#the way i gave up on writing this formally like halfway | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poisonf0rest · 7 months ago

Text

Overc*mming Writer's Block

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

♱⋅── about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

♱⋅── word count: 9.3K

art credit to @/kaito_aii on X

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files.

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request.

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :(

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further.

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again.

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for.

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now.

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line.

You groan as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor.

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent.

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case?

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat.

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer.

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings.

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

“What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered.

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day.

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either.

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers.

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain.

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling.

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside.

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table.

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content.

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way.

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth.

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s.

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream.

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever.

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth.

If that were all, then everything would be perfect.

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own.

But of course, the plot has to thicken.

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all.

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming.

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone.

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture.

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?”

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows.

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t.

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

You don’t know what you expected.

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked.

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him.

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself.

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you.

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck.

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone.

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you.

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue.

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next.

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are."

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.”

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin.

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm.

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop.

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive.

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser.

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion.

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?"

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you.

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers.

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase.

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own.

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit.

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly.

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force.

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor.

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.”

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth.

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

“That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob.

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest.

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls.

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it.

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.”

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you.

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine.

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

#𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓 writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace x reader #lnd zayne #lads zayne #zayne x you #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lnds smut #l&ds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace zayne

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owliellder · 1 year ago

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author's Note: I write these at work and I work nightshift all alone in a little gatehouse, right? I kid you not 3 coyotes were staring at me through the door and I didn't even notice. I saw them running by on the cameras but I honestly thought it was just a group of feral cats cause they were so small.

Anyways, thank you for 300 followers!! I'm geekin' out over that! And Friday morning the last chapter will be out 😈🙏

Cross-posted on AO3

Session 5: Finishing Touches

The word excited was a vast understatement when it came to seeing you again.

Leon's heart was thrumming against his chest as he stood silently in front of your apartment door. His hand was raised up halfway, ready to knock, but a sudden wave of anxiety was holding him back. He was at your apartment. Your apartment.

The drive over was relatively short, it was closer than your workspace, yet he felt confident the entire way here. Now here he was, frozen in place, worried his knock would be too loud or make him seem desperate, even. A ridiculous thought, obviously the man knew that, but it gripped his mind nonetheless.

You must've had a sixth sense, having opened the door before he'd built up the courage to actually knock, when all reality you just recognized the sound of his motorcycle at this point. The sweet smile you gave Leon was enough to draw him into your apartment. He was quick to take his jacket off since he was sweating bullets, hanging it up on the coat rack next to your front door.

You could tell he was nervous just by how jittery he was, it was endearing yet worrisome at the same time. Seeing how worked up you made him was adorable, but at the same time you didn't want him to feel uncomfortable around you.

"Sit wherever, Mr. Kennedy. My house is yours." You placed a hand on his bicep to try and ease him, smile still remaining as you watched him survey the living room. A quiet laugh fell from his lips as he trained his eyes on you. "It's Leon, please. Making me feel real old over here..." You rolled your eyes with a playful groan. It was just a formality you'd trained yourself to respond with when it came to clients. A hard habit to break since you'd never really dated any of them before now.

With a gentle pat, you slowly turned and walked off into your admittedly small kitchen where the faint sound of boiling water could be heard. It took a few seconds before Leon decided to follow you, not totally convinced to take a seat just yet. You glanced over your shoulder at him before turning back to reach up into one of your cabinets, pulling out a couple mismatched mugs. "You like chai?" He nodded, licking his lips at the idea of something to drink.

The man could only stand awkwardly a few feet behind you and watch as you grabbed a couple tea bags from another cabinet, setting reach bag in their respective mug. An electric kettle sitting atop your counter beeped once it reached the selected temperature, prompting you to grab the handle and pour the water into the mugs.

You covered the mugs to let them steep, turning around to lean back against the edge of your counter so you could look at Leon. He looked like a lost puppy, hands in the pockets of his jeans as he took in your kitchen. With a sympathetic sigh, you pushed yourself from the counter and looped your right arm through his, leading him out of the kitchen back towards your living room. "Get comfortable, I'll bring the tea over here, okay?"

He just let you lead him over to the couch, sitting down at your request with a meek nod. He really should be more confident than this, but he was far out of practice when it came to women. The idea of messing this up for himself was terrifying.

Leon's head followed you as you walked around to the front of the couch, watching as you set the mugs on the coffee table before sitting down next to him. He rested his hands on top of his thighs, eyes now stuck to the tea placed in front of him.

"Are you feeling alright? You look like you're gonna throw up." You meant this in a joking manner, even giggling a bit as you spoke, but Leon's head jerked away from the tea to look at you, eyebrows furrowed with worry as he shook his head. "No-.. No, I'm okay, just... Can I be honest?"

That kind of question never failed to make you nervous, and he was quick to pick up on that, clearing his throat after stumbling over his words. "It's... It's been a long time since I've done anything like this. Seeing someone."

Your mouth formed a small 'o' shape at his confession before falling back to that same sweet smile that you welcomed him in with. "You're right to be nervous, Leon. But hey," you paused to scoot closer to him, ".. I've had the privilege to learn a bit of backstory from you already, and after working with a few other agents before you, I have a general idea on just how taxing that kind of job can be."

Leon tightened his lips as he listened to you, worry still plain on his face. You were right and maybe that's why he grew to like you so easily. He didn't have to explain anything since you already knew the basic gist of it all, holding a level of understanding that most other potential partners wouldn't have.

You reached in front of him to grab the mug, carefully placing it in one of his hands before reaching further to grab the other, now having him hold the mug with both hands. He kept fidgeting with his jeans, clearly needing something to hold onto.

"I won't pry, the details of your job seem pretty intense, but I want you to know that I'll never turn you away, relationship or not." You'd grabbed your own mug now, looking down as you pinched your index and thumb on the paper end to the tea bag to jostle it a bit. "You've more than earned the time you have now to just be yourself."

Leon swallowed dryly, turning his attention down to where he was holding the mug in his lap. He didn't even know he needed to hear those words, but dammit were they definitely hitting home.

"Thank you." He managed to say, voice meek and slightly scratchy from just how dry his mouth had become. "You... have a way with words?" He breathed out a chuckle to which you followed up with a laugh of your own. Despite feeling so vulnerable and awkward, he still managed to make a joke.

You closed your eyes as you brought the mug up to your lips, taking a sip of the now perfectly warm tea before opening them again to give the man next to you a smirk. "What a charmer you are, huh?"

And just like every other time the two of you had been around each other, Leon started to relax by the hour; talking more, joking more, getting closer to you, and once you both finished up the tea, he held onto your hand with his own.

He followed you around your apartment when you excitedly asked to give him a tour. It was small, a very humble one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, but to Leon it was probably the most comfortable place he'd ever been. So similar to your workplace in terms of decor, but now it was full of your more personal items.

The smell of the tea from earlier was beginning to fade, making way for the smell of just you, such a pleasant and intoxicating smell to the man.

Your bedroom was the biggest culprit so far, the two of you winding up sitting on the edge of your bed. Shamefully, he'd zoned out as you rambled on about whatever, just soaking in the feel of your comforter beneath his hands. It was soft, but definitely not as soft as your lips were.

While Leon was zoned out, his eyes had gotten stuck again, this time on your lips as they moved. You were focused somewhere else, looking forwards, not really paying attention to where he was staring. He so badly wanted to kiss you again, the last kiss didn't last nearly as long as he would've liked it to.

Leon knew his words would fail him and he wanted to act before his nerves got the better of him, leading him to moving his eyes up to yours, his hand reaching to gently hold under chin so he could turn your head to face him.

The feel of his hand caused you to pause your ramble, letting him turn your head to face him. He looked so handsome with that wanting look, his eyes flittering from your own and back down to your lips.

He seemed to know what he wanted, so you opted to just let him slowly pull you closer into a kiss, eyes closing as your lips touched his. It was a little longer than the kiss you shared the night before, but after pulling away and seeing the shy smile you had, he couldn't help but pull you right back in.

His eyebrows furrowed, hands finding their way to your back to pull you closer, one between your shoulder blades while the other on the small of your back. You arched against his touch, letting him angle you the way he wanted. Leon's hands moved to make way for his arms, biceps flexing as he tightly wrapped them around you. He had to hold on tight, fearing he would lose his little slice of heaven if he didn't.

Your lips felt amazing against his, so soft and pillowy. And god, the way your skin felt when he shifted one of his rough hands up under your shirt. He needed more, all of you.

He let out a low groan, almost a growl as he nibbled on your bottom lip before moving down to your neck. He leaned back a bit so his shoulders were resting against the head of the bed frame, managing to pull you even closer so your chest was pressed up a little higher than his, his head buried into the crook of your neck.

You breathed out a shaky breath as his hands began to wander again, still underneath your shirt. They went up and down your back, moving down to occasionally squeeze your waist. You made the prettiest sounds when he did.

Leon felt so needy, holding onto you like this, for dear life. He couldn't help it. You were his lifeline right now.

His lips trailed along the underside of your jaw and down the front of your throat, making sure to leave a trail of hickeys in their wake. He could feel you swallow and the vibrations from your moans, loving how alive you felt in his grasp.

You ran your fingers through his hair before gently tugging him away from your neck, tilting his head back ever so slightly so he was looking up at you. He was panting, breath cold against your spit-covered neck. You gave him the most endearing look, one hand trailing down to cup the side of his face. You didn't want him to worry even for a second.

"I'm not going anywhere." You whispered, running your thumb along his bottom lip before bringing him into another kiss. His grip on you loosened enough for you to carefully slide down and settle your upper half into his lap.

Leon's lip quivered as he watched you, hands trembling once you'd slid out of his grasp. Your words were comforting, but he couldn't hold onto you the way he wanted when you were down there. Though, with the way you rested your cheek against the bulge straining in his jeans, he wasn't all that worried anymore.

You watched your hand with a lazy smile as you stroked him over his jeans, both arms resting on his thighs to keep them spread apart. Leon needed love and care and you were more than willing to help him make up for the lost time.

After unbuckling his belt and pulling it off, you unzipped his jeans, sitting up to pull them down in the front. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, silently asking for permission to which he eagerly nodded his head. He even reached his hands down to help, but you swatted them away.

"Let me take care of you..." Carefully, you pulled the front end of his boxers down far enough for his cock to spring out and then up against his stomach, already leaking precum. Leon groaned as the cool air hit it, causing his hips to jerk up a bit.

You didn't want to tease the poor man, so you reached your hand up and gripped the base, pulling it upright and to the side slightly. You stroked him languidly before placing a gentle kiss against the shaft. He whined, his legs now starting to shiver from the adrenaline.

Leon never could've imagined he'd get this far with you tonight, let alone get to watch you stroke his dick while giving it kisses and little kitten licks. A pitiful moan was pulled from him when you wrapped your lips around the tip to suck, your hand now stroking him faster.

You were so careful with him, focusing on his pleasure, having even stopped a couple times to make sure he was feeling good and also just to tell him how good he was doing.

With his cock now deep in your throat, tears were streaming down his face, small sobs falling from his lips as you bobbed your head up and down. It was all so much; the smell of your bedding, the feeling your mouth wrapped around him, the sound of his own weak little cries hitting his ears.

"I'm-.. God I'm sorry- I-" He spoke breathlessly through the moans and sobs, hands fisted into your comforter as he began to worry he'd chase you away. You pulled your mouth off of him, hand moving from holding the base to stroking him again. "You're doing such a good job, Leon. Just let go for me.." With your hushed words, you quickly put your mouth back around him, going right back to deepthroating him.

His orgasm surfaced fast, throwing his head back with a high pitched whine as he all so suddenly came down your throat. After pulling away, you gave the tip of his cock a gentle kiss before tucking it back into his boxers for him, staring up at him while running your hand along his thigh.

It was hard for him to look down at you, his head feeling heavy. A few small tears fell here and there, but now he was able to give you a tired smile. "Was that alright?" You asked him again, voice raspy from deepthroating the man.

Leon huffed out through his nose, smile widening as he quickly sat up, reached down, and pulled you up so your chest was pressed against his again. He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly once more before burying his face into your neck.

It would've taken years for him to open up like that with anyone else, but it was different with you. You already knew, you understood, you were patient with him.

You made him feel weak in the best way possible. For once in his life he didn't need to be that strong, stone-cold agent who didn't bat an eye at death. With you, he could be soft.

It only took a few more sessions for Leon's portrait to be finished. All that needed to get done was some finishing touches since little things tend to get smudged along the way. All a part of the process.

Unfortunately for Leon, you didn't let him see the final product, blocking his every attempt to see it while saying something about "You don't get to see the bride before the wedding!" Whatever that meant.

When you told him it would take about two months to dry, he turned into the biggest man-child you've ever seen. Leon was just as bad as Chris in that sense, only difference being Claire was there to help contain Chris when he tried to see their portrait. Now you were left to deal with Leon's shenanigans all on your own.

No matter how much he begged and pleaded, you didn't relent. Hell, you even chased him out of the building with a dirty paintbrush. Two months was too long to wait for something like that. You were basically torturing him.

Luckily for you and him, it was easy to distract the man with the promise of a comfortable night at your apartment with some takeout. Afterwards, he really only ever asked about the portrait when he saw you working on something else. By now you'd hidden the painting away from his prying mind to give it time to dry. Out of sight, out of mind.

In the meantime, you would sketch him at random; while he was sitting on your couch, with his glasses on, naked on the bed posing for you "like one of your french girls", which was pretty funny yet surprisingly helpful. It had been a long time since you had the chance to draw a nude model, and what better than the ex-agent you'd grown so fond of?

Now it was just a matter of playing the waiting game. Leon's portrait was made to be extra special, secretly working on it while he was sleeping or off at the gym. Sure it prolonged the drying process, but you can't rush perfection in the end.

tags!: @greywardensaywhat @xkittiecatx @httpsuguru @k-fallingstar @lysa1201 @bobastayhigh @pocketstoriesstore @agent-dessis-posts @klee-iii @missjoenowhere @bbjposay @lazuliglace @bigtiddiesimp @finsternisle @sweets3rial @sodacolablast (there's a few of you that tumblr wouldn't let me tag for some reason 😭)

#daily dose of dilf #hes not a dad in this #but that doesn't mean hes not a dilf #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fic #leon x reader

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kilikina34512 · 1 year ago

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Loki Meets Peter

I hate how long I've been gone from writing and posting, but to explain would be a story in itself. Long short, life sucks, desire for enjoyments was gone, and I'm refinding myself and my writing. I look forward to writing more here and there until I have more time again. It's shorter than I prefer to write, but I had an hour only to spare.

This story is based from a meme I saw on TikTok that I can't seem to find again, but wrote from what I remembered with my own flare to it. Divider courtesy of @firefly-graphics. Make sure to check them out!

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Summary: Loki comes back to the compound only to meet Spiderman. Basically, Peter being Peter and Loki's reaction to it.

Warnings: none, kinda fluffy cute

Word Count: 706

You were so happy to have Loki home, you could barely peel yourself from his side after the Bifrost had vanished. He'd been gone off world with Thor for over a month dealing with a conflict that was facing Asgard. Part of his release from life in the dungeons had been contingent on using his abilities for good, which for Odin had meant responding when summoned to fight for Asgard instead of its destruction.

A deal you weren't enthusiastic about, but that was a battle for another day.

Right now, you were enjoying just being able to hold his hand as you both walked into the compound. You knew he'd been healed already before returning home, but you could see the strain in his body language that you'd learned to read. His shoulders were more tense and tight, spine straighter than normal to hide the fatigue, his face a bit stonier than it normally would be with you around. You had a relaxing day planned for the two of you, everyone already knowing not to bother you so you could both spend time together after such a time away from one another.

You were halfway down the hall that led to your suite when a door closer to you opened and a small form came out of the room. Seeing who it was, you feared this could go badly with how tense your God of Mischief was. It wasn't uncommon for him to snap at someone when he'd come back from Asgard, which was why no one had a problem with you helping him get back into a more amiable mood.

Before you could say anything against it, the boy a few inches taller than you raced over and had his hand stuck towards your man. "You must be Mr. Loki! Hi, I'm Peter, Peter Parker. It's so nice to finally meet you, she's told me so much about you." Peter's eyes quickly indicated you before staring excitedly at the god before him. You'd already told Loki about the newest Avenger on your way inside the building so that if they came across each other, it wouldn't be a surprise. Still, you'd hoped not to have this meeting until tomorrow.

Letting go of your hand after a moment of hesitation, Loki finally shook Peter's hand. "You must be the one called Spiderman. I am Loki, of Asgard."

Peter, in his ever inquisitive nature, immediately asked, "I know you're an Avenger too, but, aren't you like... a bad guy?"

Loki, ever the smart mouthed silver-tongued Prince, didn't hesitate to respond, "It varies from moment to moment."

You gave Loki an admonishing look that you knew he saw. You could see the faint tug of his lips, knowing he wanted to smirk at your response. "So," Peter dragged out before continuing, "How much do I need to worry? Like, on a scale of one to ten, one being flicking someone's ear and ten being something horrible like killing puppies and kittens, where are you at right now?"

Loki blinked and you barely held back the giggle that wanted to let loose. You watched his posture relax ever so slightly and his voice came out with less of its formal tone. "I would say it is currently about a three."

The boy in front of you both smiled before nodding. "Cool, could you let me know if it ever gets above a six?" Looking down at the alert on his watch, Peter looked back up with a more urgent expression. "I have to go, Happy is waiting to take me over to see Aunt May. It was nice to meet you!" With that, the boy rushed away as fast as he could without all out running.

After a moment of staring at Peter as he departed, Loki turned to look at you, amusement shining in his eyes. "I like the boy of arachnids. He amuses me greatly."

A wide smile broke out across your face as you tugged him back down the hall again, ready to spoil him. "I'm glad to hear it, he's a precious bean for sure. Now let's get to our room, I have everything ready for a bath and a new book of poetry is beside the bed ready for cuddles and reading."

#loki fluff #loki fic #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki x reader fluff #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x peter parker #loki x peter #peter parker #spiderman #peter parker fluff #peter parker his cute self #amused loki #short fic #kili stories

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dreamersbcll · 1 year ago

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“Ink Blots”

for @krikeymate

3/5

——————————————————————————

May 19th, 2018

Dear Sam,

Two years. Two whole years. You got up and left. No surprise. I’m still where you left me.

Every day I wake up, and there’s five seconds of bliss before I remember. You’re there for a heartbeat, nothing more. I can almost feel your breath on my cheek and your hand brushing through my hair

I can picture it all. You are holding me, your chin buried into my shoulder. I am holding your hands as they wrap around me. It’s imprinted on my brain.

