipation.

"Let's give it a try then."

He doesn't even wait for your admission, which would only be a blaring, blazing Yes please sir. He doesn't trouble himself with undressing, merely crawls to the bed and over you.

He pulls back only to get himself out of those jeans, and it always looks like he's drawing out a massive weapon. Even in his hands, which are fucking huge, the cock looks like an oversized beast. He's fully hard, too, probably started to gather blood there the minute he saw you on that bed, puny and shy and caught red-handed.

And he's as impatient as can be: finally, there's a chance he can drive that cock right in, that he doesn't have to warm you up for half an hour with mouth and fingers and hear you cry when it still takes a few tears and some swearing as he guides it inside.

But the toys are no help, it seems. The massive head of his cock disappears in you, alright… But that doesn't mean it feels safe or sound.

"Oh, no. No, no."

He halts, hovering over you with just the tip inside, pulsing wildly.

"No?"

Ugh, why did you have to pick the biggest colossus of a man to be your fuck buddy for the rest of your life?

"Just… slowly, ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

He swallows and gets back to it, more slowly this time, and the spread is delicious – but it's also blinding, and you always have to remind yourself to keep breathing.

You just need to relax; it can fit, it has been there dozens of times before…

"Fuck, you're– you're even tighter down here," he groans with a dry throat and a heavy accent that makes you instantly clench around him.

It appears that you have only managed to train your inner muscles with that ridiculous dildo.

So much for trying to coax yourself open with toys…

He feeds more of that thickness in, in, in, until his balls make contact; they press against your flesh while your pussy hugs him with a perfect O shape. You bite your lip and hold your breath, and you're not the only one gaping at the scene in mild shock and admiration.

"Look at that…"

He doesn't even bother to tone down the drunken arousal in his voice which always drops down a few notes when he's fucking you. But every now and then, it's tinged with concern. How the hell can you even take him fully in?

He glances your way with the smallest smile playing at the corner of his mouth, muscles taut with anticipation. The man simply can't wait to ruin you.

"You ready?"

No…??

You give him a frail little nod and some high-pitched, broken whimpers from your mouth.

"Uh-huh?"

He chuckles, then withdraws, slowly… But the next thrust is not that gentle, and your brows knit together in pleasure and pain. Well, it's not exactly pain, just… It's a little too much. If the angle was even slightly off, it would hurt. The wetness no doubt helps this business, but you still find your teeth sinking into your lower lip again – he starts to roll his hips, fuck you with experimental thrusts that, blessedly, don't plunge too deep.

You feel your inner walls both accommodate him and tighten around him; greedy, like it's no problem at all to have far too big a shaft stuffed down there. And not just crammed, but plowing: back and forth like you're a toy, too.

"What in the bloody hell have you been doing…"

He detects the tense muscles that pull him in every time he reaches the base. You're too small for him; that fact was established long ago. But added with the clenching and throbbing pulse of your cunt, a fervor that tries to suck him like he's a fat stick of candy cane makes his jaw gradually fall open. The man looks like he's going to pass out.

"Were you doing that shit for me?"

You smile and flutter your lashes innocently, all the while a giant is trying to work his giant cock in you.

"Yup. Welcome home, I guess?"

He looks at you, not with mirth, but with reproof. You're playing with fire, toying with a sharp blade, and teasing a man of his size might not be the best of your ideas.

But that's exactly what you are; a goddamn tease. You just can't help it. You know he gets an equal kick out of this setting: of you being so small. Anyone is small compared to him, but you're small compared to anyone. Next to him–not to talk under him–you look like a helpless doll.

And perhaps that's what this is all about: perhaps one of these days, you want him to wreck you.

Use you.

Even the very thought makes your cunt wrap around him again. Massive thighs at least twice the size of yours force your legs wide apart as he goes deeper – so deep that you can feel those balls again, hefty slaps against you as he tries to bury himself inside a place he's not meant to fit.

You always wonder what you look like under him, disappearing entirely under a dark shadow and hundreds of pounds of muscle. Spreading your thighs to offer too tight a slit to what's practically a monster. It must always be forced inside with sweat, patience, and needy grunts. How insane it must look for that thing to disappear inside you again and again until you're loaded with him… His cum never stays inside before you reach the shower, but the feel of it running down your thighs is absolutely glorious.

You notice he slows down the pace, which is odd. Normally, he's fucking you with abandon at this point.

"What's wrong?"

He huffs above you, chest swelling with shallow, alarmed breaths.

"Wrong? What's right, more like…"

He resumes with a thrust or two, looks down to where you are joined, and lets out an aggravated groan.

"I'm sorry, I can't…" He draws back as if to pull out completely, and you whine a complaint. A decision is made right away; he sinks back inside, fills you again and again, until…

"I think I'm gonna cum," he informs with apologetic alarm.

Oh.. Right.

… Already?

"It's ok… it's ok," you sweep your hands up his back, clutch him to make it known that he can collapse like a tower upon you, and you would only feel enthusiastic about getting buried under the rubble.

Use me.

Just fucking take me.

The look on his face is a rare glimpse behind the walls of a remorseless soldier: something primal but vulnerable, something fragile that only you are allowed to see.

"You can use me," you whisper, and it's like a spell that calls upon disaster.

"Ah, Christ…"

It takes only a split-second before he accepts your offer in full. You're planted in the mattress with starved thrusts, his thighs and chest spread you open until he's drilling you in an almost 90 degree angle. You're concerned for the bed's capacity to take this sort of plowing when you should perhaps worry more about your poor abused pussy.

It's such a heaven that your jaw falls open, too. You're dreamy and helpless under him while he's far from feeble. He looks like thunder above you, especially when you're looking at him like he's a demigod.

Like you're in love.

Which you are… And he knows it, even without that adoring bimbo stare you give him.

"Gonna–cum. Fuck, I'm gonna–"

You can almost see the sweat breaking, can feel the cock inside you jolting even when there's no room for it to do such a thing.

"Fuck–! "

It swells inside you as he cums with a painful groan. The orgasm seems to just last and last, and you realize with horror and thrill that the guy hasn't had a wank in days. Work has been a bitch, then, and you get to pay for it – a punishment you suffer with glee.

He gives you his all, squeezing you between arms that feel like a too tight cage, crushing you with a chest that feels like a compression machine burying you under an iron weight. Hard thighs press against yours until you're spread open for him to be buried in to the hilt.

And you know it gives him hell that he finished before you: it's on par with a failed mission, you suppose. Your mission, however, was a success. The body around and over you is coiled tight, but the tension gradually leaves. Obviously it makes him feel even more heavy.

He finally goes slack against you, just like you wished, and you almost squeal while getting imprisoned by a heap of heaving muscles. He's catching both breath and the remains of his pride as he lies there on top of you. The cock inside gives an occasional pulse, but you're forever hungry.

This man should be illegal…

You know you won't be left stranded for long, and seeing him so utterly done gives you enough satisfaction for now. You can wait for him to finish you in other ways.

"You're fucking dangerous," he huffs in your ear while trying not to crush you completely with his weight. He's gathering his strength in the solace of your neck, and you smile like you're on drugs.

"Does that mean you like me..?"

"What do you think," he snorts humorlessly on your skin, but you know he's more than happy. "'Welcome home'... Bloody hell, woman."

"I'm glad you're here," you laugh and place a hand on that broad back to caress him gently.

"Yeah. You can keep that toy."

"Perhaps I'll finish myself with it," you chirp to annoy him a bit more. Another triumph: you have to suppress a laugh upon hearing him groan.

"Now give me a bloody minute…"

Poor man. The thought that you feel just too fucking good to him, so good that it makes him lose control, gives you such a high that it's just sinful. The thought that a stoic goliath like him is rendered weak on top of a small, harmless woman is more intoxicating than a wine glass filled to the brim.

You pet the back of his neck and know he's probably tired from work and wants to sleep. You wouldn't object to falling asleep too while he's holding you.

"How about we give it another try after a nap?"

Your offer makes him rumble softly, contently; the man's ready to drop but also thoroughly enamored. Your heart skips a beat from pure happiness.

"Mm. You always have the best ideas."

#ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #mw2 smut

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justmystyles · 10 months

Text

Now You're In My Life - Part 4

catch up here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 4.4k

summary: a chance meeting at a diner turns your world upside-down.

warnings: some curse words, but other than that it's tame.

a/n: i definitely planned to cover all of Harryween weekend in this part, but my brain had other plans. this gets a little angsty at the end, you've been warned.

*i say it's a plus size reader, while i don't focus a lot on that aspect (because your size should not define you), it will come up, so i just wanted to be upfront about it.

tags (thank you forever, from the bottom of my icy cold heart to anyone who has asked to be tagged, or interacted/read this story at all. it means the absolute world to me.): @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @cute-as-ducks420 @gem1712 @golden-hoax @groovychaosavenue @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @n0vaj3an @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @youknowwhaaat

You trudge through the hallway of your hotel, eyes scanning the walls to find your room number. You had worked all day, and then immediately jumped on a train for the nearly four hour ride to New York so that you could spend the weekend with Harry. You were looking forward to tomorrow, but at this moment you couldn’t want anything more than a shower and some sleep.

You sigh once you reach your door, scanning the card against the lock and pushing it open. You pause in front of the closet, hanging the garment back that contains your costume for tomorrow. The second is tucked away safely in your suitcase, which you throw on the floor. Kicking your shoes off as you move further into the room, you instantly notice a large vase with flowers on the desk, an envelope with your name on it leaning against it.

You smile to yourself, already knowing it’s from Harry. Despite your exhaustion, you feel a sudden surge of energy come over you as you rush to the table. You drop your purse and room key on a nearby chair and pick up the envelope, removing the note that was also paired with an all access lanyard for tomorrow.

I figured you probably didn’t bring my last flowers with you, so I needed to get you some for your room. Be at the venue at noon tomorrow. Dress comfortably and don’t forget to bring your costume!

-H

You pull your phone out of your pocket, placing a FaceTime call to Harry.

“You’ve made it!” He greets you with that same smile he always greets you with. You can even hear it during your calls.

“Ugh… barely.” You sigh.

His brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you alright? Do you want me to come to your hotel?”

“No no no, you don’t have to. I’m okay, it’s just been a long day. All I need is a hot shower and a comfy bed and I’ll be ready for tomorrow.” Your heart swelled at his concern.

“Alright, but it’s really hard for me, knowing how close you actually are and not being able to come to you.”

“Pfft,” you scoff. “You’re going to be so sick of me after this weekend!”

“Never.” His tone is serious, but there is a sparkle in his eye that gives you butterflies. “Alright, I don’t want to hold you up. The sooner you get to bed, the sooner I get to see you.”

“Wait!” You stop him. “I actually called to thank you for the flowers.”

“Oh, right. Let me see them.” He commanded gently. You flip the camera angle, displaying the elaborate arrangement. “Nope, this one didn’t get it either. Not even half as beautiful as you.”

“Harry…” You groan as you swap the camera again.

“Gotcha,” he grinned, referencing the blush on your face.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to him telling you you’re beautiful. You’re not sure if it’s because of who he is, or because you can’t see it in yourself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.”

“I can’t wait.”

You end the call and go to your suitcase to grab your pajamas and toiletries before moving into the bathroom for your shower, then going straight to bed and drifting off quickly to sleep.

The next day, you walk down 31st street, dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie, looking for the backstage door Harry directed you to. You put on some minimal makeup and pulled your hair back into a high ponytail, knowing you would have to take some time to do proper hair and makeup for your costume later. You carry your garment bag in one hand, everything else in a backpack that sits on your shoulders.

You step up to the guarded door, pulling your pass out of your hoodie pocket to show security. He nods and lets you into the backstage area. You shoot off a quick ‘I’m here’ text to Harry, and take a look at the space around you while you wait.

When you hear footsteps behind you, you turn to see Harry, he’s wearing a hoodie, gym shorts, and a pair of colorful sneakers. His smile lifts to a full blown grin as he breaks into a sprint, wanting to get to you that much faster. Once he reaches you, he cradles your face in his hands, pulling you to meet his lips in a hungry, almost desperate kiss. He pulls back, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, bringing you as close to his body as possible, placing a kiss on the top of your head before resting his cheek against it.

“God, I missed you.”

You giggle at his dramatics, but internally you’re screaming. You knew he’d be happy to see you, but you never expected anything like this. “Harry, I talk to you all the time.”

“I know,” he mumbles against your hair. “But I haven’t gotten to hold you,” he gives you a quick squeeze before pulling away so you were looking into each other’s eyes. “Or kiss you.” He leans in, pressing his lips to yours again. This kiss was slower, more purposeful. “I really like kissing you.” He whispers against your lips before pressing a series of small pecks on your lips and over your cheeks.

“I like kissing you too,” you try to say through your laughter.

He finally extracts himself from you, running his hands down your arms to take your hands in his. “Let’s have a look at you,” he says as he pulls back, looking over you appraisingly. He arches a brow at the logo on your sweatshirt? “What’s with the false advertising?” He nods to the skull and crossbones, with the word ‘Rancid’ plastered across your chest.

Your eyes flit down to your shirt, you’re so consumed in Harry’s greeting that you forgot what you were wearing. “Oh, it’s a band! They’re one of my favorites.”

Harry gasps, stepping back and placing a hand over this chest dramatically. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me!” You give him a confused look. “You would wear another artist’s merch to my show?” He shakes his head, making a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue.

You make a mental note at his reaction. One of the things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve been talking to Harry is that he’s fun to tease, he sees your sarcasm and gives it right back to you, sometimes tenfold. This was something you were going to have fun with for a while.

“So you don’t think I look cute?” You pout, looking up at him with big doe eyes, batting your lashes rapidly.

“Oh no darling, you look incredible,” he tugs on one hand, guiding you into a spin. You happily comply. “But I don’t know how I feel about sharing you with other musicians.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can craft your comeback, he takes your garment bag from your hands, and nods toward your backpack, signaling for you to take it off. You do, and he hoists it over one shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you all settled. I’ve got sound check shortly and I want you there.” He places his free hand on the small of your back and leads you further into the backstage area.

He takes you straight to his dressing room, putting your bags away among his things. “You’ll get ready here with me tonight.”

“Why Mister Styles,” you gasp, clutching your imaginary pearls. “Getting dressed in the same room? How forward of you!”

Harry laughs as he stalks towards you with a menacing look on his face. “It’s been my plan all along.” He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him again, peppering your face and neck with kisses.

You maintain a stoic expression despite the attack. “If you wanted to get me out of my clothes, you could have just said so.”

Your words stop him in his tracks. He steps back, staring at you with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Of course not!” You scoff. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

Harry laughs and shakes off his surprise. “Cheeky as ever.” You hear him mutter under his breath.

After getting you settled, Harry brings you out to the floor to see the stage and meet the band, as well as a few other tour regulars and friends of his. As the two of you approached the group, hand in hand, you saw them all turn and look at you. It instantly made you nervous.

Would they like you?

Did they think you were some fangirl trying to get something from Harry?

Harry could sense your nerves and gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You turned to look at him, and he gave you a reassuring nod. You took a deep breath as you reached them and Harry began the introductions.

Luckily, everyone was so kind, even excited to meet you. Apparently, Harry had been talking about you practically non stop since you met. Finding that out made your face turn bright red, causing Harry to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his side, kissing you on your crimson cheek.

You all shared in a brief chat, getting to know everyone, and learning names you promised them you’d forget almost instantly, but would try so hard to learn and would get eventually. If Harry kept you around long enough.

… but you didn’t say that last part out loud.

Eventually, they needed to start their soundcheck, Harry had you take a seat on the drum riser while he made his way to the microphone. He moved across the stage with ease, making sure everything was working as you watched on with rapt attention. Occasionally, he would come up to you, kneeling in front of you, serenading you. Harry had been pretty good at getting you flustered since the morning you met, but here? With him singing love songs within inches of your face? You wished the world would just end then and there, you didn’t know how things could get any better that moment.

After soundcheck, everyone made their way to craft services for a quick meal before getting ready for the show. They were all excited about their costumes, but wouldn’t tell you what they were. Harry made you promise that you would surprise each other with your costumes, so he swore the band to secrecy.

Noticing the time, and knowing that you had a lot of work to do to get yourself ready, you excused yourself to head back to Harry’s dressing room. He offered to join you, but you insisted he stay, you would just be doing boring hair and make up anyway.

After about 40 minutes, you had finally gotten your hair set in your curlers, and were nearly done with your makeup. As you apply your lashes as there was a soft knock at the door. You told them to enter, and Harry poked his head in, his hands covering his eyes.

“Is everyone descent in here?” He asked in a sing-song voice.

“Yes,” you giggled.

Harry moved his hand away and immediately pouted. “Oh damn. Better luck next time.”

You shake your head, throwing a makeup brush at him, which he caught with ease. Your eyes widened in surprise, and he bowed dramatically. You turned back to the mirror and applied your red lipstick.

“Hmm…” Harry looked you up and down, sticking his fingers through the hole in one of the rollers. “It’s certainly an interesting look.”

“I’m not done yet,” you swatted his hands away. “I’ve gotta get my costume on, and then I’m going to take these out.”

“I see, I see.” He backed away, meeting your eyes with a mischievous smirk. “Do you have to get dressed right now? Or do you have a minute to help me with something?”

“I can help you, what do you need?”

“I need you to make me pretty, Y/N.”

“You… what?” You ask, confused by the question. Harry was already the most gorgeous human you had ever laid your eyes on, he definitely didn’t need your help looking any better.

“Well, I’m not telling you what my costume is, we promised to be surprised…”

“You mean you forced me to be surprised,” you interrupt him sarcastically.

He rolls his eyes and brings his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I need to wear makeup with my costume. Will you do it for me? You’re clearly quite good.” He gestures to your full face of makeup.

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised by the request, but you know that even after only a couple of days, you would do anything for this man. “Yeah, I can do that for you.”

You switch spots, putting Harry in the chair by the mirror as you go through your makeup case to pull out a few items that you think will be useful. You ask him what he’s envisioning for his look, and he asks for some basics. A bright pink blush, a few coats of mascara, and a lipstick a few shades lighter than yours.

You lift your left hand to Harry’s cheek, holding his face steady so you can apply his mascara, you watch as his eyes shift, and his eyebrow arch. “Well well well, what do we have here?” He reaches up and takes your hand, admiring the words scribed across your wrist. “You have piercings and tattoos? Such a little rebel.” He joked.

“One piercing, one tattoo.” You correct him, your gaze dropping to your wrist as you eye the artwork fondly. “It’s my grandmother’s signature. I got it after she passed a couple of years ago.” You run your right index finger over it softly.

“You two were close?” Harry asked.

“Very,” you reply.

Harry sees you getting emotional, so he flips the conversation, telling you about the tattoos he has in tribute to his family and you return to applying his makeup. He is determined to learn everything about you, he wants you to have those vulnerable moments with him, but this isn’t the right time or place for that.

“What do you think?” You ask a few minutes later as you step away from Harry, allowing him the chance to see himself for the first time.

He steps up to the mirror, examining his face. “It’s perfect. Thank you, darling.” He reaches over to hug you, but the curlers act as a barrier preventing him from pulling you too close. “Okay, do you think it’s time to take these out now? They’re in my way.”

You chuckle and back away, grabbing your garment bag from the rack. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

You step in the bathroom, and take a few minutes to change into your costume and finish your hair. As you approach the door, you hear Harry talking to someone. “Are you ready for me?” You ask, making sure you have Harry’s full attention.

“Always,” he calls in response.

You open the door, and step out slowly, lifting the skirt of your gown slightly so that you don’t step on it. Harry and Jeff watch you move over the threshold, Jeff’s eyes immediately go to Harry to watch his reaction. His eyes travel from your loose curls and perfectly applied makeup, down to the white collar adorning a royal blue bodice with puffed sleeves, and bright yellow flowing skirt.

“Wow…” Harry breathed out.

“Is it okay?” You ask cautiously. “I’m Snow White.” You do a quick spin, your skirt flaring out around you.

Harry nodded silently as he stepped closer. The two of you were so focused on each other that you didn’t notice Jeff snapping pictures of your reveal before slipping out of the room to give you two some privacy. He would text them to Harry later.

Harry placed his hands on your hips, and looked you top to bottom once more. “You’re absolutely perfect, like some kind of… punk rock princess.”

His words jolt you, and you step out of his embrace. “What… what did you say?”

“I… I’m sorry,” he stuttered, taken aback by your reaction. “I meant it as a compliment, you just look so stunning, a perfect princess, but then that little piercing gives you just th–”

“No, no,” you stop him. You weren’t mad, you hated that you made him feel like he had said something wrong. “I just, see that’s the name of a song, I’ve always kind of secretly wished someone would think of me like that.”

Harry smirks as he watches the emotions swirl in your eyes. “Well then, I guess we just found my nickname for you. Didn’t we, princess?” He steps up to you again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, pausing just before your lips touch. “Am I going to mess up your lipstick if I kiss you right now? Because I would like to kiss my punk rock princess.”

Your breath hitches, but you quickly try to compose yourself. “Mine will be fine, but yours won’t.”

