#god but i LOVE HIM AND HOW YOU WROTE HIM!!!! SO UNMISTAKABLY TENDER!!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muiitoloko · 4 days ago

Text

To Tame a Tyrant

Summary: You never expected to love the cruel Sheriff of Nottingham, but under your influence, he is changing—for the better… mostly. The problem? He is still wildly, unapologetically unhinged when it comes to you.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Dirty Languages, Implicit sex.

Author's Notes: I thought this story deserved a second part, so I wrote one.

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Weeks had passed, and everything had changed.

Your marriage, once built on resentment and distance, had transformed into something unexpected—something tender, passionate, and, dare you say it, happy. Gone were the days of cold avoidance and forced duty. Now, George could barely keep his hands off you, and you, in turn, now the only woman who received his attention, had discovered just how insatiable your husband truly was.

Not just in bed—though you had quickly learned that your husband was an unstoppable force of nature in that regard—but in governing as well. His ambition had always been relentless, his hunger for power unquenchable, but now, under your quiet guidance, he was learning to temper it with reason.

He had lowered the absurd taxes that once crushed the people of Nottingham, allowing them to keep enough coin to thrive rather than merely survive. The streets were livelier, the markets busier, and while George still ruled with a firm hand, he was no longer the tyrant he had been before. You were still working on softening him completely, but for now, things were far better than they had been.

And as for your marriage? It flourished.

It always amused you when George came running through the castle, his long black hair flowing behind him like a man possessed, only to skid to a halt the moment he spotted you. He would grab your hand, shower it with kisses, whispering ridiculous praises before dashing off again to whatever urgent matter awaited him.

You could always tell when he had been in meetings all day and needed a distraction—he would find you in the halls and press you against the nearest stone pillar, murmuring filth in your ear until your knees nearly buckled beneath you.

"I nearly fell asleep listening to that insufferable Baron drone on about grain," he had growled against your throat just the other day. "I was half-tempted to excuse myself and drag you onto my lap right there in front of him. Gods, wife, do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Now, as you sat across the great hall from where your husband was hosting a gathering of lords, you found yourself chatting idly with a few noblewomen, your veil still in place. The room was filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine.

Yet, despite the lively atmosphere, you felt it—the unmistakable weight of George’s gaze on you.

Lifting your eyes, you found him staring at you from across the table, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief, his lips quirking into a smirk as he waggled his eyebrows in your direction.

You blushed, heat creeping up your neck. He looked utterly ridiculous, but you knew exactly what that look meant.

Now? you mouthed silently, raising a brow.

He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave an exaggerated nod, his smirk widening.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. Patience, husband.

George pouted dramatically before taking a slow sip of wine, never breaking eye contact with you.

Are you really going to make me suffer, love? his gaze teased, dark with unspoken promises.

You had only just managed to silently tell him to behave when Sir Guy took a seat next to you, clearing his throat in what was clearly meant to be a diplomatic gesture.

The moment George noticed, however, his entire demeanor shifted. His lazy smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl so deep it could curdle milk. His hazel eyes darkened with suspicion, his fingers tightening around the silver spoon in his hand with dangerous intent.

You barely suppressed a sigh.

You had heard far too many of your husband's overdramatic exclamations about skinning someone with a spoon.

Sir Guy, oblivious to the impending doom that loomed over his existence, turned to you with an air of reluctant formality. "Lady [Your Name]," he began, his voice low and measured, "I have come to—"

His words were cut off by a loud clank as George banged his spoon against the edge of his goblet, the sound echoing through the table.

Sir Guy blinked. You closed your eyes briefly, bracing yourself.

The Sheriff swirled the spoon between his fingers, his smirk returning, but this time edged with something far more menacing. "Oh, Gisbourne," he drawled, tilting his head, "I do hope you're not here to test the durability of your skin, because I assure you, I am quite skilled at removing flesh with nothing but a spoon."

Sir Guy exhaled heavily through his nose, rubbing his temples as if to stave off a headache. "Sheriff, I am merely—"

"Merely what, cousin?" George interrupted, leaning forward with a wild glint in his eye. "Merely making an utter fool of yourself by daring to sit next to my wife? Merely testing the limits of my patience? Merely seeking your own execution in the most humiliating manner possible?"

Sir Guy pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every decision that had led him to this moment. "I came to apologize," he ground out.

George froze, as if he hadn't quite processed those words. He blinked once, then twice.

You seized the opportunity. Before your husband could launch into another one of his spoon-themed death threats, you turned to Sir Guy, offering a graceful nod. "I accept your apology," you said smoothly.

George's head snapped to you, his long black hair whipping dramatically over his shoulder. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. You could practically hear the gears in his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

Sir Guy, sensing a rare opportunity to escape with his dignity intact, rose swiftly from his seat. "Good evening, my lady." He cast a wary glance at your husband before adding, "Sheriff."

George growled.

Sir Guy wisely fled.

The moment he was gone, George turned to you, placing a hand over his heart as if deeply wounded. "You accepted his apology?" he gasped, scandalized. "You accepted his apology without demanding bloodshed? Without forcing him to grovel? Without letting me threaten him with my spoon first?"

You folded your arms, arching a brow. "Would you prefer I let you carve his face like a roasted goose?"

"Yes, actually!" George huffed, dropping his spoon onto the table with a clank. "It’s what decent wives allow their husbands to do!"

You shook your head in amusement. "You do realize that not everything needs to end in violence, George?"

He scoffed. "Tell that to Sir Guy’s smug face! He deserved at least a light stabbing!"

"You are ridiculous," you sighed, taking a sip of your wine.

George exhaled heavily, rubbing his beard as he eyed you. His earlier petulance slowly melted away, replaced by something far more dangerous—a look you knew all too well.

His voice dropped into that wicked baritone, rich and dark as honey. "Oh, sweetheart," he purred, "I may not get to stab Sir Guy, but there is one thing I do intend to have my hands all over tonight."

Heat pooled in your stomach as you met his gaze. "George—"

His smirk widened as he leaned in. "You."

You flushed, warmth creeping up your neck. You could already feel the amusement radiating from him, his entire demeanor shifting from outrage to unrepentant desire in a matter of seconds.

"George, we are in public," you hissed under your breath.

"And?" He tilted his head, his hazel eyes flickering with mischief. "You think I care? You’ve been teasing me all night, looking too damn pretty in that veil, knowing full well that I want to rip it off you with my teeth."

Your breath hitched. "George—"

"Say the word," he murmured, voice like a slow-burning fire, "and I will drag you out of here, carry you upstairs, and make you forget that bastard’s name entirely."

You swallowed hard. "You are incorrigible."

"Flattering me won’t save you, love." He reached across the table, running his fingers over your gloved hand. "If I don’t have you under me within the hour, I might actually die. It’ll be your fault."

You shot him a look, torn between amusement and exasperation. "You are the Sheriff of Nottingham," you reminded him. "A man feared throughout England. And yet, here you are, pouting like a boy denied his favorite toy."

George’s lips twitched into a wicked grin. "My favorite toy is currently sitting across from me, wearing far too many clothes."

You nearly choked on your wine.

With a satisfied smirk, George rose from his seat, stalking around the table until he reached you. He leaned down, his lips hovering just above your ear.

"You have until the count of ten, wife," he whispered, his voice a velvet promise of ruin. "Then, I’m dragging you upstairs, whether you like it or not."

You shivered, pressing your thighs together. "George—"

"One," he murmured, his fingers ghosting over your arm.

Your breath hitched.

"Two."

Heat coiled in your belly.

"Three."

You barely managed to suppress a whimper.

"Four—"

"Fine!" You bolted to your feet, sending your goblet sloshing onto the table as you grabbed his hand. "But if you so much as try to rip my dress again, I swear I will—"

George grinned. "No promises, love."

With that, he scooped you up—right in the middle of the great hall—and carried you toward your chambers, completely unbothered by the scandalized gasps and amused whispers trailing in your wake.

You buried your face in his shoulder, mortified. "I hate you."

"You adore me," he corrected, kissing the top of your head.

And as he kicked open the door to your chambers—his eyes gleaming with dark intent—you had a sinking suspicion that he was absolutely right.

The echoes of drunken laughter and raucous revelry from the great hall drifted through the thick stone walls, muffled but ever-present. You lay tangled with George in the warm cocoon of your bed, your body draped lazily over his broad chest, your fingers idly tracing the contours of his toned stomach. His skin was still slick with the aftermath of your shared passion, and his breath was steady beneath you, though every so often, his fingers—long and dexterous—twisted idly into your hair as if he still couldn't quite believe he had you like this.

"You're quiet," he murmured, his deep baritone sending shivers down your spine. His hazel eyes, heavy-lidded with sated amusement, peered at you from beneath his unruly black hair. "Not regretting what just happened, are you?"

You scoffed, turning your face into his chest to hide your smirk. "Oh, yes. It was terrible," you teased, pressing a lingering kiss against his warm skin. "I might need you to try again—just to be sure."

George chuckled, a low, wicked sound that rumbled beneath your cheek. His hand slipped down your spine, fingers splaying possessively across your bare hip. "Careful what you wish for, love," he murmured, nipping at the top of your head. "You might not leave this bed for days."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. Instead, you allowed yourself the comfort of his touch, the rare intimacy of these quiet moments between you. And yet, despite the warmth, despite the safety of his embrace, you hesitated. You knew what was coming.

"You know," George began, his tone deliberately casual, "you don’t need to wear the veil all the time anymore."

You stiffened slightly against him, but he tightened his hold, his fingers kneading at your scalp in slow, soothing strokes. "People will talk," you murmured, not quite able to meet his gaze.

George snorted. "Let them. And if anyone dares use it to speak ill of you, I promise, love, I’ll carve their heart out with a spoon."

That earned a reluctant laugh from you. "A spoon, George?"

"It’s poetic justice," he replied smugly. "They’ll feel it, every little scrape and tear—"

"Alright, alright!" You waved a hand, cutting off his grotesque imagery. "I get it. You're very terrifying."

"You wound me, wife," he drawled, mock-offended, though the way he was still playing with your hair betrayed his amusement.

A beat of silence passed between you, your fingers still absently stroking his chest. And then, out of nowhere, you changed the subject.

"You should cut your hair."

George, who had just been preoccupied with kissing the top of your head, pulled back, blinking at you in genuine shock. "What?"

"It's getting wild," you pointed out, propping yourself up on your elbows so you could look down at him properly. "You look positively feral."

George scoffed, clearly offended. "And what of it? I like my long hair."

You smirked, tilting your head. "Oh, I don’t mean that hair, George."

The Sheriff frowned in confusion, but then your eyes dropped down—slowly, deliberately. His hazel gaze followed yours, landing on the dark, tangled mess between his thighs.

Understanding dawned.

His mouth opened—then closed—then opened again. "You little—!"

You bit back a wicked grin, feigning innocence as you trailed your fingers teasingly down his abdomen, stopping just above the very thing you were referring to. "It's wild, George," you repeated, your voice dropping into a sultry whisper. "Untamed. Unruly. Beastly."

George exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching where they rested against your waist. "You’ve never had a problem with it before," he accused, his baritone roughening as your touch grew more insistent.

"I never said I had a problem with it," you countered, brushing your lips over his jaw. "But have you seen it? It’s a proper medieval forest down there."

George groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. "Gods, woman. Are you truly trying to discuss this while I’m still recovering from the last round?"

You hummed, nipping at his earlobe. "You say that, but I feel you stirring again, husband."

His hands grabbed you then, flipping you onto your back in one swift, effortless motion. Before you could react, he had pressed himself between your thighs, his weight deliciously heavy, his smirk downright filthy.

"You want it trimmed?" he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Then you’ll have to earn it, sweetheart."

His teeth grazed your throat.

And just like that, the conversation about his grooming habits was entirely forgotten.

The streets of Nottingham bustled with life as you made your way through the market, the familiar sights and sounds wrapping around you like an old friend. The air was thick with the scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meats, mingling with the tang of damp earth after last night's rain. Merchants called out their wares, bartering with customers who haggled with the same energy they used to survive in these harsh times.

You pulled your cloak tighter around you, the ever-present veil draped over your head as you walked with measured grace. The people of Nottingham had grown accustomed to you by now—no longer did they whisper behind their hands about the "Sheriff’s hidden wife." Instead, they bowed their heads respectfully as you passed, offering small smiles of gratitude. Some still hesitated when they looked upon you, but you were no longer an enigma—they knew what you did for them.

You were their Lady.

A castle guard trailed behind you, his posture stiff, eyes ever-watchful. He wasn’t there by your request, but by George’s demand.

"You will not go into town alone, wife. You belong to me, and I’ll not have some filthy rebel attempting to snatch you away while you hand out alms like some Sainted Madonna."

"The people love me, George."

"Yes, well, the people are also fickle. Love is a cheap currency, easily swayed by hunger or desperation. I trust my men more than I trust the whims of a starving peasant."

And so here you were, followed like a precious treasure that your husband refused to leave unguarded.

You sighed, glancing over your shoulder at the guard. "Do you really think I need protection? The only danger I seem to pose is to your feet, what with how much you have to follow me around."

The man—whose name you had learned was Marcus—had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "The Sheriff was quite… insistent, my lady."

"Of course he was," you muttered. Possessive bastard.

Despite George’s paranoia, the people welcomed you warmly. The butcher’s wife pressed a bundle of fresh meat into your hands with a knowing smile, refusing payment. The baker’s son—who had once been too afraid to look at you—now beamed as you ruffled his hair, his mother thanking you for the flour donation you had arranged the week before.

Even the beggars knew you by name, their gratitude shining in their eyes as you handed out small parcels of food. You saw a woman clutching a young child to her chest, her cheeks hollow with hunger, and immediately knelt before her, offering a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth.

"Eat, and let the boy eat first," you instructed softly.

The woman’s eyes filled with tears. "May God bless you, my lady."

You only smiled.

It was the least you could do.

The flickering candlelight cast shifting shadows across the Sheriff’s chambers, illuminating the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud. George sat behind his grand oak desk, idly twirling a silver spoon between his fingers, his hazel eyes dark with thought. The sharp scent of parchment and ink filled the room, mingling with the lingering fragrance of the woman he had just kissed goodbye before she left for the marketplace. His marketplace.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne, lounging carelessly in a chair across from him, smirked as he polished his gauntlets. “She’s out again,” he remarked idly.

George didn’t bother looking up. “I know.”

“With only one guard.”

The spoon in George’s hand stopped twirling.

Sir Guy stretched his legs out, his smirk widening. “If someone were to… I don’t know… lay a hand on her—”

The crack of wood echoed through the chamber as George slammed his fist against the desk, his hooked nose flaring with rage. He leaned forward, his long black hair falling over his shoulders as he fixed his cousin with a murderous glare.

“If someone laid a hand on her,” George murmured, his voice a low, velvety growl, “I would skin the bastard alive.”

Sir Guy chuckled, unimpressed. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

George’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, dear cousin. I wouldn’t use a knife.” He tapped the spoon against the desk with deliberate precision, his hazel eyes gleaming with something wicked. “I would use this.”

Sir Guy blinked. “A… a spoon?”

“Yes, Guy,” George drawled, his voice dripping with mock patience, “a spoon.”

There was a beat of silence before Sir Guy scoffed. “Why in the name of all things holy would you skin someone with a spoon?”

George exhaled sharply, running a hand down his beard as if physically restraining himself from launching across the desk and throttling his cousin. Then, he leaned in, lowering his voice into something dark and insidious.

“Because, you absolute imbecile, it would hurt more.”

Sir Guy stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

George, enjoying his cousin’s slow-dawning horror, picked up the spoon and tapped it against his palm. “Can you imagine it, Guy?” he purred. “The dull edge scraping against flesh, peeling away inch by inch… the slow, agonizing realization that death isn’t coming quickly?” He sighed dreamily, as if discussing a fine vintage of wine. “Oh, the screams would be divine.”

Sir Guy paled. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

George scoffed. “Oh, and you’re one to talk about hard work, you lazy bastard.”

Sir Guy, still looking slightly disturbed, crossed his arms. “All this effort… for such an ugly woman?”

The room fell into a stunned silence.

The air grew thick, heavy with unspoken violence.

Sir Guy, realizing a second too late what he had just said, swallowed hard.

George’s expression darkened, his entire body going unnaturally still. His long fingers, which had been toying so playfully with the spoon, tightened around the handle until his knuckles turned white. His hazel eyes burned with something murderous, something ancient and bloodthirsty.

Sir Guy, survivor that he was, knew that look.

And he ran.

“SCRIBE!” George bellowed, launching himself from his chair so violently that it toppled over. He stormed toward the door, his boots slamming against the stone floor as he kicked it open with enough force to rattle the hinges. “SCRIBE, YOU USELESS FUCK, GRAB THAT TRAITOROUS SON OF A WHORE!”

Scribe, the unfortunate castle servant whose tongue George had removed long ago for “slanderous tendencies,” paled from where he stood just outside the door. His eyes darted between George and the rapidly retreating figure of Sir Guy.

Scribe hesitated.

George saw the hesitation and lost his mind.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!” he roared, pointing wildly at the fleeing knight. “GRAB HIM, YOU SPINELESS WASTE OF SPACE—”

Scribe, wisely deciding that this was not his fight, turned and bolted in the opposite direction.

George stopped mid-rampage, looking personally offended.

“COWARD!” he shouted after him, before resuming his pursuit of his cousin.

Sir Guy, armor clanking, hurtled down the hallways of Nottingham Castle like a man fleeing the Devil himself. “George, listen—” he panted, dodging a servant who shrieked and flattened against the wall. “It was a joke! A harmless jest—!”

“I WILL FLAY YOU WITH A SPOON AND STUFF YOUR ENTRAILS INTO YOUR OWN GODDAMN BOOTS!” George thundered, gaining ground with terrifying speed.

Sir Guy, having known George since childhood, realized two things in rapid succession:

1 - George was fast when he was angry.

2 - George was always angry.

“GEORGE, I’M SORRY!” Sir Guy tried again, veering sharply around a corner and nearly colliding with a maid carrying a basket of linens.

George vaulted over the basket like a man possessed.

“YOU DARE INSULT MY WIFE?!” George bellowed. “MY WIFE, WHOSE PUSSY YOU COULDN’T LICK EVEN IF I ALLOWED YOU THE PRIVILEGE?!”

Sir Guy tripped.

George pounced.

The two men crashed to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs and furious curses.

George, straddling his cousin with murder in his eyes, yanked the spoon from his belt and pressed the rounded edge to Sir Guy’s throat.

“Take it back,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Sir Guy, winded, stared up at his enraged cousin and wisely chose self-preservation over dignity.

“I take it back!” he wheezed. “She’s—she’s stunning, George! Ravishing! A true goddess!”

George narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”

Sir Guy, staring down the blunt edge of the spoon, gritted his teeth. “I adore her, George. She is the light of Nottingham. A—A radiant jewel among—among swine.”

George considered this.

Then, with a sniff, he stood.

Sir Guy groaned, rolling onto his stomach, pressing his forehead against the cold stone floor. “You’re an absolute lunatic.”

George, smoothing his coat like a civilized man, twirled the spoon between his fingers and smirked.

“I do try.”

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #sheriff of nottingham x reader #sheriff of nottingham

81 notes · View notes

darylsdelts · 11 months ago

Text

I’m confused guys, I definitely wrote about going down on Daryl somewhere but it also kinda feels like a fever dream?? Anyways… I’ll write it again.

Not proof read!

(Darylxfemale reader)

You’d been wanting to go down on Daryl for a REAL long time but you just knew it was something he’d be super nervous about.

After a particularly long time apart; him being on a mission with Aaron for a few days, he returns home.

He doesn’t say it but you can tell he’s pent up. You guys don’t have sex too often since you just arrived at Alexandria and you’re finding it hard to accept that you don’t need to be alert all the time, however, you get eachother off as an alternative.

Every so often you’d find yourself sat in Daryl’s lap, his weeping cock in your hand as your stroke him with a tight grip. He’s notoriously quiet in everyday life and that doesn’t change much within the realm of pleasure, but he presses his face into your neck as he makes quiet gasps and grunts as you jerk him, occasionally running your thumb over his red leaking tip.

That’s how you usually get Daryl off.

But you want to give him more.

Daryl LOVES eating you out, he loves knowing he can make you feel good in that way, he’s obsessed with it, he sometimes begs for you to let him taste you.

So naturally you want to return the offer but every time you’ve gone to return it, your hands fiddling with his belt, his own hands caress yours and pull them away.

“Ya don’t gotta…” “it’s a’ight…”

To which you’d reply with… “I want to, Daryl…”.

But he’d never let you.

But GOD did he crave it! Obviously he wanted you to take him in your mouth and suck him dry but the whole thing just made him so nervous and for no particular reason either. He wasn’t particularly insecure about his size, he’s above average. Contrary to popular belief, he is pretty clean down there so he’s not worried about that, it ain’t exactly a jungle either so he didn’t really understand why he was so nervous, he just was. Maybe it was because it was something he’d fantasised about for years, even before he knew you. He’d have wet dreams when he was younger of a girl drinking him down and he’d wake up in his own mess, he thinks about it every time he kisses you or just stares at your lips. So maybe he just wanted it so bad that it was just too much.

But tonight that changes.

Upon noticing how sexually frustrates he seemed with the way he hugged you when he returned home (he tried to push his hips flush against yours) you giggled and looked up at him.

“You okay, Dixon?”

He looks down at you and groans, cheeks reddening a bit before diving his face back into your neck to continue the much needed embrace after a long day.

You rub your hands along his sides, moving your palms to his hips and squeezing. You turn your face slightly, pushing your cheek to his as he lets out a deep exhale.

With that reaction, you move your hands to his belt real slow, giving him chance to stop you like he usually does but he doesn’t.

You get his belt undone but before undoing the buttons on his jeans, you cup his unmistakable bulge, rubbing your palm against it gently and giving a tender squeeze.

Daryl takes a sharp inhale through his teeth, right by your ear as his hips twitch forward the slightest bit.

You kiss his neck softly, right where his vein is protruding slightly, the one that becomes visible when he shouts, only you know about the other times it’s very visible.

