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hoseoksluna · 8 months ago

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LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls.

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that.

An act.

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for.

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is.

In your case, you were going into this blind.

And so was he, your dream fulfiller.

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more.

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him.

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment.

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him.

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked.

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his.

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime.

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run.

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance.

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression.

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed.

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it.

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly.

And the other day, you did.

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek.

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you.

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed.

You couldn’t get rid of it.

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either.

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go.

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case.

Glory hole.

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of.

Beetle.

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to.

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away.

And the painting paused your blood flow.

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for.

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it.

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here.

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did.

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have.

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well.

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream.

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money.

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it.

Or…

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots.

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.”

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet.

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity.

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit.

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second?

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait.

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body.

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality.

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering.

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.”

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door.

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery.

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on.

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them.

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest.

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess.

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream.

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way.

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat.

You cross your ankles.

And you wait, all over again.

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven.

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you.

One point up for Mr. Kim.

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in.

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch.

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting.

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more.

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you.

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence.

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much.

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds.

He heightens your tremor by doing that.

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously.

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago.

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it.

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit.

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it.

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his.

The plan worked.

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel.

You let him see your pussy.

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see.

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this.

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid.

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you.

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he��s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other.

Body to body.

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you.

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake.

You growl.

He stops his circles.

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears.

And the man…

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger.

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back.

Embeds life into time.

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands.

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown.

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to.

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips.

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him.

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness.

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence.

Where you can speak.

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words.

“Get back inside the cubicle.”

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings.

And you know what to do.

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.”

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken.

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it?

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks.

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.”

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?”

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck.

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do.

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch.

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood.

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.”

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams.

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?”

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.”

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?”

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.”

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.”

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.”

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.”

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock.

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure.

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?”

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.”

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes.

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation.

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast.

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously.

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing.

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself.

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?”

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice.

And you don’t really mind.

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?”

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.”

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.”

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days.

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back.

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?”

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you.

“Why?”

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it.

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish.

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched.

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game.

“Yes, Mr. Kim.”

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.”

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.”

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.”

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?”

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?”

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.”

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?”

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.”

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.”

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.”

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.”

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you.

“What number was that?”

“Ten.”

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.”

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it—so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down.

“Nine.”

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb.

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather.

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back.

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses.

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth.

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.”

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in.

And he doesn’t go easy on you.

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth.

And Namjoon elevates your experience.

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit.

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless.

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?”

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals.

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you.

“Get on the bed. On your knees.”

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching.

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him.

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.”

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.”

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss.

A kiss that was more than a kiss.

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness.

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed.

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it.

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod.

You can only moan his name.

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.”

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life.

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.”

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices.

“Joonie, Joonie bug.”

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you.

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?”

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit.

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes.

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.”

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust.

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back.

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time.

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him.

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself.

A wave of strange emotions engulf you.

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby.

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible.

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling.

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.”

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be.

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?”

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles.

He truly won’t stop teasing you.

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness.

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings.

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him.

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his.

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.”

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?”

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too.

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony.

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl.

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth.

You can’t love him any deeper.

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you.

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

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#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x oc #namjoon x you #btscreatorscorner #bts smut #bts imagine #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon fluff #kpop smut #knj x reader #knj #kim namjoon #namjoon

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nayaesworld · 5 months ago

Text

The Beast in the Woods

Warnings:SMUT,breeding,supernatural situations

Aaron Pierre X OC!Willow

Part 2

In which the lion and lamb fall deeply in love with each other and bind their beings as one…

Life felt truly and utterly complete for Willow. The handsome man that harbored a beast deep inside him had swept her off her feet and made her feel so bubbly and warm inside. Even though most days she felt obsessed with him, he assured her he felt the same way as she did maybe triple fold. The two were connected at the hip, when one moved the other moved. A graceful display of love. Her scrapbook in her living room now filled with pictures of them taken from her digital camera, pictures that somehow captured how they truly felt in the moment they were taken. Willow was at peace, happy, and in love… she said the last part a lot to herself sometimes it didn’t feel real. She loved this man, loved everything he stood for and loved how he worshiped her. She was a goddess to him.

Draped in one of Terry’s shirts she crept into her kitchen where she heard him rustling around.

“I can hear you my love… you couldn’t ever hide from me.” She smacked her lips as he laughed aloud at her attempt to creep up and scare him.

“You’re no fun… you never met me get you.” She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest giggling as he reached out for her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She sighed to herself as he sucked and licked at her neck, his large hands groping and palming her cheeks through her black boyshorts.

“Mmm.. but I always get you, and I get you good every time” And get her he did, Terry had managed to completely turn Willow out. She was eager to learn how to please him, and he was eager to teach her.

They fucked often. On every surface and every position. Everytime she thought she had been put in every position possible, he’d bend her body a new way. Willow was severely surprised that she hadn’t fallen pregnant yet. Would it be so bad if she did…?

“It’s not fair… you have your hearing and smell. I could be down the road and you’d still hear me before you ever saw me!” She exclaimed and giggled as he tickled her against her butcher block island.

Her hands found his warm face and she caressed him, peering into his ever expressive eyes.

“Did I tell you how much I love you today?” She playfully questioned him while trying her best to jump into his skin. Close was never close enough for her and she needed to touch him whenever he was near her.

“Mmm… you did my baby… but I’m never tired of hearing it. If I said I loved you more would you believe me… girl I’m obsessed with you..” He squeezed her into him, soft and content was it anything better?

A heavy downpour covered the cozy cottage and the woodlands, hard white rain coming from the sky in angry spurts of water. Willow loved the rain though, the sound would serenade and calm her. It nurtured her plants and everything around her, she was grateful. But this weather called for something hot and hearty, and her vegetable garden had sprouted nice juicy tomatoes and a tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich sounded divine.

Opposed to getting her freshly washed curls wet again, she sent Terry out to snatch a few tomatoes from their green vines. She laid her tomatoes,garlic,onions,and bell peppers onto a baking pan to prepare to roast them in her oven. She cracked black pepper and salt on top and slid them into her preheated oven, setting a timer on her phone she glanced around for Terry.

“Baby?…where did this man go so quickly” She chewed her bottom lip as she looked all over the house for him. For a man of such size and height he always managed to evade her, quiet as a church mouse and cunning as a panther.

Finally the sound of running water led her to her bathroom. Pushing open the door her dark brows scrunched as she finally made out his massive form fully clothed and sitting against the shower wall soaking wet as his head laid in his palms and he breathed heavily.

“Terry baby oh my god..Are you ok?!” She rushed to fling open the glass door, ice cold water stinging her hand.

Not caring about the icy water raining down onto her, she grasped his head into her hands and gasped. His skin was searing hot and his usual soft green eyes had been replaced with honey gold ones with blown pupils. He breathed heavily and raggedly in her presence, scaring her.

“Willow baby…please move away.. I-I don’t trust myself right now… you need to leave me be.” His words came out rushed and she was confused on whether or not she’d be able to leave him in this state as he requested.

It took everything in her to turn away from him and rush to her kitchen to shut off the oven, she didn’t need a fire starting.

_________________________________________________

Terry didn’t see this coming. He thought he’d get away with loving Willow and his instincts would sit on the back burner while he restricted himself. A joke was what it was, because he had known better than to suppress his nature, yet he couldn’t bear to put it all on her. His feelings for her were raw and real. Deep inside him he knew this day was coming, but primal instincts didn’t follow the human calendar so he had no time to prepare.

Heat had came for Terry. All of his kind had to experience it one day but none of them were ever truly prepared for the carnal experience. A Lycan in heat was a Lycan in love, a Lycan bound so tight by their mate that they could only see them; and no future without. Terry had felt all these things for Willow times infinity, he looked back often at the dull life he lived before her and realized he was never actually living; just existing.

Terry being in heat symbolized everything he truly felt for her and everything he wanted them to be, a husband to her; and a father to their future children. She was his soulmate and his supernatural soul had solidified that. There was no life for Terry without Willow and tonight he’d make sure she knew and believed that.

“Baby?… I know you wanted me to leave you… but I can’t, I need to know for sure if you’re ok!” His keen hearing allowed him to hear Willow’s honeyed voice over the loud shower.

Gathering himself his legs shook as he stood to his full height to turn off the water.Peering through the partition glass of the shower he watched her grab him a large fluffy white towel to dry off with.Stepping out of the shower he felt his hot skin cool off in her presence, she was the one; the only one.

“Let me help you please…you’re scaring me baby” he let her help him out of the soaking clothes he breathed in her sweet scent and let it take him away. Standing fully naked he grabbed the towel from her and wrapped it around his waist.

