#the temptation to instead say welcome to my twisted mind... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

builtbybrokenbells · 1 year ago

Text

Gold Dust Woman | V

Unexpected does not always mean unwelcome, but just because it is welcome, does not always make it right.

Read part four here

Pairing: sam kiszka x f!reader, jake kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 10.7k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it), fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), praise, dirty talk, teasing, slight male sub dynamic ig, begging, drinking, swearing, love triangle shit, you know the drill, sorry if I miss any!

hello lovely people 🤭 so happy to be back again. sorry this took so long, but i hope this meets your expectations. i love you all dearly and hope that you aren’t too upset with me for my small hiatus. i will say that thus far, I’ve kept the lyrics in chronological order mostly because they’ve always aligned with the chapter theme. now, they’re going to be mixed up a bit to fit a little better! anyway, without further ado, enjoy, don’t mind any grammar mistakes, and please be kind 🫶🏻

Of all the situations in the world, you figured this particular one would be at the top of the list for awkwardness. When Sam stepped into your home, the door latch loudly clasping shut behind him, you waited for the dread to seep in, for the whiplash of anxiety that so often accompanied the presence of the brothers. Instead, a bubble of anger formed in your chest. You were mad at him for not making a move sooner, and for only making one after Jake did. Upset at the fact he had no issue involving you in their twisted dynamic, or remorse for playing with your feelings. You were no longer blind, being strung along aimlessly by ignorance and emotion. Danny was right; you were in control of the situation, and you intended to prove that. No more guilt for a situation the two boys created, and long ago, at that. No more pain over a fate they chose for themselves.

Wordlessly, you made a move to the kitchen. He followed, unsure of how to verbally approach the thoughts he was having about you. You located another bottle of wine, calling to you with temptation greater than the one you had for the boy standing behind you. As you cracked the cap, sipping from the bottle with little care, you finally turned to face him. “Why are you here?” It took him a moment to process your blunt inquiry, curious about your sudden shift in perspective from the day prior.

“To see you.” He said, simple and to the point.

“Mmm,” you hummed, now much less embarrassed about your attire, or lack of, rather. It was a great head start to your course of action. “To see me, or to fuck me?” The alcohol was a violent instigator, disrupting any filter you would normally have on your thoughts.

“To see you.” He confirmed again, unwavering on his stance, but his gaze was drifting away from your face and settling on the parts of you he was previously so eager to discover. A smirk tugged at your lips, finding his loyalty to his answer funny. You could tell the truth was not within the words he spoke, and his curious eyes were giving him away.

“Okay, you’ve seen me. Want to leave, now?” The angry part of you had no sympathy for the boy you had been so desperately in love with. Although he was still the same person, the new perspective on him casted a different light, now. One that illuminated faults instead of solely positives. The love was the same, still craving his touch with a ferocity like no other, still so profound that it made your head spin and your chest ache. But, love was subject, because the idea of love in your mind was heavily dependent upon your imagination, reliant on the idea that Sam was perfect.

Your feelings were real, but no longer cemented with the notion that he could do no wrong. The pedestal was crumbling, cracking and falling more by the second, finally returning him back to common ground. He lost his ability to consume you entirely, his baggage weighing him down and giving you a chance to surface for some air. The angelic aura that surrounded him was laced with sin, but it made him all the more loveable. His imperfections lessened his ability, but made him more realistic than before. Perhaps your freedom to close the gap of the power imbalance worked more in his favour than anything else. Your momentary sense of control was exhilarating, allowing you to finally plant your feet firmly on the ground, but it only made you fall victim to him even further.

Love cannot be true without equality, and your new understanding of Sam gave you exactly that. The equal playing field resulted solely from the destruction of the barrier between idolization and acceptance. Harnessing control seemed like a way to regain your own power, but it was your biggest mistake thus far. Choosing to continue your dance with the devil only allowed you to shatter the world in which Sam could do no wrong, and learn to love him despite the flaws. It was only a matter of time before the realization seeped through the cracks of the false sense of control; the power did not belong in the hands of any of you, no matter the belief that it did.

Once again, the devil laughed loudly, remaining baffled at your inability to heed the warning.

“I can’t come see you unless I have a reason?” He asked, eyes still drinking in the way the red lace complimented you. “I like your company.”

“You can,” you nodded, showing him you weren’t contesting him on that specific point. “Just don’t think that’s why you came today.” You watched him, examining his face for any faltering expressions.

“Why do you think I’m here, then?” He asked, challenging you the same way you were challenging him. You didn’t respond right away, unsure of the correct answer to his question. You didn’t want to give yourself away, or let him know that you were aware of his history, but you had to make sure he knew you weren’t going to conform to his rules this time.

“To make sure I didn’t forget about our conversation, yesterday.” His eyes flickered to meet yours, curious that you caught on to his intent so quickly. “I didn’t forget, Sammy.” You whispered, voice barely breaking through the silence.

“You mean to tell me you had no intent when you opened the door like that?” His lips upturned in the corner, a smirk now painfully present. He was taunting you, begging for the upper hand to offset your head start. As much as he enjoyed your company, it did not make him completely willing to allow you control.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that, baby.” As you spoke, a flash of emotion crossed his eye, like a spark catching a fume of gasoline. As soon as it ignited, it burnt out in an instant. You weren’t sure if it was because he was covering his emotion, or if he was really that unbothered by the thought of you waiting for his brother. You were both well aware that the initial invitation inside was calling Jake’s name, rather than his. Still, that did not mean he was unwelcome, and he was planning to soak up every bit of hospitality you were willing to give him.

“So I am intruding?” He asked, expecting you to grovel for him to stay. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at his question.

“You’re not going to leave, Sam. Don’t pretend you will, because we both know it’s not true.” Instead of focusing on the shocked expression he was giving you, you held the bottle of wine to him, silently offering him a drink. Rather than responding, he took the bottle from you and unscrewed the cap, taking a long drink to wash down his distaste for you calling his bluff. He wasn’t sure what to expect of you, but this certainly wasn’t it. The version of you he’d seen yesterday was much different, timid and lovestruck by him. Now, you almost seemed bored, like you were waiting for him to prove himself to you. He was scared that Jake had already won the race, but fear was second to intrigue; he was enticed by the idea of winning you back. He was enticed by you, standing and speaking with so much confidence, your beauty never shining quite as bright as it did in that moment.

He knew he was an idiot for waiting so long, stupid for giving his brother a chance to make an advance. He was stupid for not letting you know how he felt about you sooner, always keeping his admiration silent and making you second guess yourself. He felt, if anything, he owed it to you to to let you express your distaste for his actions. So he played along, allowing you to rid yourself of any ill feelings, knowing he was bound to enjoy the process, anyway. Any attention from you was worth more than the world in his eyes. He let you take the lead, believing that he was doing it willingly; as much as he convinced himself that it was voluntary, he knew that you had him wrapped around your finger. The nights events would only solidify the fact even further, making the entanglement all the more dangerous.

That was the funny thing about your relationship; you both felt the need to harness control, but were both fools for each other. Desperately searching for a sense of power, but willing to give in at the simplest request. The defensive nature that you both tried to maintain, one that radiated with cockiness and carelessness for each other was just for show. You were one misspoken word away from cracking; the weight of his stare was overwhelming, begging to disrupt your entire process.

“Are you sure about that?” He asked, placing the bottle on the table, freeing his hands in anticipation of an advance. You gave him a soft smile, finding his confidence charming.

“So sure that if the time comes, I’ll even hold the door open for you.” Your words struck a nerve in him, but he didn’t break. “But, I’ll leave it unlocked, because I know you’ll come back.” His eyes were burning into you, making the temptation to reach out and touch him overwhelmingly strong. Still, you stood with your feet firmly planted to the ground, imploring him to make the first move. His head tilted to the side, watching you with curiosity. When he realized your play, a smile crossed his lips.

“So sure of yourself, but you haven’t done anything to make me want to stay, princess.” The pet name shook you to your core, shattering all of your values and consuming your thoughts with anything but purity. Both brothers were so charming, perfect with their words but in different ways. Jake made it unable to think about anything other than him, leaving you without a choice in wanting him. He stole the air from your lungs and made the suffering pleasurable. Sam gave you freedom of choice, but ensured to bury himself in every available thought, making the decision of keeping him around easier than anything else. The idea of choice was false from either side, but the ignorance to the truth was fantastic, making you believe you really had a say in the matter and in turn, making you fall for him further on your own accord. They were both evil, no doubt about that, but you were just as bad for allowing them the power over you.

“So far you haven’t done anything other than give me a headache.” You said, almost as if you were bored with the banter. You weren’t sure what came over you; the back talk, the taunting, the confidence all seemed to be new, summoned at the idea of Sam believing he was winning the argument. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was your annoyance with his insufferable attitude. Whatever it was, you had dug just deep enough under his skin for him to throw the act to the side. He was eager to get the rest of your clothes off, and the conversation was giving nothing other than annoyance to both of you. Without a response, he stepped towards you and pulled you into him by your hips in one swift motion. Before you could comprehend the sudden movement, his eyes were busy casting the familiar spell over you, drawing you into him without a second thought. Within a few seconds, his lips were on yours.

Your hand snaked around his neck, eager and accepting of the new position. The kiss was heated, different than the ones you had shared before. The bitterness of the wine lingered on your lips, offsetting the sweetness of your satisfaction. The gratification that coursed through your veins was heavily accredited to his willingness to give in, making you think that for a moment you had won the battle. In turn, that was true in a sense, but it had only laid the foundation for a war to begin. Your personal needs were fulfilled, the agenda was almost to completion, but the nagging voices in your mind were screaming at you to recognize that they were achieved at a cost. You wished, with his hands on you, his lips distracting you, that the voices would cease to exist. No matter which path you chose, there was some moral dilemma begging to be heard above the sinister power of the little devil that was controlling your every move. As delightful as his touch was, some part of you finally begun to understand that it was not the answer to your questions, or the solutions to your problems.

But, you were never one to deny pleasure, and pleasure was nothing compared to what he was capable of giving you.

You felt like you were melting into him, completely immersed in his presence and one with every movement. His hands were steady, holding you to him to make sure you knew he wasn’t backing down. Your chest was burning, heart racing at the idea of finally having him so intimately. Months of tension spent waiting for a moment of relief, begging for him to notice, was finally coming to an end, but not in a sweet confessional. It was heated, passionate and hungry, both of you feeling no need for any sort of formalities. The lust was primal, and seemingly desperate. Whether that was for each other, or just to prove a point, was unclear. Despite his arrogance moments earlier, he didn’t seem to have a plan in mind to progress. He wanted you to take charge, to allow yourself the opportunity to rid yourself of any frustrations or fears that you may have been experiencing previously. You were in control, and he was willing to do whatever he could to please you.

You parted for a moment, lungs aching for a breath. Your hands drifted downwards, fumbling with the bottom of his shirt. He released his hold, allowing you to pull it over his head and expose his upper body. Your eyes washed over his bare torso, wanting to admire him, but your hands were already guiding him backwards to one of the kitchen chairs. You felt like you were in a frenzy, needing to know every part of him and appreciate the detail, but unable to slow down to allow yourself to do so. You wanted all of him, but you wanted it right away. Waiting was out of the question; your patience had withered away long before he showed up at your doorstep.

Before he sat, he took a second to remove his jeans, leaving you both in the same position. Minimal fabric concealing the most intimate details, details that you were both eager to explore. Once he kicked his pants to the side, he allowed you to guide him down on the wooden chair. Before he could even settle himself in the seat, you had taken it upon yourself to make yourself comfortable in his lap. With your legs on either side of him, you placed your hand on his shoulder as you guided yourself into the new position. His hands found your hips again, showing his appreciation for your advance. He held you down on him, the small friction providing relief only for a few seconds.

“How’s that?” He hummed, the warmth of his palms searing into you, branding you with his touch. You knew in that moment, there was no escaping Sam. He had permanently engraved his essence within you, his name knotted around your tongue, his presence making home in your heart and his touch burrowing under your skin. He was like a parasite, showcasing it with his ability to latch on to you and take control, to slowly leech all life from you. The certain death was the most comforting part; you would never have to live without him, to feel the ache if he disappeared. “Still giving you that headache?” He mustered out, almost distracted from his jab by the slow roll of your hips against him. The gentle movement was barely causing any friction, yet it was grand enough to completely break his focus. You knew just as well as he did that your effect on him rivalled the one he had on you, and you were using it to your advantage.

“Shut up, Sam.” You snapped, feeling his hands find the clasp of your bra. With expert precision he unhooked it, the tension releasing instantly and the straps drifting down your shoulders.

“Hey, now. No need to be like that.” He cooed, the soft sound of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. The difference in bed between him and his brother was astounding; if you had spoke to Jake with even an ounce of the disrespect you were giving Sam, chastising would have been for certain, and punishment would be expected. Instead, Sam took the gentle approach, coaxing you with kindness to do what he do badly wanted. There was no authority in his tone or his touch, only need that could not be described with such simple words. He was completely at your disposal, willing to do anything you wanted with little argument. The similarities you’d seen previously had finally begun to divide, branching off to show you the different sides of both boys. Even with the differences, you still found yourself falling further for each of them with every moment that passed.

In one sense, your adoration for Sam was growing larger with every second, faster with every touch he ghosted over your skin. In another, the surge of emotion snowballed into guilt, feeling like you were betraying Jake by encouraging Sam’s advances. You vowed to fight, to settle the score and finish their endless battle for them, but you were slowly beginning to understand that the peace would come at risk of casualties; the casualty being you. Still, you walked into your own demise with content, just happy to be loved in the process. Your willingness to sacrifice your own sanity stemmed from the fact that the feeling of being loved by both boys was too grand to deny. As much as you wanted to believe your intent was selfless, that it was to protect lovers from future conflict like such, it was not wholly true. The biggest force was solely the desire to be with them, to be needed by them. You were drowning in your own feelings, but the water was warm, more comforting than the thought of never swimming again.

His fingers drifted over your shoulders, begging you to move just enough so he could remove the red fabric from you. You adhered to his silent plea, moving back from him and allowing him to slip the straps from your arms. He lazily tossed the bra to the floor, not even bothering to notice where it landed. Instead, his eyes were focused only on you, engraving the memory into his brain forever. His curious hands drifted to where the bra had been previously concealing you, his thumb brushing over your nipple, soft enough that you could have missed it. He leaned forward, lips connecting with the sensitive skin on your neck. He familiarized himself with you, his movements slow but calculated.

When the first breathy moan slipped past your lips, he was sure he could die in that moment, more content than he’d ever been. His actions were seemingly genuine, like all he was doing was for the sake of your pleasure. It was partially true, and he was happy that he could give you what you wanted, but it was more than that; every touch, kiss, all of the silent encouragement was selfishly motivated. Much like his brother, he was determined to make you fall victim to him, just so you never wanted to leave. The game was natural to them, but losing you was not something he was willing to do. As much as he hated to sacrifice his brothers feelings for his own sake, he didn’t care. In the end, he wanted you no matter the sacrifice or strife, and he was certain of it. For the time being, he made it a mission to make your decision easy, to make you want to come to him, to fall in to his arms as if you’d always belonged there.

He lowered his mouth, capturing your nipple in his mouth. A soft flick of his tongue over the sensitive bud sent a shiver down your spine. Your back arched, allowing him easier access to your chest. As you did so, his erection pressed further into your heat, intensifying your arousal. His mouth focused on one breast while his hand found your other. The two different sensations created a whole new feeling for you, quickly realizing that he also had a touch of magic within him as well. As if it were your new mantra, you found yourself blaming it on the Kiszka charm once again. You felt as if you’d been reciting that in your head more than anything else, chalking up every moment to a universal aura all of the siblings possessed. Deep down, you knew it was likely because they knew you, that they’d studied you in attempt to understand what would win you over, and now they were using it to their own advantage. Still, ignorance was easier to choke down than truth, and the truth was that charm was part of the game.

You found your hips grinding into him more as his tongue moved with expert precision. He was growing more excited by the second, eager to get the rest of your clothes off and get a taste of the mess he’d created. His hand wandered down, tickling the soft skin of your torso as he searched for something more. Eventually, his fingers knotted through the side of your underwear, the lace tempting him too much to withstand. He let his fingers rest for a moment as he removed his mouth from your nipple, barely giving you time to process the loss before his free hand was guiding your head down to meet him in a kiss. It was a messy show of tangled lips and curious tongues, nothing desirable about the sloppiness, yet more inviting than anything else you could imagine.

Little by little, his parasitic nature began to suck the life from you, beginning with your own morality. The more you had of him, the more the cloud of guilt floated away. No thoughts of Jake, or his hands that you’d been begging for only moments before Sam’s arrival. The only thing that mattered was your growing impatience and how badly you wanted him inside you. When you parted from him, you were both fighting for a full breath, lungs burning with something bigger than just a lack of oxygen; overwhelmed by the pure desire surrounding you. “Stand up for me.” He managed out through a long exhale. You did as he pleased, but ensured that the process was drawn out, teasing him as you did so. Once you were planted on your feet, he took it upon himself to rid you of the red lace that left little to the imagination. Once they dropped to your ankles, he sucked in a long breath in attempt to cover the shock on his face.

He couldn’t hide the look of adoration his eyes were glistening with, overwhelmed at the thought of finally being with you so intimately. He would have told you that you were gorgeous, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but his words seemed to fail him. Seeing you fully exposed before him seemed to cause a short circuit in his brain, unable to comprehend the feelings he had for you in that moment. It was a slow build up, letting him believe he was in control of how hard he was falling for you, allowing him to think that you didn’t have any power over him. The bliss that he felt in that moment told him all he needed to know; he was in love with you, falling harder and faster than he ever had. There was no stoping it, no cushion to break the fall, and the only way to protect himself was to make you love him, too.

He was certain his brother felt the same pull, the same adoration and the same love. It was only then he realized that the world they had been living in was far more dangerous than it had ever been before. This time, the love was real, and catastrophic. Neither could bear the thought of losing, and they were pulling you in both directions as they fell opposite of each other. The cushion of protection that brotherhood provided only extended so far, and the truth of this heartbreak stretched far beyond covered ground. As he reached out for you, slowly turning you around and guiding you backwards to him, he tried to push the thought away. As your legs found home on either side of him, the warmth of your back searing into the skin of his chest, he knew it was here to stay. When his hand drifted between your legs, fingers dancing through the wetness and finding their way to your clit, he didn’t care. Your head fell back on his shoulder, eyes fluttered shut in bliss at the relief he was giving you.

“Oh, god.” You sighed, immediately causing him to close his eyes, too. The sound alone was enough to make him forget any worry in the world. His free hand returned to your breast, gently playing with your nipple as he focused on your clit. He was painfully hard, almost unable to hold himself back from fucking you right then, but he persevered. Getting you off was the only thing he cared about. In that moment, he was living for it. Your head turned inward towards his own, your forehead resting against his cheek, silently begging for more contact with him. He turned his head towards you, enjoying every bit of affection you would permit.

“Is that better, princess?” His voice was low, vibrating through you with an intensity you could barely comprehend. He was barely touching you, barely giving you anything at all, but he was driving you crazy. Every small touch or slight movement was a million times more powerful than they appeared. You worried that you were tangled in his web, too, your limbs tied down with no hope for freedom. Even with the restraint, the unwillingness to accept the inevitable consequence of being intertwined with him indefinitely, some part of you you knew you would be okay, because he would take care of you. He would always take care of you, and you knew that from the minute his hands touched you.

You thought it ought to be impossible, to be so intricately woven within both boys, to be tied down willingly even with the knowledge that there was no way out. After all, how could you be so immersed in two different worlds? The question hammered against your skull as his fingers danced through your cunt, pushing you to the brink of an orgasm without any effort. The words grew louder as the knot in your belly tightened, the stimulation of your nipple pinched between his fingers driving you even closer to the edge. As he turned his head and caught you in another kiss, you thought the pondering would be silenced, that the voice would fade into nothing. While his tongue danced with yours, sadistically paired with the expertise of his hands, the question was indefinitely answered. The web was the same, just much larger and complex than you originally understood. It was completely possible to be trapped by both brothers because their web was identical, and over years of playing their same disastrous games, they had intertwined and become one.

Danny was right in saying that it was impossible to fall for one and not the other, but not because of their similarities. Sure, they had lots in common, but that was not the driving force that made it so easy to love both. They were different in many ways, and you could tell just by how Sam was touching you, how he chose to love you in that moment. Different than Jake, but fantastic all the same. You loved both with the same intensity, but for all different reasons. In the struggle, it was easy to view the feelings as identical because you never had a moment to slow down and think of it any other way. It was possible to fall for both of them so intensely because they made it so; their whole exterior was a guise, perfectly crafted in retaliation to the feeling of insecurity and inferiority. Mistakes from their younger days led them to believe that the pattern was set in stone, rather than something they allowed. Instead of changing, working towards the common goal, they played into the idea that they were never going to escape the curse. You had fallen for both of them so quickly because they moulded into one mindset, mirroring each other in the worst ways.

The boys were different, much more than you had perceived before. You wished that with the realization, picking one over the other would be so much easier. As Sam coaxed you into an orgasm, sending a wave of pleasure through you so intense that you couldn’t catch your breath, you knew it wasn’t true. In the few short days they had spent trying to win you over, you’d fallen for them as individuals. Caught in the same web, but in love with two different versions of it. One side was not greener than the other, nor more promising, which made it all the more painful. As you came down, skin tingling with the ghost of pleasure, you clung to him for comfort. The warmth of his skin was inviting, so inviting that it was easy to ignore the warnings your brain wished you would adhere to. There was no hope for a brighter side, and it didn’t matter who you chose in the end, because they had both planted the seed of promise within your brain. Promise of love, happiness, comfort, and the thought of losing either was excruciating. Different as they may be, the euphoric feeling of being loved by them was all the same.

Suffering was a promise coated with momentary gain. Nobody was in control, and you were all finally beginning to understand.

Once you had regained your senses, Sam prompted you to sit up for a moment. You hovered above him, allowing him the chance to free himself from his boxers. He barely had the fabric out of the way before he was guiding you back down to him, lining his cock with your entrance as he did so. There was a slight moment of hesitancy from both of you, but it was quickly forgotten when he pulled you down on him fully, your ass meeting his hips as he bottomed out inside of you. A shared groan of relief sounded from both of you, as if it was something you’d been waiting for your whole lives. He pulled your upper half back to his chest, reaching around to find your clit again. Once you’d recovered from the overwhelming feeling of him inside you, you began to rock your hips. He didn’t move his fingers, letting you set the friction with the pace of your hips. It was a small injustice, one that drove you insane. His generosity weakened and he was silently telling you that if you wanted more, you had to work for it.

You sped your movements, finding your will to argue with Sam completely non-existent. Arguing with Jake was fun, because you knew you went into the conversation with no chance of coming out on top. With Sam, it was a ruthless battle. You could both scream until you were blue in the face and neither of you would give in. You could spend all night running in circles, or get yourself off on your own accord, and you chose the latter. Your only hope was that he felt the same about you, and when it was your turn for a command, he would oblige with the same enthusiasm. As you sunk back down on him, he was unable to hold back the sound of pleasure that slipped through his lips. It only served as motivation, telling you that he was just as crazy for it as you were.

He had one hand firmly on your waist, fingers decorating the soft flesh with enough pressure for you to notice, but not near enough to hurt you. His touch radiated caution and care, so unlike the hands you had on you the night before. “This is what you came over for, isn’t it?” You hummed, your head tilted back and his cheek pressed against yours. He refused to answer, but didn’t change his position. “Tell me, Sam.” You ordered, but the tone was gentle, coaxing it from him at his own pace rather than forcing it.

“Fuck, yes,” he finally said, hissing his answer through clenched teeth. Your eyes closed at the sound, pleased at his answer but not completely satisfied with him yet.

“Is it as good as you thought it would be?” You taunted, not changing your pace but coming down on him with more force each time. “Exactly what you dreamed of?”

“Yeah, baby.” He nodded against you, sucking in a sharp breath as you rolled your hips on him. “You feel so good, even better than I imagined.” His voice was strained, like he was trying to fight back a moan as he spoke. A smirk played at the corner of your lips, content to have him in such a mess below you.

“God, you do too.” You sighed, realizing that if he was willing to be so kind, you would, too. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Sammy.” The statement caused his fingers to tighten on you and his pressure on your clit to increase. A moan fell from you, content with his effort. He was just happy you were enjoying yourself. In a twisted turn of events, you understood that in that specific scenario, he was existing solely to please you. So many months wasted pinning after him, and he had been so eager to make you feel good the whole time. As if it were a silent apology from both of you, he was doing so now, and praising him only seemed right.

“Now you have me, princess.” He whispered, leaning down and placing a few kisses on your shoulder. The small act of love was heartwarming, but you didn’t let it deter you from the filthy things you wanted him to do to you. “I’m all yours.” You swallowed hard at the statement, not quite ready to bear the weight of it yet.

“Just like that, baby.” You gasped, shifting slightly in hopes that he would continue hitting the same spot inside you. The circles he was rubbing into your clit were steady, ruthless in their efforts to get you to another climax. You sped the pace, the tip of his cock hitting the most sensitive spot inside you from the new angle. “M’gonna cum,” you warned, praying he would keep his rhythm.

“Yeah?” He asked, his tone hopeful and anything but condescending. You let out a murmur of agreement, your eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. Your forehead was glistening with sweat, the position clearly taking a bit more energy than you anticipated. The strands of his hair that were in disarray were tickling the skin of your shoulders, a simple beauty in the mess of vulgarity. He was beautiful, and so was the way he was making you feel. It seemed as though he worshiped the ground you walked on, ecstatic that he even had the opportunity to please you. Like your words had changed his demeanour, morphed him into something you never expected from him. He was so witty and even snarky by times, and you fully expected that persona to carry over from every day life to the bedroom. Instead, he was almost a different person, desperate to make you feel good and even willing to be chastised in the process. Had you attempted to tease Jake, you would be met with nothing rewarding. The difference was astounding.

“Oh, fuck Sam!” You whined, the muscles in your abdomen tensing as a wave of pleasure washed over you. The pressure had reached its peak, leaving your legs shaking and hands gripping at him for support.

“There you go, princess.” He breathed, in awe at the elegance of you, even in such a dirty way. “Did that feel good?” Once again, the vibration of his voice resonated throughout your body, settling under your skin and igniting every nerve.

“Felt so good, baby.” You assured him. Without another word, he lifted you off him, keeping a hand on you to support you. With a swift motion, he cleared the clutter of the table with a swipe of his hand. Most items were pushed backwards, some toppling over and some papers floating to the ground with grace. You watched as the items settled in their new positions, a spark of intrigue filling you. He turned to you, picking you up with ease and settling you on the now empty spot on the kitchen table. “Hi,” you let out a small giggle, processing the change of position. As he nestled between your legs, you couldn’t help but feel a fleeting moment of innocent joy. The soft features of his face, beautifully crafted and meant to be admired. The hair cascading down his shoulders, framing every detail in the most elegant way. The dim overhead light and the sun from the window painting him with a bit of a golden glow. It was all too much to overlook, too profound to go unnoticed. He was perfect, unbearably compelling, and the tug on your heartstrings from the sight was irrefutable. You couldn’t help but take the moment, even if it broke the momentum of sex.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He smiled, eyes drifting over your face and admiring you in the same way. After a moment of silent appreciation, he pulled you into a kiss. It was sweet, but it didn’t last for long and the blame was shared between both of you. The need for more was obvious, and the tender action quickly turned messy, desperate, even. You felt him line himself up with you again, but you broke away and stopped him before he could advance. He looked at you with worry, wondering if he overstepped. You shook your head, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently guiding him towards the floor.

After a moment, he caught on to your demand. He sunk to his knees, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it himself. He was so worked up that he hadn’t even taken the time to fully grasp what was in front of him. He placed a few kisses to your thighs, gentle and loving, building up to what you so badly wanted. He hooked his arm under your leg and gently guided you to the edge of the table. He didn’t waste too much time, not wanting you to lose interest in the action. He ran his tongue through you, savouring the taste of your arousal. He let out a hum of pleasure, letting you know he was more than grateful to have you like that. Your hand found his hair, tangling in the locks of brown. You watched him, eyes glazed with lust, realizing how many times you wished you could have him exactly as he was. You didn’t have the chance to dwell for too long, his tongue quickly finding your already quite sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your head fell back, too focused on the feeling to watch him any longer. His initial exploration was long forgotten about, eager to get you to another climax. Part of it was selfish, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you again, but most of it was desperation to make you feel such a way again. The knowledge that he could make you feel so good was worth more than the world to him. He was sure there was no greater motivator in the universe. His tongue was focused on your clit, relentless in its pursuit of an orgasm. His fingers were grasping your thigh, holding you to him like he was scared you would get away. Little did he know, that was the last thing you ever wanted to do. You wished you could stay like this with him forever.

