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konigsfaerie · 3 years ago

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Sapphire Throne

Summary: While in the throne room, Loki finds a way to relieve his new queen's stress.

(sub!loki x dom!fem!reader)

cw: contains bdsm and femdom)

The Mortal Queen is what they called you, even though you were mortal no longer. You spent your childhood and formidable years on Earth, and when you met Loki and were taken to Asgard, your newfound people either loved or hated you. But the people that loved you adored you, would die for you, and the people that hated you really hated you, some going as far to commit treason to get you off of the throne. Some had views like Odin. Views such as mortals are of no consequence, only made to worship the gods of old and die at an early age. It infuriated them that someone from Earth could hold such power not only physically, but at court.

Nevertheless, Loki fell in love with you during your time on Earth and made you Asgard’s queen, and you stepped into the role with such love in your heart for your people, whether they detested you or not. As you sat on the throne, your love next to you, deciding whether to go into enemy territory, you placed a hand on your chin and contemplated for a moment, water running through your veins. “I hate to put our people at war again…. Our soldiers through more battles,” you said, your eyes falling to the floor and then back up to your council members. “But I fear if we don’t, Asgard might fall. We can’t risk our people like this.”

Most of the council members had the utmost respect for your rule, although one or two silently protested your status. “Is it decided, My Queen?”

You gave a look to Loki, and he nodded in return. “It is, Vastros. We will invade their territory within the next nightfall. We go to war this winter,” you proclaimed, slamming down your large staff, the color of lavender. The look on your face was no look of pride, of hope. It was the look of a woman knowing she would send her people to die, even though you were sure we’d win the war.

The entire castle shook with your proclamation, and Loki’s matching staff hummed in response. For many decisions, Loki let you take the lead, as he knew you needed to solidify your title as queen. It didn’t matter much, because on many, if not all issues, you eventually came to the same decision.

As the council members left in unison, both of you stayed at your thrones. You gave a deep sigh, a hand flying to your forehead.

You personally got to know almost all of the soldiers before you were first crowned. At first it was an act of simply wanting to gain trust among the people, but soon they became some of the most trusted friends you had. You were already a trained fighter, but the way of the Asgardians were much different, and your magic was extremely new to you. While you could wield the power of the elements, they taught you power of the supreme weapons they held. This was why it was so painful to declare war. You knew that many of the people you came to love so much would die on a nondescript, frozen-over battlefield, no one to send them off to Valhalla.

“I know you’re stressed, my darling,” Loki breathed, “but you did make the right decision.” His deep green eyes found your chocolate brown ones, full of love and sympathy. “I suppose I never warned you of how much it could hurt… making decisions for a whole nation of people.”

You shook your head. “No… I suppose I didn’t know how many enemies we had. How much they wanted to get their hands on our vaults.”

His face fell to the floor, knowing he couldn’t exactly say something to make all the hurt go away. He knew how much you loved the Asgardian people, your newfound people. And knowing some of them might die… He quickly fell back into his head, as he was quite likely to do. But you knew him completely. You knew his thoughts, his doubts. His thoughts of thinking he wasn’t good enough to rule Asgard, not good enough to rule beside his Mortal Queen, not good enough to love his queen and receive love in turn. You wouldn’t let him fall back into those doubts.

“There is one thing you could do to relieve my stress, pet,” you quipped, giving him a small smirk. While you would maintain your composure at almost all times, the love in your eyes couldn’t be mistaken.

His back straightened on his throne, his eyes slowly finding yours. “Anything,” he said, not much more than a breathless whisper at the sound of one of his favorite nicknames you gave him.

“Get on your knees.”

Loki was wearing his Asgardian leathers, and you also fell into traditional Asgardian fashions, a small blue cape adorning your shoulders to honor your favorite element, with small green accents to honor Loki, only going down to your mid-back. Beyond that, you had a white jumpsuit on and white boots, streaked with even more green.

Before you could blink, Loki was at your feet, his knees on the ground and his back perfectly arched like the good boy he was. “M-My queen.”

Many people would probably guess he was a brat, and you a brat tamer, of which you both could absolutely be, but the gods-honest truth was that he loved serving you in all ways. It got him off. It made his cock twitch. And seeing him on his knees for you made you wet. Something about his willingly submissive nature towards you and only you made you want to make him beg.

“Oh, sweet boy,” you teased with a chuckle, “you’re so ready for me.” Even with all the doom and gloom, you knew that throughout the meeting when he looked at you, he was imagining just this. You placed a boot on his shoulder, contemplating just what you had in store for him. “What shall I do with you?”

The guards were still at the doors, which undoubtedly made Loki more excited, knowing his personal guards knew how much he served his queen.

“Leave us,” you commanded.

As they gave a curt nod and exited with a bow, the doors closed with a loud thud and you gave another smirk. “I know you like it when they watch, my little prince,” you mused, gazing into those wanting eyes.

In turn, he gave a small whimper and bowed his head.

“Unclasp my cape,” you ordered.

His hands scrambled onto your body, feeling on you until he reached your cape, unhooking the small golden buttons with his fingers. “P-Please let me touch you. Please.”

A small, almost nonexistent golden zipper ran down your white jumpsuit, and as you unzipped yourself, you pushed him back onto his kneeling stance. “Touch me?” you teased, his mouth falling open as he realized you didn’t have anything underneath your clothes. Your body lay more than halfway exposed, his eyes going directly to your breasts.

“Touch… these?” You grabbed your tits, pushing them together and twisting your nipples in-between your two fingers. You gave a little moan, spreading your legs so he could see how you glistened.

He knew to stay put. To stay absolutely still until you said otherwise, because he was such a good boy for you. Because he had seen how you enjoyed punishing him so much the last time he dared to touch you without permission, spanking him and not letting him cum for days at a time until he begged for release. The ways in which you punish him each time he disobeys got more creative.

“Now, who’s my good boy?”

“Me! I-I am! I promise, just please let me-”

You grabbed his wrist, pushing his face into yours, letting his lips fall onto yours. As the two of you kissed, you grabbed his throat and pushed him towards your body, making his hands grab your thighs. “Touch me,” you breathed.

He went to work on your body, squeezing your thick thighs, going up to your equally thick torso, cupping your breasts. You could feel his breath hitching. As your tongue flipped over his, you used your powers to slip off his pants, revealing the feminine underwear he had on that you commanded he always wear.

“Up.”

At once, he jumped up and let you survey his body, a small pout on his lips from the ghost of touch he felt. You felt it too, but you’d never reveal that. In times like these, you’d never let him know just how much you needed his fingers against your body.

“Take your shirt off.”

He quickly stripped down, all but his underwear, as you hadn’t ordered him to do so. And he knew how much you liked looking at his cock straining the thin fabric, of his ass popping out of the cheeky, lacy underwear. Loki bit his lip, waiting for you to instruct him further. Needing you to tell him what to do, even yearning for it.

“Such a good little prince,” you observed, putting one finger on the lacy underthings and pulling them down, his rather heavy cock immediately popping out and standing to attention. “And an excited one, hm?”

You finally arose from your throne of crystal sapphire, walking behind and fetching a black collar. “Is this what you want?”

He suddenly was unable to speak, only nodding without abandon, knowing the collar was a special treat you only gave to him when he was extra obedient. You let out a chuckle, placing it around his neck until you heard a click. With any other collar, he might be able to unlock it, but not this one. You had specifically trained with the most experienced of magical designers and created this yourself. Only could you unlock it, and that’s why it excited him so much.

You sat back down upon your sapphire throne, abandoning your jumpsuit and spreading your legs, placing them on Loki’s back, pushing him to your pussy. “Make your mommy feel good.”

His tongue immediately got to work, spreading over your glistening folds and lapping at your clit. As soon as he started moaning, you knew you were done for. The vibrations were already sending you over the edge, and as you groaned, you grabbed a handful of his black curly hair quite roughly, which only made matters worse for him.

He scooted even closer to you, slowly pushing a finger into you. As his fingers pumped into you, you gripped one arm on your chair, the other holding his hair tightly. Not only was he pumping into you, adding another finger, but he curled them, knowing exactly where your g-spot was. “My love-” you moaned, “Fuck!”

His tongue worked away from your clit, obviously wanting to taste you for longer. He stroked your pussy with his tongue, up and down, up and down, which caused you to wriggle around in his mouth. You could hear nothing but moans from him, his tongue diving deep in your hole.

Unable to stand it any longer, you gave him an order. “My clit, now. Make me cum.” You could only hold your composure for so much longer.

You could feel the disobedience thrumming off of him, wanting his tongue inside you for as long as he could. His tongue entered your hole again and in response, you dug your boots into his back and he let out a small cry of pleasure. “Now!”

He immediately realized his mistake, his place, and his tongue started making circles around your clit slowly. “Ah, fuck, Loki!” you gasped. “Make your queen cum, make your mommy cu-” Your body pulsed with pleasure, digging your boots into him even more. As you tried to escape your orgasm, his hands found your thighs and his tongue kept your pleasure in place, making you dizzy as your orgasm reached its height and your hips bucked against his soft lips.

As you came down, your hand wrapped around Loki’s beautiful curls once again, snapping his head up to look at you. You surveyed his beautiful face, his chin dripping with your juices. His tongue licked his lips, and you pressed your mouth to him, your tongue circling his, tasting yourself.

Your hand moved down to his waist, moving him to your lap and pressing him against your chest. “Sweetie?” you grabbed his face, looking into his eyes and putting on the sweetest smile you could muster. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His eyes widened slightly, his cock pressing against you as he made little movements, needing to feel your touch. “Mommy,” he begged. “Please. I’ll do anything, just please touch me.”

Your firm hand gripped his cock tightly. “Like this? Is this what my sweet boy wants?”

He started nodding, his mouth opening slightly as his eyes dug into yours. “B-But I…”

“Use your words, pet.”

“I want to be inside you!” The words almost came out like one, and you gripped the edge of his collar, getting up from the throne and dragging him just beyond the throne room, upstairs to both of your chambers.

As you dragged him above, you glanced at his blushed face, loving the fact that you had total control of him, body and soul. He was yours, and there was no denying that. In that moment and all moments forward, he’d do anything you told him to do.

You both entered your rooms, clad in black and white marble, huge statues of jade and sapphire separating the bedchambers, living spaces, and kitchen. With a stroke of your hand, the candles and fires lit at once, illuminating his face as you pushed him against the stone wall and started teasing the head of his cock.

With a touch of your finger, the collar fell to the floor and before he could start pouting, you pressed your hand against his throat. He gave a smile completely fueled by pleasure, his form slacking against the wall as your hand moved to stroke him. “Tell me what you want again.”

“I want….. I want…. Inside of you,” he whimpered, writhing against your hand.

“And should I let you cum tonight?”

“Yes! Please!” His blush went deep red, his eyes snaking over your form, landing at your drenched pussy, moving his eyes just for a moment at your hardened nipples.

“Please what?” Your face was one of hardened stone, minutes away from bending him over and punishing him until he cried if he didn’t call you by your proper name in the next five seconds.

“Please my queen! Fuck me!”

You gripped his throat even harder, moving him over to the bed lined with silk sheets and white covers. You threw him onto it, flipping him over to appreciate his ass. You gripped it hard, giving it a little spank. You simply couldn’t help yourself, and you made a mental side note to fuck it later until he was whimpering under your weight.

You flipped him over once more, straddling his perfect thighs and placing his hands on your tits. “Squeeze my nipples, my little prince.”

Of course he did as he was told and his hands sent shocks through your body. You moved his knee up, slowly grinding your clit against it. You bit your lip, letting out a little moan as he continued to palm your breasts. “I love you, sweet boy. I love you so much.”

“I love you more tha-'' before he could get the words completely out, you softly pressed your lips to his, nothing like the desperate kiss only minutes before. This time, it was tender, it was soft, but it also contained all the words you wanted to say.

I love you.

I’d do anything for you.

I’d kill for you.

I’d die for you.

As you pulled away, you gripped his hard cock and slowly lowered yourself onto him, promoting a loud moan from his lips. “Does this feel good, baby?”

His head tilted back, grabbing your thighs tightly enough to leave marks. You’d let him. If anyone was to see, it would only be further proof you owned each other. And the bruises around his neck would be proof you especially owned him. He could conceal them with magic, but he wouldn’t. During council meetings and social gatherings, he’d press against them so he could feel what you did to him the previous night.

Before he could get his answer out, you slowly started riding him, almost teasing him. In response, he fingers teased your nipples, twisting and rubbing them slowly. You reached his full length, and realized you probably weren’t going to keep your calmness for much longer.

You leaned your body completely against his, wrapping your arms around him and riding him with abandon. “You’re a fucking goddess- you’re - you’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he breathlessly remarked.

His length completely filled you up, and as always, was stretching you out. Sometimes you thought you couldn’t handle it, but eventually you regained your control and pressed your hands around him, enveloping him to completion. You bounced back and forth on his dick, crying out in unison with him, already on the brink. You were pulsing against his thickness, but you didn’t want to cum just yet, if only to tell him not to.

“Goddess, can I?” At this point, his words were just sounds and you didn’t know if you could reply without moaning your words out.

“Can you what?” you let out.

“Can I cum? Please?” The last word was just a plea, and you knew he’d do anything just to cum, to release inside of you and have you dripping with his cum.

“Yes, that’s what you want. You want me to cum against your cock and make me leak with your cum. Tell me that’s what you want,” you growled.

“Yes! That’s what I want!” he started, thrusting with you as if he couldn’t handle it anymore. “I want you fill you up, I want my cum all over your thighs, I want-”

“Cum for me!”

At those words, you both cried out as you slammed his shoulders onto the bed, bouncing up and down and taking both your orgasm and his.

The orgasm you had previously was nothing compared to this. You were all filled up, cumming against his cock without abandon. You could feel him shooting inside of you, you could see his hands ripping at the bedsheets as he moaned in pleasure, which only built the orgasm, stars exploding in your eyes.

You both were breathless, panting against each other's bodies. For a minute, you couldn’t move, the pleasure finally ebbing from your body, but then Loki was flipped on top of you, stroking his dark curls and kissing his forehead.

You could feel how tired he was, how tired you made him, and you commanded the collar back to your hand, locking it against his throat. “Thank you,” he said, biting his lip and looking into your eyes.

“I love you, my sweet boy.”

“I love you more than words could possibly say.”

#lokixreader #loki/reader #sub loki #lokixyou #loki/you #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fic #loki oneshot #loki smut #fanfic #my fanfic

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xcrystalzero · 3 years ago

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sun is up

pairing: kaeya x f!reader

summary: who knew that waking up next to a stupidly handsome cavalry captain could be so conflicting?

note: hehe. also this one is a little spicy (not very because i'm shy but still) so minors begone!

The sunlight was hitting your face from the wrong side. With a groan, you threw a hand over your eyes in an effort to block out the intruding rays. Not to much avail of course since sunlight had a tendency to seep in through any opening it was given.

It was warm too, a gentle, unfamiliar warmth that seemed to surround you, seeping into your bones and tempting you again and again with the comfortable lull of sleep.

However, your brain knew that it was morning now and no matter how tight you closed your eyes or how deep you snuggled back into the blankets, you weren't going to be able to go back to sleep.

With a resigned sigh, you let your hand fall back down to your side, allowing your eyes to flutter gently open. The sight that greeted you was no less than disorienting.

You had been right, the sunlight was coming from the wrong side of the room. Maybe because this wasn't your room. Sitting up, your still drowsy brain decided that it was time to take a look around. The room wasn't extravagant, but not quite bare either. That wasn't what caught your attention however.

On the ground just a few feet from the edge of the bed lay a pile of clothing. It occurred very slowly to your still offline brain that some of that was yours. You could see it from here, the worn pants from your Knight's of Favonius uniform and that lacy black bra you had bought a few days ago in an effort to feel just a little more sexy. Oh how you loved that bra.

The other half of the clothing however, was a bit of a mystery. Cocking your head, you identified a pair of brown boots, what looked like black gloves, and fluffy white fur collar. Those seemed familiar for some reason.

It was at that moment that you felt the bed shift slightly under you. With a soft gasp, you whirled around, drowsiness falling away in sudden panic as you prepared for an ambush.

You were not however, prepared for what you did see.

It was no secret that Kaeya was a beautiful man. From the deep navy of his hair to the physique his work as a captain had earned him, he was attractive and he knew it. The sight before you now however, was by far the most beautiful side of Kaeya you had ever seen.

His face was turned towards you, half buried in the pillow his head was resting on, silky strands of hair fanned around him in a deep blue halo. The sunlight that had so rudely awoken you cast gentle rays on his face, turning his tanned skin golden and accentuating the line of his collarbone not concealed by the covers. Perhaps the most majestic part however, was his expression. Kaeya was an expressive man and you'd seen just about every emotion, real or fake, cross his features at one point or another. Now however, all those exaggerated angles were gone and for once in his life, the Cavalry Captain looked relaxed. And then he shifted just a bit, the covers rising slightly to reveal the side of his toned torso.

Relaxed and naked apparently...

"Oh shi-" you smacked a hand over your mouth, eyes blowing wide open in horror as things actually started to register. Kaeya Alberich was in your bed. Or no, you were in his? And he was naked. And you were also definitely naked. And-

Unbidden, images of last night rushed forth and you remembered.

"My beautiful [name], would you be so kind as to join me at the tavern this evening?"

That was what had started it. A simple invitation when you really needed a drink. If you remembered correctly, Kaeya hadn't been much better considering how many bottles of wine you two had gotten through before Diluc had grown cross and kicked you out.

You remembered very well, the midnight wind in your hair and Kaeya's hand on your shoulder as you drunkenly braved the streets of Mondstat. And then somehow, you'd been at his place. You just wanted to make sure that he was safe as you knew all too well the kind of messes drunk Kaeya could manage to get himself into.

Yes, you had just wanted to drop him off. But then he was so close to you and you were breathing in his scent, that stupidly comforting scent that you'd been trying for weeks to ignore. His lips were at your ear and he was asking you something in a desperate, very un-Kaeya voice.

"Please, can I kiss you?"

And you nodded because of course you did. No matter what the logical part of your brain tried to tell you every single time you were near him, you knew. This was what you had been hoping for, dreaming of ever since you had met him. You had told yourself it was impossible, that his flirtatious words were a luxury that everyone got to experience, thrown about with no less care than a comment about the weather.

But now, those words were saved just for you. Whispers of "you look so beautiful like this" and "you're so good for me" spoken softly enough that your doubted even the wind could catch them. And then his hands were on you, cold cryo fingertips tracing up your waist and then to your back as they worked at hooks and pulled you further into him.

And your hands were in his hair and then on the clasps of his corset and the ties of his pants, yanking and throwing as though they were the things you hated most in the world. Perhaps at that point in your life, they had been. And then he had been on you, pushing you down into the bed as you arched upwards to meet him, the feeling of wanting to touch him the strongest thing you had felt in your entire life. And then he had reached down...

And... you had slept with your coworker.

It took all the self control in you not to leap out of the bed immediately as you considered your options. There was no way you could stay around until Kaeya woke up. Or, could you? Again, there was that voice in your brain, begging you to just nestle back into the covers and savor this time you got to spend with him. You had to ignore it. This wasn't anything special after all right? You two had just needed to blow off some steam and had seen each other as convenient.

Kaeya was just that kind of guy right? No strings attached, no commitments.

It didn't matter that just seeing him roaming the courtyard from your office window was enough to spike your heart rate through roof. That when he stood a little too close to you during meetings, you had to ball your hands into fists to resist grabbing the lapels of his jacket and smashing your lips into his right then and there.

"Please..." he had said. This stupid beautiful man was going to be the end of you.

"I just have to get out..." you muttered under your breath, pushing yourself into a sitting position in hopes that action would clear your thoughts. You got halfway off the bed when you heard it.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The world went cold. It took you a moment to work up the courage to turn towards the voice, eyes still wide in surprise as you did. You could have sworn that Kaeya was asleep. Everything had suggested it from the uniform rhythm of his breath to the limpness of his splayed arms.

And yet, there he was, very much awake, one visible eye glinting in amusement at your reaction.

"So the eyepatch stays on during sex..." was the only thought your brain could produce in that moment and you honestly could have slapped yourself.

"G-Good morning Kaeya..." you decided on instead, though it only seemed to amuse the man further as he too sat up right behind you.

"Good morning to you too. And to think you were trying to sneak out just a moment ago without saying anything to me..." He was close again, his breath on your ear sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, his arms came up, sliding under yours before closing right underneath your chest, pulling you into his.

You wriggled slightly in his grip, breathe hitching as his lips made their way down, grazing against your neck. "I-I thought you'd like that better. Since this... this is just a one-time thing." The words hurt to get out and you felt Kaeya stiffen slight behind you.

Without warning, you were yanked backwards, a soft yelp escaping your lips as you found yourself nestled amongst the pillows once again, though this time, a pair of arms encircled you, caging you in with nowhere to run.

Kaeya's periwinkle eye looked down at you when your panicked gaze flew up to meet his, steady and more sincere than you were sure you had ever before seen.

"Now, is that what you really think of our relationship? I'm hurt..." He reached over, taking your chin gently in his fingers as he angled your head up towards him. "Do you want this to be a one-time thing?"

You gulped.

"No. I want you forever. I want you all the time and I just want you to want me too."

You couldn't say it. You couldn't risk it.

Kaeya must have mistaken your silence of a yes however as he retracted his hands immediately. He pulled himself off of you, settling on the edge of the bed with his back to you. It may have just been that stupid thing called hope, but for a moment, you thought that you say hurt in his gorgeous eye.

"Ah I see, well that's fine as well. For what it was, that was a pretty fun night. Shall we go get breakfast or something?" That had to be pain. He was good at hiding his emotions, but you knew Kaeya better than anyone. He was hurt.

"... no."

"Not a breakfast person? That's alright then, you're welcome to see yourself out whenever you'd like."

"No I don't want it to be a one-time thing. I want you Kaeya, for as long as you'll let me." You didn't know where the words were coming from but when he whirled to face you once more, hope in his eyes, you knew you couldn't stop. "So, please don't make me leave?"

Apparently that was all it took as you barely got a moment to breathe before his lips were on yours. It took you a moment but you returned the kiss, hands reaching up to pull him down into you. His lips were hungry, threatening to devour you if you didn't hold your ground. Unconsciously, you arched against him and through the kiss, you could feel his smile.

There was a strange warm feeling growing in your chest that only seemed to amplify the moment Kaeya pulled away, the most genuine smile you had ever seen from him plastered over his lips.

"Oh darling, you have no idea what you just got yourself into..."

note: maybe i'll write one of these for a bunch of characters... you guys wanna see that?

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader

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echoalyssa · 4 years ago

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Phantom | Dick Grayson

Authors Note: There’s some light language in this, but thats about all!

“Phantom to Nightwing, entering dead zone now. Start the clock and come in if I’m late. I love you.”

You now had an hour inside the base, unable to contact anyone. You were collecting intel and because you were the stealthiest and smallest, (Damian was too young for this particular mission) Bruce had sent you in.

Your boyfriend, Dick Grayson had wanted to come with you but Bruce had rejected the idea because two people was more risky than one.

Dick had been livid, it was more risky for your life for you to go alone. He was your partner even though you were all a team. Ever since childhood, the two of you fought together and somewhat seemed to share the same mind.

You push a vine our of your dace. Your black masks shows the digital map of the quietest places to step. Your hood is pulled up to disguise your features and skin tone that obviously didn't fit in with the darkness of the air around you.

You had left your mottled cloak behind, opting to only have to worry about your body and where you place it.

Joker was extremely active underground lately, he’d evolved and Bruce had only your mission as a lead.

Your mask displays your one hour timer on the left hand side of your vision. Fifty minutes to get into the compound and back to safety.

The compound comes into view, a flat stone building that just didn’t fit in with the forest that surrounded it. You creep forward, staying in the shadows and hugging the walls of the building until you reach the only vent.

The stone was practically flat but years of training allowed you to look your gloved fingers into a crevice and wedge a booted foot into the building.

You begin climbing, scaling upwards twenty feet. The screws of the vent are all different and you have to pull away from the wall, your body straining so you can unscrew the bottom two.

You’re small enough that you can pry the vent open enough that you can squeeze yourself in. Forty minutes your clock reads. You were going too slow. You crawl forward on your elbows, you trek forward, you should have asked for two hours. Shit.

You hit the record button on your wrist panel and pull the microphone out.

It’s a tiny one but the quality is amazing. You’re peering through a small vent above a research lab now and you thread the microphone and it’s wire through the vent. The audio feeds into your ear piece and also saves to the hard drive in your panel.

