#but then I got to go inside before everyone else because pit wanted to go over some things like the mallet (I played the mambo (??)) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skzdarlings · 3 months ago

Text

bodyguard: the first guard | part five | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh’s daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. this chapter contains explicit sexual content. this chapter also has a content warning for descriptions of torture and dehumanization, plus the aftermath of trauma, themes of identity loss and healing. the previously established story dynamics are prevalent. chapter word count: 10,200 words.

enjoy <3

B E FO R E

Felix returns to the base and he is scrutinized, as expected. They all want to know why he was taken, what the enemy wanted, how he escaped. Felix has never played so many sides all while obfuscating his real objective. Alone, he guides himself through the venomous viper’s pit that is this war: Miroh and his enemy, Miroh and the world.

Where it concerns the enemy, Miroh will always intervene. He sees the enemy as the antithesis to the house of Miroh. A rich, spoiled fool, holed up in his golden cave, oblivious to what he has and the work it takes to acquire it. Miroh is jealous. Miroh is hateful.

Those are emotions that Felix can manipulate. He learned it from the best.

“It was an ambush,” Felix tells him. “They knew I was going to be there. They were waiting for me.” He uses his reputation, formed by Miroh, against Miroh.

Felix would never lose a fight. Felix would never fail a mission. Felix would never surrender. Felix is a reflection of Miroh so he presents the most flattering image.

“What information did they want?” Miroh asks.

Felix can see the gears spinning in his head. What could the enemy be seeking so determinedly to lay a trap for Miroh’s asset? Oh, Miroh has a suspicion. Felix can see it, because he knows exactly what it is.

“They asked about Project Twenty-Three,” Felix says. “I told them I had never heard of it. Even if I had, I wouldn’t tell them anything.”

Project Twenty-Three. Chris has vented about it to Felix. It is a cyber mission, striking against the enemy’s tightly guarded servers. It intends to blackout the grid and lay virtual traps while they re-calibrate, compromising not only the enemy but everyone else on that grid: civilians, their homes, their hospitals, their shelters.

It is a significant job for its scope and because it is the first time a mission will be helmed by Miroh’s daughter.

Miroh’s daughter, Chris says, intends to sabotage the operation.

It is Felix’s worst fears coming true. Miroh’s daughter rebelling against Miroh is doomed to be a catastrophe. She will inevitably go down and when that blaze tears through the sky, Chris will crash and burn in a similar inferno. He is too blinded by proximity, too idealistic to see how it is impossible to truly destroy a man like Miroh.

No one but classified personnel are supposed to know about Project Twenty-Three. Miroh’s daughter let it slip to Chan, who let it slip to Felix. As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix should not know about it. As far as Miroh is concerned, Felix is telling the truth.

As far as Miroh is concerned, someone is leaking highly sensitive data to the enemy.

“I’m smarter than that, though,” Felix says. He appeals to all that haughty vanity and says, “I was trained by the best. Of course I got away.”

“Of course,” Miroh says. Where before, he was wary, his guard comes down.

Felix can sneak in. Felix can lay his attack.

“What else did they say?” Miroh asks.

“I overheard them,” Felix says. “They’re going to try and kill you. And it’s going to happen inside your house.”

The trap is laid.

P R E S E N T D A Y

Miroh only put one soldier through a reconfiguration program. And it wasn’t me. It was you.

Chan looks at you as if you shot him even though he was the one who fired at you.

The words land with more violence than a bullet.

It can’t be true. That is your first reaction: denial. He is lying or he is confused or something, something, something. Anything but whatever he just said.

He tries to step towards you. You look at him and think of the First Guard: him in that corridor, a hand around your neck. He fought just enough to make it real, the way you and Changbin sometimes fight, but it never went too far, did it? You think back to that first fight in the ring. You commended yourself for lasting so long, but that should have been a hint. You would not have lasted a round with the First Guard on a good day, never mind after fighting several others. He never came at you with the full brunt of his fatal capacity like you would expect, like you should have considered at the time.

His eyes in the van, the tilt of his head.

Trusting as your car stopped an inch from his body.

His hands out like you were a wild, unpredictable animal, a weapon, something lethal he had to contain. It’s me, he said. It’s just me. As if you knew who that was.

He does the same thing now. You wrench away from him.

“No,” you say.

He says your name but it doesn’t sound like a name; it sounds like begging, it sounds like please, it sounds like desperation, painfully barbed on his tongue. You half expect him to start bleeding from the mouth.

“No,” you say again. You jerk away even though he has stopped reaching for you. You feel a phantom hand on your chest and on your head, a cold fire in your veins.

You slam shoulders as you dart past. He says your name again, this time like an alarm, only barely short of a scream as he chases after you. You get as far as the door before he catches you, his hand wrapped around your bicep and your name a weapon on his lips.

“Stop it,” you say. It isn’t loud but it is brutal all the same.

He lets go as if you electrocuted him.

You look at him. He stares back, all that begging in his dark eyes.

“You can’t – you can’t leave,” he says. His panic bubbles into frustration and he says, “You just told me off for doing that, didn’t you?”

You think of him on that rooftop, not even blinking at Miroh’s dead body, like he couldn’t care less, his eyes rivetted to you alone.

“Do you trust me?” you ask.

You think he would rather get hit. A moment of pain, a scar to join the others. Instead, he has to endure the intensity of your eyes, suffer whatever fucked up expression is haunting your body, and then he has to let you go.

You do not look at his face when leaving. You don’t want to see this side of him. There are already too many versions of him in your head, just as there are too many versions of yourself.

The denial does not last long. You walk through the brisk night, destination nowhere. The sky feels too big.

It’s preposterous, isn’t it? You are in your body right this moment, looking at the world with your own eyes. How can anything be wrong inside? But even while attempting to convince yourself otherwise, you know the truth. It has been long unfurling in the back of your mind. You have not felt like yourself for days, maybe weeks, maybe the entire three months since this downfall began.

You don’t even remember what it means to feel like yourself.

All the nightmares, the visions, the flashes of dreams that feel more like memories – maybe memories is exactly what they are. So suppressed it feels like watching a movie rather than your own life, but your story regardless. Sifting through those fragments feels like searching through rubble in a collapse. How are you ever expected to find a person under that much annihilation?

When it happens, Changbin said, what feels like a lifetime ago. When it’s just you and you’re trying to decide who you want to be, not who your father wants you to be… When you’re trying to remember everything and you can’t decide what was real and what was just training and what was Miroh…”

A sob rips out of you. You have cried more in days than you have in years. You cover your face and fall into the dark of your closed eyes. You see your friend, not a fragment or broken memory, but a whole person. The scar on your palm twinges, reminding you that you are real and here.

Remember me, he said.

That was the very first thing you did. You saw him on that rooftop and you remembered something. Him, younger, bleeding, emerging from a fog of smoke. He lifted a weight off your chest. He made you a promise.

You try to chase the memory of that dream, try to hold the image of him in your mind, but it moves like water through a sieve. It’s like he’s standing right there, just in the corner of your eye if you could only turn your head to look. But you are trapped in place. Pinned down, a weight on your chest.

You lose track of time under the stars. You are too numb to feel the cold. Only when the sky purples with the very earliest streak of dawn do you move. You look at your feet as you walk and it feels like someone else is moving you. You know it’s just exhaustion, a trick of the weary eye, but a shudder moves through you.

You don’t want to think about it. Whenever your mind starts to go there – to that room, to that hole, to the cell – it backs away screaming. It is probably why you can’t hold any picture for longer than a second.

A small part of you still rebels, insisting it isn’t true because it’s can’t be true, but you know intrinsically that it is.

This confirmation solidifies when you get back to the room and find Chan still awake, sitting in a chair with his head in his hands.

He lifts his head. You can’t hold his gaze for long, swallowed up by the dark depth that sees something in you, far beyond the surface, buried so deep you can’t find it.

You turn away. You climb into bed.

It isn’t an escape. You know that, even as you close your eyes and shut out the world. It’s all waiting for you there, your subconscious caught in a perpetually crashing tidal wave.

You fall asleep, ready to face the nightmares.

It feels like swimming against an acidic current. You push through but it bears down; you struggle but it burns your skin, sloughs down to the clean marrow. Pieces of you are lost to the tide. You try to catch each flaking sliver of personhood but then your arms are full and you can no longer swim.

You are going to drown.

“Let go,” says a voice, colder than the water. “This will all stop. Just let go.”

Just let go. Just let your skin unravel. Just let the tide take it away. You will never get it back. You will be a living corpse, a half-consciousness puppeting your bones.

You decide to drown. You slip further and further into the blackness behind your lids.

“Hey, it’s me! I’m coming!”

Changbin.

You can hear his footsteps as he thunders towards you, but you can’t see him. Your eyelids are so heavy, as if being held shut by a hand in the water.

Another hand reaches straight through the corrosive cold and seizes your face in a desperate grip.

“Wake up,” Changbin says. He taps your cheek repeatedly, a little harder each time, a little more frantic. “Hey, wake up. Please. Please wake up.”

It feels like he is prying your eyes open. One moment there is nothing but darkness, then Changbin is there. He looks like he did when you last saw him, grown, fight-ready, a little scar on his face. It bleeds more than such a tiny mark should. A droplet hits your cheek, burning hot compared to the water.

“It’s me,” he says. “Hold on. Keep your eyes open. Don’t go. I promise I’ll get you out.”

Don’t go. Don’t go. An echoing reverberation that circles the wooden beams high above your head. You look there, staring at the ceiling as your lungs slowly fill with oxygen.

The ceiling shatters in a spray of splinters, the world vanishing in a cloud of grey smoke. Changbin is gone and your father stands over you, keeping that weight on your chest with a press of his fist.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he says, and plunges you back under water. Ice cold currents and electric hot fire twine in and around you in an unfathomable vice. Your vision flickers as you twitch and flail, avoiding one sensation to succumb to the other.

“Don’t go,” Changbin says. “I promise I’ll get you out.”

Another bolt of lightning slices through you.

“Just let go.” A cold and clinical voice.

There is a war between those voices. Time passes slowly as you volley in the current, slamming into one or the other.

In the bubbling frenzy, you hear a whisper.

“Let her go.” That is not Changbin. That is not your father. It’s too soft – soft, until it’s not, until it sounds like speaking through an open chest cavity, heaving up its heart with every cry. “Please,” the voice begs. “Let her go.”

“Thank me,” your father says. He stands with his back to you, angled just enough you can see the gun in his hands. You can’t see the person on the receiving end. You just know it’s a soldier. You just know it’s a boy.

You have to stop it. The thought overwhelms you and you reach for the gun, but your hand never makes contact, splashing through cold water.

“Subject recognizes control,” says that clinical voice.

There is a hand on your chest. It pushes you back under water.

You are alone in the current and the corrosion and the cold. The hand pushes you deeper and deeper into the endless darkness under you.

You are going to drown. You are going to let yourself drown.

“You don’t want to do that,” you say.

Your father still has a gun in his hand. It is pointed at that boy.

“Subject— Control—”

You need to get that gun. You need to swim. You need to see him. You need to save him.

You finally let go.

You open your eyes.

Unlike in your dreams, it’s fast. You jolt awake in a cold sweat. The ceiling is unmoving, the air cool and dry from the motel’s cheap, noisy air conditioner. The blinds are closed but the neon light outside the window creates a fuzzy square halo. It brightens the room just enough to see the outline of everything clearly.

That includes Chan.

He is still awake. If this was just one night ago, you would tell him to get into bed and sleep because you can’t have him tired for the mission. But now, you find yourself staring back at him, at his bare and open face, his tired eyes and the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders.

When you went to sleep, he was sitting on that same chair in the corner, and it looks like he hasn’t moved once. He’s been waiting for you.

He’s been waiting a lot longer than one night. If she ever came back to me, he said, revealing years of hope, of watching, waiting for you to break through your conditioning and show him a sign. He was never brainwashed, just trapped in a precarious situation, bound to a bargain with no way out that didn’t compromise you. He could have saved himself at any time but it wouldn’t have mattered.

“You were never reconfigured,” you say.

“No.”

The question and answer breaks a dam. A flood of questions pour to the front of your mind, overwhelming you, taking you back to your dreams where you almost drown – again and again. You remember the report, stating too much recollection could trigger some kind of breakdown. Yes, you could ask Chan to tell you everything, to string together all those gaps in your nightmares, but you already know that would not help. It would either feel like a story about a girl you do not know, or it would just throw you deeper into the whirlpool.

You let those questions turn over themselves like a crashing wave. When it settles, you ask the one question that remains.

“Were we friends?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin. He is impossibly strong but right now he looks too weak to support himself.

“No,” he finally says. His eyes dart to the floor. “No, we weren’t friends.”

He looks at you and you fall into the unspoken story within his eyes. You have been conversing without words since you met. He has been looking at you with that wanting tilt and desperate stare since he stepped into the ring.

You remember a fragment from a dream. Him, younger, his face ravaged with tears and his mouth open on a muted shout. It would be easy to mistake that as him being tortured, his pain that palpable. But your memory is not of his suffering, just his watching, just his waiting.

All this time, he has been waiting.

“Did you love me?” you ask.

This answer comes faster, but rougher as if guarding against vulnerability. His voice is low.

“Yes.”

A phantom spark fires up your arm, straight into your heart.

“Did I love you?” you ask.

He holds your gaze, though it feels like he is looking just a little past you, seeing something you can’t see. Then again, maybe he doesn’t see it, maybe he is just searching, and maybe he comes up empty. Because when he answers, his voice is airy, and the word is like a hiss of pain, like getting hit in the chest and all the air leaving the body at once.

“Yes,” he says.

You feel the weight of that hit too. Wavering under the force of it, you blurt, “I don’t remember.”

“I know,” he says. He drops his head into his hands and rubs his palms over his face, scrunches his eyes shut tight and shakes his head. “I know.”

You want to go to him. You are not sure where the urge comes from because, despite what he said, you have never loved like that. Is it something buried inside you, something that remembers? Maybe it’s just you, who you are now, the person who has spent the last few days with this man at her side. His proximity has been a confusing comfort from the start. Maybe it’s a memory or maybe it’s just him.

You stand before thinking it through. He doesn’t even notice, a sign this competent soldier is very far gone, his face still buried in his hands. When you touch his shoulder, it catches him off guard, both arms jolting as if stung.

He looks up at you, his hand instinctively flying to the one you rest on his shoulder. He clasps it, holds it there, presses it down like he needs convincing it is real.

He meets your eyes. You do not know what you look like; you just know it hurts him, that it makes everything so much worse.

A child-like sob punches out of him. His eyes close tight, his face going red as he fights to hold it in. He cried earlier and it looked like the typical outpouring of stress and hurt, but it did not look like this.

After that first sob, reminiscent of the little boy he never really was, years of torment come tearing violently out of his chest. Flashes of memories melt with the sight, his young face twisted as he wails, that muted shout filled in with his voice now.

He holds his forehead, doubles over. When you see the top of his head, those other images fade away. It is just him, here, now. Whoever he is, he has been good to you. Your hand is still on his shoulder and he is still clinging to it.

“Chan,” you whisper. You’re not sure if he hears it, but his breath catches when you nudge him upright. You are certain he can’t see very well through his tears, but he looks up anyway.

When you climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, he does not hesitate to throw his arms around you. His hands find your back and he presses you so close, it feels like he is trying to push you right into his heart. He puts his face in your neck where he fights to steady his breathing.

You touch the nape of his neck. You shiver at his long exhale.

You feel miserable and choked for a myriad of reasons. For him, everything he as endured and lost. For you, who doesn’t even know what she lost at all.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His breathing is less laboured, though his voice sounds sore. He exhales again, some tension leaving his shoulders where you rest your hands.

You squeeze those shoulders and lean back to look at him. His expression is more than a little abashed, gaze uncertain. You are not good at smiling but you try, even though you think your brows are furrowed and his sorrow is reflecting back through your eyes.

“Thought we agreed to stop apologizing,” you say.

His laugh is as weak as your smile, but certainly there. You touch his face with your scarred palm, feel the curve of his jaw where that wound runs sharpest. You think you can only touch him because of that scar. You used to balk at the sight of someone else’s tears, even deride them. You don’t remember being a lover. You didn’t even realize you had a friend until it was too late.

