#he's like.... trying to tell a story right. about a fallen man
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runforthehillsbestie · 1 day ago
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Sympathy For The Devil
Part 2 - whatever it takes
Pairing - Thomas Hewitt x Female reader
Read the story context and warnings here
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About half an hour goes by. The man, clinging on to scraps of lucidity, rambles about his wife and kid, telling you to tell them what happened to him, that they'd want to know. You're not listening because, for one, you're pretty sure you're not escaping any time soon, if at all, and two, you've just discovered that this bastard has cheated on his wife, and it's probably not the first time. You roll your head around in his direction.
"You deserve to die." Your cracked voice barely works anymore, but he hears you anyway. "Picking up hitchhikers and forcing them to suck you off when you have a wife and kid at home. Should've killed you myself."
That rouses the man more than anything, and his eyes open wide. "You filthy little wretch," he hisses, his eyes bright with pain and anger. "You're going to pay for this. When I get down from here, you'll be sorry."
He's so busy ranting that he doesn't see Tommy reappear at the bottom of the steps almost soundlessly, which is quite the feat for a man of his size. The man continues to spew his words at you, blissfully ignorant.
"I saw you writhing like a fish on a hook when that freak touched you. You liked it, didn't you? Liked that caveman sticking his big fingers in you. Man, I should've left you right there on the side of the road!"
He doesn't have time to react before Tommy grabs a kitchen knife and stabs it into his thigh. His body jangles from the impact, and he wails.
"Who's writhing now, jackass?" You taunt, feeling nothing but satisfaction as Tommy wiggles the knife, forcing it deeper.
Blood darkens the man's pants as he pants, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted. Tommy wipes his hands on the butcher's apron he's wearing, turning to stare at you. Of course--your period isn't going to stop just because you're tied up in some basement. Blood leaks down your thigh and over your calf, dripping into the water below. Irrationally, you're grateful you're not at a beach house dangling over the ocean.
Tommy takes a step towards you, and your heart begins to pitter-patter as he closes the distance.
"Thomas Hewitt, bring that girl up here," a woman's voice calls down, adding with a sigh, "If you haven't killed her already, that is."
Tommy puts a beefy arm around your middle and lifts you off the hook. Your wrists are chafed from the rope, and you pound your fists on his back, squirming when he throws you over his shoulder and thumps up the stairs. You wince as the broad curve of his shoulder digs into your tender abdomen. Evening has fallen, and the house is lit with lanterns that cast a golden glow on everything in their scope, leaving all else in deep shadow.
Tommy drops you into a chair in the kitchen, and you try to stand, but he clamps a hand on the back of your neck and shoves you down. Despite everything, a small part of you is embarrassed about bleeding on the chair. Your wide eyes scan the small, drab kitchen. There's a man in the corner seated in a wheelchair sucking on a cigarette, his pockmarked, wrinkled face face partially obscured by smoke.
"What did you do with her clothes, Tommy? She's all bare on the bottom," The woman scolds.
It's the same woman you saw leaning over you earlier, outside the house. She wipes her hands on her skirt and tuts. "Apologies. It's been a while since Tommy saw a sweet thing like you."
Her soft hands stroke your face, smelling of dish soap and ever so faintly of fresh meat.
"He ain't ever seen nothing, Luda Mae," the man in the wheelchair says, leaning forward to steal a look at your naked legs. "And this one's all young and pretty-like."
"Please don't hurt me," you murmur.
Tommy disappears almost as soon as he put you down, leaving you to look pleadingly at these two.
"Of course not, dear," Luda Mae says. Her voice trembles a little when she adds, "I always wanted a little girl."
You offer her a hesitant smile, your mind racing a mile a minute. Maybe you can lean into this. After all, this won't be the first time you've had to play along with something to get out of trouble. You're used to doing whatever you need to do in order to survive. Luda Mae takes a lantern and holds it up close, murmuring over the state of your shirt.
"We'll have to get you some fresh clothes," she says. "I believe I've got some dresses that should fit."
She spots all the blood smudged on your thighs. "Well now, what's all this? You've got your monthlies! Oh!" She offers her hand to you and says in a gentle, motherly tone, "Let's get you cleaned up."
You take her hand and stand on unsteady legs.
"Think Tommy should accompany you? Don't want her gettin' away," the man says.
"No, Monty. I have this handled. This is womanly business," Luda Mae says sternly.
She leads you out of the kitchen, and you follow, eager to get away from Monty's lascivious gaze on your naked backside. Luda Mae takes you to a bathroom with cracked tiles and a stained bathtub. There's a big bucket of water with a pail in it beside the tub.
"Take the shirt off and get in the tub," Luda Mae says, rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, retrieving a crumbling bar of white soap.
You peel off the stiff shirt and drop it on the floor next to your scuffed shoes. Your skin is stained pink with blood, and you cringe at the sight. Luda Mae hums to herself, pouring a pailful of cold water over your shoulders as you sit on your legs in the tub.
"I can bathe myself," you tell her, but she's hearing none of it.
"You're a sight," she says. "I've got to make sure you get clean."
"I can help?" You hold your hand out for the soap.
"Well, alright. I'll wash your hair."
You settle for the compromise, washing quickly. Pinkish water swirls down the drain, murky with dust and blood. The soap smells like it's been stored in a closet for years, holding a faint floral scent. Once you're clean and rinsed off, Luda Mae hands you a worn towel.
"You dry off while I fetch you some clothes," she says.
You do as she has asked, and she returns a minute later with a blue dress with tiny white flowers on it. It doesn't look like something she'd wear, and you don't want to ask where she got it from. She also gives you underwear and some rags to catch the blood. They both look clean, and you have no better option, so you pull the underwear on and fold the rags into a wad that'll fit between your legs.
"We sleep early in the Hewitt household," Luda Mae says to you. "I've got a room for you."
She takes you down a hall. The bedroom is small and dark with a single window that lets in just enough moonlight for you to see the peeling wallpaper and gauze curtains hanging over the single-person bed.
"I-it's nice," you say.
"Hmph, now get on the bed," Sheriff Hoyt says as he comes in from the hall.
You stumble when he nudges you in the small of your back.
"There's no need to be so rough with her, Charlie," Luda Mae protests.
"It's hardly been a day yet," Sheriff Hoyt replies, his eyes digging into you. "You can't say whether she's gonna pull something funny."
"Well, I like her. She's a good girl and I know she'll behave," Luda Mae says.
"I'll just cuff her to the bed for the night. That way she can't go sneakin' around."
"Fine," Luda Mae concedes with a sigh.
Sheriff Hoyt grips your wrist and secures a handcuff on it, clipping the other cuff to the headboard.
"Goodnight then," he says. "Try anything funny and I'll have Tommy dice you up." He laughs at your visceral shudder.
"Sleep well, dear," Luda Mae says, closing the door and leaving you in the dim moonlight.
It's rather cool, so you drag the quilt over yourself with your free hand. You're exhausted. Who would've thought you would kill someone and end up in a house of crazy people all in the same day? The subtle scent of roses wafts from your still-damp hair as you settle your head on the pillow and close your eyes.
Luda Mae didn't offer you anything for the cramps--though you doubt she could have even if she wanted to--but you're used to going without painkillers. As long as it came in a package, whether tablets or syrup, your parents wouldn't let you take it. They thought modern medicine was a ploy from the devil to weaken the body. You try to think of a single reason to say things have taken a turn for the worse with your current situation, and can't.
While the possibility of dying here is high, you've had your life threatened numerous times, even as a child. You're used to it. That's not something to be proud of, but right now, it's what's keeping you sane, the only thing that lets you fall asleep. You're certain that if they wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already. You wake up at some point to distant screams coming from the basement.
It feels so wrong to smile, but you do, drifting back into the blackness of blissful sleep.
You jerk awake to the alarming feeling of being watched. For a disorienting moment, you think it's your father standing over you and that you're somehow magically back in your childhood home. You gasp, but then your eyes adjust in the dark and you realize this silhouette is too broad and too tall to be your father's, and in an instant, you remember where you are.
"Tommy?" You whisper.
The bed creaks ominously when he settles his weight on the edge. He pushes the quilt away from your legs, running his fingers across your calf. They're slightly tacky with something, and you try not to think about what it is. His breathing is loud and raspy as he strokes your calf, creeping higher with each pass.
"W-what are you doing?" You try to tuck your leg away, but he grabs your ankle and straightens it out.
It's frightening to feel the ease with which he maneuvers your body. There's a squeak from the mattress as he pulls himself onto the bed, kneeling before you and whipping the quilt off your legs. He shoves your dress around your hips, and your free hand on his thick wrist does nothing to stop him.
He hasn't said a single word, you suddenly realize. Not to anybody. Maybe he can't speak?
When he goes for your panties, all you can think of is ro ask him not to destroy them. You don't fancy the idea of free bleeding, especially not while your period is so heavy. He listens, tugging the material down your legs instead of ripping it. He flicks the rags to the floor and parts your legs. You feel heat work down your body as you glimpse the white of his eyes flashing through his hair as he stares at your pussy which is bared to him. You can't even close your legs because he's holding your knees open. He hunches awkwardly over you and stuffz his face between your legs.
You clamp your hand over your mouth to stifle your cry as the material of his mask rubs roughly against your clit. He doesn't even know what he's doing, he just likes the taste of your blood. He licks like a man dying of thirst, wet and sloppy as he endeavors to drink up everything he can. Your hips twitch violently when he presses a finger against your entrance, pushing it in. You can't help the way your body arches up into his crude touch.
You're extra sensitive on your period and the careless stimulation on your clit has your whole body wide awake and tingling. His finger inside you feels good, thick and calloused just right. He startles when you grab his wrist. His skin is wrinkled and scarred there. You only have one hand to use to coax another of his fingers into you, jamming it into you. The stretch of the sudden intrusion is delicious, and you gather yourself up on your elbows and stare at him crouched there between your legs.
He stares back at you and even though you can't see most of his face you can almost hear him thinking What the fuck is she doing?
Not thinking straight is what. You're horny enough not to care that you're fucking the hand of a man who has killed however many people. A man whose hand is still sticky with blood that isn't his. You're sure he can feel your wetness against his fingers and smell something sweeter than blood. You sit up and pull his fingers out of you. He watches, completely still. He allows you to guide his hand to his face and even parts his lips to let them slide into his mouth. He suckles on them, tasting your arousal.
Has he ever had anything like this, you wonder, has anyone ever wanted him? Does he even know what the intimate touch of another person feels like?
You're excited at the prospect of being the first. He hesitates, his hand dropping slowly to ball into a fist on his knee. This is new territory for him. You look down, but you can't make out anything in the shadows that shroud his body, so you use your hand instead. He's painfully hard, you discover, and very sensitive. He pushes your hand away violently and lurches off the bed, his feet thumping against the floorboards as he throws the door open and stumbles down the hall, disappearing around a corner.
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Your body feels wound up tight, begging for release. You press your fingers between your legs, shoving them into you roughly, rolling your palm against your clit, keeping quiet except for your labored breathing and the wet slick sounds your pussy makes. Your orgasm is a cresting wave, taking you high and bringing you back down in a shimmering crescendo. Satisfied, you fall asleep without a care in the world.
Part 3 - the hand that feeds you (Coming Soon!)
@runforthehillsbestie
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ad-cn · 1 year ago
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I honestly think that George Lucas didn't intend live-action Anakin to be as attractive as he is in Episode III
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yzzart · 1 month ago
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Okay! Hear me out! Dante's s/o has angel lineage (bc if there's demons, there must be persons of purity right?) But is a fallen one unknowingly because they're in love and actively dating Dante, who's Sparda's son!
COME FROM WAY ABOVE... ── DANTE
୭˚. ᵎᵎ content warnings: F!reader, daughter of a fallen angel, mention of divine and demonic creatures and Sparda, Dante being a flirt, puns and pick-up lines, light content.
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⭑.ᐟ No person had ever, under any circumstances, heard, witnessed or distinguished the factual — or safe, depending on who was telling it — story of your mother; and, not wanting to admit a banal, perhaps clichéd impact, you decided to continue the credibility in telling it.
⤷ Living, throughout your childhood, with the narrative that was handed to you in an institution, carried out by nuns, by a beautiful and unknown woman was enough to dispel any questioning.
⤷ But, how much longer, being extremely risky, could the truth about the woman who gave birth to you being an angel survive? — An angel, unknown to the tales of the human world; being kept only between the so-called paradise and the underworld. — Decreed to eternal suffering, alongside man, and being unable to even say goodbye, properly, to you.
⭑.ᐟ It wasn't something new, unprecedented for you — just some factors that contributed, negatively, and fatally, to you suffering persecution, threats and unlimited demonic attacks throughout your life. — It would be worse, much worse, if it were from DARKCOM, right? right.
⤷ The recent case — or attempted attack — coming from a creature, in your eyes considered a true horrifying and dark brute, fearsome knew how to corner your presence; as always, referring to you, with an altered voice, in complete exhaustion, as “daughter of a fallen one”. — What could you do with that title? — "creation of an irresponsible angel."
⤷ Before you could try to fight back, to question, just like previous occurrences, bullets began to pierce the damned demon; despairing and cutting the creature — The shots didn't stop, and you feared that you wouldn't be hit. — And, by the goodness of gods, that could exist, you weren't.
⤷ The half-demon and half-demon hunter, Dante. — Had practically saved your miserable life, during the ironic moment when, possibly, your past would come to light. — The white-haired man, so bold, killed the demon as if it were the most entertaining and relaxed thing in the world.
“So, ‘angel’, huh?” — He put his pistol in his waistband, kicking his dirty black boots against the ground as he crossed his arms. — “Funny, how did you stay so beautiful even when you fell from the heavens?” — Oh, you didn’t know whether to laugh, thank or punch him.
⭑.ᐟ Could it be considered ironic, — very ironic — biting and sounding like a clichéd and tasteless joke about the fact that the son of a demon and the daughter of an angel had created a bond and, possibly, a relationship? — It could, but it would be met with gunpowder and unfunny puns.
⤷ After the incident, you started meeting up, by pure coincidence — or it was just Dante, trying to bump into you, while trying to reach you — and you were always greeted by jokes, puns or pick-up lines that exposed the truth about your ancestry. — and, as time went by, occasional encounters turned into official ones.
⭑.ᐟ Dante never forced you to reveal, abruptly, or want any statement, about your mother; of course he was surprised, he had never heard anything like it. — He thought that, in the world of the “perfect”, it was not possible for it to happen. — And he always talked about the confidence about his father; you could not compare each other's situations but you knew how you felt about it.
⤷ That didn't stop you from approaching, trying to move some information and showing little knowledge about the hybrid connection; a naive manipulation of light between shadows, — reflecting the dark side of the fall — learning to establish a kind of energy field, something not yet certified. — Dante, most of the time, was a witness to your crucial attempts.
⤷ And, deep down, being unable to deny it, he knew that you could be exposed, more vulnerable, by creating a connection with the son of Sparda. — Adored by some human souls, hated by others and decreed a traitor by the demons. — But, that didn't mean he would give up on you.
⭑.ᐟ Well, losing count, considered mental, of how many times your boyfriend created those damn pick-up lines and puns for you; it was no secret that you liked them, more than you should. — It was a way of relaxing you, in an admirable way and in his own way, which Dante took very seriously.
⤷ And, unable to resist expressing a conspicuous, serious expression, your lips curved into an exultant smile, turning into a hilarious laugh. — Ensuring that Dante's mission was complete.
“If angels really do miracles…” — He put his feet on the old, dusty wooden table as he enjoyed the slice of pizza he had ordered for you and him — “you can only be living proof of that, pretty girl.” — The half-demon winked boldly, which you had learned to like, in your direction.
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carebearbussy · 10 months ago
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𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨
ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙨 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙮𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙮𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙥.
ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: ��𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙫, 𝙥*𝙨𝙨𝙮 𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩h (𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙙), 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨, 𝙘𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙨, 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙟𝙤𝙗, 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙟𝙤𝙗 (𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙙).
ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 4.3𝙠 (𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮…)
𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩
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✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   .
You were sooo tired.
Sukuna had woken you up at the crack of dawn, seemingly out of nowhere. He had apparently informed you about your early awakening, but you cannot recall such events from him. But you knew how he became when he was upset, you you sucked it up and got out of your comfortable bed, leaving behind its warmth, for what exactly?
Another one of Sukuna's meetings, where he would sit hours on end in his large throne, as he awaits an endless line of citizens, listening to every one of their requests. The throne room at the estate was massive in size, being able to house thousands of people on end. And in the middle of it all, was Sukuna himself, nicely sat in it, legs spread slightly with one hand holding his drowsy head. You on the other hand, were seated right on his lap, one of his lower hands holding you close by the stomach, making you squirm in his lap every once and a while. Your kimono draping down your legs, covering most of your body. You looked ethereal, as you became the center of attention very quickly due to your appearance.
A civilian stood up, as he walked the crimson red carpet up to the steps of the throne. With a skittish look on the mans face, he respectfully bowed to the floor of the stairs, hovering his hands over his forehead, making sure to not make any unnecessary peeking, somewhat aware of the notorious temper Lord Sukuna gets when somebody oversteps their place when it comes to you. With a slightly shaky voice, he spoke.
"My Lord, you see, my family is in desperate times at the moment. My wife has fallen under an unknown illness, and we have no way of telling whether she will survive or not. Please, it is with my greatest esteem, if you could bless my family."
You furrow your eyebrows as you hear his story. To Sukuna, he has no reaction over such ridiculous things, but to you? You become very sensitive to such things, as you try to hide your discomfort by ajusting yourself on Sukunas lap, making him ever so slightly groan. He side eyes, you, as he continues to talk with the man kneeling before him. "I do not think you are worthy of my blessings, tiresome human. You may take your leave now." He says sternly, not giving any second thought.
Besides the throne on your left, is Uraume, keeping watch and a handy count over everybody who comes in and out. On your left, is a group of butlers, ready to take orders at any given moment. They stood tall, wanting to thoroughly impress Lord Sukuna to the fullest. And it seemed as though one particular one had wanted to impress you even more. He was tall, not as tall as Sukuna, but still tall compared to you. His eyes were dull with need, as they eyed your frame up and down, silently admiring you through his vision. God, he wished it was him instead of Sukuna. If he had a woman like you sitting all pretty on his lap like that, thats all a man like him could ask for.
Meanwhile, the man cowering on the floor was left in shambles, disappointment filling his system as he hears the words of Lord Sukuna. He stays on the ground for a while, not moving out of sheer disbelief. But his moment to himself was cut short. "Lord Sukuna said move, lackey." Uraume had said with a flick of the wrist, causing the man to quickly get up and make his leave, not wanting to disrupt the dwindling peace in the throne room.
"The nerve of some people to request such deplorable things from me, it makes me laugh, truly." He says, laughing to himself, causing you to slightly bounce in his lap, not going unnoticed by the same butler ogling at you from behind. But Sukuna is faster. He never makes any indications that he knows somebody is looking at you, but he is well aware of his staring. Sukuna has superhuman senses from all directions, making it a point to protect you from harm. He brings you in tighter to his chest, as he rubs the skin on your thigh under your kimono, causing shivers to crawl up your spine.
He brings your head closer to his with one hand as he pushes against it, his mouth coming dangerously close to your ear, as you can feel his hot breath gently fan against your neck. "I'm sure you are completely oblivious to this, but there is a man looking at my woman. You will know who I am talking about once I let you go." he says, squinting his eyes in annoyance at the man he can feel lingering his eyes on you. He is blissfully unaware that Sukuna knows what he is doing. He truly has no clue what he has gotten himself into.
Not only have none of the other butlers informed him on Sukunas constant desire for you, but the other butlers take note of what he is doing, too scared to move from their current position to stop him. They are afraid that interfering meant death, because they know what is about to happen shortly after this whole ordeal is over.
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   .
It was nice to relax after a while, you thought.
The meeting with the civilians had lasted hours, your intuition being correct. You had come so close to just resting your eyes during the whole thing, but the tight grip Sukuna had on your waist prevented you from doing so. You were exhausted to say the least, needing a nice, well deserved bath to soothe your nerves.
You step into the large dimmed bathhouse with two handmaidens, immediately being enticed by the warmth of the atmosphere. Steam seemed to sprout from all sides, making you feel drowsy. But you felt at ease. You stepped over to a large bath, as it was slowly filled with warm water by your handmaidens with pitchers. You sat by the bath, as you watched them fill it to the brim with warm water. Your toes hit the water, making you hum with contentment.
"I'm ready." You say, signaling for the ladies to help you into the bath. You slowly strip yourself of all of your clothes, your handmaidens helping you do so. One of them holds your used kimono, as another slides off your shoes and undergarments. As you are fully undressed, both of your hands were held out in front of you, as each of your handmaidens take hold of each one, helping you keep your balance as you enter inside. You close your eyes, being content with the temperature. As you ease yourself into the water, you think back at todays events.
You had also somewhat noticed the man staring at you, only after Sukuna had mentioned it, and once the event had come to a close. But it couldn't have been that bad, right? Sukuna had a tendency to overreact to things like this when it came to you. This must have been one of those cases, surely. Or maybe, he was correct to think this way. After all, the butler had been starring for what was considered too personal. You could not see him, due to you being seated facing forward. But it was evident that he was thinking about more than what meets the eye. But as you relaxed into your string of thoughts, you were externally interrupted.
A large commotion could be heard from outside of the bathhouse, making you flinch and startling you by natural reaction. You turn your head in the direction of the noise, realizing it was the sound of one of the sliding doors slamming open. The doors in the estate were made with heavy material, so it could only be opened with such brute force from somebody as strong as Sukuna. The only person being as strong as him, being himself, of course. You knew how Sukuna got when he got mad, and you did not want him to be unattended when he got like this.