You’re holding your breath, only breathing when you have to to minimize any chance of getting caught.

“We need to move in now! He’s only getting more recruits and it’s only a matter of time before they find us again.” Says a voice.

“If they haven’t already! I say we try the new weapon on some unsuspecting crowd of bystanders now. Then they’ll be too busy trying to save those silly citizens to deal with us.”

“Yes but is it ready..?”

“It needs to be tested again and we need to find a more powerful energy source eventually.”

And then the joker walks into view of the vent. He’s holding a blueprint and he spreads it on one of the tables. It’s the paint schematic for the weapon because of course, the joker being the joker meant that everything needed to be green, purple, and white.

You raise a hand to your mask and tap twice. It takes a screenshot of your view of the blueprint and sends it to the bat hard drive.

“Did you have any luck with batons inner circle? Would anyone snitch?”

“A couple...” the speaker listens. It’s valuable intel and now Bruce would be able to feed false information to the rats.

You begin to tap their names away into the panel and then attempt to wirelessly hack into the mainframes. The firewall were strong and plentiful but eventually they all fall victim to you. Sixteen minutes your timer reads. Shit. The data downloading from their computers and into your drive is only halfway done.

It won’t be very detailed. Just minuscule bits of information because you couldn't connect physically to the computers. It’s a line of script here and there that didn't make much sense to you because you weren't super tech-y. Though every line counted and that you knew. Several addresses also pop up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, your panel signals that the download is complete. Seven minutes reads the timer. Double shit.

You scramble backwards knowing that you’ve done all that you can. Somehow managing to turn yourself around in the small space. You’re almost at the vent when you foot clangs against the side of the vent.

You freeze, no alarms go off, but then again why would they? The timer is still ticking and you continue on, sliding out of the vent. You fumble with the screws, attempting to get them back in in case your cover hadn't already been blown. You then plant your feet, push off and flip down to the ground. You land nimbly in a rolling crouch and then pop to your feet and take off, sprinting for the tree line.

They come from the shadows. Dozens of them. All focused in on you.

You suck in a breath and draw your longswords.

“Bring it on Goonies!” You call and they surge forward all at once. Some with guns, electric batons, and swords.

You stalk forward, meeting them in the middle. You begin slashing immediately at arms, legs, torsos, anywhere that wasn’t too lethal. You weren't a killer.

Except there were just so many, the sword in your left hand falls from your grip and you pull out a disc, throwing it into the incomers. It explodes, blinding some and wounding others.

You yank s taser out from your belt and stab it into an attackers neck while blocking an attack with your sword. And then it happens. A baton smacks into the back of your head and you stumble forward, dizzy. A blade slashes your thigh, splitting skin and muscle. A cry comes fro, your lips and you lash out desperately with your one remaining longsword. You're able to down the foe who had slashed you.

Two more take his place and then a dagger rips through your abdomen from behind. You scream, falling to your knees. Just as it gets put through your thigh, followed by your shoulder. You land in the grass face first and the world goes dark, sound fading out.

‘Dick.’ Is your last thought.

~~~

Dick is staring at the timer that is displayed by his make. 00:00:05. 00:00:04. 00:00:03. 00:00:02. 00:00:01. And the dreaded number... 00:00:00. It blares red and he stares at the forest, fists clenched. Where was she?

Tim steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder. “Give her five minutes okay? She’s smart. You know how these missions sometimes go overtime. She’s got this.”

“We never should have sent her in alone. It was too risky. Damn it!”

His fist rockets into a tree. He considers going after Bruce, giving him a piece of his mind. Then decides that it isn’t worth it and begins to prepare to go in after his love.

He makes sure to grab the miniature cauterizer and some other emergency medical supplies, stuffing them into the pouches on his belt.

“Wait, Nightwing, we’ll go together. We need a plan!” Damian calls.

His heart is pounding out of his chest and he can’t breathe. ‘What if he was too late? What if she was already gone?’

He doesn’t want to wait for a plan, time was ticking. He pushes past his adoptive brother.

“Dick wait!” Jason calls trying to grab his arm. But he keeps going, breaking for the trees to find her.

Jason and Tim look at each other, then they both look at Damian. “Stay here.” They say simultaneously/

“No way!” He yells back at his brothers.

The three of them take them off after Nightwing. And Bruce, having watched all his children run into danger, follows them in.

Nightwing is pushing through vines and branches, not caring if he makes noise or not. He knows the rest of his family will follow him, but quietly.

His mail enhances his vision in the darkness. He draws a thumb over his own panel and it activates the heat censor on his mask. Dick Grayson pushes forward quickly, scanning frantically for her heat signature.

And then he sees it. She’s always run cold. Her fingers and limbs always frozen. A small prone figure, running colder than the other surrounding bodies. He kicks up his pace, heading for her because he just knows.

“Phantom!” he yells, followed by, “Robin! I think I found her!”

He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, he can see the stab wounds. The way her blood has soared into the ground beneath her.

Nightwing rolls her over, jamming his fingers under her neck to find a pulse. It’s there. But weak.

He rips the cauterizer out of his belt and drapes her body over him just as Jason appears.

“Is she..?”

“Alive.” He grunts, “Not for much longer I need to..”

Jason helps him rip the uniform away enough so Dick has enough room to maneuver.

“Hold her down!”

Jason does as he’s told and Dick places the cauterizer to her skin.

“Only do what you have to, we need to get out of here. And soon.”

He pushes the two flaps of skin together and places the sparking tool to it. The heat melds the skin together. She’d need to be pumped full of antibiotics in case any of the blades were dirty and risked infection.

She only stirs slightly, too disoriented from her loss of blood. He talks to her the whole time he works on her.

He only does her abdomen, knowing that it’s her most serious injury. It might not even hold from the jolting and jostling that would occur in the journey back. Dick stabs a painkiller into her thigh, just in case she were to awaken.

He motions to Tim and Damian, who had been standing guard, to take up the rear. Grayson then scoops up his girlfriend, cradling her to his chest.

“Jason. Take point. Let’s get her home.”

~~~

He sits by her bedside. His hands are covered in her dry blood, along with his suit. He hadn’t bothered to change.

Y/N had needed a blood transfusion and he had offered immediately, hence why there was a needle in his arm funneling blood into girlfriend. Alfred had stitched do her wounds and hooked her up to an IV for hydration and anti-infection purposes.

She’d been changed out of her uniform after she was stable for cleanliness reasons and was now wearing one of his black shirts.

He’s holding her hand, his thumb tracing over the pulse point of her wrist occasionally.

It would be a long road to recovery for her though they all knew that she would bounce back and attempt to get back in to the field as soon as she could walk.

It’s days later when she finally wakes, her eyelids fluttering.

“Dick.” She whispers.

He’s right there, just like he had been, he’d only left briefly to shower but he ate and slept at her side. Jason had covered both of your patrols, with Bruce helping out.

“I’m okay. You’re okay, babygirl.” He places a hand on her face and she leans her head into his touch.

#nightwing #dick grayson #Tim drake #jason todd #Damian wayne #batfam #bat fam #bat family #dick Grayson x reader #nightwing x reader

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sabxism · 4 years ago

Text

But I’m Here In Your Doorway

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Based on these lines from this is me trying:

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout Could've followed my fears all the way down And maybe I don't quite know what to say But I'm here in your doorway

Word count: ~2.6k

Warnings: mentions of and encounter with possible suicide, injuries (blood, bruises, etc), mention of (previous) deaths

Summary: reader loses everything. after she nearly makes an irreversible decision, she goes to Poe for help.

GIF not mine

The screams of your squadron members bounce around in your head. It was your fault, you knew that. You shouldn’t have set off without checking your ship. Without checking for any trackers. So it wasn’t a surprise when, out of nowhere, a group of TIEs burst out of hyperspace, straight into your fleet like pins being knocked over by 30 flying bowling balls. You had watched, helplessly, as your friends - your family - were picked off one-by-one. As they went up into terrifyingly bright balls of gas and flame and smoke. It was your fault. All your fault.

Part of you was trying to cling onto the notion that you couldn’t have known, how could you have known? But the majority of your mind beat back those thoughts, letting the sickening guilt take over and push you into a dark corner. Debriefing had been a nightmare. General Organa had, of course, told you that it wasn’t your fault, that it was nobody’s fault but the spy she hadn’t discovered in time. She could sense the weight on your shoulders, sense you falling into a pit inside of yourself.

After the meeting, she had pulled you aside.

“Y/N. I need you to look at me,” she said, turning your head gently but firmly with her right hand. “It isn’t your fault. You did everything you could. Sometimes, things are just out of our control.”

“I know,” you lied, just wanting this conversation to be over. Leia could sense your apprehension, and sighed.

“Look, I know that nothing I say is going to change how you feel, because I’ve been there, and I know what you’re thinking. I know it’s hard. Trust me.” you look down at the floor, scuffing the tip of your boot across the dusty ground. “It will get better. I promise you.”

“Thanks, general.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Leia?” she asks lightly as you turn to walk away.

“A few more, apparently,” you respond, the ghost of a false smile resting over your face. With that, you turn on your heel and head to your quarters.

You step through the door as it slides open and sit down on your bed. You reach for your datapad, wanting to distract yourself with something.

You click the screen on, and your heart drops. Staring back at you are the smiling faces of your squadron. You’re all clustered around Mari’s new droid, with hands on its shiny purple head. She had been so happy to get that little guy.

Now they were both nothing more than dust drifting through the empty expanse of space.

You hurl the tablet at the wall, watching as the screen shatters and falls to the floor.

You place your head in your hands, silent sobs racking your body. You clench your hair in your hands, knuckles turning white. You stand up, body shaking, and walk out of your quarters.

You pass Finn in the hallway. He smiles at you, but you can’t bring yourself to do the same. You feel awful as he looks back at you as you pass him, but at this point there’s no use trying to fix it. You trudge outside and up to your x-wing sitting on the tarmac, the edges of the wings blackened from smoke. You glance around, checking the coast is clear, then scurry up the ladder and into the cockpit. You check the time.

1800.

Sighing, you boot up your craft and quickly take off. You cruise over the base a few times, watching everyone go about their day. Like nothing happened. Like 10 of the most beautiful, vibrant souls hadn’t just been snuffed like a match. You swallow the knot in your throat and head for the atmosphere. You need to get away from here.

“General Organa!” Leia turns, to see a frenzied runway tech sprinting towards her. “Y/N took off on an unauthorized flight.”

Leia swallows thickly, her heart dropping. “How long ago?”

“We noticed she was left just now - but it looks like she’s been gone about an hour.”

“Then there’s nothing we can do but hope she comes back safely.”

“That’s what I was worried about.”

You land on a nearby forest planet, after searching for about ten minutes for a place to touch down. You pick a plateau on the Western side, lowering your land gear as you begin to descend. You hop down from your ship onto the grassy earth, and look around.

It’s quiet up here. There’s a soft wind blowing, and it weaves delicate fingers through your hair and across your face as you take off your helmet. You let it fall to the ground, and decide to walk around for a bit. You make your way to the edge of the plateau, and look out across the forest beyond. It stretches on for miles, a swath of dark green. The last rays of the sun blaze across the sky, painting the clouds with a pink-orange hue.

You glance down, and your heart drops to your toes. It’s a long way to the ground below. You begin to back up, but for some reason you find yourself stopping. You get closer to the edge, still looking down. It would be so easy to just take another step. Just one more. All of this would be over. You wouldn’t have to feel this guilt anymore.

Your knee lifts up slowly.

Realizing what you’re about to do, you scramble back, falling to the dirt. You brace your hands on the ground, digging your fingers into the earth to anchor yourself. Your chest heaves, and your vision spins. The ground seems to buckle, to toss you around. The sky bends and arches above you as you struggle to breathe. You roll over onto your stomach and wrap your arms around your knees.

You don’t know how long you lie there, but by the time you have the courage to stand up and walk again, the moon is floating in the sky above you, and the stars glimmer against a black backdrop.

You climb back into your x-wing and sit there, staring at your dashboard. Your eyes meet one of the few pictures leaned against the fuel gague. You and Poe lean against his x-wing a few months ago. You have your arms wrapped around each other. He’s kissing your cheek, and you’re laughing, open-mouthed, your nose scrunched up and your eyes shut tight.

You take a shuddering breath. Poe. You couldn’t believe what you’d almost done - what you still might do, if you don’t get out of here. You couldn’t leave him like that. You rapidly go through your flight checklist and then take off, headed back to base.

You land on the tarmac around 0200, exhausted and beaten down by your own thoughts. You hop out of your ship, landing on the ground with a thud.

You start walking, not really knowing where your legs are taking you, but you end up at Poe’s quarters. You can hear movement inside the room. You raise a trembling hand and knock once.

He opens the door, and his eyes widen. His mouth moves silently, searching for words.

You swallow thickly, a nervous knot tying in your stomach.

He takes a step toward you, not quite believing what he’s seeing. Leia had told him that you’d left suddenly after their meeting, and he had grown worried that you were hurt, or worse. But here you are, standing in front of him. Your form is limp and you’re drawn into yourself. Your face and neck are caked with blood and dirt, and your eyes are clouded and empty.

“Hi,” you say weakly. He quickly closes the gap between the both of you, wrapping you in a tight embrace. Your arms hang limp beside you.

“Stardust,” he breathes, holding you tightly. “I was so worried.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, falling down your face and onto Poe’s shoulder. He pulls back, concerned. Cradling your face in his hands, his eyebrows crease with worry.

He looks down at you, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb. There’s a silent question written across his features. You shake your head tearfully. You don’t know what to say.

“Baby…” he whispers, pulling you close to his chest again. You clutch at the back of his shirt with shaking hands.“I’m here now - you’re safe. You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok.” He repeats those two words over and over like a mantra, equally to himself as to you. “Let’s get you inside, ok?” he says, and you nod. Placing a hand on the small of your back, he guides you into his quarters.

“I’ll grab some clothes for you,” he says as you sit down on the edge of the bed. He rustles through his drawers, eventually coming up with a long-sleeved olive green shirt and a pair of grey boxer shorts. He sets them on the bed next to you. “Are you good to take a shower?” You think about it for a minute, and slowly shake your head. The idea of being pounded with thousands of tiny droplets makes you want to hide under a blanket.

“Too much,” you murmur, and he nods in understanding.

“Ok, love, that’s fine. We do need to clean you off and deal with these cuts, though.” he gestures to the lacerations across your skin. You nod weakly. You hear him pad over to the refresher unit and grab a medkit and some washcloths, which he wets under some running water from the sink.

He kneels in front of you, and motions for you to take off your flight suit. You slip it halfway off, letting it rest around your waist. Poe sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw the bruises blooming across your torso and arms. You’d gotten tossed around pretty bad, getting knocked through space by several of the TIEs. You’d slammed your sternum right into the dashboard at one point, and small fragments of something had slashed open nearly every bit of exposed skin and even some under your suit.

“Y/N…” he says quietly, tearing up. You bite the inside of your cheek, hating to see him so upset.

He gets to work cleaning your cuts. He’s as gentle as he can be, but you still hiss as the cold water on the washcloth cleans out your cuts, and tears start to fall as he bandages up a particularly bad cut on your stomach. He holds your hand the whole time, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you need to, never even flinching as your vice grip tightens around his fingers.

“Ok, baby, let me check your legs and then you’re all set,” he says, and you turn away, face flushing with nervousness. He’s confused for a second, then has a moment of understanding. He’s never seen you naked - you weren’t ready to get intimate yet, so you guys had been taking it slow, and now really wasn’t the best time to breach that barrier. “You can change into the shorts first,” he says quietly, and you look back at him gratefully.

You make your way to the refresher unit, shutting the door behind you. You peel off your flight suit the rest of the way, followed by your undergarments, crusted with blood from the cuts on your stomach. You pile the discarded clothes in a pile by the shower, and slip on the shirt and shorts Poe had leant you. You take the opportunity to glance into the mirror above the sink, and grimace at the reflection that gazes back at you. Hair messy and tangled, face bruised and covered with small cuts, you were not a pretty sight to behold. Sighing, you head back into the main room.

Sitting back down on the bed, you lean against the wall and stretch your legs out in front of you. Poe sits down on the mattress next to you, surveying your exposed limbs. They aren’t as bad as the upper half of your body, but they definitely aren’t good. He dabs at the cuts gently, taking your hand again. He mutters sweet nothings as you clench your teeth and shut your eyes tightly for the next few minutes as he finishes up.

“All done,” he eventually says, and you relinquish your grip on his hand, wiping the tears from your eyes. He looks up at you, and you almost melt at the love in his eyes. You realize in that moment how lucky you are - that no matter what, he’ll always take care of you. Always.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, and he smiles softly, opening his arms. You crawl over to where he’s leaned against the headboard and collapse into his embrace, breathing beginning to even out.

“You need sleep, baby,” he says, and you nod. “You can stay here, if you want.” You nod again, and he presses a kiss to your hair. “I’ll grab some extra blankets from the closet.” He gets up and goes to retrieve them. You get under his comforter and lay your head down on one of the pillows. Your eyes drift closed.

Poe pads back over to the bed and pauses, looking down at you. He swallows thickly, tearing up. He makes a promise to himself then and there that he’d never lose you like that. Never again.

He lays another blanket over you, then switches off the lights. He quickly changes into some sleep clothes and then gets under the covers, laying down facing you.

“Poe?” you mumble, searching for his face in the dark.

“Right here, honey,” he says softly, and you inch closer to him, a bit nervous to get too close. He senses your unease and smiles softly. “Cmere,” he says, draping a hand over your waist and pulling you close to him. You tuck your head against his chest, a warm feeling creeping into your very core. Being this close to him is grounding. You take a deep breath in. The scent of the lavender soap he uses clings to his skin, and it washes over you. You listen to his breathing, feel the rise and fall of his chest.

“I love you,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize what you just said. The two of you haven’t exactly said it before. You feel Poe freeze beside you, and your heart drops. You mentally kick yourself. How could you say that right now?

“I love you too,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You blush furiously as he tilts your head up with his thumb and forefinger. “To the edge of the universe and back.” He presses his lips to yours, feather soft.

“I love you,” you say again, just because you can. He smiles softly.

“I’m proud of you, I want you to know that,” he says after a while. “For...getting through all this. I know it hurts, and it’ll stay that way for a bit, but…” he pauses, taking your hand in his. “But I’ll always be here if you need me. To talk, or just listen. You can lean on me, ok?”

“Ok,” you say quietly, looking up into his eyes.

“Ok,” he whispers.

“Ok.” You smile, and his heart flips at the beauty of it. He pulls you into his chest once more, and you’re out like a light almost instantly. He presses his lips to your forehead before drifting off, holding you tightly in his arms.

#poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron angst #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fluff #star wars angst #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fanfiction #fluff #angst #fluff and angst

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

Text

pairing: namjoon x jimin genre: smut, 18+ readers only word count: 5.1k

summary: namjoon has worked as a bodyguard for an upscale BDSM dungeon for long enough to know that jimin is the most sought-after dom there. it only takes one miscommunication for namjoon to discover firsthand why that is.

warnings: unedited, sexually explicit content, power bottom!jimin, sub top!namjoon, unprotected sex, degradation, light pain play, BDSM dynamics, kinda temperature play, i think that's it but i'm so out of practice so i apologise if i missed something

a/n: this piece came to fruition thanks firstly to the @armyadvocates AAPI Justice and Advocacy initiative, and secondly to the kind commissioner @goldenwallsvol6 on twitter who requested this (i'm so sorry for not including everything you asked for, i got a little carried away kdsjfdssk). please check out the AAPI initiative here, consider donating, and check out the resources that come with it.

-----

Clocking in to work has become such a routine for Namjoon that he often finds himself switching his brain off, preoccupied with half-thoughts as his body runs on autopilot.

He signs in, uses the staff changing room to replace his sweats with the company standard uniform - a tight t-shirt and slim fit jeans, the belt of which he hooks his keys on. He doesn’t actually start his shift for another couple minutes, and so he ducks to the bathroom, chews a breath mint, and stretches before heading out of the office and down the narrow hallway that leads to the den.

In fact, it takes him a few steps into the dungeon before his automatic schedule is disrupted.

It appears Namjoon is entirely alone in the facility.

His steps, taken with heavy-duty boots, echo around the hollow space with nothing but the walls to absorb them. It’s a Thursday night (he consults his phone just to be sure) and he was on the closing shift. On any usual day, he’d be starting work right at the bustling high of the BDSM dungeon, yet he finds himself wandering alone.

Shaped in a rough X, the center of the dungeon is open-plan, with more private spaces forking off. The wing he’s in is generally full of swingers and kinksters making use of costume changing stations and a room full of cleaning supplies and disposables like condoms or wet wipes. It was always the calmest section, but never dead like this.

In a daze, Namjoon glances inside the rooms anyway, half-expecting the place to burst into life at any given moment. But it stays undisturbed, and in no time he’s in the central atrium, weaving through bolted-down couches, benches and racks until he can sink onto a stool at the bar.

Coherent thought escapes him. His brain flails for a reason, but the absurdity of an entirely vacant sex dungeon has him lost for words. After a moment, in restless futility, he stands back up and goes behind the bar, back further into the mini storage/kitchen that he knows features a window.

Outside the narrow, slightly dusty frame is an empty parking lot. His heart sinks, feeling sorely left behind and out of the loop, but a glint catches his eye. Pressing his nose to the glass, he squints and peeks a somewhat familiar vehicle, pulled into the closest park to the entrance of the dungeon.

Namjoon stares pointedly at the Hyundai, racking his brain. God, who was it that had a-

A wooden scrape from behind has Namjoon jumping in violent fright, catching his forehead on the protruding frame of the window. Cursing, he whirls around and glimpses movement further inside. Another drawn-out scrape is followed by a very human-sounding huff.

Heart still racing, Namjoon makes his way out of the storage area and stands behind the bar, seeking out the presence.

“Oh, shit, you gave me a heart attack!” Park Jimin stands off to the left of the room, hands on his hips and head tilted back in relief. “I thought you were a burglar.”

“No,” Namjoon states redundantly, mouth not quite working beyond that. He knew he recognised that silver SUV - every Thursday he watched Jimin hop into it and pull away after a long night of scening. The two had exchanged words often, more than Namjoon could say for most patrons. Being the bouncer for a sex dungeon didn’t lead to that much genuine conversation, but he always appreciated the effort Jimin would put in, hair wet with sweat and lips curved with happy exhaustion but still asking Namjoon if he’d managed to work out whether it was birds or the neighbour’s cat eating his strawberry plants.

He forces himself to check back into the present when current-Jimin cocks his head with a slightly sheepish grin, awaiting an actual explanation. “I, um,” Namjoon stutters, having to avert his eyes to construct anything coherent, “I didn’t realise the club was shut, I’m honestly a little confused.”

Jimin’s smile drops, plush lips rounding in surprise. “Oh, really? Hoseok-hyung said he sent out emails to all the staff. There was a pipe leak so we called off our whole calender until Monday. Did you not get it? We’ve had troubles with work emails getting stuck in spam; something about a sex dungeon really seems to set off the detectors,” the man quips with a jovial lift of his brow.

Namjoon bites down on his tongue, offering up a silent nod of acknowledgement. He’d seen Jimin more times than he could count in black, red, royal purple. In the club he favoured leather, not buckled and studded but sleek and tight, often decorating his lithe body with harnesses, gauntlets and heavy rings instead. More often than not, he’d boast unsmudgable smokey eyes with sharp liner, cheekbones as harsh as they were dewy. It had taken a while, but Namjoon had eventually grown used to the sight, able to prevent chubbing up at the mere sight of his ass as he bent to open his car door.

For some reason, seeing him outside of that whole persona is far more intimidating. Still covered in a light sheen of sweat, that’s the only linker to the Jimin Namjoon is faced with today. He’s got chunky white sneakers weighing down his feet, long overalls rolled up at the cuffs to let some air reach his ankles. The overalls prove particularly problematic to Namjoon, as they don’t seem to have anything underneath. Namjoon can see collarbones, glorious collarbones, and the lean bare sides of Jimin’s torso. If he bent over, Namjoon would probably get a glimpse of his nipples. The thought dampens his mouth with need.

Jimin himself seems unaware of, or at least unbothered by, the way Namjoon stares him down. Instead, he reaches down to push a cardboard box as tall as his waist across the hardwood floor closer to the bar one shove at a time. “Anyway, you’re welcome to head home. I’ll get Hoseok to add half an hour to your payslip for your troubles.”