You might not know who you are, and you might not know how to describe how you feel, but you certainly understand it feels different, and you certainly know what kind of person you do not want to be anymore.

So you do not rip your hand away. You curl a tuft of hair behind his ear.

“I just—” You trip over your own words, wishing you were a better speaker, more personable and warm than your stiff recitation. “I can’t be that person,” you say. “I don’t know what person I will be, but I’m not – I can’t—”

“I know,” he says, sincere. He is holding your waist and he gives it a small squeeze, a reassuring touch that moves through you with a burst of warmth. It simmers in your bloodstream when he smiles – his eyes still sorrowful despite the dimple in his cheek. “I don’t wish you were someone else,” he says. With a wince, he says, “I wish I was.”

Your stomach twists in an awful knot. You think of all that blood on his hands. Despite his efforts to keep it away from you, you feel it on yourself. You have to close your eyes to push away the flood of images, unsure which are imaginative fabrications and which are potential memories. You just know he looks too young to have that kind of red on him.

You open your eyes and look at him. His eyes are open but his gaze is faraway, lost in thought. You touch a tendril of curly hair, feel it under your fingers like you have the past couple nights. He looks at you with eyes that have already shared multiple conversations.

“I wish you hadn’t suffered,” you say. “I don’t think anyone should suffer that way. I don’t think the ends justify the means anymore. But also I—”

Even while your heart is changing inside, getting those words outside is a different struggle entirely.

Chan looks at you with that tilt to his head, that questioning brow, his eyes a lot softer with his curiosity. Your breath is jagged, a messy gasp as you gather yourself. You look away, wholly incapable of maintaining eye contact.

“I got in the car with the First Guard,” you say. “Not with some other version of you. This soldier. This Chan.” You look down at your hands, absent-minded in the way you move them, from his shoulders down to his chest. “This is the man I trusted,” you say. “The one I still do.”

Your eyes lift. They meet his. His expression is a mix of confusion and amazement.

His lips part with a question, but it gets caught. He stares a little longer, then he asks, “Why?”

An unexpected laugh bubbles and bursts right out of you.

“I have no idea,” you say, giving in to that bubbly feeling, letting it fill your chest and lift you up like a safety raft. “I don’t know anything at all.”

You realize there is something freeing in that thought. No, you don’t know who you are. No, you don’t know what is going to happen past right now. You have to save your friend. You have to end your father’s business. Everything else, the becoming of you and the world and your place in it, is unanswerable. You can’t find blueprints or scour maps or form battle strategies. You don’t know where the water leads. You just have to swim.

“Maybe it doesn’t even matter,” you say with a shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing about yesterday, nothing tomorrow—”

“Just right now,” he says.

His voice is a little lower. Just right now. That was the pact you made the other night.

Your whole body comes alight, waking from the ice cold state it has been frozen in. It warms under his palms on your hips and where his dark eyes roam.

“Just right now,” you repeat as softly. You look at your hands again, realize more consciously how intimately they rest on his chest. Rather than retract, you swipe your thumb across the exposed strip of skin where his flannel is buttoned askew. “Maybe that’s all I need to know.”

This right now feels different than before. You don’t blame his emotional reaction to your earlier intimacy if it was an affect of all his memories, all he had lost, and all he was. You think your straightforward trust in him – not in spite of his identity, but because of it – has shifted things again. Your hands on his chest and your words in the open seem to have changed the shape of this whole room.

“I’m the First Guard,” he says. His eyes drop to your mouth then back up. “You’re Miroh’s daughter.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. “And no, I’m not.” You see the shiver that moves through him when you run your hands up his chest and curl your hand around the back of his neck. You feel his thighs get tense under yours, his whole body reacting. “Say my name,” you say.

When he does, it is not like a weapon or alarm, but spoken in a way that makes you feel like you have never heard your name spoken properly before that moment.

You kiss him first and this time it lands deliberately, catching him mid-breath and stealing the rest of it. When you start to lean away, to see if it’s all right, he puts his hand on the back of your head, curls his fingers in your hair, and draws you right into him, stealing back that breath with a desperate kiss.

In a way, this is familiar to you. You always liked and used sex as a grounding exercise. You feel present in your body, regardless of how floaty and detached you felt before. From the tingling top of your head to the curling of your toes, you feel every inch of yourself, alive and hot.

But it feels different too. You were always eager to chase the high, to reach the final destination with little care for the journey. You realize, maybe, it is about the becoming, itself.

“Chan,” you say, squeezing his hips between your legs when he runs his hands under your shirt. You climbed into bed still wearing your pants and shirt, wishing differently now as you rock your body against his.

You buck a little eagerly, sensations going to your head quicker than intoxication. Chan brings you back down, shushing you gently, guiding your open mouth back to his. He kisses you slowly, touches you like he is memorizing every contour. You make a sweet sound into his mouth, cupping his face as you kiss him back.

“Can we—” you start.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, yes.”

You stand on shaky legs and strip your bottom layers away. The few seconds apart are dizzying, the whole world around him fuzzy as that neon yellow light leaking into the room. Because he is staring at you, looking dazed and dishevelled, it takes him longer to unbutton his jeans than it did for you to remove your pants altogether. You climb back onto his lap and do not help at all, distracting him with another kiss.

A kiss always felt like a waste of time, but you think you could content yourself with just kissing him forever. Slow or fast, gentle or needy.

You are kissing when he gets inside you, gripping your bare thighs with a possessive hold that will feel tender tomorrow. You luxuriate in the pleasure and the pain, your body yours, shared with him, reciprocated in turn.

Whatever else existed – or could exist – ceases to matter for a time. You come together and come apart in each other’s arms, chests pressed together, hearts racing against each other. You tug his hair and pull his face into your neck, moaning under the press of his teeth and the heat of his lips.

“Mm, fuck,” he groans into your skin, clutching your hips even tighter, rocking up into you while you roll down against him. His gentle curse has you whimpering, his mouth on your throat making you shake. “Mm, get all tight when I bite you, you know,” he murmurs, and leaves no time for argument or embarrassment because he nips at your neck again. You do exactly what he said, clenching around him with an involuntary shudder.

“Fuck,” is all you say. He breathes a laugh against your skin.

You clutch his shoulders when he gathers you and stands, moving the couple small steps towards the bed where he lays you out. You are apart for only seconds, but you feel so cold and empty that it is almost terrifying. When he shucks his jeans and gets back on top of you, you unbutton his shirt with shaking fingers, body in convulsions from the angle he is fucking you.

You have never been fully alive in your body until right now.

You come while he fucks you and you come again, when he puts his hands on you, like he really does need to feel every inch of you with his searching fingers. When he keeps touching you, you are so stimulated you slap his chest, making him smile at your loss of words.

You lay in a tangled heap, your legs twined together. Your shirt is gone and his is unbuttoned, your cheek on his chest as he lays on his back. You let yourself be a little lulled by the cadence of his breathing.

Your eyes eventually wander. You realize the sun has joined that neon light, the fuzzy halo around the window now a clearer glow. The day is beckoning. It brings you back to reality, to the world outside this re-shaped room.

“I know I need to face it eventually,” you say. “I don’t know what will happen. But right now – I can’t be distracted from the mission. I need to rescue Changbin. I need to stop my father.”

Miroh is dead but everything he did haunts you, like a ghost around every corner. You can’t afford to confront the other ghosts, including your own.

“Whatever happens after right now,” you say. “I guess I’ll see.”

“I understand,” Chan says. He is caressing your spine, fingertips stroking up and down the slope of your back. He scratches a little at the nape of your neck, making you hum in contentment. “Really,” he says. “I know things got crazy earlier but… I think right now… I can do right now.”

You look up at him. He smiles down at you, dimples digging into his cheeks. You have to look away, because you just promised yourself no distractions, but that smile causes a flush of warmth that goes beyond the physical.

“Well,” you say with a sigh, patting his chest. “Maybe by then you and me will be friends for real.”

You feel his body stiffen, shoulders dropping, the hand on your nape freezing. You look up to see his face, a questioning brow quirked. He is returning the expression, though his countenance is a little more drole.

“What?” you say.

He answers with a firmer grip on the back of your neck. He rolls you over, onto your back, keeping your head lifted in his hand. The length of his open flannel drapes over your warm skin, a soft tickle as he leans down and kisses you. It starts gentle but doesn’t last, his tongue parting your lips and the hot, needy press of his mouth pinning you to the bed and his arms. You kiss back but hardly keep up, dizzy with breathlessness as he licks into your mouth, as he chases down the breath of you, as he keeps your lips on his for as long as he possibly can.

Then he leans to one side. His breath tickles your neck before he kisses just below your ear. He whispers, “I don’t want to be friends.”

He looks at you with a far too innocent dimpled smile. You think Chan might be a bigger threat to your well-being than the First Guard.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “Noted.”

You open the blinds. Once the room is full of sunlight, you revert to soldiership and work on your next strategy.

There is no doubt the Miroh corporation is floundering in a state of panic. They are not only dealing with the loss of its boss and heir, but also destabilizing insider attacks on various sectors while vulnerable. On top of everything else, stocks have plummeted and investors are running for their lives and their wallets.

You and Chan have watched the company as well as the social reaction. With different leaks and financial fallouts, especially given Miroh’s connections to governmental and military divisions, it is no surprise that different stories have been cycling through the news. You have kept an ear on the radio and an eye on tv stations.

As you scour blueprints and map your next manoeuvre, you have the news playing at a low volume in the background. They are currently reporting the combustion of a Miroh facility. Their research and sources have led them to deduce it is an inside job.

That much is fairly obvious as no one else could do what you and Chan are doing, though you are not suspects. The media believes you are dead, that both you and your father were assassinated at the same time. You are not sure if the company honestly believes you died, that the First Guard killed you then disappeared without Miroh to corral him, or if they reported that so they could kill you without a fuss in the future.

There are no reports on Chan, of course. No one outside of Miroh’s world even knows he exists.

The major suspects are disgruntled investors and former employers, so far mostly scientists and research assistants given the targeted facilities. With some of the government leaks, there are also theories that some deals with legislators went sour and resulted in a target being painted over the name Miroh.

This seems to the angle the current report is taking. At first, you are only half-listening, as the news reporter does not mention anything you have not heard before.

Then you catch the latter half of a sentence you are not expecting.

“—of greater potential concern as this latest attack was on a military base.”

Both you and Chan whip your heads up at the same time.

You have not attacked any military bases.

“Turn that up,” you say.

Chan is already on his feet and moving towards the bed where the remote was discarded. He turns up the volume on the television and you both watch the report.

It is not impossible that a domino effect could ripple from one facility to the next. The more attacks you make – targeting all the little chinks in Miroh’s armour – the more likely it is that certain institutions will collapse entirely on their own. Either people will chase the money, like a lot of former investors, or they will abandon course altogether. Eventually, Miroh’s world will eat itself alive, with or without your help.

But you have so far only targeted a couple smaller research facilities. Yes, there have already been consequences, but not enough that a totally unrelated military base on the other side of the country would spontaneously combust.

You stare at the screen. That base is big. It isn’t going down without a fight. No one outside of the house of Miroh would have dared target it. No one else would have known how.

“Changbin,” you say.

Chan puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. You look at him then at the television, at the story unfolding rapidly in front of you.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” you ask. “It has to be.”

There might be just enough chaos in the ranks that if a solder of Changbin’s calibre was being held, something might fall wayside and he would have an opportunity to escape.

You are just not sure he would try. Changbin has obviously undergone changes of his own, all seeming to stem from that final confrontation with Lee Felix before the enemy went down and took his world with him. Changbin clearly decided once and for all what was really important to him. Changbin has always played the game carefully, but in the last few months he repeatedly put himself between you and your father. He intercepted multiple interactions with Miroh’s men, altercations you dismissed as nuisances at the time but shudder to realize the weight now.

Changbin threw himself in the middle, again and again, painting a bigger and bigger target on his back. He seemed resigned to his demise. For that reason, you are not sure how much he would fight even if given the opportunity. He seemed whole-heartedly certain he would be left behind, no matter what happened.

You curl your hand into a fist, digging your nails into your scar. There was so much you should have told him. If he knew that you were willing to fight this hard. If he knew you would find out the truth. If, if, if—

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Chan says.

You look at him just as he kneels down beside your chair. He takes your hand, the one with the scar, and unfolds it carefully.

“Kicking yourself won’t save him, yeah?” Chan says.

“Yeah,” you say with a huff.

The report continues. It details this attack as being an inside job as well. Supposedly, according to rumours breaching the walls, multiple people have gone missing, but their identities have not been given to the press. Hearing that, you become marginally more hopeful that Changbin is among them. The company would not report their supposed missing persons because they are most likely prisoners being held in less-than-legal circumstances. Changbin would be that type of prisoner.

The fight is ongoing. He could still be there.

“It’s a lead, at least,” Chan says, echoing your thoughts.

“Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place this whole time,” you say. You have been targeting the science sector when maybe your father kept it all in the military house after all. Maybe after the initial pass through that research facility, he was moved onto a more secure base, given his background as a former child soldier of the special-ops program.

Well, if that is the case, their extra security did not work. Of course it didn’t work. It’s Seo Changbin. You could laugh at their idiocy.

“We need to find out either way,” you say.

You manage your expectations for now, but as you sit at the table and change course to plan an entirely new strategy, it is with a hope as clear and bright as the sunlight.

It is a lot of driving to the military base. You will get there at nightfall the next day if you stop only sparsely.

You and Chan are swift in packing and climbing back into that car. You take turns sleeping and driving, though the last leg of the journey is spent on edge. You are braced and ready for a fight, all that determination exacerbated by the very real possibility that you are about to see Changbin again.

What will you say to him? What will he say to you? You wonder how much he knew about the reconfiguration. Clearly, he knew something, if not the specifics, as he went to great lengths to keep you away from your father.

You thought Changbin had saved you on an emotional level, but you realize now how it crossed into every sphere of life.

You close your eyes while Chan drives. You see Changbin on that rooftop, saying he will not leave you behind. It was the first hit that shattered the glass around you. Miroh had so carefully built that clear coffin around your consciousness, and Changbin smashed right through with the sheer brute force of his friendship.

You glance at Chan. Miroh did everything in his power to make sure you forgot about him. Bang Christopher Chan, the First Guard. Someone you loved and who loved you. Your father would have focussed on that. He would not have seen anything.

Why would he care about a friendship? What does that word even mean to a man like him? He would have looked right past Changbin. He spent all that time wiping Chan from your mind, that he never thought to look for anything else.

Your body gets cold as you remember – something. You close your eyes. You are standing in front of Changbin. He’s young, in his late teens, about the age you would have been when they reconfigured you. He is looking at you with uncertainty. You feel an uneasiness looking back at him.

Don’t you know me? he asks. He pulls a face, makes some dumb noises, waves his hands. Then he frowns. Changbin can be funny, but he turns it off in a second, as deadly as the rest of them. So much anger floods his eyes, they look black with the focussed intensity of his fury. You know me, he says. Think. Remember me.

You see a slant of moonlight, a windowpane, a streak of blood. Remember me.

You feel a weight as it is lifted off your chest. You hear him shouting your name. You hear him running.

You know me, he says.

You flinch – in your memory? – right now? – and a piercing wail floods your mind. You don’t want to go towards that scream. You can’t go there.

It’s me, he says. Hold on. Keep your eyes open. Don’t go. I promise I’ll get you out.

“Changbin,” you say.

“Hey, hey, baby, hey—” That is Chan. He is shaking your arm.

Your eyes pop open.

You have never had flashes of recollection while awake. It feels like a bigger adrenaline rush than waking from a nightmare, very little to divide your mind from reality.

You take a few steadying breaths while Chan rubs your shoulder. He was driving but the car is now stopped on the side of the road. You did not even feel him braking.

“What happened?” he asks when you are settled enough to speak.

“I don’t know,” you say. “I just—I was thinking. Remembering. Not like that. It’s complicated. I just—”

You close your eyes. A teenage Changbin is still standing there, looking at you warily.

You know me.

I know you.

“Changbin,” you say, choked up. You blink your eyes open and take another breath. “I’ll be okay,” you say. “We can’t stop for long. Let’s get back on the road.”

Chan does not look convinced, frowning as he stares into your face. You blink at him, then narrow your eyes into a squint.

“Did you call me baby?” you ask.

