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girl8890 · 1 year

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R Town | Ch.26

Namjoon x Daisy (FemOc)

word count: 3.8k

POV: Daisy

Warnings: Insecurities, Vaginal sex.

Index | Ch.27

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After living such a terrible life for such a long time, you would think that being introduced to an easier one would be a piece of cake. Well... it's not.

I've been prostituting myself since my parents died when I was sixteen. I had no family to look after me and ultimately ended up on the streets. Losing my virginity in the game and losing my soul a couple of times too. Sadly, getting a job at Felix's club was not the worst part of my life. At first, it was heaven on earth since I had a steady pay coming in. Wasn't the best, but better than what I was making on the streets. I also met M while working at Felix's club back in Washington. She quite literally saved me from her husband, but that's not a tail I wish to retell today.

After living that kind of life for so long, my point is that changing into a domestic role is challenging. Finding a job was a piece of cake, thanks to Namjoon. He's been my rock this entire time. He's even been helping me pay for my cosmetology classes. I try my best to pay for most of it now that I'm sweeping floors at the hair salon J-hope manages when I don't have school.

I can't cut hair without a license, and that's what always stopped me from trying to be a hairdresser in the first place. I've worked as a prostitute for so long, having sex and getting paid every night and sometimes until the morning. Going from that to attending school three times a week and having a 9-5 job isn't exactly a similar change.

Like today, I would already have 3 or 4 hundred dollars in my pocket at Lee club, but instead, I'm probably only at half of that because of taxes taking away my minimum wage salary. I try not to think of that while I sweep the hair of J-hope's latest client. His client was an older lady that works at the coffee shop down the street. I watched J-hope cut the women's hair like a master, and I longed to be the one that got her thanks in return when she was done. But I know it will be a long time until I get any praise for hair styling.

I sweep up the last of the woman's blondish-gray hair; then, I dump it in the trash bin. I look above me at the clock on the wall and sigh when I see my shift is almost over.

"Not very fulfilling, is it?"

I turn to the sound of J-hope's voice and see him sitting in one of the spinning chairs clients sit on. Unlike him, though, I'm not smiling. "No. Truthfully, it's really not."

J-hope laughs at my honest answer, which has me tilting my head in confusion. He then taps the armrest of the chair next to him, indicating he's asking me to sit with him. I place my broom on the wall to lean against it; then, I sigh again as I sit on the weirdly comfy plastic chair.

"I remember being like you once."

I raise an unbelieving eyebrow at him. "You remember quitting your job at sex and strip club to sweep floors?"

J-hope laughs at my response again, and I start to chuckle with him this time. Both J-hope and Suga know what my life was like before this. I felt the need to tell them once I met them since Namjoon asked them for a job for me. Namjoon is such a honest guy, and after leaving Lee club I wanted to be just as honest. They were both shocked that a "pretty girl like me" was living such a life. But just like Namjoon, they don't know my whole story.

"Wellllll, not exactly that, but I do remember my days of sweeping floors. This shop." J-hope raises his hands to gesture at the whole salon. "Actually used to be managed by my mother. Watching her cut hair made me what to be in her position so badly, but I also remember it took a while for me to be like her."

I now understand why J-hope is giving me this little backstory. I feel bad for acting like a downer now about the job. It's just so... different.

"At least you were set with a job because of your mom, and she could teach you. Besides the cosmo school, I'm self taught. I don't know if I'm ever going to be as good as you."

J-hope smiles at me, and it's weirdly comforting at that moment. He reaches out his hand, and I let him clasp his fingers in mine. "Not everything is easy. It takes time. You'll get the hang of it eventually. Then, who knows? Maybe you'll be having this conversation with one of your own hair sweepers one day."

I roll my eyes, but it's not at all sarcastic, especially when I feel my own smirk gracing my face. "When did you become so wise, J-hope?"

J-hope leans back in his chair and smirks. "Part of my many secret talents."

"Some of those secret talents only I can enjoy." We both look to the voice and see Suga is the one that just said those words. Him walking in from the front door with take-out in hand.

J-hope rolls his eyes at him. "Don't start the flirting now. I don't want Daisy running off because of your lewd suggestions."

Suga places the takeout, which looks like Tai food from the bag, on the table in the middle of the store. "My lewd suggestions? Your the one that suggested we should do it in the exact seat she's-"

"Shut up! Be quiet! No more!" I laugh when I see J-hope's face heat up in a beat red, but when I rethink Suga's unfinished words, I suddenly feel uncomfortable in my seat. "Ignore him, Daisy."

"She would never! I'm too funny to be ignored."

J-hope rolls his eyes again. "Try annoying."

Suga leans close to J-hope by holding himself up on the armrests of J-hope's chair. "And you love it."

J-hope's annoyed stare turns to one of admiration, and I feel my eyes soften when I look at the two men in love. "Yes," J-hope pecks Suga on the lips. "I do, but I'll love him even more if he gives me my Tai food."

Suga shakes his head and smiles, then does what his boyfriend asked of him. My last hour of work was eating Tai food with Suga and J-hope, and watching them play fight and flirt at the same time.

Watching this perfect couple in front of me reminds me of my own relationship with Namjoon. I find myself missing him a lot, even though we live together. I also find myself having insecurities because of him a lot too. Not that he's said or done anything, but seeing this perfect couple in front of me reminds me that I'm not the perfect girlfriend. I may "look perfect," but my life is far from it. I'm constantly worrying about being a good person like Namjoon, and worrying about how he thinks of me. Just trying hard not to fuck up, and ruin what he have.

Do you know how much pressure that is? Sure, I've been judged before. The type of lifestyle I was living has judgment in the job description, but I'm out of that life now. The last thing I want to do is disappoint the person I love most in this world.

But it's just so... hard!

Every day is a new challenge, and I've been lying through my teeth every time Namjoon asks me how my day was. I don't want him to feel bad if I say how it's really been going for me. That sweeping floors and going to school is no picnic, and I find myself wondering how much money I could have made if I stayed at Lee club.

Of course, J-hope has been making the job of sweeping floors much more favorable for me, and the thought of making Namjoon proud in the future if I graduate with my cosmetology license is a positive in itself, but why does it need to take so bloody long?

I try to repeat J-hope's words to me each time that thought crosses my mind, but even on the walk to my car, I'm feeling my emotions grow worse and worse. I even find myself looking at the Lee club on my drive home in longing.

Jesus... What the fuck is wrong with me?

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The only time I'm not struggling with my thoughts is when I'm with Namjoon. Right now, we're watching a movie, popcorn on my lap and my legs in his, while he's playing with my hair and my hand over his heart. Feeling his steady heartbeat under his hard chest makes me feel calm. Like all of my struggles I've been feeling throughout the day weren't even there to begin with.

Namjoon kisses my temple, and I smile at the contact. This is the place I always want to be at. Being cuddled by the man I love and him being a constant positive reminder of why I should want this type of life.

Although, my insecurities always come back when Namjoon asks, "How was your day?"

My smile falls, and I try to pick it back up before Namjoon notices. He notices, though, because his smile starts to fall, and he raises a pointed eyebrow. I try to deflect the situation by lying through my teeth like I do every day to this question, "Great! Amazing! Can't wait to do it again tomorrow."

I then let out a fake little giggle and look back at the tv. Hoping my lousy acting doesn't get caught by the inspiring actor next to me.

"Daisy?" I shut my eyes, not wanting to hear what he is about to say. "What's wrong? You just lied right there. Did something happen?"

I feel a tear come out of my eye, and I feel so pathetic because of it. I feel even more pathetic as more fall without my control. "I feel so stupid," I admit.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's wrong, Dais?" Namjoon tries comforting me by pulling me closer to him by my waist when he sees me crying. All the while, I'm wiping up the tears I wish would stop falling.

"I-I've been lying to you, Namjoon. Everyday has been so hard for me. I feel so stupid now crying, but it really has been. I w-want to tell you everyday about how amazing everything has been, truthfully, but I-it's hasn't been at all." I dive my face into his neck and cry onto his shoulder. I'm surprised not to feel radiating anger come from Namjoon since I've been lying to him, but I get kisses on my cheek and comforting hugs instead.

Further proving my point on how I don't deserve this perfect man.

I hear Namjoon sigh above me, but it was more because he felt at a loss. "I never expected it to be easy. I knew this would eventually happen, but you've been seeming so happy... I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner."

"There's no reason for you to apologize. It's just... I wanted it to be easy. Even when I told you I may fuck up, I was telling myself I wouldn't. That I would be perfect for you. But now look at me." I pick up my head from his shoulder and point at my face, which probably has mascara streaks going down it.

Namjoon wipes my tears, then holds my face in his hands. "You are perfect, Daisy." I shake my head. "Your perfect to me."

"N-no I'm not. I wonder everyday how much money I could be making a-at the club instead of sweeping floors. There's no cash flow with sweeping floors, and your already helping me out so much... I just wish there was a way I could repay you and be the person you deserve."

Namjoon's eyes widen, and I realize I said the words again. The words that put me down. He doesn't like when I put myself down, especially when I say I don't deserve him.

"Stop saying that. When are you going to get it through that beautiful blonde head of yours that I love you, and it's not about who deserves who." Namjoon moves us apart a little, so he can look me in the eyes while we continue this conversation. "I'm in love with you, Daisy. I know all your faults, and most of your past, but I still love you! We knew from the very beginning that it was going to be hard for you to adapt to this life, but I also knew another thing."

Namjoon clasps his hands in both of mine, and I glance down at them. "W-what is the other thing?"

"That I don't care. I don't care if it takes you a year, or five, or ten, fricken forever even for you to get back on your feet again. As long as I have you here." He kisses both of my palms. "I'm happy... D-do I still make you happy?"

It pains my heart to hear the stutter and desperation in Namjoon's tone of voice from his question. This has me pulling him closer to me until I'm wrapping my arms around his neck and straddling his thighs. "Of course, I'm happy with you, Namjoon! The only reason I'm here, trying to live this life, is for you."

I lean my forehead against his, and it makes me happy to hear Namjoon whisper between us, "Thank god."

I can always count on Namjoon to make the struggles worth it. Even if we have this conversation a million more times, it's good to know Namjoon is willing to have it with me. I know it will take a while to adapt to this ordinary life, but having Namjoon in my arms makes it all worth it, especially when our lips touch. Feeling Namjoon's soft lips press against mine has my toes curling.

It's never just kissing with Namjoon. The kisses are full of love and passion. He knows how to tell me without words how much he loves me.

I feel his hands go under my shirt and rub my back. The electricity radiating off his skin has me whimpering in his mouth and arching my back so my chest presses against his. Namjoon moans into my mouth at the contact, and I smile against his lips.

He slowly lowers me down on the couch without detaching our lips from each other. I moan into his mouth when I feel his want for me rub against my thigh through his sleep pants. Me wearing only shorts and a tank top, making the friction even higher for me.

My sweet Namjoon praises me against my lips, "Your so perfect, Daisy." Then he kisses me deeply one last time, then pulls our lips apart. "C-can we do it, baby? Please. I want to be inside of you so badly."

Namjoon always asks me this question before we have sex, but even after the many times we've already done it, my cheeks still heat up in a blush. I guess I'm just still not used to having sex with someone so caring, so it takes me a hesitant moment to reply. "Y-yes, Namjoon. Of course! I want you just as badly, baby."

Namjoon smiles down at me, then resumes kissing me in the passionate yet gentle way he always does. When our kissing gets more heated, and I'm pulling Namjoon so close to me it's surprising I haven't cracked his back, he finally starts to touch me. We've had sex many times since that first time over a month ago, and Namjoon still treats me like his precious doll. Something I've found to like a lot.

He slowly moves his hands from my back to the front of me, under my shirt. He cups my breasts in his hands, making me shut my eyes even tighter. When his thumbs rub over my hard nipples, I moan into his mouth again. This time, needier than before.

"Mmm, Namjoon. Please just get inside of me. You know I'm already wet for you." My dirty talk has Namjoon sputtering. I watch with a smile as he swallows thickly and then removes his hands from underneath my shirt.

"As long as your okay with it."

Which, I'm very much okay with it.

I strip off my tank top and enjoy watching Namjoon shyly gawk at me. His dimpled cheeks heat up, and I rub his one cheek with my thumb. I know what he wants to do to me, and because I'm the best girlfriend when it comes to sex, I pull his face towards my breast until I feel his lips attach to my nipple. I love how his tongue swirls around my nipple, and he sucks on the buds so gently, but nothing beats feeling his want for me harden even more against my thigh.

My Namjoon is definitely a boob man, and even though I want him inside of me so badly right now, I can't deny my baby what he wants when he looks at me with such shy lust filled eyes.

While Namjoon sucks and fondles my breasts, I remove my shorts, throw them to the side, and then lower his sleep pants with the heels of my feet. Namjoon detaches himself from my nipple with a gasp when his cock rubs against my very wet slit.

He knows I won't let him enter me until we're evenly matched in clothing. I'm just not into being the only one naked while the other person isn't, and I guess that has to do with my old life. The old life I had before I fell in love...

Namjoon, being the sexy man he is, takes off his shirt by putting his hand behind his back and removing his shirt by pulling it over his head. I'm biting my lip when I see my boyfriend fully undressed in front of me. I openly admire his beauty. Namjoon smirks as he watches me gawk at him and my fingers glide up his abs.

He then lowers himself back on top of me, and I'm wrapping my arms around his neck while locking my ankles behind his back before he even goes to align himself with my entrance. Namjoon places his hand on the couch's armrest, and I slowly feel him enter me.

When he bottoms out, I'm moaning at the feeling of being filled by him again. I press my ankles into his back, wanting him to go as deep as he possibly can. Namjoon screws his eyes shut because of it.

"God, Daisy... You always feel so amazing~."

Besides his words making my stomach tingle, he starts to pull himself in and out of me. The even pace feels so good, and I love to watch my boyfriend's face contort in multiple ways above me because of how good I'm making him feel. I pull Namjoon's face closer to mine with my arms still wrapped around his neck and kiss his soft lips.

The passionate kiss made Namjoon lose some of his control and thrust into me much faster. It gets to the point where I have to stop kissing him to whip my head back against the couch because he's making me feel so incredible. Touching me in the best places.

"Namjoon! Please, g-go faster!"

Namjoons kisses my forehead then starts thrusting into me so fast my head repeatedly hits the couch armrest. I don't care about the headache I may get from the constant bumping because I'll be cumming within minutes at this rate. I'm screaming out his name over and over again and ripping at his back with my nails.

Namjoon, the sweet man he always is, even during rough sex like this, picks my head up by the back of my neck until my face is buried in his shoulder. Keeping my head from hitting the couch. This just makes me hold onto him tighter and clench around his harder, him stretching my walls perfectly. I hear Namjoon grunt, and I know he's close when his thrusts begin to go slower but more profound.

"Daisy, I'm-..."

"Me too! Oh god, Namjoon!"

We both cum simultaneously, and even though this is the shortest part, it's also my favorite. Cumming together is so beautiful; every time we do it, a lone tear escapes my eye. And my eyes don't exclude today. Namjoon holds me against him so tightly that I'm surprised I'm not somehow a part of him. Although his dick pulsing inside of me would say different. I, on the other hand, am holding on to Namjoon with my arms and legs still wrapped around him. Like I'm almost being lifted in the air, but I know that's just my euphoric state getting to me.

When Namjoon and I are off our combining highs, I slowly let myself detach my arms and legs from him while he takes himself out of me. Namjoon doesn't go very far, though, because then he presses our foreheads together and kisses my nose while he tells me, "I love you so much, Daisy. Never forget that because this love will never go away."

Another tear escapes from my eye, but I let it streak down my face. I don't know how I ever gained such luck to have a person like Namjoon tell me he loves me, but I always tell him in return, "I'll never let you go again. I love you too damn much to ever be stupid like that again."

Namjoon chuckles at the memory I just brought up, and he kisses my lips in response to my repeated confession.

This right here, the love we share for each other, is why I'm okay with my daily struggles and insecurities. I'll probably always feel less than Namjoon, but that's only because he loves me so much and not because he degraded me in any way. It's because I love him so much, and my feelings are because of that fact.

This man right here, this beautiful, blue-haired man above me, is the reason I wake up every day. I wake up every day with the brightest smile. Even if I know it's going to be a day hard for minse to push through, I still smile because I know I'll be waking up next to him.

Namjoon makes the struggles worth it, and I'll try my best every day to make sure he knows how much he means to me. He's my whole heart, so I have a lot of love to show and give him. -

Ch.27

#r town #chapter 26 #r town chapter 26 #kim namjoon #RM #rm bts #Namjoon bts #namjoon kim #namjoon x femoc #Namjoon x daisy #bts #euphroia #bts smut #insecurities #bts x euphoria #bts fan fiction

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schatzwiederentdeckung · 2 years

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Learning to Cultivate the Virtue of Fortitude

Before being able to learn about cultivating fortitude as a virtue in our "moral compass," we must first have an understanding of what fortitude even means. Fortitude--which sometimes is referred to as courage--is "a firmness of spirit, [and] steadiness of will in doing good despite obstacles in the performance of our daily duty." In other words, fortitude would seem to include a sort of virtuous stubbornness and a strong will to always do the right thing regardless of the circumstances. To have the courage to stand up and do what is right, even in the face of adversity. Fortitude is also described as both suppressing fear and limiting recklessness. It rests in between the two extremes and allows the individual to act with a virtuous medium we know to be courage. So based on this definition, these would be the traits that constitute the virtue itself. As for cultivating it, the individual must display these manners. As Aristotle points out within aretaic virtue theory, though, the individual must be displaying it for the right reasons and do so on a regularly occurring basis. These requirements mark that the actions of the person are truly virtuous--and when being applied to a cardinal virtue such as fortitude, the cultivation of it.

As we discussed in class, there is great importance of having moral exemplars in which to look to.

"The sight of a highly virtuous person living a life dedicated to moral causes can have a powerfully influential effect on other people’s moral behavior. As a rule, people are far more captivated by the example of a human life than by an ideational treatise. The extraordinary influence of moral exemplars is due in large part to this natural human preference for personal embodiments over abstract notions" (Anne Colby & William Damon, Some Do Care (1992)).

This quote from the Forward Into Memory webpage further emphasizes the importance of exemplars. With something like virtues being such a complex and somewhat abstract idea, it's hard to put meaning to it. It's one thing to explain what fortitude means, but do we actually knows what it MEANS until we have seen it lived out in a way that we can follow? And how are we supposed to know how to live virtuous lives if there are no relevant examples to reference and pattern our lives after?

When it comes to fortitude, I think that history gives us a few examples of people who have cultivated this virtue within their lives. Obviously humanity isn't perfect and therefore nobody can always perfectly embody every virtue, but there are distinct points in these individuals' lives that mark them as being reasonable exemplars for us to look at and follow. I know that while using religious examples might not sit well with everyone, they mean a lot to me and serve as great points of reference in my own life. People like Moses, Joshua, Job, David, Paul, and so forth are people that come to mind. Then of course is the greatest example through Jesus Christ. His sacrifice on the cross for the sins of the world took immense fortitude as he had the courage to withstand a death so excruciating and painful for the greater good. Through His death God's people could be reconciled and given eternal life. That and Jesus never lost sight of His mission and for doing good by others, even when He was facing adversity. I would argue He is the only perfect example of fortitude--along with other virtues--since Jesus was entirely sinless. As for the others, they displayed great courage time and time again despite the odds. Moses against Pharaoh as he led the Israelites out of slavery; David when he took down Goliath and had to flee enemies in the future--including King Saul; Paul continuing to proclaim the gospel and help people despite persecution; Job continuing to follow God in the midst of losing literally everything; and Joshua being courageous in battle against Canaan and leading the Israelites to victory even though they seemingly didn't stand a chance without God on their side. Their fortitude may have come easier knowing God was with them, but they are still admirable examples nonetheless. They still acted on the pursuit of good regardless of the circumstances they faced.

Other people in history have also displayed examples of cultivating fortitude in their own lives. Philip Jaisohn--whom we are reading about in class--is someone who pursues fortitude in different areas of his life. Despite being in the minority and being on the outs, he still courageously returns to Korea to enact democratic reform by launching a newspaper in hopes of enlightening his people. No matter the situation around him, he continues to pursue what is good for his people and their rights, and this is an example of how he displays fortitude. He doesn't give up.

Now, this is all well and good, but if fortitude is a cardinal virtue, then it must contribute somehow to human flourishing. How does fortitude relate to the satisfaction of a core human need? I think this can be a tricky aspect, but I do think it's applicable. Relating it to Galtung's core needs, I believe that fortitude plays a crucial role in helping an individual not only reach well-being, but also provides freedom and meaning. By striving to do the right thing and having a strong will in the midst of whatever circumstances are faced, the individual can have a sense of satisfaction within these needs. Fortitude allows us the capabilities to reach our full potential and to also help others do the same.

Finally, if we were to take the virtue of fortitude and try to find it in history, literature, or pop culture, where would we start? Where should we choose to enter the forest? I think this is an exceptionally difficult question and the best points of entry would highly depend on the context of what you hope to find and/or accomplish through your entering. If looking at fortitude as a virtue amongst the human race, I might say starting with the Bible and other earliest historical documents would be a starting point for assessing the species as a whole throughout time. If looking at fortitude in relation to the class topic of Korean peace history, starting with someone like Philip Jaisohn might be a good entry point. However, I think that to pick only one point of entry for all things related to the virtue of fortitude is a difficult task. But, if you can narrow down what it is you're looking at it for, then figuring out how to use history and other means to "enter" is going to be the most beneficial, I'd imagine. It also might help to enter the topic by doing some further preliminary research by reading Aristotle, philosophical websites, and so forth. These are just some ways that we can begin to assess fortitude throughout history, literature, and pop culture and "enter" into seeing its relationship on the world.

