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miedei · 2 months ago

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so many hills to die on

a case has you re-evaluating your tenuous relationship with spencer, coming to a head when the unsub triggers a confrontation.

cw: fem!reader, soulmate!au, angst/fluff, lighttt miscommunication trope, canon level violence and gore, descriptions of being bound and kidnapped, descriptions of stalking behaviour

a/n: this is probably my most ambitious fic ever, has been in my drafts for sooo long but I rallied and wrote it finally! merged these two requests about a soulmate au from this prompt list, and I definitely went overboard with the concept. title is from $20 by boygenius (lol), unsub name and picture of spencer from loml @siriuslylantsov

prompt: b...ody art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin).

wc: 11.3k (holy shit)

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer Reid could say a lot about the phenomenon of transcorpal connections. The incidence of a level of mental connection between two individuals that manifests itself in the melanocytes in a person’s epidermal layer to reflect the markings that another person has exacted upon themselves.

Or, if Prentiss forced him to speak ‘like you’re a human 27-year-old, please’, it was the instance of two supposed ‘soulmates’ where drawings or tattoos on one person’s skin are reflected on the others.

Soulmates weren’t something Spencer took much stock in, to be honest.

A fated partner that some amorphous being has assigned him is not something he really believes in, not just as Dr. Reid, man of science, but also as Spencer, the guy who’s had to watch every loving relationship he’d ever seen end.

He’d seen his parents fall out of love, the little messages his father would write for his mother always there, until one day he’d seen his father write a to-do list on his forearm, the words never arising on his mother’s skin. He’d had whatever that was with Ethan, where he’d desperately hoped that his incoherent scribbles would eventually pop up on his friend-not-boyfriend’s arm, but never did. He’d seen Hotch, the last ‘Jack misses you’ message that Haley had written him still on his upper arm, no matter how long it had been.

The connections between people’s skin wasn’t anything he aspired to, not anymore. He could rattle off facts and musings about the instances of ‘soulmate connections’ in history for hours, but it held no more significance for him than it did as a profiling tool.

Hence, Spencer never really held out for anything to show up on his skin, not until it did.

You had spent years with your body, the parts of it you saw on the daily, and the parts you preferred to avoid in the mirror. The expanses of skin, littered with marks and scars from years of living, are familiar to you. Too familiar.

You’d spent years watching your friends, acquaintances, and even strangers' skin change. Like the first time, in secondary school, whenever you saw lines begin to form on a friend's hand, it always filled you with a strange sense of melancholy.

Of course, people lived whole, fulfilling lives without ever having a soulmate connection, and you’re sure your life wouldn’t be any different, but there was always that little thought in the back of your mind, every sighting of a couple on the street adding feathers to its wings.

What if. What if all that skin finally changes? What if you’ll finally experience the life-shattering love that soulmates are supposed to be?

You had always been holding out for something to show up on your skin, but it wasn’t until you’d least expected it.

Being the newest profiler in the famed BAU was more than daunting. It was terrifying, like hyper-aware-of-every-bone-in-your-body terrifying. Your transfer from Domestic Trafficking had been a long time coming, your experience in psychology and previous work under David Rossi making you the ideal candidate for the spot. You knew all of that, but somehow it didn’t dampen the nerves that coursed through your body every time you walked into the bullpen.

It’s your third case as an official agent on the team, and your fear of messing up the biggest leap in your career hasn’t waned. In a lull in the briefing that Hotch gives on the jet, you refer to the case file, questioning the tiny Garcia shown on the screen set on the surface in front of you.

“And this witness who wasn’t present? What’s that about?” You point to a name noted on the case file, which has very little information listed next to it.

“Yes, my love, that is a little strange.” Garcia’s slightly tinny voice floats through the interior of the cabin.

“She is a Mrs Amaya Walker, not technically a witness, seeing as, you know, she lives and works two hours away from the crimes, but there is a pickle.” As she speaks, Spencer slides into the seat across from you, and you flash him a quick smile as he slides a mug of coffee over the table to you.

“Our lovely Mrs Walker here saw a list pop up on her forearm, right when the last murder happened. Initially she didn’t think it was anything, but later she saw the press conference that the local P.D. did after the second murder-”

“Against my advice, by the way!” JJ pipes up from her spot on the sofa.

“Yes, against JJ’s advice, but once she saw it, she thought her little list might come as useful to the investigation.” Your tablets chime, a picture of a forearm you assume belongs to Amaya Walker popping up on the screen. The fax machine set up under the table whirs, and you pull out the printed version and pass it wordlessly to Spencer. The brown skin of her forearm is marred by scratchy handwriting, a list of household points of interest:

“Bedframe

Edge of coffee table

Light fixture

Oven door

Nightlight

Garage door

Silver spoon”

Your eyes widen, picking up your case file to compare.

“These are all…”

“Where the unsub left smears of the victim’s blood.” Spencer finishes your sentence, his eyes meeting yours with lines of confusion between them. The seemingly random smears of blood had been a point of confusion for you all when you did the initial walkthrough of the two murders back at the office. Each very far from the site of the murder, the team had concluded it had to be part of the unsub’s signature, although they were different for each murder.

This was part of why JJ didn’t want it released to the public, on the off chance that the publicity causes the unsub to escalate or double down.

“Yes, wonderful profilers, you’re correct. The list correlates with all the different spills of blood and…” Garcia shudders, “gore left at every crime scene. Her husband has refused to speak to the police, and she insists he has nothing to do with it, but the police are working on a warrant, they should be getting them both to the station tomorrow.”

“Yes, that is strange. Reid, L/N, you two go to the ME’s office, figure out if there’s anything we can get out of the method of killing. Dave, you go with Morgan and JJ to the most recent crime scene. Maybe we can get something more out of it. Prentiss, you and I will head to the first crime scene, see what we can see. Hopefully we can correlate that with whatever we get from Walker tomorrow.” Hotch’s stern, no-nonsense voice cuts through the confusion, and you all straighten up, ready to get to work.

The medical examiner’s office is chilly, and you regret forgoing a blazer as you step into the bright building from the warm evening air. Spencer laughs softly next to you, and he nudges your shoulder.

“Cold?”

“No.”

You speak resolutely, but the sparkle in his eye indicates he knows your lie. Grabbing the distinctive purple scarf from around his neck, he wraps it around yours, smiling when he meets your eye. The moment is only broken by the clip-clop of shoes coming down the hallway, and you both turn away hastily.

The ME walks up to you, his voice clipped and curt.

“You’re from the FBI? Come with me, please.”

You follow him into a room that smells overwhelmingly of formaldehyde. Two examining tables stand in the middle of the room, white sheets covering the bodies.

“The methods of killing were very different for each case, so much so that we didn’t put together that they were related until the police did.”

Spencer nods from beside you, accepting a clipboard from the doctor. Not bothering to read it, when he can do it in a fraction of the time, you converse with the doctor.

“Yes, we saw that one of the victims was stabbed, and the other strangled? That doesn’t track with any evolution we’ve seen before. Stabbing’s generally much easier than strangling, we usually see them go the other way around.”

He nods, pulling back the sheet on the second victim. You can see mottled bruises around his neck.

“Yes, the most recent victim, John Coulhain, was strangled. By the angle of the bruising, it’s clear he was attacked from behind, and by something that has both leather and metal in it. You see here, there’s a larger imprint from the metal segment.”

Spencer raises his head.

“It says here that he had just gotten out of the shower after work?”

“That’s right. He was found in only a towel. His clothes weren’t found.”

You frown, turning to Spencer.

“Leather and metal… that sounds like a belt to me. Coulhain was a lawyer. He wore suits to work.”

He picks up on your train of thought, continuing where you leave off.

“His clothes weren’t found. The unsub might have used his belt as a murder weapon, so he took the rest too.”

You turn to the medical examiner

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson, what sort of knife do you believe was used?”

He walks you over to the second table, drawing back the sheet so you can see the seemingly random pattern of wounds.

“They’re varying degrees of shallowness, but the shape of the wounds makes me think it was something medium-sized, probably stainless steel.”

Spencer leans forward, inspecting the wounds closely as he muses.

“Stainless steel isn’t the sort of knife you buy with the intention of violence. 54% of stainless steel knives are purchased for everyday purposes, like cooking.”

The ME walks you through the rest of the details of the murders, but the randomness of the methods of killing and the missing clothing stick with you.

An hour later, when you and Spencer walk out of the building into the dusk, it’s still on your mind.

“Reid, why would an unsub use a perfectly good knife for his first murder, but forgo bringing it to the next scene, and use his victim’s belt instead? That reads like a devolution, and this guy is still ramping up.”

“Maybe he’s relishing the deaths? Strangling takes longer, so maybe he realised that stabbing wasn’t going to give him the time with the body that he wanted.” He offers, but you can tell he’s not convinced.

“The scenes don’t show any sign of him lingering. And even if that’s the case, why not bring your own strangling equipment? A belt doesn’t give him the precision he needs in order to control the rate of death, especially one he just snatched off the floor.”

Spencer nods slowly as you approach the car.

“He doesn’t hesitate at all in killing them, but he doesn’t come prepared. It’s like he’s obscenely confident in himself, and doesn't think he needs to plan in order to pull it off.”

You slide into the car as your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Fishing it out, you pick up the call.

“Hey Emily, you’re on speaker.”

She speaks immediately, forgoing any greeting.

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson. Was the weapon a stainless steel knife?”

You exchange a look with Spencer, replying quickly.

“Yeah, it was. Why do you ask?”

“Gibson’s wife just confirmed that their knife block is gone, along with six stainless steel knives.”

Spencer leans forward to speak into your phone.

“That makes sense. We think the unsub is showing up with no preparation because he believes he doesn’t need it. He’s a narcissist.”

She makes a distracted sound of affirmation.

“That sounds right. Okay, Hotch wants you to meet us at the hotel, we’re going to compare notes there.”

You go to hang up, before she speaks once more.

“Oh, one more thing, the local police department got the warrant to bring in Amaya Walker for an interview tomorrow. You guys should do that, she’ll be more relaxed with younger people there. If her husband has something to do with it, you have to get it out of her.”

Stepping out of the SUV the next morning, you and Spencer walk through the sliding doors of the Decorah P.D.'s office, greeted by the captain of the precinct.

“Hi, I’m SSA L/N, this is Doctor Reid.” You shake his hand, chuckling under your breath as you watch Spencer awkwardly avoid doing the same.

Once you’ve set up your things in the conference room they’ve allocated to you, Spencer turns to Captain Peretti.

“So, is Mrs Walker here? We’d like to ask her a few questions.”

Spencer is sitting in the chair across from Mrs Walker in the interrogation room, while you are leaned against the desk next to him.

“We really appreciate you coming in like this, I understand that this is a stressful time for you. Mrs Walker, what can you tell us about your husband’s whereabouts when the list showed up on your skin?” She’s being cagey, not answering your questions and clamming up whenever you mention her husband.

“Eric had nothing to do with it. I’m telling you, it was a mistake for me to come in, I’m sure it’s unrelated.”

She motions to the words on her arm, and you sigh. It looks like straight questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. Spencer leans his elbows on the desk, looking at Mrs Walker, his brown eyes seeming larger in the dim light. His shirt sleeves ride up his arm a little, and a flash of dark lines shows before it’s covered again.

“Let me ask you this, have messages like this come up on your skin before? Whether they’re lists or not, have you ever seen anything show up on your left forearm?” She shakes her head mutely, eyes trained on the steel surface in front of her. You sigh, motioning discreetly at Spencer, and you both rise, walking out to the viewing area where Hotch and Emily are standing.

“She won’t say anything?”

“Only that her husband has nothing to do with it. But…” Spencer trails off, and you take the opportunity to finish his thought.

“But, she clearly has some hangup about the messages. When Spencer asked whether they’d showed up before, she said no, but it’s clear there’s more there.” Hotch nods thoughtfully. Lost in thought, you spin a pen in your hand, tapping the uncovered tip against the inside of your wrist, accustomed to the ink blotches that appear on the skin there.

Your eyes wander aimlessly as you do so, and land on Spencer, who is scratching at his forearm. It causes his shirt sleeve to ride up a little again. That’s when you see it.

Small marks are on his skin, more muted than you usually see them, but you’d recognise them anywhere. Your eyes widen, looking down at your own wrist. A constellation of ink dots and lines are scattered across the delicate skin, identical to the ones on Spencer’s wrist.

Is this really happening? Reid? Of course, you’d never been able to convince yourself you weren’t attracted to him, but he’s your coworker. He’s a large part of why you’re so nervous at the BAU. He’s not your soulmate… is he?

Hotch’s unflapped voice breaks through your racing thoughts. “Okay. Head back in, press about their relationship, not the list. Let’s see if we can find a weak spot.”

Well. Looks like you’ll have to contain this revelation until you’re done for the day. Your head reels with the discovery, but you have to put it aside in favour of the case.

Your mind made up, you snatch the pen off the table before following Spencer back into the interrogation room, steeling yourself with a deep breath.

“We’d like to get to know you a little more, Mrs Walker, if that’s alright with you. How long have you been married?”

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable, but answers readily. “Fifteen years. And no, there’s never been any red flags that make me think he would ever be capable of something like this.”

From his spot next to you, Spencer nods once.

“Okay, we understand. In your relationship, do you guys have any rituals to do with your connection? Like writing to each other throughout the day, or a code system or something with your skin?”

Her cheeks flush, eyes trained on her lap. You press further.

“What is it Mrs Walker? Whatever it is, we really need you to tell us.” No answer. Spencer leans forward.

“Mrs Walker, two men are dead. We’re doing our best to find whoever did it, but we need all the information you can give us in order to do that. You can help us prevent any more deaths.” She wraps her arms around her middle, but still doesn’t say a word. Following his lead, you slam a hand down on the metal table.

“Mrs Walker! I understand that, whatever this is, it’s personal, but this is not the time to be hiding information from us. Men are dead, and it's starting to look like the perpetrator had some connection to you. The local police have a warrant for your husband’s arrest. I want to help you get your family out of this mess, but you need to tell us everything you can. Now.” Her shoulders slump, and finally, you feel like she’s telling you the truth.

“I… I started getting the messages in September. They’re not- not from Eric.” A wordless conversation passes between you and Spencer. That was 4 months before the first murder. You turn back to her, nodding encouragingly as the words seem to spill past her parted lips.

“I never expected to have a soulmate. Or at least… to be able to speak with them. My husband and I, we’re happy! I didn’t care that we weren’t soulmates until…”

Spencer prompts her, leaning forward. “Until?”

“Until the first drawing showed up. It was just a doodle of something, I barely remember now, but we started writing to each other. In places that no one would see, the underside of my arm, or my ribcage. I didn’t- I never did anything! I love my husband, I do, and I would never-” She cuts herself off, holding up a hand to ask for a little time. A few minutes later, she pipes up again.

“I don’t know his name or anything. We talked about surface level stuff, you know? Favourite books, shows, things like that. I was never going to do anything about it, so I didn’t tell anyone.” You can’t help but raise your head, flashing a look at the one-way mirror, hoping Hotch will read the urgency on your face.

“This is good, Mrs Walker. Thank you for telling us. It’s going to take us some time to deduce whether this is related to the murders or not, but I hope you won’t object to helping us further.” Wordlessly, Spencer slides your notepad and pen over to her.

“I’m going to need you to write down everything you can remember from your messages. If there are any still on you, I really need you to write them down as clearly as you can. In a few minutes, one of our teammates will be in, and they’ll walk you through a cognitive interview, try and see how much we can recover.” The two of you rise, nodding to the officer stationed inside the door, but you pause when she calls out to you.

“Do you- do you think that it’s wrong of me? To stay in this relationship, when I know there’s a soulmate out there for me?” You go to speak, but Spencer beats you to it.

“Mrs Walker, the phenomenon of connections like these doesn’t necessarily mean that the relationship would be perfect. You love your husband, and you have loved him for years. A ‘soulmate connection’ doesn’t mean you should even be in a relationship. Many people don’t even believe it has anything to do with compatibility, those relationships are just as flawed as any other. Honestly, I sometimes think the expectations could hinder a relationship.”

It startles you a little, the emotion behind Spencer’s eyes when he speaks. Does he really not believe that a connection means anything? Your eyes can’t help but flick down to the faint marks on your wrist.

By the time you look up, Spencer is already in the doorway, looking back at you with concern in his eyes.

“You okay?” His voice is hushed, intimate, but it’s all you can do to brush it off. Walking back into the conference room, the team is already hard at work.

Spencer’s confused. Something clearly rattled you in the interrogation room, but despite his attempts to meet your eyes, it’s like you’re purposely avoiding his gaze.

He hasn’t taken the time to think about it, but whether that’s because he’s busy or because he’s worried, who knows?

What he does know is that you have quickly become one of his favourite people to work with. Hours spent hunching over maps together, inspecting crime scenes and interviewing witnesses have endeared you to him faster than he thought was possible. It’s this unexplainable fondness that leaves him reeling when the comforting smiles and shared looks are lost all of a sudden.

He attempts to push it to the back of his mind as the team runs through the case once more, Garcia’s tinny voice streaming through the room. However, he’s not fully in it, and the team notices. By the time they’ve concluded that a reinspection of the crime scenes and interviewing Eric Walker was necessary, Emily is eyeing him weirdly, and Morgan all but frog-marches him out to the precinct’s kitchenette.

“Kid. What’s going on?” The elder man braces his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, eyes blazing into his.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since the second interview with Amaya Walker, and so has L/N.” A sense of relief floods through Spencer, and he speaks earnestly.

“I don’t know! We interviewed Mrs Walker again, and it was all fine, but the moment we left the room it’s like she can’t look at me anymore. It’s making me feel all awkward.”

Morgan sighs, his fingers unintentionally digging into Spencer’s shirt.

“What did you say when you left?” Spencer bristles a little at the implied accusation, but can’t help but run through the last few parts of the interview.

“It was all normal, but then she- Mrs Walker, asked if she was wrong to stay in her relationship when she has a ‘soulmate’ out there.” He nods, prompting Spencer to continue.

“I told her what I think she’d agree with, that I don’t know if a connection would make a relationship stronger. I thought that was right, it felt like it soothed the witness.” A troubled look passes over Spencer’s face. He’s always struggled with social cues, but he thought he’d improved. Mrs Walker looked much calmer after he said that to her, and that was protocol.

Calm the witness, make sure they think you are in their corner. Gideon’s voice rings through his head.

“And that was it! We left the room, and then she started acting all…”

Morgan’s features are unreadable, but his hands relax on Spencer’s shoulders.

“Sounds like you need to figure out why she’s bothered. But, kid… Don’t let this affect the case.”

With that, he pats Spencer’s shoulder and walks off, leaving him pondering his words. Figure it out.

Spencer Reid is good at figuring things out. Maybe he can’t tackle this like Spencer, your bumbling coworker, but as Spencer, the profiler.

You’ve been at the first crime scene for only a few minutes, but the awkwardness is thick in the air between you.

Spencer has that infuriating look on his face, all furrowed brows and piercing gazes and so attractive it makes you want to pull your hair out. It’s making it so hard to try and detach yourself from him.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you sidle over to the evidence markers that tag the blood smears in this crime scene.

“So we’ve got… A side table in the master bedroom, a heart pillow that was in the living room and an elephant painting on the wall in the landing. All far away from the site of the murder in the kitchen.”

Spencer steps up next to you, still gazing at you unreadably, but opens his mouth to follow your train of thought.

“The blood spatters indicate that the attack began in the hallway, and the final blows in the kitchen. No blood anywhere else, nowhere near the smears.”

You nod, trying to run through the details of the case in your mind.

“The attack is rushed, hasty. All the stab wounds indicate a blitz attack and a lot of overkill, but the smears are calculated.”

He smiles, and it’s all you can to not turn and reflect that back to him.

“Right, no blood dripping anywhere outside of the murder, not even when he takes some to the different areas of the house to smear. The murder itself is charged with anger, but this is something more. It’s deliberate, it’s…”

You meet his eyes, finally, and voice what you know you’ve both concluded.

“It’s a message. But to whom?”

He holds your gaze, going to reply to you, but is cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. With a sigh, he fishes it out of his breastpocket, holding the brick-like device to his ear.

Whatever he hears has him tensing, and you feel like a coiled spring, bracing yourself for whatever grim news is awaiting you.

“Okay Hotch, we’re leaving now, get Garcia to send all the photos to us.” He sets down the phone, looking at you.

“There’s been another murder.”

You stand at the clear whiteboard, surveying the images tacked on to it. The blood smears of the newest crime scene are pinned up next to those of the two previous ones, and it’s driving the two of you crazy trying to decipher what the patterns are. Spencer fiddles with his fingers, the marks on his wrist flashing as his sleeve shifts, sending your mind spiralling every time you notice them.

“A painting of a tree, and an orange. Let me ask you this, do you think the things themselves are significant or the locations of them?”

You shake your head slowly, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The both of you are silent, standing in front of the board with puzzled looks, when Morgan bursts in, waving around some papers.

“Got the pictures of Mrs Walker’s newest message.” He grabs a magnet and pins a picture of Mrs Walker’s calf to the centre of the board, two things listed there.

“Tree painting

Orange”

“Ok kids, we really need you to work your magic this time,” Morgan taps your shoulder.

“The cooling down period has gotten shorter and shorter. We can’t expect to get to tomorrow evening without another murder.”

You sigh, rubbing your wrist absentmindedly. The marks and your newfound realisation about Spencer haven’t left your mind, but have been pushed to the background for the time being. However, the frustration brings it back up. The connection. Does it mean nothing to him? Does he not think that it would do something for a relationship? You’ve always thought it would indicate that you belong together, wouldn’t you…

Your body moves without your go-ahead.

Eyes widen.

Shoulders tense.

Your arms reach forward, haphazardly grabbing and moving the lists until three pictures sit side-by-side on the board in front of you.

One is printed, a crude attempt by the CSU team to catalogue the items marred by blood. Two are images, words on skin. Words, the first letters of which spell out…

You grip Spencer’s arm, pointing at the first image of Amaya Walker’s skin, the second murder.

“Belongs. Spencer, the second crime scene.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge your use of his first name, leaning forward like you are. He zeroes in on the newest image.

“To. The third one. It’s an acrostic. The first letter of each item spell out his message.”

You move forward, writing the words ‘__ BELONGS TO’ on the board. You are feeding off of each other, thinking aloud in a way that has Morgan sighing to himself.

“She didn’t get a list for the first one.”

Spencer nods. “She didn’t notice. He had to show her.”

You grab the printed list of the items smeared in the first crime scene. “Side table, pillow, painting”

He leans over your shoulder. “He’s more specific than the crime scene techs were. Heart pillow, elephant painting.”

You turn to him, stomach dropping. “She. She belongs to…”

He writes in ‘SHE’ next to the two other words. “He’s possessive, something happened to make him think he doesn’t have her.”

“Narcissistic. Driven by ownership.”

“Eric Walker was here when the third murder happened. Who else would want to lay claim to her?”

You straighten up, meeting Spencer’s eyes, not looking away even as you address Morgan.

“Derek, where’s Eric Walker?”

“They released him from questioning an hour ago, he went home.”

You and Spencer spring into action, scooping up your abandoned holsters.

“We need to get to the Walkers’ house, now. Our unsub is taking out what he sees as competition, and Mr Walker’s all he needs to get rid of.”

