#i think i have 6k of it written or something but i’m not opening any documents today | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

violentdelightsandviolentends · 3 months ago

Text

that old cliché.

you swore you’d never give in to the maid of honour and best man cliche. and then you met evan buckley.

evan buckley x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol. buck’s a filthy flirt.

word count - 6k

authors note - and so she returns!! thank you all so much for your loveliness on my post about my break - I appreciate it more than you know. this one was so much fun to write. i’ve not written any longer stuff for buck, but he’s a character I feel that I have a really good understanding of - I actually think we’re very alike - so this came so easy. hope you love it as much as I do. <3

masterlist. inbox.

Silvery melodies of laughter clink off the rim of the champagne flute you hold in your freshly manicured hand. As the gentle breeze whips through the material of your dress, you look around you, realising you’ve never seen so many people so happy at once.

The backyard of the Italian villa is packed, dozens of guests milling around - dancing, drinking, chatting and catching up. Family, friends, colleagues; people from every phase of the bride and grooms life, all celebrating together in one place.

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

@peachysink @jjamjamie @alipap3 @spookyysinsanity @sophiah2253 @annaaaaanguyenn

2K notes · View notes

2chopsticks2eyes · 2 years ago

Text

Obsession

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

Pairing:

Bang Chan x Fem Reader

Hwang Hyunjin x Fem Reader

Themes: Smut, Pining

Word Count: ~6k | AO3

Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Cussing, Oral Sex, Hand Jobs, Vaginal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Vaginal Sex, Cum Eating, Pining, Protected Sex, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Summary: You find out that this new guy you are going to start dating, Chris, is your best friend's new roommate. You are excited, but your best friend, Hyunjin (who may or may not be madly in love with you) is not so thrilled. Chris notices this and the two men settle on some sort of... agreement.

Author's Note: This work was inspired by a request from @stayandot8. I think this might be the shortest fic I've written, but I promise I put my heart into it! 💖 Proofread was only skimmed over so I hope it isn't trash. 🙃

__________________________________________

Hyunjin had been your best friend for what felt like ages. However, in reality, you two only met a couple of years ago when you started teaching with him at an art studio. You bonded with him over your shared affinity with fine arts and it was the most natural friendship you had ever experienced. You were just simply comfortable with one another.

Some might say a bit too comfortable. At least for a friendship between a boy and a girl.

Since you were co-workers, you spent most of your time with the man. You would have your meals with him, spent your days off with him, and even spent some nights at each other’s places if one of you was too lazy to go home for the night.

You don’t think that there was anything you wouldn’t be comfortable with around him. That’s what lead you to ask him to come shopping with you for your new date.

“How long have you even been talking to this guy?” He said as he stole your coffee from your hands while you strolled through the outlet mall, looking for a place to shop. He emptied the contents of the drink and tossed it into a nearby garbage bin.

“Just a few weeks, but we really clicked on Tinder and he agreed that he wasn’t just looking for a quick fuck.” You glanced in one of the windows of a shop and decided against it, continuing your walk with your bestie.

“And you’re sure he’s not some creep?” He glanced at you speculatively.

“I’m sure, you worry wart. Plus, if he is you know I can handle myself.” You bumped elbows with him and he rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay fine. Just wanna look out for my girl.” He winked down at you and you scoffed. Always the biggest flirt, this guy. “What’s this guy’s name again? I think I tuned you out when you said it before.” He said nonchalantly.

“Yah!” You weakly smacked him on the arm, making him dramatically hold onto it as if you had shot him. “It’s Bang Chan, you pabo!” He immediately halted in his tracks, making you stop as well to raise an eyebrow at him. “Jin? Did you malfunction?” You shook his arm with a chuckle.

He stared down at you in disbelief. “Did you say Bang Chan?” He sounded as if you just told him that you were the Queen of England and you giggled.

“Uhhh yeah? He also goes by Chris. Why? Wait–” Your tone quickly changed into one of exasperation. “Hyunjin, please don’t tell me you went to a fortune teller again. Did they ward you away from any ‘Bang’ family names or something? I told you to stop going after what happened last time!” You scolded, memory flashing back to when he only wore white 24/7 because it was ‘guaranteed to bring him great wealth’. You had to help him with his laundry for weeks because he couldn’t stop getting stains on everything he wore.

“No, no, no. What does this guy look like?” He looked almost panicked now and you started to become concerned.

“Ummm, well… He’s a bit shorter than you. Super muscular with broad shoulders. A super bright smile and dimples that I just want to swim in…” You started to sound wistful as you described the dreamy beefcake. “Oh and don’t even get me started on his di–”

“Oh god, Aegiya, STOP.” The man sounded disgusted and you doubled over laughing. You were only a year younger than him and he just had to milk it by always calling you a baby.

“Dude, what’s the deal?” You finally wondered.

He huffed and continued walking, annoyance written all over his features as he stared straight forward. “Well, apparently it appears that your new boy toy also happens to be the new roommate I got last week…” He grumbled and now it was time for you to stop in your tracks.

“What??” To say the least, you were pretty surprised.

He just continued to walk and you scurried over to catch up to him. “Yyyyep. Congrats. I now get to help you plan for your date with my fucking roommate.” He sounded super put out and you cackled at him.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! That’s fucking hilarious!” After a moment of your chortling, your brain cut you off short when you felt a lightbulb blink to life. “Oh my god, Jinnie! You have to tell me about him! Do you think he’s into more of a wild girl, or a shy one? Does he cook? Clean? What kind of music does he–”

“Hey little lady, you probably know more about him than I do. Like I said, he just recently moved in.” You gave him puppy dog eyes and he glanced over at you momentarily, quickly looking straight forward again with a disbelieving huff. “All I can tell you is that he produces music, he constantly works on it day in and day out as if his life depends on it. I’m surprised he even found the time to date.”

You smiled to yourself. He made time for me? As if fate had heard your conversation, the two of you started getting nearer to the perfect store. “Let’s go in here, Jinnie!” You grabbed his arm to pull him in, but he was as firm as a statue.

“Nuh-uh. Nooo way am I going into a sex shop with you to help you bone my fucking roommate. You’re nuts.” He looked at you as if you had grown two heads.

“Awww c’mon, Jinnie, pleeease? I need the male objective’s eye! I don’t want to go in alone!” You grabbed onto his hand and looped your fingers to intertwine with his. “Please…” You donned your cutest pout and squeezed his hand.

His brows furrowed and he looked like he was having a genuine internal battle. “Damnit, Aegiya…” He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “You’d better make this quick. AND you owe me a shit ton of ice cream after this…”

A smile burst out across your face and you threw your arms around his shoulders, giggling like a school girl. “Ahhh! Thankyouthankyouthankyou, Jinnie! This is why I love you!” When you pulled back from the embrace, he looked annoyed, but you could definitely see a rosy color dusted across his cheeks and a deep red bloom on the tips of his ears.

You intertwined fingers again and dragged him into the store.

You felt like a kid in a candy store, finding set after set of lingerie and handing it to Hyunjin to hold onto. “Okay, I think we’ve accumulated enough, little Miss Pamela Anderson!” He shouted at you from behind the pile he had stacked in his arms.

You giggled at his drowning appearance and led him to the changing rooms where you sat him down on the bench just outside the door. “Wait here, I’m gonna try them on!” You grabbed the first set from his arms and skipped off to try it on.

You struggled a bit on the first one just because it was so intricate, but you ended up figuring it out. It had crossed your mind that it might feel a bit weird for some girls to show their male best friend themselves wearing lingerie, but, again, you were just so comfortable with Hyunjin that you didn’t think twice.

“Jin, I think this might be a bit much, what do you think?” You said as you opened the door to show him.

At first, he wasn’t really paying attention, just mindlessly scrolling away on his phone. However, when he looked up, the phone clattered to the ground, which he quickly retrieved while clearing his throat for some reason. “Uh– I– Um, it looks– uh… good? I guess?” He said, desperately avoiding eye contact with you.

“Yeah, but look–” You turned around to show him the backside that looked like a damned jungle of straps, buckles, and latches. “Doesn’t this seem too complicated?” When you looked at him again, his whole head and neck were a deep crimson as he zoned out on your ass. “Jinnie?”

He quickly snapped out of it and his eyes darted anywhere and everywhere away from you. “U-Uh yeah– y-yeah…”

You figured you didn’t want it to be too hard to get out of because that’s just not sexy if you have to struggle in the moment. You just shrugged. “Okay, then. Next!” You grabbed the next piece off the pile and shut yourself back into the changing room.

You repeated this several times, you put on the next set after the next set, continuing to ask Hyunjin for his input until you slipped on the final piece.

It was perfect. A completely black (which you knew Chris liked) bustier with mesh, lace fabric woven over the spines of the top. Complete with a garter belt and crotchless panties. All you needed were some stockings and it would be perfect.

However, you obviously couldn’t show these to Hyunjin, they were crotchless! And contrary to popular belief, you did have some standards. Anyway, you knew it was perfect with or without his opinion.

You quickly changed back into your clothes and stepped out, items in hand and ready to be purchased. “This is the one! Ready to go?”

Instead of a grumble with a remark like ‘finally’ or something equally as chafing coming from his mouth, you were surprised to hear him say– “What? That’s it? But you didn’t…” He stopped mid-sentence and blushed.

“I couldn’t show you this one, Jin. It was a bit much, even for you. But, trust me, you would have loved it.” You said enthusiastically as you walked to the checkout counter.

He just simply replied with– “Oh… okay…” And was suspiciously silent for the rest of the day.

- - - - - - - - - -

Jinnie 🥟🍦:

Ur date is tonight right?

Aegiya ❣🎨:

?Yeah, why

?Omg did he say something

?Did he ask u abt me

?He’s not calling it off is he

As much as Hyunjin wanted to lie and say yes, he wouldn’t do that to you.

Jinnie 🥟🍦:

No no, I was just checking

Was thinking about going out tonight too

(He wasn’t)

Jinnie 🥟🍦:

Ya know, give u guys privacy

Aegiya ❣🎨:

Ur such a sweetheart, Jinnie

But I don’t want to kick u out of ur own home

We will probably go back to my place anyway

The thought gave Hyunjin a knot in the back of his throat.

Jinnie 🥟🍦:

Oh ok cool

Have fun

(He hoped you wouldn’t)

Aegiya ❣🎨:

😉 Will do

He grumbled at his phone and flopped onto his back on the bed. Ever since he met you, he knew you were special. However, since you were coworkers, apparently that meant he had a big ole ‘FRIENDZONE’ stamped on his forehead in red and he would never make it any further than #besties.

But it was fine. He was just happy to have you in his life because you were, in fact, a really cool person.

You had dated a few people here and there in the years since you two became friends and he obviously wasn’t a fan, but he was happy any time you were happy, so he stayed silent.

However, when he found out that you were going to date his freshly new roommate, he started to get a bit more agitated. What if you two really hit it off? Yes, you would be around a lot, but would you still come around for him? Or would you only want to come to see Chris? Not to mention the fact that he would have to listen to the man fucking you just down the hall!

…

Okay, maybe the idea of being within such proximity to you while you were moaning and whining and getting fucked silly might be a turn-on… even if it wasn’t him making you feel that way…

Ever since you took him shopping, it was like his horniness was amplified by ten and his mind was on a constant loop of images of you in that lingerie. Whatever caused you to feel the need to model them to Hyunjin, he didn’t know, but now the godforsaken thoughts plagued him day and night!

Sometimes he even got a little pissed, thinking you were just stringing him along to tease him, but he would quickly come to his senses because in his heart he knew that you loved him. Even if it was just as a friend.

A knock on Hyunjin’s door disturbed him from his thoughts. Of course, the man of the hour would show up right in the middle of his very important brooding session. “Come in!” He shouted to his roommate.

The door opened and he was greeted with the bright smile of that damned Aussie. Hyunjin couldn’t even hate him and that pissed him off even more. Chris was just such a genuinely good guy. He could literally befriend anyone he wanted and he was super talented too. Hyunjin never had any self-esteem issues, he knew he was gorgeous, but the fact that Chris was the one to snatch you kind of hurt his pride.

“Hey, roomie! Whatcha doin?” He plopped down next to the younger on his bed.

“Just thinking of where I should go tonight. I’m not really interested in hearing…” The words were left unsaid, but Chris understood right away.

Chris was pretty surprised when you told him that Hyunjin was your best friend, but he was also kind of happy that you were already so tight with his new roommate.

Although, when Chris talked to Hyunjin about the topic, he noticed that the taller man became a bit sullen any time your name was brought up. Chris could instantly tell that Hyunjin was in love with you.

He thought he should have maybe been pissed or concerned, but he wasn’t. He moreso felt sympathy for the young man. Yes, Chris was also incredibly smitten with you, but that only made him feel more sorry for the younger. Because he knew the effect you had on both of them.

He placed a gentle hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Hey, man, listen,” Chris said apologetically. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you like her. I’m not blind.”

Hyunjin shot up into a seated position. “W-what are you talking about? I’m not into her like that at all!” He himself knew he didn’t sound believable. “We’re just friends…”

Chris just sighed. “Okay, sure, but the statement still stands. You don’t have to leave our place on account of me. Me and her can go back to her place after.” Chris gnawed on his lip as if he was contemplating something and Hyunjin was intrigued. “Or…” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “We could still come over with you here…”

Hyunjin couldn’t lie to himself, he always wanted to hear what you would sound like in bed, but it just felt… wrong? “I dunno hyung… I don’t want to spoil your guys’ date.” Although it pained him to say it.

“Well that’s the thing, I don’t think you would.” Chris countered and Hyunjin just looked at him quizzically. “Okay, let me explain. So she told you we met on Tinder, right?” Hyunjin slowly nodded, not sure where he was going with this. “Well, we really started off talking about our… sexual preferences–” Hyunjin was certainly intrigued now. “And she had mentioned once that she always wanted to try a threesome…”

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped. “Oh…” He didn’t know what else to say. Where was Chris heading with this?

“Take it however you like, but just know that if you just so happened to be home and just so happened to walk in on us… I don’t think she would be opposed to some… company… if you get what I mean.” Chris hinted and Hyunjin was frozen on the spot.

“And you want that??” Hyunjin was flabbergasted.

Chris chuckled. “I mean, I know what it’s like to be friendzoned by a girl and I also know what it’s like to have bad blood between roommates. And I don’t want either of those things, so why not let her decide?” Chris was genuinely too good to be true. “And don’t think I don’t want her to myself, because, trust me, I do. But you are an important part of her life. It’s best that she knows how you feel before things get too serious.”

Hyunjin didn’t even know how to respond. Hell, he didn’t know how to think in that exact moment. All he could register was the word that came from his mouth. “Okay…”

- - - - - - - - - -

Chris was a perfect gentleman, through and through. The dinner he took you to was delicious beyond reason and the conversations he led were the most engaging that you had ever experienced. Everything just felt so easy with him. Plus, the chemistry between the two of you was off the charts.

Small touches and lingering hands left you buzzing with need and you found yourself having a hard time keeping your hands to yourself. The only odd thing, not unwelcome, just odd, was the fact that he kept bringing up the topic of your best friend the whole night.

He wanted your opinion of him and what you thought of him. Some people might have thought it was out of jealousy, but he didn’t really give off the jealous vibe. He seemed to genuinely want to know what your relationship was like. And you loved your best friend, so you were happy enough to discuss him.

By the end of dinner, the sexual tension was suffocating and you just wanted to rip his clothes off then and there. When you hopped into the car and he started driving, you felt yourself shaking with anticipation when he rested his hand on your bare thigh where your little black dress was too short to cover.

You were super impatient to get back to your place, but as he kept driving, you realized he wasn’t heading in the direction of your apartment where he picked you up. “Hey Chris, do you know the way back to my place?” You turned to look at him to find him blushing. God, he’s cute.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I um… I was wondering if I could take you back to mine? I’m sorry it was a bit presumptuous of me, but I have a surprise for you…”

Electricity shot through you and you didn’t think twice to consider what you told Hyunjin. “Not presumptuous at all! I’m…” You blushed when he glanced at you with his stupidly sexy half-grin. “...looking forward to it.” Your eyes were glued to his face and you squeezed your thighs in arousal when he slid his hand a bit further up your thigh.

He looked over at you just as you bit your lip, your eyes hazy with lust. He bit his own lip to suppress a smile when he looked back at the road and you felt his hand slide to your inner thigh as his fingers closed in on your crotchless panties. Never touching, just teasing.

- - - - - - - - - -

When you arrived at his and Hyunjin’s apartment, everything happened in a blur. As the front door closed behind you, you felt Chris’ hands wrap around your waist from behind and a warm press of lips close in on your neck.

Chris was intoxicating, everything about him made you dizzy with want and you quickly spun around in his arms, throwing your arms around his neck and smashing into his lips with your own. He instantly pressed you up against the wall and you arched up into him, silently begging for more. His arms were wrapped low around your waist to pull you suffocatingly close and you kicked your black heels off when you wrapped your legs around his waist.

He responded by holding you up underneath your dress by both ass cheeks and he pressed his slowly hardening dick against you as he moved to devour your neck. He grinded into you and you threw your head back as far as the wall would allow you as you moaned his name.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He growled into your neck as he kneaded your ass with his fingertips.

All you could reply with was– “Ngh, fuck, Chris. More. I need more...” Your voice was whiny and already fucked out, but by the low groan he breathed into your neck, he was very much in a similar state.

He pulled you back from the wall and carried you down the hall to his bedroom where he eagerly plopped both of you down on the bed. You writhed underneath him, trying to pull him impossibly closer as he moved to grope your breasts over your dress. You whined and pleaded for more and he complied.

He released one of your breasts and slid his hand down between your legs. What he felt (or really the lack of what he felt) made him gasp and look down at you incredulously. The crotchless panties were definitely a good choice. “Fuck…” He pounced on you with one long, hungry kiss and then released you to crawl down between your legs.

The moment you felt his mouth close around your clit, you saw stars. You cried out with labored breaths and it took him no time at all to push you over the edge. You curled your fingers in his dark brown locks and he guided you through your orgasm, head popping up with a breathtaking smile when you came down. “Holy shit, Chris… that was probably the fastest anyone has ever got me to cum.” You giggled and you internally cooed when he blushed at the statement.

However, that was short-lived as the sex-god side of Chris returned and he ripped off his shirt and slacks, leaving him in just his boxers as he nestled back down to sit against the headboard. “C’mere, baby girl.” He patted his lap and you quickly crawled over to straddle him. His hands instantly flew to your hips and ass where your dress rode up.

Now was the moment you had been waiting for. You decided to cut to the chase and you grabbed the hem of your dress and slowly pulled it up over your head. When the fabric that was blinding you was finally pulled from your face, Chris’ expression was almost humorous. You felt his fingers gradually tighten more and more on your ass as he assessed your undergarments.

His face looked like he was in some sort of trance of crazed hunger and when he looked back into your eyes, you saw pure carnal desire. “What do you think? I got it just for you, Chris.” You said with hooded eyelids that ate up every inch of skin he had on display.

“What do I think?” His voice must have dropped about ten octaves and he harshly pulled you to directly sit on his achingly hard cock through his boxers. “I think you're a motherfucking goddess.”

He then proceeded to capture your lips once more in an absolutely filthy kiss, tongues clashing and teeth gnawing. You started grinding on his dick and he growled into your mouth, pulling away moments after you started.

“Do you want your surprise, baby girl?” He said as he guided your grinding hips with his hands. You were so fucked out that all you could do was nod your head profusely. He then turned to look at the door you had left open behind you. “Hyunjin-ah, would you like to come in?”

You immediately stilled and whipped your head around. You felt the hands on your hips tighten. “Jinnie?!” You were shocked. How long had he been watching??? By the completely beet-red face and the huge bulge in his pants, you would say it had been more than just a few moments.

You heard a shushing from the man underneath you and you turned back to him. He looked deep into your eyes and you felt him slowly glide his thumb over your sopping clit, making you gasp and your eyelids flutter. “I asked Hyunjinnie to help bring your fantasy to life.” You instantly knew he was talking about the threesome you had hinted at one time. “And he was more than willing to help out.”

You slowly turned back to your best friend that had taken a few steps further into the room. “Is that true, Jinnie?” You were mostly worried about his own comfort.

He nodded with a hazy stare. “It’s not exactly how I pictured it happening… but yeah…” What did he mean by that?

You didn’t have much time to think on it, however, because you suddenly felt Chris easing a finger inside you. You gasped and whipped back around to face him, your hands flying to his broad shoulders to ground yourself.

“Do you mind if he watches while I fuck your pretty little hole first?” Your mouth was perpetually hung open as you nodded in compliance. “Good girl, now get on all fours, gorgeous.” He pulled his finger out of you and, before you did as you were told, you grabbed Chris’ hand and took his spunk-covered finger into your mouth. Both men groaned at the sight and you weren't ashamed to admit that you were feeling pretty proud of yourself.

Once you released his digit and you turned to do what you were commanded to, you looked straight into Hyunjin’s eyes and crawled to where he was standing at the foot of the bed. Without warning, you grabbed him by his belt loops and pulled him flush to you where you stood on your knees on the bed. You could feel his erection push into your stomach and you felt a new wave of arousal stir in your core.

“We can talk about this later, but right now, I want this…” You deftly undid the top button of his shirt. “...and these…” You moved a hand down and palmed at his hard-on, making him gasp, then popped open the button on his jeans as well. You stretched up and brought his head down so you could whisper in his ear. “...gone.”

When you released him with a wicked smile and resumed your position on all fours like you were asked, Hyunjin quickly got to work on your request.

You suddenly felt a hand gently wrap around your neck to pull you up and back flush against Chris, his now bare cock resting between the cleft of your ass cheeks. “You think you can take all of me, sweetie?” He said as he grabbed your wrist with his free hand and lead you to feel his sizable dick. You almost choked on your gasp. Now, you knew Chris had a huge cock, you both had sent each other plenty of nudes these past weeks, but to feel it in your hand, it just didn’t feel real.

You tried to turn to look at it, but his hand on your neck kept you still and you whimpered. “Now, you have some options, baby girl. Either you take all of me now without seeing it first–” To be honest, that sounded pretty hot, but you were also dying to take a peek. “...OR, you can look all you want, but I’ll get off in that sweet mouth of yours instead while Hyunjinnie does whatever he wants with your tasty little cunt.”

You couldn’t control the pornographic moan that escaped your lips from the pure filth coming from his lips. You could see Hyunjin start to form a slight grin from watching this unfold and that in itself had you shaking with want. “B-but what if I want both?”

You could feel the rumble against your back coming from the depths of Chris’ chest from the question. “A greedy little one, are we?” You then felt yourself abruptly being pushed face-first into the mattress with your ass in the air. “Then I guess we’ll just have to give you all we’ve got…” Chris growled as you heard the tear of a condom wrapper open.

“J-just–!” You looked up at Hyunjin, as best as you could from your squished position, from his rushed outburst. “Just… don’t hurt her…” He sounded a bit hesitant to say it, but he looked down into your eyes with pure concern. Your heart soared.

“Jinnie…” You held up your hand and he crouched down next to your face. You crooked your neck up to whisper directly into his ear, loud enough for Chris to hear. “I want you to hurt me…”

He pulled back incredulously and his shocked eyes bore into yours. “Holy fuck, can you be any more perfect?”

“I know, right?” Chris said with a chuckle.

Everything that happened next all happened simultaneously. You felt Chris shimmying behind you and felt his warm breath fan over your folds. You felt him lick a long, fat stripe up your opening then felt him shimmy again to get into position. You felt the tip of his cock wedge its way into your entrance and you saw Hyunjin step back and finally drop his boxers to the floor.

Your. Jaw. Dropped.

Not only from the breathtaking feeling of Chris’ dick splitting you in two, but also at the mesmerizing sight of Hwang Hyunjin stripped bare with his beautiful, leaking cock in his hand. “Like what you see, Aegiya?” All you could do was nod dumbly with a red face that was struggling to adjust to Chris’ size.

You needed a distraction from the pain. You pulled yourself up on your hands and reached out to Hyunjin. “Wanna taste…” You whined pitifully.

He cockily smirked with his tongue prodding at his lip. “Anytime, baby.” You felt fire in your veins from his words and you felt in desperate need for more stimulation.

Just as you grabbed ahold of Hyunjin’s gorgeous cock, you pushed your ass back into Chris, shoving him even deeper inside you and the three of you moaned simultaneously.

You quickly started lapping up all of the precum that coated Hyunjin’s tip and he slowly tangled his hands in your hair. “You taste so good, Jinnie.” You said with fluttered lashes, right before you took his head all the way in.

“Fuck, Aegiya. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this…” That one statement blew your mind and you instantly looked back on your entire relationship. Hyunjin wanted me?

Again, you couldn’t think on it long, because Chris suddenly decided to start pistoning fast and hard into you, shoving you down onto Hyunjin’s cock even further. You held back your gag reflex and allowed yourself to bask in the eroticism of being used by these fucking drop-dead gorgeous men.

“Goddamn, baby girl. You’re doing so *ngh* fucking good for us *huff* …taking all this cock so fucking well.” Chris growled as he nailed you over and over again in all the right places.

“Shit, Aegi. You’re so fucking sexy with your mouth around me *hiss* fuuuck you’re so damn good at that!” Hyunjin threw his head back with a laugh and it was one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen. “I can’t wait to taste you, baby.”