You begin to undo his buttons on his jeans, push them down his hips.

You’re not going to try and work your way around it, not going to try to coax him into letting you give him head. You always want to make sure he wants it.

You loosely grip his hard member which is still in the confines of his boxers which now has a damp spot where his leaking tip is.

You rub his side with your other hand and whisper.

“May I taste you, baby?”

He almost whines, he almost fucking whimpers as he nods against your neck.

You give one final kiss to his jaw as you lower to your knees in front of him, face to face with his twitching cock after you pull his boxers down to his ankles.

Daryl doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself, not looking at you, one hand at his mouth as he chews on his thumb nail and his left hand resting over his right pectoral.

You obviously sense his unease, kissing at his thighs just below his V-line.

“Relax, D… just want you to feel good…”

You reach your hand up, giving him a grabbing signal so that his thumb leaves his mouth and his hand comes to yours, your fingers intertwining as you hold his hand, rubbing your thumb against his thumb knuckle.

“Okay?”

He nods.

“Words sweetheart”, you press.

“M’okay…”

So then you start, you move the hand of his that you’re holding to the back of your head where he starts to stroke your hair.

Your left hand is used to help your balance, gripping his left thigh whilst your right smooths around his dark hairs at the base of his 7 inch as you grip him.

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his frenulum then giving a few kitten licks before taking only his spongey head between your lips.

Daryl lets out a broken sob, accidentally gripping your hair at the back of your head.

“D-Don’t tease… please…”

You know that’s his way of saying he won’t last long, this is his first time receiving head after all.

You take him all the way, well, as far as you can without gagging anyway. You use your hand on the rest of his length that you can’t fit and you start to Bob your head back and forth, with your hand in the same rhythm.

Your tongue continuously flicking against his slit, you can taste the precum drooling out onto your tongue, he’s leaking more than usual.

You look up at him through your lashes, you see his eyes squeeze tight as his jaw goes slack and his head falls back.

“Shit, shit… fu-uuuuuck… m’cummin’”

His hips buck involuntarily against your face, causing you to gag ever so slightly as he spills his thick cum onto your waiting tongue.

There’s no doubt, he came prematurely. Usually he lasts a lot longer but that was the hottest damn thing you’d ever witnessed.

You pull off his cock with a pop and you swallow his seed without second thought, unaware of the cum dripping down your chin.

Daryl finally looks down at you, moving his hand to wipe the drop of semen from your chin with his thumb.

His cheeks redden as you stand up, now very aware of how wet your panties are.

“M’sorry… was quick” Daryl mumbles toward the ground.

“Thank you for letting me do that for you” you reply, looking straight into his eyes before kissing him, he can taste himself on your tongue.

You expect Daryl’s about to return the favour… that is until he grab your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around your waist, all whilst still kissing.

As he walks with you in his arms toward the bed you realise that maybe you’ll both decide you don’t need to be alert tonight.

#daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl smut #daryl x reader #norman reedus #twd smut

372 notes · View notes

merry-andrews · 1 year ago

Text

AAAHHHH!!!!!! THANK YOU THANK YOU DEAR WRITER THANK YOU!!!!! I'M OVER THE CLOUDS NOW! THANK YOU!!! T.T

DEAR LORD PLEASE SOMEONE ANYONE PLEASE SOMEONE PUNCH ME OR SOMETHING I THINK I'M DREAMING!!!!! LESWELL DARLING I LOVE YOU!! YOU ARE AN ACTUAL ANGEL SENT FROM HEAVEN I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!! MY HANDS ARE TREMBLING SO HARD NOW WHILE I'M TYPING THIS COMMENT NO JOKE BABY YOU SHAKE MY WORLD, SHATTER MY BONES, HUNT MY DREAMS, TEAR MY HEART! T.T I LOVE YOU!!!

Shall we start from the title? cus it looks so geniusly choosen and hhnn can I confess I screamed like a little girl when I saw it?! good God I can not believe you actually went and wrote a fic for old me hhnn and here I was seething, burning in jealously becuase how Forever gets to be so special?! what he has that I don't?! it isn't about gift no, it's about having your love and attention! T.T I'm that possessive, jealous type 'blushes' God I rambled too much!! but hhnn I can't help, you're everywhere, surrounding my world I even hanged that gift I drew for you infront of my face on the wall so it's first thing I wake up to and last thing I see before I go to sleep! I love you!! like loving a God seriously, it was adore and worship this writer then turned to a love so bright it blind eyes!!!!

Thank you for always being my support ❤️

I'll follow you to the end of the world, babe!! don't thank me!!

It is not uncommon for Kenshi to frequent Johnny's doorstep in the middle of the night. They have been having an on-and-off affair for a while in secret from their shared employer, mostly because as far as the Yakuza claims to be a family, everyone is just as ready and eager to sink their blades onto each others’ backs at any given opportunity.

However, it is the first time Kenshi comes to him looking like he battled the entire crime empire by himself.

Johnny involuntarily moans into the kiss as Kenshi throws his katana onto the floor with no care and crowds him against his corridor wall. He tastes like blood and smells like blood too.

Lord have mercy do you even realize how hot you write?! sinking their blades into eachother's back hhn they would.. how com you picture crime families this hot? God now it only makes me more thirst to see how you're gonna write yakuza kenshi! also Johnny and Kenshi being like sleeping together behind their boss's back God I love this secret lovers trope! KATANA!!!!! OH MY GOD HE CAME AT JOHNNY'S DOOR WITH BLOOD COVERED BLADE LOOKING LIKE HE JUST CAME BACK FROM MASSACRE TASTES LIKE BLOOD AND SMELLS LIKE BLOOD TOO DEAR GOD!! i was listening to Rose Quartz song while reading this lovely fic and this part of song was playing during my read;

Your tender mind

It's just like mine

Because I feel weak, uh-huh

'Cause I feel weak, uh-huh

And if I fall

Into the sea

Don't let me go

'Cause I feel weak

Because why sleeping with him at first place if your minds or hearts are touching eachother through a connection? I think Johnny has a thing for danger that can be the reason he slept with Kenshi at first place! that raw desire of Kenshi immediately crowding and kissing him like Johnny is an anchor still holding him to human world, still make him grounded after he was so high on adrenaline after killing many people. maybe it's why he came at Johnny's door at first place?

“A pest control,” is all Kenshi supplies as he gets his mouth on the pale flesh of Johnny's neck and bites down with blunt teeth, sucking at the skin until a dark bruise begins to form.

Instead of a complaint about Kenshi's deflection, Johnny whines a dangerous and primal sound that calls on an equally primal source somewhere deep inside his gut as he feels the unmistakable twitch of flesh against the seam of his sweatpants.

Dear God I love how Johnny doesn't deny his desire hhn the fic is pure sin, reading it feels like going to church and feeling the burn of judging eyes of God himself on your back, I love it. Anything you write is pure art how you even manage to do this I'm still in awe! I loved how you showed Kenshi here! he looks so dangerous and I want this man, he loves without fear and is ready to kill anyone who hurt his lover with bare hands without hesitation! you mentioned you were aiming for angst, I'm curious to know what was your angst plot? o.o this is such a lovely ability how you can turn anything into hot and soft moment just in one second.. I crave more of your yakuza Kenshi now! like how I said once you write him flawless!

Johnny's grip on the man's jaw tightens slightly and Kenshi doesn't hiss but his top lip twitches up, baring a canine in pain.

“Not mine,” Kenshi mutters as he takes Johnny's hand off himself and leans in for another hungry kiss. Johnny knows he's partially lying because as Kenshi tracks his palms along his naked chest, they leave a warm and slippery trail of fresh blood.

LORD ABOVE WHY I READ THIS SENTENCE MANY TIMES?! GOD IT'S BOTH HOT AND SINFUL and can I say Kenshi gives me wolf vibe in here? I love that small detail of baring canine!!! and that part of Johnny gripping his jaw then Kenshi brushing it away to lean in for another kiss God! there's a red slash now on Johnny's chest and face and they are kissing! I love love love this part of angry passionate kiss they share! so lustful, so animalistic, so loungingly.. very beautiful writing!

Johnny's head is swimming and he can sense something akin to a fever race through his veins as Kenshi's fingers dip just below his waistband.

I love how this part can be read as poetry! so melodic it's like it's written for an actual famous novel. love how you paint with your words and I said it once, words are so powerful if in right hands and who else better than you, my sweet? this fandom is so blessed by your presence!! I do not need a gift when I have 'your' friendship! which is everything to me! you're like High Priest card in tarot, you're like a sun, you're amazing, breathtaking, wonderful! I wake up every day feeling so proud to be friend of such an absolute amazing human being. I love you!!

“Let me have you,” Kenshi rasps, and all of Johnny's reservations fly out the window.

Johnny lurches forward to close the distance between their lips, slurping and sucking on a wet tongue as the lust of the eyes turns violently to the desire of the body. He’s so unabashedly into Kenshi, not only his sexy body or the idea of fucking someone dangerous, when Kenshi begs him like that, Johnny just can't say no.

Every single part of this fic is so beautiful I can not skip a single part without fainting over it! I was listening to this part of;

And if I fall

Into the sea

Don't let me go

'Cause I feel weak

Which felt like a mantra, their love should be written like a searing fire and I love how lovely you paid to any small detail, any small movements even their kiss, God it was one of most beautiful fics I've ever read! That part of rimming Johnny and opening him up by fingers coated in blood, Lord that was so hot!!

There is a fluttering sensation of lips trailing up Johnny's spine and then he feels a soft huff when he hears Kenshi breathe out a pleased “ Good ,” against the back of his neck.

Kenshi flips him again and reaches down to grab his legs up, letting them wrap around his waist as he hauls Johnny off his feet.

Kenshi worshiping Johnny's body is like air and water for me, he's such a sweet lover boy! I love how you so delicately leave a part of yourself in Kenshi! taking care of Johnny, being actual sweet on him while both are just here to sate a hunger, fingering him while he could just have his way with him at first, just bend him and make him take it but even with his mind high Kenshi still has this grip on himself to be gentle with Johnny and making his partner enjoy as much as he does! loved this part so soo much!!!! And then lifting Johnny, carrying him?! God I'm dying over here, it's like all my fave parts I like to see in a fic is handed to me in a golden plate, like a delicious meal having enugh spice and taste it's impossible you find a flaw in here!

Kenshi has made quite a work out of his body, painting him in red like he's a canvas to mark and Johnny can see every touch of him lingered on his skin.

Kenshi raises one of Johnny's legs up to throw it over his shoulder as his gaze sweeps over him, drinking him up and taking him in where he lay, exposed and naked with his dick straining towards his stomach.

He licks the inside of his knee, tongue dragging along the trail of blood and Johnny chews his lip, trying not to whimper as his cock twitches against his belly.

Johnny reaches up with a hand to hook fingers around Kenshi’s belt loop, but the other man grinds his hips forward a little as if to lower Johnny's palm.

Kenshi is rock-hard and firm against him.

“Take it off, fuck , take it off,” Johnny now eagerly yanks on Kenshi's trousers, fumbling with the button. The other man helps him as he dives in for an open-mouthed kiss, one gasping for air when the other goes in.

Johnny's hand shifts around to stroke the small of Kenshi's back under his shirt, too intimate a gesture for two men rutting themselves together on an office desk, but it suits them, maybe.

Kenshi grabs his ass and Johnny has to bite his lip to keep down his moan when his dick slides into the crease between Johnny's cheeks, and catches a little at the rim of his hole.

I WANT TO SCREAM!!! THAT THROWING HIS LEG OVER HIS SHOULDER, LICKING INSIDE HIS KNEE, OH GOD IT'S SO HOT! CAN I CONFESS I LOVE 'WATCHING'?! Kenshi watching his member sliding over Johnny's soft skin, making contrast of colors because I imagine Johnny's back is now a soft peach shade of blush on a honey tan, covered with bloody hand prints while Kenshi himself is a dark asian tan, now blushing furiously red at tip and is big enough that almost covers a large part of the sight, dripping and catching over Johnny's trembling entrance.. God!

“No,” he growls low, threateningly, yanks Johnny’s both arms toward him, almost pulling Johnny's back off the table. He leans in and breathes directly into his ear. “You don't get to touch yourself. I'm gonna fuck you at my pace so you lie there and take it like a good boy, hear me?”

“Look at you,” Kenshi's voice drops to a pitch Johnny can only describe as velvety with a hint of darkness. “So desperate and greedy for my cock. You know I can make you come just like this. I'm the only one who gets to touch you so will you be good and do what i say?”

God I love love a boss, dark Kenshi!! first flaunting the strength by carrying Johnny and now ordering him around, that part of velvet darkness indeed is my fave part!! I love how you so artistically put words together. you really should consider publishing your works! I'll be first one buying them if you do!!

Johnny lets out a needy moan, there is nothing to ground him except Kenshi's iron grip on his forearms, pulling Johnny deeper and rougher to meet his thrusts. He can't do anything but take every electrifying hit to his sensitive spot, pleasure zinging through his entire body.

“Look at me,” Kenshi says softly but with enough demand to it to let Johnny know he means it.

Gosh this part!! this part is so so good!!! I love a Kenshi being in control in bed, Johnny can fall apart in his arms without being worried of what happens or what his partner thinks about him later and I think that's one of reasons why their relationship is healthy. I headcanon Kenshi is still thinking wisely when when he's having sex with Johnny, like, taking situation under control sort. The boy can think fast and act faster!

Aside from cuts on his face, Kenshi got a slash on his left bicep—fortunately not so deep and no longer bleeding. However, Johnny fusses over the knuckles on his both hands, their skin is busted open and raw, and the blood doesn't seem to stop seeping from their skin.

God I love a Johnny fussing on Kenshi's wounds!! Busted knuckles is where you get all my attention!! Because, again, details! He was holding blade but can be assumed he didn't hold back to punch or hit someone with his first when needed!! That's how I see Yakuza Kenshi, a dangerous man going straight in lion den without having fear, going on intend to tear and damage! Like a true samurai, fighting to the last breathe, standing his ground firmly and not holding back in fights! Love how you wrote both his side of soft/harsh together!! It feels so nice reading this part I read it many times before going for next part!

“You coming with me?” Kenshi asks, his smile turning into a grin and this was the man who killed ruthlessly, mercilessly, and bathed in the blood of half the city's population.

Johnny rolls his eyes at the prospect of them ever separating as if he would allow that. They're both stupid in their own ways like this.

“Unfortunately, you made me your accomplice by coming to my door. You won't be shaking me off anytime soon.”

Without a warning, Kenshi grabs his face and lands a fat kiss on his lips.

“Gah! You're such a sappy romantic,” Johnny reels back just for the dramatics but fuck him if his heart doesn't flutter.

Aahh!!!! The ending couldn't be more satisfying than this! Love it how Johnny's ready to drop anything he has, his job, his good payment, his rank in crime group only to follow Kenshi!! Not even scared of yakuza tracking them down, they'll stand together, fight together if needed as long as they have eachother.

Thank you so so much for such lovely gift!! My real gift is our chat times together, real gift is when I see your cute 'laugh' reactions, real gift is having a precious, darling friend like you, love. Thank you for everything. I love you!!

Wishing you a very happy holiday and merry Christmas!

With love.

Happy Birthday @merry-andrews ❤️🎁🎂

Pairing: Johnny Cage / Kenshi Takahashi

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Yakuza!Kenshi, Lawyer!Johnny, Bloodplay, Rimming, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Table Sex, Blood As Lube, Blood and Injury, Bottom Johnny Cage, Light Dom/sub, there might be a plot? If You Squint

Summary: Johnny is a lawyer for the biggest crime syndicate in Japan and one night he finds Kenshi leaning heavily on his arm over his doorframe, drenched head to toe in blood and gore.

#johnshi #mortal kombat #kenshi takahashi #johnny cage #johnny x kenshi #FRIEND'S FIC!!!!!!!#GOOD GOD GIRL YOU!!! YOU ARE AMAZING!!#johnshi fanfiction #cw for using mature words in my comment

52 notes · View notes

14dayswithyou · 2 years ago

Text

Hello Hello!!

I wrote a quick, very angsty AU where Angel is an undercover detective (bc I have terminal brainrot) I’m sorry in advance for any mistakes or inconsistences, I’m no writer lmao anywho!! please enjoy!

Date: xx/xx/20xx Time: 07:59 PM

It was exactly one minute before it happened. One minute before everything came crumbling down.

It was cruel. So cruel.

The sky was a clear royal blue with the suns final rays dimming out, making way for the night sky and the shining stars seen from every angle, just a few moments ago this very sky was a witness to some of Ren’s happiest moment. Coming outside from a movie theater with his beloved, his love, his Angel by his side, and taking a stroll near the lake arm in arm. Ren watched as his reason for living was laughing and chatting away about the movie they saw together, eyes shining as bright as the stars above. Ren felt so much adoration as he listened to them, they way they spoke, the way they smiled, they way their hands moved when they got excited he loved every bit of it.

While in the midst of his silent admiration he was caught off guard by his Angel softly grabbing his hand and kissing his palm thanking him for such a wonderful night out. It was such a tender display that his heart almost stopped right then and there. Gods above, he was so happy. Was he allowed to be this happy? Was he allowed to call such a wonderful individual his?

Little did he know his question was about get answered soon.

His Angel suddenly unlinked their arm from his and took a few steps away from him, they pulled out their phone’s camera and shot Ren the biggest grin ever telling him to stand still and ‘Say cheese’ as they started to count down.

3… Ren watched his Angel turn their phone sideways and get into a silly position. He chuckled when they claimed it was for ‘the best lighting’ and he should 'trust them!’ He decided to indulge them and made an equally silly pose for the photo. They both laughed at his exaggerated form. Goodness, he loved them so much.

2… …Was that rustling coming from the wind? …No, no it couldn’t be. It was too close. Ren tried to turn his head in the direction of the noise when his Angel called out to him and told him to stand still for the picture. Despite feeling a brewing anxiety, he chose to ignore it just long enough for his beloved to take the picture.

1… Dread. A sudden overwhelming dread hit Ren once he saw his Angel tap the circle on their device and rise to their feet with an unreadable expression on their face. They lowered their phone and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Gotcha.”

Suddenly Ren saw four.. no six, maybe seven figures dressed in dark clothing jump from the nearby bushes and force him onto his knees with a harsh shove. His face planted firmly onto the cold pavement and he felt his arms being lifted behind him. Ren couldn’t see anything aside from the greenery and the walkway in front of him but he could feel the cold metal on his wrists locking in place with a chain of clicks, he could make out the unmistakable red and blue lights shining in the distance and the sounds of guns being taken out and most likely, being pointed at him.

It took a moment for the shock to wear off. Once he could process what was going on, Ren tried to talk his way out of it, surely there was a misunderstanding? He would never do anything illegal, he’s being framed for something he didn’t do, can’t you see?! But when he was greeted with nothing but silence and a rather harsh order to stand down, Ren realized that his gig was up. He let out a yell and tried to struggle and break free from the people holding him down. He kicked and shoved and squirmed but to no avail. He was caught. why. why why why WHY. How could this happen? How could he have let this happen? How did they catch onto him? He was so meticulous, so careful in his methods and made sure that no one saw him, that no one got near him, in fact the only person he ever let near him was–

The sudden cold realization mixed in with heavy denial washes over him as Ren hears a set of footsteps getting closer. From his face being pressed down all he could make out was the shadow of the figure in front of him make some sort of hand gesture to which he was then violently grabbed by his cardigan and hoisted to his knees.

Ren’s stomach dropped. He wished that he could’ve lost his vision then and there instead of having to see the sight in front of him. There stood his Angel at their full height, looking down at him with eyes that could make hell freeze over. The same eyes that would once look at him with so much love and adoration were now cold, calculated, distant. and were pointed at directly at him.

They kneeled down to his eye level, resting their arms on their legs and lowered their head as they began to shake. “Finally.” They said under their breath “I finally caught you.” A silent laughter came out of their mouths getting louder and louder until they were full on laughing hysterically, holding their head in their hands.

Ren was left speechless as he looked onto see his Angel utterly amused at his situation with no remorse. He couldn’t believe his eyes, refused to believe them even.

“A-Angel.. w-what’s going on I-I don’t understand–” His angel slowly came down from their laughter as they turned to him with a face of utter disgust “oh please, spare me the feigned ignorance dearest, I know what you did– what you’ve been doing, everything. I’ve been on your trail this whole time.”

Ren’s stomach dropped. This whole time.. they knew? They’ve been on… his trail? What does that mean? How much do they know– The pink haired hackers spiraling thoughts got cut short by their Angel scoffing “You’re a sneaky one though, I’ll give you that. Got the whole police force chasing their own tails.”

They got up onto their feet and turned their back. “ It’s curious really…On one hand they’ve got a mysterious hacker on the loose and on the other, increased criminal activity and missing person cases in the Corland Bay area. No one could figure out the correlation between these two cases or if they had any at all and were about to call it quits… until, they gave the job to me that is.”

They turned back to Ren and looked him intently. "I’ll admit I was as stumped as everybody else as first, you covered up your tracks well. But. You made one fatal mistake.“ They stepped closer to Ren. “And that was falling for your enemy.”

Once again Angel dropped down to his eye level. “You thought you were the only one tracking me but little did you know that I was also tracking you. Granted, It was suspicion mostly, but the more and more I looked into you the more and more concrete they became and after a while I knew that it was you who I was after. And the best part? You willingly gave yourself to me, it was almost too good to be true. That was until..” Their eyes turned ice cold as they looked at him “You hurt someone dear to me… Someone I can never get back. You made it… personal.”

Anyone else in his shoes right now would deny any and all accusations. Trying to desperately clear their name, save themselves, but none of that mattered to Ren. The loud sirens, the guns pointed at him the voices left and right. Nothing existed aside from him and the person in front of him. The person who was so lovingly holding and kissing him a mere few moment ago, now looking at him as if he was the scum of the earth.. and he couldn’t take it. Tears starting falling down his face as he tried to find his voice. “A-angel please… please please… you know me, I would never do such vile things! I would never hurt a-anyone!”