After a moment, he added his fingers to you, pumping them in with a slight curl every time. The added stimulation made it impossible for you to hold back any moans. Your grip on his hair was tight, and if you weren’t so lost in the pleasure, you would be in fear of hurting him. It didn’t bother him, though. If anything, it drove him further, making him enjoy the experience even more. He was crazy for you, and he knew that in that moment, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to have you like this again. His previous concern about Jake and his feelings were obsolete. The need to be with you was greater than his worry of hurting his brother. Even if someone was bound to get harmed, he was just happy to have you for the time being. Even if you didn’t choose him. After all, having you for a brief moment was better than never having you at all.

“S-Sammy,” you whimpered, eyes squeezed shut at the pure ecstasy of his mouth. He hummed against you, acknowledging your exclamation without breaking away from you. “Fuck that feels so good.” You groaned, the words ripping from your chest in a violent manner. He used the praise as motivation, ensuring his movements were consistent to give you the most pleasure he could. Although his pace was slow, it did not mean it wasn’t impactful. He flattened his thumb against your cunt, pulling his mouth back only slightly so he could slip the digit just below his lip. The pause in movement took you for surprise, making you wonder what he was doing. After a few seconds, he continued on and answered your question immediately. A sharp gasp sounded, the slight change introducing you to a whole different type of pleasure.

With every upstroke of his tongue, he brought his thumb up under it, keeping it in time with his tongue. The new feeling made it so your clit was constantly stimulated, never giving him a chance to miss a beat. He continued pumping his fingers in you, the curl hitting your g-spot with ease. There was no doubt the brothers talent on their instruments had contribution to their skillful hands, but you had no idea to what extent it would be. Now, you were certain that every lifetime lived would only be worth it if it was spent with a guitarist. “Please don’t stop,” you pleaded, drawing in a long breath. The burning in the pit of your stomach was intense, easily telling you that he didn’t have to work for much longer. One last pump of his fingers was all you needed. When you came, it was more intense than the ones he had previously given you. You were clenched around his fingers, your legs shaking and your fingers knotted tightly in his hair. You struggled to catch your breath, your chest burning for air and your head swimming with nothing meaningful.

When he noticed your body relax, he slowly tapered his pace. When he fully removed himself from you, you felt disappointment at the lack of attention. He smiled up at you, noticing the look of displeasure on your features. Slowly, he rose back to his feet and made home between your legs again. “You taste so good, princess. Could do that all day.” He said, his words sincere and no hint of a lie in his expression.

“It was so good, Sammy. You make me feel so good.” You sighed, pulling his upper body into you. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into an embrace. You weren’t sure if it was because you were craving the comfort after such an earth-shattering orgasm, or if you were craving him. Either way, the comfort that came from the feeling of his arms around you was unexplainable. He placed a kiss to the top of your head, flooding your body with a type of warmth you can only feel from another person. He held you there, feeling the same way that you were. He never wanted to leave, never wanted to let you go, and it was dangerous. Much like his brother, he had to face the reality that you weren’t his. At least, not yet.

“Can I fuck you, please?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. It was an attempt to ward off the ache that settled within him, knowing he would walk out of the house with no promise of more.

“You want to fuck me?” You asked, pulling back to look up at his face. He met your eyes, giving you a nod. You watched his face, wondering if you wanted to allow him the opportunity so soon. There was a slight glimmer of hope in his eye, one that you couldn’t look past. “Since you did such a good job,” you teased, a small smile on your lips. “You can fuck me, baby.” You said, the permissive statement sparking him into action immediately. His hands shot to your hips, pulling you just a little closer to the edge. You leaned back slightly, allowing him easier access. His hand trailed to your thigh, landing on your knee and pulling your leg up and around him. You locked it there, drawing him in closer as he lined himself up with your entrance.

He pushed into you, both of you letting out a sigh of relief at the feeling. He thrusted his hips slow at first, giving you time to adjust to him again. You appreciated his patience, you were sensitive from the events that had already ensued, and him caring about your comfort more than his satisfaction meant a lot. After a moment, you were well acclimated and wanted more. You guided his body closer to you, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. He responded enthusiastically, happy for the new invitation. Your tongue danced over his bottom lip, driving him crazy and inevitably causing him to quicken his pace. The angle in which the position allowed was deliciously precise, the tip of his cock reaching your cervix as he thrusted. The small jolt of pain was immensely noticeable, but just as pleasant as every other sensation.

You were certain that anything would be delightful as long as Sam was the one doing it.

You let a moan slip into his mouth, unintentional but perfectly good for him. His fingers seared into your skin, tightening at the sound. You were having a hard time keeping your lips to his with the way he was pounding into you. Your leg that was locked around him attempted to pull him closer, even if it was impossible. You wanted to be immersed in him, for his being to suffocate you. You never wanted to leave the moment, never wanted him to stop touching you. Every nerve was ablaze with months of tension finally coming to an end. Your skin was on fire, not with heat, but with the pure electricity his body was giving off. It felt perfect, like this was exactly where you should be. The decision to be with Sam should have been easy, especially when you were feeling like such. Still, there was a little voice in your head telling you that something wasn’t right, and you couldn’t rely on the feeling because you felt the same way with Jake.

You felt despicable even thinking of his brother while engaging in such an act, but the thought was fleeting, never lasting for too long but always appearing when you least expected it. Much like poison slowly creeping into your veins and overthrowing your own body. It was killing you, but was so good, so similar to a drug. Both of the boy’s love was branded with toxicity and was dangerously volatile, but always left you wanting more. Left you believing that you couldn’t live without it. “I need you to cum again, princess.” He pleaded. The words cut through your thoughts like a blade, shattering any abstraction of anything other than him. He was close, begging you for one more climax before he reached his own.

He had done a fantastic job pleasing you, ridding you of any indignation you held for him in the previous hours. With the offer of his body alone, he’d managed to erase any ill feelings in an instant, and in such a selfless manner. You thought you could give in, allow him what he wanted at his request. If you wanted to, you could make him go all night, and you were sure he would oblige. You certainly wouldn’t mind, but you had a streak of sympathy for him in that moment, feeling generous enough to give him a break. His hard work was appreciated, and you had gotten far more than you originally hoped for. “Are you close, baby?” You asked, using your free hand to cup his cheek in your hand. He gave a nod, leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours. “You want to cum with me?” You pried, wanting a verbal answer from him.

“Fuck, yes.” He groaned. Seeing him in such a state was enough to drive you over the edge. His desperation was thrilling; you couldn’t help but feel your ego inflating at the thought. You’d spent so long desperate to have him, and now that the roles were reversed, you couldn’t help but revel in it for a while. “Please, y/n, want it so bad.” The begging was new to you, never having experienced it from someone else. You’d been on the other end of it before, but receiving it was a whole new level of gratification. You didn’t want to make him grovel for too long, but we’re certain to remember the feeling for next time, just to ensure you could experience it again. You didn’t have to make him wait, anyway, because your next orgasm was approaching fast.

“Oh, god.” You growled, the sound primal and your grasp on him feral.

“That’s it, princess.” He encouraged, his grip tightening again. Every feeling was euphoric, otherworldly, almost. You had yet to comprehend the truth of the situation, that you were actually with Sam, and not just in another daydream or fantasy. He was in front of you, inside you, with his hands all over your body and his name embedded into your tongue.

“Fuck!” You choked out, abdomen rigid as your muscles contracted. You uttered his name, a gentle allowance for him to cum, too. He pulled you into another kiss, silencing any further admissions. You couldn’t help but let a whimper out, muffled by his lips on yours. That was all it took for him to reach his peak, both of your orgasms crashing over you at once. His movement halted, his hands pulling you into him as he spilled his release into you.

You were a mess of tangled limbs, glistening with sweat and surrounded by muttered noises of pleasure. Long after the climax, even after your bodies were relaxed and recovered from the excitement, you were both still wrapped around each other with no sign of release. He rested inside you, fingers ghosting over the spot he’d been previously holding. Your palm was cupping his cheek, keeping him close with no intention of letting him go. His forehead was on yours, both of your eyes closed in bliss, basking in the comfort of each other for as long as you could. His lips were hovering over yours, tempted by the thought of kissing you again. You ended his internal debate, capturing him in a sweet kiss, wanting it just as bad.

Time passed, filled with kisses and whispers of adoration and appreciation for each other. It was tender, loving and inviting. It was a moment you wanted to live in forever without fear of ever losing it. His touch was gentle, like he was scared you were made of glass and he’d break you with one wrong move. He thought you were perfect enough to be framed, to be an exhibit in the most prestigious art museum, but even that wouldn’t do you any justice. He wanted to speak, to tell you everything he’d held back for so long, to show you that he felt the same for you and he was foolish for waiting so long. His silence was thick, heavy in the air. He’d fallen victim to his cowardice, the same way you and Jake had. So many feelings ready to burst at the seam, but never enough courage to speak them aloud. All three of you held the belief that if it was left unspoken, it would hurt less when the inevitable downfall occurred.

“Let’s get cleaned up?” He offered, but his chest ached at the thought of breaking from you. You gave a small nod, head heavy with exhaustion and intoxication. Instead of pulling away, he wrapped his arms around you with caution, carefully picking you up off the table. He carried you to the bathroom before he finally let you stand on your own.

You both cleaned up, ridding yourselves of the dirty act you had committed. An invitation of a shower bounced around your soul, but the fear of rejection was far too large to speak it into existence. Instead, when you were both ready, you led him to your bedroom. You searched for a moment, locating a t-shirt that hung down to your thighs. You slipped it over your head as Sam disappeared, likely in search of his own clothes. He returned a moment later clad in just his boxers, carrying the other articles of clothing in his hand. He discarded them on the floor again, not caring where they ended up. You were both caught in wordless comfort, not wanting to disturb the peace in fear of saying something wrong. You took a seat on the edge of the bed, holding a hand out for him to join. A small smile crossed his lips, happy at the idea that you wanted him to stay.

He disregarded your gesture, climbing in behind you and wrapping his arms around your torso. He gently pulled you back as he laid down, settling you in his arms, pressing you firmly against his chest. You let out a giggle of delight, content at the position. Even though your back was to him and you couldn’t see his face, you knew he had a grin plastered on his cheeks. He grabbed a fistful of blanket, carelessly pulling the comforter over you both. The warmth surrounded you with more welcome than you anticipated, the familiar feeling immediately prompting a wave of tiredness. The sound of slow breathing filled the room, heartbeats in sync and all worry subsided. Within moments, you’d both drifted into a slumber that not even an earthquake could disturb.

A little while later, you woke with a start. Shuffling behind you and the stab of cool air penetrated the aura of comfort you had created. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, groggy and disheveled from the deep slumber you had just been in. You looked up, noticing that Sam was cautiously climbing from the bed, trying not to disturb you. He didn’t notice your open eyes until he had pulled his shirt over his head and turned to check on you. “You’re leaving?” You asked, voice gravelly and laced with confusion.

“Oh, yeah. I have to get home.” He said, a note of sympathy ringing from him. It seemed like he wanted to disappear before any conversation could begin.

“Oh,” you said, trying not to let your disappointment show. Now that your eyes were fully open, your head was pounding from the hangover beginning. You cursed the wine for being so easy to drink, knowing you were in for a night of discomfort. “That’s okay. Thanks for coming over, it was nice.” You managed out, eyebrows furrowed from the pulse of pain beating against your skull. You tried to make the words sound as genuine as possible, not wanting any awkwardness to ruin the evening you shared. He pulled on his pants, then leaned down over you and placed a kiss to your lips.

“It was my pleasure.” He assured you, giving you a small smile. “I’ll see you soon?” You nodded, unable to fight back a smile in return.

“Yeah, text me later or whatever.” You tried to pass the comment off with nonchalance, but you were really hoping he would.

“Of course.” He said, kissing you once more. The temptation was just too strong to resist. With that, he straightened up, bidding a small goodbye and disappeared through your bedroom door. You pulled the blanket to your chest, feeling a fizzle of sadness spark in your heart. Perhaps the night you spent with Jake had conditioned you to believe that your entanglements were more than they actually were. In truth, they were nothing greater than messy hookups, even if you all had feelings buried deep below the surface.

You heard the front door shut followed by silence filling the home, screaming emptiness and seclusion again. You stayed stagnant for a moment, wondering if sleep was the best option to rid the looming sense of loneliness that made fast work at creeping back in. Instead of focusing on it, you crawled out of bed and faced the cool air. Your head ached as you stood, but you figured water and advil was the only sure way you would get any decent sleep. Plus, the thought of waking twice to the same violent hangover was too miserable to chance. So you trudged down the hallway, still slightly disoriented from the nap you couldn’t seem to pull yourself completely out of. When you saw the state of the kitchen, you felt the overwhelming urge to turn around and go back to bed.

There were papers strewn across the room, the table a mess of items that Sam had thrown into disarray. Your lingerie decorated the hardwood floor and the chair you and Sam had favoured was still a showpiece in the middle of the room. Your wine bottle that was barely broken into was begging you to take another sip, but you threw it in the fridge to fight the temptation. You grabbed a bottle of water, wasting no time chugging it down. The hydration felt nice, but it was no competition for the amount of alcohol you had consumed earlier that day. You searched the cabinet above your fridge for some painkillers, taking two and leaving the bottle out for the night.

You slowly picked up the mess of paper on your floor, neatly arranging it back on the table. You pushed the chair back in its place and collected the red lace that was taunting you with your bad decisions. Your focus fell back on the table, straightening some things up and making it look more presentable. As you finished the task, your eye caught sight of something laying underneath the stack of papers. You froze, eyes wide and heart thudding against your ribs. You reached out, slowly retrieving your phone from the mess. A sense of dread washed over you, scared to turn the screen on, realizing that you would likely be met by a plethora of missed messages from Jake. When Sam arrived, the whirlwind of events allowed for your previous arrangements with Jake to completely slip your mind. Or, perhaps you shoved them to the side intentionally. Either way, you were certain that the hours without a response hadn’t gone unnoticed, and you were certain he was not happy about it.

Part of you had a small thrill at the idea of him being pissed off, hoping the confrontation would turn into something quite enjoyable for you. There was a bigger, more imminent fear that he was genuinely just going to be angry at you, especially if he knew the reason as to why you were ignoring him. You were crushed at the idea of him being upset, even if his own game was the reason behind the hurt. As much as you hated to admit it, the feelings you had for him were very real and ran much deeper than lust. You tapped the screen, turning it on in an instant. When you registered the entirety of the missed notifications, your heart dropped. Two missed calls, and three texts.

You clicked the notification bars, nervous for the impact. The first two were light, mostly teasing you for the way he had ended the call. Then, when those went unanswered, he called. No voicemail, but you were sure he was tempted to leave one. Fifteen minutes later, he tried again. The second missed call really struck a nerve in him, because the third text came much later and was far heavier than the previous two. No loving undertone or lighthearted demeanour, just blunt and upfront.

Jacob

Have it your way, angel. Two can play that game.

Your stomach churned with unease, unsure exactly what he meant by the statement. Your ignoring him was not intentional, but after your behaviour earlier, there was no way in hell that he would believe you, now. Even if he did, how could you explain yourself without making yourself sound even more like a villain. You collapsed in the kitchen chair, head hung low and shame washing over you once again. You thought you ought to take the loss, move on and realize you messed up. Apologize, even, and rectify the mistake so hopefully he would accept it. But, the little devil was louder still, begging you to answer, pretend nothing happened at all just to feel his touch again, or even just to get him to call so you could hear his voice. Instead of doing either, you set your phone down, realizing it was best left alone until the morning.

You trudged back to bed, trying to rid yourself of the ache that settled in your bones. Most of it was due to the regret you felt about doing such a thing to Jake, but the other part because you felt like nothing more than a forgetful hookup to Sam. He’d been so loving during sex that it was almost earth-shattering when he seemed to be in so much of a rush to leave. With Jake, he stayed all night, tangled in your blankets and your heart, playing house for as long as he could. The sex with him was far from sweet, but the aftermath was astoundingly different. Your head was swimming, unsure of how to feel or how to know which was better. You closed your eyes, once again stuck in the rut of falling in love with the Kiszka’s. You begged for sleep, wondering if the despondent feeling would ever subside.

Rulers make bad lovers

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts

153 notes · View notes

dailychapel · 2 years ago

Text

Galatians 1:1–24 NLT - 1 This letter is from Paul, an apostle. I was not appointed by any group of people or any human authority, but by Jesus Christ himself and by God the Father, who raised Jesus from the dead. 2 All the brothers and sisters here join me in sending this letter to the churches of Galatia. 3 May God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ give you grace and peace. 4 Jesus gave his life for our sins, just as God our Father planned, in order to rescue us from this evil world in which we live. 5 All glory to God forever and ever! Amen. 6 I am shocked that you are turning away so soon from God, who called you to himself through the loving mercy of Christ. You are following a different way that pretends to be the Good News 7 but is not the Good News at all. You are being fooled by those who deliberately twist the truth concerning Christ. 8 Let God's curse fall on anyone, including us or even an angel from heaven, who preaches a different kind of Good News than the one we preached to you. 9 I say again what we have said before: If anyone preaches any other Good News than the one you welcomed, let that person be cursed. 10 Obviously, I'm not trying to win the approval of people, but of God. If pleasing people were my goal, I would not be Christ's servant. 11 Dear brothers and sisters, I want you to understand that the gospel message I preach is not based on mere human reasoning. 12 I received my message from no human source, and no one taught me. Instead, I received it by direct revelation from Jesus Christ. 13 You know what I was like when I followed the Jewish religion--how I violently persecuted God's church. I did my best to destroy it. 14 I was far ahead of my fellow Jews in my zeal for the traditions of my ancestors. 15 But even before I was born, God chose me and called me by his marvelous grace. Then it pleased him 16 to reveal his Son to me so that I would proclaim the Good News about Jesus to the Gentiles. When this happened, I did not rush out to consult with any human being. 17 Nor did I go up to Jerusalem to consult with those who were apostles before I was. Instead, I went away into Arabia, and later I returned to the city of Damascus. 18 Then three years later I went to Jerusalem to get to know Peter, and I stayed with him for fifteen days. 19 The only other apostle I met at that time was James, the Lord's brother. 20 I declare before God that what I am writing to you is not a lie. 21 After that visit I went north into the provinces of Syria and Cilicia. 22 And still the Christians in the churches in Judea didn't know me personally. 23 All they knew was that people were saying, "The one who used to persecute us is now preaching the very faith he tried to destroy!" 24 And they praised God because of me.

Lord God Almighty, shaper and ruler of all creatures, we pray for your great mercy, that you guide us towards you, for we cannot find our way.

And guide us to your will, to the need of our soul, for we cannot do it ourselves. And make our mind steadfast in your will and aware of our soul’s need.

Strengthen us against the temptations of the devil, and remove from us all lust and every unrighteousness, and shield us against our foes, seen and unseen.

Teach us to do your will, that we may inwardly love you before all things with a pure mind. For you are our maker and our redeemer, our help, our comfort, our trust, our hope; praise and glory be to you now and forever.

0 notes

kyglow · 3 months ago

Text

coming face to face with her as he didn't have any urgency to need to move out of her way but rather intended to remain to keep her courted and trapped between himself and with the kitchen sink directly behind her. his lips twisted into a wry smirk which was faint however he favoured and adored what he deemed to be his pet with a flood of memories flashing by of her time in his cult he managed and governed only to have been disappointed and frustrated to the point he had a rush of fury and malice deciding that if he were to come across her he would make his pet's life a living nightmare showing her to all horrors beyond belief yet all those feelings seemed to evade his mind and body with the temptation to feed and fuck his pet to keep her with him instead of to commit and act upon ill intentions. his lips were stained with her blood as she had an insatiable unique taste to her for it was sweeter than most. a chill ran down his back when met with the pleasant soothed sensation of her palms running down his torso as he welcomed her touch. breath hitched when he felt her fingers clasped around his thick firm shaft only to experience the ample slow pumps she provided his cock with.

surprised internally and baffled that she dared to have authority over him to command him to do as she wanted yet he would be so polite to comply with her request not saying anything at all at first. moving his callous hand down he gently grabbed her by the wrist and moved her hand away from his shaft. releasing her from his tender grip his hand would then return to his shaft and proceeded to follow her instructions as he pumped his length from his tip to his hilt. his strokes would begin to increase as he felt the rise of pressure now mounting in his member which twitched against his palm. " when you ran away i wanted to hunt you down and torture you. i wanted to wrap my hands around your throat and choke you. " he breathed out in a tense manner only to then follow up with "now that i am here standing before you i've changed my mind as i simply want to have you as my pet. " he admitted unashamedly in a husky voice. eyes stared directly into her own only to then grin. " that was a rumour, by the way, started from vampires that to fuck a vampire is one of the best purest moments ever but the truth is it's a brutal, strenuous and harsh experience for anyone to endure to the point where most people seem to break. " miguel was teasing her due to his twisted wicked sense of humour although he didn't care if it would frighten her remaining confident that their evening would still involve intimacy. " i doubt you'd be able to last an entire night with me, pet. " he snickered while he remained to gaze at her in a lecherous manner continuing to still stroke his cock to her

noa could feel miguel behind them, an imposing and shadowy presence, overwhelming. however, the years spent running away from this—from the cult, from everything—had turned them into someone fearful. but when his fingers pressed against their hip and his touch snaked up their delicate torso, it wasn’t cold fear that licked at their veins. the husky voice reverberated through their body, resonating in that sweet spot between their legs. they tried to protest, their full lips parting to tell him to back off, but they were betrayed by a timid moan. their nipples became erect; they were far too sensitive there.

their hands pressed against the edge of the sink, gripping it as their knees grew weak from the bite, moaning in a choked cry of pleasure, intoxicated by the sensation that coursed through their veins, mingling with the soft warmth of his lips against their skin. they could feel miguel stroking himself against their back, creating a need in them to turn and see him. " they say fuck with a vampire is an experience everyone should have at least once in their life. " they turned, thumb brushing over lips stained with their own blood, moaning softly as their head tilted back and his tongue grazed the bitten area. one of noa’s hands trailed down miguel’s torso, wrapping around the thick, hard, and warm length. they were startled by the size, swallowing hard as their hand slid up and down, lazily stroking him. " i want you to touch yourself for me, miguel. let me see how much you want me, then come and get it. "

#fruitzcake #m: miguel #* thank you.

4 notes · View notes

bitimdrake · 3 years ago

Text

batfam new 52 timeline, ver 1

Version 1, because I still have a few years of new 52 comics to read before I am out of hell, and those will presumably have more details. And wildly contradict this :) :) But here is my current best guess at the timeline, based on comics published from 2011-2012. @silverwhittlingknife

I’m using the very start of the New 52 as the origin point for all these numbers. Also, note that anything said to be “X years ago” isn’t necessarily exactly X years ago, so there’s room for rounding.

Jim Gordon has been on the force for at least a decade, but it could be multiple decades (Detective Comics #2).

Bruce left Gotham some time after his 18th birthday (Batman: The Dark Knight #0). We also know he started his training at least 10 years ago (DC#0). This makes his minimum age now 28. I hate it here.

Bruce returned to Gotham 7 years ago (DC#0, second story).

Bruce tried to operate as an un-costumed vigilante before becoming Batman 6 years ago (Batman #0). The Joker has also been active for 6 years (DC#1). Jim Gordon was a lieutenant at the time (Batman #0).

5 years ago: Tim was in middle school, and implied by dialogue to be the correct age for his grade; Jason had already lost his mother and was involved in petty crime; Barbara was in school (Batman #0, second story).

Dick’s parents died 5 years ago, on his mother’s birthday. He was initially taken to a Wayne Care Center. (Nightwing #0) I’ve heard people say he was 15 at the time, and others say 16, but I have yet to come across an explicit reference to either age.

Dick trained with Bruce and worked the computers for months while still under the care of the center, before becoming Robin (Nightwing #0).

Barbara, then in college, became Batgirl 4 years ago .

I don’t yet have an explicit reference to when Jason became Robin, but working backwards I am forced to say it was at least 3.5 years ago (see his resurrection below). He was with Bruce for two years (Red Hood and the Outlaws #4), with the first six months spent in training (RHatO#0).

(This means Dick was Robin for around 1.5 years, or less if we push Jason’s introduction back.)

Dick had an older, blue version of the Nightwing costume when Jason was Robin. While in that costume, at some point he worked with Roy and Kory. This is shown a single panel without explanation, so I have no other information here. (RHatO #6)

Still in college, Barbara moved on from Batgirl and then was shot and paralyzed 3 years ago (Batgirl #0). She was 17 at the time (Batgirl #16). She was in a wheelchair for those next 3 years (Batgirl #1). There has so far been no mention at all of Oracle and I am extremely upset.

Jason came back to life roughly 1.5 years ago, and Dick had swapped to his current red Nightwing costume by the time they fought (RHatO #2). In order to give Dick as much time as Robin as possible, I have opted to say Jason came back very soon after dying. But you could say he died even earlier if you’re willing to shorten Dick’s tenure.

Tim and Bruce met after Jason’s death, and Tim became Robin (Batman #1; Batman and Robin #1, #10; Teen Titans #1, Annual #1). Wait! No!! DC changed their mind!!!! He was never Robin; he was only ever Red Robin (TT#0, #15).

Just after his 10th birthday, also 1.5 years ago, Damian met his father (Batman and Robin #0).

(This means Tim had approximately twelve seconds as the youngest child, but it’s not like N52!Tim cares about Bruce or Robin or anything but his own ambitions anyway, so probably he doesn’t care.)

Barbara started treatment on her spine 1 year ago (Batgirl #4).

Barbara met future Birds of Prey Black Canary and Starling 1 year ago, while she was Batgirl, completely contradicting the 3 year injury timeline (Birds of Prey #0). Or...perhaps this was not a year ago, but shortly before the New 52 starts? See below.

Dick was Batman for almost a year (Nightwing #1). I’m not sure if there have actually been any references to Bruce being “dead” though, so who can fucking say if that happened.

The New 52 current time begins. Chronologically, the first Bat issue is Detective Comics #1. Barbara has recently become able-bodied and returned to being Batgirl. Dick has recently taken off the cowl and gone back to being Nightwing. Bruce and Damian have recently started working together as Batman and Robin, probably, I think, maybe. The characterization certainly feels like it, but we are short on details, so idk maybe they’ve been working together for ages.

Barbara is old enough to legally drink (Batgirl #2). Since we know she was 17 when shot 3 years ago, this must mean that “3 years” is rounding down a bit, and she is exactly 21 now.

Damian is still 10 (Batman and Robin #1, #4).

No other ages can be pinpointed yet, but Dick is probably 21 as well, Jason is mumblemumble, and Tim is presumably 15-18.

Tim starts forming the Teen Titans, which is probably maybe the first team with that name, except maybe not, but also yes (but is it?) Science cannot say.

The events of Death of the Family occur 1 year after the New 52 began (Batman #13 is a year after the Joker ditched his face in DC#1. Nightwing #15 is a year after Dick returned to the circus in N#1. Batgirl #15 confirms it has now been 4 years since Barbara’s injury.).

Damian is still 10 (Batman and Robin #14).

There are two big notes to add to this. First, the #0 issues of all these books came out one irl year after the New 52 began, between #12 and #13 issues. (And #13s were also an in-universe year after the New 52 began, per the DotF crossover.) Therefore, it is possible some of the dates given by those issues should actually have a year subtracted. This is what I chose to believe in order to make BoP#0 make any sense.

However, there are some places where we can be certain the dates given in #0s are correct--e.g. Dick’s parents dying 5 years ago, Barbara being injured 3 years ago--because they’re confirmed by other issues.

Second, as you may notice, Damian has been 10 for about two and a half years now, which is not usually how aging works. Characters not aging even as time passes in-universe is something I am willing to accept in comics, but this is a lot more bothersome to me when it’s also wrong in backstory.

You could also chose to apply the previous point here, and say “1.5 years ago” in Batman and Robin #0 meant 1.5 years before the then-current state of the DCU, so only 0.5 years before the start of the New 52. This is slightly problematic in conjunction with Dick being Batman for “almost a year,” but we can stretch and say Dick was slightly overestimating, and “1.5 years” was slightly underestimating, to line those dates up. That means Damian first meets the fam shortly before Dick takes over as Batman, which is pretty similar to post-crisis.

And that’s what I’ve got so far, which I will eventually return to update as it is surely wildly contradicted by the next set of comics :) Welcome to my nightmare :) :)

#the temptation to instead say welcome to my twisted mind...#*#*dc #dc #dc ref #dc meta #batfam #oof okay...#bruce wayne #barbara gordon #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #and no one else exists anymore :(

40 notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Desperate Measures.

Pairing: Yandere!Kaeya/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Stalking, and Delusional Mindsets.

Kaeya was a man, distracted.

