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golden-cherry · 1 year ago

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deal - cl16 (8/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: It's always nice meeting new people. Especially British ones.

Warnings: fluff, flirting, one swear word, social media aspect

Word Count: 3.3k

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A/N: this chapter is for everyone who send me kind words when I was feeling down. even tho I don't answer every single message, I read everything you send me. I love you.

You look desperately at the piece of paper in your hand.

You have the chicken breast, the avocado and the kale and garlic. According to the signs in the shop, two aisles down are the jars of sun-dried tomatoes that you also need. But where the heck are the sesame seeds and chilli flakes?

You rub your forehead with the back of your hand.

For twenty minutes you have been walking through the supermarket, which is so much bigger than the one around the corner from you. Ten minutes ago you put the chicken in the shopping basket, which is hanging down on your elbow. And since then you have been wandering the aisles with little success, trying to find the rest that Charles scribbled on the piece of paper.

When you left the bedroom this morning, your roommate had already disappeared. He had stowed his sleeping things in the wardrobe and tidied up the living room. Even the dishes had disappeared from the sink. Apparently he got up very early.

After drinking a glass of orange juice, you found the note on the kitchen table that Charles had left there.

"Bonjour,

Je suis à la salle de sport ce matin. I'm at the gym this morning.

Pourriez-vous acheter ces choses pour le déjeuner ? Could you please buy these things for lunch?

Merci, mon ami.

Charles

PS.: Mes amis et moi sortons ce soir et j'aimerais que tu viennes avec moi. My friends and I are going out tonight and I would like you to come along".

Next to it was another piece of paper with the shopping list for the bowl his nutritionist had picked out for him. Judging by the ingredients, Charles has good taste and for a moment you had considered buying a double portion - one for him and one for you - but the toast lying in your kitchen is about to go bad and you are reluctant to throw it away. Besides, no food in the world can beat a good sandwich.

But reading the list, you also realise that the small supermarket around the corner would not be enough to get everything.

The employee you asked a few minutes ago gave you a rough direction where you could find the sesame seeds, but he disappeared so quickly that you couldn't follow up. And since then you've been standing in a corridor that looks like you might find them here. But you've read through every label on every shelf, and although your French has improved - and you have a translator app on your phone - none of them sounded remotely like sesame or seeds.

"A pretty lady wasn't on my shopping list today, but I can be spontaneous," you hear someone with a British accent say behind you.

As you turn around, a young man is standing in front of you. He is a little taller than you and wears a black hoodie with his hands in his pockets and a black cap on his head. Although it is winter, his skin is tanned, and as he grins broadly, you see a small gap between his white front teeth.

You hesitate for a moment, trying to gauge whether he is really serious, and glance briefly at your shopping list before turning to face him fully. "An overeager man is not on mine either. And unfortunately, since I have to stick to my budget, I can't be quite as spontaneous."

His grin widens even more. "So the pick-up line was that lousy?"

His smile is so honest and friendly it's infectious. "Terrible."

The young man presses his tongue into his cheek before pulling his hand out of his jumper pocket to hold it out to you. "Lando. Nice to meet you."

As you place your hand in his, you feel the warmth of his skin. "Y/N."

Before you can respond, Lando snatches the piece of paper in your hand. His eyes flicker over the ingredients on it and then over the contents of your shopping basket. "You've been standing here for ten minutes. Do you need any help?"

You narrow your eyes and try to reach for the list in his big hands, but he is quicker. He pulls his hand away. "Have you been watching me? See if the note says stalker."

He pretends to go through the ingredients again, but his gaze lingers on you again after a few moments. "Stalker it doesn't say, but helpful stranger it does." He holds the note up to your nose. "Right under chicken breast. See. Right there. In invisible ink."

You push your lower lip forward and consider whether you should accept his help. The only thing against it is the fact that you can usually help yourself. But since he has already noticed how helplessly you search for the missing groceries, the argument is not exactly convincing.

"Alright." You extend your arm and wave it in a semicircle in front of you. "Show me the way."

Lando leads the way as you follow him through the shop. Despite his jumper, you can see that his cross is relatively wide. Not as wide as Charles, but still enough to be noticeable.

"You don't seem to be from around here, do you?" asks Lando as you walk past the cheese shelf. He looks down at you.

"I've actually lived here for months, but I've never been to this supermarket," you admit, shrugging. "The stuff on the list isn't for me, it's for my roommate. I'm not much of a bowl fan."

The helpful stranger stops abruptly in front of a shelf, causing you to bump lightly into him. You can still feel the hard muscles through the many layers of clothing. "What are you more into?" When you look at him with a raised eyebrow, he rolls his eyes. "Food-wise, I mean."

"Culinarily, I'm afraid I've stayed at McDonalds level. Or frozen pizza." As Lando grins, you lightly punch his arm. "I know, I know. Like a kid."

He reaches out and takes a packet from the shelf, and as he puts it in the basket, you see that it's sesame seeds. He then takes the basket from your hand. "So I don't need to take you to a super fancy, expensive restaurant? You'd be happy with take-out as well?" He tilts his head and raises an eyebrow.

Apparently he can't help it. But you find his boyish charm not annoying, rather amusing.

You raise your hand and poke your index finger against his chest. "You could buy me a can of soup, too, and I'd be blown away."

Lando is too surprised to retort, so he lowers his eyes to the list in his hand. You can still see the blush that comes to his face. He clears his throat. "Chilli flakes should be here somewhere too. Ah, there. Right behind you." He leans forward a little and reaches past you. As you inhale, you can smell his perfume.

"Thanks for your help, Lando," you say as you stand together at the checkout a little later, putting your purchase into a bag. "I don't know what I would have done without you." Your smile is genuine and you're glad he returns it. If it hadn't been for him, you'd almost certainly still be standing here tomorrow looking for the ingredients.

"I'm glad I could help." As you take your groceries from him, he shoulders the bag and shakes his head. "Would it be weird if I asked you if I could walk you home?"

"It would." You've both known each other for a few minutes and for sure it's unwise for a young stranger to find out where you live. Yet something about him makes you trust him. As Lando's mouth curls into a thin line, you smile kindly at him. "But weird is okay."

His expression brightens instantly. "Great. Show me the way. I'll follow you."

The walk home takes thirty minutes, but it feels much shorter with Lando by your side. He's two years older than you and incredibly funny, which is why your stomach starts to hurt from laughing at some point. He talks about what it was like growing up in England and that although he has his permanent home here in Monaco, he still works there.

"So you're always flying back and forth? Isn't that very tiring?" you ask him. The house where your home is located comes into your field of vision. In a moment you are about to say goodbye and somehow you have a feeling that he would make an attempt to ask for your number.

"It's very exhausting," he confesses, but shrugs. "But you know yourself what it's like to live here. Monaco is beautiful and I love it. Besides, many of my friends live here. It's definitely worth the stress for me."

You stop at the front door and Lando's smile disappears from his face as he realises that your time - for now - is up. He hands you your groceries, which he's been carrying for you like a gentleman for the last half hour.

"Thank you. For your help and the nice company," you thank him and fish the front door key out of your pocket.

Lando puts his hands back in the pockets of his jumper, undecided whether to hug you goodbye or not. "I have to thank you." He pulls his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "Can I see you again? Maybe for dinner? I'll get your favourite can of soup too," he grins and you have to laugh out loud.

"I'd love to," you reply. Why green eyes and dimples suddenly flash in the back of your mind, you don't know.

"Great. Do you have Instagram?" he asks and you look at him, confused. He raises a hand and scratches the back of his neck nervously with it. "I'd ask for your number, but I don't think you're someone who gives out their number to helpful strangers just because they're friendly."

You turn your head and point to the front door. "Well, you already know where I live, after all. And yet you ask for my Instagram?"

He licks his lips once with his tongue. "I didn't mean to be too forward."

You look down at your shopping bag, then back up at him. "You? Forward? No way."

You tell him your Instagram name and he saves it before you say goodbye with a hug that, in retrospect, you might find a little too brief. But Lando doesn't seem to want to cross any lines, which is why he only puts one arm around you to pull you close for a moment, not pressing you tightly against him but leaving some space between you.

"I'll get back to you," he says as you put the key in the door lock and turn it. "Promise."

When you enter the apartment minutes later, Charles is sitting on the couch, staring at his laptop, which is on the coffee table in front of him. You feel his gaze on you as you close the door behind you and slip off your shoes.

"Bonjour, Y/N." He gets up and follows you into the kitchen, where you take the groceries out of the bag and place them on the countertop. "Thank you for shopping. Did you sleep well?"

You did indeed. Whether it was the wine or the fact that you really enjoyed your evening with him, you don't know. When you woke up this morning and found that Charles had already left, you had been a little too relieved. The thoughts you harboured towards him last night make you feel guilty, so you decide to repress them and forget about them.

Everything that happened last night was purely amicable, which his "mon ami" on the note also confirms. Secretly, you are glad that he sees it that way too. If he were to give you signs of being interested, you would have to think seriously about the whole situation. And you don't want that.

You're happy living with Charles. And even though you've only known each other for two days, you're sure he's a better friend than anyone else has ever been. No one in your old group of friends had ever been so friendly, so helpful, so caring.

If that's how friends behave, then you never really had any.

"Well," you answer him. "I'm still alive, although I didn't lock the door yesterday. That certainly lets me sleep well."

Charles smiles and reaches for the chicken breast, which he rinses and seasons as you put a pan of oil on the hob. "Or maybe I just want you to feel safe. And someday, when you're not expecting it, I'll catch you," he jokes.

"And that's exactly why I was serious about my offer last night," you return, watching as he puts the chicken into the hot oil. You hear it hiss and bubble. "That you can sleep in bed tonight. I don't mind. After all, it's your bed. And it's only fair that you use it."

Charles turns the chicken in the pan and looks at you. "And you're not just doing this so I won't murder you while you sleep?" His grin widens.

"That, my friend, is a nice side effect."

While the chicken sizzles away, you prepare the avocado and Charles the kale. "It's all right, Y/N. It's only been the second night on the couch. And I promise you nothing will happen that would make you lock the door."

"But last night you -"

"Last night the wine was talking out of me when I sent you the picture," he interrupts. "Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." His smile is gentle. "That's what we agreed and that's what we'll stick to."

"That we agreed, I know," you confirm, digging a bowl out of the cupboard. Charles fills it with the ingredients and finally puts the roasted chicken on top. You turn off the hob. "But I don't think we have to stick rigidly to that rule for this," you point to the space between you, "to work. We're friends, not strangers. And as your friend, I can't have you breaking your back."

You see Charles swallow before turning away and picking up the bowl. Apparently he doesn't know what to say in response, because he changes the subject as you sit down on the couch together. "So, are you coming tonight? We were going out for dinner and then to a club. You don't have to come if you don't want to, of course, but I'd love to introduce you to my friends. We're a cool group and I think you'd fit in quite well." He spears a piece of avocado with his fork. "Besides, maybe I can take your mind off your asshole of an ex-boyfriend that way."

That's right. There was something.

You haven't had to think about him since last night. About him calling you all the time and spoiling your mood. That he cheated on you a while back and broke your heart.

Charles managed, with just a film and his company, to make you forget the pain and anger. In his presence you felt comfortable, warm, which was perhaps also a little due to the wine. And as you thought back over the evening, a feeling spread through you that you could not describe.

The only word you can think of to describe this feeling is Charles.

"I didn't mean to remind you," your roommate says softly when you don't answer him. His eyes are fixed on his food. "Sorry."

You shake your head, more to let him know that your thoughts are not about your ex-boyfriend, but about Charles's kindness and care, but apparently he takes it as accepting the apology. He exhales in relief.

"So? Are you coming with me later? With my friends and me?", Charles asks again.

Isn't it too early to meet his friends? You two haven't known each other for very long either. But after all, you would be there as his roommate slash friend, not as his girlfriend. So for him, there's no reason why you shouldn't be there. So there is none for you either.

"Do I need to wear anything nice? My wardrobe isn't exactly the most elegant," you confess, pointing to the oversized jumper hanging from your shoulders and the black leggings down your legs.

Charles' gaze moves from your face, across your torso, down further to the tops of your feet, which are inches away from his. "It doesn't matter what you wear. You look beautiful in anything."

You hope he doesn't notice how hard you have to swallow the lump in your throat. "Then I'll come with you."

Satisfied, Charles puts a piece of chicken in his mouth and chews on it. As his cell phone vibrates on the table in front of you, he stiffens a little.

From your position you can see that an unknown number is calling him. And you can well understand his reaction to it. You definitely wouldn't answer a call either if you didn't know who it was from. A short time later the phone is silent again and the screen goes black again. Charles visibly relaxes.

"I think calls from unknown numbers are totally nerve-wracking," you try to lighten the situation a little. "There was a time when I let the phone keep ringing, but now I just press unknown callers away."

Charles looks to you. "Would you press my call away?"

You draw your eyebrows together. "Well, since I don't have your number, I probably would."

Your roommate presses his tongue into his cheek. "Then it would be better if I gave it to you, no?"

Without a word, you hand him your unlocked phone - which looks really puny in his big hands - so he can punch in his number before calling himself. As he hands it back to you, he picks up his own phone to put your number in, deleting the unknown call.

"Give me your Instagram, please."

You look at him uncertainly, but give him your name. "Do you need anything else? My credit card number? Birth certificate? National insurance number?"

"No, you dickhead." He taps away on his phone and a moment later a notification pops up on your screen.

bawsixteen started following you

You open the app and click on his account and on the "Follow" button and a few moments later his entire profile is visible to you. He hasn't posted many pictures, some you recognise from Jori's place, but one in particular catches your eye.

"So, tonight we're going out for dinner. Around eight, so we have to leave around around quarter to." Charles puts the empty bowl on the table and turns to you. "I have to leave in a few minutes. Will you be okay on your own until then? I don't think I'll be gone too long."

You wonder if he's going to the woman he spoke to on the phone yesterday. "I'm an adult, Charles. I'll be fine," you smile. "Maybe by then I'll find a nice potato sack to wear later."

Charles laughs, gets up and goes into the kitchen to wash the bowl. "If you can find a second one that might fit me, bring it along. Then we could go in matching clothes. That would be something." You hear him turn on the tap at the sink. "Well, if you find one, you can call me."

"As long as you promise to answer." You turn and lean your arm over the back of the couch to watch him. His back muscles stand out under his shirt and you can see them moving.

Charles looks over his shoulder at you and smiles. "Deal."

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bawsixteen: 📍📸 the most beautiful place in Monaco

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if-loves · 6 months ago

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etude tableau op. 39 no. 6 (little red riding hood)

// Yandere Boothill

sum: The wolf wins.

wc: 2696

warnings: written before boothill release, boothill character story spoilers, fem! reader

a/n: i love cowboys

likes & reblogs are appreciated! asks are more than welcome ❤️

You’re good at hiding.

As a child, your favorite game to play was always hide-and-seek with your siblings, with you as a hider. You prided yourself on always being the last to be found, if they ever found you at all, but you were never the seeker; you never found the role as appealing, nor were you really any good at it.

You were a child when you decided that you always wanted to play hide-and-seek. Whenever you watched those cartoon shows of those silly characters running away from each other on the dingy television in your small house, you liked to imagine yourself in the shoes of the runner. The type stunts you’d pull off, the unique places where you’d hide, the strange disguises you’d put on to escape capture - that was your dream.

All children want to live their dreams, but not all of them get to. Many give up and leave, or worse, forget their dreams, leaving them to the past, while others cling on to them but are forced to part. There are few who are lucky enough to live their dreams, but the effort required is no small amount. No, you risked your life to be able to do what you loved most.

You started off as a thief, stealing candies from the local store. You liked those candies, but your family was far too poor to afford them regularly, making theft your only option. A child like you had no place at work.

The thefts grew bigger over the years, from small candies to necessities and finally to precious jewelry. You didn’t like that there were people out there who could afford everything they wanted and more, when there were people like your parents who had to work day and night to be able to even afford a home. This resentment grew, until it eventually morphed into a desire to be the greatest thief the universe had ever heard of. If you couldn’t and didn’t want to work, then you’d just steal!

One day you left, but not before leaving your parents and siblings the money you earned from exchanging precious goods. Staying in this world was not what you wanted, and you were going to get yourself free by any means necessary, even if that meant leaving everything you’ve ever known behind.

Before you left however, you picked out a red coat, bright as blood. You remember a story from your childhood, one your mother told you and your siblings when she finally wasn’t working. It was called Little Red Riding Hood, and it stuck with you. You enjoyed the cunning wolf, and you even found it particularly funny that he dressed up as her granny. It was unfathomable to you. Surely anyone would notice if their grandmother had become a big hairy wolf with sharp teeth, wouldn’t they?

Little Red Riding Hood's naivety was almost adorable. She was a child, so the blame was on the mother for the most part - who would allow their child, probably no more than ten years old, into the woods of all places, alone?

The ending of the story was a tad bit sad, but at the same time you admired how the wolf was smart about getting its meal. Thus, you wished to be cunning and sly like the wolf, but appear innocent like Red Riding Hood. It would also serve as a reminder of your home, and like the embrace of your family.

You had managed to sneak on to one of many ships heading for another world, sat in the peasant-class, blending in with the rest. When you arrived at the new world, your escapades started, and now you were happily on the list of the IPC’s most wanted criminals. Their incompetence in being seekers amused you greatly, for you always managed to slip right between their fingers as if you were air.

One day, you met a mysterious man on a planet you’d long forgotten the name of.

“You don’t look like yer from around ‘ere.” He says, a strong accent to his voice. His hair, a mix of black and white, caught your eyes, as well as the sharp teeth in his mouth. You wondered how much you could sell those for.

“Perhaps not.” You smile, pulling back your hood. “I am just a visitor.”

“‘s that so?” He holds out a hand for you to shake. “Then how do ya do, my lady?”

“Quite alright, thank you.” You shake his hand gently. “Could I have the honor of knowing your name, my good sir?”

“The name’s [???], nice to meet ya.” He tips his hat and sends you a wink.

“My name is (Y/n), good sir.” You put a hand on your heart and bow.

You get along well, for the time that you’re there. You’re more interested in what they have in store for you. Some diamond or gold, perhaps some rare ore? Or perhaps just a trinket you like, that you’d keep for yourself as a souvenir of this place. Something is bound to catch your eye, and maybe this man could lead you to where it is. After all, there’s no better guide than a local.

He shows you around sincerely, helping you ride his horse. The sunset is beautiful, and the sight of the people looking out for each other warms your heart. You have no intention of staying of course - like a hurricane, you may linger in one place for a little while, but you must always be moving. Getting caught by the IPC would be no fun, who knows what they’d do to you.

You’re almost sad to leave him behind. The last few days were spent with him touring you around the land he grew up in, introducing you to his adopted daughter, showing you secret places that you would’ve never found yourself. You like him, you really do; but you’re not a fool.

It’s late at night when you leave. You know he’s asleep by the soft snores you can hear from the room over, and his daughter is of course sound asleep at this time of the night. You wave them a silent goodbye, and as a souvenir for yourself, you take one of his bullets. Surely he wouldn’t notice such a tiny thing, not when he probably has hundreds of them.