In the SUV, you are jittery. Morgan sits in the driver’s seat next to you, and Spencer in the back. As you fiddle with your vest straps, you can’t help but think of Mrs Walker, the woman who never wanted a soulmate. And now her soulmate is trying to kill the love of her life.

Maybe Spencer was right?

Hotch is barking orders at the gathered agents when you step out of the vehicle. Nodding along, you fall to the back of the group, your designated role until you’re called to enter the house.

Your vest is uncomfortable. The straps are always too long or too short, and you have to get it right before you storm the house, but your thoughts are so loud, and Rossi on the phone with the unsub is so piercing, and it feels like you will never get comfortable.

Finally, you feel like giving up, until warm hands find purchase on your shoulders. Looking up, you see Spencer, standing before you with a slight, nervous smile. His hands gently move yours away from the straps, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Can I?” You nod dumbly, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

The touch is soft, tentative. He pulls at the straps dangling over your shoulders firmly, tightening the vest until it sits snugly over your chest. As if acting on instinct, he slips a finger under the kevlar, brushing the thin fabric of your shirt over your collarbone delicately. It makes you shiver.

“Is that good? Too tight?” His eyes are devastatingly soft, head tilted down to face you fully.

“No, it’s good. Thanks, Reid.” You have to get yourself away from the magnetic pull of him, stepping back and letting out a sigh of relief.

You walk away, heading Emily’s way, completely missing the look of confusion he aims at you as you brush past him.

Joining the circle of agents and officers, you tune into Morgan’s run down of the plan.

“Hotch and JJ will take 5 officers and break down the front door. Now, we know there are two other doors that the unsub will probably make a break for once we enter. Prentiss and I will be at the northfacing one, Reid and Rossi at the westfacing one. L/N, you and Captain Peretti should be stationed in the land behind the house, secure the outbuildings before the unsub can think to rush to them and destroy evidence.”

You nod, exchanging a glance with the police captain.

“Remember, this unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants, including opening fire on us. Do not engage him in a confrontation. Challenging his goals and views will push him further, and we don’t want any more casualties at the hands of this man.”

With a decisive nod, Morgan breaks away from the group, the people beginning to station themselves at their posts. With the captain at your side, you walk around the house to the field behind it, directing officers to each of the small barns and outhouses dotting the land.

With the captain, you stand ready at the large wooden door of what you think is a stable, when the crackling of your earpiece alerts you to JJ’s voice.

“We’re heading in on 5, 4…” You can hear a crash and a shout, and JJ’s voice turns hurried. “We head in now!”

A few minutes have you tapping your index against the side of your firearm, worried.

“He’s not here. We have Mr Walker here, multiple stab wounds but a relatively steady pulse. House is clear.”

Emily starts speaking. “He hasn’t gone through our door. Rossi?”

Rossi crackles out a negative response. Bringing your wrist to your mouth, you speak into the mic embedded there.

“If Walker’s still bleeding out, the unsub has to have just been there. Are there any other possible exit points?”

There’s silence for a second until Reid’s voice comes over the comms, frantic.

“There’s a northwest facing window that’s unlocked! Footsteps leading away from it, into the field.”

Immediately you spring into action, autopilot taking over as you direct multiple officers to search the surrounding woods, and the rest to clear out the outbuildings.

Counting down, the police captain kicks in the stable door, and you flick on your flashlight, advancing.

The large room is drafty, the old wood planks creaking with every gust of wind. At first glance, the dark room seems quiet and empty, and each movement of your flashlight seems to confirm this.

The only thing of note you see is the row of stalls along the left wall, the angle of the opening making sure that you can’t see into all of them.

Silently, you begin to walk towards them, signalling for the captain to follow. Despite the first few being completely empty save for some hay, a chill runs down your spine, bracing yourself for a confrontation that hasn’t happened.

As you begin to inch your way to the second-to-last stall, you hear a shout from outside the building.

“There’s someone in the woods!”

One of the officers rushes past the open door to the stable, and the captain raises her head immediately, dropping her defensive stance.

“That must be him. Let’s go!” Without waiting for a response, she turns, running out of the stable, as if she can’t hear your hushed whispers.

“Captain! This building hasn’t been cleared—” She’s gone. You can hear the rush of officers running past the building, towards the wooded area to the back of the property. Despite the high probability of the unsub being the person spotted there, you know you can’t leave this building without clearing it.

You really should wait for someone to do this with you. Never enter a potential crime scene without backup. Rossi’s voice rings in your ears.

But there’s only two stalls left. The rest of your team are still securing the house and the victim. The officers are gone.

You can clear two stalls on your own. They’re probably empty anyway.

Having made up your mind, you straighten up, tightening your grip on your gun and flashlight, and advance.

Slowly walking to the first stall, you turn the corner, quickly flashing your light in the small space. Empty.

One more.

The floorboards bend slightly as you walk across them. The wind rushing past the walls ruffles your hair. The metal of your gun is warm under your palm.

The wall of the final stall comes closer, closer, until you’re stood behind it. One step forward and a turn to the left, and you’ll be at the doorway.

It’ll be empty. They’ve all been empty.

You take the step, right foot planting in front of you, and turn on the balls of your feet, flashlight and gun extended in front of your chest.

“Hello, agent.”

Not empty.

The house is finally cleared, and Mr Walker loaded into an ambulance. As he watches the vehicle retreat down the road, Spencer hears the chatter over the comms.

“Is it him?”

“The woods are thick, how did he get here without us seeing—”

“—in pursuit of the person we saw—”

“He’s a white man, late 60s—”

“It’s not him! You hear me, officer? That’s not him, do not arrest that man!” Morgan’s voice cuts through the jabbering, voice stern.

They haven’t gotten the unsub? Spencer turns on his heels, striding back into the house, where Hotch, JJ and Rossi stand around the blood spatter on the floor.

“Spence. Doesn’t look like the unsub could’ve gotten to the woods in time, not before we were stationed in the field he’d have to cut through anyway.” JJ stands with her hands on her hips, irritation clear on her face.

“The other buildings on the property?” He comes to stand next to Hotch.

“I saw Captain Peretti. She said they were all cleared. CSU’s sending more units to secure all of them, but we’re not considering any of them crime scenes as she says it’s clear he hasn’t been in them. It’ll take a while for them to get here and secure them all.” Hotch replies, brows furrowed.

The door opens, and Morgan and Prentiss walk in.

“Everything okay?”

Emily huffs. “The locals almost arrested the elderly neighbour, but other than that, the woods are seemingly clear.”

Morgan adds, “There’s some trampled plants in the cornfield to the west of the property, so we’ve got officers searching that now, but that field backs up onto a major road. If he made it through that, he could be anywhere by now.”

Rossi sighs, shoulders slumping.

“I’m getting sick of this son of a bitch slipping out of our hands.”

“I agree. Rossi, go with Prentiss and Morgan to the road by the cornfield. Canvass anyone you find, ask neighbouring homes if they saw anyone emerge from the crops onto the road or lone cars idling. If he took that way out, he'd have had a car waiting for him there.” They nod, shuffling out.

JJ pipes up, her brow furrowed in thought.

“The smears were on a milk carton in the fridge and an envelope. Me. His message is finished, isn’t it? ‘She belongs to me’. What’s he going to do now?”

Spencer’s not sure. Hotch shakes his head exasperatedly.

“JJ, let’s go find Captain Peretti. We’ll head back to the PD and see what we can make with the old clues now that we think he had an intricate exit plan. Reid, stay here, get updating the geographical profile with the information from this crime scene. We’ll send L/N here to work on it with you.”

Spencer nods, heading to the SUV to grab his map, and settling at the Walkers’ dining table to get working.

It’s hot, sweltering. A throbbing pain thuds in your skull, the feeling of dry hay against your face making your cheek itch. Instinctively, you attempt to bring your hand up to brush it away. It won't move.

You jerk your wrists, but find them bound, and a dull pain pangs in your thigh. It’s clear you’ve been out for a little while, your eyes feeling crusted shut.

With a little effort, you prise your eyes open, feeling your pupils adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re still in the final stall, sprawled against the far wall. Another experimental tug on your wrist and you realise that they’re bound together, the coarse rope wound around your right thigh, forcing you to stay hunched over.

It all comes rushing back. Losing the unsub. Peretti leaving. The empty- no, not empty stall. The raspy voice that met your ears before the resounding blow to your head.

Twisting your hands awkwardly, you begin to pick at the rough rope, trying to map out the knot that keeps you in your uncomfortable position. Sweat drips in rivulets down the back of your neck as you crane your neck.

Your position ensures that you can’t survey the entire stall, but he’s got to be close. The property’s crawling with officers.

“I’m still here, sweetheart.”

The voice rings out from somewhere behind you, dark and smug. Your hand automatically makes for your holster, but the rope digs into your skin, leaving you unable to reach it.

“Don’t bother. You think I’d let you keep your gun?”

You can hear the bastard smirk, anger and fear running hot through your veins. Your gun is your lifeline in situations like this, as not only a means of attack, but a grounding feeling. Without it you feel unmoored.

The only thing you have in your arsenal is your knowledge of the case. Of him.

“Why don’t you come stand here? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of showing me your face.” Your voice is low, cracking with dryness.

Prodding him just enough should… there it is. You hear his footsteps, walking past your bent head until you can see his feet and legs, standing in front of you.

“That enough for you? You can see me now?” He crouches, squatting by your calves to show you his face.

He’s surprisingly handsome, flushed from the heat, dark eyes boring into yours. Dressed in a suit that’s slightly too large for him, he looks out of place in the grimy stable. He’s playing the role of a businessman, save for the gun dangling from his left hand, and the telltale bulge of another— yours— in his pants pocket.

This unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. Morgan’s words come back to you now.

“You- you outsmarted us all. We were sure we’d catch you.”

A smile spreads over his face, his ego clearly swelling. You can see his shoulders relax slightly.

“You thought so, huh? I guess even the FBI has hubris.” His lips form the word hubris with some effort, pronouncing it as huh-brus. It’s clear he’s putting on airs.

You need to get the others here. You could wait it out, until the crime scene techs eventually make their way to this building towards the back of the Walkers’ land.

But he has two guns, and he wants Amaya Walker, not you. Who knows how long he’ll be content to lord over you, until he inevitably gets tired of playing with you. He has two guns.

How do you get a message to them? There’s no way he’ll let you have your phone, and this guy has no reason to contact anyone but Mrs Walker. He doesn’t need a phone for that, just a pen, probably in his jacket.

A pen. Spencer. That’s it.

“So, you and Mrs— um, Amaya. Are you guys going to meet in person soon?”

That does the trick. His eyes glaze over with an expression that would look love-drunk, if you didn’t know about the blood on his hands.

“Soon. There’s nothing keeping us apart now. I’ll go to see her as soon as I’m done here.”

“That’s why you’re dressed up? I think she’ll like that suit.”

His voice is deceptively soft, almost tricking you into forgetting how dangerous he is.

“I think so too. I borrowed it from a friend, John. She’ll like it.”

John Coulhain. The second murder victim, the lawyer. You resist the urge to gag.

“Yeah. It’s- it’s hot in here, isn’t it? Maybe you should take off the jacket and save it for when you see her. You don’t want to sweat through it.”

His metaphorical hackles raise, and you can tell he’s getting ready to stand and walk away from you.

“No, I don’t mean it in an insulting way, not at all. It’s just really- really warm in here. I’m sweating. Maybe Amaya would like to hug you when you meet her. She won’t want sweat on her.”

Your voice is wavering, eyes unable to move from the gun still in front of you.

It takes a long minute before he speaks again.

“Maybe I should take off the jacket. Just for a little.” He’s clearly loathed to admit his perceived fault, muttering to himself rather than speaking to you. Straightening up, you hear rustling above you, until the jacket falls in a heap in front of your bound wrists, part of the fabric falling on the tips of your fingers. You grasp it in your hand, wincing as the rope rubs the sensitive skin on your wrists raw.

As smoothly as possible, you hunch over further, settling in the foetal position, pulling the jacket to cover your hands a little more.

Seemingly not noticing your movement, you see his legs walk out of your eyesight, padding around you until he comes to a stop somewhere behind your body.

“Now, we’re going to wait here until your police friends are all done at the house. Then I’m going to take you with me, and we’ll go see Amaya. You’re going to be our witness, and then I’ll get rid of you, got it?”

His voice is unnervingly slow and deliberate, as if he’s fully convinced this plan will work. You wish you had that same conviction, but you’re sure you know how this is going to end. The stress of hiding out will surely break him, sending him into a spiral where he will either kill you and then himself, or kill you and let the police kill him.

You have to get them here before that happens. Heart pounding, you slowly inch the jacket closer to you, until your hands are fully buried in the folds of fabric. Feeling around blindly, you trace the inner lining of the expensive fabric until you feel a lip of material. The inner pocket is welcoming to your aching fingers, and you sigh, nearly delirious with relief when your index brushes against a pen. You were right.

Thanking whatever deity there is, you grip the pen, shoving it between your bound wrists, out of sight.

Tugging once more, you’re resigned to the fact that you don’t have the range of motion to write legibly on your forearm, hands laying uselessly against your clothed thighs. The nearest exposed skin is on your ankle, and you have no hope of contorting to reach that without him noticing.

Chancing a look behind you, you can see him hunched over his knees, muttering to himself. You don’t have much time left.

Deciding to make a rash decision, you grip the pen once more. Shifting so your left leg is hiked up, your wrists shoved between your legs, you take the pen, jabbing harshly at the fabric of your pants. Without being able to see, your aim is sloppy, but after a few minutes of brute force, you’ve ripped a jagged hole in your pants, near where your left calf meets your knee.

Tension runs through your body, shifting the pen in your hand so that you can write.

‘Spencer’

Spencer is stumped. Standing over the large map spread over the dining table, he can’t think of a reason why the unsub would ever leave the scene. This was his endgame, his final target until he could have Amaya Walker to himself. Why would a narcissistic sociopath flee after that?

Garcia’s voice comes crackling over the comms.

“My good doctor, it’s a little ridiculous that I had to use the PD’s satellite phone to get in touch with you. Do any of you pick up the phone anymore?”

He huffs out a laugh.

“We’re in the middle of farm country, Garcia. None of us have signal. Have you got anything?”

“You know I do. I took a look-see into Mr Walker’s history to see if he’d been stalked, and in multiple stretches of CCTV footage he’s being tailed by a white SUV. Including two hours ago, when he was on his way home. The car followed him on the main road, and pulled into their private road after Walker.”

“The car probably belongs to our unsub then. Do you have a name?”

“Do you even need to ask? Name’s Randall Slater, seems to tick most of the boxes of the profile. I’ll call back when I have more, Garcia out!”

Spencer slumps back in his chair. Sure, they have a name, but until he gets anything else from Garcia, it does nothing to help him with the geographical profile.

Wracking his brain for any possible lead, he doesn’t hear Hotch and JJ walk back in, not until they stand at the table with him, the police captain in tow.

“Reid. Where’s L/N?” Hotch speaks in a low and measured tone, but Spencer can tell that he’s worried.

“She’s not here yet. I thought you guys were going to send her here?” He raises his head, meeting JJ’s concerned eyes.

“She wasn’t with Captain Peretti.”

“When we were pursuing the neighbour in the woods, I lost her. I figured she’d come back to find you guys.” Peretti’s voice is tight with worry, and a tinge of something else that Spencer doesn’t have the time to decipher right now.

“Morgan and the rest haven’t heard from her?”

Hotch shakes his head no.

“Her comms have gone silent.” JJ brings a hand up to rub her temples.

“Captain, inform your officers that we are looking for Agent L/N as well. Hopefully there’s nothing wrong, but we can’t rule out the possibility that the unsub found a way to get close.”

Peretti nods stiffly, striding out of the room hurriedly.

He can barely wrap his head around it. You’re not checking in? If there was a word stronger than worried, he’d find it, but his brain seems to be wading through sludge at the moment. He hadn’t realised how untethered he feels when you’re not there, until now, where it feels like the only thing he can think of.

He can’t just sit around. Spencer straightens up, snatching his FBI windbreaker off of a chair and beginning to put it on.

“Okay, I’ll head out into the crop fields. If he took her as he fled, there’s got to be evidence of it.”

He’s already halfway across the room when Hotch calls out after him.

“Reid, no. You need to stay here. Work on the geoprofile.”

Spencer can feel the irritation bubbling up inside him, his voice straining with the effort of not yelling.

“Hotch, I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing when the unsub could have Y/N with him. If I can find—” Hotch cuts him off.

“We. Reid, I know you’re emotional, we all are, but you cannot forget that this is a team. We’re all prioritising this. You know that you are best used here. If the unsub took her, we need to locate that secondary location immediately, that’s what you need to be doing.”

Incensed, Spencer can’t help but raise his voice.

“Do we even know that he left? We profiled him to be a delusional narcissist, why would he ever leave? Hotch, I’m telling you, something is wrong here!”

Hotch’s eyes flash with emotion, and he opens his mouth, presumably explaining why Spencer shouldn’t leave. It’s all a moot point, however, because in that moment, he feels a burning on his left calf.

The one-sided conversation goes over his head as Spencer can’t help but tug up his pant leg, itching at his skin as he runs through possibilities in his head. The unsub could’ve done what they’d now theorised, taken you and dragged you through the cornfield, into a car that was waiting by the main road. But why?

He huffs, sitting down in a dining chair as he continues scratching at his leg. Hotch falls silent, but he doesn’t notice, lost in his thoughts.

“Spencer. Spence!”

JJ’s voice snaps him out of his haze.

“What, JJ?” He snaps, irked that he’s been pulled out of his thoughts.

“Spencer, your leg.” He follows her pointed finger to the exposed skin of his calf, red from his scratching. It looks normal, smattering of hair covering the dark moles and lines covering his skin.

Wait. Lines?

He shifts, hooking his ankle over his right knee so he can see his calf more clearly. Shaky lines are forming on the skin in jerky motions, spelling out words in a familiar script.

‘Spencer

unsub in stable

west edge

2 guns

wants amaya’

The handwriting is slanted, letters running into each other and words misspelled. And he knows it’s yours.

“Y/N. It’s her handwriting. She’s writing to me.”

He feels like he’s in an out-of-body experience. He can hear JJ’s gasp, but it feels as though it’s coming from miles away. Hotch is saying something, but the words don’t register as anything more than misshapen sounds.

Graphology is one of Spencer’s specialties, but now he wishes he’d never learned about it. He wishes he didn’t know that the harsh angles of your writing indicate that you have adrenaline pumping through your veins. He wishes he didn’t see the way your letters jumble together, a physical manifestation of your fear.

He slowly comes back to his body, finally understanding what Hotch is saying into his comm.

“—a stable on the west edge of the property. We need the three of you back immediately, JJ, Reid and I will coordinate with the locals to have the building surrounded. Reid, can you hear me? Reid!”

Spencer nods, looking up at Hotch.

“We need to know what’s happening in there. Is she hurt? Can she overpower him?”

He agrees, snatching up a pen and wracking his brain on what to write.

‘Are you hurt?

Are you armed?

Can you talk him down?’

He writes carefully, focusing on the drag of the ballpoint pen on his skin rather than the pure fear riddling his body. Once finished, he doesn’t set down the pen, fiddling with it in an attempt to stop himself from running to the building immediately.

JJ sets a hand on his shoulder, and although he’s grateful for her support, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He can’t look away from his leg. He has a soulmate.

You’re laying at an awkward angle, neck craned and back hunched over so that you can read what Spencer’s written.

Are you hurt? Your head hurts like hell, and the rope has irritated your skin to no end, but nothing that impairs you. You write a shaky ‘N’ next to the question.

Are you armed? You chance another look behind you, looking longingly at your gun in his pocket. Another ‘N’.

Can you talk him down? Can you? You remember the many times Rossi tutored you on interacting with narcissistic unsubs. Learn what they want, promise they will have it, and don’t challenge them. What does he want?

You decide you can, writing a small ‘Y’. Next to that, you scrawl hurriedly, hearing him shift around.

‘bring amaya’

With that, you stuff the pen in your sock, relaxing your body and hoping you don’t look like you’ve been up to something.

The unsub is unsettled, and you can hear him oscillate between standing and sitting repeatedly.

If you want to take control of the situation, you need to act quickly. He’s losing patience with you and the officers outside. If you wait too long, he’ll snap, and then you’re done for.

A final peek at your calf finds the words ‘5 minutes’ etched there.

Five minutes to talk him down. You can do it for five minutes.

You croak out lowly, vocal chords rasping against each other.

“I— I spoke to Amaya. When we were investigating. She told me about you. About the two of you.”

You can hear him stop moving abruptly, and then the patter of his feet as he walks quickly to you. He comes to a stop right in front of your face, your eyeline taken up by his feet and ankles. He speaks in a hushed tone, as if tasting the words carefully before speaking.

“She did? What did she tell you?”

“She said you’d been talking for a while. That it started when you drew a flower on your upper arm? She drew it for us.”

His voice has regained some of its smugness as he replies. His feet are tapping softly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Of course she did. She loves me.”

You nod jerkily, continuing with your waffle.

“It's clear she does. I'm— in the FBI, I'm a profiler. I'm an expert on human behaviour, and I could see it, despite…”

You trail off, hopeful that he'll take the bait. He does, voice gaining a dangerous edge.

“Despite? Don't let me stop you from speaking your mind, agent.”

“Well, she was scared when we spoke. You know, suddenly there were all these dead bodies that were linked to her. She was pretty shaken.”

His tapping stills.

“Because of the bodies? I did that for her. For us!”

“Yes, I know. It's romantic, really. But, it scared Amaya a bit. It's all so sudden, you see. She was a little freaked out, especially because you hadn't told her about it.”

He's silent for nearly a minute, breathing heavily.

“She's angry about what I did for her?”

“No, not angry. I know she'll understand. You did it for her, she'll love it. She just… wanted to know from you, instead of the police.”

There. You've set your trap, and hopefully he'll fall right in it. Rossi's good-natured lectures play out in your head.

Never challenge a narcissist directly. Make them worried, but never tell them outright that the object of their desire isn't going to be theirs.

He feigns nonchalance, but you can hear in his voice that his narcissistic possessiveness is warring with the uncertainty you've introduced.

“Your friends had better be leaving. I've got to get Amaya, and if that takes too long, it's on you.”

You fall silent, hearing him mutter to himself as he begins to pace. If you push further you might be toeing the line too far.

The five minutes are almost up, you've got to believe that you've done enough to help them talk him down.

As if on cue, you hear the familiar crackle of a megaphone. Rossi's voice, albeit muffled, comes booming towards you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Randall, we have the building surrounded! Let the agent go and we can end this peacefully!”

The unsub, Randall, you suppose, straightens up, and you see him walk cautiously away from you. He walks to the far wall of the wooded building, and you catch a glimpse of him peering through the wood planks. He swears, shoves his gun into his waistband and paces hurriedly back to you.

“You bitch. Did you tell them? Huh? Did you?” He grabs a hold of the rope binding your wrists to your thigh, tugging you up to face him. The rope cuts harshly into your skin, forcing your right leg up at an unnatural angle to follow your wrists.

“I didn’t! I didn’t tell them, I don’t have my phone!”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes darken, and you see his hand twitch toward his gun.

You’re so close, you just need to show him what he’s here for. You hope Spencer got Amaya here.

“I can get you to Amaya! I swear it, if you let me talk to them, I can get them to give you Amaya.”