That’s what threw you over the edge, screaming as loud as you were able to with a throat full of cock. They both seemed to slow down as you rode your orgasm, but they were definitely not done with you yet.

Once you seemed to have come down from your high, Hyunjin spoke up. “Hyung…” There seemed to be some sort of silent communication going on because before you knew it, you were completely empty on both ends.

You slumped down on the mattress, your intense orgasm seemingly having taken the life out of you. Your eyes fluttered shut while you tried to regain control of your breathing and you felt someone sweetly petting your hair. “Did we wear you out for the night? Sorry, Aegiya…” Your eyes snapped open to see Hyunjin knelt down next to your head at the foot of the bed.

“N-no!” You grabbed onto his hand, pleadingly. “Not done! Need more… use me…” You were suddenly too cockdumb to form complete sentences, but what you did say made both men curse in tandem. Hyunjin smirked and quickly stood up.

The men grabbed each end of you and flipped you onto your back. Your vision was blurry with lust, but you could still clearly see that Chris had removed his condom and Hyunjin donned one now instead.

With one sharp tug, Hyunjin pulled you into position where his face hovered over your folds. You looked down at him right as he placed those plump lips against your throbbing clit in a torturous kiss. You whined at the damned tease and he smiled against your skin.

He then went from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye.

He began to you out as if his life depended on it and his long tongue reached even further inside you than you thought was possible. Your head craned back as you belted out a silent cry of pleasure. However, Chris used your open mouth to his advantage as he positioned himself at the foot of the bed and you finally caught a glimpse of his dick coming straight toward your mouth.

And HOLY FUCK was the man packing, or what?

There was no way in hell you were going to be able to deepthroat that monster! Yet you took him in your mouth nonetheless. You knew you still had a wicked tongue when it came to giving head. “Shit, baby girl. Your mouth really is magic.” Chris groaned.

You felt pride fill your smug little bubble, but you were soon preoccupied with your next orgasm rapidly approaching from the skilled tongue of Hyunjin. You whimpered on Chris’ massive cock and he moaned from the vibrations. Your orgasm was just as powerful as the last as you released all over your best friend’s face.

You heard a long hum come from the man between your legs. “You taste so good, Aegiya.” Hyunjin said once you were finished and he kissed his way up your body, only to stop to suck each nipple at a time into his mouth. Chris had started fucking your face shallowly and he was able to get painfully deep from this position.

As you felt Hyunjin move up to suck on your neck, you felt his cock start to prod at your entrance. You were more eager than you thought you should be to feel him inside you, but when he absolutely slammed into you, you almost choked. Hyunjin was waaay longer than Chris and he reached spots inside you that no man had ever reached before.

You whimpered on Chris’ cock and you felt him start to stutter in his rhythm. “Fuck… M’cummin…” Sure enough, after a few more pumps, you felt hot ropes of his seed hit the back of your throat. You always had this really sick pleasure of cum eating and he thankfully spared you none.

More and more kept coming, and just when you didn’t think you could fit anymore, he finally finished and pulled out. You closed your eyes and hummed in bliss, sloshing the thick fluid around in your mouth before savoring every gulp to emptiness. You had realized that Hyunjin had stopped moving and you opened your eyes, offended that he would rob you of that delicious sensation he was giving you.

Yet when you opened your eyes, you found both men staring at you with shock on their faces. “Fuck, that’s gotta be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen…” Chris said with heavy breaths as he, too, was coming down from his high.

“Nasty, baby.” Hyunjin said with a smirk as he lowered himself down to hover just above your face. He looked apprehensive for a moment, seemingly searching your eyes as he slowly rocked into you with a steady rhythm and quick glances at your panting lips.

You decided to cut to the chase and you wrapped all your limbs around him, crashing him fully down onto your body and connecting your moistened lips.

Well shit. Why did he have to be an amazing kisser too?

His pace picked up along with the hunger in his kiss and you were suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of having your best friend fuck you senseless.

Although Hyunjin’s dick was beating your cervix to a pulp, the pain led you to yet another climax that you didn’t even think was possible. He pulled back and brought his hand up to thumb at your lips. “Get this wet for me, pretty?” You instantly sucked his finger in and his heavy-breathing, open mouth formed the sexiest fucking smile you had seen on him yet.

He retrieved the dripping digit and brought it down to your over-sensitive clit, almost instantly pushing you over the edge. Without further ado, Hyunjin also climaxed and he came with your name on his lips. Holy shit, you just fucked your best friend…

Things were hazy after he pulled out.

First, you felt two pairs of hands strip you out of the uncomfortable lingerie and begin to wipe you down.

Next, you were easily repositioned under the covers to rest your head on a comfy pillow with the softest sheets you had ever felt.

After that, things got quiet. You didn’t know why… but you suddenly felt… lonely.

You felt a kiss on your forehead and that’s when you forced your eyes open. You caught his hand as the man started to retreat. “Jinnie?” He returned to you with a sad smile.

“Yes? What is it, Aegiya?” You squeezed his hand tighter.

“Stay? Please?” He looked startled and he glanced at the man that had evidently crawled under the covers with you. You turned to Chris’ confused face and looped your other arm around his strong bicep. “Both of you?” You knew this would probably be weird in normal circumstances and you would have to address your feelings in the morning, but right now you just wanted to snuggle up to both of the men you adore inside and out. And, thankfully, they seemed to agree.

The rest is tomorrow’s problem.

__________________________________________

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading!

This one is a spicy match!! Tbh I have no clue if I would be able to choose between the two... 😳

Please like, follow, and share! Thanks baby stays! 😘

2chopsticks2eyes - Masterlist

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #kpop smut #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #hyunjin x female reader #bang chan x female reader #christopher bang #hwang hyunjin #bang chris #bang chan smut #hyunjin smut #shameless smut

706 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

Have Yourself a Moreno Little Christmas

rating: T

pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader

word count: 6K

summary: when the Morenos' happy Christmas is in jeopardy, you think quick and invite them on a trip to an old family tradition. If he’s grateful, would it be safe to tell him how you feel? But why do you think he might already know? What if he feels the same way?

warnings: heavily influenced by the movie While You Were Sleeping, your typical amount of angst for a romcom, mutual pining, ballet in the park, a moody pre-teen, brief discussions of losing a loved one (parent/partner), bad dad jokes, canoodling in the park, one steamy kiss and a few other softer ones

a/n: Happy Secret Santa @noisynaia! You had Marcus M as your number one Pedro boy of choice, and given that I’d never written for him before, I wanted to do something wholesome and sweet in the world of super heroes. The Nutcracker has always been near and dear to me so I hope you like this take on it! @pedrostories

This will be my last fic of 2023 so - much love, stay warm, and happy holidays! 🤍Masterlist

What do you get a man who has everything for Christmas? A tie? A money clip? Something aggressively manly that smells like woodsmoke, patchouli oil, and the raw sweat of a lumberjack after felling a thousand forests?

What do you get a superhero for Christmas? Indestructible tights? A decorative plaque for his swords? A life-time supply of gauze and iodine?

What do you get for your boss, superpowered and single, with the ability to turn a paperclip into a rose? A silver ball into a flat pancake? Decorative swords into deadly weapons? What do you get him that is even remotely useful or exciting or heartwarming when he is so busy with being a single father and mentor, a symbol and an icon, all while running the world’s foremost superhero operation?

Somehow, “world’s best boss” mug feels rather . . . subpar.

What do you get him if he’s become one of your closest friends? When you try to wiggle some sort of information out of him about a potential gift on one of the many long nights where you’re stuck together doing paperwork for the UN and the NSA – but he is annoyingly vague.

His daughter – a fiery mix of headstrong and thoughtful, soothed by a loving kindness that clearly runs in the family – is no help. She teases you with promises “oh yeah, definitely get him a new spatula” when you both know the man has never been anywhere near a BBQ grill. You give her the rest of the Reeses that didn’t make it into the community candy bowl anyway.

You can’t ask for ideas from his mother, or his teammates, the security guards at the headquarter doors, anyone with eyes (who’s not ten years old) because then they’ll know, you sure of it. They’ll see and that’s just not something you can ever, ever, ever bring up because . . .

What do you get for a man who is your boss, a superhero, a leader, a father, your boss, a very close friend, your boss, someone you very much admire . . . and as a result, have fallen deeply, painfully, achingly in love with?

Your still beating heart on a silver platter seems like the obvious choice. A bowl of your tears for unrequited love is a definitely strong second option. A lock of your hair so the FBI can easily identify you as his certifiably insane stalker – there we go, brilliant idea.

A kiss under the mistletoe? A promise for more?

That damned mug is looking better and better every day.

You knock three times, then one more before opening the door. Behind unnecessarily thick glasses, Marcus glances up, life returning to his face when his eyes fall on you.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but the president of Belize is on line one for you.”

The man with sticky, molded blonde hair sitting across from Marcus turns around and smiles. His teeth are freakishly white, all stacked together in tight, proper rows. His suit, freshly pressed and clean of any evidence of interaction with the world, carries a giant button on the lapel: Vote Tine!

“President of Belize, my, my, Mr. Moreno, you are a busy man!”

Marcus stands, his gaze peeling off you to the politician in front of him. “Mr. Tine, I apologize, but I have to cut this meeting short–,”

“Ah, it’s no trouble at all!” He stands, batting his hand through the air. “Just as long as we’ll see you at the next rally, right, Marcus?”

He holds out a perfectly square hand and with a tight-lipped grin, Marcus shakes Tine’s hand.

“We’ll see, Senator.”

“Wonderful, wonderful, alright, I’ll get out of your hair. Mr. Moreno . . .” he bows slightly before turning in the direction of the door. You catch a glimpse of him the instant the smarmy smile slides off his face as, with wolf-ish eyes, he evaluates you from your ankles to the candy-cane broach on your chest. You don’t smile as you shut the door after him – as if you’d be bothered by greasy politicians and their wandering eyes.

Marcus all but slumps back in his chair before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with his palms.

“Every time election season comes around, they all want the Heroics’ vote. Until Miracle Guy chucks Dr. Evil through the Empire State Building and suddenly it’s ‘we need these vigilantes off our streets’ . . .” He shakes his head and slips his glasses back on, watching as you take the vacated seat. “Sorry, none of this is your problem. What does the president of Belize want?”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you say, tapping the corner of your pad with your stylus, “his slogan sucks. Justine Tine – just in time. I’m not unconvinced he didn’t change his name for the sake of a cheesy one-liner.”

A small smile cracks open the dreary look on Marcus’s face. His eyes flicker to the door. “Seems like the type, doesn’t he? I think you’re onto something.”

“So that’s item one, for the day.” You stand, curling your pad into your arms, you lean on Marcus’s desk, knee against the edge.

He stares intently at your face.

“Number two, I just checked our records and there’s no Dr. Evil anywhere in our data banks. The Empire State building is safe, for now, so you can stop worrying about that.”

You mime-checking off something on your pad and the grin on Marcus’s face softens.

“And number three . . .” you pick up the phone on his desk, that suspiciously doesn’t have any blinking red lights. Marcus frowns, noticing this for the first time, when you lift up the receiver and drop it down. His mouth parts.

“Belize has a monarchy. A king, not a president.”

The frown deepens. You wait. And light parts the sky.

“Oh. Oh – you didn’t – that’s – really?”

His eyes are round, wide, relieved, and you want nothing more than to run your hands through those curls. To rub those broad shoulders loose of their tension. But rearranging meetings and make up fake world leaders to give him a break is the best you can do.

“Yes, really. The Heroics are prepared to make a sizable donation to Tine’s cause, and he will thank us at his next rally. So, Mr. Moreno, your next meeting isn’t for another hour, how would you like to spend it?” You smile, tapping your hanging shoe on the ball of your foot. “I suggest using it to eat something. Have you eaten anything today?”

Marcus sighs, eyes falling shut for just a moment. “What, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, would I do without you?”

You avert your eyes before the heat in your cheeks climbs too high, his eyes on you, and you hop off his desk.

“Would you, hmm,” you clear your throat, your voice cracking in half, “would you like me to order something and have it delivered, Mr. Moreno?”

He’s chewing on the skin below his lip when you raise your head from the pad in your arms. Being indestructible is one thing; having his face entirely inscrutable is one of Marcus’s most impressive superpowers. He nods, the look of distant contemplation gone. He flips through a few of the notes you’ve left him on his desk – calls to return, items for next week, reports he needs to sign: busy work.

“Yeah, uh, that’s great. Pick something up for yourself too.”

The mood has soured and you’re not quite sure how or why it happened. A second ago Marcus looked like he was going to pick you up and twirl you around the room. Now, he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You nervously tap your stylus against your pad.

“Yes, Mr. Moreno.”

You turn to go, his head down, his gaze fixated on whatever isn’t you, when he calls out your name again.

“Oh, um, did you manage to get anything out of Missy abour what she wants for Christmas when she was here last Friday?”

You pause, remembering the uncharacteristically morose girl spinning listlessly in your chair while you watched from the break room as the hot cocoa warmed up in the microwave. You’d never seen so much as a pout on the girl before and no matter what you did, she didn’t crack a single smile.

“No, she didn’t tell me anything, but . . .” Now this is the part of your job that you loathe the most: trying to figure out the line. You saw Marcus as a friend, absolutely, but it’s not like you went and played volleyball on the beach with him, or went bar-hopping, or whatever it is adults with friends do. You love Missy more than you thought you could ever care about a child who isn’t your own, but you wavered how much to press her on her mood, because how did she see you? Nothing more than her father’s employee, most likely. In the end, you ended up getting one word answers from her until Marcus left his office thirty minutes later.

But here you go, overstepping boundaries . . .

“Mr. Moreno, is she alright? The last time she was here, she seemed . . . I don’t know, sad?”

Marcus’s jaw tightened, his eyes sharpened. You opened your mouth to profusely apologize when –

“Fuck.” Marcus tosses his glasses onto his desk and buries his head in his hands. The instinct to put your arms around him is so strong you take a step forward before you remember exactly who you are.

How do you comfort the man you love when you shouldn’t love him at all? How do you comfort a superhero, when he’s a father first and human second?

Keeping the desk firmly between you, you drop your pad onto one of the chairs and as slowly as you dare, you touch his forearm. He leans, not away, but towards you. He lowers his arms as you keep your touch on him. You squeeze once, looking down at his hopeless expression.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen with Missy?”

Marcus shifts his arm beneath your fingers, his fingers twitching, as if he wants to take your hand but instead puts his other hand over yours.

“This Christmas has just been really hard.”

The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them: “tell me.”

He looks up at you, eyes warm and wide in a way that only his can. Indestructible in the face of evil, inscrutable with his secrets, Marcus’s greatest weakness is Missy, and he knows it. You know you’re crossing a dozen professional lines leaning over him like you are, touching him like you are, asking him to open up. But you don’t care.

He presses his lips together, hesitant. He won’t look you in the eye. “You have to understand something first. Missy’s mom loved Christmas.”

His hand over yours tightens gently as if he thinks you’re going to pull away. You hadn’t considered it but your palm went a little damp at the mention of her.

Oh God, you’ve so played your hand wrong.

Marcus inhales, his gaze on your knuckles. “Isabel, that was her name, and every year Isabel made Christmas this big event. And every Christmas she bought Missy a little nutcracker. Missy was barely out of diapers at the time, I don’t think she even knew what they were, but she loved them. Thought they were the funniest things with their teeth and stuffy white hair . . . but he other day, going through the decoration box, Missy found them all and I guess she suddenly remembered all those Christmases with her mom and she, uh . . .”

He taps your wrist with his thumb, a tell he has when he’s nervous. The seat squeaks slightly as he adjusts himself in it.

“I haven’t been putting out the nutcrackers that Isabel gave Missy. The Christmas after she died, I couldn’t bring myself to put out any sort of real decorations, except for the tree. Missy was so young, I don’t think she cared. But as she got older, she never asked about the nutcrackers so I hoped she just . . . forgot about them. And she did, until she found them last Friday.”

“Last Friday?” You feel like you’ve been sucking on cotton. “Before she came to the office?”

Marcus nods.

“Oh, M-Mar-Mr. Moreno, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

“She was furious that I tried to hide something of her mother’s from her. And she’s right. I was a coward.”

This move is an intentional one. You slip your hand out from his and cup his fingers around yours, as if guiding him. He finally looks up at you, guilt and shame and grief streaking his face like blurry rain against a window pane.

“You are the bravest man I know, Marcus Moreno. You’re a superhero and a single father. Most people can barely handle one. She’ll come around, I promise.”

You swallow the urge to bring his knuckles to your lips, and instead squeeze both of his hands and let go. You slide away from the desk, your heart tight in your chest when his thumbs pass over the palm of your hand. The look on his face is disappointed, you want to believe.

“Thank you. For listening and, uh, everything else. You’re right. I’ll just . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll figure something out.” He leans back, elbows on the chair’s handles. Marcus Moreno, or what you know of him, doesn’t like to dwell, so you watch some of the heaviness shift from his eyes the moment he decides to change the subject. “What are you doing for Christmas? Are you staying in town? Going to see family – or a boyfriend?”

The warm in your chest, lingering from his hands, suddenly bolts across your face. “No, no, um, no, there’s no one –,” Would it be pathetic if you fanned yourself with your pad? God, how does the man work in here for hours with no fresh air? “No, I’m not going home to anyone but I am . . .”

And suddenly there it is. A solution to your Christmas present debacle and maybe a way to save Christmas for Missy Moreno.

You shake your head, beating back the rising heat in your cheeks. “Actually, are you and Missy doing anything this weekend?”

Marcus seems taken aback from this sudden turn in the conversation.

“Um, no. I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“If you’ll let me, I’d like to show you and Missy something really, really special.”

You swear the tips of his ears go pink. “Uh, okay. Sure. I-I’ll have to clear it with Missy, but yeah, alright. What time?”

“I’ll put it in your calendar.” You smile and slip your stylus back into your pad. “Have a nice lunch, Mr. Moreno.”

He shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck as you head for the door.

“How many times do I have to ask you to call me, Marcus?

You pause with your handle on the door. “At least once more, Mr. Moreno.”

The mug drops to last place.

Good news.

If you’re ever stranded on a desert island, you’ll survive because you are already intimately familiar with the taste of your own foot in your mouth.

Why did you open with “Hey Missy, your dad tells me you’ve been having a rough Christmas?” to a sullen, grieving pre-teen?

And can time actually go slower, when the air is so stifled with tension? When you’re absolutely sure you’re breathing too loud?

You’ve been glancing at Missy in the rear view mirror for the dozenth time in twice as many miles. Her face is turned towards the window so you can’t actually see the murderous rage in her eyes, but oh wow do you feel it. Nevermind superpowers, this little girl could char you to a crisp with her eyes alone. Potential step-mom failure award goes to . . .

“So.” Marcus clears his throat and you tear your eyes back from the back of his daughter’s head. The fraught silence of the car stretches just long enough after Marcus’s statement to grate ever so gently – “um, how do you, uh, know about this place? Wherever, we’re going.”

You bite the corner of your mouth. Marcus doesn’t appear angry that you’ve soured the mood with Missy before the drive even began. In fact, he looks genuinely curious, the light in his eyes bright. If it weren’t for that single line between his brows, you assume nothing is wrong, but you know that almost frown. Marcus is anxious.

Great.

You settle back in your seat, trying to look as relaxed as you can in a pillowy jacket, your hat and gloves in Marcus’s lap, along with his own. The snow outside stopped falling only a few minutes ago, lining the trees and road with a crisp sparkling white. If anything, it ended up being a beautiful day.

You flex your hand around the steering wheel, trying to summon courage up through your body like your lungs inhale air.

“It’s an old family tradition, actually. My folks would take us out here every year to watch . . . to watch the show.” You glance at him briefly before checking to see if that piqued anything from the roiling black cloud in the back. It didn’t. You hadn’t told either one of the Morenos your plans for this Christmas day. “But I haven’t been back in a while.”

“Why not? And please don’t say it's because of work.” The lilt in his voice has you looking at him, long enough to watch a small smile uncurl. You really thought it was impossible for Marcus Moreno to get any cuter, but with his woolen floppy cap covering his ears and the little white bob at the end fluttering in the warm heater air, you force yourself to remember you’re driving a 3000 pound metal death machine if you stare, starry-eyed, for too long.

“No, it’s not because of work,” you grin back and his own crosses completely across his mouth. “It’s not work related . . . but um, after my parents passed away, my brother and sister moved across the country.” Your hands crinkle around the steering wheel. “I’ve spent most of my Christmas’s alone ever since. Coming here without them, i-it felt . . . wrong.”

In the rear view mirror, you think you see her move.

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.” The weight of Marcus’s gaze, his own planetary gravitational pull, has your nose drawing down then over. He looks genuinely regretful of your situation and you’re suddenly hit with the understanding that not only did Missy lose a mother, but Marcus lost a wife.

Hell, maybe you can just continue up the bone and eat your whole leg while you’re at it.

“Mhm hmm.”

The rest of the car right goes on in silence, except for the faint, ghost-like christmas carols playing from the speakers through your phone.

When you pull off the dirt road and park your car in the cold grass with dozens of other vehicles, you can’t unbuckle fast enough. The patches of icy dead grass snap beneath your boots as you climb out of the car, and you’re struck in the face with a chilly wind.

The words are on your tongue as you look at him over the hood of the car, the breeze snagging the little puff ball on the end of his cap, his glasses already misting over.

I’m so sorry, Marcus, this was such a bad idea.

I don’t know how to talk about my grief or anyone else's and it’s been drowning me for years but I don’t want to pull you down with me.

I’ll drive you anywhere you want I’m so–

“Is this the Stanley Amphitheater?” Marcus takes off his glasses and rubs the condensation away. “This is where they have that jazz festival every summer, right?”

You’re so surprised by his tone that all you can do is blurt out: “yes.”

“So cool! I’ve actually been dying to check this place out!”

“Y-yeah?”

He smiles at you and you have to grab onto the door frame to keep your knees from buckling.

“C’mon, Missy.”

Tugging his hat further over his head, Marcus lopes forward and then he turns and reaches out for his daughter. The moment arcs, Missy’s stone faced glare demanding that he drop his hand, that he turn away from her, an inch away from leaving a mark that aches in a way that only a loving parent can feel from their loved child –

And she takes his hand.

You watch them follow the crowd, blanket in hand, just a few steps behind them, and you breathe out.

Across the stone amphitheater, a low murmur of dozens of eager voices vibrate in the dugout cup of the earth. Children squirm with anticipation in their parents’ laps, couples share lingering gazes over steaming styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, an air of excitement and delight hovering between chapped lips and knitted gloves as the sun arcs lower in the sky. Just in front of the large stage, a live orchestra prepares, discordant cords breaking and rising like smoke.

A man in a striped hat sells buttery popcorn and sweet, crunchy kettle corn in a small wooden hut a distance from the theater. A few families wait in line, children teasing one another behind their parents, their laughter light on the breezy air.

“So, what is this?” Your head whips around at Missy’s first sentence all day. Marcus looks at you equally stunned. The blanket you’ve spread across three laps keeps you intentionally close so you have to lean back slightly to see her face.

“It’s, um–,”

“Missy, do you like ballet?” You ask

Beneath her maroon hat, her eyes lift up, her back straightening from its hunch. You wouldn’t call her look eager, but you cannot deny there’s interest.

She nods.

“Well, what we’re about to see is a very special ballet performance. Some people who have powers like your dad, they don’t go into crime fighting. Instead, they use their powers to make art.”

She blinks, eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

The fringe smile is hidden by a curtain of hair as Missy tilts her head down to her shoes, nodding. Marcus glances at you over the wool of her hat, surprise thinning the lines around his eyes.

“It’s getting kind of cold,” he says slowly, to no one in particular. “Anyone want some hot chocolate?”

“I do,” you wave. Missy nods, grumbling.

Marcus waves over a woman in a striped hat as she wanders through the crowd. The metal box, hanging around her neck and strapped to her back reads, refreshments.

He pays for three styrofoam cups just as the lights in the back of the amphitheater flicker and the orchestra winds down to silence.

Despite the burgeoning chill in the air, and despite the grief dividing yet binding the three of you, and despite the fact that this may be your one chance for Marcus to see you as anything other than his assistant, you’re hopeful. Maybe it’s the music itself, that way that music has to ignite your soul when you need it the most, or maybe it’s the spirit of the season, but for the first time in a long, long time, you don’t feel so lonely. In fact, you can’t remember a time you’ve felt more connected than you do with the people next to you.

Missy’s eyes are bright, flitting around the stage as if determined to not miss a single thing, the cocoa in her hands leaving a dark rim around her mouth that she is blissfully ignorant of. That already full feeling in your chest expands and you want nothing more than to hug her, hug her till she’s warm and hug her till she’s happy. Behind her, her father moves and it catches your eye.

Marcus has never looked at you before the way he is now. Inscrutable, undefined, but it packs such a punch in your chest it feels like you gulped down your entire cup of hot chocolate in one go. You turn away, fearful of what he might see in your eyes, and realize the enormity of what you feel, how it’s all consuming and tugs at you when you least expect it.