#fortitude #virtue #philosophy #courage #history #Philip Jaisohn #korea #morality #human good #Biblical

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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS ON 300 LOVE💚💚💚 You deserve it and more because you are TALENTED and SO SWEET and everything you do is just 👨‍🍳🤌

I took the chance to spin your wheel… and first spin I got was Mando with a lactation kink… I KNOW this man loves kids and wants a big family so I can’t wait to see what you come up with!!!! All the love!

Woooo!!! This broke me. I was really going for XTRA FILTHY SMUT but that did not happen. This one surprised me when I wrote it by sneaking up all soft and sweet, and then ending that way too. That's okay, though, I like a good soft smut.

Hope you enjoy!!! :D

Word Count: 2030+

Rating: Explicit/mature, 18+ only

Outline: Din Djarin x “You”/Din’s wife (cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: starts soft, ends soft; Din has a filthy mouth; praise kink (use of “good girl”); lactation kink; unprotected P/V sex in the context of marriage; sprinkling of breeding kink

Evenings and nights were always your favorite with your husband. It was the best time of the day, everyone settled down and quiet, the ship docked for the night wherever you were visiting or set to autopilot to the next destination. You knew your husband’s moods, the slight slump of his shoulders telling you that he was getting drowsy, ready to head below decks and rest, curled up in your arms.

You nursed your son, putting him down before heading up to the cockpit to knit for a bit and watch the stars race by. After an hour of that, you saw the telltale signs and knew that Din was done for the day, even if he didn’t know it himself. He pushed himself too hard, always believing that there was more of him to go around than there was.

Now that the baby was here, growing healthy and strong, Din had resumed his habit of staying up too late, tweaking just one more thing in the cockpit or looking over the available jobs just one more time. He had spent too many nights slumped sleeping in that pilot’s chair, and you had finally started being gently pushy, in the hopes of getting the man to just stop and rest.

You waited until you saw the helmet keel an inch too far to the right, knowing how heavy it felt on his head, his old habit of wearing full armor at all times in the cockpit in case things went sideways and he had to spring into action. You didn’t push him to relax or remove it, you knew how much he needed that feeling of being in control. But you could be sweet and soft, remind him how much you needed him at the end of the day, how good it would feel to finally remove the Beskar and curl up against you, skin to skin for the night.

“Din,” you made your voice soft. “It’s bedtime.”

His helmet tilted back to center and you heard him clear his throat. “Just one more thing, mesh’la.”

You smiled to yourself and finished off your row of stitches, giving him a few more minutes, tweaking knobs and fiddling with buttons. You got up and stretched, then came around to his side, placing one hand on the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s go. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone tomorrow.”

Din lifted one hand to grip your waist affectionately. You could visualize the fight happening on his face, the urge to take care of just one more item battling against the pull of your soft curves in the dark. You leaned in, letting his helmet come to rest against your side.

“Let me take you to bed, you big, strong man.” Your voice was soft, your nails softer as you slipped them just under the cowl and dragged them across the back of his neck.

Din sighed and then set the ship to autopilot before he removed his helmet. His eyes were rimmed with hints of red, the circles underneath deeper than they had been yesterday. Your heart squeezed, and you immediately took the helmet to set it gently on the floor. You kneeled in front of his chair and didn’t say a word as you started to help him remove his gloves, then all of the parts of his armor that you could reach. For his part, Din let you worry your fingers over him. Then he stood up and took off his back plates and cape, piling everything neatly on the ground.

“Sit.” You left no room for argument, and Din complied. You muttered gently to yourself as you reached down to help him remove his boots, “Kriffing crazy man, pushing yourself so hard…”

Din let you undress him, let you massage your fingers up his calves and across his quads, and that told you more than anything how tired he really was. Normally he would at least protest, say that he didn’t need the help, but this quiet acquiescence was worrisome. Still, though, you knew how to relax him, get him to stop. You weren’t above using your feminine wiles to bend him to your will, all in the service of getting him to rest.

When he was finally down to his flight suit, you opened the front of it and peeled it down and off his shoulders, and then straddled his lap in the pilot’s chair. You started by skating your nails over his shoulders. Din closed his eyes as a shiver ran through his body. He nearly moaned, a soft “Ohhh…” floating out into the quiet of the cockpit.

You gently pushed his forehead so that he could lean his head back on the headrest, and increased the pressure of your fingers as you rubbed circles into the knots of his biceps and trapezius muscles. Din let his hands rest on your thighs as you worked him over, and by the end of it, he was putty in your hands. You finished by laying a soft kiss to his velvet lips, and you were surprised when he kissed back and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you tight.

“Sweet man, I thought you were tired?” You smiled as he brought his eyes to rest on your face.

“No, mesh’la. I think I just got a second wind.” Din raised an eyebrow at you, and you giggled as you felt him twitch hard underneath your crotch.

“No, you need to rest, my husband. You’re awfully tired.”

Din groaned as he buried his face against your sternum, grinding up against your through your clothing. You threaded your fingers through his curls and scraped your nails from his ears down to his neck, pulling a moan from deep in his throat.

“But I need to have you, just like this.” Din brought his hands up to untie the laces of your wrap dress, sliding his thick fingers under the fabric as it fell open. “Please? Can I taste your milk? You know I love to taste you, mesh’la.” He placed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the swell of your breasts. You felt a thrill run through your body, finding it harder and harder to be stern with him.

“No, Din, you really need-” You gasped as he cupped your breast with one big hand and brought his mouth to the nipple. “You need…” But for the life of you, you couldn’t remember the next part of your orders. You let your dress slide down your arms and off your shoulders, pooling on the floor of the cockpit. Your panties were damp, and Din’s strong arm wrapped around you, holding you firmly in place.

“I know what I need, my sweet wife. I need you.” Din dove back to your breast with his hungry mouth, swirling the nipple with his tongue as his erection grew and pressed harder against your clothed cunt. You felt your milk prickling behind your areolas, knowing that if Din applied any suction, you would start leaking from both breasts, and then you would entirely lose control of this mission to get him to bed.

“No, Din, bed-” but he cut you off with a growl, something primal and low that rumbled from deep in his chest and took your breath away as he gripped you closer, teeth scraping against your budded nipple.

Din began to suckle, and you threw your head back with a gasp, clinging tightly to his shoulders as the muscles flexed under your touch. He was quiet but greedy, sucking at one side before moving to the other. The feel of your milk letting down made you moan, and giving in was just too easy, too sweet to resist. You let your husband take what he wanted, what he needed from you. There would be plenty for the baby still.

“You taste like the stars, sweet girl.” Din’s voice was a hoarse whisper in between his lapping, and his praises made you wetter. “You taste like honey and sunshine like this.”

“Diiinn…” Your head was fuzzy, wiped clean of everything except desire. “Din, please…”

You weren’t even sure what you were asking for, but Din took charge, lifting you half out of his lap so that he could free his cock, before hooking one thick finger and pulling your panties to the side. He swept the head of his penis back and forth against your slick folds and then thrust up inside, settling you back on his lap with his arm wrapped tight around your lower back.

“My wife, my girl,” he growled into your mouth as he worked you against him. You braced your feet as best you could, but Din was determined to do things his way. You let him pull and release you with that iron grip, canting your hips back and forth as he rocked you on his length. He ducked his head back down and lapped at you again and again.

All you could manage was a breathy, “Ohhh,” as he kept thrusting up into you at a steady pace. You grasped at his shoulders, his hair, anywhere you could find a purchase to steady yourself.

“My wife has the sweetest tits in the whole galaxy. Such a good girl, letting me fuck her like this.” Din’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at you. “Want me to fuck another warrior into you, mesh’la? Another baby?”

“Yes, oh!” You felt your climax start to unfurl, every nerve tingling as his cock rubbed against your clit from this angle.

Din suckled you again and again, pausing only to growl praises and promises up into your mouth.

“You’d like that? You want me to fill you up again? I’ll keep you pregnant all the time, full of milk for me and our babies.” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist as he fucked up inside of you harder. “Keep your tits full? Keep you dripping sweet milk, all for me?”

You nodded and kissed him. “Yes, please- yes, yes. Fill me up, Din. I want you to.”

“Come for me first, sweet girl.” Din cupped his free hand under your knee and lifted your leg high and open. “Touch yourself. I want my wife to come around my cock.”

Your hand flew down inside your panties to touch your clit, rubbing and pressing it in circles, trying desperately to follow his wishes. Finally you felt the finish coming. You gasped out to him as you came and Din kept his eyes pinned on your face as you cried out. Your cunt squeezed and milked his cock as he began to spurt his own release deep inside. Din let go of your leg, and both arms wrapped your waist in a vise grip as he ground himself into you and climaxed.

When you were both spent, Din brought both hands to cup your breasts, licking the last of your milk from the swollen nipples.

Din’s “Hmmmm…” reverberated through his lips, the deepest and most satisfied sound you could imagine. You felt him hot inside of you, and you were reluctant to lift yourself off his lap. He softened inside of you bit by bit as he licked your nipples, squeezing both breasts until he was satisfied that he had gotten every last drop.

You draped your arms around the back of Din’s neck and let his cheek rest against your breast, curling your fingers gently in the back of his hair and feeling him finally soften fully.

“Will you sleep well, my husband?” You gently teased him, a soft smile on your lips as you looked down at him and stroked his face.

Din looked up at you from under his lashes, and your heart ached at how peaceful his big brown eyes were, how comforted he looked there in your arms. You wanted him to look like that forever. You wished you could somehow wipe all worry and strain from his life. But maybe this was the best you could do for your husband, just comfort him and give him solace when he needed it most.

Din closed his eyes and breathed deeply, and you let him rest there a while longer.

---

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mercy-burning · 3 years

Text

Honeybee

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: While attending Seraphina's wedding, Y/N discovers that her crush on her best friend’s older brother hasn’t gone away after all these years. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, alcohol consumption, fingering, penetrative/protected sex Word Count: 5.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: I know I promised a oneshot over the weekend, but I’m a messy, inconsistent bitch, so you get it a day late 😅🥰

———

Looking back, I was starting to wonder if Seraphina only got engaged and asked me to be her maid of honor just to witness my slow descent into a heaping puddle of lovesick mush.

Truly, it was pathetic.

Yeah, yeah, she was getting married because she loved her fiancé and whatever, obviously, but she was also using it as an excuse to try and get me to admit my feelings for her older brother. Feelings, I might add, that only surfaced when I was a middle schooler and went away once he went off to college.

Sure, I'd thought about him on occasion when he was inevitably brought up around Sera's house throughout the years, but that was it. I'd hardly say I was hard-core in love with him. And I was totally prepared to see him for the first time since our high school graduation.

At least, I thought I was.

And Seraphina—the little shit—knew it, too. The smirk on her face the moment we were all in the same room for the first time in ten years made me want to run and hide more than her brother's figure, right in front of me and hotter than ever.

I was mad. Not at Sera as much, because really there was nothing she could do about the fact that he was her brother, but I was mad at myself. Because how in the hell had it stood to reason that a man I actively didn't think about for a whole decade had this much of an effect on me after all this time?

Honestly? I blame the FBI.

If he'd done literally anything else with his life I probably could have made it. Well, not by much if we're being honest, but come on...

Where he'd been a bit nerdy and reserved as I knew him, the man in front of me had clearly changed. Not just physically, though that was also a pleasant surprise. He looked like he'd been through some shit... And he carried himself taller. There was a new air of confidence that perched on his shoulder and helped him along as he talked with old friends and family members at his sister's rehearsal dinner.

Spencer Reid was older and more experienced this time around, and somehow even more goddamn delicious...

I was a total wreck. And it was about to get a whole lot worse.

He was coming this way. Right for me. He'd noticed me staring at him all night, because I couldn't keep my shit together, and now I was absolutely doomed.

Guess it was a good thing I'd practically grown up with him and knew how to act outwardly.

Still, the moment he was up close and flashing me that little smile of his, I felt the pit of my stomach scream out loud, sending shockwaves through my bloodstream.

"Hey, Honeybee. It's been a while."

Fuck. That fucking nickname...

"Spencer... It has."

When we hugged briefly, I tried as hard as I could not to inhale his scent, knowing that not only was that pathetic and embarrassing, but also I'd never stop smelling it otherwise. I did take note, though, of how strong he was now. He wasn't a bodybuilder of any kind, but he was certainly less bony and more defined.

I had to hold back a whine as I felt him let go of me, because I didn't want to leave his warm embrace but also because I didn't think I could stand to look at his face anymore without losing any and all semblance of my cool.

Still, I let him release me, and even then he didn't go far. We only stood inches apart, and my whole body was practically numb at the proximity. It also didn't help that I had to tilt my head up to see his face— It made me feel extremely submissive, and I could already feel myself starting to shrink.

Whether he was amused at that or just at me in general, the feeling I got was the same.

"Sera tells me you've been busy..." He paused, seemingly searching for the right word, though I could tell he already had it on the tip of his tongue. "Modeling?"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. "It was one job for some obscure European magazine, no one in the country's probably ever heard of it... It's not that big of a deal."

Spencer huffed a laugh. "You sound embarrassed..."

How was I supposed to respond to that? If I lied and told him I wasn't embarrassed, he'd figure it out, and if I told him the truth? I'd still be screwed. Honestly, my best bet was changing the subject.

Though, maybe it wasn't— When I asked him about his travels for work, he ignored it and responded with, "Ah, so you are embarrassed."

"N— I am not!"

"You changed the subject so fast I barely had time to blink... There's nothing to be ashamed of, Honeybee, I don't know why you'd—"

"Look, dude, I'm not ashamed, and I'm certainly not changing the subject. We were on the subject of jobs. So there."

I was aware of how childish I sounded, but I stood my ground nonetheless. And thankfully Spencer seemed to let it go, though not without amplifying that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Okay... Well, I've got some more people to see, but, uh... I'll see you around. Maybe you can show me some of your work."

He didn't even give me time to protest. Though if he had, I was sure I wouldn't have been able to get any words out what with that goddamned face he had, twisted and sculpted into all these beautiful ways that were designed specifically to make me a blubbering hot mess.

I could only gather the courage to nod in response, though he'd turned his back and walked away by the time I got it out.

———

All things considered, I'd managed to avoid him for the majority of the wedding festivities. I focused all my energy on being happy to see my best friend get married, and likewise it seemed that Spencer was inclined to do the same.

He walked his sister down the aisle, and seeing them both so happy truly made my heart sing. To think I'd known them since we were all kids more or less, and now they were both successful, beautiful human beings... It warmed me to my core, and despite the other flames that stung my insides at seeing Spencer in his tux, thing were going swimmingly.

That being said, we were just about two hours into the reception, and there was absolutely nothing stopping me from begging Seraphina to put me out of my misery.

Except maybe pints upon pints of alcohol.

In hindsight, that may not have been a good idea, though. Because as much as the open bar had it benefits, it also hated me. It was mostly my fault, because I was stupid enough to forget that I get frisky when I'm drunk, but that didn't stop me from blaming the bartender for continuing to serve me.

I wasn't quite at the point of all-out inebriation, but I was definitely toeing the line between tipsy flirting and total disaster.

And when Spencer came over to ask me to dance, I knew I was doomed.

I didn't find myself caring about what he was saying, only the fact that he was there, in front of me, putting his hands on me and breathing in the same air that I was putting out. My entire body buzzed, and while I would have panicked otherwise, my tipsy brain welcomed the tingle and made me a bit bolder.

"You enjoying yourself tonight?" he asked, like he couldn't already tell that I was having the time of my life.

"No way. You suck at dancing." The joke rolled off my tongue with ease, a product of years spent teasing him for countless things.

And just like all those times before, he rolled his eyes and then immediately flashed an affectionate smile all the same.

I should have stopped there, maybe tried to do something a bit more romantic like teach him how to dance... Placing his hands and fixing his posture, taking the time to gracefully have an excuse for exploring his body with my hands...

But romance took a backseat when I pressed myself in even closer to him and hummed just under his jawline. "Mmm, but I bet you're good at other things..."

I felt his hands grip my waist just a little tighter, and his throat visibly twitched. "How much have you had to drink, Honeybee?"

"Spencer," I whined, pressing my face into his neck. "Don't tell me you're turning me down, please..."

I could tell by the way he was touching me, his hands wavering and undecided, and the way his heartbeat thrummed loudly and quickly against my own that he wanted nothing more than to entertain my desires.

The thought made me quiver and press further into him. I kissed his jawline tenderly, silently begging him to whisk me away and finally make me his, but it broke my heart a little to feel him peel away from me.

When he looked into my eyes though, I swore the gleam in his own is what put me back together. It could have been the liquor swimming around in my body that made me feel lightheaded, but when Spencer lifted my chin with his fingers and looked me over, I knew that wasn't it. It was wholeheartedly, without a doubt, him.

"Tell you what... You get sobered up by the end of the night, and maybe I'll come find you."

I wanted to nod, but his gentle grip on my chin held me steady—At least until he glided his fingertips down my throat and over my shoulder. Then I downright slumped forward with a whine and a weak nod that seemed to make him smile.

"Thank you for the dance," he said earnestly, leaning forward to press the lightest of kisses to my temple.

Just like that he was gone, and I wanted him back almost immediately.

———

And so the night dragged on, and the longer I sobered up the more it dawned on me what the fuck just happened— What the fuck was going to happen, too, if I played my cards right.

It didn't help that I could practically feel Spencer's eyes on me the whole time. Probably to make sure I really wasn't drinking anymore, a fact that only made this feel more real.

On top of it all, I was starting to lose count of the amount of men here who were trying to buy me drinks. Even if the one man I really wanted tonight hadn't given me a deal, I still wouldn't have accepted them, if only for the pathetic fact that I would have been trying to catch his attention instead.

So much for trying to convince myself I wasn't in love with him...

Was that really what it was? It had to be, right?

Either way, I was determined to find out, and that meant declining every flirtatious offer to drink and dance.

Unfortunately, Seraphina seemed to notice, even on the one day in her entire life she shouldn't have been thinking about anyone but herself. "You're not having fun," she pouted, plopping down next to me and handing me a shot. "Have fun."

I laughed and set the tiny glass down on the table. "I am having fun, I'm just... tired. And being hungover tomorrow does not sound fun."

"Mmm," she responded, visibly suspicious.

I didn't really know what to say to her to convince her not to be though, so I grabbed her hand and smiled. "You're having fun though, right? 'Cause I will not hesitate to kick someone's ass if you're not."

With a bellowing laugh mildly tainted with the smell of champagne, Seraphina squeezed my hand and leaned in close. "I'm having the best time. I couldn't be happier."

"Well, good. You deserve it."

After a small moment of silent shared smiles, my best friend glanced over elsewhere and then back to me with that look in her eye that kind of scared me.

And her words were even scarier... "So, you talk to Spencer at all tonight?"

"Uh— Yeah... Briefly."

"Mhmm... Y'know, I saw you two dancing together earlier. You seemed reeeally close..."

There I was, getting defensive in front of a Reid sibling for the second time that night. And just like before, I was awful at being subtle. "Sera, stop it! It was just a dance..."

"Bullshit! He had his hands all over you, and he had that gross-ass, dreamy-ass look in his eye! He so wants to sleep with you!"

"Sera!" I gently shoved her and tried not to smile at the goofy smile she had plastered on her face.

"Am I wrong?"

"I... I don't..."

"Ha! I'm not wrong!"

The defeated look in my eye did nothing to disconfirm her story.

"So, what's stopping you from letting him?"

I went wide-eyed. "Se—You... You seriously would... You're okay with this? It doesn't... gross you out?"

There were a lot of things I could have seen Seraphina do in that moment, but pinching and yelling at me were not any of them. "Y/N! You idiot! I've been trying to get you two together for years! If I knew all it took was me getting married, I would have accepted Theo Decker's proposal..."

"Wa— In fifth grade? Sera, that wasn't—"

"I know, but you get what I mean! You two are so painfully attracted to each other, it physically hurts me. It's actually disgusting, but if it means there's a chance that you might get to be my sister? I say go for it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You... You really mean that?"

"What, you think I'd joke about that?"

Everything that she conveyed to me within the look in her eyes, her words, and the squeezing of her hand over mine told me she was sincere.

"I love you, you know," I told her just as sincerely.

Her smile was as radiant as ever, but the teasing tone in her voice was enough to make me scowl again. "Right back at'cha, Honeybee. Just do me a favor and don't tell me any details. I don't wanna know."

I stuck my tongue out at her, followed by a short shove. "Oh, and as soon as you get back from your honeymoon? I'm kicking your ass for telling him about that nude shoot I did for that magazine..."

She only grinned. "Why? I think I did you a favor..."

I rolled my eyes at her, but in the end, I guess she was right.

———

I shouldn't have been pacing. Really, it was pretty fucking embarrassing the way I walked in circles around my hotel room, waiting for a knock at the door or a text message on my phone, or something to let me know that Spencer had really meant what he said and was on his way to come find me.

I didn't have a single drink after we danced, and I swear to God, if he made me go through this entire night all nervous without the liquor to calm me down, for nothing? I was going to kill him tomorrow.

Later today... Whatever.

The point? I was well and truly ready to feel him taking up my personal space, and I was going to feel like a real idiot if I waited around and prepped and everything, only for him not to show. The funny thing was, it was almost two in the morning, and I would have stayed up until the sun rose for him.

Thank God he had the decency to save me the trouble.

A short two-rap knock on the door made me jump, but I ran at it full-speed, flinging the large wooden panel open and letting its momentum blow cool wind over my body. And I needed it, too.

Because standing right in front of me was Spencer Reid in all his semi-exhausted glory. His outfit was loosened, buttons undone and bowtie untied, hanging limp around his neck. His hair sat wild atop his head and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin. Maybe that last part sounded gross, but looking at him? It was anything but.

Especially when he flashed me that damned smirk. "Someone's eager..."

I tried not to sound as dumbfounded by his presence as I felt. "Well, you made me a good offer I couldn't refuse. Excuse me for being excited."

"And here I thought all this time you hated me, Honeybee..."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it?"

