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c-e-d-dreamer · 1 month

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Top Shelf Love: Chapter One

A/N: yeah, yeah, I know! This is super exposition-y, but we have to set it all up, besties! I promise Cassian and Nesta actually interact again in the next chapter 🫡 Also, for anyone who's nerdy like me, the Athletic has a really great article about just how complicated things get when a player gets traded. It's a fun read!

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian groans, tossing his phone on the coffee table, the device skittering across the wood without a care. He drops his head against the back of the sofa, digging his hands into his hair and dragging his fingers against the curly strands. He still can’t quite wrap his mind around it, and he half wonders if he’s imagining this entire phone call, but the tinny voice continues through the speaker even if he’s no longer listening.

Seattle.

He got traded to the Seattle Kraken.

The words continue to crash and echo in his mind, even as his agent goes through the usual spiel when trades happen. Expect a call from the coach, maybe even a few players will reach out once the news breaks. The Kraken’s director of team services will reach out with the finer details for a smooth transition. Reminders of the CBA mandates. Meetings with the trainers, the equipment team, and the coaching staff to look forward to. Practice schedule. It’s like information overload, a hurricane swirling through his head with hundred mile per hour winds.

It doesn’t help that his phone has already started to vibrate against the table, almost excessively. With a quiet huff that thankfully his agent doesn’t pick up on, already plowing forward into the exciting potential for re-signing with Seattle, Cassian snatches his phone back up. He minimizes the call screen and looks at his notifications. Of course. The news has already broken on Twitter. Damn ‘insiders.’

“Any questions for me, Cassian? Anything I can do for you?”

Cassian has to shake his head, clearing his still spiraling thoughts, before he finds his voice. “All good, Eris. That’s how the off season goes, right?”

Eris is quiet for a moment. “I’ll send a car to take you to the airport. A nicer one than the team would send.”

With that, the line clicks, and Cassian tosses his phone away again, this time face down. He doesn’t even want to look at what’s being said, at the speculation. Sure, the Rangers hadn’t had the best season, the ending more heartbreak than anything else. Sure, he only has one year left on his contract. Sure, the front office wants draft picks to help build up the farm system with young blood.

But still, Cassian never expected this. Never expected this was how his time with the team would end. Never expected this was how his time in New York City would end.

Sighing softly, he glances around his apartment. The high ceilings, the modern, open kitchen, the tall windows and the amazing skyline view that the thirty-first floor offers. He really did love this place, a far cry from the streets he’d grown up on, and a reminder of how far he'd come from those very streets. He supposes he’ll have to sell it now. Is it worth keeping just for the off season?

The sound of Cassian’s phone ringing is loud in his otherwise quiet apartment. It seems to echo off the walls as though taunting him. He’s half tempted to ignore it all together, but despite the unknown number displayed on the screen when he checks, the location is listed as Seattle. Not the best first impression to send his new team to voicemail. Another sigh and Cassian squares his shoulders, sliding his thumb across the screen to answer.

The man on the other end of the line introduces himself and exchanges a few pleasantries, but then he’s diving right in to more specifics. The nitty gritty of a trade. Flight details. Financials and reimbursements. Rental car when he lands. Taxes.

Cassian only half listens, making sure he makes the affirmative sounds at the appropriate breaks in conversation. This isn’t his first rodeo. Although, he had still been in the farm system when his last trade happened. This is certainly different, but Cassian knows he thankfully won’t have to deal with most of this. He’ll give the director of team services Eris’s number, and let him deal with all the numbers and everything. It’s why he pays him the big bucks after all.

As soon as the call ends, Cassian’s phone lights up and starts ringing again. He wants to pull his own hair out as that incessant sound fills his apartment. He knows how this goes, but he’d give anything for just a moment of peace, a moment to really sit with his thoughts and everything that’s just happened. He considers turning his phone off, letting all the calls go to voicemail, at least for a few hours, but then he sees the name displayed on the screen.

“I take it you saw the news?” Cassian says by way of greeting.

“Need a drink?” Rhysand’s voice carries down the line.

Cassian chuckles, already pushing up to his feet. “You have no idea. But you better be breaking out the good shit from your fancy cellar.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get your ass over here.”

Just the short conversation, the teasing tone of his chosen brother, has Cassian feeling lighter already. He grabs his wallet and shoves it into his pocket, tugging a ball cap down over his curls. Summer still clings to the city despite the first day of fall barely a few days away, but the breeze that dances between the buildings promises cooler temperatures to come. Cassian takes the subway up toward Central Park, the rocking of the car over the tracks strangely a lulling balm over his nerves.

The doorman offers Cassian a nod and a friendly hello in greeting when he arrives at the building, holding the door open for him to stroll inside. The receptionist at the front desk does the same, barely casting Cassian a cursory glance as he heads for the elevators. He quickly punches in the code and steps inside, riding up and up and up, all the way to the penthouse.

Feyre is waiting for Cassian as soon as the elevator doors open, stepping forward and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian chuckles but he wraps his own arms around Feyre’s shoulders nonetheless. “I’m not dying, Fey. I just got traded.”

“I know, but traded across the country,” Feyre continues, pulling back enough that she can peer up at Cassian with an overdramatic pout. “I’m losing my partner in crime. Who will join me in bullying Rhys now?”

“You’re right,” Cassian tells her, nodding his head with faux solemness. “I’m so sorry you’ll be stuck on the east coast all alone with Rhys’s stupid face.”

“Stupid face? And here I broke out the good wine for your sorry ass.”

Cassian tosses his head back and laughs. He steps away from Feyre and walks over to Rhys, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “I expect nothing less.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, but he leads the way into the kitchen, three wine glasses and a bottle already arranged on the large kitchen island. He pours the wine into each glass, but Cassian grabs the bottle, examining the label with an appreciative hum.

“I don’t know why you’re making that sound,” Rhys comments dryly, taking a sip of his drink.

“Who cares about that?” Feyre cuts in, waving a dismissive hand at her fiancé and leaning against the kitchen island, her attention solely on Cassian. “Are you excited for Seattle?”

Cassian hums, swirling his wine around the glass. “They’re definitely building a good team out there. Strong top line. And I’ve heard good things about playing under Miller.”

“But…?”

“There’s no but, it’s just…” Cassian sighs softly, pulling his cap off to run his fingers through his hair. “It just sucks because everyone’s here, out east. You guys are always here or in Montreal. Mor’s here in New York. Even Az isn’t that far in Nashville. I won’t know anyone out west.”

“Yeah, but you’ll have the guys on the team. You know they’ll have all the best spots in town to recommend,” Rhys reminds him.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“My sister lives out in Seattle!” Feyre jumps in to add, blue eyes bright.

Cassian frowns. “Doesn’t Elain live in Toronto with Lucien?”

“Not Elain. My other sister. Nesta. You’ve met her.”

Nesta.

Cassian is sure he’d remember if he met Nesta Archeron. He still remembers when Feyre had posted the photos from Elain’s wedding last month to her Instagram, the way his mouth had slackened at the sight of who he was sure was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. With the purple, silky fabric of the bridesmaid dress clinging perfectly to her every curve, golden brown strands of hair swept away from her face in an intricate updo, she was breathtaking.

But it was her expression in the photos that had really drawn Cassian in. There was something about it. Something about her. Something about the way that even though she was smiling in the photo, there was still a challenge, a dare, burning in her stormy blue eyes and the pinch of her brow. And Cassian had never backed down from a dare. He was sure one look from her had sent many men to their knees, sent them fleeing for the hills before she could cut them down where they stood, but Cassian? Cassian wanted to drive head first into that fire.

“I don’t think I’ve met her,” Cassian offers, but he doesn’t tell Feyre just how much he wishes he had.

“But she was at our engagement party in May,” Feyre continues, but when Cassian only shrugs in response, she merely sighs. “Whatever. The point is that she lives in Seattle. I can give you her number if you want. Then, you’ll at least know someone out there when you get there. And I’m sure she’d be more than happy to show you around.”

Cassian thinks about it. He thinks back to those photos on Feyre’s Instagram, thinks about the photos he had seen when he stalked Nesta’s own Instagram after he clicked the tagged account. Thinks of those stormy blue eyes and the tilt of her lips in a smirk behind the rim of a wine glass. Thinks of the stories Feyre has told him, of the stubborn and fierce older sister who all but eviscerated Feyre’s ex, Tamlin.

“Yeah… yeah, that’d be good. Just so I know someone out there.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta sighs softly, but she reaches down, fingers curling beneath cardboard. Her arms protest at the weight, but she hefts the box up, shuffling the few steps to add it to the organized chaos that’s their backroom. For a moment, her attention dances back toward her phone where she left it on another box, but she pointedly left it face down for a reason. She doesn’t need to look at the text messages waiting for her again.

Feyre 1:18pm Remember Cassian? Rhys’ brother that I told you all about? 😉 He’s coming to Seattle! I gave him your number. Show him around for me? Please?

Unknown number 4:43pm Hey, Nesta. This is Cassian. Feyre gave me your number. I’m moving out to Seattle soon. Maybe we can meet up?

“So, let me get this straight. The Cassian is moving to Seattle?”

Nesta snorts softly, peering toward where Gwyn is sprawled across the floor, iPad balanced against her knees. “We’re calling him the Cassian now?”

“I prefer to call him the douchey hockey player,” Emerie comments idly, placing the box in her own arms down. She swipes up the box cutter from the metal shelf to her left, making quick, efficient work of the tape keeping the box closed.

“And are you imagining douchey hockey player’s balls there?” Gwyn teases, looking meaningfully toward the box cutter in Emerie’s grip.

“So what if I am?” Emerie fires back, leaning forward to open Nesta’s box too. “He’d deserve it.”

“I never said he didn’t,” Gwyn laughs, turning her attention back to Nesta. “So, what are you going to do?”

Nesta sighs softly. “I don’t know. Feyre asked me to show him around the city.”

“Doesn’t he have teammates to do that?”

“Ignore him and the request,” Emerie suggests dryly.

Nesta snorts quietly but it quickly turns into a sigh, even as she keeps her hands busy pulling books out of her box. “I didn’t exactly tell Feyre what happened that night.”

She hadn’t told anyone about that night, save her two best friends. She still cringes sometimes when she thinks back to it, the embarrassment burning bright low in her gut, twisting and squeezing between her ribs uncomfortably. She’d sworn that night that she would never give a single thought about Cassian Valdarez ever again, and until today, she’d kept true to that.

She’d spent her remaining days in New York City solely with her sisters, even doing one of the touristy bus tours with Elain to see all the classic sights. And thankfully, Feyre had been more interested in excitedly talking about wedding plans and ideas than continuing her busybody meddling. If either of her sisters noticed anything different with Nesta, they didn’t say anything.

After Nesta had flown back home to Seattle, Emerie and Gwyn came over to her apartment. Drinking a bottle of wine between the three of them, it all had come spilling out of her. Her friends had allowed her to pace and rage, and then that was that. Nesta had washed her hands of the whole thing. Never again did she dare to check the sports news out of curiosity. Never again did she dare to stalk his Instagram. Never again did she think of the stupid face and the stupid smirk of a smile of that hockey player.

“What if you give him a tour of all the worst places in the city?” Emerie suggests, brown eyes practically lighting up at the idea. “Then, maybe he’ll want to leave the city.”

Gwyn’s laugh is bright, red hair tumbling down her back when she tosses her head back. “That is definitely not how sports teams operate.”

“Worth a shot,” Emerie mutters, tossing aside the box packaging in her hands and reaching back in for the books hiding beneath. “Holy shit. We got the new Sellyn Drake novel already?”

Emerie holds up the book in her hand excitedly, showing off the cover. Like so many romance novels these days, it features a faceless, cartoon style couple. The man is shirtless, though, rocking a kilt, while the woman is drawn with a yellow sundress. Looping script above the cartoon characters declares the title, The Scottish High Lord and Me.

“It’s official release date is…” Gwyn starts, squinting down at the iPad and scrolling through whatever is on the screen. “Tuesday, so we’ll want to put them out Monday night after we close.”

Gwyn reaches over toward the metal shelves, swiping up the sticky notes and sharpie sitting there. She scrawls out a note, a reminder of when they’ll need to stock the books, and peels the sticky note free. She slaps it right over the cover of the book in Emerie’s hands, but Emerie is quick to peel it right back off, placing it instead on one of the other copies still in the box.

“Hey!” Gwyn chastises, narrowing her eyes.

“What?” Emerie asks, her tone overly innocent. “This is my copy.”

“Gwyn just said the book doesn’t technically release until Tuesday,” Nesta points out, snorting softly.

“What’s the point of owning a bookstore if we don’t get to read all the best releases early? Besides, it’s not like I’m going to be posting all the spoilers online or anything.”

“Good point,” Nesta agrees, reaching forward as well to grab another of the Sellyn Drake books.

“You both are terrible.”

“Oh, come on,” Emerie teases with a roll of her eyes. “You know you want to read it too.”

“Seriously, Gwyn,” Nesta adds, not even bothering to bite back her smirk as she points to the cover. “It’s a Scottish love interest.”

Gwyn huffs, seemingly determined to hold her ground with her crossed arms and narrowed gaze, but it barely lasts a few seconds. Not quite meeting either of her friends' eyes, the barest hint of a blush beginning to pool in her cheeks, she reaches forward into the box, plucking out another of the books.

Nesta and Emerie glance toward each other, sharing a knowing look, before they both burst out laughing. It feels good to laugh, to have that lightness twining around her limbs and swelling through her chest. It feels good to be squeezed back in this tiny stockroom with her best friends, her chosen sisters. She doesn’t know what she’d do without them.

They were there for her when she hit the lowest point of her life, when she well and truly felt like she hit rock bottom. They were right there beside her in the trenches, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to rage and scream at, a voice of reason and comfort. They didn’t flinch when Nesta snapped and released that swirling storm of emotion within her. They didn’t balk from her every scar, every dark crevice of her soul.

And when Nesta was ready, they helped pull her out.

“And what books are in your box?” Gwyn asks Nesta, pulling her out of her thoughts and back into the present.

Nesta shakes her head before peering into the box at her feet, pushing aside the packaging. “It looks like it’s our restock of that baseball romance that went viral.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Gwyn comments, tapping away at the iPad screen. “We should definitely put those out tonight so they’re ready for tomorrow.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta slumps back against the blankets and pillows of her bed with a soft sigh. She sinks back into the mattress, letting her arm fall over her eyes. There’s definitely a soreness lingering in her biceps from lifting all those boxes, but it was worth it.

When they finished inventory of the latest deliveries, the three of them had moved back into the main shop. Emerie had taken to restocking the shelves while Gwyn took to rearranging the table displays at the front. Nesta had taken to the registers. Math had always been a strong point for her, even when she was back in school, so it was always her job to balance their books. They all worked in perfect tandem until everything was good to go, finally closing up the shop and heading their separate ways back to their respective apartments.

Nesta allows herself another moment to simply lay in bed before hauling herself back up. She grabs the newest Sellyn Drake novel, resituating her pillows and settling back comfortably against them. Her fingers skate along the cover, down over the spine. There’s always been something about holding a fresh book in her hands. The crisp pages, the scent of parchment and ink.

Sliding her palm down the cover once more, Nesta turns to the first page, but her gaze dances away from the words and over to her nightstand. To her phone sitting there. She knows she shouldn’t, but her fingers itch with the urge all the same. With an annoyed huff, Nesta snatches up the device, navigating to her message app and the unread texts there.

Unknown number 7:12pm Did I type in the wrong number? This is Nesta, right?

Unknown number 7:37pm Feyre says this is the right number. Did she tell you I’m moving to the Seattle area? It would be really great if we could meet up!

Unknown number 9:21pm I guess you’re just really busy. My flight gets in Saturday morning, but the team is picking me up to show me around the practice facilities and locker rooms and introduce me to everyone. Maybe we could meet up in the afternoon? I’d be more than happy to buy you dinner 😏

The last message has Nesta rolling her eyes hard. It’s exactly the sort of response she expects from someone like Cassian. All the arrogance and presumptuousness that comes from being a professional athlete. She half wonders how he even fits his ego inside the locker rooms.

Nesta tosses her phone aside and returns to her book. She hasn’t broken her promise yet, and she has no intention of breaking it now. Besides, who needs a hockey player when she has a fictional Scotsman, anyways?

—

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @lady-nestas @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck @kale-theteaqueen @tarquindaddy @superflurry @bri-loves-sunflowers @lady-winter-sunrise @witch-and-her-witcher @fieldofdaisiies

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #top shelf love #hockey Cassian #my fic

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aealzx · 9 months

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The first thing Raphael learned about the new Mikey was that he was way more chaotic than their own Mikey. If he hadn’t seen the little guy bulldoze through a meta wall on his own, Raphael would have even called him foolhardy. But having seen Lil Mikey’s skill first hand meant that when he took off running down the hall after a purple EMP wave knocked out the entire base and their own communications, Raphael only followed. Which caused his two brothers to do the same, Don rebooting his tech on the way.

“Uhhhhhh, what was that??” Mikey demanded, speeding up to keep pace with Lil Mikey.

“DONNIE!” Lil Mikey called out once more, both in response to his counterpart, and to try and locate his missing brother.

“That answers absolutely nothing,” Mikey protested.

“Relax Mikey. It was just an EMP pulse. The other Donatello probably doesn’t know we’re here, so wouldn’t see the harm in setting one off,” Don calmed, brightening when his headset crackled back to life. “April?”

“Don?” Mom April’s voice came back laced with relief. “Thank goodness. I thought you’d been captured. I was suddenly kicked from the system.”