Distracted. Divided. Not inattentive, but pulled away from his responsibilities by a force he couldn’t name and couldn’t say he cared for, either. He wasn’t a stranger to romantic inclinations — fantasies, sudden flings, slow-burning inclinations that died the moment his attention was called elsewhere. Predictably, the few relationships he allowed himself were short-lived, at best distasterous at worst, but he didn’t have a problem with that. If anything, Kaeya appreciated it. He’d always thought of company as optional, and what little loneliness he was still capable of feeling could be drowned with a generous glass of wine. He wasn’t one to linger. He tried not to overstay his welcome. He’d been sentimental, once, too emotional for his own good, and he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t intend to change.

He didn’t want to change.

And yet, here he was.

Distracted.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. It was all he could do to look like he might’ve been trying to read the most recent document left on his desk – this one from Jean, a directive for the younger knights or legislation she needed him to review or another vague, important report that he probably would’ve dealt with weeks ago, if he’d been able to concentrate.

He made a half-hearted effort to straighten his back as the door to his office began to open, but Kaeya dropped the act quickly, abandoning it completely by the time he heard the sound of heeled boots against hollow tile, caught a glimpse of a familiar (albeit, rarely used) catalyst, searched for eyes and found the cover of a thin book, instead, your face still buried in your newest novel as you stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. It was you. He should’ve known it would be. Who else did he deserve?

You, Lisa’s new assistant. You, the latest addition to the Knights of Favonius. You, his current, infuriating, unshakable fixation.

You, the new recruit who hadn’t paid him so much as a passing glance since your arrival, much to Kaeya’s frustration.

You didn’t look at him. You rarely ever did, but it hurt more than it usually did, today, as you dropped another form onto his desk, letting it replace the greeting you’d forgotten to offer. “Lisa needs you to sign this,” You started, laying out your priorities clearly, a skill Kaeya was beginning to resent. “It’s just next year’s budget. If you don’t want to read it, I think I’ll be able to look the other way.”

He glanced over the rows of numbers, the messy hand-writing, the columns of meaningless gibberish that blended together into a mess of ink and digits, and took your suggestion, scrawling his name across the only blank line. It was a lost cause, especially with you in the room. Especially with your unoccupied hand resting on his desk, your fingertips idly tapping an unsteady rhythm into the wood, and all he could think about was who he’d be willing to kill to feel that hand pressed against his cheek.

He considered asking you, for a moment, giving you an order and hoping you'd absent-mindedly obey. He thought about touching you, or running his fingers through your hair, or pulling you into his lap and mumbling sweet-nothings into your ear until someone else dragged you away.

He thought about a lot of things. Then, he said, “I take it your silence comes at a price?”

“Do I seem that selfish to you?” You were selfish. You had to be selfish. If you weren’t, then surely you would’ve been kind enough to put him out of his misery months ago. “I like helping people. Just remember this when I need a favor from you.”

“I’m sure we could work something more immediate out,” He went on, but you were already starting towards the door, calling the conversation to a close before Kaeya could begin to finish. In the back of his mind, something flared, the urge to catch your wrist, to go after you, to put himself between you and the only exit and refuse to move until you looked at him, but he forced it down, swallowing the temptation before it could eclipse his common sense. He couldn’t be impulsive. He couldn’t make rash decisions. He wasn’t prepared to deal with how difficult that would make things, not now.

Not yet.

“Join me for a drink?” He tried, again, attempting to sound unbothered. Nonchalant, casual, normal. Like he wasn’t itching to burn every book you’d touched. “I know you don’t have anything better to--”

“Another night, Captain.”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving Kaeya’s muttered response to echo through his empty office.

“Of course.”

Kaeya was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveler who hadn’t seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed knight, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from you. He knew where you'd be. You were a creature of habit, and he’d already had more than enough time to memorize your routine. He’d had enough time to memorize everything about you, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he’d spent trying and failing to win your favor.

It was evidence of how pathetic he’d gotten, over the course of his one-sided pursuit.

You were in your usual spot – tucked into the far corner of the library, perched on the edge of a windowsill, your attention monopolized by the tattered scroll spread across your lap. You were still pouring over it by the time he reached you, slumping against the nearest wall, taking in how brilliantly the muted sunlight looked as it danced across your skin. He didn’t try to hide the way he stared, anymore. He was long past worrying that you’d care enough to notice. Your hair was unkempt, proof that’d you slept in the archives again, if you’d slept at all. Your lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might’ve been stranger if they weren’t. It must’ve been a nervous tick, but Kaeya found it cute. Kaeya found it endearing. Kaeya found everything about you endearing, and to the archons, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his co--

And he hated it. He found everything about you endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. You didn’t look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out your concern. “I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by your standards. “I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one he’d already used a hundred different times. He didn’t care. He’d use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t fight, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Albedo because the chemicals he was working with reminded me of the way your favorite kind of flower smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but you only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Your dull nails bit into the edges of your scroll, but you didn’t seem to mind, nor did you move to roll it up as you finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across your expression. “You kissed Albedo?”

“You don’t get it,” He said, and you nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do,” You admitted, more earnestly. Your gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Kaeya deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. I still have to give everyone else a reason to trust me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with one of my superiors so early on.” You paused, laughing to yourself, and something in Kaeya’s chest tightened. It was the happiest he’d been since he met you, and he still felt like you’d pushed a sword through his heart and twisted. “But, you don’t really want a relationship, do you? You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I’m the most available option, so...” You trailed off, finishing your sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture. “It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Captain, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.”

It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth. Once he did, the words came stumbling out on their own.

“Of course.”

Kaeya was a man, determined.

Determined might’ve been the wrong word for it. Too soft, too suggestive, the impression too positive and the meaning too vague. ‘Depraved’ might’ve suited him better, but that was too harsh, too primitive, and he’d like to think he’d been as gentle as anyone could expect him to be, given your stubbornness. He’d tried to be gentle. He’d wanted to be gentle. If he was going to do this to you, he could at least do it gently. You deserved that much, at least.

Or, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this.

He couldn’t really make up his mind, about that.

“Lisa?”

And he was gentle, more so than he had to be. Sure, you were on the floor, bare stone already beginning to chafe at your skin, but the shackles around your wrists were padded, and he’d given you enough slack to sit down, to ball yourself up, to act like it’d never crossed your mind that he’d resort to something so… easily misinterpreted. The blindfold was, similarly, an act of mercy. You’d panic if you woke up like this, chained to a wall in someone else’s cellar, and Kaeya didn’t want that. You needed time, and he could give you that. He would give you that. Even if it pained him to stay at arm’s length.

“Amber?”

He wanted to touch you. It’d be easy, now, easier than it’d ever been before. You wouldn’t be able to push him away, and even if you tried to, he could always overpower you. Take you by the neck, pin you against the floor, leave you shaking and trembling and begging, pleading with a captor you couldn’t see. He’d find a way to make it up to you, later on. He’d find a way to lie, to smile, to make it better, even if he’d failed to time and time again, out there. But, this would be different. You wouldn’t be able to cling to your excuses, and he’d be able to show you how much he cared, how much he wanted this, how much he loved you. This would be better.

“Kaeya?”

See? You were already coming around.

Your voice was already soft, hesitant, a sliver of a whisper that was constantly on the verge of dying out completely. You were trying not to make noise, trying not to seem as terrified as you really were, but he could hear the way your breath hitched as he took a step forward, your restraints rattling as you curled into yourself. You couldn’t hide from him, but you wanted to. That much was obvious. You didn’t want this.

But, he did. More than you could ever want to run away from it.

He wanted to touch you, but he held himself back. Instead, he only kneeled in front of you, letting himself linger for a moment before he spoke. “I’m here, love.”

“Where are we?” You were afraid, too scared to put the pieces together. Not while you could still hope there was another explanation. Not while you could still deny the apparent. “My head hurts, and I can’t--”

“I know, and I’ll make it up to you.” This time, he let himself reach out, cupping your cheek and chuckling as you tried to shy away. The two of you could work on that, later on. He could live with the guilt if he let himself enjoy it, now. “Just give me a moment, alright? Just a second, then I’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, then you closed it again. Kaeya wondered if you’d be bold enough to refuse if he did try to kiss you, or hold you, or go further than the fleeting touches he’d swore would keep him satisfied, at first, at least. He wondered if he’d care, when you did. “Are… are you going to hurt me?”

He wanted to reassure you. He wanted to promise he’d be patient, that he’d understand if you lashed out, that violence wasn’t an option he was willing to consider, but he couldn’t, like this, could he? He didn’t want to hurt you, but he’d never wanted to kidnap you, either, not until you made it obvious he didn’t have another choice. He didn’t want to stoop so low, he didn’t want you to hate him, but…

But, he was lying again, wasn’t he?

To tell the truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely cared whether or not you loved him back.

You stifled a scream as his hand dropped to your jaw, his grip tightening as he jerked you forward, just close enough to wrap his arm around your waist, to bury his face in the side of your neck, to get a taste of what you’d deprived him of. It wasn’t enough, he doubted it’d ever be enough, but he had you. He had you, he was close to you, and he had you. That had to be enough, for now.

“We’ll see.”

1K notes · View notes

twistedtummies2 · 2 years ago

Text

Good & Evil - Heroes

Welcome to Good & Evil: A Study of Heroes & Villains. I’m discussing different forms of heroic and villainous characters, different types of protagonists and antagonists, and providing examples of them each from various sources. We’re starting off this multi-part series with the most basic type of protagonist: the good ol’ fashioned, plain and simple Hero. It’s a cliche now to say that what makes a hero isn’t what’s on the outside, but what’s on the inside. Trite as this may be, it’s actually completely true: what marks a protagonist as a pure, simple, flat-out Hero is what ultimately marks any type of character for their classification. It’s all about their personality, their values, and how they stick to them. In a way, Heroes - in their truest and simplest form, disregarding all the different branches I’ll be covering later in this series - are role model figures.

The exact definition of a Hero has changed over the centuries; the Heroes of Greek Mythology are far removed from what many of us nowadays would consider a True Hero. However, one very constant thing is that the Heroes of any given time period or culture generally reflect the ideals and well-accepted values said culture or period represents. Heroes are characters who are meant to show us the best parts of humanity; they are characters whom the audience should aspire to be like, or at least wish they could be like. Modern Heroes are steadfast champions of the key virtues most societies recognize: it is not simply that they do good deeds, or have good intentions, but how incredibly determined they are to stick to those ideals, and how - no matter what gets thrown their way - they refuse to give in to darker temptations. It is the resilience of the Hero to their cause and their beliefs, beyond all else, that makes them who they are, and allows them to prove triumphant.

Arguably the quintessential hero of modern times is Superman. With almost 85 years of history behind the character, as of the time I’m writing this, and numerous reimaginings and adaptations presented in that time frame, the character has sometimes veered into other types (for example, the Injustice version is hardly a suitable example)…but at his core, in his truest form, Superman is undeniably an example of a pure Hero. It’s not that Superman goes out and does battle with alien monsters and mad scientists on a near-daily basis that makes him a Hero, but more the heart and soul of the man doing such things. Superman acts as a beacon of hope for his world, fighting not because it’s fun or because he seeks fame or glory, but simply because it’s the right thing to do. He doesn’t see his powers as something he should use to lord over mankind, but instead something he should use to help other people and fight to make the world a brighter and happier place. And he doesn’t necessarily do it because of some tragedy in his past that drives him on, or because he feels some twisted compulsion to keep going; it’s purely and simply the fact that he’s a good man who wants to do good things. And while he has been presented with numerous temptations and tribulations over his long career, he very rarely, if indeed ever, loses sight of those core and earnest beliefs. He fights for truth and justice, above all else, and hopes that by exemplifying those things, others will be encouraged to do the same.

Superheroes like Superman are not exclusive to Western Culture, nor even to comic books. Turning our attention to Japan, another great example of the pure hero in a similar medium is the titular character in the series “Kamen Rider Fourze.” The Kamen Rider franchise is a long-running series focusing on numerous heroic characters of numerous sorts; of the shows I’ve seen from the franchise so far, none has so exemplified the archetypal hero, in my mind, as Fourze. This Kamen Rider’s true name is Gentaro Kisaragi. Kisaragi is a High School student who ends up becoming a Kamen Rider on a quest to stop a horde of Zodiac-themed monsters, and uncover a mysterious conspiracy in his city. Again, though, it’s not Kisaragi’s battles that show his mettle as a hero, but who he is as a person. Kisaragi is an optimistic, energized, playful young man who earnestly and honestly believes there is good in every person, and wants to be friends with as many people as he possibly can be. While these qualities can get him into trouble, time and time again, they also prove to be his greatest strength. He never once gives up on the hope that he can be friends with someone, or that bad people can turn over a new leaf. Whenever he comes into contact with characters most people would just loathe and detest, his reaction is to try and find out what’s wrong with them, help them, and try to give them the friend he can tell they desperately need. Even in his final battle with the series’ main antagonist, while he’s doing physical battle with the big bad, he still shows kindness and even thanks them for every good thing he’s learned because of them. It’s this unwavering belief in something better, and this desire to help and be friendly to others, no matter what, that ultimately proves his heroic power.

Lest we forget, guys aren’t the only heroes out there: girls can be just as strong and powerful, as well as just as morally resilient. Sticking with Japan: a common style of anime is the “Magical Girl” series. Typically, these shows follow the same basic format: a group of teenaged heroines all gain magical or superhuman abilities in order to combat a bunch of tyrannical and destructive ne’er do wells. A great deal of glittery, brightly-colored action-based shenanigans ensue. I’m not a huge fan of Magical Girl shows - they’re just not my thing, generally speaking - but one series I DO like is “Smile! Pretty Cure” (known as “Glitter Force” in the English release). The main character of this series is Cure Happy, a.k.a. Hoshizora Miyuki. (Glitter Lucky, real name Emily, in Glitter Force; I’ll use the Japanese names for consistency.) Miyuki is a fangirl of fairy-tales, and despite all the dark stuff in them, what she loves about them is the hope she finds in them: no matter what sort of terrible things befall characters like Cinderella, Snow White, or Little Red Riding Hood, they always have a happy ever after. Miyuki’s quest to defeat the fairy-tale villains that are plaguing her world is an extension of that ideal: she champions all the good values and desires humans have, and even though she’s scared sometimes, she never lets her fear overcome her choices to help other people, nor her optimism for a happy ending for everyone. Once more, it’s that determined hope and optimism that makes her a Hero, as even when the odds seem against her, or the most logical course of action is to abandon those good things, she sticks to her integrity and empathy.

All of the characters I’ve mentioned so far fall under the idea of the “superhero” - a character with incredible abilities or powers doing great and noble things - but of course, you don’t need to be able to swing a sword or shoot lasers from your eyes to be a hero. Some characters fit this idea perfectly without having anything but their wits and a strong moral compass. Case in point, Belle from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. In the original story, Belle isn’t really a pure and simple Hero, but in the Disney film, that’s another matter. Belle is a human being, with all that entails: she has no particularly special capabilities, but what she does have are an iron will and a firm moral compass. She never lets anyone talk down to her, she’s not afraid to speak her mind in the face of incompetence or ignorance, but she also has a good heart and a kind spirit. She’s nice, but like anyone, she has her limits. It is because of Belle that the Beast is able to learn and eventually be saved, and it is through the Beast that Belle finds the acceptance she has yearned for: Belle is basically the same person at the end of the movie that she was at the start, her adventure is really finding someone who takes her as she is and doesn’t try to make her change. She sticks to her true inner self, and it is through her strength and compassion that she ultimately becomes the heroine of the tale.

Another example of a hero with no great powers is Charlie Bucket from “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.” Charlie is a little different from most heroes, because he isn’t out to really save anyone or do anything grand or spectacular, in the long run. He’s just a little boy with a big heart, who is able to resist the dangers of life through a mixture of common sense and his virtuous philosophy. Charlie is a character whose heroic heart and stubborn hope earn him a reward, rather than being a character who actively fights or struggles for some great cause. He represents all the good things we wish our children could be, or who we wish we could have been, and is depicted as an underdog who earns greatness thanks to nothing more than his innocent spirit. This doesn’t make Charlie an uninteresting character, however, as he does have a full range of emotions and, being a kid, he does have to make some tough choices that he doesn’t necessarily WANT to make…but he knows it’s the right thing to do, and that allows him to win. The other children in the story are all characters who have come from a place where everything they’ve wanted, they’ve gotten, and this has left them corrupted; Charlie has had to learn the hard way there is more to life than material wants. He’s not totally flawless, and he is still a dynamic character in the journey he goes on, but it’s his inherent and constant goodness that stands out above all else.

That is ultimately the best way to describe a Hero: it’s not that a hero is a perfect person who never loses or never doubts. A Hero is simply someone who, even when they DO lose or DO start to doubt, never gives in to the darkness of themselves or their world. They eschew selfish desires in favor of what they perceive to be what’s right and good, and through a mixture of honesty and determination, they ultimately prevail. Heroes are the good things humanity should want to be or become. They act as a symbol that, regardless of what life throws one’s way, pluck and virtue can and will prevail. All forms of heroes stand as symbols of hope, and that includes the characters in their most basic forms: they are characters who stand up and say, to quote a famous movie, “there’s some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for.” Villains, meanwhile, respond by standing up and saying “don’t be so sure.” But that’s another story....

#good and evil #a study of heroes and villains #Heroes #with a capital H #archetypes #character types #superman #kamen rider fourze #cure happy #belle #beauty and the beast #charlie bucket #charlie and the chocolate factory #captain america #deku #my hero academia #smile! pretty cure

21 notes · View notes

akumaalert · 3 years ago

Text

Medical Log Sixty-nine

Karl Heisenberg x AFAB Reader (Uses She/Her); Explicit Content, 18+ ONLY

CW: Medicplay, medical kink, medical examination, voice kink, roleplay, consensual voyeurism

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31802593

"Medical log...this is my...sixty-ninth attempt."

You rolled your eyes. Of course he would go for a sex joke the second the recording snapped on.

Staying still was a difficult task. The steel table was chilling your back and your muscles screamed at you to purse away from the cold.

The warmth between your legs, however, demanded that you stayed.

Heisenberg began exactly as he said he would - listing off your name and age with that ever lilting voice that made your cunt clench in delight.

"Body is in...fuck...the most gorgeous condition..."

Playing dead was so hard when he was out of view. Heisenberg was so expressive and you were missing all the nuances you so adored. You could only picture him studying you - licking those delectably thick lips that you loved to nip. The fact that he was fully clothed and hovering over your naked body was as thrilling as it was nerve wracking.

Part of you willed stillness on the sheer fear that if you moved, the spell would be broken and Heisenberg’s role of doctor would be traded for actual work. Convincing him of doing this had not been the simplest task. The first time he caught you listening to one of his medical logs, he had raised a quizzical eyebrow and chuckled lightly at your blush. When you laid in his arms after making love one morning, you had shyly admitted the desires that had been ignited simply by listening to his voice.

"I think they umm...I think it's technically called medical play..."

The swiftness with which he cut you off still made you feel shame. "I'm not experimenting on you."

It took all the strength you could muster to look at him despite your cheeks absolutely burning. You placed a hand on his own cheek to rub the pad of your finger over one of his scars. "No. No...that's not what I meant. It's pretend. For fun. Roleplaying basically..."

You loved when his glasses were missing from his face. Green eyes flickered - studying you intently - before his lips stretched into an attractive smirk. "Would that turn you on, buttercup?"

And so the two of you had planned. It was convenient that the toys you needed were inconspicuous medical equipment. Most you already had and the others were obtained from the Duke without suspicion. At least you hoped. He was always a jovial fellow and at least didn't question the use for the pinwheel. Where the rest came from, you did not question. It wouldn't do to dwell on the purpose or origin when living in the shadow of Miranda's clutches.

When Heisenberg's hand ghosted near your head in the present, you repressed the want to moan.

"Proceeding with inspection..."

One leather clad hand cupped a cheek while a bare, calloused fingertip lined your lips. You could not entirely make him out like this, but you could see his green undershirt in delightful detail if you rolled your eyes high enough. His trench coat and his outer shirt had been discarded and the thought made your skin prickle. The spirals of his chest hair peeking from his shirt made your fingers tent with a want to touch him.

But cadavers couldn't move. So you swallowed and resisted the temptation to dart your tongue to meet his caress.

"Subject has the softest lips...prettiest damn thing I've ever studied."

Heat and the ever lingering static that was Heisenberg radiated just a breath behind you. If you had any courage to move just so, you imagined that his crotch sat just above your line of sight.

Would he already be hard? Heisenberg had held his typical swagger when you had mapped out your wants and respected his limitations. But you could tell that hesitancy still sat not so lightly on his shoulders. Perhaps he would need to drag things out - let his pleasure build as yours boiled in every limb.

Eyes half lidded, you nearly missed the scalpel floating gingerly through the air. As Heisenberg had insisted, only the handle touched your skin. Beginning at the curve of your jaw, it traced ever so slowly down your throat like a breath. Despite the lack of danger, the sensitive skin pimpled and your throat constricted.

"It's as if I built her myself...everything I could ever fucking want. Absolute damn perfection," he muttered. Feeling drunk off his words, you struggled to keep up with them all. After all, you were not sure how sensitive the recording would be. Heisenberg was a loud man - a grand man - and so rarely whispered as he did now. "A lovely neck...if only I had found her sooner...might have given her a necklace of teeth marks to wear."

When the scalpel slipped to your chest, your gasp could not be stifled. But instead of stopping, Heisenberg simply removed his fingers from your face to set both hands in a frame on either side of your head. He was adjusting and leaning and soon his eyes met with yours. Though you could not see anything below the rugged slope of his nose, you imagined his mouth as slightly parted.

His eyes were normally flecked with golds and browns, but the darkness there now was not an uncommon sight. You saw it when he was angry - returning from family meetings or trips to the Dimitrescu castle. Whenever his facade had been tested for too long with his "mother" and the walls came crashing down the moment the doors to the factory were closed.

You also saw it when he was lost to lust - when he used arms as steady as steel to hold you to him until you were both limp messes on the floor or the desk or the shower or the bed.

It was a color you so treasured - especially when the hints of softness clouded them as they did now.

Heisenberg's voice careened and curled just like the scalpel's handle around your breast. So light but so heavy.

"I don't need any damn notes for these tits...have them fucking memorized. Fuck what I wouldn't give to put my mouth on them. What a damn waste. Body is so cold and those nipples are perked up so nicely. Inspecting..." He audibly swallowed, clearing his throat. "Inspecting chest in detail now."

While the scalpel handle swirled against one of your nipples, Heisenberg's gloved hand went to your ignored breast in a firm squeeze. You were already so worked up by the mere prospect of your play. To have it as a reality with Heisenberg towering over you and switching his attention from your breasts to your eyes to your lips and back again was absolute torture. The leather on his fingers did nothing to help you. The gloves were old and worn into a fibrous texture that made every hair on your neck stand on end.

Your lover was a cruel man, but not a patient one. With his pointer finger and thumb, he twisted your nipple. Eyes clapping shut, you shook when you realized a tremble in the scalpel. A telltale sign of his passions rising and his powers thrumming along with them.

"Color?" he asked in a voice of gravel.

It took you a moment to understand his inquiry. Your stoplight system. That Heisenberg was already checking in with you filled you with a whole new type of warmth. Nodding with flushed cheeks, you ran your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

"Green," you muttered.

So he continued.

"Nipples are extremely responsive." The scalpel and his hand pulled away but for a moment before the sides were switched. But with them came the feeling of his bare hand on your equally bare chest. "I could stand here all day just admiring the view. Not a damn thing to say to do it justice."

He flitted between a tender touch and a rolling, twinging pinch. The scalpel rolled along with it all, though there were intervals when it remained still against your skin. As if his mind could not keep up with it all. It would start back again with a lurch and small grunts of frustration from its master.

"Moving to the lower torso..."

Your body arched when he moved and broke contact with your skin. The scalpel's trail became steadier as it looped around your breast to slide so terribly slow down the middle of your chest. Down it slipped and once again your fingers were fidgety. The skin of your stomach felt particularly sensitive, especially when the scalpel began to dance in patterns too quick and too slow for your mind to process.

"These hips of hers...the legs...hard not to get too ahead of myself..."

Though you could not see him at all now with your head locked in its position, it made the situation all the more welcome to your growing need. In your mind he studied you - watched your body with all the appreciation he was so fond of giving it. He might pay attention to your stomach - to the invisible designs he was tracing there. But his eyes would inevitably flicker to look between your legs. There was no gown or sheet to protect you from his hungry gaze. There was nothing at all preventing him from doing the myriad of things that you longed for him to do.

By the sound of his breathing, you knew Heisenberg was not left unaffected.

"Subject...is gonna fucking pay for making part of my work part of her play," he growled. "Do you have any idea how distracted I'm going to be every time I go in for an actual log? But you don't care, do you? It's all about you."

Tension hung in the air and one of your legs stretched upward, suddenly aching.

Heisenberg's hand came down fast to push it back into place.

"Didn't say I wasn't gonna indulge you," he said, playfulness in his voice. He gripped your knee still held in his hand with a soft touch. "Just that you'll pay for this later."

Lightly nodding, you felt his hand leave you. Your entire body tensed when the scalpel - ever streaming down your skin - began a descent that told you just how impatient Heisenberg had become.

It didn't help that a series of items - familiar and agreed upon in advance - floated over you on a glinting silver tray. You could not tell if they moved slowly due to his powers flitting with his emotions or if he simply was intent on you seeing them.

A bottle of lube. A bullet vibrator and its controller. The Wartenberg pinwheel. Another scalpel for the hell of it.

If the scalpel on your skin ran near your aching cunt, you never felt it. The next thing you knew, it was landing on your thigh and stalling.

As if he could not help himself, his hands were on you again. This time instead of pushing a leg onto the table, he pried both of your legs open with a prodding touch.

Though it broke your play, you took a large inhale of air. You could not recall ever being so wet or so ready.

Heisenberg let out a low whistle.

"You're soaked, buttercup." A pause. The telltale sound of buckles being clicked and dropped to the floor.

You could not take it and spoke with a whine.

"Not fair...I can't see you."

The chuckle he gave was dark. "A shame. It's like someone asked for this. Ironic. You're such a whore that your little game is preventing you from watching me. And I know how you love to watch."

The asshole took his time to slowly unzip his pants. The heat in your body was palpable and painful. A small gratified groan told you all you needed to know about where his hands had gone.

"Pretty, pretty girl..." he cooed. "Show isn't over yet. You had some requests and what kind of a lord would I be if I was to ignore one of my subject's pleas?"

The knowledge that he was stroking himself - languid even as your longing screamed through your very soul - made the pit of your stomach pulse with delayed pleasure.

Trying to even your breathing, you focused on the ceiling laid brown and bare above you. Or at least you tried. Heisenberg chose the absolute worst moment to bring both the second scalpel's handle and the brand new pinwheel onto the scene.

Huffing heatedly, you scrunched your face into a grimace. What a sight you must be - a scalpel on each thigh and a pinwheel hanging dangerously close to your cunt. You pushed the thought aside, unable to bear the image in your head.

"To the main event," he announced, voice returned to a rumbling purr. "Planting the 'control device.' Inserting now."

When he had added lube to the bullet, you did not know. Probably somewhere between your embarrassment and the blood pounding in your ears. Small and sleek, it entered your folds gently but awkwardly. Heisenberg's powers going on the fritz would never cease to endear you. He was so strong - so normally loud and wearing whatever mask that a situation called for. But in these moments with you, he was raw and his powers were unhinged in the most intimate of ways. It made you feel powerful - the ability to bring this lord of metal to timid movements when he could likely destroy the whole village with enough metal and mental will.

Rounding its way deeper and deeper inside of you, the bullet suddenly stilled. The sensations of the scalpels skating up and down your legs combined with the threat of the pinwheel overwhelmed you. If you had wanted to speak in that moment, it would have been quite out of your ability to remember how.

"Insertion complete."

Babbling during sex was another staple of Heisenberg's. But he was eerily quiet and controlled in the seconds that followed right up to the click of the controller.

The jolt to your core was immediate and you gasped in hurried breaths against the most exquisite pleasure you had ever felt. The fight to keep your fingers extended was lost as all ten fisted. You were so wet that the lube had been a moot point. The bullet buzzed inside of you and your hips shook with the herculean effort of staying still.

Heisenberg exhaled, voice faraway and dreamy.

"Ausgezeichnet...excellent. Progressing faster than expected."

You choked on air. Beyond your control, your body flinched against the hum of the bullet.

"Fuck," bit out Heisenberg. "Have a proposition for you...since you're going to be punished for making me work, I'm going to go back to the recording-"

"Oh God!"

"I'm going to go back to the recording," he repeated gruffly, ever incensed at being spoken over. "And I'm going to count the seconds that it takes for you to come. And however many seconds that is...that's how many spanks you'll be getting. Right on that luscious fucking ass of yours."

