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blu-joons · 4 years ago

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DAD NCT A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Jung Yoonoh

A ⇴ AFFECTION

Yoonoh would always be on hand with open arms whenever you needed an embrace from him. He tended to follow your lead when it came to affection whilst pregnant as he never wanted to overwhelm you too much with it.

B ⇴ BUMP

It was hard for him to see you lose independence as your bump grew bigger, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he loved how much more you relied on him too. Simple tasks suddenly felt as if they were impossible for you, but Yoonoh would always be straight there to fulfil them for you and remind you that you were doing an incredibly hard task already with your baby.

C ⇴ CRAVINGS

Whatever you needed, and whatever time, Yoonoh would get it in a heartbeat. It didn’t matter how crazy of a demand it was, his priority was always helping you out and making pregnancy even just a little bit easier for you. As strange as Yoonoh sometimes thought your cravings were, he never made you feel bad for it, and instead got what you needed with a smile on his face.

D ⇴ DUE DATE

Yoonoh wanted everything to be as organised as possible by the time your due date rolled around so that the two of you had as little as possible to stress about. He had plenty of lists on his phone to make sure that everything was in place for when your little one decided to make their appearance, his organisation took you by surprise a little, but you were glad Yoonoh had shouldered the responsibility to keep everything on track.

E ⇴ EMOTIONS

There were many moments during your pregnancy when Yoonoh’s emotions would get the better of him, especially when he got overwhelmed. You’d often spot him tearing up, especially during your scans or when there was a particularly hard kick from your baby against your stomach. He wasn’t afraid of showing his emotions, but he also made sure that he tried to keep his worries to a minimum to be strong for you.

F ⇴ FAMILY

The bond that you had with Yoonoh’s family only tightened throughout your pregnancy. They always knew Yoonoh had a found a good one with you but seeing how close the two of you became whilst you were pregnant brought you closer to them too. They weren’t overbearing, but as they constantly reminded you, they were only a phone call away whenever you did need anything from them or a little advice too.

G ⇴ GENDER

You’d decided to place a bet on what the gender of your baby would be, with you going for a boy, and Yoonoh for a girl. You chose to wait until your baby was born to find out which one of you would be right and see which one of you could start your journey of parenthood with bragging rights that they managed to guess correctly.

H ⇴ HEARTBEAT

Whenever Yoonoh heard the beat of your baby’s heart, it definitely made him emotional. It always surprised him how something so small could be so powerful. It tended to hit home a lot for him too that he really was going to be a dad when he could draw the dots and receive a sign that your baby was alive and well.

I ⇴ “I LOVE YOU”

During the times when he’d get emotional, Yoonoh would be certain to remind you that he loved you a lot too. He spoiled you rotten throughout your pregnancy, always coming home with gifts and treats for you as a token to at least try and show you how appreciative he was of the incredible things your body was doing.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

Yoonoh didn’t get jealous at all throughout your pregnancy, he was far too excited to become a dad and enjoying the bump bubble to let anything get to him. If anything, the others would often find themselves getting a little bit jealous of how happy and settled Yoonoh was with you. Some of them weren’t in as much of a rush to settle down, and excited to become uncles, but others were keen to find someone soon to share what you guys had with them.

K ⇴ KICKS

Little giggles would often escape Yoonoh whenever he felt a kick from your baby. The signs of life were what Yoonoh held onto the most, so when there was a particularly tough kick then he’d make sure to scold your baby for making you so uncomfortable, but secretly he loved feeling that they were growing well.

L ⇴ LABOUR

The two of you were absolute wrecks throughout most of your labour, whilst it went to plan, the emotions and the pain over the hours was hard for you both to deal with. Yoonoh was an incredible support for you, not that you expected anything less from him, but that didn’t stop him holding your hand and whispering plenty of words of encouragement through teary eyes with an incredibly fast beating heart too.

M ⇴ MORNING SICKNESS

It didn’t faze Yoonoh at all when you were sick, he didn’t give himself time to think about what was going on, all he focused on was being there for you. He had your hair out of the way every single time and would always be in front of you with a toothbrush and toothpaste straight away once you were finished as well.

N ⇴ NURSERY

Yoonoh loved decorating your nursery, he’d always make you sit in a chair so that you could fire instructions at him, but for all of the heavy lifting and building he’d take control so that you could rest comfortably.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

He was obsessed with your smile and seeing how much you enjoyed pregnancy for the most part. Even through some of the harder times, you still tried to remain positive which left Yoonoh watching you in complete awe.

P ⇴ POST BIRTH

The care he had for you during labour continued well after it too, whilst he let you spend plenty of time with your little one, most other things were strictly off limits. Unless you need the toilet, he tried to keep you sat down and comfortably, happy to play servant for a few days so that your body had time to recover properly.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

If you had a grimace on your face, Yoonoh would immediately ask if something was wrong. You liked to try and do things for yourself, but as soon as he figured that you weren’t comfortable, he’d step in and ask the question straight away.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Yoonoh wasn’t the biggest fan of shopping, however when it came to shopping for your baby, he couldn’t get enough. The wardrobes were full with months to spare, and the nursery was overwhelmed with decorations that Yoonoh had found that he thought were far too adorable not to purchase for the room.

S ⇴ SCANS

Your scans were very much treasured by Yoonoh, he made sure to keep a photo in his wallet so that he always had it on him. When he was on the road especially, he’d take a look at the photo often and remind himself of all the incredible things he had coming his way, and what he was going back home to as well.

T ⇴ TEST

It was only when you showed Yoonoh the test after telling him that you were pregnant, did he believe you. His eyes stared at it for a long time before finally believing that you really were pregnant after all.

U ⇴ ULTRASOUND

He supported you through every single appointment, even taking the whole day off from work to make sure that he had enough time for you.

V ⇴ VISITS

Yoonoh couldn’t wait to introduce the boys to your baby, and after receiving numerous texts and phone calls in anticipation for the first few days, after a week in your bubble, you finally let them come round to visit you all.

W ⇴ WAITING

Most of the time Yoonoh was patient in waiting for your baby to arrive, making sure that he didn’t let the end run away with him and just enjoy the moment instead.

X ⇴ XXXX

There was never a specific time when Yoonoh would kiss you, you often just received random kisses throughout the day. It would usually be when he’d find himself smiling across at you with you blissfully unaware of his eyes watching you.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were the only one that Yoonoh wanted, the three of you were the perfect team.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

Yoonoh would always make sure to keep you nice and cosy at night, he’d wrap plenty of blankets around you to make you nice and comfortable and often place one against your bump too to give it a bit of a lift and ease the strain on you.

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Masterlist

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

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Prisoner's Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)

~Aelin~

There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.

It was the thrill, she supposed.

She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.

Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.

Or maybe a lot.

The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.

It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.

While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.

Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.

It was also more exhausting.

It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.

It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.

She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.

The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.

It was no different tonight.

Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.

No one stopped her, no one questioned her.

When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.

Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.

The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.

Silent, efficient, traceless.

Just like she'd been taught.

Leaving was even easier than entering.

She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.

One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.

Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.

It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Plus, like she said: exciting.

~Rowan~

Doubt is a strange emotion.

It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.

And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.

Rowan didn't believe in doubt.

His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.

He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.

It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.

He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.

He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.

If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.

He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.

He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.

He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.

And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.

There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.

So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.

But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.

The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

So he'd hardened himself against it.

He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.

Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.

And it had worked.

After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.

Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.

It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.

At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.

His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.

At least that's what he told himself.

But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.

Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?

Why else would she have told him that story?

What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?

The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.

The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.

What did that mean?

And why couldn't he just let it go?

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.

Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.

If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.

He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.

Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.

Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.

Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.

She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.

She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.

And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.

He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.

She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.

But had she?

If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.

It hadn't been her choice.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.

The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.

A secret she'd promised would explain everything.

He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.

Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.

You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.

Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.

"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?

Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.

But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.

For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.

He was over her.

Obviously.

Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.

Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?

He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.

The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.

It was a travel brochure for Aruba.

The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.

He remembered this, all right.

He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.

"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.

"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.

"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.

She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.

Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.

In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.

He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.

He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.

He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.

She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.

He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.

The only thing left in the worn box was books.

Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.

She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.

A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.

He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.

When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.

March 1

Rowan,

I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.

Aelin

He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.

Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?

He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.

March 1st.

It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.

Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?

Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.

Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.

Breadcrumb.

He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.

Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.

April 13th was the day another victim died.

Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.

What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.

He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.

He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.

Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.

He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.

But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.

It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.

The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.

Was that it?

Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.

Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.

Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need a favor, Gavriel."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"

"The latter," Rowan answered.

"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"

"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."

Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"

"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.

Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."

Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."

Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.

Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."

It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.

"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.

A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.

Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.

There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.

But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.

Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.

His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.

His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.

And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.

He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.

It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.

Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.

He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.

Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.

The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.

She hadn't been lying.

She hadn't killed those ten people.

She couldn't have, because...

"They're still alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dun dun duuuuun

part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan whitehorn #rowan x aelin #aelin galythinius #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fandom

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littlestarofthewest · 4 years ago

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I'm glad you opened requests again! Your writing is 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻I've been thirsty af for a fic where M!Reader and Arthur are fucking and Arthur manages to make the reader cum without even touching his dick, just pure prostate stimulation (preferably with his dick but fingers are good too). Obviously no pressure to actually write it tho!

Thank you for turning this into a tip request. It was a pleasure to write 😄

In The Deep

Pairing: Arthur x m!reader | Words: 2630 | Rating: Explicit (18+)

You sink deeper into the water, feeling like you're floating on clouds. Since you're used to washing in cold streams or lakes, a hot bath is easily the highlight of your month. That, and your company.

Arthur comes over and puts a towel down on the chair next to the tub. "Let me guess, you'll never come out of there."

"If you keep bringing me hot water when it runs cold."

"Oh no," Arthur says, laughing, "that was a one time deal because you looked miserable. I ain't your maid."

Arthur says so, but you're still wondering why he drew you a bath in the first place. You came here to rob a stagecoach or a train, but Arthur found this homestead instead. It belongs to a wealthy family that likes to stay in the city over the winter.

You could have just robbed it and moved on, but it's well off the grid, and you've been on the road for days. Arthur said you should take the opportunity to relax a little, and now that you're soaking in the water, you have to thank him.

"Sure you don't want in on this?" you say, feeling a little guilty that Arthur went to all this trouble for you.

"Maybe tomorrow; I'm good for now."

Arthur's leaning back on the chair, lighting a cigarette, and you can't help but watch him. You've been doing that ever since you joined the gang. There's just something about Arthur that draws you in.

You've seen him beat and kill people, knowing full well that he's by definition not a good man, and although you're usually suspicious about pretty much everybody, you trusted him from the start. Not that he ever tried to get you there. In fact, you've rarely seen someone who tried so hard not to be loved. You fell for him anyway.

It all started with little things like a lingering touch while passing a gun or Arthur always picking you to bring along on hunts and jobs. That led to whispered conversations while stalking your prey and sharing a tent during cold nights.

You remember the day at the lake like it was yesterday. Arthur helped you bring in this ridiculously big fish, both of you overjoyed. You've rarely seen Arthur this light-hearted before and couldn't help but kiss him. You sat with him by the fire deep into the night before you cuddled up for warmth. And then…

"What are you thinking about?" Arthur asks, leaning over to look into the tub.

The mere memory of being with Arthur gave you a sizable boner, and you take a deep breath. "You told me to relax, remember?"

"That I did," Arthur says, putting out his cigarette.

He comes over and puts his hands on your shoulders, running them up and in your hair. Then he gets some soap and takes his time to wash you from head to toe. You wish you could tell him to stop, but you've never been pampered like this before. You only get out of the tub when the water finally runs cold, and Arthur helps to get you dry.

"Sure you're not my maid?" you tease.

Arthur only rolls his eyes before putting a quick kiss on your lips. "Come on, you haven't seen the best part."

He leads you into the next room, and you can't quite believe your eyes. The bed is enormous compared to what you're used to, with more pillows and blankets than anybody could ever need.

"Some people live like this all the time," you say with wonder.

"And today, we do as well," Arthur says with a shrug. "Help me out of these clothes."

You're all too happy about that command and open the buttons on Arthur's shirt. He peels himself out of it while you move on to his pants and then the union suit. There aren't many things that you like as much as undressing Arthur.

Somehow you feel closer then, being the one trusted enough to see Arthur vulnerable. As much as you love him with hat, spurs, and guns, just Arthur is everything to you.

He's still very much in control, but out of choice rather than appearing so in front of others. You learned early on that Arthur is anything but a dumb brute who only knows force.

The second Arthur's naked, he draws you in for a kiss, but before you can cling to him like a second skin, he leads you to the bed.

"Let's get you in there," he says, and you crawl on top of the sheets.

"Jesus, that's soft," you say, making Arthur chuckle.

He comes after you and moves you around, so you lie flat on the bed. You stretch out your arms and legs, enjoying the space and how you sink a little into the fresh bedding under you.

Arthur crawls over you, kissing you. All of this seems too good to be true, making you think about the alternative. You could be fleeing from the law right now or sit in jail after a robbery gone wrong.

"Arthur?" you ask, a sudden thought creeping up on you.

"Hm?" Arthur hums while he nibbles on your neck.

"There was no train or stagecoach, was there?"

Arthur answers by kissing along your collarbone and down to your chest. It gets harder to concentrate, but you want to get to the bottom of this.

Did you know about this place before we got here?"

"Maybe," Arthur says, peppering your stomach with kisses.

"Why did you bring me here?" you ask, and finally Arthur looks at you, a grin on his face.

"Pretty sure you know."

Heat rushes to your ears before a shiver runs down your spine. You always enjoy being with Arthur, but it means so much more that he planned this.

"What's Dutch going to do to us when he finds out that we didn't rob anything?" you ask.

"Don't worry about that," Arthur says. He moves back up along your body, placing soft kisses here and there until his face is hovering over yours. "Worry about what I'm going to do to you."

Arthur looks serious, and although you know that he'll never push you farther than you can handle, your heart pumps faster. You lift your head, coaxing Arthur into kissing you. It's soft and slow at first, but you can feel Arthur between your legs, so you roll your hips, rutting against him.

"Something you want?" Arthur asks, and you answer by pressing yourself against him.

"Pretty sure you know," you say, making Arthur grin.

He gives you a quick kiss before diving to the end of the bed, and when he comes back, he's holding a small bottle. "Let's get you nice and ready for me."

A tingling feeling takes hold of your whole body, and you wonder if you'll ever be with Arthur without it happening. For now, you let it wash over you and spread your legs, showing Arthur that you're more than willing to get ready.

Arthur takes his time, using a lot of oil that he rubs around your hole before carefully pushing his finger in. You'd be okay with him being more forward, but Arthur seems to be in a certain mood today.

After taking care of you in the bath, he goes deliberately slow now, pushing his finger in in slow motion, always giving you time to adjust. By the time he actually moves his finger in and out, you're ready to beg for more.

"How does this feel?" Arthur asks, and you sigh.

"Great."

"Good," Arthur says, moving his finger again, and for a moment, it feels weird, like he's looking for something.

A jolt runs through your body when Arthur hits a particular spot, and you suck in the air through your teeth. Arthur puts his other hand on your stomach, rubbing in a circle. "Just relax."

"I'm trying," you say, but the sensation is strange. "It feels like I have to pee."

"That's normal, don't worry about it."

"Normal?" you ask, realizing that Arthur planned this as well. "What are you up to?"

"You trust me, right?" Arthur asks, his voice serious.

"Of course."

"Then let me take care of you. Just breathe and relax. I promise you'll enjoy it," Arthur says, before adding with a chuckle, "you're not going to pee. Don't worry about that."

You take a few shaky breaths before there's a regular rhythm to it again, and like Arthur said, you try your best to unclench your muscles.

The way Arthur strokes this one spot inside of you still feels weird, but when you breathe deeper and begin to trust that you won't pee yourself, the touch becomes more and more pleasurable.

It's similar to having your dick pumped but also so different. The arousal seems to pool deeper inside of you but still has you standing rock hard.

"See? You're doing just fine," Arthur says, and his voice makes it even easier for you to just let it happen.

Arthur moves his other hand now, running it up to your chest and neck, caressing your thighs and teasing your nipples with soft touches that rile you up just enough, so you roll your hips.

Meanwhile, Arthur doesn't stop stroking you, and you can't help looking down. Your cock is leaking way more than your usual precome, and a jolt of anxiety rushes through you.

Arthur must notice since he catches your eye and stops his movements for a moment. "Hey, look at me. It's alright, that's normal, too."

"Sorry," you say, reminding yourself that Arthur would never hurt you.

"Don't worry," Arthur says, going back to teasing you, "you're alright."

He leans in to pepper you with soft kisses wherever he can reach but leaving out your dick. Instead, he keeps up the pressure inside of you.

Once you stop thinking so much about it and focus on Arthur's touches instead, your whole body seems to grow warm from the inside, with your cock twitching in excitement. You roll your hips, your body sinking in the bedding as if you want to melt, and your breathing grows even slower.

"Now, that's a good boy," Arthur says, his voice like a gentle caress. "You're doing so good."

Just listening to him always adds to your pleasure, and as you welcome the way he teases you more and more, your arousal grows. You're warm and relaxed, but your dick begs to be touched, and you can't hold in quiet moans when Arthur's finger hits you just right.

"I need more," you say while Arthur touches every inch of your body except your dick.

"More?" Arthur asks, and you know that he wants you to actually spell it out.

"I want you inside of me."

Arthur gets the oil again, using more on you and his cock before crawling over you. You can't hide your excitement, but again, Arthur doesn't quite give you what you want.

He teases you with the tip of his cock, rubbing with enough pressure to drive you crazy but never pushing in.

"Please, Arthur," you whine, "I need it so bad."

"Tell me," Arthur says, his voice deep and unyielding.

"I want you to fill me up and make me lose my mind. I'll do anything. Please."

Finally, Arthur pushes into you, but just like he did with his finger, he stretches you open with his cock as slowly as he possibly can, even holding still once in a while.

The treatment makes you grab the sheets under you, and you buck your hips. "God, I beg you, Arthur. Please, please more."

"Someone's needy," Arthur chuckles, and you run your fingers over his chest, your nails digging into the skin.

"Please," you say again, the word coming from deep within, and Arthur must hear it in your voice.

He pushes as deep as he can go, filling you up. You sigh, a little bit of the build-up pressure leaving your body. Then Arthur kisses you again, his body lined up so perfectly with yours that you feel completely at ease. Arthur's weight on you, his scent, his lips on yours, it's home for you now.

Arthur rolls his hips, hot and heavy inside of you, and with his body trapping your dick between the two of you, you're right back to being on edge. You'd be happy to keep going like this, now that you're on familiar ground, but Arthur has other plans.

After a long kiss, he gets in a kneeling position, lifting your legs up over his shoulders. You're about to ask why but Arthur pushes into you, hitting that spot again.

"Jesus Christ," you moan, your body tensing up for a moment from the surprise.

"Relax," Arthur says, running his warm hand over your stomach. "That's all you have to do. I'll do the rest."

You take a deep breath, and like you did before, you lean into the feeling. Arthur's movements are slow and deliberate, quickly building up that hot sensation you noticed before.

When you close your eyes, Arthur pets your thigh. "That's good. Open up for me."