Amber tells me every day that I need to move on. That you’re long gone. That when you were here, you were never really here. It’s like a broken record.

Yet, She’s right in some ways. You always chose any other substance but me.

But I don’t want to admit that she’s right. She would take it and run. I love her, but she’s a little too intense sometimes. We’ve watched the Stab movies every night since you left like clockwork. I don’t get it.

Please come home. The back door is always open. I don’t lock my bedroom door anymore. You can slip in.

Love, Tara.

——

June 15th, 2018

Dear Samantha,

Formal right? I found your birth certificate and some other documents today. Well, Amber did. She looked through my shit earlier, claiming she “wanted to see if you took your personal information.”

Spoiler: you didn’t. But I don’t know why you would. I’m pretty sure just a driver’s license is needed to disappear.

Anyways, I put your shit into a box and hid it under the floorboards. You’ll find it one day, I’m sure.

I couldn’t find my information. Maybe I’m not a Carpenter. That would be something, huh? Being able to escape this hell family line.

A girl can dream.

Tara Carpenter (maybe).

——

September 27th, 2018

Dear Sam,

High school sucks. Sophomore year sucks. I hate this place.

I don’t want to do anything. I hate math. I’m not good at history. I can’t remember shit.

All the teachers give me looks. Looks of sympathy, disgust, suspicion. I think they recognize the family name. School wasn’t your thing, but it would’ve been nice if you didn’t fuck it up for me. I can barely keep up with the shit they throw at me.

The only one who’s forgiving me is my English teacher Ms. Smith. She has kind, gentle brown eyes, just like yours. Surprisingly, she’s the only teacher who believes in me.

We read books a lot. She helps mentor me in critical writing skills.

Who knows. Maybe I’ll write a book and make us famous, just like that Gale Weathers lady.

Tara

——

November 16th, 2018

Dear Sam,

Do you ever wonder if Mom was ever good? Did we make her this way?

Did I make her this way?

I’m so sick of cleaning up broken bottles and piles of puke. I’m so tired of watching her wither away right before my eyes. I can’t even save her. I can’t tell her to stop. I can’t get her to stop.

Begging and pleading never worked. Trust me; I’ve been trying it with you every night. I think God, or whatever deities I pray to, stopped listening years ago.

It’s strange. First, Dad leaves. Then you. And now Mom had her foot halfway out the door. Is it me? Do you all leave because of me?

What the hell did I do?

Confused, Tara.

——

December 14th, 2018

Dear Sam,

Sweet sixteen. Happy birthday to me. Not that you cared.

Mindy and Chad decorated my locker. Amber bought me flowers and a cake. Ms.Smith gave me a new journal. Mom went on a business trip to Singapore.

And… I’m sixteen. I have a handful of people that care. But they don’t matter. They don’t fucking matter.

I want you, Sammy. You promised to teach me how to drive. You promised to take me for my license. I’ve had to learn how to drive with Amber. And she’s taking me for my license tomorrow. Everything you were supposed to do.

But I suppose this is what you wanted. You would’ve come back if it wasn’t.

I hope wherever you are sucks. I hope you feel my disappointment and anger from here. I’m furious with you. I hate it.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Tara

——

January 1st, 2019

Dear Sam,

I’m drunk and I miss you and I wish you were here I wish you loved me I want you to love me come back come back come back

Love Tara

——

February 18th, 2019

Dear Sam,

I got picked for the school newspaper—advice column. I laughed in Ms. Smith’s face when she offered it to me.

Advice column. As if I would be the one to give advice. I can’t get anyone to stay.

Did you hear that Robbie Sullivan asked me on a date? I said yes. He never showed up to the theater. Amber was pissed. He came to school the next day with a broken arm and fractured ribs. He said some asshole attacked him.

Funny. Amber talked about a scene in the Stab franchise where someone gets ambushed and hurt. Seemed familiar.

Anyways. School is slow, and life is passing me by. Chad is a big-shot basketball player. I haven’t gone to a game. I can’t stand being in a room full of people and feeling so alone. Mindy is okay with it. She comes over sometimes to braid my hair and make my bed.

Everything is in slow motion. Time is passing, but not at all.

Do you feel that way?

Tara.

——

April 4th, 2019

Dear Sam,

I’m doing fine. I’m regaining all my strength and self-worth in record time. I brush my hair most days and even clean my room once a week.

I stopped going through the photos I kept under my bed. I feel no need to reflect on the past right now because that’s all I can do. There’s no future when I know you’re out there ignoring me.

Maybe even forgetting about me.

I joined a club. A book club. It’s nice just sitting there and letting people’s opinions swallow me whole. I can listen and nod, and everyone leaves me alone; because I’m not moping around anymore. Amber is happier anyways. She was so angry with me for being sad all the time.

Jokes on her; I’m still sad. But I can’t lose anything else anymore, so sadness is a wasted feeling. I can walk for hours in the darkness, stay up all night, pray, and it still wouldn’t matter.

You are still gone, and I am here. I might as well try.

Tara.

——

May 19th, 2019

Dear Sam,

Three years.

I don’t know if I have any tears left to cry for you. I’ve accepted that I’ll never see you again if you could help it.

I hope that once I’m out of this town, you come back, looking for me. And when I’m not there, you understand how it feels.

I try not to be mean. But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? An escape from me. You were leaving me before I could infect you with whatever darkness swirls inside me.

No explanation comes to my mind besides the one where you’re sick of me.

I don’t blame you. I get it.

Love, Tara.

#scream #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #ao3 author #my writing tag #ink blots au #sad sad sad sad i’m sad #yeah…………

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writersblog20 · 3 years ago

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The grinch of New Year’s eve

Tom Hiddleston x reader

Not my picture, creds to the maker!

Summary: Being locked up for New Year’s eve with your favorite actor might’ve not been so bad after all.

Warnings: depression,feelings of being alone, hating the holidays, anxiety and that’s it I guess?

Words: 3.5K

The grinch of New Year’s eve.

New year’s eve was definitely not your cup of tea. With every year you started to hate it more just like Christmas. You did like the days that were leading up to Christmas but The days itself were just horrible. You hated every second of it because your mental health would act up, you were alone while you could see everyone you knew having fun with their family’s that you didn’t have.

Besides Christmas, New year’s eve was horrible as well. Maybe you’d always focus more on the bad than the good but either way you would dread it, thinking about what kind of shit the New year would give you. You’d rather just forget about all of it and that was exactly what you were going to do this year.

Just to clarify, it wasn’t like you weren’t trying. You did always ask your friends to celebrate but they always had other plans. You understood that but it wasn’t making things easier for you. You’d never been invited to a New years party even though you’d love to go. Nobody really knew your hatred for the holidays and you kept it to yourself.

This year was hard though. You’ve had a very rough year and it wasn’t quite done yet, and I’m not talking about the year. The last thing you were excited about was celebrating the New year. Since this year and especially this day was so hard on you, you decided to go to the library for escapism. You would just listen to some music and read books until it was closing time, maybe even write a bit.

You walked to your library, which was a formal church but they turned it in a library. They kept it old fashioned and that’s why you liked it so much. They had decorated the entire library in Christmas ornaments, giving it an even more cozy vibe than it already had. Not to forget the fact that the library was huge. There were around 4 floors where you could search for books and chill. You loved the last floor since their weren’t a lot of people, was quiet and would be forgotten about.

You looked around and it was already pretty quiet. You walked along the isle, gathering some books that grabbed your attention and where you were sure of would get you in a fantasy world. After you gathered the books, you walked to the fourth floor.

You walked more towards the end, so if their would be someone coming up, you still wouldn’t be bothered. As you walked you saw someone already sitting there. You frowned, since there wasn’t a soul that you’ve ever found there besides yourself but shrugged it off. once you came closer you saw the person. Tom Hiddleston. You started to freak out on the inside. He was one of your favorite actors and there he was in your favorite spot.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he looked up at you and gave you a kind smile. You quickly smiled back and looked around for another spot. You saw a nice spot by the window underneath the fairy lights, so you made your way towards that spot. He was probably sitting there so he wouldn’t be disturbed either.

You sat down and looked out of the window. In the reflection of the window glass you could see that Tom was looking at you and you felt your cheeks heat up. Why in the world was he staring? Maybe he thinks I’m a crazy fan and that’s why I would sit here or…. Your mind was racing but you made a halt to it. You shrugged it off and got your phone and earbuds out of your bag, put them in, chose a playlist and a book and started to read.

2 pages in and you completely forgot about your surroundings. You were in a completely different world. You didn’t even notice Tom staring at you as you were engulfed by the book. Once you were halfway through the story, you looked up. It was already dark outside. You shrugged it off since it got dark very early. You looked a bit around you and made eye contact with Tom.

Once he noticed that you looked at him as well, he took a sharp breath in and looked back at his pages. You looked down at your book in disappointment. You couldn’t really tell why but you’d knew that just a smile towards you, would make your day but that was too much to ask apparently.

You scrolled a bit through your social media and saw that everyone was out partying, with friends or family. You let out a sigh, put your phone away and promised yourself you wouldn’t look again. You already felt pretty alone but actually seeing that, made it ten times worse. You could feel the tear prickling in your eyes and tried to focus on the book as you tried to push away the tears.

It always felt like someone ripped your heart out and you could just cry for days. You didn’t realize that your breathing changed in a more chaotic pattern, catching the attention of Tom. You got back into the story where you left off and escaped as soon as you could, which didn’t take long.

Before you knew it, you finished the story, picking up the other book that you had laid out. You looked up and saw that Tom was still there. This time when you made eye contact, he smiled at you which you returned.

All of a sudden the big lights went out. You and Tom looked at each other in shock and stood up at the same time, running to the balcony. There wasn’t a soul around anymore except you and Tom. You both looked at each other in panic, you got your stuff and ran downstairs with Tom, even though he was way faster.

As you got to the main floor, you both ran up to the door. You tried to open it but to no avail. The light went on again. Great it was an automatic light, so that means the person who would close the library, could be gone for ten minutes already.

You heard Tom silently curse under his breath. “Maybe there is a window that we can open…” you silently suggested. Tom looked at you and thought about it. “That’s a good idea, let’s see.” You nodded and both looked around but again to no avail. They were closed with a key. You both groaned. “Who the fuck doesn’t check if there’s still people out there.” you asked angry but more to yourself. You heard Tom sigh a little. “my phone….” You whispered and looked through your bag in a state of panic but couldn’t find it. Maybe you left it upstairs so you ran towards the fourth floor and looked around, Tom following you in confusion.

You saw it laying there where you were seated. You unlocked it but saw that you had only two percentage left. Maybe you could still call somebody you thought. You dialed the emergency number and could hear someone ask which emergency service you needed but before you could talk, your phone died. You cursed and sat down as you rubbed your hands in your face.

Tom looked sad at you. “Do you have a phone?” you asked hopefully at him. he shook his head “I’ve left my phone at home.” You nodded in disappointment. You could read of the clock that it was already 8 p.m. “Okay, so we have at least 2 hours to get out of here.” You told him. He let out a sight, nodded and looked around for ideas. “wouldn’t be here some stupid book of how to break out of a library for dummies.” You announced, making him chuckle. “I don’t think so but they should make them. Or we should after we find a way to get out of here.” He chuckled, making you chuckle slightly as well.

“I’m Tom by the way.” He told you as he reached out is hand for you to shake. “I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you. I like your movies by the way.” You could see him blush and you smiled. “Thank you, that’s very nice.” He told you flustered. God he looks so cute, handsome, gorgeous, you could go on about that for a while. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable so you dropped the subject. You looked around as well for ideas. “Maybe there is an emergency phone here or behind the desk. You suggested and he smiled at you. “That’s very smart.” He complimented and walked with you downstairs. There wasn’t an emergency phone and the phone behind the desk was out of service. You and Tom looked at each other. “Let’s get some tea, sit down and think of another plan. Because if we keep doing this, we’ll run out of ideas.” He nodded as a response to your suggestion.

You walked into the kitchen and made some tea. You got the tea and both sat down at a table. You were deep in thought on how to get out before Tom broke you out of it. “So, do you have any plans for tonight?” you looked up at him, meeting his blue eyes. It made you feel shy and excited as well but you looked down. “No, I don’t. What about you?” You asked him. He gave you a sympathetic smile “I was going to celebrate it with friends. But how come that a beautiful, smart and I can guess, nice girl like you doesn’t have anything planned?” he asked you intrigued.

You looked down and didn’t want to answer that question really. “Well, you’re still going to celebrate it with friends. We’ll make sure, just have to find a way to get out.” You told him, avoiding the topic and he noticed. He nodded and sipped his tea, being more interested in you.

“We can put on the computer and send an email to someone hoping they will see it…” you thought out loud, making Tom smile softly. “Am I that bad company?” he asked you teasingly. You looked up in shock “No absolutely not! It’s just… I don’t really like the idea of being locked up. It gives me bad anxiety.” You told him, letting out a shaky breath. He nodded in understanding.

“We’ll find a way.” He told you. You stood up, surprising Tom as his eyes followed your movements. You walked towards the computer and opened it. “fucking hell, of course there is a password.” You let that computer be and walked towards another. This one didn’t have a password. You quickly opened your email and send a messaged to as many people as possible.

“Now we just have to wait and hope. Maybe we can find another way to get out if they don’t respond.” You told him. He gave you a sympathetic smile again. “This isn’t an ideal situation but there are more horrible ways to celebrate New year’s eve. And like you said, you don’t really have any plans.” He told you.

You looked down. “Yeah, but you have.” He gave you a smile. “I can always celebrate later.” He told you as he stood up and walked up to you and rubbed your arms for comfort. You gave him a sad smile. “Why don’t we just go upstairs again and hang there for a while.” You nodded at his suggestion.

You found your spot by the window again and Tom sat down opposite to you. “I’m sorry that you’re not with your friends right now. But I am glad I’m not alone.” You chuckled shyly but felt genuine sorry for him. He gave you another soft smile “it’s my fault as well, I should’ve kept an eye on the clock. But yeah I’m glad I’m not alone as well. Normally I don’t find anybody up here.” He told you and you smiled “Neither do I. But it’s my favorite spot because it’s so quiet.” He nodded and let out a soft hum in agreement.

You both started talking about books and hobby’s and found out that you were both very intrigued by the other person. “So Y/N, tell my why you don’t have any plans.” He carefully asked. You let out a sour chuckle and looked down. “I’m not into New year’s eve. I’m always alone even though I ask my friends but they always have plans and don’t invite me, which is fine but I also think celebrating it is bullshit. You look back at your year and it’s always very though when you had a rough year, than you look towards the new year and I think: Wow, what kind of bullshit is life going to give me this year. And don’t get me wrong, I do want to celebrate it but it’s very much depressing if you do it alone, or if you are alone and see everyone on your social media having fun. Which of course I want them to have fun but it hurts…. It hurts too much you know.”

You rambled almost too quickly for Tom to follow. You felt yourself grow emotional and tears prickle in your eyes. You frustrated wiped them away with your sleeves of your cardigan. Tom was silent and looked down, not knowing what to say to make it better for you. “That’s why I came here. So I could disappear in books, not having to think about it and not really being alone.” He looked at you with a little sadness in your eyes. “They’re not great friends if they don’t invite you. You deserve better!” he told you as he rested his hand on your knee. You gave him a sad smile.

“Come join me if we get out of here.” He told you excitedly. You shook your head “I don’t want to be invited because out of pity.” This time Tom shook his head. “I’m not, I promise! I just really enjoy your company. We like the same stuff that we could spent hours of talking about, you make me think more than others do. I don’t have that with many people…. Actually none at all except for my mother and one friend but that different.” He told you and you could swear you saw him blush.

“If it’s not out of pity, than I’d love to join you. but I don’t want to be a burden.” You told him and looked out of the window. Tom softly grabbed your hand and rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. “Sweetheart, I promise you I don’t and I stand behind what I said. Let me show you how fun it can be to celebrate the next year.” He told you genuine as he looked deeply into your eyes. You smelt shyly.

“And, if you want to I would love to take you out on a date.” You looked at him in shock. “I ehh would love to go on a date with you Tom.” He smiled at you.

You both leaned back against the wall and so did Tom. “Thank you Tom…. It means a lot to me.” he smiled at you. “It’s my pleasure darling, believe me.” you felt butterflies in your stomach and smiled as you looked down. He still held your hand and you looked at it.

Tom let go of your hand as soon as he saw that you stared at it. “Sorry.” He told you but you softly grabbed his hand back to hold it again. You looked at his slender fingers and you both looked at each other’s hands. You intertwined fingers and he continued rubbing the back of it. You both sat in an comfortable silence, playing with each other’s hands, smiling as you looked at it.

You both started talking again and Tom quietly explained Shakespeare to you. His voice was comforting and you loved listening to the stories he had to tell you. You explained your favorite writer to him and both decided to search for the books and grab them for each other.

You exactly knew where your favorite book was kept and took it, walking back. Tom got back at the same time. “I have an idea.” You told him and got a pen to write a little note in the end of the book. He smiled and got a pen as well. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure I’ll pay for the book.” You told him with a grin. “I think we should keep the books, you know because they locked us up in here.” He told you, making you chuckle. “Yeah agreed.”

You both took your time writing the note. He gave you the book after 10 minutes. “You can read the note when your home.” He told you with a smile. You gave your book to him. “Same goes for you.” you told him with a soft smile. Tom looked at the clock. “I don’t think we’re leaving any time soon.” He told you.

You nodded, you had 15 minutes left before the new year. That was when it got to you. You looked up at Tom in big eyes. “The alarm….” You whispered. You stood up and ran downstairs, Tom running behind you. “Wait, what are you planning?” he asked you. You turned around “The alarm. If we’ll let it go off, the emergency services would be here.” He softly grabbed your arms. “Sweetheart. Wait for the New year. It’s already too late. Let’s celebrate together for now and five minutes after 12, we’ll let the alarm go off, okay?” he reasoned with you. You looked down and nodded.

You both walked upstairs and sat down again. He softly took your hand in his again and started to play with your hand again, intertwining fingers again, twirling etc. You started to shiver as the temperature started to drop. “Are you cold darling?” he asked you, making you nod.

He took his knitter off, showing he had another one underneath it. He helped you get in the knitter and rubbed your arms as you both stood up. You looked deeply into each other’s eyes, going in a trance as you felt all your worries float away once you looked into his blue, soft and warm eyes that held a sort of comfort and a gentle touch to them.

The fireworks went off and you both looked out of the window and back to each other. “Happy new year darling.” He whispered as he came a little bit closer. “Happy new year Tom.” You told him, not backing away, giving him a sign that it was okay.