The music begins to swell just as the sun sets and the lights at the rim of the theater fade. You take a shaky inhale – nerves and excitement and memories good and bad weighing on your shoulders.

And then it begins to snow.

But not from the sky and it’s not yet cold enough for the consistent sprinkle. Snowflakes tangle with your eyelashes, in the wool of your cap. Then Missy gasps as a translucent ice crystal the size of her palm trickles down into her lap. Glinting like glass, the intricate design of the crystal flashes once before disappearing – not melting – just gone. Around you, other children hold out, giggling their hands as more beautiful flakes of enormous size flutter down from the inexplicable snow drift. A few adults reach out to grab some that burst like bubbles, a wondrous awe crescendoing across the crowd.

From the wings of the stage, a man and a woman, dressed in beautiful light blues and silvers, silks glittering with inset shimmering stones, walk across the stage, their arms moving slowly, thoughtfully.

In sync, they coax the air and the snow follows in a dance of white. Delighted shouts rise up as the snow and ice spin together, arcing and weaving, capturing the essence of a winter wind. The pair on stage bend, their hands flung backwards in a bow and the ball of snow shatters in an icy solar flare, the million white flakes fluttering over the crowd.

Out of the exhilarated murmur that overtakes the crowd, one noise stands out above the rest.

Missy laughs. She laughs as she watches a snowflake melt on the end of her nose.

You wish desperately you could squeeze her to you.

The crowd applauds the snow dancers, bowing again before exiting the stage, as a woman in black steps out. Her short-cropped hair is nearly as white as the snow still melting on the ground and her eyes are crinkled at the edges. When she speaks, her voice booms without the aid of a mic.

“Thank you and welcome to another annual Stanley Kirby production of The Nutcracker.”

Missy’s smile doesn’t fall from her face. In fact it widens. Your heart is pounding in your chest, as you watch her from the corner of your eye.

“I’ve been directing this play for twenty years now and I can honestly say I find something new and beautiful about it every time. Winter is often seen as the end stage, symbolized through literature and poetry as the time when we humans grow old. But I like to think that doesn’t always have to be true. Spirit, however you like to think of it, is exactly that: an endurance, a bravery, a force greater than ourselves that we can either embrace or let slide through our fingers. We hope you leave today with a little bit more spirit in you. Thank you for coming and we hope you enjoy the show.”

She bows as two men enter in from the wings, these dressed in brown and green, the crowd clapping for both the director and the new players.

A little girl, in ballet shoes and a pink dress with ruffles, her hair down to her back and tied out of her face with a bow, joins them on the stage and sits down in the center as the heavy velvet curtains pull back to reveal a backdrop imitating a hallway. With a large door, two round, gilded mirrors and a single chair.

The orchestra begins, the dancers lifting their hands with a wave of a conductor.

Shadows flicker at the back of the theater, eliciting shocked, almost horrified gasps from the crowd. But you know what’s coming. You don’t turn around. You smile.

Beside you both Missy and Marcus stare, mouths open, as eleven foot tall wooden nutcrackers amble down the stone steps between the seats, their knees stocky, their weight uneven as they march towards the stage. Their giant mouths creak and groan as the switch on their backs moves without any visible force. The green and red paint shines in the lights from the stage, their silver buttons glowing like stars. The dancers in brown coax them closer with a curl of their fingers and a bend in their arms. They begin to sway and spin across the stage, their legs outstretched and their feet curved into satin shoes, the little girl paying them no mind. Instead, she gets on her knees and waves to the marching soldiers.

More awed gasps as now teddy bears then porcelain dolls, the size of elephants, follow the nutcrackers down the steps, the orchestra keeping time and building a sense of whimsy and joy. The little girl bounds to the edge of the stage as the first wave of soldiers approaches. With a kiss from her hand into the wind, the first nutcracker freezes and then shrinks, the dancer behind the girl flicking his wrist. The crowd hums with delight as the nutcracker, now the size of a toy, floats next to the chair. One by one, the little girl greets the marching toys just before they shrink and find a place next to the chair.

With the last doll fluttering in the wind as it settles, the little girl spins and twirls until she drops into the chair and seemingly to sleep.

The crowd roars with joy, a thunderous applause swelling in the amphitheater.

But, best of all, Missy is on her feet, cheering and clapping. Her face glows in the light of the stage, her eyes bright and hopeful, her cheeks pink and chapped. In the shadows that flicker of people moving and applauding, beyond Missy’s curly hair, Marcus stares at you in a way that makes your heart grow bigger with every beat, his own silent music swelling the cage of your ribs.

He reaches out his hand for you and you take it.

He keeps holding you long after Missy sits down and the ballet continues.

A nearby park has set up Christmas lights in the trees and on the pathway. Missy, after promising to stay close, has gone and disappeared in the dark, off playing with a few of the other children who stayed after the show was over.

Families sit on benches under covered awnings, the dark night cold but not encroaching, a food truck selling churros and Mexican hot chocolate mystifying the chilly air into white puffs as they serve eager mouths and cold hands.

You walk the lighted path with Marcus, your arm tucked up around his.

The sounds of children laughing fill the comfortable silence between you two.

“This is going to be embarrassingly underwhelming,” he says quietly, the warmth of his body enough to keep a shiver at bay. “But thank you. That was incredible. I mean, I’ve seen The Nutcracker before, but this . . .”

He trails off, shaking his head, awe curling his mouth open.

“It’s pretty fantastic, right?” You smile up at him and squeeze his arm.

He closes his mouth just as his eyebrows jump.

“Kinda makes me wonder if I picked the wrong profession, if other people are using their powers like that.”

You chuckle lowly. “Ha, as if there’s anything you could be except a superhero.”

“What do you mean?” The tone in his voice makes you pause. Just around the curve of the path, you’re hidden by silver-dripped trees and frost-covered shrubs. No children run here and the lights on the path are muffled by the overgrowth.

His eyes are dark when you look into them, but dark in the way under the covers of your parents bed is dark, or the dark in your friend’s mouths when they’re torn open with laughter. Dark in a way that holds and comforts and sinks deep. White mist puffs from his chapped lips, nose pink and cold. The lint from his scarf has stuck to the base of his neck.

“You have to save people. It’s who you are. I don’t believe for a second there’s any part of you that could sit by and watch terrible things happen to good people. Your powers don’t change that.” You swallow, fingering the snaps on his coat as you stand face to face, the decision to say the words on your tongue nearly splitting you apart. “You saved me. If that counts for anything. You saved me from being alone on another really shitty Christmas and I–,”

The soft but determined press of his lips against yours brings silence to the grove, your words dissipating into the air like snowflakes. The whole of the world narrows down to the sensation of his mouth on yours; you forget the cold, the chilly burn on your cheeks, the sweat on your hairline where your woolen cap sits. You forget the sound of people in the distance, forget the lights in the darkness. He kisses like he works, methodically, confidently, and with intention.

His well-kept mustache tickles your nose, his lips a little torn from the cold, but the heat of his mouth warms you to your core. He holds you, his scratchy mitten against your cheek, the rest of him staying perfectly still, letting you savor his touch, commit the shape of his mouth, and by the quietest of moans rumbling in his chest, you think he might be doing the same.

In the split second where you think he’s going to pull back, he cups the back of your head in his glove, sealing the hair around your shoulders to the collar of your jacket. Emboldened by your soft inhale, he turns his head, opening his mouth and more of himself up to you, and you, in turn, run as far as you can with this. You slip your arms around his scarf, trying to get at the heat of his throat, as he gathers as much as he can of you into him.

You aren’t sure who eases you both back down from the clouds, who lifts hands and pulls apart, but your mouths separate, your noses inches from each other, and great plumes of white mist rise from your heated gasps.

“So I’m not crazy,” he murmurs, his eyes nearly completely hidden behind condensation. “There is something here. You feel it too.”

“Yes, Marcus, God, yes.” You close your eyes and bump your head against his as he sniffs in the cold, his cheeks flaming.

“That’s what it takes to get you to call me Marcus, huh? A kiss that knocks your socks off?”

You shake your head, laughing, your nose seeking out the solace of his warm skin. “‘Knocks your socks off’, you’re such a dad.”

“Yeah, I am. And you made my daughter happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. I’ll never forget that.”

The heavy rasp of his voice has your eyes seeking out his. You can’t quite find what you’re looking for behind the glasses, but his relaxed open mouth, the tilt of his head down to you, begs for more.

“W-wait – wait, Marcus.” You fight the sudden spark of images flying across your mind; his bare hands, free of gloves and mittens and wool, lifts your shirt up and those soft lips imprint themselves on the curve of your stomach; scorching water turns his back bright red as he tugs your knees tighter around his waist don’t worry I’ve got you; waking up to him stretched out naked and loose and finally relaxed. Your heart squeezes at the mere fantasy. Everything you’ve ever wanted, inches from your outstretched fingertips. “Are you serious about this?”

Marcus grins, kisses your nose, and pulls you in by your scarf, as if you could possibly get any closer.

“Yes, I’m sure. Very sure. I haven’t made a choice this easy in years. Wait, I want to look you in the eyes when I say this.” He lets you go only to smear the condensation away from his glasses. Remind him to wear his contacts the next time you go out in the snow.

Next time next time next time

“There.” He slips those thick-framed glasses back over his nose and then takes your hand. He holds it near his heart. “I like you and my kid adores you. I’ve been slowly going crazy at my desk, hoping that the way you smile at me is only for me, and that you don’t know anyone else’s coffee order by heart.” You huff a laugh, if only to loosen the knot in your throat. “What? I’m serious.” He chuckles with you before taking you into your arms again. His lips are warm against your forehead. “I’ve had it bad for you ever since you started, but I never said anything because I knew you were new to the city and you didn’t need your boss crypt-keeping on you.”

“I think the correct term the kids use is just creeping, but I get your point.” You tilt your head up into his waiting gaze. Warm like chocolate. Warm like the sturdy earth. Warm like . . . “And if my employment is the only thing keeping us apart, then I totally quit.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re totally fired.”

You both laugh into each other, mist rising from your mouths, the corners of your mouths splitting in the cold. The temperature is steadily dropping, but you can’t seem to care. In fact, one big gust of wind could blow you away, suddenly lighter than air.

“So does this mean I don’t have to get you a World’s Greatest Boss gift?”

He kisses your cheek and you feel it in your toes. “You’ve already given me exactly what I wanted.”

“Merry Christmas, Marcus.”

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

#pedrostoriesgift23 #pedrostories #noisynaia #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno fanfiction #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno fic #marcus moreno fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character #marcus moreno x f!reader

134 notes · View notes

hermiola · 2 months ago

Text

My GO Fanfic Masterlist

Growing on Me (M, WIP)

Human AU | Rockstar Crowley | Writer Aziraphale

Anthony J. Crowley isn’t up to much these days. In fact, you could almost say his days as a rockstar are pretty much behind him. Rotting in bed all day, with half-written songs plaguing him and no lyrics to speak of, everything points to his career being over for good. That is until Maggie, his manager, claims to have found him the perfect lyricist to get him out of his slump. And what better way to get the creative juices flowing than spending a whole month together in a secluded cottage on the Isle of Skye? That is, provided Crowley’s attempts at making the man run for the hills aren’t successful…

Take a Little Love From Me (M/E, 80K, 12/12)

Human AU (Pretty Woman) | Bickerflirting | Happy Ending

“How would I go about persuading you?” The stranger tilted his head to the side, considering. “For starters, you’ll have to pay me.” Aziraphale scoffed. “You can hardly charge me for directions.” “I can do whatever I want, angel. I’m not the one who got lost, now, am I?” * After fleeing a disastrous work event masked as his 50th birthday party and getting lost in a car he can’t seem to drive, Aziraphale Eastgate, CEO of Eastgate’s Booksellers Ltd., meets the mysterious Anthony, who offers to help… and not just with directions. Things escalate as they are wont to do.

Crazy Little Thing (Called Love) (T, 9K, 1/1)

Silly Misunderstandings | First Kisses & Love Confessions

Aziraphale can’t actually be suggesting what Crowley infers he’s implying… Satan bless it, he can’t even bring himself to think the thought without discorporating on the spot. “On a what?” he chokes out, because there can be no room for error here. Aziraphale glances away, then opens and closes his mouth multiple times before whispering: “On a date.” “Which date?” he asks dumbly, hands desperately itching for his sunglasses. He’d break eye-contact and look for them if he didn’t suspect he was hallucinating the whole thing. “Like… like a specific day?” Aziraphale’s expression, a heady mix of hopeful and anxious, melts once again into haughty annoyance. “Goodness gracious, no. I meant on a date. Like… like, you know, romantically,” he clarifies, fidgeting. “With another person.” Whatever excitement Crowley was starting to feel dies a very sudden, very depressing death... * (Or: Aziraphale tries to ask Crowley on a date, but they misunderstand each other. So Crowley agrees to help Aziraphale pick up someone in a bar while secretly trying to sabotage him; little does he know that the angel is also trying to sabotage the whole thing. Shenanigans ensue. And kisses too.)

Let There Be Rock (T, 6K, 1/1)

First Meeting after 1967 | Bittersweet Ending | Misuse of AC/DC songs

Aziraphale doesn’t know what to expect, and to be quite honest with himself, he doesn’t even care, curiosity having already been replaced by sheer annoyance. The excited shrieks have turned into something awfully resembling howls and the last thing he wants to do with his afternoon is stare at a wretched rock band signing records for dreamy-eyed admirers. Music is now playing in the background and Aziraphale, who has spent millennia reporting to Gabriel and has become quite adept at blocking out irritating noises, wouldn’t even notice it if the lyrics didn’t catch his attention straight away. Well I met her in the garden, underneath that old apple tree... * Or: The year is 1979 and The Small Backroom is hosting a record signing event for a band called Let There Be Rock. Aziraphale has opinionsTM about it, especially when he reads some of their preposterous lyrics about angels and demons. First of all, angels cannot, under any circumstances, be tempted. Secondly, he has no idea who this mysterious Angel is even supposed to be... nothing to do with him, of course.

Final Breakthrough (Now!) (T, 10K, 1/1)

Post-Season 2 Fix It | Angst with a Happy Ending

“Aw, what happened? Bad day at the office?” He’s both very proud and very ashamed of the whiny voice that comes out of his mouth. “Did you suddenly realise your esteemed coworkers are a bunch of tossers?” Aziraphale keeps looking at him in a way that makes him feel exposed even behind his sunglasses, and he doesn’t waver. He just… stares. No, glares. And he doesn’t move either, doesn’t even breathe properly. The angel slowly wets his lips like he’s tasting a subpar chocolate mousse, tilts up his chin and says: “No,” like he’s stabbing the air with it. Crowley laughs, a short, ugly thing that quickly turns sour in the back of his throat. “Of course you didn’t.” --- Or: 5 times Aziraphale and Crowley don't talk + 1 time they finally do.

When Hell Freezes Over (T, 17K, 2/2 **Epilogue coming soon-ish**)

Human AU | Illusionist Crowley | Critic Aziraphale

“Not afraid at all” the angel finally says. “I mean, maybe slightly afraid. You see, my editor-in-chief doesn’t know I’m here.” “He doesn’t?” “I was supposed to review the new production of Hamlet…” “The one with Ian McKellen?” “Yes, exactly, but Eve – Miss Gardner, that is – she’s been working so hard and she would love nothing more than to be taken seriously, and she thought Gabriel gave her this assignment for all the wrong reasons, you see – and, between us, knowing Gabriel, I’m quite sure she was right – and, and I realized she needed my assignment way more than I did. So, if you really must know, I just… gave it away.” “You what?!” “I gave it away!” the angel repeats, slightly distressed. “Let me get this straight: you traded the chance to review one of the most anticipated shows of the year to interview… little old me?” - (Or: Crowley is a magician with a new Inferno-inspired show opening in London, Aziraphale the angelic-looking journalist who's supposed to interview him. Crowley immediately tries his best to ruffle his feathers. Much to his surprise, though, Aziraphale isn't as pearl-clutchy as he looks. Things go as you'd expect.)

#thought i'd make a masterpost to pin!#good omens #my fanfic

18 notes · View notes

tss-storytime · 2 days ago

Text

FAQ (updated for 2025)

New for this year:

Writer sign-ups close on April 15th

First writer check-in on April 30th has a 2k word requirement

Second writer check-in on May 19th has a 6k word requirement

We’ve added more team check-ins throughout the event

The Basics of the Bang

What is a Big Bang?

A Big Bang is a challenge that encourages writers to create long stories (25k minimum) within a certain time frame and artists to create works to pair with those stories. Basically, the fandom gets a lot of long stories and awesome art all at the same time! Every writer gets fanart, every artist gets inspiration, and everyone gets to enjoy the final product.

Is this Big Bang limited to a certain pairing, genre, or rating?

No. Most ships (except incest) and gen stories are welcome. Likewise, AUs, crossovers and fusions, all genres and all ratings are also welcome, including NSFW fic and art.

Only adults (18 or older) may work on M+ or unrated works. NSFW works must be clearly indicated as such so that no one ends up partnered with someone whose work will make them uncomfortable) So long as the primary focus of your story is Thomas Sanders and/or the Sanders Sides, you are good to go!

How do I sign up? Will there be an email or a message so that I’ll know that I’ve actually gotten through?

You can sign up via the Google Form linked at the bottom of the pinned post! It’s via google forms so you should receive a confirmation message on the site once you hit submit. We’ll also post a list of everyone who has signed up about a week before sign-ups close.

Roles

I am both a writer and an artist, would I be able to sign up for both or should I just sign up for the one I’m more interested in?

You can absolutely sign up for both if you think you can finish both! You can even sign up for more than one story as a writer if you think you can finish more than one.

Can I sign up as both an artist and a beta?

Absolutely! You can sign up for all three things if you think you can manage them!

I want to participate but am not a writer or an artist. What can I do?

Please consider signing up as a beta or offering to cheerlead creators you follow. Writers and artists need and appreciate all the support they can get!

Writing Requirements

What’s the minimum word count?

25,000 words.

This is a six-month challenge, from Feb 1st to August 1st, and you should use all the time available to you. So start writing as soon as you sign up, and make the most of all the time you have!

Writers must have a minimum of 2k words by April 30th. Writers must have at least 6k by the time they are matched with artists on May 19th.

Can I write more than one story?

You may, but please note that the deadlines and word counts hold for each story you submit.

Does my story have to be completed by the end of the Big Bang? Is it okay if I get past the 25k mark but by the time August rolls around it’s still going?

The story you upload in August should be complete on its own. You can definitely write a sequel and continue to explore the characters and the setting in future stories, but the one uploaded for the challenge should have a beginning, middle, and end and have its main plot threads resolved.

I’ve started a fic that I’d like to turn into a submission. Can I do that?

All works should be created specifically for this challenge. However, if you are working on a prequel/sequel piece to something you have already written, that is acceptable, as long as you link to the piece it comes before/after in your submission and it can be read and understood on its own.

That said, so long as you have not posted any of your fic, you may use it for the challenge (this means don’t post chapters or large portions on your tumblr/AO3/etc. until your posting date. You can use your usual feedback methods so long as it’s not open to people you’re not personally conversing with).

Can the work be chaptered, or does it necessarily have to be a very very long oneshot?

We strongly recommend you chapter your work, however you will not be disqualified if you prefer to keep it as a oneshot. Be sure to meet the word minimum and have the fic complete and posted in its entirety by your posting date.

Does the work need to be a 25k words chaptered story or can it be several short stories set in the same universe following a loose timeline? Or just oneshots unrelated to each other but with something in common for each one shot?

It should, if possible, be one story. Several snapshots from the same universe that have a unifying theme and follow a timeline would qualify under that—it’s all part of the same life story—but unrelated oneshots would not.

Does my story have to be beta read?

It’s highly encouraged, but not a necessity. However, there will be a list of betas you can ask to beta your fic and we will include any beta readers you are working with in your team channel on the event Discord server.

Art Requirements

I’m an artist, not a writer. How do I participate?

In May, artists will get to choose among anonymous summaries the writers submit. They will be posted about halfway through the challenge and artists will be given time to read through these and submit their top three choices. Once they have their assignment, they should work with their writer so that the finished product is something they both love.

Does the art for the project have to be digital or regular? And how massive of a piece is it?

The piece of art does not have to be digital or traditional - so long as you can get traditional art scanned, you can definitely use pencil/pens/markers/paint/etc.

As for how massive, you should expect to do one or more illustrations for the story you end up with. If you’re creating a large full color painting - either digital or traditional - you’d only really be expected to do one. If you’re going to create uncolored lineart, maybe two or three, etc.

The art should be commensurate with the level of effort the writer is putting into the event.

You’ll also be working with your writer directly, so you can coordinate with them once you’ve been assigned to each other to see what will work best for both of you!

What exactly do they make for the story? Can it be anything, like for example a comic of a scene in the story, or like a ‘cover art’ for the fic?

Basically, yes. You’ll work directly with your writer, as they’ll need to give you access to their rough draft and plans so you can gain inspiration, so the two of you can work together to see what would fit best and is most exciting for both of you. But you can do any of those things. A comic, cover art, a single scene illustration, chapter headings, character portraits, whatever most inspires you and moves you!

The artist sign-ups are for drawings, paintings, and likely more if you can make a convincing argument to us and your writer! Writers are also indicating if there’s any kind of art they don’t want to receive you can be certain the person you’re paired with is more than happy to get your type of art for their story!

Beta

Are beta readers assigned to writers, or would the writer have to reach out to them?

There will be a list of people who offered to beta with details of their preferences so you can contact them directly or ask for someone in the discord. If you’re having trouble finding someone, you can reach out to us and we’ll do our best to match you. However, we do want to avoid matching up everyone individually.

Do beta readers work exclusively with one writer or are they expected to beta multiple works if multiple writers reach out to them?

That’s up to the individual beta! If you wish to work with only one person, you can let us know once you have arranged things with them and we’ll take you off the list. If you wish to work with multiple people, you can do that, too. Just remember not to stretch yourself too thin!

Can we have our friends edit and look at our story if they are not a part of the Big Bang?

Absolutely! You can use any beta/editor/cheerleader you’d like. Just be sure the story itself isn’t up for general viewing until your posting date. But someone doesn’t have to sign up to be an event beta to help you edit. The beta sign-ups are to help writers who don’t already have someone to look over their work. It’s also a great way to make new friends :D

Communication and Check-ins

Communication: Discord and Tumblr

All announcements will be made on Discord first. We will cross post to Tumblr, but Discord is the place to be for the latest information. After you have signed up as a writer, artist, beta readers, or a pinch-hitter, you’ll get the link to the Discord.

We ask that all participants join the event Discord server.

What does check-in mean?

Since the sign-up period is quite long, there will be regular check-ins to be sure anyone who signed up way back on Feb 1st both still remembers signing up and is still interested in participating. This is a long challenge and people do move fandoms/have life things happen.

What if I’m not available/busy during a check-in?

With the exception of the minimum 2k word count in April and the 6k word count by the end of artist sign-ups, you don’t have to have a particular amount done by a check-in. It’s simply to let us know you’re still working on it. We’ll also create a post and send out messages/asks about a week before the check-in date as a reminder—both on tumblr and on discord - so as long as you’ll be able to shoot a quick “yes, I’ll be ready to post in August!”, you’re good!

You can also check in early, it’ll be done in the same manner as the sign up—via google forms that are posted about a week in advance of when the check-in is due.

Collaboration

What if there was an uneven number of participants like 40 artists signed up but 80 writers. What would happen then?

Initially there will be more writers signed up than artists but by the second check-in some of those writers will duck out (quack) which usually evens things out a bit.

That said, in some years, several artists have volunteered to create art for more than one story, and we will put out requests for more if it’s incredibly unbalanced. There will also be pinch hitters to jump in in case we need to replace an artist later into the event.

Alternatively, if we have many more artists than writers, multiple artists will be assigned to the same story. No matter what, every writer who finishes will receive art!

What’s a pinch hitter?

An angel. 😇

Someone who is willing to jump in to create something they otherwise wouldn’t have because someone else backed out. In a Secret Santa, these will usually be people willing to write a story if one of the participants doesn’t, for example. In this case, we will likely ask for people who would be willing to be ready to jump in as artists if a writer’s partner isn’t going to finish, or disappears, or something like that. Hopefully they won’t be needed, but their willingness to step up makes a challenge of any kind run much more smoothly!

How much should you share with your partner?

You’ll share your draft with your artist and your beta reader, but not with anyone else. You should be ready to show them everything you have once they get assigned to you, and to send them updates—that way they’ll be able to gain inspiration from all parts of the story. Many teams use Google Docs and Drive to make it easier to collaborate.

In May, we’ll post the summaries writers supply for the artists to choose among, but those should just be two or three paragraphs at most, basically what you’d read on the back of a book to get you to buy it.

Is a title required for the summaries that will get posted for the artists?

Nope! If you have one, it will be posted with the summary, but no worries if you don’t - and no worries if it changes between then and posting!

Posting

How will the works be posted?

There will be a schedule for the month of august for when which works will be posted so that all works are spread out and get the attention they deserve without overwhelming people. Works can be posted on AO3, on your own tumblr, or wherever you feel most comfortable. The work should be posted in full somewhere. If it’s on tumblr, just @ this blog on your post(s) so we can reblog it here, if it’s exclusively somewhere else just @ this blog on the post with the link.