You're torn between looking at him and just focusing on yourself, but soon it becomes quite hard to miss what's going on. It's like Arthur is setting fire to your lower body.

Looking at him as he holds on to your hips to thrust into you makes matters even worse. Your dick twitches like crazy, still untouched, and you're not sure how much longer you can take this.

"Arthur, please," you groan, having a hard time even catching your breath, "I need more."

"You're doing so good; just give it time."

You don't have a chance to argue, not with the way Arthur changes his rhythm. You can feel him deep inside of you, adding to the heat, and his voice becomes constant torture.

"God, I love watching you like this," Arthur says. "You're doing so good for me."

Listening to him makes you melt, and when Arthur thrusts into you with shorter bursts, something inside of you suddenly gives. It feels like a volcano erupts behind your cock, hot lava making its way up and down your body, sending heatwaves to the tips of your hair.

"Arthur," you gasp, and he smiles.

"You're such a good boy. Let it happen. Come for me."

Every push of him drives you almost insane, your thighs shaking, and every muscle cramping in your body. Your cock pulses between your legs, and you stare in surprise at your own dick as you shoot your come onto your belly.

The relief that follows lingers just like your orgasm did, in a way that you've never experienced before. You close your eyes and just breathe, trying to burn that feeling into your memory.

Arthur slips out and lies down next to you, kissing your cheek. "You alright?"

You sigh before you turn to him to steal another kiss. "What the hell have you done to me?"

Arthur chuckles. "Why?"

"It never felt like this before," you say, caressing his chest with your fingertips. "You have to do that again."

"I think you're better off with a break," Arthur says with a smile.

You run your hand further down before you follow the same line with your lips. "You're right; let's take care of you first."

Unlike Arthur, you don't play it slowly but suck his cock into your mouth, eager to pay him back.

"Jesus Christ," Arthur curses, holding on to the sheets like you did. "Fine, you're a good boy. I'll do it again, I promise."

You hum around his cock, happy to apply what you already know, and you can't wait for Arthur to teach you more.

#arthur morgan x male reader #arthur morgan x m!reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #nsft #my writing #fulfilled requests

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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

Text

be a little bad /// Hawks x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: College AU 🍺 Frat boy Keigo pours you your first drink and decides he’s going to help himself to more of your firsts.

A/N: Hawks just makes so much sense as a frat bro 🤧 @koiibito thank you for working through ideas w/ me…& remember when I told you this was going to be short?? whoops 🤡

Tags/warnings: dubcon/coercion, inexperienced reader, fuckboy Hawks, overstimulation, alcohol, inebriated sex, problematic frat culture stuff, idk what to call it but peer pressure? to drink etc., all characters are adults

How long have you been sitting here?

You feel like there’s some kind of immense weight holding you down, making it impossible for you to stand up off this ugly couch that’s been crammed into the corner of the room to make space for the dance floor. You and this couch have become good friends over what you think has been the past hour—at first you occupied yourself by looking at the people playing beer pong, but after the fourth time you had to decline one of the players’ offers to join, you decided to stop making eye contact. So you sit on the couch, you stare at your phone, and you wish you were back at your dorm—or, better yet, back in your hometown with all your high school friends.

But you’re not. You’re here, multiple time zones away from anywhere you can call home, and all of your high school friends are asleep. And the one person—the one person you’ve managed to make friends with since orientation is the one who dragged you to this freaking frat party and then proceeded to abandon you. Apparently he didn’t feel the need to tell you that as a new pledge of this frat, he’s going to be on “door duty” checking ratios and giving sardonic responsibility talks for the next two hours.

Which leaves you here, sitting on the couch and trying to avoid the more questionable stains that you can barely make out in the seizure-inducing strobe lights. There’s a can of beer icing down your palms and you adjust your grip so it doesn’t leave a damp spot of condensation in your lap. It was your friend who gave it to you before he disappeared (“you don’t even have to drink it,” he’d said, “just hold it and no one else will pressure you to get another drink”).

It smells foul. You’ve had sips of beer before, and you can never understand why people drink it voluntarily. But maybe…maybe now that you’re in college, maybe now that you’re an adult, you’ll enjoy the taste. You raise the can to your lips and chug down a heavy gulp.

Ugh. Still gross. You wince and wipe your mouth.

“Not a fan of natty, huh? Good taste.” A hand appears out of nowhere to pluck the can away from you and you jump, nearly smacking your forehead against the stranger’s chin. He pulls back. “Whoa! Careful there.”

“…That’s mine,” you say half-heartedly as the guy tilts up the beer—your beer, your decoy drink—and takes a long draught.

“You’re not missing out. This stuff is piss,” he says, grinning down at you.

He’s not the first guy to hit on you at this party (what is it about lost-looking girls that draws frat boys in like moths to a flame?), but he is the best-looking. Long, swept-back blond hair; equally long eyelashes; a hint of scruff on his chin—he’s pretty and masculine at the same time. You let him take the seat next to you and lure you into a conversation, and he’s nice, too—laughing with you about how bad the beer tastes and sympathizing with your criticisms of your first experience at a frat party. You fall over yourself apologizing when he lets slip that he’s a brother (“social chair, actually, so if the party sucks it’s on me”) but he tells you it’s okay, that no one likes going to parties alone, not at first.

His name is Keigo Takami. He’s a junior, a marketing major, and he joined the frat in his first semester. According to him, the fraternity is a great group of guys (“I mean, they’re a bunch of jackasses, sure, but they’re well-meaning jackasses for the most part”) and all the rumors about frat parties are overblown.

“Seriously, you’d be having fun if you were drinking,” Keigo tells you. “These parties aren’t intended for a sober audience.”

“Sure,” you scoff, but it’s not serious. You are having fun, talking to him.

He gasps, mock-offended. “Don’t believe me? I’ll prove it to you. Stay right here, okay—don’t move a muscle.”

When he gets up, the dense crowd on the makeshift dance floor parts to let him through to the stairs leading into the upper floors. It’s kind of amazing. Everyone else (yourself included) has to wade through, pushing and shoving past the teeming throng to get anywhere, but for Keigo it’s effortless.

He’s back in just a few minutes, holding—oh god, how typical—a red plastic cup filled with a kool-aid red liquid that smells sickly sweet. Is it actually kool-aid? You take a whiff and can’t detect the tell-tale bitter alcohol fumes. “Is this…?”

“Mm, that’s jungle juice. The frat’s secret recipe. It’s good, try it.”

You raise the cup but hesitate. Is this really a good idea? You’ve been warned about stuff like this so many times. You don’t have to do it just because everyone else is.

Keigo catches your hesitation and frowns. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, I just…haven’t…”

“Hm? Don’t tell me this is your first drink? Aww, little freshman baby.” He’s mocking you, looking down on you, and you hate it. You’re not a baby. You can play with the boys.

You make eye contact with him before you tip back the cup and gulp down the juice, letting the full contents slosh down your throat. It’s syrupy-sweet and tastes like fruit punch and oranges so it goes down easy, a lot easier than you thought it would. A drop slides out of the corner of your mouth but you lick it up when it runs over your lip.

Keigo whistles. “Damn, down the hatch. That was…that was kinda hot.”

If you’re blushing, you hope he thinks it’s because of the drink.

He’s faster when he gets you the second cup. It doesn’t even taste like alcohol. Keigo won’t tell you what’s in it or how much (“secret recipe’s gotta stay a secret, y’know? It’s in the bylaws”). Halfway into the second cup you start to feel dizzy, which Keigo says means it’s working. He pulls you up off what you’ve semi-affectionately begun to think of as your couch and guides you onto the dance floor. The music is heavy and blaring loud, thudding through the speakers and making the walls shake, making you shake as it travels through the sticky floor up into your body. You sway haphazardly but Keigo’s got you by the arms, pulling you out of the way of the crowd, pulling you into him.

“Looking a little unsteady there, baby,” he says, and—and, you hear him, you do, but he’s talking to you from underwater (or, no, that’s just what it sounds like? or—) um. Beaming his voice into your brain or something?

Keigo laughs and you giggle and it feels good. “Better finish that or you’re gonna spill it,” he says, putting his warm hot hand over yours, guiding the cup back up to your face so you can finish off.

You’re in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by writhing bodies so it shouldn’t surprise you when someone’s elbow smacks into your back and jostles you so the jungle juice spills, spills out of your mouth dripping down your chin onto the dress. You process the interruption a second too late and the sticky red liquid is already staining your skin. …Feels good, you think first, because the drink is cool and refreshing and it’s so hot in here, steamy warm, everyone pressed up against everyone else like you’re pressed into Keigo, and then oh no—oh no your dress—but at least it’s a dark color, at least the stain won’t show—

“What did I tell you about spilling?” you sort of hear Keigo say, and then you sort of feel the weight of his hand wiping away the juice from your mouth, and then he sticks his face up close to yours and oh my god oh my god he’s kissing you.

There’s something indescribably weird about it, his tongue thrashing over yours like he’s trying to lick the juice out of your mouth while you try not to flinch back from the taste of the beer he was drinking earlier. But he’s so solid, so steady, the only still thing in a room full of movement—when your eyes move away from him into the twisting mass of bodies and flashing lights you feel dizzy, so you keep your gaze locked firmly on him. He wraps his arm around your back and you instantly feel better and lean into him, lean into the kiss.

You’re drooling by the time he stops kissing you. “So sweet,” Keigo says, wiping a pearl of saliva off his mouth. “Little sloppy, but I can work with that.”

You don’t get it. You don’t even know if you would get it if you were sober. What you do get is Keigo’s hand wrapped around your upper arm, pulling you through the crowd to the staircase. Once again the people move aside for him, like the Red Sea for Moses, you think with a little laugh and he looks back at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly.

You stop, halting at the base of the stairs and squinting up at the bright yellow light in the stairwell, so invasive and clinical after the strobing darkness of the bottom floor. There’s something hard pressing into your side when you try to lean on the wall. There’s a name for that thing, isn’t there? B…ban…bannister, right? You grip the bannister with one hand to hold yourself still and resist Keigo tugging you higher up the stairs.

“W-Where’re we going?” you ask. It’s weird—your voice doesn’t sound like drunk people in movies. It’s not slurred or unintelligible. To your own ears, it just sounds high, and fast, and…nervous.

“Going upstairs,” Keigo says patiently, still pulling gently at your arm. “Gonna get some air, ‘kay? I’ll show you something cool.”

“O-Okay…” Something cool? You want to see something cool, even if you’re practically tripping over the stairs trying to stumble up them.

One of the brothers is guarding the entrance to the upper floors (no doubt ensuring that wayward attendees don’t try to take the party upstairs into the personal bedrooms). He nods at Keigo when he passes, but when he catches sight of you—you with your hair mussed, lipstick smeared, flushed cheeks and wobbly steps—his eyes narrow. “She good?”

Even in your boozy haze, it doesn’t escape you that the question isn’t directed toward you. He’s asking Keigo.

“Her? She’s fine, she’s fine.” Keigo throws his arm over your shoulders like you’re old buddies. “I’m taking her to my room, it’s so fucking hot down there I can’t breathe.”

“Yeah…” the other guy says, gaze still focused on you, but he doesn’t move to the side to let you through.

“Oh, come on.” Keigo steps up onto the same stair as him so he can look him in the eye. “I said she’s fine, didn’t I? She’s having fun. Aren’t you? Tell him you’re having fun, (Y/N).”

His tone isn’t any less sociable than before, but—are you imagining it?—he’s not really asking, is he? “Um, I’m having—having fun?”

Oh. Oh no. Why did that sound like a question?

The brother waits a moment, and then shrugs and steps aside. “Whatever, bro.”

Keigo’s bedroom is on the third and highest floor of the sprawling mansion where the fraternity makes its home. Flags are pinned to the walls—one with the colors of your university and one with the fraternity crest—and on top of his desk there are trophies lined up in meticulous rows: track and field, swimming, cross country, fencing. The bedroom is a rare single, one of only a few in the crowded house, which Keigo explains is because he earned it as a member of leadership when he was elected social chair (“it was unanimous—well, almost, a couple of the douchebags voted for themselves but—“)

You’re trying to listen, you really are. But your head is spinning. Now that you’re out of the feverish swampy heat of the dance floor downstairs, you feel marginally more sober—and also more aware that you’re inebriated. Keigo’s voice is steady and soothing like the rest of him. The timbre, the intonations, the casual lilt and dip of his speaking make more sense to you than the words themselves.

“Here, have this. It’s rum. Tell me what it smells like…” Keigo puts something in your hand—a tiny little cup, a plastic shot glass—and you have to use all your concentration to hold it still enough to let him fill it with red-brown liquid out of an unlabeled bottle.

When you carefully lift it up to your face, you can smell the alcohol. It smells sweet, too—like vanilla, vanilla and something fruity and heavy. Bananas?

But mostly it smells like alcohol.

“It smells like banana bread, doesn’t it?” Keigo asks, pouring himself a shot too. “Try it.”

You take a tentative sip but even that meager amount is sickeningly bitter in your mouth. You hold it on your tongue for a second trying to taste the ‘banana bread’ and then swallow a few moments too late, hoping you don’t look as disgusted as you feel.

“Not like that,” Keigo laughs, tipping his own shot back and downing it in a single go. “Like this. Your turn.”

“…Keigo…” You’re not sure what you want to say. You don’t want the shot, it tastes bad and you’re already drunk. You’re a smart girl, a careful girl. You should know better. You do know better. But it feels like—it feels like, even though he’s not making you do anything, somehow it’s too late to say no.

“C’mon, (Y/N). It’s just a little shot.” He taps his empty glass against your almost-full one. “And look, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take you back downstairs…is that what you want?”

Back downstairs. Back to sitting by yourself and waiting for your friend and turning down offers. Is that what you want?

Keigo’s gaze dips down to the ground and he shifts a step forward. “Now…maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think you want that. ‘Cause when I saw you sitting on that couch, you didn’t look like you were having such a good time, hm? Am I right?”

“…um, I guess?”

“Yeah…you looked so sad and lost and lonely I couldn’t leave you alone. Admit it...” He reaches up and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. “You were waiting for someone to catch your interest. You were wishing a guy like me would come rescue you. If I’m wrong, I’ll take you right back downstairs and leave you by yourself for the rest of the night, okay? But if I’m right…”

You can smell his hot breath on your face—vanilla and sugar and bananas and rum.

“…take the shot.”

It’s not so bad the second time. You’re quicker and you don’t bother holding it in your mouth. The liquor sears your throat clean and when you get over the unpleasantness, it really does taste kind of like banana bread.

“Ohhhh… Not so bad, is it?” Keigo takes the glass from you. “God, you—you complain, but you really take it down like a champ.”

“Alcohol tastes nasty,” you reply, wrinkling your nose. “Why’d people do this for fun?”

“It’s not about the taste, not at first,” Keigo laughs. Weird. It’s like he’s always laughing.

“Then what?” At your next exhale, you squeeze your eyes shut and reopen them. Ah. Ah. The room is moving again, spinning, contracting and dilating. There’s something relaxing about it, like you’re being rocked on gentle waves in the ocean. You feel floaty, comfortable, pleased.

“Well…it’s nice, isn’t it? Isn’t this nice? Helps you not think so much, not worry about the consequences.” Keigo’s arms are wrapping around you again, anchoring you in place. His torso is warm and hard against yours. “Lets you be bad.”

“Mmm…” You blink up at Keigo, admire his jawline and his lashes and his pretty gold eyes. He looks like a boy you would’ve had a crush on in high school, an older boy who never would’ve given you the time of day.

His hand is rubbing circles over your back, shifting the fabric of your dress along with his palm. “So what do you say?” he murmurs. “Wanna be a little bad?”

You do. You want to be bad and naughty and reckless. You want to make dumb, drunken decisions that you’ll laugh about with your friends in a few years. You want to do things you’ll regret, because you’d rather regret the things you had the guts to do than the ones you were too scared to try.

You inch your arms up past Keigo’s shoulders and tangle them in his fluffy hair, tugging gently at the different strands until you work up the nerve to pull his head to your level and kiss him. Even though you initiated it, he immediately takes the lead and the force of his mouth writhing against yours has your neck twisting back to accommodate. His tongue pushes against yours again but you don’t mind it this time. Your spine is arched and you’d probably be falling backward if his hand wasn’t bracing your lower back before sliding down to grab your ass.

“God—“ he breaks the kiss— “goddamn, look at you.” He’s gripping your dress, lifting it, pulling the fabric up over your hips and up to your waist at the same time as he showers kisses over your cheeks and your jawline and your neck.

You lift your chin (how strange that you’ve never done this before and still it feels so natural) to let him bite and suck scarlet marks onto the thin skin of your throat. “Keigo—“

“Baby,” he sighs, his breath stirring the hair falling over your neck. “You’re gonna be a killer, I can tell… You’re sweet now, but fuck, you’ve got no idea.” His hands are under the hem of your dress giving your ass another squeeze before he pulls the skirt up.

“Killer? What do you...” He’s backing you onto the bed, kicking off his shoes, and you do the same.

“Shh, that’s for me to know and you to find out. Arms up,” he tells you, and you slowly comply, letting him take the dress off your shivering body to leave you in your panties—no bra, not in this dress. Keigo holds the dress in his hands for a second before he drops it to the floor. “This—you know what, this is how I knew you were a virgin, this little dress, who the hell wears a dress to a frat party—“

“A virgin?” Hearing him say the word hits some kind of trigger in you and your eyes go wide. Without thinking, you fold your arms over your breasts and pull your legs up to your chest.

“Not a virgin virgin, it’s just what we call freshie girls who’ve never been to a party before—“ Keigo starts to clarify, but when he catches your reaction (your overreaction), his eyes narrow and he sits on the bed over you, knees straddling your legs. “Wait. Are you—you’re not actually a virgin, are you?”

You look to the side, cheeks hot, wanting to deny it but knowing there’s no way you’ve got the mental fortitude to really convince him.

“Fuuuck,” Keigo breathes, leaning over you and framing your face with his hands. “Baby. You just keep getting sweeter, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “’s embarrassing…”

“You should be glad I asked, or you’d be…like crying and bleeding and stuff, right? God, it’s been a while since I had a virgin.” He scratches his forehead and then his hand comes down to absently stroke the soft inside of your thigh.

It tickles. It tickles and you feel goosebumps rising to attention on your leg and a silly little laugh bubbles out of your throat. An involuntary shiver passes through you.

Keigo smirks and ducks down to kiss the skin of your inner thigh. It’s light—it’s nothing—but the rough stubble on his chin scratches over your skin and you giggle again. He nudges up higher on your body, so close you can feel the heat of his breath through your panties, and his hands grip around your waist to keep you in place.

Everything’s moving so quickly. You wonder in the back of your mind, the tiny part that still has a decent grasp on sobriety, if you’re ready for all of this. Then you wonder if anyone’s ever ready. How are you supposed to know? When it’s the right time, are you not supposed to be nervous? You are nervous, but the liquor is taking the edge off, making you more comfortable, maybe even keeping your mouth shut when the sober version of you would’ve stopped this a long time ago. You don’t know.

But what you do know—what you do know is that Keigo is easing your panties down off your legs and then nosing back in to kiss up your thighs and latch his mouth over your pussy.