He softly captured your chin between his thumb and finger, pulling you in closer. His lips brushed against yours as your hand found his bicep, holding onto him. “Is this okay?” he whispered gently, scared to break this magical moment. “Yes” you whispered back, making him softly smile. He placed his lips gently on yours and let them rest for a bit before moving. His hand captured your cheek as you discovered each other’s mouth, softly moaning in the kiss.

The pace went from slow, loving and gentle to passionate, heated to slow, loving and gentle again before he pulled back. He rested his forehead against yours and nuzzled your nose against his. “Let me show you how beautiful the new year can be.” He whispered again. “If you’ll let me.” he more asked you than told you. “Okay.” You whispered back, feeling a little dizzy from the most amazing kiss.

As you both held each other, you could hear the main door unlock, grabbing the attention from the both of you. You pulled away, got your stuff and quickly walked downstairs with each other, hand in hand. “Hello?” you could hear someone ask. You both came into view of the man. “We’ve got your email. Sorry it wasn’t in time and I’m so incredibly sorry that we locked you both up in here.” The man told the both of you.

You looked at each other with a loving smile. “That might have been the best thing you’ve done this year.” You told the man. “Happy new year.” You both told the man and walked hand in hand out of the library, leaving the man in utter confusion. “It was meant to happen.” Tom told you with a smile. “It might’ve been indeed.” You told him. He gave you a quick peck. “Now let’s celebrate New year’s eve.” He told with a smile, as you walked with Tom towards his home. “this is the first year that I actually enjoyed New year’s eve.” You told him and he pulled you in for another kiss. “To plenty more.” he told you and squeezed your hand again as you both made your way, happy that this disaster, turned into a fairytale.

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ssahotstuff · 3 years ago

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Aaron Hotchner x Camgirl!Reader PART 8

part 7 is here

spotify playlist (updated daily as i write)

pinterest board also updated daily <3

This is 18+ bc smut, so minors please DNI!!!

Warnings for this series: does include formalized s*x work(cam girl obviously, & other forms also) bad cooking! So bad! The worst you've ever seen! Small fire(cooking related, but noone gets hurt) cursing, alcohol, sex, duh, mentions of cases at the BAU, crime, drama, shy Hotch, for this chapter specifically: Clarice being an absolute old bitch lmaooo also Clarice getting SLAPPED so... if I missed anything let me know please 💕

Shit pops off here lmao fair warning

Word count: 2.8K. I plan to make this fic a little longer so I'll be making the chapters a bit shorter but hopefully updating more often.

Denise greeted you at the door, her purple sequined dress fitting her tall, slender frame perfectly. You were glad Denise had suggested dinner at her place, sparing you the cigarette-laced meal at Clarice's home. Clarice would be the last to arrive, as usual, so you helped Denise in the kitchen, letting Dave and Aaron hang out in her living room. You two looked fit to be in the kitchen; you'd not changed out of your sundress and Denise looked like a sexy eggplant, stirring away at a sauce that she was burning rapidly.

"Please tell me you can help," she whispered, handing you a pan of tiny Cornish hens to be put in the oven.

"Girl, all this money and you can't pay a chef? Or get some cooking lessons?" You took over at the stove, Denise thanking you profusely for saving her ass while she poured you both a glass of white wine.

"Any idea what Clarice's emergency dinner is about?" If anyone would know, it was Denise. You two had an unspoken agreement that she played Devil's advocate with Clarice, getting all the juicy details of her master plans and delivering them to you over time.

"Aaron. Duh. She wants to make a spectacle."

You huffed, knowing all along that's why she wanted to see you. She just couldn't give it up.

"Of course. That bitter old hag doesn't know when to stop," you complained, turning abruptly when you heard the slamming of a door.

"The bitter old hag has arrived, and she has gifts!" Clarice announced, earning an eye roll from you and Denise.

"Great, because we need to talk." You dried your hands on the nearest towel, making sure to keep your tone steady, or else she'd eat you alive at the first sound of vulnerability.

"Talk, darling. Where is that fine specimen of a man you brought last night?" She was shamelessly scanning the room for Aaron, so you grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her attention back towards you.

"You listen to me. You keep your slimy paws off of Aaron. It's not cute. It makes him uncomfortable. If you make my man uncomfortable again, I will send you to the old folks' home and tell them you're mentally incompetent."

Her mouth went agape at your words, Denise howling in a fit of insane laughter at your promise. Your face never faltered, not once. You weren't going to play this game with her, not over Aaron. He was too important to you to lose.

"Oh shit," Denise sputtered, glancing between the two of you, trying to salvage the dinner she'd ruined while not missing a second of the show. Clarice was baffled, clutching her pearled chest in shock at your words.

"Is that any way to treat the woman who gave you the life you have now? I only wanted to see him because I brought him gifts, dear. You're going to love them!" Her icy tone made you feel anything but loved as she ignored your warning, running off to find Aaron and Dave before you could protest. It was no use, but the second she touched him, you knew you'd blow a fuse.

She had gift bags by the door that she was retrieving and heading towards the living room with, and instead of following, you took over at the stove so dinner was halfway edible.

"That bitch is really working my nerves," Denise whispered as she refilled your glasses. When Aaron rounded the corner with his gifts in hand, his face was pale and his eyes were averted to the floor.

"God, what has she done?" You whispered, stepping forward to check the damage. When you realized what it was, you had to grip the counter for support at the audacity.

3 framed photos of you from your website. You recognized them instantly; one was the very first picture you'd ever made money from. The second was a random photo that had more likes than you ever thought possible, and the third was one of the more recent photos you'd taken, stark naked except for a thin pink bandeau top barely covering your breasts.

"At least she chose good ones," Denise said cheerfully, trying not to show how shocked she was that Clarice would be so bold. You weren't surprised in the slightest, but your heart ached for Aaron. You'd never felt shame like this, and you couldn't imagine what was going through his mind.

"Don't," Denise warned when you calmly took off your earrings, sitting them on the counter behind you. You were seeing red, and if it had been a movie, this is the part where smoke would expel from your ears in pure fury.

"Too late," you called back to her, making a beeline for where she stood in the living room, Dave sitting awkwardly as she talked his ear off. You slapped her hard across the face, the satisfying whack! of her flesh beneath your palm distracting you from the sting it left. Before you could even ball a fist up and swing, Dave was grabbing your arms and dragging you back towards the kitchen.

"Alright Tyson, let's get you a drink," Dave let you go, asking Denise to pour you a glass of water. You sat at the table with your hands in your lap, waiting on Clarice to make you pay for what you'd done. When she sauntered into the kitchen, Aaron put himself between her and you, making sure that if she made one wrong move, he'd be able to stop her.

"Are you upset that I showed your little boyfriend what a prize you really are? You're so confident, Baby. Where's that confidence now, hmm?"

You were unsure of how to respond without making the situation worse for yourself, so you took every harsh word she had to say.

"That's what I thought. If you want any shot at a normal life, you better stop while you can."

She was gone as quickly as she'd arrived, the room in awkward silence until Dave broke the tension.

"I think they'd go well in your office," he nodded towards the framed photos, and Aaron cut his eyes at the man. You wanted to cry, but it was no use. She'd won for now, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You met Aaron's gaze for the first time since he'd shown you the photos. He didn't look happy, but if he was mad, he didn't seem the type to show it in front of other people. He stayed in his spot across the room, giving you a soft smile before he followed Dave back to the couch. Denise was pulling up a chair next to you, her hand on your shoulder.

"We'll get her back. Don't worry," she was just trying to help, but there was no getting back at Clarice. She'd make you miserable as long as she had the power to do so. You only saw her a few times a year, but each time was significantly worse than the last. This surpassed them all.

"He's pissed. I can tell."

"He doesn't really have a right to be, but I can see it too."

You shrugged, sipping at your water. You'd be pissed if you were in his shoes. You planned to let him be until he was ready to talk. He had his mind on being distracted, and you could tell by the ice clinking repeatedly into his glass that his mind was drifting further away from enjoying the evening and closer to forgetting.

"Denise?"

"Hmmm?"

"Your sauce might be on fire."

The kitchen was filling quickly with smoke as the fire alarm blared loudly, the two of you working quickly to extinguish it. Before you could stop her, she was opening the kitchen window and tossing the pot onto the street below. You waited for a scream, but instead, it clattered and bounced, landing on the opposite end of the street, the sauce still splattering against the pavement.

"Denise, where do you keep your brain cells around here?" You looked under the table and in the nearest drawers, Denise laughing hysterically from her spot in the window. Her laugh was more shrill than the fire alarm, the commotion over by the time Dave and Aaron were rushing to the rescue.

"Crisis averted! No worries, gentlemen. We'll be dining at The Playroom instead of a meal cooked by the two of us bozos," Denise announced, fanning the smoke out the window.

"What the hell did you two do?" Dave was opening windows, coughing as he and Aaron helped fan the place out. By the time you'd gotten the fire alarm to stop beeping, everyone was in tears from laughter at the retelling of what had happened.

"Is this what you learned from your cooking show?" Aaron asked lowly from behind you, his arms wrapped snugly around your waist to pull you in. As quickly as they were there, he was dropping them again, as if the contact might hurt him.

"I blame Denise. I was preoccupied." You tried hard to keep your voice steady, but the cold shoulder was difficult for you to deal with.

"We're leaving soon," he told you, and you nodded in response. You thanked Denise for the invitation to go out but explained that you wanted to find food and go back to the hotel. She was more than understanding after the events of the day, bidding you both goodnight and sending you on your way. Aaron clutched his photos tightly on his way to the elevator, a few steps ahead of you the entire time. You struggled to keep up with his fast pace, his legs much longer than yours.

"Hey, slow down for a second," he stopped abruptly and you ran straight into him, his arm breaking the contact before you collided with his body.

"I'm sorry," you sputtered, and he took your hand in his, remaining quiet on the ride down and the short walk to hail a cab. You rode in silence, watching out the window at the city lights that you'd not even gotten to fully enjoy. You'd been so excited to stay in the city; now you couldn't wait to leave.

Your heart was drumming in anticipation for what Aaron was thinking or feeling, his growing annoyance towards you a clear indicator of wanting to be left alone. When you climbed in and sat by the door, he stayed on his side, not bothering to scoot close to you. He was pissed.

You knew better than to say anything before you were in your hotel room, behind the security of the doors, so no one could see him dump you. You knew it was coming, and you'd been preparing for it since Clarice had walked through the door. Your heart was heavy, you were trying desperately not to cry until you reached the 12th floor.

You'd never gotten out of a car so fast, Aaron on your heels. The quiet was tense; the lobby was packed but you two had yet to say a word, and that was louder than anything happening around you. You leaned against the metal wall of the elevator, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. He stood opposite, almost mirroring your actions.

"You seem angry."

He nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'll get over it," he said shortly, legs putting distance between the two of you before you could carry the conversation further. You didn't even try to speak to him when he stopped in the living room to pour a drink. You headed straight for the bedroom, closing the door so you could change and climb into bed. You weren't waiting on him. You knew he was embarrassed in front of his friend, but so were you, if not more. It wasn't his body on display for everyone to see.

Your head was in your hands, tears spilling over like a flood. You shoved your face in the pillow to muffle your cries so Aaron wouldn't come asking questions. You doubt he would anyway, but you didn't want to give him a reason.

You heard your phone vibrate, assuming it was Aaron asking you to come to talk to him. It wasn't.

Hotch: Are you busy?

You couldn't believe the nerve. He hadn't spoken to you in nearly two weeks; his bullshit was the last thing you needed. You blocked his number without responding, and before he could message you on your website, you banned his account, saying goodbye forever to the jackass that only wanted you when it was convenient for him. You wanted to cuss him out, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply after what he'd done to you.

You knew sleep was impossible, so you flipped on the television, Aaron still drinking in the other room. You'd hear the bottle meet the glass periodically, knowing that what he was doing was his way of dealing with the shitty night. You wanted to believe things would be better if you just left him alone.

Dirty Dancing was on, so you got comfortable, making a pile with the pillows and settling under the duvet. You weren't sure how to approach Aaron without enraging him. As much as you wanted to join him and apologize for everything that happened, you were more afraid of making things worse.

You'd almost dozed off when he stumbled into the bedroom, knocking the small table by the door over in the process. You sat straight up on high alert, calming down a little when you heard him shush the table for falling and creep further into the room.

He was drunk, roaring drunk.

"Did I wake you?"

You shook your head, staring back at him. He was still dressed in his black polo, and the sight made you want to drool. Even now, red in the face and slurring his words, he was the sexiest man you'd ever known.

"Are you okay?"

He scoffed, kicking his jeans off, sliding a pair of flannel pajama pants on in their place.

"Can we just pause this conversation for when we won't be stuck together all night long? I'd rather not do this and then have to climb into bed with you afterward."

You gulped back the lump in your throat and pushed his pillows onto his side of the bed, leaving enough space that he wouldn't even have to touch you. You flipped the lamp off, leaving him to get dressed with only the glow of the television. When he crawled into bed, he rolled away from you, making sure his warmth was nowhere to be found.

"I'm sorry, Aaron. I know you don't want to talk-"

"Then quit trying to talk to me. Leave it alone. Please, Y/N. Let's just get through the night so I can go home tomorrow," his voice was strained and you could hear how hard he was trying to avoid having this conversation.

"Okay."

You grabbed your pillow and headed for the couch, Aaron almost asleep before you could close the door behind you. You wanted to call Denise and ask if you could just come to stay with her, but leaving seemed like a worse alternative. Aaron made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in fixing things tonight, so you put in your headphones and paced the floors, trying to make yourself tired.

The sun was coming up, and your eyes had yet to close. You sat against the wall, staring out the window at the city below, trying to figure out how you'd fucked up so much in 24 hours. You were waiting on the sun to be out completely before you started the day; you weren't sure if Aaron still wanted to stay or go back to work. You were going to stay in New York, with or without him.

You didn't feel like writing in your diary. You didn't feel like doing anything. You were growing sadder by the second, Aaron's behavior had been so out of character for him, even if he was drunk. The sun came, so you decided to bathe and start the day.

You adjusted the shower to your liking, shuffling your music and climbing in. You kept the volume low so you wouldn't wake Aaron, terrified of what may happen if you did. It was the quietest shower you'd taken in a while, but it was peaceful, leaving you with your thoughts. You weren't angry with Aaron, you were just upset that he got drunk instead of taking the time to talk to you.

You hadn't slept, you hadn't eaten. You were cranky, and starving. Aaron had yet to budge, so you grabbed your bag from the floor and got dressed. You pulled on a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt, tossing your hair up before you ventured out to the streets below.

#aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner #sugar daddy hotch #hotch #criminal minds #ssa hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #camgirl reader

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slytherwrites · 3 years ago

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Dedicated Interest - pt 1

Costume Innovation

The moment when a Class 1A member became interested in you would be days into the second year of school when you actually approached them after the second year lunch. With your notepad in hand and confidence spurred on from Power Loader himself supporting the redesigns, you head towards your target: Momo Yaoyorozu.

You’ve seen her fight—you’ve seen all of the future heroes fight. Support Class students are encouraged to watch Hero Course students in order to gain inspiration. Over the winter break, something in you had the urge to fix many of the hero students’ costumes—particularly the ones in Class 1A. They seemed to need your help the most.

The cafeteria is massive. But the tall girl isn’t hard to spot. With her long, black hair and confident, but charming voice, you’re able to locate her pretty easily. Getting her away from the girls she’s walked in with is the hard part.

But you don’t stop. In fact, you just go for it. It’s now or never, afterall.

“Yaoyorozu,” you ask, “can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Oh yeah, sure!” She replies, “don’t wait up for me guys. I’ll be there shortly!”

You lead her out into the hallway. The noise of the cafeteria can still be heard, but it’s muted enough so you two can clearly hear each other.

“Have we met before..?”

“Not formally,” you reply, “I’m one of the Support Class students, L/N Y/N. I was watching a bunch of the students compete and I was inspired to do costume redesigns.”

You pass her the notepad. A barebones sketch of her is underneath a more detailed drawing of your suggested hero outfit. With inspiration from both her summer and winter costume, it gives more strategic thought to her hero costume than there was before. There is an open back with an easily detachable front that can optionally be worn with a cloak. Elbow pads and knee pads provide joint protection, as well as shoes that’ll support her instead of the heeled boots she’d been fighting in. The cutouts are strategically placed, with spots on her thighs, lower legs, back and stomach. There still is an element of modesty, as her breasts aren’t halfway out all the time anymore and it’s all in her original color scheme.

“This is…” She pauses. You can’t tell what’s on her mind.

“Sorry if I overstepped my boundaries, I promise not to bother you anymore!”

“This is ingenious!” Momo replies, “Tell me, when do you think you could have this made?”

“Oh umm… I would have to get you measurements and source the materials, but that shouldn't take too long. A week, maybe two tops? Nothing new’s being innovated, it’s just a matter of taking it from my notes to an actual thing…”

“Sounds great.” She takes the pencil you keep clipped on your notepad and writes down her number, “I need to get to lunch but I’m free this afternoon for measurements. Text me!”

“I will!” You take the notebook, clutching it against your chest. Yaoyorozu was the right person to start with.

===

You immediately added Yaoyorozu’s number after lunch and now you’re getting a ping from it.

Yaoyorozu: Hey, I’m free anytime from 4:30-6:30pm. What time works best for you?

You look at your clock now. 4:30’s coming up soon. A number of your classmates are still in the 2-H Workshop, but it isn’t so busy that you wouldn’t bring in another person—that’s only when Hatsume’s working, as she’s a safety hazard in and of herself.

Y/N: Now’s fine! I’m in the 2-H workshop. It’s in the east wing.

The chatter of machinery and the lyrics to some pop song trail along in the background. You’ve mostly tuned it out, so Yaoyorozu has to tap on your shoulder to get your attention.

“Y/N?” Her calling you by your first name gets you out of your daze and you reply, “Oh, hi Yaoyorozu!”

You turn to face her. A bit of heat heads to your face as you see Yaoyorozu’s skin tight outfit. She certainly isn’t uncomfortable in her skin.

“You like my outfit? It’s designer—part of Mount Lady’s recently dropped workout line.” She replies, “I thought I’d wear something closer to my skin in order to get proper measurements done.”

“Oh yeah. That’s smart. Let me grab my tailor’s tape and a sticky note!” You rummage through your school bag for spare supplies, pulling it out and pushing your classwork aside, “Here it is! Now we’ll start from the top down, getting all of the measurements and then you can be on your way.”

“Sounds perfect.” Momo stands straight, arms and legs shoulder width apart. She’s obviously done this before.

As you hum along to the music, Momo watches you. You don’t notice, but she stares at you, dedicating every little detail to memory. Something in her wants to replicate everything you have for herself. Though, as you stand up and put your tape measurer down, she coughs and clears her mind of it’s racing thoughts.

