#thick soft waves of salt and pepper fluff

[link-sans-specs]

He's not napping- he's full of shit.

Rhett & Link

We Took a Decent Nap

BONUS BASIL LEAF: This might be the best shot of Rhett's eyes I've ever seen. Such good natural light. Ofc, Link had shades on the whole time. 🙄

[lilliumrorum]

What does he have that I don't? (Part Two)

<<Previous | Masterlist | Next>>

Synopsis: After getting comfortable in your captain's dwelling, you experience a dream involving him, intensifying your desire for the man.

WC: 3k

Content/Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Soft Price, fluff, Cheating, kind of pining?, Wet dreams, Masturbation.

Notes: Sorry this took so long to post, I've had lots of fucking issues with tumblr and I am proper pissed off. Exams have been kicking my ass too, but I'll make sure to write an extra long chapter next time!

In this situation, unlike others, you wouldn't yearn for Simon's touch. The absence of affection from him for months has built a resistance to missing that once addictive sensation. Tears welled up once more as you reflected on the abuse endured just to cling to the shattered fragments of your 'relationship'. Desiring a different reality, you found yourself in a challenging situation, torn between lingering feelings for your lost love and developing admiration for your captain.

Concluding the scorching shower, the realization struck that a towel was forgotten. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you pondered how such a simple thing could be overlooked. An uneasy hope lingered that the captain remained undisturbed in his slumber, as a preemptive guilt surfaced. The idea of waking him up intensified that internal conflict, leaving you in a contemplative state after the steam had dissipated. Standing there, damp and hesitant, you grappled with the consequences of a neglected towel and the possibility of disrupting your captain's peace.

Your hand unlocked the door, cracking it open just a bit.

"John?"

"Mm?" His deep voice echoed from the couch.

You felt a sense of relief upon realizing he wasn't in bed yet.

"I… may have forgotten to grab a towel," you admitted with a nervous tone.

You heard his soft footsteps moving down the hall and passing by the bathroom. As soon they approached the room you made sure to narrow the crack of the open door, ensuring you wouldn't accidentally flash him. A sturdy silhouette stood behind it, holding a towel. Cautiously peeking around, you gently retrieve it from his grasp.

He stared at you for a moment, gazing at your damp hair and shoulders before seemingly snapping out of it.

"Don't make my floor too wet, Sergeant." He said with a breath before trekking back to the couch.

You slowly closed the door, releasing a heavy breath you didn't realize you were holding. It felt as if butterflies had been swirling around in your stomach, cheeks burning like fire as you tried to comprehend what had just happened. The butterflies were nothing novel; in fact, they were a constant presence. Every time you worked near him your heart fluttered.

The salt-and-pepper mustache that quirked up when he smiled made your heart do flips. His hands, aged yet firm, with thick fingers calloused from years of service made you fantasize about what they would feel like inside you. The quick waves you received when he walked past you, his combat pants fitting him just right made for an easy distraction. Doing paperwork with him late at night presented itself a challenge. Your brain was constantly fuzzy whenever you looked at him.

At this point, you couldn't distinguish whether it was him making you shudder or your own nakedness. The stark contrast in temperature from your shower to the chilling air heightened your eagerness to get dressed. The towel rubbing against your skin brought a soothing sensation to your mind, interrupting your thoughts about him.

"You did so good f'me, lovie. Such a good fucking girl." He praised, slowly pulling out of your fluttering cunt.

You whimpered at the feeling of being empty after being stuffed full for so long.

"I love you, Simon." you whispered breathlessly.

He gazed at you, searching your eyes for some sort of hidden plan, or trickery. He found nothing but adoration.

"I love you too." He whispered as he got up, searching for the towel he had placed somewhere, you reached out and gently wrapped your hand around as much of his toned arm as you could before he moved too far.

He glanced at you, his expression filled with curiosity.

"Si, can you promise me something?"

"What is it doll?"

"Don't leave me."

"What kinda promise is that? I'm never gonna leave you. Hell, I'm stuck on you."

You smiled at his words.

But he broke that promise. He left you, a ghost in his place.

"Captain, is it alright if I get dressed in the bedroom?" You uttered your words with a delicate tone as you stepped out into the hall.

His head shifted in the direction of your voice, his attention lingering on your legs briefly before his gaze ascended to meet your face. He stared at you for what seemed like an eternity. Your posture started to shift as nervousness crept in, especially with his eyes on your barely covered body. He seemed to take notice, offering a smile before he spoke.

"Of course dove, that's where you're sleeping anyway." He spoke with a tone that held weariness.

"Oh no you don't ha-" as soon as you spoke you were interrupted.

"I said that's where you're sleepin' and that's that. Don't argue with me, sergeant." He commanded.

You raised your hands in the air, signaling surrender, before letting out a laugh and walking back to his bedroom.

The scent of everything was reminiscent of him, when you opened his closet, the aroma of cinnamon and pine struck you instantly. You breathed in his scent and felt a bit more at ease. Why did everything about him have to evoke such a strong sense of comfort and familiarity?

If you didn't move past this childlike crush soon, you'd end up with more issues than you're already grappling with. He could be your father for Christ's sake!

You shook your head, as if the thought would dissipate, while grabbing some pajama shorts and a tank top. The clothes were rather revealing, but John would surely understand if he saw them. Your intention was to return home to Simon, not to him. When you left, there was no time to retrieve your clothes, as you aimed to escape the situation as smoothly as possible.

Your body ached for sleep, going without it for what seemed like ages.

Turning the light off and slipping into bed, a subtle shift occurred in your thoughts, and the image of John began to weave its way into your consciousness like a gentle melody. In the calm moments preceding sleep, his laughter echoed, and the warmth of his gaze painted the canvas of your contemplations. The memory of John intertwined seamlessly with the comforting embrace of his sheets, creating a space where the lines between reality and the fanciful dance of imagination became hazy. With each closing of your eyes, dreams unfolded, casting John as the silent protagonist in the tales that quietly unfolded in the realm of your weary mind.

In the silent corners of your thoughts, dreams took shape, painting a picture where you were romantically involved with John. Scenes of stolen glances and hidden meetings unfolded, with the forbidden nature of it all adding an exhilarating edge to the fantasy. In these vivid dreams, shared moments created a connection that surpassed the ordinary reality surrounding you. However, these fantasies were kept as a personal refuge—a brief escape within the private chambers of your mind, where the blurred lines of possibility flirted with the edges of longing.

"Tell me what you want, dove. What do you need from me?" he breathed in a solaced whisper.

His rugged hands worked at your body, roaming across your naked form as you tried your hardest to utter a word, mumbling nonsense. He hadn't taken your panties off yet, the cloth becoming more and more wet by the second.

"Words, sweetheart. I need to know what you want from me." His fingers teasing your clit in soft, circular motions.

"John- Oh shit! I need them inside! Please!" You practically sobbed.

Everything in this moment completed you. His waist was stationed between your legs as he continued his ministrations on your cunt. At this point you were a whining mess for him. You were too distracted with your pleasure to realize he had pulled your panties to the side, thick fingers lined up with your sopping hole.

"God, you're perfect."

The captain's eyes snapped open upon hearing sounds emanating from the bedroom. Initially thinking it might be crying, he knocked on the door once.

With no response, he opened the door to investigate, finding you helplessly whimpering and pressing your thighs together in your sleep.

He was well Aware that intruding was not right, but he lingered a little longer, drawn by the sweet serenade of your voice. Going back to bed at this moment seemed impossible for him. His cock straining against his pants as discomfort grew, urging him to address it promptly.

He treaded back to the couch, every step carrying an enduring strain to his crotch. Fuck, those noises were driving him wild.

He knows it's not right, yet he pulled out his erection anyway. He needed relief, blood rushing to the tip as it sprung out of his pants. His arousal was yearning for a momentary reprieve.

He groaned as he started fisting his cock, guttural groans coming from his chest as he chased his release. His eyes fluttered closed, Imagining you spread out for him, begging for whatever he could give you. Your pretty body writhing underneath him while you worked in sync to reach that peak. Nails scratching at his back with each forceful thrust of his hips. He tried to stay as silent as he could, listening to the melody of your sounds. He tried to savor your sounds, prolonging his orgasm to the best of his ability. He couldn't hold it any longer, somewhat embarrassed at how fast he was going to finish.

The familiar feeling of his climax began to reach him, his lower abdomen flexing harshly with each stroke.

"Fuck"

His sticky cum flowed over him fingers as it spilled out from his twitching tip.

This was wrong, but god did it feel so fucking right.

Throughout the night, Simon couldn't shake the image of your shocked and saddened expression from his thoughts. All he longed for was to have you back with him at home. Who the fuck were you with anyway?

As the minutes stretched into hours, Simon's chest tightened with an unsettling jealousy. The anticipation of your return became a weighty burden, and the quiet emptiness of the house echoed his longing. He had watched you leave, hope clinging to the belief that you would soon walk back through the door. However, as the night wore on and you failed to return, that hope transformed into a bitter ache. Each passing moment fueled the jealousy that churned within him, a mix of fear and insecurity. The empty house seemed to mock his unspoken yearning, amplifying the silence that enveloped him in a suffocating embrace.

The air hung heavy with tension when Johnny left the house, the weight of your discovery lingering in the strained atmosphere. The revelation of the affair had cast a pall over the once-shared space, leaving behind a palpable sense of betrayal. The door closed with a hollow finality, echoing the rupture in trust that now defined the relationship. He laid there in your empty bed, the aftermath of your revelation settling like dust in the room, and the emptiness of the departing footsteps mirrored the void that now consumed the once-shared moments with Johnny. The silence that followed was deafening, amplifying your absence.

When you left he was still pent up with arousal, so him and Johnny went a couple rounds, but he soon had to leave to get enough rest before the sun rose. With both of you no longer present, he truly began to realize he was alone.

Jealousy gnawed at Simon as he grappled with the unsettling uncertainty of your whereabouts. Each passing moment fueled his imagination, and he found himself consumed by thoughts of who you might be staying with. The unanswered questions echoed in his mind, creating a symphony of doubt and insecurity. The image of someone else occupying the space meant for him sparked a surge of possessiveness, leaving him yearning for the reassurance that you were still his. The silent house became a canvas for his anxious thoughts, and the suspense of not knowing intensified the monster within him, clouding his emotions with a turbulent mix of suspicion and anger.

Just who the fuck did you think you were, leaving like that?

He felt his jaw clench, thinking of you with someone other than him.

Every thought of someone else near you ignited a primal instinct to claim and protect what he considered his own. The mere idea of sharing your presence with another set off a storm of dominance, intensifying his need to assert his presence in your life. It was as if an invisible tether bound him to you, and the thought of anyone encroaching upon that connection stirred a fierce determination to safeguard what he considered rightfully his.

Sleep eluded him, elusive as his thoughts were ensnared in a web of restlessness. The weight of emotions, a mix of envy, dominance, and yearning, kept him tossing and turning in the dim silence of his bedroom. The shadows on the walls seemed to dance to the rhythm of his unsettled mind, casting a surreal atmosphere that mirrored the turmoil within. The bed, usually a sanctuary, became a battleground for his inner struggles. The clock's ticking echoed like a constant reminder of the sleep he desperately sought but remained just out of reach. The night stretched on, a canvas painted with the shades of his unquiet thoughts, as he wrestled with the myriad emotions that held him captive in the wake of the events that unfolded.

Awakening to the robust aroma of tea wafting into your nose, you stretched out your well-rested limbs before swinging your legs over the side of the captain's bed. The lingering remnants of the dream from the night before clouded your thoughts, creating a palpable tension in the air. As you pondered how to navigate the interaction with him, uncertainty hung like a veil. The simple act of rising from the bed felt like stepping onto uncharted territory, and the fragrant tea served as a reminder of the shared space that had witnessed the intimate contours of your dreams. The challenge ahead lay in reconciling the vivid images of the night with the reality of the morning, as you grappled with the aftermath of the subconscious journey that now lingered between you and the captain.

You approached the bedroom door, turning the handle and stepping into the hallway that led to the kitchen. The journey down the corridor felt like a deliberate exploration, each step carrying a subtle anticipation. As you entered the kitchen, a captivating sight awaited you – the captain, turned away, engrossed in some task involving the kettle. The play of muscles beneath his skin was a spectacle, every inch defined and visible, yet soft. His silhouette painted a picture of strength and concentration, a moment frozen in time that captured the essence of his physicality. The air in the kitchen seemed charged with an energy that transcended the simple act of making tea, as you silently observed, feeling both a sense of intimacy and a respectful distance in the presence of this private moment.

"Good morning, Sergeant. thought I'd get some tea ready for ya."

You listened intently, and there was a warmth in the captain's voice as he completed the tea-making ritual. Even though you couldn't see his face, the audible smile in his words painted a vivid picture. The sound carried a gentle resonance, echoing the pleasure he took in the simple act of preparing tea. It was a melody of contentment, and the timbre of his voice conveyed a subtle joy that surpassed the mundane task. As you stood there, the audible smile became a shared moment in the quiet kitchen, a connection forged through the familiar sounds of morning rituals and the understanding that lingered between you and the captain.

"Thank you, Captain. For all of this. I owe you one."

The dual impact of your words and the vivid recollection combined to color his complexion with a subtle embarrassment. It was as if the mere mention of his title held a key to unlock a realm of thoughts he hadn't anticipated sharing. The involuntary flush revealed a vulnerability, a momentary glimpse into a private mental landscape stirred by arousal that lingered beyond the confines of last night. In that fleeting blush, a complex interplay of emotions unfolded, creating a connection between now and what he had done last night that had left its mark on the captain's waking thoughts.

"You owe me nothin', dove. Hush up and drink your tea." He uttered, handing you a partially hot cup of the chamomile beverage.

"Anything planned for today?" You asked while softly blowing on your tea.

"PT, but It's going to be different today, so don't you worry about lieutenant."

His words had the exact opposite effect on you. You were most definitely worrying about Simon.

Taglist: @ttsbaby01 @waves-against-a-cliff @konigslittleliebling @imjustheretofightforlove @beebeechaos @mikimumiki @splaterparty0-0

[redheadspark]

i just saw that you’re doing the prompts again and i���m so excited ashidinekbs i love your work sm and i love when you do the prompt sessions 🫶🫣

can i get 1 with jack russell?

i think it sounds like a cute thing to write about :D

A/N - I love this for Jack! Thanks for requesting this, dear!

Destiny

Summary - Destiny met you at a bookstore

Warnings - Just some fluff

“Are you distracted?”

“What makes you say that?”

“That man has been looking at your this whole time….and you’re staring right back!”

Your eyes snapped from your best friend next to you over to the man she was speaking about, seeing his eyes immediately dart away from you and back to his book he was holding. You felt some blush on your cheeks, the heat there under your skin as you looked back briefly at the book you were reading, your best friend chuckling as she leaned against the bookshelf.

“Honestly, he’s not that bad looking.  A bit older but—“ you smacked her arm before she could finished as she laughed and you glared at her, “What?  An older men is not a bad thing,”

“And you wonder why we can’t go out in public anymore,” You said under your breath as you flipped to another page.  

“And yet this was your idea on a bright sunny Saturday.  Did I mention we should go to the beach?  Yes!  But did we?  No!  Only because you were in need of a first edition that you needed to get today,” She explained, not a once of hate or bitterness in her tone but you could still hear some of it.  You snapped the book shut, looking at her with a soft stare.

“I’m sorry,” You hummed, seeing her wave me off and shrug.

“Honestly, it’s all good.  I need a good book or read anyways instead of my reality shows.  Now, if you excuse me, I’m heading over to the Young Adult section where they have the good stuff.  Don’t be making al google eyes while I’m away!” She said to you, squeezing your shoulder before she walked off with a pip in her step.  You smiled, thinking that you had a great best friend who would be silly and yet kind at the same time.  

Opening the book again, you skimmed the book again where you left off, having a few seconds of silence in your mind.  But once again, just like before, you had the lingering feeling that someone was watching you.  

Not just someone, but the mysterious man.

Without making it too obvious, your eyes looked up once more, seeing that his eyes were once again on yours.  He was on the other side of the aisle, his own book in his hand was thick and almost looked ancient.  He saw you were staring at you, you instantly looking down and clearing your throat.  

A funny a simple gaze from across the aisle, at a simple bookstore on the corner of a busy street in a sunny afternoon, would make you feel a flutter in your chest and a lightness in your feet.  Meeting someone, not even saying a single word, should not feel as…soft and as delicate as it did with this man.  How knew if it was the mood of the bookstore, or that he looked just an engrossed with his own book as you were with your own. 

But something inside of your was telling you that you were meant to meet him.  

“Pardon me,” A voice, deep and gravely and almost hauntingly kind and beautiful.  You looked up, seeing the mystery man was now in front of you with his eyes looking right into yours.  It almost took your breath away, seeing the lightness in his orbs that seem to compliment the shade of his salt and pepper hair and the cool tone of his clothes.  You could tell he has seen plenty of things, had plenty of memories made, all from the simple gaze of his eyes.  

You said nothing, almost shocked at how he was there toe to toe with you and yet he was so calm.

“You dropped this, earlier,” He said, holding something in his hand.  You looked, seeing that it was one of your bookmarks that you brought along with you in our messenger bag.  It was a simple bookmark with a T.S. Eliot quote, worn down and bending in one corner and with a small tea stain on the other side.  You were a bit flustered smiled, gently taking the bookmark in your hand.

“Thank you,” You replied, the man grinning widely and you seeing the lightness on his face from his simple smile.  

“ ‘I have measured out my life with coffee spoons’, I like that quote,” He recited the quote on your bookmark, chuckling as he went one, “I love his poetry, better than other ones I have read,”

“Me too,” You replied as you gestured to the bookstore that you both were in, “And the quote fits the setting perfectly I think.”

“Are you looking for some more poetry?” He asked politely, gesturing to the book you were reading.

“Not this trip.  I’m into reading the classics that have been on my bucket list.  This time it’s Treasure Island,” You explained.

“Oh!  It’s a very good book, lot’s of adventure and plenty of action,” he said with enthusiasm.  You had to giggle with how he was telling you all about the book, almost excited to talk about books with another person.  He made it seem so easy, and you hardly had any friends who were just into books like you.  

“What brings you here into the bookshop?” You asked, looking down at the rather hick volume he had under his arm as you pointed carefully with your finger, “Research?”

He moved the spine out of the way before you could read it, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

“Something like that,” He replied, you nodded as you laced your hands together.

“Understandable,” You said in a soft grin.  He then looked over to the coffee shop that was across the street, gesturing to it with his own point of the finger.

“I’m Jack, Jack Russell,” He introduced himself, holding out his hand for you to shook. You did, feeling the warmth of his palm and the rough callous fingers as you connected, “Would you like to have some coffee and talk…about other classics?” He asked hesitantly.  

It felt like time froze and stood still, only the soft sounds of both of your breaths was heard in a singular moment.  

“Sure,” you replied before you could really think about it or say no.  How could you say no?  It almost felt like you two were meant to meet there on the afternoon, that you were meant to drop your bookmark that you loved and coveted, that you two had linger one for one another across the aisle.  So after you wrote a quick text to your best friend, you joined Jack for coffee and thinking about destiny took over within those few minutes.  

Destiny was a funny thing.

The End

June Summer Prompts

[hansoulo]

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

hi

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver.  “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

 “Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of  strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.  

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting.  “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

[quietmyfearswith]

tied to you ; deliveryman!august walker x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count —3,953  words

summary — in which august walker delivers grocery and somehow that delivers him straight to the love of his life

warnings —curse words, mentions of stalking, mentions of mean people, fluff??? 

pairing — august walker x fem!reader

a/n —feedback for this fic or any of my works is appreciated,, hope everyone is doing fine and staying safe ❤️

tagging —​ @iloveshawnieboi @la-cey​ @melancholyy-hill​ @beck07990​ @pedropcl​

masterlist | series masterlist | join my taglist (please follow the rules)

“Fuck’s sake why am I doing this?” August groaned out as he walked down the aisle of the dry foods section of the grocery; Benji who was filling up the cart as he checked off all the grocery list of the customer answered his rhetorical question, “Well this is what you get for going against your father’s wish of accepting the CIA position that was being offered to you.”