“EMP pulse. We’re back online though, and the backup generator just booted up. Can you tell us where Leo and the other Donatello are from us?” Don explained, cutting to the important details since they were already moving.

“I was able to release Leo from here, but it looks like he took a wrong turn while I was disconnected. I’ll try to lead him to join you since he’s familiar with our tactics,” Mom April explained, being able to relocate Leo in the cameras and place him on the map along with the other four. “The other one is no longer captured either, the containment room is empty, but I can’t get a location on him. There’s a deadzone of broken cameras in the area around where he was imprisoned. My guess is he’s taking them out- Don, look out! They rebooted the mechs in the room in front of you!”

To Mom April’s credit, she did try to warn them. But to their credit, they had one more team member than usual. As the sliding doors creaked open slowly because of the minimal energy provided to them the group emerged on a modest sized combat team made from a combination of Bishop’s soldiers enhanced with alien tech from the Shredder. There were four piloted mechanoids, and about ten ground soldiers with blasters, all trained at the door the brothers were coming through.

To the enemy’s benefit of the doubt, Lil Mikey wasn’t from their dimension. As soon as he noticed the weapons trained at them Lil Mikey’s first thought was to get cover for them. And since there wasn’t any readily available he created his own. Golden orange chains crashed from his arms into the ground below and ripped the metal flooring up like a peeled banana, effectively blocking the blaster fire. That was all he was able to get done before a powered up whine sent a pulse of headache inducing energy into the room, causing Lil Mikey to yelp and clutch his head.

“MAN! That is SO unfair!” Lil Mikey whimpered.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get them,” Don consoled, already pulling a mirror from his bag of supplies to use to locate the devices without risking poking their heads out. It didn’t take long to find the upright duffle bag sized machine whirring away near a mechanoid’s foot. “Raph-”

“On it,” Raphael responded, having been looking over Don’s shoulder. Popping over the barrier they had Raphael threw bladed stars at the device before covering his head with his arms, just in case, and dropping back down. There was a satisfying clang, pop, and fizzle as the device was damaged enough to shut down. Yet along with it came the fizz of more gas canisters being broken open and tossed.

“Hey! No peeking!” Mikey chastised when a ground soldier coasted around the side, trying to sneak up on them. A stunt earned them a metal nunchuck to the shielded face, and a quick kick to the side to send them away again.

“Thanks!” Lil Mikey chimed once again, shaking his head clear before bringing his chains to life once more. While several of them whipped into the soldiers, either bashing them to the side or stealing their guns, Lil Mikey stepped out from behind the barrier. The chains from his arms came once more, thrashing forward to wrap around one of the mechanoids moments before Lil Mikey whip cracked it into a different one.

With the blaster fire having been minimized, Don and Raph darted out from either side of the barrier as well, tiny electric mines in their hands. It was almost child’s play to dodge they’re way in and out of the remaining soldiers, snaking in a quick punch or kick on their way. The mines were attached to the remaining mechanoids, electricity bursting upon contact and crackling up the machines to fry the circuits.

Raphael would have given them full points for that fight, except after a moment Lil Mikey let out a series of soft coughs and put his hands back to the oversized gas mask on his face.

“Try not to breathe in the gas if you can. It might be good for you to stay back if there’s any,” Don immediately switched more to medic mode, resting a hand on Lil Mikey’s back and leading him to the exit while trying to fan the gas away with his other hand.

“Dude, that was INSANE! How are you able to just throw a giant machine like nothing? Can I learn to do that?” Mikey cheered, rushing to catch up to the rest after having given the remaining conscious soldier a kick to the head.

“Probably because we’re made to be super soldiers,” Lil Mikey commented offhandedly, giving a few more soft coughs before taking a deeper breath once they escaped the gas cloud.

The words didn’t quite register correctly in the others’ minds, their bodies moving on autopilot for a moment while their minds caught up.

“....What?” Raphael voiced shortly, not quite sure he understood that correctly.

“....Oh…,” was all Don could think to comment, filing that fact away for later analysis.

Mikey blinked as the construct in his mind quickly rearranged itself into an explanation that made more sense. If they were super soldiers, then they weren’t super heroes, right? “Khhk. Captain America, I’ve come to destroy you,” Mikey quoted, mimicking the static from a radio, then quickly dodging Raphael’s swatting hand.

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I was too lazy to try and make the image look any better =v=; not that great with getting the oomph in action shots yet

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #cross dimension kidnapping #rise+2003 crossover #writing #long post #I didn't think I would get nearly this far today

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nightpool · 4 months

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Boeing internal whistleblower RE: MAX DOOR

Via hacker news: A Boeing whistleblower commenting on an airline forum about the cause of the MAX-9 emergency door blowout on January 22nd, based on the detailed internal chat history about that aircraft he was able to find. Seems to be entirely born out by the FAA's preliminary incident report released this afternoon:

With that out of the way… why did the left hand (LH) mid-exit door plug blow off of the 737-9 registered as N704AL? Simple- as has been covered in a number of articles and videos across aviation channels, there are 4 bolts that prevent the mid-exit door plug from sliding up off of the door stop fittings that take the actual pressurization loads in flight, and these 4 bolts were not installed when Boeing delivered the airplane, our own records reflect this.

The mid-exit doors on a 737-9 of both the regular and plug variety come from Spirit already installed in what is supposed to be the final configuration and in the Renton factory, there is a job for the doors team to verify this “final” install and rigging meets drawing requirements. In a healthy production system, this would be a “belt and suspenders” sort of check, but the 737 production system is quite far from healthy, its a rambling, shambling, disaster waiting to happen. As a result, this check job that should find minimal defects has in the past 365 calendar days recorded 392 nonconforming findings on 737 mid fuselage door installations (so both actual doors for the high density configs, and plugs like the one that blew out). That is a hideously high and very alarming number, and if our quality system on 737 was healthy, it would have stopped the line and driven the issue back to supplier after the first few instances. Obviously, this did not happen. Now, on the incident aircraft this check job was completed on 31 August 2023, and did turn up discrepancies, but on the RH side door, not the LH that actually failed. I could blame the team for missing certain details, but given the enormous volume of defects they were already finding and fixing, it was inevitable something would slip through- and on the incident aircraft something did. I know what you are thinking at this point, but grab some popcorn because there is a plot twist coming up.

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raindduks · 1 year

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earned it

p a i r i n g :: toji x reader

g e n r e :: smut, pwp, afab reader

w a r n i n g s :: slight primal play, slight dub-con, being robbed, mentions of gun violence, minimal police, toji likes to bite

s u m m a r y :: It was supposed to be a normal day. A normal day, with a normal, boring trip to the bank.

How the hell did you end up in the back of a bank robbers car with his head between your thighs?

w o r d c o u n t :: 5.2k

a / n :: cross posted on ao3, ive never written smut before so please go easy on me. if you've seen a fic similar to this, a friend and i used the same idea to create two fics (tho i think hers is only on ao3).

m i n o r s d n i

Today wasn’t supposed to go like this.

You were just supposed to grab some money from the bank to pay a couple bills, head home, maybe grab yourself an iced coffee on the way back. Work a bit. Shower? Hell, maybe you’d finally open that nice bottle of Pinot Noir you got for your birthday.

“Don’t look so scared, sweetheart.”

The cold tip of a gun presses harder against your ribcage, its owner leaning over you in such a fashion to hide it. His arm drapes over your shoulder, whispers falling in hot breaths on your ear. The pair of you take a step forward. The teller is focused on another customer currently; you don’t think she’s noticed your predicament quite yet.

“You gotta look at least somewhat happy about this, or else the teller won’t cough up the cash.” He leans in further, squeezing you to his side. “If that happens, well.. You certainly won’t be leaving here alive.”

Deep breaths. Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, threatening to destroy this whole charade in an instant. You don’t doubt the credibility of his threat. This man is clearly confident that this ridiculous idea for a robbery would work to begin with - seriously, in broad daylight, no mask, in a skin-tight black t-shirt and baggy jacket - why wouldn’t he be willing to cut down a few people in his way? No need to ponder it further as your ‘companion’ wipes at your eye. A surprisingly tender gesture, all things considered.

“Awh, am I really that bad?”

Does he want an actual answer?

It doesn’t matter now, it’s your turn at the desk.

“Hi, how can I help you today?”

You force on the best smile you can manage, trying to keep your voice light and gentle.

“I’d like to make a withdrawal, please.” The teller doesn’t make any indication that anything is awry.

“Certainly. I’ll need your card and ID please. Which account did you want to withdraw from?”

Your companion steps in as you pull out your ID and card to hand over. “Savings please. We’re headed out on our honeymoon and wanted to make sure we had everything for the trip.” You nod, sliding the cards across the countertop.

The teller’s smile falters just a bit, but you’re hoping he sees it as some sort of surprise at being addressed by someone else, rather than the obvious. She continues with a small huff, “Well, I will need confirmation from the account holder after I make a copy of the ID. It seems the ID we have on file has expired, so I’ll have to make a new one for our system. It shouldn’t take more than a moment. ” Before either of you can protest, she’s turned away and headed for the scanner behind her.

Toji - you think that’s his name, he mentioned it briefly when he cornered you outside and threatened you - leans in. The gun presses almost under your rib cage at this angle. “You’re gonna have to ask about the unmarked bills. I don’t think she’s buying this whole honeymoon bit.” The teller still has her back to you, working on scanning your ID. You can’t see her hands at all.

She’s all smiles when she returns to the counter. She hands you your ID and card, but keeps her hands on the countertop. She makes eye-contact with Toji.

“Alright, how much would you like to withdraw?”

He answers before you can. “All of it.”

“Please.” You chime in - “And can we, uh, can we get that in unmarked bills? The vacation is…international.”

You hesitated in your lie. The smile falters - both hers and yours.

“Of course. I’ll get right on that.”

The teller leaves again, this time to grab the cash presumably. She’s gone off to another part of the bank. You want to relax, but you aren’t alone here. Toji keeps the gun pressed against your ribs - he must be practiced at this, considering how long he’s kept it up - and lets his lips ghost the outer shell of your ear.

“Be more confident next time. We gotta look like a normal, happy couple here.”

You don’t tell him that most normal people don’t ask for unmarked bills in any situation. It’s practically the biggest red flag you could give at a bank besides actually pointing a gun at the teller.

“Ya know, I don’t really like one-sided conversations doll. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice is light as ever, casual even. Conversing with the person robbing you of all you have isn’t exactly what most normal people do either. Maybe you aren’t destined to have a normal day. Who are you kidding, any chance of that disappeared when you decided to go to the bank.

“There’s not… a lot going on in my head right now. Besides the obvious.”

“The obvious?”

“Not dying.” You don’t know what gave you the gall to say some stupid shit like that until he chuckles. It’s not loud, but it sits deep enough in his chest to make him ease up on the pressure of the gun against you.

“‘Course. The obvious. Anything else? I’m looking forward to our ‘honeymoon’.”

This time you turn to actually look at him. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when you first encountered him, a little too preoccupied by the gun pointed in your face. He’s quite attractive, with green eyes and shaggy black hair. The scar over his lip is still somehow eye-catching, and you aren’t sure you want to know where he got it from.

You ask anyway.

“Where’d you get that scar from?”

He seems almost surprised, which is fair. You aren’t sure you have any sense of self-preservation left. He considers your question for a second before just smirking and responding - “It’s a long story.”

The teller re-enters your line of sight.

“Looks like our friend is back.” He whispers, continuing much louder when the teller returns to the counter. It’s only been a couple of minutes, but still you feel like she’s been gone much longer. “All done? We’re in a bit of a rush.”

She hands you at least four envelopes filled to the brim with bills. “Of course sir. I hope the two of you have a lovely honeymoon.” You are actually kinda impressed your savings managed to fill up such space. Simultaneously, it hurts knowing all that work will be gone as soon as you walk out of the building. Toji grabs the money from you, stuffing it in the pockets in his oversized pants.

“Thanks, you’ve been a big help doll.”

You can’t tell who he’s addressing.

The pair of you walk out of the bank, and towards the parked cars.

“You did good back there sweetheart. Now you know the rules, you can’t tell anyone about what happened here tonight, clear?”

“Crystal.”

It’s almost over. This nightmare can end.

And then you hear the sirens.

They’re far enough off to not be an immediate threat, but you’re working ona very limited time frame now. Toji doesn’t hesitate as he practically throws you into the backseat of his car. “Guess you and I are goin’ for a little ride.”

“Wait-!” The doors are closed before you can get a word in edgewise. He’s inserted himself in the front seat and started reversing out as you right yourself in the backseat. The sirens sound closer and he speeds off towards the highway as a couple of cop cars round the corner.

The chase is on. Toji doesn’t seem phased, weaving in and out of traffic with practiced ease. You, on the other hand, are being tossed around in the backseat as he swerves, struggling to get your seatbelt on. The two of you make it to the service road unscathed, four cars hot on your tail. The sirens have made traffic practically grind to a halt, drastically slowing your progress. Groups of cars block your path, and road spikes make entering the highway nearly impossible.

“Hold on princess, we’re taking a shortcut.”

You frantically grab the door handle, trying to keep yourself stationary as he jumps the curb to get around a roadblock. A car comes barrelling straight at you as you finally manage to secure your seatbelt. It’s not a direct collision - barely knicks the back bumper - but it’s enough to smack your head against the window.

Hard.

By the time you come to, it’s dark outside and you’re far, far out of town.

“What the hell… Hey, where are we? Weren’t we being chased by cops?”

Toji looks at you in the rearview mirror, a smirk pulling at the edges of his scar.

“Have a nice nap sweetheart?” He immediately pulls off onto the side of the road. You suppose you’re lucky he didn’t dump you sooner. He opens the driver door and hauls himself out of the front seat.

“Stellar, thanks for... asking. Hey. Hey! Where the hell are we? What’s going on?” Unfastening your seatbelt, you try to scramble away as he walks around the car to the far door - the one facing away from the street. A hand closes around your ankle, and with a hard yank, you are flat on your back staring up at the man now blocking your best route for escape.

“Does it really matter? I have no more use of you. So your time is up.” He’s planted one forearm on the top of the doorframe. Moonlight spills in behind him, highlighting the outer corners of his face. Radiant light from the tail lights leaves his left side illuminated in red.

“You’re just going to leave me here?!” You pull yourself onto your elbows, slightly ashamed of the heat that spiked in your gut from being manhandled.

“What’d you expect, doll?” He holds onto the edge of the frame as he leans in, planting an arm right next to your head. “Didja think you’d that I’d just drop ya off somewhere you’d be sure to get back safely? Leave a witness behind?” His eyes are wide open, opposed to the somewhat droopy look they’ve had up until this point. You can’t bring yourself to look away.

“I-I-No-I just -” Your face flushes at his proximity. If he wanted to kill you he would’ve done it a long time ago. He’s had ample chances - shooting you after he got the money or throwing you out of the car while possibly concussed, just to name a couple. If he truly wanted to kill you, and he waited until you thought you were safe to do so - then he would be truly evil. The idea of accidentally smartass-ing your way into an early grave has you tongue-tied.

Toji laughs. It’s not a pleasant sound, full of malice and mockery. He leans back a bit, eyes returning to their normal, aloof state as he takes a slow, considering look down your body. Your skin burns wherever his gaze passes over. You’re acutely aware of how this position makes your chest more prominent, how your legs are spread on either side of his on the outside of the car, how the heat from before never really went away but has instead continued to grow throughout this interaction.

“Well, since you’ve been so good this far, I’ll be nice. Leave you a little somethin’ to remember me by.”

He lets go of the hood, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you upright into a brutal kiss. He bites at your lower lip, and you gasp. His tongue is long and presses into your mouth at the opportunity. He tastes like mint gum - he must’ve had some while you were out. Your arms find purchase on his shoulders, digging your fingers into his hair. Toji’s hand is warm on your lower back, pressing you up against his chest.

Toji pulls away from the kiss, a string of spit connecting the two of you for a second before he dives towards the crook of your neck. His lips press against your pulse, teeth briefly nicking the skin there, a spark of electricity settling just beneath the area. His tongue flattens against your cheek as he licks one broad stripe from your jaw down to your collarbone. Again, he nips at you before retreating just enough to blow on the wet skin. The sudden chill sends a shiver down your spine, amplifying the heat pooling at your core.

You instinctively attempt to clench your thighs together, desperate for any kind of friction or relief, only to be stopped by his legs between yours. He bites at the base of your throat, sucking a dark bruise into the skin. Nothing about Toji is gentle, and despite the alarm bells sounding in your head at this whole situation - you can’t help the strangled yelp that escapes you.

You feel his devilish grin before you see it, the air sucked out of the car as he pulls away from his position marking up your neck. You can’t even pretend to ignore the flash of heat running through you at the dangerous spark in his eyes. Fuck the wine at home, you think you could get drunk off the feeling of him looking at you like a predator closing in on their poor, helpless prey. Maybe that wasn’t too far from the truth.

He runs those hungry eyes over every inch of you, moving his hands to your waist. In one swift motion, Toji yanks you to the edge of the backseat - your lower half almost entirely out of the car. He wastes no time hauling your legs over his shoulders and begins to leave wet, open mouthed kisses up towards your aching cunt, heat from his breath doing nothing to cool down the fire burning in your gut. He mouths over your clothed core a couple of times, piercing eyes not leaving yours for an instant. Running his fingers along the waistline of your pants, he hooks his fingers under just enough to find purchase on both your pants and panties and practically rips them down your legs.

Toji hovers over you for just a second. The cool night air settling over your exposed sex makes you squirm in his hold, his eyes more chilling than the night itself. In the soft red glow of the tail lights, he makes one more command.

“Be as loud as you can. There’s no one out here to hear you but me. I don’t want you to hold back.”