Can you post all of your fic on one site, but post it at different dates for another? For example, could I post the whole thing on AO3, but then post daily chapters on Tumblr?

Sure! As long as the full fic is available online on your posting date and not before, you can post it in another place however you like!

As writers, are we allowed to post teasers of our stories on our blogs to let our followers know what we’re working on, or do we have to hold all the content until the very end?

So long as it’s just a teaser and doesn’t go up until after the summaries have been claimed and artists assigned, yes. Summary claiming is anonymous to be sure everyone’s story gets the same chance among all the artists so please don’t indicate which summaries is yours/what you’re working on in detail before that publicly.

What About AI?

This event is by Fanders for Fanders. The use of generative AI to create your stories or visual art defeats the purpose and is an attack against the very heart and soul of fan events.

Generative AI may not be used to create your submissions for this event.

We run a Discord server for artists and writers and beta readers to collaborate. Fanders are here for each other.

Chat.ai, chatgpt, Dali, CoPilot and all the rest are here to steal human ideas and make a buck.

Additionally, Google has updated their terms of service to permit them to scrape and use content added to Google Docs. We recommend writers use Ellipsus (https://ellipsus.com) for collaborating with beta readers and sharing outlines, character info, and drafts with artists. Their statement on (against) Generative AI is here (https://ellipsus.com/generative-ai). It’s short and well-worth a read.

#it's planning time!#sign-ups open February 1st!#sanders sides #sasi #tss #tss storytime #thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #tss storytime 2025

11 notes · View notes

jungwonie-bae · 1 year ago

Text

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ A love story between us ♪。·*. (teaser)

Sunghoon x fem!reader , reader is working in high school, reader is referred as she

genre- fluff, love at first sight trope, strangers to lovers,

word count- 0.7k 【705 words】 (real one maybe 5-6k words)

warnings- (this is not really a warning, but the season is winter) I’m so sorry, but more grammatical errors 😭

a/n- this is a little drabble for you guys yay and it might take a while

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

7:02 am.

Today was the weekend, and the cafe was quiet. You’ve already cleaned and wiped all the tables, and started the coffee machines. Today was going to be another busy day. The cafe always opens at 7:30 sharp, so you had enough time to grab the new stack of cups, and get the register ready.

your only coworker, beomgyu, always came a bit late, but got to work right away. The bell rings as he walks in, and the two of you greet one another.

As you put on your apron, you scroll on your phone to play a calming playlist on Spotify. Beomgyu puts his apron on, and opens the window for the early morning breeze to flow through.

As the bell chimes, your boss walks in. He greets the both of you, and walks into his office. You run to the door, and turn the sign, the red ink “closed” written, was now turned into “open.”

You then go back into your place as the cashier. A few minutes later, your regular customers come in.

they are quick to go, ordering and paying quickly as well.

A bit later, a group of 3 guys walk in, chatting with one another happily. While they are ordering drinks, you feel someone’s gaze as you get their orders down. You look up, and- you feel like you’ve just seen the prettiest person in your life. Time seems to slow down.

you stare at him for a few seconds, before snapping out of it to tell beomgyu their orders. Turning back to them, (the person who is ordering for the group,) you almost forgot their name.

“and what’s your name?” You ask politely.

“sunghoon, s-u-n-g-h-o-o-n,” he says, the last part of the sentence a bit mumbled. You nod, and type his name down to print onto the sticker on the cup.

you smile at him, “your order is going to be ready in a few minutes. Is this a to go, or are you staying in?”

he looks over at his friends, and they all say their staying. You nod, and they go sit down. You smile to yourself, and hurriedly make their drinks. You put a little extra love into sunghoon’s, and cap it.

beomgyu finishes the other half of the drinks. “Order for sunghoon!” You shout. He comes up to you, and grabs the drinks quickly. While he brings it over to his table, his friends tease him about something. He smiles at their antics.

Heeseung whispers, “someone has a little crush. Let’s come back here tomorrow~” Jake nods at him, and grins. Sunghoon doesn’t notice the two.

meanwhile, you were busy hoping he will come back.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The next day, you see the familiar face once again. But today, he was alone. The name you learned from him yesterday, sunghoon, was pretty awkward trying to order his drink.

you can see he is shy, because he’s hiding his face into his scarf. Cute, you think. His order is a to-go, much to your disappointment. You make his drink as you and beomgyu switch places, now beomgyu being the cashier.

you call out sunghoons name, but this time, you write your number onto his cup. You draw a little smiley face next to your digits, and smile to yourself. I hope he texts me, you smile.

—

as sunghoon grabs his cup, he smiles at you, but stops in his tracks on his way out. She wrote her number. Wait.. she wrote her number!?! He stops himself from squealing since he was already grinning like an idiot. He was definitely going to text you later.

He hurried home to his dorm, and immediately told his friends. “See, I knew she was into you!” Jake playfully punched sunghoons arm, while wrapping his other around his shoulders.

sunghoon grins, but his smile drops soon after. “But.. how do I start the conversation..? I don’t have any experience in this..”

Jake slowly turns his head and looks at the sulking male beside him. “Are you for real..?” Sunghoon nods. “Dude! You’re an absolute loser for this! How have you not had any girlfriends with that face of yours?!?”

Sunghoon doesn’t know what to do. Will jake help him?

#sunghoon #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen #enha #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x y/n #enhypen jake #enhypen heeseung #engene #enhypen park sunghoon

51 notes · View notes

ladyaj-13 · 1 year ago

Note

“The Next Bit Was Spanners To My Plan” is one of my all-time favorite fics. It’s so heartfelt and beautifully written, I just love it and have so much admiration for your writing. I’ll be thrilled with anything you can share about it, but I’m especially thinking questions 2, 3, 4, 5, 10, 11. (I’m sorry for being so greedy! 😞) Thank you! ❤️

Thank you so, so much! That's so sweet of you to say :) And sorry for such a stupidly late response - this managed to come in just before I headed off to my parents; for Christmas and while there I never even opened my laptop.

Read here: 'The Next Bit was Spanners to My Plan'

2: What scene did you first put down?

I think, as usual, I simply started at the beginning! So it would have been the little prologue and then the two of them at the industry party.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

He’s sort of stupidly into Love Island, because apparently finding yourself without a band and without a world tour and without a normal job either, you end up sinking hours into TV shows you’re embarrassed to tell anyone about. It makes it easier, because everyone else is into it too, so as soon as the show starts they’re passing crisps and taking the piss and not talking about any potentially touchy topics such as Why Louis Tomlinson is in Nick Grimshaw’s Living Room, or How Come He’s Displaced Pixie as Pig’s Favourite.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

I quite like Nick's distracted radio-patter-rambling near the end, after he's just received Louis' selfie:

“That was… Fifi, what was that? Florence! That was Florence, and up next we’ve got, erm, Beyoncé? No, I played that already. Fifi, stop laughing! She’s laughing at me folks, you can’t get the staff these days, absolutely no respect. Oh, that’s right, it’s Charlie XCX. Banging. Here we go, this is ‘Boys’.”

5: What part was hardest to write?

The bit where they actually talk. Because Louis is driving it, but also he's not sure he wants to and he doesn't know what he wants to say, and so balancing that with actually making something happen was not straight-forward...

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story?

I'd previously written a Stylinshaw fic, but I'd been on a complete Tomlinshaw reading binge and I really wanted to write something for that pairing specifically. So it was pairing first, plot second for this one!

11: What do you like best about this fic?

At only 6k, what I like best if probably the whole package :D But if I have to pick, I have a soft spot for the original character Charlie, who's the taxi driver. I love a bit of outsider POV and I had fun with his rambling and misunderstandings - and going back to him seemed the perfect way to end things too.

#thanks so much!#anon ask #my fic: the next bit was spanners to my plan #1d #aj writes fanfic

1 note · View note

bucketsofmonsters · 2 years ago

Text

The Shapeshifting Detective - Part 3

cw: parental death, grief, slow burn, panic attacks, mild body horror, more tags will be added as the story continues

male shapeshifter x fem character

word count: 6k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

Kate spent the next few hours itching to leave. She was desperate to go check out the address she’d found but the universe seemed intent on thwarting her. The first second she got alone was in the middle of the night, when she was meant to be asleep.

As soon as she was sure that the house was settled and she wouldn’t run into anyone in the halls, she was rushing out of bed to put on the most practical clothes she owned. They were a far cry from her stilted mourning clothing but she needed to be able to move in them.

The necessity to be able to move was made abundantly clear when Kate made the decision to climb out the window. Sure, a door would have been easier but she was less likely to be seen this way so the window it was.

She opened the window as slowly as she could, cursing every creak that seemed to echo endlessly off the walls. She finally got the window opened and hopped up onto the windowsill, her determination to figure this all out refusing to wane.

“Kate?”

She heard Anne’s confused voice and considered running, just bolting and not having the nightmare of a conversation she knew this would be, but she couldn’t do that to her. So, with her face contorted into a grimace, she turned to face her.

Anne was looking at her like she’d lost her mind. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Kate didn’t think Anne was stupid, not by any means, but she hoped that maybe she would take the hint and drop it. It was a long shot but it was all she had.

“Are you climbing out the window? What are you wearing?” She couldn’t seem to make any sense of the scene in front of her.

The concern was dripping from her voice and that almost made it worse because Kate couldn’t say anything, wouldn’t say anything. She would not put anyone else she cared about in harm’s way.

Anne could see her pulling away and refused to back down like Kate had prayed she would. “What’s happening to you, Kate? What are you hiding? Are you alright? You can talk to me about whatever is going on.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can't?” She was searching Kate’s face for any hint as to what was going on, trying to find something to latch onto.

“I just… I need to leave, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“For once in your life can you stop being stubborn and just let me help?” The exasperation was clear in her voice, fed up with her behavior, something that was probably boiling over from long before her father’s death had made the whole situation worse. Any other time, Kate would’ve done anything to try and fix it but not now. Now she had more important things to be doing.

“I’m sorry.” That was all she said before she slipped out the window, hitting the ground and immediately heading out through the streets of the city, trusting Anne to close the window behind her. She kept her head down, trying not to meet anyone's eye and go unnoticed, knowing that someone seeing her in these clothes out alone at night could be devastating to her reputation.

It didn’t take long to get there. Honestly, more of the trip was probably spent getting mildly lost and having to gather her bearings again than was spent actually getting there.

It didn’t take her long to realize that she hadn’t really put much thought into what she should do once she got there. It was like she assumed that simply arriving at the location would tell her exactly why it was written on that card but here she was and she still had no idea.

There was nothing that seemed particularly out of place about the building she’d been so desperately trying to reach. She had never been to this part of the city before but it looked more or less like every other building around it, although it was admittedly hard to tell at night.

No one lived there, she knew that much. The street was full of shops, most of them poorly labeled, if there were any signs at all. This one lacked any way to identify what it was other than the numbers on the side, the paint chipped and barely readable but still matching those on the torn little sheet of paper.

Hopefully if it was a business, it would be abandoned at this time of night and she would be able to explore in undeterred. She couldn’t exactly just knock in the middle of the night and going home now wasn’t an option.

The doors were all locked but she managed to find a window that opened and sneak through it. A week ago she never could have imagined sneaking through a window and now she’d done it twice in one night, it felt absurd.

Gathering her bearings was difficult, it was dark inside, barely lit by the moonlight streaming through the window. It was going to have to stay that way, Kate didn’t want to risk anyone seeing a light and finding her.

She had no idea how she was going to do anything this way, she was stumbling around like a newborn deer. It turns out investigating was quite difficult to do when you couldn’t see.

That problem was quickly resolved when the walls of the room were lit by the light of an oil lamp coming from behind her.

“Done with the black a little quickly, aren’t we?”

Kate whipped around and saw Evelyn sizing her up, the lamp set on a table beside her. She felt like prey under her gaze. Even in the middle of the night she was still dressed to the nines in black, her dress intricate, covered in laces and ribbons, and her makeup dark. Kate wondered when she slept, although she supposed she wasn’t one to talk considering her sleep schedule as of late had been nonexistent.

She let out a huff of laughter as she looked Kate up and down. “I wonder why you’re so eager to get out of the mourning clothes, did black just not suit you or is mourning not your style?”

Katherine reeled back. “What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing. Why, what did you think I was saying?” Her voice dripped with mock concern.

“Eager to pin my father’s death on someone else, aren’t you?”

Evelyn rolled her eyes, the flame reflecting off her pitch black irises. “Please, everyone already thinks I did it. With no proof, mind you. Me throwing some accusations at a girl no one will even know was here won’t do shit. We should talk more anyways. We’re not so different, I think. We’re both on trial for murder. Pretty important similarity, I’d say.”

“I didn’t do it,” she said, her voice curt, not willing to give this conversation the time of day.

“Another similarity, look at us! We’re practically twins. Sorry for taking your inheritance by the way. I hope you understand it's not personal, no ill will intended.”

That was the most amicable thing the woman in black had said thus far. “I don’t care,” Kate replied. “Take whatever you want, that’s none of my business.”

“Are you not upset? It was yours.”

“No, it was my fathers and he lost it to you, I have no part in it.”

That seemed to surprise her, taking a moment from her snide remarks to really take her in, not just to make her squirm under the woman’s gaze but in an attempt to really figure her out.

“Well, I’m glad that there’s no bad blood between us,” she decided. ”Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. What is a lady like you doing in an establishment like this at this time of night?”

Despite the indifference Kate had towards her inheritance being taken, there was most certainly bad blood between the two of them. Especially considering that she’d just caught Kate breaking and entering and then accused her of murder. “That’s none of your business.”

“It’s none of my business why you’re in my place of work? Are you sure you want to stick with that?”

Shit. Well that wasn’t good. Any half decent excuse she could have come up with just went out the window. At this point she was just at Evelyn's mercy and despite the fact that she basically just met the woman, she had a distinct feeling that that was a very bad place to be.

Another voice sounded from the other room and Kate managed to make out the words, “Evelyn, can you rewrite this part, I can’t read your handwriting,” before her bumbling detective came crashing through the door and for the first time in her life, Kate was thrilled to see him, praying he could get her out of this mess.

The second his eyes hit Kate he froze, his eyes flicking nervously between Kate and Evelyn, a look of dread washing over his face.

Evelyn shot Kate a smile, clearly thrilled by this turn of events as she said, “And of course you know Harvey,”

Kate was scrambling to make sense of what was happening and the only thing she could manage to say was, “Vincent?”

Now it was Evelyn's turn to look surprised, turning very intentionally to the detective and shooting him a glare that Kate would never want to be on the receiving end of. “Yes, Vincent, what a surprise?”

He winced but his attention remained on Kate. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.” Biting back her pride and admitting defeat was difficult but she had a feeling she was in over her head and frankly, she couldn’t make enough sense of what was going on to properly defend herself.

Evelyn tutted beside her, shaking her head in disappointment. “Come on, Katherine, where did that bite go? We were having such a good conversation too, such a shame.”

“Evelyn, please leave her alone.” Vincent pleaded.

Kate was observant enough to know that there were layers of this conversation she was missing. The endless knowing glances between the two were practically impossible to miss if you were paying even a modicum of attention. What she couldn’t figure out was what they meant, what subtext she was missing.

Evelyn, on the other hand, was unraveling a completely different mystery. Her eyes widened once more and she practically hissed, “Have you gone soft on her?”

“No.” The word came out sounding sharp and defensive and even Vincent seemed to know that they weren't convincing.

It was all but an admission and at the same time a look of confusion crossed Kate’s face, Evelyn let out a knowing sigh. “Of course you are, I don’t know what I expected. This is why I never ask you for help, you know. You’re useless, I swear. Come on, she’s…” her sentence trailed off as she gestured vaguely in Kate’s direction and yet Vincent seemed to inexplicably understand what she meant.

It set something off in him and he drew closer to her, standing almost protectively between the two. “Kate, you should not be here.” He repeated himself but this time his tone was sharper than anything she’d heard from him before.

Everything in her wanted to fight him, his unwavering voice not helping the matter, but something about him told her not to, the same instinct that told her to bite back her pride minutes before. There was something she couldn’t quite place in his face, he almost seemed scared and she knew he was right.

She shouldn’t be here.

Beyond just the legal ramifications of breaking into this place, something else was wrong, something Kate just couldn’t understand, no matter how hard she tried.

“Okay,” she managed, unused to going along with anything he said.

He seemed just as taken aback with her agreement as she was, already ready to fight her on the matter. When he recovered from his shock he gave her a little nod and started herding her towards the exit. “We should be leaving.”

Evelyn pouted behind him. “You’re no fun, Vincent. Katherine and I were just getting to know each other.”

His hand wrapped around Kate’s forearm and he pulled her closer to both him and the door. “That’s a shame, but we really need to leave. Bye, Evelyn.”

He practically dragged her out the door, desperate to get out of there. He was stronger than he looked. Kate honestly got the impression that he was holding back but she could still feel it, the way he effortlessly hauled her behind him.

As soon as they got what he deemed an appropriate distance away he dropped her arm and turned to face her.

“That was really stupid, Kate.”

Her placidity from earlier immediately melted away. “Excuse me? I’m not the one who’s having midnight meetings with people they’re supposed to be investigating. God, no wonder you were defending her.”

“Oh please, you have no idea what’s going on here.”

“No! I don’t! Because you’re not telling me!” She was basically screaming at this point, her frustration getting the better of her.

He sighed and looked back towards Evelyn’s building, like he was worried she might have followed them. “Does anyone even know you’re here?” His voice was softer now, more concerned.

“No.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you cannot be doing this.” He was practically pleading with her.

“You think Evelyn would kill someone?” Here he was, admitting to it, and yet he’d sworn to her that Evelyn couldn’t have possibly hurt her father.

“This is more complicated than that.”

“How?” Even as she asked the question she knew she wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“I can’t tell you.”

Of course he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her anything.

He kept glancing around nervously and started guiding her back in the direction of her home as they talked. Despite how frustrated she was, she followed him. Home sounded like a good idea right about now.

“How did you even know to come here?” he asked as he led her further and further away from the mysterious store.

She should’ve lied. Of course she should’ve, but she was shaken and confused and she was done with lying. “You had the address written down by your weird little murder board, I stole it.”

He didn’t get upset. He would have every right to be but instead that same vaguely impressed look crossed his face again.

He cracked that familiar smile and said, “I really should get more diligent about stuff like that, especially when angry people are storming around.”

“Yeah, you probably should.”

They walked in silence for a while, both lost in thought. Kate was trying to piece together what could be happening, running through idea after idea while Vincent floundered, looking for the right words. Finally he broke the silence and settled on, “You cannot go there.”

Of course he was telling her to stop now, to stay home and out of trouble. She was a fool to believe him when he said he was alright with her being out here, looking for answers. “I thought you were alright with me investigating, what happened to it being ‘incredible?’”

“You can!” he promised, but the words felt hollow now. “Just not there, anywhere but there.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” Kate felt like she could scream in frustration.

She watched his face fall as her voice cracked, her desperation clear. “I’m so sorry, I can’t. I want to but I just… shit.”

He just buried his head in his hands for while, letting out the occasional groan as he worked through whatever emotions he was feeling right now and she at least felt a little less embarrassed by her voice cracks. It shouldn’t be comforting, having mutual break downs with someone, but it was the most sane she’d felt since this all began. Both of them were clearly spiraling, admittedly about different things but spiraling nonetheless.

He spoke into his palms and Kate wasn’t clear if his words were meant for her or if they were solely for his own benefit. “God if I ask you not to come back you’re definitely coming back.” He wasn’t wrong about that, she couldn’t imagine there was much he could do to keep her away from anywhere that had answers, no matter what her gut was telling her about that place. “How about you don’t come here without me?” he reasoned. “Is that alright?”

“Oh, so you want to babysit me?”

He looked up from his hands and she saw just how genuine he looked. At this point she wasn’t sure he was capable of anything but absolute sincerity. “Listen, you’re upset, I get that. But you’re smart, really smart, like the smartest person I’ve met since I got here…”

“Got where.”

“See, that, right there!” he said, pointing at you victoriously. “You pick up on everything I say, you’re smart! You can investigate with me, no babysitting involved.”

It felt like an attempt to placate her, no way could he really mean that. “Investigate with you.” She said the words like they were in a foreign language.

He nodded eagerly. “Yeah, you can come with me to investigate and I’ll share all my information. You seem to want to do this and I could use the help, it’s a win-win. Come on, Kate.”

There was no way he meant it. The idea was absurd, even from her perspective, knowing she didn’t do it and that she wanted nothing more than to find the truth. And yet she knew he meant it. She’d be able to tell if he didn’t, he wore his emotions too clearly for that.

“Alright,” she agreed. “We’ll do this together.”

Vincent punched the air victoriously and she couldn’t fight back a giggle.

Without her even realizing it, they’d come upon her house “Miss Kate, I believe this is your stop,” Vincent said.

The window she’d exited through had been left slightly ajar, making it her easiest entrance point. She considered waiting for him to leave before climbing through but dawn was fast approaching and she wanted to be back in bed as quickly as possible.

She pushed the window open once more and he watched her, head cocked to the side.

“Do you need a boost?”

She didn’t respond, instead opting to hop up on the windowsill and pull herself through to the other side.

She heard him mutter, “obviously not” before giving her a final wave and heading off on his way, leaving her to scramble towards her bedroom before anyone spotted her.

She managed to make the trek covertly and as she entered her bedroom, she found her mother sitting just inside the door.

She was fuming, the anger clear in her eyes as they locked onto Kate.

Kate squeaked out a quiet, “How did you know…”

“Anne told me.”

She felt like she’d been stabbed. Anne had told her? That couldn’t be right, she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t give Kate up like that, even if she was being sneaky and secretive.

Her mother continued, clearly seeing her confusion. “She’s worried about you, as she should be. You could ruin your whole life this way. What if someone saw you? Look at you, you’re a mess. Cover up the bags under your eyes at least, have some dignity.”

“Sorry, mother,” she snapped, any attempt at playing nice being forgotten immediately. “I forgot to look pretty in my mourning, I’ll get right on that.”

“You’re being unfair, Katherine. I’m not the one who’ll be judging you, they’re not my rules.”

Kate knew she was right, that it wasn’t really her fault. But that was how it worked, wasn’t it, girls were made to resent their mothers for shaping them up to survive a world not built for them and then, someday, her daughter would resent her. The cycle continues on.

Her mother looked perfect, even when she’d been woken up in the middle of the night by a worried maid. She was sad in all the right ways but composed. The mother she inevitably resented must’ve been proud of how efficiently she tore her daughter down. If only her mother had taught her the same way maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.

Kate sighed. “Can we do this some other time. We’re going to argue and then I’ll do it again and then we’ll argue again, there’s no point in it.” All she wanted was to be miserable in peace.

“I need you to understand. Katherine, the neighbors are talking.” She said it with such intention, like she was telling her of a death sentence.

Of course they were talking, when were rumors not being spread? This week it was about her and next week some other poor girl would be in the spotlight. “And what are they saying?”

“They’re saying you’re not grieving.”

The words hit her and in an instant she understood what they meant. They thought she did it. “Let them talk. They’ll see, I’ll find who did it and then I can grieve.”

Another kind of sorrow crossed her mother’s face, this one not rehearsed and flawless. A real emotion. Kate wondered what she could've done to earn that.

Her mother searched her face, although Kate had no idea what she was looking for “What’s happened to you? You were such a well behaved girl, your father wouldn’t want you to come unraveled like this.”

“My father can’t want anything so it’s not like it matters. And for the record, my father wanted more for me than this, he didn’t want me to be miserable like you are,” she spat.

Her mother stood, her face still perfectly unreadable. “Pull yourself together, before it’s too late.”

That was the last she saw of her mother that night. There was something very final about it, one last warning, like she wouldn’t try to stop her anymore. Her life was in her hands now, hers to ruin.

She tried to sleep. She really did, to get at least a few hours in, but her mother’s words kept running through her head. ‘They say you’re not grieving.’ She was in her own personal hell and they didn’t think she was grieving.

When she finally gave up on sleep and got up, Anne didn’t speak to her. Kate was glad, she had nothing to say to her. She wanted to fix it, to fix everything, but she knew it would turn into another fight. Sometimes saying nothing was easier.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door as Anne wordlessly helped her get dressed and someone popped their head in the door. “You have a caller, Miss Katherine.”

She prayed it wasn’t Daniel. She knew that she needed him, that without him her whole life would fall apart, but she didn’t know if she could keep herself from snapping at him. Not with the state she was in.

When she went out to investigate, she found Vincent peeking through the doorway, looking aimlessly for her.

His face lit up the second they locked eyes. “Miss Kate! Are you prepared to go play detective with me?”

Somehow she still hadn’t believed her own intuition that he’d meant it, him standing here waiting for her felt impossible. “You meant it?”

“Of course I did, why else would I have said it?”

That was the first good news she’d received in a very long time. “Then yes, I’m absolutely ready. Where are we going?”

“To see that couple we talked about, the one from the will reading. I’ve done some reconnaissance on them but we haven’t officially met, I figured you’d be good to have there considering you’re family friends, might help diffuse the tension a little.”

She hadn’t seen them in a while but surely she’d be able to handle the situation better than Vincent would’ve alone, if her interactions with him were anything to go by.