He hit the back of his coworker’s neck as he pushed the cart as he followed him to the dairy section of the grocery, “I didn’t mean that, idiot! I meant why am I helping you out do these groceries when my job is to deliver them.”

Enjoying the sight of a whiny hulk of man groan about how he didn’t fancy picking out salted butter. “Well what’s the difference with picking out the items to you delivering them?” Glaring at the shorter man, he grabbed the carton of eggs that was indicated on the list. “For starters, I won’t have to deal with these sticky products.”

“Lucky for you we’re done with all those four orders,” Benji marked the orders as complete on the tablet as he pushed the cart towards the delivery area. August sighed out in relief, thankful that he didn’t have to deal with the sticky product labels — preferring to deliver the goods once they were wrapped in paper bags.

As he was loading up his delivery vehicle, August was softly humming as slid one of the last few crates in the back of the van. “‘Tis the last of them, Benji?” He shut the back of the van and received a nod from his closest friend from work. “And after that you’re free to go after delivering all of these.”

Pumping his fist slightly, he eagerly made his way to the driver’s seat and sighed out loud, “Last hour, Walker,” He lightly tapped the steering wheel as he glared at the road ahead of him, “One more hour and you’re done for the day.”

Turning on the radio, he hummed along to the familiar song that he once heard back in his years of highschool. The first household he had delivered to was a decent enough household — the mother was polite though her kids were a bit of jokesters who crowded their parent for Oreos yet were disappointed to find none; luckily however their other mother arrived with their desired snacks.

An elderly man was the second customer whom he delivered too; he was kind enough to give him some of the crocheted beanies he’s been making as a way to pass time. It was a pleasant combination of the colors blue, grey, and white — reminding him of his favorite winter jacket that his father had gifted him back then. Even though the sun was shining bright while the wind danced gently as it prodded his thick skin, he put the beanie on just as he was bidding adieu to the elder — it wasn’t just for show, but it also served as a wonderful reminder of the times he spent with his father.

As he knocked on the third door of the house he was supposed to deliver to, he was taken aback when a lousy man nearly spitted on his face as he clunkily greeted him. Another thing that rubbed him of the wrong way was how he brashfully dismissed him and quickly escorted him out of his house once he brought all of his groceries in himself.

“Last one for the day, Walker,” He chanted as he parked in front of the last house he was supposed to deliver to. After setting the car in park, he looked around to take in the surroundings as he drew his eyebrows together with slightly pursed lips, “Never been around this part of the neighborhood before.”

Hopping off the van, he headed to the back of the van and grabbed two of the paper bags and headed to the front door. His pointed elbow expertly rang the doorbell and stood still as he waited for the customer to open it. Truthfully, August wasn’t sure who or what was he expecting to greet him — but it certainly wasn’t a beautiful woman who was dressed with a pair of sweats and an oversized sweater.

“Oh! My groceries,” She smiled as she took the bags out of his grip and placed them by the floor near her coat hanger; after doing so she looked up at him so gently and sincerely that it helped snap him out of his dazed state, “There’s three more bags in the van; hold on and let me go get them all.”

“Don’t be silly, let me come and help you!” As he was heading to the parked car, she trailed behind him and tried to initiate a conversation, “So sorry about having so many groceries by the way. I just moved here and well, may have bought one too many items; but I just wanted to make sure I had a full stock for things.”

Once they both were faced with the remaining grocery bags, August handed her the one that weighed the least — relishing on how soft her skin was as they briefly grazed against each other — and carried the two that were leaning on the heavier side. “Don’t apologize for that, ‘m just doing my job and making sure your groceries get to you safely.”

“Does that involve you handing me the lighter bag?” She scrunched up her nose to him — and he thought that it was the most adorable expression he has ever seen on any living thing — and he shook his head and let out a soft laugh, “No it’s not that, just don’t a pretty woman like you stressing and lifting these kind of items.”

“So is that where you come in? You come in to save me and act as my knight in shining armor?” Y/N cut him off as she guided him to the dining room, she pointed to the table after she placed the bags down, “You can set those down over there.”

He nodded as he mimicked her actions, “Well I’m not sure that’s how I want to be known by you; how about I start off being known as your friend?” Surprised with how he responded, he covered him up his surprise with a boyish smile, “I can deal with that, I am bound to meet new people anyway,” She held out her hand and offered her name to him and took his soft hand in his rougher one, “I’m August, and welcome to the neighbourhood.”

Once their hands unclasped, Y/N then cleared her throat as she smiled at him, “Can I offer you a drink? Being out and about must have tired you out.” Her concern over his well-being was touching but her statement had him bulging his eyes as he remembered how technically he still was working, “Oh shit I need to get back so Luther can take the van out for his shift!”

She giggled at his panicked state and led him out the door, “It was very nice meeting you, August.” He looked at her with gloomy eyes as he apologized, “I’m sorry to cut our conversation short; but I promise to stick around longer next time.”

“Guess that means I’m gonna have to order something again next week huh?” Was her cheeky reply to him as she waved him off one final time.

“Benji! We can see the customer’s name once they place in an order, right?”

Pausing his movements halfway through his drinking of the hot chocolate he prepared, Benji suspiciously raised an eyebrow at his coworker, “Yeah we do; why’d you ask? You gonna stalk one of our customers?” His genuine concern of what his friend’s intentions were masked behind a nervous chuckle; but he was astonished to see faint traces of a blush appear on his cheek.

“Nothing like that, you moron!” August was quick to defend himself as he grabbed the tablet that was on the break table and scrolled through the application of the grocery store they were working for — each grocer had been assigned a certain amount of customers and from there they will be fulfilling their orders . His eyes lit up when he saw her name included in the list who ordered; he looked up at the top right of the screen, “Break’s over, Benj, let’s get back to work.”

As Benji threw the cup he drank on earlier in the trash as he craned his neck at his friend, “Why are you heading over to the aisles? Luther came in today and he’ll help me out with the grocery picking.”

“Let Luther pair up with Etahn, then we both can go together,” Came August’s reply as he carried the tablet on his way out of the break room. Holding a hand in his broad chest to stop him from coming out as Benji looked at him suspiciously, “What is up with you? Last week you were bitching about how you hated picking up peppers and now you're as giddy as Jack and Jill before they fell down after getting their water.”

Huffing out loud at his friend who wouldn’t budge and accept his mumbling response; with a sigh, August then had no choice but to vaguely share his encounter with a customer, “I met a girl the previous week as I was delivering groceries, and I saw her name in the list,” He gestured with his hands to try and divert the attention from his blundering state, “Just wanna make sure her groceries are filled up correctly.”

Rarely seeing his friend smile and be all giddy, he decided to tease him as they both carried on with their duty of picking out the products, “Look at the big bad wolf becoming such a softie for his crush huh? Who knew a girl was all it takes to get you to smile!”

Despite shooting daggers in Benji’s back as he picked up a bag of spinach, he was internally agreeing with what he said. After picking up everything that was on the list for their customers, August decided to pick up a bunch of fresh flowers for Y/N — he paid for it of course, it would be a dick move on his part if he were to charge it on her for it would thus spoil his surprise.

Similar to the last time, he decided to deliver to Y/N’s house last — in hopes that would grant him more time to bond with her. As he carried two bags while he rang her doorbell, he nervously shifted his weight between the heels and toes of his feet; but his nervousness eased away once the door opened to reveal her smiling face, “Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

A wink accompanied her greeting as she removed her arm from the doorway, “These all the bags for today?” She immediately took the two bags that her arms were on his bulging ones; he held up a finger, “There’s one more! Can I bring it inside?”

She nodded as she tilted her head towards the kitchen, “I’ll leave the door open and you can head inside okay?” Nodding to her, he skipped over to the van to grab the last bag containing her groceries while the other hand carried the bouquet of sunflowers he picked out for her. Idiot, what if she’s allergic to flowers? He scolded himself as he entered through her front door.

As he entered inside her home once again, seeing her move around her kitchen as she began to organize her produce in their proper cupboards when he nervously declared his arrival, “Hey, here’s the last batch of your orders,” He slid the the bags on the dining table then held out the arrangement of the flowers to her surprised face, “And these are for you, lovely.”

Grabbing it from him, she smiled at him as she teased him, “Does this come with an extra charge?” Laughing at her antics, he tickled her sides and shook his head, “No mam! This one’s on the house.”

“Well thank you so much! Sunflowers are a beautiful symbol for hope,” Placing the flowers by the sink, she grabbed for the vase her next door neighbour gifted her with when she first moved in, “Any particular reason why you gave me flowers? Hope I didn’t miss the memo for any important event.”

Something about seeing her place the flowers delicately in the vase and fill it up with water filled his chest with joy; once again she shook his head, “No particular reason, just felt like giving a pretty girl something pretty too.”

“What a flirt you are!” She lightly hit his arm after placing the vase in the center of her table, “By the way, can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m good,” August assured her as he began helping her unpack the items she had ordered; unfortunately for him, the bag he was emptying was filled with hygiene and feminine products she ordered. Noticing what products he was left with, she quickly shoved the vegetable on the fridge as she came to him and removed the items from his hold, “Oh no no, don’t worry about those. I can clean those up.”

Opening his mouth to retort, he was about to assure that it wasn’t in any means awkward for him but she was already walking away with that bag and placing it in her bathroom, “Is this standard procedure by the way? Delivery drivers come into houses to help keep the groceries?”

“No it isn’t actually,” He shouted out so she could hear him even if they weren’t in the same area, “I only do so for the customers I wish to get to know you better.”

Coming back from the bathroom she then squinted her eyes at him as she crossed her arms while leaning against the doorframe, “And what am I? The fifth customer you’ve been intrigued with?” Walking to her with a smirk as he bopped her nose, “Luckily for me, you’re the first and I’m hoping you’ll be the last one too.”

Feeling her heart speed up at what he said paired with the sincere look he had on his face. Wanting to test the waters with how comfortable she was around him, “May I?” A hand gently hovered near her cheek; when granted the consent through a gentle nod, his palm lifted her chin gently as his thumb gently smoothed over the skin of her cheek lovingly. Smiling at each other, they silently took in each other’s beautiful features. As they were inching closer, their lips almost touching, until they were interrupted by the ringing of August’s phone.

Biting his lip as he groaned out and fished his phone out from his pocket as he muttered a quick apology to her as he checked the screen of his device, “I’m sorry about this, lovely. I have to go back to the grocery — they need me back there.”

Despite being disappointed with how he had to leave, she understandingly nodded and smiled at him, “Maybe next time try reaching out to me outside of your working hours?”

“I will, I promise,” He kissed her cheek and winked at her one last time before waving goodbye to her, “See you soon, lovely.”

She didn’t place an order for the following week — at first he thought that perhaps she did order, but not during his shift or perhaps while he was having his day off — but according to Benji who had access to seeing the entire history of orders, she didn’t place an order.

“Maybe she got sick of your face,” Benji teased as he placed the bag of spinach on the cart that the larger man was pushing down the aisle. “Way to help my self-confidence, Benji,” He grunted out as he got the bag of tomatoes that his coworker pointed out that was needed by their customer.

“I’m just worried that maybe something bad happened to her?” The thought had him worried and his friend didn’t read the memo that maybe he needed an uplifting message and not to contribute to his downward spiral of worry, “Well it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it right, Walker?”

He was almost gonna shove him off when Benji held up his hands and clarified what he meant, “You know her address, so what’s stopping you from dropping by her place to check if she’s doing well?” That made him pause for a bit, that thought never crossed his mind — but now that his coworker brought it up, he feared that it might come off as rude and stalker-ish.

“Wouldn’t she think of me as a creep just for knocking on her door?” His hands were starting to feel clammy as he pushed the grocery cart and began to list out the different ways his suggestion could go wrong; but all his friend could really have to say with a shrug was, “Guess there’s only way to find that out then, right?”

Standing in front of her front door, he was now cursing out at himself for following Benji’s advice. Wedged between his right underarm were the stems of the another bouquet of sunflowers he picked out for her while his left arm carried a paper bag-filled of chocolates, chips, and some cookies. If he recalled correctly, the items he briefly got to unpack for her were filled of feminine products that were useful for one had their period.

After ringing the doorbell, the door opened a few seconds to reveal Y/N who had messy hair and a tank top and a pair of sweatshorts, “Oh, August! Hi, how are you?” At the end of her greeting, her face wrinkled up in pain as she clutched her stomach, “I’m doing fine but I take it you’re not doing well?”

She nodded and frowned, “I’m sorry but it’s just been a rough few days; I don’t think now is a good time to have guests, I really am sorry.” Having a guest — despite the current one she has was someone whom she wanted to get to know better — while she was going through shark week might turn out for the worse due to her hormones and mood swings getting in the way of her interacting with them.

“Not to sound creepy or anything,” He said but thought that that’s how must come off as he continued, “But I figured that you might be going through something since I got a quick glimpse of your groceries the last time you ordered, so I hoped to bring you comfort with some flowers,” He handed her the fresh bouquet with a nervous grin, “And some comfort food,” He gestured to the paper bag and handed it over to her.

When she took the bag from him, she snuck a peek to see that it contained her favorite snacks and smiled warmly at him, “August, this is so adorable, thank you! Would you want to come in?” Stepping aside when he nodded yes, he smiled at her and closed the door behind him. “Wanna help me pig out everything you’ve given me?”

Following her to the couch, he laughed as they both sat down; opening the package of her favorite chocolate, she then turned to him, “Wait, are you working right now?”

“Nope,” He popped the sound of the letter p as he shrugged off his jacket and placed it on top of the arm of the couch, “I decided to drop by your place, and this time not during my shift, and see if you wanted some company?”

“Oh? And what would happen if I said no to you?” She grinned at him as she took another bite of the chocolate bar, “Then I’d be extremely disappointed but understand why — some of us just need space.”

Though understanding was practically the bare minimum, she had to give it to him for not being a dick. “You’re something else you know?” She said after swallowing down the tasty chocolate, “Charming and just the right kind of mysterious, I like it.”

“To be honest, I was hoping you would be soon liking me.”

Smiling wide at his admission, she then trailed her fingers along her hand, “And incredibly straightforward too; see you are just full of surprises huh?” They both laughed and he felt himself let loose and enjoyed how they both were bonding.

“It might be the wrong time, but maybe I can take you out on a date sometime?” That question could make or break it for what their relationship would entail, but he decided to stand by it.

“Instead of going out sometime, how ‘bout we have one right now?” She suggested, “You already brought some snacks, we can order in and watch some movies or shows too if you’d like?”

Unfortunately for him he could feel his cheeks redden, “And aren’t you a bold one too? And yes, I would love that idea.”

They then ordered food through a delivery app and decided to start an action movie; and wanting for some sort of comfort, she then moved to lean on August’s arm not before asking, “May I?” Nodding, he then draped an arm over her shoulders which allowed her to lay the side of her head across his chest.

Feeling the heat radiating off of him somehow reduced the discomfort she was feeling whereas August loved the feel of her skin against his, “I’m sorry this is how our first date goes,” She spoke suddenly when she looked up to him and smiled, “Hopefully you’ll warrant me worthy enough for a second one?”

Chuckling to himself, he shook his head, “You have no idea just how whipped I am for you huh?” Bopping his nose with her finger, he then answered her, “I think that maybe you can guarantee one by, I don’t know,” He shrugs his shoulders as he pretends to think for a few seconds, “Perhaps a kiss? Only if you’re fine with it though.”

“That simple?” Came her immediate response as she moved to sit on his lap, with her hands rubbing his stumbled cheeks. Leaning over to him, she smiled as she connected her lips with his; his hands pulled her closer to his body by dragging her by the hips. Their opened mouths became the venue for their intermingling tongues. Hands were clawing and feeling out every inch of them that they could reach.

Biting his bottom lip, she broke away from the intense kiss with a smirk, “Will that give me a second date with you, August?” The way she batted her eyelashes at him sweetly contradicted the way she sultrily said it and made him chuckle as he winked, “Even without the kiss, I was gonna give you another shot anyway.”

The doorbell once again rang and Y/N stood up and told her she was gonna go get the food; when she walked back to the living area with their food in hand, she handed August his order while she began eating hers, “We kinda did the whole thing backwards huh?” The grocery store worker then tilted his head to the side as he was curious with what she meant which prompted her to explain, “We made out first before having dinner and watching a movie!”

“Maybe so,” He said after swallowing down a portion of his meal, “But I’m not complaining since all of these led me to being with you.”

[lilbabycee]

honeypot // bucky barnes

↳ summary: you and bucky’s relationship is unhealthy and you both know it, though that doesn’t stop either of you from craving more

↳ relationship: bucky barnes x reader

↳ word count: 5.3k 

↳ warnings: very light explicit smut, angst angst angst, mutual pining, lots and lots of swearing, some humor, some very mild mentions of blood/gore and murder, mentions of alcohol, and some fluff too

↳ author’s note: me? writing bucky?? this was written for @anika-ann ‘s 500 celebration challenge - sorry this took so long but congratulations! the prompt is highlighted in bold; enjoy my loves! x

You’re the jewel in the crown of the party, all supple skin and pretty lips with diamonds around your throat and crystals in your eyes. It’s hard to ignore the way that you sparkle and shine underneath the soft lights of the ballroom, long eyelashes brushing your skin and even longer nails smoothing down the invisible creases on your dress. You revel in the way that all of these pairs of eyes drink you in faster than the way they swallow their champagne, delicate flutes of liquid gold passed around carelessly between millionaires and moguls who let nectarous bubbles and tangy aftertastes cloud their conscience.

But yours is clear; you can’t keep your mind off the way that the pale golden satin of your dress falls against your soft skin, thin Swarovski-studded spaghetti straps holding up the steep cowl neck of the expensive fabric that’s been paid for entirely by Tony. The material clings to every dip and curve of your body - before you left, Sam, with a mischievous grin on his face, made sure to whisper in your ear that it looks like a very expensive hug and that made the bells of your laughter ring throughout the compound. It brushes the floor ever so slightly as you float through swathes of people, carefully running your eyes across their alcohol-induced grins all while a dazzling smile of your own is plastered to your face. 

“Alright, babycakes,” Tony’s voice sounds through the comms in your ear and the corners of your glossed lips quirk up into a small smile. “Everything set?”

“All good here, Tones,” you reply discreetly, lips moving almost indistinguishably as you flutter your eyelashes at a curiously familiar passerby, his salt and pepper hair pushed away from what is admittedly a very handsome face. Eyes greener than freshly cut apples give you a thorough once over and you hide your smirk behind a sip of rosé when you feel the heat of his gaze linger on your cleavage and the curve of your ass. You brush past him carefully, slow enough for him to be able to catch a whiff of peach and patchouli, and you don’t even have to look back to know that he’s turned his head to watch your hips sway back and forth as you walk away from him.

“Bucky, are you in position?” Steve asks the same moment that you meet his baby blues from across the room, and you have to take a beat to appreciate the way that his perfectly pressed black tux frames his body. The thickness of his facial hair has been shaved, exposing the defined lines of his jaw and the softness of his skin. His blonde locks have been cropped close to his head, and you can’t believe that this is the same long-haired, bearded man that you went to watch Hamilton with last week. When he notices the way that you’re staring at him, your best friend grins bashfully, a rosy wash coloring his milky skin. 