Wasting no time, you got up out of the bath, not thinking to put on your clothes, but instead grabbing the large bath towel that was next to you in the tub, instead of the robe that was freshly ironed for you. With hurried steps, you almost slipped as you exited the tub, causing your handmaidens to go into safety mode. "My lady, please! You should wear proper attire, and i'm sure another butler can handle Lord Sukuna at this moment!" She says, reaching for the robe, trying to hand it to you. But you were quick to ignore her, as you help up the towel to your body with one hand, as you stepped outside in broad daylight.
And to your horror, you had wished you stayed inside.
With your own two eyes, you saw Sukuna in all of his glory, basking in the feeling of strangling the poor butler that decided to linger his eyes on you for too long. The mans hands were trying to claw away Sukunas much larger ones, but to no avail. The sound of the air being knocked out of the mans lungs rung throughout the openness of the estate. Sukuna looked at the man, as he held him high in the air with one hand. He rested the rest of his hands on his hips, clearly unpleased by his previous actions.
"Tsk, you're pathetic. Laying your puny eyes on whats mine? Has nobody taught you any manners? Foolish." He says, smirking through his reactions. His face was turning more of a purple hue by the minute, seeming like he could pass out at any minute. He looks over to Uraume, who is smiling with him through the servants pain. "Yes, my lord, he made a very large mistake." Uraume says, agreeing. "Hm... what if I just..." He says, teasingly tightening his grip on the mans neck, as a loud 'pop' can be heard. This only amused Sukuna further, pushing himself to do more.
As you stood there watching in pure shock while resting your body on a wooden post, you really couldn't stand to see it any longer. You had to do something. You walked along the wooden floorboards of the foyer, trying not to make nay sound, but you fail miserably. A painfully loud 'creek' is heard from your direction, causing everybody in your vicinity to advert their attention towards you. You felt yourself grow how in embarrassment, realizing what you were wearing was highly inappropriate. Everybody except for the butler seemed unnafected, but on the inside, Sukuna was fuming.
So you're trying to show off now? He had seen your half naked body loads of times, but in front of another man? You were really pushing it at this point. His nose scrunches, as his eyebrows furrow in irritation. He eyes you up and down, not wasting any time before dropping the man before him, not taking into consideration his safety whatsoever. He walks towards you, each step making you more jittery than the next.
"Kuna, what are you doing to that poor man-!" You say, calling out to him as you stand on the foyer, almost standing at the same height as him, but still having to look up as he stood in front of you. "What the hell do you think you're wearing, woman?" He says, adding fuel to the fire, and completely disregarding the fact that he had just strangled a man. You look at him with wide eyes, as you scoff to yourself, trying to peek over his shoulder to get a better look of the man, but to no avail due to his tall stature. "That's not what's important right now, now tell me what happened!" You say, still searching for answers.
"Yes it is, do not make me ask twice. Go put some clothes on before anybody sees you in such a state." He says, starring daggers at your body. But you aren't focused on that, but instead on what was happening to the butler, who was clutching his bruised throat for dear life, making quick breaths in and out as he pants on the stone floor. Its uncomfortable to watch, but Uraume and Sukuna don't seem to care at all. You go to move past Sukuna, wanting to make sure the dying man on the floor was alright.
As you walk to where the man was, he instinctively tried to move away from you, not wanting to test Lord Sukuna's patience any further than he already has. But he finds himself unable to do anything other than stay still, as he watched the girl come closer to him by the second. Sukuna would let you have your moment, before he would decide how to penalize you for acting out of line.
You knelt down in front of the man, still holding up the towel wrapping your body. You looked at him with so much care, something Sukuna was selfish when it came down to it. "Hey, it's okay..." You say, reaching your free hand out to rub his back, hoping to soothe some of his pain. You knew what you were doing would be overstepping, but in the moment it really didn't matter. It seemed to work, as you noticed his breathing become ever so slightly more sturdy as you stood there. You smiled down on him by natural reaction, forgetting that a fuming monster of a man was watching this all unfold behind you.
This didn't last any longer, as Sukuna made heavy steps towards the two of you, as Uraume observed from afar. But you are too focused on helping the butler get back to his feet, as you attempt to try and hold him up with one hand. But all the sudden, your free hand that was once carrying the butler, now carried nothing, as Sukuna snatched your wrist into his tight clutch. This made you wince in shock, completely diverting your attention towards Sukuna. His eyes squinted as he looked at you, jealousy taking over his system once more.
"First you have men looking at you, then you walk outside practically naked, and now you are trying to seduce another man? I think I need to teach somebody a lesson." He says, forcibly bringing you up by the thighs, carrying you so your chests are pressed together. You wrap your arms around Sukunas neck, as you squeel from the shock of being carried so abruptly. You kick your feet as Sukunas hands lock underneath your thighs, making sure to not move the slipping towel. His hold on you bounce ever so slightly. "How was that flirting-"
"And you're also going to learn how to not talk back to those above you."
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   .
"Please, m' sorry-"
You said, your eyes lolling back into your skull. It had been roughly an hour after Sukuna had brought you back to his quarters, and he planned on using this time wisely.
You were propped up nicely on the cozy comforters on the bed, but the comfort was far gone, with Sukuna edging you for what seemed like forever. It was getting tiring, as you chased upon a non existent race, which was your orgasm. Somehow, Sukuna always knew whenever you were about to release, having a sixth sense embedded in his body dedicated to you. His upper arms hooked under your upper thighs, his lower hands holding your hips up to maneuver you how he pleases.
This position he had kept you in made you feel practically numb, bringing you speechless. Your mouth squeezed shut from the pressure of his tongue secured onto your clit. He latched his lips, sucking on the bud, bringing you too much pleasure that you can handle at once.
"F-fuck, please let me come 'Kuna!" You say, barely able to look him in the eyes, hell, he wasn't even letting you touch him, let alone yourself. But this in his words, was to be deserved. "Tsk, acting like such a whore today, arent you?" He says, taking a pause in his antics, before giving your pussy some nice, playful slaps with his upper hand, making your hips jolt up, your eyes going wide as you yelp out. "Sensitive for your king, aren't we?"
He resumes his assault on your cunt, making sure to linger at your reactions. What he wants most, is a reaction out of you. And a reaction he is getting. You feel your legs start to tremble under his constant sucking, as you feel your body pulse every time he hits a nerve. You can't help the whimpers that fall from your mouth, from the combination of ungranted release, and the tingling due to the numbing sensation from how long he had been toying with you. But you could tell Sukuna was enjoying it. But you needed to cum, and soon. You felt as if you were going to explode if you didn't, and there was really nothing you could do to stop him.
The grip on his thighs tighten, as he soon realizes you are close to your release again, which seemed to pattern the last three? six? ten times? You couldn't keep track at this point the amount of times he had edged you, especially the way he swishes his head in the crevices of your folds, eating you out like a starved man deprived of nutrients. He blew into your wetness, causing waves of vibration to be loud enough to make a noise, almost sending you over the edge, before Sukuna halts his movements, then looking up at you. Your face was red, sweat trickling down every inch of your body. You felt hot, inside and out. Why did he have to be so difficult?
"Noooo, please just let me cum! I'll be good!" You plead, whining about your missed orgasm. You fiddled your hands above your stomach, eager to grip his silky pink hair, reaching out to it by instinct. But he notices this, and stop you by grabbing you by the wrist. "Ah ah ah, you have to wait a bit, brat. I'm not sure you quite deserve your reward." He says, crushing your high hopes in one sentence. You practically had tears in your eyes from how frustrated you were. "Beg for what you wish."
You shut your eyes, a loud exhale from your nose being heard. You looked down at him, still between your legs. He starts running his lengthy fingers along your slick, squishing your puffy folds each between his index and thumbs. You look away, not wanting to look him in the eyes at the thought of how pathetic you looked. You open your mouth, trying to find the right words for your tireless begging.
"Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to try to entice anybody, I was just worried, but that has nothing to do with this, please 'Kuna!" You say, looking down at him with glossy eyes, filled with need, You try to close your legs out of sheer shyness, but he stops you with two firm hands. He rewards you with a couple particularly harsh pussy slaps, making you jolt once more as he watches the way your hips buck upwards. He stays in his current position for a while, contemplating his decision.
He gets up from the edge of the bed, unhooking his arms as he towers over your resting form. You watch him slowly get closer to your body, crawling up the bed while looking at your face. He finds himself enticed by your neck, as he watches you extend it to the other side to hide your face. But that only shows off a noble part of your supple body that he adores. You peek up at him, as his face is mere inches away from yours. But he decides to attack your neck, going in like a moth to a flame. Sucking on the soft skin of your neck, he creates a multitude of different bruising, further marking you. Yeah, you were going to have a hard time trying to cover this up.
Coating your neck in his thick saliva, you whimper at the feeling of his thick fangs sinking ever so slightly into your neck. You try to grab onto his hair, but he stops you once more, pinning your hand to the bed with one of his upper hands, his lower hands reaching down to rub rough circles on your sensitive bud. You felt yourself bring a plethora of different emotions to yourself, no knowing what part of your body to focus on. You lifted your head back as a natural reaction, letting Sukuna fully dwarf you on the bed, as well as accidentally grant him full access to your neck. You try to close your legs, bringing your knees to your stomach, but his girthy hands keep them plied open.
He lets go of your nape with a 'pop', as he slowly pulls away, basking in the sight of his marks on your nimble skin. You are left panting, the combination of pain and pleasure seeping into you. He truly didn't mean to go too far, but he cant help it when it comes to you.
"Y'know, I was planning on having my fun with you until I tire, but since you asked oh so nicely, and the way you look right now, god, I think you're ready."
At his words, you felt a smile of relief hit your face, happy that after all this time, he is finally giving in. He felt his cock throb with precum, but one thing Sukuna is good at, is gaslighting you. He looks at you with a sinister smile, tilting his head as he moves his robe off of his body, pointing down at his pulsing length through his pants. "You see this brat? You did this. This is all your fault, and I know how you can fix it." He says, following with a loud sigh.
With one swift movement, he tugs off his undergarments. Your face contorts into that of surprise, being shocked every single time without fail whenever you see his two lengthy cocks, proudly pulsating against your thigh. You know you'll be able to take it, but with the kind of mood he is in right now, you are unsure. Sukuna is a very unpredictable man, after all. But one thing you were not expecting, was for him to be the one sitting up. His chest hit your back, as his legs resting on the floor at the edge of the bed for leverage. His lower arms held your hips up nicely, his upper arms hooking under your knees.
With another swift movement, no prep involved, he slipped inside of you with his bottom cock, his top one sliding against your pubic area. You moan out upon his arrival inside you, unprepared for the sheer size he was. His teeth connected to your shoulder as he slouched down to accommodate your height. "Wait-" You said, but were interrupted as he began to move at a moderate pace, as you sucked him in and out of your gummy walls repeatedly.
Wanton moans threatened to come out every second, as he plunged himself deeper into you, smacking his hips against yours as he did all of the work. You felt like you were floating, as you were being used like a ragdoll for Sukuna's pleasure. "Shit, just sucking me in like a vice, arent'cha? Are you gonna be a good little whore? You adore your kings cock that much?" He said, finding it amusing how your body reacts to his treatment. "Look down woman, theres something else there besides just the one inside you." He says, signaling to his free cock that was sliding against your lower stomach.
"Kuna, I can feel it in my-" "Your tummy? I know, you can handle it, it'll all be worth it. Now pay attention." He says, shutting you up once more. It was hard to focus, the bouncing of your body paired with the tight position Sukuna had kept you in being key factors. You slowly reach down with your right hand, cupping his free cock in your now wet hands, soaking them in pre cum. The squelching of the wetness of his cock thrusting in your hand, his hips and your pussy smacking against each other, and the sounds of your uncontrollable moans filled the room.
"You wish it was that pesky butlers cock in your tight, pretty hand, huh? Well i've got news for you, he is nothing compared to me. I shouldn't even be giving him a second thought, but thats what happens when you are in the picture."
You lazied your head on his bicep, trying to gain leverage on yourself. You were sooooo close. "What if I just..." He said, hitting the spot inside you that only he knows, repeatedly driving against the sweet ridge that sits nicely in your canal, thus almost sending you over the edge. "F-fuck! Right there-, holy-! I'm about to-"
But he stops everything, seemingly placing your world at an everlasting halt. That was to be your most intense orgasm of the night, but he ruined it. You were devastated, to the point where you tried moving yourself again, but the grip he had on you prevented you from doing so. You let out a loud sigh, tired of your release being denied.
"But you said you would let me, you said-!"
"Aww, whats wrong? You thought you would get it that easily? Now get on those knees of yours and put yourself to use, show me that you are truly sorry, brat."
✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   . ✦✦ .  ⁺   . ✦ .  ⁺   .
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baphometsss · 3 months ago
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Solas repeatedly explains that things are not so black and white and the fandom's response to the nature of his relationships with Mythal and Felassan etc are weirdly reminiscent of what he finds frustrating about modern Thedas.
He explains repeatedly that the distinction between spirit and demon is not that black and white, that there's always an element of choice involved. Likewise, he cannot be so easily defined as wisdom or pride. He is a mix of both and will lean into one or the other depending on how he is perceived. Over and over again he tries to make people see that it's our expectations that create the dynamics of our relationships and therefore how we perceive others. If we respect others in the way they would like to be respected, you can come closer to an authentic and equal partnership.
Likewise, he says that he is not defined by his body, a point Trick said came from their own thoughts around their gender and figuring out that they were nonbinary. Solas chose a male body, seemingly because he had to choose one, not necessarily because he felt like a man. In fact he repeatedly explains that he sees himself as a spirit i.e. genderless
The romance or friendship with the Inquisitor is special because it is the first time that he's branching out of his comfort zone of bonding like a spirit bonds (reflecting) and trying to bond like a person does instead (meeting them on their level, sharing his heart with them and being vulnerable). This is why one of my favourite lines from him is 'You are unique. In all Thedas I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me.' This is the first time he has fallen in love, the first time he has actually relished being a person and not a spirit, because he's able to be with Lavellan this way. He can't fall in love as a spirit as spirits don't bond that way, as is repeatedly stated throughout his story. I personally think the relationships he forged before Inquisition were all done using the attachment style of spirits, which is apparently quite abstract, and not as a man, which is more understandable to mortals and us, the player.
What's especially pertinent about this is that says this line right before he's about to abandon his plan to tear down the Veil by telling the Inquisitor the truth, a plan that symbolises his attachment to his spirit-self and the world he inadvertently destroyed. Once he does that, there's no coming back; likewise, once you take a body, you cannot go back. When you fall in love in a way that makes all the parts of you line up perfectly for the first time, you can't go back.
What is so beautiful to me about Solas's love story with Lavellan is that we witness Solas in a chrysalis state between spirithood and personhood, past and present (and future), on the precipice of metamorphosis. At the very moment he's about to take that final leap like The Fool his romance card is based on, he backs out, because of guilt, trauma, grief, duty and the rest.
Even with a befriended Inquisitor, he bonds with them on their level. He doesn't try to elevate them to his level; he comes to theirs. He is the opposite of Pride in their friendship, which is why he respects them. They allow him to be himself.
It's because of this change in nature that I think Solas and Lavellan's love story is so compelling--Solas's world quite literally changes when he falls in love, as he states multiple times, in various ways. I mean, look at the way he needs time to think about a potential relationship with Lavellan. He probably knows that it's a bad idea, but at this point he has no idea how much of a bad idea it is with respect to his plans because he has no idea that it will make him want to give it up. If he had, he never would've entertained the idea of a relationship. His romance card in Veilguard explains that he didn't know what it would mean to fall in love, because he's never actually been in love. He has loved countless friends and companions, like Mythal and Felassan, but he has not fallen for someone like he falls for a romanced Lavellan; Lavellan, who is deified like he was deified, who sees him for who he is (as much as they can) and doesn't shun him or punish him for not doing as he was told like a good lapdog.
Once again there's more of the irony that pervades Solas's story at every turn. It's in falling for a mortal that Solas becomes a more complete person, more of the man he says he is and not the god others have revered him as. That is the deepest change of all and the one that reflects his earlier statements on the delineation between spirit and demon not being so black and white, and involving a level of choice. Solas chooses to be more of a man in a similar way to how Cole chooses to become more human. He knows deep down that he's already in too deep to stop, and this is why, despite knowing he has a job to do and a duty to fulfil, he leaves clues for the Inquisition to follow him. Because he's already gone too far, and now he can't go back, and deep down he wants to be stopped, like Varric said. Solas, as a former spirit, doesn't simply feel love, he embodies it, and so he is helpless to that emotion. Of course he left clues.
Because that is what falling in love meant for Solas. It meant going into that chrysalis state and emerging as a totally new being with an experience that is quite far removed from his spirit self and all the limitations that come with that. Mythal and Felassan etc predate this experience, they're intrinsically tied to his nature as a spirit and then as a manifested spirit. While he loved them, that love was tangled up with a simpler nature, and the love he shares with Lavellan is coming from a totally new place. For that reason, the two can't really be compared.
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gweelczz · 23 days ago
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“Home”
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Sammie ‘Preacher boy’ Moore x Y/N (Sugar)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, smut (Y’all KNOW he a FREAK) MDNI
Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap your Willy!) mentions of child abuse, this fic is LONGGGG I got a bit carried away y’all I’m sorry!!!
Summary: A lover’s quarrel breaks out between the two love birds and it’s up to Sammie to choose what he goin do
The Mississippi sun had dipped low, bleeding red across the fields when the shouting started. Folks in Clarksdale knew better than to pay too much mind to lovers’ quarrels, but when it was Preacher Boy Sammie Moore and his girl Sugar — everybody knew.
“You always talking ’bout dreams, Sammie,” Sugar snapped, arms crossed tight against her chest, her voice trembling more with hurt than anger. “But you too scared to chase ‘em. Scared of your daddy. Scared of what folks gon’ say.”
Sammie’s fists were balled at his sides. Not to strike — Lord, no. Just trying to hold it all in. His pride. His shame. His fear.
“I ain’t scared,” he bit out, jaw tight.
“Then prove it,” she shot back, tears glassing her big brown eyes. Her skin, a rich dark ebony with that gold shimmer whenever the light caught her just right, looked like it belonged to some goddess out the old stories. Her coily hair framed her face, a wild crown she didn’t even know she wore.
He said nothing.
That silence — heavier than any slap — broke her heart clean in two.
Sugar turned on her heel, dust kicking up under her bare feet.
“You ain’t ready,” she said, voice small now. “And I ain’t waitin’ ‘round watchin’ you let yourself rot.”
He watched her walk away. Watched until the blue of her skirt disappeared down the road toward the woods where Annie’s shack sat hidden behind a crooked fence of bones and bottle trees.
——
Annie’s place smelled of sweetgrass and turpentine, smoke curling out the chimney like lazy fingers. Inside, herbs hung in bunches from the rafters. Jars of oil, roots, and stones lined the shelves. Every color and spirit of the Delta lived in that little shack.
Sugar slumped into a chair, head in her hands.
Annie — full-figured, dark-skinned, with a warmth about her like a heavy quilt — sat across from her, shelling peas slow and easy. She was only a few years older than Sugar, but the way she moved, the way she looked at you, made her seem like she’d lived two lifetimes already.
She watched Sugar for a long minute, not rushing her.
“Man’s got chains on his soul,” Annie finally said, voice low and knowing. “Ain’t easy breakin’ ’em. ’Specially when them chains was put there by his own blood.”
“I just…” Sugar started, but her throat caught. She shook her head. “I just want him to see what he could be. Not what folks tell him he gotta be.”
Annie smiled, soft and sure.
“Don’t give up on him, girl. Some seeds take longer to sprout. But when they do, Lord, do they grow strong.”
Outside, the night thickened. Crickets sang. Somewhere, a hound barked long and low.
And then — a knock at the door.
Sugar turned, heart thudding.
There he was. Sammie.
Hat crushed in one hand. A scraggly bunch of wildflowers in the other. Dirt smudged on his knees from where he’d fallen once, maybe twice, on the way over.
He looked at her like a man standing at the edge of a cliff. Like he knew the fall would kill him but he was ready to jump anyway.
“I cain’t do this without you, Sugar,” he said, voice raw. He dropped the flowers, sank to his knees right there on Annie’s worn floorboards.
“You hear me?” he begged, hands trembling. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ a fool. I’m sorry for not fightin’ harder. I’m gon’ be better. I swear it on my life.”
Sugar’s chest squeezed so tight she thought she might fall over.
Annie sat still, shelling peas, not saying a word. She knew some things had to be worked out without her hand in it.
Sammie looked up at Sugar, eyes wide and wet, heart cracked open for the whole world to see.
“You my home, Sugar,” he whispered. “Ain’t no point in dreamin’ if you ain’t in it.”
The flowers were crushed. His hands were dirty. His voice was breaking.
But it was real.
God help her, it was real.
Sugar knelt too, lifting his face in her hands.
“Don’t you ever make me walk away again,” she said, voice shaking.
“I won’t,” he promised. “I swear it.”
And in that little shack, under the watchful eyes of the ancestors hanging thick in the smoky air, Sugar forgave him.
——
Sammie led her back to his daddy’s house, hand in hand, heads bowed against the heavy southern night. He didn’t care if his father was sitting on the porch with a belt or a bottle.
This time, he wasn’t walking alone.
And this time, he wasn’t running from himself either.