“You’re lying.”

Those words felt like a dozen knives to his chest as Ren’s voice faltered. He knew he couldn’t hide anymore. “Angel… all I ever wanted was to be with you. To love you and protect you.. and for you to love me in return. Everything I did, it was for you! It’s because I love you so.. so much.”

“Is that what you told Leon as well?” His Angel spat with nothing short of pure venom.

Ren’s voice caught in his throat as he looked on, he was speechless. His eyes lost focus and his hands were shaking. This fear, this pure unfiltered fear caused by his Angel had him paralyzed. just… how much did they know..?

Suddenly his Angel grabbed him by the collar and made it so there was less than an inch between their faces. “You think killing him in cold blood and throwing his lifeless body in a lake was to "protect” me? Was that out of “love” as well? What about all those other innocent people you hurt?“

Ren was silent. He wouldn’t dare speak. He couldn’t. Not when he felt his very heart being torn out of his chest.

"Answer me..” his Angels hands started shaking “ANSWER ME ASSHOLE.” They yelled as they shook him by the collar. Another officer came up and put their hand on his Angels shoulder, telling them to calm down.

Ren was spiraling.. this couldn’t be happening.. this had to be a bad dream. His true self laid bare in the worst way possible, his Angel looking at him with pure hatred.. everything was falling apart.

His Angel shook his collar once one last time with poorly hidden rage as they got up to their feet and looked at their source of pain and agony… The cause of so many innocent deaths…

The one they failed to stop in time.

Ren watched as his Angel opened their mouth and said his name, his real name with a cold, unwavering voice.

“You are under arrest for breaking and entering, stalking, murdering multiple innocents and money laundering on a global scale.”

Ren watched as they signaled to the officers holding him down to take him to the nearby police car. They turned their back and started to walk away before they looked at him over their shoulder one last time.

“I pray to whatever god abandoned you that you suffer the same fate as all those you’ve hurt.”

#WAHHHHHHH THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!!!!#WHO SUBMITTED THIS WHY DOESN'T IT TELL ME #COME BACK I'M LITERALLY OBSESSED WITH THIS FIC #💖 — about ren.#💜 — 14DWY fics.#queued post #submission #gn reader #edit: now it's saying i submitted it???????? that is Not The Case #whoever sent this in please let me know so i can properly credit you!!

166 notes · View notes

yourmidnightlover · 4 years ago

Text

wake-up call

Summary: spencer wants to try out something new, and reader is more than happy to oblige.

TW: waking up to oral (fem receiving) *previously consented to*, squirting, nicknames (good boy, pup, etc.), fingering, hinting towards sub!spence. *let me know if i missed anything*

WC: 1,570 (it's a baby)

A/N: i wrote this impromptu fic because i felt like it and this is just what flowed from me, which explains the shortness of it. it’s literally just spencer eating reader out and starts right after the cut so... enjoy :)

————————————————————————

spencer knew you could sleep through almost anything. storms, a baby's crying, construction - you name it, you slept through it. so he's a bit apprehensive when one night he asks you:

"would you be open to..." he furrowed his brows as he tried to find the right words, "to waking up to - i don't know how to say this at all - like if i... performed oral on you?"

"are you asking if you can wake me up by eating me out?" you reiterated, probably trying to confirm what he had meant.

"uhm," he cleared his throat, "yes. that is what i was trying to say."

"i think that sounds like a great way to wake up, honestly," you confirmed for him.

it took you forever to wake up. it always did - not that he minded it. you would be lying there, sprawled out like an angel, wiped out from the previous night's strenuous activities. your breathing would be calm and steady, your eyebrows relaxed and content with finally feeling that peace the both of you craved.

the time you slept gave spencer the time to admire you the way he wanted to at all hours of the day. every crevice of your face, the curve of your eyelashes and cheekbones, the pillowy plushness of your lips, was silently praised by him.

often times he would also relish in your touch. you had a tendency to curl into him as you slept. one leg would be thrown over his as your head was either rested on his chest or buried in his neck to soak in the scent of him. either way, he was able to adore you.

but sometimes the sighs that escapes your lips while asleep reminded him of the sighs you would make during your time while being intimate - the way your breathing got heavier didn't help that picture, either. it would make your peaceful state look so much more stressed and needy than before - that's why spencer asked. he didn't want to be creepy. he just wanted to make sure you were satiated and taken care of but he figured asking you first is always better than taking his chances (because he's so respectful, y'know).

when he felt your hips grind down on his hip gently, those same sighs and panting leaving your lips, he decided to follow through with his request. luckily, you had only been sleeping in one of his shirts due to prior activities, so all he had to do was maneuver himself around you.

he let you rut your core against him a couple more times, noting the wetness he already felt against his bare leg, before gently rolling your legs open. he let the blanket drop off the two of you so he could put all of his focus on you. he carefully spread your legs open as he placed himself between them, your head lolling to the side, still asleep.

spencer finally allowed himself to look at your pussy, already glistening and wet, ready for him as your hips jolted forward a bit to seek some sort of relief for the tension.

he took his arms and wrapped them around your hips securely to keep you in place. one of his hands rested atop your lower stomach as he used the other to spread the lips of your pussy open for him to see clearly. he gently blew on your hole, noting the sigh that left your lips before a little smirk grew on his face.

finally, he allowed his tongue to draw a thick, long stripe up your slit, collecting all of your juices like his favorite drink. your once quiet sighs turned into a soft moan from such little contact it made spencer chuckle from between your legs. he moved your knees to dangle over his shoulders so he could get even closer to your body.

going in once more, this time he gently traced your hole with his tongue, loving the way you clenched around nothing. he found his own hips rutting up into the bed to relieve himself as he placed a tender kiss to your clit, a whimper now leaving your lips as your head turned to the opposite side.

attaching his lips to your clit, softly sucking on the bundle of nerves, he heard a full-fledged moan exit your lips before feeling your hands wound in his hair - an unmistakable feeling.

"fuck, spence," you moaned, your eyes still shut. "thank you, baby."

your hips gently ground against his face as he continued suckling. spencer found himself looking up to see your face as he provided you pleasure, which seemed to only be amplified with the sleepiness you felt from just waking up. he allowed one of his hands to leave its hold on your hips. he lined one of his nimble fingers with your entranced slowly pushing it inside of you.

"such a good boy, spence," you praised. "making me feel so good before i even wake up, yea? such an eager little pup."

spencer's hips rutted up against the bed more eagerly now as he continued his ministrations on your pussy.

"just like that, baby," you remarked as he curled his finger up to reach that spongey spot inside of you. "yes, spencer."

as he entered another finger, he looked up to see your mouth hanging open in ecstasy as your hands tugged gently on his hair. you pulled his head further into you before looking down for the first time and being met with his beautiful hazel eyes.

"such a good sight to see first thing, my love," you praised as he sped up his fingers inside of you, you moved one hand to palm at your breast.

he flicked his tongue over your clit after sucking it between his teeth. spencer's free hand found itself moving up on your body and cupping yours on your breast, telling you he wanted to do it himself. he gently trolled your nipple between his fingers, sending a spark more of pleasure right to your core.

"you're so good to me, spence. such a good fucking boy," your back was now arching off the bed, sending your pussy even closer to his face.

when his hand moved off your tit, he moved it to where your free hand had managed to slip on the bed. he tangled his fingers between your own, holding your hand as he continued to eat you out and finger you like there was no tomorrow.

"spence-baby," you breathlessly tried to warn him. "i'm so - i'm gonna," your stomach was tightening as he used his skilled fingers to unravel the knot inside of you.

his tongue flicked more quick, his fingers curled faster, trying to drive you to that edge you so desperately needed to fall over. each groan he let out over your pussy, he knew would drive you closer and closer to your desired destination.

"fuck!" you yelled, your back now off the bed as your hand squeezed spencer's harsher to ground yourself. "ohh, my god!"

spencer moved his fingers even quicker to draw all of your orgasm out, not doing it for long before he found your liquids spilling all over his hand and the sheets you were on.

"ah, don't stop," you begged.

spencer looked up to see your face with a sheen of sweat, glistening against the soft glow of the sun. your eyes were fluttered shut as your hips were mercilessly moving and grinding against his face.

"don't fucking stop, baby," you now ordered, your squirt continuing to flow out of you before you stopped grinding against his face.

when spencer finally came up from between your legs, his chin, shoulders, and hand was covered in your own release. he sucked his fingers between his lips, wanting to taste you even more than he already had. the sight alone was enough of an excuse for you to draw him closer to you by his shoulders, connecting your lips in a sloppy kiss.

"now that's a nice wake-up call, spence," you huffed out, still out of breath from just minutes earlier.

"you just looked so pretty," he followed your lips, kissing them once more as if he couldn't get enough of you - because he couldn't. "and you started grinding against my leg so i figured it was as good a time as any to try it out," he shrugged as he moved his body more beside your own.

"there's another thing i wanna try out," you grinned maniacally before continuing, "in the shower," you whispered in his ear.

"i-uh," he stuttered out, clearly going to do whatever you wanted. "su-sure."

your hand moved further down his torso, finally being met with his, as you suspected, painfully hard dick.

"seems like i'm not the only one who needs a nice wake-up call, huh, pup?" you smiled at the way his hips automatically thrusted into your hand, a whimper falling from his lips. "i'll take that as a yes."

it would turn out to be a long, long morning - but in the best possible way.

taglist:

@averyhotchner

@greenprisca

@muffin-cup

@spenxerslut

@spencerreid9

@emilyprentisslittlewhore

if you’d like to be added to the taglist, please don’t hesitate to message me or leave a comment!

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #sub!spence #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #smut #spencer reid fluff

1K notes · View notes

21burritoseavey · 3 years ago

Note

Hey love!

Hope you’re doing good.

I have cute idea where y/n is having a bad day then she goes to Daniel house and she ask Christian where is Daniel he tells her he is in the studio and Daniel was live on ig but y/n thought he playing piano and recording himself so she sat on his lap , he panicked because they were still a secret and he wanted his relationship private.

I hope that’s not to crazy

Hey! I’m doing great and I hope you are too. thanks for requesting!

Secret Relationship (d.s)

a/n: k just pretend that the background of that photo is the studio lol. I will most likely do a little pt.2 for another request I got:) if you want other scenarios or anything let me know cos this was fun lol. enjoy!

It was fair to say Y/n was having a bad day. The morning rose and fell as quickly as the leaves fell from the autumn trees outside, but once it was time for the sun to descend, the hours couldn’t have inched past any slower, crawling in one by one as she worked quietly behind the wooden desk after school.

It was 4:56pm when she glimpsed over at her lock screen to realise, she had an hour left before the library would close for the day. The school building was quiet at that hour. Most people were revelling in the joys and relief the weekend had graciously brought and only the janitor was seen wiping down the windows in the distance.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she wrote down the last of her notes. Her fingers ached after scrolling through the pages...and documents...and slides on her laptop and her brain went practically numb from all the letters and numbers she’d stared at. The unsteady pile of books beside her was not helping either. All those thoughts of work had her craving her boyfriend’s presence. She just wanted one of Daniel’s hugs at that point. The warmth of his strong arms wrapped around her and the comforting beating of his tender heart right against her ear. Every aspect of Daniel’s affection was practically engrained in her mind. The thought of being with him squirmed in the back of her mind, tugging at her heartstrings until she finally sighed and closed her books. She tucked her belongings into her backpack and made her way out of the library - after giving the quiet librarian a wave - and across the campus.

Y/n found herself standing behind the Seavey’s front door. She knocked a couple times and heard the door handle rattle after a moment. Christian slowly came into view as the door creaked open.

Y/n cracked a gentle smile. “Hey, Y/n,” Christian moved to the side to let her walk through. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay, thanks for asking.” She replied. “And you?”

Christian noticed how Y/n’s shoulders slumped as she walked and the subtle frown playing at her lips, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “I’m great, just finished a self-tape.” He sat on the couch nearby.

“That’s great.” Y/n yawned. She’d come over to the Seavey’s house many times before so making herself comfortable was never an issue. Her blanket was tossed in the corner of the sofa, and she reached an arm to pull it towards her. Christian chuckled lightly as she plunked herself down and closed her eyes. The quiet of the home allowed her to enjoy some well-deserved rest. Only some, because in minutes Kobe was scampering down the hall and jumping into Y/n’s arms.

“Oh my God!” Y/n lifted herself up again and pet the excited dog as he licked her. She turned towards Christian again with Kobe shuffling further into her chest. “Is Daniel home?”

Christian looked up from his phone. “Yeah, in the studio.”

Y/n sent him a quiet ‘thank you’ before she was jumping out of her seat and rushing outside, across the patio. Kobe was quick at her heels.

Y/n had slowed down once she reached the door. She pressed her ear against the cold surface and listened in. The faint sounds of Daniel’s piano playing had sailed along the studio and seeped through the small gaps of the door, dancing with the steady breeze.

The soft, bell-like melodies emitting from the piano had smeared an unmistakable grin on Y/n’s face and she let her hands twist the doorknob quietly to not send Daniel out of his playing. She could sense his happiness from a mile away and today was no different. He was doing the very thing he loved after all.

The heart fluttering sight of him in an oversized, grey hoodie had her shoulders untensing and her face softening. “Hi,” She greeted. She trudged over and rested her palms on his shoulders from behind. His phone leaned against the music rack, with comments and questions gradually moving upwards beside little floating hearts. The live Instagram broadcast on his phone remained totally invisible to the young, tired girl. Daniel was hardly able to utter a warning before she draped her legs across his thighs to sit on his lap.

He couldn’t contain his nervous giggles as she hung her arms over his shoulders, “Hey, b-...Y/n.”

“Hi,” Y/n replied. She nestled her head into his chest and even clutched Daniel’s arms to rest around her waist. The Instagram live played on as the young couple rested together on the bench. Daniel kept his arms wrapped tightly around his girlfriend despite his heart’s intense beating.

He looked towards his phone screen again. “She’s just giving me a hug.” He reassured the viewers the best he could. He knew no one was buying it though. The comments were brimming with heart-eye emojis or excited comments in all caps.

Daniel peered down at his girlfriend, tucked comfortably and unbothered in his arms. “Just a really long hug.” He nodded towards the screen again.

Y/n went out like a light. She was perfectly content cradled in her boyfriend’s loving embrace, already drifting into a peaceful drea-

“Y/n.” A sweat broke over Daniel’s forehead. He snatched sneaky glances towards his phone before trying again, “Y/n!” He whispered sharply through the warm toned room.

“What?” Y/n mumbled quietly. She rubbed her eyes to spread her consciousness further.

“People are watching.” Daniel jerked his head towards the phone screen in front of them.

Y/n snapped her head to look at his phone propped up against the music stand. “Oh! Ri-right.” She shifted off Daniel’s lap quickly. He tried to wear a smile for the audience in his phone that were very much engrossed in the situation. Y/n dropped her gaze to the floor and picked at her nails. “I’m just...” She flung her arm to gesture towards the door, “gonna go.” Y/n’s nervous words were barely heard through the room and Daniel’s expression faltered as he watched her stride off for the living room without a second glance.

He felt terrible. He fought the urge to run after her and make sure she was okay, merely spinning back around to face the screen. “Okay,” he said breathily, pressing the keys harshly to produce a muddled mess of notes. He didn’t feel like playing anymore.

---

Daniel dragged his feet out of the studio towards the living room. He noticed Y/n sitting on the couch during the rest of his livestream and desperately wanted to make sure she was okay. Outside, the sunset bloomed beautifully, setting the sky ablaze with soft colours as Kobe played quietly on the patio. He ran towards the main house as Daniel slid open the door.

Y/n gave him a quick upward glimpse before lowering her eyes again. But then she looked up again, noticing his usual soothing smile replaced with a long frown. “You okay?” She asked softly.

Daniel fell back onto the sofa with a deep huff before glancing at her. “No. I’m sorry you had to leave like that.”

Y/n chuckled, “It’s okay.” She shuffled closer to him. Her body was angled slightly towards his and she dragged an arm to rest across his shoulders. Daniel moved to rest in between her crossed legs, and he rested his head on her chest. “We both want our relationship to be private, so...it’s okay.” Y/n consoled with a giggle. “I think your fans are suspicious now though.” She let a smirk tug at the corner of her lips. Daniel raised his eyes to meet her sparkly eyes.

“Oh, they’re definitely suspicious now.” Daniel took her hand away from his shoulder and entwined their fingers in a loose grip to kiss her knuckles. He cupped her face with his other hand and kissed her lips strongly. Y/n sighed pleasantly into it, finally feeling that relief she’d been waiting for all day. That reassuring affection that pulled her into a wave of warmth and comfort. They silently enjoyed the love that danced through their bodies and in between them for a few long moments.

Daniel pulled back and intertwined their fingers again. “It won’t be like this forever, Y/n.”

taglist: @chilling-seavey @randomlimelightxxx @marthagryffindor @hackerXavery

join my taglist!

#daniel seavey #daniel seavey imagines #daniel seavey fanfic #daniel seavey one shots #why don't we #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey x reader #zach herron #jack avery #jonah marais #corbyn besson #why don't we oneshots #christian seavey #not me changing the photo lol

170 notes · View notes

marvelousstevetony · 5 years ago

Text

Cuddles

I was in the mood for some soft stevetony, so I wrote this short little thing.

Post-mission Steve who just wanted to come home to cuddles after a long day. Cue Tony being the sweetest boyfriend ever. (1.8k, fluff, established relationship)

Steve let out a deep sigh of relief as the lift door closed behind him and he entered the penthouse. Dropping his too-heavy bag immediately, he wiped at his face with his hands, tiredly rubbing his eyes. The mission had been long, the debrief impossibly longer, and all Steve wanted to do was to curl into his bed with-

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Steve couldn’t help the way the corners of his mouth twisted into a weak smile behind hands, then letting his arms fall down to his sides as all energy was drained from his muscles. His eyes were barely open, and he heard Tony walking towards him more than he saw it.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice was low and husky, sounding as if it took all the strength he had left to mumble a one-syllable word.

“Hey there, soldier,” Tony said warmly, raising a hand to cup Steve’s cheek, instantly feeling the way the blonde leaned into the caressing touch. “You’re home. Finally.”

“Finally,” Steve agreed and gave what was supposed to be a confirming nod. He reached around Tony’s waist, drawing him into a close embrace and buried his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. Tony didn’t oppose, allowing Steve’s weight to drop into his arms. He squeezed the super-soldier a little tighter, afraid his knees might buckle under if he let go of him.

They stood there for a long moment before Tony drew back a little. Steve pouted as they parted, looking for all the world like a child who was denied an ice cream, and Tony smiled softly at him, stroking his fringe away from his face.

Steve ducked his head sheepishly, but Tony’s hand was persistent on his jaw, nudging his chin back up. “Let me see those baby blues. There we go.”

Though Steve’s eyes were weary and only half-open, Tony could still see the twinkle in them. God, he could look at those azure-colored jewels forever and never get tired of them.

“Have you been to medical? Are you hurt badly?” He then asked, concernedly, but Steve just shook his head.

“No, I’m… I’m okay, nothing too bad. Just a few scratches. Bruises,” Steve slurred vaguely and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could with that blurred and fatigued expression on his face.

“I think you’re in for a long, hot bath. Have you eaten anything?” Tony already knew the answer.

“‘M not hungry,” Steve mumbled. “Just need sleep… ‘n cuddles.”

Tony chuckled. “I’ll give you all the cuddles you want, after you’re cleaned up and have had something to eat.”

Steve whimpered, clearly not happy with Tony’s stubborn announcement. It was usually Steve who had to make sure Tony showered and ate, not the other way around.

Not really knowing what to do, Steve just pulled Tony back into a hug, but this time, the genius retracted.

“Nuh uh, Steven. You’re stalling now,” Tony concluded. “How about you go get out of that grimy uniform, and I will run you the most luxurious bath you’ll ever see. I’ll even add the fancy bath salts, the whole shebang if you’re a good soldier and do as you’re told.”

“I thought I was the Captain,” Steve teased, still in that low voice that did things to Tony.

“Not tonight. Tonight, you’re Steve; boyfriend of Tony Stark and subject of excessive care-taking.”

Steve leaned in with a content smile on his face and brushed a gentle kiss onto Tony’s parted lips. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?” Tony whispered against Steve’s mouth, and the blonde confirmed his statement with a hum. “Well then you better get going. I’ll give you a whole five minutes, you're an older man, after all.”

“Mhmm… doesn’t older men need help to get out of this sort of gear?” Steve asked with a tired yet cheeky smirk.

Tony raised an eyebrow but he couldn’t stop himself from returning Steve’s smirk with one of his own. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think you’re really up for that, if you’re being honest. Besides, you were the one who said you needed sleep,” he points out.

“And cuddles,” Steve adds.

“And cuddles, of course. Both of which you won’t get until you’re clean and fed. Capiche?”

“Understood, mr. Stark.”

A moan glided over Steve’s lips as he slipped into the bathtub, feeling the warm water overflow his battered body. He wasn’t hurt too badly; probably a few cracked ribs, maybe a minor concussion, and definitely a large amount of painful bruises that were visibly covering his torso, but nothing the serum couldn’t take care of.

He closed his eyes and leaned back, tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he relaxed. Steve may have been reluctant at first, but right now, he was thankful for how well Tony knew what he needed — even when Steve himself didn’t.

The smell of lavender filled Steve’s nostrils when he drew in a long breath through his nose. Tony was the king of everything bath or pamper related. He’d even lit candles and dimmed the lights to avoid Steve’s pounding headache getting worse.

It was so relaxing, Steve was on the verge of falling asleep when Tony walked into the en suite carrying a pile of Steve’s sleepwear.

“You look comfortable,” Tony spoke softly as he sat down on the floor next to the bathtub, grabbing the one of Steve’s hands that was hanging over the edge and gave it a squeeze.

“I am. Thank you, Tony,” Steve said and pulled the brunette’s hand to him mouth, placing a tender peck inside his palm, then another on the back of his hand.