“Your eyes.. I’ve never seen them look like this before, does this have anything to do with what you are, being a Lycan?” Her curious hands ran up and down his body, seemingly checking for signs of harm on his body.

“I’m not afraid, I accepted you fully and completely a year ago when you showed up near my house… nothing is keeping me from you.” She continued on talking but stopped when she peered up into the intense gaze of his.

“I’ll tell you everything… starting with the fact that this is even happening to me right now is your fault.” A sly smirk graced Terry's face as he backed her into her room.

“My fault…bu-but how… what did I do?” The little gasp she let out made his dick swell just a little; he knew he would explode at the lightest touch.

“You little sneaky vixen… look at how you just seduced me and fucked up my head..and I just let you. This that you see in front of you is my body’s raw reaction to you.. I crave you so badly baby, I’m in love with you .” Terry watched as her pretty brown eyes seemed clouded by his words, and he burned to touch her.

“It’s all on you baby…you make me feel like this, it’s all solidified now…there’s no going back. I’m in heat, baby…my body is begging for me to make what we have a lifelong love…to marry you and give you my babies..” He let her slide her soft palms along his bulky arms and felt the tingles that were left behind. She leaned up on her tippy toes and kissed him beneath his ear and whispered.

“So do it..”

_________________________________________________

Terry engulfed Willow into his heated embrace and began to slide his hands underneath his shirt that she was draped in. He felt her plump nipple pebble up under his touch as he tugged on them and ran the pads on his fingers over them.

“Hold the shirt up, let me eat my pussy.” Terry grumbled and sank down onto the plush cream carpet on her bedroom floor. He tugged down her boyshorts and she placed her hands on his shoulders to step out of them.

He placed her leg onto his built shoulders and let his pointer finger and thumb open the lips of her vulva. His plump lips gave open mouth kisses and he slowed his slurping and paced himself.

Willow was sweeter than any fruit or any treat he’d ever consumed, and he found it hard to control himself when they often tangled in the sheets.

“Ouu baby fuck…why are you eating my pussy like this?” Willow threw her head back and grinded her pussy across Terrys face.

“Mmm fuck mama feed me my pussy…I want you to nut.” Terry wagged his tongue back and forth as he sent Willow to another dimension with French kisses to her clit.

“Tell daddy you love him…I said tell daddy you fucking love him!” He nipped her inner thigh and stood to his feet.

“Ohh I love you..I-I love you so damn much!” Willow squeaked and held onto Terry as he carried her to her king sized bed.

“You about to get your money's worth out of this bed…I hope you know that. Might fuck you into the mattress mama..” Terry grabbed up a few plush pillows from her bed and placed them between the headboard and the wall, he didn’t want damage to the walls or paint.

The location of something very special came to the forefront of Terry’s mind; a ring. A pear shaped ring with a green quartz gemstone, a dazzling engagement ring that captured the beauty and love for greenery and nature that Willow held. A true embodiment of what Terry truly felt for her every passing day.

The ring normally sat in its box nestled in her nightstand, he had to move it often to be sure she never stumbled upon it and most days he just resorted to keeping it on his personal. He wanted the proposal to be huge and elaborate but today had taken him completely by surprise and his instincts urged to do it as soon as possible.

“Willow baby… forgive me for not giving you the absolute best when it comes to what I’m about to ask you, but I-I just couldn’t wait any longer. You know how much I love and care for you; how strongly my heart beats for you. Would you grant me the privilege of loving and caring for you for the rest of both of our lives…Willow will you marry me?”

He watched her big eyes fill with tears and she nodded her head quickly. “Yes yess I’ll marry you, I’ll marry you in every lifetime!” He hurried to grab the ring and hit onto his knees to place it onto her slim finger; it fit perfectly.

The shiny celadon green ring clashing with the creamy smooth brown skin of her hand was the perfect contrast, and she beamed internally and externally.

“You ready for some loving Mrs.Richmond?”

With a flirty smile and a bite of her lip she pulled him closer “Always ready Mr.Richmond !”

Promises of a 2025 baby had Terry flipping and tossing Willow every which way but loose,and the pillows behind the headboard? Useless. The bed squeaked and groaned under the ravenous couple who were hell bent on going straight through it. A permanent dent in the shape of them would be sure to form.

Hands locked with hers Terry rutted into her. “You want my babies… you want me to make you a mommy..hmm?” Expecting Willow to give him an answer right now was pure insanity as she shook and shuddered beneath him, the girl was literally dickmatized.

Rising slowly out of her stupor she locked her Legs around his hips. “Please daddy..yess I want you tooo, I want you to nut in me so badly!” Willow’s tongue slithered into the shell of his ear, nipping and sucking.

“Fuck me baby…harder. Uhn daddy my pussy…you’re so deep!” Opening his eyes to finally look down into hers he watched tears of pleasure cascade down her pretty face,her lip wedged between her teeth trying to quiet the loud screams in her throat.

“Mm mm let it out my baby… let daddy hear how good I’m fucking you…FUCK I can’t wait until you all swollen with MY babies!” Terry’s vision blurred and the veins in his neck protruded like they would pop from his strong neck. A loud sigh slipped from his mouth as his dick pushed out more cum than he’d ever thought he could produce, he was spent and he let his weight drop onto Willow.

He picked up her hand where the ring sat and kissed along her ring finger; his wife,his mate, and the future mother of his offspring. He lifted from her after some time and let his hot hand come down between them to press his palm onto her lower belly, almost like he was putting a spell on her womb to quicken her body into a pregnancy. His forehead sat in place of his hand and he pressed feather-like kisses to her soft belly, in a few weeks there’d be a baby forming inside.

“Thank you Willow. A lifetime of solitude would be worth fighting in every dimension if you were the end goal every time…I hope as your husband to one day pay you back tenfold for all you’ve made me feel and see in our time together.”

“What if I feel everything you just said? Before you I would’ve never imagined a love so sincere and sweet, it just didn’t seem possible for a girl like me…and yet here I am a wife to be with you by my side. It’s safe to say I’m the real winner here.”

The newly engaged couple stepped into the shower together high off of each others presence. They cleaned each other and washed each others face with their matching skincare products. Dressed in cozy holiday clothing and thick socks Terry insisted on finishing the tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches that Willow had abandoned earlier.

Once the food was ready the two cuddled on the plush sofa sharing a bowl,dipping the buttery cheesy sandwiches into the savory and herby soup. They coordinated hand feeding each other scraping the bottom of the bowl quicker than they’d like to.

A cheesy hallmark movie played in the background meanwhile the two sat lip locked for a second time since exiting the shower. Throw cover thrown over them and their wooded paradise turning into a mini water oasis, pure content rolled over them as a new brewing need for each other captured them. As long as Willow had Terry and Terry had Willow, the fast paced and ever changing world around them would never penetrate the shell their love provided.

———————————————————————————

A/N:Heyy guys (tucks hair behind ear)this is the end of my little beast in the woods fic. I really do hope yall enjoy and stick around a while if you’d like,for future updates with our favorite guy, I’m not done with him yet 🫦

@simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @blowmymbackout @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @pocketsizedpanther @theereina @keyaho @brattyfics @uzumaki-rebellion @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @fakxmbj

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fanaticsnail · 11 months ago

Note

Hi! This is anon with the doctor oc.

I have not a request but just a thought. Imagine Doc revealing to the crew that flowers can be edible (I think it can be new info for most of them) just for it to backfire immediately because someone is trying to eat a poisonous flower the next minute

What Did You Eat, Bubblegum?

Hey Doc Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,600+

Synopsis: Sharing your passion has ended in un very foreseen circumstances, but leaving you a little upset regardless.

Themes: Platonic!Bubblegum x gn!reader, Platonic!Killer x gn!reader, softness, little bit of flirting, allergic reaction, poisoning, venting, swearing, medical practice, patient x doctor, terms of endearment, reader is referred to as "Doc" - the doctor of the Kid Pirates

Notes: As someone who has a basic guide for foraging on edible weeds and native plants in my home country, this is very dear to my heart. I use flowers in most of my cooking, especially as garnishes. Onion Weed (three corner leek) is my favorite edible flower. Screengrab from this clip.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23 @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @sordidmusings @nerium-lil

“Oh, come on,” you whisper beneath your breath, hastily rolling back the sanitary lining sheet for your treatment cot to house its next victim.

“Hey Doc," the voice of the hulking first mate called over from the threshold of your office door, "Got another one for you.” Bubblegum was heaped over his shoulders, his face three-times what it ought to have been.

Bubblegum was hastily placed down in a heaping thud, his head immediately flopping backwards and his mouth hastily gasping and gulping for air. His skin was blotchy and donning the same vibrant hue of purple as his lengthy hair.