“Mm—oh, fuck—“ What are you saying? You’re not a moaner, you don’t even say ‘fuck’. You’ve always been able to keep quiet when you’re by yourself. It’s like Keigo’s tongue flicking over your clit is pulling the voice out of you.

He wriggles the tip of his tongue over that sweet spot and the breath falls out of your lungs in what is undeniably a whimper. You feel so tense with the effort of keeping still, blood rushing to your pussy, and your thigh spasms where it’s nestled next to Keigo’s cheek. “You ever done this before?” he hums between licks.

“N-No…ah!”

“Ever cum?” His tongue returns, licking you up and down in lazy strokes, spreading your juices all over your dripping cunt.

“…hahhh, yesss…” Yes, you’ve had an orgasm before, in your own bed on your own fingers. When you do it to yourself it’s detached and methodical, a means to an end. You keep your mouth closed and you barely move and you get it over with. It’s not like this, wet and sloppy and out of your control, teasing, giving you almost exactly what you want but not quite.

You’re moaning. You’re moaning. You can still hear the throbbing music of the party downstairs, and you’re moaning your little heart out, whimpering, crying with little ah-ah-ah’s that anyone who can hear would recognize immediately.

When you do it yourself, it’s not like this. It’s never like this. Keigo moves from slow to quick unpredictably, always pulling you down right when you feel that pressure building in your core. It feels good enough that you’re annoyed—no, not annoyed, downright pissed when he sits back up on his heels and licks the wetness off his own lips.

“What’re you—I was, I was gonna—“ you start, trying to organize your thoughts. It had felt good. You’d wanted it, wanted more, and now your pussy feels all warm and wet and needy, pulsating with the lust he stirred up in you.

“Gonna cum?” Keigo leans down and kisses you, long and slow. “Sorry…but I’m selfish. When you cum, I wanna feel it.”

His arms flex in the yellow lamplight as he pulls the collar of his shirt over his head. You’re sprawled over the sheets on your back, not sure what you can say so you just watch. It helps that there’s plenty to look at—the hard planes of his abdomen forming the tell-tale dips of a six-pack, perfectly-formed lean muscle (all those sports trophies, you think to yourself), and the V of his hipbones disappearing under the hem of his pants…which he’s currently taking off as well. There’s something to be said for the benefits of spending more time at the gym than you do at the library.

Every part of Keigo Takami is impressive—he’s a work of art in human form. And when he pulls down his boxer briefs and his cock springs out to bob against his stomach, you’ve gotta admit that that is pretty impressive too.

Impressive…and intimidating. You bite your lip looking at it. Keigo pumps himself up and down, and every time his fist moves down to expose the thick pink head, you wonder the same thing: how is that supposed to fit!?

Keigo must see the sudden anxiety on your face, because he smiles (reassuringly? arrogantly? or is he just delighting in your discomfort?) and lifts you like a kitten with his hands under your armpits. “Up, up, on your knees, legs together—perfect. Now turn and put your hands on the wall.”

It’s so much easier to follow his instructions than try to consider what would happen if you said no. His callused hands petting over your waist make you feel like you’re doing the right thing. But—still—the nagging anxiety of having something so big in your pussy doesn’t go away.

You hear a drawer opening, and you turn away from the wall to see Keigo squeezing a clear liquid from a bottle in his hand and spreading it meticulously down the shaft of his cock. Lube? That’s good, you’ve heard from your more experienced female friends that it’s good to be extra wet the first time…but there’s something else, something you’re missing, isn’t there?

You try to think, try to ground yourself and understand, really understand what’s happening to you. What are you missing? The bed is squishy and soft under your knees, the air is windy somehow (is there a fan on? you hadn’t noticed), and the music downstairs is so loud you can feel the vibrations through the wall you’re pushed up against. And. And. You try to think. What are you forgetting that you’re not allowed to forget?

You can feel his cock, too. Keigo’s hands grip the flesh of your hips and he leans his chest into your back, brushing your hair over your shoulders so the two of you can touch skin to skin. The head of his cock bumps against your mound, raw and hard and heavy. Skin to skin.

Skin to skin.

It hits you in a wave of panic and you whip your head around and push desperately back at Keigo’s solid shoulder. “Wait! Wait, Keigo—the condom? Are you wearing a condom?”

His hand wraps around your wrist and pins it back against the wall, and he bows down to nip a a little spot on the crook of your neck. “Calm down, we don’t need one.”

“No, we—we need it, I need it!” you squeak out, trying to push away from Keigo but he’s got you sandwiched between him and the wall and those perfect muscles you were admiring earlier are definitely not just for show.

“I said calm down. I’m not gonna go inside.”

“…What?”

He rocks his hips forward and his dick bumps up under your pussy again. “Ever heard of thighfucking?”

No, you’ve never heard of thighfucking, but you’re an intelligent girl and you might be drunk but you’re not so drunk that you can’t piece together what he means. Your interpretation is reinforced when you feel Keigo slathering liquid—lubricant—over the lips of your pussy and between the tops of your thighs. It feels cold and weird—slippery slick, like lotion—but even the barest second of his fingers brushing over your clit reignites the need from when he ate you out and you shudder.

“Keep those knees together for me, baby,” Keigo says, and with no further delay he pushes his cock in between your thighs, aiming it perfectly to slide between your pussy lips so the head will bump up on your clit.

“…ahh, Keigo, wait—oh!” The full weight of Keigo’s body shoves against your back every time he thrusts. You’re too weak for this, too delicate to stay in position. Your elbows buckle under the pressure and your face is about to smack directly into the wall until Keigo laces his fingers in your loose hair and yanks you back from it.

He’s got no trouble holding you down, keeping you perfectly posed with your soft thighs molded tightly around the cock driving between them. Your head is craned back from his hold on your hair and he lays hungry kisses over your mouth, your cheek, your neck, anywhere he can reach. He’s right—he is selfish, and you know that this position is about him, not you, so it takes you by surprise that the longer he fucks his cock between your thighs and your dripping slit, the more heat you feel rising up in your cunt.

It’s not right. It’s not supposed to be like this. Your first time doing anything with a boy isn’t supposed to end up with him using you like he’s humping a pillow, thrusting his slippery cock into your thighs and groaning in your ear. It’s all wrong, and it’s definitely wrong that you’re getting off to it.

But now you know why he ate you out and left you high and dry (well, not dry) without making you cum—because the heat and the friction and the feeling of every ridged vein sliding over your clit, his hips smacking with a wet slap against yours, the smooth head grinding over your pussy—all of it is making your thoughts swirl like your brains are sloshing around in your head, and not just because of the alcohol.

“Fuck,” Keigo purrs, ducking forward to bite the shell of your ear and then running a soothing tongue over it. “Fuck, baby, you like that? Is that virgin pussy getting all wet on my dick? You’re twitching, I can feel you…”

“…Mmph, ah, I, I—please—” You can’t really talk, not when he’s knocking the breath out of you with every thrust. But you need more. It’s not fair, having to make do with the uncontrolled jerks of his cock over your upper thighs and the outside of your pussy. He’s fucking you like he couldn’t care less about whether you get to cum—which, if you had the ability to think about it, he probably doesn’t. Certainly not as much as he cares about your soft, lubed-up skin squeezing so deliciously on his cock.

You grind your hips down a little, sticking your ass back toward him to get a better angle and—ugh, ugh it works, the pressure on your clit increases, and you keen desperately, begging him to fuck your thighs faster harder deeper. He yanks on your hair, snapping your head back so your whimper chokes up into a squeal, and—god, are you imagining it?—but you swear you feel the stiff length of his cock throb in between your legs with the head nudging on your belly.

“Uhnn…baby, baby, baby,” Keigo chants in your ear. His voice is heavier and jagged with the puffs of breath that are coming out in time with the roll of his hips into yours. It sounds…needy, almost. “G-Good girl, keep those legs tight, just—just like that…my good little sweetheart, angel, virgin. Gonna make me cum? Yeah? Make me cum with these pretty fucking thighs?”

“—Keigo, I’m—mm!” You can’t say it, even the thought of announcing you’re cumming like some kind of pornstar makes you cringe, but even if you don’t say it, there’s no way he doesn’t feel the electric shock that passes through you, sending tremors through your body.

You’re crying out, loud, louder than the music downstairs maybe (or at least it feels like it). There’s nothing you can grip for purchase so one hand just scrabbles against the bare expanse of the wall while you curl the other into a fist and dig your fingernails into your palms.

Fuck, is it the alcohol? Is it the liquor that’s making it feel like this, so overwhelming and heady you don’t even know where you are? You vaguely try to remember how you got here (something about blond hair, an easy laugh, and sugar-sweet liquid coating your tongue), but it’s not important, who fucking cares when the cock pistoning between your thighs is still rubbing up on your clit, still stimulating you, still sending sparks of heat up through your spine and making it impossible for you to breathe without moaning, much less think.

“Keigo…Keigo I came, please ahh—it, it hurts,” you whimper, trying to shift your hips up off his cock to relieve the pressure on your sensitive clit—but he won’t let you.

Keigo’s grip on your ass digs in deeper, harder so he’s probably leaving bruises, and the hand in your hair pulls your head back toward his. His voice is a growl, so low and scratchy that it sends a chill up through your body. “Don’t move. Don’t you—don’t you fucking move. Stay right fucking there.”

It scares you.

It scares you, but his dick is rocking over your pussy, making you crazy, making you lose your grip on whatever other physical sensations you can still feel. You’re limp except for your thighs pressed into one another as tightly as you can manage, letting Keigo hold you up. It doesn’t hurt, not really—but it’s horrible, it’s too much, it’s like you’re trapped on the edge, cumming and cumming and cumming and cumming while you squeal like you’re being tortured, and you are, you are, you are, you are—

—it's torture.

But not pain. It doesn’t hurt. It’s mind-bending, oppressive, awful, you want it to stop but—oh god oh god—you’re helpless and you don’t get to make it stop, you don’t get to make that decision, it’s up to him. He decides, Keigo decides, and Keigo decides to keep fucking into your thighs, keep spreading your pussy lips apart and teasing your clit, so you just roll your head back and stop trying to convince yourself it doesn’t feel incredible.

You barely notice him speeding up—you probably wouldn’t notice at all if you couldn’t hear the beat of your moans, paced in time with his body slamming yours against the wall, increasing in frequency. He releases your hair (you swear you can feel blood rush back into your head when you’re finally able to lean forward) and his hands go back to your hips, guiding you to rock yourself back on him so his last few rabid thrusts finish with the head of his cock rubbing firmly against your stomach.

“Ugh, goddamnit fuck, baby, yesss, stay still, stay right there,” Keigo groans, and you’re so blissed out from the overstimulation that you barely even feel the twitching of his cock between your legs and the spurt of thick, hot liquid on your stomach.

Oh.

Oh god.

When Keigo finally picks his hands off their bruising grip on your ass, you drop directly onto the bed, barely remembering at the last second to roll over onto your back so his semen (his semen, which is spread over your lower belly like a Jackson Pollock painting) doesn’t stain his sheets.

You stare at the ceiling and what do you know, there is a ceiling fan, blades spinning in lazy circles that make you sick when you try to follow them. So you close your eyes.

What are you feeling? What are you supposed to be feeling?

Anger, probably. Fear? Well, you won’t deny that there are hints of both of those emotions swimming underneath the hazy surface of your drunken psyche, but they’re overshadowed by what you’re really feeling, which is relief, relief that the stimulation is over, relief that it felt good, relief. And—since you’re too out of it to stop yourself from admitting it—satisfaction.

There’s a rustling, paper slipping against paper, and then you can feel Keigo wiping his cum off your bare stomach with a tissue and then dabbing at the smears of wetness between your legs. When he’s satisfied that you’re clean, the bed creaks as he lays down next to you. He’s panting.

Reluctantly you open your eyes and roll onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look down at him: golden hair spread out in a halo around his head, pale lashes and brows, a healthy glow of sweat over his forehead. You hadn’t seen it before, but there’s a tattoo curling over his biceps from where it must originate on his back—red feathers, wings, inked permanently into his skin.

Angel, Keigo called you earlier. But really, between the two of you…he’s the angel. In appearance, if nothing else.

His eyes drift open and the corner of his mouth tilts up, pleased to see you inspecting him. “How was that? Did you have fun being naughty?”

You and him both know exactly how much fun you had, and if you said it you’d just be stroking his ego. “You’re not a good guy, are you,” you say instead.

“Never said I was.”

“Then why didn’t you…have sex with me? For real?” you ask after a beat. The question’s been weighing on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re complaining.” A hand comes up to comb through your mussed hair unhurriedly.

“I’m not…” You still want to know, though.

“Mmm…baby. You didn’t want this to be your first time. Believe me, you’re not supposed to lose your virginity to a guy like me. No—don’t pout, come on. Your first time is supposed to be, like, soft and special and romantic, right?”

The girl you were one month ago, before you moved away from your hometown to come to college, she would have agreed. But you’re not that girl. You’ve been to your first college frat party, you’ve had your first drink and your first shot, you’ve kissed a stranger and you’ve done…sexual things with a man for the first time. And you’re okay with it. So you roll your eyes. “I’m not some fourteen-year-old drawing hearts in my notebook. I don’t need soft,” you tell him, hoping you sound bold and sarcastic.

Keigo chuckles and pats you on the head. “Don’t knock soft fucking, it’s got a time and a place like everything. I just couldn’t do it. Not when I saw you sitting there looking so lonely—you were like, hmm…like a rabbit in a den of wolves. You looked delicious.”

Oh god, you’re blushing again. This isn’t good for the nonchalant cool girl persona you’re trying to cultivate for yourself.

He cups your chin and runs his thumb over your lower lip. “I don’t think I could’ve been soft with you if I tried.”

A sharp rap on the door has both of you tensing, and Keigo only has a second to yank a blanket up from the foot of the bed over your naked bodies before the door is slammed open so hard that it bangs against the adjacent wall. “Jesus, get the fuck out!” he barks to the intruder, and it’s weird to hear the authoritative note in his voice reminding you that within this house, he’s someone who commands respect.

You tuck your face into Keigo’s chest and hope wildly that the person who just walked in 1) didn’t see anything and 2) isn’t the friend who brought you to the party, because if word gets around that you’re the girl who ‘slept’ with an older frat boy at the first party of freshman year, you’ll never live it down. Regardless of your own sexual liberation or whatever, you’re well aware that this isn’t the kind of reputation you want to start your college career out with.

“Sorry Kei! But we need you downstairs, we’re out of alc and the music stopped and no one knows how to fix the speakers!” the brother says, shielding his eyes with his hand, but he doesn’t leave the room. At least it’s not your friend—you breathe a sigh of relief and Keigo automatically smooths a hand down the back of your head in response.

“I’m kind of busy,” he seethes, and—you’ve gotta admit, there’s something marginally funny about seeing him caught off guard like this. You bite down on a laugh and he looks at you curiously, one thick eyebrow quirked.

“I’m really sorry, man, but the President said you’ll be on puke clean-up duty tomorrow if you don’t get your ass down there. His words, not mine.”

“Tomura, of-fucking-course…shitty incel has it out for me…” Keigo curses under his breath. “Give me five minutes.”

As soon as the door is closed, you’ve got your feet on the floor, groping around the discarded articles of clothing for your dress. You smooth down your hair with your hands and hope you look like any other tipsy freshman instead of a girl who just got pseudo-fucked. Keigo winks at you and taps his cheeks under his eyes; you take the hint and wipe away the smudges of mascara and eyeliner that migrated out of place during your…activities.

Your phone is safely in the pocket of your dress and you’re all but ready to leave the room (hopefully there won’t be anyone in the hallway to see you) when Keigo, still pulling on his pants, tugs you back by your wrist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you reply uncertainly.

“Aren’t you going to give me your number?”

What? Really? You’ve heard plenty about how frat guys like him operate, and nothing Keigo’s done (except the whole ‘no penetrative sex’ thing) has led you to believe he doesn’t fit the stereotype. And the stereotype doesn’t involve sleeping with the same girl twice, especially if that girl is an awkward freshman who is apparently too innocent for him to get his dick wet with. “What do you want my number for?” you ask.

“Do I have to spell it out to you?” Keigo’s fingers lace with yours and you stumble forward into him so he can kiss you.

It’s light, chaste even, but it’s not fair because he knows, of course he knows—a kiss like that is going to leave you wanting more. “Yes,” you tell him, just to be contrary.

Keigo laughs again, and you do your best to memorize the sound of it. “It’s so the next time you decide you want to be a bad girl…you know where to find me.”

#Hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #hawks #takami keigo #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #smut #BNHA college AU #tw dubcon

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wing-ed-thing · 4 years ago

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Retail Therapy (Kakuzu x Reader)

Synopsis: Deidara has a new partner for a combined effort with the Zombie Combo. However, something about you has Kakuzu heated.

Word Count: 2,123

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Threat of Violence, Probably Language, Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Kakuzu content is probably some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Right now I’m watching a video on fried milk. Ever hear of such a thing? Fascinating.

Kakuzu didn’t like being paired up with Hidan, let alone joint missions where he’d have to deal with even more people. Not to say that Kakuzu hated people, because he did, but he never thought that he’d hate anyone more than he absolutely hated you. He hadn’t even met you yet, but he knew at his very core that you would quickly become the bane of his entire existence.

“Shopping?” Kakuzu asked slowly, the word forming on his lips as if he had an aversion to even speaking it. Deidara leaned back on the large bounder that he settled on and stretched his arms up above his head. The blond nodded with a short groan before his hands came to rest behind his head.

“Yep,” he answered, “And for hours too, so I’d get comfortable.” Hidan plopped down on a patch of dirt below, his back and scythe against the side of the rock. Kakuzu glared down at his partner causing Hidan to shrug. To Hidan, if Deidara thought that the three of them would be waiting a while, he would take his word and make himself comfortable. Kakuzu’s attention turned back to Deidara.

“Hours? What possibly could someone be purchasing that takes them hours?” Hidan gazed up from his spot, head tilted back against the surface behind him.

“And we only came like five minutes late too. Who takes off like that?” Kakuzu almost nodded in agreement, but knowing his partner, Hidan would take any excuse to complain. Deidara shrugged, basking in the warmth of the sun and stayed lounging even as a rustling came from the woods. Hidan’s hand immediately reached up to grip the handle of his weapon and Kakuzu took a defensive stance. Deidara’s eyes remained closed.

“Oh hello, boys! I didn’t know you were here!” You sauntered out of the trees, bags hanging from both arms. They were pushed tightly in a line, every other patch of your skin strained by the handles of a different shopping bag. Even in your altered Akatsuki cloak, Kakuzu took a look at you and immediately decided that you were decorated far too ornately and that he’d like to kill you when he had the chance. You were objectively beautiful, but if Kakuzu had his way, Deidara would have to be assigned another partner soon. “You haven’t been waiting for too long, have you?”

“You shouldn’t have left us waiting at all,” Kakuzu glowered, although not any more than usual. Either you didn’t hear him or you ignored him as you walked up to your partner. You plucked a package from one of your more reachable bags.

“I got you something, Dei-dei!” You threw it up to Deidara weakly but he managed to catch it. He opened the small, folded, paper bag. Deidara glanced down at you with a nod of his head and a fold of his lips. He took the neat band in his hand while you looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t they nice? Hair ties. Silk from a small village in the Land of Water.” Deidara held them up to the sun.