“Fuck it,” he growls before crashing his lips against yours. His hands sliding up to tangle in your hair. He kisses you until you’re both left breathless. When he pulls away, your eyes remain closed, your foreheads pressed together.

You stand in silence like that for a moment, your mind racing. You and Harry had kissed quite a bit today, but this one felt different. As if you were both trying to convey some unsaid sentiments. You feel a slight panic come over you when you realize the sentiments on your end.

You’re falling in love with Harry Styles.

Before you had a chance to fully process the thought, a knock on the door pulled you out of the moment.

“H, if you want to do pictures you’ve gotta get moving.”

Harry stepped back, giving you an apologetic smile. “I just need five minutes.” He called in response, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’ll uh… I’ll go on ahead and let you get changed.” You stumble over your words, starting to move toward the door. You feel Harry’s hand on your wrist almost immediately, stopping you in your tracks.

“Don’t go,” he looks at you with pleading eyes. “Just give me a minute to run into the bathroom to change, we’ll go together. I want us to go together.”

You nod your head, struggling to speak. “Okay,” you finally manage to choke out. He gives you that grin again, lifting your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly.

Harry grabs his own garment bag and steps into the bathroom while you move to the mirror. You wanted to check your makeup. But more than that, you wanted to scold yourself.

“What the fuck are you even doing?” You whisper-yell at yourself. “You’ve known this guy for less than a week.”

This guy, you scoff at the thought. This isn’t some random app swipe, this was an international pop superstar. What could he even want with you? You had no idea what this was, you didn’t know what was going on in his head. Truthfully, you didn’t want to, you were afraid to ask, worrying that the truth would come out and that whatever this was would be over. You were here for the weekend, you would go back to your real life on Monday, and he’d fly off to another city, and probably find another girl to kiss.

“Just have fun, keep it casual. Don’t get attached.” You repeat these words to yourself quietly in the mirror, pushing down your feelings as you adjust your lipstick. Yours stayed put, but the shade you put on Harry was a cheaper brand and had smeared all over your lips.

“I’m ready!” Harry’s declaration gets your attention. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, reminding yourself to swallow your feelings.

You turn around, immediately bursting out in laughter as you take Harry in from head to toe. There is a blue gingham bow sitting high on his head, matching perfectly to the dress that came to his mid-thigh, red tights leading down to a pair of blue socks, and finally those iconic sparkling red shoes.

“Well,” you lean back against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. “We certainly aren’t in Kansas anymore.”

“You like?” He asks tentatively, searching for your approval.

You smile and nod your head in approval. “I like.”

“Good, it’s far too late to change it now.” He offers you his hand. “Shall we, princess?” You link your fingers through his and the both of you start to make your way out of the dressing room. “Oh, hold on one second.” He kisses your hand quickly before releasing it and running back into the room. He returns quickly, holding up a basket with a stuffed dog inside. “Okay, now I’m ready.” He takes your hand again and leads you down the hallway.

After you meet up with everyone, exchange compliments and take a few photos, Harry gives you one last kiss before joining the band for their pre-show rituals. Jeff leads you out to the barricaded area where you will be watching the show. You look around at the different costumes everyone has chosen, some are Harry themed, others are what you’ve deemed ‘cute girl costumes’, you quickly realize the hypocrisy in that statement as you catch a glance of your Disney Princess costume.

Before long, the show begins, and your attention is permanently redirected to the man on stage. The man you are falling in love with. You try to shake the thought away, but you can’t help it. As you watch him, you wonder if he’s feeling even half of what you are. You could swear he’s looking at you more intently during this show than he did in Boston, but you convince yourself that you’re just reading too much into it because that’s what you want to believe.

He’s just having fun, you’ll be a faded memory in a few weeks.

Just like with the last show, as Harry is leaving the stage, Jeff leads you back to Harry’s dressing room to wait for him. It’s not long before Harry joins you, greeting you with a wide smile.

“Huh,” he huffed as he walked in the room.

“What’s wrong?” You question, were you not supposed to meet him in the dressing room?

“No, nothing,” he mused. “It’s funny, when I got off stage, I clicked my heels three times and said ‘there’s no place like home’, and I ended up here with you.”

Be cool, it’s casual. He’s just flirty by nature. “Real smooth,” you reply sarcastically, trying to quell the butterflies that had been released at his words.

“I thought so,” he shrugged as he took a seat beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and leaning in close. “How’d I do, princess?”

“You know you did amazing, you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“No, I don’t need it. But it’s nice to hear.” He winked.

“You were amazing, Harry.” You coincide.

“See, that wasn’t hard now, was it?” He asks before leaning in and kissing you softly. When he pulls back, there’s a look of concern on his face. “Are you alright?”

“What do you mean?” You would never tell him, you don’t think it was even really intentional, but the wall that he had spent all week trying to break through was slowly building back up. It was your way of not getting any more attached than you already were.

“I don’t know, you just seem a little… distant? Did something happen?”

You shook your head back and forth rapidly. “No, I uh… I guess I’m just tired is all.”

He didn’t believe you, but he wasn’t going to push it. “Alright. Do you want to go get changed and I’ll take you back to your hotel?”

“Oh, Harry, you don’t have to do that.” You insist. “It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“I’m not letting you wander around New York by yourself at night.”

“I’ve done it before, I do it all the time.”

He couldn’t understand why you were being so stubborn, were you upset with him? “Well you don’t do it when you’re here as my guest.” His voice is a bit more commanding this time. “Go in the bathroom and change, I’ll change out here and then we’ll go.”

You silently cursed him, you were trying to temper down your feelings for him. Then he goes and talks to you like that? Now not only were you falling in love with him, but you were pretty turned on. You stood and went into the bathroom with a huff.

“And I’m carrying your bags for you too.” He shouts through the door.

The ride to your hotel was nearly silent, you watched the city pass through the window as Harry studied you, trying to figure out what was going on.

“You would tell me if something happened, wouldn’t you?” He asked, breaking the silence.

‘I fell in love with you, and you’re going to be gone in two days.’ You think to yourself.

“Of course.” You say to him.

“And if I did or said something to upset you, you would tell me that too, right?” He was pleading with you to open up.

It gave you a moment of pause, wondering if maybe this did mean something to him. “I’m just tired, Harry. I promise.”

He nodded silently as the car pulled up to the front of your hotel. The doorman stepped up quickly to open the door for you.

You turn to him, forcing a smile. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“I can walk you up,” he said, knowing you were going to say no.

“That’s okay, you need to get some rest. You have another show tomorrow.” You insist.

He nods, respecting your decision. “Do I at least get a kiss?” He tries to sound playful, but you can hear the disappointment in his tone.

You smile softly and nod before leaning in and pressing your lips to his. His hand instantly moves to cradle the back of your head, deepening the kiss. After a few blissful moments, he releases you.

“Sleep well, princess.” He whispers, still close enough for you to feel his breath brush against your lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You reply.

His lips curve up into a smirk. “I can’t wait.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles headcanon #harry styles meet cute #harry styles fluff #harry's house #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #love on tour #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic

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im-not-samantha-im-samanta · 4 months

Text

Request by: @jellibean2018

Hello, Jelli! About two months ago you sent in a request, however my tumbl did me dirty, and I ended up with your ask, and the entire fic deleted! (Though, much to my relief, I found screenshots of the fic in a chat with my friend who was reviewing it. Thank god).

So, I have to tag you, and remind you what you wanted.

From what I remember, you wanted a fic with a female sinner Reader who was once a victim of Alastor's, and the two ending up meeting again in hell. You also wanted an unsettling vibe with Alastor reveling in the memory of killing Reader.

I also want to add that I apologize for how long you had to wait for this fic to be done. I haven't been doing well with fics lately, so this was a struggle. And my mental health started going shit too which is why I stopped posting for so long...

Anyways, I really started to struggle with writing fics, so I ended up experimenting with this one - it's kind of written with huge metaphor kind of style? Hope that's okay with you...

Anyways, hope you'll enjoy reading this at least a little, and I once again apologize.

🎙️// The sweet history we share... //🎙️

{Alastor x female!Reader}

___________________________________________

Type: Fanfic

Settings: Not specified

Genre: Unsettling? Can't tell if it actually gives that vibe though,

!TRIGGER WARNING!: Mentions of cannibalism, murder, violence, blood, saliva, dead bodies, Alastor revels in the memory of killing Reader, possible yandere vibes? Alastor sees Reader as nothing but a meal, but he puts her on a pedestal - that's probably some kind of fucked up attachment that surely has a name? I'd say the vibe is quite unsettling, but I can't say that for sure, Angel indirectly suggests the use of drugs and hints at sex related activities (but it's just a single line), and that's probably all?

Sidenote: Reader is written as a female just as requested,

Sidenote: I have no idea if I wrote Alastor well... but it feels like I really made him ooc as fuck and ruined the whole request,

Sidenote: Rereading this I think everyone is ooc as fuck even if they have minimum dialogue,

That should be all,

Hope you'll enjoy,

___________________________________________

Ah, nostalgia. Ah that sweet nostalgia. And that embrace of her.

She comes in unannounced, an unexpected guest. But oh is she welcome.

And oh so welcome are those treats she brings to the table.

She easily settles in, making herself at home. And into a cup, a bunch of memories she pours.

And that demon, the radio demon as he's called - he drinks from that cup greedily.

And like a man dying of thirst, he can't help but ask for another cup to be poured.

His senses feel high, his body tingling. A feeling of addiction is what fills him.

And he can't get enough of those sweet memories, so, he downs one cup after the other.

But with each greedy little sip, the thirst only grows and grows - he's not had his fill still.

So, the demon goes on and on, tasting one memory after the other.

And his mouth waters a big deal the more he can taste, and he savours each and every one.

Ah, and he can't tell which one of the sips of memories he enjoys the most, which one is the most saliva inducing one.

Is it maybe the giddy old memory of how he followed you through the town?

With you completely unaware? Naively trusting those poorly enlightened streets?

Trusting that a bit of weak light will keep you safe?

Or perhaps it could be the sweet memory of the thrilling chase through the forest?

That one forest where thousands of dead bodies laid buried deep in the ground?

Those dead bodies in whose footsteps you followed suit?

Oh! And what about that memory of how you so desperately tried to navigate around and hide, escape his clutches?

Even if he could hear your sharp breaths as clear as the day?

Oh! Or maybe his favourite one could be the moment of when he tackled you down?

Pinning your body under his, finally cutting the chase so the real fun can begin?

And that beautiful moment of how you hopelessly dug your nails into his skin til blood trailed down his arms?

That one beautiful moment engraved into his head of how you desperately clawed at those lanky hands of his?

His hands that trailed, squeezed and pinched at your body, feeling you up like a winning prize, like a fine piece of venison?

Ah, it was so hard to pick which one was the most treasured one!

Hell, it could even be the simple memory of the melodious sounds of your cries.

That melodious, angelic sound of your pleading, whimpering, sobbing and screaming.

Especially those sounds you made when he bit down onto your flesh.

Oh, and that taste that hit his taste buds back then...

He still remembers it like it was yesterday.

And his tongue still tingles, and saliva still floods his mouth every time he thinks of just how tasty you were back then.

And now his mouth waters as he silently wonders... would you still have such taste even now?

Or did becoming a demon change the sweet, addictive flavour of your fragile flesh and thick blood?

Oh, how his senses urge him - beg him - to just grab you and take at least one single little bite...

I'd be really easy too, now that you're a part of the hotel staff.

Silly little you, you didn't flee when you were faced with the fact that he - the one who took your life - also works for the hell's princess now.

You didn't take the more than gracious chance to turn on your trail, run and never return while you still could.

No, you are too stubborn, and you insist on staying, even despite how frightening seeing him on the daily is for you.

Silly little you! Don't you realize how easily he could snatch you away and repeat history?

All it would take is a single moment of when you're alone and-

Ah, but he can't do that - at least not yet...

Where would be the fun in that?

It sure would be a shame to end your lovely reunion this fast and early on, no?

Not to mention the odd, messed up attachment the deer demon feels towards you...

Now, not to be mistaken! What he feels isn't the usual attachment one would think of!

It definitely isn't the good or healthy kind either...

So, we shall not be mistaken, let's not get our hopes up and think he cares - for he doesn't.

You mean nothing to him - at least as far as it comes to you as a person.

Your value could be most likely compared to something of a sentimental value, a plaything at best if you will.

Still, no matter what you are to him - you are by far his most favourite one at that.

That's what can be said for a fact.

And for reasons beyond us and even Alastor, those memories he shares with you are put on a pedestal - put way above the rest.

There were so many faces that twisted in fear, so many names he kept tabs on, so many tastes he's tried, and so many lives he's taken.

But very vast portion of them is long forgotten, not really standing out all that much.

Nor holding any real value. Barely any of them mattered...

But you, on the other hand - oh, he could never forget about that one lovely night you shared...

And even when more victims - more faces, more names, more tastes - came, they couldn't compare.

No, they never could.

Those memories of you and your taste were always stuck in the back of the radio demon's head no matter what new person was on the menu - what new dish was on his plate...

So, one can only imagine just what he feels now that you're back within his grasp.

Oh, not even his wildest fantasies could've come up with or prepare him for such sweet moment!

This was like a gift from the Devil himself!

Yes, a gift - one that Alastor would make sure to cherish greatly...

Ah yes, he would cherish you so.

He'd take his time unwrapping you like the perfect little gift that you are - he would savour you.

And only when he'd get tired of messing with you, only then he'd get to the real deal.

Oh, and when he'll finally do, it'll be like a starving man plunging onto bread crumbs!

It'll be such a beautiful, satisfactorily moment - Alastor can almost feel himself drooling at the mere thought of the moment.

Oh, how he just can't wait for the very moment!

The moment is so close, and yet so far - and every little glance your way is like a test.

A test of how long he can resist the temptation.

Every little move you make, every little noise that leaves you, every little expression your face twists into.

Oh, he can barely hold himself back!

His body feels so restless, and his thoughts are all over the place.

And no matter how much he reminds himself to be patient, to not cut straight to the chase just yet.

He still can barely keep himself in check.

His thoughts are going to dangerous places, and your familiar, sweet scent teases his nose.

Oh, and you're so within reach too!

It'd really just take a single little moment and-

"Geez, that perv's still at it?".

Oh, that's right.

He's almost forgotten about those curious eyes watching him from afar.

Watching, and trying to see inside his head...

But judging by the response Vaggie's hateful comment receives, it seems she's the only one to see right through him.

The only one to see the real danger behind that wide smile he always wears...

"Ya-uh! His eyes have not left her ever since she's joined the hotel staff!".

Ah, Charlie. Dear, sweet Charlie - now she's something else.

She's completely different from her girlfriend - she's quite naively trusting and optimistic.

Fully believing that there's a piece of good in everyone.

And hence not being concerned for your safety when the deer demon started to show an interest in you.

Ah, that sweet, silly little thing.

Caught up in trying to see only the best in people and their intentions...

It's amusing - and truly adorable.

And oh, does it play into Alastor's favour oh so well...

"Okay, that's like so sick and totally-".

Oh, Vaggie - she tries, she really tried to warn the others.

Make them see Alastor for what he truly is.

But aside from Husk, nobody really listens to Vaggie's concerns.

No, she's not all that listened to when she voices her opinions on the deer demon.

Not even when she expresses her concerns for how the latter constantly follows your every single step no matter the time of the day, no matter where you go...

And to think she has quite enough of a say in things as the hotel's manager, as well as the princess' girlfriend!

Oh, that poor little thing - it must be such an awful feeling.

How humorous!

And oh, how unfortunate...

"Ah! Do you think he's-?".

Niffty is completely on board with Charlie.

Similarly to the princess - she too doesn't see the real harm in Alastor's advances towards you.

Seeing his behaviour as nothing other than subtle romantic gestures.

The little demoness' version of romance sure is rather twisted...

And yet, it's still quite surprising Niffty doesn't see the harm in things.

After all, she herself knows Alastor just as well as Husk does...

"Yeah! Strawberry pimp totally got the hots for that one!".

Angel was caught up in the spiderweb of romanticizing the same thing as well.

Just like Charlie and Niffty, he couldn't see the truth...

"What? No! Are you all crazy?! That's not the case at all! How can you all not see that?!".

Oh, Vaggie - again and again, she really tries and tries.

But the result is always the same - nobody pays her warnings or concerns any thought.

And yet she still keeps on going.

What a miserable little thing she is.

"Oh my- I have like the best idea!".

Not even Charlie notices how Vaggie nearly begs for them all to see things from her point of view.

None of them can see things for what they really are.

Alastor's got them all right where he wants them.

Without even having to try much...

"We should totally get the two to have some alone time!".

Charlie is quick to naively play into the radio demon's games.

Without even knowing she's doing that.

She can't see this all is exactly what the deer demon wants...

And neither can Angel or Niffty.

Aw, those naive little fools...

"Yes! We should- like- create some really romantic atmosphere and leave them to it!".

Niffty follows through in Charlie's steps.

She too plays right into what Alastor wants.

Though whether or not she's aware of it is up for a debate...

"We should lock 'em up in a closet together or somethin', or even give them a little... somethin'... to just... ya know, set just the right mood in.".

And angel is quick to fall for Alastor's games too...

Ah, those silly fools...

Unaware they're making all this much easier than it should've been.

They're sealing your doom - the inevitable end you're ought to meet at his clutches.

They're making this all too easy...

They're shoving the little mouse right into the lion's den.

What unfortunate silly fools.

And what an unfortunate little you.

Your friends are serving you to him on a silver platter.

All of them - or nearly all of them - thinking they're doing you a favour.

Thinking they're simply helping a mere fool in love gain the heart of his love interest.

When in reality, they're actually helping a starving predator get closer to his chosen prey...

It was rather humorous - a good source of entertainment for sure.

So, Alastor would humour the group.

He'd indulge in their schemes of trying to set you up with him.

He'd gladly play along and lead them to think he's interested in you.

Well, interested in you they way they think he is, not the way he actually is...

No, they can't know what he actually wants from you.

They won't know.

He'll make sure of it.

They won't know until the very last moment, until the deed's already done.

Or, he'll lead them to think your disappearance has nothing to do with him.

After all, the sudden disappearance of a poor little sinner like you would be nothing new in hell.

You'd just be added to the endlessly growing numbers of hell inhabitants going missing.

Your disappearance would be just a part of the mere statistics.

Well, he'll see.

All depends on which option would prove to bring more benefit.

As well as which one would prove to be more entertaining.

That's what, to the deer demon, matters the most at the end of the day.

For now, he'll just go with the flow and let the situation progress by itself.

With the occasional shove to the right direction, of course.

But it doesn't seem like he needs to wait for that long for everything to be set in motion...

"Hey, Al, you got a minute?".

Yeah, he really doesn't need to wait for that long...

___________________________________________

#hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor pilot x reader #hazbin hotel pilot x reader #alastor x female reader #alastor imagines #im not samantha im samanta requests #im not samantha im samanta ask #im not samantha im samanta works #frenklinesamuelsrequests #frenklinesamuelsask #frenklinesamuelsworks

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sanguineterrain · 1 year

Text

no other will do - e.m.

Summary: You're home from college for the holidays. Eddie's playing a show and he wants you to be there. How can you say no to the boy you've been in love with since freshman year?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings/tags: mean girl who is jealous of reader, friends to lovers, absolutely lovesick eddie. this man is so in love with you!!!

Eddie's waiting in front of the gate when you come out.

You'd honestly believed you'd convinced him not to come. Five times on the phone you had told him he didn't need to. It's a long drive from Hawkins to O'Hare International Airport. You're on break, Eddie's probably busy; there's no way you'd expect him to spend a day chauffeuring you to town.

But there's his van.

Eddie is not dressed properly, despite it being November, clad in a leather jacket and jeans. His hair is tied back in a ponytail. You're struck with the urge to run over and kiss him.

No! No. Bad Y/N. You'd gone to college four states away for a reason. Yes, it had the program you wanted and branching out of Hawkins was necessary. But more importantly, it gave you ample space to get over your longtime crush on your best friend.

Mission failed, obviously.

"Eddie," you call weakly, waving.

He looks up and his face splits into a grin. Eddie meets you halfway to the van, taking your suitcase.

"I distinctly remember telling you not to pick me up from O'Hare," you say, following him to the car.

"How long have we been friends?" Eddie asks. "You should know by now that anything you tell me not to do, I'll do it."

"So if I had asked you to pick me up, you wouldn't have?"

Eddie pretends to think about it.

"Hmm. Nope. I'd still be here. Gotta make sure Hawkins' princess arrives safely."

He loads your suitcase and closes the door. Then he turns to you, beaming. Your heart does a flip-flop.

"Missed ya, sweets," he says softly.

"I missed you too, Eds."

He pulls you into a hug and you melt. Eddie’s warm and smells like that familiar spicy cologne you’ve been homesick for for the last three months. All the promises you'd made yourself about not getting soft and dumb for Eddie Munson fly out the window. You're hopeless. And he doesn't even know it.

He releases you and opens the passenger-side door for you, then gets in on the other side.

"This is pretty," Eddie says, turning the ignition.

He tugs on the hem of your green knitted sweater.

