#I just want to know what he's even being accused of beside sex crimes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feelingdozy · 8 months

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"A deal's a deal, no?" - Geto Suguru

Summary: you're assigned a mission to get Intel on the enemies next moves- that enemy being an old friend, and some how you were enticed to spend a little more time with him- but what harm could it cause? Just some more info for you. Right?

wc: 3,7k

Warnings: 18+, manipulation, threats, killing and torture mentioned, mean geto, has a breeding kink - mention of pregnancy (no actual pregnancy here), vaginal fingering, p in v, biting, rough sex

You were not supposed to be doing this. When you were assigned the mission, everyone said to be wary- keep your eyes out and don't get distracted by him. Yet here you were, suffocated in the comfort of his kitchen with him beside you- an innocent conversation slicing the silent atmosphere- a conversation you longed for, more interesting then you had ever had with anyone else.

You didn't want to take the mission. In fact, when first proposed to you, you outright rejected it. Simply not having the guts to do it had stumped you- that man was your weakness, and it wouldn't be so simple trying to get him to trust you and deceiving him in the process to do so. Your heart spoke against it, and your footsteps led you astray- yet constantly being faced with it by force wasn't making it any better- especially when the higher ups found out about the level of importance the mission was- needing more information on Geto, they didn't care about personal feelings- just connections, and you were someone who could make it happen.

they forced you to unwillingly take it, explaining your task with great detail and always reinforcing the fact to you that no matter what, you couldn't surrender to the manipulative man, because they knew in all truth he could have you around his fingertips in a matter of seconds. Missing him was an understatement, a friend you had treasured and gotten close with in such little time- yet now such a hard thing to admit out loud. That's why you immediately took it to Satoru and Shoko.

You sighed with disappointment, ranting about how the higher ups could put this big of a task on you- even your life at risk depending how far Suguru would take it. You didn't know what kind of person he was anymore- and for all you know he could want to murder you as soon as he lays his eyes on a well known person he once knew- one he once knew as a friend.

"Ughh- i can't believe they actually made me do this! Why not you, huh? You're closer to him then I am!" Pointing your finger at Satoru, making him giggle as you wiggled it midair, his hand coming up to swat yours down at the accusation.

"They probably trust you can kill him if anything goes wrong. If it was me- hell he'd know everything in a matter of two seconds, and the aftermath wouldn't be pretty, that's for sure" He replied shrugging his shoulders, reassuring you that he would be the last person that they'd want for the job.

"And how am I expected to do any better, hm?" You said, pouting at the man. You knew you were just as vulnerable as he was to Suguru, and at any rate this mission would come crashing down from the sheer fact you saw him and was in his presence again.

"C'mon you two, make it a little more depressing in here." Shoko said with annoyance laced in her tone as she waved the cigarette around in her hand, making you both snap out of the accidental reminiscing and nostalgic thoughts.

"Just think- once your done, in the end you'll have seen him again, right?" She continued, trying to bring the mood up.

"But.. its not really him- is it..."

A couple days later you had finally set out on the assigned day. Finding the man wasn't so easy. After all, your only guide had been recent crimes that were only assumed to be him- using that as your leverage for somewhere he'd be lurking around. You didn't expect to stumble upon him so easily though- you hesitated thinking such would be a nice trap for you, but he had spoken out like you had talked just yesterday- nothing abnormal to his behavior.

The first place you had stumbled upon was an abandoned building with curses being rumored to have been seen and a bigger presence being involved, so when your eyes caught a figure in the dark of a creepy, crumbled up place you could hardly call a building anymore, you had every reason to be in shock- and cautious as the voice broke the silence.

"Well, well. It's been a long time, hasn't it y/n?" You thought you felt your heartstrings being teased by his voice pronouncing your name again- being spoken to by him was quite the feat now, and not expecting it to roll of his tongue the way it did stung you with memories you didn't want to cherish, because now all they did was haunt you on quiet, late nights when you were alone. You let the silence reappear after he tried to spark a conversation, instead getting defensive at his calm manner.

On the other hand, right away by sensing your presence entering the building, he could tell you were up to something- not caring who had put you up to it, he knew he couldn't let such an opportunity fall out from beneath his fingertips, so he made up a simple plan. Persuade you into coming over to a base of his, get you comfortable and then have you spilling whatever plans the school had come up with to take him down.

"How've you been? Good I assume? It's been a little while since we've spoken, hasn't it? Unsure of what he was getting at, although you came here first for him- you questioned him first, because when had it been so easy to be in his company? Why hadn't he fled from you? There was no reason to be scared, most of the time he simply did it out of annoyance- not that you knew, but most reports had rumored him not being a fighter unless forced. So, why?

"What do you want, Geto?" You shouted back, not caring for pleasantries of any sorts to butter him up.

"I can't have small talk with an old friend? I know you've come here for something too. I haven't grown unaware in the time we've spent apart."

Sighing at the man, you spoke, "This isn't the sort of place i'd like to reunite and chat with an old friend, y'know."

"Then allow me to lead us elsewhere- for better aesthetics, would that please you?" Sarcasm infused with his tone annoyed you, him only simply grinning at the displeased reaction on your face.

You didn't think you'd get this far to be honest- With the way you tried to prevent yourself from letting him get close, or pretend to get close- you didn't think you'd actually be letting the man guide you to a safe location- and you didn't think you'd agree to such a stupid, obvious set up.

it had been a long while since the two of you had seen each other or sat comfortably in proximity, let alone spoken a couple of words to spark a familiar feeling. Once he opened the door and invited you in, you guided yourself to his empty looking kitchen- seeing obvious signs this wasn't his only place of comfort he had come for rest. He wouldn't take you to his base right away, but to be so obvious with it wasn't quite the Suguru you once knew. But who was the Suguru you once knew, anyway?

Taking a seat at his counter, he followed behind you as he offered you a drink. You were simply his guest and he was being polite, it wouldn't be very nice to decline- especially when it was such an old friend, would it? As you were stuck in thought as to appear rude or just go for a quick drink of whatever he served up to you, he was quick to start another conversation to fill the air that surrounded the two of you so it didn't lead to complete silence- and to not waste time in his empty secondhand home. As he breathed in to start, you interrupted him- taking the chance for conversation as something was troubling you more then ever.

"Do you always befriend your enemy?" The words slipped off your tongue, suspicious as ever at his sudden allyship with you- his head turning to have his gaze staring right into your pupils- one you swore saw right through and what you thought you no matter what the next words were that would slip past his sly lips as he'd look for your response.

You had wondered when he'd bring such a crucial conversation up, but your attitude didn't falter nor crack around him, even with his new life he had taken up. You thought to yourself for a moment about how to reply, not going to give anything up to him no matter what.

"Just wanted to see how an old friend was doing, that's all."

"After all this time- and now you want to check up on me?" You shifted in your seat, unknowing how to respond.

"I could say the same to you- but now's not the time for idle chit-chat. Could you be honest with me for once and tell me what you really desire, Geto?"

"Suguru."

"Huh?"

"Suguru. Have you already forgotten my name?"

There had to be a plan behind his actions- why would he let you in so easily after all this time for a measly conversation? You knew he wasn't dumb nor ignorant to your status and where you came from, but what exactly was he planning to have you in his grasp and be in his presence for such a long period without any consequence or leverage? There simply had to be something in it for him. The man had taken a stance behind you now, circling your relaxed figure as you were sat- like you were his prey of some sort. And you sure felt like it when his eyes were on you for the majority of the time- feeling his glare uncomfortably on yours at the strangest of times. Just what was he looking out for, and in the comfort of his own safe place? Maybe he pondered what sort of sneak attacks or ambushes you could've pulled if he had gotten comfortable and let his guard down around you- but that was simply thoughts that needed to be discarded- thoughts from the past.

You didn't know each other that well anymore- so technically you couldn't blame him, the fact you worked for the school he had gone to was reason enough, and he knows what they do there well.

Now going practically unnoticed by you, he had gotten closer then before, to the point he was staring at the hairs on the top of your head. He leaned down, mouth now so close you swear he kissed the inside of your ear.

"Do you think I'm stupid, y/n?" He whispered into your ear, his breath causing a shiver to make its way down your spine at his proximity and his words filled with sudden anger. He backed up before his finger grazed your shoulder as he started to spin the chair you sat on, finger making its way around you as he spun it to make you face him directly. It had made it all the way to your face now, holding your chin up for you to look at him, now in front of you with a piercing gaze.

"Who do you take me for, hm? Do you really think i'd believe those stupid lies your spewing?"

"Suguru-"

"There's no use in trying to persuade me now, sweetheart. Look at your position. I've got you in my house, alone. Hm, maybe you think Satoru's gonna come strutting along looking for you. Such a pretty face- he wouldn't wanna lose you, another friend- right?"

Your brows furrowed at his threats as he held your cheek in his one hand, unwillingly craving it as you pushed your face towards it instead of rejecting, unable to resist his touch. It was habit- the way he was so welcomed to touch you- yet your mind was sending distress signals, telling you it was dangerous for him to be so close. Your feelings clashed and caused you uncertainty of what to do next- all sense of focus being lost to the moment unfolding between the two of you. You couldn't even allow simple words to form, swallowing them down in fear of having to fight someone so close, yet so far away from you.

With shakiness to your voice, you still desired to know the outcome if you did happen to fight back and leave with a failed mission.

"And- what'll happen to me, Suguru? You gonna kill me? Torture me?"

"Tell me what you're here for and I won't have to go to those sorts of measures. I don't want to clean up another mess after all." He replied with a sigh, his other hand coming up to cup both your cheeks now, squeezing them together with a smile on his face.

"Such fear in your eyes. Oh? Don't tell me i've actually made you scared?"

"You think i'd get scared from such empty threats? You think so lowly of me, Suguru." You nipped back, a chuckle erupting from him as he backed away, making your face contort in confusion, yet concern still staining your features ever so slightly.

"How about we make this interesting, then? You get something you want, and I get your plan in return. Sounds like a deal, no?"

"And what would the likes of you think I'd want to give you such a valuable thing?"

"Me."

You're head was spinning with ecstasy as he threw your body gently on the bed, crawling swiftly to join you. Hands encasing you on both sides of your head, he was now leaning to press his lips against yours. It was like a sweet dream- a delusion you never thought would become reality with what route the man had taken in life- it made you squeeze your legs together in anticipation. He kisses you harshly- yet its so gentle from his rough exterior, a gentle manor you wouldn't except from him now, but he always proved to have the boy you once knew deep down inside of him- maybe you just brought him out.

The two of you hadn't separated for even a breath of air, his tongue exploring every area of your mouth. Switching positions, he had his hands brought down from they previously were- one holding your cheek and the other making its way down your body, squeezing your skin through the fabric of your shirt before he found the hem. His cold hands infiltrated your shirt, now exploring your chest and teasing your nipples- only doing it to get a reaction out of you- he got a kick out of it after all.

He quickly retorted and instead swiftly brought his digits to find the waistband of your pants, breaking the kiss between the two of you. In a haze with saliva coating the outside of your mouth, you were dizzy from lust and only noticed how far he had gotten because of the separation. Cheeks flushing with red only give your state away to him, grinning with pride. Your eyes fluttered shut with the new sensations he was giving you, his fingers sliding in your slit from how wet you were. He waisted no time putting his fingers in, making you arch ever so slightly from the unexpected action- hips raising in need for more. He shushed you silently with his other hand that forcefully grounded you, not allowing for any movement for you to squirm out of his grasp. He took a teasingly slow pace as he went in and out, slowly fitting a second in there just to curl them up and fasten to hear your voice crack as you quietly said his name with need. Putting a third one in had you going crazy- nearing your first orgasm of the night, he showed no mercy to you as his pace quickened and he reached spots inside you that multiplied your pleasure from his thick digits touching that spongy spot inside you when they curled up.

Pleas for more were one of the only sounds that flooded his ears, tempting him to let you cum.

"Such a good girl for me, hm?" He hummed, "Alright- cum for me"

With his permission you came on his fingers, his mouth colliding with yours again to muffle the loud moans that left your lips as he groaned at the feeling of your cunt clenching around his slick fingers, separating from you right after and licking the coating off of them after he fucked you through it. The sight made you crazy for more- reaching for his collar to pull him down for another kiss, his hands now removing his outfit. Swiftly stripping, he wasted no time lining his throbbing cock with you, rubbing it up and down your folds to tease before he put it in.

He gives you no time to get accustomed to his size- his cock dragging against your tight walls as they sucked him in, a hiss flying free from his usually sealed lips. Catching him off guard had boosted your ego just a sliver, enough to where you started moving your hips to keep his rhythm when he stalled out of shock. His hands flew to your hips, a rough grip holding you in place and preventing you from taking control any longer. You sealed your lips shut as he became more dominant to not spur him on and let it be known that you were enjoying it way more then it came off as. He quickly caught notice and didn't let it stick for long, knowing just how to get you to open up for him

"hah- you wanna play like that, huh?"

He bit down on your shoulder making you cry of pain, the shriek sounding like music to his ears. Caught off guard from his teeth sinking into your skin, held in moans fell from your throat and put him in a trance- sensations from below making him go even harder. Your eyes were clouded with lust, tears dripping down your face and proved his point, his thumb coming up to wipe it from your face. Your were in a blissful state- completely drunk of his intense thrusts. You were so gone to the point- not caring if he knew you were having the time of your life now. You were enjoying it so much, you didn't know he was even talking to you until his movement had paused and you were forced to open up your eyes, meeting his dark and somewhat evil gaze.

"What'd I say, hm? Beg for it"

"H-huh?" You said, thinking you heard the man wrong. Since when did he think you'd do such embarrassing things just for his pleasure?

"You heard me, sweatheart. Beg."

Shit. You were fucked- quite literally.

Leaving no room for argument, you sat there still for a second considering your options before your mouth was wide and spewing out pleads of more from the cruel man.

"Please Suguru- fuck, fuck please keep going, please!"

"Hah- you wouldn't let Satoru or any of the others see you like this. That's right- beg for me, and only me!" A harsh thrust concluded his rant, making your eyes roll to the back of your skull as more tears had dripped down and rewet your stained cheeks, beads of sweat sliding down your forehead in tandem. Loud moans and strained yells had been coming nonstop from your throat- unable to control yourself because of his brutal pace, sparing you no mercy from his true strength and eagerness to have you only to himself.

You swore his cock had hit your cervix, carving its spot in you, you were sure you'd feel it there for weeks- you weren't even sure how you'd be getting up after this- or if you even could. His hand glided down your body and started rubbing circles into your swollen clit- making you yelp at the harsh sensation, knowing you were close, it felt like it was the biggest orgasm you'd ever have. He kept his rough pace, circling the bud with passion as his pace only got harsher, making you truly fucked dumb as you started to shake and crumble under his fingertips. The sight was absolutely thrilling to him, knowing he was getting close too.

"Oh fuck Suguru- haah-! Fuck m'gonna cum, mmph!" His hands wrapped around you in an embrace, holding you close and preventing you from squirming away from the powerful stimulation, his head landing in the crook of your shoulder and planting more soft kisses compared to his ruthless tactics down below. Your hands then wrapped around his torso, nails digging into the skin of his back- sure to leave some sort of mark as a reminder of what happened this night. He was then encouraging you- whispering in your ear and doubling down on the sensations, granting you permission as he nibbled on your earlobe, teasing you and sucking on it as his words came out like honey and dripped into your ear.

"Come on then. Cum for me, sweeheart"

And with that you were officially gone, squirting all over his cock as he fucked you good through it- only stopping when your hand was brought to his chest, gaining his attention at the foreign feeling. He kept on for just a bit more, his broken voice persuading you into just a few more minutes of his ruthless pistoning into you.

"Almost there, okay? Fuck- gonna cum inside this tight pussy- y'gonna have my babies?- Be real pretty pregnant." And before you knew it his seed had filled you, the warmth spreading and coating the walls of your cunt- you had never felt the sensation so deep inside you before until now. Before he pulled out, he trailed kisses from your lower stomach to your face, a long kiss being planted on your lips as thanks for complying. Though he didn't let the peace last long, he was a man of his word after all.

"A deal's a deal, no? Now tell me what the mission was- or i'll make sure you really can't walk and escape me"

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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

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Summery: You and Tom bet on who will touch the other first after he comes home from filming. Both refusing to give in you resort to some teasing measures to get the other one to break.

Pairing; Tom + female reader.

Themes: Light-hearted, lots of teasing. Established relationship. Fluff. Cocky Tom. Cocky reader too, let’s face it. They are both stubborn idiots. Lots of horniness all around. To be honest, very little plot and mostly smut. Bit of fluff as well though.

Warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Masturbation. This work is strictly +18.

A/N: Not beta-read, I’m wine drunk and wrote this in like 2,5 hours so it is what it is.

It was such a stupid fucking bet and he wish he never agreed to it. It is all your fault, he decides, as he watches you bend over into downward dog, your breathing rhythmic and even as you stretch your beautiful body. He tries to look away from your ass, honestly he does, but you’re wearing those light grey yoga pants that practically has him drooling and the fabric is hugging your body so perfectly it would be a crime to look away.

Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point of you doing this, practicing yoga in the living room right in front of him as he’s supposed to be working. The whole point is to have him staring, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

It had all started the week before he was set to return from filming. He had teased you (and sure, in retrospect that was a terrible idea and he should have known better) had said that you would jump him the first chance you got, that he probably wouldn’t even get through the door before you had him out of his jeans. You had retaliated with an accusation that he would be the one all over you and obviously he had to deny that.

It had spiraled, neither one of you willing to give in and admit defeat and now here you are; a full day after his return and he hasn’t as much as hugged you.

Because whoever touches the other first loses the bet.

And now here you are, in front of him; wearing skin tight yoga pants and bending over.

A part of him, the midsection of his body to be precise, wants to just give in; to hand you the victory - fuck his pride. But the part of him, the rational part he likes to think, that has him bashing up golf clubs every time his dad beats him in a golf round; refuses to give in.

So what if he hasn’t seen you, hasn’t felt your body in over three months? Or that he now has your magnificent ass right in his face as he’s trying to concentrate on his dull emails. So what? He’s not faced by that, he’s a man of the world after all.

You lean forwards again until you’re on the ground, turn to your back and start to slowly but steadily push your hips up and down, in what Tom can only assume, is referred to as the ghost fucking position.

“Aren’t you supposed to answer emails?” You ask and he doesn’t even need to look at your face to know that you have a smug smile on your face.

“I am” he mutters, looking away from your body on the floor and back to his phone screen.

You laugh, and he pretends not to hear it, while you pretend that the visible hard-on he’s sporting doesn't make you want to climb into his lap and give in to both of your temptations.

The bet was stupid and totally his idea.

Tom comes out of the shower, drops of water still pouring from his wet hair onto his sculpted chest. The only thing he’s wearing is the white towel wrapped around his waist and the silver Rolex on his wrist. Seeing you standing in the kitchen and slicing tomatoes he sends you his widest smile.

And you thought you were playing unfair with the yoga.

He sits down by the bartop, all bare chested and golden. “Anything I can help with?” he asks as you place the tomatoes in the salad bowl. “A change of music perhaps?”

You throw a left over piece of tomato at him and it hits him square in the chest. He just smiles wider, completely unfaced. “Leave my dinner playlist alone, yeah?” You tell him, resisting the urge to give him the finger.

“So tense” he snickers and leans his head to the side, “I know what could help you relax.”

“Throwing more tomatoes at you? Because we need them in the salad, Thomas.”

He stands up and moves around the kitchen island until he’s behind you, careful as not to touch, framing you against the bench with his strong arms on either side of your body. You can smell him, fresh out of the shower, feel the warm radiate from his body; it is as he’s already holding you. He’s so close, it’s like every cell in your body is reaching out for him.

And it’s been so long.

Three months of twisting and turning alone in bed, of only your own hands as company and him on the phone screen as he encourages you; tells you how goddamn gorgeous you look fucking yourself for him. Three months of only seeing him on the phone; not being able to touch him and feel him for yourself, to taste his skin. To just see him spill all over his own hand instead of being there, catching it all with your tongue.

But it will have to wait a little while longer, because although you might love him, and the way he makes you feel, there’s no way you’re giving in just yet.

Slowly turning around, carefully as not to touch him, you reach for the bottle. “You can open this, since you wanted to help” you say and hand him the wine, “that would help me relax.”

He smiles, unbothered by his failed attempt at luring you to defeat, and steps back. You stir the pasta sauce, trying not to look at his bare chest as he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, looking for something. Finally he finds the corkscrew and sits back again at the bar table. He gets to work with opening the bottle, his strong veined hand wrapped around the throat of the bottle, as the other inserts the screw. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he’s biting his lip. Around his wrist the Rolex watch reflects in the light. Uncorking the bottle he pours blood red liquid into two wine glasses and hands you one before taking a sip from his own, brown eyes looking at you from over the rim of his glass.

“Put a fucking shirt on, Thomas” you mutter, going back to chopping vegetables.

The song and dance of torturing each other continues for the following two days. What goes on between you can only be described as a red-hot war.

“Oh for fuck sake!” Tom’s voice booms over the living room.

“Too direct?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“No, no not at all” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “no please, keep deep-throating the banana, it’s incredibly subtle.”

Slowly he wakes, blinking into the dark night. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s just after 2 am and for a few long seconds he stares at it.

A rustling of sheets beside him in bed and it hits him. He’s home, home in his own bed with you laying next to him, as it should always be. Except that things aren’t the way it should be.

Because of that stupid goddamn bet.

The sheets rustle again and he wonders if you are awake as well. But then he hears it; a soft moan.

Turning over in bed at lighting speed he stares down at you. “Are you fucking touching yourself?” He asks, heatedly.

Your answer is another soft moan as you look up at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Tearing of the duvet he looks down at your naked body, at you hand, covered in slick, moving over your clit.

Fuck.

He moves over, leans over you; his legs on either side of yours and his arm on each side of your face, carefully making sure that he isn’t touching you. A slight catch of breath is all the sign you give of having been surprised, your hand keeping it’s gentle pace.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, voice low in the quiet room.

“You” is your breathless reply, “you touching me.”

“Think this is how I would touch you?” He asks, snickering. He’s holding his body over you, looking into your lust-filled eyes. “I’d go much slower at first, tease you. Slowly move around your clit until your hips are bucking up and you're begging me for more”.

He moves his head, so that his lips are almost touching yours. Almost.

“You’re so good at begging after all” he murmurs against your lips, moving his boxer clad hips so that they almost touch you and you groan, your face telling of vexation and volatile bliss. But you do as he says, follow his instruction with the movement of your hand.

“Good girl” he whispers softly against your lips.

“Then I’d slide one fingers inside that wet cunt, still slow; still teasing.”

You whine, but you do as he says. Slowly you move one finger in and out of yourself, as the other hand is still circling your clit. “Need more” you moan but he just smiles.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases with a devilish grin, tilting his head to the side, looking down at you with sparkling eyes. “But your hands are smaller than mine, so maybe you should add another finger.”

You insert your middle finger as well; and moan. “Faster” you beg, but he shakes his head and so a string of curses fall out your mouth and all he can do is smile at it.

“That filthy fucking mouth of yours” me mutters.

“Well if you shove your dick into it instead then this stupid fucking bet will be over and we’ll both get off.”

“You know, I’ve really missed your fantastic sense of humor while I’ve been away” he answers dryly, but with a smile.

“Tom” you whine. “I need more.”

He wants to kiss you so badly, to press his lips against yours and taste you; to remove his boxers and sink into you in one swift movement until your hoarse and wanton whines turn into satisfied moans, soft and sweet like honey.

“Go on then, darling” he says, voice huskier than usual in the dark night. “Speed up for me.”

You do, your body hungry for satisfaction, hunting your orgasm with determent, sharp movements.

“Fuck,” he swears, “fuck you’re soaked.” He looks down at your wet slit, your rapidly moving fingers, your hips bucking up to meet your hand. Looking back into your wild eyes he groans, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“The whole room smells of you” he moans, and it’s true. The scent of your arousal mixes with the scent of your perfumed skin and this is the closest he’s been so far to falter; to give in to temptation.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, soft moans escaping freely. He wants to touch you everywhere, feel the softness of your skin with his rough hands, his wet mouth, his teeth. He’s breathing hard and he hasn’t even been touched, but he feels the want of touching you in his bones.

He wants to wrap his lips around your hardened nipples. To suck, bite, lick and kiss them until you fall over the edge.

“So fucking beautiful” he breathes out. Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to look away from you. “But it’s my hand your fucking, remember? Think I’d wouldn’t fuck you harder than that?”

And god, he wish it was his hand you were fucking, wish he could feel you come; hot and wet and pulsing around his fingers. Instead he is left to watch. Watch as the movements of your hand speeds up until fucking yourself with a carnal kind of need, until you fall apart at the seams; luscious bliss spreading over your features, and your tense body relaxes until you soften against the mattress; loose limbed and starry eyed.

And he is left to take care of the his erection all on his own.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his chest and his muscles are taut as he forces his arms to carry his weight into another push-up.

“Thirty-six” he groans out, his voice strained and deep from the physical effort, curls of brown hair falling over his face as he lowers himself to the ground again. “Thirty-seven.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, your eyes fixed on the muscles of his back, and the way they move as he moves.

You feel agitated and frantic and in that moment you want nothing more than to lay down beneath him; look up at him as move above you with swift, powerful moments. It’s beyond reason, the carnal tug inside you as you watch him and it is absolutely maddening that he hasn’t given in yet to his desire; because you know he desires you, have seen it in his dark eyes, always following you around the room, over the last few days.

But you are not going to be the first one to give in.

“Forty-two” he moans out, and the sound of his heavy breathing and deep groans vibrate somewhere far inside you.

You’re not.

You just need a change of tactic, that’s all.

The pub is packed tonight, but the more secluded pool area section is scarce of people. Tom sips on his beer, scrolling through instagram; waiting for you, as the speakers blast out ‘Galway Girl’ for what feels like the hundredth time since he came in. He’s been visiting a friend while you’ve been at work, having decided this morning to meet up at the pub after for a meal and a game of pool.

A text pops up on the screen, beside your picture. It simply says ‘Look up’.

He does. And fuck.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, for all that is holy, surely you wouldn’t be that cruel to him.

Not the white shorts.

Not the white shorts you had worn last summer, the ones you know very well turns him on like nothing else. The ones you had worn that time when you had driven down to the beach on bonfire night; the time when you pulled him aside from the rest of the company and he had ended up fucking you against the birch wood tree just some meters away from all your friends, your shorts around your ankles and your nails digging into his back as you tried to bite back you moans.

Surely you wouldn’t be this cruel to him, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He hasn’t had sex in over three months and you show up looking like this and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

He’s just not sure about whether this is going to be heaven

or hell.

He watches you as you walk through the pub with long confident strides, the goddamn heels you're wearing extending your legs, and the fabric of the white tank top stretching over your chest. Your lips are painted blood red, as if you are ready for battle.

He’s not the only one in the pub staring at you but you keep your eyes fixed on him, burning into his eyes, as you move across the floor.

“Honey” you greet him. “Got one of those for me as well?” You nod to the beer in his hand, frozen mid movement to his mouth.

“Why?” He asks, trying to regain the upper hand. “Feeling thirsty?”

You laugh dryly, looking down at his crotch, where he’s painfully aware a bulge is showing. Instead of commenting on it he hands you the other beer bottle he ordered and watches as you wrap your red lips around the opening, swallowing down. He feels warm all over in the stuffy pub and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt.

He reaches for the cue sticks and hands you one. “Alright, darling” he sighs, knowing very well what kind of teasing hell you are about to put him through tonight, “let’s play.”

The playlist has gone from Ed Sheeran songs to Mumford & Sons and the pub is still packed with people, though the pool area remains empty apart from you and Tom. It's warm in there and Tom takes big gulps from his third beer of the night. He can feel sweat forming on his back, his brow, his chest.

You’re not helping the situation. Although he’s pretty certain that helping is opposite of what you’re trying to do.

“You’re so fucking annoying” he whines, as he watches you hit the white ball perfectly, resulting in two of your striped balls ending up in the pockets. He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and mouth in a thin line.

He fucking hates losing.

“You know what you should do?” You ask, lining up against the table, arched back as you bend over with your cue stick; giving him a full view of your fucking fantastic thighs, “try to fuck it out of me.” You hit another perfect shot and a third ball goes in. You look over your shoulder at him, still bent over the table, and wink.

Standing up straight you turn to him. Swaying your hips to the music you lift the beer bottle to your red lips and you swallow a mouthful. Placing the bottle next to you on the side of the pool table you walk over to him, standing so close you’re almost touching.

Almost

In fact, you might as well be, for he can smell your perfume, mixing with the scent of your shampoo. Can feel the heat radiate of your warm body. It’s been so long since he’s held you and his entire body is painfully aware of it.

With your lips just centimeters from his you whisper; voice husky and low, “I know how bad you want me, honey.” You move your face so that you’re almost kissing the stubble on his cheek, mouth nearly pressed against it.

“You want my hands” you whisper again, looking up at him, your hand hovering right over his erection, carefully as not to touch it, and he nearly bucks out to meet your hand. He’s glad that the area is more secluded, part of the wall hiding the pair of you from view. It feels like there’s just the two of you in the entire world; might as well be for all he cares right now. A blush colours his cheeks as he stares back at you.

“You want my mouth” you breathe against him, your lips curled into an evil smile. “You want my tongue” and you lick your lips before biting it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You wish I was on my hands and knees right now, so you could fuck my mouth.” you finish.

His skin feels tight and overheated, but he keeps his tone casual as he replies, “actually I wish you were bent over the table so spank that arse of yours, but sure, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie.”

“What’s stopping you? You think you can hold on forever? You know I’m not going to give in, Tom. You know me. Can you imagine going to sleep tonight? Untouched? Again?”

There’s no use he thinks as he plunges in for a kiss, pulling you tight against him; eager to touch as much as you as possible with impatient hands.

He tried to beat the devil at her own game and he lost.

“Think you lost, honey” you say between kisses as he’s pressing you up against the front door.

“Don’t give a flying fuck love, just keep touching me and I’ll die a happy man.” His voice is breathless and hoarse and his hands are all over you; as if he can’t get enough. Your hand is in his soft hair, holding on, as the other is cupping the bulge in his trousers, stroking him through the fabric as he whimpers in your ear.

“We should probably get inside,” you whisper. “Unless you want your neighbors to witness me give you a hand job on the front steps.”

He groans, but steps away from you. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown wide, spit from your previous kissing covering his lower lip. You imagine you look just as disheveled.

“Think you need to learn a lesson in delayed gratification” you tease, not being able to stop yourself.

His eyes go even darker and he takes a step forward again, cups your chin and looks you straight in the eye in a way that has bolts of excitement shoot up your spine. “Before the night is over” he says in a slow, gruff voice, “I will teach you all there is to know about delayed gratification.”

He digs in his pockets, pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door, guiding you in with a hand on your lower back.

He feels as if someone has lit a match under his skin. His whole body is screaming with vehement urgency for yours. His hands can’t get enough of you; his lips never want to leave your soft lips again. Your soft little noises are filling his head and he hardly even registers your hands unzipping his jeans; until you’re pulling them, alongside his boxers, off of him in a sharp tugging notion.

“Filthy girl, I fucking love you” he moans out between kisses as you wrap your soft hand around his hard cock.

He pulls at your tank top and for a moment your skin separates entirely from his as you step away, so that he can remove the fabric from you. Yanking at the goddamn jeans shorts he pulls them down around your ankles and you step out of them. Your underwear soon follows suit along with his t-shirt until you both are free of any inconvenient clothing.

He needs your warm and soft skin pressed against his, needs your soft little moans in his ear as he fucks into you, needs the taste of your sweet skin on his tongue.

He lifts you up on the bed and soon follows suit. Reaching down he slips a finger between your legs, feels how wet and warm and slick you are and groans loudly against your shoulder.

Lining up against you, cock in hand he looks at your lust filled eyes. “Next time I’ll go slow, yeah? I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is your hands on his shoulder, pulling him against you and he slips inside you with an ecstatic moan. You moan as well, wrap your legs around his hips. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of you with greedy dragged out jabs. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room and mixes with your whimpering mewls.

You are so hot and tight and wet around him and the pleasure is so intense it’s bordering on painful. His face is so close to yours, it is as if you are sharing breaths.

He wants to punch himself from denying himself this for several days when he already had to go without for months.

“Did you think your hands could stand in for mine while I was away? That it could measure up at all?” He asks you, voice thick with lust. He’s so full of want for you and you’re all soft noise and wandering hands. Your warm breath on his even warmer skin. His lips on your nipples; kissing, sucking, biting.

You writhe beneath him, unable to lay still as you buck your hips up to meet his; fucking into him. He’s not going to last long but neither is you and holding on is a losing battle. Like he said, next time he will go slower, gentler, softer. Drag it out for an entire night. But you both have too much built up pressure inside you to last now. He feels like a bomb about to go off, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, as he fucks into you with even greater force. You’re hot and swollen and hugging onto him so perfectly he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon.

But he knows that you are close. Feels it in your nails, dragging along his back, in the sharp movements of your thrusts, in your laboured breathing against his shoulder. He feels it in the way your cunt squeezes around him.

“I’m coming” you whimper and he wants to cry from the relief as he feels you spasm around him.

“Fuck” you moan out as your breathing calms down, and he’s holding you pressed against his chest. “Haven’t had a decent orgasm in months, I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You really can’t function without me, can you?” he says with a smug smile and honestly, hadn’t you’ve been so blissed out you probably would have bitten him.

A/N: I honestly don’t know if any of this made sense. I’m drunk and tired and I’m going to bed. If you read it, please leave your thoughts.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

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rafescoke · 3 years

Text

Crime ; Rafe Cameron (Part 2)

masterlist

Read the previous part: Part #1

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: Reader would do anything for the boy she loves from a summer ago.

Warnings: Story takes place at the start of season 2 (and some flashbacks from season 1), swearing, angst, death penalty, gaslighting, reader just needing help

“Get the fuck away,” she said against the pattering of the rain, still walking tiredly. She tried to blink to clear off her eyesight, but the rain was getting heavier. She hated the fact that her only choice was to get into the car, or else she would probably be sick until the end of the summer.

The car stopped, and whoever in that car sighed. “I don’t have time, and I won’t leave you alone. Get in.”

“Fuck off,” she said again, feeling her tank top sticking to her body. She felt extremely cold now, not wearing proper clothes or bringing some type of an umbrella.

“Get in,” he sighed again, and when the lightning struck a tree not far from where she was standing, she realised she really didn’t have a choice.

She placed herself into the Range Rover, wetting the seat and the carpet, and she could hear the faint music coming from the radio. She didn’t dare glance at the boy beside him, and he didn’t waste anymore time before hitting the breaks and speeding down the road.

“So you’re stalking me now?”

Rafe laughed, “I won’t call it stalking. Perhaps protecting.”

(Y/N) scoffed, watching the car freshener swaying from the rearview mirror. It was the freshener from before, and (Y/N) wondered if he ever changed It.

“What are you doing at the Chateau?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, slightly shivering from the rain before. “Why? Are you mad?”

He stayed shut, his eyes focusing on the road, and (Y/N) crossed her arms again.

“I saw you kissed him.”

“Of course,” she laughed shrilly, not looking at him. “What else did you see? Did you stalk me in New York too?”

He shrugged, “Should’ve.”

“Fucking psycho,” she muttered under her breath. “Now what? You’re going to kill me like you murdered that sheriff?”

She watched as Rafe’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his eyes staring straight at the road. For a second she was afraid of him, but knew he would never hurt her, not when he loved her a bit too much.

“I fucking hate you,” she spat, crossing her arms. “And I wish I’ve never met you.”

“Say that again, and I’ll fucking kill you,” he breathed, and (Y/N) gritted her teeth. She watched him from the corners of her eyes, his fingers still etched onto the steering wheel, his face contorted in anger.

“You should be in jail,” she said again, and she didn’t know why she wouldn’t just shut up. She guessed she was probably tired of being treated like shit, and she wanted to put an end to it.

Rafe accelerated the car, driving straight back to Figure 8, and all those time they didn’t speak, just sitting in the silence as (Y/N) cried, thinking of what she had gotten herself into.

She was covering up for a crime.

If this news ever goes out she would never get a place in college, and all of her future dreams would be ruined.

She jolted out of her thoughts when the car stopped abruptly, and she looked at the view outside. The bold font of ‘Kildare County Sheriff’s Station’ greeted her, and she turned to look at Rafe quickly.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” She grunted, her heart beating wildly.

“Go. You’re done covering up for me? Go. Go and fucking tell them that Rafe Cameron murdered Sheriff Peterkin!” He expressed, his eyes flaring up in anger. “Isn’t that what you fucking want?”

(Y/N) stayed silent, her eyes glassy. The boy in front of her was breathing heavily, and she noticed how different he was from before.

His face had become smaller, and his cheekbones were more apparent. He didn’t slick his hair back anymore and just let them messily part, and his glowing blue eyes were now dark.

She held him in her hands, placing her forehead against his. “I don’t mean it like that, Rafe.”

Rafe closed his eyes, breathing into her scent that he had missed so much, and his hands instantly went up to her hair. He bit his lips, feeling her now, and wished he would never have to part from her again.

“They’re having a hearing for John B,” Rafe said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they’re calling you for the hearing too.”

She sucked in a breath, knowing this was bound to happen, “Rafe, I-”

“I’m not forcing you to cover up for me,” he whispered, “I get it if you won’t do it anymore. You hate me, and it’s okay. I would do the same.”

The tears were streaming down her face now, and she couldn’t bring herself to wipe them away. She held him close, still caressing his face, and bit her lips to stop a whimper.

“My dad’s going to ask you to cover up for me, and it’s okay if you won’t do it on the day of the hearing,” he continued, and she watched a tear roll down his face. He quickly wiped them away, pulling himself away and sighing before the steering wheel. “I just want you to know that I love you.”

“Rafe,” she sighed. This was exactly the problem; seeing him so weak under her, and she wanted nothing but to stay with him forever.

She held him close as he sobbed onto her lap, running her fingers through his hair.

Would she do it? Would she actually do this?

“I’ll do it,” she said, and Rafe quickly looked up to her, shaking his head. “I’ll do it,” she repeated, her eyes certain.

“You don’t have to,” he said, cupping her face. “Oh, baby, thank you, I love you so much. I love you so much.”

The news about (Y/N) having to stand for the hearing wasn’t accepted well by her parents, and Mr (Y/L/N) argued until the night sky settled in with Ward about how this will affect her college applications, to which Ward promised he would do everything in his will to help her get into the best college in the states.

The hearing was set not until next week, but (Y/N) could already feel the pressure building up in her stomach. It was between justice and Rafe now, and she didn’t know what to choose.

Rafe had been there with her throughout the whole week, just staying in bed with her, hugging her close and never letting go. It was just like their usual Sunday mornings last year, but this wasn’t as peaceful as that.

“I love you,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against her forehead. (Y/N) shifted, so that she was facing the other way, and she wished she didn’t have to have such a hard time thinking about what she would be saying during the hearing.

All her life, she was told to always tell the truth, especially when there’s somebody falsely accused. But she loved Rafe too much, and she wouldn’t let him go even for a second again.

It was the night before the hearing that Rafe had to leave and see her tomorrow when Mrs (Y/L/N) entered her room, placing herself beside the lump under the blanket.

“Hey, mom,” she said, her voice croaky.

“Hey,” she smiled weakly, placing her hands against her cheeks. (Y/N) leaned into her touch, and wished she was still a little child. “Did Rafe do it?”

“Huh?” She sat up straight, rubbing her eyes. She laughed nervously, “Mom, what are you saying?”

“All I’m saying is,” she sighed, “It’s okay if he did it. You can tell me, (Y/N). I’m always here for you.”

She so badly wanted to tell her mother, to confess about the whole thing and cried against her arms. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to part with Rafe again, and she wouldn’t do it even for a few seconds.

“He didn’t,” she lied, laying her head against the pillow again. “It was John B.”

“Okay,” she nodded, but (Y/N) could feel that she knew all along.

“You must do the right thing, okay?” Was all she said, before she placed another soft kiss against her forehead and left her to cry her heart out until the morning sun appeared.

. . .

(Y/N) glanced at Rafe and his father behind her, and quickly looked back at the judge. She closed her eyes, feeling so shaky, and cleared her throat.

“I was with Rafe, we were just there to send, um, Ward off to the Bahamas. I was, uh, alone with him,” she started, her voice so shaky she felt as if she had just confessed the truth. She cleared her throat again, “We saw, um, Sheriff Peterkin and um, John B, Ward and Sarah.”

“Did Rafe Cameron shoot Sheriff Peterkin?”

It felt like a slap across her face, and she didn’t know what to do. She glanced at John B again, in his orange suit, looking at her with pleading eyes. She looked her parents, determined that she was not guilty, and back to Rafe, who was on the edge of crying.

“(Y/N)? Did Rafe Cameron shoot Sheriff Peterkin?”

(Y/N) thoughts wandered to the first time she and Rafe had sex. It happened in a party, and (Y/N) never regretted her actions on that day. That was only a few days after he had asked her to become his girlfriend, and 4 days away before the murder of the sheriff took place.

“You’re drunk,” she laughed, pushing him onto the sofa before climbing on top of him. This was usual between the two of them, always teasing each other but never really acting on it. But (Y/N) felt different that day, and she wanted the whole him.

“Oh yeah?” He raised a brow from under her, his fingers playing with the hem of her skirt. He turned her over so she was now under him, and she giggled ferociously, closing her eyes. His fingers trailed down to her cheeks, and he bit his lips as she let out a whimper.

He leaned closer, his lips nibbling on her earlobe. She groaned, tugging on his head, “What should we do then?”

“(Y/N), did Rafe shoot Sheriff Peterkin?”

(Y/N) looked up to the judge, her eyes glassy and her lips trembling. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and voiced out her own version of truth.

“It was John B who shot Sheriff Peterkin.”

The whole crowd went wild, Kie was screaming from the back, and she could hear Ward exclaiming happily, satisfied. She bit her lips, knowing she just committed a crime, and looked at John B.

Rafe went to put his arms around her, whispering an ‘are you okay?’ to which she nodded at, but she was far from okay; she felt like screaming her heart out.

Rafe placed another kiss against the back of her head before reclaiming his seat beside Ward, his body relaxing.

“John Booker Routledge, pursuant to the North Carolina statute section 14, you are charged with murder in the first degree with aggravated circumstances. The maximum sentence would be the death penalty.”

The crowd broke out into chaos again, and (Y/N) had never felt weaker than before. Rafe quickly pulled her up, whispering comforting words into her ear, all while Kie and the other pogues tried to surround her.

“(Y/N), it’s not too late-” JJ tried to reach her, “(Y/N), please. Don’t fucking do this to me! You know the truth!”

“Fucking move,” Rafe muttered, still wrapping his arms around (Y/N) and walking towards the exit. She felt lifeless under his touch, so weak she could feel herself fainting.

She just sent someone to a death penalty.

“Murderer!” Kie yelled, just before Rafe could put her into the car, caressing her hair and letting her drop onto his lap, trembling intensely.

“You’re fine,” he whispered, soothing her hair as the car drove away, and the screams behind her slowly disappeared. “You’re fine.”

He kissed her on her forehead, “Thank you, baby. I love you. I love you so much.”

Her head had never felt more painful, and she could hear a ringing tone thrumming against her eardrums. She tugged on Rafe’s wrist, pulling him close. All in all, she was glad to be back into his arms.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagines #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smuts #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #outerbanks #outerbanks imagines #outer banks #outerbanks x reader

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Text

Hot Chocolate Kisses

A/N: It’s nothing much, but it is something so tender and soft. I love Frankie and fluff! Why not have both? Tis a little thank/happy holiday gift from me to you. Enjoy 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: pregnant reader, references to sex, sweet sweet fluff!

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Good morning," the sound of his soft voice accompanied by the feel of his arms around your midsection was enough to make your heart flutter. He placed a soft kiss to your shoulder before resting his head there and humming in content, "how are you, honey bee?"

"Good morning, mi amor," you replied softly, taking one of his hands that had been resting on the gentle swell of your belly and bringing to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, "I'm perfect. What about you, Frankie? Did you rest well?"

"Like a dream," he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before reluctantly letting go and moving towards the coffee pot. Once he poured a cup and made it to his liking, he came over, and followed your line of sight out into the yard.

There was nothing but mountains of glittering snow coating the entire neighborhood as far as the eye could see. Small children were already playing outside, all bundled up in thick snow jackets and woolen hats, while dogs ran around their yards barking and biting at soft, fat flakes that were gently drifting down from the heavens.

"Record snowfalls," you looked at him with excited eyes, "which means we are snowed in and work is canceled. Do I even try to pretend to be upset?"

"Hell no," his smile was infectious as his singular dimple appeared and his soft eyes crinkled in the corners the way you adored, "I get to spend the say being lazy at home with my girl? I'm not going to argue with that."

"You know what today calls for," your eyes were wide and bright as the two of you knew exactly what a snow day meant. You'd come up with your own little traditions a long time ago and always pulled them out on days like this.

"You just want an excuse for hot chocolate!" Frankie's tone was lovingly accusing as he crossed his arms over his chest as he took a sip from his mug.

"No!" you insisted firmly, offering him a small little pout, "your daughter is craving some. Ever since you knocked me up that's all I've been wanting! And I don't need any excuse for hot chocolate. Hot chocolate isn't a crime!"

"First of all, this -" he pointed tenderly to the small bump just visible under your sweater, "was a team effort. Secondly, you've always loved my hot chocolate, long before any of this. She had nothing to do with this!”

"Obviously," you stuck your tongue out at him, "but you make it all fancy and gourmet. How can I say no? She's not helping though! I swear it's a craving."

“Your mamá is already using you as an excuse,” he laughed as he rested his hand on your belly. You instantly felt her move and flutter under his touch; she always seemed to be more active when he was around. Even though you were trying to have a seriously teasing conversation, the moment was enough to make your heart melt, “can you believe it, mija? She just doesn’t want to admit she’s addicted to the world’s best hot chocolate.”

“I can quit it any time I want,” you snorted with laughter at his silly antics, “I just choose not to. Now, don’t deny your pregnant wife what she wants!”

“What does she want?” there was a wicked little glint in his eye as you raised a brow at him.

“Well for starters,” you pointed at the cabinet, “some hot chocolate later. But how about breakfast for now? And a warm bath after that? I swear I’m getting as bad as you old man, my back is killing me.”

“Hey now,” he warned with a small boop to your nose, “you’re getting awfully cheeky for someone who wants my hot chocolate. You’re on very thin ice, honey bee.”

“You know I’m only kidding, Francisco,” you gave him a quick kiss as you went to the refrigerator to start gathering ingredients for breakfast, “besides, you’re my favorite DILF.”

“Oh no,” his laughter was a loud, beautiful thing as it sounded throughout the kitchen. You turned to him and shot him a cheeky little wink, “not you too! Everyone’s calling me that lately, I swear.”

“They can look but they can’t touch. I mean, have you seen yourself Frankie? You’re handsome as hell, you’re amazing, wonderful, kind. Everything,” you insisted as you rejoined his side, You could already see the light flush of color in his cheeks as he relished your words, “and you’re all mine. Besides, I’m half the reason you’re a DILF. Where is my recognition in all of this?”

“I love you, honey bee,” he stared at you in awe for a moment before turning so he could kiss you properly. It took you by surprise but it took even less to respond back; kissing him was such saccharine bliss, “you are everything to me.”

“Good,” you beamed at him, “now let’s get this ultimate lazy day started!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Those might have been our best pancakes ever,” you wolfed down the last syrupy bite before pushing away your empty plate, “I feel as stuffed as a damn turkey.”

“You’re the most beautiful and radiant turkey I have ever laid eyes on,” he joked as you lovingly groaned at his silly words, “I’ll clean up and you can start the bath. Plan?”

“Plan,” you agreed as you slid off the bar stool and started padding towards the kitchen. As Frankie busied himself with gathering up the empty dishes, you turned around and watched him for a moment, nothing but a gentle warmth radiating throughout your body, “Frankie? You’re going to join me, right?”

He turned to you and offered you his megawatt smile as he slowly nodded, a rogue curl bouncing around and falling onto his forehead. Gods, he was so effortlessly handsome and sweet. You couldn’t stop yourself from rushing over to him, delicately grabbing his face as you pressed a kiss to his lips, still tasting the faint sweetness of the syrup, “what was that for?”

“Nothing,” you grinned breathlessly, “I just love you is all.”

“Oh,” a flush of pink tinged his cheeks as he brought his hands to your face, delicately tracing over your features before pressing the softest kiss to your lips, “I love you too.”

“I know,” you beamed, “now hurry up so we can take a bath!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were humming under your breath, sitting at the edge of the large tub as you watched it fill up with warm water. There weren’t very many requirements you had when the two of you had been house hunting before deciding to expand your family - but a large bathtub was one of them. Moments like this made you glad for it; you loved being able to slip into the tub, often dragging along Frankie with you, not that he had any complaints of course. It was perfect for the two of you, and now that you seemed to be growing by the day, it was even better.

Pulling your favorite bottle of bubble bath off the shelf, you poured some in, inhaling deeply at the relaxing scent. All the stress and worries you had were already dissolving away with each passing second. Once you were satisfied with the copious amounts of soft bubbles, you threw in some Epsom salt for good measure, hoping it would help your aching body. Deciding to make it even more festive, you grabbed the speaker from your bedroom, and turned it on, opting to play some soft Christmas music in the background. It wasn’t like you were going to be paying much attention to it anyway; your conversations with Frankie always seemed endless, no matter how long the two of you had been together.

“Close your eyes,” Frankie came into the bathroom just as you were finishing getting everything ready. You closed your eyes, making a show of putting your hands over your eyes as you heard him shuffling in, “okay, pick a hand - left or right.”

“Hmmm…” you mused for a moment, “how about left?”

“Lucky guess,” he chuckled as he pulled your hands from your eyes. A little grin spread across your features when you saw what he was holding in his hands, “surprise!”

“Frankie,” his name was but a mere soft sigh as you reached for the soft, cozy pajamas he was holding out to you. You could spy a matching pair for him on the counter, your heart fluttering in delight. It had become a sort of little tradition for the two of you to get new matching holiday pajamas every year. It was just some silly thing, but it still meant the world to you, “I love them. Thank you so much - you remembered.”

“Of course,” he held out his hands to you, slowly hoisting you to your feet, “I wouldn’t ever forget.”

He slowly reached for the hem of your sweater, gently pulling up and over your head and outstretched arms before tossing it on the floor. He followed suit with your bra, unclasping it before letting it join your sweater and doing the same to your leggings and underwear. It was such a small intimate thing, the way his eyes looked over you was nothing short of adoration and reverence.

“Your turn,” you whispered before starting to unbutton his flannel, taking your time to undo it one by one. Shrugging it off his shoulders, you pressed a few kisses to the soft, golden skin of his shoulder before moving onto his jeans, wicking them down his legs along with his boxers. He made a small sound in his throat before stepping out of his jeans and pulling you into his arms. The gentle coolness of his wedding band on your back was wonderful; a delicate reminder of just how much he loved you.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed kisses along your jaw and down your neck, a hand running down your side as he rested it on your waist, taking solace in the gentle swell of your belly. He still couldn’t believe your daughter - his daughter, one that came as a small surprise and blessing was in there. One he had never known he wanted so much until you told him you were pregnant and he broke down crying, as emotional as you were. You, the two of you, were everything for him.

“Hmm,” you mused, “you’re not so bad yourself. I guess we both got pretty lucky, huh? I love you so much, Francisco. More than you will ever know.”

He looked back at you with those brown eyes you adored so much, and you could see that they were glossy, close to spilling over with tears. You reached up and touched his cheek before brushing away a stray curl.

“Come on,” he held your hand as you motioned towards the tub. He got in first, settling down before holding his arms out to you. Carefully, you settled in next to him surprising him for a moment as you occupied the other side. Before he could say anything, you gathered up a handful of bubbles, and blew them at him, watching as they stuck in his dark mop of hair, “playing dirty are we?”

“Maybe,” you splashed him with the warm water, “you have to play nice, I’m pregnant!”

“You started it!” he splashed you back as you squealed in delight, “don’t start what you can’t finish!”

“Oh, it’s on! It’s so on,” you laughed as you tried to move the bubbles closer to your half of the tub, “you’re going down!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Do you have enough blankets, honey?” Frankie walked back into the living room, arms filled with a few more big, fuzzy blankets. You looked up from the comfy couch, during the numerous blankets you’d already secured and gave him a big grin. You were already feeling so toasty and warm in your new pajamas after your bath, and this just made it so much better. He snorted with laughter at the sight of only your head poking out, “oh.”

“It’s freezing!” you insisted, digging your arm out and pointing at your feet, “pile them on! The only thing I’m missing is your body.”

“I have a few more things to do first,” he put the blankets down and wrapped them around your feet, “gonna start a fire and then go and make the hot chocolate. You, my little bee, are in charge of finding our first movie. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“As if that’s a question,” you joked as you reached for the remote, as he went over to the fireplace, “you just need to hurry up!”

"You are getting so demanding," he laughed as he kneeled next to the fireplace and started to pile some of the logs in. He started to hum softly under his breath as you watched him, absolutely in awe of the man you were able to call your husband. The sight of him in the same pajamas as you was endearing and caused you a moment of pause as you pictured doing this next year with him and your daughter.

You often wondered what she would like, although you both knew that the only thing that mattered was that she was healthy and sound. But a small part of you hoped she'd take after Frankie, to have those gentle chocolate eyes and dark curls. Maybe she'd take after you, or maybe -

"Everything alright?" Frankie turned and caught your distant gaze on him as she started to light the fire. You hadn't realized you'd gotten so lost in your little daydream.

"Yes," you smiled at him, "just thinking..."

"Thinking about...."

"Its silly..."

"If it matters to you then it's not silly," he insisted, making a small sound of satisfaction when the fire started to crackle away merrily.

"I was just thinking about next year," you admitted shyly, "you know how we do the matching pjs every year? I think it would be fun to do that with the bean next year."

"I love the sound of that," he agreed, "that'll make a great Christmas card!"

"Yeah," you agreed as he brought you a pillow to rest your head on, "you really do think of everything, don't you?"

"Only for my bee," he promised with a wink and a kiss, "I'll go and make the hot chocolate. Classic for you today?"

"Surprise me!"

"Be back," he promised as pointed at the television, "now pick something good out!"

»»————-　♡　————-««

It seemed like it had been a small eternity since Frankie had left to go on his little adventure of hot chocolate making, and you'd long since found a suitable movie. You started it but kept it paused as you waited. But soon you felt a flutter in your belly. A contented sigh escaped your lips as you put your hand on your tummy where you felt her moving around.

"I know baby bean," you told her gently, "I miss him too. Even when he's gone only for a few minutes. You're gonna love him so much, just like me. He's going to be the best papá. We already love you so much. We can't wait to meet you."

"Talking to yourself?" just in time your knight in cozy pajamas came striding back in with two delicious steaming mugs of hot chocolate.

"I am never alone anymore," you reminded him as he came and cozied up next to you, "I've always got the bean. And we were having a private conversation, thank you very much."

"Please don't let me interrupt," he passed your mug over before pulling blankets over his form and you curled up in his side. You grinned at the full mug, admiring how perfectly he had made it. It was a classic, a layer of mini marshmallows followed by a layer of whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate and caramel syrup.

"Thank you, Frankie," you beamed as you took a long sip, savoring the creamy sweetness on your tongue. You heard a soft chuckle before Frankie reached over and wiped off the whipped cream from your nose, "oops!"

"Good?" he asked as you nodded eagerly. Before he could stop himself, he leaned over and gave you a soft, saccharine little kiss. He lingered against your lips and you could taste the sweetness of the hot chocolate that was clinging onto him. He grinned before giving you a few more pecks, each sweeter than the last, "even better. Now, start this movie and let's get this marathon on the road!"

You clutched your mug to your chest as Frankie brought an arm over your shoulders and you pressed play on your first cheesy holiday movie.

»»————-　♡　————-««

It wasn't long before you felt your eyes start to get heavy as you finished your mug of hot chocolate. You were about to move it to the coffee table, but Frankie beat you to the punch, grabbing it from your hands and setting down before pulling you into his lap.

He wrapped his arms around you as you laid against his chest and let the soft rise and fall of his chest relax and lull you.

Soon enough your eyes closed and everything seemed distant. You didn't even try to fight it as Frankie pressed a kiss to your cheek. One hand was holding yours, your fingers laced together and the other was resting on your belly. It wasn't long before you were completely under the siren spell of sleep and snoring quietly in his arms.

"I love you, honey bee," he whispered ever so gently as he relaxed too, growing more tired by the second, "and you too, baby bee. You two are everything."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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rafesgfs · 4 years

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thank u, next (ft. loki) - part two

Warnings: angst, swearing, jealousy, mentions of sex, violence

Word count: 5.7k

Summary: A mission goes wrong, leaving you stranded with the two men who despise each other, competing for your attention.

Or: In which Steve breaks up with Sharon after realizing how much he loves you, only to be put on hold while you spend time with Loki.

Tony kept glancing at you, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to figure out what kind of mind manipulation Loki had hexed you with. Natasha was torn between proud and shock. Clint had been positive it was a prank on his behalf until he had learned it was true, the archer studying you, wondering if you were under Loki's influence. And Bruce—well, he still couldn't get over the shock to actually word his opinion.

Steve, on the other hand, wasted no time blaming Loki, accusing him of using his magic to manipulate you into bed. When Thor has came back with news that Loki hadn't—with Heimdell being all knowing and watching—it had made Steve go to Fury, who had shown emotion on his face other than boredom and disappointment. Yet the surprise wore off and the director found it not relevant as the issue had not broken one of the rules Loki had agreed to.

The super soldier had hit the gym in a hurry, pounding the sandbag, probably wishing it was Loki. And Thor, like everyone else, it took him time to process it but unlike everyone, he barely gave it a thought. With word from Heimdell, knowing that his brother wasn't planning anything to harm you or the others, he was at peace with the situation as long as it was two consenting adults.

As you sat in the conference room, waiting for Steve and Loki to show up for the meeting, you wondered why he thought it was okay to overreact to something so...normal. People have sex, he must've known that you weren't any different. And unfortunately, Fury has picked the same day to spring a mission on the team, forcing all of you into a room, not caring about the act you committed with Loki.

Loki came in first, dressed in his usual black color, a suit almost identical to the one he wore the day before. Even from across the room, you could easily spot the hickeys he kept, a bunch peeking out from under the suit. It had given you a sense of pride and embarrassment, going down on the God of Mischief.

He caught your eye, the corner of his lips turned up, twitching without their permission. Loki wouldn't admit it out loud but he liked you to the point of sacrificing everyone in the room to save the one decent person who hadn't judge him. Everyone had turned to look at him, following his every move whilst he moved to the empty seat besides you.

The one that everyone knew was Steve's. Yet, no one said a word, secretly enjoying the show.

"Greetings," he said curtly, nodding once to everyone with an expressionless face. They all nodded back to him, Tony covering the smile that was trying to force itself on his face. Loki turned to you, sitting down in Steve seat as he gave you a smirk, amused by your attempt to cover up his marks. "Hello, angel."

The nickname alone wanted to make you want to ditch the meeting for a dick appointment with the Asgardian, the name slipping from his tongue. The same name he had whispered into you ear as he thrusted into you. Instead, you gave him a small smile, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together. "Hey."

Loki noticed the motion, his smirk widening. Pulling the chair closer to your own, his arm leaning up against yours. Leaning in, he put his lips to your ears, ignoring everyone's stares, including his brother's. "Your attempt to cover my hard work is very amusing, love."

"Loki..." you warned, using the same tone you had last night when he teased you too far, wishing for release. There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Shut up, not everyone has magic."

"All you have to do is ask, although I prefer to see them on your skin." Loki whispered, not caring how many people team members had subconsciously leaned in, straining to hear what the raven-haired God had to say.

Before you could answer, the door opened, Steve and Fury entering. The super soldier had an exhausted look on his face while Fury kept his emotionless facade up. Steve started walking towards his seat, so distracted by the uncovered hickeys on your neck to notice it had been taken. The blond did a double take, seeing Loki in his chair. If it wasn't for the barely contained anger in his eyes, you would've bursted out laughing at his comical expression.

The team stayed quiet, their eyes glued on the silent war between the two men. Loki nonchalantly looked up, his lips brushing against your hair as he pulled away, smirking at Steve. The silence was broken by Fury's tired sigh.

"Well, hello, Captain." Loki sneered, not having any intention of getting up. Steve's eyes stormed with anger, a tick away from letting loose. The God of Mischief pointed to the chair across from you, the one next to Tony, giving the super soldier a pointed look. "You should take your seat."

Tony muffled a snort at Steve's scowl, yet America's Sweetheart didn't move a muscle, glaring at Loki. Fury rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Rogers, take a seat next to Stark. Loki, stop being an asshole. Back to business."

Steve followed Fury's order, sitting down besides Tony, his angry expression turning blank, waiting for whatever Fury had to say. Yet, his eyes still looked murderous, often glancing at the lack of space between you and Loki. Tony didn't hide his amusement, biting back a laugh, and trying to focus on whatever Fury was saying while the rest of the team kept looking at Steve, expecting him to reach across the table and punch Loki back to Asgard.

"While you agents were partying, drinking all your problems away, SHIELD got a tip from an undercover agent." Fury started, sliding your folders across the table, giving you something to look at other than the tension between Steve and Loki. You opened the folder to find pictures of blood-covered bodies. "Normally, we wouldn't bring the Avengers into a mafia-related crimes but this one's different.

"The Chinese Mafia is after a USB flash drive, one that we suspect, contains secrets that could bring down the American government. Emphasis on could; SHIELD isn't that well informed on what exactly the flash drive holds." Fury continued. Looking at you, he called your name. "Along with Rogers and Laufeyson. I'm assigning the three of you on the mission. You'll get the mission details as soon as Agent Hill gets here. The rest of you are irrelevant. Everyone go away now."

He left the room before anyone could even move a muscle. The team glanced between Loki and Steve, trying to figure out what they felt. It was clear neither of them were too happy about going on a mission together but the photographs of dead bodies made them bury their resentment down, for the sake of the government and all, but mostly for your sake.

Tony cleared his throat, trying not to burst out laughing. "So, Cap—"

Steve called out your name, standing up from his seat. "Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone? It's urgent."

"Yeah, sure." you said, following him out the door without looking back at the rest. You didn't notice the way Loki oozed with madness, his eyes deadly. Steve led you away from the view of room, stopping in the middle of a private hallway. It was secluded enough, yet Steve kept fidgeting like someone was listening. "Steve, I know you aren't particularly fond of Loki but he's a good—"

"I broke up with Sharon." Steve blurted. You stopped talking, your mouth open from your earlier words. The blond ran a hand through his hair. "I broke up with her last night, just before the party started ... before you walked in with Loki."

"That's not what it looked like."

"I was trying to be her friend, just like I'm trying to be yours." Steve explained, almost begging. "I never got the chance to apologize for hurting you. When you came back from Asgard, it had been too long for me to even mention it without it being awkward. So, I didn't. I wanted to but you didn't want to spend time with me anymore. And that's my fault, I'm not blaming you for being hurt. I understand what I did was so selfish, and wrong. It was wrong and if I could go back in time, I would've never done it."

You closed your gaping mouth, a little surprised by the apology. Rocking back on your heels, you awkwardly looked everywhere but at him. "Okay, um, thanks?"

Dejected, Steve nodded, his head hanging from the lack of sympathy in your voice. "Yeah. I wanted you to know. That's what I was coming to tell you this morning, but instead found you in bed with .... him."

"Uh," it was all you could say. Clueless of how to respond, you started to back away slowly, like there was a bear coming towards you. "Okay. So ... I'm gonna go. Get prepared for the mission or whatever. I'll see you later."

Before he could utter another word, you walked away, feeling completely numb by the news. There was a part of you that wanted to forgive him, another part was feeling satisfied for his pain, and the last was confused. If he had been telling the truth—breaking up with Sharon before the party—then why hadn't he told you or apologized when he came to talk to you? It made you question whether he was just jealous or genuinely sorry for hurting you.

You weren't ready to forgive him yet, not after he made you doubt your self worth. Thor had made you feel better when you had came to him, showering you with golden gifts, shoes, and brotherly love. Despite popular belief, Loki wasn't that much different than his brother. Yes, he wasn't a people person, but he was gruffer, rougher, meaner...sexier. He knew what it was like to feel unwanted, feeling the need to show how powerful he was. If you had been in his situation—and you practically almost were if it hadn't been for Natasha—you would've taken the same road he had.

Speak of the devil, you bumped right into him, his chest only covered by a black silk sweater. With all the heavy thinking you hadn't realized you had walked back to your room. Gathering your thoughts, you looked up at his blue eyes. "Shit, sorry."

"Are you well, angel?" Loki asked, genuinely concerned. He had heard every word Steve had said, and to Loki's dismay, they had all been true. Loki hated Steve as much as Steve hated him, Steve had a reason and so did the God of Lies. The main reason? You.

You nodded, seeing how your room was messy. Books and blankets were on the ground, a broken glass scattered on the floor near your bedside table, a lamp covered in feathers, and last night's clothes strewn around the room. "I'm fine. But my room isn't, holy fuck."

With a wave of his hand, Loki cleared the room, the disastrous mess cleaned up before your eyes. He gave you a smile. "There. Director Cyclops wanted me to inform you and Sleeping Beauty that Maria Hill is in the building. She's ready if we are."

"Great. One thing before we step out this room: be nice."

"I'll try."

—

The mission was far easier than you originally thought. It was less than 24 hours, meaning you wouldn't be trapped in a designated safe house with them, or would you be in any kind of trouble. Just like Fury had said, it was an extract mission. Get the flash drive, get out.

Unfortunately, we'd be forced to go to a gala, one of those unnecessarily fancy parties where the champagne was watered down and the men showed how powerful they were with girls clinging onto their arm. It was a pre-kidnapped Tony Stark kind of party. Thankfully, you had more than a few practice with walking in heels.

The two men were able to put their hatred aside to focus on the job, Loki's magic still restrained even with the urgency of the mission. Maria Hill had filled you in, giving you all the details, the layout of the building, and all the places they suspected the drive to be. The plan was to fly to Hong Kong, get dressed for the party in the Quinjet, attend the gala long enough to find Zhang Wei, and run with the USB flash drive. Simple enough.

The flight from New York to Hong Kong was tiring, even with the eight hour slumber you had, finding yourself in Loki's arms once again. Fortunately, Steve hadn't seen you with Thor's brother, knocking this time and finding you alone, reading the mission file for the millionth time. He had smiled, probably happy he didn't see Loki in your room. That smile didn't last, dropping as soon as he stepped in the Quinjet, greeted Loki and saw the quick smile you sent the raven-haired God. It tugged on his heartstrings; you used to smile at him like that.

At least they kept their snide comments to themselves, only sending the other a glare when you weren't looking. As soon as you looked up, a slightly perplexed expression would come on their face, like they were trying to think of a word that rhymes with orange. Yet, you didn't dare question it, leaving the topic alone and quietly stewing in the testosterone-filled aircraft.

When the Quinjet finally reached Hong Kong, you had already changed into your formal wear. Loki didn't have to move to change his clothes; instead he used his magic, making him look presentable in a blink of an eye. Steve had frowned on that, but decided to let it go considering he had a lot to make up to you. Getting into a fight with your ... whatever Loki was, would not be a great start.

Getting ready for the party had been easy, the dress fit you just right, your hair being in the mood to cooperate, and even your makeup was flawless. The reaction from Steve and Loki certainly didn't help your ego, their comical reactions to your beauty had been amusing and slightly embarrassing.

Steve's mouth has hung open, his jaw unwilling to close while he stared at you. "Wow. Y-you look gorgeous. Wow."

"Truly breathtaking, love." Loki added, licking his lips in appreciation. If there was one thing both he and Steve could agree on, was the way you always turned heads. If anything, Loki wanted to make you his goddess—he just didn't want to admit it to himself just yet.

And since you were too emotionally invested, you took the easy way out and rolled your eyes. Dressed in their tuxes, they looked like they stepped out of a Hugo Boss ad. "Thanks. You guys clean up well."

Steve was too busy admiring you to notice Loki pull out a diamond encrusted ring, not exactly a engagement ring from Jared but one of those rings you get with friends during a drunken girl's night out. Loki stepped up to you, bringing your right hand, placing the ring on your index finger.

"The ring ... goes well with your dress." Loki explained, watching you stare at the ring he had placed. Steve's wonderment has turned sour, a little sad by the gesture. "It was my mother's."

"Loki," you gasped softly, knowing the how special their relationship had been. Thor had explained how Loki spent most his childhood with Frigga, spending his time learning magic, being a mama's boy. With Frigga dead, Loki must've felt some resentment to those dark elves that had been responsible for her death. "I can't— I can't take this."

Loki shrugged, brushing away a stray hair on your cheek. "Yes, you can. You will. It looks beautiful on you. Don't you agree, Captain?"

To be completely honest, Loki had forgotten Steve had existed until his heart faltered at the mention of Frigga. Steve didn't like the way the ring looked like it belonged on you, almost like it had been made specially for you. He nodded, agreeing with Loki once again. "Looks beautiful."

Before it could get any more awkward or embarrassing, an alarm had sounded, the noise saying you from any further feels. All three of you moved to the front, seeing how you hovered a few feet off the landing spot assigned for the Quinjet. With the many SHIELD headquarters, it wasn't a surprise they had in Tokyo just as modernly technical like the one in New York.

The limo ride that took you to the party was tense. Maybe it was the mission that was about to go down, or that awkward moment in the Quinjet. The navy blue, floor-length dress was silky, the fabric soft against your skin. The one-inch straps that came together at the back of your neck accentuated your cleavage, brining them to look bigger than they were. It clung to your curves, but not tight like the dress you had worn the yesterday. This one was far more elegant.

Wrapped in your thoughts, you hadn't noticed when the limo had stopped, the crowded building to your right. The doors opened, both Steve and Loki reaching out a hand to help you out of the limo. Taking them both, you snaked an arm around both of theirs, letting others know you had two dates. You thought the red carpet leading to the entrance was a bit much, even for the Chinese mafia.

Two suited men opened the double glass doors, revealing the fancy gala. Dangerous men and mafia families filled the large room, eyes flickering to your entrance, widening when they realized who had entered. They knew your dates, but SHIELD had made sure to keep your place on the team a secret for missions like this one. No criminal would trust an Avenger, but they might be dumb—or arrogant—enough to be manipulated by a "mole" in SHIELD.

The talking stopped briefly, only to turn to hushed murmurs before they continued as they had before. Both Steve and Loki turned down the campaign, not trusting whatever was put in the liquid. Looking around the room, there was nothing out of the ordinary, well, for a party held by a mafia of course.

"Should we proceed as planned?" Loki confirmed, surveying the room as he tried to find his own target. He locked eyes with the man he needed to distract while Steve and you would sneak away and find Zhang Wei and the flash drive.

Steve nodded, slyly touching his earpiece hidden by his growing hair. You had no idea how Tony convinced him how to grow it out but you were going to thank him later. "Yes. Keep in contact and check in every ten minutes. Be careful."

Loki nodded, heading off to his target but not before giving you a reassuring smile, tiny enough for no one else to notice but it was enough to ease your worries. Yes, he's an all-powerful god but that didn't mean he couldn't die.

Turning to Steve, you smiled at him, almost naughtily. Eyes twinkling with evilness, you hold out your free hand, challenging him with your eyebrows. "Would you like to dance, Stevie?"

You've never seen so much fear in someone's eyes come in such a short time. Steve's contained so much fear you were worried he was going to combust. "Um, I d-don't really know how."

"Why, that's a shame, Captain." a man behind you said. Turning around, you found yourself only a foot away from the mafia leader himself, Zhang Wei. Steve's jaw clenched at the unprepared confrontation. Zhang turned to you, holding his unnaturally thin hand out. You could see the bones through the thin skin, shivering at the sight. "Would you like to dance, darling?"

Taking the opportunity, you nodded, taking his hand, hoping Steve would get the hint to not look so stiff. "I would love to."

Zhang took you to the almost empty dance floor, the music starting as soon as his foot hit the designated area. Smiling maliciously, he tugged on your waist, pulling you close for a proper dance. "You look beautiful, my dear. I'm certain your date is jealous I stole you away."

"He doesn't mind." you answered, returning the smile. Glancing at Steve, you saw him glaring at the back of Zhang's head, burning a hole. "Steve is rather hesitant when it comes to dancing, so, I'm sure he doesn't mind you helping a lady out."

The mafia leader's smiled widened. His eyes briefly landed on Loki, narrowing slightly at the way he interacted with his second in command. You took the brief amount of time to inspect him, noticing how much thinner he looked. With eye bags under his eyes, bones peeking through his hands, and the way his footsteps faltered ever so slightly made you realize he isn't going to be hard to take down. He may be the big bad criminal but from the looks of it, he was dying.

Zhang Wei nodded. "You look familiar. Have I seen you before?"

"I'm an escort. You may or may not have seen me on a bunch of powerful men's arms." you lied, flashing him your most charming smile. Zhang raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards Steve with a tilt of his head. "Steve's the same, poor baby was too shy to ask anyone to be his date."

"Didn't think Captain America would have such a hard time finding a date." Zhang mumbled aloud. He kept the false smile on his face. "If the time came, would you tell me your name, in case I can't find myself a date?"

"Tatia Sinclair." you lied, twirling in his arms.

The mafia leader nodded. The dance floor had filled up, nearly overcrowding. It took you a second to find Steve with all the bodies in the way. Zhang cleared his throat. "What a lovely name. Tatia, darling, would you accompany me to my study? I have to fetch something special of mine and would like you pleasant company."

Steve snarled your name through the earpiece, Loki's growl following along. Again, the super soldier and the god agreed. Steve murmured your name. "Don't."

Ignoring his order—and unnecessary concern—you grinned, taking Zhang outstretched arm. "I would love to."

He led you to the elegant stairs while you discreetly turned off your earpiece, no longer wanting to hear Steve's overprotective ass grumbling about sticking to the plan. If he had checked his folder, he would've seen you were sticking to the plan, just not the way he wanted.

The walk to his office was a slow one, considering how sick the mafia leader was, you weren't surprised when he was out of breath just from climbing the stairs. You didn't comment, instead helping him out and pointing out random things a dumb escort would say. Your personal plan was to make this guy underestimate you, and with the way he was looking at you, he was convinced you were just a body with no brains.

He opened the door to his mahogany office, the room was just as elegant as the party below, oozing power and money. Zhang went to his desk, opening his cabinet. From where he left you, you couldn't see what considering how he held it in his hand without opening his palm. A knock at the door stopped you from asking.

Surprisingly his right hand man came in, the one Loki was supposed to be distracting, at least long enough for us to figure out where the flash drive was. And guessing from the amount of evidence, you were guessing the flash drive was in the mafia leader's hand. He glanced at you, tilting his head at Zhang before speaking.

They talked in Chinese--surprise, surprise--a bit fast for you to fully decipher but the gist of the conversation had been finding a safe, more guarded location for the drive considering both Steve Rogers and Loki Laufeyson were in the building, just a floor below them. The two men paid you no attention as you tried to look clueless, bored, and in all, dumb. In their eyes, you were just checking out the room when actually you had been trying to find more dirt. If it wasn't the drive in his hand, it had to be close by.

"Tatia." Zhang called out, using the fake name you had given him. You turned around, a little glass globe in your hand. You raised an eyebrow, twirling the little sphere. "Would you excuse me? I have some rather pressing issues that need to be dealt with."

And once again, the door opened before you could answer the question. This time, at the door stood Steve and Loki, a man laying on the floor between the two. From the way both their suits were a little ruffled, they had enough waiting and decided to take action. A few appeared out of knowhere, tacking the two but you were left alone to deal with the men in the room. Zhang reached under his desk, where you had discreetly took the hidden gun while they had been talking.

Zhang's second in command quickly pointed his loaded gun at you, and you at him, your eyes reflecting the same emotion: hate. The man spoke to Zhang, keeping his gun steady while Zhang tried to get away. Even for a dying man, he moved fast, leaving you the choice of shooting his second in command in the knee. He cried out, firing his gun out of anguish but you were faster, quickly following Zhang, leaving a big group of men to fight Loki and Steve. They would be able to handle it.

Running in heels was always an annoyance to you, considering how unnecessary they were on missions. They looked hot but the fact that you were forced to wear them was a little sexist. You'd have to talk with Fury about that.

The halls were lit up with chanderliers dangling from the ceiling, all of them shining brightly. For someone who had been limping out of the room, he had been fast, or was hiding but the fact was that you lost him. You could still hear the grunts from where Loki and Steve were punching the fuck out of those mafia men.

You slowed, looking at the painting-decorated walls in search of some kind of secret door, maybe a fake wall. It sounded ridiculous but at the compound, Tony had a bunch of hiding spots, a few you knew and others you didn't. It was infuriating.

The hallway must've lasted forever, and you were convinced he had vanished into thin air. Then you spotted a cracked door, it was enough to be left opened on accident, but that didn't mean it was. With caution, you walked slowly, holding your gun in front of you. With your foot, you cracked the door open, entering a room of complete darkness. From what you could tell, there were no windows, and most likely a fake safe room.

Still, you flipped the light switch on, the room lighting up with it's obnoxiously bright white paint reflecting even brighter with the light. Scanning the room, you noticed how it smelled slightly sweet, the sweetness making you slightly dizzy. You shook your head, trying to find something wrong, like a hidden wall, or maybe another escape route from inside the room.

It didn't take long for you to realize the sweet scent was toxic, the side effect making you dizzier, the room spinning under your feet. As soon as you grasped the wall for support, Zhang came from the wall beside you, the little door opening to reveal the mafia leader holding his own gun, the flash drive in his hand as he taunted you with it.

He laughed at your weakened state, aiming his gun at your heart. It triggered your fight or flight and even with the side effect, you decided to fight. He was weaker than you, slower, his aged brain not processing you running at him. His gun dropped on the ground, along with the USB drive as your hand wrapped around his neck, pushing him against the wall with all your remaining strength.

Zhang had to been immune to the fast-acting toxin while you crumbled, unable to hold your body with the dizziness and fatigue bringing you down. Taking the upper hand, he knocked you over, his fist colliding with your jaw. You grunted, pouncing for the gun and flash drive, hiding the latter in your bra while the mafia leader shook his hand in pain.

Just as you had wrapped your fingers around the barrel of the gun, you heard the gunshot, and felt it hit your shoulder. Your hand was useless, your body way too weak from the toxins to defend yourself against the man, at this point just hoping they would find the flash drive in your bra when they autopsied you.

Another bullet was fired, and this one right on your arm, the pain numb. Maybe this was the way you were going to die, but at least it wasn't painful. That was the best you could've hoped for. And then another bullet was fired, but you didn't feel it, the fire inside you too hot for you to even register the pain. You laid on the ground, eyes drifting close. Zhang dropped dead a couple of feet next to you, his head bleeding out.

Your vision had already blackened when you felt Steve knelt down to you, pulling you into his arms. You were unconscious by the the time you figured out Steve had killed.

—

You woke up to the sound of the irritating beat of your heart of the monitor, and heavy breathing. Despite the very difficult task, you opened your eyes, instantly regretting it when you were met with a blinding light. Thankfully, it went away, revealing where you were in the Medbay, laying on the stiff bed with needles pierced into your skin.

Steve got up from his seat beside you, instantly hovering over you with a worried look on his face. If you hadn't felt like shit, you would've thought his face was permanently like that. "Hey, hey. Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"Am I in hell?"

He let out a strained chuckle, taking your hand with the both of his. His furrowed eyebrows remained furrowed, his forehead filled with crinkles. "Sweetheart? How do you feel? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?"

"Holy fuck, you're spitting in my face. Steve, I feel like shit but I promise I'm fine. Come on, don't you don't have to worry so much." you replied, wishing you could do something other than lie in pain.

"You're fine? I watched you get shot, held you in my arms while you bled out in front of me. If it wasn't for Loki, you'd be dead. Don't you understand how not fine that is? What the hell were you thinking?" Steve raged, letting go of your hand to pace around the room. Judging from the lack of sunlight coming from the windows, it was nighttime, the whole compound barely lit.

"Did you find the drive? I had it—"

"Are you actually worrying about the flash drive when you almost died? Do you not care whether or not you live?" Steve blurted, throwing his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated with how the conversation was going.

"Where's Loki?" you whispered, your eyes slowly closing. You fought to keep them open, hoping for an answer and wishing you could postpone this argument with Steve until morning when you finally could argue back.

Steve calmed down, appreciating the God of Mischief a lot more when he saved your life. "He's filling out Fury on the whole situation. And we found the flash drive, which made Fury gleam with glee."

"Good." you yawned, letting your eyes close knowing Loki was safe and found the flash drive. Steve whispered something but you were already too far gone, falling asleep as soon as your eyes closed.

Loki came into the room a few minutes after you fell asleep, stepping up next to Steve who had been staring your sleeping form. The raven-haired God pulled up a chair, his eyes never leaving your face. "How is she?"

"More worried about the aftermath of the mission more than herself." Steve answered, his voice wavering for a second at the thought of losing you. The super soldier turned to Loki. "Thank you for going against the rules and using your magic to save her. I think it's safe to say you won't get into any trouble, especially with her fighting Tony about it."

Loki shrugged, waving away the compliment. "You would've done the same if you could've."

A beat of silence passed before Steve spoke again, more determined than ever to win back your trust. "I like her, you know?"

"I care for her, too." Loki replied. "And I know that you care for her but don't you understand that I'm far better for her than you ever will? You hurt her. You broke her trust. I may only know her for a few days but I know breaking trust is important to her. To earn it back—"

"Would almost be impossible." Steve finished, his eyes dropping to the bed. "But I have to try. I really like her."

"As do I. And I'm not giving up."

"Neither will I."

< previous next >

#chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #implied smut #jealousy #tony stark #captain america #marvel #tom hiddleston #love triangle

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years

Text

Moral Insanity - Andy Barber smut

The one where you’re Jacob’s friend and Andy fucks you on a balcony.

Warnings: this is divorced! Andy and college! Jacob, so while there’s a definite age gap there, reader is legal. So other warnings go: semi-public sex, a lot of dirty talking, no daddy kink on this one, which came as a surprise even to me, curse words and really rough sex. p in v, porn with little plot, masturbation (f). A/N: Kinktober Day 27 prompts were sex on a balcony or window + “Don’t cum yet”. Hope you guys like this one, I feel like it was a good one, but if I had more time, I could probably make it better. I think that’s kind of the sentiment behind the whole kinktober, actually.

Andy’s P.O.V.

Even the strongest of wills caved when faced with a sweet enough temptation. All it took was one look and I knew she was mine.

Perhaps I should have known better than to let Jacob invite his friends to our beach house, but I was recently divorced and in desperate need to feel cool again, even if I knew that trying to be seen like that by my own kid would only lead me to the opposite direction. And maybe I also forgot just how old he was, ignored that he was now in college and saw the image of his teenage years when I looked at him, because the truth was, when I saw her walking in, I was frozen in my spot.

I didn’t even consider that my son was old enough to have sleepovers with girls now. And when I had to confront my own desire for the much younger girl who he introduced as a friend, in my own eyes, he grew up too.

But I still had to face the reality that she was undeniably young enough to be my daughter.

“Good morning, Mr. B.” My head automatically whipped around to look at the ray of sunshine personified in the body of Jacob’s college best friend. I’d heard about her before, obviously, and even teased him about being embarrassed to admit that he was dating her, but now that I knew the girl I could only acknowledge the fact that she was way out of his league.

Maybe I shouldn’t retroactively feel relieved about their relationship being so innocent, but I was way past denying the attraction I felt for her. My goal now was to keep it hidden, despite just how enticing she was.

“Good morning, Y/N. You do know you’re on spring break, right? There’s no need to keep waking up so early.” I chanced a glance up at her, to find her looking out at the balcony, towards the sea.

“I know,” she nodded, her eyes still focused on a distant point before they suddenly met mine. “I just like to keep you company.” I didn’t know what to say, so I just resumed my previous activity of frying bacon, letting the silence of the morning fill the space between us. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Maybe because in the last few days I’d had the chance of striking up many conversations with her - which only added to my attraction, since she was an incredibly intelligent woman - so I felt like I knew her enough, by now. Enough for what, I didn’t know.

“Well, the eggs are ready. Will you accompany me to breakfast?” We made idle chit chat before two of her friends made their way downstairs, my signal to leave them alone. As much as I liked to view myself as young at heart, I remembered just how weird it was when adults tried to force their presence into a group, and I wasn’t about to do that.

Just before I left, her eyes met mine in a longing stare, and it felt like she wanted to say something, but refrained from doing so. But perhaps it was just my hopeful imagination, wanting her to like my company as much as I enjoyed hers.

The next time I saw her, it was lunch already. Jacob and his friends had spent the day between the beach and the pool, while I remained in the bedroom returning some calls from the office. When I finally joined them downstairs, I was once again shocked by the view of her glistening wet body in what could only be described as a barely there bikini.

She caught me staring, that much I knew and I couldn’t really admonish myself for my lack of restraint, not when I hadn’t seen that much of her body yet and it was driving me crazy. Besides, I definitely wasn’t the only one staring, perhaps just the only who really shouldn’t be doing it.

“Why are you pouting?” Was the first thing I asked her when she approached the kitchen island where I fixed myself a sandwich, making sure to keep my eyes on the bread slices in my hands, instead of on her chest.

“You left me alone with dumb and dumber! In the middle of a conversation about the Supreme Court! You really know how to make a girl feel interesting, Mr. B.” My heartbeat sped up in my chest, my mind racing with the possibility that she was flirting with me. Was she? How could I know?

From my experience being single, I knew the only way was to slowly reciprocate it and hope for the best. Hopefully I’d be able to get out of it if she ever called me out on it. “You are interesting, Y/N. I’m the one who’s a boring old man. Say, what happened to the bathing suits you were wearing until today?”

My question made her look down to her own body, like she didn’t remember what she was wearing until I asked. When she did return her eyes to mine, she was biting her lip, though it was hard to assess if it was due to embarrassment or excitement for my acknowledgement.

“I lost a bet to the other girls. They gave me one of their bikinis to wear for the day, knowing I don’t usually wear them because they make me uncomfortable.” She looked downright adorable, the pout back on her lips at the memory, and I had to shake my head to swipe away the thought of leaning over and kissing it away.

“Well, I think you look great.” That was all I considered safe to say, but I did throw a wink in her direction before picking up my plate and moving to my bedroom, where I still had some work to go through while I ate. I didn’t look back to witness her reaction, but hoped she’d be at least a little intrigued by my sudden expression of interest.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“You sure you don’t wanna go with us?” I nodded patiently, confirming for the upteenth time that I did in fact desired to stay back at Jacob’s huge beach house instead of following my friends to a noisy, sweaty club. I’d never really liked those environments, so it wasn’t that weird that I ditched them for whatever crime show was on tv for tonight, but in the back of my mind, I knew it was more than that.

I wanted to see Andy again. I wanted to have the opportunity to talk to him without the fear of being interrupted or judged. So really, it wasn’t any surprise to me that after everyone left for the night, I could barely sit still in front of the television, quickly deciding to turn it off and go look for the man that had been plaguing my thoughts for the last few days.

I paced in front of the door to his room for a while before finally gathering the courage to knock, expecting him to open it and follow me downstairs so we could talk. So I was beyond surprised when he simply ordered me to get in without even asking who was there, but I hesitated only for a few seconds before complying.

It was clear by Andy’s expression that he wasn’t expecting to see me, and all at once I realized he must have thought it was Jacob that wanted to speak with him, after all, no one else had probably ventured to this part of the house besides his son and himself. So I was beyond sheepish as I remained by the door when he lifted an eyebrow to ask me what I was doing there. “I thought you guys had gone out to a club or something.”

“I-I decided to stay back here and I was wondering if you wanted to chat.” Now both of his eyebrows were lifted, like he couldn’t believe what he had heard. In the seconds of silence that followed, my mind finally processed the fact that what Andy was wearing weren’t swimsuits, but boxers, and there wasn’t anything else covering his body from my wandering gaze. His hair was wet, too, like he’d just gotten out of a shower, but none of that distracted me from the fact that in those few seconds of silence, his expression changed from incredulous to something entirely different, something I couldn’t really pinpoint, but made my body feel hotter than the sun.

“You wanted to chat?” The question sounded more like an accusation and I found myself giving a step back when I realized that Andy had crossed the room to stand right in front of me, his eyes taking in every inch of skin the bikini exposed. “You wanted to chat,” he repeated, and I gulped before opening my mouth to explain myself, even though I wasn’t entirely sure of what I should be explaining, when his hands found their way to the door behind me and he closed it before settling them in the dark wood, caging me between my escape and himself. “You come into my room when your friends are out and we’re the only two people in the house, dressed like that after spending the last few days driving me absolutely insane, and you tell me you want to chat?”

Andy’s P.O.V.

God fucking damn. This girl had to be completely unaware of her effect over me or absolutely intent on having me going crazy over how badly I wanted her, because it was impossible for her to have waltzed into my room without knowing that this was how I would react.

Still, I had to admit it came half as a surprise even to myself, so maybe I shouldn’t judge her too harshly. Maybe if I hadn’t just tugged one out to the thoughts of her and spilled over myself so badly I had to take a shower, I would be able to ignore the temptation. But as it were, she’d just incited the beast within me, and all I needed was the confirmation that she wanted this just as badly as I did so I could take her exactly like I’d been dreaming about for the last few days.

She heaved as she looked up at me with unmistakable lust-filled eyes, and I felt an insurmountable amount of pride spread through my chest at the knowledge that this desirable young woman was affected by me.

“Well, now that you’re offering me an option, I’ve been wanting your cock in my mouth.” The surprise that hit me over hearing those words fall out of her innocent lips was soon overtook by my desperate need to have her, and with a growl, I pulled her by the back of her head to meet my lips in a furious kiss.

Completely immersed in the taste of cinnamon on her lips, I bit on the lower one to beg her for entrance so I could graze my tongue on hers, taking up the opportunity to finally feel her body against mine. I pressed her up against the door, running my hands over her body before I reached the back of her thighs, pulling her to wrap her legs around my body.

In a few quick strides, we were through the open doors that led to the balcony from where I had a perfect view of the sea, and when I let her go to stand on her own legs, she looked around, clearly confused about my choice of place.

“Did you think you could tease me like that and not get punished? Oh no, you tempted me publicly, I’ll fuck you right here.” It was easy to see that the shiver that ran through her body wasn’t completely due to the wind that was caressing our bodies, she was aroused by the idea. Still, I knew she had a fight in her, so the second she opened her mouth to argue, I lunged at her, capturing her lips with mine again.

The beauty of a bikini. One simple movement and the top piece was on the floor and my hands were full with her breasts, my fingers occupied with circling her hardened nipples as I kept kissing her with all that I had.

“Now, princess…” Leaving her lips to kiss down her jaw, my fingers found their way inside her little bottom piece before they teased her, testing her wetness to find her dripping for me. “I know you said you wanted my cock in your mouth, but I think we can leave that for later, huh? Right now, I really need to have you. So you’re gonna cum real quick, with my fingers deep inside this tight pussy, before I bend you over the rail and rail you.”

I fucked her quickly and harshly, making sure to hit her sweet spot every time when I managed to find her, while I distracted myself from my throbbing cock by nibbling on her earlobe and imprinting her scent in my memory. When she did cum, it was with a breathless gasp as she held tightly onto my biceps, and I groaned just from the feeling of her tightness squeezing my digits.

“I gotta have you now.” That was all the warning I gave before I did just what I promised, bending her over before pushing her bikini bottoms and sliding home. Our moans echoed each other, only fueling my arousal to a point where I couldn’t really wait for her to adjust to my size. So I just started pounding into her, keeping a grip on her hip and another on her hair as I watched her ass slap back against me, her breasts bouncing with the force of my thrusts.

“So fucking tight.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted metal in an effort not to cum too quickly, but it only made me hornier. “C’mon, sweetheart. Tell me how much you love being ruined by me. Don’t you wish your friends would get back sooner, so they’d see just how great you are at taking my cock?”

She cried out at my words, her legs shaking with the effort to keep herself up, but the sight before me was too fucking pretty to let her go. “Been dreaming about my cock deep inside this pretty pussy, haven’t you? Just like I’ve been jerking off to the thought of these pretty little lips wrapped around it.” Having pulled her against my chest by her hair, I rubbed her lower lip before pushing my thumb inside her mouth, where she eagerly started to suck just like I imagined.

“Won’t have to think about it anymore, will I? Because you’ll let me fuck you any time I want. Every time I get hard thinking about you, you’ll bend over for me to take you and I won’t have to say a single word.” I could feel her pussy clenching periodically because of my words, but I wasn’t quite there yet. I still needed a few more minutes of fucking this tight young pussy and I wanted her to cum with me, so I ordered, “Don’t cum yet,” giving a quick slap over her clit before holding her by her throat so I could kiss her cheek.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how badly you wanted my cock, how much you want my cum and I’ll let you have it. I’ll let you milk me dry inside this pretty little pussy until it’s dripping out of you.”

I knew she was having a hard time trying to contain her orgasm, but she still managed to beg me while holding the hand that was pawing at her breast. “Please, Andy, Mr. Barber. I need your cum inside of me, sir. ‘Ve been thinking about it for so long. Please, let me cum with you.”

The sir did it for me. With one last command for her to cum, I allowed myself to release deep inside of her, sliding my hand to her lower stomach so I could feel myself and making her clench again at the feeling.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, catching our breath while staring out into the ocean, until my softened cock slipped out of her, and I gave her a quick kiss on the shoulder. “It’s a pretty view,” she murmured, and I chuckled before turning her to look at me.

“Not as pretty as you. And hey, as great as this was, I want you to know that I really want to get to know you better, Y/N. Talking to you every morning has been the highlight of my day and I’m in desperate need of something like that.”

She smiled before standing up on her tiptoes to deposit a quick kiss on my lips. “Sounds good to me, Mr. Barber. Now, have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

#kinktober 2020 #kinktober #andy barber smut #andy barber #smut #my fics #andy barber fic #andy barber fics #andy barber reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber oneshot #andy barber ff #andy barber fiction #andy barber writing #andy barber writings

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athenawasamerf · 4 years

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Feminism in Egypt, Part 2

FGM

FGM has a long, bloody history with African and Arab women. Some people say it originated in Ancient Egypt; others lean more towards it being a Bedouin Arab tradition. I’m not here to discuss the origin story of one of the most horrific human rights infarctions on earth. I’m here to talk about the current feminist struggle against it.

FGM was outlawed in Egypt in June of 2008, and a 2014 survey showed that a whopping 92% of married women and girls between 15 and 49 years old have been subjected to FGM (I will talk more about the inclusion of 15 year olds in official surveys of married women in a post about child brides), and that 72% of these crimes were carried out by doctors. In 2008, a DHS survey of women and girls in the same age range showed that 63% of them were in support of FGM as a practice. Of those 63%, 60% cited husband preference for ‘cleaned’ girls, and 39% cited religious reasons. All of these are easily googleable facts, but these things always sound so clinical when they’re presented like this. Cold, sterile, detached. So, let’s get a little deeper into it, shall we?

Girls in Egypt are mutilated anywhere between birth and marriage, but mostly before the age of 15. These are children. Every single year, we have cases of babies, toddlers, children, young women dying from botched mutilations and infections, especially after the 2016 criminalisation of FGM practitioners. Parents will take their daughters to backwater clinics, or have ‘doula’s who have no medical experience of any kind visit them at home, and cut into the flesh of their young daughters with non-sterile equipment, often without anaesthesia.

I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who got topical anaesthesia that wore out halfway through. I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who were dragged, kicking and screaming, and held down by family and neighbours forcefully as their bodies were torn into. Of girls who bled for days, of girls who had to have their legs bound to each other for weeks, of girls who couldn’t stop screaming in pain every time they went to the bathroom, to complete apathy and even disgust and anger from their families, of girls who were snarled at for making noise while their bodies were being torn away on their own beds, of girls who still have constant pain over a decade later, of girls who hate themselves and hate their vulvas, and hate their lives. Of girls who are suicidal, of girls who are terrified of marriage, who have trust issues, who can’t handle the thought of anyone touching them there again, after the first time being so traumatic and painful and horrifying. All of this is done while the family, and even friends and neighbours, celebrate in joy. It’s even tradition in some rural areas to take all the female children of the family to get ‘fixed’ together, dressed in pretty dresses and fancy shoes.

I’ve also heard of women who are asexual due to trauma, whose husbands rape them continuously, who are abused for refusing sex, whose families disown them for being such a disgrace, whose husbands divorce them and leave them for dead, whose husbands marry multiple women besides them, and they are left to fend for themselves, unable to get a divorce and move on, and completely abandoned by the people they trusted the most. They’re told the angels will curse them all night for refusing sex, but what about their trauma? What about their feelings? What about them, as people? Nobody cares.

So, how did we get here? There are 3 main reasons.

The ’’religious’’ folk will cite a (weak) hadith as their proof that FGM is a good, healthy practice. It goes that the prophet saw a woman going to get her daughter cut, and he told her to ‘not cut severely, as that is better for the woman and more preferable to the husband’. Apart from any implications of misogyny in this hadith, it has been disputed multiple times, along with a couple others in support of FGM. You can read more about that here.

Regardless of the truth of FGM having Islamic support, the reality of the matter is that a huge amount of actual, real life Muslim people cite these hadiths as their reasoning to mutilate their daughters, and everyone sees that as completely justified. The truth of the matter is this: Someone put these hadiths into the public conscience knowing full well they will be used to abuse, maim, hurt, kill women for centuries. Whether that someone was prophet Muhammed himself or later scholars, no one can actually ever know.

The second, more indirectly religious and directly misogynistic reason, is to ensure ‘purity’. You see, as I’ve talked about before and as many of you already know, women in Islam and in MENA in general are seen and treated as property. The family’s honour lies between a woman’s thighs. A young girl who speaks to boys her age in the most innocent context possible can be subjected to house arrest, beatings, forced stopping of her education, even death, for daring to put the family’s honour in jeopardy. A girl who has a boyfriend, well...

In a society that places so much value not only on women’s virginity, but also on their complete removal and separation from the male sex at any cost, it’s not very surprising that tips and tricks like using FGM to ‘cull a woman’s sexual desire’ spread like wildfire. Girls are mutilated to make sure they don’t become wh**es. This is said frankly, openly, it’s common knowledge. If you refuse to hurt your child in this way, you will be met with disdain and disgust, and even wails of despair, with shock, with animosity. “Do you want her to become like a prostitute and ruin your family name? Do you want her to walk around uncontrolled? Don’t you know what shame she will bring on you?” These statements are directed at girls as young as... in the womb, if you show your dissent early enough.

And the final reason is the least of them to hide under religious pretences, and the most misogynistic: Because this is how men prefer their wives to be.

You might think when I say preference here, I mean it in the way I mean, “Oh, I personally prefer brunette hair,” but you would be sorely mistaken. By prefer here, I mean demand. I mean a man could force his grown wife, through physical force or through abuse, to mutilate her body for his satisfaction. I mean that men will sneer at un-mutilated women. I mean that men will beat their wives on their wedding night to within an inch of her life for ‘cheating’ them if the wives are not mutilated. I mean men will suspect their wives of adultery and murder them, which carries a reduced sentence of ‘time served during investigation’, just for the simple act of having intact genitals. I mean men will divorce their wives on their wedding night for being unharmed, for being whole. I mean men will act so entitled to women’s bodies that they will always have the assumption that the ‘product’ they are ‘buying’ is cut to taste, and they will become violent and aggressive and murderous if they find out this is not the case.

I personally don’t know whether or not I’ve been mutilated. With such high numbers in Egypt, the likely answer is yes, but I genuinely have no clue. I am not allowed to ask about these things, or I’ll be seen as a loose wh**re. My parents would beat me up and they still wouldn’t allow me the dignity of knowing whether my own body has been altered against my will. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out.

The feminists fighting constantly for tighter regulations, for harsher punishments, for longer sentences; these women are seen as the spawn of the devil. Accusations of loose morals are thrown their way day in and day out. Death threats and rape threats (’that’s what you want anyway isn’t it?’) are hurled at them from every direction. They are silenced. They are ridiculed. But they are prevailing. This year, the Egyptian president has decided to alter the FGM laws to cover loopholes, and possibly to increase enforcement. He has also altered the charge set to doctors who perform FGM which results in death from manslaughter to first or second degree murder.

The problem, however, remains in lack of reporting. Ever since the criminalisation of performing FGM in 2008, and the setting of punishments in 2016 as a minimum of three months’ jail time, to a maximum of 2 years, or a minimum of 1000EGP to a maximum of 5000EGP fines (63.71 to 318.53 USD), and until 2018, and possibly until today, not a single mutilator had been convicted.

Imagine being fined as little as 60 dollars for the permanent mutilation of a little girl’s body. And even that is not happening.

People refuse to report the monsters who do perform this, despite a 2012 gynaecology convention condemning the practice, and calling it an inhumane act, and stating quite forcefully that it is not a medical procedure, and that it is an infringement on the human rights of women and girls, which medicine and medical ethics do not condone. And yet, the public opinion remains the same: this is their business, it is not our place to intervene. It is not our place to get this fine young man thrown in jail, or fined, for performing a ‘cleaning’ procedure, and besides, wouldn’t you rather they had a medical professional perform it, rather than an uneducated woman, or a barber, or a butcher? It is not our place to report this family and tear them apart - what did they ever do to us that we may hurt them like this?

No one ever asks what little girls have ever done for us to fail them like this.

#egyptian feminism #radical feminism #RadFem #fgm #female genital mutilation #tw: violence #tw: rape #tw: abuse #tw: mentions of death #tw: misogynistic slurs #tw: fgm #feminism #anti-fgm #islam critical

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ryoryeonggu · 3 years

Text

I think the new characters of Elite could have done better and had more potential to be brought on the table, especially the Blanco family.

Ari: Instead of being pushed and pulled by two guys like a bloody trophy, I would love to see more interaction and connection between her and her family members. She as a role of a daddy girl, the perfect girl always making their father proud, the sister always taking care of her brother and sister and likely to be the job of her life. How everyone seemed to put so much high hopes on her, especially her father, expected her to be there all the time and good at everything, and how much stressful and frustrating must be for her. And I want her to find someone who really see her and love her for who she truly is, not just a flawless imagine that all of the people expect her to be (and I believe that’s why she caught up in the feeling for Samuel, except from his d*ck lol and his admirable devotion towards his friends, because he was there and comforted her when her guard had been weakest and she opened up about what she felt about her mother’s death)

Patrick: Although I was pleased with all the hot scenes (damn, this boy is the most nasty and sexiest gremlin ever), there’s more of his story that the show could have explored more than just fucking and sex. Like more of his feelings and thoughts during all the time he had been paralyzing on the bed for 2 years and how much efforts (along with all the depression) he put on to get back on his feet and be able to walk again. How he felt at the moment of the accident, like he experienced all the blood lost, the unbearable pain and thought he was going to die. How he felt when his mother was dying besides him and he wasn’t able to do anything to save her. How traumatized it for him with the loss of his mother and that disburbing event. And despite everything, that all of those things happened to him was partly Mencia’s fault, so it’s understandable that he hated her for that, but instead he cared deeply for his little sister and became the closest one and the only one that Mencia could trust in their family. I like the way he’s so supportive of her with almost everything, their little secret phone calls behind their father and sister’s back, the way Patrick was worried sick and absolutely in the edge of breaking down when his sister’s missing but when she came home, he just smiled brightly instead of yelling at her because he’s just glad that she’s safe (when he had every right to be mad at her since it almost killed him the last time she disappeared). Seriously they looks like twins more than Patrick and Ari has ever been and their “partners in crime” dynamic was so pure and could be developed more.

On the other hand, I’d love to see why he’s mostly so lonely and easily be touched by just a little affection from strangers. Why’s he so desperate to find love and somebody who has meaningful connection? Even though he seemed to not so be interested in spending time with Phillipe - who’s supposed to be his friend - only it’s necessary for his benefits. For a reason, no one in the Blanco seemed to like Phillipe and even despise him to some extend and I wonder if there’s any other reasons apart from his abuse records.

Mencia: I adored Rebeka & Mencia with all my heart, they’re so cute, but they could have added more depth to their relationship by letting Mencia opened herself more about her struggles in her family. I just feel that the reason why she was so eager to push them away only because she felt guilty about what she did to them. It clearly wounded her when Ari mentioned about how much she hurt her family, because she might feel responsible for all the loss, all the pain and all the broken things that had been caused (including her mother’s death). So she lied, she was self-destructive, she did all those annoying things and tried to walk away so her family finally was tired of her and gave up on her forever. Because she didn’t think she deserved love and care from them, that she had ruined them enough. The one she feel sorry the most probably was Patrick since he was the one who had been wasting 2 years of his life on his bed and scarred for life after on his way of searching for her, so she mostly turned soft just for him while being harsh and pushy to everyone else.

Phillipe: He confused the hell out of me because I don’t know what to think of him. It wasn’t comprehensive with the way they portrayed him, like he’s supposed to be an abuser (or r*pist, I’m not sure), but there’s barely an accurate hint because most of the time, he was being either sweet or a lost kicked puppy as the girl he loved rejected him and his “friends” used him to get what they wanted then immediately tossing him aside. Apart from the hidden camera and sexual assault scene, he constantly respected Cayetana and treated her like a queen, he only had eyes for her and didn’t care at all about her being a janitor or what she had done in the past, their love story looked like a dream, then the very next second they forced the whole shallow shit down our throat. Even I understand that abusers are usually charming and wasn’t be easy to be identified, but there are should have been clearer signs. I’m supposed to hate him? I’m supposed to feel bad for him? So is there any truth as he said there’s a girl false accused him of sexually assaulting her for money? What’s the backstory of him abusing girls which his mother had to cover for? I really want to know more about the side of him before having any proper opinion about his character.

#ari blanco #Ariadna Ari Blanco #Patrick Blanco Commerford #patrick blanco #mencia blanco #benjamin blanco #phillipe florian von triesenberg #blanco family #Cayetana Grajera #elite #thoughts #start making flashbacks writers #and explore inner struggles of characters #elite netflix #elite season 4

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

dead man’s hand.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: our 52 pickup ajf episode! i dunno about yall, but i was so excited to get my hands on viper in this universe. he’s ridiculous, and i think he deserves to be absolutely put to shame by aaron “BDE” hotchner.

a joyful future fic, but requires little context.

words: 5k warnings: canon-typical misogyny, language, improper comm conduct, emily prentiss: lesbian icon™

summary: your first case back to full duties after your injury at the septarian ranch just had to take you undercover, didn’t it?

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You’re happy to be back in your usual plane seat, just to the left of Aaron, with your notes in your lap. With your arm in the sling, you were relegated to the table, in Derek’s usual spot beside Rossi, to discourage you from slouching. It was Hotch who suggested it, of course, but that didn’t help your pride.

Though your sling is gone and you’re back where you belong, your shoulder still twinges a little from time to time.

As it happens, a twinge hits you right as Rossi asks, “How does our unsub go from loser of the year to Don Juan?”

While Spencer answers him, Hotch glances over at you. You wave him off. I’m fine, Hotch.

He sighs and you both tune back in to Spencer. “...Don Juan was an ironic reversal of sex roles and when -” Spencer looks at Hotch, finding something in his face that usually made you laugh, but stops Spencer in his tracks. “Th-That’s about it.”

You suppress your smile as Hotch refocuses the group. “Something must have happened between the last prostitute and Vanessa Holden, making him change his victimology.”

“Could the unsub have known Vanessa?” Jordan’s question almost surprises you. She’s still settling in, but you’re learning she doesn’t hesitate to freely share her opinion.

Hotch hesitates, as if waiting for someone else to answer. You oblige him, leaning around Dave a bit to see her better. “It’s unlikely.”

Derek picks up your thought. “Yeah, sexual sadists attack anonymously”

“They have to sever a personal connection and see their victims as objects to perpetrate this level of torture.” Spencer softens your quick rebukes with a little closed-mouth smile.

You spare a glance for Hotch and he raises his eyebrows for a split second before they drop back down. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and you press into him for a second. Be nice.

He huffs a light breath through his nose as Prentiss and Rossi bounce off each other. I am being nice.

Then, as though your silent sidebar never existed, he jumps back in. “The victimology is so different, we’ll treat them as separate unsubs and see what overlaps.” He makes assignments, finally rounding out by assigning Derek, you, Jordan, and himself to the victim’s family.

+++

Todd’s initiative continues to take you by surprise long after you land. She takes command of the situation at the precinct, and there are a couple of times where you can feel Hotch shift his weight.

He’s uncomfortable.

When Jordan leaves the room, you turn to the side and he leans in. “If you’re going to pull her, do it quietly. Something tells me she’s adverse to public criticism.”

He nods, just a little, and you return to your former posture.

The house is where things get really sticky.

“Mrs. Holden,” she says, “we can’t begin to fathom the loss you’ve suffered.”

You nudge Hotch with your shoulder (ouch) and he uncrosses his arms. Loosen up for a minute, would you?

“No, that’s right. You can’t.” Mrs. Holden’s tone is sharp, and you can’t help but feel for her - the stuff Garcia sent over was awful. A daughter, dead, and forums full of people saying you had it coming. Ugh.

“But, um…” Jordan steps up, and you narrow your eyes a little.

What is she doing?

“I lost my older sister in a car crash.” You can feel Derek’s brow furrow as he checks in with Hotch. Aaron has yet to move and, as usual, his face gives nothing away to anyone except you. Something’s wrong. “And it was really hard on our family because she was the responsible one. She was the one that my mother always counted on to watch over us.”

Your eyes flicker to Hotch’s profile, and you find his mouth a touch tighter, his eyes infinitesimally narrower.

Uh oh.

We know that look.

Again, what is she doing?

“And when she died, my mother wouldn’t let the police in. If she didn’t let them in, then my sister wasn’t really dead.” Jordan leans in closer, as if her next words are a secret. “This man is a monster,” Aaron straightens with an inhale, and you feel yourself wind tighter and tighter as he does. You have no idea what you’re upset about yet, but you’re sure it's something. “...and we can catch him, but we need your daughter’s help.”

The mother turns on Derek in an outburst of pre-emptive anger. He very kindly de-escalates the situation, ever the voice of reason and empathy. Hotch takes another breath as Mrs. Holden turns to invite you further into the house. Jordan checks in with Derek before following her, almost smug.

Aaron’s brows are drawn when you look at him again. Derek asks the question you’ve been waiting for. “Did you know that about Jordan?”

“No,” he says. “And neither did she. According to her file, she’s an only child.” Hotch walks away immediately, letting his implicit accusation hang in the air between you.

You share a look with Derek.

+++

“The information about Vanessa Holden being the responsible sister, where did you get that?”

You try to stay a little ahead of them, but Derek has no qualms about openly eavesdropping, turning over his shoulder.

Her tone is matter-of-fact. “Some of it was online, and some of it was just an educated guess based on birth order.”

Still facing forward, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, as if bracing yourself for impact.

“A guess.” Hotch’s question is flat and hardly a question at all. You almost cringe. Derek hops up beside you, much less interested in snooping now.

Shit. You’re in it now, kid.

‘Kid.’ Gimme a break she’s like...two years younger than you.

Yeah, but on this team, it’s dog years. The divorce alone had to be at least a decade.

“And in the process, you lied.”

There it is.

“That mother was shut down. I needed to salvage some rapport.” The note of defensiveness in Jordan’s tone pulls a sigh from you, and you can almost anticipate Hotch’s response. If pressed, you could recite it verbatim.

“I don’t know how you did things in counter-terrorism, but we don’t make it a habit to lie to get the job done.” They stop walking, but you don’t, pulling Derek by the sleeve of his Henley before he can hesitate.

“Let’s wait by the car,” you tell him. He gives you an expression that only says yikes. You reply with one of your own.

As you approach the back door, you hear, “I got you in the door, didn’t I?” from Jordan.

Oh babe. Put the shovel down. This hole you’re digging for yourself is becoming unmanageable, and we’re all going to have to deal with his grumpy ass for the rest of the afternoon if you don’t quit.

Derek leans against the door of the car, and you follow his lead, leaning against the back bumper.

“Not only do you represent the FBI, you represent this team - ”

Ah, so it's the “representing the team with integrity” speech today.

“ - to the press, the police, and to the families who are struggling with some of the hardest times of their lives. If you get caught in a lie, the trust we depend on to help solve these crimes disappears.” You inhale, sharp. It’s been a minute since you’ve heard that tone. “Do I make myself clear?”

Yikes.

Jordan, looking significantly chastised, answers, “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.”

Alright, that one pulls a smile from you and you do your best to bite back your laugh. Derek’s in the same boat. You both hope to recover by the time they get back to the car. A fit of giggles will do you absolutely no good at this point.

“When we get back, I want you to prepare a press release about the unsub. Do not release it.” His phone rings, and he reaches for it, adding “From now on, everything goes through me.”

He passes you without meeting your eye, talking to Rossi over the phone. Jordan approaches you, and asks, “So how bad did I just screw up?”

You take a breath before answering. “Well, Derek would tell you on a normal scale of one to ten, probably about a six.”

“I have a feeling that’s not the scale we’re using.”

You shake your head and open the door. “On Hotch’s, that was about an eleven.”

The three of you slide into the car. You take the seat behind Derek, sparing Aaron from having Jordan in his peripheral vision while he’s trying to focus on not crashing the car.

+++

“Hotch,” Emily says, getting your attention and Aaron’s. You both turn. “Of the self-described pickup artist classes in the area, there’s only one guy who encourages his students to dress like, uh..” she searches for a word for a second, “space cowboys.”

A laugh escapes you, but you recover quickly. You glance at Hotch, an apology in your eyes.

Emily’s tone matches your mirth. “Are you ready to meet Viper?”

+++

The four of you lurk at the back of the room, listening to Viper’s sermon while trying not to laugh out loud again.

“...and women, while they won’t admit it, want to be hunted. They need it.”

You look up at Hotch. You’ve got to be kidding me.

He doesn’t look at you, but the twitch of his mouth gives him away.

You turn your attention back to Viper, who’s assertions are so far gone from reality you can’t even believe people paid for this. He goes on and on about the ideal mate, what women want, etc. etc. etc.

This guy has never gotten laid in his life.

Hotch nudges you with his shoulder as if he can hear you thinking, and you drop your eyebrows, setting your mouth in a tight line that could give him a run for his money.

Emily’s losing it beside you, too. She and Derek have shared more than a few glances, and there’s no hiding the incredulous look on her face.

“If you are smarter and more interesting, you will be a better predator -”

You keep your face from screwing up in a wince, but only just. Poor choice of words, there.

“- because this is the jungle, my friends, and your prey wants to be caught.”

Derek doesn’t shift his gaze as he asks, quietly, “Would you listen to that language?”

You lean around Emily, whispering, “He’s training serial killers.”

“Great,” Emily says. “We’re dealing with a rampant narcissist and misogynist who's turned himself into a snake oil salesman.”

Yeah, that about sums it up.

You both look at Hotch, who’s still watching carefully. “Just one more thing he has in common with our unsub.”

At the end of the lecture you all stay where you are: four dark and intimidating figures irresistible to someone with an ego as big as Viper’s.

When he inevitably advances on you, Aaron introduces the team present and explains the situation in an even, measured tone. He doesn’t have to change a single thing about his presentation for the Viper to size him up and compensate accordingly. He doesn’t even acknowledge you or Emily in his futile effort to make Aaron feel small, counting on his own peacocking to do the job.

That was your first mistake.

“So you think this - what did you call him - unsub took my class?”

With one hand in his pocket and another on his belt, Aaron replies. “He copied your ‘the camera adds ten pounds’ routine verbatim.”

Viper has the audacity to look pleased. “Yeah. That’s a good gag.”

“If you could just give us your attendance lists, it might help us find him,” Emily says.

You nod. “Any information you can provide would be helpful.”

“No.”

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, and Emily beats you to a response, her tone appalled. “No?”

He’s decidedly smug now. You’ve never seen a face so well-suited for a punch. “My clients expect a certain amount of confidentiality. I won’t compromise that.”

“We can come back with a warrant.” Aaron’s quick, flat rebuttal almost makes you smile. Viper ignores him, shifting his slimy attention to you.

You watch Viper take you in from head to toe, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. With a deep breath, you straighten your shoulders and ever so slightly put more weight on your right foot, keying you in to Aaron. When Viper meets your gaze again, he looks more than a little annoyed.

“Be my guest, but keep in mind, the money I make doesn’t just pay for my fabulous lifestyle,” he turns to Emily again, “it also keeps very expensive lawyers on retainer.”

You redirect, hoping to catch him off guard. “What club did you go to last night?”

It doesn’t work. He eyes you up and down again. It’s disgusting.

“It’s a legitimate question,” Derek says. “You seem to know a lot about our investigation.”

He turns on Derek, and you settle in for the show. “Two things to learn about me. First, I outwit alpha males like you for fun and sometimes profit.” You snort, but he doesn’t spare a glance at you. “How often do you have to rely on your badge to score, baldy?”

Aaron huffs a laugh, and it’s so quiet you’re almost sure you made it up.

“Second,” he continues, turning to Emily again. “Last night, I was at Club Aqua and I have a stack of tax-deductible drink receipts to back up my story.”

She shrugs, unimpressed.

Emily Prentiss, you are my hero.

You really tune in when his gaze finds Aaron, still standing a good two or three inches taller than Viper in far more expensive shoes. “Now, you might not want to believe that my style works.” You can tell Aaron’s trying to keep from smiling, his head tilted down at a condescending angle. “And here, in this harsh light, you have the advantage.”

He has the advantage in every light.

Shut up.

It’s true, isn't it?

Viper steps up to you, uncomfortably close, and you do what you can to keep the grimace off your face. “But meet me on my turf…” He laughs a little and turns to Emily. It’s revolting. “The things I could make you do.”

The things Aaron could do on any turf, any time, any light -

Quit! Focus!

Aaron steps between you and Viper. You gladly take advantage of the distance, moving just off Aaron’s shoulder. “If you have any questions, give us a call.”

Viper’s eyes don’t move from Emily as he takes Aaron’s card. She sizes him up for a moment before turning around, still completely unimpressed.

Down the hallway, she keeps pace with Hotch. “Please tell me we’re not giving up on that guy.”

“We’re just getting started.”

You can tell he’s irritated and tense, but there’s an air of smug amusement that colors his countenance. The lawyer has tricks up his sleeve, it seems.

When you leave the building, you turn on Derek.

“What the fuck was that?”

To everyone’s surprise, Aaron, putting his sunglasses on, answers. “Compensation.”

You try not to dwell on that implication for too long, barking a laugh with Emily.

+++

“Hey, Hotch.” You turn around, exposing your half-unzipped dress and bare upper back. “Can you zip me up?” He crosses the room and zips your dress, doing his best to avoid savoring the warmth of your skin under his fingers as he links the hook-and-eye closed. “Thanks.” You turn and he’s a little closer than you expected, looking at you with a peculiar, unreadable expression in his eyes.

There’s silence for a moment and neither one of you moves. No matter how often it occurred, close proximity to Aaron always did weird things to your heart rate. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and return to the locker for a set of loud silver bracelets.

“You’d tell me if you were uncomfortable with this, right?”

You clasp two of the bracelets around your wrist and turn back toward him. A little laugh leaves you. “I’m fine, Hotch.” You wordlessly hold your last two bracelets out, unable to secure them with your non-dominant hand. With a fond sigh, he crosses over to you and takes your wrist.

“Emily told me you’d both be alright and she’s handled people like this before, but this guy…” He trails off with a bit of sigh.

“I’ve handled worse than him. Guys like Viper were a dime a dozen in college,” You shrug, watching him deftly handle the tiny clasps in his large hands. “Plus, you’ll be in my ear the whole time.” He reaches past you for your necklace and you turn around so he can put it on. He smells incredible and you can't help but close your eyes for a moment.

“I have a good feeling we’ll be able to get somewhere tonight.”

You turn around again, smiling up at him. “I agree.” Thinking for just a second, you add, “Hotch, did you consider putting Jordan on this?”

“I did,” he says, his fingers reaching for the bridge of his nose. “Emily suggested it as well. I’m just not confident in her ability to complete surveillance in such a high-risk environment.”

“Because of her mistake today?” You pass him and close the door to the room, ensuring the exclusion of prying eyes and ears.

He removes his hand from his face and looks at you, playing at exhaustion. Of course.

You let all your breath out through your nose and you carry on as if you were explaining to a child. “She can’t recover if you don’t give her an opportunity.” You lighten up, adding, “Do you remember how many times I screwed up my first couple of months?” A wry smile crosses your face.

He huffs and crosses his arms. “That’s different.”

“Why? Because I was a NAT?”

“No, you -” He takes a second to collect his thoughts, his brow furrowed. He gestures with a sharp, open hand as he speaks. “You made mistakes, but you never misrepresented yourself. I’m concerned about her conduct in the field.”

“Send her out with us tonight.” Your appeal is casual, easy. “Emily and I will keep an eye on her and make sure she keeps her nose clean.” All things considered, Jordan isn’t much of an issue. She’s just green and (you’re sure) accustomed to a decidedly less-upright unit chief.

“Are you comfortable with that?”

“Of course. Give her a chance, Hotch. We’ll be fine.”

He nods, ready to leave the room, but then looks down at your wrist with a small, almost amused, frown. “Is that…?”

“The Dead Man’s Hand? Yeah.” You turn your wrist, revealing a pair of eights and aces - both clubs and spades, with the queen of hearts between them - inlaid in the silver. “I figured it was appropriate, if not entirely tasteless.”

“Clever.”

+++

You can tell Jordan’s forgotten about the comm in her ear when she leans over and whispers, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” You keep your eyes on the crowd, lips barely moving as you keep a demure smile on your face. A guy without a chance in hell catches your eye and you break him with just a quick softening of your eyes and a wider smile. Luckily, he’s so flustered he doesn’t think to approach you.

She takes a fake sip of her drink. “You and Hotch get along really well, and I haven’t managed to get on his good side once since I’ve been here. How do you do it?”

“I have no idea.” There’s a small crackle in your ear, and you know Aaron tuned into your private channel to hear you better and talk to you alone. For his benefit, you add, “I’m not sure he has a good side, if that helps.”

You hear a scoff and have to hide your laugh in your drink.

Jordan shakes her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?”

“He definitely has a good side -”

“Thank you,” Hotch says into your ear. You cough to hide another laugh.

“- and you’re on it.”

You open your mouth to reply, but catch the eye of someone who looks unfortunately familiar. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Hotch’s chuckle in your ear warms you, and you hear a crackle as he switches back to the team channel. “20 on Viper,” he says. “Keep an eye out for our unsub.”

Emily wilts beside you, and you can’t help but laugh. You pull Jordan a little off to the side so you’re able to hear Viper, but he doesn’t feel closed in. “You always want to give guys like this an out - if they’re backed into a corner and feel trapped, they close off and get defensive.”

A crackle in your ear. “Is that so?”

Jordan nods and you can’t reply to Hotch with any degree of subtlety, so you settle for rolling your eyes.

“Well.” You hear Viper from over your shoulder. Jordan cringes, and your brow pulls in a question. “Lucky me.”

She answers, narrating through a squint. “He just put his finger in his mouth and pulled it out a little too slow.”

“Ugh.” You take a fake sip of your drink. “I hate this guy.”

“I thought you said you could handle him?” Aaron’s voice in your ear almost makes you jump, and you almost turn around to smack him before realizing he’s not even there.

Bastard.

Emily sends some sort of wisecrack flying over Viper’s head. She’s so charming, you can’t blame him for immediately falling head-over-dick for her.

“...So, affection, sex, emotional committment, it’s all just for fun?”

Against your will, your thoughts wander. You’re still listening, tuned in to his linguistic profile - the pattern, the rhetoric, the cadence, sure - but your heart pulls when you hear Emily list those three things. A sigh leaves you and of course you’re thinking of Aaron.

You’re such a child. Don’t be an idiot.

“You okay?”

Of course he’s asking.

You turn away from Jordan, looking out on the rest of the club so you can answer. “I’m fine.”

“Need a break?”

You are feeling a little boxed-in, and as long as he’s offering… “Yeah, actually. That would be great. I just need some air.” You turn back to Jordan. “I’ll be right back - stay with Emily.”

“But wait,” she says, holding your arm with gentle fingers, “we shouldn’t split up.”

“I just need a minute outside, Jordan, I’ll be alright.” You smile at her, small and warm, and escape her grasp. Slipping out one of the side doors, you prop it with a doorstop and lean against the wall. Your eyes fall closed, and you take a minute to breathe in the cold air.

You hear your name in your ear, and you yank your earwig out. It's still close enough for you to hear the team if anyone needed you, but Aaron’s voice in your ear at this very moment isn��t helping with the whole “take a minute” thing.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

I thought I took that damn thing out - oh.

Aaron rounds the corner and leans on the wall beside you. “You okay?”

You nod. “Fine. My shoulder’s just bugging me a little.”

“Any more lies you want to share before I call you on them?”

“No.” In fairness, your shoulder was bothering you, but it wasn’t the thing bothering you. That thing, in fact, was standing beside you with his kevlar on, waiting patiently for you to continue. “I’m just out of shape, is all.” You tilt your head a little. “And my shoulder really does hurt.”

He guides you off the wall so you’re standing in front of him, your back to him. “What have you been doing in PT?”

“Muscle work, mostly. Keeping things loose so it heals without limiting my mobility.” You roll your shoulder, ignoring the flood of pain that zings down your fingertips.

Warm hands find their way to your shoulder over the fabric of your dress. You picked something long-sleeved and high-necked, figuring the angry scarring from your still-healing gunshot wound would adversely affect your objective. You take deep breaths as he works at the muscle, releasing the little knots that built up through the day. He finds a bit of scar tissue, and a little yelp leaves you before you can stop it.

His hands soften, but don’t stop. “Hang in there. Just a little more and it’ll take some pressure off the nerve.” He trades his thumbs for the tips of his fingers, walking over the knots with a methodical practicality that pulls at your chest.

You nod, knowing he’s right. Lo and behold, a few seconds later, the knot releases, sending a flood of warmth, followed by pins and needles down your arm. You flex and contract your hand in and out of a fist a couple of times, hoping to rid yourself of the sensation.

“It’ll stop in a second.” He rubs his hands together, warming them up with the friction before passing over the back of your shoulder with a firm, steady pressure, all the way down your arm to your fingers. The heat of his hands really does help - your nerves calm almost immediately, and you can feel your pinkie for the first time in days.

A little laugh leaves you. “I dunno why I keep going to PT when you’re right here.” You turn and offer him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Feeling better?”

No.

“Much.”

He offers you a small smile in return. “Good.”

+++

You’re changing back into your work clothes with Emily and Jordan, pleased to find them full of laughter.

“When you asked him if he practices his routine on a sex doll, I almost lost it.” Jordan looks over her shoulder at Emily as she clips her holster back onto her belt.

“I did lose it, are you kidding?” You laugh. “I can’t believe I missed it!”

Emily shakes her head, smiling. “You know, as much as I hate what that guy stands for, I still read ‘five ways to get noticed’ in Cosmo magazine.”

“Because it makes sense.” You look at Jordan, waiting for an explanation. She redeemed herself tonight, and you’re actually looking forward to hearing what she has to say. Though she doesn’t explain what she means, she does thank you both for vouching for her.

“Absolutely.” Emily looks past Jordan, at you, and you nod in agreement.

“Of course.”

A knock sounds, and Aaron’s voice shoots around the corner. “I need you all out here, the unsub’s kidnapped another victim.”

Shit.

+++

You’re on Aaron’s six, waiting for the go. He calls the first team into position and holds up his hand. When he drops it, you fall into step, just off his right shoulder. Derek breaches first, tackling the unsub to the floor.

Aaron kicks down the front door, and you breach from the other side of the house. There’s shouting everywhere, but Aaron’s presence centers you, giving you a mission and a focus.

Keep him safe.

He releases you with a wave, and you drop down next to Spencer on the floor. You cut the tape holding Austin’s hands together. She falls into Spencer, still terrified and sobbing. He looks at you and you nod, spotting her as he helps her to her feet.

Tracking back to Aaron, you shadow Rossi as they finish clearing the rest of the house. You hover by the final door as Dave and Aaron reassure the unsub’s mother that she’ll be taken care of as they clear the room for hidden threats.

In fact, there’s nothing except a sick woman and the machine keeping her alive.

“It’s a dialysis pump...It was issued ten months ago.” Dave looks back at you, and your lips press into a thin line.

You look at Aaron. “Our secondary trigger.”

+++

Jordan climbs the stairs to Aaron’s office, and you attempt to hide your interest as she knocks on the door and steps in. Of course, you can’t hear them, but you watch him call her back after she hands in her report.

You recognize the look on his face - it's an expression you’re rewarded with when you’ve done something right. In fairness, it doesn't look much different from the one you get when you’ve done something wrong, but you’ve learned to pick up on the subtle differences.

Jordan leaves his office with a little smile. When she passes you, you offer her a, “Well done,” as you stand and climb the stairs yourself.

With a knock on Aaron’s door, he beckons you in without looking. You stand a respectable distance away from his desk, waiting for him to finish whatever he’s working on. He knows it’s you, and has no issue keeping you waiting.

The composition of his desk has changed in the months since the divorce. Haley no longer smiles at him from the frame by his pen cup. That frame sits on the low shelf by his law volumes, the white veil over Haley’s face unable to mask her joy even from across the room.

There are more pictures of Jack than before, both old and new.

Eventually, he looks up, and you hand him your report. A smile plays at your lips, and another dances around the corner of his eyes.

“That was kind of you, Hotch.”

He shrugs. “You vouched for her work.”

“Is that all it takes to win your approval, these days? My good word?” Your voice is laden with fond amusement. He rises to it, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he wasn’t smiling. When he answers, his tone is light, almost playful.

“Yes.”

+++

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#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years

Text

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin.

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian.

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain.

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting.

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know.

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying.

“Konechno.” Of course.

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again.

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death.

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman.

My father is an arms-dealer.

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy.

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t.

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty.

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people.

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly.

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer.

“Starik,” I tease. Old man.

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York.

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise.

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase.

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital.

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait.

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details.

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé.

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored.

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him.

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option.

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room.

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature.

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more.

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest.

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name.

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now.

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected.

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello.

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield.

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello.

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction.

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave.

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck.

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys.

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official.

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual.

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it.

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

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ghostdrew22 · 4 years

Text

I’ll Always Wait For You || Draco Malfoy

Requested: No Pairing: post-war Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Warnings: ridiculous crap I make up for plot purposes, allusions to sex, idk crime-committing? Summary: Draco and Y/N pursue a life of crime together and what starts as an odd, professional partnership turns into a perfect romance- loosely based on Bonnie & Clyde.

WORDS : 2451

~~~

You walk into the Malfoy Manor’s ballroom with determination and a convincing smile of excitement. You know what a risk you’re taking by coming into their home under false pretenses but it’s the only way you’ll be able to get what you want and leave remotely unnoticed.

You catch a glimpse of the blonde who the ball is being thrown for and flash him a smile before immediately turning away from him and walking toward the bar. You know that he doesn’t know you, and that in retrospect it’s quite idiotic to even think that he’d notice at all when he has no idea who you are, but it’s worth a try for your plan to succeed.

You are a year older than him, and while he’d gone to Hogwarts, you were studying at Drumstrang throughout your school career. You didn’t come across each other often in your youth because your families didn’t run in the same circles- your parents were snobby, upper-middle class purebloods who looked down on muggles and death eaters alike, which meant you’d had a very minimal role in the events leading up to the wizarding war and hadn’t known much of the Malfoy’s growing up other than the snippets of information you came across in newspapers or social events.

But they’d recently caught your eye when it had come out that they possessed the ‘Diadem of Thule’- a powerful wizarding artifact that has limitless cloaking and transfiguration abilities, as well as the power to amplify a wizard’s magic- and kept it safely in a vault deep within their home that’s protected by blood magic. It’s the perfect weapon for what you want to accomplish and you’ve come here tonight to get it.

“I’ve never seen you before.” A voice behind you booms and you turn to face it with a small smile- it’s the blond Malfoy heir himself.

“Probably because I’ve never been.”

“Funny and beautiful?” He raises his eyebrows playfully at you, “Still doesn’t explain how you got in.”

You see that the banter-like tone and expression on his face haven’t disappeared so you decide to continue, “Oh but why reveal all my secrets when you’ve got the entire night to fall in love with me?”

“Fall in love with you?” He chuckles heartily and you bite your lip cheekily.

“I mean, that’s what these are for, right?” You raise your eyebrows in questioning- referring to the purpose of the balls.

He shakes his head with a laugh, “You’ve got me there.” He walks past you and toward the bar where he asks the bartender for something and comes back with two small shot glasses.

“For me?” You ask with a smile and he nods with a smirk.

“Let’s make a toast.”

“To?”

“To never attending another one of these ever again.” He chuckles and you furrow your eyebrows.

“And why’s that?”

“According to you, I won’t need to keep looking for a girl any longer.”

“Then cheers to that!” You exclaim with a laugh and knock your shot glass into his before downing the liquid with a grimace.

~~~

“Are you done? They’re coming.” You whisper back to your partner.

“Don’t rush me.” Draco grits back and you roll your eyes.

“Sorry that I don’t particularly like the idea of being ambushed by muggle police officers and aurors.”

“Then you’ll be glad to know none of that will be happening today.” He replies as he makes his way over to you and kisses your cheek. “I’m sorry for being so aggressive there, you know how I get under pressure.”

Annoying? You almost ask but bite your lip and shake your head instead while giving him a smile, “All good baby.”

“Great. Now let’s get this,” He holds up the bag of money that he just filled up, “Somewhere safe.”

“Ready when you are.” You smirk and he chuckles while pulling out the diadem and handing it to you. He takes your hand and interlocks your fingers as he starts to countdown. “3.”

“2.” You continue.

“1.” He finishes as the sound of sirens outside of the bank erupts into the atmosphere. You grin at him and quickly whisper the counter-curse that you’d cast on the bank’s patrons to lull them asleep while you and Draco got busy- slowly they all start to regain consciousness in confusion as they each notice the two, masked figures standing before them.

You’re about to apparate the two of you out, when suddenly none other than Harry fucking Potter and his crew of fellow aurors barge into the bank’s foyer with their wands out. Before you can whisper out the words to save yourselves, Harry casts a hex that lands on Draco and renders him incapable of apparating out.

“Get out. Now.” Draco says immediately, not even bothering to face you and instead unhooking your fingers to hand you the bag.

A wave of panic encompasses you for a moment, almost as if you’ve forgotten the plan that the two of you have in place for situations like this, but it’s gone as quick as it came and you grab the bag of money out of Draco’s hands before apparating yourself out.

“Fuck!” You exclaim once you’re back in the little cottage that the two of you have in the countryside.

After that night at the Manor, eight months ago, you and Draco grew quite close. That’s if your idea of close is accidentally falling in love with your literal partner in crime. Your plan to sleep with him, swipe a dollop of his blood somehow and sneak down into the family vault the next morning to get the Diadem had failed dismally. He woke up right as you were getting dressed and told you that he knew who you were and what you were upto; Y/N L/N, the notorious bank robber that had been terrorizing London only nights before. And in some weird twist of fate, he told you that he wanted to join you.

His interest in you had only peaked when the newspapers started to gossip about a witch/wizard who was rampaging London stealing absurd amounts of cash from Muggle Banks, he couldn’t deny the flare of envy that had shot up within him at the prospect of not being the one with the genius idea. So he did what he did best; he plotted a scheme to lure you into his home so that he could propose a partnership, knowing that someone of your caliber wouldn’t be able to resist an artifact that made your magic traceless, knowing that you’d salivate at the prospect of no longer needing to live life on the run.

You refused at first, claiming that you were a solo act and he didn’t have anything to offer besides a family heirloom that you could bloody well do without considering how far you’d made it without the diadem. But he somehow convinced you, danced around your thoughts with his words and backed you up against a metaphorical wall that left you with no choice but to accept. You’d hated working with him for the first two months, the initial four robberies being horrible and close calls, but then slowly the two of you found a rhythm, a system to work together, and soon enough partners became friends and friends bubbled into lovers. Eventually he wore you down enough for you to want to run off to the countryside with him.

“Cocky bastard.” You mumble out loud with a sigh, “I should let him stay there for his stupidity.”

You laugh at the thought of Draco Malfoy being left in Harry Potter’s custody and eventually transferred into Azkaban- facing the same fate that his parents did but for a crime of much smaller cost. He would hate it. And he’d probably find a way out just to kill you for abandoning him. Yeah, leaving him there is not an option.

~~~

“Harry Potter chasing after a wizard who robs banks? You’re truly running after small dice now- talk about a downgrade from defeating the Dark Lord.”

“So I take it you’re not going to tell me who you’re working with?” Harry asks from across the interrogation table- glaring daggers into the Malfoy’s blue eyes.

“How is this confusing for you? I said, no.”

“Is it Y/N L/N? We haven’t been able to trace the magic left at the scenes back to it’s owner for a few months now, we thought that she’d gone dark and you were a copycat.” Draco scoffs at the accusation- despite the fact that he never would’ve been able to concoct the idea on his own anyway- “But maybe she’s just working with you.”

“Didn’t mummy ever tell you that no means no?” Draco furrows his eyebrows in mock sympathy, “Pestering me about the issue in order to get a yes? Sounds a bit like coercion.”

“Don’t act like I’m trying to get in your pants.” Harry rolls his eyes- having forgotten how mockingly flirtatious Draco gets when cornered.

“I never even implied that.” Draco shrugs. “But if this is how you do it then I’m concerned.”

“I’m bloody married, I don’t need to get in people’s pants.”

“Married huh? How’d you manage that?” Draco asks with a chuckle, “Show her the ring everyday until she finally decided to just marry you?”

“I didn’t coerce Ginny into marrying me.”

“That’s what he said.” Draco sing-songs in a mocking tune before licking his lips and shutting them for a moment. He looks back up suddenly with a thought, “Maybe I should give Ginny a ring and ask her.” Draco smirks mischievously and Harry grimaces at the sight.

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Oh, I bet you wish you could.” Draco smirks and Harry feels himself slightly flush but clears his throat.

“This is way off base.”

“Indeed. Just wanted to catch up before we part ways.”

“Part ways?” Harry asks with a laugh, “We’re not parting ways for another few months, I’m the working officer on this case so you ought to get used to me.”

“Mhmm.”

“You’re awfully calm for someone that’s about to join his parents in Azkaban.”

Draco flinches, ever so slightly, at the mention of his parents and Azkaban, but recovers quickly and turns his head to the wall on his left- focusing very intently on it.

“Why are you looking at that wall?”

“No reason.”

“No reason?” Harry furrows his eyebrows before realization dawns on him, “Malfoy are you waiting for somethi-“

Before Harry can finish his sentence the wall has been knocked down and you’ve grabbed Draco to uncuff him from the table. “Thanks for watching him.” You say with a smile as you clasp your hand with Draco’s and apparate the two of you to the car that you’d left waiting a few streets away.

“What took you so bloody long?” He mumbles as he climbs into the car.

“I was giving you time to flirt with your old crush - you know, fulfill your schoolboy fantasies.” You reply with a smirk and he groans.

“I told you one thing!”

“I’m sorry love, I had to make at least one joke!” You exclaim back while laughing and he rolls his eyes but smiles at the sight of you.

“I missed you.”

You roll your eyes at his sentiment but smile as well, “It wasn’t even that long.”

“Any moment I’m away from you feels like forever.” He grins.

“Oh, how did you survive!” You ask mockingly and laugh- reaching over to give him a kiss on the lips finally. He melts against the feel of your lips against his own- the only reminder he has that you’re his, and he’s happy, and the two of you will always be together. You’re his only reprieve from the constant agony of being alive, from the anger at his parents that sits and wells up in his heart.

A life of crime was not what Draco imagined himself pursuing, not in the slightest, but he’d do anything to spend his life with you. The money, the cars, the houses, the fame- none of it fills him up the way that you do, just by living and breathing on planet earth. “Easy. I waited for you.”

“What?” You ask- having forgotten what you two were talking about before the kiss.

“I survived because I knew you were coming. I waited for you.”

“And what if I didn’t?” You raise your eyebrows- even though you know that you wouldn’t even dream of living without him.

“I still would’ve waited.” He smiles and kisses you again, “I’ll always wait for you.”

“I told you that you’d fall in love with me.” You say with a smirk as you turn to start the car and drive off to your next destination.

<~>

Draco would genuinely start a life of crime to spite his reputation and you can’t convince me otherwise. I sort of feel like I half-assed this one just so I could get it done but at the same time I do really like it.

Anyway, love you all

jean <3

#draco #draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco imagine #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy angst #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fluff #draco fluff #draco x reader #draco angst #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader

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jeongi · 5 years

Text

cabin fever | jjk (m)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | fluff. smut. mild angst. exf2l au (?)

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering, unprotected floor sex (dongs better be wrapped irl), light dirty talk, very soft, fluffy smut. jungkook is sad, soft babie.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | trapped in a cabin with your ex-best friend jungkook, you’re forced to overcome the fallout between you two.

↣ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | cabin fever

“We're lost!” Seokjin shouts dramatically from behind the wheel. “Hopelessly and forever lost!” The van’s radio crackles and pops as the soft ooze of music sits underneath your friends’ bantering.

“You're such a baby,” says Namjoon as he smacks Seokjin with the map he's holding. “Relax. I know my maps.”

“You've only been here all of one time—” Seokjin spits back, his fingers clenching the wheel harder. You chuckle under your breath at their bickering, your body immediately tensing as you feel Jungkook adjust himself next to you. A part of you wonders if he’s still alive; you have no idea how he’s managed to sleep through the endless bickering- yet, there he sat, still snoring away. If you remembered correctly, Jungkook was almost impossible to wake up.

You ask yourself why you still felt somewhat nervous in Jungkook’s presence, and for the upteenth time, your memory reminds you of that giant nothingness that now separated you two.

Hoseok giggles behind you and your mood dampens further. His excessive, unwarranted giddiness irritates you on any given day, but today it seems extra warranted. How could you not feel irritated when your ex boyfriend is sat behind you, practically playing grab-ass with his new girlfriend?

You ask yourself again why you ever agreed to come on this trip, let alone agree to be stuffed in a van with an ex-boyfriend and an ex-best friend. And once again, you come up empty. You're sure there must be a reason.

“Hey, focus on the road!” Jyo-en shrills from the seat directly behind Namjoon. “Some of us want to arrive alive and unharmed.” Jungkook once again shifts in his seat, his shoulder pressing against your own and his mouth wide open. You can faintly hear the purrs of soft snoring escaping him.

Alas, your motives come to light. Frankly, you knew you were doing this as a favour to Jyo-en more than anything else. Her undying, one-sided pining after Seokjin had her on her knees begging you to go on this trip with her. There wasn't much that could ever reduce Jyo-en to such a state, but her affection for Seokjin's masculine wiles had been too much for her to bear. The fucker was just too damn charming and you couldn’t blame her either. From the broad expanse of his muscular shoulders, to the plump of his pink, full lips, you figure the chaos that naturally comes from his presence is usually heavily subdued by the sheer epitome of beauty that is Kim Seokjin.

Nonetheless, you had agreed to come on this trip, much against your initial refusal.

“Pipe down back there,” Namjoon shoots. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” says Hoseok, “Namjoon could be driving.”

Involuntarily, you snort. It isn't so much the humour that prompts such a response, but the bitterness you can't help but feel. However, that response is lost amidst the sea of laughter that now fills the van, save yours, Namjoon’s and a sleeping Jungkook’s.

Namjoon turns in his seat and glares at Hoseok. “Just because I don't have a license doesn't mean I can't drive.”

Seokjin chortles. “You literally almost drove us straight off a cliff the one time I let you drive.”

“You’re being dramatic. It wasn't even that tall a cliff…”

Beside you, Jungkook smacks his lips in his sleep, and sinks his shoulder further into yours. You absentmindedly wonder what he’s dreaming about.

Do you even care? Probably not. But the mental exercise in speculation offers some respite from the storm of emotion slowly and undeniably building within you. You glance back at Hoseok and Nancy, their disgusting buffet of PDA having no regard for anyone but themselves. You know for a fact you and Hoseok would have never done this. Turning away, your eyes once again fall on Jungkook.

You hope it's a dream better than this.

2:04pm [You]: ugh.

2:05pm [Yoongi]: Lol. What’s wrong?

2:07pm [You]: remind me again why i couldn't come tomorrow with you guys?

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Dude we've been over this, you couldn't swap spots with Jimin because he works tonight. It's the entire reason we're leaving tomorrow

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Is it that bad?

2:14pm [You]: between hoseok munching on his new gf and jungkook literally speaking to everyone but me,,, i’d say this is the car ride from hell

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Yikes

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Sounds about right, but I don't know what I can do from here...

2:25pm [You]: it’s whatever, tell jimin and tae i miss them dearly

2:26pm [Yoongi]: I’ll probably forget

2:27pm [You]: you’re the fucking worst.

You sigh heavily and lock your phone, haphazardly flinging it back into your lap. The van door opens with a whoosh and your eyes immediately squint against the intense albedo that now renders you temporarily blind.

“Did you just fucking hiss?” Seokjin asks, no trace of humour in his voice. You shoot him a silencing glare and he plays along to it, his hand shooting up to his chest as he fakes a few stumbles back. The effort to make you smile is that of triumph, the edges of your lips quirking up to a faint smile. Nonplussed, Seokjin continues. “Well, this is it!” He says with far too much enthusiasm for have driven nearly six hours. He reaches down towards the duffle bag by your feet and you swallow the bubble of discomfort that fills you when Nancy squeals behind you.

“This cabin is huge!” Her voice reminds you of Polystyrene rubbing together. It pierces your skull, scorches the skin on the back of your neck and you internally scream. Hoseok chuckles beside her and you can’t help but want to gouge out your eyeballs with a screwdriver.

When Seokjin swings the navy blue bag over his shoulder, his eyes briefly glance towards the still sleeping figure next to you, his face static in the grips of slumber.

“Hey!” Without warning, a red glove speeds past your face and smacks Jungkook in the nose with a surprisingly satisfying thwack. Immediately, Jungkook jolts awake, shooting you an accusing glare so icy, the snow around you may as well be a sunny beach. Before either of you can react, the glove’s partner in crime follows and smacks him in the face again. “Well, good morning, sleepy beauty,” jeers Seokjin. “Now that you're alive, how about you start helping us move our stuff?”

Blinking in the new light before his eyes, Jungkook sighs explosively, half yawn, half exclamation.

“It’s sleeping beauty, you imbecile.” You think you hear him grumble under his breath. A part of you wishes he’d acknowledge you again like old times. Another- and you convince yourself, a greater- part of you simply cannot be bothered to care anymore.

“I think that’s the last of it!” Namjoon yells from the trunk of the van. You hear him close it with a loud thud, one arm holding a cooler, the other locking the trunk. Seokjin stands by the porch of the cabin, nodding approvingly at the progress. He checks his watch.

“I’m hungry,” he says, “Should we go into town?”

You groan in protest. “Dude, we just got here. You want to hop back in a stuffy van and drive, again?”

“Yes,” he answers without a beat.

“Yup!” echoes Namjoon. You have no idea how he heard this.

“Ah, food would be so good,” Jyo-en says as she comes up from behind you, a hand patting her stomach and a frown adorning her face. You can't help but roll your eyes; she’s not hungry at all.

“Food it is,” Seokjin confirms. Despite the peckish feeling that jabbers at your stomach, you're not certain your appetite can handle another car ride with them so soon.

“You guys go ahead without me, I had a big breakfast this morning,” you lie.

“Suit yourself,” he says with a simple shrug of indifference. Turning away to head inside, you hear Seokjin yell for the others. You’re not sure where Hoseok and Nancy scurried off to, though the list of possibilities is disgustingly short. As if on cue, they near stumble out of the room they had chosen for the night, their lips swollen and clothing frayed. You think you’re going to be sick, and a subsequent twist of your innards does everything but confirm the sentiment.

You need to get out of here. You desperately need to get out of here.

As quietly as you can, you pull your boots on and stuff a spare water bottle in your jacket. The door before you opens, and with a breath, you crunch your way into the snow covered trees. You should have worn something warmer, you scold yourself as you cross your arms over your chest and blow out a huff of air.

The air is still- too still, you think. Even the melody of chickadees sound too far away. Your breath comes out in stiff clouds, hanging seconds in the air before fading away. You shove your nose deeper into your scarf as you aimlessly wander, allowing your thoughts to get as lost as you’re about to be.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost be convinced it was four years ago. The way the wind nips your face reminds you of waiting for the train at the worst possible hours of the morning, despite the fact you only had the one class that day.

The rest of the day was for the squad.

This could mean anything from half-attempted study sessions (in reality, a thinly veiled excuse to gossip about your classmates and munch on overpriced cafeteria food) to skipping down to the neighbourhood village just down the street from your university for the far better food that was just as expensive. It could mean sneaking off between classes to a quiet staircase and into Hoesoek’s arms for as many fleeting moments the two of you could steal in a day. It could mean a walk down to the university bar for curly fries and maybe one too many drinks. Sometimes it was the train ride home, hand in hand and falling asleep on each other’s shoulders.

The wind was just as cold as it has always been, but you haven’t been. Somewhere along the line, something had changed. A whole lot of somethings. At some point or another, it all just started to come crashing down until now you stand, here, in a snowy field standing ankle deep in fading memories.

You’d ask yourself how it managed to go to hell so much, so fast. But you don’t feel like opening that vault again— you’ve had it closed for good reason.

The piercing caw of a crow snaps you back to reality. Your eyes open, and the freezing train stations and too-warm classrooms fade away with the snowfall. You feel the first snowflake hit your cheek and when you look up, another hits your nose. Whichever way you go, whether it’s memory lane or the slow, cold walk back to the cabin, it’s going to be a bitch either way. It doesn’t take long for your boots to become soaked, and it takes even shorter for your toes to begin freezing. Your only regret is you find yourself wishing you’d have noticed it earlier; you were too preoccupied with watching the sun’s last stretch across the mountaintops.

Your laugh is what Jungkook remembers the most as you two walked towards the train station on those cold winter mornings. The light fragrance of your perfume that overpowered the icy winds had always made you feel like home to him. And your laugh, the thing he missed the most. When was the last time he’d seen you smile? When was the last time he’d even talked to you? It seems a lifetime ago now.

Jungkook’s fingers hesitantly hold the black pen against his sketchpad as he allows the natural skill of his hand overtake the paper. The desk he’s sat on faces towards the blanket of white snow against a crisp blue sky. He sighs, the view of the mountain sheathed in nothing but white bringing him back to old memories of you.

He can almost taste the pork bulgogi he’d always order at lunch with you. One look is all you had to give in order to silently invite him to eat after class. It was that cocked eyebrow, the slight tilt of the head and he was already transferring money into his bank account. And your scent- soft and subtle against the cold winter air. Even if his lungs were crystalized by the cool winter air, your perfumed scarf still lingered to his nose. You’d always felt somewhat like a distant lover than an old friend. What happened? He happened.

Just as Jungkook blasts his Spotify playlist through his earphones, you walk through the front door. Unbeknownst to you or him, the cause of your melancholy sits on the floor above you in his room. Your hands are freezing, a soft curse escaping your mouth as your teeth clatter and you stomp your way inside. You’re covered head to toe in snow, a sudden icy flurry hitting you on your way back. Perhaps a spontaneous walk down memory lane was one of your dumber ideas but if anything, it was nice to get away from this bullshit for even a little while. And by the looks of it, you’ll be able to escape a little while longer as you stand in the foyer of an empty cabin. You’re alone with your thoughts once again. How did you get here? You ask yourself a million times over.

Shrugging off the weight of your coat, you unravel your scarf and land with a loud sigh against the brown suede couch. It’s a cozy cabin, you’ll have to give Namjoon that much credit but his need to treat everyone as equal despite obvious differences landed you in this more than miserable situation. Your fingers hesitantly uncurl, the heat already uncoiling the ice in your veins. You reach for your phone, the only notification being a “Merry Christmas” email from your dentist. You almost laugh at yourself.

4:04pm [You]: yoongs, entertain me

No reply, instead a big fat, red “not delivered!” pops underneath the message. You frown, annoyed at the world and mostly Jyo-en for dragging you along this getaway from hell. On top of this, the three people you’ve been wanting to see and talk to the most in the world won’t be arriving for another excruciating twenty-four hours. Old Man Winter chuckles to himself as he prolongs your misery.

Jungkook is mindlessly working upstairs, watching the flurry of snow coat the mountains and area around the cabin further. If it weren’t for the gentle ooze of Keshi in his ears, he’d be concerned by the rapid snowfall. His hand works diligently, his sketch near finished as he watches the sun set outside. Somewhere between the last of his shading and perfecting does the lamp in his room suddenly give out.

Silence.

You freeze as the world surrounding you goes absolutely still. The sound of heat coming through the vents stops, the lights flicker off and you’re approaching darkness as the sun settles outside. Fuck, you think to yourself. This could not be happening.

Reaching for your phone, your fingers clamour as you hastily give Namjoon a call.

Straight to voicemail.

You try Seokjin; it doesn’t even ring.

Panic settles over you, your flight or fight kicking in as you think of what to possibly do. You scour the main floor for a landline, anything that could be of use in this situation. Surely there was a maintenance number somewhere? It’s when you’re in the kitchen that you hear the footsteps above you. You freeze again.

Now you’re almost positive it’s an intruder ready to murder you. Like in those horrible, terrible horror movies. Although you’ve played a lot of Outlast, you doubt you could handle whatever the fuck has spawned upstairs. As the footsteps shuffle some more, you grab a knife from the counter and decide if you should wait to be murdered or move towards the sound like every idiot in those movies. But just as you’re deciding, the steps move rapidly down the stairs until you’ve panicked and dropped your knife, shrieking out of pure terror with your eyes shut.

Jungkook stares at you in complete bewilderment.

“_____?” He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows strewn together in genuine concern. His eyes fall to the knife on the floor, further confusion littering his mind. “Are you okay?”

The voice sounds familiar, too familiar and it pangs you to know exactly who it is.

Your heart plummets to your stomach when you tentatively open one eye and see Jungkook’s big doe eyes staring right back at you.

“Jungkook? What the hell are you doing here?” You put your hand to your chest and sigh a heavy breath of relief. “I fucking...thought…” You look back up at him, the furrow in his eyebrows suddenly flooring you with emotion. You haven’t really looked at him in ages, it feels.

“You didn’t go with the others?” His lips form an innocent pout as he asks. You haven’t realized how much you missed his boyish charm. It’s then that you find yourself observing him head to toe for the first time in a long time. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and (unintentionally, you convince yourself), the plaid red pajama bottoms you got him for Christmas three years ago. Is that how long it’s been since you’ve last spoken? He looks different, more confident, more tone in his body. Although his hair remains the same shade of brunette, it’s slightly longer and rests in natural curls. His jawline is even sharper, you note. From the small mole just under his lip to the faint cleft in his chin, you find yourself completely absorbed in how good looking Jungkook has gotten.

“N-no,” you’re suddenly stuttering as you catch yourself out of flagrant staring. “I thought you did—”

“Nope.” The tension brews around you two, both of you stood across from one another as sudden realization dawns on you.

“The power’s out,” you say and Jungkook nods in agreement. You really didn’t think this day could get any worse yet here you were. “I-I tried calling Namjoon but it wouldn’t go through.” Jungkook taps his pointer finger to his lower lip in consideration.

“Phone lines must be out too,” he said half to himself. “Must be a hell of a blizzard out there.” You shudder involuntarily as you remember the way the wind tore through you on the return journey to the cabin, and with the memory comes the bittersweet nostalgia…

You mentally stomp the memories out. Not the time, not the place. Not anymore.

“Well, I don’t want to starve,” you say as you start to feel your stomach glare at you hungrily. Maybe you should have gone with them after all. An image of Hoseok and Nancy sucking face flashes before you. You shudder again. It might still be hell here, but at least it isn’t a hell so deep as watching them. Besides, this is the most Jungkook has spoken to you in years.

“Fortunately, they left us with the food,” Jungkook says to you. “If memory serves correct there should at least be a box or three of smokies floating around somewhere.” He pulls on a sweater and rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm them up.

“What about the fire?” You ask.

“What about it?”

“Well, I don’t know. Can you start one?” You know for a fact you might be able to, but this isn’t the time for you to test your skills.

“Probably. It isn’t exactly rocket science,” he replies with a smart grin. There’s a small door just under the staircase that Jungkook opens with little to no hesitation. You had always admired how unafraid of the world Jungkook had always been. Perhaps those values washed away when he too walked out of your life.

You snap yourself out of it and roll your eyes. “Jungkook, you’re the least handyman person I know.”

“At least I’m remembered for something,” he replies as he dips below the stairs to search for wood.

You damn near have to stop yourself from smiling.

You’re not certain if it’s just the natural dynamic you shared with him, or if it’s completely circumstantial, but one thing was for certain; like it or not, you found the pair of you swiftly falling back in step with one another in more ways than you’d care to admit… and more ways than you’d care to remember.

It’s almost as if he hadn’t just chosen to vanish from your life for nearly three years. It’s almost as if it were like old times. What had happened to you guys? Why did he stop calling you?

For the umpteenth time, you snap yourself away from this. It’s too late. There’s no use in thinking of the past. You sigh and return to the kitchen, scouring, searching every cabinet and square surface for candles and matches.

A heartbeat or three passes, and a clonking of feet on wood alerts you to Jungkook’s return.

“I've got good news and bad news,” He huffs as he steps back onto the main floor from the cellar.

“Oh, god,” you start. You feel a slight panic coming on again.

“Good news?” He hefts a frayed and worn burlap bag. “I found firewood.”

“And the bad news?” You ask tentatively.

He feigns sadness before he brings out two giant bottles of cabernet sauvignon from behind his back. “There's all this wine, and nobody around to drink it,” he finishes. “Except us, naturally.”

For however brief a moment it was, you knew for certain that the flash in his eyes, the quick smile he now wore, you hadn't seen for years. It seems as though, if only for a split second, the old Jungkook had returned. Somehow sensing your revelation, the moment passes as swiftly as it came, and then a stone faced Jungkook returns.

“I-if you want to, anyway.” The coolness returns without indication, a coolness you are now determined to thaw out.

“I’m insulted you even think you have to ask,” you return playfully. A hint of colour returns to his cheeks, and a fraction of a grin returns. Silently, he sets about starting the fire while you work on opening the wine.

It takes you a second to realize that the wine is in fact corked, and you had not a corkscrew between the two of you. You glance at Jungkook, his back still turned to you, rubbing two sticks together or something. You really don’t know, and he doesn’t share; in fact, he seems quite absorbed in his work.

You glance back at the wine bottle. Taking the lapse in effort, you ask yourself if this was really worth doing- if this was even a good idea.

“Aha!” You hear a whoosh followed by a golden radiance that now permeates the space. “And that,” Jungkook turns towards you, grin wide and proud, “is how you start a fire.”

You’re not only warm, but impressed- leave it to Jungkook to be perfect in literally every department. You suppose he hasn’t lost that talent yet.

Though the feeling of pride quickly fades as you see the can of body spray in one of his hands and a lighter in the other. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, silently calling him out on his middle school arson methods.

“It was ah, taking too long,” he adds sheepishly, rolling the can of body spray towards the corner and playfully tossing the lighter at you.

“Seokjin is going to kill you.”

“What for? Theft of his lighter, or his outrageous body spray? If anything, I’m doing him a favour…how are you making out with the wine?”

“We… don’t have a corkscrew,” you reply somewhat dejectedly. That half-serious face comes about his visage once more as you see him wracking his brain, trying to solve the problem.

His grin returns. “Don’t worry,” Jungkook says after a minute. “I have an idea.”

“What a waste of a fucking match, oh my God!” You’re sure to sound extra exasperated as you watch Jungkook wrap the loose piece of twine around the neck of wine bottle.

“Do you want to drink or not? Let me work my magic…” Jungkook wears determination on his face, a tongue poking out, eyebrows scrunched together as he ties it once, twice until you’re sure even a wine bottle could choke. You watch as he carefully takes a match and strikes it with the expertise of a pyrotechnic turned for the better. With little hesitation, he lights the twine on fire, a burning noose around the neck of the wine bottle. It doesn’t take ten seconds for the glass to crack open. He’s two for two; at this point, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more.

You’re honestly mesmerized. “How…?” You ask. He lets out a soft chuckle, barely audible.

“It’s magic,” you hear him say as he shrugs. “I don’t have to explain shit.” Another eye roll later, you’re returning to the kitchen and opening the cabinet above the sink in search of wine glasses. To no avail, you find stainless steel coffee mugs instead.

“Is this even safe to drink out of? I won’t choke on microscopic shards of glass?” You ask Jungkook after your third and fourth glasses. It’s a little too late to be asking such a question but you’re sure at this point, your words are a little slurred and nothing quite makes sense. Inwardly, you realize it’s a moot point anyway, and with that realization comes that for the first time in longer than you can remember, you’re just trying to strike up a conversation with him.

It’s hard not to when Jungkook has planted a pile of pillows and blankets in front of the fire, the pair of you sat and drinking potentially lethal wine. Before you lies half-finished board games you two attempted to play yet failed due to sheer anger at the game itself or each other. You’re sure if you were sober, this would be a lot more difficult.

“Magic, _____.” Jungkook slurs, his cheeks flushed and that half grin he does so well. Despite a certain flutter in your chest, you scoff into your mug of wine, small bubbles splashing back onto your upper lip.

“Magic?” You nearly spit. “This isn’t Harry Potter, Jungkook. How exactly do you personally quantify magic?”

A quiet moment passes as he swirls the final dregs of wine in his cup thoughtfully.

“I’d define it as the things you do to me, actually,” he replies before downing the rest of his cup.

Are you hearing things right? Did that actually come out of his mouth? Is this happening? You glance at your own cup. What the fuck is this wine, anyway? You’re drunk. Both of you are.

Jungkook stands and reaches for the bottle, filling up his cup before topping up your own. You still sit in a stunned silence, observing as he tosses another log into the fire, a shower of sparks floating up the chimney.

“Wh… Where did that come from?” You manage. He waves his hand dismissively, breaking eye contact a moment.

“Next question?” He asks as he sips.

Feeling bolder now, you pursue. He isn’t getting away that easily.

“Okay. I’ll put it another way.” You pause to sip, the confidence now flowing nominally through your system. “What exactly happened to us?” There, you’ve asked it.

A silence now spreads the two of you apart, despite the lack of inherent distance between you two presently. Now it seems to be Jungkook’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing this entire time,” he replies. The stone is slowly creeping up to his face.

“You can do better than that,” you egg him on.

“What, now you believe in me?” He shoots back. The venom in his words would take you off guard if it weren’t for how earnest his was before you. He drinks again, gulping this time. He must be on his sixth glass now. You can see the same sentiment in his eyes that you hold in your heart; a universal now-or-never. This is the chance to lay the cards on the table. You know it’s going to hurt, but you know it’s necessary. He rises slowly to his feet, swaying ever so slightly from the wine.

“How about you tell me what happened to us, _____?” Jungkook almost shouts. “We used to be close. We told each other everything. I used to stay up late just to make sure you got home from class or work, I made sure you ate your meals, that your homework was completed. I cared. We both did. Maybe a bit too much...” With this, he sighs explosively and flops down onto the dusty couch behind you, his chin resting on his hand. “We used to be something. I don't know what, but it was there. And now?” He waves an arm absentmindedly towards the window. “Nothing but cold.” The irony, you think. But it's an irony that's been a long time coming, and a certain sick irony that could only come from him.

But the question sticks with you, more than you'd care to admit. Something had slapped you deep inside, and even still it reverberated within you.

No, you're not going to stand here and take this.

“You tell me what happened, Jungkook.” You uncross your legs and rise to your feet, striding towards him. “You stopped texting, calling. You stopped wanting to hang out, and suddenly there was this wall between us. You never even told me what I did.”

For a moment, he looks hurt, as though a thousand predisposed assumptions has just come hurtling down. He regains his composure, though barely, and through shaken words, he continues.

“No, _____.” His face softens. “It isn't what you did. It isn't anything you did, not really.” He's nervous now; his knee bounces, his jaw clenches. You're fairly certain he's beginning to sweat.

What isn't he telling you?

“Tell me,” you whisper. No venom now, merely curiosity, and perhaps a hint of something more. Your hand finds its way onto his own, and your fingers slowly curl around his palm. Contrary to your assumptions, his hand remains there. Even more surprising, his hand reverses and his fingers interlace with your own. A heartbeat passes, and his eyes meet yours.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, _____. I don’t think either of us did anything wrong. Passing ships in the night? Too little, too late? Just bad timing, is that all? Hell if I know.” He takes a deep swig of the wine. “We vibed. Hard. Everything about us was natural and made sense.” You have to agree with this, even now, not talking after so long- you two felt real, felt right.

“No, Jungkook, that’s bullshit and we both know it!” You insist. “You stopped putting in the effort, you stopped wanting to be in my life, you….” It hurts you, a sinking feeling in your chest as you choke out your words. “You wouldn’t even look in my direction the past however long ago it was that you decided to walk away from my life without a single warning.” Perhaps it’s because you’re drunk that tears spring. It’s a deep-seated memory that you’ve brought back, a confrontation that you had always convinced yourself would never happen. “And I don’t even get an explanation why?” This whole situation had to have happened for a reason, you drunkenly tell yourself. If fate really was real, this moment would be its poster child.

Jungkook is staring at you with a look you can’t quite read. You can’t quite decide if he’s about to cry with you or angrily escape this situation. Instead, he places his cup on the wooden coffee table and stands up. His walk towards you in confident, as if he’s ready to expel whatever it is that riddled him in shades of torture for as long as it did. He takes your hands, a slight shake in the way he grasps them.

“I couldn’t stand seeing you with him,” he blurts.

A moment passes, your eyes unleaving as you try and process the weight of his words in your scrambled, drunken mess of a mind. You with who? Hoseok?

“Him?” You find yourself repeating. “Why would you…”

Jungkook sighs and lets your hands go, his fingers moving up to rake his brunette locks away from his face. He’s definitely sweating, you note.

“Wasn’t it obvious, _____?

“B-but what about after we broke up, you could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” He laughs humorously. “Could have gone back to the way it was before?” He cranes his neck to the side, the palm of his hand rubbing against the skin. “It doesn’t work like that, _____. I’m selfish for you but not that selfish. Staying away was better anyway... neither of us would get hurt.”

But you were hurt, hurt more than the break up itself because at the end of the day, all you wanted was your best friend and even he had left. “You’re such an idiot.” You can’t help but say. “Stupid, stupid idiot. How could you do that?” You want to punch him, slap him as hard as you can for him to feel any amount of equivalence in physical pain that he gave you in emotional pain. All those nights you had laid wondering what you did wrong had all been for nothing?

Your frown deepens, more questions than ever before emerging. “You liked me?” Had you ever even thought of him as more than a friend? You’re not sure you should even be asking these questions with vigour liquor coursing through your veins yet, you remind yourself that the liquid courage has brought you two here thus far.

Jungkook laughs once more, no strain of humour in the vibrato. “That’s an understatement.” He then mumbles and you’re left racking your brain. For a brief second, it makes perfect sense before you completely lose your train of thought. “Besides,” he continues. “There’s no point in thinking what could have happened, I just—” There’s a pause as his chocolates in his doe eyes search yours for something. “Will you just let me kiss you right now?”

This takes you wholeheartedly off guard, your eyes widen as you speak with hesitance. “Y-you want to kiss me?”

“I’ve always wanted to, _____.” How does this phrase create such a powerful flutter in your chest? You wonder if it’s the alcohol or maybe, just maybe, a deep-rooted longing you;d never known you had in you.

Without answering his question, you kiss him first.

As your fingers reach for his face, Jungkook grapples your waist. You feel tiny in the palm of his hands, he thinks as he feels your lips against his for the first time. Jungkook feels as if he’s dreaming- perhaps the alcohol has something to do with that.

Red wine is what you taste the most, mixed with a subtle sweetness of mint. You drown in him, melt against him as he carefully engulfs you into his arms. The fireplace warming the space around is nothing in comparison to the sudden inferno in your chest. It’s then that you realize, this is what you’ve wanted all along.

Your hand slides down Jungkook’s face to his chest. He feels broad underneath your fingertips, a certain firmness to the touch that you hadn’t expected. He only brings you closer, arms wrapping around your torso as his lips press against you harder. His tongue is soft with your own, a gentle roll with your own as a certain heat builds up in your core.

Suddenly, it’s messier. Jungkook’s tongue swipes your bottom lip before planting a soft bite. It releases a whimper from you, earning a quiet groan from him. You’ve never thought this day would come. Are you dreaming?

When you pull away, Jungkook’s full attention is on you only. He runs a thumb over your wine-stained pout, his eyes large and completely enveloped in the sight of you. “I never thought I would get to kiss these lips.” He says.

You moan and lean in for another.

No matter how much your lips fuse together, how much you press yourself against his stronger hold, you cannot get enough nor do you want this to end. It feels right, comfortable to be in his embrace like this, his mouth against yours and chests connected. It’s not long before you’re both succumbing to the fall on your knees against the self-made bed Jungkook made of old blankets and pillows. It’s cozy, neither of you wasting time to run upstairs to a proper bed. You think this is the most romantic setting you could have ever hoped for.

It’s when you’re suddenly on top of Jungkook that you feel a growth settle underneath your core. You feel the sheer girth of it as your kissing intensifies, two large hands coming to rest upon your thighs as they persuade your hips to skim over it. You gasp at the feeling, sure that you’re already soaked beyond measure. It’s not hard for you to already feel him like this, the thin veil of his pajama bottoms being the only barrier away from you having it in you. The thought arouses you far too much, leading to a harsher grind that has you both moan out. You haven’t been touched in a long while.

Jungkook’s hands travel up your sides until he’s cupped both of your cheeks in each palm. Your lips are guided once again to his own as he places a hard kiss against you. With each fleeting moment, your want for him intensifies. You can’t help but think this was meant to be, that you’ve wanted this somewhere deep within you. Perhaps the old you was looking out for the future you.

It’s with both hesitance and confidence that Jungkook inches your sweater up. His hands feel warm against your bare torso, a shiver running through you when they lazily travels up and down your sides. As you pull away, Jungkook gives you that lopsided grin you hadn’t realized you’ve missed dearly until this moment. It almost feels as if nothing has changed, as if there hadn’t been a giant nothingness between you two for so long.

“You look so beautiful.” Jungkook whispers, his right hand reaching to push a strand of hair away from your face. He helps you guide your shirt off before a thumb strokes your cheek, and then your lips. You softly bite it and receive a contempt groan in response.

“Yours too,” you gently urge as you play with the hem of his white shirt. Jungkook grins and lifts his torso before pulling the fabric over his head. He does not hesitate to kiss you again.

With each kiss, the intensity grows until you’re sure you’ve caused a puddle in your pants as you shamelessly grind your cunt against a very erect bulge in Jungkook’s pants. He feels so firm, more built than you could have ever imagined as he pulls you tighter against him. You’re slowly losing your mind before you decide to take the initiative.

“Jungkook,” you mumble against his mouth.

“Hm?”

“Let me taste you.” Jungkook nearly unravels just from those words alone.

“Yeah?” You nod, a coy smile spreading across your face as surely a heavy blush riddles your cheeks in a crimson red. Jungkook merely chuckles, planting a feverish kiss against your mouth. “You’re so adorable.”

You trail kisses down his torso, the definition of muscles in his abdomen driving you absolutely mad. You’re still unable to fully comprehend what exactly was happening yet you’re equally unable to stop yourself. Jungkook helps you get rid of his pants, your mouth instantly watering when his erection lands against his torso with a soft thwack. It glistens against the golden aura surrounding you. He cocks his head to the side. “Think you can take it?”

If that’s a challenge you hear in his tone, it’s a challenge you’re willing to take. You might even think Jungkook remembers how competitive you are. You move down his body with ease before placing a tentative lick against the head of his cock. Jungkook’s hands immediately surrender to your hair, moving it out of your face until he’s made a makeshift ponytail out of his own hands.

“Fuuuck,” he drags out shakily when you take the whole of his head in your mouth. You suck just under his head, a certain ball of nerves that drives Jungkook absolutely mad. The hold he has on your hair acts as an invisible guide, in motion with his hips lifting does he simultaneously move your head down. “Just like that, baby.” You groan against his cock as you take more of him in your mouth. Jungkook is thick, girthy with a prominent vein that sits right where your tongue can trace it. He’s losing himself further and further into you as you begin a steady motion of sucking. Your hand holds the base of his cock as your mouth works wonders, earning you whimpers and curses from him. “So good, so good.” Jungkook gasps when you pick up the pace. It’s when he feels himself really about to lose control that he pulls you away from his cock, a satisfying pop following the disconnect.

“C’mere,” he murmurs before smashing his lips against yours. Though your lips are coated in saliva, his kisses have become sloppier, rougher as he cradles your torso with one arm before flipping you until you’re underneath him. “These have to go.” He pulls at your pants and you giggle with agreeance.

“That would be ideal.”

Jungkook undoes the buttons before tugging them down your legs. You’ve now got nothing on but your bra, a pale violet with a lacy trim on the top. Did you subconsciously know you were going to get fucked by none other than Jeon Jungkook today?

He pulls your legs apart, a satisfied hum escaping him as your glistening folds welcome him. “Fuck, _____.” He whispers as his thumb skims over your wetness. You suck in a sharp breath, the callous on his thumb sensitive against your cunt. You want him to touch you there.

It’s as if he can read your mind, the thumb now dragging over your clit. The sigh of relief you give only fuels Jungkook’s satisfaction more. He too would like to taste you.

You cry out, hands grappling for his torso as he begins circling the thumb over your sensitive nub. “So wet,” he groans.

“J-just for you.” This makes Jungkook move faster with his thumb. He wants to feel you. Jungkook slowly slides the defts of his index and middle finger into you, your cry filling the space. He takes his time, feeling your walls clench around his digits as his thumb simultaneously circles over your clit. He’s amazed by how each thrust of his fingers causes you to coat them farther in your arousal. And you’re amazed by how soon you’re about to come. It only makes his own erection angrier and your cunt clench tighter.

“You coming, baby?” Never would Jungkook have thought he’d get to call you baby. You nod with vigour, each pump of his finger along with the relentless rub of his fingers causing your legs to shake.

“S-so fucking close...oh my god.” You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re— “Jungkook!”

He dips his head in between your thighs, his mouth instantly suctioned to your clit as his fingers continue their torture. With his tongue replacing his thumb, you come undone almost instantly, the wave of pure white, hot filth overtaking your entire body. You shudder, legs trembling as your fingers thread through the lush of Jungkook’s brown locks. Jungkook continues licking against your clit, flicking and sucking until you can no longer take it.

“F-fuck me, Jungkook- please,” you beg as your cunt craves for more. You want absolutely all of him.

Jungkook’s cock is ready, heavy against his palm as he takes ahold of the base and spreads your legs apart. His mouth is wet with your arousal, his chest littered with beads of sweat. “Your pussy looks so fucking good.” He remarks, letting the pink tip of his dick rub against your wet folds. You both moan at the sensation.

With one more rub of his head, he lines himself against your entrance and slowly pushes his hips forward. You think you could come instantly again. Jungkook’s cock feels amazing, full as your tightness grips with so deliciously, even he has to hold himself back from not undoing quickly.

“Fuck.” You let out as you place a hand on his chest, letting the feel of his cock overtake your entire body. He stops when he’s reached the hilt, careful to rock his hips out before slamming them back into you. You can’t help but cry his name out. “You feel so good.” You’re whimpering, the hand on his chest and moving to the back of his neck as you push his head forward to kiss you. He follows suit, beginning a rhythmic pace of his hips as you lose yourself further and further into him.

Jungkook kisses you feverishly, hot and wet against your mouth as he continues to rick in and out of you. His breaths are laboured, filthy words and curses escaping him as you clench around him with each thrust.

“Yeah, baby?” You’re losing your mind, already close to a second undoing. You know you’re going to come again soon. Jungkook takes your legs and places your ankles on his shoulder, plummeting into you with a force so delicious, you’re about to go delirious. You’re so tight, Jungkook can feel himself edging closer to his own end. “Fuck, turn around for me.” You do as requested, turning to your stomach. Jungkook pulls your ass up towards him and lines himself up once again. Without hesitation this time, he pushes into you, a new type of fullness that overtakes your innards. He feels so fucking good.

It’s a steady rock, your ass hitting against his pelvis as he continues a continuous motion with his hips. He’s relentless in his movements, the new position allowing him to reach deeper, feeling you clench tighter.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook is moaning out. He grabs a handful of your ass, using it as support while he rams into you with no plans of slowing down. The room is filled with the sound of your skin slapping and your deep breath and moans. Jungkook knows he’s so close.

He reaches forward, first and second digit immediately gravitating towards your clit. As he rubs, the familiar rubber band stretches in the pit of your guts. You’re going to come again, you feel it.

It’s when Jungkook whispers into your ear how much he wants to come inside you, that you give out. It washes over you, makes you tighten your grip on the blanket underneath you as you clench so hard around Jungkook that he too comes with you. You feel the spurts of him fill you to the brim until you’re nothing but a puddle underneath him. You lay still, letting his fluid mixed with yours dribble out of you as Jungkook pulls out. It burns to have him away from you. You want him to hold you all night.

“Was that okay?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. You nod in reassurance, twisting your head around so he can kiss your lips.

It’s then that your phone blares, taking you both by surprise. You rush to your feet, arms reaching for your phone when you see Namjoon’s name flash across your screen.

“Hello?” You answer with no thought.

“_____! Oh my god! Are you okay? There was a huge storm, we’re trapped in town until Monday- did I ask if you were okay? I think Yoongi—” The line fizzles out.

There’s a pause as you look at a curious Jungkook.

“It looks like we’ll be here a while.”

a/n: hey babies! so sorry for the long wait for this one! i really hope you liked it! it’s been in the works for a little while haha. this is my first fic back in a WHILE! and more to come soon! let me know what you think as per usual. i love you so much!!!!!!! and happy holidays to you, your friends and families ✨💞

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts #bangtan smut #oneshot #fic #kpop

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vasiktomis · 3 years

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Pomegranate, Chapter 17: Quiet Earth, Part I.

John Seed x Female Deputy

Rating: Explicit.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Notes: Thanks all who have been keeping up with this! I'm so consistently floored by the amount of content creators we have in this fandom corner and the sheer level of workmanship that exists here. This is the first chapter of Pom that I'll be posting to tumblr, and I'm hoping to draw up a little sketch with each update. If you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Big thank you to @shallow-gravy and @consumedkings as always for dealing with my stupidity and being a pair of top-notch angels, and also just like, everybody who takes time out of their day to engage with this? Y'all really sticking with ultra slow burn and I swear after some wicked angst in the next couple of chapters I'll finally be able to throw some well-deserved smut at you. WARNINGS: Forced conversion, descriptions of dissociation and derealisation, explicit language, sexual content, depictions of violence, guns, blood and gore. Canon-typical debauchery.

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“Don’t touch him!”

Mary May lunged with enough force for John to feel the wake of air sweep through him, even with how quickly she was snatched up and yanked back to her place. The soles of her tennis shoes squeaked against the floor as she was dragged to the far side of the room, unable to be trusted with providing audience to Nick’s Atonement.

A shame, really. It was nicer as a shared experience.

The Baptist rolled his jaw, off-setting some of the tension arising from the shrieks that the blonde flung at the back of his head. He righted himself, taking the tattoo gun from one of his faithful with a gracious nod, and turned his attention down to the pilot currently pinned to the floor. Without a word, he sank to his knees, straddling the man, keeping silent as he could just to listen out for any change in his demeanour. Fear. Grief. Defeat. Acceptance. A sign to prove his readiness.

Nick didn't flinch, breathing hard through his nose and watching with hateful eyes. John hovered an indicating hand over the man’s bare chest, bruised from the fight he’d put up against his capture, mentally mapping out placement. Then, he came in with the needle, beginning with the stem of an ’E’, right in the centre of Nick's sternum.

The pilot snorted, masking discomfort with indifference, turning a wince into a scoff. “Figures you don’t use stencils. I ain’t got a hope in hell of this turning out good, do I.”

That casual old Nick attitude. He missed it.

If only he’d let him do this 5 years ago. He wouldn’t have had to miss it.

John feigned offense. “Oh I’m sorry, Nick. Did you want me to do the rest in cursive? Add a feather? Infinity symbol?”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Talk about tonal dissonance. It’s not meant to be pretty.” He grumbled. “Might’ve gotten a little more practice if you’d-”

A yell from the rear entryway pulled John’s hand away from his canvas. More squeaking. More interruption. Jerome Jeffries getting hauled into the church, held under each arm by the pair of Chosen that John had sent looking for him.

The Baptist cast a look over his shoulder at them, content with the sight of Jerome adequately beaten and bloodied. “Ahh. Pastor. Try to run and hide? It’s no wonder your flock ran astray with a shepherd so quick to leave them to the wolves.”

Jerome ignored him. No reply. No eye contact. A crime John noted to make worthy of capital punishment in the New Eden. The Pastor was set down beside Mary May, who immediately began seeing to his injuries. Murmuring bubbled between them.

“Did you reach them?” The bartender asked. Must’ve been a negative, because the next thing she did was curse.

“The Deputy was calling when they caught me.”

And if she had half the spine to come and broker an agreement for her friends, she’d be inbound.

“Could you at least gag them? I’m trying to concentrate.” John ordered no one in particular, earning another scoff from Nick. “The faster we work, the less we’ll have to get through once she arrives. The quicker we can be out of this heinous town.”

“Stay away from her, shitbag.” The pilot ground out, this time unable to save face when John retaliated, pressing the gun just a little too hard, digging down through an extra few layers of skin.

“Nick Rye, you’re a married man.” John tutted playfully, resuming his work. “That sin of yours again. Take, take, take. Didn’t think the Deputy to be your type. Wouldn’t say you’re hers, either.”

Nick looked downright disgusted at the prospect. Less concerned for the state of his wife - which meant she'd been a likely getaway. “Always been so fuckin’ jealous.”

“Come again?”

“Think folks are stupid? Think I don’t know you?”

“You don't know me, period.” John bit back, skin on the back of his neck flushing between boiling and freezing.

“Anyone else givin’ you this much trouble’d be long dead by now. That shit on the radio? Reckon you’d be talkin’ like that if your family could hear you across the river?” Nick continued, averting his gaze when John shot him a particularly poisonous look. He didn’t, however, find it necessary to respond to such a veiled accusation.

At least until -

“Everybody knows you wanna stick it to her, John-”

As if he’d been awaiting the chance, John’s free hand shot to Nick’s jaw, aching in protest when he squeezed, not stopping until he could feel the man’s molars beneath his flesh. “That’s about enough from you.” He crooned.

John had his desires, yes. He’d accepted that much. Had he not been sworn to celibacy, he might have jumped at the opportunity to respond to Cora’s advances last night. That said, she was still an outsider, and while her Atonement made the prospect less dicey, he couldn’t consciously consider laying with the woman in real life.

No matter how torturous it had become to gear his thoughts toward anything else.

He could be content with just her company, without making any further advances on her. Last night had simply been a moment of weakness, and he’d prevailed by stepping away.

“If you’ll excuse me.” John switched off the little machine once he’d completed his piece and promptly stood to beckon for replacement parts. Mary May might have gotten away with an allergic reaction last time he’d attempted this, but considering he’d be slicing it out of her within the hour, he couldn’t see any reason for her to be complaining. The bartender had been a thorn in his side from the start. While Nick and his wife had once lent John their...whatever a sinner’s closest equivalent was to friendship, Mary May had always been trouble. Wore her heart on her sleeve and trusted no one she hadn’t grown up around. Bolshie. Almost fucking killed him, once.

John busied himself with needle transfers and a pleasant expression. He could feel the woman’s eyes on him.

Did she think what Nick proclaimed? That complete and utter lie?

How fucking crass. No, he did not want to ’stick it’ to Cora. At least, as far as anyone else was concerned. He was fond of her, and - while yes, he had encountered temptation - if one disregarded the cum-stained, stolen panties in his pocket, and the conjured fantasies, and the purely incidental erection he’d maintained after the Deputy stuck her tongue down his throat last night - there was simply no evidence to suggest to anyone else that he was even remotely tempted to break the rules.

Sex was the furthest thing from his mind. It was mere coincidence that today had just so happened to fall on a morning in which he’d needed to trim.

…

If, however, she were to decide that she wanted to continue what she’d attempted last night, then surely he couldn’t be to blame if he only failed to stop her. It wasn’t technically fornication if he didn’t initiate it. Nor was it considered intercourse if -

“Brother John.”

John jumped, heart stopping, whipping his head around to the Chosen standing at the door of the church.

“What?" He asked thickly.

“The Deputy’s arrived.”

Right on cue, the crackling of gunshots drifted in alongside the Chosen’s announcement.

“Tell everyone to hold their fire.” John ordered. “We have them outnumbered tenfold. The Deputy can’t be stupid enough to create a hostage situation. Direct her here, and peacefully.”

The Chosen’s throat bobbed, swallowing back outrage, and John squinted hard at him, trying to dispel the flicker of green light in the mist outside as it settled against the man’s temple.

“John, I don’t think-”

He never got a chance to act on that incoming insubordination.

Instead, he jerked, cut off by a sickening crack as a section of his skull blew out of his head. Red mist and liquified brain matter followed, splattering against the doorframe, and the Chosen slumped lifeless onto the front step.

John wasn’t so much shaken by the killing as he was irritated by everyone else’s apparent refusal to let today go according to plan. Maybe also the pile of brains and hair now sitting on his once-pristine red carpet. He’d made this easy for the woman: kill everyone he could round up, leave her with no one to claim duty to, and get this all over and done with. Have her home by mid-afternoon. Embark on a new chapter and achieve salvation. It was that simple.

Woe to him for trusting in her common sense.

“Fuck’s sake. Wrath begets more wrath.” He muttered, smoothing a hand over his chin. He didn’t have the patience for this any longer. “Fine. Sister -”

A woman stood from the pews as soon as John made eye contact, equally as unshaken by the scene mere feet away.

“Send out word: the Deputy wants to sacrifice her friends for the sake of a fight.” John punctuated the end of his sentence with a click as he returned his focus to jamming the needles into his tattoo gun. “Give her what she wants. Take her by force.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The smokescreen was beginning to clear, but despite the weight it was taking off her lungs, Cora would’ve preferred it remain just a little longer. At least until they’d cleared out the town. Had they been quicker, it might have lasted longer. Covered their approach to Fall’s End. Given them more cover to sneak about unseen.

The streets, while still hazy, were visible now. It wasn’t a difficult task watching Peggie silhouettes run from building to building in search of her team. Resistance members and civilians were either in the process of being rounded up, or littered the road and pavement, dead. The Ryes, Mary May, and Pastor Jerome were yet to be seen amongst either group.

Same went for Boomer.

Aside from the barking of orders from Chosen and faithful, there was little sound. Knowing how much of a fuss her dog had put up the last time he’d been caught by the Project struck Cora’s nerves. He was his own alarm, and he would not go peacefully.

Not hearing him was an indication of the worst.

Some part of her brain argued against the idea. Vouching that John wouldn’t have hurt the creature. That was her dog. He had to be an exception to the massacre, no matter how vicious he behaved.

She had to find him, and creeping through the rear entry of the Spread Eagle was the first point of call.

Luckily enough, the back door had yet to be boarded up. Peggies who rushed past covered windows hardly stopped to peek inside the place for fear of being tainted by the presence of alcohol. Sneaking in was simple enough, too, at least once Jess had picked the lock.

“I’m going to pretend that door was open.” The Deputy murmured her equivalent to praise, passing into the building.

Grace headed straight in after her, taking a left to search for any sign of Mary May while she took a right toward the stairs.

“You pretend the Cook’s head was already gone when we found him?” Jess whispered.

“Freak accident. You all saw it.”

“First floor’s clear.” Grace announced from the serving hatch in the kitchen, clearly unhappy about it.

“Right.” Cora acknowledged, “I’ll check up top.”

The second story was as dead-quiet as the first. Furniture had been knocked over in the hallway and bedrooms had been raided. None of it indicated anything good, but she still had to know.

Cora pushed open the door to her room, and while she held no expectation of what she’d find, her heart sank anyway.

It was empty.

Boomer was gone.

Only his makeshift collar and a tattered bandana remained atop the rug he’d been snoozing on that morning.

Her dog.

John had either taken him or killed him, just like the rest. He’d do the same to the rest of her team. She should’ve taken the Baptist’s offer before the latter had even become a possibility.

“No sign?” Grace affirmed once the Deputy slipped back down to the first floor. “My guess is either they’re in hiding, or John’s giving them special treatment. If they were dead he’d be parading them.”

Sharky and Hurk exchanged a frown when Cora offered only a nod, notably more meek than usual.

“Was he in there, darlin’?” Adelaide asked, a little too gently not to invite a sting to her eyes.

Cora felt her jaw clench. It was a different breed of nausea, trying to keep her composure under the scrutiny of the rest of the team. She managed to shake her head, and Adelaide’s hand found her shoulder.

“Could still be with the others, yet.” The woman offered.

“So how do we find them?” Jess asked.

Find John Seed, of course.

“Finding them’s one thing. Getting to them might be the harder part.” Cora began. “The smokescreen’s only getting thinner and there’s Peggies everywhere. It's grasslands from here to the hills. No way we can herd everyone across a field on-foot, safely. We’ve got to make sure they stay freed, first.”

“And?” Jess huffed. “We’re gonna kill some Peggies, right?”

The blonde considered that.

“We split up. Search the buildings for anyone who hasn’t been caught yet. Round them up and plant explosives as we go. With enough chaos, maybe we can have a shot at turning the tide in the short term.”

Sharky was practically trembling. “Explosives, like, everywhere?”

“Everywhere. The more damage, the better.” Cora replied. “Adelaide, Xander, pair up. Sharky and Hurk, same with you.”

“And us on range?” Jess grinned, trading a look with Grace who maintained absolute stoicism. “I’m so into that.”

“No.”

…

“Say what?”

“No more ranged attacks. I need you and Grace to head back to the van -”

Jess was advancing on her before she’d even finished her sentence.

“You’re pulling me outta the fight? The fuck gives?” The huntress loomed over the Deputy, incredulous. Cora made an effort to stay put, but Jess’s insistence managed to outweigh her stubbornness, forcing the blonde to compromise by leaning as far back as she could without falling.

“We can’t keep running on short-term wins.” Cora insisted. “We have to put our foot down. No more small assaults. No more hoping John gets demoralised enough that he hands himself over.”

Sharky frowned. “What’re you saying?”

She met his gaze, puffing out her chest, retaking her space. “I’m saying the Henbane Bridge is unmanned right now. If we get word to the County Jail, there’s no roadblock to stop them from helping us win this. John Seed’s throwing everything he can at us. I say we try for the same. I say we end it for good. We’re gonna take back Holland Valley. Today.”

“...You really like that dog, huh.”

“That too.”

Jess looked unconvinced. “So the two of us are running errands while the rest of you are holding the fort? Fucking bullshit.”

“I told you. No more range.” Cora bit back, jabbing a thumb toward Hurk and Sharky. “You’d rather send Boshaws and Drubmans to convince Tracey to send us her best people? No offence.”

“None taken, bitch.” Adelaide grumbled.

Grace exhaled, throwing away momentary hesitation. “We’ll be fast.”

Cora traded a nod with the sniper before looking to Jess once more.

Still unconvinced.

“They have cars with guns on them, remember?”

The corner of Jess’s mouth ticked. Temptation.

Mission accomplished.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The tacky fucking carpet was the first thing she noticed, creeping along Main Street. Bliss petals had been sprinkled all over the road leading up to the church.

The carpet ended at the door. An invitation if she ever saw one. Boastful. Arrogant.

A pang of dread ached through Cora's bones, holding her in place while she drew her revolver. It could be an ambush. It probably was an ambush, but there was nothing she could feasibly do to avoid it. If the others were in there, then she couldn't wait around any longer.

She had to do this. At least hold out until Jess and Grace returned, with or without help.

She'd been running for long enough. All other options had been exhausted. At least John offered the least awful defeat.

Drawing close to the entrance, the Deputy pointedly avoided examining a dead crow that had been impaled upon the wall. She inhaled, holding the breath in her lungs, steadying her heart rate.

It was only freedom.

She opened the door, immediately training the gun out before her, following its guide into the room.

About a dozen Peggies dotted the space, leaning against walls, lining the pews - all angled at the pulpit, observing Nick on the floor. He stifled a cry while John sliced through the final remaining layers of skin binding the tattoo to his chest, peeling the word 'GREED' out of his flesh. Blood pooled on the floor around them, and the moment John had stepped away, the pilot was descended on with antiseptic and bandages.

The Deputy waited for nausea at the sight to take its course. It never did. She was all but numbed to the sight.

"Deputy, run!"

Mary May's voice cut through the silence, and the bartender lurched from her own spot on the ground. Guns raised all around the room, swinging around to aim for Cora.

”Hold!” John barked immediately, unconcerned when the Deputy shifted her aim to him. Instead, he busied himself with washing his sullied hands. “Hold your fire.”

His followers obeyed.

Cora, meanwhile, cocked the revolver in her grip. One foot edged into the room, and she glanced around for the Project’s captives before returning her gaze to John. All on the other side of the room. Pinned. Fuck.

“Hope County Sheriff’s Department.” She announced, staring the Baptist down, ignoring the grin that crept onto his face - like he found it fucking funny. “Weapons on the ground. Step away from the hostages.”

“Hostages?” John snorted. He gestured Pastor Jerome, Mary May, and Nick. “These are guests! This is their Atonement. This is your Atonement.”

“Drop the fucking weapons.”

John’s patience thinned. Quickly. “I’m not doing this with you.” He replied simply. “Not today.”

With his own look around the room, John inclined his head. An unspoken order to which everyone carrying a gun turned them on her allies.

“We both know you don’t have enough bullets for everyone. Nor do you have the time. So why don’t you put down my gun and surrender.”

“Don’t-” Mary May was cut off with the tap of steel against her temple. Warning.

John was right. She was outnumbered. There was no chance of getting any of them out with force alone.

She inhaled. Exhaled. Watched the fondness slip back onto John’s face like it had never left, and set the gun on the floor.

“That’s my girl.” John murmured. Then, he motioned. “Get her ready.”

Cora’s stomach dropped as two sets of arms coiled around hers, each pulling and pushing, prickling at her skin with unfamiliar, sickening touch. Biology told her to resist. Escape the sensation. The downward pulling.

“No, stop it.” Escaped her while she squirmed. “Get off. Stop touching me-”

“Her friends can’t be far. Find them.” The Baptist ordered, turning away toward the pulpit.

Cora’s knees hit the floor. There was no holding the repetition of protests, but even as she consciously elevated the volume of her voice, it grew quieter in her ears. Calculated attempts to jerk away and make an escape became automatic twitches.

One of John’s followers - a female - crept into view, fingers tugging at the top button on her uniform collar. John readied a tattoo gun over the woman’s shoulder, and the Deputy’s mind screamed alarm bells. Get out. Escape. Fight back. Regain control.

“I won’t hurt you, sister.”

This time, she sank, curling forward, angling herself away from the woman. Another attempt, and she wrenched away again, snarling. Then, the Peggies around her must have gotten tired of all the fuss, because the tear of cotton clawed at her ears. Ringing through her brain.

Her back felt cold all of a sudden.

Green material slipped down her arms, and at the sight of her own uniform pooling in shreds in her own lap, Cora ceased her thrashing. The shredded shirt was yanked from her belt and tossed aside, and she watched with growing resignation while John turned back around.

His gaze found hers. Then flickered downward, first to the compression bra, then a margin to the right. “Here I thought you’d be unmarked.” He commented, inspecting what was visible of the old ink on her lower ribs while he approached.

Hands pressed against Cora’s shoulders, and she drifted back until her shoulder blades hit the floor.

John continued to loom until he stood directly over her. He sank to his knees, expression softening with his descent until he was on all fours on top of her. He looked almost adoring, and she hated how it comforted her, just slightly. She hated how the hands had disappeared from her limbs, and yet she still made no further attempt to escape. He had every ounce of power now.

She didn’t know she’d started trembling until his free hand swept over her collarbones, mapping out her chest, calming the gooseflesh beading on her from the chill, or the fright, or perhaps just that this whole thing felt so humiliatingly exposing.

A blush swelled over John’s throat, maybe indicating some straying line of thought. He snapped out of it and settled to sit on her hips. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?” He teased, hovering the tattoo gun right over the centre of her sternum.

“Dont.” Was all she could manage. Weak. Pleading. “I don’t want you to.”

“You have no idea how good you’re going to feel after this.” John cooed.

One of his fingers drifted along her jaw. An attempt at comforting her, but to no avail. He looked equal parts gentle and feral with excitement.

The machine buzzed, lowering pitch when the needles finally pressed into her flesh.

This was it.

She’d lost. There was no going back, anymore. No more normal, no more ridding herself of this family. They’d taken everything, and now they were claiming ownership over her, too.

The others were being hunted. It was only a matter of time. John was working too quickly. They’d be gone before the Cougars even crossed the river.

Cora’s nerves muted. Sound closed to just the rumble of blood in her ears. She receded into herself. Found a backseat in her mind, away from the sensory overload and the humiliation and her own failure while her body quietly continued: ”Dont, don’t, stop.”

She’d lost, and John wouldn’t stop. Not while he was branding the evidence of his victory into her flesh.

Defeat tasted worse than anticipated.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bullets whizzed overhead while Sharky and Hurk took cover beneath the window, watching helplessly as the aisle of potato chips and bar nuts was torn to shreds by the onslaught. Dorito dust filled the shop like mustard gas.

“Cuz, I think they found us!” Hurk barked, snapping an arm over his head in defence when a stray round ricocheted off the front counter.

“What gives you that impression?” Sharky hit back, hurriedly setting down his shotgun and shrugging his backpack to the floor.

“How many are there?”

“How about you check?”

A moment of quiet occurred while the cousins glared at each other, leaving their standoff to a battle of no blinking. Then the Peggies outside must’ve finished re-loading, because the back wall of the shop was suddenly being shot into swiss cheese.

They were okay. Everything was cool. Addie and Xander had taken their share of explosives and gone the quiet route. Grace and Jess were gone. Shorty had disappeared into the church, and while he couldn't count the best, Sharky was pretty confident that John had caught her.

Could they have kept on looking for survivors and breaking out captives? Sure - but why do that when they could kill, like 40 birds with one stone and beeline for the gas station? It was conveniently across the road from the church, empty of any and all life barring the dormant tanks underground. An explosion that big was sure to fuck up like a good portion of Main Street. Not even the Chosen would be able to resist checking it out.

Disconnecting the safety switches had been easy. He’d been arrested for doing it like 5 times already. Cops, Peggies; it didn’t matter - Sharky knew what he was doing, and without the giant swinging dick of the law hanging over him, the man was on a mission. Cultists shooting at him was fine. He was used to that.

Threat of death or no, he wasn’t giving up the chance to see this place blow sky high.

“We’ll be outta here any second, Hurky.” Sharky assured. “Just gotta sprinkle a little C-4 around the place and we’ll be gone before it even goes off.”

Hurk was sweating. A lot. He was accustomed to being shot at, but normally, he had more than just Sharky to get him out of a tight spot. “Alright, bro. Gimme some. Many hands and what have you.”

“Fuck yeah. First step, toss some at the tanker outside. We wanna get the place as fiery as possible up here to wake up the big boys underground, and-”

Sharky stopped in his tracks, eyeing the backpack he’d just been in the process of unzipping.

“-uhh.”

“Uhh?”

“Hurky, can I be real with you?”

“Is now the best time for a deep and meaningful?” Hurk hissed, crawling toward him nonetheless.

The arsonist stuck his hand down the pack, rifling through fluff and mesh. “I, uh, I think I brought the wrong bag. And by think I mean know without a shadow of a doubt.”

Hurk watched as his cousin tugged the green, furry headpiece of a dragon out into the open.

“You brought-...”

“I brought my fursuit.”

“Not the C-4?”

“Not the C-4.”

“Okay, bro. That's fine. I'm not mad. Human error. Not even a little bit?”

Sharky checked again, just for good measure. “Nope...so, uhm...you got a match?”

Hurk ran a hank through his hair. “Not to poo poo your ideas, but that probably ain’t the best move.”

So just like that, they were fucked.

Jess and Grace still hadn’t come back. The others were nowhere to be seen. Shorty was holed up in that church, and he and Hurk were about to be rounded up by born-again virgins.

Shit, if that were the case -

“Well, if this is gonna be the last opportunity.” Sharky grunted, tugging the suit out and unzipping the back. “May as well enjoy our last minutes of freedom, huh?”

Hurk took the cue, creeping across the destroyed shop floor and reaching for a popped bag of pretzels. He sat back against the wall, leaning against the rocket launcher he’d propped up against the corner.

“Man.” The brunette sighed, staring at the floor. “If only we had some other kind of ranged, explosive device.”

“No shit.” Sharky agreed. “Some high velocity shit would fix this.”

They exchanged a sympathetic look once the arsonist had zipped himself up and crept over and sit beside his cousin, both leaning on either side of the RPG.

Hurk held out the bag.

“Pretzel?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Was that so bad?” John asked, placing the tattoo gun aside and framing the Deputy’s marked chest. ’WRATH', in true black, beading with blood. The skin surrounding the text was mottled and inflamed. Excess ink covered the area in patches, gathering in the dip of her cleavage, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

All that sin, already leaking out through the exit he’d made for her.

Gorgeous.

Cora didn’t respond. That was fine. Shock was normal. She’d thank him once this was all over. For now, she just trembled, lock jawed, dissociated gaze searching what John had thought was him until he sat up. No, instead she was watching the ceiling.

John flashed a smile, blocking out a tiny streak of dread at the sight of the woman so vacant. Sweeping a lock of stained hair over her shoulder, he smoothed his fingers past her neck, attempting to gently angle her focus back to him. “Hey. You can come back now. We’re all done.”

You're finally on the other side. React to it. React to me. Look at me-

The boom came first, hollow and deep, and John felt the floor beneath him rumble. Chandeliers and decorations wobbled from the disturbance. Several of his followers shot from their seats, immediately abandoning the Resistance leaders they’d guarded in favour of pacing back and forth, trying to get a look at whatever was happening outside.

“Is this it?”

“Is it the Collapse?”

“It’s time?”

“John, is it the Collapse?”

The panic escalated quickly, forcing the Baptist to break his attention away from the empty woman below him and rein in the flock.

“Calm down.” He exclaimed, “It’s not the Collapse. It’s probably just-”

Another boom. Almost deafeningly loud.

This time, the whole church shook. Windows shattered in their creaking panes and smashed to the floor while pews squealed heavily in protest.

Contrary to his assertion, John dove down, covering the Deputy with his body. Holy shit, was it the Collapse?

The tremor must have been enough to snap Cora out of her trance, because a muffled “Get your tits out of my face.” buzzed against John’s chest.

Tragically, however, the Baptist never got the opportunity to reply to her. Had it not been for the fucking tennis shoe colliding with the side of his skull, he imagined he’d have something very clever to say. Alas, pain shot through his head and he jerked to the side, fighting against the blow to stay put. A snarl from Mary May, his apparent attacker, sounded in retaliation. She dove into him, knee driving into his ribs, throwing him off of the Deputy.

His thoughts left him for the briefest moment, overtaken by ensuing gunshots and shouts and the shrieks of the bartender as she was clawed away from him. Her hand shot forward right as she was yanked up, intended as a punch. It didn’t land, and John couldn’t help but shoot her a smirk for her failure.

“Deputy, gun!”

Nevermind. It wasn’t a punch after all. Mary May had been pointing over his shoulder at the revolver that had been surrendered on the floor. His revolver. The same one Cora was now scrambling toward.

No.

John lurched, heart leaping into his throat.

Not now. Not after he’d won. Not when they were so close.

His hand found the leg of Cora’s pants, wrenching, pulling her away from the weapon, and she kicked against him. Her finger tips slid against the barrel of the revolver, tugging it into her palm.

God wouldn’t fucking undo his victory.

John snarled, catching the Deputy’s wrist when she tried to aim - at him no less. Without her own recovery time achieved, he was able to wrestle the weapon from her easily enough, flattening her struggling body beneath his just long enough to hook an arm around her waist. He twisted around, holding the woman’s back against his belly. Her squirming ceased with the press of the muzzle against her head, and the moment her allies had taken notice of the change, everything went still.

Finally.

A little civility.

Several of John’s followers lay on the floor, either dead or close to it. Only a half-dozen remained, though the pair of Chosen had survived and placed themselves closest to their leader.

Pastor Jerome had procured a handgun from within his own bible - something that pulled a breathless laugh out of John as he surveyed the others. Nick hadn’t been able to arm himself, but he’d still tackled one of the faithful to the ground. His knuckles were bloodied. A familiar sight. Mary May had wrestled a gun of her own away from the woman who’d seized her. She aimed it shakily at John.

Armed but outnumbered, outgunned, and now, they were in check.

They never learned, did they?

“The way you people behave, you’d think salvation was a bad thing.” John tittered. “Right. Now, let’s try this again. Atonement, or damnation.” To punctuate his meaning, he tapped the muzzle against Cora’s head. She grunted in protest, and he ignored her. Of course it was a bluff. No one else knew that but him, though. It was too risky a move for the Resistance to let him do away with the one person that banded their factions.

She was their leader. They couldn’t lose her.

John looked around the room once more, locking eyes with Jerome first - then Mary May. “Are we going to behave?”

The answer was immediate and clear: a gunshot cracking through the Baptist’s ears and the flash of a blast spilling from Mary May’s weapon. Cora’s elbow driving into his stomach and the reaction time of his Chosen snapping to attention, covering him, already hauling John out of the church and onto the street.

Fuck no, he wasn't leaving without his prize.

"GRAB HER!" John howled, struggling against the attempts to get him to safety. "Leave the rest!"

It was a reluctant effort, but the Deputy was yanked along as well, shoved into Johns arms on his repeated orders, with me, with me.

“Mary May, what the fuck!” The Deputy roared over her shoulder.

“Sorry Deputy! I missed!”

Missed?

“You sure about that? Jesus fucking Christ!”

More shots sounded, but only the noise pursued them from the building. It wasn’t until John had shoved Cora into the back of the waiting truck that he realised how warm his hand had gotten. Wet, too.

“Get to the ranch!” One of the Chosen snarled up front, casting a look back at the Baptist while the vehicle took off, watching as he peeled away from the blonde to inspect himself.

Blood.

He was bleeding. But where from? Barring the sting of his scabs and that kick to the head, nothing hurt. There were no wounds hiding under his sleeves or -

A hiss sounded from the Deputy beside him, curling in on herself.

Shit.

She hadn’t elbowed him.

“Cora-” John scrambled for her. "Cora, let me see."

“Told you not to call me that.” The Deputy grit out, kicking at him until she’d well and truly jammed herself into the corner of the seat and the car door. Her left hand gripped her right forearm, just below the elbow and to no avail. Crimson coated the skin on her side, encasing her arm completely and seeping through her fingertips.

She was bleeding. Not heavily, but steadily.

”Deputy.” John bit back, advancing. “You’re hurt. Let me help-”

Just like that, the kicking resumed. “Don’t touch me-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME-”

“For once in your fucking life, just relax!”

Only incomprehensible snarling came in response.

John rolled his jaw, brimming with as much irritation as he was adrenaline. The Resistance had made their choice. Regretful, but final. He’d gotten what he came for, and he wasn’t intending on losing her just because she was too stubborn to accept help.

He glanced at the revolver still in his grip. Then back at Cora, rotating the grip toward her. A threat. “Are you going to let me help, or am I going to have to calm you down?”

“Don’t you dare.” Her words came hoarse. She gave scowling a red hot go, but without the rationale to deny him, the Deputy lacked conviction. She exhaled. “Fuck it. We've done this enough already. You get ten minutes. Then you’re under arrest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her cheek twitched. A weak chuckle. The slightest flash of acknowledgement as she let him press his weight over her forearm. Thankfully, the wound wasn’t pulsing; nor was there a puncture wound. A gouged strip had been carved into her flesh where the bullet had grazed, but nothing vital seemed to have been struck.

“That - you can keep saying.”

"You're a flirt when you're in shock, Deputy." Had John not been too busy regulating about a dozen other emotions, he might have flushed at her words. For a moment, he just sat there, basking in the borderline friendliness on her face. Then, it occurred to him that they were among watchful company, and he cleared his throat, returning to his task.

Minutes passed. No more words were exchanged. Not until they’d passed the Rye and Son’s sign.

The Chosen in the front passenger’s seat looked over his shoulder, dismissing another over the radio before regarding the Baptist. “The Resistance isn’t making ground. The faithful are still rounding up stragglers, and we’ve taken casualties, but numbers are looking strong. Medic will meet you at the ranch, John. We can deliver our newest sister to the Gate while you recover.”

John inclined his head. “Much obliged. We need this one to stay with us until she’s completed her vows. She can’t be trusted unsupervised, but I won’t put the responsibility of containing her back on our people again.” He looked to Cora, then. Her face had run pale and she’d gone clammy, but she remained upright. Just...woozy. Pacified, for now.

He’d got what he came for. Fuck the rest.

“I have something to say.” The blonde announced, swaying against John’s arm. “I know why Mary May shot me.”

“This another one of your jokes?” John deadpanned.

“This one’s funny, I swear.”

“...go on, then.”

“It’s because I never tip.”

For a moment, Cora looked very satisfied with herself. Then, she retched, slumping forward into the Baptist’s lap when he instinctually jolted out of the potential line of fire. He hurried to steady her, keeping tight hold over her wound, and grimaced while the noise escaped her a second time.

Thank God nothing came out; his shoes would’ve been the first to know about it.

The Deputy didn’t sit back up.

That was fine. So long as she wasn’t dead. So long as she wasn’t fighting back.

“It’s all the sin escaping you.” John explained, off-handed, when a complaining grunt sounded below. “Evil being expelled from your body. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Pretty sure it’s my blood pressure, actually. Soon as I’m good again, you’re history.”

When one disregarded the fact that she’d had a gun trained on him earlier - and the blood drying uncomfortably on his clothes - and the persistent pounding of a headache from Mary May’s heel, this was almost pleasant. The quiet roads. The Deputy, all but atoned with her head on his thigh. Not fighting back. Conceding defeat. Peaceful.

He got what he came for.

He’d won.

He was saved.

Passing his thumb over Cora’s ribs, John’s attention was pulled back to the old ink peeking out from beneath the band of her top. Text, blurred and flattened enough to be years old, and too obscured to decipher.

“Thought I’d be your first.” The brunette murmured.

“Jealous?”

Yes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What’s it say?”

“‘The Mountains Are Calling’.”

A sickening wave of dread passed over the Baptist. The rock forming in his throat, icy and bitter and seizing him against any reply.

The mountains are calling.

Jacob. Joseph. The Trials. Atonement wasn’t the final step. Handing her over to his brothers was the final step.

He got what he came for, but the woman in his arms wasn’t the trophy intended for him.

He was saved. He’d redeemed himself. He’d completed his task and Joseph would permit him beyond the gates. That was all he was supposed to do. That was enough.

That had to be enough.

“‘And I Must Go’.” John completed quietly.

Cora tilted her head a little, not quite looking at him - almost like she was trying not to. “You know John Muir.”

“Not enough to warrant a photo on the bedside table.”

“Shut up.”

There was nothing convincing about the chuckle he offered. He was too busy observing her, studying the side of her face. Committing her to memory as if he hadn’t spent years acquainting himself with every spot and micro-expression.

“Maybe working for you will be bearable.” She murmured, and John’s heart only sank further. "If I don't manage to arrest you."

The mountains are calling.

She still had no idea that all the promises he’d made her had been fabricated. That she wouldn’t be staying. That he’d lied to her.

The mountains were calling. In a few days time, she’d know it. She’d despise him. She’d be taken off his hands and he’d assume his regular duties once again.

He’d saved both of them.

Cora’s thumb absently grazed back and forth on his knee. Ignorant. “Can I ask something?”

It took everything in him not to mirror the action against her skin.

“Of course.”

“Can I start next Monday?”

"What happened to you being such a workaholic?"

"To be honest with you, I'm really fucking tired."

She’d be incredible. Jacob would love her. Joseph would be proud. John had accomplished something near-impossible for his family, and even if the Deputy hated him - even if she forgot him entirely, he was content with the knowledge that he’d have brought her to salvation.

Even if they never saw each other again, he’d know that she’d passed through the gates. That she’d climb to the surface once the world had been scorched clean. She’d rebuild, and marry, and have children, and he’d do the same.

Hopeful anticipation and the agony of longing had never felt so similar before.

“Fine.” John smiled, giving in, sliding his fingers up her arm and coaxing a stray lock of hair out of her face. There were no promises he’d be able to do it again after this. “But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Spend those days with me.”

Cora stirred, angling to peer up at him out of the corner of her eye. She smiled crookedly.

“Deal.”

#far cry 5 #john seed #cora stammos #far cry 5 fanfic #far cry 5 oc #john seed x female deputy #all hail cora's big fucking muscles #no beta we die like men

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 3 years

Text

i’m an idiot. i screw everything up.

Titans 3.03

still here, still doing this. these reviews take a fair bit of time that i cobble together across days (like, ten minute chunks during breaks, etc) and i tend to struggle to keep up with episodes as they come out. this means that by the time i’m done with one, most of my stuff is jossed (or geoffed in this case? idk) or outdated and the post sinks like a stone into oblivion. so! i’m going to change things up a bit with this one and write as i see the episode rather than collecting my thoughts later. in my experience with spn, that was a faster way to get them done.

anyway. let’s see how it goes! *shadowboxes*

SPOILERS ahead.

1. an auspicious start with some grave-digging!

digging up a grave and breaking open a coffin is some serious, back-breaking work--that dick did it on his own, likely straight after that fight with red hood, is a testament to the sheer intensity, stamina and discipline that he’s capable of. like, we like to joke about dick cooking cauliflower crust pizzas and making gar and rachel spar and memorise sun tzu--and despair at the obvious consequences of some of bruce’s parenting skills--but imagine crime-fighting almost daily without any superpowers, performing some of the most intense parkour in bulky, uncomfortable armour, doing detective work, pushing through every last barrier of exhaustion and then getting up to repeat it all over again the next day. dick probably thought he was going extra-easy on rachel and gar.

1.5. then again, dick probably had a hundred different easier ways to confirm whether jason was still buried or not, from using equipment to merely asking connor to have a quick look with his x-ray vision. but, no, he’s too caught up in confusion and terror, not really having come to terms with jason’s death in the first place, leave alone the possibility that he could be alive after all. he can’t possibly let the others know until he’s confirmed it himself, even if it means digging all through the night until his arms are jelly, thinking over and over again about jason’s eyes, jason’s voice, from behind that red mask.

... besides, dick has good reason to believe that he could’ve been hallucinating. wouldn’t be his first psychotic episode, after all.

that just imbues this sweaty, desperate, fingers-scrabbling-in-gravedirt scene with that much more poignancy, and a fair bit of bone-chilling terror. dick is horrified to realise that jason’s grave is empty, but a part of him is also probably relieved.

1.75 (... also it’s curious that we’re never shown any of the team asking to see jason’s grave after they come to wayne manor. i guess it’s because the writers--and the audience--know that jason is actually alive, but these people don’t know that. i don’t know if it’s sad or infuriating or both that they’re barely shown mourning him.)

2. oh GOD the sheer TENSION in kory saying, “i don’t want to say it, but--” and dick quickly interrupting, “it was jason. i saw him,” and hank giving him this loaded sidelong glance. i love how dick’s precarious mental health from last season is still this big elephant in the room but at least nobody’s blowing up in his face and questioning his every decision yet

2.25. i love the relative matter-of-factness with which they’re discussing a possible resurrection. and, of course, ra’s al ghul is brought up and quickly dismissed

(still wouldn’t put it past this show to bring him up at the very last second as the real real mastermind)

2.5. “maybe they can bring donna back” OH KORY

2.75. didn’t they have this same conversation about killing/not killing rose last season? man, the og titans make me tired.

and i don’t know if it’s just hank, but there’s a definite in-group/out-group vibe going on with the og titans, where they’re not only ready to consider killing anybody who threatens the group but makes it difficult for new people to fit in. donna and kory got along well with each other, but the dynamics between hank/donna/dawn and gar/rachel/rose were somewhat strained, and with jason, they were really fucking terrible. it makes sense when you think about how the titans started and how they broke up the first time--both were fairly disruptive events, i’d imagine, in that they probably got together to break away from their mentors and strike out on their own, and when they split up, it was the first time they felt directly responsible for the loss of an innocent life.

but the titans that dick is leading now is explicitly about mentoring a young generation of heroes, about second chances and found family. dick definitely wants to reach out to him first, and i have a feeling he’s going to be forced to make some sort of terrible Choice later on in this episode.

2.8. (honestly tho, this also seems like hank struggling with his own guilt re: jason; if red hood is not the kid that he failed, it’d be easier to fight him.)

HANK NO

4. honestly this season is already ticking off so many things on my wishlist, but i really wish dick would sit down with the newer members of his team and trust them with important information the same time that he’s telling them to the other members. gar searching for help and reassurance from a man who just dumped all of his responsibilities on his son overnight and went AWOL is a sad sight

4.25. has it only been just 48 hours????? wow! jason’s definitely been planning the red hood gig for a long time now...

5. ezekiel, my man! shady looking guy gets into your cab without a destination in mind... no problem, get right in! said guy gets a call to go to the observatory when he’s barely even looked out of the window so far at gotham... yep, a damn tourist! i want more ezekiel in this show.

5.25. (of course jason has upturned table lamps all along the floor... we have to *gritted teeth* balance the TEAL with the ORANGE don’t we?)

5.5. “dick’s a fucking psycho--he could be following you right now.” hank... has no objection to that lol

5.25. hank, hank... this is bad-decision-palooza. i can’t imagine that hank actually thought that jason was reaching out to him for help, given that the last time hank and jason had any substantial interaction hank had been one of the people accusing jason of sabotaging the team. but for him to go seek out jason and go along with his demands without any backup, weapons or equipment? not the best idea he’s ever come up with.

(add to that getting into the swimming pool of a condemned gym... oh yuck.)

((yes, i have enough self-restraint to not cap his ass.))

(((cap his ass! HA!)))

5.5. do you think jason has bugs/monitoring equipment planted in wayne manor to monitor the titans, or remote access to the cave’s systems? wouldn’t put it past him.

6. oh man, hank came back before dick and the others could meet ezekiel! this is TRAGIC

6.25. i mean, it’s plot-convenient that connor was able to give so much information about the bomb from just looking at it once, but i also like to think it’s the luthor-side of him coming to the fore. it also reminds me of that (in)famous scene from the new52 run of Nightwing comics, where a bomb was attached to nightwing’s heart and luthor disabled it by killing nightwing (temporarily). it’s a neat little callback.

6.55. “where i come from, you go after family? there’s no mercy.” BUT THAT’S THE PROBLEM ISN’T IT

6.75. i mean, dick’s making sense: this is a game, and they need to get it off playing out on jason’s terms. but having a member of his team in his face, doubting his reasoning and every decision? a very familiar sight.

6.8. krypto with an a+ sense of humour? also a very familiar sight.

7. wayne enterprises... providing the military with... bombs that can be implanted in humans? a BIIIIG yikes. i guess it’s not too many steps above developing clandestine intra-dermal trackers and implanting them in your own sons, and bruce probably thought they could be used as part of negotiation tactics, but still... YIKES.

7.5. on the other hand, conner being asked to build a deactivation advice seems part of a growth arc that started from last season... he knows so much, but part of growing is learning, and part of learning is using what you know to create something new.

8. oh man, my heart broke at hank going “i’m an idiot... i screw everything up.” like. for him to go like this, after being brought down to such a low last season? struggling with pain and addiction and his relationship with the love of his life? it’s so sad.

9. oh, oh, oh! ronnie from schitt’s creek! i love her!

9.5. “one of jason’s minions” took his body out of the morgue... how deliciously morbid that he planned out his own death like this!

10. TALK TO HANK, DICK

honestly, tho, i’m quite impressed with dick here. trying to think beyond just the most alarming part of the crisis at hand, keeping his cool, delegating tasks, frequently touching base with different members of his team... well done.

10.25.... whoops, spoke too soon. i’m genuinely confused here, tho. where did the van full of gold bars come from? why did they stop there and get out? how did dawn even know about this?

on the other hand, it’s cool to know dove has bulletproof feathers!

10.5. eh... curran walters isn’t really selling red hood’s menace to me so far. but then again, if titans version of red hood is vulnerable-kid-with-father-issues-trying-to-overcompensate, then yeah! yeah, it makes sense.

11. “when bats have sex, they gotta have something to hang from” OH GOD HANK

... because i want smiley!gar on my blog :)

11.5. awww. i feel sorry for hank but NONE of these fuckers deserve gar except maybe kory

12. ohhh FUCK! look at jason being exactly one step ahead of the titans at every turn. nice.

no really, i love the building stakes and the building mystery - i feel like the deathstroke arc from last season should’ve been more like this. the flashbacks about jericho and rose came too late and after too much build up, which resulted in a very underwhelming and confusing season throughline.

13. HANK AND DIIIIIICCCKKK

“you’re doing your best by me. always have.” WAILING HERE

it also kills me to think that hank thinks that his imminent death is because of his failure to keep the team together (when he was clearly struggling with his own issues and was spiralling towards rock-bottom) and his fear that he will once again be the cause of the team falling apart.

also:

14. “i grew up... you can, too. you just have to face your fear.”

yep, got scarecrow’s grubby little fingerprints aaaaalllll over this.

14.25. nightwing’s got specialised batarangs! yay! (somehow i can’t see this universe’s dick calling them “wingdings”)

15. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

oh man, that was devastating. well done, show. fuck, well done, jason.

this is going to bring up all sorts of “if onlys” for the team. i can’t wait for some fucking aftermath.

#titans #titans spoilers #dick grayson #hank hall #dawn granger #garfield logan #conner kent #jason todd #a tragic jalebi #meta

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cherrytdatt · 4 years

Text

what a shame we're fucked in the head (au)

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Summary: peter and y/n always find it easier to be fwb than assuming their feeling for each other

A/N: this was in my drafts for the longest time and i'm just getting rid of it. this is an au but they are still superheroes.

Warnings: drug use and mention of sex

"What up, loser?" you heard a familiar voice say behind you. You turned your head, recognizing his silhouette. "Abandoning the party?" Peter chuckled, sitting by your side on the edge of the building.

"Making my own party," you said with a weak smile, raising your hand that held a joint you lazily made a few minutes ago.

"Oh! And didn't call me?" he asked with an offended look.

"Sorry. I thought you were having fun inside," you said, passing the cigar to him.

"Sure. Cause seeing Banner and Rogers fighting over some mysterious hallucinogen that Banner's dad accidentally made on the lab is so much more fun than relaxing and talking to you," he took a pull of the cigar, without looking at you. You stared at his side profile, admiring every inch of his face. His eyes that were shining with the city lights, the small smirk that never left his face, the sharp angle his jaw made even when he was relaxed, and the curls that fell plainly on his forehead.

You and Peter had a lot in common, you were Stephen Stranger's daughter, and Peter was adopted by Tony Stark at the age of three. As everyone knows, those two were the most rich and arrogant superheroes to walk on this earth or any other planet. So you two understood how hard your life was growing up. Don't get me wrong, both were great parents, but they didn't think twice before pressuring you two to be the best amongst all the other superheroes' kids. Besides that, there were the absent parents, and all the ego fights that you two had to deal with daily.

"That thing's dangerous," you said, shaking your head. "Banner and Rhodes took that last week, and they blacked out for forty eight hours after almost jumping from the top of the Stark Tower!" Peter handed you the cigar.

"That would make my dad so happy," Peter said sarcastically, making you laugh, just thinking about the bad press that two superheroes' kids jumping from the most expensive building in New York would cause for Tony Stark. "These kids are crazy," he finished when your laugh faded out.

All the Avengers kids formed some type of clan that was known for excessive partying, drugs, and doing crazy shit around town that usually caused some sort of damage physical or financial. After all, be raised by babysitters while your parents fought against aliens and robots wasn't easy. You, Peter, Shuri, and Magni, Thor's son, were the only ones that tried to follow your parents' steps and become superheroes, but that didn't keep you from partying and doing crazy things sometimes. The difference was, You, Peter, and Shuri usually do it without drawing attention, and Magni did it on other planets.

"Cause you and I are not damaged by our dads 'jobs', right?" you looked at him.

"I rather not talk about it," Peter joked, and you laughed. "So, how is your life?" he asked, staring at the city view from Will Maximoff's penthouse, where the party was happening.

"Same old. Studying and being in the lab for hours, drinking, and smoking weed the rest of the time, sometimes studying and smoking at the same time. I don't even know anymore," you took a pull from the joint. Even though your dad's power was like some type of magic, he always made you study very hard and you two worked on your lab developing nanotechnology and other things to help the Avengers. Sometimes you worked with Mr. Bruce, Shuri, or even Tony although he wasn't your dad's favorite. "And you?"

"I'm spending my days at the lab, improving my suit," he shrugged. "And waiting for you to call me," he finished, looking at you, and you chocked a little.

"Waiting for me to call you?" you coughed. "You have my number. You can call me," you said, looking at him.

"I'm always the one that calls you," he said nonchalantly.

"And?" you asked, holding a smile.

"A man gets tired..." he scratched the back of his head, shrugging and looking away from you.

"You know I don't mind you calling me," you stated. "And you also know I'm not gonna get in the middle of your commitment issues," your voice was lower.

"I didn't have a commitment issue with you," Peter defended himself.

You two were more than friends, and that was clear to everyone that had eyes. Everything started on the night of your nineteenth birthday. Your parents were out of town, and you decided it was a good idea to close an entire club in New York to have the biggest party you could think of. After using almost every drug in the building, you still felt alone, and the only person you could think about was Peter. He was at the party, but you barely saw him. At 2 a.m. you called him, and you finally hooked up. But, unlike what everyone was thinking, your 'relationship' didn't go further than occasionally making out, sleeping together and then you two wouldn't talk for two or three weeks after that. You, obviously, liked him, but Peter never dated any girl for more than two weeks, so you came to the conclusion that, even with your feelings, this 'friends with benefits' relationship was the best you could do.

"Yeah, right!" you laughed. "And that bullshit you pulled out last year was your way of committing," you joked, remembering the day he showed up in your father's cabin, knowing you would be there alone, and left the next morning without saying a word.

"You know why I did that," he sighed.

"I honestly don't," you chuckled, looking at him, waiting for his excuse.

"You told me you wanted to be alone! I was there just to make sure you were okay and then did what you want," he explained, his hands moving around anxiously.

"Are you stupid or what?" you got up, not believing how someone so smart could be so oblivious.

"What?" he asked, confused with your reaction.

"I wanted to be alone with you, dumbass. That's why I texted you my exact location," you said, pointing at him.

"Oh!" he was honestly surprised, his eyes widened in realization.

"You are dumb..." you concluded, the corners of your lips going up, forming a smile.

"I'm not dumb! I'm just..." Peter got up.

"Hard to commit," you said, knowingly.

"Oh, shut up!" he held a laugh. "You are not that great either. I lost count of how many times you ghosted me or avoided me," he accused you, and your eyes avoided his because you knew you the times you ran away from him.

"Do you...uh..." you gulped, afraid of the damage that your next words could cause. Peter studied your expression, knowing you were struggling with your thoughts. You took one more pull from the joint, trying to gather all your courage. "Do you think we will work..." you glanced at him for a split second. "I mean... in the future... you think we could work... if we tried?" you stuttered, regret already filling your chest.

"I don't like parties, you know?" Peter said, and you looked at him. Half confused and half cursing yourself for asking anything. Was he changing the subject just to avoid the question? "I mean... I like them sometimes but not every weekend," he said, looking at the buildings around.

"It's not what it looks like since I only bump into you at parties," you said with a weak smile.

"That's because I go to all the parties you go," he confessed. "When you're out of town or just at your house, I spend my night working in the lab or fighting small crimes in town," he glanced at you. You looked at him, not fully understanding what he was saying. "What I meant is..." he stared at you, and you felt the air being pulled out of your lungs by his intense eyes. "I really like you... and I hope we can work things out when you're ready," he smiled.

"Hey, Parker!" William Maximoff called, and both of you looked at him. "It's your turn on the beer pong," he yelled.

"I'm coming," Peter laughed at him, and the boy walked back inside, laughing, with some girl you didn't know, pulling him by his hand. "I'm going in..." he told you in a low voice, and you looked at him again.

"Yeah... okay," you muttered, the things he said still being processed in your head.

He stared at you, and you felt in his eyes that he was pondering on doing something. Peter took a step towards you, his face a few inches from yours, and you looked at him, feeling his hot breath in your mouth. You parted your lips, already anticipating what was coming. Peter's hand came to your face, touching gently your cheek, his eyes staring deeply into yours. You moved your face up, finally ending the distance between you two. You moved your hands to his neck, tugging at his hair, feeling his soft lips against yours, and he held your waist with his free arm. The kiss started slow but soon became needy and eager, your tongues colliding and moving in synch, traveling through every inch of each other's mouth. You captured his bottom lip between your teeth, causing him to moan softly, his hand going down to squeeze your butt.

"I really missed you," he whispered against your lips.

"Peter..." you started you a hesitant voice.

"I have to go," he said before you could say anything else. Peter took a step back, glancing between the party and you. His arms left your body, and you felt cold without his touch. He gave you a small smile, putting his hands in his pockets, walking away from you. You turned slowly to look at the buildings, not ready to go back to the party yet.

"Y/n," you heard Peter call, and you turned to look at him. "Call me when you decide to go home." he smiled and grabbed the doorknob. You nodded at him, and he ran his hand through his hair. "I'm gonna kick your ass, Will," he yelled when the noise from the party invaded your ears, and then everything was silent again.

You stared at the buildings, feeling the fear from loving Peter more than you loved anyone else in your life invade you.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter park x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker imagine #college!peter parker #peter parker #peter parker au #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x you #spiderman fic #spiderman imagine #peter parker oneshot #spiderman oneshot

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