“What are you doing here then?” Namjoon asks reflexively, cringing at how loud he’s accidentally pitched his voice.

Jimin’s face is surprisingly round without the stroke of makeup to emphasise dimensions, and when he beams at Namjoon, it softens his whole face even more. “I’m taking advantage of us being closed to install some new furniture. D’you wanna see?” He seems to reconsider, shooting Namjoon a worried look. “It is sex stuff, though.”

“I wasn’t expecting a bookshelf,” he answers honestly, and is rewarded with the bubbling sound of Jimin’s laughter, drowned out prematurely by another shove of the box. “Here,” Namjoon says suddenly, darting out from behind the bar, “let me help.”

At first, Jimin pushes while Namjoon pulls, but after a few grunts of exertion, steps back and lets Namjoon take over, not disguising the way his eyes linger on the way Namjoon’s biceps and pecs flex under his t-shirt sleeve. Obediently, Namjoon lets the bleach-blonde guide him to an open space near the centre of the room, depositing the weighty box there.

With a satisfied hum and a lingering glance at Namjoon’s body, Jimin bends over with a pen from his pocket, using the nib to pop and rip the tape on the box lid, yanking back the flaps with ferocious enthusiasm. He lets out a delighted cry upon lifting a frame of styrofoam out of the box, revealing the goods inside.

One at a time, he takes out oddly-shaped plates of metal, plastic baggies of bolts and screws, and some rubber caps. Kicking the empty box away, Jimin slots his hands back on his hips and grins at Namjoon. “Can you guess what it is?”

Namjoon takes a moment to consider the different sections of stainless steel. The largest isn’t flat, but a rectangle with a slight curve to it, the gentlest arc. The rest come in mirrored pairs, most just for structure, but four of them featuring heavy-duty O-rings. Though he works outside the play area, Namjoon can guess what those are for. “Something for bondage?” he ventures, stomach flipping when Jimin eyes glint with thinly veiled interest.

“A breeding bench,” Jimin explains, squatting to let his fingers trail down the side of one bar, “the metal feels sterile and cold for those that like it. Have you used one before?”

Namjoon feels unsteady on his feet. “No,” he answers, but the softness in his voice betrays his lack of aversion to the thought. But Jimin might think he was a dominant, too, Namjoon worries. Everyone else tended to. “Not yet,” he adds after a moment.

Jimin sucks in a silent but sharp breath, chin lifting. “I could use a hand setting it up. Would you mind…?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, no problem.” Namjoon tries to clear his throat, but the lump of anticipation remains. “Happy to help.”

“Excellent,” the dom beams, fishing around the pieces of styrofoam to locate the printed instructions, handing them to Namjoon. As Namjoon begins to make sense of them, looking over the basic diagrams, Jimin sits down on a nearby ottoman, intended for viewing the other stations, but continuing to face his new help instead. “I’ve been wanting to get to know you more anyway,” he divulges in a honeyed tone.

“Really?” Namjoon glances up from the instructions, feeling the heat of Jimin’s gaze. Even in worn overalls and unstyled hair, the man strikes a gorgeous image, and his posture screams distinguished dominant down to the curl of his fingers. His mere presence has Namjoon feeling off-balance in the most electric way. “There’s not much to know.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Jimin replies immediately, deadpan. “Why are you standing outside every night when you’re just as kinky as those of us indoors?”

“Excuse me?”

Jimin leans forward, legs splayed wide and elbows on his knees. His eyes are intently focused, blazing. “For a while it drove me crazy,” he starts, “you looked so familiar. I saw you every evening and couldn’t put my finger on it. But you used to scene here, didn’t you? Years ago.”

Namjoon’s heart stops beating, sitting heavy behind his ribs instead. “You- You’re not meant to approach people you know from the dungeon outside. It’s against the rules.”

“We aren’t outside,” Jimin counters. “I want to know why you stopped. You don’t look happy, Namjoon, seeing others come and go while you’re stuck to your post. Help me understand.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Namjoon stays silent, opening his mouth seeming too daunting a task. After a moment, Jimin swallows hard and sits back again, giving up the inquisition. Namjoon chooses to continue the task at hand, consulting the instructions.

The bench itself is a relatively simple setup. There’s two long cuts of steel in an X below the main panel for stability, four legs with the O-ring bars at either end, and the rubber caps on the bottom to avoid scratching the floor. As he putters around with the nuts and bolts, using a tiny spanner provided in the baggies to tighten them, he feels Jimin’s curious gaze on him. Silent.

Eventually, the silence has its desired effect, and Namjoon lets his internal thoughts vocalise. “I played here for a while. My partner and I ended up going our separate ways, and I wanted to give him space.” He doesn’t make eye contact, pulse thudding and heating the pieces of metal he fiddles with.

Jimin takes a short moment to reply, but it feels cavernous. “It’s been years, then. Hasn’t he had enough space yet?”

Namjoon’s eye twitches. How many nights had he stayed up with that exact question in mind? “It doesn’t feel right anymore. People would know me for who I was then. And I’m- I’m not that person.” His partner, an eager sub with a need for a firm hand, had asked Namjoon one day if he was sure he was really happy being a dom, and it had entirely dismantled the place in BDSM that he’d cultivated for himself. That sub was right, and he didn’t know how to adjust his course to fit his true desire.

So he’d pulled away entirely, unable to fully leave this world, but unsure of whether it still had a spot for him inside it. He just wants to feel what it’s like to let go in the way his subs did. And as his hands focus on constructing the heavyset bench, his mind wanders deeper in this vein, loose-lipped enough to confess it all to Jimin.

Jimin listens without judgement, not even seeming surprised when Namjoon admits to feeling more submissive, and the lack of reaction is liberating in a way he couldn’t have expected.

It’s not until the final bolt is fastened in place and Namjoon leans back, slightly breathless, that Jimin stands up and approaches him again. He crouches in front of Namjoon, eyes tender and hesitant, reaching out a hand.

Confused, Namjoon holds his out, palm-up, and Jimin takes it carefully, circling his fingers around the narrowest part of his wrist. Still, it’s too meaty for Jimin’s fingertips to connect. He squeezes lightly, carefully, before locking his gaze with Namjoon again, who swears he’s no longer breathing.

“Do you want to try?” Jimin asks. His voice is low, soft but full-bodied. “Do you want to try to let go? Club rules would apply.”

And Namjoon is nodding, and the grip on his wrist is tightening, restraining, and Jimin’s surging forward, lips on his.

His free hand comes up to hook around the nape of Namjoon’s neck. He’s held there, unforgiving, as the dom deepens the kiss. There’s no space between them, just skin on skin, tongue on tongue. It’s uncoordinated on Namjoon’s part, but so calculated and thorough on Jimin’s, like he knows the exact way to unwind him.

Jimin’s fingers scratch up into Namjoon’s hairline. He’d been growing out the length a little for winter, just enough to cover his ears, and it provides leverage for Jimin to grip on and tug, tug, tug in sharp bursts, timed unevenly enough that Namjoon is never ready. Every pull sends an electric shock down his spine, right between his legs.

He’s hard already, achingly so, and it just worsens when Jimin shifts his weight, bringing a foot forward and over Namjoon’s thigh, half-caging his body flush against his.

Jimin’s body is hot, even through the denim overalls and searing when it’s skin-on-skin. Namjoon can hear himself panting when their mouths split apart briefly, but he can’t stop his head from spinning long enough to care.

Before long, a rumbling growl escapes Jimin’s throat, and his teeth find Namjoon’s lower lip, scraping and nipping at the flesh. It’s not until Namjoon’s hand is shaking in Jimin’s grip that he pulls away, eyes wild and alight.

Namjoon must look utterly debauched, with swollen lips, hazy eyes and rucked-up hair, but his cock is screaming to be touched, and his breaths become infused with pleas for more, begging Jimin to touch him.

“God, you greedy little thing,” Jimin remarks in wonder, and a shudder takes over Namjoon’s body. Jimin quirks a brow. “Good? Bad? I don’t know what you like.”

“Good,” Namjoon insists without shame, “oh my god, good. Say m-more like that.”

Jimin hums with a grin, hand on Namjoon’s neck slipping around front to fist his shirt, yanking it suddenly. “Up, then,” he barks, standing himself, “I want you on the bench you built for me. Thank God that body is good for something; it’s not much fucking use now, is it?”

Namjoon’s breath leaves him in a rush, and he gets up shakily, almost tripping over his own feet as he lowers himself back down on the end of the bench. It’s chillingly cold even through his jeans, and he trembles at the thought of touching it with bare skin. Jimin has no such qualms, however, planting his palm on Namjoon’s chest and pushing him backwards, insistently guiding him down without knocking his head on the metal.

His teeth chatter briefly, but it’s nothing compared to when Jimin clicks his tongue and reaches down to strip the thin fabric of his t-shirt off with one fell swoop, the stitches breaking as they’re forced over the broadest part of his shoulders.

Ice erupts across his back and he gasp, shooting up. Jimin’s hand prevents him from getting far, and his breathing grows loud and sharp, shivering violently as his body fights to warm up the steel. The slight arch of it slots perfectly into the divot of his spine, meaning every inch is flush against him.

“You stay where I put you,” Jimin scolds, flicking at a nipple in punishment. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it? You, lying here, asking to be degraded by somebody half your size? Pathetic. You’re lucky I’m a giving man.”

“Th-thank you,” Namjoon offers up with wide eyes. He doesn’t know the protocol, doesn’t even know how he should be acting as a sub, let alone as a sub for Jimin. He can barely believe the situation he’s ended up in, but he’s never felt so alive. The cold steel is a wakeup call to sluggish veins, his blood rushing faster than ever, most of it going straight to his dick.

Jimin huffs like he’s not quite pleased with the response - even as his eyes crinkle and glint with satisfaction - and simply hooks a finger into the waistband of Namjoon’s jeans, frowning. “Can’t even get undressed yourself. For goodness’ sake.”

Namjoon’s cheeks burn, and he squeezes his eyes shut, feeling so overwhelmed. Though it was years ago, the habit of being in control hasn’t left him, and part of him feels anxious being so vulnerable. Closing his eyes eases that, and Jimin lets him, briefly reaching up to give his upper arm a squeeze, a lilting hum asking the unworded question.

“I’m okay,” he breathes to the darkness behind his eyelids, and the squeeze returns before Jimin straightens up again, fingers yanking impatiently at Namjoon’s jeans, undoing them and yanking them off, taking his briefs with them.

The new level of nudity sends another shock of cold to his system, but this time Namjoon welcomes it with a groan, tilting his hips up so that his cock rests on his lower stomach. His fingers twitch, aching to wrap around himself.

His desire is answered, not with the delicious grip of fingers, but with the hard press of the heel of Jimin’s palm, pinning his hardness down without mercy. A moan dies in Namjoon’s throat as his body tries to curl inwards. A second hand holds him down still, leaving him unable to escape the heavy pressure.

He pants, writhing and toes curling, but Jimin just sighs softly, like he’s more relaxed than ever. “Such a waste,” he drawls, his voice blooming with all the flourishes of a Disney villain, “wanting to be treated like a slut, but what am I getting out of this? Hm?”

“U-uh-” Namjoon has no idea what to say, cracking his eyes open to seek out the comfort of acknowledgement above the level of the scene. His breath is taken away at the sight. Jimin, above him like an avenging angel, golden-haired and glittering with sweat, still fully clothed (as fully as you could call a single piece of denim). He finds Namjoon’s searching gaze and sends him a calm, dreamy smile of encouragement, before twisting his palm against the base of Namjoon’s dick, wringing a strangled groan out of the man. “You can take me,” he pants, filled with the urge to provide, to serve, “take what you want.”

Jimin tilts his head to the side, like this proposition is worth considering. As he makes a show of pondering, he taps his fingers lazily against his cock’s dripping head. Namjoon swallows the whimpers that threaten to bubble up, and forces his hips not to budge. “I’ll be honest with you,” Jimin says finally, “because you don’t deserve sugar-coating. If I was here with a fleshlight or a dildo, I would’ve come already. You’re wasting my precious time, sweet boy. I don’t want you to lay here and simper, I want you to be a good toy for me. So what’s it gonna be?”

Namjoon’s muscles are trembling; from his lips to his toes, he feels like he’s vibrating slightly, restless down to the very atoms that make him up. Jimin is patient, lazily drawing sticky patterns of precum on Namjoon’s abdomen with his pinky finger. Namjoon fights against the primal part of his brain for something coherent, replaying his words. Fleshlight or dildo. Be a good toy. Jimin was offering him the choice to top or bottom, Namjoon realises, and his cock twitches, feeling liberated and thoroughly taken apart with that heady mix of submission and power. He was giving control to Jimin, but never losing his choices.

For a moment, he does consider what it might feel like to let Jimin take him. He’d never bottomed before - at least not for anyone but his own fingers in his experimental years - but if anyone could make him feel safe, he suspected it would be the dom leaning over him. It’s once he really thinks about it that he knows he’s not ready, a thin strand of dread winding around his lungs that won’t go away until he’s stammering to Jimin that he can have Namjoon’s cock if he wants it.

Jimin sucks in a slow, pleased breath, a smile curling at his lips as he lays the weight of Namjoon’s length across the palm of his hand, looking it over. The chill of the steel beneath him is nothing compared to the iced shiver that runs through him upon being inspected in his most private area. Second most private, he corrects. Baby steps.

“I suppose,” Jimin declares finally with a sigh, “this should do. Not winning any awards, though, is it?” Namjoon’s cheeks burn with shame at the comment even as his face scrunches up in disagreement. If there was one thing to be proud of physically, it was that he could always bring his partners pleasure with the equipment he grew into.

Jimin sees the unfiltered reaction on Namjoon’s face and suddenly claps his free hand over his mouth, turning away. The giggle, impish and delicate, doesn’t get as muffled as he probably intended. “Dammit,” he mumbles, “stop being funny, that’s not fair.”

Namjoon blinks, still stark naked and hard as rock beneath the clothed and chuckling dom. “...Apologies,” he says after a pause, “but do you want to- um- are we-”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jimin says, clearing his throat and wiggling the muscles in his cheek to force the smile down. His fingers reach nimbly for the straps that hold his set of overalls on, and undresses down to skin as he takes some deep breaths as if to hype himself back into character. Once he’s done, he swings a leg over the metal bench and straddles Namjoon’s thighs with a swiftness that takes his breath away.

While it may take Jimin a second to slip back into his dom headspace after the break in mood, all Namjoon needs is the feeling of Jimin’s plump ass cheeks settling onto hs lap and he’s being smacked in the face with submission, ready to beg to feel it more intimately.

Jimin doesn’t wait for him to beg, however, rolling his body forward and down, all the way until their cocks are pinned together between their stomachs, and their noses bump. Close enough to kiss, Jimin stays right there, a breath away, and Namjoon freezes, unsure if he’s allowed to close the gap.

Pleased with the restraint shown, Jimin smirks, eyes wandering over Namjoon’s face in pure bemusement, slightly cross-eyed with their proximity. “Most toys can’t kiss back,” he mentions, a hand sliding up Namjoon’s forearm and shoulder to thumb at his jaw, tilting his head back and holding it in place, “so I figure I might as well treat myself.”

“Most?” is the final worried exclamation Namjoon manages to get out before lips are descending on his, and heat erupts.

There’s no way Namjoon could keep up. Not when his face is pressed tightly to Jimin’s, lips nipped at, tongue sucked at, and mouth thoroughly explored. Not when every inch of his front is pressed to Jimin’s, the latter’s nipples hard against the soft, relaxed flesh of Namjoon’s chest. Not when he becomes aware of slow rocking, Jimin grinding their cocks together.

It takes him an unknowable eternity of this to realise that the slow, indulgent groans passed between them aren’t all his, and that Jimin’s shifting motions are brought on by the way he’s reached behind himself with a finger slick with their shared spit, working himself open.

It’s that realisation that becomes the last straw for any of Namjoon’s reserves. He feels so - so passive, not even prepping the man who’s about to take his cock. He’s lying on unforgiving steel, body used as a grinding post and mouth deeply plundered, just a mindless toy, dumbed down to pleasure and need. He isn’t even really aware of his own body where Jimin isn’t touching it; he isn’t too sure where in space his hands are, or what his feet are doing. His lips are for Jimin and his cock is for Jimin and that’s enough to make him light-headed.

When Jimin sits up, Namjoon grunts a bit and fights for some clarity to help line himself up against Jimin’s awaiting body, but the dom just tuts and rebuffs the advances, suiting himself. Part of his weight is on Namjoon’s right shoulder as he props himself up, slowly bearing the rest down so that the head of Namjoon’s cock pushes inside.

The moan that leaves Jimin’s mouth is enough to make Namjoon’s bones shake, wishing he could hear it on repeat, and the dom certainly seems to be doing his best to make it a reality with the enthusiastic way he works his hips down in tight circles, clenching around the intrusion.

Namjoon feels like he’s floating, the hard edges of steel no longer grounding him. He doesn’t lift his hands up to hold onto Jimin, he doesn’t fuck up into him, he’s barely even looking at him with how low his eyes are lidded, but there’s liberation in that inaction.

The pressure to perform is entirely lifted, and he feels the pleasure twofold, once from his own sensation and then again like an echo with every sigh and groan that leaves Jimin’s lips.

The dom has the stamina of an athlete, lifting a leg up onto the metal base beside Namjoon’s hips to gain better leverage, and Namjoon has a front row seat to the way the muscles in Jimin’s thighs flex. They’re corded and thick, such an erotic contrast to the softness of his ass, and Namjoon feels drunk off of it.

He lets Jimin take what he wants, and he feels, and that’s all.

He doesn’t even think, not really, nothing deeper than mindless observation.

Jimin is beautiful, like nobody he’d seen before, and the lack of makeup and unstyled hair certainly doesn’t change that. It’s a reminder that he’s real, and that he’s sharing this experience with Namjoon. He sits up, leaning backwards with a hand on Namjoon’s knee instead of his shoulder, and the first time he plunges down, his whole body is wracked with a violent tremor.

“I’m close,” he pants outs, eyes flicking down to Namjoon, a lazy grin appearing momentarily, onto to be knocked off by an expression of pure euphoria as he swaps the bouncing out for grinding. He rocks his hips back and forth, Namjoon buried deeply inside, and seeks out his own end irrelevant of the body that cock belongs to.

Namjoon doesn’t care, loves the near out-of-body experience he’s having, and wills the pleasure to simmer long enough for Jimin to come first.

When Jimin gets really close, he loses some of the fluidity in his movements and becomes jagged, seizing up more and more until he’s stock still, breaths staccato and mouth wide open. The physical release follows soon after, and Namjoon shudders as hot white paints the underside of his chin and his chest.

Jimin has a hand around himself, tugging out every last drop as he sucks in desperate lungfuls of air, slowly curling in on himself until his burning forehead is on Namjoon’s shoulder. “Fuck,” he curses under his breath, chest heaving.

Namjoon reaches his end without even noticing. The pleasure throughout his whole body is so electric that an orgasm is barely a notch higher, more so a spreading warmth throughout his body. Wet where Jimin’s still joined to him, and damp everywhere else with perspiration, but it’s blissful nonetheless.

Jimin heaves himself back upright after a brief interlude, brows furrowed as he glances down at Namjoon. “Did you- oh,” he remarks, shifting a little and seeing the cum that’s split around the base of Namjoon’s cock. He lets out a deep sigh, eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tips his head back. “Okay, bye-bye dom.”

Namjoon’s mind slips back into awareness at a snail’s pace, feeling first the way his throat has dried up a little and his jaw hurts from clenching his teeth. Then his voice comes back to him, and he coughs a little, blinking up at the dom above him. “Does dom have a return date by chance? That was… fucking incredible,” he admits.

Jimin laughs, the action causing him to clench around Namjoon. With playful fingers, he reaches down and lightly pinches the fat of Namjoon’s cheeks. “You’re too cute,” he declares, before lifting himself up and off, clicking his tongue at the rush of wetness that drips down his legs. “Far out, it’s like you haven’t nutted in a year.”

Namjoon feels his cheeks heat against his best intentions. “That’s just normal.”

Jimin sends him a sharp look, searching his face. “Holy fuck,” he muses, stalking over to the nearest station to raid a small drawer of wet wipes, “and you’ve been letting that beast sit out in the cold every night instead of coming in here? Masochist.”

It takes all the energy left in his body to sit up, but Namjoon gratefully accepts a fresh wad of wipes and begins to clean himself off. “The beast doesn’t pay the bills,” he quips, already feeling more casual with Jimin after their intense shared experience.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to enjoy its company on your free time,” Jimin offers up, avoiding Namjoon’s gaze with what appears to be a shy streak as he dresses himself.

Namjoon smiles, appreciating the gorgeous sight of Jimin’s body before he covers up. Appreciating even more the way he feels so comfortable in his presence, enough to let go the way he did. “I’d like that.”

#armyadvocatesaapi #minjoon smut #dom jimin #sub namjoon #bts smut

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justasimptm · 4 years ago

Text

The Bride C5

The next few weeks pass by in a blur, mother, as promised, got me new blades, coated with something special she said he won’t be able to control. I get the distinct feeling of eyes on me in that time, but every time I look, there’s nobody around. Shaking off the feeling as paranoia I decide it’s time to get ready for the day, calling in one of the maids to help me dress. The poor girl is quaking in her boots and I end up doing half the work myself, from tightening my corset to fixing the pins in my hair that she carelessly dug into my skull. The unfortunate side of having to do most of it myself, is that my corset doesn’t quite where it’s supposed to be, it's tight enough to stay on but still feels loose, the straps not quite in the right spot, the pins holding my hair back aren’t stable enough.

I know she tried, but with each time she went to fix something she just made it worse and I ended up yelling at her. Telling her to get out and to go be useless somewhere else. She squeaked like a frightened mouse and all but sprinted from the room, leaving the door wide open in her wake. I’m about to call for another maid when Daniela swarms in-quite literally too. She’s already laughing as she reforms, her arms crossed, and a condescending smirk on her face.

“Oh my, you look like someone ran you over. That’s embarrassing,” She chuckles, moving closer to me to assess the damage. She lifts her hand to prod at something she sees, but I’m quick to smack her hand away. Rolling her eyes at my reaction she steps back, turning around and skimming my room.

“What do you want, Daniela?” I snap, standing up and moving to block her path as she starts towards my bookshelf. She had zeroed in on our old family album, something she hadn’t seen before, and something I wasn’t about to let her defile. My mother might call her ‘daughter’ but she would never truly be a Dimitrescu, so she has no reason to look at things pertaining to us. She chuffs quietly, narrowing her eyes at me before they dart back to the album.

“Mother told me to let you know that Mother Miranda wants you to meet her at the church. Apparently there’s been progress.” My stomach drops at her words. Progress? What could she need me for if it’s working? Why is it working? “And she wants you now, so you have to go, looking like that. Have fun!” She cackles, swarming and flying from the room. I curse loudly, glancing at myself in the mirror. I look like a mess, and there’s no time to fix it. Grabbing a shawl I throw it around my shoulder, tying it above my chest, which helps hide most of the damage. There’s definitely not enough time to fix my hair, but as quick as I can I pull out some of the pins, dropping them onto my vanity and storming from the room.

I would swarm there, but it won’t take long to walk it and hopefully that’ll give me time to get somewhat presentable. I don’t see my mother or any of the others on my way out, a small relief which ends up ending abruptly when I reach the front gates and I hear a loud snort. I spin so fast I genuinely trip, twisting my ankle and dropping like a rock with a sharp gasp. The force of the ground jolts me, leaving me briefly dazed as I wonder how the hell I just managed to do that. Boisterous laughter tears me from my thoughts and my eyes snap up, locking on the source. And of course, it’s Heisenberg, damn near doubled over. My cheeks warm, and it takes everything in me to force my embarrassment down as I shove myself back up, brushing off my dress and returning to trying to fix myself.