He clears his throat and turns back to the steering wheel. Looking out over the dashboard, definitely not at you, and with the tips of his ears more than a little red, he says, “You’re right. Let’s get back on the road.”

In spite of everything, you find yourself smiling.

It is only natural that you are waylaid at the very last minute, right on the cusp of sunset as you approach the vicinity of the military base. Not only is your path to finally rescuing Changbin obstructed, but it is halted by the most asinine, mundane nonsense in the world.

Soldiers, agents, entire convoluted military operations – those you can easily take. Minimum wage workers, on the other hand, are impossible combatants. More grizzled than the worst of ancient servicemen, they blink at your pleading with a harsher chill than a mob boss. You are certain this gas station attendant has seen some shit because he is not remotely inclined to assuage anyone’s anxiety.

“The till is down,” he says with an icy tone, face pinched unpleasantly. “It’ll be back up in a minute.”

He goes back to talking to his manager on the phone, smacking his computer till at random intervals. It does not exactly inspire confidence.

While you and Chan have been getting by with theft and subterfuge, you do everything in your power to not draw attention. That means you pay for gas as many stations have security cameras that log and report drive-offs and defaults.

That means you are stuck in this line with several other customers while the hapless cashier whacks his computer.

The little bell above the door rings as Chan steps inside the shop.

“What’s taking so long?” he asks.

“I want to hit him,” you say, pointing to the disinterested cashier. “He’s never gonna get that thing fixed. We have somewhere to be, we can’t just stand here all day—”

“Ah, ah, ah, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Chan says soothingly. He interrupts your rant as you were raising your voice. Not that it matters because the incompetent cashier is not paying any attention.

“I’ll take care of it,” Chan says. “You just have to know how to talk to people, yeah?”

The cashier paid you absolutely no mind when you tried to complain. He gave you a nasty look and ordered you to get to the back of the line. Chan, on the other, receives a quick onceover and a blink of seeming approval.

Chan leans on the counter and smiles a devastatingly charming smile, those dimples blinding. The cashier puts the phone on his shoulder and looks at him expectantly.

“Hey there,” Chan says.

“Hello,” the cashier replies, coolly but not as rudely. “The till is broken, sir. We’re going to have to wait for a repair.”

“You know, I’m pretty good with my hands,” Chan says. “I bet if you let me under there, I could figure something out.”

The cashier blinks at him. One blink, two blinks, three. Then he hangs up the phone and opens the gate to let Chan behind the counter.

You cross your arms and roll your eyes.

Chan, perhaps unsurprisingly given his necessary breadth of skills, helps the useless cashier get his dumb register running again. You all but throw the money at his stupid pretty head before marching away.

“Thanks, Wolfgang,” the cashier says, using the made-up name Chan gave him.

“No problem.” Chan winks back at him. “Have a good day, uh—” He squints at the name tag, gives it only a sparing glance as he steps out the door. “Hyunjin,” he says.

The door swings closed and you continue on your way.

Fortunately, you have no more preposterous interludes. You approach the base differently than the facilities, especially because you have not been able to do a proper sweep. However, that should be fine given the entire operation here has already been massively destabilized. All the main assets have moved along, either because of imminent danger or because the media now has its eyes on its actions.

Either way, you get inside without much fuss. You stick together for longer, not trusting the dark corridors and labyrinthine tunnels.

It is a lot emptier than anticipated. The fight seems to have ended some time in the last couple hours. There is an eerie, unsettled feeling, like a house abandoned in the middle of a meal. Unlike the dusty underground hovels at the research facility, this place is still breathing. You are not sure what it will cough up.

“Still think he’s here?” Chan asks, likely coming to the same conclusion as you: that even if Changbin was here, he has probably moved on. He has either escaped and gone of his own volition or he was caught and reprimanded and has been relocated.

“Maybe,” you say with a sigh. “Maybe not. But it’s still a lead. Treat it like one.”

You finally split up to cover more ground, agreeing to reconvene at the central warehouse in half-an-hour.

Maybe Changbin is no longer in these walls – maybe he was never here at all – but there might still be answers. You suspect there are questions too, because you cannot imagine who outside of the special-ops program would have both the calibre of skill and necessary intel to pull of an operation like this. Someone reached right into the heart of this base and yanked at its ventricles like it was nothing. And if not to escape, then why?

It has to be Changbin, you tell yourself, even while a sense of wrongness creeps under your skin. It is the same odd, unsettled feeling you get when you think about the night the enemy died – specifically when you think about that security system somehow being wiped after the house burned down with everyone inside it. It is that strange discombobulation, where the answer is probably simple and right in front of your face, so blatant that its absence haunts and distracts you.

You are distracted with thought. Maybe that is why you make your first mistake.

You turn a corner and crash right into someone. You are shocked because you did not hear their approach. Even distracted, you should have heard footsteps in an empty corridor, especially in heavy combat boots. You are quiet but you have unique bodily control that even well-trained soldiers cannot replicate. No one else can walk that quietly.

It is clear the same startled reaction ripples through their body.

You draw guns at the same time, firing with equal speed and precision. You also both duck at the same time. Smooth as a dance, you whirl around each other, firing and re-loading until they do a spin-kick and knock the gun aside.

As you fight with your hands, you only catch glimpses of your opponent. They are dressed all in black but not in Miroh’s uniform, a balaclava pulled over their face and head. They are very slender, but they land a hit like someone twice their size.

Your second mistake is your own fault. You underestimate them based on their build and it earns you a good right cross. In the ensuing dizziness, they make a break down the corridor at an alarming speed. It leaves you reeling more than the hit.

“What the fuck,” you say, staggering after them.

This person does not work for Miroh, that much is obvious. It also definitely isn’t Changbin. This person has the completely wrong build, opposite of Changbin in almost every way. No, it isn’t your friend, but it might very well be another prisoner. They might have an idea of what happened. They might know if Changbin was here and where he went.

The thought propels you into a determined sprint. You cannot follow sound as the person is good enough to keep their footsteps low, but you are just as skilled so they likewise do not see you coming.

They coincidentally head straight for the central warehouse. The warehouse previously functioned as a pseudo-armory, but it has already been completely cleared. It is two levels, the top floor a balcony walkway overlooking the main warehouse floor.

The warehouse is empty except for the intruder. The person seems to be deliberating. They remove their head covering for a second, long enough to catch their breath. You see a flash of black hair and a hint of a masculine profile before you are spotted. The man tugs the fabric back over his head.

He leaps right off the balcony.

It is too high for a normal person to jump without breaking a leg. Naturally, you run to the railing to look over.

Your adversary is a step ahead of you. He is dangling there, waiting for you to approach so he can swing back over and knock you down. You skid across the balcony level, the metal walkway rattling under your weight.

You don’t stay down for long. Another fight begins, a back and forth tussle that makes you think you need more training. The past day has been more than a little hectic, but you should be able to take down even a well-trained soldier.

He does another spin-kick, a solid roundhouse that knocks your mask right off. You stumble sideways while the mask clatters across the balcony before spilling right over the ledge. It is a long descent before it smacks the ground.

You ground your footing, assuming a defensive stance with a swift upward swing.

“Who are you?” you ask.

At the exact same time, the man says, “You.”

That prompts another question, a bigger question, why on earth this stranger would recognize you in this context. You cannot even think about your question, however, because the man abruptly flies at you with twice the verve as before. Caught off guard, at first you struggle to defend yourself. When he finally swings too wide, giving you an opening, you do not waste the opportunity.

You tackle him, fully and bodily, arms around him as you charge the balcony. You shove him right over the railing. It is not so high that he’ll die, but you don’t want to kill him anyway. You need to ask him questions – like did he do all this and how and why? Are there others? Is Changbin among them?

You grasp the railing. You are prepared to swing and jump over but you stop short at what you find. The man, who should be nursing a fractured leg right about now, is instead getting to his feet. He looks a bit dizzy, shaking his head and rubbing his temple, but he is otherwise unscathed.

You just stand there for a second, gawping at him like an animal.

That shielded face finally lifts, eyes finding yours across the space. His head cocks, seemingly a dry and irritated, Really?

You launch yourself off the balcony, landing heavily but safely. You absorb the shock and straighten, not taking your eyes off this man for a second.

“I’m not interested in hurting you,” you say.

He scoffs, pointedly looking down at your uniform.

“I don’t work for Miroh anymore,” you say. “I’m just trying to blend in.”

“You?” he says. It is so far the only thing he is willing to say. His voice has a darker, deeper tone, scratching at the back of your head, but his monosyllabic replies do nothing to help place him.

You want to say more but he doesn’t let you, jumping back into action. You huff in aggravation, wanting to shout, we’re on the same side! But he is fast. You expend your energy just keeping him at bay.

Your stamina is fairly well-matched, just like everything else. You move around the warehouse, kicking and punching and flipping around each other, losing track of minutes.

A sheen of sweat breaks under your uniform. He is slowing down too. There is just one difference: he still has his gun.

He gets you behind the knee and puts you on your back. Before you can retaliate, he draws his gun and points it at your face.

You freeze, staring down the barrel. You slowly lift your eyes to him, just in case any sudden movement convinces him to fire. So far, he is holding, though you are not sure why. If he truly wanted to avoid detection, it would have been in his best interest to kill you and move on.

He hesitates. His hand is steady but his eyes are darting around inside the masked fabric.

Your eyes continue to wander up, up. Your heart leaps when you see Chan approaching on the balcony, silent and serious, gun in hand. He has a longer-range weapon, not a little pistol like you and the adversary. He takes aim from his perch but you shake your head.

You know Chan can make the shot, that he could get the man through the head and not so much as graze you under him. But if this man dies, his answers go with him.

“No!” you shout at the same time the gun goes off.

You wrap your legs around the man’s midsection and yank him to the side. You roll, one over the other until you are pinned once more. You are both unharmed. With the head covering, it is hard to tell if he is frazzled. He certainly whips his head around quickly, trying to see where he dropped his gun.

You spot it at the same time. You glance at each other then bolt, stumbling over one another as you charge the discarded pistol.

Chan jumps down off the balcony. He takes more of a running leap, jumping forward rather than just down. It gives him far more momentum so he hits the ground and tucks into a roll, riding the wave of that momentum until he is in the middle of the room.

Chan reaches the gun first. He kicks it out of the way and comes at the adversary with his bare hands. He may not understand why you wanted to save an enemy who had you pinned under a gun, but Chan must trust there is a reason because he fights to incapacitate rather than kill.

It is a good fight, but the man is already tired from fighting you.

And you are good, but Chan is better. If he could not beat you, only tie, then he cannot beat Chan.

Sure enough, it takes a few more moves before the man is on his back. Chan, still wearing his half-mask, straddles the man’s chest, pinning his arms at his sides and his body to the floor. He draws a knife out of a thigh holster for good measure.

“Got him,” Chan says. “Who is this guy?”

“I have no idea,” you say, jogging over to them. “That’s what I want to find out.”

“Let me go,” the man says, wriggling uselessly under Chan’s weight. “I have nothing to say to her.”

“I told you already, I’m on your side,” you say. “Or at least I’m not on Miroh’s side.”

“Whose side are you on?” Chan asks with a jerk of his head.

“Mine,” the man answers. “Now let me go. I have a job.”

“We have a job,” you say. “We’re the ones who have been taking out the facilities so far.”

That gets the man to stop squirming. He looks at you through the narrow eye slits in his balaclava, eyes darting to where you stand behind Chan.

“You?” the man asks, seemingly his favourite word.

“Yes, me,” you snap. “And who are you exactly?”

“One way to find out,” Chan says. He does not wait for any further acknowledgement, ripping the man’s mask right off his head. It is not a cruel or violent action, more a casual shrug of his arm than anything. You are not expecting to find anything more than the scowling face of a stranger.

You and Chan freeze.

Staring back at you, with his hair returned to its natural pitch, his dark eyes narrowed in an intense glare, and a face full of unmistakable freckles, is a former agent of Miroh’s special-ops program. One of the last and a traitor, not to mention supposedly dead.

“You,” is what you say.

You do not know what else to say to Lee Felix.

#bang chan x reader #chan x reader #bang chan smut #chan smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x you #chan x you #stray kids x you #skz x you

288 notes · View notes

lewdmommie · 1 year ago

Text

No Expectations

Summary: y/n now has to navigate new complex feelings with König she didn’t have before.

Jealouskönigxreader💗

🎀Warning🎀:18+NSFW, Rough sex, raw sex, oral sex, language, angst, size kink, praise/degradation etc

Word count: 4.k

(Comment, reblog and follow)

This is part 2 of One night stand

Part 3

“No.” Ghost doesn’t even bother looking up from whatever document he’s scribbling on.

“Please, I’ll do any other cruel and unusual punishment you have lined up for me.” You plead.

“You don’t get to argue the terms of your probation. König is who you’re training with, no questions asked.” He says through clenched teeth.

“Why can’t I just work with someone else. There’s plenty of people on base.” You reach over snagging a mint from the decorative bowl at the corner of his desk. His eyes follow your movements. It wasn’t like you to not get along with someone, everyone on base either loved you or felt indifferent. Of course there was a handful that weren’t the nicest because of your popularity but König wouldn’t fall into that category. “Why do you want to switch partners? Did something happen between you two?” His question makes your eyes widen remembering how König was balls deep inside you just a few nights ago. Luckily ghost's eyes are locked on the paperwork in front of him. You stand turning your back to him, hiding the hot flush that creeps onto your cheeks.

“It’s nothing like that.” You say with false confidence. The small crack in your voice catches his attention. What was this feeling at the pit of his stomach, a feeling that made his jaw tense and heart pound. He finally looks away from the paper, capturing your gaze with an intensity that makes goosebumps prickle at your skin. He rises to his feet, palms planted firmly on the surface of the desk. “Fine. I won’t pry…I don’t have any other expendable men.” He rasps.

“What about you? It’s just three hours and it’s after work hours. We both know you don’t have a life serg.” You chuckle. If you had X-ray vision you would see the irritated expression under the mask.

“I am your superior. That means I have actual work to do unlike you sorry excuses for soldiers.” He flips through the piles of paperwork.

“That isn’t very nice sergeant, you’ve got to be more pleasant in the workplace.” You tease walking around the office space, touching things as you go.

There is a tall bookcase in the corner that catches your eye. Thick spined books with elegant writing line the shelves. Along with a small cactus and tank figurines, a picture frame stands out. A beautiful brunette woman holding a baby wrapped in a tiny blue blanket , smiles at the camera in a dated looking room. A shadow cast behind you, turning around, you're faced with a huge vest covered chest. He takes the frame lifting it over your head to sit on the top shelf. He smells of gunpowder and a Smokey musk, your back bumps the case as he steps closer. Naturally your eyes close not sure what exactly you were waiting on to happen. His arm retracts holding a black leather covered book with silver embroidery.

“Who was that woman?” You exhale as he steps away walking back to his desk.

“No one.” He flips through the pages, nodding to himself as if he’d found what he was looking for.

“Who was that baby? I didn’t know you had a kid, that must mean you’re married…who would marry you serg you’re so serious all the time.” You plop your butt onto the desk. He shakes his head fighting the urge to add another week to your probation for sitting on his desk. His gaze sharpens.

“The child is not mine.” He says.

“Oh a scandal, who’s child is it? I can’t believe your wife would do that to you sergeant, need a hug?” You open your arms beckoning him forward.

“I am not married. Don’t you have toilets to clean. Get out.” He pushes your hip off his desk.

“We haven’t even come to an agreement yet!” You exclaim, feet hitting the ground.

“Fine. I will train with you just for today if it’ll get you out of my office.” He offers.

“The rest of the week.” You barter.

“Two days.” He responds.

“Four.” You fold your arms.

“Three. Final offer rookie.” He shakes his head.

“Fine, three days is better than one.”

“You’ll be the one to inform König you’re switching partners.” The computer keyboard clicks as he enters something into the database. At this point he had to be getting off to your embarrassment, if looks could kill he’d be a goner. Ghost didn’t tolerate taking the easy way out, if two people had issues on base they would be addressed and resolved quickly. He always said there wouldn’t be war within our army.

“I-fine i'll tell him.” You sigh knowing he wouldn’t budge.

“Good,now leave, I’m busy.” He waves you off without glancing up.