When they arrived at the house, she could see the couple's surprise at her presence the second they set eyes on the pair. Vincent seemed less aware of their bewilderment.

“Hello, I’m Detective Harvey Lewis.” He said it with a smile, like he always did.

Neither of them were looking at him.

“Katherine? Why are you here?” Theresa asked.

Vincent cleared his throat and stepped in. “I asked her to be here, she’s helping with the investigation.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? We’ve both… heard things, can she really be unbiased in this?”

Kate should have assumed they’d be like this. If people were talking, of course they’d heard that she wasn’t grieving. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea for her to be there after all.

Vincent wasn’t having it. “I assure you, she can be, I know how to run an investigation, thank you very much. Can we speak to you separately, we can start with Mrs Moore.”

Peter didn’t even give her the chance to speak. “No, you can’t.”

“We can start with you if…”

“We will remain together.” His tone was threatening and his shoulders were puffed out, trying to make himself look bigger. He didn’t even need to in order to have a few inches on Vincent and Kate couldn’t help but worry about what would happen if they did start a fight.

Vincent seemed more baffled than threatened. “Alright, although I really should speak to you both separately some other time.”

As they got situated, Vincent pulled out his little notebook and Kate almost wished she had one, to make her feel more official and a little less out of place.

“Alright, and how did you two know Mr. Hayes?”

Theresa opened her mouth to answer but Peter didn’t give her the chance. “We were friends.” He was clearly upset, his answer riddled with spite.

Vincent prompted him further. “You and your wife or…”

“Yes, my wife knew Mr. Hayes very well.”

Theresa nodded off to the side, still not being given the opportunity to speak.

“And where were you on the 12th?”

Was that the night it had happened? Kate hadn’t thought to check. The date had seemed so unimportant.

Peter shot a glare her way and spat, “Not standing over his dead body, I’m sure Katherine can attest to that.”

Vincent didn’t understand it as the accusation that it was. “She didn’t witness the murder, she just found the body. Can you just tell us where you were?”

They weren’t getting anywhere. Every question was getting sidestepped, both of them infinitely more interested in Katherine than in saying anything productive.

Theresa cut in for the first time. “I really don’t understand why we’re doing this, is this really necessary? I can tell you about Katherine but it seems odd that you brought her.

They were blaming her. Evelyn had. Anne had asked her, Daniel seemed to think she might’ve, even Vincent didn’t seem fully convinced of her innocence.

Vincent shook his head, trying to put the idea to rest as quickly as he could. “No, I’m not here to talk about Miss Kate, I’m here to talk about you two.”

Despite his words, she knew when she wasn’t wanted. She might as well leave them to theorize about how and why she murdered her father like they were apparently doing anyways. “I should go, my mother wanted me home. I’ll leave you in the detective’s capable hands.” No one had a chance to respond before she was running out of the room.

The second she was out of view she gasped, buckling over and letting out a little wail. She felt pathetic, she needed to get ahold of herself. It was all too much. It felt like the whole world was looking at her. She couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t even realize Vincent had followed her until she felt his hand on her back. She immediately stood up straight, trying to compose herself.

His voice was low and comforting. “Hey, you’re alright. Just breathe, you’re gonna be okay.”

“I need to leave,” she gasped out, trying to get out of his way and let him work the case she clearly had no place helping with. “Me being here is a hindrance. I’m sure you think I did it too, I’ve messed this all up, I should just go.” She could feel her breathing getting faster and faster but she couldn’t do anything to stop it. Everything felt like it was crashing in all at once. All she wanted was to help and she couldn’t even manage that, somehow worsening the disaster that was this investigation.

She staggered backwards, doing her very best to look like she was alright, to not cause any more problems as she made her exit.

Vincent did not seem inclined to let her do that.

“Kate, you didn’t mess anything up,” he promised. “This is going about as well as every other interview has been going, at least now we can do bad interviews together.”

His tone was lighthearted, attempting a faint smile but Kate felt like she was going to throw up.

Her hands were raking through her hair, desperate for something to hold onto. “I just want to fix it. They all think that makes me guilty. I’m not guilty, I would never do that. I just want to help, to make it better.”

She started choking up as she rambled, her words catching in her throat as she forced them out.

And then he stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. The second she was in his arms she basically collapsed, even the prospect of holding herself up too much.

The sniffles wouldn’t stop coming and she shed her very first tear since this nightmare had begun, everything hitting her all at once. Her tears wet Vincent's shirt as she shoved her face into it, terrified that he’d let her go she’d be left to deal with all these emotions on her own.

“I didn’t do it,” she managed to choke out, despite the state she was in.

“I know.” The words were muttered into her hair, the arms around her tight and unyielding and comforting in a way that she’d had no idea that she needed. She could hear his heartbeat thudding in her ears beside her own rapid one.

She had no idea how long they stood there, his arms pulled tight and her leaning on him completely. If he’d pulled away she would’ve collapsed but he didn't. He just stood there as she cried. If this wasn’t grieving, she’d hate to find out what was.

When she finally did pull away, night was already falling and Kate couldn’t help but wonder if they really had left in the morning. That kept happening. Seconds would feel like days and then all of a sudden, hours would slip away without her even realizing.

“I’m sorry, I messed up your shirt,” she said, wiping at the tears left on her face.

“It’s alright, I can get another shirt. Besides, I think we’re done for the day, do you want to pick this up tomorrow?” He looked hesitant, unsure if she really wanted to drop out of all of this after fighting so hard to get there.

“Yeah, tomorrow sounds good.”

“Alright, see you then partner.” He was beaming, every ounce of excitement clear across his face. Kate wasn’t sure he could hide an emotion if he tried.

It was too much. He was too weird and worse he was too nice. There must be something behind it, something malicious. She would not be fooled by him.

She ran through it over and over again as she calmed down on their walk home. He refused to let her go home on her own.

He’d caught her at a vulnerable moment, that was it, it wouldn’t happen again. She had to figure him out, find out what he was hiding.

When he dropped her off at her house, she pressed herself against the inside of the door, counting the seconds until she could chase after him. As she waited, she heard footsteps behind her. Anne stood there, no confusion on her face this time. She just looked defeated.

“I hope you know what you’re doing”

She left before Kate could muster up a response.

A pang of guilt ran through her chest before she was on the move again, she didn’t have time to stand around feeling guilty, she had a detective to follow.

He was hiding something. Like he’d said, she was smart, she wasn’t just going to drop it. The sooner she could figure it out, the sooner she could focus on more important things. She didn’t even find the time to put on practical clothes, bolting out of the house the second Vincent was no longer looking.

It was shockingly easy to follow Vincent. Surely a detective must have some level of awareness and yet, even as he walked into less and less occupied areas, he didn’t seem to catch any wind of Kate trailing behind him, doing her best to not be noticed.

The further they walked, the more she wondered where he could possibly be headed. This was an industrial zone, a seemingly mostly abandoned one at that, one that had flourished in years where the country was in better health and now fell by the wayside as people had less money to spend.

But even if the factories had been opened, what possible reason could he have to be here? He was already employed in a well respected position, so he couldn't be working. What other reason would he have to be here? He must be meeting someone. Maybe a lover, maybe something more nefarious.

Yes, she concluded, that must be it. She couldn’t fathom any other reason he might be here. As she theorized, she watched from a distance as he slipped inside one of the abandoned warehouses.

She approached the door and listened carefully for a while, making sure the sounds of his movement were far off and still she waited what she prayed was an appropriate amount of time, that he’d be both away from the door and distracted. She eased it open as little as she could, sliding inside, grateful for her black mourning dress that would help conceal her in the shadows of the poorly lit room.

The warehouse seemed even larger from the inside, littered with left behind crates and materials that it hadn’t been worth it to transfer out. Kate slipped behind one of them, peeking around the edge to try and find Vincent.

He was in the corner of the warehouse, all alone. He settled in, sitting on a smaller crate, his jacket in his arms. He tossed it down into a pile of blankets and started to unbutton his shirt and she realized what was happening. He lived there.

Surely he had the funds to live somewhere else, why would he be living in an abandoned warehouse? He was a well respected detective, it didn’t make any sense.

As he got undressed and made himself at home, he rolled his arms back and she heard a cracking noise echo across the warehouse. She couldn’t help but flinch sympathetically. He must be so tense to be able to do that, against her better judgment she’d grown mildly fond of the man, she couldn’t help but feel for him a little.

He went on, almost ritualistically, cracking his wrists and his neck, moving through every part of his body. And then his arm bent the wrong way, letting out that same familiar crack.

More and more cracks rolled through his body, his bones no longer just bending but growing. His body got longer as he moved, growing taller with every snap of a bone. His features started to melt away and became less and less distinct, that cracking still happening, sounding more and more like bones snapping in two.

She heard a scream. It took too long to realize it was her own, sounding distant and foreign, echoing incessantly across the walls. The creature whipped around to look at her and she couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t feel anything but fear, incapable of forming any thoughts, an all encompassing terror blossoming from her chest and taking her over entirely.

And then the world fell out from under her.

#terato #monster bf #monster boyfriend #monster x human #shapeshifter #the shapeshifting detective #Monster time!#I love Vincent so much #Katherine: faints #Me: <3 bb boy #She’ll come around #I’ll try and get the next chapter out a little faster because this is a bit of a cliffhanger #I love the next chapter too so I’ve been working on it a ton lots of fun :)

151 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

Text

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it. you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though. After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all? Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared). He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did. Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered. The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed. You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him. You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him. Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around. You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention. If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers. With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk. Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter. “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded. By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous. Idiotic. A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you. “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged. “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing? “Thank you. I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense. But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?” His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious. “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him. He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression. His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore. “I’m here, aren’t I? Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that? I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me. It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm. “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium. Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course. And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar. “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time. You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there. Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen. And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds. You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit. All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything. The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex. As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd. Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway. It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted. “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were. But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck. “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear. “Can you do that for me? Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped. “I can take it! Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head. “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on? Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers. You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you. Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly. You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point. "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly. He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air. He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive. The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed. He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss. Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him. Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing. His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately. "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.” It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear. You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly. "Oh, you like that idea, hm? You want to be full of my come? Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast. You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated. As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade. Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks. No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair. It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks. If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry. I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed. He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye. “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss. And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again. He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss. Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss? But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class? Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it? And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios. You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him. And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now. The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class. As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options. There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself. Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable. Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned. "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk. Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was. “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed. “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice. You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly. “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed. “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly. "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours. And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel. “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed. "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again. "A man can only take so much. I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked. "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist. Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod. It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag. “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened. Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded. “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.” He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips. “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs. “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair. He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit. Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up. He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way. I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed. "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear. "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me. Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut

2K notes · View notes

cconstant-ccraving · 3 years ago

Text

God Only Knows

Chapter Six

Episode: S03xEp20 & S04xEp01

Pairing: slow burn Aaron Hotchner x fem!OC.

Summary: The team fly to New York for a case involving a serial shooter. They reunite with Y/n, who is assisting them in the investigation, and soon uncover a terrorist plot. Can Hotch and Y/n both make it out alive?

Warnings: Mentions of shootings+blood.

Word Count: 3. 6k

(a/n: lmao it’s chapter six and they haven’t even hugged)

one two three four five six seven

New York had a serial killer. At least, that’s what the current evidence suggested. The team had boarded the jet and headed to assist in the investigation, the pilot taking off as they discussed the case.

Once they finished the brief and settled into their seats, Reid spoke up, “Do you think we’ll see Y/n? She’s been in New York for, what, four months now?”

Hotch suddenly seemed very interested in the files in front of him. He and y/n had kept in contact. About a week after she left, a letter sealed in a crinkled envelope with her name on it had found its way onto her desk. He’d written her a letter. She’d opened it quickly, but was careful not to tear it. It was mostly about the team, their cases and how they were. He spoke a little about his son Jack and had asked how she was getting on in her new city. He made sure to write ‘temporary city,’ not letting her get any ideas about staying.

She planned on writing him back but wanted to tease him a little and so she texted him.

Y/n: You wrote me a letter.

A few moments went by before her phone buzzed and she picked it up eagerly.

Hotch: I did.

Y/n: You know, you could just text me?

Hotch: A letter is more personal.

Y/n: Is that something you want from me, Aaron? To be personal?

Y/n smirked to herself and pressed the tip of her pen to her cheek, biding her time until Hotch responded. She thought she had the upper-hand. She was always able to make him flustered.

Hotch: Yes.

Suddenly she was the one blushing.

On the jet, Hotch smiled at the memory of their messages. A letter had, in fact, found its way onto his desk in Washington a few days later. It included a Polaroid of the Empire State building and one of Y/n holding up a hot dog in front of a food stand and a random sign post. She had obviously taken it herself, turning the camera around and just managed to catch her smile in the frame, her chin not appearing in the picture. He wouldn’t admit to anyone that he kept the latter in his brief case. He felt slightly ridiculous about it, they weren’t dating, he’d never even touched her with the exception of a pinky finger that had grazed the back of her hand at Rossi’s.

“Hotch?”

The man quickly tuned back into the conversation, seeing his team all looking at him, Garcia smiling cheekily from her seat.

“Do you know if she’s working on this?” Emily asked him.

“Um, no. I’m not sure,” He responded.

“Well, I hope she is. It’d be great to see her. Such a lovely girl,” Rossi subtly jabbed with a smile.

The team quietly laughed, trying not to make fun of their boss too much. Hotch simply rolled his eyes, a soft smile on his face.

---

“Aaron,” Kate spoke as she shook hands with him.

“How have you been?” He asked, mostly out of courtesy.

“Well, thank you.”

“This is my team,” He said, going around and introducing everyone.

“Have you two worked together before?” JJ asked.

“Yes we lia-”

Before he could finish speaking, he heard footsteps coming around the corner and in his peripheral, there was his Captain.

She hadn’t spotted him yet, her attention focused on a clipboard. She pointed to something on it before handing it off to the man she was walking with. And then she looked up. And there he was.

She held eye contact with him for a moment, almost as if trying to figure out if he was actually stood there. Then she smiled and started walking towards the group.

“Hotchner,” She grinned.

“Hey trouble,” He responded before he could help himself, a discrete smile making its way onto his face.

“Trouble? I don’t know what you mean,” She teased.

The team stood smiling behind the two before Rossi cleared his throat, “Good to see you too, kid.”

Hotch stepped slightly to the side so she could see the team. She was about to respond but Agent Joyner butted in, “I see you’ve already met Agent Miller?”

“Um, yes, we’re acquainted,” Hotch said quickly, having forgotten Joyner was stood with them.

“They’re acquainted alright,” JJ whispered to Garcia, who had to bite her lip to refrain from giggling.

“Well, there will be time to play catch-up later,” Kate dove into an explanation of the surveillance system to Garcia and soon the two detectives that caught the first shooting walked in.

Joyner took a large step closer to Hotch, standing far too close to him for Y/n’s liking, and asked, “Can I have a word with you in private?”

“Sure,” He responded, stealing a glance at Y/n before walking away.

“Do they...know each other?” Y/n asked as she turned back to the group.

“They did some work together when she was at Scotland Yard,” Prentiss told her.

Y/n ‘hmmed’ to herself as she cast a glance into Kate’s office. It was safe to say her new boss wasn’t overly fond of her, or any of her employees. Everyone in the New York office had heard that she was getting some heat from her superiors and that they may even be looking for a replacement.

When she turned back around to speak to the team they were stood smiling at her, “What?”

“Is that a little jealously we hear in your voice, Captain Miller?” Rossi teased.

“And what exactly would I be jealous of?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe that another woman seems very interested in your little boyfriend over there,” Morgan grinned, walking closer to her.

“Well, lucky for you, hot stuff, I am very much single so when are you gonna take me out on a date?” She teased right back. Was she trying to avoid confessing that she was, in fact, a little jealous? Absolutely.

“I will take you out any time baby girl, just let me know when your heart’s not occupied by another man and I’m yours,” He retorted, shooting a wink at her.

“Shut up, Morgan,” She whacked him lightly on his chest, him stumbling back as though he was in pain.

Another agent walked up and said something to Y/n, handing her a file before she spoke again, “We should get to work.”

---

The team had taken the day to construct a profile, delivering it to the NYPD and the F.B.I New York office. The next morning came quickly and Hotch was more than aware of the fact he had barely seen Y/n. Soon, another day had flown by without them having the chance to talk properly.

It was 8AM when Y/n was stood at her desk, strapping an F.B.I bullet proof vest on. She had her button down and suit jacket slung over the desk chair, just stood in a white cami. She needed to look enough like a civilian to not attract attention when walking around.

“Hi.”

She smiled, hearing the deep voice behind her. She looked behind her and then turned around, “Hey, stranger.”

Hotch let a sheepish smile come to his face, “I’m sorry, we’ve not really had too much time to talk.”

“That’s okay,” She said, “We’re working the same case, Hotch. I know how important it is we catch them.”

Y/n grabbed the shirt from her desk chair and started buttoning it on. Hotch watched her nervously as she did so before speaking, “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, I’m patrolling the street with Prentiss and Detective Cooper. Figure you can’t be too careful with these guys,” She smiled as she picked up the suit jacket.

“Hold on,” Hotch interrupted as he stepped closer to her. He raised his hand to her shoulder and picked up the velcro strap of her vest and fastened it in place properly, it had been poking out the side of her collar. He let his hand linger for a second before snapping out of it and placing it back at his side. His eyes flickered to her and he found her already looking at him.

“Thanks,” She spoke softly.

“Be careful. We don’t know where they’re going to hit next,” Hotch replied, speaking as softly.

“I’m a big girl Hotchner, I’ll be okay.”

“I-”

“Aaron,” Kate interrupted as she strutted through the office, raising an eyebrow at the lack of distance between the two.

“You ready to review? I want to get as far ahead of these blokes as possible,” She continued and gestured for him to follow her.

“Of course, give me a minute?” He responded, not paying too much attention to her. The Agent humphed to herself before turning and walking away.

Y/n crossed her arms across her chest, “Emily said you two liased?”

Hotch smirked at her, raising an eyebrow, “Now, that wouldn’t be jealousy in your tone would it?”

She leant further back on her desk and averted her gaze, “Nope.”

“Because,” He stepped closer again with a smirk, “If it were, I would have to tell you our relationship is, and has always been, professional.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And ours?”

Hotch smiled and went to respond-

“Anyone seen Miller?”

Damn it, Emily.

Hotch cleared his throat and stepped back from her, a discrete blush rising to his cheeks.

Y/n laughed a little before standing up straight and putting her blazer on, “I’m just coming!”

She shot Hotch a quick wink before she retreated, walking up to Emily with a smile, “Let’s go.”

The pair stepped into the elevator before Y/n spoke again, “Where’s Detective Cooper?”

“He’s waiting for us outside,” Emily replied. A moment of quiet hovered in the air, the two trying to hold in their smiles.

“I’m just saying, but I think if Hotch got any closer to you he would have been mounting you,” Emily finally spoke.

“Emily Prentiss!!” Y/n spat out in shock.

The dark haired woman laughed, “What! I’m just saying what I saw!”

---

Y/n, Emily and Detective Cooper were all stood on the street, having just exited the subway station. Out of nowhere a loud gunshot echoed through the street, Y/n’s head snapping up and looking around for any sign of where it came from.

“Garcia!” Emily spoke into her comms.

“I’m on it,” The analyst spoke back, stress lacing her voice, “16th and Broadway! He’s running East on 16th!”

“He’s headed our way,” Y/n spoke and they took off.

They rounded the corner and slowed, taking in the street. Suddenly a black male, approximately 20-30 years old wearing a dark grey hoodie turned and started running away. The group drew their guns and started chasing him down, pedestrians flying out of their way, pushing themselves against the wall to avoid being hit.

“Move! Move!” Cooper shouted, narrowly pulling in front of Emily and Y/n.

“Out of the way!” Y/n shouted, following quickly behind him.

The unsub quickly glanced round, checking if he was still being followed and fired his gun. The bullet hit the wall beside Y/n’s head, pieces of brick and dust fell on her skin, cutting her cheek open. She hissed in pain but kept running, she’d be damned if she let this guy get away.

She saw Cooper round the corner seconds before her and a gun shot sounded. She quickly followed him but before she could pull the trigger on her own gun, she was shot in the abdomen. The impact of the shot pushed her down, falling with a crash against the asphalt. In her peripheral, she saw Emily catch up and shoot the unsub twice in the chest.

Panicked, Emily ran over to Y/n who only wheezed, “I’m okay, I’m okay! I’m wearing a vest, go help him!”

Prentiss let out a huge sigh of relief, thankful that her friend hadn’t actually been hit, and ran over to cooper, “Garcia! We’ve got an officer down 16th West of Union Square!”

Y/n was temporarily winded from the hit so she spent a second catching her breath. Her eye started stinging as the blood from her cheek started to run. She sat up slowly as an ambulance pulled up, the medics jumping out to help Cooper.

One ran over to her but she quickly spoke, “I’m okay, just a flesh wound. Help him.”

She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled over to Emily, still feeling a little woozy. She looked down at Cooper, assessing the hits he’d taken. They were both in his upper abdomen but he was still awake and still breathing so that was something.

Emily turned to face her, her hands still bloody, “Are you okay? I could have sworn he shot you!”

“He did,” She paused, still breathing fast as she popped open her shirt and showed the vest, one bullet sitting directly over her heart.

Emily laughed, partly because she was in shock and partly at the sheer luck of her friend, and pulled her in to a tight hug.

“Oh, ow. Too tight,” Y/n said, patting her friends back.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” She laughed, “Go take that off, let me see if there’s any bruising.”

Prentiss helped undo the straps and, as predicted, a large bruise spanned from under her shirt across her left shoulder.

Y/n winced assessing the damage and laughed ironically, “Well, it could have been worse.”

“Yeah,” Emily smiled, her eyes still wide, “Let’s get you checked over.”

“I’m fine-”

“Y/n! You’re not fine, he almost killed you. Please, just see the damn paramedic,” Prentiss interrupted with a stern voice.

She sighed, ultimately giving in, and let Emily put her arm around her for support. As they were walking to the second ambulance JJ and Morgan were running up.

“Oh my god!” JJ spoke as they reached the pair, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine-”

“She’s not fine! She was wearing a vest but you were still shot. And your face needs cleaning too,” Emily rattled off.

“Alright,” Morgan started, “You’re coming with me.”

Morgan quickly took her from Emily’s hold, letting Y/n lean on him as they walked over to the ambulance. A medic was already there with a tray of supplies and started cleaning her face right away.

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know that right?” Derek said, a deep frown etched on his features.

“I know,” She spoke timidly. Morgan clapped his hand on her shoulder before walking back over to JJ and Emily.

For the next five minutes all she could hear were the sounds of pedestrians walking by; sirens ringing a couple of blocks away; police tape being stretched and cut to map out the scene.

“Y/n!” She heard distantly.

“Y/n!” There is was again, closer this time.

The sound of police tape stretching caught her attention and she looked to her left. Hotch came running through. He quickly caught her eye and ran over, assessing her from head to toe.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, really. He shot me but it hit my vest,” She explained.

“But your face-”

“Just a flesh wound. Right, Doc?” She smirked at the medic who just nodded at the pair. The medic finished cleaning her up and let her stand, telling her to check in at the hospital if it gets worse.

“You must be freezing,” Hotch muttered, noticing she was only wearing a vest, “Take this.”

“Hotch-”

“Take. It.” He said firmly, clearly not taking no for an answer. She stood still as he draped the fabric over her shoulders. It was far too long and the sleeves came over her arms, but it was warm and it smelt like him.

Laughing, she held her arms out in front of her face, “Why are your arms so freakishly long?”

“They’re not,” He grumbled, “Just roll up your sleeves.”

He took her arm in his hands and started rolling up the sleeves for her, his eyes glancing at the vest that was resting against the ambulance. Y/n took a brief glance at what he was looking at before going back to watching his frowning face as he concentrated on rolling the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“Y’know, I might get that made into a necklace. Remind me of the fragility of life,” She jested quietly.

“Don’t remind me,” He muttered, cuffing the other sleeve higher on her arm.

His frown had deepened and her smile dropped from her face, “Hotch.”

He paused, his fingers lingering on the base of her wrist.

“I’m okay,” She spoke, looking in his eyes.

“I know.”

“Let’s go find out what’s going on,” Y/n said, and Hotch nodded before the pair walked over to where Rossi, Reid and Joyner were stood.

“We think we might have a serious problem,” Rossi spoke as he saw them approaching.

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

“We have multiple unsubs. They’re disciplined, they’re using counter-surveillance, they know the F.B.I movements, there’s a hierarchy. What does that usually equal?” Dave continued.

“Terrorism,” Y/n breathed out.

---

“So, how does this work?” Morgan asked, perched on a desk.

The group had traveled back to the office quickly, wanting to get ahead of the potential attack. Everyone was stood around being briefed on what was to come.

“The murders simulate a bombing,” Spencer said, “From there they station someone to watch and gauge police response time.”

Derek nodded, “At which point they know when to bring in a second bomb.”

“The goal is always to take out the first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders,” Y/n spoke. She was stood next to Hotch who towered over her. She was still wearing his jacket despite it being plenty warm in the office.