Tony could feel the warmth rising to his face. Tony Stark didn’t blush, that was a known fact. Tony Stark was cool and collected, unimpressed and impossible to embarrass. One could simply not make Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, philanthropist, go shy. Except if your name was Steve Rogers.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart. You deserve it,” Tony said sincerely. “And who knows, maybe when you’re back to full health you’ll pay me back in some way.”

Steve cracked an eye open, watching as Tony winked cheekily. They both chuckled at the flirtatious act, honest and genuine. Whenever Tony laughed like that, his eyes would crinkle and a small dimple would appear on his cheek, and all Steve could think about was how badly he wanted to trace every line of Tony’s face with his fingers, softly and gently.

“Maybe it’s time you get out of there. Y’know, before my boyfriend turns into a prune. You know how hard it’d be to cuddle a prune?” Tony joked and helped Steve out of the bathtub, then handed him the towel.

Tony went to the kitchen to grab some food as Steve got changed, and while Steve still wasn’t very hungry, he knew had had to eat something or he’d be completely wiped out when he’d wake up. This was one of the downsides to the serum; if he skipped too many meals, which was sometimes inevitable with his schedule, he’d feel so weak and dizzy because of his super-soldier metabolism. So he had to eat.

(Tony would probably also declare him guilty of a severe case of double standards as Steve had preached about the importance of getting enough food on a number of occasions.)

Steve dressed himself in a pair of checked pajama-pants and a soft, white t-shirt and turned off the bathroom lights as he entered the bedroom and sat down on the large bed.

His cheeks were flushed pink from the heat of the water and his hair was a damp, disheveled mess. Eyes droopy and body heavy, he threw himself backwards into the pillows, stretched his large frame out on the bed and groaned in relief.

“And now I have starfish spread out on my bed. Well, I guess you are the Star Spangled Man, so” Tony grinned at Steve’s star-shaped position. He was carrying a tray with a steaming pot of something that smelled absolutely amazing. He sat the tray down in front of Steve, carefully, so that he wouldn’t spill it.

“It’s nothing fancy, just some soup and tea. I didn’t know if you’d wanhmpt-“ Tony started but never finished his sentence as his lips were suddenly pressed to Steve’s. The kiss was sweet and gentle and unmistakably filled with love.

“It’s perfect, Tony,” Steve said when he drew back, and Tony smiled, once again, bashfully.

They got settled in bed, and Steve tugged into the soup and sipped at the tea, feeling more and more sleepy as his stomach filled with warm substance. He had nearly dozed off while holding the tea in his hands, but Tony quickly caught it before he could spill it. (Tony’s reflexes might not be quite as good as Steve’s, or even Clint or Natasha’s, but he was still rather fast, thank you very much.)

When Steve had finished eating and was no longer risking dropping boiling water onto himself, Tony had moved to take the bowl and cup back to the kitchen, but right when he tried to stand up, Steve grabbed Tony by the wrist. The blonde was lying with his face buried in the pillows, eyes closed and most of his body lay limply under the covers.

“Don’ go.” Steve’s voice was muffled by the pillows. “Promised me cuddles.”

“I’ll be back in two minutes, sweetheart, then you can have as many cuddles as you’d like” Tony tried, but Steve just pulled him down beside him, shuffling closer to Tony until his head lay on Tony’s chest, face now buried in Tony’s t-shirt.

“I don’ wan’ my fella to leave,” Steve murmured in that thick Brooklyn-drawl that seemed to come through whenever he got really tired, and Tony’s chest filled with affection.

“Okay. Okay, I won’t leave then,” Tony said and kissed the top Steve head, nuzzling his face into the soft, freshly-washed, blonde hair. Pleased and tired, Steve sighed and when Tony began stroking his fingers up and down Steve’s bruised back, he could hear the way his breathing slowly evened out.

“I love you, Steve,” Tony said out into the open air, casting one last glance over his lover’s face. He is so beautiful, Tony thought to himself. The thought of falling asleep and waking up to this every night and every day for the rest of his life made something swell inside him, and when Steve returned his sentiment with a quiet “I love you” and pressed his already sleep-warm body closer to Tony’s, Tony felt as though his heart might just burst with happiness.

God. Tony loved Steve so much, and for once in his life, he didn’t doubt that his love was reciprocated.

#stony #stevetony #my fic #steve rogers #tony stark #fluff #i love these two a lot #like a lot a lot #steve just wants cuddles #i want to hug them both

164 notes · View notes

araitsume · 3 years ago

Text

The Acts of the Apostles, pp. 383-388: Chapter (36) Apostasy in Galatia

This chapter is based on the Epistle to the Galatians.

While tarrying at Corinth, Paul had cause for serious apprehension concerning some of the churches already established. Through the influence of false teachers who had arisen among the believers in Jerusalem, division, heresy, and sensualism were rapidly gaining ground among the believers in Galatia. These false teachers were mingling Jewish traditions with the truths of the gospel. Ignoring the decision of the general council at Jerusalem, they urged upon the Gentile converts the observance of the ceremonial law.

The situation was critical. The evils that had been introduced threatened speedily to destroy the Galatian churches.

Paul was cut to the heart, and his soul was stirred by this open apostasy on the part of those to whom he had faithfully taught the principles of the gospel. He immediately wrote to the deluded believers, exposing the false theories that they had accepted and with great severity rebuking those who were departing from the faith. After saluting the Galatians in the words, “Grace be to you and peace from God the Father, and from our Lord Jesus Christ,” he addressed to them these words of sharp reproof:

“I marvel that ye are so soon removed from Him that called you into the grace of Christ unto another gospel: which is not another; but there be some that trouble you, and would pervert the gospel of Christ. But though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed.” Paul's teachings had been in harmony with the Scriptures, and the Holy Spirit had witnessed to his labors; therefore he warned his brethren not to listen to anything that contradicted the truths he had taught them.

The apostle bade the Galatian believers consider carefully their first experience in the Christian life. “O foolish Galatians,” he exclaimed, “who hath bewitched you, that ye should not obey the truth, before whose eyes Jesus Christ hath been evidently set forth, crucified among you? This only would I learn of you, Received ye the Spirit by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith? Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh? Have ye suffered so many things in vain? if it be yet in vain. He therefore that ministereth to you the Spirit, and worketh miracles among you, doeth he it by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith?”

Thus Paul arraigned the believers in Galatia before the tribunal of their own conscience and sought to arrest them in their course. Relying on the power of God to save, and refusing to recognize the doctrines of the apostate teachers, the apostle endeavored to lead the converts to see that they had been grossly deceived, but that by returning to their former faith in the gospel they might yet defeat the purpose of Satan. He took his position firmly on the side of truth and righteousness; and his supreme faith and confidence in the message he bore, helped many whose faith had failed, to return to their allegiance to the Saviour.

How different from Paul's manner of writing to the Corinthian church was the course he pursued toward the Galatians! The former he rebuked with caution and tenderness, the latter with words of unsparing reproof. The Corinthians had been overcome by temptation. Deceived by the ingenious sophistry of teachers who presented errors under the guise of truth, they had become confused and bewildered. To teach them to distinguish the false from the true, called for caution and patience. Harshness or injudicious haste on Paul's part would have destroyed his influence over many of those whom he longed to help.

In the Galatian churches, open, unmasked error was supplanting the gospel message. Christ, the true foundation of the faith, was virtually renounced for the obsolete ceremonies of Judaism. The apostle saw that if the believers in Galatia were saved from the dangerous influences which threatened them, the most decisive measures must be taken, the sharpest warnings given.

An important lesson for every minister of Christ to learn is that of adapting his labors to the condition of those whom he seeks to benefit. Tenderness, patience, decision, and firmness are alike needful; but these are to be exercised with proper discrimination. To deal wisely with different classes of minds, under varied circumstances and conditions, is a work requiring wisdom and judgment enlightened and sanctified by the Spirit of God.

In his letter to the Galatian believers Paul briefly reviewed the leading incidents connected with his own conversion and early Christian experience. By this means he sought to show that it was through a special manifestation of divine power that he had been led to see and grasp the great truths of the gospel. It was through instruction received from God Himself that Paul was led to warn and admonish the Galatians in so solemn and positive a manner. He wrote, not in hesitancy and doubt, but with the assurance of settled conviction and absolute knowledge. He clearly outlined the difference between being taught by man and receiving instruction direct from Christ.

The apostle urged the Galatians to leave the false guides by whom they had been misled, and to return to the faith that had been accompanied by unmistakable evidences of divine approval. The men who had attempted to lead them from their belief in the gospel were hypocrites, unholy in heart and corrupt in life. Their religion was made up of a round of ceremonies, through the performance of which they expected to gain the favor of God. They had no desire for a gospel that called for obedience to the word, “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” John 3:3. They felt that a religion based on such a doctrine, required too great a sacrifice, and they clung to their errors, deceiving themselves and others.

To substitute external forms of religion for holiness of heart and life is still as pleasing to the unrenewed nature as it was in the days of these Jewish teachers. Today, as then, there are false spiritual guides, to whose doctrines many listen eagerly. It is Satan's studied effort to divert minds from the hope of salvation through faith in Christ and obedience to the law of God. In every age the archenemy adapts his temptations to the prejudices or inclinations of those whom he is seeking to deceive. In apostolic times he led the Jews to exalt the ceremonial law and reject Christ; at the present time he induces many professing Christians, under pretense of honoring Christ, to cast contempt on the moral law and to teach that its precepts may be transgressed with impunity. It is the duty of every servant of God to withstand firmly and decidedly these perverters of the faith and by the word of truth fearlessly to expose their errors.

In his effort to regain the confidence of his brethren in Galatia, Paul ably vindicated his position as an apostle of Christ. He declared himself to be an apostle, “not of men, neither by man, but by Jesus Christ, and God the Father, who raised Him from the dead.” Not from men, but from the highest Authority in heaven, had he received his commission. And his position had been acknowledged by a general council at Jerusalem, with the decisions of which Paul had complied in all his labors among the Gentiles.

It was not to exalt self, but to magnify the grace of God, that Paul thus presented to those who were denying his apostleship, proof that he was “not a whit behind the very chiefest apostles.” 2 Corinthians 11:5. Those who sought to belittle his calling and his work were fighting against Christ, whose grace and power were manifested through Paul. The apostle was forced, by the opposition of his enemies, to take a decided stand in maintaining his position and authority.

Paul pleaded with those who had once known in their lives the power of God, to return to their first love of gospel truth. With unanswerable arguments he set before them their privilege of becoming free men and women in Christ, through whose atoning grace all who make full surrender are clothed with the robe of His righteousness. He took the position that every soul who would be saved must have a genuine, personal experience in the things of God.

The apostle's earnest words of entreaty were not fruitless. The Holy Spirit wrought with mighty power, and many whose feet had wandered into strange paths, returned to their former faith in the gospel. Henceforth they were steadfast in the liberty wherewith Christ had made them free. In their lives were revealed the fruits of the Spirit—“love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.” The name of God was glorified, and many were added to the number of believers throughout that region.

4 notes · View notes

marinaaniseed · 5 years ago

Text

Dark ‘n’ Stormy Pt. 8

A/N: I wrote this in one go this evening, so it’s probably crap. I’m also ignoring the existence of Thor: Love and Thunder because to me, personally, I just don’t think Thor would’ve given up leading the Asgardians like that. And I’m not sure the Asgardians would’ve been too happy about Valkyrie just popping up from nowhere and then being handed the throne.

Content: You have a hangover. Thor helps you feel better (yes, that means there’s smut). Then there is much discussion about the state of New Asgard. All is not well. 3.2k-ish

If you like this, please let me know. If you don’t like it, let me know constructively, please :)

You woke up aching and blinded by the light. The headache made sense, the rest didn’t until you realised you’d fallen asleep in your underwear. The underwire was digging in and you wrestled out of it with immense relief. A large hand moved up to massage your tender chest. There was also an erection poking into you.

“Too bright...light on. Why?”

“You fell asleep on me last night, I didn’t want to wake you up. Shall I turn it off?”

“Mmm.” You tried to nod, but it was a bit much for your fragile head.

Thor got up and turned the light off. Sunlight was trying to make its way into the room but it was a lot better than the harsh light of the bare bulb. That was another thing you’d want to change, a shade you make it look more...homely.

“You’re not doing too well this morning, are you?” Thor rumbled into your ear. That’s an understatement, you thought. “Perhaps I can make you feel better?”

“Painkillers?”

“No...no I don’t know what those are. I meant something more like this…” he said, moving his hand between your legs. You definitely didn’t feel sexy right now. More like someone was crucifying you. Through the head.

“Paracetamol. Orange and white box. Bring water. Please.”

Thor did as you asked, helping you to sit up to swallow the tablets.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help? It’ll help with your headache…”

“Ehhhhhhhhh. Dunno. You’re the sex god, I guess…”

“Excellent. Let me know if you want me to stop.”

You laid back onto the pillows, one arm flung across your face to hide the light. It wasn’t the sexiest thing you’d ever done, and you knew you should’ve been more involved, but frankly, you just didn’t have the energy. Trying to drink like an Asgardian was a poor life choice. Whatever Thor wanted to do to help you, it probably couldn’t make things worse. Unless you vomited. That would be worse. Just as well you blew him last night. Your gag reflex would be non-existent this morning...your internal monologue lost its train as you heard a cockerel crowing somewhere in the distance. The cocks in New Asgard must all be earlier rises. You let out a brief chuckle at that.

“Is everything alright?” Thor asked, looking up from between your legs. You raised your arm slightly and squinted at him.

“Yeah, yeah...just remembering something funny.”

That was new. People didn’t usually remember jokes when he was about to pleasure them. Perhaps you were still drunk? He remembered from drinking with Selvig that Midgardians had a much lower tolerance than Asgardians. He pulled down your underwear cautiously, pressing kisses to your inner thighs. It wasn’t the softness of his lips against your skin that made you tremble, it was how the loose tendrils of his hair tickled you. Your mouth was dry and the blood was pounding in your head - you weren’t sure if it was the hangover, the God slowly licking between your legs or a combination of the two.

He was gentle and loving, which was good considering your fragile state, but he was also frustratingly slow, just taking his time. He was enjoying you, the taste, the smell, the raspy noises you made. Slow, steady, consistent. Once he felt you really relaxing into it, he upped the pressure and the pace. Gradually working up, the change imperceptible until your thighs were squeezing tight against the sides of his head. The arm not covering your eyes was rigid next to you, gripping the sheet so hard that one corner had come free.

Thor couldn’t talk, his mouth was otherwise occupied, but he was silently willing you to let go. When you did, he didn’t pause, he just kept licking. All of his focus was on your clit. You’d made him feel so good the night before, he was to do the same to you. He really hoped that he could get you to a point where you’d want him inside you. Laid down like this, his cock was trapped against the bed. He could’ve tried to fuck himself into the bed but you were the priority, so he stayed as he was.

You weren’t sure if it was the paracetamol kicking in, or the endorphins, but you were feeling much better after the third orgasm. Your headache was down to a mild background irritation and you felt brave enough to open your eyes and look down at Thor from where you still, just about, propped up on the pillows, despite your writhing.

“Th-thor?” you asked, peering down at the blonde head still sandwiched between your legs. You could feel how damp the sheet was beneath you, the room smelling of sweat and sex. He didn’t stop what he was doing but made eye contact with you, letting you know that he was listening, even if he was still focused on your pleasure.

“Sex? Now? Please? Gentle?”

You huffed out each word as Thor continued to overstimulate you. Part of him wanted to keep going, to see if he could get you to the point of making random noises instead of words, but he knew you were still pretty fragile. Besides, how could he turn you down when you’d asked so nicely?

He got onto his knees and slid his hands under your bum, lifting you up before thrusting into you. He kept his word and fucked you gently, even without the hangover you were very much still feeling sore from the spanking session the day before.

It was interesting, a slight change to missionary, but the intimacy remained. You could see the lust in Thor’s eyes as he maintained heavy-lidded eye contact with you, not pounding into but still hitting all the right spots.

“Would you like it if I used my thumb?” he whispered down to you. He didn’t want to speak too loudly in case your headache was still bad.

It was kind of him to ask. It was odd, having someone be so considerate of your wellbeing and enjoyment. Most men tended to just take what they wanted, with no regard for how you felt.

“Erm...it might be too much, but you can try.”

Thor nodded and adjusted his hold on you, his dominant arm sliding further underneath you to continue propping you up, while he brought his hand beneath his rounded tummy to gently part your lips and press his thumb to your clit, rubbing in small circles.

“Good?” he asked, noticing your sudden intake of breath.

“Very,” you managed to squeak. You knew from the way you were gripping his cock that it wouldn’t be long. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

“Yes, yes. I am your god,” he soothed as you came, feet digging into his back, he continued to stroke you in small circles. Your face now had a healthy strawberry tinge to it, much better than the pallor you’d woken up with, he thought. “I’m going to need to be more vigorous if I am to finish, is that ok? I can use my hand if you prefer.”

You’d shut your eyes during your orgasm, but Thor’s question made you blink them open again, eyeing him curiously. It was such a contrast to the way you’d violently made love over the arm of the settee.

“I’m sorry, Thor,” you mumbled, concerned that your delicate stomach might not enjoy a faster pace. “Perhaps we can compromise and use my hand?”

“A fair deal indeed,” he smiled down at you, removing himself from you, and lowering you gently back onto the bed.

He laid down and waited for you to summon the energy to move. You shuffled down on your side, resting your head against his soft stomach, one his hands moving to run through your hair. Reaching out, you stroked him upwards, alternating hands, for seven strokes, before moving downwards with both hands for one stroke. His hips thrust up towards the air, and that was all the encouragement you needed. You moved harder and faster, glad that your body had already lubricated him for you.

“Oh Norns, more please!” he almost howled, no longer able to keep his voice down. You didn’t mind though. You were enjoying feeling him respond to your touch, hearing his breath get shorter, the curses that came just under it.

With one particularly sharp thrust upwards, he came, splattering onto his tummy. You didn’t let go until he was done. You stayed cuddled into his side, enjoying the heat of him.

***

You weren’t sure how long you dozed, but a sharp knock on the bedroom door woke you up.

“Are you two at it again?” asked the unmistakable voice of Brunnhilde.

“No...did you want to watch again?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“Y/N!” Thor gasped.

“What? Hey, better idea - you could join us!” You didn’t need to see Thor to know that his face would’ve gone white as a sheet before burning a deep wine red. Asgardians were pretty open about sex, he just didn’t need that particular thought rattling around his head.

“Tempting...but no. You need to get dressed. Both of you.”

That didn’t sound good. You reclipped the black lace bra and began rummaging in your backpack for clothes. It didn’t need to be a coherent combination, just enough to be decent. A baby blue blouse, a pair of briefs, an ankle-length skirt. You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, the remains of last night’s makeup on your face.

“Fuck, I look like a raccoon,” you chuckled at the dark smudges around your eyes. Thor was confused, you looked nothing like Raccoon, the rabbit he’d traveled with. He certainly wouldn’t have let the rabbit give him a handjob.

You padded barefoot from the bedroom, Thor just behind you. Brunnhilde was sat on the settee, with Korg and Miek.

“Hey man,” Korg said when Thor lumbered into view.

��Hey,” he said, returning the greeting. “Brunnhilde, have you come to join us for some Fortnite?”

“No, Thor,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ve not looked outside, have you?”

You both shook your heads. Why would you have done that?

“Either you’ve incited a really peaceful revolution-”

“Oh, a revolution! I’m interested!” Korg enthused.

“-or,” she continued, with a side glare at Korg, “there are some people who want to apologise to you.”

You went over to the window and peeked behind the curtain. At least a couple dozen people were politely stood in front of the house.

“Uh, Thor. You should probably see this.” He came to stand behind you, resting his chin on your head.

“Brunnhilde, what is going on here?” he rumbled back at the Valkyrie.

“Korg and Miek came round to play that game with you. When they got here, the crowd was already here. They came to find me...it would seem that your little rant last night had an impact, Y/N.”

“Well, they don’t have torches or pitchforks, so that’s a good sign,” you laughed uneasily. “I suppose we should see what they want.”

Thor was less sure, but let you lead him by the hand to the door. You took a deep breath before opening it.

“Um, hello,” you said. “Why are you here?” Thor held you tight against him, like a shield between him and the crowd, many of whom had now dropped to one knee.

“I, we, wanted to apologise,” said the woman from the bar. “To you. And to the king. I’m sorry for saying those things, that wasn’t right. And as a whole, we are sorry for the way we have treated you, your majesty.”

“But, I’m not the king,” Thor tried to protest.

“Thor, you’re missing the point,” you hissed at him. “I accept your apology,” you told the woman.

“Yes, yes, it’s fine...I understand that I have not served Asgard as I should have. That is why I made Brunnhilde king.”

There was a lot of murmuring in the crowd. It was clear that this was not an entirely popular situation.

“Well, erm, thank you for coming here to apologise. It’s appreciated but you didn’t need to do it,” you continued.

“Ah!” came a shout from the back. “It is lunchtime and you didn’t appear at the tavern. We want to learn about Midgard.”

You’d forgotten about that part of your diatribe. The crowd was looking at you expectantly. Shit.

“Could you...could you give me a few minutes? I’m not really dressed,” you said, indicating your bare feet.

“Of course! We shall wait here until you are ready.”

You moved back inside, shutting the door. What had you done?

“I guess I’d better find some socks,” you said as much to yourself as to Thor, before heading back to the bedroom. He was still stood in the same place when you returned to grab your cloak.

“Is this wise?” he asked.

“Probably not, but I said I’d do it.”

“What will you teach them?”

“Not a clue,” you noted, standing on tiptoe to kiss his nose. “I guess we’ll just see how it goes.”

*** The Asgardians plied you with water and bread after you vehemently declined the offer of a beer. You had no idea where to start so you decided to just let them ask you questions, which you answered as best as you could.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

*** Back at home, the situation wasn’t much better for Thor.

“We need to have that talk,” Brunnhilde said, firmly. Korg nodded, so Thor resigned himself, sitting down between the two of them.

“What do we need to talk about?”

“We have a lot of problems. New Asgard has a lot of problems.”

“Like what?” Thor hadn’t noticed anything amiss. Then again, he supposed, he hadn’t really noticed anything.