The porch light was nothing but a flickering bulb, casting long, mean shadows across the yard. Sammie slowed his steps when they reached the gate, hand tightening around Sugar’s.
There he was — Preacher Moore — sitting in his rocking chair, a half-drained bottle of corn liquor at his feet, the old hunting belt looped lazy across his lap like a coiled snake. His face, carved rough like old wood, didn’t flinch when he saw them coming.
Sammie’s throat dried up. Every memory of every beating, every harsh word, every dream stomped down under his father’s heavy hand — it all came rushing back like a flood.
Sugar gave his hand a squeeze.
“You got this, baby,” she whispered.
Sammie swallowed hard and stepped forward.
The porch boards groaned under his weight, but he didn’t falter.
Preacher Moore watched him, slow drag on his cigarette, eyes hard as river stones.
“You finally decide to come back with your tail tucked?” he rasped.
Sammie stood straight. For the first time, he didn’t look away.
“I come back a man,” he said, voice steady. “And I ain’t askin’ your permission no more.”
The cigarette paused halfway to Preacher Moore’s mouth. A dangerous flicker lit in his eyes.
“You gettin’ mighty bold for a boy livin’ under my roof,” Preacher Moore growled.
“I ain’t just livin’ under your roof,” Sammie said, taking another step closer. “I’m buildin’ somethin’. And if you can’t see that, then maybe I need to build it somewhere else.”
Sugar stayed right behind him, her presence a warmth at his back, a shield he hadn’t even known he needed.
“I wanna sing,” Sammie said, the words dragging out of him rough and painful like pulling a thorn from flesh. “Not just in church. Not just in secret. I wanna sing the blues. I wanna write my own songs. Play my own music. And I ain’t gonna be ashamed no more.”
The porch went still. The crickets even seemed to hush.
Preacher Moore’s face cracked — not much — but enough for Sammie to see something raw underneath. A flash of fear. A flash of sorrow.
“You think singin’ them devil songs gonna feed you? Gonna save you?” Preacher Moore spat.
Sammie shook his head.
“No, sir,” he said. “I think bein’ me gon’ save me.”
He reached back, took Sugar’s hand in his again.
“I got folks standin’ with me now. Folks who believe I ain’t just some broken piece of you.”
Preacher Moore set the cigarette down. The belt slid off his lap and onto the porch with a soft thud.
For a long time, he said nothing. Just rocked. Just stared.
And then, like a levee finally giving way after too many rains, the fight drained out of him. His shoulders sagged. His chin dipped. His pride — that big, ugly thing that had ruled the Moore house for two generations — cracked and crumbled like old clay.
Preacher Moore dragged a hand down his face, voice rough with something like regret.
“You your own man now,” he muttered. “Ain’t nothin’ I can do to change that.”
Sammie felt the breath he didn’t know he was holding rush out of him.
“You sure that’s what you want, boy?” Preacher Moore asked, almost gentle now.
“I’m sure,” Sammie said. “Been sure.”
Preacher Moore nodded once, stiff and slow.
“Then go on,” he said. “Go sing your songs.”
It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was enough. Enough for tonight.
Sammie turned to Sugar, who was smiling through tears, her thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.
Together, they stepped off that porch — not as preacher boy and dreamer girl — but as something new. Something stronger.
The night wrapped around them as they walked into a future that, for the first time, was theirs to claim.
———
The road to Sugar’s house twisted through cotton fields and thick woods, the night air humming with the slow, secret music of the Delta. Sammie held Sugar’s hand tight as they walked, his heart still hammering from what he’d left behind on that porch.
Preacher Moore’s voice still echoed in his ears, but it was faint now, like a storm rumbling far off. What mattered was the hand in his, the steady light ahead — the little house Sugar’s granddaddy had left her when he passed.
The place wasn’t much to look at to anybody else. A two-room clapboard house, porch sagging a little, white paint peeling like old bark. But to Sammie, it looked like freedom. Looked like home.
Sugar fished the key from her pocket and unlocked the door. She didn’t say much, just pulled him inside by the hand. The house smelled like lavender and fresh bread, warm and good.
Sammie had only been here a handful of times, always with the nervous, guilty feeling of a boy sneaking into someplace he didn’t belong. But tonight was different. Tonight, she opened the door wide and left it open behind him, like she meant for him to stay.
“Granddaddy wanted me to have it,” Sugar said, setting her purse down. “Said a woman needs her own land to stand on.”
Sammie nodded, drinking it all in — the soft quilt folded on the couch, the little wooden cross nailed above the door, the framed picture of Sugar’s granddaddy smiling wide in his Sunday suit.
“You know,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him, “I got my own shop now too. Folks come from all over for my oils and teas. I do good.”
He smiled, proud in a way he didn’t know how to say out loud.
“I know you do,” he said. “Ain’t nobody like you, Sugar.”
She laughed, light and low.
“One day,” Sammie said, voice almost breaking with the bigness of it, “I wanna be able to take care of you too. Not ’cause you need it. But ’cause you deserve it.”
Sugar crossed the room in two quick steps and pressed her forehead to his.
“You already do,” she whispered.
They stood there a long moment, breathing each other in, letting the world fall away.
Sammie knew he didn’t have much. A voice. A few songs still trapped inside him, scratching to get out. A heart bigger than he knew what to do with.
But somehow, standing there in the warm light of Sugar’s house, it felt like enough.
Tomorrow, there would be work to do. Songs to write. Battles to fight. Maybe even more nights spent arguing with ghosts and memories.
But tonight — tonight he had her.
Tonight they had a roof, four walls, and a world of dreams between them.
And sometimes, Sammie thought, that was more than enough to start a whole life on.
The hum of cicadas mixed with the soft shuffle of feet on the old wooden floors of Sugar’s house, and Sammie, still buzzin’ from the confrontation with his father, felt the weight of it all.
Sugar’s house was quiet now, the air in the room feelin’ as heavy as the memories. The house was sturdy and worn, like time had kissed it just right. A little faded around the edges, but still standin’, just like her. Just like him.
Sammie’s fingers trembled as he rubbed the back of his neck, still feelin’ the heat from his father’s words mixed with the pride he hadn’t known he could hold. But Sugar… she was the one who’d always seen it in him, even when he’d been too blind to see it himself.
She sat beside him, her body close but not touchin’, her presence like a balm for all his frayed nerves. He could feel the heat of her, the warmth of her gaze that was so full of pride, so full of somethin’ deeper that he couldn’t quite put into words.
“You did it, Sammie,” she said, her voice soft but steady like a slow river. “I’m so proud of you, baby. I always knew you had it in you.”
He let out a breath, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “I ain’t never thought I’d be here, Sugar. Never thought I’d be standin’ up to him like that. Didn’t think I had the strength to fight for what I wanted. Hell, didn’t think I deserved it.”
Sugar’s eyes softened, her lips parting like she was about to speak but then she just shook her head. Her hand reached out, like it always did when he needed it most, and she placed it over his.
“You deserve every bit of it, Sammie,” she said, her voice full of that calm confidence that always made him feel like maybe he wasn’t so lost after all. “And you’ve got so much more in you than you even know.”
His chest tightened, and he didn’t know if it was from the weight of her words or the way she made him feel like a man again. A real one, with dreams and a purpose. And as she looked at him, that proud smile on her face, Sammie couldn’t help but feel a pull deep in his gut. She always did that to him — made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had.
“Sugar…” he breathed, his voice a little rough. “You’ve always seen me. Always been the only one who believed in me when I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror.”
Sugar moved closer, her body just inches from his, and he could feel the heat of her against his arm. Her touch was like a spark, and Sammie swore his heart skipped a beat. She was always so sure, so confident in everything she did. But tonight, he saw something else in her eyes — something softer. Something real.
“I ain’t never stopped believin’ in you, Sammie. You’ve got this, baby. You always had it in you.”
Her words were like a lullaby, and as they lingered in the air between them, Sammie couldn’t help but draw her in closer. He wrapped his arms around her, pullin’ her to him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held her tight, his chest full of so many emotions he couldn’t even name.
The softness of her body against his made his breath hitch. Sugar felt like home. Like everything that had ever mattered. Her scent filled his senses, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.
“You make me feel like I can take on the world, Sugar,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with the weight of what he was feelin’. “Like I ain’t never been broken, like I’m whole again. I ain’t never been able to thank you for that.”
Sugar’s hand slid up his back, her fingers light against his skin, and she pulled back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were dark with emotion, and the softness in her gaze made Sammie’s heart ache.
“You don’t have to thank me, Sammie,” she said, her voice a whisper now, like the words were only meant for him. “I’ve always been here for you. Always will be.”
Sammie’s chest tightened again, and this time, he didn’t fight the urge to kiss her. His lips brushed hers, soft at first, like he was askin’ for permission. But when she didn’t pull away, when she leaned into him, it felt like a release. He kissed her deeper, the tension in his chest unwinding as he pulled her closer, feeling her warmth flood him.
He didn’t know how long they’d been sittin’ there, lost in each other, but when he pulled away, breathless, he looked at her with all the words he hadn’t said, all the things he still needed to say.
“Sugar, I ain’t never been more sure of somethin’ in my life. I need you. I’ve needed you since the first day I laid eyes on you. I just didn’t know how to say it.”
Sugar smiled, a slow, knowing smile, and her fingers grazed the side of his face, tender but firm.
“You don’t need to say nothin’, Sammie. I’ve known. I’ve always known.”
And before he could say another word, she leaned in again, kissing him with the kind of tenderness that made him ache deep inside. He held her tighter, his hands roaming to the small of her back as the heat between them built, the air thick with need.
Sammie pulled Sugar into his lap allowing his hands to rest on her waist not going any lower than that, pulling he looked into her eyes silently asking for permission to touch her which she gladly granted. Leaning forward he kissed her once more, the kiss full of want, need and hunger. His hands moved down to grab handfuls of her ass causing them to moan into each other’s mouths, their breaths mingling together.
Sugar’s hips ground themselves against Sammie’s making him bite down onto her lip, she pulls away swirling her tongue around his ear before biting down onto it. She trails her lips lower kissing on his neck tasting the salty sweat with her tongue. Meanwhile he’s lifted up her dress with permission, unbuckling his pants afterwards letting her sink down slowly onto his cock.
They moan into each other’s mouths once again, Sugar wrapping her hand around his throat and his fingers tangled in her hair as she rides him. “Sugar? Lemme try somethin hear?” He speaks through moans and she answers with a breathy “yes”. With permission granted he flips them so she’s now under him, his hips rolling into her while his free hand protects her head from slamming into the arm of the chair.
Pulling down the straps of her dress he exposes her breasts to him, lowering his head he takes a nipple into his mouth. His free hand reaches down between them finding her clit giving it tight fast circles to match the pace of his thrusts. “Sammie… Baby…” Sugar pants out watching him angle his hips to go deeper hitting her spot without knowing.
“Baby right there” he pulls off her nipple long enough to respond in his baritone voice “right there sugar?” To which she nods gripping the back of his head when he dove back in sucking on her nipple. She gasps arching her back slightly moaning loudly into the air not caring about who heard. “Sammie… I’m gonna…” he keeps his tempo the same while rubbing her clit, pulling off to rest his forehead against hers. “C’mon sugar, cum for me, let go”
The coil in her stomach snaps and she swears she sees white as she cums around his cock, Sammie thrusts a few more times before pulling out cumming on her stomach with a low groan. They lay there for a few moments before Sammie gets up picking Sugar up bridal style carrying her down the hall.
“Let me take care of you, Sugar,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur. “I ain’t gonna leave you like this.”
He lifted her into his arms, holding her close, feeling the warmth of her body press against his. Her head rested on his shoulder as he carried her, every step slow and deliberate as if he didn’t want to break the moment. The bed creaked softly as he laid her down, his hand lingering on her side for a moment longer than necessary.
Sugar closed her eyes, her body still humming with the aftereffects of everything they’d shared. But Sammie knew there was more to do. He wasn’t about to leave her just like that.
He stepped away briefly, his movements purposeful as he went to the basin in the corner. He ran his hands under the water filling up a huge pot heating up the water on the stove, the steam rising in the small space. He grabbed a soft cloth and soap, his hands shaking slightly with the anticipation of what was next.
When the water was ready, Sammie dumps it all into the bathtub before he returned to Sugar, who was propped up on the pillows, her eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. She smiled weakly, her voice soft. “You don’t have to do all this, Sammie. I’m fine.”
He shook his head, his expression serious. “You deserve every bit of care, Sugar. You trusted me, and I’m gonna show you how much you mean to me.”
With a gentle touch, he helped lift her into his arms again, guiding her to the edge of the bed. He carefully wiped her skin with the warm cloth, his touch slow and steady as he cleaned the traces of their love from her body. Each stroke was soft, as if he was worshipping every inch of her, every curve, every part of her that he cherished. He then lifts her into the tub gently washing her body. The cloth moved over her belly, down her legs, until every trace of him was gone, and all that was left was the soft heat of her skin.
Sugar looked up at him, her eyes full of vulnerability and trust. “You make me feel safe, Sammie. Like I’m the only one that matters.”
Sammie’s heart ached. He placed the cloth back in the bowl, then turned his attention to the small copper pot of warm water he’d heated. He poured it gently into a shallow basin, setting it between them.
“I’m gonna wash your hair now, Sugar,” he said, his voice low. “Let me take care of you, just like you took care of me.”
She nodded, a soft, grateful smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He was so gentle with her, so focused, his every movement thoughtful and deliberate. He poured the warm water over her hair slowly, his hands cradling the back of her neck as he worked the lather into her thick curls. His fingers massaged her scalp, and she let out a soft, contented sigh.
“Mm, that feels good, Sammie,” she murmured, her eyes closing as she relaxed into his touch.
Sammie continued to work, washing her hair with tender care, making sure every strand was clean, every inch of her body pampered. He rinsed her hair, his hands careful and slow as he ran them through the curls, feeling the smoothness of her wet locks slip between his fingers. There was something so intimate about it — the way he was taking care of her, the way she let him in.
When he was finished, he dried her off gently, wrapping a soft towel around her shoulders, letting the warmth of it sink into her skin.
“You’re perfect, Sugar,” he whispered, his eyes full of adoration. “I just want you to know that. You’re perfect.”
Sugar looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude, and Sammie swore his heart skipped a beat. She reached up and cupped his face, her thumb tracing the edge of his jawline.
“You don’t have to do all this for me, Sammie,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “But I’m glad you do.”
Sammie smiled, his hand brushing through her damp curls, his heart full. “I’ll always do this for you, Sugar. I’ll always take care of you.”
He laid beside her then, pulling the covers over them both, his arm around her waist. Sugar nestled into his chest, her breathing slow and steady as she drifted into a peaceful sleep, the weight of the day finally settling in. Sammie held her close, his heart full of love and pride, knowing that, for once, everything was exactly as it should be.
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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago
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If You Only Knew
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Main Masterlist - Soldier Boy Masterlist
Read on A03! - Part 2
Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), swearing
Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.
Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.
Author's Note: Ben proving once again that he's my favorite character to write for. I get to type "fuck" so much in his pov.
Word Count: 6.3k
Ben was not listening to any of these stupid fucking speeches. They were all the same, every goddamn year, and usually he’d at least pretend to pay attention—nodding like he gave a fuck about who this random pussy wanted to thank, applauding when everyone else applauded because he could do it louder, and better—for the sake of the cameras.
But this year he had better fucking priorities. Ones that were far more important than saving the birds from cancer, or whatever the fuck this charity did.
He was looking for Her. 
She was here. She had to be here. She’d said she’d be here, so She was here. Ben couldn’t fucking find Her, but she was here. 
Christ, he needed Her to be here. He hadn’t fought to wear a real, well-tailored suit and made that big donation just for Her to not be here. For Ben to just be acting like a pussy fucking dumbass for everyone but Her to see.
He’d let Her see it, because she seemed to like stuff like that. Romantic shit that women always liked, but bigger. Showing that Ben cared.
And he didn’t care about the birds, or dogs, or cats, or whatever the hell they were all doing here. He did care about Her, and getting Her to stop acting like she didn’t care about him.
He knew She cared about him. If She didn’t care, She wouldn’t ask him about his day like she always did. Specifying small things from shit he’d said two weeks, asking follow-up questions and making soft, adorable jokes through the conversation. She wouldn’t tell him about Her own day, like she really wanted him to know. She wouldn’t say Ben like She did. Like it was a word she liked saying. That felt right on Her tongue.
But She cared about Ben, not Soldier Boy. She didn’t even seem to fucking like Solider Boy, because the only times she really looked at him was when he wore dumb fucking people clothing instead of his supe suit. When he did things that boring citizens did, and when he told Her real things about himself. He’d tried all the regular moves on Her, the ones that usually got women to melt right to his will, and she’d been unaffected. He’d used all his best hero stories, and She’d seemed to be listening but not invested. Not swooning. He’d shown off his powers, and She’d flushed but hadn’t fawned, hadn’t fallen to Her knees. He’d casually dropped into conversation that he was considered the most attractive man alive, and She’d fucking giggled.
What had gotten Her was when he’d told Her about his real life, where he lived alone in a too big house that all the whores in the world couldn’t fill. When he’d mentioned how much he fucking hated school, and She’d asked why, and he’d told Her honestly. Ben hadn’t been honest about jack fucking shit in almost sixty years.
But She’d listened to him, smiled, not made a big fucking deal about it, and he’d been a goner. Nobody ever listened and actually fucking cared. 
But She’d cared about Ben.
She cared about almost everything.
It was the first thing Ben had learned about her. That she really goddamn cared. He hadn’t seen that before. It was jarring, and infuriating, and better than goddamn heroine. Because it wasn’t a show, like all the stupid fucking pussy supes and Vought employees had mastered. Nobody in this room gave a shit about the dogs. They were here for the photo ops, and press, and good will of the public. They were here because it was their damn jobs, and saving the dogs looked good on a front page.
She was here because she fucking cared. She actually was saving the kittens. She fucking volunteered here, for no pay or glory or opportunities to get massive rounds of applause when She gave a teary speech about how much she’d always loved cats, like Crimson Countess was now.
Everyone in this room—from Ben to the red-clad bitch on stage—had shit to gain from being here. She only had shit to lose. She worked for a middle school, because she liked kids and teaching and making a real difference. She lived in a shitty little apartment that could barely fit Ben through the door. She always had bags under her eyes that Ben wanted to fix—to pin Her down in bed until she got some real goddamn sleep—messy hair Ben wanted to comb his finger through, and cheap clothing Ben wanted to rip off Her body.
And fucking Christ, he was a pussy. He wanted Her more than he’d ever wanted goddamn anything, and he’d repeated over and over in the first few months that it was the chase. That he wanted Her because he couldn’t have her, and once he caught Her he’d get over it. Stop trailing around after a fucking woman. A girl, as if he was a fucking teenager with a crush instead of a goddamn man who could have whatever, whoever, he wanted.
And he fucking knew She wanted him. She’d wanted him from the start, when he’d been touring Her school for a public education PSA, and She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and when he’d stuck around and bought Her lunch and asked Her out she’d looked at him like she wanted to eat him.
But then She’d said no.
And Ben had chased. He’d kept buying Her lunch, started driving her home, and gone to all the stupid charity galas just to see Her and convince her to say yes. Then he’d realized he wasn’t chasing to chase anymore. He wasn’t even chasing to catch.
He was chasing to stop running. To have Her grin at him, and say She wanted him, and then keep wanting him for the rest of her life. And Ben would keep wanting Her. She was sweet and She cared, She was fucking hot and smarter than everyone he worked with, she had the patience and kindness of a goddamn Saint, and Ben didn’t ever want to see her flicker or waver or be anything but happy. He wanted to give Her whatever she asked for, and all he had to do was convince Her that it wasn’t a fucking show. That Ben really just fucking wanted Her, in a stupid, pathetic, domestic way.
But She didn’t believe him. Every time he said that she just laughed and wave him off like it was a joke, acting like She just wanted to be Ben’s friend.
He liked Her as a friend. She might be the only real friend he had.
He’d like Her more in his bed, coming apart under his touch and ruined on his mouth and screaming his name when he fucked Her until whole goddamn house shook.
He’d like Her best at his side when he woke up, and in his kitchen wearing his shirt, and on his arm at all these stupid fucking let’s all blow each other about how fucking rich and important we are parties. 
He’d fucking worship the ground She walked on if, after every day, Ben got to pick Her up from her stupid fucking job—he’d try to convince Her to quit, he made more than enough money for both of them, but he also knew she taught for the  damn love of it and he’d never want to deprive Her of something she loved—and carry Her into their house. If he got to keep telling her about his day like he was a real person and not a goddamn brand.
And She had to fucking want that too. She’d have avoided him and cursed him out if She didn’t want him at all. She’d have given into his advances sooner if She didn’t want the same that kind of life Ben craved, where he didn’t look anywhere else but Her, and he spoiled and treated Her like the queen she was.
He just had to convince Her that he wouldn’t look anywhere else. That his gaze had barely even strayed since they met. That he’d been celibate like some pussy fucking priest for a fucking year, and he was starting to lose his fucking mind—his hand was not enough, not when he kept fantasizing about Her body and how fucking warm and tight she’d feel wrapped around him—but he’d hold out until She was ready. Until She finally got that he was fucking serious about this. He was honorable, and a goddamn gentleman, and there wasn’t a single motherfucker on planet that could treat Her as well as he would.
But Ben still had to find Her to show her that. She wasn’t anywhere in between the ribbons and balloons covering the ballroom, and he couldn’t place Her silhouette backstage, so She wasn’t here. Ben would’ve found Her by now. He’d trained himself to find Her anywhere, even if it wasn’t somewhere he was supposed to be talking to anyone but the press and the suits. Just to keep an eye on Her, and make sure she was okay. 