“That’s some great quality you found. Thanks.” Your partner glanced down at you again. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight assuming that you got a good price for it.” Kakuzu looked on at your exchange, increasingly beginning to lose his temper.

“Believe me, I did. And I found a ton of other great finds too. I gotta show you—”

“Enough,” Kakuzu growled and you finally turned your attention his way. Hidan had since passed out against the boulder that Deidara sat on. “You’re wasting all our time. The sooner we start, the sooner we can part ways.” You gave Kakuzu a once over with your nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Well someone’s grumpy,” you mused. You rolled your eyes and pointed your nose upward. Huffing, you threw your shopping bags into the air and as they fell, you swiftly unfurled a scroll. Your new items disappeared one by one. You rolled the paper back up, scowling as you slipped the scroll into one of many slots that you wore strapped to your clothing. The pockets ran down the small of you back and you latched the bundle of paper in place with a flip of your nimble fingers. Kakuzu frowned back, tentatively wondering if all the scrolls you carried contained the same amount of shopping bags. You approached him with crossed arms. “Okay then, tough guy. Let’s get started.”

You sat down and summoned a map of the next village. It laid out in front of you and placed your hands on your knees in challenge. Kakuzu sat down on the other side of the map, eyes boring into you. You didn’t budge. And as you began to speak, it was hard to focus, at least for Deidara. Though he supposed he’s seen you this fired up before.

“It would be easier if we lure the jinchūriki outside of the village,” you said, gesturing to the small, unnamed village on the map. It wasn’t large, but just big enough to serve as a maze for your prize. At least you knew the woods better and a jinchūriki was bound to stand out among the trees.

“I can get up some traps,” Deidara added and you nodded.

“Back them into a corner and cage them into a small space—” You nodded again— “We can use some explosives around the area… maybe here?” You pointed to a section of the map outside of the village. You looked up at Deidara. “You’d be our last line of defense when the jinchūriki tries to run.” Deidara smirked and puffed out his chest.

“Leave it to me!”

“We’ll need someone to drive the jinchūriki out of the village,” Kakuzu cut in, not particularly liking how you dominated the strategizing. “I’ll go with Hidan.” While Kakuzu thought that he would stop at nothing to get away from the Jashinist, this had to be a regrettable first. Hidan napped a few feet away.

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “You and Hidan? Psh… might as well have Deidara set off fireworks in the sky that spell out ‘single, hot jinchūriki in your a—”

“I can do that!” Deidara cut in before immediately backing down at Kakuzu’s pointed glare, not that he’d show it. You locked eyes with Kakuzu, taking his fiery stare off of your partner.

“I’ll go. You’re too conspicuous and, really, have you seen Hidan? You two would be spotted a mile away.” Kakuzu almost snarled.

“And you wouldn’t?” You let out a short, bitter laugh. Your left arm supported your weight as your knees touched together on the right side of your body. Kakuzu scowled at your blatant lounging. Everything about you challenged him and he hated you for it. Your lids narrowed in a smug smile.

“I’m not the one—” who’s fuckin’ jacked — “ with big-ass black stitches across my whole body.”

“And four faces on his back…” Hidan called out, still half asleep. You turned back to Kakuzu.

“And four faces on his back,” you repeated, much to Kakuzu’s vexation. The sass in your blinks was lost on the older shinobi. He stood, causing you to stand too. Deidara took a hint and retreated. Kakuzu crossed his arms over his chest and he planted his feet on the ground about the same width apart as his broad shoulders. He pointed two fingers at you harshly.

“And you’re—” Gorgeous. — “a brat. I should just kill you right here.” You stood your ground, daring to slap Kakuzu’s hand out of your face.

“As much as I’d like to see you try, tough guy, I’d actually like to do some quality work and get the hell away from you as quickly as I can.” Kakuzu huffed, gritting his teeth underneath his mask.

“Nice to hear that we’re on the same page.”

And with neither of your partners wanting to deal with either of you pissed off, you and Kakuzu were paired together.

***

Deciding that your cloaks were too noticeable, you sealed yours away. Kakuzu kept his draped across his arm, distrust of you evident. You walked down the road together under the late afternoon, waiting for nightfall. You hoped that striking at night would give you not only the surprise advantage, but also minimize the number of clueless civilians that would no doubt wander in your way. But as soon as your eyes fell onto the market, Kakuzu quickly began to wonder if his stubbornness landed him with an even larger headache. But his usual, standoffish demeanor remained the same. Kakuzu’s eyes drifted to their corners as he scowled down at you.

“No.” That was all he said, as if you would actually listen to him and not immediately march in the direction of the market. He reluctantly followed, every reach to hold you back by your robes falling just a bit short each time. By the time you were stopped, too many people surrounded the two of you for him to pull you away without drawing attention. Normally, attention from others wasn’t anything that Kakuzu would be concerned with, but your two teams had their orders and Kakuzu would be damned if he had to spend anymore time with you.

You stood in front of a booth with your hand on your chin. Kakuzu stood next to you, following your gaze to a simple, but sturdy-looking sword. You gingerly picked it up, carefully studying it’s craftsmanship. The man behind the booth leaned over his table, motioning to the piece of merchandise in your hands.

“Ah, you have a good eye, mercenary.” You glanced up at him.

“Land of Earth? Lots of excellent craftsmanship comes from there, I’m not surprised.” You ran your thumb across the dull of the blade. “Antique too, but still hardy.” The merchant nodded pointing to a few spots across the weapon.

“Could get you out of a bind too. Reliable smithing comes from Tsuchi no Kuni.” Kakuzu looked on at the show in front of him. In stark contrast to earlier, you seemed poised and he found you knowledgeable. You appeared calm and competent enough to handle yourself and for a second, Kakuzu became lost in your analysis.

You stepped back, turning the sword around in your hand to feel out the balance. The blade whipped around your body with ease. The seller softly applauded your embellished practice. Kakuzu almost rolled his eyes, but took some comfort in the fact that you were looking to purchase something of quality and not just anything at the very least. You looked down at the weapon with a nod or two before asking the dreaded question.

“So what’s your price?” The merchant didn’t hesitate.

“A hundred thousand ryō.” Kakuzu almost left right there, but a dominant part of him wanted to know what you were going to do. His hands grasped his biceps, his cloak still hanging from his forearm. Kakuzu watched you closely. You shook your head.

“You’re going to give it to me for twenty-five thousand.” The merchant gaped at the outrageous price you named. He sputtered a few times.

“That price is far too low for this quality. You must be joking if you think I’d sell this fine piece of equipment for practically nothing.”

You did name a ridiculous price. Not even Kakuzu could see getting what you wanted for that price without a fair bit of violence and intimidation. But you ripped into that merchant. You ripped into this poor seller like nothing Kakuzu had ever seen before. He didn’t even know if he could call it bartering, but whatever it was, it was likely one of the most skillful things that Kakuzu had ever seen.

He folded his lips under his mask. You didn’t yell. Kakuzu didn’t even find your appearance intimidating in the slightest, yet every point and number the merchant brought up, you countered. And by the end of the intense conversation, if Kakuzu didn’t know any better and had less of a spine, he’d likely be handing the sword over too. The man had long since started sweating, tugging at his collar. If Kakuzu didn’t see it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it as you handed over exactly twenty-five thousand ryō. He almost overlooked the complete waste of money as he still stood stunned, though not outwardly showing any such emotion.

You nestled the sword by your hip and the seller let out a breath of relief by the time you walked away. Kakuzu followed wordlessly next to you as you strutted off in triumph.

Perhaps he misjudged you. He stared, not noticing as he did so.

Yes, you were going to save the organization a fortune.

Notes: “oH mY gOd KaKuzU sAiD hE wAs GoNna KiLl rEader! wHy wOuLd yOu wRiTe sOmEtHiNg sO tOxIc???”... They’re criminal terrorists, Susan.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

#kakuzu x reader #kakuzu #Akatsuki x reader #Akatsuki!reader #deidara #hidan #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #x you #x reader #reader insert #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto imagine

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whore4teamcap · 4 years ago

Text

Partners Against Crime

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: After your boyfriend takes a promotion, you’re assigned a new partner. How will you both deal with the separation and potential of someone getting in the way?

Warnings: This fanfiction does revolve around law enforcement but I will not include any controversies.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Thank you @stucky-my-ship for requesting this! I’m so excited to turn this into a series. Hope you enjoy <3 Thank you so much to those who read! Feedback and interactions are heavily appreciated. Also! Please reach out if you would like to be tagged in future parts and my other projects.

Part 1

You flickered your eyes open as a blaring noise came from beside you. No matter how many years of experience you had with this job, you swore you would never get used to this schedule. Even when you were starting out as a beat cop everything seemed easier. It was probably just the adrenaline from coming straight out of the academy but then your life changed. You were promoted from beat and finally landed your goal job as a detective. You dreamed of being a detective ever since you were little. You smiled softly at the memory of you sneaking downstairs to watch tv behind your parents backs. Often finding yourself glued to crime shows; they fueled your desires to take down criminals.

You throw your arm toward the side table and shut off the alarm. Then you proceed to roll over and frown at the empty bed space beside you. Your boyfriend, James Barnes, well you called him Bucky, just got promoted to Sergeant. He was officially in charge of the precinct you both worked at. Which was both a blessing and a curse. You were so proud of Bucky, he finally got the promotion he has been working his ass off for and the new job came with a lot of good things for him.

But, you couldn't hide the fact that it was gonna severely weigh on you. You and Buck had been partners since you first got promoted to detective. You both really clicked from that day forward. It was gonna take a lot to get used to not having him by your side. In this line of work you need a person you can trust one thousand percent. At the end of the day this person is in charge of your life and you're in charge of theirs. Bucky was the definition of what a partner meant to you. Which is why it was no shock that three years later you both shared an apartment and ended up falling in love. However you just knew the promotion would put a damper on that as well. You had to keep your affair hidden from the precinct and trusted very few people. When you moved in with Bucky, you weren't even allowed to update your address so every now and then you'd make your way over to your old place to pick up mail. Luckily, you hit it off with your old landlord and he helps with anything and everything you need. Although you were certain he did it to eventually get a legal favor. But you didn't mind. It bought you time with the man you love.

Being that the precinct didn't know about you and Bucky, you couldn't stop yourself from worrying about the future. He was no longer your equal. He was your boss and you were terrified of the thought of someone finding out about your relationship. It could get both of you fired or moved to different precincts. Which was the better of the two, but it would be hard to work without each other. You strongly believed what made you best at your job was having him beside you. Or at least in the same work place. This mindset also made you question if your relationship would ever progress more than it was. Of course you wanted to eventually marry Bucky but how would that work with your jobs? There were so many obstacles the two of you faced and it made you even more stressed for your first day without him.

While groaning, you rub your face. Then you gain the strength to pull yourself from the half empty bed. You make your way to the bathroom and turn on the water. Giving it time to heat up while you go grab a towel and pick out clothes for your day. After showering and getting ready, you stepped out of your shared room. The apartment is small and cozy. New York was an expensive city to live in but you both made it work. When you were looking for apartments, you didn't care where you ended up just as long as we were with each other. Being that the apartment was tiny, you could see straight into the kitchen from the hallway. Your eyes fell straight on a note besides the partially full coffee pot. You smile to yourself and walk over. You lift it off the counter and begin to read,

Good morning Doll

I hope you slept well. I left early this morning to get a head start on everything at the station. I made us coffee. I hope it's still good by the time you wake up.

Yours,

Bucky

P.S. Please grab our usual at the deli before you come in

You let out a brief chuckle at the final sentence written on the piece of paper. You grab a travel mug from the cabinet and place it in front of you. Then you proceed to grab the pot and pour it into the cup. After adding creamer and sugar, you bring the cup to your lips and take a small sip. The coffee was good but on the colder side. Therefore you pop it in the microwave while you quickly grab your belongings. When you hear the beep, you remove it and put the lid on. Carrying everything with you out of the door.

While driving to work, you swing by the deli up the road from your apartment building. You park on the busy New York street and quickly get out of your car and run inside. The bell above the door dings and Frank and Linda look up from behind the counter. You shoot them a large smile and they quickly return. The deli was owned by this sweet older couple since the early 70s. They were so kind to you and really cared for their regulars. So much so, they memorized Bucky and your order. Sometimes even having it ready before you arrive in the mornings.

"Good morning (y/n)! Where's Bucky?" Frank asks, his welcoming smile fading into a light frown. He walks toward the edge of the counter to meet you.

"Good morning! He went in early. First day of the new promotion. I'm still gonna bring him breakfast though," you explained while Linda grabbed a brown paper bag from the far counter and brought it toward you.

"Oh! Please tell him we wish him well, would you? We remember like it was yesterday when you both started coming in here. You've come a very long way and were so proud of you both," Linda said kindly. Her words turn your cheeks a dark shade of pink.

You could remember that day like it was yesterday as well. Bucky brought you here on your first day of the job and you've been coming to Frank's since.

"Why don't we stop and get food before we start our case? I know this amazing deli a few blocks away from the station," Detective Barnes suggests and you nod.

His gaze stays on you while you both get into his car. You slide into the passenger seat then proceed to put your seat belt on. You watch him do the same then start the car.

"So how long have you been a detective?" you ask softly, fiddling with your notebook and pen in your lap.

"Bout' 5 years or so. Rogers, the guy you met back at the precinct, he was my partner. We go way back," He replies while he pulls out of his parking spot. Beginning to make his way up the block.

You watched the busy street and took everything in with new eyes. You lived in New York your whole life but the city was still new to you. Your gaze shifts to your partner and you blushed lightly. His dark hair, calming smile and kind personality seemed to draw you in. But you pushed those thoughts away. This was professional and you knew that. However you found yourself incredibly lucky to be partnered with someone who already gave you such a welcoming homely feeling.

"Whatcha thinking about, (y/l/n)?" he asks. Shifting his attention from the road to you. His eyes connected with yours and suddenly all of your first day jitters went away.

His eye snapped back to the road and he began puling to a stop. Veering off to the right side of the road into an empty parking spot. Once his eyes snapped away, you took a deep breath and looked away as well.

"Just trying to get a good read on my partner. Making sure he's not dirty or part of something that'll get me killed," you say jokingly. You let out a laugh at your own stupid explanation and Barnes' attention quickly turned back to you. The corners of his mouth instantly went up and he shot you a toothy grin.

"Don't worry. If you're with me long enough. I'd let you in on my dirty cop side. No need to fear for your life," He joked back. Holding up his hands as if he were surrendering.

"All about the money in the end, isn't it Barnes?" You asked, continuing this forming inside joke.

"Oh definitely."

You both get out of the vehicle and you notice a big sign above the small deli. The name reading FRANK'S. You both walk inside and you smile as you're greeted by a seemingly older couple. You have been to countless deli's in New York State but this one gave you a great feeling. You didn't have family in the city. So it amazed you how quickly strangers could become such a crucial piece in your life.

She hands the order to you and you begin to pull out your wallet. Frank instantly puts his hand up and smiles, "Please it's on the house today. Also don't forget your coffee! Feel free to grab one for Bucky too."

"Thank you so much," was all you managed to reply with. Their utter kindness always brought so much love to your heart.

You notice you forgot the mugs so you walk out of the shop toward your car. You unlock it and pull on the passenger side door. You put the food in your car. Then lean over and grab your nearly empty travel mug from home and the spare from your car. You bring them inside so you can quickly fill them up before making a b line to work.

When you arrive, you walked into the precinct with your hands full. Doing your best to carefully get to your desk. You notice Bucky making himself at home in his new office and you can't help but feel an overwhelming amount of happiness for your boyfriend. He looks so excited and you were so incredibly proud of him. You set your coffee down then pull out your breakfast sandwich placing it on your desk. You grab the brown bag and Bucky's coffee wasting no time before you walk into his office. The man instantly looks up from his papers with a smile.

"Good morning beautiful. Is that for me?" He asks softly, keeping his voice low enough so no one hears.

"Good morning Sergeant Barnes," you say with a small smirk growing on your lips. You move closer to the desk and set everything down. "Linda and Frank gave us our food for free today. They wanted to congratulate you on the promotion. They're very proud of you."

"That's very kind of them. I needed this. Thanks for picking up the food. Rogers told me to come in early and I'm kinda glad I did because he was able to give me the full run down. Hopefully everything goes smoothly from here on out. Although it was weird coming in alone. I hope that won't become a regular thing. Despite the headache, I love our chaotic mornings," Bucky explains followed by a small chuckle. Your mind instantly recalls how usually your mornings consisted of you both fighting for space to get ready. Except you also both secretly adored the morning due to the fact Bucky loves to wake you up with light kisses.

"I agree. I really hope it's not regular. I already lost my partner, the last thing I want to lose is alone time with my boyfriend," you sigh then force a slight laugh. You didn't mean for it to come off in an upsetting way, but you realized it did when the room fell silent.

"Is my new partner coming in today?" You ask curiously, unable to find anything but awkwardness after your statement. You pay close attention to his face and notice a sour look appear. Maybe he wasn't taking it as well as you thought.

"Yeah. He should be in soon," Bucky replies and you nod. You walk out of his office and make your way to your own desk.

You unwrap your sandwich and use one hand to eat and the other to flip through your files. Taking in all of the new information for the case you are starting. You quickly finish your food then you take a large sip of your coffee. You haven't been given any information on your new partner so you wanted to make sure you knew as much as you could about your mutual assignment. Just in case you were stuck with someone inexperienced.

After about a half hour of being lost in thought while analyzing your papers, Bucky's strong voice fills the room. You look up and catch his gaze. He motions for you to come toward him; you get up from your chair and follow behind him into his office. Inside you see a man sitting in one of the two chairs across from Bucky's. He had on black dress pants, a light blue button up shirt and a black blazer. The outfit complimented his body quite well. Your focus moves up to his face, noticing his piercing blue eyes and his slightly long blonde hair. You hear a fake cough come from Bucky and instantly look at him.

"Detective (y/l/n), this is your new partner. You guys will be working the Reagan case together."

The man stands up from his chair and eyes you up and down. He finally extends his hand to you and you shake it.

"Hi, I'm Detective John Walker."

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 21, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Flute Solo

For some reason Wei Wuxian has decided to take a walk outside of the fortress, or behind the fortress, or something? Can people just take a stroll outside during wartime? Seems unwise.

There are guards and these extra-bossy crows herding some Wen prisoners along, and Wei Wuxian stands up above and gets totally overwhelmed by resentful energy.

He falls to one knee while clutching his chest, in the spot where all cultivators seem to stow a bag of holding. I guess this is the Xuanwu sword? Or maybe it's his surgical incision; those things can take a while to finish healing. I think the golden core is further down in the abdomen, though; this is right over his heart.

Wen Qing, Granny, and Fourth Uncle are in the group, but Wen Qing has her hood up so Wei Wuxian can't see her, and he's unlikely to remember the other two, since he only saw them that one time at the shrine, and he doesn't remember people he's literally had dinner with.

The guards decide to be assholes and beat the shit out of a prisoner because he fell down, which inspires some extra aggressive crows to swoop in and attack the not-dead guy on the ground. That is...not how carrion-eaters behave, generally. They're pretty good about waiting for you to stop moving.