“So… what were you working on?”

“Schoolwork, nothing much.” You admit, “Just some back to school safety briefings—as if most of us didn’t come in during the winter to continue our projects. You probably don’t want to hear about it.”

Momo proves you wrong, “What other projects do you have going on?”

“Oh uh… well, Power Loader’s gave us a robotics project to work on and I’ve been specializing in costumes so I’ve been trying to create a list of heroes and hero students to make improved costumes on. You’re the first I’ve actually been able to do hands-on work for though… That’s for this, by the way!”

“How could I refuse?” Momo asks, “Your improvements and overall design is better than what I could’ve come up with on my own.”

“I guess…”

“May I ask,” Momo says, “How did you come up with this design?”

“Mostly by watching your trainings, as well as current pro hero costume trends.” You repsponds, “Most female pro heroes have their legs exposed in some capacity, but don’t have any sort of knee protection—which I think is stupid. And if we do knee protection, we need elbow protection. And I’d advocate for more coverage in order to have protective plating underneath the suit, but since you need your skin out, I had to limit it to specific areas. And the cloak came really handy for that! Plus I could have it cover your back in order to let you conceal items you create and have you… I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“No, no! It’s fine.” Momo replies, “I find this fascinating. Please continue!”

“Well… I’ve noticed that in a pinch that you’ll lose your top and then have to make yourself new clothes. But since your shirt is magnetic and can be put back together, you can save… materials as well as use that space for other things.” You continue with a laugh at yourself, “I don’t really understand how your quirk works, but I hope this costume will work…”

“I convert fat lipids into other atoms and release them from my skin.” Momo explains, “but I think your idea will work.”

“Let’s see.” You reply, “Well, I think that’s all I need from you. Thanks for sticking around and listening to my rambling, Yaoyorozu.”

“Call me Yaomomo. My friends do, anyway.” She tells you, “Text me anytime!”

“Oh uh, cool.” You tell her, “I will.”

She eventually leaves you to your devices, but you don’t leave her thoughts. In fact, you are steadily taking up a large portion of her thoughts as she contacts her house staff to start construction on a wing in the manor to give you the biggest, best laboratory possible.

#yandere class 1a #yandere mha #yandere bnha #yandere momo yaoyorozu

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glitxhwayventeen · 3 years ago

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The Lost One

Junhui

Characters: Junhui x female reader

Warnings: Mention’s of panic attacks, mentions of self-loathing, seemingly unrequited love, foreign struggles (Yes that’s a warning because it sucks being a foreigner and causes some shit), I think that’s it for this chapter but let me know if I missed anything!

Author’s Note: Sorry It’s even so long since I last updated! I didn’t forget i swear I’ve just been super sick and so has my daily and all my energy went into trying to keep my school work up to day instead of writing. I’m sending this update out today instead of Josh’s Heart Like Yours chapter because this one was halfway done and the easiest to sen out/finish.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

🥀

Paved With Good Intentions Masterlist

The Lost One: Part 2

Bold- Korean Dialogue Italics- Thoughts Red- Mandarin Dialogue

Tag list- @babyminghao

You couldn’t believe yourself. You really were the fuckup your parents thought you were. How could you be this stupid? How could you not figure it out? It wasn’t like you were doing rocket science or something. You were just trying to read a god damn map. And you were failing miserably at it.

If you could even really call the piece of shit piece of paper the administrations office gave you that. It basically just told you were all the fire exits were. As if you would be able to use it for that. You didn’t even know the proper way of getting in to the building so you didn’t see yourself getting caught in a fire there anytime soon.

You were just trying to make it to your new dorm. That’s all. But the “map” was written fully in Korean and quite frankly you weren’t fluent enough yet to be able to understand the long ass words it was throwing at you with it’s labeling.

The university that had accepted you had the option to live off campus with other students, kind of like an off campus dorm room program. Accept in order to get to your new apartment, you had to find your roommate first and meet her to get your key. But you couldn’t seem to find where they said you had to meet her.

That’s how you found yourself having a mental breakdown in the middle of a campus square after having had tried to ask several Korean natives for directions. Clearly your attempts to ask for directions had failed due to your very very basic Korean language skills. Needless to say, you were pretty over the whole “moving to a new foreign country excitement’ phase and moving into the whole “oh my god what have I done I’m all alone in a foreign land” stage.

You threw your hands to your face and groaned out a few profanities in Mandarin out of habit, map closely grazing your cheek as you blinked back hot tears threatening to spill from your waterlines.

“Need some help?”

You looked up from your newly chapped hands to see a boy only about an inch taller than you kindly smiling at you. And he was speaking to you in Mandarin. Oh thank god!

“Yes yes oh my god please!” You let excitedly tumble out of your clumsy mouth all in one breath, causing the strange boy to laugh at your antics.

He reached his hand out to formally introduce himself, “I’m Minghao but most of my friends are Korean and tend to fuck up the pronunciation so, everyone here calls me Hao. I’m from Anshan.” He firmly gripped your hand, though not enough to hurt you, and reeled himself back in to await your reply.

“I’m _____. ____ _____. I’m from Shenzen. It’s nice to actually meet someone here who I can properly communicate with!” You said with a sigh of relief lacing your tone.

He nodded his head, almost amused, “First day huh?”

You chuckled, gripping his book bag that was hanging on one of his shoulders with one hand and throwing the other one in his pocket.

“Is it that obvious?” You shyly whined.

Minghao laughed again, “Let’s just say I’ve been there before. I only came over from Anshan a few years back myself. So the memories are… still pretty prominent to say the least,” He shrugged his shoulders a bit before readjusting himself in his shoes, “Now what are you trying to find lost girl _____?”

“Well I need to find new roommate in this place so i can get my keys. The administrations office told me to meet her in the johwa building- I think?” You replied, very unsure of if you had even pronounced the word correctly while gesturing your little map more towards him.

He clicked his tongue and leaned in to see the piece of paper, “Aw, I see. Well I don’t live on campus I live with my br-” He seemed to stop mid sentence to collect himself for some reason, but recovered quickly, “Friends. With my friends. But I know Korean for the most part so I’m sure I can help.”

He examined the daunting parchment before he finally looked as if he had some sort of an answer, “Ah yes. Well see this part- here?…” He asked dutifully as he pointed to a rectangular sized squiggle on your map.

“I think that’s where you need to go. I can walk you there if you want. It’s pretty close to my next class.” He offered politely.

You sighed in gratitude, “Yes I would like that. Thank you so much you’re such a life saver!”

As you and Minghao started to walk to the meeting point, you realize two things: 1. Was that your Korean wasn’t nearly as good as your new friend’s was and 2. Was that he seemed to be actually quite popular on campus.

Every person you passed seemed to know of or acknowledge his existence, which was incredibly weird to you because you were never someone who had that affect on people.

The constant Hey’s and Hi’s toward the boy weirded you out and just made you feel even more like an outcast than you already were. You thought maybe you had actually found a friend who got you and your struggles as a foreigner, but he seemed to fit in better than most of the Korean students around did. So much for that idea.

Though you did began to wonder if you would ever fit in like him. Probably not considering back in China people still thought you were the weirdest freak that ever walked on the face of the Earth.

But still, you figured you could dream. If you didn’t fantasize about it, you’d just end up wallowing in your own misery and having panic attack after panic attack over it.

It had happened before, half the time you weren’t even sure why. Sometimes it was for a legitimate reason like almost getting hit by a car crossing a cross walk. Other times, they would come on out of literally no where and you’d have to excuse yourself to the closest restroom to try and ride it out alone.

But as much as you disliked a lot of people, you really didn’t like the idea of being alone with just you and your thoughts forever. It was a scary idea.

So you found yourself hoping to be like Minghao as you drug on next to him; confident, foreign and proud. You found those qualities admirable in a person.

You just hoped your new roommate found you to be similar to him, or at least not as strange as you truly were, so that you could cohabit in peace.

“Well this is it!” He declared triumphantly as he flashed his hands in front of the building you were supposed to be meeting your new roommate in.

Then it dawned on you: You were meeting an absolute stranger and were going to be roommates with her. You immediately froze in place. You were completely petrified.

That small detail must have been very evident to the boy standing next to you. Because the next thing out of his mouth was, “You want me to go in with you? You know, to be sure she’s not some crazy axe murderer or something?”

Even though you had only just met him, you still knew more about him than some new stranger, so your inner fight or flight instinct kicked in and had you agreeing to him before he could even really finish his sentence properly, “Y-yes yes please. Thank you!”

He just chuckled softly at your nervous antics and linked arms with you, quickly dragging you into the lions den past the double glass doors.

The walk past the double doors seemed to slow time down. Your heart started to race, something you figured would come eventually once the reality of the situation hit you.

Except this time, your lungs didn’t feel as though they couldn’t inflate. This time your hands didn’t begin to shake and your knees didn’t begin to quiver. This time you felt like you were standing on top of the world. It was different and you couldn’t pin point why.

Part of you just thought that maybe a bit of Minghao’s vibrant personality had already rubbed off on you. But the realist in you knew that wasn’t the case, you weren’t that lucky.

As stupid as it sounded, it felt like your life had been preparing you for what was to come since you had been born. You just weren’t sure what it really was considering you knew for a fact that the feeling made no sense as you were just going to get your room key.

You had finally managed to find the slender girl you were supposed to be meeting up with by her newly blue hair the admissions people said she’d have. She seemed nice enough as when you first laid eyes on her she was laughing and giggling at something a very gigantic boy in front of her was saying. She was pretty, tall and had a smile that all but radiated off the walls.

But focusing on her proved to be a difficult task for you once she squeeled something out loud while rushing over to you both and the boy she was speaking with turned around with his hands in his pocket and his shoulders down.

“Oh my gosh Hao! What are you doing here?” She chirped in what you knew to be Korean, a smile still bright on her cheery face while the boy she was with followed her around like a lost puppy and stared at his shoes and shoes alone.

Minghao shushed the poor girl to calm her excitement, “Better question Jee, what are you doing here?”

“I told you dork,” She snorted at his very unenthusiastic response, “I’m meeting my new roommate the school set me up with.”

Minghao didn’t usually listen much to what anyone from the pack said, he preferred to just tune them out most of the time because sometimes they could be a bit much.

But he did vaguely recall a conversation he had with both Jeonghan and his mate earlier about needing to find a volunteer to go with her to school.

The elder was always very protective of the women he knew anyways, so when Jee came along, Jeonghan seemed to get that much worse and insisted she have a guard (or guard dog really) with her at all times to make sure she was safe.

Since Jeonghan had a bunch of homework to make up for from when he was going through rut and missed a bunch of classes, he couldn’t go with Jee to meet her new roommate like he normally would’ve liked.

He was worried for her, something Minghao could understand to a degree. Jee was just only a human after all and wasn’t very athletic. She could very easily be put in danger or get herself caught up in something bad very quickly.

So Jeonghan tried to rally one of his brothers to do it. And since most were either too busy or struggling with schoolwork and needing to do it themselves, Jun ended up being the one who was elected to take her. Something he clearly wasn’t too thrilled about given his sunken appearance.

And just like that, the lines seemed to connect in his small boy brain, “Oh shit wait! You’re who _____’s gonna be rooming with?” He mentally facepalmed himself for forgetting.

“Maybe. The girl I’m supposed to meet’s named _____, but I’ve just been told it’s a rather common girl name in China and we have a boat load of new foreign exchange students. Who’s your _____?” The girl, Jee apparently, questioned the boy you had just met at what seemed like a million miles an hour.

You realized your bare minimum Korean was even worse than you had originally thought after hearing the two speaking. You could only pick out your name and the word China out of all of Jee’s sentences.

“T-that would be me. H-hi,” You guessed as you shifted your weight from one leg to the other, no doubt looking visibly uncomfortable at the whole situation.

Jee gave Minghao a… very different, almost knowing look before he shook his head.

They secretly and wordlessly had exchanged the “did you just imprint on her” question with each other without you knowing as per their pack’s now near usual customary greeting when meeting each other.

“No Jee, it’s not like that. _____ was struggling to find her way around campus and I helped her. She’s Chinese too and isn’t as used to Korean yet.” He clarified quickly, even though he knew there was a pretty good chance you had absolutely no idea what they were conversing about.

After another beat of silence with both Jee and Minghao looking at you seemingly wanting you to speak, Hao decided for himself to break the cold ice the two of you had unknowingly created, “_____, this is Jee. She’s my b-” He stopped himself, an action you found rather odd, and cleared his throat to speak again, “My friend’s girlfriend. And the tall awkward lanky doll behind her is our other friend Junhui.”

He made gestures to the both of them, “And guys, this,” He gestured to you with his hands causing the lengthy boy behind Jee to pop his head up from staring at the ground to bore deep into your eyes, “Is _____.” You guessed (or more accurately used words you already knew to deduce what was going on in the conversation) your new friend said in Korean.

“Jun, _____’s from Shenzen too-” Hao tried to explain to the tall boy before you chimed in.

“Hey i know that word!” You nearly squawked at the sheer happiness of being able to find a word you knew being said in conversation.

And that surprising outburst that caused his brother to laugh is what caused Junhui to finally look up from his feet and toward you.

Once his eyeline finally caught up with you, you were able to actually take in how truly breathtaking the boy in front of you really was.

He had a cute little button nose, one that just made you want to stand on your very tippy toes and boop for no reason other than because you could.

His messy hair had you wishing you could run your hand along it to see if it was actually as soft as it looked floating through the air.

His smile had an underlining mischievous crack in it that you found heartwarming and his twinkling eyed made you want to never stop staring at the stars that seemed to be captured in them.

Everything about him screamed perfect to you. But instead of making fun of you like Hao once he noticed your little happy declaration, and just when you brought your hand up to shake his hand after you had shaken Jee’s with blushed cheeks, he just… turned and walked away in the opposite direction from which you came.

Which not only left standing their incredibly confused, but a little heartbroken too.

(Updated 11/29/22)

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt au #wen junhui #junhui #seventeen jun #jun seventeen #jun svt #svt angst #svt jun #seventeen junhui #junhui seventeen

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again.

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out.

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him.

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married.

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'.

It made you want to puke.

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared.

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth.

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him.

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby.

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!"

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him.

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out.

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line.

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault.

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him.

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you.

He didn’t even make it to the hospital.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free.

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder.

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default.

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars. Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better.

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink.

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences.

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.”

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt.

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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the-badger-mole · 4 years ago

Note

Can you write a short story with a jealous Zuko?

PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE

Zuko was used to being overshadowed. By Azula; by Lu Ten; by Avatar Aang. It still often annoyed him to know that the most he could aim for was second best to someone else, no matter where he was. But he never minded when it came to Katara. Give her enough time, Zuko often told himself, and she could bring the entire world to its knees. She'd saved his life in more ways than he could count. She had saved them all, and there would never be enough people singing her praises as far as Zuko was concerned. She stood out no matter where she was. Even in spaces where the Fire Lord should have been the center of attention, Zuko knew he didn't stand a chance when Master Katara entered the room.

It should have annoyed him, Zuko thought, but it didn't. She was sunshine, for all she was a child of Water, and she drew everyone towards her like plants reaching up for Agni's rays. When she laughed, it filled the room- a bit too loud to be polite, but too infectious to really be upset over. She talked with high-ranking nobles with passion, leaving them stunned at her knowledge and convictions- this woman who was barely not a child anymore. She had earned the grudging respect of Zuko's council, which even he hadn't succeeded in doing. He should be jealous, but he watched Katara make her way around the room with pride. Maybe he wasn't as eloquent or magnetic as Katara, but he was her friend. He knew her in a way few- if any- in that room would ever know her.

Someone- Iroh, Zuko guessed- had signaled for the band to start playing. Business was done for the day. Soon the crowd had reshuffled itself, and couples began making their way to the dance floor while everyone else made their way to the buffet tables lining one end of the hall. Katara met Zuko's eyes across the room, and with a warm smile, made her way over to him. She seemed to glow supernaturally. Zuko cast a surreptitious glance to see if some prankster had aimed a spotlight on her. Was it just Zuko? How was no one else being blinded by the way the light reflected off her smile? Her hair? Her skin? Zuko swallowed hard, trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth.

Katara's smile widened and she opened her mouth to greet him.

"Excuse...um...p-pardon me." Katara turned in surprise to the young man who had approached her. Zuko recognized him vaguely, and he scrambled to place a name. Katara spared him the ordeal of guessing.

"Lord Jee-Soo," she smiled politely at King Kuei's cousin, though Zuko could see an odd tightness in the corners of Katara's eyes. Jee Soo, however, did not notice. His face was tinged pink and he leaned forward in a stiff, formal bow.

"I-I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said. "I was hoping that...that maybe you...er, that is...would you grant me the honor of a dance."

Zuko froze. A shock went down his spine as if someone had walked across a carpet and touched his skin. Katara gaped at him in surprise. Her cheeks flushed a pretty dusky red. Jee Soo smiled at her, nervous and hopeful. She cast a glance at Zuko, trying to communicate... something.

"Oh!" Katara gasped. "Well... I was just going to..." She cast another look at Zuko before she shrugged and smiled at Jee Soo. "Um... sure, I'd love to."

Zuko watched silently as Jee Soo wrapped a clammy-looking hand around Katara's and led her out to the dance floor. His hand squeezed his punch cup dangerously tight as Jee Soo slid his arm around Katara's waist and pulled her as close as propriety would allow. His breath caught in his throat as the young Earth Kingdom noble said something that caused Katara's nose to crinkle in amusement.

"Take care, Fire Lord Zuko," Iroh sidled up to his nephew, with an affable smile and a knowing gleam in his eye. "Someone might think there's trouble between the Fire Nation and Ba Sing Se the way you're glaring at young Lord Jee Soo."

"I'm not glaring!" Zuko insisted hotly. Still, he turned his scowl on his uncle instead.

"She would have danced with you if you'd asked," Iroh told him. "I'm sure she still would."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Zuko grumbled.

"Oh no?" Iroh tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. "My mistake. It's been a long time since I was young and in love. Perhaps I don't remember the signs as well as I thought."

"Perhaps not!" Zuko knew he was being peevish, but his uncle was overstepping. Zuko had admitted to having a small crush on Katara years ago, and Iroh had never forgotten, even though Zuko had gotten over her a long time ago. She was dating one of his best friends at the time.

But not anymore.

The traitorous, smug voice in his head sounded annoyingly like his uncle. It was true that Katara had broken up with Aang, but it made no difference. Even if he wasn't over Katara- and he was over her- she and Aang hadn't split on the best of terms. It wouldn't be fair to either of his friends for Zuko to insert himself in the middle of that.