A trail of fire burns your spine and you have to bite your lip to prevent your face from splitting in half, feeling a wash of green settle on your skin and seep through your pores. You glance over your shoulder demurely, looking away shyly when you meet the eyes of your admirer. He wets his bottom lip as he regards you, tipping his glass to you ever so slightly in a silent greeting and you return the gesture happily, ignoring the way that Steve’s eyebrow has arched in amusement out of the corner of your eye. 

“Bucky? You in position?” Tony asks this time, confusion lacing the tone of his voice.

And that’s when you feel it: a flood of icy blue creeping up on you from behind that almost knocks you off of your feet, a wave so strong that it shakes your entire body. The cold ocean air is so salty that you have to gulp down some champagne to chase away the briny taste that fills your mouth. You’d like to think that it’s Steve, watching your back for any potential danger but you know better. This feeling is reserved for one man alone: an intense gaze framed by sooty lashes that sweep his cheeks, a hard jaw squared at the sight of your dress brushing the bare skin of your thigh as you prepare to sidle up to a stranger, a stranger that should be him. 

Or at least he thinks so. Your relationship with Bucky has been difficult to put it kindly, but tumultuous to put it plainly. You could not for the life of you understand why he was so cold towards you from the moment you stepped foot in the Compound, especially since his best friend, the human embodiment of a ray of goddamn sunshine, had warmed up to you so quickly. You’d tried to be nice time and time again only to see your metaphorical olive branch get snapped in half by the strong vibranium of his arm and the steel in his eyes. 

Once, because it had been bothering you so much, you asked Steve why his best friend hated you so much to which he frowned and then barked out a laugh. 

“He doesn’t hate you, doll,” he let you know. “Actually, it’s quite the opposite.”

And that same day, you’d knocked on the door to Bucky’s apartment and when he’d opened it shirtless and scowling, you took the risk and captured his lips with yours. To this day, the shock on his face is ingrained in your memory, as is the way he took you apart on his kitchen counter only to never put you back together again, forcing you to constantly come back to him in hopes that one day, he will.

He hasn’t yet. Instead, every time he kicks you out of his room after he undoes the strings that hold your body together, you feel more broken than before and then promise yourself that you won’t come back to him seeking some kind of twisted validation: that you will build yourself back up. You’re usually okay for a few days, able to avoid him by slipping through unused hallways or taking the stairs rather than the elevator. But then you’ll see him, golden skin slick with sweat and those pretty eyes stuck on you and you’ve fallen right back into the trap he sets up for you over and over again. 

You compared him to a drug once. Steve didn’t like that. 

He’s seen enough tears roll down your cheeks to know that Bucky’s not good for you but what he refrains to tell you is that you’re not good for him either. Bucky is complicated and while you tell him over and over again that you understand that, Steve doesn’t think that you do. You haven’t seen him hit rock bottom in the middle of the night, silently crying and fighting sleep because he doesn’t want to wake up in the morning. You don’t notice the way that he flinches ever so slightly when someone sets off fireworks outside - Steve has banned them from his birthday entirely but there’s always someone. And he knows that you sure as hell don’t realize how hard Bucky stares at you whenever you walk into a room, nor how quickly his head turns when your name is mentioned. 

But he can’t fault you. Bucky doesn’t let you see him like that.

Every fiber in his body cares so deeply about what you think of him because you’re everything that he’s ever wanted. You make the hard days easier and his dark days, though plentiful, that much brighter and it’s intoxicating and you’re so beautiful. You’re so goddamn beautiful that he blinks extra hard whenever you show some skin and has to steady his breathing every single time he sees your fucking face, and he knows he shouldn’t keep punishing himself by letting you get so close but he can’t help it. He once compared you to a drug because he doesn’t know how on earth he’s supposed to give up the love that threatens to knock him over the minute he thinks about you.

Steve didn’t like that. 

And so here you stand, your spine straightening forcibly at the feeling of his gaze on you as you twirl your drink in your glass like you don’t feel it. Steve’s more than aware, eyes boring a hole through your head, but you studiously ignore him and take a sip to distract yourself. You don’t want to think about him because right now; you have a job to do and you cannot risk being distracted by a man who doesn’t even love you back. 

“Buck?”

That’s Steve, making sure that his best friend isn’t dead but he knows that he isn’t because he can hear his breathing. It’s heavy and labored as if somebody is sitting on his chest and Steve knows that it’s because his blunt nails are digging into the flesh of his palms. The subtle grinding of his teeth is audible and Steve wants so badly to tell him to stop purely on an impulsive level, but he bites his tongue because he doesn’t know if anyone else can hear it.

“M’here,” Bucky forces out between gritted teeth before sighing softly. Steve can almost feel him relax his entire face through the comms and sighs right along with him. “I’ve got eyes on the honeypot.” 

“Okay?” Tony draws out the word, obviously bewildered from the interaction that’s just gone down. “Sweetcheeks, are you ready?”

The breath in your lungs leaves your body all at once as you refocus your eyes on the green-eyed fifty-something-year-old who is currently scanning the room, obviously searching for something. When your gazes lock, his lips spread to reveal a set of too-white veneers that almost blind you from where you’re standing but tactfully, you smile coyly and sashay towards the flight of stairs. As your heels click steadily against the marble, you hear measured footsteps about five stairs behind you. You allow a smirk to curve onto your face because you’ve got him and you know it.

“Doll,” that’s Steve through your earpiece, “remember to stand by the window.”

You nod, knowing that he can see you and is actively watching you from downstairs. 

“Good luck, lovebug,” Tony encourages you. “Also, please be fast. I’d like to get home-”

“Shut up, Tony.”

“Steve!” he gasps dramatically and you roll your eyes, tuning out the impending argument that you know you’ll have on your hands if you continue to listen to these children bicker.

You’ve made it to the top, putting some extra sway into the movement of your hips and turn a corner down a hallway lined by classic art and a series of ornate sconces that provide a dim, warm light that makes you glimmer like a goddess as you strut towards the dead end of the corridor, towards a huge curved window that you recognize from the pictures that you were given yesterday. 

Sighing, you lean your hands on the windowsill as you hear his footsteps get progressively louder behind you. You didn’t anticipate the rain when you were making this plan, but you think it’s more than fitting to match your mood. While it’s true that you’re stunning and look the part tonight, you sure as hell don’t feel it. Your soul, usually vibrant and colorful in golds and reds, has dimmed into dark greys and blues, the cold hands of despondency choking the life out of you each passing day. 

It’s tiring to have someone consume your thoughts like this every waking second of every single day but you’re around him all the time and you’re sure that even if you weren’t, he’d still occupy so much space in your mind. You want so badly to break down the walls that he’s built so high around himself but it’s hard when you can walk past him on any given day and he can act like he doesn’t even know you who are, especially when the night before he confessed his love to you with your hands tied above your head while his hips slam into yours. 

It’s fine, though. You’ve made it clear how you feel and when you did, he looked you dead in the eye and told you to get the fuck out of his room. That one hurt the most. It took a while for you be okay with that, Steve and Nat and Wanda talking you through it and you had resolutely decided that it was the last time you’d go back to him because you’d never felt pain like that before in your life: a supernova inside of your chest that killed all of the surrounding stars that were beacons of hope in a sea of darkness. 

You were back in his bed two nights later.

But when he’d insisted on holding you for a beat like he always does after he’s done using you, you refused, gathering your clothes and walking back to your room with your head held high and without a backward glance. Granted, you’d cried afterward but that didn’t matter. You’d done it, taken the steps to free yourself emotionally from the clutches of a man who is too complacent and inconsiderate to care about anything, even himself.

What you didn’t know though is that as the door slammed behind you, Bucky let a few tears roll down his cheeks, too shocked to wipe them away because his worst nightmare ultimately came true. You finally realized that you were too good for him and everything that he has to offer you pales in comparison to what anyone else can provide. And you deserve it all, the entire world and he would steal the moon and all the stars in the sky for you if it meant that you would spare him another glance.

That was two weeks ago.

And when Tony, completely oblivious to your situation, had summoned Steve, Bucky, and yourself to the briefing room for a mission, you’d contemplated begging Dr. Cho to fake a way out for you but eventually decided against it. You’ve done enough running away and you’re determined to show Bucky that he no longer has that effect on you. 

Bucky, on the other hand, was mortified but a part of him was more than eager to spend some more time with the person he loves so deeply. It would be an opportunity to work closely alongside you and hopefully rekindle what was so abruptly lost. That is until he realized that Tony planned to use you as a honeypot; then, it was an incensed rage that gave way to crippling jealousy masked by a poker face. 

And as he stares at the way you look longingly at the stormy night sky with glassy eyes, he can’t help the sad smile that grows on his face because you can’t be real: you’re magnificent and headstrong and compassionate and you were all his until you weren’t.

“I’m in position,” you say under your breath, tongue running over your glossy lips and Bucky’s breath hitches inaudibly at the sight, remembering how those soft lips felt on his and then how they felt wrapped around his length.

“I see you,” he replies with a tremor in his voice that he swallows because he means it: he sees you - he finally sees you and until this moment, he hadn’t because he was too afraid to. 

Your eyelids slide shut at the sound of his deep tone because you still love him and you think you always will. But that thought is automatically thrown out of your head when you feel a warm hand fall on your waist, though a part of you wishes that it was colder and made out of vibranium. You shake your head to regain your composure and keep yourself focused on the task at hand. His body presses itself into your back and as he not so subtly pushes his crotch into the curve of your behind, you want to gag so badly but refrain because you have a job to do.

“Beautiful night, huh?” his lips lower to your ear as his other hand joins the first, slightly lower and curving down to rest on your stomach. 

“I think so,” you say confidently, reveling in the sound of the rolling thunder and the brief flash of lightning that glows from within the clouds, thinking fondly of a certain blonde-haired god who still owes you a bottle of mead. 

“Almost as beautiful as you,” his reply is smooth and you laugh despite yourself, knowing that you’ve got him as he traces up the column of your neck with a thick finger. You lean your head to the side to provide him better access as his lips gently touch your sensitive skin, kissing a trail down to your exposed shoulder as he slides the strap of your dress down. A light sigh leaves your mouth and you turn around slowly to meet the breathtaking verdant of his eyes.

“What’s your name, honey?”

He runs his nose along the line of your jaw and you sigh again, running your hands along his shoulders so they link around his neck and your fingers play with the hair at his nape as you spin him so that his back is to the window. You could bother with formalities but you already know who he is so you push him down so that his lips can connect with yours. 

Admittedly, he’s a good kisser but you can’t help but think about a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed supersoldier and how he used to hold you differently: gentler, sometimes like he was afraid that you would shatter right before his eyes. Your target’s tongue slips into your mouth and you moan loudly, playing up your pleasure as he gropes at your ass and breasts like an animal.

“Bucky, do you have eyes on Y/N?”

There’s silence over the comms other than a grunt and Steve wants to roll his eyes but he feels for his best friend, knowing that you’re in the process of seducing one of HYDRA’s highest-ranking members, so he allows it. 

As the man releases your lips from his, you can feel his dick press against your hip as he rucks your dress up, sliding his hand inside the slit that goes up to your leg to grab your bare ass. You gasp and he pulls you further into him, your chest heaving as he plays with the pretty lace of your panties.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot,” he heaves, hands grabbing blindly for the zipper on the back of your dress. You want so badly to roll your eyes because as handsome as he is, he’s evidently very desperate and a little sloppy, definitely too trusting as well. You vaguely wonder when Bucky’s going to take his shot from his sniper position on the roof of the adjacent building but are distracted by clumsy fingers stroking at your core. 

“Such a slut,” he moans and you cringe, not letting him move his hand any further to the side because then he’ll feel the knife discreetly strapped to your thigh and most likely start asking questions that he has no business knowing the answers to. You grin up at him and lean back in for another kiss, hoping that Bucky takes action soon so that you don’t have to spend any more unnecessary time with him.

But then he chokes and your eyes draw together in confusion until they zero in on the clean bullet hole in his forehead. You stop yourself from squealing as a river of blood pours out of his mouth and you jump back quickly as he collapses onto his knees, the life already completely drained out of his eyes as his dead body hits the floor.

Now you’re on edge, the hairs on your arms standing up as tension ripples through your spine. You’d done what you were told, pushed him up against the window so that he was leaning on it and Bucky would have an easy, clean target. You weren’t aware that this man had any other enemies - the briefing should’ve covered that - and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears at the thought that your final moments might be right now.

But he was obviously shot from the front, so his murderer is standing behind you and, for some reason, hasn’t shot you too - yet.

Tired of waiting, you snatch your knife from your thigh holster and get ready to attack, turning on your heel and then promptly stopping in your tracks when you see who the culprit is.

“Bucky, what the fuck?!” 

You throw your hands up in exasperation, ignoring how your pussy clenches at the sight of him clad in all-black tactical gear that hugs every muscle on his hard body, his hair loose around his face as a feral look glazes over his pretty eyes. He blinks slowly and deliberately at you, eyelashes kissing his cheekbones the way that you want to, and your breath hitches when you feel those same white-hot blue flames that light your entire body ablaze. 

The way that he growls makes you shiver but you play it off because he’s risking the entire operation for what?

Bucky stalks towards you predatorily, his eyes stormy and shoulders squared as he clenches his jaw. You open your mouth to give him a piece of your mind again until a gloved hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressing on your pulse as he narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head to the side condescendingly. When he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth and with none of the patience of his golden-haired counterpart.

“If my primary objective wasn’t to protect you, I’d kill you.”

“Me?” you snort disbelievingly because who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? “You weren’t protecting shit, Bucky - and I should kill you because what the shit were you thinking leaving your post and strutting up in here like you’re big and bad? Give me a fucking break - you jeopardized this entire goddamn operation-”

“Don’t speak to me like that or I can guarantee you that you’re gonna regret it.”

“Oh, come on!” you groan, the tip of your nose touching his ever so slightly. All of those strong feelings of longing and adoration you were feeling for this man have been thrown out the window as you continue to spew expletives in your sudden fit of emotion. “You’re such an asshole! I had this one, Bucky, I fucking had him! And what, you decided to screw me over because-”

“You were getting too close-”

“Eat my fucking ass, Bucky,” you sneer nastily, staring dead in his eyes as an unbridled rage consumes you. “That is such horseshit and you know it. I’m a fucking honeypot, for god’s sake! I cannot believe that your ego is too fucking big for you to realize that you’re not the only one who can do a fucking job-”

“Shut up,” Bucky orders, tightening his grip so that his fingers dig into your skin - it doesn’t hurt but you’re not done.

“Fuck off,” you hiss, quieter now because you realize that screaming down a hallway with such high ceilings will more than likely blow your cover. “You ruin every single thing I ever do because you hate me for a reason that, by the way, is still entirely unknown to me-”

“Y/N, shut your fucking mouth-”

“I mean, where do you get off-?”

“He’s fucking dead, isn’t he?” Bucky interrupts, face turning red as a result of your heated interaction and he gestures wildly to the corpse bleeding out on the floor. Your chest heaves angrily because you still have more to say to him and you’ve never been so infuriated in your life.

“Yeah, but at what cost, Bucky? Huh? When you decided to fuck up the plan, did you seriously take a moment to think about the consequences of someone seeing you? You came in here presumably from the roof dressed like that and you expect nobody to have noticed? This is the most reckless thing-”

“Can you forget about the mission for just one second-?”

“Why should I? That’s why we’re here-”

“It’s not about the goddamn mission, Y/N,” he breathes, your lips only inches away from each other as he shakes his head, thumb stroking the skin of your neck so tenderly that you furrow your brow in confusion.

“Then what is it about, Bucky?” you respond, still annoyed but now blinking curiously at him when he closes his eyes and throws his head back in frustration. “Because if it’s not about that then-”

“I didn’t like the way he was touching you,” he blurts out, eyes glued to the carpet behind you where your target’s blood is staining the rug. “S’that what you wanted to hear?”

“Oh.”

It’s all you can say but your smaller hand comes up to grip the wrist of the hand that is still attached to your throat. You told yourself that you wouldn’t fall for this again yet here you are, blatantly back on your bullshit and you have to shake your head a little to clear your thoughts.

“You have no right,” you whisper, not moving your hand but leaning in just a little so that your lips are only a breath away from his.

“I know,” is all he says before leaning in and holding you hostage with his lips and the lightning outside flashes just as your eyes flutter closed, your heart rate spiking when he sighs into your mouth, giving back all the breath he stole out of your lungs when you met him for the first time all those months ago. He caresses the softness of your mouth with the roughness of his slightly chapped lips, the contrast making you tighten your grip on his hand. 

You’ve always thought it was incredible how easily he could tear you apart with just a kiss, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips, asking for permission before you open your mouth to his. The moment he licks into your mouth, his other hand travels lower than your waist to grab the flesh of your ass, pushing you into him so that he doesn’t know where you end and where he begins. The two of you are acutely aware of how right this feels, how safe you feel in each other’s arms even while a man bleeds out of the floor behind you. 

When Bucky finally lets you up to breathe, he presses another kiss to your jaw and nuzzles your cheek with his nose affectionately, almost like he can’t help it. When his teeth catch on your earlobe, he leans in further to whisper in your ear.

“You’re so beautiful, baby, m’sorry. Didn’t mean to push you away.”

“S’okay.”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you forgive him, but you know these past few weeks have been torture for the both of you. Your heart takes flight and the smile that spreads on your face is filled with pure glee, his hand curving around to cup the back of your neck and pull his lips back to yours when a cough sounds from the other end of the hallway. Bucky instinctively pushes you slightly behind him to shield your body with his, pulling out his twin TEC-9’s from the holsters on his sides and pointing them at-

Steve and Tony.

“Okay, sugar cookie,” Tony slow claps, making his way to stand in front of the two of you while Steve hangs back a few steps behind him with a mildly amused look on his face. “Care to tell me why your little boyfriend over there messed up the entire plan?”

“He’s not-”

“I don’t wanna hear it, honeybear,” he scolds you but you can’t take him seriously with all of his corny little nicknames. “You guys really screwed the pooch here.”

“Where even is- oh,” Steve looks for the body before seeing the target face up and eyes open on the ground over Bucky’s shoulder. “Well, okay. At least we got him-”

“We probably shouldn’t have killed him though,” Tony muses, walking over to toe at his corpse casually, hands in his pockets as he nudges his arm with the tip of his five-figure dress shoes. “That’s okay - it was our last resort but I guess that works too. Did you at least get the flash drive?”

‘Uh…” you trail off, looking away guiltily because you got completely sidelined by the man in front of you who smells so good - like pine and musk and something distinctly Bucky - maybe mint but something a little more bitter. 

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” Tony points at you and gives you a look, bending down to retrieve the memory stick from the pocket of the dead man on the floor. “What is this, amateur hour? Anyway, I’m bored, let’s go home. Buttercup, you can tell me all about it on the way back. I need a nap.”

And with that, he takes off, disappearing around the corner and you make eye contact with Steve nervously, worried that he’s going to reprimand you but instead, he just smiles softly. 

“I’ll get the body,” he nods at the two of you. “You guys can head out.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” you kiss him on the cheek and Bucky claps him on the shoulder gratefully, grabbing your hand as you walk shoulder to shoulder after Tony. 

“I meant what I said back there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I really am sorry, doll,” he lets you know, stopping in front of the French doors that lead to the balcony. “I’ve been a real ass about all this. You were right to yell at me and I know I shouldn’t have gotten so mad but… I just- I didn’t know what to do. He was touchin’ on you the way I want to be and it was just hard to watch and- I- shit, I mean- I love you, darlin’, I really do mean that.”

Your eyes start to water because this is all you’ve wanted from him for the past however long you’ve been dancing around your feelings for each other.

“You really hurt me, Buck,” you say, hand cupping his cheek as your eyes dart between his. “I- things aren’t just gonna magically going to go back to how they were before.”

“I know,” he inhales deeply, “and I deserve that.”