His grin transformed into a full-on beaming smile then, and it only made my skin feel warmer and my heart beat faster. I returned his smile with my own, so genuinely happy to see him again after all this time, and with the brightest show of happiness I'd ever seen.

Turns out, smiling like a lovesick idiot was all I was capable of.

"Are you... gonna let me in?"

The low suggestive tone in his voice had me springing into action, stepping back and allowing him the space to come in. And though he had plenty of room, Spencer still decided to brush his body over mine as he passed. His eyes bore into my own as he gently kicked the door shut and enveloped us in a dimness that came from cheap hotel lighting.

Still, I was unable to speak, and hardly able to even breathe, with each passing second.

And then, his hands were on my waist, pulling me to him with a softness that matched the whisper in his throat as he said, "C'mere..." Looking up at him then, his fingers burning holes through the thin fabric of my dress while he looked back down me, eyes swimming in tender desire... It almost didn't even feel real.

And it certainly didn't feel real when he leaned in, one of his hands coming up to touch my face while the other pressed me firmly against him.

The moment his lips touched mine, I was gone. I positively melted into him, so much so that it felt like I was just becoming a part of him entirely, losing myself in the moment and unwilling to let it go.

Even when he sighed against my lips and parted his own to kiss me deeper, I just followed suit and let him take the lead. We moved together as one, fluidly and with as much eagerness was possible. I'd wanted to get a taste of him for so long, and he obviously felt the same way, what with the thorough and precise exploring his tongue did with my own. It shot warmth throughout my whole being, and my legs threatened to buckle underneath me from how weak they felt.

Spencer seemed to understand what was happening to me, because as soon as I'd thought it, he was just as quick to literally sweep me off my feet, scooping me up bridal style and carrying me over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

"I know we're at a wedding and all, but geez," I laughed, watching as he laid me down gently and crawled over my body. "A little much?"

He only rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for trying to be romantic..."

"Mmm, I think you're just being an overachiever. As per usual."

That remark earned me a pinning of my wrists above my head, and the fire that erupted in my very core at my current position only cemented that this was very real.

Spencer grinned, his hips coming down to roll over mine teasingly. He spoke nice and slowly, his voice slicing through my soul like smooth butter. "Oh, Honeybee, I'll show you an overachiever..."

Once again I was rendered speechless. Not like I expected to be talking his ear off or anything, but words genuinely escaped me.

Luckily, Spencer didn't seem to mind. In fact, he knew exactly what to do next, and it made me even hungrier for him than ever before.

He captured my lips in another dizzying kiss, his hands still flexing over my wrists to keep them steady. I moaned softly and writhed against him, and though I would have liked to say that it was a conscious choice to coax him to give me more, really it was just me being unable to handle the fact that this was actually happening.

Actually, if not for the overwhelming and familiar scent of him, I would have thought I was only imagining it.

But alas, here he was in all his floral peppermint glory, grinding his hips down into mine and kissing me like I'd never been kissed before, driving me mad with each adept movement.

Thankfully he seemed to get as lost in the moment as I was, because he loosened my wrists in his grip, and I broke free, flying my hands in between us and down to his belt.

His lips pulled away from mine with a soft smack, a smile forming smugly upon them. "Have you no patience?"

As my fingers fumbled with the metal and leather, I pressed my nose to his and quickly pecked his mouth. "I thought we already established that I have no patience the moment I opened the door..."

"Fair... But still..."

Spencer grabbed my hands again, moving them to my sides and then hiking my dress up slowly. His skin was hot against my own, and it took everything I had not to break down begging for him.

And then he spoke again, his lips barely grazing mine as he did. "Teasing you is so much fun..."

I couldn't really explain what sound escaped me then, but it reminded me of a disgruntled animal, erupting from my throat and getting muffled the moment I took my hands and brought his face to mine. I kissed him fervently as his hands matched the intense nature of my affections— With every soft groan I gave him, he returned it with an inch higher up my leg, until eventually he was toying with the hem of my underwear.

Unable to take it anymore, I gave in and mumbled the most desperate plea I could think of. (Like I had to think that hard...)

"Spencer, please..."

I half expected him to tease me again, but this time I felt him tremble over my body. His fingers slipped under the satin of my underwear and he sighed into my mouth. "God, how could I ever say no to you..."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did he spread me apart with his fingertips, getting a feel for me and a broken sigh falling from his tongue and onto my own. I captured it and kissed him with as much precision as I could while under the influence of his hands working wonders.

Truly, his hands hand a magic of their own that should have been considered as an eighth Wonder of the World. They flexed in all the right places, splitting me open and caressing the most sensitive parts of me, simultaneously breaking me apart and putting me back together...

God, and those was only his hands...

The thought of what else he had waiting for me made me cry out into his mouth, though I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that his fingers were curling expertly inside me and summoning an orgasm that I knew would satisfy us both.

I almost cried out again when his lips left mine, but then they travelled to my neck and paid it the most glorious attention. The alternation of his fingers and his tongue on different spots of my body had me in shambles, and it took no longer than a few seconds to snap.

"Fuck, that's my girl," Spencer grumbled into my neck, helping me through my orgasm. "That's it, honey..."

What I wouldn't have given to hear him talk to me like that until the end of time... His words, their tone and praise seeping into my skin and bringing my soul to life... Coupled with his soft hands and his even softer breath fanning over my neck, I was just about ready to ask him to keep talking to me, to say my name and never stop.

He pulled away though, removing his hand from my lower half and bringing it up to his mouth, and I had the feeling my request wouldn't be a problem.

Spencer's eyes rolled back and his tongue gathered my arousal off his long, well-endowed fingers. And though I could hear his groan well and clear, I felt it more than anything. It reverberated through my body and brought me more to life in a way I never thought imaginable.

No one had ever made me feel that way with one single sound, and that's how I knew.

I thought I knew it from the start—from when we were growing up—that I wanted to be near him forever. But It was always just a silly dream, something I was never quite able to reach, and as I got older and we rarely saw each other, it got harder to even imagine anymore.

Now I didn't have to imagine.

Spencer Reid was right in front of me, touching me, tasting me, verbally praising me with sounds I'd only ever dreamed of...

I wanted him to have his moment, because I was positive he'd wanted this just as much as I did, but this sappy sort of revelation I was having made it nearly impossible to not be utterly wrapped up in him, and I wanted more.

So I wiggled and adjusted myself underneath him before grabbing his hand and placing it over my heart. His eyes widened softly at the sight of me, and I knew then that he was taking the time to memorize my face, and the image of his hand resting at my chest, right where my heart was encased beneath bones, flesh, and fabric.

"I could look at you forever," he whispered then.

I would have been ashamed to admit that I whimpered when he said it, but the way he looked at me afterwards made me feel the exact opposite.

He smiled, using his other hand to come up and touch my face. "You want it bad, don't you, Honeybee?"

I didn't even argue with him this time. My head nodded and my hands reached out to pull him closer. "I want you... More than I've ever wanted anything."

Before he leaned down to kiss me, I could have swore he looked like he was going to shed a tear. The duality of him, his ability to be all teasing and cocky one second and then reduced to a lovesick mess at just a few words from me the next, made my heart sing.

And it kept singing, a sweet, steady melody as Spencer kissed me and touched me like he meant it.

Only this time, he didn't pause or tease me with theatrics. He went straight for the kill, fetching a condom from his pants pocket and then sliding the material down, all while keeping me trapped under his embrace. I welcomed it naturally, humming happily into his neck and jawline and anywhere I could reach as he got us both fully undressed and situated, until finally he had the condom on and his hands rested nicely on either side of my head.

"Promise not to sting me?"

I laughed, draping my arms over his shoulders and flashing him a wink. "Mmm, only if you promise to give it to me good..."

"Deal."

He slowly pushed into me then, and the stretch was far more satisfying than his fingers, though I was in no position to complain either way. If he was even half as skilled with his hips as he was with his hands (which I had no doubts about whatsoever), then neither of us had anything to worry about.

It didn't take long for us to find our rhythm, but I didn't have time to think about that. I was so consumed with just the feeling of him being everywhere that technicalities didn't matter.

That being said, the technicalities were really fucking good.

His hips snapped into mine with sharp precision, and I felt it deep within my bones. My cunt clung around him willingly and accordingly, as did my legs, which hooked over his waist as I dug my heels into his ass.

Meanwhile Spencer grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head again, this time interlocking our fingers and then leaning down to kiss me deeply. It was met with my undying welcome, of course, but with the way he was fucking me, deep and with a devotion that nearly exploded my heart, I couldn't help but whine out for more.

His name was all I could manage.

"What do you want, Honeybee?" he cooed, holding himself deep inside me and grinding his hips in small circles that made it harder to breathe.

"M—More... I..."

"Can you be more specific?"

How he could be such a cocky little shit in this moment I wasn't sure, and it frustrated me to no end. He knew damn well what I wanted, and I knew just the thing that would make him give it to me.

I have him the biggest pout I could, also whining out the most pathetic, "More," in my arsenal. And with a roll of my hips up into his, I gasped out at how deep he got, and whined out again.

"Spoiled brat," Spencer grunted in defeat, retreating only to slam into me at full force.

My small gasps and cries turned into full-blown howls of searing pleasure as he fucked me then. My head tipped back and my back arched slightly, exposing my neck and chest to him, and he took it as an invitation to lean down and put his mouth anywhere he could reach. I was sure there would be small nicks and bruises littered over my skin the next morning, and just thinking of everyone seeing them, seeing Spencer's mark on me, made it harder to prolong the inevitable.

I came with a shout, flexing my hands into his as my body tensed then relaxed, over and over while he whispered praises into my skin. He followed soon after, shoving his face into my neck and muffling the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard as he came.

By then his hands had loosened, so I snuck my own away from his and brought them over to hug him close. One hand knotted into his hair while the other grazed over his back. The thin sheen of sweat forming over his skin once again was more enticing than it probably sounded, but I loved it all the same. I felt him relax and bring his arms down to rest at my sides, his fingertips dancing lightly over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Then out of nowhere, he said something that confused and mildly panicked me. "I thought you said you wouldn't sting me..."

I pulled away to try and look at his face, loosening my grip on his body. "A—Am I hurting you? I'm sorry..."

He laughed though, peppering tiny kisses up my neck until he got to my jaw. "You're not hurting me, Honeybee... You've just... stung my heart, that's all."

"I... Is that a bad thing?"

"It's a strange thing..."

He looked at me like I was the one thing on the planet he adored, but his words sounded different.

I raised an eyebrow. "You're not helping me understand..."

With another laugh, Spencer Kissed my cheek and rolled off of me, settling for laying on his side and turning me to face him. "Do you remember how I gave you your nickname?"

Despite my confusion about all of this, I entertained him with a huffed laugh. "Yeah, I spilled honey all over my shorts without realizing it, and I had ants all over me in a matter of minutes. I was terrified."

"I was highly amused."

I shoved him. "Yeah, dork, I know you were! You and Seraphina both thought it was the funniest thing on the planet, and then your mom had to come out and spray me down with a hose before I came back in the house."

Spencer barked a laugh, and I wanted to punch it right out of his mouth.

"Tell me again why this is relevant to our current situation?" I reminded him with and sigh, already over his antics.

Thankfully he seemed to take pity on me; He reached a hand out and played with a strand of my hair, smiling even brighter than when I opened the door for him. "That's when I started to feel it. You were just... so cute all angry at me and Sera for laughing, and it... It changed everything."

"You know, that would be more romantic if I hadn't been covered in bugs," I responded with a laugh.

"It's true! And it confused the hell out of me, because how was I supposed to cope with the fact that I actually had a crush on my little sister's best friend like some stupid cliché? You were always so feisty after that, too, and it certainly didn't help... And when I graduated and went off to college, I thought... I thought there was no chance you would ever be able to break the heart you'd managed to steal."

He swiped his thumb gently over my bottom lip and smiled, his eyes going all tear-y again. It sent butterflies through my whole body.

"I would never even dream of breaking your heart, Spencer..."

Our foreheads pressed together then, and the unwavering adoration in his voice when he spoke made me forget all prior confusion and minor embarrassment over re-living our origins.

All that mattered was that he was here, holding me in his arms and making me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I know you won't, Honeybee."

———

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seijorhi · 4 years

Text

No Strings Attached

A commission for the lovely @hearteyes-candyskies, hope you like it bby! 💕

Bokuto Koutarou x female reader

TW Age gap, power imbalance, manipulation, toxic behaviour, nsfw(ish)

Three months ago, you would have laughed at the very idea of having a sugar daddy.

Then again, three months ago you were still living with your boyfriend and had a steady paycheck coming in every week. You can blame losing the latter on bad luck and an asshole boss, but the former-

You knew your relationship with your ex was far from perfect, but coming home from losing said job to find him buried balls deep in your next door neighbour was a bit of a slap in the face.

Needless to say, in the space of a few days you were out a job, a boyfriend and an apartment. Which, somewhat inevitably, led to you being six wines deep, slumped over your best friend’s bed, sobbing over the wreckage of the life you’d built, suddenly ripped out from beneath you.

You can’t really remember whose idea it was, only giggling drunkenly between yourselves as Misuzu set up your ‘sugar baby’ profile. “Shh, no this is gonna be great,” she’d said, hitting at the hands that tried to grab back your phone. “Meet some hot rich old dude, ride a little dick, let him shower you in cash; all your problems? Poof, sorted!”

And even with the heady, rose tinted haze of your wine fuelled inebriation, you knew that it was just a joke, a bit of stupid fun born more out of an attempt to cheer you up than a viable plan to get the tattered remains of your life back on track. Calling some old creepy dude ‘daddy’ and pretending to love him (not to mention the whole letting him fuck you thing) just for a little money wasn’t exactly your idea of a good time.

Plus, you were fairly sure that you weren’t what most people had in mind when they thought ‘sugar baby’. It wasn’t ever meant to be anything serious, just dumb, drunken fun with your friend.

So when you woke the next day a little after mid morning with a head full of regrets and a pounding headache, the last thing you expected was to find a message from BigDaddyKou82 waiting for you, better sense told you to ignore it.

Honestly, you didn’t really want a sugar daddy, your love life was enough of a mess without throwing in a power imbalance like that.

You should have ignored the message, deleted it or shot him a quick reply politely explaining that you weren’t interested so you could put it out of your mind, and you would have-

If Misuzu hadn’t caught sight of the message first, snatching the phone out of your hand with a gleeful shriek.

—

If you’ve learned anything in these past months, it’s that Bokuto Koutarou doesn’t do anything by half measures. So when he tells you he’s booked dinner for the two of you at an upscale restaurant in the city, you should have expected the package that’s hand delivered right to the door of your shitty little apartment. The dress is beautiful, expensive - though you could tell that just from the elegant matte black box wrapped in golden ribbon it arrives in. It’s exactly his style; short, revealing and just dancing along the edge of impropriety, not that that’ll bother him in the slightest.

But it is gorgeous, and loathe as you are to admit it, it flatters you well.

It’s not the first time that he’s bought you clothes, your tiny closet’s almost overflowing with pieces he’s gifted you. He likes seeing you in the things he’s bought, sometimes a little too much, you think. But you’ve learned it’s better just to go along with it - he gets this wide eyed, beaming grin whenever he sees you dressed in the pretty things he’s bought you, and the sight of it never fails to make your cheeks heat, warmth curling in your stomach.

The dress was not unexpected. The soft, lacy lingerie that comes in the accompanying box, on the other hand - that was new.

And of course, you barely have time to unwrap your gift when your phone flashes to life, an incoming call from the man himself.

“D’ya like it?”

The giddy excitement in his voice is unmistakable, and if you close your eyes you can picture the look on his face - golden eyes all hooded and hungry, that glittering, eager grin he wears when the two of you are out in public but his mind’s occupied with all the filthy, wonderful things he wants to do to you the moment you’re alone.

Not that he’s ever that patient.

“Um, it’s…” Fingers tentatively reach into the tissue paper, pulling the sheer, lacy bra out, warmth blossoming in your cheeks. The matching panties - a tiny scrap of lace held together with bows and thin black straps - really aren’t much better. Like the dress, the lingerie is clearly well made, probably cost more than your weekly rent, and the delicate set is arguably gorgeous (you can’t even argue his taste), but–

“You’re gonna wear it for me tonight, right, baby?”

It’s not really a question; of course you will, because you always do. You would have thought by now that you’d be used to the gifts he showers you in.

“Yeah, but Kou, you really didn’t have to spend all this money on me. Dinner’s enough,” you tell him, setting the lingerie back down.

Dinner, and everything else for that matter.

A chuckle echoes down the line. “But I like spoiling my girl. Like buying you pretty things,” his voice dips, “like tearing ‘em off you afterwards, too.”

And despite all the apprehension curled up inside of you, a shiver of excitement runs down your spine.

—

“So…” Misuzu pushes, leaning across the countertop with her chin resting on her palm and looking entirely too pleased at your discomfort.

“He… asked me to meet him.”

Her eyes widen, sparkling in delight as she gasps, “For dinner?”

“For a drink - one drink,” you clarify. You elect not to tell her that he’d initially tried to sway you into dinner, and it was you who’d talked him down to a drink. Truthfully, you’d probably feel more comfortable getting coffee, but meeting at a bar was fine.

One drink, and if things got awkward or he turned out to be a creep you’d be out of there in a heartbeat.

“Oh my god!! My baby Y/N, all grown up and manipulating old, lonely men for money. I’m so proud,” she wipes a fake tear from her eye and bursts into a fit of giggles.

A crinkle appears between your brow as you frown at her, “He’s not even that old,” you grumble, “and it’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

“No?” she asks, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. “You know, for somebody who was so against me messaging your soon to be sugar daddy, you sure move quickly.”

She laughs at the glare you shoot her way. “You were the one who started this.”

“Mhm, and you were the one who didn’t stop it. Funny that, don’t you think?”

She looks like the cat that ate the canary; smug, glittering amusement written all across her face. And you hate, more than anything, that she’s right.

Because you’d meant to put a stop to it the moment you managed to wrestle your phone back from her. Afterwards, you’d blame the lingering hurt of having your heart broken, the insecurities and bitter humiliation that plagued you, the feeling that you weren’t good enough to stop your boyfriend from straying for making you so pathetically vulnerable and desperate for approval - but when you opened the chat instead of the sleazy come on’s you expected, his first message makes something inside of you flutter, warm and pleasant.

Holy crap, you’re beautiful.

Not exactly a sonnet from Shakespeare, but you can’t remember the last time any guy, much less your ex, called you beautiful.

It didn’t exactly hurt that instead of the aging, creepy looking letch you were half expecting, the profile picture showed a rather fit, attractive man in a crisp, black suit with silvery grey streaked hair and an easy grin. Of course, it was a fifty-fifty chance that the pic wasn’t even him, or if it was then it was outdated or heavily edited, but it was enough to make you pause.

Enough to make you… curious, if nothing else.

But ridiculously attractive or not, you weren’t going to lead him on. If he wanted some pretty, simpering thing to fuck and throw money at, to call him daddy and be his sweet, obedient little girl - that wasn’t you. You’d explained that you weren’t really sure if this was your thing, that you probably weren’t what he had in mind, but surprisingly he hadn’t been put off by that.

Well what’s the harm in finding out for yourself? Maybe you’ll like it more than you think ;)

—

There were rules, when you started - lines you both agreed wouldn’t be crossed.

First and foremost, while it wasn’t exactly a conventional relationship - at least, not the kind you were used to - it was still a relationship of sorts, and there was an expectation of honesty in lieu of absolute exclusivity. You’d tell him if you were seeing anybody else, and Bokuto would tell you the same. Considering sex was on the table, it made sense.

You swore right from the beginning that you wouldn’t allow yourself to become financially dependent on him - you knew all too well that relationships were fickle things to begin with. That kind of dependency was half the reason you were in this position in the first place, and you wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that happen again. That didn’t mean that the arrangement wasn’t transactional. After a few initial meetings that went better than you expected, the two of you came to an agreement; a nice little sum of money he’d deposit weekly in your account in exchange for you being there when he wanted you. Dinner dates, skype calls when he’s travelling, spur of the moment weekends away in expensive hotels - whatever he wanted... within reason.

The thing is, despite his flaws - the little funks he gets into, his immaturity despite the age gap between you, the way he clings to you, mopes if you don’t pay him the attention he wants - you genuinely like Bo, he’s oddly endearing. Loveable, even. He reminds you a little of a puppy; eager for affection, bright and boisterous with boundless energy (and enviable stamina). He’s sweet and adoring and funny and he has this uncanny ability to make everything else fade away when you’re with him, to make you feel like you’re the only woman in the room, beautiful and perfect and entirely his-

But that didn’t make him your boyfriend.

You weren’t lovers, and whether it was in two weeks or two years, you both knew this arrangement had an expiration date. And because of that, there were no strings attached. At any point, either one of you could end it without an explanation - no questions asked, no feelings hurt.

—

Truthfully, you don’t know an awful lot about Bokuto’s line of work, only that his position within the company is senior enough that he can move around his schedule pretty much as he wants, leaving him free to see you whenever he likes.

Which wasn’t a problem when that was once or twice a week.

“Sorry, Koutarou, you know I can’t. Maybe tomorrow?”

The petulant whine that echoes down the phone fills you with an odd sort of guilt. “Why not? You said no on Friday, too,” he pouts. “I miss you, baby. Wanna see you again.”

You shove down the faint, flickering unease that nudges at your gut. You’re not his girlfriend, and you find yourself wondering whether or not he sometimes deliberately lets himself forget that.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you frown, “I told you I have work today. It’s too late for me to try and find someone to cover my shift, and if I call in again-”

You can kiss your job goodbye. You’re already on thin ice with your boss, and it’s not like new waitresses are hard to find these days.

“Well… what time do you finish?” he asks, his voice thick with dejection, as if he already knows what your answer’s going to be.

You bite back a sigh, “Late. I’m on close again.”

The short silence on the other end of the phone is deafening. “… I’ll come pick you up afterwards.”

This time you can’t stop the soft sigh that escapes, “Kou, I’m gonna be exhausted, I won’t be any fun to be around.”