On the dance floor, Jee Soo seemed to have gained some confidence. He twirled and spun Katara with expert ease. If Katara had been hesitant to dance with him before, she seemed happy enough now. Her eyes were bright and her face pink with the exertion of the dance. She was having a good time, and Jee Soo gazed at her as if half in love already.

Zuko could dance. He could dance at least as well as Jee Soo. Others may outshine him in literally every other part of his life, but Zuko's mastery of dance was part of what made the Blue Spirit so deadly. Maybe he could challenge Jee Soo to a friendly competition. Katara could be the judge. Maybe the first prize could be a kiss...

Zuko shook his head. Dangerous territory. She was just coming out of a serious relationship. With one of his best friends. True they had broken up almost a year ago. Also true that Aang hadn't been in close contact with any of them since the breakup. And there was speculation that things had ended because Aang had cheated. But Zuko didn't know that for sure. No one knew for sure except Katara and Aang. Suki probably had more of the story, which Toph probably bullied out of her. And Sokka at least suspected if his coldness towards Aang at the last summit was any indication.

Dangerous territory. Friends don't go after a friend's exes. Even if you happened to have had a thing for said ex before your friend started dating them. Even if that ex was also your best friend.

Jee Soo dipped Katara, causing her to let out a nervous, but giddy laugh. Her hands clutched at Jee Soo tightly, to keep herself steady, but as a result, they were much closer than they started at the beginning of the dance. Jee Soo's face lit up with a grin as he did it again. And again. And again.

Didn't this guy know any other moves? Katara was going to catch on to him, and she would be annoyed. Wouldn't she? Zuko knew she'd been out with a couple of other guys since the breakup. Nothing serious, though, Suki had informed him. No one who lasted more than a month. Still, Zuko wasn't sure what her type was anymore. Jee Soo reminded Zuko a bit of Aang, but just because Katara had dated Aang for three years doesn't mean he was her type. Maybe she was into quieter guys who got way too deep in their own heads and overthought hypothetical situations until they lost entire nights of sleep worrying about problems that didn't actually exist. Yeah...for sure that's what Katara would find attractive.

How long was this song, Zuko wondered. Jee Soo was dipping Katara again, though she seemed to be getting tired of it. Her smile was that polite, tight smile that she'd given him earlier when she wasn't sure she wanted him to interrupt her. Zuko saw her say something to him, probably asking him to keep her upright for a while. Jee Soo laughed and shook his head and said something teasing as he pulled her closer. Katara's smile fell away completely, and Zuko saw she was getting mad. He was halfway across the dance floor before he'd even realized he was going to go over. He was ready to yank Jee Soo away, and if necessary, deck the creep for not respecting Katara's reasonable wish. But before he got to them, Jee Soo had stepped away with a deep, embarrassed blush on his face.

"I'm so sorry," Jee Soo was saying as Zuko got closer. "Honestly, I was just trying to...well, I didn't mean to upset you or offend you."

"It's alright, Jee Soo," Katara said patiently. Her smile was back in place. The song ended, finally, and another one started up.

"Would you...like to dance again?" Jee Soo asked.

"I'm a bit tired," Katara begged off. "But I'll bet Kimiko would love you to ask her. Don't say I told you, but she's been checking you out." That didn't seem to soothe Jee Soo's disappointment, but he accepted the rejection graciously enough.

"Seems like you had fun," Zuko said. Katara sighed tiredly and slipped her arm through his.

"I thought the song would never end!" she groaned. "It was like dancing with Aang. Fun for the first minute, but he was doing way too much. All the dipping gave me vertigo." Zuko heard that with interest.

"I didn't realize you weren't having fun," he tried to keep his voice even as he led them away from the dance floor over to the punch table. "I would have come rescue you if I'd realized. We should come up with some sort of sign when you want me to cut in."

"You never dance at these things," Katara pointed out.

"I'd make an exception for you." Zuko blushed and scrambled to cover. "I mean, I'd do it if it saved you from some over-eager guy who can't take a hint."

"My hero." Katara scrunched her nose up at Zuko and leaned against him. It was adorable! Zuko had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from grinning.

"Actually..." Katara said slowly. "I was coming over to ask you to dance before Jee Soo interrupted."

"Really?" Zuko's voice hit an octave it hadn't hit since he was fourteen and his voice was still dropping. He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the fact that Katara was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Yeah," she nodded her head. "I know you don't really like dancing, but maybe you can preemptively cut in for me? Someone told me that Lord Hino's son wanted to ask me for a dance." Zuko grimaced. Lord Hino was one of his most trusted advisors, but his son was a famous klutz with two left feet. No woman left the dance floor without bruised feet when she danced with him.

"You told Jee Soo you were tired," Zuko reminded her. Why, he yelled internally, would he say that? Fortunately, Katara just shrugged and looked up at him coyly from the corner of her eye.

"I'd make an exception for you," she said quietly. Zuko froze midstep. Katara looked up at him in alarm. There was a spectacular blush rising from her neck towards her hairline, and a panicked retraction already on her lips. Zuko turned to her and took her hand. Then in a move that would have pleased every last one of his etiquette tutors and his uncle, if he was watching, Zuko bowed elegantly and brushed a feathery light kiss on Katara's fingertips. He lifted his gaze with an impish grin.

"I would be honored," he said, "to have this dance." Katara nodded speechlessly and allowed Zuko to lead her out to the dance floor again.

Zuko was used to being overshadowed. He wasn't the most powerful bender, or the most charismatic leader. He wasn't the most handsome man or the most eloquent. But there on the dancefloor, with the most beautiful woman in at the ball in his arms, he knew that no one could match him for dancing. Katara seemed to agree because she accepted his request for another dance. And another. And another...

#zutara #atla #zuko is a lil' jelly #katara is a queen #zuko is sprung #ask the badger mole #thanks for the prompt nonny

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echos-newlegs · 4 years ago

Note

Hi!! Can I please get wolffe with 1 and 4 smut please!!!! Thank you!!!!! 🥰

Playing Around

😏 heck yeah you can- but I apologize if it’s bad. It’s nearly 1am, I’ve never written anything for Wolffe before and I started writing another story halfway through the smut??? So if you get lost, I really do apologize. I think I fixed it though. I had to reread it a good three times lmao.

A small PSA to the others who requested, I see em all and I will get to them when I can. I start a job on Thursday so stories may be a teensy bit delayed from my posting at least once a day ordeal!

Wolffe x Reader: “It’s okay, just pretend to be my date until they leave,” and “your hair is so soft...”

Warnings: Sexual content, language, female receiving, protected sex because it is frowned upon using kids as distractions during war.

You sat at the bar with Wolffe and his brothers. 79’s was slowly starting to get more crowded. You wouldn’t really mind if the moment Wolffe walked off someone hadn’t stole his spot at the bar next to you and began hitting on you. “What’s a pretty gal like yourself doing in a joint like this?” He wasn’t a clone, but even if he was one. You still wouldn’t be amused.

You were a Jedi. Trained by General Plo Koon himself. Which was how you were so close with Wolffe— yet it still took everything in you not to knock the guy next to you off the bar stool and walk out. “I’m here with some friends.” You told him, truthfully. The man snorted, and you frowned. “Where are they then?” You motioned your head to Boost and Sinker, catching a glimpse of Wolffe heading back your way. Eyes locked on the intruder in his seat.

“And him,” you spoke. Pointing off towards the commander with a small smile and a wave. The guy turned. Flashing a glare to Wolffe then looking back to you with a dopey smile. “Well, doll, if you want to hang out with a real man..” you glared. You couldn’t stand random people giving you pet names. “I’m just over there,” he pointed to a table with a few other guys. Who all looked away when you looked over.

Wolffe finally made his way over and stood next to you. Practically towering over the man. Eyes still locked on him with a look that could kill. “Is he bothering you, Cyar’ika?” He asked, then glancing to you. Gaze softening for a second. Before hardening once he looked back to the other. “Who’s this, your boyfriend?” The guy snorted, and you grabbed your drink, taking a sip to try and calm yourself down. “I’m whatever she wants me to be, now get out of my seat.” Wolffe growled, and you glanced over to him. Brows a bit raised. Smirking behind your glass and the man cowered away.

Wolffe sat next to you with a sigh, and you leaned over. Pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Wolffy.” You teased. You were the only one that was really allowed to call him that without him getting pissy. “Anything for you, general.” You snickered, watching as his face heated up a bit. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed his cheek before, but he always acted so nervous. Even if he knew you just meant it in a friendly manor, or so he thought.

“Wolffe, don’t call me General when we aren’t on the field. I don’t like it when you call me that. Makes things feel, too formal.” You told him, and he nodded. Sighing, and glancing over to you with a small smile. “Yes, y/n.” “Better.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, watching him with a grin. Wolffe looking back to you with furrowed brows. “What?” “So you’re my boyfriend, hm?” You giggled as you watched his eyes narrow on you, then widen in realization. “I was just trying to get him to leave, I didn’t mean-“ you interrupted him by raising your fingers to his lips. “Wolffe, it’s fine.” You spoke with a small smile. “I really do appreciate it, if it weren’t for you they’d probably be waiting for me outside for when I left.” Wolffe looked back to the men at the table. Then moved his attention back to you. “Well..” he started in, “if it’s okay, just pretend to be my date until they leave?” He spoke, and you were the one to shyly look away now. “I’d appreciate that.”

You had to remind yourself throughout the night that you two weren’t actually on a date. You were just being friends. You’ve known one another since General Plo got Wolffe in his Battalion. It was nothing new for the two of you to hang out outside of work, but you wished it was more than just in a friendly manor.

You sighed, the guys had left a while ago, yet you still felt on edge. Turning to Wolffe, you tapped his shoulder to get his attention. Since he was talking to one of his brothers. You could tell he was frustrated by the way his shoulders tensed when you touched him. He quickly relaxed though once he realized it was you. “I think I’m gunna head,” you spoke, and he turned around fully to face you. “Oh okay, you want me to walk with you back to your quarters?” He asked, and you nodded. “If you could, please?” He smiled, you were one of the few that were able to make him smile by just offering softly spoken words. “Plus since you’re my date, it’s the right thing to do.” You shot the tease at him. Snickering at his signature eye roll.

You jumped from the stool, landing on your feet. The two of you, well mainly yourself. Said your goodbyes to the others left in the cantina. Then off the two of you went. Wolffe holding the door open for you, and following you out.

The two of you walked down the street a ways until you could find a cab to wave down. Climbing in and heading back for the hanger. The ride wasn’t really too long, though it was quiet. You were thinking of what you could say to him. What you could do to maybe tell him that you wanted to go on a real date sometime, but before you could. The cab was stopped and you had reached your destination. Wolffe paying the fee and the two of you climbing out and heading back for your quarters,.

You walked the halls in silence, as usual. Though you really didn’t hate it. You weren’t too fond of silence when you had so much to say all at once. “Thank you again, for tonight.” You spoke the first thing that came to mind. Once the two of you reached the door to your room. He gave you a bit of a grunt, and nodded. “ ‘f course.” He spoke, hands resting at his side. You reaching over and grabbed his one hand. Both of you watching your movement closely. “I mean it.” You spoke, the two of you catching one another’s gaze. “For a fake date, I enjoyed every second of it.”

Wolffe was practically staring into your soul at this point. You squeezing his hand, and then relaxing your fingers in attempt to let go. Thinking you upset him, but he had a firm grip on your hand. You weren’t complaining though. “I enjoyed it too,” he murmured and you bit your lip. Glancing to the side, then back to the commander. “Did you wanna come inside?” You nearly whispered, and he nodded slowly. You opening the door to your room. Then pulling the male in behind you.

He paused for a moment, and so did you. You both back in the same position you were in in the hallway. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Yes,” you said, nodding your head along with your words. Freezing up when his calloused hand reached up to cup your face and stroke your cheek with his thumb. Leaning down to press his lips against yours.

You had been waiting for this moment for what felt like forever. You’d dropped hints, kissed his cheek, hugged him, held his hand, everything that you thought he would notice. Since he wasn’t the best with understanding flirting. It flew over his head half the time anyways.

He pulled back after a moment. His fingers moving to trace your jaw. Whimpering a bit and your eyes fluttered open. Just in time to see a switch flip in his eyes. He pressed you up against the wall. Kissing you again, though this time it was rougher than the last. You yelping into it when your back pressed against the surface. Arms moving to wrap around his neck. Moaning into his mouth when he shoved a leg in between yours and up against your warmth.

He took this to his advantage, shoving his tongue into your mouth and the two of you battled for victory. Though it was stupid of you to even try. He was winning from the beginning, and soon his tongue was roaming every inch of your mouth.

You brought your legs up to wrap around his waist. Hands moving to undo his upper armor and he helped you out. His top half now left in his blacks. As his armor fell to the floor with a clank. Now it was your turn. Wolffe pulling the little armor you wore off, and the two of you were ripping each other’s shirts off like that was your jobs.

His mouth traveled to your neck in nearly an instant. While your hands roamed his exposed chest.. Moaning when he sucked and bit down on your skin. Thankful he was leaving most of the bigger marks where you could cover them. You’d have a lot to explain to the council if they found out you were sleeping with the commander you were occasionally the general of. When Plo needed the help or was off doing something else.

You ran your fingers through his hair. Tugging a bit when he moved down to your breast. One hand squeezing while his mouth sucked. Making you squirm, especially when his mouth swapped over to the other and your ignored one was left with cooling saliva.

It wasn’t long before he was peeling you from the wall and slamming his lips back against yours while walking you to your bed. He placed you down, parting from you for a second so he could remove the rest of his armor. Which he did effortlessly. You doing the same, slipping your pants off as he did as well. The two of you left in nothing but your underwear now. Eyeing one another like you were starving and each other’s bodies were the only thing that could feed you both.

He climbed back over top of you. Eyes roaming your skin, then moving back to your face with a lust filled gave. Though he had a look of admiration as well. “We can stop, whenever you want,” he assured you, and you nodded. You knew he wouldn’t force you into anything you didn’t want, but the words were still so sweet to you. Reaching up to hold his face with your hands, and pull him down for a short kiss. Pulling back and he was chasing your lips for more. “I can assure you I’ve wanted this for longer than I’d like to admit.” You spoke, and he smirked. “Good to know I’m not alone.” He nearly growled. Beginning to trail kisses down your body once more.

You were squirming so bad. Needing some sort of friction and attention. Basically shaking as he licking and bit your skin. Panting like a dog in heat when he moved to your thighs. Now pinching along your sensitive skin. “Wolffe, Kriff, please,” you mewled. The commander smirking as he moved his fingers to lightly trace over your underwear. “Please what?” You were going to get him back for this, but right now you couldn’t think clearly. “Please touch me,” you huffed, and he listened.

He pulled your panties down your thighs, bringing his face even closer to your entrance. Arching your back when he blew against you. You were already so sensitive and you needed some form of release. Wolffe moving his fingers to rub against your folds and then up to your clit. Flicking his tongue out to imitate the same movement his finger did. Which had you unwinding. Hands moving to tangle in his short locks while your legs wrapped around his head.

He continued licking you and sucking, like you were all he wanted to eat. Fingers pushing in and out in an upbeat tempo. Your body beginning to shake as your climax started nearing, “oh Kriff, Wolffe.” You gasped, and he could tell you were close just from the shake of your voice. Pulling back and you let out a whimper. Looking up to him with a pout, and he grinned as he kneeled between your legs. “I’m not done yet,” he assured. The gruffness of his voice making you shudder.

He pulled his boxers off, and readjusted himself between you. You eyeing him for a moment, and watching as he held something between his fingers. Then slipped it over his dick. You weren’t sure how he was keeping a condom hidden, but you weren’t about to ask. You were just thankful he wasn’t about to unintentionally knock you up.

“Did you have this idea all along, or were you planning on taking someone else home.” He chuckled at that. Leaning down to kiss your cheek and press the head of himself against your entrance, making you squirm again. “I’ve had this idea for a while, but never had the chance to act upon it til now.” He murmured against your skin. Kissing your temple, then down your face to your lips as he pressed inside you. Your arms and legs moving to wrap around his body.

He was a lot to take in all at once, thankful he moved in slowly. Thankful for the kisses and sweet nothings he used to help distract you. Once you were finally ready though, you moved your hips up a bit. Nearly melting at the feeling of pleasure that coursed your body. Wolffe obviously feeling the same by the grunt and the way his nose scrunched.

His one hand held onto your hip while the other was pressed beside your head on the bed. Rocking his hips while your finger tips pressed into his back. Eyes locked on one another. Giving him a nod and he picked up the pace. The sound of skin on skin and your guys’ short and ecstatic breath filling the room. Both your eyes falling shut as your both neared the end. “Kriff-“ Wolffe grunted, and you leaned up to burry your face in the crook of his neck while his thrusts quickened. Getting sloppier and more uneven as he chased his orgasm and pushed you to your own.

You let out a small cry, muffled by the skin of his neck as you reached your limit. Your walls clenching around him was enough for him to topple over as well, letting out a cry of his own. Riding out his orgasm with a few more sloppy thrusts, before pulling out of you and rolling off of you with a groan. The two of you laying on your backs panting. Trying to live out your highs. Once Wolffe was down from his he moved to remove the condom, tying it and tossing it in the bin next to the bed. Then climbing back next to you in bed.

He lied on his side, facing you. Unsure if he should touch you or not. Both your chests still heaving and sweat was beading on your forehead still. “You just gunna.. stare at me?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, smiling tiredly as a small lop sided smile crept onto his own face. “Wasn’t sure what else to do,” “you can hold me, for a start.” You didn’t have to tell him twice.

His arms reaching out and pulling you close to his body. You pulling the covers over the both of you, since the cold was slowly staring to creep up on you. Humming a bit when his hands repay through your hair. “Your hair is so soft,” he muttered. Making you smile, kissing a few of his scars on his chest while you cured up next to him. “Maybe I’ll let you use my conditioner in the morning,” and you did. He loved it, too. Because each time he caught a whiff of the shampoo and conditioner out on the field, all he could think of was you. Which was enough to keep the commander fighting, for you.