Wei Wuxian continues to struggle, obviously having an orgasm in a lot of pain, and starting to leak resentful energy.

(more after the cut)

He brings his flute up and starts playing it, which causes the wind to rise, rocks to fall from a nearby cliff, and the whole group of people on the ground under him to start having Yin Iron lines crawling up their faces.

Would Wen Qing be a beautiful fierce corpse? She would.

Eventually Wei Wuxian stops torturing everybody, having gotten it out of his system for a bit, and stands up. The group gets up, skin clearing up, and starts moving along again, a little shook. Wen Qing looks up and sees Wei Wuxian and hides her face in anguish.

She was there in the dungeon, listening to the same flute music, when he was resentfully slaughtering everyone around her in Yiling. Does she understand what she’s seeing, what he’s become?

Her hood is off and it seems that he sees her, or at least that he is trying to figure out what he's seeing. But Jiang Yanli arrives before he can do more than look puzzled and cast his eyes around.

Jiang Yanli asks him what just happened and he laughs and says it was the strong wind, in an extremely transparent lie that Yanli nearly chokes trying to swallow. She drags him back to the meeting while he continues to look troubled.

War Council

Meanwhile, the war council is meeting. This is mostly a boring rehash of stuff we already know, but someone has drawn a nice big map that's been installed in a custom frame. Because apparently the table with the mountains on it is not a good enough representation of "and then we will walk from our house to Wen Ruohan's house," which is basically their plan. The gist of this scene is that Wen Ruohan having the Yin Iron gives him an advantage, in case we needed to be reminded of that.

The doors fly open and Wei Wuxian and his fabulous ass literally blow into the room.

Everyone reacts in a comically extreme way.

He casts his eyes malevolently and/or sexily over to Lan Wangji, who is still grumpy with him, while Jiang Cheng comes up and stands almost as close to him as Lan Wangji used to.

He tells everybody that he might have something to counteract the yin iron.

Everybody: Really? Do tell!

Wei Wuxian: Happy to!

Wei Wuxian: *theatrical side-eye at judgy ex boyfriend*

Wei Wuxian: Actually, nope.

He says "we'll see in about a month" while fondling whatever is hidden next to his ribcage.

This behavior, while ridiculous, isn't quite as absurd as it seems from a corporate-meeting standpoint. Part of what cultivators do is invent and refine spiritual tools. So when Wei Wuxian makes this speech, the people in the meeting are going to infer that he is creating a spiritual tool to counter the Yin Iron.

Now it's Lan Xichen's turn to ask everybody’s favorite question. Lan Xichen wasn’t at the party when everyone else asked him, and we're apparently supposed to believe these gossips haven't been talking about the not-sword-carrying 24x7.

Wei Wuxian says he's just not in the mood, and we get to see Lan Xichen's impressive ability to hold his face completely still while he represses his desire to slap someone.

Jin Zixun complains about Wei Wuxian after he leaves, but for once his bitching is on point; he correctly surmises that the counter to yin iron is...yin iron.

Now, to be fair, the yin tiger amulet is different from the yin iron because it exists in the novel Wei Wuxian specially refines it to be more manageable than the sword it started from. And maybe it’s gel coated to be easier on the stomach. But it's basically the same shit.

Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue exchange intense gazes, just to prove that the young people aren’t the only ones who know how to eye fuck.

Lying Is Forbidden

Lan Xichen talks to Lan Wangji, and we discover that Lan Wangji is perfectly capable of lying. He manages to maintain a reputation for not lying but I think the trick is that he just avoids talking in general, so when, for example, people in later years say "who's your masked boyfriend" he just doesn't answer, which isn't really lying. (How many times did Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen ask “where did you get this kid?” and just not get an answer, I wonder.)

At other times he actually directly lies, as when he claims he is “just passing through” Yiling on a night hunt. The current conversation with Lan Xichen definitely involves actual lying.

Let's play multiple choice answers with the Lan brothers!

Q: Why is WWX so confident we can have Yin Iron against WRH in a month?

a.) Because he's been walking around with that Xuanwu sword for months, and it is obviously made of Yin iron b.) because he used a fucking ghost flute to flay Wen Chao more or less in front of me, so he is clearly down with some dark magics c.) I don’t know

Q: Was the death of people in the Yiling supervisory office really related to yin iron?

a.) obviously b.) maybe he was using some other source of overwhelming necromantic power c.) no, he’s not like that

Q. When you approached Yiling, was there anything unusual?

a.) yes, the talismans had been altered to draw in evil spirits b.) yes, everyone except his particular friend Wen Qing had killed themselves in horrifying, outlandish ways c.) are there rules already set for everything in the world?

Xichen, bless him, actually lets Lan Wangji change the subject like that and answers his question honestly.

Xichen: Actually, rules are pretty much shit Wangji: fucking hell, you're telling me this NOW? What have I been doing for the past 18 years then?

They both look just ridiculously beautiful in this conversation. Lan Wangji’s affect with his brother is so interesting. He’s trusting, emotionally open, willing to be seen...but only because he knows Lan Xichen won’t push past his barriers, won’t force him to speak the truth of what’s on his mind.

Awkwardness

The Yunmeng bros roll up, and awkwardness ensues.

Wangji is frowning hard. His frowns are of the micro variety just like his smiles, but boy they are consistent and Wei Wuxian and Xichen both know how to read them.

Wei Wuxian gives Lan Xichen a small, sunny smile--it seems genuine, not like the fake ones he's trotting out on demand for his family.

Then he gives Lan Wangji a pointed gaze of yearning and reproachfulness, which Lan Wangji returns, switching from frowning to a softer expression that seems about equal parts hurt, apology, and thirst.

Wei Wuxian reacts to that by bowing again and leaving, with Jiang Cheng quickly following, wondering what the fuck just happened.

Lans Xichen and Wangji pivot gracefully to watch them go, which Lan Wangji should know is not correct post-breakup behavior; you're supposed to act disinterested, my dude.

And then Lan Xichen asks Lan Wangji what the fuck is going on. Lan Wangji gets one more lie in, saying he's not worried about Wei Wuxian, before reapplying his frown and walking away from the conversation.

Macroexpression Brothers

OP was wrong about Wei Wuxian not hugging Jiang Cheng any more--here he is hanging on him just like the old days, and Jiang Cheng is shoving him off, just like the old days. However, it emerges that this is mostly an act that WWX is putting on to seem normal.

Jiang Cheng wants to know what's wrong between him and Lan Wangji, and asks why they broke up. Wei Wuxian points out that Jiang Cheng didn't like him dating Lan Wangji before, so why is he pushing him to get back together with him now, and Jiang Cheng says that now they're allies in a war, so Wei Wuxian needs to do his duty and help keep Lan Wangji in fighting trim, nudge nudge.

Then he starts lecturing Wei Wuxian about sword cultivation and generally good behavior, and Wei Wuxian theatrically nods and give him appraising looks, telling him he really seems like a clan leader now.

Jiang Cheng headshakes this away. Wei Wuxian actually giving Jiang Cheng a sincere compliment here, disguised as teasing, and he's not wrong. Jiang Cheng has matured and is becoming a strong leader. Not strong enough to ignore peer pressure, but that’s true of most clan leaders in this environment. They’re not supposed to ignore peer pressure.

Wei Wuxian is pointing it out for his own reasons - he doesn't want to be having this conversation - but it's nice to see him giving his clan leader his due.

Jiang Cheng walks away as Wei Wuxian smiles after him; as soon as he's out of sight the smile falls off of Wei Wuxian's face as fast as fast as gravity can take it. It's like someone snuffed a candle.

No one bites back as hard On their anger None of my pain and woe Can show through

But my dreams, they aren't as empty As my conscience seems to be I have hours, only lonely My love is vengeance that's never free

More Awkwardness

Lan Wangji and his ambivalence come looking for Wei Wuxian, standing outside his door and raising a hand to knock before changing his mind and fleeing.

Lan Wangji is on the back foot for the first time in his relationship with Wei Wuxian; this boy who pursued and pursued and PURSUED him is now a man who won't speak to him. This boy who hung on every one of his words, and saw through all of his minute facial expressions, has become a man who won't listen to him. Lan Wangji is in the position of pursuer, now, and it's not a role he's well equipped for.

Yanli stops him as he's bailing. He looks so relieved to see her, but he tries to escape immediately after greeting her. She stops him so she can ask what the fuck is going on.

Unfortunately, Wei Wuxian rolls up while Lan Wangji is in the middle of talking to her. He's telling her about the heterodox cultivation, and Wei Wuxian busts him. Wei Wuxian steps up and asks what he was telling her, and Lan Wangji says "Wei Ying," but doesn't get much further than that.

Nunya

Wei Wuxian reminds him that he told him to stay out of Jiang Clan business. Now, here I want to mention that "private" and "not your bidness" are culturally specific concepts. OP, for example, grew up in version of Irish-American culture so secretive that the problems of a person's life and (often) the cause of their death are things only discovered by whoever inherits their papers. [OP inherited 3 generations of letters a few years ago, and HOO BOY]

In the version of Chinese culture which we see in this drama, your choices, thoughts & troubles belong to the family and clan, not just to you. Wei Wuxian, in shutting his elder sister out of his struggles, is not family-ing correctly. Jiang Yanli is right to try to get around that by asking his friend. His friend is also right to give her--in sanitized form--the information she is asking for.

Wei Wuxian has zero trust in Lan Wangji at this point, unfortunately. He doesn’t know that Lan Wangji has been lying to cover for him; he just knows he’s being a grumpy aggressive holy roller. Now, when Lan Wangji has just been given permission to disregard all 3000 rules and look at a person’s heart, that person’s heart has been hardened against him.

Yanli is used to dealing with Wei Wuxian's moods at this point -- after all, a lifetime of Jiang Cheng has got her used to volatile little brothers, and Wei Wuxian is clearly a new, not-improved man since his return.

She tries to get him to chill out while Lan Wangji gives him a death glare -- not a return to the earlier generalized frown, more of a specific "I can't believe how full of shit you are" frown.

Wei Wuxian calls him Lan Er Gongzi, like a dick. Lan Wangji started this but at this point Wei Wuxian is kind of in the lead for who is being The Worst. Lan Wangji executes a beautiful 180 and walks away at top speed.

Wei Wuxian asks Yanli if he talked about Yiling and when she says he didn't, he realizes he fucked up.

He goes running after him and calls him Lan Zhan and says "listen to me" but Lan Wangji is no longer in a listening mood.

Eat A Dick Sword

Lan Wangji is so far in his feelings at this point that he just hauls out his sword and goes after Wei Wuxian, taking complete control of the interaction and forcing Wei Wuxian to concede the fight. Aww, he’s so angry! I love him.

This is a rough moment for Wei Wuxian. He really genuinely can't hold his own against Lan Wangji, unless he's going to directly use necromancy against him the way he does later in their final confrontation.

When they first met he was able to defend himself on the rooftop without drawing his sword, but he's weaker now; Chenqing is an adequate hand weapon against most cultivators and puppets, but it's not a match for Lan Wangji's full attack.

Wei Wuxian is not enjoying this fight, and can’t win in, so he just throws in the towel, exposing his throat and trusting Lan Wangji's control.

On the surface, this fight appears to re-establish their former rapport, but it puts them on such an uneven footing it might actually drive a larger wedge between them. I think that Lan Wangji has made a strategic error in doing this.

Lan Wangji seems to want to prove to Wei Wuxian that his new style of cultivation is inadequate, that he would do better with a sword. Swordplay was the beginning of their relationship; their matched power was the source of their mutual attraction. Lan Wangji can't accept that Wei Wuxian has given it up; he doesn't (yet) respect his agency enough to assume that he has a good reason.

This fight functions as yet another punishment that Lan Wangji doles out to Wei Wuxian; not a physical one, this time, but a psychological one, and their relationship pays the price.

By attacking Wei Wuxian and forcing him to concede, Lan Wangji is showing that they're unequal. By criticizing Wei Wuxian's lack of progress and asking him the same goddamn question everybody else is asking him -- where is your sword? -- Lan Wangji is humiliating him.

This encounter does not re-establish Wei Wuxian’s trust in him; it just forces him to accept Lan Wangji’s authority, for now. Which is not what either of them really wants.

Soundtrack: Behind Blue Eyes, by The Who

Writing Prompt: What would Wei Wuxian have said if Lan Wangji had listened to him instead of drawing his sword?

#the untamed #the untamed gifs #wangxian #the untamed meta #cql #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #2810 word count

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asupernaturalgirl · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Always Be Here to Help You

Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader

Request: If you don’t mind, I wanna request maybe something like sam and the reader previously being lovers in the past but they separate and she becomes a lab rat for hydra or something like that, and he saves her and what not. Very cliche yet cute in my opinion. 🙂🙂❤️ @jeonsblackgf-writes

A/N: Hey, All! I have to admit, this one made me a bit nervous. This is my first Marvel One shot and I wanted it to be so good so I hope you all like it. Also, this is written in 3rd person, which is new for me in one shots so I hope you don’t mind.

Warnings: torture, breakups, hydra stuff

H/C: Hair Color, S/C: Skin Color

There’s a moment when you’re watching something about to happen, something terrible, where you so badly want to turn your head, to avert your gaze, but something is still fixing it onto whatever is happening. Car crashes, accidents, injuries. You would never purposefully enjoy watching something so terrible, but your brain doesn’t make the connection between something about to happen and needing to shield yourself from it.

That was exactly how Sam Wilson felt as he watched the screen in front of him. He wanted so badly to turn, to leave the room. Steve had even approached him to try to get him to leave, but some sick part of his brain wasn’t allowing him to even step a foot away. He watched as the sick criminals injected something into her skin. Her skin. It was so grey, so much paler than her normal (S/C) tone. Bruises and bloody injuries lined nearly every part of her body.

Her (H/C) hair, which he had loved so much, was matted and dirty. It was so unlike you, so rare for you to be so weak, so hurt, that he almost didn’t recognize you at first. It was her screams of pain, her desperate pleading that brought him back to reality and allowed it to actually sink into his brain. Hydra was using her as a lab rat. They had no plans to actually turn her into anything, they were just testing all of their materials on her.

He hadn’t seen her in so long. If he had known she was in danger, if he had known that this would have happened, he would have done anything to make sure she was safe.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam sat down at the park bench, holding her hands tightly as he tried to explain the very thing he was dreading explaining to her. It was worse than he imagined. “I can’t force you to wait for me when I’m off god knows where, fighting in the Air Force.”

She turned her head. Sam Wilson, the man who meant everything to her, the man who she’d been with since she was in 10th grade, was breaking up with her to go into the military. He didn’t want her to have to forsake her health and life so that he could live his own. “Sam, I don’t care about where you’re going. I’ll go with you. There’s nothing keeping me here anymore.”

He shook his head. People walking by looked over as the two of them spoke. Tears poured out of her eyes. She was still trying to keep from sobbing out loud, although she wasn’t sure how much longer that would actually last.

“You need to live your own life,” He was strong with his statement. As a rescuer, his job would be dangerous and take up a considerable amount of time. “Even if you came with me, I wouldn’t be around much. I can’t drag you to some unknown location and then force you to stay there without any friends and family. This is for the best.”

Y/N didn’t want to even look at him. She turned your head slightly and crossed her arms. She felt like a child who wasn’t getting what they wanted. Sam meant everything to her and it hurt her that he was leaving without even giving her an option in the matter.

“I love ya, sweetheart,” He ran his hand along her back, trying to comfort her. He hated when she cried and it hurt him even more that he was the one causing those tears. “I’ll come back and visit you when I get the chance.”

That had been the last time he spoke to Y/N. The last time he spoke to her before she was captured, he left her on a bench. The guilt began to spread in his chest at the thought. She must have been so terrified, so lost when Hydra captured her, and he wasn’t there to help. “We need to get her.”

Steve nodded his head. “Where do you know her from?”

Sam watched as she withered in the chair they had her strapped in, screaming for help. His chest constricted at the idea of Y/N in so much pain, the idea of someone hurting you like that. She had absolutely no business being there. “Her and I dated when we were in high school and a little bit before I joined the military. I broke up with her.”

Steve’s face dropped. He had no idea that she had been so close to Sam. He knew that his friend must have been devastated. Moving forward, Cap placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’re gonna get her, Sam. I promise you.”

…

Sam was flying over the base, trying to find some weak point to enter through. It was easy to find the location. Because they had received the video via hacking, all they needed to do was look at the location codes. Rumors had been circulating about a Hydra base closeby, so once they had a general spot to look in, they found it rather quickly.

“Sam, the third window to the left in the back looks unguarded,” Clint said through the earpiece. “Goes into a small closet. We did a quick X-Ray check and it seems there’s no one guarding that either.”

“I’m goin’ in,” He said quickly, rerouting his position towards the back of the large base. He was surprised no one had found them yet. They were able to get into the base rather easily, which sent shivers up his spine. It was never this easy.

Apparently, it was right to be worried. As soon as he broke through the window and closed his wings to begin walking through, three men immediately charged him. He dodged them quickly, throwing one into the wall as he kicked another in the face, knocking him out. The last charged forward with a knife held in hand, but he quickly grabbed the man’s arm, bending it backwards. The sound of a bone snapping echoed through the small closet and he screamed out slightly in pain. Sam quickly pushed him into a cabinet while his defenses were down and slipped out before he tried anything else.

He walked carefully through the hallways, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than he already did. He hoped that the three men were the only defenses they put up against him, but he seriously doubted that.

The one thing that kept him going was thinking about Y/N. She deserved none of this and he would make sure she was safe before anything else. He pressed on the small bud in his ear. “I’m in. You see anything else?”

“There’s a couple of guys fighting down here,” It was Natasha this time. “Steve and Clint are trying to hold them off while you’re down there. Try to get to her quickly.”

“Well, it’d be a whole lot easier if I could see a damn thing down here,” He turned the corner, but could only see about 3 foot in front of him. The combination of dark walls and a lack of windows made it quite dark. “You’d think an organization that has been around for this long would have enough money to turn on some lights every once in a while.”

“Ha Ha, Wilson,” Natasha said sarcastically. “Just find Y/N and get the hell out of there.”

He went into overdrive mode. Occasionally, someone would pass by, almost completely oblivious to the fact that they had an enemy raiding the base at the moment. They were unprepared and by the time they realized they had to fight, Sam already had them on the ground.

One room in particular stuck out to him. There was a breaker box right outside the door for electricity. This meant they likely needed quick access to the controls here. He was wary, unsure of what he may find inside. He prayed that if she was there, no one else would be. He needed to get her and leave as quickly as possible.

He opened the door quickly, ready for a large fight. There she was. Y/N. She was sweating, but shivering at the same time. Her eyes were huge as she turned towards the door, caught off guard by the loud sound. He would never forget the expression of relief that crossed her face as soon as she saw him.

There was a man frantically trying to undo her restraints, likely trying to evacuate her before Sam could get to her. He quickly rushed forward, tackling the man to the ground. He grabbed the man’s head, hitting it against the concrete floor until he was seemingly unconscious. Sam pried the key from the man’s hand and rushed to unlock them.