Sometimes he’d see that there was a slump in Her beautiful shoulders, or a pout on her pretty lips, and he’d work out an excuse to slip all the Vought pussies to talk to Her. 
She’d smile when she saw him. 
So Ben fucking knew She wanted him. Because it was a soft smile he saw Her give her students and roommates. The real people She liked, who she kept around her on purpose. Not the smile he’d seen Her give that weird Stan Edgar douchebag, or Countess, or any other Vought officials she had to interact with for the charities. Not the sickly-sweet smile She gave all those rich pussies, where she was only smiling to try and get a little more money out them. The smile where She was disgusted with herself, but was doing it to save the squirrels. Or free the squirrels. Or find the squirrels.
Ben really didn’t fucking know what any of these charities did. 
But he had a damn good idea of where he’d find Her.
It wasn’t easy to slip through the crowd without anyone noticing, but he managed. The key was to head for the bathrooms, stay away from the cameras, and out of where Countess could see him and try to fucking start something in a closet. But Ben made it, and then he was fucking free, heading right to where he should’ve been the whole time.
With Her.
Ben heard Her first. Mumbling to Herself as soft clicks sounded, her voice hushed and flustered. She was having trouble with something.
Ben could help Her.
When he turned the corner, She was on Her knees in front of a door, frowning at the handle with an adorable little furrow in Her brow. She looked fucking amazing. Hair styled perfectly, makeup clean and highlighting Her every flawless feature, wearing a dress that Ben wanted to imprint the image of on his brain—every curve and dip right fucking there for him to touch, every shift of Her body giving Ben a new idea of how he’d like to see Her bounce on his cock—then rip off so he could have Her everything. Her warm skin against his, her careful fingers wrapped around his dick or scratching at his chest, Her hair ruined and her makeup stained on his pillow-
“Ben, stop creeping around.”
He frowned at Her. She’d never even glanced away from the door handle.
“How the fuck did you know it was me?”
“You’re not small,” She shrugged, still not looking at him. “And you’re wearing a lot of cologne. Special occasion?”
“Of course, sweetheart.” He moved to stand at Her side, grinning down at her as he tried to get back on his game. He was fucking good at this, he would not allow Her sweet, refreshing… everything to throw him off. “I’m rescuing you tonight.”
She hummed. “Rescuing me from what?”
“This door. He giving you some trouble?” 
She finally fucking looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling, her smile was full and illuminating her whole face, and Ben’s fucking knees were going to give out. 
“You put on cologne to rescue me from a door?”
Ben cleared his throat. His game. He would not fucking lose his game. “Yes.”
Fuck.
She was still smiling at him. It was making his head spin a little. “Why?”
Ben could fucking do this. He did this all the time. And just because She was prettier and smarter and more important than anyone else didn’t mean Ben couldn’t fucking do this. 
“Because you deserve the best being saved experience in the damn world, doll face.” He winked down at Her, and she flushed slightly. There it fucking was. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”
“Oh.” She mumbled, Her eyes wide on his. “I, um, I don’t really need saving right now-“
“Then why the fuck are you on the floor.”
She sighed, leaning the side of Her head against the door, still looking up at Ben. He hoped She never stood up. This was going to fuel his hand for another goddamn year. “I’m supposed to handle the raffle but, um,” She sunk fully down to the floor, rubbing her face between her hands. “I locked myself out of the office.”
Ben glanced at the door, then at Her openly pouting expression. “You need to be in there?”
“Yeah, and everyone else who has a key is- Ben!”
He’d barely waited to hear Her say yeah before he was winding up and punching the door clean off its hinges. Splinters of wood flew everywhere, but he’d been fucking ready for that, and moved to block Her from harm. She wouldn’t ever get so much as a fucking scratch as long as Ben was around, and she should know that. Trust that. Trust Ben to help Her with whatever the hell she needed, because then he’d be the one she trusted. 
Her hand was grabbing his shin. It felt like fucking lighting through his whole goddamn body.
“There.” He leaned down, helping Her up from the floor, scanning over her slack face for any gratitude or anger or—hopefully—pure joy and affection for Ben’s undying service. “Go do the raffle.”
“I- God, Ben.” She sighed, and he frowned. That was not how She was supposed to sigh his name. ”I have to fix that now.”
“No.” He grunted, frowning around the broken wood and clearing dust. “I’ll do that.” 
“It’s okay, I can do it-“
“I fucking broke it.” He snapped Her name, because he was a goddamn man, he could fix a door. For Her, he could fix fucking anything. “I’ll take care of it.”
She gave him a small smile, squeezing his arm as she stepped into the office. “Sure.”
He trailed after Her into the office, still frowning. “I will-“
“You’ll find someone else to fix it, Soldier Boy.” She gave him a gentle, teasing look over Her shoulder, and Ben hated when she called him that. He knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He wanted Her to know Ben.
He opened his mouth to protest, to snap that he could fucking fix it, that he wasn’t some fucking pussy who needed to call a bunch of fucking dumbasses to fix a goddamn door, but She’d already moved on, and Ben never really knew how to do anything but move with Her.
“You don’t have to stay here, you know.”
“I don’t have any other shit to do,” Ben grunted Her name, standing right against Her back as she leaned over the desk, grabbing paper and a pencil. “I’m yours for the night.”
She hummed, and Ben could fucking hear Her heart stumble. “Mine?”
“Yours, sweetheart. However you need me.” Ben winked, and that was definitely at least a hitched breath. “I could do… whatever the fuck you’re doing.”
“I’m pulling the numbers for the raffles prizes,” She explained, moving to bunch of buckets, all filled with paper. “What did you put in for? I can rig it, you know.”
Ben snorted. “You’d never fucking rig it-“
“I might.” She shot Ben a glare. It was adorable. “You don’t know me-“
“Yeah, I do.” Ben smirked at Her, leaning down until he was hardly a breath away. “You’re a fucking square, doll, but I’m into it. I think I could loosen you up, just up for me, but,” he winked, savoring the way Her mouth dropped slightly. “I think I like you tight too.”
She swallowed, Her eyes darting down to Ben’s lips, and when she spoke her voice was a little soft. “You, um, you didn’t answer my question?”
Ben shrugged, rising back up as She collected herself. He wouldn’t push Her all the way, not here. When he finally kissed Her, it should be somewhere movie-worthy. In the rain, or in a garden, or on a rooftop. Not a stupid fucking office. “That’s because I didn’t put in for anything.”
“Nothing?” She blinked at him. “There was nothing you wanted? Because I know a lot of the prizes are kind of dumb, but I got some good ones in there. At least, I thought they were good? Did none of them-“
“Relax.” Ben said Her name, giving Her an amused look, and she took a long, heavy breath. “They were fucking great prizes. I thought about going in on that car-“
“Really?” Her face split into a smile, and Ben forgot what they were talking about for a second. “I actually put that one in there for- um-“
She flushed, and Ben felt his own heart flare in his chest. He fucking had Her. 
“You put the car in the raffle for me, babygirl?” He only let himself call Her that when he knew he could get away with it. When She wouldn’t laugh and ask him if he called all the girls that, when he didn’t have any other fucking girls. He just had Her. 
And She was so fucking pretty, gaping and stuttering at him, Her whole face slack with want. For Ben. Ben fucking knew She wanted him. “I, um- I- Maybe, but you didn’t even bid on it-“
He chuckled, taking a slow step forward. Closer. She didn’t take a step back. “It was a great fucking prize, doll, don’t lose your damn mind.”
“I’m not- If it’s great, why didn’t you-“
“I’ve got almost everything I want already,” He drawled Her name. Another step. “And I didn’t come here to get a damn car.”
“Why, um,” She swallowed, her voice breathy and like a fucking drug in Ben’s ears. “Why did you come here?”
“To get that one thing I don’t have.” He dropped his voice, taking that last step forward, caging Her between his arms and the desk, smirking as Her hand landed on his stomach, slowly trailing up to his chest. Not pushing him away, not moving closer. Just watching Ben with blown out eyes and ragged breathes like She’d never taken in air before. “The one thing I really fucking want.”
“You, um,” Her hand curl in Ben’s shirt, and when he leaned into her touch, he heard a soft moan. “I saw that you still gave us money. Outside of the raffle. It was, um, ah- It was really-“
Ben raised his brows, watching Her stumble over herself. “Need some help there, darling?”
“No, I’m- The donation was big.” Her voice high and needy, and Ben did have fucking game. He was goddamn amazing at this. “Impressive.”
“Of course, babygirl.” Ben winked at Her, leaning down to whisper in Her ear. “I’m big and impressive. And I care a lot about curing the fucking cats-“
“Kids.” She said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “This charity is for kids. And we’re not curing them, we’re feeding them.”
“Oh.” Ben blinked, trying to remember if any of the speeches had actually mentioned what this charity did. If they had, he hadn’t damn heard it. Most of them had just been blowing themselves about how much they fucking loved changing the world. “I care about kids, too. And curing them of, uh, hunger.”
She giggled, and Ben’s smirk returned. He still had Her.
“You know,” he hummed, leaning a little closer and watching Her eyes flick to his lips. “I’m fucking amazing with kids-“
“I do know.” She whispered. “All my students loved you.”
“Of course they do. They’re smart, because they’re taught by a hot, smart fucking lady. A lady,” Ben pushed on, and if he moved just a little further forward, She’d feel the evidence of how much he fucking wanted Her—perfect body and pretty brain and gorgeous face—pressed against her thigh. “Who’d make some great kids, with me-“
She laughed, rolling Her eyes, but it wasn’t her usual dismissive laugh. It was softer. Ben was closer to having Her forever. “Okay, Ben. Go bother your date with that shit-“
“I don’t have a date to bother.” He held Her gaze, making his words plain. Simple. “So I guess I’m stuck bothering you.”
“I, um, I- You- You don’t-“ Her jaw was hanging open, Her fingers fidgeting with Ben’s shirt in Her hand, and he was so close. 
This wasn���t the romantic setting it needed to be. And She had to find him for this. She needed to tell Ben that She wanted him for him, to throw herself into him arms with a plea for him to hold Her. And when She did, he’d hold Her and never let go.
But She had to do it. Ben needed know that She understood he wouldn’t be looking a single other fucking place.
So he pushed off the desk, hanging onto the racing sound of Her heartbeat, and begging the fucking universe She’d chase after him. Her hand was still in his shirt. Her breathing was still desperate. She was still licking her own lips, and staring at Ben’s-
“I have to go deliver the winner list.” She whispered, taking a step away from the desk. Still touching Ben. “I’ll see you later?”
He didn’t get Her now. He’d keep going until he did. “You always fucking do.”
She gave him a smile, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and walked away. Just fucking walked away, like Ben wasn’t going out of his goddamn mind from Her touch. Like She hadn’t just found the one thing that might actually fucking kill him, like She wasn’t a living, walking fucking weakness, like Her presence made Ben not care about being weak. He couldn’t care about anything but Her, not while She was still lingering in the air around him.
But She walked away, and now he was alone in this stupid goddamn office.
And he was going to fix that fucking door.
———
It’s getting harder and harder to turn Ben down. Harder and harder to remind yourself of his reputation, and history, and overall inability to give you anything but sex.
It doesn’t help that it would be good sex. Amazing sex. Sex that you’d had fantasies about before you even met him, because you had eyes and lived on planet Earth, and everyone with those two things had experienced a least one wet dream about Soldier Boy in their life.
But it was crippling how much more intricate and prevalent those fantasies had gotten after he’d stopped being Soldier Boy to you and started being Ben. Still all the looks and charm and impossible strength of the untouchable hero, but also just a big, grumpy man who looked at you like you were the untouchable one, like you were the work of art, like he wanted to grab you and ruin you.
You had to remind yourself that ruining you was all he really wanted. That yes, you’d be more than happy to let him wreck and use you, but you couldn’t just have that. Your dumb, romantic heart wanted him to care for you after he destroyed you with his hands and mouth and cock, then stay through the night and a little while after too. Stay forever. Walk with you on the streets, his arm looped around your waist, smile at you and never anywhere else.
That was why you couldn’t give in. Ben was your friend, and he obviously wanted you, but he just wanted the chase. He just wanted to win you, then leave after, and you couldn’t even be angry at him for it. That was just who he was. You wouldn’t ask him to change his whole lifestyle of fame and drugs and countless bodies passing through his bed just because you had a crush. Just because you got a little jealous whenever you’d see him dancing with other women on the grainy TV, because you knew him and they didn’t. You knew him as more than just the hero, and you liked him as more than just the brand, and you wanted him all to yourself but you couldn’t have that.
And if you gave in, you’d fall in love with him, and he’d ruin you in a way he’d never intended to. You know yourself. You know that he’ll show you the time of your life, you’ll go over the edge you’ve been balancing on since you met him, and you’ll have destroyed your own life. He wouldn’t stay until the morning. He’d probably move on by that same evening.
You were pretty sure he’d move on. That he’d still be your friend, but he’d have gotten what he wanted, and you’d be lost as he grabbed your heart out of your chest then walked away with it, never looking back.
But you’d also been sure he was still sleeping around. That he was chasing you, but just for the game of it. That he’d use spare time and opportunity to try and coax you into him arms, into his bed, but then turn around and find what you refused to give him elsewhere.
That hadn’t been his spare time. He’d probably had pictures to take and people to charm, but he’d still looked for you. So it wasn’t opportunity either. It was purposefully seeking you out, just to seek you out. 
Worst—or best—of all, he said he didn’t have a date. No dazzling woman on his arm that was suited to be there, designed just to throw his light a little wider around the room and match his power with her own. No goddess that you could never live up to, that would laugh and sneer at the little human girl with a crush on Soldier Boy. The mortal who thought she was good enough to string him along, when you really wanted nothing more than to stop making him chase you. To stop running so Ben could grab you, pick you up, and spin you around before kissing you like you were in a romance novel.
But he wouldn’t do that, so youcouldn’tstop running. You couldn’t afford heartbreak, couldn’t capitalize off of it with tabloids like the other women did. You weren’t cutthroat and savvy enough, weren’t strong enough, weren’t entertaining enough. You’d just wallow and cry and drag yourself through routine, fading to the world until something cracked. 
And you had to take care of yourself. Nobody else would.
If Ben broke your heart, you’d lose more than you even had to begin with. You’d lose yourself—because you’re stupid and emotional and can’t do anything but fall fully in love—you’d lose your mind, and you lose your peace as you attended more charity galas like this one, now forced to watch Ben laugh and grin with a different woman on his arm.
He wasn’t doing it now though, and it made is so much worse. You were standing off the side of the stage as they read off the raffle numbers, your eyes locked on Ben’s empty seat, and there was no pouting, beautiful woman waiting for him to return. Just two old men that kept glaring at the chair Ben was supposed to be occupying.
He still hasn’t returned to the ballroom, even though it’s been nearly an hour since you left the office. You’re not sure what he’s doing.
You don’t really want to think about it. You don’t want to think about how he doesn’t have anyone next to him—how if you think about it, he hasn’t had anyone for a while—but that’s just where you can see it. And Countess has vanished from the ballroom too. 
So he might just be keeping her where you can’t see it.
It makes your lungs ache and forms a small lump in your throat, but you refuse to let it destroy you. Ben’s not yours to be possessive over. Not yours to be bitter about. You can’t hate him—you don’t even know how you’d do that—but you can’t wallow when you have nothing to be heartbroken over. No promises were made, and Ben’s a grown man. He can do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants, as long as it’s away from you.
You’re not sure how you’ll manage when he finally gives up his chase. When he realizes one random girl really isn’t worth all this work, and leaves you alone. He’ll still be your friend, but the teasing and flirting will end, and you’ll have to pretend like he didn’t shatter you when he never held you to begin with. Like it won’t make you sick when he starts to have dates again, because you’d made him wait too long.
You honestly thought he’d stop chasing months ago. You’re surprised he’s held out this long. It’s been almost eighteen months since you met him and—if you really think about it—about a year since you’ve seen him flirt anyone else.
But Countess is still missing.
So you can’t give in.
You throw yourself back into the gala. It’s a good distraction from everything, and it makes you feel useful. You’re doing something that will be good. You’re taking the money of these shining, arrogant modern kings and directing it somewhere important. You’ll go through the whole show, you’ll give away all these prizes and feed all their egos with praise and thanks, because then they’ll keep giving the charity money and you’ll keep using it for good.
It’s why there’s always a speech to thank the top donors. To ensure that they feel appreciated, and make all the other rich assholes try to give more next time. You’re always in charge of the list, putting it together and running it over with the announcer, and you’re about halfway through it when Countess reappears. 
She doesn’t look like she just had sex. She mostly looks annoyed. 
You try not to dwell on it, and put all your focus onto the list.
“Dr. Vogelbaum from Vought American gave $10,000, so he’s second, and our top donor gave, um,” you swallow, praying the heat of your face isn’t visible you land on the last name. “$69,000.”
He’s such a fucking child. 
You want to kiss him so bad.
The Announcer clears his throat, giving you a pointed look. “$69,000 from whom?”
You’re definitely flushing now. “Oh, sorry, from Soldier Boy-“
Countess groans, throwing her hands up dramatically. “God, of course he fucking did that!”
The Announcer nods, seeming happy to just move on, but you need more. You need to know why she’d say that.
“Of course?” You ask, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Why-“
“Because he’s a dick.” She spits. “First he tells Edgar he’s not doing all our PR dates, even though they’re in our contract, and then he won’t sleep with me for a fucking year, and now he’s trying to go all in on this sudden good guy shit?!”
You gape at her, your brain spinning a little as you try to catch up. “What good guy shit?”
“I mean all these donations, and reading books, and refusing to go to the conservation galas with me but then going alone? He wouldn’t even let me give him a hand job in the bathroom!”
You’re a little dizzy. You remember that gala. Ben had donated a lot of money, asked you your favorite animal, then made an even bigger donation to be use for that animal. 
“I don’t know what his game is,” Countess sneers, glaring at the wall in front of her. “But I’ll figure it out. He can’t hide from me forever.”
“Hide from you?” You squeak, thankful Countess seems too caught up in herself to notice how invested you are in this. “He’s hiding from you?”
“He’s hiding from everyone.” She snaps. “He keeps vanishing in the middle of the day and won’t tell anyone where he’s going. He doesn’t go to any my parties anymore, and last week I caught him looking a fucking flowers.” Her face twists in disgust, and you realize the Announcer has taken the list from your hands and walked on stage, but you don’t really care. You’re rooted in place, trying desperately to piece this together. 
“Were, um, were the flowers for you-“
“No!” She shouts, throwing her hands up once more. “I think he has a fucking secret girlfriend or something, and he’s trying to hide it from Vought!” 
“Why would he, um, why would he hide it-“
“I don’t know.” Countess’ eyes narrow on you, and your mouth goes dry, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “But I’ll figure him out. He’s never bought me flowers.”
“Oh.” Your whole body is suddenly on edge. You need to go find Ben, now. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She sighs, and you breathe a little easier when she asks, “Who are you?”
“I’m, um, a volunteer. With the charity.” You shrug, grateful she doesn’t remember that you’ve met before. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to give her your name. Not with the possibly stupid choice you’re about to make. “Excuse me, I have to go… take a shit.”
You turn on your heels before she can ask any other questions, and almost run down the halls. You don’t know what you’ll tell Ben when you find him, but you know you have to say something. If Countess is telling the truth—and you think she is, because she’s not really a good actress—then you need to find Ben and say something-
You freeze when you see him. Right where you left him in the hall, hair a little messier, jacket gone and tie undone, standing tall with a proud grin as he looks at the door to the office.
The door.
He’d fixed the door.
And when he turns to you, he’s smiling. For you. It’s not his plastered, over-exaggerated smile, the one that’s more blinding than the flashing cameras capturing it. It’s a real, strong smile. He says your name like he’d never want to say anything else, and you cut him off with a whisper.
“You never told me you that you sent those roses.”
“The roses?” Ben’s voice is low and cautious as he holds your gaze. “You mentioned you wanted flowers for your classroom, so I got you fucking flowers-“
“But why didn’t you say you got them?” You take a slow step towards him, and you could swear he stands a little straighter.
“Because I didn’t fucking think I needed to.” He grunts. “Who the hell else would be sending you flowers?”
“No one. But I didn’t- I thought it was a mistake. I didn’t think anyone would send me flowers.”
Ben frowns. “Did you throw them-“
“No. I kept them.” You give him a small smile, taking another step. “They were beautiful.”
“Good.” He mutters, his hands flexing at his side. “That was the goddamn point.”
You hum in agreement, glancing around him. “You fixed the door.”
“I fucking said I would-“
“And you turned down a hand job from Countess.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “And a blowjob, the bitch couldn’t understand that I-“ He cuts himself off, something hot flashing in his eyes as his voice drops. “How the fuck did you know that.”
“She told me.” Another step. You could touch him, if you tried. “And she said you haven’t slept with her for almost year. That you don’t tell anyone where you go when you vanish in the middle of the day.”
“It’s none of their goddamn business where I’m going. You don’t need the fucking press following you around.” He pauses, giving you a strange look. “And I haven’t slept with fucking anyone,” he mutters your name, and your breathing becomes shallow. 
“Why?”
Ben’s nostrils flare, and your knees might give out. You’re pretty sure he’d catch you, but you need to stay lucid long enough to hear him. To know that it’s safe to fall.
“I only want you, babygirl.” He takes his own step forward, and you can feel the heat of his body. “I’ve been fucking trying to tell you that for a goddamn year, but-“
You reach up to cover his hand with your mouth, scanning over his beautiful face. You think he’s telling the truth. And it doesn’t really matter if he’s not.