“How about we start slow?

His eyebrows draw together and he purses his lips.

“What did you have in mind?”

“You could start by taking me on a date,” the corners of your lips threaten a smile and Bucky nods enthusiastically, kissing your palm. 

“Sounds good to me.”

You can’t help it anymore and throw your arms around his neck, pulling his face to yours and basking in the heat of his mouth on yours, passion and desire running through your veins and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. 

The thunder booms outside and makes you jump a little, breaking your kiss, and Bucky tugs you into his chest before lifting you off your feet, your legs around his thick waist and his even thicker arms supporting you from the backs of your thighs. You giggle happily, drunk on love and euphoria.

“Maybe Thor’ll have to join us,” Bucky jokes, watching another bolt of lightning shoot through the sky. “He doesn’t seem too happy.”

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p’, burying your face in his shoulder. “I’m all yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“...God, I’m gonna fuck you so hard when we get home-”

“Bucky!”

--

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[1zashreena1]

Wedding Planning -15

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  Princess came home to a whole new set of anxieties. Murder Panther to the rescue via the restorative powers of dick. Unlike the dick, this one is short and sweet.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Come eating, the L word, criminal activities glossed over, relationship building, plus size woman+fit man, Anxiety, wedding planning comes with its own warning

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​ ​ @symbiont13​​ ​ @nicke0115​​ ​​ @bunnykjm​​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​​ ​ @girlpornparadise​​ ​ @mandoplease​​ ​ @heresathreebee​​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​ ​ @jetiikad​​ ​ @joalsglasses​​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​ ​ @demoncatstone​​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​ ​ @poeedamerons​​ ​ @xxidontwikeitxx​  @kid-from-new-zealand​ @fleurfatale89​ @allalngthewtchtower​

You have to make some decisions. Like, a bunch.

Okay, make a list. 

You pull the big legal notepad off the bookshelf in your living room and meander around until you find your colored pens. Red for immediate, orange for middling, and green for long-term.

Parameters set, you begin The Listing.

It takes a couple of days, but you think you finally have everything accounted for that you can possibly imagine.

The long term column has vague, nebulous, theoretical problems written in dark green:

-Where will you live?

-Keep your job???

-TAKE HIS NAME?????????

-CONVINCE HIM TO RETIRE

Intermediate consists of things you two need to discuss, too:

-Ceremony?

     Where 

     What type

     Who invited

     When

-Honeymoon?

-Colors?

-Food (yum/lots plz)

-Flowers  eww no ->Alternative bouquet 

-People in ceremony???

And then things that need answered like, next week:

-MEET FAMILIES (panic)

-A Dress?

-??????? omg help

You're going to give yourself a panic attack if you keep looking at it. I'll just take it with me this weekend and hand the immediate section to him.

You feel a little better with a plan, even if it only consists of two steps.

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

 Diego is standing in the kitchen glaring at the espresso machine when Bastian drops you off at the penthouse.

You glance around, no Julio to be found, before you head over to him. Diego's left hand shoots out and he wiggles fingers at you, trying to grab you despite the twenty foot gap between your bodies. You snort, but its still adorable. 

Slotting in underneath his arm, you wind around him with a sigh. "Hi, baby. Whatcha doing?"

Brown eyes come down to you and he smiles widely. "Its not working. How was your trip?" His forehead descends and you rise on tiptoes to meet him. 

"Better now that I'm here." You whisper as your lips curl up in a pleased grin. Diego rubs his nose with yours before swooping down for a kiss. The goatee has gotten long enough that its now soft on your chin, but still tickly. Combined with his velvet lips and hot tongue, you almost experience sensory overload. High pitched noises escape your throat while you melt against him. Diego takes your weight with no effort and you don't hesitate to let him. When he finally pulls back you just have to chase him a little; you really, really like the facial hair.

When you finally slit eyes open he is grinning down at you like a cat that got the canary. He sounds so smug, "I should grow out the entire beard?" 

You lick your lips and consider the salt and pepper growth that occurred since you saw him last weekend. Your left eyebrow climbs with your own inquiry, "Do you want to live between my thighs?"

"Uh, yes…?" Diego answers what was apparently the stupidest question ever posed. Chocolate eyes sparkle at you as he fails to suppress a smirk. "What do you think the ring is about?"

Your guffaw is cut short when he tosses you up onto the counter and shoves both huge hands down the back of your pants to push them off. The jeggings stretch easily over your hips and Diego, ever efficient when it comes to getting some pussy, takes your thong with them in one swift motion. Bracing hands on those broad shoulders, you wiggle and shift and bend whichever way is necessary to assist. Never let it be said that you are not a team player.

Your left shoe hits the floor and as Diego switches to the right he asks breathlessly, "New?"

"Yeah." Your response is just as rushed as you grab at his hair.

"Pretty." He tosses the right shoe off towards the living room with this proclamation. 

Both big hands come up to your knees and spread your legs wide. "Well, thank yourself. I used the black Amex." You chuckle as you lean back on elbows.

Slowly, menacingly, promisingly, Diego rises over the lip of the counter between your legs with that shark smile. He purposely pitches his voice low to rumble, "Good girl."

Your insides liquefy as your back arches and your pussy clenches down on nothing. How the hell does he do that? You can feel yourself getting wet. Fleeting kisses and sharp little nips mark Diego's progress up the inside of your left thigh.

"Hmm." His breath ghosts over your center in the lightest of teases. "What is that method to train again? The treats instead of yelling?" He rubs those bristles you so love over your inner thighs with considerable force and it almost induces a seizure.

"P-postive reinforcement!" Your yelp is exceedingly high pitched. Oh fuck yes, reward me with tongue, I'm a good Princess. You're almost certain that your brain has melted, you have zero sense when it comes to this man.

Diego nips the very bottom of your right buttcheek, so close and yet way, way too far away. "Yesss," he hisses into the short hair just above where you need him most, "That's what its called." The feel of his goatee just barely brushing over your folds while he speaks has turned you into a gibbering mess.

"P-please, Diego. I did like you told me, I didn't even text to ask first, please please…" How he manages to break you down into a begging disaster so quickly is a mystery. Your hands curl into his hair, desperately trying to pull him closer.

"Mm hmm," his deep hum makes you quiver, memories of that sound being delivered straight to your sensitive bundle of nerves via the vehicle of his tongue drive you higher. The rough timbre is dark with desire when he speaks this time, "You were a very good girl. My pretty little Princess is learning well. Let Diego give you your reward."

The heat of his open mouth covering your entire vulva is stunning. Your shoulders fall to the countertop as you moan shamelessly, "Ohhh, yes baby." That sinfully amazing tongue pokes into your entrance then flattens out broadly to lap all the way up to your clit. "Yeah!" Your single breathy yelp is accompanied by a jerk of your wide hips. Diego presses hard and moans.

Your hands slap down on the countertop for leverage so you can press down on him. "Yes, yes. Oh my god, how is, your tongue, so hot??" Breath stuttering, your words are choppy. Your chest jumps each time he groans against you and Diego repeats it again, seemingly just to enjoy your reaction. He pulls off with an obscene slurp, Nonono come back! 

"The same way this pretty little pussy is always so tight." The dirty talk is all the warning you get as two thick fingers sink deep inside. It takes a moment to comprehend that the ringing in your ears is an uncomfortable noise emanating from your mouth. He pulls out slowly, making sure you feel every ridge and callus, all the textures, before pushing in again steadily. Each time he retreats your cunt clenches down, trying to hold on to the feeling of being filled. "Did you miss your Diego? Huh?"

There is no earthly reason anyone should be this fucking sexy.  

"Only, oh fuck, only when I'm ali-i-i-ive!" The confession ends in a squeal as he bottoms out and rubs your cervix. The cold counter is heating rapidly under your thrashing form. Just as you start to get accustomed to the sensation Diego ups the ante by closing lips over your clit and sucking. Your hips roll against him, he matches the rhythm of his hand with your movements expertly. Legs rising high and spreading wide, trying to give him as much room as possible to work. A broken chant is punched out of you with every thrust, "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."

The disappointed whine you utter when he breaks the suction is cut off into choked silence by the focused licks he is now delivering. You bury both hands into his short hair and hang on for dear life. His beard rasps against your sensitive skin and the contrasting feelings drive you mad. These are the licks that push you higher, these licks mean business. 

Between the long, slow thrusts of his fingers and the never ending laving of your clit, everything is tightening up quickly. Your legs shake and your stomach trembles, you pull on his hair and Diego moans for you. You moan back, "Fuck. Yeah, baby. Just, just keep. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Because Diego is Diego, he doubles down on the pressure and goes even harder with the tongue. Your entire consciousness narrows down to the man between your legs working you over like its his life's mission to make you come on his face. Everything is clinching tighter and tighter. Tense and strung out taut, you call for him as he pushes you right up to the edge and straight over it.

"Diego, Diego. Baby, I- F-fuck, yes, yes. Love you, love you, I fucking love you, I love you." You realize that was aloud but can't be bothered to stop the babbling confession synchronized to the waves of your climax. Diego groans against your clit but keeps his fingers fully buried so you can clamp down on him in ecstasy. You ride it out knowing full well that he won't rush this, he loves to feel the effect he has on you. You have no idea how long it goes on, the agonizing pleasure slowly easing, but your back finally crashes down to the marble while you wheeze in exhaustion. 

Using the grip in his hair, you tug gently to pull him off. Looking down over your curves, you flush even more as you watch Diego lick his lips lewdly. I am living in my very own private porno. 

Movement further down catches your eye and you realize that this entire time he has been stroking himself with the hand not shoved inside you. His massive cock is already dark and dripping as it pokes out of open pants.

"Your turn." You utter as you reach for him. 

"No!" Diego barks and bats your hand away. Is he sick? Do I need to call 911? You're immediately concerned that he might be dying. "Lie back. Be still."

Okay, kinky motherfucker. Of course he has something in mind. You flop down as ordered and Diego moans with satisfaction. 

"Yes, good girl. Do as I command and let Diego come all over you, pretty little Princess." He stares down at you with eyes black in arousal. His mouth hangs open to pant and his brows are drawn together in concentration. Swiping precome off the head of his dick, Diego reaches up to offer it. You lick with no hesitation as he rams those same fingers that were just up your pussy into your mouth and practically down your throat. "Suck."

With a moan you do exactly what he wants, your eyes closing in pleasure from the combined tastes of him and yourself. You don't have to put on a show when you enjoy this so very much. Your tongue covers every centimeter of his index and middle fingers, suckling strongly to get every last drop. Diego whines at the sight.

"Fuck. Yes. Princess. My Princess. Diego's perfect little Princess." His voice is rough and rattling, you can tell from how harshly he fists his cock that he is very close. The sight of two of your favorite parts of him together, his hand and his dick, makes you writhe.

You wrap your left hand around his thick forearm and the glint of your diamond ring catches his eye. His fingers drop out of your mouth to hold your jaw ever so tenderly. You decide to give him that last little nudge.

"Baby," You breathe, he pries his eyes away from the ring to meet yours. You pitch your voice low and sultry,  "Come for your Princess, my Murder Panther."

Diego's expression crumples and his hips snap forward twice as he comes with a quiet roar. "Ahhh, sí sí. Yessss." Its fascinating to watch; this big, powerful, dangerous man losing control over you. You absolutely love it. 

He paints your stomach white with come, squeezing the last little bit out and then slapping both hands down the counter to gasp. Before you can reach for those shoulders to pet him into aftercare, Diego dives down to lap up his own mess.

"Holy fuckin' shit that's hot." You are right back to the edge just like that. His soft tongue scoops up the gleaming liquid and you can literally see him swallowing it. You jump when fingers brush your labia but sigh with approval when they sink deep into you again. Diego, now finished with your stomach, comes back up to take your mouth. 

This is a whole new level of obscene: Sucking his own come off of his tongue while he finger fucks you to another orgasm. The mental image of what you two must look like defiling the kitchen counter is enough to make you tighten around him. The rapid, forceful thrusting of his thick fingers sends you careening into climax while moaning into his mouth. Pussy trembling around him and hips jerking, you hang on tight to his biceps until every wave of pleasure ebbs away. You flop back down and Diego collapses on top of you.

"Fuck. If that, if that's what I get for spending your money. Then I need to fucking splurge more often." You can barely string words together. 

Diego purrs.

Its now forty minutes later and you manage to troubleshoot the espresso machine.

"Its unplugged." You murmur, pointing lazily. 

"Mmmph." Diego moans from his position face down in your cleavage.

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

A brief debate on showering occurred, but a motion to nap on the sectional was introduced and unanimously ratified almost immediately. 

When you wake up later the only light in the penthouse is supplied by the neighboring skyscrapers. Curled up on your right side, Diego is spooned up behind you with his beard velcroed into your hair and the fingers of his left hand are laced with yours around the diamond ring. The sight makes you both happy and anxious. 

"Baby?" You breathe. Diego shifts behind you, then yawns hugely. It even sounds adorable, you smile to yourself.

"Que pasa?" His voice is rough from sleep and you shiver. "You're stiff. What's wrong, Princess?"

"I have some notes we need to discuss. Its not bad!" Rushing to reassurance, you move to sit up. He releases your hands but strokes down your back as you stand. Bare feet pad across the rug as you go back to your bag and retrieve the notepad. Diego blinks when you turn on a lamp but waves you back into his embrace. 

"What is troubling my Princess?" He rumbles as you wiggle around and get situated in his lap. You present the immediate list of issues and give him time to read the few items. He chuckles at you, "Let's start from the bottom, yes? I will help." He mimes crossing it off the list.

"Yeah, alright." You giggle. "But the family thing. You know my parents are chomping at the bit. I'm the last girl they get to marry off, its a big deal or something." Your eyes roll as you flap your hand around. 

"How much do you want them involved?" Diego presents something you hadn't considered yet.

"Huh. I. Wait a sec." He props his chin in his hand while you consider. You're very distracted by the lazily blinking Murder Panther under you. "Okay," settling hands on your thighs, you push through the anxiety, "I had assumed they were not paying for it."  Careful watching shows Diego rolling his eyes at you.

"Of course not. Don't be silly." He scoffs quietly. 

Yeah, duh. You can feel terror bubbling up and you squash it ruthlessly. "Well in that case, almost none. We'll make all the decisions. They'll be allowed to give opinions or whatever, but no control." That does make it a little easier.

"No artistic license to the people who created you. Ballsy. I like that." Diego is nothing if not encouraging of you. His expression of mock impression makes you gigglesnort. Then he throws you another curveball of an offer, "Do you want a wedding planner?" 

Everything stops for a moment before you breathe, "Fuck." That never even occurred to me.

Big fingers dip into your hair and turn so you face him fully. Diego is grinning from ear to ear. "Did I crash Fiance Princess OS?"

You nod faintly. "I… never even considered that. I don't come from a background where people do that, you know?" 

Shrugging one shoulder at you, Diego 'hmm's thoughtfully. "I did not suggest it sooner because you like planning. What is everything that needs to be planned?" His face turns mildly horrified at your sudden flailing.

"EVERYTHING! YOU HAVE TO PLAN EVERYTHING!" You most definitely did not have control of your own volume setting just now. "So, like, the venue, the date, the wedding party, the clothing, the food, decorations, seating arrangements, guest lists, ugh, fucking flowers. I do not want flowers! Oh, shit, music? Oh my god, everyone is going to be offended by my musical choices at some point." You facepalm and then drop the entire setup down into your lap, too, for good measure.

Diego pokes your arm with the corner of the notepad and you reach to take it from him without looking.

He snatches it back and tosses it over the couch and into the kitchen where it lands on the floor with a slap.

 "Fuck it. We can elope."

[vannahfanfics]

Galaxia de Primavera

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Shikamaru Nara, Sakura Haruno

Hi, everyone! Here’s the story for Day Two of ShikaSaku Week Hanami, prompt “Of Stardust and Galaxies!” Please enjoy~

If spring were a galaxy, it would exist in her eyes; the pale green of new life blooming into existence, planets of new leaf shoots and stardust of swirling white petals, cosmic waves of rippling grasses and starlight filtering in with beams of white… They were a universe of themselves, those spring-green irises of hers, and he always felt like a wayward astronaut spiraling further and further into their endless depths anytime they locked onto his own. They had so much gravity that he couldn’t help but be drawn in; she pulled him into orbit without even realizing it, into a spring galaxy of stardust green where he could spend his entire life in contentment. Such raw power did the eyes of Sakura Haruno hold.

Not that Shikamaru ever told her anything like that. It was all poetic and shit in theory, but he would make a bungle of things if he ever tried to formulate something like that into actual words. Instead, he just hovered just outside her solar system, a dying star in desperate need of gratification but too unwilling to do much of anything about it. How long had he been in love with her now? Since before the Great Ninja War, surely, and it was going on a year after that debacle. He could never bring himself to be honest with her about what he was feeling. Truthfully, he himself didn’t even know how to describe what exactly he was feeling; it hurt to look at her but he never wanted her out of his sight, he both feared and revered her insurmountable, goddess-like strength, the sweet smiles she tossed him on the street both made him feel like he was walking on air and like he had been stabbed right through the heart with a rusty serrated knife. He had always known women had been a drag, but he never would’ve thought that falling in love with one could be as massive a drag as this. Cheek leaned into the palm of his hand, he watched her through the barbecue joint window as she sat in a café across the street, munching on some sweet dango with more delicacy than would be thought of the tomboyish girl.

“Hey, Earth to Shikamaru.” He grimaced as Ino knocked on the side of his head, and his dark eyes flickered to meet her own baby-blue ones with a gruff “What?” “What do you mean, ‘what?’ If you want to go talk to Sakura, would you just do it already? Your pining really makes barbecue nights kind of a drag,” she sniffed haughtily as she crossed her slim arms over her chest. A blush bloomed from the base of his neck to the tops of his ears; he hadn’t even noticed he had been staring at Sakura this entire time.

“I’m not pining,” he muttered under his breath, tearing his face away from the window to instead stare down at the smoldering coals above which Choji was eagerly searing his cuts of steak. Shikamaru glanced up as the burly man’s chopsticks appeared in his line of vision to flip the half-cooked meat over.

“Shikamaru, it’s kinda obvious.” So, his best friend wouldn’t cut him any slack either. With a soft “mmmh!” Choji pushed a few juice-covered nibblets of meat into his mouth. “Y’know, you can’t wait around forever. Sooner or later she’ll be snatched up by somebody else, and how would you feel then? I’m sure you’d regret never saying anything.”

“He’s exactly right!” Ino shouted, banging her fist loudly on the table. The salt and pepper shakers jumped into the air at her assault, and Shikamaru reflexively reached out to grab them before they spilled their contents all over the place. Cleaning all that up would be a drag, and they gave the busboy enough trouble with all the plates and cups they always accumulated. Ino waggled her finger in his face as he set them down a safe distance away from her boisterousness. “Y’know what Sakura told me? She’s not even sure if she’s in love with Sasuke anymore! Now’s your perfect chance to slide in and make her yours!”

Despite himself, a tiny ember of hope flared to life in his chest. Sakura had been in love with Sasuke since they were little kids playing ninja in the Academy and had still loved him even after all the crap he had pulled. To hear that her feelings could be waning, even just a little, could mean that Shikamaru had a shot… But did Shikamaru really have a chance against Sasuke? Not that he put the guy up on a pedestal like everyone else did, but there was something to be said about how fiercely and unequivocally girls loved. It wasn’t as easy as sidling up to her and announcing “Hey, be in love with me instead of that jerk!” With a low groan, he slumped down in the booth and side-eyed his pretty teammate.

“Ino, I don’t think this is as easy as you make it out to be. It sounds like a massive drag to me.”