“We need to provide more housing, permanent housing for the people who were undusted. We need to develop our economy. The Norwegians resent propping us up. We need to engage with the other Midgardian nations. We need to trade, to develop, to rebuild. There’s no school, no library, nowhere for the community apart from the tavern. There’s a lot of problems with drinking, brawling. The soldiers don’t know what to do with themselves. Some have been lured away, to fight Midgardian wars, although I have tried to stop that. I’ve tried, too, to keep the press, the media away from here, but there is always gossip, always prying eyes. They want to know what we’re doing here. What you’re doing. My position is not respected. I am respected for what I have done since Ragnarok, but it is well remembered that I abandoned Asgard for many centuries. I am not trusted. The other realms...well, that’s just a mess. They feel that we’ve abandoned them. And we have. There are many who believe that only a descendant of Odin can, indeed, should rule Asgard. So unless you’ve got any other hidden siblings, or hidden children for that matter, that really only leaves you.”

“Can’t I adopt you? Make you my daughter, like my father adopted Loki?”

“That’s...disturbing. And wrong. On many levels. No. Your brother was raised as an Odinson. And even if he wasn’t, he was still royalty. And even if I agreed to be adopted, which I won’t, we still have other problems.”

“Such as?”

“I wish to marry.”

“That is wonderful news Brunnhilde. I will make your union very blessed indeed. Your husband will be a lucky man indeed.” He could see it now, a new generation of Valkyries to protect Asgard.

“No, Thor. Wife. I love a woman.”

“Oh, oh right. Well, that’s even better. Asgard can have two queens. Kings. Whichever.”

“No, Thor. Sif and I have talked-”

“Sif!?”

“Yes, Sif.”

Wow. He really hadn’t been paying attention. All these years of friendship with Sif and he’d never realised she liked women.

“That is an excellent union indeed,” he said, making a note to never get involved in any disputes between the two of them.

“Sif and I don’t want to rule. And even if the people accepted it, we would still be unable to produce an heir. And yes, we know there are options, but we don’t want a child. We are happy to serve as your advisors but we want to explore this world, and others, in the time that we have.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“When Ragnarok happened, it destroyed the whole of Asgard. Nobody brought any apples. Any seeds to grow new trees. Without the golden apples of Idunn, we will no longer retain our youth. We will age, like the mortals. We don’t know how long it will take, but it will happen. Sif and I, we’ve fought for so long. We want the chance to live our lives.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Hey man, it’s alright,” said Korg, clapping a hand onto Thor’s shoulder.

It was most definitely not alright. Facing Thanos again seemed a better proposition than trying to deal with this mess.

“There must be something we can do?” Thor replied, eventually.

“If there was a way, that knowledge was almost certainly lost when Asgard was destroyed. I asked your friends, Star-Lord and Strange, to keep an eye out for anything on their travels, but it is unlikely that we’ll find anything.”

Thor sat in silence. Things were just starting to go well again. He had you, his nightmares were getting a little better. But now there was all of this.

Why did Loki have to be dead? He would know what to do.

“Do I have to be king? Can’t we have one of those president things, like the Americans do?”

“That is an option,” the Valkyrie admitted. “However, you would need to get the support of the people.”

“Yeah, make sure you print enough pamphlets before you try to change the system,” Korg added.

Thor needed a drink. He went to the fridge and came back with enough beers for everyone.

“I need some time to think about this,” he said, eventually.

“Of course, I won’t throw you into this, but perhaps we could start by getting a consensus from the people on how they wish to be governed. Once we know what their preference is, we can go from there.”

Thor nodded. He just wanted to go back to bed and hold onto you.

“One more thing,” the Valkyrie said as she got up to leave. “I’ve asked some friends of ours to do some digging on Y/N. Nothing bad, I just want to know who she is. Once it gets out, and believe me, it will, that you’re bedding her, the Midgardian press will want to know everything they can about her. If there’s anything that’s likely to cause problems, it’s best if we know about it first.”

Thor nodded. It had upset Jane so much that her achievements were overshadowed by the fact that she was with him. He didn’t want that to happen to you. But whether he was the Asgardian leader, or not, his life would always be scrutinised by the Midgardians he loved so much. Perhaps if he was king, he would have more power to protect you? That was certainly worth thinking about.

And the problem of an heir. Would you want that? It was certainly too early to ask you.

What a day. This beer wasn’t going to be nearly enough.

@innerpaperexpertcloud @morganhoran1671

#thor #thicc thor #Thor Odinson #THOR SON OF ODIN #thor smut #squishy Thor #Soft Thor #chubby thor #fat thor #reader insert #Female reader #x reader #avengers x reader #reader x thor #female reader x thor #Dark 'n' Stormy

46 notes · View notes

parkeraul · 6 years ago

Photo

be mine

shawn x reader words: 1.912 warning: fluffy and romantic stuff. blame it on valentine’s day. requested by anon: “can you do a small imagine where shawn is thanking his girlfriend in his acceptance speech but he accidentally says wife instead and after everyone’s freaking out though it’s not true. please and thank you”

your wish is my command

“Shawn Mendes!” The host screams. The audience follows the host, equally excited and clapping their hands to congratulate him. Shawn gets up to fix his suit and then leans down to capture a quick kiss from your lips before walking towards the stage. You can’t help but stand up too, your hands joining the loud applauses as you smile proudly at him. Shawn goes upstairs to greet the host and receive his award. Everyone could sense from afar the happiness taking over his body by his big smile highlighting his little scar placed on his face, his eyes shining bright as the setlights turned at his direction and his cheeks blushing, showing that rosy tone that makes your heart melt every single time. “Wow!” He lets out, totally surprised. “Thank you, guys. Thank you so much!” Shawn says and looks back at the trophy standing on his arm. “It’s amazing to be here tonight, this is incredible! I’d like to dedicate this award to all of my fans, I love you guys so much!” He clears his throat and takes a deep breath while everybody screams once again. “And I’d also like to thank this amazing woman standing in there, my beautiful wife.” Shawn’s free hand points at you as he talks about you with all the love inside his heart. You frown. Instantly. Were your ears failing? Was your mind telling you stuff you actually didn’t hear? The crowd started being louder and louder and the camera captured your confused expression, still giving him the greatest smile you could. “Without her, this would’ve been a lot tougher and I have no words enough to express how grateful I am.” He continued, fixing his curls in pure nervousness. “Thank you!” The host announces the commercial and Shawn steps downstairs to meet you, so you two could leave the ceremony’s room to go to the red carpet for the last time and then to the hotel. “Honey! What was that?” You yelled next to his ear for him to listen better due to the loud sound of the hands clapping. Shawn holds your waist softly with his tattooed arm and kisses your cheek. His unmistakable scent invading your nostrils making you relax against his touch. That was everything you needed. “Crazy, right?” He questioned back at you. “I never thought I’d win this. Thank you for helping me during the whole process.” Shawn grabbed your lips intensely, inviting you to a breathtaking kiss. His tender rosy lips pressed against yours in a sweet way, with love and caution. “I love you.” You were ready to ask him about the “wife” thing when he walked towards the exit door, bringing you with him by still holding your middle. The flashes from the cameras immediately caught your faces. The interviewers begging for him and the fans dying to ask about the same subject taking over your thoughts. You posed for a few clicks with him. He had his award in one hand and his other hand pulling you closer. Those pictures would never look better than this. The two of you smiling, giggling, completely in love and unable to hide it from the world. The staff arrives to carry you to his dressing room while he gives his last interviews for the night. “I need to talk to you.” You said. “No worries, it’s nothing that you should be concerned about.” Shawn agreed, relieved and gave you one last quick kiss before you left. “Shawn Mendes, the man of the night!” The interviewer promptly grabbed his attention. “First: How do you feel about it?” “Man… This is wild!” He vented, laughing at his own words. “I feel grateful. I worked hard for this and I can’t believe this had finally came true. It’s amazing!” “You deserve it, Shawn!” The interviewer greeted. “Now, about that speech…” “Yeah…” Shawn agreed, internally proud of his words. He had thought about it a lot during the past two weeks and he was sure he had chosen the right things to say. “When did you guys get married?” Shawn grimaced. “I thought you’d throw a big ceremony or tell your fans first-“ “We’re not married, man.” Shawn loosened a button of his black shirt. “Where did you get this from?” “Aren’t you?” The interviewer insisted, totally confused. “You just called Y/N ‘wife’ during your speech…” “Oh my God! Did I?” His eyes were now so wide open that they could fly from their orbits at any time. The interviewer agreed and his jaw fell in shocker. ‘Damn!’ Shawn thought to himself. The interview goes all about your relationship, his plans for the future and this night. He left after talking to everyone he could to take some pictures with the fans, insanely questioning about marriage. He tried to explain himself a thousand times without making any bigger mistakes. What a long night. “Can I trust you guys? Can you do this for me?” He asks the fans before parting. His chest felt a big relief when everyone agreed. Some with tears in their eyes, some jumping in happiness and joy. “I love you so much. Thanks for everything!” He sends everyone a kiss and walks to his dressing room. Sitting on his chair, your phone starts buzzing like crazy. Thousands and thousands of mentions on your twitter account. When you were about to check them, the door behind you opened and Shawn entered. “Hi, babe!” He got closer to hold you and kiss you. “Ready to go?” “Yes!” You agreed, handling his bag with his stuff. “Listen, I-“ “Thank you for packing up my things. You’re unbelievable!” He interrupted, grabbing your hand. “The car is waiting for us. I promise you I’ll listen to any word you have to say when we get back to the hotel. I need to talk to you too.” Shawn warned you and you felt a knot growing on your throat. Inside the car, you rested your head against his shoulder and he was rubbing your hair. His leg shaking. Why was he so nervous? The ceremony was over. He had nothing else to worry about. You feared that his anxiety would be probably disturbing him. Your phone kept on buzzing. “@y/n: will you marry me?” “@y/n: Will you marry me??” “@y/n: Will you marry me? Pls?” “@y/n: will you marry me?” Shawn stared at your phone screen and then at your confused face. “What is-“ “I’m sorry, babe.” He kissed the top of your head. “They might be talking about my speech before. Maybe it’s a joke, don’t worry.” Exposing your relationship was so hard at the beginning. You were so afraid that the fandom wouldn’t see you as the woman of his dreams and you worried a lot about showing everyone that yes, yes you’d take care of Shawn as much as he did with you both in sickness and in health. But it became a better situation. The songs he wrote showed the whole world how great you two are together. It was on everyone’s lips how precious the feeling between you both seemed to be. The car arrived and, inside the elevator, Shawn started. “You might be wondering why the hell I called you ‘wife’ before.” “I am!” You agreed. Thank God! You had to talk things over. “I mean, I’m not mad at you or anything. I’m just a little bit confused.” You got those words off your chest. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to propose like… right now. We’re taking our time.” “You think so?” He asked and you approved. “I like the picture of us married. And you know why?” Shawn pulled you closer and guided you through the hall right after the elevator’s door opened. You had to trust him because he could see the way while all you could see was his mouth telling you: “I see my future with you. And only you.” Stepping carefully but yet awkwardly, he continued. “You have been absurdly incredible to me.” His tone kind of failed. Nervous, he insisted. “I can’t think about a day without you. Without your beautiful smile, lightning up my day… Your beautiful eyes, so bright…” The ‘so’ came out of his lips in a blow as his rosy lips showed you his perfect aligned teeth in the purest smile. Your hands were all over his chest while he held your waist for you not to fall. Caressing your back, he stopped in front of your shared bedroom’s door and ended. “Without your voice, without your encouraging words… I can’t think about a day when I won’t be able to touch your soft skin, your pretty face.” He emphasized the word just for you to never forget how gorgeous you are. “I can’t think about a single day away from you. This is why I called you my wife.” He opened the door behind you. The floor covered with petals, making a trail to the bed, where they were arranged in a heart shape. Your hands instantly covering your mouth as you trembled. What is this? This must be a dream. Big red balloons embellishing the walls with bright christmas-lights invading your sight as you walked in. Candles all around, filling the room with their scent and a bouquet of your favorite flowers standing on your night table. Shawn left his bag and his trophy aside to grab his phone and a little box from his pocket. Getting on one knee, your phone buzzes for the last time. Shawn: Will you marry me? You turn your back to see Shawn kneeled on the floor. His eyes fighting to hold back the tears just like yours. Failing. You let out a whine muffled by your palm and kneeled down to meet him. “I know this is not the most amazing proposal. I didn’t wanna miss the Valentine’s Day,” Shawn justified himself. “But I want you to know that you’re the woman who I wanna spend the rest of my life with. I wanna grow old with you,” His tone breaking as he confessed every feeling burning inside of his heart, which was already missing its beats. “I wanna have kids with you. I wanna make you happier than you make me, if this is even possible!” He giggled and so did you, getting closer and his tattooed hand reached your face, a few centimeters away from his. “I wanna love you everyday and make you the luckiest girl in this world, just like you make me be the luckiest guy in the world. Y/N, will you marry me?” Shawn asked, nearly sobbing due to the strength he was putting on himself to hold back the tears. “Yes.” You said promptly. “Yes.” You said again. “Yes.” Raising your voice, you leaned forwards. “Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” Whispering at first and finishing with a stronger tone, you threw yourself in his arms and kissed him with everything you had. As you touched his cheeks, you felt his tears moistening his angelic face and wiped them away. Your tongues moving in a perfect synchrony, tasting each other with passion as your lips worked hard to express all the sensations running through your veins. Interrupting the kiss to place another one on your hand after inserting the ring on your finger, Shawn glanced at you and both of your hearts fluttering, floating in happiness. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my valentine. Better: my wife!”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes fluffy #requested #mine #ficsofmine

591 notes · View notes

sidehowriting · 5 years ago

Text

Hurting Hearts

Masterlist in bio!

A/N: Special broadcast today! Back to back episodes of Shit-No-One-Asked-For and Me-Neglecting-Other-Things-I-Should-Be-Writing. What a treat!

I have no idea how to do a small, concise author’s note about how/why I wrote this so I’m just gonna leave it. I now have a Stranger Things fic. This is the world we live in. Takes place after graduation. Also @teddybeardoctorr said I should post it.

Also, I actually am working on the few requests that I have I am just slow with no self control.

Italics are inner thoughts

Pairings: Billy Hargrove x OFC Stacy (established relationship)

Summary: Billy has more in common with Stacy than he thought.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Swears, lil smut (fingering), angst, abuse, mentions of drugs and alcohol, fluff

Things were going on longer than he thought they would. But that was fine. He just wanted her to stop being so fucking uptight, get her head out of her goddamn ass, and just admit that she didn’t hate him. That maybe, she wanted him.

When things were going good, way better than he expected, he stuck around. Sure, she didn’t want to sex, shy little virgin, but she was open to other things. And when she was relaxed and not trying to impress anyone, she was actually fun to be around.

He never cared for dates. Never knew what to talk about for hours. But she was good at it. She was smart enough to keep the conversation going for longer than he ever thought he could stand. Taking her out stopped feeling like a chore, a means to an end, and something he looked forward to.

Of course, after the dates were just as fun as well.

She led him by the hand, her skin always so soft, through the mess of her house. He never judged her for it, though. It wasn’t her doing.

Once upstairs, she pushed open her bedroom door and flicked on the lights. The contrast to her room, her sanctuary, and the rest of the house never failed to shock him. Her room and her bathroom were always neat as a pin. Not one thing out of place.

Closing the door, she practically threw herself onto him. Lips locked, he held her close, keeping her steady. She seemed more eager tonight. Maybe she’d want to go all the way? If not, he still made plans to see Maria Hill afterwards. He didn’t feel the need to tell Stacy this, though. She knew they weren’t exclusive. He had every right to hook up with whoever he wanted to. But, still, he didn’t want to say anything.

He had her pinned on her bed minutes later. She moaned and arched and pleaded every time he touched her, and god did, he love hearing her.

She wiggled her hips when his fingers ran up her legs and under her skirt. Twisting his fingers around her panties he pulled them down and off, making a mental note to take them with him before he leaves.

All he had to do was tap her thighs and they fell open for him, making him smirk. He leaned over her, lips kissing the shell of her ear before he spoke. “You’re so eager today, princess. What gives?”

“I just…” She tried wiggling down closer to where his hand was placed on her thigh. “I want you.”

“To do what?”

“Right now? To touch me.”

“How can I say no to that?” He obliged, moving his hand up and easily finding her clit. Jesus, she was so wet his fingers easily slid around her little bud.

“Fuck! Billy!” She threw her head back against her pillows, fingers gripping her bed sheet.

He loved it when she yelled his name. Drove him wild. “Say my name again, sweetheart.”

As she opened her mouth to comply, he slipped a finger into her. Her back arched as he curled it, he knew how to work her over good now. His name barely recognizable as it tumbled from her lips as a gasp.

Sliding another finger in, he held her eyes as he thrusted them in and out. He liked watching her face. Dark eyes clouding over in pleasure, unable to focus. Pink flushing her skin, highlighting all her freckles. She had gotten better at keeping the eye contact too. He could get her to do anything with a few sweet words and praises.

She was trembling and biting her lip. He knew she was getting close. “You wanna cum on my fingers, princess?”

She nodded wordlessly, legs twitching.

He didn’t get to tell her what she had to do to cum. A loud, banging interrupted them and a scream. “STACY!”

She bolted up at hearing her name being called. “STACY!”

Pushing Billy off her, she scrambled to make herself more decent. “Shit! Fuck! Shit!”

“STACY!”

Opening the door, she called over to him. “Stay here, okay? I’ll only be gone a minute.” With a frazzled and apologetic smile, she left her room. Part of him thought he could just sneak out the window and leave before she came back. But he couldn’t do that to her. She was too special.

From her room he could hear muffled voices. Stacy’s was easy to make out. He assumed the other belonged to her mom. He had never met her but who else would show up banging? Stacy said her mom would lose her keys all the time. Maybe that was it.

The voices were getting louder and he could make out the intensity of them. Something he was very familiar with from his own home. He knew he should stay put like he was told, but the pull to find out what exactly was happening was too much. Quietly, he left Stacy’s room and crept down the small hallway.

He knew the third stair from the top creaked no matter how you stepped on it so he didn’t go down that far. Just far enough to see the rest of the living room and quickly dive away if need be.

Stacy’s mother’s voice rang clear as day from the kitchen, hidden from his view. Her words slurring together. “You’re so fucking useless!” Something shattered right after. A glass? A plate?

“I’m sorry.” That was Stacy’s plea. “I didn’t… I just thought you would like it.”

“You ruined what I had!” Another something fell to the floor.

“I just wanted to help!”

A glass was thrown from the kitchen, whizzing right past Billy’s line of sight before falling to the ground and smashing. “You haven’t done anything helpful since your birth!”

“What!?” The shrill in Stacy’s voice worried him. He knew what happened when he talked back to Neil. “I’m the only one working to keep a roof over our heads while you just get drunk and high all fucking day!”

There was a beat of silence before he heard the unmistakable sound of skin striking skin. “Fucking bitch,” her mom spat. “Useless fucking bitch.”

Moving footsteps had him darting back to Stacy’s room for cover. He wasn’t sure if he should pretend he hadn’t heard the altercation. He knew family fighting was intimate and not for others to see but hearing such harsh words thrown at Stacy… And getting hit… He didn’t know if he could keep quiet about that.

The creaking stair told him she'd be there in just a moment. He had to make his decision quickly. She kept her head low as she reentered the bedroom, and he settled on not saying anything. That is, until he got a glimpse of her face.

There was a cut under her eye. It wasn’t big but it was red and starting to bleed. “Fuck,” he muttered to himself, moving to her side as quickly as he could. He tried to take her chin in his hands but she moved away.

“It’s okay.” He could barely hear her words. “I’ll be okay.”

“Baby, look at me.” His voice was gentle but commanding. She obeyed like usual, still putty in his hands. The drop of blood had swelled and was starting to fall down her poor cheek. “C’mon.” He stroked her uninjured one. “Let’s clean that.”

She nodded and let him lead her to her bathroom. She sat on the toilet, hands folded in her lap while he got a washcloth. Warm soap and water always did it. That’s how he’d clean his gashes from Neil.

Pressing the cloth to her face, she didn’t flinch. She didn’t look up at him either. She kept her gaze trained on her hands. “I didn’t want you to see this.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“She’s not always like this, either. Usually.”

With the blood wiped away, her cheek just looked red and tender. Placing the cloth in the sink, he held out his hand to help her up. She accepted, placing her small hand in his larger one. “You don’t have to defend her. She’s a bitch.”

She went into her bedroom and sat on the bed. “She’s not! She’s not… she just… It’s not her.”

Billy knew her mom drank and did drugs. Stacy had mentioned it to him early on though he could have figured it out on his own. Everyone in Hawkins knows what goes on on her street. But seeing the ramifications of it was different than just hearing it in passing.

He sat down next to her on the bed. “What got her all upset tonight?”

“A couple days ago she was… I don’t even know what she was on. Meth? Cocaine? Whatever. She wanted to bake or something. She made this huge mess in the kitchen and she was all riled up and then just left the house. I didn’t touch it for awhile, thinking she’d come back soon and when she didn’t I cleaned it up. I guess I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

He felt sadness and rage and maybe empathy. Something as stupid as doing the dishes made her mom curse her out and hit her. Part of him wanted to go down and let her mother know what a fucking bitch she was, but that wasn’t his place.

Standing up, Billy pulled his tank top over his head. Stacy watched him curiously and unsure. “I was late picking Max up.” He turned around and from her gasp he knew she saw it. “Neil laid into me and I fell on some empty beer bottles. They broke.” It was hard for him to see the cut on his back, but he could still feel it when he bent or turned certain ways. He knew it was big and it was taking a long time to heal.

This isn’t the first time there’s been a physical mark on him from Neil that he had to explain away. I got into a fight or Max left her fucking skateboard laying around were his go to lies. Most of the girls he fooled around with didn’t question it. Stacy didn’t either, but she always had this look in her eyes like she didn’t quite believe him. Never once did she push him to talk about it, though. Now he knew why.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was so soft and delicate. He felt it in his core. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Neither do you,” he said, uncomfortable with her sympathy. “I can see why you’re putting in so many hours at the library.”