"Oh." You swallow. "Thanks. It's new, I got it at a shop near school. They have a guitar store, you know?"

"Yeah? Did you go inside and wow them with your knowledge about heavy metal?"

"No," you giggle. "I'd never look at guitars without you. 'S sacrilegious."

“Sacrilegious, huh? Am I some kinda guitar god?” Eddie grins.

“I’m not gonna answer that and blow up your already giant ego.”

“Ego! That’s it. Outta the van, princess.”

“No chance,” you say, clicking your seatbelt. “Royalty deserves proper treatment.”

“You called my bluff,” he sighs. “I have a hard rule about never kicking pretty girls out of my van.”

You turn to look out the window so Eddie won’t see your reaction to that. He starts the car and pulls out of the pickup zone.

“Hey, so,” he says. “Speaking of guitar gods, we, uh… got a gig.”

You snap your head back.

“You did? Where?”

“It’s called Excalibur, ‘bout twenty minutes from Hawkins. Kinda feels like a sign,” he chuckles.

“A paying gig? Eddie, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you,” you gush.

Eddie’s suddenly shy, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Really?”

“Of course I am. I always believed in you. If anybody can be a rockstar, it’s you.”

Eddie glances at you, then back at the road. He seeks out your wrist and squeezes. He might as well be squeezing your heart.

“Thanks, princess,” he says fondly. “Well, so, what I wanted to ask is: will you come? I’d get you in for free, obviously.”

“Eddie, it’s a business—”

“That can afford me bringing a plus one,” he finishes with a wink. “Non-negotiable.”

“You want me to come? I’m not exactly heavy metal.”

“Of course I want you to come, sweet thing. You’re my best friend and you’ve supported me from the start. I know it ain’t your scene, but you don’t have to stay the whole time! We’ll probably go eat afterwards and you can meet the others.”

“Others?” you ask.

“Yeah, well, since we got booked, we’ve been scoping out the place. We met this other band, Birds of Prey. The lead singer, Missy, she’s cool. Real Janis Joplin vibes, y’know?”

“Oh.” Missy. Of course Eddie had met a girl. You couldn't expect him to just not. Eddie’s a sweet guy. Funny. Handsome. Love of your life. Et cetera.

“So you’ve met a lot of… girls?”

Eddie glances at you and shrugs.

“Some.”

“Like on dates?”

Shutupshutup. Eddie’s too clever for you to be asking direct questions like that. You might as well hang a neon sign around your neck that says jealous!

He laughs.

“I’m really not the kinda guy people go on dates with, angel.”

Which is not true. At all. If you can figure out Eddie’s a winner, any girl with a half a brain can do the same. But you don’t tell him that, because you’re selfish and pathetic.

“I want to go,” you say instead.

Eddie lights up. “Great! Oh, awesome. It’ll be a bitchin' show, promise.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Eddie seeks out your hand, rubbing your knuckles. You smile despite the acute feeling you’re sealing your doom.

Friday comes fast. You spend most of your time before Eddie's show agonizing over why you love tormenting yourself. Then he rings you up and asks if you'll come over for a pre-show soiree. And because you're a sucker for Eddie Munson, you say yes.

You've been to the trailer before. It's not strange at all for you to be here. Wayne knows you well. But for some reason, this feels different. When you saw Eddie everyday, you could pretend. His constant proximity was normal then. Now, after three months apart, you're a lovesick calf. It's just like when you'd first realized your crush on Eddie back in freshman year. You'd been an absolute mess and it'd nearly cost your friendship.

You've sworn not to make that mistake again.

Eddie’s room currently looks like a tornado ran through it. Clothes are strewn everywhere. You dodge a flying bandana from your place on the bed as he continues to rifle through his closet.

"Eds," you sigh. "Does it really matter what you wear?"

"Of course! It's a statement."

"But the whole point of metal is to not care," you say. “Come back so I can do your other hand.”

Eddie obeys. He kneels one leg on the bed and sticks his unpainted hand out. He’s got a bit of black kohl around his eyes and brand new spiked boots. You make sure not to look at his face for too long so you don’t do something really stupid.

You laser in on Eddie's fingernails, carefully painting them with black nail polish. He holds his breath every time you get close, still as a statue.

"Actually, the point of metal is to protest societal structures you don't agree with, like the government,” he says. “Metalheads definitely care if you're not dressed for a concert."

“But I thought everything in your wardrobe is metal.”

“Yeah, but—” Eddie gestures to his Metallica tank top. “This isn’t concert metal. I have a reputation, y’know.”

“Well, I’m not dressed for a Corroded Coffin concert either,” you reason. “I don’t own anything metal.”

You’d tried, for the record. You'd found a charcoal gray sweater and black tights. That’s about as close to metal as you can manage.

“That’s okay, princess. You’re so pretty, you don’t need to wear proper attire. I, on the other hand, need to look like I eat souls for breakfast.”

You cap the polish. Eddie thinks you're pretty.

“Okay, done. Don’t smear it.”

Eddie wiggles his fingers with a grin.

“You’re a doll. What if I pair this with my jacket? Or wait! What about my torn black jeans?"

Eddie gets up, hands poised delicately. He stops at his closet and pouts.

"I'll ruin your hard work," he frowns. "D'you mind helping me look mean and scary?"

You get up with a smile.

"Impossible. You could never be mean and scary."

"Way to crush a guy's dreams, princess."

You shrug. "Somebody has to tell you."

You gently push through Eddie’s “clean pile.” You pick up a leather jacket and a torn sleeveless top that says Devil’s Advocate.

“What about this one? You look nice in this one,” you say, holding it up to him.

“Nice? I can’t look nice! I’m not going to prom, Y/N.”

You sigh.

“Fine. You look mean and scary. Straight from the Underworld. Satan himself. Better?”

Eddie shivers exaggeratedly, grinning.

“Getting me hot under the collar with that talk, princess.”

“Shut it,” you huff, throwing the jacket at him to hide your fluster.

Eddie squawks, dodging the jacket. He wiggles his fingers.

“They’re drying!”

“I’m pretty sure they’re dry now, Eds.”

“We really can’t be so sure, can we?”

You get up with a sigh.

“I am not taking your shirt off, Eddie.”

“Well, ouch, princess.”

He shrugs and in a second, pulls his shirt off. You immediately turn, looking up at the ceiling.

“Jeez,” Eddie says behind you. “‘M not gonna blind you. They show male chests on MTV, y’know.”

“I’m giving you privacy,” you say, face hot. “Now hurry up. You don’t wanna be late.”

You peek, just for a second, and catch a glimpse of pale, freckled skin and a line of hair that disappears under his jeans. Nope, nope. You are not going down that rabbit hole of thought.

“Can you at least help with the jacket?” he asks.

“I suppose.”

You take the jacket and bring it behind him. Eddie sticks his arms through, never breaking eye contact.

“Good?” you check.

“Perfect, sweet thing.”

You frown at the jeans he’s chosen.

“Eddie, those have holes.”

“Yes, dear, I know. I made ‘em.”

“It’s November! You can’t wear clothing with holes.”

Eddie beams, eyes scrunching. You cross your arms.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he says. “‘S just nice you care so much ‘bout me not getting sick. You really are a sweet thing.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be sick over my visit.”

“Purely selfish reasons, huh? Tsk tsk.” Eddie shakes his head.

“No! I just—wanna spend time together,” you say. “And we can’t do that if you’re sick.”

“Alright, alright. What if I wear my lightly torn jeans? ‘S that fair?”

Eddie steps away from you, beginning to undo his belt. You panic.

“Uh, yeah, yep! Fine! I’ll go start the car.”

You scurry down the hall and grab Eddie’s keys. You get into the van. By the time Eddie comes out, the car’s already warmed up. He wears jeans that have significantly less rips. Eddie puts his guitar in the back, then gets into the driver's seat. He smiles at you.

“Aw, look at you, keepin’ my seat warm.”

“Because you have the blood circulation of a vampire,” you reply with an eye roll.

“Vampire and the princess. Now there’s an underrated literary trope.”

Eddie looks at you a moment more. Then he seems to make a decision, sliding off the cross on his middle finger and putting it on your left ring finger. Your eyes widen.

“Eddie—”

“For luck,” he says.

“But… I’m not playing.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “But if I know you’re wearing my ring, well, I gotta make you proud. Don’t wanna be an embarrassment while you’ve got my ring on.”

“Oh, Eds. I am proud. You’re doing it.”

Eddie gives you the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Thanks, sweet thing.”

“You’re welcome. Now you really have to drive, Eddie. You’ve got a half an hour till your show starts.”

He checks his watch.

“Shit! Alright, hold onto something. We’re cutting this twenty minute trip down to ten.”

Eddie ends up making some questionable driving advances. Halfway through, you question if you should’ve gotten into the car with him. But you get there on time.

Eddie ushers you out.

“Eddie, just go, it’s okay. I can find my way inside.”

“Oh, absolutely not, princess. This crowd is rougher than The Hideout’s. Plus, I gotta get you in somehow. C’mon, pretty girl.”

Eddie keeps his guitar in one hand and you in the other. You’re practically glued to his side as he corrals you both to the back entrance.

“Hey, Sal.” Eddie waves at the bouncer parked at the door. “Everybody’s inside?”

“Sure is. You’re on in ten. Better hurry.”

“Thanks. This is Y/N. She’s with me.” Eddie nods to you.

“No guests, Munson,” Sal frowns.

“Watch it, Sal,” Eddie pushes back. “She’s not a guest. She’s my girl. Came all the way from college to see me. Y’mind? We’re on a tight schedule.”

Sal looks at you. You hope he doesn’t ask questions; you have all the speaking ability of a fish right now.

“Hmm. Fine. No tricks.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Eddie grins, tugging you through the entrance.

“You lied to him,” you whisper when you’re far enough away. “Eddie—”

“Sweet thing, what was I supposed to say? Had to get you in. And I didn’t lie, okay? You did come from college and you are my girl. Only girl I’ve got, right?”

“But… you made it sound like we’re—”

“Dude!” Gareth hisses. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“Chill, Gare-Bear. We’ve got time. Where’s Jeff?”

“Bathroom. Hi, Y/N.”

You wave shyly.

“Hey, Gareth. Cool chain.”

Gareth gives Eddie a look. You don’t know what it means, but whatever it does makes Eddie’s cheeks redden. He turns to you and squeezes your waist.

“I gotta go. Stay in the front so I can see you, ‘kay?”

“Why? Afraid I’ll run?”

“Nah,” he grins. “Just rather look at your pretty face instead of these ugly mugs.”

“Hey!” Gareth huffs.

“Eddie…” you tut. “Be nice.”

“Not nice. Mean and scary.”

He makes Devil horns with his fingers and sticks out his tongue. You giggle.

“See you after,” you say. “Good luck!”

And with that, you brave the crowd. Immediately, you feel out of place.

You’ve been to Eddie’s shows before at The Hideout. But this crowd is bigger and definitely a more intense scene than Hawkins. Most of the crowd is already drunk, or at least buzzed. They’re loud with excitement and unaware of their surroundings. You focus on not getting pummeled and on finding a seat up front like Eddie’d told you.

A group of girls push past you. The ringleader knocks into your shoulder and gives you a dirty look. She has long, dyed purple hair and black makeup. Her features are striking and perfect for the atmosphere. You wish you could fit in like she does, at least for Eddie’s performance. You’re starting to feel like you might be the embarrassment tonight.

“Watch it,” she snaps.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and grab a seat.

Thankfully, nobody else bothers you. It’s only another minute before the lights dim. The first band is clearly very popular, judging by the howling cheers they get. Their frontman is covered head to toe in tattoos. You make a note of a green dragon inked on his neck. Eddie will like that one a lot.

You do your best to match the energy in the room, despite not knowing many songs. Eddie’s played a few bands for you, but since metal isn’t really your thing, you’re lost when it comes to the less well-known bands.

After the opening act finishes, you see a curly head of hair poke out of the curtains. Eddie searches for you. You wave and he finds you then, giving you a big smile.

“Having fun?” he yells.

“Tons!” you shout back.

He gives you a thumbs-up and disappears backstage. The curtains part.

“And now, Birds of Prey!”

The group of girls who’d bumped into you step onstage. You clap lightly and stay seated. Their lead singer, the purple-haired woman, gets to the microphone. Missy.

“You guys ready to hear some real music?” she laughs.

The crowd screams.

“Good!”

They launch into Enter Sandman. Missy has a perfect voice for it, raw and raspy. You prefer Eddie’s voice, sweet and low. He always complains it’s not metal enough. You’re sympathetic but you secretly love that Eddie can croon, if he really wants to. Sometimes he does, when he’s had a beer or two and is sleepy with affection. Then he’ll sing along to Wayne’s Buddy Holly records. Your very own Eddie Munson exclusive.

Bird of Prey finish after a couple songs. You politely clap with the crowd.

“And now, something fresh!” the emcee announces. “Corroded Coffin!”

You jump from your seat, clapping excitedly. The band comes out. Eddie dances around the stage, hyping up the crowd. They eat it up. Eddie’s born to perform.

His eyes find yours and he blows a kiss. You shake your head. After all these years, Eddie still flusters you better than anybody.

“Those ladies before us were pretty dope, huh?” Eddie asks the crowd.

They scream their agreement. He grins.

“Hope you guys like Ozzy.”

Eddie is beautiful. He plays guitar like it’s an extension of himself. Everyone else is yelling to the lyrics, nearly drowning out the sound. You can only stand and stare. You probably look ridiculous gawking at them. But oh, well. You love Eddie Munson. If you look like a fool, so be it.

Jeff closes their performance. The crowd goes wild with applause.

You go backstage before the next band goes up; once the lights go down, it’ll be impossible to navigate the crowd. Backstage is thrumming with energy. You spot Birds of Prey first. Missy locks eyes with you. She struts to you, brow raised. You draw your shoulders back, braced for a fight.

“Princess!”

Eddie drapes himself over you like it’s been years since you’ve seen him as opposed to forty-five minutes. You hug him back, tearing your gaze from Missy.

“Hi, Eds,” you say.

“Hi, sweet thing!”

He squeezes you hard, curls tickling your cheek. Ah, yes. This is why you’re here.

“You were amazing,” you gush. “Really, really wonderful, Eds.”

Eddie looks like you’ve just told him he won ten million dollars.

“You really think so?” he asks. “Not just pumping my ego, are you?”

“No, Eddie. I loved it. Especially the Dio one.”

He grins.

“Oh, I know. Saw you dancing, pretty.”

“Stooop,” you whine. “Don’t make fun of me, Eds.”

“I’d never. You’re the best dancer there, angel.”

“Yo, Munson!”

One of the performers waves at Eddie.

“We’re heading out! C’mon.”

“Yeah, Eddie,” Missy coos. She looks at you. “Bring your friend too.”

Your stomach twists. Eddie turns to you.

“Hungry?”

“Oh, um… sure. Where are we going?”

“This burger joint. ‘S not far. I’ve been there loads of times.”

“With Missy?”

Eddie gives you a funny look.

“Sometimes her band comes. Wanna check it out?”

You don’t want to be a drag. Eddie is genuinely excited, hopped up on adrenaline. The rest of the band will be there too. It’s not fair to make him take you home.

“Okay,” you say, trying to smile. “Sure, Eds. Sounds great.”

Missy, luckily, takes another car. So it’s just you and Corroded Coffin in Eddie’s van. Jeff and Gareth chatter about the show and songs they should play next. You’re in the front seat, because Eddie always has you sit up front no matter who’s in the car.

“Eds?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“Are you, uh… h-how well do you know the bands that played tonight?”

Nice. Subtlety +100.

“The first guys who performed, Black Tar? Not that well. Their frontman, Beetle, he’s kind of a legend at Excalibur.”

“With the dragon tattoo?”

“That’s him. Staring at other guys’ tattoos, huh?”

“Actually, I was thinking the dragon would look much better on you, Eds.”

Eddie grins.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.”

“I have been thinking of getting a new one. You haven’t chosen a tat for me since freshman year. High time we continue the tradition.”

“I think a blue dragon would look cool,” you say. “On your back or something.”

“My back? But then no one would see it, sweet thing.”

“I’d know it’s there.”

Eddie laughs.

“Would you come with me to get it?”

“Of course,” you say. “I always do. Even when you got your bats from that skeevy guy at The Hideout.”

“Now Bill was a nice dude and dirt cheap. ‘Sides, my arm didn’t turn green, did it?”

“Thank God,” you huff.

“Always worrying about me, sweet thing.”

“Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t wreak havoc on unsuspecting Hawkins.”

Eddie pulls into the parking lot of Brey’s Beef. Big deals on big beef! the sign reads. Your chest tightens at the sight of Missy and her band inside. Eddie reaches for your hand and squeezes.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, yeah. Ready.”

Eddie opens your door and you curse how sweet he is and how in love you are.

Brey’s is a tiny burger shop that looks like it time-traveled here from the 50s. You go with Eddie to the counter and study the menu boards while you wait in line.

“Their milkshakes are to die for,” Eddie whispers in your ear.

“To die for, huh? Munson approved?”

“One hundred percent.”

You order a cheeseburger and a strawberry milkshake. Eddie orders an ungodly creation called The Demon and a mint chocolate milkshake. You make a face.

“Hope you like your toothpaste shake,” you snort.

“Mint chocolate is superior,” Eddie shoots back and pulls out his wallet.

“Eds, wait—”

“No, no,” he says, pushing your coin purse aside. “I’m paying.”

“Eddie, no, c’mon…”

“Who got paid tonight?” Eddie asks, shaking his wallet. “Lemme treat you, princess. ‘S not like I get to do it much this year.”

Eddie pays and scoots you to the condiment counter. You sigh, shoving your coin purse back in your coat.

“Eds, I would’ve paid. You should save that money.”

“‘S okay, sweet thing. You’re worth it.”

God, how can he just say those things? He has to know what they do to you, doesn’t he?

“I’ll wait for the food, ‘kay? You can sit down.”

You glance at where the others are and try to hide your grimace.

“Okay, Eds. Thanks.”

You take the seat at the end of the table. Missy and her band are in the middle, heavily flirting with the Black Tar members. As soon as she spots you, she stops. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“So,” she says. “This is the famous Hawkins Princess I’ve heard so much about.”

“Just Y/N is fine,” you mumble.

She laughs and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

“Didn’t know Eddie hung out with your sort.”

“My sort?”

“Y’know.” She gestures. “Normie. Uptight. Did you even know any of the songs tonight?”

“Some of them. Eddie’s played Dio and Sabbath for me.” You turn to Beetle. “Your opening number was a really cool cover. Judas Priest, right?”

Beetle winks at you. “Hell yeah it was. Thanks, Hawkins.”

Missy sneers.

“Well, you know how to pretend, I’ll give you that. I’m surprised, though.” She turns to her friend. “Remember when that one townie wandered in? How embarrassing.”

Her friend giggles.

“Oh, yeah. He was so jumpy too. God, what a freak.”

The word makes you feel sick.

“Eddie thought it was hilarious too,” Missy adds. She looks at you. “I guess metal’s not for everyone.”

“Lay off, Miss,” Beetle says. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m not!” she squeals. “I’m just saying, y’know, people should stay in their lane.”

“Eddie says metal is for everybody,” you say, stronger than you feel.

“Of course he’d tell you that,” she scoffs. “And then you’ll go back to college for six months and he’ll forget all about you. Eddie’s not gonna want somebody holding him down, duchess.”

And that does it. You can’t take anymore. You’ll apologize to Eddie in the morning for walking out but right now, you’re tired. If this is the girl Eddie wants, you won’t fight.

Missy whines after you, syrupy venom sinking into your brain.

“Running already, queenie?” she mocks.

Eddie told you once there’s no shame in running. He said taking shit isn’t heroic. If you can, leave. So you do.

It’s windy and freezing. You know it has to be midnight at least. November nights in Hawkins aren’t known to be mild. You pull your jacket tighter around your shoulders and walk down the sidewalk. Maybe you can hail a cab or something.

Something wet hits your cheek. You wipe away the tear. Another falls, then another.

“Y/N, angel? Wait up!”

Eddie catches your bicep, tugging you around to face him. Fuck. You’ve never been good at lying to Eddie. He can see right through you. You have to think of something.

“Sweet thing, why are you crying?” Eddie pulls up his sleeve and brushes your tears. He looks devastated. “Princess, please don’t cry. Who did this? Tell me, I’ll make sure they don’t bother you again.”

And you can’t help it. The name falls out.

“Missy,” you gasp.

Eddie’s immediately confused.

“Wh—Missy? She made you cry?”

You nod, sniffling pitifully. This is not how tonight should’ve gone.

“What the fuck,” he snaps, and you flinch. This is it; this is where Eddie chews you out for starting drama with the girl of his dreams.

“Oh,” Eddie whispers, eyes wide. “No, no, ‘m sorry. Not mad at you, babe. Sorry, sorry. I just—fuckin’ cannot believe she made you cry. How shitty can you get?”

“I shouldn’t be crying,” you say. “I shouldn’t, it’s stupid, I just—”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie pulls you into a hug, rubs your back in slow circles. “Stop it. Don’t say it’s stupid. If it made you upset, it’s not stupid.”