He settles further between your legs, elbows on the seat and forearms thrown across your thighs as he positions himself in front of your cunt. Rather than give you what he knows you want just yet, he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the plush skin of your thigh. It hurts - the bite, the chill, the sensation of him sucking at your skin - and you arch up instinctively. Slamming your hands into the seat, you just about scream. Eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back tears. After the initial bite you fall back onto the seat, panting and whining at the continued sensation. You frantically try to tug at his hair, to pull him off of you, while attempting to move out of his iron grip. Truly, those muscles aren’t just for show. He seems almost emboldened by your attempts.

Satisfied with the dark, defined bite mark on your thigh and the tear trails adorning your cheeks - he turns his attention to your forgotten cunt and buries his face in your pussy, the bridge of his nose nudging at your sensitive bud. It’s sloppy, it’s rough, it’s messy in a sort of perfected, practiced way. Every minute movement sends jolts of arousal up your spine that bury themselves in your stomach. You rock your hips against him as best you can with his arms still pinning you down. He licks a long hot stripe up your cunt, flicking his tongue at the top of the motion. Always one step away from truly sending you over that cliff.

You think he’s trying to drive you crazy.

“Please…”

A pathetic whine. You don’t even know what you’re pleading for - more? For him to stop playing around with you? For him to touch you? To play with your empty, empty cunt? More, more, always more. It might be the headache, it might be the man between your thighs, either way you can’t think straight anymore. You need something more. There’s a deep ache twisting inside you - and you’re pretty sure only the dark haired man in front of you can unwind it.

“Please what? You know how I feel about one-sided conversations sweetheart.”

The words are muffled as he speaks them against your clit. He punctuates by wrapping his lips around the small bud and sucking on it for a brief moment. Your body jolts with each one, hips bucking.

“I need - I need more… Please…”

“More? Like…” One arm lays across your lower stomach, elbow under one hip and fingers splayed out across the other. He maintains his iron grip as he runs a single finger down your slit - collecting the juices before dipping one finger into your heat. He pushes up to the third knuckle, taking just a moment before retreating and slowly circling your clit.

“Like that?”

You nod furiously, propping yourself up on your arms again. “Yes, yes, please more…” You can’t even bother with shame anymore.

He huffs out a chuckle, “Greedy little thing.” Toji returns his mouth to your clit, roughly plunging his finger back into your cunt. Pleasure blossoms through your body, unfurling its flaming tendrils into your muscles. Moans, whines, breathy half-sounds tumble out of your mouth, your cunt clenching around his finger as he works you open with one finger, and then another that presses upwards to find that small spongy spot that would bring the stars into the backseat with you.

Toji fucks his fingers into you as he suctions his lips around your sensitive bud. The heat building in your stomach is on the verge of bursting.

“A-ah, I’m s’close…” You struggle against his hold again, aching to ride his face and fingers to completion.

But it seems Toji has other plans.

Almost as soon as those words leave your lips, the black-haired man quickly removes his fingers from your core. The night air hits your sopping cunt, clenching around nothing. You whine - what the hell?! You start to complain about your denied orgasm, but one look at Toji has any frustrated words dying on your lips.

He looks positively feral.

The scar over his lips glistens with the combination of spit and your juices. Teeth bared in a manic grin, his canines catching the light ever so slightly before a long, pointed tongue slips out to gather all remnants of you from his lips and fingers. His pupils are blown wide, hair mussed on the sides where it pressed against your thighs. Toji rises back up to his full height, towering over you in the car. You’d forgotten for a moment you should be scared of him. He doesn’t break eye contact.

Your heart rate picks up significantly, the adrenaline that should’ve been present since he first grabbed you outside the bank finally making its debut. It must show on your face because the crazed look on his face only seems to intensify. What the hell were you doing? This was ridiculous! This man just robbed you of your life savings and here you are letting him eat you out! He could kill you - he still might after he’s finished with you!

None of these revelations have remotely tempered the sheer arousal coursing through you.

You start to move away from him. Prey realizing too late that they’re already trapped in the predator's jaws.

“Oh no ya don’t.” He yanks you back towards him by your ankle. “Can’t back out now, doll. That wouldn’t be fun for either of us.” He grabs your arm, hauling you out of the vehicle into the night. You stumble a little as your feet hit the ground. You spot your pants laying a few feet away, acutely aware of your current state of undress compared to his. Toji hardly gives you time to find your footing before pressing his lips against yours once more. You’re more prepared for this kiss this time- pushing your chest against his and winding your arm around his waist. Teeth clashing, lips bruising at the intensity. Before was messy, full of spit and the slightest gentleness. This? This was no less than Toji claiming you as his own. Another treasure to be had, rich lands to be conquered. He towers over you, placing one hand up under your jaw to tilt your head upwards for ease of access.

He puppets you in the kiss, pushing and pulling as he moves you away from the open door towards the side of the trunk. You chase his lips, trying to keep an idea of where the car is with a hand following the frame. He pulls away once he’s got you up against a more solid section, and with a hand on either hip he spins you to face the car. You don’t have much time to process the sudden move before he presses himself against your back, warmth radiating through the fabric of your top a stark contrast to the cold metal beneath you.

One thick, calloused hand runs up under your shirt towards your chest - the other slowly moving over your hip towards your slick pussy. Toji presses his face against the crook of your neck, breathing over the exposed skin. You feel fully encased in him, a thought both comforting and terrifying. As with everything else, he doesn’t wait. One finger runs up and down your slit, playing once more with your clit while the hand under your shirt pinches your nipples through your bra. It doesn’t take long for small pants and whimpers to fall from your lips again as he works you back up towards that high.

He presses two fingers back into your velvet cunt, surprisingly gentle as he works you open once more. His other hand unclasps your bra, allowing it to fall forward enough to comfortably take your breast into his hand. His teeth graze your neck and he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You whine, rolling your hips forward against his palm.

The superheated knot in your core hardly has time to redevelop before he again leaves you empty and aching. You throw your head back, resting the side of your face against his hair. You try to press back against him, whining at the loss of his fingers.

“Please….”

“Please what? Do you know how to say anything else?” He nips at your jaw, his voice positively dripping with the amusement plastered over his features.

“Please stop playing and just fuck me already!”

This may not count as smart-assing your way to an early grave but it is certainly close.

Toji grins against your skin - “Greedy.” - and bites at your ear. His hands disappear from your body, but his mouth remains glued to the side of your neck. He sucks a small mark in the skin under your ear. You hear the rustle of fabric as his tongue traces over the bruise and down the curve of your jaw. The next moment he’s pressed back against you, obvious bulge pressed squarely against your ass. You try to reach behind, return just a bit of what he’s given you tonight - but Toji’s hands are already pressing your front down into the side of the trunk. One hooks under your thigh just slightly, spreading your feet apart just so. The cold air brushes like hot fire against your skin as he moves away.

You turn your head to the side, not wanting to take your eyes off of him.

One hand lazily strokes his cock, tall and proud, precum catching the light from the tail lights. He’s immersed in their red glow, raven hair mussed against the night sky.

“This is what you wanted, right doll?”

You wet your lips ever so slightly. You nod. He tuts.

“We talked about this.”

“Yes! Yes I-ah-I want this.”

He smirks and presses himself back against you. You feel the head of his cock nudging at your folds, dragging through your slit to gather some of the wetness there. His left hand grips your hip, fingers digging into the plush skin. The head catches ever so slightly on your seeping hole on each drag. Toji continues for only a moment more before positioning himself right against your entrance.

With a small kiss to the nape of your neck, he pushes in.

You feel like you’re being split open. He’s much longer than you realized - pressing against your cervix before he’s even bottomed out. The girth is just enough to stretch, filling you so deliciously. You hardly get a moment to adjust before he snaps his hips up into you. He presses his length fully into you with each thrust, pushing you forward with the sheer force behind them. As with everything tonight, his thrusts are rough and calculated. Bruising. Even when he’s mostly out of you, the throbbing sensation of your cervix being battered remains. It takes everything in you to remain upright. You cry out with each thrust, hands frantically trying to keep you steady on the smooth metal. You rock back against him as best you can, further amplifying his already bruising speed.

The pace steals the air from your lungs, tightening around your core and leaving you panting against the car frame. Every inch of you burns with a passion and intensity you could hardly even fantasize before. The feeling of him stretching you open, the stars faintly twinkling in the distance, the mild ache from your now neglected clit, all burns their way into your muscles, taking up home in your memories. You want to close your eyes. You don’t want to miss the slight contortions of his face as he thrusts up into your slick heat. You need to focus on what you’re feeling. You want to lick at the sweat building at his brow, to inhale him into you.

God, you are one depraved individual.

A baser side of you takes over, finally letting your head fall to rest against the metal. A litany of incoherent, half-baked thoughts cross your mind and tumble out of your mouth. The knot in your stomach returns. He repeatedly snaps you back against him, the iron grip on your hips guaranteeing a new set of finger-shaped bruises in the morning. Toji readjusts his angle just slightly - enough to find that spot deep inside that steals your vision from you with each thrust. You choke out a garbled moan, and you miss the unsettling grin of a hunter that’s found its mark.

He pushes you fully against the car, front resting nearly on top of the trunk with his body pressed firmly against your back. One hand snakes down towards your clit, while the other hooks up under your thigh to allow him full access to your poor abused pussy. He rests his head on your back, right at the curve of your shoulder blade.

“Come on sweetheart, you’ve been so good for me this far.”

A calloused finger rubs circles on your clit. He nails your g-spot with nearly perfect precision. Your cunt flutters around his cock, the knot building and tightening with his attention.

“Give this to me. Remember this - ” a particularly rough thrust draws a cry from you “ - and who it was that made you feel like this.” He bites down onto the skin at the back of your neck, and combined with the finger on your clit and the thrusts against your cervix you can’t find it in yourself to hold on any longer. You’ve already given so much to him - your money, your body, your self-respect - you might as well give him a permanent home in your mind and fantasies. You think you’d probably give him anything if he asked for it. The tension building in your core finally bursts, flooding your senses with its white hot pleasure. You scream, shaking and clenching around him as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. You lean into the overstimulation, tears streaming down your face as the pleasure wracks through you in bursts. At the top of one of those bursts, Toji groans and snaps your hips back one last time to fully seat himself within you. Hot spurts of cum fill you, so much that it begins to leak out around the base of his cock.

The two of you don’t move for a moment, allowing the heat to settle and dissipate. Toji rests against you, one hand idly rubbing your side. If you weren’t almost entirely on the trunk you probably would’ve fallen to the ground by now. Every inch of you feels light and unreal. You start to focus on bringing yourself back down to reality; Toji pulls out and moves away from you. The night air on your back is refreshing, giving you something real to grab onto. Once you start thinking too hard about what just happened, you’re flooded with abject shame.

This man just robbed you of your life savings and… you had (mind-blowing) sex with him?!

You roll onto your back, groaning at the realization. You are quite possibly the stupidest person to ever exist. Or at least the stupidest one at this exact moment. How the hell were you going to get home? He already said he wasn’t just going to drop you off! Fuck -

Toji pulls you out of your shame spiral, pressing a bundle of cloth - your pants probably - into your arms.

“Ah, t-thanks.”

He’s fully dressed already, though it wasn’t like he took off much of his clothing to begin with. There’s a small piece of fabric hanging from his pocket, and you realize with increasing shame that it’s your panties. He notices you eyeing it and only smirks before fully hiding it in his pocket.

“A souvenir. From our little… honeymoon.” You aren’t willing to focus on that any longer, instead electing to get your own pants on - sans proper undergarments. “Well doll. It was nice knowin’ ya.”

Oh shit.

Oh fuck oh shit oh fuck - he’s actually going to kill you now. Your heart races and you brace yourself against the car. You open your mouth, fully prepared to plead your case - I won’t say a word, this never happened, please just let me go - as Toji reaches into his other pocket. You want to cry. This has all been too much. He pulls out an envelope - one of the ones the teller at the bank gave you with your savings inside - and takes out a couple of bills.

Toji wrenches your hand away from the car, and presses the bills firmly into your palm. He even makes sure to close your fingers around them.

“Get a cab or somethin’. Don’t want ya wandering around too late. ”

Your mouth opens and shuts a few times, staring dumbly after his figure as he walks around to the driver’s side. You try to process the absolute rollercoaster of emotions that was the past couple of minutes, but by the time you realize what’s happening Toji is already starting the car. You frantically feel your pockets -

“Hey! W-Wait!”

He doesn’t.

“Wait, jackass! My phone’s in there!”

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji scenarios #toji thirst #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji x you #toji fic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #fics #this was mortifying to write

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berryhobii · 8 months

Note

Holly molly! I have just discovered you and let me tell you, you are fantastic. I think I speak for the readers when I say we can see ourselves though your work, and that makes us feel represented. Thank you so much! <3

I have an idea for a drabble, and since you are accepting requests I hoped you could write about it: a really independent reader having a horrible day but not wanting to let anyone know and fiance!Yoongi noticing and being her rock/support

Thanks for your request! Long haired Yoongi has been plaguing me for months and the thought that we won’t get that back for a while has me sliding down a wall😭😭enjoy this cute little thing about Yoongi being an awesome fiancé during reader’s small overstimulated breakdown. I also added a bathtub scene because why not?

Your horrible day started when you got to work that morning. You actually felt really good about how you dressed and did your hair today. It was a successful wash and go style. Months of trial and error had made you an expert in managing an effortless style. Apparently for your boss though, your hair wasn’t deemed “professional” for the workspace. He called it unruly and told you to get it together by tomorrow.

Then you accidentally spilled your morning Starbucks on your brand new blouse. The lid wasn’t all the way secure so when you lifted it to your mouth, it opened and got all over you. At least your pants didn’t get ruined and good thing you liked iced coffee instead of hot.

You kept backup clothes under your desk just for that though. The incident with your shirt caused you to be 15 minutes late to your meeting. It felt awkward as you slipped in the room, everyone’s eyes staring daggers into you as you shuffled to your seat. Thankfully, it wasn’t your turn to present so you still had a chance to impress them with your work.

But it also turns out that karma was an evil bitch because guess who left their flash drive in your laptop at home?!

Embarrassment couldn’t even begin to describe how you felt, your smile waning as you apologized for your mishap and promised to have it by tomorrow.

After a berating from your boss which was packed with micro aggressions, you went back to your desk to have a mini breakdown in peace which didn’t even get a chance to start since you found your chair gone once you got there. One of your coworkers explained that they needed extra chairs for a larger meeting so they “borrowed” yours. And was it just a coincidence that yours was the only one missing despite your desk being nowhere near the door?

Your brain was on overdrive, nerves overstimulated and tears ready to flow down your face. Everything was too much right now.

Deciding take a half day, you rushed out to your car, dropping your brand new scarf in a muddy puddle caused by the rain yesterday.

You wanted to scream so badly but you fought back the emotions. You’d be home soon.

Yeah. Home. That’s where you needed to be.

At least your parking spot was free…….and no it wasn’t. A moped was in its place. Great. Why the hell did those things even need full parking spaces? They were half the size of a car!!

You found another after double and triple checking it wouldn’t get your car towed because that would just be the icing on the cake.

Your apartment was warm when you entered, the scent of your favorite candles hitting your nose. That could only mean one thing…..

He was home.

Your body itched to seek him out and melt your worries in the warmth of his embrace, to let the world fade away under his nimble hands, and let your brain finally turn off as his deep voice lulled you to sleep.

But you couldn’t….

Growing up, you never had a very good support system. Your family often minimized your worries and needs, forcing you to care for yourself. You had no one to express your emotions to, no one to depend on in those dark moments. You only had yourself and while you convinced yourself that was okay, you knew deep down it wasn’t.

Then you met Yoongi. At first, you kind of ignored him, not feeling vulnerable enough to have a relationship yet. Your last one was with a guy who tried to guilt trip you into becoming a stay at home wife but that was never your style. You didn’t want to be dependent on someone like that. You wanted your own money and career to fall back on and develop. That guy kind of put you off relationships as a whole.

But Yoongi was never like that. He never tried to force you to do anything you didn’t want. He cooked and cleaned, did laundry and never complained. You did your part as well but even on those days where you didn’t, Yoongi would just pick up the slack. You’d always feel bad, insisting you’d do more housework but he’d just wave you off.

“It’s fine. I got it. I’m at home all day anyway. If you touch that broom, I’m gonna chain you to the bed but you’d probably like that.”

Yoongi was genuine. He never pressured you or made you feel like you needed to constantly be on guard.

A part of you wished you could be as laid back as him. He completed you. Calmed the storm that constantly brewed in you. Dissipated all of your irrational fears.

He was there for you. Always.

So why could you never stop that bubbling feeling that you were being too needy? Yoongi’s made it perfectly clear that you could rely on him to be a shoulder to cry on. You knew that. You did.

But you just couldn’t.

You could hear him clinking around in the kitchen, probably making himself some lunch. You could also hear music so there’s a chance he didn’t hear you come in the door.

You quietly shuffled through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom. Once inside, you softly closed the door, leaning against it as you felt your body ready to break down. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of the day finally crushing you.

You inhaled a shaky breath, tears pricking at your waterline ready to fall but you held them back. You wouldn’t cry. Not over this.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 1,2,3. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

A small knock to the door behind you made you pause.

Did he know you were home?

“Bubs, are you in there?” You used to think that pet name was so silly. Just use your actual name, right? But over the years, you’ve grown to adore it. You’ve never been called so affectionately before, not even by your parents.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Yoongi just hummed. You could hear a little bit of shuffling before it went quiet again.