It works. He doesn’t let you go, and you whimper at the feeling of the rope cutting you, but he pauses, and you can see him thinking it over in his head. It takes one long minute, but he seems to make up his mind.

“No funny business. I’m going to be right there, so don’t even try sending them any messages, got it?”

You nod, and he whips out a pocket knife, using it to slice through the rope. You let out a deep sigh of relief, your right foot meeting the floor so you can finally stand alone. Blood seeps from the cuts on your wrists and thigh.

He grabs you by the throat, pressing himself to your back, and you register the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your side, where your vest doesn’t cover.

As he half marches, half drags you to the large door, he hisses in your ear.

“I don’t want to hear anything other than Amaya, got it? You say anything that doesn’t have to do with getting her here, I shoot you.”

You nod wordlessly, stumbling towards the door. He comes to a stop right behind it, and maneuvers around you to shove it open, thrusting you out into the fading light of the evening.

Blinking rapidly, you slowly focus on the cavalry in front of you. Multiple SUVs are parked at a three meter’s distance from the stable, doors flung side open so the officers and agents can huddle behind them. A few steps away from them stands Rossi, the sight of him sending a rush of comfort through you.

Rossi clutches the megaphone tighter, and you notice he’s speaking to someone by the SUV in front of him— Oh. Spencer is crouched at the car right in front of you, silver revolver glinting in his hand, and his eyes trained on you as he speaks to Rossi.

It feels rather stupid, but you can’t help but note how pretty he looks, hair tousled and jaw clenched.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when Randall jabs you in the side with his gun, making you yelp.

“Now.” He warns. You straighten your neck, making eye contact with Rossi.

“He’s demanding to see—” Another jab. “—to have Amaya Walker. Please bring her out.”

As you speak, you take your right hand, which was dangling at your side, and bring it up to your pants pocket. Making a gesture that resembles a gun, you slip it into your pocket softly. There’s no significant signal that they’ve understood, but you see the skin around Rossi’s eyes pinch, and you hope you’ve gotten the point across.

If they can get him to move just a little, you can retrieve your gun from his pocket and incapacitate him. And the only thing that will get him to move now is Amaya.

Rossi brings the megaphone back up to his mouth.

“We can get her here, but we need a guarantee that you won’t harm this agent. Randall, can you do that? Give us Agent L/N, and we can get you Amaya.”

Incensed, Randall hits your side harder with the barrel of his gun. You see Spencer and Morgan twitch forward slightly.

“No! I want Amaya here, now, and I’m not letting your girl go until I see her!”

Rossi nods quickly, signalling to someone behind him. At that motion, JJ emerges from who-knows-where, Amaya Walker in tow. The older woman is wearing a bulletproof vest, her face ashen at the sight in front of her.

They walk forward until they’re standing by the cars.

At the sight of her, Randall relaxes slightly, but not enough to where you can easily maneuver to your gun. Shaking your head slightly, you see JJ prompt Mrs Walker.

Her voice is shaky and quiet, but you know Randall is hanging on to every word.

“Randall. That’s your name? I’m—” She chokes back a sound. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

Randall makes a pitiful noise from behind you.

“They said you were scared of me.”

JJ prompts her again.

“I- I could never be afraid of you.”

At that, Randall lets his hand fall from your throat, and you move. Whipping around, you shove his gun away, diving into his pocket and retrieving yours. You straighten, pointing your gun at him as steadily as you can, with the wobble in your right leg.

He attempts to run to Amaya, but JJ’s already swept her away.

“Randall, surrender now! You’re surrounded!” Rossi’s voice booms, but it only serves to madden him further.

With a roar of anger he begins to charge to you, and you squeeze, before collapsing. The bullet hits his thigh, the last thing you see before you pass out.

It feels like hours later when you come to, but it's clearly only been a few minutes. You’re sitting on something hard, cold metal, but your back is being supported by something warm.

Only a few beats pass until the sounds come rushing back. You hear the chatter of multiple people around you, but three voices come the clearest. One is deep, interjecting intermittently to the conversation.

The other is calm and melodic, speaking in a steady rhythm that doesn’t falter at all.

The last is hurried, speaking so quickly that it feels as though it all runs into a pleasant hum. They’re clearly asking questions to the second voice, but you can’t fully understand what they’re saying.

You want to know who it is. With an immense amount of effort, you prise your eyes open, blinking blearily at the lights.

“Hey, there she is.” There’s that deep voice. Turning to it, you see a familiar face. Derek smiles at you softly, his hand coming up to rub your shoulder.

“You had us worried there, sunshine.”

Looking around dazedly, you can finally take in your surroundings. You’re sitting in the open doors of an ambulance, the evening having given away to the darkness of night. Headlights from multiple cars light up the area, leaving you spaced out.

There’s a medic standing next to Derek, tending to the cuts on your thigh. Who’s the last voice?

You twist around, much to the chagrin of the medic, but their protests fall away when you see him.

Spencer sits next to you, your back leaning against his side. His eyes are worried, pinched together, but still lovely.

“Hey.”

It’s simple, but the word seems to mean something more, when it’s coming out of his mouth, and when he’s looking at you like that.

You’re frozen, unable to speak. The medic pats your knee, saying that the rest of your patching up should be done at the hospital. Derek walks away after kissing your forehead. You can barely say goodbye to him.

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that Spencer speaks again. You turn to face him, immediately missing the heat of his torso against your back.

“Was… this why you were acting differently?” He raises his leg, pulling up his pant leg to show you the words on his skin.

You nod.

“You said you didn’t think it was real. I didn’t know how to tell you yet, and then— it was the only way to contact you.”

You see his hands raise slightly, but refrain from touching you. You want him to touch you.

“I don’t know if I believe in it. But… Even without it, I wanted this.” His words are achingly sincere, and his hand comes to rest over yours.

“Wanted it since we met.”

Your breath hitches slightly, and you turn your hand to hold his, your wrist with pen marks meeting his.

The words don’t come to your tongue, but you’re sure he knows. He figured it out.

700 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 8 months ago

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A Camgirl's Happiness

a/n: To be fair, I know very little about actually streaming or cammodeling, and it's not as easy to read up on, so take my descriptions with a grain of salt. Also, I know that most people doing that job are really into it and I'm very happy for them, but I needed the drama for the story, hope you can understand! I hope you guys enjoy it regardless, it was fun to write!

Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Reader is a camgirl, mentioning of stripping, fulfilling sexual favors for viewers), Fem!Reader, Life struggles (Debts, Mental health problems), Mention of stalking, Obsessive Behavior

You knew exactly what you were doing, pulling your legs up on your chair, squeezing your breasts just a bit more prominently towards the camera.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

"Hi SweetsMaster! Longtime no read! We're just talking today, but I'm so glad you made it to the stream!"

Ding! Ding!

Smiling, you watched the crushing waves of messages, your fanbase as active as ever as they flooded you with their adoration. Even when you had an image to uphold, you couldn't help but be pampered by their compliments, giggling and telling them to stop calling you adorable and their "dream girl".

Still, you played along to their fantasies, hid your face behind your palm coyly, and kept them believing that you were this cute internet star they loved so much. Life was hard, but getting an end to your means barely needed more than an hour or two talking about all the cute things you'd do if you had one of these lonely, unhappy people behind the screen as your partner. You didn't complain that they invested their savings into spending time with you instead of therapy.

Not like you ever considered going to therapy yourself, too ashamed of the truths you'd have to share.

You sighed inwardly, forcing yourself to smile a bit more convincingly at the camera as you took a sip of water, letting some drops fall into your cleavage. "Oopsie!" you giggled, forced to appear bashful, hoping no one clipped that. But what were you thinking? Of course, they did.

"Stop that, guys! How embarrassing! People will think I can't even drink!"

Sometimes you didn't recognize your own voice as you put on a show. The pitch was too high, your words made you cringe. As if you were in a sketch, rather than a life performance. You quickly wiped away the droplets sitting on top of your skin, threatening to run down the curve of your breasts as many of your viewers hoped before continuing to chat with the rapidly growing crowd. Being a camgirl had been fun once—unforced.

When you started doing it, you enjoyed the time with every new follower you got. Some were creeps, but some were genuinely nice people who paid you to do things you enjoyed. You didn't feel strange being yourself back then; people supported you just as you were. Taking off your clothes and doing favors was a fun little side hustle to get you through college. You didn't plan on doing this forever.

But even with your degree, your real job, and all the possibilities you had now, you couldn't stop streaming. You tried countless of times! But every time you said goodbye for good, your life was thrown into chaos, your bills left unpaid. You lost your job, lost your home, lost all the friends that couldn't watch your life being ruined.

And now, you were tired. So, so tired.

You got back on your feet, thanks to streaming. You found a new job, a new home. More and more people joined your shows; they bought you gifts and sent you money. Even if there was no one to share your earnings with, at least you didn't have to worry about your debts anymore. You'd stream after work, on the weekends, vacations. You organized photoshoots and sold your pictures and merch on the side, even though no one ever wanted to get hired by you to help with all the packaging and work it took.

> you're nothing like you were when you first started

Someone typed in chat, and your fake voice began to crack as you read it out loud. Quickly, you composed yourself, but it stung.

"Yeah, well, aren't we all someone different than, let's say, three years ago? I've grown a lot as a person since I first started! And thanks to you guys, I was able to afford better equipment, too!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You laughed at the incoming donations, forming a heart with your hands as you thanked your patrons. "That's going to be a new mic soon!"

> that's not what i meant

The same person from before wrote into the chat, their name—DarlingLover—highlighted in baby pink, revealing they were a superfan. You couldn't ignore them, even though you wished nothing more than for this conversation to end.

> you looked much happier back then

"That's not true!" you chimed up, using all your strength to press down the tears you felt shooting into your eyes. It was bittersweet to be seen in this industry. To not be objectified and idolized, but to have someone truly notice the person behind the on-camera persona.

"I love hanging out with you guys! I made so many new friends, and I'm grateful for all the support and love you guys have shown me! I would never have had the chance otherwise!"

Blowing some kisses towards the camera, your donations went wild, reassuring you that your cover hadn't been blown. You had to keep yourself together, you couldn't risk one perceptive fan to showcase how miserable you were. But perhaps you had to take it as a sign. A sign that it was enough for today. You needed to eat something, and the clock on your monitor—10:47 pm—reminded you that you skipped dinner long enough. And once you had some substance, you'd need the five hours of sleep before you'd have to drag yourself out of bed and to your real work.

"Okay, guys, that's it for tonight! Thank you all for joining our talking stream! I hope you had as much fun as I did!"

Slipping your hand beneath the spaghetti strap of your tank, you pushed it off your shoulder teasingly. "And just as a little reminder," you mumbled seductively, winking at your audience. "Join us tomorrow for a very fun night!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You grinned cheekily, waving at the people and blowing them a few more kisses while the donations kept pinging in. Just two more clicks and you had closed the stream, watching it on your second monitor to see if your 'stream ended' notice got displayed properly. The animation had been damn expensive, and you wanted to use it to its fullest until it would be too outdated that you needed a new one.

Watching it for a while, you noticed that amongst the countless messages notifying you that someone left the stream, a few people still had a very eager conversation even after it ended. Immediately, the baby pink name of the superfan who had chatted with you before stood out, the user vehemently defending their standpoint against some newer fans. You clicked their names and checked them out, seeing the varying times from a few months to a few days of subscription to you, as well as the very sparse donation they made.

> i've been here longer, i'd know if she was truly happy

DarlingLover wrote, and you gulped, feeling the anxiety brewing inside your stomach. You couldn't believe they'd go out of their way to try and pull others on their side. Were they trying to ruin your career on purpose?

>> what an idiot lol >> srsly she wouldn't do it if she didn't want to >> yeah what the hell lol

A sigh of relief escaped you, seeing how the others didn't believe DarlingLover. Once again, your reputation was upheld even if it might cost you this superfan. It was expected in this industry to lose and gain followers. Some could withstand changes with their devotion, and others couldn't. You watched as the number of current visitors to your stream continued to drop relentlessly, the sight calming your mind.

You should have gotten up and made dinner, hit the hay before you could pity yourself any more than you had all evening. Your mood was already down the drain, but you were too exhausted to get up, thinking of just dropping into bed and sleeping until morning instead of doing anything else. You couldn't afford to not care for yourself, but it all felt so meaningless.

> Darling, you there?

A stray message popping up in chat caught your attention. You had three more visitors. Two must have just left it open on the side, but the third one was still chatting. With who? you wondered, waiting for someone to respond. But no one answered, DarlingLover, and a whole minute passed by.

> if you read this, can you message me privately? i want to book a private session

You inhaled deeply.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," you groaned, letting your head fall back against the gaming chair you had bought for your desktop setup. Pink and cute and so expensive. Private Sessions were the only reason you could afford a 500$ chair in the first place. But you really, really didn't want to. Really didn't want to entertain someone who had ruined your evening enough.

Click.

< Hi! :) You wanted a private session? Thank you so much, I look forward to it! Do you have a date in mind? I'll check with my bookings, but I'm sure we can find some time this week!

Yes, you hated yourself. But this user was a superfan, and you never let anyone down before. For the right price, you could do anything—or so you told yourself repeatedly. Trying to make yourself believe you could do it, burned out and exhausted as you were. It was just one more private session; you'd get through it, just like you always had.

> i've noticed how unhappy you are lately. you don't smile like you used to, don't tell us about what is happening in your life. you're like a pretty doll that sits and entertains us out of habit. i hate it. i want the real you back

That again. You scowled at the screen, your stomach grumbling in agreement (and hunger). "What do you even say to that?" you mumbled into the silence surrounding you. It was pitiful that you still lived in the same two-room flat since college, all your money going into debt and equipment rather than buying nice things for yourself. It made the dark, quiet loneliness so much more derisive. It was your life, but even so you could do nothing but entertain others to live in a way you didn't want to. You were so lost, your whole life purpose seemingly meaningless as the streams and viewers demanded more and more from you.

< I'm sorry you feel that way! :( I'm always trying my best to be myself and kind. I hope it didn't seem like I'm just faking it for the others! Please give me a chance to prove that I'm still me, and I'll do my best to meet your expectations!

Tears stung in your eyes as you typed out the words. You didn't want to grovel or apologize for how the world had ruined you. You couldn't push the blame on everyone else forever, but you truly felt wronged by your own life. Apologizing for being forced into a role you didn't want to have was way worse than when you made an actual mistake, but if you wanted to keep up the image, it was what you had to do.

> it's okay. i know you work so hard, i'm so proud of you for that

Your supporter's sudden shift in attitude made you lean back in your chair, your breath escaping you as you felt the tension being lifted. Perhaps he wasn't as weird as you assumed by his insistence on ruining the little composure you had in your stream. Maybe he was truly just concerned for you.

> that's why i'm going to help you!

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but cringe. Nothing good ever came from someone saying they would "help" you. They were merely justifying themselves for wanting something unhinged from you, mostly something you weren't comfortable with. You relented to them in the past, but did you really have to put up with it still?

< Thank you so much for giving me a chance! ♥ Have you decided on a day then for our session?

> tomorrow night, 8pm, hotel loveline. i'll book the room, just mention my name to the receptionist, and they'll give you a key

You felt all goodwill shatter into a million pieces as you read the line. Bringing your hands to your face, you rubbed over the wrinkles and tension you held in the grimace of an expression you were making, wishing you could just drop the conversation and go to bed. It wasn't the first time someone asked to meet up personally. You had never done it before and wouldn't break your boundary for that guy now.

< I'm so sorry, but I don't do personal meet-ups! If you want a private cam session, please let me know, and I will arrange it! :)

"Please, god, let him get the hint," you prayed under your breath, but you should have known better. He was a persistent one.

> i'll make sure you gain thrice the followers than you do in one month just from our collaboration. surely people will send lots of donations, too. the only thing i want is you, natural, real. mine for the night

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister," you grumbled, slowly getting angry at this guy. Why did he lie through his teeth? How in the world would someone get you thrice the subscribers from a private session? Why make big promises that were impossible to keep? And he was paying for it, so there would be no donations for you. But even so, with your teeth grinding in frustration, you typed out the nicest rejection you possibly could.

< Sorry, but I'm really not comfortable with personal meet-ups! And charging you for a whole night also makes me feel bad; my rates aren't cheap, after all. It wouldn't be fair to you. Let me know if you are still interested in a cam session, I'll give you a discount since you've been a fan for so long! :) ♥

There was an eery silence in the chatroom, and you glimpsed towards the bathroom, wondering if you had time to get ready for bed until he replied. Ultimately, you decided to wait it out, just to be polite, while you scolded yourself for offering a discount. This interaction alone should have warranted an extra charge on top of your regular rates.

> you like your current day job, don't you?

This statement caught you off-guard. You hadn't spoken much about your new employment on stream, not wanting to bore your viewers with such trivial things when they were there to be entertained.

> wouldn't you be sad if you were fired again?

"What do you mean?" you typed back, the confusion growing.

> i take good care of my darling, and you'll enjoy what i have prepared for you. if you can no longer pretend to be happy, i will help you find that happiness again, help you choose the right path

< you scare me

You typed the words before thinking them through. This was the real you, not the persona he knew and wanted to see, and she just messed up big time.

< I'm sorry, I meant to say your comments can be interpreted weirdly, and it's a little scary to read them right now. I'd still be up for the cam session if you're interested, though?

Anything, you thought, anything to stop him from saying more weird shit.

Does he... does he know you? You pondered the thought for a while. Trying to find a weird interaction you might have had before in your real life. One where someone spoke to you like he did. But you couldn't recall it. How did you know about your job though? Was he perhaps a colleague? But even they knew very little of you, and definitely not about your other job.

"Do I know you?" you asked when he didn't reply anytime quick.

Immediately, you regretted showing vulnerability in front of this stranger. From the moment he joined your stream, DarlingLover had seen through your charades, the online persona you had kept up so carefully. They were laying you bare in an uncomfortable, personal way. You've always been so careful with information about your personal life, keeping all your stories vague and unidentifiable, never naming brands of the stores you visited, or talking about the companies you were part of. How did he know where you lived and about your work?

You wished he'd just stop and disappear to where he came from.

> not yet :) > but you will get to know me—all of me—when we see each other tomorrow. i'll make you smile again, i'll make you happy. you'll be my darling star again, just like before! my reason to live, my beloved. i can't wait for tomorrow, see you soon!

DarlingLover left the chat.

You stared at the message for a while, perplexed and dumbfounded as you tried to make sense of it. You replayed the interaction over and over but could find no logic or reason behind it. You didn't know this guy, he didn't know you. At least, not personally. But he did know more about you than any of your subscribers should.

Part of you hated him, but the rest of you was scared. Scared of what would happen if you scorned him, the havoc he'd unleash on your life. You were scared of the embarrassment he could cause you if he revealed your secret sidehustle to your work, feared how the opinion of you would change now that you finally found work that you liked and coworkers that you could have fun with. You were finally one leg into having a normal life, only for some stranger on the internet to come and ruin it again. It made you mad and drove you downright crazy.

Clicking his username over and over, it stated he was offline. You couldn't open a new chat again, couldn't scream at him how you weren't going to do that! How you wouldn't meet him for real because he could very well be a psycho or murderer! Surely, he'd not give you back the time you lost streaming, the friends you pushed away to earn money, or your happiness in exchange for success!

"What do I do?" you sighed, rubbing your face once more. You were so tired, you had to go to bed. Soon, you'd have to get up, get to work, and decide whether you wanted to attend the meet-up.

Wait.

Why was that even a decision?

Of course, you wouldn't go! He couldn't force you! He couldn't—

Did you really have a choice?

Flopping into your bed, you groaned. In a fit of anger, you punched your fists into the mattress a few times before the strength left you. Of course, it was your choice. You had started over before. If the worst came to fruition, you'd just do it again. Nothing was lost. You could do it! You could refuse the offer and live a happy life away from streaming and the judgment of other people! It would be hard. So very hard. But you could do it!

Sleep overtook you before you could prepare yourself for bed. You didn't hear the ping of a chat message. All your body had left in it was to sleep away the exhaustion, even if it meant knocking you out for good and without having an alarm set for the next morning. Big decisions would have to be made the next day, but you were asleep, unaware of the weight resting on your shoulders.

And you didn't notice the red light on your webcam, saying it was still on even though your screen had long closed down.

< sleep well, darling :) ♥

His lips curled into a wicked, lovestruck grin as he moved the window with the video live feed of your bedroom to the second monitor. Finally. Finally, he'd get to meet you. His idol, his darling, his beloved streamer. He adored and worshipped you since the day you started. Watched every one of your streams since the day you joined his life.

Without you, his channel wouldn't exist. People wouldn't adore him, wouldn't watch him. The masses of fans enjoying his lengthy cock-stroking sessions, buying his ASMR audios to masturbate to—they all wouldn't exist without you. Even when he was down when he just started, seeing you smile and do your best for the few followers you had was what made him continue working hard for you.

And now that he had long surpassed you, it was time he gave back the gratitude he felt towards you.

The thought alone of meeting you was getting his cock rock hard, ready to burst. He wasn't even sure if he could look into your eyes without cumming instantly like a pathetic loser. But he wouldn't mind being a loser again if it meant he got to meet you.

"I love her streams," he hummed blissfully, closing the connection to your stream as he palmed himself over his sweatpants. Thanks to your lovely end of stream announcement, showing all your best moments, no one even noticed he'd be off chatting with you. "She's my favorite streamer ever."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Donations went off as he pulled down the waistband, revealing the girthy mass that his followers loved so much. He'd been so ashamed as a teenager for having this monster of a cock, but on the internet, he found solace. People loved imagining riding him, giving him BJs, the whole nine yards, but he saved himself. For you. You'd be the first, and if he did his job well, you'd be his last.

"Before we get to the main part of tonight," he teased, gripping his length in his hand, squeezing and caressing it for the whole community to see. Head rolling back, he imagined your warmth spread around him, his cock pulsing eagerly as he wished to know what it would feel like to pop the tip into your tight pussy.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

He grinned. They loved him so much. Everyone loved the former loser now turned into a hot, sexy internet sensation. And you would, too. Very soon.

"I want to announce that we're going to have the collaboration of the year right here, on this channel, tomorrow. Starting at 8:30pm! Make sure you're here to witness it, Darling."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

#camgirl!darling #camboy!yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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buckyshoneybunny · 6 months ago

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Spooky Secrets & Sweet Treats

College!Quarterback!Bucky Barnes + Curvy!College!Reader

Summary- You and the gang decorate for Halloween and host a Halloween party. During which a heated argument starts up between you and Bucky, revealing some hidden truths. Will these new truths lead to a new relationship and a fresh start between you two, or will it become worse than before?

W.C.- 3653

Warnings- Smut, unprotected sex, poorly written smut

A/N- Hi! I really hope you guys like this, I honestly don’t know how to feel about this, like I love it but I also hate it lol. The picture above is roughly what the living room looks like, I designed it myself on a designing website. The other pictures aren’t mine. This will be part one of a series. Part two will be for Thanksgiving and part 3 Christmas, and so on. Not proof read. The back story I used is my own sooo yeah. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Oh and happy Halloween!!

Masterlist Series Masterlist

Having not eaten all day, your stomach rumbled in protest. You sat in the middle row of the lecture hall, Nat on one side, Yelena on the other. This was the last class of the day, your ADHD medicine wearing off causing you to be even more impatient. Your right leg bounced mindlessly under the table; Natasha placed her hand on your knee with a warning glance. You stop and mumble out an apology.