Because no matter what you’ve been telling yourself, your heart is already Ben’s to break.
You might as well give him a chance to try and keep it safe.
“Ben?”
He grunts against your hand, but doesn’t pry it away. He’s leaning into it. 
And you’re a goner.
“Ask me on a date.”
Your hand has barely moved when he catches it, presses a kiss to you knuckles, and speaks against your skin. 
“Let me take you on a date,” he mutters your name, and there it is. You give in. 
“Okay.” You smile at him, and he looks almost boyish with excitement. It’s a little intoxicating. “I’ll will.”
End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.
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emoboybrony · 2 months ago
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Ill admit ive never been that into laurence (any his variations really) but something has been really bothering me since rewatching parts of MCD.
What really caught my attention about MCD Laurence is that he starts out as this well adjusted, loyal knightly and charming guy- and then after he becomes a shadow knight you just see this slow decay of him. Like hes slowly losing parts of himself and its causing him to become more and more unstable to the point where by the end of season 2 hes honestly kind of terrfying.
And ALOT of that is reflected with how his relationship with aphmau starts to shift. He goes from this sweet, suave and honestly pretty silly personality, to being so obsessive and vindictive towards her.
Theres this one scene, at the end of ep 95 S2, where aphmau has just essentially seen a ghostly image of aaron and is really shaken up by it. Laurence comes to sit with her and ask her about it. And at first, it genuinely seems like hes just trying to get her to open up so he can support her. But then it quickly spirals into him demanding to know why she cares about aaron so much and why shes greiving so hard for him, like its a problem. He becomes so aggressive and condensending to the point where Garroth has to intervene and he walks off.
In this moment you see how far hes really fallen, he goes from semingly reasuring and gentle, and by the end of it hes disrepecting a dead man, who gave his life to save both his brother and supposed love of his life, who he travelled and fought along side with for months, who close to the end of his life was taking care of an orphan (something he comlimented in aphmau), and hes thowing all of that out the window because hes taken Aphmau's attention, due to the fact he fucking died.
After that happens, aphmau has a conversation woth vlyad where he basically tells her that laurence has to accept what he is and go to the nether or else hes gonna go insane, and that the only reason he came back is because hes "chasing a fantasy". Aphmau responds by suggesting they get cadenza over so that he can be with family, and vlyad says she can do what she wants but implies its pretty much inevitable that laurence is going to hit a breaking point. And hes completely right.
Before laurence even gets to speak to cadenza, he eavesdrops on the conversation where aphamu reveals shes pregnant, and just immediately peaces out, out of fear that hes going to MURDER HER.
Not to mention that in that conversation, cadenza herself tells aphmau not to tell laurence because shes scared of how he would react. He has gotten so unstable that his own sister, who loves him more than anything, can recognise that he is a danger to some degree and shes RIGHT.
All this paints a stark contrast, the laurence we first met vs the man he has now become. Its tragic because its this inevitable downfall brought on by an act that was completely selfless, him sacrificing himself that got him turned into a shadow knight in the first place.
Even this is eventually tainted, his selfless act becomes a selfish one as he seems to cling to aphmau's love and affection as an emotional crutch. Aphmau obviously loves and cares for him deeply, but not in an explicitly romantic/sexual way. And if she doesnt love him the way he wants, then why is he suffering through this? Why did he bother to sacrafice himself at all if theres no reward? Its honestly horrifying how pretty much everyone who loved and respected him, makes what should be incredibly out of place predictions on him, but they always end up being right except for aphmau. She cant accept that hes changing and theres nothing she or anyone else can do change that. Its gut wrenching.
This all lead me to beileve that i didnt give enough credit to his character. I love this. This is the type off tragic story telling im here for. Theres so much more to this character than i ever expected.
Heres the thing.
Why the fuck do laurence's biggest fans seem to just completely disregard this? If you believed a good portion of the fandom, laurence is just this sauve uwu sad boy who was unfairly rejected and ignored by a woman who demamded the world from him.
Im dead serious, i saw people saying that laurence "deserved better than aphmau", that he deserved someone who recognised the sacrafice he made. Which like- there is so much to unpack there.
First of all, aphmau did recognise his sacrafice, she did love him and try to support him in the best way she could, even when literally everyone around her was saying it was a lost cause. She did everything she could for that man and forgave so much of what he did while struggling with the calling and she got nothing but shit for it.
Second of all, no the fuck he doesnt?? As illustrated in the examples above he did not respect Aphmau's boundaries. He did not respect her feelings. And by the end, he didnt even respect her bodily autonomy. Lets be honest here, he basically abandoned everyone he apprantly "loved", because bro tapped it before he could. She loved him so much, but because he wanted something she wasnt willing or able to provide, that being explicitly romantic and sexual attention, he just didnt see it. To try and argue that hes the real victim here, is in the same vain of "nice guys finish last". Him being kind, compassionate and selfless- shouldnt be reliant on whether or not this woman will fuck him or not. That is an insanely misogynistic way of thinking.
But most important to me in the context of this analysis- what is there to like about laurence with this interpretation? What possibly sets him apart from the gazillion other brunette pretty anime bois? Am i to gay for this? Is there something im not seeing?
I understand fanon can wildly divert from canon, and i understand that alot of this is probably down to the fact that i find dissecting and critiquing canon more intresting than reinventing it through fanon. Im locked into the Baldurs gate 3 fandom and i had the same experience there (laurence fangirls got NOTHING on Astarion girlies). But both experiences have left me with the same question- what draws you to a character, when all you do is boil them down to their most generic aspects?
I find Laurence intresting cause we are seeing this man crash out and become a monster in real time. And i dont see how he is worth even an honourable mention, when you take that away.
What is there left to be compelled to?
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slttygeto · 2 years ago
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JJK MEN AS DADS — headcanons.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥featuring: geto suguru, nanami kento and toji fushiguro.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥note: enjoy this alternate universe where everyone is okay and safe and happy.
╰┈➤ interested in sending a commission?
╰┈➤ GOJO'S VERSION
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—GETO SUGURU ;
some of you might not agree with me on this but he probably never saw himself becoming a dad
sure he loves kids, they do annoy him when they’re loud and all over the place but he never thought that he would have kids
that is until you announced to him that you were pregnant, and his entire world changed
his daughter is pretty much everything to him but he doesn’t spoil her (gojo does)
he wants to teach her proper manners, the right way to communicate things and isn’t big on spoiling
and you both end up raising a sweetheart who’s in love with uncle satoru.
“baby, stay in my sights.” you heard suguru talk to your daughter as you both walked down the food aisle. she was well mannered, didn’t act up or tried to be bratty when told something (unless she was having a really bad day, which was very different).
watching your husband parent a child that looked like a mix of you both was a different kind of love. he was gentle, careful and most importantly trying to be there for her.
from taking her on daddy-daughter dates, to talking things out with her when she was mad at him or when she messed up, suguru proved himself worthy of becoming someone’s father.
“who knew someone else would come along, and you’d call them baby,” you teased the man with a small smile, letting him push the cart while you walked next to him. he shot you a playful glare before grabbing a can of tuna.
“don’t even start—i somehow got used to speaking in girl voice from being forced to attend her tea parties…” he sighs but you know it's far from a tired one. he looks at your daughter with so much love, so much adoration that your heart flutters.
you were incredibly lucky.
“tell me you love me in your girl voice, come on,”
"move."
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—NANAMI KENTO;
this man was made to be a father
despite how tired he looks he always makes time for you and your girl
very lovey dovey and is very proud of referring to you two as his girls
whenever he is asked to hang out, he goes 'lemme make sure my girls dont need anything'
hes quite literally the best
most patient, loving and understanding husband/father
ever since you gave birth, kento and your daughter had a routine. you two would feed her at 8p.m when he comes back from work, he would then take her to the bathroom where he would bathe her then read her a bed time story. he would then kiss her goodnight, keep the small moon shaped light turned on before closing the door.
it was endearing because he put it on so much effort when it came to her. you knew it was the bare minimum for a father, but you were still very grateful that you married a good husband and an even better father.
both kento and your daughter were now in the bathroom. bath time usually took about twenty minutes to half an hour, and it would be filled with giggles coming from your four year old and kento's occasional chuckles. but it was oddly quiet, so you decided to go check on them.
when you opened the door, your heart melted at the sight. your daughter had fallen asleep in the bathtub, and so your husband was trying his best to get her out and dry her up before she caught a cold.
and he was doing it so quietly that you couldn't help but ask if he needed any help.
"baby, do you need help?" you whispered to the man holding the sleeping girl, lightly kissing his nape and squeezing his shoulders.
"I got this." he whispered in response, turning around and pressing a light kiss on your lips and forehead.
you watched with heart eyes as he gently woke her up to dry her hair, kissed her forehead and continued on with their routine, before it was time to say goodnight.
nanami kento was an angel sent from above.
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—FUSHIGURO TOJI;
this man isn't new to parenting, in fact you knew you weren't his first wife
but you were accepting of it, helped giving the grieving man a second chance at life as he liked to say
you met megumi when he was still so young and the little boy loving you was enough reason for toji to confirm that you were indeed the right one
loving a child that wasn't yours wasn't given to everyone, toji was well aware of that
and as you watched the man parent megumi, you were a bit hesitant to announce to him your pregnancy
when you did tho, he sobbed like a baby
and twins? a boy and a girl? oh he was in for a ride
"you little rascals better let me love on my wife in peace." your husband whispered to the two sleeping babies in their cribs. it was 9p.m and they were fortunately fast asleep.
you on the other hand, were busy with your oldest.
finally after getting them in bed, you were with megumi in the kitchen asking him what you should pack for his lunch tomorrow, which the ten year old responded with what he typically always chose.
megumi wasn't a difficult child, but with the arrival of the twins, you were a bit worried that he would think you and toji no longer cared for him. dealing with twins wasn't easy, but you were aware and willingly brought two lives to his family, and were fully responsible for it.
when toji was with the twins, you would help out megumi with his homework. and when it was time to breastfeed the babies, toji would take megumi to basketball practice or engage in a random activity together.
"a juice box?" you asked while packing his lunch, which the little boy nodded at before staring at who was coming down the stairs.
"you got school tomorrow at 8?" toji asked megumi, and the little boy responded with a nod. not much of a talker.
"are they asleep?" megumi quietly asked his dad, who raised an eyebrow at him before saying 'yes' and you watched as your son fiddled with his fingers, anxious of what to say next.
"gumi, do you wanna see them?" you stepped in, a hand resting on his back. the little boy looked up at you with sparkly eyes, grateful that you understood him.
"go, and if they do wake up call me." you kissed his forehead and watched as he carefully tiptoed upstairs.
toji's eyes stayed glued on you during the entire interaction, and finally let his arms wrap around your waist once your son was upstairs before resting his forehead on your shoulder.
"thank you," he whispered out, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.
"for what?" you chuckled, caressing the taller man's back.
"for making everything feel like it's worth it."
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2023 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.
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pinejayy · 9 months ago
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╰┈➤ Traitor || One Piece x Reader
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featuring: monkey d. luffy, trafalgar law and eustass kid
summary: you leave them and go your separate ways, including leaving the crew. after two years they come across you and you’ve joined a new crew…
warnings: angst, spoilers, curse words, corazon mentioned, death threat..
Monkey D. Luffy
Luffy is completely heart broken, how could you…the first person who he’s fallen in love with, just join The Blackbeard Pirates. Yes he knows you guys didn’t end off in good terms but seeing with in this crew made his blood boil. And of course it made Luffy worry for you…
How could you! Join the crew of the man who caused his bother’s death. The man who threw Ace into the arms of death. He hates you….but god damn….he cares about you.
Even the rest of The StrawHats were disappointed. How pity can one person be?
But deep down Luffy still had feelings for you, and he desperately wanted you back into his life, in his arms….back on the Sunny.
“How could you! I trusted you….Y/N…please answer me!” Luffy yelled at you, and you just stood there aloof. You didn’t expect to run into your ex lover here. Thankfully he was alone…
You just sighed and looked away “Look Strawhat…Teach offered me a spot on his crew when I was at my lowest, when you weren’t there for me.” You spat out, Luffy cringes at the name ‘Strawhat.’ It felt more harsher coming from you. “Please Y/N….come back to the Sunny…we miss you..I miss you.” He pleaded, and stepped towards your direction and to which you immediately back away.
“No..” To which broke Luffy even more. “Look you ruined what we had between us with your childish behavior. And I needed a crew who doesn’t mess around.”
“Please don’t go! Please!! He’ll take you away like he did with Ace!” He began to cry out, falling onto his knees. Getting some looks from people around. To which you turn you head and began walking away. Leaving him in a broken state..
“Y/N PLEASE COME BACK! DON’T LEAVE ME!” He yelled out and sobbed out as he watched you leave. To which Zoro came running to his side. “PLEASE��I need you there when I become King of the Pirates..”
Trafalgar Law
Law knew when you guys went your separate ways it wasn’t on good terms, both of you had different opinions on life and he was too busy with his Captain Duties to deal with you. But when he found out that you were apart of the Doflamingo family he was completely heart broken.
He’s told you past stories about this man and how much of a monster he was and the second you guys go your separate ways you decide to join his stupid family.
Law doesn’t know if you’re really that stupid or really that pity. But it hurts…
But watching you in the arms of that man made him go feral. He still cared deeply for you…Doflamingo probably forced you into his arms right…RIGHT?!
Law eyes widen as he watched you walk in the room, he was currently chained up with sea stone making him helpless. He struggled against the cuffs “Y/N…please don’t tell me you’re with him..” He pleaded, his eyes began to gloss over. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. But seeing you with this monster was going to break him.
Law came to Dressrosa with Luffy to put a stop to Doflamingo but he didn’t expect you to be here as well. You watch Law struggle against the chains to which Doflamingo laughed at his attempts. “Poor Law, didn’t expect your little ex toy here?” He mocked.
“Y/N isn’t a toy! Don’t call them that!” He yelled at him, and he looks at you. “Please Y/N…what are you doing with this man…you know what he’s capable of doing…” Law struggled even more, hissing at the pain. He watched you, and what broke his heart even more that you didn’t even speak. Did Doflamingo do something?! This man is capable of killing you and it’s hurting Law.
“Now Y/N be a doll and let’s get going we have important business to attend to.” He said and patted your head to which you smile and nod, walking out of the room leaving both men alone.
Doflamingo smirked as he watched Law. “Reminds me of Corazon.” Making Law tense up, he didn’t say anything he just kept staring. “You know Law…I’ll make sure the day I kill Y/N, I’ll do it front of you.” He smirks out, and stood up. Which left Law speechless. And with that Doflamingo is walking towards the door. “I’ll make sure to send Y/N off to wherever Corazon is..” Levaing him alone in the room.
Law just sat there, tears streaming down his face. This man was planning on killing you. And in front of him. First Cora…and now you. He’s going to take everything he cares about. Law just sat there with his head low, sobbing softly. “Y/N…”
Eustass Kid
Kid was pissed off, how could you! How could go running around with the Red Hair Pirates!! They are the reason why he lost an arm! He was pissed off, he wanted to yell at you.
Yes! Yes Kid knew that when you guys broke up it wasn’t the most nicest words in exchange but he didn’t know you were going to be a pity bitch and join that one armed bastard. Shanks!
Now he looks at you like a backstabbing person and he doesn’t tolerate backstabbers, and he promises the next time he comes across you he’ll make your life a living hell. He’ll beat up Shanks! And right in front of you!
Kid really hates Shanks, what you have a type red hair pirates with one arm. Kid won’t admit it but seeing you with Shanks and his crew he’s heart broken, he can’t believe he shared his feelings with you.
“What the hell! Are you fucking stupid Y/N! How could you join a crew like Shanks!” He yelled at your direction, and you couldn’t help but hide behind Shanks. And this made Kid rage even more. How pathetic could you be?! “You back stabbing bitch…” He growled at your direction.
To which you narrowed your eyes and scoffed. But you decided not to give in, so you turn your head around and look away from Kid’s harsh eyes. And he was stomping his feet on the ground like a child throwing a tantrum. “Look at me! Please! You fucking bitch! Look at me!”
“That’s enough Kid. I don’t appreciate you talking to one of my crew members like that especially towards Y/N.” Shanks replied, to which Kid laughed at his face. “Screw you!”
….
And before you know it, there was a battle between Kid and Shanks, well it was more like Kid being thrown against something and falling. You couldn’t help but look away. Not wanting to see the aftermath…no…
Just covering your ears…and wanting this to end…
Everything soon came to an end with the Victoria Punk into pieces and Eustass Kid thrown into sea…swallowing him into his watery death..
….
Kid….
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gothamhappiness · 5 months ago
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Death can't keep us apart (Part I - f!reader x Bruce Wayne)
Hi everybody, it's been a hot minute since I posted for Bruce Wayne, so here you are. It's a two part very angsty story about Bruce Wayne and his children dealing with your death.
Hope you'll enjoy <3
And by the way, requests for any DC characters you'd like are open.
Warnings: not proof read, ANGST and more ANGST, violence, death (you're shoot in the head), funeral, sadness, grief, no one is dealing well with your death
Everything was going to be alright. 
You were certain Batman was about to arrive. He was coming to save you. You had no doubt about it, even though Riddler had started a timer and at the end of it, a machine would shoot you in the head. But it was going to be okay. You were Batman’s wife, after all. And you had a charity gala to attend that very same night. You were going to be a little bit late, but it would be a fun story to tell about, right? 
You couldn’t imagine how stressed Bruce had to be right now, but everything was going to be alright. 
You had been kidnapped by Riddler, as Bruce Wayne’s wife. He wanted to toy with the billionaire and then the game kept getting more and more violent. He played with Batman to show him he was smarter than him. You were certain your husband was the best though; Riddler couldn’t win. 
He never did before.
And yet tears started to cascade down your face as time was going by. Riddler was taunting you, trying to make you beg him or say that Bruce Wayne was useless to save you. Then he added that you were probably not important enough for Batman to look after you. You replied nothing, your eyes glued to the timer in front of you.
5 minutes left.
4 minutes left.
3 minutes left.
2 minutes left.
1 minute left.
It was pretty obvious you were going to die now, and you hated that you couldn’t tell the man you loved that it was okay. Gotham was a dangerous city, and it wasn’t his fault or his children’s fault if you were going to die that night. You wished you would have told them how much you loved them one last time though. You hoped they were going to be alright without you. But you wanted to believe they were strong and powerful people. They would find a way to survive your loss.
You took one last deep breath before darkness engulfed you. Painlessly.
Batman arrived then. 
Too late.
He had promised himself it would never happen again, not after Jason. He couldn’t endure another time the loss of someone he loved because he didn’t arrive in time, because he hadn’t been good enough, because he failed them. 
He needed to be better and stronger to protect his people. He worked so hard for it. Everyday of his life, his main goal was to become the best.
He thought it was what he did. He thought he was better. He thought he was safe from such a disaster.
And yet, here he was, cradling your dead body in his arms, screaming and crying, begging you to come back to life. 
He had untied you from the chair and had fallen on the ground with you. His protective suit prevented him from feeling how cold your body was slowly getting, but the hole in your head was making things pretty clear and hopeless. His heart was shattered in small pieces, his sanity was so easily slipping away. He was losing himself in your death. Nothing else mattered around him. He couldn’t even hear Riddler asking him why he cared so much about you, about your life, about your dead body. He was clearly surprised to witness such pain from the Dark Knight. Your death hadn’t been entirely planned but it wasn’t his fault if Batman hadn’t been quick enough, was it?
You were just a casualty, nothing more.
Riddler was starting to connect the dots about Batman’s identity and he was so taken aback that he didn’t realise that Nightwing and Batwoman found him. He was soon enough on the ground, beaten up and tied up. Batwoman took him back to Arkham - she couldn’t stand to stay around - as the rest of the family was slowly gathering around you, or what remains of you. They all started to cry and to collapse on the ground, by Batman’s side. They couldn’t lose their sunshine, they couldn’t lose their mother, they couldn’t lose the person they loved the most. They couldn’t believe that something like that happened. They had worked so hard to find you, protect you.
They failed you.
All of them.
It had to be a nightmare, it couldn’t be reality. 
No, no. It couldn’t be you.
They could have stayed like that all night, Bruce tightly hugging you against his chest to prevent the warmth from fully leaving your body. It was then they heard Alfred gently calling out their names. No matter how heartbroken and desperate Alfred was himself, tears silently dripping down his face, he gently reminded them all that they couldn’t stay here. The GCPD was about to arrive and they needed to leave before anyone else could understand what was going on. He also had to remind Batman he needed to leave your body behind. Bruce thought he was going to throw up when he had to let go of you.
“Alfred, I can’t…” Bruce’s broken voice said
“I’m afraid you have to… The GCPD will give her back later on. And we’ll take care of her and her funeral then” Alfred tried to stay logical
The mention of your funeral broke Batman’s legs for a few instants and Dick had to help him stand up. None of them could bear to look at you, but at the same time it felt so wrong to leave you alone in there.
Again.
They didn’t even remember how they managed to come back to the Batcave in one piece. Bruce didn’t know how he managed to take a shower and dress up again, as a civilian this time. He didn’t know how he got enough strength to go to the GCPD and recognise your body. The words “Yes, this is my wife” were the last coherent things he said before starting to silently cry again. Jim Gordon had to help the man get back in his car and asked Alfred to look after his master.
Jim remembered pretty well how Bruce was when his parents died, and he didn’t want to say it, but Bruce looked even worse this time.