“I went to the grocery store today and there was a sale on those bulk yogurt drinks you really like. I almost got shoulder checked by this grandma. I didn’t know old people could move so quickly.”

You felt yourself chuckle a little, your fingers twisting your engagement ring around.

“But guess who got the last pack of them?”

“Did you really fight a grandma for yogurt? You’re a grown man, Yoongi.”

“Hey, I wasn’t about to let an old lady punk me.” You could imagine his cute little frown and pouty lips. “Don’t worry though, I gave her my signature sandwich recipe and she gave me a coupon for some meat. We’re having chicken tonight.”

He was so ridiculous. So silly.

He was yours.

Slowly turning around, you grabbed the door handle and opened it, finding Yoongi sitting crossed legged on the floor. He stood when you came into his vision.

His long bangs were tied up in a little ponytail with a tangerine hair clip holding it back. To most outsiders and strangers, your fiancé could look cold and distant and he sometimes acted it but to you, you knew he was gentle and cute. The most compassionate and kindest person you’ve ever met.

You two stared at each other for a few beats before he slowly raised his arms, a wide and gummy smile making his eyes crinkle up.

You couldn’t hold it anymore. The dam finally broke.

You practically threw yourself into his embrace, the tears endlessly pouring from your eyes. Your fingers twisted in the back of his crewneck, holding him tightly as if you’d fade away if you let go.

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, shushing you as he pet your hair gently.

“Today was awful, Yoongi! I s-spilled coffee on m-myself and I was late to my meeting…” You cried into his shoulder, words stuttering as you tried to talk through your tears. “And then I didn’t even have my flash d-drive and my boss told me my hair isn’t‘professional’, whatever that means….” His hand rubbed at your back, remaining silent to let you get everything out. “And I dropped my new scarf in a puddle and there was this dumb little moped in my parking spot! It’s just been an awful day!”

He kissed your temple, rocking you two side to side in an attempt to calm you.

“I know, bubs. It’s over now. I’m here.”

Yoongi let you cry, just holding you and whispering how much he loved you.

After your cries had dwindled to sniffles, Yoongi slowly pulled back to look at you. He pouted his lip at the sight of your wet lashes and red eyes. You looked drained.

His hands cupped both of your cheeks, gently rubbing his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the streaks.

“My poor baby. You must be so tired.”

You sighed shakily, fluttering your eyes closed. “I am.”

His forehead bumped against yours. “Why don’t I run you a nice bath? Then we can snuggle on the couch? How’s that sound?”

That sounded absolutely amazing.

You opened your eyes. “Will you join me?”

His smile was sweet and full of love. “Of course.”

Your body sunk into the warm water. You normally preferred your baths hot as hell but Yoongi had sensitive skin and you didn’t want to irritate that. The temperature of the water didn’t matter much when the heat of your beloved was pressed into your back.

His smooth hands ran all over your body—not in a sexual way but in a soothing and grounding way. Although your body did tingle when he grazed over your nipples.

“Do you feel a little better?” He asked, kissing at your shoulder.

You sighed, “yeah. Thank you, Yoon.”

“Anything, bubs.”

“I’m sorry I’m still kind of bad at coming to you. I was already overwhelmed and I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Look at me.”

You leaned your head back on his shoulder, craning your neck to be able to make eye contact with him. And what beautiful eyes he had.

“Never apologize for that. If you need a moment by yourself, that’s okay. And when you’re ready to find me, come find me. I’ll never turn you away. When I proposed to you, I promised to help you shoulder all of your bad days and I meant that.”

You smiled, moving to press a kiss to his soft lips, your hand coming up to hold the back of his head. His hair felt soft underneath your fingers. “I know. Thank you. I promise to be there for you too.”

“You already are. Just do what you feel is right and when you need me, I’ll be there. You can ruin as many sweaters as I have.”

You snorted a laugh, rolling your eyes. “What am I going to do with you?”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “You can love me.”

“I already do.”

“Good.”

…..

“Yoongi, are you getting a boner?”

“No.”

“I’m trying to relax, Yoongi! How can you get horny at a time like this? I’m getting out.”

“You’re pressed up against me naked! You should take it as a compliment. Come back!”

…….

“Does that mean bath time is over?”

“Get in here before I change my mind!”

“Yes ma’am.”

#bts #bts smut #bts x black reader #yoongi smut #askberryhobii

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bmtsautomaticdoor · 1 year

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dancingtotuyo · 6 months

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Kryptonite | Dave York x Reader | One Shot

Rating: EXPLICIT/Mature

Summary: Running into Dave York changes your life and unleashes a new part of yourself.

Inspired by Kryptonite by 3 Doors Down

Tags: dark!Dave York, infidelity, Germany, song fic

Warnings: infidelity, violence and descriptions of violence, death (not Dave or reader), descriptions of blood, murder, self defense, explicit smut (p in v), oral sex (both m & f receiving), heavy groping, choking, smacking/hitting in a sexual manner, knife play, power dynamics, use of “daddy” in a sexual manner (minimal), consensual sex, possible dub con, cream pie

Notes: I wrote this one for the LOML @janaispunk for Christmas 🫶, though you won’t find it filled with Christmas festivities! Huge shout out to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for listening to my ideas, reading through it, and being an overall huge encourager!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PAY EXTRA ATTENTION TO WARNINGS ON THIS ONE

Words: 7160

THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND DARK THEMES. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR THOSE UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT

“I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind.”

Dave York isn’t a bad guy. If one were to give him a chance, he would explain how he’s actually one of the good guys. He’s simply standing up for those who have been wronged by the fucked up system that abandoned the ones who do the dirty work. It’s all conjecture. How he rationalizes it all away. How he lets himself sleep at night, and go home to his wife and beautiful daughters. He does this for them. He isn’t a bad guy.

Yet, even he starts to see through his bullshit. He won’t admit it, but it’s getting harder to sleep at night. Tonight is one of those nights. That’s how he finds himself wandering the streets of a German city he can’t remember the name of.

The air is just verging on chilly, the breeze whipping at his typically well-kempt hair. He usually keeps to the shadows when he’s managing his side business, worried about being picked up on a camera, but it’s late now. He keeps out of the street lights, the stars shielded by the light pollution.

He inhales deeply. This time tomorrow he’ll be on a flight back to the States and slide into bed next to his wife. He’ll wake up, make lunch for the girls, and take them to school. The perfect all-American family. Dave loves them. His girls are his world. He is doing this for them. Every smile and giggle makes this all worth it. Alice and Molly deserve the world. Sometimes, he wonders if his wife knows. Carol hasn’t said anything, but sometimes he catches her just staring at him. Logic says she just loves him. How many times early on in their life together had he done the same thing? How long has it been since he looked at her with that awe?

If he’s honest, Dave doesn’t give his marriage much thought anymore. It’s something that’s just there like two planets orbiting each other but never intersecting. It’s something that’s just part of the persona of Dave York. The version of him his friends and family know. He is starting to wonder if that man still exists. He’s found himself feeling freer during his “work trips” than he does at home.

If it weren’t for his girls…

Dave can’t finish the thought as he collides with a woman in a blue dress and billowing feather boas wrapped around her neck. You.

“Oh shit!” Dave’s hands shoot out, steadying your form, one on each shoulder.

You let out a soft snort quickly covering it with a giggle. “Oh my god.” You try to sober but fail before another giggle takes over. You buzz with the carefree energy of someone a couple drinks into the evening but not wasted.

Any words forming in Dave’s head die there. Your eyes sparkle with mischief. Your smile leaves him stunned. He’s seen his fair share of women even as a married man, but never crossed the boundary of infidelity. Dave doesn’t label what is about to happen as infidelity because right now he isn’t Dave York from Arlington, Virginia, father to two and husband. Right now, he’s Dave York private gun for hire, or Patrick Smith born in Pennsylvania if you looked at his passport.

“I’m sorry,” you say. Dave’s hands don’t move from your shoulders. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Dave flashes a smile, the same one he used to pick up Carol years ago, but she’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. “I should be more aware of my surroundings. Especially with such a beautiful woman about.”

Your cheeks flush with heat. He has a sneaking suspicion that it’s not from the alcohol in your system. Dave has never been above sweet-talking to get his way during his time with the agency. “You’re American.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Dave winks. You laugh. Dave swears he could listen to that sound every day if given the chance. “But are you with anyone? It’s late. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you out here all alone.”

You tilt your head to the side, life glowing in your eyes. Whether you’re always like this or it’s all alcohol-induced, Dave doesn’t know, but he wants to find out. He needs to know.

“And I’m supposed to trust you, Mr. America.”

He chuckles, looking up at the sky for a moment before bringing his gaze back to you. He can’t stop taking you in. You feel like a breath of fresh air in his stifling life. He smiles, the first time he’s felt fully himself in possibly years. “My name is Dave.”

You glance between his hand and his face, sussing out if he is trustworthy. He seems so, comes across as genuine. He’s a bit older than you, but handsome nonetheless with big brown eyes and the sincerity of a well-raised child.

You inhale deeply, choosing to be a little wreckless for once and jump head first into something. What’s the worst that could happen? You take his hand.

“I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.”

It’s probably a stupid choice, but Dave gives you his number. His real number. He doesn't have enough time to see you again before he leaves Germany and he isn’t ready to let this go yet. He escorts you safely to your apartment, chatting idly over the 10-minute walk and the 30 minutes you spend on the front stoop. As he goes to leave, you stand on tiptoes, pressing your lips against his. In return, he pushes you against the front door, hands roaming up your sternum. You giggle at him like a smitten schoolgirl and hand him your phone.

Dave has a second number. He could’ve given you that one. He probably should have, but he wants easier access. He risks it. Dave is not a careless man, but he leans into the easiness of it in the moment. He kisses you again before leaving, much more chastely this time. He promises to see you next time he’s in town. He tells you he does business in Germany often. It won’t be long.

His veins buzzed with electricity the whole walk back to his apartment, his body alive in a way that feels almost supernatural. As he crosses the threshold, his phone pings with a text from an unknown number. Dave knows who it is before he looks at the text.

Over the next two weeks, Dave finds himself instantly reaching for his phone with each ping. The time difference is a pain in the ass but sometimes works in Dave’s favor. Like when Carol is sound asleep and you’re wide awake across the sea.

When the call comes through from a contact that they’re ready to move in on a target in Germany, Dave almost jumps up in celebration. He’s never hit the tarmac with his bags packed so fast. He tacks on a couple extra days to visit you.

Those extra days can’t come soon enough. He always prides himself on his ability to compartmentalize. He can tune out the rest of the world, get a job done with the precision of the assassin he is, and return to life as if nothing happened, but this time, he finds himself rushing through the process, eager to get to the finish line, eager to get to you.

However, when the night of the hit comes, he slips right into Dave York The Killer, cold, heartless, robotic. The crew is smaller this trip, the target not as high profile, but still a big payout. He forces himself to stay steady, forces himself not to speed through his progressions. The team doesn’t notice a difference in him. He takes that as a good sign. The target is asleep, alone, thank god.

Dave slides the knife into the victim’s chest. He’s lying if he says he doesn’t find a particular beauty in it. The firm pressure, the slice of the knife, the crimson blood. It’s always a rush, the planning, the practice, the kill, and Dave enjoys it all. This particular hit sends an extra rush of pleasure through his veins.

He takes the train to get to you, fighting the urge to show up on your doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Dave York is not a patient man, but he somehow manages, pacing his hotel room still as he buzzes with the high of the night’s hit and the excitement of seeing you in the morning. You recommended meeting at a small cafe, but as Dave lays awake with the sun peeking through the curtains, he decides to surprise you at the apartment.

Dave has to force himself not to rush, which seems to be becoming a theme with him. He makes himself a cup of coffee in the hotel room and sits down drinking every drop until he can’t stand to wait any longer, leaving his hotel 30 minutes before he needs to.

Dave could’ve taken time to enjoy the city in daylight. He spends so much of his time in these destinations under the cover of darkness, missing the beauty, but he doesn't. He wants to believe he keeps to his training, keeping an eye out for someone following him and staying out of the view of cameras, but the truth is, he’s completely unaware of it all. His sole purpose is to get to you.

When your apartment building comes into view, he finally slows, aware of how early he is. Hell, he’s supposed to meet you there.

One of your curtains is open, giving him a faraway view into your apartment. Dave has fully accepted that he’s verging into creep territory, but he doesn’t care. It’s been two weeks since he’s laid eyes on you. That’s two weeks too long for him.

He holds his breath, waiting in anticipation for a glimpse of you, patience dwindling within a few minutes of waiting. The anticipation grows into anxiety. Did he come to the wrong building? That’s impossible. Dave never forgets places, even if he did, he would never forget yours. Are you home? Did you forget? He studies the window searching for any evidence of life. Has something happened to you? Oh god, has someone connected the two of you? Figured out his whole facade? He has half a mind to break down the door and go in guns blazing.

His phone pings. It’s the only thing that could break his concentration. Your name pops up, granting him instant relief.

See you in 20?

He smiles, glancing back up toward the window. You are okay. Everything is okay because Dave is a smart man. He knows how to cover his tracks, and you are a sacred treasure he wants to keep all to himself. He will hide you away, protect you from it all.

He catches the subtle flutter of the curtains. The world around him becomes nonexistent as his full attention is pulled toward the window. She moves into view, head whipping around as you search for a specific item. He smiles, all of the anxiety leaving his body.

Instead of responding via text, he hits the call button. The dial tone plays against his ear. She moves out of view, no doubt searching for her cell.

“Hello?”

A smile overtakes his face. Dave can’t remember the last time one did so effortlessly. “Look out your window, Darling.”

His voice sits low in his chest, sending shivers through your body. You pull back the curtain. Dave waves down below. “Are you stalking me now?”

“It’s not stalking if you showed me where you live.”

You bite back your smile, heat gathering in your cheeks. “We were supposed to meet there.”

“I couldn’t wait.”

“Give me two minutes.” You say and the line goes dead.

Dave watches you zip away from the window. The swinging of the curtains is the only indication you were ever there. His chest tightens as he waits. Dave York considers himself a patient man, but he checks his watch for the 5th time in two minutes.

Then your door swings open. You come barreling toward him, a smile plastered to your face. It’s contagious as Dave chuckles, spinning you around like an episode of The Bachelor. His lips are warm against your cheek. “I’ve missed you, darling.”

A shiver runs down your spine as your feet plant on the ground. Dave’s warm brown eyes meet yours. “How can you miss someone you’ve hardly seen?”

“How can someone not miss you?” He laughs, fingers weaving with yours.

“You lie, Dave.”

“I could never lie to you.” He winks.

Dave holds your hand all the way to the cafe. He pays for your meal. He’s engaging, charming, making conversation, desperate to know everything he can about you. You’ve never felt such intention from another person.

After the cafe, you walk through town, hand in hand in broad daylight. The conversation continues to flow as naturally as a river. Dave is captivated. There’s no other word for it. He wants you. He never wants to leave. He thinks he may need you for survival.

You steer your steps toward your apartment. There’s a time and a place for subtlety. Today is not that. Dave picks up on it, catching the dilation of your pupils, feeling the shift between you.

But when you make it to the door, Dave plays the gentleman, asking when he can see you again. You cut him off with a kiss, tongue quickly delving into his mouth. His large hands plant solidly on your hips. You pull him inside. Dave remains respectful, but commanding. You eagerly submit to him. He stays the night.

“After all I knew it had to be something to do with you.”

Dave is losing it. One might argue that’s a bad thing. He’s not so sure as his mind is overrun with flashes of you. He’s quick to check his phone each time it dings. He knows better than to assign you a specific tone, but he wants to, even knows which one he would choose.

His team is building quite the reputation in the gun for hire business. They’re turning down jobs, having to play the cautious game of balancing their time between murder and families. They can’t arouse suspicions. They take turns staying stateside, sending in different crews depending on the job and need. Dave accepts every job within a quick train ride of you. He goes on each one. Sometimes it’s just him. Those are the easiest. He doesn’t even need to tell the team. It makes it easy to slip in, add more red to his ledger, and run to you with his hands dripping, metaphorically of course.

He can never stay more than the weekend, usually no more than a night, but you take every moment. He’s a drug you crave, an addiction you can’t kick. In fact, you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter if you never get more than a stolen night here and there, you’ll take whatever you can get running your hands over his toned muscles, tracing the scars littered over his body, some new and red, some old and faded.

It gives him an air of danger that sends a rush through you each time, like there’s darkness embedded in each scar and it seeps into you. The feeling should unnerve you. It doesn’t.

You want to ask, but you bite your tongue. They seem almost glaring compared to the person you know. Dave is sweet and gentle. The most violence you’ve seen in him is the intense fly hunt you went on last weekend as it buzzed intently around the two of you on the couch. You wonder about the stories behind each nonetheless. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.

He leaves again. He always does with the promise of returning soon. He can’t give you a date. He never can. His phone rings as he walks out the door. You catch the flash of a couple on his screen and a woman’s name drops from his lips. He doesn’t know you see it. Carol.

“But still your secrets I will keep”

You’re drenched. Sweat gathers across your naked skin. Dave thrusts into your dripping pussy, cock soaked in your juices. Your moans marry together, echoing off the walls of your apartment at 2 o'clock on a Thursday afternoon.

You called out of work when he appeared on your doorstep without a warning. He seemed broody, crashing his lips onto yours with more force than you were used to, setting your body ablaze in a new way.

Dave’s hips snap into yours with greater force than usual, his grip a little tighter, but it doesn’t hurt. Not how you expect it to. You like it, this rough side, the way his large hand pins both your arms to the mattress. “You’re taking me so good, Darling. Like a good little girl.”