“What did you eat, Bubblegum?” you gently coax your sensitive crewmate, noticing the rise in welts and pus-filled boils forming beneath the surface of his skin. Bubblegum attempted to smile at you, his teeth drawing back to reveal a sheepish grimace.

“Wih wahs’ah fauwah,” he muffled past his abnormally puffy lips. Your puzzlement was depicted on your brow as you looked to Killer. He sighed, rotating his head on his shoulders and donning the 'hat' of 'muffle-translator.'

“It was a flower,” he nodded to you, gently walking to perch his hips against the back of your office chair.

“And where did you find it, sweety?” you asked Bubblegum as you donned your hands with latex gloves.

“Doun bai n’dah wayah n’ groien’ i’da reyds,” you nodded along to Bubblegum's muffled words before looking over to Killer.

“Down by the water and growing in the reeds,” Killer bobbed his mask along with each nonchalant explanation. You nodded, looking over to Bubblegum and readying an aloe-based balm for his itching skin.

“And what color was it?” you bit back your growing smile as you added, “Be as descriptive as you can, sweetheart. It helps with every detail to know how to treat you.” Killer rumbled a soft growl below his breath as Bubblegum began to explain himself.

“N’ah sem ehz woit n’dah pels ‘er ewow,” you sucked your entire bottom lip into your mouth as you turned away from both men, overcome with the ridiculousness of the encounter, and stifling a laugh with knowing Killer would have to translate for you. “N'ah miwow ehz weyd n’deyre wahz bwaek speirz grewin’ aouda n’dah senn’r. D’ehr wayah wah’z pewlin’ inah cwoiyew ahda boyum.”

Without missing a beat, you straightened your back and bore your eyes directly into Killer's mask and waited for his translation. He huffed back a guttural growl, inhaling deeply as he translated for you.

“The stem was white and the petals were yellow, the middle was red and there were black spikes growing out of the center,” he uttered concisely, “The water was pooling in a coil at the bottom.” You nodded, gently mincing up a remedy with your mortar and pestle and bringing up a drawstring bag.

“Mm-hmm,” you nodded along, placing down your mortar and pestle and removing a portion of the creamy aloe concoction and pasting it on his features, “And what did you learn?” Bubblegum’s face blushed a soft hue of pink as he widened his eyes to depict his innocence.

“Notta gow fowahjin’ ithow m’hawaht doktnar,” he uttered sorrowfully. You smiled down at him as Killer translated for you.

“Not to go foraging without the ship's doctor,” Killer uttered nonchalantly with a soft shrug.

“My hot doctor, you mean,” you nod back at him over your shoulder, finishing off with Bubblegum and giving his shoulder a soft squeeze. “Use this balm until the itching, swelling and bruising goes down. Okay, sweet pea?”

Bubblegum nodded along and gave you as much of a close-lipped smile as he could muster. The purple-haired crewman exited your office and closed the door behind him, prompting you to exhale while removing your latex gloves with a curt ‘snap.’

Just as you began to relax, two arms snaked around your waist and tugged you back into the wall of flesh and muscle behind you. You shrieked in response, your whole body growing tense with fright.

“You little shit,” a husky pur called down into your ear, forcing lighting to surge from your coccyx up to your cranium in a fizzling crackle, “You could understand Bubblegum the whole time, couldn't you?” A small squeak was pulled from your throat.

His arms felt like everything all at once, overwhelming your senses. Secure and welcoming, taunting and warning, strong and intimidating: all of the things you knew Massacre Soldier Killer to be. You lulled your head back on his chest, looking up at his mask adorned face and giving him a coy, pouty smile.

“I didn't want anything to get lost in translation,” you shrugged in his arms, clicking your tongue up at him with a mocking taunt painted on your lips, “Didn't want to miss an opportunity for you to use that pretty voice I love so much, big guy. It's always a joy to fuck with you a little bit.”

“Oh, you're a little bratty today,” he purred down at you, the hue of his icy blue orbs gazing dangerously down at you through the several holes in the mask, “What's got you in such a shit mood, hm? Wanna tell Daddy about it?” You refused to pay his comment any mind, instead shrugging out of his arms and tidying up your work bench.

“You know, if you keep using that one slip up against me, it's gonna lose its charm,” you scoffed at him, ridding the cot of the sanitary lining and throwing it into the trash compartment beside the bench. You spray down the leather lining to sanitize it, wiping it down and casting away the disposable material in the same trash compartment.

Killer continued to watch you, eying you off and reading your body language with ease.

“So you don't want to talk about it?” he offered you, spinning your desk chair around to watch it rotate with a soft squeak at the metal base, “Gonna do that thing you do and pretend you're fine until you explode?” You huff out a puff of exasperated air and turn back around to him.

“Look, I'm just a little pissed that my idea of fun turned around and detonated in my face, is all,” you pout at him, folding your arms and glaring at the trash compartment at the side of your bed. “When I borrowed that book on edible plants for remedial purposes from the Blackleg chef, I should've known it'd turn to shit. Sometimes I forget the crew I serve with, I should've known better.”

“You shouldn't feel apologetic for your enthusiasm,” his tone was solid and baring a hint of warning, “We love your enthusiasm. I-... I love your enthusiasm.” His stutter caught you off guard, prompting you to arch your brow at him.

“I'm fully aware of how much you all enjoy my enthusiasm,” you arch your neck and look down your nose at him, your pout still evident on your features, “I just wish you'd all check in with me before eating random shit you find on the side of the bay.”

Killer’s soft, high-pitched giggle prompted you to drop your pout and offer him a soft, half-smile. His laugh continued as you joined yours alongside his, softly reaching forward and placing your hand on his scarred, left forearm.

“Alright, alright,” you squeeze his arm and teeter off your joint laughter, “Let's get back to work, yeah? I've gotta do some paperwork correspondence with Trafalgar.”

“Trafalgar?” you could hear the audible arch in his brow, his disdain depicted in his tone, “Why?”

“He was asking about something, is all. Something to do with my dissertation paper back when I graduated,” you shrug, gently releasing his arm and turning back to your desk. “I don't get to geek out about my thesis often, and getting his questions via Den-Den made me feel passionate about my studies again.”

Killer nodded along with you, slowly returning your desk chair back towards your desk and gently coaxing you to sit down in it.

“Dinner’s in about about thirty to forty, if you're coming,” he uttered beneath his breath. As he turned away, he felt your hand clutch his wrist and hold him in place. He gently glanced down to look at you, your face not leaving your desk as you withheld your growing fluster.

“Thanks, Kil,” you continued to hold your eyes fixed on the desk in front of you, “For listening to me, I mean. It means-... It means a lot to me.”

He leaned down, his mask brushing it's brow gently against your temple.

“I'm happy to be on ‘Doc Diffusal Duty’ any time,” he whispered softly before pulling away, “You wanna talk, know I'm here, alright?”

“You're the best, big guy,” you give his wrist two rapid squeezes before letting go of it, returning back to your writing. Killer halted at your door, glancing back at you and watching as you returned to scratching and marking your journal and shifting through the papers.

“It's paella, by the way,” he called back over to you, “Just in case you were wondering.”

“I'll have an epinephrine on standby for Wire,” you called over your shoulder, “We both know there's no holding him back from your cooking.”

“Oh, Doc,” he clutched his heart in feigned dramatical emphasis, “You flatter me, but there's really no need.” You paused, cocking your head to the side and your brows knit in puzzlement. Killer giggled softly before his regular baritone cadence returned.

“I used chorizo as a substitute for shellfish, just to give you a bit of a break.”

Before you had the opportunity to turn the entire way around, you noticed Killer was already away from darkening the threshold of the doorway. Your bottom lip quivered at the thought that he changed the menu just to suit both Wire’s anaphylaxis, and to give you a break from playing disciplinary warden and watchdog.

You were definitely going to volunteer for washing up duty as payment for his thoughtfulness.

#one piece #x reader #hey doc #gn!reader #x gn!reader #kid pirates #bubblegum one piece #killer one piece #ask snail #snail answers #massacre soldier killer #killer x reader #bubblegum x reader

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happy-beeeps · 11 months ago

Text

Domesticity

Summary: a slice of life moment of a very anxious Gale, and a very relaxed reader!

Pairing: gale x drow!tav (gn i thiiiiiiiink?)

warnings: mention of alcohol, suggestive content but no smut

a/n: posting this in the airport I have no shame!!!! this is based on my current playthrough with my drow paladin. so there are some references to drow and tav finding a found family within Minthara, but it's not really a fleshed out oc!

