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sweetbillwriting · 2 years

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The Real Deal

Part 5 - Never Alone

Description: Bill and Cassandra have been friends a long time and with time realize Cassandra he is her dream but not just him but also his lifestyle.

Characters: AU Single Bill Skarsgård. A version of Bill where he becomes single 2017 and with a different timeline. AU Skarsgårds and others. The rest is my own original characters.

Setting: The story will jump from 2001 until present day. This chapter jump between 2015 and 2019.

Warnings: 18+, alcohol, drugs, drunkeness, toxic relationship, smut (sort of), sex work, slut shaming.

Notes: Remember that is is fiction and the most of isn't true and is just for entertainment.

"Still haven't heard from him?"

"Not a word, not even on Facebook."

"He's such a fucking idiot. You know, he has done this to others too, just completely ignoring them and I don't understand why. Sure his job sucks, but like, come on."

"But he has contact with you, your family?"

"Em… Mostly Gustaf, me only a bit. Mom and dad a bit but they are also mad at his behavior."

Cassie hadn't heard from Bill for months. Not even on her birthday. Last time she heard from him he talked about his new work conditions, the asshole producers and parties that more or less always ended up with him and Landon hungover in their apartment with no memories of the night before. She had been annoyed with him during the whole conversation because he just spoke about his life. His job, his friends, his dreams, his disappointment. Cassie was relieved when the phone call was over. Now, several months later she wished she could just hear him complain again. She missed him so much that she had called Eija just to get some answers but she didn't have many.

"Do you think… It's drugs or something?" Cassie asked carefully, like she didn't really want to know the answer.

"It sounds like they smoke a lot. They seem to mostly be inside, smoking and planning their success. It feels like they have some sort of megalomania…"

Cassie laughed a little.

"Hasn’t he always had that?"

Eija laughed.

"I think my whole family suffers from that to be honest."

Cassie laughed too and looked around in her dorm room. She had a picture of her, Eija and Bill together pinned on the fairy lights on the wall. It was from a drunken night in Stockholm a couple of years ago. Both siblings looked like models while Cassie felt like she looked like a toad in between them. Now it was early morning on a Sunday while in Sweden it was afternoon. Cassie started to wonder if she maybe bothered Eija.

"But no drugs then?"

"No serious drugs. Just weed and some party drugs. I mostly think they are angry little boys locked in the apartment and then they party when the girlfriend is there."

Cassie sighed. The girlfriend. The crazy actress. She had understood from Bill that they fought a lot. That they both made each other jealous on purpose and she even had hit him a few times. It sounded so toxic as it could be and Cassie didn't even wanna hear it. Her Bill wouldn't do all this shit. Her Bill would never be with such a person and he would definitely not begin to act like it himself.

"Okay… Thank you, Eija. But please ask him to call me if you're talking to him."

"Totally. I'm always here for you, Cassie. Especially when Bill is being an asshat and doesn't see that he can lose you."

Bill was back in Stockholm again. It was always a relief for him to come home to his country. He had his own apartment for six month that he had been decorating himself. First he asked Cassie, mostly because he didn’t have the energy to think about such things by himself but she had refused to help him. It wasn’t to be mean but because she knew Bill could do it himself. He had good taste and even an interest but as soon as he actually needed to do the work he couldn't decide for himself. Because of the lack of help he had been forced to do it by himself and was now quite pleased with the result. It had simple, white walls and polished wooden floors. Classic Scandinavian interior design. He had mostly photo art on the walls but in the living room he had a vintage poster of the solar system. On one wall he also had a drawing. A Pennywise drawing made by Director Andy Muschietti himself. The first he had bought for his apartment was a massive wooden table to have in the dining area. It was maybe the most important thing, except for the bed that was a special bed, extra long because of his height but also because he could move quite a lot when he was asleep. The couch was also big, so that many people could sit comfortably but it also made for lazy days. It was in black velvet with a chrome glass table in front of it. Next to it stood two bookcases in dark wood filled with books. It was probably quite obvious a man lived there.

Bill walked around in the apartment, thinking about putting on that series everyone was talking about or if he should read the book for a script adaptation he received but he was too restless for those kinds of activities. He was often restless, even if he loved being back in Sweden it was hard to live so… slow. What did others do?

A thought or a feeling swimmed around in his head which made it even harder to just continue doing nothing. He sat down on the couch and looked at Cassie's number on his phone, then called her without even considering the large time difference in New York.

Cassie lay awake scrolling her phone even if it was early Sunday. Usually she would sleep until noon but now she wasn't alone. Georg was there, lying behind her with an arm round her waist. They were covered by her dark blue sheets and nothing else. Cassie knew this was the new normal, now when he paid so much but it was annoying to not decide for herself when he could spend the night and when not to. He was probably expecting a quickie before he went home to his big flat with a view over central park. Cassie sighed and tried to move his arm from her body without waking him up. She almost cheered when she succeeded and then stood up without looking at Georg who was lying on his back with his chest of white hair exposed. When Cassie approached the bathroom her phone started to buzz on the nightstand and in a panic she grabbed it and ran to the bathroom. Locked in the bathroom she looked down at her buzzing phone and saw Bill calling. She smiled and answered even if she didn't know how long Georg would stay asleep.

"Hey," said Bill, then he was quiet. He often did that. Call to just pretend she was close.

"Did you have a specific reason to call,” Cassie asked while she sat down on the toilet to pee.

"Are you peeing?" He asked. He could hear the familiar sound and smirked.

"Yeees."

"Is it nice?"

"So nice. First pee of the day you know," Cassie said while flushing and washed her hands with her phone pressed between her shoulder and cheek.

"That one is nice."

"Mhm. What are you doing Billy? Are you restless?"

She knew him too well or he was just that easy to read.

"Yeah… But I also have a question?"

Cassie put on a robe and looked at her make-up free face in the mirror.

"So… Larissa and I, well that never happened but as the impulsive idiot I am, I bought a ticket for her to my family's Christmas trip… Do you want to go instead?" He rambled. He did it so she wouldn't focus so much on him and Larissa had stopped seeing each other but he also knew Cassie would still ask about that even if he didn't want to talk about it. He laid on the couch chewing on his pinky as he waited on the question he didn't want to answer.

"Ooh… What happened?"

Bill sighed. Cassie knew he didn't want to talk about it but she also knew he needed to talk about it and it was most often her who he talked about such things with.

"Yeah you know, she felt I was more interested in my job than her."

"I'm sorry Bill but I know how important your job is so it was probably for the best. You will find someone that can accept your work conditions."

"Sometimes I just think… Maybe I shouldn't have broken up with my ex. It did work pretty good."

Now it was Cassie's turn to sigh. He had said these things before. Bill wanted safety and wanted that special girl by his side. He didn't like being single and definitely not dating.

"You didn't want the same thing. You know that. You don't even know what would have happened if you had a child. Maybe she would have then said you must work less."

Bill was quiet on the line. He played with a lighter he had found on the table and thought, again, that he should start smoking again.

"Anyway, do you want to come to Thailand with my big awful family? You don't need to pay anything because I've already paid for everything."

Cassie smiled and thought about it. Bill, calm, tanned, happy. His family, warm, fun and safe. And the luxury. The best hotel, white beaches and exotic restaurants. Larissa was stupid to ditch Bill before the trip.

"Of course Billy, I would love to."

His legs were spread out on each side of her. Long and hairy with childhood scars on his knees. Cassie dragged her fingers through the hair while Bill played the Swedish game Bulleribock on her back.

"Bulleri bulleri bock hur många horn står det opp?"

Cassie tried to feel how many fingers he pressed against her back.

"Three?"

"Tre du sa, tre det var bulleri bulleri bock."

They were finally together again. Together in Gustaf's apartment in Stockholm, in his bed. Gustaf was filming so Bill had his apartment and when he had left Canada, the weird girlfriend and the messy film set, he called Cassie. He had thought a lot about her but was so locked in his bubble he had problems reaching out. He and Landon had felt lonely so unconsciously they had made themself even more lonely.

He was so happy being with Cassie again, lying in bed and breathing in her scent and calmness. Her caring nature. They laid between the green sheets, Cassie with her head on Bill's bare chest. She played with the hairs around his nipples. It had just grown more and more and she wondered when it would spread out over his chest.

"He said he needed some time to think… Then a few days later I saw him with another girl at the restaurant I've taken him to on our third date… You know that Lebanese place you showed me," said Cassie and continued to play with his nipple hair. He had asked her about the guy she was seeing and once again the guy had more or less just disappeared. She felt it was her curse, to meet guys that never saw her as the right girl.

"Ahh gumman, I'm sorry… I knew you liked him," said Bill and took her hand. Cassie looked up at his face and shrugged her shoulders. Bill dragged his other hand over her back, dressed in one of his t-shirts.

"I don't like him anymore. Nothing to grieve. Do you want to tell me what happened to you and that girl now?"

Bill sighed and dragged his hand over his forehead and back through his messy hair.

"I don't know what to say really. I don't think anything worked between us. We were so different from each other and just… You know what I mean, we were not good for each other."

Cassie nodded a little and positioned herself so they could lay face to face.

"She likes wild parties, drama… She wanted me to spank her and call her a whore and…"

Cassie smiled a bit amused.

"Can't you do that? Just be a daddy?" She teased. Bill sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, maybe I'm old fashioned but it feels really weird doing such a thing to a woman. I know people like that shit but I think it's just degrading and… I want to be her boyfriend, not her daddy."

Cassie smiled a little and looked down at Bill's lips for a second. She knew he had those feelings just like the majority of Swedes in the country. Everything should be politically correct and even sex was a political question. He had also been friends with many feminist girls that had called him a pig if he even thought about calling a girl a whore in bed.

"Wouldn't you even want to try? Just to see how it is?" She asked and again looked down at his lips.

"Sure with the right girl… Explore when I know it's just between me and her… But she wanted everyone to hear and wanted to cause a scene…"

Bill dragged a hand over his face and closed his eyes like it was painful to think back on. Cassie understood what he wanted to say but wasn’t able to formulate. He didn't feel safe with that girl. He should be a man and be confident and horny but instead he was the one that felt unsafe. Cassie understood that even if Bill couldn't phrase it. She pressed herself closer to him, hugged him and gave him a kiss and the side of his neck.

"You're such a good guy, Billy and that's never a bad thing."

Cassie looked at Bill's broad back spread on Thailand's hot sand on a thin blanket. He had gotten color quite fast but it shifted to a red tone. His scandinavian skin wasn't really made for this sort of weather. Cassie had just come up from the water and looked out over the beach. Eija and her fiancé lay close by in the shadows. They always looked so in love and Cassie could often envy them. There were few who had such a relationship as those two had. Bill turned and looked at her. He had a pair of old sunglasses he had lived in when he was like 24. She had had similar ones just like everyone else but now felt they were outdated. Bill wasn't exactly a trendsetter.

"I'm really glad you came. I don't know who to bug otherwise. It's just couples," he said as he sat up. He had let his facial hair be and he had a shadow of a mustache on the top of his lip. Cassie smiled and fixed her red bikini before sitting down.

"You have Valter."

Bill smiled bashfully.

"We both know he has more in common with Ossian than with me."

Cassie smirked and brushed away some sand from her knees. Bill and Valter loved each other like brothers do but had a problem finding common ground over more than film and they rarely talked the same language even then.

"We don't have so much in common either. I have style while you don't. You are pretentious while I'm not…"

Bill laughed and faked offensiveness.

"I'm not pretentious!"

Cassie gave him a pointed look.

"Come on, even your dad gets nervous to talk about some things with you! You’re suddenly name dropping some philosopher from Taiwan or something!"

Bill shook his head with a smirk. Cassie smiled at him because both of them knew she was right but they also knew he was pretentious because he was really intelligent and keen to learn. Lots of people thought of him as just an actor but he probably could have been just whatever he liked.

"So what is your dude doing?" Bill asked, stretching out his long body. The swim shorts sat low on his hips and tight in the front.

"Who?" Cassie said while watching Bill's body up and down.

"The older gentleman," Bill said with an old British accent. Cassie looked away. She didn't want to talk about Georg. That was something Bill shouldn't be a part of and that was also a finished chapter. When she had told Georg that she was going away on a trip with a male friend he had lost it. He felt that he paid her enough to just be with him and not "whore around" as he put it. He didn't want her to have contact with any other men and that would have never worked. Especially because of Bill. She needed to have Bill in her life.

"Oh, that wasn't anything serious. Just a bullshit thing. That's over."

Bill patted her thigh.

"Aren't we hopeless? Soon we’ll be thirty and still single."

Cassie clicked her tongue.

"That’s not even old. I still feel the same as I did in my early twenties," Cassie said a bit annoyed. She hated when Bill made them sound old.

"I just thought I wouldn't be alone in my thirties. It seems a bit sad." He said and sat up on the blanket and pushed his sunglasses up on his head.

"Bill, for having two older brothers that have lived like they are twenty until they were forty you are so conservative. You don't need to have someone just because you are thirty. And you should definitely not be with someone just to not be alone." She said it like she was annoyed at him but she was just annoyed at how much he restrained himself. All this talk about not being alone made her sad for his sake, because he made poor choices because of it.

Bill was quiet, Cassie was one of few that was totally honest with him. That dared to say the things he didn't want to hear. He knew he didn't need a girlfriend, he knew he didn't need emotional support around the corner but he couldn't stop acting that way. It had become a part of his persona.

He took Cassie's hand that lay in her lap and played with her fingers between his. He had a bit to learn from Cassie but she had also had something to learn from him. She gave up on people, jobs and interests if they didn't reward her quickly but he wouldn't bring that up now, that would be childish and he didn't want to hurt her.

"I love you, Cassandra."

Cassie smiled and looked at their hands.

"I love you, Bill."

Just when Cassie sat and felt the warmth in her chest he surprised her by lifting her up and throwing her up on his shoulder.

"Bill!" She screamed in panic when he started to run down to the water.

"I'm going to punish you for talking like that to me!" He said and ran down in the water while Cassie just screamed. She never liked when he did those kinds of things and he knew it. Sometimes he was like an irritating brother. When the water was deep enough he threw her in.

In the shadow sat Eija and her fiancé watching them and smiled amused.

"Why aren't they a couple? Have they ever tried to?" Asked her fiancé and looked between her face and Bill and Cassie. Eija sighed deeply.

"He has. But she doesn't want to. She has always refused him."

Her fiancé nodded a little, sadly. He knew Bill well now and knew he was a sensitive guy so such a thing must have broken him.

Even if Bill had said he wanted to lay in bed for weeks after coming home from Canada he agreed to come to a club opening with some friends. Cassie still sat in bed when he turned around with the phone pressed against his cheek.

"That's okay right? I think it can be fun to do something."

Cassie smiled and unintentionally fixed her hair. It was with friends of Bill's she knew so it could actually be fun.

"Yeah okay." She said and Bill gave her a big smile as an answer while he searched after his socks on the floor. He had managed to put on his jeans while talking on the phone. Now he had a shirt and socks to look for. Cassie still sat in just one of his t-shirts and panties. She hadn't any reason to dress yet.

When he hung up he had one sock on and his jeans were still unbuttoned. Breathless, after the fight with the socks he turned to Cassie again.

"So pizza?"

Cassie laughed a little and stood up and in the bed and threw her arms on Bill's neck.

"Sure but not that weird one you like to eat!"

"Oh with peanuts?" He placed her down the bed, passing her jeans to her.

"And not that one with fries on it!"

She put on the jeans and her own socks.

"You have the worst taste in pizza!" Bill said with a dramatic voice and threatened her with his boot. Cassie smirked and put on her own outerwear.

"It's swedes that have that! Especially you! And don't you dare wear that jacket! It's so fucking ugly!"

The day went by as they ate and got ready for the club event. Cassie panicked over her outfit while Bill chose to keep the one he had on from earlier that day. Cassie wished she could just wear jeans and a t-shirt but girls couldn't get away with such an outfit at a club opening. People would think she was Bill's assistant or something. She decided to wear a deep purple Herve Leger look-alike dress.

"Wow," Bill said when he saw her. She stood in front of the hallway mirror putting on a big pair of hoop earrings.

"Do I look okay?" She asked and looked down at herself.

"You will be the prettiest girl there."

"Am I overdressed?"

"Who cares? You look great."

Bill had words like hot and sexy on his tongue but that was weird to say to a friend. Maybe she would even think he was just joking around. He looked at her up and down again and he felt a bit underdressed but he wouldn't feel comfortable in a dress shirt at a club. Together they went to a friend of Bill's. It was mostly just guys but Cassie had met them many times and she felt comfortable. The friend lived in a big Victorian apartment in the old parts of Stockholm, an apartment his father owned but he "borrowed" from him. Bill's friends were a mix, some super privileged and others that fought hard to afford their one room apartment in Botkyrka. Still Cassie always felt like there was a flair of luxury when she was in Stockholm she couldn't put her finger on why but she always felt a bit like a princess around Bill.

Bill liked that Cassie could mingle so well with his friends, she was fun, sweet and confident. He liked watching her from afar when she mingled around with his friends but while doing that he also noticed other things. How several of his friends looked at her body in that tight dress, someone that winked their eye at her and another that even offered his lap for her to sit in. Bill just felt his hands tremble and his face flush but wiped it away as just friendly care. He knew his place, that he shouldn't jump in and he knew also Cassie could handle it by herself. His friends may be flirty but they always understood a no.

The club had some sort of rave theme with neon, blinking lights and bubbles. It was fun for a while but then Bill craved a smoke and Cassie just wanted some fresh air. Bill left Cassie on a bench, after checking it was alright and then walked to the smoking area. He stood around with people dressed as dark as himself. Cassie had realized quickly that she wore totally the wrong outfit. She could never really learn the Swedish dress code, she always felt either overdressed or underdressed. She looked at Bill talking with a brunette. She was probably in her thirties and had a messy updo like she had danced wildly.

The girl on the bench next to Cassie asked her something in Swedish and pointed to Bill.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Swedish." Cassie said politely.

"Aw, you're British, that's so cute! I just asked if you're here with him?" Said the girl and moved to sit next to Cassie. The girl had long blonde hair and a black skater dress on.

"Yeah, why?"

"I know who he is. We actually went to school together."

"Oh, wow." Cassie smiled. She didn't really know what to say.

"Are you his girlfriend?"

Cassie looked at Bill, who still stood with the brunette. She seemed to give his under arm a massage and Cassie furrowed her brows at the odd vision.

"No, no we're just friends…" said Cassie but continued to look at Bill smiling at the woman in front of him.

"Okay…" said the blonde but looked at Cassie who couldn't stop watching Bill.

"You know, when he left Sweden he was cute, really cute but now… He's sexy. There’s quite a few people that have decided they want him."

"Yeah…" said Cassie and tried to give the girl a smile. It wasn't anything new, she could also see that Bill had changed the years he was away. That he now looked mysterious and sexy. She also understood there were probably many girls in Stockholm that wanted to claim him as their own. Cassie looked at the brunette again, she was older than Bill and looked at him with a perfect mix of care and wonder. Like he was a golden prince.

Cassie and Bill walked in again and danced with his friends but also got company of the brunette and her friends. They just danced silly and wild. Cassie couldn't really understand how Bill suddenly could be so drunk but she noticed he more and more used her as some sort of pillar to lean on and his eyes becoming heavy.

"It's time for you to take Billen home now! Before you find him sleeping somewhere!" said one of his friends and gave Cassie an amused smile. Bill had a tendency to fall asleep easily and at weird places when he was drunk.

"No, no. I'm okay…" said Bill with a lazy voice and dragged a hand over his face.

"No it's time to go home," said Cassie and took Bill's hands. She felt Bill's friends and the others watching them. "You know, half my pizza is waiting for us in the fridge." She said and dragged him with her.

"Sov gott kompis!" Shouted his friends while Cassie dragged Bill with her through the club.

Bill was extremely sleepy so Cassie got them a taxi at Slussen even if it wasn't so far to walk but she was afraid Bill wouldn't be able to walk. He was just as sleepy in the taxi but when they were in Gustaf's apartment again he had wolfed down Cassie's pizza leftovers and drank quite a lot of water. With a full belly he perked up a bit. They got ready for bed together, or Bill brushed his teeth then sat at the toilet lid watching Cassie do her procedure.

"Have you stopped using hand cream as night cream?" Cassie teased. Another time after a night out he thought he would surprise her and do a facial routine too, the problem was just that he took her hand cream instead.

Bill stuck out his tongue and stretched his arm.

"I don't feel that tired anymore," he said and played with the elastic of his boxers. Cassie sighed because she actually was.

"We're going to sleep now. You need it." She said like a determined mother.

Bill didn't say anything, just followed her to bed. They already had their side of the bed, the same side they always slept on.