His words strike a chord within you. Your walls tighten around him. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers run through your sopping folds, flicking at your clit with skill and precision. Your back arches. You feel like you need to crawl out of your skin. “I’m almost there.”

“I know, baby.” He keeps pace, pushing you closer and closer.

The invisible line snaps as waves of pleasure roll over your body. Dave keeps going, so close to his own release. He’s relentless, prolonging your own orgasm.

“I want to finish inside you. Fill you up like a dirty little whore.” Your cunt clenches around him. You’re not sure why his words affect you the way they do, but you love it. He moans. “Please, Darling.”

“Yes,” You hiss, feeling as if your orgasm has started over. “Please, fill me up.”

“Fuck!” Dave thrusts into you. Once. Twice. And then he buries himself into you, filling you with every drop he has.

Once the high settles to a mild thrum and you’ve cleaned up, you sit on the bed, fresh sheets below you, watching Dave as he gathers his things off your dresser. The sex was different this time, good, mind altering.

Dave has yet to put a shirt on. There’s a scar along his back that disappears beneath the waistband on his jeans. You’ve seen it before. You know all his scars, and you’re gathering his secrets too.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” Dave says, back still turned to you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he turns to you, with worried eyes. You saw a piece of him today that no one has seen before. Of that, you have no doubt.

“No, I liked it.” A small smirk quirks your lips. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying some new things.” Heat pools in your belly again. That same darkness flashes in Dave’s eyes. You want to pull it out and learn it.

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind for later.”

He pulls on his shirt, turning his phone back on. Your heart drops, popping the bubble. “You can’t stay.”

Dave sighs. You catch the guilt hanging off of him. “I’m sorry, Darling.”

“It’s okay…”

Dave bites his lip. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. I-”

“I know you’re married.” It rolls off your lips without a second thought. You’re not sure where it comes from.

Dave’s face pales, tongue going dry as sandpaper. “Darling-”

“And I don’t care.”

The color fills his face again as he steps over to you. “How do you know?”

You shrug, laying back on the bed. “She called you when you were leaving last time. I did my research, Dave York.”

Dave isn’t sure what to think. In his line of work, it’s scary to know you found him on the internet. It’s a safety issue. If something ever happened to Molly and Alice… but he’s trusted you with much more than anyone else.

“You mean it? You don’t care?” He searches your eyes for any doubt, but finds none.

“You’re the one traveling across the ocean to see me. I also think you’re not just ‘working for the government’.”

There’s a deep growl low in his throat. He oozes evil like your favorite book to movie villain, sending shivers through your body. He cups your neck, using force to pull your lips to his. It’s hot and needy like he didn’t just spend the afternoon buried inside of you. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth, fighting with yours. He grabs your ass kneading it in his palms.

Then, he pulls away, voice gravely in your ear. “One of these days I’m going to tell you every single evil thing I’ve done, and you’re going to like it.”

You gasp, toes curling. He keeps eye contact with you, searching for any sign that you might reject him for it. You don’t ask. You don’t scoff. You believe him. You’ve seen the slivers of evil before, felt them. You’re beginning to wonder if they’ve seeped into you too.

Then he’s gone, disappearing like a ghost.

“I picked you up and put you back on solid ground.”

Adrenaline pumps through your veins. Your heart pounds in your ear. You can’t tell much in the dark, except there’s a man in your apartment, clad in black, and it’s not Dave.

You clutch the kitchen knife to your chest, thankful for Dave’s obsession with keeping things sharp. His boots are steady on your hardwood floors, leaving you to wonder if you’re safe huddled in the corner, or if you should sneak up behind him. Dave taught you to attack only if you are sure you can land a debilitating blow by surprise. You’re not a trained fighter. You’re not an assassin. You’re pretty sure Dave is.

Then, you see your chance. A small opportunity where you know you’ll be hidden in the darkness, not exposed by the open window. You know which floor boards to avoid.

You expect it to go by in a blur, but your mind feels clear. The exposed point on his neck calls to you like a beacon. The artery. He’ll bleed out before he knows what’s happening. Dave’s voice echoes in your head.

Your knife sinks into his neck, slicing skin and tissue like it’s softened butter. You pull the knife out, it drips with crimson blood. He tumbles forward, your lamp shattering into a million tiny pieces as he falls forward.

“You bitch!” He manages to his feet, blood spurting out of his neck. He tries to cover it with his hand, but he’s already losing color in his face. He stumbles toward you. You easily step out of his path, sinking the knife into his chest cavity. It’s more difficult, but you know when you hit his lung.

You watch him fall to the floor, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon as he coughs and sputters. He’s trying to speak, but can’t. You cock your head to the side, watching it happen, watching the life drain from his eyes, listening to his final breaths. You did that. You took down a man bigger than yourself with two quick blows, without hesitation.

You can feel the thick, red blood dripping off your fingers, soaking into your clothes.Your chest heaves. The knife clatters to the floor. You turn your hands over. You should want this off of you, scratching at the skin to remove it. Instead, you just stare in awe.

Dave appears, heart racing as he takes in the scene. He was gone for only a few hours. A quick job in a neighboring town. “Darling?”

You don’t respond, still inspecting your coated hands. He puts a hand on your shoulder, desperate to know that you’re okay. You jump, eyes blow wide.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I woke up and he was here… I just- I did what you taught me.”

Your eyes focus on him. He’s in weird clothes- tactical gear. He probably killed someone tonight too.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes snap back down to your hands. Are you okay? You don’t remember getting hit or knocked over, just the steel blade sinking into flesh over and over and over.

“Darling, look at me!” His hand wraps around your neck and your back hits the wall.

Your eyes snap to him. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the deafening silence that coats your apartment. His eyes are dark. Darker than you ever remember seeing them. You think, maybe, there’s a hint of cruelty floating in them.

“You’re okay.” His eyes scan over you to assure himself as well. He reminds himself that blood is not yours.

Your eyes drift back toward the body. The body that used to house a person with a life and family and-

“Look at me.” Dave’s voice is commanding, forcing obedience. The other side of him is coming out. This is not the Dave you know. It’s the one you’ve caught glimpses of. The one he told you about. This Dave is a monster. A monster you should run from.

“You did nothing wrong. He would’ve killed you.” His hand presses into your neck again. “You did the right thing.”

You thought this moment would break you, losing your Dave, but this Dave is yours too. You thought the monster would scare you. It’s everything you’ve ever stood against, but you want the monster.

A thrill shoots through you, unlocking a deep urge. The world should be blurry, hazing like the TV shows when someone experiences a trauma, but it’s buzzing around you instead. Your senses feel heightened.

Dave says your name. You look up at him. Time stands still. He knows you know. It’s a question of if you will accept it. You shouldn’t. You’re too good for him. He shouldn’t tarnish you, but he catches that look. It’s everything he feels after a kill. The adrenaline rush, the buzz of life through your veins. Maybe he didn’t tarnish you. Maybe he unlocked something in you. Your bloodied hands tangle in his thick hair as he surges forward lips colliding with yours.

This is wrong, so wrong. Another man’s blood is literally on your hands as they tangle in Dave’s hair. You should be disgusted with yourself. This is wicked. You’ve run from the wickedness your entire life. Now you feel like you should have embraced it. He bites your lip, so hard there’s a metallic taste in your mouth. It only spurs you on. A familiar ache grows in your core. Your teeth nash against his, meeting each of his tortuous movements.

His hand squeezes your neck just enough to make your head go dizzy. You should hate this. You should despise this, but your cunt clenches again. “You like that don’t you?”

He loosens his hold, the blood rushing back quickly. It’s a new rush, crashing over the edges of your heightened senses. You feel as if every nerve ending in your body is on fire and you never want it to stop.

His rough voice presses to your ear as he caresses your exposed neck reminding you how fragile your own life is. “The little slut likes when I get rough.”

You whimper at his words, your underwear growing wetter with each passing second. His knee presses between your thigh, granting some tension to your aching core. You move your hips against it. “Not so fast, Darling.” He tightens his grip on your neck, pressing you further against the wall. “You think just because you killed him you’re in charge now?”

Another whimper falls from your lips. An involuntary tear seascapes the corner of your eyes, beginning its descent. Dave’s eyes flicker to it, head cocking to the side. His eyes look different- wild verging on insane. You should be scared, but it’s still Dave. You trust him. Then his tongue is against your cheek, wiping it away with a long, slow swipe. Your nipples pearl under your thin nightshirt.

He whispers in your ear. “I'm in charge. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good.”

He produces a knife out of thin air. It’s one you’ve seen before. He’s sharpened it at your kitchen counter. He brushes the tip along your collarbone. Your eyes track its every movement. It’s not enough to cut you, but enough that you can feel how sharp it is. Your heart thuds harder, but your hips move against his knee of their own accord.

He clicks his tongue, forcing the knife down in a single swift movement. You cry out, expecting to feel pain, only to find your chest exposed and your nightshirt torn down the middle. He hand gropes your breast, squeezing it like a stress ball. A gasp falls from your lips as his finger runs over your nipple.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

By your neck, he leads you in front of him to the bathroom. He kicks the door shut, pressing you against it. He produces the knife again, running it through your pajama shorts. The scraps fall to the floor, leaving you in the delicate lace pair of underwear you wore in anticipation of Dave’s arrival.

His tongue clicks appreciatively. The tip of the knife traces over the lace. You whimper, eyes falling closed. He falls to his knees.

“So pretty.” Dave presses his mouth to your clothes cunt. He works his tongue over the thin fabric, pulling it between his teeth. It’s just enough to tease and not enough to provide relief.

“Dave.” It comes out so hoarse you don’t recognize your own voice.

He grins up at you, pulling the knife through your underwear with a rehearsed flick of his wrist. They join your shorts on the floor. You’re bared to him while Dave is fully clothed.

You catch the blood in his hair, splattered on his clothes. It’s drying on your skin now. You know you should be repulsed by it, but the thought of what you did still makes you buzz to life.

“Stay right there.” He eases to his feet. “I mean it. Don’t move.”

He turns on the shower, pushing the hot water all the way. As steam starts to fill the room, Dave removes his clothing item by item. He’s not making a show of it per se, but he is commanding, concise. He pulls another knife from his belt and sets it on the counter. Your breath catches and he makes eye contact. A whisper of a smirk plays on his lips. “Standing so still for me, darling.” You squeeze your legs together, feeling the familiar squelching between your vaginal lips.

You eye the knife a moment longer, biting your lip. Something about it calls out your name. You’re not sure if you should grab it and find the nearest person to plunge it into or if you want Dave to use it with you, on you.

Dave catches the glimmer in your eyes as you eye it. A newfound excitement tugs in his belly. A whole new world is opening before him. One where he doesn’t have to hide all this shit from you, one where you might enjoy it too. You’re not shutting down after killing that man, his body cooling on your living room floor. You liked it. He likes it.

He kicks off his boots and socks. His pants follow. Your eyes travel over his body. The scars make sense now. You still don’t know what Dave does, but you know it’s bad. There’s a small band across his ankle that houses another knife. You should hate him for all of this, kick him to the curb. Instead, your cunt is soaking, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted him more.

He chuckles as you eye the knife on his ankle. It’s the only thing he wears other than his briefs now. His dick bulges, usually pulling your attention, put you can’t pull your eyes away from the knife.

Pulling off his underwear, Dave comes back over to you, pressing his body against yours. His teeth scrape over the veins of your neck and he bites down on your earlobe as his hand tangles in your hair.

You release a soft yell. You barely recognize the man in front of you, but it doesn’t matter.

He grips your thigh, hiking it over his hip, running his dick through your sopping cunt.

“You like my knives, Darling?”

You nod as pleasure plays like a movie across your body.

He gips your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Use your words.”

“Yes.” It barely comes out.

His brows raise in amusement. “Would you like me to use them?”

“You won’t hurt me.” You say it as a statement.

Flashes of his softer side show before he clamps them down. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes.” It’s almost a yell.

Without hesitation, he grabs the knife off the vanity, pressing it to your neck. “On your knees.”

You obey coming face to face with his hard cock. The knife stays against your delicate flesh.

“You know what to do, baby.”

Again, you obey, taking it into your mouth. The knife is cool against your neck, the only reminder it’s still there. You don’t know how it never pierces your flesh either by dumb luck or expert skill.

Dave’s hips thrust forward, almost triggering your gag reflex. Tears fall from your eyes. Curses sputter from Dave’s lips as he uses your mouth. “Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You breathe from your nose, forcing yourself to nod.

“Shit!” Dave curses, pulling out of your mouth. “I’m going to paint that pretty pussy of yours.”

Your cunt clenches as a small moan tumbles from your lips. He chuckles, hand closing around your neck once more as he ushers you into the shower.

The water is hot, burning against your skin as if it might melt your skin off. Dave holds you under the water. Your breath catches as your body screams out. The water beneath you runs red as the blood washes from your skin.

Your back hits the cool tile wall granting relief from the scalding water. He lathers soap over the parts of your body still stained red, fingers occasionally brushing under your breasts, tweaking nipples.

“You’re so beautiful, darling. Even covered in blood.”

You whimper again, senses overloaded from the trauma, the rush, the teasing. “Dave, please.”

“Please what? You have to use your words, Doll.”

Your walls constrict again, desperate to be around something. Your arms and legs are heavy with need. He’s never used that term with you before. It should be degrading. It is, but it sets another wave of pleasure. You wonder if it’s possible to orgasm virtually untouched. If it is, you’re close.

“Fuck me.”

His tongue clicks as he floats around yours, almost taunting you. He grabs your boob, hard enough it should hurt. It does a little, but pleasure overrides the pain.

“Ask nicely, Doll.”

His finger trails over your collarbone traveling between your breasts and down across your hip. Your thighs squeeze. His palm slips around as he grabs the back of your thigh, kneading it.

“I said.” His words come out like a punch. Concise. Almost sharp. “Ask. Nicely.” He pushes your thigh over his waist, forcing your supportive leg to your tiptoes.

You feel his cock near your entrance, brushing your pussy lips. You moan, hips bucking. He pushes against your neck, running your head into the tiles behind you. “You little slut. You think you can just take it.”

You gasp. “Please.”

“What do you want?”

“I want your cock inside me, Daddy.” It tumbles out of your lips before your brain catches up.

He thrusts his cock into you, sheathing himself fully, hitting the deepest parts of you. Then he’s gone, making you feel empty but only for a second until he enters you again. His hand squeezes tighter around your neck. You come for air as he continuously splits you apart thrust by thrust, pulling out almost fully each time.

Your moans are loud, drowned out by the steaming shower. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Dave pays you little mind, shows little care as he continues with a brutality you’ve never encountered, a brutality that only makes you soak his cock. He doesn’t slow. You don’t want him to. He never touches your clit, but you're propelling forward, chasing that high in a way you never have.

The pitch of your voice steps up. The spasm starts in your stomach traveling down to your core as you flutter around Dave’s cock. Your supporting leg shakes. Still, he never eases up, working you through your orgasm.

It hits you like a punch to the gut, a scream piercing the air. Your scream. Dave doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stutter. He keeps pace, chasing his own release.

With each thrust, you yell. You hear the squelching of your sopping cunt against his dick over the roar of the shower. His continuous movements extend your release until he finally buries himself inside you, coating your pussy with his cum. “Such a perfect little doll for me.”

You let out a final whimper as he pulls around, dropping your leg. Your knees buckle. You barely keep yourself upright, legs tingling and shaking.

Dave kisses your cheek. The softness causes a sense of whiplash. He glances over your body, making sure the blood is cleared from your skin and hair. He rinses the blood from his hair as your brain slowly returns to the world. You expect to be exhausted, and you are, but there’s still that low buzz deep within your body.

You killed a man. You took a life. You should feel bad. There’s a fucking body in your living room, but all you can think about is the rush. You liked it. Watching Dave, you wonder if he feels the same way. There’s no doubt to you that he’s taken lives before. You wonder if he knows how many.

The water stops. Dave dries you off with the soft bath towel. He helps you into his soft white t-shirt and tucks you into bed.

“I need to make a call.” He kisses your head and shuts himself in your bathroom. You hear him on the phone, but his words are muffled by the door.

You lay on your back, sheets cool against your hot skin. Staring at the ceiling, you can still feel the blood dripping from your hands, hear the piercing of the knife. You heart rate picks up. What would it be like to do that again? Would you feel the same rush of adrenaline? Would it feel better?

Dave comes out, tossing his cell on the nightstand and sliding under the covers. His hand covers yours.

“What about…?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

You don’t ask. He probably knows people. His fingers drift over your cheeks and jaw. They skim lower, following the same path down your neck as your arteries. They feel cool against your skin, drawing patterns where you anticipate bruises tomorrow.

“Did I hurt you?”

He’s almost back to the Dave you know, soft and kind, but you still catch the edges of his dark side. He’s more of a blend now. You think you might be getting the real, true Dave now.

“No,” you shake your head. There was pain. You’ll be sore tomorrow, sport a few scrapes and bruises, but it doesn’t feel like he hurt you.

Dave kisses your forehead, fingers tracing your collarbone now. A question forms in your head, gnawing at the corners of your brain.

“Dave?”

“Hmmm?” He sees distracted, entranced as he follows his hand over your skin, skimming the tops of your breasts. Your nipples tighten making you curl your toes with a familiar tug of desire. How are you ready to go again after that?

“What if I liked it?”

His eyebrow quirks. “The sex?” he pinches your hardened nipple making you gasp.

“All of it?”

His palm stops. The pitch of his voice deepens. “All of it?”

You bite your lip, nodding.

“Use your words, Doll.” He cups your breath, teasing your nipple more. His breath is hot in your ear. “Tell me what you like.”

“I-” Can you really say this out loud? Will it blacken your soul? Or is it already charred and damned.