“I know you like her,” you cry into his shoulder. “I don’t mean to ruin that, I—”

“Whoa, what? Sweet thing, Missy’s just another singer. We’re not betrothed or anything.”

“But you said—over the summer—”

“Yeah, we got to know each other. But she’s just part of the scene. And there’s a bajillion people like that. She’s nothing special, princess, no way. She definitely doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

“But she is metal. And I’m not. And I’m gonna go back to school soon and you’re gonna find somebody who knows all of Dio’s albums and plays Dungeons and isn’t scared of getting tattoos or piercings or—”

“Y/N,” Eddie says. “I don’t care about any of that. You could religiously listen to the Hot 100 like Harrington does, whatever. Doesn’t matter. Won’t change the fact that I’m crazy about you. Nobody’s got my heart but you.”

Eddie freezes. Slowly, you draw back to meet his gaze.

“You’re crazy about me?”

He gnaws the inside of his cheek, looking everywhere but you.

“I, uh… y-yeah. I am.”

You hold on tighter because it feels like Eddie might try to back up first so you won’t have to push him away.

“I’m crazy about you too,” you confess.

Eddie’s eyes go big as dinner plates.

“Me?”

“There’s never been anybody but you,” you inform with delight.

Eddie’s smile is sweet and a little bashful. He surges forward, hands landing on your hips. You put your arms around his neck.

“Kiss me, Eds?”

“Anything for you, sweet thing.”

Eddie is gentle. He moves his arms up, trying to block you from the wind chill. You play with the ends of his curls. It’s everything you’ve wanted since freshman year and more. Eddie’s warm and everywhere. You feel him smile against your lips.

“Told ya you’re my girl,” he murmurs.

You smile softly.

“Sap.”

“Oh, I mean, uh—” Eddie clears his throat. “You’re my girl in a mean and scary way.”

“Very convincing.”

“Thanks, baby. Wanna get outta here?”

You frown at the windows.

“I kinda wanted to try those Munson-approved burgers.”

“Oh! Shit, hold on.”

He hands you the keys and runs inside. You turn on the van, cranking the heat to four. Eddie flits from the counter to the table. He says something to Missy she does not look happy about. You wiggle giddily in your seat.

Eddie returns shortly. You roll down the window so he can give you the food and shakes. Then he gets into the car, blowing hot air into his hands.

“I hope you didn’t start a fight with Missy,” you frown.

“I just told her to stay the hell away from us.” Eddie shrugs. “Turns out Beetle chewed her out plenty.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. You made quite the impression.” Eddie grins and nudges you. “You’re more metal than me, sweet thing. Gareth and Jeff are getting a ride back with him.”

You grimace.

“I guess they weren’t too happy about us ditching them.”

“Nah, they were understanding. Told them I wanted to take my girlfriend home.”

You laugh, warmth flooding you.

“Oh, really. And what did they say to that?”

Eddie grins.

“‘It’s about damn time.’”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x yn #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #friends to lovers

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chromium-daze · 8 months

Text

Flower Bouquet

Portgas D. Ace x GN!Reader 548 words

Just some simple silly fluff, enjoy! ~no warnings, just gonna apologize for my mid writing alskjflaskdjf

---

"Y/N!" off in the distance you can see Ace running towards you, waving his hands wildly back and forth. As he gets closer, you notice that he has a bouquet of flowers in one of his hands.

After a little bit, he finally comes to an abrupt stop in front of you, doubled over with one hand on his knee and the other safely holding the bouquet above his head. A small silence followed, the occasional deep breath coming from Ace as he tried to catch his breath.

"Ace... is that a bouquet of flowers? What's the special occasion?" you ask, tilting your head to the side.

"Well you see, last night when you and I were drinking with the rest of the crew, you had mentioned how no one had ever gotten you flowers before. Soooooo..." Ace stood up as straight as he could and put one hand on his hip and held out the bouquet in front of you with his other, a bright smile on his face.

"Ace... you didn't even take the price tag off of this-" he held up a finger to your lips in an attempt to silence you.

"I just simply wanted to emphasize the MASSIVE amount of money I spent on it. Also, you didn't even thank me."

You make a show out of squinting your eyes at the price tag. "It says right here that it's five dollars."

"I'll have you know that's a LOT of money. I spent a lot of time choosing the BEST bouquet for the BEST person in the world." you roll your eyes and cross your arms.

"Be honest, did you just ask for the cheapest option?"

Ace puckers his lips and squints, "...perhaps."

You sigh and shake your head slightly, "...thank you though."

"Oh??? Is that a genuine thank you I'm hearing??" you see the corners of his lips twitch.

"Yes, yes it is."

"Alright well, I should probably tell you then," Ace takes a deep breath and pauses. You wait patiently, tilting your head urging him to continue. "I ate one of the leaves."

The silence has never been so loud.

"I'm being serious! I swear!"

"But why though."

"Well I couldn't tell if it was fake or not!" he held his hands up in defense.

"So you're telling me the brilliant conclusion you came to, was to eat the leaf."

"Well... technically I didn't eat it... I just kind of... chewed it up a little bit." more silence.

"So what did it taste like?"

"A leaf."

"So like a real one or a fake one?"

"...A real one."

"Why do you know the difference?"

Ace shrugs. "I'm not obliged to answer that question."

You chuckle, hiding your smile behind your hand. "You're so interesting, you know that?"

Ace grins at you. "I can tell you're already falling in love with me."

You raise an eyebrow and smirk at him. "And what if I am?"

"Well then, I guess I'll get you a TEN dollar bouquet."

"With a chewed up leaf?"

"Multiple, if you'd like." there's a long pause between the two of you as you look at each other for one, two, seconds before the both of you double over in laughter, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

---

this was inspired by a tiktok post made by @/lulushoeshoe they make a bunch of prompts about a bunch of different things and i highly recommend checking them out if you're feeling a bit of burnout :)

#portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas d ace fluff #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #gn reader #everybody can read this

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glazesunflower · 8 months

Note

may i ask for some dating headcannons with focalors the hydro archon? :3

Dating Furina/Focalors Headcanons

Characters: Furina/Focalors x GN!Reader.

Warnings: None that apply!

Notes: I was waiting to play the first Fontaine Archon Quest to get a grasp of her character before writing this. I have to say, I absolutely love this gremlin and bratty Archon. I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. (The last ones are my favorite <3)

Furina is flamboyant, imprudent and she lives for the thrill of the drama and the validation of those around her, so you’ll have to be very understanding and patient with her and the fair amount of mishaps that she will surely cause. So be prepared!

She doesn’t really voice it, she’s too proud for that, but she absolutely loves the way you’ve become her anchor, helping to balance out her impulsive nature with your calm and understanding demeanor. When she's on the brink of making a hasty decision, you're there to gently guide her, reminding her to consider all perspectives and consequences before acting. And she takes your advice to heart, be proud of that!

She struggles internally a lot with the pressure of her public image. Of course, she doesn’t say this directly to you, but you can see how it affects her, and so you write for her heartfelt letters whenever she's facing a tough situation. She doesn’t really make much of a fuss about them, but internally your words of encouragement and reminders of her strengths become her source of comfort, and she rereads them many more times than she’s willing to admit. She even has a special box where she keeps them all. But don’t ask her about it!

But it’s not all sappy stuff, your relationship with her is very adventurous and fun! Furina absolutely loves a good thrill and an outstanding performance in everything she does, so you’re of course expected to tag along in all of her endeavors. Whether it's exploring a new case that’s just taken place, trying out quirky local restaurants, or taking impromptu road trips through Fontaine, you both find joy in the thrill of the new things you try together!

Furina absolutely thrives on positive attention and affirmation. She is always very touched by your heartfelt compliments and words of encouragement (she probably won’t say it, mind you, but she would engrave your words in her mind to always come back to them). Express your admiration for her skills, charisma, and unique qualities and Furina will glow, feeling appreciated and loved. Keep them coming, she can’t get enough!

After some time of her being with you, Furina will slowly (and I mean, very slowly) feel comfortable enough with letting her guard down around you. And that is no easy feat! She’s constantly thinking that she will be judged by whatever she says wrong, so you should feel immensely lucky that she’s willing to trust you with her innermost turmoils! (Her words.) In time, you create a safe space where she can express her insecurities without fear of judgment, because you’re kind like that and you love her. You encourage Furina to have a ton of heartfelt conversations, and slowly you help her understand that she doesn't have to be perfect to be loved. It’s still a work in progress, but she’ll get there.

Furina is a sucker for gifts. After all, what better way for others to express their admiration for her, right? But the ones she loves the most are yours, of course. The gifts and tokens of your affection hold special meanings, since you picked them out knowing she’d like them. Like a charm to remind her of her resilience or a piece of art that reflects her flamboyant personality and you thought, “Oh, this reminds me of her!”. Keep doing that. She can’t get enough of it.

Knowing how much she loves and treasures positive attention, you organize surprise events or gatherings to celebrate Furina’s accomplishments, no matter how small they are. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it (She deserves all the praise and attention, after all!), but you see the brightest smile dancing on her lips the whole day, and that’s how you see how much she values these moments. These thoughtful gestures show Furina that you genuinely appreciate her efforts and want to support her in all aspects of her life. She will try even harder this time, if only for you to praise her more.

Your relationship with her is also full of laughter. You tease each other constantly, at all times, sharing inside jokes, and find humor in the quirks of everyday life together. Furina knows you have an ability to make her smile even in challenging times and she silently appreciates you so much for her. Still, you tease her too much. And she is the embodiment of the divine, she can’t have you teasing her in public!

With the passing of the time by your side (and I mean, at a very slow pace!), Furina starts to overcome her need for constant validation from others. She slowly becomes more confident in her abilities in the court and outside of it, and she learns to embrace her imperfections (her impulsivity, childlike temper, the constant bravado and drama, the list goes on!), understanding that you love her for who she truly is. Really, how could you not? She’s impressive and heavenly! It’s only natural you’re head over heels and completely in love with her! (She’s working on her arrogance, too).

Furina loves the spotlight more than anything else in the world (well, she only likes you more, and that’s saying something!), so sometimes you plan extravagant date nights that cater to her love for the spotlight. Whether it's a private outdoor performance under the stars or a playful evening of reenacting dramatic scenes from her favorite plays, you keep the excitement alive for her. And she thrives in every minute of it.

When it comes to physical touch, Furina is by far not used to it at the very beginning, so she’s fairly unsure when it comes to it. But she’s quick to realize that your gentle pats on her back, walking around with linked arms, or even a reassuring touch on her shoulder during moments of stress in the courtroom make her feel so much better instantly! Is this some kind of heavenly magic?

Furina quickly starts to associate your touch with positive emotions. Holding hands with you during a thrilling adventure or wrapping an arm around your waist while watching a dramatic play becomes something she really, really likes doing.

And when you introduce cuddling to her, Furina finds a whole new world to explore and enjoy. Whether it's lounging on your couch or stargazing, Furina wants to be in your arms at all times, if she has any say in the matter! Let her nuzzle into your neck and stay there for a while, she feels the safest she’s ever felt.

Furina enjoys your touch very much. She does not enjoy, however, how you playfully tease her with light touches, tickles, and gentle bumps! She’s the embodiment of justice, you can’t just have her wiggling and choking on laughter beneath you, how unsightly! (She absolutely loves it).

Furina has associated your touch with comfort and safety, so don’t be surprised when she comes to you after an especially hard day. Yes, she messed up in the courtroom today, but you’ll let her rest against you, won’t you? Your hugs and embraces become her safe haven. Sometimes she will open up and admit what happened that day. Others, she simply wants to enjoy your arms holding her tight in silence. In either case, she deeply appreciates you being there for her. She won’t voice it, of course, but you’ll know in the way she presses her forehead closer to you and the angle of your neck.

She also finds that physical touch is very useful! She starts using her own touch on you as a way to express her emotions. A soft kiss on your cheek in the morning, a warm hug after a long day, or even a surprise tackle or an affectionate nudge as you tease each other becomes her way of saying "I care about you" without needing dramatic and flamboyant words. How practical! She will keep showering you with her divine affection for many more years to come!

Having Furina as a significant other is no easy feat, it takes a lot of courage, determination, and most of all, a big amount of patience and understanding. Still, she is the most vibrant and colorful part of your life, so you wouldn’t have it any other way. With her, you become her partner in both the thrilling moments and the challenges of her life. Your love and support help her navigate her insecurities and embrace her true self, helping to nurture a romance that's passionate and tender and all the beautiful things in between.

If you enjoyed this, please consider liking or reblogging it <3!

You can check more of my writing on (this link!). Thank you!

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x you #focalors #furina #furina x reader #focalors x reader #hydro archon #fontaine

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hollyhomburg · 1 year

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Before I Leave You (Pt.52)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Jimin and Jungkook might not be the /best/ at giving you aftercare, but what they lack in execution they make up for in sheer determination. Sometimes, love is the best medicine.

Tags: Sub drop, Angst, Self-deprecating thoughts, Self-esteem issues, Hurt, comfort, Tears, sex scene Negotiations, vibrators, voyeurism, pleasure-dom jimin, pillow princess m/c, discussions of past sexual and physical abuse (nothing that i don’t believe hasn’t been touched on prior), mentions of death, medical stuff,

W/c: 8.6k

A/n: Ah, this is a chapter, am i the most proud of it? no. but thats okay! i hope people will like the hurt/comfort! i think i needed to write something like this for bily. i know bily is long but! this is probably one of the most intimate chapters i’ve written so i like it for that fact, and all the subtext in it!

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

Yoongi’s not waiting in the house for you when you get back from the gym. He’s not even waiting on the porch. No- he’s on the street, eyes frantic and flannel misbuttoned like he’s been listening for the grumble screech of Jimin’s car. Like he started walking down the street the second he heard it.

He hardly even wants to wait for it to thud to a halt. The smell of metal and gasoline gunks up your stuffy nose, keeping you from scenting him. His hands are so soft on you when he makes to pull you out of the car and Jungkook’s lap although the omega clings to you. A half-affronted noise leaves his throat. bereft as you’re transferred from one packmate to another.

But Jungkook would never deny Yoongi this.

Your mates’ hands shake, trembling when they cup the back of your neck. “Oh- my little sweetheart- I’ve got you- I’ve got you-”

Truer words have never been spoken. He effortlessly lifts you out of the car and into his arms. You’re little more than a puppet, a doll underneath your mates’ hands as you reach for him and are rewarded.

Your nose feels rubbed raw either from the scents of everyone at the gym or your own sobs that tear through your throat. The sound is as rough as sandpaper and as quiet as the pea gravel that clinks against their sneakers as they ferry you into the house. But the soothing smell of chocolate feels like pure relief when he tucks your face into his throat.

Jimin leaves his car parked cockeyed in favor of shooting out of it to usher you and Yoongi inside, hand on your back. Jungkook’s close behind. Big hand closing around the tips of your fingers.

There has never been a prettier safer house than your and Yoongi’s home. Finally- you can smell your packmates, and it’s that alone that starts your comedown. You finally feel a little bit safe. Here where evidence of the people who live and love you clings to the floorboards and the strawberry-patterned tea cloths. and push away dangerous ideas that hover on the edge of your consciousness like vultures.

Here you go, making a big deal out of nothing again. Here you go making them love you less. You should accept your alphas criticism without all this fanfair- what kind of omega can’t handle such a simple correction? Geumjae would have hit you harder and you wouldn’t have been nearly as upset. You should punish yourself more to make up for it-

You barely remember the moments you spent leaving the gym; Memories strung together like mismatched socks on a close line.

A face you don’t know well enough to recognize yet- Wonho maybe. “I told you to make sure she didn’t hurt herself kook” “It’s not that kind of hurt hyung.”

Jimin’s barely leashed growl as he came too close. Too threatening and forghein to Jimin's grating senses. There is nothing more dangerous to an alpha than a strange not-packmate coming close to a distressed omega.

He was ready to flatten Wonho, But luckily he didn't have to. Hopefully the other omega won’t hold it against you later.

You remember Jungkook getting you into the back of the car. Wrapping his arms around your back when you curled up as tight as possible. You remember Jungkook telling Jimin to drive fast. His cheek laid over your shoulder, already trying to cuddle the sadness away.

You remember lurching into motion before Jimin could even touch the gas pedal. Frantic, shaking your head. Begging him not to. Shaking so hard you could hardly see.

He’d kept you at a reasonable speed even though his whole body was trembling too. Eyes more on the rearview mirror and you and Jungkook in the back seat than on the road.

You’re still shaking. It doesn’t stop when Yoongi puts you into Jin and Jungkook’s nest. Jungkook immediately begins to fluff the covers. Pulling items closer to you that the other omega deems of particular comfort; Namjoon’s favorite pillow. Hobi’s sweatshirt. Jin’s favorite yellow blanket; the mustard yellow companion to your thick blue duvet that's in the other room.

Even as Yoongi gets you situated, whipping away your tears with his sleeve and clutching you close. Like if he just keeps your head tucked below his chin then nothing bad can happen to you.

Jimin pulls back the covers so that you and Yoongi can get in and when you do-

The fluff of it is safe, blissfully so.

A safe little cavern of warmth and softness and pack that your mate places you into. You’re still crying, still curled up as tight as you can. But the reverence with which they treat your curled form is almost enough for the bleak nameless awfulness to leak out and warmth to take its place. Jungkook tugs himself along your spine and Yoongi teeters, one knee in the nest. Jimin darts out the door, clearly having something else in mind.

Jungkook looks up at Yoongi. “She needs-“

“Chocolate,” your mate says. Every Dom is well acquainted with the tiny bundles of serotonin found in gold foil, as holy and easily given as communion. Subs always get chocolate after a scene. It's one of Yoongi's rules. It even applies to Jungkook. Even when it might trigger a seizure. The pack has learned that certain things are worth the compromise.

A drop is something that they’ve all felt at one point- Dom drop too although that predicament is substantially less common. But Jungkook has never witnessed anyone drop quite this bad. (You’re still crying so hard. Hard enough that there’s a knot building in Jungkook’s own chest). He's never been in the position to take charge and take care of them the way the others might.

Now- he wants to do more than that. He wants to be the first one you turn to for comfort, the one in control of getting you back to normal.

“And water-“

Jungkook’s fluffy hair flops as he shakes his head, “not water-“

“Lemonade?” Jungkook nods, pout disappearing as Yoongi is properly ordered about.

The basket that Jimin carries is nearly as tall as his torso and twice as wide, packed several inches higher with mismatched blankets and soft things. Filled to the brim with every last nesting blanket that the pack keeps in the hallway closet. He places it on the edge of the bed softly so as to not startle you and then-

Promptly dumps it out on top of you.

Light filters down past cotton and soft down feathers, obscuring Jimin and the sound of his voice, muffled by the layers and layers of fabric. “I put the big one in the drier, it should be warm in a few minutes.” Jungkook behind you fidgets happily, the small murrr he lets out ascent and praise enough as he begins to fuss and build a nest around you. The walls higher, safer.

Jungkook, Jimin, and Yoongi operate as a perfectly oiled machine. Yoongi goes to get you food and Jimin replaces him. As pitiful as you might be, as pathetic as you might look (sniffling, face all blotchy and hot feeling underneath their touch) You have never been in better hands as Jimin settles you.

An alpha, omega, and beta a piece- it’s almost as good as your whole pack.

Jungkook falls into a purring nesting fury as you sniffle. Fluffing the nesting things around you until you resemble some sort of cozy flower. Each of the blankets is a careful petal placed just so, keeping you safe and snug inside until you're ready to bloom.

Jimin shucks off his sweatshirt, his arms are warm and fuzzy underneath your nose as he holds himself close but not too close.

Alphas. You’re sensitive to them- are you not? Can your fractious brain recognize that Jimin’s not a threat? Worry gnaws at his wrists. Nests are meant to be the safest place for omega’s. While this one isn’t yours technically, still-

Jimin will understand if he’s not the person you want to comfort you through this.

You’ve never seen Jimin this timid as he sets one hand on your head, rubbing through, a comforting growl tugging from his chest- keeping a little bit of a distance between you in case you’re not ready for it and-

And you don’t want it. You don’t want a single inch between you.

You want him wrapped around you so tight that you can’t tell where your body begins and his ends. You want him to want to hold you like he needs you. You want him to hold you like you could never do anything wrong because you know how far from the truth that is.

Everytime this happens you wonder if this is the time they decide that you're too much to handle. If this is the meltdown that will estrange them from you.

What request could it be that might tip the scale out of your favor? What is too much love when compared to not enough? Don't both leave a sour taste in your mouth? Namjoon and Hobi last night is only part of it- they're only part of what you’re guilty of.

But Jimin, hovering over you, is the one person who might share your fate.

The sheer terror that the truth will poison the ones you love. the idea that everything you have is only one truth away from disappearing. He at least- can understand what this particular kind of regret and fear feels like.

But It’s okay. It’s okay because Jimin probably doesn’t want to hug you anyways. You don’t want affection if it’s forced. The best you can do is hope not to be a burden, Jimin is probably at the end of his rope with you- always trailing after him and Tae.