They laid down face to face under the fluffy covers and looked at each other with small smiles. Cassie thought about what that girl had said, that Bill was sexy, it was true but right then and there he was just that cute little boy, with big eyes and an elfish nose. Bill watched Cassie, admired her makeup free face. He had always liked her like that. She looked much younger but still sexy in an innocent way. He breathed heavily and crawled closer to her. Cassie smiled and thought he just wanted to cuddle so she laid her arms around his shoulders but Bill kissed her softly. His lips were wet and plush, like they already were swollen full of kisses. First Cassie just laid shocked but when he kissed her again she kissed back. Bill's hands took a hold of her waist over her t-shirt and continued to caress her back. He did it softly, like how you pat a kitten. They kissed a few times more just as softly and innocent. She knew Bill so well she knew he waited on her to deepen the kiss, to show him it was okay that they went to the next level. She licked his plump bottom lip to make him separate his lips and invite her tongue in. He groaned when they started to kiss passionately and he pushed her t-shirt up a bit to touch her naked hips and waist. Cassie caressed Bill's shoulder and chest but slowly a voice in her head started to get louder and louder.

This will destroy your friendship. He is your only real friend.

She pulled away from his arms and pushed his chest. Bill let go of her fast and looked at her with his big eyes like he had done something wrong.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry… But you're drunk Bill and… You're my best friend. This is such a bad idea." She rambled. Bill crawled away even more to give her space and nodded a little.

"We're friends, Bill…"

"Yeah, yeah…" he said and turned away his eyes. "I'm going to pee…" he said lowly to get away from the situation and went to the bathroom.

Cassie sat up in bed and hugged a pillow. She was sure that Bill was just drunk and horny. They had been friends for so long, why would he suddenly want to kiss her? He probably missed that actress girl.

Bill stood in the bathroom, splashing his face and neck with cold water and then looked at his reflection. She had rejected him again. Okay, he was just eleven the first time but it felt the same. He was really friendzoned. He had thought he felt a chemistry between them but obviously he was wrong. He would never try that again, it was humiliating to be rejected and one more time their friendship wouldn’t survive.

When Bill came out Cassie pretended to sleep and it was the best for the both of them because they both felt humiliated. The both of them believed they were the only one with romantic feelings for the other one.

Their friendship would survive the situation, probably thanks to that fact that both of them had a partner just a few months later.

Bulleri Bock - a child game where you push in fingers in a person's back and they will guess how many you hold up.

Bulleri bulleri goat how many horns stands up? (drumming on the other person's back and then holds up some fingers against the other person's back)

(The other person is guessing)

(the person's guess) you said, (the right answer) it was. Bulleri bulleri goat.

(drumming on the guessing person's back again)

Gumman - is from the beginning a loveable word for an old lady but is today a pet name for girls. The male version is Gubben.

Swedish feminism - have been really radical and have roots in swedish social democratic history where everything is politic. It's better now, it peaked with #metoo but after that have other opinions and feministic perspective become okay.

Botkyrka - Part of Stockholm County that is an area of exclusion and has high criminality.

Slussen - area that connects Gamla Stan with Södermalm. A common place to expire from when you're in Stockholm. Also known for their constant rebuilding.

#bill skarsgård #bill skarsgard #fan fiction #writing #story #bill skarsgård writing #fiction #bill skarsgård fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

zukuist · 3 years

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𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞

200 followers special

includes: multiple characters (would add more tags but.. i reached 30 ;;)

your name is shortened to y/n, they/them pronouns

notes: thank you for 200 followers! this isn’t really going to be that long, but im just doing the characters i really like so ;; ALSO I MIGHT’VE GOTTEN KIRI’S ENTRY A LITTLE WRONG so ugh sorry ;;

—

shouto todoroki

— THE OBSERVANT SIMP

from the start, he’s quite oblivious to certain things, (social ques, signs of romantic interest, etc.)

but when he’s observant with someone, then that totally means you’re special to him. does he realize how much he pays attention to you? hmm.. maybe?

he’s going to be the first one that notices you’re hungry, even if you don’t realize it yourself. he’s quick to grab a snack and break it open to you

same thing with being thirsty— if he notices that your water bottle is empty, he’ll quickly find the nearest vending machine and buy a bottle.

temperature is also no problem. he can immediately tell whenever someone’s cold; but he usually helps you first

too hot? he’s slowly putting down the room’s temperature

too cold? his left palm starts emitting some sort of heat in your direction, hoping it creates some sort of aid

if your shoelaces are undone, and/or he notices that there’s a button undone on your shirt— he’ll fix it for you

will ask to take your pictures on dates, and he’ll also help you pick out the best photo (not that any photo of you is short of any beauty)

in short— people will notice that he’s actually a big simp for you; because of how observant he is with you specifically.

katsuki bakugou

— THE TSUNDERE SIMP

just because he’s simping for you doesn’t mean he’ll treat you any differently. bakugou will be bakugou, and you eventually learn how to adapt to that.

but even so, his simp habits slip out sometimes.

when he’s cooking, he’ll accidentally make too much to eat, and he’ll coincidentally put the extras in another box and hand it to you

he’s a good student, even with studies. but would he say he’s a good teacher? hm. probably not

but if he notices you need help, he’ll sigh, feining annoyance as he decides to tutor y’all, because those ‘idiots’ are hopeless

rolls his eyes when he sees food on your cheek, but he’ll grab a tissue and wipe it off for you— claiming how you’re so messy.

he’ll act like he hates hearing your ‘annoying ass singing’ but he’ll lean against the doorway and listen to you rock out to whatever song you’re singing to.

denki will call him a simp for looking after you, and bakugou will just yell at him to “SHUT UP” >:T

he secretly likes taking care of you. his words aren’t the softest thing in the world, but his actions make up to it.

izuku midoriya

— THE DETAILED SIMP

as katsuki bakugou would call him; he is a nerd

he definitely meant that as an insult, but his input on detail makes it very useful in things like relationships

he remembers every detail of your quirk, your limits, potential secret moves.

it would’ve been stalker-ish, if it weren’t for the fact that deku does this out of admiration for his s/o

so if you so happen to collapse due to overusing your quirk— deku has a detailed plan on what to do. it’s almost scary.

he puts detail in a lot of things, anniversary gifts, birthday gifts, and so on.

deku’s also the type to plan things weeks before it actually happens. like.. planning out the perfect birthday gift

and with this, his memory is really good. so it’s very unlikely that he’ll just suddenly forget anniversaries and birthdays.

i hc deku as a bad cook, so he eats takeout food more than his homemade food

but he’s takes note of your allergies, your dislikes with food— and he finds himself mumbling small details to recall what you like

when you walk out in pretty/good outfits for dates

his face will break out into shades of red— suddenly rambling all the good details of your outfit, complimenting you while he’s at it

“y/n’s looks fantastic as always. i might die from their beauty”

if anyone calls him a simp, he’ll be really embarrassed about it. “me? a s-simp? is that a bad thing?”

just tell him it’s fine.

denki kaminari

— THE HYPEMAN SIMP

a big simp

like.. really big

he worships the ground you step on, and hypes up everything you do

y’all know when irene from red velvet literally breathed in north korea, and the crowd just

*claps*

yeah, that’s denki to you

it’s so blantly obvious that he’s simping over someone, and everyone’s just kinda used to it at this point

he’s just a big fanboy sometimes

whenever you’re sparring with someone, he’s always in the background like

“go s/o!!” 🤩

and he has tendencies to go a little easy on you like.. what’s he gonna do when you get electricuted??

but that doesn’t mean he’s never serious— nah.

there are times where he’s just a little bashful just being in your presence

sneaking glances your way, as he silently fanboys about you in general.

“s/o looks really good today. they always look good but !!”

when y’all weren’t together, the bakusquad was just tired of the constant romantic pining

it was really obvious that he was simping back then, and they’re not so sure as to how you didn’t say anything about it

mina always called him a simp

so yeah!! it was a big relief when you got together with him. he never makes you feel terrible, because he’s always your #1 hypeman.

eijirou kirishima

— THE HELPING SIMP (rip idk what to call this)

i didn’t really know what kinda name i went for this one but let me carry on

kiri upfront is very confident, and friendly. he never shows a mean side to anyone,

and there are rare cases of him being bashful

he’s kinda almost like a golden retriever? since he’s always nice and friendly to everyone

but then when you enter the room; he suddenly goes quiet, and he’s left alone with his rather loud thoughts about you

he didn’t really know how to properly approach you at first

but him being kiri, he’s still rather friendly to you (for now)

when he’s messing around, practically sharing one braincell with kami and sero

and then you suddenly walk in— he snaps out of his foolishness, and greet you with his very warm smile

“hey y/n!” he waves at you, and he hopes you don’t mention the teasing look on both kami and sero’s face

sometimes when he’s doing his close combat training, and he notices that he’s getting too close to you

he’ll be like “woah man, maybe we should move locations.” bc he doesn’t wanna hit you by accident ;;

kirishima prefers to not stand near you when his hair is all spiky. like he’s never conscious about it, until he’s around you

man poked sero with his hair before, and he doesn’t want to do that to you

kiri always looks at your hand, just to see if it’s occupied with something. his thoughts linger to what your hand might feel like

“their hand looks really.. soft. argh! i shouldn’t be thinking about these kind of things in public! im sorry y/n”

bakugou really only notices kirishima’s simping ways

bakugou always mentions the fact that kirishima goes really silent whenever you’re around—

and he’s secretly contemplating on having you around more so he can just shut up 。・°°・(＞_＜)・°°・。

moving aside all of that, kiri always carries your things.

you’ll beg him to give you at least one thing, and he’ll say no because it’s “not manly to let someone carry all of this.”

if you’re sad, he’s the first one to cheer you up— reassuring you that everything will be okay.

kiri’s just wants to be at your service at all times! it’s manly to help people, right?

hitoshi shinsou

— THE DISCREET SIMP

no one would be able to tell that he’s simping for someone

because unlike kaminari; he’s not like IM HITOSHI SHINSO AND IM ACTUALLY A SIMP

he’s a lot more discreet, and no one has really caught on, besides you and kaminari of course

he’s a lot less sarcastic with you, asking you about anything that’s happened instead of just being there

he prefers it to hear you talk. the way each word and syllable rolls off your tongue smoothly, and the way you use your hands to emphasize things

he’s amused.

oh and the way he looks at you? almost any normal person can sense the simp in him pop out (he’s so contained though)

he’s definitely the person that’ll get rid of any bug that’s terrifying you— even though he’d normally just leave it to them

he’ll do it, regardless if it’s the biggest fucking spider he’s ever seen, or the smallest spider

he’ll do it to make you feel safe.

he has these random spurs of compliments during the day

the source mainly comes from his staring habit

and they’re just so unexpected and out of the blue. hitoshi’s amused whenever he sees your reaction to his compliments

like.. you could be really frustrated about something, and he’ll just go “your eyes are pretty.” that’s his discreet method tO MAKE YOU TEMPORARILY DISTRACTED FROM THE ISSUE—

call him a simp, whatever. it’s true anyway so he doesn’t why should he be ashamed of it?

he’s discreet about it, since it’s your business and his business. but you can definitely feel his feelings loud and clear

neito monoma

— THE 180 SIMP

“i’m not a simp!”

[you enter the room]

*nervous laughter*

he had his last laugh, and he never thought he’d be this soft around someone.

especially if you’re from class 1-A like.. i became the thing i hated, ugh.

relentless teasing is amped but this is his way of making sure you remember him loud and clear

but he’ll never tease you in a condescending way— like how he torments the rest of class 1-A

that’s reserved for them 💅

always compliments you, that’s the first thing he does when he sees you—

and they’re never generic compliments either

“it’s nice to see you here, y/n! you make the world better day by day!”

“i’m still wondering what you’re doing in class 1-A, you’re much better than them!”

everyone secretly wonders how you got monoma to like you

monoma canonically likes pastels. spread the word

so sometimes, you’ll walk over to your desk— and you’ll just see this random pastel ornament sitting on your desk

you know who it’s from

whenever monoma starts becoming annoying, kendo will definitely use you as a weapon to make him shut up

he’ll be laughing at the expression on his face, thinking he’s absolutely winning at this

but the smile is wiped off his face when he hears “ok go on, i’ll tell y/n about your antics.”

“no, no! i’ll behave now, please don’t tell y/n.”

class 1-b literally use you as blackmail whenever monoma acts up, and it’s because of how different he is around you

like.. his personality takes a 180, (besides the obvious teasing) it’s alarming

—

©️zukuist 2021, bnha|mha belongs to horikoshi kohei. do not repost my work❕

8K notes · View notes

unanuvola · 3 years

Text

(baby boy) turn me on with your electric feel

Pairing: Damiano × reader

Genre: smut

Summary: really, it's just smut

Warning(s): light choking, facesitting and crumbs on the bed

Damiano came back from his first session for the new album with a box of pastarelle and a big smile on his beautiful face. You weren't able to attend due to your work, although he invited you, but this inconvenience didn't stop you from supporting your boyfriend. As soon as he left home you sent him encouraging messages, called him during his lunch break, congratulated him on his first recording session, then you went to buy his favorite prosecco to celebrate together at home.

During the dinner, a simple pasta with sauce from fresh tomatoes, he couldn't stop talking enthusiastically about the new songs and you couldn't stop asking about it because you loved seeing him so passionate about his work.

Even now that you were lying on your bed, with just your panties and his Måneskin shirt, and Damiano was on the doorstep, wearing just a pair of boxer, with the bottle of prosecco and two glass in his hands, you could clearly see his desire to tell you about his day all over again.

"And you know what happened then?" Damiano asked, while you were resting on his shoulder and your hand was caressing his chest.

"No, babe! What happened?" you lied, because Damiano had already told you this part of the story at least a hundred times, but you couldn’t help but let him tell you again because of the joy it brought him.

"I hit the perfect note! Can you believe that?" he exclaimed.

"Of course I believe you! You're such a good bo-, I mean good singer," you teased him on purpose, knowing that those two small words could do magic in Damiano's fantasy.

His reaction, in fact, was almost immediate. It was impossible to not notice his bulge growing. You were about to reach for his pants, when you felt his hot breath on your ear, "Let me show you how much of a good boy I can be just for you."

He put a hand under your chin and lifted it slightly, until your eyes met. You wanted to say a million things to him, but you were mesmerized by those desirous eyes.

"Baby, do you want it? Tell me, I want to hear your voice," Damiano’s grip on your chin was gentle, his eyes so sincere.

"Yes," you managed to say it in a small voice.

He smiled excitedly and lowered his lips to yours, ready to devour every inch of you.

You disclosed your mouth as soon as Damiano started to gently bite your lower lip. The prosecco flavor melted in the kiss while Damiano took your cheeks in his hands, sucking your tongue. You tried not to close your eyes because you loved watching him lost in his desire, but now that Damiano's fingers and mouth moved on your neck, you shut them, letting out a deep moan.

Without hesitation Damiano started to kiss your collarbone, open-mouthed with pressured sucks. Your hand moved to his head and you began to caress his hair, encouraging him to continue moving his mouth slowly and sloppy on you. As soon as he felt your fingers rubbing his scalp, Damiano hummed loudly which made you shiver, goosebumps making you tingle, and you didn't miss the opportunity to tug his hair with so much force that he gasped, leaving your neck wet with his own saliva and a slight bruise.

"You like it, baby boy?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer. Actually, you could feel his answer. His throbbing excitement was enthusiastically grinding on your leg with circular, lazy movements.

Damiano groaned, a positive sign you supposed, and you moved your hand from his head to his shoulders, holding him close to you. He snuggled for a few moments, then nuzzled the junction point between your neck and shoulder before unexpectedly licking the long range of neck to earlobe. He lingered a bit, biting it slightly. "Now it's my turn to ask you-" his hand traveled from your soft belly to your chest first, "do you-" his fingers traced imaginary waves on your skin, making you shiver, "like-" a gentle squeeze on your left breast surprised you, a soft moan escaping from your mouth, "this?" Damiano’s voice growled in your ear while his right hand was standing on your throat.

Feeling his palm surrounding your neck was a pleasant surprise. Damiano knew that you liked that kind of thing. He tried it on you a couple of times, but when he confessed to you that he wasn't totally sure about it, you obviously accepted his limit.

"Is it okay to you, right?" Damiano asked, a string of concern in his voice.

You turned your head a little. He was looking at you with a mix of desire and apprehension and you felt butterflies in your stomach just like it was the first day you met him. He was so beautiful, kind and always caring about your needs that sometimes you found yourself asking why in the world he chose you. "Of course, babe," you reassured him, in a whisper, eager to know his next move, "but you can use your time in better ways instead of frowning," you put your index between his eyebrows.

Damiano smirked and, without any hesitation, he moved his mouth to your ear, "Four taps with your hand and I'll stop. Just ten seconds as you like it."

You hadn't the time to nod that Damiano started tightening his hand on your neck. He began with a softened squeeze to then reach a more firm grip at the tenth second. When he released you, he started to pepper your neck with kisses while you tried to catch your breath, your chest raising and lowering in short breaths and your thighs rubbing together searching for some relief.

"Do you want a second round?"

You hummed and Damiano replaced his soft and wet lips with his hand, at first caressing your soft skin, then holding your neck gently.

This time you could feel more confidence coming from Damiano. Instead of whispering the seconds passing slowly, he mumbled words of encouragement. You closed your eyes, leaving Damiano's voice and hand lulling in your pleasure.

"Baby girl, you're so good, you know?"

The tight was still soft, but you could start feeling your heart beating under Damiano's right hand.

"Mmhmm..." you tried to answer, but your arousal was growing fast in your wet panties. You were about to slip your hand in, when a double click of Damiano's tongue stopped you. At that sound you opened your eyes wide and when your gazes met a flood of emotions hit you hard. You wanted him. You wanted to feel him. You wanted to feel his touch on you. You want him in you. "T-touch me..." you sigh, with a wisp of breath. The ten seconds were about to end, you could tell by the strength of the grip, and you wanted to come desperately, "Damiano, please..." you cried, a few tears fell on your cheeks.

Damiano instinctively watched your hand, waiting for the four taps, but when he noticed that you, instead, grasped the sheets, he kissed away those tears, "Oh no, babe. I'm not going to touch you. Close your eyes and relax," you obeyed, "would you like to come just by my hand on your neck and by my voice only? Untouched. Let me see how you come for me. Come for this good boy who loves you so much. I can feel that you're close, right baby girl? Come for me now, please," he said with a raspy and firm voice that made you vibrate your inner part. Your climax hit you hard just when Damiano's grip reached the limit, leaving you in a state of pure bliss that you didn't even notice the hand moving away from your neck or the words that Damiano was muttering in your ear.

"Amore, is everything alright?"

"Absolutely," you mumbled, heavily breathing and slowly cooling down from orgasm. "God, Damiano, I'm absolutely, totally, perfectly, definitely fine!"

Damiano let out a heartwarming laugh, letting you free from his tight hug. You plopped in the bed, stretching your legs and arms and enjoying all the feelings.

"Your smile..."

"My smile what?" you asked, turning to him. Damiano was lying on his side, his head resting on his hand. He was smiling too.

"It's beautiful," you felt your cheeks turning red, "after all these years you still blush hearing my compliments," he added, caressing your cheek. You tried so hard to not blush again, but your efforts were in vain, "My baby is so cute, cute, cute, cute!" he teased one more time and you covered your face with your hands, feeling so stupid.

You felt the mattress move and soon after Damiano's hands were on you, disappearing under your t-shirt, "C'mon babe, don't hide your face," he whispered in your ear, slightly beating it, and you, unwillingly, moved them away, letting him look at your embarrassment.

You turned to him, looking at Damiano right into his eyes, "Pleased?"

"Very much!"

"Do you know who else is very much pleased?"

Damiano's eyes darkened, but a slight rash on his cheeks and neck showed you his mixed feelings.

Without a word, you took his hand, which was resting on his hip, and you put it on your panties, letting him feel your wetness. Damiano held his breath and he closed his eyes, but when he tried to move his fingers, you promptly lifted his hand. He looked at you puzzled and you replied to him with a smirk. His hand was shaking in anticipation while you put it in your panties and when he finally touched you, skin to skin, you both moaned.

"You're so soaked," he murmured, while coating his fingers with your juices.

"Because of you, babe. You were so good, you know?" you caressed his cheek, "your hand on my neck, the gentle, but also steady grip, your deep voice that vibrates the most hidden parts of my body.. Mmhmmm, just like that, keep going.." you moaned on his lips, while Damiano was stroking your folds. Then he focused his fingers on your clit. At that touch, a moan escaped from your parted lips, Damiano promptly launched himself toward your mouth, but you stopped him, putting your index finger on his mouth. Your arousal was growing quickly just like the movements of Damiano's fingers in your panties. You could feel your orgasm approaching you, faster and faster, you would've loved to ask to Damiano to slow down just a little bit, but he decided to put your index in his mouth and sucked it languidly and the last thing you see, before the stars exploded behind your closed eyes, was the satisfied smile of your boyfriend.