Three days. That should be enough time for things to cool down between you and König, you think, grabbing a lunch tray. The line moves steadily as the staff ladles today's lunch onto each plate.

You smile at the older lady behind the table, holding out your tray.

“y/n, I’ve got your lunch packed up right here for you.” She bends down grabbing a brown paper bag with your name scribbled on it. She nods apologetically, placing the bag on your plate, peanut butter and jelly again…yum.

“Y/n! Over here!” A cute brown skinned woman with luscious dreadlocks waves you over. Maya. You and Maya enlisted at the same time, basically going through the whole process together. Without her, you don’t know how long you would have lasted here. when you two found out you’d be stationed at the same base it felt like fate intended for you to stay with each other, She’s the entire reason you planned to reenlist. Unfortunately your closeness meant she could see right through you, so you had to find a way to keep her off your trail.

“Hey May thanks for holding my seat.” You sit across from her.

“No problem you’d do the same for me.” She jokes biting into her apple. You unroll the wrinkled paper bag that looked like it could have something illegal inside of it. You pull out a poorly wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich along with a juice box and an orange. Your nose scrunches at the thought of tasting sticky peanut butter and sickly sweet grape jelly again. You look longingly at Maya’s lunch, your stomach growls in envy.

“Peanut butter and jelly again I can’t believe ghost, do you want to trade lunches?” She pushes her tray towards you. You shake your head unwrapping the plastic and taking a bite of your sandwich.

“I like the pain.” You say in a playful tone.

“You’re such a freak.” She laughs rolling her eyes.

The mess hall echoed with chatter from various conversations, every table for lack of a better word, had their own cliques. It wasn’t like some cheesy highschool movie but everyone had their own friend groups they’d break off with during lunch. Guys like Ghost and König didn’t dine in the mess hall so when you see König leaned up against the wall watching you, it completely catches you off guard.

“What’s his deal?” Maya asks not even trying to hide the fact that she was staring back.

“We had a disagreement.” You sip your juice box averting your gaze from him.

“No way, you’ve been telling me how you two were getting along so well. Did something happen? I’ll kick his ass right now.” She says in a serious tone. König stood at 6ft 6inches tall with the body of a tank but Maya was statuesque at 5’11 inches tall with an extremely toned physique. He was strong but so is Maya, she trains with the men for fun. After long days of them making sexist jokes, She loved beating the shit out of them. She can squat 250+ pounds easily so you definitely don’t take her threat lightly.

“It wasn’t like that Maya, this one might be on me. I’ve been avoiding the issue instead of talking it out with him…” you trail biting the sandwich.

“Well then it sounds like you know what to do.” She touches your hand, nodding in his direction.

“Yeah…you’re right. I am a part of the special military forces. I’m not afraid of a conversation.” You shoot up ready to deliver the news of your new partnership with ghost.

Your legs wobble as you walk to the trash, throwing away your tray. You can feel his eyes follow your every move as you snake through the cafeteria full of people. He’s leaning against the wall with one leg, arms folded, peering down at you. His body language was reserved, there was an invisible wall stacked between you two.

“König I-“ you start.

“-We will not be speaking during work hours rookie.” He says coldly.

“König please I-“ he interrupts you again.

“Colonel König.”

“Colonel König. I need to talk to you about something.” You whisper.

“You’ll have to schedule an appointment during my office hours.” His voice is flat.

“You know what, fine, fuck this.” You storm off, fed up with his distance. His hand twitches fighting the urge to reach out and pull you back. Instead he watches as you slip further away from him. Truth is…he was scared. Scared that you’d reject him and that you’d felt everything that happened was just a mistake. He found himself pulling back before you could deliver the final blow. Your departure in the middle of the night showed him what he needed to know about your feelings for him. It was just a one night stand, nothing more…Right? If that was the case why was his chest tight at the idea that he’d just hurt you.

“You’re slow!” Ghost barks as your body hits the mat. You cough, holding your side. He stares down at you with impatient eyes, waiting for you to reset.

“Again.” He orders as you stand rubbing your ribs.

If he was holding back, you’d hate to feel his full power, he could toss you around like it was nothing. With your feet planted firmly on the ground, you step one foot back allowing more range for your dominant hand. Your fists are raised, just as König taught you, protecting your jaw. Ghost swings left punching the barrier of your forearms, it hurts, but your guard doesn’t break. You duck his right hook taking the advantage and hitting him with a quick body shot to the gut. He stumbles crashing into one of the wooden pillars in the training room. You advance keeping your guard up, to his surprise you rush him jabbing the hard material of his mask. One of your weak points was the inability to strike someone when they’re down. If he didn’t have military grade training, the mask would have shattered from the force of your blows. Before that can happen he attacks low, swiping your knees from under you. Your back crashes onto the mat, knocking the wind out of you. You wheeze from the impact trying to catch your breath. Ghost towers over you with both wrists locked in his iron grip. You can hear him breathing heavily, his chest pressing against your with every exhale. Your legs wrap around him in an attempt to get the upper hand, he doesn’t budge as you try to flip his body. He chuckles at your struggle lifting your arms above your head to show off his strength. “Give up.” He pants as you wiggle beneath him.

“That isn’t what you taught me now is it?” Your hips buck against his waist. A tiny whimper escapes his lips, his hand lets your wrist loose to replace it on your leg. His cock strains in the tight confines of his cargos, if not for the thick material, you’d have felt him poking your inner thigh. Utilizing your center gravity, you rock your body using his weight to roll completely over, landing on top of him. Your legs straddle his thighs. without thinking, his big hands grab your waist balancing you.

“Who was that woman in the picture?” He struggles under you, your knees tense, locking him in place. Now he quite literally couldn’t run from the question.

“No one.” He doesn’t budge.

“She must be important if you won’t talk about her.” You implore.

“Since when are we worried about each other's personal lives?” He relaxes, no longer fighting back.

“Whenever I bring it up, you get this pained look in your eye…like something changed you. Like a piece of you is still hurting.” Your voice softens. His heart thumps at your words, he can no longer look you in the eyes. He wanted to fight the urge to let you in, to have you truly know him. No one knew him and that’s the way he likes it . If no one gets attached, then no one would be put in danger because of him. He didn’t trust himself to protect the ones he cared for after what happened.

“She was my mother.” He says finally.

“Was? What happened to her?” You lean down to hear him better, your face inches from his.

“I couldn’t protect her.” his voice was barely a whisper. You both jump as the training room door creaks open.

“Sorry I’m late y/n-“ König freezes with a tense jaw and clenched fist. After the heated moment earlier he planned to apologize for his behavior at practice today. He had decided to conquer his fears and give you guys a real shot. He wanted to confess his true feelings today when you two had some alone time but things just changed. You scramble off of ghost’s lap standing to your feet clumsily. König takes a step back as you approach him.

“This is what I was trying to tell you earlier…me and ghost will be training together for the next three days…” you ramble.

“Right. Then I’ll just leave you two to do your ‘training’.” He backs into the doorway turning on his heels. He wanted to go back there and beat Sergeant Ghost’s face in, break every finger he laid on you. He wanted to throw you over his shoulder, take you back home and pound every ounce of anger he had into you. He wanted everyone to know you were his…but you weren’t and he had to accept that. He couldn’t stop you from exploring other options but he wouldn’t sit back and watch either. Ghost sits up watching the whole thing play out, he could see the anger seething off of König. He got the exact same feelings right before a mission, that sense of imminent danger. This was more than some silly fight between the two of you, he realized that now. He realized what you meant to König and now what you meant to him. His heart drops as he watches you run after König, he thinks about calling after you but chokes back the words.

“König please wait!” You yell running behind him. You grunt as he stops suddenly, making you slam into his back.

“What is there to talk about y/n? You don’t owe me anything.” He mutters.

“I know this sounds like bullshit but that wasn’t what it looked like.”

“You’re right it does sound like bullshit.” He says.

“I just needed a break from this…from us. Just for a few days.” You explain.

“You’ve made it painfully clear there is no us.” He snaps. His head shakes as if he wanted to say more but instead he walks away leaving you alone in the hall.

“How was your day” Maya asks, slipping on her purple bonnet.

“Horrible. May, do you think I’m a good person?” You ask, climbing in her bunk. She welcomes you with open arms, stroking your head gently. You nessel into her embrace, finding comfort in her touch. Maya always knew the right things to say, you could count on her to make you feel better after hard days.

“Of course I think you’re a good person y/n. What makes you ask something like that?” She strokes your hair, looking down at you with concerned eyes.

“I just needed to hear it.” she pulls you close, kissing your forehead.

“You know you can talk to me about anything.” She states seriously.

“I know.” You sigh.

“Well you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.” She assures.

“Thank you may I love you.” You kiss her cheek before throwing your legs over the bunk and walking to your bed.

“I love you too weirdo, goodnight.” She rolls over pulling the cover up to her neck.

“Wider.” Ghost orders, slipping two fingers in your open mouth. You suck desperately, wiggling your ass in anticipation. A large warm hand pushes your thighs apart exposing your dripping slit, your back arches as they flick your beating bud. Who? You turn your body and behind you is a half lidded König looking back. His green eyes stare into your soul as he slides a thick finger inside you, pulling it out achingly slow before pumping it back inside again. Your gaze is snatched away by ghost and met with a stiff twitching cock. Clear pre-cum oozes from his flustered tip, using his thumb he gently opens your mouth, sliding his head over the plush of your lower lip. He hisses as you take him in fully, hollowing your cheeks to take him even deeper. You gasp as König stretches you with another finger, stroking the deepest parts of you. Wet squelching fills the space as your pussy drools with arousal. Saliva dribbles down your chin as your head bobs, swallowing as much of him as your body allowed. His head falls back as his tip is met with the back of your warm velvet throat. You gag, making your throat quiver around him, his hips rock sporadically , fingers tangled in your hair. “S’fucking good baby…that’s it you’re making me feel so good-“ Ghost whimpers, head lolling back.

“Ahhh uhn…” You groan, mouth full, as König runs the flat of his tongue up your split, licking away your slippery nectar. His tongue pets your stiff clit, sucking and licking every inch of your inner sex. His five O’clock shadow rubs against your sensitive lips as he pushes deeper, snaking his tongue inside your tight hole. Your jaw goes slack as he tastes you from the inside fucking you with his wriggling tongue.

“Focus on me.” Ghost growls tilting your face to meet his fuck drunk eyes. His hips move aggressively, pounding the back of your throat without mercy. He pulls out admiring the long glistening trail of spit connecting the two of you before thrusting back in.

“Are you ready to take me Prinzessin?(princess)” König calls, planting soft kisses down your back. You nod your head attempting to say yes but all he hears are small moans and gags. He lines himself between your plush thighs, his tip pushes past the barrier of soft skin. You can feel his dick pulsing so close to your needy cunt you begin to whine, you shake your ass hoping to inch him closer. “I’ll fuck you when I’m ready.” He grunts, stroking your inner thighs with his cock. Your womanhood is soaking wet at the idea that these two monsters were using your body to get off too. “Your thighs feel just as good as that pretty pussy between your legs” he moans fucking your thighs. Ghost pulls back, slapping the curved underside of his dick on your swollen blushed lips.

“Are you tired baby, do you want me to cum?” He teases rubbing his head over your smooth skin.

“She doesn’t deserve to cum yet sergeant.” König slams into you with one long stroke. Ghost follows suit, ramming the back of your throat and trapping your screams inside. König grips your waist holding you still as he absolutely rails you, your pussy flutters with each stroke. His curved dick kisses your sweet spot with every thrust, your walls clench around him when he pulls back. Your entrance squeezes his tip, trying to suck him deeper. With short frustrating thrusts, he fucks you using just the tip of his cock.

“You’re so greedy, you already have a cock in your mouth…and you’re telling me you want more?” He flicks his hips rutting deep inside you. His fingers dig into your hips so hard you knew it’d leave a bruise. They rock your body between them using every piece of you to make themselves cum. You hear an audible ‘pop’ as König uses his spit to lubricate his finger before teasing the only hole that wasn’t full. Slapping sounds fill the air as he pounds into you, massaging your tight little hole. Ghost starts moving faster, making tears fall down your cheeks from overstimulation.

“That slutty mouth is begging for my cum isn’t it?” He chokes, his dick spasming in your mouth.

He makes an inhuman noise as he slams into you one final time before shooting thick salty cum down your throat. König’s nails dig into your hips as he fucks you so hard, your stomach aches. He reached around grabbing your throat as his pace picks up…he was close.

“Can’t take anymore p-please König I’m so close” you cry, eyes rolling back.

“I love the way you beg.” He impales you one last time going as deep as your pussy allowed him. His cock trembles inside you as hot cum shoots from his pulsing tip. You fall to the bed in exhaustion, shaking like a leaf.

You wake up to the nagging sound of your alarm. Oh no you think pulling the covers up to your chest.

The sheets were soaking wet, if you didn’t remember last night's dream you’d have sworn you had an accident. Honestly you’d prefer if the infamous toilet dream was the culprit but that wasn’t the case here. This was a good old fashioned wet dream. You’ve had your fair share of wet dreams but König and Ghost…you had to be out of your mind. your brain probably used yesterday's events to generate some random dream sequence, it couldn’t mean anything. You stand, quickly stripping the sheets and making your way to the showers to wash off last night’s dream-like fun.

You get dressed and book it to the janitors closet to get a head start on your chores…something you never did. You couldn’t face either of them now, you decide to just bury yourself in your work. How could you talk This out? What would you say “hey I had a dream you two completely dominated me so we can’t chat right now?”. You’d rather die than ever admit something like that. Maybe this was a sign it was time to really think about your feelings. You need to truly understand how your heart works so nobody else would get hurt. You wondered where König was and what he was doing. Was he thinking about you the way you were thinking of him? You move the mop absentmindedly along the tile floor. You felt so safe with König, his laugh could light up a room, he was beautiful inside and out. But something about Ghost intrigued you and left you wanting more. You had to come up with a fair way to get to know both of them without anyone getting hurt.

“Maya, what if I wanted to date two people at once?” You lean over the lunch table so no one else would hear you. She’s quiet for a second, waiting for you to laugh but she sees how serious you are.

“What the hell are you talking about y/n?” She plops an orange slice in her mouth.

“Just hypothetically, how would you go about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Well…communication. Both parties would have to have a mutual understanding. Consent is key.” She explains.

“So just show your interest in the idea and inform them of the terms?”

“Right, but the real question is why would you want to do something like that?” She tilts her head.

“First of all it’s hypothetical, and second why should someone have to choose between two people they barely know. Shouldn’t they get the chance to atleast get to know each person.” You take a disgusting bite of your sandwich.

“Well…the person can try being friends with them first. That way there are no expectations.”

“What if they are stubborn and expect an answer right away?” You ask doe eyed. Maya pats your head supportively.

“Then they aren’t the ones for you.” You nod, shooting from your chair.

“God you’re so smart. I gotta go! See you later!” You yell back running out of the mess hall leaving your half eaten lunch.

You burst through ghosts office door without knocking as usual and as usual he gives you an annoyed look. To your surprise König sits at the opposite side of the desk, your guess is he’s being briefed on the next mission. His legs are wide as he leans back in his chair staring back at you silently.

“Great, you're both here.” You start.

“What do you want Rookie?” Ghost asks.

“We need to talk…” König stands, not wanting to hear whatever conversation you had to have with ghost.

“All of us.” he turns back to face you.

To be continued?…

2K notes · View notes

a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 5 months ago

Text

Anxious: simon ghost riley x f! reader

This is part of the Quiet Series

Warnings: angst, fluff, Ghost taking cafre of you and being a dumb idiot in love

Ghost didn't like how you made yourself scarce once everyone arrived back at base. He knew you had gone to the showers to wash off all the blood but since then you had disappeared.

You would've come back to eat with him or the others by now. You would've made conversation with him on the helo ride back.

You were quiet however, for a lack of a better word, and you had a strange look in your eyes that made him uneasy. It was unlike the sadness the crept in every once in a while. It was something so much more visceral yet he couldn't quite place what you were feeling.

He noticed almost immediately how distant you were and how it seemed you were stuck inside your head.

Ghost barely took a shower before he was on the search for you. He wasn't good with words and it was a particularly cold night out but lucky for him you seemed to cheer up around his presence regardless.

It made him not want to be alone, strange enough. There was a lot about him that was changing because of you, good things that he decided to put aside for your sake at the moment.