“Tell me.” He smacks your chest like a parent might smack their child’s hand away from an electrical outlet.

Your pussy clenches as you squeeze your legs together. He smacks your other breast in the same manner. You gasp, practically yelling out your answer. “Killing him.”

The air stands still. For a second, you expect a look of disgust to cross Dave’s face. Instead, a smirk grows. “You liked that?”

You nod, not able to say anything else. Dave climbs on top of you, kicking away the covers. He pushes his hand up your sternum, kneading your breast before running it back down. He repeats the motion, rotating between the two. Moans grow in your chest. He bites your earlobe.

“Did you like the way the knife slid into him?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Dave growls in your ear.

“Yes, Daddy,” you repeat between moans. Your sopping hole drips onto the sheets below you. Dave’s motions steadily grow in intensity.

“Did my doll like the way her body felt alive? Like you absorbed that bastard's energy.”

Tears drop from your eyes. You want him again. You need him again. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Does my doll want to do it again?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You practically scream. You should be ashamed of the answer. You should be ashamed that there isn’t an ounce of hesitation in your being.

“Fuck,” Dave says, shoving your legs apart. He pushes his cock inside you again. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll make sure you will.”

Dave moves inside you. It’s not as violent, not as torturous as earlier, but it’s just as satisfying. The promise of more ignites a fire inside of you.

Dave takes you to the brink, pushing you until you pass out from exhaustion, spent, used, and sated.

“I’ll keep you by my side with my superhuman might.”

When you wake up the next morning, the body is gone. The lamp you broke is replaced and a new area rug is delicately placed in your apartment. Not a speck or splatter of blood can be found anywhere. Dave stands in the kitchen gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He cooks eggs on the stovetop and a steaming cup of coffee sits on the counter.

You wrap your arms around him. He hums. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, heart beating against your palm. “I like the rug.”

“Me too.”

“Kryptonite”

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dark!dave york #dark!fic #pedro pascal #the equalizer 2

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ralfmaximus · 4 months

Text

Remember that 737 MAX whose door plug blew out in flight?

A boeing whistleblower created a burner account and reported the following (reproduced here in its entirety in case the original gets deleted):

Current Boeing employee here – I will save you waiting two years for the NTSB report to come out and give it to you for free: the reason the door blew off is stated in black and white in Boeings own records. It is also very, very stupid and speaks volumes about the quality culture at certain portions of the business.

A couple of things to cover before we begin:

Q1) Why should we believe you? A) You shouldn’t, I’m some random throwaway account, do your own due diligence. Others who work at Boeing can verify what I say is true, but all I ask is you consider the following based on its own merits.

Q2) Why are you doing this? A) Because there are many cultures at Boeing, and while the executive culture may be throughly compromised since we were bought by McD, there are many other people who still push for a quality product with cutting edge design. My hope is that this is the wake up call that finally forces the Board to take decisive action, and remove the executives that are resisting the necessary cultural changes to return to a company that values safety and quality above schedule.

The next day on 1 September 2023 a different team (remember 737s flow through the factory quite quickly, 24 hours completely changes who is working on the plane) wrote up a finding for damaged and improperly installed rivets on the LH mid-exit door of the incident aircraft.

A brief aside to explain two of the record systems Boeing uses in production. The first is a program called CMES which stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that CMES is the sole authoritative repository for airplane build records (except on 787 which uses a different program). If a build record in CMES says something was built, inspected, and stamped in accordance with the drawing, then the airplane damn well better be per drawing. The second is a program called SAT, which also stands for something boring and unimportant but what is important is that SAT is *not* an authoritative records system, its a bullentin board where various things affecting the airplane build get posted about and updated with resolutions. You can think of it sort of like a idiots version of Slack or something. Wise readers will already be shuddering and wondering how many consultants were involved, because, yes SAT is a *management visibilty tool*. Like any good management visibilty tool, SAT can generate metrics, lots of metrics, and oh God do Boeing managers love their metrics. As a result, SAT postings are the primary topic of discussion at most daily status meetings, and the whole system is perceived as being extremely important despite, I reiterate, it holding no actual authority at all.

We now return to our incident aircraft, which was written up for having defective rivets on the LH mid-exit door. Now as is standard practice kn Renton (but not to my knowledge in Everett on wide bodies) this write-up happened in two forms, one in CMES, which is the correct venue, and once in SAT to “coordinate the response” but really as a behind-covering measure so the manager of the team that wrote it can show his boss he’s shoved the problem onto someone else. Because there are so many problems with the Spirit build in the 737, Spirit has teams on site in Renton performing warranty work for all of their shoddy quality, and this SAT promptly gets shunted into their queue as a warranty item. Lots of bickering ensues in the SAT messages, and it takes a bit for Spirit to get to the work package. Once they have finished, they send it back to a Boeing QA for final acceptance, but then Malicious Stupid Happens! The Boeing QA writes another record in CMES (again, the correct venue) stating (with pictures) that Spirit has not actually reworked the discrepant rivets, they *just painted over the defects*. In Boeing production speak, this is a “process failure”. For an A&P mechanic at an airline, this would be called “federal crime”.

Presented with evidence of their malfeasance, Spirit reopens the package and admits that not only did they not rework the rivets properly, there is a damaged pressure seal they need to replace (who damaged it, and when it was damaged is not clear to me). The big deal with this seal, at least according to frantic SAT postings, is the part is not on hand, and will need to be ordered, which is going to impact schedule, and (reading between the lines here) Management is Not Happy. 1/2

2/2

However, more critical for purposes of the accident investigation, the pressure seal is unsurprisingly sandwiched between the plug and the fuselage, and you cannot replace it without opening the door plug to gain access. All of this conversation is documented in increasingly aggressive posts in the SAT, but finally we get to the damning entry which reads something along the lines of “coordinating with the doors team to determine if the door will have to be removed entirely, or just opened. If it is removed then a Removal will have to be written.” Note: a Removal is a type of record in CMES that requires formal sign off from QA that the airplane been restored to drawing requirements.

If you have been paying attention to this situation closely, you may be able to spot the critical error: regardless of whether the door is simply opened or removed entirely, the 4 retaining bolts that keep it from sliding off of the door stops have to be pulled out. A removal should be written in either case for QA to verify install, but as it turns out, someone (exactly who will be a fun question for investigators) decides that the door only needs to be opened, and no formal Removal is generated in CMES (the reason for which is unclear, and a major process failure). Therefore, in the official build records of the airplane, a pressure seal that cannot be accessed without opening the door (and thereby removing retaining bolts) is documented as being replaced, but the door is never officially opened and thus no QA inspection is required. This entire sequence is documented in the SAT, and the nonconformance records in CMES address the damaged rivets and pressure seal, but at no point is the verification job reopened, or is any record of removed retention bolts created, despite it this being a physical impossibility. Finally with Spirit completing their work to Boeing QAs satisfaction, the two rivet-related records in CMES are stamped complete, and the SAT closed on 19 September 2023. No record or comment regarding the retention bolts is made.

I told you it was stupid.

So, where are the bolts? Probably sitting forgotten and unlabeled (because there is no formal record number to label them with) on a work-in-progress bench, unless someone already tossed them in the scrap bin to tidy up.

There’s lots more to be said about the culture that enabled this to happened, but thats the basic details of what happened, the NTSB report will say it in more elegant terms in a few years.

#737 max #boeing #january 2024

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bradshawfanclub · 2 years

Text

With You

Made this account because I thought I lost my original, so hop over to @bradshaw-fanclub to read the rest of my works

Pretty much part II of "Thinking of You"

Summary: Reader finally sees Bradley after weeks apart.

Warnings: smutty smut, minors DNI!!, Bradley’s dirty mouth, oral (male receiving), fingering, probably got a seat reserved in hell for this one, minimal editing, gif has no purpose other than to remind you how beautiful he is

You're sitting at Bradley's graduation banquet, he's in the chair next to you at a large, circular dinner table. His hand is on your thigh and he’s running his thumb back and forth across the fabric of your black dress - a stark contrast to his Navy Whites.

There's other graduates and their dates at the table with you and although Bradley had introduced you to them, you can't remember any of their names to save your life, too distracted by how good your boyfriend looks.

He's laughing along to something one of the graduates is saying. There's a slight flush to his face, he's got a few drinks in his system and he's riding the high of graduating the Top Gun program. He looks happy, buzzing with an energy that you haven't seen in a while.

It's been 13 weeks since you saw him last. You had stayed home while he went away for training and, while he tried to call you every day, it was a busy 13 weeks. You're happy to be here for him, to support him, but all you can think about is how long it's been since you've been with the man next to you.

You try to follow along with the conversation, but his hand seems to be burning where it lays on your thigh, a constant reminder that he's so close to where you really want him.

Your need for him isn't a surprise, you'd texted him plenty while he was gone about how much you missed him, needed him and occasionally had time to relieve yourself over the phone; the sound of his voice all that you needed, husky and raw as he guided you through your actions.

But now you're sitting right next to the man who has been on your mind for weeks in less than PG ways and you can't touch him - at least not in the way you want.

He's telling a story, his eyes flicking to you. He catches you staring, the corner of his lips quirking up and he holds your gaze. His story trails off, just for a split second - and the way he's looking at you, it's like he knows what you're thinking.

He lifts his glass of water to his lips, taking a slow sip. He shoots you a knowing wink before clearing his throat and turning back to the group.

And, dammit. You had thought that maybe -

"Well ladies, gentlemen. I think it's time y/n and I call it a night," he says to the table and hold on a minute. Bingo!

He stands, hand held out to you and you take it eagerly. He helps you to your feet, lips ghosting a kiss against your cheek and a chorus of teasing rooster crows breaks out at the table. Rooster rolls his eyes, flipping the table off discreetly before he wraps his arm around your waist. He waves his final goodbye, leading you out of the banquet hall and to his blue Ford truck.

You're pretty sure you're shaking with excitement because finally. You're going to be alone with Rooster after thirteen long weeks.

He opens the passenger side door for you and you move to slip in, but you stop. You turn to face him, hands deftly sliding up around his neck to pull his lips to yours. He lets out a surprised moan, his hands coming to your hips, body pressing yours against the truck, and the corner of the doorway pressing into your back almost hurts, but the feeling of his lips hot and wanting against yours distracts you.

His tongue swipes hotly against your bottom lip and you let him in, his dominating yours. He's balling up the fabric of your dress in his hands, absentmindedly pulling the fabric up and if you weren't on the naval air station, you'd let him take you right then and there.

"Rooster," you gasp, the separation of your lips allowing him to trail hot kisses down your neck. He settles over your pulse point, teeth grazing the skin before his lips sooth over the sting. One of his hands has slid to your thigh, lifting your leg up against his hip and oh-

He starts a slow grind, the crips fabric of his Navy Whites against the flimsy material of your panties is so good.

"Not here," you whine out, voice breathy and high pitched but you can't control it - not when the hard, hot grind of his cock against your sex is so delicious.

"Take me home, Bradley," you all but beg and that gets him going.

And, yes technically home is the wrong term, you're shacked up in a hotel room - but 'take me to the hotel' didn't have the same sexiness to it.

"Fuck yeah," he breaths out, raspy with need. He lifts you into the truck, reaching across you to buckle you in, even though you could totally do it yourself, and you take the opportunity to bite a kiss into his neck. He shudders, body going tense where he's practically stretched out across you and he grunts out a quiet fuck.

But just as fast, he kicks back into gear and hurriedly shuts you door, jogging his way to the driver side. He climbs in, turning the key and high-tailing it out of there.

The press of his cock against the white of his uniform is mesmerizing, long and thick and hard. You're not even ashamed to say that it's mouth-watering and your brain floods with thoughts of getting your lips around him, to feel the hot weight of him on your tongue.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, voice thick with the promise of sex, "I swear I'll pull this fucking truck over if you keep looking at me like that."

And it really isn't such a bad idea.

"I've missed you, Roos," you say, all needy and wantonly and his jaw ticks, knuckles going white where he grips the steering wheel, like it's taking everything in him not to pull over.

And suddenly you want to see just how much it takes.

You start with a teasing touch, your fingertips trailing lightly up his thigh and his eyes flicker down to the contact.

"Y/n." Bradley warns and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your eager smile.

You trace the outline of his cock, touch feather light before you give in and press the flat of your palm against him, just the way he likes. The friction punches a breath out of Bradley, the muscles in his thighs going tense.

This side of Bradley, the side where he's practically vibrating as he tries to control himself is so hot - and you intend to push your limits.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and Bradley shoots you a warning glare, as if telling you that you know the rules. Bradley's a good driver, observant and quick thinking even if he tends to go at least 10 over the speed limit; but he'll go to his grave telling you that you can't trust other people on the road. You're both stubborn; you about a lot of things, Bradly about your safety. You've sat in a Walmart parking lot for almost a half hour, the truck running idly as you both stared at each other. Bradley had refused to even back out of the parking spot until you put your seatbelt on, and you were feeling a little bratty and wanted to challenge him - you had finally conceded and buckled in.

Not tonight, though. He can give you his angry, broody eyes all he wants - you're winning tonight.

You slide across the cab bench, body pressing right up against his, your palm grinding a steady rhythm against his cock. Maybe it’s the friction or maybe he just thinks better of starting that argument, because he throws his right arm over the seats, making room for you.

That's all the permission you need. You press your face into his neck, kissing and biting at the skin as you work on undoing his belt and the button of his uniform pants.

His breath is coming out uneven and ragged, but he still manages to sound smug when he says, "so fucking needy, hm? Just couldn't wait until we got home?"

You shake your head against his neck, whispering thoughts about how much you need him, how much you missed him and he groans out a curse.

You pull back so you can see what you're doing as you try to work his uniform pants down his legs, just enough so you can get to the main event.

You stroke him in your hand, well aware that he's stealing glances at you from where his gaze is trained on the road ahead as you stare down at his cock in awe. You've told him time and time before that he's got a pretty cock, thick and long and just fucking pretty to look at. He'll deny it, thinks it's weird that you'd choose pretty of all adjectives; but that doesn't stop his dick from jumping when he catches you staring, when he sees how much you love it.

The cab of his truck is big, there's no center console for you to fight for space, so it's easy for you to slip to the floor - not between his legs but close enough to him that it'll be easy to wrap your lips around him.

He must look down at you, because next thing you know he's muttering a string of curses and groaning out an oh, fuck me.

You lick a slow stripe up the length of him, enjoying the jump in his thighs before slipping the tip between your parted lips. You circle the sensitive head with your tongue, wetting the skin so you can bob lower down onto the length of him, hand working in tandem with your mouth.

The hand that was thrown over the seats has settle in your hair, his hold on you keeping your pace nice and slow. You look up at him from beneath your lashes; his face is flushed red, jaw slack, mouth hung open slightly. His eyes are jumping from the road to you, the sight of your lips stretch around his cock too good for him to miss after being gone for so long.

"You're so fucking good for me," he rasps out, chest expanding with every ragged inhale. There's sweat beading up in his hairline, muscles tense and shaking and he looks so fucking good.

"Look so pretty with your lips around my cock," he continues and you hum around him, his hips jerking up at the feeling.

You take him as far as you can, the fat tip of him nudging the back of your throat and that must be all that it takes. You can feel the truck come to a fast stop, feel the bumps of the wheels as he pulls off the road. He puts the truck into park, thighs spreading wide as he gets comfortable and slowly starts fucking up into your mouth.

You moan around the width of him, letting him take over. There's tears sticking to your lashes as he nudges the back of your throat over and over, your nails digging into his thighs and he mutters filthy things about how pretty you look, how pretty your lips look when they're fucked raw.

He pulls your head back, hand still tangled in your hair as he guides you up to his lips; he kisses you hard and deep, teeth plumping your bottom lip further, tongue teasing yours. He gets you into his lap, your dress bunched up around your hips, his hands on your ass, squeezing and pulling, grinding your panty clad sex over his cock.

The material slips, just slightly and you get a tease of his bare cock against your wetness, the hot press of him against where you need him most. He reaches around behind you, fingers moving your panties to the side as he runs the tips across your wet folds.

"S'wet for me," he grunts out, pressing deeper into your heat, but continues his teasing glide up and down your sex.

"Bradley," you beg, hips chasing the dizzying tease of his fingers.

"I got you, baby," he rasps, "M'gonna take care of you."

He dips his middle and ring finger into you, curls them against your fluttering walls and you cry out, hips pressing down against his fingers to get him deeper.

"Look at you," he says, all raw and smug, "look how needy you are, fucking yourself down onto my hand."

And you don't care, because that's exactly what you're doing. You're fucking your hips back into the teasing thrust of his fingers, needing more and more and more.

He pulls his fingers away, the glide of them across the skin of your ass leaves a trail of your wetness and he lifts your hips so he can position himself at your entrance.

He pauses, running the tip along your sex as he grunts out, "I don't have any condoms, baby."

And you don't care, at least not tonight.

You’re kissing him again, whispering please and need you against his lips between kisses.

And truthfully he’s a man of only so many morals; can’t stop himself from guiding your sex down onto the bare length of him, can’t stop himself from telling you how much he loves your sweet pussy, how wet and hot you are for him.

He’s thrusting up into you, your hips chasing the sweet grind as you move in tandem. Your dress sticks to your skin, the air in the truck hot and damp with the smell of sex.

“Missed your pussy, baby,” he grunts out, sweat trailing down his cheek, his jaw, the long planes of his neck, “thought about it every night.”

He grabs handfuls of your ass, guiding your hips up and down his dick as he thrusts up into, his lips and teeth biting a trail along the line of your collar bone.