“Still wanna see you. You’re always working,” he grumbles. “Feels like you don’t have time for me anymore, baby.”

Slowly your eyes flutter shut, and you take a deep breath. It always comes back to this. “I need this job, baby. We’ve talked about this… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I have the whole day off, I’m entirely yours.”

“All mine, hm?”

You smile, “All yours, promise.”

He hums in acknowledgement, not entirely happy, but temporarily placated. “Fiiiine. But I’m holding you to it.”

As if you expected any less. “I have to go get ready for work. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll see you later,” he promises, and you hang up a moment later.

When he said that, you assumed that both of you were on the same page as to what ‘later’ meant.

Three hours into your shift, you hadn’t expected to return from the kitchen to find a grinning Bokuto lounging in one of your booths.

“He asked for you specifically when he came in,” one of your coworkers tells you, shooting you a playful wink. “Didn’t know you were into silver foxes, Y/N. But I can’t say I blame you, he’s hot!”

“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter distractedly, glancing over your shoulder to check your manager wasn’t watching before making your way over.

The smile on your face is tight as golden eyes flicker towards you. “Bokuto,” you begin quietly, “what- what are you doing here?”

An odd look passes across his face at the use of his family name, but the smug grin remains. “You said you had to work tonight,” he says with a cavalier shrug, as if that explained everything.

“Yes, because I’m working! Kou, I need this job, I can’t-” you break off with a huff, darting another glance over your shoulder. Thankfully, your manager’s busy berating your co-worker for a screwed up order and hasn’t noticed your absence yet.

Taking advantage of your distracted state, Bokuto reaches across the table to take your hand in his, his thumb stroking back and forth along the back of your palm. “Hey, hey, relax. You’re here to work, I get it, baby. I’m just here for some food, cross my heart,” he swears, drawing an imaginary X over his chest with his finger.

Gently tugging your hand back, you ignore the hurt little pout he gives you. “So you decided to drive twenty minutes across town just to eat here?” you ask, trying to keep the exasperation from colouring your tone.

He shifts a little in his seat, cheeks flushing a dusty pink under your narrowed stare. “… Well, maybe I wanted to see my pretty girl, too,” he admits, “But I swear I’ll be on my best behaviour!”

Somehow, his words don’t fill you with confidence, but what are you supposed to do? Kick him out? Snap at him for coming despite the fact you told him not to? Taking a deep, steadying breath through your nose, you force yourself to relax. Bokuto’s not hurting anybody by being there, and so long as he keeps his hands to himself, so long as he behaves, it won’t be an issue.

He’s a paying customer, and you’ll treat him just like you would anyone else who walked through the restaurant’s doors.

Yet despite trying to reassure yourself of that, you can’t escape the niggling sense of unease sitting in the pit of your stomach. Even if he’s the perfect gentleman tonight, the perfect stranger, you’ve worked hard to keep your boring day to day life and the one you’ve created with him in nice, neat, separate boxes. Bokuto hasn’t met your friends or your family and outside of Misuzu they don’t have a clue about your arrangement with your attractive if somewhat clingy benefactor.

You don’t want them to know.

Him being here threatens that - it makes you nervous.

But you’ve been with Bokuto long enough to know that you can’t tell him that without hurting his feelings, and you definitely don’t have the energy to deal with that tonight. It’s a conversation for another day.

Instead, you allow a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips, “You know the food’s pretty average here, you might be disappointed.”

Bokuto grins again, mischief sparkling in those golden eyes, and your traitorous heart skips a beat. “Yeah, don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he leans in closer, “I’m far more interested in what’s for dessert.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as he snickers.

—

For the most part he keeps his hands to himself, but you can’t quite bring yourself to relax when you can feel those golden, hungry eyes burning a hole into your back as you move around the restaurant serving other customers.

You pretend you don’t see the scowling glower he sends to the harmless office-worker who spends a good forty five minutes flirting with you every time you go over to check on his table.

Bokuto orders enough food to feed a small army and stays until close, leaving a more than generous tip on his way out.

It goes without saying that he waits for you to finish up. The moment you slip out the door, calling out one last goodnight to your coworker, he’s on you, pushing you up against the brick alleyway wall, hiking your legs up over his hips as his mouth attacks yours, greedy and eager, swallowing up any and all protests you might’ve had.

He doesn’t take you home like you ask, but back to his penthouse suite, and neither of you get much sleep that night.

—

You’re halfway through washing your hair a few days later when your shower head splutters once… twice… and stops completely.

A blockage in the plumbing, your landlord informs you rather apathetically. It’s affecting the whole floor and it’ll take at least a day or two to get somebody out to fix it properly, leaving you without running water for the entirety of that time.

In hindsight, there were at least three other people you could have (and probably should have) called first, but he’s already answering the phone before the thought even occurs to you.

And then it’s too late to backpedal. You find yourself grateful that he can’t physically see the way you flush and fidget, pacing around your living room as you awkwardly try to explain the reason you’re calling at ten in the morning.

“Would, I mean, i-is it okay if I come over to use your shower? Just for this one time, mine kind of got interrupted this morning.”

God, from the way you stutter, stumbling over your own tongue, you’d think you were asking him to marry you. You’ve spent the night at his countless times before, but asking for a favour, even a small one like this - maybe you’re toeing an unwritten line in the sand? Bokuto isn’t with you because he loves you, he’s with you because it’s mutually beneficial for both of you, because of an agreement.

He wants fun, easy, not you saddling him with minor inconveniences. Calling to ask him to come save you, albeit from something as mundane as a lack of access to a functioning shower, feels like something you’d ask your boyfriend to do.

Not your sugar daddy.

But just as you’re about to backtrack and apologise for interrupting his morning, he speaks. “What d’you mean? Just come stay with me till it’s fixed.”

He says it with such certainty, as if it’s the most obvious solution and for a moment you’re stunned into silence. “A-are you sure? I don’t want-'' Don't want what? To be an inconvenience? A problem? “I don’t want to be in the way,” you finish lamely.

Bokuto just laughs, “Don’t be stupid, baby, of course you won’t be in the way. Just swing by the office and I can give you the keys. Or I can just get you another set made? I don’t know, we can figure it out later. I’ll see you soon, ‘kay?”

And you have to admit, as apprehensive as you were stepping into his penthouse alone for the first time, showering in Bokuto’s fancy ensuite bathroom (which you’re fairly sure is bigger than your actual bedroom) is a hell of a lot nicer than doing it at home. The lotions he has are all expensive brands with french names you’ve never even heard of before, but they smell amazing and they leave your skin feeling all soft and silky. Even the shampoo he’s bought for you to use is far nicer than the one you have at home, though you’re secretly pleased that its scent’s similar - your favourite, actually.

Did he buy them knowing that or was it just a coincidence, you wonder. You never thought to ask.

Without work, or Bo for that matter, to occupy your time, you decide to take advantage of his gigantic TV, opening up Netflix and settling into his ridiculously comfortable couch…

… And wake, a few hours later to the feeling of fingers carding through your hair and a pair of lips pressing against your cheek.

Bokuto’s home, you realise with a start, and there’s drool on your chin. Face burning with embarrassment, you hastily wipe it away with the back of your palm and try to sit up, only for Bokuto’s hand to wrap around your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“No, don’t get up, baby,” he says, easing down onto the couch beside you and shifting your head onto his lap so he can continue threading his fingers through your hair. “I like coming home to this.”

Still half asleep, curling up and nuzzling further into those warm, thick thighs of his, you miss the intensity of the adoration burning in golden depths as he coaxes you back to sleep.

—

The two of you are in bed, your cheek resting on his chest, his arm slung over your waist and knuckles brushing idly along your side, when Bokuto breaks the comfortable silence.

“Move in with me.”

You tense in his arms, heart skipping a beat. For a split second, you’re almost positive that you misheard him. “I-I’m sorry?” You push yourself up onto your elbow, turning your head so that you can look at him properly.

But Bokuto doesn’t miss a beat. “Move in with me,” he repeats, golden eyes bearing down on you.

The expression on your face is frozen halfway between disbelief and hysteria, and you’re staring at him, waiting for that stupid grin to break across his face, for him to laugh and tell you how ridiculous you look, because of course he’s joking.

He’s joking, right?

“Koutarou,” you begin slowly, “Wha- I don’t… Why would you want me to move in with you? We barely- I mean, we’re not…”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Why wouldn’t I? It makes sense. My place is bigger and nicer, and I like having you here with me. Feels right.”

It feels right??

“I-I can’t just move out of my apartment, Kou.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he huffs, “Why not? It’s a shitty apartment.”

“That’s not the point!” Knocking away the hand that reaches for you, you push yourself all the way up until you’re sitting properly. “I don’t want to move.”

Owlish eyes narrow, a flash of irritation sparking. “Why not? It makes perfect sense for you to move in here with me. You wouldn’t have to work at that stupid job anymore for one,” he huffs.

“Bokuto, I’m not going to quit my job,” you mutter. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Why, though?!” he explodes. “You don’t need the money, I’ve told you I can take care of you, whatever you want, baby, name it and it’s fucking yours. You don’t need to work and you don’t need that shitty little apartment!”

Like a crystal glass slipping from numb fingers, the fantasy you’ve convinced yourself you’ve been living shatters into a thousand jagged shards in the space of a single breath.

Oh, how naive you’ve been. How fucking stupid.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you inhale deeply, “Kou, that’s not-”

Strong fingers grip your jaw, and your eyes shoot open as he tugs your face back towards him. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown out, but it’s the intensity in his gaze as he stares at you, the blank expression-

“I love you.”

—

39 missed calls. 72 unread messages.

Flowers, bouquets of roses, peonies and chrysanthemums piled up by your door between boxes of chocolates and other gifts you won’t bring yourself to open.

Wide eyed, Misuzu gingerly steps over them, holding two steaming mugs in hand. “Holy fuck,” she murmurs, and for the first time since this stupid, awful mistake began, there’s not a trace of mirth to be found. “Y/N, I…”

But she doesn’t have the words, and you can’t blame her.

“He told me he loves me,” you sigh. “He asked me to move in with him and told me he loved me, and I grabbed my clothes and all but ran.” You still can’t get the image of Bokuto’s face out of your head, the raw, aching hurt swimming in his eyes as you all but stumbled over excuses in your haste to get out of there. But he didn’t lift a finger to stop you, didn’t say another word.

He just watched numbly, hunched over against the headboard as you fled.

There’s a short beat of silence between the two of you as she sets down the drinks and collapses into the chair beside you. “And… do you love him back?”

Exhaling loudly, you drop your face into your palms. “I-”

You like how he makes you feel beautiful, the filthy, wonderful praise he lavishes you in when the two of you sleep together, the way he touches you, fingers and mouth so eager to please as his cock fills you, inch by delicious inch.

You like being adored, treasured, and you liked Bo, but… you don’t love him.

That was never on the cards, that wasn’t what your relationship was.

Every line he ever crossed, every boundary he toed, you keep replaying them again and again over and over in your head like a never ending loop. You hadn’t even wanted this whole stupid sugar baby relationship to begin with, and every step of the way he was the one to coax you forward.

And you let him, swallowing down your doubts and your insecurities each and every time. You let him think that this was something else entirely…

How had you not seen this coming?

“No,” you admit.

The hand that takes yours is soft, and when you glance over with eyes beginning to burn with unshed tears, Misuzu squeezes it gently. “Then end it. Walk away.”

And with your head on her shoulder, her arms wrapped loosely around you, you type out a short message to Bokuto. No strings attached and no questions asked, you’d promised each other that much when you’d started this mess. You wonder if it still holds true.

I’m sorry. Clearly we were on different pages and want different things. I didn’t mean to lead you on or for things to go as far as they did, but I can’t do this with you anymore.

You send it and block his contact, and when the tears come and painful sobs rip their way free, Misuzu holds you tight and murmurs soft reassurances. It’ll pass, all breakups hurt.

—

A week after your ‘breakup’ you get a notification on your phone that money’s been transferred into your bank account.

For a moment, you think that maybe it’s an accident, a recurring transaction he’d simply forgotten to cancel (you doubt he’d even notice) until you click into the transaction itself.

It isn’t the sum itself that startles you - twice the usual amount - but the short note attached in the description.

I need to see you. Please.

You transfer the money right back into his account.

—

Without your weekly supplement from Bo, it doesn’t take long for you to come to the realisation that your current salary just barely covers rent and your bills, and if you want to eat anything other than two minute noodles in the foreseeable future, you’re going to need either more hours, or a second job.

Thankfully, the timing works out well. When you go to your boss with your most winning smile to try and convince her of your plight, she simply shrugs and agrees, having had to let one of the junior staff go only a few days before. The one catch being that instead of working a mix of morning and afternoon shifts with the occasional closing thrown in, you’re now exclusively on close, five nights a week, Tuesday through Saturday.

Mostly, it doesn’t bother you. The shifts are long and you always leave feeling aching, drained and barely human, but usually it’s quiet enough, and so long as you can get the last few lingering customers out early enough, the actual close runs pretty smoothly between you and the other staff.

It’s not what you really want to be doing, but you’ve learned to make the best of it. This is adult life, and for the first time since high school, you’re supporting yourself entirely. It might not be the greatest job in the world, and there are absolutely days when you just want to throw in the towel completely, but there is a slight pride to that fact. You don’t need anybody in your life to coddle or support you, you’re figuring this shit out as you go along.

You just wish, sometimes, that you could do that without having to work until the early hours of the morning.

On paper, the kitchen closes at midnight and the last customers are supposed to be out within half an hour of that. Then, between yourself and another server, you can usually get the restaurant tidied up and closed a little after one.

You knew right from the moment you clocked on that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. The girl who’s supposed to be on close with you called in sick and your boss hasn’t bothered to replace her.

It’s not the first time you’ve had to close by yourself, but it’s still a pain, especially when the last few customers take forever to finish up and leave.

One of the kitchen staff offers to stay back, his bag slung over his shoulder, hand already on the door handle but you just shake your head with a tired smile.

“Nah, I can handle it. Thanks, though,”

To his credit, he doesn’t immediately take the offered out. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

Without any help, it takes almost twice as long for you to finish up, and it’s a little after two when you finally flick off the lights and lock the doors.

Your feet are killing you, and all you can think about is sinking into your bed at home, burrowing into your blankets and sleeping for a week straight-

“Hey, baby.”

Leaning against the hood of his car, arms folded across his broad chest and eyeing you with an unreadable expression, is Bokuto.

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

There's nothing inherently threatening about him being here, but it’s the middle of the night, you haven’t seen him in almost two weeks and you don’t need to glance around to know that the car park’s empty. There’s nobody in sight.

Just you and him, and the few feet of distance separating you.

“K-kou, what are you… what are you doing here?”

He smiles at that, the way his name slips from your lips, but only for a fleeting second. It fades, and a cold, uncomfortable feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

“I missed you, y’know?” He pushes off the hood and takes a step towards you, “You didn’t call me.”

He’s always been bigger than you, towering over you looking like some Adonis with those rippling, powerful muscles of his. You used to like that strength, squealing in wicked delight when he’d hoist you up with a grin, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing your ass, your back shoved up against the wall so he could drive his cock deeper into ‘his pretty fuckin’ pussy’.

But that was then.

You’ve never been scared of his strength. Even that morning in the apartment, he didn’t lash out, didn’t scream or yell, he just… shut down. He wouldn’t hurt you, you know that.

That doesn’t stop you from skittering backwards like a frightened little bunny, your back hitting the wall.

The very moment you do, you watch as his eyes widen in surprise, hurt flashing for a split second-

-before they darken, his face twisting into a scowl, and you can’t escape the feeling you’ve made an awful mistake.

Dread creeps its way up your spine, tightening like a vice around your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your brain is screaming at you to run, adrenaline surging through your veins, but even as your heart races and your breathing spikes, you can’t seem to move your legs.

It wouldn’t make a difference even if you could - with your back up against the literal wall, Bokuto and his car blocking your only escape route, you’re trapped; a fact that hasn’t escaped either of you.

Paralysed in fear, you can’t so much as twitch as he takes another slow, calculated step forward.

Desperately, you open your mouth - to try and placate him? To apologise? Scream for help? - but all that escapes is his name in a choked, breathless whisper.

“Bokuto…”

As he stares at you, he almost looks regretful.

Almost, if not for the grim determination resolving like steel in those golden eyes of his. “I love you, and I know you love me, too,” he says, closing the gap between you. “I’m doing this for us, baby.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere bokuto kotaro x reader #yandere bokuto koutarou #yandere bokuto kotaro #yandere bokuto koutarou x reader #tw manipulation #tw toxic behavior #tw kidnapping

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iamwhoami · 3 years

Text

Until the Fire Comes (One Chicago)

One Chicago

Y/N Halstead, not only the baby sister to Will and Jay but the entire Chicago family, is secretly dating Connor Rhodes but what happens when she gets injured during a call?

Warnings: Inaccurate Medical Stuff

Requested = Yes

Growing up as the younger sister with two older brothers, you quickly learned that relationships worked better when Will and Jay were kept out of the loop.

You loved them, more than anything else, and they loved you too, but sometimes their love would become a little too much and you realized that they took everything as a threat to your safety.

When you became a firefighter, your dating life became even harder to manage as it was no longer just your two brothers.

You now had an entire firehouse that would beat up a guy in a second if he even looked at you the wrong way.

With that being said, when you began dating Connor, you knew it was risky. He worked with Will for crying out loud! However, he loved you, and you loved him, and with that, you two made it work.

"So, are we going to keep this a secret from them forever?" Connor asked, glancing over at you.

You were over at his apartment, a cheesy rom-com playing on the TV. Nights like these were your favourite. Homemade popcorn and terribly wonderful movies spent with Connor.

"Maybe just a little longer?" You quirked an eyebrow.

Connor laughed, "You can't put it off forever Y/N."

"I'm not putting it off forever," You pouted, "Just a little longer."

Connor only smiled back, throwing his arm around your shoulders so that he could pull you closer into his body.

"Is that okay with you?" You whispered into his chest, the sound of his heart beating soothing your swirling mind.

"Whenever you're ready," Connor told you, "We'll tell everyone whenever you're ready."

~~~

"You did not have to kick him out," You chastised Stella as you two walked into the firehouse along with Brett.

"He was getting all handsy with you! I definitely had to give him the boot!" Stella shot back but there was a slightly defensive tone to her voice.

You groaned, "For the last time he was not handsy with me! He was flirting with me!"

"And you looked uncomfortable," Stella said matter of factly.

You sighed, "Look, I appreciate that, I do. I couldn't ask for a better friend, you always have my back Stella and I will always have yours but you know, I can handle myself."

Stella pursed her lips, "I know...I just don't want to see you getting hurt."

"I know and I appreciate it but you gotta let me handle it sometimes," You smiled up at Stella who returned it after a beat.

"Okay."

~~~

You knew the risks of your job.

Your brothers knew the risks as well, which was why they were so hesitant when you told them your plans about joining the CFD all those years ago.

They were going to be furious.

That's all you could think of as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

At some point, you blacked out completely but when you opened your eyes again, you saw Brett's worried face hovering above yours.

"You're going to be okay Y/N," Brett told you when she noticed that you were awake, "Just stay with me okay?"

You wanted to open your mouth and reassure Brett that you would. That you would try your best to stay awake.

Your best efforts weren't enough though as the weight on your eyelids won over and you shut them again, against Brett's pleas.

~~~

"What the hell happened?" Will exclaimed when he saw your unconscious body being rolled into the ER.

"The roof collapsed," Brett was on the verge of tears, "She went back in for the daughter. She's in the ambo behind us."

Maggie pushed Will aside, a non-verbal reminder that he couldn't treat you before turning to Brett, "You're going to Baghdad. Dr. Rhodes!"

Upon hearing his name being called, Connor rushed out of the doctor's lounge. He was expecting the incoming to be a trauma, but he wasn't expecting it to be you laying on the gurney.

"Y/N?" He whispered and froze.

"Dr. Rhodes!" Maggie's voice rang out through the ER.

Connor shook his head, "I can't treat her..."

"What do you mean?" Will was furious at Connor's lack of productivity when his sister was potentially dying on the gurney.

"We're dating," Connor's voice was barely audible, "I can't...she-"

Connor didn't get a chance to finish before he was rammed into the side of the nurse's station by Will.

"Hey!" Maggie yanked Will off of Connor and shoved him aside, "Dr. Bekker! You're taking this one!"

Luckily, Dr. Bekker had already jumped in once she realized what was going on and was working on you.

"It looks like she's bleeding internally," Dr. Bekker called out, "I won't be able to see the extent of it without going in."

"I need to call Jay," Will mumbled numbly and a nurse kindly guided him away to the doctor's lounge.

Connor stood there and watched as they prepped you for the OR. How could such a normal start to the day end up like this?

~~~

"She's stable," Dr. Bekker said and the moment the words were out of her mouth, a sigh of relief rippled throughout the room.

Will and Jay immediately embraced each other, both on the verge of tears.

"I'll have a nurse take you to her room," Dr. Bekker nodded and then stepped away, giving your brothers and Connor some privacy.

There was a moment of awkwardness as the three of them stood in silence, unsure of what to say or do now that the good news had arrived.

"You should see her first," Jay motioned his hand vaguely at Connor.

"You sure?" Connor quirked an eyebrow, "I mean, she's your sister."

Jay chuckled, "And you're apparently her boyfriend."

Even with Jay's approval, Connor still wasn't completely sure and looked over at Will, studying his face for any sign of protest.

"Jay's right," Will agreed after a pause, "You should see her first."

It may not have seemed to be very much but it was clear to everyone in the room that Connor had the approval of both your brothers.