“It’s crazy but it’s ingenious. They get a practice run and if someone catches the shooter they think they just have a murderer,” Reid says.

“It’s lo-fi,” Kate added, “Smartest way to plan for a terrorist event.”

“Creating panic ensures that they see the most urgent response times short of a bombing,” Hotch said, his arm brushing up against Y/n’s.

JJ frowned, “So, there’s been seven different shooters?”

“Having followers do the shootings would ensure they’re willing to kill or be killed for the cause,” Rossi said.

“It fits the profile,” Prentiss nodded, “There is something larger at play. It’s similar to a gang initiation.”

“Especially if they’re home grown, they haven’t had the chance to prove themselves,” Hotch observed.

The shootings took place near points of entry into the city. If a bombing were to happen the emergency protocols would shut down any way in or out. Garcia had told the group that the unsubs had also hacked into the security cameras and had footage of every crime scene.

“They hacked into one camera at every crime scene,” Garcia said before Morgan hung up the call.

“So much for a theory,” Y/n said as she gazed up at Hotch, their expressions mirroring each others.

“We need to hit the ground running,” Kate quickly stood up from her place.

“I’m gonna head to the hospital. I’ll check on Cooper and brief Detective Brustin,” Emily said.

Y/n quickly stood from her place, “I’ll come with you.”

Emily nodded and Y/n quickly picked her gun up from the desk and slotted it back into the holster clipped to her waist. She started to leave but felt a soft grip on her arm.

Looking back she saw Hotch looking at her with a frown, “Be careful.”

“You too,” She said before turning and running to catch up with Prentiss.

---

Y/n was stood outside the hospital after they’d checked in on Cooper. He had lost a lot of blood and was going to be in a bit of pain for a while, but he’d be okay.

“Y/n!” Emily shouted, running out of the hospital. She looked a little frantic and was followed by Detective Brustin who was running to his cop car.

“What? What’s going on?”

“There’s been an explosion outside of the F.B.I building! A black SUV!” Emily shouted, approaching her quickly.

Y/n turned and unlocked the car, jumping into the drivers seat and Emily followed into the passenger side. She quickly pulled out after the cop car and started following him as Emily said, “Just follow Brustin.”

“Have you heard from anyone?” Y/n asked frantically as she switched on the sirens.

And just like that, Emily’s phone rung, and she put it on speaker, “Is everyone okay?”

“I’ve spoken to Rossi and Reid and Morgan’s on the line,” Garcia spoke.

“Emily, where are you?” He asked.

“We’re following Detective Brustin to one of the NYPD’s critical incident command posts!”

“We? Is Y/n still with you?” Garcia asked quickly.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m okay,” She responded, stepping on the gas.

“Okay,” Garcia let out a relieved breath before continuing, “Has anyone heard from JJ?”

“She was headed back to the hotel,” Emily replied.

“In an SUV?”

“I think so!”

“Stay with me a minute, I’ll dial her mobile,” The blonde spoke.

The number rung out for a moment but there was no answer.

“What was that? What happened?” Morgan asked.

“Try her again, she’s probably back at the hotel already,” Emily said frantically.

“Garcia, have you heard from Hotch?” Y/n asked, the fear suddenly catching up to her.

There was no response.

“Garcia! Where’s Hotch?” Y/n repeated, her voice catching as she spoke. She couldn’t let herself be overwhelmed, she still had a job to do but she felt almost powerless in that moment.

The line suddenly cut out, Emily’s cell making a beep before she snapped it shut.

“Fuck,” Y/n ran a hand through her hair before slamming it back down on the wheel.

---

next chapter

---

Tag list:

@kneelforloki @yougottalovefandoms @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @lovesammikinzz @bestillmystuckyheart @thedancingnerdmermaid @kishie8

#aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #hotch imagine #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau #bau imagine #angst imagine #constantcravingwrites

218 notes · View notes

frostedfaves · 4 years ago

Text

Dark Paradise

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!WandaNat x fem!reader

Summary: You meet the infamous Avengers on spring break with your best friend Peter, and two of them seem to adore you more than expected. Requested here by my lovely 🐞anon.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! dark themes, manipulation, mind control, blackmailing, age gap (reader is 21), dubcon (saying this just to be safe because Wanda uses her powers for evil a lot here), smut: oral, fingering, penetration/sex toy use, voyeurism (kinda), edging, overstimulation (if I forgot something please let me know!)

A/N: hi this is 6k words, which is the longest single fic I’ve ever written/posted here haha. also the end is not technically the end, if you know what I mean. anyway this took forever to write so enjoy this super far from canon fic and please tell me what you thought!! (also if you’re on my taglist and you weren’t tagged it’s because your age wasn’t in your bio)

“Here, let me take that for you,” Peter offers when he notices you headed toward the car, and you hand your suitcase to him with a smile.

“Thanks, P.”

You close the car door behind you after getting in on the passenger side, instantly reaching for his phone resting on the dashboard once you were buckled in. The two of you had an unspoken rule that you controlled the music whenever you traveled together, so his library was filled with various playlists you’d created simply because you didn’t trust him not to listen to the same five songs for the rest of his life.

“This is different,” Peter comments as he gets in on the driver’s side and catches the opening notes to an upbeat song. “I thought you were going to go with something calmer to help you sleep, like you usually do.”

“Well, I’m not usually going to meet the Avengers, so I’m too nervous to sleep.” You turn to pout at him as he drives off. “Is it too late to cancel?”

“Don’t even think about it. If I show up without you, everyone will think you’re imaginary.”

“Do they think you can’t make any friends outside of Ned?” you question as you open a bottle of water. “Because they’re not wrong.”

“I can make friends!” Peter whines and a quiet snorting sound escapes you.

“You can’t use me as an example.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re not actually friends.”

He picks up on your teasing nature and rolls his eyes, causing you to laugh as you lean back and settle into your seat more. You had well over three hours to stress about spending a week with the world’s most popular superheroes, and you’d rather be comfortable while you do so.

“Wake up, we’re here!”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of Peter’s voice, and any of the nerves that left long enough to let you sleep made a U-turn and hit you again, full force. Sitting up straight in the seat, you practice breathing properly while stretching and taking a look around as he pulls into the garage.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks once he parks, placing a hand over yours as he meets your gaze and you smile.

“I’ll be fine, P. I’m not gonna miss out on hanging out with you just because your super family is super intimidating.”

“Good. Besides, it won’t even be that bad! I’m willing to bet $1 million that they’ll love you.”

“I appreciate your optimism,” you tell him as the two of you get out of the car. “But you’re going to regret that bet when I use your money to retire early in some faraway rural town.”

Peter carried both suitcases as you made your way to an elevator, and you jumped when you suddenly heard a male voice.

“Welcome, Mr. Parker and Ms. L/N.”

“What is that?” you questioned as you faced Peter with wide eyes and he chuckled.

“You’re hearing Jarvis, Mr. Stark’s AI. Hey Jarvis, can you take us to the common room, please?”

“Right away, Mr. Parker.”

“This is so cool,” you comment as you look around the suddenly moving elevator. “How does it know my name?”

“Knowing everything is kind of its job, I guess.”

“Underoos!” a voice calls as soon as the doors open, quickly revealing itself to belong to Tony Stark as his gaze lands on you next. “So she is real.”

“I told you!” Peter defends as you step off the elevator together. “Mr. Stark, this is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, kid,” Tony greets you with a shake of your hand. “I’m glad he found you. I was starting to worry that he’d build a robot to spend the rest of his life with.”

“I’m just his best friend, so it’s still possible.”

“Is this your friend, Peter?” Steve cuts off Peter’s response as he enters the room, moving to shake your hand next. “I’m Steve. Nice to meet you.”

“Okay, I’m going to show her to our rooms and then we’ll be back for dinner,” Peter tells everyone once you’d been introduced to Pepper, Bruce and Clint as well, and you’re about to head for the elevator again when someone interrupts.

“How about we take her down to her room instead?”

Your eyes widen as you watch none other than Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff enter the room hand in hand. Natasha’s hair seemed much longer than the last time she’d been in the public eye, but her all-knowing smirk was just the same and her green eyes were even more piercing in person. You noticed a bit of red glowing in Wanda’s eyes, which faded as she probably realized you’d seen, and you couldn’t help but wonder if that meant she hated you already.

“I know what you’re up to, Red.” Tony seemed accusatory as he pointed a finger at the pair. “You can’t bribe her into helping you cheat tonight.”

“Maybe I planned on giving her tips for surviving this testosterone filled tower.”

Natasha steps forward and grabs your hand with her free one, and with a flick of her wrist, Wanda has your suitcase floating in front of you as they lead you into the elevator.

“Sorry to whisk you away like that,” Wanda apologizes as the doors close with her head tilted to see you past Natasha. “We’re just excited to meet a new woman here.”

“No, it’s okay!” you insist breathlessly, your nerves slowly returning as Natasha lightly squeezes your hand. “I’m actually really excited to meet the two of you.”

“You know who we are?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I know you personally, but I know that you’re one of the original team members.” You make eye contact briefly with Natasha before turning to Wanda. “And because the news stations somehow get ahold of everything, I know you joined after you helped everyone stop Ultron before he could create that indestructible body and destroy the world.”

“Yes, that’s true. Although I wish I could’ve saved my brother, too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you lost him...or that you even had a brother.”

“It’s okay,” Wanda assures you with a smile as she lets go of Natasha, shifting to the other side of the elevator to grab your free hand. “I asked Fury to keep Pietro a secret because I didn’t want to see or hear any negative opinions from people that never even met him.”

“And we have plenty of time to get to know each other,” Natasha chimes in as the doors open to reveal a new setting. “This is our floor. We set up a spare bedroom here so we can spend time together away from the boys...when you’re not with Peter, of course.”

“Yeah, that’d be great!”

They lead you past their living room and kitchen, and you shamelessly admire the simple decor with little personal touches spread about. Turning into a hallway, Natasha walks ahead of you and Wanda to open a door to a bedroom.

“What do you think?” she asks with a smile that widens upon seeing your expression. “I’m guessing it’s good, then.”

“It’s perfect!” you cry out as you walk past to enter the room, immediately noticing the eggshell colored walls trimmed with your favorite color along the borders. “Wow, this is four times the size of a normal bedroom. Wait a minute.”

“Do you like it?” Wanda asks when she sees you pick up the glass figurine on the nightstand. “Peter mentioned your love of this animal and I have a whole collection of them from different places.”

“Like it? I love it! I have the same one in my dorm room!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can get you a different one.” She steps forward as she brings your suitcase to the floor beside the bed and you hug the small object close to your chest.

“Like I said, it’s perfect,” you assure her with a grin, which brings one to her own face.

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy with the set up. When you’re ready to head up to dinner, we’ll be waiting by the elevator. Also, if you ever need anything, our room is right across the hall.”

Natasha points to the closed door a few feet away, and you acknowledge her statement with a nod before they leave the room, closing your door nearly all the way behind them. You flop down on the bed with a dreamy sigh as you gaze up at the ceiling with a night sky painted on it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave this place.”

On the elevator ride up to join everyone for dinner, Natasha and Wanda take turns asking you questions about your classes and any friends you’d made, what you liked to do when you weren’t studying. You had to admit that the level of interest they had with you was shocking but flattering, especially when they insisted you sit between them at the table to continue your conversation.

“You don’t seem to be nervous anymore,” Peter acknowledges as you sit down, and Wanda faces you immediately.

“Were you nervous about meeting us?”

“Well, yeah,” you answer timidly, avoiding catching anyone’s curious glances by directing a glare toward Peter. “You might be normal people in here, but to the rest of the world, you’re portrayed as powerful and untouchable beings.”

“Maybe when they’re not talking about how much damage we’ve caused,” Bruce mumbles under his breath as the elevator doors opened again.

“I’m here, I’m here!” a voice calls as footsteps hurry toward the dining area, and Sam Wilson is revealed as he rounds the corner. “Sorry, I’m late. I was--”

“On a date, we know. You only told us that 500 times.”

“Don’t be jealous, old man. You’re married.” Sam grins at Clint as he sits next to him before his attention turns to you. “Do we have a newbie?”

“No, Mr. Wilson. This is my best friend, Y/N.”

“Call me Sam, kid.” He smiles at you as he goes for his silverware, and you’re just about to acknowledge him when his expression suddenly turns serious. “I’m sorry. You’re not a kid. You’re an independent and capable adult, and I should address you as such.”

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.” Sam clears his throat and shakes his head as if he was clearing his mind. “I just suddenly felt the need to correct myself…You have any powers we should know about, Y/N?”

“No!” you quickly respond with widened eyes. “I wasn’t going to say anything, actually. I’m pretty used to older people calling me kid by now.”

From your left side, Natasha asks Clint to recall an embarrassing tale for you and the table livens up again, but you can’t seem to move past the unsettling way Sam shifted gears from calm and casual to uptight and disciplined. The image stayed with you through the rest of dinner even after he seemed to fully recover, until dishes were cleared away and replaced with games, and you suddenly had a lot more to focus on.

“I just don’t think it’s fair that he gets to be on your team again when I haven’t had him once.”

“Is anything fair with the guy who could use his personalized AI to cheat for him?”

“Could I do that? Yes. But have I done that? Maybe.”

“Wanna grab some fresh air with us?” Natasha suddenly asks you, causing you to frown.

“Aren’t we about to play another game?”

“It’ll take them another half hour before they finally decide something,” Wanda assures you as her fingers thread through yours gently. “We have plenty of time, and they won’t even notice we’re gone.”

They lead you by the hand to the elevator once more, going up a few floors before leading you out onto a balcony. Because you were so much higher than most of the surrounding buildings, there was an incredible view of the sun that was probably minutes away from disappearing to the other side of the world. The air is chillier than when you’d arrived, but you had to admit that standing in the cool breeze is worth a few goosebumps on your skin. Your hands are released as you reach a bench near the ledge, and you climb over it to sit as the other two women settle on either side of you.

“Why did Peter decide to share his secret with you?”

“Technically he didn’t,” you recall with a laugh. “He’d gone out to deal with something that activated his spider sense or whatever and I came to his dorm room to sleep after an exam because I was too tired to walk all the way to my place. Anyway, I walk in at the same time he’s coming back in through the window, and I swear we both sat there for a full two minutes before either of us could think of anything to say.”

“It’s still very nice of you to keep such a big secret for him,” Natasha praises, and your laughter quiets down as you take in her words.

“I guess I just know what it feels like to not want your life to change drastically because of one thing.” Your gaze shifts between the women for a moment. “That reminds me, I wanted to ask--”

“Wait, look at this!” Wanda quickly cuts you off with an enthusiastic grin. “You’re about to witness one of my favorite things about living here.”

She directs you to lean over and look at the streets as the sun finally disappears over the horizon, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes you. Street lights begin turning on at what seems to be the center of the city and quickly spreading, increasing the radius of well-lit neighborhoods by the second. It was a mesmerizing sight that--until every lamp was on--nearly made you forget the question you were building toward.

“That was so cool!” you express honestly before clearing your throat awkwardly. “So I wanted to ask if the two of you were dating...or in a relationship or whatever. I mean, I don’t want to assume anything of course, just wondering because you share a room and floor, and you seem to be really into holding hands.”

“Well, I’d never really been into holding hands or a lot of other forms of affection before I met Wanda, but she seemed to flip some switch inside of me.” Natasha admitted with a bashful chuckle as she glanced at Wanda before turning to study you. “And your hands are so perfect to hold.”

“To answer your question, we are together.” Wanda rests a hand on your thigh and casts a sweet smile in your direction when you face her again. “Natasha was the first to give me a chance after everything with Ultron, and initially I thought I was just feeling grateful to receive some type of positive attention from someone other than Pietro. It wasn’t until Tash called me out on staring at her lips that I realized I wanted more than friendship.”

“The only reason I did was to confirm she was feeling the same things I’d finally come to terms with myself.” Natasha chuckles as Wanda sends over a bit of red mist to squeeze her own thigh. “What about you, love?”

“What about me?”

“Do you think you’re feeling more than friendship for Peter?”

“Oh no,” you quickly denied with a chuckle. “He’s the perfect example of a great boyfriend, but not my boyfriend. Plus I’d rather not have the same experience as MJ did.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, the ‘close friends to a relationship that ends with each person pretending the other doesn’t exist’ experience. I’d rather not.”

“Yeah, that does sound messy,” Natasha sighs as she subtly rests her hand on your other thigh. “So you’re not looking for a great boyfriend. What are you looking for then?”

“Nothing really, at least until I finish school, but having a girlfriend would be nice. I’d like to be with someone that respects me and can take care of themselves when I’m not around, because I tried the ‘caring for someone’ thing and it sucks when they don’t put in the same effort that you do.”

“Maybe you should try someone older, more mature,” Natasha suggests as she shifts to squeeze your knee lightly, and you start to feel a bit nervous about where she’s going with this. “Maybe two people that already have their shit together and would go to the ends of the earth to please you.”

“Okay, um…” You push both of their hands away with a bit of difficulty. “You both seem great and you’re incredibly attractive, but I’m not really interested.”

“Don’t worry about it, detka.” Natasha pushes your shoulder down as you try to get up, and Wanda cups your cheek with her hand.

“You may not be interested now…” She stands with Natasha and leans in to kiss your forehead, letting her lips linger on your skin as she continues. “But you will be.”

She pulls away and winks before lacing her fingers through Natasha’s as they leave the balcony, and you gasp in air as the tension they’d built seems to exit behind them. You finally decide to head back once you’ve taken a few minutes to catch your breath and calm your shaking limbs, but you wonder how long the calm will truly last.

You found yourself waking up suddenly and practically flying into a sitting position as if someone had pulled you up, but luckily the room is empty. You sit for a moment to catch your breath and survey your surroundings to assure you’re truly alone, and you notice your door is cracked right before you hear an unidentifiable sound.

“Fuck.”

Despite every fiber of your being screaming at you as one would do to a character in a horror film, you decide to climb out of bed to investigate what you were hearing, justifying your actions with the excuse of seeing if your floor-mates were in danger, as if you could save them. A few seconds after opening your door fully and peeking out made you realize that they were more than okay.

“Fuck! Right there, please don’t stop.”

“Such a dirty mouth, malyshka.”

You’re quick to return the door to its cracked position, leaning against the nearby wall with wide eyes as you attempt to process the image across the hall. The bedroom door sits wide open, giving you the chance to examine every inch of bare skin of the two women spread across the bed, Wanda resting on her arched back with her hands in Natasha’s red hair buried between her legs. Her moans seem to raise in volume, pitch and frequency as she’s brought closer and closer to the edge, and you ignore the warm feeling in your lower abdomen as you hurry back to bed and throw a pillow over your exposed ear.

“Good morning.”

Your free hand quickly shoots upward to catch your water glass as it slipped through your fingers in your moment of shock, and you try not to make a deal of hearing two sets of footsteps headed toward the kitchen.

“How’d you sleep last night? I know how scary it can be to rest your eyes in a new place.”

“I think I did pretty well,” you answer quietly as you step away from the fridge and lean against a section of the counter that faces out into the rest of the room. “The bed’s really nice.”

“You’re lying,” Wanda accuses as she crosses the room, eyes turning red and hands lifting toward your face.

“What are you--”

“Couldn’t sleep because of us, right?” She chuckles when you go limp under her touch, and Natasha ducks between the two of you to save your glass for the second time. “Did you enjoy hearing us that much?”

“You did sound really good,” you tell her with a drowsy smile as she pins you against the counter to keep you from falling.

“I bet you wish you were in my place, don’t you?” Her tone is light and teasing at first, becoming a bit stern as she shifts to push her thigh between your legs and you instantly roll your hips against the pressure. “Or maybe you want to taste me while Natasha fucks you?”

“No.”

“No?!” she fires back immediately, leaving a red mist around your temples as she grabs your waist with both hands to keep you grinding against her. “You mean you don’t want to cum right now?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

A breathy moan escapes you as your eyes flutter closed, and if your head wasn’t being forcefully held in place, it would’ve tipped backward. You feel what must be Natasha’s fingertips grazing along your jaw and tracing a line down the side of your neck and toward your shoulder, repeating the gentle motion as goosebumps appeared all over the exposed skin.

“Is everyone decent?”

The fog behind your eyes seems to clear in seconds, and you blink in confusion when you open your eyes to see Natasha and Wanda making coffee nearby. You try to recall even coming into the kitchen, but everything from the moment you stepped into the bathroom to get ready is a blur, so you shake your head and reach for your glass of water on the counter as Natasha responds.

“Come in, Peter.”

“Morning, everyone,” Peter greets cheerfully as he enters the kitchen, his grin falling when his eyes land on you. “Are you okay?”

You open your mouth with the full intention of telling him that you are not okay, not when you were missing at least an hour of memory, and bits of last night were slipping away from you too. But before you could speak, a cold feeling seems to pass through the back of your skull to slip into your brain, and a switch flips.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you respond with a chuckle. “You worry too much, spiderling.”

“The world’s a stressful place,” he grumbles when you playfully ruffle his hair. “Anyway, are you ready to go soon?”

“Where are you headed?” Natasha quickly asks with a frown. “Y/N hasn’t even had breakfast yet.”

“We’re meeting Aunt May, so we’ll eat with her.”

“I just have to grab my bag,” you explain before heading down the hall to your temporary room, feeling the chilly sensation leaving you as you get further away from the kitchen, and it thankfully doesn’t return when you head back. “Ready.”

“Have fun!” Natasha calls as Peter heads for the elevator again, quickly grabbing your wrist once he’s out of sight. “See you tonight, printsessa.”

Her hand quickly shifts to grip the back of your neck as she leans in to kiss your cheek, and the two women are wearing sweet smiles as you turn away from them to catch up with Peter, attempting to shake the shell-shocked expression from your features.

“You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine,” you insist as the doors close, in hopes that you really would be fine.

Meeting Peter’s aunt was much more of a pleasant experience than you expected, and it was obvious she adored you by the way she spoke to you, although part of you felt she was just happy Peter had more people around to love him. Your day was cut a bit short when MJ unexpectedly approached Peter, requesting to talk to him, and Aunt May offered to drive you back to the tower so you both could escape that awkward mess of a conversation.

“It was so great to meet you today,” you tell her with a grin as you take off your seatbelt.

“Likewise, honey. You have my number so just call me if you ever need anything, okay?”

She pulls you into a hug over the middle console and you thank her again for the ride as you get out of the car, trying not to seem too nervous when you notice Natasha and Wanda standing in the lobby. Your plan was to walk past them without speaking, but you should’ve known that wouldn’t work.

“Why was she hugging you?” Natasha asks coldly as you enter the building and you sigh.

“She was just saying goodbye--wait. Why am I explaining myself to you?”

You keep walking until they’re no longer in your peripheral, stopping abruptly as a red mist surrounds your legs, and your eye-rolling is cut short when Wanda appears in front of you and grabs your chin harshly.

“If Tash asks you a question, you answer.”

“Without attitude,” Natasha adds, which makes you want to roll your eyes again.

“Sorry, I didn’t get the rules handbook when I arrived. Can I go now?”

“You know what?” Wanda cuts off Natasha’s angry response with a smirk. “You can go.”

The red mist surrounding you disappeared, and despite the suspicious feeling that washed over you, you continued on toward the elevator with your head held high. You refused to let them get to you.

It was subtle at first. A slight tingling between your legs that you couldn’t seem to get rid of. In the very beginning, you were worried that something was wrong until you realized where the feeling was coming from when it turned into slow circles around your clit as you caught up with Peter in his room. By dinner, there was the added sensation of fingers curling inside you at a steady pace, and you hoped no one would notice your hips slightly bucking under the table as you attempted to repeatedly chase a release that never came.

A movie follows dinner today, and you make sure to cover yourself with a large blanket because you were still being edged and you couldn’t stop moving at this point. You even try to slide your hand into your sweatpants to finish the job yourself, and your jaw clenches in anger every time your fingers lock up because you know who’s responsible.

“Okay, you win!” you announce as you walk into the kitchen on Natasha and Wanda’s private floor, not missing the look shared between the two women. “I’m sorry I was rude earlier. Can you please just stop teasing me?”

“How about we help you finish instead?”

You should decline. You should just say ‘no’ because letting them finish you off tonight will turn into an attachment that you know you don’t want, nor are you ready for. Inviting them in will be equivalent to selling your soul, and you’re not sure you want to put a price on it. But the ache below your stomach is persistent, and if they won’t let you touch yourself, someone has to do it.

“Fine.”

“Don’t be so grumpy about it,” Wanda teases as she grabs your hand and starts leading you toward their bedroom. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

She pushes you back onto the surprisingly large bed as soon as you’re close enough, instructing you to take off your shirt and bra while she watches. Once your top half is completely exposed, she leans forward to run her hands from your shoulders down toward your nipples, circling them with her thumbs until they harden.

“I don’t like being teased.”

“Oh, you don’t?” she asks in a mocking tone as she reaches for the band of your sweatpants and pulls them down, placing her palm over the wet spot in your panties. “Then what’s this?”

“Please,” you beg through a quiet moan, bucking your hips again when she presses her thumb against your clit through the fabric. “Please just fuck me already.”

“Patience, detka.”

You watch with wide eyes as Natasha and Wanda both strip away their own sweatpants, revealing the toys tied to their legs. Natasha goes to untie hers while Wanda uses her powers to rip away your ruined panties in one fluid motion.