The whole family was losing it.
Dick stopped making jokes, laughing, or smiling. He lost another mother. He lost the remains of his innocence.
Barbara was angry. Too angry to be around anyone, to talk to anyone. She blamed herself and wondered if she deserved to still be Oracle.
Jason hid away for a while, not bearing to see anyone either. He tried not to see how alike both your death look like, how he failed you like Batman failed him.
Tim was working on anything he could until losing consciousness from the lack of sleep and food. He needed to forget about this reality and help people.
Stephanie organised your funeral with the help of Alfred. She wanted everything to be perfect for you; you always tried to make things perfect for your family.
Cassandra kept an eye on her whole family, because she couldn’t stand the idea of losing anyone else. And it was obvious they were all falling apart.
Duke started to watch the movies and to read the books you enjoyed and advised him to have a look at. He wished he would have been able to talk about them with you.
Damian was utterly silent. You weren’t his mother, but you always treated him with tenderness and he knew how important you were for everyone. For him.
Alfred thought it was his duty to stay strong, no matter how much he cried at night. He lost his daughter, but he still had a family to care for.
Kate grew half insane with the security of the manor and made sure no one could come and leave the place without her knowing about it.
Lucius and Luke did their best to deal with Wayne Enterprises, so the family could grieve you in “peace”. But they missed you too, dearly.
Everyone felt the burden of the cruel silence your absence created.
Bruce was an even bigger mess. He couldn’t sleep, eat, or do his work anymore. He didn’t care about WE, about the Justice League. What was the point when he had lost his wife? He should have been better.
He went through the whole case over and over again, seeing all the mistakes he made. The mistakes that cost your life. His sanity. His family’s sanity. 
Without Alfred and Cass, he wouldn’t have put on his Batman suit anymore. But they reminded him you wouldn’t have wanted that. So he continued to chase crimes.
The crime rate brutally dropped because of how ruthless and merciless Batman seemed to be. Goons started to be afraid of Batman because the vigilante was suddenly more than happy to break every bone in their body. Bruce knew that violence wouldn’t bring you back, and that it wasn’t helping with his grieving or his sanity, but he couldn’t help it.
The day of your funeral, Bruce wished he could have been buried by your side.
You definitely left this Earth with his heart, because the hole inside his chest seemed to grow a little more every second passing by. He was feeling empty and yet full of the worst pain he ever witnessed.
Empty because you weren’t there anymore.
Pain because your absence was unbearable.
He didn’t have the strength to be there for his children. Your death was tearing everyone apart, even if they were gathered around your grave, even if they were all feeling the same pain. Actually the pain was too deep to allow them to soothe their agony in the presence of the other’s. 
No one could talk, no one could tell how amazing you had been, how much you had been loved. They couldn’t; the sorrow had taken away their voices.
They hated themselves for not having been there in time to save you; they felt guilty, which was only adding to the suffering of your loss. They hated themselves even more for not being able to cherish you one last time.
They felt like there was no coming back.
There was no way to ever get better.
Happiness was over.
If only they had enjoyed it more. If only they had planned more activities to do with you. If only, if only…
Jason killed Riddler that night. He just couldn’t help it. It felt right to get rid of the man who murdered you. It was the justice you deserved, even if you probably wouldn’t have wanted that. You weren’t here to care about it anymore anyway. The GCPD failed to catch Red Hood. And Batman, for the first time, didn’t come when Jim turned on the bat signal. Jason thought Bruce would at least lecture him about it, but Bruce didn’t say anything. 
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 
Actually, it did feel right for Riddler to be dead too. 
Bruce was watching pictures of you on his phone, tears dropping on his screen.
He heard Damian coming in the living room but he didn’t acknowledge him until Damian whispered “My grandfather might be able to bring her back”.
Hope blossomed again.
Everything was going to be alright.
--
Part 2
--
Taglist for all my work <3
@blublock404
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@couldeatthatgirlforlunch
@tatsuri-zomushiki
@navs-bhat
Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3
@alishii
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konigofmyheart · 2 months ago
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long way down ᥫ᭡ pt 3
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MDNI!!!
part 1 ᥫ᭡ part 2
könig's been a big help in your scheme to get benji (your ex) back, but is that what you even want now?
(virgin fem!reader, implied age gap: reader is mid 20's, reader's ex is: pushy talking about sex (not graphic though <3), manipulative, toxic, and controlling in a flashback . aside from that, general fluff with könig! smut coming in part 4; sorry to make y'all wait but it got away from me >.<) word count: ~5k...
♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
you finally see him in full, his mask having apparently fallen off during the night. you’re not surprised to find the könig you conjured in your head- after piecing together his self-descriptions and stories- matches what’s in front of you. you smile as your gaze traces over his crooked nose, the white scar slashing through the left side of his bottom lip, a thicker one stretching from his temple to the front of his eyebrow, a fresher looking scar dashed across the apple of his right cheek- you could lay here for hours memorizing every detail of his face, the ruggedness of years of this work contrasting endearingly with the peaceful expression on his sleeping face… well, formerly peaceful as he wakes with a start, snorting a little when he practically scrabbles to get out of the bed.
“gott im himmel, i’m so sorry, schatzi!” he rumbles, sleep clinging to every syllable as he tries to figure out how to slip out from under you without touching you. you laugh softly, patting his chest like he’s some startled horse. “no, no, it’s okay, könig, really! i’m the one who woke up using you as a body pillow. i move around a lot in my sleep…” you explain, as he fishes his mask out from the blankets, slipping it back on before tentatively laying his hand on your back again. you can feel his heart pounding through his chest, a steady rhythm against your palm.
“are you sure? it’s just- i thought you would not like being close to me like this…” he says quietly, trailing off like he’s half hoping you won’t even hear him.
“wha- is it because of the whole i’m a virgin thing?” you ask, the blanket pooling around your lap as you sit up to look at him. könig nods sheepishly, a terse movement like he's worried he’s touched a nerve there. he visibly relaxes once you laugh and playfully swat at his chest “oh, könig! you’re so- yes, i’m still a virgin, but it’s not because i’ve vowed to never touch a man or anything that serious! i’m just a little scared, is all… what if it hurts or something?” you say, your voice growing quieter at the end.
now he turns to look at you, such an earnest expression in his baby blue eyes as he too sits up in bed, the frame creaking with his movement. “it should not hurt much if it’s done- properly and carefully, schatzi…”
“tell that to benji”, you say, rolling your eyes and hugging your arms to yourself.
there’s the slightest lick of contempt in your voice as you say his name, and though it initially makes a spark of hope ignite in könig’s chest, the massive wave of concern that follows snuffs it out. “he hurt you?” he asks carefully, his hands subconsciously tightening their grip on the sheets, his entire body tensing like a drawn bow. he’s certainly fully awake now, waiting for your response with bated breath. if stevens did something to you-
“no! well- not physically… he’d been hounding me about it for weeks, sending me some wild videos he’d found on random sites of couples having rough sex, and he’d say he wanted to do the same with me. i’d try to laugh if off, being like ‘but you’d be gentler, right?’ and he’d just laugh too, as if the idea was ridiculous. he said as much when i finally got the nerve to confront him directly. i told him i’d never feel comfortable enough to have sex with him if he didn’t stop with the videos- if he didn’t promise he’d be careful with me- then he practically blew up, launching into a whole rant about how i was basically asking for him to leave, that i was such a shit girlfriend for not being willing to do this one little thing for him… i started crying, because he was being so hurtful and because i somehow actually felt guilty that i couldn’t make him happy. he stormed out after yelling at me for a good while, and that’s how we ended up the way we are now…”
könig is so still and silent when you finally turn to look at him after a couple of seconds, his unblinking eyes- locked on to the far wall- so icy blue you swear you shiver a little.
“i know it’s a bit of a pathetic story, but i didn’t think it’d be that bad” you joke awkwardly, hoping that lifts the mood and snaps him out of it. what happened wasn’t even that big of a deal, you shouldn’t have offloaded it on könig like that; he has bigger things to worry about than some dumb argument-
“i am so sorry you had to experience that, liebe. you didn’t deserve that- no one does.” he finally says, carefully taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently.
something in your chest fractures at the gentleness of his tone, the knit of his eyebrows as he looks at you with such sincerity and what you can only describe as love that it makes hot tears brim in your eyes as everything finally clicks into place: you’d dedicated years of your life to being benji’s. you’d watch every step, consider every word, practically count each breath so you wouldn’t do the wrong thing and upset him. you’d tailored every aspect of your life to best suit him, even before you’d started officially dating. you’d apologize for “always starting shit” when you’d try to speak up for yourself, when you’d say you deserved to have friends and to have hobbies and to make decisions on your own. you were right all those times you said he was too controlling, no matter all the lies he tried to tangle you up in so you wouldn’t notice. you’d always thought relationships were simply like that, that the constant ache in your chest was because of love, that his need to be centered in your life was normal- yet that wasn’t true. even in this fake relationship with könig, you’d always been respected, downright revered. your wishes were always heard and followed, every thought you spoke was thoroughly considered by him, every one of his touches gentle and always welcome by you because he never overstepped… you couldn’t fathom könig doing even a fourth of the things benjamin did. könig would never speak to you so rudely, never be pushy, never treat you like he owned you. benjamin made you live an existence of arguments and tears, feeling such guilt and shame for not tending to his needs- that you let him control everything else out of fear he’d leave, and he did so anyway, blaming you…
“benjamin fucking sucks,” you breathe, blinking away tears that blur your vision as you look up at könig. the two of you come together like a puzzle, könig wrapping you in a hug as you cling to him, holding on to his solid form as you laugh a little incredulously, questioning everything you ever thought was true love. you’re so thankful könig’s here, holding you together, murmuring soft honeyed words into your hair, exactly what you need at this moment. there’s a reason you’d never dared to say that story out loud before. you knew you had to face the ugly truth if you did: benjamin has never once cared about you, only himself.
♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
könig quietly closed the door to his room, not wanting to wake you as you dozed off again after such an emotional morning. you’d cried it all out, finally voicing aloud every time stevens had been a dick, and könig had listened intently, his heart clenching at the thought of you experiencing that though all the years you’ve known stevens. könig did his best to cheer you up after, providing more out-in-the-field stories when you asked for a distraction, even able to draw a couple laughs from you when he told the story of that time he sat on a cactus, until you’d settled again.
he almost whined when you sent him off to work, shaking his head when you said you’d taken up enough of his time as is. you didn’t buy a single one of his excuses, knowing he was only putting off work today because he was worried about you, but you assured him you felt a lot better having talked about it, that you’d just hang out, nap, maybe visit stiletto. really, you just didn’t want to even hear stevens’ breathing right now; you were so disgusted with him. könig didn’t either. he’d rather prefer if stevens wasn’t breathing at all after your story, but you specifically asked him to not bring it up again, much less tell anyone else.
he’d never betray your privacy like that, not after you trusted him with such a delicate topic, but, god, did he want to punch stevens’ face in- “hey, man!” came horangi’s voice from behind him. könig quickly shushed him, jerking his thumb at the door. “oh, shit, sorry. your girl is still sleeping, aye? you tired her out or what?” horangi whispered, a dumb grin on his face. it wasn’t everyday he got an opportunity to tease könig like this, but was it really worth the heavy-handed slap to the back of the head könig rewarded him with?
“shut up, kim,” könig grumbled as he made his was to his office.
“ease up, i was just kidding- besides, tonight's old kev’s retirement party, remember? i know you’re not much for gatherings, but you can take notes for your own upcoming retirement party, and you can introduce your girl to the best bar in the whole city. it’s a win-win!"
“i’m going to ignore that first part, but yes, it would be nice to take my schatzi… i’ll ask her later, once she’s up” könig mused, internally wondering if you’d even be up for such a thing today. he could just forget the party, stay in with you and watch cheesy movies if the nap didn’t help your mood, but what if you did actually want to go? then it’d be rude of him to not mention it to you, wouldn’t it? yet he didn’t want you to feel pressured into going- his own head was a mess after all you’d told him…. at least he had until the end of the day to figure it out, no?
they’d arrived at his office by now, horangi quickly making himself at home in one of the chairs facing the desk. könig sat in his chair, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “is there anything else or…?”
it’s never a good thing when horangi gets serious, especially when the sunglasses come off, the clink of them against the desk ringing through the room like the toll of a bell. “look- i’ve been hearing… stories, from the recruits. they’re saying your girl had something with stevens before. not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but i thought you should know…” horangi rushed out, interlacing his fingers as he leaned back in the chair.
“yes…and?” asked könig, the tension leaving his body upon realizing it wasn’t a new problem.
“...you already knew?” 
könig nudged his mouse, entering his password to check his emails. “of course, she told me about it when we bumped into him here.” he lied smoothly.
“oh, good.,” horangi let out a relieved sigh, making a show of shaking out his hands and legs. “i’d been worried for a bit there, and stiletto was going on and on about how i shouldn’t butt in, but what kind of brother would i be if i didn’t tell you, yeah?”
“do i give the impression that i would have a problem with that? that i’d want her less or something?” könig scoffed, side eyeing horangi as he typed out a response to a query about ammunition stock.
“no, not at all. i was that worried because i see the way you look at her, like you’ve been knocked on the head and she’s the only thing you remember. you’re in deep, man.”
könig smiled under his mask, your face suddenly overlaying his screen as he pictured you. “that i am.”
horangi barked out a laugh, slipping his glasses back on. “i didn’t even know you were capable of being that soft- thought you’d be a lonely old dog forever-”
“get out of my office, kim."
♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
you slipped out of könig’s room, making sure to lock the door behind you with the spare key he’d left on the bedside table next to the tv remote, a little “at my office. if you need me just call, schatzi- for anything.  i’ll bring lunch” scrawled on a slip of paper, alongside a wonky looking smiley face. you can’t help but return the doodled smile, your heart lifting at the comfort of even his handwriting.
you were pretty conflicted this morning, untangling your mind from all the lies benjamin fed you over the years, so much so you turned down breakfast, but now you really just wanted to stop thinking about that- about him- all together. he didn’t deserve an ounce of your energy. he never did, you'd thought, making your way to könig’s attached bathroom to wash up and depuff your eyes from all the crying. you had put on yesterday’s clothes when you were done, absentmindedly wondering if you should do a quick trip to your place to get more clothes, but then again…
would you still be staying here?
you and könig did your show last night, proving to benjamin you did stay the night, but did you even care what he thought anymore? since this morning you haven’t thought a single good thing about him, and why would you? it was looking more and more like it was time to call this whole thing off- you certainly didn’t want benjamin back anymore- but you didn’t want to blindside könig like that. you’d speak to him this evening, then it’d be done, you decided as you were stepping out.
you double checked that his door was locked and slipped the keys into your pocket before making your way to stiletto’s room, following the instructions she messaged you, the shorts she lent you rolled up in your hand. you’re so thankful benjamin doesn’t really have a reason to be out here in the private room’s area right now, because the last thing you want is to see him. still, you can’t help but feel a constant shiver along your spine as you make your way to stiletto’s, only her smiling face when she opens her door settling you again.
your “hi!” and her “bella!” overlap as she lets you in, a playful smile on her face.
“look at you all tired from last night! i won’t even ask what you were up to,” she teases, smiling even wider at the blush on your face. you always hated you could flush so easily, but right now it’s convenient because it helps sell the story, at least for this final leg of the show.
“oh, stiletto! enough, i just came to hang out. well that, and to ask where the laundry room is, so i can go wash the shorts you so kindly lent me.”
“ah, don’t worry about it, bella. i got it,” stiletto says, taking the shorts from your hand and tossing them across the room into a half full hamper. “do you need to borrow more clothes- for the party tonight?” she gently takes your hands guiding you to sit on the edge of her bed with her, the mattress dipping.
“party?” you ask, racking your mind in case könig told you and you just forgot, what with everything going on.
“your man didn’t tell you? oh, quello stupido. it’s nothing big, just a retirement thing for a guy who probably grew up with könig” she laughs at her own joke, bracing her hands on the bed as she leans back. “i’m mainly going because i’d never turn down a drink at the black dog-”
the door creaks open and horangi strolls in, his mask tucked under his chin as he snacks on some chips. “hey, stiletto-” 
“stronzo, knock first! how many times do i have to tell you?”
“ugh, as if i’d want to see anything- you’d have locked the door if you were changing anyway- oh, hey!” he grins as he finally turns to see you, instantly offering his bag to you. you thank him and take a handful, laughing when stiletto reaches for some too, only to be met with a slap to her hand. in a flash she’s snatched the whole bag from him, making a big show of shovelling a handful in her mouth as horangi watches in mock horror. “this is why i don’t share with you, you always do this-”
“it”s what you get for not knocking” stiletto quips back, looking so smug as she hugs the bag to herself.
yeah, it’s safe to say your mood has completely improved watching these two bicker like toddlers. you’re really going to miss them once you leave…you can’t help but let out a quiet little sigh at the thought of never seeing them, or könig, again. maybe you could still be friends, somehow? what would they think once they heard it was all fake though…
“so?” asks hornagi, fully focused on you after accepting the loss of his chips. you blink in surprise, looking to stiletto for help.
“he asked if you were going to the party tonight” she supplies around another mouthful.
“oh! um, i actually don’t know… isn’t it like a work thing?”
horangi waves you off, settling to lean against stiletto’s dresser. “ah, old kev won’t mind. he said we could invite anyone; the more the merrier... könig’s down”. 
you hum as you think, wondering if you should just make some excuse up. what would be the point of you going? könig has done enough as is, letting you take up most of his days all for a goal that you don’t even care about anymore. how could you intrude on a work thing too? he probably wants to spend time with his friends, maybe even meet someone new at this place. you can’t help but feel a pang at the thought, but you don’t even know why. there’s no point to keeping up the act, the very thought of benjamin makes you nauseous now, so you really should just leave this place behind as soon as possible. it’s only logical, but why does it hurt so much? 
“come on, bella, the big guy only agreed because of you! he’s only attended these things like twice before. i just know he’d love to show you the black dog! it’s our second home away from home,” stiletto insists, making to take your hand but stopping when she catches the crumbs coating her hand.
“you think? maybe…”
“we’re sure”, says horangi, nodding at you. “at least if you go, he wouldn’t just be glaring from a corner like the rare times he has gone. i’ve never seen him so happy as when you’re around.”
“okay, i’m down, too, then.” you say, smiling at the thought of more time with könig and these two. now, you couldn’t possibly put a damper on kev’s party by calling off the plan, right? it’d be downright rude. what else can you do but wait til tomorrow for all that? your hands are totally tied here, 100%, no doubt about it. looks like the act is still on for at least another day, a thought that has you smiling as stiletto launches into searching for more clothes for you.
♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
you now realized why könig was so excited when you met up for lunch and you told him you wanted to go to the gathering tonight. sure, the bar’s floors were a little bit sticky with past spilled drinks, and the smell of smoke from many cigarettes hung in the air, but the energy of the place was spectacular. from the dark wood to the dimmed lights hanging from the ceiling, you instantly felt a lot more at ease than you’d felt on the way here.
kev, the man of the night, was so kind when you greeted him, his hand warm and rough when you shook it. he clapped könig on the shoulder, barking out a “maybe this party should be for you and your girl, aye? look how far you’ve come, boy. i still remember when you first showed up, all scrawny like a… like a green bean, so scared of everything. you jumped ‘bout a mile into the air the first time you checked out the haunted snack machine-”
könig rubbed the back of his neck, quickly congratulating kev before steering you away, kev’s cackle followed you through the crowd.
“you said you didn’t believe it was really haunted,” you tease, grinning up at him as he led you between the tables and other attendees, your hand in his. “well, yes, i eventually reached that conclusion after some investigating,” he said carefully, avoiding looking at you. “it had been acting funny for so long, what was i supposed to think, schatzi?” könig whined, making you laugh harder.
“bella!” stiletto shouted, waving at you from the table she and horangi had commandeered. “we were wondering where you were!” she gushed as she stood to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “oh, i guess you’re here, too,” she joked, sparing könig a quick glance.
he rolled his eyes, helping you into your chair before sitting. ever a gentleman you thought, smiling as you greeted horangi across the table.
♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
for such a small place, it sure got lively! conversations ebbed and flowed, mixing up like a pile of threads, the tables quickly filling and the drinks flowing. the four of you chatted and joked, occasional guests popping in when horangi waved them over. kev must be well loved as soon it felt like the whole base was in the building, although you were thankful to not see many rookies. benjamin would surely think a thing like this too below him. his types of parties usually ended with multiple arrests and lots of property damage, and at least 10 people puking in bushes… you were pulled from your thoughts when könig gently nudged your hand with his, dipping his head so you’d hear him over all the clamor of voices.
“alright, liebe? wanna leave already?” he asked softly, and you just barely caught the way his brows furrowed under his mask. you smiled, feeling your heart warm at how considerate he always was, so in tune and attentive to your moods without you even having to say anything.
“no, i was just thinking… it’s so comfy. i feel like i could stay the whole night” you grin, taking a sip of your drink. 
no one can ever say kev’s farewell party was boring. soon, many were launching into loud songs, others shouting at each other over the ratty pool table in the back, people stumbling as they mingled among tables. just when you’d thought horangi and stiletto ran out of embarrassing könig stories, they’d brew up another, helping each other remember details that the other didn’t.
könig’s defenses would never hold up, any excuse or reasoning for each embarrassing moment only making it worse until he just gave up, laughing along with the rest of you. his dry wheeze of a laugh only made you three break down even worse, horangi saying it sounded like crunchy leaves blowing away in the wind, before kev made his way over to the table.