Damiano's mouth was all over your body. Your neck, shoulders, breasts were covered by sloppy kisses and light bites, while his hands were frantically trying to low down your panties. Seeing him in trouble, you stopped from doing your favorite activity, scratching his back while your mouths were too busy devouring each other, to help your boyfriend and in no time your underwear was on the floor of the bedroom.

In a heartbeat, thanks to an athletic, but most importantly unexpected movement, you were on top of him, his covered erection between your legs. With your hands on his stomach, you started to move your hips tremendously slowly, feeling your juice wetting his briefs.

Damiano was completely lost and you were mesmerized seeing him so needy and wrecked. He was so beautiful, almost ethereal, with his messy hair spreaded over the pillow and his cheeks and chest turned bright red, as his body was trying to synchronize with your moves. His eyes weren't able to stay open, while his pretty and pink mouth was chanting like a mantra more, more, more and you were there to give him more, more, more.

His hands were firmly holding you from your hips and pushed you down on his member, searching for even more friction. Imagining the bruises that will surely appear on your hips, you threw your head back.

"Y/N..." Damiano cried, sliding his hands from your hips to your ass and grabbing it tight.

You moaned shamelessly, lowering until your lips mashed against his. It wasn't a romantic kiss, neither passionate. It was voracious, all teeth and tongues, simply a mess, but you didn't care because you were so hungry of him and thirsty to taste every part of Damiano. You bit his lower lip, maybe a little bit too hard, and you moved slightly away, letting a string of saliva connecting you both.

Your hand traveled through Damiano's blushed body until you reached his erection. Your boyfriend bit his lip, his eyes never left yours, "Let me take care of it," you begged.

He shook his head, "Nah.. There'll be always time for it."

"But..."

"If you want my cock that much, you can have it later."

Hearing him talk to you this explicitly, made you even more turned on, "Mmh.." you rolled your hips, your mouth water at the sight of Damiano's erection peeping out from the rubber band of his briefs, "Shouldn't I be the one to reward you for your extraordinary day at work?"

"Worshipping your body, losing my head when I notice that with a single kiss I can turn you on, making you wet like nobody in your life had ever done before, looking at you when your eyes are closed and you're ready to come for me. You are my reward," and with his hands still on your ass, he dragged you closer to himself and you found yourself set on in stomach, clueless and, most of all, too far from his cock. He helped you to get rid of his Måneskin t-shirt and his fingers danced on your skin, making your heart beat fast, "and to be honest I have another idea on my mind."

You smirked, eager to know his thoughts, "Are you going to tell me or…"

"if it were another moment, probably, I would make you beg to know it," you raised your eyebrow, noting in your mind that as soon as you could lay your hands on him, it'll be him the one who will beg, "but I'm too horny right now, so… What do you think about riding my face?". Both of you remained in silence, looking at each other. You could see his embarrassment in asking you that and, probably, he could see yours, "obviously, if you want it too."

"Yeah, of course…" you murmured, almost talking to yourself. Suddenly, your self-consciousness prevailed and just the simple thought of your body being that exposed made you want to chicken out. But then you felt Damiano's hands on yours, interlocking your fingers together. You looked at him and he was warmly smiling, waiting for your answer. You never did it, but you never did a lot of things before knowing Damiano and this didn't stop you from trying new stuff with him because no matter what, he has always been respectful and understanding. So, why not? "Where do we start?" you asked, winking.

Damiano smiled wide, if he had a fluffy golden retriever tail, he would wag it like crazy. You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and you thought that maybe he was anticipating to taste yourself. He licked his lips and soon after he bit the bottom one, "What do you think about putting my face between your glorious thighs?"

With shaking legs, you did it. Your stomach was a tangle of mixed emotions: fear of trying something new, but also excitement to do it with Damiano and last but not least, the extreme embarrassment of didn't being in shape.

You were shivering so much that you had to hold yourself to the headboard of the bed, but all these insecurities disappeared once Damiano put his hands on your hips and lowered you down on his mouth. He started to kiss you slowly, playing deliberately with your folds while he was holding your thighs. His tongue, flat and wide, traced a long lick, from the bottom of your inner place all the way up. He repeated it a couple of times and you were already so high that you tried to stand up from his mouth, but he pulled you down vigorously.

Damiano's breath was heavy on you while his tongue was dangerously approaching your clit. One of your hands left the headboard and you cupped your breast, playing with your nipple.

Your hips started to undulate, gently, causing the moans of both of you. Damiano's moan arrived just when he put his soft lips and tongue on your most sensitive spot and that vibration made you escaped a fuck from your mouth.

Damiano let you lift your hips an inch, "Am I good, babe?" he asked soon before kissing your inner thighs, "Am I doing right?" he gently bit you down on your thighs, "Tell me that I'm good, y/n, tell me that I'm only yours. I just want to be yours, satisfying your desires, be the only one making you this wet." His voice was broken from the desire, his sparkling eyes were fixed on you and his hands were caressing your back, "you can't understand how beautiful you are right now. Breathtaking." and wasting no time, he hungrily put you down onto his eager mouth.

You arched your back and loudly moaned, when you felt his tongue stroke over your entrance, "Of course my baby, you're not just good, you're amazing! Always so caring and ready to fulfill all my desires," your thighs held his head in place between your legs, "do you think that I did this before? You're my first and I'm so happy because you're the best, the only one that really knows my body so well," hearing your words made Damiano growl and your hips responded back by rocking on him leisurely, "with you I have overcome all the limits that I imposed on myself. You have been patient with me and I... Mmmh… I'm glad for that. I'm glad that you're only mine."

Your hands traveled from your body to his head and with your fingers locked into his hair, you started grinding faster and harder, "Oh God, Damiano, please keep going, just like-," your words died in the mouth because your breathing turned rapid, "Da-Dam, I'm-"

You came hard, screaming his name and Damiano, hearing your satisfaction, let out a deep grunt in you that almost made you jump away from the overstimulation.

The first thing you felt, after coming back to reality, was Damiano's hands helping you to raise your hips, then you heard him saying shit and soon after his tongue was licking away your witness dripping down your inner thighs. You moaned softly, your head resting on your arms which were still anchored on the headboard.

"What happened?" you asked, eyes closed and a stupid smile on your face.

"I creamed in my boxer. Sorry, baby… I wanted to-"

"It's okay, don't worry. Why don't you help me to lay down on the bed? I'm jello," you could feel his grin spreading on your skin. He gave a last kiss on your thigh, then you felt the bad shifting and his hands helping you. He gently laid you down and in no time you stretched limbs, finally starting to feel your body again.

"That was awesome. You were awesome!"

Damiano curled up next to you, his head on your chest and his fingers playing with a lock of your hair, "You know that I love to make you enjoy yourself, if only I lasted long…"

You took a deep breath, letting the mix of his perfume and his body's natural scent invade all your senses, "Oh babe, stop with this! We have all the time in the world or perhaps do you have some plans for later?" your boyfriend shook his head while your fingers caressing all the parts of Damiano's body you could reach for, "we can take a little break and then start all over again, maybe this time it'll be my turn to show you how much I'm a good girl for you."

Damiano left up in face and he looked at you, his cheeks slightly red, "This sounds like a fantastic plan! I'm totally in," he stretched his neck and he placed a soft peck on your mouth, leaving on your lips your own taste, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course!"

"The things you said when I was… you know… eating you up were true, right?"

"Damiano, sit and look at me," he obeyed, legs crossed and still half naked. You finally looked at him for the first time and you could stop thinking how wrecked up he was. Your gaze focused first on the large wet spot on his briefs, then you noticed his stomach covered with his come and a proud chuckle escaped from your mouth. His styled hair was just a mere memory and his lips… oh his pretty pink lips were turned into a puffy crimson red flower. You took the Måneskin t-shirt and with gentle brushes you wiped your juices smeared all over his chin and mouth, "never, I said never doubt my words, okay? When I tell you that you're good to me, I mean it. When I tell you that I completely trust you, I mean it. When I tell you that I'll never love someone as much as I love you, I mean it."

Damiano hugged you tight, your sweaty bodies so closed that you could hear your boyfriend's heart beating like crazy, "I'm glad to be yours."

"I'm glad to be yours, too." you whispered on his skin, kissing his neck.

"Maybe it's better I'm going to wash the mess I made, mmh babe?" you nodded, even if you were hesitant to leave his strong arms, "you just relax, drink some prosecco and don't begin anything without me, okay?" he winked, then he took a t-shirt into his tray and handed it to you, "Here, you'll catch a cold!"

In that moment you realized that you were naked and, stupidly, you felt your cheeks going on fire. With a sharp move, you took the t-shirt and wore it, mumbling a thank you. It was an old Damiano's t-shirt with Simba on it and as soon as you wore it, his scent wrapped you and you felt in your boyfriend's arms again.

When Damiano came back, you were drinking a glass of prosecco, lying comfortably on the bed, "Don't you want to eat pasticcini here, right? You know that I hate when you eat in bed."

"It's strange… You didn't seem that pissed when my mouth was devouring you right here on our bed!"

You looked at him seriously, trying to don't give him any satisfaction for that joke.

"Oh c'mon! I need some energy for what will happen next," he raised his eyebrows, smirking at you, God only knew what he was fantasizing.

"Okay, okay, but eat in your part of the bed!" you exclaimed, exhausted.

Right after giving him permission, he was already on the bed, munching a sfogliatella. It was extremely cute watching him eating happily, but you couldn't just not notice the crumbs falling on his chest.

"Can you believe that the both of us came untouched tonight?" he asked with his mouth full.

You hummed, still thinking about sleeping on sheets covered in crumbs.

"You know what that means?"

"I don't know if I want to know it…"

"Amore, don't be a party pooper!" he said with his golden retriever eyes expression.

"That we're like two horny teenagers even if we're not."

"Nope, babe! It means that we're soulmates." he proudly explained to you, like he was some academic describing his scientific research.

You tilted your head and you looked at him deadly seriously, even if that soulmate thing made your heart beating a little bit faster, "This does not even make sense. I really hate you, Damiano David."

"No, you don't! Didn't you just tell me that you'll never love someone as you-"

"Fine! Maybe, just maybe you're right," Damiano grinned fiercely, making you roll your eyes, "do something useful and pass me a cannolo!"

"Don't be rude! It's not hard saying could you pass me a cannolo, please?"

"Are you for real?"

Damiano nodded.

You puffed, "Could you pass me a cannolo, please?"

His gaze traveled from you to his briefs, where a suspicious tent was apparently waiting for you.

"Damiano, I was talking about one of the cannoli in the box," your patience was definitely running out.

"Of course, I got that, babe! I totally understand if you're still exhausted because of my exceptional skill in making you come multiple times. It's not easy to be the girlfriend of a sex god like m-"

"Oh my God. Damiano David, could you just shut up?" you launched yourself on top of him, your hands quickly removed his underwear, finally letting free his semi-hard erection. You stroked it a couple of times, "Now I'm going to show you how a real sex goodness makes love," and from now on the only words that left Damiano mouth was his extremely loud moans and his desperate please.

#damiano david x reader #damiano david x you #damiano david #maneskin fanfiction #måneskin fanfiction #maneskin #måneskin #my writing

468 notes · View notes

taestefully-in-luv · 3 years

Text

The Island | KTH (One)

Summary: You’re just two strangers waking up in a room on a lonely island where a company in the business of love has placed you. They believe that thanks to their in depth research you two are destined soulmates. What happens when your ‘soulmate’ and you want nothing to do with each other but falling in love is the only way to leave?

Pairing: Taehyung x Female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, slight enemies to lovers, soulmates au, roommate au, slow burn, fluff, smut, angst, slight crack, and drama.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warnings: swearing

Notes: Alright here is the first ch to my new story! I am super nervous to post this because it is a completely different vibe. But I hope you guys enjoy! Don’t worry, it turns fluffier later:) let me know if you want to be added to the taglist, or send an ask if just want to chat!:)

Taglist: @ggukkieland @monvieesdaebak @707sblog @peacedreamer14

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Your room is blinding from the soft yet striking sunrise, each beam of light swims through the blinds in piercing waves. The intense glow hits you in your sleepy state, causing you to wake from your glorious slumber. Too bright. You sit up in your bed, attempting to rub away the sleep that crusts your eyes. You begin to slowly open one lid at a time, taking in the neat appearance of your room. Your room looks the same as always—there is a nightstand next to your wooden framed bed, it holds a pale lamp and a photo of mountainous scenery. A dresser sits comfortably in front of you, it is dressed in simple décor and a large mirror. Yup, the same as always. You glance over to your sheer curtained window where the sun very offendedly washes over the room—wait. Hold on a god damn second.

Quickly, you begin to open your eyes just a bit wider—where is your royal purple ottoman? The art that hangs on your walls? Your dresser is brown not black for Christ’s sake! You ball your hand in the sheets…these don’t even feel like your sheets, yours aren’t this silky. This is not your room. Your eyebrows climb to the top of your forehead as you jerk your head around. Where the hell are you? Suddenly, you feel something rustle against your side. No…not something—someone.

Your eyes dart to the right of you, where this someone moves against the sheets. Not just someone. A man. His dark, ruffled hair sticks out between the sheets and pillow below his head. Why is there a man in bed with you? Is it…his bed? Oh god. Immediately, your mind tries to recall the night before. Did you go out and drink too much? Go home with a rando? Super unlike you though. You pull your hair as your mind races.

Sitting up in bed, worry crosses all of your features. You try to face all the possibilities that could maybe end up being your reality. But going out and partying is nowhere in your memories. You begin gnawing on your bottom lip, knowing you stayed home last night. And that you fell asleep in your own bed…alone, you might add. So where the hell are you? And why is there another person? Fear enters the picture now, this is the last place you wanted to go. You know, that horrible, terrible, dark place? The one that says your reality is that some creepy man kidnapped you and plans on doing murder-y type things to you. Yup, that place.

You tug on the end of your hair again, you know, you know, a bad habit. But you can’t help it as anxiety grows deeper within you. Were you really kidnapped? Fuck. You have to think. You’re trying to, at least. But breathing is becoming a chore. Your breaths are quick and sharp like you are on the brink of a panic attack. Shit, maybe you are. You try to eye the room again, taking in its appearance more carefully. You can’t help the shiver that speeds down your spine when you notice how perfect this single bedroom is…it actually almost resembles your guest bedroom at home. Which is creepy in itself. You continue to eye the room curiously, while staying absolutely frozen.

The dresser has more photos of pretty scenery sitting on top, as well as a few small vases that complement the rest of the décor. Anxiety continues to grow within you, shaking you to the core. You hate the way your hands tremble in your lap. You want to do something. You truly do but fuck, you can’t even move a muscle. Your breathing begins to pick up even more. Where are you? Why are you here? Who is this man sleeping so fucking peacefully next to you? Your thoughts are going 100 miles per minute, screaming at you, taunting you, giving you the middle finger.

Before you can think through your many obvious questions and answer them, the man next to you begins to stir in his sleep. You watch with wide eyes as he slowly moves to his back from his side. You stare down at him, too scared to move. Too scared to scream bloody murder. Too scared to do anything. And nothing disappoints you more. That you are nothing but a coward. You look down at your future murderer and wait for him to wake.

Future murderer slowly opens his eyes but he shies away instantly from the beaming sunlight.

“Ahhhh.” He lets go in one long breath, rubbing at his eyes in a sleepy manner. You sit still, your own breath caught in your throat. You want to move but fear has you frozen like an evening in the arctic. The man, or Future Murderer as you seemed to have named him, begins sitting up, stretching his arms out above him and yawns a song of sleep. He finally opens his eyes fully and soaks in the room before him. His head moves around quickly, his expression becoming rather…confused.

“What the fuck?”

Yup, those are his first words. Should have been yours too, if you’re being honest. This guy gets it.

Future Murderer’s facial expression grows bewildered as he looks around the room and when he finally feels your presence, he turns his head your way.

“Uh…” the Murderer narrows his eyes at you, “Hi?”

You don’t even realize the sigh of relief that pushes past your lips, but his confusion seems…genuine. And this allows you to relax your shoulders a little bit. Maybe he is a victim to whatever is going on too? You take in his disheveled appearance; he has brown wavy hair that rests above his brow line, eyes darker than the deepest part of the sea and full pouting lips. You would totally admit he’s attractive as hell but considering the fact you’re trying to convince yourself he isn’t going to murder you and the state you’re in, you’re going to push that thought away.

“Uh, who are you?” His brows knit together as he expectantly waits for an answer.

“No, who are you?” You squint at him. How dare he ask like you aren’t the one totally frazzled here? But somehow it’s comforting that he seems as confused as you are. Mystery man (his new name, since he doesn’t appear to want to murder you) (maybe) raises a single brow at you before answering,

“Taehyung.”

You listen to his name roll off his tongue and absorb it. Taehyung, huh? You hesitate for a second before finally giving your own name.

“y/n.”

Taehyung then, has the audacity to pinch his nose in annoyance. To be fair, it looks like the one he’s annoyed with is himself and not you.

“Look, sorry…” he begins, “If we hooked up last night, I don’t really remember and I—"

Your eyes widen at his words and you begin to frantically shake your head,

“No! We didn’t—we didn’t…”

“Oh?” Taehyung gives you a curious look then has the audacity to scoot several inches away from you. Then you feel his eyes on you, they search you from head to toe. You’re wearing your cat printed PJ shorts and a simple purple t shirt. You admit your hair is probably pretty wild, so you card your fingers through your locks. You start to feel insecure under his gaze as he so shamelessly eyes you.

“I don’t know who you are or where I am…do you know where we are?” you question, looking off to the side.

Taehyung pulls his eyes away from you, his head moving around to look around the room, his arms flailing.

“Does it look like I know where I am?”

You only blink at him and he rolls his eyes, “No, I don’t.” he admits.

Moments of silence pass between the two of you. You don’t know what to say at this point even though you have a million things you would like to say. But you can’t form one, coherent sentence apparently. You don’t know anything. You’re fucking clueless and you hate it. You’re trying to gather your thoughts when you feel Taehyung rise from the bed, startling you like he just committed a crime. God, you are such a coward. What? Do you really think the bed is apparently some super safe place that will protect you from the evils of the world? Taehyung walks toward the dresser and other corners of the room, inspecting it carefully.

“Fucking weird, but nice room, right?” he asks under his breath. Taehyung throws a glance over at you. “You don’t know where you are…I don’t know where I am…we both wake up in a strange room and neither of us have any recollection of how we got here.” Taehyung takes a pause to gather his thoughts. “Have you heard anything? You know, from outside the room? There could be other people.” He waits for you to answer but you stay quiet. Yes, you are on that level of coward.

You stay in the bed, anxiety building up, growing fiercer by the second. While it seems Taehyung’s attention is being stolen by the large window where the sun invites him to come take a peak. He tip toes over to the window, lifting the blinds and exposes something you imagine takes his breath way due to his audible gasp.

“Where…the fuck are we?” he asks breathlessly.

Instead of looking for yourself, you stay seated. But are we surprised? You study Taehyung’s expressions, watching for his reactions. His face falls into one of awe but after only a few moments in settles back into confusion. He reaches for the bottom of the window sill and lifts upwards, opening the window and releasing the sound of…is that waves? You continue to observe him, too afraid to see for yourself. He stands there for several long moments before turning your way and he clears his throat.

“I—I don’t…I don’t know where we are, like, really.” He takes a hesitant step towards the bed. “But something tells me neither of us are from here.”

You need a minute. Yeah, you need a minute to process his words. Because what the fuck does he mean by that? You aren’t ‘from here’? Are you on another planet or some shit? This man needs to work on his wording, for Christ’s sake. You feel your hand move just the slightest. Then your other hand. Your toes curl in and out. Seems you aren’t so frozen anymore. Things are, yes things as in waking up with a total stranger and him saying you are in an unknown place, are starting to wake you up. You’re so ashamed your solution to all of this was to stay seated in bed…but for some reason a rushing sensation of bravery washes over you.

You rise from the sheets and step one foot on to the floor. It’s not lava. So you step down with both feet and make your way over to Taehyung. You stop in front of him, tilting your head up since he has several inches over you—but nothing too intimidating, you decide. His eyes find yours and you lock eyes for a few moments. Both of you trying to search the other for answers. You break contact to face the window and wow. Your eyes animatedly widen at the sight. Palm trees and water for miles and miles it seems. No other buildings or sign of life. An island? But not the kind of island where this room is a part of some fancy resort, no, not that kind. Instead the kind where a plane crashes and a group of people have to survive.

You blink down at your new reality. First of all, you live nowhere near an island, so there’s that. You feel the anxiety and frustrations begin to surface again and you can’t help that your eyes begin to gloss over. You snap your head back to get a look at your fellow victim and he looks just as lost as you feel.