Another click of the bullet's controller made your eyes roll to the back of your head. Fingernails bit into your palm with the want to hold onto something - anything. How could you be so stimulated yet so far from release at the same time?

"I can see everything from where I'm standing," he continued. "Can you feel that wetness of yours? Dripping into your ass...pussy such a pretty pink shade. It'll go so nice with a red ass. One, two, three...you're building up to quite the spanking. Might want to hurry it along."

He was indeed a cruel man.

But not a patient one.

The pinwheel's weight was noticeable, but not deep. It pinched and rolled its way directly down and over your clit and the sensitive flesh splayed and shaking from sensation.

How you hated the gargle that you let out. It was ugly and incoherent.

"Too much!" you cried.

"Scheisse!" The pinwheel flew to the floor as the scalpels stopped. Even the bullet seemed to rumble ever lighter. "Color?"

It took you several breaths to gather the ability to nod. When Heisenberg remained quiet, you grunted. "Green...green...fucking green. Floor it."

Heisenberg laughed - all throat and no breath. "Floor it. Gotcha."

Making a strange sound - somewhere between a groan and a grunt - Heisenberg returned his hands to your body.

The hand free from leather stroked your thigh. The leather, however, fondled your mound and found your clit with practiced speed.

Barely able to keep up with the bullet and the scalpels and the trembles and the sound of Heisenberg's guttural encouragements, you closed your eyes and focused on the circles he made against that sensitive bundle of nerves.

You could not open your eyes or close your mouth. You could not do anything but chase a high approaching as sure as any sunrise.

Apparently taking pity on the mess you had become, Heisenberg only took one swift last round on your clit before speaking.

"Now to pass a current...through the body...using six volts..."

The words had no time to settle in before the action was done with his gentle hand on your quivering thigh.

Screaming, too, was beyond your control.

"Come on," he said through the return to your clit and the massage in your cunt and the swirls of scalpel handles on your legs. "Come on, come on, come on."

"KAR...k...kah..."

Your orgasm knocked the very air from your lungs. Pins of light erupted as your eyes squeezed with every furious flutter of pleasure. Your cunt was actually twitching and the glove on Heisenberg's hand felt so exquisite as it barely pressed down on your clit.

"Yes! Yes!" Egging you on with a happy laugh, Heisenberg uttered praises that registered in a haze. "At last...wonderful...what a good girl."

As the absolutely mind-numbing orgasm faded into your very bones, you lay there exhausted and beyond satisfied. Breathing became a chore that your throat seemed unused to performing.

Heisenberg moved as efficiently as ever to complete his work. The bullet was removed with care by his own fingers. When it had turned off, you had no recollection. The scalpels clattered to the table with a metallic hiss.

Sweat built on your brow and dragging down your temple, you swallowed and swallowed again. The sound of rushing water perked your tired body. You were slow to rise, testing fingers and a palm burning with indents of your nails. Soon, however, you had sat up. A swirl of satisfaction still sat low in your belly.

As satiated as you were, you could not help but enjoy the sight of Heisenberg standing before you. In one hand was a glass of water begging to be brought to your parched lips. In the other he held the recorder. You watched with hooded eyes as he clutched at the recorder before dropping his hand to adjust his pants.

Pants that hung low on his hips with the zipper pulled wide. The adorable swell of his lower belly was visible underneath his shirt. His cock was curved at such a beautiful angle above silver hair. It was blushed a dark pink with veins reaching up to a head that was nearly purple with need.

Bringing the recorder back to his mouth, Heisenberg eyed you before huffing.

"...ending recording."

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #karl heisenberg #resident evil #re village #ao3 #smut #kinks with karl #x reader

89 notes · View notes

disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

Text

The White Room

The Better Love Series || Join My Tags

a sequel to Shit Hits the Fan

pairing: Javier Peña x Fem!Reader (Ears). Part of the Better Love ‘verse.

summary: Bill Stechner makes his move. You never even saw it coming.

words: 6.1k

warnings: 18+, plot, a little angst, a little fluff.

notes: unbeta’d. this is a big one. notes at the end.

<< Shit Hits the Fan || These Hands are Magic >>

MASTERLIST

You take the embassy steps two at a time, wishing you’d have been notified about the change in your schedule just half an hour earlier.

You’d gotten a page just as you were headed out the door of the apartment. Stechner has decided to pull you from Centra Spike’s night flight over Medellín. He wants you at headquarters this evening instead. He didn’t say why.

Part of you isn’t sorry. Escobar has been getting desperate lately, and between the outbreaks of violence in Medellín and the continued bombing campaign in Bogotá, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. Javi, too. He’s been spending more and more time at the base in Medellín, and you’ve been spending more and more time in the skies, pulling random shifts through all hours of the day and night.

It hasn’t put a strain on your relationship, exactly. In fact, in some ways, the little moments that you steal with Javi when your schedules just happen to mesh are all the more precious because of it. You’re both exhausted and a little cranky, but there’s been an underlying desperation to your recent interactions that’s only served to stoke the flame that flickers between you.

It’s a bittersweet feeling. You cherish the time you get together, but on the other hand, it seems like even when Javi’s right there next to you, you miss him so much that your chest aches.

Which is why you’re miffed that Bill couldn’t have shuffled you around a little sooner. Javi’s been in Medellín for the past two days. He’d caught an early flight back to Bogotá just as you’d been finishing up another late shift flyover. You’d just happened to run into him at the embassy airstrip, a perfect coincidence. Your eyes had met over the tarmac, and like a pair of magnets, you’d crashed into one another. Javi had wrapped you into a fierce hug, and you’d pulled him into a heated kiss, and the two of you had spent a good five minutes canoodling in a hidden corridor near the water fountains, kissing and whispering and grappling for position as he’d pinned you against the wall. He’d breathed you in, and you’d reveled in the taste of him on your lips, each of you pressing frantically against the body of the other as if it had been weeks and not mere days since you’d been together.

“I’ve got to go,” Javi had apologized into your mouth, breathing the words between a series of soft, desperate kisses. “Fucking… fucking early meeting with Martinez.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you’d reassured him, feeling very much like it wasn’t okay. You hardly get enough of him as it is. This tiny little taste had only deepened your aching need, and you’d felt your heart splitting in two as he’d pulled away from you, a small little grimace of frustration twisting his face.

“I’ll see you soon,” you’d called as he’d hurried away, and he’d responded with a tight lipped smile and another dark look of longing.

Now, you round the corridor toward the DEA office, walking as quickly as you can without drawing attention to yourself. Javi is working late again. If you hurry, you’ll have twenty five uninterrupted minutes with him before your night shift starts.

“Ears!” You stop in your tracks, a little shudder of resentment flashing down your spine at Bill’s overeager greeting. “Just the lady I’ve been waiting to see.”

You school your face into a neutral expression of polite interest. Most days, you like Bill just fine, despite the fact that you really don’t trust him for shit.

Today, damn him straight to hell.

“What’s up?” you ask, quirking your lips into an intrigued little grin. There’s a certain informality and blasé banter that Bill’s grown to expect from your encounters, and he’s sharp enough to sense that something’s off if you don’t perform.

“Oh, loads and loads,” Bill says, leaning casually against the corridor wall with his arms folded.

You bite back a sigh. You really, really don’t have the patience to dance around him today. “Oh, really?”

Bill arches a questioning brow at you, and you remind yourself to be convincing, dammit. Usually, this isn’t an issue. Most days, you like your job, and your boss, just fine.

Most days.

“You’re bored, aren’t you, Ears?” Bill continues, pitching his voice deep, those probing eyes piercing straight through you.

“I -” you start. Bored isn’t how you’d describe it, lately.

Tired, more like.

“No, no,” Bill’s expression is patient, endearing. “Don’t deny it. I’ve been watching you. I know that hungry look when I see it. You want more. You came to Colombia to do something important with your life, I can tell.”

Six months ago, hell, even three months ago, Bill’s words would have been true. Now, the very thought of more is enough to send you crawling into bed and sleeping for a week.

‘Isn’t tracking down Pablo Escobar pretty fucking important?’ you’re half tempted to ask. You hold your tongue.

Obviously, it’s not to Bill Stechner.

“What do you have for me?” you say instead, hoping you sound intrigued, carefully not confirming or denying Bill’s suspicions.

“Real work,” Bill says with a sharp smile. Something cold jolts down your spine at the his use of the word ‘real.’

As if everything until now has been a sham.

“Follow me,” he beckons, and you have no choice but to obey.

Bill leads you past the DEA offices. You catch a glimpse of the top of Javi’s head from the corner of your eye. He’s hunched over his desk, pouring over an open manilla file. You can barely see the deep furrow in his brow. He doesn’t notice you pass by, and you don’t pause to acknowledge him.

Something throbs in your chest at that.

You follow Bill through a few more winding corridors, down into the basement, past Centra Spike’s room, right up to an unassuming little bookcase built into a nondescript wall in the middle of nowhere.

Bill pauses here, turning to look at you with shining eyes.

You meet his stare, giving away nothing.

With an enthusiasm that borders on theatrical, Bill huddles over a little keypad that’s tucked away at the edge of the bookcase. He punches in a series of numbers, glancing over to confirm that you’re still watching.

You definitely are.

Bill steps back, and like something from an Indiana Jones film, the entire fucking bookcase slides aside, reveling a reinforced steel door built into the wall.

“Whoa,” you can’t help but breathe.

Bill’s eyes glitter. He’s eating this up, impressing you.

And truly, you’re impressed. That little spark of interest that had died in the past months of your burnout has flared with a vengeance.

This is the shit that you joined the CIA for, and Bill Stechner knows it.

“Welcome to the white room, Ears,” Bill announces lowly. It’s the soft, knowing voice of a man sharing a deeply guarded secret. He opens the steel door with a flourish, and it swings slowly aside, heavy and creaking, as if its weight alone could announce the gravity of what you’re about to see.

Carefully, you step inside the room, ducking a little to avoid knocking your head against the low hanging doorway, crawling past the steel corridor entrance before you can straighten.

You blink, astounded at what you’re seeing.

Of course, you’ve heard whispers of CIA’s fabled “White Room,” a repository of classified files tucked away somewhere in the embassy basement. Even Javi’s mentioned it a couple of times, always with a hint of resentment, like he’d give his left arm for even a glimpse inside. Rumor is, Steve Murphy’s been in here before, but just once, and he was heavily supervised the entire time. It’s a fucking goldmine of intel, stacks upon stacks of carefully organized file folders, all at the fingertips of the few individuals who are important enough to be need-to-know.

“Okay,” you whisper beneath your breath, taking it all in. Reality is a little different than you’d pictured. The entrance is impressive, sure, but what you’re staring at is even more so. Box after carefully labelled box is packed atop one another, stacked six deep on a never-ending series of steel shelves.

You could spend an eternity here learning all of the secrets of Colombia. The implications are mind-boggling, and distantly, you wonder how many other well-hidden rooms the CIA has tucked away across a spread of foreign countries, a never-ending fountain of secrets related to god-knows-what.

Your brain stutters at the thought.

You realize suddenly that Bill is watching you carefully from the corner of his eye, observing your reaction as if he’s surreptitiously taking notes on every thought that flits across you brain. Again, you school your expression, reverting to that practiced, dead-eyed stare of careful neutrality.

“Cool,” you say, a little breathlessly, knowing that Bill’s eager to wow you, and not seeing any reason not to acknowledge the fact that, yeah, you’re pretty fucking wowed. You turn to face him, ignoring the temptation to sweep your gaze over the many, many labeled files at your eye level. “So, what are we doing here?”

Bill laughs. “I’ll show you.” He leads you past the shelves, and now that you’re behind him, you can’t stop your eyes from tracking over the labels at your eye level. You’re appalled by what you see.

Shelves upon shelves devoted to Escobar, and even more to the Cali Cartel, all broken down into sections of the individual godfathers. Rodriguez, Herrera, Bejarano, Moncado are all names that catch your eye. There are folders on each major sicario that you recognize from Javi’s info board: Mosquera, Lucumí, Vásquez, Gaviria... the list goes on. Even more files files are labeled Castaño. There’s a whole series of boxes on M-19, and a little past that, an entire shelf devoted solely to FARC.

It’s more than your mind can possible comprehend in one quick sweep, and hell, that’s just what you could catch at eye level.

It occurs to you that this is what Steve and Javi are always bitching about. Sure, you’re aware of the ever present pissing contest between the DEA and the CIA, but it’s always been peripheral information to you. Steve in particular is pretty vocal about his frustration with the ‘fucking CIA.’ “Goddamn file’s so redacted that it might as well be scrap,” you can just hear him muttering.

Christ, if this is the kind of intel that the CIA has open access too, you can kind of see his point.

Bill stops at a table in the center of the room, indicating it with a sweep of his hand. Reluctantly, you sit, a little annoyed that you’ve got your back to him now, but not feeling comfortable enough to twist around to track what he’s doing. Your instincts are screaming at you that this is a test. A big one. So you wait demurely in your tiny plastic chair, your hands folded primly in your lap, listening intently as Bill shuffles for something behind you.

After a long moment, Bill leans his hip heavily against the table, just a hair too close to your shoulder for you to be totally comfortable. You don’t have time to think on that, though, because he’s sliding a black and white photograph under your nose for you to view.

The man that leers up at you has a pinched face beneath a deep brow. His nose is long and lopsided, as if it’s been broken at least once. His thinning, limp hair hangs low over his eyes, giving him a mysterious, almost rebellious look. His mouth is wide, crooked teeth exposed in an open-mouthed grimace. He’s angling toward the camera, obviously unaware of its existence, leaning forward with a machine gun cradled to his chest.

“Feo,” you say instantly, your mouth working before your brain can catch up. You recognize him from the evidence board in the DEA office, and even more from your conversations with Javi.

Feo is a low level sicario, one that’s just now caught the attention of Search Bloc, mostly due to the recent chatter that Centra Spike has picked up. You’ve yet to get a positive ID on his voice, but he’s been mentioned in several conversations lately, always in reference to ‘drops.’

Javi’s been working deep in the night to decipher these conversations, eager to learn what ‘drops’ Escobar and his sicarios are so desperate to come by.

“Feo,” Bill drawls, a hint of something sharp licking at his tone. You glance up at him, curious. “That’s an unfortunate nickname.”

He’s staring down at you with eyes that are too aware. Probing, assessing.

Fuck.

“I’ve seen him on the DEA board,” you explain, grateful that you can provide an answer so quickly. You don’t like the way Bill is looking at you, like he’s daring you to confess a sin.

“I didn’t realize there were many photos of him floating around,” Bill says casually. But you aren’t stupid. You read the threat in his statement, loud and clear.

“It’s a new one,” you reply automatically, feeling as if you’re scrambling to claw yourself out of a hole.

But this is also true. Feo has been an ongoing mystery to Search Bloc, one that they haven’t taken seriously until recently. You wonder what it is about this man that’s got Bill so on edge.

Bill hums. “Good eye.” He hunches over the photograph, so close that you can feel his body heat against your neck.

“This is Raul Manriquez.” Bill taps the forehead of the man in the photograph, then turns to leer at you. “Apparently, he’s known to his friends as Feo.”

He’s watching you for a sign. You refuse to give it.

“So,” you ask after a beat. Bill folds his arms across his chest, waiting for you to continue. He’s not giving any signs either, the dickwad. “What does the CIA want with Raul Manriquez?”

Bill has never behaved this way with you before. There’s a certain weight to the way he regards you that hints at paranoia. He’s deeply, almost obsessively interested in this man, and it doesn’t make sense.

Feo is a sicario, sure. But sicarios are far, far below Bill’s pay grade. The thought is laughable, even.

Something drops in your stomach. If Feo is more than a sicario, as it seems he must be, then it is far, far above your pay grade to be this involved.

Bill pulls out a chair beside you and sits heavily. He leans on his elbow, swinging his legs so that his knees brush your thighs.

You echo him, carefully positioning yourself so that you’re facing one another, but no longer touching.

“We have intel to suggest that Raul Manriquez is connected with a Russian weapons ring,” Bill starts. You notice for the first time that he looks tired, too, his eyes a little bloodshot, heavy bags dropping darkly beneath them.

Something clicks in your brain. “He’s Pablo’s weapons guy,” you breathe. The pieces fall together with startling clarity. The drops that the sicarios had mentioned. The fact that Feo seems to stay at the periphery of things, not nearly as involved with the day-to-day bullshit that other sicarios seem to thrive on. “He’s running guns.”

“Among other things,” Bill drawls, seeming thoroughly bored by the turn in the conversation.

You ignore that. Your thoughts are spinning wildly, forging connections, solving problems. Escobar’s got to get his weapons from somewhere. In the back of your mind, you’ve always sort of known this, but the significance of it has stayed firmly out of sight, swamped by other things that, at the time, had seemed far more important.

But if you could catch Feo… If you could choke off Pablo’s lethality directly at the source…

“We could end this,” you whisper, sitting up to look Bill directly in the eye. Your voice rises. “Bill, if we neutralize Feo, Escobar’s lost his access to his guns.” Something swoops in your heart, and you feel brighter, more energized than you have in weeks. “We can end this war!”

“Oh, the fucking drug war.” Bill scoffs, waving his hand in a casual gesture of lazy dismissal. He looks frustrated, disappointed. “Ears, broaden you horizons a little, sister. Escobar is on the run. When he’s gone,” Bill leans in, the glint in his eye damned near dangerous. “And he will be gone, Ears, trust me.” He huffs a deep sigh, shaking his head as he pitches away to balance on the far feet of his chair, rocking back and forth in a way that reminds you of a restless kid in a elementary school classroom. His eyes are sharp, possessive as they pin yours. “What then?”

You stare at him flatly, a little miffed to have nearly a year of your life’s work brushed aside as if it’s just petty bullshit.

You shake that emotion away, blinking hard, reminding yourself of where you are, of who your boss is. With the lines as blurred as they are in Colombia, and your unique position dancing between Centra Spike, the DEA, and the CIA, and Search Bloc, it’s easy to forget that ultimately, it’s Bill Stechner who owns you.

For the first time, that thought deeply unsettles you.

Bill falls forward heavily on his elbows, looking at you with a furrowed brow, and you remind yourself for the umpteenth time that this meeting is a performance, one that you’ve utterly and completely bombed until now.

You brain spins, processing the little bits and pieces of information that you’ve been given. Bill sees Escobar’s fall as in inevitability, inconsequential, even. He’s concerned about Feo in the context that he’s connected to the weapons trade in Colombia.

Quickly, you consider what you know about Bill Stechner. A CIA big wig with a shady-ass military background. A man who’s mind lives in the future.

A future without Escobar. He’s made that much clear.

“You’re looking to fill a power vacuum,” you announce suddenly, knowing instinctively that you’re not far off the mark. Bill Stechner is a man who is always thinking ahead, studying the political chessboard to analyze his next move, and the one after that, too.

And that truth bomb jars free even more thoughts that have been floating untethered in the back of your mind. When he’s not skulking around his office, Bill is gone for weeks at a time, supposedly off in depths of the amazonian jungle, brushing shoulders with his right winged military buddies.

Commie hunting.

The pieces fall perfectly into place, painting a sobering picture, and all the while, Bill watches, a sharp little grin playing at his lips as you connect the dots.

“Bill,” you say, refusing to accept any bullshit. You thump your finger hard against Feo’s leering smirk, pinning Bill with a dark stare. “Is this guy connected with FARC?”

Both of Bill’s brows arch skyward, and he leans back, looking at you with a new light in his eyes. You get the impression that once again, you’ve impressed him.

You’re not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

“I don’t know, Ears,” Bill admits, glancing away to his hands, which are suddenly curling into fists in his lap. You can tell it really grinds his gears, the uncertainty. “That’s what I want to find out.”

You consider him carefully, keeping your face expressionless. This is the most open response you’ve ever gotten from Bill, and you file away that information along with everything else you’ve learned today.

It’s a lot.

“What do you need from me?”

It’s a valid question. Part of you, the part that is equally intrigued and enraptured by Bill Stechner and the CIA as a whole, genuinely wants to help.

The rest of you is just desperate to get out of this room.

Bill’s lips slide into a knowing smirk. “Well, Ears,” he drawls, eyeing you in a way that makes something sink in your gut. “I’m glad you asked.”

“I’m listening.” You deliberately leave off the ‘sir,’ that you’re tempted to tack on to the end of that statement. Damn your army background.

“This is the moment that we’ve put you in place for,” Bill confesses, hunching forward on his elbows. Again, you get the impression that he’s trying to reel you in, seducing you with a show of honesty.

You brace yourself.

“The DEA is interested in this man, too,” Bill starts, shooting you a pointed look that says ‘I know you already know this.’ You keep your face carefully blank, so Bill continues. “I know that they’ve been working to track his location.”

Something cold coils in your heart. “Are you asking me to spy on Search Bloc?” you ask point blank.

Bill shakes his head. “No, no, no, Ears,” he chides with an expression of extreme patience, as if you’re a child to him. “That would be counterproductive. We’re all on the same team, after all.” He pins you with a dead-eyed stare that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’m asking you to fully engage in your position with the CIA.” Bill stresses the last point, again reminding you of who you are, who you answer to. “You’re a liaison.” He hums a little, all casual disinterest, disarming you, reinforcing the bonds of loyalty that he’s forged with a simple shrug of his shoulders. “So, liaise.”

You realize with a starling, icy jolt of clarity that Bill Stechner has tolerated your relationship with Javier Peña for this very reason, that he’s garnered your favor - accepting your transfer request, giving you a raise, buying you drinks, playing your buddy - all in preparation for using you as his own personal mole in the ranks of Search Bloc.

And you’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Your throat works hard to swallow against a suddenly dry mouth. “I understand, sir.”

For the first time, Bill doesn’t correct your formality. You hardly notice the shift, though. You’re still reeling from the implications of what he’s asking of you, of how he’s exploited you, taken advantage of all of your vulnerabilities. Suddenly, you feel as if you’re choking, like a noose is tightening, tightening around your neck. You have to stop yourself from reaching to massage your throat, clenching your hands into tight firsts into your lap instead.

Bill watches it all in cool amusement. “Atta girl,” he praises, and you swear you taste bile. He stands, and you copy him absently, feeling detached and awkward, walking on legs that require all of your attention to keep from trembling.

Bill claps a heavy hand on your shoulder. His eyes flash with something like pride, and you decide in that moment that you hate him, this motherfucker, almost as much as you hate yourself for falling for his bullshit.

Goddammit, you’re so fucking stupid.

“Good talk,” he says, and you nod in a way that you hope is contemplative without being telling.

You follow Bill out of the room on wooden legs, your mind spinning with the implications of your conversation. He nods to you as the bookshelf slides shut behind you, and you nod back, relieved to see that he turns to head the opposite direction from the DEA office.

You glance down at your watch. You’ve got ten minutes if you hurry. With all your heart, you hope that Javi is still working.

You need to see him.

You push past his glass door, swinging it open hard enough that it bangs ominously against the wall. Javi is still slumped over his desk in the exact same position as before, studying a jumbled series of papers, a half-spent cigarette dangling from his lips.

Your breath catches at the sight of him.

His head snaps up at your noisy arrival, dark eyes narrowed at the intrusion. His expression softens when he sees that it’s you.

“Ears.” His voice is a sigh, a release of that same tension that you feel leaking from you own bones, and you dart forward, heedless of who might be watching beyond the glass walls.

“Hey,” you say, shoving aside an opened manilla folder to create a bare space for you to lean against. Javi doesn’t seem to mind that in the least, so you flop up onto his desk, pressing your thigh against his elbow, enjoying the feeling of just sharing the same space.

Javi glances at you, and your something lurches in your chest as you take him in. He looks haggard, exhausted, dark bags gathered beneath his bloodshot eyes like he hasn’t had good night’s sleep in far too long.

“Another little chat with Stechner?” he grouses, peering up at you with narrow gazed suspicion.

Your heart sinks, and you have to blink hard against the onslaught of his ire. Javi’s always been grouchy when he’s tired, and there’s nothing that drives him into a funk faster than any mention of Bill Stechner. It’s as if he has a sixth sense in that regard, like he can smell Bill on your skin.

And that’s a gross thought.

Until now, Javi’s attitude had irked you, and you’d written it off as petty, just another brand of that delightfully obnoxious possessiveness that he’s continuously displayed since your apartment was bombed.

But dammit, you’re the moron here, not Javi. He’d been right not to trust Bill.

You shut your eyes tightly. You wonder if Javi should even trust you, given your most recent assignment.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, not knowing how to put your many worries into words, and Javi must read your conflicted mood, because he lets the subject drop. He huffs, his attention falling back to the open file on his desk, his long fingers working little tapping patterns into its intricate woodgrain.

You follow his gaze, noticing that he’s been pouring over the same photograph that Bill had shown you in the white room. Feo’s ugly mug leers back at you, a knowing, secretive smirk playing at his upturned lips, like he’s mocking you, the motherfucker.

A flood of emotions swamp you. You’ve watched Javi squinting down at this same photo for days, his mind spinning as he attempts to tease out connections, completely stumped as to how this unassuming, ugly man fits into the bigger picture of Pablo Escobar and his sicarios.

And now you know, but there’s not a damn thing you can say about it. Bill’s going to be watching you. Hell, he’d admitted as much today. Verbatim. If he thinks that his little spy is sharing classified CIA intel with her DEA boyfriend…

Well, honestly, you’re not sure what would happen. You just know that it would be bad news for you, and probably even worse for Javi.

You release a deep, broken sigh, exhaling though your nose. You wonder how you’re going to balance it all, working for Bill without betraying Javi.

Well, you absolutely refuse to do that. Fuck Bill Stechner for even asking.

But now, watching Javi huddled over his messy desk, squinting in the dim light because he refuses to wear his fucking glasses, frazzled and careworn and a little cranky, something pulls at your chest.

Refusing to share this intel feels a lot like a betrayal already, and suddenly, you’re desperate to confess it all to him, to crawl into Javi’s lap and spill your guts and cry and beg for his forgiveness for blowing off his concerns about Stechner, for even entertaining the thought of withholding information from him.

Just as you feel like you’re ready to burst, Javi sighs deeply, flopping the file shut. He grinds out his cigarette and turns to glance at you, his eyes dark with need.

Your breath catches.

Then, without a word, Javi pitches forward to rest his head against your thigh. He nuzzles there for a moment, and you find yourself carding your fingers through his hair, helpless against the temptation to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a long moment.

“Shh,” you whisper. Guilt gnaws at you. You’re the one who should be sorry.

But Javi huffs a hot little breath against your leg, and you brush aside all thoughts of who should trust who, of loyalty and ethics and treason and chain of command. Right now, your entire universe is resting his head in your lap, and you’re determined to enjoy this moment, fallout be damned.

“Baby,” he murmurs into the rough denim of your jeans, and your heart flutters. You bring your opposite hand to rest at the back of his neck, savoring the softness of his skin there, winding your fingers through the curls that brush against his collar.

Javi shudders at your touch, and you remember belatedly that you’re stroking at his number one erogenous zone, teasing him mercilessly without meaning him to.

Reluctantly, you pull away, resting your palm at the slope of his shoulder instead. “Whoops.”

Javi snorts, craning his neck just enough to arch his only visible eyebrow in your direction. The rest of his face is squished into your thigh.

It’s fucking adorable, and it reminds you all over again how little you deserve him, this precious, perfect man.

“What’s wrong?” Javi asks, like he’s sensed the direction of your thoughts. He twists further to frown up at you. One hand comes up to rest at the juncture of your hip, his thumb pressing deeply into your skin.

It’s a comfort.

“Nothing,” you mutter, because you can hardly say ‘everything.’ You busy yourself with working little circles at the base of Javi’s ear, hoping it’s enough to distract him from his line of questioning.

It’s not. Javier Peña has a mind like a steel trap, and he notices everything. “Bull,” he breathes, shutting his eyes despite his best efforts. “You’re worried ‘bout something.”

God, he looks wrecked.

“I just…” You struggle for the right words to to offer him, come up empty. “God, I hate this.”

That one dark eyes flutters open again, soft with concern.

“I miss you,” you blurt before he can dig any further. And oh, god, that’s not a lie. You miss Javi so much it fucking burns, even with him nuzzled right here in your lap.

Javi draws a deep breath, rolling over to expose the entire left side of his face. His opposite arm comes up to wrap around your waist so that he’s almost hugging you, his fingers digging gently into your flank. “What time is your shift over, baby?” he mumbles, his one visible eye glinting, nearly feverish with need.

“Mmm,” you hum, your pulse hammering away in response to the how he’s looking at you. “I can probably be home by eight,” you say sadly.

And really, that’s pushing it. It all depends on what you hear over the frequencies, and how quickly you can vet it. Anybody’s guess at this point in the game.

Javi blusters a deep sigh that prickles hotly at your inner thigh. “Dammit,” he groans, clenching his eyes shut in frustration.

