#he does love a good leg stretch and hes usually paid handsomely for it

[luveline]

something sweeter | eddie munson x reader

summary you get a tattoo. eddie takes care of you [1.5k]

warnings 18+ for suggestive theme, nsfw, established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort, tattoos, fem!reader, idiots in love, no s4 spoilers besides eddie, requested here

<3

“…something sweeter,” Eddie’s talking in that quiet voice reserved for you, missing his usual bravado. Even softer, he looks at you in the passenger seat through a tangle of dark curls and asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. What’s sweeter?” you ask, smiling apologetically.

You push your clammy palms into the scratchy fabric of your short skirt. Eddie’s unconvinced.

“I was only saying,” he begins, reaching across the gap to wrap his ring-heavy hand around your thigh, “that it surprised me. What you chose. I thought you’d get something sweeter.”

“You don’t like the bat?” you ask, nibbling at your lip.

His rings are cold but his fingers are warm, rubbing a short, comforting line into the dough of your inner thigh. He gives you a quick squeeze before returning both hands to the wheel, concentration face in place as he parallel parks the van outside the tattoo parlour. His eyebrows pinch up.

“No, I love the bat. You’d hope I would, right?” he says as soon as he’s done, pulling the keys from the ignition. He gestures to his arm and the trail of bats flying up his skin.

“I thought about it. Getting something pretty. A garter or a heart or something.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“But I wanna look cool like you,” you say.

Eddie waves a hand at you, rolling his eyes though he’s smiling. His face is transformed by his pretty smile. He’s ridiculously handsome like this - it makes your chest hurt, his puppy eyes and his almost demure grin, so at odds with his eccentric and, at times, rough personality.

He scratches his collarbone, sneaking a peek down at the watch on his wrist, lips parting. “Are you ready?”

No. “Yeah.”

You pile out the van and into the parlour. Only when you’re lying face down on the chair with someone touching the back of your naked thigh do you remember to freak out. The side of your face pushed into thin, crinkling paper, you give Eddie a wide-eyed look. He chuckles under his breath, eyes flitting between the tattoo artist and you.

Elbows braced on his knees, Eddie holds one hand out to stroke your hairline quickly. “You good?” he mouths.

You nod almost imperceptibly. He sees it. You watch his pupils trace from your narrowed eyes to your smushed mouth.

He sits back in his chair, elbows braced on his knees and hands hanging in between his spread legs. You’ve already had the stencil placed, skin prepped. The tattoo artist tells you he’s about to start, and the needle starts to buzz. Eddie opens his mouth wide, lips an ‘o’, teasing. He’s so hot it almost distracts you from the pain. Almost.

The closer the artist draws to your knee the worse it hurts. You try not to complain. You’re seized up tightly, hands wringing under your stomach, chests aching from being face-forward. Time stretches impossibly long.

It surprises you when tears well in your eyes, sniffling as the artist lays in finishing touches with white ink. It hurts much more than the rest has, but maybe that’s because you’re sore.

“Are you good?” the artist asks.

You whisper uselessly. “Yeah.”

The artist stays paused.

Eddie cups his chin in his hand, fingers pressed over his lips. “She’s good. You’re good, sweetheart.”

You’re good. The tattoo gets finished, the artist wraps you up. All paid up you leave, your leg hurting in a scratching, hot way that makes you wince with every step. Eddie walks behind you with his hand loose on your shoulder, pulling you to a stop in front of the vans hood.

“Does it look good?” you ask, though you’ve both just stared at it in the mirror in the parlour for a good five minutes.

“Looks great,” he says, “very cool. Come here.”

You turn to him obligingly, not knowing what he wants. He takes your face into his hand and holds you still firmly, bringing his other hand up to wipe at your sticky teartracks with the side of his pinky finger.

“You were awesome in there. Even though you cried like a baby,” he concedes lightly, finished with your tear tracks. He cups your face, leans in close. “Super cool. The artist was almost as impressed as I was.”

You flush at his praise. He’s too nice.

His nails scratch your skin gently as he follows the curve of your ear, hands coming down to your neck, thumbs pushing under your jaw. His eyes are wide and impossibly earnest as he says, “And the tat is super fucking hot.”

He grins wolfishly. You groan and shut your eyes, pulling your face from his grasp as he laughs at you.

The two of you climb back into the van and you're incredibly careful not to lean on it.

“Can I put my feet on the dash?” you ask, kicking off your shoes.

“Sure,” he says fondly, searching through the radio for his favourite station. Soon, rock music rattles and your legs are up, nothing to do except watch Eddie as he drives you both back to his uncle's trailer.

He can feel your gaze. You don’t like to beg, but you’re not above it, eyes staring a burning hole into his hand on the wheel and then his face. Whether he gets your hint or he wants to himself, Eddie grabs at your soft thigh, giving you a little shake before he traverses up to your knee, down your calf. He messes absent-mindedly with the lettuce hem of your sock and the climbs back up. When he reaches your thigh again you cover his hand and hold him there.

He smirks.

“When d’you want your next one?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Maybe not too soon.”

“No?” he asks, chuckling. He glances at you. “Know what you want?”

“Something sweeter, like you suggested.”

“Bunnies and puppies?”

You giggle.

He nods to himself, pleased by your reaction, and doesn’t say much else until you’re following him up the steps and into his home, past the living room and into his bedroom. It’s a small room. It smells unmistakeably of Eddie, of sneaky cigarettes and beer, though it’s clean where it counts — he always has fresh sheets when you come around, a window cracked open on the latch — and hiding beneath him there’s hints of you, too. Your perfume, your skin.

He kisses his fingers and presses them to his guitar where she hangs. You bite back a smile at his antics and drop your shoes at the end of his bed.

“Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

You sit on his bed, hiss, and promptly slide onto your stomach, nestling your face into his pillows. “No,” you say, word muffled by fabric.

Eddie sits by your knees, hand going straight to your calf. “Are you sure? We didn’t eat before we went, you don’t feel, like, nauseous? If you throw up in here I’ll never get rid of the smell.”

You look at him over your shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“You’re always ‘fine’,” he says under his breath, without any real malice. More like he’s bemused.

“If you’re hungry, you go eat something, baby,” you say, eyes closed, suddenly tired.

Calling him baby usually has one of two effects. Either he goes gooey soft and does what you tell him, or he gets ravenous. Apparently, despite good intentions, it’s going the second way. You feel your boyfriend's hand as it climbs up the back of your leg, feel the mattress shift as he moves. He spreads your legs and kneels between them. You hold your breath, heart in your throat, looking over your shoulder at him.

A familiar silhouette; baseball tee pushed up at the elbows, tight dark jeans, face framed by messy dark curls. The air in his room feels suddenly heavy, like the breeze before a storm.

“I think you should stick to cool tats,” he says seriously.

“How’d you figure?” you ask.

“‘Cos you’re already pretty sweet without ‘um. Your smile, your…”

His implication is lost as he kisses you. You turn on your side just slightly as he pulls your calf to his mouth, lips skipping up your skin in chaste pecks, his lips part over the back of your knee, a damp half moon left behind. He moves inwards, steering clear of your tattoo, though he does scratch at the edge with his thumbnail.

You whimper, not entirely from his prodding.

“Hurting?” he murmurs into your inner thigh. His hands spread your legs gently, his chain cold where it rubs against your hot skin.

“A little.”

“You want me to make it feel better?” he asks.

You squirm underneath him. His nose pushes into your thigh as he vies to get closer, prompting a wave of chills as his teeth scrape your skin. A curl of heat sparks in your abdomen.

“Please?” you ask weakly.

You can feel his grin.

“I like when you say please, sweet girl.”

He takes a big bite of your leg between his teeth and pulls until you shudder, hiking up on his elbows. He rubs at the flesh he’s just abused with his thumb, mouth hot as he starts on your other thigh.

You end up saying it again. And again. A heaping handful of pleases and a generous, quieter thank you afterwards, the pain of your new tattoo briefly forgotten.

<3

thanks for reading | my masterlist

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson x reader imagine #eddie munson imagine

[voltagesmutter]

Satan x MC - Public.

Pairing: Satan x MC (F).

Fandom: Obey Me.

Prompt:  Asphyxiation || Orgasm Denial || Public

Warning: Warning: Public sex, mutual pining, vaginal sex, hand-job, fingering, talks of masterbation, angry Satan.

Day 2 of Kinktober event/prompt list.

Amazing thank you to @crystal13unny for being my beta 💛

Mid-terms were looming and overstressed didn’t come close to explaining how everyone felt. Whilst life was normally chaotic amongst demons, this way beyond words due to how dysfunctional life had become. Mammon had been “retail therapy” shopping so much that goldie broke, Asmo repainted his nails at least four times a day, while Leviathan's beloved console was becoming dusty with neglect. All because Lucifer was bringing forth tenfold his normal strictness to ensure revisions happened, causing tension to run through the household.

Beel was stress eating, which meant consuming triple what he normally ate, hardly leaving anything in the fridge. To say Lucifer lost his shit would be an understatement. He was livid causing sparks of arguments to fly across the house of Lamentation. Of course as soon he started, Satan retaliated as he always did. 

“Will you be considerate for just once and not eat us out of food!” Slamming the fridge shut, his red eyes pulsing with anger, “Shouldn’t you be studying rather than indulging in your gluttonous ‘habits’,”. It was asked as a question but meant clearly as a statement.

“Lay off him Lucifer! You know how he gets around exams,” The blonde rolling his eyes at Lucifer's comment, the others around him on the table all going silent, eyes falling upon him before darting back to Lucifer for his response. 

“Don’t you start getting involved Satan, keep your nose out where it doesn’t belong,”.

“Doesn’t belong? You're openly yelling at Beel for something he can’t help, just back off Lucifer, I am sick of you breathing down everyone’s necks!” the sound of Satan's fist slamming down on the oak table range clearly through the air. The tension was thick in the room, one wrong move and it would set alight, causing a blaze to rupture in the household. All it took was a tutt and snide remark from Lucifer before Satan dashed across the room and pinned him against the kitchen counter, fists balled up in a firm grasp with the material of the eldest shirt.

“Another word Lucifer and I swear,” Satan hissed, his normal soft demeanour now lost in a sea of wrath. Green eyes normally the colour of soft apple candy now shone dark with tinges of yellow, the iced-cold anger behind them enough to make any human freeze and shiver with fear. Lucifer was no human and went unfazed at the younger's outburst, simply pushing him off him with a, “If you cared this much as your midterms rather than your dopey siblings you could actually pass them with a decent grade,”.  

It took the strength of Leviathan and Mammon, quickly running from the table to grip Satan to stop him from swinging at Lucifer. A simple tut, a wave of his hand and a “childish,” was all he left them with before exiting. 

“I’ll kill him, I’ll actually fucking kill him,” Satan screamed, chest heaving up and down as the others tried to calm him down. 

“Who we killing?” A young girl came strolling into the kitchen, yawning as she did, stretching her arms above her head causing her shirt to slide up and expose her stomach slightly. 

“Morning cutie!” Asmo rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her with him back to the table. 

“Lucifer,” Belphine huffed, head resting upon the table with his eyes shut. 

“Oh I’m in,” Reaching for for a slice of toast only to out it back when she saw a scorpion tale sticking out of the crust, demon food was just not her thing, “He’s been on my case for the last few weeks, I’ve hardly had any time to myself because of his schedule he’s made for me,” her eyes fell to Satan who was still heaving in the corner, before swapping a confused expression with Levi. Levi touched the tip of his nose twice, a signal between the pair to indicate an argument had/or was about to break out. 

“You okay there?” She asked, standing up and walking a few paces forward to lean against the counter, meeting Satan’s eyes.

“Yeah just old bossy arse ruining everything as usual,” He murmured, breath finally calm. 

“Don’t let him wind you up, you know he gets a kick out of seeing you so angry,” She lent over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. A shared look amongst the other brothers and just as Mammon was about to protest the gesture, Levithan stamped on his foot to keep him quiet. 

There was something between the two, they were the best of friends, anyone and everyone could see that. It was also apparent the sexual tension that lingered between the two, slowly building up, waiting to overspill. While they loved each other as friends, certain feelings now occurred between them. He found himself rather embarrassed at fisting his cock to the thought of her nearly every night, whilst she let his name slip between her lips when her vibrator brought her to orgasm. Neither knowing or revealing how they felt for the sake of their friendship. As if too blind to recognise their feelings for each other. 

“So what was he going off about this morning?” She asked the room, going into the fridge and opening a cartoon of juice.

“Beel’s eating,” Levithan answered, watching as Beel was still moping in the corner of the room, kicking fallen debris on the floor with a huff. 

“Oh Beelze! Are you stressing eating again?” She asked, feeling sympathy for him, she did for all of them. Whilst they were demons, they had no control over their powers, each of them having their own individual quirks tied to their demonic power. 

“Yeah-” sulked from the red-head in the corner, scuffing his shoes along the floor. 

“Oh honey I’m sorry,” She took a sip out of the juice she’d poured into a clean cup, “I mean he cancelled my date for me for the other day, deemed it as not suitable time for doing my studying,”. 

The word ‘date’ made Satan’s ears prick up, he repeated the word out loud causing everyone to turn to him. 

“Hmm, with one of them cutie players from Beel’s team I do believe,” Asmo chimed in, causing a blush to grace the girls cheeks, “Muscular, tall, handsome, a little dim-witted but still!”. 

A string of curses falls from Satan’s mouth, pushing his brothers off of him, a ‘this day keeps getting fucking better’ is all he says before storming out of the room. The slam of the door is enough to signal his departure.

“What's wrong with him?” She questioned, watching how the brothers all turned to each other before her slowly.

“Isn’t it obvious? He l-” Mammon rolls his eyes with a tut but if cut off by Asmo jumping in, “He’s just stressed sweetie, he’s probably gone up to the library so why don’t you go check on him for us,”. Asmo doesn’t take a second for her response, taking the cup out of her hand and putting it down, practically shoving her out of the room. “But Asmo I!” But her protests are cut short as he shuts the door behind her. 

“You!” He hisses to Mammon who blinks in confusion.

“The fuck did I do? I can’t help that Satan is too much of a pussy to admit his feelings, The Great Mammon would never chicken out like that,”. 

“Shut up Mammon, you big idiot, let Satan tell her himself,” Levi added, the group of remaining brothers now sitting around the table. 

“You think she likes him back?” Beel asked, causing a snort from Asmo.

“Please! Have you seen the way she stares at him? I also know about her little nightly activities,” He sings in a sickly song, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Asmo the fuck that’s gross. I didn’t need to know they were fucking, no wonder he was upset she had a date,” Belphegor sighed, throwing a book at him.

“Oh sweetie no, they’ve not done it yet, but the way she says his name at night she definitely wants too,”.

“How do you even know that?”.

“I’m the avatar of lust sweetie,” Asmo rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist with annoyance at even having to state it, “Plus her room is next to mine and the other night there was definitely a ‘Satan’ slipped between them plump lips after a good ten-minutes of buzzing,”.

“Stupid human, should be thinking of me instead of him,” Mammon pouted, crossing his arms infront him as he sulked like a child.

“Lets just hope the pair admit how they feel,” Levi stated, each of the brothers secretly praying for their brother.

-

Asmo’s hunch was right, the young girl found Satan angrily moping on the first floor of the library within the house. He had his back against the wooden bookcase sat on the floor, book in lap but little attention being paid to it.

“Hey,” She smiled, taking a few steps forward waiting for his response. He grunted, trying to bury himself in the book without looking up at her. 

“Can I sit?”.

“Free place isn’t it,” he responded, flicking the page as she sat beside him, outstretched legs touching.

They sat in for a few moments in silence, Satan still pretending to be studying in his book until he finally broke it.

“So your date,” Finally closing the book and turning to her, “You never said anything,”.

“I,” Her face was blushing slightly, “I wasn’t really into him but I just, I felt too nice to say no,”. Her confession made them both laugh, finally breaking the tension between them. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t know how you would react,”.

“Me? What does it matter what I think?”.

“Your my best friend, your opinion matters the most,” She whispers, reaching between them and finding his hand, their fingers intertwining like they so often did especially when they sat in bed watching movies on a Friday night. 

It took a few minutes again before Satan spoke up, “I’m glad you didn’t go,”. 

“Oh?” He squeezed her hand, “I didn’t want to go anyway, I think he only asked because he overheard Beel teasing me about my lack of sex life,” she snorted a little with laughter, “I haven’t had sex since living in the human world. Do you know how long ago that was?” Her following words sending the demons cheeks a light pink, “I mean girls have needs too but I think Lucifer kind of got a whiff of why he wanted to take me out and well…”.

He knew exactly how many months to the exact day since she’d entered the Lamentation household, the shining ball of light that was herself weaving her way into all of their lives. How long it had been to even the touch of another person because the minute she walked into his life it lit a carnal desire which only she could quench. 

“I mean it’s been the same for me,” He laughs.

“Yeah, why is that? I always see the girls throwing themselves at you, you don’t seem that phased though?” She asked.

“I have my eye on someone else,” He rubbed his thumb over hers in a soft manner, “Someone important,”.

They shared a glance, the avatar of wrath melting into her eyes as if trying to convey the words he couldn't say out loud. Hers mirroring as she softly whispered his name.

“Satan I-...,” She started a waver in her voice, the feeling mutual for Satan to her. Both of them leaning until they were an eye-lash apart, her eyes slowly closing as Satan swallowed with an anxious breath.

It was unsure who started it but they kissed with a passion, tongues meeting in a sloppy exchange as he pulled her into his lap to straddle him. Both of them indulged in a feeling that this was right, that it was meant to be. Her hands fisted into his hair, both of them groaning as he held her waist whilst she subtly began to grind on him. 

“Is this okay?” He groaned against her lips as he unbuttoned her shirt slowly, just enough to cup her breast beneath it, thumbs tugging down the material of her bra to let her perky breasts stand free. His fingers rolling her nipples in his hands causing her to grind harder against him, heat pooling inside her stomach as her panties grew wetter by the second. 

“Yes, fuck Satan, yes don’t stop,” She replied, inhailing sharply as he pressed kisses to her neck, a trail leading down until his mouth latched over her breast.

Neither of them wanted to stop, losing themselves in the embrace of one another. When his hand skirted up her thigh beneath her skirt to rub against the wet patch of her panties she moaned his name, causing him to still for a second before continuing, the breathless way she called it made his cock stand solid. A moan he’d imagined thousands of times in his head, but none of it compared to the real thing. 

She popped the buttons on his jeans, palming his erection beneath the fabric before tugging them down just enough with his boxers for his cock to spring free. Her eyes widened as she marvelled at it, delicately taking it in the palm of her hand, his leaking head oozing wetness onto her skin.

“L-Like that,” Satan encouraged her after a few strokes, his mind fogging over at her movements. He let out a low groan against her neck, almost forgetting his brothers were only a few doors down from them and that they risked any one of the walking in.

“Your so wet,” His hand snaking beneath her panties to rub his index finger against her wet folds, her hips bucking into his touch. 

“Only for you Satan,” She whimpered, back arching as he pushed a finger inside her tight, wet heat. A noise like no-other left his lips as her walls gripped around his digit, pushing out to thrust back in until the grip around him loosened and he sped up his movements.

“Satan, I- more please,” Mouth formed in a delicate ‘o’ as two of his fingers worked inside her, knuckle deep and dripping with arousal. Her hand tightly around his cock, jerking it slowly as they both moaned into others mouths. Both eyes brimmed with lust, neither of them wanting to part from one and other for even a second.

“I can’t, I haven’t got a condom,” He swallowed, he may have one in his room but the thought of stopping now to search for one was too much. Even if she came around his fingers whilst he came on her hand, it would at least be enough to satisfy the need until they could be protected.

“I’m on,” Pressing her lips to his, pulling his hand away from her as she lined herself over his cock, “Birth control”. 

“Are you sure- fuck,” He groaned so loud the bookcase behind him trembled, the warmth of her tight walls stretching over him send his head flying backwards. It was unknown who said it, but a breathless ‘fuck’ was whispered as she lowered slowly over him. Satan pressing gentle kisses to her lips as she rose up before lowering back down, inching him further into her with each movement. She took a few moments to roll her hips slowly, Satan’s hands cupping her ass to help her down until he was fully hilted inside her. 

“Your perfect, so perfect,” Satan repeated over and over in a loving tone as her forehead pressed against his, slowly grinding movements of her hips in tightly circles.

Small rolls of her hips as his hands delicately ran from the curve of her ass to the smooth of her waist beneath her skirt, the sheer wetness dripping from her coaxing over his balls. The pit of her stomach dropped, mouth opening as her eyes expanded, the head of his cock rolling perfectly against her g-spot with each movement causing her to rock directly against that spot. His lips moved from hers, to her neck, moving down slightly to capture a nipple in his mouth as she moaned louder. He had to bite back the chuckle inside him to think for sure his brothers would hear them, but in this moment all he could focus on was the tight-heat eloping over his cock in gyrating movements. That he was claiming her, that she was his human. Heat pulsed throughout her body, feeling no shame at the sudden happening of her orgasm building. 

“I'm gonna cum, Satan, I’m gonna-” Fingernails digging into the soft green of his sweater, lips parted with her head tossed back, cheeks dusted a heavy pink as the tension in her stomach rose higher and higher. Satan’s hands working her hips, letting her move at her own leisure as she brought herself to the edge of climax, ready to be pushed off it. His vision was lost in her beauty, admiring each and every thing about her, how she was physically and mentally taking the air out of his lungs as her walls tightened over him. She came crying out his name, unable to hold back, an orgasm with the intensity like none before she had experienced. Drool pooled out the corner of her mouth, hands grasped onto him to keep her grounded as her vision flooded white, Satan’s hands pulling her down to be fully impaled by him as her walls flexed over his cock. Her sweating forehead pressed against his, rapid breaths falling from her mouth as she came down from her high, Satan groaning as her walls slowly stopped withering around him.

“Satan I lo-,” And just as she opened her eyes, they heard it from outside, Asmo screaming out.

“Lucifer don’t-!”. 

“I’m sorry,” Satan whispered, cupping her face as he pushed her off of him. The whimper she made broke his heart but he threw her behind the bookshelf, hissing at the loss of her warmth over him and the tightness of his jeans over his still solid cock as he tucked himself back in just in time for the door to burst open.

“Where is she!” Lucifer raging across the room in demon form, black onyx horns pulsing and Satan swore he could see steam coming out of his nose. “The fuck is she Satan!”.

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m simply revising as you told me too,” Satan peers up from the book he had tugged into his lap, although his sweating face, ruffled hair and panting breath was enough to signal otherwise. The heavy smell of sex dominating the aroma of the dusty library.

“Don’t play coy. I heard you down the corridor! You vile creature, tainting her like that, you should be ashamed Sata-” Lucifer barks but is stopped. Satan growled, anger controlling him as his demon form takes over, standing and pinning Lucifer against the wall as if he was merely as light as a book.

“I might not be good enough for her,” He hisses, tinged eyes pulsing with anger, “But I fucking love her, you have no right Lucifer, no right. Just because you can’t have her doesn’t mean you can control her,”. He gives a dark chuckle, smirking to see Lucifer's face fluster, “Yeah that’s what I thought, that's why you want us all to study, so you can keep her all to yourself but guess what Lucifer,”. Satan peered into his eyes before moving his hold to choke Lucifer, leaning to the side of him as he whispered in his ear, “It was my cock she was just coming over,” The whimper from Lucifer made Satan smug with pride, “So I suggest you leave, unless you want to watch me fuck her... Oh how glorious that would be seeing you wishing, no, lusting to be me as I drive my cock into her tight walls, for only me to ever do so. She’s my human Lucifer, mine,”. He lets out a cheshire grin before releasing his hold on Lucifer, watching him choke a few breaths before turning on his heels and leaving, his pride purely kicked to the curb. 

“Are you okay?” Satan turned back around, running to the bookcase where he had pushed the girl off, watching her nod from behind where she was hiding. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” He whispered, cradling her in his arms, the moments of darkness passing as fast as it came, she bringing out the best and light out from inside him. 

“It’s okay, really I’m just glad he came in then and not when- you know, I guess we were a little loud,” She smiled with a light blush, her askew clothes now fixed, “Did you mean what you said… about Lucifer liking me…?”. 

“You can’t tell? That’s why he’s kept us all ‘studying’ to keep us away from you,” Satan tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear.

“I didn’t realise, I mean- I didn’t realise you liked me either so,” A nervous laughter followed.

“All my brothers like you,” Cupping her face in his palm and stroking her lip with his thumb, “But I-... I love you,”. 

“I love you too Satan,” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss her. The kiss quickly deepend, the couple picking up their previous rhythm before being interrupted before she pulled away. Satan frightened he had scared her with his actions to Lucifer.

“Do you-” Twirling her index finger along his chest, hiding her face in a bashful manner, “Do you think that… we could finish this in your room?”.

“Of course, we don’t have to continue if you're uncomfortable,” Pressing a kiss to her forehead, a softer side of Satan that only she would ever get to see.

“No no!” She quickly added, “It’s just- Lucifer's room is next door and I- well, you know, I feel we owe him a little revenge for the past few weeks… and as well,”. Her hand moved down to cup his still hard cock through his jeans, “You didn’t get to finish,”.

“You are perfect, you know that?” Satan laughed, cupping her face again and kissing her nose.

“Um as well,”.

“Yes?”.

“Do you think the whole wall pinning and choking… we could-maybe-try it?” Her face burning red as Satan felt his cock twitch, the horns on the side of his that had subsided as his anger calmed now re-appeared but this time for lust, not anger. 

“Fuck me you’re so fucking perfect,” He mumbled once more, picking her up in his arms with her legs around his waist as he kissed her deeply, carrying her from the library to his room. 

Kinktober masterlist here.

#alloverkinktober #kinktober #obey me #obey me satan #obey me satan smut #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan x mc #shall we date obey me #shall we date smut #shall we date satan #obey me smut #shall we date #smut

[mrs-gucci]

Full Service {Maurizio Gucci x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! this idea was rolling around in my brain for a while, but it took a bit for me to get it just right. so, here’s the final finished product!

**I used a translation app for all of the Italian in this story, so I apologize for any mistakes or grammatical errors. all Italian will be in italics, with the translations following the dialogue in parenthesis.

**This is MY OWN INTERPRETATION of Maurizio Gucci’s character, as portrayed by Adam Driver in the upcoming film, House Of Gucci.

warnings: smut. maurizio calling reader “tesoro”™️. a tiny bit of fluff at the very end. maid/boss roleplay (lowkey?? except reader’s actually a maid lol). oral. no aftercare. dirty talk and name-calling/degradation, but in italian ;)

(possible) tw’s: indifelity/extramarital affair. implied age gap (reader is over 21, no more than 10 years difference).

word count: 2.7k

“Tesoro” means “Treasure” in Italian (an affectionate nickname).

You’d just begun cleaning the marbled kitchen when Mr. Gucci arrives home. You turn around and offer him a small smile, which he ignores, shrugging the briefcase off his shoulder. 

He immediately walks into his office and shuts the door without a single word or glance, and you probably wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the evening. That’s usually how it went. Patrizia wasn’t home yet, a surprise considering she’s usually home all day when you come to clean. 

You’ve developed quite the crush for Mr. Gucci as of late, although you’d never admit it aloud. He was a bit older than you, not to mention married. But, you couldn’t help it, he was unbelievably handsome, successful, and quick-witted when he wanted to be. Usually after a drink or two.

But, he was a man very dedicated to his work, which often left him with a stern demeanor and a harsh tone of voice. He barely paid you mind, especially not when work was waiting for him in his office. 

You continued to clean for another hour or so; it was a mansion, after all, and the kitchen was at least three times the size of your bedroom. Plus, the extensive marble surfaces and stainless steel appliances require your full service. You were so immersed in your work that you didn’t even notice Mr. Gucci’s presence behind you. 

Only when you turned around did you realize not only him, but the close proximity between your bodies. You gasp, backing up against the cabinetry. 

“Oh! Signore Gucci, mi scuso. Non sapevo che ci fossi.”  (Oh! Mr. Gucci, my apologies. I didn’t know you were there.)

His eyes look you up and down for a brief moment before returning to meet yours, a soft smile pulling at his lips. 

“Va bene, piccoletto. Non volevo farti da parte.” (It’s alright, little one. I didn’t mean to startle you.)

He sighs, looking away.

“Volevo informarvi che Patrizia non tornera stasera.  Ha deciso di restare la notte in una casa di amici.”  (I wanted to inform you that Patrizia won’t be coming back this evening. She’s decided to stay the night at a friends house.)

You could sense that there was something else going on, but you didn’t prod further, deciding that it was none of your business. You nod up at him, a bit confused as to why he’s telling you this. And why he has to be standing so damn close to tell you.

“Grazie per avermi informato, signore. Ho quasi finito di pulire la giornata, quindi saro via tra un’ora circa.”  (Thank you for letting me know, sir. I am almost done cleaning for the day, so I’ll be gone in an hour or so.)

Maurizio reaches his hand up to hold the side of your face, thumb swiping across your bottom lip. You freeze, tensing beneath his touch.

“Da quando hai iniziato a lavorare qui, ho trovato sempre piu difficile concentrarsi sul mio lavoro. Sai perche, piccoletto?” (You know, ever since you began working here, I’ve found it more and more difficult to focus on my work. Do you know why that is, little one?)

“No, signore, non lo so.” (No, sir, I don’t know.)

He runs a single finger down from my lips, tracing a straight line over my throat before it toys with the collar of my uniform.

“La tua uniforme...mi sta distrando.” (Your uniform is...distracting for me.)

The breath hitches in your throat as his fingers rub the material of the smoothed-down collar. His gaze flicks down to where his thumb and forefinger are.

“Quando ti vedo,” (Whenever I see you,)

He begins, leaning in a little closer.

“Trovo che i miei pantaloni cominciino a sentirsi stretti, il che e strano perche ho sistemato tutto il mio costume.”  (I find that my pants begin to feel tight, which is strange because I have all of my suits custom fitted.)

You nearly choke on your breath as his hand travels down the curves of your body, traversing the scoop of your hip before resting just above the hem of your uniform dress.

“E strano, sig. Gucci.” (That is odd, Mr. Gucci.)

His hand begins massaging the side of your thigh gently, and he leans down just a bit further, mouth now right in front of your ear. His hot breath sends a chill down your spine.

“Sta succedendo adesso, in effetti. Pensi di potermi aiutare con questo problema, Y/N?” (It’s happening right now, in fact. Do you think you could help me with this problem, Y/N?)

He presses you up against the cabinets, bodies flush together. A small groan escapes his lips when his obvious erection slides on your lower stomach.

You’ve never been as perplexed and aroused as you are in this moment. The burn between your thighs is nearly unbearable, and as much as you hate to admit it, you wanted this.

“Sono al suo servizio, signore.” (I am at your service, sir.)

Maurizio smirks, hooking a finger under the hem and pulling the stretchable fabric of your uniform dress out, then releasing it, allowing it to snap back into place on your outer thigh.

“In ginocchio, piccoletto.” (On your knees then, little one.)

Without hesitation, you slide down onto your knees, mouth watering as you look up at him, awaiting his next command. He cups your cheek, gently swiping his thumb across your cheekbone. 

“Bellissima e obbediente, capisco. Bene, bene.” (Beautiful and obedient, I see. Good, good.)

You bite your lip as he pats your cheek, then runs a hand over the bulge in his pants, sighing softly at the contact. His fingers curl up underneath, cupping and squeezing his balls while his thumb presses down on the head, rubbing it. He groans, letting out a shaky breath afterwards. 

“Vedi cosa mi fai fare, Y/N? Devo scendere e massaggiarmi cosi, togliendo tempo di lavoro prezioso.”  (Do you see what you make me do, Y/N? I have to reach down and rub myself like this, taking away precious work time.)

You’re soaked already, clit throbbing, begging for attention. You whine softly, chewing your lip as you resist the urge to lunge forward and run your face over his clothed length.

He smirks.

“Questo ti eccita, piccolo? Ti piace immaginarmi di toccarmi cosi nel mio ufficio?” (Does that thought excite you, little one? Do you like imagining me touching myself like this in my office?)

Your eager nod only spurs him on, hips pushing forward into his palm. He quickly takes his hand away, taking a small step closer so that the bulge is mere centimeters from your lips. Your jaw slacks and your breath becomes hot and heavy, mouth eager to worship him. 

His large hand gently wraps around the back of your head, pushing your head forward, encouraging you to touch him. You don’t require any further invitation, mouthing at his length while your nose drags against it. 

He widens his stance, spreading his legs apart as his hips start to grind against your mouth. 

“Oh, e cosi entusiasta. Mi piace, merda.” (Oh, she’s so eager. I love it, shit.)

The back of your head begins to hurt as it’s pressed further and further against the cabinet handles, but you don’t care, reaching around to grab his ass to pull him further into you. Even he seems surprised by this, asscheeks clenching as he suddenly thrusts forward with a low grunt. 

Maurizio wraps his hands in your hair, keeping you still as he pulls back, chest heaving slightly. His pupils are blown wide and he grabs your chin, thumb pressing down into the flesh. 

“Apri bene.” (Open wide.)

He says, grinning down at you as he begins pulling his belt buckle loose. 

Soon, he undoes his pants and pulls himself out from beneath the restrictive material, humming in satisfaction as his length bobs in front of you. His hands rest on either side of your head as he guides his weeping head towards your mouth. You open for him, and he leans forward, pushing into your mouth.

You immediately begin choking and gagging, but he just keeps going, pushing inch after inch inside. His abdomen tenses and his back curls when he’s shoved all of himself in your mouth, letting out a shaky exhale. 

“Cosi, oh bella ragazza, e cosi bella la bocca.” (That’s it, oh good girl, such a good mouth.)

You’re forced to remain still as your throat constricts, head pinned against the cabinets with his hands on either side. Once you adjust to the new intrusion, Maurizio pulls back before thrusting forward again, growling under his breath. 

“Cazzo, e una cosa buona per me.” (Fuck, that’s good, so good for me.)

All you can do is moan as your boss begins fucking your mouth, eyelids brimming with tears at the constant touch of his tip on your uvula. He bends over, supporting himself on the counter with an arm while his hand tightens in your hair, thrusts getting faster.

“Guarda questa bocca che mi allunga per il cazzo. Che brava ragazza, prendendo il cazzo dei capi come se fosse troia.”  (Look at this little mouth stretching out for my cock. What a good girl, taking her bosses cock like the slut she is.)

You moan loudly, hand swiftly snaking down between your legs, fingertips pressing on the throbbing nub to provide relief. When he sees you do this, it only seems to encourage him further, one foot scooting forward so that he’s now almost completely bent over you. 

His hips are becoming desperate, now, losing their rhythm as his inevitable release builds. 

“Ah, sapevo che avresti avuto una bella bocca, Y/N. Ho sempre saputo che saresti ansioso di prendere il mio uccello, disposto a lasciarti usare cosi.” (Ah, I knew you’d have a good little mouth, Y/N. I always knew you’d be eager to take my cock, willing to let me use you like this.)

You’re sobbing around him now, tears streaming down your cheeks at the sheer intensity of the arousal you’re experiencing. He looked so good like this: hair a mess, glasses fogged, panting and grunting with each thrust, all while he slams his cock into your mouth without relent.

Suddenly, he pulls out and stumbles back, hands gripping the edge of the countertop as he catches his breath. He stares down at you with a look of pure hunger, of carnal lust, and it makes you shudder. 

“Alzati e piegati al bancone. Subito.” (Stand up and bend yourself over the counter. Now.)

He strokes himself rapidly as you stand up on shaky legs and bend over, spreading your legs. He’s quick to come up behind you, grabbing your hips to pull you back a bit so that your hips were off the edge. 

You gasp when he yanks the skirt up over your hips, revealing your creamy globes and the red lace thong nestled between them. He growls, making quick work of your panties, shoving them down off your hips before running his fingers along your folds delicately, just barely brushing them. 

Maurizio smirks when your hips try to grind down on him, seeking the friction you so desperately needed. He smacks your ass promptly, causing a choked cry to leave your throat. 

“Stai fermo, Y/N.” (Stay still, Y/N.)

Two of his digits suddenly breach your soaked entrance, pushing up into you. You gasp softly, hips jerking slightly as he begins fucking his thick fingers up into you. His hand spreads across your lower back, keeping you still as he curls his digits up to rub and tease that spongy spot on your walls. 

“C-Cazzo, sig. Gucci, ti prego. Scopami, la voglio cosi male.”  (F-Fuck, Mr. Gucci, please. Please fuck me, I want it so badly.)

He grins, giving your g-spot a few more rubs before pulling his fingers out, smearing the slick over your lips.

“Succhiali, piccoletto. Assaggiati sulle dita.” (Suck them, little one. Taste yourself on my fingers.)

You open your mouth and moan around his digits as you suck them clean, tongue swirling around them before he takes them out. His tip pokes at your entrance and he runs himself over your folds to collect some lubricant before positioning himself behind you. 

“Pronta?” (Ready?)

You don’t even have time to respond before he shoves his hips forward, sheathing himself fully inside you. Your eyes almost bug out of your skull before squeezing shut, a loud gasp coming from your lips. He isn’t necessarily hung, but he’s certainly the biggest and thickest you’ve ever taken. 

His fingers dig into your hips as he remains still, allowing you to adjust to his size. After a moment, he draws back before thrusting forward again, building a steady rhythm with his hips. Small noises come from his lips as he fucks you into the countertop. 

“Si, cazzo. Cosi stretto e piccolo, sapevi di sentirti bene circondato dal mio uccello.” (Yes, fuck yes. So tight and little, knew you’d feel good wrapped around my cock.)

Your insides clench at his whispered words.

“Quante volte ci ha pensato, signore?” (How many times have you thought of this, sir?)

“Troppi per contare.” (Too many to count.)

He growls, hips suddenly bucking forward out-of-rhythm.

“Ogni volta che mi sono toccata, ho pensato a te, a questa stronzetta. Mi chiedevo se fossi stretto e ho pensato che sarebbe bello dividerla a meta con il mio cazzo.” (Every time I touched myself, I thought of you, of this little cunt. I wondered if you’d be tight, and I thought of how good it’d feel to split you in half with my cock.)

Maurizio puts his hand under your thigh and puts it up on the counter, bending down so his chin rests on your shoulder.

“Te lo sei immaginato anche questo, piccolo? Hai pensato a me quando ti sei toccata?” (Did you imagine this too, little one? Did you think about me when you touched yourself?)

You nod.

“Si, signore. Ti pensavo cosi, immaginavo che fossero le tue dita dentro di mi invece che le mie.” (I did, sir. I thought of you like this, imagined it was your fingers inside me instead of my own.)

“Ragazza sporca.” (Dirty girl.)

He snarls, pounding into you harder, hips spurred on by your words.

You’re close, now, walls beginning to pulse around him. He feels this, one hand wrapping around your throat while the other trails down around your front, fingers seeking your clit. 

His hand tightens around your neck, fingers gripping your jaw.

“Lo sento, tu sei vicino, piccolo. Forze, sborra intorno al mio uccello. Copri il tuo capo nella sporca fiaca e mostragli che porchetta sei.” (I can feel it, you’re close, little one. Come on, cum around my cock. Cover your boss in your filthy slick, show him what a little slut you are.)

With only a few circles over your erect clit, coupled with his cock stroking your walls rapidly and the dirty manner in which he was speaking to you, your release comes within seconds. You moan hoarsely, lungs depleted of some oxygen as his hand tightens around your throat. 

“Cazzo, arrivo!” (Fuck, I’m cumming!)

He ruts desperately into you, chasing his climax as he fucks you through yours. At the last minute, he pulls out, furiously jerking his cock before thick hot ropes of cum shoot from his tip, painting your bare ass. He grunts and groans through the whole thing, stroking himself through it before squeezing the head, letting the final drop land on your skin.

Both of you take a moment to catch your breaths and re-center yourselves in reality. Maurizio tucks himself back into his pants before walking over to grab a paper towel, wetting it slightly. He wipes all the drying seed off of your skin for you, bending down to pull your panties back up and your dress back down. 

Your legs are shaky as you stand back up, smoothing out the front of your uniform. Much to your surprise, Mr. Gucci didn’t leave right away, instead turning you around and bending down for a kiss. 

The kiss was gentle and tender, a stark contrast to everything that's happened up until this point. His large hand cupped your cheek and his thumb ran along your cheekbone before he pulled away, offering you a small smile.

“Grazie, piccolo.” (Thank you, little one.)

You return the smile.

“Certo, signore.” (Of course, sir.)

Turns out, the marble and stainless steel weren’t the only things that required your full service today.

#adamdriverwriter #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver smut #adam driver fluff #house of gucci #maurizio gucci #maurizio gucci smut #maurizio gucci x reader #maurizio gucci x you #maurizio gucci x reader smut #tw: extramarital affair #tw: infidelity

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 7 - Games

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff.

Summary: Trying to make sure the two of you stay out of the bedroom, you suggest playing a game of Twister and Gojo's mind starts to wander.

A/N: Sorry if there are mistakes! I don't have a beta and get tired rereading the chapters over and over again. This is a little short but we have some fluff and feels and we get a little insight on how Gojo has been feeling. I'm building up to something, I promise!

- - -

“Okay, left foot on green…”

With his right foot remaining on the red circle, Gojo spread his legs wide to place his left foot on the green circle towards the end of the mat. Things were easing up on his end when it came to work and he decided to take advantage of that by spending his free time with you tonight. What he didn’t expect was for the two of you to be in the middle of your living room playing board games instead of the usual physical activity that you both have grown accustomed to partaking in.

“Is this really how you want to spend our evening together?” he asked, taking the spinner from your hand as he proceeded to flick the arrow with his thumb and index finger.

You nodded your head, “We need to keep ourselves out of the bedroom. Otherwise, we will never leave...”

Gojo rotated his neck from side to side before replying, stretching to prepare himself for the awkward positions he was about to hold, “you’re making it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Listen, game night is going to make up for movie night which never happened because we wound up doing it on your couch instead...”

A smug grin spread across Gojo’s face, thinking of your failed plan to have a scary movie marathon with him. You were hoping to catch the sorcerer squirm but what you didn’t expect was him teasing you thirty minutes into the film that inevitably resulted in you being fucked senseless on his couch.

“You’re really going to put the blame on me for that? If you were paying attention you wouldn’t have succumbed to my advances so easily,” he retorted defensively.

“You had your hand up my skirt!”

“Now, I told you what that skirt does to me,” he jokingly snapped, pointing his finger at you sternly before shrugging his shoulders. “I couldn’t help myself…”

“Okay, well how about the night we were supposed to go out for dinner but missed our reservation because you decided to rip up my dress on the car ride over…”

“Let’s not get too dramatic, I merely broke the zipper and I did buy you another dress.”

“Okay, how about last night?”

Gojo parted his lips, pausing to think how the two of you wound up naked in the shower instead of going to the karaoke bar with Rina and her friends.

“Last night... wasn't my fault,” he pointed out, arching his brow at you as he recalled the way you teased him into submission.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right…” you shyly replied, biting your bottom lip as you scratched the back of your head. “So, uh, what’s my next move?”

“Quick to change the subject, I see?” Gojo answered with an easy smile, “Put your left hand on the blue circle…”

With your feet on the green and yellow circles, you leaned your body forward to put your left hand on the blue sphere. Meanwhile, Gojo dropped the spinner on the ground beside you, suppressing a laugh as he watched you struggle to spin the arrow and call out his next round.

“The point here is...” you grumbled as you tried to adjust yourself back into a comfortable position, “...the two of us are getting carried away. I just think this little break might do us some good.”

“I don’t think working up a sweat is a bad thing,” Gojo insisted.

“Well, we can burn calories after I kick your butt,” you added on, waiting for the arrow to land. “Right hand on green...”

“For someone trying to make sure we keep our distance, you sure picked an interesting game tonight,” Gojo teased, finding his new posture which brought his face close to yours.

“I know for a fact that you can’t cheat playing Twister,” you reminded, before glancing up at him from under your lashes and inching forward to peck him on the tip of his nose. “Besides, I never said I wanted space, I just thought I’d change things up for the evening.”

Gojo’s smiled into your lips as he gave you a soft kiss in return, “if you think you can distract me by being cute, you are absolutely wrong .”

“We both know how much of a sore loser you can be,” you answered back, “I just hope you’re ready to throw yourself a pity party by the end of this because I am definitely winning.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Right hand, blue…” he continued, trying to pay attention to the game and observing you reach your arm slightly underneath him to place your hand on the circle.

He couldn’t explain when things became this comfortable with you. If he had known that hooking up with you would bring you both closer together as friends, he wouldn’t have rejected your offer that easily.

You’ve both already broken one of your rules. However, Gojo didn’t mind forgoing the “drinking” rule to decide whether or not the two of you wanted to hook up. You both no longer needed the excuse anyway, after a while it became painfully clear that regardless of what the plans were, things always resulted in the two of you tangled up in someone’s bed sheets.

The sorcerer spent a majority of his spare time alone, unaware of how much it bothered him until you came along. He thought about the way you described yourself when you were in a relationship with your ex-boyfriend, and wondered if this felt similar in any way. Not that he considered you as anything other than a friend...but he was curious .

You both were different in many ways but often clashed when it came to your perspectives on love. You believed that there was a person out there for everbody, that there was nothing like falling in love with somebody who looked at you as if you were their whole world.

Granted, those were your opinions when you were in a happy and loving relationship but Gojo always disagreed with you because he was convinced that relationships were messy and only brought unnecessary drama to the table. That’s why he had his own personal rule that was standard practice when it came to his “love” life.

He never hooked up with somebody more than once.

Rumors about his womanising ways only stemmed from the fact that he did actually have plenty of lovers. However, he could barely recall their faces and didn’t even remember their names. Sometimes they recognized him on the street, and foolishly attempted to strike up a conversation with the handsome, rich stranger who paid for their company.

Gojo would politely brush them off every time. His stone cold reaction broke the hearts of those who were lucky enough to even be in his presence. He surely didn’t need to pay for the escorts or call girls but the act itself was easier and he had the money to spend anyway. These acquaintances never asked him any questions about his personal life, which benefited him greatly because it left very little room for anything other than small talk. Once both parties were satisfied, Gojo would leave every encounter without ever looking back. Sex was a routine way for him to blow off steam or merely take care of his natural urges. However, you didn’t know that you were the first person who he consistently kept as company in the bedroom.  

Up until this moment, he had been suppressing his desire for you. Now that he has you, the sorcerer could tell he was getting greedy. He respected your wishes when you asked him not to see anyone else on the side but surprised himself when he realised that he had no interest in seeking out the strangers that used to keep him company at night.

Even though you both insisted that this new partnership had no influence on friendship, Gojo was observant enough to see that it was not the case. Little things were starting to change here and there, and he was carefully making note of it every time it happened.

For example, whenever he was off fighting curses, you started habitually checking up on him to make sure he was okay. One night when he was unable to answer his phone, he received a string of unusual text messages from you to find out what happened. He remembered calling you right after, teasing you to ask if you were worried about him. You surprised him with your fear, how you easily believed that something was powerful enough to harm him despite him repeatedly telling you that nothing could touch him. When you responded to his question with a sincere yes, an unexpected sensation spread across his chest. If he wasn’t paying attention to how much you cared about him before, he was more aware of it now.

To ease your worries, he made it a point to shoot you a text whenever he could just to let you know that he was alright. Although, he did sometimes forget which resulted in you panicking on the phone with him. Only this time, Gojo never made fun of your concerns.

In turn, he realised how fiercely protective he became of you and it killed him whenever he had to deflect your questions when you asked about his life. There was so much you wanted to know and so much that he wished he could tell you. However, he had every intention of maintaining this invisible boundary. The last thing he wants is for you to get caught up in something that you couldn’t understand. If he were to invite you into his whole world, that would only lead to you facing dangerous threats that loved to lurk in the shadows.

He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to you.

A few more rounds passed, and the two of you were intertwined in the most precarious situation. You were in a reverse tabletop position, looking like a crab with two hands and feet on the blue and yellow circles. Meanwhile, Gojo was in a plank position above you, his palms pressed on the red and green circle by your side, with one foot next to yours on a blue circle and another on a yellow circle.

You were shaking underneath him, desperately trying to maintain your awkward stance while Gojo appeared bored holding his own position with ease.

“Okay, I didn’t take your strength or height into consideration…” you groaned with a pout.

A chuckle escaped his lips, “give up, yet?”

“No…” you groaned, eyeing the spinner by your side as you reached for it with your right hand. You lifted your head slightly, your neck straining as you tried to call out the next move. “Left foot, green…”

Gojo picked up his leg but as he stretched himself out he realised that he couldn’t bend himself properly in that particular way.

Your eyes widened, watching him shake as he tried to rotate his body without lifting himself completely up off the mat.

“Or maybe your height is actually a disadvantage?” you questioned, ignoring the way your arms burned from holding yourself up as your heart raced with anticipation.

“Shhh, I’m concentrating...”

Gojo kicked his leg out one way and then the other, the comical image of his tall body in motion only made you laugh at his reaction. He tried his best to ignore the sound of your voice but knew that he could barely maintain his balance as he tried to find the green circle. However, he miscalculated the gravity of his own weight when he shifted to the left side of his body, his elbow buckling underneath and causing him to collapse.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, raising your arms up in victory, paying no attention to his body pressed on top of yours.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, breathing in deep to inhale the scent of your soap. He felt your hand pat the back of his head lightly, indicating that you wanted him to get off from on top of you. He slowly unraveled himself, irritated by his own misfortune as he rolled onto his back to lay down beside you. He tilted his head to look at you, noticing you turn so you both were making direct eye contact with each other.

Gojo always knew you were beautiful. Nothing in this world could convince him otherwise but he never paid attention to the details of how pretty you actually were. Little things about you that made the gears in his head turn, from the gorgeous mane that sprouted on the top of your head, to the way your eyes sparkled whenever you were excited or how the curve of your lips was your secret tell to let him know exactly what you were feeling when you couldn’t find the words to explain yourself.

Why me? He thought to himself, if you wanted to fuck around with somebody then why did you ask me?  

A kiss on his lips snapped him out of his drawn out thoughts, he felt the pads of your fingers along his cheek, slipping lightly underneath his blindfold to reveal just one of those blue eyes.

“Ready for another round?” you questioned.

Gojo softly smiled, thankful that you haven’t grown bored of him just yet. He lifted himself up, bringing one of his hands to cup your face as he pulled you in for another kiss. His tongue parted your lips and he allowed himself this one indulgence as he trailed his hand to the back of your neck.

Whatever thoughts that were running through his mind, he chose to ignore. There was no reason for him to consider such trivial things anyway. You were spoiling him with your body, playing out the fantasies that plagued his mind. He was aware that his greed fueled his lust for you and honestly did not know what he would do if you were to ask him to stop.

He deepened the kiss, allowing the frustrating thought to play out in passion instead. You shifted your position, your hand falling to his chest as you gripped onto the collar of his tee. Still holding onto the kiss, Gojo lifted himself upright so he was seated and as much as he would love to take advantage of this current situation, he chose to pull himself away instead.

“Best of three?”

“That sounds good to me!” you replied as you circled your arm around his neck, before returning to kiss him again.

Gojo gave in for only a second, before cheekily breaking away and tapping you gently on the forehead with his index finger.

“Oh no, you aren’t doing this to me again...” he said, his hands moving to your waistline as he gently pushed you away from him. “You wanted to have a game night and we are going to see it through.”

He leaned across from you to pick up the spinner, before settling back down and holding it in between the tiny space that separated you both.

“Winner goes first.”

- CHAPTER 8: HEAT - 

#Gojo Satoru x reader #Gojo Satoru x you #Gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fan fiction #Gojo Satoru fan fiction #Gojo Satoru smut #Gojo smut #Gojo Satoru fluff #Gojo fluff #gojo headcanons #gojo x oc #Gojo x ofc #Gojo x reader insert

[bangtanreadingcorner]

tall, blonde and gorgeous • jeon jeongguk

plot — when jeongguk dyes his hair blonde, it might just be the push you both need to finally talk about the feelings you have for each other.

words — 5.7K

You woke up in the middle of the night, craving some apple juice. You knew there was in the kitchen fridge, because Taehyung always made sure to stock up whenever you come for a weekend visit.

Speaking of your brother, he was passed out next to you, the two of you sharing his King sized bed while you visited. Like you always did. It was mostly just you two, but sometimes Jimin would join you. You don't mind, you known both of them since forever and Jimin is your brother as much as Taehyung is.

Quietly, you got out of bed. You didn't want to wake your brother, he works so hard and needs his rest.

The dorm was silent, which was a little weird because there was usually always someone up. It was only when on tour that all seven of the boys would sometimes be asleep at once, but even that was rare.

Shrugging it off, you padded the rest of the way to the kitchen, only to come to a halt in the doorway, freezing.

Someone with a mop of blond hair stood with his back to you, digging through the fridge.

The digging through the fridge wasn't what surprised you, no, it was the hair because as far as you knew, no one in Bangtan had blonde hair right now.

You knew because your brother was always spamming your phone, whenever he had time, with pictures, videos, voice notes and messages. You and Taehyung have always been close and he always made the effort to keep you up-to-date with his life but also made a point to keep you out of the spotlight, which you appreciate more than you tell him. Come to think of it, more than half your gallery is made up of pictures of Bangtan. The other half is made up of your rare selfies, pictures with your friends, of your dog or your brother's dog.

The point is, if someone colored their hair, you would know within five minutes - with pictures and everything. And Taehyung hasn't spammed your phone since yesterday morning when he and Jimin accidentally got Hobi instead of Jeongguk with a water balloon.

So, the question is, who is the blonde currently rummaging through the fridge?

You looked him up and down, noticing the very nice, very broad and clearly strong shoulders covered with a black t-shirt that hid the rest of the guy's figure. Your gaze went down a nice ass and long legs that was wearing grey sweatpants and finally stopping at bare feet.

Something flashed in your mind.

Wait a minute.

You know that ass. You've looked at it enough over the last seven years to recognize it anywhere in a crowd.

"Jeongguk?" You called, a little satisfied when he jumped upright, turning to you with wide eyes. Your heart decided to double its pace.

"Ah, tiny, you're awake. I thought you were sleeping, trying to grow some more." He teased, his heartbeat slowly calming down from the freight you gave him. His eyes quickly scanned you over, and he had to suppress a smile when he saw the bright orange pajamas. It was ugly as hell - he made sure to tell you many times but you always just roll your eyes at him or if you were feeling particularly moody, you'd flip him a finger.

Now, ordinarily, you'd snap at him for calling you tiny because you aren't (it doesn't matter that Jimin is 12 centimeters taller than you, it doesn't make you tiny, short maybe, but not tiny) but right now, you could only focus on one thing.

"Y-your hair." You stuttered, which was new because you never stutter in Jeongguk's presence. Your heart may race, your legs may turn into jelly, your hands may tremble and your stomach may fill with butterflies but you never stutter. And you never let him know what you're feeling.

He ran a hand through his freshly dyed blonde hair, only a little self-conscious with the intense stare you were giving him. He couldn't tell if it was positive or negative. "Yeah, I just wanted a change, something different."

"Well, it's definitely different. Mission accomplished." You informed him, walking into the kitchen fully, your voice miraculously even as you were internally panicking. This was like that time he dyed his hair pink all over again. Oh god. You hoped you could form coherent sentences this time around instead of just giving him the silent treatment for two weeks.

Like you said, you don't stutter around Jeongguk. Ever.

Jeongguk tilted his head at you curiously. "Bad different?"

"No!" You exclaimed, not wanting him to think that. You shook your head vigorously. "Not all. It looks good actually. Really good." So good, in fact, that your fingers itched to touch, to run your hands through it, play with the dyed locks of hair.

Jeongguk looked at you in pleasant surprise, lips stretching into that familiar bunny smile that made you swoon. He bit his bottom lip before saying. "I think that's the first time you ever paid me a compliment."

You frowned, "That can't be true."

"It is." Jeongguk's tone was matter-of-fact. "In seven years, you've never once given me a compliment. I would have remembered."

You pursed your lips, a sudden surge of guilt rushing through your chest at the look on his face - hurt.

"Well, you get lots of compliments from other people, right?" You said, trying to deflect because you never once thought that by staying quiet around Jeongguk, just to hide your feelings, that you'd hurt him.

"But never from you." Jeongguk said, words low and heavy with something you didn't understand. He stared at you, eyes open and strangely vulnerable. You didn't understand what he was trying to tell you.

You frowned at him again, "What does it matter?"

Something in Jeongguk's eyes shuttered at that, like he let you see something but now he pulled his walls back up. You still didn't understand it and he wasn't volunteering an answer.

Finally, he shrugged, "It doesn't, I guess." and he turned back to the refrigerator.

You had a feeling he was lying but you weren't going to call him out because that wasn't your place and it wasn't the kind of thing you and Jeongguk did. Whenever things seemed to go in a direction where feelings were involved - and not about other people but about each other, like what you think of Jeongguk and what he thinks of you - one of you stops the conversation before it can go deeper.

You tease each other good-naturedly, comfortable with each other because you are the same age, and you've listened to him rant when he was frustrated and even held his hand at times when he cried because the pressure of it all got a little to much.

It struck you, suddenly, how Jeongguk always comes to you first. Whether he's stupidly happy about something, or whether he's sad and wants a shoulder to cry on. You two could talk about anything under the sun or moon but whenever it comes to your feelings for each other, you shut down. You've never even admitted that you are, at the very least, friends and that you do care about each other.

You wondered if maybe it was time to change that.

You looked at Jeongguk's back and wanted to ask if thinks of you as a friend, if nothing else but what came out was, "Can you hand me a juice box please?"

He did so, without a word, and you decided to go back to bed. You stopped in the doorway again, turning back to him. "Jeongguk?"

"Yeah?" His tone, his eyes, was strangely hopeful and it made your heart twist. You looked at him, and somehow fell a little bit more in love with him.

"You know that I care about you, right? I mean, I know we've never talked about it, but I do." Your hands was shaking and you gripped the juice box. Luckily you didn't press the straw in yet or your hands would be full of apple juice right now.

The smile Jeongguk gave you was brilliant and it made your heart feel lighter than ever. He nodded his head, "I know."

"Good."

"I-" He started, breath catching a bit but forced himself to go on because if you could be brave, then so could he. "I care about you, too."

You grinned at him before turning away and going back to Taehyung's room, a definite skip in your step.

* * *

"So, what do you think?" Taehyung asked eagerly the next morning after breakfast, when everyone cooed and screeched over Jeongguk's hair.

You were back in your brother's room, scrolling through your Twitter feed. You looked at him, not sure what he was talking about. When it comes to Taehyung it can anything from the lines for a song he's working on to his next prank on one of the members.

"Of what?" You asked.

"About Jeonggukie." He said, waving with a hand at his head, so that the meaning was clear.

"Ah, you mean his transformation from tall, dark and handsome to tall, blonde and gorgeous?"

"Yes! What do you think?" Your brother looked at you expectantly.

"I think my previous question is an answer to that question." You smirked at him, snickering when he just scoffed before pouting at you.

"I hate it when you go all smartass on me." He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I love you, too." You sing-songed with a lighthearted giggled.

* * *

Later that afternoon, you decided to watch a movie and was joined by Jeongguk, Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin.

"Jeongguk-ah." You called from where you were sitting on the two seater couch next to Hoseok. Jimin and Taehyung was laying cuddled on the three seater and Jeongguk was sitting on the floor, against the front of the coffee table. You weren't sure where the rest are right now.

He turned to you, eyes narrowed suspiciously, "What do you want?"

You gaped at him, "What makes you think I want something?"

"Because you only call me 'Jeongguk-ah' when you want something." He was matter-of-fact.

The other three was watching the two of you instead of the movie.

"Like what? I rarely ask you anything." You frowned at him.

"Like getting your phone from Taehyung-hyung's room, making you tea, bringing you a blanket, getting your food." Jeongguk said and you huffed. Okay, so maybe you do that but this time what you want would benefit him too.

"Okay, first of all, you didn't have to do any of what I asked, you know. And second, you'll like this too." You assured him, then added after a moment. "I think."

Jeongguk looked at you warily as Jimin and Taehyung exchanged smirks. "What do you want?"

"I want to play with your hair." You shrugged nonchalantly, not showing a hint of how nervous you are, no showing how it took you the whole morning to pluck enough courage together to ask.

Jeongguk's mouth fell open in surprise, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I mean I've always liked your hair but this blonde hair is really doing for you." You smiled at him, a little more confident when you saw more confusion than anything else on his face. Satisfaction rolled through you when you noticed his red ears.

"Whatever, fine." He muttered in agreement, looking away from you as he stood up right and came to sit down infront of you.

"Thank you." You grinned, clapping your hands in glee as you crossed your legs on the couch, knees touching Jeongguk's shoulders.

"Just don't tangle it." Jeongguk said, eyes fixed on the TV screen.

"I won't." You promised before reaching out and running your hands through his hair. It was just as soft as you hoped, instead of being dry and rough from the dye - it made you feel giddy.

Jeongguk tensed under the touch for a second but relaxed when you continued your gentle ministrations, nails scraping softly against his scalp. You tuned out the rest of the room, having watched the movie before - you've watched all the Marvel movies with Jeongguk at least three times - and continued playing with the blonde tresses.

Still, something caught your attention and you said, "Jimin-oppa, put away that phone."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said innocently, hiding his phone behind his back.

"Sure you don't."

It was silent for fifteen seconds before he whined, "But no one will believe me if I don't have proof."

"They'll believe Hobi-oppa." You retorted, nodding to the ray of sunshine sitting besides you.

Jimin huffed indignantly but dutifully put his phone away.

You continued playing with Jeongguk's hair, twirled and braided and separated and bunched it together like a pineapple stem atop his hair. The movie finished and Taehyung picked another one and you still played with Jeongguk's hair.

Twenty minutes into the new movie, Jeongguk's head fell back, onto your legs, eyes closed. You gaped at the blonde.

"Jeongguk." You whispered, not wanting to wake him if he is sleeping but not sure if he's playing either.

"Did he fall asleep?" Your brother asked, laughter in his voice, making his eyes sparkle.

"I think so." You nodded, in a state of bewilderment and disbelief.

"You must have magic hands." Hoseok said before pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his laughter.

Your glared at them. "Not one more word out of the three of you, or I'll change the sugar in your coffee for salt for the indefinite future."

"I didn't say anything." Jimin protested and you just gave him a pointed look.

They thankfully kept quiet after that, but you could see them glancing at you and Jeongguk every now and again. You ignored their gazes as you continued playing with his hair.

Your heart was thumping happily in your chest, glad that Jeongguk enjoy you playing with his hair so much that it lulled him to sleep. It made you feel so content that you didn't want to move again.

You even turned a blind eye when you saw Jimin turning his phone in your direction ten minutes later.

At the end of the movie, you decided to wake Jeongguk up. As much as you like him sleeping on your legs, they were starting to fall asleep and he would get a stiff neck if he keeps sleeping like that.

So, you shooed everyone out of the room before gently shaking his shoulder. "Jeongguk-ah, wake up."

He groaned and you repeated your actions, watching as his eyes fluttered open. You looked into his sleepy eyes, wanting to coo as you watched him blink his way out of sleep. He quickly recognised you, even upside down, and immediately sat upright, looking at you with wide eyes.

"Y/N?" His voice was husky with sleep and it made your cheeks heat up. "What happened?"

"You feel asleep." You explained. You watched as he nodded slowly, processing this and felt the urge to tease him a little, so you added, "On my lap."

Jeongguk's cheeks flushed pink and you couldn't help the fond smile on your lips. He ducked his head shyly and spoke a soft, "Sorry."

"It's okay." You waved him off. You wanted to even the field between you because it felt unbalanced somehow, like you had something over Jeongguk. You didn't like it, you wanted to be right besides him. Not above or below him. (Although many people would say he's way above you, you know that he doesn't care about that and neither do you.) Finally you admitted, "I liked it, it was nice that you felt relaxed enough because of me to fall asleep."

"I liked it, too."

You smiled, a little shy but also feeling bold by his admission. "I'll do it again sometime then."

"Okay." He grinned.

* * *

After that weekend, it took three weeks before you had another free weekend to go and visit your brother. With your bag slung over your shoulder and a bouquet of red tulips in your hand, you opened the door and called a loud hello to anyone inside. You made you way to the kitchen first, wanting to put the flowers in some water.

You found Jeongguk - who was still blonde, and your heart instantly picked up its pace - and Namjoon in the kitchen, the leader busy by the microwave and Jeongguk waiting as far as humanly possible from it. You quickly realised what was happening and supressed a smile. Namjoon must be heating food up for Jeongguk, who is afraid of microwaves.

You exchanged greetings and you quickly started looking through the cupboards for a vase.

"Those are pretty flowers." Namjoon remarked, leaning against the counter.

"I know right."

"Where did you get them?" Jeongguk asked, eyes on the admittedly pretty flowers.

"Oh, some guy gave them to me before asking me out." You answered absentmindedly as you continued your search for a vase.

Behind you, Jeongguk tensed, his hands curling into fists.

"Really?" Namjoon asked, more to see Jeongguk's reaction than anything else.

"Yeah, I almost said yes, too, just for the fact that he gave me flowers." You nodded over your shoulder. "Do you guys have a vase? I swear Jin-oppa had one in the old dorm."

"Under the sink." Namjoon answered, arms crossed over his chest as he looked back and forth between an oblivious-you and a jealous-Jeongguk, a smile on the corners of his lips.

"Thanks." You grinned before walking over to the sink and crouching down. You opened the cupboard and had to dig past the sponges, cloths, windowlene, bleach and dishwashing liquid before spotting the crystal vase. "I love flowers, you know? Not many people know because it's not something I advertise but Taehyung-oppa always gives me flowers for my birthday, every year since I was thirteen." You babbled as you gently pulled out the vase, not wanting to knock it against one of the pipes and crack or shatter it by accident. It was a little dusty, so you rinsed it before filling it halfway with water.

"Do you have a favorite flower?" Namjoon asked, partly to fill the silence because Jeongguk was glaring at the ceiling, tongue in cheek, and partly because he genuinely wants to know.

"Nope," You shook your head, removing the protective plastic around the flowers and putting them in the water. "I like all kinds of flowers. Roses, lillies, forget-me-nots, proteas, tulips, sunflowers - you name it, I love it. And in all colours too. There's just too many to pick a favorite. Although I really like pink lotus flowers. I'd love to grow them when I have my own garden someday. I'll have to install a shallow pond, of course, because they grow in mud but yeah, that's something I'd really like to try." You rambled on. Namjoon watched you fondly and glanced at the maknae, seeing that Jeongguk was still tense.

"Did you say yes?" Jeongguk burst out asking the moment you stopped talking.

"Huh?" You frowned at him, a little lost because you were completely caught up in thoughts of flowers.

"The date." He said, voice taking a sharp edge. "Did you say yes?"

"Oh." Realisation dawned on you and you shook your head. "No, I didn't."

"Then why did you take his flowers? You'll give him the wrong idea." Jeongguk grumbled.

Namjoon thought that right now was the best time to become a missing person and quickly exited the kitchen. He is not playing referee, should this turn into an arguement. No, thank you, he's done it enough between these two.

You rolled your eyes at Jeongguk, "I made myself perfectly clear, Jeongguk. I told him that while I adore the flowers, I don't like him."

"Still, you shouldn't have taken them." Jeongguk insisted, stepping closer to you.

Your temper flared, "Excuse me? Why not?"

"What if someone had seen? What if they start thinking that you two are dating?" Jeongguk's tone was something crossed between horror and panic.

"And so what if they think that?" You frowned at Jeongguk because what does it matter what other people think when you know the truth?

"So you do want people to think you're dating." Jeongguk said, voice cutting and accusing.

"What?" You stepped closer to Jeongguk, getting angrier by the second.

"Do you actually like this guy?" Jeongguk asked, sounding distressed with the thought but you were to angry to pay any attention to that.

You scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm ridiculous?" He pointed to himself, shocked.

"Yes! They're just fucking flowers!" Your voice was raised as you snapped at him, louder and harsher than it's been in a long time towards Jeongguk, of all people.

You didn't have time to feel guilty because his next words matched yours in volume, "That some other guy bought for you!"

"And your point is what exactly?!" Your voice didn't lower.

"My point is that I can buy you flowers!" Jeongguk shouted back.

The words take a second to sink in, and when it does, it catches you completely off guard and you deflate like a popped balloon, you anger evaporating like mist under the sun. You squint up at the blonde, who you finally noticed was a lot closer than when you started this arguement. "What?"

His voice was soft this time around, all the fight having left him, too. "If you want flowers, just ask me. I'll buy you any flowers you want. Just-" He cut himself off with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Don't take someone else's flowers again. Please."

You looked at him, opening your mouth to snap at him but saw the sincere, the utterly vulnerable look in his eyes, and the breath was knocked from your lungs. You looked away, taking a few steps back as your heart twisted and you inhaled deeply to fill your lungs again. You noticed that Namjoon had left the kitchen. You didn't blame him.

A lengthy silence later, you finally looked at Jeongguk again, your hands trembling. "Is it really that important to you?"

"Yes." Jeongguk answered softly but firmly, no question in his voice, even as he looked down at the tiled floor.

"Okay." You nodded.

His eyes snapped to yours, and he echoed, "Okay?"

"Yeah, okay." You gave him a slow smile, then, just to break the heavy tension around you two, you said, "Just know that there is no backing out now and flowers are expensive. You aren't allowed to complain that I'm denting your bank account later."

"Deal." Jeongguk laughed, warmth spreading through his chest as the last of his jealousy faded.

* * *

"You know that one day you are going to have to talk about the feelings between you and Jeongguk, right?" Taehyung asked his sister later that night when they were laying in bed. He heard the story from Jimin, who heard it from Seokjin and Yoongi, who heard it from Hoseok, who heard it from Namjoon.

"What feelings?" You asked innocently.

Taehyung sighed in frustration but wasn't very surprised. The one thing that Taehyung has never been able to get out of his sister is the truth about her feelings for Jeongguk. But even without her saying anything, he knew. The eyes don't lie. "Denying it won't make it go away, Y/N."

You sighed, too, "Yeah, I know."

Taehyung didn't say anything for a few moments. This was the closest his sister ever gotten to admitting her feelings out loud, in seven years. "I'm here for you. Always."

"Thanks." You smiled, as if you didn't know that already.

* * *

Before you went home that Sunday, your brother told you that they were going on vacation as a group and you're invited because according to Taehyung, right after Jimin, you are the one person he can't live without. You rolled your eyes at the dramatics but agree to go with them none the less.

So, you put in a week's leave for two weeks from now and asked your brother where you would be going for this vacation. The answer was a secluded beach house where no one would be able to reach you.

And no phones was allowed.

You laughed a bit at that rule when you arrived at the house and saw that there is WiFi. Your brother was quick to remind everyone of the rule, telling them that the WiFi was only allowed to be used for YouTube and Netflix. Games was added to the list after an objection from Jeongguk and Seokjin.

"This is gonna go great." You laughed as walked up the stairs to pick a room. You get first choice after winning the rock, paper, scissors game in the car.

"Pick us a nice room, sis!" Taehyung shouted up after you.

There was only four rooms because the whole point of this vacation is to spend time together, which means that everyone was doubling up. They decided to pair up by age and it turned out - Seokjin and Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon, Jimin and Jeonguk, and naturally, you and Taehyung were paired up. (You tried not to think about the fact that if you kept to the age pairing that you and Jeongguk would've been sharing a room.) That lead to a lot of pouting from Jimin because he wanted to pair up with his soulmate.

"If your so eager to share a bed with him, why don't you marry him?" You remember teasing Jimin.

"Maybe I will." He shot back without thinking and you weren't sure who was redder once his words set in - Jimin or Taehyung.

You picked a room with a small balcony and a nice view of the ocean. The day passed peacefully, everyone full of energy but after dinner on the beach, everyone quickly retired to bed, the sea air getting to them.

You decided to watch the ocean a little while longer and Jeongguk joined you. Neither of you spoke as you sat on the sand, watching as the waves crashed on the shore, water retreating back into the vast expanse of ocean. It was captivating, in a kind of terrifying way but if there is one thing in your life you've never been scared of, it's water.

"Life is a lot like the ocean." You eventually said, breaking the silence between you.

"How so?"

"You can read about it in so many books, but you still won't know everything about it."

"That's deep." Jeongguk said, voice soft.

You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. "Yeah, well, I've never been a shallow person."

"I know." You saw him nodding out of the corner of your eyes. "You're a beautiful person. Inside and out." He said it so matter-of-factly, so sincerely, that your stomach flipped and your cheeks flushed.

"Thanks." You smiled over at him.

It was silent again, but just like the first silence, you didn't mind it. You like the comfortable quiet between you two. Finally, you sighed and pushed to your feet, "Come on, let's go inside."

"Okay." Jeongguk got to his feet and you walked the path home.

You walked on the side of the pool where you all swam earlier that day, and didn't notice the small puddle of water that hasn't dried yet and you slipped. You reached for Jeongguk but his hands missed yours by millimeters, so you just took a breath and resigned yourself to falling into the water. You didn't mind it all that much, nothing some towels couldn't fix.

When you surfaced, you saw a laughing Jeongguk on the side. An idea formed in your mind but you made sure to keep your expression neutral as you reached a hand out to him. "Give a girl a hand, please."

Jeongguk - nice, kind, unsuspecting Jeongguk - reached a helping hand out to you immediately, only realising your true intentions when you gave a forceful yank and pulled him into the pool.

When he surfaced, glaring at you - but there was no heat behind it, so it didn't count - you couldn't help but laugh heartily. "I forget how similar you and Taehyung-hyung really are sometimes."

"Sucks for you." You smirked. The smirk turned into spluttering when Jeongguk splashed water into your face. You looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Oh, you're on."

You splashed at each other like proper five year olds, giggling and everything. Finally you called a ceasefire before you woke up everyone inside.

You looked at Jeongguk, blonde hair dripping wet, droplets of water rolling down his tan skin, that little mole under his bottom lip that you've wanted to kiss so many times you've lost count and suddenly, all of your resolve broke down like a house of cards and your common sense shortcircuited. You surged forward and kissed him firmly, clutching at his shoulders to pull him close.

His lips were a little cold from the water but was still petal soft and you wondered what it would be like to kiss him everyday.

Your common sense returned a second later and you pulled away, almost loosing your footing and slipping. Your whole body was on fire and you couldn't look Jeongguk in the eyes. "Fuck. Shit, Jeongguk, I'm so, so sorry."

You turned away from him, every intention of getting out of this pool and hiding away until you die.

Only you didn't get anywhere before a strong hand circled your wrist in the one second and in the next second you found yourself pushed up against the wall of the swimming pool, barricaded in by a hand on each side of you. You looked up at Jeongguk and your mouth went dry at the sight of those dark eyes that made you shiver. His voice was low when he spoke, "I didn't get to kiss back."

Your eyes widened and that was all you had time to do before he leaned down to capture your lips. Your head told you to pull away. That this is a very bad idea. Your heart told you to kiss him back and make the most of it. You've been listening to your head for seven years, so you decided to listen to your heart for once and kissed Jeongguk back with years of pent up longing and yearning.

The kiss turn turned really hot, really fast.

Jeongguk hoisted you up and you quickly got with the program and wrapped your legs around his waist. Everywhere his hands touched, it left a blazing trail behind, causing you to shiver and erupt into goosebumps. Distantly you wondered how it was possible to feel so heated in cold water.

You kissed and kissed until your lungs burned, your toes curling as you squeezed as close to Jeongguk as possible. Finally, you couldn't take it anymore and you pulled away, both of you heaving lungfuls of air.

"So now what?" You asked him, when you regained some common sense and breathing didn't leave you breathless anymore.

"Well, right now I'd like to kiss you some more, but later on, I'd really like to take you out." Jeongguk told you bluntly and if you were standing, your legs would have given out.

"What?"

And just like that, gone was confident Jeongguk and back was shy Jeongguk. He ducked his head, adverting his eyes from yours. "If you want."

"Yeah, I want too." You told him, watching as his eyes glittered with happiness. You could relate.

Jeongguk was onto something with the kissing some more right now, though, so you pushed that away and you dived back in. Right now you were more interested in mapping the inside of Jeongguk's mouth and finding out what his skin tastes like than anything else in this world.

* * *

The next morning your brother squinted at you suspiciously from across the breakfast table. You were seated in between Jeongguk and Hoseok, across from Taehyung and Jimin. Namjoon sat next to Hoseok. Yoongi and Jin was busy making breakfast in the kitchen. The six of you were waiting patiently.

Finally you couldn't take the staring anymore. "Is there something on my face, Taehyung-oppa?"

"Something happened." Taehyung said, pointing the pair of chopsticks he was fiddling with at you.

You rose a brow, not surprised at all that your brother picked up on it. That doesn't mean you are going to make it easy for him. You put on an innocent face, "Really?"

"Yeah, Taehyung-ah is right, you're like-" Jimin agreed, waving his hands around as he searched for the right word. "...glowing."

"I am not glowing." You said indignantly. Out of the corner of your eyes, you caught a smirk lifting on Jeongguk's lips. You turned and narrowed your eyes at him, "You, stop looking so smug."

"What does Jeonggukie have to do with-" Taehyung cut himself off and you could see how he put the dots together. The look on his face was hilarious as he turned to Jeongguk with a fierce gaze, "Jeon Jeongguk, what have you done to my baby sister?"

Jeongguk, despite being bigger and stronger, still looked a bit terrified of Taehyung as he squeaked, "Nothing, hyung."

"Nothing, hyung. Hah! Do you take me for an idiot? Something happened. I know it did. What is it?"

You giggled and leaned over to Jeongguk and whispered in his ear, "Don't tell him anything. Watching him squirm and drawing his own conclusions, slowly going insane with curiousity will be much funnier than telling him the truth."

Jeongguk brightened at your suggestion and immediately nodded in agreement.

"What are you two whispering about?" Taehyung demanded, voice higher than normal, despite having the deepest voice of the lot. "Hobi-hyung, tell me what they're saying."

"Sorry, Taehyung-ah, I can't hear." Hoseok said with laughter in his tone.

Yoongi and Jin came in with the food before Taehyung could interrogate you further. Taehyung looked before you and Jeongguk, "This isn't over."

You laughed, looking forward to teasing your brother a bit, when suddenly a hand slipped into yours. You looked at Jeongguk, who was steadfastly avoiding your eyes. You noticed his red ears and smiled softly, twisting your hand so you could lace your fingers through his. As the two of you held hands under the table while eating breakfast, you felt giddy and more excited about the future than you have in a long time.

There was still a lot you and Jeongguk had to talk about, but that was for later. You had enough time to figure it all out. Together.

the end.

#bangtan #bangtan fanfic #bts fic #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeongguk

[let-it-raines]

Black Velvet (1/1)

1919. The War is over, but life is far from normal. While the imminent danger is gone for many, it is not gone for Emma Swan. Her secrets have always been dangerous and had the ability to control her, but they have never been more dangerous than now as she is forced to work undercover as a barmaid and keep her true intentions hidden from the most notorious gang leader in England. 

Her life depends on it, but unfortunately for Emma, Killian Jones can read her better than anyone ever has. 

Rating: Mature 

a/n: I was going to wait to post this next week since I’ve been catching up on posting other things this week and flooded you all with words, but I am sooooo excited for this one! Like, I haven’t written a big one-shot in awhile, and this one is a little different for me. But I love it, and hope that you do as well! For my Peaky Blinders fans, I think you’ll recognize some similarities because this is def based on it😘

Found on AO3 | here | 

-/-

There is a sudden crash of glass shattering against the battered wood floor, stains of alcohol, blood, and the scuff marks of boots covering it to make it a darker wood than it originally was. She’s scrubbed that floor until her hands were dry and cracked, but the stains are as imbedded in the wood as the Jones family is in this place, their place. The stains might well be purposeful, and really, they could have been, a sure sign that the Joneses are not scared to let anyone know they do not mind getting blood on their hands or mind leaving the evidence behind. In fact, they are likely proud of it.

Loud cursing fills the usually subdued pub, arguments over whose fault it was for the spilling of the whiskey, but Emma knows that it doesn’t matter whose fault it was when she’s the one who has got to clean it up and scrub the damn floors clean when all is said and done.

Damn drunk men and their damn petty fights over what always amounts to being about a woman who has no interest in either of them.

Sighing, she turns on her heels behind the bar where she was polishing tumblers and other glasses and walks back into the storage room to retrieve the broom and dustpan along with some cloths. She is not supposed to leave the bar and the alcohol unattended, but she has been working here long enough to know that anyone who stumbles into this particular pub is smart enough to know not to steal from the Jones family.

They’ll be dead faster than the rum can pass their lips, and the Joneses don’t give out the good stuff to just anyone so that would be one pathetic last drink.

Twisting on the lights in the closet, her eyes scan over shelves of supplies and half-empty bottles that have somehow made their way back here, until she finds the broom, unattached from the pan.

Of course. Why would the broom ever be stored away with its matching set?

“Fuck,” she mutters, adjusting her trousers. They are too large around her waist, but she hasn’t had time to buy any new clothes lately. From what she’s gleamed, trousers on women are not widely accepted in Birmingham, but some days she cannot be bothered to wear a dress that squeezes the breath out of her. Today was one of those days, but unless she wants her knickers on display for everyone to see, she is going to have to buy new clothes soon.

“That’s no language for a lady.”

Immediately, she twists around to look at the other side of the room where the deep, accented voice originated. He’s standing with his gray suit clad legs crossed over another, arms stretched over his chest so that his shirt tightens around his muscles, and there is a bloody smirk plastered on that ever-handsome face under the dark brush of his facial hair. He’s without his cap and suit jacket today, but he’s never without his vest and the shirt that stays indecently unbuttoned. It is the one thing that never changes about his appearance, and the day she sees his shirt fully buttoned, Emma knows shit will start flying in every direction.

“Well, as you know, I’m far from a lady. I work here after all.”

Blue eyes flicker up and down her body, taking in the curves of her hips and her breasts even under her loose clothing, the bastard, and if possible, the smirk intensifies, curling from one side of his lips to the next.

“Now, darling,” he croons, uncrossing his legs and taking three strides forward to stand in her space, hovering just enough above her to make her feel smaller than she already is, “you and I both know that is not true.” “Do we?” she argues, raising a brow in his direction.

He chuckles, something dark that heads straight between her thighs, and then warm hands are on her hips, rough fingertips brushing against the skin at her waist, and hot breath brushes over her ear and down her neck while whiskers prick her skin.

“Did you miss me, love?” Killian whispers before pulling back, putting space between them as quickly as he closed it off.

“Were you gone?”

His head tilts back with laughter, and she watches him roll his shirt sleeves up, revealing angry red scars and marks on his left hand. She’s heard the rumors of how he received those scars, but when it comes to Killian Jones, rumors are not reliable. He’s done things the average person could never dare dream of, and fiction and reality toe a thin line, both of them crossing until everything is blurred.

“I was in London for two weeks, love. I cannot believe you didn’t notice my absence. I would have thought it would be at the forefront of your mind.”

“Well, I know this may be hard for you to believe, but my thoughts do not revolve around you.”

His brow lifts, lines on his forehead moving with it, and he cocks his head to the side, disbelieving. “A woman as fascinating as you must have too many things to fill her mind other than me, so I can actually believe it if you must know.”

“You flatter me.”

Killian clicks his tongue. “I intend to.” He moves around her, footfalls quiet, and presses open the hidden door in the closet he must have walked through to be in here. “My brothers and I will be in our dining room today. Get the good stuff from the safe.”

Emma mockingly bows. “It would be my pleasure.”

He stares, blue eyes bright compared to the darkness of the rest of him, and then he slips out, moving through the back hallways and compartments that were installed during the War but are now used for the family to avoid their enemies and the coppers, who are usually paid off but can sometimes still question the Joneses’ business practices, especially when there’s a new hire for their more questionable ventures. It is a fascinating thing to watch how a family who supposedly manufactures automobiles and distills rum has such a varied number of enemies. Maybe that is simply how it is for all businessmen, but Emma wouldn’t know.

She is simply a barmaid after all.

When she exits the closet with both broom and pan in hand, the argument is over, but the shattered glass remains. She quickly cleans it, dumps the glass outside, and gets back to tending bar, talking to the men who wander in and out of the place. Half of them fancy her, she knows. It’s obvious in the way they speak to her, even more obvious in the way they will often attempt to touch her, but Emma does not get paid to appease the baser desires of the patrons of My Fairest Lady. If she did, she would be in an entirely different type of business where her purse would be full for once.

As the day passes, men come in and out in their tailored suits and carefully curated ties, and Emma watches all of them, seeing where they go and what they order. She watches as some walk up the stairs and only appear again hours lately, but mostly she watches the ones that walk into the pub and immediately turn right into the private room the Joneses sit in when they decide they are going to conduct business at the pub instead of in one of their offices. When the rest of the place quiets, she can often hear them, especially if she decides to rest near the small trap door through which they order their drinks.

Tonight, they are talking about needing new men, but she cannot hear well enough as to why. This has been her problem for weeks. She gleams a little information, but not enough, and if Killian Jones wasn’t so in tune to every noise in the place, she’d sneak through the back tunnels and listen from there.

That would surely get her killed.

The sun sets early, the smog from the factories outside aiding in the darkening of the world, and when her shift is over for the night, Emma grabs her things and leaves, walking through the streets of Birmingham until she is at her flat, a small, dingy little place that reminds her of the homes she grew up in. It wasn’t her first choice, but so often, things aren’t.

Emma twists the key in the lock and walks inside. For all of its faults, the place has electricity. That makes her life much easier since she does not have to go about striking matches and blowing out fire every few hours.

“Hello, dearie.”

Emma’s skin pales, and heaviness settles in her stomach, weighing her down to keep her from moving. Sitting at her kitchen chair is Robert Gold, and no matter how long she has worked with him, she will never feel comfortable when he decides to show his face without notice.

She will never feel comfortable even when he gives notice.

“Gold,” Emma nods, straightening her back. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Slowly, he stands, using his gold-encrusted cane to prop himself up, and Emma shuts the door behind her. She has a knife in a strap around her thigh, and while she technically works for him, she doesn’t trust Gold as far as she can throw that knife.

“Have you located the guns?”

“If I had, you would know.”

“That doesn’t work for me.”

Emma tilts her head back and scoffs, her rapid heartbeat calming as her skin heats, rage and fire and disbelief settling in the bumps of her skin. “Oh, my deepest apologizes. It is obviously a simple bloody task to infiltrate the most notorious gang in the city and gleam where they keep stolen guns. They don’t talk so openly about their business!”

Gold walks closer, beady eyes reflected under the lamplight, and Emma stays steady. “We hired a woman to do this because women are Killian Jones’s weakness. Get to know him, get in his bed, and then you will be in the inner circle.”

She spits. “I am not sleeping with him for your cause.”

“Is my cause not your cause? Getting rid of undesirable gangs and criminals that disrespect the Crown and steal from our arms factories?”

Emma laughs, her heartbeat racing again. “I work for you because I have no other choice. It was this or death.”

He shrugs, tapping his cane. “You shouldn’t have made a deal with me, and we wouldn’t be in this position. Alas, we are, and you must deal with the consequences of your actions, dearie. All deals have a price. I’ll be returning.”

Gold steps around her, making Emma move to the side, and then he exits her flat. His presence, however, lingers, and she feels as if grime and smog are coating her skin. That is a feeling that never goes away, but it is especially present after one of Gold’s visits. Emma curses and stomps her foot, despising her situation. She is only twenty-three years of age, but she has lived the life of an elder. Growing up in orphanages does not set a woman up for a good life, and seven years ago when she fell pregnant but couldn’t afford to take care of the baby, she went to Gold for help. He was known to be able to do anything, especially find homes for children without charging the birth mother exuberant prices, but no one told her the price of his services would be to work for him and the government in backhanded deals. It was this, death, or harm done to a child she has only held once but loves as if she was allowed to raise him.

She couldn’t be a mother, doesn’t know if she ever will be able to again, but she will not let harm fall on that child.

So, now, she is shipped across Europe, putting her life at risk every day. After all, what is the potential of death when compared to certain death?

-/-

Days pass, and Emma learns of no new information. She works long hours, taking extra shifts and standing behind the bar until her feet bleed from blisters, her heels too small with swollen feet. Every day, Killian and his brothers Liam and Lee walk inside, often with William Scarlet and Rob Locksley following behind them, but they say nothing more to her than greetings and drink orders. Killian will spend additional time leaning over the bar, his voice deep with his flirtations, but she pushes them away. She will not sleep with him to get information, and she will not sleep with him because he thinks she is easy prey.

Men like him, no matter how enticing, do not lead to good things.

Knowing he’s the head of a gang doesn’t reassure her.

Knowing one day he will have a price on her head, well, it does not give her any confidence that she could ever be anything more than a warm body in his bed. Most likely, he wouldn’t give her the curtesy of taking her there, instead taking her behind the bar.

If only she had been born into a family with means. Maybe then she could live a life where death did not linger so closely.

“Swan, darling,” Killian calls from his private room, “can you come in here?”

Emma stills, gripping on her glass, but she quickly composes herself. It’s not often she is called into the room, and while she would like an invitation to the inside, she knows it comes with risks. Slowly, she moves around the bar and heads toward the door. Liam opens it for her, nodding, and she steps inside as Liam closes the door behind her. Killian, Lee, William, and Rob are sitting in the cushioned booths, and Killian pats the seat beside him. She nods and sits next to him, keeping her posture straight and face neutral.

“Emma, love,” Killian starts, “you’re educated, are you not?”

“I am not.”

Killian twists and looks at her with wide eyes. “You speak like you’ve been educated.”

“Natural intelligence,” Emma shrugs. Gold gave her an education, but she refuses to give him any credit when most of it has been of her own doing. “I attended school as a child, but not much else. Everything has been self-taught.”

“See,” Lee sighs, “I don’t need more schooling.”

“You damn well do if you want to be a part of this business! We are educated men, and you will be no different.”

“Where did you go to school?” Emma asks, not able to help herself.

“Oxford. Though, my studies were interrupted by my needed service in the War.”

“It’s a shame.”

“I think I’m doing well for myself, regardless, love.”

“You should go to school, Lee,” Emma tells the youngest Jones brother, a bastard child of their father they brought into the family business. “You have the Jones Corporation to fall back on, but if you want to be a true asset, you should better yourself as much as you can.”

“Oi, am I bloody well supposed to take advice from a woman? A woman who is a barmaid no less? What could you possibly know?”

Killian slams his hand down on the table, glass and silverware shaking. “This woman is far more competent than you, lad, and I suggest you respect her. Everyone is your equal, no matter what dear old dad told you to make you believe otherwise.”

Lee curses under his breath, and Emma slinks back into the booth as the room stills, the air heavy with unspoken words waiting to be set free. She doesn’t know if she should stay or walk out of the room and back to her job, but Killian makes the decision for her. “Why don’t you all go? Get back to work.”

“What about what we were discussing?” Liam questions, but he still grabs his cap and his coat.

“We will discuss it later.” The men nod and then begin to shuffle out of the room. Emma moves to join them, but Killian reaches out and grabs her wrist, the warmth of his hand spreading over here. “Stay, Swan.”

She doesn’t dare deny him as she cannot give up any opportunity to learn more about him, so she turns and takes the seat opposite him, smoothing out her skirt and her hair. “Is everything alright?”

“The horse race is this weekend, as I’m sure you know, and I’d like to bring you as a guest.”

Emma blanches. “Excuse me?”

A smile creeps onto his face, and he reaches into his pocket to slide a bag of coins across the table. “I’d like to take you to the races as my companion. You should use this to buy a nice dress and hat.”

“Are you trying to buy my affections?”

“I think we both know you cannot be bought.”

If only he knew.

Emma studies him, trying to read past the smile and the friendly invitation, but she sees nothing of any use. “Why me?”

Killian leans forward, elbow pressed to the table and chin resting on his knuckle. “I fancy you from time to time when you aren’t ignoring me, as I have made no secret.”

Emma thinks to all the times where she’s forgotten herself and has allowed Killian to get close in the way she doesn’t want, all the times he has lingered close to her and pressed his lips to her neck before she pulls away. She will not sleep with him for money or for Gold’s cause, but she would be telling a lie if she said she has never considered it for her own personal reasons. Her mind is constantly contradicting her there, and Emma has never been able to settle her thoughts one way or another.

Getting into bed with dangerous men leads to getting into bed with dangerous things.

Emma has already put on the sheets and started slipping out of her shoes despite her best efforts not to.

“So, you expect me to buy a nice outfit and spend a day away with you as nothing more than an ornament on your arm because you fancy me?”

“I expect nothing of you. Every choice is up to you.”

Emma reaches her fingers across the table and takes the purse of coins. “Any color in particular you’d like for my dress?”

“Surprise me.”

-/-

Her dress is red, and when she walks into My Fairest Lady on Saturday morning, she can feel the eyes of the entire place on her. It’s made of a delicate lace and flowered accents and flares out at the hips, but the corset makes her breasts push up, cleavage showing where she usually hides it. Her heels were dyed to match, her hat too, and it is the nicest thing she’s ever worn. It feels foreign on her skin, and while Emma would prefer comfort, she doesn’t mind feeling elegant for once. Anna, the woman who lives next to her, saw Emma carry her dress home, asked where she was going with it, and insisted she allow Emma to roll her hair with hot curlers and apply paint to her lips. She thinks the redness of her lips along with the cleavage may be the thing that brings down the Jones Company, and if she’d known that, maybe she would have dressed like this earlier.

“You look,” Killian begins.

“I know,” Emma finishes, taking his hand as he helps her into the carriage. “You look nice as well.”

“And much like you, I did know that.”

The drive to the races doesn’t seem long, but Emma knows they’ve traveled for at least two hours. Killian doesn’t talk for much of it, but when he does, it’s to point out something on the side of the road. He’s able to tie everything in with a story from the War or something William Scarlet has done, and Emma chuckles, seeing the lighter side of them. She knows how they spend much of their time, and it is not taking all of Killian’s suits out of his closet and replacing them with Lee’s so they’ll be several sizes too small.

When they arrive at Cheltenham, it is like nothing Emma has ever seen before. The building around the track is glamourous and obviously newly built, and everyone around is in their nicest clothes. To Emma, this is foreign, every bit of it. Her life is a life in the shadows in tattered clothes and normal things. Her life is not spent betting on horse races and wearing dresses worth more than her flat to accompany the head of a gang while she secretly attempts to discover where he’s hiding the guns Gold wants.

She does not even know why Gold wants those guns so badly when the factory can surely produce more, but her entire life is about finding them.

She should have never stepped foot in his house had she known these would be the consequences, but she needed to give that kid the good life he has.

“This is spectacular,” Emma says as the carriage stutters to a stop amongst all the others, motors slowly dying out.

Killian takes her hand and guides her out of the carriage, placing his hand on her lower back when they set foot on the gravel. “You haven’t seen anything yet, love.”

Killian is right in that she hasn’t seen anything because when they walk inside, the floor is lined with black and white tiles, and the ceiling is home to ornate paintings and chandeliers that look too heavy to stay there. Emma shouldn’t feel overwhelmed by it all, but she does. Killian knows every other person they pass, some greeting him with reverence and some greeting him with fear, but they all greet him just the same. His hand stays steady on her back as he moves her though the hallways, and he introduces her to several other women before disappearing into another room. She wants to follow him, to see what business he’s doing, but she knows she can’t.

“How do you know Killian Jones?” a woman with long brunette hair asks. Emma thinks her name is Ruby, but she cannot remember. It was too much talking at once.

“How do you?” Emma counters.

“I was his lover years ago.”

Emma arches her brow. “Well, that does not shock me.”

“Oh, you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Ruby steps closer to her, whispering so no one around them can hear. “He had an affair with the wife of a powerful man, and the man killed his wife in front of Killian and burned Killian’s hand. After that, he slept with anyone who so much as looked like his lover because he was often too drunk to realize the difference. So, you, you’re different. I have never seen him go with a blonde.”

“Well,” Emma steadies, trying to keep her heart from racing after what she heard, “I am not his lover, so I imagine you’ll have to keep waiting to see that.”

“Not yet,” Ruby tells her before stepping away, dress trailing behind her.

“You ready to watch the races?”

Emma jumps at Killian’s returned presence, and he chuckles, placing his hand on her back again while looking down at her, amused. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Emma lies. “Just fine.”

She flashes a smile that reaches her eyes, making it as genuine as possible, and before Killian guides her to their seats, she sees a spot of blood on his shirt. She doesn’t know if it is his or someone else’s, but she does know that whatever business he had at the races has very little to do with horses.

-/-

Emma’s feet ache when she settles into her seat in the carriage, and she immediately toes out of her shoes and tucks her feet underneath her. Killian eyes her with curiosity, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shrugs of his jacket and lays it over her lap.

“You may not have been able to move, but you cut quite the figure in that dress.” Her cheeks heat, but she doesn’t say anything, simply smiling at him. “Did you enjoy the races, Swan?”

“I did. Though, not as much as you.”

“What makes you say that?”

Emma hums and taps her fingers over Killian’s suit jacket, moving it to cover more of her. “Well, your purse is fuller. Your horse won, and if I heard correctly, you are now in charge of all bets.”

He turns to look at her, and if she were talking to any other member of the gang, she would back away. For some reason, however, the leader doesn’t scare her tonight, not like he should. She had one too many glasses of fine wine.

“How exactly do you know that?”

Emma points to the small blood stain on his shirt. “I’m assuming that is the blood of someone from the Mills family, who all mysteriously went away before the races even started. Everyone came to Rob and Liam to make their bets. It does not take a genius to figure things out once the pieces begin to fall into place.”

“Not a genius, no, but someone with an observant eye.” He leans forward, invading her space like he so often does. “You, love, know a little too much.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Emma whispers, breathless.

He leans closer, until her air and his air are the same, and Emma closes her eyes to brace herself, not knowing what is coming next. His lips ghost over hers, but they do not firmly touch. Instead they linger, and Emma feels every move he makes. “Keep you close,” Killian finally says. “I believe you would know too much for me to let you go.”

Enough but not what she needs.

“I believe you may be right.”

Killian rests his hand on her thigh before pulling back, their air separating into their own entities once more. “Lee would have a bloody fit if he ever knew you so quickly figured things out. The boy has potential, but he is too much like our father. I believe that will be his downfall.”

“I believe underestimating women will be his downfall.”

Killian clicks his tongue and nods. “You see, that stems directly from our father, the bastard of all bastards, and you are correct. Many a man was brought down by the kiss of a woman, but few of them have the smarts to know it was her brain that truly brought them down.”

“And you know that?”

“Aye, I do.”

Emma wants to ask about the woman Ruby mentioned early, but she doesn’t dare. She’s already toeing the lines of danger tonight, and mentioning the deceased woman Killian used to love seems ill advised.

So, she stays quiet and keeps her place, knowing she is one step closer to where she needs to be. She is gaining his trust more and more each day, but she also feels herself slipping into a place from which she cannot return.

Fuck.

-/-

Weeks pass, and the weather chills, Birmingham’s winter quickly creeping upon them. Emma freezes every day on her walk to the pub, but one day a coat appears in a box with her name on it. It is long and warm, and besides her red dress, the nicest thing she owns. Killian never confirms it is from him, but she knows it was. She knows the coat, the gloves, and the scarves are all from him, and while she tells him thank you, he never accepts any of her words. Instead, he invites her more into his life. She knows about the gambling and the illegal businesses of the Jones Corporation, and her knowledge gets her foot in the door.

Everything that happens inside is up to Killian.

He brings her in from the pub to settle arguments, to help with the numbers after he discovers she’s better with them than Rob ever has been, and when Liam goes away for some time to take his wife to visit her family in France, Killian often has Emma sit in Liam’s seat with his hand on her thigh underneath the table.

Killian Jones is not a man who takes his time courting women, but Emma cannot help but feel like that is exactly what is happening with her. It is surely not proper, but there’s too much lingering between them for it to be anything else.

Though, it does always stay lingering, never crossing the line, and Emma finds herself thinking more and more about the woman he loved and the string of women who followed.

She finds her resolve to keep her heart away from him teetering over the edge of no return.

She also thinks of Neal, of how much he promised her, of how much he let her down. He was going to give her a better life, but then he disappeared into the wind, never to be heard from again when she realized she was pregnant.

Surely she must take some blame for her situation, but Emma always remembers that so much of it is because of Neal.

Tonight Killian is allowing singing in the pub. He never does, says it makes the place too cheery when that is not his style of pub, but once a week, he allows the men to sing after she leads them off in whatever song she knows. The joyous mood leads to more drinking, which is more money for them, and she imagines that is the only reason Killian allows it.

If she were a conceited woman, she would say he allows it to hear her sing.

The Joneses and their associates march into the pub, some of them disappearing into the back room, but most come to the main part of the pub, moving around the crowd and disappearing into the thick of it. Emma watches Killian, and she can feel his eyes on her no matter where he is.

He never does come to the bar for long periods of time, not while the place is full of people at least, but then when Arthur Pemberton’s hand gets a little too close to Emma, suddenly Killian is there, standing with her, hand possessively on her hip while he warns Arthur not to let his libations get to him.

“I can handle myself,” Emma hisses when Arthur has stumbled away. “I do not need you.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Then what was that? You wanted to show off who had the bigger cock?”

“Darling, I know that would be me.”

Emma’s head tilts back with feigned, exasperated laughter, but Killian does not seem amused. She waits for him to laugh, for the blue of his eyes to light up, but instead his jaw clenches from beneath his whiskered chin.

“Fancy a song then, sailor?” Emma asks to change the subject and keep them from getting into a row. For all the nights they have spent talking about small little details of their lives and their wishes, so, too, have they spent nights arguing. She knows when they’re on the verge of both.

“Why would I fancy a song?”

“To make you smile.”

“Alright then.” He taps his hand on the bar top before helping Emma up to her new vantage point, arching his brow while he looks at her. “Sing me a song then, lass.”

Emma nods and inhales, knowing the entire room will be listening, but she only focuses on the one man with blue eyes as clear as the ocean on a sunny day.

“In a neat little town they call Belfast, apprentice to trade I was bound. Many an hour’s sweet happiness had I spent in that neat little town. A sad misfortune came over me, which caused me to stray from the land. Far away from my friends and relations, betrayed by the black velvet band. Her eyes, they shone like diamonds. I thought her the queen of the land. And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”

When she finishes, the room is silent, her voice echoing between the four walls, and when she looks at Killian, she can see water in his eyes, a new ocean amongst the blue.

“Another!” someone in the crowd yells, but Emma doesn’t turn away from Killian.

“Oi, the lady sings one song. If you want a new one, sing it yourself!”

Emma chuckles and allows herself to sit down on the bar top, Killian helps her to the ground, her heels clicking against the hardwood. His hand lingers, warmth spreading through her, but as soon as it warms her, it disappears as Killian walks away, disappearing upstairs.

“Are you truly not going to sing us another song?”

Emma rolls her shoulders back and turns around, Leroy standing in front of her. She smiles softly and takes his glass, pouring him another drink. “If you ask me nicely, I just might.”

The night passes quickly, My Fairest Lady filling as it does on this day every week, but eventually everyone leaves, the place emptying as the streets quiet outside, the drunks all returning to their homes or their mistresses. Emma takes her time sweeping up, toeing out of her heels to let her feet rest, and she hums all of the songs sung today, their lyrics filling her usually tired mind.

She doesn’t hear him come in, and it would startle her if he didn’t step directly to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her close, joining in the songs she was singing. She didn’t think he could sing, but he carries a tune almost better than she does.

“I don’t dance,” Emma whispers.

“That is because you have never had a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

“And this partner is you?”

“Aye.”

Emma hasn’t danced in years, and she doesn’t know any of the traditional ones. She would be out of place at a ball for many a reason. She could wear the dress, have the nice man on her arm, but her footing would give her way. One wrong step, and everything would be over.

One wrong step here, she could be dead.

Once more, she has no interest in thinking of the real reason she’s here. She wants to stay in this moment, allowing Killian to sing sweet melodies to her, and she wants to forget about Gold and her mission and everything else.

Emma wants to pretend that for now she is nothing more than a woman dancing with a man she has come to fancy despite herself, no darkness and secrets between them.

What a world that would be.

Emma tilts her head up, looking at Killian, at the softness of his lips and the length of his dark lashes. He is different in this light, softer than his usual hard edges, but Emma knows they are still there, just below the surface.

“I took a stroll down broadway,” Killian sings, continuing her song from earlier, “meaning not long for to stay. When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid come a-traipsing along the highway. She was both fair and handsome. Her neck, it was just like a swan.”

Here, he runs a finger down her neck that ricochets into a tremor down her spine.

“And her hair, it hung over her shoulder, tied up with a black velvet band.”

“I thought you didn’t like music,” Emma whispers as his fingers toy with the ends of her loose hair. She’s enchanted by him, and for once, she isn’t afraid to admit it.

“That’s because not everyone sings like you, love.”

Slowly, Emma presses up on her toes, and her lips go gently over his, feeling the softness that resides there. He lingers, not pushing her forward, but before Emma can do just that, his hand comes to cup the nape of her neck, tilting her head for him to control the kiss. She never did imagine Killian Jones wouldn’t be the one to take charge of a kiss, so no part of this surprises her. He tastes like rum, the alcohol burning her tongue as heat overwhelms her, and Emma is so consumed by him that she doesn’t notice the way he’s backed her across the room until the edge of the bar is pressing into her lower back, leaving a mark that will linger longer than the burning of this kiss.

When Emma gently bites at his bottom lip, he growls, moving his hands to pick her up until she’s resting on the top of the bar. Emma cups his cheeks, the prickle of his beard scratching her palms, but she pays no attention to that when her legs wrap around his back and she feels his hips roll into hers, the firmness of him pressing into her in ways she hasn’t felt in too long.

It feels damn good, and if Emma were a proper woman, she would have stopped this and kept it from going too far.

She is not a proper woman.

Killian, however, seems to be a proper man, because he pulls back, sweat slicked forehead leaning against hers, and then he moves away, putting more space between him than Emma wants now that they’ve finally closed the gap they’ve lingered near since her first day on the job. All she wants now is to feel him pulsing inside of her, creating a rhythm that matches with the beat of her heart and brings her the pleasure she so craves.

“I am not having you on this bar,” he grumbles, his voice deep and hoarse. His hand falls down her back, grabbing onto her hip and pulling her closer to him. “You deserve more.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” And she means it. She once thought that he wouldn’t care enough to take her to a bed, but now she finds she’s the one who doesn’t care. Her blood is running hot, and she would be fine with it right here even if the countertop digs into her arse. “This is fine.”

He kisses her again, all teeth and tongue and rough determination, and she thinks he’s given up on his sense of chivalry, especially when he encourages her to wrap her ankles around him, but then he’s stumbling with the kiss and lifting her off the bar. She gasps at the sudden movement and circles her arms around his neck to keep from falling.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Emma protests, pulling away as Killian runs his mouth down her neck.

“I said I wasn’t having you on this bar, and I meant it. I have a private room upstairs for when I can’t sleep at home.”

There’s a dark hunger in his voice, one that thrums between Emma’s thighs, and while she’d much prefer to walk herself to the room, she allows him to have this moment. Her legs are likely too shaky with desire for her steps to be steady.

This is not what she intended to do when she kissed him, but she should have known. It’s been building for months, and Emma has shown enough restraint.

She is tired of convincing herself that she wants anything other than this. s

When they get to Killian’s room, he lays her down on the bed, and Emma immediately starts unlacing her dress at her breasts as Killian undoes the buttons on his shirt, pulling it off before he leans down to assist her, his tongue and teeth tracing her exposed skin and leaving red marks with all of his kisses. The heat between her thighs is a sharp throb now, and Emma writhes underneath Killian has his mouth touches the hollow of her throat and his hand reaches behind her knee, pulling her up until he drags against her in the perfect way that has them both moaning.

“You have tempted me since the moment you walked in this damn pub asking for a job.”

His mouth is eager with its ministrations, especially when he finds her nipple, and Emma is left searching for words as her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. Snow falls outside, cold white flakes coating the ground, but Emma is nothing but warm. Parts of her feel like she is on fire, and even as things progress and clothes no longer lay on her body, she might as well be wrapped in down blankets with a fire burning next to her and a hot drink in her hand.

Instead, she’s pressing into the mattress, Killian’s hand palming her breast while his mouth goes lower and lower until her back is arching into the air and she’s dragging her nails down his back and up into the soft tresses of his dark head of hair. Sweat is beading down her chest and collecting at her hair, and Emma never thought it would be possible to sweat in December in Birmingham.

“Killian,” she moans when he does something sinful with his tongue. “Oh fuck.”

He doesn’t say anything back, simply keeps working how he’s working, and for a long while, it’s like the pleasure is never going to end. It’s a constant working up and up and up until she’s dangling off the cliff, ready to let go.

Killian barely gives her any time to recover from her fall before he’s working his way back up her body, settling over her and settling against her so she can feel him bare where she wants him. Emma licks a stripe up his neck, salt on her tongue, and he grunts in response, rolling his hips against hers until both of them are messes.

Shifting beneath him, Emma moves until Killian is face to face with her, his lips lingering over hers and his wild, sweat slicked hair in front of her. She imagines her hair is tangled as well, and it’ll likely never be the same.

“Hello, beautiful,” he whispers, cupping her cheek with his hand.

“So, this isn’t the bar anymore,” Emma jokes, looking for levity in a moment that seems heavy.

“No, no it isn’t.”

They’re both quiet as he presses into her in a slick stretch of heat, and Emma immediately spreads her legs wider for a better fit, allowing him to settle. He’s thick and heavy inside of her, and Emma digs her nails into his back, holding on tight as she moves her hips to get a more perfect fit.

She is going to leave her mark with him tonight, red scars from her nails stretching across his back.

“You are wonderful.” He kisses her again, muttering soft words while his hips start moving, creating a rhythm that might just burn Emma alive, especially when Killian’s hand slides down to her arse and helps himself slide in deeper. “So fucking wonderful.”

“You are too.”

He groans above her, and his hips become that little bit more frantic as his chest hair creates friction against her breasts. This is the best Emma has felt in months, maybe even years, and she wants to chase this high for as long as she can, even as she feels herself tumbling over with each thrust of Killian’s hip and swipe of his thumb as his lips devour hers, only stopping to mutter filthy encouragements.

This is not how she expected today to go.

She wouldn’t change it for a thing.

Her skin is boiling now, and if the curtains were closed, Emma wouldn’t know it was winter outside. Sweat is slicked everywhere, but she doesn’t care.

She doesn’t care about anything except how good it feels when Killian engraves her name into the side of her neck as he succumbs to pleasure as well, his bodyweight pressing down on her, melding them from two to one.

After, Killian is gentle when he helps her clean up, and they settle underneath the blankets. Emma presses her right leg between his and rests her cheek against his collarbone as her fingers tread through the dark hair on his chest. She moves it around from where sweat has matted it, and she traces the red scars that make up so much of him. They look almost silver in the moonlight.

They look stunning.

Emma feels lips press to her temple, and she smiles, burying her face in his neck and breathing him in.

Happy. This is what happiness feels like. It’s been so long that it surprises her.

“I have to go.”

It’s like she’s been slapped.

“Sorry?”

“I have to go,” Killian repeats, but Emma can’t quite come to terms with the words. “I have…business to attend to.”

Her walls immediately come back up, brick by brick.

“You have business to attend to? Seriously? What the fuck kind of excuse is that? What? You fuck me and then leave? Were you using me because – ”

Emma pulls back away from him, sitting up and pulling the blankets with her, and Killian stays settled against the headboard, hands behind his head. “I had this business before I slept with you. Believe me, there is nothing I would rather do than stay in bed with you until I’m bloody dragged out of it, but I have to do this tonight.”

Emma scoffs and crawls out of the bed, getting finding her undergarments. “I’m coming with you.”

“Swan.”

“If I’m jumping into bed with you, I want to know the exact details of the man I’m jumping into bed with.”

He arches his brow, mouth curling into a smirk as his head nods to how exposed he is. “It may be a little too late for that now.”

Emma should be flustered, but she’s not. She’s determined that she won’t be left behind.

Her hands fall to her hips. “That depends on if you let me come with you.”

“Grab your damn coat and a scarf. You’ll freeze without them.”

“Are you a gentleman now?”

He clicks his tongue. “I’m always a gentleman.”

They take Killian’s carriage, only with him driving this time instead of the two of them sitting in the back, and they don’t speak wherever it is they’re going. Anticipation courses through her veins, gooseflesh spreading across her skin wherever it can reach, and a lump permanently lodges itself in her throat. She doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, and when they drive to a graveyard, Emma is certainly confused. When Killian grabs a shovel out of the back and leads her to his mother’s grave, her skin crawls for a reason entirely unrelated to the cold.

“She’s not buried here.”

“Oh?”

“No. I had a stone made, but she is closer to the ocean. It’s the place she loved the most.”

“Then what is – ”

Emma doesn’t bother finishing her question when she sees the gleam of guns underneath the moonlight. Her heart drops to the pit of her stomach, and for all that Emma has pushed away her thoughts of Gold and his threats lingering over her, there is no denying them now.

She found the guns.

Rather, Killian showed her.

She knows where they are, and by sunrise, she could be out of this place and out of this damn deal.

But Emma knows better than to think she’ll truly be free from Gold. He’ll find her again and bring with him new threats, and she’d be a fool to think otherwise.

Life as a moll has not seemed too bad lately, especially now that she knows how Killian feels when he kisses her, but she’s still torn between two places.

If she tells Gold where the guns are, she’ll be under his control for the rest of her life.

If she tells Killian, he’ll surely kill her.

For a moment, she contemplates a third option, one where she both keeps her breath and is able to truly live. It would never work, however. Gold would manipulate her, and she’d spend her entire life leading a double life, betraying the man who has obviously given her his trust.

The strange thing is, she has given him the same.

It’s not enough, and Emma, surrounded by all these graves, already knows she will have no headstone. There will be no one to mourn her.

She needs time to figure things out, and she’s running out of time.

Emma floats through the rest of the night, not knowing what she’s saying or doing, and when Killian leaves her at her flat with a resounding kiss that shakes her to her core, she thinks of running away with him. It should be easy. She’s been doing it her entire life.

“It’s late,” Killian whispers, “You should go inside and get some rest, but tomorrow, I have different plans for you.”

“Oh?”

He kisses her again, warming every bit of her body that is chilled. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

Emma exits his carriage and walks into her building, a smile on her face until she unlocks her door.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Fuck,” Emma mutters, her senses coming back to her as Gold stands across from her. She hasn’t seen him since the last time he broke in, but he’s here now.

It’s too late for her to run away.

She is no longer floating through tonight.

“Where have you been?” Gold asks, his voice as cold as the snow outside.

“Working.”

“I noticed that Killian Jones himself drove you home.” The floor creaks underneath him, and his cane thumps against the floor at the same beat as her heart. “Interesting that. You didn’t come from the direction of the pub either.”

“We went for a drive.” Emma takes off her coat in an attempt at nonchalance.

“To where exactly, dearie?”

“Around the town. Nowhere in particular.”

“Is that so?” He steps closer and taps his cane. Emma doesn’t have a gun on her. She can’t risk anyone finding it at work, but she knows Gold has one on him. Fuck. She doesn’t even have her knife today, and they’re both across the room where Gold is. “Would your drive happened to have gone near the cemetery?”

Emma’s skin goes colder than the outside weather could ever make it, and it is difficult to keep her breath from shallowing.

She’s been caught, and Gold is most likely going to kill her for her disloyalty to him.

“The guns are in Allison Jones’s grave.”

She had to tell him. She had no other option.

She hates herself for it.

“That is what I needed to know. Meet me in Nottingham in a week. I’ll have a new assignment for you then.”

Emma nods and backs against the wall as Gold moves around her, his hand turning the knob on her front door. “What are you going to do with the guns? Return them to Churchill?” she asks against her better judgment.

He laughs, and gooseflesh appears on her arms and down her legs, pebbling her skin as nausea settles in her throat. “Well, I’m going to return them to Churchill, of course, but not before I have a little fun with Killian Jones. Wouldn’t you know that a gang leader was mysteriously shot in his home in the middle of the night? Must have been one of his many enemies that did it.”

“Why?” Emma whispers.

Gold smiles. “Jones is known for sleeping with another man’s wife years ago, and well, I was that other man.”

And then he’s gone, limping out of the room with that slow, aching walk of his. Emma feels as if she’s been slapped across the cheek by his cane, and she immediately turns to her sink, releasing her insides and heaving, waiting for her breath to come back.

It never truly does.

Gold’s carriage sputters to life outside as Emma heaves once more, and even though her brain is functioning at half of its capacity, she knows what she needs to do.

She has to tell Killian.

Everyone in town knows what he does is illegal, but there’s no proof of his family’s crimes. They make it all as legal as possible through their legitimate businesses, and often the local coppers are on their side.

Gold, Churchill, and the Constabulary on not on their side.

Gold is going to murder him just like he murdered his wife.

Emma grabs her coat, shrugging it on as she runs out the door, and she wishes she had a carriage. She doesn’t however, so as snow falls down around her, Emma runs through the streets of Birmingham, taking the alleys she frequents so often, to get to Killian’s home. She’s only been there a few times, nearly all of it for business reasons, but she knows the way.

Her lungs are heavy, her breath short, and her feet ache from the heels of her boots. She imagines frostbite is hitting her toes, but she can’t stop. She was foolish and allowed herself to develop feelings for this man, to fall in love with him in the midst of all her protests otherwise, and she can’t let him get arrested.

She certainly cannot allow him to be murdered. Gold has an agenda against him, and Emma knows the only reason Killian isn’t dead is because he wanted the guns first to cover up his crimes.

Fuck.

When Emma comes across the house, she runs into the door, banging her fist against the wood before picking up the clapper and hitting it. It seems like hours before anyone comes to the door, but eventually someone does, Lee opening it with his gun in his hand.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” he grumbles.

“Where’s your brother?”

“If you’re here to fuck him, you’ll have to get in line.”

“What?” Emma gawks, her heart still pounding. She knows he’s fucking with her, but of all the people she doesn’t fully trust, Lee Jones is near the top of the list. She’s heard Killian talk about his similarities to their father too much to think of him as trustworthy. “No, it doesn’t matter. I need to talk to Killian.”

“If it’ll get you to be quiet, fine. First door on the right upstairs.”

Emma nods and hurries up the stairs, her steps as loud as a heard of elements, and while she does hesitate to enter his room because of Lee’s words, she still does. He’s sitting in his bed, alone, and now is really not the time for her to be focusing on how Lee is constantly trying to fuck with her because he spent too much time with their arse of a father.

“Swan? Bloody hell. What are you doing here?”

She may get murdered for this, but she’s trusting that she won’t. Maybe he’ll understand that she’s done him wrong in the past, but she’s trying to save his life now.

“Robert Gold.”

Killian immediately sits straighter and moves the blankets off him until he’s standing in front of her, looming. “How do you know that name?”

Emma rolls her shoulders back, the adrenaline pushing her words forward.

“I got pregnant when I was sixteen, and I didn’t have a job or a family. I had nothing. I heard of this man who could help with discreet adoptions, get the baby into a good home, you know? So I went to Robert Gold, and he took care of me and my baby, and he found the kid a family who could love him. I believed I didn’t owe him any debts, but he’s threatened to hurt me and my son if I don’t do what he says. I don’t think he’d hurt the kid anymore because I now know the kid’s parents are in the government, but I know he’ll hurt me.”

Emma starts pacing. She can’t look at Killian. She cannot look at the blue she loves so much because it is surely about to turn black while looking at her.

That would break her heart.

“I’ve been working for him. This entire time. He had me gain employ at your pub to learn the location of the guns you stole from the arms factory. All this time I thought it was because Churchill wanted them so they could send them to where they were intended. But tonight Gold was in my flat after following us to the cemetery, and he told me you had slept with his wife, which means the man who shot his wife and your lover in front of you was Gold. He’s going after the guns, Killian. He’s going to get them, and then he’s coming here to either kill you for your crimes against him or arrest you for your crimes against the Crown. Either way, he’s going to kill you.”

Emma doesn’t notice the silence between them as her heart is still pounding like the loudest of drums, but the silence is surely there, being filled second by second with Killian’s rage toward her and toward Gold.

She gained his trust, and then she betrayed him.

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispers, his voice as even keeled as she’s ever heard it.

She nearly falls to the ground at the sound of it.

“Pardon?”

“Turn around and look at me.” Emma braces her shoulders and turns, having no idea what she’s about to see, but she imagines it will be a low-burning fury. She’s wrong. “If you were anyone else in the world, I would have your head for this. I don’t take betrayals lightly, and I will not take this one lightly even though I understand what it is like to be under Gold's thumb. Do not be fooled. But for fucks sake, Emma, I love you. I haven’t loved a woman since Milah was taken from me, but I love you. I also believe all sins can be forgiven when you love someone, but that does not mean I forgive you tonight.”

Emma doesn’t know what to do or think.

There are too many thoughts stampeding in her mind, and she isn’t caught up with it enough to process it all. For now, all she can think is she isn’t dead.

But Killian may be soon.

“What are you going to do about Gold?” Emma asks even when she meant to say something else entirely. She meant to say the three words that reside at the tip of her tongue, but they keep being pushed back.

More important matters are at hand.

“How long ago did he leave your flat to go after the guns?”

“I don’t know. I ran here as soon as he left.”

Killian nods and cups her cheek, kissing her soundly, before he turns around and starts pulling luggage from his drawers before quickly grabbing onto clothes. “Find a few warm things for you. Quickly.”

“Why? What the hell is happening?”

“It’s not safe for us here. We have to go until I can figure something out. There isn’t time to ask every bloody question.”

Lee comes rushing into the room at the same time that Emma grabs a thick blanket and some of Killian’s shirts and what she can only assume are clothes women left here. She doesn’t have much time to process that particular fact. “What the fuck are you two doing?”

“We have to go. Gold is coming after us. Pack a bag and start the carriage.”

“What about Liam? He’s in France. We have to warn him.”

“Liam isn’t set to come back until February. We’ll have time to get him a message. Gold is only coming after me for now. Go, go, we don’t have much time.”

“I thought we didn’t run from a challenge.”

Killian’s jaw clenches, and he turns to face his younger brother. “We’re not running. We’re allowing me to conjure a plan so we don’t get our heads blown off. Fucking go or I’ll leave you here!”

Lee nods, and then he’s out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway for a quick moment before he’s heading out the door and the carriage turns on with a rumble. Emma’s collected enough clothes to last her weeks, and she watches as Killian stashes money into his suitcase before handing some to her.

“For if we get separated,” he explains.

“Where are we going?”

“I have a place in mind, but I can’t tell you yet. Now, come on, go get in the carriage. He works fast, and he shows no mercy, as I’m sure you know. Don’t worry, love. We’ll be fine. I’m a survivor.”

Killian’s hand finds Emma’s back, and as they walk down the stairs, she takes in the beauty of his home. A lot of love has been put into it, and by all accounts, it looks more like a house than a home.

Emma would have liked to have this place as a home. She’s still aching for that place she can call her own.

Now is not the time to think of that.

The cold hits her when they walk outside, and it doesn’t fade away when she climbs into the carriage next to Killian, Lee sitting behind them. Emma clutches onto her luggage, her knuckles white but her fingers pink, and Killian quickly reaches down and hands her a pair of gloves. She takes them without protest, and in the dead of night, she begins moving with the Jones brothers, leaving a white-covered Birmingham behind them.

She doesn’t know what’s going to happen to anyone, not to William or Rob or any of the other Jones Corporation associates. Gold will surely go after them to try to learn of Killian’s whereabouts, hers too, but there’s not time to drive to their homes and tell them. They’re smart and resourceful. They’ll figure things out. At least, Emma hopes so.

There’s no way for them to avoid Gold forever. Emma knows firsthand that he has connections across Europe with his ties to the government, and he’ll never stop until he gets to Killian. She has so many questions about what happened between Killian and Gold’s wife, a woman he obviously loved, but now is not the time for questions when she’s being driven to who knows where, every breath she bringing her one closer to her last.

Now is not the time for a lot of things, but since she didn’t say it earlier, Emma whispers a quiet “I love you,” not knowing if Killian or the wind catches it.

When he places his hand on her thigh, the comforting movement he’s been doing for months now, she thinks she knows.

Emma’s exhausted, but she dares not fall asleep. Instead she sits silently, Killian’s hand still on her thigh, and she watches the sun rise, bright lights reflecting against the pureness of some of the snow. In some places, it is nothing more than slush, but in others, it is beautiful. She can smell water around them, the salt of the ocean becoming clearer with each passing minute, and eventually, she can see the budding activity in a port, a large ship waiting in the water as people walk on board.

“Where are we going?” Emma asks.

Killian turns to her and flashes a tired but bright smile. “America, my love.”

-/-

-/-

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#black velvet #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

[junqkook]

— THIS ISN’T LOVE, DARLING (m.)

pairing; jungkook/reader genre; mafia au, escort au, smut words; 5,321 rating; explicit

— synopsis; he tasted of an empty night and an eclipsing moon, with blood on his hands and fire in his eyes when he put his mouth on yours.

contents; mafia boss jungkook, escort reader, sex worker reader, dirty talk, degradation, humiliation, rough sex, dom jungkook, gagging, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (stay safe), name-calling, oral sex (f receiving), spanking, biting/marking, possessiveness, orgasm denial, overstimulation, choking, breast play, begging, sadism/masochism, impregnation kink, pussy slapping. this is a bit more hardcore than usual, so prepare for that before reading.

— notes; beautiful edit credit goes to @/mutuntun on twt. and let’s all give a big thank you to @personawife, @shelive-shelove, and @jamaiskook for reading this over for me (last minute, too)!

The door to the lavish hotel room clicked open and you paid it no mind, having received a message beforehand that your visitor would be coming over. You’d gotten yourself ready immediately, finding your way to the penthouse suite that the two of you usually spent your time in. Swirling the remaining wine in your glass, you set it down unhurriedly and stood, the silk of your provided nightgown smooth against your skin.

You barely had time to turn before Jungkook was cupping your face between his hands tightly, bringing his mouth to yours and kissing you hard. You parted your lips immediately and shut your eyes, dragging your hands up his arms until they were tangled in his hair. His fingers found the straps easily and slipped them off your shoulders. He grabbed your hands and pulled them away from him, and didn’t stop the frenzied movements of his lips while you dropped your arms to your sides to allow the gown to slip to the floor, leaving you completely bare.

Jungkook finally pulled back from your mouth and let his hungry eyes devour your body as you stood before him. “You’re awfully ready tonight, handsome,” you purred, eyes half-lidded and mouth already tingling from his heavy kisses. “Bad day?”

He grunted and started to shrug his dark suit jacket off, letting it drop to the ground just as your nightgown had. He undid his cufflinks and you smiled slowly, helping him undress faster by undoing the buttons on his white shirt. You hesitated for a second when you saw the drops of dried blood splattered lightly on the otherwise pristine shirt.

“Something like that,” he grunted, quickly removing his shirt when you were finished with the buttons. He ignored your hesitation and started to back you up toward the large bed in the suite, the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking a dark city underneath. “I don’t pay you to ask questions, whore,” Jungkook growled, pushing you lightly onto the bed and watching you crawl farther up as he stood at the edge. 

You swallowed and bit your lip, watching him kick his shoes off and finish undressing before climbing onto the bed. You opened your legs and started to lower yourself, but Jungkook stopped you with a hand in your hair. Your lips parted as he tugged your hair harshly to gesture for you to stay seated the way you were.

“You remember your word?” he asked. You nodded your head and he didn’t respond, satisfied with your answer. Jungkook lowered himself to the bed and grabbed your thighs, pushing your legs out farther to give him room. You rested a hand on the top of his head, gnawing on your bottom lip with anticipation. One of his hands came up and swatted yours away; you lowered your hands to your sides on the bed, letting them fist in the sheets while he kissed the insides of your thighs.

You didn’t dare speak, knowing better from all the sessions the two of you had before this. Jungkook’s mouth came hot and harsh on you, licking your slit and pressing the flat of his tongue on your clit. He moved it up and down hard a few times and you moaned, arousal pooling between your legs already. He dug his fingers in the flesh of your thighs and started to suck on your clit, making your back arch. You wished you had permission to lay down—or move at all—but you simply sat there with your legs spread while he worked on getting you nice and ready for him.

Jungkook pulled away from your clit to mouth at your folds, dipping his tongue just the tiniest bit inside of you. You let out a shaky breath and shut your eyes, legs twitching with the need to press together and provide more friction.

Pulling back with a loud smacking sound, he started to sit up and left you aching for more. You whined quietly and Jungkook shot you a smirk as he started to tower over you. You leant back a bit to give yourself some room.

“You needy for more, my little cock slut?” he cooed, though his voice was anything but soft. Your cheeks felt hot and his hand came up to cup one of them. He swiped a thumb across it. “Need your pussy ate like the dirty whore you are, hm?” You didn’t have time to nod your head, because his hand moved to your hair and he yanked it hard, making you groan. Jungkook used the grip to guide you down onto the mattress so you were completely lying down under him, legs still spread wide and leaving you completely bare to his hungry gaze.

You barely had time to breathe before he was shoving his cock inside of you, the stretch burning just enough to make you wince. Jungkook pushed himself all the way and stopped, letting out a shuddering breath; he would never say it, but you knew he was waiting for you to adjust and give him the go-ahead. You fisted your hands in the sheets and clenched tight around him, relishing in the groan he let out in response. He was so close that your breasts were brushing against his chest with every deep breath you took.

You shifted your hips up a bit and a shiver shot through you when Jungkook pulled out of you halfway and then slid back in slowly. He took your movements as his signal to move and started up a harsh pace, thrusting hard enough to shake the bed. Your back arched and you could do nothing to meet his movements, too dizzy in the pleasure spiking through your abdomen. The sound of his skin slapping against yours and the wet squelching from where his cock was drilling into you only aroused you more. Your skin felt like it was on fire and Jungkook still had one hand in your hair, tugging your head to the side slightly with every movement.

“You hear that?” he asked breathlessly. He gave a particularly hard thrust and you moaned loudly. “You hear how wet you are for me? Only a slut like you would be this wet for cock. Isn’t that right?”

He yanked on your hair roughly when you didn’t answer, shoving his cock into you as far as he could and holding himself still while he panted above you. The head brushed against the bundle of nerves inside of you and you whined loudly, swallowing roughly and nodding your head.

“Yes!” you cried. “I’m so hungry for your cock, Jungkook, please—please, I need it so bad—”

He started moving again, shoving in and out of you roughly. His hand released your hair and trailed down your face until his palm was resting on your throat. You let out a shuddering gasp when his fingers tightened around your neck, just under your jaw. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the pleasure built up inside of you, ready to snap at any moment. You clenched around his hard cock sporadically, fighting back the urge to move your own hips.

Jungkook pulled his cock out of you and lessened his grip enough for you to gasp in air. You whined and clenched around nothing, peeking down to see him lifting himself to his knees, cock erect and fisted in his hand. He leaned forward again to tower over you, fingers tightening around your throat once more as his mouth came down on yours messily, all spit and teeth. You tried your best to kiss him back, fingers tightening their grasp in the sheets. Your skin felt hot and his mouth was even hotter on yours, the rough kiss leaving you gasping into his mouth, unable to keep up.

"Does it hurt?" he cooed mockingly. "Does your dirty little cunt need my cock inside it?" He slapped a hand against your aching pussy, a mix of pain and pleasure running up through you. You couldn't help but rub against his palm as he held it still on you.

"Yes," you sobbed. "Please, I can't come without it—"

Jungkook grabbed your waist and flipped you over roughly. Arousal shot through you when he manhandled you, the slick dripping between your thighs. Now on your stomach, you let him pull and push at your body how he wanted until your ass was up in the air and your face was shoved into the pillow. You turned your face to the side so you could breathe and Jungkook's palm came down on your ass hard.

You moaned and shoved your hips back a few more centimeters, clenching as he rubbed his hand over the spot where he'd spanked you. He shifted forward and you felt the head of his cock rub against your folds to gather up more of your slick before he started to push back in slowly. Your breath stuttered as he moved in and you could feel every inch of him inside of you. Your eyes shut as he rolled his hips gently without pulling out, letting you clench tight.

Jungkook wrapped a hand around your hip, the other grabbing your hair to shove you farther into the pillow while he started to thrust in and out of you at a quick pace. His fingers tightened in your hair and you bit at the fabric of the pillow's sheet, moving your hips back to meet every thrust. You could feel the pleasure building in your belly again and noises started to come out of your throat every time he drilled into you.

"That's it," he purred. "Be a good girl and make sure everyone knows who this pussy belongs to."

He shoved his cock in as far as he could and held himself still, rolling his hips into you while you clenched around him. The head was rubbing against your g-spot and you moaned loudly as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, wrapping around your body and releasing so intensely that your vision blurred. You rocked your hips back and forth against his cock as you came, riding out your high.

Jungkook pulled out almost all the way and then started to thrust in and out of you again, pounding you as hard as he could. His grip in your hair was starting to get painful, but you couldn't focus as your toes curled. The hand on your hip tightened as well as he chased his own pleasure and you were sure it was going to leave bruises.

The overstimulation was starting to hurt, but you screwed your eyes shut and took it, knowing it would start to be pleasurable again soon. Jungkook slammed his cock into you a few more times before pulling out, cursing softly and manhandling you onto your back again. You looked up at him dizzily and he dropped down on top of you, his hard cock brushing the insides of your thighs as he brought his lips to your neck and started to bite down on the skin.

You whined and Jungkook gave your hair a quick tug. He dragged his lips down your chest to your breasts, wrapping his hand around one and kissed the other. His hand squeezed your breast and you wrapped your legs around him loosely, his abdomen brushing against your slick pussy and something stirred in your belly. He mouthed at your nipple while his hand played with your other one, his tongue lapping at it. A shiver ran down your spine and your thighs squeezed his torso while he tweaked your nipple with his fingers. You swallowed back your moan. His teeth nipped at your nipple and your back arched, shoving your breasts farther into his face.

Jungkook pulled his face away from your breast and blew gently on your nipple, the cool air raising goosebumps on your flesh. He sat up and reached over the side of the bed where his tie was, bringing it up and smirking at you.

"Which would you prefer? Being blindfolded or being gagged?" he asked innocently, wide eyes watching you with a mischievous glint.

You bit the inside of your cheek before answering, thinking about it. "Blindfolded."

His smirk widened into a wolfish smile. "Gagged it is."

You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself up with your elbows. Jungkook came closer and you opened your mouth with a small "ahh" sound as he shoved his tie into your mouth. You knew from experience that he preferred to shove as much of it as he could into your mouth instead of tying it around. Once it was almost completely shoved into your mouth, your spit already coating it and your voice muffled, he pulled his fingers away and caressed your cheek lightly.

"What a good girl for me," he said. You batted your eyelashes up at him and laid back down when he nudged your shoulder. "You deserve a gift for being so good."

You perked up, eyes widening. Your heart started to beat a little faster, excitement seeping into your bones. Your fingers twitched and you kept yourself completely still as he dragged his hands down your thighs, stopping at your knees and parting your legs as wide as they would go. Your pussy was on full display for him like this and you couldn't stop the slick that started to slip out and down to the bed.

Jungkook tsked. "Now, now, let's not make a mess, darling."

You nodded your head quickly, keeping your legs spread as he caressed your thighs with his hands lightly. He bent down and pressed soft feathery kisses to the inside of your thigh, licking a stripe up toward your pussy. His tongue lapped at the arousal on the edge of your folds, teasing you by being so close but not exactly where you wanted. You whined and tried to pout, but the sound was muffled from the fabric of his tie. You had to swallow the saliva that built up in your mouth.

He chuckled and the breath fanned against your folds. You shuddered and clenched tight. Jungkook finally pressed his tongue to your clit and rubbed it roughly. You moaned and he shifted his arms underneath your thighs, hoisting your thighs up and over his shoulders. He sucked on your clit roughly, bringing a finger up to trail against your folds. His dipped two fingers inside of you to the knuckle and you let your eyes close to focus on the feeling. He knew exactly where your sweet spot was, the pads of his fingers finding the rough patch of nerves quickly and pressing against it hard. He held them in place and started to suck on your clit harshly. It took everything inside of you to not squeeze his head between your thighs.

You could feel the pressure building again and you squeezed tight, rocking your hips up into his face to chase your high. If you hadn't been aroused completely out of your mind, you would have been a bit embarrassed at the sounds that were coming out of you. You came hard around his fingers and he pressed the flat of his tongue against your clit as you erratically rolled your hips, his free hand shoving you down hard to the bed and holding you still.

He let you ride out your high before he pulled away from you and then he was immediately crawling up between your thighs and wrapping his hand around his cock. He let out a few curses as he watched you come down from your orgasm and then he was guiding himself to your pussy. He rubbed the head around your folds again to spread your arousal around and then he pushed it in until only the head was inside of you. He kept moving his hand up and down his cock, the tip shifting in and out a few centimeters with every movement.

You whined and shimmied your hips, trying to pull him in deeper even though it hurt a little bit. Jungkook laughed and pulled the head out of you, letting it rub against your clit. You groaned, but it was muffled by the tie.

"I don't want to come yet, sweetheart," he said. "And you look so good like this, completely fucked out." Your eyes rolled back into your head and he bit his lip as he pushed the head back into your pussy, hissing when you clenched around him. "You want my cock that badly, huh? Even though you already came twice." You nodded desperately, clenching as tight as you could around him as the pleasure started to build up in your abdomen again. "What a greedy girl. Are you a greedy little cockslut? Hm?"

You nodded again, biting into the fabric as he started to shove his cock in slowly. You were tighter from your previous orgasms, the burn from the sensitivity adding to your ecstasy. You threw your head back and Jungkook slid all the way inside, his balls pressing to your ass. He grunted and shifted your legs to his shoulders, lifting your hips up slightly from the bed.

"You wanna be fucked full of my come?" he asked breathlessly. "You want my come to fill you up that badly?" You moaned loudly as he started to move, thrusting shallowly but harshly. You could hear the squelching of your slick every time he moved, the sound filling the room alongside your moans and the slap of skin against skin. "I'm going to fuck you so full of my come that you'll never be able to clean it out of you."

The image and implication that you'd be his forever had you clenching tight around him, your third orgasm building quickly. He snapped his hips into yours hard and held himself completely still, buried inside of you all the way. Jungkook shifted down so he could whisper in your ear, his cock throbbing inside of you and his fingers finding your pussy to gently rub up and down you beside his cock.

"I'm going to give that hungry womb of yours what it wants," he growled. "You'll be swollen with my baby and everyone will know exactly who you belong to; who put that baby inside of you."

The claim was unexpected and your eyes widened, but lust clouded your mind and you wanted it. You wanted him to fuck you so full of his come that it would be dripping out of you for days, and you wanted his baby inside your belly—you needed everyone to know that he wanted you so badly that he would put a baby in you. You would carry Jeon Jungkook's baby and you would be untouchable.

You wanted it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and let your legs slip off of his shoulders and down until they were hanging awkwardly off of his arms. You couldn't say anything, but you held him close and started to rock your hips gently. His teeth nipped at your earlobe and then he pulled your arms loose before he sat back up, starting to piston his cock in and out again. You shut your eyes and focused on the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls, the head nudging against your g-spot repeatedly as he moved.

Jungkook groaned and rested his hand on your abdomen while he rolled his hips into you. He dragged his hand down slowly until his fingers were on your pussy. Jungkook spread his two fingers apart and slid them down your folds as he moved until they were on either side of his cock, eyes focused completely on you and how your body reacted to him. You let out strangled noises as he brought his now sticky fingers up to your clit and started to tease you, rubbing it gently and then moving his finger back.

You made an angry noise, groaning and furrowing your eyebrows. Jungkook's eyebrow raised at your discontent and he brought his fingers back to your clit, pinching it harshly. You gasped and your back arched, a loud moan ripping out of your throat. You clenched tightly and tried to squeeze your legs shut, but you could only go as far as his arms between your thighs.

"Behave," he demanded coolly. "It's a privilege to have my cock inside your dirty cunt, isn't it?" You swallowed roughly and kept your eyes on his even though you wanted to look away. You wanted to apologize, but you couldn't say anything when his tie was shoved in your mouth the way it was. "Isn't it?" he repeated, pinching harder. You let out a cry and nodded your head quickly. He released his hold on your clit and pressed the pad of his finger to it, rubbing it soothingly and pleasure spiked through your abdomen again, your chest heaving. "That's right, it's an honor to be fucked by me." Jungkook used his free hand to remove the tie from your mouth, tossing the spit-soaked fabric off the bed and grabbing your jaw roughly. "Say it."

You panted and watched him with hooded eyes, his finger still working your swollen clit and his cock still moving in and out of you shallowly. "It's an honor to be fucked by you, Jungkook," you repeated. "I'm so lucky to have your cock inside me—"

He smiled and shoved his fingers into your mouth, pressing your tongue down. "Good girl." He removed his fingers from your mouth and you sucked in a deep breath, letting out a pleased sound as he started back up his rough pace, his cock sliding in and out of you easily from all the slick dripping down your thighs. He moved his hand off your clit and started to thrust sloppily, only chasing his own high now and unconcerned about you. "You love getting fucked, don't you? Such a slut, always needing a cock in your cunt—"

You keened and opened your thighs wider, clenching repeatedly around his cock to drag out his orgasm. "Yes, yes, I always need a cock inside my pussy—"

He groaned and dropped down lower until his chest was brushing against your breasts with every movement. Jungkook buried his face into your neck and started to press wet kisses to your skin. "Only my cock can ever feel your pussy around it," he growled. "No one else is allowed to touch you."

You shivered, the possessiveness of his words making your toes curl and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to keep him close while he snapped his hips into you erratically. The lewd sounds of your coupling filled the room and you knew the both of you were close.

"Say it," he pressed. "Say that you're only mine."

You gnawed on your lip and shut your eyes as he worked himself into a frenzy fucking you. "I'm only yours," you breathed. "I only want your cock inside me, Jungkook."

He moaned into your neck and grabbed for your arms, pulling them off his shoulders and pressing them into the mattress, his fingers wrapping around your wrists. You arched your back and your chest shoved into his, both of your breathing labored and harsh. He shoved his cock in and out a few more times before burying it as deep as he could fit, making you wince when the head nudged at your cervix. You felt his cock throb and twitch inside your walls and then he was climaxing, white hot come painting your insides. You gasped and rocked your hips up toward him while he came, filling you up with his seed. You were clenching around him repeatedly, trying to draw out your own orgasm.

He hissed and pulled back, squeezing your wrists and eyes glinting while he rolled his hips gently into you, riding out his high. "You feel that? How your cunt is trying to milk me of every drop of come?" He snickered and leaned toward your mouth. You opened your mouth, expecting a messy kiss, but Jungkook only pushed his tongue into your mouth and licked your own tongue and the roof of your mouth before moving away. He licked your lips for good measure and then cooed at you meanly. "Look at how greedy you are for everything I give you."

You licked your lips, looking up at him with wide eyes, silently begging him to let you come one more time. "I've been good, haven't I? Can I please come?" you asked quietly.

Jungkook smiled and released your wrists, settling his weight on his elbows to give you more room to move. "I want you to use my cock to come, darling," he purred. "Use my cock and my come to push yourself over like the good whore you are."

You whined and squirmed, squeezing his softening cock and shivering as his seed started to leak out of you, dripping out of your plugged up pussy and down your ass to the bed. You kept clenching, shifting your hips up and down to feel how he moved inside of you. His cock started to slip out of you and you whined, trying to get it back inside. Jungkook put his hand on your abdomen and shoved your hips down to the bed, his cock almost completely out.

He tsked, shaking his head. His eyes dragged down your body and stopped on where his hand was on you. "Did you like being fucked full?" he asked quietly, starting to move his hand down slowly. You hummed and let your eyes flutter shut when he shifted his hips and his cock slipped out all the way. "You like the feeling of my come inside you, baby?"

"Yes," you panted. "I love it so much."

Jungkook chuckled and teasingly played with your clit, not giving you enough friction to push you over the edge. "You couldn't even come with just my cock. I thought you were a good girl."

"It was an accident!" you blurted, eyes snapping open. "I'm sorry, I'm a good girl, I swear, it was an accident—"

Jungkook removed his fingers from your clit and roughly shoved three of them inside of you, pushing some of his come out of you. You let out a broken moan as he worked you over with his fingers, lowering himself down on the bed until he could put his mouth on you. His fingers curled inside you and he rubbed the rough patch of nerves while his tongue lapped at your clit, giving you the friction you needed. You could see stars and the pleasure was building inside of you rapidly, only needing a little more to get you over the edge.

Jungkook veered down and mouthed at your folds, licking some of the leaking come. Your heart leaped into your throat and you squirmed, bringing your hands to his hair and tugging lightly. "Don't!" you begged, almost frantic.

Jungkook's eyes met yours from between your thighs and a shot of arousal went through your abdomen, your pussy clenching around his fingers. His mouth came off you with an obscene sound, his chin slick with a mix of your arousal and his come. "Don't eat you out?" he asked. "Why not?"

Your cheeks felt hot and you wished you hadn't said anything. "I—I just want it inside."

He blinked and stared at you for a moment, trying to comprehend what you'd said. Then his lips pulled into a wicked grin and he shoved his fingers against your g-spot harder, drawing a surprised noise from you. "Oh, you want my come to stay inside you?" he inquired. "You want me to put a baby inside you that badly?"

Your cheeks started to feel hot and you bit your lip. "I—"

He cut you off, leaning down and licking a stripe up your folds and sucking once on your clit. "You want to be fucked full so you can be swollen with my baby?" he continued, his tone mocking. "Do you think a whore like you deserves to carry my baby?"

Your neck was hot, the embarrassment traveling up to your cheeks and ears. "No," you whispered, shutting your eyes.

Jungkook wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked on it harshly, making you keen loudly. The pleasure was shooting up your spine, your nerves on fire in your veins. He replaced his tongue with his thumb while his other fingers continued to move against your come-stained walls. "That's right, darling," he murmured. "You don't deserve to have my baby inside you." He licked his lips. "I may fuck you full of my come, but I won't put a baby in that hungry womb of yours. Being fucked by me is as far as the privilege you have will go."

You were panting, chest heaving as you neared your release, every word from his lips like a stinging slap and you loved every second of it. "I'm so close," you whimpered.

He snickered and rubbed your clit faster. "You're such a slut, getting off while I scold you."

"Yes, I'm a slut, I'm your slut," you mumbled, barely coherent anymore and eyes fluttering open. You rocked your hips into his hand, chasing your release.

"You don't need a swollen belly to show who you belong to," he said, eyes dark and dilated. You were sure if he hadn't come, he'd be ready to eat you whole. "Everyone knows you belong to me and you always will. No one would dare touch you."

"Always," you moaned, meeting his eyes.

He moved his thumb off of your clit and pressed a chaste kiss to your pussy with a loud smacking sound. The sight of it sent you over the edge, snapping the pressure in your belly and your orgasm rolled over you in waves. You screwed your eyes shut and let out a strangled noise as you rocked into his fingers to drag it out. Jungkook rolled your swollen clit into his mouth and sucked on it while you rode out your orgasm, shuddering and clenching around his fingers sporadically. When the ecstasy wore off and your body went limp on the bed from exhaustion, Jungkook slipped his fingers out of you and sucked your clit one last time. You whimpered at the slight pain and winced. You watched him as he sat up, stretching his body in front of you.

"You staying the night?" you mumbled.

He sighed and scooted over to the side of the bed, grabbing his clothes off the floor. "No, I have work to do." You stayed silent as he cleaned his cock and then dressed himself quickly. He walked over to the bathroom and you heard the faucet turn on. He was probably washing his hands and washing your slick off his face. You observed him as he left the bathroom and grabbed his jacket, tugging it back on and smoothing it.

"When are you coming back?" you asked.

Jungkook looked at you blankly for a moment, then smiled cruelly. "I don't know. I'll tell you when I need to use you again, sweetheart." He winked at you and then turned on his heel. He was out the door almost immediately and the familiar click as it locked behind him made you sigh.

You rolled over and pulled the stained covers up your naked body, not bothering to clean up or get dressed; you were too tired. And you knew Jungkook would be back soon—he was always back in a few days.

The ache in your chest was starting up again and you shoved it down deep, not willing to think about it. You would let Jungkook use you as many times as he wanted; as long as you got to be with him, the reason didn't matter—nothing else mattered.

all rights reserved © junqkook | 14 JUNE 2019 | reposting/modifying of any kind on any medium is strictly not allowed. translations are not allowed.

#jungkook smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #jeongguk smut #btssmutclub #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jeongguk smut #smut #bangtan #bts #jungkook #mine* #jjk #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bangtan x reader #jeongguk x reader #mafia au #mafia boss #mafia boss jungkook #bts mafia au #mafia bts #mafia jungkook #jungkook mafia au

[longitud-de-onda]

{un veneno} march: eloquence

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; your time with emiliana is running out and your feelings for javier are only growing rating; m warnings; talk about sex, alcohol (can i even write a javi fic without it?), angst, age gap, two idiots who need to get over themselves word count; 3.1k january, february

un veneno masterlist

You turned over as you woke up, not wanting to open your eyes to the bright light that streamed into your room from the windows. When you did, however, your eyes didn’t open to the darker side of your room but the worn fabric of Javier’s couch.

You stretched out, groaning as you woke up. Your neck was a little sore, which you attributed to the position you were lying in without a pillow. A blanket was half-draped over you, and you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. It didn’t feel great, but the couch was surprisingly comfortable.

The events of the night before began to return to your memory: going out for drinks with Javier, returning to his apartment, watching TV on the couch until late. You must have drifted off at some point.

It was nice to know Javier let you fall asleep there. It had happened before, more often than you’d like to admit, but usually, he’d set you up in the small spare bedroom he had.

You heard a bit of rustling as you rolled over to glance over the room. Javier was walking out of the kitchen towards the door, a piece of toast in hand.

“Javi?” you said, voice dripping with sleep, “What are you doing?”

“You’re awake!” he startled before breaking out into a smile. “Good morning.”

He had grabbed his leather jacket and looked like he was about to leave.

“Morning,” you smiled up at him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go to work,” he said. There was a tinge of apology in his voice like he wanted to spend the day with you.

“It’s Saturday,” you complained. It was too early for you to care about being respectful, or care at all about what you were saying. You wanted him to stay.

After that day on the mountainside, you had taken to spending your Saturdays with Javier. He had the day off, so you could go do stuff together. Except, obviously, today.

“I know, but it’s important,” he said. He took a bite of the toast.

“I hate the DEA,” you said. You had hoped you’d get to go out to the market on the other side of town. Javier had promised he’d take you there at some point, he didn’t trust you to go alone. Too dangerous, he said.

“I know,” he laughed, “I’m sorry. You can stay as long as you need. Just lock up.”

“Okay,” you said, “When’ll you be done?”

“I meant you could stay as long as you need to wake up and eat and stuff. You can’t spend all day inside.” Javier opened the door. “We can do lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. “Bye, Javi.”

“Have a good day,” he said before exiting the apartment.

You pushed the blanket off of yourself and sat up. It hurt, having him leave as soon as you woke up. Not that you were in a position where you could be offended. You were lucky he let you spend the night.

Javier’s attention was something you found yourself almost fighting for, and you knew others must as well. He was charming, young, handsome, and worked for the Embassy. That was the definition of a perfect man in most peoples’ books.

You stood up and walked over to the kitchen, where you grabbed a banana and sat down to eat. This was your 8th time, if you had kept track correctly, spending the night at Javier’s, and you seemed to always get a better nights’ sleep, even on the couch, than you did back at Emiliana’s.

Unfortunately, today was different in that Javier wasn’t there. You missed having him wander around, talking about different things. You missed telling him about work. Sometimes he’d talk about his favorite music or Colombian political secrets, and you’d tell him about how you always managed to find the best restaurants in every city and lecture him about packing a bag for an overnight because whenever he had to go up to Medellín he always overpacked.

As you sat eating, you found yourself wondering what the back half of his apartment looked like.

You walked over to his room and pushed open the door. The smell hit you before you could even notice what it looked like. A combination of sweat and latex and whatever that distinctly sex smell was, and the wave of it was so strong you had a hard time imagining that he hadn’t had sex in the past 8 hours you had been in the apartment.

Usually, that smell dissipated, you were familiar with that. For it to linger?

Your stomach clenched as your mind cleared a bit to notice the big bed in the center of the room and you realized he must have someone else in here almost every day. There’s likely been girls younger than yourself in that bed.

And for some reason, you haven’t been one of those women.

You’re standing in Javier’s closet, shuffling around in the small space, Javier sitting on his bed beyond the closed door. You had been chatting ever since you arrived at his place after school got out.

You hoped to be able to change out of your work clothes into the outfit that had somehow migrated to Javier’s closet, but the limited space didn’t allow for any speed.

“Hey, um, you have to move out of Emi’s soon, right?” Javier asked, voice muffled through the wood.

“Yeah,” you said, frowning. “I do.”

You had a couple days left and had been lying to Emiliana for a couple weeks now about having a place to stay. You chalked your procrastination up to over-involvement with teaching work and spending the rest of your free time with Javier or out partying. That didn’t fix the fact that in a few days you’d be effectively homeless.

“What are you going to do? You’ve set something up, right?” he said.

You couldn’t outright say no. Not to Javier. He was a decade or so older than you, had things figured out, had dealt with his own fair share of housing problems in the past. To admit that you had ignored this problem would be to admit how naive you were.

“I’ve traveled a lot, you know,” you decided on saying. “Been places where I didn’t know where I was going to sleep for the night.”

“Y/N!” he sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. “This is different. You’re working a job, you need something stable.”

“I don’t do stability.” That was as close to a life motto as you had. Living someplace for two months was new territory for you. The prospect of another nine or so was practically impossible to imagine.

“I know, but...” he stopped.

You paused, shirt halfway on, and waited for him to finish his sentence.

“What if you just move in with me?”

“What?” you ask, stunned. You finish putting on your shirt, mind working double time.

“I mean, you practically already live here. Your clothes are here, you eat here. I have a spare bedroom,” he said.

Moving in with Javier? As roommates? It was like some sort of angel and demon joined forces to create a godsend that would also torture you for the rest of the year. And how long was he suggesting this for? Because the nights you spent here were already pushing your limits of staying shut up about how much you wanted to kiss him.

“You know what, forget I said anything. It was a bad idea,” Javier rushed out.

You tensed up. No. You wanted this. Even if he was going to be the death of you.

You slipped on your pants as fast as you could, and flung open the door, throwing yourself onto Javier. He hugged back.

“No,” you said into his shoulder, “It’s a great idea. Thank you.”

“Where are you headed?” Javier walked out from his room, seeing you grabbing your jacket and purse which had been tossed across the couch earlier that day.

You were wearing the tightest jeans you owned and a cropped tank top, and the feeling of Javier’s eyes swooping over your body was just what you needed. There was no question: you were wearing this outfit to get the attention of someone.

“Dancing,” you responded, keeping it short as not to divulge your feelings. I’m going out so that I can forget about the fact that I get to sleep in the room next to you but never in your bed wasn’t the most appropriate answer.

“Fun.” He was frozen in the opposite corner of the room and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You had been living together for two weeks. You had gone out before. Why was he acting weird about it now? Why was this different?

“You’d hate it,” you said.

He liked going out for drinks but that was his limit. You had learned that the reason Javier was so perplexed by your social tendencies was your comfort around crowds. After years of training and working with the DEA, too many people put him into Agent Peña mode, and while it was useful for self-preservation, it meant his idea of fun usually involved fewer people.

“Maybe not?” he said, walking further into the living room. You furrowed your brow. What was he getting at? “The fact that you’d be there makes a pretty compelling argument.”

“Sure it does,” you laughed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a chill down your spine. Your brain helpfully supplied you with the image of Javier in a disco with you, tipsy and on the dance floor, hands around your hips, grabbing at bare skin on your waist and sliding up your leg under a short skirt. The goosebumps crawled up your arms and you shrugged on your jacket.

“I’m not going to be back until tomorrow,” you said.

“Why not?” He actually looked confused and for a moment you felt sorry that he didn’t understand. Until you remembered he was why.

“Um...” You didn’t know how to tell him, I’m going to go out of my way to fuck someone so that I can forget that I’m falling in love with you. It hurt everywhere, but mostly in your chest, and you knew staying in this apartment any longer would cause you to explode. Your heart couldn’t handle the sort of torture you were putting it through.

Javier was perfect in all the ways you didn’t think men were capable of. He respected everyone, even the women he paid to have sex with. He was great at being a roommate: sitting down for dinner with you, going out and buying groceries, listening to you vent about your bad days. He was vulnerable, at least within the confines of your apartment, sharing the difficulties of his job in ways you were beginning to understand. He said good night to you every evening with so much tenderness it hurt.

You knew Javier was getting lots of action. It was no secret that before most of the fucking occurred in his living room. Now that you were around he had the decency to always stick to the bedroom if he even had them there. Usually, he would leave for the evening, but sometimes you would get to meet his encounters.

Some of them were young, just over 18 and absolutely stunning, while others were closer to his age and would stay for an hour to smoke with him and talk. It didn’t matter who they were. Only that they were almost always different every time and they each were successful in confirming that you were quite possibly the only girl in Bogotá who wouldn’t get to warm Javier’s bed for a night.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. The last time you slept with someone was over a month ago, with Mateo, and your most recent orgasms had been at your own hand with Javier’s name on your lips, face pushed into the pillow, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

Your pause was enough for him to understand you’d be falling asleep in someone else’s bed tonight.

“Right,” he nodded. He stood across from you, hands in his pockets. “Well, stay safe?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You too, Javi. You never know, I leave you alone and you’ll end up setting this whole place on fire or something.”

Your head was pounding as you woke up, wrapped up in the arms of not one, but two men. As you shuffled around, you realized one was awake, and you mumbled a good morning. The events of the night before weren’t very clear, once you left Javier’s apartment (you still weren’t used to the fact that it was your home, too) you had gotten as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It was a blur of neon lights and hands around your body.

You could remember leaving the disco in a haze, arms wrapped around you. Remember moaning as you rode someone. Remember being held by your waist. By your hair. Remember Javier’s face flooding your mind as you came. Remember biting down on a pillow to keep from shouting out his name.

You looked down at the two men surrounding your body. You weren’t sure if they were together. They might have been? Most men wouldn’t dare sleep in the same bed as another unless they were involved.

You thanked them, wanting to make your leave before it got awkward. Maybe they wanted to have breakfast with you. Debrief. Talk. Sometimes that was custom. You didn’t want to do that. This wasn’t a normal threesome. Not that those existed. But this was you, trying to forget someone, and if that came up in conversation you would feel guilty.

So you gathered your things, got dressed, and left.

Walking the streets of Bogotá in the morning was nice. The fresh air on your skin felt amazing and the smell of fruit wafting through the air was refreshing. You loved the way the city breathed. It didn’t sound or smell like any other city you had been to. You knew you were falling in love with the city itself.

You opened the door to Javier’s and startled at the empty apartment. He was an early riser, and he liked to work in the living room. There was no one there. He must’ve still been asleep.

You entered the kitchen, collapsing into one of the chairs at the table. You grabbed an apple from the bowl and started eating. You didn’t really want to talk to Javier today. Sleeping with someone else hadn’t exactly helped the way you thought it would.

“Javi didn’t mention he had a roommate,” said a voice from behind you, accent thick. English wasn’t their first language.

You turned around, taking in the woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was probably around your age, wearing nothing more than her underwear and one of Javier’s button-downs. She was beautiful. Your stomach flipped.

“Um, yeah. Hi,” you mumble. “And you are?”

“I’m Elena,” she said, smiling. She entered the kitchen like it was her own home and sat down across from you, grabbing another apple from the bowl.

You knew what she was here for. They didn’t usually spend the night. But there was a first for everything, you supposed. You told yourself you had to get used to it. You were roommates, and this was who Javier was. That was something you’d have to learn to accept. It just hurt so much more given the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Nice to meet you, um—”

“Did Javi not tell you I would be here?” she interrupted you. Her brow furrowed a bit and you wondered how long she had been planning to sleep with Javier. 

“No, he, uh,” you stuttered, “He didn’t mention anything.”

“Elena,” called Javier from further back in the apartment, out of sight. “Do you want to have breakfast before my roommate gets back, I don’t really want her to know someone was...”

He had wandered into the kitchen, trailing off as he saw you. He at least had the decency to look guilty.

“Hey, Javi,” you said, swallowing back the pain.

“Y/N? Hi,” he said, “Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t realize you were here.”

Of course he didn’t. You stared up at him. He had on pants but no shirt, and damn if you didn’t want to walk up to him and feel every square inch, trace the side of his neck, feel the rise and fall of his chest. You glanced away, hoping futilely he hadn’t caught you staring. You looked over at Elena, knowing that she had gotten to do exactly what you wanted.

And you were sitting in between this couple, ruining their morning after.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing back your chair and ushering Javier into your seat. “It’s your place, you should have breakfast.”

“I should go,” Elena said, standing. “I think you two need to work out whatever is going on.”

“No!” you and Javier said at the same time. He looked back at you.

“Stay,” you said, not wanting for Javier to say anything that would completely screw over your day. “I need to take a shower, I’ll make myself scarce.”

You turn around and walk away, knowing that the two are starting at your back, still wearing the skimpy outfit you had on as you left the night before.

Upon entering your room, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that the tears wouldn’t fall. This was exactly why you didn’t stay in one place for too long. When you were traveling, there was no time for feelings to develop, anything that happened was casual. You didn’t have to deal with pining in silence for months as someone flirted meaninglessly back at you.

You had dug yourself into this hole, agreeing to the job at the school, and now you wished you hadn’t. Getting to be around Javier was a blessing, some days you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to get to meet someone so perfect. But nothing made sense. Why did this guy, years older than you, offer to spend his time with you, even give up his privacy and let you live with him, but stay so painfully distant? What was it about you that he didn’t want?

The sound of laughter erupted from the direction of the kitchen and you sank to the floor, wishing you could go back to when you said yes to living here and stop yourself. You’d rather be back at a shitty hostel than feeling this.

next part

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#javier peña #javier pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #camila writes #rated m #under 5 #reader #angst #pedro fics #narcos fics #javi x reader

[kl4us4]

PEACHY (Ben Solo x Fem!Reader)

Summary: A smuggling job goes wrong, luckily you have the best smuggler in the galaxy as your boyfriend. 

masterlist

warning: nsfw, smut ending, vulgar language.

Pushing against you, Ben rests you on top of his lap. You keep your hands entangled in his hair as you kiss one another. You can’t help but call out his name as you smile, “Ben.”

“Yes, my love?” He announces back, a smile of his own on his lips as he presses a kiss to your warm neck. He runs his hand up and down your back gently, sending shivers up your spine.

“We have to make this run on time, or we’ll never get paid,” you tell him, placing both hands against his cheeks and gently pulling him away from you.

“Well,” he responds holding a hand up, “Luckily for you, I can make this quick.” He teases, grinning as he makes fun of himself.

“How romantic,” you tease back, biting your lip as you lean towards him, “You’re making me hot already.”

“Yeah, baby?” He whimpers with a smirk, “I might even make you be the big spoon when we cuddle afterwards. How does that sound?” Ben winks back, holding back a laugh. You both can’t stop smiling at one another, knowing that Ben often does like being the little spoon and he has not one shame about it.

“Oh baby,” you moan into his ear, sticking your tongue out and licking him.

“Y/N!” Ben’s shoulders tense as he lets out a disgusted groan, “Why?” He cries, wiping his ear on his shoulder.

You laugh, knowing he hates that. Giving him a shrug, you joke, “Just wanted to make you hard.”

“Well, you failed.” He shakes his head at you, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Yeah, I probably should be.” You agree, standing from his lap and giving him a caring smile, “So, how long until we land?”

“Roughly 5 minutes,” Ben answers, taking hold of your hand and kissing the back of it. “Our client will meet us on the landing pad. Nervous?”

“Never.”

“That’s my girl,” Ben whispers, giving you a fond smile.

You smirk, this time you take his hand and squeeze it, “This is going to be easy. Jakku is a wasteland; they’re desperate for any metal they can get their hands on.”

“Mhmm.” He agrees, letting go of your hand to commandeer the ship to land, “They’ll pay handsomely for whatever we can give them.”

The ships loud as it lands, and you watch Ben’s eyebrows furrow in concentration. He glances over at you as the ship meets the ground, his face unchanging as he focuses, “What’re you looking at me for?” He asks, his tone slightly worried and standoffish.

“Nothing.” You look away, hiding a smile but Ben can see your cheeks slightly red. 

“Come on.” He whines, eager to know what’s on your mind. 

“You’re hot.”

“Huh?” He asks, unbuckling himself and standing from his seat. His arm muscles are tense as he lifts places his blaster in its hold, turning to look at you as you stand beside him.

Grabbing your own weapon, you shrug. “You’re just hot.”

You both make your way to the door as the landing pad drops in a heap of steam, “Don’t objectify me, I’m the captain of this ship.” He teasingly scolds you. 

“Aye aye.” You reply, quickly slapping your hand against his bum. You do it just in time before the doors open to your client, knowing Ben can’t slap yours back like usual. Instead, he gives you a pointed look before clasping his hands behind his back and stepping off the ship. You step down too, seeing your droid follow. He’s an R2 unit, different from the well-known droid that lives on base. Instead, you and Ben’s R2 is green and black, specialising in smugglers routes, strict sectors of the galaxy, and current news about the black market. You and Ben call him R3, an inside joke about how everyone calls R2D2 ‘Artoo’.

You and Ben walk side by side, eyeing the desolate, orange planet as you come face to face with your client and three other men who were not negotiated to be here. “You’ve brought friends.” You note, giving a smile to each other the men before looking to your unknown client.

“Back up.” He responds gruffly, “In case things go sideways.”

“As long as you have what we need, you have nothing to fear.” Ben nods, his features stoic and, honestly, a little mean for your liking. Though you do find this serious side of him attractive. The man to his left drops his bag onto the ground. Doesn’t sound as heavy as it should, you narrow your eyes at him and look down at the credits. It doesn’t look like nearly enough to match the amount promised. 

Seeing the look on your face, he speaks up, “4000 Galatic credits.”

“If I may kindly ask, where’d you pull that number from?” You wonder, crossing your arms and tapping your finger against your upper arm as you anticipate his answer.

“Think of it as payment for not turning you into your Rebel friends,” he narrows his eyes, gesturing to the busy marketplace, “They were this close to raiding my shop too. No doubt they knew you were coming.”

Ben’s hands are now at his side, hovering above his blaster inconspicuously, “We're not friends with the Resistance, I can assure you that. What I cannot guarantee is your head remaining intact to your shoulders if we don’t get the credits that we agreed on.” Instantly, the men beside him raise their blasters. One grabs you, pointing his weapon to your temple. Ben’s blaster is quickly on the client, his eyes filled with anger as he watches his every move.

Rolling your eyes, you let out a loud sigh. “We’ll give you one more chance to escape with your lives.” You glance at the man, giving him sympathetic eyes. They let out laughs, though stop when they see you and Ben’s expression.

“Why are the pretty ones never smart?” The man wonders, his lips whispering closely to your ear. Ben grits his teeth as he watches the man hold you against your will.

“I have a question too,” you giggle, clenching your fist tightly before quickly swinging your elbow back into the man's gut. He grunts, kneeling to the ground, “Why are the ugly ones always idiots?” You tilt your head down at him, watching the pain in his face dissipate into anger and embarrassment. 

The second man grabs you roughly despite having Ben’s blaster pointed at him. He holds both your hands behind your back whilst the other man stands from the floor, helping to hold you still as well. “4000 or we kill your sidekick here,” He pushes the gun further against your temple.

Ben, noticing R3’s absence, gives the man a confident shrug. “Do it,” he says absentmindedly, making you smile at him, “Why do I care? I’m here for the credits we negotiated.”

“Enough with the-” The man shouts as the sound of a small yet powerful electrical shock emits from R3, who zaps the man on the back of his shin. In a second, Ben fires two shots. The entire time, your eyes remain on Ben as the man behind you falls limply to the ground.

With his blaster now aimed at the man remaining, you walk over and stand beside Ben, who speaks, “6500 credits or your life. You choose.” In a quick attempt to shoot Ben, the man pulls his blaster from his holder. Ben shoots first, letting out a sigh as the man falls to his knees. “I hate this planet.” Ben mumbles, turning back and walking over to you as R3 heads back onto the ship heaving the crate of credits, “You okay?” His eyes are intense as he watches you, his body close to yours.

“I’m okay.” You nod at him, pressing your lips to his cheeks before heading to collect the blasters from the bodies of the men. “You?”

“Peachy.” Ben’s tone is low and disappointed as he takes the blasters from your hands, “Could have been better with 6500 more credits to trade.” He admits, placing the blasters in the storage compartment on board his ship, “Maybe someone else on this stupid rock wants to buy a ton of scrap metal.”

“They only have a bartering system here,” you remind him, to which he clicks his tongue, “They only had Galatic credits because they’re shady businessmen.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Ben hums, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and pressing his lips to the place where a blaster was once pressed against your head.

“Leave it all here, someone will find a use of it. Most likely trade it in for food, it might help someone.” You look up at him, admiring the smile he wears on his face now that he’s away from the client.

“You’re right,” he nods, letting go of you to kick the hovering crate of metal pieces down the landing strip of the ship, “Good riddance to this awful place. And good riddance to the Resistance members on it.” He says as you both board your ship once again.

“Let’s go back to running spice.” You tell him, sitting on his lap as he turns the ship on, it roars to life beneath his fingers; kind of like you.

“Yeah?” He wonders, his arm wrapping around your waist as he looks up at you through his lashes. When you nod, Ben gives you a smirk, “Strap in, baby.”

You stand, heading to your seat but not before Ben can get his payback for slapping him on the bum. “Hey!” You whine, turning back to look at him.

“It’s fair!” He chuckles, seeing you smile as you sit down in the co-pilots seat. Once this thing is up in the air and the destination is set to a slow course to Kessel, Ben unbuckles himself and stretches his arms out. “Come here,” he orders you, glancing over at you when you give him a sceptical expression, “Come sit on Captain Solo’s lap.” He laughs as he pats his muscular thigh. Straddling both his legs, you look down at Ben through half-shut eyes. “Hm.” He notes, gazing at you intently.

“What?”

“I know what that look means.”

“You do, do you?” You ask.

“Yes.”

“Enlighten me.”

Ben smiles, his brown eyes looking you up and down, “You want me.” He shrugs, cocky. 

“I want you to... what?”

He lets out a small chuckle, finding it amusing that you’re trying to play it cool, “You want me to make you come, to turn you into a mess underneath me, I know, I’ve seen that look many times before, baby.”

“Hm. Not quite, baby.” You admit, taking his wrists in your hands and holding them by his side as you continue, “I want to make you squirm underneath me, and I want to hear you moan for me, come undone for me.”

“I’m already there.” He whispers, his hand pushing on the back of your neck in order to get you to move closer to his lips. You press your lips to him, instantly feeling heat within the pit of your stomach amongst other places. Ben hears you moan quietly and smiles against your plump lips.

When he presses his tongue against yours, you instinctively tug on his hair, causing him to let out a small whimper. Craving to be touched by you, Ben feels his body relax with relief as he presses his crotch against your thigh and gets some satisfaction. You let out a quiet sigh of relief at the pressure of his leg against your warmth.

When you press a long kiss to his lips, Ben takes it as you telling him to continue. So he moves his hips down slowly, his mouth agape and his eyes closed at the pleasurable feeling. You push your body up against his, grinding slightly as the small inklings of a smile appear on your face. You both open your eyes to look at one another, wondering if you’re both thinking the same thing.

“Take your clothes off,” Ben whispers, sitting back and removing his shirt from his body. You do the same to yourself, eyes lingering on his figure whenever you can get a look at him. He sits on his legs, thighs exposed as he sits watching you wearing just boxers. Bens eyes travel along every inch of your body and with every inch gazed at, a smile grows on his face for the first time in months. “You’re beautiful.” He admits, watching you sit there in your bra and underwear, “So beautiful.”

You smile at him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So are you.”

“I’m beautiful?” He raises his eyebrows at the feminine word.

“Yeah,” you respond, brushing his black hair back, “You really are.”

Ben closes his eyes, leaning into your touch before he looks at you fondly, “Thank you.”

“What for?” You chuckle, glancing at his eyes for a sign of anything wrong.

Bens hands run up your thighs, gently touching the warm skin before reaching for your underwear. “For loving me.” He says.

“Always,” You whisper to him, reaching down and holding his cock in your hand, “Always, baby.” You whimper, feeling his fingers press against your clit as you begin pumping him slowly. Soon enough, he moves your panties to the side and lifts his hips up to place his cock inside you, slowly, so slowly but so satisfyingly.

Ben lets out a sigh, his mouth hangs open, and you take the opportunity to kiss him once again. His eyes open slightly before shutting again, and Ben smiles as he begins rutting his hips gently into you. Steadying yourself by placing both hands on his chest, you begin to move up and down on Ben’s member. Each time, you feel the need to hold your breath when he hits the perfect spot inside of you.

“Ah, Ben,” you whisper, throwing your head back slightly as he grips onto your hips. The pain of his fingertips pressed into yours just doubles the pleasure you feel, especially when he moves one hand to your clit, “Fuck, Ben, you make me feel so good.” You whimper quietly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“I’m glad,” he grins, opening his eyes to glance as your sweaty figure. He presses a kiss to your shoulder before his eyes focus between your bodies. Ben’s breathing becomes heavier as he watches his thick cock disappear between your heavenly folds. Shit. “You look so beautiful, angel.” He moans, the warmth and tightness of your movements make him want to fuck you right into the pilots' seat he’s sitting on; but he knows you like being in control sometimes, and tonight is your night.

He really can’t help it, you just feel so good like this, look so good like this, sound so good like this. You’re so fucking intoxicating, he can barely keep himself together. You with your hair cascading upon your shoulders, your eyes shut, your lips parted with whimpering breaths. Stars, it’s enough to end him right now.

Ben’s big. You’ve never shied away from letting him know that, though you know it goes straight to his ego. The feeling of his big cock pressing against your walls each time he enters and exits, you’re squeezing your eyes closed, it almost even has you biting your lips. You pull away from the warmth of Ben’s shoulder, instead of pressing your lips to his rough ones and he’s quick to push his tongue against yours.

When you go to tug on his hair, Ben slows his hips, focusing on his breath. After everything that’s happened today - putting you in danger once again - he’s fucked if he’s going to cum before you do. You open your eyes, looking up at him and examining the way his eyes are shut, the way his lips are in a circle as he breathes steadily. 

“Ben,” you mumble, getting his attention, “Baby.”

“Y-Yeah?” He gulps, his throat dry as he breathes heavily at the pleasure still coursing through him. He’s close. So close. In fact, so ready to just fucking unload inside of you that it’s paining him to slow down.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing... N-Nothing.” He shakes his head, still not opening his eyes.

“Ben, c’mon.” You press on, feeling something’s off.

“I just - I don’t want to... you know... before you do.” He admits, his cheeks burning red as he looks down at you, your perfect body, your raw lips, your pretty tits.

Smiling, you give him the fondest look ever before pressing your lips against his. “Baby, cum whenever you want, I’m sure I won’t be far behind.”

Bens cock twitches, aching to be pumping in and out of you once again. Slowly, he begins grinding against you and you let out a long, high moan, your face contorting in pleasure. You follow his movements, lifting up and pushing down on his dick. When you tug his hair again, Ben lets out a deep moan while pushing into you. “Fuck.” He grunts, “You drive me insane, you feel so good.” The sound of Ben moaning into your ear sparks something in you, doubling your pleasure as you watch his face while pulling onto his hair yet again. His hips snap up into yours and you groan, the inner corners of your eyebrows lifting as you close your eyes. “Oh, shit.” He whispers, so close to losing himself in all this. 

One of his hands moves from your hips back to your folds, running up and down. Ben smirks when he reaches that certain spot that makes your legs jolt and you can’t help but let out a loud moan, making Ben’s eyes widen slightly. He can’t help but look at you and imagine all the places that he could come on. At this moment, he imagines spilling his seed onto your lips, your chest, imagines it running down your smooth skin and onto the leather seat. He can’t handle it any longer.

He whimpers when you kiss him forcefully, hungrily pushing your lips against his as if he’s your oxygen. Bens hands move to his cock and he pulls it out of you, looking up at you as he begins stroking it quickly. With another hand, he presses his fingers to your clit and begins finishing himself off with the same pace that he pleasures you with. You and Ben both have your eyes closed as you share this moment of bliss, this moment filled with moans and hair pulling and kissing and one final breath sucked in before - 

“Y/N, oh Y/N, baby!” He grunts, watching with half-closed eyes as his white cum ejects onto your chest between your tits.

His finger pressed down on your harder and you squeeze your eyes shut, throwing your head back as you release one last moan, calling out his name loudly, “Ben! Oh, oh! Ben!”

Then he becomes limp on the chair, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. And all you can do is fall against him, trying to control your own breathing that has become erratic. His finger is still on your clit, rubbing slowly and gently as you press loving kisses along his neck.

Once the room is no longer filled with your breaths and praises toward one another, Ben reaches for his discarded shirt on the ground and wipes away his leftover cum from your precious body. He’s gentle, attentive, he watches your every move as he cleans you up. You sigh happily, sitting off his lap with a quiet moan as you search for your shirt to wear. Ben pulls his boxers back up, standing beside you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I love you,” he whispers, “I’m so blessed to know you.”

Smiling, you lean into his loving touch. “I love you too, Ben.” You respond, fitting your hand into his and leading him down the hall of the spacious ship.

“Where are you taking me?” He laughs, following along nevertheless.

“You said we’d cuddle!” You smile, leading him to your shared quarters and gesturing to the large bed. Ben looks to you with a crooked smile before jumping onto the bed, and you do the same before he finds his place in your safe arms. 

#ben solo #ben solo star wars #ben solo x reader #ben solo imagines #ben solo fanfic #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo fluff #ben solo x you #Ben solo X reader imagines #ben solo x reader imagine #ben the smuggler #smuggler!ben solo #smuggler!ben solo x reader #smuggler ben solo #ben solo x reader oneshot #ben solo x reader smut #ben solo x reader fluff

[notgalaxii]

Another Another Cinderella Story || Part One || Diavolo x Fem!MC

Hey guys! I'm sorry this one took so long for me to put out, I was so busy this week! I got a job and I just finished my virtual training but I was working on this with every free moment I had!! This will be part 1 most likely out of 3. Thank you all so much for reading and continuing to request amazing ideas such as these!!

Request Prompt: A Cinderella Story with Diavolo and a Fem!MC.

Word Count: 1.9k

    “You will not be attending the event, MC. Powerful demons will be swarming the castle and I can’t have my eyes on you at all times,” Lucifer’s words echoed through her head like her footsteps echoed through Purgatory Hall. After Diavolo had extended an invite to MC and all of the demon brothers to go to a masquerade, Lucifer had shut her down. He shut down what would probably be the best night of her life in the devildom. He shut down the mere possibility of her enjoying herself, looking better than she could have ever dreamed of, swaying with a beautiful stranger in her elegant ball gown. He shut down the possibility of her smile illuminating with the light flickering off of the chandeliers.  She had stormed off to go find someone else who she knew wouldn’t be going to the dance so that she could vent. MC knew very well that Lucifer was just looking out for her, but she didn’t know whether it was because he cared or because Diavolo would have his head if his exchange student was eaten. Sometimes Beelzelbub would try to reassure her that Lucifer really does care, but is too prideful to admit it. 

    “MC? Didn’t think you’d stop by here, I half expected you to be in a gown right now,” Solomon’s cocky smile played on his lips as he opened the door.

    “Lucifer didn’t let me go,” she brashly elaborated. A glimmer of shock seeped into his eyes before he pulled the door open just enough for her frame to slip through. MC immediately slumped onto the nearest seat once entering.

    “What was the noble excuse this time?” Solomon teased as he sat on his bed across from her, “Place your bets now, ladies and gents, does it have to do with Diavolo’s displeasure? Or, would it perhaps be about the tasks Diavolo assigned you?” 

    “Powerful demons will be swarming the castle and he can’t have me in his sight at all times. Oh, how disappointed Lord Diavolo would be if he finds his precious exchange student eaten by a demon! Lucifer would have to give him extra foot rubs after that, obviously,” MC mocked in her best posh tone, “What about you? Why aren’t you going?”

    “Too many demons I made a pact with are there and a few of them can’t stand each other. As much as I would love to see that go down, I would unfortunately be roped into the middle of it,” he sighed deeply.

    “Funny, I bet you would’ve absolutely adored causing some chaos at a noble event,” MC snickered as she crossed her legs. She had always known Solomon to be extremely mischievous. Just about every time he had used his powers around her, it was either to just “see what happens,” or to purposely mess with someone. However, there had been a few times where he’s gotten her out of some pretty sticky situations with his magic. 

    “There’s still a way, of course,” a playful smile reached up to Solomon’s lips, twisting the corners.

    “Bingo,” MC chuckled, “I was waiting for you to say something like that.”

    “And this way involves you actually being able to go without Lucifer on your tail,” one of his eyebrows quirked in her direction.

    “Oh? I’m listening,” she leaned in closer to him as if it would help her pay attention.

    “What better mask than an entirely new face?” Solomon inquired.

    “You shady bitch, I love you,” a bright smile stretched across her face. Solomon stood up and held his hand out to her for her to grab. When she did, he guided her over to a shelf full of spell books.

    “Satan let me borrow this book, there’s a spell in here that will completely change your appearance for the next  five hours. This means that when the clock strikes midnight, you’ll be back to your current form,” he elaborated, flipping through the pages of a large, dark green book.

    “This is nice and all, but I don’t even have anything to wear-”

    “Leave that to me too, I’ve spent enough time with Asmodeus to know how to make someone look good,” Solomon chuckled before putting his finger on a specific passage, “ Here it is, are you ready? I’ve never used this spell before, but I’m sure I can do it.”

    MC contemplated her choices for a moment. She knew that if it was Solomon casting the spell, there was almost no way that she could get caught. The only possible way she could think of was not being able to scurry out of the castle before midnight hits. Potential consequences of her actions raced through her head. MC knew better than to defy Lucifer but he was so irritating. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d be livid if he found out.

    Yet, what would happen if he didn’t find out? What would happen if she spent the night glissading across the ballroom floor, arm in arm with a handsome or perhaps beautiful stranger? She could have the night of her life, but it all depended on how much attention she paid to the time. 

    “Do it, Solomon. I’m ready," MC abruptly blurted after a few moments of silence. The next thing she knew, she was being enveloped in a waft of black smoke. It swirled around her vehemently, growing thicker with every ancient word that slipped Solomon's tongue. 

    Once the smoke began to settle and fade away, MC looked down at her hands. Her skin tone was a few shades darker than usual, her nails resembling long and sharp talons. Trailing up her arms, she saw the wavy lilac hair cascading down her shoulders like a mystical waterfall. 

    "That turned out better than expected, you look beautiful, MC" a small, cocky smirk creeped its way back up onto Solomon's expression. 

    "Thank you, is my face any different?" MC quizzed. In place of a reply, he gestured to a mirror near the door. Her face was indeed different. Her eyes sparkled a vibrant and almost intense green, her lips were slightly fuller than previously, her nose a bit smaller. They were the smallest changes but when they were all put together, she was a completely different person.

    Without warning, the smoke had returned to swirl around her body yet again, this time leaving her head peeking out. It left a crimson red ball gown to wrap her torso, coming down in a sweetheart neckline to show off her collarbone, the skirt slightly flaring out at her hips. The fabric was light and airy, allowing her to move with ease. 

    "You gonna turn a pumpkin into a carriage too, fairy godmother?" MC teased. 

    "No, but we are going to do something with that hair," Solomon scoffed, pulling the hair tie off of her wrist and beginning to take her hair into sections. He parted the top half of her hair up, twisting it into an intricately braided bun. Before letting her look back into the mirror, he pulled out a few strands to dangle in the front. 

    "Tricks from Asmo?"

    "You could say that," he smiled, placing a hand on her lower back, "Alright, get out of here and have fun. Set an alarm on your D.D.D. okay? 23:50 pm, get heading out when it goes off."

    MC nodded enthusiastically and thanked him for his support before grabbing a mask he had summoned. It was a bit of a trip to the castle, taking thirty minutes off of the spell. She had only been to Diavolo's castle once before, it was when she made her pact with Asmodeus and Solomon used his magic on her for the first time. Diavolo was quite the character in her eyes, although she hadn't known much about him besides that Lucifer was his little lap dog. He was charming, certainly, and seemed pretty kind for a Demon Prince. She thought it was special how he wished to construct a path between all three realms. After all, that path is what gave her the opportunity to make new friends and learn about new cultures. 

    The large, elegant piece of architecture was indeed swarming with demons, just as Lucifer had predicted. They were all dressed head to toe in formal attire, a few letting their horns, wings, and tails come out. MC carefully put her mask on and fixed her posture before striding into the house. Not many demons shyed from giving her strange looks. Large, crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, illuminating the faces of all of them, especially one in particular, Asmodeus. Oh no.

    “Oh, hello there!~ I haven’t seen your face in the Devildom before, who might you be?” his sweet voice chimed with seductive notes lingering in the air. MC noticed the way his sunset gaze deepened immediately. He was trying to charm her, and she couldn’t let that happen. Asmodeus’ powers never worked on her and he would be devastated if they didn’t work on this random stranger. 

    “H-hi! I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but I-I need to use the restroom,” MC sputtered out, but it didn’t seem like Asmo was taking no for an answer. She was now locked to him.

    “Your voice sounds so familiar. It’s very soothing, you know? Come, doll. I’ll escort you to the restroom,” he coaxed her with a warming smile. Knowing she wouldn’t win the battle of trying to run away from the Avatar of Lust without upsetting him, MC nodded in agreement. 

    Asmodeus guided her to the restroom and left her off at the door before giving a small wink and fading into the mass. She sighed with relief and walked into the restroom. Taking a glance in the mirror, MC re-evaluated her situation. Now she knew that her voice would still be the same, she wasn’t able to know anyone at this masquerade, and she still resembled a human, she felt like this wasn’t such a good idea. The brother’s most likely wouldn’t protect her if she got in a trifle, now that she lingers on the thought.

    A knock on the restroom door broke her thoughts. After sorting herself out, MC did her best to maintain her composure as she walked out. Even more demons were giving her looks this time around, a few of them even mumbling about her as she walked by. Asmodeus probably started to talk about the encounter to some of his “fans,” as he calls them. 

    Time began to run itself down the drain as MC consumed a few drinks and chatted with the passing strangers that prompted a conversation with her. Asmodeus made his way back to talk to her at one point and even tried to dance with her, but she was still scared of him finding out she couldn’t be charmed so she politely declined.

    “I’m a little bit too tipsy, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to step all over your toes,” she chuckled. Asmo understood, surprisingly and it wasn’t long before he wandered off to try to charm the next beautiful face he saw walking by. A few moments later, yet another hand tapped MC’s shoulder, beckoning her to turn around. She half expected it to be Asmodeus, but it was instead Barbatos, Diavolo’s poised butler. 

    “Lord Diavolo has requested for you to be his first dance partner of the night. Please, follow me.”

#obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me fanfic #obey me fic #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphagor #obey me mammon #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo x reader #diavolo x reader

[jeranasblog]

1000 Dollar

Rating: E

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/ Steve Rogers

Summary: Camboy Steve does a huge mistake and meets with one of his viewers, Bucky, who isn't only the most handsome man Steve had ever seen, but also the most dangerous person in New York. If Steve could only resist his charm.

Check tags on Ao3 (Camboy/ Mob boss AU)

Read on Ao3

1000 Dollar? Steve choked when he saw the amount of money ‘CallMeDaddy’ had donated a few seconds ago. It must have looked bizarre. He had just deepthroated his favorite dildo, four inches long with a slight curve to the right, without even coughing once and the only evidence of his hard work had been a tear that ran down his chin. But a simple donation was enough for him to lose it and he choked on air. Amazing.

 “I think you made a mistake, Daddy.” Steve was a good boy, he would send the money back if the man had accidentally added a zero too much, but the amused comment of ‘CallMeDaddy’ freaked him out even more. 

 Don’t worry your pretty little head, Sugar. Just ride your black toy and I’ll give you another thousand.

And Steve, the selfless boy that he was, obeyed immediately and moaned when he felt the tip of the black toy breaching his rim. The chat was going crazy. Messages were flying in, a few obscene, a few lovely, and Steve smiled while he let out the loudest moan of the day so far. It might have even been his donator’s username, but the pleasure of being stretched open clouded his mind. 

 Steve felt wanted. He loved the attention of others, loved their filthy comments and encouraging messages, but what he loved even more was the money. There was no shame in being a camboy, especially because his job paid extraordinary well, and Steve enjoyed every second of it. It was people like ‘CallMeDaddy’ that made his job even more fun.

 Exactly as promised, the man sent him more money, and Steve’s eyes rolled back when he heard the incoming donation sound. The thought of being wanted made his body burn and he whimpered when the next thrust hit his sweet spot full force. He definitely had to thank the man properly. 

 Although Steve would love to go on, he pulled out the dildo reluctantly and turned around until he was kneeling in front of the camera, his knees spread. It was too early to come just yet, so he forced his body to calm down and focused on his chat again. 

 So beautiful, Sugar. Such a greedy little boy. Feel free to moan Bucky when you come.

 Bucky, huh. There was something about ‘CallMeDaddy’ that drew Steve in. It might have been the money, but there was more, a certain self-confident attitude that made his legs shake and his hole twitch. In his imagination, the man was huge, broad shoulders and a confident smirk, everything Steve was crazy for. 

 When Steve closed his eyes he could almost imagine Bucky was the only one in the chat, watching him intrigued while Steve squirmed on the bed. Suddenly, he wanted the man so badly that he sobbed about the feeling of being empty and fumbled blindly for the toy to press it back in. Don’t get him wrong, Steve was a needy bottom, but today he craved it even more, crying out Bucky’s name when the plastic tip grazed his sweet spot. 

 Usually, Steve followed the chat closely, trying to focus on the suggestions of his viewers during getting off. He moaned their names, shifted his body when they asked for it, and gave them the best view possible. Today, however, Steve saw nothing but Daddy’s comments standing out of the blur of his chat and he lost his control how he usually only lost it outside of his streams. 

 I’ve never seen you so wrecked before, Sugar. Am I doing this to you? Is my money making your pretty little cock leak and your hungry hole throb? Spread your legs for me, Sugar. Show me how beautiful you look when you come. 

 To Steve’s own embarrassment, this was it. He came screaming, crying out Bucky’s name mixed with praises of how good his Daddy felt inside of him. His body was twitching for minutes and he was close to passing out. Steve was used to coming back to himself quickly after an orgasm, so he could say goodbye to his viewers and shut down the stream, but today he had to force himself to get up already. 

 His outro was shaky, he stared at the camera with a blissed-out expression and a dopey smile while he thanked all of them for their time and money. When the cam was finally turned off, Steve fell back on the mattress, not even caring that he laid in his own spunk. There was something about ‘CallMeDaddy’ that could get pretty dangerous. 

 ~*~

 Steve lasted twelve hours before he sent Bucky the first private message. It would have been even less, but after the mind-blowing orgasm, he had slept eight hours straight, and now he was exceptionally rested. He wasn’t really sure if Bucky would reply, but it was worth a shot.

 SweetBoy: Hey, Bucky. I just wanna say ty for the money again :)

 Immediately after he had pressed send, Steve got nervous. What if Bucky didn’t want to message him? What if he only wanted to watch him during his streams? But his worries were unnecessary because the reply came not even ten minutes later.

 CallMeDaddy: Hey, Sugar. You’re welcome. Your performance was extraordinary yesterday. Tell me, did you think about Daddy when you came on your cute little toy?

 Even though Steve was used to filthy comments, he still blushed. There was just something about Bucky that made him feel like a bashful virgin and he could feel his cock twitch when he thought about the other man. Deciding Bucky had earned a treat, Steve opened his camera and took a picture of himself, pouting and blushing in lingerie. He pressed send before he could change his mind. 

 CallMeDaddy: Oh, Sugar. Is this just for me? Am I the only one seeing this picture?

 SweetBoy: Only you, Daddy <3

 CallMeDaddy: God, you drive me crazy, Steve. I want to meet you and fuck you in my bed until you’re screaming on my cock. Imagine what it would feel like, squirming on a real cock instead of your plastic ones.

 Oh, god. Steve could feel his erection growing at rapid speed and he whimpered at the thought of being alone in his apartment, empty and yearning for a man he didn’t know. His behavior was reckless, he shouldn’t even talk to his viewers in private, but his sanity was washed away by the need to be claimed. Still, there was nothing that could justify his next action.

 SweetSugar: Do you live close to New York, Bucky? Do you want to meet me someday?

 As soon as he read the message again, Steve paled. He hadn’t only asked a stranger to meet him, he had also told him the city he lived in. His hands started to sweat and he tried to delete the message before Bucky would see it, but no such luck. The man was faster. 

 CallMeDaddy: I feel honored that you offer to meet me, Sugar, but you should be more careful on the internet. Not everyone respects your wishes and limits. Still, I can’t say no to the offer. I’m dreaming about meeting you for weeks, Stevie. What do you think about meeting me at the Italian restaurant on the corner of 5th and 57th? 

 He could still back out. He could just apologize, thank Bucky for his money and tell him his behavior had been reckless, but Steve had always been too naive. Blended by arousal, attraction and the simple need to be wanted, he signed his potential downfall.

 SweetSugar: Can I meet you there tomorrow 7pm?

 CallMeDaddy: I would be honored, Sugar. I’ll wear a red tie. 

 What had he done?

 ~*~

 The restaurant Bucky had suggested wasn’t hard to find. From the outside, it looked pretty normal, maybe a little fancier than Steve was used to. He looked down, insecure about his chosen clothes. Sure, the blue pants hugged his ass deliciously and the white shirt showed off his lean body, but he didn’t wear a tie or a suit jacket. Before he could second guess his clothes, or even second guess the whole meeting, Steve opened the door. 

 As soon as he opened the door, Steve’s nervousness came back full force. He had expected a busy restaurant on a Friday evening, but there was only a single table in the middle of the room. Two men with heavy guns stood on the corner of the room while a third man sat on one of the two chairs next to the table. He smiled gently at Steve. 

 Steve had never seen a man more beautiful in his entire life. He had a handsome face, a strong jawline, and eyes so piercingly blue that Steve’s legs started to tremble. His body was packed with tons of tons of solid muscles, straining the black suit that he wore. Everything of the man screamed dominance and Steve had to fight the urge to fall to his knees. His gaze wandered lower, over the blood-red tie down to the thick thighs and the bulge in the middle of his pants. Was the man hard? 

 Steve shook his head to get his sanity back, but every time his gaze fell onto the man’s lap, Steve saw himself bouncing on it. Wasn’t he concerned about anything a few seconds before?

 “Before you panic, Sugar, let me explain.” Definitely Bucky. “Do you know my complete name?” Steve shook his head, still distracted from the view in front of him. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, but my friends call me Bucky.”

James Buchanan Barnes. There was something familiar about it and Steve needed a second before his eyes widened in shock. Oh god, he was alone in a room with the head of New York’s mafia. The panic from before couldn’t be compared with the fear he felt now. He should have known that meeting with a stranger who watched his stream and donated tons of money wasn’t a good idea, but there was nothing he could do now besides run. He took a step back, slowly, hoping Bucky wouldn’t notice, but of course, the Mob boss did.

 “Steve, please don’t run. I won’t hurt you. Just take a seat.”

 Whatever his mother had taught Steve, self-preservation wasn’t it. He was drawn in by the man’s command, his head nodding automatically while his legs brought him closer to the dangerous man. He took a seat, wide-eyed and scared, but nevertheless, he didn’t run. 

 “I don’t hurt anyone who doesn’t hurt my family first,” Bucky told him with a smile and even though Steve had nothing but his word, he visibly relaxed.  “I’ve watched your stream for months, Sugar. Seeing such a beautiful and delicate thing made me want more, Steve. I could have taken you months ago, but I didn’t want to validate your trust.”

 Steve swallowed and nodded slowly. That made sense, but he still wasn’t sure if being in the same room with New York’s mob boss was a good idea. Still, there was something about Bucky that pulled him in and he couldn’t run. On the contrary, he had to force himself not to climb in Bucky’s lap. 

 “What do you wanna eat, Sugar?” Bucky asked and pushed the menu closer to him. Steve picked it up reluctantly and opened the first page, only to realize that the words blurred in front of his eyes. He couldn’t concentrate on food right now.

 “Can you order?” Steve’s voice was still shaking a little, but it was stronger than he had dreaded. 

 A pleased smile spread on Bucky’s face and Steve could see a hungry spark in the man’s eyes. Fuck, he hadn’t thought about the submissive aspect of the question and now he got paid back with an aroused Mob boss and his own twitching cock in his tight pants. Steve blushed. 

 “Oh, Sugar,” Bucky purred while he licked his lips. “Don’t do this to me. I want to get to know you, want to take your fear away and not fuck you in the middle of a restaurant.” Steve blushed even more. “Lovely.”

 You know what? Screw it. Steve decided just in this moment, that would make the best out of the situation. Bucky didn’t make any attempts to kill him and even if he’d change his mind, Steve couldn’t stop him anyway. The mobster was friendly, attentive, and head-spinning hot and it would be a shame if Steve would pass the opportunity to get a good fuck. Regardless of whose cock he was riding in the end. 

 So Steve played nice, trying to forget that the man in front of him was the most dangerous person in New York. He enjoyed the meal, enjoyed the conversation, and to his own horror, Steve realized that spending time with the Mob boss was quite fun. Steve talked about his friend and his mother, his college classes and his job. Bucky, on the other hand, talked about his childhood and everything he wanted to do to Steve in bed. They didn’t mention Bucky’s job once and after some time had passed, Steve saw him as nothing but a beautiful man. His cock was almost constantly throbbing in his pants. 

 ~*~

 When the dessert came, Steve was already pleasantly full, but he couldn’t resist the homemade vanilla ice cream Bucky had ordered for him. It was delicious, melting on his tongue and Steve couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped him. He looked up, spoon still in his mouth, hoping that Bucky hadn't noticed but the burning gaze was proof enough. 

 “Do you do this on purpose, Sugar?” Bucky growled, his hands clenched to fists. “If you wanna get fucked, tell Daddy and stop sucking on your spoon like a little whore.”

 God. How did Bucky know humiliation got him going? The little moan turned into a choked sob and suddenly, Steve was squirming on his chair. He hadn’t wanted to rile the man up with his little stunt, but now that he saw the raw hunger in Bucky’s eyes, he didn’t want to hold back either. Just like during his streams, Steve lost his insecurities and only his neediness stayed behind.

 “Daddy, I feel so empty without something in my hole. Can you please help me? I need it.”

 Bucky growled ferally. He pushed back his chair, stood up, and longed over the table, lifting Steve into his arms. Steve squealed in surprise and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s broad shoulders, his legs crossing behind the muscular back. Fuck, there was a huge bulge pressing against his ass. Steve whimpered when he realized Bucky hadn’t even been hard when Steve had ogled his pants earlier. It was way bigger. Whatever he had expected, the reality was a pleasant surprise. 

 Steve moaned and wiggled on Bucky’s arms, his body rubbing against the other man’s cock. It felt so good, and Steve couldn’t think about anything else than the thick cock, splitting him open. Maybe he would be allowed to ride him? Or maybe Bucky would put him on all fours, fuck him like the eager little whore Steve was.

 “Sugar, stop moving,” Bucky’s voice was deep but firm, leaving Steve no other option than to obey. “I’m so close to taking you on the table. Let me get you out of here.”

 Knowing that Bucky was losing it because of him made Steve preen in happiness. Some grinding, a few heated gazes and New York’s most dangerous man could only think about burying himself inside of Steve. The feeling was heady and Steve forced his body to stay still. He wanted to show Bucky he was worth it, wanted to show him that he could be a good buy, even though his hole was crying for his Daddy.

 “Daddy.” 

 Steve couldn’t stop the word from coming out and he hid his face against Bucky’s shoulder afterward. This couldn’t be true, he couldn’t be that easy, even though Bucky was his walking fantasy. Every rational thought, every ounce of self-preservation, and every little doubt was washed away, replaced by an urgent need that made him go with Bucky voluntarily. 

 He didn’t protest when Bucky carried him to a fancy car, black with bulletproof glass; he didn’t protest when a driver took them to an unfamiliar location. Fuck, Steve didn’t even try to argue when Bucky pulled him out of the car in front of the biggest mansion Steve had ever seen. Instead, he clung to Bucky’s chest, whimpering while Bucky walked upstairs, opening the door to an extravagant bedroom. 

 When Bucky let him down in the middle of a huge four-poster bed, Steve’s head finally started to clear a little and his doubts came back full force. What was he doing here? Bucky was a criminal and he had rubbed himself all over the man like a needy little whore. Looks aren't everything and even though it was easy to talk to Bucky, they hadn’t even talked about his job yet. What was such a rich man even wanting from Steve?

 Bucky seemed to sense his distress. “Hey, Steve.” Although he was still hard as a rock in his pants, the urgency disappeared and he pulled the distressed blonde on his lap. “Have you changed your mind? That’s fine. Nothing has to happen today.”

 There was no guarantee that Bucky spoke the truth, so Steve watched him disbelieving, trying not to show how much the innocent touch soothed him. Sitting on Bucky’s lap felt amazing, protective and anchoring, but it made him forget that the man was the real threat here.

 “What do you wanna do to me?”

 Bucky chuckled slightly and pressed an innocent kiss on Steve’s hair. “Everything you allow me, Sugar. I can force you on your knees, eat your tight little hole until you’re screaming. I can fuck you open slowly, show you something bigger than the toys you’re experimenting with. But I can also cuddle you in my lap and watch TV. It’s up to you, Sugar.”

 Steve hesitated. The truth is, he wanted to be fucked. Slowly, he started to believe that Buck wouldn't kill him. Whatever the man did during work, he wouldn’t kill innocent little twinks, but Steve felt bad about wanting it so much. He had always been a needy person, there was a reason he had started streaming a few years back, but the desire had never been so overwhelming as it was with Bucky. What if he would lose himself in it?

 “Let’s make a deal, Sugar. You can always back out, all right? Just say ‘red’ and I’ll stop everything we’re doing. What do you think?”

 Steve nodded slowly. Yes, that would work. Bucky had already shown that he would stop, even when his own pleasure was neglected, and Steve trusted himself enough to safeword if Bucky went too far. The smile he got in return for his trust was beautiful and finally, Steve’s doubts shut down for the evening. He could ponder about his decision again tomorrow.

 Bucky pulled him closer so their chests touched. His hand wandered over Steve’s body, caressing his arms, his back, his shoulders until it was finally tangled in the blonde’s hair. Steve moaned when a firm grip forced his head to fall back, and he moaned again when wet lips touched his for the first time. 

 In movies, first kisses were romantic, chaste and sweet, a symbol of how much two people cared for each other, but Steve’s reality was the complete opposite. Bucky’s lips were rough, sucking on Steve’s and he felt a nibble of teeth on his lower lip, coaxing him to open his mouth. As soon as Steve gave him permission to come in, Bucky took over.

 He plundered every inch of Steve’s mouth, biting, sucking, and bruising his lips until they were swollen, glistening with their shared spit. It was no nice kiss, it was punishing and dominant, a sign of Bucky’s control over him and Steve loved nothing more than giving in, letting the man take over.

 His cock was twitching in his tight pants every time Bucky bit on his lips and he moaned from the obscene noises that they made. Bucky was still gripping his hair, was still forcing Steve to take him and when a hand on his jaw forced Steve to stay still, the first pathetic whine left his lips. 

 The sound was fueling Bucky’s arousal even more and Steve could feel him twitch against his ass. “God, Sugar, you’re so needy,” Bucky said after he’d pulled back reluctantly, leaving Steve’s lips glistening and his eyes rolling back in a fucked out expression. “Such a cock hungry little whore. Come on, baby. Take off your clothes. Show Daddy what he’s working with.” 

 Steve whimpered when he climbed off of Bucky’s lap, his pants already halfway undone. He couldn’t wait to be close to the man again, eager for anything Bucky would give him, but when he had taken his pants and shirt off, Bucky stopped him from stripping completely. 

 “Do you want to kill me?” Bucky’s gaze was fixed on the pastel blue panties that barely covered Steve’s crotch and he opened his own zipper, pulling out the huge erection Steve had only felt before. “Look at me, look at what you’re responsible for.”

 Bucky didn't even need to ask him because Steve was staring at his cock anyway. It was a vision, so much bigger than Steve’s, with an angry red tip that screamed for someone to lick on it. Steve didn’t even hear anymore that he was moaning, he didn’t even notice that he started to drool, eager to get a share of this beautiful cock, wherever Bucky would let him. 

 “Please, Daddy. Please, make me take it. Stretch me, Daddy. I need you in my hole.” 

 A chuckle echoed through the room and Steve could see Bucky smirk. “Sugar, don’t you think it’s too big for you? Taking it completely at your first try?”

 Steve couldn’t do anything but stare at Bucky wide-eyed. The man’s doubts hurt and he felt himself tearing up. Did his Daddy think he couldn’t take it? Steve could, he was the best boy, a perfect boy and he could damn well take his Daddy when he wanted to. He felt ridiculous when a tear ran down his chin, but he couldn’t stop feeling rejected. 

 “Daddy?” His voice wavered and finally, Bucky seemed to notice that something was wrong.

 “Oh, Sugar, what happened?” He pulled Steve onto his lap until the blonde was sobbing against his shoulder. “Tell Daddy what made you upset.”

 Steve lowered his gaze, ashamed of his needy behavior. Here he was, sitting in Bucky’s lap and crying because the man thought he couldn’t take his cock. It was pathetic, but the hurt felt so real that Steve couldn’t stop the tears.

 “I can t-take you, I promise.” His voice was high-pitched and thin. “I p-promise, Daddy. I’ve taken so many toys. I swear it will fit.”

 Realization flickered in Bucky’s eyes and a dark expression took over his face. Steve had never seen such hunger before, but instead of running, he surrendered himself to it. 

 “I’m sorry I’ve hurt your feelings, Sugar.” Bucky didn’t sound apologetic but turned on. “You’re a good boy, I haven’t thought. Just do Daddy a favor and turn onto your stomach. Show Daddy that you’re right.”

 Steve preened with Bucky’s words and he scrambled to obey, hurrying to roll on his stomach. His face was pressed into the mattress while he raised his ass into the air, presenting his most vulnerable part for his Daddy’s gaze. Determination to show his Daddy how strong he could be, how good, filled him and he let his hands wander behind his back, pulling his panties to one side and revealing his tight hole that was gagging for Bucky’s touch. 

 If there had been any self-control left, Bucky lost it at least by now. Seeing the tight pucker of his beautiful boy the first time without a screen between them, made him go feral and before he could even process what he was doing, Bucky had already fetched the lube he stored in his night drawer and slicked up his finger. Steve was begging beautifully for it, squirming although he hadn’t even been touched yet. 

 The first finger that nudged against his tight little rim made Steve cry in satisfaction. He shuddered and squirmed, forcing himself not to push back on the finger. His Daddy hadn’t allowed him to move yet, and he would hold back as long as he could. His obedience got rewarded with the first finger that breached him open. 

 It went smoothly. Steve was used to relaxing his hole and he concentrated on the sensation of being filled. He was wordlessly begging for more, clenching around the slick finger and encouraging Bucky to give him more, to give him everything. Thankfully, Bucky gave him too immediately, stretching him and preparing him for his Daddy’s cock. 

 Steve whimpered and moaned, sobbed around his Daddy’s digits, and pleaded with him to go deeper. The arousal in his body was fueled by Bucky’s encouraging noises and gentle praise. You look so good, Sugar. You open up so easily. Look how well you take it, Steve. 

 His panties were probably ruined by now, dripping with the slick Bucky spread between his legs, but Steve couldn’t care less. He whined like a whore, begging for one more finger, for one more inch. 

 When Bucky was four fingers in, Steve’s pink little rim stretched obscenely around the intruders, Steve was close to losing it. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Bucky moved inside of him, grazing his sweet spot once in a while, but it wasn’t enough; it wasn’t his cock. 

 “Please, Daddy. It hurts. I need your cock. ‘s not enough. Gimme your cock, I can take it.”

 Bucky roared and before Steve couldn’t even bat an eye, he was turned around, his Daddy onto him. He could hear when the fabric of his panties tore and a second later he felt something big nudging against his rim. Finally. He sobbed with the thought of being fucked soon and he quickly pulled his legs against his chest. 

 “Open up for me, Sugar,” Bucky growled while he pressed the tip of his thick cock against Steve’s hole. “I know you can take it. Let me in. Let Daddy claim you properly.”

 Just a little more pressure, a little bit more lube, and when Bucky tried to enter him the next time, his tip plopped in. Steve went limp. He had been needy the whole afternoon, empty, hurting and gagging for it and he can’t even remember how often he had cried for Bucky’s cock today. But the minute he finally got what he craved, Steve was floating. 

 Everything was numb, everything but the thick cock thank sunk into him, opening him up inch by inch. Steve had never been so full before, and even though it burned, even though his abused hole throbbed in pain, Steve had never been so happy before. Here, split open on his Daddy’s cock, was nothing but pleasure. 

 “Look at you, baby,” Bucky cooed while Steve struggled to take in the words. “Such an eager little slut, begging and screaming for me, but once you’re stuffed, you go all sweet on me. You’re a cockstupid little thing, Stevie.”

 Yes. Steve nodded, the pleasure too overwhelming to form words. He basked in the feeling of being stuffed full, happy to die like this. Bucky was moving over him, his cock thrusting in and out of Steve’s abused rim and Steve never wanted it to stop. This was what he had always craved when he rode his toys alone in the bedroom, watched by countless strangers. Someone else to take over his pleasure.

 Steve knew both of them wouldn’t last long, Bucky’s cock was already twitching inside of him and the knowledge that such a powerful man was gone for him, made his walls clench even tighter around the thick cock. When Bucky hit his sweet spot multiple times in a row, Steve heard a distant scream, only to realize it had been himself. Tears were running down his face and he could do nothing but hold on while Bucky claimed his body. 

 The orgasm came slowly, without a hand on his leaking cock. It was the most intense orgasm Steve had ever had and his vision blurred when the wave hit him full force. It was too much, too much pleasure, too much stretch, too much Bucky, but at the same time, it was just right. His muscles clenched around the thick cock, begging for something to fill him up. 

 He had earned this, he had earned Bucky stuffing him full and when the first splash of the man’s seed painted his insides, Steve grinned dopily. He was a good boy, he had made his Daddy come. 

 “You’re perfect, Stevie. I couldn’t have imagined it. First boy to take me at the first try.” The words made Steve preen. “Your little hole is sore, baby.”

 Steve only grunted. He didn’t care about it, didn’t care that his Daddy had fucked him sore. On the contrary, he loved the reminder of Bucky’s lust. 

 Bucky turned him until he laid on his stomach, spreading his cheeks to get a good look at his abused hole. He trailed a finger over the edge, pressing slightly until his come was running down Steve’s thighs. The vision made him groan. 

 “Oh, Sugar. I don’t think I can stay away for long. It looks so pretty, all red and swollen.”

 The thought should have made Steve run, but Bucky’s endless hunger was soothing something inside of him. Steve was wanted, and if Bucky wanted to fuck him again, he could certainly take it. There were no doubts, all of them fucked out by the most handsome man Steve had ever seen. 

 He could only hope that he wouldn’t regret it the next day.

#stucky #mob boss #cam boy

[headoverhiddles]

Little Pistol - Ron Tully x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You travel to Stockton for a conjugal visit with Tully. The two of you have been apart too long for formalities. 

Notes: This was a request! As per my usual disclaimer, I don’t condone Tully’s ideology, this is his character, minus that! 

Gif used belongs to stilinski-ortiz-dolan!

Tully had been on the boards for a visit for six months. There are a lot of things he can bribe the guards for, like rooms to talk business with his guys, private lines on the phone, and a general prison-wide acceptance that no one would fuck with him unless it really was the law. What he can't bribe anyone for though, is a wait bypass for a conjugal visit. His name is on the list like the rest of them, and even though he'd pay a pretty penny to see you monthly, it's just not something he can do.

Now, having waited quite a bit of time, Tully's "good behavior" had paid off. The next day was his visit with you, which would last a day.

"You seem happy," the guy behind him in the communal washrooms mentions. No one talks to Tully much, for fear of what he’d do to them if he wasn’t in the mood, but this guy was the prison idiot, and Tully didn’t mind his chatter now and then. The taller man is washing his face in the sink, shaving his growing facial hair a little and trimming his hair.

"I am."

The guy smirks. "Can I ask why?"

Tully drags the plastic razor down his chin, inspecting himself. He didn't want to shave it too close, since you always said you liked his stubble... liked the way it felt between your thighs. Tully's small smile grows a little, and he dunks the razor in water. It had cost him a couple fifties to be allowed to clean up a little with actually helpful instruments of hygiene this morning. 

"I'm seeing my girl tonight." He gestures to his things, and the guy goes over, finding a polaroid of you in a black bra and panties, posing on top of Tully's bike.

"Shit. With a body like that, what makes you think she's still your girl?" the guy chuckles. Tully doesn’t dignify the man with a look. 

"It’s not like that." He takes some scissors from his sleeve, trimming his black hair close to his temple. "I know she'd die for me. And I'd die protecting her." The guy's still staring at the polaroid of you when Tully's done his haircut. "Alright, put it the fuck down, or I'mma have you stabbed."

He takes the photo, and feels himself stir already. His eyes run over your perfect tits, down your legs, to the thin black fabric covering that pussy he knows so well. He sets the photo that he’d touched himself to many times by the mirror, and checks his reflection. He'd never really considered himself to be handsome, which is why he became powerful instead, but you seemed to think he was the sexiest man alive. He didn't mind that. 

"Lucky you get a visit," the guy mutters. 

"I almost didn't. See, you're not supposed to get visits from anyone outside of family. Technically, I haven't married (y/n) yet. But, I pulled some strings. 'S what I do."

"Mm. I don't have any girlfriends or anything. Last visit I got was my mom, back in '07. Got banned til the end of my sentence cause my mom tried to plant weed on me. Guess she likes the quiet around the house."

Tully, not really listening, grunts in response. He then does up another button on his blue shirt, and looks down at the picture again, really studying it. He remembers the way you screamed his name while he fucked you over that motorcycle. He takes it as a personal challenge to raise even more hell tonight. 

 ---

You sit in the diner in Stockton, California. You'd traveled up here with a few of the guys who work for your boyfriend, since they had to do some work anyway, smooth some shit out before Tully caught wind of it and had their heads. They knew to take good care of you, or they'd pay for that with their life too. You yourself are about to go see Tully, and you can't wait. It had been so long.

Dressed in a little white crop top, a short black skirt, and sunglasses, you're feeling your best. You know ever since he got the news he’d been scheduled for a conjugal, Tully's probably had tonight in mind day and night, and what you wear won't alter the fact that he's going to give you the best pounding you've ever taken. But you want to wow him too. He hasn't seen you for the better part of a year, after all, and to get a real good reaction out of him, you need the element of surprise. 

"Want another milkshake, hun?" a kind, older waitress with smile lines and grey hair asks. You smile back.

"Love one."

You tap your nails on the table, watching out the window at the people walking by in the heat. You're used to living in Southern California, since Tully's the shot caller and doesn't go out on rides, but he conducts business up here in the northern part of the state sometimes. Liaisons, stuff like that. The county jail he does his time in is unfortunately pretty far away from the reclusive home you two share in San Diego. Still, you keep busy and make do while he's gone, keep an eye on how things are run in his absence. It's what you have to do to stay sane.

"Don’t mean to bother you. But can I ask what your tattoos mean?" the waitress asks, sliding you another of your favorite flavor of milkshake.

You glance down at your knuckles, which have T U L L Y tattooed across them, a letter per finger.

"My man," you say wistfully.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly, noticing the sorrow in your eyes, "Did he pass away?"

"No," you smile, "He's just away right now, doing time."

"Shit, no kidding. My husband's been in for two years now, serving another five. Kills me every day."

You move your stuff to one side of the table. "Sit, if you want." The lady checks her watch, and sits across from you. "I hate it," you confess, "It's the worst. It's the life I chose to get involved in, but it's rough when it actually comes back to hit you at night, when you don't have their arms around you."

"I know just what you mean, hun. Probably shouldn't be saying this, but... my husband is an arms dealer, works in the gun trade. Under the table deals out in San Pedro, all that." 

"My Tully's a shot caller," you say, not elaborating any further on his gang or who he's affiliated with. This lady seems nice, but you're never sure who could be an undercover cop, or the wife of a rival gang member. 

"You're visiting him, then?" she asks.

"Yes. Tonight."

"Baby, you have the time of your life tonight, you hear me?"

"Oh, you know I will," you giggle, "When he hasn't seen me for a while, things get very physical."

"I can imagine." She winks. 

You hand her a Polaroid you've got in your leather jacket pocket; Tully's got the other one from this day. In this one, you're dressed in black panties and a black bra, and you're sitting on Tully's lap, straddling him. The photo shows the backside of you, showing off your backside, and Tully has got his face looking over your shoulder, glaring darkly as his fingers sink into the flesh of your ass. It's a photo of the two of you that never fails to turn you on, especially recalling how hard he fucked you over his bike after this picture was taken.  

You sigh, twirling the straw. "He's my ride or die... and I'm his forever girl."

--

Finally, it comes time for the guards to collect Tully. They know exactly what he's going to do to you, as they're the ones who have had to listen to Tully groan your name every morning and night whenever he gets the urge.

“This has been a long time coming,” one guard sighs. 

"Just don't make too much noise," the other guard pleads. Tully glances at him.

"I don't remember payin’ you off to tell me how to fuck my girlfriend."

The guy concedes, keeping his mouth shut. They let him into the room, far away from the others and the best money can buy (he at least had some sphere of influence in this department), and they go to close the door.

"She'll be in in a minute." Tully undoes the top three buttons of his shirt, and waits.

 ---

You get a pat down in the lobby of the conjugal area. They take out a gold switchblade and a couple of metal rings, leaving your pockets empty. Then you're ready to go in. The guards let you in, and you see Tully sitting on the bed. He looks up.

"Hey, baby."

"Hey," you grin. One of the guards steps in.

"24 hours, Tully. Make it count." He shuts the door after himself, locking it, and you look around. It's almost like a normal home-- there's a mini fridge, a bed, a TV, and a living area.

"I missed you," you say, and walk over to him. He accepts you into his lap, and you cup his face, pressing your lips to his.

"So did I," he murmurs against your lips. "You doing good? Looking after the boys, making sure they're doing their jobs?" You nod. "Good. They're a bunch of jokes when I'm not around."

"Well, now that nobody's around... am I correct in thinking you wouldn’t say no to a strip tease?" you ask, snapping the strap on your bra underneath your shirt.

"Yeah," he nods, sitting back on the couch. You slowly take your shirt up over your head, watching as his eyes fall down to admire your breasts.

"You like that?" you murmur, bunching your hair up a little as you slide your fingers downward. 

"Thought of me while you did that the last few months?"

"Nuh uh," you grin, "Trying to trick me? I know I can only cum when you tell me to."

"That's right," he smiles fondly, watching your hips swing back and forth. You finally rub the finger between your legs, and get on the edge of the bed, pulling your panties to one side. You hear the low hitch in Tully's breath, and you sink your fingers into yourself, loving the feel but craving the stretch of your boyfriend.

You dip your fingers in again, lips parting as you moan. "Gonna join in?"

"Right now I'm just going to sit here and watch, babygirl. Seeing you do it in person is a nice change. Your moans are fuckin’ beautiful, but a visual always helps." He gives one of his dark smirks, and sits there, watching. You feel the heat rise even more as his eyes travel, your skin heating up just knowing he’s appreciating the show you’re putting on. You let his name escape your lips with a sigh. "My beautiful little slutty girl," he murmurs, and unzips his pants as you watch in feverish arousal. He takes his cock out, and starts to pump it slowly in his hand while you watch, shoving your fingers deeper. Your eyes are trained on his fist, where it's jerking up and down. He lifts his chin.

"Look at that," he starts to stroke a little faster, "All you, baby." You flip over, not reaching enough depth in this position, and sit on your fingers, letting them disappear deeper into your pussy. Tully sits forward, intense gaze trained, unblinking, on where your hips are slamming down. "You're so fucking hot," he whispers.

"Yeah?" You ride your fingers harder, "You like that? You like that, baby?"

"S good, sweetheart." He moans, squeezing himself. "Fuckin' tease."

"Get over here and pound me then," you say, licking your lips obscenely. He finally stands, and grabs you by your hair. You groan as he drags you over to the bed, where he shoves you down onto the soon-to-be-destroyed mattress.

"You wanna feel daddy's cock?" he asks, and you crawl forward, stroking up the length of it. He lets you for a moment, reveling in the feeling of your hands on his dick again, but eventually urges you off again. He crawls onto the bed between your legs, and pushes your thighs far apart, exposing your soaking pussy to him.

"This is all mine," he whispers, "You know this cunt belongs to me." He hums. “I own a lotta things, and this here’s one of em.” 

"Yeah, daddy," you breathe, and he seals his lips over you, upper lip teasing your clit while his tongue dips in and out of you. Fuck. One thing among many that can be said about Tully, is he knows how to eat you out spectacularly.

"That's good, that's good," you start chanting, "Please... sir, please..."

He groans, and the vibrations make your clit throb. "Imma take good care of you, babygirl, don't you worry," he assures softly, eyes glowering up from between your legs, "Take good care of my girl. She deserves it. Deserves gettin’ fucked good too. Don't you?" 

"Yeah..." you whine. 

"You've been a real good girl, waiting for daddy. Only cumming when he's talking to you on the phone. You know the rules." 

"Daddy," you gasp, feeling your orgasm build, "I-I have a confession." Your voice sounds so small, and your tone is airy in your breathless state.

"Mmm? Tell me, sweetheart."

"You won't be mad?"

"That depends." He strokes soothing hands up your calves, and you shudder, flashes of his punishments running through your head.

"I was... in the jacuzzi with the girls the other night. I was thinking of you, and... thinking of what you'd do if you were there. I was wearing your favorite bikini. The one that's translucent, so you can see my nipples?" 

"Mmhmmm."

"And..." You wiggle your hips, chasing your release at the mercy of Tully's tongue. "And I... well, the jets just felt so good, I... mmm!"

"Tell daddy," he encourages with a growl.

"I let the pressure make me cum in my swimsuit, imagining it was you." You let out a moan as his tongue licks a stripe up from the base to the tip of your clit.

He hums. "It's okay. It’s okay. I understand. Some things just can't be helped. I know you tried." You exhale, uncomfortable waves of arousal washing over you. You wish he'd fill you up. "I'm proud of you, you know."  You look down at him again. "You're so brave. I'm in here, you're all alone. I wish I could be there for you, remind you every day why you'll always be mine."

"You are there for me. When you can be. You bribe the guards with your hard earned cash to get ten minutes on a call with me, to check in, make sure I’m alright. You're in here getting shit done, and I’m running things at home. It’s how we do it."

"Mmyeah. But I'd much rather be back in the game than calling the shots in here. In a perfect world, nothing would stand between us. Two of us against the world."

"Together as one," you smile, arching your back.

Tully shares your smile, as he presses soft kisses all the way up to just barely graze your cunt again. "Against all others." He nips at the dip in your hipbone. "Mm. Babygirl, when I'm out, I'mma do this... every night. That’s a motherfuckin’ promise."

You grind your hips toward his mouth, and he holds them down firmly against the mattress as he launches a proper maneuver on your clit, making you cum in seconds. You ride it out, hands fisting in his hair. He crawls over top of you, staring down at you like he's about to devour you. You don’t doubt that he is. 

You part your legs even more, and he picks them up, throwing them over his shoulder and holding your hips up. He guides himself to line up with your dripping cunt, and pushes into you easily with a low grunt, your first orgasm having slicked you up perfectly. Each following thrust is harder than the previous; Tully isn't wasting time. Already sensitive, you feel the second orgasm building. Desperate, you run your hand through your hair, getting it out of your face.

"I need it, fuck Tully, I need your cock!" you practically shout, and his grunts increase in volume as he dedicates all his energy to making sure he uses you properly. "Fill me up with your cum, daddy?" you ask innocently.

"Oh, you know I will."

"Fucking do it then."

"You’re a mouthy one, sweetheart," he moans, and he throws his head back, biting his bottom lip hard. “You test me.”

“You love it.” 

“I tolerate it... cuz I love you so fucking much... ohhff, shit...” 

“Look at me when you cum?” you gasp breathlessly. He obliges, jet black hair hanging and jolting with his tattooed body as he puts all his weight behind fucking you as deep as he can. He looks you in your eyes as your own eyelids droop in desire, and he gasps your name as you both reach your peaks together. 

You hum softly in contentment, and climb on top of his larger frame, laying on his chest. He puts an arm over you, body rising and falling with labored breath.

"What do you want to do now?" you tease. He looks down at you, brushing your matted hair aside affectionately. 

"We still got 23 hours left. You do the math."  

#ron tully #ron tully smut #ron tully x reader #reader x ron tully #marilyn manson #marilyn manson x reader #reader x marilyn manson #marilyn manson imagine #marilyn manson imagines #marilyn manson fandom #marilyn manson fanfiction #brian warner #brian hugh warner #brian warner x reader #soa #soa fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy smut #sons of anarchy fandom #sons of anarchy fic #sons of anarchy fanfiction #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy imagines #soa imagine #soa imagines

[secretlyatargaryen]

I promised I’d write about this, and I really do think Tyrion/Lemore is an underrated relationship. And usually when people talk about it they only talk about Tyrion being a fuckboy, and he is, but he’s no worse than the way Jaime treats Brienne through much of ASOS. I think a lot of people use this subplot as merely more evidence for Tyrion’s downward spiral, but what’s really interesting about Lemore is the way she challenges Tyrion when he’s in that dark place of self-loathing and dissociation from others, especially with regards to women.

At the beginning of ADWD, Tyrion is in a place where he is incredibly cynical about love, and no longer interested in the idea of sex, even. He purposefully scares Illyrio’s slave because he wants her to hate him, to see him as disgusting, even though he is not interested in having sex with her. This is framed in stark contrast to the illusion he had previously paid for with sex-workers, in which he wanted to avoid, and feared, “the look” that he describes seeing in reaction to his disability. This is, of course, all linked to his trauma over Tysha, not only the fear of rejection but the sexual trauma of being forced to witness and participate in her rape, which also makes Tyrion a victim of sexual abuse and rape. What Tywin did, essentially, was take a consensual loving experience that Tyrion found comfort in and make it something ugly and disgusting. This makes Tyrion both compelled to re-experience what he had with Tysha by seeking out sex-workers and makes him feel that there is no way he could experience real love. When he learns the truth about Tysha, the coping mechanism of seeking out sex-workers becomes no longer satisfying, and the only thing Tyrion is left with is ugliness and self-blame.

I’d also argue that another major sexual trauma leading up to ADWD is his marriage to Sansa. Tyrion has brief fantasies that he can play a chivalrous romantic when he is married to her, but of course he knows that this isn’t possible. This is, in no way, Sansa’s fault, but being forced into a marriage with her is deeply sexually humiliating. Again, not because she rejected him, but because she is in no position to accept him. Tyrion becomes increasingly withdrawn from relationships, which is shown in his interactions with Sansa and even Shae, who he is less and less satisfied with and more insecure around than ever after his marriage. His sexual shame increases to the point where he can’t bear undressing in front of Sansa, the idealized, innocent maiden. Even the scene where he has sex with Shae among the dragon skulls and afterwards spends several uncomfortable moments searching for his clothes in the dark demonstrates Tyrion’s sexual repression and shame, in contrast to the way Shae treats it as a game.

"Shae . . ." He reached, but she spun and slipped free.

"You have to catch me." Her voice came from his left. "M'lord must have played monsters and maidens when he was little."

"Are you calling me a monster?"

"No more than I'm a maiden." She was behind him, her steps soft against the floor. "You need to catch me all the same."

He did, finally, but only because she let herself be caught. By the time she slipped into his arms, he was flushed and out of breath from stumbling into dragon skulls. 

[...]

After, as they lay entwined amongst the dragon skulls, he rested his head against her, inhaling the smooth clean smell of her hair. "We should go back," he said reluctantly. "It must be near dawn. Sansa will be waking."

"You should give her dreamwine," Shae said, "like Lady Tanda does with Lollys. A cup before she goes to sleep, and we could fuck in bed beside her without her waking." She giggled. "Maybe we should, some night. Would m'lord like that?" Her hand found his shoulder, and began to knead the muscles there. "Your neck is hard as stone. What troubles you?"

Tyrion could not see his fingers in front of his face, but he ticked his woes off on them all the same. "My wife. My sister. My nephew. My father. The Tyrells." He had to move to his other hand. "Varys. Pycelle. Littlefinger. The Red Viper of Dorne." He had come to his last finger. "The face that stares back out of the water when I wash."

Shae kissed his maimed scarred nose. "A brave face. A kind and good face. I wish I could see it now."

"Better you than me." Tyrion sat. "We have a long day before us, both of us. You shouldn't have blown out that taper. How are we to find our clothing?"

She laughed. "Maybe we'll have to go naked."

And if we're seen, my lord father will hang you.

Sexual shame is a big part of Tyrion’s narrative, something that has been drilled into him by Tywin. Shae’s carefree nature is put into contrast with the limitations and insecurities Tyrion experiences over his disabled body, both with regard to Sansa and Shae, and his insecurity about being seen naked once the sun comes up.

Interestingly, Tyrion’s insecurity about being seen naked is not present in A Game of Thrones, where he pretty casually walks out of his tent on the Green Fork without putting on clothes and pees outside while having a conversation with Bronn. I used to assume this was because he does not feel sexual shame at Bronn seeing him naked, as he is not sexually attracted to Bronn. Or that it’s just one of those things where Martin had not yet established his characters wholly, and just used this moment to show the casual nudity that is part of the “historical” feel he is going for in his novels. But also it could be that Tyrion’s sexual shame has increased from AGOT to ASOS, due to the events that transpire. By ADWD, Tyrion is afraid to take off his clothes to even bathe, and that’s one of our first introductions to Lemore.

I need to bathe. His boy's clothes stank, and so did he. The others bathed in the river, but thus far he had not joined them. Some of the turtles he'd seen in the shallows looked big enough to bite him in half. Bonesnappers, Duck called them. Besides, he did not want Lemore to see him naked.

Tyrion’s insecurity over his body is centered on Lemore, who he is attracted to, and Lemore is also juxtaposed in contrast to Tyrion’s sexual repression, as she bathes in the river every morning, and does not seem to care who watches her. Indeed, she is aware of Tyrion watching her and openly teases him about it.

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

"A wicked dream, no doubt. You are a wicked man. Will you pray with me and ask forgiveness for your sins?"

Only if we pray in the fashion of the Summer Isles. "No, but do give the Maiden a long, sweet kiss for me."

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning. "Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

The gods must have been drunk when they got to me. The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

Tyrion’s open about lusting after Lemore, and doesn’t try to hide it, and in fact seems to want Lemore to know it.

Tyrion’s being openly lecherous, in the way that echoes his behavior when he is playing up the way people see him, as the depraved dwarf. But it seems to be a performance that hides his own insecurity and trauma. He openly stares at her as she is bathing but won’t join in himself. The way he feels about her reads like he’s dissociating, especially in the observations he doesn’t say aloud. He seems like he’s trying to gross her out the way he does to the slave at Illyrio’s, but her response is to give as good as she gets, something which Tyrion seems not to expect, and he constantly deflects any positive things she says about him.

Like, she’s totally flirting with him, and he seems completely unaware of it, even while he fantasizes about her topping him.

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. Being randy is the next best thing to being drunk, he decided. It made him feel as if he was still alive. "Did you see the turtle, Hugor?" the septa asked him, wringing water from her hair. "The big ridgeback?”

"I missed the ridgeback." I was watching the naked woman.

"I am sad for you." Lemore slipped her robe over her head. "I know you only rise so early in hopes of seeing turtles."

"I like to watch the sun come up as well." It was like watching a maiden rising naked from her bath. Some might be prettier than others, but every one was full of promise. "The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells."

Septa Lemore laughed. Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

Good lord, y’all. Tyrion’s silently like “when will this milf sit on my face” and Lemore is like “let’s have a sexually charged conversation about turtles” and Tyrion’s like “I have no idea how to deal with this scenario but I think I like it?”

He also says that he doesn’t want to know her, which...feels like when Tyrion always lies to himself. Again, he’s trying to inhabit the role of the sexually deviant dwarf without getting attached, but does he really not want to know her? Tyrion repeatedly says throughout ADWD that he doesn’t want love from anyone anymore, but that’s the biggest lie of all.

"You have a gift for making men smile," Septa Lemore told Tyrion as he was drying off his toes. "You should thank the Father Above. He gives gifts to all his children."

"He does," he agreed pleasantly. And when I die, please let them bury with me a crossbow, so I can thank the Father Above for his gifts the same way I thanked the father below.

Again he deflects when Lemore compliments him, which is...what Tyrion does in all his relationships. But he does admit that he enjoys spending time with her, and spends a good amount of time trying to figure her out, for someone who says he doesn’t want to know her.

His doublet was divided down the middle; the left side was purple velvet with bronze studs; the right, yellow wool embroidered in green floral patterns. His breeches were similarly split; the right leg was solid green, the left leg striped in red and white. One of Illyrio's chests had been packed with a child's clothing, musty but well made. Septa Lemore had slit each garment apart, then sewn them back together, joining half of this to half of that to fashion a crude motley. Griff had even insisted that Tyrion help with the cutting and sewing. No doubt he meant for it to be humbling, but Tyrion enjoyed the needlework. Lemore was always pleasant company, despite her penchant for scolding him whenever he said something rude about the gods. 

And Lemore seems to enjoy Tyrion’s presence, and openly banters with him throughout this section of the book, challenging his nihilism, sexual repression, and self-loathing. She’s also the one who cares for him after he is nearly drowned in the stonemen attack.

He was on the Shy Maid, Tyrion saw, under a scratchy blanket that smelled of vinegar. The Sorrows are behind us. It was just a dream I dreamed as I was drowning. "Why do I stink of vinegar?"

"Lemore has been washing you with it. Some say it helps prevent the greyscale. I am inclined to doubt that, but there was no harm in trying. It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it."

[...]

Lemore emerged on deck with the prince in tow. When she saw Tyrion, she rushed across the deck to hug him. "The Mother is merciful. We have prayed for you, Hugor.

"You did, at least. "I won't hold that against you."

I think it scares Tyrion that Lemore cares about him, because he still deeply believes that he is unlovable, and Lemore directly challenges that. But he contradicts his own declaration that he doesn’t want to know her. In fact, he’s intensely interested in knowing who she really is.

Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa?

In short, Lemore is an older, experienced woman who not only seems to care for Tyrion, she is openly sexual and is able to go toe to toe with him both intellectually and sexually. Also, like, there are so many different kinky possibilities here. I need fic of this like, yesterday.

#tyrion lannister #septa lemore #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf meta #tyrion x lemore

[chibistarlyte]

some days

Most days, Shouto is fine.

But some days...

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

my eternal thanks and gratitude for kat @sunshineijirou for betaing this for me. <3

tw: suicidal thoughts/ideation, depression, dissociation, references to ptsd, unintentional self-harm

(also available here on ao3)

.

Most days, Shouto is fine.

He goes about his daily routines, attends school, pays attention in class, executes practical exercises with focus and expertise, hangs out and studies with his friends in the evenings, maintains a decent sleep schedule, visits his mother on Sundays.

He texts and video chats more with Fuyumi and Natsuo, trying to repair the threads between them that had been destroyed as soon as his Quirk manifested. They both love and support him in their own ways, and he's grateful to have his siblings back in his life. 

His Quirk training is going well, for the most part. Shouto works on his endurance during their individualized lessons and steadily builds up his tolerance to extreme and fluctuating temperatures so that he may use both halves of his Quirk at once. He hones his skills with precision attacks, betters his close-quarters combat techniques, and receives great marks for his efforts. 

He makes a point to spend time with his friends. Even when he's feeling less than social, he still curls up in the corner of a couch in the common room and allows himself to bask in the comforting sound of conversation around him. He asks Midoriya to help him practice his English by posting on popular pro hero forums and makes sure he doesn't forget to lend Sero the next volume of their favorite manga. Sometimes he goes on runs with Iida in the morning, or spars with Kirishima when they both have the free time. Shouto enjoys Yaoyorozu's company while they drink tea and chat about their days, and even finds peace sitting quietly at a table while Bakugou flits around the kitchen making various meals and largely ignoring Shouto's presence. 

All in all, Shouto is fine. A well-adjusted, studious, friendly, if not reserved, kid who has a good head on his shoulders and a bright future ahead of him.

But, some days…

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

.

Shouto wakes to the smell of burnt sheets and wet cotton. 

His chest rises and falls at much too quick a pace, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribcage almost hard enough to bruise. His left arm is littered with small-degree burns that have already begun to scab. Crystals of ice cling to snow-white eyelashes and trail down his cheek, some of them already having melted away and dripped down to soak through his pillow and his sleep shirt. The taste of ash clings to his tongue, his throat dry and scratchy when he tries to swallow it down.

Another nightmare, Shouto realizes as he flops back down on the futon with a tired sigh that runs deep into his bones.

He hates nights like these. He can never quite get back to sleep after jolting awake in terror, often spending the rest of the night watching shadows dance across his ceiling until the bleak dawn seeps through his curtains and coats the darkness in the cold light of day.

Shouto hears things in the silence of his dorm room, hears his father's booming voice in the darkened corners, and hears his mother's cries in the still night air. He hears Fuyumi's muttered reassurances on the other side of the walls where he knows his classmates are sleeping. He hears the deafening whistle of a boiling kettle as if he's lying right next to the stove. He hears the cracking of his own bones as he drops to the floor after a beating, hears his own retches in his ears as he vomits on the tatami floor of the training room.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Shouto throws the covers off and stumbles to a stand. He drags his feet to the sliding doors leading to his balcony, roughly tossing the curtains open and sliding the door with just as much careless force. The cool, late autumn breeze greets him immediately, bringing him back to himself for only a few moments. He steps outside, and the shock of cold concrete soles of his bare feet grounds him in a way nothing else ever could.

Shouto steps forward to the railing, crossing his arms and propping his chin on them and watching the city lights shine and twinkle down the hill. A gust of wind kicks up and blows his hair back from his face, stinging his skin, and for a moment, Shouto closes his eyes and imagines he's falling. Flying.

When he opens his eyes again, his head is angled downwards and his sight is trained on the ground five stories below. 

Shouto wonders, not for the first time, what it would feel like to jump.

A sigh blows past his lips, the warm puff of air lost to the chilly wind that caresses him fondly, making him shiver.

A sound from below pulls Shouto back to earth—the sound of a door sliding open then closed once again. Following that is the sound of footsteps, just a few scrapes of shoes against concrete until the noise stops again. The wind dies down just enough for Shouto to hear the static sound of music coming through a pair of headphones, though he's too far away to determine any specific tune.

His heterochromatic gaze shifts just a bit lower until the balcony below his own comes into his sight, and he sees the ash blond poof of hair that could only belong to one person. 

Oh, right. Bakugou's room is just below his. 

Shouto watches Bakugou from above, watches as his classmate goes through what seems to be a familiar routine of stretches—he pulls his arms across his chest one at a time, rolling his shoulders as he switches to the other arm. He then kicks his feet up behind him, one at a time, holding them close to stretch out his leg muscles. He does some lunges, some wrist stretches, some neck exercises, and it's all very normal and mundane, but Shouto can't stop watching. Bakugou looks good in his hoodie and joggers, and it suddenly hits Shouto that he's still in pajama pants and short sleeves despite the frigid temperature. 

Yet...he can't feel a thing. Which is fine by him. Sometimes Shouto would rather be numb than deal with the sensations of living. It's how he survived for so long, after all.

He blows out another sigh and lets the wind carry it far away. 

It's when Bakugou stretches his arms straight up and tilts his head to the sky that the blond freezes, his ruby eyes catching Shouto's own mismatched stare. Cold seeps through his veins, and Shouto can feel the icy hand of dread reach into his chest and start frosting over his skin.

A scowl immediately darkens Bakugou's handsome face and he yanks one of his earbuds out with more force than necessary. "Oi, the fuck you starin' at me for, half-n-half?" Bakugou demands in his usual grumpy tone, his eyebrows creased in irritation. "Stop being a fucking creep, jesus."

"S-sorry," Shouto stammers, though he stays completely still, like prey caught in the eyes of a predator. Bakugou just scoffs and resumes his stretches, though he leaves his earbud out for some reason. The action—or non-action, he supposes—perplexes Shouto.

He doesn't know what possesses him to start talking, but before Shouto can stop himself, the words come tumbling out. "What are you doing?"

Bakugou pauses his shoulder rotations and shoots a glare up at Shouto. "The fuck does it look like I'm doing?"

"Uh…" Shouto says eloquently, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. "I mean...that's not…"

"Spit it out, I don't have all goddamn day," Bakugou says as he lowers himself to the concrete for some pushups.

Shouto rolls the words around on his tongue before simply saying, "You're up early." It's then that Shouto realizes that he actually has no idea what time it is. He has no clue whatsoever how long he's been awake, how long he's been standing out here in the cold. He hasn't even thought about the inevitable and unstoppable passage of time until this very moment when it becomes startlingly clear that he's lost a good chunk of it to his mind being far away from his body.

Bakugou grunts out as he lowers himself as far as his muscles will allow before pushing himself back up. "I'm up this early every morning, dipshit." He does a couple more pushups before continuing, "You, however, usually aren't."

The observation catches Shouto by surprise, enough that his eyes widen, and his heart stutters in his chest. He's usually flat-out ignored by Bakugou when the other teen isn't screaming in his face about rival-this and rematch-that. So the fact that Bakugou has at least paid attention to Shouto's sleeping habits has him feeling some kind of way.

Shouto should brush it off, should keep to himself, and let Bakugou think whatever he wants. But perhaps it's the unrealness, the liminal space in which early mornings exist, that prompts Shouto to confide in Bakugou. Just this once. 

"Mhm," Shouto hums in agreement, and the small noise is almost lost to the wind. "I...couldn't sleep. Nightmares."

Bakugou makes some sort of noise in acknowledgement but says nothing else.

Shouto's chest still feels heavy, and his muscles ache, though, from the cold or staying in the same position for so long, he isn't sure. He pulls himself fully upright, gripping the railing tight with his numbed hands. Sucking in a deep breath that freezes his lungs, he hoists himself up onto the railing and maneuvers to sit. His legs dangle on the outer side of the railing and looking at the ground from this high up, Shouto almost feels weightless. As if he really would fly if he just let go.

Still, he holds onto the railing as the cold metal bites into his palms.

"The fuck are you doing?" Bakugou asks, and when Shouto looks down, his eyes meet red. His classmate is standing with his arms crossed, glaring daggers up at Shouto. "You're gonna fall if you're not careful, and don't expect me to catch your sorry ass."

Shouto lets out a breath of a chuckle despite himself, noting how much the exhalation makes his body shake. "Would it be such a bad thing? If I fell," he says easily, tipping his head up to look at the sky. The city lights are too bright to see the stars, but it must be nearing dawn because he can see tiny wisps of blue spread like smoke into the inky black of the night sky.

"Of course it would be a bad thing. I can't kick your ass if you're not here," Bakugou says with a growl, and Shouto would find it heartwarming if hearing such a thing from Bakugou didn't shock him enough for his grip to falter.

"Bakugou?" he asks, wanting confirmation that what he'd just heard isn't a trick of his addled mind.

"Shut the hell up and get down from there." Bakugou's glare softens, and though a frown is still pulling at his mouth, he almost looks...concerned.

Huh. Maybe Shouto really is still dreaming.

He doesn't move, and Bakugou growls again from the floor below.

"Seriously, half-n-half, get down. No way you can hold yourself up on those shaky ass twig arms of yours."

Shouto then looks down at his arms, which are, in fact, trembling. The notion strikes him as odd because he would have been able to feel the contraction of his muscles, right? But his arms have gone numb so long ago that Shouto finds it remarkable he still has limbs left.

The logical part of his brain tells him to use his left side, to warm himself up before he freezes to death. 

But the other half of his brain asks him if such an end would be so terrible.

Shouto sighs again and his breath turns to frost in the air.

"I'm gonna fuckin’ come up there and get you myself if you don't get down," Bakugou threatens, his glare renewed, his tone brooking no argument. 

The urge to be defiant rises up in Shouto, the same kind of defiance he shows his father. But he reels himself back before anything comes of it. Bakugou is not his father. Bakugou is not asking anything unreasonable of him. Bakugou is not trying to hurt him. If anything, Bakugou is trying to help him...in his own Bakugou way.

But...Shouto doesn’t really feel like he deserves to be helped. 

In any case, he doesn’t have the energy to start a fight this early in the morning—even though he still doesn’t know what time it is—and does what Bakugou says. He curls his legs up to his chest and slowly, shakily, turns until he’s facing his balcony door. He gingerly extends his legs down, and his feet find purchase on the concrete again. Shouto almost feels disappointed.

He peers over the railing, leaning forward enough to make eye contact with Bakugou. “Happy?” he asks in a voice that sounds more petulant than he intends.

Bakugou just rolls his eyes and waves Shouto off. “Better not catch you sleeping in class, you stubborn bastard,” he says before putting his earbud in again. Shouto watches Bakugou head for his own door, and once the blond disappears, Shouto allows himself back into his room.

He lies down on the futon, watching the sun chase away the shadows on his ceiling until his alarm goes off.

.

It’s hard to focus in class.

The blank notebook page stares up at him almost mockingly, teasing him about the notes that should be there. Shouto chews on the inside of his lip and taps the tip of his pencil against the paper, not actually writing anything. He couldn’t write anything if he tried, anyway—he hasn’t heard a word of what Cementoss has said this entire class period. His gaze keeps tearing away to the window, where the dull grey clouds have blown in to cover the sun that had only shown its face for a short time that morning. He hopes for snow, but it’s not quite late enough in the season for that yet. If he’s lucky, though, maybe it’ll rain.

The lunch bell rings, and Shouto very nearly jumps in his seat, his attention snapping back to the present fast enough to give him whiplash. He looks up to see Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka standing in a half-circle around his desk. Midoriya is the first one to speak.

"Are you okay, Todoroki-kun?" the broccoli boy asks, and Todoroki looks blearily up at his friend. He blinks his eyes a few times to get Midoriya to come into focus.

"You don't look so good," Uraraka points out, reaching her hand out to touch Shouto's forehead. Against his will, Shouto flinches away and immediately feels guilty at the hurt in Uraraka's soft brown eyes.

"I'm fine," he lies, then backpedals, because he feels awful lying to his friends, and adds, "Just...not feeling well, I suppose…"

"I can escort you to Recovery Girl if you are feeling unwell," Iida offers in that earnest way of his, and it hurts Shouto to hear his friends being so concerned for him when he really, really doesn't feel like he deserves it.

"Thank you, but I'll be okay," Shouto says and forces a smile that he knows looks fake as hell and that his friends, especially Midoriya, can see right through his ruse. "I think I might nap a little during lunch."

Midoriya looks like he's about to argue, but the boy bites his tongue and nods. "If you're sure...but, please, let us know if you need anything, okay, Todoroki-kun? We're here for you."

Normally, this would be the time when the group closes around Shouto for a hug, but the three of them hesitate to touch him. Shouto's thankful they hold back, because he's afraid he might break if they actually hug him.

"Thank you," he says again, packing up his things as he watches his friends leave the classroom. They all shoot him small smiles and waves as they depart, and Shouto manages a half-wave in return. He slides his notebooks in between the textbooks and other supplies in his bag, narrowly missing bending the cover of Sero’s manga he still has to return.

His vision swims as he stands, then zooms in and out as if he's looking at the world through a fisheye lens. He wrenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath to steady himself before shouldering his bag.

He hears the scraping of chair legs on linoleum as he makes to leave the classroom, and against his better judgment, Shouto turns around toward the source of the noise. 

Bakugou levels him with a glare, still sitting at his desk with his chair reclined back on its two hind legs. Silence stretches between them, heated and tense, until Shouto turns the cold shoulder on Bakugou and exits the classroom. 

He finds himself up on the roof of the school, a seating area that is often used during the summer but now sits vacated as late autumn prepares to give way to winter. Shouto is grateful that he's alone, grateful he doesn't have to put up a facade and pretend he's okay today when he's really anything but. 

He allows his bag to fall off his shoulders and drop to the concrete, but the weight on his shoulders doesn't ease. He lets his feet guide him to the edge of the roof, where he sits on the stone parapet and dangles his legs over the outer side, just like he did on the railing this morning. 

The wind isn't as harsh as it was in the early hours of dawn, but it still brings a comforting and familiar chill as it blows right through him. Shouto feels empty, as if he could be carried off by too strong of a gust. He feels a few stray raindrops on his face as he tilts it toward the sky, eyes as stormy and grey as the clouds above him watching as they churn and swirl with the promise of a downpour. Shouto hopes for one—anything to help cleanse this apathy out of his system. 

He spends his entire lunch hour up on the roof and returns to class soaked to the bone and shivering.

.

Shouto is well aware of the looks he's getting from his classmates as he peels his drenched uniform off his frigid skin to change into his winter hero costume. He's aware of the hushed whispers traded back and forth behind his back, and though he can't quite make out what's being said, he knows they're talking about him. Shouto chooses to ignore it, chooses to pretend not to notice the concerned looks Midoriya and Iida throw his way, acts like he doesn't see the way Bakugou won't stop glaring at him the same way he was when Shouto left class earlier.

He shrugs his shoulders into his thermal harness, clicks the temperature regulator at his collar, pulls his sleeves down to hide the burns on his arm, and puts his wristbands on and tightens them almost enough to cut off his circulation. He slides his feet into his boots, tucking the fabric of his jumpsuit pants into the top until it’s mostly seamless. He adjusts his belt, hooking the notches into the holes and attaching his emergency canisters. Everything is done methodically, and Shouto focuses on these small, mundane actions to keep his thoughts from spiraling into much darker territory.

When Aizawa tells them the exercise for the day is going to be civilian rescue, and that Shouto is going to be one of the students acting as a victim, Shouto wants to sink into the ground right then and there. He had been hoping to be able to blow off some steam, whether it be sparring or Quirk training or something else besides this, but his teacher’s word is final and Shouto does as he’s told.

The class makes their way to Ground Beta and splits off into their separate roles. Aizawa ushers those on the hero team away so that those on the victim team can find places to hide themselves and await rescue. It’s still raining and cold, which Aizawa says will help them build up some endurance to the elements.

Shouto makes himself at home in a partially collapsed building, hiding amongst the rubble and structural damage. He lies flat on his back, feels the sharp edges of broken concrete digging into his lower back, his legs, his arms, and the discomfort grounds him. It keeps him from drifting too far off the face of the earth, keeps him from separating too far from himself. The icy raindrops falling through the gaps where the ceiling has caved in feel almost comforting as they pelt against his face.

He feels cold, but the regulator on his back prevents his body temperature from dropping too much. He feels the heat seeping through his jumpsuit as the device activates, keeping him warm. For some reason, the heat puts him on edge. 

Time suspends itself in a cloud around him. Shouto has no idea how long he stays there, letting the rain soak through his previously dampened hair when he hears the distant sounds of his classmates communicating with one another. He can make out neither individual voices nor what’s being said, but he hopes they take a while to find him. He hopes he can fade away unnoticed if only to get away from all of these ugly thoughts and feelings plaguing him today.

Shouto just wants it all to stop.

The rescue team finds him eventually, totally soaked through and shivering. He blows out a shaky sigh, his breath condensing into a white cloud as it escapes his tightening lungs. Yaoyorozu leans down next to him, placing her fingertips delicately on his forehead.

“Can you move?” she asks, as they were trained to do upon finding a civilian who needs help.

“Don’t think so,” Shouto answers, his voice raspy from cold and disuse. “Hypothermia, maybe.” He may seem like he’s playing his part well, but he really can’t feel his limbs very much. He can’t remember how long ago they started to go numb. He tries to move his fingers, but they’re almost frozen in place. They ache.

Yaoyorozu nods and lowers her head in concentration for a moment, pulling a thermal blanket out of her arm. “Why didn’t you use your Quirk?” she whispers to him as she tucks the blanket around him, concern knitting her dark brows together. “Your lips are practically blue.”

“Didn’t think of it,” Shouto answers weakly.

Yaoyorozu sighs and looks behind her to their other classmates in the rescue group. “Kirishima-san, can you carry Todoroki-san?” she asks the strong redhead. “He’s immobilized.”

“Sure thing!” Kirishima agrees readily, coming over to Shouto and Yaoyorozu. He pauses, his mouth tilting into a frown. “Uh...Todoroki?”

Shouto sighs. “I’m fine, Kirishima, just get on with the exercise,” he says a bit impatiently, wanting this whole thing to be over so he can just have five goddamn seconds to himself.

The guilt starts seeping in the second he’s propped against Kirishima’s back, as he lays his head against the rubber shoulder pauldron. Shouto’s such a piece of shit that he can’t even treat his friends right. Kirishima doesn’t deserve to be snapped at like that. Yaoyorozu doesn’t deserve to be brushed off. Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida don’t deserve to be lied to the way Shouto did earlier.

Shouto doesn’t deserve such wonderful friends.

At the end of class, he’s the first one to leave. He says a word to no one and convinces himself the red eyes following him out the door are just an illusion.

.

“Oi! Asshole!”

Shouto looks down from where he’s sitting on the railing of his balcony, legs hanging over the outer side once again, and sees Bakugou seething at him from the balcony below. He shrugs, looking back up to the grey evening skies still spitting out sprinkles of rain. 

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” Bakugou yells, pointing an angry finger up at Shouto. The blond’s hands begin sparking in his ire. “Wanna tell me what the fuck is up with you today?”

Shouto shrugs again, still not looking at Bakugou. The magic of the morning has well worn off by this point, and he no longer feels like spilling his troubles to his classmate. What’s the point? It’s not like Bakugou can help him. It’s not like Bakugou even wants to help him.

It’s not like Shouto deserves help, anyway.

“It’s nothing,” he says simply.

“Bullshit,” Bakugou fires back immediately. “You’ve been acting like a goddamn zombie all day, and your fucking friends are worried sick about you, you fucking dickhead!”

“Why do you care?” Shouto spits, sending a heated glare down at Bakugou. The heat surging in his veins chases away the cold in his bones way too quickly, causes his grip on the railing to falter from the shock of the change in temperature. 

“...I don’t,” Bakugou says after way too long of a pause, crossing his arms in a defensive stance. “It’s just fucking annoying watching everyone mope over your moping ass!”

Shouto rolls his eyes so hard, he’s certain they’ll get stuck in the back of his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he says dismissively, averting his gaze from Bakugou again but this time keeping the ground in his sight.

The wet concrete looks a little too enticing at the moment.

“Fucking try me,” Bakugou says, his voice dangerously low. “You think you’re the only one that struggles with shit? That carries a bunch of fucking baggage that’s a bitch to unpack?”

“Why don’t you try and unpack your own before rifling through mine?” Shouto says, and immediately regrets it when he sees the shadows descend over Bakugou’s face.

“The fuck did you just say? You wanna go, half-n-half?”

Shouto just shakes his head. “It’s not worth it…” he says. “I’m not worth it.”

“Fucking—cut that shit out! You’re pissing me off,” Bakugou snaps, then lets out a mix between a growl and a sigh. “Just...get down from there. Stop being an idiot.”

“Stop acting like you care when you don’t,” Shouto says without thinking, though he considers Bakugou’s words. Considers not throwing himself off the balcony, considers barfing up everything he’s been keeping bottled inside since the sound of his mother’s screams woke him up in the middle of the night, considers daring to think that maybe, maybe, he isn’t so worthless after all.

He and Bakugou hold a staring contest for what feels like forever and Shouto finally gives in with a sigh.

“Fine,” he says with resignation, shifting on shaking arms to turn himself around to face the sliding door back into his room. Shouto pauses for a moment, gripping tight enough on the railing that the metal indents his skin. He slowly slides his legs down, his bare toes touching the bottom rung of the railing. 

“Oi...what the fuck are you—”

Shouto releases a breath at the same time he releases his hands.

For a few blissful seconds, Shouto floats down towards the earth below them. But instead of allowing himself to plummet down into oblivion, he reaches his hands out and grips the rail of the balcony below his own. The metal sings as his numbed skin slaps down on its slippery surface, and he curls his fingers around the top to tighten his grip.

Suddenly, sweaty hands are gripping his arms and pulling him up.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what in the goddamn fucking hell was that?!” Bakugou yells at him as he drags Shouto over the railing none-too-gently, stumbling backward himself until he lands right on his ass with a listless Shouto in his arms.

“You told me to get down,” Shouto says, curling against Bakugou’s chest. He tucks his head in the crook of Bakugou’s neck, noting the way the other boy stiffens at the contact but can’t bring himself to do anything about it. “So I got down.”

Bakugou huffs and, surprisingly, wraps his strong arms around Shouto. It’s then that Shouto realizes just how cold he is, how cold he’s been all damn day, and how warm Bakugou is.

He realizes that warmth could be comforting, too.

“That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it,” Bakugou says, and there’s a strange softness to his usually gruff voice that Shouto can’t place.

They sit in silence for a little while, the rain coming down steadily around them. The sound of the raindrops is almost enough to lull Shouto into the sleep he’s been chasing since before dawn. Bakugou’s hand somehow ends up at the back of Shouto’s head, his rough and calloused fingers combing through Shouto’s wet, matted hair. 

“You are worth it, half-n-half,” Bakugou finally says, so quietly that Shouto can’t be sure if the other boy actually said anything. He squeezes Shouto tighter, enveloping the taller boy with his natural warmth that’s usually hidden behind a cold, barbed wire fence. “Don’t fucking let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself.”

Shouto blinks his eyes open half-mast, letting Bakugou’s words sink in, past the freezing rain that has  soaked into his skin, allowing the reassurance to melt the ice in his veins and bring warmth back to his blood. His tingling fingers curl into the soft fabric of Bakugou’s hoodie, and he buries his nose against Bakugou’s neck until he can feel the other boy’s pulse fluttering against the tip.

“You’re worth it, too, Bakugou,” he says on a contented sigh.

Bakugou’s chest rumbles with a deep chuckle that barely makes it to his vocal cords. “Shut the fuck up, you idiot.” Nevertheless, his grip on Shouto tightens just the same. “Now will you let me take you inside so you don’t fucking freeze to death?”

Shouto contemplates the offer for a moment, has half a mind to decline, but. Well. He’d still have to go inside to get back to his own room, since he foolishly and impulsively jumped down to Bakugou’s balcony.

“Okay,” he agrees tiredly.

“Can you stand?” Bakugou asks, the softness of his voice still sounding out of place to Shouto’s ears.

Instead of replying verbally, Shouto reluctantly pulls himself away from Bakugou’s warmth and immediately starts shivering. He tries to force his muscles to cooperate, but the moment he attempts to stand, his legs buckle beneath him.

Luckily, Bakugou has quick reflexes and catches Shouto before he can fall.

Shouto allows Bakugou to lead him into his dorm room and doesn’t fight when the other boy forces him to sit on his bed. Mismatched eyes clouded with exhaustion watch as Bakugou digs through one of the drawers of his wardrobe. The blond lets out a little noise of success and steps over to the bed, holding out a bundle of fabric to Shouto.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Bakugou says, not meeting Shouto’s gaze. Shouto can swear he sees pink tinting Bakugou’s cheeks. 

Gingerly, Shouto reaches out for the clothes—an oversized t-shirt with a skull on it and a pair of sweatpants—and just sits there, holding them in his lap. This all feels so...unreal to him. Maybe he really did jump off his balcony and now he’s stuck in some weird, coma-induced dream where Bakugou’s being...nice to him.

The thought also strikes him that his own room is just a floor up, and he could easily go upstairs and change into clothes of his own. But the idea of even standing up, let alone going all the way up to his room, feels like some insurmountable task and right now all Shouto wants to do is sleep.

“Well, don’t just sit there like a moron, fucking change,” Bakugou says impatiently, shoving Shouto’s foot none-too-gently with his own.

The action jolts Shouto out of his reverie and he gives Bakugou a disengaged nod. Seemingly satisfied with Shouto’s wordless answer, Bakugou busies himself with searching for something else as Shouto removes his soaked shirt. He tosses the heavy article onto the floor with little care and slips into Bakugou’s t-shirt. It hangs off his narrower shoulders but it’s warm and Shouto almost hunches down into it to chase the comfort it brings him.

Shouto’s only a few centimeters taller than Bakugou, but it’s enough of a difference that the other’s sweatpants sit high on Shouto’s ankles when he puts them on. Shouto stares blankly down at his own legs before a tiny, almost nonexistent smile makes itself known and he lets out a breath of a laugh. 

“Something funny?” Bakugou asks from the other side of the room, head tilted and one eyebrow raised as red eyes bore into him. The usual cutting edge to his voice isn’t there and Shouto blinks dumbly at him for a few moments before shaking his head.

“It’s just...your sweatpants are too short on me.”

“Well, no shit, you’re taller than me,” Bakugou says as he steps over to the bed once more, this time holding a towel. He unceremoniously drops it atop Shouto’s head. “Dry your hair,” he commands before disappearing into his bathroom, presumably to change his own clothes.

Shouto reaches up hesitantly, rubbing the towel over his drenched locks and trying to coax the moisture out. His movements feel slow, delayed, like he’s crawling through molasses and burdened down with weights attached to his limbs. He lets out a heavy sigh. He’s so tired.

Suddenly there are hands batting his own away, and Bakugou furiously scrubs at Shouto’s scalp with the towel. “Fuck’s sake, icyhot, stop dripping water all over my goddamn bed,” he chides, though once again, any kind of sharpness is absent from his tone.

With another sigh, Shouto leans toward Bakugou and finds some strange sort of comfort in his hair being pulled and twisted and roughed up.

By the time Bakugou pulls the towel away and drops it to the floor with Shouto’s discarded clothes, Shouto’s hair is a right mess. The naturally split colors of his hair blend together in a tangled amalgamation of crimson and white, almost looking pink where the strands are mixed, and Bakugou puffs out his cheeks to try and hold in a laugh.

“You look fucking ridiculous,” the blond chortles.

Despite himself, Shouto smiles a bit. “Your fault,” he accuses without any real heat, flopping down on the bed and exhaling every bit of oxygen from his body. He sinks into the comforter and whereas all day Shouto’s felt flimsier and emptier than a plastic bag, now he feels heavier than the barbells Kirishima and Midoriya deadlift during their workouts. If he’s not careful, he’ll fall asleep right here and now and he really doesn’t want to burden Bakugou any more than he already has.

The thought causes his lips to pull into a frown, guilt already creeping into his chest.

“Oi, whatever your stupid brain is thinking, stop it right the fuck now,” Bakugou says, nudging Shouto over to make room for himself on the bed. Shouto complies, rolling over onto his side and curling into himself just a bit. He has a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“How about you get under the covers instead of stupidly lying on top of them?” Bakugou asks, already pulling his comforter out from under Shouto’s deadweight and throwing it over the shivering boy.

Oh. Shouto hadn’t noticed he was shivering again. He wills his Quirk to activate, to up his body temperature and allow the warmth of his fire side to bring him back to the world of the living.

Bakugou sidles up behind Shouto and Shouto stiffens, his muscles taut and aching.

“Why are you doing this?” Shouto asks, his tongue thick in his mouth. He’s surprised he sounds anything remotely close to coherent. The care and consideration Bakugou is showing him is almost too much for Shouto to handle. Sure, Shouto thinks of them as friends, has thought of them as friends for a while, but Bakugou always makes it astoundingly clear that he sees Shouto as a rival and nothing else. The fact that Bakugou is going to all this trouble for him is...strange. Humbling. Leaving him completely floundering.

Bakugou sighs, and Shouto’s surprised to feel the puff of warm air against the back of his neck. “Do I need a reason to?” he deflects, settling his arms around Shouto and pulling the taller boy close. Shockingly, Shouto doesn’t flinch away from the touch. Rather he welcomes it, sinks into it, loses himself in it the way he’s been losing himself to his darkened thoughts all day.

“I guess not,” Shouto sighs, too tired to press the issue for now. He’ll bug Bakugou about it some other time. But for now, all Shouto can do is close his eyes and allow the comfort of the boy behind him, holding him close, to lull him into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Shouto hides his smile and allows himself these few precious, unexpected moments of peace in Bakugou’s arms.

#todobaku #bakutodo #todobaku fic #bakutodo fic #bnha #boku no hero academia #my writing

[fromtheboundlesssea]

The first time Lyanna comes to court in the Robert/Celia AU where Lyanna lives. Whether it’s before Robert falls in love with Celia or after I would like to see that first reception after everything Lyanna did has she seen the error of her ways does she regret what she did does she want Robert now and wish she was beside him instead of Celia do the people worry that Lyanna will steal Robert from Celia the way she stole Rhaegar from Elia? Etc

Hope this is okay:

Celia

A part of her wished that she were not pregnant. It was not that she was not thrilled to have another child, in her childhood she used to tell her father she wanted twenty. However, with Sansa’s birth having been a little difficult, Robert had insisted that they call Cat to King’s Landing and with her sister came Ned and little Robb and Arya, but it also brought her.

Lyanna Stark was just as beautiful as she had always been. She had probably grown more beautiful. She could hear the gossip already. Celia was no great beauty, as Lysa constantly reminded her, as Robert’s continuous disinterest confirmed to her. She would, once again, be compared to the Northern beauty that had sparked the beginnings of the rebellion that had put Celia’s husband on the throne.

The Starks paid their respects to the king and Celia placed a hand over the large curve of her belly. She glanced at Robert and saw that his gaze was upon Lyanna, almost completely ignoring the small boy whose hand she held.

Jon Snow. There were rumors that the boy was legitimate, but Lyanna had never confirmed such things and Ned had fervently denied them. Not a drop of Targaryen blood seemed to be in the boy at all. He was all Stark. He looked a little like Ned, but took completely after his mother. Celia squeezed her daughter’s hand gently.

“Welcome to King’s Landing,” Robert said, allowing them to stand. He turned his attention to Cat and nodded.

Celia’s sister came forward and wrapped her arms around her. Cat rubbed Celia’s back like she did when they were children and it took everything in her to not cry. In their girlhood, everyone wished to be queen, to be a princess, but she was so very lonely. She had so few friends in King’s Landing. She only had Lysa and Petyr, but Lysa could be so very cruel and Petyr always wanted something. All Celia had was her daughter.

“You are glowing, Ce,” Cat said, pulling away from her. She turned her gaze to Sansa and got on her knees. Sansa clung to Celia’s and buried her face in the fabric, peeking out shyly. “Hello, sweetling.”

“You look like Mother,” the little girl said.

“I’m your mother’s big sister.”

“That’s Aunt Lysa.”

“I’m your mother’s bigger sister.”

Sansa’s eyes widdened. “Like Father is to Uncle Stannis and Renly?”

“That’s right.”

Sansa beamed up at her aunt.

“Shall we move this inside?” Robert asked. He offered his arm to Lyanna and Celia turned away.

He still occasionally whispered her name. She could still hear it whispered against her neck.

Lyanna. