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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

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Wrong Door (Sirius Black x reader)

Synopsis: Your roommate wakes you up in the middle of the night because she can’t get into the flat. Or so you think. (Muggle AU) FOR MY 500 WRITING CHALLENGE

A/N: do not follow what reader does in this in real life. IF SOMEBODY PASSES OUT DRUNK AND DOESN’T WAKE UP, CALL AN AMBULANCE (usa people i don’t know what you do. call an uber to the hospital?)

WARNINGS: Alcohol, really shitty first aid, swearing

BANG! Y/N bolted upright. Fuck, were they being burgled? She checked her watch, groaning at the time. It was 3 in the bloody morning and she had an 8am class. She swore lightly under her breath; she’d clearly fallen asleep while studying on the sofa, a textbook on her lap and an empty bottle of wine in her hand.

She wasn’t one for going out in middle of the week, unlike her roommate Marlene, so being woken up in the early hours of the morning was a common occurrence. Usually Marlene would just stumble back into the apartment, tripping over everything lying in her way. Tonight, she had clearly decided to break the fucking door down.

Y/N heard a key fiddling at the door, and she sighed. That was when the pounding on the door started. Time for her to go help Marlene out.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she grumbled, extracting herself from the cocoon of sheets and cushions.

The banging didn’t lessen, and Y/N groaned as black patches clouded her vision momentarily. Mentally reminding herself to grab some water on the way back from the door, she trudged over to the hallway, propping herself against the wall for two seconds as she swayed slightly. Her fingers clasped around the latch and she pulled it, swinging the door open.

“You’re not Marlene.”

“You’re not James. Did he bring you over or something?” The brunette stranger rambled, pushing past her as he stumbled into the apartment. Y/N was too taken aback to protest at first, watching the man walk in as if he owned the place. “You can close the door, y’know. I didn’t bring back a girl this time because James said he’d literally kill me if I kept him up again. What a hypocrite.”

The man reached out to hang his jacket on an empty patch of wall, staring at it blankly when it fell onto the floor. He tried again, feeling for a hook that didn’t exist and Y/N watched him confusedly from where she stood by the still-open door.

“What on earth are you doing in my flat?” She found her voice at last; his audacity was astounding!

“Your flat? Love, just because James brought you over once doesn’t mean you can start claiming our stuff,” he seemed almost affronted, slurring his words as he let his jacket be on the floor.

“No, this is my flat that I share with my roommate Marlene. Who the fuck is James? And, more importantly, who the fuck are you?” Y/N had to admit, she was getting a little riled at this point. This drunk man had just waltzed in and begun claiming the place as if she didn’t exist.

The man opened his mouth to protest before taking a good long look at the coral walls and pictures that hung all over them. He closed his mouth, paused, and turned to look at the hall table with their tatty fringed lampshade and geometric-print table runner. Y/N could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain as he stared bemusedly at the room.

“Fuck. This isn’t my flat. Where am I?” He seemed honestly and completely confounded, scrunching his face up.

“You’re near Kensington, we’re a few roads back from the high street and the market. This flat block is number 48-53?” Y/N gesticulated as she tried to explain where exactly her apartment lay.

She was too busy explaining to notice the queasy expression spreading across the man’s face. He shoved back past her to stick his head out her door and promptly throw up all over her front step. Disgusting. And she was going to have to clean it up! He swayed back and forth, before collapsing backwards, narrowly avoiding falling feet-first into a pile of his own vomit. Y/N contemplated just leaving him there and shutting the door on him. But she knew deep down she’d sorely regret it if any harm came to him because she refused to help him. It wasn’t the dodgiest of areas, but the nights were bitterly cold.

“Hey,” she tapped him on his shoulders, calling upon her memories of first aid and how to deal with a drunk person. He didn’t stir, even as her taps got harder and she decided to take her chances and slapped him straight across the face. She gasped as a red handprint bloomed on his cheek, yet he still didn’t wake up. Hand still stinging, Y/N grabbed his arms, heaving as she attempted to pull him inside. Managing to pull him into the living room, she gently rolled him into the recovery position, ensuring that he was still breathing and that he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. A dead man in her living room would be difficult to explain to her flatmate.

Y/N trudged to the kitchen, dragging her feet along as she pinched her eyelids to try and keep herself awake. She just needed to grab a glass of water to help with tomorrow’s inevitable hangover and a blanket for the drunkard. Somehow, she managed to complete the task, leaving her standing over the man now covered in her biggest blanket. She knew that she should go back to her room, but it just seemed so far, her legs protesting at the thought of moving an inch. Besides, the blanket was big enough to cover the two of them without having to even touch each other, right?

Sliding under the furthest corner, she quickly curled into a ball, eyes drifting shut before her head even touched the carpet.

Waking in the morning, Y/N nuzzled further into the broad arms wrapped around her, sighing as she breathed in the stale scent of cologne and whisky. Her head pounding as she tried to recall the events of the night before that had led to her in a man’s arms. She startled, bolting upright as she remembered the drunkard who had stumbled through her door. And now she was in his arms. Fuck.

Seeing the man afresh with sober eyes, Y/N stopped to appreciate that he was actually really fucking attractive. It didn’t excuse him trying to break into her flat, but it helped, now knowing she’d cuddled him all night. God, that was embarrassing. How was she ever supposed to explain to the guy on the floor or Marlene what had happened. Slipping out from under the blanket, she tiptoed into the kitchen and slumped against the counter.

Coffee, she needed coffee. Then she could think about what had happened and how to sort out the man passed out in the living room.

Y/N filled the kettle up and spooned out the coffee granules into the cafetiere, frowning when her hand came into contact with air rather than her favourite mug. Fuck. It was still dirty from last night, probably abandoned on the table with her textbooks.

Meanwhile, Sirius groaned as he twisted under his covers. God, his head was aching, and his back was incredibly sore. Remus was going to kill him if he’d pulled a muscle; he was meant to be helping him move on the weekend. His mattress was uncomfortably lumpy; he knew he needed to get a new one, but he’d been putting it off. The bobbly fabric scratched his skin as he stretched out, flexing his fingers.

Hang on. Bobbly fabric?

Sirius cracked an eye open, flinching at the bright light. As his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight streaming in, his heart rate picked up. This was not his apartment. He was pretty sure they didn’t have such awful, tasselled cushions or green lace curtains.

Did he-? He glanced down, releasing a sigh of relief when he noticed he was still fully dressed. Okay, so not that drunk. So how the hell did he end up here?

“Here.” A girl stood in the doorway, an unimpressed expression on her face as she offered him a steaming mug of black coffee. “I didn’t know how you liked it, but I have milk and sugar if you need.”

Sirius nodded, still trying to process how he’d got here. She stared at him, waiting for something. He quickly backtracked the conversation in his head. “Oh, no, I’m good, thanks.”

He sipped at the scalding liquid, face contorting into an expression of pain as it scorched his tongue. His eyes trailed over the girl, surely he’d remember someone this gorgeous. “So,” he winced, “how did I get here?”

She pursed her lips, as if she’d tasted something sour. Okay so that had been a bad question to ask.

“You barged into my apartment, claiming it was yours, threw up on my doorstep and then passed out.”

Oh fuck. His head spun as it tried to remember the events of the night before. He did recall somewhat throwing up, but it was a blurry flash. “Sorry about that.”

She hmphed, stacking some scattered sheets on the small coffee table and collecting up dirty crockery. Sirius swallowed the coffee, grimacing at the awkward atmosphere. Funnily enough his parents had never bothered to teach him the etiquette for accidentally bursting into the wrong flat and passing out.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, glad he didn’t have to feel the pressure of breaking the silence anymore.

JAMES: Where are u?

JAMES: When I said don’t bring a girl back I didn’t mean go back to hers

JAMES: Ur boss called. I said you were feeling under the weather. He said u should get over ur hangover & get into work

REMUS: Why did ur boss call me to ask if we went out last night? I said no btw

JAMES: He called again; said he’d fire you if you didn’t turn up before 11. I told him u were properly ill and I could send him a pic of the thermometer. I think I got you out of that one

JAMES: Mate, I’m getting a bit worried

Shit. When was that last one from? Okay, 11:15 and it was now 11:34. Sirius tapped out a reply to James, unsure how much detail to go into. I’m alright, be back soon. Yeah, that would do. He really couldn’t deal the endless mocking yet, once they’d found out what had happened they’d never let it go. So that would be saved for when the pounding headache had finally settled down.

His phone binged again. JAMES: We’re out of milk can you grab some on the way back?

Sure.

Sirius got to his feet, groaning as the room spun, beige walls all blurring into one. Rubbing at his face, he stumbled towards the kitchen, empty mug in hand.

“Hey, sorry, I don’t know your name.” He leant against the door frame, body sagging. God he was exhausted.

“Y/N.” Her tone was bitter, and Sirius couldn’t help the pang of guilt shooting through him. She’d probably stayed up all night worried he’d attack her or steal something.

“Well, thanks for the coffee, Y/N, and for not leaving me on the doorstep. I’ll get out of your hair now.”

He placed the mug down on the counter and slung his leather jacket on. She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

Y/N trailed him to the door, holding onto it as he stepped out, raising a hand goodbye.

“Bye.”

“Thanks, bye.” Sirius watched the chipped door swing shut, sunlight glinting gold off the battered number on the door. Hm, Number 51.

Y/N groaned as the doorbell went. She’d just got settled into her studying. “Marlene, did you order something?”

“No. I’m broke.” Marlene yelled back, sticking her head out of her room. Her makeup was half done, mascara brush in hand and dress round her hips. “I can’t answer it like this!”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’m on it.”

She tipped the papers onto the floor, ignoring the mess they made. Future her could tidy that up. Trudging to the door, she grabbed her phone off the table. So that was where she’d left it.

“Hi,” she nodded at the delivery guy. He was holding a large bunch of flowers and Y/N bit back a sigh her eyes. Probably from another of Marlene’s boys. Honestly, she was thinking of opening up a flower shop, considering the amount of flowers Marlene’s newest was insisting on sending.

“Hi, I’m looking for,” the delivery guy scanned the list on his clipboard, “Y/N?”

She froze. Huh. “Yeah, that’s me.”

He tucked the clipboard under his arm, passing her the flowers. “These are for you. There’s a card with it.”

“Thanks.”

Y/N shut the door, staring at the bunch of vivid blooms in confusion. Who on earth would have sent her these? She racked her brains for any possible romance in her life, but nothing came to mind. With her luck, it was probably her grandma or something. Not that she’d be upset by flowers from her nan but a mystery lover was much more interesting.

She pulled out the gilded card from where it was tucked into the side of the paper, scanning the words.

Sorry for breaking in and passing out in your flat, princess. Text me if you want to go for drinks at some point: +44 7xxx xxxxxx

A smile broke across her face. Maybe she’d take him up on his offer.

all hp tags: @missmulti @acciotwinz @1marvelavengers1 @samnblack @neymarlionelmessi7 @okkulta @gredandforge @onestela@yourenotafailureoverall @milkshakelol

sirius black tags: @holybatflapexpert @methamphetaminee @thefernandasantana @uglipotata72829 @cheapglitter @lozzybowe @persephonehemingway @blisfvlll @mads-bri @fific7 @electrasworld666 @ccosmic-illusion @anniewhoiam @20coldhearts @imcreepininyourheartbabe @whointhehellisbucky @isntmadrid @blackblossomqueen @wheezyreads @tugabooos @atomic-chickenwings @its-evita-here @inkandpen22 @Rue-123 @emilianamason @mesmerisedalien

#sirius x reader #sirius #sirius black x reader #sirius x you #sirius black #sirius x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius/reader #sirius black/reader #harry potter fanfiction #marauders era #marauders imagine #muggle au #sleep-i-ness500

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earlgreydream · 3 years

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florist.

| Zemo x reader | fluff | smut |

anon requested. Zemo is a mob boss and the reader is a cute little florist who is always happy and all and she is a virgin but Zemo is really experienced. The reader wants to try it, and Zemo asks her is she’s sure and then she wiggles a lot and Zemo asks is he can tie her up because we ✨kinky✨ and she agrees and then after they try it the reader loves it and then Zemo sings her bah bah black sheep as a lullaby after wards as he holds her in his arms

The sweet aroma of roses welcomed the dark mob boss with the bloody hands. It surrounded Zemo, delicate and familiar, much like you. The bell chimed as he pushed open the door to your shop, leather boots tapping on swept tile floors.

“I’ll be with you in a second!” You called, bent down behind the counter, looking for white ribbon to tie bouquets.

“No rush, darling,” Zemo spoke evenly.

At the sound of your boyfriend’s Sokovian accent, you stood up. His heart softened when you beamed at him, a bright smile crossing your face. He loved your cheerful demeanor and your sweet personality. You brought the scary criminal so much joy, balancing the darkness with your light.

“Hi,” you breathed, walking around to greet him properly.

“Hello my beautiful darling,” he kissed you deeply, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“What brings you here? I thought you had big important meetings?” You asked, sliding your hands into his blond hair and dragging him back to your lips before he could answer.

“I just wanted to see my girl,” Zemo murmured into your neck, adding to the fading love bites that were already there.

“I’m your girl,” you giggled happily, squealing as he lifted you to sit on the counter.

He squeezed your thighs, his hands resting just below the hem of your sundress. You pressed little kisses to his lips, delighted by him visiting you in your flower shop.

“I was hoping I could come over tonight?” You asked shyly, your fingers toying with the blonde hair at the nape of his neck.

He hummed thoughtfully against his forehead, thinking through the plans for the rest of the day. He supposed that he could send someone else to the deals, already shifting his schedule around in his head. Zemo loved to indulge your every whim and desire, even if it were as simple as being together.

“I’ll be there,” he kissed you, feeling you smile into it. It made his heart swell as he melted at your innocence. Your hands smoothed down over his blazer, feeling his well formed muscles under the fabric.

“I’ll take you home today.”

You smiled, enjoying being carted around in one of Zemo’s many fancy cars. Your scary, dangerous boyfriend was a stark contrast to you, the innocent, sweet florist. He loved to spoil you and treat you like his princess, and he was soft for you. You adored him, and even though he could be intimidating at times, he was always sweet to you.

“I have some people coming in to pick up bouquets. I’ll see you later?” You inquired, and he pecked your lips.

“Later,” Zemo’s voice was low.

You watched him go, returning to your work and finishing up bouquets for happy couples to pick up.

“Thank you!” You called after the last people left.

You flipped the sign on your door to ‘closed’ and started to put away everything that was left out. The sound of a sports car rolling up outside caught your attention, and you grabbed your bag.

You were so excited to be with Zemo that you struggled to lock the finicky door, laughing at yourself.

“Hi, my love,” you smiled, stepping into the car with white leather seats. Zemo took your bag and set it in the backseat, his hand going to rest on your thigh.

You were practically anxious with excitement. Zemo had been caught up in copious amounts of work recently, leaving little time for your relationship. You were far more innocent compared to him, and the two of you had been taking things slower. Now though, with him gone frequently, you wanted more intimacy when he was around.

Zemo carried your bag inside for you, his free hand tightly holding yours. You were pushing your boyfriend up against the wall as soon as he was out of his coat and shoes.

“Y/N?”

“I can’t wait any longer Zemo. I need you,” you informed him, your pupils dilating with lust.

“You have me,” he responded calmly, wanting to hear you say it.

“No, I want you inside me. I want to have sex, I want you to take my virginity!”

The corners of his lips turned up into a smile, but he was hesitant to just give in. You’d gone quite a long time preserving your innocence, and Zemo didn’t think you’d be best off losing it to him.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, entirely serious. He never once pressured you, and he didn’t want you to feel as though you had to give him your body.

“I am.”

You looked him in the eyes with utter certainty. His hand went to your waist, pulling you into a needy, passionate kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and his hand traveled downward, gripping your ass through the thin fabric of a sundress.

Zemo swept you off your feet, carrying you to your bedroom. He couldn’t hold out anymore, you just looked so divine with your dazzling smile and tiny dress.

“I will do my best to be gentle, darling,” Zemo promised as he crawled over your now-nude body. Kisses had been pressed to every inch of your body, Zemo drawing out the foreplay to try to help you relax as much as possible.

“Please, I need you!” You writhed before he’d even touched your core.

He watched you squirm, even as he gently held you still. Zemo dipped down and kissed your collarbone, making you claw at his back.

“My sweet darling, you simply can’t hold still. Do I need to tie your hands up?” Zemo asked, teasingly nipping at your skin.

He was surprised when you nodded, willing to try it. You wanted your dominant boyfriend to exert his power over you, leading you and showing you pleasure.

He retrieved a silk tie, binding your hands to the intricate bedpost.

“Say the word and I’ll free you, darling.”

“Yes, Zemo. Just please fuck me, I want you so bad,” you begged, lightly tugging at the ties on your wrists.

He knelt between your legs, brushing the tip against your soaked folds. You shuddered when he tapped your swollen clit, a choked moan leaving your lips. You were practically throbbing with need, salivating from the sight of your well-endowed boyfriend.

He held your hips and carefully eased into you, studying your face. You gripped the silk that restrained you, startled by how painful it was. You expected it to hurt a bit, but not near as much as it was.

“Zemo!” You gasped with watery eyes.

“I know, darling. I’m so sorry, just try to relax. It’ll feel better in just a moment,” he promised apologetically, his heart aching at the threat of your tears.

Sweet kisses were pressed to your lips, and you were thankful for the security of the ties. Zemo’s fingers danced and stroked your clit, trying to get your body to ease up.

“Want me to untie you?”

“No, no, please, just move—” you gasped, arching your back as he rolled his hips forward.

He built up a steady pace as he fucked you, stretching your tight pussy and drawing pleasure from you. You were better than anyone in the past, taking him and begging for more as he pushed his cock inside of you.

“That’s it, darling, cry out for me,” he groaned, further aroused by the sound of you shouting his name.

“Zemo! Please, faster!”

He obliged you, increasing his pace. He felt himself twitch, getting close to the edge. He was mindful that this was your first time, and he focused on making you come first.

The blonde leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, licking over the hyper-sensitive peak and nipping gently. Mewls escaped your lips and your body trembled at the combination of that, with the tight circles being traced on your swollen clit. Your walls caught on the veins of him, his tip brushing against every invisible, sensitive area inside of you.

You threw your head back and screamed as your body ignited with warmth, pleasure spreading through you like wildfire. Your hands yanked at the silk that kept you from touching him as you grappled for something to ground you.

The sight of your rapture had Zemo spilling into you, coming with a force that made your body shudder around him. Sokovian profanities echoed in your innocent ears, your chest rising and falling under his heady gaze.

“Zemo, I need to touch you,” you breathed, and your hands were freed.

You dragged your fingers through his damp hair, pulling the baron down to you. Your lips were captured in a heavy kiss, arms wrapping around your wrecked body.

After a bit of cleanup and adjustment, you settled into his lap, clad in one of his warm sweaters. Be gently rocked you, singing softly in Sokovian, bringing you down from the aftershocks of the intense sex.

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passable-talent · 4 years

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Request for a Zuko blowjob.... Our fire prince receiving? However you wanna do it 💜😝 I'm just thirsty af

y’all are gonna get me horny. all characters are of age.

happy 1000 follower special, sorry it took a while, hope it was worth it.

Fire Lord Zuko needed a break- you could tell.

It was one of the things that he liked about you, that you could just sense it, when there was too much energy or stress in his muscles. It was like an innate superpower of yours, or maybe you just spent a little too much time paying attention to him and so you learned his body language.

You were a servant at the palace, high in the ranks through sheer hard work. You had been born with no status in your blood, and so you kept your head down and proved your worth, your talent, your skill. You’d been brought to the palace of the Fire Lord when you were ten to study under some of the more important servants there, those entrusted to keep state secrets while passing them between generals and sometimes even the Fire Lord himself.

You’d crushed on Prince Zuko from afar. You’d witnessed his banishment. You waited for him to return, knowing, hoping, that he’d be the one of royal blood to fix the monstrosities hiding behind these walls.

And when he came back, eight years after you’d first come to the palace, he was pretty much everything you’d hoped he would become.

The thing about being a high ranking servant is that you can sometimes subvert the delegated work patterns. For instance, on days like this, you often used the evenings that you weren’t required to work to snatch the Fire Lord’s dinner from the servant who was supposed to bring it to him, and took it to him yourself.

Genius, isn’t it?

“My Lord,” you said, head bowed respectfully at the doorway of the Fire Lord’s study. He often spent his evenings here, catching up on the schooling he’d missed, spending three years at sea. Even now he looked stressed, his shoulders tight as he leaned over the dark wooden desk. He looked up to see you, and the slightest bit of relaxation let his arms lower, but there was still work to do.

“Come in, Y/N.” You stepped into the room, placing his dinner before him on an empty portion of the desk. Every staff member who worked with him personally, he knew by name, but his knowledge of you went a bit deeper.

You turned, putting your back to the Fire Lord just briefly to slowly close the door. It made a soft noise, soft enough that it wouldn’t draw attention, nor did it shatter the atmosphere of the room.

“You have a lot on your mind, Fire Lord Zuko,” you said, leaning back against the door with a bit of a smile on your face as you looked at him. He ate lightly, delivering the chicken filled dumplings to his lips even as he continued reading the parchment strewn about in front of him. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his mouth- he had nearly colorless lips, which would make one think that his lips were thin. But you knew better.

You stood against the door, patiently, as he finished his meal, though his focus was on his paperwork until the very last morsel. Once he had, you pushed off from the wall with your shoulder blade and approached his desk.

You could be much bolder, now that this was an established pattern. You knew your forwardness was accepted, even appreciated.

When you reached the desk, you let your hips press against it, leaning over. Your left hand boxed in the dishes his meal had left behind, and with a tilt of your head you pressed a finger to his papers, though not the one he was currently scribbling on. You moved it around, slowly, catching his attention, bringing his gaze up to your sly smile.

“I really don’t have the time,” he said, and his voice was quiet enough that you could tell he regretted turning you away.

“I was merely collecting your dishes,” you answered cheekily, lifting up the tray you had set down and walking back to the door. When it was halfway open, he called out.

“Wait,” he said, and paused to lower his volume. “You’re going?”

“I thought you said you didn’t have any time?” You asked, coyly, and reveled for a moment’s pause in the red that rose on his cheeks. “Don’t worry, your majesty, I’m coming right back. After all, I’ve heard that something very important needs to be discussed with you.”

He recognized the meaning of the words. It was your own personal code, a phrase that you often used when trying to hide your true intention.

You knew better than to sprint. It would draw attention, and leave you out of breath. But you wanted so desperately to hurry, to return, and so you took every shortcut you could manage, tightly rounded every corner.

When you returned, you found him once again engrossed in his papers, but with your arrival he brightened and his focus shifted to you. He stood, grace aiding his movements, but you recognized the rush that normally accompanied this kind of meeting. You closed the door, and practically dove around his desk to slot your lips with his.

You wanted to pull and tug at his hair, but you knew better. So you let your fingertips play in those strands that hung loose from his topknot and let the rest of your hands frame his face, holding his jawline. His hands, too, started at your face, but as the insistence of the kiss built he let them wander down, to where he tucked them into the curve of your lower back, pulling you closer to him. With a quick smirk you pressed into his mouth, you used the opportunity to roll your hips into his.

He didn’t quite... moan. But he broke his mouth from yours and looked down, pressing his forehead against yours briefly while seeming to catch his breath.

You smirked.

“Yeah, you need this,” you said, voice low but all the same confident as you shoved his shoulders back, moving him out of your space. You took stock of his robes, recognizing the royal outfit and how to properly dismantle it. Though you were nearly an expert in fire nation royal clothing by now, it didn’t stop you from only taking it all halfway off.

Why do the whole job when half is enough?

His hipbones were close to the surface of his skin, though his muscular physique would prevent from calling them ‘defined’. Nonetheless, you took hold of them and spun him, pressing him back against his desk. This gave him something to lean against- which he needed, as you sunk to your knees.

It was a slow, purposeful movement, your descent to the floor, your eyes not breaking his for an instant the whole way down. One hand held onto the desk to keep your movement smooth but the other left it’s trail from his hipbone, down over his thigh, even as it intersected with drooping fabric.

His eyes were almost wide as he watched you, but his heartbeat was steady- he trusted you. He knew you well, and you him.

“Okay?” You breathed, a straightening of your back bringing you closer to where he wanted you, where you wanted to be.

“Yes,” he breathed, and finally you broke your attention from his eyes and focused it wholly on his dick. He was half hard already, something you would work with. You had a tendency to tease, to string him out, make him wait. There was almost a philosophy behind it- the more worked up he got, the more stress the subsequent relief would wash away. And so you never went right into the main event, instead choosing to spend plenty of time in the preliminaries.

First, you decided to break the perfect, pale skin. You dug your fingernails into his hipbones and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of his v-line, the flesh there soft and hydrated, but just underneath was firm as iron. His fingers curled around the edge of the desk, keeping his hands out of your way and anchored, as though keeping him grounded in the moment here and now. You sucked, insistent, for a few seconds, leaving the beginnings of a mark before moving on. Really what you wanted to pay attention to was a little higher, at the base of his abs, and you caught just a bit of skin between your front teeth and tugged forward, letting it release on its own with a quick exhale from Zuko, and you could hear in the raspiness from deep in his chest that he was getting quite worked up. Satisfied with the small teeth marks you’d left, you moved on.

A snaking hand of yours slid up his thigh and back to his hip bone, the skin so smooth and soft, and you watched as his member jumped in reaction to a hand coming so close. You smirked, and a brief glance up to his face confirmed what you already suspected- his eyes were closed, emotions such as pleasure, temptation, frustration, and resistance flitting through the expressions he made. It made heat pool between your hips- but this wasn’t about you.

You decided to give him some relief, and one hand wrapped around his member slowly, fingers curling one by one, the delicacy of such a movement ubsurd for the situation. He let out the air in his lungs in the form of a moan, breathy and subtle, but music to your ears all the same. You began sliding, back and forth, grip strong but not tight, leaving him in the perfect limbo between pleasure and frustration. His abs stretched further as he leaned back, hands leaving the edge of the desk to brace his shoulders with his palms flat on the surface of the wood.

You felt little twitches in his hips, like he wanted to pick up the pace, and with a devious smile you loosened your grip.

Immediately his gaze connected with yours.

“What?” He asked, and you smiled.

“Taking a small break, you don’t mind?” The teasing lightness of your voice made him all the more frustrated, because he knew you weren’t being serious, as he was rock hard against his own abs.

“A break? Y/N, please.” And though that was the word you wanted to hear, the statement-like delivery of it made you want more, and you stood up, your closer hip pressing against the desk and leaning over him, taking his member back into your hand with slow, languid strokes.

“My lord,” you said, voice low, seductive, smooth, “you’re at my mercy, tonight, aren’t you?” His gaze searched yours, golden eyes looking up at you with an expression as though he were trying to read your mind behind your eyes. Finally, he broke eye contact, and looked down at your mouth.

“Yes,” he whispered, and it brought a smile to your lips.

“Then you need only ask,” you said, picking up speed with your strokes to bring panting into his breathing and moans into his words.

“Please,” he moaned out, and you sunk back to your knees again, your hand stilling at his base while you looked up at him, and smiled.

“Yes, my lord,” you said, and slipped your mouth over his member. You didn’t take it all the way, not at first, merely brought it to your tongue and began wetting it with saliva, giving the head a bit of suction from where it sat just behind your lips. His moan, at that moment, was louder than any other from the night, and if it wouldn’t have ruined your technique, you would’ve smiled.

With every bob of your head you took in more of his member, readjusting the position of your tongue. At first it became a barrier in the back of your mouth, but you fought your impulse and slid it along his undervein, making his back arch even further. His thighs flexed and tightened under your fingers, telling you along with his nearly constant thread of moans how much he was enjoying your treatment. You twisted your neck upon the final pull up and the opposite way on the sink back down, increasing the friction that he experienced. You still didn’t quite reach his base- he was just a bit too big for that.

“Y/N,” he breathed out, and a smile tried to pull at your lips, even though you were otherwise occupied. His moans were almost constant, broken through by your name. Finally his hand left the desk and buried into your hair, gripping tightly but not painfully. He began tugging, but instead of pulling you closer, as you would’ve expected, he was pushing you away.

“Y/N, I’m gonna-“ You realized the point of his motions and fought them, the stinging of your scalp nearly pleasurable as you battled to stay close to him, sinking your lips over as much of him as you could access.

“Y/N-“ he began, attempting to warn you again, but you once again pressed close and recieved it as he came, in the back of your mouth. You took it, as usual, and swallowed before it could hit your tongue. Slowly you pulled off and waited until he cooled down before standing. He had let his head droop back, hanging limply off his shoulders, chest rising and falling with labored, intense breaths. He didn’t re-emerge into reality for a good many more seconds, and when he did, his shoulders were noticeably looser than they had been in the afternoon.

“Sleep well, your majesty,” you said, and it was more an order than a well wish. You pressed a kiss to his temple as he panted, and you left him alone to deal with cleaning up the mess.

-🦌 Roe

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madmansan · 3 years

Text

28 Days

Fantasy au - Demon!San x F!Reader

Trigger Warnings

Mentions of death and blades.

Labyrinth - part 1

Aldbarrow. A village known for it's hunters, jewellers, bakers and smiths. But most famous of all, was the Labyrinth that lay just outside the village.

From the outside, all one could see was a large stone wall, that would tower above even the tallest man's head. However, lurking inside was the castle of the Demon King.

Guarding the castle were his loyal demon subjects, that skulked around the Labyrinth to feed on the souls of any human that dares to enter. Or so it was believed. You see, no one had ever entered the Labyrinth and returned. It was a mystery that people were terrified to discover. But not me.

You paused, the ink from your quill blotching on to the page. You bit your lip in frustration, grabbing a bit of cloth and gently dabbing up the small puddle. You placed the quill back into the ink pot, shuffled the parchments into a neat pile and placed them under the false bottom of one of the drawers in your desk.

You were planning on observing the Labyrinth, maybe even entering, so that you could write a book about it. It was a good idea at first but you soon realized that your parents would kill you if they found out.

'Your Auntie entered that Labyrinth and never came back! Don't even think for a second that I would let you anywhere near it. I don't care if it would help the village! You're. Not. Going.' Your Mother would always say. That's why you had to hide it.

Every night, once your parents had gone to sleep, you would sneak out and examine the wall. Running your fingers along the rocks, comparing plants that grew between the cracks to the ones in the village, you even scaled the wall once to try and see over but it was far too dark to see anything.

You heard the door creak open and turned around to see your little sister swinging from the door handle.

"Good morning, Roslyn." You smiled at her, closing the drawer.

She hummed in response, slowly plodding her way over, carelessly swinging her teddy bear back and forth. "Whatchya doin'?" She said, running one of her little fingers along your drawer.

"Why are you asking?" You replied, giving her a playful smirk.

She looked up at you with a hint of mischief in her eyes, "There's a question already on the table, y/n!" She's surprisingly cheeky for a six year old.

You threw your hands up in defence, "Alright, you got me. I'm starting to write my book about the Labyrinth. I plan on sneaking out tonight to see if I can find out anything about the demons inside." The little girl's eyes widened with excitement.

"Really!" She yelled, quickly cupping her mouth, as to not alert your mother and leaned in closer. "You're really gonna go? What if something bad happens? No, nothing bad will happen. I'm sure it will be great. Can I come?!"

You placed your hands on her shoulders trying to cool her excitement, "Nothing bad will happen because I would be cautious. I can't say that much for you." She sulked and you laughed, picking her up and spinning her around. "It'll be okay. I'll report back to you every detail of my observations." You placed a hard kiss on her cheek and watched as she wiped it off, squirming out of your grip. You giggled as you watched her run off down the stairs.

❁

You grabbed your bag, flinging it over your shoulder and heading out the front door. Roslyn came tumbling out behind you, chasing after her friends whilst still putting on her shoes. You sighed as she stumbled and you bent down to tie her laces properly before letting her run off again.

You had a burst of energy as you marched to the forge. You had commissioned a dagger from the village blacksmith, and one of your best friends, Mingi. If you wanted to enter the Labyrinth, you knew you would need something to defend yourself with.

You clutched the metal handle, swinging the wooden door open with a hearty 'Good morning!' You heard the joyful-sounding greetings of more than one voice down the hall and you could only assume, Mingi's jeweller friend Hongjoong had come round to visit.

You entered the small forge, Mingi hammered a glowing red metal rod against his anvil whilst Hongjoong sat in the corner gently fiddling with some wire and gems.

"Is it ready?" You asked, barely masking your excitement.

"Ah! The dagger!" Mingi exclaimed, placing the rod back in the hearth and removing his thick, tattered gloves. He walked to a desk behind Hongjoong's seat, who's eyes followed him before spinning back round to you.

"Why are you in need of a dagger?" He asked, a bright smile painting his face. You hadn't really spoken to him before, apart from the occasional 'good morning' when seeing him on the street or in Mingi's forge.

Before you could respond Mingi cut in. "She's being an idiot. As per usual." He walked up to you and you gave him a slap on his arm. He laughs at your weak attempt to hurt him and you huff, knowing that you couldn't win.

You turned your attention back to Hongjoong, who sat patiently, his smile not faultering at all. "I'm going to the Labyrinth!" You said, your pride filling the room as you pushed out your chest.

Hongjoong started to laugh but it soon faded when he realized you were being serious. "Wait, seriously?!" He yelled, his smile dropping to gape his mouth in shock.

"Don't worry, Hongjoong. I thought she was crazy when she first told me as well." Mingi laughed, handing you the blade like he was giving you some sort of award. You snatched it from his hands and stuck your tongue out at him.

"I've been studying it for a while. I want to write a book about it. It would most likely be less of a threat if we knew more about it." Hongjoong's eyes lit up, mouthing a small 'wow'. You proudly looked back to Mingi, who huffed at his friend taking your side. He still held out one of his hands, expecting his payment. You reached into your bag and pulled out a paper envelope that contained the money for his work.

He opened it, inspecting the amount inside. You sighed, "Come on, Mingi! You really think I would swindle you? He closed the envelope and looked back up at you.

"You can never be too sure." He said, eyeing you suspiciously, a playful grin appearing at the corner of his lips.

Suddenly, loud yells came from outside and all of you bolted to the door to see what was going on.

People were running wild, shouting out various things but one stood out to you the most. The yell of your little sister's name.

Panicked, you grabbed a person on the street and asked them what was going on.

"Y/n! Two of Roslyn's friends came running to us saying that her and Erina went missing whilst in they were playing in the woods."

Your heart sunk. A cold shiver ran up your spine and left you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You pushed through the crowd, desperately screaming out the names of the two missing girls, whilst Mingi and Hongjoong followed swiftly after.

The crowd went silent, curved around the base of the hill that lead up to the woods and - you felt your throat tighten at the thought. The Labyrinth.

You pushed your way through the people, with gentle apologies coming from the two boys tailing you. In front of everyone you saw Erina, Roslyn's friend and only one of the two missing girls.

You knelt down in front of her and made sure she was alright before you asked her what happened.

"Me and Roslyn went further into woods."

"How far?!" You quickly responded.

"To the Labyrinth."

"You went to the Labyrinth?!"

"She wanted to observe it to help you!" She exclaimed, starting to panic.

"Where is she?!" You asked. She didn't respond. "Erina!" You clutched on to her shoulders.

Her face dropped, "It's all my fault."

You froze for a moment, each breath you took being less controlled than the last. You started to run towards the woods, tears pouring down your cheeks, screaming out your little sister's name again and again.

Some of the large men in the village grabbed you and pulled you back as you fought against them. You shoved out of their grip for just a couple seconds before being grabbed again.

Eventually, your muscles weakened and you fell to the floor in defeat. A strong hand squeezed your shoulder and you looked over to see Mingi, who sat on his knees next to you.

"I know it hurts, y/n, but ... ' he trailed off, watching your tear stained face stare at him, lip quivering, "there's nothing you can do." You started to sob once more, falling into his chest as he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug.

❁

You couldn't bring yourself to tell your mother, but it inevitably came to her attention.

You sat at your desk and stared at the ripped up pile of parchments that lay on the floor. She had asked to see them after finding out Roslyn's motive. She blamed you, screamed at you, ripped your work to shreds, she didn't care that you were hurting too.

You finally got out of your chair and started to pick up the pieces, when one of them caught your eye.

'It was a mystery'

The Labyrinth was a mystery. Nobody actually knew if Roslyn was dead. Your body burned with anger, fists clenching around the pieces of parchment before slamming them to the floor and striding towards your bed. You reached under, grabbing your bag and starting to pack some necessities.

The village thought she was dead, but you were going to find out for sure.

❁

After getting a couple hours sleep to see you through the day, you climbed out of you window and started to head in the direction of the mountain.

It wasn't a long walk to the Labyrinth, but your dedication to save Roslyn was so strong, you ended up there in under ten minutes.

You had been up there dozens of times before, but this time was the only time you felt absolutely terrified. The wall seemed ten times higher, ten times longer, but knowing Roslyn was there just the day before, you knew that you couldn't turn back.

You were entering that Labyrinth, and you didn't care if you weren't going to come back out.

You heard some twigs crack behind you, followed by a small rock landing at your feet.

You turned to see Hongjoong poking his head around one of the trees, "Oh, hi." You said, awkwardly. He cautiously looked around him before stepping out into the clearing, joining you by the Labyrinth wall. You bent down and picked up the rock he threw, "Was this really necessary? No one's around." He scratched the back of his neck and looked at the ground awkwardly. "Let me guess, Mingi sent you to convince me not to go in. Well, I'm not going to listen so-"

"Mingi didn't send me." He cut you off, bluntly.

You looked at him quizzically as he reached into his pocket. "I'm not here to stop you either. I just want you to have this." He held up a thin silver chain, with a small heart pendant in the middle. "I remember reading somewhere that demons are deadly allergic to silver. I can't be too sure if it's actually true, but it's best to be safe anyway. May I?" He moved his hands towards your neck and you leaned forward, nodding your head. Your heart warmed knowing that he was trying to help you and not drag you back to the village.

He clipped it around your neck and leaned back, running his fingers along the chain, admiring the small heart before his cheeks flushed bright red. "I-I didn't mean to make the pendant a heart! It was one I made a while back. It's the first one I pulled out when looking through my silver necklaces for one to give you." He trailed off still mumbling to himself.

You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Thank you, it's extremely kind of you to do this for me. May you find happiness, Hongjoong." You smiled at him and he quickly returned it. He awkwardly stepped away and waved you goodbye, wishing you luck.

Once his figure had vanished into the woods you turned your attention back to the wall. You had to go. No turning back.

To be continued

Author's note: Ahhhh the new story!! I've been really nervous to post this but here we are! This is only the first chapter and the others probably won't be out for a while, but it'll be nice to see what people think! Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you have a great morning/night, wherever you are in the world! ❤❤

#ateez headcanons #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #choi san #ateez san #san x reader #san x y/n

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joontier · 4 years

Text

mercedes midnight runs | drabble

synopsis: ur thirsting over jk driving you around in a mercedes

pairings: jungkook x reader

rating: R

genre: smut, angst | warnings: pwp basically (the thirst is real and unquenchable) with lidol angst ; swearing ; degradation ; car sex (pls dont do this while driving fjlaksas)

word count: 2.1k

g/n: this is the first installment for my ‘between the lines’ collection! ackkk ive been wanting to do this for so long because ive always thirsted over the boys driving and imagining jk driving his mercedes around seoul is just,,,,, eye ---- btw, this is heavily unedited nhnghgnhgn i just had to share the thirst with yall real quick

between the lines navi. | navi. | m.list

You’ve already planned out a quiet night to yourself tonight to rest and get your mind off of things, but all of a sudden, just as you were about to settle in bed, Jungkook sends you a text, telling you to get ready in half an hour because he’s going to pick you up and take you out somewhere.

It isn't new news anymore that he’s texting you at this hour because he’s only permitted to go out after his schedules, which usually also end late at night. Superstar problems, can’t relate.

Well, that and because your relationship with him warrants these types of late night meet-ups. It’s that type of arrangement you’d never thought you’d agree to, but eventually, learned to cope with. Your phone pings - a new message.

[🕺] 12:45AM

im out front

When you exit your apartment, you see an unfamiliar silver car parked in front of the building, you back up the stairs, wary of who might be inside the mysterious vehicle. The window rolls down halfway, and you see Jungkook takes a peek through the small space.

Going back down the steps, you quickly climb inside the vehicle. “New car?”

“Yeah, you like it?”

You hum in agreement, tracing a hand along the sleek design of the dashboard. “It’s very...you,” you remark, in awe at how this new Benz fits Jungkook so well. “C’mere,” Jungkook tugs at your elbow, closing the distance between the two of you. “Fuck, you don’t know how much I missed you.” He presses his lightly chapped lips against yours, nipping gently at your bottom lip. Abruptly, you pull away, worried.

“Kook...what if someone sees?”

“I got the windows tinted. I got this car for us.” His words resonate throughout the car, and you're afraid he might hear your heart thudding strongly in your chest. You choose to ignore the implications of his words, focusing on his presence and not your treacherous thoughts.

You give him a chaste kiss on his cheek in reply, sending a smile in his direction. You hope he doesn't see your real emotions swimming in your eyes. “Where are we escaping off to tonight?” Internally cringing at your careless choice of words, you take off your hoodie and place it at the backseat, along with your purse, all the while giving him a generous display of your cleavage as a distraction.

Jungkook’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “I’m having second thoughts now, if we should really leave or not,” he says, unabashedly staring at your chest, eyeing your nipples, pert against the fabric of your low-cut top. “No bra?”

“You told me you’d be here in twenty minutes, so I had to hurry….”

“Wearing a bra takes you twenty minutes now?” Jungkook snorts, shaking his head at your lame excuse.

“Yup, especially when all I could think about is having you take them off. So be grateful, because I’m doing you a favor.” You give him a wink, giggling when he huffs and starts the car. You’ve outwitted him once more. Silently, deep within the recesses of your brain, you wish you had the same amount of control you had over your words with your heart, especially when you’re around Jungkook.

Connecting your phone to the car’s music player via bluetooth, you scroll through your recents and pick on your favorite playlist when you’re with Jungkook. ‘Sexy Can I’ by Ray J and Yung Berg comes first on shuffle.

“That sounds like a very promising playlist.”

Your conversation slowly lulls into silence, the two of you seated there quietly as you feel the enhanced bass reverberate throughout the new car. Leaning against the headrest, you glimpse at the man beside you, studying his features.

Sometimes you find it funny how never in a million years did you even dream of being this close to the Euphoria crooner. If it wasn’t for your cousin Eunkyung - an idol who debuted the same year as Jungkook did, who’s likewise a very good friend of the latter, then you don't think you would even come close to breathing the same air as the global sensation beside you.

Judging by the movement of Jungkook’s lips, you reckon he’s been speaking to you for the last five minutes, but you definitely have not processed a single word from him, for all you care. You couldn't blame yourself though, and Jungkook is certainly the one who is to take responsibility for your momentary preoccupation.

“You okay babe?”

“Mhmmhm”

If you were going to be completely honest, you were far from okay. Besides the many thoughts swirling inside your head, your trusty menstrual cycle tracker app is telling you that you’re bound to welcome your monthly visitor in a week - which means you’re PMSing - which further means you’re only in one certain state of mind - you’re insatiably horny.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook is absolutely no help at all. Not when he constantly looks like sex personified - muscular thighs, veiny arms, the whole package. Plus, there’s something about Jungkook behind the wheel that’s ultimately driving you crazy.

A major part of it is your hormones for sure, but then again, even your hormones are thirsting over Jungkook driving, veiny forearms on display as he grips the wheel, or the way he backs up with only one hand on the steering wheel, or the way he sometimes keep a hand on your thigh as he drives. The formula is clear: Jeon Jungkook will be the cause of your insanity.

Jungkook pulls up the sleeves of his Carhartt sweater, revealing his nearing full-sleeve-tattooed right arm. The sight instantly makes you water, or wetter. Whichever the case may be.

You hadn’t seen him in a week, busy working on his mixtape, amongst other stuff. And you miss him terribly, sex with him included. As desperate and slutty that sounds, Jungkook is that type of person that leaves you wanting, yearning for more.

“What’s going on then?”

“If this is about Eunkyung…you know we already talked about that…”

“I don’t wanna talk about that, Jungkook.”

“What’s wrong then?”

You don’t answer, just silently watching the muscles on his forearm ripple as he pulls on the hand brake when you get to an intersection. You gulp, looking away as you push your thighs together, hoping that somehow the friction will help the desire pooling between your legs. The action doesn't go unnoticed by Jungkook, whose eyes instantly darken, now all too aware of your state.

“Tell me what’s wrong baby girl.”

Your resolve nearly breaks at the pet name, looking out the window to avoid his gaze. The light turns green again, and as he continues to drive, he rests a hand on your exposed thigh, strategically placing it just in the middle, the action gentle, yet enough to add fuel to your frustration.

His tattooed fingers gingerly trace patterns on your bare thigh. Fuck Jungkook and his thing for skirts. You weren't one to complain about his sexual fantasies though, not when wearing the skirts he buys for you gets you a good fucking afterwards.

You stay quiet in your seat, not giving the satisfaction that Jungkook gets knowing that he’s getting you all riled up. Two can play at this game.

Gingerly, you place a hand on top of his, gently guiding his hand north towards your core. The man driving beside you lets out a cough, sitting up straighter. Keeping his hand sliding up until he’s fully cupping your core, Jungkook chokes on thin air as he realizes you’re not wearing panties either.

“Let me guess, wearing underwear is too mainstream?”

Shrugging, you spread your legs wider, guiding his fingers to slide against your already glistening folds. A shot of electricity runs through your spine. “Fuck, baby girl, you’ll be the death of me,” Jungkook growls, taking a sharp intake of breath as he teases you, shallowly dipping a digit through your wet cunt.

“You’re fucking soaked. You seem to enjoy the thought, princess. Christening my car seats like the slut that you are?” He drawls, this time fully pushing a finger in as you get to another stoplight.

“Jungkook, don’t tease me like that baby.” Biting your lip to stop the moan that’s threatening to spill, your own hand reaches out to grab at Jungkook crotch. He hisses at the sensation. You smirk to yourself. Seems like you’re not the only one who’s greatly affected.

Encouraged by Jungkook’s reaction, you slip a hand through the waistband of his sweats, taking hold of his already hard cock. “And you’re surprised I don’t wear underwear? Bit rich coming from you now isn’t it?”

“Better watch your mouth and stop teasing me, baby girl. You might just get punished for that.”

“And what if I want to get punished?”

Jungkook huffs, pulling out his finger as the light turns orange. He brings his slick-covered finger to your lips, “Suck,” he orders. You oblige, sucking on his slender digit and swirling a tongue around it.

“You’re in for a fucking treat, naughty girl.”

It’s green again. With a sigh, Jungkook gets back to driving, this time religiously looking for a discreet place to stop over so he can fuck you properly. He finally finds a filling station, now driving with newly found urgency.

He parks in one secluded corner of the station, with just a singular parking space separating you from a parked truck, the driver snoring away happily.

The tension is thick in the air, inevitably making you feel hot even with the air conditioning on full blast. With no words needed to get the message across, you both unbuckle your seatbelts hastily, finding each other in a heated kiss shortly after.

Making another grab at Jungkook’s dick - outlining against the confines of his Puma sweats, you urge him to pull them down to his thighs so you can have a taste of your alleged ‘treat’. Likewise, he orders you to lift your skirt up, giving him easier access to have you writing on his fingers alone.

Scooting closer, you bend over the center console, taking Jungkook’s length in your hands. You place a tentative kiss on the tip before diving in, taking his cock inside your mouth. Jungkook lets out a guttural groan at the sensation, taking your hair into his hands, forming a makeshift ponytail on your head.

“You’re so fucking hot, you know that right?” His head throws back as you take him to the hilt, the tip hitting the back of your throat. At his compliment, you swallow and as you watch Jungkook visibly shudder, you give yourself a mental pat on the back.

As you continue to bob up and down Jungkook’s length, your hand travels between your legs, fingers easily finding your nether bud. With Jungkook starting to buck his hips upwards, helping you with your task, you quicken the pace of the fingers toying with your clit. You’re so close, but you’re doubtful you’ll even get to orgasm, considering your perched precariously over the console - definitely an uncomfortable position for you to orgasm in.

Jungkook senses your discomfort and tells you to sit down, and you’ll both do this together. As soon as you get seated, you scoot closer to the middle, when Jungkook’s hand extends to return its attention to your dripping cunt. You give Jungkook’s erection stands tall, likewise calling for attention. Heeding to its silent call, you wrap your fingers around his shaft, stroking his length languidly.

For a full minute, you both stay like that, trying to get each other to orgasm. Jungkook’s breathing gets labored by the second - the tell-tale signs he’s getting close. As your hand momentarily leaves his dick to massage his balls, his phone blares, startling you both out of your wits.

Letting out an annoyed huff, he grabs the phone and switches mute button down then thrusting the device somewhere on the dashboard. Pretending as if nothing happened, you continue your handjob until Jungkook can’t take it any longer, pulling you up from your seat and telling you to come and sit on his lap.

As soon as Jungkook pushes his seat back, you crawl over to his side, unceremoniously sitting on his lap, gyrating your hips as you slide your wet folds against the muscular expanse of his thigh. You’re almost there, Jungkook taking your breasts in his hands for more stimulation - that is until his phone vibrates loudly against the surface of the dashboard.

“You should probably get that,” you pull away, retreating to your seat: cockblocked for the second time. You check the dashboard for his phone, and get a glimpse of the caller’s ID on his screen. Eunkyung.

You place the device into Jungkook’s hands yourself.

“It’s your girlfriend calling.”

#bts smut #bangtanhq #btsguild #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #btsgoldnet #btsghostie #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts drabbles

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donteattheappleshook · 4 years

Text

Playacting

~*~

This fic was written as a thank you to @darkcolinodonorgasm for tainting her screen with Neal's face to make an amazing gif for me that sadly won’t load now.

Summary:

Emma has finally left her awful boyfriend after nearly a decade. But when he makes her meet him in a bar to pick up the last of her stuff, she risks falling victim to his usual tactics of sending her crawling back to him. Thankfully, the handsome bartender is there to lend a hand. A fake-boyfriend AU. Heavily Anti-Neal so don't read if that's not your thing.

Read it on Ao3

~*~

Emma sits down heavily on the stool, her elbow landing on the bartop as she lays her chin in her hand, exasperated. Stupid fucking Neal. It’s just like him really, making her come here to meet him after everything he’d made her put up with for the last ten years. Finally, finally she’d worked up the nerve to leave him, to say enough was enough and convince herself she deserved better and then of course as soon as she walks out for good, he finds a way to drag her back, to make him face her one more time.

She should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. She hadn’t known any better in the beginning. She was seventeen and he was twenty five and she thought it was so cool that someone so mature wanted to be with her. She thought that had to mean she was mature as well. It wasn’t until much later, when half a decade had passed, that she realised how messed up it was… but by then they’d been together five years and he was her whole life. Nearly all her friends were his friends, they lived in his apartment… she can’t believe she stuck it out another five years after that.

You can do this, she tells herself. You’ve already done the hard part. You left and nothing he can say will make you come back. But still, she steels herself for what will undoubtedly be an excruciatingly unpleasant interaction. Neal is just… he’s just so good at making her feel worthless, at breaking her down and chipping away at the little things he knows she’s self-conscious about until there’s nothing left and she just feels small and broken. She clenches her fists, staying her nerves and bracing herself. Not anymore though. Because you left and you just have to see his stupid face one more time and then it’s over. It’s just words.

She jumps as a glass is set down in front of her and looks up to see a somewhat familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes looking back at her. The bartender. The handsome one. She’s seen him around before. She’s come to the bar fairly often over the last year or so and he seems to work most nights. She likes him, well, as much as you can like a stranger who pours you drinks all night. He’s always nice and friendly and extremely polite and he doesn’t hit on her the way most bartenders do. She’d never admit it, but sometimes it bothered her a little that he didn’t. She can’t quite remember his name, having never had a real conversation with him, and she stares at the drink in front of her, raising a suspicious brow at him.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know, but you look like you could use it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, scowling. She’s already having a shit day, she doesn’t need some bartender trying to analyze her and telling her she looks as terrible as she feels. He doesn’t even bother to look embarrassed. Instead, he crosses his arms on the bartop, leaning on his elbows.

“It means, you look sad.” He tilts his head then, scrutinizing her face. “Or angry,” he adds. “And you look like you could use a drink.”

Emma wants to glare at him a little longer but his tone is light. There’s no judgement or pity on his face, just a friendly offer of a drink, and she can’t quite bring herself to be annoyed. And besides, he did guess her drink right. She reaches for her wallet and goes to pull out some cash but he waves her away.

“It’s on the house,” he tells her and honestly her night is going to be so terrible that she doesn’t have it in her to turn down a free glass of rum. She takes a sip, noting that it’s damn good rum, and tilts her cup to him in thanks. He smiles, a little smugly and a little mischievously, and leaves her, going back to whatever work it is he has to do.

A few minutes pass and Neal still hasn’t arrived. She glares at her watch. Of course he’d be late. He’d want to make her wait as long as possible so she’d have time to stew in her decision, both to leave him and to meet him. Her glass is nearly empty and she raps her fingers against the bartop rhythmically, waiting, bored, anxious, and impatient.

The bartender looks up briefly when she does and then goes back to his task. The bar is empty apart from the two of them so he doesn't have anyone to wait on. He’s counting something, concentrating quite seriously and she takes a moment to study him. Of course she’d noticed he was attractive before. It would have been impossible not to. But she hadn’t really let herself look, not properly. She was in a relationship after all. But you’re not now, she realises suddenly.

So she casts her eyes over him slowly, noting how soft his hair looks in contrast to the sharp angle of his jaw and the scruff that covers it, notices the muscles of his shoulders and his arms under the fitted black shirt he wears, the slightest bit of chest hair peeking out of the v of his collar.

When she looks back at his face again he’s biting his lip against a smirk and she wonders if she’s been caught looking. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t come over to try pick her up and so she turns back to her drink and to waiting. But she doesn’t last long. She’s never done well with waiting and her impatience grows until it spills out of her mouth in the form of small talk.

“So which is it?” she asks finally and he turns to look at her, a little surprised. He doesn’t quite seem to get her meaning. “Sad or angry. Which is it?”

“Ah,” he says, as understanding dawns on him and he walks back over, leaning against the bar and looking at her carefully. She tries not to react under his intense appraisal. “Both, I think.” Emma grumbles into her drink, annoyed that he’s read her so easily, and he laughs. “Although, perhaps the anger is my fault. Maybe I should have made your drink a double.”

Emma smirks around the rim of her glass and then sets it down. “Well, it’s never too late to make amends.”

He laughs again and grabs a bottle from the shelf behind him, refilling her drink. “So tell me, love, what brings you here tonight?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“It comes with the territory,” he shrugs. “Although people are usually much more forthcoming with their ails and secrets. You’re a bit of a puzzle, I’ll admit.” He smirks then, wicked and bright. “But I love a challenge.” Emma rolls her eyes.

“I’m meeting someone,” she says finally.

“I see. A first date?” he asks and she nearly chokes on her drink, coughing.

“God, no. Hopefully the last one.”

He raises a brow in interest. “Are you here to break up with someone? Should I have security on standby?”

She shakes her head. “No, that part’s already done. I left last week. But now the asshole is making me meet him here so that he can give me back the files I left behind and need for work.”

“You couldn’t just go pick them up?”

“I wish,” she frowns. “He put them in a bag and has been holding them hostage until I agreed to meet him.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Killian drawls sarcastically.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Bad breakup then?”

She nods. “Bad relationship."

“What sins is he guilty of?”

Emma laughs. “Take your pick. Lust, wrath, greed, pride. Throw a dart at any of the seven and you’ll hit something that sticks.”

“I’m sorry love,” he says and she shrugs. It’s not his fault. “So tell me something then, because I can’t quite seem to figure it out. Why are you so nervous to see him?” he asks and she looks at him in surprise. “You look like you can handle yourself and you’ve certainly got enough rage and fire under the surface to burn this whole bloody place to the ground. What is it?”

Emma catches her lip between her teeth, a little pleased at the compliment, at the suggestion that she looks like a badass, but the question hits hard. She’s been asking herself that for ten years. Why is Neal able to get under her skin so easily, to make her doubt herself and her worth?

“Neal,” she says finally and the bartender doesn’t push, just leans on the bartop, waiting, giving her time. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. We dated for ten years and he knows everything about me… and he knows exactly how to use it to make me feel like crap about myself, like if I didn’t have him I wouldn’t have anything, nobody else would want me.” And she can’t exactly prove him wrong considering she’s been faithful to his selfish ass for a decade, regardless of the fact that he had no problem showing her how many women wanted him.

Her hand tightens against her glass and for a moment she worries she might crush it but then the back of the bartender's fingers brush against her knuckles and she feels the anxiety and the hurt start to seep out, to dissipate at the warm touch. He’s not holding her hand, he’s barely moved his own across the space between them, nudged hers with it in a way that could almost be an accident. But when she looks up and meets his gaze she knows it’s not. And his next words confirm it.

“Believe me, I can guarantee you that’s not true.”

She swallows. “I just -” He waits again. “I just wish I hadn’t stuck it out so long, you know? I wasted ten years with the guy, all of my twenties. And that whole time he never wanted to get married, never wanted to make any commitments or promises, kept saying he didn't want to be tied down.” Didn’t want to be tied down to you, her memory supplies. “And I - Why am I telling you all this?” she asks herself suddenly and he smiles, letting out a little huff of a laugh.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “It’s the bartender thing, people can’t help themselves.”

She doesn’t know if she believes him. She knows people like to treat bartenders like therapists but there’s something about him, an honesty and a sincerity that makes her believe he actually gives a shit about her and what she has to say, like he really cares about her troubles. But maybe everyone projects that onto the people plying them with alcohol.

“Well now you know my entire sad life and I don’t even know your name,” she says and he straightens, holding out his hand between them.

“Killian Jones.” She reaches out, shakes it, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Emma Swan.”

“I know,” he says and before she can question him he speaks again. “Now that we’re not strangers anymore, can I be candid?” She hesitates but only for a moment and then nods. “Your ex sounds like a complete and utter douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing, the sound of the insult on his tongue seeming wrong, not fitting his accent and the smooth, slightly rogeish way he carries himself.

And then, suddenly for some unfathomable reason, she catches herself doing what she always does: defending Neal. “It’s not all his fault,” she says, the words coming out automatically. “He had a really rough upbringing. His dad was never around and then he had to run away when he was really young and -” Killian cuts her off.

“That’s a really sad backstory,” he says. “But he's still a douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing. It’s almost manic, shocked and disbelieving to hear someone dismiss Neal’s history so flippantly, that story which had been used by her friends and his to defend and forgive every shitty thing he ever said or did to her. And now here Killian is, refusing it. Refusing the excuses and the justifications for treating her poorly.

As if on cue, the bell over the door jingles and Emma turns to see Neal walking in. Killian must know who he is by the way her whole body stiffens at the sight of him. But Neal hasn’t noticed them yet and Killian leans in.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his warm fingers against her arm. “You’ve got this.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the back room without another word and Emma tries no to take it to heart, not to let it feel like a dismissal. She thought they had something going there for a moment. She didn’t really know what, an understanding maybe, a connection, the kind she always thought she had with Neal but didn’t realise until now how wrong she was.

Before she can get too caught up in her disappointment, Neal sits down in front of her, setting the bag with her files on the bartop unceremoniously but keeping his hand on it. She goes to reach for it, hoping that maybe she can get through this whole interaction without having to exchange a single word with him, but as soon as she does, he drags it back towards himself, out of her reach. She glares at him.

“Give me the bag, Neal,” she sighs and he looks at her with that look she’s seen so many times, that look she hates, the patronizing, belittling look that makes her feel like someone to be pitied, someone worthless. She can feel her hands start to tremble and so she clenches them into fists. “Neal,” she says again when he doesn’t answer. “The bag.”

“Come on, Ems,” he says and it’s a long-suffering kind of thing, her name sounding exhausting, like more trouble than it’s worth, like she’s some toddler throwing a tantrum. “Can we stop this now? We both know you’re not leaving - why else would you have agreed to meet me here?”

“To get my files back,” she bites through gritted teeth. “I need them for work.” She was going to lose this skip if she didn’t get them back and he knew that.

“Are you sure you didn’t leave them behind so that you could find a reason to drag me out here and sit through your little charade of ‘woe is me’ until I agreed to take you back?”

“You made me come here,” she reminds him.

“Because I know you, Emma,” he says. “I know that you don’t want to do this. You’re pissed, I get it, whatever. But it’s time to get over it. You’ve made your point, time to come home.”

“I’m not coming home.”

“Yes you are. You always do.” When she doesn’t agree he sighs. “How many times have we done this? You’ll sleep on Ruby’s couch for a few days, stew in whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself I’ve done wrong, and then you’ll come home because you know as well as I do that we belong together, I’m it for you. What do you think you’re gonna do without me? You think you can support yourself just by chasing skips?”

“Yes,” she says but her voice wavers. Don’t let him get to you.

“Emma, enough, alright. I know you’re mad about that whole thing with that girl from work but it’s not really my fault.” They’ve had this fight before. She won’t do him the decency of asking him to explain what that means. But he does anyway. “Maybe if you weren’t always off trying to play superhero, coming back looking like a mess and acting like a dude I wouldn’t need to go find what I need somewhere else. I won’t do it again, okay? Not if you really try. But I’m not gonna put up with it again, you walking out.”

“I’m not coming back,” she says, refusing to take the bait and reaching for the bag again. He still holds it away.

“Do you really think you’re gonna find someone better?” he asks then, some anger creeping in. “You’re not going to find someone who treats you better than I have, Emma, not after everything I’ve had to put up with over the years. Nobody wants all that sad, lonely orphan baggage that you drag into the room with you.”

Emma can feel the tears burning her eyes and she knows he can see them too and she hates it. She hates how every word he says digs deeper, how carefully calculated and crafted his speech is to target all the things she dislikes about herself, all the things she knows push people away, all the reasons she knows she’ll probably be alone from now on. This is usually the moment when she breaks, changes her mind and comes back because the idea of being alone is far scarier than being with him.

She can feel herself weakening when a voice cuts through the silence of the nearly empty room. “Swan! Love, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

It takes her a moment to realise that it’s Killian talking, that he’s somehow managed to come through the doors from outside, a jacket thrown over his tshirt and his apron abandoned. She opens her mouth to ask him what he’s doing as he strides towards her but before she can finish saying his name he’s caught her face between his hands and captured her lips with his.

He catches her gasp on his tongue, kissing her with a desperation and an intensity that threatens to knock her off her stool but he holds her fast. There’s a heat and a passion behind every pull of his lips and flick of his tongue against her own that shoots straight to her belly. She groans against him, she can’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this and her hands find his hips, hanging on for dear life as he uses his hand at her cheek to tilt her head, his thumb pulling down at her chin so he can kiss her deeper. His other hand finds the leather of her jacket, bunchin in it and using it to pull her closer, as if there was any room left between them.

When he finally pulls back she’s breathless, her eyes and her head feeling foggy and every inch of her skin humming. He smirks, his lips still brushing hers and then capturing them in another slow, soft kiss, this one shorter than the last and it sends waves of desire through her. Her own hand tightens in the leather at his hip. He breaks the second kiss and she’s ready to pull him back in for a third when someone coughs behind Killian.

Neal. She’d forgotten he was here.

She looks up into Killian’s eyes, glad to find them as heavy lidded and swallowed by black as she’s sure her own are. He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, a smile crossing his face and then, he winks. He fucking winks and her, his back still to Neal. Emma sits gaping like an idiot, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” he says again instead. “I got caught up at work. I hope that makes up for it a little.”

It takes her another second to catch on but when she does, a wave of gratitude and relief and a little bit of disappointment washes over her. It’s an act. He’s doing her a favor because she told him about her shitty ex boyfriend and he’s a nice guy. Killian smiles at her again, encouragingly this time and Emma decides to play along. Let Neal be the one feeling small, and unwanted and replaceable for once.

She reaches up and cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s just as soft as she thought it would be, and then allows herself the small pleasure of sliding her hand around the back of his neck and down to his chest where she teases the hair poking out of his shirt. “It’s a start,” she tells him. “You can really make it up to me later.” His eyebrow shoots up as a barely contained laugh, impressed and conspiratorial, crosses his face before he catches it between his teeth.

“Oh, I intend to,” he promises and while she knows they’re just playacting, the timber of his voice stirs some very real desires in her. She can feel the flush creeping up her cheeks, weighing the pros and cons of dragging him into the bathroom and seeing how far he’ll take this charade. Neal clears his throat again, interrupting her fantasy and Killian smirks, smug, though she can tell it’s not at the reaction he’s drawing from her, but rather at the annoyance he’s managed to evoke from her ex.

“Hi, mate,” he says, reaching over and grabbing the bag from Neal’s stunned and limp fingers. “Thanks for this, we really needed it,” he tells him, gesturing between them with the bag. He hasn’t taken his hands off her. When he turned, his hand snaked around her waist, settling low on her hip, fingers playing idly with the waist of her jeans, teasing at the skin beneath her shirt and it’s all Emma can do to hold back the shivers that are forming at the base of her spine.

“Who the fuck are you?” Neal frowns, glaring at Killian before turning it on Emma. “Who the fuck is this guy?” he demands. Emma blanks, the ferocity of Neal’s anger freezing her on the spot. She’s never seen him jealous before. Thankfully, Killian jumps in again, his hand sliding up from her hip to the back of her neck, playing with the hair at the nape in a way that’s both sweet and oddly possessive.

“Take your pic,” Killian says breezily, looking at her with an extremely convincing imitation of a lovesick expression on his face. “Lover, paramour, beau, flame... boyfriend,” he says finally with a brush of his thumb under her ear and she practically melts. He’s very good at this pretending thing. Too good. “I’ll take whatever she’ll give me,” he says finally when she looks up at him and her certainty that he’s pretending waivers.

He stares at her for a moment longer, something weighted in his gaze that sends her heart beating frantically in her chest before he turns back to Neal, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “But I don’t need to tell you that,” he says dismissively. “You know what it’s like to be lucky enough to have Emma Swan give you the time of day.” There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks next. “Only a fool would have let her go.” He presses a kiss to her temple.

Neal is angry again. This time, it’s directed at her. “You expect me to believe that in the week since you stormed out you’ve gone and found yourself some boytoy to follow you around? Some guy you just met?

“I didn’t just meet him,” she says and it’s not technically a lie. She’s known him in passing for a year now, even if she did just learn his name tonight. “We… work together,” she says finally.

Neal looks at Killian with a wary expression. “You’re a bail bondsman?” he asks and Emma doesn’t miss the surprised and flatteringly impressed look Killian gives her before flawlessly answering that yes, yes he is in fact a bail bondsman.

“I’ve spent the last year working alongside Swan. Pining for her, waiting for her to walk into the office, to see that smile light up her face.” He traces the line of her lips. “The way those unreasonably tight jeans cling to her.” His fingers trace their way down her throat, over her shoulder. “Watch her face down one creep after another.”

He catches her hand, her knuckles a bit bruised from the last skip who wouldn’t stop fighting. He brushes his thumb over her knuckles before he brings them to his lips and kisses them. She watches him, enthralled by the picture he paints of her and he meets her gaze, looking no less mesmerized himself. “She’s a marvel, my Swan.” Emma swallows, she likes the way that sounds coming from his lips. My Swan. “But mostly,” he adds finally and he’s still not looking at Neal, only at her and god he’s handsome and he smells so good and he’s so… kind. That’s not something she’s used to but she’s drawn to it. “Waiting for her to break up with her idiot boyfriend so that I could tell her so,” he finishes.

Emma’s not sure what comes over her but suddenly her hands have found the back of his neck and she’s crushing his lips to hers. She can feel his surprise and nearly pulls back but his arms go around her waist as he draws her in, deepening the kiss. His hands alternate between gentle caresses and desperately fisting in her shirt and his mouth over hers is no different, languide strokes of his tongue alternated with bruising kisses and teeth nipping at her lips until she’s dizzy. Neal coughs a third time and Killian breaks away with a frustrated groan. One that feels very real.

“Are you still here?” he demands, glaring at the other man over his shoulder.

“I think I deserve some answers,” he says then, seething, and Emma feels a rage building in her like nothing she’s ever felt before. He deserves answers? He’s the one who’s spent years cheating and blaming her for it, who put her down at every opportunity, who reminded her that he could be with anyone if he wanted to and she couldn’t. She’s done with it. That final demand is the last straw. She owes him nothing.

“What’s going on,” she bites out and sees Neal almost recoil from the venom in her voice. He’s not used to her standing up for herself. Killian steps back, giving her room to finally tell off her awful ex, keeping his hand on her lower back and she appreciates the small gesture of support. “Is that I found someone who doesn’t treat me like garbage. Someone who doesn’t blame me for all their shortcomings and who actually gives a shit about what I think and feel and want.” She can see that her words are affecting him, for the first time ever, and so she digs in. She wants to hurt him.

“Someone who actually knows how to make me feel good, how to drive me insane and leave me desperate and wanting.” Killian raises a very interested brow at her then, listening attentively and she feels the blush creeping up her neck but continues. Neal had always been angry about how much difficulty she had finishing when they were together, accusing her of being cold and frigid. “Someone who doesn’t last thirty, underwhelming seconds and then rolls over like some useless lump. Someone I don’t have to beg to go down on me like it’s a chore so that I can have the hopes of a sub-par orgasm.”

She can feel Killian’s fingers twitch against the skin of her back but she can’t bring herself to look at him. His hand begins tracing up and down the base of her spine in a way she’s not even sure is intentional. His eyes are burning into her.

“Okay. Enough, I get it,” Neal says finally.

“Yeah. It is enough. I should have done this years ago.” She feels a pride swelling in her chest, mixing with the arousal that Killian is stirring in her and it’s a heady combination. “I think you should leave,” she tells him and she watches with vindication as his shoulders sag and he slinks out of the bar without another word.

Emma is so lost in the thrill and the satisfaction of watching her horrid ex leave so demolished, knowing that she likely won’t ever have to speak to him again, that it’s a moment before she remembers that she’s still standing here with a near stranger. A stranger she’s made out with three times now and who is currently removing his hand from where it had been playing against her skin. She misses it immediately. But the charade is over, she realises. It hadn’t been real, he’d been doing her a kindness and she was grateful to him, even if she was a little crushed that they couldn’t go on playing happy couple. He’d been very good at it.

Killian clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck as he gives her a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Well, I guess he won’t be bothering you again,” he says and Emma shakes her head.

“No. I’m sure he won’t. Thank you. For… well, all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He smiles at her again. It’s a nice smile, and she notices that he has a smudge of her lipstick on his bottom lip. She’s torn between reaching to wipe it off and leaving more marks on him. She does neither.

“Yes I did,” he says, drawing her attention away from his mouth. “He had it coming. I heard what he said to you and if what you said was true… well. You’re better to be rid of him.”

Emma clears her throat, a small smile playing at her lips. “Did you see his face when he thought we’d had some elicit office affair of the heart going on?” Killian nods, smirking proudly. “How did you even come up with all of that on the fly?” she asks. He’d been… very convincing.

“I didn’t,” he says and her eyes snap to his. But he doesn’t explain or elaborate, just lets it hang there in the air between them. She reaches out and takes his hand, tries to ignore the way the calluses feel rough against her soft skin, how warm he is.

“Thank you,” she says again. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for that.”

His smile is soft this time as he takes her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles again. “You don’t. It was the right thing to do.”

He goes to leave her, to walk away but the feel of his lips against her skin is still burning through her fingers, burning everywhere that he’s touched her, like he’d branded her and left the marks behind. Her cheek, her neck, her spine, her hip, her lips, all of them are simmering after the raging inferno he set off in her and she’s not ready to let it die out just yet. He said he hadn’t made it all up.

She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never been with anyone but her shitty ex and a few guys when she was a teenager. She doesn’t know how to seduce a stranger into taking her home - or on the bartop, she’s not picky - but she shoots her shot. She catches his hand more firmly in her own before he can walk away.

“Unless…” she starts and he stops, takes a step back towards her.

“Unless?” There’s something a little hopeful in his eyes when they meet hers. And something a little less innocent and a little darker as they trail down to her lips.

“I mean, you were late,” she says coyly and watches as the playfulness crinkles the corners of his eyes and the smirk pulls at his lips.

He raises an eyebrow at her as he closes the last of the distance between them, standing close enough that she needs to spread her legs on her stool to allow him to stand between them. His thumb finds her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“I was,” he says, ducking his head and pressing his lips to her neck, just below her jaw. She takes in a shaky breath. “How very rude of me,” he adds before kissing the other side of her neck, this time at the hollow where it meets her collarbone. Emma squirms in her seat. He’s facing her again then, his lips barely an inch away from her own, so close that she can feel his breath on them when he speaks. “How will I ever make it up to you?”

She doesn’t think, she just acts, grabbing his shirt and yanking him forward until he’s trapped between her thighs and she can feel the hardness growing where he’s pressed against her. He lets out a surprised but pleased sound and it emboldens her.

“Why don’t you think about that while I thank you properly,” she says and he doesn’t need anymore encouragement. He catches her face in his hands again, slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue teasing hers as he presses himself closer to her as one of his hands travels down to her thigh, sliding along it before hooking her knee and pulling it up around his hip. She nearly loses her balance on her seat but he holds her steady, his kisses growing deeper and headier and she’s letting out whimpers and soft moans, sounds she didn’t know she had in her and he swallows each of them up greedily, repeating whatever he’d done to draw them out so he can hear them again.

Her hands find their way to his hair, fisting and tugging and he lets out a groan so she does it again. And again. Her hips roll up against his of their own accord and he practically rips his mouth away from hers, the sound he makes somewhere between a gasp and a growl before he finds her neck again, lips and teeth and tongue laving at the skin there, biting and licking and sucking until she’s sure he’s left a mark but she holds him fast, tilting her head back to give him more access.

He takes it appreciatively, his tongue sliding down her throat until he reaches the top of her breast. The hand at her knee starts a slow journey up her side, under the skin of her shirt, burning and leaving goosebumps behind in their wake as he trails his fingers along her ribcage to her bra, his thumb tracing over her nipple and she gasps, dragging his mouth back to hers. She can feel his smirk against her lips but she doesn’t care, nipping at his bottom lip and slipping her own hand under his shirt and scratching at the trail of hair on his stomach, a trail she desperately wants to see and he shudders under her touch.

The bell rings above the door as a group of friends walk in, chattering happily and Killian pulls away, drawing his hand out from under her shirt. His forehead falls against hers, panting. His tongue comes out to run over his lip like he’s tasting her there. He’s looking at her like he’s waiting for her to decide what happens next and so she grabs the front of his shirt, tilting her head to brush her lips against his own, tongue flicking against the one he’d just licked and drawing another groan from him.

“Bathroom?” she asks and he shakes his head, stepping back and before she can even start to think she’s been rejected, he holds his hand out to her, nodding towards the back of the bar. She takes it and he begins practically dragging her towards the 'employees only' door before she remembers why she’d come here in the first place.

“My bag!” she says and he looks confused before he remembers, turning to grab the duffle and tossing it behind the bar and then pulling her along behind him again. Emma giggles at his enthusiasm, excitement and arousal and want making her giddy. He hears her laugh and turns, a bright smile on his face, crinkling his eyes and lighting up his features as he pulls her to him. He captures her lips again, his fingers tangling in her hair as they both try and kiss with grinning mouths.

They pass someone in the staff area as Killian continues to walk them backwards to wherever his destination is, refusing to give up the kiss, and Emma feels herself flush as the young man sees them and smirks smugly and knowingly.

“About bloody time,” he says and Killian glowers at him.

“Get to work, Will. We have customers,” he barks and the man holds his hands up innocently, the smirk not leaving his face. Killian pulls her along a few more feet then until they reach a door that he fumbles to open. They’ve barely made it inside before he’s pushing her against the wood, pinning her there with his hips and his mouth and her head is spinning but his lips have started down her neck again and he rolls his hips against hers in a dirty grind that has her crying out.

When her eyes open she notices they’re in an office and she worries about what rules he might be breaking, worried about his job and asks if he’ll get in trouble for bringing her in here. He shakes his head.

“I own the place,” he says, his voice muffled against the underside of her jaw.

“You own the bar?” she demands, surprised and he sighs, pulling his head up to lean his forehead against hers.

“Could we perhaps talk about this later?” he asks, his talented fingers following her ribs up to her breast again, cupping it in his palm and dragging against its peak. Emma nods furiously before kissing him again. His hand is still moving over her, massaging and flicking and teasing before he grows frustrated by the fabric between them, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.

As soon as it’s off, he’s pulling at the cup of her bra, exposing her breast to him and taking her nipple in his mouth. Emma gasps at the feel of his tongue dragging against the sensitive tip, swirling and licking, teasing it with his teeth. She has a death grip in his hair, refusing to let him move, not that he seems particularly inclined to.

“Fuck, Killian,” she gasps when he finds her other breast with his hand, working her up more and more until she thinks she might come from this alone. She can feel his smirk, his scruff scratching against her skin and it sends a shiver through her whole body.

“That’s the intention, love,” he tells her and she tightens her hold in his hair for his smugness, yanking until he’s forced to pull away from her chest and look at her.

“Then get on with it,” she tells him and thrills at the way his expression darkens. He slides his hands between her and the door, palming her ass and rolling her hips against the hard ridge of his erection before he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist effortlessly. Emma’s arms wind around his neck as he turns, carrying her across the room and setting her down on the desk.

“As you wish,” he tells her, slipping the straps of her bra down her arms. She reaches behind herself and unclasps it, tossing it aside and watches as he takes her in, eyes roving hungrily over her. Nobody’s ever looked at her like that, like he wants to devour her. Maybe he does.

He’s still wearing his jacket and Emma is suddenly overcome with the unfairness that he’s spending so much time just looking at her while she doesn’t get to see any of him. She reaches for his shoulders and pushes the jacket down his arms until it falls to the floor, reaching for the hem of his shirt and beginning to slide it up but she gets distracted when his fingers resume their tortuous exploration of her breasts.

She gasps, her head falling back as his touch sends wetness pooling between her thighs and her nails dig into the skin at his sides. He’s watching her, taking note of her reactions, figuring out what makes her tick and then doing it again and again until she’s writhing under him and he hasn’t even undressed her yet. It’s never been like this, all consuming and desperate and wanton. She needs more and she whimpers his name.

The sound of his name falling from her lips so needily does something to him and suddenly he’s dragging her mouth back to his, swallowing her moan as his tongue does sinful things to hers. He pushes her back until she’s laying against the desk and his lips leave hers, trailing down her neck to her chest, taking a moment to pay attention to each of her breasts before continuing down her belly, playing at her navel a moment before he reaches the button of her jeans.

“I must say I’m quite a fan of these,” he tells her as he flicks open the button and starts to pull down the zipper. “But I think it’s time for them to go.” Then, he’s hooking his fingers into her waistband and pulling them down with enough force that she slides to the end of the desk with them. Emma sits up on her elbows as she watches him pull them off, one leg at a time until she’s left in only her underwear. He's watching her as well with something predatory in his gaze.

“I want to see you too,” she says, grabbing at his shirt but he seems too distracted to catch on. “Hey,” she says finally, sitting up and grabbing the collar to get his attention. “Fair’s fair.”

He lets out a low huff of laughter. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Bad form,” he chastises himself before reaching to pull the shirt over his head. Emma’s eyes widen as she takes him in, the strong curve of his shoulders and his arms that his shirt hadn’t done justice, the long lines of his torso, pale skin covered in dark hair that blankets his chest and tapers down over his stomach, disappearing beneath his jeans. She doesn’t fight the urge to burry her fingers in it, hands tracing over the planes of his chest, scraping her nails over his nipples and down his sides and he lets out a soft hiss.

She reaches his belt then and as she begins to pull at the leather to loosen it, he stops her. She frowns at him but he only presses his lips to her jawline, tongue flicking out to tease. “Ah, ah,” he says, taking hold of the last scrap of material keeping her from being bare to him. “Ladies first,” he insists with a soft nip before he pulls them down her legs. He’s parting her thighs then, and while Emma expects him to undo his pants, instead he slides down to his knees, placing a leg over either shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

He raises a brow at her from between her legs, a slow smirk creeping across his face and it’s so goddamn sexy that her toes curl against his back, a shudder rippling through her.

“As much as I’d like to hear you beg,” he starts. “I’d also like to make sure you have at least some chance at a sub-par orgasm,” he says echoing her words from earlier and she grins, biting her lip at how ridiculous he is and he takes that as permission. He turns his head, trailing slow, languid kisses along her thigh, scruff scratching at the sensitive skin until he reaches her hip. He bypasses where she’s hot and desperate for him to do the same on the other and she whines, trying to pull him in with her leg on his shoulder.

He chuckles against her, his breath ghosting over her folds and she sucks in a shaky breath. “Please, Killian,” she says and suddenly his mouth is there, placing a deep, hot kiss against her center and her whole body clenches with the intensity of it.

“I told you, Swan,” he says. “There’s no need to beg.” He smirks at her. “This time.”

And before she can say anything his tongue is dragging a slow line from base to top and every thought in her mind is gone except for him and fuck. He eats into her like a starving man, tongue lapping at her folds, sliding inside of her and thrusting in a way that has her back arching off the desk and her hands fisting in his hair. He lays an arm across her hips to keep her still as he replaces his tongue with his fingers, dragging slowly and steadily against her walls in a rhythm that has her writhing, desperately trying to rock her hips against him.

“Bloody hell, love,” he says as he watches her ride his fingers. “You’re a vision. So wet, so wanting. Tell me what you need,” he asks then, begs, and she’s too caught up in the feelings he’s sending through her body to find words so instead she presses her heel against his back until he gets the message and closes his mouth over he clit, tongue flattening against it as he circles in time with his fingers.

“Fuck!" She’s already so close. It’s never been this easy, this quick, this intense, but her whole body feels like it’s burning, the coil in her belly tightening and he picks up his pace. His fingers curl inside of her pumping hard and fast as he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks and her whole world shatters.

Killian works her through it, fingers still thrusting slowly, his thumb replacing his mouth as he slides up her body, working her back up before she’s even sure she’s come down. He takes a moment to pause at her hips, her stomach, her breasts and by the time he’s claiming her lips she’s desperate for him again.

She sits up, taking hold of his hips and pulling him against her until their flush, the hair of his chest scraping against the sensitive skin of her nipples and only making her want more. This time, when she reaches for his belt he doesn’t stop her and she makes quick work of his jeans, sliding inside and taking him in hand.

He groans into her mouth and she smiles against his lips. He’s hard and hot and heavy under her touch and she drags her palm along his length a few times until he growls out a warning ‘Swan’.

She takes pity on him, pushing his jeans down his hips and wrapping her hand around him, pumping him slowly and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted in pained bliss and god she wants him. She can’t remember the last time she wanted someone like this. So she tells him.

“Now,” she adds and he nods a little frantically, patting his pockets before he spots his wallet on the desk next to her and retrieves a condom from it. He brings the packet to his teeth, fumbling for a moment as she squeezes him and he gives her another warning glare.

She smirks, leaning in to press her lips to his neck, catching the hard, tense lines of it between her teeth, biting and then soothing the spot with her tongue. He groans and she gives the other side of his neck the same treatment, thrilling when he curses under his breath, desperately trying to roll the condom on.

She’d help but she’s having too much fun, particularly when she sucks a bruise into the spot just behind his ear and he lets out a stuttering cry, his hand grabbing hold of her hip, fingers digging into her skin. She’ll probably have a mark there and she likes that idea, likes the idea that she can get him as out of control as he can her.

“Minx,” he accuses, using her hair to draw her mouth back up to his and sliding his tongue deep without preamble. His kiss is sloppy, desperate, wanting. He’s on the edge and she brought him there. She wonders if she can push him over.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks then, releasing her mouth to say it low in her ear. “Ever since that first night you came into the bar with your friends. Gods you were stunning.” His fingers slip around her hip to between her thighs, finding her center again and she whimpers at his touch, slow and teasing, circling without ever hitting where she needs him.

“I wanted to curl my fingers into you bloody ridiculously long hair,” he tells her, doing just that as his fingers slip inside her once more and she gasps. “Aye, and in there.” She’s clutching at his shoulders as he fucks her with his fingers, continuing to rasp filth into her ear. “I thought about how you’d look, splayed out on the bartop with my head between your legs, or bent over this desk. It was bloody torture.”

His thumb finally brushes over her clit and her whole body wracks with the force of the pleasure that courses through her. “Why,” she gasps again when he circles tighter. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. She doesn’t usually like dirty talk. She'd always found it derogatory. But it’s not with him. It makes her feel wanted and desirable.

“Because you had a bloody boyfriend,” he growls, exasperated. Who? She wonders before remembering and then wishing she hadn’t. “But that didn’t stop me from imagining how you’d look with your back arched just like this,” he says, eyes raking over the length of her. “Or the sounds you’d make when I touched you,” he adds, then pulls his fingers from her heat and sucks them into his mouth, making her squirm. “I imagined you writhing just like this, begging me to take you.”

She doesn’t need to beg though at this point she would, dignity be damned. No one has ever made her feel this way and she never wants it to end. She’d give him anything he asked for if he just didn’t stop. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulls him against her so that his cock pushes through her folds and they both moan. Killian ruts his hips against hers a few times, the tip of him brushing against her sensitive bundle of nerves and when she thinks she can’t take it anymore he finally takes himself in hand and lines himself up with her entrance.

“Gods, I imagined how tight and hot and perfect you’d be around me,” he confesses before pushing in and grabbing hold of her, staying still for a moment as she adjusts to the sensation of being filled by him. He’s big. Thick and long and so much better than what she’s made do with for the last decade. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so full, so properly full until now. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he manages, his voice strained.

“Move,” she begs then. “Please.” He obliges, pulling out slowly and thrusting back in hard and fast and Emma cries out from the force of it. He’s barely started but she can already tell she’s never been properly fucked either.

He starts moving then, thrusting in and out of her at a punishing pace and she takes all that he can give her. Her hands are in his hair again and his finds her leg, hitching it higher over his hip so he can thrust deeper, hitting new places inside of her. His hand slides down to the cheek of her ass, pulling forward to meet his every thrust, rolling his pelvic bone over her clit each time he pushes back into her and Emma’s already nearly ready to fall again.

“That’s it, love,” he tells her as a litany of embarrassing sounds fall from her lips and she claws at the skin of his arms, hips rolling in a desperate grind. “Take what you need.” His free hand comes to her breast, teasing the hardened peak the way he’d spent time figuring out she liked. Everything he does is just how she likes it, how she never even knew she liked it. But he’s figured her out in the time it took to get her out of her pants and now he’s using all of it to bring her higher, higher than she’s ever been.

And she falls. He slants his mouth over hers, like he wants to swallow her ecstasy, feel it humming through his body and then with a final few thrusts, she feels his own release echo through her. They stay there for a moment, frozen in a half kiss, mouths open and panting, breathing each other in as they both try to come down from such a fierce, earth-shattering climax.

Emma finds his hair then, brushing he damp strands from his face as he holds her to him. “I wish you’d told me,” she says finally, thinking of all the time she wasted with him when she could have been having this with Killian.

He huffs out a laugh against her cheek, pulling back and stroking it gently. “Aye, I was a bloody idiot,” he tells her. “Everyone who works here knew I was pining for you and they all told me so.” Emma smiles, her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks reddening at his confession. He’d already told her he’d thought about her but to hear that he’d been pining…

“Well, you may be an idiot,” she grants him and he pinches her side playfully. “But you’re the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

He beams at her then, and then a wicked look falls over his face. The hand at her side begins tracing her thigh, from knee to hip and then up to her ribs.

“What are you doing?” she asks, though it’s fairly obvious when his skilled fingers find her still overly-sensitive center and she gasps at the sharp pleasure. He raises a brow at her.

“I’m wondering,” he starts, lips finding her ear as his fingers start a slow stroke that has goosebumps blossoming over her skin. “How many sub-par orgasms it would take to earn the title of real boyfriend.” Her heart is racing, from his touch, or his words, or both. She doesn’t care. She wants both. She likes him. It’s been so long since she liked someone and for it to be someone like him, and for him to like her back, to have pined for her as he put it…

She smiles. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

~*~

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

Text

His Fault.

Thank you @thinger-strang for the commission! 💕

Read on Ao3

Steve took Max first, grabbing her around the knees and lifting.

He didn’t know which kid was which, just picked them up and shoved them through the hole in the ground.

No thoughts in his head besides getting the kids to safety.

He was still dizzy from the fight, from Max’s wild driving, from being thrown into low oxygen conditions.

He grabbed Dustin.

The last kid to get through.

There was a rumble.

The ground shook.

And Steve stared death right in its face.

A pack of demodogs, heading right for them.

He grabbed Dustin, thought maybe, maybe he could shield him.

If this kid dies, it’s all my fault.

But the ‘dogs passed them by.

On their way to protect from El.

Because their plan didn’t work. Their carefully crafted idea to help El was bullshit.

He pushed Dustin up to safety.

He had brought these kids down here for no reason.

They had all gotten hurt for no reason.

All because of him.

Steve’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

He was trying to get himself to get up, get out of the car.

Staring through the windshield at the small service.

Barb’s funeral.

The girl that died right outside his house. The girl who died in his pool.

The girl he killed.

By being too preoccupied with Nancy. By being too much of a stupid fucking jock.

It’s all his fault.

He got out of the car, stayed mostly to himself throughout the service.

He hugged Barb’s parents afterwards, offered his condolences.

He got the feeling that they never really liked him.

That’s okay. He doesn't really blame them.

And if they knew, if they knew what he did to their Barb-

They would do more than just not like him.

He spent the rest of the day in bed, thoughts of your fault your fault your fault whipping through his brain.

He killed Barb.

Steve was trying to think quickly.

It was a little tricky, what with the pounding in his head, the hits he was taking right to the gut.

He needed to somehow talk his way out of this.

Which sucked because talking has never been his strong point.

But he brought Robin into all of this. He had let Erica climb through those vents to get them into the elevator. He had helped Dustin suss out what the message meant.

Actually, he hadn’t.

He had been too fucking stupid to help with that.

No.

He had just encouraged the translation that was happening around him.

Had just walked three people right into the clutches of the Upside Down, and these violent goddamn Russians, and-

That one hurt.

He woke up sometime later to Robin yelling.

“Hey, will you stop yelling?”

“Steve! Oh my God! Steve!”

She sounded, actually relieved.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

Robin was sitting next to him, both wrapped in thick blankets.

They had their own ambulance, Nancy and Jonathan in the one next door.

He had watched them take Billy off on a gurney, watched them slam a defibrillator to his body until his heart started beating again, watched them load him into the back of an ambulance, and take him off to the hospital.

The adrenaline, the heavy drugs, it was all out of his system.

And he was crashing.

“I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I shouldn’t have talked Dustin into translating the tape, I shouldn’t have-”

“Okay, Dingus. Let’s get some things straight. I’m pretty sure Dustin talked you into the translations. I don’t know if you’d be able to talk Dustin into anything. And you didn’t rope me into shit.”

“I mean, I mean with the Upside Down. This whole fucking conspiracy. You deserved to go your whole damn life without knowing any of this.”

“But Steve, I know about it now. The milk has been spilled. So stop crying.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Yes, it is.

“Hi, welcome to Family- Nancy?”

Nancy had stopped in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Steve. I didn’t know you were working here.”

“Yeah. You know, with the mall being all, burnt down. And stuff.” She nodded slowly, stock still in the doorway. “Can I help you find something?”

“No. Thanks. I’m just browsing.”

“Well, uh, let me know if you need help. Or ask Robin, maybe. She’s better with the recommends.” Nancy seemed to startle, stepping into the store properly.

“Thanks, Steve.” He smiled tightly at her.

They really hadn’t talked since breaking up.

Of course, they’d spoken in the summer, but that was less exchanging pleasantries, more how do we stop the giant fleshy monster that’s trying to take over the whole world?

Which isn’t quite the same.

She browsed through the aisles, Steve doodling on the carbon pad next to the register.

She smiled tightly at him, a few tapes in hand.

“So, uh, how are you?” They hadn’t spoken since that night. Since he wandered over to her ambulance, checking in with her and Jonathan.

“I’m okay. Just working and stuff. Obviously.”

“And how’s Billy?”

“Managing. He’s in all kindsa therapy and stuff now.”

“That’s, that’s good.” She was all stiff as he handed her her change. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“Yeah, Nancy. Yeah, you too.”

He hated how shitty and awkward that had been.

Hated that she was the person he felt closest to for the better part of a year, and now they’re stuck with light conversation and forced smiles.

He pushed her so hard.

Always poking and poking.

Always too clingy, always too emotional, not emotional enough. Too insensitive, or just too much work.

He doesn’t know how anyone puts up with him.

“Hey,” Billy smiled softly at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, now that my little nurse is here.” Steve rolled his eyes, smiling back as he sat on the bed next to Billy.

He had brought him to his house from the military hospital.

Billy still had a long road of healing. His scars were pulled together, and the wounds were closed, but everything was still pretty rough.

“Can I get you anything?” Billy reached over for him.

His hands were scarred and rough, and he was still trying to regain feeling, the nerves having suffered far too much damage.

“Nah. Just sit with me.”

Steve took one of his hands, stretching his hand like the doctor had shown him.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Nah. My stomach’s all outta whack today. Don’t know if I could keep anything down.” Steve furrowed his brows.

“Are you, can I make you something? Soup?”

“Stevie, I’m okay. One day’s not gonna kill me.” It felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Something must've shown on his face because Billy was trying to sit up. “Sorry, that was a shitty joke.”

“No, I just-”

“It’s okay. Sorry.” Steve tried to gather himself.

“Don’t like jokes about you dying. Thought you were dead for, for like a week, you know. Before they told us you were stable.”

“Baby, it’s alright. I know it was hard on you.” Steve blinked rapidly.

“But I mean, it’s like, youwere the one, the one in the hospital I shouldn’t,” he stood up, Billy wincing as the bed shifted. “I’m gonna make you something.”

He was holding back tears as he spread peanut butter and jelly onto saltine crackers.

Billy had the best luck keeping it down when he felt sick.

He felt like shit whenever he did that. Got all mopey on Billy.

Billy was the one trying not to die in a hospital bed. Steve was just, doing what Steve does.

Making everything about himself.

He brought Billy the plate, kneeling next to him in bed.

“You okay?” Steve just shook his head, plastering on a nice smile for Billy.

“I’m fine, Bill. Just try to eat? For me?”

Billy managed three of the crackers before he heaved into the garbage bin placed next to the bed.

Steve felt like shit.

Billy’s core muscles were still healing, and throwing up only made him sore, made him tired and in pain.

“Billy, I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have made Billy eat. Shouldn’t have tried to make himself feel better by force-feeding Billy while he felt bad.

When he finally stopped, Steve helped him to the bathroom to wash out his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Steve, it’s not your fault.”

“But you said you didn’t feel good.”

“You’re just trying to take care of me.”

Keyword here being trying.

Trying and failing at taking care of Billy.

“Steve, are you busy tonight?” Dustin had thrown open the door to Family Video stomping inside.

“I mean, no but I thought, isn’t tonight your big tournament?”

Dustin sighed dramatically.

“The arcade is closed.”

Dustin had been saving up for months, using the end of the summer to mow neighbors’ lawns.

Steve had even paid him to mow his own lawn.

He and the gang were going to rage for hours, Dustin organizing a special secret prize for whoever got the highest cumulative score.

He had put so much thought into everything, had been so excited.

And the arcade was closed.

“Can I talk to Keith?”

“Be my guest.”

Dustin pushed into the backroom.

Steve could hear his voice, could hear him arguing with Keith.

He came back out, Keith following behind.

“Harrington, I told you, customers aren’t allowed in the back.” He pointed to the Employees Only sign on the door. “Can you even read?” Keith rolled his eyes. Steve studied his shoes.

“And Henderson, I told you, the arcade is closed for renovations. A pipe burst in the storeroom.” Dustin Huffed. “Just, rent a movie or something. But you know, don’t ask for Harrington’s recommendation.”

Keith laughed to himself as he retreated to the back.

“Like I would ask you for a recommendation. I know what kind of movies you like.” Steve forced a smile at him.

“Sorry about your game night.” Dustin shrugged.

“I thought it’d be fun. We haven’t played DnD since Will moved. It just feels wrong without him, I guess. I thought this could bring us back to the fun spirit.”

“It’s a good idea. I’m sorry you’re gonna have to postpone.”

Steve just kinda lived with a big ol’ bit in his stomach these days.

But every time something like this happened, something where his friend was sad, and Steve was completely useless to help him, the pit seemed to grow.

He wonders what happens when the pit gets too big.

Billy stretched his arms above his head, wincing slightly.

“You okay?”

Billy blew out a breath, rubbing his chest.

“Yeah. Just cold. It hurts.” They were standing outside, waiting for the kids to be finished with school.

Steve drove Dustin and Max home, usually brought Billy along with him.

Neil had been one of the flayed, the only casualty Billy said he didn’t feel bad for.

So Max had moved with her mom into a tiny two-bedroom house.

Billy was still staying with Steve for the time being.

“Oh! I got a sweater in my trunk.” Steve ran around to the back of the car, unlocking the trunk and digging through.

He kept his car pretty clean, just his bat, some jumper cables, and a go-bag.

So he should see the sweater right away.

But he didn’t.

He frantically shifted everything around.

“No, no.”

The sweater wasn’t there.

“Fuck are you, are you serious?”

He genuinely could cry.

Billy was blowing into his hands, rubbing them together when Steve slumped back over to him.

“Billy, I’m sorry. It’s not in there.” Billy squinted at him.

“That’s okay.”

“I thought it was, but I must’ve taken it out, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just, you know, come here and make it up to me.” He had a lazy smile on his face. “Come keep me warm.”