“Shikamaru, you need to be more of a go-getter! You’ll never be Naruto’s advisor if you can’t even work up the nerve to ask a girl out!” she scolded him hotly, and Shikamaru’s grimace deepened. Way for her to him it where it hurt. With a snort, she suddenly leaned her entire upper body over him to try and fiddle with the window.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?!” he cried and shimmied further down the booth seat, so far that his back was pressed down against the seat, because Ino’s endowments were just bouncing all in his face. He tried to focus on her face, blush raging even fiercer than before, right as she unlatched the window and pushed it open. “There! Now, go get her, tiger!” she giggled.

Shikamaru released a sound somewhere between a choke and a squeak as she grabbed him by the collar of his issued uniform vest, wrenched him up the booth seat, and promptly threw him out of the window. Ino had a lot of force to back herself up too, but not nearly as much as Sakura; he coughed painfully as his stomach crashed down against the windowpane, digging harshly into his skin and making him feel nauseous. Before he could recover, her high-heeled foot met his backside and pushed him all the way through the window. He landed on the dusty ground in a crumpled heap, eye twitching excessively as he tried to refrain from jumping up and socking her, female or not. “What a drag,” he grumbled as he righted himself so he was sitting cross-legged under the window, rubbing the area of his neck that was now pulsing with a dull pain. By happenstance, he happened to glance across the street where Sakura was still sitting on the bench enjoying her dango, and froze.

Those spring green eyes of hers were closed, scrunched up with laughter that she was hiding with a hand lightly hovering in front of her mouth. The dango wobbled a little in her other hand from how hard her shoulders were shaking. Shikamaru smiled in embarrassment. Man, Ino just had to make him go and look so uncool… But, it was always good to make girls laugh, right? He craned his head back just in time to see the window click closed. Ino was serious. “What a drag,” he sighed once more before picking himself up and brushing himself off. Slipping his hands into his pants pockets, he strolled casually across the street to stand in front of Sakura.

“Hehehe,” she continued to giggle lightheartedly, “did you and Ino have a disagreement?”

“Something like that,” he answered with a lop-sided smirk. Her thick lashes parted, and those orbs of brilliant green peeked out at him like twin suns appearing over the horizon, and his heart instantly twisted in his chest. God, was it possible for eyes to be that gorgeous? With a thick swallow, he tugged at his wire-mesh undershirt, suddenly hot. “A-Anyway… It’s a little late for you to be out by yourself, don’t you think?” he stammered in a desperate attempt to keep the conversation at least a little natural. She cocked her head slightly as she bit down on the end of the dumplings, the soft flesh of it yielding to her teeth.

“I suppose it is. I lost track of time.” She plucked the last colored dumpling from the stick before tossing the sharp skewer into the pile she had accumulated beside her. “I was just thinking about things, y’know?” Her smile was so pure and innocent. It was hard to believe sometimes that it concealed such a cunning and clever mind. He liked that about her, though. He much preferred an intelligent, capable woman to a total airhead. His body stiffened slightly as she abruptly stood up to peer up at him, body curving and eyelashes fluttering with just the faintest sense of demure. “Care to walk a girl home?”

Those eyes again. Shining ethereally in the starlight, the stunning pale green of lichens clinging to hardy oaken trees accented by the emerald of its stubborn leaves. All it took was one simple glance and Shikmaru was locked into their gravity; no amount of attempting to pull away would yield his escape. He would simply have to suffer through her atmosphere and crash-land somewhere, though he knew not where yet. A blush sprinkled like stardust over his cheeks.

“Yeah… Sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The night was filled only by the scuffing of their sandals against the dirt road. Sakura strolled alongside him with her hands clasped behind her back, while Shikamaru’s were buried deep into his pockets. The silence was suspended between them like the crescent moon hanging low in the night sky; the tension strummed in tune with the twinkling of the thousands of stars, their brilliant light muted by the village lights. Shikamaru mused on whether or not if they were far away, in the wilderness where no man-made light could mask them, the stars above would even come close to the galaxy held within those eyes of hers. He figured not. Gradually, his gaze shifted from the path in front of him to her, those miraculously beautiful eyes and the way they caught the starlight just right to shine with springtime’s brilliance.

“So… I heard something interesting from Ino.”

“What’s that?” Her cherry-blossom hair bounced around her chin as she turned inquisitively toward him. He scowled and pawed at the back of his neck again. The question he was about to ask was so personal and awkward; did he really have the right to be prying? Then again, if he turned back up at the barbecue place empty-handed, Ino was liable to whale on him. It was simple self-preservation… right?

“Well, uh… She kinda mentioned that, uh… You didn’t have feelings for Sasuke anymore.”

“Oh.” A shiver crawled up his spine at the even tone of her voice. Was she gonna whale on him instead? Shikamaru didn’t know if he could take one of Sakura’s punches; it was only thanks to Naruto’s impossibly thick skull that he survived his frequent whackings. Sakura’s fists did not curl, nor did she make any indication that she was angry. She stopped walking, gaze falling to her feet, which shifted as her knees turned in a little. “I’ve been thinking about it… For a long time, but even more recently since he’s been gone for so very long,” she sighed wistfully. Those green irises danced around in the sea of white, but never trained on him. “I think it’s just finally sunk in, that’s all. That it was always just a childish, one-sided crush.” Shikamaru looked at her in concern. To hear her say it that way just sounded so sad, and even though she was smiling, that smile couldn’t mask how much pain she was obviously in. He didn’t know what to do though, because frankly, Shikamaru knew jack shit about girls, let alone comforting them. “Why do you mention it?” she asked with false cheer in her voice. She finally looked up at him. He jumped as those spring galaxies suddenly blazed against his own dark nebulas.

“Oh, uh, I was just, you know, wanting to make sure if you were okay about it. I mean, you’ve liked him for a really long time; it’s not easy for girls to get over stuff like that, right?” he laughed nervously. Man, if he kept rubbing his neck like that, he was liable to leave a mark. She blinked as her pale pink eyebrows crept up her forehead; then, she laughed, sweetly and with feeling. It sounded like shrine bells in a gentle breeze, melodic and invigorating.

“Oh. That’s sweet of you!” The silence drifted down between them again, like a curtain falling upon the closing act of a play. Shikamaru stood stiffly in the middle of the street, waiting for her to take up walking again, but she didn’t. The tension stretched thinner and thinner, threatening to snap any moment. It made him sweat a little. “Oh, um, this is my house,” she clarified with another anxious chuckle.

“Oh.” Duh, Shikamaru, he thought begrudgingly. He ought to bid her goodnight and leave her to her devices. His feet had other plans, rooting him to the spot and keeping him there like an idiot. He just stood there, fingers nervously kneading into the seams of his pockets, while those green eyes of hers watched her with an emotion he dare not name, lest everything come crashing down in an asteroid storm around them. It looked like leaves were dancing in cosmic tempest in her eyes with how intently she watched him, face drawn low in an unreadable expression.

“Shikamaru? What are you thinking right now?” Her face remained stony, indecipherable. Shikamaru had no idea what was running through her mind right now. Did he need to? There had to be a reason she was still goofing off with him outside in the middle of the night, right? Shikamaru was dense with girls, but even he still recognized that this was a good of a chance for him to be honest as he was ever going to get.

“I was thinking… that if spring were a galaxy, it would be in your eyes.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he turned red from head-to-toe and whirled around, bristling. His hands were clamped over his mouth to keep him from saying something else so incredibly stupid. That didn’t even make any sense! Oh, she was probably laughing at him right now, but the blood was roaring so loudly in his ears that he couldn’t hear the sniggers she was probably struggling to hold back. His ass should’ve just marched right on home. Why did he have to go and embarrass himself like this? He never should’ve have let Ino get to him. I’ve really done it now…

Every muscle in his body petrified as her hand landed on his shoulder. His hands dropped from his mouth and his arms flopped loosely in his arms in defeat; he knew he was still wildly blushing, but he simply couldn’t resist as her hand slowly trailed up to tug at his chin, beckoning for him to look at her. She was gonna be laughing, he just knew it. Compulsively, he squeezed his eyes shut…

And then he felt her lips, soft and light, brush over his own. It was a ghost of a comet trail at first, sprinkling of stardust to his nerves, but they soon sparked to life to spur his body into action. Drawn in by Sakura’s gravitational pull, he melded his lips to hers. They were so perfectly pliable under his own, and the faint aroma of strawberry lip gloss wafting up his nose sent him blasting off into the stars. His mouth merely rested over her own in a chaste kiss, but Heaven and Hell, it had Shikamaru’s head reeling. After a moment, he moved back, just barely. If he’d wanted to, he could kiss her again. His eyes snapped open at the realization of what had just transpired to see those eyes like a spring galaxy glimmering brighter than he had ever seen.

“Thanks for the compliment.” Her cute little purr of approval had the blush creeping back to Shikamaru’s ears again. God, did she know what she was doing to him? She totally did, because she stuck out the tip of her tongue at him with a teasing giggle. “Also, thanks for walking me home. See you around.” She gave him one last peck on the cheek before she was gone, hopping up the steps to unlock her front door and disappear inside. He saw just one last flash of those eyes of hers, and even long after she was gone they burned in his mind like two suns of green fire.

It took a long time for the pleasurable high to wear off him; when it did, he realized he had wandered back over towards the barbecue joint. Ino and Choji had seemingly grown bored of waiting for him and were just walking out of the building.

“There you are!” Ino called, and it was her voice that finally brought him out of his stupor. He ran a hand over his face, still lightly burning from flush, and wondered if what he had just witnessed was all but a fever dream. He then thought of those galactic springtime eyes and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, where the faint scent of strawberry lingered.

No. Not a dream.

“Well, well?! What happened? Did you make your move?” she pestered as she scampered over to him to hug his arm and tug on it. “Tell me everything! Come on, come on!”

“Come on, Ino, don’t bug him so much,” Choji frowned from his other side. “He probably spent the whole time watchin’ the clouds.” Shikamaru tilted his head back to observe the thin, wispy gray clouds trawling over the night sky, blotting out the stars with their fluffy bodies. He smiled wryly.

“No… Not the clouds- the stars.”

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece @shikasaku-week

[jincherie]

intermission • iii | moonchild

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 4.6k • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: rabid old ladies and tree-climbing shenanigans • ☽ — notes: another intermission! this is my last part for now, miss zee will be writing the next two and then we will see my return!!!! but until then, please indulge us n show miss zee some love!! she works hard for it :’< also because with zee’s next chapter... we see a bit of a twist arise!

— posted; 09.06.2019

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission iii | next • —

— some time in first year —

 The afternoon air is cool and the sun is a soft, comforting warmth against the exposed parts of Kim Namjoon’s skin, chasing away the slight bite of the cold that lingers in the breeze due the transitional season as he walks home. He’s just finished fulfilling his third ‘help wanted’ poster duty of the day, collecting the sheets, both handwritten and printed alike, from shopping mall billboards like Pokémon. He has a thick wad of them folded up and wedged in his back pocket (he’d forgotten his trusty messenger bag this morning that, despite being two snapped threads away from falling apart completely, has always managed to see him through the day) and a comparatively much smaller wad in his other back pocket, of the odd jobs his managed to complete through the week.

His rationale for being such an upstanding citizen and going out of his way to help anyone and everyone he can? Two things—experience, and references. He knows it’s a harsh world, and to succeed you have to prepare yourself as much as possible for everything to come. So when the time comes that he steps into the adult, working world after graduating… he doesn’t doubt he’s going to be one of the best prepared people they’ve ever seen.

Plus, sometimes the little old ladies and distraught pet owners he helped gave him a few dollars as a tip. Unnecessary and not something he asks for, but Namjoon isn’t one to turn away a gift when it could do wonders for his loose change jar. It satisfies him to see the little glass thing with a cork lid get fuller and fuller each weak. He blames the deep, primal part of his monkey brain that likes seeing a big collection of shiny objects like coins. It sparks joy, one could say.

The odd job he’s just completed was a little dryer than the rest, if he’s being honest. It was much simpler than the ad for it had made out— just helping some fellow uni student as clueless as him fix their broken toilet roll. All he had to do was find the screw that came out and the student gave him, like, a whole box of frozen chicken patties in return. Which… isn’t so bad but also, Namjoon considers himself an intellectual and while he may be bought by food he still longs for a mental challenge. So despite how usually he gets in about three a day, on a good day, but even thought this is his third one he’s still… hungry for more. He’s also hungry in the literal sense; the last job made him miss lunch and now his stomach is performing an acapella version of ‘feed me, feed me, you bastard’. A classic hit, one he is especially familiar with. He’ll have to rifle through the papers in his back pocket and suss out whether any of the posters seem the type to provide food for the help.

He’s still toying with the idea when he happens across an unexpected scenario that seems to have been dropped into his path by the fates themselves. Along one side of the footpath are suburban homes and their small front yards and cute little mailboxes, and to the other is the occasional tree and then the plain asphalt of the road. About a yard in front of him, just far enough that he can’t really see even with his glasses on, there seems to be a bit of a commotion occurring near one of the larger trees lining the street.

Excitement probably shouldn’t be his first reaction, but it is, and Namjoon hurries his long-legged gait so that he can reach the spectacle sooner. He doesn’t know what he looked like but walking like this, he feels a bit like those spiders with the tiny bodies and disproportionately long, spindly legs. And here he is, going to help out like the friendly neighbourhood spiderman. He slapped his thigh, eyes wide. He might be an iron man enthusiast at heart, but damn that’s a good line for his resume.

The closer Namjoon gets to the commotion he’d spotted from afar, the more he realises he might have hit jackpot. The source of the loud yelling and frantic movements seems to be a woman, a little on the elderly side, with her wild salt and pepper curls defying gravity in some places and clumping in others—it takes Namjoon a moment to realise that she’s actually attempted to tie her hair back and that’s why it looks a little bit deformed from the distance. As he draws closer, he notes that she looks a little unhinged. His reaction to such a thing should be caution, and he should feel wary, but all he can think is hell yes this woman clearly needs help and he is going to help her, damn it.

“Pudding, come down! Please! I’m sorry for calling you fat, Pudding! I didn’t mean it!”

As soon as he’s within earshot, he hears the woman sobbing hysterically as she claws at the thick trunk of the tree. She’s too small to reach the lowest hanging branch, and has taken to draping herself pitifully against the leaning trunk as she scrabbles against the bark with her nails. The woman wails, pitifully, voice piercing the air like a siren, or a banshee, “Pudding!”

Confused as he may be, he’s sure that as soon as he asks the lady what happened, he’ll be as clued in as possible. Namjoon clears his throat and composes himself, before stepping forward and speaking loud enough that the woman can hear him over her own loud weeping.

“Excuse me, ma’am, is everything alright? Do you require assistance of any kind?”

The lady spins around, a crazy glint in her eye, and belatedly, Namjoon begins to feel a little wary in addition to the wave of concern that seems to have caught up to him from where he left it in the dust.

“My pudding,” the woman wails, lurching and attaching herself to Namjoon like he is the tree she’d just been attempting to scale. Her nails dig into his arms, and the male is suddenly thankful for the long sleeves of his shirt and jacket protecting them from being punctured by her claws. “My pudding is stuck in the tree.”

A few beats of silence sound in Namjoon’s head, before finally a thought spawns into being. This woman…. Did she fling her dessert into the tree? God, it’s worse than he thought. He never expected to walk upon such a tragedy.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, ma’am,” Namjoon says, sincerely sympathetic. Being prone to trips and falls as he is, he has been victim many a times to accidentally flinging food all over the place. His heart goes out to her, his hands coming to pat her forearms with only a little hesitance (distantly, a part of him wonders if the crazed look in her eye is due to rabies, and the whiteness of what he assumes is snot all over her face and mouth makes him a little nervous). “Would you like help? I can get the pudding down from the tree, and then you can go on ea—”

“Oh, would you, dear?” the woman’s grip tightens like a vice as she cuts him off, wide, glassy eyes gleaming with hope. Is she starting to froth at the mouth a bit? Namjoon chooses to ignore that observation. “Please, please get him down. He’s the fat bastard on the second highest branch, and he -hic- must be so scared.”

Namjoon resists the instinct to make a face just barely— is she referring to her pudding as a he, and did she just call her pudding a fat bastard?— and instead follows the old woman’s shaking hand as it point to the top of the tree. Realisation slaps him in the face.

There, sitting right on the thickest part of the second highest branch near the trunk and somehow still managing to bow it, is both the fattest and the ugliest but most oddly endearing cat Namjoon has ever seen. At least, he thinks it’s a cat. It’s a cat until proven otherwise, he decides.

“Oh,” Namjoon says, staring at the cat. The cat stares back, and Namjoon gulps at the sudden goblin energy it seems to be radiating. “Pudding.”

The woman, still babbling incoherently while Namjoon creates a half-assed sort of mental plan for how to proceed and reach the top of the tree, starts shaking him slightly in her distress. Being a music major doesn’t prepare him for shit like this, he laments. This lady better have some food on the table for the trauma she’s currently inflicting.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get pudding.” He gingerly brushes her grip off him, surprised she let go with such little convincing, and makes his way to the trunk of the tree. The cat stares him down the entire time, lidded yellow eyes peering into the depths of his being and pulling out his innermost fears. Namjoon feels like this cat is the kind of thing you peer under your bed as a child and see balled up in the corner, hissing, with big fangs and ominous man-eating energy. This cat looks like the second Namjoon is within reach he’s going to claw his face off or eat his ears. A shiver rolls down his spine, but he pushes on. He’s going to climb this tree, make this cat his bitch, and bring it back down for the crazy old lady who has started breathing extra heavy the closer he gets to the tree. Distantly, one of his braincells knocks around and whispers that this feels like when Hansel and Gretel got tricked by a witch and her candy house— except in this situation the candy house is Namjoon’s incredible need for good references and experience. Annoyed at the errant brain cell, he flicks it away mentally and tries to think of a way up the tree when he reaches the base.

Well, he supposes he’s just gonna have to go up branch by branch and see which ones he can reach with his long noodle legs. He has to bring his foot up past his ear to clamber onto the first branch, and amongst the pain of essentially doing the splits he feels oddly proud of himself. Kim Namjoon; outstanding citizen, academic, genius music major, now gymnast. It has a nice ring to it. Perhaps he should consider broadening his horizons and extending his athleticism.

Scaling the tree is actually much easier than he anticipated. None of the branches are too far or too high to reach, and he’s satisfied with the effortlessness this job has taken so far. This will look fantastic on his record— he can’t forget to get a written statement from the rabies lady.

Before he knows it, he’s come face to face with the cat. Up close, it radiates even more demonic goblin energy, and Namjoon feels his knees quake slightly in response. It doesn’t meow, doesn’t even growl, merely bares its teeth in greeting, and the male gulps. Alright, time to make this cat his bitch for a moment and save that old lady’s day.

“Hey puss,” Namjoon greets, a little rusty on his cat conversation etiquette. “Come here puss, here, tch tch.”

The cat, fearing neither god nor man, merely sits and looks at Namjoon as he makes kissy noises in an attempt to lure it. ‘You think you can control me?’ It feels as though the cat says to him, with its apathetic, golden-eyed stare, ‘I belong to no one, fool. I will perish before I move at your will.’

Alright, seems like he’s just gonna have to scoop him up and go. Hopefully his nature is a docile as the name Pudding implies and his intimidating outside is just a farce.

Namjoon leans against the trunk of the tree as he reaches for the cat and takes it into his arms successfully— it’s too fat to put up much of a fight, and for that the male is thankful, even if it now feels like he’s holding a boulder in his arms and they’re going to fall off if he doesn’t deposit it soon. What does that lady feed this cat?! Cement?!

Having secured the old lady’s bag, Namjoon directs his gaze downwards and goes to embark on the next step in the plan to climb the tree for the cat and then climb down with the cat— as expected, it’s time for the latter. Wait, speaking of—

A ladder? God he wishes he had one of those right now, because he’s just realised that he has no idea how to get down. The cat’s belly gives an almighty rumble and, expectedly, it throws Namjoon a little off balance. The old lady is calling out hoarsely several many feet below them, and Namjoon feels a little overwhelmed as he considers possibilities and analyses paths down.