“What are you doing here, Heisenberg? My mother isn’t expecting you and I doubt she’ll be pleased finding out you were lurking on our property without invitation.” I sneer, twisting my hands around as I try to find the angle to get my hair pin to stay without slipping, which is far more difficult without a mirror, might I add. He reaches up to his face, pulling his dark colored glasses off and wiping fake tears from his eyes before sliding them back into place. The glimpse of his full face unobstructed surprises me, he always keeps those glasses on, always hides his eyes from us, like they’re the lock to his secrets. Suddenly it feels like my hair pin is moving itself, angle changing midpush, stopping before I finish moving it but effectively keeping my hair back from my face. Did he just-

“You look like you’re struggling a bit there, darlin’.” He smirks, crossing his arms, “I can help with that.” As he continues I feel the metal ends of my corset laces move, the steel boning tighten and the ties pulling it into place, nearly knocking the wind from my lungs from the shock of it. It takes seconds for the knots to be put back into the correct place, everything now fitting the way it should. I open my mouth to yell at him, feeling both defiled and somehow comfortable, but he cuts me off before I get the chance to be worked up. “Look, sweetheart. You can tell me all you want that I had no right to do that, whatever. I was just saving you some embarrassment. Mother Miranda sent me up to walk you to the church. Direct quote, ‘since those lycans are your responsibility, go fetch her and escort her to our meeting so they don’t hurt her, we will finish our discussion when you both return.’” My jaw drops slightly, Daniela didn’t tell me he was going to be at the meeting, and she definitely knew. Of course she didn’t tell me, why would she miss an opportunity to make me look like an idiot. Straightening my back I nod my head at him, dropping my hands back down to my sides.

“Alright. Let’s go then,” I say, starting towards the church, I barely get a step before I’m stopped, not by his words but by the boning in my corset, which essentially drags me backwards towards his side. I gasp in shock at his actions, unable to stop my movements as he pulls me. He holds me still a few feet from him, looking me up and down.

“What do you say to me for helping you?” He growls, grinning ever so slightly. Frustration drops over me like a wave as I seethe at him. The audacity of this man to feel he’s entitled to not only adjust my clothing without my permission, but to then demand praise for it? A small part of me is amazed at how he’s able to keep me from moving, even though he only has a hold over my torso. Sensing my struggle he steps closer to me, nearly able to feel his breath on my cheek. “Come on now, it’s not that hard.” My lips turned down into a sneer for a split second before I conceded.

“Thank you for helping me, now let me go.” I spit, anger nearly boiling, mixed with the unsettling feeling that he can literally hold me still without even touching me. I’ll have to get a corset with different boning. His smile is filled with ego, so much so that it’s a wonder he hasn't choked on it yet, and he releases his telepathic grasp on me.

“That’s much better, I’m glad to see your mother taught you manners, one less thing for me to do.” With that closing statement he backs up a pace before starting down the path towards the decrepit church. “Keep up, sweetheart.”

Heisenberg’s POV

Seeing her scrambling out of that fortress, looking equally frazzled and nervous, part of me is alarmingly amused but also endeared. The stormy glare she fires at me only makes both parts grow warmly. Once she accepts that I’m going to help her and she stops lying, I think she and I will get along swell. The small gasps she lets out as I fix the pin in her hair and tighten her corset send a familiar but long forgotten spike up my spine. I never expected to have that reaction to someone, not after I was made into this, let alone her. Not that bitch’s daughter. But nonetheless, somehow it was true.

Dragging her close to me, watching her cheeks flush despite the fact she’s clearly trying to force it down. Still she thanks me, through gritted teeth and layers of disgust and emotion. A feeling of smug satisfaction swirls in my chest as I release her, watching her droop slightly, seemingly both calmer and slightly disappointed.

@foggyturtleknightangel

#Karl Heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg #re8 karl heisenberg #re8 #re village #lady dimitrescu

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blueroseblaze · 4 years ago

Text

Who’s The Deadweight Now?

Word count: 2342

WARNINGS: NSFW

Image credit: @drusoona

The apartment was dark and quiet, despairingly dark, and quiet. The only sign of inhabitance was the dirty boots strewn about the entry way, and Red Queen, still coated in dried grimy blood, propped uncaringly against the wall. You sighed in relief, looking into the darkened living room; eyes fixed on the sliver of warm light shining through the crack in your closed bedroom door.

You sighed, placing your own gear and weapons haphazardly to the side, before slumping through the dark space. You reached the bedroom door, hesitating, nervously rubbing the back of your neck and taking a deep breath before opening the door. The door creaked as you pressed on the wood, it wasn’t even closed all the way.

You poked your head through, looking around until your gaze landed on the bed, more specifically the figure resting amongst the covers. His back was to you, bare as you watched the lean muscles ripple underneath his skin as he breathed, but other than that he was still. The warm lamp light from his nightstand coated his back in harsh shadows, highlighting the curves and valleys of his body not obscured by the sheets. He made no move to turn to you as the hinges of the door cried out when you fit your body through the rest of the way. Nor did he acknowledge you when you clicked the door shut. You didn’t deserve an acknowledgment anyway.

You didn’t say anything as you walked past the bed towards the connected bathroom. You deliberately left the door open as you started the shower and began stripping your clothes. You stole a couple of glances back at the bed, still nothing.

You wanted to call out to him and apologize for what happened, but you held your tongue. It was a rough argument, almost a full blown fight. Nasty words, and passive aggressive comments were flung back and forth, culminating in you calling him the last thing he would expect you to call him. A deadweight. That was the last straw, and you two separated for the remained of your mission, only spitting an aggressive, “see you at home,” followed by terse “fine,” before parting ways.

You could barely focus the rest of the night. The overwhelming guilt of your words weighed heavily on you, sure, but you couldn’t shake the ever present fear that overtook you when you realized that if anything happened to Nero tonight, your last words to each other would have been nothing but venom. You eyes watered as you dried yourself off, remembering how easily the words left you despite never once meaning them.

You took a few shaky breaths, looking to the bed again when you heard movement, only to see Nero, in the same position, facing away from you. You quickly through on whatever t-shirt was sitting on top of the laundry hamper and exited the bathroom, turning off the light so the only illumination came from the lamp on his side of the bed.

You carefully raised the covers, sliding underneath them and laying yourself against the pillows. You watched him for a few moments, tracing over his back with your eyes and his shoulders continued to rise and fall. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him even from this far away on the bed.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and closed the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him and nuzzling your face between his shoulder blades. Your heart dropped when he flinched at your touch. Tears streamed down your face and onto his back and the sheets as you quietly sobbed against him.

“Nero,” you choked quietly, “I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me. I-I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said with zero hesitation, “I could never hate you.”

“But I-.”

You tired to continue but were silenced as Nero turned to face you, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into him

“I was being an asshole,” he said, “It’s not all on you. We both said things that we regret. And I’m sorry.”

“I know but, I know I really hurt you,” you breathed out, “Please let me make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me. It hurt, yeah but it doesn’t hurt as bad as the idea of not being with you, and I’m not going to let a stupid little fight come between us like that.”

You smiled at him and pulled yourself up to press your lips against his, he reciprocated without a second thought, one arm wrapping around your middle and a hand coming up to run through your hair and pull you in to deepen the kiss. Your lips parted and you moaned as his tongue ran across your bottom lip before fully entering your mouth. His taste sent sparks through your veins, and the heat from his bare skin made you melt.

“I love you so much,” he whispered to you before kissing you again and again and again.

Without breaking the kiss Nero ran his hand down your side, savoring your curves, slowing for just a moment on your ass and then running down to your thigh. He brought his hand under the crook of your knee and lifted it to hook our leg around his waist. You felt the heat pooling in your core as Nero began grinding against you. The hard bulge in his boxers rubbing against your bare flesh.

He pulled away from you, smiling devilishly as he tugged ever so slightly on your hair. You moved your head back and gasped, leaving your neck open for Nero to attack. He hummed as he covered your neck in kisses and would be hickeys, lightly sucking on your pulse as it continued to race.

You moved one of your own hands down his body. You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down and setting his hard cock free. He hissed against your neck as you held it, pumping your fist up and down, in a steady rhythm. He moaned right in your ear, his hot breath spreading on your skin spurring you on. His burning flesh in your hand became slicker as the pre cum leaked from the tip.

“Hmmm,” he moaned, “You like that, naughty girl?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, “Please.”

“What do you want me to do, baby?” he teased,

“Fuck me, Nero.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

In one swift move Nero maneuvered you on top of him, only to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Now perched on his lap, straddling his legs, and supported by his strong arms, you didn’t hold back from grinding your pussy harder on his aching erection. He grunted and groaned, smiling as he watched you lose yourself on him. His hands traveled up your torso and under your shirt. He groped and pinched every inch of skin he could like it was his life force.

He lifted the hem of the shirt so that it sat on top of your breasts, exposing your front completely, giving the devil hunter more than enough opportunity to take one of your pert nipples into his mouth. Tongue working expertly around the bud, swirling around it like a cherry lollipop. Your own hand moved to pinch and roll your other nipple between your fingers, adding to your body’s near overwhelming sensitivity.

“Nero… Please fuck me already,” you begged still grinding your most sensitive spots on his pulsing rod.

“So impatient,” he chided playfully, detaching his mouth from your skin.

His hands, still roving over every valley and mountain of your body, reached down between your legs. He expertly teased you with his fingers, before bringing them up for you to see. In the low lamp light you could still make out how his fingers glistened with your juices.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he said, “Are you that hungry for my cock?”

You nodded eagerly. You were impatient, you were needy, and you were hungry. He knew this, he just wanted to draw it out as long as possible. Whether this was his pay back for your fight or just him trying to savor the moment as long as possible you didn’t know. But it didn’t matter as his hands fell down your back, finding purchase on your ass. They moved with the gyration of your hips. He gave one of your cheeks a quick yet sharp spank and chuckled at your high pitched yelp.

He moved them underneath you, using only a fraction of that demonic strength to lift you up and place you back down, this time spearing you with his cock. Your warm wet walls clung to him, squeezing him from every direction, bringing him deeper into you. You let your head dangle back as his cock hit every sweet spot inside you, burying itself deep in your body and filling you to the brim in one go. You leaned your head against his shoulder, panting into his neck as you begged him to move, to hit even more of those delicious spots within you.

He obliged, of course, thrusting his hips upward as you rolled your hips and bounced your ass on his lap. A pleasured sinful dance accompanied by the melodic moans and cries of two passionate lovers close to a crescendo.

“God you feel so perfect,” he grunted through clenched teeth, “You’re so fucking tight and wet.”

“It’s cause your so fucking big,” you retorted with a cheeky smile as you clenched around him.

He got a solid ego boost from that comment, picking up the pace of his thrusts, aiming perfectly for your most sensitive spots while his fingers worked your aching clit. It felt so good, each little pass he made with his callused fingertips would make you gasp and lose yourself for a moment, before crashing back down. Your body moved on it’s own only guided by the desire for more pleasure.

You could always tell when Nero was getting close by the sounds he made, they were louder, more erratic and he lost his more composed dirty talk.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Yeah ride that cock, ride that fucking cock,” he moaned,.

You were reaching your limit but you held your pace, bobbing your ass up and down on him, rolling and spelling our words with your hips. The sounds of his slick cock moving in an out of you was the hottest things you had heard, second only to Nero’s lustful calls of your name. You didn’t even remember what happened earlier that day. This moment was too beautiful to be tainted by any such thoughts. All that existed was this room and your Nero.

“Oh god, baby! I’m gonna cum soon,” he grunted his head lolling back.

“Don’t stop,” you demanded, “Please don’t stop.”

“Want me to cum in you?” he asked, his voice getting more and more unstable as he closer reached his edge, “Want me to cum in your tight little pussy?”

“Yes! Yes please cum in me, Nero!”

His fingers left your clit and both of his hands were back on your ass, holding you in place as he bucked his hips fast and hard into you. His cock rubbed up against every inch of your inner walls, impaling you inch after agonizing inch.

Your mouth was back on his, tongues dancing together, eating each other’s sultry moans as you finally went over that anticipated cliffs edge, you walls clenched around him of their own accord, sucking him down once more as every nerve in your body lit up. You gushed around him before your body went limp in his hold. You pulled your lips away from his and laid your head back on his shoulder once again, physically exhausted from your little ride. Always such a gentleman he was, making sure you finished first.

But Nero wasn’t done. He was still rock hard inside you, reminding you with some smaller thrusts and chuckling at your oversensitive mewls. He took sick pleasure in watching you squirm as he brought himself to his own climax. Hands holding you firmly in place as he kept rutting into you, grunting and groaning with each thrust.

“Oh fuck!” he cried, his brow scrunching together and his mouth falling open in a look of ecstasy as he finally hit his limit, spilling thick hot cream deep inside you. With what little energy you had left, you clenched yourself around him, making sure to milk him dry as he rode out his orgasm. He went soft inside you but didn’t want to leave the warmth of your body.

Instead he wrapped both arms around you, holding you as close as he possibly could, like you would disappear if he loosened his hold even a little bit. He buried his face into your neck, inhaling your sent from your hair as it fell around him and tickled his face. He pressed sloppy and affectionate kisses to your neck as you both sat there, basking in the afterglow.

Eventually he pulled out of you, and you shuddered at the feeling of his seed leaking out of you and cooling on your skin. You tried to move but couldn’t find enough strength to remove your body from his. You’d be content to stay like that forever. Nero noticed your pitiful attempts to move and chuckled to himself as he leaned back, moving his legs back onto the bed and laid down, all with you still clinging to him like a cuddly koala.

“Heh, who’s the deadweight now?” he teased as he ran his fingers through your hair, humming contently as you rested against his chest, you heartbeat syncing with his.

He reached over to the bedside table, turning of the lamp with a click and then returning his arms to envelope you again. He kissed the crown of your head, whispering affections until you both drifted off to sleep. Safe, together, and content.

Happy Valentines Day <3

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc 4 #devil may cry 4 #dmc 5 #devil may cry 5 #nero #dmc nero #nero x reader #dmc nero x reader #reader insert #dmc fanfic #devil may cry fanfic #dmc fanfiction #devil may cry fanfiction #valentines #valentines day #My writing #blue writes

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chaptersinprogress · 3 years ago

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tell me every story (and lay yourself bare)

Boba looked up as the door hissed open and barked a short laugh. “Beroya what did you do to yourself?” Din sighed as Boba approached.

Rating: T

Warnings: NIL

Pairing: Din Djarin/Boba Fett

Prompt: @bobadinweek 2021 day 2 | armour

Boba looked up as the door hissed open and barked a short laugh. “Beroya what did you do to yourself?” He placed down his datapad and lifted himself off the lounge chair.

Din sighed as Boba approached. “Grogu decided that he wanted to take a more hands-on approach while helping to bring in the bounty.”

Stopping a foot away from the other, Boba looked Din over. The mandalorian’s kute was damp, with black mud and a few slimy weeds decorating his beskar. He also was coated in a thin layer of white sand and sported a distinctly torn and singed cloak which gave off a strong burnt smell.

Grogu on the other hand, was neatly swaddled and spotless where he was nestled in the crook of Din’s arm, soft whistles escaping him as he slumbered.

Boba raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

Din shifted his weight slightly. “I probably shouldn’t track all this inside,” he said, tiredness seeping out of his voice even through the vocoder.

“No,” agreed Boba with no small amount of amusement. “You shouldn’t.”

“Come on,” he said, voice softening as he took a step forward. “Give me the kid. I’ll put him to bed. Then we can see to getting you out of that armour.”

As Din carefully placed Grogu in Boba’s arms, the child shifted and blinked sleepily at the other, a tiny whine escaping him.

“It's just me, ad’ika,” Boba murmured lowly. “Go back to sleep.”

A yawn escaped the little body and Grogu snuggled into the warmth radiating off Boba, easily falling back asleep.

Boba chuckled softly. “Oh he’s definitely had a busy day.”

Din hummed in agreement, the sound crackling lightly.

“Start with your weapons,” Boba ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

By the time Boba made it back, Din had made a neat pile of weaponry on the floor and was leaning most of his weight against the wall with one shoulder.

“Still awake, beroya?”

“Yeah,” Din answered roughly as he straightened up.

“Not taking a seat?” Boba asked as he grabbed a stool.

“I’ll fall asleep if I sit down,” he admitted.

Boba dropped the piece of furniture down in front of Din. “Fair enough.”

“Hands up, let’s get the heaviest pieces off first.”

As Din lifted his arms away from the sides of his body, Boba reached forward to detach the chestplate, letting the destroyed cloak puddle at his feet. Din exhaled lightly.

Boba placed the armour gently onto the floor. “Much better without this, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Moving behind the other, Boba similarly made quick work of the backplate and pulled the abdominal body armour off. A relieved sigh escaped Din as the sodden weights around his torso were removed.

Those joined the armour on the floor, and Boba turned to face the bounty hunter. “Top down or bottom up?”

Din raised a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Whichever you like.”

“We’ll work our way down,” decided Boba. “Pauldrons off, then you can lean against the wall again.”

“Alright.”

“So,” said Boba as he got the first pauldron off. “How did you manage to end up in such a sorry state?”

Din huffed a laugh. “When we landed on the planet the bounty was last seen, turned out that they’d run into the swamp hoping to escape hunters.”

“So you followed them in.”

“Yeah,” Din replied as Boba worked on the other one. “We’d stopped for a break when Grogu got distracted by some frogs and started chasing them. I managed to grab him before he followed them into the swamp, when some creature erupted from the water.”

Boba laughed, placing the beskar down. “Must’ve thought it found an easy snack. Give me your hand.”

Din complied readily, leaning heavily against the wall, and Boba got to work on the vambrace and glove.

“Not so easy after all. I managed to toss Grogu into the pram, seal it and direct it some distance away before it knocked me into the water with it. Stabbed it with the Darksaber then cut off its head.”

Din placed his other hand in Boba’s waiting one. “I dragged myself out of the water only to find the bounty trying to fiddle with the pram controls. My blasters were waterlogged so I tackled them instead.”

“But Grogu managed to get the pram open somehow- ”

“Some Force osik no doubt,” replied Boba, sliding his arms around Din’s waist to get the other’s hip and butt plates off.

“-and decided to help when the bounty managed to wriggle away. He shoved them back in my direction, except I wasn’t expecting the added weight so I ended up stumbling backward and tripping over something. Then we were grappling in the mud until I managed to get the cuffs onto them.”

The plates were added to the growing pile on the floor. Boba sat on the stool before grabbing Din’s hips and pulling him closer. The mandalorian came easily, hands immediately drifting to Boba’s broad shoulders.

Boba wrinkled his nose slightly at the unpleasant mix of swamp and burnt fabric that lingered but gently thumbed the sharp jut of Din's hipbones over the damp kute as Din leaned more of his weight onto Boba.

“That explains the mud and the weeds,” he said. “Not the sand or your cloak.”

Din’s grip tightened a fraction as Boba’s hands brushed over his thigh plates. “The bounty pulled out a vibroblade during our scuffle. The cloak was a casualty.”

“And the burning?”

Din sighed. “The bounty had managed to loosen the cuffs somehow. They tried to escape while we got off the ship here, knocked us both down and went for my blaster.”

“You’d managed to get it working again by then?”

“No,” answered Din as Boba placed the beskar plates down. “They realised soon enough and whacked me round the head with it instead.”

Boba paused halfway through removing the knee guard to give Din a narrow eyed-stare. “Did you get that looked at?”

Din tellingly did not answer.

Sighing, Boba asked, “So how does your adventure end?”

“Bounty attempted to run after that. Grogu once again tried to help by shoving them back at me, and the bounty knocked us over again. We rolled around a bit; bounty got hold of the cloak in one hand and my vambrace in another, accidentally activated the flamethrower-”

“Of course they did.”

“-cloak was in the way and caught on fire even though it was wet-”

“And that is why you never wear loose clothing around dangerous equipment,” Boba groused as he stood to help Din hop out of his boots and socks.

“I am dangerous equipment,” Din snarked back, Boba catching hold of him when it looked like he might topple over. “Then I had to put out the fire and by that time Grogu had somehow knocked the bounty out. And we dragged ourselves back here.”

“Looking like a right mess.” Boba shook his head. “I told you it was a bad idea. Going on a 2 week hunt where you got little sleep, then flying over to pick up Grogu, taking the kid on a hunt, and flying back here. A disaster in the making.”

Din huffed a laugh, head resting in the crook of Boba’s neck, the buy’ce cool against his skin. “We were fine.”

“Sure you were. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that your head still needs to be looked at.”

“Boba-” he groaned.

“Nayc. You’re not getting out of it.” Boba gently moved Din away and lifted his hands to the buy’ce. At the reassuring squeeze he got, he carefully removed it to reveal Din’s tired face. “There you are, mesh’la.”

“Beautiful enough to get out of going to the med-bay?”

Boba laughed. “Need to make sure you haven’t damaged your pretty little head so no. But nice try.”

The corner of Din’s lips turned up. “Was worth a shot.”

Boba leaned in to rest his forehead against Din’s, the other pressing into the mirshmure'cya.

“Come on. A quick water shower, then med-bay.”

“Alright.”

Din tangled their fingers together and let Boba lead him away.

#chaptersinprogress #bobadinweek2021 #the mandalorian #bobadin #boba fett #din djarin #brief mention of grogu #fanfic #fanfiction #tell me every story (and lay yourself bare)#I do have all the mando'a words for the various armour parts #but decided that for readability it would be more exponent to simply use the english words for everything except the helmet #also there's absolutely no real plot here #which is... not like my usual writing #so please be kind to me haha

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buckybarnesdollface · 4 years ago

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Is This A Bad Time?

Summary: Bucky's so desperate to see his girl after a long mission, he rushes to her place without stopping at the compound to debrief. Poor Steve ends up on the end of a phone call he most definitely didn't want to be on.

Warnings: Smut, fluff, f/m, embarrassed Steve Rogers, Bucky and reader are both cheeky little shits

“Honey, I’m home!”

I let the dishcloth fall into the sink and then I was running out to the hallway as my heart beat erratically in excitement. He stood in the doorway, still in full tactical gear, dark circles under his blue eyes and a few scrapes on his stubbled face, but a wide grin curved his lips upward when I skidded into the hallway to greet him.

“Bucky…” I breathed, and when he held open his arms I threw myself into them and pressed my face into his chest. He smelled like smoke and sweat and leather but after three weeks of not seeing him while he was on mission in Lisbon all I cared about was that he was warm and solid and here.

“Missed you, doll,” he murmured into my hair, arms tightening around me.

“I missed you, too. Three weeks is too long.”

Bucky pulled away from me, blue eyes sparkling. “Aw, baby girl, did ya miss me lovin’ on ya every night?” he teased, and I gave him a wicked smirk.

“Maybe a little,” I taunted. “Good thing I kept that vibrator Nat gave me for the secret Santa last year; it got me through more than a few lonely nights.”

Just as I’d hoped, I struck the right nerve. Bucky’s eyes narrowed as a low growl rumbled in his chest. “You tellin’ me you’ve been gettin’ yourself off without me, doll?” he said in a low voice, and I shrugged.

“Like I said, soldier; three weeks is too long.” I winked at him. “Don’t worry; I still screamed your name if that makes you feel better.”

The next thing I knew, I was pushed up against the wall and his body was pressed against mine. I couldn’t help the little whimper that escaped my lips when he fitted a thick thigh between my legs, and a devilish grin stretched his lips slowly.

“Oh, baby girl,” he breathed. “I missed the pretty sounds that you make.”

I fought to keep my composure, but three weeks of living without his touch had me melting against him now. “When did you get back?” I asked him, and he grinned.

“Just now.”

My eyes widened. “You didn’t even check in at the compound? Buck, you’re supposed to debrief after every mission, or at least let someone know you’re back,” I scolded.

“I did let someone know,” he murmured, nose skimming along my jaw as his hands slipped under my shirt and gripped the flesh of my hips. “As soon as I landed I came right to your place to tell you I’m back.”

I wanted to scold him more, but oh, his hands on me felt so good and his words had my heart fluttering. “Bucky…” I breathed, and he ducked his head to pepper kisses along my throat.

“Had to see my best girl before I did anything else,” Bucky mumbled into my skin. “Had to show her just how much I’ve missed her the past few weeks.”

Losing the last of my resolve, I crashed my lips to his, hands fumbling to unzip his leather jacket and slide it from his shoulders. It hit the floor with a soft thud, and then Bucky’s hands were sliding under my thighs and lifting me up as he kissed me hungrily. He carried me to the bedroom and dropped me onto the bed.

Deft fingers made quick work of the laces of his combat boots, and then he was kicking them off and climbing onto the bed after me. His lips reattached to mine as his hands massaged my breasts over the thin cotton of my t-shirt.

“Mmm, no bra,” he murmured. “It’s like you knew I was coming home, doll.” I keened when he pinched my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, back arching off the mattress. “So responsive. Can’t believe I went three weeks without this.”

“Need you, Buck,” I whined shamelessly.

“Not near as bad as I need you, doll.” Bucky was quick to rid me of my shirt, mouth latching onto a nipple, and I gasped. His flesh hand slid down my body to slip under the waistband of my leggings, and he groaned as his fingers swept through my folds. “Already drippin’ for me, baby doll. Can’t wait to get a taste of this.”