You quake beneath his sky touches; petting down your hair and cupping your wet cheek to wipe away the fresh wetness. Your lower lip trembling, face crumbling again. He's being painfully gentle, not hard and anchoring like you want him to be.

Jimin’s shaking with the effort of holding himself back. Jimin has always been able to subvert his needs for his packmates just like you. But his leash on himself is tightly pulled right now.

Luckily Jungkook notices the reason for your shaking. A keen builds in your throat. Your omega reacting to Jimin’s presence without your say so. You're two seconds away from letting out an embarrassingly needy chirp when He pokes his head up out of the blanket, glaring at Jimin-

“Minnie- I swear to god if you don’t hug her right fucking now-“

No sooner has the order been given than Jimin is crushing you. All the hard and pretty edges of him cradling you into being. Your knees pressed to his knees, the rumble of his growl pressed to the top of your head and the feeling of him inhaling pressing to your chest. Strong arms around your shoulders.

Jungkook pulls his body back along your back, your behind nestled in the cradle of his hips. Until you're completely covered by the both of them, any spare inch not cuddled and touched and loved is protected by the blankets too.

Your breath still isn’t coming right and you’re still crying so hard that your ears hurt. So hard that it feels like the skin of your face is hot underneath the tears, you know it must be the most unattractive thing in the universe. And yet-

And yet Jimin nuzzles into the side of your face. Fingers tickling your collarbones, “Breathe in for me.” A simple command. You follow it, chest inhaling, pushing against Jimin’s palm. “Again.”

It’s easy to breathe because he wants you to. And only because Jimin wants it. You’re good aren’t you good.

“Good pup” You sag against him, and he soothes you with more of that, endless grumble growls of “good puppy, such a good omega for us, doing so well.” Falling from his lips.

“Jesus” Yoongi says when he comes into the room and finds the nest a mess, the pile of blankets arranged on top of the three of you. Nothing more than air holes and misplaced limbs that let him know the configuration of your bodies. It’s hard for him to muscle his way in, but he plucks a pillow from the side and is rewarded by Jungkook’s face and the top of your head ruffled from Jimin’s copious scent as he drags his cheek up and down. Jungkook whines petulantly at being discovered.

“Alright, up. I know you want to smother her but she needs chocolate and shit.”

Yoongi would be worried, more insistent that he be wrapped around you too- but your scent is slowly mellowing. The tense tugging down his mating bond doesn’t feel quite so taught. (At least not like it did earlier when he was finishing the drawer knobs upstairs. Your dropping felt like someone dragging their nails down the nape of his neck. Like the drop in temperature before a storm or a plunge on a rollercoaster. The lurch when your feet misplace a step).

He’d known before Jungkook called.

Despite all the love you can’t seem to stop crying. At least it’s gentler now. Jimin kisses your wet cheeks. Your tears living and dying on his mouth as he kisses each one away diligently. And then the feeling of his warm tongue, darting out kittenish as he cleans your face free of the memory of sadness with soft small licks.

It’s a little wet and a little gross, but Jimin’s hair tickles your forehead, nose nudging yours as he works. It's not exactly grooming per say but close enough. The soothing rumble growl of his chest sends you down and down. Turning your sobs to sniffles.

“Open up sweetheart” Eyelashes fluttering, Your chin gets nudged up by Yoongi’s hands. His fingers gently pinch your cheeks and guide your mouth to fall open obediently. Yoongi places a small piece of chocolate on your tongue, the inch squares broken in half then half again. A big cup and straw with icy lemonade soothes your hot throat. Jimin’s soft licks continue when your mouth is occupied, licks that grow into hungry kisses when he finds a bit of chocolate on the corner of your mouth and licks there.

Jungkook looks as stern as you’ve ever seen him, holding the lemonade cup threateningly. “You’re going to stay right here, you’re going to let us love you until you don’t feel so shitty, and only then- will we let you out of the nest, okay? Pack's orders.”

Yoongi jostles Jimin and the alpha pulls himself a little more on top of you to give him an inch edgewise. Feilding complaints of “you know I get supreme cuddle priority where this is concerned.” He grumbles, but lets your mate manhandle you until you’re placed gently on top of his chest. (If this is what babying by three separate packmates is like- you can’t imagine what it would feel like from all seven.)

You try to duck back below of the edge of the covers but Jungkook doesn’t let you, making a soft noise and bending over to kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Why does Minnie get to lick all the chocolate-“

“Oh, be quiet kookie” Yoongi’s finger hooks into his mouth- shoving a bigger piece that he crunches on through his laughs.

Another square. Another sip. They don’t make you talk, but soon all you want is another kiss. Jimin’s lips work on your throat nudging pleasant pheromones from your scent gland and cleaning you of the grainy film of sadness. While Jungkook and Yoongi trade your mouth between the two of them.

Jungkook’s tongue tastes like chocolate, just like Yoongi’s. It’s dizzying and slowly gets hotter as your bodies warm up the nest. Jimin's hands slide up your ribcage, holding you in place as he laps at your throat. Leaving your scent gland pink and sensitive and utterly normal smelling under his mouth.

Every chocolate square earns you another kiss until you’ve almost eaten the whole bar. “You’re going to make my lips chapped.” Jungkook hums through another kiss but recognizes that it’s a wet confession. You’re still sniffling.

“Too bad. It's what you deserve.” He says matter of factly, swallowing your protest with another kiss. Yoongi makes a sound in agreement. do I though? Do I really? Isn’t this all just- not allowed? Not for me? Am I really worth all this. “I can hear you doubting us you know-” Jungkook pushes.

Yoongi’s fingers massage down your tense neck and you tuck your face into his shoulder. Your mate sighs, and you thank god or whatever force above that Yoongi's never been one to challenge you the way that Jungkook does.

“Can we just go back to kissing if you’re going to psychoanalyze me?”

Jungkook doesn't let you hide, turning your cheeks up at him “You deserve every bit of this, and every bit of babying the others are going to give you when they come home-“ you gulp, but try and twist your face out of his hands.

"Kookie-" your mate eases.

But they won't just let you stew, content to kiss away your sadness. If that was ever a thing might happen their mouths could do it. Jungkook’s with his cute little mole. Jimin’s that are so plush you half expect each kiss to come with a squeaky toy noise. And your mate's kisses, slow and lingering working you over until your scent goes sweet and heavy.

You hardly have enough time to breathe between one mouth and the next.

Your breathless "fuck" gets swallowed between Jungkook's huff and Jimin's insistent growl. he’s so grumbly when he kisses, each press of his lips earning another possessive rumble. Comforting kisses and hot kisses and every type of kiss in between. Unhurried in their intent of taking you apart and putting you back together.

You don't know how long they spend kissing you but it feels like hours.

The need between your thighs builds with every kiss. The hunger sensitivity hotness of arousal carefully cultivated by their mouths and nothing else. you’ve never been someone who had a particular weakness for kisses but maybe it’s just getting passed around that has you riled up so fast. the smell of buttery baked slick eventually nudges your nose. They’re so close, so hot pressed around you. You can feel Jungkook’s rapid heartbeat against your back.

Yoongi's hand massages closer and closer to the nape of your neck not a scruff, but not not a scruff either. Jimin is not content to wait while you kiss, Jungkook delicately licks into your mouth, almost lapping at the seam of your lips. it’s messy and primal and you feel yourself clench around nothing when he sucks on your lip. Just in time with Jimin dragging his lips up and down your scent gland, hot and clean under his touch.

Sometimes- sometimes soft sex is the best sort of aftercare. Especially after the doms are particularly rough. From what Yoongi knows of your scene last night (Namjoon and Jin gave him a rundown) neither you nor Hobi got to cum last night.

Maybe that's what you need. Like this. So soft and gentle that you hardly have to lift a finger.

Jungkook settles for man-handling your lower half, tangling your legs, and nesting his between yours. Squirming close enough for the apex of your legs to touch his thigh. Dragging along the thickness. not exactly sexual given you're both clothed and yet-

Yoongi catches his hands. Sensing your discontent before you shift, not entirely uninterested but-

You have three packmates in front of you and you'd have a hard time even pleasing one of them right now with how tired you feel.

jimins hands start to linger along the hem of your shirt but you catch them and pull back, Fingers pressing gently, tentatively giving your bodies some space. Eyes darting away from him, unable to meet his eyes.

“I think- I’m still a little sore from-” from Tae’s knotting, almost four days ago now. Your body still hasn’t healed itself completely. The skin deep ache is still there when you move. Not to mention the tenderness on your backside from Namjoon. There's still evidence of her, barely there bruises from her mouth poking up over your hip where your shirt has gotten rucked up from Jungkook's fingers gentle and explorative.

Don’t make me say no to you right now. Please don’t make me disappoint you. I don’t think I’d be able to say no right now if I wanted to. I don’t think I’m able to not to give you every inch of me.

Your memory fractures, hurtling you into another moment, another lifetime.

In the backseat of a fancy car after a dinner during which you hadn’t been able to keep from crying. You couldn’t help it, it just hurt so bad sitting after the night before. You were so sore then- not sore just- in pain just sitting there.

It was one of the first nights he’d ever been overly rough with you. Rough enough that you’d found yourself too hurt for any more. But Geumjae hadn't wanted to hear it. You remember Geumjae cupping the back of your head just as gently, urging you down toward his crotch. The chauffeur in the front seat put up the partition.

“There is one way you can make it up to me. I know you’re upset that you made me angry. But you have to remember if I’m happy you’re happy right?”

Right?

Jungkook and Yoongi take your answer for what it is. The kisses get slower, more pecks. But Jimin- Jimin is still eyeing you precariously. He notes the darkness in your eyes, the place you go to that's small and dark and scary.

"If you’re saying that because you think this has to involve a knot- then you’re wrong. It doesn’t. I was just going to-” he trails off, waiting and watching. You shift backing up right into Jungkook who promptly loops his arms around your middle.

“Doesn’t it?” You ask carefully. Still very unsure and very worried. “You can’t exactly like- fuck the sad out of me any other way. Can you?”

You don’t mean it to sound like a challenge but it’s clear something in Jimin takes it like that by the way he bristles. something in Jungkook too. His hands are still on you, still on your stomach. Stroking gentle circles that go hard with your words.

“Not at all."

"Do you think we have all those sex toys for decoration?"

You shrink, and Jungkook nuzzle sweetly. Yoongi cautions, unsure. "Guys-"

But Jimin is never one to back down. Pressuring you is the last thing he wants to do but he just wants to understand why. When he can so clearly smell that you're interested- why are you refusing?

There's something about seeing you so sad, so small and unsure like you just were that makes him itch.

He nudges the side of his face with his nose. “If you don’t want to cum then you don’t, that’s all I was implying. Nothing reciprocal- this isn’t about making us happy.”

Happy

You toy with the front of his shirt, something in your stomach lurching. You don't know if you can believe what Jimin says but- Jimin is honest. When you pull back to search his eyes there’s nothing there that betrays the truth.

“I don’t want to just like- get off while you guys watch, that hardly seems fair- that hardly seems- right.”

Don’t let me take more from you- because I will take too much from you if you let me. I don’t want to feel selfish on top of feeling like I’m not enough. I should be offering the same to you for fucking up your afternoon.

Jimin darts forward, pressing his mouth to yours, in a brief hot way, speaking with his body when his words just won't align. When he pulls back he doesn't leave you entirely, keeping his forehead pressed to yours.

“Say no. Say no and we’ll drop it and I promise we’ll just cuddle but- do you trust me?”

“Yes” you answer, because you do- you think you might always trust Jimin. Despite what happened before you knew Yoongi and the whole pack. Despite everything that’s happened since. Jimin has always proven himself with his love, a selfless love.

He was the first one after Yoongi who bandaged your cuts and kissed your burns and bruises, all those months ago. Back when you had nothing to offer him, not even your words. You can trust the medicine he prescribes. There was nothing in it for him then, no reason that he had to care for you.

“You promise you won’t like- get angry if it's just me? If I don't want to reciprocate?” You tentatively trail off, you don't want to be too articulate with it but you have to know.

Jimin’s eyes darken ever so slightly, but you don’t find any of that anger in his answer. None of it- directed at you. “Of course, I won’t. I’d never do that. None of us would ever get angry at you for that.”

You watch Jimin for one more moment, hiccuping and Sniffly. You duck jimin’s intense gaze shyly. "You don't have to," you say weakly, giving them one last chance to change their minds, interest stirring anew as Jungkook sucks down the column of your throat. Your scent spiking again- comforted and consenting.

"Just shut up and let us take care of you" Jungkook gets a nip for that one.

Yoongi leaves the nest at Jimin’s urging to choose something you might like from the boxes in the closet. “Oh! Get the pink one with the-” Jungkook orders. but Yoongi pauses in the doorway to look back and watch you. You’ve gone back to exchanging soft kisses.

The Yoongi of many months ago would have intervened before Jimin could even ask the question before he could even press you. But now- something in him feels nearly settled while he watches you snuggled down between the two of them.

In another world; where you and Jimin and Jungkook and Tae had met before Yoongi and the rest had. He thinks you'd have done well together. That you’d have fallen in love or into something- regardless of him. The idea of it is both comforting and scary.

Yoongi comes back, and you barely catch the flash of pink as you recline against Jungkook’s chest. As Jimin slides your pants down your hips, pulling back the blanket so he can slide them off your feet.

The kisses keep coming, and you don’t know where to put your hands, they end up hovering in front of you awkwardly- unknowing if you should touch Jimin or if that would be too much.

Jimin holds his hand out expectantly for it, and Yoongi hands it over with a quiet huff. Alphas and their possessiveness. Trust Jimin to be possessive of your pleasure.

The head of the vibrator is already warm. Jimin is considerate that way and warms it up between the palms of his hands before he begins. Your mate keeps trading you for kisses, pressing the occasional peck to jungkook’s forehead or cheek. both of them keep you distracted, and prevent you from getting anxious as jimin intently bunches your panties to the side (the fabric damp enough that it wets jimin’s fingers). But Jimin is too focused to kiss you too, too insistent that he be the one to hold the vibrator.

You don't even have to lift a finger. Is this what he meant when he said he wanted to turn you into a pillow princess all those weeks ago?

It’s gentle, you’re too distracted with kissing them as Jimin presses it to your clit. He does it softly but even so, the gentle first touch of it buzzing against you has you jerking.

Yoongi lets out a soft noise, hands going to your hips as you squeak, keeping you still underneath the covers. Everything is warm and hidden and gentle. The only disturbance is your breathing getting heavier, and Jungkook asking Yoongi for a little bit of chocolate.

It's so casual you would hardly assume from their behavior that there was anything lewd happening under the covers. Jimin starts on the lowest setting, slowly cranking it up as the minutes go on. Hooking your thigh to the side so that the folds of your pussy can better part around the head of it. Watching you intently, pulling it away to watch your clit twitch.

Fuck, he thinks, tae wasn’t lying when she said you were cute. It’s been long enough from the time in Jimin’s car that he’d almost forgotten how wet you get and yet. The head of the vibrator glistens, and he licks his lips when he realizes the wet patch you’re leaving on Jungkook’s thigh.

Jungkook watches you as he eats the chocolate, smiling down at you when your eyelashes flutter. He hopes it feels good, you feeling good is something he wants all the time. He keeps the chocolate on his tongue, letting it get melty and gooey before he kisses you again.

Jungkook doesn’t stop kissing you, working your mouth with his, letting the chocolate melt into the seam of your mouth keeping you occupied while Jimin takes you apart. Both of Yoongi's hands cup your hips, urging you into a gentle grind. He's doing all the work really, nudging your hips in the direction of Jimin’s hands. Holding you still when you start to twitch.

You're so worked up from your kisses, from the spanking last night where you never got to cum, and the fact that the last time you did was with Tae and Yoongi almost 5 days ago now- that it comes quicker than you thought it would.

Your orgasm is such a gentle thing, further urged on by Jungkook’s hot mouth running down the column of your throat and Yoongi’s pleased grumble. Quiet moans that become stilted as your toes curl, stretching.

"There you go sweetheart, just like that-" Jimin growls, pressing the head of the vibrator to you with slightly more force. Making your tummy clench up under his hand where he presses. keeping you pinned exactly where he wants you.

Jimin keeps the vibrator pressed to your clit just long enough before you’re squirming away. Jungkook- the little fucker- actually has the audacity to laugh, looking down at the bottom of the nest, where it’s been disturbed by your moving.

“You know- I never noticed it before, but you kind of stretch your toes like noodle does- you know when he’s stretching in the sun, toes all splayed- when you cum.”

Your mate actually laughs at that, so does Jimin- his chest shaking under your cheek as you hide. “It’s kind of stupidly cute.”

“Shut up” you hiss, but there's no heat behind it as Jimin detangles the vibrator from the nest and hands it over to your mate. Yoongi promptly shoves it into the bedside drawer, out of sight and out of mind.

Jimin sets your thigh back down easily, placing your your panties back in place with a soft tap that has you jerking again. Your soft whimper is soothed by him and Yoongi as your body goes boneless and your mind goes quiet. jungkook re-tucks the nest around you but you don't think you could move from it if you tried, every ounce of energy worn out of it from crying and cumming.

Coming down is so easy, it’s like nothing happened at all only that you're utterly boneless now, with no tenseness left in your tired body. Sex and intimacy and these moments tangled together just like this nest. They don't smell angry at all if anything Jimin's scent fluffs out thicker and more satisfied than before.

Vanilla, chocolate, and honey. All satisfied and sweet thick. The three of them smell so nice together. It has your own scent spiking wildly. You sleepily drag your cheek up Jimin’s throat, hoping it means you'll smell like him later. You hope Jin doesn't mind, that Hobi doesn't mind- the nest is probably going to smell like you for days.

You're willing to admit that you do feel more clear headed now, although the need to be close re-surges. The need for reassurance spiking and unlike last night Jimin is right there. Yoongi is too. Jungkook- yawning and shriveling his nose cutely. Everyone has it in their mind for a nap and yet-

Yoongi’s hands comb through your hair, tucking it away from your face, playing with the little baby hairs you have at your temples. The same ones he always tugs, that he loves. Even though he’s never verbally said that he likes them.

“Do you know why you dropped sweetheart? Do you have any idea why? so that we can try and not do it next time?”

“No” you sink lower below the covers. But even they sense that it’s a lie. “Namjoon’s not going to be angry at me? For dropping? When he gets home? Right?”

“Of course not, I know he’s not even angry at you for last night either” You tuck yourself lower almost face to face with Yoongi’s tummy.

“But-“

Jimin straightens, searching the nest for his phone “We can call him right now,” a look at the clock makes him curse though; he’s probably not even out of surgery yet. “Wait okay, we can call him in exactly one hour- here, I’ll even set my timer.”

Jungkook noses along your shoulder. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s what you’re upset about-“

They wait, and with their hands on you, it’s easier not to feel the threat of your words. How is it that being loved is such a medicine to make you unafraid? There was a time when you felt fear more than safety, when not feeling it felt as foreign to you as being loved. You look down at Yoongi's hands and realize how much has changed in the last few months. Your heart feels heavy with it.

“Hobi got punished because of me.”

Your mate stiffens and Jungkook's hand is still hard around your waist, unwilling to let you get more than a centimeter or two away from him. It’s Jimin who snorts, pulling back the covers so that he can really see your face.

He raises his eyebrows, “Do you know how many times my bad ideas have gotten us both a punishment?”

“Or mine” Jungkook adds, wincing. He rubs away his grin on the back of his hand. Now is not the time to get sentimental over happy memories. “There’s a reason why we’re the pups- collectively the pups. We've all fucked up before. Hobi gets that.”

“You mean- it wasn’t- he’s not gonna hate me for it? Again?” Yoongi and Jimin go quiet, but Jungkook leans forward to nuzzle into the nape of your neck.

“I’m going to say something, and I’m going to need you not to freak out over it. Alright?”

You nod, taking a deep breath. Giving Jungkook permission to continue.

He leans forward cupping your cheek and turning your face to his and even with your hands on Yoongi’s chest, blanketed by them- His words still feel like they yank the floor out from underneath you.

Jungkook laces his other hand with yours. thumb skimming down your cheek. “This isn’t like this before. Hobi and you. You’re not like before anymore. But I think you know that already. I think that’s the real reason why you’re so scared of making him upset."

You can't look at Yoongi, can't meet his eyes with how intensely he's watching your face for your reaction. "When we say you didn’t fuck it up, we say it because we know what things really push Hobi away when he loves us-“ your inhale of breath is so jagged but Jungkook continues anyways “-and it’s not going along with his ideas.”

Jimin hums behind you, agreeing “Hobi likes to pretend that because he’s more submissive than us in bed it means he can’t act like an alpha. But he still likes to be the one in control sometimes. He does it in different ways. He likes to be listened to, to be followed. He likes to look after you when he likes you. He’s probably worried you’re the one mad at him pup.”

You think about all of it. The times that Hobi's taken you to get food, "Can you make it the way I like it?" "Of course, I can." him reaching over to tug at your seatbelt and making sure you're buckled in last night. You think of him taking your sea glass and keeping it safe in his pocket. All of it. He's always looked after you in his own, special, shy way.

Especially last night, when he safeworded for you.