“Sam, what are you...what are you doing here?” Y/N questioned. She was shocked. She had prayed that someone would help her, that someone would save her from the absolute misery she was experiencing. The person she expected was definitely not her ex boyfriend.

“Found a video of you being used as a lab rat,” He started, moving to her legs now that her arms were free. “There was no way I was going to let you stay here. Can you walk?”

“I-I don’t think so,” She looked down at her hands. “I’ve been here for a few weeks so my legs are so weak.”

It hurt Sam almost physically that they hadn’t even let you out of the chair. As soon as you were completely unshackled, he leaned down and lifted you into his arms, quickly carrying you throughout the facility.

This time, there was seemingly no one left to fight. He went through the same way that he came in, making sure he didn’t take a bad turn. Taking the wrong turn here could be the difference between life and death. Steve was waiting in the same closet he’d broken into, his eyes surprised as soon as he saw Sam come through the door with the girl in his arms.

Steve helped Sam out and sprinted with them as they made their way back to the jet. He could feel his arms beginning to grow heavy but he knew he couldn’t let you go. You wouldn’t be able to walk by yourself. Your muscles were likely atrophied at this point.

As soon as the team got the go ahead, they were taking off. A doctor had rushed forward to help Y/N, taking care of the most dramatic injuries first. He cleaned off a few deep wounds. “These likely needed stitches when they happened but they’re too old now. Stitching them would just cause the infection to be trapped inside.”

Sam watched as they worked, making sure that she wasn’t afraid. He felt the need to use comic relief, as he normally did, but refrained. It would likely be in bad taste at the current moment. After a few hours of poking and prodding, there was a few minutes where Y/N could just soak everything in. She had been rescued, saved from the most terrible people by Sam, her old love.

Sam sat quietly on a chair next to the small gurney. He looked down at his hands but kept a close eye on you to make sure you didn’t need anything. “Thank you, Sam.”

He looked up, surprised by her words. Why would she ever think she needed to be thankful for him for this? He got her out of a situation that he wouldn’t have wished on anyone. “You could have just called me if you wanted my attention. You didn’t have to do all this.”

A grin crossed Y/N’s face. He was the same old Sam. Even though he was a superhero and looked quite different physically than he had before, he still had the same personality. “Yeah, I might have to think about that differently next time.”

Sam slowly walked towards you and grabbed your frail hands in his large ones, giving you a comforting squeeze. His eyes were sincere as he looked down at you. “I meant what I said when I saw you last, Y/N. I love you. Even though we haven’t seen each other in years, I’ll always be here to help you.”

#sam x reader #sam wilson x reader #one shots #marvel #avengers #falcon #falcon x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers #imagines #steve x reader #Bucky Barnes

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years ago

Text

abs of steel

the 2.5k story of how Geralt came to have his season 2 armor, with some help from Jaskier, of course. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier putters around the room, with one of Geralt’s dozens of tiny bottles in his hand and a rag in the other. He gives it a half hearted shine before setting it back down and looking at Geralt.

Jaskier’s not sure how Geralt ever survived without him, honestly, because it seems like finding Geralt in varying states of unconsciousness is becoming a much too common occurrence. He supposes Geralt’s amount of passing out probably hasn’t changed, just the amount of times someone has coming looking for him. Jaskier’s heart does not ache at the thought.

Geralt’s chest moves shallowly under the blanket, and Jaskier goes to stoke the fire. He had sweetalked the innkeeper into giving them a better room when it had become apparent that their stay was going to be...extended, and he’s glad for it. The room has its own bath tub, and a fire place, and there’s even a soft rug by the bed where Jaskier can sit and compose without worrying about jostling Geralt’s injuries.

Jaskier casts a longing glance to his notebook, wishing that he could write and make the voices in his head stop whirling, but lyrics have been evading him ever since he found Geralt unconscious and even paler than usual.

Geralt had just been going after a lesser vampire, had reassured Jaskier that it wasn’t going to be a big deal, and to not wait up, but Jaskier’s glad he did.

Frankly, he doesn’t know why Geralt tells him not to do things when they both know he’s not going to listen.

He supposes it makes Geralt feel better. He doesn’t pretend to understand what happens in Geralt’s brain. He imagines it’s a lot of grunting and internal hmm-ing.

Geralt stirs under the covers, and Jaskier rushes across the room to stand by his side. Geralt blinks up at him, and Jaskier lets himself drift a hand over Geralt’s concerningly warm brow. He’s hot, but he’s not sweating, and Jaskier bites his lip. He gives Geralt what he hopes is a reassuring smile, but he thinks it might be more of a grimace.

Geralt slips a hand out from under the covers, and Jaskier takes the liberty of reaching out his own. Geralt could have died; he can’t be held responsible for his actions. “What happened?” Geralt groans, his voice scratchy and deep from disuse.

“Good question,” Jaskier says, glaring at him. Now that it doesn’t seem like Geralt is any imminent danger of never waking up again, it’s a little easier to be mad instead of just wracked with worry.

“It was...a pack of them,” Geralt remembers haltingly.

Jaskier hums, brushing a hand through Geralt’s hair. He wonders if Geralt would let him get away with brushing it. Maybe he’ll ask when Geralt doesn’t seem so groggy.

“It’s okay,” Jaskier soothes. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt automatically protests, going to sit up.

“Geralt, you are not, your rib is broken and the healer said one of your intestines might be punctured. You could get sepsis.”

“Witchers don’t get infections. I’m fine,” Geralt says again, but it’s even less convincing this time.

“Just...stay in bed. Can you do that? I know it goes against everything in you to not do your utmost to aggravate me, but listen just this once.”

Geralt lays back against the pillow, his hair spreading out in a halo around his head. “Fine.”

“Don’t look so pleased about it, love.”

If looks could kill, Jaskier would be haunting one very grumpy witcher. “I’m sure you’ll survive,” Jaskier says breezily. “I know, it’s the epitome of cruelty to make you rest. Someone let witcher protective services know.”

“My swords?” Geralt asks gruffly, changing the topic.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and huffs. Like he would forget Geralt’s swords. “Oiled and put away.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t be grumpy just because you don’t have an excuse to get out of bed.”

“What about my armor?”

Jaskier casts a nervous glance to the corner. “I’m afraid that’s beyond my talents. They’re a little shredded.”

Geralt follows his line of sight to where his leather armor is in a pile on the ground, blood streaked and torn.

“Well, I need to get new, then,” Geralt says, attempting to sit up again.

He stops with a look from Jaskier, and Jaskier gives a hum of satisfaction. “I can get it for you.”

“Jaskier, you don’t even know what to look for.”

Jaskier glares at him. “How long have I been travelling with you for? And you don’t even think I know what you look for in your armor?”

Geralt harumphs. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Jaskier asks in delight. He wasn’t actually expecting to win that battle. Maybe he can get Geralt out of something black, for a change.

“Here,” Geralt says, leaning over the bed to rustle through his pack. Give the armorer this.”

Jaskier takes the drawing and instructions, and he’s ready to skip to the armorer’s, but Geralt’s expression pinches as he settles back into his spot on the bed, so he hurries back to his side. “What hurts?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says, taking a page out of Geralt’s book.

Jaskier crosses his arms and stares at him for a solid minute before Geralt relents. “My ribs.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Now just let me see.”

He peels back the covers, wincing at the mess that is Geralt’s chest. By the time Jaskier had dragged him back to town, most of his wounds had started to clot, so the healer thought it was best to let them breathe, but now Jaskier has to look at them.

He carefully drifts his fingers over the torn tissue and mottled purple of what’s still intact, watching Geralt’s reaction carefully.

Eventually, he draws back. “I don’t think there’s anything else I can do,” he admits. “Let me get you something for the pain.”

Geralt grunts in annoyance, no doubt meaning something about witchers being nothing but vessels for pain or some other horrible thing that they ingrained in him during his nightmare of an upbringing. He goes over to Geralt’s bag, looking for the right roots and herbs to concoct his mixture. He pulls out Geralt’s mortar and pestle, grinding the ingredients together until he has a lumpy paste. He carefully scoops it out of the mortar and into a glass filled with water on the bedside table. He mixes it together vigorously and sets it back on the table for a moment while he helps Geralt sit up.

Geralt tries to wave him off, but Jaskier insists. Once there’s three pillows propping him up, Jaskier hands him the glass. Geralt sniffs at it doubtfully. “I think you might be trying to get ready of me,” he says.

Jaskier hides his laugh behind his hand. “I wouldn’t go through all this trouble if I was, now would I?”

“I suppose not,” Geralt sighs, grimacing as he knocks the whole thing back in one drag.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

Geralt smacks his lips together, gesturing for Jaskier to get him some more water. “Terrible. Possibly life threatening.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You’re welcome. Can I trust you to behave while I’m gone?”

Geralt chooses not to dignify that with an answer. “I’ll take that as a no, then,” Jaskier says. “The innkeeper has children, don’t make me make them come up here to watch after you.”

“I’ll behave,” Geralt says dryly.

“Good. You better be in that exact spot when I come back.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows that means that Geralt is the one who’s going to be ignoring him, for a change.

Jaskier just hopes that Geralt won’t jostle himself too much as he steps out of the door and into the hallway.

He makes his way down the steps and out onto the dusty main road of the village, peeking at the other wares being sold, particularly eyeing a doublet with stunning embroidery that he can’t believe is being sold in this dank little town, of all places. He makes a mental note to come back after getting Geralt’s armor. Jaskier investigates the baked goods, inhaling the scent of bread and surveying the hand pies, looking at their delightfully golden exteriors longingly.

Jaskier makes it to the armorer without incident, a brass bell ringing overhead as he steps inside. The armorer crosses her arms as she regards Jaskier thoughtfully. “You lost?” she asks.

Jaskier flashes her a winning smile. “Not at all. I’m here for a friend.”

The armorer stares back at him, unimpressed. “You know, it’s important that I’m able to measure someone to give them the best fit. I don’t want someone getting killed and blaming it on my armor. No, if someone dies, it’s going to be because of their own ineptitude.”

“I’m certain that won’t be a problem,” Jaskier says. “Have you ever made armor for a witcher before?”

Her eyes light up. “Your friend is a witcher? To tell the truth, things have been a little slow around here since the war ended.”

“I’ll pay you well, don’t worry,” Jaskier says, producing the paper Geralt had given him from his cloak with a flourish.

She practically snatches the scroll out of Jaskier’s hands, her eyes roving over the paper. She mutters something to herself before turning back to look at Jaskier.

“I still need the measurements,” she says. “It’s even more crucial for such an important client.”

“Of course. Don’t worry, I have them right here.” Jaskier fishes his notebook from his satchel, flipping through until he finds the page with Geralt’s sizes on it. Jaskier swears that Geralt purposely ruins all of his fine clothing between banquets he drags him to, because Jaskier always has to buy Geralt new clothes.

Actually, come to think of it, he’s never seen the evidence of them being damaged, and it’s not like Geralt just wears them around. Jaskier shakes his head as he realizes Geralt probably just sells them. Jaskier supposes Geralt does always swear that will be the last banquet he ever attends after each one, just for Jaskier to talk him into one more, but that’s no excuse.

Jaskier tilts his head for a moment as he contemplates how to get his revenge, smirking when the idea dawns upon him. Jaskier sketches a quick picture and pushes it towards the armorer. “How much extra would this cost?”

She looks down at the page dubiously.

Jaskier gives her his most charming smile.

It’s been three days, and Geralt is sick of lying in bed. No matter how much he swears to Jaskier that he’s better, that his rib has knit itself back together, he doesn’t believe him.. It’s just a bruised rib at this point, but Jaskier doesn’t take pity on him, just offers a distraction for Geralt in the form of being better at gwent than he has any right to be.

Geralt sighs heavily, looking at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t think that will make me take pity on you, Geralt,” Jaskier says, not even looking up from his composing notebook. “Besides, we have to wait for your armor anyway.”

“What’s taking so long?” Geralt complains.

“Perfection takes time. Besides, the armorer’s never seen any of your witcher-y things, so you have to give her time to figure it out.”

Geralt groans and sits up, swinging his legs out of the bed. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Jaskier rushes to him, but Geralt brushes him off. “I’m fine,” he growls.

Jaskier raises his hands and backs away. “Fine, fine. Don’t be so grumpy when all I’ve been doing is taking care of you.”

Geralt glares at him, and Jaskier strokes a hand through his soft hair. “You do deserve it, you know,” Jaskier says.

Geralt looks down, a bothersome flush creeping up his neck.

“I think I’ll go check on the armor, since you’re in such a rush.” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “She said it would be done sometime today.”

Geralt rummages through his pack, hardly looking up at Jaskier. “Good. Then we can finally move on. I was talking to the innkeeper about a wyvern a day’s ride away.”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, here, hmm?”

Geralt grumbles as Jaskier leaves, finding himself excited to see the new armor against his will. He so rarely gets anything that doesn’t already have a crust of dirt on it that anytime he has a sword or armor made, he finds himself looking forward to it.

Geralt goes to the mirror in the corner of the room and lifts up his shirt, noting how the mottled purple has become large splotches of greenish brown. Everything’s looking good, so he sorts his satchel, shaking his head fondly as he reorganizes his elixirs. Whenever Jaskier gets his hands on them, he always sorts them by color, but that’s not what Geralt likes. He could just tell Jaskier to leave his things alone, but he doesn’t have the heart for it.

Geralt putters around the room, making the bed and hoping that if he’s ready to go by the time Jaskier gets back, he can convince him to move on. He can smell Jaskier’s anxious energy, anyway; he knows Jaskier is just staying here for his benefit.

Geralt finishes putting the last of his things into his pack and is just contemplating going down to the stables to see Roach when Jaskier bursts through the door, armor in hand.

Jaskier hands it off to him with a self satisfied flourish, and Geralt freezes as he looks at it. “You can’t be serious.”

“The armorer and I thought it would make you like quite fetching.”

“Jaskier.”

“What, don’t you like it? It’s a gift, Geralt, I’m offended.”

Geralt rubs his fingers over the indents in the chest plate. He has so many questions.

“It’s the new fashion,” Jaskier assures him.

“I’m a witcher, not a model.”

“Why not both?” Jaskier asks airily. He looks around the room. “So, are you ready to go then?”

Jaskier steps forward to help him buckle the new armor in place, Geralt eyeing it dubiously. Besides from the obvious issue of the chest piece, it’s not even black; it’s a dark green that catches and shimmers in the light. Geralt resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. No one is going to take him seriously now.

He huffs a sigh, trying to communicate his displeasure with Jaskier, but as ever, Jaskier seems immune to his glares. Geralt slings his satchel over his shoulder and steels himself.

As they walk down the street, it’s not as terrible as Geralt was expecting. Sure, the sun is glinting off of his abs and blinding him a little, but Geralt doesn’t hear anyone snickering at him. Everyone just walks by, looks at him, and quickly glances at their feet, which is par for the course for the life of a witcher.

Geralt tilts his chin a little higher, thinking maybe this won’t be so bad after all. He has a new spring in his step when he hears someone calling his name behind him. Geralt turns around, thinking it sounds an awful lot like his brother, and he’s proven right when Lambert skids to a stop in front of him.

“Hey, I’m glad I ran into you; I heard there’s a nest of wyverns a few towns over—” Lambert’s mouth flaps for a second. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

Geralt turns to glare at Jaskier, and he smiles innocently.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geralt's ridiculous ridiculous armor that pains me to look at #contemplative writing

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rose7420 · 4 years ago

Text

Things Get Better

When Y/n gets hurt her only hope is with the god of mischief... requested by @lokiismyhubby

(Y/S/C)- Your skin color

Warnings: Some description about a broken bone

Y/n cradled her arm closely to her chest. While sneaking around, she had lost her balance on the third shelf of Loki’s bookcase. The little literature fanatic had become too enamored by the dozens of books upon the shelves. Now, while the shelf may have been knee height for his imposing frame the drop certainly wasn’t a short one for a person of Y/n’s stature. Her foot slipped off the side as she backed up just a little too far attempting to read the spine of an eye-catching book and consequently she fell towards the hard ground holding her arms out to break her fall. Her outstretched limbs prevented her face from slamming hard into the wood but took a lot of damage. Her arm was at a very unnatural angle, tender and warm to the touch. There was no way she’d be able to fix this on her own.

She looked over to Loki’s desk where he was slouched over, staring intently at papers before him with a scowl. His head was propped up by his hand, arm resting on the table. She took a deep breath and tip-toed her way towards him. A part of her wanted him to notice her steps and the other part wanted to dash in the opposite direction.

It didn’t take a genius to guess which instinct was stronger at the time for the borrower.

She had watched Loki for a while now. The man was intelligent, cunning, and mischievous. But she still trusted him for some unknown reason. Perhaps because of the way his green eyes never missed anything, or how she felt he knew what people were thinking with a glance. No matter the fact that she was pretty sure this man was a literal wizard.

No literally, she’d watched him make books and animals appear out of thin air. Or how he’d glamour himself as a completely different person on some occasions.

Now that was creepy… but cool.

She approached his black boot that was anxiously tapping away, sending tremors through her body. Her eyes followed the extent of his form. Even sitting his frame was unfathomably large, towering over her without effort. A shiver ran through her body as she thought of all the ways he could effortlessly kill her.

Suddenly, his foot shifted and came close to knocking little Y/n off her own feet. She squeaked in alarm, drawing the attention of the giant above.

Loki’s attention was lost from the paperwork in front of him and drawn to the noise he heard below him.

How odd, he thought.

Peering down at his feet, his eyes widened at the sight of a minuscule figure standing beside his boot.

“Oh my.” He whispered.

He slowly stood up out of his chair, towering over the little being. He quickly knelt down to lessen the distance between them. He reached out a curious hand but stopped his movement when the person shouted something he couldn’t make out. As he looked closer he saw that the person was a female, and seemed to be holding their arm as if she was injured.

“Are you hurt?” He asked.

The girl nodded, “Yes sir...I-I was hoping you could help me.” She stated with hesitancy, heart pounding. Could hearts pound out of your chest?

Hopefully not.

Loki’s tough facade softened immediately, knowing that such a tiny soul would ask him for help out of all people.

“Of course dear, let’s move to a different spot.” He lowered his palm before her, flattening his fingers to offer an easier step up.

Oh hell no, she thought; scrambling away from the outstretched hand.

“Hey now… I’m not going to hurt you. You asked for help, right? I’m here to help. I promise no foul play.”

He watched as she approached his hand cautiously and experimentally sunk her own hand into his skin. He held back a smile from the ticklish sensation. He was awed by the fact that this girl was no taller than his thumb, standing at most of two inches tall. She paused for a moment looking back up at Loki as if asking for permission. He nodded trying to lessen the intimidating expression he usually wore into a softer, more trustable one. Her tiny weight upon his palm tickled even more as she scooted closer to the middle of his hand. Seeing that she was settled, he curled his fingers around her but left her a good amount of breathing room.

“What’s your name dear?” He questioned, holding her at chest level.

He watched her mouth move not being able to hear her clearly. Slowly he raised his hand bearing her closer to his face, able to hear and see her clearly.

“I was not able to hear you down there, could you repeat that?” He said, missing how tense his simple movement had made the small girl.

“M-my name’s Y/n.” She stuttered, her hand of her uninjured arm twiddling with her threadbare shirt.