I shook my head, fingers curling around the front of his Henley. “Later,” I panted. “Right now I just need to feel you inside me.”

The smug look on Bucky’s face transformed into something darker, and then he was practically tearing the rest of our clothes from our bodies. Lining himself up with my entrance, he slid into me in one forceful thrust. I cried out, nails scratching down his back as his length filled me completely, stretching me until it was almost painful. Bucky groaned, face pressed into my neck as he held still to give me time to readjust to him, his flesh hand kneading the flesh of my hip.

“Fuck, doll,” he grunted. “You good? ‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can hold still.”

In answer I rolled my hips up into his and his fingers on me tightened. I whimpered as he pulled out of me and then thrust back in, slow but forceful, unable to focus on anything but how good it felt to finally have him inside me again after three weeks apart. He didn’t miss a beat, hitting all the spots in me that had me a whiny mess for him in no time.

“Bucky…” I keened as he delivered a particularly hard thrust, and his lips curved up into a grin.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he praised. “Let me hear you. God, I missed the pretty noises that mouth of yours makes when I’m inside you.”

His words sent a fresh flood of arousal to my core, and I had just pulled him in for a searing kiss when all of a sudden his phone began to ring, the sound shrill and harsh in a room that was silent save for our sharp breaths and flesh against flesh.

I paused, but Bucky’s thrusts didn’t cease. “Aren’t you gonna answer that?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“But it could be important –”

Bucky cut me off as he lifted my hips off the mattress to hook my legs around him, hitting me at a new angle that left me breathless.

“This is what’s important,” he growled, one hand snaking up my torso to pinch a nipple. I squeaked and he smirked. “I haven’t seen my best girl in three weeks. My top priority right now is making up for those three weeks.”

Eventually the phone stopped ringing, and with a grin Bucky resumed his movements with more vigor.

“So good, doll,” he grunted a couple of minutes later, after we’d both fallen back into the previous pace we’d set. My head fell back into the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as I felt the coil tightening in my belly. I was so close…

The phone ringing sounded even more shrill and annoying the second time. I opened my eyes to give Bucky a pointed look. He pursed his lips and then reached over to the bedside table to pick it up and check the screen.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Steve,” he replied, and then to my shock he shut the phone off and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed with a dull thud on the pile of our discarded clothes on the floor. My eyes widened.

“Bucky!” I cried. “You can’t just do that!”

“I can,” he murmured, trailing open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, “and I did.” His hands roamed my curves as he rutted into me. “Like I said, doll; you’re my priority right now. Everything else can wait until later.”

I wanted to argue with him – I had told myself when we’d first started seeing each other that I wouldn’t let myself get between him and his work. Being an Avenger meant he had responsibilities that often had to come before anything else, and I respected that. But god, the way he felt on top of me and inside me right now…He could tell me he planned on stealing the Mona Lisa and I wouldn’t care as long as he kept making me feel this good.

In one swift move Bucky rolled over, putting me on top. His hands on my hips were firm as he rocked me against him, and the moan that escaped my lips was obscene. Bucky smirked, but that smirk quickly turned into a sinful groan when I bent down to suck lightly on the pulse point at his throat. His hands slid from my hips to my ass, kneading the flesh and then delivering a quick but sharp slap that had me crying out his name and adding more heat to my already-flooded core. Just a few more well-placed thrusts and I would be…

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky snarled as we were interrupted for a third time. This time it was my phone, and for a second Bucky looked like he was contemplating throwing it against the wall across the room.

“Don’t even think about it, Barnes,” I warned, and with a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated sigh he reached across the bed to answer the call and put it on speakerphone. I made to slide off of him, but the vibranium hand still on my hip held me firmly in place.

“I swear to god, Rogers, the world better be fucking ending right now or I’m gonna kill you,” Bucky growled, and I arched an eyebrow at him, which he only returned with a shrug.

“I knew you were at (Y/N)’s,” Steve replied accusingly over the speaker. “That explains why you’ve been ignoring my calls.”

“Yeah, of course I’m at (Y/N)’s,” Bucky retorted. “I haven’t seen my girl in three weeks; where else would I be?”

“How about in your debriefing meeting? You know the protocol, Buck. We debrief before we do anything else. Tony is pissed.”

“Tony can suck it,” Bucky muttered. I stifled a snort and Steve sighed.

“Not to mention the fact that you didn’t even let anyone know you had returned. What if something had happened to you, jerk? We’d have no idea.”

“Stop being such a punk, Steve. The quinjets all have GPS on them, you knew I was back in New York.”

“Can you just get to the compound ASAP so we can do this debriefing? If you hurry up, we can get it done and over with.”

“Can’t, Stevie, I’m a little busy right now. The debriefing can wait till later; nothing’s gonna change.” As he said this, his fingertips traced the dips and swells of my body with the lightest of touches, raising goosebumps on my skin and having me involuntarily rocking my hips against his. Caught off-guard, Bucky let out a grunt and we both froze, our eyes wide.

“What was that?” Steve asked, and I watched as the flush crept up Bucky’s neck to his cheeks.

“I, uh…tripped,” Bucky lied, “over (Y/N)’s cat.”

I had to bite down on my hand to keep from laughing. Bucky glared at me, but there was a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

“You tripped over a cat,” Steve deadpanned, clearly not buying it. “Mhmm. Since when are you clumsy enough to trip over a cat?”

“Since I just spent three weeks on a mission in Lisbon,” Bucky replied. “I’m exhausted.”

His voice was tight, but not because he was annoyed with Steve. I had started rolling my hips against his, growing impatient with this phone call. Bucky’s eyes widened, and his jaw clenched as he fought to control his breathing. He narrowed his eyes at me, but I only smiled sweetly.

“I get that you’re tired, Bucky,” Steve sighed on the other end of the line, “but we’ve got responsibilities. Let’s just get this debriefing over with. It’ll take twenty minutes, and then you can spend the next two weeks with (Y/N) if you want to.”

A wicked grin on my face, I traded in grinding my hips into his for bouncing up and down, his cock sliding in and out of me deliciously. Bucky’s jaw went slack, and then he was sucking in a deep breath before speaking. “I told you, Steve, I’m…Fuck.” His eyes fluttered shut and his head hit the pillows as I picked up the pace. He waited until his breathing evened out before continuing. “I’m busy,” he finished, and I smirked as he shot me a look that screamed, “You’re in trouble.”

“Busy doing what?” Steve demanded, his voice rising. “What the hell is going on over there that has you disregarding protocol?”

With a devilish grin, Bucky lifted his vibranium hand to where we were joined and pressed his thumb to my clit. He began to rub circles on it with increasing pressure, and even though I fought hard to contain myself I was so tightly wound by this point that even the slightest pressure had me wrecked. I let out a sound between a whine and a moan, and Bucky looked triumphant as I fell forward until our chests were pressed together. He thrusted up into me slowly and I held my breath, knowing there was no way Steve hadn’t heard me.

Things were silent for a moment, and then a cough came from Steve’s end. “Are you…Are you guys…?” he choked, unable to finish the question. My cheeks were flaming and I buried my face against Bucky’s shoulder; to hide my embarrassment or to keep from laughing I wasn’t even sure. Bucky was full-on laughing, his chest rumbling beneath me.

“I told you I was busy, Stevie,” he chuckled pointedly. “Maybe you should have just left me alone.”

Just imagining the flustered look on Steve’s face was enough to send me into a fit of giggles, and then Bucky and I were both laughing. Steve finally cut us off, his tone clipped.

“You two are both disturbed individuals,” he said. “Just…” He stopped, as if to shake his head. “I expect you to be here in an hour.”

Bucky smirked. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he taunted, and then he hung up the phone before Steve could say anything else. We both burst into fresh fits of laughter.

“Poor Stevie,” I breathed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to face him again.”

“Maybe he should have minded his own business, then.” Bucky’s hands grabbed onto my ass and squeezed playfully. “Now, where were we? We still have at least half an hour before I have to leave and there are so many things I want to do to you in that time.”

As he spoke, he thrusted up into me hard, and my gasp quickly turned into a wicked grin. I was so glad to have him home.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #marvel #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #post mission #smut #fluff #cheeky #embarrassed steve rogers #f/m

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kookiesjoonies · 5 years ago

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ripped jeans | jjk.

main pairing: idol!jungkook x girlfriend!reader

fic type: one shot

word count: 5.3k

genre: smut, pwp

warnings: language, multiple orgasms, hand job, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, dirty talk, groping, spanking, choking, drool play, exhibitionism (public sex), dry humping, thigh riding, hair pulling, mirror sex, unprotected sex (be safe pls)

summary: you’ve been sexually frustrated for days, and when your boyfriend shows up in your favorite jeans you decide that you have to have him. and all of a sudden, a dressing room in the mall sounds like the perfect spot.

A/N: this is basically just.. 5k words of filth, and i’m not the least bit sorry. i’m obsessed with jungkook’s legs/thighs, and obsessed with how they look in ripped jeans. so, this is the result of that lmaoo. enjoy! feedback is always appreciated. xo

You’d been in a mood all day. Well, for the past three days if you were being honest with yourself. You were sexually frustrated as all fuck, and no amount of masturbating or filthy sex with your boyfriend seemed to make it go away. You’d tried everything to distract yourself, but nothing was working. You’d done numerous loads of laundry, reorganized the kitchen cabinets; twice, and cleaned out your dresser drawers, tossing what couldn’t be saved into the trash and creating a donation pile for what you no longer wore.

You were sitting on the floor folding the clothes that you’d intended to donate, when your phone buzzed and lit up beside of you. You smiled when you saw your boyfriend’s contact name on the screen. You swiped with your thumb to answer the call, resting the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you continued to fold your clothes.

“Hello, handsome.” You answered.

“Hi, gorgeous. What are you up to?” You heard Jungkook munching on something on the other end of the phone.

“‘Not much, just cleaning out our dresser. Which reminds me, do you really need this many pairs of basketball shorts?” He laughed and you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, I do.”

“When are you coming home?” You questioned, praying that he’d tell you he was on his way.

“Actually, I need to head to the mall and pick up a few things, Jimin’s birthday is tomorrow. I was wondering if you wanted to maybe meet me there? And then we could go out for dinner or something.” He suggested, and you jumped up from the floor.

“Right now?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m leaving the studio now. I’ll be there in, I don’t know, fifteen minutes? I’ll meet you out front.”

“Okay, babe,” you walked out of your bedroom and down the hallway toward the front door of your house, lifting your keys off of the hook hanging beside of it, “I’m leaving now.”

“See you soon, baby.”

When you’d arrived at the mall, Jungkook was waiting on you outside of the entrance, just like he’d said he would be. You offered him a wide smile when you saw him, and he immediately tilted his neck down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Hey, you.” He grinned, bringing a hand up and reaching it forward to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

He shifted his eyes down from your face to your torso, and then to your legs. He admired the way that your top was almost too tight, hugging every single one of your curves perfectly. He appreciated the small amount of cleavage you were showing more than you’d ever know. And as he took a look at the mini skirt you were wearing, his tongue poked out past his lips as he wet them.

“See something you like?” You teased, and he pulled your body into his, his hips pressed tightly against yours.

“Fuck yes I do.” He shamelessly admitted, his large hands finding their way down to flatten against your ass cheeks before curling his fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze.

The way he was looking at you combined with the way his hands felt red hot against your ass had you regretting that you’d decided to not wear any panties. You could feel your lower stomach begin to tighten, wetness already gathering between your legs. And he hadn’t even done much.

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, shifting your gaze to look him over. His hair was disheveled, you assumed from how hard he’d danced at practice. His pupils were dark and blown out, filled with desire as he looked down at you, a smirk prominent and only growing as he saw the way you were checking him out.

He had on a white T-shirt that was now made see through in some areas and sticking to his skin from sweat, the sleeves of the shirt hugging his toned biceps perfectly. And those jeans he was wearing. Those fucking jeans. They were your favorite of his. Various rips in them, two holes at the knee and a few smaller ones surrounding them. They were so tight on him, hugging his muscles beautifully. You almost moaned at the sight. He’d paired all of that with a pair of dark combat boots, and you were sure you were going to lose it. Any minute now, there’d be a line of your arousal trickling down your thigh.

“Babe, you’re staring. And drooling.” He chuckled, reaching his thumb up to wipe the bit of saliva that had collected on the side of your lip.

And when he brought said thumb up to his mouth and flicked his tongue over the bit of drool collected on the tip of it, you were fucking done.

“Come on.” You groaned, grabbing hold of his hand and tugging him through the doors of the mall with you.

The two of you walked swiftly through the building, passing countless amounts of stores before you finally found the one you’d been looking for. The one with the most dressing rooms and most square footage.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Jungkook asked, eyebrow cocked.

You’d stopped walking momentarily, pulling numerous amounts of random items off of the racks and laying them across your arm.

“Getting things to get us into a dressing room.” You responded, picking out one final shirt. You weren’t even aware of what you were grabbing, and you couldn’t have cared less.

“And why are you doing that?” He was playing dumb. Of course he was.

He’d pressed his hips against your ass as you were retrieving the shirt, and you could feel how incredibly hard he was. You almost moaned, but you’d somehow managed to control yourself. Your pussy felt sticky now, and was getting wetter by the second. You chewed on your bottom lip as he pressed his length harder against your ass, your eyes fluttering closed at the feeling. He placed his hands on your hips, his fingertips pressing into the bits of skin that your top wasn’t covering.

He leaned his head down and slowly dragged his tongue along the shell of your ear, making your whole body quiver.

His grip on your hips tightened and he pulled you back against him, you were so close to him now that you couldn’t fit a thin piece of paper between the two of you. And you were in the middle of a store. In the middle of the mall. People walking around you, shopping and minding their own business. Completely unaware of what was going on between the two of you. To anyone walking by, it would just look like he was whispering in your ear. But the thought of possibly being caught made you feel like you were high, like your entire body was on fire.

“I bet you’re a soaking fucking mess right now, huh?” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he took your earlobe between his teeth.

“Y-yeah.” You were too afraid to say anything else, afraid that a moan would slip out and the two of you would be thrown out and banned from the mall. That would be pretty hot though, you thought.

“Let’s get you into that dressing room with all of these clothes then, yeah? I want to clean you up, and then make you a mess again. Over, and over.” He growled lowly in your ear then, and you didn’t need to be told twice.

You didn’t run, despite how badly you’d wanted to. You walked toward the dressing room area with Jungkook at your side, pulling him into the last door at the end of the small hallway once you were there. He swiftly swung the door closed behind the two of you, turning the lock as quickly as he could.

You’d discarded the items of clothing that you’d been holding onto the floor, not caring how rude that was in the slightest. Jungkook was all over you in an instant. He pinned your back against the dressing room mirror, kissing you as if he were a man absolutely starved. His tongue was running through your mouth, twisting and lapping and you were just trying to keep up, and keep quiet. Your hands had found their way into his hair and you had a hold on it so tight that it stung Jungkook’s scalp, just the way that he liked it.

You were soaked now. So soaked that you could feel your inner thighs start to become wet. You knew one thing for sure, whenever he did get his head between your legs, you weren’t going to last long at all. The thought of him going down on you made you moan into his mouth and you pushed his shoulders to make him pull back.

He was panting as he stared at you, eyebrows raised and confusion written all over his face. Before he could speak though, you were undoing the button on your skirt, pushing it down your legs and letting it pool around your feet.

“I’ve got to feel your tongue on me, like, right fucking now. I’m going to lose my mind.” You were all but begging.

Meanwhile, Jungkook had focused his attention on your bare pussy. He sucked in a breath, hissing through his teeth as he realized you weren’t wearing any underwear.

“Fuck,” he sighed, bending down to get on his knees in front of you, “no panties? Are you trying to fucking kill me?”

You let out a giggle at his words, your hand finding the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his hair as he inched closer to where you needed him to be most.

“Like what you see?” You teased, and instead of answering you directly, he’d dragged his tongue along your folds.

“Oh—“ you brought your free hand up and over your mouth, quickly remembering that you were in a public place and that you couldn’t be loud. Which only made you want to be louder.

You’d spread your legs a bit wider and Jungkook had taken to lifting one of your legs up and letting it rest over his shoulder. He licked at the wetness that had spread to your thighs, teeth nibbling at the skin there and sucking it between them. Your grip on his hair tightened, and a quiet sigh escaped from your mouth.

After he was finished marking his territory, he flicked his tongue over the bruises that were starting to form, earning a high pitched whimper from you as he did so.

“Kook, I—“ you started, and he pressed his thumb against your clit without warning. You sucked in a breath at the sudden contact, your head falling back against the mirror.

“Shh,” he cooed, “I know, baby. I know.”

He’d swapped out his thumb for his tongue, flicking it over the tiny nub at an agonizingly slow place. Your eyes had rolled into the back of your head, your eyelids falling shut. He had one hand wrapped around your thigh to keep your leg from falling off of his shoulder, using his other hand to tease your entrance.

His index finger circled around the hole, causing you to squirm underneath his touch. He pushed his finger in all the way up to his knuckle and you cried out from the sudden intrusion, probably a little too loud, but you couldn’t be convinced to give a fuck. Your walls clenched around his finger and he chuckled against your clit, sending a vibration through your body that had your thighs already beginning to shake.

“K-kook, if you k-keep this up, I won’t—“ Your sentence was cut short by the addition of his middle finger. He fucked into you quickly and ruthlessly, all at the same time flattening his tongue against your clit and lapping over it at such a fast pace that it made your head start to spin. There was a fire in the pit of your stomach now and you’d had to bring both of your hands up and over your mouth in a poor attempt to keep yourself quiet.

You repeatedly mewled against the palms of your hands, lifting your head off of the mirror to glance down at your boyfriend. He looked so fucking good like this, his entire face was pressed so hard against you, you didn’t know how he was breathing. Seeing him like that, and seeing the way he was moving his fingers in and out of you was almost enough to push you right over the edge. And then when he curled his fingers against that sweet spot deep inside of you, you were done.

Your thighs trembled around his face, your entire body beginning to convulse and you were riding his face now as your orgasm washed over you. The tingling sensation starting in your stomach and reaching all the way down to your feet, causing your toes to curl. You were whispering pants of his name as you came all over his fingers, offering words of praise as you came down from your high. If it weren’t for his grip on your thigh holding you up, you were sure you would have slipped down the mirror and onto the floor.

He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, flicking his tongue over your clit one last time before pulling his face back. He lowered your leg back down onto the floor slowly, standing back up and towering over you.

“You good?” He asked, tone sincere.

You nodded and offered him a fucked out, “mhm,” in response to his question and he couldn’t help but to chuckle at you. You were finally opening your eyes to look up at him, and when you did you were sure you could cum again just from the sight.

You’d fucked his hair up beyond measure from grabbing onto it so hard, and his lips, nose, and chin were covered in your release. You let out a moan at the sight, and just as you were sure he couldn’t make it any worse, he was quickly proving you wrong.

He brought the fingers that he’d had buried inside of you moments ago up to his lips, wrapping his mouth around them and sucking your arousal off of them. His fingers were shiny when he pulled them back, but they were clean now.

“Open your mouth.” He demanded, and you happily obliged.

He craned his neck downward, so that his mouth was perfectly aimed right above yours. A line of saliva fell from his lips, and you eagerly caught it as it dropped down into your mouth and landed on the tip of your tongue. It tasted heavily of your release, all mixed with the taste of him. You swallowed and gulped it down your throat, opening your mouth and pushing your tongue out to show him that you’d done so.

“Good girl.” He praised, his hands quickly finding your hips and you jumped up from the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You wasted no time attacking his mouth with your own, arms moving to link around his neck and fingers finding their way to the ends of his hair. He returned your kiss with nothing but enthusiasm, pulling your lower lip between his top and bottom teeth before biting down on it so hard you were sure he’d make you bleed.

He was moving backwards now, stopping when the backs of his knees hit the bench that was attached to the wall of the dressing room. He sat down with you straddling his lap, his hands placed on your bare ass now. You moaned at the feeling, which seemed to only spur him on because he lifted one hand off of your cheek, only to forcefully slap back down onto it, causing you to let out a small shriek against his lips. His tongue was pushing into your mouth now, not bothering to wait for you to give him an invitation. The same hand he’d just slapped your bottom with, was now being used to grip a chunk of the flesh. His nails dug into your skin mercilessly, and you hissed at the feeling.

You gave a quick roll of your hips, your naked clit coming in contact with the hardened bulge in his jeans. You both moaned at the feeling, Jungkook’s head shooting back and slamming against the wall. You quickly took to peppering his neck with kisses, licking over the sections that you knew would get a reaction from him. Every time your tongue poked out, his hips rose up, turning you into a whimpering mess. You matched each thrust of his hips with one of your own and the friction was slowly becoming too much, and you were sure you were going to cum again.

He’d moved his hands from your ass to the front of his jeans, undoing his belt as quickly as his hands would allow. He’d pulled his zipper down and tapped your thigh.

“Stand up for just a second babe, let me get these off. I’ve got to get inside of you before I blow it in my pants.” He was out of breath, his voice completely fucked out already and you hadn’t even gotten to the main event yet.

The thought of him removing those fucking beautiful jeans made you whine, but you perked up as an idea entered into your head.

“Wait, I want to try something.” You said, standing up and he’d started to push the jeans down.

You quickly brought your hands down to halt his, stopping him before he could get them any lower.

“Babe, what are you doing? These kind of have to be off for me to fuck you.” He groaned, looking up at your face and eyeing you curiously.

“I know, and I want you to fuck me, just.. let me do something first.” You chewed on your lip, going to straddle him again. Except this time, your legs were on either side of one of his thighs and Jungkook was confused, cocking an eyebrow at you.

Before he could ask you what you were doing for the second time, you decided just showing him would be a good enough answer. You braced yourself on his thigh, gripping your hands onto his shoulders and pressing your fingertips into the fabric of his shirt, attempting to keep yourself as steady as possible. You pushed your hips down, rolling them slowly at first as if to test the waters. But when your sensitive clit came in contact with the rough fabric of his jeans, you had to bite down on the crook of Jungkook’s neck to keep yourself from screaming.

He quickly caught on and rested his hands on your hips, keeping your body braced up and on his thigh.

“Go ahead baby, ride my thigh. Make a mess all over these jeans.” He encouraged you, and you ground your hips down again.

You seemed to hit your clit perfectly every time, causing you to whine against his neck. It felt so good that your eyes were starting to water, if you would’ve known this was going to make you feel this fucking amazing, you’d have tried this a long time ago.

Jungkook was losing it, watching you move against his legs, listening to the sounds coming out of your mouth. He couldn’t handle the restriction of his jeans anymore, he had to feel something, any kind of friction. But you were enjoying this so much that he didn’t want to get in the way of that, and he loved having you riding his thigh like this. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know if you’d ever looked this hot before.

He moved one hand off of your hips, bringing it over to push his boxers down instead. You lifted your head off of his neck to watch him, the pace of your hips beginning to speed up at the sight of his dripping cock now in front of you.

He wrapped his hand around his shaft, slowly pumping up and down. He didn’t want to do too much, he wanted to save his orgasm for you, spill his load inside of you and watch it drip out onto the dressing room floor.

“Let me,” you were out of breath, the speed of your hips never slowing down as you swatted his hand out of the way.

He happily let you take control, moving his hand back to its previous place on your hips. He helped you move, admiring the way your pupils were now blown out, your eyes hooded.

You leaned your face over his cock, letting a line of saliva drip down and onto the tip. You brought your hand up to mix your spit with the precum that was leaking, dragging the mixture down his length and quickening the pace of your hand.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he watched the way your hand moved up and down his cock, let out a groan that you were sure was too loud when you swiped your thumb over the head. The speed of your hand matched the rhythm of your hips now, and you were so close to losing it. You were moving erratically now, and Jungkook was doing everything he could to keep you lined up with his leg.

He brought a hand up to press his thumb and index finger on either side of your chin, causing you to look directly at him as the two of you made eye contact. Your mouth was hanging open, quiet moans and whines escaping as you neared your second orgasm for the day. Meanwhile, Jungkook was trying his absolute fucking hardest to keep himself composed so he wouldn’t cum all over your hand.

“You’re doing so good, sweet girl. So fucking hot, riding my thigh like this, and so fucking dirty too.” Praising you during sex was always one of his favorite things, and you ate that shit up like candy. You were convinced you’d never be able to get enough of it.

“Go ahead, babygirl. Cum all over me.” You didn’t know if it was the feeling of him slightly lifting his thigh to press against your clit that sent you over the edge, or his words. Probably a mixture of both, if you were being honest.