“what’s going on over here? we telling war stories for the little lady? i want in,” he said, looking around for a chair yet finding them all taken. könig made to stand, about to offer his chair, but horangi held out a hand to stop him.
“easy, old man. you aren’t so young yourself, hm?” he laughed, almost sloshing a bit of his drink over his cup. “how about your girl sits on your lap, then kev gets her chair, and everyone’s happy?” he asked, smiling over at you.
“sure!” you quickly agreed, standing and taking your drink as könig scooted his chair back, making room for you. you nodded at kev’s thanks, assuring him it was perfectly fine, könig saying “komm hier, schatzi”, playing the perfect part of a loving boyfriend. 
you’re thanking all the higher forces that exist for the dim lighting now, feeling your face warm as you settle on könig’s lap, biting the inside of your cheek to ground yourself. the warmth of könig’s hands radiate through your clothes as he casually holds them but a millimeter away from your hip, just enough for it to look like he’s hugging you to him from the others’ point of view, without actually touching you in this impromptu moment.
the others, to their credit, just spare you a quick glance before they’re back to loudly arguing about whether kev did or did not manage that impossible shot he’s always bragging about- trying to work out if it’s worth telling you if it’s false- and you take the opportunity to turn to könig, silently communicating in that way you’ve unlocked over these months. you give him a slightly confused look, your eyes flickering to his hands to indicate what you mean, and he raises his eyebrows in response, as if saying “your choice”.
you turn back to the table, unable to hide your smile as you place your hands over his, guiding one to fully rest on your hip and the other about midway up your thigh. kev laughs when he admits he can’t even verify the legendary story himself, “so many memories become muddled over the years, the old brain’s not what it was, you know how it is” he says, directing that last bit at könig, much to the other two’s amusement.
you playfully soothe him, patting his hands with yours as you tell him not to listen to them. horangi’s laughing like a hyena, but he has to be bailed out by stiletto when he chokes on his spit a little, and that’s enough to redirect him, the fun of teasing könig quickly forgotten when he realizes he’s got the man of the hour at the table. “willing to try your luck tonight, kev?” he asks, pulling out the pack of cards you’ve learned over the months he always has on him.
something about this feels so… right. you have never felt more at ease in your life. maybe it’s the drinks warming your gut, or just the effect of having fun with friends, but you relax, leaning back against könig's chest as the chatter of the other’s settles over you like a blanket. könig hums, the sound reverberating through his chest before he leans down to place a soft kiss on your temple.
you’re vaguely aware horangi’s showing off his shuffling skills, quickly dealing himself, then stiletto, then kev in before turning his attention to you. you shake your head when he asks if you want to play, könig saying you can help him instead, reaching past you to pick up his cards. you can’t help but mourn the loss of his hands on you, the ghost of his warmth on your hip and thigh only making you feel colder as he fans his cards out so you can see his spread too.
you never really knew yourself to be clingy, stevens always shrugging you off and rolling his eyes when you’d just try to hold his hand. guess that wasn’t really an environment for you to learn about your preferences and needs. who’d have known?
you could get used to this, truly being könig’s schatzi, visiting him on base every other day, hanging out with these new friends- learn card tricks from horangi, train with stiletto- finally experience what an actual loving relationship is… you’re almost certain he feels this same way. what else would you call his kindness, his gentleness, the way he always turns to you first… he wouldn’t have agreed to this whole hare brain scheme if he didn’t like you, if he thought you were annoying, right?
you watch the game play out in front of you, basking in this delicate warmth as you lean your head against könig’s shoulder, breathing in that comforting pine scent that always clings to him. he makes a little noise of surprise, and you know it's because you’re acting different, but you shake your head, cutting off his concern before he even asks if anything’s wrong. “just got a little cold,” you say quietly, hearing horangi complain that he’s losing, that stiletto must be cheating, old kev settling their bickering.
“oh, schatzi! you should have said so” könig murmurs, a smile on his voice as he reaches for his jacket draped on the corner of kev’s- formerly your- chair, and lays it over you, tucking it around you like it’s a blanket. it feels like one, with how vast and worn it is.
you can see some irregular stitches at the shoulder seams, and you smile to yourself at the thought of könig tearing his jacket because he forgot how wide his shoulders are, he must have stretched just a bit too far, and then that night he put his sewing skills to work, stitching the pieces back together. he’d look so cute, maybe his tongue would stick out just the slightest bit as he focuses on his work, his brows would furrow in that way they do when he’s turning something over in his mind- well shit.
you let out a shaky puff of breath, feeling your hands tremble just the slightest bit as you wrestle with the undeniable fact: you’ve fallen for könig. you’ve been falling since you first spoke to him, clinging to every detail he mentioned, memorizing the inflections in his voice, finally truly laughing for the first time in a while thanks to his stories over the phone. you’d initially braced yourself for him to ask about you and stevens when he mentioned the letter, but he never pried, only took what you gave him, and you quickly learned he wasn’t the type of guy to press and insist like that.
it’s why you trusted him so much since the beginning, why you’ve never once felt apprehensive or nervous around him- not counting the butterflies you’d ignored over the past months… 
könig peeks down at you, a quiet “are you sure you’re okay, liebe?” drawing you from your thoughts.
“yeah… yeah, i’m good,” you breath out, assuring him with a smile. “i’m just gonna go get some air” you say, sliding off his lap and standing.
könig quickly drops his cards on the table, face up, making to stand after you “i’ll go with you”.
“no, no, you stay and finish your game! i’ll just be right outside.” you insist, placing your hand on his shoulder, and he actually stays seated, but he’s looking up at you with those worried puppy eyes of his.
"schatzi-”
“stay” you say, smiling as you can practically hear him whine in response, but, just like a well-trained dog, he wouldn’t go against you. really, there’s nothing for him to worry about. the street itself is well lit, those in the area are more focused on themselves; they’re respected men and women just having a night to relax.
you shut the door behind you as you take a deep breath of the cool air, tugging könig’s jacket further around you. how different life feels when you’re no longer living for someone else. the stars have never looked as pretty as they do tonight, and you’ve never felt so light of heart since this morning.
you’ll speak to könig tomorrow, tell him the plan is off, but then confess your feelings and hope he believes you. you wouldn’t hold it against him if he’s a little skeptical, just last night you were still trying to get stevens’ attention...
you shiver at the thought of him, hardly able to believe you ever once thought he was a good guy, that he was worth your effort like that. it’s laughable now that you’ve met truly good people, seen what it’s like to be treated like you’re actually someone. you check to make sure the wall behind you is clean before you lean against it, smiling up at each twinkling light in the sky.
it was as if the stars themselves were telling you everything would be okay- or maybe they were telling you to watch out, you think when you hear his voice from your left, a chill going down your spine.
♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ
part 4, the final part, <3
taglist: @practicalgauntlet @captain-ofmusic @darkangel4121 @laduenadelswing @galactict3a @nexthyperfix @distinguishedprincesstrash
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reiderwriter · 1 year ago
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Unhappy Holidays
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: You're unlucky enough to run into Spencer Reid at holiday celebrations four years in a row. In the New Year, you're resolving to rid him from your mind forever, but you never were one to stick to resolutions 👻🦃🎄🎆
Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors dni, enemies to lovers, low-key work rivals, semi-public sex, car sex, hate sex, fingering, thigh riding, creampie, unprotected sex (no condoms but contraceptive mentioned), slight spoilers for s4 of Criminal Minds (but not really).
Prompt Request: #50"You're so fucking obsessed with me.” #82"Really? Because your pussy is saying something different, sweetheart.” #93"Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”
A/N: This is my first submission for @imagining-in-the-margins November/December Office Party writing challenge! I'm sorry I've been so busy recently, but the holiday season really does take a lot of effort to get through at work lmao. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more over my vacation! For now, enjoy some very unserious smut~♡ (as if I write any other kind).
Here's a link to my masterlist, where you can find all my work!~☆
Working with the FBI was no walk in the park, which, from your desk at the opposite corner of the bullpen, Spencer Reid sure made it look like.
Working on adjacent teams for the last three years had become gradually infuriating. You were forever in the man's orbit, stuck dealing with the other women on your team sat giggling about him and his many stupid haircuts, and wondering just how far you'd fallen to have to stare at his stupid face 5 days a week.
If you were unlucky. His team did happen to be out on cases a lot more, whereas yours handled correspondence and consulting cases, a cushy and safe job.
It annoyed you to no end that you had multiple field-based qualifications, extensive fire arms training and were top of your class at the academy only to be relegated yo desk duty whilst boy wonder with his doctorates was allowed to trip over his own feet catching actual killers.
Other people wondered where your dislike of the man sprang from, and you could only let out a disgruntled squeak and tell them your horror stories.
A few months into your job, your been fresh faced and bushy tailed or however that saying goes, and overly eager to take any assignment that came your way. Even if the assignment was baby-sitting an injured Doctor Spencer Reid. He'd been shot whilst out on a case whilst trying to talk down an unsub, and you'd jumped at the chance to get to know him.
He was an office legend, of course, though those days it was more for his characteristic lack of social graces rather than the beauty he'd grown into. You'd been so eager to get to pick his brains, find out how he'd managed to score the position on the BAU at such an early age.
Reality had hit you square in the face when he'd spent a week ignoring you, making you run around like a headless chicken searching for hard copies of documents the FBI had digitised a millennia ago, and hadn't so much as spared you a glance.
The straw that broke the camel's back came as you were running back to him triumphant with a document he'd requested eight hours before and had let yourself into Penelope Garcia’s office quietly, only to hear him bad mouthing you.
“She makes me uncomfortable. I've had her out searching for useless files all day because I don't know what to do with her.”
“She's trying to help, Spencer, it's her job right now, cut her some slack.”
“Her job is currently getting in the way of mine. I even tried writing my own doctor's note so I could get rid of her, but Hotch wouldn't allow it.”
You'd dropped the file loudly on the table, watched the two spin around with horrified looks and turned silently and left the room.
He hadn't once tried to find you after that, and you let your apprenticeship under Doctor Reid quietly fizzle out as you got back to your regular work.
Your resentment still burned though.
Each time you'd been caught in the same elevator with him, you'd ignored him to an almost insane degree, enjoying the way he squirmed and tried to make small talk.
You'd been in contact with JJ and his Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner as well, through cases you'd recommended, but always maintained your cold shoulder.
The one place you could not ignore him, however, was a Penelope Garcia party.
After you'd slammed the file down on her desk, Penelope had guiltily sent you a gift basket filled with sweet treats and books, and had hounded you for a week to make sure your feelings weren't too damaged by her friend's stupidity.
You actually liked her, and found at least one silver lining to the storm that was Spencer Reid ripping through your life.
In the three years since the “incident,” you'd found yourself at three parties where Penelope in all of her heartwarming ways had tried her best to force a reconciliation between the two of you, to disastrous results.
The first was a Halloween party, and you'd been incredibly proud of your Princess Laia costume when you'd arrived. Only until you'd gone to the kitchen to top up your drink to hear Spencer Reid boring some guest or the other about how Star Trek was more advanced, and had a richer plot line.
Penelope had stepped into the kitchen just as he'd caught a glimpse of your (rather skimpy) outfit - yes, you'd chosen swimsuit Laia, yes, you were going to own it - and had immediately jumped into introductions, as if you weren't already intimately acquainted.
“Spencer! This is Y/N! She loves Halloween, too, she makes all of her costumes. You guys should talk.” She'd led the other guest away and left you there with Spencer as you'd awkwardly looked upon his own costume.
“Are you the Tenth Doctor?” You asked begrudgingly, noting his pin-striped suit and the shorter hairstyle he'd chosen.
“Are you a fan? I prefer the original show run more than the current stuff, but David Tennant has really been doing a wonderful-”
“I'm sorry, let me stop you there. I don't watch Doctor Who. I guess I prefer something with a… How should I say, richer plot?”
He'd snapped his mouth shut and didn't have chance to open it again before you turned dramatically and walked away from him.
The second party you'd been cornered into was just over a year later.
Having been stuck in the office over Halloween, Penelope was determined to get in one last celebration before Christmas steam-rolled every other holiday, and thus you'd been invited to her single-people-only-friendsgiving-potluck, and you'd found yourself having to navigate knocking on her door with a casserole dish in your hands.
Luckily a large hand had appeared from behind you and knocked on the door for you. Unfortunately, the sudden shock from the silent appearance of a man right behind you startled you so much that the dish fell straight from your hands anyway.
Penelope opened her door upon hearing the crash and you whirled on your would-be attacker.
It was Spencer again, eyes round in shock, hand still curled into a fist.
You took a calming breath as you gathered yourself, trying not to bite his head off. You wanted to scream and shout and rip his head out but you didn't, instead letting the fury drip into your voice as you finally opened your eyes again.
“That dish took me four fucking hours to make.” You huffed in anger once more as Penelope guided you into the apartment and poured you a glass of wine before you moved back to the entry hall to clean it up again.
Needless to say he didn't care to converse with you after that.
A few small parties in between had been blissfully Spencer-less and you'd lulled yourself into a false sense of security. That's when you accepted the Christmas party invitation.
As one of the unlucky few members of the FBI who had to stay out over christmas in case of some emergency or the other, you'd been grounded in Virginia, unable to travel home for the holidays. So Penelope Garcia's singles-only-Christmas-fun-time-Party was your last ditch effort to spend the holidays actually resting and eating good food.
Learning from last time, Penelope reassured you that there was no potluck, that she had prepared all the food herself, and all you'd need were a bottle of wine and a willingness to party.
You'd taken those recommendations as law and had immediately let yourself into a glass of mulled wine as you arrived, and - noticing that the party was Reid-free - had allowed it to raise your Christmas spirits slightly more than you usually would.
By hour two of the event, you were full of yuletide joy and swaying freely along to the tune of Silent Night.
Spencer’s late entrance really would have gone unnoticed by you had you not bumped face first into his chest as you spun yourself around in your dance, his hands quickly falling to your hips to steady you.
The few moments it took you to gather yourself were about as long as you needed to realised that he'd caught you in his arms underneath the mistletoe. And with your mind fogged by mulled-whatever-it-was-Penelope-mixed-into-that-punch, the part of your brain that objected to the very existence of Spencer Reid went silent, and the incredibly tiny and somewhat damaged part of your brain that instead saw him as attractive started shouting loud instructions.
Before your common sense could return, you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes to kiss the very warm, very close man holding you upright.
“Mistletoe,” you muttered as you clawed his arms off of you and took yourself straight to Penelope's bathroom to throw up.
So yes, your acquaintance with Spencer Reid had never been good, and you were perfectly fine with resenting him from afar, privately.
With three years of bad experiences under your belt, you weren't excited at completing your yearly tradition of horrendous interaction. Which is perhaps why you immediately and loudly protested Penelope’s New Years Eve party invitation.
“Y/N, it's a party. What's the worst that can happen?” She pleaded as she followed you down the corridors of the office building.
“I could see Spencer Reid. I could be forced to converse with Spencer Reid. I could get absolutely wasted and kiss Spencer Reid. There, three options, please accept my resignation from partying.”
“Y/N we both know you don't drink anymore, so at least one of those is unlikely to happen. And Spencer might not even come, he has tickets for an indie theatre from 6pm onwards, they're playing some Russian movie from the 60s that's like 4 hours long or something. So u retire yourself and tell me you'll come?” She had to take three or four steps for each of your own, not that you were so different in height but because you were practically marching in order to avoid the topic.
But you finally stopped and let out a sigh as you turned back to Penelope who stopped just before she ran into you.
“You're sure he won't be there?”
“I'm sure he RSVP’d no.”
“Fine. But I'm not drinking and I will still be expecting the Penelope Garcia virgin punch experience.”
“Bring the party poppers and you have a deal.”
“Done.”
–X–
Over the week since you'd accepted the invitation, you'd made peace with it. For the most part, you did love a Penelope Garcia production. There was something wonderful about your friend and her ability to brighten anyone's mood, an ability that was only heightened at holidays. She was like a glittered goddess gaining power when worshippers used her altar, except the altar was her house and the worship was a range of hallmark-induced holidays.
You arrived at the party at 10pm, and though that was the start time you'd been given, you weren't surprised to see a full house of Penelope’s team mates already in attendance. Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau and Emily Prentiss sat spread across the sofa in the living room area, and you noticed a few techie friends also grabbing drinks and chatting.
“Y/N, I'm so glad you're here! You remember everyone on the team, right?” She pulled you into a hug and then sat you down in the middle of the group, waiting for you to mingle and become comfortable before she ran off to more hostess duties.
“Of course, nice to see you guys.” You grabbed your promised punch and sat back comfortably, striking up a conversation with Emily about how bleak the dating scene had been recently.
“It seems like all the men around me are jackasses,” Emily muttered and you giggled along.
“I'm wounded,” Morgan shot back, a hand pressed to his chest in faux pain.
“Good. You're like a lion out there in the clubs stalking gazelles, it's like watching a nature documentary when you're out there.”
You almost snorted your entire drink up your nose as Emily finished, needing to compose yourself for a second.
“I guess the men on our team aren't great with romance,” JJ laughed and took a swing. “Hotch and Rossi have four divorces between them, and Derek here is a lost cause.”
“Our only hope is young Spencer. May he grow into a respectful young gentleman and break out curse,” Emily toasted.
“Oh that ship has sailed,” your laugh this time was bitter, your mood immediately growing sour with even the smallest mention of Spencer Reid.
“Ah, Penelope mentioned you had a problem with our boy wonder. Care to share?”
You opened your mouth to give your standard non-answer and move the conversation along, but you were interrupted.
“Yes, Y/N, care to share? I am slightly curious about that as well.” You turned around and there he was, and your stomach turned in disgust.
Just one time, just one party. You'd been having fun, and here he was to ruin it.
“What are you doing here?” you gaped up at him, unsurprised to see him still decked out in sweater vest and slacks even in his down time.
“I was invited.”
“You declined, Penelope said you had movie tickets.”
“Ticket, singular. And it was cancelled so here I am. What's your problem with me, Y/N?” His jaw clenched and he grabbed the back of your chair and leaned down. It was supposed to be intimidating, but you rolled your eyes. When he looked that attractive, veins in his arms popping out of the sleeves he'd pulled up, you couldn't see him as intimidating. His arms were distracting yes, but God that was nothing compared to his thighs. His pants were tight, and you thanked whatever Clueless tailor had sewn them, because you now allowed yourself a momentary lapse to enjoy the appearance of his lower body.
You tried to shake the thought of his attractiveness from your mind, reminding yourself where you were and in what company.
“I don't think I need to answer that. I think I'll enjoy holding it over your head instead,” you said, standing up and beginning to gather your things.
“Wait, Y/N, where are you going? New Year isn't for another 30 minutes.” Penelope scrambled over and grabbed your hand, pleading with you to stay.
“I'm sorry Pen, but there's just this very annoying bug buzzing around me, and I think I need to get away from it.” You said your goodbyes and excused yourself from the party, happy to have walked away relatively undamaged.
Fate had other plans, and as you stepped out of the apartment building ready to walk yourself home, a hand caught yours from behind as a voice chased you.
“Y/N, wait. I'll go. You go back inside.”
“And return with my tail tucked between my legs after making a grand exit? I'll pass, thanks boy genius.” You shook yourself from his grasp and made to walk away again, but he quickly matched your pace and stepped into your path, cutting you off.
“I can't let you walk home. It's like 40° out here, and your coat is more style than substance.”
“Get into a car with a stranger? I'm sure you of all people know how stupid that sounds.” You stuck a finger out and poked his chest, but he grabbed your hand and held it in place as he spat out his next words.
“I'm not a stranger, I'm the man you're obsessed with, Y/N. Big difference.” You laughed, mostly in shock at his indignance, but he stared at your face as serious as could be.
“Me? Obsessed with you? I'm not the one who followed a woman they're barely acquainted with out of a party filled with all of my friends. Sounds like you're projecting, Spencer.”
“Am I?” He questioned, stepping closer and grabbing your hip as he continued his questioning. “I wasn't the one who was sat there talking about me with all of my colleagues.”
“Well, I wasn't the one who turned up to a party I'd declined an invitation to.”
He was imperceptibly close now, hand gripping your hip so tight you wondered if it'd leave you with a mark.
“I certainly was not the one who initiated a kiss last year, Y/N. You need to face the facts, you're so fucking obsessed with me.” If his hands had you feeling dizzy, his words were completely knocking the sense out of you. Suddenly you returned to the person you'd been under that Mistletoe, and everything from his closeness to the rough edge to his voice begged you to do it once again.
“Go fuck yourself,” was about all the words you could manage as he finally let his lips fall down and crush into your own.
You should've pushed him away, but instead your traitorous body wanted to prove his point, opening up for him faster than you'd opened up to anyone else before.
His tongue flicked against your lips and you gladly let him explore your mouth, opening up to tangle your tongue with his.
He tasted sweet, like the punch Penelope had handed you earlier, only now you wondered if someone had accidentally laced it with how free you were being with your affections.
He resurfaced for air, but you didn't care if there was nothing in your lungs at all if it meant that his lips would engage your own in battle once again.
“Look how much you want me,” he smirked. “Look how needy you are after a single kiss, chasing my lips like that.”
“You and your big fucking mouth. I wish you'd shut up once in a while.”
“I'll make it my new year’s resolution.” His lips joined your own again, and you clashed hard, exploring as much as you could muster as he pulled you in the direction of his car.
“I'm not driving… home… with you,” you growled between kisses, trying not to put your teeth to his neck and bite down hard. You're not sure if that impulse was a murderous one or a kinky one.
“I'm not putting you in the front seat, Y/N, I'm putting you in the back. You should be familiar with the idea.”
Heat sparked between your legs, and you allowed yourself to be manhandled into the beat-up trash heap of a car.
He'd not taken his hands off you as he got you in, pushing himself in first and then pulling you by the hand that you'd unconsciously gripped hard. You immediately straddled his hips, skirt naturally riding up in the process. He noticed and looked curiously down at you, growling as you pressed your lips against his neck and grabbed you instead by the hair gathered in a ponytail at the back of your head.
“See, you're obsessed with me. Just admit it.” Without breaking eye contact, he dug his fingers into the material of your tights and pulled in opposite directions, leaving your underwear exposed to his wandering eyes.
“I'm not obsessed with you,” your voice needed conviction to land, but it came out as a lusty whisper, especially as he slipped his fingers inside your underwear and finally touched your aching cunt.
“Really? Because your pussy is saying something else, Princess.” He found your clit faster than you'd ever expected, rubbing slow circles into your skin as you began rocking your hips back and forth.
It was becoming hard to disagree with him, with each flick of wrist growing the heat between your legs. You attacked his neck again, hands practically ripping at his top buttons so you could muffle the sounds of your arousal against his neck, collarbone, chest, any stretch of that pale skin available to you.
He forced your hips to a stop with one hand as he slipped a single digit inside of your hole, gathering your arousal as he set a steady pace, thumb keeping your bundle of nerves occupied.
“Listen, Y/N, can you hear that?”
“I can't h-hear anything.” You had to grind your teeth together to get the words out with minimal interruptions of moans bursting from the pit of your stomach.
He leaned in close to your ear, nuzzling your neck and placing chaste kisses up towards your ear, finally pulling away just enough to whisper a single word in your ear.
“Liar.”
His hand stilled and pulled off you quickly and your eyes broke open, hands unconsciously fitting into his shirt as if you were worried he was going to leave you there like this, on the edge of pleasure but still so far away.
“Use my thigh. You've been staring at it all night anyway.”
“Jackass. You've only been here for like 20 minutes.”
“You can climb right out of this car if you want to, Y/N.” He tried to keep his tone light, but the death grip he had on your thighs, the very obvious tent pitched in his pants and the way his eyes couldn't go five seconds without undressing you told you you had more power in this interaction than he wanted to give you.
There was no way either of you were letting the other go unused tonight.
You relaxed your grip on his shirt and shifted your weight to one of his thighs. Lithe he may be, but lowering yourself down there was an unexpected strength there. He watched on curiously as you rocked experimentally against him. Back and forth you rocked, trying desperately to keep up his momentum or tempt him to help you out again.
It was time to let your voice back out, and you did, moaning without a care as you hummed his leg like a bitch in heat.
“You're enjoying this lot, huh, Y/N,” he muttered, and you watched as his hand worked his pants zip open, removing one of the barriers in the way between the two of you, as he began palming himself.
“What's that saying? Anything you can do, I can do better?” He growled at that response but didn't stop you. Instead he bought a hand down on your ass as you moved, so hard you jolted at the sudden pain. Your eyes shot open as your hips stilled, but you felt warmth grow between your legs.
“Yes, you definitely enjoyed that. Should I do that again, or do you think we should hurry this up and go back up for the countdown?”
You hesitated only a second before you pushed his hand off his lap, shifting your hips further towards his knees before letting your hand reach for where his had just been.
You didn't let yourself think about how big he was as you pulled his cock free, didn't let yourself wonder how he measured up against anyone you'd been with before. You didn't let yourself waste time thinking about how various office rumours were true, and definitely not a second was wasted feeling jealous about how those rumours were spread in the first place.
Instead you simply slammed your lips back against his, mouth opening to let your tongue engage his as you lifted your hips with his help and lowered yourself down on him.
You didn't have to rid yourself of sinful thoughts after that as he purged every single brain cell from your head, filling you so contently that there was simply no space for anything but him.
You locked up on top of him, clawing at his shoulders as you whimpered at the stretched, falling so he was balls deep inside you. You wanted to move, to use him for your pleasure, but your walls tightened every time you even thought about it as he stroked your hair through it all.
It had been some time since you'd last had a sexual partner, and you needed the few minutes to overcome the first uncomfortable bliss of it all.
“That good?” he whispered, but the harsh tone of earlier was gone, replaced only by unsure humour to break the silence.
“Been a while.” He nodded, kissing you again to distraction as he shifted your positions.
Cradling your neck and securing your legs comfortably around him, he lowered you against the backseat, pulling out slightly as you adjusted to the new angle.
“Better?” You nodded quickly, because it was. There was no more pressure on your legs, and despite the cramped space in the car, you had enough space to lie almost flat.
“Yes… thank you.” Just as his cutting tone had escaped him, you also heard your own tone softening, the sigh of contentment slipping past your lips almost sweet. Almost.
“Are you going to fuck me now, or what?”
He let out a shocked laugh, but lent down to shut you up with a kiss nonetheless. Bracing himself against the car door, his hips softly rocked into you, pace increasing until you were back to the edge of cumming, nails pressed hard into his skin until you were sure he was going to complain.
He didn't though, but kept up his thrusts, until your vision suddenly darkened and stars exploded in them, rolled back in your head as they were.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, where should I…?” He panicked, but you wrapped your legs around him, grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down to swallow his moan as he shot his load inside of you.
“Birth control.” You whispered when you finally let him go, gasping for air. “Contraceptive pill. No need to get the car dirty.”
He collapsed on top of you then, forehead resting against your own as you both caught your breaths.
The moment was silent, and you found the synchronicity of your breaths almost calming. Eventually you had to break apart, and he helped you up to a sitting position, but didn't break eye contact as fell back into his lap.
His hands stroked your back, dipping to your ass at times, but he didn't talk. Neither of you did.
The eye contact between the two of you was possibly the most pleasant conversation you'd ever had.
“I'm sorry.” He blurted, just as fireworks erupted into the night sky. Your heart shook, and you weren't sure of it was the shock of the sound, or the way the rainbow of lights illuminated his sincere expression.
“You don't have to apologise for cumming in me, Spencer.”
“Not that. Before. The casserole and the mistletoe, and the Halloween costume.”
“Wow. Um, okay. Apology accepted, I guess, though I'm not entirely sure why you're apologising now.”
He took a deep breath just as another set of fireworks went up.
“I pulled you under the mistletoe. It was Penelope’s idea, she knew how stupid I was being around you and sent me over. I saw it and took the chance.”
“Fuck. Why?”
“Because I was pretty useless at being chivalrous the year before.”
You climbed off his lap in a scramble and sat on the seat beside him, mind racing, trying to figure out where the hell he was going with this.
He turned to you, trying to keep your attention as he stumbled over the words.
“You couldn't knock on the door, so I wanted to help you, but I didn't think I'd scare you so much you'd drop it.”
“You didn't scare me it was a momentary lapse in my observational skills.”
“You shrieked,” a smile threatened to pull his lips up, they twitched as you flushed red.
“And Halloween?” You looked at him again now, trying to figure out what the hell was going on between the two of you.
“You refused to look at me for a year after we stopped working together,” he shrugged quickly running a hand through his hair and expelling a breath. “I don’t really know how to talk to women.”
“You just know how to piss them off?”
“Morgan says it comes naturally.”
“Yeah, well, Morgan is very wise.”
A brief silence stretched between you, or as silent as a night full of cracks, pops, whizzes and bangs could be.
“I don't get it. You tried your best to get rid of me when I was there to help you. I wanted to impress you, and you kept sending me on meaningless errands, and now you're saying what? You wanted my attention?” There was a quiet anger to your voice, but you were surprised to find it diminished and tired.
“I wanted you gone because you were distracting me, Y/N, not because I hated you.”
“Well, what's the difference, Doctor Reid? Please indulge me.” You huffed a little but kept your eyes on him, trying not to seem too desperate for his answer.
“I have an IQ of 187. Emily says when I'm around a pretty girl it's more like 52,” he fidgeted with his pants, forcing the words out.
“You're a pretty girl. We had a case to work and all I could think about was how to get you to like me. Hotch chewed me out like three separate times for being absent minded.”
He was looking anywhere but you, trying his best not to appear like a fool but you were locked onto him.
“Oh my god you're an idiot.”
“When you're around, yes.”
“And that means I'm equally stupid.”
“No, you just jump to conclusions and hold grudges. There wasn't anything really that stupid about your actions, though it could be suggested that not thoroughly thinking through the wording of the conversation you overheard-”
You cut him off with a kiss, pulling him down again mlby his tie.
“Oh my god, shut up,” you whispered as you broke apart.
“Does that mean we can do this again? Because I'd like to do this again?”
“Stop talking, start kissing jackass.”
He finally didn't argue with that, pulling you back into him as you sat under the stars in his car welcoming the new year.
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munsonsmixtapes · 10 months ago
Note
Ok so, Eddie being possessive but wanting to mask it until he can't no more and when he gets to the house he ravishes you but the only thing that keeps him going is if you tell him all the things you like about him and how he makes you feel like the only 1
Um, yes, absolutely!
Eddie Munson x fem!reader
cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) Eddie is a little possessive, jealousy
The bar was hazy as Eddie entered it. You were over at the bar, sipping on a margarita that you had just ordered. He made a beeline for you, weaving his way through all of the dancing bodies to get to you. A huge smile broke out on his face as he got closer, but that quickly dropped once he was you were talking to someone. And not just anyone. Steve. Fucking Steve.
If Eddie was going to say anything about Steve, it was that he had game. He could get anyone he wanted with a snap of a finger and Eddie was becoming afraid that you would have left with him and he couldn't have even blamed you. He wouldn't have. He was a very pretty man and shit, if Steve had hit on him, he wouldn't have hesitated to take the invitation.
Eddie's hand rested lightly on your back as he tried to swallow his jealousy like a large pill that wouldn't go down properly. You turned to him and gave him a warm smile before turning back to Steve who was in the middle of telling you a story.
Eddie grumbled something to himself as he sat to the left of you, deciding to order a beer if this was what the night was going to be like.
Despite your trying to keep your situationship with Eddie a secret, Steve was very much aware of what was going on, even going as far as flirting with you a little bit to get Eddie to admit his feelings for you that he was very well aware of his friend having.
He watched Eddie as he slowly reached up and fixed the strap of your tank top that had fallen down, his warm, honey eyes looking into yours as he put on a smile.
"Oh, thanks, Stevie," you smiled and Eddie swore that he was going to throw up right then and there. What did Steve have that Eddie didn't? Okay, maybe he had the flirting down, but being awkward was part of Eddie's charm.
"No problem," Steve winked then stood up from his stool, fixing his jean jacket as he did so. "I'll see you later, hon," he gave your shoulder a squeeze then turned to Eddie, giving him a nod. "Munson."
"Munson," Eddie mocked under his breath as soon as Steve was out of earshot. He then chugged the rest of his beer, knowing that he was going to need it in order to flirt with you. You turned to him, letting your strap fall once again, turning your shoulder to him as if to tease him.
He hated what you did to him. That you were able to make him feel so possessive, something that he never liked to be because you were never really his. Just a little fling that was bound to end sooner or later. But maybe if he told you just how he felt, you would admit that you wanted more too.
He leaned over, pressing a lingering kiss to your shoulder before fixing the strap, his lips making their way up your jaw, pressing a final kiss at the corner of your mouth. He then pulled away, and got off his stool, offering you his hand.
"Oh, are you finally going to be a gentleman?" You asked and he just chuckled, pulling you to his chest as he leaned down, his lips right by your ear.
"Oh sweetheart," he chuckled. "We both know I'm not a gentleman. I thought we settled that last night."
"I think I need a refresher," you replied and felt your cheeks get hot at his words and he took you by the hand, leading you to his van. He peeled out of his parking lot and sped down the street, desperate to have his way with you once again, never getting tired of it.
He pulled up to the trailer and put it in park before getting out and rounding the hood to help you out, but you were already inside, the door slamming behind you. He raced inside after you, grabbing hold of your wrist and turned you around to face him.
Without a word, he pressed his lips to yours taking no time to slip his tongue into your mouth, swirling it around yours as he pushed you back towards his room.
This wasn't unlike every other time you got tangled up in the sheets, but you couldn't help but notice that was something different about it in some way. He was more rough with you, grabbing onto you like you were going to disappear in that moment.
He pushed you down onto his bed, seeing you splayed out all for him, making his already hardened cock even harder. He wanted you to his and his alone. The thought of you even looking in Steve's direction made him see red.
Eddie leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to your lips before diving into your neck, peppering the spot in kisses.
"Can't believe you were with him," he said, not able to look you in the eyes as he admitted it. “You’re mine, you know that?”
"And I can't believe you were jealous," you responded and he was quick to pull back to look at you, not liking how easy you were able to clock that fact. “And yes, of course I know that. If looks could kill, Steve would have been dead." Eddie's cheeks went pink at that. "And there's no need to be upset, pretty boy," you pat his cheek lightly.
"And why's that?" He leaned closer, knowing exactly why, but wanting to hear you say it. You could that teasing look on his face, his eyelashes batting in an innocent manner.
"You know why,” you quirked any eyebrow.
"Tell me, doll.”
"I like you."
"Yeah? And what do you like about me? For every reason, I’ll give you a kiss.” That sounded very tempting.
“I like your hair,” you told him and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips just like he promised. “It’s so curly and I love how it’s always messy.” He pressed two more kisses to your lips then pulled away, a goofy grin making its away upon his lips.
“What else?” He asked, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth.
“You’re sweet. Probably the sweetest man I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah?” Another kiss. “Sweeter than Harrington?”
“You don’t have to be jealous, Eddie,” you said again, batting your lashes.
“I don’t? But-”
“I’m yours, Munson. All yours.” You leaned up and slowly pulled off your tank top and Eddie’s eyes widened as he realized that you hadn’t been wearing a bra underneath. “Go ahead,” you took his hand and pulled it up to your breast. “Have your way with me.”
“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he responded, pressing his lips to yours again, this time rougher, letting his tongue slip into your mouth, letting it swirl around yours before taking off his own shirt.
“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it? Gonna finally call me yours?”
“You bet your ass I am,” replied as his hands moved down to unbutton your pants. He pulled them down in one swift motion and gasped as he realized that he wasn’t wearing any underwear either.
“Look at you. Wet as fuck and it’s all for me.” He then reached for a condom out of his drawer that was attached to his bedside table and removed his jeans and boxers before rolling the condom onto his cock, taking no time to pound it into you.
You moaned so loudly that Eddie had to cover your mouth so you wouldn’t wake up Wayne. You looked up at him, listening to still very much in your eyes.
“Gotta be quiet for me, doll. Can you be quiet?” You nodded and Eddie removed his hand moving it back down to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he continued to fuck into you.
“Fuck, Eddie,” you said, lowering your voice. “You don’t have to be so possessive, you know. I mean, I like it. A lot. But you don’t have to be jealous of Steve or anyone else. I want you.”
In that moment, everything stopped. The motions, your low moans. Eddie looked down at you, a smile kicking up at the corners.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, fuck yeah,” he nodded, pounding into you once more, watching your body move with his, eating up the way he could make you come undone.
You were already seeing stars and he could tell, loving how quick he could always get you there, but now he could do it any time he wanted since you now belonged to each other, attached to each other in more ways than one.
“Holy shit,” a scream ripped through you and you were no longer able to hold it in. Your back arched as you gripped the sheets below, followed by another scream. Once you came down from your orgasm, Eddie helped you lay back down on the mattress.
He then pulled out and disposed of the condom before collapsing onto the bed beside you. He pulled you to his chest and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“You and me, doll?” He asked.
“Yeah, Eddie,” you nodded. “You and me.”
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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago
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Christian Woman
(König x Nun!Reader)
Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.
Part 1
You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city. 
You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him. 
It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.
Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.
“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”
“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.
Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.
His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?
You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun. 
“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?” 
He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that. 
You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.
You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.
He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices. 
This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly. 
He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.
You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.
So you meet him again. 
And again… And again. 
You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.
“I guess you could put it like that.”
He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him. 
He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby. 
The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing. 
“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”
“What’s ‘twerking’?”
It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you. 
It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes. 
Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.
A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.
You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe. 
And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.
You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.
You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.
König can’t even keep his eyes in check. 
They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.
You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.
Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.
He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over. 
König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his. 
Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men. 
You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore. 
It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.
Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.
You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.
"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.
"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.
"A… A what?"
She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.
When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.
Christ have mercy…
"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"
You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her. 
Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.
Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.
"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.
"Did you sleep with him…?"
"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."
Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.
"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"
"Convent," you correct.
"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."
“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”
“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”
"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"
"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."
You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.
"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.
"What?"
Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.
"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.
"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"
"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."
"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."
"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”
“Oh for God’s sake…”
“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”
You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.
“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”
“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.
“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”
“Yes, but–”
“Mmh. Deep voice?”
“Umm… It’s memorable?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.
You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table. 
You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.
Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are. 
"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"
The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.
"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"
"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."
"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.
Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...
"Yours now, is he?"
"No, that was… It just slipped."
"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"
"What?! No."
"You have," she insists with a widening smile.
"No. No, I–"
"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"
You feel your lips snap into a thin line.
Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles? 
If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good. 
"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?" 
Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.
"What does that have to do with anything…?" 
"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.
You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.
The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared. 
This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.
You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.
Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.
You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends. 
There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.
Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.
Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.
But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.
You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.
The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary. 
König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.
Because…
One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours. 
It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.
You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”
“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again. 
Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.
The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.
I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.
Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.
He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.
You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.
“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.
“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”
“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.
He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.
“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.
“What if I don’t want some other girl?” 
His voice is so wickedly gentle too.
You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now. 
“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…
“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”
It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.
“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.
“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?” 
You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…
“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.
“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…
“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.
“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.
“Are you… Are you leaving then?”
“Soon.”
Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.
You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.
This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts. 
“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.
“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”
“That would be nice.”
“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”
“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again. 
“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”
You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.
“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…
You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.
“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister. 
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midnight-shadow-cafe · 4 months ago
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First Meetings – Headcannon Edition
Pairing: Task Force 141 x Civilian!Reader
Warnings: None, just fluff! Some protective behavior, mild flirting
Author's Note: I love the idea of the 141 boys meeting a partner outside of their usual military world. I just love knowing the boys have someone to come home to but here is how they meet you. Let me know if you’d like any of these expanded!
Masterlist
MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+
John "Soap" MacTavish
- You meet Soap while he’s on leave, enjoying a quiet drink in a cozy Scottish pub. It’s one of those places where the locals know each other, and you stick out like a sore thumb.
- He notices you sitting alone and, never one to leave someone out, walks right over with a cheeky grin.
- “New in town, are ya? Can’t be sittin’ all by yourself, that’s just a crime.” He slides into the seat across from you without waiting for permission, his energy contagious.
- What starts as small talk turns into a lively conversation filled with his playful teasing and exaggerated stories (you’re sure he’s embellishing, but it’s entertaining).
- By the end of the night, you’ve both laughed more than you have in weeks, and he’s already trying to get you to meet up again.
- “Tell ya what, next round’s on me—tomorrow night?” He winks, clearly hoping you’ll say yes.
---
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
- You meet Gaz in the most embarrassing way possible—by tripping right in front of him. You weren’t paying attention, too distracted by your phone or the book in your hands, and next thing you know, you’re falling forward.
- He catches you effortlessly, his grip firm but gentle. “Easy there, love. You alright?” His voice is warm with just a hint of amusement.
- You’re flustered, mumbling something about not watching where you were going, but he just grins.
- “Happens to the best of us,” he reassures you, then playfully adds, “But I think that’s the first time someone’s literally fallen for me.”
- If you meet at a coffee shop instead, he ends up sitting near you, noticing how intently you’re reading. Eventually, curiosity gets the best of him, and he strikes up a conversation.
- “Good book? You looked like you were in another world for a second.” His easygoing nature makes it impossible not to chat with him.
---
Simon "Ghost" Riley
- Ghost isn’t the type to seek out company, but somehow, you end up sitting across from him at a quiet café.
- You didn’t realize the table was occupied when you put your drink down, and by the time you do, you’re already halfway through apologizing.
- “Didn’t see you there. I can move—”
- “It’s fine,” he interrupts, barely sparing you a glance as he stirs his tea.
- Most people would take that as a sign to leave, but something about him intrigues you. Instead, you stay, making occasional comments about the book you’re reading or the pastries they serve here.
- At first, he doesn’t respond much—just nods or hums in acknowledgment. But eventually, after a particularly amusing remark, you catch the slight twitch of his lips.
- “You talk a lot,” he finally mutters, but there’s no annoyance in his tone—just quiet amusement.
- It takes a few more chance encounters before he actually starts engaging in conversation. But once he does, you realize he’s a lot more interesting than he lets on.
---
John Price
- You meet Price when he steps in to help you out of a tough situation. Maybe some guy at a bar won’t take no for an answer, or someone is giving you a hard time at a store.
- Either way, Price intervenes with that calm, authoritative voice that leaves no room for argument.
- “That’s enough, mate. Walk away.” The guy doesn’t even hesitate before backing off.
- You’re left staring at your unexpected savior—a ruggedly handsome man with a soft smile but sharp eyes.
- “You alright, love?” His voice is gentler now, checking to make sure you’re okay.
- If you meet somewhere more casual, like a bookstore, it’s because he helps you grab something from a high shelf. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but that’s a fine choice of tea,” he comments when he notices what you’re holding.
- He’s not pushy, but there’s an easy confidence about him that makes you feel safe.
- “Can I buy you a drink? As long as no one else needs rescuing tonight,” he jokes lightly.
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Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜
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