#commander Wolffe #commander Wolffe x reader #Wolffe #Wolffe x reader #lemon #star wars #star wars writing #the clone wars #writing #clone wars x reader #clone wars #the clone wars x reader

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mingoyeob-archive · 4 years ago

Text

under the oak tree II | teaser

summary ⇾ jungkook has finally returned home from war and is anxious to see his new bride. what will happen when he finally lays his eyes on her after three years and how will he be able to contain the hunger he’s held for her even after all this time.

genre ⇾ knight! jungkook, strangers to lovers au, will be smut

pairing ⇾ jungkook x reader

teaser word count ⇾ 1.3k

authors note ⇾ finally! i've started writing uot 2! this is just a snippet from the beginning but here's an update on how its going so far, hope it gets you excited for the finished product! nothing smutty or riské, at least not yet ;)

part 1, interlude

it was hot.

the sun beating down on the large number of knights in the campaign had their foreheads burning and hair sticking to their skin. expensive armor that was once new and shiny was now heavy with dirt and mud and sweat. they had been riding for days now with barely any breaks in between and it was obviously starting to take a toll on the exhausted band of knights. well - on everyone except jungkook.

of course the commander would be perfectly fine. he had trained years for this type of thing, never once slowing down or stopping to catch a breath. and that’s not to say everyone else hadn’t trained to earn their spot. just no one had trained as hard as jungkook did. wanted it as much as jungkook did. even from a young age, when he fought warriors three times his size, he had never given up. swinging his sword till his arms gave out or until his opponent gave up out of pity and walked away from his broken and tired body splayed out on the dirty ground. cowards is what jungkook would call after them, watching them walk off before he lost consciousness.

“sir…” a voice rang out loud, but exhausted, from the back of the formation. “don’t you think it’s time to stop and make camp?”

horses came to a halt as the commander stopped and heads turned in the direction of the culprit. the voice seemed to belong to a handsome young knight who’s fluffy brown hair was basically drenched making him look as if a bucket of water had been dumped over his head. his body laid slumped over the back of his horse as he looked up in the direction of commander, puppy eyes begging with desperation. the rest of the knights assumed the boy had to be lacking a few braincells - how could he not? no one in their right mind would ever question the commander when he gets in a mood like this.

jungkook had barely even turned around, steely eyes still facing forward as he hissed, ”what’s your name knight?”

the boy gulped, all signs of exhaustion seeming to drain from his face as he started to recognize the tension in the air. his back straightened up and he tried his best to talk loud and avoid stumbling over his words, “taehyung, commander. sir kim taehyung...”

“and may i ask what, sir kim taehyung, do you think gives you the right to tell me when and where to camp my knights at?” jungkook says, biting out the words. everyone could see the mans shoulders tensing and those in the front caught a glimpse of white knuckles gripping hard on to the reigns of his horse.

taehyung stared wide eyed at the back of the mans head before flicking them around trying to catch the eyes of someone who could help him out the situation as he mutters meekly, “well commander i just thought-“

“you thought wrong.” he growled, cutting the conversation short. jungkook didn’t even spare him a glance, instead urging his horse forward and calling out to the rest of the group, “i’m the commander. we’ll camp when I say, any questions?”

he was met with silence, “didn’t think so.”

jungkook didn’t say much more before his horse galloped off expecting the rest to follow. most of the more experienced and knowledgeable knights did so out of fear of being chewed out like taehyung had been, already used to the commanders stern and no bullshit attitude. the rest, young and new to the guard, followed hesitantly with looks of uneasiness. taehyung who was still in shock sat there on his horse staring off in the distance at the commander as he charged ahead, unsure of whether he was still even considered part of the campaign anymore.

“don’t worry, you’re not fired.” a voice from the side of his horse spoke making taehyung turn his head. next to him stood another dashing knight, blonde hair parted down the middle and sweeping over his forehead. he turned his lips into a smile at taehyung, eyes squinting and chubby cheeks squishing up with gesture. “at least, not yet. but i’d advise against asking the commander too many questions. he doesn’t like that too much, more of the ride in silence type, ya know?”

taehyung just nodded his head frantically, glad someone was giving him help on how to survive the rest of the journey. he smiled and laughed out, “thank you for the advice, kind sir!”

“ugh no need to be all formal, just call me jimin! can I ask why you wanted to stop and make camp?” jimin says, voice dripping with honey like kindness.

taehyung just stared at him with a blank face, not understanding how the knight hadn’t noticed the bullets of sweat dripping down his face and the heaving breaths he took. but taehyung could see the man was almost in the same state and he assumed it must not be that much of a big deal to him. so instead he played it off and laughed, “ah i was just thinking the horses might need a rest! my tannie seems to be out of breath.”

taehyung patted the side of his black and chestnut brown horse yeontan, who just sneered in return and jerked forward a little, seeming like he was able to tell his owner was throwing him under the bus. taehyung made a mental note to cut the horses usual treat of carrots in half for the obvious betrayal, lips turning down in a frown. “by the way, what crawled up the commander butt and died? i hope he’s not always like that or else i’m definitely not making it.”

jimin let out a boisterous laugh at taehyung, shoulders shaking and head thrown back in amusement. “ah well, jungkooks just in a little bit of a mood right now. hates being away from the misses too long if you catch my drift. ” he says after catching his breath from his laughing fit.

“and don’t worry, your tannie will get his break. jungkook usually likes to make camp a little past the halfway point where a stream passes by for drinking water.”

taehyung sighed in relief at jimins words. the halfway point was just a couple miles ahead. they would be there before sundown and he couldn’t wait to strip this heavy army off and take a nap - and get tannie a drink of water too, of course. his smile returned and only seemed to get bigger as he reached out and gave jimin a pat on the back, “once again i thank you, jimin! you seem to be very knowledgeable on the commander! you must have taken this route with him many a blue moon, yes?”

“of course! i am his second in command after all,” jimin says, sending taehyung a sly wink before moving his horse forward in the direction of the rest of the campaign. “better catch up! there’s a lot of mysterious creatures out here that could use a snack. don’t want to be left behind!”

jimins horse kicked up dust in its wake and once again taehyung was left in shock, surprised by the casual way the man was able to drop his title on taehyung as if it was no big deal. and after what he said, taehyung was definitely fired. he just shook his head and let out a loud groan, head dropping forward into his hands. but his call of frustration was met with a howl in the distance that seemed to be a lot closer than he was comfortable with. so with shaky hands he gripped his reigns and rode after jimin calling out after him pathetically, “hey! jimminie, please don’t leave me!”

#btsgoldnet #bangtanarmynet #bts #jungkook #taehyung #jimin #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook smut #knight jungkook #bts au #jungkook au #jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook one shot #bts one shot

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roanniom · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Issa, my sweet honey bun! I don’t send many requests to people, so bear with me. I’ll forever wait for the day you write Kylo, but until then I’ll throw this one at you for Charlie. I had a wander through the prompt list, and I kinda liked “I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.” with Charlie being all protective of reader, unsure if she reciprocates his feelings. And because I’m a garbage can of filth, I also loved “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” if you wanted to move into smut. I hope this gets the creative juices flowing? Take your time, no pressure ever! 💕💕💕

@paper-n-ashes as you know I have been holding onto this and chipping away at it steadily for FOREVER so I can get it just right for you, so I hope you enjoy it, my love <3

Push

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word Count: 6,862

Warnings: NSFW, fingering, PIV sex / unprotected sex, light light light choking (not even really), mention of infidelity (just canon from Marriage Story plot), a lil post-divorce angst/lack of confidence

The above photo is Charlie Barber, 1-year post divorce. He’s been working out as a form of anger management and because Henry, over many late night phone conversations, has shared his new love of hiking, a pastime he’s picked up since living in LA. Charlie plans to take Henry hiking on the Appalachian trail next summer break and wants to be on tip top shape to keep up with his enthusiastic son.

He’s been to therapy. Learning more about what went wrong in his marriage, but more specifically learning about how he can become a better person in the aftermath. How infidelity and self-interest were born of a deep-seated need for a love that he was not receiving. A love that was no closer to him prior to his indiscretions but all the same rendered unreachable as a result. He’s given himself time to grieve the man he’d thought himself to be. Because that is what had died with his marriage - not Charlie Barber himself. But the Charlie Barber he’d built in his mind. A man limited by support that came with conditions, love that came with caveats. That Charlie was a father and a husband. He was often suppressed, wound tight, on edge.

This Charlie is a father and a man. He is free to celebrate his own success without fear of wounding nearby egos. He’s limited only by what he feels he deserves. And granted sometimes those self-imposed limitations can really hold him down, as they did when he vowed not to jump into any further entanglements - affairs or otherwise - in the time immediately following his divorce. But that limitation was ultimately beneficial. It gave him space to be alone - with himself, for himself. He was able to finally see his own flaws with his own eyes instead of having them recited back to him by another, as if through a crude, second hand reflection. And in seeing these flaws, he also saw the virtues. Charlie was actually starting to like himself again.

And this is when he meets you.

You storm into his life with an energy he doesn’t recognize, introduced at a party by a friend of a friend, filling his senses with your too-loud-laughter and too-bright-eyes. In many ways that’s how he sees you: too much. Your enthusiasm makes you appear too young, though in truth you’re not that much younger than him. Your smile makes you appear too beautiful, though in truth there are often much more conventionally attractive women in the room at any given time.

“Charlie. Charlie Barber,” Charlie mutters as he shakes your hand. Its warm in his larger one and he’s suddenly a little self-conscious of the fact that he’d been holding his sweating scotch on the rocks just moments before the contact.

“Hello Charlie-Charlie Barber,” you reply with a massive grin, shaking his hand back vigorously and with seemingly no reaction to its clamminess. “The famous director, I assume?”

Charlie clocks the quirk of your eyebrow. A tease. A social cue he’s not used to. Not these days. He looks down at his worn tennis shoes, all too aware all at once of the way they dress down his sweater and jeans. He feels rumpled next to you and he’s not sure he likes it. You’re too put together.

You’re too honest, too fearless, too open to new things. Though Charlie’s beginning to grow, your presence reminds him of how stunted he’d been in his marriage. How the same old restaurants, the same old clothes, the same old glass of the same old scotch had become items of comfort for him, talismans of a previous life that he clung to for some semblance of familiarity. Around you, however, those same old things looks dull and uninspired. Quite the opposite of you.

You are the one to ask him out, though he’s not even really aware that it’s a date at all when he arrives. That’s how much he doesn’t see you coming. His affair had been one of convenience. An opportunity to blow off excess steam, and a pretty disappointing one at that, with neither party really find what they were chasing. His marriage had grown cold long before it had ended. All of this to say that Charlie wasn’t very familiar with warmth. With interest that occurred in the light of day, and attention that was given without anything sought in return.

You’re halfway through lunch before you realize that he doesn’t understand your intentions. So you explain them to him. Clear and empty of any pretense. You are attracted to him and interested in getting to know him further. It’s simple, really. He’s shocked by your openness and the absence of any games. In another life he’d once assumed that a relationship without strife, without agony, without strategic tug of war would be one without passion. However, as he soon learns while taking you out on the second date, that he couldn’t have been farther from the truth.

Over dinner this time he finds himself getting lost in your micro-expressions. Finds his eyes lingering on the animated way you gesture, finds his words getting twisted in his tongue as your gaze weighs on him, expectant and waiting for a response to some question. His bodily responses to your attention are no less potent in the absence of angst. In fact, he is surprised to find that his yearning practically triples when you part ways and he realizes not once had he been made to feel like he had to prove something, or fight, or challenge.

He learns over time that you challenge him in other ways. Challenge him when it comes to picking restaurants outside his comfort zone. Challenge him by dragging him, mid-lunch date, on a shopping trip with you, a trip where you gently help him to finally replace the worn out tennis shoes to which he’d been clinging. Challenge him by laughing with him, not at him, even when the subject of the humor is himself. Your laughter is lighter, more carefree, than he is used to. Then again, he’s not used to being around someone like you.

He kisses you after the third date – the lunch-turned-shopping trip. It’s quick and it’s light, on the curb before an intersection on the East Side, right before you both are about to walk in separate directions. You say nothing when he pulls away. Just smile and turn on your heel, already headed to your next destination. It drives Charlie crazy over the next few days. Not because he assumes you have some hidden agenda. On the contrary, he’s horrified that your interior thoughts match your exterior actions. You have been nothing but honest with him. It is Charlie who has been oscillating wildly in his mind. Between thoughts of how much it might hurt if you turn out to be too good to be true and thoughts of how much he’d love to feel your body on his. To explore the mouth you use so effortlessly to tease him, to compliment him, to charm him. You speak kindness like pleasantries, as if affirmations and praise were as easy to dole out as a cheery “good morning” on a stress-free Saturday. Charlie wants to know what you’re like on a Saturday. Away from the bustle of the city. Away from the common friends and the crowded shops and restaurants that have buffered all of your encounters.

But Charlie’s still afraid.

On your fourth date Charlie is more reserved when you arrive at the restaurant. You break the ice by pointing out that the formality of your dates is beginning to feel silly.

“Maybe it’s the fact that the tables have tablecloths,” you joke, swirling your pasta around a fork. “Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never repeatedly had meals with someone I wasn’t already in a relationship with.”

Charlie prickles at the implication, taking a labored swallow of ice water. He doesn’t want to comment on the relationship part of your sentiment so he chooses something more neutral.

“Should I remind you that two of these meals have been at your suggestion and you did, in fact, also plan them as meals.” He relaxes a bit when you laugh heartily at that, relieved that the conversation doesn’t get any more dicey.

“Touché,” you reply. Then you lean forward and whisper conspiratorially at him across the small table. He feels himself lean in, curious but also looking for a chance to just get closer in proximity. He wishes he’d had the courage to sit next to you rather than across from you when he’d first sat down. “Feeling adventurous enough to let me pick where we go after this tonight?”

And Charlie feels adventurous. Adventurous as he lets you whisk him across town and to your favorite arcade bar. Adventurous as he passes you a large handful of quarters he got from the little machine at the front, only to grasp your fist in his when he miscalculates how much of his handful you’d be capable of taking, narrowly avoiding a massive spill of loose change on the floor. Adventurous as he orders a couple of beers and lets you show him your favorite game, Burger Time – a silly little maze game where you collect burger ingredients. Adventurous as he shows you his favorite game, which is pretty much any pinball machine known to man.

“Yours looks cooler than mine,” you huff, walking over to the pinball machine he’s playing once you abandon the one that was definitely broken. Or at least that’s how you justify so many consecutive, immediate losses. Charlie laughs and pulls back the plunger but doesn’t release, effectively pausing his game.

“You wanna try it?” Charlie ushers you in front of him and puts your hand on the plunger beneath his, careful not to release it in the process. “The key is anticipating where the ball will go. It’s all about patterns after a while.”

“Then why does it seem so random?” you ask, looking up at him over your shoulder.

“You just haven’t played enough yet. Over time you can predict what will happen if the ball hits a certain corner. Where it will go if it ricochets juuust right at the last second.”

“Sounds fake but I’ll let you prove it to me,” you say with a laugh, focusing your attention back on the machine.

“We’ll let go in one…two…three.” When you feel the pressure of his hand let up you let go as well, letting him guide both your hands immediately to the buttons on the side of the machine.

For as great as his theory of pinball predictability is, he probably underestimates your ability to suck. Because you do, hard. But you laugh the whole way through, and you never quit. Never turn to him in frustration asking to do something else or even to leave. Instead you keep feeding quarters into the machine and bringing your hands back under Charlie’s on the machine. And no matter how shitty you are, you always at least try to focus.

Charlie, meanwhile, is having a very hard time focusing on anything that isn’t your body. His hips bracket your ass in this helpful position he’s adopted, and he feels your pressure against his pelvis with every enthusiastic wriggle and little jump of frustration that you take in response to the game. When he makes the unfortunate mistake to look down over your shoulder at one point he’s met with a direct view of your cleavage, exposed as it is in your low-cut blouse. Charlie begins to sweat and it has nothing to do with how packed the arcade is or with the exertion of gaming. When he remembers that the arcade is also a bar, he excuses himself to get more beer, hoping that one will cool him off and cool him down.

You dazzle him with a smile thrown over your shoulder when he approaches with the two fresh bottles, and he’s not prepared for how the sight of your face almost knocks him back on his ass.

“Charlie! I did better this time!” He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, handing you your beer which you sip gratefully.

“I lasted a few more minutes than last time,” you elaborate proudly. “So I’d say that means I now qualify as a pinball wizard.”

“Move over Elton John,” Charlie says with a smirk. You slap him in the shoulder and immediately engage him in a spirited discussion of whether the Elton John movie version of “Pinball Wizard” was better than The Who’s version from the original album. However, after a few minutes Charlie realizes he’s lost in thought. Lost in your voice. Lost in your expressions. Lost in you.

When it finally comes time to leave the arcade, the night drawing much later than it had on your previous nighttime date, Charlie’s scared he’ll be lost without you. The two of you walk together for a couple of blocks before you reach that similar intersection. The place where you part ways.

“I think we really turned around that formality thing, don’t you?” you ask him, turning to Charlie and leaning back against the column of a pedestrian sign. Charlie moves into your space, swallowing his hesitation.

“I don’t know, I began to feel a little unworthy when you ascended past the role of pinball wizard.”

“Oh did I get a promotion?” You ask, tipping your head back so you can look up at him as he steps closer.

“The word wizard conjures up images of wizened old man,” Charlie says dismissively, as if that clears up everything.

“So if you’re saying I don’t remind you of a wrinkled old Merlin – to which might I say, shocker – then what exactly is my new title.”

“One that fits you inside and out.” Charlie braces a hand against the column above your head, his other in his pocket. His head dips down so that it’s closer to your face despite your height difference. You feel warm despite the slight chill in the air.

“And that would be Pinball….?” you prompt.

“Goddess,” he completes the title before pressing his lips to yours. His hands remain on the column and in his pocket until you reach forward and grab a fistful of his sweater, pulling him to you. Then his hands are at your waist, pushing you back into the column. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair and he can’t breathe. But he doesn’t want to. He wants to suffocate, wants to asphyxiate on you and the way he feels so tethered to this moment, this intersection, this place where you cannot part ways.

When you break apart to, in fact, breathe, your chest heaves and your smile is radiant.

“As far as kisses goodnight go, I’d say that was top tier,” you say on a laugh. Suddenly Charlie’s throat is constricting and he has to fight his facial muscles to keep from frowning as his hands tighten on your waist.

“That wasn’t a kiss goodnight. Not yet.”

“Any longer and it’ll be a kiss good morning, sir. Have you seen the time?” Your tone is joking. You call people ‘sir’ all the time. It’s a weird quirk of yours, like calling someone dude or pal. But Charlie can feel himself choking on the word, as well as the implications of a ‘kiss good morning.’ All of a sudden he feels like if he could have only one more thing before dying, that’s what he’d ask for. But then he kicks himself internally for being so fucking dramatic and he fiddles with the hem of your shirt.

“Exactly. It’s late.

You survey him from under your eyelashes with a small smile.

“I’ve made this walk many times.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’ve made this walk in the dark many times.”

“I’ll feel better if you let me walk you home.”

Charlie’s heart clenches. Before he can overthink, you’ve ducked out of his hold, grasped his hand and started pulling him down the street.