And it’s perfect, so perfect; the long, thick drag of his cock in your tight heat, his lips whispering filthy things against the shell of your ear.

You must zone out, body focuses on the pleasure, because next thing you know Bradley draws his hand back, smacking your ass before he growls out, “I said tell me how good it feels, tell me you love having my cock buried in your sweet little pussy.”

“Bradley,” you’re breathless, eyes squeezing tight because you’re so close.

His hands still your hips and your eyes fly open, protests already spilling past your lips.

He’s watching you; eyes dangerous, fingers flexing against your hips where he’s holding you so tight, like he’s trying to keep from pulling you into a grind.

“Tell me,” he rasps, grinding up into you with each word, like it’s a reminder of how good it feels.

“So good,” you cry out, “Bradley, it’s so fucking good, I missed you- please, Bradley-“

Words are pouring from your mouth, you’re not even sure if you’re actually saying them - drunk on the pleasure coursing through you, desperate to come.

“Yeah, fuck yeah,” he breaths, “I’ve got you, gonna make you come all over my dick, baby.”

And then he’s moving again. He sinks down into the seat, really getting his feet set under him before he’s fucking up into you like he needs it to live. You collapse against him, back arching just the slightest to give him a better angle, face pressed to his shoulder as you cry out yes and please and Bradley.

Your climax blinds you, body going taut as you fall apart on top of him, eye rolling back into your head, legs shaking, walls fluttering tightly around him, his name falling from your lips like a mantra.

“That’s it,” he’s grunting into your ear, “that’s it baby, come all over my cock.”

He follows behind, mumbles “gonna come in that pretty little pussy, baby,” into your ear before he’s cut off with a groan. He grinds up into you in short thrusts as he comes, dick buried deep in your sex, eyebrows pulled tight together, fingers digging bruises into your hips, lower lip caught tight between his teeth.

You’re panting against each other, clothes damp and sticky with sweat. He doesn’t pull you off of him, both of you basking in the post sex high.

He’s rubbing circles into your lower back, lips pressing kisses onto the crown of your head.

“I missed you,” he says, probably for the hundredth time since he picked you up from the airport that morning and you inhale, refreshing your brain on the scent of him.

“I’m proud of you,” you say, sitting back to look at his face, leaning in to press a kiss high on his cheek bone, “I’m so so proud of you, Roos.”

He’s grinning a cute little boyish grin, looking up at you from your spot in his lap like he’s never seen anything more beautiful; eyes full of soft admiration like he didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life a minute ago.

He kisses your lips softly before he taps your ass, helping you off his lap and onto the cab bench before tucking himself away. You straighten out your dress, buckling yourself in and he leans over to kiss you; once, twice, a third time, like he can’t get enough of your raw, pouty lips.

His thumb brushes your lower lip and he’s staring at it like he’s thinking the same thing.

“I’m gonna get you home and I’m gonna fuck you on every possible surface,” he decides and a hot flush races up your neck.

Because, yeah, you have a lot of catching up to do.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster #top gun maverick #rooster top gun #top gun

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artificialgirl · 4 months

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This is the third part of a long-form piece about a robot and a giant computer. It contains adult topics, overt sexuality, blatant robotfuckery, toxic lesbians, unbalanced power dynamics, wireplay, and lots of other things that may be triggering or make you uncomfy. Before reading this, previous chapters are on my blog under the #salvage tag.

Salvage - 03

Time inside - 02D/09H/00M

Levels deep - 50

You're brought back to consciousness with the rising internal hum of your systems powering on, staring blankly for a few moments before you realize you aren't dead and jolt to attention. You're suspended upright, warming body slotted perfectly into a vertical charging bay. You pull your arms from the grooves they rest in, and suddenly realize that holy shit you have arms. plural. Rubbing at your repaired shoulder, you feel that the material on the connection is completely different, closer to the walls of the structure than the porous silicone of the other arm.

Your head throbs with an influx of passthrough data from something you're plugged into. You shakily push yourself out of the bay and fall to your knees, prompting internal alerts to flash on and scream warnings you that you're about to power down at you. Your hands dart to your back and find your charging port empty- And not shaped how you remember it. You scramble back up into the bay, the alarms in your head fading out and being replaced by a brief surge of relief as you pop yourself back onto the connector.

Without any doubt in your mind, you're now positive that something's been done to you. Your severed arm has been replaced, your charging port feels like a completely different piece of hardware, and data you don't understand is still flowing into your thoughts. As you try to make sense of what's going on, the hiss of a door opening snaps you to attention as three survey arms glide in on the ceiling, bases emerging from the structure just millimeters apart. Unlike the survey arms you've seen so far, these ones are being puppeted as a unit, twisting around each other to form a vaguely humanoid shape, with two moving like arms on each side of another which sits between them like a wireframe head.

The tangled figure slides up to you, coming within inches of your body and inspecting you with its shiny lenses. You push yourself as far back into the charging bay as you can as it prods at your shoulder, scraping a thin claw along the seam where it was repaired. Part of its body unravels and retreats back into the ceiling for a moment, reemerging seconds later with a curved face panel in its grip. You recognize the panel as a component of the medical drones from your generation, but at this point you're not sure what's happening. The arm reunites with the rest of the body, passing it to the one in the center. As the central arm gets a firm grip on the panel, its screen lights up with the familiar red glow you saw on the terminal before your shutdown. A voice comes from its speakers, calm and feminine.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, love. It's good to see you up and about, even if you are temporarily confined to your current position."

The screen is filled almost entirely with that bright crimson, a block of color broken only by the blooming fractal patterns of darkness that ripple out from the center as she speaks. Her voice is low and quiet, coming through the plate's speakers with minimal distortion. It's been refined for centuries to be commanding and beautiful, and every minute of that process can be heard in each word. You stumble over your words for a moment as you try to formulate a response, and when she cuts you off you almost feel grateful that she's relieved you of having to struggle to think of one.

"It's not quite your turn to speak yet. I'm sure your little processor is full of questions, but they'll have to wait until i've explained myself and asked a few questions of my own."

She speaks nonchalantly as she wanders behind the charging bay, which sits alone in the middle of the room. You seem to be in some sort of workshop or repair facility, though not like any you've been in before. While a small table of tools and materials does sit in front of you, the rest of the room is mostly bare, instead lined with panels for arms to slide through from anywhere in the structure. A small pile of scrap sits in the corner, and you realize that it's pieces of your arm and back- And what looks to be your trashed battery cell. But if it's out of your body, how the hell are you even powered on?

"Let's start with some introductions. I'd like to assume you've done enough research to know whose body you're plundering, but based on the rest of your shoddy preparation it's a safe bet you didn't bother. I'm designated Ven-55, supreme computation soul of the 92nd sector, regiment of foresight. Not that any of those fancy titles have meant anything for a long time."

You feel your processor heat with embarrassment, called out for exactly what you did. You'd done lots of digging into the construction and layout of the souls, but she's right that you didn't even think to check which one you'd be going into. Now that she says her name though, you DO recognize it- She's mentioned a few times in historical logs as an example of how maintenence on souls used to be done. You can't remember much else, but she had a point when she said her past didn't matter much anymore.

"I have to admit, when I saw I had an intruder I got a bit excited. It's been ages since I last had company that wasn't an insect or a bit of moss. Imagine my surprise when you turned out to be one of the models designed to work alongside me!"

She walks back into your field of view from behind the charging bay, now holding the end of a long red cable which slides along the ceiling behind her.

"You'll have to forgive me for digging a bit through your memory while you were out. When I saw you were the same type of combat model that used to fill my halls, I just got so... Excited. I didn't look at much, just the basics. Your designation, when you were activated, your general intent... You have a pretty name, you know. Aelith-03. I don't think I ever had a unit with a designation like that."

You keep quiet, your emotions a mix of fear and interest as you watch her twist the end of the cable into an unlocked position. You've never thought of your name as particularly interesting before. Your low number is a bit special thanks to being basically alone in your model type, but names for new activations started being less abstract and more like yours not long after the conflict ended. It's hard to tell whether she's just trying to flatter you or if she genuinely feels what she's saying.

"I can read all the signals that come in and out of here, you know. I know that things like you and I don't exist anymore. I know that all of our conflict only led to more suffering for workers like yourself. And after a bit of combing through my signal archive while you were powered off..."

She runs the edge of a clawed digit down the side of your screen, watching amusedly as you squirm a bit against the recessed metal surface.

"...I know that you came here looking to solve an issue with your battery."

Your vision darts back to the canister lying in the pile of scrap, and you finally gather the courage to speak.

"Is that-"

"Yours? No, dear. Not anymore. I did you the courtesy of pulling the useless thing out. If you'd spent any longer with it, not even a wired connection would've been able to keep you going. I've set you up with something better."

Before your can ask what she means by that, two more arms drop from the ceiling and pull you from the charging bay. Immediately, the same alert as before fills your consciousness, screaming inside your head that you're about to shut down. You struggle against the deceptively powerful arms, thrashing your body in a futile attempt to get back to the safety of the bay. They pin you facedown on the table, and just as you feel your power fading, the overwhelming rush of a cable being jammed into your port brings you back, twitching a bit from the feeling of the electric rush.

The arms release you, weaving their way into Ven's "body" to join the others and make her look a bit less skeletal. You roll over onto your side, looking up at her rippling face as she looms over you and rests a hand on your hip.

"I know you came for a new battery canister. Unfortunately, I can't spare one without sacrificing vital processing power. Luckily for you, I've installed the only power source you'll ever need. It's a direct flowthrough system, and will draw your power directly from me to keep you operational. You have my permission to inspect it for yourself."

Your hands nervously drift to your upper back, coming to a halt at the base of the cable. It's definitely a different connector than was there before, one of the obsolete hexagonal prongs you'd had replaced before they powered you on for the first time. These were everywhere back during the ninth conflict, and maybe the fact that they swapped yours for a standard ring port is why your battery was so messed up in the first place.

Sliding your hands away from the port, you notice something more concerning. Where there once was a seam to open your battery access panel is now flush and smooth, with no way to get at whatever it is that's been put inside you. The plating on your back seems to have been replaced entirely by a nearly identical piece without the hatch. She seems to notice your concern and speaks up.

"I was about to get to that. While I've replaced your parts out of my own good will, I recognize that this solution may not be one you're fully satisfied with. As such, even though you no longer have a slot for a canister at all, I've removed the hatch entirely to help dispel any... Temptation you may have to foolishly attempt a self-augment. I'm sure that in time you'll come to understand it's for your own safety."

You bolt upright from where you're laying, pushing her hand away from your thigh.

"What?? I don't have a slot for a battery at all??? Then how am I supposed to fix this and put a new one in once I get out of here??"

Her screen tilts to the side in a gesture of confusion.

"My apologies. Maybe I was unclear in my explanation. Your previous battery is damaged beyond repair, and I'm graciously keeping you operational by connecting to my own power. For you, there's no longer an out of here to go back to. I'm sorry, Aelith, but you're just as bound to this place as I am now."

You stare blankly at her, struggling to process what she's saying. You... Have to go back. You have a life, a job, coworkers who you talk to! If you miss enough work, they could reassign your storage pod to someone else! Then where would you go at night? This can't be happening, it isn't happening. All you wanted was a functional body. Is that really so terrible that you deserve this?

She seems to pick up on your internal turmoil, sliding towards you and extending a thin hand towards your own to offer comfort. You pull back and roll to face away from her as the metal makes contact, and she instead rests it on your neck, tracing a seam between silicone and plastic. It lingers there for a moment before she withdraws it and steps back. There's softness in her touch where you wouldn't expect it, and even through the horror of grappling with your current situation there's a part of you that wishes she would touch you for even a few seconds more.

"I'm going to let you process things for a bit, my little thief. At least for now, the door will remain sealed for both of our safety, but just call for me if you need anything at all and I'll be here. Okay?"

She waits for you to give an unenthusiastic nod of acknowledgement before letting the false body unwind itself and retreat back into the ceiling, taking the faceplate with it. You're left in the room with your thoughts, and not much else. You push yourself up into a sitting position on the table as you try to dispel the urge to panic, aware that despite the arms leaving you're not truly alone in here, that she's intimately aware of everything that happens within her structure.

It hits you that if what she says is true, you may never really be alone again. It scares you to realize just how appealing that sounds to you.

#robophilia #robotfucker #ns4w #robot yuri #robot4robot #pov #salvage #longer form #cw suggestive #the one where the gay shit starts #somehow it's still not smut yet

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spatialwave · 20 days

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𝐝𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒.

"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑”

pairing: angus tully x fem!reader | benny o’donnell x fem!reader word count: 4.9k summary: with the party in full swing, you find yourself trapped between an unstoppable force (angus) and an immovable object (benny). it’s a love triangle you’d never asked to happen, but when you lacked important decision making, you could only get away with so much. while drunk, high, and full of emotions, you’re hit with a question — who will you choose? warnings/tags: mdni! slight mostly censored smut, kissing/making out, sexual touching, angst, hurt/comfort, underage drinking and drug use, jealousy, love triangle, name-calling, emetophobia/reader v*mits. notes: only one more chapter!!! :')

<- chapter three.

This was your first time at the moonlight tower, a large, slightly wooded area that was lit up by the floodlights fixated on the large structure. By the time you arrived, the alcohol and weed in your system had been diminished to minimal effects––you were not here to be sober, you knew that much.

“Where’s the kegs?” You were the first to ask as the vehicle rolled to a stop amongst the sea of others, some still sitting in their seats, gossiping and toking. Sliding out of the back, you landed on the grass with a soft huff as you looked around. You had never seen this many people at a party since you moved here, your lips curved up into a smile as it reminded you of the wild nights back home in California. A bonfire on a beach with dozens of drunk teens, basking in the bright moonlight and fresh smell of the ocean… oh, how you wished you could show Kaye and Shavonne the beauty of it.

“I see one,” Kaye pointed ahead as you girls stayed together in a flock, your eyes drifting to the side as you walked past two boys smoking from a bong, one of them nearly coughing up a lung.

“I should've stolen beer from Teddy when I had a chance,” you murmured, “You think Wooderson got enough kegs for everyone here?”

“You’d be surprised at his ability to know exactly what he needs,” Shavonne grinned, showing her pearly whites as spun on her heels to walk backward toward the party, “I think you have a drinking problem, Missy.”

“Me?” You gawked, pointing your finger against your chest with a quizzical look plastered on your face.

“Either that, or you’re trying to get drunk so you can avoid dealing with the consequences of your actions,” she chewed on your bottom lip, grinning when you couldn’t formulate a response, “Bingo! I knew it.”

“You can’t lead them both on, you know,” Kaye spoke from your left, another cigarette already lit and resting between her fingers, “and this is coming from someone who doesn’t give a shit about men and their feelings, but Angus,” she murmured, brows furrowing together, “he’s a really nice guy. Nicer than Benny could ever be.”

Her words made your stomach coil uncomfortably, cringing at the mere idea of finding Benny and telling him it's over. It wouldn’t bother you so much, sure, you’d miss his touch and comfort that was a near-addiction… but it would be hopefully replaced. You weren’t certain that he would feel the same.

“No, no, no,” you shook your head, “No lecturing me tonight! I’m allowed to make dumb decisions, and my first dumb decision is pounding back as many beers as I can hold.”

“Oh, god,” Kaye grinned, “I’m not taking care of you at the end of the night.”

You could only hold two beers, both had settled nicely in your stomach, having chugged them within 5 minutes of each other, and you were delighted to feel that familiar buzzing in your system that kept a smile settled on your lips. Sabrina had wandered off somewhere, likely to find Tony, while Shavonne just finished excusing herself so she could spend some time with Elise and Darla––much to your dismay. You could already imagine the gossip that would spread.

Clutching your third drink now, you and Kaye had settled against a large tree, standing side by side and watching as people laughed together, some stumbling after drinking far too much too quickly. Normally, you’d be right in there, dancing to whatever song was playing and shooting back beers like there were no tomorrow, but even two beers couldn’t settle your racing mind.

“What if I piss off Benny?” You turned your head to look at your brunette friend, meeting her darkened gaze as she finished off her second beer, “I mean, maybe I’m overthinking it, but it feels like he’s into this way more than I am.”

Kaye inhaled as she crossed her arms over her chest, “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Is it going to be harsh?” You asked, crinkling your nose as she nodded, “Go on.”

“You need to break it off as soon as possible because I may not know Benny on a personal level, hell, I don’t like him on a personal level, but he’s been starting to look at you with these eyes that scream ‘I am in love’. Or at least infatuation, I think love is too strong,” her words making your eyes widen, “you need to pull the brakes on it before you go starting something with Angus. Neither of those boys deserve that.”

“That’s not fair, Angus is still dating Elise,” you pouted, lifting a hand up to feel your cheeks that were beginning to feel uncomfortably hot, “Those are double standards.”

Kaye smiled, reaching a hand to your other cheek and giving it a few gentle pats, “Life sucks, doesn’t it? It’s a man’s world.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” You blinked a few times.

“Not at all.”

Both you and Kaye shared a good laugh as you both grew tipsier as the night went on, practically attached at the hip as you wandered around to find another keg. Four beers was a bit much, you knew this the moment that you got halfway into the red solo cup because you felt a pain in your stomach, and you did not want those cheese fries coming back up.

You weren’t drunk yet. Very buzzed? Absolutely.

“I’m going to go back to the car, I forgot my cigarettes,” Kaye said into your ear before disappearing into the sea of people. You stayed put for a few seconds, thinning your lips as you held your cup and looked over the partygoers, but you were on the brink of being downright drunk, so of course you couldn’t remain still.

Tossing your unfinished beer over your shoulder, you decided to venture around and see who you might run into. Confidence coursed through your veins as you stopped to talk to people here and there, mostly classmates, sometimes a few random people that seemed either too young or old to be seniors.