You were going to be ecstatic.

~~~

You woke up to the steady sound of a heart monitor. Groaning softly, you opened a bleary eye to see a concerned Connor hovering over you.

"What happened?" You mumbled and went to rub your eyes when you noticed the IVs connected to your hands.

"The roof collapsed," Connor whispered, "You had some internal bleeding."

Your eyes widened when you realized where you were and Connor had to stop you from shooting up and potentially ripping your stitches.

"My brothers-" You started but the look on Connor's face made you stop in your tracks.

You groaned and covered your face, not wanting to even think about what your brothers would have to say to you about your secret relationship.

"I think they actually took it pretty well," Connor said and took your hand into his, "They're outside waiting...do you want them to come in?"

You nodded and Connor briefly left your side to get them. Your stomach began to churn when you saw Will and Jay enter the room.

"I'm sorry-"

You were cut off as both your brothers wrapped you up in a comforting hug.

"We thought we were going to lose you," Jay croaked out, "God, Y/N you have to stop with these tricks. You're going to give us a heart attack one day."

"That's what I do best," You joked.

Will shook his head, "You could have died. Do you know how lucky you are?"

"Very," You agreed, "Very, very lucky."

"You know you could have just invited us over to break the news about Connor," Jay teased.

You laughed, "You know me. Always with the dramatics."

"Of course."

#chicago fire imagine #chicago fire x reader #chicago fire imagines #Connor rhodes imagines #connor rhodes #connor rhodes x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med x reader

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea.

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair.

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week.

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield.

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him.

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield.

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you…

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever.

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality.

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you.

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up.

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting.

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help.

Or maybe it’s penance.

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting.

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.”

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar.

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do.

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in.

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin.

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow.

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it.

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter.

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing.

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder.

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.”

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more.

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing—

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide.

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer.

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat.

What a way to go.

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more.

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you.

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs.

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject.

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger.

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation.

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious.

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh.

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good.

Cheeky bastard.

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him.

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears.

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.”

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease.

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him.

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking.

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin.

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam.

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor.

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear.

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch.

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?”

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

#weLL here we are in a marvel hole kwejrkwejhr #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #the avengers x reader #my writing

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lacheri · 3 years

Note

Okay so... you might not even take requests but I’ll give this a shot anyway bc I love everything you write. I fucked up at work big time today and I feel tremendously anxious and guilty. Which made me think... Levi scenario with gf reader messing up on the field? I know he’d prob be harsh af at first but maybe... some fluff in the end? ): only if you want ofc.

hi nonnie! sorry for taking a few days to write this! but I hope u like it <3 (sorry to hear about your bad day btw ):)

accidents and apologies

pairing: dom!Levi x sub!fem bodied reader

content: canonverse, impact play, mild choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex/creampie, oral (f receiving), some humiliation/degrading, reader is clumsy and Levi is mean, minors DNI

wc: 3.2k

Fat tears sat in thick clusters on the brim of your lash line, a hiccupping sob racking your body. You were as good as dead, having possibly made the biggest fuck up of your military career thus far. Titans seemed like ants in comparison, the fly that buzzes by your ear that irritates you to no end. Levi’s odm gear sat in pieces on the floor, and somehow this loomed over you like the Colossal titan, maybe even larger.

The polish container sat forgotten on your captain’s desk, the wipe slipping from your trembling hands. Your bottom lip quivered, your lungs filling with air quickly as you slumped to the floor next to the shattered metal. Your off duty position of being Levi’s assistant was practically over, it had barely even begun. You had begged for this job for weeks now, only a few days into being his helping hand, you reflected on how poorly of a job you’d done.

It wasn’t enough you had gotten Levi’s tea wrong this morning, adding sugar to the steaming mug, thinking he’d like a change in taste. He didn’t, immediately spitting the liquid out, cursing you into guilt on the spot. To try to make it up to the ravenette, while he was on his lunch, you sat at his desk and began to organize his paperwork by date of importance. You felt pride as you finished with the three piles of stacks, putting fresh ink in his pot for his quill. However, Levi was horribly furious to see what your regret had manifested into. How were you supposed to know he liked his documents organized by date of assignment, not what was most important?

This was the cherry on top, Levi leaving for dinner, mentioning that his gear did need some polishing. Surely, you wouldn’t fuck this up, he thought as he closed the door to his office behind him. How wrong the man had been though. Within minutes, your fingers became slippery, losing your grip on the cold metal as watched in horror as it clattered to the floor, breaking on impact. It didn’t make much sense, how could it have broken? Wasn’t the gear meant to outlast a titan’s grip? Especially Levi’s trusty gear, you couldn’t fathom how his gear was now laying in pieces on the floor.

You sucked back your sob as you heard the creek of the door, your heart falling straight down to the pit of your stomach. Of course Levi would be back before you recite your apology a thousand times over in your head. You heard the thud of his boots hit the floor as he walked over, seemingly calm.

“Oi, what are you doing on the floor?” he barked out, you could feel his presence looming from behind you.

You turned your head up, his face blurry from the rush of tears in your eyes, “Sir, I am so sorry.”

His grey eyes flickered in front of you, finally taking notice of his broken gear. His lips twitched in a deep frown as he sucked in air through his nostrils harshly.

“Get up, cadet,” Levi spoked venomously, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

You hurried to your feet clumsily, trying your hardest to quell your cries from your throat. You faced him, head downturned, attempting to steady your racing heart rate and the tremors in your bones. Whatever control you thought you had slipped from your grasp the second your captain’s lips parted.

“Never in my life have I met someone as insolent as you,” the harshness of his words kept your eyes on his boots, fresh teardrops rolling down your cheeks. Levi was not going to speak to the crown of your head though, and his hand gripped your chin to force your eyes up, looking directly into his own. “You’re going to look at me while I talk to you, understood?”

You nodded, but this was not what Levi was searching for, “Your words, cadet.”

“Yes, sir,” it came out of your mouth as a squeak.

“You want to explain to me why my odm gear is broken?”

“It slipped,” you hiccupped, violently shaking under his fierce glare. “I couldn’t catch it in time. Captain, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” he bemused darkly in disbelief. “This is the third time today you’ve fucked something up, and you’re just sorry?”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you were on the verge of hyperventilating as you stuttered your words out.

“Well, now you owe me new gear, and you’re going to personally pay for the expense,” Levi’s hand left your face as he backed away from you, sitting down at his desk.

You looked on in confusion, “Sir, I don’t have any money?”

“Then I guess you’re fired,” Levi tilted his head back as if bored now with the conversation. “You’re relieved of your military duties as well. We can’t afford to have someone as brainless as you in the Scouts.”

“Captain, please,” you raised your voice, arms wrapping around yourself to contain your shaking.

Levi’s eyes darkened, leaning forward to press his elbows on his desk as he leaned his head onto his intertwined fists, “Leave my office, now.”

This couldn’t be happening. You had no home to return to, having left it behind long before you joined the Training Corps. This was your life, your purpose, your friends were here. You finally felt like you had a place in the world here in the Scouts.

“I’ll do whatever I have to!” you begged, not moving a muscle. “Whatever I can do to stay!”

“Are you deaf or just an idiot?” Levi pushed onto his feet, striding over to stand right in your face as he spat. “Leave my fucking office, that’s an order!”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you felt so fucking pathetic but couldn’t stop yourself from one last attempt, “Please, sir. Don’t kick me out, please let me make it up somehow.”

Your brain took a moment to catch up with what had just happened as you were suddenly staring down at the wooden notches of Levi’s desk. He had grabbed your wrists in a fierce swiftness, pushing you face down, his hands now positioned against your spine to keep you in place. His right hand reached around to fumble with your belt, and your heart began to race for other reasons.

“Captain?” you stuttered, feeling him begin to pull off the belts stationed on your thighs.

“You think you can just beg me in that voice, looking like that, and expect me not to lose control?” his voice was thick with anger, but instead of fear, it tickled bouts of arousal in your lower stomach. “Answer me.”

“No?” it came out as a question, you pushed your thighs together as you felt a pulse run through your core as his fingers tickled the exposed skin of your lower stomach. “Sir, I’m confused, what’re doing?”

“Like you have no idea what you do to me,” Levi chuckled without humor. “You begged me to be my assistant even though you knew you weren’t going to be a good one. You think I wouldn’t notice, your little crush on me?”

It was true, so entirely true. Levi had been the object of your affection for such a long time now, taking every opportunity to get as close to the man as possible. If you were being honest with yourself, this fantasy of being bent over his desk was a constant distraction in your mind. He was right, you were shit at cleaning, you were probably the most clumsy person you knew, you really had no qualifications to be Levi’s aide, yet you still asked for the position.

“Then why’d you hire me, Captain?” the bratty words left your lips as it dawned on you, Levi had found you appealing regardless of your lack of qualities.

With a quick motion, your pants and panties were bunched around your knees, Levi’s palm meeting the now exposed skin of your cheek in a caress, “The same reason you’re fucking soaked right now, cadet.”

You stayed in position as Levi brought his other hand to your opposite ass cheek, fingers kneading the fat as he spread you open to his hungry view. He was right, you were dripping. His pointer finger ran down the seam of your ass, laying a soft touch to your hole, watching it flutter in excitement. He couldn’t hold back the smirk on his face, removing his touch entirely.

You whined, pushing your bottom closer to Levi’s hands, desperate for his touch. Your hips were slammed against the edge of his desk, his fingers digging firmly into the back of your thighs, pushing your legs back together. You felt a jarring sting on your backside, yelping in response as you could make out the distinct imprint of each of his fingers.

“You want to show me you’re really sorry?” Levi’s voice was low and raspy as he soothed his palm over the reddened mark he had made. “Tell me after every slap.”

You were able to brace yourself this time as you felt the strike of his hand once more on your opposite cheek, unable to contain your moans at the contact. You squirmed as you felt removal of Levi’s touch leave you, only to bite down on your tongue harshly as he swatted the back of your thighs much harder than he had on your ass.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he spoke ruthlessly as another slap hit your thighs.

“I’m sorry!” you cried, gasping for air from the impact.

“Again,” his hand smacked the fat of your ass again, his other hand smoothing over the harsh red blotches against your thighs in an attempt to soothe the pain.

“‘M sorry!” you were whining, knuckles white from gripping the opposite edge of the desk as you arched your ass up into his hold. Part of you was genuinely shocked over how much you were enjoying this, thoroughly aroused mentally and physically.

Levi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front him. The handprints scattered across your lower half had his cock springing to life, hard and painfully erect. His hands traveled down to your pussy lips, using his thumbs to spread you open. Your hole was drooling, Levi let out a deep groan at the sight. He couldn’t stop himself, he had to have a taste.

You let out a sputtered moan as you felt the tip of your captain’s tongue lick a stripe from your hole to your clit. You pushed your hips further into his touch, thankful he resisted in shoving you back into the edge of the desk this time. His fingers held you open and apart, his taste buds rolling circles into your clit before returning back to your flitting opening, shoving his tongue in your walls. You could feel it fold in half, almost in a cupping motion as he bobbed his head, lapping as much as he could.

“Oh my God,” you whined, thrusting a hand behind you to grasp at his hair. His palms circled to the fronts of your thighs, digging his fingers into the fat as he pulled you somehow closer as he buried his face further into your dripping heat.

You were seeing stars, in between the mix of the pain and pleasure, your brain was completely empty. Levi’s right hand left your left thigh for a moment, coming back with a softer slap, inching his fingers to your center. His pointer finger swirled your clit relentlessly, and your breathing hitched as you were brought to even higher heights than before. His thumb joined not long after, pinching and pulling at your bud as you yelped.

You could feel the beginnings of your impending orgasm as Levi twisted and lapped your walls. The burning churn in your lower stomach became almost unbearable as Levi’s fingers worked faster at your bundle of nerves, full of purpose and intentions. Levi could feel the sudden change, your pussy clenching tighter and tight around his wet muscle. Your arousal was thicker, almost muskier as he inhaled through his nose, and Levi could swear he could drink from your core as if you were the finest of wines.

At the first blinding rush of pleasure, your body preparing itself for the intense promise of release, the ravenette removed all touch. You were gasping for air, your entire body’s nerves tingling uncomfortably. You were aching, desperate for anything.

“Look at you,” the return of Levi’s palm slapping your ass was welcomed with a smile on your face, thankful for any form of touch. “Falling apart that easy?”

You mumbled out a 'sorry', remembering his earlier warning. Apparently this was the word Levi was searching for, spinning you around and attaching his grip to your hips, slamming your sore ass on his desk, shoving his paperwork to the floor. Your eyes widened dramatically, seeing Levi’s cock fully exposed out of the zipper of his trousers. He was thick, his tip red and angry as he moved his fist over his length, a quiet groan leaving his parted lips as he relieved some of his own pent up arousal.

“Open,” he demanded, removing his hand from his dick, extending his palm to your pouty lips. You complied, letting your mouth loll open as Levi’s fingers pressed against your tongue, rolling them around to coat his digits.

He pulled them out with a pop from your lips, returning his now dripping hand to his erection, covering the entire member in your saliva. He gripped the backs of your knees after he deemed himself properly lubed up, dragging you right to edge as he positioned himself.

His grey eyes flickered up, fiery and full of lust, his voice hoarse, “You ready?”

“Yes,” you mewled, your fingers wrapping around the edge of the wood to steady yourself.

Without a moment of hesitation, Levi held your legs up as he slid his fat tip along the slick of your folds. It was so wet, so sloppy, you couldn’t contain the whimper leaving your lips as he pressed into your sopping hole. You could’ve sworn you felt your soul attempt to leave your body as he slid in, resting his tip right against your sweet spot once he was fully sheathed, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the mind blowing pleasure. He hadn’t completed a full thrust before you were begging for more.

“Please, please, more,” you managed out in between gasps, Levi rolling his hips backwards.

“You want more?” he chided, ramming himself so hard, the two of you bounced from the impact. You nodded, unable to voice a single word, drool threatening to escape your lips. His fist left the comfort of your bent knees, coming up to squish your cheeks together, a dribble of spit glistening against your pout, “You’ll answer me when I ask you a question, brat.”

“Yes! More!�� you strangled out, muffled from his grip on your face. He let go, placing a very soft pat to your cheekbone, almost as a reward.

“Atta’ girl,” Levi’s gaze turned dark as his eyes traveled from your eyes to the column of your neck. How pretty would you look with his fist wrapped around your throat?

The thought was threateningly persuasive as Levi found himself doing just that, squeezing the sides of your neck as he began to piston his cock between your folds. The sounds of slapping skin and your pussy squelching had you panting loudly, Levi’s fingers pressing harder into the sides of your throat. It felt so good, good wasn’t even the word to describe it. In fact, there weren’t any words in your brain at all, too consumed by the visuals of the ravenette plowing hard into you.

His hand left your throat upon seeing your eyes begin to flutter, his concern for your ability to breathe over taking his lust. Instead, he circled both his arms under your back, bringing you up into a folder position against his chest. He placed open mouth kisses along the curve of your shoulder, licking and sucking at any skin he could reach. Your ankles hooked around his waist, and you couldn’t hold yourself back from slipping a hand to your aching clit.

“Kiss me,” you pleaded into Levi’s neck as your middle finger rubbed hard at your clit, your thick slick coating the pad. You got curious, letting your hand trail further down, exploring the motion of his cock pummeling into you.

“Put your hands on my back, and maybe I will,” he growled out, displeased that he wasn’t the one bringing you total and complete pleasure.

You followed his orders with speed, his head navigated out of the crook of your neck, capturing your lips with a hasty passion. He tasted sweetly sour, the lingerings of your essence resting in the crevices of his lips, but still, you couldn’t get enough of his kiss. When his hand finally left the middle of your spine, and began to travel down to your center, you could feel the bubbles of climax igniting back in your stomach.

“Levi,” you moaned into his mouth as his fingers moved at lightning speed against your nerves, timed nearly perfectly with the pattern of his thunderous thrusts. The desk was squeaking loudly against the floor as he continued to pound into animalistically, moving it slightly with every move.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna’ cum,” you swallowed his words as he somehow sped up his movements, driving you straight to your climax.

You couldn’t even warn him, you barely had time to realize you were cumming yourself. It almost hurt how tightly you had clenched his cock as the pleasure nearly blinded you, unable to hold back swears and moans. Levi kissed you harder, and upon feeling your contractions swallowing him whole, your plush walls pulling his tip right up against your cervix, his hips staggered and his knees buckled.

Levi’s brain went blank as his orgasm was ripped from him, “Fuck, fuck!”

Levi should’ve felt embarrassed at the noises that left his mouth, whimpers and soft moans exiting his throat as he came hard. It was almost too much, the feeling of your wet heat wrapping around his most intimate part, the closeness of your bodies, although still fairly clothed, had his heart hammering in his ears.

When you came down from your highs, all you could was stare at each other in astonishment, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. He rested his sweaty forehead against yours, fluttering his eyelashes shut as he kissed you gently. You let out a sleepy giggle, your body entirely spent. His hand finally left the sensitive skin of your clit, wrapping your fingers around the back of your head as his kiss deepened.

When he finally slid his softened length out of the depths of your pussy, you were hissing at the fluttering of soreness intruding your pelvis. Levi shot you an apologetic look, kissing your forehead.

“Does this mean I can still be your assistant?” you mumbled, a small smile on your face as Levi reached down to pull his pants up.

His head tilted back as an uncharacteristic laugh bubbled out, flashing you a mischievous smile, “Get yourself cleaned up, and meet me back in my office. I still don’t believe you’re actually sorry.”

#levi smut #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman smut #levi fanfic #levi fanfiction #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #levi x reader #tw: impact play #tw: degradation #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #aot x reader #tw: choking

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neonlights92 · 3 years

Text

GRACE: Chapter I

Kim Namjoon lost himself when he lost his hand. Things have not been the same for him since. When Taehyung tells him it’s time for him to marry - he isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of someone else having a front row seat to his struggle with himself.

That’s where you come in. You’re a nurse, as well as a member of Bangtan, and Taehyung is never more sure about a match than he is with you and Namjoon. Feeling like you’ve been chosen to help Namjoon on his journey back to finding who he is, you feel completely out of depth.

It’s only when you start to see the man underneath that you start to fall in love with Kim Namjoon. And maybe after all, you might be his saving grace.

WARNINGS: Language, eventual sex and some violence

A/N:Namjoonie’s story! ENJOOOOY :D

“Kim Taehyung wants to see you, Y/N.”

Your mother’s words dropped between the two of you, like lead. Her eyes avoided your own - and you knew exactly what she actually meant.

Kim Taehyung has found you a husband.

Your chest tightened and you gripped the handle of your coffee mug for dear life.

Your eyes traveled over to your father, his face kind but stern. This wasn’t up for debate.

“Okay.” The word was quiet, “Do I - do you…”

You took a deep breath and collected yourself.

“Who is he?”

The question hung in the air uncomfortably.

Your parents exchanged a look - the same look they’d exchanged your entire life when decisions were made for you and they were afraid you wouldn’t like it.

“I think we should let Taehyung tell you that.” Your father’s voice was steady, “As Capo, it is his right.”

As capo.

You didn’t know Kim Taehyung very well at all. Though the two of you were of a similar age - had grown up together in Bangtan - he had always been groomed for Capo. You on the other hand, had been groomed like most other women in the mob: to believe that your most important duty in life was to carry on your family line.

You knew it was outdated. And you hated it, though you’d never complain.

Life had taught you that complaints got you nowhere - and so you’d learnt to keep your head down and get on with it.

But that didn’t mean you’d never wanted more. That you’d craved freedom and independence like no other.

And when your parents had allowed you to study nursing at university you really had thought maybe things were changing. Until you’d realised that it had been a direct order from Taehyung’s father himself - the Capo at the time.

Bangtan needed their own nurse. Someone who could take care of things quietly and efficiently.

Someone who could help those who were badly injured find some degree of normality.

And that’s what you did.

Still. You loved your job - mob mandated or not.

“Okay.” You whispered, feeling something like dread wash over you.

“His wife has invited you to dinner at theirs,” Your mother finally moved her gaze to connect with your own, “This evening. Eight pm.”

You nodded, on autopilot.

This was what you’d done all your life, wasn’t it?

You listened to orders. You never asked questions. You never challenged Bangtan.

And if the Capo himself wanted to see you, then you knew it could only mean one thing.

He’d found you a husband. And tonight, you would meet him too.

You stood outside Kim Taehyung’s mansion -- because that’s what it was, a mansion -- nervously fingering the hem of your blouse.

This was it.

You’d waited twenty-five years for this moment - the moment someone else decided who you would marry.