“C’mon Charlie, hurry up. You’d keep a goddess waiting?” you toss back at him over your shoulder. But in truth it was taking all of Charlie’s self control and the fact that he didn’t know the way to your place to keep him from throwing you over his shoulder and breaking into a full sprint.

~*~

Your place is exactly like you. Eclectic, warm, inviting. There is a moment, as you pull off your coat and turn away to place it and Charlie’s on a coat rack, when Charlie feels much too big for the space. Like he’s some kind of giant invading the home of a sweet little wood nymph. But then his little wood nymph is grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him to a bedroom and the worries fade right out the window.

At first Charlie is gentle with you. His hands ghost over your body as you kiss him beside your bed. When you push him to sit down on the edge of the mattress and step between his open legs to kiss him with a different height dynamic his heart just about jumps clear out of his chest. He hasn’t done this – hasn’t touched or been touched – in so long. The affair had been transactional, just the mechanical motions of sexual gratification. Sex with Nicole, before it stopped, had been even colder, almost as if she had been begrudgingly completing some unwelcome chore.

You, however, are like fire beneath Charlie’s fingers. Your skin, your lips – everything is so warm it feels like you’re too hot to touch. But Charlie would rather risk burning up than to not become accustomed to the feel, the shape, the substance of you. He smooths over your body with a reverential softness, his muscles tense with restraint so as to keep from accidentally pushing you too far too fast. To keep from handling the way that, deep down, he desperately needs.

When your lips suddenly leave his, his brow furrows in frustrations. Before he can open his eyes a soothing finger smooths the furrow away, sliding down the bridge of his nose to press against his kiss-swollen lips. Charlie opens his eyes with a question present in them and you cock your head to the side.

“You’re tense. Like you’re holding back.” The statement isn’t accusatory but it isn’t a question. Charlie takes a shaky breath, unsure about how much he should say. Would his desperation read as too dramatic? Too undesirable? Would his enthusiasm come across as pushy or dominating? His brow must furrow again because your hand moves back up, finger pressing out the wrinkles. He shrugs.

“It’s been…a while for me. I didn’t want to come across as too…much.”

You laugh then and yet again Charlie is struck by how strange it is that you can laugh in his face directly in response to something he’s said without making him feel like you are laughing at him.

“I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me, Charlie.”

“You’re sure about that?” Charlie huffs out with a little chuckle. You give him a smirk and say your next words up against his lips.

“Try me.”

You probably were expecting him to require more cajoling. You probably were expecting him to gradually ease into something more. But Charlie takes you by surprise, grabbing you and pulling you onto the bed with him, rolling so that you’re laid out beneath his body, all the while maintaining hungry possession of your mouth. His body finds its place between your legs and you gasp at the feeling of how huge he is. How hard and insistent against your softness. He drinks from you like a man whose thirst can not be quenched. His hands find purchase on your waist and he squeezes. So hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. You smile against his mouth with the realization that you look forward to watching them bloom later.

Since Charlie seems too preoccupied with groping and making out with you, it is you who eventually takes the next step, beginning to pop open the buttons on your blouse one by one. When Charlie feels the motion of your hands between your bodies he ultimately pulls back to investigate, mouth dropping open at the slow reveal of the lingerie you’re wearing beneath. His hand shoots out to caress the delicate lace of your bra, teasingly not applying any pressure to the breast beneath.

“Do you wear things like this often?” Charlie’s voice is already rough as he asks this. You shrug.

“Whenever I want to feel sexy.”

“You wanted to feel sexy while out with me?” Charlie asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“You made me feel sexier than the lace, Mr. Barber,” you say with a smile before leaning up to capture his lower lip between your teeth. He groans and moves to practically swallow you whole. You’re entirely foreign to him. Enthusiasm, amusement, and enjoyment bundled up into one devastatingly sexy package. There’s no shame in your movements, no angst in your eyes. Just humor. Only an unabashed pursuit of pleasure. And if it’s pleasure you want, it’s pleasure you’ll get.

Charlie now aids you in the process of removing the rest of your garments, so it goes much quicker. When you move to pull off your bra, however, he catches your wrist in his massive hand.

“No…can these stay on?” Your eyebrows shoot up but you notice the way that Charlie is gazing at you with eyes slightly hazy and tongue running over his lips.

“This doing it for you, Charlie?” you tease, shimmying a bit. Charlie’s answer is sincere regardless as he dips his head down to sample the plush skin at the line of your cleavage.

“You have no idea.”

“So you’re a lingerie man, huh?” When you ask he stops to think for a second because, truly, he had never considered himself that way before. He’d never had any reason to. Sure lingerie models in magazines were hot, but it’s not a specific fantasy he’d ever explored previously.

But the sight of you here, strategically covered in lace and laid out beneath him pretty as a picture has him so hard he feels like a teenager unable to control himself. So, as you had urged him, he doesn’t.

“I might be. But really, I’m just enamored by these tits.” His teeth sink into your flesh and you sigh, especially when his tongue comes out to lave warmly at the spot. He moves down your body then, peppering kisses to the exposed skin of your stomach, sliding until your inner thighs rest against the sides of his face and his hands dip below you to squeeze your ass. “Although I feel like this might end up being my favorite part.” He says this last part directly into your clothed cunt, his lips just barely ghosting over the fabric with his words.

You wiggle a bit in his grasp, loving the answering way his fingers dig into your soft flesh. Your fingers card into his lush hair, tugging lightly at the roots, a feeling that shoots through his body and straight to his rock hard member. The way he discretely ruts against the mattress in response does not go unnoticed by you, so you drop a hand under his chin to tip his face back up to look at you.

“Will you fuck me, Charlie?” Your voice is clear and bright. Not playing coy and requiring any convincing. Just asking for something you want. And the hunger in your eyes seems unmistakable, though it still feels to good to be true. Charlie drops his gaze back down to the wet spot forming in your panties before looking back up and practically pouting.

“I’d like to taste you,” he counters. A brilliant smile breaks out across your face at the sound of that but you shake your head.

“There’ll be time for that later,” you argue, tugging on his shoulder to get him back on top of you. “If you don’t get inside me right now I’ll die.”

Charlie almost misses that last part because he’s still stuck on the first part. There’ll be time for that later. The possibility of later squeezes at Charlie’s hard and it’s only after a few echoing seconds that he’s able to process the rest of your statement with a delayed, choking laugh.

“Is someone getting dramatic on me?”

“Not yet, but I will if - ”

“If I don’t get inside you?” Charlie completes the statement in the exact moment a hand drops between your thighs and presses against the soaked fabric covering your slit. You inhale sharply.

“Exactly.”

“I didn’t take you for someone who was pushy in bed,” Charlie says good naturedly, swiping his fingers up the line of you to end with a swirl over where he assumed – correctly – your clit was. You tilt your pelvis to maximize his pressure before surging up to kiss him long and hard.

“I’m actually not. Not really,” you say breathlessly when you finally pull away and drop back down onto the pillows. You stretch luxuriously, almost like a kitten in the sun under his piercing gaze, the movement of your hips bumping his hand to rub you even better. Running your hands up and down the big, strong arms that cage you in and support him, you kiss his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping you would be.”

Suddenly your wrists are being pinned down above your head by one of Charlie’s hands. He’s got your legs open wide with his body sinking against you, hard and heavy.

“Pushy? You want me to be pushy?”

You grin big and wide at him.

“Yeah. Take charge like I know you want – oh!” You’re cut off by the welcome sensation of stimulation as Charlie’s hand drops inside your panties to slide around in your waiting slick. Without the barrier of the fabric between you, the feeling of your velvety slipperiness is enough to make him loose a growl.

He’s not hesitating and he’s not teasing anymore. Charlie has been waiting for this moment. He’s been waiting to care. Been waiting to feel. And what’s heightening the experience even more is the look on your face, the way your lips are parted and the way you gaze up at him longingly, expectantly. Providing all the evidence he needs to prove that you want this too. He wants you and you want him – what a novel idea. There are no angles or obligations, but also no shame or secrecy.

“Well if you wanted me to take charge you should have said so earlier,” he says, the corner of his lip quirking a bit as he dips two fingers inside your soaking cunt, not bothering to start with one. You gasp at the sudden intrusion. The stretch is a lot, but it is everything. Charlie sees the enjoyment register on your face, discomfort melting away almost immediately, and he begins to pull them slowly in and out to massage your walls.

“Maybe – ahh – maybe I should have,” you reply.

“Should I have caused a scene in the arcade?”

“Yes – fuck!” During an inward thrust Charlie curls his fingers up this time, rubbing against that spot in your upper wall that previous guys barely even knew was there. Before you know it he’s adding a third finger and you’re beside yourself. Charlie is elated to see how easily your body responds to his ministrations, how free you are with your reactions. He leans to down to suck a mark over your collar bone while his thumb meets your clit in tandem with his other thrusting fingers.

“You knew what you were doing when you kept rubbing that pretty little ass back into me while I taught you pinball.” His words rumbling against the skin of your throat.

“You made it so easy.”

“And you made it so hard,” Charlie counters, humor very present in his voice. You gasp out a laugh and try to tug your wrists from his grasp, but he doesn’t let you. Just keeps you pinned down as he continues to finger fuck you nice and slow.

“So impatient. I should have known. You’ve been impatient all night, haven’t you?” You whine out affirmations and screw your eyes shut as the pressure starts to build to a crescendo. Charlie picks up speed, his voice growing deeper as he continues. “Wanted me to fuck you on the pinball machine in front of everyone, didn’t you?”

You gasp and toss your head back against the pillows at that, hips bucking involuntarily. Charlie’s nose glides along the perimeter of your jaw, breathing in the scent of you as you fall apart. He’s never felt so powerful as he does with the feeling of your muscles tensing up under his fingertips. Never had the inspiration or audience for such language, but as you shiver and respond to his words, a surge of pride fills him and all he wants to do is dangle you over the edge over and over again.

“Charlie…” His name is a whimper when it falls from your lips. You’re so close. He feels it. So he pushes his fingers deep inside you, curling up with the motion, just as he sweeps one, two, three final circles into the throbbing bud of your clit.

You crest and you break against the tide of your orgasm, plummeting down from such heights you didn’t know you could reach from simple fingering. But there’s nothing simple about Charlie, the man who had been broken and put back together, only to find you, the universe’s overly generous reward for his perseverance.

Charlie’s slightly (unfocused) eyes focus on your heaving chest as you finally descend from the orgasm, but you’re the one to break the spell. Impatient is the perfect way to describe you as you wrap your legs around his middle and hook your ankles to trap him against you. You lunge up to arrest his mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, but just enough to distract him so that you can pull your wrists from his grasp. Once free you push him gently to the side so that you’re both rolling over, mouths still attached. He comes to rest on his back with you straddling him.

Charlie blinks up at you, taking in the way your breasts bounce in their bra cups as you busy yourself with the task of removing his clothes. He hadn’t even realized he was still in them until you began unbuttoning and pulling and pushing. Your impatience is clear once again in the way you divest him of the frustratingly excessive material and he finally gets the memo that he should help you.

With his pants and underwear pulled off and discarded, as well as the button up shirt that you had come to love as his signature look, you rest your palms flat on the plane of his chest. You’re still in your lingerie, as he had requested, only it is now beautiful askew. Your breasts now strain out of the cups, having been jostled into almost spilling out with your change of position. Your panties are sopping wet and stretched from his vigorous fingering and the evidence of your orgasm.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But you become even more beautiful when you wrap your hand around his aching cock, lifting up on your knees as you do so. Your fists slides up and down, up and down and he watches it, mesmerized, until you lean forward to catch his eye.

“What should I do, Charlie?”

Your face is soft and open. You’re asking for him to continue taking the lead. And Charlie realizes right then and there that he will never want to disappoint you. Snapping out his daze he lets his fingers dig into your flesh where his hands curl around your hips.

“Sit down on my cock, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The term of endearment is so sugary. He’s called his son that, but never a lover, casual or otherwise, and never during the first time. Your face, however, lights up and you do as you’re told, sinking down onto his long, hard length. The impact draws a moan from both of your throats followed by gasped phrases spoken over one another.

“You’re so big!”

“You’re so tight!”

You both laugh at the overlap but laughter turns to groans as you roll your hips experimentally. After a few moments of this, it appears that Charlie becomes the impatient one finally.

“Ride me,” he spits through gritted teeth. Your nails imprint half moons in his skin as you clench at his tone, not quite hearing the words. Charlie sucks air through his teeth at the squeeze.

“What?”

“Ride me. I need you to fucking ride me.” You can tell that he’s trying to remain cool and collected, but his brow is furrowed and his bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

So you do as he says. You lift up and drop down, feeling the length of his cock slide through your sheath with a speed that you set, establishing a rhythm that has your toes curling. You let out a particularly shameless moan and Charlie opens his eyes. They widen immediately upon seeing that you’re clutching and squeezing at your own breast with one hand while grabbing onto his hip to stabilize you with the other. The sight alone of your face, screwed up in pleasure, flips a switch in Charlie and suddenly he is thrusting up into you without mercy.

“Charlie!” you cry out, both from surprise at the increased jostling and from how tremendously good it feels.

“I should have fucked you in the arcade. I would have if I had known how good you feel.”

“I – oh fuckfuck – knew,” you barely get out. Charlie hoists you back so that he’s sitting up with his back against the headrest now. The position gives him more leverage and power so he can lift you up and down his cock, bouncing you now with a rhythm that vibrates through your entire being.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Charlie asks, engulfing one of your breasts in his huge hand. The added sensation is perfect, but not quite enough. You wonder if you can coax more.

“I knew you would feel good.” You reach down to the base of his cock, encircling it as much as possible with it’s girth, and fisting upward just as he pulls you up, therefore maximizing the squeeze on his length. Charlie inhales abruptly and drops you back down.

“Little Miss Know-it-all, are you?” His voice is harsh and it sends a thrill throughout your body. Before you can respond, you’re pushed and yanked around, losing your grip with the motion.

“What - ?” Charlie’s hand on your throat quiets you. Not because he’s truly squeezing, but because the solid warmth of his hand causes you to squeak your way to silence. His adjustments now find you pulled up to the edge of the bed, legs spread and pushed back, with Charlie standing between them. Bent over, he grounds himself with one hand on your throat and one on your hip, positioning his tip back at the entrance to your weeping cunt. You expect him to slam his hips forward, to impale you with his cock, but he pauses with the swollen head just inside your folds.

“This okay?”

This power and control, the way he is manipulating your body for your pleasure and his own – he loves it. It’s so new and yet something he now wonders how he ever did without. But he also feels the need to check in and make sure that you’re still with him. The nod you give, the sparkle in your eye, and the quirk of your lips is all it takes to convince him and then he is plowing forward, slamming himself back in again and again. You let out a full throated moan and Charlie revels in the way your eyes roll all the way back.

He wonders what else will make you do that. What else will make your eyes roll back and your toes curl and your teeth sink into your bottom lip? He wonders, as his hand presses softly into the contours of your throat, what it would feel like to squeeze a little harder, and if the pressure would make you even more desperate for him. He wonders if you like a little pain with your pleasure, as he has long suspected he might enjoy, though has never truly had the chance to confirm.

But there will be time for that.

So now, he does his best to focus in on the sounds you release. Sounds of delight and surprise and sensual thrill. He coaxes you to your second climax and you don’t fight it. You don’t demure or wait for him or hesitate. Instead you unapologetically allow yourself to get lost in the pleasure he’s built for you, seizing and quaking beneath him without shame.

The sight and feeling are so beautiful he can’t help but follow soon after, pulling out and allowing releasing all over the bra and panties you had so generously left on for him. The sight of his seed landing on the delicate lace, as you lay beneath him fucked out and smiling, causes another tremor to rock through him, and he finds that he’s still cumming long after he usually would have finished.

Charlie finds himself in a daze in the immediate aftermath of his release. He looks around for something to clean you with, and when you notice you point out a box of tissues on the desk. After he’s done his best to wipe you up, you give him a kiss on the cheek. The mundane intimacy of the act makes him blush all the way to the hidden tips of his ears. It is absurd because you had just had sex, however the press of your lips to his skin seemed to seal the deal. This was not transactional. It was something more, Charlie can’t help but think to himself as you get up from the bed and skip to the bathroom.

In your absence Charlie again registers the smallness of your room. How large – out of place, maybe – he is amongst your delicate things. He pulls on his underwear and sits back down on the mattress, unsure.

Unsure about your expectations. Unsure about whether or not you’d want him to leave. Or stay.

Before he can make a decision in either direction you are bounding back into the room, a smile on your face. Your face is freshly washed and you’re in a faded, oversized tank top, having divested yourself of your abused lingerie. Charlie swallows at the sight of your breasts, free and outlined beneath the soft fabric. He adjusts his hands in his lap. No need to let you see him getting worked up again so soon like some horny teenager. You don’t seem to notice, instead slipping easily into bed beside him, shimmying under the covers and patting the space beside you so that he does the same.

So stay he will.

Once you’re both comfortable and situated, you slide into his arms, drawing them around your body without a question or seemingly a second though. Much like the way you’d slid into his life, Charlie thinks ruefully, nuzzling his face into the top of your head as you tuck in beneath his chin.

“Charlie?”

“Hm?”

“I know you always go to that diner on 15th for breakfast,” you begin, and Charlie’s heart spasms. Both at the thought of breakfast with you and the fact that you so casually know details about him. About his likes and his habits. He pulls you in a little tighter and nods his head.

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I show you a new place in the morning? I think you’ll really like it.”

And Charlie laughs. Because of course you’d want to push him out of his comfort zone. It’s what you do – push him to try new things. Push him to do things he wouldn’t usually consider. Push him to be the man he’d been working so hard for the past year to be.

“Yes, but I’m not changing the way I order my eggs,” he grumbles with humor, kissing the crown of your head. “Not yet.”

~*~

The next morning you order first, and you’ve never had breakfast with Charlie before, so when he asks for the same dish, you can’t possibly know that this is his first time ordering eggs Florentine.

As you both laugh and eat and sip coffee in the outdoor seating area of the quaint café you’d picked, fingers intertwined between you on the wrought iron table, you also can’t know that this is the happiest Charlie has felt in ages.

But he makes it his mission, right there and then, to do everything in his power to make you feel the same.

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @celestiasin @tlcwrites @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @edencherries @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @mrs-zimmerman @maryforyou @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @soggywhore @transparentmeoo @leia-suns @alpha-lobito

#paper-n-ashes #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #Charlie Barber/reader #Charlie Barber/you #Charlie Barber fanfiction #Charlie Barber smut #marriage story fanfiction #Marriage Story smut #writing #smut #Roanniom #tw: unprotected sex #tw: choking

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dreamingofaizawa · 4 years ago

Text

Guys My Age

Title and concept inspo: Guys My Age by Hey Violet

Soft Dom! Aizawa Shouta x Medium-sized Fem! Reader

Quirkless AU

***18+ Fic***

You must be at least 18 years old to participate in this reading. If you are under the age of 18 please step out of line and find another fic. Thank you and have a good day.