You’re off to the next world by the time the sun rises once more.

~~~

It’s been many years since you met that cowboy, and it’s all water under the bridge. You’re not one to linger in the past, not when the present and the future stand in front of you, awaiting your next move.

The IPC are still hot on your tail, eager to put your misdeeds to rest, while you’re just as eager to keep playing with them. You only lament their incompetence as seekers. Hide-and-seek is no fun if the seeker doesn’t try.

You, however, have noticed someone else participating in this game between you and the IPC. They are no lackey of the IPC, because then they would obviously be using their signature gear and weapons and subordinates, but whoever they are, they are a lone wolf. They’re a far better seeker than those intergalactic disappointments, and you know you’ve almost been caught at least once. You can’t say you’re scared though, because you live for this thrill.

It’s in Penacony when you catch sight of your seeker. He dons a hat, heeled boots, a mechanical body and black and white hair. He is a familiar sight, but you couldn’t say who. There are countless people who exist in this universe, you’d never be able to remember all of them. As you plan your escape from Penacony, a cold hand catches your wrist.

“How do ya do, my lady?” You’ve heard those words before, once upon a time. A long, long time ago.

“Quite well, my good sir.” You reply the same, just as you always have. You know this man, yet you cannot remember his name. And his appearance… he has changed. He has changed greatly.

“Fancy seeing you ‘round these parts.” He smirks, and you see the jagged teeth that decorate his mouth.

“Would you do me the honor of your name?” You smile, subtly trying to twist your wrist out of his grip. His grip tightens.

“Poor ol’ me. There’s nothing more heartbreaking than when a man’s little lady doesn’t even remember him.” He chuckles, and forcefully pulls you close. “Darlin’, do ya swear ya don’t remember a man like me?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, for I am no follower of the Remembrance. Many memories of my encounters with others have been taken by the cruel hands of forgetfulness, and I am merely the victim who can do nothing but watch it happen.” You dip your head in mock regret.

“That bullet on yer belt says otherwise.” The mention of the bullet has you momentarily surprised. You never imagined he’d remember such an insignificant thing that you took on a whim, not when it looked like any other bullet in his arsenal.

“This was a gift from a friend.” You explain, your smile strained.

“Unless that friend is me, yer nothin’ but a cold-hearted liar, sweetheart.” His free hand reaches to the back of your neck, and with no warning, latches onto it like a parasite. “Could ya believe that? My darlin’ Red Riding Hood’s a liar!”

“Sir, I’m afraid I don’t know who you are. Is it possible that you’ve mistaken me for someone else? It would be great if you could let my hand go, and we could both be on our merry ways.” You try to plead with him, but from the look in his eyes, he’s not buying even a second of it.

“Nah, I’d never forget yer red hood. After all, yer Little Red Riding Hood, aren't cha?” He grins wolfishly, leaning down to your face. He eyes your lips, and for the first time in years, you feel an inkling of fear.

“Red coats like these aren’t uncommon, it’s a popular fashion trend nowadays.” You lie through your teeth, your free hand clutching the fabric of the coat. You try to lean away from him, but his grip on your neck doesn’t allow more than what he decides.

“That so?” He finally, finally, pulls away from you, and you feel relief like you’ve never felt before.

“Of course! I have no reason to lie to you, not when you’re obviously the stronger one between the two of us!” It’s not a lie. He has a mechanical body for the love of Aeons, he could obliterate you in seconds if he so wanted. You’re only alive because he hasn’t decided that you’d be worth the bullet.

“That’s something you're honest about!” He barks out a laugh, and you wince at the sound. There was something… inhuman, almost robot, about it. He laughs for a few moments too long, and you want nothing more than to leave, to hide again. Anywhere else was better than being with this man.

“Sir, I have a ship to catch. If you would excuse me…”

“Nah, not on my watch.” He is unrelenting in his insistence. You don’t even get the chance to attempt to leave before he’s dragging you off into a more secluded area of the hotel, where he’s sure there’s no prying eyes nor ears that would lay witness to his actions.

“I’m pretty sure this is illegal-”

“Good thing it ain’t then, eh?” He cuts you off in an instant. You furrow your eyebrows. You didn’t take someone like him to be well-versed in inter-astral law.

“How do you know it’s not-”

“‘Cause laws,” he starts, finally stopping when he deemed the area acceptable. He turned to face you, leaning down once more until you could feel every breath of his, and there was a glint of something in his remarkably human eyes. “Don’t apply to criminals like you, darlin’.”

“You’re falsely accusing me-”

“Nah, I know you like the back of my hand.” He grins once more, extending his hand as if this were your first meeting. “Nice ta meet’cha, Little Red Riding Hood. The name’s Boothill, yer number one fan, and yer beloved seeker.”

It was rare that you lost your composure, that you let yourself stand there dumbfounded and vulnerable. You’ve imagined meeting your mysterious seeker, the taunting words you’d exchanged. If they are to be as humorous as you are, then you’d have a fun banter; but if they’re as cold as the IPC, then it would just be you. Never in a million years did you imagine that it would turn out like this, him with the upper-hand, and you, the helpless prey.

“Nothin’ to say? C’mon now cutie, I didn’t waste my time chasin’ ya ‘round for ya to clam up on me.” He, or rather Boothill as you’ve come to know, finally frees your wrist from his grip only to move up to your chin, forcing you to stare at him. “That bullet on yer belt belongs to me. Ya know that don’t’cha, ya thief?”

It seems that all your wit has left your lips, and you’re now overtaken by silence. What could you say? He knows you. He remembers you. If you open your mouth, you’d only be digging your grave further.

“Don’t wanna speak? Fine. Then I guess that means yer mine now.” He shrugs and takes your wrist once more, the cool metal of his hand sending shivers down your spine. Suddenly, he laughs again, and you think it’s a horrible, screeching, sound. “Ha! Guess the wolf really does win!”

“B..Boothill,” you start, slowly, and his laughter ceases in an instant. His eyes lock on yours, as if daring you to speak further. “Please think this over. I know the IPC has a bounty out for me, but it’s not that big, not as much as what I’ve sold things for. I-if money is what you seek, then I’d be happy to split with you.”

“Ha? The IPC?” His face visibly sours at the mention of the corporation, and you fear that you’ve pissed him off. “Nah, I don’t want nothin’ to do with those cuties. They could die for all I care. ‘sides, I don’t need no money. A Galaxy Ranger can live without that. What I’m after is you, sweetcheeks.”

His face leans impossibly close, and you instinctively try to move away. He only leans in closer, until your lips are touching, and his sharp teeth bite down on the bottom of your lip.

“I’ll make sure yer never gonna forget me, doll. I’ll carve every inch of myself into yer heart, and that bullet will serve as yer reminder of what ya got yerself into.” Boothill smirks, and you can’t help but shrink under his eyes. There’s a wolf staring at you, ready for its next meal.

He closes the distance without giving you a second to react, and latches onto your mouth with his own. You struggle desperately against him, but you’re no match for a hunter, so you opt to keep your mouth sealed shut. Boothill doesn’t like that.

He bites down on your bottom lip without warning, drawing blood. Your mouth opens to yelp, but he swallows the sound. Like a man starving, he doesn’t give you a moment to breathe, and it isn’t until you’re starting to wheeze that he allows you to be free. Licking the saliva around his lips, he pridefully stares down at you as if you were a trophy.

“I like it when ya say my name, doll.” He coos, squishing your cheeks together, leaning down once more as if to continue his assault. “Say it again.”

You remain silent as an act of defiance.

“Don’t wanna? We’ll see for how long.” He releases your cheeks. They ache. Dragging you once more, he doesn’t turn to look at you when he says his next words, but you know the look on his face perfectly well. “I bet you’ll be sayin’ it like a prayer after tonight.”

His laughter is a horrible sound.

#boothill #honkai star rail #yandere #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #hsr #yandere boothill #yandere x reader #female reader #fem reader #boothill x reader #hsr boothill #yandere boothill x reader

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guess-my-next-obsession · 6 months ago

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Guilty as Sin? - Chapter Three

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, Derrick shows his true self, Javier comes to the rescue, depictions of SA (minor, though proceed with caution), mentions of alcohol consumption

word count: 4.2k

series masterlist

Friday night marked not only the temporary break from having to see Dr. Peña every single day, but also your stupid date with Derrick. He’d been out of the apartment when you woke up, him and Nina off at the gym. Alondra crawled into bed with you, her laptop in tow.

“I don’t wanna go tonight,” you grumbled, drawing the blankets up to your face as she got comfortable beside you. “Just tell him I’m sick or something.”

“He’s been looking forward to this all week,” she reminded, pulling up Netflix. “Hell, for the last four years.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been dreading this for the last four years so where does that leave us?” you challenged. “I’m supposed to make myself uncomfortable just to make his little dream come true?”

“I’m not saying that,” she sighed. “I’m just saying what harm could come from going to dinner with him? He’s your friend, just pretend you guys are grabbing food or something casual.”

“But he won’t want casual,” you snapped, throwing your blanket back so that you could get up. “He’ll want the full treatment.”

“There’s worse men to pretend to like,” she said, closing her laptop as she watched you tug on a hoodie and sweats. “At least he’s good looking and harmless.”

“Harmless as a friend,” you pointed out. “Who knows what he’s like on a date.”

“That’s why you should go,” she urged. “To find out if maybe that’s what was missing—“

“There’s nothing missing!” you shouted. “I don’t want him, not because I just haven’t seen how charming he is, not because I haven’t given him a chance. I don’t want him because I don’t want him. End of story.”

“Then don’t go!” she shouted back.

“How? How am I supposed to turn him down when I’ve tried that for the past four years and he doesn’t give a shit. He’ll keep trying and trying until I finally cave, so I’ll fucking go tonight, but this is it. No more putting his feelings above mine.”

“Then I don’t know why you’re complaining.”

You took a deep breath, finding the patience you knew you possessed but seemed so far away in this moment. Out of all people, you expected Alondra to understand your side of the situation. She’d never spent a day in her entire life thinking about what a man wanted, what they were feeling and how she might accommodate for it. And yet, here she was demanding that you not only go through with this but that you shut up while doing it.

“I just want to be alone for a while,” you said, dejected and hurt. “It feels like the entire world is turning for him and I’m just here. You and Nina love him, I know, but what about me?”

“We love you,” she said, her brows furrowing. “It’s just that sometimes it almost feels like you avoid the things that you know will be good for you in favor of shit that’ll wreck you. We’re just trying to show you that Derrick is a good thing.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m gonna be at the library until my lab. Tell Derrick I’ll meet him back here at ten.”

��Don’t be like that,” she coaxed, following you into your shared bathroom to watch you brush your teeth. “Don’t be mad.”

Spitting out the toothpaste, you tried to ignore her guilt tripping. “I’m not mad, I just want to be alone.”

“Fine,” she said, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Text me if you need me?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, watching her leave the room knowing damn well she just earned a spot at the bottom of the list of people you’d reach out to.

Dr. Peña’s lab went by smoothly, the undergrads taking their first quiz of the semester in absolute silence as you got to work grading yesterday’s assignment. Dr. Peña had been taking careful glances at you, his brow furrowed with concern. Not that you could blame him. For the last two days you’d been dressing to impress, or more delusionally, to seduce, but today you’d shown up bare faced and in sweats.

Setting his pen down, he cleared his throat and walked over to your desk, causing your tired eyes to lift to his. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, giving him a forced smile that only managed to deepen that look of concern on his face.

“Just tired,” you lied in a whisper, shrugging your shoulders.

“I know these late night labs aren’t the easiest—“

“No, no,” you assured. “It’s not the lab. Just…personal stuff.”

He lifted his chin in understanding, his fingers tapping against the wood of your desk. “Well, if you’d prefer, you can finish grading those at home. They’re just going to be taking the quiz tonight, so we’ll be fine without our prized TA.”

You smiled at the compliment—or at what you assumed to be one. “It’s fine. Home’s not very appealing to me right now.”

“The offer stands,” he smiled, soft and almost unnoticeable before walking back to his desk.

Too bad you noticed every single thing he did.

After the lab, you headed home to get ready for the punishment that was an hour spent at the snobbiest restaurant in Austin with your not-so-friend. Derrick was locked up in his room, no doubt trying to overcome his jitters while you did the same. Only your jitters felt more like tremors, something deep in your soul cautioning you against going. Still, you persisted.

Slipping into a skirt and your favorite top that gave you the confidence necessary to walk into this situation with your head held high, your makeup flawless and subdued, your hair just the way you like it, you took a deep breath and opened your door to greet Derrick with a forced smile.

“You look…wow,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. While you smelled his clean scent, there was also a hint of something else on his breath—tequila, perhaps? “No one’s gonna believe you’re with me.”

You cleared your throat, glancing at Nina and Alondra who stood in the kitchen eavesdropping. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for your fancy reservation.”

He laughed, nodding as he held out his hand for you to take. You pretended not to notice it and busied your hands with holding your bag and phone, which…

Fuck, you forgot to charge your phone.

“My brother recommended this place,” he said, brushing off your rejection as he walked you out of the building and to his car. “It’s where he proposed.”

“Mm,” you hummed, still lost in your head.

“You like sushi, right?” he asked, opening your door.

“Yeah,” you nodded, slipping into the passenger seat. “We’ve been friends for how long now and you don’t know that?”

He chuckled, buckling his seatbelt. “I don’t pay attention to little shit.”

You stared at his profile with something akin to disgust, the realization that he’d never viewed this friendship in the same light as you finally dawning on you. “Friends usually try to pay attention to little shit like that.”

“Yeah, well we’re a bit more than friends,” he smirked, glancing at you before bravely moving his hand to your thigh. You jerked at the touch, pulling away from him to turn towards the window. “So, uh, how’s Peña’s lab?”

“It’s good,” you managed, counting the streetlights as they passed by.

“That’s shocking,” he chuckled. “What, he’s not a dick to them?”

“He is,” you shrugged. “But not to me.”

“For obvious reasons,” he chided. “Alondra told me about the whole don’t wear a skirt thing. Sounds like a fucking creep.”

“It wasn’t like that,” you argued, turning towards him. “And you can tell Alondra I’d appreciate it if she didn’t tell you all of my business.”

“She was just looking out for me,” he said, giving you a frown. “Can’t have your professor trying shit if we’re gonna give this a real shot.”

“Derrick, I don’t—“

“No, just…let’s keep this date free of all that pessimist shit,” he snapped, reminding you of his inebriated state. Fuck, and you were in a car with this shithead? “Tonight I want you to put all that trauma aside for once and keep yourself open,” he demanded, causing your heart to race.

What would happen if you didn’t? Would he hurt you? Would he shit talk you to all your friends? Would he make something up?

“Fine,” you managed, balling your hands into fists as they rested on your lap.

After a car ride spent listening to him detail his summer of luxury, the two of you found yourselves seated in the restaurant located on the opposite side of town. You’d only been out in this area once to celebrate your first anniversary with Micah, though that time you were forced to split the bill. Derrick wouldn’t have any of that, not with his trust fund and need to prove himself.

You didn’t speak much at dinner, not because you had nothing to say but because he wouldn’t stop talking. He’d covered everything from the first birthday he could remember to the day he first met you when you were both frightened freshmen on campus. Perhaps the trip down memory lane would’ve made you smile if it wasn’t for his wandering hands beneath the table.

When the bill was paid and the two of you were on your way out, you thought the terrible night had finally come to a close. But of course it hadn’t.

Derrick surprised you by pulling you into a dark alleyway, his hands greedy as he pulled you against his frame. You felt his lips on yours, taking and taking and giving you not a damn thing but a sick feeling of alarm in your stomach.

“Derrick, stop,” you hissed, pushing against his chest as he continued to lean in, caging you against the stucco wall.

“You want me,” he rasped, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as his liquor-scented breath flooded your nostrils. “You’re just scared of it ending badly.”

“No,” you protested, continuing to push him away. “I don’t want any of this. I don’t feel that way for you.”

“Yet you showed up wearing this.” You froze as you felt his cold fingertips graze the outside of your thighs, inching his way closer to the hem of your skirt. “Just…let loose for once. Let your guard down and I swear you won’t regret it.”

“I already regret it,” you hissed, shoving him hard enough to cause him to drunkenly stumble back. “You’re drunk and acting like fucking dick.”

He shook his head, chuckling at your words or the situation, you couldn’t quite tell. “I want you.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“Four fucking years of waiting around, then you finally decide to go out with me, and now…what? You’re just gonna act like a tease?”

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you if you keep talking,” you warned, though you knew your strength was no match for his. Still, female rage and adrenaline fueled you, coaxing you into not giving a fuck about the outcome. If he pushed any harder, you’d gladly fuck around and find out. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

“Stop,” he whined, grabbing your wrist to keep you from leaving. “Don’t be such a bitch.”

“I’m a bitch?” Fuck around and find out, it is. “I’ve been nothing but a good friend to you all these years, even knowing that you didn’t give a fuck about any of that. You’d rather I be in your sheets than in your life, that much is fucking clear now.”

“I’m just saying, it’s not cool to continue to give me hope—“

“I didn’t give you shit!” you yelled, yanking your wrist from his grasp. “How many times have we talked about this? How many times have you made me feel guilty for something I have no control over? I don’t want you, Derrick. I never have, and after tonight I certainly never will. Face it or don’t, but our friendship ends here.”

“We live together,” he reminded, stepping towards you. “You can’t avoid me like you avoid Micah.”

“Can’t I?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “You have no idea how easy it’ll be for me to pretend as if you never existed.”

He let out a huff of disbelief, shaking his head at you as if he had any right to feel disappointed. No, that right was yours alone in this situation. You thought you found a man who you could call a true friend, only to find out he was just as bad as the rest of them. Maybe worse given the way he manipulated you these past four years, all to earn your trust.

You took off down the street, not caring about the looks you received from passersby. You just needed to get somewhere safe and call—

Fuck. Phone’s dead.

With fear threatening to take over, you stumbled into the first open shop on the block, a very fancy looking cafe that was mostly stranded on the inside. Tugging down the hem of your skirt, you huffed a sigh in order to rein in the tears threatening to spill as you swung the door open.

“Welcome in,” the older woman behind the counter greeted, giving you a judgmental once over as your heels clacked against the hardwood floor on the way to the counter. “What can I get started for you?”

“I was just wondering if there was any way I could use your phone to call a cab? I promise I’ll buy something—“

“I’m sorry, we don’t allow customers to use our phones,” she frowned, a display of mock sympathy that threatened to wear down your last remaining nerve.

“I understand, and I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency,” you pleaded.

“I don’t know what to tell you, ma’am,” she sighed. “Phones are for employee use only. Perhaps you can find a payphone or—“

The woman was interrupted by a familiar voice calling your name. Stomach sinking to the floor, you turned to find Dr. Peña sitting in a booth by the window with his laptop.

Fucking perfect.

“Dr. Peña.” You greeted him with a sigh and a forced smile, reluctantly heading towards his booth.

“Are you alright?” he asked, giving you a quick once over before lifting his eyes back yours.

“Yeah,” you lied, giving him a quick nod. He tilted his head and you and gave you a look as if to say liar. Letting out the saddest, weakest laugh you might’ve ever uttered, you decided to hell with pride. “No, I’m…it’s been a long night.”

He ticked his jaw as he considered you for a moment, leaving you in sickening suspense. “What happened?”

“You don’t want to hear about all that,” you assured, wiping a tear from your waterline.

“I do,” he insisted, nudging his chin towards the other side of the booth. “Sit down, I’ll get you a coffee.”

“You don’t have to—“

“Sit,” he ordered, that stern voice cutting through the clouds of self pity and anger still looming overhead. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black is fine,” you lied, slipping into the booth as gracefully as your skirt would allow.

It took him a few minutes to return, that time spent locked inside your head, watching a replay from an eagle's eye point of view. Derrick's hands on your body, his lips on yours, his vile claims and threats sounding over and over.

“So,” he said, handing you your cup as he sat down in front of his laptop before closing it. “What happened?”

“I don’t…I don’t want anyone to get in trouble,” you prefaced, earning a hesitant nod. “Derrick—

“Mr. Crawley?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He’s been my friend for years now, we live together…but he has this really bad habit of not taking no for an answer.” Dr. Peña tensed, his jaw clenching. “That’s why I agreed to go out with him tonight, because I was just sick of having to explain that I only saw him as a friend. Thought I’d just get it over with, but that didn’t really go as planned.”

“Did he…try something?” he asked, his voice low and tense. You shrugged, questioning the entire interaction. If you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t been brave enough to tell him no, would he have stopped? Did what he did really constitute assault?

“I don’t know. Sort of,” you explained, tracing the rim of your cup as you spoke. “Dinner was shit enough, but then he cornered me in an alley, trying to cage me against a wall and…touch me, but I stopped him. Then he turned into this entirely different person than I’ve known all this time, called me a bitch and a tease. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize my phone was dead when I took off down the block, and now I’m stranded on this side of town. And truthfully, I don’t even know if going home is a good idea.”

Javier leaned back in his seat, raking his hands over his face.

“I have a sinking feeling that if I go home, he’s just going to start shit again, which is the last thing I want right now.”

He nodded, understanding and sympathy in his eyes as he took a beat to think.

“Firstly, I’m incredibly proud of you for sticking up for yourself. It’s not an easy thing to do, and you did it.” You refused to keen under his praise the way your heart demanded to. “If I’d have just put up with it—“

“Stop,” he said, shaking his head. “You did the brave thing and the right thing. He’s too fucking old to not know the difference between a woman who wants him and one who doesn’t. This shit is on him, alright?”

You gave him a meek nod, still not able to look him in the eye.

“I know you said you don’t want anyone to get in trouble, and I’ll respect that, but know that if you decide to report him, I’ll back you,” he offered, his eyes rounding and voice softening. “I don’t think you should go home. I—“ He sighed, lowering his hand to rest beside yours on the table. “I can drive you to a hotel, and if you need me to pay for it, I will. That way I’ll know you’re safe, and you’ll have your own space for the night.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” you assured.

“No, it isn’t, but it’s late and you’ve clearly been through enough tonight,” he said. “But it’s your choice. I can call you a cab if that’s more comfortable.”

“Isn’t that…sort of against the rules? You giving me a ride?”

He let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s not ideal, but I don’t care about that right now,” he confessed, his pinky reaching out to brush against yours. “I just care about you being safe and comfortable.”

You bit your lip, eyes glued to his hand that seemed to be fighting an internal war over whether or not to reach out for yours. “I won’t feel safe and comfortable in a hotel. I’d just feel…alone.”

“I can’t,” he whispered to himself, moving his hand to his face.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t do this,” he gestured between the two of you. “I can’t keep you company tonight.”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant, and I’m telling you I can’t let a student of mine crash at my place,” he sighed, conflict weighing on his face. “I’ll take you to a hotel and you can call a friend to stay with you.”

“I’m not going to let you pay for my hotel,” you protested. “That’s not happening.”

“Then what?” he asked, dropping his hand to the table.

“I don’t know,” you snapped. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Here,” he handed you his phone. “Call a cab, they’re safer than an Uber.”

You stared at the unlocked screen, debating whether or not you truly wanted to handle things on your own or accept the help offered to you, even if it meant spending a night alone in a foreign environment, stuck with the flashbacks of Derrick’s hands on your body, his lips on your mouth. There was no safety in that, in being prisoner to awful memories you had no part in creating. The truth was that you needed him to distract you from yourself, and you didn’t care if you had to grovel or beg for it.

“I’m asking you to please just…stay,” you whispered, too close to tears to speak up. “We don’t have to go to your place. We can go to the library for all I fucking care, I just don’t want to be alone. All my friends are his friends and I know what they’ll say about tonight. Everyone loves him, everyone wants to be his friend, and I’m just…around. They won’t believe me, and even if they do, they won’t see it the way I do.”

Javier looked ready to tell me to fuck off and go find someone else to bother with all my problems, but threw me for a loop when he said, “Fine. Grab your coffee, and…here.” He held out a black leather jacket that smelled like him; whiskey, smoke, and warm spice.

“Where are we going?” you asked, standing and draping the jacket over your shoulders as he gathered his things.

“My office,” he said, his tone clipped and sharp. “It’s the only place where people won’t be around to see us. Not that I really give a shit, but you should.”

“You haven’t done anything but help me,” you offered. “I don’t care if people talk. You and I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“They don’t give a shit,” he countered, leading you out of the cafe. “Besides, we’re already breaking rules. Even if we aren’t acting on anything—“

“Is there anything to act on?” you probed, sticking close to him out of fear Derrick was still around searching for you. Dr. Peña shot you a knowing look over his shoulder.

“There’s enough to drive me fucking crazy,” he admitted.

You stopped in your tracks, shocked—and twistedly pleased—at his confession. He noticed your reaction, stopping to turn around and look at you with a pleading expression.

“I didn’t mean—“

“I know what you meant,” you echoed his words from earlier. He ground his jaw and looked down at the sidewalk for a beat before pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You watched his lips mold around the cigarette as he took a deep drag, his brows furrowed as if he was in pain.

“I’m not…” He shook his head again, looking up at the night sky. “I’ve been teaching now for five years. Never once have I done this shit. Never once have I let myself get involved. Until you.”

“Dr—“

“Javier,” he cut you off. “Call me Javier when it’s just us. It’ll make me feel better about how fucked up this is.”

“What’s fucked up about a woman in her late twenties and a man in his thirties talking?” you asked, stepping closer to him to feel a bit more of the thrill that did such a good job at blocking out all the bad shit going through your head.

“I’m your professor,” he explained, watching you carefully. “There are rules against me developing this exact infatuation I can’t seem to fucking shake.”

“You’re infatuated with me?” you chuckled, more out of shock than amusement. Though you’d obviously sensed he saw some sort of potential in you that caused him to act like less of a dick than he did with everyone else, you’d have never guessed in a million years that he was interested in you.

Javier chuckled darkly, stepping closer to you until you could smell his cologne. “Infatuated is an understatement.”

“And what would you say if I told you I was just as infatuated?” you asked, closing the gap between the two of you as you lifted your hand to rest on his chest. Not pushing him away like with Derrick, but beckoning him closer.

He whispered your name, sending chills down your spin. “We can’t.”