“We need to find out what’s going on.” Taehyung takes a deep breath, lifting his head up. He locks his eyes with yours again but you break contact to look at your feet.

“We don’t know anything…would if it’s not safe?” you quietly try to reason.

“Exactly, we don’t know anything and that’s a problem. You don’t expect us to stay in this room forever, do you?”

He has a point and you know it. You want to follow him out of this room but your feet seem to be glued to the floor.

“Well, no. But—”

“Didn’t think so.” He turns away from you, his body shuffling towards the bedrooms door but before he can become out of reach your hand flies to his shirt sleeve, tugging it softly.

“Wait! Just hold on—” Your voice wavers and Taehyung rolls his eyes. Rolls his fucking eyes at you!

“Listen, come. Or don’t. I don’t really care.” Taehyung releases your hold on his shirt, unsticking your fingers and throwing your hand towards your body. “Decide.” He states before swiftly turning around to head towards the door.

Oh. So this guy is a fucking asshole. Noted.

You end up following him because although he was rude about it, feeling someone’s touch when you feel so scared was slightly comforting and yes, you are aware of how fucking pathetic that is.

Taehyung stands in front of the door, his hand reaching for the knob when he turns his head to say, “Just trust me.”

And now you are the one rolling your eyes. Trust him? You just met the dude! 10 minutes ago his name was Future Murderer. How could you possibly trust this asshole?

“How can I trust you? I literally just met you.” The scowl on your face deepens when he smirks.

“Are you always such a fucking baby?”

“Are you always such a fucking baby?” you mock, eyes rolling so far into the back of your head. Okay, you admit you aren’t being the most mature here. But Taehyung doesn’t seem to take offense to it by the way he gasps and throws a hand over his heart as if wounded.

“Oh? She’s got some sass?” His question and raised brows only piss you off.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” You aren’t entirely sure where the confidence comes from but you don’t question it. You’re breezing past him, your shoulder knocking into his as you approach the door.

You feel Taehyung’s eyes on you and hear him mumble a lame, ‘that’s the spirit’ from behind you. And with that, in one swift action you are opening the door.

You stand in the open doorway, once again frozen in place. Not feeling as confident as you were 15 second ago—maybe you just need this dude to piss you off again. Speak of the devil, Taehyung steps besides you, poking his head out into the hallway searching for any sign of life.

“It’s quiet.” He takes a few steps forward, now in the middle of the hall. You glance around, the hallway has walls full of beautiful artwork, and to the right is 3 doors and to the left is a wide staircase. An exit. Bingo.

“Let’s check each room.” And of course he wants to do the opposite.

“No, let’s just get out of here.”

You turn on your feet towards the stairs and stop at the first step and raise a brow over your shoulder, “Aren’t you coming?”

Taehyung looks conflicted to say the least. He exhales deeply, looking between you and the 3 doors.

“Shouldn’t we just—”

“No! come on…” You must sound pleading and convincing because you can see him falter, just a bit. “I just want to go home…” You say, averting his gaze. Taehyung only stares at you for what feels like an eternity before he’s finally agreeing with the nod of his head.

The two of you very cautiously step down the stairs, each foot that follows the other slightly trembles in the fear of the unknown. You two finally reach the bottom and your eyes go wide at the sight. This is basically your fucking dream house. The floor plan is very open. At the center is a gorgeous grand piano, you don’t play but it’s aesthetically pleasing you guess? To the right is a long table with picture frames and décor and down the hall there seems to be more rooms.

You scan the downstairs as you slide your fingers along the edge of this table and stop when you come across a framed photo. What the actual fuck. Your eyebrows rise and your eyes grow twice their size. You very hesitantly pick up the picture as your eyes blink down at the frame in hand when your breathing begins to pick up again. It’s a framed photo of you and your sister . Now why the hell would this be here? Why is there a picture of you and your sister?? Why would someone have this? The framed photo sits in your trembling hands as you stare down at it. Taehyung notices your shaky grip on this picture and takes it from you to take a look himself. His eyes also go wide…you look between him and the picture.

“Why…why the hell is this here?” your voice betrays you as it shakes with every word.

Taehyung glances down at the table and notices his own photos with friends and family that are disgustingly and proudly displayed.

“What the actual fuck?” Taehyung whispers to no one but himself. What the hell is going on? Why does this house have pictures of the two of you? Who is doing this? Is this some sort of sick joke?

“What’s happening Taehyung?” you step closer to him feeling entirely…creeped out.

“Does it look like I fucking know?” he snaps. He sees you flinch and his eyes soften, “Sorry…Its just… this is going too far.” He finally looks as disturbed as you feel. The two of you stay quiet for a few moments, neither of you knowing how to react to this eerie discovery.

You shudder at how ominous this all is. This is becoming way too much. How much more of this can you handle? You almost want to jump into this assholes arms and sob into his navy blue t shirt.

“We should…” Taehyung wipes his sweaty hands on his sweats, “keep going.”

The two of you nod your heads in unison and turn to your left where there is an entry way to the kitchen and living room. Taehyung stops before stepping through while you join him at his side. You two glance around to soak in your surroundings—it’s also an open space, the two open areas sharing a space. The kitchen is covered in black granite and wooden cabinets with a door that probably leads outside. The living room has two matching sofas, a wide screen TV that hangs on the wall over a fireplace and built in shelves on either side, full of books, movies and games.

Taehyung and you share a look before walking through to the kitchen and living room. You approach the rooms slowly and carefully, afraid of what you might find. What surprises could be lurking. Suddenly the white glow of the TV can be seen, making you jump with its sudden brightness. Why the hell did the TV just turn on? Is this like, a haunted house? Are you being fucking haunted? Okay, maybe that’s dramatic.

The screen is bright white with nothing else on it. You turn to face Taehyung who is already staring at you with brows pinched together in confusion. Same Taehyung, same. The two of you decide to walk closer to the TV when dark, bold numbers appear.

“10….9…8…..”

The sound of soft music can be heard playing from the TV, similar to the music that’s played in an elevator, as numbers counting down from 10 begins. You feel your insides twist and turn.

“….7….6…..”

Panicked, the two of you inch closer and closer. You two stand here waiting for something, anything to occur because these might be the longest 10 seconds of your life. The millions of questions you have only multiplying. With the seconds counting down and getting closer to zero, your breathing about fucking stops. What is going to happen? You can feel your palms grow sweaty as your heart beats out of your chest. It feels like the countdown to the end of the world.

“….5….4….3…”

You don’t think Taehyung realizes just how close he is to you, his shoulders bumping into yours. You guess fear does funny things even between strangers.

“….2…..1…….”

And then it finally happens. The timer finally reaches fucking zero. And it is safe to safe your attention has been caught…anyone’s would be if a screen greets them with their god damn names.

“Welcome Kim Taehyung and Y/N Y/LN”

Your names on the screen has you automatically feeling nauseas. What sort of sick game is this? Is someone setting you up? Pranking you? If so, shits not funny. But also, why is Taehyung here? Your eyes focus on the screen as it moves to the next slide.

“It is a great honor that you two have made it this far. You have been carefully selected in this company’s project. After a lot of consideration and impressive results—we have decided to move you to the next phase.”

Naturally, very naturally you become even more confused than you fucking started. What projects? What company? You can hear Taehyung swallow hard, his nerves spiking with each word he reads. Then the slides continue.

“To put it simply, we are in the business of love.”

Huh? Huh?

Taehyung and you break your focus on the screen to steal a glance as one another very briefly before turning your heads back to the TV. What the hell they mean love? What is this absolute nonsense?

“Our use of science, technology and logic has got us here today. We test and heavily observe our chosen subjects and decide if they are the perfect match. We then move them to the final phase: The Island. This is where the two subjects meet and get along for the first time. The place they will undoubtedly fall in love.”

You can’t help that your mouth falls open, you are sure your eyes are bulging out of your head. You dare to turn to look at Taehyung and he isn’t looking much better.

Before you can really gather any thoughts the slides continue.

“Our success rate is 99%. You WILL fall in love here, it is most probable. Other subjects will come to fall in love quickly, other will take their time. BUT don’t take too long~ If two subjects are taking too long to make progress we will send a ‘Request’ to move things along and if you fail to meet said request there will be a penalty. And you have 24 hours to complete the request. This is to help you.”

You shiver while reading the words before you. You are now too anxious to even look at Taehyung right now…you don’t want to even see his reaction to all of this. Is he anxious like you? Is he laughing because there’s no way this is real? Is he nodding along taking notes because he believes it? You don’t want to fucking know!

“We give soulmates the opportunity to meet and thrive. This particular project has been in the works for well over a year.”

You blink lazily at that. Well over a year? WELL OVER A YEAR? They’ve been watching you for over a year?!

“We have carefully observed each one of you in great detail. There is nothing we don’t know. We have matched you two to be most compatible.”

Nothing they don’t know? What the hell does that mean? How exactly did they fucking observe you two? You stand here with eyes wide open and mouth agape. Taehyung mirrors your expression. He doesn’t want to believe this either.

“And you two are finally ready to proceed with The Island.”

The two of you stand in the living room, dumbstruck. Absolutely dumbstruck. You aren’t even able to look at one another for more than a hot second. A harsh blush creeping on your face and you cringe because there’s no way you could blush for this asshole.

You just…you cannot believe any of this. You refuse to. This is ridiculous. Insane.

“This island is only for the two of you. Designed specifically for you. You are being constantly monitored. Hidden cameras are placed all around the house. Minus the bedrooms and bathrooms. The décor and food is to each of your likings, we want you to feel at home as possible. Everything including books, movies, games and rooms are to your likings and match your hobbies.”

Wait a minute. You frantically shake your head, blinking furiously. Constantly being monitored? AKA you’re being fucked spied on? How are you supposed to do anything knowing you’re being watched?

“Your families have already been notified of your absence.”

You feel your heart drop. You didn’t even consider how they might feel.

“You will return safely once we feel we are satisfied with the results. This can be 3 months, 6 months, a year or even more.”

You feel Taehyung spin to face you in complete shock.

“We understand this may seem awkward at first but things will evolve naturally. So you should not worry.”

These words do not bring the least bit of comfort.

“Besides the ‘Requests’ we will not interfere. This is YOUR time to fall in love.”

“Thank you so much for your ongoing participation and please enjoy your new home and of course, each other. <3”

The added heart at the end of the last slide has both of you scrunching your faces in disgust. With that, the TV shuts off, showing nothing but the dark black screen and the reflection of two ghosts. What. The. Fuck.

You’re sure your expression is as clear as day; a mix between anger and hopelessness. You don’t want to look at Taehyung, not after everything you just read but you know you should. So you tip your head to the side to get a good look at him. Worry. All you see is worry. Look, he might be hot as hell but there ain’t no way you can fall in love with this dude. But also, you don’t know anything. You gulp, there is one thing you know. You’re going to be sick.

Your nausea is so built up, it’s at the entrance of your throat begging for release. You stand here, running a clammy hand through your hair. You are going to puke, you know it.

Without any further thinking, you run towards the back door in the kitchen that thankfully leads to outside. You run down a path that you pray to the God’s that this path does lead to the ocean so you can drown yourself in some good ol’ waves. Your anxiety has you out of breath before the run does. You finally reach sand that is warm and grainy under your bare feet and follow it to the shore.

It’s beautiful actually. The view. You wish you could really take it all in and let the calmness of the waves relax you but you are seconds away from upchucking last night’s pizza rolls. But it never comes. Your guts never make it out of your body but the anxiety remains. Falling to the ground, you pull your knees into your chest, trying to breathe and most importantly trying not to cry. This is no use though and to be honest you don’t try very hard because tears are cascading down your face within seconds. You can feel the burning in your chest as hot tears fall onto the warmth of your cheeks and it breaks you further. You sit here and wonder if you are really stuck here in this place and with a complete and total stranger. The same thought stays with you as you ball into yourself.

You sit here, indulging in quiet sobs until they finally ease into soft sniffles. You reach up to wipe your eyes, ridding yourself of tears and the thoughts that came along with them. You need to think more clearly. Okay, positive thoughts. Come on y/n, you can do this. Positive thoughts. First off, you’re not alone. You are not the only victim here. You have an acquaintance here who you are sure isn’t very pleased about this either. But wait—would if this guy is a total weirdo? A psycho? Okay, maybe being positive is harder than you thought. Plus he was a total asshole to you earlier. But maybe that will change?

You stand to your feet, feeling more determined than before. You are going to try to make the best out of this shitty situation. You brush away the annoying leftover grains of sand from your legs and your behind and turn around to make your journey back to the house, your ‘home’. Ew, you did not just call it that, you shudder at the thought. Before you start walking, you spot Taehyung aka your ‘soulmate’ ew, you did not just him call him that— sitting, leaning against a tree. Yup, right next to where you just had snot running down your nose. Before spiraling into embarrassment, you take a good look at him and oh. You step towards him and his eyes follow your movements until you are seated next to him. He’s tense, that’s for sure. But you can’t really blame him, now can you? You are a little bit selfish, aren’t you? He is clearly freaking out too yet you ran out on him. You can see his expressions now: confused, anger, upset. And something you can’t quite figure out.

Taehyung looks your way and offers you a small, tense smile and then turns his head away from you to face the ocean again, a sigh escaping his lips.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

You really don’t want to feel offended because hey, that’s fair. But still, this asshole doesn’t even know you so you roll your eyes.

“I’m not going to fall in love with you dude.”

Taehyung glances at you and gives you a look, like he knows that’s impossible.

“Sure.” He says.

“You don’t fall in love with me.” You snap back, feeling like you won something.

“Yeah, that won’t be a problem.” He deadpans.

“Listen…you’re not a psycho, are you?” You narrow your eyes at him. Taehyung stares at you for a second before he dramatically rolls his eyes at you, then he narrows his own eyes.

“I’m not a psycho,” he defends, a serious expression drawn on his face. “But how do I know you’re not?”

You bite down on your lip as if really contemplating,

“Fair point.” You smile cheekily but then your face falls into a frown. “This isn’t…real, right?” you try to brush back your hair behind your ear but the wind makes it difficult. “The TV…this is a joke, right?”

Taehyung looks on towards the ocean, the big blue waves crashing in the distance. He is silent for several long, annoyingly long moments. You can’t help but wonder what goes inside his head, what is he thinking? What is he feeling? It’s got to be similar to you, right?

“Let’s say it is real. There’s a company who…who…spied on us for a year. What does that mean? They hacked our phones? Hacked our homes? How far did they go? They said they know everything…” Taehyung pauses, flinching at his own words. “So, say they do. They believe after all their research we make a good match…the perfect match, apparently.”

“Yeah, I highly doubt that.” You cut in. “We couldn’t even get along in the first 10 minutes—”

“That’s because you were being a baby.”

“That’s because you were being a—Shut up.” You huff.

“Who’s being rude now?” Taehyung smirks. “Listen, I think it’s best if we just play it safe. But I am serious…I won’t be falling in love with you. And I am not a psycho.”

“And I am serious too, I won’t.” you remind him, annoyed. “It’s you who should be careful.” You poke your tongue out and Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“So do you like pancakes? Mister Not Psycho.” You look at him with a playful smirk and he wastes no time to curve his lips downwards.

“Pancakes?” he lifts his brows but then a scowl takes over, “I’m not falling in love with you even if you make me pancakes. I still can’t get over this…they spied on us for a year y/n. Invaded our privacy…this is too much. Too much to be thinking about god damn pancakes”

“Yeah but it seems like we’re stuck together,” you reason, “Whether we like it or not. So you can maybe try not to be such an asshole to me? When I’m just as much of a victim as you are. And we still have to eat.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops a little, then he closes it, screwing his eyes shut. “You’re right…I’m sorry,” he stands to his feet. “This is all just so crazy and a lot to take in…”

“I know…” you pause, “It’s sort of like being on a vacation—”

“Just stop.”

Taehyung walks past you, heading back inside the house. Leaving you alone with nothing but the ocean.