He found you in the armory where you cleaned up your rifle in silence. He waited for you to give him more than an acknowledging look since you were facing the door but when you dipped your head back down he frowned.

A pit formed in his stomach.

"You've been quiet." Ghost grunted and you raised an eyebrow.

Ironic, and he wasn't even trying to be funny at the moment.

"What happened?" He pressed.

He saw you go down but after that his line of sight was cut off by the walls. After that he saw you covered in a lot of blood and you barely communicated at all since.

You paused and glanced away from him. There was an uncertainty in your eyes before you gently set your rifle down.

"He pinned me down." You signed and his eyes hardened. "And I freaked out."

Ghost waited for your to elaborate but that was all you said. He knew there was something more, especially when you grabbed your rifle to hide the slight shakiness in your hands but he saw it.

He saw everything about you.

You weren't one to panic either, not in the field, not like that.

You were keeping something from him and he didn't like it. He didn't like that you were pushing him away, you were keeping him out...but it's not like he had been as open either.

There were a lot of things you didn't know about him. There were a lot of things he didn't know about you even if he wanted to know more.

Maybe he could try it in the future. Just for you.

But right now you didn't need that. He could see how much turmoil there was inside you and to break open the doors, to throw gasoline on the fire would only make things worse for you.

"Are you hungry?" He asked softly.

You shook your head and gave him an apologetic smile that felt forced.

He narrowed his eyes. He knew you weren't being stubborn on purpose but that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to be stubborn either.

"Doesn't matter, you're coming with me." He signed to make sure you were listening and turned around.

You made a noise and he glanced back at you to see the confused look on your face.

"Well?"

You got up a little haphazardly when he gave you a stern look and came up beside him with slight confusion before he nodded towards you.

"We'll get a jumper before leaving, it's cold."

Later Ghost sat at your desk with a plate of food from your favorite restaurant. He watched you eat on your bed in silence, the conversation going into a lull while the two of you were preoccupied with food.

He felt better that he had convinced you to eat but you still had that distant look in your eyes.

It wasn't until you set your utensils down that he understood why.

"My old team and I were close." You signed without looking at him. "Like a family."

"Most are." He said and truly believed it.

Though, he'd rather not admit it to anyone else but you.

"They're gone."

Ghost clenched his jaw. It hadn't occurred to him that your old team being gone was the reason why you transferred. He thought it was because you had outgrown them, you had gotten too skilled and wanted something more.

He didn't ask any questions especially as you tensed up.

"I don't want to lose you too."

His eyebrows knitted together. He's not entirely sure what brought along that but he didn't make any comment about it.

"You won't." He assured you but you shook your head.

You looked up at him and his heart sank from your pleading eyes. He watched you open your mouth as if you were trying to say something which made his chest tighten even more.

When nothing came out shame flashed across your face and you turned away from him.

Ghost said your name, your real name and you flinched before you shut your eyes tightly.

He didn't really think when he stood up and sat down beside you or when he gently grabbed your wrists. He wasn't one for physical touch, not until you came around and always spared him light taps on his arms or shoulders.

When you still didn't open your eyes he held your face gently and you finally looked at him.

He stared into your teary eyes and in that moment he nearly kissed you.

He wanted to. He wanted to kiss you to take away all of the pain you were feeling, to know what it felt like to feel your lips against his own and to show you how he truly felt. More than the times he walked with you or told you jokes to make you happy, more than everything else.

Ghost glanced down at your lips and he leaned forward.

It was the wrong moment.

He rested his forehead against yours and looked deep into your eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere." He stated firmly but low enough for only you to hear. "That's a promise."

You blinked a few times before you shut your eyes and a shaky breath escaped your chest. You wrapped your arms around him and it only took a moment for him to pull you into his lap and hold you tight.

You clung onto him and hid your face in the crook of his neck.

He rested his head against yours and wrapped his arms protectively around you in hopes that he could bring some sort of comfort to you without saying anything else.

Ghost lost track of the time and when he woke up in bed with you in his arms the next morning he realized he much preferred this to his own bed.

a/n: things will come about and they will open up eventually

Tags: @buckysjuicyplums @thedevillovesflowers @sleepyycatt

#quiet series #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost

273 notes · View notes

euseol · 4 months ago

Text

␥ ᡣ𐭩 reconnecting our love ── park wonbin smau

synopsis ᝰ.ᐟ after being forced to break up because of the public, jung yn just can’t seem to let park wonbin go.

word count ᝰ.ᐟ 909

note ᝰ.ᐟ thank you guys so much for 100+ followers 🥹🫶🏼

07 YN, ARE YOU OKAY?

“is everyone ready?” the manager called out as the members were rushing out the door with their bags. two suitcases were thrown into the trunk as everyone were heading inside the van.

“manager-nim, can we stop by for a minute to get fried chicken? we’re starving..” eunseok asked as he volunteered before. the manager shut the van door and looked back at the members who were already giving puppy eyes.

he let out a sigh, “we’re gonna be running late if we do that. i’m pretty sure the airport food is delicious.” he said, and he could hear the members whining.

“but manager-nim,” shotaro pout, “we haven’t had fried chicken in so long! and plus, we all want yangnyeom chicken, wonbin’s favorite! i doubt we’ll be able to find it in paris.”

“please manager-nim,”

the manager let out another sigh before turning on the van, “alright, fine. but we will be a few minutes late so once we arrive at the airport, no dilly-dallying, got it?”

finally, the members pouts went away and instead was replaced with a smile on their faces as they all agreed. “yes manager-nim!”

after a quick pit stop to get some fried chicken, the group finally arrived at the airport. however, since they were a little late there was only a few paparazzi waiting outside for them. as soon as they got out of the van, the few paparazzi who were waiting for them started shouting their names, which caught the attention of everyone else who were in the airport. it seemed like someone arrived before them.

ahead of the group were another small group of girls. who seemed to be you, sakura, nayeon, and karina. you immediately noticed the presence of the group and cursed to yourself.

“why did they have to arrive at the same time as us?” you mumbled underneath your breath but sakura, who was standing beside you, heard everything.

“hey yn, you were gonna see them sooner or later. did you forget they are on the same flight as us?” sakura asked, and you did happen to forget.

before you could say anything else, your manager was already telling you to hurry up and walk. you stared at the paparazzi’s flashing lights as you walked inside of the airport. you were met with a gush of swarming people already running towards you, but little did you know riize was right behind you guys.

suddenly the fans started to push and shove you out of the way so they could meet with the idol group. nayeon had a worried expression on her face as she watched the scene unfold. no one else was getting pushed except you, which made nayeon and everyone else upset.

your manager and the bodyguards tried to escort you as safely as possible, but the fans and paparazzi were too much at the moment. it’s not like they were ignoring you, they were still trying to talk to you and take pictures but they were also trying to hurry up so they could get a view of the group behind you.

you were so overwhelmed by the fans pushing and shoving you to the point you fell to the ground.

“oh my gosh yn are you okay!?” sakura shouted amidst the screams from the fans as she helped you get up. the bodyguards quickly circled around you guys so no one else could get hurt.

you got up from sakura’s help as nayeon and karina looked at you with concern plastered on their face. there was absolutely no time to talk so you gave them a reassuring signal that you were fine before having to move again.

riize, who was right behind you, witnessed everything and wonbin couldn’t help but stare at you in concern. he was too busy staring he didn’t even notice the swarm of people coming his way and the bodyguards circling around him and the members for protection. he couldn’t believe the situation that was unfolding and unknowingly glared at everyone.

shotaro noticed this and rest his hand on wonbin’s shoulder, “you’re making it obvious.” he said and the other snapped back into reality. “did you not see what happened just now? yn fell over because of these people!”

shotaro also glared at the people before returning back to wonbin, “yeah, i did. it’s crazy but if you glare at everyone like that you’ll start something again on the internet.”

the boy couldn’t have cared less as he continued to glare at the fans and paparazzi, showing in plain sight that he was disappointed and pissed off at their actions. it only took a few more minutes before they were out of the fan’s sight and waiting at their gate already.

sungchan noticed wonbin’s expression, “you good man?”

“mhm.”

shotaro signaled sungchan to leave the other alone for now as he was recollecting his peace. eunseok set the container of the chicken that they got earlier next to wonbin so he could eat and calm down.

“well, this is not what i wanted it to be like when i said airport here we come.” anton joked a little to sohee and seunghan who were just silently watching the others.

suddenly wonbin pulled out his phone and sungchan couldn’t help but be nosy and subtly watch him. he watched as he opened up his messages and scrolled through them, trying to find a certain person.

and let’s just say, sungchan looked quite shocked.

previous | masterlist | next

taglist (open) ᝰ.ᐟ @onlyhyunjin @gyehyeonist @secretiny @nujeskz @givemeakith @starwonb1n @regrool @saranghoeforanton @i03jae @meowbini @cherrytaesan @jakesimluver @ywnzn @taroddori @etherealiitty @chewchewtzuyu @nctrawberries @aloverga @lipsbyive @nctsshoes2 @injunnie-lemon @chuutaroo @naviiy @wiggledingle @ennycutie @astrae4 @yoursyuno @yla-aira @ffixtionista @nctseventeensworld @ssweetreveries @hakkkuu @mumeimei

153 notes · View notes

sweetyyhippyy · 2 months ago

Text

Secret. Steve Harrington x plus size fem! reader. *Angst/Fluff*

Summary: Steve and his girlfriend have a secret relationship. She wants that to change, but she fears he cares more about his reputation.

Word Count: 2.8k

TW: Allusion to car sex, mentions of body shaming, Steve caring too much about his reputation and being clueless, a bit of cheese.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You okay, honey?” Steve nudges his nose against hers softly, his body laying on top of hers in the backseat of his car. His hairy chest presses up against her bare chest.

The air in the car was heavy, the smell of her perfume and his cologne mixed with the scent of sex.

“Yeah, I’m good Stevie.” She smiles, pushing his hair back out of his face. “Just trying to come back to life a little bit.”

“You did so good, baby.” Steve kisses her lips sweetly, his hand holding her round cheek lovingly. “Always do.” He smiles before kissing her again.

Steve and her had been seeing each other for 6 months, but nobody at school knew about it other than her sister and her best friend Robin.

They both thought it was for the best that they keep their relationship quiet because of Steve’s friends and how cruel they could be.

She was brainy, beyond pretty, and super sweet to everyone.

Steve’s biggest worry was that his friends would make fun of her appearance.

She was one of the more curvaceous girls at school, and people already made snarky comments about her body, and somehow the comments always got back to her. She never let the comments bother her, she felt confident in her looks.

She wasn’t his normal type physically, but he loved and cared about her more than he had anyone else in his dating history. He always did little things to show her how much she meant to him: telling her how beautiful she was, spending his weekends with her whether it was at his house or hers, giving her a necklace with a heart charm.

At first she was all on board with the secret relationship, only giving each other small glances in the cafeteria and friendly smiles in the hallway. She appreciated the fact that Steve wanted to keep her away from the offensive remarks of his shitty friends.

Within the last few months, she started to regret their arrangement. She wanted to walk the halls with Steve holding hands while they go to class together, sit with him at lunch while he stole kisses from her, to go on dates in town and not in the next town over to avoid someone from school seeing them.

She couldn't help but feel like maybe he was embarrassed of her.

Prom was two weeks away, and she really wanted to go with Steve. There was multiple girls around school who were brave enough to ask Steve to go with them, but he turned them down, saying prom was lame and wasn’t his scene.

She pulls back from the kiss first, regretfully so. “I gotta be home in 20 minutes, Steve.”

Steve looks at the watch on his wrist. “Shit, lost track of time.” He kisses her forehead before sitting back up and rummaging through the discarded clothes in the front seat, handing her the stuff that belonged to her.

“Stevie… can I ask you something?” She breaks the silence as she tries to slip her skirt on.

“Of course babe. What’s on your mind?” He asks, throwing his shirt on.

She chews on the inside of her cheek, trying to figure out the best way of going about her question. “Do you ever think about, you know… maybe changing our arrangement?”

Steve raises his eyebrow, his mind already running through the possible scenarios she’s talking about. “What do you mean?”

“I mean us being a secret. Do you ever think about us not being a secret couple anymore?”

Steve leans back in the back seat, looking at his girlfriend and the quizzical look on her face. “I have, yeah. I just…” He sighs, his voice trailing at the end of the sentence.

“Just what?” The pit in her stomach growing harder. “Steve, I can’t be a secret anymore.”

“I know baby, I know. I’m just afraid of wh-,”

“You’re just afraid of what your stupid friends are going to say.” She interrupts. “Are you ashamed of what I look like?”

“What? Honey, no, no. I love the way you look, you know that.” He slides closer to her, softly taking her cheek and turning her to look at him. “I think you’re so beautiful, baby. I just don’t want my friends to say something about you and it hurt your feelings.”

“Wouldn’t you stick up for me? Tell them to leave me alone?”

“O-of course I would.” He shrugs his shoulders.

She pulls back from his hand, a knot in her throat forming. “You hesitated.”

“I didn’t mean to! Baby, please can we talk about this?”

She shakes her head, sighing to herself. “I gotta get home, Steve. My dad will flip if I’m late again.” She grabs her shoes from the floor, avoiding eye contact with him.

Steve sighs, getting out of the back of the car and heading to the driver's side to take her home. He watches her in the rear view mirror as she gets redressed and waits for her to join him up front, hoping to continue the conversation.

She slides back in the backseat, grabbing the seatbelt and fastening it across her chest, her gaze looking out the window.

He sighs again, turning the key and driving out of the empty lot.

***

The entire ride back to her house was silent, Steve was too distracted to even put the radio on.

He felt like the worst boyfriend, if she even wanted to consider him that anymore.

Of course he would have defended her against anyone at school who dared said anything negative about her, he was too hung up on what his friends would say to him.

He knew it was low and it was shallow and that it made him a piece of shit, but his image meant a lot to him, but so did she. He felt guilty even admitting in his head that.

The car rolls into her driveway, getting her home 5 minutes early.

Steve parks the car and turns to the backseat, hoping to talk more with his girlfriend before she went in for the night.

He watched her grab her bag and jacket, not once looking up at him nor speaking to him, and shove the door open. “Honey, just wait a second.”

Steve opens his door, following her up to her front door. “Can you give me just 30 seconds?”

She looks up at him for the first time since their conversation in the backseat, her eyes glossy and slightly puffy from tears that she had wiped away silently on the ride home. “Just give me some space, Steve.” She shakes her head as she turns away from him to unlock her door and walk in, slamming the door in his face.

“Fuck.” Steve sighs, a pit in his stomach forming. He wanted to ring the doorbell and beg her to answer the door, but he knew she hated his guts right now.

Steve hated his own guts.

***

The weekend came and went, Steve had called all weekend wanting to talk to her but she gave her sister the job of telling him to stop calling- which he didn’t do.

She pulls into the parking lot of school, the parking lot always busier than normal on Mondays. She finds an empty spot in the middle of the busy parking lot and pulls in.

“Are you going to talk to hair boy?” Her sister, Lyla asks as she collects her bag from the backseat.

She shoots her sister a disapproving look, rolling her eyes. “Don’t call him that. And probably not. We never talk at school anyway so.” She shrugs her shoulders.

“Are you guys going to break up?”

She sighs, looking out the windshield. “I don’t know, Lyla. I love him a lot, but I also want to be able to love him in public, not in secret anymore.”

“If my opinion means anything, I think you deserve to be shown off by the person you love. Definitely not hidden.”

She looks over at her sister, giving her a warm smile. “Look at us having grown up conversations. Thanks Lyla.”

As she heads into the building, she looks around the halls for Steve, wondering if he would show up to school today.

She stops at her locker to grab a book she needed for her English class. From behind her she could hear the unmistakable goose like honk come from Tommy as he laughed about something funny.

She looks at the mirror that hung on the inside of her locker door, seeing all of Steve’s friends over by Carol’s locker talking and laughing. Her eyes land on Steve, meeting his eyes in the reflection.

He stared at her from afar, wanting to walk up to her and hug her, tell her how sorry he was for being a dickhead. Steve also wanted to tell her that she looked pretty in the baby blue skirt she was wearing, he loved the color blue on her.

“Steve!” Becca snaps in his face to wake him from his daydream.