“We’re not doing anything,” you countered, sliding your hand up to the back of his neck just to feel those soft brown waves that have been calling your name this last week. Javier grabbed your hand and lowered it gently, his thumb smoothing over your skin.

“I’ll stay up with you tonight so that you can feel safe, but that’s it,” he whispered, his eyes darting across your face. “Okay?”

You wanted to frown, to throw a fit and beg him to not be such a stand-up guy, but that would be like asking a fish not to swim, the wind not to blow, a fire not to burn. He simply was a stand-up man and no amount of seduction could change that. “Okay.”

He let out a soft sigh, stepping away from you.

“You’re lucky I have shit to grade tonight,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. “You might consider helping me with some of that, TA.”

You chuckled, nodding. “After a nap.”

“Sure,” he chided. “Take it that’s code for hell no.”

“Would you look at that. You’re more clever than you look, Professor.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier peña #javi peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x reader #guilty as sin?

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siriusblack-the-third · 2 years ago

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The one word that best fits Percy, Annabeth thinks, is Gentle. And it is entirely by design.

Percy grew up hated by his stepfather, hated by his schoolmates and teachers and tutors. He grew up with the words "delinquent", "stupid", "troublemaker" thrown at him, stinging his heart at first and then sliding ineffectually off his back over the years. Annabeth has seen him at his worst, and she knows that it is not in Percy's nature to be gentle. He's a hurricane.

It's in everything he does.

His eyes shift and change with the tides, with his emotions, from happy to angry to sad to exhausted to smug all within moments of each other. Sometimes, she catches a glimpse of something Other, something that makes him look cruel and heartless in the worst yet most beautiful of ways. The first time she had seen that look was when he had packed up the head of Medusa to send it to the Gods.

(It had scared her, then. Now any reminder of it makes her laugh.)

He holds himself in a way that says fuck around and find out, in a way that says he's the most dangerous person on this planet and he knows it, in a way that makes you stop and look and then stamp down the urge to take a few steps back. His back is always straight and his shoulders are always pulled back, but he always looks relaxed. His head is always a little low, reminiscent of the way a bull lowers its head when it's going to charge. His hands are always in his pockets, fiddling with a pen that has been with him since he was twelve. People scatter out of his way like getting within ten feet of him would get them killed.

(They're not wrong.)

Annabeth can only describe his fighting as chaotic. He is a literal whirlwind, movements fluid and unpredictable, sword slashing through the air with such speed that it's almost invisible. He's terrifying and beautiful and mesmerizing when he wages war, all sharp edges and ruthless strikes placed right where it would take his opponent down the fastest. Sometimes when he feels particularly violent, his hits are non lethal yet painful, making his opponent cry and scream, making him grin with teeth too sharp and eyes too bright.

And yet.

Gentle is the best word Annabeth can think of to describe Percy.

Percy, who cradles her face oh so carefully when he kisses her softly and slowly, just the way she likes when a nightmare wakes her up. Percy, who curls up into a ball next to her and buried his head into her stomach to hide from the terrors in his own dreams. Percy, who looks at his sister with the most adoring look Annabeth has ever seen on his face, who smiles at his mother with that spark of awe in his eyes like he still can't believe he got such a wonderful mother, who is patient and caring with every camper that asks him to help.

She can only think of gentle.

Gentle, because Percy likes to be reminded of the good things in the world. Gentle, because Percy works towards being so despite it not being a natural part of him. Gentle, because after years of war and bloodshed and battle and violence, they have made it to peace. Peace, where they can afford to make the choice to be gentle.

Percy is a Hurricane. Percy is Gentle.

Annabeth loves all of him.

Tag list:

@narcissa-black-supermacy @the-chaosbringer @in-flvx @padfootastic @gracelesslady23 @mycupofrum @just-another-godless-god @fiendishfyre @ad1thi @prongsfoot-wolfstar @siriuslystarbucks @xxmysticrose18 @ghostie-06 @pan-diasaster @h-m-i-a-n @constant-diablerie @strwbi-laces @shanti-ashant-hai @remen-nyoodles

#percy jackson #percy pjo #pjo series #heroes of olympus #percy and annabeth #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson meta #meta #pjo meta #annabeth chase #percabeth #percy x annabeth #amrut writes

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mrs-gucci · 1 year ago

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Drive-In

{ flip zimmerman x female reader }

anon

Can I please request going to a horror movie drive in with Flip where he hopes the movie will be louder than the noises you both make lol :)

warnings. SMUT (18+ ONLY), high risk sex (car sex around other people), reverse cowgirl, barebacking, creampie.

word count: 525

★ written for sextember 2023 ★

** CLICKING “KEEP READING” MEANS YOU UNDERSTAND & ACKNOWLEDGE ALL OF THE WARNINGS LISTED ABOVE AND ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, YOUR CONTENT CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. MINORS DNI. **

collage by me :)

Creepy music plays loudly through the drive-in speakers as the spectators in surrounding cars stare up at the large movie screen, eating their popcorn and drinking their sodas hesitantly, waiting for the impending jump scare.

You and Flip, however, had lost interest in the movie about ten minutes ago. Well, you didn't lose interest, per se. More like you two became much more interested in one another than in the movie.

Lets just say that the gasps and cries from the scared on-screen protagonists aren't the only ones happening at the theater this evening.

Flip grunts as you sink down onto his stiff length repeatedly, hips thrusting up instinctively against you. The truck's windows are starting to really steam up, the air between you two incredibly thick while you ride him.

You're holding tightly onto the grab handle with one hand while the other rests on his hand, the one currently gripping your hip tightly. Your eyes are on the movie and maybe somewhere in your mind you're paying attention to the horrors occurring, but really, it's just pictures on a screen. Your mind is in a whole different place right now.

"S-Shit," you breathe, biting your lip to try and keep the noise down. "Oh god, baby..."

As much as Flip loves this, well, pretty much public sex, he does try to be extra careful since he's law enforcement. He's really hoping the movie's louder than the noises you two are making and the gentle squeaking of his truck's shocks.

He groans softly, cigarette pinched between his teeth, ashes starting to fall off the tip. "Goddamnit, princess...a little faster for me...mhm, that's it..."

You speed up as he requested, resulting in a spike in both your pleasures. Matching noises of pure lust and passion escape from both of your lips.

"Fuck...mm!"

Flip starts thrusting up into you, chasing his rapidly approaching orgasm. The cars around you seem none the wiser and luckily for you two, the windows are not completely steamed over, so all that can really be seen are your silhouettes.

As he fucks you, you take the opportunity to reach down and rub your clit, moaning softly as the pleasure pulses through you. You're close, very close, and getting closer by the second--

"O-Oh fuck," Flip groans as he cums, pushing his cum up into you with rapid thrusts. "Mmm, good girl...shit..."

Feeling him cum is what sends you over the edge, and you continue rubbing yourself through it as the familiar waves of pleasure roll over your body.

Eventually you both come to a stop and Flip pulls out, tucking himself away while you pull your underwear back into place. As soon as you turn around in his lap, Flip has put out his cigarette and pulls you in for a kiss, his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.

A thought come to you and you smile against his lips, chuckling softly. He pulls away, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"What is it?"

Your laughter grows a bit. "I told you this was a good movie."

He laughs, shaking his head and giving your ass a nice firm smack.

"You're cute."

****

sextember taglist: @rynwritesstuff @safarigirlsp @babbushka

if you'd like to be tagged in future sextember works, please let me know via comment on this post or the original sextember post!

#mrs-gucci #mrs-gucci's sextember #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction #adcu fanfic #adcu community #adcu fic #adam driver smut #adcu smut #flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman x female reader

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nataliesfirefly · 7 months ago

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chapter 1 - new year, same rivalry

a/n: hello! i’m back finally! super excited for this series, it’s definitely going to be more wholesome than my other one, and more of a slow burn! my plan is to have ten chapters, but that could change later on.. anyways enjoy and please tell me what you think! if you would like to be put on the series taglist, let me know! ♥️

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 3.8k

series masterlist

“Welcome, year twelves. It’s lovely to see you all today, I recognize some familiar faces. My name is Mrs. Chasteen, I’ll be your teacher for English studies this year.” You set your bag down and take a seat, glancing up at the woman speaking. She’s very elegant, with her grey hair pulled into a strict bun and sophisticated tiny rectangle glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. You smooth out your black pleated skirt before crossing your legs.

“As I’m sure you all know, this year is very important. You should be considering which universities you wish to apply to, how you would like to further your education…” Your attention is side tracked when a tall figure hurries into the room, his dark eyes scanning for an open seat. You swear your heart drops to your stomach. Farleigh.

His eyes eventually fall onto you after spotting the empty seat next to you. He reluctantly walks over and sits down next to you with a big sigh, like he’s just put off by your existence. At least the feeling’s mutual.

“Your grades need to be in top shape this year, as they will determine your chances of getting into university. This year is arguably the most important for grades,” Mrs. Chasteen explains, pacing around slowly. You shift uncomfortably, scooting away from Farleigh. It’s like he’s trying to take up space on purpose as he splays his books and papers across the table. You shoot him an ungrateful look which he ignores.

“Now, enough about all that. I’m going to introduce the book that we will be studying closely this term.” You perk up at her words as she goes to her desk, picking a book up off the surface.

“This book is found on many, many reading lists for universities, namely Oxford.” You raise an eyebrow and sit up at the mention of your dream school. “A classic from the Victiorian era: Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.” She holds up the book briefly and you let out a relieved sigh. “One of my personal favorites,” She adds quietly, setting the book back down.

Farleigh nudges you with his shoulder and you have to stop yourself from physically recoiling. “Would’ve thought you’d already read this by now,” He mutters with a slight smirk on his face, showing his teeth like a fox. Suddenly, a question enters your mind and now you have to ask, though you might come off as insecure. “Have you?” You whisper back, eyebrows furrowed. He shakes his head. “No.”

Okay, good. That would have been bad if he had already read it. It’s always nice at the start of the year. You’re both even, and no one’s ahead of each other in anything. Yet.

“We’ll be discussing and taking assessments over the chapters, so be certain to keep up with your reading. For your final project before winter break once we finish the book, you will be writing an essay based off of it and a prompt that I will give you. I will also be pairing you up with someone to collaboratively write said paper with.” Your eyes widen at this. A group project? Well, not a group. A duo. Nevertheless, it’s weird for two people to write an essay together. You’ve never heard of it.

“You need to learn how to critique each other and work together. It’s an important skill for uni.” Mrs. Chasteen seems to notice everyone’s looks of confusion. “Hmm,” Farleigh hums. You glance over to him shortly before observing the other students in your class. You recognize a lot of them. Just accquaintances, not friends.

“Anywho. Please come and grab a copy, then sign the sheet so I know you received one.” You quickly stand up and head over to her desk. You want to make a good first impression. But Farleigh and his stupid long legs make it there before you do, charming Mrs. Chasteen with a bright smile.

“Hello. I’m Farleigh. I’m absolutely thrilled to be taking your class,” He holds out his hand, speaking with his velvety voice while your teacher shakes his hand with a curt nod. “You’re quite tall,” She remarks with an impressed expression. You roll your eyes. Why does everyone feel the need to comment on his height? Does it make him better than everyone else? It’s just one more thing that makes Farleigh stand out more than you, and you hate that. You miss what he responds with due to your bitter thoughts.

“Please, take a book.” She steps back and gives him more space. He reaches down and takes a copy off of her desk, signing the paper shortly after with his free hand, writing in flawless cursive. You’re envious of how smoothly and quickly he can connect the letters. It looks like something out of a scroll from the eighteenth century.

“Oh, wonderful cursive,” Mrs. Chasteen clasps her hands together in approval and Farleigh just glances at you with a shit-eating grin before walking off and back to your shared table.

“Hi there,” You put on your best I’m very high achieving and hard working smile and mimic Farleigh’s actions, holding out your hand as you introduce yourself. She smiles back warmly while shaking your hand. “What a beautiful name. I’ve heard many great things about you from your previous teachers.” She almost lowers her voice. You feel your face heat up and you try not to show your pride.

“Oh, well then, I hope I live up to your expectations, miss.” You say with a beaming smile. She chuckles and hands you a book. “I’m certain you will,” She replies as you sign your name on the sheet of paper in slightly sloppier cursive, looking worse underneath Farleigh’s perfect signature.

You walk back to your spot with a spring in your step, holding your head high. Hearing just those few words from your new teacher’s mouth made your day. That’s how badly you crave academic validation. Or just… validation in general.

“You hear that?” You ask, returning his grin from earlier. “Hear what?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and turning to you with a confused expression. “Nevermind.” You don’t know why you thought he would’ve heard your conversation from all the way over here. “Mmm,” He hums in response, and there’s some attitude in his tone. You debate whether you should come up with a snarky question to ask him, but you decide against it.

Once all the books are handed out, Mrs. Chasteen walks up to the whiteboard and uncaps a marker. “So, can anyone tell me something interesting about Emily Brontë?” She asks.

Both of your hands shoot up at the same time. You mentally curse at Farleigh and shoot him an annoyed side glance. He returns the favor. Mrs. Chasteen notices this and raises her eyebrows. “Eager to answer, are we?” She chuckles and then looks around. “Anyone else?”

You glance around the room. No one else is raising their hands, they’re all just looking expectantly at you and Farleigh. You look back to your teacher with wide eyes, willing her to pick you.

“Alright then..” Mrs. Chasteen clears her throat. Her eyes land on you. She’s going to pick you. Yes. Now you can prove your intelligence and superiority to the rest of the class, and to Farleigh.

“Farleigh.” Your hand drops back down to your side in defeat and he turns to look at you. He just winks. He winks. The annoying fuck, you could probably strangle him right now-

“Well, Emily wasn’t the only poet and writer in her family. Her sister, Charlotte, wrote Jane Eyre, which was hugely successful. But Wuthering Heights was critiqued for being too clumsy or, rather, not well structured.” He explains, sounding like a fucking Britannica article. It was the exact thing you were going to say, and it pisses you off. You rest your elbows against the desk and put your chin in your hands, sighing dejectedly.

Mrs. Chasteen nods and writes this on the board, summing up the information into bullet points. “Correct. Very good.” She caps the marker again and turns back to the class. You raise your hand quickly, and she calls your name.

“I think Farleigh’s forgetting to mention Anne Brontë. She was probably the least popular out of the three sisters, but her works are seriously underrated. Her last novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, was one of the first feminist novels. She paved the way for other female authors and gave women a voice.” You explain, and Mrs. Chasteen looks surprised at your level of knowledge. You can feel Farleigh’s bristling energy next to you. You smile contentedly, watching as your teacher writes what you said about Anne off to the side.

“And have you read this book?” Farleigh suddenly asks. You turn to face him, unafraid of his challenging. “No, I have not. But I did a project over the Brontë sisters last year, and my research went quite in depth.” You explain, and he does one of those Olympic winning eyerolls. “Having extra information like that comes in handy, you know,” You grin as his eyebrows furrow, glaring sharply at you. “It’s not like it matters. We’re not even talking about Anne. She asked about Emily.” It seems like you two have forgotten completely about the rest of the students in the room, the teacher, and everything else in the world as you begin to argue. It just comes naturally.

“If I’m not mistaken, you mentioned Charlotte. She asked about Emily,” You mock him. He opens his mouth to say something back, then closes it and looks down.

“Alright.. anywho, now we’re going to read a short introduction to the book to give you all an idea of what you’re getting into.” Mrs. Chasteen explains, giving you and Farleigh a stern look.

Throughout the rest of the class, you and Farleigh remain silent and refuse to speak to each other, though you were instructed to discuss with the person next to you. You look out the stained glass window, watching the raindrops patter onto the cobblestone, the puddles illuminated by the golden light shining from the lanterns, the chatter around you drowned out by your own thoughts about the rest of today.

Your overthinking is interrupted by your teacher’s voice.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for today. I will see you all tomorrow. Could you two stay for a moment, please?” She turns to you and Farleigh as you’re gathering your things, gesturing for you two to come up to her desk. You both glance at each other before nodding and heading over after you’ve swung your bag over your shoulder.

“So… you two seem very.. competitive. You’re both very intelligent, make no mistake.” You wonder where she’s going with this. “Which makes me curious– May I ask which universities you two intend on applying to?”

“Oxford.” You both say at the same time, after which you immediately turn to each other with wide eyes. What? No. It can’t be. You’re seriously fucked if he applies to Oxford. They rarely ever take two people from the same school.

“You’re applying to Oxford?!” You both ask, once again, at the same time. He looks almost personally offended by you, with his upper lip pulled up and his eyebrows knitted together in a familiar scowl.

“Oh- Haha, well. What a coincidence,” Mrs. Chasteen chuckles nervously, glancing back and forth. “I went to Oxford. It was quite lovely there, and the professors–”

“No, you can’t. I’m applying to Oxford.” You point at yourself, and he scoffs. “Who says I can’t?” Farleigh asks, his voice dripping with sass. “Me.” You reply. He rolls his eyes and facepalms with exasperation.

“Well, the chances of you both getting in aren’t… impossible. If they see two exceptionally good students who are at the top of their class, they won’t mind if you’re from the same school. They only see the talent,” She goes on to explain, trying to stop an argument from breaking out again.

“Logically, they would pick the top student, though. Not students,” You emphasize the s at the end of students. Mrs. Chasteen continues. “You never know. And backup universities are a great option, if–”

“I appreciate the suggestion, but I’ll only be applying to Oxford. It’s Oxford or nothing,” You reply, your voice full of determination. “Me too. Oxford’s been my dream uni since I moved here from the states,” Farleigh adds. You turn to glare at him and he glares right back.

“Well then. That’s fine, just please try not to take up any more class time with your bickering.” She raises her eyebrows at you two. You nod. “Yes, miss.”

“And who knows,” She says, pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, “You two might work better together. Two smart brains are better than one,” You shudder at the word together. You and Farleigh working together? Absolutely not.

“Think about it.” She points a finger and you reluctantly nod, just to give her some temporary satisfaction. “You’re excused,” She dips her head and you hear Farleigh let out a little sigh of relief. “Thank you, miss. Have a good day,” He nods shortly to her before turning on his heel and heading for the door. You follow suit.

Shit. You forgot about the rain. Before English class, you had made it inside before the downpour had really started. Now the raindrops covered every inch of the ground. You have to cross the courtyard to get to your next class, which is in the west wing of the school. You awkwardly stand in the arched corridor, listening to the rain, slightly shivering as you try to make a decision. The weather is always bipolar in London. It’s September, and the other day it was sweltering. Now it’s freezing and rainy.

Farleigh turns around and raises an eyebrow at your hesitation. “What are you doing?” He asks. You glance down. He’s holding a black umbrella. How is he always prepared for everything?

“Well I don’t have an… umbrella,” You mumble, gesturing to the one in his hand. “Am I supposed to care?” He replies. Of course. Why did you think he would care?

“You asked me what I was doing,” You throw your hands up. “I was answering your question!” You exclaim angrily. He rolls his eyes. “What’s your next class?” He asks hesitantly.

You pull out the small yet important paper from your pocket with your classes on it, looking down and squinting. “Biology,” You reply, looking up and watching all the other students bustling around, chatting excitedly or holding umbrellas over their head as they walk through the courtyard. You look back to Farleigh, who seems to be thinking something over in his head.

“Alright, c’mon.” He nods to you, walking out into the open area, holding up the umbrella. You step forward without questioning it, just thankful for the rare act of kindness. “I’m headed to the west wing anyway,” He says as you walk side by side, as if he has to make it clear that this is not him being generous to you. It’s simply convenient.

You wish you didn’t have to stay so close to him, but if you want to be covered fully from the rain, you sort of have to get closer to him, your head brushing against his shoulder due to your almost embarrassing height difference and your feet almost tripping over his. You both remain silent, with only the sound of the rain pelting against the umbrella to keep you company.

You eventually reach the west corridor, and he’s quickly stepping away from you and wrapping up the umbrella. You begin walking to go find your class, before you hear his voice call after you.

“No ‘thank you’ or anything?” He asks. You turn around and groan internally. “...Thank you.” You respond, very reluctantly and quietly. “You’re welcome,” He smiles sarcastically and you roll your eyes before turning back around, quickening your pace to make it to your class on time.

A week later, your first calculus assessment of the year is already upon you. It doesn’t help that you share that class, of all classes, with Farleigh. Math has always been your most difficult subject. You’ve never been quick to understand it, it never comes naturally for you. But if you put in the time and work, you can make it seem like it’s effortless.

Apparently for Farleigh, it is effortless. He makes it clear that he never studies for tests or quizzes. While it infuriates you, you also find it hard to believe. How can he ace everything when he claims he doesn’t even try?

You sit down at your desk, fishing your pencil and calculator out from your bag. You nervously chew on the eraser, waiting for the papers to be passed out.

“First assessment of the year, good luck everyone. If you fail, there will be no corrections, so hopefully that makes you feel better,” Mr. Bailey says as he passes out the tests. His sarcasm somehow only makes the situation worse. You spent hours studying for this last evening, although he claimed this was all ‘mostly a review’ from your precalculus class last year. Right. Review. You should know this stuff by now.

As soon as the paper is on your desk, you begin working, starting with the problems you know how to solve. You get in that zone, completely unbothered by your surroundings or any distractions, just working, switching between writing down numbers and formulas to typing into the calculator.

You get stumped on a question and glance up to check the time. Your eyes wander from the clock over to Farleigh, who seems completely relaxed, one hand running through his hair and fiddling with his dark curls and the other working a problem out.

“Eyes on your own tests, please,” Mr. Bailey sternly calls out. Your eyes dart over to him, where he sits behind his desk, his gaze directly upon you. Fuck. Now he’s going to think you were cheating. But what were you actually doing? Staring at Farleigh? No. You were just… observing. You go back to your test, flipping the paper over to start the graphing section.

“That’s time. Pencils down, I’ll come by to pick up your papers.” Mr. Bailey announces, standing up and starting down the rows of desks and picking up everyone’s tests. He says something to Farleigh but you can’t make it out, but you see Farleigh grin. It seems that Mr. Bailey has already chosen his favorite student. You never even stood a chance.

Once he makes it to your row and picks up your test, you begin to pack up your things. “I’ll have these graded by tomorrow. Please don’t complain to me if you fail. That’s on you.” You scoff quietly at your teacher’s harsh remarks as you make your way to the door. Thank God that was your last class of the day. Now you can head back to your dorm.

Farleigh falls into step next to you. “So, how’d that go for you?” You stare straight ahead, focusing on the path ahead of you. “Good. Honestly, it was easier than I expected.” You reply. It’s half truth. It was slightly easier than you were preparing yourself for, but you usually prepare yourself for the worst. But you can’t let him know that you still struggled.

“Really. Hmm,” He hums, and you glare up at him. “What?” You study his expression. He must think you’re lying, based on his little smirk and raised eyebrows. “Nothing. It’s just… we both know math is not your strong suit,” He pauses and you stop next to him. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be good at it.” You scowl up at him and he just grins.

“Unlike you, I actually study.” You continue walking, hoping he’ll leave you alone, but he follows you. “Aw, you actually need to study? Sad.” He pouts and you actually feel the urge to strangle him.

You turn around abruptly and he stops in his tracks. “Alright. Lovely talking with you. Bye!” You wave with a fake smile. Farleigh looks a bit surprised by your reaction. There’s only so much of his insults you can take.

“Bye,” He quietly mutters as you turn back around, walking quicker and more determined, putting some confidence into your step.

You groan and flop onto your bed once you enter your dorm. Suddenly, you realize how sleepy you are as your eyelids feel heavy You cover your face with a pillow and sigh, wishing you could rest. It sounds wonderful. But you have work to do. Reading, studying, the list goes on.

You chose this boarding school because you heard it was most similar to the Oxford experience, campus wise. It was also named the most prestigious secondary school in London. You often become very homesick, though, and you long for the comfort of your parents and your real home. At least it’s preparing you for university.

You groan once again into the pillow before sitting up and pushing the idea of sleep away. It’s time to get to work.

The next day, you wait to get your calculus test back. Mr. Bailey is handing them out while you overthink and prepare yourself for a failing grade. What would you do if you actually failed? You think you would rather be pushed off of a tall building than receive an F on a test.

Suddenly, a paper lands on your desk. You quickly glance down and see ‘97.5’ written in red ink at the top of the paper. Your eyes widen and you feel relief wash over you. Thank the Lord. You grin and pick up your test, inspecting it closer and going over your errors.

You hear someone coming up behind you. You quickly flip your paper over, hiding the grade from whoever is lurking over your shoulder. But it’s too late.

“Not bad…” A deep, American voice chuckles quietly. You turn around in your chair, and to no surprise, Farleigh is standing there with his arms crossed. He’s already seen your grade.

“Stop looking at my grades,” You hiss. “Relax, I was just curious.” He smirks at your frustration and holds up his own test. You see a ‘98’ scrawled up at the top along with a ‘good job’ next to it. You huff in response, turning back around.

“That’s not even much better than mine,” You mutter. “What’s that?” He asks, leaning over your shoulder, his breath ghosting over your neck. You shiver and remain silent, unable to repeat yourself for some reason.

“Sorry, who got the better grade?” Farleigh questions, his voice lowered. You let out a small sigh, ready to admit your defeat. “You.” You reply quietly.

“Right.” And then he’s gone, probably heading back to his own desk. What a bitch. You roll your eyes and pinch the space between your eyes, shaking your head. Yeah, he got .5 more points than you, and it doesn’t seem like much. But for Farleigh, it’s a huge win. But you’ll get him back. You always do. And you’re going to be the one who makes it into Oxford, you are sure of it.

#farleigh start #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh x you #farleigh saltburn #saltburn #dark academia #academic rivals

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bitumz · 5 months ago

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Title: Lay that rifle down

Pairing: Cooper Howard / Lucy MacLean Word count: 4.5k+

Rated: E [explicit sexual content, gun play, dom/sub undertones, cannibalistic tendencies]

gif credit: @kaorym ❤️