You stare off into the wide unknown, the oceans blue emptiness swallowing you whole. This looks like a dream vacation spot, if you’re being honest. But this? This was about to be the vacation from Hell.

~~~~~~~~

You and Taehyung walk through the door back into the kitchen, a look of grimace on his face while you frown. You two decide to check out what this place has to offer. You’re both clearly skeptical of this whole entire situation, well at least he is. He feels like the only one who is acting appropriately. But he can safely assume you probably are feeling a bit skeptical yourself. You two check to see is there is anything safe to eat—if there even is food. He doesn’t know what to believe. Was this situation, he doesn’t know…real? True? Every word he read, is a loud echo in his mind screaming at him. How could he even take this seriously? How could you take this seriously? This is fucking insane! He looks over at you, who is rummaging through cabinets, you look the same as a few minutes ago—calm with an unsure expression painting your features. He hates how calm you look, he can’t help but feel so annoyed by you.

He takes a look in the large, silver fridge and is pleasantly surprised to see many foods that he likes; lots of fresh fruits, juices, milk, sandwich meats, so on. It is fully stocked. He reaches inside the fridge for a bowl a fresh fruit, his other hand grabbing for a can of whipped cream. He gives you a look and nods towards the bowl.

“Should we test them? See if we die from poison or some shit?” he half jokes, his bitter tone shining through. You try to ignore his bad attitude and smile.

“We’re testing them with a can of whipped cream?” you go for a lighter approach but he just rolls his eyes.

“Go big or go home, am I right ladies?”

You snort. Real life snort. And you consider being embarrassed but you see Taehyung’s eyes light up in amusement before they’re darkening again.

You reach for a strawberry and pop that thang in your mouth, so he does the same. You two chew cautiously, the flavor and juices bursting. These might be the best god damn strawberries either of you have ever had. Such a shame they are being enjoyed in such a situation. He turns to face you, the you who is now stuffing your face with strawberry after strawberry, he can’t help but let a chuckle slip between his lips.

“What? Go big or go home…” you pause, a smirk playing at your lips. “Right ladies?” Taehyung only rolls his eyes at your smart mouth, he won’t allow himself to laugh.

Taehyung is still trying to gather his impression of you. When you first met you were a total cry baby, then you were just annoying and now you’re trying your best to be calm. He recalls how you ugly cried just outside—god, you have been a roller coaster of a person but considering your situation he understands why.

He believes he was more unbothered and brave after having first woken up…but after seeing those framed photos he got freaked the fuck out, to put it simply. Then the TV…everything just went downhill from there. And he sees what you’re doing…you’re trying to be strong. And he hates you for it. Why is he being the weak one here? How are you doing it with such ease? He’s spiraling. His whole life just got put on pause. His dreams and aspirations? Pause. Friends and family? Pause. His love life? P-Pause? He can’t help but worry over every detail, not to mention…is any of this the truth? Are you two just supposed to believe the god forsaken words that you read on the TV screen? And you went on about this being like a damn vacation. Unbelievable! But all he can do right now is breathe in and breathe out and try to be himself. Which at the moment is a really unhappy person.

You and Taehyung continue reaching into the bowl for more refreshing fruit, your fingers brushing against one another like this is a god damn Hallmark movie, but you don’t seem to be fazed by it so he won’t either. Even though it’s driving him crazy, he doesn’t want to touch you. He wonders what your thoughts are on the whole ‘love’ thing? It’s ridiculous. Don’t get him wrong, in a different situation he could see himself getting along with someone like you, maybe even hook up…but fall in love? Not likely. Plus he already has someone. Sort of.

“Ah, wait…” He pauses mid bite.

“Hm?” you hum, mouth full.

“Aren’t we like, supposed to be finding pancake mix or whatever shit you wanted to find?”

With a roll of your eyes, you lick your fingers clean while the other hand lays rest on you hip. (And no, his eyes did not linger when you sucked on your fingers and no, they did not travel down to your hand that rest comfortably on your nice hips.)(And no, he did not just think your hips are nice.)

“Couldn’t find any!” you dramatically yell out, “You guys FAILED us!” you then look over at him with a smirk, “So much for being experts right?” you scoff, he almost wants to laugh at your dramatics but he just stares at you blankly.

But soon that blank stare is changing into a sour one when he realizes just who you are talking to…the very company that trapped you here. The one that’s watching over you right now. Or so they say.

“We should inspect the whole house.” He says seriously, “You know, get to know this ‘vacation home’ or whatever bullshit you said.”

You look down at your feet, feeling fucking embarrassed.

“Sorry for calling it that I—”

“I know,” Taehyung kind of smiles, “You were just trying to make us feel better. I get it.” His tone is softer than even he intended.

“It didn’t really help, did it?” you scratch the top of your head, feeling sheepish.

“Not really.” He answers honestly, with hard eyes. “Now come on, let’s check things out.”

You nod your head with an eye roll, he still chooses to be dickish.

The two of you walk into the living room to the entertainment center. The TV is surrounded by shelves of books, movies, and games. Apparently all to your liking, so you guess you will see how true that is.

“Woah, there’s Mortal Kombat. Sweet.” You comment, the game case in your hand.

“Woah, I can kick your ass at Mortal Kombat. Sweet.” Taehyung plainly responds while shuffling other games between his hands.

“Don’t even. I will play you right now.” You try lightening the mood but he just rolls his eyes.

“We have other important things to do, need I remind you?” he begins lecturing you and you scoff.

“You don’t need to remind me our shitty situation. Your stupid face is reminder enough.” You bite.

“Oh?” Taehyung continues to look through cases, barely paying attention to you.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “There’s tons of movies here and TV shows as well,” you gesture toward the bottom of the shelf. “Some I have never seen before,” you squat down, your fingers brushing against DVD cases until you stop at one in particular, pulling it out. “Like, what the hell is ‘Castaway on the Moon’?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen, “UH, only my most favorite movie ever?” he says, taking the case from you.

“Looks weird.” You comment plainly.

“Weird—it’s not weird! It’s actually really good I swear, actually you know what?” Taehyung huffs out, it’s the first time you’re seeing him get so worked up. It’s amusing. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He pouts, clearly wounded you would think to call his favorite movie ‘weird’.

“Plus, who’s weird?” he asks, “What’s with all this anime? I know it ain’t mine.”

You jut out your bottom lip in guilt, your cheeks turning a rosy pink.

“Well, well…”

“Well, well…” he mocks, feeling satisfied.

You raise your eyes to meet his and walk an inch towards him, never breaking contact.

“I’ll give yours a shot, if you give mine a shot?” you challenge, sticking out your hand. He guesses you want him to shake it.

He takes a moment to let his eyes linger on yours. They’re dark. Plain. Boring. Nothing special. He looks away and scoffs but the idea of sharing his favorite movie with someone does pique his interest.

“Deal.” He says, going in for the handshake. He feels your hand in his and doesn’t expect your skin to be so soft.

“Deal.” You say with an evil glint in your eye. “I’m going to make you watch so much good shit.” You continue to hold on to his hand, you look down at them and become slightly shy. You just remembered your situation. You keep staring for an odd amount of time before you drop his hand and shake your head.

“Should we check out the other rooms?” you start walking towards the entry way back into the main area of the house, but stop to turn and look at him.

“Yeah, I suppose we can do that.” He answers back, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

The two of you walk back into the main area where the rooms are located. He hesitantly creaks open the first door. He’s met with a room so fitting. A room full of art supplies. Drawing boards, brushes, paint, etc. He feels his palms pool with sweat.

“Do you make art?” you question, looking up at him.

“Yeah.” He gulps, feeling creeped out all over again. “They really did their research, huh?” he whispers to himself.

You two stand in the doorway, taking it all in. Taking in what this could really mean for you two. It begs the question: Were they really spying on you for over a year? Do they really know everything there is to know about you two?

You softly nudge Taehyung, “Why don’t we move on to the next room?” you suggest. He turns his head to face you as he swallows hard, nodding his head in agreement.

The next room is nothing spectacular, just a home gym.

“You work out?” he asks.

“Barely,” you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I always have the excuse of not having time or not wanting to go all the way to a gym. Guess I have no excuse now.” You look up at him with a sheepish grin. It’s hard to believe you don’t work out, Taehyung thinks. You have great legs.

“I see.” He turns his back to you, exiting the room.

The next room really wows Taehyung. He doesn’t mean for it to. He wants to hate this place.

It’s a room full of musical instruments and recording equipment.

“Holy shit.” He accidentally lets out. He walks around the room, touching things with just his fingertips. “This is like grade A equipment, I could only dream of owning shit like this.” He truly does not mean to be in awe of the music room, you know, because the enemies gave it to him but holy shit!

There’s only one room left and you swear to god it better be for you. You two slowly open the door together to reveal an interests of yours.

“Is this…? Like, a dance studio or something?” He questions, glancing around the room, “Are you a dancer?” he finally looks at you and he seems quite impressed.

You look…surprised, to say the least. Your brows shooting up all the way toward your hairline, your eyes darting all around the room.

“N-Not exactly…I mean, kind of?” you admit, your eyes falling to your hands. He tilts his head in confusion.

“I…I just have a serious interest I guess you could say,” you look all around the room again, “But I,” you play with your fingers. “I have never said it out loud to anyone.”

“Oh.” Taehyung breathes out in understanding. So, these fuckers really did spy on you guys. In depth. You both feel goosebumps rise on your arms, making you both feel a chill.

“Let’s head upstairs. Shall we?”

The upstairs has 4 doors in total. You both know the door closest to the staircase is the bedroom you woke up in.

“There’s no bathroom in this room,” he motions towards the door. “And the closet was empty. So, it’s not the master and that—”

“That means there’s multiple bedrooms.” you finish for him, and you both sigh in relief.

He means, this place has a goal of getting you together, so he wouldn’t be surprised if they only offered you one bedroom, but thank the God that he doesn’t believe in that there’s more than one bedroom.

“Yeah exactly,” he breathes out. “I’m willing to bet the door at the end of the hall is the master. Wanna just skip ahead?”

“Sure,” you agree, walking past him to beat him to the door at the end of hall. But you wait for him to reach the door as well before you’re reaching for the knob and slowly turning it, swinging the door open.

The room is big, a huge king size bed in the center of the back wall. Thankfully, the drapes are dark so not a lot of natural sunlight enters the room, Taehyung thinks.

“Hell yeah, dark curtains.” You say excitedly. Obviously reading his mind.

He follows behind you, keeping his comments to himself as you ooh and aah at your surroundings. He is impressed by the rooms simple yet he guesses you could say intriguing décor. Definitely fits his style, but he won’t say that out loud. As an artist himself, the paintings on the walls are very pleasing to the eye. He wonders if they suit you as well. If you’re his ‘soulmate’ they would, he thinks bitterly. He could see himself adding his own artwork to this room. He wonders if you would be okay with that as well—wait. What is he saying? It’s not like you two will be sharing this room!

You drag your fingers across the comforter on the bed.

“Soft.” You mumble to yourself.

He chews on his lips for a moment before speaking, “You can have it…” he shifts from one foot to the other. “The room, I mean. I’ll just take the other bedroom.”

“Really? You sure?” The excitement is evident in your voice. “Wait no—that’s not very fair. We could thumb wrestle for it or—”

He raises a brow, “Thumb wrestle? Really?”

“Mortal Kombat?” you offer.

“That just wouldn’t be fair, I would win too easily.” He says, not impressed. “Just take the room. I’m sure.”

“Fine…thank you.” you bow your head down in defeat.

The two of you walk towards the master bath and your eyes come close to popping out of your heads. It is huge! And super fancy! He’s not good at fancy words but he’ll put it simply, the countertop is long with two sinks. Two sinks. The shower has one of those rain shower head things and woah. That’s for like, rich people. The way you are gawking at this bathroom tells him you’re having the same thoughts as him. Yours are probably fancy like, “This extravagant marble bathtub looks exquisite against these cream colored walls. Very…dashing.” Or some wild shit like that.

The closet is next, He’ll be completely honest. He forgot you would need clothes and shit. But holy moly, there are rows and rows of clothes, both yours and his. There is jewelry (Not really sure why that’s necessary but like, okay) and shoes on shelves against the walls. It was more than he owned himself back at home.

“Honestly I forgot about needing clothes…since we like…live here now.” The words are sour leaving your mouth, he can tell. But also, you are obviously reading his mind again.

“What? You thought you would be wearing your cute little PJ’s 24/7 or what? Wear nothing at all maybe?” he asks, shuffling from one foot to the other. He’s uncomfortable.

“ha-ha.” you deadpan. “I just haven’t really thought about what this all entails is all.”

He frowns at your words,

“We should probably talk about it, right? What this all means, I mean.” His questions causes a shift in the atmosphere. The air becoming a little thicker.

You only nod and turn on your feet to head back into the bedroom. He quickly follows behind you, both of you stopping at the foot of the bed.

“Let’s talk then.” You bite your lip, swaying side to side.

He needs to be honest. He is clearly so confused about all this. Fucking puzzled. He means, what if just what if this company was real? And this company was…right? Are you really a match made in heaven? No, that can’t be. That would be fucking ridiculous. He’s being ridiculous for even considering it. But you two obviously need to talk. Have a fucking chit chat.

You plop down on the edge of the bed and he follows your lead, finding a spot right next to you. Your knee shakes up and down quickly while you play with the hem of your shirt. You’re obviously nervous as fuck, which he can’t really blame you. He watches you for a few moments before hesitantly placing a hand over your shaking knee, trying to stop the anxious movement and hoping to God he is not crossing any serious lines, he’s just really getting annoyed by your shaking knee and needs that shit to stop. You turn your head to face him and he is met with a look of frustration. He turns his head to face straight ahead and with a heavy sigh he says, “I feel that way too.” Because it’s true, you both must feel the same. It’s not like you want to be stuck here with him either. Right?

You finally let out a long breath, “How long?” you whisper. “How long will we be stuck here?” you begin to sniffle as your eyes become wet. Shit. He brings his hands to his lap and interlocks his fingers together.

“I…I don’t know.” He answers honestly. “But what are your thoughts? On what we read…” he clears his throat, clarifying as if it wasn’t already obvious.

You suck in a sharp breath, “I don’t know what to believe.” You admit. “But we are…” you gesture between you two, “This is—This is not happening.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes as if that wasn't the most obvious statement in the world. He. Could. Not. Agree. More.

You continue, “Someone deciding for me? On this part of my life? That doesn’t sit right with me. No fucking thank you.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“I mean,” you turn to face him, “You seem decent and all, when you’re not being an ass, but this is all insane. Just insane.” You wear an annoyed expression, shaking your head in disbelief. He breathes out of his nose in attempt to laugh.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

“But…” you pause, choosing your next words carefully…you have to be careful with this next part. “But if it’s real? What are we—” and yup, just as expected, you are cut off with just a look. He furrows his brows together and pushes his head back in surprise.

“This can’t be forced y/n.” he states firmly. You raise your hands up in surrender.

“Oh my god, Taehyung. I know that! I fucking know, jeez. But we have to talk about all the possibilities.” You say firmly, “We’re stuck here for who knows how long and you read the same thing as me, right?” you push on, “3 months? 6 months? A fucking year?” you drag a heavy hand down your tired face. “And don’t even get me started on these damn ‘Requests’ and whatever they are!” You are clearly very frustrated…Taehyung looks at you with the same pity you’re sure he feels for himself.

“Okay, okay.” For the first time Taehyung speaks to you much more softly. “Listen, they can’t keep us here forever? We are going to prove we are that 1%. We just got to stay out of one another’s way and just wait it out until they return us home.” Then his frown deepens, “But wait, what about the ‘Requests’?” he asks, concern lacing his voice.

You strum your fingers on your thigh, staring down at your lap, in deep thought.

“I know this is weird but…” Taehyung starts.

“I know, we have to talk about it.” You finally look up at him and your entire face has gone pink.

“If the ‘Requests’ are, I don’t know, “pure” enough, we could just like do them?” you look at him with doe eyes, “Or like, if the penalty isn’t that bad…. I don’t know.” You ramble on.

The thing is, neither of you know what to expect from these ‘Requests’ and their penalties. It’s one huge mystery. And neither you nor Taehyung are a fan of mysteries. Taehyung watches as you begin shaking your knee in total panic again when he clears his throat.

“Hey…I think we can worry about that when or if the time comes, okay?”

“When or if…” you repeat slowly. “Okay.”

He stands from his place at the bed and begins walking towards the bedroom door.

“As long as we stay out of each other’s way, we should be good.”

“Stay out of each other’s way…” you nibble on your lips, “Like, we don’t talk or anything?”

“Precisely. You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”

“But—”

“That’s just the way it’s got to be.”

“Fine.” You speak bitterly, “Fine by me.”

Stuck on a beautiful island in a beautiful house with a beau—with a man. What could possibly go wrong? Vacation from hell, here we go.

#bts #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #the island chapter 1

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seriouslysnape · 3 years

Text

Study Buddy

Cedric Diggory x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut. Fingering.

Word Count: 1,974

“I need to get back to studying anyway.”

It had been exactly 57 minutes since you had started studying. 57 minutes since you had sat down at Cedric’s desk in his private prefect room to try to cram in as much as you possibly could for your Transfiguration exam that was tomorrow morning.

It had been a long school year for you as far as Transfiguration was concerned. The material just wasn’t sticking with you the way it usually did. You had struggled all year to keep your grade from totally tanking and causing you to fail the class. McGonagall had been so very kind to you by understanding that this wasn’t normal for you. She was great with encouraging you to take up tutoring to help guide you through the year. Even with outside help, though, you were still struggling to keep your head above water.

Tomorrow was the last regular exam of the year, and you feared that you’d flunk the class if you didn’t do well on the exam. You’d have to retake the class over the summer if you didn’t pass, and being stuck at Hogwarts during your precious summer break was the last thing you wanted.

You had plans to spend summer with Cedric and his family, and now everything was on the line. Cedric had designated himself to be your “study buddy” for the evening. He would call out definitions and terms for you to answer, provide you with ways to remember the concepts you were having a hard time remembering.

You grew more and more aggravated the longer you sat trying to memorize the material, eventually becoming determined to do it all on your own.

The stakes were high, but Cedric didn’t seem to be too phased by it. His horrid singing was evidence to that. It had also been approximately 23 minutes since he had started singing that same stupid song that he clearly had stuck in his head. Cedric didn’t have to study since Transfiguration came so easily to him, but that didn’t stop him from offering the peaceful serenity of his room to you.

You hated studying in the library since it was always so crowded this time of year. Your common room was too loud, and your dorm was too busy. Cedric’s room was quiet, isolated, and perfect for studying. Or at least, it would have been if Cedric would just shut his mouth.

“Cedric!” You shrieked, throwing your quill down and turning in your seat to face him; “Can you please stop singing?”

Cedric’s humming and intonation stopped at the sound of you snapping at him. He was sprawled out on his bed, sunken into his sheets as he did whatever he could to keep himself occupied.

“Are you not enjoying my singing?” He asked, his head popping up from his cascade of pillows.

His genuine smile and playful tone simmered away when he saw your visible distress had increased since the last time he had looked at you. The stress was clear on your face and showed on you physically. Your shoulders were tensed up in his shirt that was draped over you comfortably. Your bare legs were bouncing anxiously at the thought of failing this damn exam.

“Cedric, I have to study. I have to learn this before tomorrow,” You snarked off; “And I can’t do that when you’re screeching over there.”

Cedric sat up from his array of pillows and sheets. It sure felt colder and lonelier without you. His fluffy hair was strewn about from his tossing and turning on the mattress, his eyes looking to you sympathetically and apologetically. He hadn’t meant to annoy you or frustrate you. He had hoped to lighten the mood a bit. You didn’t wait for a response before you turned back around to dive back into your studies.

“Okay, okay...” He gave up softly; “I’m sorry.”

You hung your head in shame, a heavy sigh escaping you at the sound of his innocent voice. The guilt that filled you was enough to prompt you to take a moment to lean back in your chair, putting Transfiguration aside for a moment. You were reluctant to turn around to look at the Hufflepuff boy that was undoubtedly looking back at you. You knew his puppy like eyes would have you feeling even more remorseful for yelling at him. Against your better judgement, you turned around once more, your heart melting at the sight of his widened eyes and concerned expression.

Cedric had been more than patient with you. He had offered his room, desk, and resources to you to take advantage of. He had made sure you were settled and had catered to your every need to ensure that you were set. It wasn’t fair that you were lashing out at him just because you were frustrated.

Cedric was your comfort. He was your stress relief. Your lover. Your soulmate. Your solace. Your everything.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” You replied, extending your hand; “Come here, Ced.”

He scrambled off of the bed to meet you, ignoring your hand and scooping you up from the chair so he could sit you on his lap once he himself sat down. Your hands cradled his face, thumbs trailing along his cheekbones. Despite the fact that you had basically screamed at him, he didn’t have the slightest bit of anger in his expression.

“I just wanted to help.” He admitted.

“I know. It’s not your fault that I’m upset,” You replied, making an attempt to settle his hair on his head; “I’m just stressed out.”

His hand rubbed the top of one of your thighs, noting how tense the muscles there were. He brought his hand to yours, bringing your palm to his lips so he could leave a kiss. He hated to see you so worked up over something like this. He wanted you to be happy all the time.

He never looked away from you, taking in how tired you were from less than an hour of studying. You still had a long way to go to get prepared for this exam.

You shifted in his lap to get situated, accidentally rubbing yourself against his thigh. His leg had brushed against the fabric of your panties, hitting your clit just right and in the most pleasurable way. Your face flushed with embarrassment at your involuntary gasp that brought a certain sparkle to his eyes.

“Oh, you want me to take care of you, baby?” He purred, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the sides of your knickers.

The shake of your head was hesitant as you went to lift yourself to leave his lap when he yanked you back down. He moved his leg again, rubbing over your button once more. Your eyelashes fluttered that time, a more quiet hum sounding from your chest. Your hands found his firm shoulders, resting there gingerly,