You blush, and immediately re-hide hide your face in the front of Jimin’s shirt. The fact that they know this much, that they've thought on it strikes you as concerning. You wonder if they've been talking about your relationship. You know Jungkook and Tae definitely have- the gossips that they are.

If they knew about the kiss, if Hobi tells them- you wonder what they'll think. You know he hasn’t said a single word about it to anyone yet and you doubt he ever will. You only talk about things you like. You only gush about kisses given that you wanted right? And Hobi pulled away from you so quickly- he can't have wanted it. It had to have been a mistake.

And if that's true, then you have to doubt what Jungkook and Jimin say.

Yoongi's hand carding through your hair feels as familiar as your own. He knows you're not convinced yet. “I promise Hobi’s not mad at you darling.”

Hobi scoffs from the doorway, “Of course I’m not fucking mad at you.”

He has this vaguely ruffled look about him, vaguely off-kilter like he’s spent the last few hours of work bouncing on his heels after he got the text from Yoongi to the group chat. Got the text that Jin wasn’t able to step away quite yet too- and knew the radio silence coming from Namjoon meant you'd be without them.

Hobi doesn't know why he was so worried, one look at the four of you curled up in the nest, and he knows you've been well taken care of.

You shoot up, nervous, worried about what he might have heard, and painfully aware that you don’t look your best. Your face is probably still all splotchy, tear tracks and messy hair and even messier clothes. You hadn’t even showered after the boxing class and you're not even fucking wearing pants-

Hobi carefully shucks off his slightly muddy sweatshirt. “You’re not?” you ask.

“Why would I be?” he challenges, and even you have to admit you don’t have a good reason for doubting it. Yoongi next to you is so still you think he might have stopped breathing, eyes darting from you to Hoseok. Jungkook inhales a little breath, making an ah- noise that you carefully ignore.

You only have Hobi, coming close to the nest, lingering. Waiting for something.

He looks okay, okay in a way that you didn’t look this morning, nothing dark or broken in his eyes, nothing at all that supports the fear still itching through you. Taking its nails to everything soft. Hobi's eyes are soft, dark, and still like tide pools, gentle the way the ocean is at low tide.

You sit there, staring at him for a second.

“Can you get in the nest Hobi? Please.” You ask quietly. His eyes go all scared, all fragile for a second before he nods.

An omega asking an alpha to get into a nest can only mean one thing. But you both ignore the subtext of it as he gets on the edge because honestly- the nest is already a little crowded. But Yoongi moves over quick and Jimin sighs, rolling his eyes. You feel like you've missed something important. Something that's hidden in Jungkook's mouth- smiling like that cat that’s just eaten a canary.

He’s only a body away from you but if you’re being honest- it’s Hobi’s presence in the nest, safe, getting soft touches from the others that lets you banish the last of the sub drop for good.

You watch them as you start to get sleepier and sleepier, trying to keep your eyes open as you watch the others say hello. Yoongi’s hand runs over the hairs at the nape of Hobi's neck. Jimin growls and nudges his shoulder with his forehead in hello. And Jungkook’s happy squeak.

Hobi looks fine, he smells fine when you drag your nose up his hand, dozing in all the pheromones. He lies back. “You alright? Better?” he asks, getting his head on your pillow- when a brief reprieve is offered by Yoongi slinking off to get more lemonade.

(Maybe it’s a little gross that the four of you were sharing one glass of it- but then again Jungkook and Yoongi have both literally tasted your slick before so you think you won’t ever exactly get grossed out by things like this).

Hobi hadn’t known what he would come home to. If you’d been nonverbal like you were at the beginning or if you’d be in omega space. He'd prepared himself for both possibilities and the most likely and most heartbreaking one; that you'd just want to deal with it alone or with just Yoongi.

It eases something tense in his chest that you've clearly been on the receiving even of very thorough aftercare by the look of it. The smell of sadness is distantly sharp on the air. Long soothed, a bad memory.

Hobi doesn’t know why he doubted that Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook would do a good job. Why he thought for a second today that you might not be alright without him. It’s so stupid, Hobi feels stupid for thinking that. You have your freaking mate right here.

“Yeah,” you say, better, now that you’re home. Better- now that I can see you’re okay. “I’m sorry for making such a big deal over nothing, I’m-“

Hobi shushes you, “Don’t, that’s not- this isn’t a big deal. It’s not- really.” He stresses.

“Okay.” You say, “Okay” you repeat again because now that he’s here you have no idea what to fucking do about it.

You’re feeling so much lighter as the nest gets cracked open, the careful wings widened to accommodate more bodies and shoulders. It gets harder and harder to stay awake especially once Jimin retrieves your blue blanket from the drier and the warm edge gets bundled around you, soft and fluffier than the rest. Soft giggles ferry your tired body as you doze, and cat videos and tictoks get traded until Yoongi shushes them, and tells them to let you sleep.

One by one your packmates come home. You wake for each of them.

First Tae- who comes in a rush much like Hobi, her shoulder-length hair coming loose from her claw clip that she tosses on the bedside table. the clatter of it waking you up. She bundles up close to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and telling you how good you’re being. Tae is in her pretty lavender-colored blouse but her pants are a bit too scratchy until she changes into softer peach-patterned pajama pants.

She presses her nose to your shoulder, inhaling deep, pulling back with her lips parted, she must have worn a lip stain today because the edge of her cute mouth is all ruddy. "You smell like Minnie" You nudge her nose with yours.

"He took care of me." In the doorway, Jimin tries his best not to blush.

Jin comes home like a whirlwind, gone is his suit jacket and his tie, and his pants aren’t long for this world. You regret the nature of the world each time one of your loves can’t be in pajamas (Really- it’s fucking sucky that they don’t just get to traipse around in nesting clothes all the time). The soft squishy omegan part of your brain feels more and more comfortable stretching out its curious fingers and tugging at them in displeasure.

He's feeling needy too; you wake to Jin’s long fingers running through your hair and down your spine and then going up again checking your body to make sure you're okay. Now that the pack omegas got you, he won’t easily let you go.

Being loved isn’t always harsh touches and harsh kisses. Sometimes being loved looks like being softly herded into the kitchen because someone has to cook and none of you feel like being more than a few feet apart right now. Being loved feels like your big blue blanket wrapped around your shoulders bundled in Yoongi's lap while Jin makes soup. Because soup heals all kinds of ailments- even the bad days like this.

You’re persuaded into a shower to wash off the scent of all the sadness with Jungkook and Jin. Although Jungkook spends more time playing with the bubble bath than really helping wash you or groom you. Usually, he doesn't miss a chance like this.

Your sleepy bodies are pressed flush in the warm water, hungry for nothing but closeness. Jungkook’s wet hair tickles your collarbones when you sit in his lap. His small cock squished against your thigh and your chest pressed to his, nothing sexual but everything intimate about your position.

Kisses pressed to soap-slicked skin that go nowhere let me wash your sadness from you. let me do it with my mouth and make you clean with love. Let me love you in the way that makes you feel the lightest, the most cared for. The purest. let me give you that back. let me make you new.

One love makes you clean, one love makes you dirty. One makes you big and another small.

After the bath, the two of you sit side by side and let Jin blow-dry your hair. Jin even drags out floor cushions to do just this (especially for your poor bottom, still tender from the spanking last night but not quite red, a reminder that Namjoon had in fact been gentle).

The pack would ordinarily never consider Jungkook to be an obedient pup, but he is a model of perfect behavior for you. Sitting pretty and obedient (but still fidgeting slightly from side to side) while Jin does his hair and then yours. When you start to squirm he drags you sideways into his lap. After you're dry, Jin runs your hair through with a sweet citrusy smelling serum that Jungkook says he likes. You find yourself sniffing his hair to see if you like it too.

After a shower- and a fresh scent mark by the pack omega- you’re right as rain. It surprises no one when you almost fall asleep at the dinner table, fed mouthfuls of sweet strawberry spoon cake (Tae might have picked it up on her way home). A warm belly full of soup and food. Kept in your chair only by Jimin's arm around your middle.

You tried to wait up, but Namjoon doesn’t come home when he’s supposed to. He doesn’t even send a text.

The night drags on- the hours growing longer and longer and then smaller until jin ushers all of you into bed. No matter how much you whine and tug at Jin’s sleeve and say that you're more than capable of staying awake for him. You watch Yoongi and Jin share a distressed look. Namjoon still hasn’t answered any of his texts. How long was his surgery supposed to take again? 12 hours or 15?

That’s a long time for anyone to be awake, let alone for someone to be standing. He’s bound to be tired when he comes home- he’s bound to need the 7 of you.

You want to stay awake, but you’re too worn out from crying and from the boxing class today. Struggling to fight sleep until Jimin makes the move to scruff you, a gentle thing when he sets his teeth against the nape of your neck and tugs. Ushering you gently off to sleep with a small whine.

When you wake next it’s well into the night and Yoongi and Jin are not in the nest.

It takes you a few seconds to detangle yourself from between Tae and Jungkook. Before you even recognize what scent- or more precisely whose- Is tugging you into motion before you’re really awake.

Your alpha- his coffee and liquor scent- is angry and upset. It fills the house, pushing out the scent of you and everyone else. Namjoon never smells this potent, so musky.

There’s something wrong.

The first thing you see when you walk into the living room is Namjoon's blood-soaked shoes. The sensible ones he wears during surgery, soaked through from the inside out. You can tell he tried to clean them before he left but the white parts of them are still pink. Like there was so much of it that he couldn't get it all out in one wash.

He left them outside. He can't have been home for long because the door is still open, letting in the cold nighttime air. He’s pressed along Jin’s front, Namjoon only ever looks small when he’s pressed to Jin. Even as he pulls back there's something limp in him something worn away.

You're still not awake enough to piece together his words. “-One second they were fine- stable and then- they just started bleeding and the general surgeon-“ Namjoon only ever talks about the terrible and heartbreaking part of his job with Jin and Yoongi. Not the rest of the pack and not you. Not ever.

He only ever tells you when his surgeries go well. Not when they go bad, not like this.

Maybe that’s the reason why he goes silent when he sees you in the doorway, rubbing at your eyes. Namjoon looks more tired than you’ve ever seen him. His silver hair all pushed up at the back like he’d been pulling at it.

You press yourself into his front, letting out a small shattered sound. “I’m okay pup.” but his voice is rough, his eyes wet. “I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you today- I wish I'd-“ He lets out a shaky breath, and you wrap your arms around his waist.

“s’okay joonie, just happy you’re home, got the nest all nice and warm for you- come” you try to tug him but it’s like trying to move a lead weight.

You're so short you only barely come up to the middle of his chest, Jin nuzzles into his cheek, and Namjoon's scent gets impossibly thicker- deeper. It makes you want to roll around in it.

It actually makes you weak in the knees. And that's how you know something’s actually wrong. Something must be really wrong for Namjoon to be so sad and still smell so thick and musky. You don't know if he washed the blockers off before he left the hospital or if they just stopped working- or

You must make a noise- because Namjoon’s looking down at you, your mate pulls at your shoulders trying to shush you- to urge you back to the nest but you’re too sleepy to make sense of it. Can't leave alpha, need to stay by alpha, a small instinctual voice answers in your mind.

You finally unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, breathing in Namjoon’s scent deep and- You go so weak at the knees you almost fall over.

"What’s wrong- what's going on? Why-“

“Joonie’s going to be fine little love- he’s just-” Your mate flushes, unable to say it.

“It started halfway through, I was scalpel deep in the patient's spine and I couldn’t stop.” Namjoon scrubs a hand down his face, trying to clear himself of the sadness but it only makes him smell stronger. Even Jin straightens his back at that. “-I wanted to rush home the second I got your text too but I couldn’t. I noticed after I got it that I was kind of going crazy and-”

Jin cups your cheek trying to move you away and give Namjoon some space but Namjoon can’t stop his growl, loud and echoic in the quiet house. threatened by you just stepping away. His hands tighten on you possessively.

You freeze at the threatening sound but Jin just sighs rolling his eyes. “Oh you big baby- i’m not taking her away from you.”

Namjoon seems on edge as he stares down at you. Eyes flashing in the darkness. Jin sets his hands on his hips, but he knows better than to argue with his alpha when he’s in this condition.

“Joonie’s going to be fine darling, He’s just touchy because he’s in pre-rut.”

~-~

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rachalixie · 1 year

Text

what i’m looking for

you, quite literally, run into kim seungmin on your escape from an arranged marriage.

tags: strangers to lovers, hidden identity, she/her!reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 3.4k

you never thought you would be in a situation like this, running through the woods in poorly fitting clothes and shoes, branches snagging at your hair and arms as you wind your way through the forest searching for something, anything. and yet, here you are. cursed engagement ring hidden away in your satchel along with a pocket of gold coins and whatever stale pieces of food your handmaid was able to steal for you before you took your leave.

you’re surprised it took you until a week before your wedding to run away, but you were never one to back down from a challenge; you tried everything you could think of to call it off, but your parents wouldn’t budge. something about it being the best decision for the kingdom, or whatever - nevermind what you want. nevermind that your brother would become king and therefore you were simply a bargaining chip to be used for political power. nevermind the reputation of your betrothed, the reputation of his kingdom and how they treat women like you. nevermind that they’re sending you into a life of despair and discomfort.

the cool dusk breeze beating against your face feels almost euphoric as you sprint, cautiously looking behind you to make sure you’re not being followed. surely someone had noticed your departure? but you made sure to cover your tracks well; the boots you’re wearing are several sizes too big, stuffed with cloth to ease the fit, and any tracker would dismiss them on their hunt for you.

you’re abruptly sent down to the forest floor when a boy appears almost out of nowhere, tripping you and making you lose your footing. he tumbles down with you, taking the brunt of your fall, and annoyance pings within you when he groans at the impact. you’re scrambling off his lap as fast as you can, hands scrabbling at dried leaves on the ground that stick to your palms.

“where did you come from?” you demand, watching him stand up with an indignant look on his face. his pouty lips are twisted into a frown and his hair is fluffed up from his fall. in any other situation you might think he was cute. “do you not watch where you’re going?”

“oh sorry, i’m not really used to people running through my property,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and a reprimand that you have to tamp down sits at the tip of your tongue. for all he knows, you’re a commoner; announcing that he should be aware of your royal status and that technically, you own this property probably isn’t the best move. he would turn you in faster than you can speak your own name, collecting whatever reward your father most likely posted in return for your safe delivery back to the palace.

“your property?” you land on, feeling it a safe question. you look past his head and notice a tiny cottage a few yards away, ivy lining the bricks and a soft puff of smoke escaping from the chimney.

“yes,” he drawls out, as if talking to a child. “the place where i reside. you know, sleep and eat. surely you know what that is?”

“of course i do,” you huff, crossing your arms. did you look homeless to him, or something? a terrible idea sparks in the back of your mind as he looks away from you and you notice the rapidly setting sun. it hits you that you had no plan, nowhere to go, nothing to eat and no shelter for the night.

“anyways. enjoy the rest of your. jog?” he says, voice lilting up at the end like he’s not sure whether or not to be suspicious of you. he turns to walk away and a flash of panic takes over your body.

“wait!” you lunge to grip at his sleeve, a display of impropriety that you usually wouldn’t let yourself indulge in with anyone other than your closest advisors. the material feels rough under your skin, as do the borrowed clothes hanging off of your shoulders. “do you have an extra room? or a mat on the floor? i can pay you, i just need somewhere to stay.”

“what, are you on the run or something?” a spark lights in his eyes, and your hair stands on end when you realize that he’s amused. as if he knows anything about you.

“or something,” you grit out, knowing that whatever sarcastic comment that you want to make probably won’t end up with him agreeing to let you in. despite his inarguably annoying personality, he has a house, and you need him right now. you can’t imagine that you’ll run into anyone else tonight, and sleeping on the forest floor does not seem safe.

“how much?” he says, quirking an eyebrow up. you mentally cringe at the amount of money you have hidden away in your bag,

“enough,” you squint your eyes at him, gauging him. he meets your gaze for an impressive amount of time before nodding his head towards the small building and starting his trek.

“what’s your name?” you ask, following behind him, knowing but not caring that not offering yours first was rude. he looks back at you for a beat of time before shrugging.

“kim seungmin. and you?”

you give him your name, grateful to your parents for the first time in a while. they kept your true name hidden from anyone outside of the palace, and their secrecy was annoying until this very moment. it would be nice to be called something other than princess for a while, you’re sure.

he mouths your name, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment before grinning.

“well then, welcome to my home. i’ll make up a cot for you in the living room, are you hungry?” he rambles as he lets you in, closing and locking the door behind you. the skeptic sarcastic you met outside seems to melt away to reveal slumped shoulders and tired eyes, unmasked by the comfort of his space. it warms you up along with the shelter of a roof, a reprieve from the biting cold of the outside.

he doesn’t wait for your answer before walking off, leaving you to stand between the small kitchen and cozy looking living room. there’s small trinkets strewn around, soft mismatched couches with worn blankets and a rickety looking kitchen table surrounded by stools. he returns with a thin padded mattress and a pillow and he sets it down by the burning fireplace. it’s not the luxurious four post bed that you’re used to, but it’ll do.

“let me treat that for you,” he gestures at your knees, where small dots of blood seep through a tear in your trousers. there’s a small scrape you didn’t notice until now, the sting making itself known when you bend your leg just a bit to get a better look.

“it’s just a scratch,” you protest, not wanting to bite off more than you can chew with him. you already owe him for letting you in, you don’t want to think about how fast your reserves will dwindle down if he does you any more favors.

“please, i insist,” he guides you to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen table before reaching into the cabinet next to him. “i’m an apothecary, and i know my way around basic medicine. it’s not a big deal.”

you nod stiffly and let him inspect the small wound, the breath leaving you when he drops to his knees in front of you to get a better look. he rolls up your pant leg and he cleans it with rapt attention, making sure not to press too hard, and applies a greenish looking salve onto it.

“there, all done,” he says, patting the bandage he had wrapped around it before letting the cloth of your trousers back down.

“thank you,” you say, genuine in the way his returning smile is. you reach into your bag, fishing for the small bag of coins. “how much? i can pay you in advance for letting me stay, and for this.”

“keep it,” he says, voice even softer than it was before. “you can help me around the house. the weeding, or gathering wood for the fire. i don’t want your money, not when you probably need it more than i do. i make enough to get by.”

so you do. the first morning you stumble through the garden, side by side with him as he shows you which plants in his garden were herbs he could use for his medicines and which were leeching weeds that needed to be plucked before they took over the entire space. he disappears to town in the afternoon, delivering medicines and coming back with a pocket jingling with coins and a bag full of fresh pastries for the both of you. they taste better than anything you’ve eaten from the palace cooks, and you can’t help the way you moan around the cherry hand pie. you catch his eye and he meets it before you both dissolve into giggles, leaning into each other’s space on the same side of the table.

he helps you wash your clothes that night, tutting at how you only have one pair. he lends you a pair of his, an old set that he doesn’t wear anymore. you lay at night and swipe the fabric between your fingers, smiling at the gesture even though he isn’t there to receive it.

his kindness shocks you, you’re not used to people doing things for you without the authority of the crown making them or them demanding something in return. it’s nice, knowing that there’s people in your kingdom that contain such compassion, especially for strangers.

the next day he takes you deeper into the forest to pick berries, and the red and purple bursted splotches staining your fingertips for hours after. he feeds you some with his bare hand, swiping his thumb against the corner of your mouth when sweet juice escapes it. you bristle at the action and he laughs, and you have to hide your smile in your sleeve as you wipe the rest off yourself. you stay out until the sun begins to set, him busy teaching you about every type of plant the two of you come across on your stroll and you listening with rapt attention. his voice is soothing, words speeding up and slurring together a bit when he finds something particularly interesting that he wants to show you. he makes you feel almost like when you were a child studying with your tutors, quizzing you every now and then to test your retention, but the smile he rewards you with is better than anything they ever gave you.

on the third day, he’s gone before you wake. he left a note on the table for you stating that he had to go to town for a medical emergency, and that there was bread and cheese in one of the cupboards for you to eat while he was away. you busy yourself with two knitting needles and a ball of thread you find in the living room, trying and failing to create a pattern of knots. he comes home as the sun is setting, the last rays making his hair a honeyed brown and his skin glow. your stomach clenches at the sight of him, the relief you’re feeling foreign to your body.

he grins at the sight of you surrounded by unraveled strings and gently pries your hands from the needles where they had become clenched. he wordlessly shows you how to create simple weaves with the needles, and you have to ask him to show you twice because you’re too busy staring at his tongue poking from his lips to focus the first time around. you end up with a wobbly looking hat, some knots too bit and some too tight that create gaping holes in weird places, but he places it on his head and thanks you for it anyways.

“you have a lot of secrets,” he muses the next night, sipping tea with you by the fireplace. you almost lose your grip on the mug from his abruptness.

“i do?” you ask, not willing to give away information that he doesn’t already have. you had spent the day in companionship, trading back quips and sarcastic comments between meals. he taught you about the medicines he was making that day, explaining each ingredient and its properties as he cut them up and beat them into a paste. his comment was out of place, but it’s something you’ve come to expect from him; there’s no predictability to him past the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles and the way his face goes soft when he looks at you.