Cooking doesn’t come quite as naturally to you as you’d hoped. It’s a complex balance of flavor—spice and savory and salty and sweet—that challenges the palate you’ve grown accustomed to in Menzobarrenzen and your time in exile. Still, you move slowly, carefully, over the faded recipe card, make precise cuts to the carrots in front of you.

There’s a movement in the counter, and your wine glass is moved closer to you. “One for the pot, one for the cook. Or so the saying goes.” Tara hums, curling up on the edge of the counter. You can’t imagine Gale would say anything, so you don’t bother asking her to move away from the cooking.

“If I want to have any hope of this turning out, I’m going to need to slow down.”

She tuts in response, kicking her legs out long and rolling onto her back.

“Why is this so hard?”

“What, cooking?”

“Yes!” You toss the carrots into the steaming pot, and move to toss in the onions and garlic nearby. “He makes everything look so effortless.”

“Funny enough, I seem to recall him saying something similar when he attempted to wield your greatsword.” She moves off the counter with ease, “perhaps that’s what makes the two of you work so well.”

You’re so wrapped up in your cooking that you don’t head the door open, and don’t sense the heavy weight moving across the wooden floor until his hands are on you, wrapping around your waist. You’re carefully moving the dish onto two plates, and nearly drop the spoon in surprise. “You should be grateful this isn’t a dagger,” you mumble against his neck as places his chin on your shoulder.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve taken a calculated guess that you wouldn’t be wielding a weapon in our kitchen at this hour.”

“Then you don’t know me at all.”

“On the contrary, but perhaps we could get reacquainted.” He moves to pepper soft kisses along your jawline, but pauses at the realization of what’s in front of him. “Is that…”

“Your mother’s shepards pie?” You’re blushing now when he turns to you. “I wanted to surprise you, you’ve been so busy with grading.”

“Well, color me surprised.” He moves to grab both plates and begins setting your table. “Sit down, let me get your glass.”

“Only if you have one too.”

He smiles and grabs another glass, along with the bottle before settling in front of you. You try to contain your excitement when he moves to take his first bite, trying to nonchalantly watch him out of the corner of your eye. His eyes light up, and his gaze rockets to yours. “How did you get this? It’s perfect.”

“It’s not a far walk to your mothers,” you pause to take a sip of your wine, a delightful red decidedly nicer than the bottle you had been sipping from earlier. Sneaky. “I’ve been going by on my slower days for tea.”

“You’ve been spending time at my mother’s?” It’s not an accusatory question, on the contrary, his eyes glow with warmth at the thought.

“She’s sweet, and it’s nice to spend time with family, and I told her I wanted to surprise you.”

He’s quiet at first, simply smiling at his plate and eating. After a moment, he speaks up. “Family, yes?”

Your cheeks burn with color at your minor slip. “I mean, in a sense-“

“And in the literal skin enough.” He reaches across the table to gently graze the top of your hand, hesitating on the knuckle above your ring finger.

Dinner passes in relative simplicity afterwards, casual conversation about his classes, your work at the temple.

“While on the topic of families, I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you who I saw today.”

Your eyebrow quirks up in response, “Oh?”

“Your sister is in town.”

“Minthara?” Your brows furrow, “I didn’t know she was headed this way, are there cultists in Waterdeep?”

“Hardly, she’s heading back to Baldur’s Gate, something to do with Nine Fingers. I told her to tell you more tomorrow. She’s found company for the evening.”

“Sounds like Minty,” you smile at the thought of your pseudo-sister. “I’m happy to see her tomorrow, but I’m not heading to Baldur’s Gate with her.”

He blinks in surprise, “You’re not?”

“Do you want me to go?”

“I just assumed you’d be interested. It’s been quite a moment since you’ve done a daring rescue, some savvy swashbuckling.”

You snort at the word choice, “Swashbuckling is more Astarion’s style. Besides, I’m busy with my work here, and then we’d be apart. You can’t leave in the middle of the semester.”

“You bring up a valid roadblock, my love.” He smiles at the end of his thought, but there’s an uncertainty in his eyes that doesn’t miss you.

You’re on your back, clad in nothing but one of Gale’s impossible comfortable tunics. He’s beside you of course, reclining beside you on the plush blanket laid out on the terrace of his study. His hands twirl above you, and lights dance overhead. You’re mesmerized by him, by even the smallest of spells that hardly take any effort. You burrow deeper into his side, transfixed by the colors moving overhead.

He moves after a moment, propping himself on his elbow. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Of course,” you move to cradle his cheek in your hand, rolling on to your side to face him. “What is it?”

“I’ve been feeling… a flavor of insecurity as of late. At first, I couldn’t believe my good graces, to not only survive our encounter with the brain, but to bring you home to Waterdeep, to see you in my tower. It’s still surreal. A student, however, noticed you in the market recently, and asked what it was like to live with a great warrior like you, and I realized I’d neglected that. You are a great warrior, you’re an excellent paladin, I’ve watched you slay more enemies and heal me more times than I can count. And then I saw Minthara, all disheveled, hair messy, but happy. I’m worried I’m keeping you trapped in this tower, not unlike how I felt when I encountered my orb. You know you’re always free to go, frolick the sword coast and slay enemies the whole way down, correct?”

The honesty of his confession catches you by surprise for a moment. You haven’t the words to reassure him, you’re not sure you could string them together if you tried. Instead you kiss him, leaning forward and cupping his cheek. He leans in hungrily, interpreting your gesture as your answer. His lips are soft against yours, the taste of wine making you drunk with anticipation as you pull back.

“When I became a paladin, it was because I wanted my people, Seldarine, Lolth sworn, just drow in general to be respected by surface dwellers. I do too. My oath to bring balance and light, not to slaughter every prejudiced person on the sword coast. I can fulfill my oath with the work I do here, at the temple in Waterdeep, with you, and frankly, you’re selling yourself short as a wizard, you’re quite the catch,” his hand slides down your back and you feel yourself being tugged closer, “Where Minthara, gods bless her, needs blood and sex to satisfy her, I can get by with a good wine and a dinner with you.”

He kissed you again, quickly, and pulls his hand away to smooth your cheek, “Well, perhaps we don’t need to count out sex as satisfaction just yet,” his hand rubs slow circles along your back as he pulls you in closer, “after all, I am quite the accomplished wizard.”

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale x tav #gale x reader #bg3 gale x tav #bg3 gale x reader #bg3 fic

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queensharotto · 1 year ago

Text

Brittle Doughie’s Cookie Run x Reader Masterlist (Part 4: Mid 2023)

A masterlist of @brittle-doughie’s Cookie Run stories organized by month.

Genre Emojis

😞 is for angst, 🎃 is for Halloween, 🎄 is for Christmas, 🍪 is for Cannibalism, 💗 is for Yandere, 💝 is for Valentine’s, 👻 is for Horror, 🎂 is for Birthday, 💚 is for Yandere!White Lily Cookie

The Indents are related to the featured cookies. If there are numerous cookies (Over 10 Cookies Featured), I’ll make a note on that as well. Additionally, I’ll categorize various cookies if they’re associated with a specific hobby, location, food etc.

Also, the ⭐️ will indicate a story featuring one of Brittle’s OCs.

May 2023 💐

• “Y/N Cookie in Parfaedia”

Featuring: The Triple Cone Trio

• “The Y/N Cookie Shrine”

Featuring: Lotus Dragon Cookie and Hydrangea Cookie

• “Secret Sands Y/N Cookie: Rob the Merchant Son”

Featuring: Yogurt Cream Cookie, Centipede Cookie and Peppercorn Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie Not Sorted into a School”

Featuring: The headmasters and champions

• “Baby Pond Dino Dragon Cookie”

Featuring: Pond Dino Cookie, Longon Dragon Cookie and Lychee Dragon Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie in Legend of the Red Dragon”

Featuring: Hollyberry Cookie, Wildberry Cookie, Royal Margarine Cookie, and Tarte Tatin Cookie

• “Eggscellent Easter Short”

Featuring: Pancake Cookie, Onion Cookie, Bell Pepper Cookie, Walnut Cookie, Almond Cookie, Blackberry Cookie, Dr. Wasabi Cookie and Mustard Cookie

• “Grass is Greener: Part 1”

Featuring: Lilybell Cookie and Blue Lily Cookie

• “Royal Margarine Cookie Flirting with Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: Royal Margarine Cookie, Wildberry Cookie, Hollyberry Cookie and Pitaya Dragon Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie the Pikachu of CRK and the Cookies of Darkness: Team Rocket of CRK”

Featuring: Gingerbrave and the Cookies of Darkness

• “Coffee Candy Cookie and Y/N Cookie Scenario”

Featuring: Coffee Candy Cookie

• “Yandere Ice Juggler Cookie”

Featuring: Ice Juggler Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie ignoring 5 Yanderes”