~~~~~

“Ten caps says you can’t teach me something about a rifle that I don’t already know.” Lucy sent over her raised arm.

And Cooper took it as the bait it was.

“Aight Annie Oakley, target practice ain’t got shit on the real thing.” He sneered with a tip of his head. “You ever have to pull a repeater on a rabid herd of radroaches crawlin’ at your feet down there in that squeaky-clean sealed-up vault of yours?” Cooper asked, and Lucy only looked over at him as if the thought was foul. “Or how bout a pack a’ radhounds foamin’ at the maw for a mouthful of that hot blooded complacency all over your fuckin’ face... Didn’t think so.” He bit. “And keep that goddamned elbow up ‘fore it gets knocked from its socket.” He reminded again through his teeth, and she couldn't be sure if he meant from the kick of the stock or his hands-on training approach.

Three empty cans of Cram hung from twine on a tree branch twenty yards out and Lucy squinted at them down the barrel of Cooper’s sawed off. Their light ammo was running low, as was their luck, a bandit encampment separating them from their most recent diversion, a bounty that would earn them enough caps to not have to worry about bullets or supplies for the next few months if lady luck got her shit together.

“No, no radroaches down there, thank goodness.” Lucy answered. “But there was those few raiders that one time. And the bandits back in Nipton... The deathclaw that nearly knocked your head off.” She preened. “They all moved pretty quick. I think Annie would be proud.”

Cooper snorted at that, ambling down range to run his gloved hand lazily across the cans, sending them swaying side to side. Stepped safely out of the way.

“Raiders…” he still pondered the first of her list. The one that still stung the most when she thought on it too long. “Moldaver’s golden fuckin’ ticket huh... What was his name again?” Cooper asked, eyes thinning in a derisive show of thought. Like he’d actually forgotten, though the tightly drawn bow of his shoulders said otherwise, pent up exertion waiting to be freed in one way or another. Lucy shifted on her toes in the sand. “Monty, right?” He sent her a withering grin from beneath the shadow of his hat. “Imagine how much more effective buckshot woulda been.”

Lucy glared back, took aim, and fired, the hollowed rounds free of shrapnel, (waste not, want not Cooper would say) but striking the trio of moving cans in repeat, near-perfect precision all the same. A sense of pride swelled in her chest as they spun wild from their twine, right alongside the burning memories of being betrayed and choked and stabbed in the gut… She looked over to find Cooper again, closer now, watching near her side.

“I slashed his throat, you know.” Lucy reminded him with a smile of her own, and as always it flashed something bright and hot in his usually carefully disinterested hazel eyes.

“Oh I know.” Cooper nodded. “But your first mistake was lettin’ him close enough to have to.”

With the warning he attempted to reset the stage, gloved hands reaching out to grasp for anything vital, another repeated lesson in reading between the lines of people's bullshit. And they had earned her a few bruises here and there as she’d grown stronger and quicker and improved till he’d deemed it unnecessary to pull his punches, just as she’d begun drawing a bit of blood of her own.

But Lucy had always been a fast learner long before the wasteland. Now, with the push of her heel against the dirt she dodged back and spun whole-bodily to put the barrel of his rifle between them, pointing it an inch away from the hastily sewn button over the center of his chest.

“He was a liar.” Lucy said simply. “Fucked me and wanted a quick out... Like most men, come to think of it.”

And Cooper chucked low, gloved palms up in a short lived impasse. Raised his stormy expression toward the sky. “Most men, like the poor souls weren’t trapped in there with you.” He finished the roll of his eyes and met hers again. Smirked a fiery thing. “Or related to ya.”

Lucy took the jabs in stride.

“This again? Really? Right now?” She asked, adjusting the butt of the shotgun more securely into the divot of her shoulder. “Not like I had many options down there. Still don’t sadly…”

“And yet?” Cooper bid with the lift of his browline, hat shifting the slightest bit higher on his forehead and letting the sun play brighter along the deep hollows of his face. And he took the final, daring step that put him flush against the jagged metal of the muzzle. Sent her a warning look across it that burned deep in her belly as if it were his own finger on the trigger. Stared at her as if he awaited something even more gutting in her answer.

And she knew him well enough now that she could give him that.

“Well if this is you actually asking, I’ve dealt with my fair share of assholes, sure. Down there and up here... But with Monty,” she breathed out, sugar sweet and disgustingly indulgent. “I’ve never cum so hard in my life.”

Then she reached out over the barrel of the rifle, flicked the brim of his hat up another inch higher across his brow just to be a bitch. And at her teasing smile he growled.

Cooper snatched the gun from her hold single handedly, slinging it down in the dirt beside them so hard it kicked up dust. Grabbed her by the knot of the vaultsuit at her waist and yanked her in close, looming that few inches over her that sped her heart in her chest and weakened her knees every single time without fail.

“You sure you really wanna tug on that thread right now girl?” Cooper hissed, chemical-laced breath washing hot across her face in a smell she was coming to relate to painful, invigorating pleasure if she played her cards just right. Because the hands she was dealt could change at a single slip of the tongue, but she was getting more and more secure in her ability to read the table. “Cause it’s been a rough few weeks,” he drawled, “and them prissy vault assholes ain't got shit on me.”

As if she needed reminding of just how full of it he actually was. He was heavy handed and a downright son of a bitch when the occasion called, but the only lasting marks he left on her skin these days were asked for in gasped breaths and pleading little cries. He'd done nothing during their ample downtime but raise her up to the harsh standards of the wasteland, training her muscles and sharpening her mind and she'd felt more alive in the last few months than she’d ever had in her entire life.

“Technically he wasn't a vault dweller.” She corrected with a small shrug. Squared her shoulders. “But ya, I’m sure.” Lucy nodded in challenge.

And Cooper stared her down just long enough to raise the small hairs at the back of her neck…

Then his rough hands were everywhere all at once, ripping her suit the rest of the way down her hips with one to let it pool at her feet. He bit the middle fingertip of his glove over the other to free it from his scarred skin. And as always his right trigger finger shined paler up at her, nearly completely healed now in a line near his knuckle where two became one. It skimmed up her stomach alongside his others, under her dirtied tank top, gripping the sensitive flesh there and squeezing as she steadied herself against his shoulders to kick her fallen suit to the side.

And Cooper watched the small act with something like veneration in his eyes.

It emboldened her enough to reach into his own cover, small hands slipping beneath the lapels of his ragged duster to try and push it down from his shoulders. But her wrists were caught in his ensnaring hold before she could make any real progress.