Twisting her fingers, she bit her lip before looking up at him. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“All the college’s I got accepted to offered to give me money to pay for it. I’ve just been saying I can’t afford to go.” Her eyes started to tear up. He had seen girls cry before. Shit, he had made girls cry before, but this was different. Seeing Stacy cry made him want to move mountains for her. Made him want to destroy whatever it was that caused those tears. And he hated it.

Leaving his shirt off, he took his seat next to her again. Reaching out, he took her hand in his. “Why’s that?” He asked.

“I’m scared,” she croaked. “I’m scared I’ll leave and I’ll come back and everything will be gone. She already lost the car, I’m scared she’ll lose the house and we’ll have nothing. Or I’ll come home and I’ll find her…”

The moment she started to really cry, he pulled her to him. He didn’t even know he was doing it until she was on his lap, clinging to him. Her wet tears were pressed against his toned chest and he knew he should be annoyed but he wasn’t. Her sobs were too heartbreaking.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair. Her body fit so well against him and she was always so warm. Comforting her just felt right.

“Do you ever wonder,” she said between her sniffles, “when they stopped loving you?”

“I’m not sure they ever did.” His throat was suddenly dry but fuck he was not going to cry. “I’m not sure I’m worth it.”

She perked her head up instantly, eyes still red and watery. “Don’t say that.” She reached up to touch his cheek and he didn’t want to lean into her touch but he did. Her skin was just so damn soft. “You are worth it.”

His laugh was forced and painful and she could tell. Her eyes were full of concern. “Thanks, sweetheart, but I promise you, I’m not.” I’m a worthless piece of shit he fought so hard not to add. Words he’d heard so many times from Neil he started to believe them.

Her face scrunched up as she shook her head wildly. “Billy,” she said once she had stopped. Her small hand still on his cheek, stroking. “I promise you are.” She bit her lip again and he started to panic. “I lo-” He cut her off with a kiss, not wanting to hear her words.

No, she couldn’t love him. He was violent and reckless and didn’t care about anyone but himself. She was everything he wasn’t. She was good and kind and maybe an uptight bitch sometimes but that’s what drew him in.

No, she couldn’t love him because if she did then he would have to confront the feelings, real feelings he had for her. He wasn’t ready to think about how much he loved her company. How much she made him laugh and smile and forget about the real world. How much he needed her.

Slowly he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Don’t say it.”

“Okay,” she said softly and kissed him again, long and slow and fuck her for just putting her feelings into the kiss. She didn’t need to say with words when she could translate through touch.

Billy hated how she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her chest against his. She was trembling in his embrace as she kissed him. He held her hips to keep her close.

The kiss lasted a while and when she finally pulled back, she was panting. Her lips were plump, and her eyes hooded as she gazed at him. God, he just wanted to kiss her again and again. Instead, he gently pushed her off and back onto her bed. “I should go.” He rose, having a hard time looking at her.

She nodded. “Okay,” she said meekly. Jesus, he hated that tone, knowing he caused it. But staying was now dangerous and he was already experiencing too many emotions he didn’t know how to handle. He wanted to punch something. Break it. But not around her. No, that was something she didn’t need to see.

He could let it out with Maria, though. She liked it rough. A couple hard smacks on her ass would be nice. Maybe she’d let him choke her a bit. And just thinking about slamming his cock into her over and over. Yanking her hair and saying filthy things. That would calm him down. Take the edge off.

Grabbing his shirt from the ground, he tossed it over his shoulder. No need to put it on now when it would just come off again soon.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to go out the front door,” Stacy said, watching him. “The window would be better.”

“Right. Okay.” He couldn’t bear to look at her face as he strode over. They weren’t really dating. They weren’t exclusive. Yet, he felt this gnawing on the inside that what he was going to do was a terrible idea and would crush Stacy.

The window opened easily but he took his time throwing his leg over. Half way out she called back to him. “Billy! Wait!” Of course he stopped instantly and she rushed over. Her eyes were glossy again. “Could you stay the night? Please?”

“Yeah.” He came back into the room. “I can.”

The elated look on her face was worth it all. She threw her arms around him again, face squished against him. He couldn’t stop the euphoric feeling that flooded him. He made her happy.

It was late and therefore it was decided that going to bed would be best. She offered him her shower and he accepted. He didn’t have clean clothes but that was okay. He slept naked anyways. But, maybe, he’d at least wear his boxers tonight.

He was laying on her bed as she took her turn in the shower, ruffling through the magazines she had laying on her bedside table. A cigarette was hanging from his lips as he skimmed articles. Almost all of them were about sex. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying reading them. These girls were just as filthy as the boys.

His cigarette was out when she emerged from the adjoining bathroom. His face crinkled into a smile when he saw her. “Is that my shirt?”

Shyly she nodded, pulling at the hem of it. “Remember when you spilled your coke on me?” He did. The lid wasn’t on properly and when he offered it to her it popped off. The whole front of her shirt was soaked in dark, sticky liquid. He had a spare shirt in his car for this reason or that. Something for an emergency. “I never gave it back.”

He laughed, unaware that she had kept it. “Well, princess, you do look fuckin’ hot in it. I guess you can keep it.”

She giggled and crawled onto the bed. “Gee, thanks.” On instinct, he opened his arm for her, and she snuggled in close. “Are you reading my Cosmo?”

“I am,” he said. “There’s a lot of shit about fuckin’ in here.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I bought them.”

He adjusted so they could both comfortably read the magazine. “Looks like we have some positions to try out later. Think you’re up for it, sweetheart?”

“With you? I do.” So tenderly she kissed his cheek and he was filled again with all the emotions he was trying so hard to not deal with.

Clearing his throat, he closed the magazine and placed it on her bedside table. “Let’s go to sleep, huh?”

She agreed and turned off the light, snuggling up next to him when she came back to bed. She was just so soft and smelled so good. He wanted nothing more than to just hold her.

She fell asleep first. She wasn't used to being out as late as he was. He laid there for awhile, holding her. Looking at her. Her hair always reminded him of the color of a sunrise after being out all night. It was a great color on her.

And the mark her mother left looked better. He could still see the cut against her creamy skin, but it wasn’t bleeding or red anymore. Just a faint little line that would heal without a scar.

Fuck, those feelings were starting to come back the longer he looked at her. For a moment he thought about how easy it would be to sneak out. He could still meet Maria like he said he would. His jeans were folded in a neat pile, easy to get to. His shoes were right at the foot of the bed. He could dress and be out the window in a few moments. She’d never know he left.

Until she woke up to a cold, empty bed. No, he couldn’t hurt her like that. She was much more important. Maria would no doubt be upset about being stood up but what could she do? Call him a jackass, a fuck, tell everyone what a terrible person he is? That’s nothing people don’t already say.

Instead he got comfortable in her bed that definitely wasn’t made for two people. But that was fine. He’d just have to pull her close then. He closed his eyes and tried to relax but those goddamn feelings wouldn’t leave him be.

Jesus fucking christ fine, I love her.

#billy hargrove #soft!billy #billy hargrove smut #billy smut #billy x reader #billy hargrove x reader

57 notes · View notes

ashtray-girl · 5 years ago

Text

By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept and its role in Morrissey’s lyricism

PLOT This is a short prose poetry novel in which author Elizabeth Smart recounts her love affair with married poet George Barker (even though she began writing it years before they met). Said affair lasted 18 years and she bore 4 of his 15 children, whom he had from several different women.

The novel is divided in 10 parts, so I’ll proceed by summing up each one of them while also highlighting the parts which I think are relevant to the Morrissey discourse.

DISCLAIMER: even though there isn’t much of a plot to spoil (the focus is placed almost entirely on the narrator’s feelings and in the way they’re expressed), I am gonna quote extensively from every chapter so keep that in mind if you intend to read the book for yourself.

PART I The protagonist is waiting at the bust station for the man she loves to collect her (she never names him btw) but when he finally comes he’s with his wife and it’s her that the protagonist sees first.

“But then it is her eyes that come forward out of the vulgar disembarkers to reassure me that the bus has not disgorged disaster: her madonna eyes, soft as the newly-born, trusting as the untempted. And, for a moment, at that gaze, I am happy to forego my future, and postpone indefinitely the miracle hanging fire. […] Behind her he for whom I have waited for so long, who has stalked so unbearably through my nightly dreams.”

It’s interesting to note the way she talks about her. Even though she’s wildly in love with this man, she never badmouths her. On the contrary, throughout the story she seems to have a good opinion of her.

“I see she can walk across the leering world and suffer injury only from the ones she loves. But I love her and her silence is propaganda for sainthood.”

You know what all of this reminds me of? The time Angie collected Morrissey at the station to take him to Johnny’s house, a few days after Johnny had knocked on Morrissey’s door and they’d talked about forming a band. Did he expect it would be Johnny who’d come and pick him up? Did he know he had a girlfriend?

“So we drive along the Californian coast singing together, and I entirely renounce him for only her peace of mind.”

I don’t know if the narrator shares Morrissey’s fascination with cars (I don’t even think the two things are necessarily related), but it’s worth pointing out how some of the most important and dramatic scenes of the book happen in a car.

“Why do I not jump off this cliff where I lie sickened by the moon? I know these days are offering me only murder for my future. It is not just the creeping fingers of the cold that dissuade me from action, and allow me to accept the hypocritical hope that there may be some solution. Like Macbeth, I keep remembering that I am their host. So it’s tomorrow’s breakfast rather than the future’s blood that dictates fatal forbearance. Nature, perpetual whore, distracts with the immediate.”

Look at this entire paragraph and tell me it isn’t the most Morrissey thing you’ve ever read. Also, does any part of it sound familiar? Well, let’s look at the lyrics for Shakespeare’s Sister:

Young bones groan, and the rocks below say “Throw your skinny body down, son"

But I'm going to meet the one I love So please don't stand in my way Because I'm going to meet the one I love No, mama, let me go

Young bones groan and the rocks below say "Throw your white body down"

But I'm going to meet the one I love At last, at last, at last! I'm going to meet the one I love

Then the protagonist gets to the couple’s house and her sudden proximity to the man she loves brings the feelings she’s been trying to repress right back to the surface:

“The Beginning lurks uncomfortably on the outskirts of the circle, like an unpopular person whom ignoring can keep away. The very silence, the very avoiding of any intimacy between us, when he, when he was only a word, was able to cause me sleepless nights and shivers of intimation, is the more dangerous. Our seeming detachment gathers strength. I sit back impersonally and say, I see human vanity, or feel myself full of gladness because there is a gentleness between him and her, or even feel irritation because he lets her do too much of the work, sits lolling whilst she chops wood for the stove.”

There’s an unmistakable feeling of impeding doom, as if she knows that even though nothing physical has happened between them yet, she’s sealed her own deal just by being there with him and it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable strikes.

“While we drive along the road in the evening, talking as impersonally as a radio discussion, he tells me: ‘A boy with green eyes and long lashes, whom I had never seen before, took me into the back of a printshop and made love to me, and for two weeks I went around remembering the numbers on bus conductors’ hats.’ ‘One should love beings whatever their sex’, I reply, but withdraw into the dark with my obstreperous shape of shame, offended with my own flesh which cannot metamorphose into a printshop boy with armpits like chalices.”

So there you have it: Meaningful Car Scene n°1. He confesses he had a homosexual experience (and he enjoyed it, or so it seems) and she’s jealous but not outraged or disgusted, which is quite a big deal if you think this book was first published in 1945. (It’s also worth noting that, in her later years, Elizabeth Smart had affairs with both men and women). Another thing I noticed as I was writing this is that sentence, “remembering the numbers on bus conductors’ hats”, which reminded me of that line in Phoney:

Who can make Hitler Seem like a bus conductor? You do, oh Phoney you do

It’s probably just a coincidence, but I found it funny nonetheless.

“He kissed my forehead driving along the coast in the evening, and now, wherever I go, like the sword of Damocles, that greater never-to-be-given kiss hangs above my doomed head. He took my hand between the two shabby front seats of the Ford, and it was dark, and I was looking the other way, but now that hand casts everywhere an octopus shadow from which I can never escape. The tremendous gentleness of that moment smothers me under; […] I stand on the edge of the cliff, but the future is already done.”

Meaningful Car Scene n°2. There’s a first attempt at physical contact and by now he seems to have realised she has feelings for him, so he’s trying to see how far he can push himself with her.

Now, I’m just gonna go ahead and say it: I feel like something very similar to this may have happened between Johnny and Morrissey. The reason why I decided to write this analysis is because, once I read the book, I fully realised the pervasiveness of its influence in many of the lyrics Morrissey wrote while he was in The Smiths (especially during the Meat Is Murder era) and in the first years of his solo career but, as much as people talked about it, I feel like they never went deep enough. The way I see it, Morrissey had every reason to relate to the protagonist, even though she’s a woman. Someone who falls deeply in love with a married man (with bisexual tendencies, it seems) and is quite concerned with the ethics of what she’s doing but at the same time is very certain of her feelings for him. The man, on the other hand, seems to have a much more ambiguous attitude, accepting her love but also wanting to keep a respectable façade by staying with his wife. If we assume that Morrissey did harbour romantic feelings for Johnny, it’s easy to see why he would choose this book as a way to sublimate them, especially if we consider how the queer factor would’ve made them even less acceptable in the eyes of society.

But going back to the book… what about the man’s wife?

“By day she obeys the voice of love as the stricken obey their god, and she walks with the light step of hope which only the naive and the saints know. […] He also is bent towards her in an attitude of solicitude. Can he hear his own heart while he listens for the tenderness of her sensibilities? Is there a way at all to avoid offending the lamb of god?”

As I said before, she doesn’t seem to be especially jealous of his wife, but that may be because at the moment she’s high on the secret attentions her husband is giving her, so it’s easy for her to feel sorry for this other woman who’s being cheated on right under her own roof.

I can’t help but think about how Morrissey and Angie had their own relationship and seemed to be quite close. I mean, that must have been a bit of a weird dynamic (for Moz at least), and I wonder how they worked it out.

“I never was in love with death before, nor felt grateful because the rocks below could promise certain death. But now the idea of dying violently becomes an act wrapped in attractive melancholy, and displayed with every blandishment. For there is no beauty in denying love, except perhaps by death, and towards love what way is there? To deny love, and deceive it meanly by pretending that what is unconsummated remains eternal, or that love sublimated reaches highest to heavenly love, is repulsive, as the hypocrite’s face is repulsive when placed too near the truth. […] I might be better fooled, but can I see the light of a match while burning in the arms of the sun?”

There’s another reference to dying by throwing herself off a cliff, but the really interesting part is what comes after. The narrator rejects the idea that spiritual love is the highest form of love, which is achieved by embracing its physical side instead. It’s not enough for her to have a platonic bond with the man she loves because she wants him in mind, body and soul.

While reading this, I couldn’t help but draw some parallels:

- “Dying violently becomes an act wrapped in attractive melancholy.” → “To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.” - “Can I see the light of a match while burning in the arms of the sun?” → “There is a light and it never goes out.”

And then, opening the penultimate paragraph of this first chapter:

“I have learned to smoke because I need something to hold on to. I dare not be without a cigarette in my hand.”

This is one of the most obvious one. If we look at the lyrics for What She Said (which is based almost entirely on this book), it’s pretty self-explanatory:

What she said: ‘I smoke ‘cause I’m hoping for a nearly death And I need to cling to something.’

PART II This part is mainly about the remorse the protagonist is feeling towards the man’s wife, who has now realised something happened between the two of them.

“Her eyes pierced all the veils that protected my imagination against ruinous knowledge. […] Is there no other channel of my deliverance except by her martyrdom?”

It’s quite interesting to note how the chapter opens with:

“God, come down […] and tell me who will drown in so much blood.”

And then, on the next page:

“I am blind, but blood, not love, blinded my eye. Love lifted the weapon but guided my crime.”

Both of these lines reminded me of the lyrics for Yes, I Am Blind:

Yes, I am blind No, I can't see The good things Just the bad things, oh...

Yes, I am blind No, I can't see There must be something Horribly wrong with me?

God, come down If you're really there Well, you're the one who claims to care

It then goes on:

“… she whom I have injured, and whose agony it is my penalty to watch, lies gasping, but still living, on the land.”

- “Gasping, but still living.” → “Gasping, but somehow still alive.” (Well I Wonder)

PART III The narrator spends most of this chapter gushing about how in love she is with this man, who in the meantime has followed her back home to spend some time with her (though it’s not clear whether he has left his wife for her or not.)

“Even the precise geometry of his hand, when I gaze at it, dissolves me into water and I flow away in a flood of love.”

(I have nothing to say about this line except that I like it and that I can’t help but imagine Morrissey staring at Johnny’s hands as he picks the chords of his guitar, thinking these exact same thoughts.)

“When the Ford rattles up to the door, five minutes (five years) late, and he walks across the lawn under the pepper-trees, I stand behind the gauze curtains, unable to move to meet him, or to speak, as I turn to liquid to invade his every orifice when he opens the door.”

Yet another reference to his car. Also yeah, you’re wet for him, we get it.

“And there is so much for me, I am suddenly so rich, and I have done nothing to deserve it, to be so overloaded. All after such a desert. All after I had learnt to say, I am nothing, and I deserve nothing. […] It has happened, the miracle has arrived, everything begins today, […] all the paraphernalia of existence, all my sad companions of these last twenty years, […] all the world solicits me with joy, leaps at me electrically, claiming its birth at last.”

I can’t help but think about how similarly Morrissey must have felt after Johnny knocked on his door, after having spent his last twenty years in much the same way the narrator had, feeling lonely and isolated.

I mean, he even said so himself:

“He appeared at a time when I was deeper than the depths, if you like. And he provided me with this massive energy boost. I could feel Johnny’s energy just seething inside of me.”

“I was there, dying, and he rescued me.”

The chapter ends with this sentence:

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is strong as death.”

Which kinda reminds me of that part in Rusholme Ruffians:

So scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen (This means you really love me)

PART IV This is, in my opinion, the book’s most interesting chapter. What happens is, they get stopped as they’re crossing the Arizona border and once the cops realise they’re together but not married to each other, the take them to the police station, interrogate them for several hours about the nature of their relationship and then make them leave separately.

Once again, one of the most dramatic scenes takes place in a car.

I fully believe that Morrissey wrote both The Boy With The Thorn In His Side and later Late Night, Maudlin Street with this entire part in mind.

“They are taking me away in a police car […] They are prosecuting me for silence and for love […] They drove me away in a police car. […] For too much love, only for too much love. […] Are you not convinced, inspector? Do you not believe in love?”→ “They took you away in a police car / Inspector – don’t you know? Don’t you care? Don’t you know – about love?” (Late Night, Maudlin Street)

“They intercepted our love because of what was in our eyes. […] Did they see such flagrant proof and still not believe?” → “How can they see the love in our eyes and still they don’t believe us?�� (The Boy With The Thorn In His Side)

I wonder who “they” were, though. I mean, we know that in the book, when she says: “They are prosecuting me for silence and for love” she clearly means the authorities, but what did Morrissey mean? Were “they” those same “people who are weaker/uglier than you and I” and those “evil people (who) prosper over the likes of you and me always”? And did he have some specific names in mind, or did he just mean society in general? As in: “They (the general public / the media / the music industry) can’t (don’t want to?) see we love each other because they’re not ready to accept that idea yet, but they’re more than happy to profit from us and our art, which is only made possible BECAUSE of that love.”

The penultimate paragraph before the end of the chapter feels especially relevant:

“All our wishes were private, we desired no more scope than ourselves. Could we corrupt the young by gazing into each other’s eyes? Would they leave their offices? Would big business suffer?”

PART V The protagonist comes back home feeling sorry for herself. Her family doesn’t approve of her relationship with a married man, but she refuses to apologise and spends most of her time contemplating nature and reminiscing about what happened.

Another quote which Morrissey probably used as inspiration for Late Night…

“Every yellow or scarlet leaf hangs like a flag waving me on.” → “Every hag waves me on / Secretly wishing me gone.”

PART VI The protagonist has an argument with her father, who’s worried about her state. Her mother doesn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore and even her brother is sceptical about the whole situation. She then reminisces about leaving Ottawa with him (she’s Canadian) and she talks at length about how they’re meant to be together no matter what. She also finds out she’s pregnant.

At the start, she mentions neighbours who warn her to stay away from him:

“The well-meaning matrons who, from their insulated living say, ‘My dear, I think you would would regret it afterwards if you broke up a marriage,’ ‘When you felt it about to happen the right thing would have been to have gone away at once.”

I wonder how many people around The Smiths were aware of Morrissey being in love with Johnny (because at this point, no one can convince me he wasn’t) and, if they were, how much did they know? Did they ever talked to him about it? Did they warn him about being cautious, about not revealing too much of his own feelings in his songs? And did they mention how bad it would look for him if he broke up a couple?

“The policeman grows fatter each day and rivals the new tanks. He blots out the doorway of the little café. A couple seeing him spills the milk at the counter, remembering what they did under the bridge last night. But the policeman is blind. He strikes only when he hears a loud noise. There are others, though, who have eyes like shifty hawks, and they prowl the streets searching for a face whereon an illegal kiss might be forming. No, there is no defence for love, and tears will only increase the crime.”

Here she’s talking about how, while in the midst of a war (the book is set in the 40s), the police (and society in general) seem to be concerned with futile things like arresting people who are doing nothing but love each other and it reminds me of a quote from Morrissey’s Autobiography:

“Men were draped with medals for killing other men yet imprisoned for loving one another.”

Later on, she makes a point of proclaiming herself ready to take their relationship as it is, without expecting much of a future.

“Though this is all there is […] I accept it without tomorrows and without any lilies of promise. It is enough, the now, and though it comes without anything, it gives me everything. […] But as long as the accessories are such now as to make me over-armed with weapons to combat the antagonistic world, even if a thousand programs go wrong, I won’t lament that past I was when I could see no future.”