Your hand on his dick had come to a stop, and Jungkook groaned in protest. But you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than your orgasm taking over your entire body. You felt this one from head to toe, your body tingling all over.

“Kook, I— fuck—, Jungkook!” You shrieked, and he quickly brought a hand to press over your lips in an attempt to remind you to be quiet. You were looking at him with desperation, moaning in quick, repetitive spurts against his hand as you came all over his thigh. You’d created a giant wet spot on his jeans, but neither of you could be bothered to give a single fuck.

He was lifting you off of his leg in an instant, standing up to push his jeans down and around his ankles, his boxers following suit. His hands were on your waist as he backed you up toward the mirror, quickly turning your body around so that you could see your reflection. He was behind you, pressing his swollen length against you as he brought his hand around to your front.

“Look at you, baby,” he pointed at your reflection, his hand finding its way up your shirt and underneath your bra. He pinched your nipple in between his index and middle fingers, causing you to let out a small yelp at the sting.

“Bringing me into a dressing room just so you could get fucked, so needy. So desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” His lips were beside of your ear now, and you nodded your head.

That response wasn’t what he wanted, and he was quick to let you know that by roughly slapping a hand against your asscheek. You cried out at the feeling, which only resulted in him doing the same thing over again. And again. You were sure that his handprint was going to be embedded onto your ass permanently when this was over.

“Words.” His voice was stern, and you gulped back a moan.

“So desperate for you,” you were breathless, “I need you, Kookie. Fuck me, please, please, please.”

You were shamelessly pleading, and he was living for it. He moved his hand down from your breast down to your lower stomach, pressing a hand against your back to push you to bend over. You braced your hands against the mirror in front of you, and he roughly grabbed a handful of your hair, tugging your head back.

“Princess always gets what she wants, yeah?” He teased, grabbing onto his cock to line the tip of it up with your entrance. You moaned at the feeling, and when he finally pushed his hips forward and buried his dick balls deep inside of you, you’d lost all sense of volume control. You cried out a moan, and he was quick to react to that. He cut your moan off halfway through it by bringing a hand up to wrap around your throat, squeezing the sides of it and pressing his fingertips into the skin of your neck.

“You have to be quiet, baby. Remember? We’re in public, you need to behave.” He tugged violently on your hair, and you could taste blood from how hard you had to bite down on your lip to keep yourself quiet.

You could see him smirking in the mirror, and right now, you wanted to smack the look off of his face. Before you could even process that thought completely, he was pulling out of you before pounding quickly back into you.

Every time you tried to moan, the grip that he had on your throat just got tighter. You could feel his nails beginning to imprint crescents into your skin. And you were fucking loving it.

He was setting a pace now, and a brutal one at that. You hoped that the speakers playing music overhead would be enough to drown out the sound of his balls slapping against your skin. You pushed your hips back against his, trying to somehow get more of him, as if you weren’t already filled to the brim. You were always so fucking greedy when it came to him.

When he felt you push back, he released a long, drawn out groan. He removed the hand that he had in your hair, making forceful contact with your ass. He spanked you several times in a row, your skin absolutely stinging now, and although you couldn’t see it, you knew that it was blood red.

“So goddamn good, fucking shit—“ His voice was ragged, and by the stutter of his hips you could tell he was nearing the edge.

He angled his hips in a way that touched that delightful spot inside of you, causing you to bring your hands off of the mirror and instead holding onto his arm that he had wrapped around your throat. You were just trying to stay standing now, your knees beginning to buckle underneath you.

“Kook!” you screamed, “Right there, holy fuck right there!”

He hit the same spot over and over again, which had you quickly seeing stars. Your vision was black and you couldn’t see anything in front of you. Your eyes forcefully rolled back and he gave a hard thrust against that glorious spot, all the while tightening his hand around your throat.

Your walls clenched around his cock, causing him to let out a moan of his own, spurring him on to speed his hips up as he chased his own release. You were cumming for the third time that day, gushing around his length and crying out his name as quietly as you could as you did so. And he wasn’t far behind you.

“Fuck!” He groaned, moving both of his hands down and onto your hips to hold your body as close to his as he possibly could. His orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks, and his warm release coated your walls. The feeling had you both moaning each other’s names. He gave a few more thrusts as he fucked out his high, causing you to whine from the sensitivity.

He slowly pulled out of you, his dick beginning to soften and you pouted at the loss of fullness. He caught your pout in the mirror, chuckling at your actions. He turned you around to face him, using his index finger to lift your chin up so that your eyes were locked onto his.

“I love you, Y/n.” His voice was soft, and it always amazed you how quickly he was able to go from brutally fucking you to making your heart melt.

You stared up at him adoringly, resting the palms of your hands against his cheeks as you responded, “And I love you, Jungkook.”

A knock on the door had both of your bodies tensing up, a look of horror taking over your faces.

“Just making sure everything’s alright,” a woman said, “you’ve been in there for some time now.”

Jungkook started to laugh, and you quickly put a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

“Yes! Thank you, I’m good! On my way out, actually.” You yelled, hoping that would be enough to satisfy the woman and make her go away.

She just said okay, and told you to let her know if you needed any assistance.

“I think I’ve given you all of the assistance you need, wouldn’t you say?” Jungkook’s voice was cocky, and could still hear the woman’s footsteps walking away from where the two of you were.

You shushed him, your eyes growing wide. He let out a quiet chuckle and pressed his lips to yours to give you a quick peck before leaning down to retrieve your skirt, helping you to step into it. He tugged it up your legs and back onto its appropriate spot on your hips. He used his fingers to snap the button shut, smoothing the wrinkles out of it with his hand.

He straightened your shirt up as well, removing as many wrinkles as he could before he patted your hair down, trying to get it to look at least somewhat similar to how it did before he had it wrapped around his hand.

You couldn’t help but to crack a smile at his tenderness. His neck and ears began to blush as he noticed you staring at him. He took a step back from you, bending down to bring his boxers back up and over his dick.

“What?” He questioned, pulling his jeans up and over his legs soon after.

“Nothing, I just think you’re perfect.” Your smile didn’t fall, only grew wider as the blush on his skin grew deeper.

He mumbled a quiet thank you, and you wondered how he managed to be so shy, yet so fucking dirty all at the same time. You still weren’t convinced that he was a real person.

“Aw, man.” He sulked, taking a look at the giant wet spot on his thigh.

“I believe your exact words were, ‘make a mess all over these jeans’.” You pointed out, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but that was in the heat of the moment. Now there’s a giant cum stain all over my favorite pair of pants.” He pouted.

You walked over to him and ran your hand over the wet fabric, the corner of your lips pulling up and into a sly smirk, “The first of many, baby. The first of many.”

*do NOT reupload/repost on any site, translate without my permission, or claim as your own.

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donutloverxo · 4 years ago

Text

Smooth

Note - This is a birthday gift for my babie🥺🥺 Amber aka @sweater-daddiesdumbdork. I'm sorry Steve's as hairless as a seal😔 at least you have Ari Mike and Colin!

Summary - You're surprised to find just how smooth Steve is.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings - smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, name calling, captain kink, rip steves pubes lol.

Word count - 2.6k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t done it yet?!” You cringed pushing your palms on your ears to block out Ella’s screeching. Maybe it was a mistake to tell her that you still hadn’t hit that supersoilder-golden-boy-next-door.

“We’re just waiting for the right moment you know?” You murmured. You couldn’t tell her the real reason. That Steve had never been intimate with anyone. Even if she was your best friend that was Steve’s secret to tell, not yours.

“When will the right moment come” She shook her head “I’m disappointed in you. You get to date that hunk of a man, and how long has it been a year?”

“Six months!” You defended yourself.

“As if that makes a difference” She scoffed.

“We will do it soon when we’re both ready.” You said ironing out the wrinkles on your dress which you were showing her.

“Alright I just want you to be happy” She rolled her eyes finally giving in “but why're you dressed as a nun?” She looked you up and down confused.

“I’m not a nun! I’m supposed to be snow white. Steve will be my prince.” You couldn’t help the love-struck grin that appeared on your face. You really were living out your best fairy tale with him.

“Wouldn’t you rather wear something traditional” She suggested.

“Hm?” You asked looking at your reflection in your dressing table mirror. You were covered head to toe. Your hair done up like that of snow white with a red headband. “How is this not traditional?” You wondered. It seemed like an okay, albeit cheesy but you were a cheesy couple, costume for Halloween.

“I meant traditional for our generation.” She snickered. She would never say it in front of Steve, but she loved making fun of you for dating someone who was old enough to be your grandpa and how you liked older men. “like a slutty snow White” she continued.

“Nope” You said popping the p and going back into your closet to take off the uncomfortable and restricting dress. You had no idea how you will spend an entire night in that thing. “I don’t want to ruin Disney Princesses for him. He likes them a lot” you shouted so she could hear you. It was so cute how he liked to hum or even sing along with the musicals sometimes. He appreciated the art and the vibrant colors. The idealistic happy endings appealed to the romantic in him.

You came out of your closet taking in deep breathes of fresh air, your torso no longer restricted “That doesn’t mean you can’t still be slutty” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at you.

“What do you have in mind?” You were curious. You were excited to be Steve’s princess. But you would trade that if you what you truly wanted.

Steve groaned looking at himself all done up in his 'prince' costume. Yeah it was his idea to be Snow White and her prince but you were the one who suggested doing a costume together! He couldn’t say no when you looked at him so expectedly. When you gushed so much about this being your favorite holiday.

He looked... ridiculous. There was no other way to put it. From the neck up he was fine, his clean shaven face and golden yellow hair pushed back. He looked like his normal self. But then his pale blue shirt with the balloon sleeves, the dark vest over it and his huge black boots, all topped with a sword strapped to his hip. It reminded him of his army days, when he was nothing more than a monkey.

He contemplated all the teasing he would probably have to endure from his friends the whole night. It would be absolutely worth it to make you happy. With his mind made up he left his apartment and headed towards yours, just across the hallway, to pick you up for the party at the tower. He did lose the sword. That was just too over the top.

He knocked on your door, giddy with excitement to see you in your snow white dress. He made sure to treat you like a princess, how you deserve to be treated by everyone, but to actually see you dressed as one would be something else.

His jaw dropped on the floor as you opened the door and he got a good look at you. You were dressed in... lingerie? You were a white lacy bodysuit that hugged your curves in all the right places. Leaving your legs completely bare. If that wasn’t enough you were wearing a tiara attached to a veil.

He couldn’t stifle the damn near animalistic growl that escaped his throat. He averted his gaze from your pushed up titts to your face. Your make up all done up, from the neck up you almost looked like a bride. “What the hell are you wearing doll?” he grumbled.

“Oh you don’t like it?” you clucked your tongue and looked down at your sexy costume “What a shame. It only costs like 500 dollars” Yeah maybe you were an idiot to spend so much money on a costume but if it worked you’d be seeing stars tonight so it'd be worth it.

“What happened to being snow white? What are you even supposed to be?” You moved to the side so you could let him into your apartment. He ran his hand through his hair plopping down on your couch, his eyes never leaving your body.

“I’m a slutty bride” You twirled in front of him to give him a nice view of your, barley covered, ass.

“That’s lingerie doll. You can’t go out dressed like that” He raised his hand to touch your ass, maybe give it a little squeeze but you quickly turned around.

Your hands on your hips you asked “Why not?”

“Because” He paused pulling you into him by grabbing at your hips “only I get to see you like this” His hand reached at your backside and he groaned squeezing your ass before giving it a light swat. He chuckle as you yelped from the sudden slap.

“Well then what do you suggest I do with this?” You asked nonchalantly playing with your veil “Are you saying I don’t look pretty?” You gave him your best mock puppy eyes. You could clearly see just how much he liked that on you. But you needed him to say it and to do something about it.

“You know that’s not true” You yelped as he flipped you into the couch, trapping you under him.

“I don’t know Steve. You don’t seem to be a huge fan of it. I thought you’d like me being your slut.” You brought out the big guns, jutting your bottom lip out. You knew he’d melt on the spot.

“Fine. You can be my slut.” He couldn’t believe he actually said that word. His mother raised him in a certain way. To respect women and to never ever use those words to address a woman. And he did respect all women and you. But she also taught him to be passionate and give his all to everything he did. So it would only be fair that he fucked you, respectfully, with everything he has got and gave you everything you asked for.

He grabbed your hair and pulled your head back. Biting and sucking on your neck and then trailing down your clavicle. Making sure to leave bruises so everyone could see who you belonged to. He kissed your throat and revelled in the vibrations caused by your moans. Your hands in clutching onto his head and completely messing up his well done hair. He finally let up and admired his work. The white and red marks that would soon turn a dark shade of violet.

He hauled you over his shoulder walking towards your bedroom. As you squirmed and then laughed in his hold.

He had to struggle a lot to off his clothes. They were so intricate, with the buttons and buckles, reminded him of his stealth suit. He pulled off his boots and crawled onto the bed, kneeling between your legs only in his tight black boxer briefs.

He looked at your face and frowned at the puzzled expression it held as you stared at his nude body. He suddenly felt self conscious. All the insecurities, from back when he was the little guy came back to him. He thought women liked him now. Even you were so entranced and attracted to his bulky figure. Which he couldn’t help but be proud of.

But right now, for some reason you didn’t look impressed. He sanked back to sit on his calves. He had completely given himself to you. What if you rejected him? He had no idea how he would deal with that blow.

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you noticed Steve’s defeated state. In your ogling and processing you didn’t realise that you might’ve hurt his feelings. “Stevie?” You knelt before him caressing his cheek. “I’m just taken aback a bit okay?” you tried to reassure him.

“Why?” He finally met your gaze looking into your guys.

“I mean...” You trailed off running your hand down the smooth and vast expanse of his chest. “You’re so smooth? You don’t have any hair.” You struggled to get the sentence out. Suddenly realises just how ridiculous it sounded.

“I – yeah that’s how I’ve always been. I thought that’s what women wanted” He murmured cutely tilting his head “You don’t like it?” His voice wavering with nervousness.

“Steve. What kinda question is that?” And you cringed as he reminded you that you did the same thing just moments ago. “I was kidding! Steve there is nothing about you that’s not to like. Yeah I do like a bit of fuzz but I’d love you just as much even if you were bald.” You said and he looked as if he was processing your words. “You are my dream guy. My prince.” You beamed trailing kisses down his flushed torso. “How about I show you?” You didn’t wait for his answer, taking off your veil and your tiara with it. You rolled his briefs down his hips and he helped you take them off. You looked in shock at his beautiful rosy cock, which was almost hard, and his lack of hair....

You quickly whipped your head up knowing he would assume the worst “Steve! It’s the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen” You said stroking his length and licking the tip, which was oozing with precum, to prove it. “It’s just unexpected. That’s all.” You took him in your mouth. Just as you anticipated, he was too big, you could barely fit his tip in your mouth.

“Well you know the...” He bunched your hair in his fist, struggling to keep from pushing you down further.

“What?” You asked as he slipped out of you.

“I thought that’s what people did nowadays” He was turning redder every second “I didn’t... In the pornography...and I thought tonight you and me..”

You snorted and out a hand on your mouth to keep from laughing. “Steve! Porn isn’t real. You can do whatever you want with your body. But you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“What do you mean?” he asked trying his best to ignore his aching cock and your wet swollen lips.

“Just wait till it grows back” You grimaced “it’s gonna itch like crazy. That’s why I uh... never you know do it. Just warning you” You chuckled nervously.

“Enough talking” He groaned at the thought of your wet pussy and how much he had been fantasizing about it for the last several months. He pushed you on your back and quickly worked on removing your bodysuit. When you laid completely bare in front of him. He swore you were the more beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

He trailed down your body settling his broad shoulders between your legs. He groaned at the sight in front of him. You weren’t lying and he indeed preferred this. He dove right in licking and sucking to see what you like best. He had never ate a woman out before but he had been doing his research. Porn was too gratuitous and was clearly only made for the male gaze, reading women’s magazines and some more ‘sex for dummies' books he bought as discreetly as he could.

Which is where he got the stupid idea that everyone liked shaved dicks now. Which was only backed up by his friends and the locker room talk about ‘manscaping'. Tony and Clint were classic over sharers. He wouldn’t be surprised if they purposely misled him. He didn’t have much hair on his balls to begin with, but he expected to give himself to you tonight, so he carefully put the razor on his balls and shaved it all off. The things he would do for you and the lengths he would go for you.

From your moans and the way you were pushing his head harder into your core, he could tell that he was doing a good job. You thrashed and squirmed as he held you down by pushing down on your stomach. You came gushing all over his face and he made sure to drink it all up, not wasting a single drop.

He loomed over you, his cock nudging at your entrance. You both moaned in unison as he sinked into you, groaning into the crook of your neck as he bottomed out.

His hands greedily squeezed your hips, your breasts, your ass, whatever they could get a hold of as he slowly rocked his hips against yours. He knew if he went any faster he would blow his load right then and there.

“I’m gonna cum Steve.” You wailed and if he didn’t know any better he would think that you were in pain.

“You gonna cum? Go ahead” He harshly shaved his cock into you “Be a good slut. Cum all over your captains cock.” He felt his own release not far behind, not with your tight wet cunt milking him for all he’s got. He gasped when you raked your nails into his shoulders, crying loudly in his ear. He lost his rhythm. Lifting your hips up to fuck him like the animal you’ve turned him into. His hips stuttered as he came deep inside you.

He stayed inside you and on top of you for a minute. Catching his breathe he finally pulled out of you and laid down beside you, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m on the pill.” You mumbled into his chest. Not wanting him to worry about that. You smiled against his chest laying a kiss over his soft nipple. There were plenty of benefits to being so smooth and hairless. You could trace those hard abs of his with your tongue for hours. You changed your mind. You liked them smooth and silky now. Or maybe because he was so hairless. You didn’t know and it didn’t matter.

“I think I like seeing you as a bride.” He said his fingers idly playing with your hair, curling a strand of it.

You only muttered something as a response. Probably too far gone into slumber. He traced your smooth skin for a while before joining you in it. Completely forgetting about the party you were both supposed to be at.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or shoot me an ask!

Please note that my work is NOT to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account. Reblogs are most welcome though.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers fic #reader x steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #chris evans x reader

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bonkwrites · 4 years ago

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Come On, Fuck Me, Emo Boy (Tomura Shigaraki x Fem!Reader)

Description: Shigaraki’s only sanctuary is you but he’s too busy to appreciate any peace recently.

Warnings: begging, a bit, if you squint. Some switch!shiggy/switch!reader. riding?? is that a warning??? Idk this isn’t beta read either so plz enjoy at ur own risk. degradation of you squint.

———

You get it. Fighting the heroes is end game, he’ll never hold you above that, you understand that about him. But, now that All For One is in jail, you can be out as a couple within LOV, so why won’t he let you in on anything? When had he gotten so far from you?

You thought you were making progress, getting him to ditch the creepy hands, put the cream on his skin…. when had he gone backwards?

“Baby?” You poke your head out of the bedroom door when you hear the door close.

“It’s just us.” Shigaraki replies, the sound of boots and shoes being kicked off in the mud room echoing through the increasingly lonely apartment.

“Cool.” You step out of the bedroom, sweatpants and his sweatshirt hanging off you.

“Y/n!” Toga slings herself onto you in a hug.

“Get off my girlfriend.” Shigaraki deadpans, glaring are Toga.

“We’re friends!” Toga insists.

“We barely know each other, Toga.” You reply, holding her away at arms length. “Take me out to dinner first.”

“Don’t tempt her.” Dabi says from the kitchen island.

“Are you guys having a meeting?” You walk away from Toga to give Shigaraki a welcome-home hug.

“Yeah.” Shigaraki replies. “Go back to bed.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” You say. You’ll stay this time. “I’ll just stay, won’t even listen.”

The cold had been bitterly biting at you through the walls of your apartment all day so Shigaraki’s odd warmth despite his quirk was a welcome experience. You leave your head squished against his chest and you feel a hand slide up your back to settle between your collarbones. He’s wearing the artist’s gloves you bought him. They were the high quality ones.

“Whatever.” He drags. “So, guys..”

You tune out most of his monologuing and droning about the LoV’s next plans. There’s no reason for you to listen and Shigaraki told you that you could be tortured if anyone captured you to give information, or even have your mind read, so the less you knew the better.

“What about you, Y/n?” Twice asks. “Doing anything fun this weekend?”

“Hunting.” You reply. “Hanging out here when I can but this one’s high profile.”

“Get that cash, girl!” Toga hypes you up, high-fiving you.

“Who is it?” Dabi asks. You narrow your eyes, he’s only with the LoV if it benefits him.

“A huntress never revels her prey.” You raise a finger to your lips.

“You’re so badass.” Shigaraki says. “Let me give you targets.”

“I’m freelance, baby.” You pull away to give him a kiss on the nose. “The LoV is too popular for me, I like to hide away.”

“I’ll hide you away.” Shigaraki leans down to kiss you. Twice whistles and Toga giggles. Maybe he wasn’t as pulled back as you thought.

After the League sees their way out it’s just you two. Shigaraki sits comfortably on the couch, playing video games to unwind while you lounge out next to him, your legs thrown over his thighs.

“Hey.” Shigaraki puts down the remote after about an hour. You look up from your phone, buried in his sweatshirt. “About what I said… you know I wouldn’t pull you into the LoV unless you wanted to come willingly, right?”

It’s easy to forget that he thinks behind that scary mask of a villain he throws up for missions. You smile and nod.

“I know, baby.” You reply. “I would work for you if we weren’t in a relationship.”

“That’s the only reason why?” He asks, shuffling around to wrap himself around your legs, head on your stomach.

“It would fuck with our dynamic, don’t you think? You would hold a lot of power over me by controlling my clientele. I like it now, we’re equals.” You put your hand in his hair, ignoring your phone completely now.

“I like it too.” He agrees. “I like you.”

“I like you too.” You reply. “I wish I could show you off.”

“You’d show me off?” He asks, looking up to see your face.

“You think I wouldn’t? Parade you around? Make you my arm candy on my undercover missions? Pretty boy hanging off me?” You watch his blush crawl up his neck to spread across his cheeks.

“Pretty boy.” He scoffs, hiding his head back in the fabric of the hoodie. You giggle.

“I could dress you up, get you in a suit, buy you a martini at the bar and all you’d have to do is keep your arm around me-“ you run your hand down his arm to squeeze it- “and let me con my way into my next kill.”

“You’ve had lots of arm candy, then?” He asks. Always the jealous type, you think, he never had much to call his, did he?

“Nope.” You reply. “At least… not arm candy as good as you.”

He looks up at you, silent for a moment, before he moves up quickly to kiss you. You get caught off guard a little but you wrap your arms around him easily. He hums, kissing you slowly, letting you kiss him back just as slowly.

You tug on his hair just a little and he moans, a shiver running down his spine. You smile, breaking the kiss.

“What are you doing?” He asks, head ducking to your shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down.

“Treating my pretty boy well.” You reply, kissing him again. This time, you let him grind his hips into yours. He moans shakily and you whimper into the kiss, hands tangled in his hair.

“You wanna go to bed?” He pulls back from the kiss. You nod and follow him to the bedroom.

“Sit down.” You put your hand on his shoulder and push him to sit on the edge of the bed. He puts his hands on your waist, looping his thumbs into the waistband to pull them down.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Shigaraki pulls you down into his lap with his hands on your thighs. “I could fuck you all day and never get bored.”

“Could you?” You ask, hands in his hair.

“Yeah. F-fuck.” You grind your hips down into him and tug on his shirt. He pulls it off.

“Come on, then.” You kiss him. “Fuck me.”

He kisses you, hand roaming up to tangle in your hair and pull on it. You arch your back, neck bared for him. He attaches his lips to your neck, teeth biting little bruises into your skin. You gasp, hands spreading across his shoulders.

“B-babe-“ you gasp. his hand slides up your torso to play with your nipples. you whimper, back arching further.

“I love this.” He growls. “You’re so sensitive. I’m gonna play with you all night.”

“Fuck me.” You say, words slightly broken.

“You’re so pushy.” He lets go of your hair and your boob to grab onto your hips. He twists you both around so that you’re under him.

“Shi- Shigaraki-“ You stutter out his name as he kneels between your legs, pulling your panties down and throwing them off the bed.

“I’ll help myself.” He growls before pushing your thighs apart and putting his head between your thighs.

You moan, hands pushing into his hair. He grunts, eating you out like you’re his last meal on earth. Your thighs fight to close but he pushes them back down, the actual meals you’ve been feeding him are paying off in strength.