“Well Y/n, let’s get you fixed up, shall we?” He lowered his palm to the desk he was sitting at previously, removing all the papers with one large sweep of his arm.

Y/n was curious as to what the papers were for. She remembered watching him earlier and how agitated he’d looked while staring down at them.

“What are those papers for?” She asked innocently.

Loki looked at her confused as to why she would want to know as he sat down.

“Just paperwork.” He said simply.

Paperwork? What did that mean? Her confusion must’ve shown on her face when Loki spoke again.

“You do know what that is now Little One?”, humor coating his voice.

Rather embarrassed, Y/n’s cheeks flushed but she shook her head.

“Let me see your arm dear,” Loki ordered kindly, changing the subject. Y/n held it out hesitantly, the pain was almost unbearable as she moved the unstable limb. She cried out in pain, prompting Loki to lean in closer and pinch her slight wrist in his large fingers.

He was once again awed by how he couldn't even see the small hand between his fingers. He did however feel the dainty tendons and bones moving under his tender, gentle touch.

“How did you even manage to hurt yourself?” He asked with curiosity and worry.

“I fell off your shelf,” Y/n said meekly, ducking her head. Loki didn’t overlook her shyness, in fact, he wished to comfort her but he had to take care of the primary problem as of right now. He closed his eyes, imagining the bones mending back together and the arm reverting back to its (Y/S/C) tint. He opened his eyes and her arms were back to the original.

Y/n looked down at her arms in amazement. She turned her forearms upright and down. Looking up at Loki, who was already staring down at her she felt a smile stretch across her lips. Without thinking much of it, she jumped up enthusiastically and ran to his nearby hand. She threw her arms around his thumb.

“Thank you, Loki!”

Loki smiled and chuckled at the girl’s heartfelt actions. He curled his fingers in and wrapped her in a hug; the best he could offer at their different sizes.

“So Little One… you like books and you know my name; without me informing you of it… I must say you interest me very much so.”

Y/n immediately let go of his finger, backing away with dread. Before she got too far away she bumped into a wall… of skin? Loki’s hand blocked her from going any further, the huge palm thrice her own height.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked quizzically.

“Well, I invaded your privacy. I didn’t think humans liked that.” Y/n stated as a matter-of-fact her voice shaky.

“First of all… I am not a mortal or human as you say and secondly, it doesn’t bother me if you looked at my things. I’m rather happy to know someone likes literature as much as myself. Why don’t we settle down and find a good book to read?”

Y/n nodded still processing that he wasn’t human. That explained all the magic stuff. She watched as Loki strutted to the bookshelf bending down to look for the perfect book. Once he’d made his selection, he walked back to the desk and scooped Y/n up, holding her in a protective cave of fingers against his chest. He sat down on the plush bed and reclined his back against the headboard letting his legs stretch out. Y/n was astounded by how tall he was. The simple length of his legs surpassed her own house! He let Y/n crawl onto his chest, who found the fabric of his cotton shirt soft and warm. She snuggled in the blanket of his shirt and listened to him read. His voice was soothing as the deepness of it reverberated through her entire being. He let the book rest upon his upper stomach where she could see the page clearly but the words were still printed too big for her to read properly.

A little way into the story, an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation started on her back. She looked over her shoulder to see the tip of a large finger making circles on the itty width of her back. The rumbling beneath her stopped as Loki paused his reading. She turned all the way around, to face Loki. He stopped rubbing her back momentarily.

“Is everything all right?” He asked.

Y/n thought about that simple question. This kind giant had helped her immensely. The kindness in Loki’s heart surpassing even his immense stature. She smiled shyly back at him.

“Everything is all right.” And it truly was.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed like and reblog!

#giant #tiny reader #giant loki #giant/tiny #giant tiny community #little #female reader #borrowers #reading #hurt/comfort

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sidespromptblog · 4 years ago

Text

Between the Mask: Part 3

One, Two and End

Warnings: Again plenty of tears, Virgil kinda mouths off about Janus, and Logan gets a little salty about it.

Summary: Roman confronts Janus about how exactly he should treat him after being told that being both nice and mean to him was wrong. Only to discover that after everything that he’d been through, Janus isn’t the person that he portrays in front of everyone else.

Word Count: 3013

AO3 LINK

Despite everything that had been promised, it started out rather slow. So much so that it felt like it was driving Roman to absolute madness, he knew as well as the others that they couldn't just rush into this without any kind of warning. They needed to build up to revealing everything, along with the fact that Logan wasn't even ready yet to face Patton let alone Virgil. Doing it too soon could and very well would go wrong, and the last thing that he wanted was for things to go back to the way that they were before. He didn't want Logan to go back to being holed up in his room, unable to be reached by anybody. Or for Janus to go back to putting on his persona every time he wanted to be even a little accepted, even if it was as the villain.

Virgil, who already panicked at the slightest hint of change in his and Thomas' life. There was no telling just how he’d react as soon as Janus showed his face to all of them, let alone with Roman now openly supporting him in everything he was doing. Not only would it make Virgil feel left out of the loop, but… it would make him paranoid as hell as to what Janus was plotting and if he had been plotting at all to turn everything around like that. Because whether he liked it or not, Roman knew Virgil, and he knew somewhat to how Virgil would react to all of this.

They needed to be smart about this.

But coincidentally… having to be smart about things just sucked.

Honestly Roman felt like he was trying to get a herd of feral cats to get used to the mere idea of comfort and love, something that Janus had been sorely lacking in the many many years of his Deceit role. As well as getting the idea across to the others that this was something that they should accept while making it all seem like it wasn’t some huge plot from the very beginning. Doing so would only shift the blame onto Janus, leaving him right where he first began with not a single shred of hope to be had for him.

Small steps, as Logan had said to Janus and him.

But small steps didn't make enduring this any easier.

Because for the first time in more than a week, Logan had answered Thomas' call to see him without any kind of hesitation. He had done so without his tie and his hair a little less than neat, it was a change, the first change that he had talked about making in order to ease the others into things. But even that little bit was almost instantly noticed by everyone. The looks that he had received from Virgil and Patton made Logan unconsciously squirm in his spot, the urge to dig his nails into his palms almost overwhelming to him. It took a conscious effort to remain perfectly still, and not fidgeting with the area where his tie would have been. Really though it felt like his progress that he was supposed to be making might as well have been moving at the pace of a snail, with how much the others seemed to notice everything about him.

Whether he wanted it or not.

"What's with the new look Logan?" Patton curiously inquired, "We just changed our outfits not that long ago, is it time for another one?"

Even the smallest and carefullest of prods from Patton felt like a harsh poke to Logan, even if the moral side didn't mean it to be. The other side had no idea that the tiniest little question could flay Logan’s emotions, leaving him wanting to retreat back into himself without a moments notice. As if… as if everything that he did was under constant question, and he couldn't just be without someone bringing up what he was doing. For a hot second he felt like curling into himself, as if that would draw less attention to himself. Or just receding back to his room like he had done before, and never showing his face.

It felt just like the infinitesimal incident.

Thankfully Roman sensing his rapidly dropping mood turned the attention to himself. "If he likes it that way then who are we to question it? Maybe it's more comfortable, I know it would be for me. Even my glorious sash becomes too much for me sometimes, and I wish for nothing more than relinquish it of its duties." It took a lot out of Roman to not immediately move to where Logan was, and to stand in front of him getting there gaze off of the nervous logical side. But even he realized that doing so would only sink their plan before it had even begun. "He looks nice without it, doesn’t he? Right Padre?"

The affectionate name was not lost on Patton, and nor was the question being brought to light. In Patton’s eyes, any change from the norm deserved its time in the light so it could either be praised or worried about. But now that the attention drifted over to Patton, his cheeks turned scarlet at the realization of the fact that he had unintentionally been putting Logan on the spot just for a single change of the logical side’s attire. He had never stopped to consider whether or not Logan wanted it to be brought up in such a way, or if he even wanted it brought up at all. He had just done so…

Kind of like when he had just blurted out Logan’s name before Logan had decided to tell it to Thomas.

“You do look nice though…” Virgil mumbled from the side, his fingers clenching and unclenching the hem of his hoodie fighting through his anxiety of the awkward situation to get even a single compliment out of him. “Your hair… it’s… hair.”

The tiniest of smiles cracked on Logan’s lips, and just like that the protective storm welling up inside of Roman flew right out of him. Just that single quirk of his lips seemed to lighten up the logical side’s whole face in a way that had been sorely lacking before, nobody least of all Roman knew when the last time that Logan had smiled was. It felt like almost an eternity ago, when Logan still had that faded polo shirt and that pale blue tie, that was close to the last time he had seen Logan look over to him with a smile of pure excitement on his face. Not one that had constantly crushed and forced over the years that everything had been happening, especially not that one.

“He’s right,” Patton’s voice dragged Roman out of his own musing. “Your hair is lovely Logan, so.. so if you want to experiment with your style. I won’t comment on it unless you want me to.” A part of Roman felt a great deal of shock at the fatherly figure’s words, but another part of him knew that when it came to their own close circle of ordeals Patton would promise anything to make the other side more comfortable.

There was no doubt that Patton would mean those words, and there was no doubt that he’d try to stick with it too given how much their little family meant to him. It was just a matter of whether Logan would feel confident enough and comfortable enough to come to him in the future.

Logan’s gaze didn’t exactly meet Patton’s, evidence enough of the rift that had grown between them from Patton’s last actions when it had come to Logan being in the last video. “Thank you,” Behind his back Logan’s nails dug into his palm, biting harshly into it. Now here came the curve ball. “Janus has made a few suggestions, so I’ll be sure to show you when I begin to try them out.”

Just like that it was almost like the warmth in the room had been sucked out by a vacuum.

“Jan..us?” The letters of the dishonest side’s name stuck to the room of Patton’s mouth like peanut butter. “Huh?”

The confusion was clear, and the tension in the air palpable.

Almost immediately Roman wanted to motion to Logan to abandon such a topic of conversation, as judging by the way that Virgil’s shoulders had suddenly stopped hunching and the anxious side now stood towering with a withering look on his face… he clearly wasn’t ready to hear about Janus in any kind of capacity. There wasn’t anything that Logan could do to change that, especially if Patton couldn’t do anything about it considering that he was the closest one to Virgil right now. Asking Virgil to humor any kind of discussion involving Janus was as useful as asking him to stick his hands in a bee nest, not only would he not do it, but he’d probably smack the person who suggested it in the first place. It was just how Virgil was as a side, change was… bad for him, him and the anxiety he subconsciously produced.

“You’ve… been talking with Janus?” Thomas spoke up for the first time since Logan had shown up, the amazement that Logan had shown up had shifted into something that kind of resembled softness as he looked back at the logical side in question. His entire body had shifted from facing Patton and even Virgil, to now facing Logan. He gave the logical side his full attention for once. “Is that what you’ve been doing since you were gone? Have you been okay with him being around you? Is he…”

Thomas’ words trailed off once he got to the topic of Janus, clearly he too wasn’t so certain about how he was supposed to even entertain the idea of Janus. Given how Janus had introduced himself though, Logan couldn’t fault him for that.

“He is fine.”

And that was the truth.

Nervously Thomas eyes shifted from Logan back over to Roman, obviously expecting some kind of reaction from Roman. Something like dismissal, anger, outrage, or just coldness. But there was nothing as Roman kept his gaze firmly attached to the other sides, he was stiff, but stiff in the kind of way that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else other than worry over how the others would react to Logan’s rather bold declaration of conversing with Janus when he had been avoiding Thomas and the others for as long as he had. For Virgil, it would undoubtedly feel like a betrayal and nothing more given the context, or the lack thereof that Logan had been so stingy about. But for Patton… Roman wasn’t sure, despite how the moral side had prided himself in being an open book, Roman knew remarkably little about his actual thought process. That’s what had made it so hard to see Janus’ acceptance coming from Patton, he had expected Patton to stick to his guns and be determined that lying was bad, so when he didn’t…

Patton was very much of a wild card, despite how the other side liked to downplay himself.

A short irritable huff left Virgil, “Really Logan?!” Snarled the anxious side, the eyeshadow dark and thick under his eyes. “You’re actually willingly talking with him?! After he silenced you?! Why would you ever want to be around him now, the last thing you should want to do is hang around him! Do you even know what he’s like?!”

In an instant Logan’s gaze snapped up from the ground, and Virgil felt a shot of ice slam into his chest.

The look in Logan’s eyes.. it was unlike anything he had seen before…. He had seen Logan’s unbridled anger when Roman had called him stupid, he had seen him snark before, and even get a touch underhanded when it had come to things he didn’t want to talk about and things that he didn’t want to do. But this… the sheer anger that reflected in Logan’s eyes now, for the first time… made Virgil very afraid.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like this new Logan.

“That’s enough V-” Roman almost immediately stepped forward, a familiar look of protective rage on his face ringing throughout his entire body. He had never once been provocted into drawing his sword against Virgil, but hearing him so dismissively talk about Janus as if he knew him… It made something inside of him rage, to want to snap at Virgil and tell him exactly what he knew about the real Janus and about how far off Virgil was from the actual truth.

Roman stopped dead as soon as Logan held his arm out, his chest merely brushing against the logical side’s arm with how close he had come in just two strides. But he held himself back from saying a single word, it was Logan’s time to talk…

Not his.

Not yet.

“As if you know the real him.” Logan didn’t shout, he didn’t need to for everyone to hear what he was about to say. “And he is by far not the first person who has attempted to silence me, but he is the first person who has actually apologized for doing so. So as far as you are concerned Virgil, I will continue to hang out with him and treat him as my friend. Because he is my friend.”

A look of twin guilt blended together on Patton and Virgil’s face, a look that had said they knew the not so hidden meaning behind Logan’s words and had understood every bit of it. They had never apologized, Virgil had actually threatened Logan when he had attempted to talk about Remus. And Patton… Patton had actually silenced Logan, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not.

Virgil looked sick to his stomach, as if just now realizing. “Logan…” He murmured, unease and guilt swimming in his murky eyes.

Patton however could only stay silent, his hands clasped over his mouth in an attempt to stop any sound from leaving him as well as to stop the shaking of his own hands. His eyes though did all of the speaking for him, betraying how Roman had been unable to get a reading on him before, as they now told everything for him without the use of words.

I’m sorry. His eyes said. I understand why you left for as long as you did after what I did to you. And even… You were right to stay away, if we hadn’t even realized until now.

“Don’t apologize,” Logan sharply said, cutting them to the core. “Don’t apologize to me unless you’re apologizing to Janus as well. He deserves better than a one-sided apology.” He was right, or at least Roman knew that he was right even if the others didn’t. “I will see you all at dinner, set another plate out for Janus.”

Logan’s steely gaze only softened when it landed on Roman, Roman had made his apologies loud and clear to him just days ago and he had apologized to Janus as well. Not only that…

They had both kept their promise to Janus.

“See you… Roman.”

And just like that Logan was gone, leaving a vacant space where he had once been standing. Leaving Roman there with an amber-like warmth in his chest, at the thought of returning to Janus’ cozy room where they could all sit and be together without a care as to who would interrupt them. Where they would be safe, and be their truest selves without the fear of outside eyes peering in and judging them.

“So…” Thomas awkwardly broke the silence, cold tears dripping down his cheeks as his voice cracked the moment he tried to use it. Both Patton and Virgil’s combined emotions hitting him with a kind of blunt force. “You’re not angry about Logan seeing Janus?��

A rough snort fell from Roman’s lips before he could stop himself. “Go take a nap and play a video game Thomas,” He instead gently told the man who certainly looked like he could use one. “I’m not angry about Janus, and I’m happy that Logan is finally happy. It’s the way he should be.” Being emotionless and robotic didn’t suit Logan, no matter how he liked to say in the past that it did. He was supposed to be the vibrance of curiosity, combined with the endless knowledge of things that had been learned. He was the one that knew all of humanity was made out of stardust.

He was never supposed to wither like he had.

Thankfully Thomas didn’t argue, as he nodded tiredly to his creative side and staggered back towards his bedroom. Roman suspected that he was far too emotionally drained to do so even if he had wanted to at the time. He’d have time to endlessly question them all later, but now Thomas deserved some peace and relaxation without having to worry over what came next. He didn’t need Janus to tell him that much, Thomas wanted it, so Roman too wanted it. Turning around Roman moved to sink out just as Logan had, just for a hand on his shoulder to stop him dead in his tracks. Patton finally taking this time to gather his wits had finally reached out, twin streaks of tears running down his face.

“What did you mean?” Patton softly croaked, “When you said it was how he was supposed to be?”

Ah…

Roman grimaced, he didn’t want to answer questions right now, but… if he had any chance of getting the two off his back for even a little while he’d need to give them something. And it had to be something for them to think over. Something that would stop them from going after Logan as well, and even relax even the slightest around Janus and get the gears turning in their head. Something…

It had to be good.

Really good.

He knew what to ask.

“When was the last time you saw Logan smile?”

#logan sanders #ts logan #ts logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #ts sides #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides fanfic #ts sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #platonic roloceit #they’re all really good friends and care for each other #logan angst #janus angst

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trynatalktou · 4 years ago

Note

Hiii :3 here is my prompt: Vincenco teaching Cha Young to shoot (showing off and etc) only to discover she is actually good at it too because she was in her college shooting team

Thank you much for the idea!!!! I was really happy to see that someone sent anything.

Anyways hope you will like it well enough.

Also guys this is quite literally my first fic ever!! Can't promise it is not too bad

"So, now that you have a proper outfit...-"

"You know, for the looks of it - actually 'a partner of yours' - has a taste pretty similar to mine, huh." Cha-young interrupts teasing, while looking him up in the eye. "I think I even have one of these in another colour hidden up somewhere-".

"As I was saying," Vincenzo interrupts her in return, breaking eye contact a bit too quickly to go unnoticed by Cha-young. "Now, you just need the perfect accessory to match it".

"Oh Mr. Cassano, this Swarovski set would beg to differ." she says, flipping her hair in order to show off.

"Just look at the back."

Cha-young spots and reaches for a small suitcase at the backseat, opening it up to find a what looks to be a never before used revolver 38.

"Oh la la! Shiny!"

"There is also a strap for you attach it to yourself, make sure to keep it well hidden." Vincenzo informs nonchalantly. "A good place would be-" he stops himself mid sentence when his vision camp catches Cha-young raising her dress coat hemline up a little too high for him to handle finishing the thought. It reveals her thigh claded in an intrinsically-patterned pantyhose, and Vincenzo realizes instantly that is something much, much more transparent and skin-tight than anything he has ever seen her in. Well, at least when he is awake anyways.

He swallows dry.

"At the top of my thighs, what do you think?" She finishes innocently enough for the untrained ear, but Vincenzo has become a self-proclaimed specialist in all the tones and variations of Cha-young's speech quirks, and knows exactly what kind of game she is trying to play, but (much for the frustration of both of them) he has also become equally as good at playing the oblivious part to it all. He swears he never needed this much self-control in his life, he might as well start praying.

So, pretending that he doesn't feel the burning in his cheeks, (and that her actions couldn't have caused a car crash) he simply responds:

"Great! But before anything, we still have a lot of time, so I will be driving us somewhere I can teach you show to shoot, as it may look easier than it actually is, especially for someone who never done it before".