You’d always known it would be like this. Your father was too powerful - he held too many cards too close to his chest - and Bangtan could never let someone like him choose his own daughter’s marriage.

He’d told you since you were a young girl to expect this. An arranged betrothal.

And when you were little you thought it was sort of romantic. Like some fairytale - a princess locked away in a tower and a knight who was destined to save her.

Except now you were older and it wasn’t all that romantic anymore.

It was stifling.

You knew your father had come to this agreement with Taehyung himself. You hated that you lived in such a misogynistic world, but it was the way things had always been.

After a long moment and a deep, calming breath, you lifted your hand and knocked, once.

There was a beat and then the portal swung open.

And Kim Taehyung’s wife was smiling widely at you. You forced your own lips up into a smile.

“Hi! Y/N, was it?”

You curtsied a little feeling foolish straight after, “Yeah. Hello Mrs Kim.”

“Ugh Mrs Kim is Taehyung’s mom,” She laughed, “You can call me ___.”

Her eyes were kind as she opened the door further and gestured you inside.

“Come in, please. Dinner is almost ready and the boys are too.”

The boys.

Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment you wondered if perhaps your father had somehow secured a marriage to the last available member of the Special Seven, Kim Namjoon.

But you shook your head.

Your father was important, of course… But surely not that important.

Besides, from what you’d heard through the grapevine - since the accident that had caused Namjoon to lose most of his hand - he had pretty much become a hermit. The rumour mill was rife, of course, with people’s theories of what would become of Bangtan’s most eligible bachelor.

Could it be that Kim Taehyung wanted you to take up that mantle?

“I hope you like pasta,” ___ interrupted your thoughts and you looked up as stopped in front of a large dining room, “We hardly ever use this room anymore, but Taehyung thought it was appropriate for tonight.”

Your eyes widened at the opulence of the room you were stood in. The chandelier that hung in the middle of the ceiling dripped with what you could only guess were the most expensive diamonds money could buy. The long, mahogany table was ornate and rich - a dark colour that spoke of wealth and taste.

“It’s a little much,” ___ spoke up again and you turned to see her rolling her eyes, “But it was like this when we moved in. Taehyung’s dad had a lot of money and apparently not a lot of subtlety.”

She laughed at the comment and you giggled too - relaxing a little as the tension eased from your shoulders slightly. It seemed you’d found something of an ally in Taehyung’s wife and you were thankful for that, at least.

“I know we don’t really know each other,” She started carefully, a perfectly plucked brow pulling up slightly, “But I like to think of myself as a confidant of sorts… Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”

You raised your own brow, “Matters of the heart?”

She bit her bottom lip and you noticed the pity in her eyes.

As she opened her mouth to answer you, somebody cleared their throat to your left and your head snapped round, finding yourself looking up into the formidable gaze of Kim Taehyung.

He was alone, you noticed immediately, and you tried to keep your expression neutral.

This was the game of Bangtan. A game you’d grown up in.

A game you knew well.

“Taehyung,” You greeted, nodding gently, “Thank you for inviting me. It is an honour.”

His handsome face was cold - barely responsive as he nodded back to you, “Y/N. Welcome to our home.”

Our home.

The words warmed you.

It had been clear for a while now that Kim Taehyung’s only weakness was his wife. He would burn the entire world down for her - and you’d been told of this time and time again.

They had started off as an arranged marriage - almost six years ago now - when Taehyung’s father and his wife’s father had worked so closely with one another they had promised their children’s hand in marriage in an act of loyalty.

But things had changed in the years since.

It was well established that Kim Taehyung loved only one thing more than he loved Bangtan - and that was his wife.

You tried to focus on that - on the fact that loveless marriages could turn into something else - as ___ nudged her husband playfully.

“Don’t be so formal,” She teased and you couldn’t believe you were witnessing this exchange, “Y/N is a friend.”

Taehyung actually rolled his eyes playfully and smiled down at his wife, “I’m still Capo, darling.”

She laughed as well and your chest tightened. You wanted that.

The obvious love they had for one another - the way they seemed to be so comfortable with each other it was like they had found their home.

“Well dinner’s almost ready Taehyung so go and get cleaned up.” ____ said, slipping an arm through yours and leading you towards the ridiculous mahogany table, “Come sit over here, Y/N.”

You noticed for the first time that the table was set for four people.

Your heart pounded against your chest.

“Who is it?”

The question slipped out of you before you even had a chance to think it through. ____ froze. She was slipping into the seat beside you when her eyes turned to your own.

“What?”

“The fourth person,” You whispered, darting your eyes behind you to make sure Taehyung wasn’t within earshot distance, “My future husband. Who is it?”

____ looked genuinely distraught for a moment.

You clicked your tongue.

“I’m a member of the South Korea mafia, ____, I know how this shit works.” You noticed your words were a little sharp and you tried to soften them with a weak smile, “Just tell me who it is. Please.”

____ seemed torn. Her eyes roved your face carefully and she sighed.

“He’s a good guy.” She told you carefully, “Really. I’m not just saying that.”

Your heart dropped. The look in her eyes - the trepidation….

“It’s Kim Namjoon, isn’t it?”

A throat cleared itself loudly from behind you. You snapped your head to the side and watched as the man himself sauntered towards the two of you.

“You rang?” The sarcasm dripped from his tone as he stuck out his prosthetic hand for you to shake. You supposed he was expecting you to be disgusted - maybe to rebuke him - but you were made of stronger stuff than that.

You forced yourself to smile, “Hello Namjoon. I’m Y/N.”

He narrowed his eyes as you shook his prosthetic.

“I know who you are,” He raised a dark brow, “The future Mrs Kim Namjoon.”

The words were like heavy bricks - weighing down on your shoulders.

You knew next to nothing about this man. Despite what ____ had said about him being a good man all you saw was bitterness and anger in his eyes.

“You’re the nurse, aren’t you?”

You nodded carefully and tried to calm your pulse.

“Well now we know why Taehyung chose you for me. The cripple.”

____ cleared her throat and stood up abruptly. Her eyes were dark and angry and she shook her head at Namjoon.

“No. You don’t get to do that to her. Not when she had nothing to do with any of this.” Her bottom lip trembled slightly, “Apologise.” Namjoon’s face was a perfect mask of nonchalance. His eyes flicked between you and ____ and he shrugged.

“What for?”

____ squared her shoulders, “You know exactly what for, Kim Namjoon.”

“I think that’s enough now,” Taehyung entered the room sharply, standing between his wife and friend. His gaze fell on you after a moment, “I see the two of you have met.”

You nodded wordlessly, wondering just what in the hell was going on.

Namjoon was seething apparently, as he sulked to the left of his friend, arms crossed and eyes dangerously black.

“Was he not as welcoming as he’d promised he’d be?”

“This is ridiculous V, we both know that. You’ve chosen her because she’s a nurse and because of this,” He stuck his fake hand in the air and you refused to look away.

Nobody else in the room reacted for a moment.

Taehyung took a deep, calming breath.

“That was part of it, yes.” He said evenly, “Y/N is a trained nurse and therefore she can help you move forward with this. But she’s also a good match. Right age, right height… Her parents are wealthy and important like yours. It is a good union. I have told you this plenty of times Namjoon.”

“I will not marry her because of pity,” Namjoon spat the word out, “I’m not some fucking charity case-”

“I don’t pity you.” The words flew out of you and when three sets of eyes turned to fall on you, you wondered if it was the right choice. You chose to focus on Namjoon.

“What?”

“I don’t pity you,” You told him honestly, gesturing to his prosthetic, “What happened is awful, obviously. And I may never know the full extent of it. But I don’t pity you. You are a man with an obstacle in life. There are many men with obstacles in life. That doesn’t make you worthy of pity.”

Namjoon’s eyes searched your face for something - what you weren’t sure - and she sighed heavily. He seemed so tired. You noticed the bags under his eyes, the lines in his forehead. He was young - just a little older than you - and yet it seemed he’d aged so much recently.

“So you want to marry me? You want to marry a man who’s had to learn how to live - how to do normal every day things like eat with a knife and fork - all over again?”

You shrugged, “I want to do what’s best for Bangtan. If Taehyung says that’s a marriage between the two of us, then so be it.”

A long moment passed between the two of you.

Namjoon seemed to be sizing you up, and you took the opportunity to do the same.

He wasn’t ugly. Far from it. Kim Namjoon was tall and handsome - and from what you’d heard through the grapevine - he was also smart and kind.

People spoke about him of course - he was a member of the Special Seven - and what they said was normally very positive.

He wasn’t like other Bangtan men.

He was grounded. He was softer. A man who used brains instead of braun.

You had to admit, those traits were attractive to you.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Alright then.” He nodded and gave you a strange look - somewhere between admiration and confusion, “I suppose that says it all.”

Namjoon turned to Taehyung and nodded.

“We’ll get married at the earliest convenience.” _____ gasped from behind you but you barely registered the sound.

It had all been well and good in theory… But now what?

Kim Namjoon stuck his hand out to yours - his real hand made of flesh and bones - and smiled sardonically.

“Welcome to the family, Mrs Kim Namjoon.” You smiled back. Mrs Kim Namjoon.

You could do this.

Planning a wedding was easy when you weren’t trusted to do a single thing.

Kim Namjoon’s family had promised to take care of everything - and as a family higher up in the Bangtan hierarchy than your own - there had been no argument to be made.

This was the way things worked in your world, and you’d learned long ago just to accept it.

You barely saw your husband in the ensuing months. He dropped by once to meet your parents and officially ask for your hand in marriage, and once more since then to update you on the wedding arrangements.

But apart from that he was like a ghost - you even forgot sometimes that you were supposed to be marrying him.

You rarely thought about the fact that by the end of this year you would be Mrs Kim Namjoon and despite the relatively long engagement - six months was a long time in the world of Bangtan - you were happy you had the time to get used to the idea of marriage.

It wasn’t until one evening when Kim Namjoon came calling for you that the reality of the situation truly sunk in.

You were leaving work - it had been a particularly difficult day so far, and absolutely nothing seemed to be going smoothly. In fact everything today had felt like it was seconds away from falling apart and you felt like you too, were going to break down.

And as you made your way across the parking lot you found Kim Namjoon, leaning against your car. How he knew which one was yours was beyond you - but you smiled at him questioningly when you were within earshot.

“Hi.” He smiled almost sheepishly, “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms and squinted one eye shut as he stewed in your question for just a moment. Then he sighed heavily.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

“Huh?” You raised a brow.

Namjoon groaned and clicked his tongue, “Are you gonna make this difficult for me?”

“What? No!” You shook your head and shrugged, “I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The night I agreed to marry you I was a jerk. And we’ve barely seen each other twice since we got engaged two months ago.” He ran a hand through his hair, “I promised myself I wouldn’t be like that. So I’m sorry.”

You cocked your head to the side, shocked at the show of vulnerability. Namjoon was a Bangtan man - he should be cold and unforgiving - he should push away intimacy and hate the thought of opening himself up to anyone.

And yet here he was, apologising to you for something you’d assumed was just the way things were done when a marriage was arranged.

“Okay.” You nodded slowly, “I forgive you.”

He smiled softly and you found yourself thinking he really did look handsome like that.

“I’d like us to be friends at least,” He shrugged, “If nothing else.”

You smiled back, “Friends sounds good to me.”

“Good. Great. Thank you,” He gestured to your car, “So can you give me a ride home?” You gave him a questioning look, “How did you get here?”

“My driver dropped me off,” He lifted his prosthetic hand, “I can’t really drive anymore.”

There was a moment of almost awkward silence, but you refused to let something Namjoon couldn’t control, ruin the atmosphere. He’d apologised to you - he was making something of an effort - and you owed it to him to do your part.

“I can help you with that,” You told him, pointing at his hand, “Getting used to it. How long have you had it on for?”

“Half a year,” He looked away from you, “It’s still so uncomfortable.”

You took another step towards him and his eyes connected with yours.

“I don’t care.” You told him firmly, “I don’t care about the prosthetic. I swear. And I’m sorry it’s uncomfortable. I’m sorry it happened to you. But I’ll help you. I will. I promise.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened at your words and you were taken back by the way he was suddenly looking at you.

God. He really was so handsome.

“Okay.” He whispered, eyes darting across your face, “Yeah. Thank you. That would mean a lot.” The moment was suspended for another moment more, and you wondered if you might do something crazy like try and kiss him - before Namjoon cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

Jesus.

What was going on with you?

Your pulse was racing as you fumbled around your handbag for your keys and you told yourself the nerves were only because of the day you’d had. It had nothing to do with the handsome man standing in front of you.

“You’re going to have to give me directions to your house,” You told Namjoon as the car unlocked and you both climbed in, “I’ve never had the privilege of visiting.” He snorted a laugh, “It’s a two minute drive from Taehyung’s. If you drive that way I can guide you.”

“Sounds good.”

You buckled yourself in and tried to ignore the way your cheeks were flushing at the idea of you and Namjoon being in such a small space together, focusing instead on the feel of the steering wheel under your fingers, and trying as much as you could not to stare at him through the reflection of the mirrors.

That would be weird.

Weirder than you were suddenly being.

“How was work?” He asked you once you pulled the car out onto the main road.

You groaned, “Awful. Today was a bad one. We have them sometimes but it really lowers your self esteem. Some of my patients seemed like they couldn’t stand my face.”

Namjoon whistled lowly.

“I can imagine that wouldn’t be a very comforting atmosphere to be in.”

“No, not very,” You shrugged and shot him a look, “But that’s the nature of my job. Nurses are treated worse than doctors even though sometimes it feels like we do triple the work.”

Namjoon chuckled and you raised a brow, “What?”

“It’s just…” Out of the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head, “It’s like that with us sometimes. In Bangtan I mean. Taehyung is treated with so much respect and reverence - and he deserves it. Of course he does. But the rest of us… We work our asses off. And we barely get any recognition for it.” He pulled a face, “So I guess I’m trying to say I know how you’re feeling. Kind of.”

You let this information settle with you.

It made sense of course.

Bangtan was the biggest food chain of them all. The Capo demanded respect.

And in the little interaction you’d had with him, you saw how intimidating Kim Taehyung could be. Still. You imagined that had to be annoying.

“Doesn’t it piss you off?” He scoffed, “Of course it does. But that’s just Bangtan. That’s the job. We don’t do it for recognition anyway. We do it because we love Bangtan.”

You smiled at that.

It was exactly how you felt about your job.

“Yeah. I understand what you mean. As much as it sucks that I don’t always get the praise I feel I deserve… I don’t do it for that. I do it to help people.”

There was a heavy moment between you both. Namjoon seemed to be taking in what you’ve said and you found yourself thinking that if it’s this easy to talk to him you might catch yourself falling for your own husband.

“That’s a lovely way to put it,” You felt rather than saw his smile, “My house is just on this curb.”

You slowed the car down and turned to your fiance, surprised when you saw him already smiling at you.

“Thank you. For this.” His eyes were gentle and shimmering almost and you once again had to force yourself not to flush, “It’s been…. Nice.” You grinned back, “Alright. Don’t be a stranger.”

He laughed at that and shook his head.

“I won’t.” He gave you a warm look, “Goodbye Y/N. I’ll call you soon.”

You nodded, “Okay. Bye Namjoon.”

He smiled at you once more before climbing out of the car and waving goodbye at you.

And as you drove away all you could think of was this:

Kim Namjoon might very well be the best thing that could have ever happened to you.

#namjoon x reader #mafia au #arranged marraige au #smut #angst #romance #kpop #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine

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lantsovsupremacist · 3 years

Text

nikolai lantsov: maybe

this was going to be smut and it still is but i apologize i went from listening to dress to hope ur okay so it’s all over the place here with angst.

warning of some swear words? some smut (fem receiving). mentions of drinking and getting drunk. pre-sab.

at eighteen, the world was dizzying with overwhelming opportunity.

the age held the anticipation of beginning a life of your own. sure, the second army owned you even more now than before, but your night of graduation from the little palace’s grisha school still excited you. the fancy sapphire dress gifted to you by the royals reminded you of the waves glittering at night under the moonlight, an obvious nod to your role as a tide maker.

the two glasses of champagne at dinner went down like water. you turned corner after corner in your head to give chase but you could not find even the slightest buzz. with a frown, you kicked open the back door of the kitchen and quietly slipped inside.

the only source of light crept across the floor, directing you to the back. the muted colors surrounding you became brighter the further you walked. you smile expanded.

“little late to your own party aren’t we now?”

your eyes rolled around in your head before settling on the slouched body of the blonde prince, barely upright against a crate. taking quick steps to meet him in the corner, you shoved his legs aside for the extra room. the clear bottle of what you assumed from his breath to be kvas made its way into your hands.

“fuck you, nikolai. you obviously had no problem starting without me.”

a lazy and crooked smirk crept onto his face. it righted itself into a small smile as he watched you down more than a shot’s worth straight from the source. maybe it was simply because of the warmth from the booze, but he swore your knuckles chilled him as they passed over his on their mission to grasp the neck of the bottle.

you minded his touch with the suppression of a shudder. you had yet to consume enough alcohol to relax into it. instead, you examined his own outfit. whatever sophistication he had been meant to pull off was lost on his now untucked shirt and crooked tie.

the delicate knit of his brows whenever he finished laughing could never change, though. even when the prince was more commonly referred to as sobachka than nikolai and you could barely muster a change of moisture in the air, the expressions of your best friend remained steadfast. you took the constant as a comfort.

you kicked off of your heels, climbing onto the counter rather gracefully and snagging a bottle of something stronger. he stepped up to watch you and eyed your footing warily. when you opened one of the bottles and threw your head back at the smell, he knew you had found exactly what the both of you were looking for. he offered you a hand down, which you accepted gratefully.

four shots deep. that is how many it took for you to lose all sense of composure around nikolai. the golden boy in front of you—your best friend—was quite the picture with twisted curls and red cheeks.

and saints had you been pining after him for the past few years. while grisha belonged to a higher class than the commoners, you were still a soldier. he was still a prince. you both had jobs to do, roles to fill, and expectations to fulfill.

you presumed that was his threshold as well. with each glass thrown back, he had shifted closer and closer to you. his eyes trailed down your figure more times than you could count. shamelessly. while neither of you dared the waves between the two of you, the current had been pulling you to one another for years. neither denial nor acceptance.

“do you want me as badly as i want you?” he gathered any sobriety left in him and questioned you, “because as striking as you are in that dress i wouldn’t mind taking it off.”

nikolai lantsov could have been telling you one of his most elaborate lies, and it would not have mattered in the slightest. after sitting through a long night of speeches and passing through mindless congratulations, anything would seem more appealing. however, the golden boy in front of you did not require any of those excuses to be utterly intoxicating.

you could no longer be patient. he tasted like kvas and whatever you had both taken several shots of. it was shared between the two of you now, tongues intermingling in the warmth of each other’s mouths. the rush that started in your head worked into a distinct want at your core.

everything he touched turned to liquid gold, fire melting all of your fine edges to be molded by his hands. once his fingers trailed across your jaw they separated, one hand tangling in your hair and the other skating the curve of your spine. he pressed deeper into you, forcing you to nearly climb on top of him on the floor before he pulled you upright.

when you ran out of skin to attach your lips to, you brought an unsteady hand to his collar. his fingers left their place caught up in your hair and swiftly grasped your wrist before dropping it as a warning. he made an attempt to bring his hands down to the hem of his button down before you used his own ploy against him and smacked it away.

“you made me wait this long,” you breathed out, shaking with pleasure, “let me enjoy this, prince perfect.”

recognizing your admission as an action of teasing and not discomfort, he quickly replied, “we’ll have plenty of time for that later, baby.”

the sly drop of the affectionate bookend to his words did not go unnoticed. as if you were not already putty in his hands, you let him slip his hands into yours and guide them down to his waist. together, you brought his shirt over his head. his body instantly radiated heat inside of the cramped kitchen corner. following his lead, you planted his hand firmly on your shoulder, helping him push aside the sleeve of your kefta and slender strap of your gown.

“see,” his tongue glossed over your collarbones and his teeth lightly grazed your skin, “isn’t this much better?”

you stomped on his foot before throwing a look over your shoulder. eyeing the empty counter, you hopped backwards onto the surface and greedily reached out for nikolai. despite his teasing, he readily accepted your offer and closed the space you had made between the two of you. almost immediately, he made quick work of reaching behind you and undoing the back of your dress. you arched your back to aid him, cursing under your breath at just how skilled he was.

once the jeweled top was pushed down your chest and pooled around your waist, he brought a hand back to your chest. his mouth quickly followed. you gripped his shoulder, the other finding any part of his waist to claim. you felt his muscles tense and then react under your palm.

you wanted him. you wanted this. and fortunately, you had quite the reputation of getting what you wanted.

everything inside of you ached to be touched by nikolai. you felt the incessant need of developing him as a habit. as soon as the thought of the inevitable consequences of your best friend pressing your knees apart entered your head, you quickly banished it.

he was a picture. his hair had started to splay across and stick to his forehead. you pushed his curls back, locking on his eyes as blue as the seas. you trailed your hand down to trail your thumb across his lips before taking his neck to bring his lips to yours. at first, it was drawn out and warm. his tongue explored your mouth thoroughly. then, it was sparks as you quickly and greedily kissed a new part of his lips each second.

you gasped at his sudden touch under your skirt. pleasure pooled downward while his fingers fought upward. it was an explosion of anticipation in your stomach as he lowered himself to a knee, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. you steadied yourself on the top of the cabinets, the feeling of falling building in your core.

“i-,” you fought back a premature moan as you squirmed on the counter, “i think you’re enjoying this a little too much.”

he kissed up your calf, following after his fingers and responded without looking up, “i live to please.”

you shivered at the sensation of his lips on your skin. suddenly and without warning, there was so much more. you squeezed his shoulder, breaths getting more shallow with each passing second. dropping his fingers, he quickly returned to attend to the bundle of nerves with his mouth. his tongue swirled in circles, once again dizzying you.

“mhm,” you struggled to find words, “saints, nikolai.”

his name on your lips nearly drove him over the edge. he kept a hand situated on your inner thigh but greedily wrapped the other around the back of your head. you all but encouraged his haste, dropping your leg from his shoulder and hooking it around one of his. you rolled your hips into his, drawing him closer than ever before.

you studied the lines of his body with your hands, committing each muscle to memory. you indulged in the hands on activity. his hand rubbing up your leg did not help slow your heart rate, which you are entirely sure you did not want, either way. you littered his chest and stomach with marks from your lips.

“i leave next week for my service.”

your lips dropped from his neck. the absence of heat and the distinct thud of his pulse pounding in between kisses could not compare to the plummet of your heart into your stomach. suddenly, you felt the effects of the last hour’s consumption all at once.