“What’s your morning like?” In the craziness of the past few days, you’ve completely forgotten his schedule.

“Early,” Javi mutters darkly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Fuck.”

“Hardly,” he pouts against your jeans.

And god, you can’t blame him. Resentment wells hot in you. You just want a break, dammit, just a single fucking day to spend with the man you love.

Is that so much to ask?

Suddenly desperate for more contact, you bend down to drop a gentle kiss at his temple.

Javi inhales sharply as your lips meet his skin, and you lay there like that, contorting over him in a way that makes your sides ache and probably displays half of your bare back to anybody who happens to walk past the glass walls of the DEA office right now.

You don’t fucking care. You need this.

“Can I meet you for lunch tomorrow?” you ask as you finally pull away. You haven’t bothered glancing at your watch, but instinct is telling you that you’re already running late for your shift, and your back is killing you.

Javi sits up, slumping against his office chair with his legs splayed sideways. He’s all wild hair and furrowed brow, and if you weren’t at work, you’d be tempted to crawl into his lap and kiss that contemplative look right off his face.

“That might work,” he says slowly, licking his upper lip a little in that way that means he’s thinking hard. Something coils deep in your belly, and you have to shake your thoughts away from those lips and that tongue, and what all they’re capable of.

Javi cocks a brow at you, tilting his head a little. “What are you thinking?”

Fuck it, it’s late. You slide off his desk, planting yourself in his lap with your legs spread across his, grinding subtly against his thighs. His belt buckle digs into your belly, but you don’t give a shit. You tilt his face to yours, reveling for half a second in his confused, awestruck expression before you plant your lips on his for a deep, gentle kiss. Javi moans a little at the contact, plaint and responsive against your advances, his hands coming to graze at your back reverently.

“I was thinking I’d ride,” you whisper against the stubble at his lower jaw just as you lean in to suck at it.

Javi twitches against you, a tiny jolt of his hips, like he’s tempted to take you right here in his rickety office chair, damn the glass walls.

“I need to see your face,” you continue, pulling his hands up to rest at your ribs as you rock gently against him, a subtle preview of tomorrow’s menu.

Javi shudders beautifully beneath you. “What, this ol’ thing?’ he teases, nuzzling against your breastbone. You can tell that he’s pleased by the thought.

“This pretty thing,” you correct, working your way back to his lips.

Javi bites back a groan as you kiss him. “Was asking about food,” he murmurs against your mouth. “But this is better.”

“Don’t worry about food,” you say, falling forward to nuzzle against his neck. “I’ll take care of it. And it will be perfect.”

Javi snorts. “Better be takeout, then.” He gathers you against his body with strong arms, cradling you close. You breathe him in, reveling in the distant smell of coffee and stale cigarette, all mixed in with a hint of musky sweat and something smoky and dark that is uniquely Javier Peña.

“God, baby, I’m looking forward to it,” he confesses against the hollow of your throat, and you throw your head back, shut your eyes and let him ravage you there, just for a moment.

Javi pulls away far too soon, and you shudder at the loss of him, your body damn near trembling with need.

He rolls back in his chair, glancing up at you with an apology in his eyes. “It’s eight oh five,” he tells you somberly, and you wince, disentangling yourself from him, stumbling out of his chair and straightening your shirt and threading your fingers through your wild hair in an effort to smooth it down.

“How do I look?” you ask after a moment, backing up enough to give him the full effect of you.

Javi’s eyes are burning as he takes you in, damn near shimmering with want and exhaustion and pent up emotion, and you curse Bill Stechner once again for butting his big nose into your relationship, for complicating things that should be so fucking simple.

“Perfect,” Javi says lowly, his lips pursed into a thin line, his eyes glittering with some thought that you can’t name. “Fucking perfect.”

Something wrenches in your chest, and you catch your breath, feeling tears prickle at your eyes. You suck them down, frustrated at how often life in Colombia seems to draw your emotions to the forefront.

Nobody needs that.

You lean forward, unable to resist dropping one last, chaste kiss to Javi’s forehead. “Go to bed, Javi,” you whisper against his skin. You pull away, a gentle, teasing smile spreading across your face. “Seriously, baby. It’s just getting stupid now.”

You wink at him, and Javi huffs a little laugh. “Get out of here, Ears,” he grouses, waving a lazy hand at you, but his smile is gentle and soft, and you know that he’s recognized the reference for what it is.

Feeling lighter than you have in days, you shoot him one last cheeky wave. Javi blows a little kiss at you in response, and your heart stutters at the gesture.

God, he’s such a sap.

You damn near dance to the Centra Spike office, slipping into your headphones a full ten minutes later than you really should. Nobody bats an eyelash, though, and you busy yourself with the normal nightshift bullshit, sipping your coffee and switching to the proper frequencies, the promise of tomorrow glowing in your heart.

♠

notes/confessions:

I struggled so hard with this. I still don’t love it, but I’m sick of looking at it, so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay, I know I have thrown some massive plot things at you this week. I know it’s complicated, and I know it’s a lot. Feel free to ask me questions. I’ve tried to make things as clear as possible, but I’m only human, Narcos is complicated af anyway, and Better Love is even worse, probably.

Look for updates to slow back down again, because a) I actually do have a job, and b) we’re getting close to the point where I’m going to have to start posting If I Fall, and I want to have my chapters outlined a little better and maybe even a few deep before I do that. Look for a few little fluffy one-shots scattered between then and now, but guys... for the most part, the pieces are in place, and we are in the home stretch - of the setup, that is.

Holy fucking shit.

Tags: @jedi-mando, @perropascal, @hotspacepilots, @mostly-megan, @starlight-starwrites, @thirstworldproblemss, @knittingqueen13, @yespolkadotkitty, @lv7867, @pascalisthepunkest, @sarahjkl82-blog, @corrupt-fvcker, @artsymaddie, @leonieb, @justanotherblonde23, @princess-and-pedro

Javier Peña tags: @magpie-to-the-morning, @tiffdawg, @danniburgh, @1800-fight-me, @mandoandgrogu, @hybrid-in-progress, @va-guardianhathaway, @speakerforthedead0, @feminist-violinist, @herefortheart, @dontmindifidontt, @blo0dangel

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #pedro pascal #narcos #narcos fanfic #Javier Peña fanfic #pedro fandom #pedro fanfic #reader insert #fluff #narcos netflix #narcos fanfiction #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña imagine #better love #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom

185 notes · View notes

the-hopeless-haze · 4 years ago

Text

I hope he’ll be a beautiful fool that takes my spot next to you

Pairing: Sonny Carisi/reader, past!Rafael Barba/reader

Warnings: lots of angst (I bring up Undiscovered Country.... soooo...) smut (it’s NSFW people lol)

Word Count: like 5k words? Idk it’s a long one folks but I deliver

Summary: Based on “exile” by Taylor Swift for @thatesqcrush ‘s Valentine’s Day Bingo! Basically the reader used to date Barba until she didn’t and ended up with Sonny. Rafael is less than pleased. This is a cliche pairing (for good reason! It’s so fun to write!) but I like to think I added a fun twist... Sonny is an absolute mess, Rafael is very jealous, reader is a tad bit vindictive. This can be read in conjunction with “Being Alive” but it’s really a detour and a very loose association... there are just references because it’s so hard for me to write for these characters outside of that lens since I’ve been writing it for so long. That being said this can absolutely be read by itself and this only works if Rafael and the reader didn’t progress as characters in BA anyway lol

Murderous rage doesn’t even begin to describe what Rafael feels right now.

Behind the anger, there’s a sadness, cold and hard as stone, but he won’t touch that. It’s so much easier to be angry at Sonny than deal with anything that has to do with you. And that’s fair, isn’t it, anyway? Sonny swooped in the second things turned sour between you and Rafael and didn’t even give the two of you a chance to patch things up.

Or you went to Sonny of your own accord.

Maybe that’s more likely, but that hovers too close to the ache in his chest and he doesn’t allow himself to dwell there. Instead, he lets his ire build up until it consumes him, shooting daggers at the two of you across the bullpen office.

The two of you had always been touchy-feely - you were partners after all, very close, but you’d trained Rafael to swallow his jealousy. Told him you didn’t see Sonny like that. And for the most part, he learned to believe you. So now, he has to wonder how much of that was a lie, how much he didn’t see between the two of you, because there’s no way in hell you’d allow Sonny to touch you like this if it weren’t precedented.

Yes, at work, no less, you and Sonny are sitting at your adjoined desks, but you moved your chair to squeeze as close to him as possible. His arm is slung across your shoulder, a relaxed grip, because he knows there’s nothing Rafael can say or do that would make you leave him. Your head is resting on Sonny’s vested shoulder, and you’re laughing at something he said, no doubt a stupid joke that only you would find the humor in.

Death would be more welcome, Rafael thinks, then curses himself for being overdramatic. Still, when was the last time Rafael had been able to make you laugh?

Olivia had warned him of this new arrangement, but nothing could prepare him for this. Didn’t Rafael matter at all to you?

You lean up to kiss Sonny and Rafael thinks he might puke. —- Maybe Sonny should feel more guilty for kissing your mouth like you’ve been his this whole time, but he doesn’t. Because now he knows without a doubt in his mind this is where you belonged. He can feel the weight of Rafael’s gaze across the room, but he doesn’t mind carrying it, shielding you from it.

He did feel awful the day you came to him, your touch freezing and clammy from the inclement weather that you traveled through to get to his apartment, and then you practically pounced on him, told him you wanted him - and what was Sonny to do? Say no? No, after asking you a million times if you were sure, he gave into a temptation he’d be lying if he said he never thought about before. Of course, Sonny always imagined being between you and Rafael - he loved both of you in different ways, and the two of you seemed like a package deal at the time his original fantasies started to occur - but if you alone were going to come onto him, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to oblige.

Don’t sleep with your partner was probably the first unwritten rule in becoming a detective, but it’s not like Sonny was going to stay at the precinct, anyway. He’d take Rafael’s place in the courtroom, too.

Still, when you first came onto him, he did feel a twinge of guilt, like he was hurting Rafael and you at the same time, in different ways, but then you explained it all to Sonny. How you always felt insecure around Rafael, that you weren’t sure if he really loved you, that you weren’t sure if you really loved him, that both of you had so much pressure to make this work that it started to fall apart under the weight of all your expectations.

You didn’t have to wait for Sonny to say he loved you, and you didn’t have to doubt it, either. He said it for the first time that same night, and he said it so fervently that you pulled his body back into yours, moaning your own declaration of love back to him. Maybe it was too soon, but he’d spent over a year pining for you (and Barba) in secret, and... well... he wasn’t going to waste what would be his only shot with one of you. He wanted you to know you would be well-cared for in his arms.

If looks could kill, Sonny would be dead on the spot and he knows this. But he also knows that jealousy is a cross Rafael has no right to bear. He had his shot, and he blew it. He should’ve let you know what you meant to him instead of clouding everything in his anxieties, his anger, his burdens from his past he never could let go of. Whatever he did now was too little too late, and even if Sonny had feelings for the lawyer, you always came first, and those said feelings would now never be stated out loud unless he got enough liquor in him and he was feeling sentimental that day.

Sonny used to root for you and Rafael, but he was always an embittered cheerleader, standing on the sidelines wishing someone could love him the way he thought you two loved each other. Appearances meant nothing, though. Now that you’ve let him in, he knows what you had with Rafael was far from the heaven you deserved.

And Sonny is all too keen to give you what you deserved.

As you lean up to kiss him again, he stops you for a moment, smiles down at you in adoration, and you giggle, “What?”

“Nothing,” he grins. “You’re just so beautiful, doll. I love you.”

Rafael’s gaze strengthens in intensity, and you almost turn to look in his direction before Sonny kisses you firmly, a smirk playing against your lips. This has to be killing Rafael, and Sonny isn’t usually that vindictive, but it gave him some sort of sick satisfaction that he was hurting Rafael just like Rafael had hurt you. And, you know, show Rafael what he was missing.

——

Sonny’s kiss is so warm, so comforting, but it doesn’t stop the ice running through your veins - you know Rafael is here despite Sonny’s best efforts to distract you from him. And you meet his eyes across the room for the first time since the night the two of you fought with each other for what would be the last time, the night you found yourself in Sonny’s arms instead. Those eyes add insult to injury, because you still know Rafael, and even if he’s standing across the room you know what he’s feeling. There’s anger there, but deep down you know he’s crushed at having seen you move on so quickly, and with someone he suspected you might leave him for in the first place. And he’s trying to drag you down to his level, get you to sit here in his misery with him.

This could break you if you don’t steel yourself, so you squeeze Sonny’s hand for support.

Sonny’s in tune with your body language, having been your partner for so long, and he stands to full attention, asking you if you’re alright.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, staring down Rafael until he makes his way over to your desk. You swallow thickly. Rafael when he was angry was never pleasant.

“This is cute, hmm?” he says bitterly, nodding sharply at the two of you.

“I like to think so,” you reply coolly, smiling at him.

“Barba, I know you’re waiting for Sarge, but can you please go wait somewhere else? She’ll be out any minute and you’re bothering (y/n),” Sonny asks, forever trying to be the peacemaker.

“She can handle herself,” Rafael says, chuckling sardonically, rolling up his sleeves nonchalantly. “Clearly. She doesn’t need you to fight her battles. But if you’d like to...”

“Mm, please, Rafael, like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me?” you snap. “Grow up. Everybody moved on. It’s time you do too.”

Rafael’s visibly taken aback by your verbal assault but he only lets it faze him momentarily. “Right. Moved on. Only took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it and you’re out here spreading your legs for someone else,” Rafael hisses, and you can see the moment when he realizes he went too far, the moment the wrath in his green eyes fades into regret.

“Get out,” Sonny says firmly, raising his voice enough to turn Amanda’s and Nick’s heads. “Get the fuck out. I don’t care how hurt you are, get out. You don’t talk to women like that. I’m honestly... I’m disgusted.”

“I... I am sorry—“ Rafael fumbles.

“A bit too late for that. I’m not your problem anymore, Rafael, so who am I offending now?” You ask. You weren’t upset by his statement - you did move fast with Sonny, faster than even you were immediately comfortable with, and you know how it must look to Rafael, how it must feed the flame of his absolute deepest and darkest insecurities.

Rafael glances around the room and realizes he’s caused a scene. Without a word, he leaves out the side door, forgetting his meeting with Olivia. He’s seen this film before, and the ending? It’s not worth sticking around for.

—-

Sonny could spend hours with his face between your legs, and he did. It was almost like the man never stopped talking because he wasn’t nose-deep in pussy - but you kind of chuckled at that thought because he wasn’t quiet even then. He’s always moaning, making obscene sucking sounds on your clit, talking to you, sending delicious vibrations straight to your core.

You come again, moaning and tugging at his hair, and Sonny adds to his total, grinning up at you, his face sinfully wet with your juices running down his chin. “That’s two down. Think you can give me one more before I fuck you?”

“Sonny, fuck,” you whine breathlessly as he runs his tongue over your now swollen and overstimulated clit. “I need a break.”

You love it. You’ve never had anyone this enthusiastic about pleasing you like this before, and you’ve never exactly been a pillow princess either, but Sonny protested if you even moved a muscle when he was going down on you, instead he’d chuckle and tell you to save your energy for when you ride him later. Not that he needed to be in you at all - you swear he could get off just eating you out. You never would’ve pegged giving oral as Sonny’s biggest kink, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Sonny laughs heartily, crawling up the length of your body to kiss you deeply, the taste of you branded onto his lips and tongue. You moan as he rolls his hips against yours, the cloth from his boxers creating a tantalizing friction and you buck up against him on instinct.

“Ah-ah,” he tsks, moving off you to lay beside you. “I thought you needed a break, doll.”

You sigh, nodding, trying to catch your breath, but how could you, when he was still on the side of you, whispering dirty things in your ear? God, he really did never shut up.

“He ever fuck you like this?” Sonny asks, a devilish glint in his eye. For a second you think he’d take it back, apologize for asking such an intrusive question, but he doesn’t, and you know it’s because he’s just gone down on you for half an hour already and he’s got enough testosterone running through his veins he could kill anyone who glanced at you. Of course he was in competition with Barba, especially when he was this riled up.

“No,” you murmur, and you’re not lying. Sex with Barba was great, obviously, he’s very attractive and he knows what he’s doing. Rafael was a damn tease, but Sonny? Sonny was so much of a sap he couldn’t bear to hold anything back, couldn’t bear to see your lip tremble in want for even a second. And no one had time to fuck the way Sonny wanted to, drawing everything out and making you come so many times with his lips and tongue before he’d finally enter you. It’d always take a few hours, so this was usually saved for Monday mornings when the two of you didn’t go in until 3, or Friday nights when both of you were too wired to sleep anyway. Sure, there were days you were pressed for time and he needed to have you so more often than not he’d settle for making you come quickly on his face before pounding into you, but...

Rafael was a good, thorough lover, and god, you’d probably miss his hands for a long time to come, but Sonny’s tongue was such a good replacement.

“You just saying that, doll?” Sonny asks gruffly.

“No, honey, of course not,” you giggle. “No one’s as generous as you.”

“Generous? Huh. That’s a good one,” he laughs, and it seems like that comment brought out the underlying sap in him. His clear blue eyes soften and he smiles at you. “Nah, doll, I just love you so much, and making you feel good? What better way to show it, you know?”

This was a complete mess, you realized that, but you were blissfully happy in spite of it. How could you not be? It’d been an amazing three months. On nights the two of you didn’t work, you were treated to home-cooked dinners, bottles of wine, heated makeout sessions that always led to something more. If you worked, you’d take long showers together, massaging the knots out of each other’s muscles until you were both too dreary-eyed to stand.

Sonny was clingy, sure. You knew he would be, of course, and you weren’t used to that - sometimes you questioned if Rafael even wanted you in the same room - and it’s with a sudden realization that you come to terms with the fact that none of your relationships worked out because you needed that constant reassurance that Rafael and so many of your exes were reluctant to give.

It’s so easy to paint Rafael as a villain now that it was all over, but he wasn’t. You truly, truly loved him, even if he never took the time to learn your love language or make you dinner or marathon-fuck you. He showed his affection for you in other ways, but they weren’t as overt and it always left you questioning what he really wanted from you.

And anyway, it wasn’t enough to counteract the wrongs he’d done to you. Always making snide comments about how close you were to Sonny, to Amanda, to Nick, even... and it was in those moments you wish he didn’t love you so much, that he’d let you breathe instead of keeping such a constricting hold on you. You knew what he was scared of, he’d been cheated on before... but you hadn’t done anything.

He tried so hard to snare you down without taking into consideration that you already were his. Or, at least you had been.

When he got down on one knee you knew it was over. For him to be that insensitive, after you’d just gone through an accident and were barely coming back to life through damn near mandatory therapy and rehab... you couldn’t take it anymore. Didn’t he see the signs? You gave him so many, but he just never learned to read your mind after all that time.

And you didn’t want to be his, at least not in that regard. He wasn’t asking you for the right reasons. He was making up for lost time.

You never told Sonny that Rafael asked you to marry him, because that would wreck him and make you seem vindictive, but you have a feeling that Sonny knew anyway. Maybe Rafael mentioned it in passing. It doesn’t matter. You’d never be his wife now.

You didn’t intend this to be a long term thing with Sonny, but now you were used to him being in every facet of your life, and you supposed you did love him underneath everything. It was always Sonny who was there on those cold nights equipped with hot chocolate and cannolis, always him making you laugh when you were miserable about a spat you’d gotten in with Rafael, always him damn near reading your mind to give you what you needed.

Maybe it wouldn’t last. Maybe the two of you would go down in flames, too. Maybe he’s only being this amazing because he’s wanted you this long and he wants to show you what you’ve missed the time you wasted with Rafael, and it’ll fade once you’ve stuck around.

But you don’t think so, because you know he’s always loved you like this. The only things that have changed since you let him in is that he fucks you now and he’s practically moved into your apartment. He’s never quite kept his crush for you under wraps. On the off chance this is just a honeymoon phase... you’d still take it. It was bliss for now, and that’s what mattered.

“You ready for round three, doll?” Sonny asks. “Or you wanna sit there and daydream about Barba?”

“W-what?” you stutter, looking at him dumbfounded. “I wasn’t—“

“Don’t play dumb. I know you, (y/n).”

“Are you mad?” You ask, making your voice small.

“No. It’s only natural, right? I probably shouldn’t have brought him up in the first place,” he says, shrugging. “Still...”

“Don’t, Sonny,” you protest. “You’re not his understudy. I love you—“

“I know. That’s not why I’m saying that,” he says, kissing you gently. ——

Sonny would never tell you why he was saying that; why he brought up Barba in the first place. This was a fucked up mess, Sonny knows that, but he can’t help imagining you fucking him like Rafael used to fuck you. You and Rafael both have such dominant personalities, and it makes sense why you’d always be at each other’s throats in hindsight.

One of you had to be more dominant, though, and Sonny gets the sense that more often than not Rafael won your battles. But Sonny won’t even put up a fight against you, and for a woman who was so used to losing... maybe Sonny was doing you more of a favor than he realized. You’re an absolute tease, brutal, really... Sonny doesn’t know where you get the sadism because you’re so kind-hearted outside of the bedroom... but he’s never quite had orgasms like the ones you draw out of him either, so he’s not exactly complaining.

Okay, maybe he whines a little when you don’t let him come.

Or a lot. Whatever.

It’s so worth it, for both of you, even if Sonny can barely take the heat sometimes.

Sonny imagines Rafael doing that to you, too, getting you riled up and soaking wet just to say you can’t come until he said. Or teasing you while you were working (he’d seen that happen a couple of times) just to leave the precinct and leave you rubbing your thighs together in a vain attempt to relieve the ache between them.

Sonny could just never do that to you, lord knows. For one, he can’t stand to see you ache for him while he’s right there, while he can just give you what you need from him. For him he takes pride in the number of orgasms he can draw from you, not how explosive or mind-numbing they can be (although he likes to think he gives both in quantity and quality). Sex is all about giving to Sonny. It always has been. Besides, seeing you fall apart on his tongue? It drives him insane. Maybe most men don’t get as enthusiastic about going down on their girlfriends, but Sonny truly doesn’t think he could ever live without it.

Still... didn’t you take a little bit of your partner with you, even if it was over? In a way, Sonny realizes, he does have both you and Rafael now. Just like he always wanted. Because when you maneuver him where you want him, get bossy in bed, that’s Barba talking. When you drag his bottom lip between your teeth, fiery lust in your eyes, he can just imagine Rafael doing the same to you, you looking up at him with hooded eyes.

His favorite’s got to be when you speak to him in Spanish, whisper “te amo” to him under your breath, because that’s purely Rafael’s influence and nothing else.

Still, you’re mostly you- and that’s fine. Sonny always loved you more, anyway, he’s always been closer to you, always been head over heels for you the second he stepped foot in the precinct and Liv told him you were his new partner.

Sonny didn’t see a point in hiding your relationship from the squad. You were wary at first - everyone knew you just broke up with Barba, and making this public so soon would be a source of gossip. But he convinced you... through questionable means (make a girl come enough times and she’ll do anything you ask). At the end of the day, he doesn’t think anyone truly cared, even if Amanda made a comment; “Guess she’s a hot commodity around here. When’s my turn to date her?”

“I’m never letting her go now that I’ve got her,” Sonny had replied with a grin. “You missed your shot.”

“I was kidding,” she chuckled. “Good for you, though. You’ve been in love with her for a long time, puppy dog eyes and everything.”

Sonny just beamed back at her, but he wonders how obvious he truly was in his affection for you before the two of you started going out. Was it enough to make Barba jealous? Possibly. Maybe that’s why Barba was being so absolutely vile and hostile toward Sonny now, refusing to let him sit in on his closing argument rehearsals and making sure to send more snide remarks his way whenever possible. Sure, Sonny expected that, but if only Rafael knew Sonny loved him too.... Maybe the wound wouldn’t sting as badly as it did. There wasn’t a chance in hell Sonny would say anything now, especially with the way he talked to you the other day (you’d think a lawyer who handles mostly sex crimes would refrain from slut-shaming his ex-girlfriend, but, apparently his anger truly did get the best of him). Still, he’d always love Rafael just like you always would.

Sonny knew there was always a chance that he was just a rebound, that you’d leave him to go back to Rafael, but time goes on and you stay with him and Rafael stays bitter, barely looking at the two of you. Years pass and Sonny tries to extend an olive branch every couple of months, but Rafael would rather eat poison, it seems.

Fair enough. You couldn't say Sonny never tried. ----

Rafael spent a few years feeling like an exile every time he stepped foot into the precinct - and it wasn’t fair in the least. He was A.D.A. before you even got your badge. If anything, you should be feeling like the odd one out now that the two of you were over. This was his city.

But you’re not his homeland anymore. You haven’t been, not for a long time.

It was a new kind of torture every day, watching you and Sonny get closer, closer, closer… Rafael kept searching for reasons to leave New York City that wouldn’t have to do with you.

And then he found one.

Rafael’s standing outside the courthouse, where he just got acquitted for infanticide. It’s bitterly cold, he’s wearing his tan coat that you’d rarely see him out of this time of year. And you come up to talk to him.

It was rare that you did that, anyway, you did your best job to ignore him unless you absolutely needed to speak with him. But now he gets the feeling it’s time for confessions, words you always wanted to say to him all these years now that he was leaving out the side door of your life for good.

It’s a strange kind of sickness, watching you move on more and more, seeing your stomach swollen with Sonny’s child, your finger gleaming with Sonny’s ring, your last name changing to Carisi.

“You’re really leaving?” you ask, pulling your coat across your belly - it wouldn’t stay closed with the buttons anymore. You shiver, sip at your coffee.

“I can’t exactly stay now, can I?” he asks brusquely. “You really shouldn’t be drinking coffee while you’re pregnant.”

You snicker. “It’s not your baby, is it, Barba? Good thing, too. Wouldn’t want her to come out wrong. You might kill her.”

“Oh, fuck off. I don’t need this to be rehashed,” he snaps harshly, bitter tears leaving his eyes. “Did you have anything else to say?”

“It’s decaf coffee, anyway,” you mutter. “I really thought you’d have left a long time ago.”

“Why, because of you?” he asks, laughing bitterly. “Are you really that arrogant?”

“You still look at me like you want to kill me half the time.”

“Just… I still don’t understand what went wrong.”

“If you don’t know by now… I really don’t know what to tell you, Rafael. I gave so many signs. And Sonny… he treats me well. He gives me things you were never ready for, and I… The way things happened… they truly were for the best.”

“For who?” Rafael asks, fighting against his body’s overwhelming desire to break down and sob. Hadn’t he learned by now, though, that there was no amount of crying he could do for you? Still, when you left him, everything went to hell. He tried to pour himself into his work, and this… watching you get and stay happy was salt in the wound.

“I think leaving will be good for you,” you say, ignoring him. “You can move on. Meet someone new. Get a new job. New start. You know?”

“I think I’m too old for new starts,” he scoffs, shaking his head.

“Won’t know unless you try, hm?” you ask, nudging him in the side. “You’ll make it. You always have.”

“Not with you,” he murmurs.

“No. But you didn’t need me. You don’t need anyone.”

“Is that what you tell yourself, to make yourself feel better for what you did to me?” Rafael asks, his voice breaking a little. He was always so desperate not to show vulnerability, especially not around you… but what did it matter now?

“Rafael… we always walked a very thin line. You have to know that we weren’t going to stay together even if we tried to. And why should I have to be miserable just because you are?”

He stays silent because you have a point and he’ll be damned if he lets you know that.

“Sonny loves you, you know,” you say abruptly, and Rafael quirks up an eyebrow. You laugh. “Yeah. He’s very testy about it, but I’ve been with him long enough. I know he does. You should’ve jumped on him before I had the chance. He would’ve taken you. He would’ve taken both of us, but… you and I couldn’t share.”

“You can have him,” Rafael says, rolling his eyes. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s just… you didn’t have to spend all these years hating us, feeling like a foreigner in your own city. We would’ve taken you back. You just didn’t want us.”

“I didn’t want the Carisi package deal. I wanted you. I dated you, not him. I loved you, not him.”

“First of all… I meant as friends. But also… Like you’ve never thought about it,” you tease, grinning at him.

Rafael rolls his eyes. “See, this is why we had problems. That’s not funny. Wandering eyes… that’s a problem.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you say, shrugging. “Sonny’s surprisingly liberal. But that’s great that you were finally able to admit that your jealousy made me feel like I couldn’t breathe.”

“I’d argue my jealousy was warranted. I find it hard to believe that you didn’t fuck Sonny before you broke up with me,” Rafael scoffs.

“I didn’t!” you protest. “I’m not having this argument with you, because at this point, it doesn’t matter if I did or not, but I was nothing but faithful to you, Rafael.”

“Then how could you just move so fast?"