Gulping, he makes a calculated decision— unfortunately, he was never that great at maths.

x x

An afternoon stroll through the streets surrounding your dorm is just what you need, some fresh air to sooth your tired, university student soul and refresh your mind.

At least, that’s what you decided like ten minutes ago. Currently, you’re not sharing the same sentiments as past-you so much. This is mostly due to the abundance of unhinged elderly and zombified youth that seem to have had the same idea as you and that are now milling about unchecked. You accidentally stepped off the footpath before and stepped maybe ten centimetres onto someone’s lawn. That someone happened to be a short, stout middle-aged couple that had matching outdated hairdos, and they were not happy about you ‘messing up their lawn’. Before embarking on this walk, you could have proudly said you’d never been chased down the street by some screaming woman with a broom before. Now though, you’re no longer a virgin to that particular experience. You’re not going home as the same woman you were when you left.

The street that you’ve just turned onto, on your journey back to your dorms, is remarkably less chaotic than the rest and you feel yourself letting out a breath of relief. Finally, you thought you were going to combust from the stress alone. As relieved as you are though, you don’t let down your guard; you’ve been burnt before, thank you very much.

Not even three houses down the street, your reservations are proven right. There is an elderly woman, who appears afflicted with a sickness of some sort if the fluids all over her face are anything to go by, who is sobbing and moping at the base of a tree in what you hope is her front yard. Confronted with the strange situation, a part of you instinctively wants to help her— the other part tells you to turn tail and go down another street because this could be one of those traps where they trick you with a crying child or old lady and then mug you, taking all your money and any candy still surviving in your pockets.

Ultimately, the more empathetic side of you wins out and you hesitantly begin to walk closer to the woman clawing at the tree and screaming about desserts.

“Uh, excuse me ma’am, are you o—”

You don’t even get to finish before there is a sudden series of snaps and cracks from the tree above you and a mass comes hurtling down from the foliage. You scream, the sheer blood-curdling nature making your throat ache, and just about shit yourself as you launch away. Where you stood, a shape smacks into the ground with a hearty thunk that shakes the earth a little beneath your feet. You were right, you’re about to get mugged!

“AHH FUCK WHAT THE FUCK FUCK OFF I KNOW KATANA!”

The mass on the ground groans and you blink, watching with absolute dumbfoundedness as it shifts and suddenly the fattest cat you’ve ever seen is parting from it and running towards the woman in hysterics by the base of the tree. For such an absolute unit, it moves fast, and barely a moment passes before the massive load of a cat is wrapped firmly in the old lady’s arms.

“Pudding,” she weeps into his coat, the cat pinning you and the lump at your feet with an ominous, dead-eyed stare over her shoulder. “Oh my sweet, fat bastard— don’t you ever do that again, okay? Oh my sweet baby—”

She turns, mumbling into the fur of her cat as she begins to depart from the tree and make her way back to the house that you presume to be hers. For a moment you forget about the lump at your feet, until you hear it let out a pathetic whimper.

“My reference and commendation…”

You let out another scream, for some reason not at all expecting it to speak words. When you look down, however, you instantly feel guilty.

The thing that fell from the tree was a man and he landed right on his ass.

“Oh wait holy shit are you okay?!” Now that you’re over your fear of being mugged, you run over to the man and pop a concerned squat next to his curled up form. “What the hell were you doing up there? Did you steal that crazy lady’s cat?!”

The male at your feet groaned, bereft. “No, I was helping her get the cat down. Holy shit, my buns…”

You turn your gaze to his heinie, realising that with how hard he hit the ground he very likely has broken something. God, now that you think about it, he could have broken his tailbone. You have a friend that did that in highschool— it wasn’t fun, and it wasn’t pretty. And the thought that this poor man who fell from the tree and scared the absolute shit out of you might have done the same… oh, you felt for him. He attempted to roll and let out a pathetic groan. Oh yeah, he definitely broke it.

“Wait, don’t move! I think you broke your tailbone when you fell! Don’t move too much.” You hurry to halt him, and all he can muster in response is another sad groan.

“God, I- I can’t see…” he dropped his head against the earth, eyes shut. “The light… it’s growing closer.”

“H-hang on!” You panic, hands flying into the air. “We need to get you help! We need to get you to a hospital! Please don’t go into the light!”

The male groans again, and you flounder— you have to get him to the ER! It’s more serious than you thought. Panicked, you scramble for a way to get him up and mobile. Finally, an idea occurs to you, and you survey the man’s lanky form to try and assess how well it’s going to work out. A grimace finds its way to your face.

You’re going to be so sore later.

x     x

For forty minutes, you carried the long-limbed male on your back like nothing but a pack mule. Twenty minutes of that you spent walking, feeling like that Atlas bitch carrying the heaviest thing imaginable on your back and shoulders; and the other twenty was spent taking (read: waiting for) public transport. By the time you arrived to the hospital and got the man on your back checked in (you learned his name is actually Kim Namjoon and he’s a student, much like you), you felt as though at any second you were going to pass out. You still feel like that, actually, as you sit in the chair along the wall across from the male’s bed, which has the curtains drawn as the doctor inspects him, and attempt to recover. You’re sweaty, and gross, and desperately want a coffee. You even considered slipping some of the paper from the mysterious wad in his back pocket before you realised it isn’t money. You didn’t get to see what was on the papers, since you lost interest as soon as you realised it wasn’t cash.

You don’t get to lament too much about it before the curtains are being hauled back, a brightly smiling man greeting you; the doctor appears just as exuberant and overjoyed as when he first walked in.

“Well, good news and bad news!” he chirps, tucking his clipboard under his arm. His nametag reads Dr. Lee Minhyuk, and you can’t help but think that your new friend Sera would probably be frothing at the mouth at the mere sight of him. You catch sight of Namjoon adjusting himself on the bed behind the doctor, cheeks red.

You send the doctor a probing look, knowing he is waiting for a response. He beams, delighted at your acknowledgement.

“Good news first!” the Dr. Lee clicks his heels together before shifting his stance, gesturing his arm widely to Namjoon. “His tailbone is not broken! Thanks to the uneven distribution of his ass cheeks— ahem, sorry, his buttocks— all of the force of impact was absorbed by the, uh, dominant butt cheek, if you will. His tailbone is fine!”

Namjoon chokes behind him at the words that come out, and a part of you is mortified for him but the rest of you finds that too funny to even begin unpacking everything else yet. One of his ass cheeks really pulled a hard carry and did the lord’s work and absorbed all the impact. The power… A sigh of relief escapes you at the doctor’s words, though, and you go to speak up your relief when the doctor cuts you off.

“Whoops, actually I take that back! That’s the bad news— his tailbone isn’t broken, but it is bruised.” Dr Lee clicks his tongue, taking out his clipboard to scribble something short down. He then turns to Namjoon. “I kind of have to go— since you came in through the ER but this isn’t an actual emergency— but I’ll send a nurse in with directions for you on how to manage this, and after that you’ll be free to go. I recommend not climbing any more trees for a while! Also I hope you don’t sleep on your back, that might be a bit difficult like this.”

With that, he clicks his heels once more before saluting you both, and then he’s striding out of the room, off to tend to actual emergencies, you presume. You’d gotten an earful earlier for bringing him to the ER when it wasn’t a life-or-death emergency, but you stand by your decision.

There are a few long moments of silence in the time after the doctor leaves, and you decide to break it by standing and moving to the table beside his bed, where you’d left your phone like a fool. Avoiding his face (he’s still blushing so it’s a courtesy, but also because while sitting and waiting for the doctor you’d realised he really is quite good looking and your mind is having trouble associating that with the man who fell out of the tree earlier), you reach for the phone amongst the water cups and chocolate wrappers, from when he’d emptied his front pockets. He’s a nervous drinker and a hoarder, it seems.

“Wait,” His hand shoots out, long fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can grab your phone. Your heart jumps, perhaps in fright. You look to him with wide eyes. “I’m gonna need you to sign a non-disclosure about what you just heard.”

“I…” you give him a pained look. “Please, tell me you carry them with you at all times. Please. If you don’t tell me, I really might die.”

Namjoon lets out a great, big sigh, releasing your wrist somewhat petulantly. “I don’t… please hold your tongue until I can print some more.”

More? You’re having a field day with the implication that he has had instances where he’s needed to hand out non-disclosure agreements before, but he seems a little sombre. So instead of mocking him, as per your first instinct, you decide to try and make conversation. You know the nurse is coming soon, but you would feel bad leaving him alone until then. You feel like, having carried him on your back for miles and miles, almost an hour, you’ve really gotten closer and crossed the bridge from strangers to acquaintances.

“So…” you begin, tapping your fingers against your thighs. You search for another nearby chair before grabbing it and pulling it over, flopping down. “What do you study? Where?”

You feel like a new language learner asking questions using only the limited vocab you have, but Namjoon is unphased and answers as though you’d asked him something much more natural.

“CCU,” he says, fingers picking at the threads on his blanket, before he looks up to glance at you. “I’m a music major.”

Surprise filters through you at that, a noise of wonderment escaping before you can really stop it. “Oh! Hey, me too! I think you’re in one of the years above me, though, because I haven’t seen you in any of my classes before.”

Namjoon, who had been somewhat withdrawn and had put up a wall of sorts between you since entering the hospital and regaining control of himself (and a donut cushion to sit on), seems to do an absolute one-eighty at your words. “Oh, your major is music as well? Where are you specialising?”

You tell him with an eager smile, and he responds with one of his own. Just like that, the two of you fall into a conversation that comes much easier than anticipated, talking about your majors and music inside and outside of school. The nurse takes forever and you spend a good amount of time there, just talking to this upperclassmen who happened to fall out of a tree while you were walking past. Eventually, he confides in you about a rough draft of his, something he has really high hopes for. It’s a song called Moonchild, and it’s barely half done but he drums and beat boxes the rough rhythm out for you and you feel your cheeks heat in awe as you listen. That’s amazing, you can’t help but think, and it’s all him. You don’t think you’ve ever liked the demo of a song as much as you like that one.

The afternoon passes with the nurse eventually visiting, and all too soon you’re waiting with the long-legged noodle man at the drop-off and pick-up zone, watching with a note of sadness as a car pulls up and some mint-haired twink that looks vaguely familiar sticks his head out and calls for Namjoon. Namjoon thanks you for your help and bids you farewell, and then he’s climbing into the car with an abrupt wail of pain— he forgot to put his donut down first— before the doors shut and the car is pulling away, disappearing into the dusk and leaving you by your lonesome. You stand a few minutes, before letting out a huff and turning to leave yourself.

The whole way home, and throughout the rest of the week, you can’t help but think about the beautiful tune of moonchild and how it rings serenely through your mind when your thoughts quieten just enough. You hope you get to hear it again, someday; you hope you get to hear it when it’s finally completed and Namjoon’s name is on the credits.

— • masterlist | prev | intermission iii | next • —

{let us know what u think!! who are u rooting for?? who do u think is the muse?? hit us up!! & thank u for reading, btw!}

[link-sans-specs]

You can keep any of this you want... except this mask. It's spoken for now.

Mythical Society

BTM- Good Mythical Evening 2023

[warriorqueen1991]

Everything Black

Characters: Necromancer Negan x Reader

Warnings: smut, biting, body worship, breath play, cum inflation, hair pulling, fluff ;)

Notes: wow this is a long one lol…ok so this is a hot little fantasy au that kept bugging me and…well, became alot hotter than I had planned…please let me know what'cha think ;)

The song Everything Black by Unlike Pluto was a huge inspiration for this fic so please check it out ♡♡♡

—————————————-

Moving through the quiet street, you swiftly made your way to the large gate separating the horrors of the world from your quiet little community.

Tugging the hood of your black velveteen cloak over your head, you lifted the lantern in your hand to your cheek. Your eyes searching for the guards that normally perched in their nests, but just like he’d promised.

They were gone.

Sliding your fingers around the cool handle, you slowly began pulling the squeaky metal across the road. The loud echoing rattle like an earthquake against the pavement, slipping through the gate you glanced back up the street with an odd sense of relief.

If you were lucky, and this hadn’t been a fool’s errand this would be the last time you gazed up these streets.

Shutting the gate back making sure it latched, you moved swiftly down the dark abandoned road. Your lantern the only soft glow aside from the full moon shining above.

Once you were out of sight of Alexandria you quickly moved into the black forest, the quiet sound of whistling leading you deep into the darkness.

Pushing yourself through the tangle of branches and dead leaves, you finally emerged into a large clearing. A single colossal tree twisting to the heavens in its center, its branches stripped of all life. The skeletal arms reaching out from its body like outstretched hands, a web of vines hanging from the bark.

Swallowing slowly, you let your eyes land on the large bird cage of vines and thorns hanging from the largest branch. The man sitting on its floor smirking with a devilish grin as he dropped one of his leather clad legs through a hole in the bottom, the cage swinging slowly with the movement.

Gripping the wooden bars he chuckled as you approached him “well, well, well…what do we have here?”

The man was draped in a worn leather jacket, his torso bare aside from two black handprints painted on his chest. His black hair and salt and pepper beard giving him a rugged yet elegant look, his eyes surrounded by black face paint. A single black line running from each one down his jaw to rest against his clavicle.

He had an assortment of bracelets around his wrists, all looking as if they were made if bones.

Pressing his face against the wood with a wide smile, he ran his tongue across his lip with a pleased hum “didn’t figure I’d ever see ya again darlin”. The loud cawing of a scattered flock of Ravens made you flinch as they made their home in the giant tree.

“I…I was thinking about what you told me last time, about freeing me”.

“Annnd?”

You sighed at his goading tone “you said you could help…can you?”

You didn’t think his smile could grow any wider, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks. “You know I don’t do this shit for free sweetheart” your face dropped as you stared at the dew covered grass, a slight breeze making your cloak flutter around your ankles.

“What do you want?”

His deep chuckle made you lift your gaze back to him, his leg swinging slightly as his cage swayed beneath the tree. “Baby, you should come with me?…we could do some bad, bad fucking things in the nighttime” his tongue ran over his teeth suggestively.

Furrowing your brow at him you shook your head “as far as I can see, you’re not going anywhere Negan”. He let out a wheezing laugh as he leaned heavily against the wooden bars. His long fingers wrapping around them almost sensually “nights still young sweetheart”.

“What. Do. You. Want?” You were getting impatient with his antics, if he didn’t want to divulge his secrets then you were wasting your time.

“We could kill the lights darlin!…hit the lights and let the world blackout…come on…live a little”

His deep purring voice sent chills down your spine, you had been warned not to make conversation with the creature before you. But his words were soaking into your soul, you were tired of this world. Done with the chaos and loneliness that followed.

Negan had promised you a way out, you knew his nature would be to manipulate you for his own good. But the way his eyes devoured your visage made you wonder if maybe, just maybe. He was sincere in his advances.

You and him weren’t so different.

Both outcasts, both misunderstood…nobody had the right to cage such a free and wild spirit. Not anymore. Not since the world had died around you.

“What made you choose the darkness Negan, what blackened your heart?”

The question was extremely personal, but if he wanted you to free him he needed you to understand. To know him.

He frowned pressing his forehead against the cage of branches “I…lost someone…and it broke me, I figured if I could control the fucking dead then I could have my fucking wife back”.

He grimaced with a dark chuckle “to hell with till death do us part”.

“And did you have her?”

He growled softly, his luminescent eyes catching the light from the moon “I got a shambling husk that just reminded me how much of a fucking piece of shit I was”. Letting out a deep sigh he bit his lip “the shadow that fell over my heart was enough to black out the fucking moon”.

He groaned running his hands up the dark wood “but then you came around, you had me losing fucking sleep…my black heart dancing in the fucking dark waiting for you to fucking come back around”.

You blinked in surprise,

“that black hole was pulling me inside, underneath this fucking beautiful black, black sky…but you” he purred sliding his tongue across his teeth. “You didn’t try to change me, to convince me to fucking go to the light…you reveled in my darkness and sought to gain something from it”.

He tongued his molars with a flirty wink “I like that”.

Moving so you could run your fingers against the vine keeping his cage suspended, you eyed his curious gaze as he looked down at you.

“Give me freedom and I’ll give you yours”.

You bit your lip nervously before sliding the knife from under your cloak, Negan pulled his leg up through the bottom of his cage as he stood up. His eyes never leaving yours as you began cutting through the thick vines.

Severing the last vine you winced as a loud snap sent his cage crashing to the ground.

Surprisingly the wooden cage held its integrity, a wave of dead leaves and disturbed Ravens flying out around you.

Negan growled as he got back to his feet, his eyes darting around the cage as if searching for an escape. You moved to his prison with slow confident strides, your hands caressing across the smooth wooden bars as you came to stare at his curious face.

“I just want to be free”

Pressing his face between the wood he looked at you with heated eyes “then set us both free”. Grasping the bars on either side of his face, you slowly pressed your lips against his. His luminescent eyes sliding shut as his right hand reached through the space between his wooden barrier to cup your smooth cheek.

His thumb was drawing small circles at the edge of your moving lips as your fingers gripped the wood firmly.

A warm pulse ran up your body as his tongue delved deep into your mouth, a deep rumbling purr vibrating against your skin. Sucking on your bottom lip he pulled away slowly, his eyes drifting open as he licked his lips. A warm breeze blowing through his cage as he suddenly disappeared in a puff of ink black smoke.

Gasping you stumbled back away from the now empty cage, the tame breeze turning harsh in an instant, knocking your hood from your head. Watching as a large shadow fell over your trembling form your mouth dropped as a large Raven made of smoke burst through the cage, it’s body passing through the bars before covering your body in a blanket of darkness.

Covering your face with your hands as you fell back onto the cool ground, your heart began racing as a pair of warm hands wrapped around your wrists pulling them away gently. “Hmmm don’t hide from me now sweetheart” his deep voice rolling off his tongue with an erotic lilt as you slowly opened your eyes.

Negan was straddling your waist, his large hands still holding your wrists as he stared down into your wide eyes. He smiled softly “the stars look even better shining from your eyes”. Blinking several times you felt a wave of heat course through your body as he let your hands go, sliding the leather from his shoulders slowly.

Dropping your mouth open in shock as you felt the heavy leather drop onto your legs, watching as he rolled his head back against his shoulders with a blissful sigh “do you still want your freedom?”

Your eyes were feasting on the delicate outlines of muscle peeking through his splattering of dark hair. His breathing almost ragged as he awaited your response, the muscles twitching in anticipation.

“y…yes” you breathed, your shaking hands sliding up his just visible hip bones. Letting out a deep purr as you continued to explore his bare chest he rolled his head back to look at you “do you still want me to give it to you?” his emphasis on ‘me’ sent a wave of moisture to collect at your core.

Placing your hands over the black handprints adorning his tan skin you let out a breathy moan “yeeesssss”. Closing his eyes with a breathy laugh he leaned forward fisting the grass beside your head, his fingers digging into the dirt as he slid his tongue against yours once more.

The ground vibrated beneath you as the sound of things emerging from its soil could be heard around you, the clawing of the grass and dispersing of dirt making you turn your head in curiosity.

Your eyes widened as decayed hands began clawing their way from the damp earth, pulling the rotten corpses of the dead from its depths.

Gasping in fear, you struggled to wiggle from under him as the dead shuffled to their feet.

Negan seemed amused by your frantic attempt to flee, leaning over you once more with a purring laugh. Running the back of his hand gently down your throat he smiled “easy darlin, their not gonna hurt ya”. Panting heavily you jerked your gaze back to him with an uncertain look “promise?”