you swallowed hard, fighting to keep down the alcohol. running your tongue quickly over your lips, you took advantage of the second it gave you to study the boy’s face in front of you. his eyes avoided yours at all costs, making it all the more difficult to read his emotions.

his lips were swollen. cheeks painted with the hues of a rosy sunset. you wanted to know what shade of blue his eyes appeared to be now, but he still would not look at you.

deciding to blame it on the inebriation, you allowed your next statement to go unfiltered, “so that’s it,” you hiccuped, “i was just going to be a way to get your mind off of that, huh?”

the impending breakdown of years of friendship turned your stomach in an unpleasant way. you muttered a curse or three under your breath as you gathered the layers of your now wrinkled skirt in your hands, moving to stand up unsteadily. the movement forced his hand off of your inner thigh. he kept his other around the curve of your waist, fingers tapping a nervous pattern. you moved to push those off, as well, but he gripped your hip bone.

“don’t,” he said easily, attempting a sultry confidence but his seduction had worn off.

a different kind of want pooled in the seas of his eyes. it was no longer desire but desperation. you were sure yours were a mirror image.

“don’t make it too hard for me to let you go,” you stumbled, “don’t leave me,” your words bubbled over drunken and quivering lips.

nikolai bit into his lip at the sight of your tears. it might have been painful but it was a superficial, barely skimming the surface kind of hurt. the sight of your eyes welling up and the unsteady rise and fall of your chest ran much deeper. he felt like a blade was slowly slicing himself in two jagged and incomplete pieces.

his breath skipped in his throat and he fumbled for his words just as much as he did your hands, “i-you,” he was not sure if it was smart to say all that he really wanted to but it was true, “come with me.”

you looked up at him, daring to hope that you could find truth in his eyes. composing yourself by clearing your throat, you ran a hand through your hair, “you know i can’t.”

he was quick with his retort, “but you’ve graduated now! i could surely convince my father of the need for such protection.”

as much as your heart drew to his, like it was made to match the opposing pole of his the magnet embedded in his own, you could not agree with him, “nikolai as much as i appreciate the offer,” you ignored the way his smile dropped for the sake of your own ability to continue, “what life would that give me? one where i rely on you to give orders so that i can be by your side?”

“i need you by my side.”

“but will you be on mine?”

maybe you did not know how to live without nikolai. you tried to stumble away from him but you barely made it a step before you started to slip. right as his hand went to steady you, you finally let the tears fall. they were wicked and raw and unforgiving.

suddenly, your head was pounding and the remaining layers of your dress seemed to suffocate you. you had nearly slept with your best friend and now, he was leaving. you fought the thoughts telling you—screaming at you—that he only did this now and not years before because he was leaving. he would not have to do damage control on your heart or the relationship once shared between the two of you.

“i’ve got to go,” you sniffed, pulling up your dress and wiping away both tears and shame from your eyes, “zoya will be worried.”

she would not be. in fact, your best friend had covered for your outings with nikolai on multiple occasions and knew to expect you late. what would really worry her—if she even possessed such capabilities of expressing this incredibly human emotion—would be the state you returned in, one you never got in after visiting nikolai.

“please,” nikolai begged, “i know that you could go anywhere. maybe at first you wouldn’t fit in but you’re the puzzle piece nobody even knows they’re missing yet,” his words gave you pause, “i know you hate being thought of as anything but your own person, of being a soldier in a royal’s world, a woman in a man’s,” he continued with a deep breath, “but i need you to complete me. please, let me live in your world.”

you wanted everything that he spoke of but his words started to fade away. your thoughts were too loud and overpowering. they demanded an audience. it was hard to get out of your own head but you could not let nikolai distract you.

“it would never work,” you sighed dismally, “we would never work.”

“let me try,” nikolai pleaded, turning your hands over in his and sounding so young despite the heavy topic.

“i can’t take you away from your service,” you disallowed with a shake of your head, “from your travels, nikolai. i know you want all of that—,”

“i want you.”

“but you don’t need me.”

“maybe that’s true,” nikolai relented with a unique fervor in his eyes, “maybe i don’t need to be in love with you but i want to.”

you had been speechless on only a few occasions. you always had words or could be sure to find some. it was something nikolai appreciated and an annoyance for zoya.

nikolai wanted to be in love with. you reminded yourself that this admission did not mean that he was, simply that he wanted to be. you wanted to be a lot of things and they had certainly not come to fruition. he was a fool for deeming it even probable—not in the world you both inhabited, the very different roles you played.

you stole a tear from his cheek with your thumb, “i need my best friend, nikolai,” you nearly choked on your words, “i need to love you in that way, understand?”

his frown deepened. you could tell he was fighting it. everything. you managed a smile because you expected him to do this. he could learn to fly with broken wings if he wanted to, if he needed to.

you took his jaw in your hands, delicately murmuring for only him to hear, “you are so good and i am so proud of you. don’t think that i will not be your fiercest protector wherever i am.”

nothing could exist forever. for this one moment, you wanted it to be. you wanted to allow him to hold you, to kiss you, to carry you. you knew he would do all of it and more. but, you could not submit him to that.

“i love you,” he breathed out with whatever air he could conjure. his forehead rested against your own and his thumbs swirled color into your cheeks.

“i love you back,” you whispered for your best friend, your pocket merlin, jack of all trades, your person.

you tried to close the door, but he had jammed his foot in it stubbornly. you could not find it in you to slam it shut on him. you could not hurt him. so, you left it cracked. you would turn the lights off but take every ray of his light that slipped through the cracks.

#nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #rule of wolves #ruin and rising #siege and storm #sab netflix #sab fic #sab fanfic #sab fanfiction #nikolai lantsov fluff

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vendettaparker · 4 years

Note

Tom Holland x actress reader

Where are there in the same movie together and the cast goes out and Tom and reader really likes eachother maybe smut and after it’s really awkward between them fluff with a sprinkle of angst

Not In Love [T.H]

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: sexual themes, cursing, slight angst, probably some typos

a/n: hi hi! i’m so sorry but i don’t write smut, so i hope it’s ok that i just implied it! i will probably start writing smut in the future but for right now i find it a bit awkward for myself to write. also, sorry that this took so long to get out, i planned for this to only be like 800-1k words, and obvioulsy, it just kept going. hope this works well for you!

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

(Y/N) (L/N) does not fuck around with co-stars. Ever since you started acting at the young age of eight, you were always told by your mom, manager, and others in the industry to avoid casual, co-star related hook ups. As your career progressed, even through puberty, you remained faithful to your vow. No mingling with co-workers in a non professional manner. Sure, some of your previous co-stars and you remained good friends, even after filming. But the main internal lesson always stayed the same: don’t fuck your co-stars.

In your long and glorious career, the only hindrance to your resolve was Tom fucking Holland. His stupid British charm and playful wiles always had your knees buckling and the butterflies in your stomach going haywire. And when he called you darling? In that stupid, yet honey-like accent? You were done for.

Tom had the absolute pleasure of working with you in The Devil All The Time. He watched all of your movies and practically grew up watching you on Disney Channel. To say he was simply starstruck would’ve been an understatement, he was enamoured. Practically in love. And when he got to know how kind and sweet you were in real life—not just on screen— he just had to turn on his British charm, just to watch you squirm.

Every little comment he made caused your skin to tingle. Your stance on co-star relationships had never been so harshly challenged. He would constantly call you whatever cute pet name he could think of at the time, and unluckily for you, they always seemed to just roll right off his tongue. He even went out of his way to grab you a coffee if he went out to get one, or he’d ask his brother to make sure to bring back your signature order: caramel macchiato with almond milk, two pumps of vanilla, and extra caramel drizzle. How he knew that was your go to order was a mystery to you.

It’s not like you didn’t retaliate with your own antics though. Sometimes during his scenes you send him a wink and a smile, just to watch him lose focus. Or maybe you’d tease him about the way he says croissant, but then also say it in the over pronounced way he does, just to bug him. On days when the sexual tension between you two was especially palpable, you’d kiss his cheeks after his scenes and say “good job, babe” or something else to rile him up. So no, you weren’t innocent in this matter at all.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

This build up of tension was bound to boil over at some point. But why the fuck did it have to be during the fucking full cast and director dinner?

You all arrived at the fancy restaurant, all 40+ of you. You sat next to Eliza and secretly hoped that Sebastian, Harry, or even Robert would take the seat next to you, anyone but Tom. He had been especially touchy that day, and you knew if he continued his ministrations, especially under the cover of a table, your resolve would surely fade away.

Unfortunately for you, Tom practically bolted to the seat next to you. You scooted a bit closer to Eliza, who nudged your shoulder playfully.

“You should just give in.” She stated, smirking the whole time. “Look at him, poor thing just wants some love and attention.” she giggled, nodding her head to where Tom was whispering with Harry on the other side of him.

“Stop it, you’re insufferable.” You rolled your eyes, but still smiled at the joking banter.

“(Y/N), hon, he’s one of the hottest celebrities in Hollywood right now, and he wants you.” Eliza pinched your makeup covered cheek, “you’re telling me you don’t wanna just jump in his pants? Do you not find him hot or something?”

You smacked her hand away, “No, I do find him attractive, I just d—”

“Find who attractive, love?” Tom interrupted, smirking at the comment he heard. No, he didn’t know for sure you were talking about him, but one can hope.

“Nobody,” you dismissed, “I was just telling Eliza here that I think her dog is cute, right Eliza?”

“Sure.” She mumbled, rolling her eyes dramatically, then winking directly at Tom, just out of your view.

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled, ��Yes, you find her dog attractive then?”

“No!” You defended, red faced from being backed into a hole, “I didn’t even use that word; you’re just hearing things.”

“Don’t worry, love. I find you absolutely, without a doubt, drop dead gorgeous.” Tom winked, before returning back to his conversation with Harry.

Eliza pinched your side, causing you to yelp. “See, I told you!” she whisper-yelled, a knowing smirk dawning her face.

“You didn’t tell me shit.”

“Ugh, whatever, you’re hopeless.” She sighed, just as the waiter was coming around to take your orders.

The majority of the evening went by just as simply and smoothly as possible, it was when dessert arrived that Tom stirred up trouble once again. His damned British charm made him the perfect devil in disguise.

“Darling, you have some cake right—” he licked his thumb before drawing it over your bottom lip, slowly, “here.”

He smirked at your surprised gaze and wiped the chocolate cake from your rose-painted lip. Never breaking his gaze, he drew his thumb back to his mouth and sucked on the digit, gently humming at the sweet taste of chocolate and strawberry lip gloss that flooded onto his tongue. This bitch.

You cleared your throat and ceased your—more than obvious— gawking. He wasn’t going to win this time. You sat quietly, smirking as he watched your every move, simply waiting for retaliation. And it came soon enough, when you knocked your water off the table into his lap, on accident, of course.

He jolted up the second the cold water hit his slacks, cursing, yet still keeping that charming smirk on his lips. You immediately started the steady stream of apologies, a faux look of remorse etched on your face. The rest of the cast simply looked on, none the wiser.

“Oh Tom! Gosh, I am so sorry.” You stood up as well, taking the napkin from your lap and dabbing his torso where the water splashed up. “I’m just so clumsy, forgive me.” You looked up at him with false serenity in your eyes, but a devilish grin.

“No worries, love.” He mused, “I’m just going to go dry off in the washroom. Could use some help though; it’s the least you could do.” The rest of the cast went back to their desserts and conversation, so they failed to notice the hidden glint in Tom’s eyes or the lustful insinuation behind his request.

“Sure.” You smiled up at him, determined not to lose this game of cat and mouse. You followed him to the large family restroom in a dimly lit corridor. He opened the door and gestured for you to go in first. What a gentleman, hm?

He closed the door behind him and locked it before undoing the buttons on his dress shirt and removing it. His toned torso also damp with freezing droplets of ice water.

You sucked in a shaky breath, taking in his less than professional, disheveled look. “You gonna come help me, princess?” He reached for paper towels and grabbed a handful, dabbing the wet spot on his lap, right over his crotch.

“I—um, sorry,” you snapped out of it. Following his movements, doing the same but to his wet torso.

“You’re okay, love.” He looked at you, the close proximity of your bodies creating the most delicious heat in the bathroom. Tom leaned in slightly, just until your noses were brushing against one another. “Though, I’ll admit, the fact that you're not giving me an apology kiss right now, makes this a little less than okay.”

You didn’t even process your actions completely, the second those words left his mouth yours lips were on his. You held his face in your hands, rough passion seeping through your entire body, and he was just the same. He kissed you fervently, holding your waist with one arm and the back of your head with his opposite hand, tangling his fingers into your hair. The tension and desire that had been building up for almost as long as you’ve known him finally boiling over.

Tom gingerly inched his hand up the side of your leg, under your dress.

“Wait, wait,” you pulled away, breathlessly, “we need to get back, they’re probably wondering where we are.”

Tom was about to concede when a knock rang through the room.

“Hey guys,” It was Eliza, “Seb paid for all of us, so we’re gonna head out. Take your time! Oh, and use protection!” You could practically hear the smirk on her face.

Tom stopped your little scowl by returning his attention to kissing you, “How lucky are we?” he mused, repositioning his hands, starting to fumble with the zipper of your dress.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The next Monday at work was hell. You spent the whole weekend internalizing your little rendezvous in the bathroom. Tom texted you nearly fourteen times over the two day break period where you didn’t see each other, and you ignored every single one of them. The first ones were simple ‘hey’s’, ‘hi’s’, and ‘good morning’s’, but they soon progressed to show Tom’s concern over you not responding. The last message being,

Tom: I hope you know, I don’t regret it, but I’m sorry if you do.

You didn’t mean to ghost him, but your feelings were so confusing. You liked him and the things he did to you. But you had a code. And maybe the ‘don’t date your co-worker’ was a bit old school and shitty, but you’d been able to stick to it for this long and your work has never been better. Then again, all your previous boyfriends have been assholes; constantly upset over how busy your schedule was. Maybe a fellow actor would be more understanding?

The second you arrived to set Harry was on your ass.

“(Y/N), hey!” He called to you from the snack table where he was talking with Tom. You gave him a small smile and wave, but proceeded to your makeup chair. He motioned for you to join them, but you waved your hand in dismissal and gave him an apologetic look. Whether or not you regretted your night with Tom, you were absolutely not ready to confront it just yet. However, you didn’t miss the disappointed look on Tom’s face or the way Harry gave his brother a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

Harry even came up to you asking how your weekend was and if you were busy or not, no doubt trying to gauge your mood for Tom. You were friends with Harry so you didn’t mind talking to him, but when it was becoming apparent that you weren't giving much away as far as how you were feeling, Harry resorted to more ‘less than subtle’ questions.

“So… are you seeing anyone, currently?” He asked, playing with his fingers, the question struck you as extremely off-putting, especially since Harry said it with little to no confidence, like he really didn’t want to be asking that.

“Why? Are you trying to ask me out?” You teased. Watching him squirm was almost as fun as when it was Tom.

“No! No, I mean— I’m not opposed, you’re very pretty—no wait, I don’t mean it like that, I just—uh, I think you look nice, but not too nice—I’m gonna go.” Harry painfully stuttered out. Cursing under his breath as he walked away, back to where Tom was standing, watching on. These idiots were the most obvious divs in the whole world.

After you finished with your stylist, you were ready to start running lines for your scene. You have the majority of your scenes with Tom, so as per usual, you were acting opposite him. As the director was explaining how he wanted the scene to go, Tom kept glancing over at you, raising his eyebrows a bit, obviously wanting to clear the air.

The scene went by fine, but it was clear to many of the people around you that you were not on the top of your game today. It even got to the point where the director needed to ask if you needed a break. You said you didn’t and persisted. The scene was finally done to perfection, but it took almost double the amount of time it usually would for you.

Tom noticed you struggling the most and couldn’t help but feel guilty. He was quick to give you words of encouragement between takes, but you only responded with a quick ‘thanks’ and moved on.

When lunch time came around, the caterers were all set up and prepared on a different part of the lot. You quickly made your way over, running into Eliza on the way.

“Oh, hey (Y/N)!” she beamed at you. “Did you finish your scene?”

“Yeah, are you going to set right now?”

“Mhm, I’m shooting the scene at the church with Robert.”

“Well, good luck.” You smiled at her, about to move along when she grabbed your wrist.

“Wait, did something happen between you and Tom? He’s at the lunch table moping, even Seb is trying to cheer him up.”

“Um well no, I mean, maybe? I don’t know, I guess I’ve been avoiding him a bit.” You shrug, now not really wanting to go to lunch, but you know you have to. If you don’t show up then it’d be all too clear to Tom that you were definitely avoiding him.

“Oh, well, maybe just talk to him?” Eliza comfortably put a hand on your shoulder before walking away to set.

You continued to the lunch set up, seeing club sandwiches, soups, and cupcakes set up. You grabbed what you wanted and went to sit by Tom and everyone else. Yeah, you may have been avoiding him, but you didn’t want to make it that painstakingly obvious.

As soon as you sat down, Tom put his arm around you like he always did when you had lunch together. Only this time you stiffened up, not because you hated it, but because the action felt so different after what you both had done, it felt like it meant more. Tom noticed, of course, and removed his arm, frowning.

“Can I talk to you, (Y/N/N)?” he whispered to you, the rest of the table in their own little world, too caught up in their interactions to notice yours.

“Um, sure,” you mumbled in response, “but maybe when I have free time later? I’m just really hungry right now.” you gave him a small smile, trying to keep up the amicability.

He nodded and continued his conversation with Seb, who looked completely uninterested, but still continued responding since he could tell Tom was feeling shitty about something.

Later that evening, the entire cast had a one hour break since the next scene they wanted to shoot needed to be done at night and it wasn’t dark yet. That’s when Tom took you to his trailer to talk.

“Look, (Y/N), I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but I can’t help but feel like you’re avoiding me.” He stated, once the door was shut and you were already seated on his couch.

“I’m not.”

“But you are. I can tell. You didn’t talk to me at all today, even when I made a joke that I knew you’d have the perfect come back to.” He sat next to you, but kept more of a distance than usual.

“I don’t have to talk to you, Tom. You can’t rely on me to keep you entertained.” You rolled your eyes, annoyed that you’d been caught.

“That’s not what I’m saying, (Y/N), and you know it.” Tom pointed a finger at you, equally annoyed now.

“Fine, so what if I was avoiding you? You’re a grown man, you can handle rejection can’t you?” You spat. The argument was quickly becoming more heated. If there was one thing you hated the most in the world, it was being called out, especially if you knew you were in the wrong.

“What the fuck is your problem today?” Tom asked, exasperated at how defensive you got so quickly.

“Tom, I’m sorry, but I don’t do this,” you motioned between the two of you, “I don’t do the cliche Hollywood, sleeps around, one night stand scenario, so back off.”

“So you regret it.” Tom looked down, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He really did like you, but maybe it was naive of him to assume that sleeping together would open the door to something more.

“No, I just—it shouldn’t have happened. I liked it, but I’m not that type of girl. I’m a relationship type of person. I never wanted to be another girl for you to mark down on your list of possible hook ups.” You sighed. Tom wasn’t necessarily notorious for random hookups, but he was a famous actor who just so happened to also be single. It was hard to not go there with your thoughts, so in your mind, you had him pegged.

“I’m a relationship person too, though. I wanted all of this. All of you.” Tom inched closer, gingerly taking your hands in his. “I may have gone about it wrong, I should’ve asked you out first or something.”

“Tom, stop.”

“No, (Y/N), because you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t flirt with you or spend time with you just to get in your pants.” Tom pulled you closer. “I surrounded myself with you because I wanted you. And I think you want me too.”

You looked in his eyes, searching for any sign of insincerity, small as it might be, but Tom was being the most sincere he could possibly be. Tom cautiously leaned closer, just wanting one more kiss, even if it was the last. However, you were the one that took the final plunge and pulled him in, kissing him. You both moved together so fluidly, like you were made for each other.

When you did pull apart, Tom was the one to break the silence, “So does that mean you like me or…”

“I kissed you, didn’t I?”

#tom holland #tom holland angst #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader angst #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland oneshot #tom holland imagine #tom holland x actress!reader

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 3 years

Text

destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

#destiel #destiel fic #angst with a happy ending #destiel kiss #deancas fluff #cas angst #well. minor angst.#long post #i really hope you like it Rubi <33 #it got considerably longer (and sadder in the middle) than i'd expected it to be?? but oh well :'))#nyrawyra #userpris #userdee #spncreatorsdaily #dean pov #kashmircastiel #friendshapedcastiel #rambleoncas #oh writing my writing

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dreaminpetals · 4 years

Text

COMMISSION: norton & naib watch their s/o bleed out on the rocket chair, then comfort each other after 🧲 🔪

norton campbell ;;

Your heart dropped to your feet when you heard the chime that indicated a survivor had been knocked down. You prayed as you decoded ー Please don't be Nor, please don't be Nor ...

Hearing a laboured "Focus on decoding!" confirmed your fears. It was muffled, distant, but distinct. Norton had been chaired.

The frantic hammering of your heart in your ears overtook your senses as you sprinted towards the chair, shouting to Helena that you were going to rescue him. Your heart overpowers your brain whenever Norton is in even the slightest ounce of danger. This was one of those instances. You should have thought twice before hurrying to his aid.

You exhaled a sigh of relief when you approached his chair and noticed there was no hunter to be seen. Norton however had the opposite reaction. His expression contorted into one of pure terror when he saw you were the one rescuing him.

"Leave me! Get away from me!" His words fell to deaf ears as you dashed towards him, arms open and ready to free him from his confines.

Everything was going smoothly until you heard the words that would stay with you forever.

"Jack is behind you!"

It was a trap.

In a heartbeat, your back was slashed open and you collapsed to your hands and knees.

"Lovebirds," Jack hummed, stomping on your wounded back, earning a scream from Norton. "Now, where's that decoder..." he turned on his heel and vanished to hunt down Helena with an unmistakable bloodlust.

You weren't panicking yet. You could simply heal yourself, andー

You were out of self heals.

"The hunter is near me!" Helena wailed from across the map, sending ice straight down the spines of you and your boyfriend. The fourth survivor had been eliminated already. There was no saving you.

Norton's entire body was wracked by sobs as you lay curled in a ball on the ground, writhing around in utter agony. If it wasn't for the bar squeezing him down into the rocket chair, he would bandage you up and press endless kisses onto your bloodied skin, his own safety be damned.

He had never seen anybody bleed out before. The Prospector has always managed to heal his teammates, his only punishments being faced on rocket chairs. In Norton's eyes, you were going to die.