“Fuck- baby- you’re- you’re so good at that what the fuck.” You struggle to form cohesive sentences through the pleasure.

His fingers dig down into your thighs and you cry out, the slight pain mixing in with the pleasure deliciously. He moans as he eats you out, one hand leaving your thigh to press two fingers into you. You arch your back and he pulls his face away to watch you grind down onto his fingers.

“Oh, fuck.” You moan. He smiles up at you sinisterly.

“Are you gonna cum?” He baits. You nod, your hands pulled out of his hair. One of them grips at the sheets and the other tries to reach your clit.

He catches your wrist with a glare.

“You’ll cum from just my fingers inside you.” He demands. “Won’t you, slut?”

The name makes you gasp as thrusts his fingers in and out of you. You nod, biting your lip as you buck your hips on his fingers.

“I need more.” You cry out, squirming down, trying to get his fingers deeper impossibly so.

“Oh, do you?” He says, voice hoarse. He pushes in a third finger and you gasp, shuddering as he thrusts them slowly.

“Shiggy~” you pull out the nickname you use for him when you’re trying to act cute. His eyes get wider and he laughs, turning his head to kiss your thigh.

“Sorry, babe, am I being mean?” You nod and he bends down to let his breath graze over your clit.

“Guess it makes sense that I’m a villain then.” He leans in to close thie distance and licks at your clit.

You whimper loudly, hips twitching. He’s gotten you so close from his fingers that you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Your hands go back to his hair, tugging on it.

“I’m- I’m- Cum- I’m gonna cum- fuck, fuck, fuck.” You moan loudly as your hips buck into his mouth and fingers. He grins as he pulls back, watching you ride your orgasm.

“F- fuck-“ he climbs up to kiss you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He moans, pants and boxers long forgotten as he grinds into you.

“Fuck me.” You whisper when he pulls back. “Come on, fuck me.”

“You’re so fucking hot, babe, fuck.” He growls into your neck as he lines himself up and slowly thrusts in.

You moan lowly, hands on his back digging in. He starts up a slow pace, content for a while to get those sweet moans he likes so much, before he sets a quicker pace. You moan and whimper loudly, crying out for him as he manipulates your hips to go where he wants them.

“Fuck- baby- eating you out turned me on so much I can’t-“ He’s so sensitive, you think, a hand curving up his neck to pull on his hair.

“Let me ride you.” You whisper into his ear and he nods, stopping and pulling out.

You smirk as you straddle him, taking his hands in yours and intertwining your fingers. He moans as you sink down onto you but you stay mostly still, grinding down just slightly.

“What are you doing? Just. Go already.” He moans, eyes looking up at you.

“Ask nicely.” You whisper. You let go of his hands to bend down and kiss with your hands on his face.

“Ask- what?” He’s so turned on he can barely understand you. You scoff out a laugh, one hand still on his face.

“I’ll just give you a word.” You grind down again and he moans. “Beg.”

“F-Fine.” He hisses. “Please ride me. I’m not above begging, just- just ride me.”

Hearing him beg satisfies your soul. Smirking, you lift your hips and bring them back down, continuing to bounce on his cock as he slowly falls apart beneath you. You moan breathily, hands on his chest as he grips your hips.

“I’m gonna cum- baby- oh, oh, fuck-“ he bucks his hips up off the bed as he cums, moaning loudly, fingers pressing bruises into your skin.

You lift off of his slowly, muscles aching, and lay beside him panting for a moment.

“Hey.” He turns over, hand grazing your cheek. You smile at him. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Shiggy.” You say, leaning in to kiss him.

What a dream this was.

#my hero academia #my hero academia fanfiction #my hero academia fic #boko no hero academia #mha #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura #shiggy #boku no hero academia shigaraki #shigaraki x y/n

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actress4him · 3 years ago

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Overexposure - New Ideas

(Prompt #17 for Summer of Whump)

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Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, captivity, referenced beating, noncon touching (non-sexual), forced stripping (non-sexual), restraints, stress position

It’s only a few days after the exhibit, a few days after the brutal beating Ellery received for trying to ask for help, when the door to her room flies open and he’s standing there with that smile on his face. The smile she hates more than anything. The smile that says she’s about to suffer even more.

“Good morning, Princess.” Lucas strolls into the room - the cell, really, just a tiny corner of the basement built expressly for the purpose of keeping her inside. “In the midst of the fallout from your misguided attempt the other night, I failed to mention how much of a success the exhibit was. Everyone adored you.”

Her skin crawls at the thought, but she knows better than to respond by now. Instead she pulls her knees up to her chest, hugging them to herself as if she can keep him away.

“I’m getting plenty of sales, too. So many people who want to have our beautiful artwork all for themselves.”

She knows better than to respond, but she can’t help it. The image of those photos hanging on someone’s walls, or being hidden away to look at secretly… “Guess they’re just as sick as you are.”

All of her muscles tense up as soon as she says it, expecting him to lash out. But he must be in an awfully good mood, because he simply ignores the outburst, pacing toward the tiny table with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’ve been getting requests, too. Some from patrons at the last exhibit, others from people who have seen my previous work.” He turns, leaning up against the table, eyes roving over her body in the way he does when she knows he’s imagining ways to torture it. “Seems like there’s a whole collection of people out there who love...well, I keep hearing the word ‘whump’, but...basically, they draw all kinds of inspiration from what we’re doing. And now they’d like to see something...a little less refined, a little more...hm, how do I say it? A little more...raw. Primitive.”

The smile creeps back onto his face. “It’s something I’ve never done before, but I’m certainly up to the challenge. I’ve got ideas already. And I have a feeling once I get started I’ll be quite inspired to keep going.”

No wonder he’s in a good mood. He’s in his creative zone, which means a nightmare of a day for her. And it’s so soon, she’s still healing, her body isn’t ready.

He won’t care about any of that, though.

“Alright, come on, chop chop! Up to makeup we go.”

It’s one of the few instances when she’s allowed out of the basement, so she tries to enjoy it. If she cranes her neck as they come to the top of the stairs, she can catch a glimpse of green and sunlight through a sliver of window, and overall the rooms upstairs are much brighter. It’s a refreshing change.

Lucas’ assistant, whose name she’s never bothered to learn, is ready and waiting in the usual spot with her makeup and hair tools. It’s the one thing that he doesn’t do himself. Ellery expects the same treatment for the bruise around her eye - now turned a sickly yellow - as it got for the exhibit, but it’s ignored. Instead the assistant focuses on eyeliner, mascara, and a little bit of lip color. The basics, meant to make her features pop in the photos, nothing fancy. Maybe that’s what he meant by ‘raw and primitive’. She can certainly hope that it’s nothing worse, though hope has done her a fat lot of good so far.

“You want her hair pulled back at all?” the assistant asks.

Lucas, who has been lurking the whole time, watching the process, steps forward and runs thick fingers through her long black hair. She doesn’t bother to suppress a shudder and a look of disgust, but doesn’t try to pull away, either.

“Yeah. Go ahead and put it up, something simple, though. Simple and messy. I might take it down partway through, we’ll see.”

It’s brushed back into a ponytail with lots of strands hanging down around her face, and the top is fussed over until it’s perfectly, believably messy. The assistant looks up to Lucas for approval.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s good. I like it. Okay, moving on.”

This is the point where her starting wardrobe is usually chosen. She stands, waiting while he scrutinizes her current outfit of a baggy white t-shirt and black cotton shorts.

“Take that off, remind me what you have on under it.”

Ellery’s face flushes scarlet. She hates this, hates obeying and hates demeaning herself for him, but last time she refused to take off the clothes herself he just did it for her, and that was so much worse. And it’s not like he’s actually interested in her, not in that way. She was so incredibly afraid of that for a long time. But no, to him she’s not a person for him to want. She’s a piece of art, a canvas, a sculpture. A thing. All he’s thinking of is how he can best use her to create the ‘masterpiece’ he has in mind.

So she slips the t-shirt off over her head. Stands in just her sports bra and shorts with her cheeks burning and wishes that she could melt into the floor and cease to exist.

The expression that comes over his face is nothing short of delight. “Ooh, this is so much better than I was expecting.” He practically trots over to her, eyes on her bare stomach, and reaches out to brush his fingers along the tender, aching skin. She flinches, instinctively pulls back, but he only latches onto her waist, digging his fingers into a myriad of bruises. “This is fantastic. Just what we need for today. So glad I gave you these already.”

Gave her. Like the beating was a gift. She doesn’t need to look down to know that her torso is pretty much one giant bruise, she can feel it just fine.

“Yep. That’ll be perfect. Leave it just like that. No sense in covering up any of this beauty.” He strokes his fingers across her stomach one more time before stepping back to admire the whole thing. “Alright, thank you, Jordan. Let’s get back to the studio.”

The studio - aka the basement. Back down to the cold concrete walls and the artificial lights. She can’t help but slow, just a little, as they pass the room with the window, trying to get one more little peek of the outdoors. She pays for it with his hand coming to land on the back of her neck, squeezing tightly, promising much more pain if she doesn’t keep walking.

The area of the basement that Lucas uses to take her photos isn’t much to speak of, especially today when the white backdrop is rolled up at the ceiling. It’s just an expanse of grey, but it haunts her nightmares.

“Alright.” Lucas is practically giddy with excitement. “I’ve got so many ideas I don’t know where to start. No, scratch that. I do know where I want to start.” He turns to his shelf of props and rummages through a box, pulling out several pieces of metal with chains draping in between.

The dread that had been swirling in Ellery’s stomach all morning suddenly solidifies into something heavy, a stone that simultaneously pulls her down into the floor and threatens to make her sick. She can’t do this again. She can’t. The pain of being stretched into positions her body was never meant to be in, the humiliation of being photographed in the most vulnerable state possible...and now it’s even worse, because she’s already in pain from being beaten.

Lucas is at the far wall, tinkering with his contraption, using existing bolts and screws from previous sessions to attach things to both the wall and floor. “Come here,” he says after a few minutes, and it’s the last straw.

Something inside of her crumples.

“Please…” It comes out as no more than a trembling whisper, but it catches his attention anyway. “Please don’t, I can’t, I can’t, please…”

Sighing heavily, he walks toward her, boots clomping out her doom on the concrete floor. “I thought we were past this, Princess. You’d been doing so well.”

She opens her mouth, to say what, she doesn’t know, it’s all pointless anyway, but before a sound makes it past her lips his fist is connecting with her temple. Her world is reduced to black and pain and falling. When her vision returns, the room whirls around her, Lucas’ face up above hers dipping and bobbing in a way that makes her stomach churn, and her head throbs. She can tell she’s being dragged, though, by the ankle over to where he wanted her.

Rough hands grab her by the arms and heft her to her feet, and the room goes spinning again. Her back is pressed up against the wall, concrete blocks cold on her bare skin, and Lucas wraps an arm around her waist to lift her slightly. She gasps as he puts pressure on the ribs she’s pretty sure are broken.

A second later, something thin and cool falls across her throat, and after he fiddles with something just under her ear for a moment, Lucas steps back and leaves her to settle down onto her bare toes. They just barely touch the floor enough for her to rest her weight on, the metal across her neck digging slightly into her skin and threatening to cut off her air. She tries not to notice him watching her as she struggles to adjust her feet to push herself a little higher.

“Nice. I love it already. Actually, hang on, I’m also loving the disoriented look you’ve got going on right now. I need a shot of that.”

He grabs his camera and gets right up in her face. Ellery automatically squeezes her eyes shut, hating that lens, hating the thought of anyone else seeing her like this, but all she gets for it is his finger poking her in the ribs. Her eyes fly open as she cries out, and the camera clicks. Once, twice, three times.

“Ooh, I don’t know which one of these I like best.” He studies the screen with a grin, flipping back and forth through the shots. “The hazy, disoriented look I was going for, or the gasping in pain. And the restraint around the neck really sets it off. Fantastic. Okay, moving on.”

Bending down, he picks up the rest of the metal pieces, the ones with the chains attached. While she wasn’t paying attention it seems he had hooked one end of the chains to the floor, several feet out in front of her, and now he brings the other end to her. She only finds out what it is for sure when he yanks her hands away from the wall where she had been attempting to help support herself and clamps it around her wrists. The shackles pull her arms out in front of her, naturally making her body want to lean forward, too. But if she gives into the pull, or if her feet get tired and try to lower, she’ll choke.

Lucas stands back to admire his work. “Yes. Just as good as I had hoped. And you’re already starting to get that wild look in your eyes, too. I think if I leave you here for, oh -” he checks his phone -“around thirty or forty-five minutes, I’ll really get the desperation I’m looking for. Maybe an hour. We’ll see.”

With that, he turns and heads for the stairs. As the echo of his footsteps dies out, Ellery finally lets the tears start to pour down her cheeks. She can’t spare the focus to stop them anymore, anyway. All of her concentration until he decides she’s done is going to have to be on staying balanced so she doesn’t die.

Disclaimer: I don’t think people who like whump are “sick”. Obviously, I am one of them. Now, if there were actually people like Lucas out there who hurt real people for whump’s sake, then yeah. They would be considered “sick”. But of course, Lucas’ patrons don’t know what he’s really doing...or do they...?

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump17 #collared and shackled #overexposure #ellery the model #whump #whump writing #lady whump #lady whumpee #creepy/intimate whumper #captivity whump #nonconsensual touching tw #forced stripping tw #restraints tw #stress position tw #whump photography #original fiction

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hobiiwan · 4 years ago

Text

tethered • o.k

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x mechanic!reader

summary: obi-wan returns after too long spent on the battlefield, away from where he’s meant to be

warnings: kinda angsty, alcohol use @ new year’s, fluff mostly

word count: 6k

notes: happy secret santa! @starwarssecretsanta @stars-trash-18 i really hope you like your gift! this is the first time i’ve written anything this long so hopefully it turned out alright! biggest thanks to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this! have a safe holiday, no matter what you celebrate~

If there was one thing you would never understand, it would be why Coruscant was so damned cold. The Galactic City enjoyed warm, balmy weather all year long. The underworld, on the other hand, not so much. The morning chill was the type to seep into your bones, the sort that no amount of layers could shut out, even with the radiators turned to the max. Not that you had much chance to complain, especially not on the days, which were most, spent on a creeper, wrench in hand.

Working occupies your mind. You easily fall back into the same routine you’ve been following for as long as you can remember—replace, tighten, oil. It doesn’t hurt that it pays, nor the fact that it keeps your mind from drifting. To him.

A client pulls into the garage, speeder releasing a puff of ash-grey smoke. Your eyes linger on the doorway.

The underside of the standard speeder became your new sky, replacing the one you didn’t get many chances to see. It was easier not to venture to the upper levels, you learned, knowing the return to the chaos underneath was inevitable.

Still, you don’t spend years in the lower levels without learning a thing or two. It had its charms which, if you kept your valuables close, could be somewhat appreciated. Not much could be said about the sunrise, but watching the street vendors gradually open shop for the day, the glowing signs relighting after a night and the city waking—the underworld had its moments.

Though, it’s best not to overlook the obscure corners. The best thing about living in the underworld was the unpredictability. If you’re handy with a blaster and keep your head down, that is. It keeps things entertaining, on the days where you could afford time off.

Admittedly, a Jedi blasting open your garage door at the asscrack of dawn would definitely equate to ‘unpredictable’.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The man is midway through clambering out of the now-crashed speeder. He turns, only to meet the barrel of your blaster. A shit-eating smirk graces his lips as he brushes the auburn hair out of his eyes and regards you nonchalantly.

“My apologies, miss,” the man says, head lowered in a slight bow, “I must admit, though I do enjoy making an entrance, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Your eyes scan the man before you. The long, beige robes and the mechanical cylinder hanging at hip-level, clipped to his belt. It doesn’t take a genius to recognise a Jedi, especially when chaos follows. A handsome one, yet a Jedi nonetheless.

Your gaze narrows. “Do you have a reason for crashing into my shop, or is this just more ‘Jedi business’?” The venom laced in your tone is hard to miss. The message is clear - Jedi aren’t taken to well in the underworld.

He huffs, raising a hand to gesture to the steaming, sparking mess laying in the middle of your shop. “I’ve had an accident.”

Your eyes roll without a second thought, “I can see that.”

“I need transportation to get back to the Galactic City as quickly as possible,” he states, voice overtaken by a firm, well-versed timbre. “Would you happen to offer any of the sort?”

Your arms cross over your chest. There would be nothing more satisfying than throwing out a Jedi to the underworld streets with no way back to the surface. He can walk, for all you care, but fuck. You’re short on funds.

Your gaze drifts to your own speeder sitting proudly in the corner as you gnaw your lip hesitantly. The mangled mess he’s brought in is a lost cause—that much is certain. Your pit droid confirms this with a series of beeps, orbiting helplessly around the crash. There’s no way he’ll be getting out on that.

Begrudgingly, you stalk over to fetch the keys to your own vehicle. “It’ll cost you,” you grumble, tossing the keys to which the man catches with ease. “If there’s even a hair of a scratch, I’ll throttle you myself, Jedi.”

The man grins triumphantly, and slides into the driver’s seat. You instantly regret your decision when your eyes meet his. “My name is Obi-wan,” he hums, pulling the speeder out of the driveway, “your speeder is in good hands! We’ll be back in no time.”

Those credits better be worth it.

It’s a few days later, when the sensor over your doorway rings out in a chime you’ve memorised by now. Half of your torso is obscured by a banged-up thrust pod, but the droid at your feet is going crazy.

You hear it before you get to see it, but the spluttering of an engine is unmistakable and you perk up at the prospect of a new repair. That hope, however, is quickly shot out of the sky when you catch sight of the source of the noise.

The grip on the wrench in your hand tightens a noticeable notch as the Jedi brings your speeder to a halt. The layer of painted coating has been chipped away in a long streak along its side, revealing the steel underneath. The navcomp is long gone, a wide, burnt crack singeing across the controls.

Obi-wan grins a sheepish one when your eye twitches, surveying the faulty engine that makes the speeder tilt on its side.

“What am I looking at?” Your voice is disturbingly calm, not even an inkling of what he knows is rage in its purest form to be seen.

Obi-wan inhales as his gaze flickers to the wrench curled in your fist and chuckles hesitantly, “Your speeder, of course. I did say we’d be back.”

“No,” you snap, wrist raising so the wrench is inches from his chest, “my speeder was alive and well when it left my shop three days ago. So, do tell me, Jedi,” you hiss, “what have you brought back?”

The man, indifferent to the weapon directed at him, climbs out of the wreck gracefully to stand before you. “Unfortunately, we got into a bit of an accident,” he says, “but you’ll be happy to know your speeder greatly contributed to the capture of a fugitive of the Republic.”

It takes every fibre in your being to resist the urge to lunge when he nonchalantly reaches up to brush the strand of hair fallen across his forehead.

“I don’t give a damn about a fugitive,” you seethe, “you owe me a new speeder! And double the credits!”

Obi-wan’s mouth opens to bargain, but you cut him off before he even gets the chance to negotiate.

“You know what—triple it!” Your arms cross over your chest and the droid follows suit, ushering the Jedi in the direction of the exit. If looks could kill, Obi-wan Kenobi would be dead three times over in four different galaxies.

He bows his head, gaze sweeping across your garage, “I’m afraid I don’t currently have such funds—”

Your eyes roll in indignation.

“—perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement?”

The wrench goes flying.

The holonews plays distantly in the background while you work, filling up the hollow silence in every nook of your mech shop. Silence is a killer in the underworld; it’s important to let people know there’s someone home—burglars not welcome.

You’re halfway through wiping your hands clean of grease when the blue Twi’lek reporter’s perky demeanor dissolves into a still of a battleground.

Felucia, the woman says, as more holos of piles upon piles of B-1 droids flash across the screen. Your breath catches in your throat and the air in the garage hangs heavy. That’s good news right? Droids in piles usually mean there aren’t as many troop casualties. There’s no mention of a General either, so you let out a breath of relief.

Celebrating early is a curse, because the reporter’s next words steal the air right out of your lungs.

“We have lost all contact with our journalist on the Felucia front, as last transmissions report a sudden aerial ambush. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.”

The report moves onto the next spectacle, but you’ve stopped listening. The holonews is wordlessly shut off, and you turn to working in silence, heart clenching painful in your chest, as if the very same battle droids had wrapped their cold, dead steel handpieces around it.

The reporter’s words don’t leave you easily. The fates of the GAR troops remain unknown.

Is threatening a Jedi Master a crime? Obi-wan isn’t sure, but he definitely thinks it should be. You’ve made your rage painstakingly clear and Maker, if he had a credit for every threat you spewed, he would have paid you back by now.

It’s late one night when Obi-wan finds himself in the underworld once more. It’s perpetually dark and most people have retired for the night, save the rowdy chaos stemming from the back-street cantinas.

The neon logo of your mechanic shop emerges as he rounds the corner and he winces at the singe marks on your driveway. He must get around to apologising for that. The sharp smell of paint makes him wrinkle his nose when he walks in, spotting you in the far corner.

“This, here, is R4,” the Jedi says, announcing his arrival, “I suspect she has some loose wiring.”

Obi-wan can’t pretend the way your jaw clenches at the sound of his voice isn’t the least bit amusing. Your turn to face him with an air of annoyance.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Kenobi?” You grumble, and his eyes drift from the bucket of silver paint by your boots, then over your shoulder to the refurbished speeder he had left behind the last time.

“I certainly do,” he hums, hand smoothing over his beard appreciatively, “it looks good as new.”

You scoff, arms crossing over your chest, “no thanks to you.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he says, nodding to the astromech hovering at his side, who beeps in greeting, “to repay my debt.”

The side of your mouth quirks up as you move closer, regarding the droid, “Is this what you call repaying your debt? Giving me more work?”

Obi-wan’s jaw goes slack, eyebrows raising at the way you and R4 share the same expression, even with one having no facial indicators. Though, he catches himself before the stare you receive from him can be construed as anything other than bewildered. “That was not my intention—” He starts, but you cut him off with a wave and a gratified smirk.

“It was a joke, Obi-wan,” you sigh, leading R4 to the station on the opposite side of the room, leaving the man gaping after you. “Are all Jedi so gullible?”

He huffs and leans against the wall as you do a quick once-over of his droid. You flitter around R4, retrieving all the equipment you need for the impending checks. You look rightfully in your element.

“Were all the mechanics up in the Galactic City unavailable?” You question, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his before returning to unscrewing R4’s bolts. You miss the look Obi-wan shoots the droid who whirs in response.

“Not necessarily,” he coughs and suddenly, the gears hanging on your wall are the most interesting thing in the world, “I just haven’t gotten around to crashing their prized speeders yet.”

Your gaze narrows when you stand, but the menace is absent this time around. “I’ve replaced some of R4’s older wires. She was close to short-circuiting,” you remind sharply, contrasting your fond patting of R4, “and stars, Kenobi, it wouldn’t kill you to oil her joints once in a while.”

“Order received,” the man bows his head sheepishly, dropping the credits on your counter, “though for R4’s sake, you may consider teaching me how to.”

You see Obi-wan out, mostly to bid his droid farewell. “Don’t push it, Jedi,” you simper, “I could still cut your brakes.”

He chuckles at that, reaching a hand up to thread through his hair. Obi-wan grins with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “then I’ll have no choice but to come back to repair it.”

Obi-wan Kenobi—master charmer of the Jedi Order.

The roof of your garage makes for a good stargazing spot. You use the term stargazing very loosely. The stars, in this case, are the blinking lights of the speeders hovering in the air.

It’s certainly not the nicest spot in all of Coruscant, but it’s yours. The whole building is, at that, which is saying something considering you live in the underworld.

You live close enough to the surface that sitting on your roof gives you a clear enough view of the portal leading to the Galactic City and the minuscule amount of light it brings. The starships lower and rise through the massive ventilation shaft and you catch yourself hoping to see a familiar one.

It’s hopeless, obviously, you’re too far away to see anything, anyway. Still, you can’t stop your eyes from flickering to the traffic leading into the underworld.

Maybe this time it’ll be his ship.

One last look. Your heart sinks. Turning back, you head down the ladder. Alone.

Obi-wan gauges that you don’t despise him as much as you let on about the umpteenth time he visits.

You regard him with a quirked eyebrow and arms crossed over your chest, your default stance whenever he’s around, which is becoming rather frequent, you notice.

“You want me to go up to the surface with you?”

The man nods, hands clasped dutifully behind him. “That is, in fact, what I said.”

He’s dressed, once again, in those beige Jedi robes. His beard’s gotten thicker, you note. It’s been a while.