“Leave it alone,” he snarled, shoving her back and away from him with such a force that she tumbled down onto her ass in the sand, grains scratching against the strips of bare skin that her underwear didn’t cover, but the new angle did something even rawer to her insides as she looked back up at him, standing tall above, chest heaving in an inevitable anger that she found she wanted to siphon out of him like blood, in the very same way he’d done her all those months ago in the hazy heat of the desert. Kicking and screaming and fighting until all the trauma he’d piled on and on atop the already shaky foundation was free of her skin and torn right back into his. And it was a damn enticing thought.

“There she is.” He said unmoving, in that way that pushed her further, as if he knew her better than she knew herself. And that could only be true if she allowed it.

So she pressed her weight up onto her elbows. Carefully schooled her expression. Sharpened the words in her mind just as Cooper would his bowie.

“You know, I vaguely remember Monty saying something similar to me as I rode him into the mattress.” Lucy said, looking past him to the safety of the tree line. “The first time.” She added pointedly.

And Cooper’s laugh slithered in the humid air above.

“You sure are a funny little thing, I’ll give ya that.” He said down at her, the lilt of his accent at odds with the glare. “All talk and no substance.” He goaded, tongue darting out to swipe at his chapped bottom lip. Then a sudden thought burned quick and troubling in his eyes. “Unless you care to prove it?”

For a while neither moved, Lucy only returning his malice back up to him as he thought something over in his mind. It thinned in his eyes like her patience.

Then all at once it clicked, Cooper bending forward to retrieve his rifle from the dirt. He shoved it barrel-first into the loose sand between her legs, so sudden and so close to the apex of her thighs that she nearly flinched back to protect her own anatomy…

“Let’s see it then cowgirl.” He taunted, taking a step back and watching her as if she were a puzzle he was bound to solve, whether the pieces fit in place or not. A game to be mastered to completion. One she’d started playing first this time around.

And she would never again back down from a challenge out of fear. Not ever one from him.

“Okey dokey.” Lucy said, paired with the sweet curve of her lips that she knew, together, bit him right in the ass.

Her hands only shook the faintest bit as she wrapped them around the barrel, using it as an anchor to draw herself the small distance forward it took to have it flush against the gusset of her underwear. The metal itself was warm to the touch, near burning under the tips of her fingers from such recent use, but it sat just right against the heat already building between her legs at the way his shell shocked eyes ate up her every move.

She held them with her own as she drew into mind the memory of those show girls she’d seen on an old holotape beneath Chet’s mattress. Dressed in clinging silk and dolled up beautifully as they danced around and clung onto tall metal polls like they were lovers. Lucy tried to mimic, making an experimental roll with her hips against the cylinder, firm pressure pushing against all the right places as it parted her folds and met her clit through the thin material of her panties. But the real pleasure came from the look it left on Cooper’s face.

Lucy moaned a low sound and his boots shifted in the sand before her.

“That’s all it takes huh?” He drawled, his gritty, flustered voice brewing even more pressure deep in her gut than the contact itself. “Fuckin’ get it then.”

She rolled her hips again, arching her lower back and drawing the stock closer to her chest in the dancelike chase of her own pleasure, rocking her cunt against the hard barrel more like a cowboy would his saddle in those old westerns than the painted ladies she’d set out to mirror originally… And then she looked right up into Cooper’s gaping eyes.

“Like this?” Lucy asked him in a breathless gasp, straight teeth flashing harsh in the sun as she drew in a breath through them.

“Just like that.” He growled back, bared hand tugging slow at his remaining glove before both fell to the pair of buckles at his waist.

And the methodical way he undid the clasp of his holster while still watching on had Lucy’s thighs tightening shut around metal in anticipation, sliding slicker against the friction. She’d been lying when she told him Monty was the best lay she’d ever had but she found that it was almost always in her own best interest to give Cooper new and ever changing goals to focus on. He was an excellent student when given the proper time and motivation to study the material, just as she herself had been during all those pivotal pubescent years in the company of only a Radiation King television set and her own two hands.

But she was very much a woman now, her body screaming it at her so as her movements grew quicker and sloppy, her hands drawing the rifle against herself in pulses as she rolled her hips forward faster in chase, the pressure building and building low in her groin, throbbing but empty and wanting.

“Cooper please.” Lucy begged in a shaky breath, though she couldn't pin down exactly what for. She sought out his eyes for the answers.

“Nu uh.” Cooper denied in a breathy exhale, flicking his pistol barrel up at her a pair of times in vague acknowledgement. “You started it. Fuckin’ finish it.” He bit and the frustration it lit in her chest rekindled her efforts.

If he wanted her to finish then she fucking would.

Lucy reached down to pull her panties aside, soft curls lacing around her fingers as she unceremoniously dipped a mismatched pair between her folds and into the slick of her arousal, earning a low, satisfying rumble from Cooper’s chest that had her walls clenching tighter around them. She rolled her wrist in the familiar pattern that’d earned her many a decent night sleep. Looked down as she fucked herself on her fingers, gun still standing tall from the dirt between her legs like some last little bit of modesty between her and the eyes that looked on as if they were trying to swallow her whole. She tried to imagine his mostly-own, thicker digits pushing into her. His own thumb circling rough over her clit. And under his careful study, she’d never been more turned on in her life.

“That how Monty touched ya?” Cooper slithered down to her like a curse, breaking the spell and stirring her up further all at once. He stepped aside to fall languorously into a crouch near her knee to better see the show. “All soft and sweet-like. A proper little lady.” He growled.

And Lucy gasped a laugh up at the blue sky, falling to her back as her muscles tensed to a near excruciating tautness at his goading, the attempt only exposing another of his weaknesses and twisting tighter the coil low in her own gut. “He didn’t touch me at all actually.” She confessed, fingers squelching obscenely as she quickened her pace at the reminder. “Made me do all the work myself. Just like this.” She accused up at him with the bend of her neck. “Had more fun fighting him honestly...”

A quick breath huffed from Cooper's nasal cavity.

“Mm,” he nodded. “Figures.” He drawled, eyes trailing down her body with a dangerous edge thinning his lips. Then he aimed his pistol passively at the dampening sand between her legs, a crazed glint sparking in his eyes that she’d only ever seen in ghouls gone rabid. “Well I got another gun here if ya need it.” He offered.

And the rush of adrenaline at the implication alone was what finally sent her falling over the edge, back arching over the ground, thighs quivering and clenching closed so hard around her own hand that the rifle between them toppled sideways right into Cooper’s waiting hold.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he praised, steadying himself over her against it like a crutch, honey gold eyes raking over every inch of her exposed, trembling skin. The peaks of her breasts teasing through her thin tank top. Her slowing fingers between her legs as she brought herself back down. “Monty ain’t got shit on those greedy little hands huh?”

And she knew he was talking but the words wouldn’t register right in her pleasure deafened ears. Overstimulated and still unsatisfied in equal measure for the taste of oblivion she could never quite reach on her own anymore.

“Cooper…” Lucy breathed, strained and gasping in the throes of her waning orgasm. “Cooper please - please…”

He grew tense near her side, that practiced mask of indifference slipping a bit at her honest to god begging.

“Cooper what?” He asked, almost sweet, in itself an unnerving thing.

And Lucy let her legs spread back open wide. Slowly traced her pleasure drenched fingers up to the bare midriff of her pale stomach. Dipped them beneath the fraying hem of her panties.

“Please don’t make me do this alone again...”

Then her underwear joined in the pile of her vaultsuit, Cooper ripping them off her himself as he gave in with a deep throated snarl. He shoved the rifle out of the way in the process, in the rush of kneeling between her legs. Dropped his pistol to the dirt at her side.

“Always so fuckin’ needy,” he bit out in a pant, parting her folds with a single bared hand and pressing his face down between them without so much as preamble. He licked a hot stripe up the damp seam of her, watching her face as it screwed up in pleasure toward the sky, hips pressing harder against his mouth on instinct alone. He held them down against the earth. “This what you wanted sweetheart? A monster like me to do it for ya?” He drew back just enough to ask, pressing the first two fingers of his right hand deep inside her so quick and rough that instead of denying the moniker aloud, she could only moan the breath from her mouth. "Let me fuckin' hear it." Cooper growled, then dragged out more of that answering sound with the seal of his coarse lips around her clit.

Lucy basked in the burning stretch, her walls deliciously taut as he curled his fingers forward inside her, deep against a spot that had the coil low in her belly already flaming burning hot again with a practiced expertise that continued to put the few experiences she had before him to shame. His mouth trailed away from her center, leaving sharp toothed bites across the hinge of her leg, down deeper into the muscled meat of her thigh, every bit one of the foaming-mouthed radhounds he'd often warned her about. Taking her apart and consuming the ruin piece by tender piece.

Lucy hissed air from between her teeth as his jaw set tighter and tighter each time. She reached a hand down, attempting to gently guide him back in the right direction instead of his distracted path to somewhere beneath her skin. The rough curve of his cheekbone was hot beneath her touch for only a second before he tore himself away.

“Hands off,” Cooper ordered, looking up at her through his lashes, lips damp and swollen and so very touchable. “Or I'll stop.”

“That's not fair.” Lucy said, drawing back against the dirt and squirming against the slowing pulse of his fingers because she wasn't sure she could handle it if he followed through with that particular threat. “You touch me all the time.”

“Life ain't fair.” Cooper promised with a dark flair of his eyes. “You'll see.”

Then he hooked a forearm around her thigh to drag her closer to him across the ground and began to eat her proper, wet, obscene sounds filling the air as his tongue laved in quick swipes over her swelling clit and his fingers scissored in upward strokes to meet them in tandem. And though the mid day sun burned hot against her sweat-slicked skin, Lucy saw fucking stars above, dancing and flashing before her eyes in bright bursts of gold and royal blue.

“Fuck,” Lucy swore in a throaty groan and Cooper's tongue faltered once mid motion. “Just like that.” She gasped, hands falling palms up against the ground on either side of her head as he worked her higher and higher into the throes of something like madness, spine already tingling and muscles twitching from the over sensitivity still lingering on from her first small taste of pleasure…

This second orgasm crested slow, swelling over her in heavy waves as Cooper carried her unceasingly through it, continuing his relentless worship of her cunt with a single minded focus that she’d only elsewhere seen him use on those down the barrel of his gun.

“Does that make you Buffalo Bill?” Lucy asked breathless, a lifetime later, as her spine finally began to flatten and she remembered how to inhale.

His fingers slowed reluctantly to a stop, still inside her, and back during the first few times she used to wonder why. The job was done, the end goal reached, but he always kept touching her skin like he wanted to, exploring her inside and out even still, with the slight pet of his fingertips and hot, opened-mouthed kisses across the swell of her hips.

“Pardon?” Cooper asked absently from somewhere in between, voice muffled near the raised scar on her belly.

And Lucy laughed at the absurdity of it all.

“You called me Annie Oakley earlier.” She reminded, looking down the length of her heaving chest to find his eyes. “Come to think of it, it may have been the first real compliment you've ever given me... She was a badass sharpshooter. Way ahead of her generation.” Lucy propped herself back up on her elbows and raised a quizzical brow at him. “And regardless of which version of her story you read, she out-shoots Bill every time. So-” and she gestured toward him.

But the indisputable facts only left an odd look on Cooper's face, teeth flashing back at her in a predatory smile from just above her skin. Like he was the only one of them on the inside of some incomprehensible joke. Then he actually laughed.

“That's why I bring the legacy of Buffalo Bill to mind in this scenario ‘a yours?” Cooper asked, exasperated. "The gunslingin'?" He nipped hard enough at her hip bone to make her hiss. Left pointed divots behind in the thin skin there. “Had me worried for a minute there, precious.” Then he slowly slid a pale fingertip up the middle of her stomach to the rise of her sternum.

And Lucy was left confused and underwhelmed at the newest pet name and his uncharacteristic lack of offense.

“I'm saying I'm a better shot than you.” She clarified briskly.

Then she watched the claim set across his features as if she herself were the punchline all along, burning a bit more life into his tightening eyes.

“Care to lose another wager then?” Cooper asked in lieu of taking the bait this time, shoulders lax and rounded as he shifted up over her, hands coming down to restrain hers on either side of her head. “Cause ya owe me ten caps already.”

“Try me.” Lucy said without faltering, because she actually was very good at riflery and reading (books, and lies, and straight through his bullshit, at this point) and fighting and fucking and a great deal of other survival skills… And she was so incredibly tired of feeling the need to dumb herself down to fit in some box that no longer existed. Especially not now on the ground between Cooper’s arms. Not when he looked down at her like that. Like not even he had control anymore.

“Tell ya what,” he started, raising a hand to lift his hat from his head, dropping it to the ground just above her own. “If you're able to aim for shit by the time I'm done with ya, we'll call it even, right? Double or nothin’.” He nodded, lowering himself down close into her space, the torn tendrils of his duster tickling where they dragged along the bare skin inside her knees, rugged lips slowing inches over hers and Lucy’s tongue darted out across her own chapped skin in preparation. Because right from the very beginning of it all, Cooper had been nothing if not terribly honest and true to his word.

“Deal.” Lucy accepted easily, victorious either way.

Then with a quick dip of his hand between them and the promising cling of his belt buckle, she could feel the hot, thick pressure of him pressing insistent against her entrance, still slick and ready and desperately waiting.

Even so, he gave her a moment to adjust, eyes like searing supernovas where they watched her expression from above as he pressed in slow, deeper and deeper until he was buried fully beneath her skin and she'd claimed another piece of him as her own.

Then Lucy exhaled her relief. Pushed the sweetness of his consideration far from the front of her mind. Looked up at him with all the pain she could gather beneath her fingers with the curl of her dull nails into the backs of his hands. Drew her plush bottom lip between her teeth and smiled in that endearing way she knew pissed him off…

“Go on then cowboy.” She bid, pressing him in closer with her heels against the backs of his sturdy thighs. “Or are you all talk and no substance?” She added when he didn't move right away, sealing her own sentence beneath the tightening of his hold.

He answered with the dip of his head in fevered disagreement, the frenzied press of his mouth searing down against her own. Then he was moving, hips rolling forward in punishing strokes that dug deep enough into the core of her body to drive out any other thoughts but him, and yes, and please, and it was the last she spoke apart from his name for a good long while.

Twenty caps, she reminded herself later that evening, carefully Radawayed and still sprawled shapeless against Cooper’s chest across the cooling sand. She couldn't let herself forget.

Because she knew damn well that he wouldn't.

#ghoulcy #vaultghoul #oneshot smut #fallout prime #fallout fanfic #thou shalt be sidetracked #reposting with the incredible gifing talent of kaorym #lay that rifle down

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killsaki · 2 years ago

Text

miscommunication ☆ romance isn’t on hanma’s list of specialties, but at least you can put making you cum on it.

hanma shuji x female!reader

4.4k words | minors dni

cw / tw : alcohol and weed mentions, his friends don’t respect you, biting, marking, vaginal fingering, nipple sucking, messy plot.

“you miss me, baby?” you can hear people speaking in the background as hanma talks into his phone as if he’s alone.

“no, shu’, i don’t.” you huff, picking lint from the couch cushions. you don’t understand how he’s so shameless, you’ve never been able to wrap your head around it no matter how long you’ve been around him.

“aw, but you’re still callin’ me that cute name.” your palm comes to land on your forehead as you mentally scold yourself from the force of habit.

“i didn't—”

“didn’t mean to? hm, ‘course not.” he speaks to you so sweetly but you know it’s condescending like you’re too dumb to know what you’re saying. “anyways, figured i’d be so kind to tell you that i’ll be by your place later tonight.”

you scoff, you can practically hear the big smile on his face as he taunts you. there are some calls of his name in the background and you’re tempted to just hang up in his face and go back to the show you’d been watching, but before you take the phone from your ear you hear your name from a voice that is not hanma’s.

“is that her?” one that you can recognize as rindou asks smoothly.

sanzu, you realize that’s who said your name before. you hear as he answers the question intended for hanma, making sure to repeat your name this time with ‘my’ in front of it as if you were his possession.

hanma lets out his signature laugh, one that always freaks you out a little. “you sanzu’s girl, baby?”

“shu’, stop.” you breathe into the phone, your tv screen dims in your peripheral.

“aw, shu.” ran mocks and you purse your lips, not thinking about how hanma would, of course, put you on speakerphone after asking such a question.

“i’m hanging up,” you speak in your usual tone and you can hear laughs all around.

“wait,” hanma joins in with his friends, “you gonna leave the door open for me?”

you sigh, considering it. you’d stopped hanging out with hanma on purpose, stopped answering your phone and the door for him. he was a wild card, though you knew that from the moment you met him something told you to give it a chance. it wasn’t until after he’d started getting into blood-filled fights right in front of you and showing up to your place unannounced one too many times that you’d decided enough was enough. to top it all off, he’d refuse to acknowledge any conversation that included him giving the two of you a title.

you hadn’t slept with him, despite how much he’s tried— well, you’ve slept with him. on his chest, him on yours, but you haven’t fucked him. so that saved a bit of your pride, but not enough for you to dive back head first in with someone who won’t even call you his girlfriend before trying to strip you down.

“you always wake my neighbors with your bike,” you mutter, hoping you aren’t still on speaker.

“then come to mine,” he replies immediately after, and your head cocks in confusion. in the amount of time you’ve been involved with each other, that is the one place you haven’t been with him. restaurants, fairs— hell even gang meetings. but not his place.never his place.

“i dunno,” you fake a yawn and he sucks his teeth. “i’m pretty tired.”

“head over right now and you can sleep in my bed, pretty.” he sounds far from the phone and your device buzzes not a second later. “should take ten to get here, see you in five.”

he sings that last word before ending the call. there’s a thought pulling at you not to go, to text him to ‘fuck off xx’ but a glance at your open bedroom door makes you decide you really would rather not sleep alone.

it takes you twenty minutes to pack a bag and get into your car, another fifteen to pull into the driveway of the house and for a moment you think he’d sent you to the wrong place. only when the scattered motorcycles come into sight do you know that wasn’t the case.

outgoing: come out here.

shu !: princess cant walk by herself?

outgoing: i’ll leave

shu !: don’t you dare

you lock your phone, waiting in the locked car for his figure to appear through the front door but to your surprise, it comes from the side of the house. the house had surely been remodeled and split in two at the second story because the staircase leading to the door hanma exits looks far from sturdy. even in the dark, you can see the happy bounce in his walk to your door.

“hey, pretty.” your hand comes to where he’s leaning down to the window to block lavender eyes from seeing the stupid smile that creeps up on your face from his presence. maybe you did miss him, but you weren’t going to admit that now.

“you didn’t say anything about your friends being here.” you fake annoyance as you gather your things and shut off the car, making sure to lock it before exiting.

“you heard them on the phone.” hanma shrugs, arms immediately snaking around the small of your back as he traps you against the warm metal.

“doesn’t mean i thought they’d still be here.” you can’t help but laugh when he starts to nose at your neck, placing kisses here and there.

“that why you took so long?” he pulls away from your throat, smiling into your lips as he kisses them, acting as if the two of you haven’t gone an entire month without speaking. “sanzu’s feelings ‘ll be hurt if he hears that.”

you drag out a sigh before he finally leads you up to his door, and it’s exactly what you expected from hanma shuji. a few small decorations are lining the walls, big tv, and a decent-sized couch placed in the living room. surrounding it, a singular circular fold-out chair and an oversized bean bag that look fairly new. and of course, with those, bodies of some of the most dangerous guys your age in the area scattered about.