"It's okay," you choked out, "I'll be... be..."

"You're going to die," Norton whimpered in the highest tone you've ever heard from him. He sounded like a child with the way his raspy voice cracked.

Your eyes widened at his words. Did he think bleeding out was fatal? Oh no.

You ached to explain to him that the worst consequences were comas that lasted no longer than a week, but you were losing strength. Fast. As your throat closed up, speech became more and more difficult. It felt as if glass was piercing your windpipe, concealing the truth from your guilt stricken lover.

"'Sall my fault... fuck, I love you, okay?" He hiccuped through strained wheezes for air.

'Don't say that... I'll be okay...' you yearned to respond, but each second the invisible weight on your back grew, crushing you further.

Although your vision was spotting and blurring, you could see Norton tremble where he sat. His fingers gripped the bar holding him hostage until they bled. He was using all of his strength to attempt to free you somehow.

With one final, ragged breath, you closed your eyes and succumbed to your injuries. Norton didn't scream like you thought he would. He watched you sink into the ground in utter silence, sniffing back tears and coughing sporadically.

Despite the agony you endured mere minutes ago, you weren't rendered unconscious like previous, less fortunate survivors. You could walk, albeit with jittery legs and a weight on your back forcing you down. Having regained some strength, you noted that you could speak as well. Every bone in your body was aching for you to find Norton and save him from his unnecessary grief.

You immediately captured Helena's undivided attention when you hobbled into the manor, leaving a steady red trail behind you. She wrapped your wounds up with the first aid kit she kept on her, the smell of blood that lingered in the air faded with every careful swipe of your skin. Since you were in the room for injured survivors, Norton didn't see you when he stormed back into the manor. His physical wounds were nothing compared to his emotional ones. If only Helena finished patching you up just a minute earlier, he could have seen that you survived far earlier.

"Norton is in your room, by the way," Helena began, patting you on the back to signal that her work was done, "in the one you share. I asked where he was going."

"Our room," you repeated to yourself under your breath. You thanked Helena and promptly headed to your room, legs carrying you as fast as they could take you.

You were out of breath once you reached your shared room. A series of knocks on the door were greeted with silence. You noticed that the static sobbing from the room paused for a moment, then resumed.

Twisting your key into the door and unlocking it, you saw Norton swiftly hide your shirt underneath your pillow. Was he trying to get the last of your scent before it faded away forever?

"So. You've come to haunt me too." He spat, burning holes into your face with his unwelcoming glare. "Just like everyone else from the mines. Fuck off."

"Norton, it's me,"

"You're only pretending to be them. Second I acknowledge you're not real you'll go away."

His words shattered your heart.

Approaching him with caution, you kneeled onto the bed beside him and placed your palm on his cheek. He leaned into your touch despite his harsh words, his tear streaked face dampening your hand. "If I wasn't real, would I be this warm?" You whispered as soft as your voice could manage to be. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared into your eyes, searching for any signs of life. Your eyes were too warm and full of adoration to be a hallucination, a ghost, a memory.

"How did you...?" he began, teetering on the verge of tears again.

"I'm hurt, but... I'd never die on you, Nor. It's okay. I'm here." You pressed a nurturing kiss to his nose and felt his face heat up underneath yours. Pressing your forehead against his, he felt no malicious intent from you, unlike all the other visions he saw of his deported loved ones. He felt nothing but love and kindness from you, the same way he's always remembered you.

"It's really you," he uttered your name like a prayer, voice flickering above a whisper, before enveloping you in his arms and pulling you snug close to him. He bawled into your shoulder, letting the warmth of your body comfort him after one of the most horrifying moments of his life. You could feel his snot and hot tears bubble on your shoulder but you didn't mind in the slightest. You were home, in Norton's arms.

You knew that for Norton to cry in front of you, he was wounded deep. It was rare to see tears fall from his eyes and to feel him cling to you, terrified of letting go. Between pants, you could hear him beg for you to stay and never die on him. His pleas were answered by soft hushes and gentle kisses.

Norton pulled away for a fleeting moment to turn you around and examine your wounded back. There was a rip through your top and underneath were bandages stained with dry blood. Helena did a decent job of patching you up, though she definitely missed a few spots. Norton pressed chaste kisses to the exposed skin, his silent way of reassuring you he loved you no matter what.

"I'll kill him for doing this to you," your boyfriend hissed, teeth ghosting along your flesh. "I'll make him pay." His mouth was still connected to your back, and he could feel you shiver in response to his words.

"Nor, you don't needー"

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. If anyone... if anyone ever does this to you a second time, I'll..."

"Norton."

Your sudden sharp tone caused him to freeze. Had he gone too far? His demeanour immediately switched and he pulled away from you, offering you a toothy grin to show he sincerely meant no harm.

You pulled your shirt back down and turned around so your calm eyes could meet his wide ones. "I'll be okay. I'm more worried about you, if anything. Come here." You patted your lap and the back of Norton's fluffy hair soon met your thighs. He laid down and began to rub the tears from his eyes, before you pushed his hands away and rubbed them into nothingness yourself.

He loved laying in your lap. Whether he was having flashbacks of past events, or if he was hurt from a match, laying his head on your soft thighs and gazing up at you with love never failed to calm him down. He felt so safe and warm.

"Have a little rest, Nor. I'll be here when you wake up." You rubbed calming circles into his hair as he nodded. His eyes closed, then opened again to ensure that you really were there and you truly were alive. You shushed him, both hands massaging his scalp until he drifted off into a comfortable sleep. He would do anything for you.

naib subedar ;;

"Naib's been containing the hunter for so long, you think we should help out?" Luca asked you as the two of you drummed away at a cipher machine together. You nodded your head in agreement, pulling yourself away from the noisy machine and overturning your empty pockets.

"I don't have any self heals, though. I'll shout if I need anything." This time it was Luca's turn to nod as he smacked the machine, steadily making progress towards your escape.

You roamed the abandoned factory for a few moments before hearing a distant yelp and the sound of someone falling to the ground. You followed the source of the sound to the factory, and the metallic clunks of Guard 26 carrying your lover to the basement made your skin crawl. This rescue was going to be tremendously difficult.

"Don't rescue me!" Naib managed to rasp as the hunter slammed him into the rocket chair. You could hear the pain in his voice even though he tried to mask it. It was always like Naib to hide his true feelings behind a cold front.

You knew Guard 26 chairing your only rescuer in the basement was a recipe for disaster, but you wanted to at least attempt to save him.

Hopping down the stairs, you were met face to face with the hunter. Their cogs whirred as they advanced towards you, and you stunned them momentarily.

"Oh, you're so stupid [Name]," Naib sighed as your fingers danced across the bar holding him captive. "Go back to where it's safe!" You ignored his cries and slid to the side, dodging one of Guard 26's strikes. The floor began to light up in an array of colours under you which you miraculously dodged, earning a gasp from your chaired lover.

Unfortunately, you weren't able to pull off the rescue of your dreams this time. You attempted to psyche out the hunter and trick them into hitting the chair, but their spiked bat met your side before you could pull away. Despite arriving without even a scratch, the impact of being hit as you rescued caused you to fall to your knees.

 Blood pooled underneath you and you gritted your teeth as you waited to be chaired, the pain overriding your senses and bringing tears to your eyes.

That relief never came.

The haunting dings of Guard 26 slowly dissipated as they hopped up the stairs to find Luca. There were several other chairs in the basement, why didn't they chair you? It must be in their wiring to save as much time as possible.

You clutched at your stomach, wincing as crimson bloomed on your shirt. Panic hadn't filled your veins yet. You applied pressure to your wound, using the same healing tactics Naib had taught you before. Your plan was to do all you could while you were downed, then call Luca for help at the last minute.

Until Luca was terrorshocked.

Your eyes snapped up to meet Naib's the second you both heard him collapse against the cipher machine. Anxiety began to set in, your movements growing more sloppy. You nicked yourself more often, and Naib noticed it too.

"Easy there... Deep breaths, all right?" He cooed, wriggling to free himself from the grip of the rocket chair. His struggles were unsuccessful, though. No matter how hard he tried to escape for you, the chair wasn't merciful whatsoever.

You felt your body grow numb as you lost more blood. You could no longer feel the cold tiles of the basement. To you, everything was cold. You scooched closer to the chair Naib was trapped in and extended a hand. "Naib, I... I can't feel my legs," although his movements were limited, he was able to wrap his hand around yours and squeeze it tight.

"You're gonna be fine." He was lying through his teeth. Naib could see the glassy look in your eyes, hell, as your hand quivered in his, he could feel the life draining from it. Your voice wasn't a comfort to him anymore, every word you spoke was full of agony and he wished you would stay quiet as to not worry him more.

Naib has seen this before. He's been pinned under debris, forced to watch a comrade succumb to their injuries. It's why he's the man he is today. Always self-sacrificing, never leaving anyone behind. Yet he couldn't extend the same behaviour to you... his lover was bleeding out in front of him and there was absolutely nothing he could do. He tried so desperately to hide the fear from his face, but a single tear slid down his cheek and his expression sunk when he felt you begin to fade away. As you melted into the ground, Naib cried out your name until there was nothing left of you to hold. Then he followed.

You were awoken by the sound someone scurrying towards you. Rubbing your eyes, you saw a flash of colour before an excited hand met your shoulder. "You're finally up. Can you walk?" It took a few moments to process Naib's words. As you scanned the room around you, you spotted bouquets of flowers and numerous get well soon cards.

"What... what happened to me?" You groggily asked as you gazed at your hands. They had been bandaged up with care.

Naib swallowed hard as he replied, "you've been out for around a day. I've been looking after you... hope you don't mind." As your vision adjusted to the bright lights of your room, you noticed his shirt had been discarded and his chest was wrapped tightly in bandages. Both of you were left bruised and battered from that hellish match, it seems.

Your heart soared as you thought about how much Naib must adore you to watch over you like that. Though he acted coolly as if his actions were no big deal, you could sense that he was still worried about you. He touched you as if you were made of glass and his usual scratchy voice was replaced by a soft, considerate one ー an attempt to ease your anxieties and make you more comfortable.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," his hand connected to yours and eased your weight onto the floor below you. You stumbled over your feet, but quickly met Naib's chest as his arms wrapped around your back. "Easy there, I've got you." He let you lean on him for support and helped you peel off your bloodied shirt before drawing a bath for you.

Naib kneeled beside the bubblebath you rested in, scrubbing your hair with his calloused fingers. It tickled ever so slightly, you couldn't remember the last time somebody had handled you with such care. His hands maneuvered around your body with precision and care as he washed away all of the dirt and dust that marred your skin.

A comfortable silence hung in the air until you decided to speak up, "what about you? Do you want me to wash you as well?"

Naib's expression softened when he heard your voice. "Iー uh, I'm good." His blunt response didn't match his gaze in the slightest.

"I can see you wince every time you lift your arms. And you smell."

"...Fine." He huffed in defeat, beckoning you to scootch forward to make room for him in the tub. You felt the water splash as he took a seat behind you and pulled you into his arms. "Hey. What you did yesterday... don't do it again, okay? I don't want you getting hurt ever again."

You turned over your shoulder to face him and he offered you a faint smile. It wasn't like his usual smug grins, it was more tender, something he couldn't get rid of upon seeing you awake again.

You could keep your head in Naib's warm chest forever, his steady heartbeat and the occasional ripples of water filling your ears. You were on the verge of falling asleep when you remembered that Naib needed to be scrubbed too.

Lifting his arms up above your head, you escaped his gentle grasp and turned around to face him. His expression was one of grumpiness after you slithered free from his arms, but the second you grabbed a loofah and massaged his skin his gaze molded into a loving one. His cuts had faded and closed up but they were definitely visible, and they looked like they hurt. A lot.

"I'm sorry for being so reckless, I just wanted you to get out safe." You whispered between fond swipes of his chest, really getting the soap in there.

He rested his arms on the edges of the tub, huffing in response. "When I tell you not to rescue, don't rescue, okay? Your safety's more important than mine." You attempted to object to his brash statement, but he shut you up with a kiss and stole the breath from your lips. Your lips remained connected for a few lingering seconds, and Naib deepened the kiss right as you expected him to pull away.

"...I thought I was going to lose you," he muttered against your skin, pulling away and pressing another, sweeter kiss to the corner of your lips. "Water's getting cold... let's get out," he drained the tub and scooped you up into his arms, bringing you to your bed and wrapping you up in a bathrobe. You were perfectly capable of dressing yourself, but Naib's must-take-care-of-lover instincts refused to let you do that.

He snuggled up to you from behind, nose breathing in the fresh scent of your hair. "Goodnight, love." And you dozed off in his arms, ever protective of you.

#norton campbell x reader #norton campbell #naib subedar #naib subedar x reader #idv x reader #identity v imagines

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treybriggsthewriter · 4 years

Link

This makes me nervous, but I’m going to post it. I’m going to try my best to achieve my goals. I’ve put in a ton of work already, so I’m looking for additional help.

From the campaign:

My name is Trey Briggs, and I'm a black woman who writes paranormal horror, speculative fiction, and other types of fiction. You can find my stories at MaybeTrey , Astrid the Devil , and on Instagram , Medium , and Wattpad .

My stories are aimed at black people who want to read dark stories that focus on original black characters that are complex and interesting. I genuinely believe Black audiences deserve a variety of genres to delve into, and I want to introduce them to paranormal horror, dark romance, and fantasy that they haven't gotten enough of in the past. I also believe that this can be done across multiple mediums, and I spend my money with black creative professionals to make these experiences extend beyond my words. For the last two years, I've run my stories on sites and Instagram to great reception. I like to craft complex experiences that offer looks at character backgrounds, side and backstories, full websites for each title, and more. I also provide encyclopedias, maps, audio journals, and other ways to get into each world. During these last few years, I've run into a lot of walls, jumped a lot of hurdles, and tried my best. I've worked with amazing black artists, voice actors, and actresses, musicians, designers, and more. I trust my ability to run a project, especially when it comes to planning and finding talent. My overall goal is to run a team of black creatives that crafts novels, graphic novels, audio experiences, and animated series for a dedicated audience.

Why I Need Help Long story short: I have the skill, I have the marketing/website building/business experience, and I have the drive. There's a lot I can do on my own, but there's also a lot that gets left behind because I don't have the money I need to proceed at a steady pace. I need help with funding so I can focus, hire the right people, and craft these stories the way they deserve to be crafted. I have thus far spent over $60,000 of my own money on my projects over the past two years - the writing and site-building are easy for me; the rest has to be hired out. I have art, site costs for hosting, domains, templates, specific plugins, and maintenance, audio (and vocal artists to pay), musical, and editing costs. I'm by no means rich or even particularly financially stable. I have taken on tons of extra clients for my digital marketing business, transcribed hundreds of hours of audio for dirt cheap, and taken out personal loans. I even worked a second full-time job along with my full-time business last year to afford to produce the content I love. It's starting to take a toll on my mental health. I plan on continuing to fund these projects out of pocket (and finding ways to do so), but having financial help, however big or small, would allow me to move a lot faster and with less stress. It would let me flesh out ideas and concepts that I have had to scrap because I can only physically handle so much extra work. I run a full-time marketing business from home, homeschool my autistic 10-year-old, and generally have a busy life. Some of the strain is taking a toll on me, and I don't want to give up. Having some financial backing could allow me to drop a client or two after a few months and focus on the work I love to do.

How You Can Help I mainly need a start—a sort of base. I want to emphasize that I plan to continue to provide the main bulk of funding for my projects. I know my goals are ambitious, and I know each step will take time and money. I welcome any help to make the process smoother and to get around the initial hurdles. I'd like to have ebooks and novels offered on my site by the end of the year (along with the free serials and stories). Funding means that I can broaden the projects, include more free aspects to my sites, and secure direct financing through sales of ebooks and audiobooks sooner. It also means that I can offer MORE stories, whether they are online only or fully fleshed out novels and sites. I am swamped with trying to work enough to cover all my bills and creative projects, so I lose a lot of time I could spend plotting and writing. If I have better funding, I can get my stories out quicker (and with fewer mistakes).

The Initial Stories Let's talk about my stories! If you're familiar with my work already, you can skip to the next section. My main story site is Maybe Trey . Currently, I have two big titles and a bunch of smaller ones that I am seeking help with funding: Astrid the Devil

Astrid the Devil is the complicated story of a girl who inherits not only her family's features and DNA, but their fears, struggles, and fights. It's the story of a condition called Devil Syndrome, the women who suffer it, and the monsters that devour them. It's the story of the fight to save the people you love at the expense of innocent lives. At its core, Astrid the Devil is the story of a woman who inherits the chaos of three generations before her. It's a look at what is truly passed down to our children, and how they're left to fight our battles in the aftermath of our failures. It's the tale of an indescribable monster and the women who struggle to defeat it. It's a journey into how their every decision could save or destroy an entire world. Astrid the Devil is the story of Astrid Snow, but her story can't be told without the story of the women before her.

Vicious: On MaybeTrey and The Vicious site (in progress)

Somewhere, a war is brewing. That's the only thing that's for sure to Junnie Gorton, a young horned girl suffering from a debilitating disease called Horn Rot. She typically dealt with her low survival rate and abnormally large horns by escaping the world with her best friend, Lewish. Now she's forced to figure out which side is which, save her entire species, and find out the truth behind the sudden uprising in her home. Horn Rot, a highly contagious and violent disease spreading through horned people, is causing mass amounts of madness and death. Normal horns grow in ways that will pierce, suffocate, and maim their owners, and the only one who can stop it is Junnie's mother, Lyria. As Lyria falls deeper and deeper into an anti-social revolt, the country reels. While Junnie broods, her entire species must prepare for mass extinction. Her brother plots with a group of people with less than good intentions and Lewish is quieter than usual. In a civilization brought up on extreme violence and competition, Junnie and Lewish try their best not to get swallowed by their culture, their lives, or their horns.

Bunni and Bosque :

Bunni lives. Bosque dies. We all know how this story starts. Bunni is obsessed with destruction and death. She comes from the healthiest Horned family in her country. She's from the oldest, purest bloodline in the world. And she's bored with it. Bunni spends most of her time trying to escape her duties as a pureblood. She wants things dirty, messy, foul, inconsistent. Having parents that are willing to kill to keep their bloodline pure is annoying. Knowing that she'll live a long, full life, produce more perfect children, and die unscathed is agonizing. Bunni wants something to mourn. We all know how this story ends. Bosque is destined to die an agonizing death, alone on his family's land. He's watched everyone he loved and grew up with perish. Sometimes it was because of their disease. Sometimes it was because of the malice and hatred of others. While he's absolutely withdrawn and satisfied with his life, Bosque has never had a chance to live it. He spends his days basking in the sun, bathing in wood baths, and contemplating the end. Bosque isn't interested in joining the rest of the world. He'd rather die out, alone, where his family belonged. Bosque wants to go peacefully. But neither expected to meet each other one day in a supermarket. Neither expected to fall in love, lust, and every vicious and dirty thing between. Neither expected to be so right for each other, all while being wrong for everyone else. You know the end of this story. Bunni lives, Bosque dies. But maybe something will change.

My smaller titles, Bunni and Bosque /Aite and Jude, can be found at Maybe Trey .

The Business Plan

The initial phase of my business plan is to get the sites populated with ebooks and audiobooks for sale. I also have prints that can be sold. Right now, I am in the audience-building phase while I save up for editing the full novels.

In terms of an actual business with which to publish the stories, I already have a registered publication company in Illinois: Wolfless Studios LLC. I took this step earlier this year with plans to self-publish Astrid and Vicious. So that is paid for and done.

I have also gotten initial editing done on the first six chapters of Astrid, though it will need to be edited from the beginning again once everything is said and done. I've spent over $1000 on that so far, and it would go a lot faster if I didn't need to save up to edit each chapter.

Astrid the Devil is fully plotted, outlined, and only needs the last three chapters. Bunni and Bosque and Vicious are newer, but plotted and already deep into character development (all being shared across social and Wattpad for audience growth). Aite and Jude and other shorts are plotted, and three other unshared stories are plotted and at the editing phase.

Other costs and ways I would use the funding (I would still put in my own money and do as much on my own as possible):

Initial $30K

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy edits for Astrid (currently at 250000+ words/expecting over 300000 at $0.02 rate)

$6000 - $7000 Line and Copy Edits for Vicious

$3000 - $4000 Line and Copy Edits for Bunni and Bosque

ISBN Purchases (Separate ISBN for each format for each book) - https://www.myidentifiers.com/identify-protect-your-book/barcode

Covers for Astrid/Vicious/B&B Print Versions

Site Hosting Costs and Maintenance for 2 Years

Site completion for all stories

Initial store and app development

40K - Marketing and Graphic Novels

Social, Print, and Web ads

Email Marketing Campaigns

Booths at Decatur Book Festival (depending on COVID)

Social ads and promos

50 to 60 pages

First two chapters offered as free promo with email sign-ups

Audio journals for each character

Situational audio journals

Encyclopedia for Astrid (finishing up)/Vicious

65K - Hires and Next Phases

Ability to hire a Full-Time Editor

Audio Series for each (professionally done)

Vicious Graphic Novel

Additional Title Added

Short animations for both Vicious and Astrid (with plans to fund more with book sales)

Fleshed out Story Sections (Novellas for each character of each series)

Short comic series with Astrid and Vicious side characters

Possible to plan out monthly subscription service with new stories and 'story package' deliveries

75K -

Astrid the Devil Graphic Novel

Vicious Graphic Novel

Astrid the Devil Animated Short

Ability to hire part-time Web Developer

Additional bigger title

Anything Over - I ascend into pure light. And also, I can add titles, cover more mediums, and eventually expand my publishing to other black creatives.

From there, I should be able to handle the funding via sales of books, comics, audio, and more. Again, I will always offer mostly free content across the sites.

I believe in proof of concept, and I have diehard fans on my social platforms. With no outside funding, I've been able to a lot on my own. I'd love to expand my business into one that does the same for other black authors, artists, voice actors, and animators somewhere down the line.

Thank you so much for your consideration. I appreciate all my readers, present and future, and I appreciate any help!

See incentives and more on the actual campaign: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-trey-publish-black-paranormal-horror-stories

Thank you so much!

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