“It’s not like I just picked him up off the street. We’d been friends before.”

“Right. Friends.”

“Yeah. Friends,” you repeat sarcastically. “You see why we didn’t work out now?”

“Guess so.”

“You know, I do wish the best for you. Honestly. You deserve better than the cards you got dealt here.”

“You can say that again,” Rafael sighs. “I did really love you, you know.”

“Yeah. Sometimes that’s not enough. I loved you too.”

He takes a deep breath. “I wish you the best too. You’ll be a good mother.”

“Thank you, Rafi,” you whisper back, leaning over to hug him softly. There it is again; that cold bitter ache - when’s the last time you referred to him by that nickname? And now it would be the last. “Goodbye and good luck.”

"Yeah, you too," he says, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly, remembering a time when touching you was second nature. He watches you, your eyes make contact with Sonny's, and you turn back one last time to give Rafael a sympathetic smile... and that's the last time he ever sees you.

Taglist (lmk if you wanna be added!): @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes @thatesqcrush @law-nerd105 @blackeyedangel9805 @moon-river-drifter @dianilaws @xecq @lv7867 @teddybluesclues @averyhotchner @houseofthirst @stardust-fray @lapaquerette @wanniiieeee @altsvu

#thatesqcrushvdaybingo #sonny carisi x reader #rafael barba x reader

117 notes · View notes

lunar-jimin · 4 years ago

Text

i can be temptation, you can be my sin

Pairing: Jimin x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4.5k

Genre: smut, tiny side of angst and fluff, office!au (not the TV show), coworkers!au

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dom!Jimin, sub!reader, spanking, fingering, semi-public sex, dirty talk, degradation, reader sends nudes

Summary: Between bragging about his prolific sex life and his horrific design ideas, Jimin has managed to make your work life a living hell. Then one little accident sends you hurtling towards him, and as hard as you try, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

A/N: This is a commission for @ppersonna for @ficswithluv‘s ChangesWithLuv project dedicated to raising money for BLM. I’m so sorry this fic took forever to write (I’m not sure why), but I hope that you enjoy it! A huge shout-out to my lovely beta-reader, @jinterlude. She’s the best!

| m.list |

“Jimin…” a groan tumbles out of you, “that shade of yellow is-“

“Bright and comforting?”

“-awful.”

His thick lips curve into a pout, eyes doing little to conceal his mock hurt. Exasperation runs through your body, grasping your brain in its clutches. Your entire week has been filled with Jimin’s progressively hideous design ideas for a book cover, to the point you’re beginning to wonder how he got hired at all. The piss-yellow mock-up in front of you is just another straw in the stack that is going to break your back.

“What?” he looks confused, “You said you wanted something eye-catching, and I would have to say this is pretty darn, eye-catching.”

“It’s blinding is what it is. Maybe if we toned it back a bit…” your eyes drift over the design, horror twisting in your gut.

You want to cry. A week ago, your boss had enthusiastically paired you with Jimin to design a book cover for an up and coming YA author, claiming the two of you were the best designers she had, even promising the both of you a promotion if things went well. You aren’t sure what designs Jimin had produced in the past, because what he was bringing to the table now wasn’t much better than a shitty college club poster.

Jimin didn’t make for great company either. Sure he had legs that went for miles, and a face that would outshine angels, but his mouth was filthy. If the two of you weren’t bickering over fonts and hex codes, you were stuck listening to him brag about how loud he could make a girl scream. What’s worse is that while your brain was logical enough to know that Jimin was no good for you, your body had other ideas. As a result, you often went home after a long day, frustrated in more ways than one.

With a little luck- and quite a bit of compromising- you manage to make it to five ‘o’clock without murdering anyone. You manage to talk Jimin down off the yellow in exchange for completing the pitch presentation by yourself. Presentations are time-consuming and tedious, but it’s better than being out of a job because Jimin is set on making the cover look like a neon highlighter.

A half an hour later, you're collapsing on your soft couch, ready to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the weekend. A sigh of relief carries an iota of the stress out of your body as you sink back into the welcoming cushions. You grimace as the tension in your neck became apparent, and you feel the growing ball of angst you have for Jimin tighten. You were going to send him the bill if you had to go to a chiropractor.

In an attempt to move on from your hectic week and into your relaxing weekend, you wander to the kitchen, searching for the merlot you have yet to open. The tall green bottle greets you from the counter. You find a glass and watch as the red liquid quickly fills it. You savor a long sip as you let your mind stray away from the thoughts of work and stress and into notions of self-care and relaxation.

An hour later, having eaten a frozen pizza, you find yourself soaking down into the hot bath suds. The heat begins to draw the ache out of your sore muscles. Once again, Jimin flashes through your mind, coupled with resentment. Your eyes prickle at the thought, sick and tired of Jimin living in your mind rent-free. Why is he preoccupying your brain instead of Seokjin, the cute cook you matched with on Tinder?

While you had yet to meet in person, you and Seokjin had hit off right away when he opened with the cheesiest pick-up line you’d ever heard. He worked at a five-star restaurant a few blocks from your office, but you’d never met in person. That didn’t mean that you hadn’t had a few scandalous conversations. You weren’t usually one for sexting, but Seokjin’s way with words left you little choice.

Eager to take Jimin off your mind, you grab your phone from the side of the tub, quickly opening your messages. You’re much too impatient for small talk, so in the interest of sparking some saucy dialogue, you take a few snaps of your bubble-covered nude body. You suck in a breath as you hit send, anxious for your reaction. It wasn’t the first time you had sent him a nude photo, but it didn’t make you any less nervous. Seokjin was one of the most attractive men you had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on, and it was only natural for you to question your appearance in comparison to his. He would always reassure you, though, flattering you with compliments, both sultry and sweet.

When he doesn’t respond fifteen minutes, a knot forms in your stomach. What if he didn’t like them? What if he was seeing someone else? What if he lost interest? You check your messages with hurried concern. What you find on your screen mortifies. In your haste to tease Seokjin, you had accidentally sent the photos to the last person you texted: Jimin. Worse yet, the little grey “read” sits just beneath the last picture. As you stare at the screen with abject horror, a little speech-bubble pops-up. Your stomach twists in knots, anticipating of what he might say striking you with fear.

The Office Brat: if you wanted a piece of me baby girl, all you had to do was ask 20:33

You suck in a breath when he immediately follows the text with a picture of his own. He’s shirtless, lip between his teeth as he grabs his prominent erection through grey sweatpants. You can’t help the whine that slips out of your mouth at the image. You try to ignore the heat that rushes to your core as your legs rub together. When your senses finally return to you, you drop your phone on the bath mat before sinking into the water, leaving only your face out. The photo is still seared into your brain, taunting you with his delicious abs and what turned out to be a healthy sized dick.

You immediately resolve to forget it ever happened. You spend the rest of the weekend attempting to distract yourself through a binge of every cheesy rom-com you can find on Netflix. You sent Jimin a quick text, informing him that the photos weren’t actually for him. He hadn’t responded, and you didn’t know if you should be relieved or not. It certainly didn’t aid the dread building in your stomach at the thought of having to face him again on Monday.

When you walk into the office two days later, you’re relieved to find that Jimin seemed nowhere to be found. You pray that he actually had an iota of shame and quit out of humiliation. Your hopes are crushed when not five minutes later, you notice him prancing toward your cubicle, his ever-present smirk plastered across his face. When he reaches you, he plops down in an extra desk chair, arms crossed across his chest, eyes looking you up and down. You can’t help but shiver at the knowledge that he knows precisely what you look like underneath your work clothes.

“What do you want, Jimin?” you sigh.

“Haven’t I made that obvious, baby?” He grins. “I want you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Jimin, what happened this weekend was an accident,” you give him a firm glare, “so no matter how much you claim to want me, I want nothing to do with you.:

He raises his eyebrow, eyes locked on yours, before standing and walking to you. His breath is warm on your neck as he leans over to whisper in your ear. You clench your thighs in an attempt to extinguish the heat beginning to burn in between them.

“We’ll see about that, now won’t we, baby girl?”

He pulls away with a smirk, before turning to head to his desk. Your eyes trail to his ass as he leaves, only worsening the situation in your underwear. You silently vow to yourself not to fall for his tricks. You have more self-respect than to allow yourself to be yet another notch in Park Jimin’s bedpost.

Brushing thoughts of your troublesome coworker from your mind, you turn back to your bright computer screen, determined to lose yourself in your work. Your eyes widen when you find an email from Jimin taunting you in your inbox. Heart pounding fast, you click on it, half afraid to find another nude of his (it wouldn’t be beyond him). Instead of a naked Jimin, a PDF with the details for the cover design presents itself. You’re taken aback. Not only had Jimin swapped the yellow for soft coral, but he practically redesigned the entire thing. Scrolling through, you’re embarrassed to admit that it was nearly as good, if not better, then some of your best works.

You immediately realize that this means he’s been pulling your leg for over a week. A groan escapes you, and your head falls forward, smashing into your keyboard. Of course, he was a fucking amazing graphic artist; you shouldn’t have expected anything less. Fury floods down your spine as it dawns on you that it was all a trick to get out of doing the PowerPoint. Now you were stuck making an entire presentation, just because Jimin had pretended to love piss-yellow.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to march to his desk and strangle him. White anger flashes in front of your eyes, resentment growing to cover every waking thought in your brain. When you finally calm enough to rationalize that murder isn’t going to get you anywhere, you decide that your best course of action is to avoid him until the day of the two of you are scheduled to present to the board.

The world isn’t being kind to you today, because when you finally head to the break room for lunch, you immediately run into your new worst enemy.

“What’s got your panties in a knot now, love?”

You glare at him, not trusting yourself not to stab him with your salad fork. He smirks in response, before turning to leave. At the last second, he turns back to you.

“Have fun with that PowerPoint.”

You want to scream.

“Jimin, I swear to god, you little shit, I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna what? Spank me?” His cheeky grin widens. “You know, baby, I’m usually a dom, but if it meant feeling your sweet pussy, I’d definitely be a sub.”

You are lucky that no one else is around to hear his words because you are mortified enough. Red creeps across your face as Jimin winks at you. When he finally leaves, you collapse back onto the counter, trying to get a grip on your surroundings. You swear to high heaven that you’ve never hated someone so much in your life, yet feel so attracted to them at the same time. As infuriated as you are with him, you are even more infuriated with your inability to control your body’s reaction to him.

Why did he have to know exactly what to say to soak your panties? Why was he so hellbent on getting you to sleep with him? Why did you ever have to be assigned to him in the first place? These questions plagued your mind as the week trickled slowly on. Your anger with Jimin was beginning to be diluted with anxiety about your upcoming presentation. No part of you looked forward to standing in front of the company board to make a potential career-changing pitch with the person you hated most in the world. Not to mention public speaking made you want to hide under a rock and never come out.

Thankfully, Jimin is kind enough to offer to do most of the talking- even if his original deal included a blow job- but it also meant you had less control if things started to go south. By the time Friday rolled around, you’re shitting yourself with fear. Jimin does his best to calm you down as you sit in hard plastic chairs outside the boardroom, waiting to be called in.

“Look, we’ll do fine. You made an amazing presentation, and I’m pretty brilliant at charming people if I do say so myself.”

He reaches over and gives your hand a small squeeze. You’re just nervous enough to offer him a small smile. For what it’s worth, he wasn’t terrible at comforting people.

“Thanks, Jimin. I’m sure everything will go great.”

Everything did not go great. In fact, it went very, very badly. Somewhere out there, someone must have hexed you because that’s the only reason you can think of that would explain why you placed Jimin’s original yellow design in the slideshow instead of his new one. You feel terrible. Not only have you fucked up in front of the entire company, but you’ve put both of your jobs on the line.

As soon as the meeting ended, you rushed off to the bathroom. You already embarrassed yourself enough as it is, you don’t need everyone to see you cry too. Tears roll down your face as you sit on the toilet, praying for the sudden end of your existence.

You had one job and somehow you had managed to fuck it up. You managed to ruin your career. You’re going to end up jobless. Broke. Destitute.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts by a knock at the door.

“Doll? Are you in there?”

Jimin’s voice is soft and comforting, and if you weren’t so afraid of humiliating yourself, you would have gladly welcomed his arms around you. But you are, so you try to stifle your sobs in an attempt to make him go away.

“Doll? I know you’re in there. I can hear you crying,” he sighs, “Please just let me in. I just want to talk.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you debate your options. If he already knows you’re crying, what difference will it make if he sees you? You stand up from your seat on the toilet, make a quick attempt at cleaning up your ruined makeup, and hesitantly open the door to let him inside.

He immediately takes you in his arms, closing the door behind him. The feeling of his body wrapped around yours only serves to induce more tears, and you find yourself crying into his shirt collar.

“I’m so, so sorry, Jimin,” you hiccup, “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how I used that one. I’m so sor-”

“It’s okay, baby.”

You pull away to look at his eyes.

“What? How can you say that? I ruined the presentation, and we’ll be lucky if they want us to come back to work tomorrow.”

“They loved it.”

“What?”

“They loved it. They thought it was bright and innovative and really demonstrated that we understood design enough to push its limits.”

You look at him in shock. They loved it. They thought it was great. Your job was safe. You weren’t going to be fired. You may even receive a promotion.

“Feel better, doll?” He smiles down at you.

For once in your life, you return his smile, while shaking your head in affirmation.

“Well, then…”

You’re still smiling but suddenly unsure of what to do. Jimin’s hands are still on your waist, and you hated how aware of them you’re becoming. He seems to notice at the same time and quickly pulls them away.

“I have a question.” His voice is soft and shaky, and his eyes shift from side to side, seemingly unable to focus on you.

“What?”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

You’re taken aback. Jimin, who was usually so confident and larger than life, is now standing before you, small and meek, like an underfed puppy begging for scraps.

“I, I don’t hate you, Jimin.”

“But you must,” his voice is curt, “You never flirt back with me, yet I see you tease Hoseok all day long. You never laugh at my jokes. You never praise my work. As soon as I come anywhere near you, you close up. You snap at me, and you have no patience with me. You avoid me at all costs. So let me ask you again: why do you hate me?”

This time, instead of avoiding eye contact, he stares at you like he’s trying to read your soul.

“I really don’t hate you, Jimin.”

He raises his eyebrow.

“I just don’t want you to hurt me.”

He looks genuinely confused at your statement.

“How could I possibly hurt you?”

“The same way you hurt all those other girls.”

“What other girls?” His voice rises with defense.

“You know, the ones you sleep with in bathrooms, only to leave them broken-hearted when you never so much as glance their way again? The one’s you brag about fucking every chance you get until I want to slam my head into a brick wall? The ones that prove you’re nothing but a narcissistic fuckboy whose only goal in life is to get his dick wet? Those are the girls I’m talking about.”

Jimin looks shocked before his face morphs into an angry scowl, eyes heated and alert.

“That’s what you really think about me? That I’m a no-good player who uses girls for their bodies? Do you really think I trick girls into sleeping with me? Because you're wrong. They know what they’re getting into when they agree to restroom rendezvouses, but they always seem to convince themselves that they can convince me that I should be in a relationship with them. That’s not my fault. I would never sleep with someone under false pretenses. And I bragged about them because I wanted you to like me! Do you not get that? I don’t ever try this hard to get anybody to sleep with me, but I like you. I like you a lot, and this whole time you just thought I was a misogynistic fuckboy because you never cared to get to know me better.”

Jimin is seething, like a dog that went feral. His chest rises with heavy breaths as he backs you into the wall, eyes staring down yours. You let out a small whimper when he leans into your ear, hot breath ghosting your neck.

“If you think I’m such a fuckboy, then a fuckboy is what you are going to get.”

Before your brain can properly register his words, his lips are covering yours in a desperate kiss. Despite your lack of cognizance, you respond immediately, lips moving against his as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you. His hands ghost down your side before he grabs your ass with a rough squeeze, eliciting a whine from your mouth.

He flips you around before bending you over the sink, eyes holding yours in the mirror reflection.

“I think you’ve been a bad girl, don’t you agree? Leaving me with blue balls just because you think you’re better than me.”

Words fail you, so you nod instead. His hand slips under your skirt, softly massaging your ass.

“Don’t you think Daddy needs to punish you?”

You whimper, eyes struggling to hold his in your shared reflection. His gaze was burning with lust and fiery.

“I need you to use your words, baby.”

“Yes, daddy, I need to be punished.”

He grinned before flipping up your skirt to reveal the supple curve of your ass to his waiting gaze.

“Fuck, baby, do you know how long I’ve stared at this ass walking away from me, trying not to pop a boner in front of the whole office?”

He grabbed a rough handful.

“So long, baby, much too long. I think ten should suffice. Count for me.”

“Okay, daddy.” You whine.

“Say ‘red’ if it gets to be too much.”

“Yes, daddy.”

The first spank sent shocks running through you. While you expected the pain, you hadn’t anticipated how hard he would hit you, or how the contrast of his warm palm and cool rings would send pleasure singing through your body.

“O-one.”

The word barely made it out of your mouth, your brain hazy with lust.

The subsequent slap on the opposite cheek once again jolts you, and you fall forward, bracing your hands on the cold porcelain sink before you.

“Two.”

By the time he made it to five, tears had begun to well in your eyes, and you were sure your ass was painted a nice shade of crimson. By the time he made it to ten, tears had streaked your cheeks as moans and whimpers left your mouth alongside your garbled counting.

Jimin takes a moment to step back to admire his handiwork, his smirk only widening as he takes in his handprint bruised into your ass.

“Holy shit, baby, you’re so hot. You took your punishment so well. Look at how much of a good girl you are.”

Even in your hazy state, you beamed at his praise.

“Thank you, daddy.”

“I think you deserve a reward, baby girl.”

You nod vigorously at that, eager to feel him finally inside you.

“What do you want, baby? Use your words.”

“Your fingers, daddy, please.”

In an attempt to convey your desperation, you grind your hips into his crotch.

“Patience, baby girl. Where do you want them?”

“In my pussy, daddy. Please. I’m so wet for you.” Your sentence ends with a light sob, the need for him overwhelming you.

“Ask and you shall receive.”

With that, he pulls your panties to the side as he cautiously rubs his pointer finger up and down your soaked slit, before slipping inside.

“Fuck, baby, your dripping. Did spanking you turn you on that much? Is my baby girl that much of a pain slut?”

“Yes, daddy. I’m a pain slut just for you.”

He adds a second finger, and your head drops between your shoulders as he begins to move his digits in and out of you at a quick but intentional pace. Moans fall from your lips, and you let out a sharp squeal when he crooks his fingers and brushes against your g-spot.

“Fuck, daddy, right there.”

He quickens his pace, rubbing you perfectly over and over again as he brings you closer to the point of no return.

“Shit, baby, I’m so hard right now. Your pussy is so tight and wet around my fingers; I just want to sink my cock into you.”

“Please, daddy, I want your cock too. I want you to cum inside me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“

Words fail you as you are sent hurtling into your orgasm, waves of euphoria crashing down around you. Your body is shaking as you collapse against the sink.

Jimin lets out a groan at your fucked-out state, removing his hand from your pussy and bringing it to his lips to taste you. He lets out a moan as he does, freehand going to the front of his pants to rub his prominent erection through the black fabric.

After you recover enough to stand, you turn around and replace his hand with your own, pussy clenching at how big he was.

“Will you fuck me now, daddy?” You look up at him under your lashes, and his head falls back at your mock innocence, a light whimper escaping his lips. He tilts his head back up to look at you, hand coming to grab your waist to pull you to his lips.

You taste yourself on his tongue as your hands come to play with his hair, tugging on the strands. He ruts up into you, desperation getting the better of him. He pulls away, revealing his swollen lips and hazy eyes.

“Fuck yeah, I’ll fuck you now, baby girl.” He makes quick work of his belt zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to let out his cock and balls. The tip is an angry red, beautifully contrasted with the white of his dress shirt. Your mouth waters as you take in its wide girth and slight curve. You’re desperate to taste it, but right now there were more important matters at hand.

You drop your panties, before hopping up on the edge of the sink. Jimin gives his cock a few short tugs before lining up with your dripping entrance. You let out soft moans as he sinks into you, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him as close as possible. His hands grab your ass, pulling you to the edge of the sink, before slamming back in. He sets a slow but intentional pace, the sound of skin and desperate moans echoing throughout the small bathroom.

You aren’t going to last long, having already come once, and judging by his quickening pace, neither is he. Your lips meet each other in a messy kiss as he pulls you tight against his body. It’s hard to discern what is a part of you and what is a part of him. Your limbs are so intertwined, that it feels like you are one body.

As his cock continues to drill into your g-spot, stars begin to cover your vision. With the force of a freight train, you come unannounced; your mouth opens in a silent scream. Jimin follows right behind you, painting your walls white with his seed. He lets out a groan of your name, his head coming to rest on your shoulder.

Both of you silently shake as you take a moment to catch your breath and process what just happened. He slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, watching as his cum pours out of your cunt.

“Fuckkkk, that’s hot.” He groans, tucking himself back into his pants, before wetting a paper towel to help clean you up.

“I’m sorry I thought so poorly of you.” You give him an apologetic grin, as you pull up your underwear.

“It’s okay. I can see where I might have led you to think that I don’t treat girls well.”

“Well, now I can see that I was wrong. You seem like you would be a fantastic boyfriend.” You move to exit the bathroom, eager to get away so you can process the rampage of emotions flooding through you now that your lust wasn’t getting in the way.

“I can be yours.”

You pause at the door.

“What?”

“I could be your boyfriend.”

“I-“

“I’ve liked you ever since the first time I saw you, and I think that maybe you like me, and I just really, really want to be your boyfriend.”

Your mind is racing at a million miles per hour, trying to process everything that’s happening. One moment he was fucking you like it was your last day on the earth, and now he’s standing in front of you, pleading for you to make him yours. You aren’t sure what to make of it.

“I think I would really like that too, Jimin,” he beams,” “but everything is going so fast, and I just need a little time to take everything in.”

His face falls a little, but he nods understandingly.

“That’s fair. Let me take you on a date, at least.”

You grin.

“Okay.”

“Coffee on Saturday?”

“Sounds great.”

#changeswithluv #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #fanfic #one-shot #smut #bts #jimin #park jimin #bangtan #fluff #angst

390 notes · View notes

amandaoftherosemire · 4 years ago

Text

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Two

Fandom: Marvel/MCU AU

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7,490

Format: Short Series (Complete)

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only, language, angst.

Summary: You meet Bucky Barnes upon your mysterious and deadly escape from a power obsessed cult leader and his followers. Though you carry a secret in addition to the wariness of trauma, you can’t help your attraction to Bucky and his irascible demeanor. As for Bucky, he is drawn to the light he sees in you while he fears the things you’re hiding. Can you trust him with your secrets, and your life? Will you have a choice?

A/N: I like to keep each part of a series under 10,000 words, so that means this is now a four-part series! The ending is taking more words to tell than I’d expected, but this is not a new thing for me. Right now is an absolute buffet of content for us Bucky stans, so I’m very inspired and that means even more florid prose. Lucky you?

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four

And Hell is Just a Sauna -- Part Two

"Buh," you said as Bucky walked past you in nothing but his underwear, rubbing rain from his hair with a towel as he walked from the laundry room through the kitchen back to his own room.

"Sorry, doll," his amused voice came out muffled from under the towel. "I got soaked and filthy on my run and figured you'd rather I not track mud through the house."

"Mm-hmm," you answered absently, your attention not on his words, but on the sight of his body stripped down to almost nothing right in front of you. You were only human, after all, and he was beautifully built. All of him was roped in tight muscle, his shoulders broad, his chest and stomach taut, his thighs temptingly thick. You couldn't pry your eyes away.

"I took it all off in the mudroom,” he continued to rub at his hair as you took the opportunity to enjoy the sight of all that velvet soft skin, your mouth dry and your heart pounding, “and put it straight in the washing machine. Is that okay?"

“Uh-huh.” No more attentive to what you were saying than the first time, your eyes were on the tight ass clad in skimpy boxer briefs as you answered again. Your gaze jumped up when Bucky stopped in the middle of the kitchen and turned to face you, but your eyes, drawn by temptation, caught and held on a drop of rainwater poised at the crest of his left Adonis line.

Bucky’s eyes were bright and amused as he pushed the towel back to sling it over his shoulders. That amusement only deepened when he saw where you were looking and the heat in your gaze. His own gaze sharpened when he saw your breath catch as you bit your lip to hold back a whimper at the sight of that drop sliding down his skin and being absorbed into his waistband.

“You're staring at me, doll,” he purred and preened, his voice rich with arousal as he leaned against the kitchen counter, muscles rippling before your eyes and making it impossible to look elsewhere. “Are you sure everything's alright?”

You realized you were egregiously and blatantly ogling your houseguest and your eyes snapped to his. You found in that searing blue both affection and desire and it made your stomach tighten with lust. You flashed a reckless grin, unrepentant, at the eyebrow he’d arched in amused question.

The others had left only a couple of weeks ago, but you and Bucky had already fallen into an easy routine. He’d start the day with a run through the forest behind the house while you started the coffee. He liked to have the lay of the land in any given situation should a hasty escape prove necessary, so he spent every morning familiarizing himself with the area.

Most mornings he came in soaking wet and surly, so you tended to hang out in the kitchen waiting for your fix. You’d become downright addicted to starting the day with the buzz from watching him angrily toss all that wet hair out of eyes that blazed with irritation. He’d snatch up the cup of coffee you set out for him and guzzle it before stomping upstairs to the shower. By the time he came back down, he was usually in a much sunnier mood, helping you throttle back the lust that was making you crazier every day.

You didn’t know how you’d stopped yourself from jumping him, but that didn’t mean you were any good at hiding that you wanted to.

“Everything is just fine.” You spoke the words slowly, with a suggestive leer that had Bucky dissolving into helpless laughter. He leaned, elbows on the counter, to brace himself as he snickered, delighted with you.

You were struck by the first sight you'd ever had of Bucky in the grips of full-blown eye-squinting bent-over laughter. Dazzled, you stood smiling happily at him, grateful to see the gruff, grumbly bear of a man you’d welcomed into your home taken over by mirth, unafraid to express his joy out loud.

When Bucky opened his eyes to find you smiling helplessly at him, his heart started racing in reaction. Whatever was happening here, inside him, between you, he was as emotionally invested as he was physically interested. Whether he liked it or not, you'd become important to him. The only thing that had held him back from acting on the physical was the threat of the emotional, afraid to risk. The shine of affection in your eyes, however, the warmth with which you smiled at his happiness made it clear that you were as caught in him as he in you.

Bucky's face went pink, melting into something adorably bashful. The corners of his mouth curled up and his true smile was so sweet, you stood stunned and weak-kneed, quivering with lust tangled around something far more dangerous.

"May I have a cup of that to take to the shower?" Bucky ducked his head as he flushed even more at the dazzled look on your face. It made you want to move closer so that you could look under the tousled curtain, maybe duck under there with him to see if you could kiss that smile back. "I’m freezing."

I'll warm you up, you thought, completely distracted by the conflicting and yet complimentary desires to attack and adore him. "Cup of what?" you replied, spellbound and starry-eyed.

Bucky couldn't stop himself from easing around the counter towards you, drawn by the sweet shine of your eyes as you looked at him like he'd hung the moon even as your teeth worried at your lip in hunger. The dichotomy had him rock-hard and feeling reckless. His smile twisted as one corner lifted higher than the other in something feral and hot. "The coffee you got there."

The size of the man struck you once he was past that minor barrier and now fully in the kitchen with you. As he came near, approaching both you and the coffeepot, you turned to the cupboard behind you to reach for a mug, flustered at the temptation of his skin, the charm of his seductive smirk. "Oh! Uh, yeah." You pulled down a mug and filled it with coffee, turning back to hand it to him, black, as was his preference. He told you when he'd first come to stay with you that he'd learned to drink shit coffee in the army, so what you made tasted like gold.

Breath fast and a little tight, you tried to stop imagining what he'd do if you stepped forward and tasted him.

His eyes were both soft and hot when they met yours over the mug you handed him. He was only about a foot away, close enough that the smell of him was making you dizzy. The scent of him mixed with the rain and moss scent of the forest, lifting off his skin and into your head, muddling your mind and leaving you feeling weak and needy.

Bucky had once known when a dame was ripe for kissing, but that was a long time ago. He was almost certain you'd respond well should he move in. But he also couldn't bear it if he was wrong and he offended or frightened you. He would keep his hands to himself until you issued an invitation to touch.

"Thanks, doll," he rumbled, and it was all he could do not to respond to the shiver that visibly ran through you. He took a sip of coffee to stay close to you just a moment longer. Smirking over the rim of his cup, he murmured, unable to resist, "You smell almost as good as this coffee."