He blinks quickly, looking down and glaring at Becca. “What?” He quips at her.

“I asked if you were skipping first period. The bell just rang.”

“Oh, uh… no. I gotta get going.” He pushes past Tommy and Carol, hoping to meet his girlfriend at her locker as he passed by, but as he looked down the hall he could see the back of her head halfway to her class.

***

The morning flew by and the cafeteria was loud and buzzing.

Her friend Robin waved her down from the corner of the cafeteria with a big smile on her face.

She moves through the room of people over to their usual lunch table, putting the plastic tray down next to Robin’s. “Hey.” She smiles at her, sitting next to her.

“Hey. So remember how I told you my mom was going on a baking frenzy this weekend? I told her how big a fan you are of her brownies and I brought you some.” She slides a bag over to her.

“Thanks Robin. I actually really needed something to make me smile today.”

“Uh-oh. Something happen with Mr. Perfect this weekend?”

She gives Robin a flat face, nodding her head.

“Does that mean I’m coming over after school for hot chocolate and girl talk?”

She can’t help but snort out a laugh. “Hot chocolate? Robin, it’s May.”

“But girl talk always has hot chocolate.” The tone of her voice sounding offended that she was denying her of hot chocolate.

Before she can banter back with Robin the chair across from them screeches as it gets pulled back and someone sits down in it.

“Ladies.” Steve smiles his best “million dollar smile” at them, his gaze lingering on hers.

A few of the other people sitting at the table look at Steve with raised brows and confused faces.

Was he lost?

“What are you doing?” She asks, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

“I want to talk to you. I’m hoping you want to talk to me too.”

She chews on the inside of her bottom lip, looking down at her lunch tray.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. But at least hear me out?”

Her eyes flick up to stare at him, motioning at him with her hand for him to speak.

“I’m a jerk, I know that and I need to work on that. But I want you to know more importantly, I love you so much, I love everything about you and I hope you can forgive me for what happened on Friday night.”

“Wow.” Robin pipes up from next to her, shoving a chip in her mouth. “That was good. It took you all weekend to come up with that?”

Steve can’t help but shoot her a confused look.

“Robs.” She sighs, digging into her backpack to retrieve a crumpled up dollar. “How about you go get yourself a soda and walk back real slow?”

Robin snatches the money from her friend and stands up. “Okay but I want a word for word conversation break down tonight… with hot chocolate.” She whispers in her ear as she walks away.

She shakes her head at her friend before focusing back on Steve.

His face looked hopeful as he stared at her, waiting for her to speak to him.

“Steve, my problem was never you not loving me. My problem is I asked if you wanted to change our arrangement and you showing me off as your girlfriend. My problem is I feel like you’re embarrassed to do any of that because of how I look. That’s my problem.”

Steve sighs, fidgeting with his hands on the table. “I’m not embarrassed. I’ll admit that I was a little nervous of what people would say to me about dating you and I thought people would talk shit. But I realized that I would rather have that, than to not have you.”

She drops her gaze from him, going silent for a while, racking her brain for the best way to say what was on her mind.

“Talk to me, honey.”

“I feel like… I feel like it shouldn’t have taken us getting into it for you to realize that you would rather have me in your life than to deal with people whispering about you and your girlfriend in the halls, Steve.”

Steve was speechless, this was not how he expected things to go at all.

“Maybe us dating wasn’t such a good idea after all, Steve. I don’t think you’re ready for a relationship with someone that you aren’t comfortable with being public with.” She grabs her backpack and gets up out of the chair, starting to walk away from the table.

“Wait! Wait, honey no, don’t walk away please?” He pleads as he flies out of his chair and grabs her hand.

She stops mid step, getting pulled back toward Steve’s body.

“I don’t care about my reputation, I don’t care what anyone has to say about our relationship. Yes I should have realized that sooner, but after not talking to you all weekend and not having you by my side, I know that i can’t handle not having you in my corner again. I can’t handle losing you.” He says softly to her. “Please, let me show you I can do all the things you want me to do. Let me prove I’m ready.”

Tears looked like they could fall from Steve’s big chestnut eyes any second, the palm of his hand felt clammy as he held her.

“Okay.” She says, barely audible enough for Steve to hear.

“Yeah?” Steve smiles at her. “Yeah? Okay, just wait right here, right there for two seconds. Don’t move.” He lets go of her hand and walks away and behind her.

She awkwardly stands in the middle of the cafeteria, earning a few glances from other students who were sitting in the surrounding tables.

Her eyes catch Robin on the other side of the cafeteria as she scans the room for any sign of Steve.

“What’s he doing?” She mouths.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs.

For a split second she sees Robin’s attention turn to behind her friend, a small pout forming on her face before a bouquet of flowers comes into her vision.

She follows the flowers up toward Steve, a warm smile on her face as she takes the bouquet from him.

Steve clears his throat loudly, lifting his foot up and jumping up onto the top of the table, making a few of the girls there gasp loudly.

“Excuse me!” Steve bellows, earning looks from more than half the room. “Hey! Shut up.”

She’s frozen in her spot, her heart beating out of her chest as she watches Steve.

What was he doing?

“I wanted to ask my girlfriend, yes my beautiful girlfriend of six months, if she would do me the honor of going to prom with her idiot boyfriend.”

Quiet whispers scatter throughout, more than likely wondering if Steve really referred to her as his girlfriend, and if he really asked her to prom.

“Steven!” She says through her teeth, feeling hot in her face at the attention she was getting.

“What do you say, honey? You want to go to prom together?”

All eyes were on her, waiting for her to answer.

“Yeah I’ll go to prom with you. Please get down.” She looks at him with pleading eyes, feeling embarrassed that everyone was looking at them.

Steve jumps down from the table top, grabbing her cheeks and kissing her lips.

The normal commotion of the cafeteria goes back after Steve puts his feet on the floor, everyone already losing interest in the new to them, old to her and Steve’s relationship.

“You’re nuts, Steve.”

“Yeah, nuts about you.”

She can’t help but laugh loudly, “Eww you cheeseball.” She fake gags. “All jokes aside, thank you for doing that.” She says as she presses a kiss to his cheek. “No matter how embarrassing that was.” She jokes.

Steve looks over to the table his friends usually sits at, Carol, Tommy, Becca, and Lucas all giving them glaring stares. He sighs, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “You want to officially introduce me to Robin?”

“You don’t know what you’re in for.” She quips.

#Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington angst #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington x fem reader #Steve Harrington x fem! reader #Steve Harrington x plus size reader #Steve Harrington x plus size! reader #Steve Harrington fic #Steve Harrington fluff fic #Steve Harrington x angst fic

111 notes · View notes

wordsinhaled · 4 months ago

Text

i'm thinking about "my smile is pretty convincing" some more, and about the way charles flirts with edwin, and...

my thought process: okay, it probably isn't actually heartbreaking - or at least it doesn't have to be, it's cute, it can just be cute, so i should just leave it alone and not read too much into it (and i also haven't finished my coffee this morning, so this might not be very coherent), but.

but—

this need charles has to convince others with his manner... convince them that he's okay no matter what's going on inside. convince them they're going to be okay because he's there to help and keep them safe. convince them to like him ("everyone likes me in the end"). like, without that convincing smile to sway them, to take them in, to seal the deal, so to speak, underneath there's this roiling pit of ugly things that will push people away: fear; hurt; anger; violence.

he's got a history of anger and violence that runs so deep he still hasn't figured out which parts of what he carries inside were his father's emotions aimed to wound him and which are his own; still hasn't sorted what he's allowed to feel and what he absolutely positively isn't allowed to feel because it just isn't safe - he isn't safe, for himself or others. especially for others.

it hasn't sunk in for charles yet that he is already breaking the cycle he's so afraid of; that his own anger comes from helplessness, not hatred, and that the only violence he does is in defense of those he loves or those weaker than himself. he's terrified deep down that if his smile isn't enough, there's nothing else to him. no other power he has to affect anything. and he could hurt people he loves, if he doesn't focus on that smile. the only kind of love charles knows is the whistle of a belt through the air, the warning before the sting. he could hurt people anyway, but at least the smile lets everyone pretend it isn't inevitable.

his smile is pretty convincing. it convinced edwin for thirty years that he had nothing horrible going on hurting him under the surface. (but, and i digress, it does have degrees - he's completely out of it after the devlin house, staring off into space, and his smile and bravado are shadows of their usual. but even then, he still manages to pacify his friends that he's fine - he's fine, he's brills. he was convincing enough for them not to look deeper.)

but thinking about it in the context of his flirting with edwin? edwin, who's just admitted he's fallen in love with charles? charles doesn't say something silly, or awkward, or trivial, like "your face is pretty mint." he says something that reveals him.

"my smile is pretty convincing," he says, and he leans into edwin's space because he knows now that he can, that edwin loves him, that edwin is in love with him. and isn't that the thing? somehow, somehow his smile was too good. he played his part too well. it was so convincing that it took edwin all the way in, in too far, and now edwin's in love; he's caught; he's fooled that charles has got substance, that charles has got something worth loving, underneath.

charles wants to believe so badly that it isn't just his smile. that it's him edwin loves, is in love with - all of him, even the ugly parts. edwin says with such confidence that charles is the best person he knows. but edwin doesn't know many people. he'd wanted to say that, then - but he'd caved, and hugged edwin instead. because he'd wanted, for once, not to deflect, to just let himself feel the comfort edwin was offering.

and it was so nice - it is so nice. it's too nice for him, he's going to break it but he almost doesn't care. edwin's love, his care? it's everything. he fucking loves it. he could drown in it and it wouldn't be like the lake at all. peace and kindness and calm - essence of edwin, of what he offers freely to charles. charles wants it all the time. and now he knows he could have it, it's his. edwin thinks he deserves it.

he wants to believe he can convince edwin to think he's worthy of it forever.

and maybe he can.

after all - his smile is pretty convincing.

#breaking my own heart here with sad charles hours so y'all have to suffer too #dbda #dead boy detective agency #charles rowland #payneland #'CHARLES FELL FIRST' AGENDA #child abuse tw

187 notes · View notes

healer-pop · 6 months ago

Note

hii im here to add to ur ask night LOOL any personal ideas on how venture flirts? like what kind of stuff they say to get you going etc.

okok ok. bare with me but there is so much I want to get into here. there’s differences in Venture’s flirting style depending on a couple of things:

1.) your relationship to them

this is the biggest circumstance that changes most of their style, mainly because they are far too nervous to fuck up any possibility once they’ve gotten too attached, but if they just have a slight crush on you, it’ll be less obvious.

I’m talking about the difference between Venture knocking over everyone’s morning drink while trying to get you yours, stumbling over their words hopelessly, walking into a pit accidentally while talking to you, and just otherwise being a fool while head over heels in love with you, too scared to make a move or confession (especially if you’re a more reserved person!) because they appreciate your time and company more than any romantic motives they might have, even though it’s completely obvious to everyone not the two of you AND being such a goof ball you just have the absolute unbearable urge to kiss their flushed cheeks, even platonically, having inside jokes with you that make you laugh so hard your ribs hurt for days, always knowing your favorite of everything, bursting out dancing with them when some sort of goofy song starts on their playlist, and them inviting you to watch the stars with them.

they’re not mutually exclusive, one can edge into the other easily, but Venture sometimes has a problem catching up with their own emotions when they’re so focused on archeology first and everything else second. it tends to be the latter one first which progresses into the other one, but it can seriously go either way. but either way, they aren’t outright flirting with you because they just don’t seem to be that type *cough, cough* wORKAHOLIC. unless Tracer and D.Va are having a best pickup line competition, then you’ll see a bit more of their witty, smoother side. But again, it’s not serious, until…

you get into a relationship with them

this is where Venture absolutely thrives. and this isn’t a second section because this is dependent on what your status to them is. your partner flirts with you in so many different ways, it’s almost hard to keep track of. they are so loving that it’s seriously all encompassing. before I move on, I’ll just state that they are way more self-assured when your relationship status to them is clear and stable. at the beginning, they’ll be more mild, but as time goes on, they’ll get more openly affectionate to the point that it’s nearly impossible to tell you guys AREN’T together. it’s very ebb and flow, though, because Venture spends a ton of time in the field, and when you guys aren’t together, it tends to come over text/calls, which is obviously more private.

so going down the list:

Venture loves to use cheesy pick up lines on you!!! Humor is a major part of their personality and you’ll catch lines like “Are you a Shambali monk? Because you’re totally transcending my mind.” and “I would never bury our love in a coniferous forest, because the acidity of the soil would ruin any chance of preservation.” they don’t really care who’s around to hear as long as they’ve got you either giggling or hiding your face in embarrassment. definitely to the dismay of the other Wayfinders, lol. they’ll shout it across a field, down from a pit to hear their words of love echo back to you.

They will always carry your favorite snacks and drinks in their pack or pockets! Those cargo pants have huge pockets and Venture puts them to good use, by always having your favorites on hand, when you visit them at their excavation sites! It’s so sweet, and 100% done for your own happiness. They always manage to know just what you’re craving and have it nearby. It’s like a primal thing or something. Being able to always nourish your love.

PHYSICAL TOUCH!!!!!!! Venture is a super, duper touchy person when they are in a relationship with you. Not so much when it’s anyone else. Their compliments may always seem physical, but that’s because it’s their love language. Noticing how soft your hair looks, or how plush your lips are… it’s like a Freudian slip. They’re basically asking to kiss or pet you, whatever they mention at the time is on their mind. Later in the relationship, they’ll end up just doing what they want to do before it comes out, but hugging, kissing, or always having a hand on your waist is second nature to them. It’s also a huge turn on to them, when you reciprocate. Even brushing your hair through their hair has them pulling you off for a quick make-out session. They are completely shameless about your ruffled clothes and tangled hair. The hickies too. Those are like Venture’s personal touches on the masterpiece that is your body.

Finally, their texts and calls. when they aren’t by your side, they crave you. they crave your company and attention. expect flowery, overly emoji-ed, gushy texts, from them whenever they get a chance. prefers video calls so they can see your face. they blow up your phone at lunchtime and fall asleep with you on call.

WOW THIS GOT LONG LOL SORRY I AM SO PASSIONATE ABT MY CHEESY LOML

#𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ messages from the red string of fate #sloane cameron #sloan cameron #venture overwatch #sloane cameron x reader #venture x reader #overwatch x reader #venture ow2 #overwatch venture #ow2

136 notes · View notes

gravitywonagain · 10 months ago

Text

Inquiring Minds

holy shit, i finished a thing. well, a draft of a thing, but still counts!

based on this post about wwx being just dead enough be susceptible to the compulsion of inquiry

It was, in retrospect, the stupidest possible way to be found out. Wei Wuxian will readily admit that. Unfortunately, the level of stupidity was not a determining factor for the level of reality — as was the case for so much of Wei Wuxian’s life.

It all happened because one of the two dozen Jin disciples who bothered to show up to the war got a little drunk and a lot prideful and ended up starting a fight he couldn’t finish. Or, that was the going theory, anyway. The Jin leadership — such as it was — wanted an investigation done. As if they had nothing better to do. As if there weren’t reasons to be conserving spiritual power and not wasting it playing Inquiry for a guy who had decided to pick a fight — hopefully, hopefully it was a fight — with a Nie disciple who, granted, did not have the startling musculature of some of her shixiongs, but was still a fucking Nie disciple!

This guy was not worth their time. This guy was not worth Lan Zhan’s time. Or his attention, or his spiritual power, or the stress it would put on his guqin strings— okay, maybe Wei Wuxian should have taken a moment to purge some of his resentment before walking into the tent.

But he didn’t. This is important.

Because then Lan Zhan began to play.

And there was this strange… tugging sensation in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s gut, right where his golden core was supposed to be, pulling him toward Lan Zhan, or toward the empty space in front of Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have ignored it. He gets that now. He does. But he always wanted to be near Lan Zhan, and his body had been doing all kinds of weird shit since he’d had his core cut out, and who was to say this wasn’t just another weird side effect.

Well. It was. A weird side effect. After a fashion.

But that’s not the point!

He should have noticed then. He should have left then. But he didn’t.

The melody changed and the tugging sensation stopped. Which was great!

Until something else started. It felt like a kind of drunkenness, light and hazy in his head, loose around his tongue. Three or four bowls in.