“What for?” You question, intrigue piquing as you step closer to Obi-wan. It’s been even longer since you’ve been to the city. You tell yourself it’s because you have no reason to be up there anyway, but the thought lingers.

“To celebrate,” Obi-wan shrugs, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the galaxy, “it’s a new cycle.”

You hum, turning back to rummage through your cabinets, the way you had been doing when he had first arrived. “I’m aware.”

Obi-wan remains silent behind you, but he’s relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as he leans against the wall agreeably. We can’t have that, you think.

“Don’t you have certain Jedi duties to attend to?” you hum, tossing an half-hearted glance over your shoulder, only to find his knowing smirk. Gods, he’s irritating. Yet, you let him be.

“According to the Chancellor, I’ve shaken enough hands for tonight,” he answers and his voice is laced with poorly-masked satisfaction, “my evening is open for meditation.”

“—unless you take me up on my offer, of course.”

You shouldn’t. There’s so much work to be done in the garage, but as you look around, everything’s been taken care of. Sometimes, you’re too efficient at what you do. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to spend the end of this cycle not alone, for once.

“That depends,” you chide, but Obi-wan sees through it clear as day. He raises a hand to brush over his chin, effectively masking the smile beneath his palm.

“-I wouldn’t want to keep a Jedi Master from his meditation.”

Hours later, the two of you find yourselves on the viewing deck of a skyscraper. The journey there is a blur, since you spent most of it up to this point marvelling at the city.

It’s so much brighter than you remember.

You can barely tell the time—the sky’s been completely lit up by miles of gleaming lights. The irony is not lost on you—how the Galactic City illuminated is one worthy of the stars while the underworld sees only darkness even on Coruscant’s sunniest days.

The buildings are denser, packed so tight you could easily cross over into the adjacent balcony. You consider it genuinely for a moment, though pressed so close to Obi-wan’s side, the thought dissolves just as quickly as it comes.

The viewing deck extends to a cantina, where you squeeze past the bodies pushing against you until you finally reach the bar.

Obi-wan watches pensively as you fall back against a stool and flag down the bartender. “So, Kenobi,” you swivel around to eye the man who has arrived to hover behind you, “how did a Jedi come to find this place?”

“Jedi business brings us to all reaches of the galaxy and this place happens to be one of them,” Obi-wan replies simply, as if dangling bait in front of you to ask more.Jedi business, he says.

Nevertheless, you take the bait. “What sort of Jedi business?”

Obi-wan’s eyes widen, taken aback. He’s never had to answer that question before— most people he came across were either Jedi themselves, or correspondents. He’s not sure what he’s even allowed to tell you.

“If you tell me, will you have to kill me?” You jest as he takes a generous gulp of his own drink. You don’t suppose Jedi business to be confidential, though with the current political climate, perhaps it has become just that.

It’s obvious he’s still contemplating your question, but you quickly steer him away from work.

“Where do you hope to be a year from now?” You ask, toying with the glass in hand, pondering your own answer while he does the same. Maker, hopefully not on this forsaken planet any longer.

Sure, you’ve been on Coruscant as long as you can remember and most of it has been spent in the underworld, but it stopped feeling like home even before that.

He hums thoughtfully and takes a sip of his own drink before responding. “Still serving the Order, of course,” he says. Obi-wan pauses and the air stills, as if the words unspoken in his throat have tainted it.

“—though I fear I sense impending conflict in our future.”

Your brows raise as his lips fall into a grim line. “Oh? Do tell.”

Obi-wan shakes his head, as if doing so will clear the atmosphere of the words he had spoken. Recently, he finds himself saying more than he means to.

“I just hope peace will be kept in our galaxy. But for now, I think we should celebrate a year gone by.”

A statement you can get behind.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that,” you grin, downing a generous swing of (what remains of) your drink. You wince at the burn, but stars, if that isn’t better than anything you’ve had in the underworld.

Obi-wan chuckles, a sound nearly drowned out by the crowd of cantina patrons. “You drink to everything.”

You nod, exuberant, before swiping another glass of deep blue liquid off a passing tray. “Cheers!”

Further into the night, your body start to heat up, the pleasant tingles crawling from your fingertips all the way to your chest.

In the dim lighting of the cantina, the edges of your vision go fuzzy and Obi-wan becomes just a bit more handsome, though it’s unclear how much of that is due to the alcohol.

The room begins to empty, most people pushing their way out to the balcony as time ticks closer to midnight.

“Would you like to watch the fireworks? I hear they’re known to be quite beautiful.” Obi-wan offers, gesturing to the gathering mass.

“I bet they are,” you murmur, chin propped loosely against your palm while your gaze never leaves him.

Amused, he offers an outstretched hand to help you off the stool that you had settled into so comfortably. He half expects you to slap him away and insist on standing on your own, but you take it instead.

Your palm finds his after a moment of contemplation, coming to the conclusion that it would not be fun to trip face-first.

His hand is warm against yours and you really hope he doesn’t feel the way you heat up beside him. This is really against your brand.

Obi-wan effortlessly weaves through the crowd and manages to secure a spot at the very end of the deck, where the bodies are dispersed more loosely.

You lean against the railing, peering over the railing, met with the sight of hundreds of floors below you with balconies overflowing with people.

The knowledge that you blend into the crowd is soothing. You don’t need to be anyone here. Not the grouchy mechanic, so you don’t get taken advantage of. Surrounded this way, you get to be faceless, and it’s something Obi-wan seems to enjoy too.

Coruscant, or as much of it as you can see, is plunged into darkness, save the hologram numbers projected against the walls that tick down with every passing second.

You blink in earnest as the people around you begin to shout. Ten seconds to midnight.

One last glance around you, and you’re really glad you took Obi-wan up on his offer.

You think to tell him, but then the crowd is chanting “one” and the entire balcony holds its breath before it erupts into deafening cheers of celebration.

The grin on your face is hard to erase when the first sparks of light illuminate the sky. All the colours you can think of burst in different patterns, sizzling into thin wisps of smoke—leaving the faintest ghost that they had been there in the first place.

You want to do that too.

Turning to Obi-wan, you find him already looking at you. You stumble impossibly closer towards him, hands landing on his chest as you teeter on wobbly legs.

A look of mild surprise graces his features, lips quirking into a smile as he looks down at you. “Hello there.”

Before you allow yourself to think twice, your fingers reach up to brush the strand of hair constantly falling against his forehead.

Obi-wan’s eyes widen minutely but he makes no move to recoil. You take that as a green light, but maybe that’s just the ongoing fireworks.

“Sorry,” you whisper, leaning just close enough so he hears, “your hair was in your face, thought I should move it so I could see you better.”

He huffs what would have been a laugh if he wasn’t so breathless all of a sudden. Only then, do you realise how close you’ve actually gotten, when the warm air brushes your cheeks.

Perhaps it’s the liquid courage, but something comes over you when your gaze lands on his mouth, so close but far from your own. “Can I kiss you, Obi-wan?”

Obi-wan stills. He knows he shouldn’t. His mind screams to walk away and meditate until you and your damned lips are no longer at the forefront.

Yet, his hesitation doesn’t go far. Blame it on the alcohol if you will, but all his reservations go out the window when you blink at him, waiting with bated breaths.

It’s a new year, he thinks, I’ll regret it tomorrow.

The man throws caution to the wind as he closes the distance.

Obi-wan tastes of sharp alcohol and comfort. Your lips press gently against his, as though your previous boldness had dissolved along with his resolve.

You smile into the kiss when his hand moves to pull you in by your waist. Then, he feels you relax against him when fingers thread through the hair at his nape.

Happy New Year, indeed.

Obi-wan recalls telling himself he’d find it to feel bad in the morning, but it wholly slips his mind when the time comes, not when you look so utterly breathtaking sitting across from him, two cups of caf sitting in the short distance between you both.

You look like bantha shit, put simply. Having managed to lead the way back home, you don’t remember much after kicking your heels off and falling face-first into bed. You imagine you look a sight, though, you can’t muster up the will to care, since all your attention is skewered by the tight ache behind your eyes, narrowly beating out the man in your kitchen.

Squinting over the brim of your cup as you raise the caf to your lips, the heat that runs down your throat ironically soothes the burn left by the Alderaanian alcohol of the night before.

“Stop smiling at me,” you grumble, feigning a scowl at the man slumped so comfortably in his chair, “‘S too bright.”He chuckles at that, head tilting as he regards you, bathed in the warm light bleeding into the room.

His mind buzzes, recalling the feel of your lips pressed against his, but seeing as you haven’t shoved him out so far, he takes it as a good sign.

Your sharp gaze follows him as he tries to gauge your thoughts. Obi-wan is nervous, which isn’t something that can be said often. The man has been trained as the galaxy’s peacekeeper, yet meets his match at the hands of a pretty mechanic.

“I hope you had a good time,” Obi-wan says softly. It sounds as if he’s opening to a goodbye, and your heart twinges with something akin to disappointment. Apparently, it’s all too easy to forget the man you kissed last night is still a Jedi with very real Jedi duties.

You offer a light smile, “I did.” Fingers curling just that much tighter around the weight of your cup, pausing before you continue, mulling over your words, “--we should do it again.”

Obi-wan’s eyebrows raise in amusement, a cheeky grin stretching across his lips. His hand finds his beard, sweeping over as a force of habit. “It, being celebrating New Year’s or--”

He doesn’t get far with his question as you cross over to him and then you’re doing it again.

Months pass. Obi-wan finds himself frequenting the underworld so much that most of his time on-planet is spent by your side, when he’s not occupied with his Jedi duties.

This time is no different. You’ve closed up shop for the day, the sign outside dim as he approaches. He’s been gone for longer than he’d like, sent on a diplomatic mission on behalf of the Republic. When Obi-wan knocks on your door, it’s clear he’s run-down.

His shoulders are slumped when he crosses the threshold, into your arms. You feel him breathe deeply as his fingers gather the fabric at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

Wordlessly, he allows you to steer him, coming to rest at the foot of your bed. His hand never leaves yours.

The air surrounding you is thick with concern as you sit beside him, unsure. You take the moment to give Obi-wan a once over, allowing yourself the sliver of what you had been missing since he had left.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” you speak, raising his palm to dust a warm kiss against his knuckles, “look how it hangs in your eyes.”

Obi-wan smiles, leaning more of his weight against your side. “Couldn’t find the time to get it trimmed,” he mumbles, words laced heavy with fatigue.

You click your tongue as you tuck the auburn hair behind his ear. “Don’t need to,” you hum, eyes scanning over the thick expanse of hair gathered at his collar, “it suits you.”

It really does. The way the curls cascade down the back of his head, coming to rest atop his shoulders, the same way as the day you met him, makes it difficult to imagine anything else in place of his long hair.

He’s scolded you before for prodding him for a holo of himself with the padawan braid.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” You ask into the comfortable silence, voice gentle in case he’s fallen asleep against your shoulder. A Jedi skill, he tells you, to be able to rest wherever and whenever.

For a moment, you even believe he is—that is, until he lifts off of you with a nod. Your hand leaves his as you move behind him with excitement.

You kneel behind him as he comes to rest against your front. Your hands drape atop his shoulders, smoothing over the fabric there.“You can sleep,” you lean down, murmuring close enough he can feel your lips ghosting his cheek in a grin.

Obi-wan chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “Not sleeping,” he corrects, “—meditating.”

As your fingers thread through his hair with practiced ease, you bite back a bemused snort. “Well, I’d hate to keep you from that, Jedi Master.”

Obi-wan sits obediently still as you deftly weave through the compliant strands. The pair of you sit in silence, quiet enough to hear your heartbeat even out with Obi-wan’s steady breathing. Stars, he has really nice hair. The envy is short lived, as you come to end the braid at his neck, admiring your handiwork.

His usual untampered locks now sit neatly in a braid running down the back of his head, a stark contrast to usual.

You don’t need to ask to know he’s long past being awake. Once more, craning over his shoulder, your lips brush against his face, bearded cheek tickling your skin.

“Rise and shine,” you laugh as his eyes flutter open to meet yours. Bleary-eyed, he offers no protest when you pull at his shoulders, shedding him of his outer robes so that he falls back on the bed wrapped in your covers.

Obi-wan goes out like a light. How could he not? If he hadn’t been so exhausted already the feeling of your hands against his scalp would’ve done the trick anyhow.

When he sleeps, you let yourself admire him. With his hair finally out of his face, you get to admire him in his entirety. If you had tried at any other time, he’d chide you for staring, catching you before you had even started.

Eyes shut, Obi-wan looks serene. The usually furrowed brows have relaxed now, making the man look years younger, or how he would look if he would stop working himself to the bone. For the Republic, he says.

Even now, in the relative safety (or whatever comes close in the underworld) of your home, he looks battle-ready. The realisation comes heavy as gravity—knowing this would always be Obi-wan’s normal.

Yet, warmth runs through your chest at the fact that even so weary, Obi-wan chose to come to you. Neither had seen it coming-- the mechanic he’d met after crashing into their shop would become a source of comfort in such turmoil.

Thank the Maker for crashed speeders.

You emerge from under what feels like the hundredth speeder of the day, grease smeared across your arms and sweat dotting your skin. You should really start charging more. Your droid whirs in delight, logging another successful transaction while you wipe off traces of work on a nearby grease rag.

The sun, or what light reaches down there has dimmed, signalling the end of another day. A heavy sigh racks your chest and you catch sight of your reflection in the deteriorating mirror across the room.

You look like a day of work—stained overalls and burnt fingertips, but one part stays the same as it had when the work started. As your eyes drift over the braids pulling your hair back, everything that you had been trying to push back by throwing yourself into hours of work bubbles to the surface.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you avert your eyes.

He’s probably dead. You wouldn’t necessarily call yourself a pessimist, but that’s most likely the case, and it would do you more good to accept it than what you’re doing now; tuning out the news until the briefest mention of the Grand Army of the Republic, dropping everything for the smallest sliver of news, for hope.

Obi-wan hadn’t told you about the clones. It had come as a surprise to most, word spreading that the Republic finally had its own army. You remember watching the new Chancellor Palpatine on the holonews, a pit of unease simmering in your stomach as his words rang.

A clone army.

You don’t see that everyday—or perhaps you will now.

It’s been near a full month of radio silence. If Obi-wan and his troops are alive, the news certainly doesn’t think so. There’s been no mention of any rescue mission from the Republic, which you believe to be rather telling. A clone army—expendable. Jedi, also expendable, apparently.

The best course of action would be business as usual. He has told you that this was his duty, that his loyalty would always lie with the Republic and his role as a Jedi. You understood, but certainly hadn’t expected that loyalty to lead him to his grave.

So, naturally, you close shop for the day. Your customers will survive. The sign on the outer wall remains dim all morning and the light outside doesn’t reach you, hidden away in your bed.

Again, Coruscant is fucking cold. There’s absolutely no rhyme or reason for it and just adds another point in your list of factors to leave the damned planet. No matter how many layers you huddle under, the cold manages to find you.

Most traces of him are gone. The spice that clings to his robes and lingers in the air long after he’s gone has dissipated and you start to wonder if he had ever been here at all.

The last thing you expect is to hear the rapping of knuckles against your front door.

The second the first knock comes, your heart stops, the briefest glimmer of hope wrestling its way up. Barrelling towards the door, it slides open to reveal the man previously presumed dead.

For a moment, you don’t think it’s real. Obi-wan stands in the doorway, robes singed to hell and back, a nasty cut running along his temple and looking like he’s aged ten years, yet you recognise him in a heartbeat.

He hears your breath hitch in your throat when you freeze. His expression is cautious, considering your reaction. He had found his way back to Coruscant all the way from Felucia, yet the distance separating you seems far too large.

“You cut your hair,” you finally say. Gone are the auburn curls that once brushed his collar which is now clipped short, baring his neck. Your shoulders slack before you’re pulling him in by the shoulders, sending him lurching into your chest.

Obi-wan laughs at that, engulfing you in his arms. His grasp winds tight around you and you stand there for what feels like hours but not enough, and all you can think is he’s here.

Obi-wan pulls back, eyes finding yours with a fond smile. “I’ll just have to learn to do your hair now.” He leans in, placing a kiss to the crown of your hair. “You don’t look very well, love.”

“—because of me?”

You huff indignantly at that, pulling out of his hold, “yes, I do have you to thank for a solid month of worrying.”

Obi-wan pauses, eyes flickering over your shoulder. You can tell he takes it to heart.

��Hey,” you murmur, lifting a palm to his cheek, “it would just really suck if you died, y’know?”

He sighs, “I’m sorry I worried you. I tried to find a working commlink but—” He stills once more, shaking his head in defeat. You fill the silence.

“But you were at war, Obi-wan. Commlinks can wait, I’m just happy you made it home in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

The man exhales once more but he concedes with a nod. Knowing he must feel like absolute bantha crap, you usher him to the worn sofa. He watches you flitter around the room, rummaging through cupboards and he can’t help but notice how normal this feels.

Eventually, you bring him a steaming cup of caf, something that seems to flow endlessly in your home and perch beside him on the armrest. The pair of you settle into a comfortable silence. As you lace your fingers between his, you can feel him formulating his thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” You hum, tapping his wrist. Obi-wan is still, before he whips his head towards you.

“If you asked… I’d stay.” Obi-wan blurts.

The words make you gape and you’re speechless for a good amount of time. He watches you intently, serious as ever.

“Obi-wan,” you begin slowly, “you know I’d never ask that of you.”

“I know that,” he responds firmly, “I also know the Jedi way forbids attachment, that I’d have to let you go. Yet, on Felucia, I wasn’t fighting for the Republic. When we were surrounded by the Separatist droids, I was trying to get back to you.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest, pounding against your ribcage with such ferocity you wonder if even he can hear it. You don’t know what to say.

He leans closer earnestly as his grip on your hand tightens. “I can’t promise things won’t always be this way, but I will always find my way back to you.”

Words have never been your strong suit, this much is certain so you close the gap between you instead, hoping that your lips on his can convey all the emotions cresting from his promise.

When you pull away, it’s because he wipes a tear that escapes down your cheek. “I just hope I’m not the reason you’ll turn to the dark side,” you say with a soft laugh.

Obi-wan nudges your cheek bemusedly, “it’s more likely than you think.”

Bathed in the colourful lights seeping through the blinds, you savour the peace. The morning seems a little brighter and tucked into Obi-wan’s side, Coruscant doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

#editing this was a nightmaRe but i think it turned out okay!!#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obiwan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi oneshot #obi-wan kenobi imagine #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars oneshot #star wars headcanons

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slashermom · 5 years ago

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mOTHERR! MOMM! i have a request. how bout some sad and insecure Bo bc we all know that our baby boy is in fact sad and insecure. like he saw one of "tourist" that was kinda good looking checking his s/o out and that ruined his day. basically pure fluff (we are a child of god(not really)). (im still convinced that his full name is Bob Sinclair but more about that later). thank you mother. sincerely you very caffeinated child with ad/hd

Yes, YeS, YES! (This got way deeper than expected but I am the CEO of overthinking and overanalyzing thoughts and actions so I guess you should expect it at this point.)

The root of most, if not all, of Bo’s problems, are his insecurities.

Bo may act like God’s gift to Louisiana but deep down he isn’t as confident as he makes himself out to be.

Having limited strong and positive male adult figures in his life, Bo has never really had any good examples of how men are supposed to handle their feelings.

It was always ‘The harder you cry, the harder you’re gonna get hit.’ Leaving the Sinclair boy no choice but bury and repress the things that are eating him up inside.

As he got older, Bo found other ways he could cope.

It usually involved some PBRs, a bottle of Jack, and starting a pissing contest with the closest sibling.

Those nasty habits usually reared their ugly head when he focused too deeply on the past. On what was already said and done. What was done to him. What those moments turned him into.

Bo seldom found himself getting worked up over what another man has going for him.

Like he was now.

He never considered himself to be a jealous man.

What did he have to be jealous or insecure about?

“You seen this jawline? What about these baby blues? Even my calves are good lookin’. Baby, I am quite literally the full package.”

Bo is the type of guy that flexes his arm muscles and makes you squeeze them to try and impress you/prove a point.

But Bo’s sense of self-worth and confidence gets thrown right out the window the moment he catches wind of another man cozying up to you.

It was just another disgustingly hot afternoon in Ambrose when a man around your age rolled into town claiming he needed help with directions and tire change.

Bo examined the car with minimal interest and you being the polite person you were, you struck up a conversation with the guy and found that he was quite personable. Bo and him would actually get along well.

But upon glancing over at your boyfriend who was shoving a tire jack under the newcomer's car you didn’t miss the scowl plastered on his face.

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

You had clearly mentioned that Bo was your partner and he still had the balls to look you up and down, smile at you with those pearly whites, lean in closer while you told a story.

Bo sees the way he looks at you, and it doesn’t sit well at all.

He knows what goes on in a man’s head when you got someone as beautiful as you standing in front of him.

In his efforts to try and think about something else besides the heathen taking up space in his service station, his mind makes an important discovery.

The guy is a nobody. He doesn’t know you from a hole in the ground. He doesn’t know you the way Bo does.

This tool can only dream of fucking you half as good as Bo can.

He could never make you shake and whine and get you so lost in the feeling of his cock inside you that you can’t do anything else but hold him close like Bo can.

The burning feeling that was beginning to fester in his chest simmers and a smile crawls onto his lips but a sense of dread still hangs heavy.

That’s when he realizes it’s not just about how attractive this guy was or even the things he may or may not want to do to you that was bothering Bo.

It was the fact that this man can probably offer you so much more.

This guy probably has a well-paying job. Doesn’t home come all busted. Doesn’t smell of cheap cigarettes and booze. Probably got a nice family too.

Just from the way the guy carries himself and talks - Bo can tell he’s good inside and out.

Not rotten like him.

Maybe you would be better off with someone like him.

But he knows he doesn’t have the strength to let you go.

“Hey, you wouldn’t mind givin’ me a hand over here, would you?”

So he’s not going to let you get the chance.

The man who’s name he had consciously ignored, immediately made his way over to get a look at what Bo needed help with.

The brunette pointed to a spot near the tire jack and told the tourist to bend down to look at it.

While he was leaning over, Bo grabbed a fistful of his hair and used it to smash his face off the side of the car.

Wasting absolutely no time, he fished a pair of long nose pliers from his back pocket and lodged them into the man’s jugular.

Bo pushed harsh breaths through his nose as he watched blood flow from the body on the ground and begin to pool at his worn-out boots.

“Jesus Christ... You couldn’t have waited until I was around the corner or something?”

Your voice snapped his attention back to you.

You cringed at the sight before turning your back to it. You knew the guy had to go sooner or later but you never particularly liked watching someone get stabbed in the neck.

As you were heading for the door to let Bo deal with the body you felt an arm reach out and gently grab your upper arm and maneuvering you to turn around.

Giving you no time to question him, Bo captured your lips in his.

The kiss wasn’t as rough or as passionate as the ones he usually gives. It was soft and careful. There was no clashing off teeth or tugging at soft flesh or clothing. He just wanted to feel you.

When the kiss finally broke, the hands that had been holding your arms slithered around and locked together at the small of your back.

Effectively pulling you up against his torso and all but forcing you to wrap your arms around him. He sighed contently at the feeling of your body against his before pressing another kiss to the crown of your head.

Bo has never been really shy with affection but this felt different. Desperate almost..

“What’s wrong?” You mumble into his chest.

“Nothin’.”

“You’re so full of shit.”

“I know.”

You rolled your eyes at his clear avoidance but didn’t push it any further. If holding you like this made him feel better then you weren’t going to try and force an answer out of him.

And it’s not like you were complaining either.

“Why don’t you head back up to the house while I get this mess sorted?”

You could tell he was reluctant to pull away but did so anyway. But not before looping your hand in his and giving it a loving squeeze.

You nodded and squeezed his hand back.

He flashed you a half-smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes before turning back to the body on the ground. You didn’t know what was going on in his head but it made your heart ache and the words just came tumbling out.

“You know I love you, right?”

Bo stopped dead in his tracks and faced you once more. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded.

“Sure, I do.”

The uncertainty in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Good.” Your voice came out quieter than intended. “I’ll send Vinny down when I get to the house.”

He gave you another nod and you took that as your cue to leave.

Bo wanted to punch himself in the face. You had just told him you loved him, and the best he could say was ‘Sure, I do’?

Bet putz on the ground would say it back.

He shook the thought from his head and reached for his pack of cigarettes on the counter.

He will tell you it back. Bo just doesn’t know how or when.

#could I have shortened this?#probably #but thats not my brand #also thank you to everyone who sent in happy birthday wishes #they were all really kind and they all made me smile #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax

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