Featuring: Kumiho Cookie, Pomegranate Cookie, Croissant Cookie, Lilac Cookie and White Lily Cookie

June 2023 ☀️

• “Peaches (White Lily Edition)” 💚

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie: 100% Adoration Rating”

Featuring: Pomegranate Cookie

• “Yandere White Lily Timeline” 💚

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “Showing Affection towards Snapdragon Cookie… in front of the other 5 Dragons”

Featuring: Snapdragon Cookie and the 5 Dragons

• “Y/N Cookie loves Licorice Cookie”

Featuring: Licorice Cookie

• “Advertising Rights: Shining Glitter Cookie vs. Shine Muscat Cookie”

Featuring: Shining Glitter Cookie and Shine Muscat Cookie

• “Affection from the Ancient Cookies and what gets under their skin”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “Y/N Cookie, Visitor of the Republic”

Featuring: Custard Cookie, Captain Caviar Cookie, Oyster Cookie, Wildberry Cookie and Crunchy Chip Cookie

• “The Heroic or The Meditated”

Featuring: Ninja Cookie and Hero Cookie

• “Envious Lime Cookie”

Featuring: Lime Cookie

• “Frost Cookie x Y/N Reader”

Featuring: Dr Frost Cookie

• “Seductive White Lily Cookie”

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “5 Ancient Heroes, 5 Love Languages”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

July 2023 🎆

• “Ancient Y/N Cookie tries the Grimace Shake”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies (view the corresponding submission)

• “Announcement of the Summer Soda Rock Festa”

Featuring: Caramel Arrow Cookie, Rockstar Cookie, Black Lemonade Cookie and Shining Glitter Cookie

• “Cookies reactions to be being picked up by the Baker”

Featuring: Blueberry Pie Cookie, Latte Cookie, Strawberry Crepe Cookie, Poison Mushroom Cookie, Chili Pepper Cookie, Royal Margarine Cookie and Stardust Cookie

• “Abyss Monarch Cookie and Mocha Ray Cookie”

Featuring: Abyss Monarch Cookie and Mocha Ray Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie recapping their adventures to Black Lemonade Cookie”

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “Y/N Cookie Sleeping in Weird Spots”

Featuring: Carrot Cookie, Kumiho Cookie, Orange Cookie, Goblin Cookie, Coffee Candy Cookie and Moonlight Cookie

• “Welcome to the Cookie Kingdom, Snapdragon Cookie”

Featuring: Snapdragon Cookie and the Cookie Children

• “White Lily Cookie’s Obsession carries over as Dark Enchantress Cookie” 💚

Featuring: White Lily Cookie and Dark Enchantress Cookie

• “White Lily Cookie: Best Friend For Eternity…?” 💚

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “I Remember You”

Featuring: Lobster Cookie and Mocha Ray Cookie

• “The Ancient Cookies Won’t Tolerate Harassment of Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: The Ancient Cookies

• “Fire Spirit Cookie and/or Rockstar Cookie with Y/N Cookie’s lipstick”

Featuring: Fire Spirit Cookie and Rockstar Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie’s Panicking Manager” ⭐️

Featuring: Dumpling Cookie (view info)

• “Yandere Triple Cone Cup Champions” 💗

Featuring: The Triple Cone Trio

• “Tiny MerCookie with Girlfriend 4x their size”

Featuring: Black Pearl Cookie

• “Time Balance Department Scenario”

Featuring: The Time Balance Department

• “Roguefort Cookie’s Arrest”

Featuring: Roguefort Cookie

• “Stardust Cookie Scenario”

Featuring: Stardust Cookie

• “Pitaya Dragon Cookie Scenario”

Featuring: Pitaya Dragon Cookie

August 2023 🌅

• “Langue de Chat Cookie’s Parents”

Featuring: Langue de Chat Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie being Rougefort Cookie’s Jury”

Featuring: Rougefort Cookie

• “Evilglaze kidnaps Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: Dr. Evilglaze

• “Return to the Sea”

Featuring: Sea Fairy Cookie

• “Don’t Mess With Y/N Cookie Fans”

Featuring: Pomegranate Cookie, Peppercorn Cookie, Black Pearl Cookie, Stardust Cookie and Kumiho Cookie

• “Kidnapped by Abalone Cookie”

Featuring: Abalone Cookie and Black Pearl Cookie

• “Langue de Chat Cookie: Your Lawyer”

Featuring: Langue de Chat Cookie

• “Mermaid Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: White Pearl Cookie, Crimson Coral Cookie and Frilled Jellyfish Cookie

• “Is someone in my house?”

Featuring: Snakefruit Cookie, Pomegranate Cookie, Lilac Cookie, and Scorpion Cookie

• “White Pearl Cookie x Mermaid Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: White Pearl Cookie

• “White Pearl Cookie wanting a kiss”

Featuring: White Pearl Cookie

• “Brewed to Perfection”

Featuring: Espresso Cookie

• “Top 10 Most Obsessive/Possessive Cookies” 💗

Featuring: Numerous Cookies

• “Envy of the Gem Mermaid Family” 💗

Featuring: The Gem Mermaids and Frilled Jellyfish Cookie

• “Cappuccino Cookie x Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: Cappuccino Cookie

• “Which Car White Pearl Cookie Wants”

Featuring: White Pearl Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie‘s Combat Prowess in a Martial Arts Tournament”

Featuring: Hollyberry Cookie, Captain Caviar Cookie, Oyster Cookie, and the 5 Dragons

• “Schwarzwälder x Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: Schwarzwälder (aka Choco Werehound Brute)

• “White Lily Cookie’s Obsession” 💚

Featuring: White Lily Cookie

• “Muscular Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: Muscle Cookie, Carrot Cookie, Coffee Candy Cookie, Cotton Candy Cookie, Fire Spirit Cookie, Butter Pretzel Cookie, Kumiho Cookie, Almond Cookie and Shining Glitter Cookie

• “Y/N Cookie x Okchun Cookie”

Featuring: Okchun Cookie

• “Itsy Bitsy Y/N Cookie”

Featuring: No named Cookies present

• “Obsessive Fire Spirit Cookie”

Featuring: Fire Spirit Cookie

Divider Source l Next Masterlist l Previous Masterlist

#brittle doughie masterlists #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ovenbreak #yandere cookie run #cookie run angst #cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #yandere cookie run kingdom #crk #crob

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archivedblog16 · 3 months ago

Note

So, hi! :) I'm a new follower of your blog and I heard from a post that you were "a fun person to talk about infodumps, rewrites, and of course, complain about the show...and has good ideas." (from @pleasantspark's critical guide post.

So if you wouldn't mind I'll just drop some info about an OC of mine who will play a major role in the story... The Divine Dramedy on AO3! (combining both Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss into a singular anthological story, with sections dedicated to each. More info on the structure in a later ask maybe)

Once the Crown Princess of Heaven, Yesh's new favorite child, she now reigns as Heaven’s Queen and the vessel of the Holy Spirit. With immeasurable power and limitless knowledge, she walks the line between celestial enlightenment and something far darker. Her dominion spans Heaven and the worlds she has conquered, but her motivations remain cryptic. She was once Yesh's beloved experiment (and daughter figure), an angel imbued with potential beyond even the highest orders of seraphim. But power, like knowledge, is a double-edged sword. She did not fall like Lucifer. She did not break like Michael. She adapted. Yesh, of course, wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Now, the Omnisphere watches...

She will also be replacing Stolas' role as Blitz's main love interest in the Helluva rewrite but will also be a bit involved in the Hazbin rewrite as well.

Stolas will still be there but as a villain.