He shook himself to dislodge it, but the motion only drew a sharp glare from Jiang Cheng.

The tent was full of spectators. At least two representatives from each major clan were present, plus several “close friends” of the victim -- like four of the fifteen total Jin disciples -- who probably just wanted something else to do outside of eat, sleep, and fight. Wei Wuxian couldn’t blame them, exactly, war was remarkably boring most of the time, but it was getting awfully stuffy in there.

Lan Zhan changed the melody again, something almost lexical about it. Wei Wuxian could almost hear the question being asked, even before Zewu Jun’s voice chimed in, translating for anyone who didn’t know the qin language — which was pretty much everyone else in the tent besides the Twin Jades — “What is your name?”

Wei Wuxian caught his own response between his lips, pressing them together tightly, as the guqin sounded three distinct notes which Zewu Jun reported as Jin Zixin.

So, good. It was the right guy. That was great. Nothing weird at all.

He should have left then. He didn’t.

Lan Zhan played again, and again Wei Wuxian thought he understood the phrase, the question, even before Zewu Jun said for the tent, “How did you die?”

Wei Wuxian felt the answer fly to the tip of his tongue and bit his teeth around it, through it. His cheek bled with the force of keeping quiet.

It was weird. So weird. But maybe, Wei Wuxian justified to himself, maybe it was just an effect of holding a secret inside for so long and having someone actually ask the question out loud. Maybe, it was just the same automatic reaction of answering with your name when someone asked for it. Maybe he was just too fucking tired, and the resentment under his skin just wanted something to laugh at, something to entertain itself with. Like the five of ten Jins standing in the back of the tent. War was boring, okay?

The notes from Lan Zhan’s guqin hung in the air, resonant and waiting. The moment seemed to stretch out too long. It dragged and Wei Wuxian gradually felt the words stop fighting him to escape.

But the Jin ghost didn’t answer either.

When Lan Zhan played the same phrase over — “How did you die?” echoed on Zewu Jun’s tongue — the compulsion was much stronger. This time it was like Wei Wuxian could feel Lan Zhan’s spiritual power pouring through him; the strongest of wines, several jars of it.

He couldn’t fight it.

His mouth opened.

I fell. I fell. I fell.

“I fell.”

All eyes in the tent turned to him.

Jiang Cheng’s elbow caught him in the ribs. He didn’t even bother to glare. He said, “Not you, Idiot.”

The qin sounded and everybody looked back to Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun, waiting to hear the Jin disciple’s answer.

Zewu Jun hesitated for the barest of moments, stuttering into the start of his translation before finding the confidence of his voice once more, recounting whatever it was that the ghost had strummed out.

Wei Wuxian didn’t hear a word he said. He was, instead, pierced on two sides.

On one: Jiang Cheng muttered to himself, “Wait,” and then his eyes went wide as he looked back at Wei Wuxian.

On the other: Lan Zhan’s fingers froze above the strings of his guqin and he turned to stare over his shoulder at Wei Wuxian with something like horrified understanding dawning within his gaze.

Wei Wuxian finally realized he should fucking leave. Immediately.

He wanted to run. He knew better. Knew what that would look like.

Instead, he was going to simply walk out of this tent as he had walked out of so many already during this campaign. Gravel crunched under his heel as he turned.

But his brother knew him too well. Jiang Cheng’s hand clamped tight around Wei Wuxian’s bicep, his grip unyielding. With his golden core, Wei Wuxian might have been able to break it. But the real bitch of it was that it was his golden core that was holding him in place.

Jiang Cheng tensed as if readying for a fight, but Wei Wuxian already knew how that fight would end. So he let himself be restrained.

He turned back to face the Inquiry.

Lan Zhan was still staring at him when Zewu Jun finished speaking. He was still so stuck in place that his brother had to prompt him into finishing the ritual. Which he did, with all the grace and skill expected of him. He really was just so beautiful to watch.

All the while, Wei Wuxian listened to the music and bit through his tongue to keep it silent. The questions continued to drag at him -- “Do you know who killed you?” Wen Chao. “Do you have any last requests?” To leave this fucking tent. -- though the pressure to answer eased significantly as the Jin ghost became less stubborn about it. Wei Wuxian settled for reciting the answers to them in his head until they no longer felt pressed against the thin seam of his mouth.

It took approximately sixteen-hundred years.

All seven Jin disciples supporting the war effort left the tent after the ghost had recounted his final moments. The attempted sexual assault was not unexpected, judging by their faces, but still disappointing to hear about. Clearly not the entertainment they were hoping for. Luckily for Wei Wuxian, they were apparently too wrapped up in their Jin nonsense to realize new entertainment was fidgeting in the corner and trying not to sever the tip of his tongue completely.

The Nie, represented by Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, left shortly after the ritual concluded. If Nie Mingjue had to tug his brother away, Wei Wuxian was too busy keeping his mouth shut to comment on it.

And then there were just the four of them. Plus the corpse. But they were like six months into a war, so the corpse didn’t actually seem to bother any of them. It hadn’t even started to smell yet. It was still pretty intact, too, and now that it was verifiably a criminal, Wei Wuxian wondered idly if the Jin would let him use it in their next battle. Probably not.

His idle wondering ceased abruptly as his brother’s fingers bit deeper into the meat of his arm.

“Wei Wuxian,” he said, all of his surely filial worry for his gege boiling over into a spitting, incandescent fury. He never had to say he loved his brother, Wei Wuxian could always tell. It was the teeth gnashing that gave him away. “What the fuck do you mean you fell?”

Right.

Wei Wuxian played it as cool as he could with a definitely-not-bleeding tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jiang Cheng.” He shrugged, but his arm didn’t move very far.

“You answered Inquiry,” said Lan Zhan. Succinct as ever.

“No!” Wei Wuxian said, maybe a little too loud, but not at all childishly.

Zewu Jun narrowed his eyes and pulled out his xiao. Wei Wuxian tried not to flinch about it, he did. But Zewu Jun only played a short, non-Inquiry melody, and a shimmering, blue barrier manifested around the interior of the tent.

“No,” Wei Wuxian said again, this time at a totally normal volume. “I was just… messing around. You know how I do that, Lan Zhan. Always a rule breaker.” He grinned, desperately trying to play it all off. Realizing faster and faster how very badly this was going for him.

Lan Zhan surprised him, then, saying, “Not when it matters.”

“What?”

“Wei Ying doesn’t break rules when they matter.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t know where the fuck that was coming from. But he couldn’t say he hated it.

Except that he did, because it was going to be a problem for this whole I’m just a silly rascal defense he was setting up.

Jiang Cheng still hadn’t let go of his arm. His fingernails were starting to split the fabric of his sleeve. And worse, his eyebrows were scrunched together in the way they do when he’s thinking through all the angles of a problem.

Zewu Jun still had his xiao in hand, and he was looking at Wei Wuxian like he was deciding whether to perform an exorcism or an execution.

But Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan hadn’t moved from his seat on the mat. He had turned his body so that he was facing Wei Wuxian, giving him his full attention, and was looking up at him with… pain in his eyes. Shining, wet pain.

“You died?” he asked. “Are you dead?”

“I don’t…” Wei Wuxian trailed off. He couldn’t find the words.

He didn’t know. Which was, possibly, not the best sign.

“I can’t be dead,” he said, looking over at Zewu Jun, Jiang Cheng, then back to Lan Zhan. “Can I?”

Zewu Jun, still wary, said, “You responded to the compulsion in Inquiry. Inquiry is a song that speaks to and compels answers from the dead. It does not generally work on the living.”

“Well--” Wei Wuxian started, defensive and scared. But again, he didn’t really know where to go with that.

“Where were you, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asked him. “Why didn’t you meet me at the bottom of the hill?”

Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun shared a look. They didn’t seem to know what Jiang Cheng was talking about. But Wei Wuxian really, really, didn’t want to get into that whole mess. If anyone was going to see right through him and his flimsy tale about suddenly remembering the location of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, it would be Lan Zhan. Actually, Zewu Jun would probably figure it out, too. And then maybe even Jiang Cheng. Now that he wasn’t all broken and desperate and gullible.

Fuck. With the way Jiang Cheng was looking at Wei Wuxian, the way his hand released some of the pressure around his arm, he might already have.

Wei Wuxian laughed, hoping it came off more smoothly than it felt in his chest. “Ah, Jiang Cheng.” He brought his own hand up to lay over his brother’s. “What if I told you--”

“No,” Jiang Cheng cut him off. “No more bullshit. Where were you?”

The mirth, false as it was, drained out of Wei Wuxian as he saw the pain building behind his brother’s eyes.

There was movement in his periphery and then Lan Zhan was standing on his other side. His fingers wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s other arm with a much gentler grip than Jiang Cheng’s. Something imploring about the touch. Like he was seeking confirmation to a theory, or maybe proving to himself that Wei Wuxian was actually there.

“I…” Wei Wuxian trailed off.

Zewu Jun’s gaze was hard as steel, but aimed, it seemed, at Lan Zhan’s hand, rather than at Wei Wuxian in general.

“There was a rumor,” he said in slow, even words, “that Wen Chao had thrown you into the Burial Mounds.” He waited a moment after he finished speaking, as if trying to reconcile the words himself, before he looked up to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

Of course, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to meet Zewu Jun’s eyes. He didn’t want to meet any of their eyes. He wanted very much to be out of this tent and away from knowing gazes altogether.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite figured out how to teleport using resentful energy yet. So in the tent he remained.

He looked down at his feet. His boots were crusted with dirt and blood and other bodily fluids. War really was super gross, in addition to being largely boring.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, still looking down. “Everyone knows that nothing leaves the Burial Mounds.”

Lan Zhan’s hand tightened around Wei Wuxian’s arm. Jiang Cheng’s loosened, but didn’t let go.

“Yeah,” said Jiang Cheng, like an accusation, “it would be impossible.”

Wei Wuxian still didn’t look up from his feet which meant that he missed whatever silent conversation happened between Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan that had both of them tightening their grips on his arms just before fingers were pressed to the pulse points of his wrists. He struggled, flailing as much as he could, but against Lan Zhan’s golden core and his own, he stood no chance. He could barely budge them.

He screamed but the sound only reverberated inside the tent.

The only thing he could think to do was to call up the dead. The dead man still lying in front of them. The Jin. Rapist. Criminal. He could use that wicked corpse to fight off the people holding him down, taking his secrets. Smoke curled out of his sleeves and he--

He stopped himself.

It was over anyway.

Even if they couldn’t read his spiritual energy, or lack thereof, his fighting them was confirmation enough.

He went limp in their grasp. His knees buckled.

It really was the stupidest possible way to be found out.

“Where is it?” asked Jiang Cheng. But it was clear from his voice that he already knew the answer.

Lan Zhan was silent.

Zewu Jun looked to his brother for an answer, not understanding what they had just discovered.

“His golden core,” said Lan Zhan. “It’s gone.”

“Wen Zhuliu?” Zewu Jun asked.

But Jiang Cheng made a sound that was somehow both a laugh and a sob.

Wei Wuxian regained control of his arms. He sprawled himself out on the tent floor, exhausted from his struggle. He laughed, too. “After a fashion.”

Jiang Cheng fell to the ground next to him, hands cradling the place where Wei Wuxian’s core now spun. “What the fuck?” he said, quietly, to no one in particular. Then, loudly, to Wei Wuxian in particular, “What the fuck!”

His cheeks were wet. Jiang Cheng’s, his own. He looked over to confirm, and yeah, Lan Zhan’s too. Zewu Jun had nothing to cry over, except maybe confusion, but he was too cool for that, so he just stood in the middle of the tent, shocked, presumably, as his brother, another sect leader, and a demonic cultivator broke down around him.

Wei Wuxian stared up at the tented canvas ceiling and cursed himself for not leaving the tent when he first noticed something wrong.

“Jiang Cheng,” he started, but Jiang Cheng cut him off with a wet yell.

“Why would you do that, you fucking idiot?! What the fuck were you even thinking?! How did you-- How--”

He seemed to lose steam trying to figure out what happened on “Baoshen Sanren’s mountain” and potentially also why Baoshen Sanren’s voice sounded so familiar.

Zewu Jun’s voice was remarkably calm for a man witnessing-- whatever he made of what he was currently witnessing. He said, “Wei Wuxian, I believe your Sect Leader would like to know how you lost your golden core.”

Wei Wuxian laughed at that. Because yes and no.

“No, Zewu Jun,” he said, still laughing. He tried to stop, but it was just too funny. “No,” he said again, slightly more sober, “he wants to know why and how he now has my golden core.”

He didn’t really mean to say it. He felt drunk again, like he did when Lan Zhan was playing Inquiry. Ready to spill all his secrets at only the slightest provocation. Zewu Jun could probably ask him just about anything right now -- Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng too, for that matter -- and he would answer it. It wasn’t exactly a safe mindset to be in. But he couldn’t really do anything about that now.

At least there was some kind of privacy barrier over the tent.

Zewu Jun stood. Speechless.

Lan Zhan’s tears fell silently.

Jiang Cheng glared, hands clutched tight against his lower dantian -- whether to hold something inside or to tear it out, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure.

Wei Wuxian felt light as a feather. Drunk and dizzy with it. A weight had been lifted, he supposed, but one he was never supposed to let go. His laughter died down to the occasional press of his lungs. Tears collected in his eyelashes until everything was blurry.

Emptiness yawned inside him, but it was gentler somehow. As if the secret itself had been clawing away at his slowly healing wounds.

“Fuck,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh. And again, quieter, “Fuck.”

He really should have left the fucking tent.

Also, wait. Was he dead?!

(7/18/24: now on ao3)

#wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #lan xichen #inquiry.mp3 #mdzs #the untamed #cql #fanfiction #my writing #inquiring minds #hey look i wrote a thing!#i actually finished a draft of something!#now if only i can aim this energy toward projects that other people actually care about...........

340 notes · View notes

issdisgrace · 8 months ago

Text

LIST OF THINGS I THINK DIGGER HARKNESS LIKE TO INDULGE IN

WARNINGS: NSFW, hide your eyes minors, holy men don’t read

A/N: Was tired and horny when writing this. Also shout out to @rodolfoparras for putting these thoughts into my head. Also sorry if it’s a little repetitive.

Blood kink - Use your blood, his blood, or someone else’s blood as lube to stretch him open. Smear blood all over him and tell him how pretty he is.

Bondage - Ropes, handcuffs, zip ties, whatever just tie him up and fuck him dumb.

Breath play - Wrap your hand around his neck as you fuck him and only let go when he’s starting to lose consciousness, pinch his nose shut while he’s giving you a blowjob and make almost blackout before fucking his mouth.

Breeding kink - Breed him from dusk to dawn, fill him full of cum, plug him up afterwards, make him go on his day filled with your cum and painfully hard because he can’t get the fact he’s filled with your cum off his mind.

СВТ - Tie him up, step on him, slap him, Christ bite him and this man is cumming the second anything happens. He fucking loves the pain, he survives and thrives off of it.

Degradation - Call him a slut, call him a whore, call him any degrading name you can think of and he will fucking eat it up, getting harder and harder with each word.

Orgasm control - Deny him, overstimulate him, just whatever you do make sure he can only cum on your terms and conditions.

Feminization kink - Call him baby girl or your woman, make him wear women’s clothes, make him wear makeup, get him all pretty then fuck him till his makeup is ruined and his clothes are torn to shreds.

Gun kink - Hold your gun to his head while you fuck him or while he gives you a blowjob. Let a shot out into wall or even someone near you and he’s fucking cum everywhere.

Humiliation - Make fun of his cock, make fun of everything about him, and he will cum hands free.

Impact play - Slap him, spank him, punch him, kick him, and he will get absolutely rock fucking solid. He loves the pains.

Knife kink - Cut him, fuck him with your knife against his throat, carve your initials into him, make him lick his blood off your knife, smear his blood across with your knife.

Manhandling - Throw him around like a fucking rag doll. Pick him up and fuck him against the wall. Even better fuck him mid air.

Marking kink - Digger loves for everyone to know that he’s yours but also yours his. Hickeys, bites, scratches, etc, loves them all to death.

Piss kink - Piss in him, piss on him, he’s in fucking heaven. He’s drinking it up (literally). Make him feel like a fucking pig.