Your mouth quirked up and you snorted, amused by the almost compliment. Bucky turned to walk away, tempted nearly past endurance and needing a break before he gave in and reached out for the first thing he'd wanted for himself in decades. Heart still pounding, dizzy with want, he tossed over his shoulder, "Think about what you want to do this afternoon while I'm in the shower." What he wanted to do was clear in the growling dare of his voice, but he'd leave it up to you. "I'm in a good mood and I want to share it."

The desire in that sexy growl shuddered down your spine and made you laugh, "I think I like Broody Bucky in a good mood." When you laughed, you hoped he couldn't hear how breathless you were.

"I think I like you a little breathless."

Dammit, you thought as he started climbing the stairs up, watching his perfect ass and powerful legs as he went. "Oh, fuck you," you whispered at the cocky bastard once you thought he was out of earshot.

Only to hear what sounded like a whispered, "Okay," so faint, you couldn't be sure you'd heard it at all, though your body quaked in reaction like you had.

Bucky’s big warm palm was pressed against your neck as he cupped your throat and brushed his lips over yours. Considering the tension that had built and built to this inevitability, you’d expected something explosive when you both finally gave into it. Instead, you were being softly seduced by this sweet meshing of mouths.

He didn’t touch you other than that hot palm and the caress of his thumb over the line of your jaw. Your eyes were closed against the soft sprinkling of rain that came down from the soft gray sky. You stood underneath that cool mist in the backyard clearing where you'd been refilling the bird feeders and let the power of this simple kiss rock you to your foundations.

You'd been chirping and whistling at the birds and making jokes about what you imagined they thought of your undoubtedly atrocious accent when you'd caught Bucky giving you this particular look. You'd caught him smiling at you in this way more than once in the months you'd known each other, but today the lovesick grin on his face had finally become clear to you for what it was. Now that it was gone, you understood what had been holding you back all this time.

You'd stepped forward, a soft smile playing around your lips, unafraid for the first time of how he'd react, certain of your welcome. You'd tilted your face to his, inviting his touch, his kiss. He'd accepted with a sigh of gratitude, of relief, his hand coming up to cup your face and draw you closer without pressing his advantage.

You smiled against his mouth, parting your lips and lifting your hands to his chest as you pressed your advantage and your body against his. With a groan he tilted his head to kiss you more deeply as his tongue swept between your lips and his metal arm swept around your waist to hold you tight against him. You slid your arms around his neck and held on as he fed from your mouth with teasing nips of teeth and soothing sweeps of his tongue. You’d never been kissed like this, with both a voracious hunger and an aching tenderness. Whatever this was, it couldn’t, wouldn’t be just sex.

The two of you were way past that.

You kissed him back with abandon, ready, willing, and eager to have your way with him, to let him have his way with you. The time you'd spent together, the friendship you'd built had created a trust that allowed you to lose yourself in him. You used your arms around his neck to pull yourself as close as possible to rub your body against his in provocation, in invitation. Bucky couldn’t have resisted if he’d wanted to.

You squealed a very little against Bucky’s mouth when his arms tightened around your waist and he lifted you up. When you wrapped your legs around his hips, he shuddered with need and growled, “Y/N, tell me I can take you to bed. Please?”

With a nip at his lips that had them curving in appreciation even as he started to walk towards the house, carrying you all the way, you retorted, all sultry tease, “From first kiss straight to bed? You don’t waste any time.”

Bucky slowed in concern but continued to move forward thanks to that heated tone and the teeth you closed around the lobe of his ear, scraping gently as you moved to fix your mouth on his neck below. "When my luck is good," he apologized, worried that he'd misread what you wanted, "I can't afford to risk asking a lot of questions.”

Bucky could hardly believe how weak his knees felt as he climbed the steps to the back deck, but your mouth was unbelievably soft as you pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to his throat, humming with pleasure at the taste. His knees buckled when you sank your teeth in with a growl. "Shit, Buck, I'm not complaining." You lifted your head to grin recklessly into his face and he wanted you more than air. "Like we haven't been circling this for a while." You quirked your eyebrow as you tightened your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck to rub against him in temptation. "My bed's bigger, by the way."

The next moment, your back was against the mudroom door and Bucky's mouth was against yours in a kiss that felt unleashed. Until this instant, he'd been holding back, afraid he'd been deluding himself. His hands tightened, rough and exciting, around your ass as he pinned you to the door with his body to devour you. His lips firm but soft, he drank from your mouth like a man parched.

You hummed and kissed him back fervently, delighted with the situation in general. You didn’t know how or why, but this felt right, as though in this moment you were meant to be in this man’s arms. You twined around him, arms and legs as tight as you were capable as your hands dove into his hair. Tearing your mouth from his to drag in air, you moaned when his mouth, denied yours, immediately moved to your throat to taste your skin.

You gripped his shoulder and arched your neck into his mouth as your other hand scrabbled at the door behind you. When you found the knob and turned it, your combined weight pushed the door open and sent you stumbling into the mudroom.

Your cheerful cackle in response tempted Bucky nearly to his limit. Part of him wanted to let the two of you fall to the floor, unconcerned with where or how he made love to you as long as you were fine with it. The only thing stopping him was his determination to have you in a bed this first time. He wanted to take his time with you.

Fortunately, Bucky had spent a lifetime keeping his footing through uncertain terrain. He easily adjusted his grip as he took two long steps forward into the house. Those steps took the two of you to the washing machine where he stopped. He set you down on top of the machine so that his hands could race over you as feverishly as his mouth drank from yours.

He released your lips to close his teeth around your jaw at the same moment he filled his hands with your breasts. His hands gently kneading, you shuddered as his mouth ghosted down your throat and over your collarbones. "How do you make it all so easy?" He murmured the words against your skin and sent more shivers through your body and into your core.

You arched into his hands, his mouth as you slid your arms around the barrel of his chest to finally get your hands on all that tempting skin, skimming your palms up and under the still rain-damp cotton of his t-shirt. "There's a lot of difficult in the world." You paused to hum in pleasure at the sensation of velvet skin under your greedy fingertips, the give of the muscle underneath intensely satisfying. Your touch came together with the sound of your pleasure in that touch and rocketed through Bucky. “Why add to it?"

You smiled as Bucky’s mouth grew more avid, the metal arm around your waist more possessive, the hand racing over your body rougher with passion. Using the leverage of your legs around his waist and your hands against his back, you rocked against the erection pressing insistently at the juncture of your thighs, determined to pull him as deeply into the fire as you'd fallen.

Your voice low and rough with desire, you turned your head to whisper across Bucky's ear. "I was gonna use the word 'hard,'" a slow twist of your hips punctuated the word as his eyes lifted to yours, "instead of difficult, but I didn't want you to think I was complaining again."

The quiver of humor at your mouth was in stark contrast to the fire in your eyes. The rush of feeling that blew through Bucky felt both carnal and sublime as he shook with a need to both worship and profane. Holding you, being held by you inspired a tender sort of desire that sought to give and give. That tenderness, however, warred with something dark and mindless that thrilled to the glowing promise on your face, the twisting taunt of your body as you tempted the animal in him to ravish, to take.

Bucky bent slightly to slide his metal arm under your ass as his other hand closed around your thigh to boost you up and carry you into and through the kitchen. As you wrapped your arms around his neck to hold on, he squeezed you tight and, nose to nose with the blue flames of his eyes, you shuddered as he growled, "I swear, I've never known anyone like you."

Your eyes fluttered as each step through the house and up the stairs facilitated the caress of your body against his. Breathless, you started feathering your mouth over his ridiculously beautiful face as your hands combed through his hair. "And probably never will again, if you're lucky," you teased in a sultry murmur. "We're heading toward my bed, right?"

Bucky turned at that moment into your bedroom, so he didn't bother to answer with words, but by dropping you into said bed. He would have never refused the fist you'd clenched in his shirt to drag him down onto the bed with you, stretching out on top of you with a sigh of aching need. Bracing himself on his elbows on either side of your head, he took your mouth in another of those long drugging kisses of his, the kind that left you lightheaded and heavy-limbed with lust.

"Are you kidding?" he gasped as his beard scoured the skin of your neck and sent shivers running over you. His flesh hand moved to pull at the collar of your shirt to bare your skin for his feverish mouth, his breath feeding the fire beneath your skin. "I think you might be my lucky charm."

"You've also had really, really bad luck." Your hands were back under his shirt and working it steadily upward as you arched to help him push your clothing off or to the side. You wanted his skin against yours, wanted to know if the friction, the heat could burst into open flame.

Bucky had the buttons on your shirt flipped open startlingly fast and was shoving the edges aside as you were tugging his shirt over his head. He pressed your breasts in your bra together so he could skim his lips over the curves he made with his kneading, plumping hands. The sensations he was creating with those relentless hands and gentle lips had your belly tightening with need. The rumble of his voice seeped from his chest where it pressed into your stomach and had you rocking fretfully against him. "Which is how I know my luck's changed," he purred.

You laughed and started pushing to tip him over. His face wide with that true, sweet smile that made your heart do things you didn't have time to examine, he let you shove him over onto his back so you could scramble on top of him. That smile stretched into a lecherous grin when you straddled his hips, a knee on either side as your hands came up behind you to unhook your bra. You bent down to take his plump lower lip gently in between your teeth as you tossed the garment away and impatiently went to work on the button of his jeans.

Bucky could hardly believe how amazing he felt in the softness of your bed, under the softness of your body. Since he'd been returned to himself, with the help of Princess Shuri and her team, he hadn't been promiscuous, but he'd hardly been celibate. Some of the women he'd met in Wakanda had caught his eye, and he'd caught a few eyes back. As lovely as those experiences, those women, had been, those memories were seared away in the inferno he'd found in you.

His hands skimmed over the skin of your back to press you closer, to feel the softness of your breasts brushing against his chest. His head tilted as his mouth caught yours to draw you down into a kiss both fierce and tender. Hands skimmed back down to close over your ass and squeeze tight, rocking you against him even as your hands pushed insistently at his jeans and underwear.

"I want you naked." You sounded almost offended when you tore your mouth from his to gasp the words, pushed past endurance by the fact that you were both still half clothed. You'd decided to allow yourself this indulgence; you were going to enjoy it fully and you'd been dying to see him in nothing but all that lovely skin.

Bucky laughed, his gorgeous eyes crinkling. He looked more carefree than you'd ever seen him, and your heart sang at the sight. You giggled when he brought his hands around your body to flip the button on your jeans. "Ladies first?"

He thought his heart would burst out of his chest when you grinned at him, your face shining with friendly desire. You rolled to the side and started kicking your jeans off with merry glee, prompting Bucky to prop himself up to watch you shimmy out of the last of your clothing.

"What is your problem?"

Bucky shook himself out of the trance into which he'd fallen at the sight of you bared and beautiful and about to be his. The hostile tone to your voice coupled with the scowl of irritation on your face made his blood run cold in panic that he'd done something to upset or offend. He opened his mouth to beg forgiveness when you cut him off with a scoffed, and insistent, “Why aren't you naked yet?"

"Sorry, doll," he laughed in relief as he lay back down to push at what was left of his own clothes, "I got distracted when you took your pants off.”

“I wish I could say the same.”

Bucky’s neck went limp with laughter. He couldn’t stop himself; your rudely irritated attitude in the midst of this passionate interlude tickled his sense of humor in a way he couldn’t explain but also couldn’t help but enjoy. Still chuckling, he shoved the last of his clothing to the floor and looked to you.

You sat naked in the middle of your bed, legs curled to the side, an arm crossed over your chest to shield your breasts in an instinctual gesture of modesty. Though your posture communicated shyness and vulnerability, your eyes burned with desire. Bucky stretched, smugly, and folded his hands behind his head with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Speaking of distracting,” you murmured as your eyes raked over him, your gaze lighting fires as it went. He was big and muscled and scarred and your body yearned even as your heart ached at the reminder of the pain he'd endured. You reached out with the hand that had been protecting your modesty, needing to counteract that pain with pleasure, wanting to find out once and for all if his skin was as soft as it looked.

Bucky wanted to smile, to tease you back, but he’d never been touched like he was made of spun glass, like he'd shatter should you grip too tightly. Your fingertips against his skin were as light as the brush of butterfly wings, heat and pleasure spreading out from that delicate touch. Your face was soft with tenderness as you skimmed your fingers over his collarbone and up his arm, testing the firmness of his bicep as you went. Your eyes warm with appreciation as they skimmed over his body, you smiled even as flames seemed to flicker in the depths of your irises. He lay on his back looking up at you thinking you the prettiest, sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

Unable to resist another moment, Bucky reached up to pull you down across his chest, cupping your face to draw your mouth to his. You tipped over eagerly, past ready to have his skin against yours, to try him on for size. You kissed him with glee, with abandon, giving yourself up to the moment without hesitation.

Bucky didn't know if he'd ever wanted anyone the way he wanted you, but he also didn't know if he'd ever been kissed with such hedonistic enjoyment, like his mouth was literally delicious. He also didn't know if he'd ever been touched like the texture of his skin was an indulgence. He was almost certain he'd never made love like it was something pagan and luxurious.

He was one hundred percent certain, however, that he loved every minute of it.

As you devoured Bucky with careless greed, you pressed closer and closer until you were laying on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, elbows on either side of his head. His hands were holding you tight against him as they moved over you, kneading the muscles of your thighs and your ass, skimming his palms over your back. Those calloused hands were making you crazy, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine to your center.

You had your hands in his hair, scratching your nails over his scalp and making him shudder with the thrill of it. You were undulating slowly, deliberately, petting his body with yours even as you broke the kiss to bury your face in his throat, your panting breaths and velvet lips like heaven against his skin. Soft humming moans sounded in your throat and shot straight to the base of his spine, prompting him to rock up into you where his cock was pressed against your center.

That gentle motion caused him to slide through your folds, your clit rubbing against the backside of his cock and sending shockwaves of sensation to rocket from your core out through your body to your tingling fingertips. The sensation had you both moaning in unison and rocking more forcefully against each other.

Bucky didn’t know where the smooth lady-killer he’d once been had gone, but his hands were shaking as they moved over you in desperate need. He’d never felt so overheated or out of control. Somehow, you’d driven him to madness and he couldn’t get enough.

“I love how wet you are.” The words rumbled in his chest, and his voice, low and heated, felt like it was shivering up your spine and into your brain. You shuddered and rocked harder and faster against him, tempting both him and yourself with the tip of his cock at your entrance as you lifted to straddle his waist.

Bucky’s hands immediately skimmed up and over your hips and torso to cup your breasts in his hands, palming them almost roughly, teasing your nipples with his thumbs. On a gasping moan, you tilted your hips and felt the first inch of his cock slip inside you.

Both of you shuddered and moaned at the sensation, the sound of which made you grin cheerfully at Bucky in appreciation. For his part, he looked up at you like you were an angel come to earth and made your heart sigh.

You kept pressing your hips down and into his, the feeling of his cock pushing into you so delicious you couldn’t stop. He tilted his head back and released such a beautiful, heartfelt groan of pleasure you could hardly believe he was real. He was too pretty, too sexy, and you could swear you needed him more than your next breath.

Thankfully you didn’t have to choose, and you gasped in air in tight little pants of need colored by humming whimpers. Bucky’s hands traveled from your breasts down to your hips to grip as the sound of your pleasure melded with the feel of slick, wet heat wrapped around his cock, drawing him in to drown in ecstasy.

You felt like you were going out of your mind as you began to rock your hips in a slow pivot that sent him rasping deliciously out and satisfyingly back into you. His hands were racing over you as he sat up to crush you against his chest and take your mouth in a kiss more scorching than anything you'd ever known.

You'd known it wouldn't take much of a spark to make you burn for him, but you'd never expected the friction between you to become a fully involved conflagration so quickly. You'd known heat the likes of which most couldn't imagine and still, you were astonished.

But you'd never burned like this before.

You buried your hands in his hair and held on as the fire inside you ate him alive. Your body an undulating twine of flame around him, you caressed him with every inch of your skin that you could, wanting to share the heat that had become so much a part of you.

His muscles bunched beneath you as his arms banded tight and the next thing you knew, you were on your back in the middle of your bed. At the same moment Bucky's hips were sliding between your legs and the sensation of his cock gliding smoothly back inside you made you arch in ecstasy.

Bucky could barely breathe in the heat pumping off of you and warming him down to his bones. He'd been so cold for so long, he'd forgotten what it felt like to be truly warm. In your arms, he remembered.

He buried his face in your throat to taste your skin as his hips moved faster and harder into you. The sensation of your muscles clenching around him to hold him tight sent a shudder of reaction through him, prompting him to sink his teeth into your flesh as he used his body to drive you higher and higher.

Tingling shivers of pleasure spread out from your core through your body into your fingertips as Bucky's skin brushed over yours with every delicious motion. You locked your arms and legs around him to rock harder up into him as he thrust more and more forcefully. The sound of his pleasure humming in his throat as he panted against your skin only fanned the flames that his relentlessly moving hips had ignited.

Lost in heat, basking in the glory of it, Bucky held back even as he felt your pleasure start to take you in the clenching, fluttering feeling around his cock. He held on, however, not ready to be done. He couldn't let himself go yet, couldn’t let this moment end when he felt better, happier, freer than he could ever remember. His voice warm and rough, he growled into your ear. "Come for me, doll." He nuzzled into your neck as the sound of his voice drove you crazy. "I want to burn with you."

At his words, the coil of ecstasy that had tightened with every touch, every movement snapped and with a shuddering moan, you tipped over the edge into the most powerful orgasm of your life. Your limbs trembled as your muscles flexed to hold on to him in the swamping wave of pleasure.

Bucky lifted his head to look into your face as his thrusts slowed to give you both room to enjoy your climax, enthralled with the warm glow of your skin and panting breaths of smug satisfaction. When your eyes fluttered open to focus on his and your grin flashed, he thought you heart-stopping in your sensuality. When your fingers stopped digging into the muscles of his back to skim tenderly over his skin, he'd swear he lost his mind.

His metal hand clamped around the back of your thigh as he hiked your leg up over his hip and began to pound into you with abandon. The sight of you coming in his arms had nearly dragged him over the edge with you, but the sight of your smile went to his head in a different, even more potent way. He needed to make you smile like that again.

"Bucky!" Your voice was a sultry laugh even as your muscles went soft and pliant in bliss though your core was clenching in response to the passion in his touch. He was clearly not content that you merely burn, but that you both be incinerated. You skimmed your hands greedily up his back until they were buried in his hair. Once you had your fingers tangled in the thick locks, you used the leverage to pull his face to yours for desperate kisses.

You wanted to speak, to beg for mercy from the almost painful pleasure he was raining down upon you, but you were breathless in the heat of it, speechless in the glow of bright blue eyes scorching your face like the hottest flames.

Bucky, however, had words bubbling up inside him for you, pouring out of him into you. "Again, doll," his grin flashed, and he looked so pretty and carefree you could feel yourself start that climb to peak once again, "if you don't mind." One side of his grin lifted higher than the other and gave his smile a feral, cocky edge that had your thighs tightening around his hips as he lifted up onto his knees. "Watching you come all over me is the most fun I've had in a long time."

As he spoke, Bucky took your hips in his hands to hold you in place for his swift, gliding thrusts and the smooth rhythm was sending warm tingles of ecstasy to spread out from your core in shuddering waves before the end of his sentence. With a laugh at his admittedly justified arrogance, considering how quickly he'd learned the cheat code to your body, you moaned as your body arched and stretched with your climax.

The sight and sound of your pleasure combined with the bright beauty of your laughter had Bucky close to the edge, his every muscle drawn tight, wanting to make it last as long as possible. His breath ragged, he kept his rhythm steady to push you up to peak and keep you there. Nearly mindless with the effort, he rocked into you as you moaned and shuddered, tossing your head back and forth on the pillow

As soon as your moans became fretful, the pleasure becoming too much to stand, he let go, his thrusts speeding and stuttering with the release of control. You opened your eyes when you felt the change, the sight of Bucky lost in you even more beautiful than you'd imagined. His eyes were bright and blurred and open on yours as he came with a groan of pure rapture.

You were fairly certain that you'd never seen anything more gorgeous than Bucky in the throes of ecstasy, all taut muscle and smirking smiles.

Until he fell forward to brace himself over you, his hair curtaining your face as he bent close to kiss you tenderly. Gentle lips adored your face before sinking into your mouth with a sigh of happiness. His mouth drank from yours with a delicate kind of fervor, one that came from needs satisfied. As he came up for air from a kiss that made your heart ache, the soft, affectionate smile on his face was gorgeous enough to make your throat ache in tandem.

"Thank you," he whispered, a sweet smile and rosy blush spreading over his face.

Your arms squeezed the barrel of his chest with friendly affection as you laughed, delighted with him. "I’m not normally this accommodating to my guests," you replied in a voice gone hoarse, "but fuck I’m glad I made an exception in your case."

"Well, this isn’t where I expected to end up when I asked if I could stay." He grinned, unrepentant, at your raised eyebrow. "But I’m not gonna lie, I was hoping like hell."

Bucky felt ten feet tall when your laughter turned into a gasp of surprised delight at the feeling of him hardening inside you once again.

You stood at the window over the sink and watched Bucky jog into the woods. You had a cup of coffee in your hand and a smile on your face. He'd spent every night for the past two weeks in your bed, and so you'd woken every morning to bright blue eyes searing into yours and big gentle hands wandering over your body.

You were currently wearing the t-shirt you'd torn off of him the night before and nothing else, hoping you could tempt him when he got back. The smell of him was making you grateful that he'd probably be delighted to go again when he got back from his morning run, regardless of the fact that you'd had sex twice the night before and once again this morning. The man was shameless in his sensuality and perpetually delighted to indulge it.

You were perpetually delighted to indulge him.

The months prior to the afternoon you'd first fallen into bed together, you and Bucky had forged a friendship that had endured and deepened in the weeks since. You were pretty sure you were falling in love and didn't know how to feel or what to do about it. You were fairly certain about him, but you were not at all sure of yourself.

"I want to tell him."

The hissing, popping, crackling response was a language, and one you’d begun to learn in a hurry the same night you’d met Bucky. This was a denial, one you’d expected.

“I know I promised,” you sighed. The promises you’d made to cement your alliance with your incendiary friend had been necessary at the time, but they’d gotten uncomfortable quickly. Hiding your friend’s existence from the others, especially at the beginning, had been excruciatingly difficult. Her chattiness hadn't helped the situation. "I’m not gonna say anything unless we’re cool, but I’m sure we can trust him."

You rolled your eyes when the hissing pops grew louder and more frantic. Your little friend and ally had a penchant for the dramatic and fear of discovery set her off faster than almost anything else.

"I sincerely doubt exorcism is gonna be his go-to."

The sounds your friend made didn't really correspond to words so much as concepts. You could communicate fairly effectively, but sometimes an idea came through so drenched in meaning that you could almost imagine what she was thinking. You could understand why she was concerned that Bucky would misunderstand her, see her as a threat, but that didn't mean you were going to entertain her wild flights of fancy.

"Seriously?" you scoffed when she responded with even more over-the-top hysteria. "You know a Catholic when you see one? Do you hear yourself?"

You let her mutter for a while behind your ear while you smiled and sipped at your coffee. She'd lost so much, had become so attached to you, there was no way you could blame her for her neuroses. You were indulgent with her because she needed it.

When she wound down from her muttered rants about demon hunters and exorcists and inquisitors, you raised an eyebrow and retorted with a smile rich with that indulgence. "Maybe the argument that you have to be a bigot because you're sure he will be isn't as compelling as you think it is?"

The complete silence that followed your question was broken by your snort of humor in response. You grinned outright when the low, petulant hiss came quietly wafting across your ear. Your friend was high-strung and easily enflamed, but she wasn't evil. You could reason with her; she was just stubborn.

"I just really hate lying to someone I care about," you said with a sigh. "Even by omission." You set your coffee down and spread your arms to brace yourself against the counter, your head down as you tried to bear up under the weight that had settled onto you when you'd taken responsibility for her.

She hissed softly, and you heard a wealth of apology, worry, sorrow in the sound. Your heart throbbed in sympathy. None of this was her fault, either; Joseph had done this to you both. She wasn't your burden; she was your partner. You knew she often felt like a millstone around your neck, but your sorrow came from your own inability to help her.

"Think about it, okay?" You made the request gently, careful to keep the exhaustion from your voice. Keeping this from Bucky had become untenable, making you feel gross and wrong, but you didn't want to put that off on her. "I don’t think he’s gonna freak out, and he should know the whole story." Your tone carefully modulated to comfort, you smiled with all the sisterly affection you felt for your strange friend. "I wouldn't risk you; you're too important. But he's important, too, you know?"

The crackle at your ear conveyed warm amusement and gentle commiseration. She’d been with you, had watched from a front row seat the development of your relationship with Bucky. She’d been your confidant from the beginning, had encouraged you to pursue him. She wasn't into humans, but she understood why you thought him so sexy.

She also agreed that he was at his hottest when he was all surly and murder-y.

Fortunately, that meant she was rooting for you to be and stay together, which meant she could be persuaded. Her soft hiss of reluctant assent made the muscles in the back of your neck release for the first time in months. With a sigh of relief, you let your shoulders sag and laughed a little. “Thanks, Keek.”

“Who are you talking to, doll?”

You squeaked and whirled at the sound of Bucky’s warm voice expressing confused amusement. “What the fuck?!” Your hand on your racing heart, you laughed breathlessly. “I just watched you run into the woods.”

That heart-stopping grin flashed, and you went weak at the knees. You weren't completely shallow; if he hadn't turned out to be as beautiful inside as he was out, you could have walked away without a backward glance no matter how gorgeous he was. To your surprise, however, the inside of the man had turned out to be as attractive as the outside. To your delight, this attractive man seemed to think you beautiful inside and out as well.

His movements smooth as butter, he eased toward you with rain in his hair and lust in the feral edge to his smile and each taut muscle. Your heart kicked in excitement as you braced yourself against the counter behind you. “I couldn't stop thinking about you," he rumbled as he eased close, the scent of him mixing with the rain and going to your head, "warm and soft and all alone in that big bed. I changed my mind almost as soon as I started and came around to climb back in with you."

As he’d spoken, he’d eased close enough to touch. You didn’t see any reason why you should resist, so you placed your hands on his chest, running them greedily over the firm muscle under the plain cotton t-shirt he wore. His eyes fired at your touch and his arms slid around your waist to pull you flush with his body.

“I was talking about you.” Your voice was hoarse with the desire he could kindle at a look. “I'm pretty sure it's not fair to be this sexy.”

That cocky grin flashed, and you knew you were going under for the third time. His smile, his tone rich with appreciation and affection, he snatched a kiss from your mouth as his hands slid down to your ass and boosted you up into his arms. “You'd know.”

Part Three here >>>

Permanent Taglist:

@hellzzzbelle @bucky-the-thigh-slayer @cheekygeek05 @lbouvet @diinofayce @bibliophile1773 @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @miraclesoflove @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @destiel-is--endgame @irritated-bisexual @peaceinourtime82 @badassbaker @walkingtravesty97 @fashionworld12 @readermia

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu au #and hell is just a sauna #pantswrites #short series

65 notes · View notes

nekowriteshaikyuu · 4 years ago

Text

Temptation

it’s contagious to touch you, but it’s also tempting to do so.

pairing: Sakusa x reader

warnings: fluff (?)

summary: you love affection, but Sakusa doesn’t. For your sake, will he come out of his comfort zone?

a/n: so,,heard haikyuu is ending TT. i’m so sed i haven’t even finish reading the recent chapters so i’m slowly catching up. But anyways after like a 2 week hiatus, i’m back so weee. hope this one will make up for being gone for the past 2 weeks. enjoy !!

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ sakusa kiyoomi ♥

you and Sakusa have been dating for about 3 months now. Surprising, huh? considering he’s a clean freak. Despite that, you see through his habit as a really loving and understanding person. And you’ve always love him for that. But there is still one thing that has never change for these few months.

his fear of affection with you. You’re the captain of the soccer team, and every practice, there is never a time you’re covered in mud. You’re constantly running in the field, under the scotching hot sun or lightly drizzling rain. Both of your practices ends at the same time but Sakusa always finishes earlier to clean up and do his daily cleansing routine. By the time you’d change into some thin dri-fit shirt, he’s already squeaky clean from head to toe. Don’t get me wrong, Sakusa adore you, he loves you. He really do. But just by looking at you all sweaty, mud on your shirt and some on your legs, as well as your really chapped hands, he feels really uncomfortable. He basically gags and cringe over the sight of you all dirty and contaminated with germs.

This actually was an issue you both face. You’ve always love affection, and he knows that from the very start of your relationship . Forehead kisses, back hugs, cuddles when watching a movie, just thinking about it puts you on cloud nine. But Sakusa is never one to give you affection. Maybe some light hand caresses, but even that makes Sakusa pull out his hand sanitiser and spread it all over his hand. It does upset you on how cautious he is with his hygiene but it’s wrong for you to force him out of his comfort zone to satisfy your needs. So you just live with it. As time goes by, your constant yearning for affection slowly dies down. You just felt impatient waiting for the day to arrive. Sakusa noticed it as well. You began to be cautious with your hygiene around him. You’re at least arms length away from him everytime he waits for you during practice so he won’t feel grossed out, you’d scrub your body hard, making sure you felt like every bacteria just dies from the shampoo you applied, you’re always never touching shoulders when walking home together.