“No, it’s okay. You’ve done more than enough,” You smiled softly; “I need to get back to studying anyway.”

“But I want to make my pretty girl feel good,” He mewled; “Consider this some...stress relief, if you will.”

Cedric’s version of “stress relief” sounded wonderful to you, and if he was offering, you’d be a fool to say no. You caught his lips in a feverish kiss, your mouths working together perfectly the way they always did.

Whether it was because of the desperation for some tension relief or just Cedric in general, it didn’t take you long to soak the material of your underwear and have arousal slicking your walls. He pushed your panties to the side, not even bothering to remove them completely since this would have to be quick. He smirked against your lips at the feeling of you already being so wet for him.

“Such a good girl,” He praised; “All perfect and ready for me.”

His middle two digits plunged into you, a smooth moan vibrating from your throat. You whimpered out as the tip of his thumb rubbed at your clit, while his middle digits pumped and curled as you began to rock your hips against them. Your arousal dripped around his hand as he worked you towards your orgasm.

He loved these kinds of moments. The moments where you came to him for comfort and took some time to submit to him. He liked watching you come undone by his control and his commands. It wasn’t that Cedric liked bossing you around or anything like that, but he loved being able to make you feel good in the ways that only he knew how to.

And he knew exactly how to.

He hit every bundle of nerves and every spot that had you writhing around his hand. You were clenched around his fingers, letting his fingers fuck you in the best way.

Cedric wasn’t exactly sure how much this would help, or if it would at all. If nothing else, he was content to be giving you a well needed break for a little while.

“Fuck!” You hissed under your breath when his fingers found your sweet spot; “Please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to stop, pretty girl,” He smiled; “I’m going to let you get off. Just keep riding my fingers and keep moving those pretty hips, yeah?”

Your pelvis continued to roll into his hand as he stroked your walls and pumped in and out, that all too familiar hot buildup beginning to burn in your lower belly. Flashes of heat, ecstasy, and fire reigned upon you as you grew closer and closer.

“Oh, Cedric...” You breathed out, hips slowing a little and your eyes squinting shut as you moved all your focus on your impending finish.

“I’m right here, beautiful. You can do it.” Cedric encouraged, using his other hand to push your hair from your face.

You came on his fingers, your orgasm crashing over you in a blinding rush. You cried out, your body falling against him instantly. Your legs trembled just a tad, the muscles convulsing and spazzing from the intensity of it all. He withdrew his fingers, chuckling at your sigh from the loss of contact. He pressed kisses to the top of your head as you straddled him, slumped down on his chest with heaving breathing.

“That was perfect. So, so perfect.” He grinned.

He showered you with peppered kisses and sweet caresses, bringing you out of the fog that had clouded your head. You definitely weren’t as tense anymore, and you felt like you were in better spirits now.

“You’re going to do great tomorrow. I know it,” Cedric said after another minute of silence; “I’m so proud of you.”

You raised your head to rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him with a lazy smile.

“Thanks, Ceddy. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” You apologized, knowing he was over it.

“Don’t worry about it, my love,” He replied, kissing your forehead; “I’ll let you get back to studying.”

He went to maneuver out from under you, but stopped short when you perked up.

“Won’t you stay? I can just sit here and study...” You hinted, your fingertips finding the waistband of his sweats.

He gave a sly smirk, his eyes beginning to blow with lust once more.

“Okay, princess. You can sit on my lap while you study,” He granted, knowing exactly where this was going to lead; “Are you sure you can pay attention?”

You nodded with a slight bite of your lower lip, pushing his sweats down to his knees. You suddenly weren’t so worried about the exam anymore. Odds were that McGonagall wouldn’t let you fail the class when you had been busting your ass all year. But you didn’t mind a stressful study session every once in a while.

As long as you had Cedric around to ease the tension, it was well worth it.

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory x female reader #cedric diggory fanfiction #cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory smut #cedric diggory x y/n #cedric diggory oneshot #harry potter #harry potter cedric diggory #seriouslysnape

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spice-chan · 3 years

Text

Cure Me

King!singledad! Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

Prince Matsuki makes an interesting friend. he could have never foretold who she is to his father...

TW: curses, sickness

Thank you so much to @stargazingaloneatnight for sending this lovely request ! I totally got carried away though, so it’s going to have a second part.

Thanks a lot to @patt-writes-stuff and @reddriot for being amazing beta readers !!

Wordcount: 4.4 K

..........................................

At the ripe age of 18, you were married off to the woodcutter in your village.

You weren’t enthusiastic about it, but you didn’t dissent. After all, in a small village, all the people of close age were expected to marry eventually. It was either him, the farmer or the butcher. A prince isn’t going to come and sweep you off your feet.

You moved to the isolated cabin near the woods where your husband resided, and you lived there with him for a year. You wouldn’t exactly describe it as harmony, but it was peaceful enough for you to be content. He respected you and you respected him, but you yearned for something more.You yearned for love, for the overwhelming feeling that would envelope you whole, that would elicit shivers from your spine, and down to your very toes.

But you had to get those foolish fantasies out of your head; after all, your husband was now all you had. Until you didn’t have him anymore.

His body was found, squashed underneath a large tree that fell the wrong way.

Guilt and loss reigned in your mind and heart. You wondered, should you have appreciated him more ? Should you have cherished the little moments instead of wishing for something better?

It was a lonely existence for a while after that, until a red eyed, spikey haired little boy ventured to your isolated abode.

………

Loneliness was a disease that feasted on your open wounds until they were gaping holes, bleeding and gushing, but you were unable to stitch them back together. Who wants to be lonely, truly? So all Bakugo did was cover the open wounds with his hand, growling protectively as he shielded himself. And he couldn’t stitch together the hole in his chest, even when his hand was stained red as evidence of his pain.

He thought he loved her. He convinced himself he loved her. The only woman and person who seemingly managed to stand him and understand him. He tried so hard to be good to her. Tried to act better when he saw the gleam of judgement in her eyes. Only to wake up one day with a letter telling him “don’t look for me” and “I’ll be somewhere better. Away from you and that spawn. Good luck with him, though you’ll probably have enough soon and throw him somewhere far, the sound of his cries is annoying.”

Him.

She couldn’t bring herself to say her son’s name.

It’s like he was a disposable piece of trash to her. Katsuki’s teeth gnashed whenever he remembered the way she spoke of her own son, his son.

“DAD!” screamed a little boy, the carbon copy of his dad, running to his father's lap where he ducked down and hid between them.

Bakugo growled playfully, bending his back to look at the excitable little boy, who held his finger to his lips.

“What do you think you’re doing, squirt?”

“I’m hiding from Shitty Maid.”

Katsuki quirked his eyebrows at the foul language that came out of his son’s mouth, but his response never made the light of day as a flustered and heaving maid entered the dining chamber, her eyes frantically searching.

“My king, I’m so sorry ! Have you seen Prince Matsuki come here ?” she questioned breathlessly, the prince having evidently tired her out.

Bakugo clicked his teeth rather impertinently. “No, you shitty maid, I didn’t see him come here,” he replied and resumed eating, seemingly unperturbed by his son being ‘missing’.

“Sorry, Your Majesty, I’ll resume my search for him. Sorry to have disturbed you!” she exclaimed before picking her gown and scrambling out.

Bakugo stared beneath his chair pointedly, his carbon copy only giving doe eyes as a reply.

“Why are you hiding anyway?!”

Matsuki crawled out from underneath the chair and stood up, dusting his knees.

“She wants to teach me eti-etiquette or whatever,” Matsuki grumbled. “I’m going out to play with my friends.”

Etiquette? How useless. Is that what they are teaching his son?

Bakugo clapped his back, glad to see his son not be a pushover. “Don’t be late, squirt.”

“Ok, dad!” Matsuki jumped and enveloped Katsuki’s muscular frame in a hug with his tiny arms, warming Katsuki’s heart as he ruffled his son’s spiky hair.

……..

Matsuki couldn’t find his friends.

He ventured into the woods in search of them, sporting a scowl everyone should be familiar with. His tiny, handsome face scrunched slightly as he looked around the place curiously. His feet padded on, scrunching on crispy fallen leaves in their wake.

He walked for a while, marking trees as he went along to ensure he didn’t get lost, but eventually, a sugary sweet scent had his tiny legs move faster on their own accord in search of it. The closer he seemingly got, the more powerfully the mouth watering scent assaulted his nose. It smelled cozy on this chilly day, like a warm cup of milk by a warm fire as snow fell outside.

He reached a clearing. The thick, intimidating trees that loomed over him shrunk away until there was none left.

No trees, but he found a small cabin with a window cracked open.

He boldly marched up to it, his mouth set in a straight, determined line. A fisted palm knocked once, twice, and thrice on the worn out wood, to ensure that it was heard.

His nervousness set in when the handle turned and a lady emerged at the threshold. He steeled himself. His daddy told him that if he wanted something, he should work to get it.

You smiled at him warmly when you spotted him: a young, unfamiliar boy. He looked out of his element, but his strange red eyes stared at you despite how he seemed to be unused to such situations. His eyes reflected the embers of a brave soul.

“There was a nice smell coming from here,” he admitted, his tiny face scrunching into a scowl that seemed more adorable than anything.

“Well, yes, I baked cookies,” you responded mildly, your voice never too high but quite clear. The boy’s eyes widened, his red hues glistening in child-like excitement.

“Cookies?!” He jumped, and clutched your gown.

“Can I have some ?” Puppy dog eyes stared up at you, pleading and cute. You haven’t encountered a child in a long time. You stopped going to the village as often, and eventually, they stopped visiting too. Your mother died after she contracted something, her old body unable to fight it off, and your dad ran off somewhere to ‘adventure’.

“Sure.” You moved from the threshold. “Come in.” You gestured with your head to your small cottage, a humble place, but a reminder of your lonesome existence.

He brightened up considerably, his mouth twisting into a sweet smile. He would become such a handsome young man once he grew up. It made you wonder how beautiful his parents must be.

You pulled a chair for him at the table, and went to put some cookies on a plate for him.

“YUM. That��s so delicious!” He spoke between mouthfuls, some tiny crumbs flying out of his mouth in his excitement.

“Thank you, but be careful. You might choke if you speak while chewing sweetie,” you chided him lightly. Matsuki didn’t recognize this tone, it sounded equal parts stern and caring. He nodded and continued munching down.

“Would you like to drink something? I have some orange juice, and uh, water. I could make tea, but I don’t think kids your age fancy that you rambled, suddenly excited about having someone keep you company for the first time in a while.

He opened his mouth to answer, but upon remembering your words, he opted to chew for a few more seconds then swallowing his cookies before bellowing out,“Yes! Orange juice.”

How adorable.

You poured two glasses of orange juice and joined your little companion, munching on some cookies of your own. Before long, he finished all of them and leaned back on the chair, mouth letting out a sigh and hand patting his stomach as a show of overindulgence.

“Good?”

“Yup! You’re a very nice lady. Way nicer than my dummy maid,” he grumbled, you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or concerned, but one thing did grab your attention.

“Maid ?”

He nodded, slightly confused at your question.

“Don’t you have one ?” You quirked an eyebrow and looked around your tiny cottage. Did it look like you have one?

Oh God, you hoped this boy wasn’t mistaking his mother for a maid. With that in mind, you asked him, however, his face fell in sadness and the fire in his eyes dulled a little.

“I don’t have a mother. The maids always talk about how sorry they are for me. I hate it. None of them even care about me,” he spoke in a quiet voice, tearing at your heart with his down turned face.

“But at least I have my daddy,” he spoke up, brightening a little. You smiled at that, reaching towards him and ruffling his fluffy yet spikey blond hair.

“That’s good. Keep cherishing your father, at least the two of you have each other.” You wiped some crumbs from around his mouth with a napkin, speaking to the boy in a lonesome voice; unintentionally mothering him.

He smiled and nodded;unintentionally accepting.

The boy was either mistaking some people in his household for maids, or he was some rich merchant’s son. On that note—

“Did you tell anyone you’re coming here? They might be worried about you,” you asked cautiously, but then your eyes widened as a new wave of worry hit you.

“Oh my God, what if you got lost? Do you know your way back?”

You sighed in relief when he nodded, flashing you a smile with his teeth on display, one of them missing from the front, making it all the more endearing. You narrowed your eyes at him, prompting him to elaborate.

“I always come to play around here with my friends. It’s really close to home!” You oo’d. However, it was now his turn to panic. “Oh no, I forgot all about them !” He looked outside, seeing the sun shining proudly in the centre of the sky.

“I think I can still catch them,” he declared determinedly, and hopped off his seat. His tiny legs carried him to the door, his pale hand grasping the worn down doorknob, but before twisting it, he turned to you, his smile of youth gracing his face again.

“See you later, nice lad !”

.……..……

“No way! You wanted to be a pirate? But they’re so nasty!” he exclaimed, scrunching his nose at you in disgust. You shrugged, shoulders slumped.

“I thought it’d be a fun time. I found it in a book and dreamed that one day, I too can embark on an adventure and find hidden treasures,”you explained with a dreamy, yet nostalgic look in your eyes, akin to one looking back fondly at a long gone memory. It’s been nearly a year since you met the mystery child. You’ve been...noticeably happier.

His cherry red orbs made your day, along with an innocence that was very hard to maintain in these tough times, although that's probably because his toughness differs from yours.

He pouted, running a hand through his tamed locks. “Well, why can’t you?”

He stared up at you expectantly, oblivious to what he was expecting. His red orbs burwith ith the flame of innocenand and didnuldn’t dare blow it out.

“I don’t know.”

Even for his young age, he was perceptive. Bbut before he could question your downtrodden face, you stood up, coughing loudly. It went on for a few seconds, and Matsuki watched worriedly as you cupped your hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking from the force.

After you stopped, you breathed for a few seconds, face flushed and stamina depleted. But again, before he could question anything, you stood up, stretching. The sun hit your face, which looked noticeably paler, but you forced a smile anyway, and held your hand out for Matsuki to grab and follow suit.

“Let’s go inside, you wanted me to redo your hair, right ?” He grabbed your hand with renewed vigor, hopping off the wood and trekking with you back inside the cottage.

He said his maid had to slick his hair back because they had guests over and he ‘had to look more presentable’, which you internally scoffed at. His hair was amazing as it was.

You’d never seen a texture so amazing. It was soft as silk, but it appeared spikey. Like a porcupine or something, looked thorny but had a soft side?

You brought some water and wet his hair, before drying it with a towel. You could already see some results. You brought a hairbrush and began to hum softly while brushing his semi dry blond locks.

You towelled it once again, before patting him across the back. Your head felt light, and a light pain began to creep in. You probably need some water.

“THANK YOU! It was so ugly before.” He pranced about, happy that his hair no longer looked like some ‘sappy extra’. You wonder where the child got those interesting phrases. You stood up to get a glass of water, but the moment you stood up, the world swirled, spinned, and blurred. And then it all faded to black.

You hit the floor with a loud thump, and Matsuki sprung to his feet and frantically ran to your side.

His small hands grabbed your arm and shook you, his face growing warm and throat getting clogged up, before tears burst forth. They dampened your sleeves, continuously flowing like a waterfall, but you still remained almost lifeless on the floor. Matsuki was young, helpless, and alone.

And he did what any young, helpless and crying child would do.

He ran to the person he loves —his father.

……………

Bakugou heard the sound of Matsuki running before h, felt the wind, tornado like, as the doors of his room were pushed open in a manner so excitable he’d consider it rather insolent had it not been his own son.

His reprimands were stuck in his throat when he saw the flushed face and bloodshot eyes of his shis heart aching at the sight.

“What’s wongh” he asked softly, the tone rather unusual coming from him. Then again, his son coming to him crying was something very rare.oo., Matsuki took after his and and he was a very brave and strong boy. Something that Bakugou lamented about, at times. Being his carbon copy wasn’t that much of a blessing when it came to the matters of the heart.

Matsuki found his dad sitting at his desk, he ran to him and clung to his legs, crying uncontrollably.

It took Bakugou a second to overcome his awkwardness and emotional constipation. He scooped his son up and sat him on his lap, wiping his tears away.

“Hey squirt, calm down and tell me what’s wrong. If it’s someone that upset you, God help them-”

Matsuki tried to halt his hiccups, failing for a few seconds while he hugged his dad, he patted his back comfortingly.

“Dad, my friend…” he began, but his eyes watered as a fresh batch of tears threatened to burst.

“What happened to your friend, Matsuki?”

Matsuki sniffled, wiping his eyes before continuing.

“So, she’d been sick for a few weeks, but today when I visited her, she fell and wouldn’t wake up,” Matsuk explainedd, clutching into Bakugou tightly.

Bakugou hummed, nodding solemnly.

“Can you take me where your friend is?”

Matsuki nodded, but Katsuki was dubious about the nature of this pursuit. His distrustful nature was shining through.If this ‘friend’ was outside the protective barrier, then Katsuki didn’t know what to really expect. So before leaving his room, he donned his protective amber around his neck, a magical jewel chosen by his dragon when he was younger. All shifters choose an enchanted jewel to guard their existence and warn them of dangers. He made sure to pick up his son’s, looping the necklace around his neck, the jewel dangling and shining.

He needed to give his son a talk about this.

…………

They walked in the forest for a while before reaching a small, worn out looking cottage. Bakugou arched a blond eyebrow, more curious than ever. He’d think it was a ploy with more sinister intentions, luring both prince and king but… he’d never seen his son more shook up over someone, they must mean a lot to him. He couldn’t bear to delay this.

They reached the door, the wood creaking as Bakugo opened it. His ruby eyes started searching for you, and when they caught your figure on the floor, they began gleaming.

He felt the breath knocked out of him when he saw you, asleep (he hoped) like an angel with your hair looking wild but still adding to your charm like a halo. You looked so soft, so precious, and it felt like his life only began this moment when he caught sight of you.

His heartbeat was so strong, he could feel it in his very eyes, who were overwhelmed with the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He had seen plenty of beautiful women, ones he didn’t spare a second glance at, extras, unworthy of his time. But for some reason, the beauty of you rooted him in his spot and halted all rational thoughts. He was only broken out of his reverie when Matsuki shook him. He felt a rush of love, devotion, and ease like he’d never felt before. It all made sense, the sense of loneliness, of being lost when his path is clear in front of him. Of finding every potential romantic partner lukewarm at best.

“Dad. Can you help her ? I don’t want her to be sick anymore.”

And in that moment, it dawned on him.

Katsuki found his soulmate, but there’s a chance he might have already lost her.

He ran to you checking your vitals, and thankfully, everything seemed fine. He put his forehead against yours, cursing when he felt a scalding fever.

“What happened ?” He picked one of the numerous questions buzzing in his head.

“Well, she did my hair like I’d asked her, but the moment she stood up, she fell down! I tried waking her up, but she wouldn’t. She’d been coughing a lot the past few weeks too and looking tired,” Matsuki explained clearly, now comforted by having his father share the weight with him.

Katsuki looked around at the rather shabby place. Fit for a commoner. Not you.

He was baffled at having a mate. Only the most legendary, wise and favoured dragons did, the dragons that made it to history scriptures. Things no one considered him to be. Things he was succumbing to not being. Things she convinced him he wasn’t. Sure, he could fight deadly wars, bring nations down to their knees, but violence did not warrant a soulmate.

He scoop you up, closer to his chest. Heyouyou tightly, heart physically hurting at the thought of you being in pain. He just met you, what’s with him ?

He stood up, nudging his son to leave.

What a coincidence. An insane, crazy coincidence.

His son, his only blessing in this shrouded world, was what led him to the one thing nobody thought he’d have.

“Tell me more on the way.

Matsuki nodded.

……………

Bakugou laid you on his bed, surrounding you with the softest materials one could ever touch. He pulled a chair besides you, lounging on it as he waited for a healer to arrive.

You remained unconscious, but it seems like your temperature increased even more. He was so lost in his own thoughts, that he didn’t register that Matsuki walked inside the room until he was addressing him.

“Is she going to be alright ?” Bakugou didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, then again, he didn’t have the heart to lie to him either.

“I don’t know.” Somehow saying it out loud hurts even more.

A knock on the door broke the gloominess.

“Come in.”

Hope walked in, in the shape of a short, old lady with medical equipment.

Recovery Girl inspected you, from temperature to heartbeat. And when done, she sighed.

“Everything boils down to it being a simple fever, but in that case, she wouldn’t be unconscious,” she explained ambiguously. She took one of your hands, and andr fingertips were icy cold.

She hummed contemplatively. She brought out a healing crystal, squeezing it in one fist, while she held your hand in the other. The idea was to transfer the healing energy from the crystal to you, only possible through a healing mage.

However, when nothing seemed to happen, Recovery Girl opened her fist. She found a shattered crystal.

“Oh my…”

Bakugou growled, frustration willing up and tipping over. “The fuck!”

Recovery Girl glared at him. Such language shouldn’t be used in front of a child.

“Typical healing methods aren’t going to work.”

Silence reigned over this time, willing the old lady to continue on, both his and his son’s hearts on the edge.

“I believe she’d been cursed.”

Bakugou scrunched up his eyebrows at the absurd explanation. Who’d curse you of all people ? He only just discovered your existence!

Yet for some reason, he felt like he’d rather die than let you, the one who could love him for all his flaws, the one who always brought a smile on his son’s face, suffer.

“How?” The deity up there must be very cruel, to take you away when he just met you.

“I don’t know, son. There’s a very strong, malevolent energy, enough to break a healing crystal. It’s going to make her body reject anything that could heal it,” she explained solemnly.

“If you want this young lady healthy and well, we need to take different measures to heal her. Also, do you know who cursed, or where she could have incurred it? That will be very helpful.”

Bakugou looked at Matsuki, knowing that he himself is clueless.

“This is the first time I met her. Matsuki seems to have met her a while ago in her tiny ass cottage outside the protective barrier.” She looked like she had some questions, but instead directed her attention to the little Bakugou and asked him what matters most right now.

“Do you know anyone that might’ve done this? Have you seen her interact with anyone that could possibly be capable of it?” She knew asking a child would likely be more fruitless then not, but she still wished to help you in any way she could.

Matsuki shook his head.