Her appearance:

Darcy's androgynous form erupts in a brilliance that transcends mere dazzle, emitting an ethereal luminance from an immaculate, stark white porcelain-textured surface. This white isn't just radiant; it's an explosion of purity, a blinding beacon of light so overpowering that it seems to tear through the fabric of reality itself. Her skin is not solid material, and drops of pure energy seem to drift away. Her long, wild hair with slight curls starts pitch-black and gradually transitions to a lighter gradient until it turns white towards the ends and ends on her upper back or mid-spine. Additional details include perfect teeth and noselessness, like most other angels. Her eyes are a dizzying mosaic of unearthly visual wonder. The sclerae are inked in an absorbing vantablack so deep it swallows light whole. In stark contrast, her irises gleam with piercing white with vantablack pupils. They are shaped like stars with sharp edges that could slice through the very fabric of reality. These celestial star-shaped pupils fluctuate wildly in size and form, morphing to mirror her volatile emotions. Darcy's halo, glowing white, is positioned over the back of her head (to denote her higher rank). It cast a brilliant white light that refracted into pastel colors. The halo slowly rotated, revealing intricate ornate details. Resembling a Kokoshnik tiara, the crown curves gracefully upward like a flat onion dome. The halo has distinct lines that segment the crown, outlined by black flame. Her body is marked by tonal scars that gradually deepen in color, transitioning from her natural skin tone to gray, then darker gray, and finally a stark, inky black that swallows all light. The scars resemble a moving starry night sky, with deep blue and indigo hues interspersed. The ends of her arms are charred black as if burned. This pattern is repeated on her neck and the lower halves of her legs below the knees. Her wings rarely appear on her. They are white colored. They're retractable (not in the techy sense). She has a pair on her back, a pair on her temples to cover her eyes, and a third pair on her lower legs, hidden by her scars. True form Darcy's body is now entirely enveloped in wings. Her existing wings have expanded, and new ones have emerged, creating a layered, robe-like structure. Her wings are not uniform—they have tapered, jagged, and naturally feathered edges, resembling a multi-tiered cloak of living plumage. The uppermost pair has grown significantly, extending outward like broad shoulders, angled slightly downward in a way that suggests both regality and restraint. Her face is completely obscured by overlapping wings, forming a sharp, almost hooded silhouette. The central eye embedded in her "face" remains visible, positioned at the peak of this winged hood. A tiny, separate eye floats just above the highest point, subtly hidden. Her arms are replaced with wings. These wing arms extend outward, creating an imposing, triangular silhouette. Two diminutive eyes are present on the “carpal joints” of her wing arms. Her lower body is entirely encased in wings, forming a flowing, dress (or robe)-like shape that extends down in layered, feathered folds. Her third pair of wings has enlarged, completely covering her legs and feet, making it appear as though she is gliding rather than walking. Her halo is broader, thinner, and more ornate than before, floating above her "head" in the same Kokoshink tiara shape with an eye symbol (vertically placed) in the center. Note - Seraphim fold their wings to appear more humanoid and avoid frightening humans. Darcy's true form resembles the everyday appearance of other seraphim before they fully manifest their celestial forms.

Sera and Emily will have lower ranks. I don't really like how canon shows portray seraphim, the closest angels to God in the hierarchy as coming down so easily to see the Princess of Hell over redemption. I'd imagine they (along with the Ophanim and Cherubim) be more aloof. So now Sera will be a Virtue and Emily an archangel and her assistant. And they have a mother-daughter relationship :)

I can't wait to hear your thoughts :)

The part about Darcy adapting, Lucifer falling, and Michael breaking feels poetic. It shows that Darcy out of all them was about strive and succeed. That’s fair, the way Vivziepop does hierarchy in general is very weird.

Nice to see that Stolas is a villain because he really does fit the role especially watching season 1 and 2. “She will replacing Stolas’ role as Blitzø’s love interest.” Thank god 😂. So, does Darcy visit Blitzø in Hell secretly? I assume their relationship is most likely forbidden.

#cgcgs43046 #vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss rewrite #hazbin hotel rewrite

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fruitmilkshake · 11 months ago

Text

Situations/Headcanons that I scriped in my Supernatural Dr;

My native lenguage isn't English, so i'm sorry if i make a mistake at writing this.

Team free will 2.0 f.t Claire and Edith (my oc).

-Dean likes to play on the arcade machine games outside the convenience stores.

-Jack likes to chew ice.

-Castiel Dissociates himself with no warning sometimes.

-Sam was one of those kids that were terrified by watching Courage the Cowardly Dog.

-Dean likes to call Edith (my oc) "Onion eyes", cuz she's always crying.

-Sam has nickname for Jack: "Jacko".

-Castiel likes to try and make pizza with Jack in special occasions.

-Edith's nose is always runny.

-Dean watches weird movies with Edith, like Coraline.

-Castiel smells like wet plants.

-Dean was scared of Toads as a kid.

-Sam likes to listen horror podcasts while he researchs for hunts.

-Edith cried watching; lion king.

-Claire's favorite band is; Kittie.

-Jack has allergies at Pollen.

-Sam smells like dust from old books.

-Edith hates the taste of tomates.

-Jack and Edith love to go and pet stray cats.

-Sam has a box under his bed filled with fidget toys.

-Dean always laughs while watching the movie; Mean girls.

-Edith tried to get a Raccon and a Opossum inside the bunker once.

-Claire likes to sing on the shower.

-Jack's favorite animals are; turtles and monkeys.

-Dean smells like dry leaves and gasoline from baby.

-Claire likes to chew on mint Bubblegum.

-Edith has sensitive skin, so she's always covered in bruises by bumping against hard things.

-as much as he complains about it, Dean is Getting used to the music that Sam and Edith listen to(He'll always be a Metal/rock dude tho).

-Dean has problems remembering things (ADHD)

-Edith draws a lot of monsters on her sketchbook.

-Castiel likes popcorn.

-Dean argue with a waitress once because they mistook Edith for a boy.

-Claire hates the smell of fresh paint.

That's all! I have a lot of headcanons and situations that I want to write here, but i don't have the time or self explinatory to do it.

I Hope you enjoy reading this and this helps you in your supernatural Dr or other Drs.

#supernatural #what the hell is wrong with me #xd #castiel #sam winchester headcanons #dean winchester headcanon #Spotify #spn dr #spn oc #spn ocs #headcanons #claire novak #jack kline #sam winchester #dean winchester

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beefromanoff · 1 month ago

Text

Project Mockingbird Ch. 25

summary: picks up immediately after the last chapter. Char and Bucky deal with things in their own way. Char digs into the intel she recovered.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC

author's note: HI I KNOW THE ANGST IS HARD BUT STICK WITH ME I PROMISE ILY GUYS LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK

tag list: @bangtanxberm @scott-loki-barnes @kayhi808 @charmedbysarge @cjand10 @capswife @otterlycanadian @read-just-cant-stop

(let me know if you want to be added <3)

chapter list

The smell of garlic and sautéed onions filled the compound kitchen. It was warm, grounding, familiar. Sam stirred something in a cast iron skillet while Nat leaned against the counter, sipping wine from a stemless glass. Steve had taken up dinner roll duty with Wanda, arms dusted with flour and forearms bare from where he’d rolled his sleeves up. His brow was furrowed as he tried to listen intently while she explained the best way to knead the dough.

It was quiet in the best way. The way all of them had come to love and keep sacred. The feeling of home in their dysfunctional, roommates-in-a-top-secret-defense-compound kind of way. It just worked. The music was low, barely audible over the clink of utensils, the casual conversation as they worked. Peaceful.

Then Charlotte walked in.

No—stormed in.

She didn’t say a word.

Hair wild and wind-tangled, braid barely holding. Lips swollen, colorless. A faint smear of blood streaked across the back of her hand, drying into the folds of her knuckles. Her eyes were hollow. Her shirt clung damp to her skin in patches, like she’d either just come from the gym or been outside in the cold too long.

Whatever she’d been doing—it wasn’t sanctioned.

She didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t pause.

Nat straightened slightly from the counter. “We’re making a plate for you.”

Charlotte didn’t stop walking.

“Not hungry,” she muttered, voice flat. Dead.

She disappeared down the hall a beat later, boots heavy against the floor.

The door to her room clicked shut.

Silence hung in the kitchen for a moment, heavy and strange.

Sam was the first to speak. “Has anyone seen Bucky in the last few hours?”

Nat shook her head, slowly. “Not since earlier.”

Steve wiped his hands on a dish towel, jaw already tightening.

“I’ll go look.”

___

Charlotte shut the door behind her and froze.

She didn’t lock it. Didn’t move. Just stood there, staring without seeing.

The walls felt too close. Her breathing too loud. She was claustrophobic, itching to crawl out of her own skin.

She was still wearing the same clothes—clothes she’d pulled on without thinking, ruined with guilt and the faint smell of him. Her hands twitched at her sides like they didn’t know what to do.

Her mind hurt from all the emotions running through it. It was past full. Overflowing. Short circuiting.

She turned toward the bathroom on autopilot. Twisted the shower knob all the way hot. The pipes groaned. Steam began to roll up the mirror like smoke.

Her fingers brushed the hem of her shirt. The one she'd button halfway less than twenty minutes ago. As she stood over him, ignoring the desperate, broken, pleading look on his face.

It hit her.

All of it.

She collapsed onto the bathroom floor, breath hitching as the tears came. The first sound she made was a broken exhale. The second was a strangled gasp that turned into a sob halfway out.

What the fuck did I do?

She’d told herself it was about power. About control. About reclaiming something before it was taken again.

But now?

Now she just felt… scraped raw. Like every nerve ending had been exposed and left out in the cold.

You said he saw you. That was the whole thing. He sees you. So what the hell did you just show him?

Another sob tore through her chest. She doubled over, arms bracing on her knees, forehead resting in her hands.