Praise - Tell him how good he is for you. Tell him that he is a good boy. Just praise the absolute shit out of him and make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Public/Semi Public - Diggers really horny for you all the time so he couldn’t care less on location. He loves the risk of being caught and actually being caught.

Scent kink - He obsessed with the way you smell. He wants his face buried in your pits or into your crotch at least 4 hours a day. Steals your clothes and gets off to your smell.

Size kink - This goes with the manhandling. Digger loves that you’re bigger and taller than him. Just you standing next to him got him hot under the collar.

Somnophilia - Man is a heavy sleeper so you can just use him and he wouldn’t even know and that’s so fucking hot to him. He loves when he wakes up and can feel your cum dripping out of him.

Spit kink - Please spit on him, spit in his mouth, spit on his hole, spit on his cock. He fucking loves it makes him feel dirty and hot.

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #dc #captain boomerang x male reader #captain boomerang x reader #digger harkness x male reader #digger harkness x reader #dc x male reader #dc x reader

183 notes · View notes

thatsmzbitchtoyou · 3 months ago

Text

Pretty P.A. Chapter 5

Summary: Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion modeling agency director in the industry for the past 13 years. They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes. He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him. Change always takes time, but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her. **curvy reader** **Y/N/N = Your nickname ** Warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from Bucky), some violence, blood, smut

Previous chapter Next chapter

The next few weeks were just as awkward. Y/N was back to her professional demeanor with Bucky. Other people in the office could feel the tension, but tried to ignore it as much as she was. They got the job done, going about their business as usual, but there was always an undercurrent of something uncomfortable between them.

After another strange Friday Y/N left for the day before Bucky. She had made it all the way out to her car before realizing she had left her keys on her desk. She groaned and headed back inside the building. Everyone else had left at that point as she took the elevator up and walked through the office to her desk. As she approached her desk and reached for her keys she heard a noise coming from Bucky’s office. She stood still and waited to see what it was. After a few moments she heard it again. It sounded like panted breaths, then a moan, then “Y/N.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she carefully picked up her keys, trying not to make a sound. She started to back away slowly, tip-toeing towards the exit, then her heel caught on the trash can by the edge of her desk, falling over and thumping loudly against the floor. She grimaced then heard Bucky moving quickly. She turned around and hightailed it out of the office, hoping to leave before he could see her. Just as she stepped out the door to the main area Bucky ripped open his door. His shirt was unbuttoned, his pants loose around his waist, and he looked frazzled. Y/N looked back at him in shock before booking it down the hall.

“Y/N wait!” Bucky called out. She ran towards the elevator, hitting the button desperately. Bucky wasn’t far behind her. “Hey, hold on!” The elevator was taking too long so she turned to the stairwell and ran towards it. “Y/N, don’t run from me,” Bucky growled before grabbing her by the arm. She yelped as he pulled her back against his chest.

“Let me go,” she grunted. She twisted in his arms, pushing against his chest, her bag falling from her arm and scattering things all over the floor.

“Just wait, hey, listen,” Bucky pleaded as he held her close. “Y/N!” Y/N froze, staring up at him. She could feel something hard poking against her hip and she felt butterflies erupt in the pit of her stomach. Bucky was breathing heavily, looking at her in shock and embarrassment.

Y/N squirmed against him. “It’s okay, Bucky, just let me go. We can forget about it and move on.”

“I can’t,” Bucky breathed. “I don’t regret kissing you.” Y/N shut her eyes and shook her head. “I was afraid of what my feelings toward you meant and I freaked out. But I don’t regret kissing you. I’ve been wanting to do it again, dreaming about you,” he leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers like he did that day. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable, then or right now when you caught me, uh…” he huffed out a laugh. He cupped her face in his hands. “Please look at me.” Y/N shook her head. “Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid,” she said quietly, her hands still slightly pushing against his chest.

“Afraid of what?” he asked, his lips grazing across her forehead.

“Of seeing that look…that want that I feel, looking back at me,” she muttered. His lips traced down to her nose, then her cheeks, and he kissed the side of her mouth like before.

“I want you,” Bucky said, his lips so close to hers. “All I want is you, babes.”

Y/N felt herself melting against him. Her mind and her heart were fighting against each other in a battle of wills, knowing either way she would lose. She opened her eyes finally and looked up at him. Sure enough, as she looked into those beautiful eyes, she saw the want, the desire, the desperation that she felt. Her hands stopped pushing against his chest and instead fisted into his shirt. A soft whine passed her lips as she gazed at him, and his mouth dropped open further at the sound. He’s your boss. He’s your boss. He’s your boss…

“Fuck it,” Y/N grumbled then pushed up on her tip toes and kissed him. Bucky’s lips immediately molded to hers, a low groan reverberating in his throat. She held him tight against her as his hands moved down from her face to her lower back, pulling her body flush against his. He walked her backwards until she was pushed against the wall nearest them. His thigh nestled in between her legs as he kissed her hungrily, opening his mouth to taste her lips. She quickly opened her mouth, tasting him back with her tongue and moaning against his mouth. Bucky broke away and started kissing down her neck, softly licking and sucking at her skin and then nipping at her earlobe.

“So fucking hot, babes,” Bucky murmured in her ear. “Walking around like you own the place…with this ass…” His hands traveled down to her butt, squeezing her cheeks firmly. Y/N whimpered, her hands slipping into his long hair, tugging at his locks. She nuzzled his neck before licking and sucking at his throat. “Fuck…you’re so good…”

He hooked her leg up and over his hip, making the slit in her skirt hike up her leg, exposing her thigh to him. He kneaded the flesh of her thigh as his hips started to grind against her. “Bucky…” Y/N whined.

“Holy shit, yes, say my name again. Just like that again,” Bucky groaned, staring down at her as his hips rutted into her.

“Buck…please,” Y/N begged.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back before he shook his head. “We…we can’t do this here,” he said, coming back to himself. He stopped moving, resting his head on her shoulder as he composed himself, trying to breathe normally again. Y/N fingers were still in his hair, trying to calm her thundering heart. “Will you come home with me?” he asked hesitantly, looking up at her.

Y/N smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “Yes. I need to go home and grab some things, first, though.”

Bucky smiled, kissing her nose back. “Okay. I…” he looked down at the ground seeing the mess he’d made. “Oh, shit I’m sorry,” he said, pulling away from her and kneeling down to pick up her scattered belongings.

“It’s okay,” Y/N laughed. She knelt down and helped pick up a few things, throwing them into her purse that he gave to her. They both stood and she gave him another smile. “I’ll see you in like, an hour?”

“Yes,” Bucky agreed, nodded enthusiastically. He stepped toward her and lifted his hand to her cheek, caressing her face. He leaned down and kissed her deeply before pulling away. “See you soon.”

Y/N had never moved so fast in her life. She was surprised she hadn’t been pulled over with how fast she had been driving home. She ran through her small apartment, throwing things in an overnight bag that she would need. She stripped out of her work clothes and into a night teddie that she saved for special occasions, putting on a long, oversized cardigan over it. She fixed her hair and makeup in the mirror, grinning at his text: Can’t wait babes.

Y/N slipped her shoes on and got back in her car, driving too fast again. She pulled up to his luxury apartment building, took the elevator up to his apartment on the top floor, bouncing on her feet, the desire mounting inside her again in anticipation as she pulled her cardigan tighter around her. She was also nervous, unsure of just what he had in store for her. The elevator ding ripped her out of her spiraling thoughts and the doors opened to reveal Bucky standing in front of her.

He was shirtless, sweatpants hung low on his hips, barefoot, and a dark look in his eyes. He smirked as she ogled him. “Took you long enough,” he said.

Y/N stepped out of the elevator and dropped her bag, gazing up at him. “And yet here you are, waiting for me,” she smirked back at him.

“Here I am,” Bucky murmured, his eyes watching her playfully. Y/N hummed at him before releasing the grip she had on her cardigan. It slowly swung open, revealing the teddie she had on underneath. Bucky’s eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing in desire at getting to see more of her body than he ever had before. “Fuck babes,” he breathed, his voice coming out more hoarse as he reached a hand forward and his fingers gently traced the lace on her stomach. “What are you doing to me?”

“Hopefully whatever I want,” Y/N said, her voice getting deeper and more sultry. Her fingers slowly ran up his stomach to his chest, her nails tickling his skin and making him subtly flinch.

Bucky suddenly dipped down and grabbed her, pulling her against him and kissing her hard. Y/N made a noise of surprise that quickly morphed into a moan as he opened his mouth to taste her. The desire flowing through her made her jittery and she shivered as he gripped her tighter. He started walking her backwards towards another area of his apartment. After some bumping into walls and kicking off shoes the backs of her knees hit the side of a bed. Bucky pulled off her cardigan and laid her down on the bed, his lips barely leaving her for more than a few seconds.

He broke the kiss and helped push her upwards onto the bed until she could comfortably rest her legs on the edge, then kneeled at the edge of the bed, hoisting her legs over his shoulders. Y/N wasn’t wearing any other underwear and he groaned at the sight of her naked pussy in his face. “Been dreaming about this for so long,” Bucky said, kissing her thighs and nipping at the crease between her leg and her pussy, making her yelp. “Ever since I kissed you I’ve been wanting, craving more.” He suddenly licked a broad stripe with his tongue up her slit and she squirmed, a loud gasp escaping her mouth. Bucky dove into her, kissing, licking and sucking at her lower lips. Y/N’s legs trembled and he massaged her thick thighs soothingly.

After a particularly hard suck on her clit Y/N whined. “Bucky please,” she begged. Her fingers knotted into his hair, trying to guide his head to stay on her clit. “Don’t tease me.”

“I got you,” Bucky said, then she felt his fingers start to prod at her entrance. He had worked her up so he slid his pointer finger into her easily, thrusting it in and out while randomly flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue. Y/N’s hips jerked every time he did, and he smiled into her. He slid his middle finger in next, pumping them in and out for a while before curling them inside her. His fingers picked up speed and he started flicking her clit faster and continuously, not letting up as she bucked her hips against his face.

“Oh fuck! Shit…Buck I…AH!” Y/N writhed as her orgasm came crashing through her. Her legs shook as a loud groan spilled from her mouth. Bucky hummed into her pussy, prolonging the pulses of pleasure rippling through her. He licked up the gush that came from her and then pulled away, gently removing his fingers from her pussy. He stood and crawled over her, kissing her deeply before putting his wet fingers to her lips.

“You taste so good, babes,” Bucky whispered as Y/N lazily sucked at his fingers, moaning at the taste of herself. He gave her a minute to recover from the aftershocks of her orgasm. She suddenly lifted herself up and pushed him onto his back. She sat on her feet next to him and took the teddie off, watching him ogle her naked body. Then she licked her hand and took hold of his stiff cock. Bucky’s head fell back. She didn’t move, just held it and leaned forward looking at him.

“What were you thinking of when you were jerking off earlier?” Y/N asked sweetly, her hand squeezing his cock lightly.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath. “You,” he answered desperately.

“Me?” Y/N pumped him once then stopped again. “What about me?”

His hips trembled as he looked down at her holding him. “Y/N please…”

She let go of him and pulled her hand away, tucking it in between her legs to play with her clit. “What about me?” she asked again, her eyes hooded as she rubbed at herself.

“Fuck, I…” Bucky squirmed as he watched her. “You were…you were sucking my dick,” he panted.

“Hm?” Y/N reached for his cock again and pumped him a few more times, rewarding him for answering her. Bucky’s eyes rolled as she let him feel good. “Then what?”

“Then you were riding me…shit,” his hips jerked into her hand when she rolled her wrist.

“I don’t like to be on top,” Y/N chastised him, rubbing the head of his cock. Bucky’s hands were fisting the blanket beneath him.

“I’ll do whatever you want, babes. I’ll give it to you however you want…please,” Bucky begged. His brow was furrowed, the crease in between his eyebrows deeper than she’d ever seen before, a small frown on his lips as his hips bucked up into her hand, desperately chasing the pleasure she was giving him. She could even see his eyes starting to look wet, like he could cry at any moment if she didn’t let him cum. He looked utterly debauched, and she loved it.

Y/N leaned forward and licked his nipple as her hand sped up on him. Bucky moaned loudly, then it quickly turned into a cry as she let go of his cock. He looked at her incredulously as she pulled away. “Can you be a good boy and fuck me hard from behind?” she asked, making it sound like the most simple thing in the world.

“Hell yes,” Bucky groaned. He seemed to move at light speed as he sat up, kissed her deeply, then moved behind her. Y/N got on her hands and knees, arching her back as she dropped to her elbows. His hands held her hips, massaging her love handles and her ass before giving it a small smack then rubbing it soothingly. Y/N wiggled her hips at him and she felt the head of his cock push against her slit. He gripped his cock and slid it through her lower lips, a sputtered breath coming from him. “You ready, babes?”

“Yes,” Y/N breathed. Bucky silently started pushing himself into her. As she stretched around him she gasped, then whimpered into the blanket as he fully seated himself inside.

“Oh my god,” Bucky whispered. He let out a long stream of air, like he’d been holding it the entire time he pushed into her. “So tight…you feel better than I ever could have imagined.” He pulled back slowly, then snapped his hips back into her.

Y/N shrieked as he filled her, her hips shaking at how good it felt. “Fuck me, Bucky,” she groaned. “I can take it.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and smacked her ass again, making her shiver. “My dirty little P.A.,” he muttered, then did as she asked. His hips thrust into her hard, and she braced herself as he fucked her into the mattress.

Bucky seemed to lose himself as he fucked her, laying across her back, his fingers gripping her hips so hard she knew she’d have bruises in the morning. He kissed between her shoulder blades and she shivered again. Y/N’s moans were sounding more like squeals and whimpers as he thrust into her. She had never felt so full, so wet, so dirty and yet so whole all at the same time. Her mind was still not fully wrapping around the fact that this Adonis of a man wanted her, too, and was as affected by her as she was by him.

She could feel her orgasm fast approaching again and her whimpers became grunts as he hit that deep spot inside her repeatedly. Bucky’s hand suddenly wrapped around her neck and over her throat and hoisted her up off her hands to lean back against him. His hips thrust upwards into her, hitting even deeper and she groaned. “That’s it,” Bucky said around gritted teeth. “My pretty P.A., dirty little thing. Likin’ it hard and deep.” Y/N blindly nodded, her hands reaching up and playing with her breasts as he kept his one hand around her throat and the other traveled down to in between her legs. “So fucking sexy, making yourself feel good like that. Making me beg for it. You like being the boss, huh?” His fingers rubbed over her clit.

“YES!” Y/N squealed, her body jerking against him. She was so close, just needed a little bit more.

“Always so good to me, taking care of me, knowing just what I need. You know what I need now, babes?” Bucky bit into her shoulder, his hand squeezing her throat a little tighter, making her wheeze.

“Cum…to cum inside me,” Y/N answered breathily, her hands leaving her breasts and gripping his wrists.

“Yes, can I?” he asked, his breaths fanning the back of her neck as he nuzzled into her hair. “Please, babes, let me fill you up.”

“Do it,” Y/N said more firmly. “I wanna be…mmh, wanna be leaking you for days.”

“Holy fuck!” Bucky cried and he flicked her clit faster. Y/N stiffened as the coil deep inside her gut finally snapped and she came hard with a scream. As her body shook her pussy clamped down around him and Bucky shouted as he came, filling her up just like she wanted. He emptied himself into her, his hips rutting up repeatedly to make sure she got it all. Her hands went limp and let go of his wrists as her eyes rolled and her head lolled back against his shoulder. Bucky carefully laid her back down on her front, laying across her back again as he waited until her pussy stopped pulsing around him.

When it did he slowly pulled out with a groan that deepened when he saw his cum start to spill out from her pussy. “Godammit that’s hot,” he breathed. He was almost instantly hard again upon seeing that and he spread her legs wider apart, gripping his cock and rubbing it along her slit again. He slowly started pushing back into her, watching their combined cum oozing out of her and onto his cock. Y/N whimpered into the blanket again, her head thrashing against the mattress. “Got me hard again already, babes. Gonna fuck you dumb, til you can’t walk, keep you here with me for as long as I can,” he mumbled.

Y/N melted at his words. “Good boy.”

@calwitch

#marvel #smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes fanfic #series fanfic #curvy reader #chapter 5 #personal assistant!reader #personal assistant

92 notes · View notes