“he let you carry your bag?” sanzu looks at you bewildered, game controller in hand. “i would never make you do that.”

“don’t pause the game!” a blonde with a lion tattoo grunts at the long-haired one, you note the matching console control in his grip.

“oh really?” your head snaps up to shuji who side-eyes you with a laugh.

“she was hoping you’d be gone when she got here.” hanma says with amusement clear in his tone, taking your bag from your hand and heading to the closed door you can only assume is his bedroom.

“ignore those two, i know you came to see me.” ran sets the beer bottle down, and extends that same hand towards you, one that you only stare at as you bite your lip. “don’t be shy.” he tacks on teasingly.

you don’t have a chance to say anything before hanma is back with his arms wrapped around your waist. ran rolls his eyes back to the screen, sanzu’s following as he resumes the game. but even with hanma’s presence, the flirting—more so, teasing—doesn’t stop, not for a while at least. ran had gotten rindou to join in from where he sat below you all for a bit and then they’d talked about you as if you weren’t even in the room. you’d started to tune it out after so long. all of your interjections to their weird comments got shot down by remarks about you being ‘shy.’

the need for sleep took over at some point and your annoyance and embarrassment diminished along with the conversation. the game suddenly became most important once again when shion and rindou had gotten tied up in their amounts of wins. or at least that's what you think you hear, it’s hard to make out anything when you’re focusing so hard on forcing your eyes to stay open.

you let your head fall onto hanma’s shoulder and not a split second passes before he wraps you up in his arms, pulling you to straddle him and rest your head against his chest.

“like a lap dog.” shion speaks to rindou directly but no one says anything else. hanma hums, and you can feel it against your fingertips when he does. his warmth makes you relax further into him, hands sliding to loop behind his neck.

“tired, shu’.” you yawn, and it’s real this time. the large hand smoothing along your back only spurring you further to the brink of unconsciousness.

“alright,” he sighs happily, the same tone you’ve often heard him use when he’s won at something. “everyone get the fuck out.”

“we’re in the middle of a game.” shion objects as he shifts his weight on the beanbag chair.

“baby wants to sleep, get the fuck out.”

“aw, c’mon,” you can hear ran’s voice grow closer as he leans towards you, “you don’t want us to leave yet, do you?” you open your eyes just in time to catch the sight of him reaching out to touch you. almost on instinct, you flinch away, burying yourself further into hanma’s hold.

ran’s expression doesn’t change much as he pulls back, but his eyes shift slightly— it makes an odd feeling start to stir in your gut. but it quickly vanishes as they all start to stand and call out their goodbyes— though they’re mainly to hanma, you’re talked about like a pet that they ask him to ‘be nice’ to. except for sanzu telling you that he’s always available to you, and ran letting you know how much bigger and how much happier you’d be in his bed, should you ever want to try it.

you ignore the implications, ignore the way they eye you as you stand to stretch. but you can’t possibly ignore the way hanma latches onto you, draping himself over you to cover you in kisses. ones you giggle at, but maybe miss the reason behind.

“why do they talk about me like that?” you ask when hanma locks the door behind his friends.

“hm?” he hums, approaching you with a smile.

“i’m not your dog.” you curl your lip at the thought of being seen as his little pet.

“you’re my girl,” he wraps himself around you yet again, guiding you into his room. “ain’t it the same thing?”

“not at all.” you scoff, trying to free yourself from him as he makes you stumble from the difference between his large steps and your own shorter ones. “that’s why none of you have girlfriends.”

“nah, some of them do.” you suddenly feel your heart drop, just a bit. you can’t decipher if it’s the fact that guys like hanma are capable of calling someone their girlfriend or the fact that those girls don’t know that their boyfriends sat in someone's living room for the past who knows how long and talked so… highly about you. “they just think you’re still free game because we haven’t fucked.”

“but they have girlfriends,” you repeat to him, freezing in his arms, making him lean down beside you to catch a look at your annoyed, confused expression.

“yeah,” he smiles as he informs you, “they have a few.”

“disgusting.”

hanma shrugs, unraveling his hold and softly pushing you toward the bed.

“annoying.” he says as he reaches over his head to grab the back of his shirt, pulling it off. “i dunno how they keep up with ‘em.”

that feeling starts to swirl in your chest again, and you’re sure you’re closer to figuring out what’s causing it. “it’s easier if you just don’t call any of them your girlfriend, huh?”

“nah,” he plops down on the bed, looking to where you still stand, arms crossed and fingers digging into your skin. “still too much room for bitchin’.”

“so then, what?” you snap unintentionally, you can blame it on your tired state if he asks.

“why’re you so fired up?” he leans off the bed, grabbing you and forcing you to stumble towards him. “you’re my girl, aren’t you?”

your eyebrows furrow more at his question, making it almost painful. “what are you talking about?”

“we’ve been talking for months, i’ve paid for shit for you, slept in your bed without fucking you,” his hands are never still, falling to the back of your thighs and wandering around all they can reach. “isn’t that what a boyfriend does?”

“shuji, what?” your mouth drops open, and you’re unsure what to feel. what has he thought this entire time? “we haven’t talked in a month, you wouldn’t even talk to me when i brought this up before.”

“‘cause i thought we understood each other.” he pressed his face against your folded arms until you dropped them so he could rest his chin against your stomach. “you are a lil’ slow though, huh?”

“excuse me?” your eyes widen down at him and you don’t know what you’re supposed to feel. “slow? because you wouldn’t— because you refused to—”

“shh,” he shushes you, pulling you down into the bed before you can fight him. “too much, it's getting hard for you to get your words out.”

“oh my god, you suck.” you squirm when he locks himself around you for the umpteenth time that night, but he doesn’t let up. nor does he reply, he only tucks you into his bare chest, humming once finally comfortable. but your mind doesn’t stop going, doesn’t stop asking questions you just are dying to get the answer to— you wish you’d never asked at all, sleepiness having escaped you,

“so they think because i haven’t fucked you that i would fuck them?”

“yeah,” he laughs back.

“that’s stupid.” you wonder what could’ve given them that impression— or it was just wishful thinking. “wait, wait back to me being—”

“‘cause you’re hooked on me without my dick, right?” he interrupts, pushing your shoulder back so you’re looking at him and his stupid, pretty smirk.

“my god, shu’.” you groan, and fall back into the pillow, away from him. which, you quickly realize was a trap— something you should be more wary of when it comes to him— as he climbs on top of you, encasing you between his limbs.

“yeah, am i?” he licks his lips, looking down at you with a wicked gleam in his lavender eyes, something far from holy. you can’t deny the way it makes your heart skip a beat, how his bare skin feels pressed to yours in the places your shirt lifts, and the smell of weed and cigarettes mixed with something sweet wafts over you.

“i,” you put your hands to his chest, maybe to push him off, but they lose strength when they come into contact with him. “came over here to sleep.”

“we can.” he tries to shrug, but it looks silly given his position. “after.” he glances to your lips, leaning down only to ghost them with his own before he moves to press a kiss just under your ear. his body weight presses into you just a bit more, his legs slipping between yours and you feel yourself melt into the mattress. “or,” he pulls from where he’d almost started to leave marks on your neck to make eye contact as he rests his hips against your own, clothed cock heavy and warm against your cunt, making his next words feel like more of a taunt. “we don’t have to.”

you swallow, face warm as you open your mouth a few times, not sure what to say, not sure what you want. “maybe… just a little,” you nod.

he leans back down, speaking low against your lips and making your chest vibrate from his pressed against it. “whatever you’ll give me, pretty girl.”

his mouth meshes with yours, slow wet drags of lips make you into a puddle in his sheets. all you can do is reach out for him, wrap around him, try to pull him impossibly closer. your hands go from tangling and tugging at his hair when he grinds down into you, to scratching between his shoulders when his lips leave yours to travel down your neck.

you can stomach the want, handle the heat flowing through your veins that begs for more. even when your clothes start to diminish in number and you’re left in nothing more than your panties under him. you can manage the twitch in your fingers that ache to touch parts of him that are still out of sight, that is until his mouth starts to suck marks into the soft skin of your breast. the hand reading sin, cupping your other before fingertips find their way to your nipple.

you gasp at the contact, and his eyes dart from where they’d been so peacefully closed up to watch your expression. he rolls the bud and the callousness of his hands does little to help you fight against the sounds you wish would stay caught in your throat. hanma is an opportunist if anything, and before you can even move to cover your face, his lips latch around your other nipple. you can’t think to fight the whine that escapes you, not when his weight lifts off of you so that his free hand can glide fingertips along your embarrassingly wet, still clothed slit.

your body moves on its own, a hand tangling in his hair and your hips bucking against him.

“there she is,” he speaks softly against your sensitive skin and your eyes flutter at his tone. it’s like cool silk in the way it makes you shiver. his fingers press harder against the fabric, teasing you with the resistance it gives, allowing him to press just enough against your entrance that you can feel the push but nothing more.

and suddenly you can’t handle it any longer. your want has bubbled into need and you’re far too warm for your skin, desperation for him to give you anything claws at you.

“more,” you pant out.

there’s a popping sound when he unlatches from your skin, and you don’t need to look down at him to know there’s a smirk on his face when he asks, “more?” but you do anyways, and you wish you didn’t. he’s already looking back at you, pretty purple eyes low with lust, his tongue prodding from between his lips as it runs slow, wet circles around your nipple making you that much weaker beneath him.

more of your soft pants fill the air before you’re able to tear yourself away from the sight, whimpering a small, “please, shu’.” before throwing an arm over your eyes.

his weight shifts on the mattress, and he’s pushing the seat of your panties out of the way to separate your folds with rough fingertips. “anythin’ for my girl.”

you feel your breathing pick up and hear how it comes out in fast little huffs, but you can’t think of anything but how perfectly he moves against you, how it feels like the devil dancing the way that he circles your clit. pulling back the hood of it to get to the part that has you nearly in tears when he starts to tease it.

there are kisses pressed to your arm that cover your face, making you move it in search to feel those lips against your own instead. you look up to hanma who’s already looking back at you who's wearing an expression you’ve never seen from him before. his jaw slack, causing his lips to part, his tongue gliding along them as his nearly glowing, low-lidded gaze makes your heart race.

he watches you so intently as his fingers find their way back down your entrance, eyes locking on the way your lips fall open to gasp when he pushes one of his fingers in tantalizingly slow. you know he’s doing it on purpose, but you can’t tell if it’s for you or him the way his chest starts to heave from watching your expressions alone. how your eyes flutter when his knuckles press against you, the way your lips twitch with the sounds that fall from him curling his finger and pressing it against your softest wall, pressing far deeper than you’d ever felt your fingers reach. there’s nothing but the faintest buzz of this season’s bugs chirping outside, the sound of your shared sounds, and the way your slick clicks against his hand each time he pulls away only to push his digit back in to force another pretty moan out of your throat.

“more, pretty?” his voice barely audible.

“more, please.”

with the next pullback of his wrist, he adds another of his long, slender fingers into you. he pushes back to his knuckle this time, he presses his lips back to yours in time to catch the surprised sounds that lip out at his new, sudden pace. it’s faster but just as deep as his previous slow, teasing one. it has what would be embarrassing high pitch ‘ah, ah, ah’s falling off your tongue right onto his, but each push against your swollen spot has everything that isn’t the feeling that he’s giving you out of your mind.

his lips mold against yours, even when you can barely keep conscious enough to control them, trying to kiss him back, to feel yours drag against his and feel the way his infamous smirk starts to creep back onto his face when your nonsensical whines turn into those of his name. his move down to your ear, but he doesn’t speak yet, instead just using the position to listen as closely as he can to the highs of your breathy whimpers each time he fucks his fingers back into you.

“feel so good, baby.” his words are hot against your skin, “can’t wait to fuck this perfect pussy.” you clamp around him at the thought, of how easily you’ve melted for him from the way he worked you up alone, you can’t imagine watching the way he’d look sinking into you. “yeah?” he sounds huskier at the way your body agrees with his words. his lips drag along the column of your neck as he speaks between marks he leaves there. “you ‘gonna let me? ‘wanna take my cock, baby?” you feel yourself nod that time, hips starting to move against his hand at the same time, starting to search for the inches that you miss each time they pull out of you, even with the promise of them sinking back in is only second away. “you want it?”

“want it,” you manage to form, and you feel hanma’s teeth sink into where he’d just left a bruise. it sends the knot in your gut pulling tight, your legs starting to twitch against his sides— the curse of his name that leaves your mouth broken has him pressing his fingers as far into your cunt as they can reach, middle and ring fingers curling in and out of you with a need to hear the way you’re soaking down his wrist, to force your walls to spams around him, and make you cling to him even tighter than before, scrambling to grab every part of him that you can reach. tears are pricking at your eyes as you feel your stomach flex, face twisting up in a pleasure that hanma just has to pull away from you to take in clearly.

“c’mon,” he licks his lips as watches you start to unravel beneath him, his thumb rubbing sloppy shapes into your pulsing clit. “make a pretty little mess for me.”

“shu’–fuck,” you drag out in a high cry, tears burning hot down your cheeks as you feel the white-hot static spread from your tightened core through your limbs, shooting down to the tips of your fingers.

he drags out his curse, pressing his hips into yours, just far enough away from your cunt he’s still able to finger you through your high. as you start to catch your breath, regain control of your body aside from the search for pleasure that overtook you before, you find yourself sticky from the middle of your thighs to their apex and the warmth that loomed over you starting to disappear.

“no,” you use your leg which still feels far too heavy to wrap around hanma, keeping him from where he was attempting to get off the bed.

hanma huffs a laugh down at you, “i’m comin’ back,” his long fingers wrap around the soft of your thigh, squeezing it slightly as he moves it. “‘gotta change since i fuckin’ creamed my pants.”

you laugh softly, eyes drifting closed. you want nothing more than to poke fun at him, but you’ve also never felt this kind of tired before. you’re seconds away from drifting off when he wakes you with a warm rag to your skin.

“you got me acting like i’m a fuckin’ virgin,” he laughs, likely at himself again.

“you mean you’re not one?” your words come out weak, and you can barely make out the shape of him in the now dim room as you speak.

“nah,” he wipes the last bit of the mess he made of you off your skin, humming in that same happy tone you hear nonstop from him. “i treat my girl so nice don’t i?”

you shrug weakly, “if thinking that will help you sleep tonight.”

“ahh,“ he tosses the wet, filthy rag off to what you hope isn’t just the top of his clothes basket. “you being next to me will help more than that,” your lips twitch up at his words as his weight drops down beside you, long arms maneuvering you around until he’s satisfied with how your bare chest presses up against him. “but busting that nut’ll help a lot too.”

“i can’t stand you.”

“mm,” he kisses your forehead, “but you came so ha—”

“shhhh,” you pat against his skin with your palm, like you’re trying to lull a child to sleep. “stop talking, ‘m tired.” you rub your head on where he’s laid you on one of his arms as if it’ll change anything at all about your comfort. “‘night, shu’.”

you faintly feel lips meet your forehead for a sweet, short kiss as you drift off. but you know you hear when he whispers back, “‘night, pretty baby.”

#hanma shuuji x reader #hanma shuji smut #hanma smut #tokyo revengers smut #hanma shuuji smut #tokyo rev smut #hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #hanma x you #hanma shuji x you #tokyo revengers fic #tokyo revengers x y/n #hanma x y/n #hanma shuji x y/n #hanma shuuji x you

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qlala · 2 months ago

Note

Whump prompt requests?? :o Pretty please can I request Barry gets kidnapped and Len finds him tied up? (Do want: muzzle/gag, handcuffs. Don't want: pet p!ay, established relationship)

i think this is the only prompt i've ever gotten with a detailed list of wants and don't wants, and you know what? i love clear instructions

the devil you know (coldflash, 5.6k, rated M)*

(*note: this fic makes implied reference to threats of SA/noncon, but none occur)

When Iris West tracked Len down three days into the Flash’s latest disappearance, Len sent her on her way with a shrug. He didn’t know or particularly care where Barry was, and he privately doubted Iris’s insistence that Barry wouldn’t have gone off anywhere without telling his team first.

Still, he made an idle mental note to follow up if another week passed without any sign of him. Making that promise out loud might’ve gone a long way in wiping away some of the bitter disappointment out of Iris’s eyes as she left, but Len had a reputation to protect.

Besides, Barry had a bad habit of popping up in Len’s life at the most inconvenient time possible. Ten days without the Flash interfering in any heists or Len’s attempts to follow the hockey playoffs undisturbed? He wasn’t that lucky.

Four days later, a meta-snatcher tossed someone down onto the ground in front of Len's chair in handcuffs, a black hood, and very little else, and Len's first thought was that being right all the time was exhausting.

Narrow hips and shoulders, a lean and powerful body (although, underfed as he looked at the moment, that balance tipped closer to just lean), long legs folding under him as he settled uncomfortably—if prettily—onto his knees before sitting back on his heels.

The concrete floor couldn’t have been comfortable. Len had put together the de facto throne room they were in precisely for meetings like this. It sat at the heart of a creaking warehouse abandoned at the edge of the docks, largely off the CCPD’s radar given the overwhelming impression that it was going to slide into the river with the slightest gust of wind. (Len encouraged that impression at every opportunity; he liked to post Mardon up on the roof to howl a few well-timed gusts of wind through the corroded metal walls during particularly lucrative negotiations. It made people antsy, and antsy people made worse deals.)

He’d emptied the place of everyone except for himself and Mick for the evening’s entertainment, though. Call it a hunch; meta-snatching had largely dried up in the past couple of years. Most of the meta-humans with both valuable powers and common sense had already aligned themselves with one big player in Central City or the other—never mind that the distinction felt increasingly like choosing sides for a scrimmage. What mattered was that neither the Rogues nor Team Flash took kindly to their allies getting grabbed off the street, and meta-snatchers had learned quickly and painfully that they were better off finding safer professions.

Of course, it helped that most meta-humans had also developed a healthy fear of the few meta-snatchers still bold enough or desperate enough to stay in the game. Len had taken that night’s meeting for the same reason that trophy hunters set traps on the edge of their own camps; the bolder the animal, the bigger the teeth.

When the meta-snatcher pulled the black hood off with a flourish, Barry didn’t even have the good grace to look chagrined.

“My, my,” Len drawled, settling back into his chair with a slow smirk. “What big teeth you have.”

It was too perfect to resist; he’d had the line ready even before he’d seen the muzzle, and he hadn’t landed on the top of Central’s food chain by ignoring chances landing in his lap like that.

It was stark black leather, something Len would’ve expected to find in a very particular kind of club and not a meta-snatchers toolkit. He wondered idly if they’d had to improvise; a week of Barry Allen bitching his ear off, he sure as hell would’ve reached for the nearest gag, too.

And it did seem to be functioning as a gag. It was well made from a single piece of leather, the breathing vents cut into the sides clearly designed not to allow enough give for the wearer to actually open their jaw. It fit snugly over Barry’s mouth and nose, looped securely over his ears, and came together in a heavy buckle on the back of his head. With the way it just skimmed the line of Barry’s high cheekbones, it was nearly a perfect inverse of the Flash’s usual mask.

It was a better look than the cowl. Shame Barry would probably drop him in Iron Heights for suggesting that he take inspiration from the meta-snatcher’s fashion choice.

Based on the flatly unimpressed look Barry was leveling him over the mask, Len was going to have to put that one on the back burner for a while.