Cha-young simply smirks.

..............................................................................................

There were bottles arranged to be used as targets.

And a little over 15 meters from there, there was Hong Cha-young holding a gun so absurdly incorrectly that you would think she was doing it on purpose.

And she was.

"Mr. Cassano, now I just have to aim right?"

Vincenzo knew they would be late if they didn't wrap it up soon enough, so he did the only thing (no further questions on the matter) that he could have possibly done at the moment: he encircled his arms around her and put his hands over where hers were holding the gun, guiding her into perfect position. With their bodies pressed so close together, Cha-young tried to not get any shivers from his breath on her neck, while Vincenzo tried to not linger his touch on her any longer than the absolutely necessary. They both failed.

"Now, shoot." he whispered into her ear, his warmth heating her up so abruptly that she forgot all about her facade and its second intentions, shooting 3 bottles in a row effortlessly. So much for trying to push him just a bit more.

She turned around to encounter an astonished expression taking over his face.

"How?" he asked, eyes lightning up in delight.

"There is a lot of things you still ought to learn about your partner, Mr. Anderson." She replied mockingly - and as a last minute change of plans- moved closer.

He frowned at the name choice. Because even though he knew she was only playing, it has been simply too long since she last called his name, his first name that is, he wanted to draw it out from her lips.

Her lips.

She saw the way he was looking at them. Once. Twice. She had half a thought to slap his forehead again because she knew where they were leading, and that it was a point of no return, (at least for her) but found herself too entranced in him and it all to resist.

They inched closer and closer.

Until her phone rang. She laughed it off, because of course something just like this would happen.

They had elsewhere to be right now. Had yet another mission to accomplish, and all this tension could finally serve to her advantage after all (even if it was just to relieve it.)

#I want to cry #i had already finished it but tumblr just deleted half of the thing and that's what I get for writing on tumblr mobile #i know the actual shooting thing-y was pretty short but I I don't know much about it so I I didn't want it to be weird #hope you enjoyed it anyways #i quite enjoyed writing it #vincenzo #chayenzo #hong cha young #tvn vincenzo #should i post on ao3??

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

Note

for the prompt, please do dani and jamie with 22 thank you :)

prompt: kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Jamie can’t remember the last time she needed someone to tend her cuts and scrapes. Can’t remember, even, the last time she wanted as much from another person. There’s something too vulnerable about holding out an open wound and saying, Here. Please. I can’t do it alone.

Jamie can do it alone, is the thing. Has done for so long, she’s forgotten what it was to want another person’s skin brushing her own, another person’s eyes concerned for her well-being. It’s become second-nature, pushing all of that aside. How many times has she wandered into the kitchen, a cloth pressed firmly to a torn-open patch of wrist or palm, and scoffed at Owen’s worry? How many times has Hannah strolled into the room to find her bracing an ice pack against a freshly-bruised knee, rolling her eyes heavenward at her own clumsy misfortune? It’s natural, courting injury as she maneuvers the grounds. Almost easier than it should be.

She’s never wanted anyone to fix it for her. Never trusted, if she’s honest, anyone to have the touch. People are too soft. Too twitchy about doing damage. As if there’s any helping a thing like that.

She’s never wanted it--

But Dani, meeting her in the doorway of the greenhouse, has an expression she’s never seen before. Not open worry, not nauseous distaste--an almost perfect, steady calm.

“Let me.”

No question mark at the end of the sentence. No hopeful sway to Dani’s hips, no itchy pull of Dani’s fingers along the elbows of her own jumper. Dani’s face is set, determined, almost as though she’s been waiting for this day since the first time their eyes met.

“No need,” Jamie says, though her head is pounding. Dani is plainly unimpressed.

“C’mere. Sit down.”

She can’t explain why she obeys; her body seems primed to follow instruction, perhaps as evidence of a concussion. There is a split above her brow where a tumbling branch caught her just right, and privately, she’s relieved--that it was her standing beneath the tree as the wind jerked it out of place, and not one of the kids. Jamie had been quick enough to dodge aside. If it had been Flora, if it had been Miles...

Better me. I can take it.

Dani has a kit in hand, she realizes, lifted from the manor bathroom. Sitting beside Jamie on the sofa, she tears open a single-use alcohol wipe. She hesitates only once, one hand hovering beside Jamie’s jaw; when Jamie nods, that hand takes her chin, fingers splayed gently to tip her head back.

“Deep breath.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie starts to say, the words hissing out of her when Dani angles the wipe against the edge of the wound. It’s small, thankfully--the branch had been, too, though Jamie knows better than anyone that size is no measure of danger--but the sting clenches her teeth together. She closes her eyes, trying her best to disassemble the pain and piece it back together into a more enjoyable sensation.

Not the burn, but the soft pressure of Dani’s hand on her skin.

Not the throb running a path along her skull, but the warmth of Dani’s breath mingling with her own.

Maybe this isn’t better, she realizes. Maybe it is infinitely worse, fixing on Dani’s knee pressed to her thigh, Dani’s hand cradling her cheek as though she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. Her eyes flick open to find Dani leaning close, inspecting the wound with an unflappable composure.

“It isn’t deep,” she says. “Might scar a little, though.”

“Not my first,” Jamie quips before she can stop herself. Dani’s eyebrows raise, her lips curving in a small smile.

“You’ve got stories.”

Not a question--and not a pressure, either. Just an easy statement. Sometimes, this is just Dani’s way: neat, straightforward, to the point. Jamie wonders what kind of life shapes a woman this way, to navigate the grip of anxiety one moment and turn utterly steadfast the next. She’d like to know. She’ll never push. Dani is a co-worker, nothing more; the last thing Jamie needs is to go crossing bounds again.

“Thank you,” she says, as Dani fishes out a bandage and some tape. “Didn’t, uh. Didn’t need--”

Dani silences her with another smile, tinged with something so like sadness, it puts any knock on the head to shame. “When I was little,” she says, “I was always getting hurt. I was a clumsy kid, I guess. Fell down a lot--out of trees, off my bike. My dad was always the one to take care of it.”

Jamie says nothing. This is the most Dani’s ever spoken directly to her, and she finds the bounce and curve of her Midwestern accent strangely comforting.

“He wasn’t really a typical dad that way, I guess,” Dani goes on, gently holding the cotton bandage up to the wound. She reaches down, clasps Jamie’s wrist, eases her up to hold the square in place. “Hang onto that a sec. My dad, he was...softer than other kids’. He always knew how to clean my scrapes without making me cry. Never quite got the hang of that, after--he died when I was eight, I dunno if you knew that--”

Jamie shakes her head. Dani, patiently cutting a strip of tape, shrugs.

“Got sick. Was gone almost before I knew it. And my mom was never...much good at any of that, so I had to learn how to patch myself up. The alcohol was always the worst part. Almost.”

“Almost?” Jamie repeats. Dani is replacing her hand with deft fingers, adhering the bandage with simple efficiency. When she checks a mirror later, she suspects the whole affair will be neat, orderly, perfectly applied.

“Yeah,” Dani says, leaning back to observe her handiwork. She seems satisfied, piling everything back into the first aid kit, closing it with a click. “Worst part was after. He would always find the best bandaid--something brightly-colored, or with cartoon characters--and then he’d lean over whatever I’d busted open that day, and he’d kiss the spot twice. Once for forgiveness, he always said, to let the skin know he didn’t blame it for bleeding. And once for healing. Two kisses, every time. It felt like magic. I could never...”

She quiets, her smile fading. It’s too easy for Jamie to imagine a small girl with a blonde braid, kissing her own scraped knee after a fall, knowing full-well it wouldn’t be the same. Too easy to imagine Dani at eight--eleven--thirteen, patching herself back together on her own.

“Well,” Jamie says, clearing her throat. “You left a bit out, then.”

Dani raises her eyes, frowning. “Sorry?”

“Did the patching,” Jamie points out. Her mouth is weirdly dry, her head thundering away. This is, she senses, navigating too close to the brink of something. Friendship, maybe. Or just Dani thinking she’s making fun. And still, she can’t stop herself. “Seems like you forgot the magic.”

Dani hesitates, her hands folded in her lap. She’s picking, Jamie realizes, at one cuticle, nearly enough to tear the skin.

“Go on, then,” she adds, heartened to see Dani’s grave expression tilting toward the sun. “Forgiveness and healing. Could use a little of both, maybe.”

She doesn’t know what she expects, exactly--even saying this feels like the product of insanity, a crack on the head urging her toward things she’d never normally try--but Dani draws a breath. Folds a hand around the back of her head, fingers sifting into curls. Leans forward.

It hurts, a little, Dani pressing her lips to the bandage, though she knows Dani is being gentle. Hurts a little, and sparks something Jamie hadn’t meant to let in, too. She closes her eyes, Dani’s kiss seeming to scorch.

“Once for forgiveness,” Dani murmurs, lips brushing the skin of her forehead. Another kiss, sweet and soft and sending an electric charge down her spine. “Once for healing.”

She doesn’t lean back, not right away--her hand is warm, her eyes searching Jamie’s, and for a single beat, Jamie wants to tilt her chin. Coax that gentle kiss to find her lips. Change it all.

The concussion, she assures herself, responsible for the reckless impulse. Responsible, too, for the thread of disappointment coiling in her stomach when Dani removes her hand, places it back in her lap, shakes her head almost ruefully.

“He was better at it.”

“Maybe,” Jamie says. “But I can be clumsy, too. Stay long enough, you might get enough practice to measure up.”

Dani meets her eyes, looking embarrassed, looking delighted. Jamie rubs the back of her neck, casting around for a way out of this hole she’s dug.

“Listen to me. Take enough thumps to the head, I’m gonna starting spewing puns like Owen.”

“Oh no,” Dani laughs. “Anything but that.”

She has to go, she explains, back to the kids. Jamie’s welcome to join them--she’s got a game of cards planned, and they could use a fourth. Jamie almost agrees. Almost lets herself follow Dani into the house, her fingers straying mindlessly to brush the fresh bandage sealed with a kiss.

“Shouldn’t,” she says--to Dani, to herself, to the burgeoning heat in her cheeks as she recalls how gently Dani had pressed her lips to the wound. “Work to be done, y’know.”

Dani nods. “See you at dinner?”

She should say no to that, too. Should go home to her little flat, to the quiet which always makes perfect sense, which never turns up with a first aid kit and assertive hands.

“Yeah. Dinner.” She’s smiling. Dani, leaning against the doorframe, is, too.

“No more knocks on the noggin,” she adds with mock-gravity. Jamie snorts, gives a careless little salute.

“No fuckin’ promises.”

It’s difficult to say what’s harder to ignore, when Dani’s gone and the work rises up to meet her once more. Hard to say which part--the thumping of the headache, or the memory of Dani Clayton’s lips pressed to her forehead--has a greater hold on the rest of her day. No one asks, and she’s honestly relieved.

If asked, Jamie would insist the headache has won out. If asked, she’d have no other choice.

If asked, Jamie would absolutely lie.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #physical affection tag

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woogyu · 4 years ago

Text

A World Tinted Gold | Mingyu; Chapter Two

Kalon; beauty that is more than skin-deep

streamer!y/n x werewolf!mingyu

notes; werewolf au

word count; 1749

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summary; The only werewolves you encountered were the ones living inside your video games. They were nothing more to you than mythical creatures you often had to kill in order to complete objectives. You had a good thing going with your online gaming setup. Your supporters were kind and usually tipped well during streams. Sure it meant you had to deal with the occasional creep sliding into your DMs, but it was worth it. Playing games online was putting you through college. Little did you know your quiet life was about to be turned upside down at the hands of someone you didn’t think existed outside of the virtual world.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Are you seriously watching that steamer again? Why don’t you just play the games yourself?” Seungcheol questioned as he stepped into Mingyu’s room, chuckling as the younger wolf quickly turned around and blushed.

“It’s not the same… I’m not really interested in the games, I’m interested in her” Mingyu admitted sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so transfixed, but he had a hard time tearing his eyes from the screen. Hell, just the other day when you read his comment aloud, he was over the moon.

“It’s rare for you to show interest in a girl at all” Seungcheol remarked, eyebrow pulled up in question. Until a wolf found its mate there was little reason to get involved with or show interest in others romantically. There were of course some wolves that preferred being unmated; it allowed them to be explorative with their romantic partners. Not all wolves longed to find their mate, and not all wolves would end up finding their mates. He knew destiny had a hand to play in it all, but the thought of never finding who he was supposed to be with made the wolf in him whine. Mingyu wasn’t an unmated wolf that enjoyed exploring his options, he was desperately waiting for the day he met his mate. Right now, Mingyu wasn’t sure if he was simply lonely or if there was something more going on.

“There is just something about her…” Mingyu started, pausing for a second to find the right words, “I just have a hard time tearing my eyes away from the screen. There is something about her that just draws me in” Mingyu explained. He wasn’t doing a very good job at explaining the feelings that bubbled up inside him when he saw you on screen. When he tried to explain it he could never quite describe the feeling that settled over his chest and body, it was a warmth almost like a subtle glow within him.

Seungcheol didn’t comment on it any further as he moved into the room and crossed his arms over his chest. Mingyu knew better than to ignore the alpha, closing his laptop he turned to face Seungcheol fully. Their pack had a different dynamic than most. Normally a thirteen-member pack would be impossible because of the strain it put on the head alpha. It worked for them because while Seungcheol was their main alpha, they had two secondary alphas, Jihoon and Soonyoung. The three of them shared the work of looking after the group and it worked perfectly for them. He liked that the alphas didn’t abuse their power, there was a lot of lenience in the pack and it made for less confrontations.

“Joshua has to head into town tonight and won’t be able to run the perimeter. Would you be alright with doing it?” Seungcheol asked, pursing his lips as he looked down at the younger wolf. Mingyu normally enjoyed running the perimeter, it meant he got to shift and stretch his body, but this time he was a little bit more hesitant with his answer. Mingyu knew that later on tonight you would have a new video posted and he would have to wait even longer to watch it. It seemed like a silly reason, but his heart ached at the thought of not being able to ‘see’ you on screen until early tomorrow morning.

“Sure! I don’t mind” Mingyu answered with a half-smile, Seungcheol never asked him for much so he figured he could help him out with this. Seungcheol breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned back against the wall.

“Thank you, I didn’t really want to be the one stuck doing it again” Seungcheol admitted, the alpha had been on perimeter duty for the past 3 nights and must have been eager for a good night’s sleep. Mingyu smiled and nodded his head a few times, his own wants would just have to be paused for a little while.

Before leaving the room Seungcheol patted him on the shoulder, yawning a little bit as he headed toward what Mingyu assumed was his own room. Mingyu was thankful that Seungcheol’s parents had left him their families pack house. Coming from a family of alpha’s certainly had its perks, and it meant they all got their own rooms.

Once Seungcheol was gone he checked the time, he had roughly 4 hours before he would have to head out.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I just don’t understand what this trend is supposed to be” you complained to Ciri for probably the 20th time over your video call. Apparently, there was a trend going around among streamers to recreate video games in real life. You hadn’t thought much of it when it first gained popularity, but now Ciri thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to join in on it. Her big plan was a two-part video where the two of you recreated iconic aspects of the Witcher 3 video game. You should have known she would want to do it, she already owned a Cirilla cosplay.

“It’s going to be fun” Ciri reminded you, drawing out the last syllable as she drew a fake scar along her face, effectively transforming herself into the iconic video game character.

“Come on, I even sent you the Yennefer cosplay and everything!” she exclaimed, using her make up brush to point at the camera accusingly. You rolled your eyes as you reached up to adjust the dark black wig that you now wore. To her credit, Ciri had sent you everything you would need to transform yourself into Yennefer of Vengerberg. How she somehow guessed your sizing right you would have no idea. Probably the Witcher powers.

“I wish we lived in the same city” you sighed, leaning your head back and looking up at the ceiling. Things would be so much easier if you and Ciri, and the other girls, didn’t live so far away from one another. But that was the price you paid for finding your friends online.

“Me too” Ciri said with a gentle sigh, setting her make up tools down and picking up her phone, her face coming into full view.

“I sent you the script, I won’t be able to stay on the call with you while we are filming because data rates are crazy, but I know you’ll do amazing” Ciri said with a reassuring smile. You would have to film all of this on your own, which was just a little bit intimidating. Ciri’s script mostly just directed you to do a lot of handwaving and she would add in the ‘magic’ elements later.

“Just find a good spot in the woods and it’ll be perfect” Ciri finished with a nod of her head. You sighed, straightening yourself up and looking down at your phone.

“I’ll call you later on when I’m finished to send you the video” you mumbled, pouting a little bit as you stood and picked up your phone.

“Good luck!” Ciri told you, waving a little bit before ending the call. Great, now you actually had to go do it…

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were lucky there was quite a bit of woods around where you lived, the problem was going to be trying to get to the woods without anyone seeing the ridiculous clothes you were wearing. You threw on a huge coat, effectively covering up most of the costume. After grabbing the bag with your equipment, you ventured outside, keeping your head down as you walked to avoid drawing attention.

Twenty minutes later you were standing in the middle of a beautiful calm forest. Now that you were here you questioned why you didn’t come out here more often. You couldn’t hear the loud noises that came with living in a bustling city and the air felt fresh on your face. Once you reached a small clearing by a river you laid your things down and took a deep breath, basking in the coolness of the air. Maybe this trend wouldn’t be so bad.

After setting up your camera in a place you were at least half sure wouldn’t result in it falling over, you walked into frame and took a deep breath. You briefly checked your phone to see what Ciri’s notes asked of you, before you began doing your best to follow directions. Your portion of the video wouldn’t be long, but you did re-film it 4 times to try and get your motions to be less stiff.

After forty-five minutes of waving your arms around, you walked back to your camera, picking it up before taking a seat on a nearby log. Reviewing the footage, you winced at how awkward it looked, you seriously hoped that Ciri could work some magic on this because you didn’t have it in you to film it again.

The forest around you was darkening as the day began to draw to a close, but you couldn’t bring yourself to head back right away. The forest was too peaceful and serene. Reaching up you pulled your wig off, stuffing it in your bag as you sighed with relief. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, focusing in on the sounds of nature around you. Maybe coming to the woods would become a weekly thing for you, like therapy.

A low deep growl broke you out of your trance, your eyes flying open and flickering around to find the source. Your heart hammered against your chest, and your whole body stiffened in fear. A few moments later a dark black wolf emerged from the trees, larger than any wolf you had seen on tv. You could vaguely see blood dripping from its muzzle, and its dark red eyes were focused right on you.

It paused at the edge of the clearing, its lips pulling back to reveal sharp blood-stained teeth. Your breath came quick as you leaned back, unsure if you should run or try and hide behind the log. Both seemed unhelpful in this current situation, but you were really low on options.

The wolf’s body tensed before springing toward you. Your hands instinctively grabbed whatever was nearest to you, which happened to be your very expensive camera, and threw it toward the wolf. This did nothing to deter the predator from its prey, and within seconds the beast was on you.

#seventeen werewolf #werewolf!seventeen #werewolf!mingyu #seventeen x reader #ultkpop #seventeen #svt #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #kim mingyu #Werewolf!AU #werewolf!svt #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x reader #seventeen mingyu

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