“you pretend you’re a commoner, but your hands are free of callouses. your hair is full and healthy, you speak formally, you’re clearly well off. or at least, you were. what i don’t understand is why you decided to leave that behind.” his bottom lip is twisting between his teeth, not knowing whether he’s crossed a line with you.

“true,” you admit, wrapping your hands further around your tea and letting the warmth seep into your hands. it grounds you. “i didn’t think i had a choice. i wanted to make my own decisions, wanted to decide my own fate, not have someone do it for me. i felt suffocated, so i just. left. i don’t know what i was looking for, but i needed to get out.”

“have you found it?” he says, peering at you from above his mug as he takes a long sip. “what you’re looking for?”

“maybe,” you pause, looking into his eyes. they’re cocoa-dusted brown, the fire dancing across his pupils. he looks away after a moment, and you’re grateful for it. you wouldn’t want him to see the flush thats traveled up to your cheeks and ears.

by the fifth day, you’re able to identify the uncomfortable feeling in your gut whenever he walks into a room. or looks at you. or breathes, really.

you’re falling for him.

you’re not in love with him, you’re not so deluded by his puppy-like charm and stupid smile and cute teeth and sparkly eyes that you’re calling it love. you can simply identify the feeling of free falling as clearly as it was laid out in the novels you used to sneak into your room to read by the candlelight before bed.

it isn’t as difficult to look him in the eyes after you’ve identified it as you thought it would be. if anything, you’re even more drawn to his magnetism, your body moving towards his without your permission at any given time. while he’s preparing lunch, or chopping herbs, or telling you about his trip to town, you’re in his space. and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, he seems to gravitate towards you with the same intensity, or you hope so at least; it isn’t unrealistic that it’s your rose-colored vision making you see things that aren’t there.

regardless, it brings something more dangerous to your attention: hope. the hope that maybe, this could be a life for you. that this temporary stop in your journey might become permanent. that you’re far enough from your home that no one will recognize you if you step into town, that you could spend the rest of your days with him in this cottage, eating pastries and knitting and picking berries.

there was no need to tell him that now. you were fine with the way things were, you were still technically engaged, and you didn’t even know if you were ready for something like that. for the infinite time since you can remember, you’re cursing your sheltered upbringing for not teaching you how to live.

it’s on the sixth day that things go crumbling down.

he’s gone again, leaving you in comfortable silence broken up by birds chirping outside and the sound of leaves rustling past the windows. it’s domestic, the way he works during the morning and comes home a few hours later to you twiddling the knitting needles between your hands, a ball of yarn by your feet and a haphazard scarf forming under them.

“your highness?” he says, and you hear a rustle of paper, him putting his mail down most likely.

“hmm?” you sound absentmindedly, still focused on the knitting you’re trying to painstakingly learn. it hits you a moment later what he said, and you drop the scarf and needles with a gasp. you look up to see your worst nightmare in the form of him holding up a missing persons poster, a drawn image of your face adorning the middle and your name plastered underneath. missing princess, it reads, complete with a reward for your safe return. you knew this would happen, you just didn’t think it would happen so soon. a day before your wedding. you thought you had more time. you were so close to your freedom, and you could feel it slipping through your fingers.

“shit,” you curse, hiding your face in your hands so you don’t have to take in the shocked look on his face. you feel all the blood in your head rushing south, leaving you lightheaded and overwhelmed.

“you’re the princess?” he clearly has no care for your distress in this moment as he stalks towards you, the poster crumpling in his hand when it curls into a fist. “i’ve been harboring the missing princess in my home?”

“yes?” you mumble into your fingers, letting the despair settle in your traitorous stomach. he lets out a sharp breath through his teeth and you flinch, thoughts swirling.

“do you know what would happen to me if anyone finds out i’ve been keeping you here? prison would be a paradise.” you hear his feet bringing him closer to you, each drop synchronizing with your heart beating in your throat.

“please,” you remove your hands, sniffling when a traitorous tear traces down your face. “don’t send me back. i’ll give you all the money i have, just don’t send me back there.”

“hey,” he soothes, anger melting into concern as he folds to his knees in front of you. “i won’t. i wouldn’t. i just- why didn’t you tell me?”

“i didn’t know if i could trust you, at first,” you stutter out, ignoring the way your heart clenches when his face falls. “and after…there wasn’t a good time.”

“why would you give all that up? a life of luxury, never needing to ask for anything, why would you leave that to spend your days here? don’t you want to marry some prince and live in your castle?”

“i don’t want some prince. i want you,” your voice is wobbly, vision clouded by the tears you won’t let fall, but your intention is clear.

“you can’t just-” he cuts himself off, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. “you can’t want me. i’m nobody.”

“you’re not,” you press, standing until you’re level with him. “don’t you understand? it’s you. you were what i was looking for all this time.”

“but,” he protests, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up from its careful placement. “why me?”

“you’re my home, seungmin. i’ve never felt more safe or more comfortable than i have within these walls.” desperate tears continue to sting at your eyes, and he reaches to wipe them away before he can help himself. your palms move to cup his hands to your face, keeping his warmth there. “you’re the only one who sees me as more than just something they can use, you see me. please don’t send me away.”

“would you be happy here?” he asks, voice trembling. he wants you to stay.

“i’ve been happier these past six days than i’ve been my entire life.”

he surges to kiss you, finally letting your lips touch after days of lingering glances, and it feels like coming home.

you didn’t know if you would go back to the palace, but you knew you had responsibilities that you couldn’t just ignore and that you had to deal with them soon. what you were completely sure of was that, despite the wishes of your family, you won’t marry at all if you aren’t marrying him.

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz fanfic #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin fluff #seungmin x y/n #stray kids x y/n #stray kids drabbles #stray kids fic #seungmin x reader

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vodika-vibes · 1 month

Note

Congrats on your new follower event! Can I request pearl with Cody? Thanks!

It's Always Been You

Summary: You’ve been in love with your Commander almost since the moment you met him. Unfortunately, he seems to think that you’re just waiting until you meet someone better.

Pairing: Commander Cody x Reader

Word Count: 797

Prompts: Pearl - Honest Love

Warnings: Some misunderstanding, but it's cleared up pretty quickly

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thank you for your request! Sorry that it took so long~

You fold your leg under yourself as you scan your datapad for the movie that you’re looking for. It’s late, late enough that you should probably be sleeping, but you’re far too wired to sleep. Besides, Cody is sprawled on the bed next to you, absently looking over your shoulder at your datapad.

You don’t get to spend a lot of time with him, what with the war and him being Marshal Commander, and the fact that you’re technically his subordinate and this whole relationship is a massive gray area.

But that’s a problem for future you to worry about. Present you just wants to be happy and safe and warm.

“Can’t find your movie?” Cody asks, his voice low and warm.

“I downloaded a lot of movies before we left Coruscant.” You admit as you continue scrolling, “And books. And music.”

He laughs and shifts to slide his arms around your waist as well as rest his head on your shoulder, “How much free time do you expect to have?”

“Well, assuming that no one does anything stupid, hopefully a lot.” You press your cheek against the top of his head and are rewarded with the sensation of his arms tightening around you.

“Well, I’m going to intentionally download a virus to give you something to do.”

“That’s so mean.” You say as you shoot him an amused look, “At least make it look like an accident.” He shoots you an angelic look, and you release a bubbling laugh.

For a moment, his expression is warm and fond, though it falters to something a little more wistful and longing. An expression that you’ve been seeing more and more on his face lately.

Slowly you set your datapad down and you press your hand against his cheek, “Cody, is something wrong?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You look,” You pause as you try to place the emotion, “sad.” You finish.

Cody’s quiet for a long moment, long enough that you think that he’s going to ignore your question, and then he shifts and pulls away from you, moving so that he’s sitting on the bed next to you.

You sit up as well, “Cody?”

“You are far too observant,” He grumbles, as he doesn’t quite meet your gaze, “I’ve been thinking,” he adds, his voice carefully light, “about how long I’m going to have this for.”

You blink at him, “I mean…I’m not going to kick you out, but you have to go back to being Commander when the sun rises-?”

He laughs softly, “That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh.”

Cody is quiet for a moment, and when he speaks, it’s slow, as though he’s trying to think of the best way to say what he’s thinking, “I’m wondering how long I get to have you for. How long before you find someone better. Someone more deserving.”

His words hit you with all of the force of a slug shot.

“You think I’m looking for an upgrade?” You ask, genuinely hurt, “Have I said something to make you think that? Or…or did something?” You wrack your memory, trying to think of a time when you might have even implied that you were looking for someone other.

His hand is warm against your cheek, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts with startling ease, “No. You’ve always been very good at keeping your focus on me when we’re together.” Cody says quietly, “But…we both know that this is temporary.”

“...is it?” You ask, somehow even more hurt, “I kind of thought it was forever. It kind of sounds like you’re the one looking for an upgrade.”

He stares at you hard, “I think there’s been a miscommunication somewhere.” Cody finally says, “Cyare, what are your feelings towards me?”

“I love you.” You say it easily. Because it is easy. It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done, “But…but if you don’t feel the same way, I can pretend that I don’t.”

“Even though I’m just a clone?” Cody asks, “Even though you can have someone better?”

“You’re not ‘just an’ anything, Cody.” You say with a frown, “Not to me. And I don’t want ‘better’. What even is better? Richer? If I was worried about money I wouldn’t have joined the military.”

“I have no prospects for the future, cyare-”

“Cody is Cody and Cody is who I want.” You interrupt, “But…only if that’s what you want too.”

He laughs softly, and leans in to kiss you, slowly and deeply. “It is what I want. More than anything. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

You sigh softly, and climb into his lap, “You scared me. I thought you were going to kick me to the curb.”

“I would never.” His arms tighten around her, “I love you too, after all.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika vibes 500 followers celebration #commander cody x reader #cody x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #gn!reader fic #answered asks

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jimmyssnuggs · 3 months

Note

Can you do a Gabe imagine pls? Can it be a childhood friend's trope pls?

For as long as you could remember, Gabe Perreault had been a constant in your life. You had met in first grade, the curly haired boy coming up to you, with your tiny pigtails, and insisting he sat next to you. What came next was a friendship that had only grown stronger as each year passed.

You went to every hockey game of Gabe’s that you possibly could, and tagging along on each other's family vacations.

You weren’t sure when things shifted, but ever since you had arrived at Boston College for freshman year, something had been different. A good, but also scary different.

Seeing girls flirt with him makes her sick now. A year ago, she would’ve given him a thumbs up and a smile as encouragement, but now she can’t stomach it.

——

It’s a Friday night, and instead of going out to a party, you’re sitting in Conte Forum, watching Gabe’s hockey game, just like every weekend they have a home game. You’re his so-called ‘Good Luck Charm’, deemed when the one game you didn’t go to ended in a loss for Boston College.

Ever since then, you were to be present at every Boston College hockey game, with Gabe’s jersey on, per order of him, Ryan, and Will.

You make your way over to the locker game to see Gabe, like every time. Media is done, and Gabe should be walking out the door any minute now.

“Y/N!” Ryan shouts, running over to you. You spot the familiar brown curls walking behind him, and your stomach flips. “Did you see my goal? It was so sick, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was cool.” You respond halfheartedly, meeting Gabe’s eyes. Ryan shoots you a knowing look, but you swat him.

“Gabe-o!” You shout, throwing your arms around him. His arms go around your waist, steadying the both of you. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You looked like a rockstar out there!”

“Thank’s Y/N/N. You brought us good luck, just like I said you would,” His arms are still around your waist, and the butterflies are multiplying rapidly. “The team and girlfriends are going to the bar tonight, you in?” He looks down at you, and you look up at him.

“Sounds fun. I should probably change out of this though, put on something nicer.” You point down at the jersey.

“Oh, you don’t wanna wear my jersey to the bar?” He mocks fake hurt, his million dollar smile spreading across his face.

“I don’t think this exactly screams ‘bar attire’, so I’m gonna have to say no.” You giggle.

“Fair enough. We can swing by your dorm and then head over.”

“Perfect.”

——

The bar is crowded, and Gabe has a tight grip on your hand, in order to not lose you. He’s deep in conversation with Ryan, while you are talking to Ryan’s girlfriend who’s leaning up against him.

You chose not to drink tonight, instead having a diet coke with lime. Someone needs to make sure that everybody finds a safe ride home tonight.

Gabe is not drinking either, figuring you’re gonna need help with rounding up everyone and getting them back.

“Have you told Gabe you liked him?” Ryan’s girlfriend speaks a little too loudly. She’s drunk, and you can’t blame her. Ryan’s eyes widen, and you squirm out of Gabe’s hold.

“Oh, um, look at the time. I should go.” You all but sprint out of the bar, ignoring Gabe’s shouts behind you.

“Y/N, Y/N, wait!” He shouts, but they fall to deaf ears.

“Gabe, go back to the bar. Your teammates need you,” You yell back, not losing your fast pace. But Gabe is faster, and he lifts you off the ground, despite your feet flailing around. “Put me down, now!”

“Sorry, can’t. Not until you stop yelling at me.”

“Please, spare me the embarrassment. You can never speak to me again, just don’t laugh at me.”

“Was she telling the truth? Do you like me?”

It’s a heat of the moment decision, but you decide it’s now or never. Surging forward, your lips meet his, and his hands fall to your waist, pulling you oh so close. It feels like magic; like a years worth of lingering feelings finally coming to a crash in the best way possible.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yeah, it does.” He goes in for another, hands still on the small of her back to keep them both steady. It feels right, and nothing else could make either of you happier.

#gabe perreault #gabe perreault x reader #boston college hockey #bc hockey #boston college #ryan leonard #will smith #boston college eagles #bc eagles #bc eagles hockey #q writes

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hwere · 7 days

Text

SydCarmy | T | 2k words.

Tags: established relationship, dialogue heavy, tomfoolery.

“So, we’ve been secretly dating for three months now. I-I think we should tell the staff. For transparency’s sake, y’know? What d’you think?” Sydney’s pacing in the kitchen. She took off her shirt after spilling coffee all over it and has yet to go grab a new one. Carmy’s very much enjoying the view of his girlfriend only dressed in a burgundy bra and jeans.

It takes a minute for him to peel off his eyes from her torso and meet her gaze. “You were the one that suggested for us to take it slow, so it’s your decision. ‘m cool with whatever, Syd.” His eyes drifted down back to her smooth exposed skin.

“God, you're such an unhelpful perv,” she throws her dirty shirt at his face, he catches just in time, grinning. “I’m being serious, Carm. We’re their boss and-and our relationship could make things, like, awkward or impact the business, alright? We have to be careful.”

“We’re being careful, Syd. As careful as a relationship between two chefs who run a restaurant together can go,” he shrugs. “We don’t have to tell them, if you’re feeling so pressured about it. We can keep things low and wait for a better opportunity.”

She sighs, halting the pacing. “I know that our private life is our business only and all that, but I don’t know,” it’s her time to shrug, coming closer. Carmy immediately pushes his chair back, beckoning her to sit on his lap; she gladly complies. “I really feel like we owe them transparency about the change in our relationship.”

Carmy hums, occupied kissing and biting her neck.

“God, you are a perv,” she’s giggling, squirming in his arms. “C’mon, Carm. Or we’re gonna be late again.”

“Oh, here’s something that I learned in therapy,” he stops his ministrations on her neck, leaning back on the chair to look at her. “It’s okay to care and worry about things, but you can’t let that dictate how you live your life.”

“Oh, yeah? Please say more, Doctor Freud.” Sydney is grinning; returning his lustful gaze through her thick, long lashes. Makes a show of biting her bottom lip.

“Be a little shit about it, Syd.” He rolls his eyes, manhandling Sydney on his lap. He tightens his hold of her, stands up; carrying her bridal style. “I’m gonna show you something real Freudian.”

They’re late for work, again.

A ‘better opportunity’ ends up presenting itself a few days later on the biweekly original staff’s meeting. Something that Richie, of all people, suggested to improve their communication and teamwork; a safe space—except for Fak, as Richie proclaimed as the self-proclaimed HR—to throw ideas and voice your complaints. It proved to be a success so far.

“Does anyone have anything else to add?” Carmy asks, looking up from his clipboard. They’re on the front of the house, an hour after closing. “Alright. Sydney.” He doesn’t elaborate, just waits. She’s sitting beside Natalie, laughing about something.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you have something to say?”

She’s momentarily lost, chuckles nervously when she realizes what he’s referencing. “Oh. You wanna do this right now?”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” he nods. Only under torture would Carmy ever admit out loud that putting Sydney on the spot like that was his way to get payback from her not shutting down immediately a customer’s repeatedly attempts to flirt with her earlier. The man really had the audacity to come to their restaurant to flirt with his girl.

“Carm…” She stands up, comes close. “Are you sure?”

“You were the one that suggested, Syd. Are you sure?” He’s slightly aware that he’s probably being shitty right now, but Sydney only gives him a pointed look, shakes her head and turns around to face the staff.

“Fucking spill it already, Syd. We all wanna go home,” Richie urges, nonchalantly dusting his lapels. The rest of the staff makes noises of agreement.

“We, uhh. I-I mean, me and Carmy, we’re… uhh,” she looks around the room, scratching her brow. Her eyes land on his and she takes a deep breath, facing the crew once again. “We’re dating.” Her voice comes out firm. “We’ve been dating for about three months now and we just thought to, like, tell you about it for transparency’s sake. Yeah.” She finishes, nodding.

The room is silent for some uncomfortable seconds.

“Kinda late for an April’s Fool joke, no?” As always, Richie’s the first one to voice his thoughts.

“Three months?” Natalie says, stunned.

“Mami, what about the guy you were seeing?” Tina asks, scrunching her eyebrows. “What’s his name? Alex?” Carmy turns to Sydney, who absolutely refuses to look at him.

“Who’s Alex, Syd?” He inquires.

“It was, like, two dates, T.” She ignores him. “And Richie, you’re always calling us mom and dad. What do you mean by April’s Fool joke?”

“Yeah. As a joke, Syd. You’re not even his type,” Richie sniffs.

“I’m sorry?” Sydney barks at the same time Carmy goes “Richie. Shut the fuck up!” The older man puts his hands up in mocked surrender. “Sydney. Who the fuck is Alex?”

“Yo, Syd. Weren’t you the one saying that dating in the workplace was weird and inappropriate?” Marcus asks and there’s something in his voice that forces Carmy to look between the two of them. Sydney seems mortified, scratching her brows again.

“Y-Yeah. I, hm, did say that.”

“What about Claire, Carmy? I thought you were trying to get back with her.” Of course Fak would feel the need to mention his ex in the conversation, as if the whole thing wasn’t uncomfortable enough as it was.

“We broke up months ago, Fak. I haven’t seen her since.”

“I think it was more than two dates with the Alex guy, Syd. I ran into you guys once and there were at least two times that you showed up late,” Gary offers, resting his chin on his hand.

“That was a, hm, a different guy, Sweeps.” Carmy almost has a whiplash due to how fast he whips his head around to look at her. So, at some point she saw two different guys and there was something between her and Marcus? And he didn’t know about it?

“Everybody, shut the fuck up,” Natalie demands and the room goes quiet. “So, you’re actually dating each other? Dating as in dating? Not an elaborate prank or something?” She inquires, looking suspiciously between the two of them.

“Yes!” They answer at the same time.

“Okay… I have questions. How did that happen?” Natalie crosses her arms.

“That’s none of your business, Sugar,” Carmy says, starts to blush.

“Which sounds like a code to we were fucking this whole time. Wait a min—holy shit. They’ve been using the working on the menu thing excuse to fuck around!” Richie puts his fist in front of his mouth, laughing. When Carmy and Sydney stutter a retort at the same time, his laughter grows louder. “I can’t fucking believe it!”

“That’s an HR violation, Richie.” Marcus offers, seemingly taking pity on them.

“Well, Syd and Cousin over here walked themselves into this one.”

“Oh, just like you walked into my knife, Richie?”

“Point taken.” Once again, he puts his hands up in mocked surrender.

“Richie, are you allergic to shutting the fuck up or something?” Natalie groans. “I still have questions! How did no one find out? Like, none of you were not even remotely suspicious about these two?” She looks around, all the staff shaking their heads.

“We decided to take things slow, y’know?” Sydney finally manages to say, looking at Carmy for support; he nods. “We wanted to keep our personal life, well, personal, but also keep things professional. This, hm, conversation was supposed to be for transparency and to assure all of you that nothing changes.”

“I feel like a lot has changed, to be honest.” Marcus mutters and Carmy need this conversation to be over so he can inquire Sydney about whatever the fuck happened between them. She’s currently sending guilty looks towards Marcus.

Angel clasps his hands together, “alright, just to get this straight and wrap this up. You guys are dating, right?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Sydney sounds almost exasperated now.

“Congratulations?” Ebraheim offers.

“Can we go now?” Manny points towards the door.

“Hold on! I’m still not buying it.” Richie opens his mouth one more time and Carmy deems that he had enough. He puts his clipboard down, walks to Sydney, holds her face with both hands and kisses her.