A quiet snort from Len’s right pulled his attention momentarily to Mick. Barry was lucky Mick hadn’t boomed a laugh the second the hood had come off; the plausible deniability that he and Len didn’t know who the Flash was under the mask was wearing thin enough as it was.

Mick leaned against the side of Len’s chair and rumbled, too quiet to carry, “And it ain’t even your birthday.”

The meta-snatcher cleared his throat self-importantly and Len flicked him a glare as he pulled his smirk under control. He was some distant relative of the Santinis, which made it all the more idiotic that he’d been poaching metas on turf that Len had chased the rest of his family off of years ago. Len had disregarded his first name as soon as he’d heard it; he didn’t plan on needing it.

“He bite?” Len asked, pushing himself lazily out of the chair.

Santini tucked the hood into his back pocket, clearly sensing a sale, and backed up a few steps in the universal invitation to inspect the wares.

“Nah,” he said, conversational now that Len was showing interest. "I muzzle anything with a meta gene. That’s from experience. I caught one once, she could literally talk someone's ear off. And I mean literally. It would shrivel up and just..." He mimed a splat.

Barry’s dark shock of hair was sticking up wildly around the straps of the muzzle, and Len could see a purple bruise blooming just over the edge of the leather at one temple. However they’d gotten the thing on him, he’d put up a fight.

A hell of a fight, Len corrected himself, as he got close enough to get a proper look at Barry in the dim light. There were more bruises mottling his skin further down, and they weren’t showing any signs of healing. Len couldn’t see what kind of cuffs were holding Barry’s arms behind his back, but he would’ve put money on power dampeners.

"Meta gene, hm?” Len reached out and trailed his fingers through the air a scant inch above Barry’s mussed hair, just to feel the novel lack of static humming around him. "What can it do?"

The glare Barry shot him at the word "it" looked awfully annoyed for someone who was supposed to be in fear for his life, and Len raised an imperious eyebrow back.

“Tests can’t really tell you that,” Santini said, patronizing enough that Len cut him a warning look. He put his hands up, an easy surrender. “...as you know,” he tacked on, mollifying. “I’ll tell you, though. He burnt through the first two pairs of cuffs we put on him. Whatever it is, he’s packing heat.”

Len snorted. There were understatements, and there were understatements. The man had hooked a great white shark and thought he was selling an unusually bitey tuna.

It gave Len exactly the information he’d needed to know, though. He hadn’t really thought Barry’s identity had been compromised, not with the way Santini had shown up alone, unarmed, and without several other bidders in tow.

He expected some kind of cheek from Barry, a tilted head that said “I told you so,” muzzle or not. Maybe even Barry pushing to his feet once Len got close enough, overly confident that Len would uncuff him and the game would be up.

But Barry only tipped his head back to hold Len’s gaze as he sauntered toward him, and he didn’t stir from where he was kneeling.

Len ignored the clear attempt at eye contact and began pacing a wide circle around him, appraising. It left Barry with the option to either twist to follow him or give up, and Len had to tamp down a smirk at the churlish way Barry snorted under the muzzle as he swung his head around to face forward again.

Up close, though, Len’s amusement began to evaporate. Barry didn’t look like he could stand.

Power dampener cuffs were clamped tight around his narrow wrists, as expected. Homemade, but not shoddily so—Santini was an ambitious amateur. Bruises spanned the range from purple-black to fading yellow-green, the Flash’s missing week accounted for.

Even with their more recent, less murder-y history, he expected Barry to have enough of a survival instinct to tense when Len passed behind him, some kind of instinctual response to having his back to someone who had once made it his life’s mission to kill him.

Instead, as soon as Len’s path put him between Barry and Santini, Barry relaxed.

Len’s feet stilled without permission from his brain. He waited for the trick, but none came. The longer he watched, the slower Barry’s too-sharp shoulder blades rose and fell, breath evening out, chin sinking by degrees towards his chest, like he’d finally allowed a week’s worth of exhaustion to catch up to him at once.

Like he finally thought he was safe.

Something dangerously close to alarm spiked through Len’s chest at the thought, and it took everything in him to repress the instinct to rear back a step.

He shoved the panic down instead, held it under until it drowned, and got ahold of himself. The annoyance that bloomed in the aftermath, on the other hand, was welcome.

Barry and his stupid, endless, goddamn faith that Len was a good man. He’d always trusted him too much. But up until now, Len had had the plausible deniability that it was only because Barry was counting on his powers in the event that Len did betray him.

Now, he was faced with the unfortunate reality that things were far worse than he’d let himself believe. It was his fault, really. Barry trusted too easily; it was an immutable part of who he was. Len had watched people wriggle close enough to Barry to sink their knives in his back too many times to count. None of it made a difference, not in the long term.

But usually, Barry seemed to limit himself to second chances, even if he did give them out too freely. There were plenty of people in Iron Heights—hell, in the ground—who had used that second chance to take another stab at him, only to find that Barry’s patience had hard limits.

Len, on the other hand, had let himself become something unacceptable. An exception. From the moment he’d failed to shoot Barry with his father’s thumb on the trigger that could’ve killed Lisa, he’d become a permanent lesser of two evils. Len didn’t even know what chance he was on, but he had passed second long ago.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, people said. That was Len: Barry’s devil of choice, every time. Len had enjoyed it for a while, no sense in lying to himself about that. He liked the snarls of annoyance when he turned the cold gun on Barry’s other problems, let it stroke his ego that Barry had chosen him over them.

But he’d let it go too far. Because Barry, it seemed, had forgotten a crucial part of what that saying meant. He’d forgotten Len didn’t play on the side of the angels.

Lucky for him, Len was going to enjoy reminding him.

Len forced himself to move again. His gaze lingered on the bruises as he finished circling Barry, despite his best efforts. The worst of it was centered on Barry’s left shoulder, where a hazy ring of deep purple suggested a dislocated—and subsequently relocated—shoulder. He also had a nasty bruise ricocheting over several ribs, and Len watched him breathe for a careful moment. A slow, measured inhale, then a slight hitch and quick, almost involuntary exhale; at least one of them was broken.

Len’s carefully curated annoyance was already simmering rapidly and unacceptably toward anger when he caught sight of the marks wrapped around Barry’s upper arm. He’d missed them at first glance, easily lost next to the darker mottling from the dislocated shoulder. But the shape of it was unmistakable: four parallel lines around the strong curve of his bicep—a handprint.

Someone else’s handprint.

Len caught the thought by the throat before it made him round on Santini. He shoved the thought, snapping and hissing, back into the possessive corner of his mind it had escaped from, and barred the door after it.

Barry’s surrender had knocked something off-kilter in Len’s brain, sent boxes he’d kept carefully bolted shut spilling open with the impact. Barry may have been his problem, but that was the only “his” that he was.

And Barry was only his problem because he’d got himself caught by a two-bit amateur with some jerry-rigged tech. A few bruises were the least he deserved; the only reason he was alive was because that two-bit amateur had dumped him at Len’s feet and not someone else’s.

Still, a nasty thought was churning in the back of Len’s mind, and he had to put both hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for the cold gun. He wanted an honest answer out of Santini, not whatever he thought Len wanted to hear. The truth mattered; he needed to know how many pieces the man would be leaving the warehouse in.

“Looks a little worse for wear,” Len drawled, forcing his tone light and sardonic. “Got a discount for damaged goods?”

“Aw, fuck off,” Santini lobbed back, oblivious and good natured. “So he got a little banged up in transit. I told you, he didn’t like the cuffs. He dislocated his own shoulder trying to get out of ‘em. Not my fault. Hell, I put it back in for you.”

“Not what I was talking about.” Len slid a pointed glance down Barry’s body—miles of freckled skin, very little else—then looked back at Santini. He didn’t lift an eyebrow; he didn’t have to.

“Oh, the underwear?” Santini scoffed. “I deal in weapons, Cold, not skin. Too messy. Kid’s got every stitch of clothing and virtue he had when I found him, swear on my mother. Besides, he’s not my type.”

The generous two-handed gesture Santini made in front of his own chest didn’t impress Len, but it was crude enough that he took him at his word. He’d suspected as much, regarding the clothes. Barry may have been stupid enough to get himself caught by a meta-snatcher, but he wasn’t stupid enough to get caught and stay in the Flash suit. Whatever trap he’d stumbled into, he’d must’ve had time to throw the suit into some dark corner. No wonder his team hadn’t been able to track him down.

That unpleasant matter behind them, Len rolled his shoulders back, settling in for another slow circle around Barry. The business portion of the evening was wrapping up, at least as far as he was concerned. He had the information he needed from Santini, and all that was left was to remind Barry that if the meta-snatcher was the frying pan, he was the fire.

If his first perusal had been business, the second was… well. Call it an advance on the clean-up fee he was going to charge Barry for handling Mr. Virtue over there.

Barry lifted his head as Len started to circle again, tilted it slightly in unspoken question. The muzzle was inspired, Len would give Santini that. Barry had sure as hell never held his tongue for so long in Len’s presence of his own volition.

Len could hear the list of complaints he’d be in for once he took it off: thanks for leaving the cuffs on for so long, those were comfortable—you know, they sell this new technology nowadays, it’s called an area rug—probably with a dig about his age, while he was at it.

Len banished the thoughts and the grin that was threatening. Christ, maybe Barry was right. He was getting soft if he was laughing at just the idea of Barry crabbing at him.

He reached for his earlier determination, instead. He tilted his head with a collector’s eye as he tightened the circle, close enough to touch.

Barry really did have freckles everywhere, more than Leonard had imagined in the occasional privacy of his own thoughts. Constellations of them between the colorful galaxies of bruises painted over his leanly-muscled shoulders, his chest, stomach, carelessly parted thighs. There was even a pair of them right on the dimples of his lower back, where Len’s thumbs would’ve fit like the space had been made for them.

It was a tempting thought. Pressing his own claim into Barry’s body, maybe covering up that hand-shaped bruise with one of his own. He was the one playing big bad wolf now, after all. And with both of them dressed for the part: Len, with the fur collar of the parka brushing his jaw, and Barry in those little red shorts. They left absolutely nothing to Len’s imagination, a delicious payoff to years of idle wonderings about what the Flash wore under that suit.

Something of the thought must’ve shown on Len’s face, because Barry looked decidedly less patient when Len caught his eye again. He glanced pointedly back behind himself, then back up again, as if Len weren’t perfectly aware that he wanted the power dampener off.

Barry wasn’t the only impatient one. Santini clapped once, businesslike, and began walking closer. “You just window shopping today, or—?”

Len cut him off with a look, winning him back silence and space as Santini course-corrected with a gracious “after you” gesture and ceded ground again.

A week in a cage clearly hadn’t been enough to break Barry’s pride, let alone his spirit. The muzzle was probably the only thing that had kept the meta-snatchers from realizing who he was. Barry would’ve snarked their ears off no matter what they did to him; he’d taken too many hits to be afraid of a little pain. And even with how stupid Santini was, the bared teeth and complete contempt would’ve added up to Central’s apex predator eventually.

The thought was a butane lighter to the sparks of arousal in Len’s veins. It was unfortunate that he wouldn’t be able to take the muzzle off while Santini was still breathing down their necks. He would’ve liked to see the fear in his eyes when he realized the enormity of the mistake he’d made. Delivering the Flash bound and gagged to the one man in the city who had something of a gentleman’s agreement with him…

Len hummed, a little wistful, as he reminded himself that said gentleman’s agreement precluded him from hauling Barry up to sit in his chair and slitting Santini’s throat at his feet.

But he let the idea of it linger, knew that it would darken his eyes as he skimmed another lingering look down Barry’s body.

And there, finally—a hint of wariness in Barry’s eyes when Len bothered dragging his gaze up from the dark hair that trailed temptingly down Barry’s lower stomach and disappeared under his waistband. Beginning to remember, maybe, that Len didn’t work for free.

Len pushed his advantage while he had Barry off-balance. He drew his hands from his pockets, slowly, casually, and held them up at Barry’s eye level. He was wearing gloves, as he always did when conducting business. No point in keeping the cold gun strapped to his thigh if he wasn’t going to be ready to use it. The gloves were a helpful and very visible reminder of that.

When he was sure he still had Barry’s attention—and he did, something unreadable passing across Barry’s eyes as they darted between Len’s hands—Len turned one hand toward himself, brought the other to its fingertips, and then slowly, one finger at a time, began teasing the glove off.

Barry tracked the movement with his eyes without prompting, giving Len a quickly-dismissed impulse to reward him. A quizzical furrow formed between his brows, and he stole a single glance up and risked a quick, faint tilt of his head to one side. Confused, yes, but not combative. The difference between “What are you doing?” and “What the hell are you doing?”

It was Len’s turn to feel an annoyed burn of impatience. Barry was on his knees in front of a convicted killer, bound and gagged and stripped to his skin, and Barry still thought this was all part of a plan. Len had killed three men in front of Barry—and counting. The only plan he had now was finding out how far that stupid, blind trust could bend until it broke.

Len finished drawing the glove off slowly, and in the quiet of the room, nothing but the distant sounds of the river rolling past outside, he was certain Barry heard the rasp of leather over skin.

Barry’s attention fractured as Len watched. His gaze flicked up from the glove for a single, distracted glance at Len’s eyes. Just below the line where the muzzle dug into the underside of Barry’s jaw, his throat bobbed on a swallow.

Good, Len thought. Nervous was the first step toward suspicious, and suspicious might just keep Barry alive.

Len looked away with easy disinterest, settling his attention to Barry’s unbruised shoulder. Barry sat up straighter as Len reached out with the glove in his hand, a hitch in his breath visible in the stuttering rise of his bare chest.

When Len laid the glove out on the bare, unmarked skin there, Barry twitched like Len had stuck him with a knife.

Almost getting it, Len mused. Ignoring the urgent, searching flicker of green eyes in his direction, Len reached out with his newly bare hand and rested the tip of one finger just under the corner of Barry’s jaw.

The black leather there was butter soft and warm from Barry’s skin. Just as slowly as he’d pulled off the glove, Len stroked the finger up the line of Barry’s jaw, following the sharp edge of it through the muzzle. Only then did he slide his gaze back to Barry’s to watch the emotions dart through those pale eyes. Confusion, yes, then surprise, with another sharp inhale. And then, with the first flush of healthy color to Barry’s face since he’d been dragged in, understanding.

Yahtzee, Len thought with a smirk.

He didn’t give Barry a chance to pull away. He caught him with two fingers under the edge of the muzzle, hard, knuckles snug against his windpipe, and jerked his chin up.

Barry jolted with the movement, full-body, back arching to accommodate the sudden, demanding angle of his neck, the glove tumbling to the ground. Eyes wide, he made a sound behind the muzzle that might’ve been Len’s name if he’d been able to open his mouth enough to say it.

Somewhere behind Barry, Santini started to object, but he shut himself up before Len had to look his way again. Likely Mick had warned him off, a pointed hand on the heat gun’s handle, or the man had just remembered who he was dealing with.

Len held Barry there at attention, letting him hang off the hook of his fingers. Heady wasn’t a strong enough word for it. It was a level of control he hadn’t imagined even back before Barry became Barry, when the Flash was a problem to be solved and not a single facet of a more fascinating, infuriating whole. The hero of Central City helpless at his feet, stripped of that golden cloak of lightning he wore everywhere like armor…

And still not fighting Len an inch.

Barry’s chest heaved, breath coming quick and shallow, that broken rib apparently the furthest thing from his mind. When Len met Barry’s gaze, his own eyes narrowing in frustration, Barry’s were stunned and breathless. But still, no fear there.

Agitated, Len crooked his fingers tighter, forcing Barry’s chin up another inch. Barry’s lashes fluttered—maybe feeling that rib now, after all—and Len watched the muscles in his thighs flex as he nearly forced him up onto his knees.

Fight back.

Barry didn’t so much as twist in his grip, eyes half shut. With Len’s fingers hooked under the edge of the mask, he could feel the heat of Barry’s breaths, nearly panting now. His face and throat were stained pink, exertion clearly catching up to him, and Len wondered if the mask was starting to cut off air after all.

He loosened his grip and allowed Barry to relax back onto his heels. Barry’s breathing stayed ragged anyway, blush touching the top of his chest as Len frowned at the unreadable expression in his eyes, gone round and almost glassy.

When Len slipped his fingers free of the mask, Barry didn’t move an inch, head tipped back where Len had left it.

Len’s patience snapped, curling his gloved hand into a fist at his side. He could’ve snapped Barry’s neck in less than a second, bared to him like that, all fragile skin and sharp tendons. It would’ve been easy as breathing, and there would’ve been nothing that Barry’s powers or his little team could’ve done about it.

Len took a sharp step forward, closing the rest of the distance between them. It brought the front of his hips nearly flush with the muzzle, his boots between Barry’s knees, which were falling open a little further with every uneven breath.

It was—too much, frustration at the completely unearned trust, frustration that Barry had been reckless enough to get himself caught, both tangling confused with frustration at Barry. That even stripped and submissive on his knees in front of Len, offering him his throat, he was still the one goddamn thing Len wanted and couldn’t have.

Len should have conceded that his self-restraint was clinging on by a thread. He should have taken a step back, drawled something droll and amusing, and ended the night with his sanity intact.

Instead, Len curved a hand around either side of Barry’s neck and stroked them upwards slowly, deliberately.

How many ways could someone kill you just like this, Barry?

Barry’s throat worked under his hands and he shivered, hard, even as he tipped his head back further, giving Len more room to take advantage of. Barry made another, fainter noise behind the muzzle, half-swallowed as his throat bobbed.

One point to Len. Even Barry couldn’t miss the threat of Len’s fingertips pressed against the fragile bones of his neck.

Len lifted them to the edge of Barry’s jaw, followed the line of the straps around his ears, and then reached forward to trace the leather up until his fingers met at the buckle on the back of his head.

The movement brought the parka up on either side of Barry’s head, caging him in, hopefully adding to the claustrophobia of having Len so completely in his space. Len hooked a finger under the loop of leather where it passed through the buckle. He paused there, poised to pull it tighter, and was about to close his hand around the strap and tug when Barry did the one thing he wasn’t counting on.

He gave in.

All of the last remaining fight went out of those narrow shoulders at once, nearly unbalancing Len where he’d been bracing his wrists on the steady line of them.

Instead of using the opportunity to duck away—point made, Snart, let me out of this thing—Barry only swayed deeper into the circle of Len’s arms. Before Len could jerk backwards, half-certain that Barry was finally passing out—Barry brushed closer and rested his forehead against Len’s lower stomach.

For the space of two heartbeats, Len’s mind went perfectly blank. And then he realized, with a level of disbelief so incredulous that he could feel it bleeding against his will into respect, what Barry had just done.

He’d called Len’s bluff.

No suit, no speed, no backup, bound and gagged and as powerless as Len ever could have hoped to have him, and Barry had called his goddamn bluff.

Chips down, cards on the table, there was nothing else to do—Len took a step back.

Cold air rushed back between their bodies. Even with that dampener keeping his powers in check, Barry must’ve been a hundred degrees, and Len’s jaw ached against the loss of his heat instantly.

Barry fell back onto his heels, and Len didn’t wait for him to get his bearings. He hooked a finger through one of the ear loops, forcing the last shreds of anger into the movement, and jerked his head back up.

For the first time all night, Barry didn’t jolt to meet his gaze. Instead, he let three full seconds tick past before he lifted his eyes, as if looking up had been his idea all along. Hair disheveled, pupils nearly swallowing the thin green ring of his irises—

Barry smirked at him.