You couldn’t help it honestly, today was Halloween, not your favorite holiday but still. You were sizzling with excitement. You, Natasha and Yelena (your roommate's), Nat’s boyfriend Steve and his two friends Sam and Bucky, were coming over after class. The guys would be making the food while you girls set out the decorations and got everything ready. That’s right, you were having a Halloween party!

You were never one for parties, not that you didn’t like them you just weren’t ever invited in high school. No one wanted the shy girl at their party. But since meeting Nat and Lena you’ve grown more confident, you were still shy, that was just who you are, but you’re a little more outgoing than you once were.

There was just one tiny problem, Bucky. You loathed that man, and according to him the feeling was mutual. Every little thing he did annoyed you, he made sure he went out of his way just to piss you off. With his stupid, cocky smirk, sparkling white teeth, gorgeous shoulder length, chocolate brown locks that he let grow out since meeting you. Even those shirts that seem three sizes too small, showing off his delicious abs that you just wanted to li-

Stop that!

You mentally climbed out of that rabbit hole, not wanting to go too deep. No matter how much you wanted to get a taste of the star quarterback, you hated each other and that was all it was ever going to be.

After what you’re sure is another 20 minutes, the professor finally dismisses everyone. You quickly gather your things and dart out the lecture hall, Natasha and Yelena hot on your heels.

Shivering as you stepped outside, you wrapped your jacket tighter around you, the cool autumn breeze blew about. Fall colored leaves littered the sidewalk, crunching under your feet.

You smiled. You loved fall and winter, everything just seemed happier. Holidays back-to-back, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. You loved Christmas. The sparkle of Christmas lights, curling up on the couch wrapped in a blanket watching Christmas movies, you just loved it.

The party started at nine, so you had roughly five and a half hours to get the supplies, set everything up, and get ready yourselves.

“You excited?” Nat asks, drawing you away from your thoughts. You three walking to your house on the far end of the campus. It was a two story, three bedrooms, two bath house. Nat and Lena’s parents were rich, having some sort of high-end job in the government.

“Duh,” you laugh.

“Even though he’s going to be there?” Yelena pipes up. You sigh.

“I’m determined to not let him get to me; I am going to have a good time tonight.”

“You say that every time,” Nat snickers.

“Yeah well, I mean it this time, he’s not ruining this party for me,” you defend.

“You say that too,” Yelena giggles.

“Say what?” The annoying voice you know too well asks before you can say anything. Turning around you find Bucky, Steve, and Sam following you guys. Steve wraps an arm around Nat, kissing her forehead. Sam ruffles Yelena’s hair.

Clad in his signature black leather jacket, the six-foot something wall of muscle wore blue jeans, red henley under the jacket, and his combat boots. This isn’t fair, why does he have to look so hot? His hair pulled into a small bun at the base of his neck.

“Nothing James,” you roll your eyes. You could see the tick in his jaw, he hated being called by his first name.

“Come on, princess,” he spits bitterly. “Keeping secrets from me now?” You just huff and keep walking in the direction of your house.

Princess. That name made your blood boil, you despised it, and he knew it too. It wasn’t the name that bothered you really, just the way he said it, like you were some spoiled brat. You most definitely weren’t. You didn’t even know why he called you that, but that was the name he’d given you the night you first met.

You weaved your way through the mass of people, trying to reach the kitchen. Natasha had dragged you to this party, claiming it was way past due to meet the gang. Yelena wasn’t any help, going right along with Nat’s plans. When one sister had her mind set to something, the other backed her up and to say they were a force to be reconned with was an understatement.

Before you could reach the kitchen, you smacked right into a wall, or what you thought was a wall until two strong, veiny hands shot out to steady you before you could fall. Looking up you see a pair of steel blue eyes boring into yours. The man had a sharp, clean shaved jaw, his brown hair short and fluffy, and stuck up in all different directions. His full, pink lips moved, saying something you didn’t quite catch. You realized you had been staring for too long.

“What?” You ask loud enough over the music.

He chuckles. “I said, are you alright, ...?”

“Oh! I’m Y/N, and yes, I’m fine. Thanks for catching me,” you smile. “And you are?”

His smile falls. “Bucky,” he says gruffly. “Watch where you’re going next time, princess,” he spits out bitterly before expertly weaving through the crowd.

You stood there confused for a moment, wondering what the hell happened. Natasha told you to give him some time and he’d warm up to you. To everyone’s surprise, he never did.

Your shoulders relaxed as you breathed a contented sigh as you stepped inside your shared home. A fireplace with shelves lined on either side. When you moved in Nat and Yelena let you decorate, you had taken interior design in high school so you knew how to make certain things work. A light grey couch sat in the center, with a coffee table in front of it, and a TV mounted on the wall above the fireplace.

Nat let you take the lead, directing everyone. She knew how your OCD and ADHD could get, especially when it comes to planning things like this, everything had to be a certain way. Bucky rolled his eyes and mumbled some smart remark under his breath. Once everyone was assigned a job you all got to work.

Steve and Sam went to the store, Bucky started to chop firewood to help keep the house warm-you liked using that rather than the heater, made it cozier, plus it saved money. Nat and Yelena worked on getting the Halloween decorates out of the shed. You did a quick clean, making room for the foldable tables Steve and Sam were getting. You scolded Bucky when he tracked mud through the house, to which he flipped you off.

Once the boys got back and the decorations were all set up and tables put up, everyone got ready. Natasha and Steve dressed up as superheroes, Sam as a Falcon, ever the nerd he is. Yelena dressed up as a vampire, Bucky was, well you didn’t know what he was. All you knew was he’s half naked and making your panties sticky.

And last but not least, you dressed up as a bunny, well sort of. You wore a soft pink short cotton skirt with a bunny tail, a matching cotton crop, and bunny ears. Steve painted on a bunny nose. You were very unsure of the outfit at first, but Nat and Yelena, both assured you that your curves look delicious in that outfit.

Once everyone was dressed Steve and Sam fired up the grill to start cooking, Nat and Yelena setting out the condiments and other various food items. Bucky got the fire going, having paused to help Steve and Sam set the tables up when they got back. You added a few finishing touches to the decorations, moving a few things, stuff like that. You idly wondered why Bucky was so quiet, usually he’d have you clawing your eyes out by now.

But Bucky was in his own little world. He leaned back on his haunches once the fire was set. He glanced over at you, taking in your outfit. His tight ripped jeans did nothing to hide the effect it had on him. He'd seen you glance at his bare chest multiple times by now, he didn’t have a costume in mind. He just threw on some old, tight, ripped black jeans, if anyone asked what he was he’d think of something.

He watched as you moved a few decorations, a pout on your soft pink lips. Your brows were furrowed in a frown, he wanted to reach out and smooth it with his thumb. He shook his head to try and clear those thoughts, looking away before you could catch him.

Yes, he hated you, but that didn’t mean that your curves didn’t make his cock throb and his head fuzzy. The way you looked in those heels, how they made you sexy legs look long and soft. But you were this self-entitled princess who always had to have her way, it pissed him off, everyone loved you. Even your creative writing professor you guys had seemed to adore you, it made his blood boil that you were the teacher's pet.

If only he knew.

He remembers how you had him all figured out before you guys even met.

Bucky scanned through the crowd of people in his house. He, Steve, and Sam threw a celebration party for winning last night's game. Steve had invited his girlfriend, which she invited her sister and their roommate.

He was quite excited to meet this gorgeous angel Natasha always talked about. He spotted Natasha and Yelena; the third girl had her back to him. He could only assume the third girl was you, your soft Y/H/C pulled into a braid. The blue jeans you wore hugged your thighs, your tank top hugging your chest and curves.

He smirked, you really were gorgeous. As he walked closer, he could hear your honeyed voice. He frowned when he heard what you were saying.

“I don’t see how I could like someone like him,” you tell Nat. “He’s probably some fuckboy like every other football player. Some jerk with a high ego.”

Your tone sounded disgusted; he huffed a breath. Any excitement he had for meeting you was long gone. He was so fucking tired of people associating him with the stereotypical quarterback. He wasn’t a fuckboy, far from it.

He'd only been with a few women, contrary to what everyone believed. He didn’t fuck them and leave, no, his ma raised him better than that. He took them out, treated them right, the perfect gentlemen. He was dedicated to any and all his relationships, they just never seemed to work out.

So, when he ran into you later that night, literally, he put up the wall that he hides behind and brushed you off.

A couple of hours later the party is in full swing, people dancing, music blaring. You step out on the back patio, needing a break from the noise and people. You sit in one of the outside chairs, looking at the stars. You mentally scold yourself for not bringing a jacket as you shiver. You feel fuzzy as the whiskey you’d been drinking takes effect.

A few minutes later a sweaty Bucky opens the sliding glass door. He pauses when he sees you. He huffs and closes the door, taking a deep breath of fresh air. You turn away from him, ignoring his presence. You hear the door open a couple of times before you feel a warm leather jacket being set over your shoulders.

The jacket smells of leather and pine, mixed with something else, Bucky. You turn your head to see the man himself standing behind you.

“I don’t need your stupid jacket, James,” you huff and move to slide said jacket off. He places his big hands on your shoulders, keeping the jacket in place.

“Can you for once stop being a fucking brat and just take the goddamn jacket?” He snaps, feed up with your constant attitude.

You shove his hands off you and stand up. “What the hell is your problem?!” You yell, finally at your breaking point.

“My problem?!” He yells back. “My problem is you’re a self-entitled brat who always gets what she wants. Who thinks she knows everyone, well news flash princess, you don’t.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You making assumptions about me before you even get to know me.” You give him a confused look so he continues. “That night at the party you told Nat how you couldn’t ever like someone like me, how I’m an egoistic fuckboy. I'm so fucking tired of people making assumptions.”

Guilt settles into bones; you hadn’t realized he heard you. “Oh, Bucky I’m so-”

“No, you know what?” He continues, cutting you off. “You’re the one with the high ego, everything just has to be your way, doesn’t it? This has to go there, that over there. Everything has to be perfect for little miss sunshine.”

“Wh-”

“No, you’re gonna shut the fuck up for once and listen to me. And it’s not just that, you always get what you want, everyone fucking babies you and adores you. Even the fucking professors love you. I mean it’s pretty obvious you’re a teacher’s pet-”

“Enough!” You yell, your voice breaking. He goes quiet, panting from his rant.

“I’m not the teacher’s pet, she checks up on me to make sure I’m okay. After she read my memoir for our memoir assignments, she started to check up on me. Making sure I was safe where I’m at, if I had a trusted adult to talk too.”

“Awe, did the princess have a few bad memories that she wrote about? Hmm? Well news flash princess everyone has bad memories, that doesn’t excuse that you always get what you want.”

“You know what, fine! You wanna know why I am the way I am?” You yell. “Growing up I didn’t have a fucking say in anything! I was treated like a piece of property; my own father called me his property! I did everything for them, I was 14! 14 and if I didn’t cook or clean no one would.” Your voice breaks.

Bucky goes to say something but you keep going. “My own grandmother got my entire family to hate me and I was only 3, it took years for them to finally figure the truth out. My father would guilt trip me, manipulate me. I took care of my mother at her lowest, watched her on the verge of death and she still favors my brother. Nothing I ever did was good enough! I could go on forever about how fucked up everything was, James.”

Bucky stands there in shock. “Wow...I um...” He doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry for judging you before I got to know you, I really am. But do not call me a brat and say I always get what I want.”

You take a deep breath to calm your racing heart. Both of you stand there in silence, filled with guilt at how you’ve both been acting.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. You nod.

“Me too,” you whisper back.

Neither one of you knows who moves first, but one moment you’re looking each other in the eye and the next Bucky has his tongue tangled with yours. He tastes of beer and cake, you moan softly, Bucky swallows the sound like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever had.

His hands, both metal and flesh, grip your ass and pull you closer. His hard bulge grinds against your naval, he groans. When the need for air gets too great, Bucky pulls back and starts to litter your neck with sloppy wet kisses.

“My room,” you shudder. “Now.”

“So fucking bossy,” he grumbles. He throws you over his shoulder and goes back inside. No body pays any attention to either of you, too busy dancing or too drunk to care. He takes the stair two at a time.

You get bold and slide your hands into his jeans, groping his bare ass, he had gone commando. He slaps your ass in retaliation, causing you to yelp. He finally reaches your bedroom, kicking the door shut and tossing you on the bed. You slide up the bed, shoving the pile of stuffed animals onto the floor as you go. Bucky kicks his boots off and climbs on top of you.

Bucky attaches his lips to your neck, sucking and biting. You moan and pull the hairband out of his hair, tangling your fingers in the soft strands of hair. You tug and he groans, you tug harder and he bites down hard.

He kisses down your collar bone to your chest, yanking the crop top off you and groaning when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. He takes one nipple in his mouth, sucking and nipping as it hardens. You let out a high-pitched whine, the pain mixing with pleasure. His metal hand kneads the other, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference. He switches, giving them both the same treatment.

Once he’s had his fill, he starts to kiss down your stomach, hands groping your thighs.

“These fucking thighs,” he grumbles. “You have any idea how many times I thought of these gorgeous, thick thighs. Fuck.” He’s thought of you?

He pulls your skirt down your legs, tossing it somewhere behind him. He gently undoes the straps on your heels and slides them off. He slides his hands up your thighs, one hot and one cold, he spreads them and groans. He leans forward and licks at your clit through the fabric of your panties, moaning at the taste of your juices.

“Bucky!” You gasp and grip his hair.

“So fucking good,” he mumbles, mouthing at your pussy. He grips your ass, holding you up and shoving his face into your pussy even more. The fabric gets wetter, a combination of your juices and his saliva.

You whine his name and tug his hair, pulling him back up to kiss him, moaning at the taste of your juices on his tongue.

It’s a mess of messy kisses and fumbled movements as Bucky kicks off his jeans and socks, pausing to grind his cock against your panties. Your eyes widen when you see him, he chuckles and tells you not to worry, he’ll fit.

“Bucky please,” you whine.

“I know, baby, I know,” he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I gotta prep you first.”

He rips your panties off, flinging the ruined fabric to the other side of the room. He reaches down with his flesh hand, spreading you slick over your clit before carefully inserting one finger.

You moan and wiggle your hips, impatient. He flicks your thigh and tells you to be patient. He adds a second finger, then a third. He slowly opens you up, teasing and torturing you, rubbing that spot that makes you see stars.

Two can play this game.

You reach down and grab his aching cock, thumbing the slit and spreading the precum that’s gathered there. Bucky moans and bucks his hips, cursing.

“Bucky please, I’m ready. Just fuck me already.”

He grunts and pulls his fingers out, sucking them clean. “I’m clean but I have a condom in my wallet.”

You shake your head. “I’m clean and on birth control.”

“Fuck yes,” he groans. He flips you over, making you face down, ass up. “This fucking juicy ass.” He slaps your ass a couple of time, groping the juicy flesh hard.

“Please,” you whine and push back against him.

Finally, he takes pity on you and lines himself up. He slides all the way in on one thrust, both of you moaning. He gives you a moment to adjust before setting a brutal pace.

He angles his thrusts just right and you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good in your whole life. He leans down, plastering his sweat slicked chest to your back and kisses your shoulder and neck.

You make little noises with every thrust, fueling Bucky, his own groans and grunts right next to your ear.

“So fucking tight, shit,” he moans into your shoulder. He reaches down and starts to rub tight circles over your clit and you cry out.

“Fuck! Bucky please!”

“Can feel you squeezing me, baby. You gonna cum? Hmm?”

“Yes! Please! I’m so close!” You moan.

“Cum.” His thrusts turn even more punishing, if possible, focusing on that spot. Your thighs start to shake. His perfect thrusts and the pressure on your clit push you over the edge. Your eyes roll back, hands griping the sheets so tight they could rip.

Bucky's pace stutters, you clenching his so tight he cums seconds after you do. He collapses on top of you, both of you trembling and panting.

He rolls off you to the side, pulling the sheets over you both and spooning you from behind. You both succumb to sleep minutes later, too exhausted to talk about what just happened.

______

The morning sun shines through your blinds, the birds chirp outside your window. You groan and roll over, not wanting to get up just yet. You reach out for Bucky, only to find cold sheets.

Bucky was gone.

#honeybunnywrites #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #marvel #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #sebastian stan #bucky smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut

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nickfowlerrr · 2 months ago

Text

something good and true - part 3

part one / part two / part four

pairing: mob boss!bucky x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 5.5k

notes: the way almost none of this was in the original draft of what i was planning on posting lol 😂 thank you for your patience as i reworked and added a bunch of stuff to this little mini series of sorts! i hope you like it. feel free to share your thoughts and comments. thank you for reading and as always, reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated. enjoy! 🩵

The dinner was lovely, and the company too.

You don’t think you’ve ever had such a simple dish taste quite that good, or had conversations quite that interesting. Bucky really is as much a charmer as he’s been said to be.

He had a lot of questions about you and answered some of your own. Your rapport was easy, though you already expected from your previous conversations at the restaurant that it would be. You don’t know how you lose yourself so easily when you talk with him, and actually, lose isn’t the best word. There’s a kind of ease when you’re talking to him that has you fully being you. Aside from your usual shyness that shows through now and again, you speak with him without hesitation. Like you’re on the same level, though you know you’re nowhere near Bucky’s status and stature.

Still, you have similar outlooks on life, and seem to communicate and think in similar ways. By the time he was driving you home, you had almost completely forgotten about his social status and were in part failing to realize that you indeed had just had dinner with the city’s notorious mob boss.

There were certain things throughout the dinner that did remind you of that fact now and again, though. Not always what he said, but what he wouldn’t…

It was a quiet moment, a lull in your conversation when you decided to just ask. Your dad refused to tell you, and you had all but let it go, until Bucky said what he did about his guys finding Freddy. You don’t know what morbid curiosity was nipping at you, but some odd little part of you wanted to know.

“Can I ask,” you began slowly, unsure you really did want the mental picture, “where you found him?”

He looked at you, and seemed to have a split second of contemplation before he answered quite simply and calmly.

“No.”

You blinked down from his gaze to your plate, wetting your lip out of habit. You were kind of expecting that, but still. You picked up your fork and returned his stare, about to ask him why, when he continued and stopped you before you could question him.

“You don’t need’a know that, doll. You know, your dad probably didn’t tell you for a reason. Wasn’t exactly a pretty find.”

You swallowed the bite you had taken and watched as he took a sip of his drink. You didn’t push any further, and you had a feeling you wouldn’t have gotten much of anywhere if you had.

There were other questions you had asked, too, that he would only give a vague answer to, or evade completely.

“I won’t ever lie to you, sweetheart,” he had said. “But there’s just some things you’re better off not knowing.”

You couldn’t argue with that, and you knew he meant it when he said he wouldn’t lie.

His reputation precedes him, and he’s known to be a man of his word. Granted, those words are usually cold, callous certainties spoken to anyone who’d be dumb enough to try and cross him or do dirty work behind his back. Everyone’s heard the stories.

You’re fortunate that all his words toward you have been the complete opposite. It’s almost funny how safe you find yourself feeling around the man whose name alone struck fear in you just a few months ago. You can’t imagine feeling that way about or around him now.

He drove you home, a little later than you’d expected to be back but you didn’t really mind, and like he always did, he opened the car door for you, helped you out, and walked you to your front door.

You got the niceties out as you stood before him after unlocking your front door, the twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes momentarily holding you captive.

”Sorry I kept you so late,” he apologized.

“No, don’t be,” you shook your head lightly, “It was…good,” you breathed. “Talking with you was good. And the food was good,” you felt yourself on the verge of a ramble but couldn’t stop yourself, “It was-“

“Good?” he cut you off with a playful smirk. You felt your face heat up as your stomach fluttered.

“Yeah,” you smiled demurely, looking down at your feet for a second.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he said, “so did I.” You looked up to meet his eye again as he continued, “I like spending time with you. Hopefully we can do it again.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly and you took a breath before forcing yourself to swallow and your tongue to move. “I would like that,” you nodded.

“Good,” he simpered. You bit on your small smile in return. “I’ll be seeing you then.” He reached for your free hand, taking it gently in his as he raised it up to his lips, your breath stuttering as you watched him. He placed a delicate kiss on your hand, his blue eyes meeting your gaze as he did. “Sleep easy, sweetheart,” he said as he lowered your hand, squeezing it just a touch before he took a step back. “And happy Valentine’s Day,” he added as you pushed your door in.

“Happy Valentine’s,” you returned. “Have a good rest of your night.”

He gave you a crooked smile as he backed up further and you found yourself smiling again too as you closed the door and locked it behind yourself. You watched from the peephole as he walked to his car and waited until he pulled away to head to your room to start your nighttime routine.

Sleep came easier than it had in a long while.

You woke up in the morning to find a text message from an unsaved number. Unlocking your phone to read it, a giddiness came over you as you read the first sentence and realized who it was from.

Morning, doll. I hope you had a good night. I know it’s early, but call me when you can.

You were a little confused as to why he wanted you to call him, your mind wandering with the possibilities as you got out of bed, but of course you would.

He’d sent the message about an hour ago and it was barely half past 7 now. He must’ve been up really early and a bit of guilt for staying at his house so late nips at you. He’s a busy man and here you are taking up his time.

But, he is the one who asked you to dinner for reasons other than just getting the whole story about Freddy. He said himself that he wanted to have dinner with you, it wasn’t an obligation.

And this is him asking you to call him, not you invading on his morning.

A part of you wants to call right now, feeling like you’ve kept him waiting long enough, but another part of you - a stronger part - wants you to brush your teeth and not deviate from your daily getting readies. You can call him in twenty minutes, you’re sure it’ll be fine.

It’s minutes away from being 8 when you’re done with your brushing and skin care and you still wear your pajamas as you make your way down the hall to the kitchen, your phone in hand. You click on the still unsaved number, making a note to store it after the call. You dial and then put it on speaker as you listen to the usual tone and wait for an answer. It’s not long before you get one.

“Barnes,” his gruff voice comes through your cell. You’ve never heard him sound quite like that before, but you’re not entirely taken aback. This must be the Bucky most people are used to. You nibble on your lip as you grab a clean mug from the cabinet, holding your phone close to you as you multitask.

“Bucky?” you say, curious to see if his tone will change.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, causing a smile to break out on your face at the abrupt change. His voice sounds smoother, and you don’t picture him looking so stoic or angry as you did a second ago. ”Sorry, I didn’t check who was calling before I answered. Been a busy morning.”

“It’s okay,” you ease as you put in a pod for your coffee. “I’m sorry I had you out so late. I didn’t realize you had to be up early, I would’ve tried to leave before.”

“No, don’t worry about it. ‘M used to early mornings. And I wouldn't ’ave wanted you to leave any sooner as it was.”

You smile at his words as your coffee starts to sputter, filling your mug three quarters full.

He continues, “Look, doll, I’m not gonna be around for the next couple days. Have some business to take care of outta town, but I wanted to call you before I got too busy to set something up for next week.”

“Oh,” you say, brows raised.

“I don’t wanna rush you here, sweetheart, so feel free to tell me what you’re thinkin’. If next week is too soon, I can wait… I think I’m just used to seeing you at least once a week now,” he chuckles softly. “And I do wanna see you again - even more now than I usually find myself wanting to, after last night.”

“I think I’m used to seeing you weekly, too,” you smile, laughing lightly. “Next week’s not too soon, I - yeah, I wanna see you too.”