He doesn’t care how out of character the public display of affection is from them. This was supposed to be a ‘just crossing some things out of our list’ kind of conversation, but of course they turned into a full circus. So now, he was going to give them a proper show.

“That is an HR violation,” Richie proclaims when the couple are breaking apart. “Expect to hear from me tomorrow.” With that, the staff starts gathering their things to leave.

“Just so you know, I’m not done with you two.” Natalie faux threatens with a smile.

“You have yet to answer me who’s Alex.” They’re back at their kitchen. Sydney’s sitting at the counter wearing her favorite faded Snoopy t-shirt, no bra this time, and a black sweatpants she stole from him, while Carmy is shirtless, his only item of clothing being a gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips; fixing supper for them.

“Christ! He’s just some guy, Carm. I met him twice – it didn’t go anywhere,” she groans. “Before you ask, the guy Sweeps was talking about is Mike. He’s an old colleague from CIA. We had a date, hooked up once and that was it.” Carmy’s left eye twitches with Sydney being so dismissive of this information. He’s trying so hard to not let his jealousy take over him. “And both of them happened way before you confessed your feelings for me.”

He nods, he knows that. When he finally got the courage to ask Sydney out on a real date and be honest about his feelings, things moved pretty quickly between them and they’ve been together ever since. “What about Marcus?”

“Oh!” He looks back, catches her fidgeting with a loose thread of the sweatpants and biting her lip. “He… sorta asked me out before the opening on Friends and Family,” she says all at once, taking a steadying breath after. “That’s why he, hm, kinda snapped at me.” Whatever she sees on his face when she looks up has her putting her hands up and shaking her head, adding quickly, “but we’re good now! It’s water under the bridge, y’know?”

Carmy only nods again, moving to set down the table.

“Are you mad?”

“Not with you, but mostly jealous,” he mutters, avoiding her eyes.

“What if I told you that you look real hot right now, all bothered and jealous?” She murmurs against his left shoulder blade, both of her hands resting against his pecs.

“Sydney.”

“Carmen.” She plants a kiss on his nape, still holding his pecs. “I didn’t tell you about it for the same reason you don’t talk about Claire – there’s no point. It’s in the past.” Sydney moves her hands to hug his waist properly, resting her head on his back. He covers her hands, where they’re laying against his stomach, with his own.

“Next time a customer flirts with you, you better tell them to fuck off ‘cause you have a boyfriend.” Carmy not only hears, but feels the tremble of Sydney’s laughter.

“Oh, so that’s what that was about.” She untangles herself from him and he immediately misses the comfort of her warmth; turns around to grab her hips, keeping her close. “I was wondering why you were being so distant during service and then decided, out of the blue, to tell the staff about us. So, you’re both jealous and possessive, huh?”

“You shouldn’t play with fire, Sydney.”

“I’m not afraid of getting myself burned, Carmen.”

#the bear #carmy x sydney #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #fanfiction #y writes

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sarahowritesostucky · 3 months

Text

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3720

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

4. Cake Doughnuts (shitty non-doughnuts)

This is not the way Mary expected her life to go. Divorced at 29, probably unemployed, and now declared mentally incompetent and legally attached to some stranger? Ew.

At least when the cops had dragged her into the ER, she’d been drunk still. But she’s sobered up a lot since then, and ever more so during the drive from the hospital to back to Brooklyn. It’s the most awkward car ride of her life. Steve’s the one who drives. Mary doesn’t know why that surprises her, but it does. And he’s the one who leads the way into their building and up the stairs. It’s an older building with character but no elevator, so they make the three story climb on foot. Another resounding Ew.

Mary walks silently around Bucky’s (and Steve’s—because of course he’s gay and married) apartment, feeling shy and hesitant and all the things she just really doesn’t want to be feeling right now. She stops when she gets to the second bedroom, stares at its pristinely tucked-in sheets and neutral tableau.

“You can bring over any stuff you need from your place,” Steve is saying gently from behind her, where he and Bucky are lingering in the hallway. “It’ll be your room. We won’t bother you in there.”

She whips around. “How long do I have to stay here?” Better to figure it out now. Make a plan. She glares at Bucky, since he’s the one in charge of this disaster. “I’m not staying here forever.” Steve looks even sadder at her words than Bucky does, kind of like a kicked puppy. It’s disconcerting, so Mary keeps her attention on Bucky instead, forcing herself to make eye contact. “Well?”

“Until I feel like it’s safe and healthy for you to be on your own,” he says, not a hint of sympathy in his tone. That’s disappointing, and it pisses Mary the hell off.

“Screw you,” she says, not particularly loudly, but definitely full of all the contempt she feels for this guy. “You think you can just—”

He’s got her pushed up against the wall faster than she can track with her eyes. One second she’s standing feet away from him, and the next she just … isn’t. He’s in her space and against her body, one hand at the base of her throat and a thigh pressing forward, holding her to the wall. It’s terrifying and shocking and …

“Oh I know ‘I can just’,” he says darkly.

… She’d rather eat glass than tell him what else it is. “Let go of me,” she grits out.

Disappointingly, he does. Steve is just standing there like a big idiot, blinking wide eyes at the scene. Bucky takes a full step back from her and says, “Don’t curse at me, Mary. It’s disrespectful.”

She wants to ask him exactly what he’s done to earn any respect from her. She grinds the words into her teeth instead while Bucky watches her knowingly. She hates that look almost as much as she hates the way he says her name, as if he’s known her for years rather than a millisecond.

“House rules,” he says calmly. “The practicalities of what’s going to happen. We should discuss that, don’t you think?”

Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, comes up beside him and wraps an arm around his waist in a way that reminds Mary that the two are a couple. “Hey,” he says softly, speaking in Bucky’s ear. “Why don’t we let her get some rest before you go asserting your dominance, huh?” Mary wrinkles her nose at the word, and Steve regards her kindly. “You’ve gotta be tired,” he says. “You want to sleep?”

Bucky looks like he’ll protest, so Mary nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah I’m tired.”

She watches as Steve squeezes his husband’s shoulder. “Come on, Babe. Let’s leave her to get some rest. She’s been up all night.”

Suddenly, Mary realizes that she has been up all night, and it’s almost comical, how fast the exhaustion hits her. Her throat starts to ache with a yawn that she fights not to let out in front of them. “Yeah,” she says again, this time thinking less about Bucky and what he wants or doesn’t want, and more about the bed that Steve said was reserved for her. She remembers that she feels like absolute shit, and probably looks it, too. “M’gonna sleep,” she says, turning away from both of them and heading for the bed.

The door ‘snicks’ shut softly behind her, and she assumes it was Steve who closed it. The two men's muffled voices fade off down the hallway, and even though it’s probably naïve to trust them so easily, Mary believes what Steve said about them not bothering her in this room.

She collapses on the bed that is exactly as soft as it looks. The sheets are tucked with military precision and smell like no one’s ever used them before. Mary grinds her face into the cool pillows and briefly wonders if Steve and Bucky have never had any company over to use this bed, before falling into one of the deadest sleeps of her life.

She wakes up feeling much, much better. Steve and Bucky’s guest bedroom has an en-suite, so she goes in and does her best to freshen up with the toiletries she finds stocked there.

There are three Advil Liqui-gel capsules sitting on the bedside table when she comes out. Mary regards them sharply and glances back to the door, but it’s still closed, no sign of life heard from outside in the hallway. Either the pills were there earlier and she just didn’t notice them, or else Steve is a lot stealthier than he looks. Twisting her lips, she scoops the pills up and tosses them back to fend off the headache she can already feel brewing behind her temples.

A quick search of the room’s dresser drawers yields nothing, and she’s forced to face the fact that she’s going to have to do this confrontation dressed in only her huge tee shirt from the night before. No matter, she thinks, squaring her shoulders and reaching for the doorknob. She’s got a new strategy in mind.

“I’m sorry,” she says, when she ventures out to find Bucky and Steve sitting in the living room.

Steve reaches for the remote to mute the tv, and Bucky sits back with a doughnut that he’s just plucked from a box on the coffee table. He bites into it, looking only vaguely interested "Want one?"

She spares a glance at the box. "Are they yeasted?"

"What's that mean?" Steve asks.

Another glance reveals that they're not, and Mary turns her nose up at them. "It means you're eating shitty, overbaked cake, not a doughnut," she says snottily.

Steve just blinks and looks back at the box with a little frown. Bucky takes another huge bite of his doughnut and chews it, maintaining eye contact with her and speaking around his mouthful, "Weren't you sorry for something?"

Mary purses her lips and starts over with her contrition act. “Yes. Look, I know you guys are just trying to help me. And I know I probably seem like such a hot mess to you right now.”

“Cause you are,” Bucky drawls.

Mary quells the urge to go over there and slap the doughnut straight out of his hands. That won’t help her with this new strategy she’s decided on. ‘Honey versus vinegar’, and all that. “Yeah,” she says instead. “So I’ll admit, my life hasn’t been going very well lately. And I really did need some help.” She forces herself to give Bucky a friendly smile. “So I’m glad you were willing to step in and help me. Thank you.” Bucky is looking at her way, way too unimpressed, and Mary squirms in place, thinking that he should be looking happier at what she’s just said. “Well?” she says.

He chews another bite of doughnut for a solid five seconds, swallows, then says, “How much did it hurt you to spit that out?”

She scowls. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Mm hm.” He pats the couch beside himself in a clear invitation. “Come sit down. Have a doughnut.”

She’s obeying before she even thinks about it, though at least she has the sense to take a seat on Steve’s side of the L-shaped sectional, and not Bucky’s. “I’m not hungry,” she says, just as her stomach gives a small growl.

“Well clearly that’s a lie,” Steve chuckles.

Mary glances over at him, peeved, but decidedly less so than she is at Bucky. Steve just seems less … threatening, maybe. Whatever it is, Mary pushes it from her mind.

“Look, I’ll stick around for a few hours or something if you really want to make sure I’m okay,” she says, attention back on Bucky, because she can already tell that he’s the one she’s got to convince. “But then I have to get back to my apartment.” She sees Bucky’s expression shutter at this and quickly adds, “I understand that you’re responsible for me, temporarily, technically. And I appreciate what you’ve done. I don’t want to cause you guys any more trouble than I already have. I’m going to take steps to take better care of myself now. And we can … we can keep in touch if you want. Just so you don’t ... you know … worry.” By the end of her speech she’s lost confidence, as she can see from Bucky’s expression that this is not being received well.

"Is that all?" he asks, eyebrow arched.

“Bucky,” she complains, floundering. “Come on. This isn’t … I mean you can’t just, adopt me, or whatever. I’m not some stray dog. You don’t even know me!"

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t.”

For one brief, overly-optimistic moment, she thinks that she’s actually going to get out of it that easy.

“But I’ll get to know you. Because you’re not leaving here anytime soon, Honey.”

All of that optimism tanks straight into a sour pit of disappointment. Mary shoots up to standing, startling Steve a bit where he's reaching for the doughnut box. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps.

Bucky takes another smug fucking bite out of his doughnut. “What?” he asks. “‘Honey’?”

“Yes! I’m not your ‘Honey’. I’m not your anything.”

He licks the sugar off his lips and stares her down. “You like it when I call you that.”

“No, I hate it,” she sneers. “Just like I hate your smug, self-satisfied face. I hate men like you.”

Bucky relaxes further back into the sofa, gesturing at her with the last of the doughnut before he stuffs it in his mouth and eats it. “Men like me, huh?” he asks once he’s swallowed, infuriating in his nonchalance.

“Yes.”

He chuckles and starts sucking his fingers clean one by one. “And what would that be?” he drawls, letting his legs splay wide on the couch cushions, thigh muscles straining against the denim of his jeans. He sees her getting distracted and hums. “Hm? Pray tell, Little girl. Do enlighten me. What are 'men like me' like?”

For one, airless second, all Mary wants in the world is to drop to her knees right between his legs, put her face at the seam of his jeans and rub her cheek against his thigh, against his …

Her thoughts go unfocused, fuzzy at the edges, static in her brain. She licks her lips absentmindedly, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of how he’s positioned himself …

“Mary.”

The sound of her own name draws her out of it, like a slap. She meets his eyes and juts her chin out, half dizzy from the effort. “Men like you think they know everything,” she grits. “Think that they’re the end-all-be-all. Men like you don’t feel any compunction about stepping on everyone around them. Men like you think you’re so fucking smart, that you can’t even fathom the likely alternative.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you’re actually just a cocksure moron,” she hisses.

Bucky tips his head at Steve. “Stevie tells me I’m a moron every other Tuesday, don’t you Babe?”

Steve shrugs a little from where he's leaning forward, holding the lid of the doughnut box open while he tries to choose a flavor. “Well, yeah.”

Bucky smirks, so unaffected that Mary just wants to scream. “So," he says. "You ‘hate men like me’, huh?”

“Yes. I do."

“That’s why you’ve spent your whole life around them, then?”

“I …" She falters. "What?”

Bucky glances over to Steve, and the two of them have some sort of silent exchange overtop the lid of the doughnut box, wordlessly communicating in a way that evidences a years’ long relationship. When they both look back to her, it’s Steve who speaks first.

“We got to read up on you a little, while you were asleep,” he says. He nods to the laptop and packet of papers on the coffee table. “Did some research. Learned about what led up to this.”

“'This'? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been under the control of domineering men your entire life,” Bucky says, interjecting more forcefully over Steve’s gentler tone—Mary feels like she’s getting whiplash between the two of them. “First it was your father, out in Bumfuck, Nowhereville,”

“Indiana,” Steve mutters.

“Whatever,” Bucky snaps, zeroing back in on Mary with glinting eyes. “And he was ‘that sort of man’, wasn’t he?”

Mary feels a little like she’s been punched in the gut. “So what?” she says. “So you looked me up? Hospital gave you info on me and now you think you know me? You don’t know shit.”

“Your whole life, he said jump and you said how high, right?” Bucky asks, clearly not wanting or needing an answer to the question. Maybe Mary’s expression is answer enough. She’s not quite sure what she must look like right now. Horrified maybe. Or furious. “And then you latched onto the first jerk who’d give you a ride out of town.”

“Shut up.”

“Married him, too. And that worked for you alright ... Until it didn’t.”’

The backs of her eyes are starting to feel hot. “I said: shut up,” she whispers.

Bucky nods and leans forward on the couch, as if her anger and humiliation mean nothing to him. And damn him, maybe they don’t. Maybe he likes this, the sick bastard. “If he hadn’t hit you so bad, you would’ve stayed. Right? He met your needs in every other way.”

Mary shudders. “What are you talking about?”

"I'm talking about self-medicating, Honey. It's what you've been doing. Probably since you were a little girl."

She's disgusted with herself for the tears that break through, unmoored by how Bucky knows all of these things about her, and that he's able to fill in the gaps so easily. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” She swipes angrily at her eyes. “What does any of that have to do with anything? Except for that it’s none of your goddamn business?!”

Bucky softens a little. He glances at Steve, who gives him a warning look. “Sweetheart,” he says, looking back at Mary plaintively. “The drinking and the cutting, the feeling miserable and being sad all the time; that all started after your divorce, yeah?”

That … is not what Mary expected him to say. She’d been expecting more insults, more heartless jabs at her past. “I … What?”

“Answer the question,” Steve urges gently. He looks like he’s in on some secret with Bucky, something only Mary doesn’t know.

“Yeah,” she admits warily. “I mean, divorce is … well it’s divorce. It sucks. Of course I wasn’t happy about it.” She scowls and crosses her arms. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that, dysfunctional as they were, you had very specific relationships with very specific types of men, until what, like a year ago?”

“... Year and a half,” she mutters, unease creeping up her spine at where she thinks this is going.

“Right. And that’s when all your troubles started. Because let's be real: you weren't hurting yourself before then." He tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "Why do you think that is, Mary? Why weren't you falling apart before? When you had a father touching you wrong, or a husband putting holes in your drywall?"

"Stop," she breathes.

He nods sadly. "It was was after, when you didn’t have those people in your life anymore, structuring it, telling you what to do. Once you were alone, that’s when you started to fall apart.” He levels her with a pitying gaze. "Now why do you think that is?"

Oh, hell no. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mary says. She actually takes a physical step back from where she’s standing. “You think what? I was using my douche ex-husband as some sort of a … a dom? My freaking father?!”

“Mary, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She jabs her finger at Steve, who’s spoken. If she thought she’d been angry at these two before, well now she’s just … she’s just … “You’re fucked up,” she tells them, voice full of quiet fury. “And you,” she points at Bucky. “You might be diagnosed with some freaking mental disorder or whatever, but that doesn’t give you the right to put that fucked up psychology onto everyone else!” She jabs her thumb at her own chest. “I’m normal! I’m not like you. I don't–I don’t have …”

“Mary,”

“No! I don’t. I–I didn’t …” Vaguely, she starts to recognize that her pulse is pounding in her ears, that it’s getting harder to draw breaths. “My f-fa, my, my f-father…”

Bucky stands up and comes towards her. “Mary,”

“No!” She makes to push away, to leave the room, but he closes in too fast and before she knows it, he has one hand on her throat and one at the base of her skull, gripping her hair. And it’s not mean, the way he’s holding her, but when she jerks away it tugs her hair unpleasantly and she whines and stills. “Let go,” she gasps, terrified by the way his hands make her feel.

“Steve, a little help?”

Her heart lurches as she hears Steve move, sees him getting up off the couch and coming over. “Wait,” she whispers, afraid and not understanding why. Not understanding why she’s even whispering in the first place, instead of screaming like she should be. “No, wait, wait—”

Steve is behind her, and even though he’s hardly even doing anything, just has his hands resting on her lightly, Mary still feels a tremor run through her whole body. She feels so trapped. Fixed in place and terrified, but not because she thinks they’ll hurt her.

Because suddenly she can draw a deep breath again.

And she can see the look in Bucky’s eyes, can see how he knows that. “Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes when tears well to the surface. “Please, just, I just need to …”

“You’re okay,” Bucky soothes. “You’re okay, Mary. Just breathe against my hand. Breath against me, against Steve.”

She shakes her head, even though she knows what he means. With her eyes squeezed shut like this, she can feel both him and Steve so solidly, can feel the points where their bodies connect with hers. When she inhales, she feels them there. “What the hell?” she winds up whispering, more to herself than to them.

“You were starting to have a panic attack,” Steve murmurs. He hugs her from behind, and Mary shivers but doesn’t try to shrug him off.

“I don’t have those,” she says. Even to her own ears, it sounds weak. “I don’t,” she insists.

“First time for everything,” Bucky says.

They stand there for a long minute or two. Hell, maybe it’s more. As long as Mary keeps her eyes shut, she can at least pretend that it’s only a minute. It’s only once she opens her eyes that she has to face reality. When she does, she sees that Bucky’s watching her keenly. He looks … sad.

The thought that the man with one hand fisted in her hair and another wrapped around her throat is concerned for her strikes Mary as almost comical. She doesn’t laugh, but she also doesn’t feel close to crying anymore. “I’m okay,” she rasps, swallowing thickly. “I’m okay now.” Shaky maybe, but better. She can breathe again. “Really, I–I am.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and the motion makes her all the more aware of his hand on her throat. She has to fight back a pleasured sigh at the feeling of it, fight to keep her eyes from fluttering closed.

Bucky shifts in, sandwiching her even closer between their bodies. “So what?” he murmurs. “You want me to let go of you now?”

“Yeah,” she says, not feeling like she wants that at all. “Please.”

He hums. “You’re very good at saying ‘please’,” he observes. “And at telling me you’re not submissive.”

“M’not,” she insists, trying harder to make her voice firm, or at least more than a pathetic, breathy whimper. She looks him in the eyes again.

When had she stopped looking him in the eyes? She can’t remember. She feels like she’s watching this all happen through the lightest sort of fog, or maybe in slow motion, like a videotape playing at only 70% speed. Something like that, she thinks dazedly. She doesn’t feel like she has to worry about it, though. It's warm and heavy and nice here; like being under bathwater.

Bucky’s not looking at her in concern anymore. He looks more relaxed now, nicer, his eyes softer around the edges. And he hasn't let go of her, either.

“She down?”

That’s Steve’s voice, coming from right behind. Mary likes the way she can feel the quiet rumble of it where he’s pressed to her back.

“Mmhm. Waay down.”

“Is it normally that easy?”

Bucky chuckles, it's a nice sound that Mary likes, the richness of it making her want more, like how chocolate makes you want more.

“No, it’s not. This is deprivation, right here. Poor thing.”

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“Oh, sure. We’ll just stay like this for a minute. She needs the contact."

Something about the two of them talking about her like she’s not there is … well it multiplies the bathwater feeling. She hears Steve asking a question, and Bucky making an unhappy noise and answering,

“It should never be this easy. Right now she’d go down for anyone, for even the smallest thing.”

“And she was working in the service industry?” A huff of breath hits Mary’s ear. “Jesus.”

“... Hey,” Mary says, sure that she should protest somehow.

But Bucky’s hand tightens just the barest bit on her throat, and he shushes her sweetly, tells her she’s a “good girl,” and kisses the top of her head.

And Mary pretty much forgets what she was going to say, after that.

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Square N5: childhood trauma

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