You gave him everything. And then you made it mean nothing.

Her hair was a mess, falling around her face. She could still taste him on her lips, sweet and familiar and so very him. It was soured by the metallic tang of blood still lingering on her tongue.

You looked him in the eye and told him he wasn’t safe to love you. Then you went and proved it.

She didn’t know how long she sat there.

Long enough for the mirror to fog.

Long enough for the steam to start condensing on the ceiling.

Long enough for her tears to run out.

Long enough for the weight of her own choices to settle like lead in her lungs.

She finally stood, slowly, as if every inch of her body was something borrowed. Hands that didn't even feel like her own unbuttoned her shirt, her jeans, let it all drop to the floor like evidence of a crime she still couldn't believe she'd committed.

The shower was waiting. Still scalding.

She stood and willed it to wash any trace of him away, not caring how much of herself went with it.

____

The training room was dark now, lit only by the muted glow of the rainy, grey sky filtering through the high windows. The steady drumming against the glass was the only sound in the space.

Bucky sat on the floor, back against the wall, legs drawn up loosely in front of him. He was dressed now—sweatpants, a gray SHIELD-issued tee—but he looked like he’d been hit by something far heavier than fists.

His eyes were forward but unseeing.

Steve found him like that. He stepped in quietly, not wanting to startle him. “Hey.”

Bucky didn’t move.

Steve came closer, slowly, until he was a few feet away. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

No answer.

Steve studied him. Took in the swollen lip, the mussed hair, the still-unbandaged scrapes on his knuckles.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it had something to do with Charlotte,” he said carefully.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He exhaled hard through his nose, like he was trying to will the words into existence. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Steve waited.

“She… she went rogue. Broke protocol. Blew the cover. It—it was reckless.” His voice was low, strained. “And I… I didn’t want it to look like I was protecting her. Favoring her. Because if something happens in the field again and I—if I hesitate, or if I cover for her, and she gets hurt—” He broke off, voice cracking.

“Maria made it clear that I had to be objective. I thought the report would protect her. I didn't want her benched, but what the hell was I supposed to do? All I wanted was to do right by her. Keep her safe.”

Another moment of silence.

Steve took a seat next to him on the ground. “Did you talk to her about that? Before you submitted it?”

Bucky gave a dry, mirthless laugh. “No. No, I just… wrote it. Sent it in. Somehow hoped she'd never have to see it.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers catching in his hair.

“I didn’t think she’d look at me like that.”

Steve said nothing.

“I just—I tried to stay objective. Tried to keep my feelings out of it. Because if I didn’t, I knew I’d lie. I’d lie to protect her feelings but if I did that I'd be putting her at risk in another way. So I chose."

He blinked, slowly. Like he was still trying to process what happened.

“But this?” he said, voice raw. “I don’t know what the fuck that was. What we just—what she just—” His voice faltered again, tangled in disbelief and devastation. “She didn’t even look at me.”

Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“She didn’t even look at me,” Bucky murmured again, quieter. Like that was what gutted him most.

Steve didn’t interrupt.

“Last time… when we—” he swallowed, eyes darting across the floor. “It was soft. Careful. She… she didn’t know what she was doing. And she let me lead. Trusted me.”

He let out a bitter breath, half a laugh, half a wince.

“She trusted me.”

His hand flexed on his knee, then stilled. “And now? She didn’t say my name. Not once. Wouldn’t meet my eyes. Just—it was like it meant nothing. Like I meant...nothing.”

Steve’s brows drew together, but he didn’t speak. Just let Bucky keep going.

“I kept thinking maybe… maybe it was a punishment. Maybe she wanted me to hurt the way she did. Or maybe she wanted to feel nothing at all. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck it was.” His voice was unraveling, pulled tight and thin.

Bucky leaned back against the wall again, letting his head thud gently against the cool surface. His eyes closed.

“It wasn’t romantic,” he whispered. “Not really. It wasn’t even a hookup. It was all anger. It was… revenge.”

Steve’s voice was quiet. “Do you regret writing it?”

Bucky hesitated.

“Yes,” he said, then corrected himself. “No. I mean—I don’t know. The words weren’t wrong. But they weren’t right, either. Not about her. Not about what she’s capable of.”

Another pause.

“They were safe. That’s what they were. Safe for me.”

Steve leaned back against the wall. “You think she’s going to forgive you? Think you'll be able to go back to normal?”

Bucky’s laugh was empty. “I don’t even know what normal is for us.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends like he could wring the ache out of his skull.

“We’ve never had a normal. From day one it’s been—trauma, training, deflection, silence. She tried to kill me the day she showed up here. And now…” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “Somehow it’s more fucked up than ever.”

“You know,” Steve said after a moment, “she puts you on a pedestal.”

Bucky’s head turned sharply.

Steve shrugged. “She might not act like it. Hell, most of the time she acts like she’d rather throw you off it. But it’s there. Always has been. What you think of her? It matters more than she wants it to. Probably more than she understands.”

Bucky’s brows drew together.

“She let you see her, Buck. The real her. The version she probably doesn't even know that well herself yet. And when you wrote that report…” Steve paused, choosing his words carefully. “You didn’t just undermine her judgment. You told her she was exactly what she’s afraid she is.”

Bucky’s face twisted, like the words physically hurt. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispered.

“I know,” Steve said. “But you know her better than anyone. Which means you can hurt her more than anyone.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the rain tapping steadily against the windows, the air between them heavy.

“I think I broke it,” Bucky whispered, like saying it out loud made it real. "Whatever it is that we had."

Steve didn’t correct him. Didn’t try to argue. Just let the truth settle like dust.

Then, finally, he said, “You might’ve. But she’s not fragile. And you’re not hopeless. Whatever it is, it can be put back together.”

He pushed off the wall and stood.

Steve turned away, but his voice lingered.

“Fix it,” he said. “Or at least try.”

_____

The simulation room buzzed with quiet energy—shoes scuffing against the mat, gear clicking into place, muted conversation as the team prepped for the afternoon exercise. Fluorescent light beamed down from above, stark and sterile, catching on the sleek black of their uniforms.

Peter tugged at the straps of his chest rig, brow furrowed. "Wait—we’re not starting yet, right? Don’t we need to wait for Charlotte?"

Bucky's head snapped up so fast it was almost imperceptible. His hands froze mid-strap. For a half-second, he looked like he might speak.

He didn’t.

Natasha didn’t even glance up from where she was adjusting a gauntlet. "She requested private sessions. One-on-one only."

Peter blinked. "Oh. Why?"

"She’s benched from field work for now. Protocol after an internal flag." Natasha’s voice was flat. Factual. Not cruel, but not warm and fuzzy either.

Another pause settled over the room. No one said what they were all thinking.

Peter glanced awkwardly at Bucky, who was now very focused on redoing the same strap he'd already tightened. Wanda looked away. Sam shifted his weight.

Bucky didn’t move.

Natasha’s voice cut softly through the silence. "Don’t look so surprised. You wrote the review, Barnes."

That finally made him lift his head. His jaw ticked. "Would you have done it differently? Disobeyed orders?"

Nat regarded him for a beat, then leaned her elbow against the weapon rack beside her. "Depends. Was I trying to protect her? Or protect myself?"

His eyes narrowed just slightly. "I wasn’t trying to protect myself."

She shrugged. "Then yeah. I probably would’ve lied. Or found a different way."

"I didn’t want her pulled permanently. Just…"

"Just enough to keep her safe, right?" Her tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was tired. Like she’d had that conversation with herself before. "That’s the problem, Barnes. You can’t protect someone and call it objectivity."

Steve stepped into the center of the mat, voice level as he cut a glance at the two of them. "This isn't the time. Load up sim three. Let’s move."

Natasha pushed off the wall and walked past Bucky without another word. Peter followed her, muttering under his breath. Sam and Wanda moved toward the sim controls.

Bucky stayed still for a moment longer.

Then he pulled his gloves on and stepped into line, but the set of his shoulders said everything.

He’d felt her absence before. This wasn't just absence, this was the aftermath of his own actions.

He squared his shoulders and took his place on the line. It was time to work.

______

Charlotte walked through the intelligence wing like she belonged there. Because she did. The floor was a maze of glass-walled rooms and polished concrete halls, lit by sunlight that streamed in through tall windows. Analysts tapped away at terminals or moved in hushed conversation, none of them surprised to be interrupted by an Avenger mid-shift.

She approached the intelligence desk calmly, badge in hand. The agent behind the desk blinked when he saw her stop in front of him.

"I’m requesting the Phoenix files. Specifically anything recovered from the laptop—Asset 318."

The agent hesitated. "That data hasn’t been cleared for general review. I’m not sure—"

"Check my credentials."