“There she is.”

Natasha puts her hand on Wanda’s back and forces her to bend over, and you bite your lip as her eyes flutter closed and mouth falls open while Natasha thrusts into her. You’re just about to grab Wanda’s hand to lead her where you want, when her eyes open suddenly with a glowing red surrounding her pupils, and your wrists are bound together over your head by an invisible force.

“Did you forget who’s in charge here?”

“Don’t get too cocky, malyshka,” Natasha reminds her as she grabs a fistful of her hair and slams into her, causing Wanda to moan and giggle at the same time.

“My apologies, Tash.”

You couldn’t help your sigh of relief as Wanda finally slid two fingers inside of you, her thrusts deepening each time as Natasha fucked her toward you with her hands on her hips. The sounds coming from your mouth and between your legs were embarrassingly loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as she brought you closer and closer to the edge, until a loud whine escaped you as she removed her fingers and delivered a slap to your glistening folds.

“Tell me who this belongs to,” she orders through her own moans, holding you down when you begin grinding into her hand. “I’m gonna cum regardless of what you do, so you’d better answer. Be a good girl like I know you can.”

“Yours!” you cry out finally, sighing when Natasha leans into your line of sight with a brow raised. “It’s yours and Natasha’s.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She slips back into you without warning, and your back arches off the bed as she finally brings you to orgasm. She continues to thrust into you as you whine and squirm away, luckily slowing down and finally stopping as Natasha makes her cum a minute later, leaving the strap inside of her as they both catch their breath. Wanda pulls out of you and sits up to lean against her, holding her hand up between them as they both clean your cum off her fingers with their tongues, and you sit there clenching around nothing as you watch.

“You seem tired,” Natasha comments as her eyes land on you again.

“Too bad we’re not done.”

Wanda flips you onto your stomach with a quick motion of her fingers, using her hands to pull you by the waist until you’re on your knees at the edge of the bed, and she holds one side of your waist as she delivers a slap to your ass this time. Her touch lingers as she pulls away to free her own strap, and you nearly fall over when you feel the tip of the toy rub against your clit.

“Wait, let me fuck her this time.”

You hear their soft laughter as they switch places, sharing a kiss in the process, and you gasp when a hand wraps around your neck and pulls you up against Natasha’s chest.

“I like having you this close to me, printsessa,” she whispers in your ear, chuckling when you melt against her as she pushes the tip of her strap into you. “How many times do you think I can get you to cum?”

Her grip on your throat is loose as she allows you to adjust to the size, tightening suddenly when she slams into you once, twice, until every thrust is at a rough pace that you wouldn’t be able to handle if she wasn’t holding you against her by the waist. You feel that same tingling circling your clit again, occasionally traveling upward to tease your nipples as well, and it wasn’t long before you were releasing a strangled scream as you climaxed.

Natasha eventually stops thrusting into you as your legs shake, and you breathe out another sigh of relief when she allows you to fall onto the mattress. However, the relief is short-lived when you realize that she only paused to let Wanda push into her from behind, and it wasn’t long before the two of them found a rhythm that was pleasing them and ruining you.

Your wrists are freed as Natasha pulls out of you some minutes later, and you collapse onto one side of the bed with your body aching a bit from a third orgasm, your eyes only halfway open as you watch the pair. They remove the straps from their waists and set them aside, and you become a bit more alert when you notice Natasha grab what seems to be a double-ended dildo.

“No more. I can’t,” you mumble tiredly as your wrists are bound by Wanda’s power again.

“One more, and you can,” she tells you as she flops onto the bed beside you, and that red mist surrounds her fingers again as she guides you onto your knees to hover above her face. “You wanted to cum, so you don’t get to run from this.”

Her hands grab your waist and pull you closer, and you release a shuddering moan as her tongue runs past your hole and over your clit, teasing it a few times with the tip of her tongue before diving in to wrap her lips around it. She alternates between sucking your clit and slipping inside you as Natasha climbs on the bed behind you to position herself with the new toy.

“Fuck,” Wanda attempts to say once Natasha begins thrusting, and you fall forward as the vibration of her moans become too much, whining when Natasha slides her hands over your breasts and pulls you back up again.

“Take it all like a good girl.”

She keeps pulling until your head drops against her, and she moans against your neck while she kisses and sucks on your skin, bouncing faster on Wanda who groans loudly in response as she attempts to match each thrust. The hums of her voice has you grinding against her tongue, and you yelp when Natasha bites down just as Wanda brings you over the edge. She keeps going despite your protests, managing to get you to cum once more before they finally do.

You lie there with your bones feeling like jelly as you’re covered with a blanket minutes after everyone’s bathroom trip, too tired to even fight for sleeping in your own bed as Natasha and Wanda slide in on either side of you.

“You did so well tonight, detka,” Wanda praises as she strokes your cheek with a loving stare. “I can tell you’ll be a great addition to our relationship. I knew it from the moment I saw you.”

“I’m not doing this again,” you insist as the smile fades from her expression. “I’m not getting in a relationship with two women that don’t take ‘no’ for an answer, and I’d prefer sleeping in my own bed.”

“You’re already in a relationship with us, printsessa,” Natasha growls as she shoves you back down when you try to get up, and you push her hand away.

“There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me want to be with you.”

“It’s not about what you want to do. It’s about what you have to do.” She grabs your phone from the nightstand, and you’re somehow not even surprised when she unlocks it on the first try. “Because it’d be a shame if someone was to tell Peter about all the nudes you have of him.”

You snatch the phone from her grip, eyes widening as you scroll through your camera roll, finding naked pictures of Peter scattered throughout it. You check the date on the oldest one and began to feel nauseous when you saw it was taken not even a month after the two of you met.

“Don’t think you’ll be deleting those either, because we can replace them and make things worse.” Her smile was falsely sweet and troubling as she grabbed your chin to force you to make eye contact. “We’ve gone this long without having you, and we’ll do whatever it takes not to lose you.”

Tags: @cordeliaswhore @egotisticalstoner @muralskins @natasha-danvers @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @madamevirgo @teenwonder @honeyvenable @slut-for-nat

2K notes · View notes

wwilloww · 4 years ago

Text

point of no return | PJM

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates AU.

WC: 10.2k

Summary: Both Jimin and you are determined to never act on the feelings you hold for one another. Instead, you’d rather shove it down, somewhere deep, dark, and inaccessible. So what do you get when you mix a broken furnace, an old victorian home, a little bit of jealousy in the club, and a need to keep warm together? A mess.

Warnings & Tags: Cursing. Reader is really freakin cold. Jimin sleeps in the nude. Spooning. Grinding. Obscene daydreaming about your best friend. Sex dreams. Mentions of alcohol. Dancing. Jimin is a little jealous. Masterbation. Unexpected visual. Super soft makeout. Fingering. Orgasm denial. Sex. Slight power play. Creampie.

AN: Oof! Finally! A Jimin fic! Thank you to @thatlongspringnight for guiding me through the last 6k of this fic, all written in one day and for being the most brilliant, queen of queens level beta reader. A big thanks to @triviasapphic too, for letting me use their likeness!

This is very loosely based on this ask beautifully submitted by the loveliest @jinpanman for the milestone request party!

point of no return

“Fuckin’ shithead mutherfuckin cunt basket,” you hiss.

Nothing would turn it on.

You tried pressing the knob. You tried twisting it until your hand rubbed raw. You tried shaking it. You tried begging in your sweetest, most saccharine tone. You even tried giving it compliments.

“Have I ever told you how sexy you look with three coats of white paint? No?”

Fifteen minutes ago the antique radiator — so old it would probably be better in a museum of old technologies than as a functioning heat mechanism — stuttered to a halt and refused to turn back on.

When you had picked the house out with your best friend, Jimin, you’d loved it for it’s Victorian era charm. But now with the December cold creeping in through the thin window and your refusal to own more than one blanket you were shivering madly, teeth clattering cold. And wildly in doubt of your house hunting skills.

With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, you drag your comforter off of the mattress, wrap it tightly over your shivering shoulders, and pad barefoot down the hall. Instead of knocking, you just twist the door handle, letting the door swing open before you with a long, drawn-out squeak. You wince at the sound.

A dark figure sits up from the bed, squinting at you in the darkness.

“Is that—”

“It’s me,” you whisper. If it were anyone else, that response would be useless. But after years of friendship Jimin knows every tune and nook in your voice — the way it sounds when you’re upset, or scared, or — in this case — really fucking cold. “The heater broke.”

“What?” His voice is groggy and sleep-heavy.

“The heater broke. Can I stay here tonight?”

He scrunches his nose and wipes a hand across his face.

“Yeah, sure, uh—” He shifts a bit in bed and that’s when you realize he’s not wearing anything at all. You gulp. It’s the coldest month of the year and the fucker is naked in bed, nothing more than a top sheet thrown over his body, the rest of the duvet crumpled at the foot of the bed. Even though you know he’s one to sleep in the nude (“It invigorates your skin and keeps your body temperature regulated,” he had explained to you once) seeing it, in front of you, just the thinnest piece of fabric between you and your best friend’s junk is a whole other story.

As he moves, the sheet slips down, revealing his toned stomach, only visible by the moonlight flooding through the bay windows of his bedroom.

“Give me a minute to put something on?”

“Uh huh,” you mumble, turning around quickly to give him some semblance of privacy, your blanket whooshing out behind you.

You can hear him pad over to his dresser, just three feet behind you. You swallow hard as you imagine him, totally naked, so close to you. Literally within arms reach. If you could only—

“Turn around, I’m done.”

You peek over your shoulder before turning fully, only to see Jimin, now clothed in some pretty short black boxers, climbing back into bed. Blanket trailing, you shuffle after him, climbing into the warm bed from the other side.

You pull your comforter as tightly around you as you can, but you’re still cold. As you turn to face away from your friend, you can’t help but shiver, your shoulders shaking with the chill that’s settled deep in your bones.

“Can you stop shaking?” Jimin’s sleep-adled voice grunts from behind you.

“I’m too cold,” you whine.

“Come ‘ere—”

And before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging your body backwards until it meets his. He pulls the blanket up and slides in behind you, wrapping himself around your shivering form.

“Better?” he asks while you’re still in shock from the amount of contact he’s just put the two of you in.

“Mhmm,” you squeak out, even as your body continues to shake.

“You’re a liar,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know why you bothered to ask then,” you snap back, wrapping your arms tight around yourself.

You’re not sure if he sees this or if he’s acting on his own accord. You let out a small gasp as he tugs you even closer, his arm slipping under the blanket to press against the skin of your hip. He maneuvers you backwards, your body as limp as a puppet, while you lay there in shock (and a small bit of exhilaration). He presses the back of your body flush against his front and snakes his top arm up the front of your torso until it rests in the center of your chest, gripping your opposite shoulder.

Trapped.

You’re trapped in his arms, nowhere to move, nowhere to go. Only the sound of your combined breaths, his a little more slow and sleepy than your nervous pant. Trapped only with the idea of him so close, and the strange thing fluttering in your chest that only continues to grow bigger and bigger despite all the work you’ve done to push it away. All you can think about is the way he’s pressed up against you, only your thin flannel pajama pants and his even thinner black boxers keeping the most sensitive parts of your bodies apart.

When he shifts, nustling his nose into the crook of your shoulder, you swear you can feel something long and hard press up against your ass.

And suddenly the warmth that is flooding through you has absolutely nothing to do with the shared body heat. Instead it’s coming from someplace deep down — somewhere yearning and desperate — and also from that strange fluttering thing in your chest.

All there is is white. You know somewhere far above you is an endless sea of stars, blinking down on you. But all you know is the grass beneath you and the swimming white sheets that float above and around you.

Someone’s laughing and you turn your face to see him — Jimin — beaming and reaching out towards you.

Somewhere in your mind you know it’s night time and that everything should be dark — and yet, everything around him is lit up and glows with a sourceless light.

Joy rushes through you and as you reach out towards him, he disappears and a new kind of light — warmth — appears behind you.

“I want—” you start to say, but his hand comes up to your mouth, silencing you.

“If you speak, you’ll break the dream,” he says. “Just enjoy it. Let me be here with you.”

Eyes don’t close in dreams, but you know you drift somewhere soft, the feeling of his body so close to yours and the precious rhythm of his breath tracing your neck.

All there is warmth.

Too much of it, actually.

As your eyes blink open to the dark room, the remnants of some dream, lots of white, Jimin’s smile fall away from your consciousness. You kick your leg out into the freezing air and sigh as the coolness washes the heat from your body. Relief.

The warmth that hasn’t been erased, however, is sitting heavy in your lower belly, pooling and swirling and wanting.

You do your best to ignore it, knowing it’s probably some mix of the dream and the thing that you’ve kept hidden on the edge of your consciousness for too long.

You close your eyes again, wishing for sleep to come back and pull you away from these thoughts. Just as you feel the soft edges of another dream lapping at the edges of your mind, Jimin groans behind you and comes to press up against you again, his hand snaking down over your belly.

Eyes shoot open. There. Behind you. Right between the swell of your ass. You can feel his cock pressing into you, at full hardness. You gasp at the sensation, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth so as not to wake him. Slowly, you try to scootch away from his grip, but he holds you there, his arm only tightening when you try to move away.

It’s not that you don’t want it — you do — your body is singing with electricity at the thought of his hard cock against you, between you, inside you. God, if only. However, it’s the consequences, the unspoken question, the unanswered desires (the answer to which you may just not want to know) that push you away from him.

This is your best friend. The person you’ve always been able to rely on and trust. The man you know you can turn to at any moment and know there will never be a question dangling between the two of you.

Except for now.

As he slowly circles his hips against yours, the most delightful, breathy pants falling from his lips — so soft you can barely hear them — the question looms larger than ever.

Are you in love with your best friend?

However, here, his arm wrapped so tightly around your belly, it’s easy to sink into the desire. To equate the arrival of the question with the arousal rising in your body. To tell yourself this is just pleasure, this is natural.

Jimin’s palm is splayed out across your lower belly, pressing hard against you.

He’s rutting shallowly against you, moving for the sake of his own pleasure. A high note of satisfaction slips from his lips, before a name tumbles shortly after it into your ear.

Not any name.

Your name.

You choke on your own words as you understand it. Confusion rushes over you but it’s quickly replaced by adrenaline as his hand clenches and unclenches around your shirt and he shifts and stretches.

Jimin is waking up. Is he going to say something? Is he going to tell you he didn’t mean it at all? Will he run from you?

His body freezes as he realizes the position he’s in. Wrapped so intimately around you, his hard cock pressed against you.

“Shit,” you hear him whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You squeeze your eyes closed and lay as still as possible as you feel him pull away from you. And then the bed dips just enough and you realize he’s leaning over you, checking to see if you’re asleep or not.

You smooth out your features, hoping he doesn’t catch that you’ve been awake this whole time.

The December morning light is streaming in bold and warm through the window.

Your hand goes searching for Jimin, but all you find is an empty, chilled, pillow. There’s a good chance he’s already headed out for the day to see friends or to run errands and so you assume it’s safe as you tiptoe downstairs to get some water and some much needed coffee. Not that you slept much last night.

As you enter the kitchen, the earthy smell of fresh coffee hits you and you take a deep breath, inhaling the nutty aroma. There’s a full pot of coffee already waiting for you on the counter. You smile. Jimin has always been a considerate housemate, but to leave you coffee in the morning? I’m so lucky to have a friend like him, you sigh as you turn to the cabinet to grab a mug.

“Good morning!” an almost nervous, too-cheery voice sings out from behind you.

“AGh!” you cry, nearly dropping the mug you’re holding. Jimin’s quicker than you are though, and reaches out, just as it drops below your belly button. He’s laughing, his delightful giggle filling the light-painted kitchen but all you can think about is how close he’s standing to you, the mug brushing up against your stomach.

“Got it,” he grins.

“You know you can’t jump out at me like that!” you scold, trying to take the mug back from him. But he turns and goes to fill it up for you.

“I literally said your name twice before you noticed. Someone was too lost in dreamland.”

“Pshh, no, I — you need to be a little louder.”

“Can we talk about last night?” Jimin asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. “I, uh, I think there was an accident, I had a dream you were—”

You panic.

“Last night? Oh gosh yeah! I slept like a rock! Thank you for keeping me warm. I would have frozen to death if it weren’t for you.”

You smile as sweetly as you can at him.

He blinks back.

“I mean — uh, yeah, sure, I mean, you’re welcome but that’s not what I mean —”

“Nothing to talk about!” you chirp, already scurrying towards the stairs that lead back up to your bedroom.

“Hey! I’m trying to talk to you!” he cries as you pad upstairs, making a beeline for your bedroom as the coffee you’re holding sloshes around in the mug.

“Oof, well I’m already tired again, gonna take a nap!”

You sprint up the stairs and as you do you hear him call behind you.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

It hits harder than you want it to.

“Come on, princess. You’re taking forever!”

You’re back down on your bed, swaddled in all the blankets in the house you could find, scrolling through your phone.

“I don’t want to go!”

“Well I do!” The door finally swings open and Jimin stands there, all dolled up for the night out. He’s wearing tight leather pants that hug his toned thighs just right and a half opened black shirt that he’s still buttoning as you look on. Beneath his hands, his chest shows, the muscular planes simple and sheer perfection. A single silver earring dangles from his left ear, the other one filled with a variety of studs.

As you peek out of your blanket fort, you gulp as you take in his flawless appearance. He looks like straight sex, the darkness of his outfit highlighting every muscle and curve.

"You look nice," you manage to squeak, and Jimin blushes, his praise kink showing. "Those pants are..." Hot as fuck? More beautiful than the Mona Lisa? Just asking me to rip them off? Floundering for language, you just let your sentence trail off as he looks on, a pink tinge still dancing across his features.

"You wanna wear them?"

"Pfft, no," you lie.

“Are you planning on getting out of bed?”

“No.”

"Well then, if you're not going to get out of bed and dress yourself I'll do the honors." Jimin stomps over to the tiny door leading to your closet and swings it open. He ruffles through your set of clothes, as disparate from a full flannel collection (one that you are quite proud of) to an evening gown that never got worn. Words you can't quite hear or understand tumble from his mouth in a stream of frustrated mumbles as he seems to be looking for something very specific. "Aha!" he finally cries out. "Here it is."

What he pulls out is not what you expected.

It's a simple piece. A light tan slip dress, one with a bit of a scoop to the bust. One that hugs all of your curves just right and sits low enough the weight keeps the dress exactly where you want it to be and high enough that your upper thighs are deliciously on display - something that simultaneously excites you and scares the hell out of you. You bought it on a whim, hoping it would help you embody your inner club girl (or "inner slut" as your friend Jungkook would correct you - which, if you were being entirely honest, was really what you meant when you spoke about going to the club.)

"That one? Really?"

"What, you wanna wear this?" He turns back to the closet before pulling out a second dress, this one long and emerald green and sparkly with a full slit up the side.

"No." You pout.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Ugh!" you cry, burrowing deeper into your blanket fort. "Itsmyslutdress," you mumble.

"What?"

"Itsmyslutdress!" you mumble, but louder this time.

"Did you just call it a slut dress?"

You pop your head out of the warmth cocoon with a sigh.

"Yes."

"What does that even mean?"

"It is the dress I wear when I want to embody my slutty alter-ego. The dress I wear when I wanna get laid."

Jimin blinks a few times before turning back to you with a grin.

"Well--do you not want to get laid tonight?" he asks slowly.

You gape at him.

Even as best friends, even talking about your hookups, you never really talked about sex iteself. Everytime you brought it up, whether it was at the bar and you were ogling some tall, dark, handsome stranger as if some psychic had promised you he was your entire future, he always seemed to shut down. And yet, around your other friends, he was an open book. "Basically a sex expert," Jungkook had told you once. "A sexpert." He'd added, grinning.

But with you, sex was off the table. You were more open and vulnerable with him than you were anyone in your life - and he with you. But sex was just never on the discussion board for you two.

"Do you wanna get laid tonight?"

"Are you offering?" you shoot back teasingly.

"Of course," he says softly.

Your mouth drops.

Of course? Of course?!

"I mean! No! What? Wait? Can you repeat the question?"

"You said yes," you say slowly.

"What! No! I did not!"

Jimin is basically stomping his foot on the ground.

"You did!"

He looks almost angry and you're not sure whether to laugh at the softness with which he had agreed to fuck you - or to feel hurt by his quick change of mind.

"Did not!"

You break into giggles finally releasing yourself from your cocoon of warmth to sprawl out on the bed in a fit of laughter. Your little tirade is quickly shut down though as the silky fabric of the dress is thrown onto your face and you cough around the material.

"Get dressed. I don't want to be late," he says, his voice flat.

“It’s too cold for the slut dress,” you grumble in a last ditch effort, fabric falling into your mouth as you sleep.

“Then wear a fucking turtleneck and snow pants to the club,” Jimin says. “I don’t care, just please get dressed.”

The door slams and when you pull the dress away from your face, the room is empty again. With a sigh, you roll off the bed and begin to get ready for the night.

By the time you pulled up to the dark, sticker-plastered doors of the club, Jimin had resumed his usually joyful and peppy demeanor, all memories of his little slip up erased from the night.

You knew better than to push him about it. You knew that he shut down when you called him out on these things in the past— like the way his eyes lingered on you for too long when you showed off a new bathing suit, the cute little stutter he donned when he was flustered by you, or the way he would basically run at top speed in any direction away from you when you emerged from the shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

As you are swallowed into the sea of dancing figures and booming bass, you feel his hand come to rest on your waist. Pushing further into the crowd, his touch is reassuring. Steadying. His way of keeping a hold on you without actually holding onto you.

He sees them before you do, and quickly grabs onto your hand, tugging you forward into the mass of swaying figures. Waving and yelling their names, the two of you tumble towards your friends. Jungkook and Raven stand near the bar, their faces lighting up when they finally spot you in the mess of strangers.

Raven embraces you first, his arms pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I wanna dance!” Jungkook says before you can even step away from Raven. Drinks abandoned, Jungkook has grabbed both yours and Jimin’s hands and drags you out to the dance floor.

The bass courses through you as your friends surround you, bopping and swaying to the barely understandable lyrics.

Jimin has always been a good dancer. A great dancer, actually. His moves range from absolutely side-achingly hilarious to -- dare you say it -- undeniably sensual.

He twirls you onto the dance floor, the two of you falling into your usual routine of swinging and laughing and kicking all around.

And as the upbeat and perhaps misplaced summer hit switches to a more sensual song he matches it naturally, letting his hips sway and glide to the rhythm. He pulls you along with him, twirling you more slowly. When you twist into his grasp, he doesn’t hesitate to take you into his arms, pressing you against him.

As his arms come to wrap around your shoulders, you can’t help but press back into him.

Raven winks at you and you grin back at him, shooing him and his teasing away.

It’s easy to fall into this. Easy to fall into the sway of Jimin’s body and the safety that comes with being pressed so close against him. You fit perfectly into his body, every one of your curve the antithesis to his. Like two puzzle pieces.

You let your hand drop down to his thigh, gripping it for stability as you sway your hips against his. The muscle tenses beneath your touch and you take that as an opportunity to roll your ass against his crotch.

He meets your movements, grinding back up into you, his hand dropping to your waist where he grips you tightly and guides your movements even further back into him.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers in your ear.

His body pressed against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. The nights the two of you have spent in your kitchen, sliding around in socks and grooving to your favorite music, springing each other around your shared house — all of those hours, all of those years make it so when he moves against you he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what you want him to do. You move in tandem, as if you are sharing a brain, a story, a body.

You tilt your head up to him, nuzzling into his neck.

“Why not?”

“I-I can’t mess up.” He says, but he continues to sway at your back.

“You’re not messing up. I like this.”

As you reach behind you, letting your hand trail up beneath his shirt, you can feel him press into your touch. Chasing it, searching it out. But as your hand trails back down, fingernails scraping delicately against the skin, he seems to snap out of it and steps back from you, even as he keeps his hands on your hips.

You turn, trying to pull him back to you, but you see his brow is furrowed.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Just fine!” he says, just a little to cheerfully. “I-I just think I’m done with dancing for tonight.”

Even as he says it he pulls you closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get some drinks, do you want something?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?”

“I— uh— it’s not that.” He shakes his head.

“Please, come on, it’ll be fun,” you groan, tugging on his arm. But he stands firm and stiff. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“I don’t want to dance tonight. Just go on ahead.”

You look your friend up and down. Jimin was never one to turn down an opportunity to dance.

“Okay,” you say, painting a smile on your features even as your heart aches slightly at his rejection. “I just want you to have fun. Do you want me to come with?”

“No--it’s okay. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Alright?”

You watch as he disappears back into the mass of people. You stand still, wondering What the hell just happened?

However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted as Raven reaches out to you, pulling you to him in a graceful spin.

“Distract yourself, darling,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll come around, don’t you worry.”

Before you have a chance to process his words, Raven spins you out again in the crowd.

You stumble just a little bit, until hands come to rest on the dip of your hips, lingering there just enough to stabilize you. However, they quickly release you as soon as you are standing tall again.

“Oh, ah, thank you,” you half-yell as you turn around, attempting to raise your voice above the noise.