“You free Tuesday?”

“I have a feeling you already know that I am,” you answer, earning a short, huffed laugh from Bucky on the other end.

“I was giving you an out if you wanted it.”

“Well I don’t.” The reply leaves your lips faster than you even realize, but it’s true. ”So, Tuesday?”

“How’s 2?”

“2 works.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay,” you reply simply, smiling softly down at the mug you’ve set on the counter, still steaming. Bucky sighs, sounding a bit agitated as you hear a car door open in the background.

“Alright, well, as much as I’d like to stay on a little longer, I gotta go, doll.” Your smile falls just slightly as he goes on, “I’ll see you on Tuesday. And if you need anything in the meantime, anything comes up, you call me.”

“Yeah, okay. I will,” you murmur, wrapping your mind around his words and trying to name the feeling they’ve sent through you. “Talk to you later, then,” you trail off softly. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he bids, ending the call right after.

You readjust your hold on the phone and save Bucky to a new contact before setting it down completely.

Tuesday it is.

You take a drink from your mug. Now, what does one wear to a lunch date?

It was a long weekend. You spent Saturday not doing much aside from cleaning and catching up on some TV, while Sunday saw you going over to your parent’s for breakfast and then lounging the rest of the day away in the comfort of your own home. Sunday night, though, you received a text from Bucky that had that warm giddy feeling filling your chest, and that familiar fluttering flying in your tummy. It was simple, but so sweet.

Hope you had a good weekend, sweetheart. Was just thinking about you, wanted to wish you a goodnight.

Monday, you had work that evening but spent the earlier part of your day finalizing your outfit. The restaurant was slow but you still ended the night with a nice amount of tips. When you got home you followed your typical routine as normal and just as you were getting into bed, your phone started to ring. Your brows scrunched as you pulled it from where it was charging and upon seeing Bucky’s name on the screen, answered with your heart ticking a little faster despite yourself.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you answered a bit trepidatiously. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he reassured right away. “I was getting ready for bed and realized I hadn’t confirmed with you for tomorrow. 2 still work for you?”

“Oh,” you breathed a little easier, “yeah, it does… I’m looking forward to it,” you said before biting your lip. Was that silly to say? You wondered briefly before he responded.

“Me too,” he said, and you swore you could hear a hint of a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Sorry I couldn’t call earlier, I got held up with some business.”

“That’s okay, I was at work most of the day, I probably wouldn’t have been able to answer if you had.”

“Right,” he said before you heard what sounded like a water faucet being turned on. “How was your shift?”

You were a little surprised at the question, just not having expected it, but you answered in turn. The conversation lasted a little while as you both talked briefly about your days - all the while you heard what you assumed was Bucky going about his washroom getting ready for bed like he said he had been doing. It was oddly familiar, but not in a bad way. Just, comfortable. The way he spoke to you, like he genuinely cared about what you had to say, about how your day went, it lit something inside you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. It was the feeling that you really, truly were cared for. That someone wanted to know about your day, not just because they wanted to get in your pants, but because they were genuinely interested in you.

You went to bed with a smile as Bucky wished you a good night, his low soothing timber reminding you he’d be seeing you tomorrow before you ended the call.

You’re dressed and ready for lunch half an hour early, the buzzing excitement you’re trying hard to not let overwhelm you causing you to move faster than you normally do on your days off.

Instead of sitting impatiently on the couch, checking the time every other minute, you decide to get some air and wait out on the porch.

It’s a nice afternoon, a light easy breeze drifting through the cool, sunny day as you sit. The sun is out but it’s still early spring, so not too warm yet. You wear a sundress that hits just above your knees and your pair of walkable, low heeled sandals.

You sit back with a sigh, close your eyes, and take some breaths. The time passes by faster after your eyes fall shut, a warm tiredness washing over you as the sun shines near. You’re like a cat in a window. You manage to rest your eyes for about fifteen minutes before you wake yourself up. You pull your phone from your purse and decide to spend the next fifteen minutes scrolling through your socials.

Your head perks up as you hear a car approaching and you move to see Bucky coming down your way. You stand as he pulls in front of your house and start to make your way to his car as he gets out himself. You meet at the car door as he stands before you.

“Hey, doll,” he greets with a half smile, coming close to kiss your cheek softly, then pulling away and meeting your twinkling eyes as you gaze at him.

“Hi,” you return, sounding a little more affected by the simple gesture than you maybe wanted to.

“You look beautiful as always,” he compliments as he opens the door for you, helping you in.

You respond when he gets back in on his side. “You look really nice,” you admire in turn, earning a charming grin from him as he pulls away from your house.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says as you watch him drive. He wears a nice pair of dark trousers, a white tee, and a white, undone short sleeve button up over it. His beard is short and well kept as usual, his dark hair pushed back and kept there with his sunglasses on his head. You see a silver chain peeking out from the collar of his shirt as he mindlessly wets his lips, making sure he’s clear to turn from the stop you’re at. He glances over at you as he turns and catches your stare, his lips tilting up as you smile shyly at being caught.

This is the most casual you’ve ever seen him, and you really like it. He looks incredible in a suit, but there’s something about him right now that feels a little more free, and maybe a little more him.

When Bucky pulls up to the front of the restaurant, there is a valet waiting. A young man opens your door for you and as you get out, Bucky is there to take your hand. He passes off his key to the man he thanks by name before he leads you to the entrance.

“Mr. Barnes,” a pretty blonde greets at the front, “lovely to see you again. Miss.,” she greets you with a smile. “Your table is right this way.”

You don’t even realize your hand is still in his as he guides you to follow behind the woman, not until you get to the seating area. It’s almost instantaneous, all eyes on you and Bucky the second you enter the area. You try not to look at anyone yourself as your hand squeezes Bucky’s a little tighter without thought. He pulls you almost imperceptibly closer to him as you walk hand in hand to the table reserved for him.

He pulls your seat out and pushes you in once you’re sat before taking his own across from you.

“Here are your menus,” she says as she places them before you both, “your server will be right with you, but can I get your drinks started for you in the meantime?”

“I’ll take a water, please,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I’ll have water, as well,” Bucky says. “Thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll get those right away.”

You watch the blonde as she flits away and then feel Bucky’s eyes on you. You turn to him with curious eyes as you grab the menu to pursue. “What?” you say with a light laugh.

He takes a second before he responds, then gives a small shake of his head, “Nothing.” He grabs his own menu and continues as you both look it over, “Have you been here before?”

“Here?” you ask, almost disbelieving the question. “Uh, no,” you answer honestly, “I think it’s just a bit outta my tax bracket,” you joke.

He smiles at you across the table, but really the distance isn’t all that far.

“I have always wanted to eat here, though. I’ve heard good things.”

“Yeah, they have some quality options. And don’t worry about the prices, order whatever you like, please.”

You exchange a glance and an easy smile before you continue browsing the menu.

Not even a minute later do you find yourselves being interrupted.

You’re a little startled at first as a man makes his presence known at the table, you don’t know how you missed him walking up to begin with, but you did. He’s average height, with an athletic build. Medium brown hair, brown eyes, and clean shaven. He wears a suit and tie that speaks to his class and an expensive watch on his wrist. You’ve never seen him before, at least not in person, but he looks oddly familiar. You think he might be that attorney with the commercials that play everywhere all over town. You can’t remember his name. Not that that is your concern at all at the moment. You felt the energy change the instant he got to your table. The man looks a little miffed, but also a little unsure in his actions, as he looks at Bucky. Your eyes are on him as you wait for him to speak.

“Mr. Barnes. David Dunlap,” he introduces himself, “I have been trying to get in contact with you for almost three weeks n-“

Your eyes shoot to Bucky at Dunlap’s abrupt silence and see that he’s raised his hand in pause. There’s a harshness in Bucky’s gaze that cuts through the man before him as he makes him stand in his silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. His face is stone before he speaks, unsettlingly calm, with an edge to it.

“You see the lady sitting right here across from me?”

David nods slowly, changing a glance at you.

“Why don’t you show some respect and start off by apologizing for startling her and interrupting our lunch.”

David’s eyes find you again, a little wider now than they were a second ago. He swallows thickly before he does just that. “Excuse me, miss, for the interruption. I certainly didn't mean to startle you, I’m very sorry.”

You don’t know what to say, you just give a small nod and a tight lipped but polite smile before your eyes find Bucky’s again.

“Great. You do have manners. Now take a second and ask yourself, do I really look like I’m here to do business right now? And even if I were, do you really think it’s a good idea to come approach me the way you just did?” He waits a second for a response he doesn’t get before continuing, “Right. Why don’t you keep using those manners of yours, go back to your table, enjoy your lunch, and continue to wait patiently, like half the other people here, until someone at my organization returns your calls.”

“I understand I’m not the only one trying to reach you, sir,” the man starts again, sounding overly agitated as he turns more toward Bucky, knocking the table on your side a bit as he does. The second you recoil from the bump, just out of surprise at the table moving, Bucky is out of his seat, easily standing taller than Dunlap; his jaw set and his eyes dead on him.

“Step away from the table,” Bucky says. His voice is low and deadly and you can hear his ire as clearly as you can see it in his eyes.

Your gaze is only on Bucky as you find yourself entranced by him.

You sense Dunlap step further away, a fast apology spilling out past his lips.

“Go finish your lunch, tip your server, and stay the hell outta my line of sight while you do it.” His voice remains steady as he speaks clearly, “I’m with company, so I’m bein’ nice, but the next time you forget who you’re talking to when you’re speaking to me, the next time I have to repeat myself,” his warning goes unfinished as Dunlap cuts him off by rushing out another apology - his previous agitation now gone completely in favor of a more submissive, and even scared, tone as he tries to appease the domineering man before him. He leaves quickly, and with an assurance of his understanding as he does.

It’s only then you realize the place had gone silent at the unexpected interaction. There’s not many eyes on you, people know better than to stare right now, but you know they were all fully listening. The silence though is quickly replaced by the return of idle lunch chatter as Bucky sits once more. He fixes his shirt as he does, and meets your enraptured gaze as you watch him. You feel flustered and a little embarrassed by how attractive you actually found that display of dominance and authority.

“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” he apologizes.

“Please, don’t be,” you say with quick reassurance, looking into his eyes. “I uhm,” you swallow, hoping he can’t somehow read your thoughts and figure out exactly what it is that you’re thinking, “I thought you shut that down well. But I appreciate the apologies,” you add with a smile. “Yours and his.”

Your waiter approaches with your waters and apologizes themselves for the disturbance you experienced at the hands of another guest. They assure Bucky they’re handling him as well and he won’t be dealing with that again, not that Bucky is worried about it in the slightest. You both place your orders and are thankfully able to continue with your lunch as normal. Or as normal as a lunch date with a mob boss can be. The curious glances and whispers can only be so ignored…

Bucky paid the bill, of course, and you thanked him for lunch as he took your hand and walked you out to his awaiting car.

“I’m sorry again about what happened earlier,” he apologizes when he gets in, your brows furrowing at his words. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen often, but it does happen - now and again.” He begins to drive off but you can tell there’s something more he wants to say, so you wait for him to say it.

“Comes with the job. The life,” he looks at you, a bit pointedly, and you think you know what he’s getting at. “I’m not trying to scare you or make you uncomfortable, I just don’t want you to slip too far into something you don’t really want to be a part of.”

“…Your life?”, you clarify.

He looks at you again and without saying anything, you know his answer is a yes.

“I’m not under any illusions about what it is you do, Bucky; who you are to people, the life you live. If I was uncomfortable, or I didn’t want to be around you, you would know it. And for the record,” you add, “I feel the complete opposite of scared when I’m with you. Like earlier, I… I like that side of you, too.”

He eyes you as he drives and sports a half smirk at your words, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile shyly back.

You thought lunch was the only thing on the table today, but when Bucky asked if you wanted to go to the art museum as you came up on it, you were more than happy to say yes. You probably would’ve said yes to anything he suggested, really. You didn’t want to go home and say goodbye so soon.

The museum wasn’t too busy so you really took your time wandering the exhibits, admiring the artwork and sharing your thoughts on certain pieces that really spoke to you.

You knew Bucky was a smart man, but you didn’t know to what extent. He was quite the historian, sharing facts and giving you background on certain artists and historical events you’d never studied before yourself. He seemed a real patron of the humanities and it added another level to him entirely. You thought back to the artwork that adorned the walls of his home and were now more interested than before on why he’d chosen to display the pieces he did. What they meant to him, why he liked them. You wanted to hear his thoughts. Suddenly, you wanted to know his thoughts on everything, really. You could listen to him talk for hours.

Eventually, after walking the whole museum, you made your way back to the entrance and then to the parking garage.

Bucky led you to the car as you walked close to his side. You felt…happy. Genuinely happy. His hand brushed yours as you walked and though the distance to his car was relatively short, he still took your hand in his as he led the rest of the way; helping you in when you reached it.

There was a weird kind of excitement buzzing around you as he drove you home. And along with it, an odd kind of contentment. It all felt so new, and yet so safe.

When Bucky pulled up to your house, around 5:30, he got out to open your door for you, offering you his hand as you moved to stand. You took it with a soft smile and met his ocean blue gaze, “Thank you.” As you began up the way to your front door, you spoke again, “I had a really nice time today, Bucky.”

You were walking awfully slowly, side by side, wanting to spend as much more time with him as you could before you’d call the date officially over with your goodbyes.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he agreed with a simpering smile while he looked at you.

He walked you all the way to your door and as you unlocked it, you had a thought. Turning to face him once again you decided to just ask.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?”

He takes a breath then released it heavily, “Ah, I wish I could,” he says almost wistfully. “I have a business dinner. Next time,” he assures. It’s not a question, it’s a promise. You’re a little disappointed to have to say bye now, but you understand.

“Okay,” you agree with a demure smile.

“Okay,” he echoes with a lopsided smile of his own.

You both stay standing in front of one another for a long moment, neither of you wanting to leave, and after a second, you unthinkingly let your eyes leave his, trailing down and landing on his lips. You realize instantly just how badly you want to kiss him.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, only to find his gaze on your own lips instead. You think for a second that he might kiss you, but then you see the hesitation, the restraint as he mindlessly wets his lips before biting his own lip gently and letting it go.

You know then why he has yet to kiss you. He doesn’t want to rush you into anything and you’re getting the feeling he’s waiting for you to make the first move, to let him know what it is you want.

You take a breath, mustering up your courage and confidence as you slowly inch closer to him. You don’t think you’ve ever made the first move on anyone before. God, this is kinda nerve wracking…

Bucky is still, not moving as he watches you take a step closer, leaving very little distance between you now.

You look in his eyes and it’s like he can read your mind. You’re breathing just a little heavier now as his eyes float down to your lips once again, telling you it’s what he wants, too.

You angle yourself, tilting to kiss him. Your eyes flutter shut at the contact of his lips on your and it’s less than a second before Bucky is kissing you back. It’s soft, and sweet, and at the same time, so charged. Bucky reaches to hold your face with one hand and gently places the other on your waist as you kiss him a little deeper. Your own hands find their way around his neck, your fingers slipping into his hair as the kiss grows more sensual and you seem to pull each other closer still. You wouldn’t mind staying there with him all night but you have to part to take a breath.

With your nose against his, your eyes still shut as you catch a breath, bodies still close, lips not too far apart, you breathe a quiet question.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come in?”, you ask, sounding a little drunk off the kiss already as you press your lips to his again, soft once more. You can feel his smirk at your question as he kisses you back before he breaks it with a groan. Your eyes blink open as you watch him.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he grouses in jest, pressing his forehead to yours as he holds you to him, his hand gently squeezing the soft curve of your waist before his thumb smooths soothingly over the fabric of your dress. “You know I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

You can’t help your own soft smile as you apologize with a titter, “I’m sorry.”

He breathes a soft laugh, pulling away from you ever so slightly, “I don't think you are.”

He lets his thumb rub your cheek, looking in your eyes as if to check in with you before he leans closer once more, kissing you gently. He pulls away fully then, though his hands linger as he does, slipping softly off your cheek first, but keeps his one hand now on your hip, like he doesn’t want to part just yet. You’re not complaining, the feeling is more than mutual, and you like the weight of his hand on you. You’ll take it for as long as you can.

“I do have to go,” he says apologetically. You keep your soft smile as you nod in understanding before he continues, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll answer,” you reply easily.

His hand slips off your hip as he moves instead to take hold of your hand. He brings it up to his lips and places a quick but delicate kiss on your hand, making your tummy flutter once again at the newly familiar gesture.

“Have a good night, sweetheart.”

“You too, Bucky,” you return as he lowers your hand, releasing his hold. “Bye,” you bid as you step to your door, opening it and then waiting at the threshold as you watch him go back to his car. Just before he gets in, he sends a charming, boyish smile your way.

You watch him go before you finally close and lock your door behind you, feeling like you’re floating as your lips still tingle from his kiss and you warm at the phantom feeling of his hands holding you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #mob boss!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #mob bucky barnes

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cntrlnoah · 9 months ago

Text

Photoism

Summary: Rafe’s shy girl wants to take photobooth pictures with him on a date.

Pairing: Rafe x shy!fem!reader

Warning: food mentions, kissing, Rafe being a tease, nicknames (sweet cheeks, princess), Rafe flipping off the camera

A/N: sorry it took so long. got really busy with work. hope you enjoy! (^з^)-☆ idk if all of y’all know photo booths work cause each one of different so I took inspo from the photo booth in my Koreatown and how it works 🤍🤍🤍

Little dates with Rafe are common. Whether it was getting boba from the newest tea shop to something a bizarre as paint ball. Rafe loved surprising you with cute little dates.

Today was no different as he took you out on a trip to Koreatown. He wanted to try the new fried chicken place people were raving about. It was in this food gallery like place. Full of cute decor and soft kpop songs playing on the radio.

On the corner of your eyes you spot a couple leaving the photo booth giggling as they hold a photostrip each. Something in you made you want to do it with Rafe but you were too shy to ask. As you both finish eating the fried chicken, Rafe made mental note on how your eyes lingered back to the photo booth.

As the two of you are nearly about to leave you finally gained the confidence to ask him to take some pictures.

“Hey Rafe…can we take some photo booth pictures be for we go?” you said very timidly. “It’s…just I’ve been eyeing the photobooth recently—” but before you can finish to it ramble explaining why you wanted to Rafe kissed you to shut you up.

“You know you don’t need to explain sweet cheeks. I’ve seen you eyeing that machine for a while. If it makes you happy I’m willing to do so” he says. As he says that your cheeks go red over the nickname and the kiss.

“Come on princess don’t go all shy on me now? We still have pictures to take” he says feigning concern but the smirk plastered on his face gave his real reaction away. As he says this you start to drag him into the photo booth.

Inside the photo booth was a screen which displayed a start button. As you click the button, the screen turns into the styles of photos you can get from 2 2x6 photo strips with 4 frames for $5 or 2 4x6 sheets with 6 frames for $8. You choose the option for $5 and the screen tells you to insert a $5 bill in the slot under the screen to begin. Rafe hands you a $5 bill from his Hermes wallet for you. As the machine takes the bill the screen mirrors the you and Rafe, letting you see what the poses would look like. You guys had 8 takes for poses and 15 seconds to do them.

The first pose you wanted to do was a cute one so you put your hands in the shape of a heart to you cheek, Rafe on the other hand flipped of the camera but before you could react the camera shuttered and you’ve used up one of the frames.

The next pose was you doing the same pose but Rafe this time following in suit.

After that, y’all did peace signs with both of your hands.

Each frame was different from silly to cute and much more.

For the last one, Rafe wanted to do something. He pretended to do another pose but right before the counter reached 0 he grabbed your chin and leaned you in for a big kiss. After pulling away from the kiss your face turned bright red.

“Rafe!” you whined. “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t like it princess. Come on let’s choose the frames before the timer runs out love” he states.

After he said that you both looked at the screen and looked over the poses you want. You choose the peace sign one first. Rafe says, “ we should do this one. I look bad ass.” He points to the one where he flips off the camera. “But it so vulgar”, you said. Rafe chuckles as he heard you say that. “C’mon princess, I’ll let you pick the next one okay?” Rafe says. You nod as you pick the one where you both did the hearts.

The last photo was the one you had struggle with. Do you choose the silly one with both of you sticking out your tongue or the cute one where you both did animal ears? Rafe then butts in, “We should do the last one where we kissed.” You looked at the last one and blush.

“But it’s so unexpected I don’t look ready” you said. Rafe just smirks, “You’re not supposed to look ready. That’s why it’s good. Plus the kiss was pretty nice.” “No it wasn’t” you said blushing like crazy. Rafe looks you up and down, “Don’t lie to me princess. I like it so I’m choosing it” he says clicking on the photo.

After that you got to choose the frame, you went with the pastel pink and blue ombré frame. You both waited for the photos to print and got out of the booth enjoying the rest of the day around town.

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 4 months ago

Note

hii i love your writing so much! this is my first ever request so sorry if it sounds weird!

can i please request some general dating headcanons for (older) rise donnie? for example, what hes like as a boyfriend, the types of dates he likes, his quirks etc in a relationship!

thank you 🫶💜🐢

Dating Headcanons (Fluff/Angst)

Future!Donatello x reader

A/N: You’re request doesn’t sound weird at all, so no worries💜 Now, I would usually post this with a picture of one of the turtles, with a somewhat matching tone. But since there’s no official illustrations of Future!Donatello (as far as I’m aware), and I don’t feel safe using someone’s art without permission, I’m just going to use this shot of Donnie. Anyway, hope you’ll enjoy💜

Warnings: The Krang future is quite a bit more angst than the good future, so if you’re only looking for the sweet stuff, just head straight for that💜

Krang future:

Dating in a Krang infested world, living in a bunker deep under earth, was not easy for anybody. It is a stressful and depressing way of living, where everyday is about survival, with little no time left for love. Yet, emotional beings always seem to find a way for such things, even in the hardest of times. And so did you and Donnie.

With Donnie being the main reason that the bunker was functioning - having been the one that built the whole thing - your boyfriend was often stuck in his lap, working not just for his own joy, but for the survival of all that called the bunker home. It was not easy for Donnie, as one small mistake could mean the death of all. And so, your job quickly became helping Donnie destress, keeping him above and sane from all that was going on around him. It was your job to make sure that Donnie was able to move forward, even if it sometimes felt useless. And that wasn’t easy for either of you.

Dating in a world overrun by Krangs, isn’t really like dating in a normal world. You don’t go on dates, and rarely have time to actually spend any form of intimate time together. No, dating in a world of Krangs meant finding a person, who you wished to survive with. It meant looking out for each other before anybody else, and at times even giving up rescurses for the one you loved. Which you and Donnie had done plenty of times, giving up food, water and time for each other.

Though Donnie may be tired most of the time, it didn’t make him any less caring. He had his own way of showing it though. He had thousands of ways to check up on your wellbeing, going to somewhat drastic lengths in order to make sure that you were safe in your small home in the bunker. He was absolutely against the idea of you going to the surface with any of his brothers for supply runs, almost getting to the point of panic attacks.

On the rare occasions that you and Donnie actually had time to act like an actual couple, you didn’t do much. You would usually cuddle and enjoy the company of one another, before eventually falling asleep in each other's arms. It wasn’t often that the two of you got to feel safe like that, and it was increasingly rare that you would feel as well rested, as you did after a cuddle session with Donnie.