“I’ve never even seen her talk with anyone.” This only served to increase Bakugou’s suspensions. Could it be something to do with your affiliation with Matsuki ? And if that was the case, then there’s so many other things he must take into account too, because that would mean that there’s a traitor in their midst, or at least someone that had been tracking Matsuki for… what fucking ever reason.

He sighed, feeling an ache beginning to form in his head. He touched your arm, wanting to reassure himself that you are alive.

A gasp rang out from the occupants of the room when you opened your eyes, making them seem glowy when the sunlight reflected off them, giving you an ethereal, angelic radiance.

The air left his lungs, while blood rushed to his cheeks, making them seem ripe as apples.

“How is this possible?”

This shocked him awake, out of his reverie and into reality.

Recovery Girl glanced at the arm Bakugo was touching, humming to herself with a knowing glint in her old, wise eyes.

“Well, my king, did you forget? The oldest, most powerful magic that dragons have been gifted::soulmates.”

Bakugo blushed again, kissing his teeth and glaring at Recovery Girl.

“What are you babbling on about, old hag?”

“I believe you know.”

He glared at the ground, childishly not answering.

“Um...what’s going on?” A small, feminine voice asked. Bakugou turned to you, melting at the majestic sound of your voice.

“That’s a good question.” That brat.

Bakugou tried to stay in contact with you, afraid of making the burst of magic triggered by your bond slipping away.

“Uh, you lost unconsciousness and Matsuki asked me to help you. Oh, and apparently you were cursed.” Bakugou bluntly spits the facts at you, not thinking ahead for your reaction.

“A CURSE?” you shouted, coughing after due to hoarseness. The old hag shot Bakugou another glare, before sweetening up and looking at you.

“We’ll explain after you rest a bit and freshen up, you’d been through quite a bit.” she said, deliberately not divulging any information yet. She didn’t need to be there for the grand explanation. She’d rather not be, actually.

She stood on her weary legs, leaving the room unnoticed as you admired your surroundings, and as Bakugou admired you. Matsuki’s stare lacked the burn of fascination as he stared at his father grumpily.

“The fuck you looking at her so weird for?” Matsuki seethed. You gasped and turned to him.

“Matsuki!” He bristled in frustration, having forgotten how much you hated it when he cursed.

“Sorry. He was though!”

Bakugou, throughout the whole thing, glared at his son with blushing cheeks. He wanted to spank some respect into him so bad right now.

You turned to Bakugo, gaze weighty in the seriousness it’s burdened with.

“Thanks for helping me, I appreciate it. You’re Matsuki’s father, right? The resemblance is hard to miss. Well, I have a lot of questions, but firstly, what do you mean by cursed?”

You felt as if a rock was pressed against your chest, gloom overtaking your features as you awaited his answer. Still hopeful that it was a joke, but the ancient dark magic was not to be joked with.

“Someone cursed you. It’s the cause for your sickness, and it’s slowly sapping the life out of you. You’re only awake because uh...the magic of our bond is more powerful.” Bakugou rushed the last part, his heart beating, squeezing painfully when silence hung in the air after his not so confession.

You purse your lips, the movement catching Bakugo’s attention, drawing him to your lips. Supple, kissable lips.

“Our bond?”

Bakugo nodded.

“You’re my soulmate, it’s why—probably why Matsuki was so drawn to you.” Bakugo was looking forward to explaining more, before his door was busted open (a common occurrence these days it seems) by a panting soldier, who summoned the strength to salute stiffly.

“Your majesty, we have received a letter from Celeane Siloh.”

Well, what a great introduction to the family.

...............

Kofi

Don’t forget to like and reblog if you enjoyed this !

#bakugou x reader #bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki fanfics #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha fanfiction #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou fanfiction #mha bakugou #fantasy bnha #fantasy!bnha #dragon king bakugou #dragon!bakugou #single dad bakugou #katsuki bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello Salut

Goodbye La revedere

Thank you Mulțumesc

You’re welcome Cu plăcere

Good morning Bună dimineata

Good afternoon Bună ziua

Good evening Bună seara

Good night Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you? Ce mai faci

I love you Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

��Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

#sebastian stan x reader

490 notes · View notes

kimistorm · 3 years

Text

[Luka X fem!Reader] Of Guitar Picks and Ladders

“Hey (y/n)!” Juleka called and you ran over to the dark haired girl.

“What’s up?” you questioned when you got close enough to her and Rose.

“We’re gonna practice tonight,” she told you, then looked at you quizzically, “you coming?”

“Of course!” you answered with a smile, “miss my favorite band? No way!”

Rose smiled, “are we really your favorite band?”

“Are you sure you’re not biased?” Juleka teased with a grin.

You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, “maybe a little.” Your family had been friends with the Couffaines for as long as you could remember, so it was a given that you were best friends with the Couffaine kids, Juleka and Luka. Plus, the fact that you harbored a huge crush on Luka didn’t help your case that you weren’t biased. “When do you guys think you’re going to get a gig?”

“We are going to be participating in the upcoming music festival.” Rose told you.

“What?” you gasped and looked at your two friends with wide eyes, “no way! That’s so awesome! When were you going to tell me?”

“Haha, oops.” Juleka sheepishly commented.

“Should we get going now?” Rose asked. You and Juleka nodded and the three of you walked towards the Couffaine residence.

...

“Mom I’m home!” Juleka called out as she dropped her bag onto the floor, “Rose and (y/n) are with me!”

“Okay!” Juleka’s mom replied.

“We’ve got a couple hours to kill right? We could knock out our homework.” You suggested. Unlike Juleka, you and Rose still had your bags on.

“That’s true.” She nodded and picked her bag up, “we’ll go to my room.” You and Rose nodded and followed Juleka to her room. On your way to her room, you passed by Luka’s room.

“Knock knock.” You called as you knocked on the door frame. The door was slightly ajar and you could see Luka inside.

His eyes opened and his gaze fell upon you, “hey (y/n).”

“Just wanted to say hi.” You smiled, “we’re gonna do homework before you guys practice.”

“Hey, you wanna see something cool?” he asked and beckoned you to come into his room.

“Sure.” You nodded and pushed the door open. He went to his collection of picks and pulled out one of them from it’s spot on the wall. He then put it in your hand so you could see.

You gasped, “no way.”

“Yes way.” He grinned.

“You got one of the limited edition Jagged Stone picks?” You asked as you examined the small piece of plastic, “that’s insane! How’d you get it?”

He pretended to nonchalantly shrug, “just a friend.”

“That’s so cool!” you gushed. You weren’t exactly a guitar player, but you did keep up with what was happening in the music world. If only to keep up with what Luka was talking about.

“(y/n)!” you heard your name being called, “we’re going to start our homework without you!” Rose shouted.

You blanched, Ms. Mendeleev gave some hard homework for tonight and you did not want to miss help with that. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” You gave him back his pick, “I’ll talk to you later though!” you waved at him before you darted to Juleka’s room.

“What were you doing with my brother?” Juleka teased with a knowing look.

“He was just showing me his Jagged Stone pick.” You answered with your face buried in your bag as you looked for your homework and to hide your blush.

“What really?” Juleka gasped, “he hasn’t even shown me that!”

“Wait what?” you asked in confusion and you looked out of your bag to face her, “seriously?”

“He must really like you then.” Rose grinned.

“That’s very kind of him.” You answered nonchalantly but buried your head in your bag again.

“Does (y/n) have a crush?” Rose cooed.

“Not so loud!” you shushed her and worriedly looked at the closed door to Juleka’s room.

“So you do!” Rose squealed and you winced as she did the exact opposite of what you wanted her to do.

“I don’t!” you vehemently tried to argue back, but it wasn’t doing much good. Rose’s love radar was up and active.

“And it’s on my brother.” Juleka looked at you in shock.

“No, no, it’s not.” You desperately tried to calm the situation down.

Juleka smiled, “we’re totally setting the two of you up.”

“Please don’t.” You hid your face in your hands.

“You guys would be so cute together!” Rose gushed.

“Guys.” You whined, “don’t we have homework to do?”

“Nu-uh, this is more important.” Juleka replied and shoved all of your books and notes aside.

You groaned and fell onto the ground, “why? Ms. Mendeleev will be furious if we don’t do our homework! And you have practice later today.”

“She has a point.” Juleka nodded and Rose sullenly agreed.

“But don’t think we’re forgetting about this!” Rose brightened up. You just groaned.

...

“I just realized something,” Luka sat down next to you.

“Huh?” you asked him dumbfounded, had he already figured out that you had a massive crush on him? You had only come to terms with it a couple hours ago.

“You always come to our practices.” He remarked thoughtfully.

You silently let out a sigh of relief, but then resisted the urge to hit the black and blue haired boy. He just now realized that? “Well of course I do. You guys are my favorite band! So I’m going to show my support!” you grinned.

“Your favorite band?” he looked down at you dubiously but you could tell he was laughing on the inside, “and there’s nothing biased about that statement.”

“Juleka said the exact same thing.” You whined, “maybe it’s a little biased.”

“A lot biased!” Rose shouted with a grin. Your eyes widened and you glared at her with your hand up to your neck in the universal sign that you were going to kill her when this entire thing was done.

He laughed as he clearly saw the sign you gave Rose, “well anyways. I’m glad to have you here supporting us.” He stood up, “I should go help set up. Talk to you later.” He waved.

As soon as he was out of earshot you turned to Rose, “Rose I’m going to kill you!”

“What why?” she asked in shock, “I haven’t done anything yet!”

“(y/n)! I need your help!” Juleka called. You ran over to her, “can you help hang this up?” she handed you a roll of streamers.

“Why do you need this up?” you asked and held it up.

“Because of the aesthetic.” She answered simply then patted the ladder next to you.

You sighed, you still didn’t understand but she knew what she was doing. You climbed onto the steps of the ladder as she held the ladder. You were starting to tape up the streamers when the ladder suddenly shook and you lost balance and fell off the ladder. You screamed and shut your eyes in preparation to his the ground when you realized you didn’t hit anything hard, but you had stopped falling. You opened up an eye and was met with blue. “Oh, hi Luka.” You stuttered.

He let you down back on your feet, “you should be more careful, you could’ve died.” He lectured.

“Blame Juleka, she was the one holding the ladder.” You muttered as you glared at said person. Said person just gave you a grin and waved.

“I guess you could say she fell for you!” Rose called from across the room.

You spun around and was about to really kill Rose when Luka laughed, “I can’t disagree with that.”

“In more ways than one.” You mumbled but then clasped your hands over your mouth in shock.

“You,” Luka looked at you in shock, “like me?”

“Of course I do,” you tried to wave off your blunder, “who wouldn’t like you? You’re totally awesome!”

“She like-likes you!” Rose yelled out again.

You felt your eye twitch as you continued to smile at Luka. Rose was really asking for it. “That’s good.” Luka smiled and the atmosphere seemed to have softened, “because I like-like you too.”

“Huh?” your jaw dropped, were you hearing things correctly?

“That was lame,” he sighed, “I really like you too.” He told you.

“Uh, me too.” You stuttered. You were mentally berating yourself, normally you were fine around Luka, but now you suddenly have a frog in your mouth?

“So you won’t mind if I…” he trailed off and leant down to capture your lips in a kiss. Once you realized what was happening, you stood up on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

“No, I don’t mind.” You smiled. The two of you stood there for awhile. Foreheads touching and arms wrapped around each other. You suddenly broke off when you heard cheering though. Mainly from Rose. “Do you mind if I go kill her?” you asked softly.

“She’s our lead singer. I can’t let you do that.” He answered equally soft.

“Shame.” He laughed and captured your lips in another kiss.

#miraculous ladybug #mlb #miraculous ladybug luka #luka couffaine #mlb x reader #luka couffaine x reader #luka x reader #mlb luka x reader #miraculous ladybug reader insert #miraculous ladybug x reader #my work #kimi's writing

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bubbleteaimagines · 3 years

Text

You Can Rest Now

Levi Ackerman Oneshot

Summary: People often wonder why Levi’s so cold. For a man that’s lost everything, it’s not so hard to see

Pairings: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: Ansgt, gore, death

Authors Note: I got this idea suddenly and decided to break my heart

there was speculation. there was always speculation, but none more about levi ackerman.

the short man had a notorious reputation. he was cruel, nonchalant and just generally didn’t seem to care.

he was different. cold. so cold in fact, that death didn’t even seem to faze him. he could watch someone die and be fine the next minute.

but was he? it seemed so.

all the recruits admired his bravery and strength, but they feared his attitude.

what had made him so cold, exactly? so...closed up? who or what had turned his heart into stone, causing him to shut out the world around him so easily?

how did he do it?

why did he do it?

what had caused him to snap?

it was simple, really. levi had made a mistake. long ago, when he was foolish enough to still believe in love and happiness in this retched world. long ago before he realized that love made you weak, he make the mistake of loving someone in this cruel, cruel, world.

flashback —

“shit! y/n, they’re gaining on us!”

after three years in the survey corps, you could safely say that those words were anything but a good sign. scratch that, those words were the worst thing to hear out in the field. an omen of death, if you will, but you tried not to think about that as you furrowed your eyebrows and gripped your horse’s reigns tightly.

“how close?” you made the mistake of asking your comrade. a lump grew in your throat as you guys trekked across empty land. no trees, no buildings, absolutely nowhere to even think about using your 3dmg gear.

“i...,” he was at a loss of words. neither of you dared to look back, so he had to go off of the thumping footsteps that were getting closer and closer. “i reckon in the next minute or so they’ll be...”

“got it,” you pursed your lips together, not wanting him to finish that sentence. you knew what was coming. you both did. the very ground beneath you shook due to the titan’s footsteps. the monsters that you had been battling your whole damn life. “you ready to kick some ass, then?”

“always.” his voice was weak, his hands trembling as he reached for his swords. but his spirit had not yet been broken. neither had yours.

the footsteps were getting closer.

“i say we stay in rank but finish this thing off. then we’ll speed up and catch the others in case some more come,” you told him

anxiety pooled in your stomach as you thought about the rest of the soldiers. wrong place, wrong time, you knew that. but you couldn’t help it — your mind flashed images of him and you couldn’t help but feel scared for him, wondering if he had made it back to the wall safe or if he was still stuck on the ground, like you.

levi was a much better fighter than you. he was fast, efficient, and a valuable fighter. humanity needed him, and he had to be kept safe to fight another day.

that was the only reason you guys had been split up. he was on the special forces team, you weren’t. a damn good soldier you were but you were needed on the outer side of the formation, you were needed to protect levi.

after two years, he still hated the idea of you risking your life to protect him. he had fought tooth and nail with you and just about everybody else to keep you safe, to keep you next to him at all times. but commander erwin wouldn’t allow it. he couldn’t, levi was needed to save humanity. you weren’t.

you guys had had this argument time and time again. and time after time, you had reassured him that you would make it back. that he would always find your tired but yet still smiling face waiting for him on top of the walls.

why should this time be any different?

“let’s move!”

before you could even think, you had a ten meter titan lunging at you causing you to yelp and yank your horse out of the way. the beast whined in terror, it’s fear possibly rivaling your own. unfortunately though, that didn’t cause it to go any faster. you were gonna be forced to take it down yourself — you wouldn’t be able to outrun it all the way back to the wall.

“y/n!” your comrade yelled as you were swiped at again. this time though, you stood up on your horse and launched yourself at the titan, your gear lodging itself in it’s shoulders.

“keep moving! i’ll take care of this!” you yelled out to him.

letting out an angry cry, you whipped around the creature at astonishing speeds and aimed straight at the back of it’s neck.

a routine kill, that’s all this was.

fire danced behind your eyes while the creature moaned and swatted it’s hands at you. 36, that was your number of solo kills. and soon, it was 37.

“take that you fat bastard,” you yelled and sliced it right in the weak spot, never missing a beat as you carved up the flesh. blood splattered everywhere from the fatal wound and steamed as it got on your face and clothes. the titan went limp, and soon you propelled yourself back to the ground and back on your horse.

“well, looks like petra and me are tied. can’t wait to tell her,” you grinned as you carried on riding, your partner sighing in relief.

“you really are one of the best, you know that? you totally just saved our asses,” he grinned back at you.

“yeah, and you’d do well not to forget it,” you chuckled. “next time there’s cake, i want-”

“Y/N LOOK OUT!”

there was a scream, and then there was a sudden pressure as an abnormal came leaping out of nowhere and hit you dead on.

you didn’t have time to react. you barely even had time to scream before everything went to shit, your horse flying away from you and you — oh god. your comrade screamed as you flew through the air, and appeared again only as you were clutched in the titan’s mouth.

“w-what?” you couldn’t move. your vision was blurry from the hit but what you could feel was it’s breath. blindingly hot, and rancid. you had a first row seat as you hung from the monster’s jaws, everything from your waist and below clutched tightly in it’s teeth.

“y/n, no!” the strangled cry of your fellow comrade was all too familiar. it was a helpless cry, one you had heard many times from many different people. it was a cry of death, a cry of sorrow if you will. it was the type of sound people made when they were face to face with death.

“son of bitch,” you moaned as you lifted your head up, your (e/c) eyes meeting the bright blue ones of the titan. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

of all the ways to die, of all the times and situations, this just had to be it. with your luck, you were gonna be split in half by the ugliest goddamn titan you had ever seen.

“fuck me.”

dread pooled in your stomach.

as you stared down your killer, as you stared down death itself, only one thought crossed your mind.

“c-comrade,” you glared as the titan opened it’s mouth to devour you. “g-get out of here! you don’t need to see this!”

“y/n no! i’m coming!” he desperately clung to his gear, standing on his horse and preparing to take down the monster that was gonna kill his teammate. he couldn’t let that happen. he wouldn’t.

but you weren’t gonna let him die either. not whilst you were still alive.

“comrade! i said go! i’m the leader of this team so that’s an order!” you screamed at the solider causing him to freeze in place.

“no,” he whispered, watching as the monster’s jaws came down.

it was as if it were in slow motion. the universe dragging it out just so he could witness every detail. the moment you screamed profanities at the titan, promising that you’d see it in hell one day. the moment you ripped off your cape, letting one last piece of you remain on this earth. the moment you screamed for levi, yelling one last time how much you loved him.

the moment the titan’s jaws finally came down, cutting you in half.

everything stood still after that. time stopped completely, and your comrade couldn’t even scream, couldn’t even cry out for you as your eyes finally fluttered closed and your body went limp.

you were gone.

levi paced anxiously as he stood on top of wall maria. he had his hands behind his back, but his eyes were on full alert, searching the terrain in front of him for any signs of life.

for any signs of you.

levi didn’t understand. it had been well past an hour, and everyone had made it back except for your squad.

it wasn’t even a squad, really. just two people — so how could two people possibly be taking this long?

“captain, you should calm down. i’m sure y/n is gonna be fine,” petra placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but it did nothing to sooth levi.

“if they were fine they’d be back by now,” he snapped, his eyes darkening.

he didn’t want to admit it but levi was starting to lose hope. being gone for this long usually only meant one thing — but he refused to think about that. he refused to even let the thought cross his mind, shoving it so far back it was practically non existent. levi couldn’t think like that. he wouldn’t.

because it was no question whether you were okay or not. you had to be, there were no other options. no other scenarios other than you coming back alive and safe.

“captain—”

“silence!”

levi strained his ears as he heard hooves in the distance. he perked up.

it was the sound of a horse, most definitely. in fact, it was the sound of two horses, and in the distance he could see them galloping towards the wall, a titan right behind them and the lone rider.

levi’s heart swelled with hope.

“y/n!”

he was breathless as he ran towards the edge of the wall, igorning his fellow soldiers protests. extracting his swords, he quickly cascaded down the wall towards the person, hoping beyond hope that it was you.

commander erwin held out a hand to stop anyone from following him.

“don’t,” he warned, seeing how levi’s squad was gearing up. “this one’s for him.”

levi had never felt more eager in his life to escape into titan territory. quickly, he flew towards the rider and practically tackled them as he reached them.

“y/n, you—”

levi stopped dead in his tracks. confused, he tilted his head as he saw the grief-stricken face of your partner, but not you. in fact, you were nowhere in sight as the titan’s footsteps got louder.

“soldier, you had someone with you, yes? where is y/n?” levi demanded, completely ignoring the haunted and agonized expression of the solider.

“c-captain...i...,” how did he get the words out? how did your comrade look his captain in the eyes and tell him that you were gone — lost to the titan on a simple mission.

“well? we don’t have all pissant. spit it out,” levi snapped, becoming irritated at the lack of response.

where were you? if you hadn’t come back with your partner, then where the hell where you?

the soilder’s mouth moved but levi barely heard anything he said.

perhaps it was because he wasn’t standing close enough. or perhaps the titan’s thunderous footsteps drowned it out. or perhaps...it was because levi heard something he didn’t want to hear.

“dead?” levi tilted his head as if it were a foreign word. as if he had never heard the word before, when in reality it was probably the most used word in his vocabulary. “what do you mean y/n is...dead?”

the pieces didn’t fit. the word ‘dead’ and ‘you’ were apart of two completely different puzzles; they didn’t fit together. it was too wrong, too confusing for levi’s brain to pick up.

“t-they’re gone, sir,” the solider spit out painfully, letting out a wail. “w-we were on flat ground...the titan came out of nowhere...the abnormal...”

“shut up,” levi held his hand up as the pieces began to mold themselves. slowly, they transformed to fit each other.

“i-i’m sorry sir,” the soldier stammered, “t-they’re gone. they left this behind...but their body—”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” levi growled as anger began to flow through him, his fists twitching. the solider flinched back as levi’s death glare settled on him, burning holes through his skull.

“where do you get off on this? HUH?” levi yelled as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking him off of is horse. the beast whined in fear as the titan approached, but levi ignored it. instead, he focused on the red spots in his vision, pushing away the pain. pushing away the imagery that followed the solider’s words. all that was left of you was a cape...

“i’ll have you executed for this you bastard! you lying piece of shit—”

“CAPTAIN LEVI!” levi’s attention was diverted as commander erwin yelled out his name. briefly, he turned his attention to the wall where his fellow comrades and commander stood, horrified, “YOU HAVE A SITUATION!”

levi tore his gaze away from erwin and glanced over his shoulder. fast approaching was the titan that had followed the solider to the wall. an abnormal by the looks of it, with blood splattered all over it’s mouth.

levi felt his heart stop.

in the moment, it suddenly became real. he glanced at the solider’s terrified face, the cape in his arms that had your initials printed on it, and then back at the titan.

everything hit him at once.

and levi snapped.

“YOU BASTARD!”

he retracted his blades, squared his shoulders, and then zoomed off to battle the titan that that had murdered you. the love of his life.