The man who stands behind you is undeniably gorgeous. Tall, with a dark lock of hair hanging into your forehead and the most beautiful smile.

“No worries, it happens all the time,” he grins at you. “What’s your name.”

You yell back at him, but when he can’t hear you, you step closer to him, pressing against his chest to speak your name into his ear. His hand comes down on your waist as you do, lightly.

“My name’s Hoseok. You can call me Hobi though. Care to dance?”

You grin up at him and nod. You’ve never been one to turn down a dance partner.

He takes your hand, quick to find the rhythm of the music.

Hoseok is a natural. As each song progresses, his dances become more intricate. He’s happy to lead you through them and you can’t help but laugh as he spins you around the floor while others are swaying and grinding. You’ve never had this much fun with a stranger, but as he moves against you, you can’t help but think of the way Jimin felt pressed so close to you earlier in the night. It’s just not quite the same.

It’s easy to get lost in him, in his beaming smile and witty jokes that he bends down to whisper in your ear. He compliments you freely, and you do the same in return.

As the night continues you and Hoseok dance closer and closer until he’s pressed deliciously up against your back. You find yourself lost in the sensation of being embraced by someone, even if it isn’t the person you’d want to be there.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but do you wanna come home with me?” The man leans down, the husk of his voice brushing deliciously against your ear.

“I can’t.” You say, turning back towards him. “But thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, leaning down to chastely kiss your cheek. “Can I ask you a question before you go?”

You nod.

“Does your refusal have anything to do with the man at the bar who hasn’t taken his eyes off of us since we started dancing?”

“What?”

He nods over your shoulder, back towards the bar. Through the crowd, you can barely see your friends, but as you reach up on your tippy toes you see them all gathered around, laughing and talking. And then at the edge of them is Jimin. He stands tall and proud and with an unusually grim expression on his face. But when he sees you looking at him, he quickly averts his gaze to his drink, which he is continually swirling in his hand.

“You’re going home with him, aren’t you?”

“Well, duh, he’s my roommate, I—”

“You should go for it,” he interrupts you.

“Go for it?”

“Go for it.”

“There’s nothing there,” you state, matter of factly. “We’re just really good friends!” You’re not sure why you tell him this, but there’s something soft in his eyes that spurs you on.

“Good friends don’t eye fuck each other all night.”

“We weren’t—”

“No need to explain it to me.” He holds up his hands. “But it seems like you have some explaining to do to him. Or at least to yourself.”

You sputter. “Psh! What! No! I’m just tired, Hobi, and if I had the energy I would be fucking you right here, right now, on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with Jimin. Nothing at all!” You realize you’ve got your finger poking into his chest and you quickly draw it back. “Sorry.”

“Okay…”

“Well.” You put your hands on your hips, wiping the frustrated look off of your face. “I should go, I guess. It was nice dancing with you, partner. I’ll be the first to admit you got great hips.”

He’s laughing, and you’re not sure if it’s at you or with you, but when you extend you hand for a friendly fistbump, he meets it with all the enthusiasm in the world, pulls you into a hug, and is off on his merry way, off to find a new dancing partner.

Left alone in the middle of the floor, you kind of just stand there, mulling over what the stranger had said to you. Soon though, you feel a hand on your shoulder and you spin around to see a blank faced Jimin.

“I, uh, just wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m all good!” you chirp, perhaps too cheerfully. As you begin to make your way back to the bar, his hand comes to rest on your lower back and you shiver at the touch.

“So you’re not going home with him?” He nods back in the direction of the disappearing stranger.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you wore your slut dress, so I figured he was a contender.” He doesn’t meet your eye.

“I didn’t want to fuck him.” You stop, and turn to him.

He laughs, almost nervously. “Well I guess that’s an important factor.”

“Yeah, just a minor detail,” you shoot back, grinning.

“I guess it’s all for the best. Didn’t like the looks of him much anyways.

You giggle. “What? Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t be jealous.”

“Can’t be? Or aren’t?”

Jimin blinks back at you, an expression of utter surprise on his face. You know his answer in that moment, and yet — there is a kind of doubt that sits in you. That until he says it, it just won’t be real.

And still, he avoids your question.

“I think I’m gonna head home, do you wanna come with or head back with Tae and Raven?”

“I’ll come back with you, there’s nothing left here for me.”

“Great,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”

“My heat is still out,” you call.

You’re standing at the door to his room in nothing but your pajama shirt. When you’d gotten home Jimin was quick to wish you goodnight and sweet dreams and book it up to his bedroom. You had gone to your own room and changed into sleep clothes, only to climb into bed and realize just how fucking freezing your blankets still were.

But as you stand outside his bedroom, when you press down on the handle, the door is unusually locked. He never locks the door, you think.

“Jimin!”

You push down on the handle, jiggling it obnoxiously as you hope your best friend can hear you from the other side, and isn’t just ignoring you. As you rattle the metal handle, something seems to come loose within the door and all of a sudden the door is swinging open inwards and there’s Jimin, leaning against the backboard of his bed, legs spread, and--

“Oh no—”

Even as your hands flash up to cover your eyes, you know it’s too late.

You’ve already seen it.

It’s imprinted on your brain. The image of Jimin with his head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock hastily pulled out of his jeans. He must have been in such a rush he didn’t even bother to pull his pants down. Instead, the leather pants are simply tugged down just enough from him to slip his cock out of them.

“What the fuck!” he yelps.

“Did I—interrupt?” You can’t help but burst into giggles, even as you keep your hands firmly clamped to your face.

“Yes! Yes, you did!” he says, scrambling for the sheet. He pulls it over himself and then does up his pants again.

“If it makes you feel any better you have a nice looking dick!” you squeak out from behind your hands.

He wipes a hand wearily over his face.

“You really wanna have a conversation about my dick right now?”

“See a dick, converse about a dick, am I right?” you laugh nervously.

“No, no, you’re not. It usually goes like ‘see a dick, forget the fact that you ever looked at a dick.’”

“You got a point there.”

The room falls into silence for a moment before Jimin coughs and speaks.

“You can take your hands away now.”

Ever-so-slowly you release your hands from your face, looking over at Jimin who looks — not upset, not embarrassed, not angry — but intrigued. He’s looking at you with a mix of curiosity — and something else. Something you can’t quite put a finger on.

“Welp, I better be going—”

“I thought you said your heat is still out.”

You turn back around slowly.

“...It is. But I can go. I don’t want to make you feel… uncomfortable.”

“You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t know if you could.”

“I’ve definitely made you feel uncomfortable before. Like that one time I put peanut butter on your special pickles and tried to fry them—”

“Okay, okay, maybe in like, a superficial way. But not in a deep way.” He pauses. “You’re my best friend for a reason.”

You’re still standing in the doorway, and as he looks you over — gaging your reaction, reading your emotions, trying to understand what’s going on in that far-off mind of yours — he realizes you’ve got your arms wrapped around your torso, protecting yourself from the biting draft that drifts down the hallway.

“Come ‘ere. You’re sleeping here tonight.” He says it without hesitation.

You look at him, and then back down the darkened hallway, and then back at him, the warm glow of his bedside lamp painting his features gold. His cheeks are still slightly flushed, his chest peeks out of his loose button down. And perhaps it’s that image that draws you to him — or, what you tell yourself in that moment, the inviting warmth of the layers of blankets on his bed and the radiator that sits close by.

You climb into bed, quickly tucking yourself into the blankets and rolling onto your side, away from him. However, you can feel his hands reaching out towards you, pulling the blankets closer to you, tucking you in further to their addicting warmth.

“I’m uh, gonna read for a little bit, is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, course,” you say, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow you’ve stolen and burry your face into.

He rifles through the nightstand. Behind you, he shifts, getting a bit more comfortable and you can hear the comforting sound of pages turning as he begins to read.

Even as you close your eyes, sleep evades you. As much as you try to banish it from your mind, it seems as if the image of his thick cock is burned into your retina, the vein on the underside of it swollen and pronounced. All you can see in your mind’s eye is Jimin, lost in his own pleasure. His face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. What would it be like to see what he saw, whatever it was that had him gripping his cock so tight the knuckles began to turn white?

“So do you usually masterbate without porn?”

It slips out before you know what you’re saying.

He coughs behind you, and it sounds like he’s choking.

“What?!”

Well, you think. Now that it’s out there I might as well just go for it. You flip over onto your otherside, face half hidden by the blanket.

“When I walked in on you — you were just… lost in thought. No video or audio or,” you nod at the book he’s holding. “Rip off of Half a Hundred Colors of Dark-White.”

He gapes at you.

“Why are you so obsessed with my masterbatory habits, hm?”

“I-I’m not! I’m just curious, like one would be when they accidentally catch their best friend masterbating. We all, you know, do it. I, myself, have a very lovely connection of multi-colored vibrators — all sizes and shapes and, uh, textures? And vibrations and settings and speeds and—”

“So you wanna talk about it then?” He’s still sitting above, looking down on you. He cocks an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “You didn’t want to talk about last night but you want to talk about how I get myself off?”

It’s your turn to gape.

“Uh, what? Last night, psh no!”

He readjusts his position so he’s facing you now, one leg bent and propped up, the other one folded beneath it. You do your best to keep your gaze focused on his face, and not on the prominent bulge that is now in your direct line of vision.

“So you weren’t grinding on my cock last night — or god forbid tonight at the club — But you wanna know about my masterbatory habits?”

You swallow and despite the chill air of the bedroom, you sit up, letting the blankets fall around your waist.

“I suppose that is what I’m asking.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you lick your lips. You know what you’re asking. You know where you’re pushing things. Everything about this next step terrifies you. And yet, it’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past 24 hours. Hell, the past several years.

You’d be lying if you said that last night’s dream was the tamest of the ones Jimin starred in. He haunted you. His image, his being, were everywhere you turned. Even when you were with other partners or one night stands, all you could do was compare them to Jimin. Were they as softly hilarious as him? Did they know your every thought, your every desire, like he did? Could they anticipate your mood before you even could? Did they fill you with that feeling of belonging and safety like he did? No. None of them ever did. You didn’t just crave Jimin’s attention, you craved his touch.

“You know, most friends talk about this kind of shit.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. They talk about sex. They talk about getting off. They talk about their interests and turn-offs and fantasies and--”

“And you wanna talk about this?” His hand lands on yours. You look up at him as he squeezes your fingers within his warm grasp.

“I-I guess I do. Sometimes it bothers me that we don’t talk about it.”

“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, a little bit more confidence slipping into his voice. He picks your hand up, weaving his fingers in between yours. The way he looks at them reminds you of someone looking at a beautiful vista or an undiscovered creature for the first time. There is wonder -- and also confusion -- in him. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I never wanted to… turn our friendship into something that you didn’t want. Something that made you uncomfortable.”

“And I didn’t want to push.”

“Push me? Into what?”

You glance down at your hands. “I don’t know, something that you were disgusted by.”

“I could never be disgusted by you. It’s the opposite, actually.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away? When I want to talk about things? When I want to be close to you?”

Jimin is silent for a moment.

“Because I’m never sure if this is just fun to you,” he says softly. “What if something happens and you realize you don’t want it in the way you thought you did?”

“And what if something happens and it’s exactly what I want?” One hand still resting in his grasp, you reach out with the free one to clutch onto his shirt. Not wanting to push too far, you make do with tangling your fingers in the silky fabric, twisting it around yourself until you are lost in it.

You don’t see it coming. His hand reaching up to yours, pressing your hand to his chest. Slowly, he slides your intertwined hands up until he can press your palm to his chest. Beneath the fabric you can hear the gentle thud of his heart beating, quicker than usual. And there, he just holds it. Mulling. Contemplating.

“It feels like I’ve been distracted…” He licks his lips as he considers his next several words. “...for weeks. Probably longer. I’ve been trying to hold everything in because it’s not supposed to be there. But the temptation to just give in… To just lean into the things that I want… It’s always there. It doesn’t go away. But--sometimes I can distract myself from it.”

“What is it that you want?”

His gaze flickers back up from your lips. The look in his eyes is searing. Burning. There’s desire there — one that’s all consuming — but something else too. He refuses to look away from you, instead roving over your whole face as if he’s trying to memorize it. As if when he speaks next he might forget you entirely. And that’s when you realize. It’s not confusion dancing in his eyes. It’s loss. He thinks he’s going to lose you.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to hold back. “There— there are lines that once you cross you can never go back to.”

“Jimin, I want you.”

The words hang in the stilled silence of the room like lead, suspended and out of place. But you push on, and as you do, his grip tightens around your hands and he’s pulling you forward until you’re flush against his chest.

“And it’s not because of your monster cock -- although that’s like a really really great benefit that I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting--” Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Anyways, I want you for you. I think I’ve wanted you since I met you, but--” You glance down. “I’ve been too scared to admit it. Too scared or too dumb.”

Jimin raises your chin so that you are eye to eye. He’s so close.

“I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you.” He lets his hands drop to your hips, maneuvering you so that you’re fully straddling his waist as he sits up against the headboard. “I wanted you in my life, in whatever way that would be. I wanted you as my best friend and my inspiration and my home -- and to have you like that? I would never want to fuck it up.”

“Then don’t.”

“Simple as that,” he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. He tightens his grip and you instinctively wrap your hands around his neck, tugging him closer to you.

“Simple as that,” you repeat.

The words hang in the air for a moment, filling the space of the bedroom. And then their sound is gone, leaving the air vacant of sound. The weight of what you’ve both just said crashes down upon you.

Simple as that.

“I want to kiss you,” Jimin whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Always,” you barely manage to mumble before your lips are crashing together. They begin clumsily, desperate. Teeth knocking together as you both scramble frantically for connection. For the missed years. For the gazes thrown across the hallway, quick and longing.

And then you find your groove. Just like on the dance floor, there is an unspoken communication to the way that you move together. Chasing and pursuing. Biting and pressing. You gasp as Jimin slips his tongue between your lips, swiping against the roof of your mouth.

It feels like forever and no time at all that you’re wrapped up in his arms, his hands climbing the height of your back as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

As the kiss slips into gentleness, you feel him between your legs. He’s impossibly hard. You don’t know if it’s thought or basic instinct that leads you to press your hips forward, sliding ever so slightly along his length. You know you’ve done the right thing when he groans into your mouth. You do it again, this time swiveling against him. His hands snake down to your hips, fingers digging into the fleshy bits of your sides.

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he groans against your lips.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He kisses you fiercely and you let your hands wander beneath the silk of his shirt, tracing the planes of his skin until you’ve had enough and need more. You attempt to tug the fabric up, but he seems lost in your lips.

“Off, please,” you say when you can’t get it over his shoulders.

He grins at you and shucks it off in one go, tossing it onto the floor.

You lean back just enough to admire him like this, the planes of his chest glowing dimly in the light of the lamp.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur in awe.

He captures your lips again, his movements soft and dutiful. And then with all the gentleness in the world, he turns the both of you, cradling the nape of your neck as he lowers you down onto the pillows.

“I never thought I could have you like this.”

“Me neither. I-I don’t know if I can go back.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I already know I don’t want to go back.”

You smile up at him, a feeling of warmth and love spreading through your chest. As he sits back, looking down on you, you tug your shirt over your head, tossing it to join his discarded top on the floor.

His eyes rove over your naked form, bare of everything except for the grannie panties you slipped on before knocking on his door. At the beginning of the night you wanted nothing but to make sure everything was thoroughly covered. Now you wish you had gone for something a bit more stylish.

Even as you think this, looking at him you know he doesn’t give a flying fuck what you’re wearing.

He leans down again, kissing you. He lets his weight rest just enough on you as he settles between your legs and you arch up at the dull contact.

As he bites down on your lip, you push up into him, searching for more.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Please,” you gasp.

His hand comes down on your thigh, pushing you open just enough. And then, as he comes back to kiss you, he slips his hand down your stomach, fingers teasing at the waistband of your panties.

You can’t help as your hips buck up as he slips a finger down your folds. You’re already soaking, arousal quickly coating his finger.

“Shh, shh,” he whispers against your lips, gaze searching yours. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

As the final word slips out of his mouth, he inserts the first finger into your tight entrance and you yelp in pleasure, the feeling of him filling you more sensation than you could imagine. Ever so slowly, he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second finger.

“I want to get you ready for me,” he murmurs. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want it,” you gasp as he presses against your g spot. “Please, I need it, please, Jimin, fuck me.”

“Patience, baby. I will in due time. But first I need you a little more stretched out.”

When he adds a third finger, the pressure building deliciously in your abdomen, there’s nothing you can do to hold back the way your body jerks or the whine that slips through your lips.

“God, I never even imagined you would sound this desperate, this beautiful.”

As he continues to press against the soft spongy spot inside you, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep control but quickly losing it.

“You thought about this?”

“Of course I thought about it.”

“Tell me what you thought about,” you pant, his fingers still working rhythmically in and out of you.

“The list is endless,” he murmurs. “I think about what it would feel like to fuck you. What it would sound like to have you call my name. What it would be like to have you cum again and again around my cock, and then walk out of here, with it dripping down your leg so that anyone who sees will know it too. To have you so fucked out and screaming that everyone in a ten mile radius knows exactly who is fucking you so well, who you belong to.”

“Ah!” you cry as your orgasm begins to build. “Jimin! I’m so close, I--”

And just like that, his fingers are gone from your clenching walls and you are left with a feeling of absolute emptiness drifting through you. He pulls back with a smirk.

“Wha--”

“When you come, I want it to be around my cock.”

Your gaze flickers down to his crotch, where his dick is straining against the tight confines of the leather. “That just can’t be comfortable,” you say, your voice shaking even as you unapologetically eye his obvious arousal. “Please take them off. I’ll make you feel good.”

“You can?”

“I want to,” you explain. “I want to help.” You look up at him again and see that his gaze is dark with desire. “Can I?”

Slowly, he nods, and you reach out towards him, for the buttons to his jeans. As your fingers land on the cold metal of the button, his come down atop yours, popping the button open expertly.

As you slowly slide the zipper down, you swallow.

Everything about this feels right. There’s the sensation of a fire burning in your chest. It’s not just wanting his body. It’s chasing the feeling of electricity sparking through you every time he touches you. Chasing the want of his hands, his gaze, his everything focused on you. Something twinges in your heart. Even as you want these things, you know it’s not fair to ask them of him, to expect them of him.

He stands to slip the rest of his pants off and you realize he’s not even wearing underwear. You gulp as you watch him strip, his beautiful body soon revealed in the dim lighting. His cock stands at full attention, deliciously hard and poking against his belly.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

“I want it more than anything.”

The bed dips underneath his weight as he climbs towards where you lay. He lowers himself above you, expertly balancing his weight so that it doesn’t crush you. With one hand, he reaches down to palm his hard cock, the tip red and angry with need. With his knee, he pushes your legs wide open, making room for himself and spreading you out before him. At a devastatingly slow speed, he lines himself up with your aching center.

“So wet for me, princess. You’ve always been beautiful to me, but spread out like this, just waiting for my cock? You’re a dream.”

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?”

As he comes to nestle his cock in between your dripping folds, you whimper with need.

All you can feel is his cock, his touch against your skin, the way his presence surrounds you and envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need you, Jimin.”

He chuckles.

“You’re so desperate, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“My baby wants me to fuck her?” He slides slowly in and your back arches devilishly at the sensation of his fat cock stretching you open for him. He watches your facial expression carefully, not wanting to hurt you or push you too far too fast.

When he sees you relax just a little, he pushes in even further until he’s nestled inside you to the hilt. Once he knows you’re comfortable, he lets himself slip into the pleasure of you wrapped all around him. His eyes flutter closed, and he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck.

Gathering himself, he takes a deep breath, pushing up off of you so that he can better look down at you, your hair splayed on the pillow, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes wide in pleasure.

“God, you’re perfect for my cock. Like you were made to fit me.”

“Mmf, so big,” you groan as he shifts inside you. “Never felt this full before.”

As he begins to move, you gasp, hands coming up to cling at his back. The drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt is divine and you can’t help as your nails dig into his skin, raking down the planes of his back.

His eyes never leave your face, tracing your pleasure every time it flashes across your features.

“When I imagined this,” he pants, “I never even thought it could feel this good.”

He withdraws at a maddeningly slow pace, until just the tip of his cock rests inside your warmth.

“Please Jimin,” you gasp. “I need more.”

He smirks down at you. “More?” He gives a shallow thrust.

“More,” you groan, trying to push your hips down on him, anything to take him further into you. However, his hand quickly comes down on your hips, stopping all movement.

Leaning down to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, you gasp into his mouth as he thrusts into you with a great force. You cry his name as he bites down on your lower lip, the pace he sets brutal and exactly what you need. Each thrust rolls through your entire body, setting your nerves alight. When he gives a particularly hard thrust, your spine arches, hands slipping away from his back and coming to wrap around his wrists.

When he growls, you clench at the sound.

Your eyes flicker open in time to see his mouth gape and he groans when you do it again.

He answers your tightness with another roll of his hips, this time changing the angle just enough that it hits your g spot directly. You spasm around his cock, crying out as he continues to fuck you.

“You’ve ruined me,” Jimin gasps. “Nothing else, no one else is going to be like this. I wanna fuck this cunt until you can’t think of anything else.”

You start to respond, to tell him how much you want that, but his hand comes down on your clit, rubbing just gently enough that you’re yelping in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation.

“I’m really gonna fuck you now, baby. I want you to touch yourself until you can’t anymore, okay?”

You nod, reaching down to your clit where your fingers brush against one another. You look down to see his cock rutting in and out of you, coated in your juices. As he withdraws his hand, he begins to pick up his speed.

The pace he sets reaches deep into your body, setting every nerve alight. You cling to him, begging him to fuck you harder. His cock seems to reach every single sensitive spot within you as rock your hips back up to his, meeting his every movement. He lets you now, lost in the feeling of your bodies moving together, seeking the same pleasure together.

When his pace begins to stutter, thrusts becoming long and rough, you know he’s close to his end.

“Baby, I’m going to come,” he groans. He begins to sit back up and withdraw, but you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him towards you, the other one coming to press on the dip of his hips.

“Come inside, Jimin.”

“But--”

“I’m safe. I want to feel you come inside me. Wanna come with you.”

He groans at your words and lowers himself to you, letting his hips grind against yours in a tide of sensation. Each movement pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm until three words are tumbling from his lips and you are tipping over the edge.

He kisses you as you both ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure washing through your body and into his as if you are connected on more than just a physical level. His lips are soft against yours, guiding you through your orgasm. Everything is breathless and wildly full, all at once.

Pulling back as his cock twitches within you, he peppers your neck with kisses, his plush lips pressing softly against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I love you too,” you hum, eyes fluttering blissfully closed as you tangle a hand in his hair, pressing him closer to you.

That’s how you fall asleep. Tangled up in each other, bodies meshed together until there’s no way to tell which way is up.

You wake up wrapped in warmth. The kind of warmth that radiates from your heart, shining on outwards and into the room around you. And, as your eyes blink open, you notice it also radiates from the absolute furnace that clings to your back.

“Mmm,” the furnace grumbles, rubbing his nose against the soft nape of your neck. You can feel him press his lips against the top of your spine, his breath fanning delicately against your skin. “G’morning.”

“Morning.” You speak softly, as if any noise will break the memory of last night, his whispered affections against your skin as you drifted off to sleep still hanging in the air. Too loud and you will shatter and destroy the memory. The words of his confession still carved into your skin, your mixed pleasures riddled through your body, the song of his joy and laughter emblazoned into the room -- all of that, you think, will disappear if you move too quickly or speak too loudly.

However, that notion is quickly banished when Jimin rolls over and groans dramatically, spreading his limbs out until he starfishes over the entire bed -- including you. With a little grunt, he flips over on his belly, shimmying over to you. Pulling the blankets down around you, you gasp as the cool air hits your skin.

He’s quick to rectify this as he rolls onto you, resting his head on your stomach, blowing a raspberry into your skin. You screech in laughter and as the sensation rushes through you, tickling you.

It takes a minute or two before you calm down, looking lovingly down at the man who holds your heart and running a hand through his hair, brushing it off of his forehead.

“I love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your belly.

“Do you?” you giggle, doubt still riddled in your mind.

His eyes shoot up to yours.

“Of course I do. Is there any question about it?” You look down on him, worry in your gaze. “Oh, baby.” He’s quick to prop himself up on his hands, but still stays sprawled out atop you, his weight heavy and comforting. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you--” You open your mouth to tell him there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but his hand comes up quickly and covers your mouth, effectively shushing you. “--at least I knew I was going to love you the first time I saw you. I knew I was going to fall madly and deeply in love with all of your quirks and strange obsessions and deep passions and maddenly horrible humor. And I knew I loved you a year in, and every day after that.”

You look down on him, tears welling up in your eyes at his sincerity.

“Come ‘ere,” you say, pulling him up towards you. He crawls up your chest, playfully nipping at your bare breasts before settling against you. He kisses you. Lets you sink into the sensation. And then he pulls back and says,

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me too?”

You don’t know if you’ll ever get enough of that dorky smile.

But you do know the tears threatening to spill over are rising from the deep, unnamable affection that rolls through your chest, finally released from silence. You want to call it love, and that is what you will call it, but there’s also something that goes so much deeper than the word itself. Something you know you will spend your whole life trying to explain to him.