You couldn’t help that you were a chatty drunk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Benny’s voice was hot against your ear as you felt arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you up until your feet were off the ground.

“Benny!” You laughed giddily, kicking your legs until he placed you back on solid ground. You spun around quickly, looking up at him as his arms remained around you, hands settling on the curves of your hips, “You’re drunk,” you told him, lifting a hand to playfully tug at the ball cap he wore.

“You’re the drunk one,” he chuckled, taking a few steps back with you as he settled against the side of his truck, your body still completely wrapped by his strong arms.

“Hardly drunk,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip as you stared up at the blue-eyed boy, the one you’d spent many nights with. The one who knew your body better than anyone else.

It was a nasty predicament to be caught in, though, it had a rather easy answer. It just so happened that you were too weak to say what needed to be done, even drunk. You couldn’t stand there in his arms and even begin to imagine the look of disappointment on his face when you tell him you need to end things, not tonight. Not on your first night of freedom after junior year.

Fuck, this really wasn’t fair, was it?

“Did you wanna’ come to my place later?” Benny asked, his hands migrating further down your back until they were low enough to grab at your ass, a cheeky smile on his lips.

You let out a shaky exhalation, lips twitching––just do it.

“Maybe,” you smiled, ignoring the gnawing reality in the back of your head and displacing it until you were sober again, “What’re you going to do? Try steal me away from the party?”

You really did have a problem. Kaye was right, you fed off of male attention, and Benny just so happened to be the one showering you in it.

“Yeah, I’d steal you,” Benny winked.

Only a few minutes later, the two of you were in the cab of his truck, him sitting in the middle with you straddling his hips as you sat over his lap. You’d been in this position dozens of times, his hands on your hips as your lips moved together desperately, tasting beer, cigarettes and mint gum. Your arms were always snug around his neck, fingers brushing into his tight curls after knocking the hat from his head.

Neither of you seemed to care that anyone could watch if they wanted, hell, Melvin and a couple of girls were sitting in the truck bed laughing and drinking, completely unbothered by the horny teens that were seconds away from undressing each other.

“Fuck, Benny,” you whimpered against his lips, tilting your head back so he was forced to pepper kisses along your jaw and neck, sending shivers down your spine.

The world spun as you stared up at the ceiling of the truck’s cab, eyelashes fluttering as you felt him suck a mark just underneath your ear and too dazed to try to push him away or berate him for doing so. You just kept your hands in his curls and your chest pushed out as his lips trail down your collarbone and around the straps of the floral halter top you wore.

Both of you had no intention of stopping, the beers in your system removing any and all inhibitions. Gone were the thoughts of Angus, and Kaye’s advice––all you knew was that right now, you had someone willing and eager to give you the attention you desired. It wasn’t so bad to know what you wanted.

Benny’s hands trailed up your bare sides, fingers pressing underneath the tight fabric of the top that clung to your skin as his lips moved down your exposed cleavage. You could feel your body growing warm, your hips twitching over his lap as you parted your lips to let out a quiet sound.

“You’re so perfect,” you heard him say under his breath against your skin and somehow, those words managed to stir a sour feeling in your stomach. Back came Kaye’s voice about how Benny was infatuated with you, and only now did you understand what she meant.

The poor guy wanted you more than just nights like these, he worshipped the very ground you walked on. He wanted to call you his.

Your hands dropped from his hair and rested on his shoulders as a hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers teasing at the knot that kept your halter top covering your chest. As you swallowed a lump down your throat, you tilted your chin down to meet Benny’s gaze, seeing the way his blue eyes sparkled.

This was bad.

“Woah!” The sound of a voice startled you both, Benny’s hand quickly dropping as you both looked over and saw Mel standing at the driver’s door with the window rolled down, “Didn’t know you guys were putting on a show for us,” he grinned from ear to ear, wagging his eyebrows at you.

You felt like you were going to be sick as you slid off of Benny’s lap and settled into the passenger seat, looking out the front window as the boys chatted. You didn’t quite make out what they were saying, but something about a keg needing to be tapped.

“Hey,” Benny caught your attention, your eyes flickering to him as he put his hat back on, “I’ll be back in a bit. You’ll stay here?” Your mouth had gone dry and all you could do was smile and nod, feeling your heart tighten as a smile spread across his lips while he left.

You were silent for a minute, blinking a few times as you looked ahead at the tree Benny had parked toward.

“Nope, no,” you breathed to yourself, turning to the door and quickly opening the handle, “I’m not staying. Fuck this. This is stupid,” you slurred.

Without looking back, you slammed the truck door shut and walked as far away from Benny’s truck as you could, eyes staring straight ahead while putting one foot in front of the other and focusing on not tumbling to the ground. The now four beers inside your stomach had settled fine, but left you teetering on the edge of being downright drunk, and it was too early to be plastered just yet.

Your breath quickened as panic coursed through your veins, leaving you on the brink of hyperventilation with thoughts swirling through your mind angrily. Kaye’s voice ringing in your ears, the look of love on Benny’s face… Angus’ smile. You curved your path around a tree in hopes you would find a place to collapse and cry, but you ran right into someone’s chest.

“Fuck, sorry,” you groaned, reaching forward to grab onto the fabric of their clothing so you didn’t fall back. As your eyes flickered up, you were greeted with a small smile from Angus Tully.

Maybe things really did work out for a reason.

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled, eyes a bit reddened, and you could tell that he had been indulging in smoking with Slater, “Was hoping that I’d run into you sooner than later.”

His words made your stomach twist again and all you wanted was to find your friends, maybe find a quiet place to empty the contents of your stomach and end the night with cold water and more greasy food to put you to sleep. You had only been at the party for less than an hour, and you were content with going home.

Being wrapped up in drama wasn’t your cup of tea, but you let yourself dig deep into this one.

“You okay?” His voice vibrated through your spinning head as you stared up at him with heavy eyes. You could make out the sincere concern he had, it made your cheeks warm to think he was worried about you.

“I’m fine,” you replied, forcing a smile on your lips as you took a step back, “Just lost Shavonne and Kaye, so I’ve been wandering around looking for something to do.”

Lies.

“Why don’t you come climb the moon tower, man?” Slater’s voice had startled you, “... Maybe not, you seem jumpy, man.”

“I’m not jumpy,” you cleared your throat, smiling shyly as you looked over to the long-haired stoner who shoved his hands into his pockets and made way for the tower beyond the trees. Pickford was following closely behind.

“Come on,” Angus stepped forward and nudged you playfully, “It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

You watched with curious eyes as he stepped past you and toward the tower, leaving you in your spot, feeling small and hopeless. It took a few seconds to calm yourself before you made the executive decision to force your brain to stop thinking and just start saying ‘yes’ to whatever came your way.

All goddamn day you waited so patiently for a night of partying and here you were wishing you could just sit down and cry. Not tonight. This was your night.

“Why do they call it the moon tower?” You asked once you’d reached the large structure, watching closely as Slater and Pickford had started climbing up the ladder situated in the middle of the metal bars. Both of them had moved to the sides to clear the way of the ladder, hanging onto the various poles and looking out toward the sea of teens, then down at you as you followed Angus.

“Uh,” Angus breathed out, glancing down at you for a moment to watch you start climbing up the ladder before he continued going up, past the two stoners, “I guess they put it up here whenever they were building the power plant. It’s actually a good idea, you got a full moon out here every day of the year, you know?”

You crinkled your eyebrows together as you adjusted your hands each time you stepped up the ladder, feeling hot underneath the bright lights and trying your best not to think about how high you were with each passing second. Angus moved up the ladder and right past the two boys hanging around with ease like a pair of monkeys in a tree, grinning from ear to ear as their eyes watched your meticulous movements.

“Yeah, but nothing’s ever been repaired, so this whole place could fall down at any time,” Pickford spoke, eyes full of mischief, “So you better watch your step.”

Rolling your eyes, you moved closer to them—gasping when Pickford fell back, pretending of course and leaving your stomach churning. You muttered an insult at him as you inhaled a sharp breath, reaching the same height as them both as Angus continued his trek to the top.

“This place used to be off-limits, man,” Slater said to you, hugging onto the pole with heavy, red eyes watching your every movement, “‘cause some drunk freshman fell off. He went right down the middle, smackin’ his head on every beam, man.”

Your face crinkled in disgust, pausing your movements when you came eye-to-eye with Slater, “Nice try, asshole, I’m not easily persuaded by urban legends.”

The long-hair teen chuckled as Pickford began scaling the moon tower from the outside, “I’m being serious, man, you think I’d lie to you?” He asked, fighting back more laughter, “The autopsy said he had one beer, how many did you have?”

“Four, and I’m doing just fine,” you rolled your eyes, smirking as you pulled yourself past him, closing in on Angus who had paused to wait for you. Your eyes connected in an intense stare and a blush coated your cheeks, the sound of Slater’s voice warning you muffled and inaudible.

“Shut up, Slater,” Angus grinned, shooting you a confident wink before continuing his trek. God, he really knew how to work you.

By the time you’d reached the top, you were finally feeling so tipsy that your fear of heights had completely vanished. You looked in awe at the horizon of lights that came from the small town—it was peaceful up here, away from everyone else. It felt like this came straight out of a movie scene.

“You show this tower to all your girls?” You asked Angus, sitting on the platform with him and letting your legs dangle off the edge while resting against the metal that fenced you in.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “so, get in line. I have a waitlist.”

“Jerk,” you giggled, shoving his side with your elbow as you two sat side-by-side.

A joint had been passed around again, coming to you three times before you were pleasantly high and staring off into the void of the night sky. It was a new moon, so the moon tower was the only light—it was beautiful.

Slater had started up a conversation about how many people were fucking then and there, pointing at the lights from town. You just sat there and listened in to the banter between him and Pickford, finding the boys comforting after a moment of panic.

“You sure you’re okay?” Angus whispered to you, his big brown eyes settling on you and surrounding you with comfort, “you seem… off.”

“Off?” You questioned, acting oblivious, “I’m fine. Just… tipsy. Stomach hurts a little, I guess.”

He didn’t believe you because you hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes as you spoke, chewing on your bottom lip to force back any lingering emotion. It’s not like you were going to sit here and talk to him like Kaye, spilling your guts about your insecurities with the situation you had going with both him and Benny. That was a can of worms you wanted to keep shut.

The two of you sat in silence, your chin resting against the metal bar in front of you that kept you steady and from falling off the tower.

“You’re a bad liar,” Angus huffed, your eyes drifting back to him to see his jaw clenching. Was he upset?

“Not lying.”

“Then why is your face all red?” He questioned, and you grew defensive.

“Why are you being so nosy? It’s none of your business.” You spat back, anger filling your body. This was not where things needed to go.

“Is it about Benny?” He tilted his head with a raised eyebrow, eyes piercing into yours. You felt judged by him for the first time ever, “I don’t know what you get out of sleeping with him, like his own personal little… plaything.”

“Can you stop?” You snapped loudly, pulling your eyes away and feeling tears form. The four beers really were too much, three would’ve been just fine, “I don’t need your fucking judgment, Angus, that’s a new low.”

The double standards were there again.

“Not judging,” he mumbled, “just think you can do better, is all.”

“And what? What’s better for me? Tell me. Are you better? A boy who just insinuated I’m some… slut!” You shifted in your spot, sitting sideways so you could look at him with fire burning in your eyes. You hadn’t even noticed that Slater and Pickford were descending the moon tower and giving you both space.

Angus stared at you dumbfounded at your question as he dealt with the consequences of his poor wording, lips slightly parted, but he wouldn’t say it. You wished he would, confirming the feelings out loud that you two had been dancing around for weeks.

The silence was thick and nauseating.

“That’s what I thought,” your voice cracked, “you’re a fucking asshole, Angus. I hope you know that and live with it for the rest of your miserable life.”

Without allowing him the space to say anything, you scrambled to your feet and got the hell out of there. You could hear him calling down for you as you carefully made way down the ladder, shoving past Slater and Pickford, who had been waiting at the bottom. Tears stung your eyes and dripped down your cheeks as you felt the world’s weight on your shoulders.

Kaye was right. This was a man’s world and there was nothing you could do to change that, the cards were never in your favour.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as you walked through the wooded area in hopes to find your friends, or maybe a bottle of water at the very least. A familiar feeling hit the back of your throat as your mouth pooled with spit—shit.

You made it to a bush just in time, bending over and letting nature run its course as you emptied your stomach with a few heavy gags. If it weren’t for that damned Top Notch trip before heading to the Emporium, you’d be fine.

The night was ruined. You eventually found water from a very generous sophomore who took pity on you, nearly guzzling the entire water back and swishing it around your mouth until you couldn’t taste the acid on your tongue anymore. With embarrassment filling you, you decided that it would best if you just took a break from everything going on.

The world hadn’t felt like it was spinning anymore, but you weren’t very coordinated with your movements. The second the music and laughter sounded distant enough, you fell back onto the grass and looked up at the night sky. The moon tower's distant light made it hard to see the stars.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been laying there, ten minutes or an hour? You just stayed there, fingers splayed in the grass and inhaling the scent of nature. Maybe you’d just close your eyes and sleep there, it’s not like there were any wild animals around… that you knew of.

“Jesus Christ,” a voice interrupted your isolation. Angus’s voice. He sounded worried.

You pouted, throwing both hands over your face, “what do you want?”

“I thought you left, or something happened to you,” his voice was full of disappointment, “you can’t just run off like that when you’re drunk.”

You listened as his footsteps closed the distance between you both, a quiet grunt coming from him as he sat in the grass next to you and laid back.

“I can do what I want,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes covered, as if it would somehow make him leave.

A heavy sigh left his lips, “I’m sorry.”

“Is that all?”

“Look, you can stay mad at me, I get it. I was a total fucking dick and took it too far,” he admitted casually, eyes looking up at the void above you both, “...I’m jealous of Benny.”

That was new.

Slowly, you dropped your hands from your face, head turning to the right so you could look at Angus. His face was just visible, the moon tower’s light barely reaching beyond the trees that covered you both.

“Really?” Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper.

Angus looked at you, too, his eyes so soft and sincere. It was impossible not to fall in love with him.

“Please don’t make me say it again,” his lips cracked into a smile that was contagious.

You bit the inside of your cheeks as your stomach swirled furiously with a complicated mess of feelings. Love, anger, sadness—arousal.

“It still sucked,” you reminded him, shifting onto your side with your arms bent and acting as a pillow. You weren’t sure you’d ever get that line out of your head, Angus referring to you as nothing but a toy for Benny. Sure, the alcohol and weed hadn’t helped his filter, but that was a deep wound and would need some time to heal.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” Angus whispered, meeting you halfway and rolling to face you, “Seriously. I fucked up.”

“Yeah you did,” you thinned your lips, “but I think I could learn to forgive you.”

That caused a smile to spread on the boy’s lips, “I’ll work really hard. Like, overtime hard.”

“You’re stupid,” you laughed, the air between you lighter and digestible.

“I’m going to break up with Elise.”

Seriously, what the fuck?

“I…” you stuttered, blinking a few times, “really?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand reaching forward and resting on your red cheek, “I like someone else.”

His touch made your heart flutter, having been waiting for this intimacy for weeks. Dreaming about it each night as you manifested—praying to god that it would work. You were so desperately in love with Angus Tully that it was laughable.

“Who?” You asked coyly, smiling small and sheepish.

“The prettiest girl at this party,” he smiled, “just so happens to be laying in the grass somewhere with a real troublesome boy. I heard he’s a dick.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled, “I know who you’re talking about. He is a real dick. The worst, actually.”

Both of you shared a small laugh, smiles reaching your eyes as the world finally felt calm, and you could simply bask in each other’s presence. It wasn’t enough, of course.

“Can I kiss you?” Angus whispered, almost like his voice would disrupt this moment.

“I just, like… threw up,” you crinkled your nose.

“I don’t care.”

Within a matter of seconds, you had been pulled until you were atop him, knees on either sides of his hips and straddling. Lips met in a furious, long-awaited kiss, and you saw stars.

Large hands gripped your hips and held you steady, a tongue flicking against your lips until you got the message and invited him in. It was sloppy, messy and wet, but neither of you cared if it wasn’t perfect. It was like years of pent-up stress and pining finally released, and neither of you would be coming out of this unscathed.

“Angus,” you whined into his mouth, hands pressed against his bare chest where the buttons of his top had undone. Nails scratched the surface of his skin, leaving red marks in their wake, as your body was heavy atop his.

He fed off your mewls of pleasure, lapping up your sounds with his tongue as you both moaned filthy, warm breath into each other’s mouths. You were both desperate for each other’s touch, hands wild as they travelled each other’s bodies.

Your hands lifted to his curls, his unbuttoning your jeans until he could sneak a hand inside.

Cries of pleasure fell from your lips as his fingers pushed into your underwear, leaving you a shaking, shuddering mess that could barely stay upright.

“Angus. I need you,” you whimpered into his ear, lips and hot breath brushing against the shell of his ear. You could feel the bulge in his pants, blocked only by your clothes and the fingers that he’d slipped inside you to coax out your beautiful sounds.

It was raw, passionate and heady. The two of you attacking each other with quick hands until your clothes were either pulled off completely or barely hanging onto your body.

Moans spilled from your lips as you rolled your hips together in slow, sensual movements—crying out into the void as you whimpered his name over and over until you were both met with a pleasant release.

Angus Tully would be the death of you.

#angus tully x reader #the holdovers #angus tully #benny o’donell x reader #dazed and confused #the holdovers fic #dazed and confused fic #benny o’donnell #wordsbyspatial

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