levi saw red as an animalistic scream left him, his entire vision clouded with crimson as he made his target and slashed. levi slashed until there was nothing more to slash, the titan long dead and already dissolving by the time he was done.

“YOU ASSHOLE! YOU TOOK THEM! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

“CAPTAIN! soldier, you need to restrain him and get back over the wall, NOW!” commander erwin shouted.

more titan’s were approaching. too many people were standing by the walls. too much prey.

but levi didn’t care. he was angry, hurt, and beyond the levels of revenge. his blades were stained with the blood of your murderer. he wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t end them all, right then and there.

“CAPTAIN LEVI! WE NEED TO GO!”

levi ignored the solider’s plea and stood his ground, hatred burning behind his eyes. he’d kill them, he’d kill every last one of them for what they did to you. his life be damned.

in that moment, it didn’t matter that humanity needed him.

he needed to avenge you.

“FALL BACK! DO NOT ENGAGE! I REPEAT, DO NOT ENGAGE! EVERYBODY STAND BACK!”

levi braced himself for the attack. he was running on pure hatred now.

he was dangerous when he was calm. but he was unstoppable when he was deadset on getting revenge for the one person he had left to care about.

“holy shit—”

“no way—”

“did he just?—”

all around levi was blood. crimson red soaked him to the bone, pouring over every inch of his body. it rained on him, like a sadistic waterfall carved out by levi’s sword.

but it wasn’t his.

none of it, not a single drop of the blood was his.

levi sheathed his now broken swords and leaned down to retrieve the only thing not soaked with titan blood. the only thing that wasn’t stained or reminded him of their treacherous, godforsaken existence.

“i did it,” he whispered, clutching your cape tightly. he held the fabric in his trembling hands, holding it over his heart as a way to hold you close— one last time.

“i killed that thing. you can rest now.”

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman angst #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan #aot imagines #aot #attack on titan x reader

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gaiuswrites · 3 years

Text

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher higher higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x fem!reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x fem!reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian fanfic #king of cups #mandalorian smut

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tomtenadia · 3 years

Text

Scary feelings - Rowaelin month day 1

Prompt: I just realised I am desperately in love with you

(I suck at titles)

----

Rowan Whitethorn was not a fan of crowds. Or people in general.

It was a Friday night and his flat was far too crowded for his own tastes, but he and his colleagues would take turns in organising get togethers and eventually his time came around. People might call him a loner and a grump but he just loved peace and quiet.

“Come on grampa, have fun.” Shouted Fenrys across the living room with a bottle of beer in his hands, offering one to hm as well. Rowan sighed heavily and joined the blonde man and plopped on the sofa ignoring the ruckus around him. He had already enough.

He was busy hating the evening when someone sat at his side: the smell of lemon and verbena familiar to his nostrils. He turned and saw Aelin sprawled on the couch and a beer in her hand. Most of the people were teachers working in the same high school. Rowan was the biology teacher and Aelin had recently been hired to be the new PE teacher after the previous one retired. She was friendly with everyone and he was positive that every single male teacher had a crush on her. She was gorgeous. Rowan had no issues admitting that. He had seen her once in shorts after one of her classes. Legs perfectly tanned and going on for days. Hair gold as the sun and the most amazing turquoise eyes he had ever seen, with a ring of gold in them. He had slammed against the wall and his students laughed at him that day. He had been dumbstruck, and in every other occasion they had to interact he had to work very hard to keep his cool. They were colleagues, they had to be professional.

“Good to see that you know how to chill, Whitethorn.” Her voice broke his reverie and when he turned he saw her taking a drink of her beer, her head tilted back and her neck exposed. Rowan stood quickly and moved away. What was happening to him? Why all of a sudden he felt the urge to lean forward and kiss the column of her neck, tracing his tongue along it and nip at the sweet spot at its base?

“You okay, man?” Asked Aedion who had noted him running away like a possessed person “did my cousin made lewd jokes again?”

Rowan leaned against the wall and shook his head “no, she is fine. I just needed to stand a bit. This is too much for me.”

Aedion patted his shoulder and left him alone and slowly his gaze returned to Aelin. She was talking to Fenrys and laughing at something that the young TA had said and something irrational rose in him. Damn, was he jealous?

She must have felt him staring because her head slowly turned and her gaze landed on him and the smile she gave him almost stopped his heart. He tried to smile back and failed and saw her raise an eyebrow at him as if in question at his reaction. Slowly he tried to regain control of his emotions, that was something he was good at, appear like an emotionless bastard. Wasn’t that the reason Lyria dumped him for another man? Because he was incapable of showing love and was just a block of ice who pretended to have feelings? He pushed back from the wall and walked to Lorcan. If Rowan had a reputation of being cold, no one beat Lorcan. He was the math teacher and probably one of the most hated ones at that.

“You look a mess.” Said the dark-haired man.

“You look like you are having fun instead. Very unusual for you.”

“I got my eyes on the small brunette near Galathynius, do you know her?”

“I think she is a friend of Aelin. She is called Elide if I remember the introductions.”

Lorcan took a sip of his beer and kept staring at the woman “well, she is definitely my type.” And with a powerful move Lorcan pushed away from the wall.

“Don’t fuck up.” Said Rowan to the man while he was walking away. Lorcan was not the most stable when it came to relationships.

He was alone on the balcony to enjoy fresh air and peace when a person joined him and leaned against the rail at his side.

Lemon verbena. He inhaled the scent and kept looking straight at Orynth at night.

“You seem off, Whitethorn.”

“I am okay,” he sipped the last of his beer and kept ignoring her, afraid of what he would do if he stared at her.

“Looks like the rumour are true.” She turned and her back was now against the rail, her arms at her chest.

He allowed himself a peek and his chest tightened. She had a green dress with a puffy skirt and she was breathtaking. A deep urge to kiss rose in him.

“What rumours?” He said in a gruff voice.

“That you are a loner and a bit of a cranky old bastard.”

Rowan chuckled “I love my reputation. It keeps people away.”

“Who hurt you? Who made you like this?” She asked, moving a step closer to him.

Rowan stood motionless and stared in the depth of her blue eyes. How could she know? Only a handful of people knew how Lyria had crushed him.

“She doesn’t know what she gave up.” Commented Aelin quietly.

Now confusion was clear on his face.

Aelin leaned forward and finished her beer “It’s just a mask. How do I know? Because I have one too. I am the happy easy going PE teacher who is lovable and chatty.” And her tone changed all of a sudden “my fiancee dumped me a week before our wedding. He found himself a newer version. It broke me and having a mask makes it easier to deal with people.” She confessed and Rowan could not look away from the pain in her face and tried to restrain himself from hugging her.

“Lyria left me for another man. Apparently I am incapable of love.”

Aelin gently took his hand “You just haven’t found the right person yet.” She squeezed it and then walked away leaving him alone once more. His heart raced madly in his chest

Going back to work after the party had been tragic. Rowan had spent the weekend thinking about Aelin and what she had told him. Thinking as well at the pesky feeling that had slowly started to creep up. Because the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was falling for her. He had been since the beginning when she joined the team of professors. She was incredible, and funny and apparently very caring as well. The previous day he had seen her in the school yard consoling two young teenagers who were distressed and crying in her arms. He had followed the scene from the distance and that’s when it hit him. He was in love with her. Madly. He had tried to deny the feeling for a while and it worked until that damned party. Until that moment on the balcony.

He walked back to his class and sat at his desk trying to ignore the pounding of his chest. Pushing away the realisation that his feeling for Aelin went deeper than he thought.

A deep sigh of relief left him when the next class walked in the room.

Later he was on his way to the break room, a book in his hands and his messenger bag strapped on his shoulder when he crashed into someone.

“What the heck.” Said the outraged female voice.

Rowan looked down and saw Aelin crouched down collecting scattered papers. He kneeled quickly and helped her “I am sorry.”

“Do you always walk and read?”

“Most times,” he smiled “I am usually better at knowing what goes around me.” He passed her the last few papers and stood. Aelin was now in front of him “come, have lunch with me.”

Rowan was taken aback by the offer. He made a step for the teachers room, but Aelin grabbed his hand “come with me, I know a better place.”

Silently he followed her, realising that he would probably follow her no matter what.

Hand in hand they walked around the ground until Aelin stopped in a quiet corner of the yard and sat under an oak tree. It was a nice spring day and the weather was turning warm.

Aelin sat down, back against the trunk and he stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Eventually he took a seat at her side and took out his lunch from the bag: a chicken salad that contained more vegetables than chicken.

Aelin looked at the tub and its contents in disgust.

“That’s why you are always grumpy… if my lunch looked that sad, I’d be grumpy to.” And she extracted a plastic tub containing an obscene portion of lasagna “my mum made it for me the other day. I went to hers for lunch and she cooked for an army.”

She stabbed the food with a fork and then turned it to him “try it.”

Rowan looked at her puzzled.

“Come on Whitethorn, I don’t have the plague. Give it a go.”

Rowan caved and took the bite she offered. The food was amazing and found himself smiling in satisfaction.

“Look, I made you smile and it made you all the way more handsome.”

His eyes popped open in surprise at her comment.

Aelin laughed and the sound of her happiness brought him joy. He’d do anything to see her smile. Her face would lit in up in the most stunning way. Gods, he was in far, far deeper than he thought.

“What?” She asked at her expression.

“You are the most stunning woman I ever met.” He said and then realised that he had uttered those words out loud. Shit.

She smiled again and took another bite and Rowan decided it was now or never. He had to tell her and also brace for a crushing rejection. There was no way she was into him. She could have every man, why would she choose him?

He cleared his voice “I am in love with you,” he admitted, looking in her eyes “I think I have been for a while but it dawned on me at that party at my flat. You are stunning, intelligent, fierce, caring and funny and I think and I am totally and utterly in love with you.”

She placed her plastic container on the side and he thought he had just ruined everything.

“Go on,” was all she said “let it all out.”

“I promised myself never again. It was not worth it. But then you arrived and threw that to the winds.” He ran a hand through his hair “I was even jealous of you talking to Fenrys at the party. That’s why I kept to myself. I could finally put a label on my feelings and it scared me. I was never good at dealing with emotions and probably everyone is right, I am a cold heartless bastard.”

“Maybe,” she said brushing his hair “but in front of me I see a man who can be very capable of love if the right person comes along.”

Rowan was again speechless and his eyes closed on instinct at the feeling of her hand brushing his hair.

“Say it again.”

His eyes popped open in a question and Aelin nodded.

“I am desperately in love with you.”

She smiled again and his breath hitched.

“And what are we going to do about that professor Whitethorn?”

“Maybe I can take you out to dinner?”

Aelin leaned forward to kiss his cheek “I’d love that very much.”

And in that instant he realised that for her… for her he could try again.

#rowan whitethorn #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #aelin galathynius #prompt

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nanayoungishere · 3 years

Text

Play It Cool (Part Nine)

He decided to cook you breakfast.

Though not before staring at your sleeping face for a while.

You looked so peaceful, so content as you nuzzled into his chest. You fit so perfectly in his arms, felt so warm and soft. The little noises you made and the way you clutched him closer, murmuring his new name in your sleep, made him feel as though his heart would burst out of his chest.

He didn’t want to let you go.

But he had to, because your stomach was grumbling in your sleep. He knew you hadn’t eaten much that day, aside from the milkshake at the diner. Too busy completing course work, too busy working, too busy trying to survive another day. You weren’t afforded any time to take care of yourself.

It made him ache, thinking of how much you’ve been suffering. It made him want to cry, thinking about how unhealthy you were.

It made him hate.

Hate your boss, your teachers, your landlord, your whore of a roommate for making you push yourself like this. All those people surrounded you, all those people who supposingly cared for you and none of them even tried to help you? To relieve some of your burdens? None of them cared, despite how utterly perfect you were?

It made his blood boil. It made his hands itch with the need to grab a knife and --

You let out a pained whimper. He snapped out of his thoughts to find that he had clutched you a bit too tight to his chest.

He immediately relaxed, whispering apologies to your unconscious form, rubbing soothing circles on your back. Your face smoothed out, becoming peaceful once more, entangling your legs with his.

“Honey…”

God. He really didn’t want to get up.

But he forced himself to, gently and slowly untangling himself from your arms. You didn’t like that at all, your hands subconsciously grasping out towards him, chasing his warmth, your face set in a heartbreaking expression that made him want to get down on his knees and apologize.

He settled for kissing you. On your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, your neck. His teeth grazing your tender flesh, causing you to shiver and blush. You slumped back into the sheets, overstimulated even in your sleep.

So adorable.

Maybe you made another mess? You got so excited, so quickly. It didn’t take much to push you over the edge.

He licked his lips, his fingers trailing down your clothed body. The sheets, your clothes were still stained. Maybe before he cooked you breakfast, he should clean it up for you? He didn’t want you to wake up feeling uncomfortable after all.

He leaned over you, his eyes darting to your face every now and then to see if you’d wake up.

His tongue unfurled. Just a little taste…

Afterwards he lovingly tucked you in, running his hands through your hair one more time before heading to the kitchen.

Hopefully he had something in his fridge…

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

The moment you woke up, you felt a deep ache in your chest.

And when you sat up, and looked around at the empty room, you realized why.

He wasn’t here.

Maybe he was in the living room? Maybe he went to the bathroom? Maybe he was just outside, in the hallway?

You checked everywhere, looking through closets, checking under beds, underneath the couch. You left no stone unturned and he wasn’t there.

Did he leave me?

No, he couldn’t have. He would’ve kicked you out of the apartment if he didn’t want you here.

He could be with someone else.

No way. He was so interest in you --

Maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s humoring you because he’s sorry your such a desperate freak.

He wouldn’t do that. Honey’s too sweet, too kind and nice to do something like that to you. He wouldn’t hurt you like that.

Right?

Maybe he didn’t leave by himself.

What if someone took him?

No.

No, there’s no way someone could’ve taken him, because if they did --

What if he’s hurt?

What if he’s dying right now?

No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no --

Then you saw something out of the corner of your eye. A note taped to the door.

Went out to buy breakfast! I’ll be back in thirty minutes!

Love you darling,

Honey~

The surge of pure relief you felt put you on the floor. You cradled that note to yourself like it was a teddy bear, like it was a lifeline, like it was a priceless, one-of-a-kind jewel that you lucked out into having.

He was just getting breakfast.

He didn’t leave you.

He was fine.

You freaked the fuck out over nothing. Again. Just like you did last night (or was it early morning?) when you tried to fucking tie him up in his sleep.

You carefully set the note aside before cradling your head in your hands and screaming.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell were you thinking?! What the fuck possessed you to do something so stupid and illegal and wrong and -- and --

He would’ve hated you. Absolutely, one hundred percent, would have wanted nothing to do with you after that. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

But if you kept him to yourself --

How? How the fuck would you have kept him to yourself? There’s no way you would’ve gotten away with it. It was totally a spur of the moment, dumbass, let’s-risk-everything-on-this-poorly-thought-out-decision fuckup! All it would take was him screaming to his neighbors and it would’ve all been over.

But if you planned it out…

If you found a better place…

If you took your time…

You hesitated.

...no. No, no, no, you were not thinking about it. It was wrong and fucked up.

The things you were feeling, the things you were doing, were already bad enough. It was insanity, it was obsessive, it was wrong. And if you crossed this line, if you went this far, then you’d be a monster.

Would that be such a bad thing?

You picked up the note, tracing the words with your finger.

Love you darling

He said he loved you. He said he loved you.

That -- that had to mean something, right? You had to be in a good spot with him, right? The relationship must’ve been going good.

So far.

So you didn’t need to kidnap him. You didn’t need to do something monstrous just to keep him.

Yet.

You rubbed the note against your palms. You could almost feel his fingers trailing across the page, his mind mapping out the words even as his pen wrote across the paper.

Fuck, maybe you should frame it? Keep it hanging up in your room so you could stare at it, forever.

Or maybe you can get it laminated. That way you could lick the page without worrying about the paper getting torn up or the ink running.

You pressed the note to your nose and sniffed. God, you could just about smell him and --

You carefully folded it and put it in your pocket. Then you slapped yourself.

God, get your shit together! Stop being such a fucking freak!

KNOCK KNOCK

You jumped, panic filling you at the thought of Honey seeing you act like such a freak. You immediately started making excuses. “I-I-I wasn’t sniffing your note Honey, I swear!”

KNOCK KNOCK

It was coming from the front door. You breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t see you.

KNOCK KNOCK

You smoothed out your clothes and tried to fix your hair. Shit, you should’ve straightened yourself out earlier! What if he was disgusted because of how much of a fucking mess you were right now?

KNOCK KNOCK

“C-coming!”

You opened the door. “H-hey! Thanks for --”

You stopped. It wasn’t Honey.

“Oh I… didn’t know Peter had guests.”

It was a woman. Young, in her twenties, just about your age. With bright red hair, freckles, red glasses, a heart shaped face, and a fairly curvy figure that all together, would’ve made you think she was cute.

If not for the huge, slashing scar across her face.

From the upper corner of her face, crossing diagonally towards her chin, going through her eye, nose, and lips. Like someone had taken a knife and tried to cut her face up, but settled for simply slashing right through. Who knows, someone might have.

“Um…”

You blinked. Oh shit, did she catch you staring? “Sorry, I --”

Then what she said registered.

Peter? Was that Honey’s real name?

Holy shit. You knew his real name!

Peter.

Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter

Fuck, that’s such a good name. Way fucking better than Honey. Would it be weird if you started calling him that?

But he really seemed to like it when you called him Honey…

“Oh, it’s fine.”

Oh, she was still talking. Shit, you shouldn’t be ruder than you already were --

“I just wanted to give him these.” She said, holding out a bag. “I left them by his door, but I don’t think he noticed.”

It was a bag of cookies.

In the shape of hearts.

And it wasn’t fucking Valentines Day. Wasn’t even close to February.

So that meant --

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes laser focused on the cookies. On the ugly bitch that was holding them.

She was saying something but you couldn’t find it in yourself to give two fucks because it was taking everything you had not to strangle her right then and there because look at her.

Look at her.

Look at this freckled fuck.

Giving him cookies, knowing his real name, showing up at his door like a fucking hooker.

You should've known from the moment you laid eyes on her. Shouldn’t have answered that fucking door.

Fuck, what if Honey (Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter) had been here? Would she have batted her ugly, filthy eyelashes at him, pressed her flabby breasts against him, and tried to take him away?

Had she done that before?

For all you knew… she could be his ex. She could have --

touched him kissed him hugged him talked to him cradled him fucked him

The surge of rage and hatred you felt filled you so quickly and so suddenly that you had to hold the door to keep yourself steady. You could feel your vision blacking out at the edges, could feel your entire body shaking, trembling with the need to --

rip tear crush stab bash slice break hit kill kill kill kill

Because she wanted to take him from you.

Take Honey, your Peter, the love of your life, the one who made you feel, truly feel for the first time in forever. The one you feel in love with, the one who made you feel so happy, so content, the one that filled your dreams, filled your every waking moment with joy and ecstasy.

This woman -- no.

This fucking ingrate wanted to take what was --

mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine

“...seen him? I just wanted to give these to him before I got back to work.”

You snapped back to reality.

The bitch was staring at you, her ugly, scarred face showing an uncertain expression.

Your fingers flexed. You took a step forward.

I want to kill her.

You heard a door slam. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw someone step out of their apartment. A man, fiddling with their phone.

He glanced towards the two of you.

Fuck.

It was like you got splashed with cold water. The rage and hatred was still there, but controlled. Contained.

You had to hold it together. You had to keep your cool. Because if you hurt this woman -- if you got caught, which you absolutely would -- then he would know.

And he’d never, ever want anything to do with you again.

You tried to smile. “He’s… not here right now. Just -- just give them to me. I’ll make sure he gets them.”

Her expression fell. “Um --”

You snatched the bag from her hands. “Who are you? What was your name again?”

“Uh, I’m Lizzie Bee,” she said, pointing to herself. “I’m Peter’s landlord.”

Landlord?

Fuck, then you really couldn’t kill her. You’d be putting Honey/Peter out of a home.

“Right. I’m Y/N.” Your smile might’ve turned into a snarl, but who the fuck cared? Not you. “Peter’s my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” She didn’t look the slightest bit concerned. The whore. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

You resisted the urge to slam the door on her face. “Likewise.”

You watched her walk away, disappearing around the hall. You made sure to take note of where she went before slamming the door.

Without her in front of you, taunting you with her presence, you could feel your rage and hatred subsiding. The urge to kill was fading with every second you got to breathe and collect yourself.

You couldn’t kill her.

It was too risky wrong. It was wrong and you knew it was wrong, because you were a normal person.

What normal person falls in love at first sight?

What normal person becomes murderously possessive over someone they’ve only met for a couple of days?

What normal person considers kidnapping the one they love?

Shut the fuck up.

Your hands trembled as you ran them through your hair. You had to make a plan. Had to figure out what to do to deal with that bitch.

You couldn’t lose him to someone else. Just the thought of it was --

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

please

please God don’t let anyone take him away from me please

You felt tears pricking your eyes. You swallowed back a sob, trying to ignore the ache in your chest.

You would figure something out. You had to.

But first, you needed to flush every single one of these cookies down the fucking toilet.

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#your boyfriend #yourboyfriendgame #Play It Cool #y/n #yb #Y/N's urge to kill is rising #but they're trying to keep their cool #because murder is wrong #and can make your boyfriend not like you

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