He chuckled leaning back to mark an X on his chest with the damp dirt on his fingers “cross my heart”.

Noticing that the corpses were keeping their distance, you watched as their swaying bodies surrounded the two of you in a circle of the dead. Gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Negan gently urged your eyes back to his.

Running his thumb over your bottom lip, he smiled before leaning down to kiss your soft lips with a deep purr. His large hands running down your body in a feather light caress as your clothes fell away in decaying shreds.

Shivering slightly in the cool night air you slid your hands up his back, his warm skin making you moan in delight. Sucking against your neck as his teeth nipped at your chilled flesh, he began rolling his hips against your center making you cry out into the night.

“Fuuuuck yes! sing for me baby” he purred “you think it feels good now…just wait” his deep chuckle made you writhe beneath him.

Slipping your hands down between your moving bodies, you quickly began undoing his belt. Negan smiled against your neck with a purr of delight “that’s it…take what you fucking want baby”.

Sitting up to slide his large hands down your chest between your quivering breasts, he ran his tongue across his teeth with a deep chuckle.

Blushing you slowly pulled his belt from around his waist, lifting his hands up as you unbuttoned his pants making him grin.

Biting your lip you smiled as he got to his feet “ware you going?”

“Hmmm not going anywhere sweetheart…just feel like I’m fucking suffocating in these fucking pants”.

You giggled as he worked his leather pants down his legs, his smile growing as he watched your eyes drag down his newly exposed skin.

“Look like ya want to eat me alive darlin”.

Licking your lips you shifted on top of your velvet cloak, you weren’t used to, or prepared for this kind of affection. This creature caged up in the woods was showing you more care and devotion than any human ever had.

“Maybe I do” you breathed as he seated himself back on top of you, leaning down to cage you in his arms he grinned with a deep purr “I just might let ya”.

Lifting your hands to run your fingers up his scruffy jaws, you moaned softly as he slid his eyes shut. Your delicate digits running up into his hair, the deep purr rumbling against you making you smile as he licked his lips.

His parted lips pulling back in a blissful smirk as his breathing increased.

Dropping his mouth to yours, he growled rolling his spine under the moonlight as your bare legs slid up his thighs.

Lifting your hips to join him in glorious contact, your eyes rolled back as he caressed his large hands down your writhing body before firmly gripping your ass.

Squealing against his lips you smiled as he let out a deep chuckle, his hips rolling against yours in a slow sensual dance as he pulled your left leg higher up his shifting muscles. He was firm and hot within you, his pulsing shaft sinking deep within you with each slow grind.

Gasping into a breathy moan, your body arched beneath him as he tilted his scratchy cheeks under your jaw to suck against your tender flesh. Digging the fingers of his right hand into the moist dirt, he sunk his blunt nails into your pale globes as you fisted his hair. Your smooth hips undulating off the soft material beneath you, the muscles in your thighs aching as he shifted to rock into you more firmly.

He seemed to be swelling inside you with each thrust, his throbbing member shooting sparks of pleasure throughout your entire body. Baring his teeth against your temple, he groaned as you pressed your heel into his tailbone.

“Oh my god” you breathed, pulling him closer. Your eyes widening as he growled, biting your flesh in warning before he sat up. His long fingers wrapping around your throat as his free hand drifted to your sensitive clit.

Letting out a breathy groan, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

“No god here sweetheart…” he grunted moving against you with more force, pressing forward so the hand around your throat pinned you to the ground firmly.

“Why don’t you fucking say my name…huh?…fucking pray to me darlin…” he let out a growling laugh as he leaned heavily against your throat making your gasp, clawing at his arm.

“Fucking worship what I fucking do to you!!”

You cried out in ecstasy, digging your nails into his skin “Ohhhh….oh Negan…kii…king of the dead…I pray to…to your massive cock and…and perfect body…ahhhh…I worship your gorgeous eyes and unmatched power…” you swallowed thickly as he threw his head back with a loud groan.

“Fuck…keep going”

You whimpered, dropping your mouth open as pleasure washed through you. Canting your hips against him almost painfully, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. His glistening chest and tensing muscles catching the glow of moon as his eyes dropped to meet your heavy gaze. His lips hanging open with a satisfied smile as he ran his tongue across his bottom lip with a deep growl, his hips driving into you with each harsh grunt.

His fingers closing off your air supply as the veins in his tan arm bulged against his skin, coughing with a breathy moan you jerked against him as he pressed his calloused fingers against your sensitive bundle of nerves rolling against it.

“Ggg…give…give me…your…your delicious cum…ohhh…Ne…Negan… my king…my goddd!!!…I’m begging you pleeease!!!!”

He chuckled menacingly, steam bellowing from his lips as he slid his hand from your bruised neck.

Gasping for air, you moaned as your body trembled in pleasure. Your hands sliding up his stomach as you dug your nails into his clenching abs “please”.

Shaking his head, he bit his lip with a teasing smirk as he ran his fingers over your face making you close your eyes. Your lips opening as the rough digits slid down your mouth, his raspy voice making you shiver as he continued to rock firmly within your clenching heat.

“Give me your release sweetheart…give me all of you, and you’ll be fucking free”.

Crying out, you panted heavily as your fingers gripped the splattering of dark hair on his stomach.

“Take it Negan….it’s yours…i’m yours”

He groaned pounding into you as he pulled you to his lips by the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he growled against your lips. Clamping your muscles around him you screamed into his open mouth making the circle of dead ones hiss and snap their jaws in excitement.

“Fuck your fucking beautiful” he rasped breathlessly as your release crashed down around you, his hands cupping your face as he stared down into your lust blown eyes. His body trembling slightly as he held off his own release to guide you through yours, your body jerking beneath him as the pleasure continued to course through you.

Placing one hand on the dark handprint on his chest, you fisted his hair with the other “please…”.

Letting out a pained groan as he rocked forward, Negan growled roughly against your lips as he chased his release. Dragging your nails through his hair, you moved both your hands up to run down the black streaks under his eyes making him moan.

Hissing at the overstimulation, you tensed up beneath him as he clawed at your hips sitting back on his hunches so he could pull you onto his lap. Your slick flesh sliding against each other as the circle of undead began shuffling forward.

Dragging your fingers up through his wet hair as he slapped his hips against yours, you continued to cry out to the stars as he bit at your throat and breasts. The slight jingle of his bone bracelets, as he clawed up your rolling spine and his heavy breaths were the only sound before you felt the cold hands of the dead.

Flinching in surprise, you gasped with wide eyes as they ran their hands up your body sensually, as Negan once again gripped your throat with a throaty groan.

Yanking against his hair you found yourself to caught up in the pleasure to care that the dead were now running their skeletal hands up your bare skin.

Biting at your jaw Negan grunted before whispering in your ear, his voice strained and almost desperate.

“Quid est meum tuum est”

Throwing his head back, he roared out in pleasure as his powerful release coated your uterus in hot spurts of cum. His seed filling you to the brim making you gasp as he continued to bounce you on his pulsing flesh, his orgasam continuing to feed your hungry pussy his burning offering.

Dropping your head back on your shoulders you grunted softly as he bit into your neck, whimpering against your flesh as he gave one more rough thrust inside your greedy lips as you milked him of every last drop.

Fluttering your now glowing eyes, you moaned blissfully as you dropped your head to his sweaty forehead. The dead slowly sliding their hands from your skin as they crawled backwards away from your writhing bodies.

Caressing his face you smiled brightly as his glowing eyes met your own, he returned the smile “your free…and you’ll never be alone again”. You let out a happy little laugh as you kissed him passionately, you were both smiling against your moving lips as his tongue delved deep into your mouth.

Getting to his feet slowly, Negan let you slid from his body so your feet could touch the cool grass.

Sliding one hand to your lower back he offered the other to you with a smile “happiness drags its feet around here darlin, if you want it…your gonna have to fuckin take it”.

Meeting his beautiful gaze you smiled as your hand slid into his, your bodies flashing instantly as you both transformed into beautifully ink black ravens.

Your loud caws ringing out into the night as the dead shuffled off into the woods, your dark shadows covering the moon as you twirled around one another.

Flying in close, your small black talons hooked around one another as you spun around happily before you took off into the night.

Disappearing into the darkness your heart beating rapidly as you bathed in your happiness, for you had made love to the night.

Worshipped the shadows.

And found peace in the abyss.

[meetmeatthecoda]

New fic: Hallow

Hey guys! :D I wrote some fluffy, Halloween-themed fanfic! Is there plot? Nope. But who cares? :’D It’s more of a drabble than anything else, I guess. Just some fun and fluff. Rated T, I guess, if you’re being generous. Just some smooching, nothing serious :) I just tried to make it cute! :D It’s also posted on my Ao3 and FF.net profile if you prefer reading on there :) So yeah, enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!! :D Much love and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! :D <33

“Trick or treat!”

A giggling group of young children stand in a huddle in front of Red and Lizzie’s apartment door, smiling brightly in their costumes, candy buckets extended.

“Well, hi there, guys! Wow, you all look great!” Lizzie showers the happy children with praise, straightening the princess's tiara and adjusting the ghost's sheet, while Red tries not to stare adoringly at her and instead offers the big bowl, decorated with ghosts and filled to the brim with candy, to the children.

This is Red and Lizzie’s first Halloween living together as a couple in their adorable, new apartment which is appropriately adorned with flickering, battery-powered candles, plastic pumpkins, and fake cobwebs. (But Lizzie had firmly ousted any form of spider, fake or alive.) They had also spent yesterday afternoon baking orange and green cupcakes and cookies for no other reason than to enjoy some sweet treats and each other’s company.

(Lizzie had gotten particular enjoyment out of repeatedly dotting his face and neck with bright orange buttercream frosting – “It’s a lovely color on you, Ray, really.” – and then licking it off. He couldn’t find it in himself to protest. And he made sure to pay her back in kind later.)

So, they’ve spent the last few days in wonderful companionship, Lizzie taking off work and Red cancelling his appointments, celebrating the holiday with food and scary movies. And Red simply couldn't be happier. Certainly, every day with Lizzie is a gift that he doesn't feel he deserves but the holidays are truly something special. Especially since these are their first ones together.

Red now glances at Lizzie out of the corner of his eye, watching as she makes sure that every child’s candy bucket is filled at least half way, and tries not to look obviously love-struck. But he can’t help but find her absolutely adorable in her costume.

Lizzie had decided to keep it simple this year and opted for the wildly popular, yet somehow not overdone, ‘kitty cat’. She is dressed in all black in thick leggings, a mini skirt, and a soft sweater and her feline look is completed with black cat ears. She also took great pains in front of the mirror earlier in applying cat eye makeup and whiskers. (Red loves how the extra black makeup accentuates her baby blue irises.)

Red manages to break his gaze away from her, not without difficultly, and turns to look out the window at the black night sky, his thoughts turning to past Halloweens. He has never made a big deal out of the holiday and he certainly never put much effort into costumes. The only joy he has ever gotten from this day was taking Jennifer trick-or-treating. He always took much more care with her costume then he ever did with his own. He would spend hours trying to get her hair just right and go to every store to find all the components for an authentic costume. He himself would only dress up if she needed a costume partner. (One year, they went as salt and pepper and it is one of Red's most cherished memories.)

However, those times are long gone and Red has long since accepted that. But Lizzie and her boundless enthusiasm have done much to renew his vigor for the holiday in a different but still wonderful way and he is grateful for that. So, in a moment of tenderness – or perhaps foolishness, he thinks ruefully – he had told her that she could pick his costume this year.

The resulting squeal of delight had been deafening and he had smiled good naturedly, happy to have pleased her. And anything that made Lizzie that happy, he was sure he would enjoy too.

She had taken several days to mull over his costume, putting a lot more serious thought into it than he expected, going through several different ideas and hours of internet searches, before finally settling next to him on the couch one evening last week and announcing her decision: Superman.

He had simply blinked at her. “But why, Lizzie?” he had asked, quite perplexed because no costume, as far as he was aware, could be more unsuitable for him.

“Because I couldn't find any suits of armor.” She had answered simply, smiling at him in a way he didn’t understand.

So, Red had continued to stare at her, starting to worry a little for her sanity, before she sighed and moved to perch herself on his lap, looking deeply into his eyes.

“You're my knight in shining armor, Ray, even if you don't see yourself that way.” She had whispered to him, eyes full of warmth and sincerity. “And, in the absence of a welder to make a suit of armor, I think Superman is a pretty good alternative.” She had smiled in that way again and he found himself smiling back, overwhelmed with love for her. “And it’s a chance to see that fine ass in some tights.” She had added, pecking him on the lips.

“Lizzie,” he had stated firmly, letting her slip off his lap. “I refuse to wear tights. No one can want to see that, even you.”

“I beg to differ!” she had gasped, turning back to him and pressing a hand to her heart. “And, besides, you said I get to pick your costume and that means all of it!”

“Evidently I should have laid down some ground rules.” He had said. “I’m drawing the line at tights, Lizzie. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

She had struggled for a long moment, mouth twitching, before losing the battle and bursting out in giggles at his unintentional pun. He had chuckled along with her and, with some effort, managed to ignore her wide, pleading eyes, which she knows are usually his undoing. Eventually she had given up, sighing dramatically but accepting that she was essentially fighting a losing battle. She had consented to Red’s ‘no tights’ rule but made sure to ensure full jurisdiction over every other aspect of his costume.

(And she had ‘ensured’ such privileges by distracting him with kisses and touches until he didn’t have the presence of mind to say any word other than ‘yes’. An effective method, he must admit.)

But thankfully, she didn’t have anything nearly as humiliating as tights in mind because here is Red, handing out candy to excited young children dressed in his favorite pair of comfy blue jeans, a soft t-shirt with the Superman emblem on it, and a red cape Lizzie had bought and carefully attached to the shoulders of his t-shirt.

(Lizzie learned how to sew in high school. And if it means that Red can learn little facts like this about her, then he will wear any manner of ridiculous costume that she requests.

Except tights.)

He privately thinks that he makes a pretty pathetic Superman but, earlier, when he came out of the bedroom in his costume, Lizzie’s eyes had lit up and she’d moved in close, draping her arms about his shoulders, cooing over how handsome he looked and kissing him with enough abandon that he really couldn’t complain.

He is shaken out of these pleasant memories by Lizzie calling good bye to the gaggle of trick-or-treaters and he quickly waves after the children, who are skipping happily down the hall with their spoils.

“This is fun, isn’t it?” Lizzie closes the apartment door and turns to him, all smiles.

Red can’t help but agree. His favorite part of the night so far has been seeing Lizzie interacting with the children. She’s so wonderful with them, kind and motherly but firm and strong when she needs to be. He feels an all too familiar pang of remorse.

Lizzie would be such a wonderful mother, the perfect balance to his parenting style of ‘spoil like crazy’. She would gladly be the sensible parent but would also take every opportunity to shower their child with praise and love and affection whenever she could.

He sighs. Sometimes he wishes so desperately that they could have children together. And they could, of course, but they both know it would not be wise with their situation and his criminal status. Neither of them could live with the knowledge that they put their child in danger.

He sighs again.

“You all right, Ray?” Lizzie murmurs, rubbing his arm. “Do you wanna call it a night?”

Red pulls himself together. He won’t let these morbid thoughts ruin their first Halloween together.

(Besides, if Red’s learned one thing in life, it’s never say never.)

He turns to Lizzie.

“Call it a night?” he repeats incredulously. “Lizzie, please, it’s barely seven. I’m not that old yet, thank you very much.” He teases her with a smile on his lips and tickling fingers at her waist.

She laughs and squirms in his arms and he laughs a deep laugh before she smothers it by enthusiastically pressing her lips to his.

(Of all the wonderful aspects of their relationship, working and romantic, this part is the most effortless.)

They kiss until they are interrupted by the doorbell ringing again. They pull away reluctantly, gazing at each other wordlessly for a moment before they come back to themselves. Lizzie giggles and wipes some of her lipstick off his face and Red smirks and adjusts her sweater to cover her midriff again where he pushed it up a little too far.

They smile at one another.

After a final smoothing of her hair, Lizzie opens the door, revealing another group of trick-or-treaters, this time including a vampire and a mad scientist.

“Trick-or-treat!”

The night goes on like this, the influx of trick-or-treaters reaching its peak around eight-thirty and starting to taper off somewhere around ten. Red and Liz share intermittent moments in between trick-or-treaters behind their closed door, kissing or talking or snagging their favorite treats out of the candy bowl.

(Black licorice for her and sweet tarts for him.)

When they hear the doorbell or a knock, Lizzie opens the door and greets the children while Red makes sure everyone gets at least one piece of their favorite candy, though he can’t help but sneak an extra piece to any with a particularly creative costume.

(His two favorites were a young girl dressed as a ballerina and an older boy dressed in a suit and fedora. He’s not exactly sure who the boy was portraying but if nothing else he should be credited for his outstanding fashion sense.)

“Well, I think that’s about it for the night, don’t you?” Red sighs as Lizzie closes the door on a Frankenstein and a werewolf hurrying down the hallway with some Milky Ways.

“I think so,” Lizzie agrees, stretching her arms above her head. “We sure went through a lot of candy, didn’t we?”

“We certainly did,” Red glances at the empty bags littering the floor and then peers into the mostly empty bowl. “Still have a few things left though.” He plucks out a Three Musketeers.

“Got any milk duds?” Lizzie asks, peeking over his shoulder.

Red shakes the contents of the bowl. “One left,” he hands it to her and can’t resist lidding his eyes at her. “You’re a lucky girl.” He murmurs.

She opens the small box and shakes a few milk duds in her mouth. “I’ll say.” She hums, eyeing him up and down suggestively.

He rolls his tongue.

She stares at his mouth for a moment before tossing the rest of the milk duds back all in one go, chewing and swallowing in record time.

“Right then,” she says hastily. “I’m gonna go get into my costume.”

Red frowns, glancing up at her head. Her cat ears are still firmly in place. “Costume? Aren’t you already in it?”

“My public costume, yes.” She says easily. “But I have another for our…private enjoyment. It’s decidedly more…adult.”

Red’s mouth drops open.

Oh my. Well, this is a surprise.

“What is it?” he asks hoarsely.

She smirks and heads back to their bedroom, hips swaying a little more than usual. “Let’s just say it rhymes with the word ‘purse’ and…I had to buy a stethoscope.”

Red carelessly tosses the candy bowl on the counter and stalks after Lizzie, growling playfully, sending her sprinting down the hallway, laughing all the way.

Oh, happy Halloween indeed.

[jinjikook]

Sugar Sweet | 6 | (M) [Discontinued]

word count: 4.4k

genre: smut + fluff; college AU + fuckboy!kihyun

pairing: reader/kihyun

summary: your best friend & roommate changkyun just wanted to help get you laid. instead you found solace in a pink haired man named kihyun who had a smart mouth with sharp words you weren’t afraid to let cut you, as long as he didn’t mind you hurting him a little too.

dedicated to: @honeyheonie, @lostinmonstax & @jooheonster, who legit were some of my biggest backbones to keep me going (cough & for @tomatoholmes bc she stans ki cough)

a/n:  i’m v sorry this took so long, i didn’t even realize it had been nearly two months since ss 5! time is going by too quickly, but i think i’ve truly found a solidified plot line to the point where i think i’ve speculated where everything will go and therefore than means more concrete chapters, sooner updates and a finalized chapter count! i cut this chapter off a little early bc i didn’t want to head into the next part just yet, but stay tuned for Jin’s party kiddos :) much love to all those patient guppies who stayed by my side and encouraged me to continue despite the many setbacks i felt.

music: suffer - charlie puth

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 7 

masterlist

In case you missed it: this happened right before

“So, what’s this about a party tonight?” You innocently asked, curiosity peaked once you finally settled after your little encounter.