Good future:

In a world in which you and Donnie didn’t have to worry about much more than whether you should be drinking Coca Cola or Pepsi with your pizza in the evening, the two of you had the time along with the mental and emotional excuse to build your relationship in a healthy manner. Both you and Donnie had your own interests, in which you respected and engaged each other. You would let Donnie talk hours on end about what he had been working on in his lab, and in turn he would do the same for you, often listening while tinkering with what he had just been talking about. It just made it easier for him to listen.

Donnie was for the most part a very relaxed boyfriend. He knew you were a grown adult, capable of taking care of yourself, allowing you large amounts of independence without getting bothered or insecure. However, Donnie could have his random moments of overprotection. The weather had been particularly bad, and it took you a little longer than usual to get? Donnie would start calculating the chances of you having gotten hurt, driving himself to a point of wild worry. That was usually right before you would make it through the door, where your now overly analytical and worried boyfriend would check you over five times, just to be sure that you were in fact okay.

It’s rare that you and Donnie would actually go out for dates. Donnie is generally most comfortable in his own home, and the thought of going out, being around a bunch of people, when your dates were supposed to be about just you and him, just didn’t sit right with Donnie. It was no secret that his social batteries had a tendency to run out fast when out and about, so he would much rather spend the night home alone with you, watching a movie, eating comfort food, or geeking out over something together. And it also tended to be much cheaper, which was a win for the both of you.

Donnie has never been much for PDA. He’s very affectionate when the two of you are alone, but when other people are around and he starts masking, he tends to get physically distant, and will often have a hard time with things touching him. However, he’s always up for a good banter. A small argument between the two of you, with well thought out points, that never went beyond smiles, actually taking joy in whatever back and furth you had, was a kind of affection Donnie often engaged in, no matter who was around. Other’s quickly learned to just let the two of you at it, and that those smiles were actually real. You guys enjoyed it. It was fun, and both of you understood what was going on. No need to spoil a good and functioning thing.

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3igbootyl0ver · 5 months ago

Text

A New Face Pt.3

pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

summary: You and Tara finally went out on a date and feelings are revealed.

word count: 2453

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.4

a/n: Hey all, I hope ya'll enjoyed this last part for this one-shot. I tried putting in more details so lmk your thoughts. I also made Sam a little laid back for this part since I honestly didn't know how to make her intimidating without ruining it lol. Anyways, I'm always open to feedback!! Thanks for all the love and support! (p.s. i got motivation for the flower scene from tasm where peter gave gwen her flowers hehehe so just imagine that because i still have no idea how to add a collage of pictures here)

Tara was walking back and forth the apartment while waiting for you to pick her up. She had suggested on going to yours instead but you insisted on picking her up for some reason. Sam was just observing her sister roaming around the living room, amused by her antics. She was picking her fingernails and fixing her hair every 15 seconds. It was 3.45 p.m and you were supposed to be here at least 15 minutes ago. Her mind was going through a ridiculous amount of scenarios as fast as the speed of light at this point. Did you suddenly decide to ditch her or realised that she wasn’t good enough for you?

“Tara, relax. You’re freaking out so much- I can see your brain working overtime,” Sam simply stated, laying on the couch while rewatching Modern Family for the fifth time. Just as Tara wanted to give a snarky remark, she heard the doorbell rang. If she was wearing a heart rate monitor, she was sure it would give her a warning about her sudden heightened heart rate, assuming she was getting a heart attack. She looked at herself once again and fixed her hair after the 55th time before opening the door.

There you were. Looking all cute and flustered while holding a bouquet of flowers and a posy on one hand while balancing two motorcycle helmets on the other. While she appreciated and blushed and the gesture, she can’t seem the ignore the fact that the bouquet and posy is a little… lopsided.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. I went to buy this for you but it’s a little harder when you’re riding while holding it, which explains the snapped stem for one of them…Oh! And I bought a small one for Sam, if she doesn’t mind, of course.” You explained with a little blush from the awkwardness. “How embarrassing, this is your first date and you’ve already messed up. Nice one, Y/N.” You thought, mentally slapping yourself for forgetting that it’s nearly impossible to hold a bouquet of flowers while riding and not mess it up. While you were having your own crisis, Tara was in her own head too.

“Seriously? Is there even a flaw flowing in their bones? ” Tara pondered internally while struggling to put out actual words, holding onto both the bouquet and posy, when Sam came to rescue after hearing the painfully awkward one-sided conversation.

“Wow, nice job, Y/N. A liiitttle crushed, but I like the effort. You’re own my good side, for now. Just make sure you bring her home by 9..or I’ll hunt you down.” Sam stated sarcastically, enjoying how you squirmed after her statement. She’ll never tell you this, but she appreciated the gesture and the thought of buying her a small bouquet. The few people Tara had tried dating has never thought of that, so she really meant it when she said you’d “earned a point”. She was impressed surprisingly, and it was hard to impress THE Sam Carpenter.

“Y-Yes ma’am” You replied with faux confidence, even though both the sisters could tell you were intimidated, rightfully so. Tara rolled her eyes at her sister’s statement and dragged you out of the apartment, after placing her flowers nicely by the table beside the entrance, of course.

“I’m sorry about Sam, she can be a bit.. Much.”

“Don’t worry about it, I have to admit I almost peed my pants though.” You joked, trying to ease the tension so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Your attempt was successful when Tara giggled effortlessly, while staring at you with those big doe eyes.

The engine roared beneath them, vibrating through Tara’s body as she clung to Y/N’s back. The cool evening air brushed against her face, the city lights streaking by in a blur. The smell of gasoline and fresh rain mixed with the earthy scent of Y/N’s jacket, and Tara could feel her pulse racing in time with the bike’s engine.

Tara knew she would be your ‘backpack’ as you informed her about riding your bike for the date a few days prior. That doesn’t mean she didn’t freak out when you went up a needle on your speedometer though. She was hugging you so tightly around your waist, it could almost suffocate you. You said you didn’t mind it though, and Tara took every opportunity to hug you tighter, and shamelessly run her hands from your back to your shoulders, caressing and admiring the flexed muscles from handling the two-wheeled vehicle every chance she had, enjoying your warmth that contrasted with the chilly weather.

Her heart was pounding as she felt the warmth of Y/N's back against her chest, the gentle hum of the motorcycle beneath them. She noticed how her grip tightened instinctively, wanting to hold on to something solid as her thoughts swirled in a mess. “Is this real? Is this really happening?"

After finding a parking spot near the theaters, you helped Tara with getting off your bike seeing as she couldn’t even reach the floor if she wanted to. You assisted with taking her helmet off and fixing her hair, pushing her messy bangs away and tucking it behind her ears absenmindedly without her needing to ask for help. Tara wanted to take you right then and there. “Who cares if it’s public indecency? Both of us are hot.” Tara thought. She had never met a more thoughtful and respectful person before she laid her eyes on you; You really knew how to please a girl.

You proceeded to lead her to the entrance of the theatre, which was filled with people that was keen on watching the premier of The Terrifier 3. Tara was buzzing with excitement, practically hopping up and down and effortlessly having a conversation with you after easing her nerves, while waiting on your turns to get some snacks and get seated.

The film was amazing. It was almost concerning with how Tara didn’t even bat an eyelid during the more gory scenes, but you were glad she enjoyed it. You mentally gave yourself a pat on the back after successfully making her glee and rambling about the film afterwards. You both decided to walk to the restaurant you were having dinner at, since it was only a few blocks away. You couldn’t ignore the fact that both your and Tara’s hands kept brushing against each other. You finally made the courage to hold her hands while she was still rambling about the show, your heart leaped when she interlocked your fingers together and continued talking, not commenting on the sudden act of affection.

Meanwhile, Tara was so damn glad you made the move first because she was overthinking too much to make the first move. She tried to act as nonchalant as possible, making it seem like your gesture didn’t really affect her even though she had her heart in her mouth. When you both arrived at the restaurant, you had to wait for a while to be assigned a table. She finally made the courage to let go of your hands and to hold onto your ridiculously toned biceps, running her hands up and down your arm. She was tracing her fingers on the outline of your tattoo, making you shiver.

“You never told me this, but what’s the meaning behind your tattoo? I mean- It’s fine if it’s personal and you don’t wanna talk about it, though!” Tara stated with a slight panic in her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was make you feel uncomfortable and share something so intimate to you. You found it cute that she was trying to be mindful and considerate.

Tara was tracing your tattoo, which was full of different designs, mainly two dragons being intertwined and a date underneath it. “It’s fine- I don’t mind, really. It symbolizes the Chinese zodiac calendar. My mum and dad was born in the year of the dragon. I initially didn’t think of having a tattoo, but I considered it to honor them. They died a few years ago from a car crash, which explains the date beneath it.” You explained your tattoo in detail, including all the different strokes and lines on your hands.

Tara wanted to cradle your head and hold you tightly, hiding you away from society after hearing that your parents are gone. It must’ve been tough handling life alone in your twenties. “At least I had Sam,” Tara thought. She gave you her condolences and you took her hand and kissed it, specifically where her scar is, before shrugging it off with a smile, not wanting to ruin the mood of the date.

Dinner went by quickly, with Tara having a glass of wine (not you though, you knew you had the responsibility to send her home and you didn’t want Sam to kill you either) and getting to know each other more. Tara’s indication of having too much to drink is that she often hiccups, and that’s when you knew you had to pay the bill and send her home. On your way back to your bike, you and Tara were giggling and she kept trying to squeeze your face cheeks together, with your hand swatting her away. You decided to make a pitstop at a small bodega and buy a bottled water for Tara, attempting to sober her up, knowing she can’t ride on the bike being that drunk. You slowed your pace, allowing Tara to recover while interlocking your hands. She was effortlessly flirting with you, probably from the liquid courage she was sobering up from.

You finally reached your bike, with having an intention of helping Tara putting on her helmet when she hugged you, her arms wrapping around your neck and leaning her chin against your chest, staring at you. “I really, really like you y’know. Like, like-like you.” She stated, staring at you with her brown doe eyes that resembled a deer.

Tara’s heart skipped again, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from a sudden realization—this was different. She hadn’t felt this kind of pull in a long time. And maybe—maybe—she wasn’t just hoping Y/N would kiss her. Maybe she was ready for it. And when the moment came, she wasn’t going to hold back. You softly chuckled, your cheeks tinting slightly at her sudden confession. “I’m glad you like me Tara. I really, really like you too,” you reciprocated and hugged her waist, embracing the intimate moment. Both of you leaned in, nose touching each other before you decided to lean away; Making Tara whine and roll her eyes.

You really wanted to kiss her, but you didn’t want it to be in a random street where some creeps can be watching you both kiss for their own entertainment. Tara huffed in frustration and wore her (your) helmet, stubbornly trying to get on the bike without needing you assistance (she needed it, she was practically falling off that damn bike if it wasn’t for you). You softly chuckled at her act before wearing yours and turned on the bike, the engine growling. Throughout the ride, you knew Tara was still upset at you since she held her hands on your shoulders instead of your waist.

After reaching her block, you followed her up to her apartment, making sure that she’s safe. Tara was being grumpy, having her arms crossed which prevented you to hold her hand. After reaching her apartment, she went to open the door, trying to enter before you had to chance to talk to her. “Tara- wait, give me a mi-“

“I don’t get you, Y/N. First you bring me out to this date, held my hands and now you don’t want to kiss me? Are you serious-“ Tara’s blabber was disrupted when you grabbed her by her cheeks and leaned in for a kiss, lips colliding.

Tara melted in your hands like putty and wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you in and craning your neck, trapping you in her spell. You could taste her cherry lip gloss, secretly hoping that you get to kiss her more often to get accustomed to the taste. She lets out little sighs in between the kisses to take a breath, before pulling you in again for more. You bit her lip which made her gasp, having the opportunity to slip your tongue in, making her moan and kiss you fiercely and fight with you tongue to tongue.

You pulled away gently, making her whine at the sudden end of the passionate makeup. You gave her tiny pecks and chaste kisses which made her giggle before you pulled away. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, Tara. I just wanted it to be private, I can’t let the creeps down the street see me kissing the girl I like,” You confessed, blushing heavily now that Tara’s attention is all on you.

“Aw, you sap. I don’t mind letting them watch, at least they know you’re all mine now.” You gave another kiss, when the door opened abruptly.

“Well, well, well, look who’s grinning like a cat that got the cream.” Sam smirks, glancing between Tara and Y/N, making both blush out of embarrassment.

“So, did you two finally make it official, or am I gonna need to take out the old shower and have a little chit chat with Y/N? I know you have no problem with public declaration of ownership.” She gives Tara a teasing look, knowing full well that her sister’s not shy when it comes to flirting. “Shut up, Sam. I’m fine.” She rolls her eyes but it’s clear that she’s still caught up in the moment.

Sam shrugs dramatically, leaning closer to Y/N, lowering her voice with mock seriousness.

“You better keep your hands to yourself, or I will find out where you live, and I’ll have a serious talk with you. That’s your warning.” She threatens, almost breaking character but keeping it cool.

Y/N, clearly caught off guard but managing a nervous chuckle, nods quickly. “Yes ma’am. I’ll take good care of her, I swear.” They look at Tara, a little embarrassed, but there’s warmth in their eyes. They’re obviously not intimidated, but they know enough to respect Sam’s warning.

“Good answer, Y/N. Good answer.” She flashes a grin, pretending to be serious before stepping back from the door. ”And for the record, I’m definitely expecting a full play-by-play tomorrow, Tara. I’ve got all kinds of questions…”

Tara shakes her head, but there’s no hiding the smile on her face now. She turns back to Y/N, giving them a peck before slipping back inside her apartment with a soft click.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x y #scream #tara carpenter

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f1tales · 6 months ago

Text

say you can't sleep, baby, i know - mv1

that's that me espresso || part three

previous part || next part

pairing: max verstappen x ofc!piastri

summary: oscar’s older sister is a singer, who’s taylor swift’s opening act for the eras tour. she goes to a few races on her break. she meets max; who thinks about her every night now. much to oscar’s annoyance.

author's note: it's been a while, works been busy! hope you enjoy!

face claim: sabrina carpenter

Ivy erupted into cheers alonge everyone else in the Red Bull garage as Max crossed the finsih line first. She watched the mechanics hug and clap each other on the back before going out towards parc fermé.

Ivy slowly trailed behind, hoping she would be able to hide a little in the crowd. She didn't want to send Oscar into an early death just yet.

She arrived at Parc Fermé just as Max stepped away from his mechanics. His eyes seemed to be searching for something, someone, in the crowd.

Ivy blew him a kiss as their eyes met; Max's face lit up with the brightest smile ever. She waved as he went over to Checo, to wait for his interview.

She smiled all throughout his interview, their eyes would occasionally meet causing both of them to break out into big smiles. Ivy felt her heart swell as she watched him on the top step of the podium. She slipped out just as the top three were taking their photo's on the podium.

Judging by the last Grand Prix she attended, Oscar would probably still be in his post race interviews. But it couldn't hurt to check if he'd come back already. Max still had his interviews and press conference to attend, so she decided she'd hang out with Oscar until then.

Ivy easily reached the McLaren hospitality. She waited outside, not daring to go in. Unlike last time, she didn't actually have a McLaren pass.

"Ivy?"

She turned around, only to meet Lando and his press officer. She smiled as she got pulled into a hug by the British driver. "Hey, good race!"

"Eh, I suppose. Are you here to see Oscar?" He lead her inside the hospitality. "He should be back soon. Man was having a mental breakdown before the race. Surprised he manged to finish it."

Ivy chuckled, "yeah, that may have been my fault."

"Yeah, we know." Lando winked at her. "So," he pulled out a chair for her then sat down in the opposite chair. "You and Max?"

Ivy pulled her blonde hair to the side, "well, uh-,"

"Vee, let's go." Ivy looked up to see Oscar standing next to the table now. "We have to talk." He started walking away, urging his older sister to follow him.

She turned to Lando, "well, gotta go. Need to speak to the boss." She followed Oscar to wherever he was going. He held the door open for her then closed it with a rather loud slam behind her.

"Remember," she started, "you weren't angry."

Oscar let out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. He looked at her with his eyes narrowed, "what happened to going to Perth?" Ivy just stared at her brother for a minute. "Vee, come on, you said you'd talk to me."

"Oscar, this is my personal life. It's really none of your business." Ivy stood up from the bed she was sitting on. "And I must go now. I have plans."

Oscar grabbed her wrist just before she could walk out, "is he being good to you?"

Ivy's face softened. She nodded, "he is."

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1 and others

ivypiastri: first time at the japanse grand prix! also, happy belated birthday, osco! love you 🧡

View all comments

oscarpiastri: ..i don't get a seperate birthday post? alright i see how it is

redbullracing: It was nice to have you in the garage with us!

oscarspastry: uhh is she soft launching max?

ln1999: ...she posted a picture of the podium?? checo and carlos are literally there too...

ivypiastri_fan: MAX IS IN THE LIKES AGAIN!

landonorris: Come back to McLaren next time, it's more fun over here

ivysgarden: 💗💗

maxverstappen1: Good to have you!

liked by ivypiastri

"So, did he freak out?"

Ivy tore her eyes away from the movie playing on the TV to look at Max. He was drawing shapes on her bare shoulder. "Oscar, I mean."

Ivy hummed, "he did for a minute. I think he's just trying to protect me. Because he couldn't before and, well, I don't know." She looked away from Max and back at the TV.

Max frowned down at the girl in his arms, "what do you mean?"

"Nothing, just, there was this whole thing with me 'stealing' this guy, Harry, from this actress he was seeing," she made quotation marks with her fingers. "Which caused the whole internet to start a hate campagin against me. And then there was this whole drama just a few months ago with Elias and Cristina."

"Who?"

Ivy laughed as she looked at the cute expression on Max's face; his nose scrunched up and his brow furrowed. "Elias Pereira? Cristina Torres?"

Max shook his head; he had no idea who any of these people were.

"Elias and I dated, but he had this whole history with Cristina and decided to go back to her. No hard feelings on my part, really, in hindsight anyway. He wasn't good for me."

Max pulled her closer, "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. In the whole thing with Harry gave me the whole emails i can't send album." She put on a brave smile. "And without Elias dumping me, I wouldn't have been at the Melbourne GP, and then I wouldn't have met you."

"Hm," Max hummed, "I'm still sorry that happened to you." He rested his cheek on the top of her head after kissing her cheek. "I promise I'll treat you better."

Ivy erupted into fits of laughter, "I'm sorry," she wheezed as she saw the confusion written across his face again, "Elias has a song with that title. Sorry."

"You think that's funny?" Max let go of her and went to sit on his knees on top of her. "Huh?" Ivy shook her head, trying to control her laughter. Max started poking his fingers to her sides, "I'll show you funny."

Ivy squealed as Max tickled her, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She managed to wrap her arms around his neck to pull him down. "I'm sorry," she said as she pressed her lips against his.

part 4 coming soon.

taglist: @mastermindbaby @charlesgirl16 @a-beaverhausen

#f1tales #f1 fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen fanfic #divider by cafekitsune #mv1 #mv1 fic

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wishpid · 7 months ago

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Reunited

Pairing: Leehan x reader

Length: 695 words Genre: Request, fluff

Synopsis: Due to his busy schedule, you haven't been able to see or talk much with your boyfriend. But now that he's finished with comeback promotions, Leehan and you are content to stay in the one another's space for the next 24 hours

Warnings: use of leehan's birth name, reader is lowkey obsessed w/ leehan's scent (my bad 😬), mention of reader standing on tip-toes, description of a soft make out, smelling each other

Note: i tried copying leehan's texting style but y'all be the judges of how i did. hopefully it sounds somewhat like him based off his weverse. also hoping the texts between reader & leehan make sense 🙇‍♂️; someone let me know if they don't & i'll edit this so it does

── ⋆⋅ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ ⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ಇ⋅⋆ ──

You burrowed your nose further into the pillow in your grasp. The casing only carrying the faintest hint of your boyfriend's scent. You pouted, whipping your phone out from the depths of the blankets.

'The pillow doesn't smell like you anymore ˃̣̣̥᷄ ᴖ ˂̣̣̥᷅ ‎'

'You won't need it much longer. I'll see you soon 🖤'

You sat up quickly as you read and reread Leehan's reply. Fingers hastily typing on your phone's virtual keyboard, not caring about properly spelling (thank god for autocorrect).

'REALLY?!

When?

I'll make your favorite'

'🧐

Jellies!'

'Kim Donghyun. *picture* '

You scooted yourself to your bedside, slipping off from it and into your house slippers. Making your way to the wardrobe, you pulled out a pair of bermuda shorts and one of the shirts Leehan left behind. Bringing the piece of clothing to your nose, you sighed happily. It was hard to get used to how much you missed Leehan during the boys’ comeback schedules. You began getting ready to go to the store while thinking of a proper dinner for the two of you. Deciding on mini pizzas, you then searched your kitchen; making a mental list of items to get alongside your boyfriend's gummies. Patting your pockets, you double-checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and headphones. You placed one earbud into your ear as you entered the elevator, humming as you played the music. The grocery trip was uneventful, your focus on quickly returning to your apartment. You knew from experience that the both of you would want to cuddle after reuniting which meant you needed to finish the other small chores on your list before then. Thankfully, it was only 11 am when you arrived home; you wouldn't have to rush in your cleaning. You got to work: putting away the groceries along with the clean dishes, then wiping the counters before dusting and sweeping.

"I'm home" you heard Leehan call out from where you were tidying up the bedroom. You rushed to the corridor, throwing your arms around the tall male. His own wrapped around you, the two of you enjoying the physical touch.

"I missed you" you whispered as you slightly pulled back to look at your boyfriend. Reaching for him with your tiptoes, you leaned up to kiss Leehan.

"I missed you" he replied back as he tightened his hold on you. Gesturing with your head, you motioned towards the coach with a questioning eyebrow. Leehan nodded, separating enough to grab your hand before moving to the couch. Maneuvering yourselves around, you and Leehan attached back to one another.

"Your hair's still soft," you said as you caressed his blonde hair. "I'm glad." Leehan hummed, eyes closed as your fingers went over his face. Taking advantage of your position, you plastered kisses onto his lips. Leehan reached around, holding your nape to keep you in place. He gently nipped at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. His fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You felt ticklish as Leehan's digits sometimes grazed your side. His tongue licked up into your mouth, exploring the cavity in soft earnest. There was nothing that compared to kissing Leehan. Each time felt like the first and left you lightheaded. But kisses like these were your favorite type when it came to Leehan. You enjoyed being able to just feel the love between the both of you. Languidly sucking and licking at each other's mouth, unable to get enough but not desperate for more. Running out of air, the two of you finally separated from another. You leaned your forehead onto his, breathing heavily into each other's space.

"Is this my shirt?" Leehan asked, his voice teasing despite him still catching his breath. You hid your blush by tucking yourself into Leehan's shoulder.

"I told I missed you," you mumbled with a pout. You inhaled Leehan's cologne before adding "and your scent". He laughed as he pulled you tight against him. Leehan placed a kiss onto your temple, getting a sniff of your scent for himself. The two of you got comfortable, relaxing your holds on each other.

"I missed you just as much."

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x poc reader #kpop x gender neutral reader #neomujinjja #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor fluff #leehan x reader #leehan fluff #bnd x reader #bnd imagines #bnd fluff #leehan imagines

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shu-porang-porang · 1 year ago

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First Love / Late Spring

Your first time with Minho (I wrote the whole thing just to picture that last paragraph!)