She then tries to dissipate any doubts he might have about their relationship (because it looks as if he’s already starting to second-guess himself) by repeatedly reassuring him that she’s the one for him and that, as much as he tries, he can’t escape that fact.

“Remember I am not temptation to you, but everything is which inclines you away. Nor are you to me, but my entire goal. Sometimes you see this as clearly as I do now, for you say, ‘Do you think if I didn’t I could have…?’”.

I wonder… if Johnny hadn’t already been with Angie when he knocked on Morrissey’s door, would things have panned out differently for them? Would they have dared to take their relationship to the next level in spite of society’s backlash?

“Do you see me then as the too-successful one, like a colossus whose smug thighs rise obliviously out of sorrow? Or as the detestable all-female, who grabs and devours, invulnerable with greed? Alas, these are your sins, your garments of shame, and not the blond-sapling boys with blue eye-shadow leaning amorously towards you in the printshop.”

Leaving aside the fact that this man is garbage, she’s obviously anxious to reassure him that it’s not his bisexuality that saddens her, but the fact that he sees her as a threat.

Also that line, “grabs and devours”, will then be used by Morrissey in The Headmaster Ritual:

He grabs and devours He kicks me in the showers Kicks me in the showers And he grabs and devours

By the end of the chapter though, her words of comfort are starting to sound ominous:

“Only remember: I am not the ease, but the end. I am not to blind you but to find you. What you think is the sirens singing to lure you to your doom is only the voice of the inevitable, welcoming you after so long a wait. I was made only for you.”

PART VII The man has a breakdown and he’s interned in a psych facility. She tries to go and see him, but his wife is already there. He’d previously written her a letter, asking her to take him back. The protagonist leaves and when she comes back a few days later they leave together, but when she tries to confront him about the letter he refuses to listen to her. They have a fight and she ends up capitulating because he’s still ill and she wants to believe him when he tells her she’s the only one.

“My love, why did you leave me on Lexington Avenue in the Ford that had no breaks?” This line reminds me a bit of Break Up The Family, when Morrissey says:

Hailstones, driven home In a car – no breaks? I don’t mind

Which coincidentally is what’s happening in this chapter: the honeymoon phase is clearly over, he’s having troubles with his guilty conscience and he deals with them by distancing himself from her, even though she’s expecting his child.

PART VIII He and his wife move to London where the war is raging and, after a while, the protagonist follows them. She stays in a dingy hotel and he occasionally visits her to have sex with her, but by now it’s clear that he has no intention of leaving his wife for her, so they often fight and every day she’s getting more and more desperate and isolated.

The chapter opens with the line:

“His brother and his mother and his grandmother lie abandoned in death on the stones of the London Underground.”

This vaguely reminds me once again of Late Night…

You gran died And you mother died On Maudlin Street In pain and ashamed With never time to say Those special things

“Bombs are bigger, but the human brains they burst remain the same. It is the faces we once kissed that are being smashed in the English coastal towns, the hand we shook that are swept up with the debris […] and love still uproots the heart better than an imagined landmine.”

This paragraph makes me think of Ask:

Because if it’s not love Then it’s the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb The bomb, the bomb That will bring us together

In the meantime, their relationship is going sour and the protagonist feels they’re reaching a breaking point.

“When the ship cracks in the typhoon, we cover our heads and tell ourselves that all will resolve back to normal. But we are unbelieving. This time may not be like the other times that with time grew into cheerful anecdotes. […] O where does he stalk like a horse in pastures very far afield? I cannot hear him, and silence writes more terrible things than he can ever deny. Is there a suspicion the battle is lost? Certainly he killed me fourteen nights in succession.”

I can’t help but think about how Morrissey must have felt when Johnny told him he wanted to leave The Smiths. People around him (Stephen Street, Grant Showbiz) thought he was going to kill himself and the fact that Johnny then went on holiday and never made contact with him must have alarmed him even more. He’d first thought the situation could be repaired, but by then he must’ve realised the end was upon them.

“He did the one sin which Love will not allow. […] He did sin against Love, and though he says it was in Pity’s name, and that Pity was only fighting a losing battle with Love, he was useless to Pity, and in wavering, injured Love, which was, after all, what he staked all for, all he had, ungamblable.”

From what I gather, he went back to his wife because he felt sorry for her and the protagonist can’t accept that because in her eyes their love was everything that mattered and everything they had.

Now: as I said before, I think Morrissey was inspired by this book because he saw himself in it. I think he must’ve found many similarities between the protagonist’s situation and his own, both of them in love with a married man who doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Johnny and Angie split for a brief period in 1983, when The Smiths went on their first USA tour, and I’ve seen a few people speculate that if something physical happened between Morrissey and Johnny, it may very well have happened then. Morrissey may have taken advantage of the fact that Johnny was free and overcame his fears by making the first move. Or maybe, Johnny was the one who, once aware of Morrissey’s feelings for him, decided to take the bull by its horns. I don’t know. Nobody does. What I wonder is… once Johnny went back to Angie, how did Morrissey feel? Because I don’t think he was all that thrilled. Did he think he did it out of pity, like the protagonist of the book did? If something had happened between them on that tour, did he feel used? Did he feel mildly outraged? Did he resign himself to consider it a one-night stand and nothing more, even though his feelings for Johnny clearly went deeper than that? It’s also worth noticing how the references to this book start to spring up in his lyrics from Meat Is Murder onwards, that is, after that tour in 1983.

“How can I put love up to my hopes so suicidal and wild-eyed when the matter is too simple and too plain: it is her tears he feels trickling over his breast each night; it is for her he feels the concern; and the pity, after all, not the love, fills his twenty-four hours. Perhaps I am his hope. But then she is his present. And if then she is his present, I am not his present. Therefore, I am not, and I wonder why no one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me. […] For even if he loves me, he is in her arms. O the fact, the unalterable fact: it is she he is with: he is with her: he is not with me because he is sleeping with her.”

For me, this might be the most heartbreaking part of the book. The protagonist knows that no matter what she tells herself, when he’s done with her he comes home to his wife while she’s stuck in a hotel room in a country which is not her own.

That line, “I wonder why no one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me”, also crops up right at the beginning of What She Said:

What she said: “How come someone hasn’t noticed that I’m dead And decided to bury me? God knows, I’m ready!”

Which makes me think Morrissey must have somehow related to this part. “He loves me, but he’s still with her.” “He has martyred me, but for no cause, nor has he any idea of the size and consequence of my wounds. Perhaps he will never know, for to say, You killed me daily and O most especially nightly, would imply blame. I do not blame, nor even say, You might have done this or this rather than that. I even say, You must do that, you have to do it, there is no alternative, urging my own murder. […] If ever again he lets those nights happen, or dallies with remorse for past sins to others while sinning most dangerously against me, I shall be unrevivable. I shall, whether I want to or not, be struck dead with the fact. And he may clothe it in all humanity’s most melting colours, and pity, and sympathy, and call on love to be kind, and I too shall pray, Let me be kind, but it will be no good.”

This entire thing reinforces my first thought, which is: Morrissey and Johnny at one point had a one-night stand (“It was a good lay, good lay...”), except for Morrissey there were much stronger feelings attached to it.

As hurt as she is, the protagonist doesn’t blame the man for going back to his wife and she even encourages him, because she recognises that, at the end of the day, it’s the best course of action for everyone involved. What she wishes wouldn’t happen again are those nights, coupled with him badmouthing her to others out of remorse for his own actions.

If we once again consider the queer factor in the relationship between Morrissey and Johnny, it wouldn’t surprise me if Morrissey followed the same reasoning when Johnny went back to Angie because, as much as Morrissey loved him, he wouldn’t be able to give him the stability of a straight relationship. (That isn’t to say Johnny didn’t love Angie, btw. I’m sure he loved her deeply and he still does, but I also think at the time some internal conflict was present because, on some level, he reciprocated Morrissey’s feelings.)

That last line, “… and call on love to be kind, and I too shall pray, Let me be kind” reminds me of I Know It’s Over:

It takes strength to be gentle and kind

This can be applied to many situations, but I feel like it becomes especially relevant in the context of the love of your life leaving you for someone else, who you also care about.

PART IX The protagonist goes back home to Canada and has to face the invasive questioning of neighbours who see her with a big belly but no wedding ring. After a while though, she realises she must see the man she loves and so she leaves to meet him once again.

“I am lonely. I cannot be a female saint. I want the one I want. He is the one I picked out from the world. I picked him out in cold deliberation. But the passion was not cold. It kindled me. It kindled the world. Love, love, give my heart ease, put your arms round me, give my heart ease. Feel the little bastard.”

- “I want the one I want.” → “I want the one I can’t have.” - “Put your arms round me.” → “All I ask of you is one thing that you never do / Would you put your arms around me? (I won’t tell anyone).” (Tomorrow)

PART X The final chapter opens with the line that gave the book its title: “By Grand Central Station I sat down and wept.” He didn’t come to collect her, so she has a breakdown right in the middle of the station. The ending is kind of confusing. It looks as if she resigns herself to go back to him just to have sex with him, and she tries to convince herself everything is fine, but it clearly isn’t.

Elizabeth Smart went back to George Barker time and time again, even though their relationship was dysfunctional to say the least and they were both very damaged, egotistical individuals. He cheated on her repeatedly but she loved him nonetheless, so I guess it would make sense for the book to end like this as well.

“They obey the glint in the middle of my glazed eye, for it is the fierce last stand of all I have.” → “Gasping - but somehow still alive / This is the fierce last stand of all I am.” (Well I Wonder)

“I wanted only one thing. I gave you the full instructions. The name, I spelt it out in letters as long as a continent, even the address, the address that makes waterfalls of my blood because it is also her address. I said quite plainly and loudly: This is what I want. I want this, and I don’t want any bonus. Just give me this and I’ll pay any price you ask. I made no reservations. You took advantage of this. I never grudged. But, Sir, so what I plead is just – what are you stalling for? There is no more to give.”

This entire paragraph reminds me of Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.

“He hangs, damp with his impotent tears, nailed by one hand to Love and by the other one to Pity.”

This man is split between love and duty and can’t seem to be able to make a decision, with everyone suffering as a consequence, including him. That’s what the protagonist sees. What I see is a man who likes to have his ego stroked and doesn’t mind a bit of drama. It’s not that he’s unable to make a decision, he just doesn’t want to.

“Is it possible he cannot hear me when he lies so close, so lightly asleep? […] My dear, my darling, do you hear me when you sleep?”

These parts were clearly used by Morrissey as inspiration for the lyrics of Well I Wonder (which, like What She Said, was based almost entirely on this book – I even think they were written back to back.)

Well I wonder Do you hear me when you sleep?

“This is the very room he chose instead of Love. Let it be quiet and full of healing. […] It is the cursed comfort he preferred to my breast. The one who shares it weeps silently in corners, is tender unnoticed, and makes his necessary tea. ‘Have you seen my notebook, dear?’ ‘It is under the desk, my sweet.’ Give it to him, O my gentle usurper, whom I also have usurped, my enemy whom I have both killed and been killed by. […] He also is drowning in the blood of too much sacrifice. Lay aside the weapons, love, for all battles are lost.”

At last he’s made his choice and if we’ve learned something from history it’s that a man’s comfort will always be more important than a woman’s safety and peace of mind.

FINAL COMMENTS As I said before, one of the reasons I think Morrissey was inspired by this book is that he found its story to be relatable, but it’s not just that. The language, as you may have noticed by reading some of its quotes, is quite poetic, abstract and melodramatic, with a major focus on introspection and an underlying sense of pervasive melancholy. This is an artistic quality that both Morrissey and Johnny had in common, even though they expressed it differently: one through his lyrics, the other through his sound. Ultimately, I think Morrissey found By Grand Central Station… very useful creatively and personally. Creatively because it gave him the inspiration to write some of his best songs (also, here’s a reminder that both Moz and Johnny declared Well I Wonder as one of their favourite Smiths’ songs at some point), and personally because it provided him with an outlet to confront his feelings for Johnny, which I think must have been quite tumultuous. With a shortage of LGBT media which was even more prevalent in the 80s, queer people often had to read between the lines of straight stories to find something to relate to, and I feel like that’s what Morrissey did. Personally, after reading it I found myself surprised by the superficiality with which most people (biographers, reviewers etc.) talked about its role in Morrissey’s lyrics, because clearly there’s so much more to it than stealing a line here and there. It’s also about him feeling invested in a story because it spoke to him and it represented him, at least partially, in an era when anyone who didn’t fit in with society’s standards of what it meant to be a man or a woman might as well not have existed at all.

#the smiths #morrissey #johnny marr #marrissey #by grand central station i sat down and wept #elizabeth smart

12 notes · View notes

gimmesumsuga · 7 years ago

Text

Sweeter than Sweet (58)

Pairings: Jimin x reader, Yoongi x reader, Jimin x Yoongi, Namjoon x reader, Taehyung x reader + others as the story progresses

Warnings: Nil of note

Word count: 4.8K

Previous / Next

“Have you seen my other sock?” Groping around the footwells of the back seats in semi-darkness, you try to find the articles of clothing you’d so hastily shed earlier whilst Yoongi pulls on his t-shirt on next to you, his hair a mess when his head pops out the other side. He leans down forward and fishes around under the driver’s seat, emerging triumphant with one crumpled black sock in hand a second or two later. “Thanks.” You grin sheepishly as you pull it on, your knee jabbing into his thigh because of how close he’s sitting next to you.

It’s impossible not to notice the fond look on Yoongi’s face as he watches your every move. There’s an unmistakable softness to his features, his lips fixed in the curve of a smile, and as soon as you’re both put back together he grabs a hold of your hand and lies down along the back seat, pulling you with him. You fall onto his chest with a squeal of happiness, settling between Yoongi’s legs which then wrap around you, squeezing tight.

For someone with such skinny legs, they sure are strong. He playfully squishes the air out of your lungs by tensing both his arms and thighs in strong but short contractions, enjoying the way you gurgle and laugh as you try to escape his grasp, wriggling like a worm. Yoongi always likes to do things like this; tease and taunt you with random bouts of mild physical assault. Maybe some small part of him is still stuck in the mindset of an eight-year-old boy, where the best way to show that you like someone is to kick them in the shins or poke them in the eye.

“Yoongi!” you shriek, giggling as you flail your legs, “Yoongi, I can’t breathe!” He finally releases you, beaming a wide, maniacal grin that you scowl back at. He leans up to kiss the crinkle between your eyebrows but you dig your chin sharply into the space between his pectorals before he can get there, out for revenge, laughing hard when he yelps and bats you away to rub the sore spot you’ve left behind.

“That was uncalled for,” he sulks, bottom lip jutting out.

“Oh was it now?” you chuckle, pushing his hand out of the way to rub his chest yourself, shifting upwards to be able to reach his lips with your own. By the time you’ve finished kissing Yoongi’s pout has well and truly disappeared, his hands resting lightly on your waist as he gazes up at you. “Tonight’s been… amazing,” you tell him softly, reaching up to push his hair from off of his forehead and loving every centimetre more of pale skin that’s revealed.

“It has,” he confirms, tightening his grip, and when you look back to his eyes you find them locked onto yours, pools of pitch black just waiting to be fallen into. “I’ve been wanting to say those words for a very long time.” You can’t resist the chance to tease Yoongi a little more, nevermind how serious the subject matter may be.

“Say what?” He tilts his head to the side, corner of his lips flicking upward into a smile as he takes in the mischief evident on your face.

“Really? The million times I said it just now wasn’t enough?” You purse your lips, mimicking his head tilt as you let out a thoughtful ‘hmm’, dragging out your reply.

“I could stand to hear it again,” you admit eventually, and when you do Yoongi releases your waist to take a hold of your face in its stead, pulling your lips down onto his for a lengthy, heartfelt kiss, his tongue entwined with yours.

“I love you,” he whispers quietly as you pull away. You don’t hesitate before answering in kind, placing your hands on top of his against your cheeks. The effect your words have on Yoongi is clear to see; his chest rising falling heavily underneath you as he inhales just that little bit harder than usual, a smile finding its way onto his face once again.

“What took you so long?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Yoongi counters, lifting an eyebrow and then pulling one of your palms towards him to kiss loudly, smacking his lips against your skin.

“Touché,” you chuckle, finally letting out a little sigh before you speak again, Yoongi planting kiss after kiss upon you in the interim, “I wasn’t sure you felt that strongly about me until recently...” He peeks up at you with a smirk, momentarily pausing.

“What gave me away then? Was it the constant staring? The insane jealousy? Or maybe it was all those songs I wrote about you?”

“There’s more than one?” you interrupt, eyebrows lifting in surprise. Yoongi rolls his eyes as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“There’s more than one.”

“Oh,” you breathe out softly, heart thumping. You’re filled with sudden desire to demand that he take you home right this instant and show you every single song, but this moment is too sweet to want to cut it short just for the sake of having your ego stroked.

Yoongi tucks some of your hair behind your ear, his eyes carefully tracing every detail of your face as you shift your weight on top of him. The temperature in the car is starting to drop a little now, the tip of your nose sat like a fleshy icicle right in the centre of your face.

“Jimin said something earlier that finally convinced.me.” Yoongi's hand pauses where it’s threading through your hair. “It seems as though he knew how we felt long before either of us,” you say with a smile. Yoongi’s silent and thoughtful for a moment, his expression difficult to read.

“This whole thing confuses the hell out of me,” he finally admits, letting out a sigh, “I’m glad Jimin is so… ‘relaxed’ about all this, but doesn’t it feel a little too good to be true? I keep waiting for him to suddenly change his mind and keep you away from me.” You can read the worry on Yoongi’s face all too clearly, and it pains you to see. Sitting up, you pull Yoongi with you, taking hold of his hands and settling them in your lap.

“No one’s going to take me away,” you tell him reassuringly, “Jimin cares about us both; he knows trying to seperate us would only make us miserable.” Yoongi picks his head up from where he’d been staring at the floor, looking you in the eyes as he reverses the hold of your hands, taking yours in his.

“I just want you to be happy,” he says emphatically, squeezing them.

“I want all of us to be happy. I still don’t understand how I could love the both of you like this, so much, all at the same time… but I do.” You pause for a second, bracing yourself for a pang of jealousy to show on Yoongi’s face, but it never comes - not obviously, anyway. “I hope that’s ok.” He’s quiet for a second longer before Yoongi leans in to kiss you chastely, brushing your lips with his.

“It’s ok, gongjunim.” The relief you feel is tangible, anxiety you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding onto leaving you in one soft exhale, relaxing as you lean your forehead on his and close your eyes. A minute passes before Yoongi speaks again, the car quiet save the far-off sound of the main city streets. “You’ve saved my life twice now, you know.”

When you open your eyes you see Yoongi already looking back at you, his face so close that you can only focus on one dark iris at a time. Correctly assuming your lack of reply to be ignorance, he continues,

“Once, when you let me feed.” The palm that’d been pressed to your cheek slides downward now to linger at your neck, encircling it, hiding half of your collar from view. “I’ll never forget the way you tasted…” he murmurs, thumb brushing up and down your jugular.

You swallow heavily, a shiver running through you at his touch. The want to feel Yoongi’s fangs on you again is almost overwhelming, each breath of yours jagged and your cheeks flushed as his gaze roves your delicate skin, wetting his lips. You long to know how tender his bite might be if he were more in control; if Yoongi were drinking from you for pleasure rather than thirst.

“A-and the second?” you ask breathlessly, attempting to distract the both of you from the desire that’s threatening to overcome you. Yoongi’s eyes snap back upward to meet yours, the spell seemingly broken as he lets his hand drop, swallowing hard.

“Before you found us…” He seems to struggle all of a sudden, trailing off and looking away to consider his next words, a frown dipping his brows. “I was barely existing… worthlessly wasting year after year. What’s the point in living forever with no dreams, nothing to hope for?” You reach out to touch Yoongi’s face, gently pressing to turn it back towards you. Yoongi’s words are so raw, said with such feeling that hearing them makes your chest constrict, your arms aching with the want to hold him. Imagining him feeling so desolate and hopeless almost brings tears to your eyes, and when Yoongi notices them glistening he smiles affectionately. “I was alive - though often I wished I wasn’t - and then you arrived… and everything changed. The house came alive again, and you reminded me that I have something to live for.”

You blink, stunned by the sincerity of Yoongi’s words and at a total loss for what to say. What on earth can you say that’d even come close to matching that kind of sentiment?

Suddenly Yoongi laughs, shaking his head and lowering it so that he can hide his embarrassment behind the black curtain of his fringe.

“God, I just heard that back. That came out a lot more cringy than I’d meant it to.” You hear him grimace, running his fingers through the hair that continues to dangle in the way of eye contact.

“Yeah… it was a little gross,” you admit with a grin, smiling harder when he looks up, his eyes narrowed at your teasing tone. You go to take his hand and he quickly withdraws it, playfully avoiding your grasp again and again as he feigns insult until the both are you are laughing, any embarrassment he might’ve felt long forgotten.

“Sappy or not, though, I feel the same,” you say once he finally allows you to touch him. Yoongi stills, granting you his rapt attention. “I was never close to my parents - they always preferred my sister to me - and I was too shy to be any good at making friends. Sam was all I had until now… you guys are like family to me.” A smirk appears on Yoongi’s face and you suddenly realise what you said, hastily adding, “In a strictly non-incestuous way, obviously.”

“You realise your little daddy kink isn’t making this come off any better, right?” he laughs and this time it’s your turn to pretend to be appalled, shifting yourself away from him with a scandalised expression and folding your arms, back against the car door. Despite the way you glare Yoongi just continues to laugh, completely unphased. “Come on,” he says, opening the door on his side and swinging his legs out. The night beyond him is black, the bass of the nearby bars and clubs coming louder now your private little bubble has been breached, and a cold draft enters the car when the wind blows noisily. You shudder and fold your arms even tighter, trying to keep warm. “Let’s get home before this gets even more vomit inducing.”

***

The sight of the manor as it appears in the distance, statuesque and gleaming in the light of the full moon, is a welcome one. You’re eager to get home to see Jimin and tell him what a wonderful night you’ve had, to change in your most comfortable of sweats and then maybe curl up in the living room with all the others and watch some godawful movie - most likely of Hoseok’s choosing.