It was unmistakable, muzzle be damned, eyes narrowing in such viciously smug satisfaction that Len was torn between shoving him away or dragging him into a dark corner.

Len tightened his grip in the edge of the muzzle, on the brink of deciding, when a low whistle cut through the room.

“Well, shit. You really have got a way with ‘em, huh?”

Santini’s voice was an unwelcome reminder of the unfinished business Len had to attend to, and he dragged his gaze away from Barry only after a dark look, promising him that he’d deal with him next.

“Or maybe just with this one in particular,” Santini continued, grinning like he and Len had agreed on something. “Funny thing—he finally stopped burning through those cuffs when he overheard me tell my crew I was considering Cold as a buyer.”

Len slid his gaze back to Barry. Barry, who was looking anywhere but Len, apparently deeply interested in hearing anything Santini had to say for the first time since he’d dragged him through Len’s doors. Barry, who was still breathing hard and blushing to his roots. Barry, who was trying to draw his knees together even with Len still standing in between them.

“Did he, now?” Len asked.

The question wasn’t aimed at Santini, but he answered anyway.

“Mmm-hmm.” He rocked back on his heels, inclined his head to Len in a pantomime of tipping a hat. “You got a reputation for looking after yours, after all. He must’ve thought you’d have some use for him or another.” He flashed a salacious grin; his objections to the ‘skin game’ clearly ended where his sales instincts began. “I figured maybe the feeling was mutual, and you’d appreciate first dibs on the sale.”

Lips pulling into a sharp, predatory smirk, Len lifted the toe of one boot and planted it on the inside of Barry’s thigh. “I’m considering it.”

Len pushed Barry’s legs apart with ease. Barry’s color deepened, and he jerked his head like he had any chance in hell of jarring Len’s hand loose from the strap of the muzzle now. Len clicked his tongue in a light, mocking reprimand, and Barry flashed him a glare for it, even as he stopped twisting under his grip.

He didn’t fight it when Len drew his head to one side, far enough to give him an unimpeded view down the front of his body. The blush stretched halfway down his chest, past nipples that were hard and peaked like Len had just spent an hour teasing them with his tongue. He didn’t need to nudge Barry’s thighs wider to see the thick, heavy outline of his cock straining at the front of the red shorts, but he did it anyway, and was rewarded when it twitched at the demanding press of his boot.

“I’ll take him,” Len drawled, and Barry’s hips hitched forward as Len guided his legs apart another inch, pulling the thin material taut over his groin.

Across the room, Santini laughed. “I haven’t even told you how much.”

“Not paying.” Len didn’t bother looking up; Barry had lifted his gaze to him again, and Len was going to need a more compelling reason than a low level Santini to look away from the impatient heat in his eyes. “Mick?”

Mick strode past them without a glance. Santini took one stumbling step backwards, then did the first smart thing he’d done all day: turned heel and ran.

Something in Len’s smirk made Barry blink, brow furrowing. He said something behind the muzzle, chin lifting in a way he probably thought was authoritative, and came across entirely the opposite on his knees.

Len had heard the words “No killing” come out of that mouth enough times to recognize it from cadence alone, but he tugged Barry up by the muzzle instead, until he got the message and stumbled to his feet.

“Didn’t catch that,” Len drawled.

Barry looked ready to argue, as if he weren’t half-wrecked already, skin flushed, hair wild. But he did a distracted double-take when Len shrugged out of his coat, and his gaze went dark and intent as it slid down the dark clothes he was wearing underneath, shouts behind him forgotten.

“You can fill me in later,” Len said, turning away. He shucked his belt as he sauntered toward his chair, let the buckle ring when he dropped it to the concrete.

Barry was still standing indecisively in the middle of the room when Len settled into the chair with a comfortable sprawl, legs spread, boots wide. His gaze caught on the thick press of Len’s cock, hard against his jeans, and Len flashed his teeth at him in something too sharp to be a smile.

“Got somewhere to be, bolt cutters are in the workshop.” Len indicated a door to the side with a tip of his head, even as he moved his hand to the front of his jeans. “If not...”

He rubbed his thumb over the button of his jeans, enjoying the pressure against his cock—one slow circle, another. The third time, he slid the button free.

And Barry came willingly.

#ao3 link up soon <3 #thank you for giving me the challenge of writing barry as both a clever hero and a complete brat without speaking a single line of dialogue #it was genuinely extremely fun #coldflash #my fics #barry allen #leonard snart #please god tell me immediately if this line break stops working i don't want to inflict a 5.6k unskippable post on anyone

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harrywavycurly · 1 year ago

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A Killer’s Love Part 10: Schedules

Masterlist: Here

TW: Eddie is a serial killer, mentions of blood(reader gets a paper cut)

Tag List: @clairesjointshurt @sofaritsalrightt @squidscottjeans @stardustmunson @amberpanda99 @luv-flor7777

A/N: Eddie loves a good schedule but you like to be spontaneous✨

Eddie let’s out a long sigh as he rolls over expecting to find your warm body sprawled out on your side of the bed, face shoved into your pillow and your hair all over the place. But this morning he’s a little shocked to find your side of the bed empty, he places a hand on your pillow and feels the corners of his mouth slightly pull down into a frown when he feels how cold it is meaning you’ve been out of bed for a while. He quickly sits up and stretches his arms over his head as he takes a quick glance at the clock on his nightstand, seeing that it’s only eight in the morning adds to his confusion since normally on weekends you enjoy sleeping in until ten or so.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is quiet as he pokes his head into the bathroom to see if maybe you wanted an early morning bubble bath. Eddie takes a few steps into the bathroom so he’s standing in front of his designated sink area, he smiles when he sees little pools of water on your side because he can picture you standing there doing your little dance as you brush your teeth. He grabs a hair tie from the jar you keep in the middle of both of your sinks so he can put his hair up before brushing his teeth.

“She couldn’t have gone far.” He thinks to himself as he places his toothbrush back in its holder. He turns off the light as he exits the bathroom and slips his feet into his slippers before moving on to the kitchen.

“Baby?” He waits for a response as he slowly walks down the hallway towards the kitchen, he doesn’t smell coffee or hear you banging around as you make breakfast so he decides it’s safe to skip the kitchen and go straight to the living room. That’s where he finds his first clue as to where you could be, he sees a magazine sitting on the coffee table, one he knows wasn’t there when the two of you went to bed the night before.

“Ouch.” He turns his head in the direction of your voice, not exactly happy that the first word he’s heard from you this morning is one of pain but it tells him exactly where you’re at.

“Good morning baby.” You jump at the sound of Eddie’s voice as he leans against the doorway of the study. You look up from your book and see him smiling at you as he crosses his arms over his bare chest, still allowing a few of his tattoos to be seen. “Why the frown sweetheart?” He raises an eyebrow as you look down at your index finger that now has a small drop of blood pooling at the tip from where you scratched it on a page of the book that’s in your lap.

“Why do paper cuts hurt so bad?” You question as Eddie takes a few steps towards you so he’s standing in front of your chair that you’re snugged up in while reading. Eddie just chuckles as he drops so he’s on his knees in front of you.

“Let’s take a look.” He reaches for your hand that has the paper cut so he can look at it and determine if you need a bandage or not. He reaches over to the side table next to your chair and grabs a tissue out of the box, he takes it and dabs at your cut trying his best to be gentle with you because it’s rare he actually cleans cuts on people since normally he’s the one causing the wounds in the first place.

“Does it need stitches?” He knows you’re joking so he just lets out a sigh as he looks up at you with a serious expression on his face.

“I’m thinking it needs to just go.” Your eyes go wide in mock horror as Eddie brings your finger to his mouth as if he’s going to bite it off. “But then again maybe just a kiss and a bandaid will do the trick.” You laugh as you feel his lips place a quick kiss to your tiny little wound before placing your hand back in your lap. “You’re up early.” He states as he leans over and places a kiss to your forehead before standing up.

“Can we go somewhere?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at you as you close the book in your lap and place it on the side table. “We deserve a vacation.” You add as you stand up and wrap your arms around his middle making his arms instinctively wrap around your shoulders as you look up at him.

“I agree.” You smile as he leans down so he can give you a sweet kiss to the lips. “But I have work tomorrow and so do you so maybe we can try to plan something for next month?” You pout at his words making his heart sink.

“We can just call in sick and go spend a few days at the cabin and just relax with the sound of the trees and birds chirping.” You use your voice that you save for special occasions that normally makes Eddie weak in the knees and willing to bend to your every whim but in this case he doesn’t seem to be willing to compromise and that’s because Eddie isn’t spontaneous. He likes a schedule since most of his after work activities are planned out weeks in advance and if he misses an opportunity to pay someone a visit he isn’t sure when he’ll get another chance. “Doesn’t that sound nice?” You bat your eyelashes as you look up at him for some added dramatic effect making Eddie just smirk as he looks down at you fully aware what you’re trying to do.

“Baby you know I’d love to.” He sees a brief flash of excitement in your eyes before it fades as you realize he’s not done talking. “But I just can’t right now I’m really swamped at work.” There it is, the excuse that’s not really an excuse it’s just his way of telling you no without using the word no. Eddie has learned over the years that you don’t like outright being told no so he has to find cleaver ways of telling you no without making you upset.

“Just one day? We can leave tonight and come home Tuesday morning in time for work.” Eddie mentally goes through his schedule for who he had planned to see Monday evening as you place little kisses to his chest in an added attempt to make him give in to your request. “Please Eddie.” It’s the way his name rolls off your tongue that does him in, he lets out a sigh of defeat before looking down at you.

“Okay baby.” He can’t deny he loves the feeling he gets when you grin and look up at him with your big eyes that are now truly filled with excitement. “Go pack a bag.” You reach up on your tiptoes and place a kiss to his lips before unwrapping yourself from him, he drops his arms from around your shoulders so you can rush out of the study and head down the hallway towards the bedroom. Eddie runs a hand down his face as he looks at the calendar that’s on the desk in the corner of the room. “Well Mr. Andrews it’s your lucky day.” He mumbles as he looks at the meeting listed for Monday evening with a Ted Andrews, he grabs a red pen from the cup and puts a large x over it. “You get to live to see next week.” He adds as he puts the pen back in the cup and heads for the bedroom to help you pack a bag for your spontaneous trip to the cabin.

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wyniepooh · 1 year ago

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Warmth

With aaron, you find warmth in even the coldest moments.

Pure fluff. Established relationship, FORBIDDEN love with bau!reader. Team is investigating a case in 🇨🇦 OH CANADA 🇨🇦 where it’s freezing, just reader and aaron sneaking around and being cute.

You were going to cross Canada off your travel list the minute you got home.

The crime scene was located at the base of one of the most popular mountains in the country. A total tourist nightmare located in a rather small town. Luckily for the team, the heavy snow plaguing the week prevented too many people from visiting the attraction. Unluckily for you guys, the thick snow also meant that no vehicles were able to travel on the small road, all due to the risk of getting stuck or breaking down and blocking the already complex road.

The team, along with a couple local police officers, had been walking for no more than ten minutes. But your lack of winter boots mixed with the harsh wind threatening to blow off your ears made it seem like you had been walking for hours.

That, and combined with your slightly weak stamina, left you trailing behind the rest of the team.

Having to lift your heavy legs with more strength than you currently possessed and having to fight against a million tiny snowflakes, you were beginning to sway and stumble. You brought your hands up to your mouth, huffing a long breath of warm air onto your frozen fingers.

“Cold?”

You perked up at the voice, rolling your eyes at aaron’s teasing expression.

“Absolutely freezing,” you answered. He looked down at his feet and chuckled at your response, but his smile slowly began to fade at the sight of your chattering teeth and shaking arms.

You silently cursed at having only brought your thin, pocketless jacket, as your only option to being somewhat warm was to pull the sleeves down as far as it could go to cover your hands.

So concentrated with your doomed task, you failed to noticed that aaron, who had been in front of the group at the beginning of the hike, had slowed down and was now in the back of the pack, with you.

“Here.”

You didn’t have time to register his words. Or rather, the cold had an effect on your reaction time. But it didn’t matter— all that mattered, and all that you felt, was his warm hand reaching down to grab yours, promptly stuffing your interwined hands into his coat’s pocket. You gasped lightly, both at the sudden action and at the immediate relief you felt in your half-frozen hand.

“aaron…” you whispered. You pointed your chin at the rest of the team walking in front, giving him a look of wariness as you tried to pull your hand back. In response, aaron simply pulled your entire body closer by tugging on your captured arm, his large palm further encapsulating your hand as he rubbed gentle circles with his thumb.

“It’s alright,” he hushed.

You huffed, “They’re going to see-“

“It’s alright.”

He looked down at you with raised brows, eyes soft and smile wide. You sighed as you shook your head, happily accepting your fate. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his red nose and ears, and at the absurdity of this whole situation.

For a brief moment, you and aaron weren’t walking towards a gruesome crime scene. You weren’t coworkers with a strict fraternization policy, and you weren’t secretly holding hands to avoid unwanted scrutiny. You two weren’t anything important, anything or anyone important at all.

You were just two people taking a scroll, hearts filled, hands warm, and cloudy breaths mingling together under the falling snow.

A/n: I mainly wanted to write this bc:

#1 I am obsessed with the idea of bau!reader secretly dating hotch and having to subtly show their affection

#2 bc I could not be more excited for winter and the holidays, and last but not least

#3 #canadianpridebaby

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kyufessions · 2 years ago

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fogged

synopsis: you disturb chanhee as he drives home after an important company dinner

pairings: partner! chanhee x afab! g.n. reader

genre: smut, 18+

requested: smut list, 22 + 30

word count: 1.3k

a/n: dom chanhee agenda ?? again ?? i’m kinda liking it (a lot) 😵‍💫

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana @soobin-chois

tbz taglist: @ilovechanhee

company dinners were always fun with chanhee, well, for you, anyway. while he sat across the room closing deals and making connections, you sat across the room with the other spouses and became acquaintances with them for you and chanhee’s benefit. but whenever someone wasn’t looking or paying you no mind, you couldn't help but suck on the straw of your alcoholic beverage for longer than one should. or slip a maraschino cherry past your lips as your eyes remained fixated on your lover across the crowded room, his eyes darkening in a manner that just read ‘not now’.

smirking, you quickly pop the cherry into your mouth and turn around on your heel towards the bar for another drink. tonight was important to him, he was finally going to be able to connect with someone very important in his company that would be able to give him not only a raise but some well deserved recognition. the last thing he needed was to have his dick get hard mid-conversation as his eyes met yours. the last thing he needed was his mind fluttering to visions of you riding him in the back of the car after this dinner, but here he was snapping himself out of it every so often.

everyone started leaving around ten thirty that night, you and chanhee being one of the last to pull away from his CEO’s large home that could fit a family of thirty three and a small farm. the ride home had started off quiet, nothing but the sound of the nightly wind and radio music being the perfect background music to drown out the thoughts you both were currently having- or attempting to, anyway. the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but more so full of unrelieved sexual tension that even a knife couldn’t cut through.

gliding your eyes from outside the window to the man driving beside you, you prop your elbow up on the divider between your two seats. chanhee bites down on his inner cheek, eyes staying glued to the road as he feels your hand rest upon his knee. smiling innocently as your eyes scan his features, you shift in your seat so your body is fully facing him. even under the minimal moonlight you notice his bottom lip being sucked in by his teeth, the noise of his throat clearing bringing a smirk upon your lips.

“stop.” he said sternly, causing your lips to curve into a devious smile.

dramatically, eyes glistening with curiosity, you tilt your head to the right with your smile never faltering. “stop what, baby?” you slowly bring your hand upwards towards his thigh, your thumb stopping right next to his tip. but you don’t touch it, not yet while he’s driving. “i'm not doing anything.”

the feeling of you being so close yet so far from where he needs you is fogging his brain, the metallic taste in his mouth not phasing him one bit. “you’ve been at it all night.” chanhee responds as he notices you at the corner of your eye, your smile tempting and mouth looking too empty. “if i have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

upon hearing those words, you bring your thumb to ever so lightly graze the tip of his dick through his pants. you knew chanhee well, and you knew even though it was through two layers of his clothing it would send him over the edge. “is that a threat or a promise?”

as soon as chanhee pulls over to the side of the road, he quickly looks outside and notices no cars or people in sight with the farthest houses being two miles down the road with nothing but the front porch light on. taking it as an opportunity, he puts the car in park and turns to you with a look of desperation and hunger. not wanting to waste another second, he brings his hand to the back of your neck and pulls you forward to meet his lips. the windows take no time to fog as you both maneuver your way around the car to a comfortable position. as your back is pressed against the leather of the backseat, your legs spread open and practically dripping of any touch, chanhee drags his fingertips from your jawline down to your clothed core.

chanhee pulls away for a moment, wanting to catch his breath for a few seconds. even through your underwear he can feel how much you’ve been wanting him all night, causing a smirk to spread across his lips. “i can’t believe how wet you are already.” his lips trail from yours to your jawline, leading down to your neck to leave a few bruises you will have to eventually cover up with makeup. “you’re so beautiful.” he mumbles against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine as you squirm around with moans spilling past your lips.

without warning, you feel three of his fingers plunge into your dripping cunt. chanhee chuckles as you gasp at the sudden feeling, your hands traveling from his biceps to his hair to grip onto. his pace is slow at first, not wanting you to cum just yet. but he just couldn’t help but subconsciously fasten the pace at your angelic noises, loving the way your breathing irregulated and fluctuated in pitch. his lips never left your skin, eventually trailing down from your neck to your collarbones to leave more traces of himself along your bare skin. by now chanhee was able to tell when you were close, so when he heard your noises and felt your tightening grip on his strands he quickly removed his fingers from you and unzipped his pants.

whining as you feel the sudden emptiness, your eyes watch as he unveils his hardened member. as chanhee begins to align himself with your hole, you lift his chin so his eyes can meet yours. one thing you loved was watching the way his face contorted as he entered you; you could never get enough of it. slowly he entered you, his eyes shutting closed from the immense pleasure it brought him. curses fell past his lips left and right as the windows fogged up even more, but none of that mattered more than the pleasure you both were currently experiencing. your grip on his hair tightens as your forehead pressed against his, his movements becoming faster with each passing minute. incoherent praises spill from both of your mouths, going in through one ear and out the other as nothing else mattered but the orgasm quickly approaching from both you and him.

taking the opportunity to do so, you trail your lips down to his neck and pepper kisses down his skin till they reach his chest. chanhee always told you to bep careful of where you placed your love bites, not wanting the makeup to potentially rub off on a particularly hot day or maybe even forget about it and rub it off during an important meeting accidentally; he tended to overthink like that sometimes. blue and purple painted his chest as his head laid in the crook of your shoulder, his pace never weakening as your releases were near.

within seconds you both came mere seconds apart, your liquids falling onto the floor of the backseat without a care flooding either of your minds. nothing mattered in this moment other than feeling one another, than embracing one another for what felt like hours but in reality had only been barely ten minutes.

as the tint of the windows begin to fade from the fog, you glitter your eyes up to the man and brush your lips on top of his. “is that all you’ve got?” you whisper, pecking his lips weakly with an upturned smile full of sarcasm.

he shakes his head, a small bead of sweat rolling down his temple catches your eye as he responds. “i said till you can’t walk, didn’t i?”

#kyufessions tbz #kyufessions requests #tbz #the boyz #chanhee #choi chanhee #tbz chanhee #the boyz chanhee #the boyz smut #tbz smut #chanhee smut

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