He did. His eyebrows rose slightly . "You’ve got Avenger-level clearance." He spoke more to himself than to her.

"So it seems." She gave a tight smile, ignoring the eyes of other agents peering across their workstations to watch the interaction.

He didn’t argue. A moment later, he returned with a secured tablet, punching away on the screen. "Here’s what we pulled from the drive. It’s fragmented in places. We also cross-referenced it with older reports—anything flagged as a possible link."

"Thank you," she said simply, taking the device.

She turned and left without ceremony, her boots echoing down the hallway as she made a point to jerk her head towards the onlookers. She'd never seen them scatter so quickly.

—

Back in her room, Charlotte kicked off her shoes and dropped into the chair at her desk, tablet in hand. She powered it on and waited as a soft glow was cast across her face. The device lit up, projecting a sleek holographic interface into the space above it—dozens of folders hovered in the air, suspended like constellations. Names she didn’t recognize. Code strings. Dates. Locations. A few of of them shimmered in red, broken or not yet decrypted by the agents. But the rest...

Her eyes scanned each header as she reached up, dragging one holographic folder aside with two fingers and expanding another with a flick of her wrist. She rotated the interface gently, drawing files closer with practiced ease.

Then she paused.

One file caught her eye. A list of recent resource acquisitions—equipment, personnel, weapons. One of the locations was familiar. She couldn't place why, but her gut told her it was significant to her.

She pulled open additional files with swift gestures, pinning them in space side by side. With a tap and hold, she cross-referenced data fields and connected the threads between them like weaving a digital web. Patterns started to form—supply chains, dead drop sites, old assets reactivating. This wasn’t a coincidence.

This wasn’t scattered remnants.

This was coordinated. Intentional. A global network of fringe HYDRA sites—all reporting back to one command center.

She kept working—dragging files, running queries, pulling reference after reference. The clock on her desk ticked past midnight, and she barely noticed. At some point, her notes had taken over half the desk, scribbled connections running between cities, names, and shipment manifests.

Then something clicked. A single reference tucked in the corner of a decrypted communiqué. A location code. A date. Something about weapons infrastructure that didn’t add up.

Charlotte stilled. Her heart thudded in her chest, slow and heavy.

She double-checked it. Then again.

They weren’t just restocking old arsenals. They were looking to infiltrate something protected. Something global. Strategic. She didn’t have confirmation—not yet. But she had a theory. One she didn’t like.

Charlotte’s blood ran cold. She leaned back in her chair, the holograms flickering softly above the tablet still glowing in her lap.

"Holy shit..." she whispered, breathless.

She fumbled for a pen and the nearest pad of paper, already jotting down half-legible notes as she leaned forward again. Her eyes darted across the projections, hands moving with renewed urgency.

It was going to be a long night of pulling on a thread she wasn’t sure she wanted to unravel.

_____

First thing the next morning, Charlotte stood near the elevators outside SHIELD's upper-level conference wing. She'd dressed in dark athletic leggings, sneakers, and a SHIELD-issued crewneck. Her hair was haphazardly tucked behind an ear, a few stray strands curling around her face. If it weren't for her enhanced recovery making little to no sleep a nonissue, she was sure the circles under her eyes would be alarming at best.

She shifted from foot to foot, rolling her shoulders as if trying to release some of the static buzzing beneath her skin. Her fingers tapped against her thigh in a restless rhythm, and every few seconds she checked the time on the wall.

When the doors slid open, Maria Hill stepped out, flanked by two department heads mid-conversation. Charlotte stepped forward.

"I need a meeting," she said, cutting in without preamble. "Now. It’s urgent."

Maria blinked. "Can it wait until—"

"No. It can’t."

Something in her tone—measured, grounded, not frantic but serious for once—made Maria pause. "Alright, Rossi. Let's hear it." She looked between the two department leads beside her. "You’re coming too."

Minutes later, the four of them sat around a conference table. Charlotte projected a holographic interface above the center console, flipping through files with practiced speed.

"Over the past forty-eight hours, I’ve been analyzing everything pulled from Asset 318—the laptop from the Sanctuary op." She tapped a cluster of folders, opening them into a web of connections. "What I’ve found isn’t just Hammer selling stolen tech or scattered HYDRA activity. It’s coordinated. Funded. Active."

Maria frowned. "We investigated a potential resurgence after the compound attack. It looked like it was just radicals acting on old manifestos. You’re saying it’s more than that?"

"It looked that way because that's how they wanted it to look. They wanted to draw the team out, attack the compound. Where all of our intelligence is. It wasn't mean to attack the Avengers, otherwise they would have just targeted the Quinjet. They wanted to lower the shields and destroy the base, and all the information with it. Without our intel, we'd be set far enough back to give them the head start they need."

"To do what, exactly?" Maria crossed her arms.

"To fully reestablish themselves." Charlotte looked her dead in the eye. "They never fully went away. They just went quiet. Strategic. Rebuilt themselves in pieces across the globe, all reporting back to a single command site."

She rotated the interface, pulling one file to the center. A string of code and a corresponding location. "This base? It’s active. Staffed. Hidden behind a humanitarian aid shell company operating out of Southeast Asia."

One of the agents shifted. "That’s not enough to launch anything on."

Charlotte’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe this is."

She expanded another file—a decrypted internal memo referencing weapons infrastructure, logistics rerouting, and flagged mentions of nuclear access points. She paused long enough for them to read.

Maria’s expression darkened. "You think they’re trying to gain control of a nuclear system?"

"I think they’re close. I think if we wait, they’ll get what they need. And no one will see it coming."

The room was quiet for a moment too long.

The other agent shook their head. "Even if we believed you, we can’t act on this. There’s no official proof, and that compound is under diplomatic protection. It’s not SHIELD jurisdiction."

Charlotte let out a sharp breath, incredulous. "You can't be serious. We're just going to sit on this? Wait around while they build something capable of wiping out cities?"

"Charlotte—"

"No. No, this is insane." She paced a short line behind the table. "You want an invitation? You want a press release? By the time you get your authorization, they'll already have their foot in the door. We’ve seen what they’re capable of when we underestimate them. I've lived it." Charlotte slammed both palms against the table, the holographic interface flickering in response to the sudden jolt. Papers scattered. The agents flinched.

The first agent shook his head, clearly uncomfortable. Maria's jaw was tight.

"This isn't a decision made lightly," Maria said. "And I understand you're close to this, emotionally—"

"Don't," Charlotte cut in, her voice dropping. "Don't act like I'm being irrational. I might not have taken 'stick up the ass decorum' like all your other little agents, but I'm not exactly a stranger to combat or HYDRA. This is real, and it's urgent. I swear if you just let me go—"

"You're not cleared for active field work anymore." Maria's voice was grim. There was almost a flicker of regret on her face, if Charlotte weren't too furious to see it.

Everything in Charlotte stilled.

The breath in her lungs vanished.

She straightened. Smoothed her hands over the table like nothing had happened.

The temperature in the room felt like it had dropped ten degrees.

“Understood,” she said, voice cold and flat.

She reached for the tablet and powered it down in one movement, the light vanishing from the room.

“Thank you for your time.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Just turned and walked out, the door hissing closed behind her before anyone could speak.

______

Charlotte’s footsteps echoed down the hallway like gunfire, sharp and steady despite the chaos in her chest. Her pulse was racing. Her hands still shook. She gripped the tablet tighter, knuckles white against the matte casing.

She didn’t slow down until she reached a side corridor—one of the quiet ones, barely lit. She leaned back against the wall, trying to breathe, to settle the storm still roaring in her skull.

She'd expected resistance. But not this. Not dismissal. Not Maria throwing the report back in her face, further invalidating anything she had to say.

She scoffed under her breath, half a laugh, half a choke. Of course they wouldn't believe her. 'Emotional volatility in the field presents an ongoing liability.'

Her mind flashed back to the balcony. Weeks ago. That night she couldn’t sleep. He'd found her there, brought coffee. Didn't balk when she broke down.

When she'd asked him if he was scared, if HYDRA were really back...

"Shitless." He'd said.

That's how she felt now. Her pulse pounding, her hands clammy. Just the thought, the notion, the very possibility that they were back...

She was scared shitless.

And she wanted to tell him.

God, she wanted to tell him.

To find him in the gym or the kitchen or anywhere he might be, tablet still clutched in her hand, and spill it all—every thread, every connection, every horrifying possibility. He’d listen. He’d understand. He was the only person on the planet who could.

But she couldn’t. Not now.

Not after what she did. Not after how she looked at him. Not after what happened between them.

So instead, she straightened. Braced her shoulders. Decided to go to one place she could find a ghost of him without facing the real thing.

Charlotte steeled herself and headed towards the training room.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff

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