Sakusa felt a slight guilt that you’d do all these small gestures so he’d feel comfortable around you. He felt like he’s not doing enough to make you happy. He did tried to hold your hand once, but soon pulled his back to his side after the thought that he’d be at risk if taking that step forward.

As time flies, you’ve already picked up the habit. Arms length away, keep clean at all times, shoulder width apart. You don’t feel like the relationship is as lively as it used to be. It felt as if there’s a wall, blocking you away from Sakusa, forbidding you to touch him.

You sighed silently as you stare at the black board, chalk scribbles of math formulas across the board. You turned to your left and looked out the window, admiring the green grass growing in the soccer field. It’s been a week since you’ve been in the field. Your team finally graduated and it wasn’t compulsory to attend daily practices. You took this opportunity to rest and work on your studies, and just have moments with yourself to recollect your thoughts. As for Sakusa, he still attends training so you’d often wait for him in your class until he’s done to go home together.

It was after school and Sakusa left for training. You sat in your seat, watching the trees swayed from the wind. You yawned after staring back at your paper filled with black ink. You’ve been rewriting your english essay for a while now and you felt your hand ache. You decided to take a small nap, which turned into sleeping for a whole hour.

Sakusa ended his practice and was obnoxiously exhausted. He was constantly passing the ball without break. He slowly got up from the bench and went to wash up. As he continue to do his daily cleansing, he noticed how you’re not replying his messages. Normally it’d take only seconds before you’d see his messages and reply. He even gave you a call but it wasn’t answered. He knew where you were waiting and immediately went to your class after cleaning up.

As he open the door, he was welcomed with you resting on your hand on the table, pen in your other hand. He slowly walks up to you and sat on the corner of the table beside yours. He envyed how you were able to rest peacefully while he was having difficulty keeping the ball constantly off the ground. He slowly admire your features. Your hair falling on your face, your eyes twitching and your light snores, He couldn’t help but smile under his mask. Unconsciously, his arm stretched out to tuck your hair that was covering your face behind your ears. He basically lost his breathe just watching you sound asleep. That small moment, he realised, how much he yearned for your touch. your hands weren’t chapped, but instead it was so smooth. Your shirt wasn’t covered in mud, but scented with your strong floral perfume, For once, he just had the temptation to pull you closer to him, and rest at the crook of your neck and take the moment to ease down after a tiring practice

You slowly woke up when you felt someone beside you. You slowly got up before making eye contact with your boyfriend who was silent for a while.

“how long have you been here?” you asked with a groggy voice. He took a deep breathe, exhaled hard, and looked back at you before speaking.

“shouldn’t you have gone home if you’re tired? it’s not necessary for you to wait.” you slowly stood up , your hands up your head as you stretch from your nap.

“it’s okay, i had some work to do anyways” you struggled to reply as you continue to stretch. To you, it was nothing. But to Sakusa, it was like an opening.

Your waist wasn’t blocked by your hands, and it was just nice for Sakusa to pull you in his arms. The thought of it made Sakusa at ease. But he wants to experience as well aside from just imagining it. As you mindlessly stretch, twisting and looking out the window, you flinched as you felt a bold, firmed hand grabbed your waist, pulling you closer. Before you knew it, your boyfriend was settling into the crook of your neck. Just like how he wanted to for the longest time.

“o-omi?!” you’re practically panicking. The action was so sudden for you to process properly. You thought he did it out of force so you won’t feel sorry for him not giving you enough love. You tried pushing him away, but his grip tightened around your waist, giving you no way of escape. Sakusa slowly sinks in your touch, sighing under his mask. He could practically hear your heart beating faster than usual. So this was how it feels like to be touched, to be loved, with affection. For a moment, the thought of being contaminated and germs was washed out of his mind. All he was thinking about was how amazing it felt to hug you after so long of distancing from each other. (social distancing kidz)

You watch him as he rests onto you. You couldn’t help but smile, before placing a peck on the top of his head. You began to slowly play with his curls, feeling how soft and silky it is for the first time. You stood there silently as Sakusa takes the moment to wine down and ease up after an exhausting day.

“omi, we have to go home.” You said but he pulled you closer, sighing once more.

“just,,a few more minutes” He didn’t want this to end. He wants to hug you for as long as he can take it. But at last he soon let go after you lightly tapped his back. On the way home, he took the courage to hold your hand. You’ve never felt this happy. For a while, you’ve always been waiting for this moment to come, and it finally did.

You could see the invisible wall fade. Your shoulders were finally touching, hands intertwined with one another. You were so close to Sakusa you could rest your head on his shoulder.

“you’re gonna have to get used to this new habit of mine” Sakusa broke the silence. You looked up at him and noticed a hint of redness on his cheek, even with the mask on.

“hmm? what habit?” He turned away from you as he mumbled under his breathe, but you could hear clearly.

“...hugging you..” you just smiled before wrapping your arm around his.

“of course, omi~”

Well, let’s say that Sakusa is no longer fearing your touch no more. In fact, he yearns for it everytime now.

------ 𝕤𝕒𝕜𝕦𝕤𝕒 𝕜𝕚𝕪𝕠𝕠𝕞𝕚 ------

a/n: yeaa i kinda changed my layout and style so i hope it’s slightly better !! i’ll try to improve it as time goes by but this is not bad for now teehee. also feel free to send in requests, i’ll try to write them :) but yeaa hope you enjoyed it <3

#sakusa x reader #hq sakusa #sakusa imagines #sakusa scenarios #sakusa x you #sakusa fluff #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you

323 notes · View notes

quazartranslates · 4 years ago

Text

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH131

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 131: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXI)

Save countdown: 30 seconds, 29 seconds, 28 seconds…

As time passed, Qi Leren stared at the familiar yet strange man on the throne. His mind was blank. He couldn't think, and he didn't dare to think. The unspeakable fear that had been hidden deep in his heart for a long time was confirmed at this nightmarish moment - he had opened the door of the defenseless shelter and invited the polite devil standing outside to come in.

If everything from when they had first met wasn’t a coincidence, how many secrets had he inadvertently revealed?

Qi Leren was so desperate that he couldn't even think about it.

Twenty seconds, nineteen seconds, eighteen seconds…

"Good evening, Leren, why don't ask my name?" Su He asked softly from the throne.

Qi Leren closed his eyes painfully. If Su He was a demon, he was definitely not an ordinary one. He had deliberately used him to come to this where the Holy Dun killed the old Devil more than 20 years ago, and what he sought was by no means an ordinary thing.

Qi Leren asked hoarsely: "Power or Slaughter?"

Su He smiled lightly and said meaningfully: "I’m the one you missed."

"Impossible, the Lord of Fraud is a woman..." Qi Leren retorted with shock only to realize instantly.

In the Witchcraft Sacrifice task, both he and Ning Zhou had been forced to appear as another gender. If the Devil of Fraud had also appeared in the task he would probably have been like them, as it would be fun for the Devil of Fraud to hide his gender... Qi Leren suddenly remembered the voice he’d heard vaguely in the underground palace: "Because it’s very interesting. It's so interesting to watch you cheat and kill each other because of despair, fear, and jealousy."

That gentle and beautiful voice made him feel cold all over. He had never heard this voice, but the tone had felt familiar. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t recognized the source of this female voice, but the tone and the habit of speaking were clearly….

"Now, do you understand?" Su He asked with a smile.

He understood. Everything was clear. Ever since Su He had first appeared in the Novice Village, he had noticed his abnormality. The so-called Novice Village bug was not only the killer, but also a laptop loaded with the Nightmare Game. But at that time, Su He had no evidence. He’d just watched him and waited patiently for him to reveal his flaws.

The Witchcraft Sacrifice was a temptation which had made him carry out a task under the Lord of Fraud’s nose, but still he’d found nothing. No, maybe he’d left some marks on him. And then he was parasitized by the seed of slaughter with an abnormal growth rate, which may have been coincidence or may have been inevitable.

Castle Cry was a trap that had been set in advance. Isabel interfered with the copy’s history according to his command, and the ignorant Qi Leren had showed his biggest flaw - the laptop had appeared, then Su He followed, and then the computer disappeared mysteriously, perhaps in the hands of Su He, perhaps by a certain force intending to hide the secret of the computer from Su He. However, in the Castle Cry, Su He had become 100% sure that it was Qi Leren.

He had been gentle and considerate, patiently dormant, and had presented himself properly. Finally, he’d received the invitation as he wished and entered the Holy City, which had always been sealed to him. Maybe at first he was just a little suspicious and curious, but in the end he got a surprise.

Really, it was a perfect scam.

"It's so funny, the incredible expression worn by a blind, ignorant human at the moment when they discover the truth..." the voice belonging to Su He echoed in the hall. Under his gentle eyes, everything was just his playthings. Qi Leren shuddered.

Qi Leren suddenly didn't want to ask any more questions. He didn't want to know his calculations, his purposes, and what kind of person the real Su He was.

His time was running out.

Three seconds, two seconds, one second... The countdown for the skill’s cooling was 0:59:59.

"Time is up." The corners of Su He’s mouth hooked upwards as he looked at him happily. "From what I know about you, you’ll save before pushing open this suspicious door. You didn't even think about resisting it. It's not like you."

Qi Leren’s breath hitched. He knew that his strength was very different from Su He’s. As long as Su He used his field, he would be crushed to death in front of him like a worm, but what if... What if Su He was careless?

It was a gamble, but what other choice did he have than to accept his fate?

Most importantly... If he died…

"Where is Ning Zhou?" Qi Leren asked.

"Isabel’s with him. Although she’s only been the Witch of Jealousy for a short time, I gave her some extra preferential treatment. A small cup of Devil's blood makes such a powerful witch that surely even her friends would look at her with new eyes," Su He said.

Isabel? She was here too? How did she get in? It must be that Su He had hidden demons in his field and brought them into the Holy City.

Qi Leren's heart was getting heavier. What should he do? Exactly what was there to do? Keep stalling? However, even if he prolonged it, the situation wouldn’t get better. Even if Ning Zhou defeated Isabel, he couldn't be an even opponent for the Devil of Fraud.

No matter how he thought, there was a dead end ahead.

No, think again, calm down... He had to at least figure out the purpose of Su He’s chess game so that he could leave some glimmer of chance for Ning Zhou.

Qi Leren tried to stay calm, looking at the huge statue of Maria holding the sword she had stabbed into the black dragon. The sword on the statue of Maria was not made of stone, but instead was a huge metal sword reflecting a sharp arc of light.

This should be the real sword Maria had used to kill the Devil, that was, it was this field’s memento of destruction.

Just pull it out and cut open the field, and the task could be completed.

"That's Ms. Maria's sword. It has a holy and dazzling power. Unfortunately, Devils can't touch it... I should thank her for her dedication and sacrifice in changing the rule over the demon world." Su He stood up and held out his hand toward the black dragon.

The space before his hand twisted and the black dragon's chest suddenly lit with a deep red light, and a burning flame burst out of its chest and flowed back into Su He’s hand.

The flame went out, leaving a palm-sized ruby with bright red flowing inside it, as if it were blood.

Apart from the seed of slaughter, Qi Leren had never been able to feel demon energy, but he couldn't help shivering when he saw that ruby.

That was a kind of evil and overbearing power, which is disturbing and fearful.

"What is that?" Qi Leren whispered.

Su He held the ruby in his hand and looked at it with great interest: "It has many names. You can call it a higher form of devil crystallization or a collection of the evil in this world, but I prefer a name that’s easier to understand. In hell, it represents one third of the kingship."

Qi Leren swallowed his saliva. One third? Where were the two remaining thirds?

"There are a lot of things I know very well, so it doesn’t matter that there’s a lot I don’t know. I never ask questions, I simply enjoy the fun of solving puzzles. However, I originally thought you knew a lot. Although I don't know where you got the clue to enter the Holy City, it turns out that you only know a little about it after repeated trials. You’re really very careful," Su He said lightly.

The unsettling feeling struck again. Although he already knew what dangerous struggle he might be involved in, the feeling of being a pawn became more and more vivid at this moment.

He can't wait for his death any longer, but he would die either way. He still had the Easter Egg. As long as his body stayed intact, it could be resurrected in seven days, but... What could he do about Ning Zhou? Even if he could defeat Isabel, then take down Maria's sword, cut her field, and finish the task, so long as Su He has the heart to kill him, he couldn't survive.

Unless he could really kill Su He while he was being careless, but was this possible?

The gap in the strength of the field made Qi Leren so desperate that he even lost his desperate courage.

"Qi Leren," Su He called his name.

Qi Leren raised his head and looked at Su He stepping down the throne’s steps. He looked at him commandingly, and his scarlet eyes seemed to be filled with thoughtful interest.

"I’m curious, will a person who has experienced countless deaths still be afraid of death?" Su He asked.

"...They will be. No matter how many times, people are extremely afraid when they go to their death. This is engraved in their genes, so as long as there’s a choice, people always want to live," Qi Leren tried to answer calmly.

"Human beings’ desire to survive is really interesting, but it’s this kind of power that will give birth to incredible miracles." The Devil King standing on the high platform smiled at him, cut his wrist, and the bright red blood flowed into a goblet - the same goblet he had used when they had a picnic in the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

It’s just that what was in the cup now was no longer sweet wine, but sinful temptation from hell.

"For demons, 'to do aught good never will be our task, but ever to do ill our sole delight'. If someone has a firm soul, seduce him, torture him, and destroy him until his pure white soul is so dirty it falls into hell... But if you can’t, then fear it and destroy it." The Devil who enjoyed toying with people raised the goblet toward him and gently asked, "Now you have a choice: Would you like to be born of betrayal or die of martyrdom?"

-----

The author has something to say:

PS: “To do aught good never will be our task, But ever to do ill our sole delight.” -Paradise Lost.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

34 notes · View notes

sandraharissa · 4 years ago

Text

Hazbin Hotel antagonists?

When it comes to the executioners everyone thinks they’re angels, and well, they were officially confirmed to be angels, right? And I may be wrong and there are explanations for all my issues with them, but I really don’t think they’re angels (and if that’s the case then this would mean that this is meant to be a plot twist). This was my go to assumption when I first watched the pilot primarily because of their design.

Here are two angel designs, one will be a character in helluva boss, Collin, who so far seems sweet and cute, and most likely an antagonist for helluva boss, a cherub who angels/saints can hire to bless and protect their loved ones (so basically the opposite of imps), and the other is a really old design from early in the development process (I think from the zoophobia comic from like 5 years ago), Adina, she was manipulative and conniving and yet she looks like a Christmas tree angel.

And in the pilot we could see dozens of designs for demon characters, all had something in common and fit hell’s aesthetic, and then you have the executioners and they are designed to look more like demons than angels. Maybe that’s just their design cos they are genocide angels, but in Viv’s old work she didn’t shy away from making an evil angel character look angelic and pure.

[compare Adina to executioners to Angel Dust]

Why design them to look kinda like sirens but with a halo and horns, and spears, and a LED mask? Why not use more angelic imagery, like cross-like swords, spikes, shiny armor and things like that? The only thing remotely angelic about them are the halos but even then they look differently to Collin’s, like what are those additional lines for? Maybe they are signifiers of rank, cos you could say that they look kinda like tiaras and are basically fancier halos, but the lines also kinda look like distortions? And why would angels need to hide their identities? It’s not like anyone in hell could recognize them and expose their war crimes to other citizens of heaven, and that’s assuming anyone in heaven would consider such actions directed at demons to be reprehensible instead of welcome. If heaven is doing this then wouldn’t this mean they would be proud and think they’re doing the right thing?

But then there’s also a matter of their motivations that I don’t buy. Why would heaven care about overpopulation in hell? It just makes no sense to me, why don’t they care about any other social issues in hell? It’s hell! Why should heaven care about anything that goes on down there? Turf wars are ok but it’s the overpopulation that’s the problem that heaven needs to get involved with?

Maybe yearly genocide is to ensure that they suffer? (hell is supposed to be their punishement) But isn’t living in an overpopulated city also sth that results in constant suffering?

Maybe it’s to help maintain control? But is it really necessary? Heaven is already in the better position just by being heaven, a paradise in contrary to hell, a place for the cast out, heaven is in control and in a better position by default as a result of this world order.

Maybe they need to keep the demon numbers in check, so they don’t outnumber angels? But again it doesn’t seem to be necessary. By the way things were explained in the pilot demons can’t gain access to heaven because of the ‘quality’ of their souls and it’s suggested that the only way it may be possible for demons to get to heaven is to redeem themselves, so no matter their numbers they are no threat to heaven.

Relating to that last point, if demons can’t access heaven because they are damned then shouldn’t this also be true the opposite way around? Should angels really be able to access hell if they aren’t damned? And if they can access hell then why do they care specifically about fixing the overpopulation problem and nothing else? Or why not have daily genocides until you get rid of all demons and save the rest of humanity from temptation/eternal damnation?

And for last, the most simple and obvious answer: Maybe angels are just sadistic and that’s all there’s to that? Okay but that’s my whole point, if that’s the case, and again they’re killing demons in hell, then why say that it’s cos of the overpopulation at all? They’re angels murdering ex-nazis and such, you’d think they would think they’re righteous in what they’re doing so why do they need a cover-up excuse for the cleansings at all? Why not just say: We’re killing you because you’re you, y’know, pure evil.

In my mind this whole thing only makes sense if it’s Lucifer’s doing, to him it would make a difference if he himself has to live in an overpopulated city or not at the price of sacrificing random citizens, and for him yearly genocide, turf wars and his subjects living in fear and hopelessness would make it easier to maintain control. He’s the king, he’s the one in control of what happens in hell, he’s in the best position to organize such a hoax and benefits most from it. And maybe those executioners are his best attempt at making minions that are at least remotely angelic-looking. This would also explain how they actually need those LED masks cos without them they would be recognised for what they are (minions or some form of demons/fallen angels).

At the bottom of the countdown clock there’s a plaque saying “You deserve this”, heaven didn’t put it there, Lucifer did.

That could really well tie into the whole ‘Charlie’s a failure’ thing, where it’s gonna turn out to not only be a matter of Lucifer’s personal opinion of Charlie or her failing his expectations but where the person Charlie grew into being and especially her whole rehabilitation hotel idea becomes a liability and actively dangerous to Lucifer’s rule, especially if the hotel will prove the possibility of redemption for demons or if it at least becomes popular, leading to ppl starting to consider the cleansings more and more as a problem to be fixed and/or to more (homeless) ppl using the free housing option, making the cleansings less effective.

The plaque tries to normalize and make ppl compliant with the cleansings, while the mere existence of Charlie’s hotel is an acknowledgement that this is wrong and there needs to be effort made to stop it from happening.

#hazbin hotel thoughts #hazbin hotel theory #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel charlie #mine #my:hazbin hotel

106 notes · View notes

tinalbion · 5 years ago

Text

Someone To Stay - Brahms Heelshire x Reader

I told you guys, I’ve really been in my feels over this man and I haven’t been able to get back out. I’m not sure if I ever want to, I’m really loving this man so much.

You were the one to find the letter.

Your eyes scanned over it and suddenly you burst into heavy sobs. What did it even mean when the Heelshire's said 'she is yours to love and care for', anyway? They were gone and they weren't coming back, what would you do now that you were here in this mansion with just yourself and a doll? The outcomes all stacked up with you feeling extreme guilt since they had trusted you to remain here and carry on the household, but would you do it?

Your back was toward the fireplace as you reread the letter dozens of times, unable to come up with an answer right now, all you could do was cry. How could they do that, not just to you but to themselves? Was life so terrible that they needed to take theirs so carelessly, leaving a stranger in their home that they tended to for years, then to have that person care for their 'son'?

What would come of this if the local authorities had found out, would they arrest you or leave you to your new estate now that they detailed within the letter that you were to stay with Brahms. Whatever the outcome, you felt as if you needed to stay, not only to uphold your promise to the Heelshire's but now to their orphaned son.

It had been a spirit or something greater once you discovered that the doll did indeed move on its own, but since you were who you were, it didn't bother you in the slightest bit. You welcomed the strange occurrences because it only meant that you hadn't lost your mind, you were just blessed with the fact that this place was haunted and their son wanted to be cared for.

You needed to tell him though, whether he'd listen or not, you needed to. "Brahms," you said through your tears as you stood from the floor, "we need to have a talk…" You had left him in the bedroom where he had remained as you entered the room, his glass face looking at you expectantly. "Honey, I'm so sorry," you managed to choke out, still loud and clear for him.

What you didn't know was that the real Brahms had been keeping an eye on you since you left the room, making his way quickly and quietly through the walls as he watched you grab the mail. He always liked to see what you would be up to, but he took notice of your distress when you first read the letter, and it wasn't something he would expect.

To see you cry made his gut wrench with an unexpected feeling, it was too overwhelming for him at first, but he soon found himself wanting to cry with you and just hold you until you had stopped. The animalistic urge to burst through the wall and grab you subsided, all he wanted was to hold you and promise you that it would all be okay.

Once you had begun to speak to the doll, Brahms followed through the walls, keeping his ears alert for what you were about to say, his stomach twisting into knots. He crouched down and placed his ear closer to the wall, listening intently.

"Brahms, I want you to know that whatever will happen next, I will promise to stay here and take care of you. It'll be difficult, but… I think I can do it." You forced yourself to hold in your sadness, already thinking of what you could do to fix this entire situation.

In all honesty, you had nothing back home, nothing worth staying for, anyway. It wouldn't hurt to uproot and start over here in the manor, so you figured that moving your things here would work, so long as you spoke to the appropriate people about it all. That was another issue for another day.

"I received a letter this morning," you began slowly, "and I'm not entirely sure how to break this to you, hun." You looked down at the neatly written words again and shook your head, hanging your head in defeat. "Your mom and dad won't be returning, Brahms… they took… they took their own lives." You began to cry again, trying your best to hold it together while you sat on the side of the bed looking down at the doll. "But don't worry," you added, "I'm going to work something out. I'll be there for you."

You caressed the side of the doll’s cheek, almost curious if it would shed a tear for his parents, but it didn't. Though the real Brahms was still within the wall listening intently to just how broken you were over their loss. It was maddening that they took the cowards way out, they abandoned him and left him to his own devices. It infuriated him. He wanted to punch holes through the wood and kick and scream, but he would frighten you away and he needed you here more than ever now.

Once you stood from the edge of the bed, you wiped your tears and gave the doll a smile. "Alright, Brahms," you lifted him up with the letter still in your hand, clinging onto him as lovingly as you could, "we're going to have to make a few calls. I'll make you some lunch."

Several moments of holding him, you took him downstairs to the kitchen and began to get everything situated, but Brahms didn't move from his spot in the wall, he sat there and hung his head as he began to cry behind the porcelain mask.

The temptation of destroying everything around him remained strong, the fear and the betrayal all hit him at once. But what warmed him was your dedication to what you thought was a simple doll, an object that held no feeling. He had chosen you and he did the right in doing so, but now he would have to approach his next move with caution. Revealing himself to you now would be a sensitive time and would cause more harm than good, so he would need this evening to think about it.

As you silently made yourself and the doll lunch within the kitchen, Brahms made his way to the living space he had within the home. He had everything he would ever need, his eyes looking blankly at everything that decorated the walls and the large wooden posts. He wanted you to her with him right now, he needed to have you here for comfort to hold him, stroke his hair and tell him it would all be okay. He figured you would need the time to adjust to all of this, so he walked to his bed and sat on the edge of it, his shoulders slumped forward and his head hung low. He always felt alone no matter who he was surrounded by, and even when he had his play dates with Emily all those years back, she never really accepted him as a true friend, it always cut deep as he tried his best to be normal. Once he disposed of her, it didn’t feel better, it only made him feel more desperate for the longing of a normal life.

His parents never felt the same after that day and they treated him more like a wild, caged animal more than a son. It only made his anger grow within him, they needed to know that he was something more.

Hours passed as he sat alone, his thoughts consuming him as he heard you speaking faintly on the phone to a few different callers, sorting out what you could before the day was up. You had gotten somewhat far in the call list as you talked to your friends about helping you with a few things back home, and as soon as you hung up, you let out an overexaggerated sigh and placed the phone back into the receiver.

“I’m sorry that took so long, Brahmsy,” you said sweetly as you walked back into the living room, where the doll had been placed on the chair with a book sitting beside him. “I’ve gotten some good progress today and figured I’d pick it up again tomorrow, I didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer.” Gently, you picked the doll up and smiled sadly at him and cradled him to your chest, wanting to sit there for just a moment.

Brahms lifted his head as he heard you speak to his doll, so he made his way to the wall that would get him the closest to you as he silently listened, his heart still burning. What seemed to calm the flames was you, no matter how much he tried to push away the fact, it was you. The man suddenly burst into tears behind the old wood, his child-like crying alerting you that it wasn’t just you in the home.

You were scared as you looked down at the doll, hoping that you wouldn’t see tears in its eyes, but it was coming from another part of the room, so you had gently placed it down and listened for the crying as you stilled your breathing. Was there someone else in the house with you and were you going to die?

The sobbing intensified as you got to the far end of the wall in the furthest corner, your ear pressed up against the wallpaper. You held your breath again as you gave several gentle taps against it, and the crying stopped immediately after. Your head whipped over to the doll who continued to sit in the position you left it in, your heart raced at the thought of someone else being in the house with you, but instead of running or lashing out, you sadly placed your ear against the wall before you spoke.

“Brahms…?” It was a question you hoped had an answer to, but you wouldn’t know how to react if the spirit of Brahms was no spirit at all, and he was alive, mourning the loss of his parents. What if, though, it were true? He hid after the fire and never showed his face again, it could have been possible.

No one answered you.

“Brahms, honey, I’m sorry.” Your eyes closed as you slid to the floor and leaned against the wall, hoping that whatever was going on would make sense, but right now, you had Brahms. “I’m so sorry…”

The man in the wall peeked his head up and looked at the wall as if he could see through it, seeing your face that was red and patchy from all the crying you’d done today, your glassy eyes that hadn’t stopped tearing up. Even in this state, he knew you were for him, he accepted you no matter what so long as you would accept him. He reached out his hand and placed it on the wall, his fingertips sliding down the surface.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said softly.

You gasped and pulled your head away, staring at the wall as if it were going to burst open. You adjusted yourself to sit on your knees, both of your hands firmly planted on the wall and you smiled. “I’m not crazy…” you said to yourself, confirming it. No one else would have known it, you figured the place was haunted, and here you were now hearing voices. “Brahms, let me see you, please.”

Brahms hesitated and wanted to shut down the idea right away, but the way you spoke to him, even by the mere fact you decided to stay, at some point in time, he would have to show his face to you.

“Do you promise not to run away…?” Brahms asked as he spoke closer toward you, his hand still flat against the surface.

The real question was; were you ready to face the reality of the situation? You came this far, what was a bit more mystery to unravel? With a sure smile as you bit your bottom lip, you silently nodded. “I promise.”

That decided his fate. He sighed and quickly made it to his feet, making his way quietly through the path until he found the door that seemed like any other part of the wall to you, the gentle creak of the hinges alerted you of the opening, where you stared over toward, seeing nothing emerge just yet. Your hand squeezed into a fist out of fear and anticipation, wondering just what would step out from the other side, your eyes wide and watching.

A hand popped out and was placed on the edge of the door, a tall and semi-muscular figure pushed through and stepped out, his feet bare and dirty as he placed them on the wooden floor. His untamed dark curls hung over the tattered porcelain mask where his face should have been, his eyes staring at you with such intensity. You wanted to run, but you knew who this had been and convinced yourself to stay. His clothing was dirty and it reeked of dust and earth, but no matter how terrifying he had looked when he came out of the hidden door, you felt your heart drop when he immediately sunk to his knees before you. His eyes met yours and you could tell he too had been crying, which only made you feel worse. He knew, the real Brahms knew, and he was broken over it.

“You stayed,” was all he could manage before you pulled yourself forward and wrapped your arms around him. As soon as you touched him, he went into shock, afraid of the intimate action that he had so longed for, but here you were, comforting him. He warmed in your grasp and buried his covered face between your neck and your shoulder, your hair covering him as he burst into heavy sobs, and he held you.

Neither of you wanted to move from the floor right now; both of you had been too broken to stand and you also hadn’t known how to continue on with the initial shock of the man before you. You would figure that out tomorrow when you had a clearer head, but for right now, you needed to be there for Brahms.

#tinalbion writings #brahms the boy #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #the boy 2016 #slashers x reader #slashers imagine #soft sunday #slasher boys

582 notes · View notes