Still, arriving home will inevitably bring yours and Yoongi’s date to an end, which is something you don’t particularly relish. Parting with him always feels unnatural, like severing yourself from some non-essential limb; you can live without it but it just doesn’t feel right without it being there.

Yoongi must pick up on your little dip in mood; he seems to be acting extra sweet for the remainder of your journey in an attempt to compensate, but in reality, it only makes you feel worse. When he pulls up on the driveway he’s the first to hop out, opening your car door for you to climb out, his handling of you tender and his smile soft and small as he curls an arm around your waist, pulling you closer when he feels you shiver from the cold. Yoongi leads you into the house amongst a comfortable silence that’s broken when the heavy front door slams shut behind you, caught by a blast of winter air.

The two of you silently embrace at the bottom of the stairs, clinging onto each other like forbidden lovers for the longest time until Yoongi lifts his head from your shoulder and shifts away, holding you at arm's length.

“You should get back to Jimin,” he says, tone tinged with regret before it’s masked with a slanted smile, “I did promise him, after all.” You grab onto the front of his coat with both hands, stepping closer again.

“But it’s barely even 1am…”

“I know,” Yoongi consoles gently, reaching up to brush his thumb along your cheekbone before cupping your face in his cool hand, “But he’ll be missing you.”

“And I’ll miss you ,” you persist, whining shamelessly. Much longer and you’ll be stamping a foot on the ground too, no doubt. “I hate this. I hate having to leave one of you for the other all the time.”

You know it might seem greedy, but all you want right now is to go back to Jimin's room with Yoongi by your side and be able to bask in their love and attention - to cuddle up with both of them like you did last time Sam was here. Is that so much to ask?

Yoongi just looks at you wordlessly, his expression not quite blank but just… resigned. He knows this is the arrangement the three of you have, whether he likes it or not, and he probably doesn’t want to push his luck any more than necessary. It’s unlikely Jimin would appreciate a direct challenge of his dominance within your little love triangle - not from Yoongi, anyway - but maybe you might be able to broach the subject? He might take it better, maybe, coming from you. It's got to be worth a try, right?

Before you can lose your gall you grab a hold of Yoongi’s hand and turn on the spot, dragging him in the direction of Jimin’s bedroom with long, determined strides, your lover stumbling along behind you.

“What’re you doing?!” Yoongi jogs a little to catch up, preferring to walk side by side even if he has no clue of your intention.

“I told you; I hate this.” You can feel him ogling at the side of your face so you keep looking straight, barely seeing all the artwork that you usually spend so much time admiring each time you travel this hall. “We’re going to talk to Jimin, come to some sort of arrangement.”

“We?!”

“Yes, we,” you insist, using your free hand to unwrap your scarf from around your neck and shove it into the bag still dangling from your shoulder. Now that your blood’s pumping you’re suddenly too warm, full of nervous energy. “You’re as much a part of this as me and Jimin, or you should be, at least.”

The two of you reach Jimin’s door, the sound of the TV playing inside confirming your boyfriend’s presence on the other side. Before you can reach for the handle, however, Yoongi brings you to a halt with a grab of your cardigan.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he says quietly, eyes flicking to the door, his lips drawn tight with worry. Sighing, you turn to him.

“Look… Yoongi… I love what we have.” His face softens, chin tilting down as he watches you take a step closer toward him. “I love the time we spend together. But I want more than what we have now… more than just a few stolen moments when Jimin gives the say-so.” Yoongi rubs the side of his neck nervously, the bright corridor lights glinting off of his jewelled ring as it moves to and fro. “Isn’t that what you want too?”

He studies you for a moment, searching your gaze for the reassurance you so desperately try to give when you place a hand on either side of his slender waist, thumbs circling his skin through his sweater.

“Ok,” he relents after a moment, setting his jaw. This is the second time he’s chosen to place his faith in you tonight, and you’re infinitely grateful for each and every display of trust. You can’t imagine Yoongi is someone who would ever blindly follow someone else’s lead unless he really did care for them.

You take a breath, flash Yoongi a smile, and then push open Jimin’s door to enter, the two of you hand in hand. If it weren’t for the nervous fluttering of your heart, you’d find the way both Jimin and Nova’s heads simultaneously turn toward you rather amusing. They’re both sat on the bed, Nova curled up by Jimin’s bare feet, and from the way Jimin has his phone still in hand, one earbud in, you can guess he was listening to music even though the TV is already on. You make a mental note to talk to him about trying to be more environmentally friendly once you’re done with the task in hand.

“Kitten…” Jimin is all smiles as he sits up from the pillows, yanking his earphones out and swinging his legs out of bed, disturbing Nova enough that she jumps down too, thudding to the floor at the same time as your discarded handbag. Jimin’s still dressed exactly as he was when you left him a few hours earlier, in a loose white t-shirt and black shorts that do little to conceal the flexing of his thighs as he closes the space between the two of you. “Did you have a nice time?” he asks as you’re hit with a waft of his aftershave, a delicious musk that always leaves you swooning when it’s combined with a gentle palm being placed on your neck.

“It was great,” you reply, squeezing Yoongi’s hand in your own. Jimin’s all eyes for you, looking you up and down and taking in every feature of your face like he hasn’t seen you in months, a dreamy smile on his face. “We played piano at an open mic night.”

“You did?” For the first time, Jimin turns his attention to the boy standing somewhat awkwardly at your side, his smile becoming even wider as he regards Yoongi with open affection. “That’s great, hyung, I wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

“It was nothing special,” Yoongi drawls, shrugging his shoulders casually and grunting when you elbow him in the ribs, frowning disapprovingly.

“It was amazing,” you insist, pleased when Yoongi lets a little smile slip, glancing down at his boots. Jimin looks between the two of you, his thumb rubbing at the juncture of your shoulder and neck.

“I’m glad the two of you had fun.” You can tell from the tone of Jimin’s voice, as pleasant and sincere as it is, that he intends for this to be a closing statement; a cue for you and Yoongi to say your goodbyes.

Instead, you link your fingers tighter through Yoongi’s own, pulling him closer to your side so your shoulder touches his.

“Jimin,” you begin meekly, your mouth suddenly dry, “Can Yoongi stay?” You notice Jimin’s eyes widen a millimetre or two as soon as the quiet, hopeful words pass your lips, his hand stilling at your neck as the room falls silent save the murmur of TV in the background. He takes a breath, a slight frown appearing on his pretty face as he glances between the both of you, but before he can speak you find yourself talking over him, everything you’ve been wanting to say these past few weeks pouring out in one long, garbled sentence.

“I hate having to leave him, Jiminie, and I hate leaving you too. I hate having to pick between the two of you and how guilty I feel when I’m with one of you and not the other. I love you both, you know I do, and I don’t want to have to choose anymore. I want all of us to be equal in this, I want to be with Yoongi and you all the time, the three of us, like we did the other night - remember?”

You pause to catch your breath, shifting your weight nervously as you watch Jimin blink a few times, his perfectly pouted lips slightly parted. Yoongi doesn’t even seem to be breathing beside you, and you’d be tempted to turn and look at him to check he’s ok if it weren’t for the way you’re trying to beseech Jimin with your eyes. He definitely looks caught off guard, that’s for certain, the turning of the cogs of his mind almost plain to see as he tries to digest all that you’ve just thrown at him.

“I… I want Yoongi to be my daddy, too.”

It’s almost instantaneous, the way Jimin’s expression darkens, mouth closing and jaw clenching. His hand drops from your neck and his gaze snaps to Yoongi, sidestepping to stand directly in front of the other male.

“Was this your idea, hyung ?” he growls lowly, and Yoongi, who looks almost as shocked as Jimin at this whole messy situation, answers abruptly and without thinking.

“The whole daddy thing is your kink, not mine, Jimin. ” Jimin regards him closely through narrowed eyes and Yoongi, in an uncharacteristic display of self-confidence, stares right back.

You’re starting to think this was a very bad idea as you watch the two men square up to each other, practically equal in height although Jimin takes the upper hand in stature. The way Jimin has his hands balled into fists at his side is unnerving you, so you ever-so-gently reach out to cup your hand around one of his, attempting to calm things down as you softly say his name.

A moment longer passes, the air so thick with tension that it feels difficult to swallow, and all the time Jimin is inspecting every feature of Yoongi’s face. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but does Jimin seem to be frowning less? The lines around his eyes certainly seem a little less angry…

Jimin says your name, his voice so sudden that it actually makes you jump.

“You’re not to call anyone else by that name. Only me,” he tells you, turning his head to look at you sternly, his tone so firm that you know there’d be no use in arguing. Is that it, then? No discussion, no hope of things being anything other than what they are? Your shoulders sag defeatedly, eyes dropping to the floor, surprising yourself with how devastated you really feel.

“But.” You look up abruptly, eyes widening as Jimin continues, his eyes back towards Yoongi. “If you were willing to submit to me, hyung … then I’m sure we could come to an arrangement that all three of us might find satisfactory.”

Once again, a silence falls between the three of you. Yoongi, who usually looks so passive and calm in day to day life, has his eyes held open wide as they dart back and forth between Jimin’s, as though he’s trying to figure out whether or not the younger boy is joking.

“Submit to you?” Yoongi repeats, his tone deadpan. You have to force yourself to take a breath, only realising you’ve been holding it when you start to run out of air, practically giddy. You feel as though you’re merely an observer, as though you’re not really here as the scene plays out, so caught up in each other are the men stood in front of you. “Why the hell would I want to do that?”

A smirk breaks out onto Jimin’s face, a breathy laugh passing his lips.

“In almost forty years, do you think I’ve never noticed the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking, hyung ?” Jimin chuckles, raising an eyebrow at his elder. Yoongi’s mouth abruptly closes, his eyes dropping away in embarrassment before they’re lured back again. Jimin’s rendered him speechless, Yoongi suddenly appearing smaller as Jimin steps forward so they’re almost toe to toe, nose to nose. You watch as Jimin’s hand moves up to cradle Yoongi’s neck as he so often does to yours, his thumb tracing the weak slant of Yoongi’s jaw, no longer smiling but smouldering as he looks into the other's eyes.

“I would never ask you to do anything you didn’t want to do, Yoongi,” he says softly, tilting his head to the side. The dropping of the honorific doesn’t go unnoticed, Yoongi’s Adam’s apple bobbing in response to Jimin’s close proximity. “But if you let me, I could bring you so much pleasure. By my hand, or hers,” Jimin flicks his eyes briefly your way, Yoongi glancing over at you too, his pupils shot to hell, “Or both.”

You’re struggling to remember a time you were ever more aroused than as you are now, watching this all unfold. Your pelvic muscles are clenching around nothing as you observe the way Jimin’s thumb strokes back and forth across Yoongi’s skin, your breathing just as uneven as Yoongi’s has become, and you find yourself praying to whichever God might hear you that Yoongi will accept Jimin’s proposal. Please, God, let him say yes.

“And if you want to,” Jimin begins, leaning in closer and brushing the tip of his nose against Yoongi’s, lips curling into a smirk as other eyes flutter closed, mouth parted, “You can pleasure me too.” Yoongi’s breath hitches as Jimin nudges his nose against the slant of his cheekbone, lips ghosting across his cheek. “Would you like that, Yoongi? Would you like to touch me?”

“Yes,” Yoongi replies almost instantaneously, shocking the three of you, his voice like gravel.

“Yes what?” Jimin persists, clearly enjoying the way Yoongi visibly trembles under his touch.

“Yes, sir, please.” Jimin leans back slightly, just enough to let Yoongi open his eyes and try to catch his breath, still wearing that same, satisfied smirk. “I want to… I-” Yoongi looks over at you and you know he’ll be able to see how wrecked you are, how flushed from head to toe. Hell, they’d probably both be able to smell the way you’re dripping from the other side of the house. He turns back to Jimin, locking eyes, his mind apparently made up. “I submit.”

Jimin practically purrs with pleasure, his hand moving to the nape of Yoongi’s neck as he leans his forehead against the other boys, and then, with a calculated slowness, Jimin tilts Yoongi’s mouth onto his own. You don’t even register the little noise you make as it happens, far too enraptured in watching the timid first meeting of their lips that seems to go on forever and yet take no time at all, Yoongi panting for air by the time Jimin finally relinquishes him.

Jimin smiles, not cruelly or smugly this time - a soft, loving smile that Yoongi shyly returns as Jimin holds his face in both hands.

“Good boy.”

#sweeter than sweet #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi x reader #yoongi/reader #suga x reader #jimin x reader #jimin/reader #yoongi x jimin #yoonmin #yoongi fluff

870 notes · View notes

hanalwayssolo · 7 years ago

Text

The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows

I mentioned to @hypaalicious I was going to unearth this and now here it is! Once upon a time, Crisis Core fucked me up and I wrote this self-indulgent fluffy thing ages ago because hngggh Sephiroth is a precious cinnamon roll before he became an actual sinnamon roll.

Considering all the days Sephiroth has worked with you in the field, he can’t figure out for the life of him why you’ve been acting so weird for the past few weeks.

Sure, the working chemistry between the two of you has been rocky at the beginning, but along the way, it proved the entire point of Tseng and Lazard jointly deciding to pair you up with Sephiroth for multiple assignments: your immaculate intel work and espionage skills as a promising Turk perfectly complemented his superhuman fighting prowess. You’re an additional intelligence to the already brains-and-brawn renowned war hero, and for Sephiroth, he immensely enjoyed working with you.

The thing now is, despite everything going along swimmingly, as of late, Sephiroth could not understand why you seem to be avoiding him. Like, being within his proximity just gets you strangely uncomfortable. At the back of his mind, he’s raking for reasons why, and he’s trying to figure out if there was anything offensive that he ever did to you at all. He replayed past conversations, all the dry-humoured jokes, and he just can’t seem to get to the bottom of anything. And with this, he somehow resented you for reasons beyond any plane of existence could ever understand. It’s not that there’s an existing animosity between the lot of you Turks and 1st Class SOLDIERs that warrants his ill-stemmed feeling. But for the first time in his life, there’s a mystery before him that no amount of his training in SOLDIER, nor any of his educated research could ever solve for him.

For the first time, he actually felt helpless.

And out of all the things that Sephiroth hates, this feeling of helplessness is at the top of his list.

Out of all the things that you hate, this unnamed feeling in your chest is now at the top of your list.

And for the first time, nothing ever made sense to you.

The funny thing about this is you don’t know how, or why, or when the tangle of emotions started, but every single time you see Sephiroth these days, you feel like your heart is about to erupt out of your chest. The funnier thing about that is he doesn’t even do anything that could merit a good reason for you to get all internally antsy. You try to rationalize things, just like you always do, but you end up taking the easy route which is to hate him.

True, your partnership with Sephiroth allowed you to witness and be amazed with his exceptional combat skills and his strategic mind at work, and you enjoyed every second of it. But as of late, you hate how he effortlessly executes everything he does. You hate how he sometimes smiles when Zack makes a silly joke about chocobos, or when Angeal passionately explains his gardening methods. But most of all, you hate his stupid, handsome face.

All things considered, you and Sephiroth are a force to be reckoned with.

But all of this tension finally takes its toll when you discover out of the blue that he has requested Tseng to pull you out from all his other assignments. Without even thinking, and with the fumes of your frustration consuming you, you march through the corridors of the SOLDIER headquarters, making a beeline for the training room. You stop to look through the glass door, and the unmistakeable long, silver hair and the black coat standing in the middle of the room is your cue to storm inside.

The whirring of the sliding door catches Sephiroth’s attention. “I believe I’m not expecting any company—”

“Care to explain to me why the fuck you pulled me out of all my upcoming missions with you?” The rage in your voice is so thick and scathing, but Sephiroth’s face remained unfazed as he turns to you, his eyes as cold as glaciers.

“I no longer require your assistance, given your inadequacies,” his words were sharper than steel. He should have just stabbed you in the chest while he’s at it.

You look at him, completely aghast. “I’m sorry—me? Inadequate? Are you fucking kidding me?” You pace across the room to distract yourself from the gripping feeling smothering your chest. “After that one time I saved your wounded ass in Wutai and I am inadequate?”

The crack in your voice allowed a faint twitch of emotion to break Sephiroth’s impassive face. Your eyes are burning hot from the tears that threaten to spill over, and you keep it at bay; he’s the last person in the universe that you ever wanted to see you cry.

When he does not answer, you finally diffuse the suffocating silence.

“You know what, fine,” you begin, and the tone of your voice still resonates a hurt that neither of you could ever comprehend. “Before all of this, it was actually my greatest pleasure working with you. I just… if you wanted to get rid of me, if you hated me that much, you could have said so. And it would have been nice if I heard it from you first.” You return towards him and stop to look at him straight in the eye. “So, there you have it. Have a fucking swell career, Sephiroth.”

You walk past him, and god, you can’t wait to get out of here and let all these stupid tears out of your system. But before you can even get through the door, like a flash of lightning, Sephiroth snatches your arm and spins you around. In a heartbeat, his face is now inches from yours, and you can feel and taste his breath.

“I don’t understand you,” he grits his teeth as he whispers the words out, and all the while, you can’t help but stare at his perfectly luscious lips.

“I don’t understand you, either,” you snap back, trying so hard to sound in control. “Glad the feeling is mutual.”

He leans even closer, his forehead touching yours, and his hands gingerly take your face.

Before this painful second stretches on, you breathe, “If you’re going to kiss me, you can do so—”

It was almost brutal and terrifyingly electric, but the way his lips met yours, the shock ran through your spine like a raging torrent. You respond roughly when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip, your fingers running through his hair.

And just like that, all at once, all the unnamed emotions finally make sense.

What began as a frustrated kiss led to another one. And then another. It went on until the both of you already memorized how your lips moved against each other. It kept going until the both of you had granted each other an unspoken forgiveness, a closure for all the aching and agonizing weeks of misunderstood words and misplaced feelings.

What started as a cutthroat partnership ended in his bed that night. And the night that followed. And the nights turned into three, four, and five, until the both of you eventually lost count.

Considering all the nights you’ve been in Sephiroth’s bed, you’ve already made a habit of watching his beautiful sleeping face.

It’s certainly one sight to behold, if you’re being honest, and a tricky one to catch, too. Apart from the other obvious habit that the both of you have been doing each other every night, and with Sephiroth possessing a stamina of a mighty stallion, waiting for him to lull into sleep after sex proved to be difficult, but never impossible. He would stay up, absentmindedly twirling a lock of your hair, or pressing his lips against your forehead, until slowly but surely, his breathing steadies into a rhythm, and all his soft and tender touches come to a pause.

As you study him in the faint glow of moonlight, you find a strange serenity that inhabits his pale features; his stern and stoic face is replaced by a gentleness that mellows the sharp planes of his cheeks, a calmness similar to that of a sleeping child.

Still buzzing in the delight of a beautiful exhaustion, you cautiously sneak out of bed, careful not to stir Sephiroth out of his peaceful slumber. You take whatever piece of clothing you find discarded on the floor; you settle on Sephiroth’s white dress-shirt and slip yourself in it.

You tiptoe out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. You never really paid attention to the details of his quarters. But now that you look closely, there are a couple of plants along the counters, which you immediately assumed to be Angeal’s doing. You expected his place to be gray and bland, but surprisingly, with all the potted plants and the photos of Zack, Angeal, and Genesis plastered on his fridge, it definitely puts your boring room to shame. “Hey.”

You felt your heart leap out of your chest when you see Sephiroth standing in the doorway, shirtless and looking nothing less than glorious. He curiously watches you, and he wonders how his shirt hanging so lazily around your small frame could look so sexy, matched with your beautifully disheveled hair.

You must have been gawking hard at him too when he says, “My eyes are up here.”

“Yup. Gotcha.” You mechanically answer, making an effort to drag your eyes out of his sculpted chest and back into his absurdly pretty face.

Sephiroth casually walks over to you, and he places a chaste kiss on your lips. The scent of rose and vanilla that lingered in his skin is intoxicating. "You do know it's rude to stare, right?" "I wouldn’t be staring if you had something on." "But you have my shirt on, my love," he wraps his arms around your waist. "Unless you want me to take it off you?" You can practically hear him seducing you with just his voice. "That's a very tempting offer, but nope," you slyly counter. "Never mind—you look better with your shirt off."

Sephiroth’s mouth hangs slightly open, and you see a gentle flush creeping on his face. You try to bite back the smile on your face.

You cheekily laugh, “Did I just fluster you, big guy?”

“You and your smart mouth,” he grants your lips another kiss. He’s smiling when he pulls away, and you feel your heart doing somersaults at the sight of it.

“Well, it’s my only redeeming quality,” you flash him a sweet grin of your own.

“What are you doing here in the kitchen, anyway?” he asks, and his hands wander around your hips. “It’s four in the morning.”

Your own hands wander around his chest. “I was planning to get rid of these marks you left me—”

You squeak a little when he scoops you up and props you to sit on the counter. Sephiroth nuzzles your neck, leaving soft kisses and gentle bites. “But it looks good on you.” You giggle. “My, you’re getting cheeky now? Is this Zack's annoying qualities rubbing off on you, because if it is, I prefer you to be your usual brooding self."

He only hums in response as he continues to traverse the expanse of your shoulders with more kisses. “Just call in sick.”

“You know I can’t—” you quickly whine, and he only laughs. “Sephiroth, I love you but this isn’t funny if I’m supposed to be your best guarded secret—”

He abruptly stops and he slowly raises his head to face you. There’s confusion in his eyes, and your face drops at the grave look on his face, so you could only ask, “Did I say something—”

“Say it again.”

“I’m your best guarded secret—”

“No, the other thing.”

The realization slowly unravels in your head. But instead of saying the words again, you decide to show it to him by pulling him into a deep kiss.

For the first time in Sephiroth’s life, the mystery before him finally reveals itself. The revelation required no help from his formal training in SOLDIER, nor any of his educated research. For the first time, he felt normal and human.

Out of all the things that he can finally claim that he truly adores, this feeling of you by his side is at the top of his list.

#final fantasy vii #ff7 #ffvii #crisis core: final fantasy vii #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader #my writing

525 notes · View notes