Kihyun looked up from the worn down Tupperware he was eating from, Kung Pao chicken long forgotten. His words came out muffled, smothered in rice and noodles as a few stray pieces of chicken slipped out. His cheeks were puffed out, the hamster themed nickname still coming to mind as you watched him try to swallow his mouthful before attempting to talk again.

“Don’t worry about it. Yoongi is just being an asshole, like always.”

Scoffing, you reach forward and let Kihyun feed you a fork-full of his soggy noodles. Chewing thoughtfully before speaking, something that slips Kihyun’s mind far too easily, you deadpan, “That doesn’t answer my question. I wouldn’t mind going, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what? You think Yoongi is gonna make a move on me? Don’t you think you could have a little more faith in me, Kihyun?” You couldn’t help but feel your voice strain at the accusation, as if you couldn’t help yourself much like a hungry dog to a full meal.

“Well let me think, the last time you were at a party, it was when you and I met, and I fucked you brainless that night. Who’s to say it won’t happen again tonight, a rerun episode but with a different character this time.” Kihyun looked at you, almost scornfully. This was a complete 180 from his earlier demeanor, his attitude waning from cocky and smooth to spiteful and stinging. It hurt you more than you wanted to lead on, but you couldn’t help as your volume increased with every syllable you spoke.

“Are you kidding me? I was specifically looking to get laid that night, I wasn’t even seeing anyone! If we can even say that’s what we’re doing. I mean, you’ve fucking taken me on one whole date and fooled around with me a few times every now and then. Forgive me for being ‘that girl’ but what the fuck are we, Yoo Kihyun?!”

He sighed, his soft pink hair draping down in a small curtain over his gleaming skin. You hated how your finger itched to sweep it back and expose the polished marble underneath. “Baby, please,” he whispered, breathless and pleading. His eyes matched the vulnerability his voice exposed, an emotion clearly raw and unused by the peach haired man. “Just… I don’t want to lose you. Yoongi is my friend, yes, but he’s also like me. A lot like me, actually.”

Giving into the temptation, you let your digits carefully drag his hair to neatly land past his forehead, thumb brushing the skin there gently. “You’re afraid of losing me?” Your voice was laced with disbelief, the entire emotional ride from the car earlier and afterwards still not convincing you that Kihyun was completely a changed man.

He could only nod, the motion making his hair come crashing back like waves of salmon cascading on the pearly white sands of his flawless skin.

A whisper, was all you could muster. It was small, meek and easily lost in the white noise of Kihyun’s apartment. But Kihyun’s head perked up at the squeak of it, hearing you in crystal clear definition. His lips toyed with a smile and he stood up from where he sat on his couch (“It’s a loveseat, a couch is so much rattier” Kihyun had said when you commented on his high end furniture earlier.) to press a chaste kiss to your lips, keeping it surprisingly PG, save for the hands that settled low on your hips. You wondered if there were magnets on his hands and your hipbones, with how they always seemed to come together one way or another.

His breath felt like heaven as it intermingled with yours, despite that both of your tongues were heavy with soy sauce.

“Baby?”

Eyes bright, shining and gleaming like the softest pebble in a trickling brook, he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips to mimic the kiss he placed on your lips onto the skin of your hand.

“I’d be honored if you’d be my date to Jin’s party tonight.” His voice was rough, a promise that this was only going to go further as his continued to pepper kisses down to your wrist in succession, awaiting your answer. When you finally exhaled and breathed out a light and airy yes, Kihyun just couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

It went on for what felt like hours but his neat little alarm clock on his bedside table marked as 47 minutes. Every second had your spine tingling, toes curling while your breath forever stayed caught in your throat. You can’t even remember how many times you’d come but when Kihyun finally had, it was glorious, like a victory in itself.

He was high, keening as his moans sounded more like vocal exercises rather than exclamations of passion. Every sweet note strung along like a melody of lusts and, if you dared to say, love. It soothed every aching muscle that screamed for you to come down from whatever position he had you bent into at the time, ease in your bones as he whispered sweet praises against your skin and stamped it with a kiss in order to seal it underneath.

Kihyun continued to kiss your shoulders softly, fingers gracing every inch of your body as he seemed to seep the tension away from your bones. You sighed contentedly as his fingers brushed a particularly sore bruise along the meat of your hips, where Kihyun’s grip never faltered as he dove into you time and time again.

“Are you up for a shower babe? Or should I draw you a nice, warm bath? I have bath salts and stuff,” You looked back to question Kihyun with a glare, lips pursing to stifle a laugh that was threatening to come out. “What? A man can have that stuff, it’s relaxing as fuck. Besides, it helps me have this perfect skin that you love so much.”

“I do not love your skin—“

“Baby girl, you practically worship it. I see where you look, it’s either there, my hair or my dick.”

“I look at you as a person, you asshole. But a bath works, mostly because I don’t trust my legs to work anymore than I trust a lump of jelly to hold me up. And don’t say you can do it because you’re no muscle pig Yoo, you’ll get tired from holding me up eventually.” He shrugged and slipped out from where he was spooning you, leaving you with one last kiss imprinted on your cheek before he left the half-lit room into the direction you knew his bathroom was in.

Laying there in a sated silence, the air was thick from the scent of sex but also from the swelling you felt in your heart. You swore that Kihyun felt the same fullness inside, warm and satisfied like after a huge meal.

It was like a breath of fresh air, clinging to the sacs in your lungs as you finally felt some sort of true satisfaction from the sex, not just the lulling pleasure afterwards from a good lay but instead, the feeling of being safe; comforted by the idea that Kihyun isn’t going to kick you out this time, and there was more to offer than just a hot meal in the morning.

Maybe he’d even give you a key for his apartment.

Shaking your head, you wanted to stop those thoughts from breeding; as hope springs eternal. The last thing you wanted was to have an idea for the future only for things not to work out and have it all ripped away from you right before your eyes. Like a magician’s trick: stealing the cloth from under all the silverware. But you were surely not a magician, and you knew a novice like yourself would tug on a corner of the fabric only to tear everything in shambles, every glass and plate falling over and teetering over the edge to break in a million shards and fragments, impossible to piece together even with the best glue money can buy. You’d only make a mess and it’d be yours to clean up, despite all the cuts and blood you’ll spill in the process.

“Babe? Did you hear me?” Kihyun’s voice traveled from the bathroom, the sound bouncing off the porcelain sink and tiled walls only to reach down the hall just enough for you to hear the barest hint of it. Kihyun’s head followed his voice, poking in the doorway, revealing a mop of semi-wet pink along with a shirtless torso with small droplets of water making their way south with the aid of gravity. “You ready?”

You could only muster a small whine, reaching out your arms and giving him the best grabby hands you could manage. Kihyun laughed, breathless and lovely, as you approached your nude body on the bed, still tangled in his expensive bedsheets. Though no amount of money can make up for the damage you two did to them in the last hour.

It took some maneuvering but Kihyun finally got a decent enough grip that didn’t make you brain yourself on the walls of the hallway, the small trek over to the bathroom feeling much long with how many times Kihyun had to readjust his grip.

(“Kihyun! That’s my ass!” “Oops, sorry my bad.”)

Dipping you in gently, the warm water lapped up your body as Kihyun slowly let your body drift naturally into the large bathtub he had, the bath salts settling around you as you finally seated yourself properly. Kihyun smiled in satisfaction as you felt every tense muscle ease with the hot water and rose bath salts.

Rose seemed fitting, what with Kihyun’s hair and all. You had to keep in a laugh at the thought, not wanting Kihyun to think you were being unappreciative of all he’d sweetly done for you.

He hummed softly as he pattered around the bathroom, completing a few finishing touches by lighting some candles, dumping some more salt in the tub along with scented rose petals. You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, feeling the ache melt of your body as the water took a more pinkish hue.

“Hey Ki?” He hummed to acknowledge he was listening, back facing you as he finished with the last candle and flicked off the light switch to reveal the warm orange glow that naturally bred in the tiled room with the help of the dozen or so burning flames. “Can… can you put some music on? It doesn’t have to be anything specific,” You chewed on your lip, wondering if you could finish what you wanted to ask since you’d never asked this of him before. “And maybe you could… sing? You don’t have to if you don’t want.” You hurriedly added the remainder of your sentence, not wanting him to feel forced to reveal this part of his life.

He laughed once more, it was small and light and airy like the cotton candy you thought his hair resembled.

“Sure baby girl, whatever you want. I’m gonna turn on the stereo in the living room,” He has a stereo in his living room? Granted you hadn’t really noticed since every time you’ve been here there had been more… pressing matters.

He stepped out of the room and left you alone once more, though now you could clearly hear him shuffling to and fro in the living room just down the hall. You ventured to sneak a peek, craning your neck and jostling the waters around you. You caught sight of Kihyun’s skin passing by a few seconds at a time, his pink hair flopping with him. It was cute, like a lost puppy.

Soon a low, reverberating bass hummed through the floors all the way to the tub, making the water ripple from the sound. It wasn’t loud enough to disturb the neighbors but it at least gave the atmosphere what it was missing, white noise to distract from the drippy faucet and the flickering candles. Settling back into the tub, you patiently waited for Kihyun to return to join you.

Except he never came.

“Ki? Baby?” You spoke into the darkness that enveloped the living room now, apparent that the lights had been turned off. He shouted a small coming! that made you smile, his voice sounding further than normal, meaning he’d probably stopped by the kitchen.

He returned with a bottle of blood red wine, two glasses in tow. He smiled his all too perfect smile and you couldn’t help but return it, the heat radiating from you in waves so strongly that you’re sure it fueled the flames around you to glow a tad bit brighter, if that were even possible.

Setting the items down by the tub, Kihyun motioned for you to sit straight and he stepped into the tub behind you, settling his back against the edge of it. Once he spread his legs and had them on either side of you, he pulled you back into his embrace, your wet back meeting his warm and surprisingly more broad than you remembered chest.

He sighed, deep in his throat and it made his chest vibrate with the sound. It lulled you to lean your head back on his shoulder, eyes lazily meeting his own half lidded ones.

Without warning, Kihyun began to sing, in the octaves of dripping gold and honey. The song was already partway through but it didn’t stop Kihyun from harmonizing from what felt like the heavens above. You swore the sound alone cradled your lungs and kept the air from filling them up.

“So here we go, go again,” His hands stroked along your sides, soft and trembling along the smooth skin there.

“It’s like I’m caught under your spell,” Kihyun reached past the cusp of the tub, pulling back with a glass of wine for yourself, his own cradled under the lazy grip on the hand he had braced on the side closest to the wall. You couldn’t help but take a slow pull of the bloody liquid, the slow and slightly room temperature drink making its way down your throat like molasses, like it had all day to reach the pit of your stomach and warm you to a decent buzz. The flavor that followed was tart, sans any bitterness as it tasted as sugar sweet as everything else that came with knowing Kihyun.

“You’re wearing black, black magic,” His hand pulls back a few strands of your hair from your face, the water clinging to the hair and making it stick to your scalp. Some of the drops cascaded down your face, your eyes naturally coming to close at the sensation.

An idea burned in Kihyun’s mind, his cock twitching at the filthy thought. Letting his hand rest at your clavicles, he brings his own wine glass to his lips, the deep and rich red contrasting with the lilac pink that dusted his lips. As he sipped hungrily on the drink, your eyes slowly opened to the sight of a singular drop of red slipping past the seam of his lips, trailing down the column of his perfect throat, where a prominent vein lay. Before it could drag any lower, you latched your mouth there was best you could without twisting your body into that resembling a question mark. Sucking lightly, you make sure to pass your tongue and capture all of the fruity taste that the wine left sticky on his skin.

He groaned, the noise matching a vibration that hummed with your lips where they were attached. Pulling his glass away, he smacks his lips and chases the taste from his lips with a pass or two of his own tongue, mimicking how you lapped at his neck. You returned to your earlier position, head resting on Kihyun’s shoulder once more as he continued to sing, his voice slightly more raspy with something akin to want; like fire licked at his throat and vocal chords instead of yourself.

“Well, baby don’t wear nothing else,” His touch scorched now—burning a trail of need in the wake where your veins lay. No longer were his digits innocently skimming your sides, they gripped and tugged with intent, malicious indeed. He reached forward to cup your left breast with his only free hand, toying with your nipple and making you whimper as shocks made their way past your ribcage and down into the water, where your core was twitching.

“Well, open up this door,” Kihyun punctuated his igniting words as his hand dipped down under the water, gently skimming where you burned the hottest. You jolted at the phantom touch, ripples in the water and some sloshing over the edge in reaction to your sudden movement. Some of Kihyun’s wine crashed against the edge of the glass, a few stray droplets coming down in rich rivulets, each one larger than the next as they reached their end and dripped off the clear glass.

When they landed in the water, they tinged the area for just a mere moment, before the amount of water diluted to color and took the opaque red away and replaced it with the peach of the bath salts. You felt several grains swirl around you while you kicked around, trying to fight the extreme sensations Kihyun was bringing to you without even as much as touching you properly.

“Don’t you play,” He chuckled into your ear, his breath hot and heavy against the shell of it as his tongue came to follow. The burst and blooming of pleasure that came to fruition made you whine, keening in hopes that Kihyun would show mercy to his bathing lover. He suckled along your neck, bringing the glass of wine in his hand to your neck and tipping it over purposely, the cool liquid splashing audibly on your shoulder.

He watched with a burning fever as the wine stained your skin, leaving sticky sweet trails of color until it either ran off the sides into the milky bath water or collected in the space between your bones, in pools of inky red in your clavicles.

Unable to resist any longer, he sucked and lapped at the gaps where the liquid stayed static. You gasped at his hot mouth latched on your body, tasting every drop of wine along with the salty tang of your own skin, intermingling with the bitter rose water that still dotted your skin in pin pricks. Once he deemed you clean of the wine, he whispered your name, breathless, in your ear. You shivered at the sound, realizing he was just as wrecked as you were. His cock was solid behind you, full after all the teasing he’d succumbed you to.

“Ain’t no other man, gon’ make you feel the same,” He half whispered-half sang against your neck, his breath coming short and desperate. The water swished and sloshed around the tub, the motion between the two of you causing it to erupt in waves to the point of cascading over the side and splashing down on the tile and soaking the maroon bath mat that lay on the other side.

Kihyun took the time to extract your wine glass from your trembling fingers, no fight in you as you relinquished the glass with minimal effort. He placed his and your own where he had originally put them, next to the half-full bottle that still stood there untouched.

“Wanna make, wanna make love,” He whimpered as you grinded back against him, causing his head to brush up against you over and over again. Had he not been submerged in that moment, you were sure he’d be drooling pre-come all over your ass, no doubt making a mess like always.

He gripped your hips, that pesky magnet coming back into play, as he rocked against your backside. The water was relentless, constantly splashing and almost completely covering the sound of the music in the background.

“Girl, I can’t lie,” Kihyun was practically begging now, his singing barely above a whisper as he tried to put his focus in working his hips along you. All you could rely on for satisfaction was the ghosting fingertips of Kihyun’s hand dipping down to tease along your thighs, and the constant slap of the splashing water against your hot core. It was a siren’s call, begging you to succumb to the utmost pleasure you needed, to just push Kihyun’s fingers where you needed them most. But unfortunately, nature doesn’t work that way and water does just the opposite effect of what you need in order to proceed as you would normally.

If it was up to you, you’d already be full of Kihyun, bouncing in his lap as you rode him into next week.

“I’m just a sucker,” Kihyun mouthed at your neck again, his voice finding some strength as he fucked against you, the mere pressure and friction driving him mad.

“For a cold-hearted lover,” He whispered something into your ear after that particular lyric, something akin and along the lines of a breathless apology. As if he was sorry for whatever he’d done to you before, for ever making you feel less than the royalty he thought you deserved to be.

“You make me suffer,” Kihyun couldn’t hold back his own whimpers and moans, the thread inside him finally unraveling as he pistoned his hips against you, the smacks of his skin against your audible along with the slaps of waves of water colliding with each other as they traveled in opposite directions. Every forward thrust from Kihyun made you come to meet with an opposing force, another hard wave of water coming in contact with your lower half and making you squirm, only causing more smacks against you in return.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” He finished himself off, one particularly hard grind against you making him erupt in white-hot pleasure, his come going straight into the water. It made the water between you two murkier, and Kihyun made sure to ask that you were on the pill, to ensure you weren’t going to get pregnant from any stray swimmers. Once you nodded vigorously, Kihyun chuckled and finished with a few more thrusts, letting his high ride out its duration before he returned to singing into your ear, both hands coming around to tease at your nipples.

“You should come over,” Kihyun teased, his breath fanning over the side of your face as he ground his now-soft cock into you, in hopes to keep the motion so you’d climax soon. The fingers that pulled and played with your nipples sent shocks of sensations of everywhere, toes curling from the aching pleasure you felt ramping up inside you.

Kihyun chuckled against your skin, the sound bringing you that much closer to the edge. You couldn’t help it as you rose up higher against him, your back sticking to his chest as you head rolled back to crane onto his shoulder, your eyes meeting Kihyun’s own burning dark orbs. You could see the aching satisfaction gleaming back at you, his skin mocking you once more with just how fucking pretty he was. You always seemed to notice this at this point, before or after you get to come. It’s a sex revelation, you come to realize.

“You should come, you should come baby,” Kihyun pointed the lyrics to you, fingers grazing the inside of your thighs and the mixture of his sickeningly sweet voice made you topple over the edge, your fingers gripping the edges of the tub until white bled into your skin as you came harder than you’re sure you’ve ever had—completely untouched.

At least, untouched in the proper sense.

Kihyun whispered praises in your ear, still rocking you gently to ride out your own orgasm along with the soft waves the curled in the water. Your eyes were closed, the pleasure too intense to handle with them open. You felt like you were at the beach, lost at sea; floating and buoyant in the open waters. The only thing that kept you anchored, tethered to reality, was Kihyun’s lilting voice telling you how good you are, how well you did, how proud he was of you. You could feel the bubbles forming in your stomach, erupting into small brush fires that stoked something even hotter inside you, something burning and cooking you from the inside out. It was like sticking fruit on a grill, locking in the sweetness inside you with the heat alone. The heat from Kihyun and what he did to you.

As you tried to come back from your high, you registered Kihyun still softly speaking into your ear, though his speaking was gentler now, if even that was possible. It was curling around you like smoke off a cigar, enticing you to fall even deep for him.

“Don’t make me suffer, don’t make me suffer,” He reached every octave, with ease in a way that made your stomach lurch to hear him sing more, to hear him in a opera hall; unadulterated and raw, the way he made you feel.

“I won’t, I promise,” You whispered back, hoarsely but still audible. You knew you were answering something that wasn’t intended to be, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to say something, the words were stoking something fierce inside you to the point that you felt like if you never opened your mouth, you’d never survive the night. Kihyun coaxed these words and feelings out of you like it was nothing.

You certainly weren’t a magician, incapable of hiding your true intentions and able to keep the veil of illusion up while simultaneously aweing the audience and keeping their attention enraptured—but Kihyun was. He was the best among them all, able to breathe fire into your lungs and make you bend every which way to his will, to his word. All while looking like an angel himself.

But the angel may just turn out to be the devil, dressed in pretty lace and pastels.

The song Kihyun sang said that you were the reason for his suffering, but it might just be the other way around. He might be the actual, literal death of you. And that… that might just be okay.

What a way to go.

[link-sans-specs]

How am I level-headed? That hurts my feelings.

Mythical Society

The Great Board Game Competition Livestream

BONUS: Maybe not level-headed. Definitely fluffy-headed. 🥰

[link-sans-specs]

Hero of the internet?

GMM2371

Will It Cannoli? Taste Test (ft. Madison Beer)

[link-sans-specs]

Nick, are you filming me complaining?

Mythical Society

BTM- Can You Smell Without Your Nose?

BONUS: A different sort of peekaboo. 😏