Pairs: Lee Minho (Lee Know) / fem!reader

Theme: fluff, explicit

Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex (do not try at home!!), fluffff, not proofread, 18+ NO MINORS

Word count: 2 k

It’s only your fourth date and you’re nervous around him. He’s not exactly easy to approach, he’s guards are up, he talks politely as if you’re a coworker, and he doesn’t initiate nor seem comfortable with any type of intimacy. If he hadn’t asked for another date, you would’ve thought he wants to have nothing to do with you. But the fact that he wanted to see you again assures you that he’s interested and is doing his best, so you decide to be more understanding and give him time to open up. That’s how you ended up having a movie date with him at your place. You realized he tends to stiffen up way more when in public, probably he’s afraid of rumors and whatnot, so you offered to just stay in, order some takeouts and watch a movie, which he gleefully accepted.

It's indeed a chill date. Although you’re both kinda awkward, you manage to ignore the awkwardness and enjoy your meal and the movie. Not much is said during the movie, just a few comments on the characters and hard-to-grasp story line, yet these few exchanges reveal more of his true personality and make you wanna kiss his beautiful brain.

You started the movie sitting apart, neither of you confident enough to invite the other for hugs and cuddles, but towards the end, you summoned all the courage in you to reach for his hand, place it in your lap and mindlessly play with it. You see the tiniest smile in the corner of your eye that encourages you to keep going. Oh how bad you wanna bring it to your lips and kiss those gorgeous veins but you control yourself. You have no idea how the movie ended; you were too lost in holding his hand to follow the rest of the story.

He untangles his fingers from yours to fish for his phone in his pocket and checks the time.

“Oh it’s quite late, I better get going.”

Really? Was that it? Has he never heard of Netflix and Chill? Was he really here to just watch a stupid movie? You try your best to hide the disappointment but your expressions always give you away easily, you’re not the type to act. You try to think of sth to convince him to stay for a bit more, but there’s really no excuse that wouldn’t make you seem so desperate. Now that your brain cogs are running fast you realize the constant tapping of the rain that your ears had tuned out, so you give it a shot.

“You didn’t drive your car here, right? And I think it’s quite a heavy shower from the sound of it, you can stay till it’s over?”

“It’s alright, I can just get a cab or sth…” he says but he doesn’t seem so persistent. Maybe it’s just your desperation fooling you, but you sense he might not hate the idea of staying a bit longer.

“Anyways, I don’t mind, you can stay. I’ll prepare some tea!” You mentally face palm! TEA? Is that the best you could do to convince him to stay?

“Tea sounds perfect!” Turns out that was good enough!!

“Alright then!” You say a bit too excited, then get up to hurry with making the tea coz you don’t know how long the unpredictable spring shower is gonna last.

To your surprise, your little tea party gives way to talking about everything and nothing for hours, the rain long forgotten. It’s like in a night, you got 10 years’ worth of information about him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you put a spell on him with that tea! He opened up to you more than he’d like to admit, so did you. You’re both private people but something just clicked tonight. You feel much closer to him now and hope he feels the same.

When you both finally fall silent and seem to have run out of stories for the night, you bring your hand up to his cheek, caressing it gently with your thumb. “Let’s go to bed, you had a busy day, need to get some rest.”

He leans in to your touch, holding your hand and turning his head to kiss your palm. “If we go to bed, resting is the last thing I wanna do.” It brings a shy smile to your lips, he’s suddenly bold and it makes your heart flutter. You get up and lead the way to your bedroom.

Once in the bedroom, his hand cups your face to bring it close for the sweetest kiss. His lips lock on yours and he takes a deep breath inhaling your scent before kissing you. He slowly pushes you back till the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. He lays you down on it gently, never disconnecting his lips. Each kiss is planted with utmost care, as if you’d break under his touch if he’s not careful. It’s sweet and at the same time annoying. You want him to devour you, to act bolder, to do what he really wants to do. You pull the hair at his nape and tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Thankfully, he gets the hint and his kisses get sloppier and more aggressive as he enters his tongue in your mouth. His hand roams over your clothed body, yanking at the fabric of your dress, you’re too distracted by his tongue and teeth assaulting your mouth that you don’t realize he wants it gone.

He breaks the kiss to ask: “Can I take it off?” to which you manage to answer: “Yes please” while panting.

He helps you out of your dress, lying there in your lacy underwear you feel exposed under his intense gaze, his eyes darker than usual and hooded with lust. The blush that creeps up to your cheeks is visible even in the dim lights of the room. After taking in the sight of your somewhat naked body for a few long seconds, he lowers his body back onto yours while removing his shirt. He kisses a trail from the column of your neck down to your chest. He reaches a hand back to unclasp your bra and you shuffle out of it, giving him access to your soft breasts. He covers them in playful kisses before taking a hardened nipple in his mouth sucking gently which draws a yelp from you and your hips jerk into his involuntarily. Your reaction encourages him to suck harder and his fingers take care of the other nipple, twisting and pinching the sensitive nub to demolition. He’s quite satisfied with your little whimpers here and there; he hums in approval which reverberates through your entire body.

You open your legs wider to fit him in between. As he adjusts himself between your thighs, he slides down, leaving butterfly kisses on his way to your panties. His face is only millimeters away from your throbbing core, he can feel the heat radiating from it. He looks up at you, silently asking if he can proceed. You hastily nod, how could you say no to those gorgeous feline eyes? He flashes you a little smirk before dipping his nose to your covered core and taking a whiff with his eyes closed, as if he’s taking in the scent of a flower bouquet. You’re embarrassed and turned on at the same time. Finally, he removes your panties and discards it somewhere on the floor, and without hesitation darts his tongue out to lick a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. You feel your orgasm building up as he keeps alternating between lapping at your entrance and sucking on your clit. Your grip on his hair gets tighter and your thighs close around his head. To bring you to completion, he inserts two fingers in so he can dedicate his mouth to your clit. Soon after you cum moaning his name, like how you imagined you would. He helps you ride your orgasm and kisses your inner thighs as you’re coming down from it, trying to catch your breath.

He crawls up and moves the strands of hair away from your face so he can kiss you and give you a taste of yourself. “You taste so good; you should try it.” he says before closing his lips on yours and shoving his tongue in, you suck on it, tasting the remnants of your arousal.

“Do you think you can keep going?” he whispers against your lips.

“I sure can.” you reply, closing the gap to kiss his swollen lips again.

He sits back up and you watch him with anticipation. You felt his bulge multiple times tonight, but still have no idea what’s coming for you. He’s fast to unbuckle his belt and rid himself of his pants and boxers. His erection, hard and proud, slaps against his stomach. You certainly did not expect this. It scares you a bit, even though he worked you up well you’re afraid you might need more preparation to fit it in. His hand wraps around it pumping a few times and smearing precum on the tip before hovering back over you, he slides it between your folds to cover it in your juices. You wrap your arms around him and bring him closer for a kiss, no matter what, you can’t get enough of those soft lips. You feel his tip poking your entrance and your mouth falls slack once it finally enters you. Your grip around him tightens and breath is knocked out of your lungs as the stretch overwhelms you.

“Are you okay baby? should we stop?” he asks once he notices how tensed you got.

“No… just… a second” you don’t want it to end there, you want him, all of him.

He peppers kisses all over your face while waiting for you to adjust, telling you how perfect you are and how well you’re doing in between the kisses. It melts your heart how gentle he is. You ask him to move and he sinks a bit deeper, and deeper, and deeper until there’s no more room for him to go, yet he manages to rearrange your insides and bottoms out. He stays still for a while, brows furrowed, eyes screwed shut, enjoying the warm hug of your velvety walls around him, then he starts with slow thrusts, testing the waters. Soon the room is filled with lewd sounds of skin slapping and moans. He shakes the bed with each thrust, you hold onto him for dear life, years of dance practice and workout have given him unmatched strength, his precision is remarkable as well. You’re about to fall apart for the second time tonight.

“Min…. cumming..”

“Cum for me…. Don’t forget to… say my name…”

And you do so as your walls flutter and cream around his cock. He keeps pounding into you chasing his own release, your insides are on fire. Finally, the forceful thrusts turn into ruts, his teeth dig into your shoulder as he comes. He bullies his cock into you milking it dry while riding his high, and you hear your name in between the groans leaving his agape mouth. He pulls out and drops next to you. you feel your mixed juices gushing out, soaking the sheets.

He props up on his elbow, his other hand caressing your cheek. “I hope I wasn’t too harsh. You did so well baby.” he says and then leans in to kiss your forehead.

“No, it was great… thank you.” you cup his face and give him a sweet lingering kiss.

You need to get up and clean up, but something about this moment is so pure you don’t wanna disturb it. So, instead, you hug his head, pressing it to your chest. He wraps his arms around you and snuggles closer, leaving no gap between the two of you. You grab a blanket you can reach and cover your sticky bodies.

You watch the sky grow lighter as your fingers play with his soft locks. Your slightly ajar window lets in the scent of rain mixed with something flowery, it’s jasmine you decide. Birds are chirping but his steady breathing is a far better melody to your ears. The cool breeze and his warmth are the perfect combination that eventually put you to sleep.

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therealcocoshady · 7 months ago

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Eminem with a younger girlfriend - HCs

Hey guys ! Here is a little HC that popped in my head about Marshall Mathers dating someone significantly younger 😉. I hope you enjoy it 💕 it is directly inspired by my experience, a twentysomething who is roughly Hailie’s age, thirsting over him 🙊

- Marshall Mathers knows he’s got young ladies thirsting over him but he shrugs it off. Don’t get him wrong, he is flattered, but it makes him just a tiny bit uncomfortable. And when someone shows him some of these unhinged thirst tweets written by twentysomethings who are even younger than his own kids ? He is downright mortified.

- He doesn’t really get why people his kids’ age think he is attractive. Of course, music is part image and everything, but he’s got three daughters who constantly tease him for being a dork. Same for the younger rappers he works with. So he absolutely does not think of himself as a sex symbol or anything.

- He kind of figures people are not really attracted to him. That it’s more about the fame and the fact that pictures can be misleading. I mean, have you seen the way they photoshop his lines ? He really thinks people would come off it rather quickly if they saw him in person.

- Also, he’s young at heart, but he is very much aware of his « inner old man », who takes just as much space as his inner child. So, to him, no young lady in their right mind would actually be interested in him.

- By the way, he is more easily attracted by someone older than him than younger. And in the instances where he has dated younger women, a decade was the bigger age gap he would allow.

- Unless he meets you, that is. When you meet, the chemistry is immediate. He can’t even deny it. He is just attracted to you as you are to him.

- At first, he does not really register the age difference. But then, you say something like « oh, I remember when that song came out. I was eight ! » that has him in shock.

- He thinks you are absolutely stunning. And he knows he is allowed to. You’re over the age of 21, it’s not like you’re a teenager or anything. You’re an actual adult, mature and everything. But he is still weirded out. It doesn’t help that your personality makes you even more attractive. He is drawn to you and it kind of leaves him wondering if he’s being kind of creepy.

- As soon as he realizes how old (how young) you are he kind of stops flirting. « I’m sorry, i just- I thought you liked me ? » you say as you finally decide to confront him. « Yeah, I did. I do. It’s just… I’m 51 », he replies in an attempt to offer an explanation. « And ? » you ask with a raised eyebrow. « I hadn’t realized you were so young » he continues. « i didn’t realize i looked so old », you said with a pout. «��No ! I mean- Look, I like you, you’re great. You look incredible. But I’m old enough to be your dad », he says. « I mean, I wouldn’t mind calling you Da- » you jokingly begin, but he shuts you up with a death stare real quick.

- You try the « come on, age is just a number argument » but it does not work as well as you hoped it would. « You know who would agree with you ? R. Kelly » he replies with a raised eyebrow.

- The two of you keep on talking and hanging out but he insists there won’t be anything besides friendship. Until, one night, your flirty banter finally earns you a kiss. « I knew you’d give in », you grin with pride and satisfaction. « I can still change my mind », he playfully threatens.

- The two of you start dating eventually but, in the beginning, he mentally slaps himself a handful of times. That being said, he absolutely can’t resist you.

- He wouldn’t go public with anyone, but especially not with someone with whom he has such a significant age gap.

- It’s also a reason why he doesn’t want to tell people about your relationship. He’s very reluctant to introduce you to his friends and meet your loved ones.

- He knows his friends would absolutely not leave him alone with the age jokes. You can count on his buddies to make jokes about you having a daddy kink.

- Speaking of which… You’ve got a Daddy kink ? Well that’s too damn bad. Because he will absolutely puke if you call him that. Nothing gives this man the ick more than the thought of you being with him because of some unresolved daddy issues.

- That being said, he will absolutely activate his « dad mode » in some circumstances. He doesn’t even do it on purpose. It’s in the little things, like the way he scolds you for not wearing anything warmer or how he reminds you to call him as soon as you get out of the club.

- He won’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t wear but he’s not a big fan of you wearing anything that makes you look younger than your years.

- Speaking of looks… dating someone younger definitely makes him more self-conscious about his own appearance. It’s already hard seeing yourself age when you’re a rapper but dating someone younger makes it worse. It definitely has him second-guessing his outfit choices.

- And even though you tell him you like his fine lines and graying hair… he is not having any of that. Look at him using (and abusing) the dye and skincare.

- With time, though, he doesn’t think too much about the age difference. At least, he doesn’t obsess over it too much.

- But he will absolutely throw it in your face in an argument, maybe using it to call you immature or something. (Even if he’s the one being immature)

- That being said, don’t you dare pull that shit on him and suggest that you might indeed go for someone your age. He is pretty confident but he is terrified to lose you to someone younger.

- Deep down, his biggest insecurity about your relationship is that your life plans might not align. And even if you assure him that you’re on the same page, he still braces himself for the day you decide to leave him.

- You might be self-conscious too, given the fact that he is usually attracted to women older than you. But he always makes sure to ease your mind.

- As the relationship progresses, he allows himself to be more committed to you but his reluctance to go « public » might cause some issues.

- Ultimately, though, people around you are supportive of the relationship - even though some of them might have some initial doubts.

- Let’s be honest : the most stressful part is not your friends or his. It’s family. He is terrified of introducing you to his daughters. And his stress is communicative. Also, he’s not too eager to meet your parents. Because he knows exactly how he’d react to his daughters dating someone his age.

- He is not one to give in to PDA anyway but it’s even worse when there’s family around. This man will not be caught holding your hand or even staring at you too intently. Even if people know you’re together. He is guarded like that.

- His daughters might end up telling him there were « signs » that he was dating someone younger : like some newfound interest in a particular TV show, more skincare in his bathroom…

- People around him aren’t specifically bothered by the age gap in itself. But you might be subjected to more scrutiny. They’d be quicker to assume you’re in it for shallow reasons.

- But once you’re in… you’re in. If anything, his whole entourage will be even more impressed. They know that dating Marshall isn’t a piece of cake and they’re really impressed that you handled the scrutiny they subjected you to so well.

- The more time goes on, the less of a big deal the age gap becomes, to you, to him and to anyone else.

- The only reminders are the little harmless jokes and Marshall’s celebration of anything that proves you’re aging. You might be a little self-conscious about your first wrinkles but he’s lowkey relieved. Maybe he won’t feel like a creep. 🙊

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem imagine #eminem fluff #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #eminem head canon #eminem headcanon

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anon-sect · 22 days ago

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Picture source: Instagram account @king.dgeorge91

"What's that?" Bryon asked his friend Nathan as he was holding a wrapped box in his hands.

"My brother mailed me this box as an early birthday gift. He said he was sending me something special, but didn't tell me what." Nathan was curious as to what his brothr gave him for his birthday. He quickly opened up the box. After removing the bubble wrap, he was surprised at what the gift was. It was his brother's TF Ray phone. A note was in the box as well. It read, 'Happy Birthday, little brother. Wanted to give you this since I have no need for it. I hope you enjoy using it as much as I did.'

"What is that, some new kind of phone? I have never seen one like that before." Bryon asked his friend.

"It's my brother's TF Ray phone. I remember him telling me so much about it. I am just so surprised he gave it to me." Nathan smiled at the prospect of actually using it.

"What does it do?" Bryon asked, feeling curious.

"Oh, It can change people into objects." Nathan explained as he turned it on.

"No way. You have to be lying. There is no way that is possible. No phone can change a person into an object." Bryon countered, not believing it was possible.

"You think so? I can prove it." Nathan paused, thinking. "How about I test it on you then?" He asked his friend who doubted him.

"Okay, I am game. If it works, you can use me as what object you turn me into for as long as you want. But I doubt that will happen." Bryon still didn't believe what Bryon had told him about what the phone looking device can do.

Nathan put in the specifics of what he was going to turn Bryon into. "Just remember you said I could use you as any object I turn you into for as long as I want." He reminded his friend as he pointed th camera Bryon. He hit the flash option.

Bryon saw a quick flash at him, and everything changed instantly. He soon found himself unable to move or speak. His body was split in two. He could hear Nathan excitement that it really worked but was unsure of what he was turned into. He soon found out when he saw a socked foot come towards his face, putting it in darkness. He was forced to go through it again as he saw the other socked foot cover his face.

"Wow, my brother was right. It really does turn people into objects. Bryon, you look like a comfortable pair of sneakers. I wonder how comfortable you are. Let's see." Nathan spoke as he quickly tried on the new pair of sneakers. He was amazed at how good they fit on his socked feet. It was hard to believe that the sneakers were a transformed human. He got up and walked around in the sneakers. The level of comfort from the insoles felt like he was stepping on clouds. "You make a great pair of sneakers, dude." He added.

Bryon was in agony, feeling the weight of his friend bearing down on his insole face with each step he took. The socks had a slight odor to them. Having that odor smashed into his face over and over made it worse. He could also feel whatever surface Nathan was stepping on as his back was the soles of his shoe form. His hands were shoe strings securing him to his friend's feet. Being wrapped around his feet like common sneakers wasn't fun. The device really did work.

"Now that you are sneakers, I get wear you as often as I want. Remember, you said that I could use you as the object for as long as I want." Nathan reminded his sneakers with a smile on his face. "You are way more comfortable than all my other pair of sneakers. I definitely have to break you in for a spell." He added.

"NO, PLEASE TURN ME BACK! I DON'T WANT TO STAY LIKE THIS!" Bryon mentally pleaded but found that Nathan couldn't hear a single thought from his now sneaker bodies. He knew what he does with his own pair of shoes, the thought that his friend was about to use him as his personal pair of sneakers wasn't pleasent.

Nathan decided to go for a nice walk around the neighborhood in his new sneakers. He got up and walked out his house, locking his front door. He began his walk. Each step felt heavenly in his new sneakers. "You really are great sneakers, Bryon. I might have to wear you for about a month or so." He laughed as he continued to walk around the neighborhood.

Bryon was in pain and torture. Feeling the harsh ground beneath his soles was painful. It was even more agony being pressed against the ground. He could feel everything beneath him. Things got worse as Nathan's socks became sweaty. That sweat began to drench his insole face. The foul stench of the socks became intense at that point. He so wanted to be changed back. He didn't want to be stuck as his friend's sneakers for a long time or even a short period of time.

Nathan returned back home an hour later. He really enjoyed his walk. He sat down on his couch, still wearing his new sneakers. He thought about how comfortable they were. Normal sneakers never felt this good. He opened up the data on Bryon on the TF Ray phone. He selected the delete option and hit the check mark. Bryon's humanity was completely erased from the device. 'I hope he don't mind being sneakers for a while. Good pair of shoes like these are hard to find.' He thought to himself as he turned on the tv to watch one of his favorite shows. He ignored is new sneakers on his feet. It was time to treat them just like what they are. Bryon would get used to being footwear over time, whether he liked it or not. He should not have made that bet with him.

Bryon was unaware that his friend had sealed his fate as he was forced to inhale the foul stench and sweat of Nathan's sweaty socked feet.

#inanimate transformation #shrinkage #tf story #sneaker transfomation #unwilling permanent transformation #permanent transformation

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venmondiese · 10 months ago

Text

HIDDEN TOUCHES

summary: Aemond decides another fruitful payment for his eye, which he has been craving a long time. in that, he makes lucerys watch how he does it.

request from my lovely @qyburnsghost

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Rhaena Targaryen. warnings: 18+ MDNI, DARK THEMES, targcest, oral (f receiving), exhibisionsm, p in v sex, forced voyeurism, rhaena x lucerys (mentioned), they are all of age bc of my mental health, no luc*mond -- ye olde enemies to lovers

note: this def got me out my comfort zone, so here it comes!! aemond x rhaena must be one of my fav ships probably. For my sake, and bc i won't write such things, all of the people involved are of age, and i didn't picture luke as his actor because he was very much a child. i assure you that luke is NOT envolved on the sex more than watching TT so... enjoy reading!!

“Prince Aemond”

Aemond turned to the hallway to see, and his only good eye took the image of her. Pompous, with her pink dress and her braids prettily decorated with some pink ribbons. She looked ridiculously pink.

“Lady Rhaena.”

He, on the other hand, was all dark. His attire black from head to bottom, except the small gold details of the embroidery of a dragon on his clothes. His boots were imponent every time he walked around, and his eyepatch was no different colour.

The only similarity between both was the silver hair and the purple eyes.

“I see you and your…” he searches for a word, mockingly walking closer, his arms behind his back. “Kin, have come back to my home.” He says, tilting his head as he looks down at her.

Rhaena looks up to him, and her hands are clasped to the front. He has to admit how feminine she is; he has heard about her. How knights fought for her favour, and made songs for her, in hopes for her to like them.

“We are one kin after all, aren’t we?”

“I suppose you can call yourself that” he says smugly.

Rhaena looks at him with impatience. He was being rude on purpose.

“And how is my mother’s dragon?” she asks, trying to fight him back.

“Oh? You mean my dragon?”

“My mother’s” she repeats, stubbornly.

“Not anymore, is it?” He snickers, a smirk on his lips as he raises his eyebrows mockingly. It makes her fume.

“Because it was stolen”

“Because your mother died” he corrects her. “Nothing can belong to the dead, can it?”

“I suppose not” she says, faking a smile. “Even though it was stolen. You wouldn’t be able to see those things, I suppose. My bad”

She sees how it ticks him off. How his one eye twitches in place and his jaw gets tense.

“You can call it however you want, my Lady. I did not steal a legitimate right to no one. Dragons do not work like that. Not like titles” He says. “Such as Driftmark’s” He adds.

Rhaena breathes in and presses her lips together. He is taunting her on purpose, because Luke's claim has been questioned, for how unvalyrian he looks. He looks none of it.

“And you’ll carry his bastard offspring” he murmurs, as he asks, as he intends to walk away.

Rhaena looks at him at how indecent he is. She blinks in disbelief at his debauchery.

“Excuse me?” her voice stops him in his tracks, and he turns slowly, having a certain air of smugness to him.

“You two have been promised to each other since you were two years of age. It is no surprise” Aemond shrugs it off with a smirk. “Imagine it. What a shame your late mother’s wish to make you Lady of Driftmark has to come by marrying you off a Strong man”

“He is not-”

“Isn’t he?”

No one else is around. Rhaena knows. She loves Luke, she really does. He is kind and funny. But he isn’t… appealing to her romantically. He was her stepbrother, and her future husband.

“He will be a good Lord of the Tiles. A good husband too” she defends him, weakly, looking at Aemond “A Lady like me only desires for someone who shall be kind and tender. If he is so, I’d love him”.