Steve wrapped himself around Billy, burying his face in his neck.

“I wish I could keep you warmer. I wish I had that sweater.”

“Baby, I’m okay. Just achy.”

Steve made sure to turn up the heat full blast when they got back in, the kids in the backseat.

“Fuck!”

The bottom of the box had given out, tapes crashing to the tiled floor.

He had been on his way to reshelve everything, after spending all day in the back rewinding.

But here he was, checking each plastic tape for cracks as he tried to find something else to put them in.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington.”

Ah, yes. That’s what he needs right now. Keith standing over him while he cleaned up the mess of tapes.

“What’d you do now?”

“The box, it just fell apart.”

“You know, Robin really went out on a limb to you to get this job.” Keith was standing over him, staring down at Steve sill kneeling on the ground. “Maybe I should just fire you both.”

“Wait, no!”

Steve’s heart was in his throat.

It felt like he was gonna choke on it.

“You, you can’t, I don’t care if you hate me, okay, just, just don’t fire Robin!”

Keith loved to do this. Dangle his measly power as manager over Steve.

Robin said it was some kind of revenge fantasy for how shitty Steve was to him in high school.

Steve just figures he deserves it.

Bottom of the food chain now. That’s where he is.

The guy that thought he was the hottest shit to walk the Earth. The guy that barely graduated. The guy that had to linger around his hometown. The guy has no life. The guy that has no future.

“Why not? She vouched for you.” Keith was eating a pack of M&Ms, crunching each one loudly between his teeth.

“Just, just don’t.” Steve felt like he could cry.

“Then get this cleaned up, and I’ll consider letting you both stay.”

Steve just nodded.

He didn’t think his voice would work without cracking all over the place.

He found a crate in the stockroom, stacking the tapes as quickly as he could.

He liked reshelving.

The organization system made sense, and he could do it easily without having to know anything about the movies, without having to know anything besides the alphabet, and the genre sticker each tape had.

Robin was better with customers.

Better at making change and recommending movies. Better at talking to people without sounding like an idiot.

But he finished reshelving, and had to retreat behind the counter.

“You’re being weird today.”

Steve had zoned out, staring through the front windows.

“Sorry.”

“Bad night?” he just nodded slowly. He didn’t want to tell her about Keith’s little threat. She would just go on a rampage. Probably yell at him a lot. And if Steve being a fuck up didn’t get her fired, defending him for sure would. Plus, it’s not like it’s a lie. Most nights are bad. “Steve, are you sure you’re okay? It feels like,” she glanced around. “It feels like you’re getting, like, worse.”

“Sorry.” She furrowed her brows.

“That’s not something you need to apologize for, you know that, right? I’m just worried about you.”

“Sorry.” Her face pinched up even more.

“Steve.”

“Yeah, I, just you know. Not sleeping much.”

“I could come over? You said it’s better when there’s sound in your house. I can stomp around for a while.” He huffed a laugh through his nose, giving her the biggest smile he could muster.

“That’s okay. I’m managing, Rob.” She raised one eyebrow. “And besides, I, uh, I won’t be home tonight.”

She made a face at him, pursing her lips so she didn’t smile.

Billy had gotten his own apartment with the money the government had given him, a little thank you for your discretion gift when he was released from the hospital.

He had spent nearly a month in a coma, a month in which Steve had only left his room a handful of times. After waking up, delirious, and in pain, he had spent the next six months in heavy rehabilitation, in daily therapy, both mental and physical, in which Steve practically lived at the hospital with him.

They had bonded more than Robin could ever know, both boys spilling everything to one another, every dark thought, every bad memory.

Long story short, they were inseparable.

“Then have a fun night. And talk to Billy. Tell him you’re struggling.”

“I’m not-”

She stomped her foot, giving him a stern look.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Shit.”

Steve knew he had a key to Billy’s apartment.

But it wasn’t on his key ring.

“Are you kidding me?” He knocked on the door.

It took Billy a few minutes to come get him.

“I’m sorry, I, I lost my key.” Billy looked tired . It was Thursday. Billy was a stockboy at Meldvald’s on Thursdays. His doctor said getting a job would be nice, that it would help him rejoin society, make him feel good to support himself, all this shit.

Mostly, it just made Billy’s sore.

“It’s okay.”

“No, but, it’s not on my ring! I don’t know where it fell off, it could be anywhere, you might have to change the locks or-”

“Steve! It’s fine. Just get in here.”

Steve snapped his jaw closed. Billy shuffled back to the couch, groaning as he sat down slowly.

“Can I get you something? Have you eaten? I can rub your back if-”

“Harrington, just come sit with me.” Billy was giving him a little half-smile.

Steve stumbled over to the couch, and tucked himself right under Billy’s arm.

“What are we watching?”

“Some soap. There’s been a marathon all evening. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve leaned his head against Billy.

He had no clue what was going on. Had a question on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask about the plot points, the characters.

But he’s bothered Billy enough tonight, making him get up to open the door, always, always bothering-

“Hey, where’d you go?” Billy was stroking one rough hand through his hair.

“Nowhere.”

“Robin called me from the video store.” Steve sighed, burying his face into Billy’s neck. “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you’re always okay.” He said it like he was mad, like he was frustrated with Steve.

He pulled back, sliding to the other end of the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” Billy was staring blankly at him. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad. What are you even-” he cut himself off. “Steve, talk to me. You’re getting, distant.”

“I’m-”

“Please stop apologizing.”

Steve swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to help you.”

“I-” Steve’s throat was closing up. “I don’t know what to do.”

Billy shifted stiffly, reaching out for Steve’s hand.

“Talk to me, Baby. You know I’ll listen.”

“I, uh, I just.” His jaw was moving, but he couldn’t form any words.

Billy took his hands, pulling him gently.

Steve let himself be tugged, let himself fall into Billy’s lap.

“It’s all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“All of it.”

“Can you, maybe elaborate?”

“Everything. It’s all my fault.” His chest felt pulled tight, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. “Everything, everything. My fault.”

Billy had no fucking idea what to do.

Steve was breathing sharply, his eyes squeezed closed.

He had both hands in his hair, pulling roughly.

“Steve, hey.” He took his wrists, trying to stop him. “Steve, I need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that?” Steve shook his head.

“Just, just try to take as deep a breath as you can, okay?”

Billy was trying to remember what his shrink had told him, the tips for dealing with his own panic.

But watching Steve fall apart, well. It was hard for Billy to keep it together.

He sat with Steve, holding his hands until he opened his eyes, until he was breathing without Billy reminding him to do it.

“Steve. Sugar. Talk to me.”

Steve was still slumped over, still had his head in Billy’s lap.

He turned to bury his face in Billy’s thigh.

“Sometimes I feel like the world is crushing me. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Can you explain that to me? You said everything was your fault.”

“Like, like Barb. She, it was my fault she died, and my fault the kids almost got hurt in the tunnels, and my fault that Dustin and Robin and Erica got stuck in the lab, and, and, and I’m so bad at taking care of you. I can’t do anything right.”

Billy could feel his tears, wet patches soaking through his sweatpants.

“You do a lot of stuff right!”

“Keith told me he was gonna fire Robin today, because I messed up again.”

“Fuck Keith. No way that creep has firing power. And maybe you should talk to Robin. Or go to your boss about him. He just likes going on a power trip with you.

“And as for, well everything, Pretty Boy, none of that was your fault. Barb was killed by, by a monster-”

“At my house, at my party, in my pool.”

“Still not your fault.”

“I thought she had left, you know? I didn’t know she was out there.”

“That just proves my point! You didn’t know she was out there, you didn’t know what was going to happen. That whole event , it had nothing to do with you. And the kids like, fully kidnapped you to bring you to the tunnels. If anything, that’s my fault for, you know. Doing what I did.”

Billy took a deep breath.

“I know a lot about guilt. I know how it feels like you’re just, you’re drowning. And you’re never gonna get to the surface, but that, that stuff. People make their own choices. You can’t control what other people do, you can just control what you do. And you, you do nothing but good. You just love, and you love, and you love. You always do what you think is best, and that’s what matters.”

“I feel bad all that time. Like, like right now I feel bad because, because of course you feel guilty, and I’m saying shit that doesn’t matter, and my problems they don’t-”

“Don’t you dare say your problems don't matter.” Billy was tangling his fingers through Steve’s hair, playing with it gently. “Your problems matter . They matter to me. It hurts me that you're struggling. It hurts me that I didn’t notice.”

“Billy, it’s not your fault.”

“You say that like it’s so easy. You take my guilt and you ease it. And that’s what I want for you.” Steve wasn’t crying anymore, but he was still curled up on the couch, still had his face pressed against Billy’s leg.

“I don’t know how. I’ve been so thoroughly crushed under all this that I’m scared of what happens if I claw through it all.”

“Maybe you won’t feel like shit all the time.”

“Feeling like shit is the easy part. It’s predictable.”

“I know. It’s safe .”

“Yeah. What do people even think about if they aren’t thinking about all the problems of the people closest to them and finding ways to blame themselves?” Billy laughed at that. Steve could feel his belly moving next to him.

It was a nice moment.

“I don’t know. That’s what movies and books are for. When you’ve got shit else to think about because you’re not trapped under a mountain of guilt.”

“Probably why I’ve read so few books, then.”

“We need to start watching more movies.”

“We need to talk about Steve.”

“Hi, Robin. It’s great to see you. How’s your day?” Robin rolled her eyes. She was leaned over the counter at Family Video, flicking through a magazine.

“He had a break down last night.”

“Finally. He’s been hanging on by a thread for weeks,”

“Yeah, try years.” She looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“He like, unloaded fully. He still blames himself for the girl that got killed in his backyard.”

“Wait, he thinks that’s his fault?”

“Yeah, and the kids in the tunnels, and also you and Dustin and Erica being brought into the whole mess. And also that he’s bad at taking care of me? Which, don’t know how he got that one. He does a really fucking good job taking care of me.”

“Jesus. He’s like, stressed.”

“To put it lightly.”

“So, what’s up? Where do I come in?”

“I’m planning an evening. A We Love Steve Harrington party.”

“I can be snack duty.” He smiled at her, clapping her on the shoulder. “It just us?”

“Yeah. I figured to leave the kids out of this one.”

“Good choice.”

“Be over at seven.” She nodded once, giving him a two-finger salute.

Steve was curled up, Billy spooned up behind him when there was a knock on the door.

“Go get that, will you? I’m all stiff.” Steve turned around, looking at Billy all concerned. “Go on. I’m okay.”

Billy had to shove him away before he finally went to answer the door.

“Oh, Robin, uh, hey.” She pushed one of her shopping bags into his arms.

“I was invited for an evening of bolstering you up.”

Billy came lumbering in, throwing himself down on the couch.

“I, don’t get it.”

“Robin’s here because you need some lovin’.” Steve’s bottom lip wobbled.

“That’s really nice.”

“You deserve it.” Billy was looking at him seriously.

Steve tucked himself into Billy’s side, Robin shoving herself next to him on the little couch.

Billy had pulled out all his lumpy blankets, and they had already torn into a box of cookies.

Steve was all warm.

Curled up in the blankets, watching The Aristocats.

“Thank you, guys. For this. It means a lot.”

“Can it, Dingus. Thomas O’Malley’s gonna sing.”

#sorry if this looks like shit on mobile #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #robin buckley #fav platonic soulmates #Dustin Henderson #harringrove fic #commissions #fic commissions

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glitteryhellhole · 3 years

Text

Doc being Doc 3/?

In which Doc prescribes medical marijuana to 10K.

Fandom: Z nation Word count: approx 1000 Warnings: Nightmares. and weed. My blog is 18+ so interact at your own discretion

Parts 1 and 2 (this series is basically just one-shots)

He wakes with a jolt, gasping a breath that smells and tastes of danger. There's one here. The Z crawls towards him, reaching out to grab. Its face comes into view, rotten flesh peeling from the dislocated jaw.

“Tommy...”

He kicks, reaching for his gun, flailing in the darkness. But he's rooted to the ground.

“You didn't do it...” It- he- is close enough now to spray specks of blood from his gaping mouth as he rasps. “You promised... Tommy...” A filthy clawed hand smothers his face, he can't breathe.

“Dad!”

He wakes for real this time, the hand covering his mouth his own. 10K shudders and sits upright, feeling cold sweat.

“Hey.” A torch light shines in his direction. “It's me”

Doc.

10K steadies his breath as he looks around; they're in a barn which is part of a commune-turned-survivor camp. The residents, mostly children and elderly, had been happy to provide food and supplies in exchange for a couple days' manual labour.

“Same dream?” Doc asks quietly. “That's at least four nights in a row now.”

10K can't remember the last time he managed to get real rest, and he's been volunteering for night watch as a distraction, but his aim has begun to suffer. Tonight though, Doc is on duty, and the radio is quietly serenading him.

“I can't make it stop,” he mumbles, looking at the crescent moon nail marks on his palms. “Its stupid. But it won't go away.”

Doc drapes an arm over his shoulder. “Nothing stupid about it kid, we've experienced some pretty messed up shit.”

Glancing around the barn, 10K breathes a sigh of relief that he didn't wake everyone else up by yelling this time. Whatever Doc says, its still embarrassing.

“You need to relax a bit, get some proper shut-eye.” Doc pulls something from his shirt pocket. “How 'bout it?”

10K squints at the joint. His Dad always said that drugs were for rockstars and communists. But if he can't sleep then he can't shoot.

“I guess so.” He sighs.

Doc lights the joint, takes a puff, and then passes it over. “It's not too different to a cig. You wanna take a breath first, and then sort of suck in, so it goes down into your lungs.”

10K gingerly takes the joint and breathes in, then sucks- and splutters.

“Not like that!”

“Argh, its up my nose.” He steels himself then tries again, and this time he inhales properly. It tastes like burned cheese.

“Give it a minute before you take another, this isn't beginner strength.” Doc takes back the joint and hits a few times in quick succession as he studies 10K's face.

Oh. There it is.

A wave of calm descends on him like a gentle trickle of hot water, his muscles unclenching.

“I think its working,” he mumbles, and is surprised by how his voice sounds.

“Sounds like it.” Doc hands him the joint and brings the radio closer, turning it up just slightly. “Our good pal Citizen Z is running through the best of Dire Straits. Best band to come out of Britain. The Beatles are overrated.”

10K inhales another mouthful of weed, feeling the endorphin rush. “Beetles are quite tasty actually.”

He's actually heard Doc mention the band before, but it doesn't matter because he just made a joke and its really, really funny.

He's trying so hard not to laugh too loud that he drops ash onto his lap. “Ow!”

“Careful!” Doc quickly takes back the joint and flicks off the ash. “Oh yeah, that reminds me. Don't ever smoke this stuff naked. Easy to drop off with it in your hand, then next thing y'know you're roasting your chestnuts.”

10K winces and crosses his legs.

“Man, that nudist commune was one of the best places I ever lived. Had to leave for the winter though.”

Everything's fuzzy now, but in a pleasant way. 10K leans back against the corrugated metal wall and lets his eyes close, listening to the music.

“You wanna talk about it, kid?”

“What, being naked?”

“The nightmares I mean.” The light is dim but it looks like Doc's blowing smoke rings.

10K remembers how it starts differently each time, but always ends up with the corpse that used to be his Father coming for him, hungry and accusational. The lurching twist in the pit of his stomach comes as usual but its definitely less pronounced.

“I don't think it matters right now.” He takes one more hit, and starts to feel like he's floating on a cushion of air. Citizen Z's smooth voice emanating from the radio is a gentle breeze, softly nudging his cloud across the sky.

“Whatever time zone you're in, I want to wish you a safe and calm evening. Especially to my good friends Operation Bitemark. Here's one more record to see you off.”

Even though he doesn't recognise the music, 10K is comforted by it. Doc's singing along very quietly next to him as he takes the last toke. Faint sounds of the others breathing slowly and deeply in their sleep. Safe and calm indeed.

A joke occurs to him and its gone again before he can articulate it but its so hilarious that he has to shove his fist in his mouth again, this time to suppress hysteria rather than screams.

“What's so funny?” asks Doc.

“I...” 10K wheezes as he hold in the laughter. “I can't remember.”

“Okay. That's about where you want to be.” Doc picks up 10K's blanket and drapes it over him. “Feelin' sleepy now?”

10K becomes aware that while the rest of him feels feather-light, his eyelids are incredibly heavy. He nods and lets himself slip sideways to lie down.

“Thanks Doc.” He murmurs. Maybe it doesn't actually come out, because he's asleep the moment his cheek rests on his arm. But he's sure that Doc knows he means it.

The only thing he dreams of is being a cloud floating in the warm blue sky.

----Note: Whether using drugs for medical or recreational purposes, please remember to stay safe and know your limits.

#z nation #fanfic #fic #doc #10k #10 thousand #ten thousand #z nation fic #z nation doc #z nation 10k #z nation 10 thousand #z nation ten thousand

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avversiera-writes · 4 years

Text

‘till death do us part - chapter 3 [tobirama senju/you]

Chapter 3 - Love Like You

Summary: In which you and Tobirama get away from the village to travel and learn to be with each other. (and smut lmao)

Words: 4.3k

Author’s Notes: finallyyyy i get to update hehehe pls let me know what you think. if you don’t like smut, uhm, this chapter is skippable. lol.

this work is also on AO3.

<< Chapter 1 - Allegiances // Chapter 2 - Union

In an even smaller space, you find it hard to speak.

No one is here and therefore, there is simply no need to put up any kind of facade.

The two of you are truly alone now, and for a moment, you both try to figure out how to be with each other in this way. After today, nothing will ever be the same for you and Tobirama. You are still trying to find your footing, and you can sense the same for your new husband because he is, for once, out of his wits.

You sigh and let out a small laugh, and you step in front of Tobirama. You don’t mind taking the first step.

“Help me out of my robes?” You request gently.

You turn around, and you feel Tobirama’s fingers brush against your nape deftly. You reach up to take out the pins from your hair, but Tobirama beats you to it and he gently pulls the ornaments and let your hair fall down. He brushes them to one side of your shoulder, and then, his arms slide down to untie what is binding your waist.

You let out a sigh as your body makes more room for you to breathe properly, and you pull apart your collar and push it back to your shoulders. Tobirama assists by pulling it back to expose your shoulders, and slowly, he lets it fall to the ground, surrounding you in a white, cascading circle. His warm hands grasp the sides of your arms, and slowly, he reaches for the front of your chest to start undoing the clothing that covers your upper torso. The last layer of your clothing falls away, and silently, Tobirama rests his rough and calloused hands against your waist, and he presses his forehead behind your shoulder.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” you chuckle, and you pat his hands on your waist. Then, you entwine your fingers through his. “We can just take a bath, and then, sleep, and wake up tomorrow to be on our merry way.”

Tobirama plants a chaste kiss against the back of your neck, taking his time, and leans forward to your ear.“I am inclined to take a mile from the inches you have left me,” he whispers. “ Wife. ”

A shiver runs down your spine, one that makes all the blood rush down and pull into the center of your pleasure. You dig your nails against the skin of your waist, and you take a deep breath. You do not waste a second as you turn around, and Tobirama’s eyes widen a fraction as he sees you naked in front of him, then you watch them darken.

“Good,” you say in a low voice, and you feel your skin burn, desperate for contact. “Don’t back down.”

Tobirama swallows visibly, and in a swift manner, he pulls you closer against him. He meets your eyes, and you see that they look almost black, like blood from an oozing vein. Gracefully, he lowers you to the bed, never once breaking eye contact. You feel the sheets ruffle under you and you watch as Tobirama leans back to take off his clothes. The moonlight filtering through the windows shines on his pale skin, highlighting the ridges and dips of his hard-earned muscles from many battles. You notice faded scars and some recent ones, some brown and some paler than his skin, all varying in degrees of how deep they are.

Your husband is broad, but underneath all his clothes, he is also quite lean and disproportioned from his many days of forgoing food when he is subjected to his moods of reclusion and manic overworking.

After getting rid of all his clothes, you study each other, both shy but full of dare to get closer. His eyes go over your breasts, and you see his neck flush red.

However, he does not look away, and his eyes travel lower and lower.

Experimentally, he puts a hand on your thigh and pushes it back to spread your legs apart. You look down at the sight, seeing that he is half-aroused already.

“Are you just going to stare at me? Or are you going to come here and kiss me?"

"Funnily enough, that is not the worst thing you have said tonight," Tobirama deadpans.

You raise an eyebrow. "What is it going to be, Senju Tobirama?"

Tobirama leans over and covers your body with his. He props himself with his arms, using them to frame your head. Your legs automatically wrap around his waist and you close your eyes with a sigh as his skin and his body weight presses against yours.

You feel his cock pressing against your thigh, already heavy and hard.

You couldn’t help but moan when he kisses you, and when he pulls back to study your face, you pull him forward again and deepen the kiss. Your hands go down his back, pressing your palms against his rippling muscles.

You sigh through the kisses, each deepened kiss leaving you heaving for breaths and your blood growing hot. Underneath your touch, Tobirama is no longer tense. One of his hands is starting to roam, from squeezing your breast to make you moan, kneading your waist to make you more pliant, and then finally resting in between on the inside of your thigh.

Your eyes swim as you stare at his face, and you feel a nervousness you have not felt before.

“Are you alright?” Tobirama softly asks. His breath fans over your cheek and you close your eyes.

“I’m scared,” you tell him honestly.

“Okay,” Tobirama plants a kiss on your chin. “Leave it to me.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” You ask, putting a hand on the back of his shoulder.

“I’ve studied on it,” Tobirama smirks. “We have all night to put them all to test.”

You open your legs wider, trusting him. There is a shadow of a smile on Tobirama’s features, and you observe, curious about what other expressions he will express towards you. You feel his finger brush against the lips of your pussy, rubbing against it until he delves into the folds. You let out a gasp as he takes his now wet fingers and circles your clit, slowly, experimentally. You shiver at the sensation, and a pleasant tingle rivets through your body.

Your sighs come out involuntarily, and the heat of a blush travels from your neck and down. Tobirama’s eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, putting pressure and quickening his speed as he works you, and you are arching towards him, desperate for more contact as the feeling builds. You cover your mouth as lewd moans escape from your lips, and suddenly, something bursts from inside you and your body tightens and your movements become erratic. Your body surrenders itself to your orgasm.

Your husband’s eyes are bright, and he looks almost so handsomely ruined, and you submit to his gaze and you completely break open. Your body aches–no it cries to be marked by him, and you waste no time demanding for the primal need to be satiated.

Tobirama holds your hip securely, and with his other hand, he guides his own length to your entrance and he pushes in. He massages your waist, coaxing you to be more pliant, and you take deep breaths as you feel yourself expand to take him in. Tears cloud your vision, and then Tobirama is sheathed inside you. There is pain, and then there is sweetness, the heady scent of arousal in the air making you dizzy.

You watch as Tobirama’s ribs finally expand out to take in air, and you reach for him with familiarity. He comes to you, and he seeks out your hidden places, exploring them with his rough and battle-worn hands, with the way his swollen lips bloom over your flushed skin.

Then you move together in tandem, learning to be each other’s comfort and pleasure.

Tobirama, you realize, is not a vocal lover, with his quiet grunts and his low growls and his silent gasps of air, but his love-making is passionate, and very tender. He claims you, and he looks at you as if he has never beheld someone like this, and maybe that is true. His thrusts are strong and rapacious, and he drinks you in, never tiring.

You let out a strangled cry, as the two of you pick up speed and chase after the peak of pleasure. You press kisses on his shoulder and collarbones, marking him as he did you, and you use his shoulders as your anchor, as your mind completely blanks as you finish.

Not long after you, Tobirama pulls out, and he comes with a gasp, and you feel his hot seed on the inside of your thigh.

His body is on you and he scoops you into his arms to lie down on the bed. His legs tangle with yours, and your back presses against his chest fittedly.

You reach for his scars on his arms, and your fingers go over them gently, and you press your warm palms on them, accepting them as is. Then, you cross your fingers with his, and before you know it, the lull of his steady heartbeat leads you to sleep.

Tobirama wakes up just short of dawn, and the scenes of the night before plays back in his mind. Your head rests against his arm, and he turns to your sleeping form, and watches the way your ribs spreads outwards as you breathe in your sleep, the way the shadows look blue upon your skin, and the way your hair splays over his pale arm like streaks of paint on a blank canvass.

It is a different view than he is accustomed to. Though he has watched you in your sleep before, he has never stuck around for long since there are other things pulling his attention. Now, he is your husband and this will be what will greet him in the mornings to come.

In his curiosity, he reaches over and scratches the back of your ear. He smiles secretly when you swat his hand away, and settles for resting his hand on your waist.

For once, he is not in a hurry and he is content to stay beside you, preserving your warmth until the sun is up.

He tries to move away when he feels you stir beside him, and he even tries to pull his arm away and feign sleeping, but you turn to him quickly with a hazy smile that he just froze. It does not help that he is frowning, but he really isn’t. He was stuck trying to make ten decisions all at once.

“Did you sleep?” You ask him.

Tobirama’s eyes go to your forehead, then your eyes, nose, lips. “Yes,” he answers gruffly.

You chuckle and you edge closer to him. “For someone who just got laid, you are awfully grumpy.” You kiss him quickly on the chin. “You are no fun, old man.”

Tobirama peers at you. “Well, we better do it more then.”

You fake gasp and look at him amusedly. “Wow, I was wrong. You , my husband, are a changed man.”

Tobirama smirks, and he rolls you to your back. “I’d like to be right every now and then.”

You roll your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. “ Liar .”

Tobirama shuts you up with a kiss, and the two of you spend the rest of the early morning until daybreak copulating to your heart’s content.

“What are all these?” You ask as you spot the engawa littered with all kinds of gifts. You bend down and take one for yourself, noticing that it is addressed to you and Tobirama.

Tobirama steps out, completely dressed in a simple travel garment. His hair is hastily brushed back, revealing his strong forehead, and on his back, he carries a satchel, no doubt packed with summoning scrolls for your needs instead of packing like a normal human being. He slips his feet into his sandals and he walks out into the engawa, proud and tall, as if he wasn’t a mess just twenty minutes ago.

“Gifts,” Tobirama replies.

You roll your eyes. Here he goes again, with his matter of fact statements about the obvious. Is this his idea of humor?

“Wow, it’s like I don’t have eyes!” You exclaim sarcastically.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Well, you didn’t have to ask,” he deadpans.

“Aren’t the two of you getting along so well?” The voice of Hashirama muses as he comes up the path to your house. “So chirpy at such an early hour of morning.”

Tobirama clears his throat and he assumes a more respectful pose. “Elder brother,” he greets.

Hashirama smiles widely at his brother and then at you. “Everything went well? I was going to visit last night but you know, I heard–”

“Brother!” Tobirama snaps, and he scowls, his lips forming into a subtle pout.

You duck your head and chuckle. Tobirama always seems so animated when he’s around family, especially his brother. “Lord Shodaime, thank you for your visit. How can we help you?”

Hashirama chuckles wholeheartedly. “I am here to talk to my brother and see the two of you on your travels.”

You look at your husband, and then you take his stuff with you. “I will give you two some privacy.”

Tobirama nods, and he watches you walk towards the gate of the house. He turns to his brother and he meets his eyes seriously, but he finds that there is forgiveness and reassurance in his brother’s gaze.

The farther the two of you got from the village, the lighter the expression on Tobirama’s face grows. The two of you walk side by side, in your travel clothes and a simple haori that would not draw any attention. At once glance, the two of you look like a pair of normal people going about their day. Unless they figure out that the two sticks wrapped around your back are swords and somehow take that as a clue that you are a shinobi, but it is unlikely. There are still many people who practice the way of the sword.

The town nearest to the village is teeming with locals and visitors of varying classes, especially since it is a popular spot for hot springs. You adjust the straw hat on your husband’s head and he glances down at you.

“What did you and your brother talk about?” You prompt and you smile as Tobirama reaches up to fix what you did to his hat.

“Menial things,” he answers curtly. “Do not mess with my hat.”

“We should rest under a shade,” you suggest to him, knowing that he can be sensitive to the heat.

Tobirama does not say anything as you push him forward to a nearby bench under some trees. Fortunately, there is a stand nearby, selling tea and other snacks.

You return to your waiting husband, and you hand him the rice cakes and the warm green tea.

“You are awfully good at this,” Tobirama mutters and he sips the tea.

“What do you mean?” You ask him and sit next to him.

Tobirama stares at the grass in front of him and he sighs. “Taking care of me.”

You cross your legs and lean back. You don’t say anything else because you are not sure how to answer, and it seems like there is a lot on Tobirama’s mind. Like the usual.

“I am not used to that,” Tobirama mutters, but the words are lost to you because he is only speaking to the cup.

You lean forward to watch the side of his face, studying the way his face tattoo perfectly lines across his cheek. Taking care of him seems like an instinct to look out for your own. Though it comes with challenges, and it will for the foreseeable future, you find joy in doing what you do.

“Do not waste your food,” Tobirama suddenly lectures you and you roll your eyes.

“Alright,” you reply childishly and take a bite out of your snacks.

Tobirama downs all the tea, and even gives you the last of his rice cake without saying anything. Though he looks too cool to be doing it, the blush on the back of his neck says otherwise.

Tobirama sinks into the hot water, letting it relax his muscles after a long day’s journey. He takes a deep breath as he sinks lower, until the water is up to his chin. He closes his eyes and lets the water take him, wash control over him and he lets go of himself. It is like freefalling backwards, but the rushing air is water and he knows that he will not get hurt no matter how long the fall is. While he enjoys being around you, he needed this small moment of peace to process the past twenty-four hours.

He never could have seen this coming for him. He never even thought he could make it this far, and now that he has, he is suddenly familiarizing himself with a fear he has never known before. He has a lot to lose now, more than ever. Or maybe, at the end of the day, he is afraid of being alone for all his life. To die without someone ever knowing him or understanding him.

He sets his worries to the water around him, and he sighs blissfully. He swims towards the rock to rest his back against it, and he reaches for the sake placed on the small floating basket.

He takes a sip, and he rests his head back.

“A penny for your thoughts, my lord?” You dip your feet into the hot spring, hissing as you do and sit on the dryer ground next to Tobirama. You take his empty cup of sake and refill it.

“You’re here,” Tobirama accepts the cup. He eyes you at the honorific, and you chuckle. There was a time when you called him that, albeit without the respect that comes with it.

“Why didn’t you wake me from my nap?” You dip a hand into the hot water, and you take a deep breath to get used to it.

“You needed the rest,” Tobirama says. He sets his cup down and he turns to you, and puts his hands on your knees.

“How thoughtful of you, my lord,” you whisper.

“Stop calling me that,” Tobirama glowers.

“You like it though,” you supply, and you reach for his reddening ear. “Should I just address you like this?”

“No,” Tobirama immediately answers.

You ought to laugh, but he runs his hands on your legs, from your ankle and up to your thigh, then he pulls you into the water and you gasp as the hot water washes over your skin. The cotton yukata that you wore is now drenched, and water fills the spaces that are not close to your skin. You let out a little whine from the hot sensation washing over your body. Tobirama’s eyes rove over your wet skin greedily, and he pulls you closer to his body. You tremble slightly at the way he grips you so assertively and gasps as he suddenly kisses and sucks the base of your neck.

Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, and you arch back to give him more space to explore. You sigh blissfully as his tongue laps over your collarbone, then the center of your chest, down to the base of your ribs. Quickly, you jump and surround your legs around his waist. You hiss as the cold air hits your skin that is not submerged into the water and gasp as Tobirama’s kisses become more insisting, coaxing you into a more aroused state.

Your hand finds his neck, and you give his ear a sensual lick with your tongue, knowing that it is one of his sensitive spots. To garner his reaction, you push his face back by propping his jaw upwards with your thumb to get a good look at him.

"But do you like it?" Your eyes narrow slyly. You feel his bulge on the inside of your thigh.

There is a dark glimmer in his eyes that you have become familiar with. This Tobirama in front of you is willing to bite a little.

He stares at you intently, looking like he is about to reprimand you with his narrowed eyes and knitted forehead and stern lips, and you shiver. Not just from the cold air that your body is not used to, now that your lower half is underwater.

"It’s a yes, right?" You smile cheekily and you lean closer to his face.

Tobirama tries to move away, but you have his neck in your hand and your legs around his waist. He is not going anywhere.

Then, Tobirama's serious face molds into a smirk. You falter, and you look at where your fingers are pressing. His heart is beating fast, but before you can bring it up, he takes your hand and presses it against your shoulder.

"If you insist on calling me 'lord,' I assume that I will also have to take up the role," Tobirama presses a kiss on your lips. "Do as I say."

Entranced by this version of Tobirama, you keep your words from your tongue and nod.

"Get your legs off of me and turn around," Tobirama commands, his voice low like a hum near your ear.

You do as he says, and almost immediately he grasps you to his chest assertively with an arm around your waist and keeps you still.

“Is this what you wanted?” He growls into your ear. “Me, subjugating you?”

You close your eyes as his words vibrate to your core of pleasure.

Suddenly, you feel his fingers grasp the sides of your neck and you gasp.

“Yes or no?”

“You can do anything you want to me,” you let out in a rush, feeling so ecstatic. “My lord.”

The world folds, and you fall to your hands and knees on the tatami, disoriented. You are only aware of Tobirama’s weight behind your back, his arousal pressed up against your ass.

"You look great, like this," Tobirama pushes up your wet yukata up to your waist and cups one of your asscheeks. "Folded into supplication under me."

Your vision clears and you spot one of Tobirama’s hiraishin kunais in the corner of your eye. You smirk to yourself, but you immediately take a deep breath as you feel Tobirama’s fingers slip into you, and you moan as he starts to finger-fuck you open. As he draws back, purposely rubbing against your tight pussy walls, you immediately chase after his fingers and thrust yourself into it.

Tobirama’s breathing is loud, but he remains quiet in his appreciation.

As your body shakes with delirium, chasing your own contentment, you are aware of him pulling you up against his pelvis, and then laying you down onto the floor without your arms to support you. He slips fingers out and aligns his cock into your entrance.

You close your eyes, unable to control your whimpers as he enters you in one swift movement. You attempt to prop yourself to your arms, but Tobirama is already drawing out and then slamming himself back to fill you.

“Ah-my lord!” You cry out–on purpose to rile him up, earning another hard thrust upwards, and it makes you dizzy as sparks cover the edge of your vision.

You feel a hand on the back of your neck, holding you in the perfect position for him to ram into you, deeper and deeper. You push yourself towards him languorously, chasing after your own contentment, but Tobirama controls your hips positioned under him like this and he slows his pace. You feel his weight on his back, and his short breaths on the side of your neck. So far, he does not really cry out. Making love for him is a form of absolution, something so precious and reverently done, no matter how rough.

Your body rivets under his touch and his surprisingly tender kisses, and you try to catch your breath as the fevered sensation of finishing begins to take over your body. The slowed rhythm of Tobirama’s fucking makes you come, and you come with a delirious moan. It does not stop, the feeling prolongs as Tobirama leans back again, and this time, he raises your hips higher and fucks into you in a tighter angle, crazed and fast.

Overcome, you let out a slur of words that might have been profanity. Or Tobirama’s name. Sometimes, they are paired together.

Tears roll down your eyes, and you writhe from the pleasure as you approach another orgasm, and you urge him by keeping up with his pace. Each time he leaves, you tighten your hole around his pulsating cock.

Suddenly, your body seizes, and you cry out, the sound like the peal of a bell. Heat explodes inside you and you hear Tobirama’s ragged breathing. It sounds so primal and you close your eyes to savor the sound. His arms surround you immediately, and the both of you crash to the floor, spent and unbelievably high.

Your breathing syncs with his, and despite being weak from love-making, you hold onto his hand tightly, suddenly overcome with your new reality. It is not just one night anymore that you two have to figure out how to mold together. This will be, for the rest of your life.

There are so many differences that both of you still need to work out, and probably to fight over, but you have never doubted Tobirama’s affections, not when he passionately takes you, like a man lost in prayer, begging for some sign of the divine.

Tonight, he holds you a little more tighter, with his face pressed into your neck, his body enveloping you like a welcoming home.

To be continued...

Chapter 4 - Look to the Horizon >>

#angelica writes #'til death do us part #Tobirama Senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama x you #you never said goodbye timeline/au #Senju Tobirama

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malfoyfarms · 4 years

Text

Behind His Back

maybe a rafe imagine? i get it if you don’t want to write for him :) -nonnie

hi can you do a fluff/angst with rafe pls 🥺🥺-nonnie

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

T/W: couple a swear words

A/N: So I managed to finish three requests bc I’m sitting in the barn waiting for my last three cows to calve... hopefully they’ll all be posted soon!

You pushed the lobster and pasta around your plate trying to avoid any conversation with the adults who were gathered around you. The polka dotted dress you were wearing was constricting your movement, probably on purpose so you wouldn’t mess up the perfectly pinned back hair.

Your family had invited the Cameron’s over this evening, celebrating you and Rafe’s one and a half years of dating. To you it felt like a business deal, but all you wanted from your parents was to hear “We’re proud of you,” and if that meant dating Rafe Cameron, then so be it.

You weren’t one to lie, you had fallen in love with the boy, but things between the two of you weren’t exactly the same as when you had first announced your partnership. Deep down you two understood each other, but it still didn’t completely outweigh the unhealthy behavior.

“So Y/N, where have you been looking for college? I know your Mom’s an alum of Wake Forest,” Ward asked you from across the large table. Swallowing your bite and wiping your mouth, you prepared your answer. Rafe and I were a year apart, him already attending the university in Chapel Hill.

“It was supposed to be a surprise for next week, but I accepted a position to play field hockey at Dartmouth College,” you responded absentmindedly. You flashed a large smile, feeling Rafe’s hand tighten around your thigh. He hated thinking about the two of you parting ways for college, therefore you never talked about it.

“Y/N, I thought you were applying to UNC Chapel Hill?” Rafe asked, caught off guard by the response you gave his father.

“No, not anymore. With double legacy, a first-gen woman at Dartmouth, and a position to keep playing field hockey, I’d be stupid not to accept,” I stated, getting heated. My two older brothers made eye contact with Sarah, John B and Wheezie, knowing it was about to get interesting.

“It’s beautiful here in North Carolina, why would you want to leave?”

“I can ski in New Hampshire,” I retorted.

“We’re a team, Y/N, I thought we talked about decisions before we made them,” Rafe was turning red. You were challenging him, in front of both families and a pogue.

“We’re not married, Rafe, I can make my own decisions,” You rolled your eyes. As if anything more could go wrong, your eldest brother threw in a comment about a friend of his he could introduce you to so you can acclimate to the campus properly.

“I just can’t believe you went behind my back when making such a life altering decision. What you chose affects my reputation,” He was looking down at you, like you were a dog and he was your owner. You were ready to destroy, destroy, destroy, just like Daddy had taught his little girl.

“Oh, so it’s okay to go behind my back and do drugs with Topper and Kelce, or go around beating the shit out of the kids from the cut?” His eyes were starting to dart around as the entire table kept watching. You weren’t finished though. “It’s okay to go behind my back and take my tip money to pay your drug lord? Rafe, your actions affect my reputation.” You spat with a mocking tone. Everyone was silent.

You stood up, pushed in your chair and made your way to your bedroom. You hadn’t even had the door closed before you stripped your dress off, replacing it with shorts and a sweatshirt representing your future commitment.

Tears were pricking your eyes due to the scene you had caused downstairs. Your mother would be furious without a doubt, but your dad may let you off the hook, you were his baby girl. All you wanted to do was impress your parents with the academic and athletic achievement, but once again you let Rafe’s words cause actions that took that very moment away from you.

It was going on 3:30 in the morning, when you heard your brother walk down the hall towards your room. Quickly wiping your eyes, and standing up to greet him.

“Rafe is on the front porch waiting for you. He called me like nine times because you decided to turn off your phone,” he said. “I can make him go away if you want.”

You shrugged your shoulders and silently made your way to your boyfriend. Once you opened the door and took in his appearance as it matched your own. Red-rimmed eyes, runny nose and twitchy hands.

Here the vicious cycle began again. You’d fight, make a fool of each other, and then run right back to each other. You slid right into his arms, holding onto him as tight as your hands could. This cycle was the only way you knew how to love. You had learned from your parents, seeing many situations such as the one that had just played out between you and Rafe.

What you noticed was that as you gripped him, he didn’t return the favor. He gently peeled your arms off of his body, then turning away and wiping his eyes.

“Look, Y/N, after the scene you caused tonight, I think we,” he paused. You knew exactly where this was going. You had thrown too big of a fit this time. “We need to take a break for a little, get ourselves on the right path, then possibly rejoin.”

“Rafe what the fuck, did you just recite that from a script?” he wouldn’t make eye contact with you, proving your theory correct.

“No, I just think it’s best for us, this way we can figure out what we’re doing before you leave in the fall.”

“Rafe, I leave the second week of May to start practices, we either fix this now, or end it now,” you whimpered, revealing another secret you hadn’t had time to tell anyone yet.

“Goodbye Y/N.”

It was the annual Christmas Party at the Country Club, and you were not looking forward to it. All the kook families were going to be there, including the Cameron’s. It wasn’t Ward, or Rose, or even Sarah that you were scared to see, it was Rafe. Ward wasn’t as upset as you thought he would be to find out you had ended things with his son, probably more focused on cleaning the reputation his son had picked up.

The preppy skirt and sweater combination you had on complemented your new body type, highlighting the now more developed muscles. One semester of collegiate sports had completely changed you. You finished pinning back your front pieces of hair and made your way to the living room where your family and your new boyfriend were waiting.

His name was Wilder Buchanon, a third year at Dartmouth, you had met over the summer as he was another fellow athlete. Your families adored one another, almost more than the two of you’s attraction to each other.

As you made your way into the venue, all eyes were on you once again. You were flooded with greetings from other kook kids, asking how New Hampshire was, about your studies, and most importantly the man standing next to you. Everything around was a blur when your eyes met Rafe’s from across the room.

He didn’t look the same. His eyes had dark circles around them, his shoulders were slightly hunched as if he was trying to hide. He overall just didn’t look well.

“Wilder, I’m going to go get something to drink, I’ll be right back,” he nodded in acknowledgement and removed his hand from your back.

Your feet carried you towards the former lover, and he instantly looked at you. He flashed a soft smile and took in your new appearance. Your y/h/c hair had grown long, you had put on muscle, not in a bad way.

“You look good kid,” he chuckled softly.

“How have you been doing Rafe?” There was a genuine tone to your voice.

“Better, I’m officially two months sober, and I’ll be going back to Chapel Hill in the spring,” he responded.

He didn’t expect you to envelope him in a hug, and tell him you were proud of him, but he accepted it greatly. Of course his smile softened when he met Wilder, but he was right. The two of you needed to work on yourselves as the relationship the two of you shared was unhealthy. He couldn’t be mad at Wilder for falling for such a wonderful girl like you.

“Go back to be with your boy,” he said softly. “Just remember kid, I’ll always be in your corner.” He moved your hair behind your ear, and sent you on your way.

#outer banks #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #obx #obx imagine #jj maybank #john b #kiara carrera #sarah obx #pope heyward

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aerynwrites · 4 years

Text

The Devil You Know - 5

Chapter 5: Explosive Moments

(Gif by @pedroispunk)

Author’s Note: Phew, It’s finally finally hear you guys! I am so sorry I made y’all wait so long for this chapter, I honestly have no excuse lol. I hope you guys enjoy this step in Javier and readers journey because I know I did! Also - Thank you so so so much to @hiscyarika and @murdermewithbooks for reading over this chapter for me and catching all of my terrible tense errors. This chapter would not be anywhere near as polished as it is without you! I love you guys!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Blood, guns, mentions of drugs, canon typical violence, NSFW themes (but not really smut tho?) just like making out and stuff followed bu non descriptive sexual content.

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

////

“What do you want us to be?”

The words seem to ring in your ears and bounce around in your head as you try to formulate an answer. What do you want with Javier? Do you want to just continue this…whatever this is? Or do you want more? It feels like your brain has been turned to mush, unable to function properly after Javier kissed you like a man starved, and then threw this question at you in response to your own query about this relationship.

Your eyes focus in on him, taking in the fact that his chest is still moving as quickly as yours after your heated kiss just moments before. But more importantly, as your eyes meet his - while they are blown wide with desire – you can decipher some other emotion there. Something that goes beyond just physical attraction and lust, and that’s what finally seems to ground you in this moment as your brain seems to catch up with itself and allows you to stutter out a response.

“I just–“ your mouth feels dry as you try and speak again, “I just want to be yours Javier, only yours. And I want you to be mine,” you finally confess, the words falling past your lips in a hushed whisper.

You hear a rush of breath leave Javi’s lips as he lets out a breath you didn’t even know he was holding, and then he’s on you once more. Lips crashing against yours even more fiercely than before, a certain dominance behind his actions. Your hands move to his shoulders squeezing harshly and you let out a small gasp as he gives your lower lip a particularly harsh bite. He doesn’t give you time to protest as his hands move from your waist down to your thighs pulling on them lightly in a silent request to jump. You comply without hesitation, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hands grip your thighs to keep you steady. Javier must have remembered where your bedroom is from his first time here, because he manages to get you both there in once piece, his lips never leaving yours until he sits you down on the bed, crawling over you. His lips are on you once more this time trailing kisses from your jaw down your neck, all while his hands slide downwards toying with the hem of your sundress.

“It took everything in me to keep my hands off you at that bar,” he breathes, lips ghosting over your ear, “wearing this dress that leaves very little to the imagination.”

You can’t help the small whimper that slips past your lips as his hands slide back up your body, pulling your dress with it, “Well,” you gasped, your own hands moving to hastily work at the buttons of his salmon colored shirt, “You didn’t do a very good job,” you tease, “your hands were on me all night.”

You feel your heart flutter at the laugh that rumbles in Javier’s chest just as you finish with the last button on his shirt. He sits back on his knees pulling the offending article all the way off before leaning forward and pulling you up with him, so your legs are on either side of his.

“Can you blame me?” he groans, finally tugging your dress up and over your head, his fingers moving to toy with the back clasps of your bra, unhooking it expertly before sliding it from your arms and tossing it somewhere into the room.

His lips return to your neck, nipping gently at the spot just below your ear as your own hands move to explore the newly exposed skin of his torso. They skate across the warm expanse of his chest before moving to his back, studying the way the muscles flex under your fingertips. You can’t help the shudder that runs up your spine at the realization of the strength he possesses, as if the earlier confrontation at the bar wasn’t testament enough. The way he effortlessly holds you to him as he moves you beneath him, keeping himself suspended over you with just one hand beside your head and brings his lips to yours once more. This man is stronger than he appears and the thought that you trusted him enough to give yourself completely to him – make yourself so vulnerable to him – it makes the both of you gasp in pleasure.

“And when that pendejo touched you-“ you feel a familiar warmth pool in your lower belly at the small growl that slips past his lips, “I could have killed him-” he pants, pulling away to look you directly in the eyes, “because nobody is allowed to touch what’s mine.” As the words leave his lips, a small moan works its way up your throat and out of your mouth, and you pull him against you, wanting to feel his skin against yours.

It feels like the rest of the night passes in a blur. This time with Javier was different than before, while it was anything but slow and sensual, you could tell there was something else there. Some other emotion besides carnal desire was present in the room. You could feel it when his lips met yours gently, no rush or fierceness behind it – or when his hands roamed every inch of your skin slowly, worshiping you with words of praise and pleasure. But nothing compares to the feeling when it’s all said and done, both of your chests heaving in the aftermath of your highs. You turn onto your side to face him, watching as he leans over the side of the bed – fishing around for a moment before he produces a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Pulling one from the pack and lighting it, he takes a long drag before leaning back into the pillows, letting out an even longer sigh, smoke filling the air.

You are somewhat surprised when he reaches out to you, tugging you closer to him until you’re pressed against his side, both of your bodies still covered in a sheen of sweat. But neither of you seems to care as Javier wraps his arm around you and you rest your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat filling your ears. The room is filled with silence for a moment, the only sound being Javier’s breaths as he continues to smoke. You are the first to break it.

“So, was that a yes?” you ask quietly, shifting so you are looking up at him.

Javier lets out a small chuckle, putting a finger under your chin and guiding you up to place a kiss on your lips, “Querida,” he mumbles, lips brushing yours, “I thought I made it very clear that I want you to be mine.”

You can’t help the large smile that graces your lips at his words as you capture his lips with yours again. You can feel him smile into you, before pulling away and pressing a quick peck to your temple. He then snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. You feel a small sense of confusion fill you as you watch him stand from the bed and pick up his pants, tugging them on. You sit up fully now, holding the sheet to your chest as you watch him locate the rest of his clothing as well, pulling his shirt back on, fingers working at the buttons slowly.

“Where are you going?” you ask, voice timid as he pulls his shoes on.

Javier looks over to you now, and he feels his heart clench slightly at the hurt look on your face. He doesn’t want to hurt you, that is the last thing he wants to do, but if he is being honest – his brain is running wild with everything that has happened in the past few hours. He had beat the shit out of some guy at a bar for simply touching you, then he came back to your place and basically confirmed that he wanted to be in a committed relationship with you. It was a lot for him. This – growing this attached to you, making whatever this was official, it isn’t supposed to happen. This whole thing started out as a ploy to get closer to the DEA, a plan to get an even further head start against the people threatening his livelihood. He didn’t expect to fall in love with you.

Love? Is that what this is?

Javier stands abruptly as the word crosses his mind, and he shakes his head – trying to expel the troubling thoughts from his mind.

He walks over to you, leaning onto the bed slightly, “I have work stuff I have to deal with – I probably shouldn’t have even come out tonight,” he admits, only halfway lying.

You open your mouth, instinctively wanting to ask him to stay. Not only because you just want him here with you, but because you’re afraid of the things you would face when you finally fall asleep. The nightmares plaguing your slumber have become unbearable, rendering you wide awake most nights, terrified of going back to sleep. Afraid of seeing the people you cared about most gunned down or seeing Carlos lying motionless in that market again. You had hoped, for one blissful moment, that you would be able to sleep peacefully tonight with Javier at your side. but as you look at him now, a slight panic but also regret swimming in his eyes, you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You don’t want to burden him with your problems, not when you’ve finally made a step forward with him. You don’t want possibly ruin things by spouting off your problems. So, you just nod, forcing a small smile.

“Okay,” you breathe, “I understand.”

You see a small sense of relief wash over the man in front of you and he leans down capturing your lips with his in a quick kiss, before pulling back and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He stands back to his full height and backs towards the door slowly.

“What if I pick something up tomorrow and come over for dinner?” he suggests, standing in the doorway.

You shift slightly, “That would be great Javi but–“ you pause as he shifts in his spot, seemingly dejected at what he thinks is going to be your refusal.

You shake your head, “We just have a raid we’re doing tomorrow; I don’t know when I’ll be back,” you inform him, clenching the sheet in your hands.

Javier seems to straighten up at this, “A raid?” his voice is laced with concern.

“It’s uh-“ you run your hand through your hair, debating on whether you should tell him what is going on, and decide against it, “it’s just some low level drug guys,” you reassure, “It shouldn’t be anything major.”

You watch his jaw clench as he looks at you, as if he doesn’t believe what you’re saying. But if he doesn’t, he never says anything. He just nods and comes over, placing another small kiss to your lips before pulling away and resting his forehead against yours.

“Just–“ he pauses, taking in a deep breath, “be careful bonita, for me.”

You give him a small nod, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, before he pulls away, “I will Javi.”

He gives you a curt nod, “Good. I’ll still see you tomorrow, yeah?”

A small laugh slips past your lips, “Yes, I’ll give you a call or something when I get back.”

Javier gives you a large smile and walks towards the door again but stops before he leaves the room and turns to you, “Goodnight, querida.”

“Goodnight, Javi,” you whisper.

But he’s gone before you can utter the words.

~~~~~

The next day, your mind keeps drifting to the night before, trying to decipher Javier’s confusing actions. He had made your relationship official, he wanted to be with you yet, when it came down to it – he still left. And for some reason, that stings worse than anything.

A loud call of your name breaks you from your thoughts and you looked over at Steve who is sitting across from you in the truck. You, Steve, Carrillo and his men are all sat in the back of a large truck, geared up and ready to infiltrate the house where the rogue cartel members have been operating.

“What?” you call back, fighting to be heard of the roar of the truck engine.

Steve shakes his head, “Are you okay? You’ve been out of it all morning.” He calls back.

You nod, adjusting the rifle in your hands, “I’m good Steve,” you reassure, hoping he believes you.

Steve looks skeptical but nods nonetheless, “I said that we are three minutes out from the rogue’s location – Carrillo says we will be coming in hot!” he informs you.

You nod.“We need to try and keep some of them alive,” you call out, informing everyone around you, “We won’t have any information if they’re all dead.”

Carrillo calls out his confirmation before shouting the orders to his men and looks back to you, “We’re coming up on location now – are you two ready?”

You and Steve look at each other and nod, “Ready as ever.”

The next few moments pass in an explosion of activity. You are in a heavy infantry truck, and Carrillo has the brilliant idea of using the truck itself as a battering ram – placing you directly into the rogue’s base and hopefully stunning them. As soon as the truck makes impact with the house, you, Steve and the rest of the men on board jump from the back of the truck and enter the building. You and Steve takes the hallway in the middle of the house while Carrillo and his men take the other rooms and the upstairs. As soon as you enter the building, a Sicario stands from his position on the floor pistol aimed at Steve but you down him before he can get a round off. Steve nods to you that he was okay, and you continue to move further into the house and down the hallway. You check the first door on your left while Steve takes the one on the right. You shove the door open and quickly scan the room, finding no one in the run-down bathroom.

“Clear!” you shout, backing out of the room and turning when you hear gunshots from Steve’s direction.

“Clear!” his voice meets your ears as he too exits his room before you both continue down the hallway.

There’s just one door left on the right and it’s closed. You hear several more shouts of ‘clear’ being shouted throughout the house as you and Steve approached the last door. You look to him, and he just nods to you, resting a hand on the doorknob. He quickly turns it and shoves the door open, allowing you to go in with your rifle aimed and ready. You quickly enter the room moving in a sideways motion so your eyes can be on the majority of the room. However, as soon as you get past the doorway, you are met with a cornered Sicario in the back of the room and a shotgun aimed directly at you.

“Gun!” you yell, diving to the side and pulling your own trigger as you just narrowly miss the large shotgun blast aimed for your head.

Your aim was true, and your own fire made contact with the Sicario that shot at you, sending him falling backwards into the wall behind him. Steve runs over to the fallen rogue and throws his shotgun out of reach before striding back over to you, pulling you up from the ground and gripping your upper arms tightly.

“Jesus Christ are you okay?” he asks you, eyes searching you desperately.

You nod firmly, “Yeah – I’m good, he missed me,” you assure, but furrow your brows when you see that Steve’s eyes are no longer on you but focused on something behind you.

You turn around, Steve’s hands falling from your arms and finally see what he’s looking at. The shotgun blast that missed you, landed in the wall instead, leaving a smattering of holes with a large blast centered in the middle leaving a chuck of dry wall missing. However, it isnt’ the destroyed wall that draws your attention – It’s the slight shine of something in the wall. You and Steve look at one another curiously, before stepping forward and gripping the drywall firmly before slowly ripping it away. After a few moments, a considerable amount of the wall is ripped away and you and Steve stare in awe at what you have found. You take a step back, pulling your walkie from your belt and pressing the button.

“Carrillo,”

The radio crackles to life, “What is it?”

“You’re going to want to see this.”

~~~~

The unrelenting afternoon sun filters in through the windows and the large hole in the main room of the house. You, Carrillo, and Steve all stand staring at all of the exposed walls of the home – in complete shock at the sight before you. Carrillo’s men had taken down all of the drywall in the house, exposing what had to be thousands of kilos of cocaine hidden within the walls of the building. There has to be millions of dollars’ worth of this stuff in this house alone, and you know these low level Sicario’s didn’t make it themselves.

You walk over towards the window of the house, watching as one of Carrillo’s men lead a search dog around the property, seeing if they had anymore hiding places. Your eyes lazily follow the path of the dog as Steve and Carrillo continue to talk to one another.

“But where did they get it?” Steve asks, “There’s no way that twelve guys gathered and manufactured this much coke in this amount of time.”

Carrillo shrugs his shoulders and opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it, glancing back at the men from your position from the window, “They stole it.” You say simply.

Carrillo turns to you now, “From who? Los Carnales? Do you really think they got away with this much product without raising suspicion?”

You shake your head, “No, but think about it–“ you begin, “The cartel has been uncharacteristically quiet since the rogues have been on our radar. They haven’t been spotted at any of our check points, we haven’t seen any of the low-level drug runners at their usual haunts,” you list, “Los Carnales knows. And I can guess that their boss isn’t too happy about his own men betraying him and stealing millions of dollars of product in the process,” you turn back to the window, “And now that we have it…I have a feeling there is going to be a lot of noise.”

Steve begins to say something, but a loud and hurried barking catches your attention. Your eyes find the source of the sound, the earlier search dog you had been watching is going crazy over the shed several yards away from the house. You watch as one of the men approaches the shed with a pair of bolt cutters and cuts the lock away, swinging the doors open. You push off the window and turn towards the men behind you.

“I’m going to go check that out, see what they found,” you tell them, earning only a wave of the hand from Steve and Carrillo.

You roll your eyes slightly and move over towards the door leading out the back, and just as you pull it open, a deafening boom meets your ears and you are blown backwards. It feels like the next few seconds pass in slow motion. Your feet leave the ground as a wave of heat rolls over your body, the explosion shattering everything around you. Glass and rocks fly around you but you don’t even register the pain of the debris or the ringing in your ears – the only thing that plays over and over in your head are the words Javi uttered to you the night before.

“Be careful bonita, for me.”

Then you hit the ground with a smack, blood roaring in your ears as the dust settles around you.

////

Permanent Taglist: @lord-wolfgen @petalduck @sebastianstanslefteyebrow @stillreadingfantasy @pedrosdoll @simonsbluee @justlovetoreadfics @discogrrl @maryan028 @asaucecoveredsomething @hiscyarika @theforceofdisney @hail-doodles @murdermewithbooks @getinthepoolkeanu @ah-callie @adikaofmandalore @fleurdemiel145 @fioccodineveautunnale @harrypotter-life2 @mandalorian-theway @spxcedxdddy @dizzydazed @readsalot73 @wickedfrsgrl @shayna-winchester @blushingwueen @oloreaa @keithseabrook27

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TDYK Series Tag: @peggers-n-beggers @hannahdanyelle @Icandothisallday @kristalhi @lucienjynix @hello-im-bi @hillarymurray4

#pedro pascal x reader #javier pena x reader #Pedro Pascal #javier peña #narcos x reader #narcos

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biting-you · 5 years

Note

I just love your writing. The Todoroki fic is so good 💯👌Can you write something for Mirio too?? I feel like he would be the delusional type~

Ohoho he is, anon! Just a bit ;3c

A Firm Hand

pairing: Yandere Mirio Togata x reader (both character are 18+ and attend U.A University/ college AU)

Description: Mirio helps a new hero at school gain a bit of confidence...but maybe he gets a bit too attached.

Included: GN reader (at least I hope so apologies if anything slipped past!), yandere, Mirio being all touchy, some slut shaming (Mirio is a traditional boi), obsession, mention of reader having hookups. Overall SFW

Apologies for the rough ending, it’s been a while since I wrote something of this length! Enjoy!

To say that Mirio Togata was nice was an understatement and frankly insulating to say about the top hero at U.A University. He was helpful and considerate and never talked down to people who could be seen as ‘lesser’ on the hero scale than him. He’s got a real drive to help people and not just be the best. A true hero. All Mights probable successor. The ray of sunshine that everybody loves.

Well...except for you.

You liked him at first, of course! You transferred to U.A during the second semester of you sophomore year and even though you were in college the transition and trying to make new friends was...tough. But in stepped welcome wagon Mirio who was all smiles and friendly small talk, introducing you to new people and helping you pull yourself out of your shy little shell that you fought so hard to get out of for years. After that, it was easy for you to make friends, people apparently responding to the new found confidence and natural charm (as Mirio put it) that you suddenly exuded.

It was all nice and normal!

Until it wasn’t.

Mirio was always a touchy feely kind of guy. Always going in for a hug or wrapping his arm around a buddies shoulder and it was no different with you. That was until his touching started to get a little too...intimate. His hugs would would suddenly become much longer with you, tucking your body under his chin so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck while his large hands ran up and down your spine. Or maybe he would come up beside you and just...place his hand on your lower back, like it was no big deal! And he would always do this when you were in front of others, friends and professors a like. It made you feel like...you couldn’t push him away without making some scene or turning you into the bad guy for hurting the feelings of the most loved person at the school. So you just stood there and let it happen, trying to convince yourself that you where just overreacting and you shouldn’t be so scared of one of your dearest friends trying to show you some affection.

__________

“Wowie! That was one hell of a workout, sweet heart! Say, want me to get out some of those knots? You looked a little stiff out there...”

You where so busy trying to catch your breath and wipe the sweat out of your eyes that for a few moments you could barely tell who or what had spoken to you. Finally looking over your shoulder (after your dear friends pointed him out) you jumped as you looked into the soft blue eyes of Mirio. Jeez! How could such a big guy be so quiet?

“Wha-huh?” You said dumbly but it only served to make him laugh.

“The knots in your legs, silly! I know how bad you are at stretching properly.” He waggled his finger at you playfully. “I can’t have my favorite budding hero be out of commission because of a pulled ham string!” Plopping down on the turf, he pat the spot beside him with a signature grin. “Don’t worry! I’ve been doing some extra studying with Recovery Girl on how to take care of my fellow heroes, you’re in great hands!” Exuberant as always and with all your friends around you had no choice but to sit down beside him lest you make a fool of yourself by denying a personal massage from one of the schools top three.

As soon as your butt his the synthetic grass, Mirio was pulling your leg into his lap, leaving you to rest back on your hands awkwardly with your knee bent over his thigh. Ignoring the chatter around him, he got to work pressing his fingers into you calf muscle making you wince as he immediately found a knot. You tried to keep yourself from flinching as his hands roamed around your leg by talking to your friends about anything other than the blond touching your bare legs.

“So what are your plans for tonight?” Mina asked, squirting water into her mouth.

“Uh...I dunno actually. Maybe just relax a bit? Hit up a few hook up sites...” You muttered quietly under your breath, face and ears turning a bit red. She laughed at you.

“Jeez! What happened to ‘no man but my viberator can treat me right?” You gave her a good smack on the shoulder as you blushed furiously.

“God, Mina! Shut it!” Fuck you swore to good if anyone else started making fun of you-

“You shouldn’t go on those types of sites.”

You paused in your assault and turned toward the blond boy still massaging your leg and looking at you with a thoughtful but somehow stern expression.

“It’s not good to sleep around like that... you shouldn’t do that to yourself. It’s not exactly a good look, either. You should try looking for something real and not just a quick roll in the hay.” He said this all so matter-a-factly that you were struck practically dumb.

“Excuse me?” Was he trying to fucking lecture you? He just gave you a sweet smile.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt is all. You deserve someone that will treat you right!” He was looking at you so...expectantly, like he was waiting for you to whole-heartedly agree with his ‘wholesome’ advice. Like you were going to take that laying down.

“I don’t think I asked for your fucking opinion on my sex life, Togata.” Your friends shut up immediately, already staring at the foreign scene before them. Now it was Mirio’s turn to look dumbfounded.

“H-hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about it. I just want to warn you-”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some child!” Fuck? What was wrong with this guy? Just because he had to help you in the past didn’t mean that he had to try and lead you through the bumpy roads of one -night stands and relationships.

You stood up, pulling your leg out of his grasp roughly as you did so. You didn’t care if you made a scene anymore! That was way too far for your liking and you certainly weren’t going to sit around and let some guy tell you what to do in your bed! Huffing you stormed off back to the dorms, knowing full well the social repercussions of what you just did. Maybe you should be fearing other types as well.

______________

It was a few hours after the ‘incident’ and you had already been inundated with texts from your friends who had witness the confrontation. At first, you were too nervous to even read the notifications but after steeling yourself you found that most of them...agreed with you. The ones that didn’t were mostly chiding you for snapping at Mirio but at least agreed that what he said was out of bounds. It made you feel a bit better in a way, the fear of rejection fading in your mind. Maybe you should talk to them all about the other things that went on with Mirio...

A knock sounded at your door this then making you sigh as you slid out of bed. It was probably Mina who had sent you a long apologetic text immediately after you arrived back at the dorms. After assuring her that it wasn’t her fault and that you just needed some time to cool off you agreed that she could come check on you later. So you opened the door, making sure you planted your feet squarely as to not get bowled over by the violent hug that was about to take place.

“Hey Min-oh.” Instead of being greeted by your short pink friend you instead were greeted by the chest of a familiar hero-to-be and the last person you wanted to see. Mirio stood there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he actively avoided looking at your face.

“Hey-hey um... can I come in? I just wanted to apologize for earlier...”

“Why can’t you apologize in the hallway?” You cut him off, already very ready and willing to slam the door in his face. But he took out the big guns, flashing big blue sad puppy eyes at you and despite your anger you felt yourself caving in.

“Ugh, fine. Just make it quick...” You pinched the bridge of your nose to try and quell the brewing headache as you opened the door wider for him. He stepped in carefully, stopping in the middle of your room as you closed the door behind him. Mirio had his hands on his hips he looked around.

“Gee, you really got an eye for interior design, sugar plum! It’s very ‘you’ in here!”

“Mirio.”

“Right, sorry.”

He looked at you sheepishly as you sat down at your desk, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you waited for his apology. It better be good.

“I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you in front of everyone-”

“You shouldn’t say that kind of stuff at all.”

“I know you think I was shaming you but I wasn’t!” He continued, all of the sudden looking agitated, brows starting to knit with frustration. “I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to do stuff like that with strangers and you shouldn’t want to do stuff like that with strangers! Not when you have...”

Your eyes narrowed at him, jaw set squarely as you were quickly losing patience with him. “Not when I have what, Mirio?”

“...me.” The two of you sat there for a moment, staring at each other. Mirio with needy, teary eyes and you with a blank expression. This was too much.

“Get out,”

“Listen-”

“I said OUT!” You hurled yourself to your feet, eyes wild with fury as you jammed your finger towards the door. Mirio looked uncharacteristically panicked, eyes wide with fear and sweating bullets as he trembled under your gaze.

“N-no you can’t throw me out!” He gripped you hard by the shoulders and you swore you could feel your bones creak under the pressure of his grip. “You just gotta calm down, honey! You just gotta understand just how much my little heart cares for ya!” Mirio had you backing up into the wall now, no matter how much you clawed at his wrists or kicked at his shins. It was like he was numb to everything that stood in the way of talking some sense into you.

“I know you think you’re strong, sweet heart. That you’re invincible with all that hero training but I know how delicate and scared you really are! You’re still that shy little mousey thing that you were when you first showed up here! And you doing stuff like...that, well what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t put a stop to it?”

“B-boyfriend? Mirio you’re not my-” A hand slammed into your mouth to silence you as he shook his head desperately.

“I mean I wasn’t before, but I am now! How else am I supposed to keep other peoples nasty paws off of you?”

#yandere mirio #yandere mirio togata #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere x reader #yandere mirio x reader #mirio x reader #sfw #Obsession #gender netural reader

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localswordlesbian · 4 years

Text

sweet talk

this is my submission for @martimweek for the prompt “club/pub/bar”! I’ve been wanting to write a martim one shot fic for a while and this gave me the inspiration to actually do it

read it on ao3 or below the cut

“I’m sick of this. I’m dropping out.”

“You say that every single time you leave an assignment to the last minute, Tim. You’d think you’d have learned by now.”

Tim glared at Martin from where he was dangling upside down off his bed. “I mean it this time. This paper is due tomorrow and it sounds like hot garbage. I’m probably just better off not handing anything in.”

Martin rolled his eyes, putting his own book in his lap. “You’re so dramatic, I’m surprised you’re not a drama major.”

“Why study for something I’m naturally good at?”

Martin groaned while Tim laughed. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.” Martin grumbled. “Screw this paper.”

“Oh, hand it over, you oaf. You’re not submitting nothing, especially after writing ten bloody pages.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a saint, Marto?”

“Literally only you.”

“You’re a saint.”

Martin skimmed over the paper, a historical analysis of the Cold War and its more violent clashes. Martin was no history buff, but this paper was far from, as Tim put it, hot garbage . It was actually pretty good.

He told his flatmate as much, but Tim just scoffed. “You’re just being nice.” Despite his dismissive words, a glow of pride lit up his face.

“Just hand it in, you insufferable twat. You already knew that, you just wanted affirmation.”

Tim clicked his tongue. “Is that so wrong?”

“No, not really.”

Tim leaned back against the wall as Martin picked up his book again. “We should go to the pub tonight, you and me. To celebrate.”

Martin laughed. “To celebrate you turning in a paper? We do this every semester, Tim. Multiple times.”

Tim threw an eraser at his head, and Martin squeaked indignantly. “Fine, then you come up with a reason. I want to go to the pub, and I want to go with you.”

Martin looked up at his flatmate, leaning casually against the wall with his laptop perched precariously on one knee. His black hair was sticking upright from the amount of times he’d run his hands through it in the past few hours, and his tanned and chiseled face looked tired. Despite that, his lips were curled upwards in his telltale smirk.

Martin sighed. “Yeah, alright. Wanna invite the others?”

Tim shook his head. “Sasha’s busy, Daisy and Basira scare me, and Melanie has a date with her new girlfriend.” Tim raised his eyebrows. “Unless there’s someone you’d like to bring along?”

Martin’s face instantly heated up. “Uh, nope. Just the two of us is good.”

Tim chuckled. “I’m sure Jon would love to have a night off from studying, head to the pub with some friends –”

“Tim, I swear to god–”

Tim put his hands up in mock defeat, his grin more infuriating than ever. Martin knew perfectly well that his face was an alarming shade of red, bright enough to put firetrucks to shame, and he also knew that this amused his friend greatly. “Alright, just the two of us then.”

Night fell while Martin finished up his reading for his English class – The Yellow Wallpaper, a story about a woman who spent so long trapped in a room that she began hallucinating a woman living in the walls and trying to rescue her. The ending of the story gave Martin chills, and he quickly scribbled some notes into the margins before closing the book and putting it back on his shelf. Stretching his arms over his head, he winced as several of his bones cracked and his muscles strained from being stuck in the same position for hours on end.

Tim wanted to go to the pub in a few minutes, so Martin pulled a white turtleneck jumper from his closet, throwing it over his shirt. When Tim knocked, he didn’t wait for a reply – simply opened the door and stuck his head in.

“Ready?”

“Christ, Tim! Normal people knock! I could have been changing or something.”

“Which you clearly should be. You’re not going in those jeans.”

“My jeans are fine!”

“Nope. I’ll be in the foyer.”

Martin groaned as Tim shut the door, rolling his eyes as he turned back to his closet. He didn’t want to wear his nice trousers to the pub, but his jeans were old and worn and a little bit gross. Making a split second decision, Martin pulled a galaxy-patterned skirt on and grabbed his wallet and phone on the way out the door.

Tim was waiting by the door, one of his signature hawaiian shirts unbuttoned over a plain black tee. Martin’s heart skipped a little – there was a reason Martin had had a sexuality crisis when he’d come to university, and that reason was standing in front of him.

Tim raised his eyebrows approvingly. “Much better.”

“Bossy arse.”

“Come on, you love it,” Tim teased as they headed out of the flat and into the dark London street. “Your type is clearly bossy.”

Martin sputtered. “My type is not –

“Oh, come off it, Martin. Sims?”

“You don’t need to call him by his last name, he’s not a professor.”

“Alright, Jonathan, the librarian’s special little boy.”

“I don’t get why you don’t like them.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Do you really think I don’t like them?”

Martin shrugged. “Well, yeah. You’re always so… snide and sarcastic whenever he’s brought up. Like now,” he added pointedly, raising his eyebrows at his friend.

Tim sighed. “Okay, fair. But I like them perfectly fine, I’ll have you know. He seems like a nice guy, if a little, what’s the word? Married to their work.” Tim threw his arm over Martin’s shoulders. “Look, Martin, I wouldn’t say anything if I didn’t know how you get, especially when it comes to people you fancy.”

“How do you mean?” Martin asked slowly.

“You have a tendency to give yourself away, until there’s nothing left of you to love. I don’t want you to pursue this guy and have your heart broken cause he’s got his nose too glued in a book to notice you. Or your tea,” he added lightheartedly.

They reached the pub, and Martin sighed as they walked inside and made a beeline for a booth in the back. “Tim, I’m not dumb.”

“No, you’re crushing on a guy. And those two things are sometimes interchangeable – trust me, I’d know.”

Martin sighed, gathering his skirt into the booth. “Yes, Tim, you’re a dating expert.”

Tim flashed a grin as he ordered a drink for each of them. “I should write a romance advice column in the school paper. ‘Timothy Stoker’s Guide to Love.’”

Martin snorted. “If you want to increase the number of breakups, maybe.”

Tim punched his shoulder, and Martin yelped. “Rude! I give amazing dating advice.”

Their drinks arrived, and the beer mixed with lighthearted banter was giving Martin a happy buzz. He loved all of his friends, of course he did, but there was something different about having a night out just with Tim. They had an easy rhythm, the two of them, bouncing conversations and teasing and laughter back and forth like a beach ball, pausing to sip their drinks and order more, and soon enough Martin was feeling properly tipsy, and a look over at Tim’s flushed face told him he was faring about the same.

After downing his last drink, Tim turned in the booth to face Martin, one leg crossed under his other knee. “Why don’t you just ask out Jon?”

“Because I can’t,” Martin shrugged.

Tim scoffed, his eyes slightly unfocused. “Seriously? Why not? You’re way out of their league, if you don’t mind me saying, and he clearly likes you back. So what’s there to lose?”

Martin sighed. “Come on, Tim. I’d have no idea where or how to even start. Between my mum, and then my transition and anxiety fucking everything up, I never let anyone get too close. It feels too late now.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but they were fond. “Martin, I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you’re a dolt. It’s not too late, you’re only bloody twenty-one! So what if you haven’t had a relationship before? It’s not like he’s got anything to say about you being trans or having anxiety, and if he does I have a crowbar I keep in my closet for that exact situation.”

“Yeah, I know he won’t.”

“So what’s the issue?”

“God, Tim!” Martin threw his hands up in exasperation. He wasn’t annoyed at Tim, and Tim knew that; he was annoyed at himself, and the alcohol made everything just spill out without a second thought. “I’ve never done this before, I don’t know how to ask someone out without making a blubbering fool of myself, it was hard enough even becoming friends with them because, what are coherent sentences, even, when someone you fancy is talking to you? I’ve never even kissed anyone!” His voice quieted at the last sentence.

“Oh, well if that’s all, that’s easily remedied.” At Martin’s confused tilt of the head, Tim leaned in slowly, slowly enough that Martin could have easily pulled away, easily declined.

Perhaps a sober Martin would have hesitated, would have considered the aftermath, had overthought every aspect of what he was about to do obsessively until Tim pulled away, regretting having made the offer.

Instead, he closed the gap, and then Tim’s lips were on his, soft and tasting of beer. His hands were in Tim’s hair, the curls soft and welcoming against his fingers, Tim’s breath hot on Martin’s face as he parted his lips, pulling Martin’s lower lip into his mouth. He gasped, dimly aware that this was a terrible idea, he was kissing his best friend in the back booth of a student pub that stank of beer and sweat, and Tim’s hands were gripping his shoulders and his lips were soft on his. Tim kissed like he was drowning, and Martin’s lips were air.

Tim pulled away first, and Martin slowly opened his eyes, the dim lights in the pub suddenly too bright. Tim’s hair was still bunched in Martin’s hand, and he slowly disentangled his fingers while Tim released his shoulders, never taking his eyes off Martin’s face. His lips were swollen and red, and he was grinning. “That, my friend, is how you kiss. You’re a natural, nothing to worry about.”

Martin exhaled a shaky breath, causing Tim to chuckle. “Nothing to worry about, yeah?”

Tim grinned lopsidedly, pushing a strand of hair behind Martin’s ear. “Nothing at all.”

Martin nodded. “Cool.” That made Tim laugh. “What now?”

Tim tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, we’re best friends, and we just, well, made out in the back of a pub. Isn’t this supposed to make things awkward?”

“Does it need to?”

“Hm. I guess it doesn’t.”

Tim scooted, bumping his hip against Martin’s, and it took Martin a second to realize he was trying to urge him out of the booth. They stood, swaying and leaning against each other for support. They left the pub and emerged into the chilly London night, arms around each other, concentrating on not walking into the street. “I’ll tell you what now.”

“Hm?”

“We’re going to get food on our way home, then we’re going to fight over who gets to use the shower first, and I’m going to win with my devilish charm. Then we’re going to go to bed, and wake up tomorrow with horrible hangovers and more schoolwork. Deal?”

Martin smiled. “Deal.”

#martimweek2021 #martim #martin blackwood #tim stoker #the magnus archives #tma #tma fic

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katehuntington · 5 years

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part seventeen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±4700 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part seventeen: Unable to sleep, Y/N goes over last night’s events, until she gets an unexpected visitor. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘After My Heart + Can’t Help Falling In Love’ - John Michael Howell. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Please listen to this song during the scene, it’s so worth it! Author’s note: I’m excited for this one, y’all! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish and @winchest09 for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

The bunkhouse is silent after a festive night. All the lights out, except for the one on Y/N’s bedside table. Sleep might have come limited the past week, but she isn’t ready to close her eyes just yet. The adventurous trail, combined with the unexpected news about her qualification has her riled up with excitement.

Not sure what to do with this new found energy, she has taken out one of her notebooks, which is filled with scrabbles. She won State Championships with a relatively simple floorplan, not wanting to overshoot, but if she wants to leave an impression with the judges at Congress, she needs to step up her game. Combinations between exercises will push up her degree of difficulty, so she decided to change a few lines. Working on her freestyle tonight wasn’t entirely according to plan, but who knows, maybe the tequila and beer will add some creativity.

She has changed into a comfortable tank top and a pair of shorts, the soft fabric a contrast to the sandy denim she’s been clad in the past days. The temperature is comfortably warm, early October in Arizona much more like summer compared to the autumn days she’s used to in Maine.

Strangely, she hasn’t been homesick for Freeport at all. She misses her mom and dad, her brothers, but after her time living on campus, she’s used to being away from family. Her father travels a lot for work, and Jaime, her older brother by three years, moved to the other side of the country straight out of the Police Academy, fighting crime in Los Angeles these days. Middle kid Jackson bought a house in Boston and is busy with his real estate firm, while her oldest brother, Jeff and his wife are expecting their first child. Y/N wouldn’t say they have grown apart, but now that she and her siblings don’t share a house anymore, things have changed. They’ve spread their wings, built a life for themselves.

She checks her phone when a message from Jaime pops up, sending her a selfie in which he shows off his muscles, holding up a fist. ‘Show them what you’re made of! You’re gonna ace that ride!’ he added in the caption. She closes the text, scrolling down the list of messages from family and friends, until she finds one from Jeffrey, which is a little more lengthy. ‘Mom said I had to wait until Dad reached you, so I hope you got the news by now, otherwise I’m in trouble. Congratulations, Sis. You worked so hard for this. I’m really proud of you, and I know Grandpa will be cheering you on from above. You’re already a champion.’ She smiles at the sweet words; she should really give him a call next week.

Redirecting her attention to the notebook in her lap, she picks up her pen, sketches a new line, crosses it and bites on the pen cap, pondering. Marcel, her trainer at the Freeport Equestrian Center, helped her with the first version. She could get in touch with him tomorrow, she’s sure he will be willing to shed a light on what she has so far. Distance will be an issue, though, and with time being of the essence since it’s only fifteen days before they head towards Columbus, Ohio, where Congress is held, she has to take a different approach.

What if she asks Dean to help her with the freestyle, or even to come with her to the show? He has helped her a couple of times during training and she appreciates his approach. His suggestions and tips paid off; his methods really seemed to work for both her and Meadow. The head wrangler knows Y/N and her horse well enough to offer advice in bringing out their best qualities, she just hopes he’s up for it. After some drinks, Dean didn’t stick around long. When she asked Jo where he went, she said Dean offered to do the final feeding round. Y/N thought about following him, but didn’t want to draw attention from the rest of the crew; them both gone would’ve raised suspicion and she doesn’t want to put him in the spot of having to explain himself.

When Y/N noticed his absence, her stomach made an unpleasant flip. The uneasy sensation remained the rest of the evening, not evident, but brewing nonetheless, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. She wonders if something has changed, maybe. That coming home to the ranch caused Dean to reconsider. Why else would he distance himself?

Doubtful, she takes a breath, her mind going places she’d rather not be. Still missing a steady foundation for them to start building a relationship on, doubt surfaces again. Deep down she’s scared that the cowboy might back out, which would cause heartbreak she’s not sure she can handle. She cares too much already, she’s too far gone. Y/N is passing the station of just being in love with Dean; it’s growing into something even more.

Before her thoughts can spiral further, there’s a soft knock on the door. The kind that is soft enough to not wake her had she been sleeping, but loud enough for her to hear if she wasn’t. She slides out of bed, rises to her bare feet, careful not to bump her head against the top bunk like she has so many times already, and crosses her room. When she opens the door, she finds the man who has been on her mind on the other side, locking his green eyes on her. She’s pleasantly surprised to see him with it being past 11 PM already; she expected him to be in bed long ago after the exhausting past few days. “Hey, what are you doing u--”

He doesn’t let her finish and bridges the few feet between them, cupping her face with both hands and pulling her into a kiss. After the initial shock, which only lasts a fraction of a second, he can feel her lashes brush against his skin as she closes her eyes and melts into him, allowing him to deepen the connection. Her response takes away the restlessness that weighed on his chest like a chunk of concrete, ever since the thought of her leaving arose.

They step into her room far enough for Dean to kick the door shut, preventing possible eavesdroppers from tuning in, his mouth never leaving hers. Instinctively, her arms snake around his torso, tracing the lines of his strong back through the fabric of his shirt. There’s a desperation in his touch that’s new to her, the way he longs for this connection is different. Eventually, he breaks the kiss and she studies him when he rests his forehead against hers. His eyes stay closed for a little longer, holding on to the moment while his hands slip from her face.

He didn’t want to steal a few seconds while surrounded by the crew, he didn’t want to get in line to give her a quick hug or a peck on the cheek. No, he needed to be with her, just the two of them without restrictions.

“What was that for?” she wonders. “Just wanted to congratulate you.” He smiles, trying to mask his concern, and sweetly presses his lips on hers again. “Personally.” And again. “Privately.” And again. She giggles, triggering him to chuckle as well. He moves his head back to take her in. “Congratulations, Yankee,” he says, genuine. “You earned it.” “Thank you,” she smiles, still slightly confused. “Where’d you go earlier?” “Someone had to feed those poor starving animals,” he jokes. “And since Bobby already had a few whiskies, and Garth is an absolute light weight, I took one for the team.”

He was quick to take the final feeding round, not just because he was the last man standing. Doing one last check, giving the horses their hay for the night, making sure the stables are shut properly, locking up the tackroom and the cafeteria and eventually the large barn doors after switching off the lights; it offers him peace of mind. It’s a daily routine, a recurring series of actions, done so 365 days a year. Ensuring everything is exactly the way it’s supposed to be in the place where he lives and works, grounds him when he’s feeling restless. It gives him a moment alone, the horses his only company, allowing him to think things over and collect himself again. Tonight was no different, because even though he was relieved Y/N’s father wasn’t the bearer of bad news, Dean felt disturbed with his initial response. For a good few minutes, he thought he was going to lose her, and the anxiety it surfaced was much more intense than he anticipated.

Y/N keeps watching him as the cowboy is lost in thought. He’s trying to be funny and cute, but that’s not all there is to it; his eyes tell a different story. He kissed her a little too fierce, pulled her in a little too tight. Something is bothering him, and although she doesn’t want to force him to talk, she needs to know what it is before she loses her mind herself. “What’s wrong, Dean?” she asks, softly, moving her hands up his chest. “It’s nothin’,” he assures, shaking his head.

But when the concern remains evident in her expression, he sighs. He doesn’t want her to worry, or think it’s something she’s done. If anything, she’s been absolutely perfect. God, she’s so patient. Even though she needs him, she offers him space. Expressing how he feels might be terrifying, it’s about time he’s fair with the woman who’s willing to wait. “It’s just that, uh - when your dad called, he… he sounded pretty serious,” Dean admits, looking down. “I thought something might have happened with your folks or somethin’, and that you...” He pauses, struggling, but Y/N knows enough. “You thought Dad was going to tell me to come back,” she realizes.

Suddenly his behavior makes so much more sense. His complete change of demeanor when he approached her table in the saloon after receiving the call, him seeming as nervous as she was when she picked up the phone. The sigh of relief when she told him and Jo the great news, his disappearance from the celebration at the saloon. Dean thought he was going to lose her, and apparently it scared him. Y/N is as stunned by the realization, as she is by the confirming nod he gives her.

“Well - I mean - it could’ve been, right?” he says, shrugging his shoulders almost apologetically, like he’s not allowed to be worried about a presumption as such. “I’m twenty-four, Dean. I’m not going anywhere unless I want to,” she reminds him, hoping to offer him some consolation. “Glad to hear it,” he responds, his hands moving to her waist as he restores eye contact. “‘cause I’d hate to see you go.”

Heartfelt, the beautiful girl in his arms smiles. She seems to understand the weight of his words, because she crosses her wrists behind his head and urges him to come closer. Dean’s heart swells in his chest when she brushes her lips against his, tentatively at first. His mind calms, the nerves subsiding. Not only is she staying, she also understands what’s going on in his head, and in a strange and unexpected way, it’s kind of liberating. Not having to pretend and put on a mask, not having to convince anyone that everything is fine. He’s gotten so used to telling people he’s okay, the words to express himself prove to be hard to grasp. Who knows, maybe one day he’ll get the hang of it.

Dean’s mind goes blank when she deepens the kiss, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip. Her arms close around his neck a little tighter, holding him so close he can feel the warmth coming from her skin. She smells amazing, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in her hair, a sweet smell of a flower he can’t name. He presses his fingertips into her flesh, carefully shifting them under the hem of her tank top, even though he knows very well that he shouldn’t. It isn’t going to take long before he will not be able to stop himself.

She feels him trace her sides, rolling up the fabric of her top as he does so. Normally she would be self-conscious about it, but when she parts from him when running out of air, all she sees in his eyes is adoration and want. Both seem to be waiting for each other, unsure if they should take this further. Afterall, considering what they agreed on, this would be a poor execution of taking things slow.

Without breaking away from her gaze, his left hand travels down, following the curves of her hips. He adds pressure, gently pulling her against him. What she feels through the denim of his jeans has her eyes grow wide. A delightful tension starts to tangle up in her stomach, sinking deeper. Somewhat surprised that she apparently has this effect on him, she takes in a shuddering breath, gazing deep into his eyes. God, she wants to go there, but is he willing to as well? “Are you sure?” she checks with him. Dean doesn’t have to think twice and nods. To hell with it, he’s not going to waste another second. “I want you,” he breathes, his voice husky.

It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear him say. It might not be the confirmation of their relationship she’s been hoping to get eventually; it’s better. He wants her. He wants her.

Free from restraints, she crashes her lips to his and Dean doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss with the same need. All the question marks, the doubt, the thoughts along the line of ‘what if it goes wrong?’ and ‘maybe we shouldn’t do this’ go right out the window. It wouldn’t matter if they waited longer, because if that wake up call taught the cowboy anything, it’s that together or not, it would tear him to pieces if she were ever to leave the ranch. If he’s going to spend this time with her, he better make it worth her while, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll stay with him in the end.

Eventually, his mouth leaves hers and begins to descend, his breath tickling her skin as he ghosts down her neck. Willingly, she rolls her head to her shoulder, offering him space to leave marks on her pulse point, then down her collarbone. The hint of delicious pain has her fighting back a moan, which proves to be challenging, especially when his hands roam down to cover her peach-shaped behind. Trying to distract herself and be useful at the same time, she begins to unbutton his plaid shirt, his touch momentarily interrupted until the piece of clothing falls to the floor in a puddle of blue, soon followed by his white undershirt.

Before Dean urges her closer again, he drags the only chair in the room away from the small table by the window, sitting down and pulling her with him. The wood underneath them creaks when she settles in his lap, her bare knees on either side of the cowboy, holding herself up and leaning into his bare chest. The denim of his jeans stretches over his erection, rubbing against her core. The sheer thought of a few layers of fabric being the only barrier between him and her, sends a surge of heat to dampen her panties. Thank God she chose the lace ones earlier after her shower, the ones she can only wear whenever she’s not spending her day in the saddle. She wonders if he can tell how aroused she is already.

Dean can. He can feel the warmth radiating towards him and he can feel himself growing even harder, too. His breath hitches and he stifles a groan when she rolls her hips, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Ho-ly shit. This might not be how he originally imagined their first time, in this tiny room with thin walls, this one chair and a bunk bed, but it feels so good. He has enveloped her in his arms, his hands roam her body, not leaving a square inch unattended. Without tearing the seams, he pulls the strap of her loosely fitted tank top over one shoulder, the material shifting down. His fingers then reposition to cup her breast, all while he presses kisses on top. When he moves his thumb over her stiff nipple, she pulls in an audible gasp. “Sssh…” he hushes. “Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors.”

Y/N can’t help it, though. The friction she feels beneath her, combined with the touch of his mouth and his fingertips, is already beginning to build her up. She begins to pant, her lungs pushing out air in quivers. Dean doesn’t stop, however, and continues to knead her breast without hurting her, smothering the sounds she makes with another breathtaking kiss. His other hand has snaked around her waist again, splayed on the small of her back now, spurring her on to move against him. Good God, if he keeps this up, she might come undone without him even actually touching her down there.

The chair creaks louder when she moves against him, triggering Dean to cringe. The old furniture is either going to break or wake everyone in the bunkhouse, and so he pulls Y/N flush against him and stands up. Without missing a beat or breaking the kiss, she folds her legs around his waist as he walks her to the bed. Laying her down and fitting himself on top turns out to be a little more difficult than he thought it would be, the bunk bed limiting his space, but after some shimmying, he manages.

He hovers over the woman he’s about to be intimate with, mesmerized by the sight of her laying underneath him, her chest heaving, her eyes lustful. She’s the definition of gorgeous without even trying. Dude, how the hell did you manage to hold back this long?

The trail of kisses he presses on her stomach has Y/N arching her back, her eyes closed in delight as he travels down. Gently, he opens her legs a little wider, feather light touches electrifying her skin, sending currents towards her center. His hands leave her then, teasingly letting her wait in suspense. She listens, trying to pick up on any sound of him breathing or moving, her senses operating on full capacity. He’s testing her patience like he has done for the past few days. A chill runs down her spine as seconds tick by, but then Dean palms her heat through the fabric of her shorts. She bites her bottom lip at the unexpected connection, her fists clenching the comforter and a moan escaping her throat. This is happening. This is really happening.

Y/N feels him tracing the waistband of her shorts, before hooking his thumbs underneath the hem. He’s about to drag them down and move in, when they hear a door handle being pushed down. Her eyes shoot open in time to see Dean jerk back and sit up startled, hitting his head hard against the top bunk. The collision of his skull with the solid wood creates a loud bang, followed by a strangled groan. He curses through gritted teeth, trying to make as little noise as possible, while outside the room a door shuts. Horrified, they both stare at the other end of the room, not moving a muscle as shuffling footsteps cross the hall, opening another door and closing it again. A toilet seat is lifted up, the person whistling to himself softly. There can be only one person who needs encouragement to relieve himself: Garth.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean hisses. Y/N is unable to stop a snort, sniggering silently, even though she tries not to. “You okay?” she checks, trying to sound concerned. Not very convincing, apparently, because Dean shoots her a glare, while rubbing the sore spot on his head. The toilet flushes loudly and obscenely, triggering the woman underneath him to giggle unstoppably. When he shushes her, frantically holding his finger to his lips, it achieves the opposite, causing him to break character as well. Doing their best to keep it down, she clasps her hand over her mouth while Dean presses his lips together, trying to compose himself. “You need to be quiet,” he whispers. “I c-can’t”, she hiccups, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Garth heads back to his room, either sleep walking or he’s deaf, because he doesn’t pick up on any of the action happening on the other side of the hall. His door closes, the springs of his bed creak as he gets back in, and silence returns. “Would you stop?” Dean chuckles, poking Y/N’s side when she fails to control her laughing fit. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she returns, struggling to keep it down. “How’s your head?” “It’s alright,” he claims, ignoring the slight bump when he runs his hand through his hair. “Moment’s gone, ain’t it?”

She wipes the tears from her face, breathing in now that she’s capable again. Comforting, she reaches for his hand. As much as she would like to continue, the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal. Their first time together shouldn’t have to be clumsy and uncomfortable, in a bed that’s too small in a room with paper thin walls. “Rain check?” she proposes. Dean leans in to leave a kiss on her lips. “Rain check. ‘Sides, wouldn’t wanna have to hold back because you can’t keep it down.” She pokes him in his stomach now. “Don’t get cocky.”

Dean scoffs, sliding from the bed without hitting his head this time. Grinning mischievously, he turns around, pulling her to her feet as well. The cowboy takes a second to really look at her again, glad to notice the lack of insecurity in her composure. Her hair is messy, strands escaping the loose bun at the base of her neck, ready for bed in her pajama shorts and a comfortable top. She could have felt self-conscious in this situation, especially since their moment together came to an abrupt and slightly awkward end. But she isn’t, she feels at ease when she’s with him. A small smile forms on the cowboy’s lips.

“You should get some sleep. We’ll skip the afternoon siestas, now that the temperatures are droppin’, so we’ll start an hour and a half later tomorrow. I figured you might wanna train Meadow first thing in the morning?” he suggests, picking up his shirts from the floor. Y/N agrees, glad that she’s being given the space to focus on Congress. “Dean, about that…” He glances back, patiently waiting for the follow up. “I was wondering if you could maybe help me out with my freestyle?” she asks, a little shy. “Yeah, of course,” the head wrangler responds without hesitation. “Great,” she breathes, relieved. “And there’s this other thing.” Dean steps closer, laying his shirt and flannel over his shoulder so that he has his hands free and can lace his fingers with hers. “What is it?” “I was hoping you could coach me,” she says, looking up at him. “Not just at home, but when I have to compete in Columbus, too.”

Humbled, he gazes back, the corners of his mouth curving up. Coaching such a skilled rider as Y/N would be an absolute privilege, and with the trainers he knows she’s had, he’s surprised she’s asking him. Sure, the connection they have personally is there on a much more professional level as well, but they are talking Congress here, the biggest show of the year, and possibly the most important one of her career. Apparently, she has as much faith in his abilities to guide her as he has faith in her talent. “It’ll be my pleasure,” he states. “Really?” Y/N responds, thrilled. “Hell, yeah,” Dean says, excited. “I’ll have to check with management if I can get time off for Congress, but I have plenty of days left. Plus, I think Ellen is kinda rooting for us.” She chuckles, but then does a double take. “Wait, what? Ellen knows we’re together? I - I mean, not together together, I get that we’re not an item--” “-Ellen knows,” he grins, squeezing her hand when he interrupts her nervous train of words. “I think basically everyone knows by now, except Garth and Bobby.”

A little uneasy Y/N glances from their hands up into his eyes. Wait… Is she reading too much into his words? He didn’t correct her when she used the term ‘together’. Why didn’t he? Is he worried he might upset her again? If anything, she doesn’t want to push him to oblige to something he’s not ready for. “Dean, I know we just… I didn’t mean--” She pauzes, collects herself and starts over. “I know you’re not ready for a relationship and that’s fine, we had that conversation already. I’m not trying to rush you.” “You’re not rushin’ me,” he assures, calmly. “I just needed a wake up call in order to pull my head out of my ass.” The woman before him hesitates, “W-what do you mean?”

The wrangler wets his lips, taking a second to choose his words carefully. “When your old man called, for a minute I thought you were about to hop on a plane and that I was never gonna see you again,” he admits. “And - uh, it kinda freaked me out, to be honest.” He huffs, barely able to believe what he’s about to say. “I’m not gonna keep you waitin’ any longer, Yankee. I know I said I want you, earlier, but truth is…”

Y/N watches him glance down at their hands again, running his thumb over her knuckles. Nerves close off her throat, because she has a hunch that he’s about to break it to her; he doesn’t want the commitment.

Tears begin to prick in her eyes, but not from laughter this time. She knew it was going to be difficult to get close to him. Dean keeps to himself, probably because he cared too much in the past and learned his lesson the hard way. The possibility of her leaving spooked him today, and now he’s done. He doesn’t want to risk that kind of heartbreak, he doesn’t want to rely on anyone. Dean Winchester would rather fill his world with a hundred shallow and meaningless flings than with one solid partner, and this is him setting her free, before things get out of -- “I wanna be with you.”

Her racing mind, which was breaking the speed limit, hits a brick wall. Shocked, she pulls her eyes away from their entwined fingers, gazing at him almost dumbfoundedly. Did he just say he wants to be with me? “W-what?” she stammers. “I mean, if you’ll still have me,” Dean adds, a little unsettled by her response. “Look, I know I’m not exactly an open book and that I behave like a dick sometimes when you try to get through to me. I’m stubborn as hell and my communication skills need some work—”

Now it’s Y/N who cuts him off for a change, closing the gap and kissing him passionately. He eases into her, smiling against her lips and leaves a peck on her hair when she embraces him and buries her face under his chin. Relieved, he allows the breath he was holding to leave his lungs. “So, what do you say?” he asks, cocking his head back slightly to be able to look her in the eye again. “Up for a challenge?” “Are we talking about us training together for Congress, or us as a couple?” she checks, regaining her footing again. Dean frowns and chuckles at that. “Both.” She doesn’t need time to think. She knew the answer to this question long before Dean was ready to ask. “Yes,” she beams. “Hell, yes.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eighteen here

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