Warnings: Age gap, praise kink, DD/LG dynamic and terms, use of the words daddy and sir, light bondage, overstimulation, smut.

Word Count: 4.1k

Author’s Note: I KNOW, I know, I write a lot of Aizawa fics, and they’re all DD/LG stuff. I know, okay? It’s an obsession, I’m in love with this man. Anyway, another soft dom Aizawa, but reader isn’t very well-versed in intimacy. Also, reader is what some would call medium-sized. Not necessarily big, but definitely not small. This is for all my medium-sized girls, including myself. I was very self-indulgent with this one.

Part 2

Enjoy~

You’d always been told you were mature for your age. It wasn’t until recently you realized how true that statement might be. You’re currently 21. And very, very single. You’ve had a total of six different relationships, and all of them fell through for one very simple reason. The boys you dated were just that. Boys. They were extremely immature. Only ever wanting to ‘hang with the boys’ or stay at home. No effort was put into the relationship on their part after the first few weeks. You didn’t understand why these vastly different boys were all so adamant on staying inside.

You’d tried desperately to get them to go out on dates with you. You offered to pay, and drive, and literally anything else. But no, they were too busy playing video games or getting higher than the damn sky. Don’t even start thinking about sex. You hadn’t got any of that shit since your first ‘boyfriend’ at 17, who used you like a sex doll and broke it off once he found someone hotter and sexier and altogether better in his eyes. You were sick of it. So you did the last thing you’d ever want to do. You went on a blind date.

You’d stumbled on a website last week that allowed you to set up a blind date with a stranger. It seemed legit, and had background checks on all participants. It also allowed you to put in any preferences you had, and matched you with someone that had similar preferences and hobbies. The age range you put in? 30-35 years old. Because guys your age just didn’t cut it. You needed someone more mature, someone who could treat you like a woman, not some girl.

Today, almost a week after matching with someone, you were standing outside an italian restaurant. You didn’t know his face, just his name and age, and that he was a teacher. Aizawa Shouta, 31 years old. And he’d sent a single message when you matched.

Meet me at this location on Saturday. When you enter, I’ll be at the back corner table. Semi-formal. 8 pm, please don’t be late.

It was blunt and straightforward. You liked it. You just hoped he wasn’t quite this blunt in person. You’d put on a black knee-length cocktail dress with a halter top and a partially open back that fell to the small of your back. It accentuated your shoulders and the top half of your torso before fanning out at your waist, the silky material falling and swaying around you.

You slipped on simple white heels and silver jewelry, with a white clutch purse. You’d decided to pull your hair into a loose half-up half-down, a silver comb pinning your hair in place, minimal makeup and clear lip gloss. For the first time in a while you felt pretty. You knew you weren’t exactly small, but the way you were dressed gave you confidence.

You looked at your watch. 7:55 pm. You took a deep breath, straightened out your dress, and stepped into the restaurant. The host asked if you had a reservation, and you told him you were meeting someone who already arrived. He let you pass, and you walked back to the table Aizawa told you to meet at. He had his back to you as you approached, but you could see his broad shoulders and muscular frame easily.

He wore a white long-sleeve button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black vest fitted to his form. His slacks were also fitted, showing off his muscular thighs. His long raven hair was pulled in a half-up half-down similar to yours. You hadn’t even seen his face yet and he looked delicious.

Your heels clacked on the wood flooring, and as you neared the booth he turned to look at you. You stopped next to the table and got a good look at the stranger. He was beautiful. His dark bloodshot eyes looked tired, the bags underneath giving him away and only adding to his appeal, and a scar curved under his right eye. A sharp jawline, with a tamed scruff, and thin lips in a neutral expression. You were about to introduce yourself, but he stood from the booth and held his hand out, palm up. “You must be (y/l/n) (y/n).” You smiled at the gesture, and placed your hand in his. “That’s me. And you are Aizawa Shouta. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He pulled your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles, before leading you to your seat.

As he sat down, you noticed a bottle of wine sitting in the center of the table in a bucket of ice, and two glasses of wine halfway full. One sat in front of you, and the other in front of Aizawa. He began the conversation with a rather specific question. “So, (y/l/n), why are you on a dating website looking for men that are so much older than you?” Normally you’d take offense to a question like that, but the way he said it was pure curiosity. So, you answered. “If I’m being honest, it’s actually pretty simple. Guys my age just don’t know how to treat me.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a barely noticeable smirk tugging at his lips. “And how do you want to be treated?” You smiled a little at the implications behind the question, and answered. “I don’t want to be stuck in my room while my ‘boyfriend’ plays video games and smokes weed. I don’t want to be ‘one of the boys’, and I don’t want to have to plead and beg to go on a date or spend time with him. I want to be treated like a woman, not a girl. And I want to spend my time with a man, not waste it on a boy.”

At that, Aizawa smirked and sipped at his wine. You both took a quick look at the menu and ordered when the waiter came. As you ate, you talked about random subjects and hit it off quite well. The date went by quickly, and at the end of the night you’d exchanged numbers. “I look forward to another date with you, Ms. (y/l/n).” “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Aizawa.”

When you got back home, you undressed and cleaned your face and got into bed. As you lay there, your mind drifted back to the date, and how undeniably handsome Aizawa is. The way he spoke to you like you were his equal, and looking at you like an ancient treasure. He was everything you wanted, without even considering anything sexual. Little did you know he felt much the same way.

____

When the date ended he texted Hizashi to let him know he was free. Hizashi, of course, called him immediately, and began drilling him about the date. “How’d it go Sho? Was it a rando with a thing for older guys? Did she want a sugar daddy?” Shouta rolled his eyes. “No, Zashi, she wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. She was...actually really mature for a 21 year old. She knows what she wants. I admire that a little. And I won’t lie, she’s quite beautiful. Not the generic, model, beauty-pageant, barbie doll pretty. It’s a natural glow she has. It’s...quite mesmerizing...”

Hizashi exploded on the other side, laughing at the new infatuation his friend had for a blind date. “I hope she’s your type, Sho. I mean physically. I know how much you like them with a little meat on their bones.” Aizawa groaned at his comment. He knew he was just teasing, but that his blonde friend was 100% right. He knew he had a type, and he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t looked at your full figure quite frequently.

He’d taken in your dress, how it showed off your shoulders and back. As you climbed into your car and took off your heels, he trailed his eyes up your legs, getting a small glimpse at your thick thighs. When you sat up behind the wheel, he revelled in the small rolls showing through your dress, wanting nothing more than to squeeze them and kiss them and bite them...

He shook away the thoughts that were threatening to take over his mind. “Shut it Hizashi. Her body is none of my concern, and is most definitely none of yours. I enjoyed the date and that’s what matters.” The loud blonde gasped dramatically, “Oh my god she totally is! Damn you go get some Sho!” Aizawa just ended the call.

The next date was planned once again by Aizawa, and it was only a week after the first. It was a simple coffee date at a small cafe. You talked casually about the things you enjoyed doing. You convinced him to let you take care of the next date, which you decided would be a relaxed ramen date. You’d gotten comfortable around each other, and after about six more dates, he invited you over to his place for dinner. Of course, you accepted.

He’d sent you the address and apartment number, and you stood outside his door in dark jeans, black flats, and a beige sweater with a white tank top underneath. You knocked on the door, and when it opened he greeted you with a peck on the cheek. It had become a normal greeting, since you’d gotten so close, though the gesture always made you a little shy. He told you to get comfortable as he finished up dinner, and you sat at the kitchen table and admired him as he worked in the kitchen. He wore fitted blue denim jeans, and a black cotton t-shirt, his hair pulled up in a bun.

No matter how many times you looked at him, he was always just as shockingly handsome as the first time you saw him. His t-shirt left his toned arms exposed, and it was fitted to his torso, showing off his muscular frame. Your eyes traced the outline of his muscles from his shoulder, down his arm, drifting to his hips and up his back. You didn’t notice him glance back and smirk at you. “Like what you see kitty cat?” Heat rushed to your face at the realization that you’d been staring, and the fact that he’d noticed. And that name… “K-kitty?” you barely whispered, before quickly apologizing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

You didn’t think he heard the first part. You were wrong. “It’s alright. And yes, kitty. Don’t like the pet name?” Your face burned at the tone of his voice. “N-no, the name’s fine, you just...caught me off guard.” He chuckled. “I should do it more often. You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You didn’t think your face could get any hotter, but it did. You tilted your head down and away from him and bit your lip, letting your hair fall to hide your face. You’d never gotten this kind of attention before, and you had no idea how to handle it.

You were too busy trying to calm your breathing to hear him approach you. The proximity and demanding tone of his voice made you jump a little. “Look at me, kitten.” You swallowed and took a breath before turning your head to him, and he hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to sit up taller. He moved even closer, your shoulder brushing against his abdomen, and you nearly had to look straight up to look in his eyes.

Your eyes began to drift away from his, and he jerked your chin up higher, silently commanding you not to look away. You brought your eyes back to his and held his gaze, and after a few moments he smirked. The hand under your chin moved to stroke your cheek with his knuckles. “Good girl.”

He quickly dropped his hand and went back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. It took you a few seconds to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You panted a little, trying to calm yourself from what just happened, and clasped your shaking hands together. But they weren’t shaking from fear. In fact, you couldn’t quite tell why you were so shaky and out of breath. And the praise from him sent a shiver down your spine.

He managed to distract you while you ate, and you had completely recovered from whatever that was earlier. After dinner you moved into the living room and relaxed on the couch while you talked some more. Soon he’d leaned his head back and closed his eyes, still talking and listening, but clearly relaxed. Once again you found yourself distracted by his body, following the muscles in his neck down to his toned chest and abdomen. And again, he noticed. “I can feel your eyes on me, kitten.” His voice was low, a rumble of smooth baritone. You found yourself turning away to hide your face again, and the command in his voice controlled you with ease.

“Don’t look away from me, kitten.” You turned back to him, and when your eyes met his, you looked away, and he let out a low growl and your eyes snapped back to him. He adjusted and sat up, your eyes still fixed on each other. He pat his leg, “Come here kitty.” You blinked at him, not quite prepared for such a demand. His eyes darkened a little and his voice dropped to a growl, “I won’t ask twice.”

At that you got up and went to sit on one of his legs, but he pulled his knees together and shook his head. So you climbed over and straddled his legs on your knees. He grabbed your hips and pulled you so you were fully sitting on his lap, your core dangerously close to his growing bulge.

Your eyes were still locked on his as he leaned close to you, his hands rubbing circles into your hips. He leaned past your face and whispered into your ear. “Can I touch you kitty?” You took a shaky breath and nodded. He laid a light spank on your ass and you jumped. “Use your words kitty cat.” “Y-yes, you can t-touch me.” He laid a kiss on your neck and whispered ‘good girl’ before moving his hands under your sweater and tank top. He ran his hands up and down your back, and he gripped the fatty flesh of your stomach and hips, kneading it in his palms gently as he worked his way up your body, leaving feather light kisses along your neck and jaw.

The intimacy had you quivering, and the way he nearly worshipped your body had your breaths coming out shaky and heavy. Shouta caught on quickly. “Is it safe for me to assume you haven’t done anything in a while?” he said in your ear. You started to nod, but quickly caught yourself, “Y-yes.” He stilled his movements and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Tell me what you did before this.” You took a breath and explained the situation as simply and quickly as possible.

His arms tensed, clearly upset that you’d been used like that. But he didn’t pry into that right now. “So you haven’t explored anything? Like any preferences you might have?” You shook your head quickly, “N-no...why?” He chuckled. “Well, kitty, you’re quite submissive. If you’d let me, I can help you explore this side of you.” You swallowed and nodded. “Y-yeah, I think I’d like that.” He hummed into your neck, “We can start tonight, but only if you’re comfortable and you want to.” You took a few moments to think about your answer. This man had been nothing but good to you. He treated you with more respect than all the boys you dated had combined. And you trusted him. “I...I’m comfortable starting tonight.”

“Alright kitty. Now, listen to me closely, because this is important, okay?” “Okay, I’m listening.” “Good. Since this is new to you, we need to establish a safeword. Is ‘roses’ alright?” You nod. “Okay. Now if anything ever gets too much for you, if you feel uncomfortable for any reason, if you need to stop for any reason, or if there’s a medical emergency, you need to use it. And that goes for me too. If I don’t like where things are going, I’ll use it. Once we use the safeword, everything will stop right there, no questions asked. Understand?”

“I understand.” “Okay. Can I trust you to use it if you feel the need to?” You nod, “Yes. I’ll use it if I need to.” He kisses your neck, “Good girl.” The praise makes you shudder, and you feel him smile into your neck. “Now, kitty, I want you to address me as either ‘Daddy’, ‘Sir’, or ‘Master’ when we’re like this, do you understand?” “Yes.” He spanks you a little harder. “Yes what?” You jump at the contact “Y-yes Sir.” Another kiss on your neck, “Good girl.” He leans back and taps your arms, “Up.” You lift your arms and he pulls off your sweater and tank top at the same time.

His hands come back down on your shoulders, and he runs his hands down your chest and stomach, taking the time to remove your bra and knead your breasts. He wraps his arms around you and stands up, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. He puts you down on the bed on your back and takes a rope out of the bedside table. You let him take your hands and tie your wrists to the bar at the headboard. It’s not uncomfortably tight, but a few experimental tugs tell you it’s solid and you won’t be getting out of it unless he unties you.

He trails kisses down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and removing them as he goes. Once your jeans are off, he loops his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them off. After that, he leans back and just rakes his eyes up and down your body, eating up every inch of your skin. “You’re such a pretty kitty.” His words have you shuddering and blushing. You’d never been called pretty before, and you knew why. You were a little bigger than other girls. You weren’t necessarily insecure about it. You didn’t care all that much about how people saw you with just your looks alone. But you knew Shouta was admiring your body after knowing who you are as a person, and it made you a little giddy.

His mouth and hands were all over you, squeezing and groping, sucking bruises onto your skin. His touches were sending waves of heat through your body, and pooling between your legs. You desperately wanted him to touch you there, and you whined and rolled your hips up into the air. “Such a needy kitty. Be patient. I’m not done here yet.” He rolled a nipple in between his index and thumb, pulling the other into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. You mewled at the sensation, and he switched his mouth over to the other side.

Your legs were rubbing together, begging for friction, and he finally moved down to your dripping core. He took a finger and slipped it over your folds. He groaned as his finger collected your slick, “You’re so wet kitty. Are you this wet for me?” You nodded your head frantically, and he laid a light smack on your pussy. You let out a soft whimper, “Yes Sir, it’s for you,” you answered quickly. He hummed, “Good girl. I didn’t even need to remind you to use your words.” He kissed the inside of your thigh, and moved to lick a stripe up your folds. You gasped at the new feeling, never having anyone’s mouth down there before.

He slipped the pink muscle into you easily, groaning when he tasted you. The sound sent vibrations through your dripping cunt, making you squirm at the pleasure. He looped his arms around your legs, dipping his fingers into your core and using the slick to rub tight circles onto your clit. An unfamiliar sensation built in the pit of your stomach, your muscles tightening in your abdomen as it got stronger. You knit your eyebrows together, and in between heavy breaths you gasped out, “S-sir...it feels strange.” He raised his eyebrows at the statement, and increased his pace until that coil inside you snapped, which didn’t take very long.

Your back arched off the bed as you let out a loud, sharp moan, your legs shaking from the intensity of your first orgasm. Aizawa kept lapping at your pussy, letting you ride out your high, and once you were relaxed and panting on the bed, he lifted his head and wiped his chin. “Kitty, have you never cum before?” He asked, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You shake your head, “No S-sir...Is that what just happened?” He chuckled, but didn’t answer the question, “You’re going to have fun tonight kitty.” You didn’t have time to question what he meant, though, because he slipped a thick finger into your core, and you mewled as your walls clenched down on him.

The game he played went on for what felt like hours, and you lost count of how many times he’s made you cum. He’d fucked you and cum multiple times himself. You’d already squirted several times, and tears were streaming down your face from the overstimulation. It felt so good, but it was starting to melt your brain and the title of ‘Sir’ drifted to ‘Daddy’ as it went on. All the muscles in your body were burning from flexing so hard, and your wrists were feeling raw from how hard you’d been tugging at your restraints. It felt so, so good...but it was too much. He leaned down close to your face and kissed at the tears, “You’re doing so well babygirl. You got one more for me?”

You giggled lightly at the praise, your mind fuzzy, unable to form coherent thoughts as he thrust his hips into you. He stilled his movements and caressed your jaw. “How are you feeling, kitten?” Your eyes looked up into his, struggling to stay open. You giggled a little as you answered. “It’s… I f-feel…” You knit your eyebrows together in concentration, searching your brain. “R-roses?”

Everything stopped, and he instantly reached up and tugged off your restraints, and pulled your exhausted body close to his chest. Your breathing got heavier, and your chest got tight, and fresh tears fell down your cheeks. He held you tight, kissing your tears and petting your hair as your cries died down. He held you like that until your breathing was normal again. You slowly opened your eyes, weakly calling out to him, “Daddy?” He kissed your forehead, “I’m right here kitten. Tell me what you need.” You nuzzled your head into his neck and mumbled, “Water. Can I have water?” He wrapped you in a soft blanket and stood up, carrying you with him. “Anything for my kitten.”

He set you on the counter and made a glass of iced water, holding it up to your lips. As you sipped, he rubbed your back and kissed your forehead and neck, and he didn’t stop or move until you had drained the cup. He left it in the sink and picked you up again, taking you to the bathroom and filling the tub with warm water. He turned off the tap, took off your blanket, and carried you into the tub. He washed the both of you, massaging your scalp, and you let out a sound like a pur, which he smiled at.

When he was done, he stood you up and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, dried himself with one, and carried you back to bed. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Are you okay (y/n)?” You nodded into his chest, “Yeah, I’m okay. It was just intense.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, “Thank you for using the safeword. You did so well for me kitten, trusting me like that.” You nuzzled into his chest some more, relishing in the heat his body gave.

You loved the praise he gave you. It made you feel warm and fuzzy in your belly, and it felt so good. Soon you were drifting into a deep sleep, comfortable in Shouta’s arms. This was nice. You’d be happy to let him guide you, let him take care of you like this. One thought drifted through your head as you drifted.

‘Guys my age could never.’

#aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x fem reader #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x fem reader #aizawa shouta smut #shouta aizawa smut #aizawa shouta bnha #aizawa shouta mha #shouta aizawa bnha #shouta aizawa mha #dom aizawa

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