“If it helps you sleep at night, then… believe so” Aemond shrugs, looking down at her. She wasn’t aware when they got too close, to the extent that she could practically hear his scent and hear his breathing.

Aemond was gallardly handsome, in a different way than she thought Jacaerys was. She always met handsome men in search of her favour, just for after it, having to console Luke about it, that she wasn’t going to entertain the idea of any potential lovers. They were promised to each other since they were children, and she knew that. Is not that she hates him, she is just.. Used to him. To know that in their marriage, she will provide heirs.

She often thinks that they married her to him because they want to assure Velaryon blood on Driftmark, the one in her blood that lacks his.

“Why doesn’t your father care of giving you a proper dragon rather than to marry you?”

“I will ride Vhagar soon enough” her stubborn voice comes, as if it was a threat that only used to amuse him even more, as his chest inflates and he smirks widens.

“You imagine such a silly thing, cousin, but again, if it helps you sleep at night… Who am I to judge?” he says, smugly as he smirks. “Though I do not need to imagine a better life, for I am not the future breed mare of a bastard”

Rhaena opens her eyes in disgust at his lewdness, boldness and open rude comment. She feels enraged, being seen just like that. Like an animal to breed, and later to be discarded, put aside as if nothing.

Rhaena moves her hand to slap him across his cheek, a loud smack on his right cheek that didn’t even move his face away. If anything, it hurt her wrist to do that, yet she hoped her gold rings could do some damage.

His face barely moves, and his lips curl into an amused smile as he feels the stinging slap on her face. His only eye turns to her, and before she can move her hand down, he grabs her wrist.

Even if she pulls, his grip is strong, and makes her arm go stiff. She tries to pull away, but he pulls her into his chest abruptly, to lower his head and capture her lips on a forceful kiss. Her chest is pressed against his, and she is certainly sure he is stepping on her dress. His other hand moves to the lower part of her back, forcing her to be still as he kisses her.

She hasn’t kissed anyone, just a stable boy once, but just because Baela dared her to once, but she never counted that. Still, she doesn’t know if a kiss should feel so messy as Aemond kisses her. She never thought she’d enjoy a kiss with someone who calls her a whore.

Aemond drags her as if she doesn’t weigh a thing, holding her by the wrist and making her legs follow his long steps to an isolated, dark place of the keep. She guesses that Aemond would know each little corner of his own home.

She doesn’t exactly know what his weird little room is, but Aemond closes the door, and he kisses her again, deeply, as if he needed her as the air he breathes.

“Married to a Lord” He scoffs between kisses, as his hands grip her waist. “You deserve to be a real Targaryen princess…” he trails off as he moves to kiss her neck, and she whimpers softly.

She is not sure that he knows that his wife won’t be a princess, but the thought of him wanting to give her everything he has to offer is rather… oddly sweet.

Rhaena feels his lips lowering to her breasts, and she has to blush at the lewdness, the debauchery of it. She wasn’t the most devoted follower to the faith, yet she feels embarrassed by those feelings, new, lustful feelings. She might pray for forgiveness later.

Aemond is rarely tender, she thinks. She thought he would be… forceful. But he holds her as if she is porcelain.

Tender, but hungry. There is a certain pull to him; like an invisible string that held him back, but a burning desire within to give in to his whims. He looks up at her; as if for a moment to take in her features, as if trying to look some sort of disgust in her face.

It is her who kisses him back, as he presses her against one of the wood tables around the room, and she holds his jaw with her both hands, her long nails softly scratching the begging of his jaw. She didn’t know how to kiss as passionately as he did, but she did her best.

He appreciates the kiss, as his hands move to slowly pull up softly her dress, accommodating between her legs, too close as her pink dress gets pulled up and her breath gets stuck on her throat as she pulls back to watch him. He looked at her, as she could feel his hardness pressing insistently on her clothed pussy.

“Aemond-”

“Indulge me” he says, in a raspy tone.

It is not a plea, to her it sounded as if he is asking for permission to keep going, but before she can process the question, or answer it, he just kisses her again, moving his hands in her undergarments, up to her thigh more and more. He asked for permission or just informed her? She didn’t know, but it prepared her for whatever he wanted.

“Too good to be the breed of a bastard” he murmurs against his lips, before he accommodates her atop of the wood table, and he kneels in front of her.

“Aemond-”

He doesn’t seem to hear her, and if he does, he truly doesn’t care.

She tries to move the skirts of her dress to look at him, trying to move the fabric, which she regrets using such a puffy dress. She feels his cold hands moving her underpants, and when she can see his face between all of her skirts, he just leans in to taste her pussy.

The gasp that leaves her mouth sounds more like a sob and she tries to not fall as she sits on the edge, and her hands grip the edge as Aemond moves his tongue all the way up, devouring her, taking in her taste on his wicked tongue.

“Divine” he murmurs against her cunt, diving his tongue into her again.

She squirms slightly, her body accepting the foreign touch, but she was not used to it. It was overwhelming, in a sense. She didn’t know what to do with herself.

“Aemond…” she repeats her name again, she can’t possibly form another word.

“What? Can’t handle a little oral from your cousin?” he murmurs, and she can practically hear the smirk on his lips, as if this amused him greatly. “To think that all knights fight for your favour, yet here you are… with me…” he murmurs, with certain pride for acquiring such a price for himself.

He was possessive about something he did not possess, since Rhaena was promised long before she could even think.

“You are so…” She tries to say, but his tongue swipes across her clit, long and flat, and so thorough. He loved how easily he could rile her up, how quickly he could push her to the edge.

As his left hand, holding her thigh apart from the other, his right hand found her entrance as he pulled his mouth back a bit, shoving two fingers inside her cunt at once, pumping them in and out, as he licked her clit. He cared not if she liked it or not, because he knew she would.

She had to bite her hand to stop the moans, little whimpers reached his ears, which was nothing but a delight.

His fingers began to move in a steady, driving rhythm, and he licked at her pussy with slow, broad strokes. His fingers curled inside her, seeking that velvety spot that would make her little whimpers turn into scandalous moans.

“Aemond, stop it, I think I-” Rhaena says, as the boiling feeling in her abdomen starts to make her legs try to close shut, because her cunt was receiving so much stimulation that she was starting to moan louder and more desperate for a something she was yet to experimentate.

He does not, because he knows what she does not; he knows how close she is to cum, to soak his mouth and he would delight himself in her taste even after she came hard on his tongue. He holds her in place, caring not if she squeezes his head between her legs, because he will not stop until she cums.

He hears her loud moans, that she tries to hide covering her mouth, her legs tremble, and he knows that she is feeling overwhelmed. She hears the little curse she says as she cums, hard on his mouth. To be fair, he has known women who cum a lot, but Rhaena… She was a new found delight of his.

“Hm, who would have said you were a squirter?” He murmurs, his face shines with the wetness, and she has to look away due to the lewdness. Good gods, what has she done? “Next time you’ll cum in my cock”

–

Those words are impregnated in her brain as she sits across the other end of the table at supper. She was beside Lucerys, as he chats with Jace, but she was drinking wine and sharing soft spoken talks with her stepmother.

Lucerys had kindness in him, true. He was.. Nice. But not… appealing to her. He tended to be like a child, and she cringed a bit at that; they were old now, at marrying age, and one had to leave the child-like reassurance in the past. And Lucerys did not.

“He is looking at me” Lucerys says in a murmur to her, which makes Rhaena look at him, out of her thoughts.

“Hm?”

“Aemond”

Rhaena blinks a bit, her legs squeezing together at the name. She longed for his wicked tongue lapping her folds again.

She turns her head to watch him, in front, at the other end of the long table at the family supper. He had no expression on his face, as if one of boredom and annoyance. When her eyes meet his, she notices the slight clench on his jaw.

“He is not” she says. Imbecile. She thinks, resenting him a bit. How can he be so clueless?

He is looking at me. She wants to say, smugly even, something so unlike her. Her heart beats fast as she swallows the fact. He was looking at her.

Hearing Lucerys giggles as the pig is served, gets her clueless a bit, but she remembers the story they told her; the pink dread. That’s why Aemond said that night ‘Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride’

It stirred her wrong. The same boy who mocked a Targaryen prince about not having a dragon, many times until he stood up to them, was about to marry her… a dragonless Targaryen.

Lucerys never treated her wrong, Rhaenyra raised her boys right. But it made her uncomfortable, thinking about it. She resented him, for being able to do things, to choose, to ride a dragon, when he was… not worthy.

The rest of the dinner is a blurry image, Aemond mocking her stepbrothers, and Jace trying to defend them. Jace was dreamy, she thought, he was everything a lady like her would like. But Aemond? The bones of her needed him, and just by having one taste of him, and not him whole.

She hated herself for it. For resenting Luke, for wanting Aemond. As she walked on the halls, after her father sent them to bed, Baela went to Jacaerys, but she didn’t want to go to Luke. Why couldn’t she be like before? She accepted her fate, she is okay with it. Now it looks… like crumbs from what she could have.

“Rhaena” It’s Aemond’s voice, from the end of the stairs. She turns, and walks closer, frowning a bit. Her chambers were not on the same floor of those in the royal family, she was merely an extension of it.

“Prince Aemond”

He smirks, his chest almost inflates with delight at her words.

“I suppose you had a nice supper?”

“You were unnecessarily cruel” She states, still defending them in the kindness of her heart.

“One of my many charming traits.” He was shrugging to it, as his hand wraps her wrists. “Come on.”

She finds herself again being dragged to his chambers, and no guards are close to the hall of his rooms. Weird she thinks.

He closes the door of his chambers, which seem cold and uninviting to her, as if no one ever lived here. She can see his bed on one side, and the lonely récamier next to the fire, as he guided her quickly to sit there, not allowing her a peak of his full chambers.

“I have a surprise for you.” He says softly, a small smirk as he moves to serve her a cup of wine on the table. Her head tilts, not understanding a bit. “It’s more like a… proof of my loyalty.”

Rhaena frowns, what could he even give her? Jewels? Dresses? She takes the cup he gives her, and he goes back to serve himself another. She looks at the other side of the room, thinking about what kind of gift Aemond could give…

“Lucerys” She says, standing up immediately, her voice surprised, and her heart balls to her stomach, as she sees her betrothed, tied to a chair, and his mouth muffled as he tries to move the unmovable chair.

He doesn’t seem hurt, or bleeding, just desperate to get out of the chair.

“Aemond, why would you do such a thing?” She cries, as she leaves her cup somewhere to be quick to untie him.

“I told you” Aemond says, grabbing her elbow, and not allowing her to help him. “A gift”

Rhaena feels distressed, she looks at the dagger on Aemond’s waist, little dragon details full of sapphires, very sharp and very much him. She hesitates, and she fears that he’ll take his debt, an eye for an eye. Lucerys is at his mercy, and she wouldn’t be able to fight against him, she knows it.

“Aemond, this is madness. Untie him” she says, her voice kind, and even if she resents the boy, she loves him, as a brother. “He has done…” She stops herself before finishing, because saying that ‘he has done nothing wrong’ would throw Aemond into madness. “Take it out on me”

Aemond raises his eyebrow. Lucerys’ voice comes as a muffled scream, but she doesn’t care.

“I was there too. I have the blood of the dragon, and Velaryon blood too…” She says, standing up for him.

Aemond looks at her, and he walks closer. She can hear Lucerys’ sounds coming out as desperate, as if he was afraid that he will harm her. But she knows better than him.

“Silly girl” He says smirking, patronisingly to her. “You really don’t have a clue of the world..”

Rhaena stands still, looking at her as she blinks a bit confused. She clenches her fists, and she follows him as he sits on the récamier, standing in front of him. Surely, she daydreamed about him? Yes. Did she want him to ravish her and fuck her? Surely. Did she hope that he’ll steal her away from a betrothal that by the passing second seems dreadful? No doubts. But to make Lucerys suffer from it… she was far too kind and sweet to do so.

“Stop this madness” She tries to plead with him.

“Madness? Perhaps” Aemond says as he takes his coat off, and he grabs his dagger, pointing it to her, as he sits calmly. “But also intensely pleasurable. For me, at least” He shrugs, and smirks. “Take off your underpants”

Rhaena is taken aback, as she steps back looking at him. She turns to watch Luke, who shakes his head from side to side, as Aemond moves his dagger to press it against the fabric of her dress.

“It is not a petition” He hurries her.

Rhaena looks at the dagger. “But don’t damage my dress” she says moving back, as she leans to fetch the end of her dress to take her under pants off. It amuses Aemond greatly how she cares for such womanly things as dresses. It is endearing.

Rhaena extends to him her underpants, and he inspects them, smirking. He stands up, and moves to Lucerys, smugly. “She is truly a vixen.” He says, leaving the underpants on his lap. “You had her hidden, not so well, hm?”

Rhaena feels embarrassed, and more ashamed because it turns her on. It was a torture to her, between duty and her most hidden desires. Lucerys was the boy she was promised to, but Aemond was the man she craved.

“You won’t hurt him?” She asks as he sits back, and he sighs, moving to undo his breeches.

“I’ll spare him… for now. Won’t hurt him, physically, at least.” He says grabbing her waist and his other hand moving to her skirts to pull them up. “I’ll just make him watch as I take what’s mine. How a true dragon takes what they want.” He says smugly, forcing her to sit on his lap, her back pressed against his chest as he moves his breeches for his cock to be free.

He slides his hands, taking the edge of her dress to push it all the way up to her waist, in which Rhaena has to grab his knees so as not to fall. He has the same idea, as with one hand he holds her skirts up, and the other moves to spread her legs apart, revealing her glistening cunt to the onlooker.

“Isn’t her cunt so…” Aemond trails off, and Rhaena understands what he is doing, showing her intimacy to Luke as if mocking him for having what he doesn’t.

“Aemond” Rhaena murmurs in a whine, embarrassed as she tries to press her legs together, shy to be seen so exposed.

The oldest prince grins at her embarrassment, leaning to kiss the side of her neck. “Shy, cousin? Don’t be, you are beautiful… enough to arouse anyone just with a look” he says amused, his voice almost a low purr. He glances at Lucerys, his chin pressing on her left shoulder, and he glances over at the bulge growing on his pants. Pathetic, he thinks. “Just like it does to him, no doubt. Watching you like this must be quite… stimulating.” He trails off, letting his fingers down on her body, to her cunt.

He savoured Rhaena’s discomfort, and the Strong’s arousal. He leaves soft kisses on her neck, and exposed shoulder, as he moves her body to his delight.

“Your maidenhood..” He murmurs, looking at her “Shall be mine”

The feel of Aemond’s cock sliding on her cunt is a slight discomfort at the beginning, as she was not used to feeling something pushing insistently inside. She is wet, and her mouth falls open as she has to shut her eyes, wanton sounds leaving her.

“Fucking you right in front of him. While he watches and wishes he could be in my place” He says smugly, his voice tense due to the way her cunt clenched around his cock inside, as if she was made to take him in every way. “You take my cock like the good girl you are.”

It was mortifying for her first time being in front of her betrothed, instead with him, on her wedding night, with him as her husband, not as a viewer. She opens her eyes to look at him ,and she cannot understand his face. He is somewhat mortified, panting as he still fights against the bounds. She can see the erection on his pants, and she feels ashamed. But the feeling does not last long as Aemond’s cock is thrusting in her insides and forcing her to leave the shame away, replacing it with pure lust.

The thick length of his cock grinds deliciously in her walls, Aemond loves the feeling of her cunt just trying to milk him, as she moans loudly, for the bastard to hear. He holds both of her wrists on her back making her bounce on his cock to fuck herself. He smiles, her dress surely would be wrinkled, and he takes the chance to slap her ass as he turns his gaze down to watch his dick disappearing on her cunt.

“Watch closely, Strong. This is what a real man looks like. This is what it means to truly claim a woman” Aemond smirks, as his cock went in and out of her, his cock slick with her juices. “See how hard he is from watching us. Knowing that if you truly liked him, your maidenhood would have been his. But it is not, and you won’t be his”

There is a certain air to Aemond that Rhaena craves. She finds herself nodding along with every word he says, his cock inside barely leaves her any room to think. She just needs him, deeper, harder, more and more.

“You will cum, pretty girl?” Aemond asks softly, voice more tender when referring to her. He loved to praise her, he realised. She was such a pretty thing to admire, it was inevitable. He reached around to rub Rhaena’s clit, his thumb rolling the sensitive nub as he pushed his cock deep into her cunt. “Cum all over yourself, darling”

Maybe it’s the endearing name or the overwhelming sensation of his cock so deep,slamming against her cervix and his balls smacking against her ass, but she moans wantonly as she cums, her purple eyes rolling back in her head as her orgasm hit, the sweat on her body makes her feel more overwhelmed, and spilling her release all over his thrusting cock.

“Take it, fucking take it…” He groans at the sensation of her tight cunt clenching around his cock, using her pleasure to spur himself on. “Such a good girl…”

Aemond buries himself to the hilt inside Rhaena, his cock pulsing as he pours his seed deep into her womb. He smirks to himself, as his forehead rests against her back as they pant, the Strong bastard long forgotten by both.

As his softening cock slips out of her used cunt, he knows one thing; she is his now. He puts his cock back to his pants, and he finishes the last remnants of the wine, leaving Rhaena panting on the chair.

He watches his pathetic nephew, still struggling against his restraints, and gazing at Rhaena, as if wanting to check her security. Aemond rolls his eye before taking his dagger once again, which makes the little shit struggle even more.

If Aemond wanted his eye, he would have got it before Rhaena came in. He instead cuts the bounds and grabs the neck of his shirt, pulling him to walk out the door as he takes off the restraint on his mouth.

“You will— Regret this” Lucerys says panting, trying to gain his composure as Aemond pushes him out of his chambers.

“Yeah, yeah, I surely will, bastard” He says patronisingly, kicking him out of his chambers. “Deal with your pathetic cock first” He added before closing the door on his face.

He is quick to return to Rhaena’s side, holding her into his arms as he lays in the récamier, with her cuddling atop of him.

“I didn’t ruin your dress…” He murmurs, and she faintly smiles.

“Thank you” Rhaena murmurs softly.

Aemond hesitates, his hand caressing her back. He is not good with words, never has been.

“You can… stay” He says softly. “Vhagar is big enough for both” He adds “And she puts eggs from time to time, and… One of her eggs can be yours” He says softly “Like your sister has Moondancer from Vhagar, maybe another egg will be for you…”

Rhaena looks at him, and is a bit confused by his change of demeanour. “Thank you” she murmurs softly, nuzzling to his embrace. “For caring”

“I know how it feels” he adds quietly, still caressing her back. “To be trapped too”

Rhaena hesitates a bit, not sure if to reveal her heart’s secrets to him, but at this moment, when Luke is probably snitching on them, she trusts in him.

“I just… They are good boys. But… Driftmark… and such… Baela would be an excellent lady. She was born to do that.”

Aemond nods softly “And you?”

“I am not worthy in my father’s eyes.”

He can sense Rhaena’s loneliness and he hugs her tighter. “You are more than worthy to me. Perhaps, and only perhaps, I will die very soon to leave Vhagar to you”

Rhaena chuckles a bit, and she looks at him with her soft, tender purple eyes. “Don’t. Tomorrow you and I will ride on her, go to Oldtown and escape from our families. My father will be absolutely mad”

Aemond smirks at the prospect, and he takes the challenge.

“I hope your silly dresses don’t take too much space” He jokes, and she giggles a bit.

They talk for a bit more, Rhaena feels exhausted, but she forces her eyes to stay open and listen to Aemond respond to her questions. After some time, he insists on getting up, and at least for her to have a decent nightgown if she was sleeping around here.

The banging on his door makes him know who it is.

“Open the door, you one-eyed bastard!” It’s Daemon's voice, which Aemond feels not so bothered about.

“We can leave through the passageway if you want” He says to Rhaena, while she shakes her head, she has to face her fears.

She walks silent, as she hears the voices of her family on the other side, and she opens the door all by herself. She watches his father, as if he was ready to depart King’s landing, alongside with Rhaenyra wearing her coat, and Lucerys behind her.

“Are you okay, Rhaena?” Rhaenyra asks, but Daemon interrupts her.

“I am going to kill him-”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Rhaena says softly, looking at the three of them. “I am fine”

Aemond walks behind her, and smirks. “Sister. Uncle, nephew. Don’t you want to enter?” He asks mockingly, crossing his arms.

Daemon seems furious, but Rhaenyra stops her, trying to calm her husband from killing Aemond.

“What has gotten into you?” Daemon asks, “Giving yourself as if-”

“Daemon” Rhaenyra stops him, trying to hold him back, and Lucerys looks at Rhaena, with… something she can’t decipher. Disappointment? Disgusted? She can’t understand the face, and it shames her a bit to hurt him like that, but it’s not like she regrets it.

“He forced her” Lucerys corrected Daemon, still defending Rhaena’s honour. “I saw it”

Rhaena cringes, and she can see that so does Rhaenyra. She bites her lower lip as if considering her words, before speaking up again “He didn’t force me to anything.”

Rhaenyra looks at her, and she tries to get the best of the situation. Daemon seems more upset, but Rhaenyra shushes him.

“Well, we can always go back to Drag-”

“I’d say she rather enjoyed it” Aemond speaks up in a smug tone.

The four of them turn to look at him, as he so smugly shrugs.

“You bastard!” Daemon says before jumping to hit Aemond in the face, which the younger prince takes no interest in fighting, despises the hard hits on his face.

It’s Rhaenyra with the help of Arryk that helps them to separate (or to separate Daemon from Aemond), as she reprimands him for making the situation much worse. No one else about Aemond and Rhaena’s affair, and he was taking out any mean to talk them out of it, to remind Rhaena of her duties as a future bride to Lucerys, instead, Daemon entertains the amusement in which Aemond seems to relish himself into into torturing them all.

“You will marry Lucerys Velaryon” Daemon tells her daughter, pointing his index finger at her, not leaving room for her to protest.

“I challenge prince Lucerys Velaryon to a duel, then” Aemond says, standing up with no problem, despising his bloody cheekbone. “For Lady Rhaena Targaryen’s hand in marriage”

Rhaenyra’s face is pale, out of any colour that she might have, and so does Lucerys. Rhaena looks at him, shaking her head. Sure, she wanted to get out of the betrothal, but to murder Lucerys? She won’t be part of it.

“Aemond, don’t”

“I’ll kill you before you put another finger on my daughter”

“Gladly, uncle. Only after I kill the little lord Strong”

"Do you dare to duel for my daughter's hand with her betrothed? What kind of-"

"Didn't you do the same with mum? You killed her betrothed in a duel" Rhaena says frowning, and Daemon gets quiet to that.

Rhaenyra looks at Lucerys, horrified at the prospect of it. He doesn’t seem particularly thrilled or prepared for it either, and there was nothing he could do to possibly win in a duel with Aemond.

Rhaena tries to make Aemond understand the reason, to do anything but.

“Just break the betrothal” Rhaena says to Rhaenyra. “I am not a maiden, and Aemond will take me as his.”

Aemond sees the face of his half sister, she finds herself in an impossible situation. He turns to the little bastard pup, shitting himself behind his mum, unable to do any harm to him ever again, and he will make sure of it. That it hurts once he stabs him in the eye.

Her sweet Rhaena has such a pure heart, and his hand finds her to feel the warmth of her kindness, that he sometimes lacks. But they'll manage, he knows that.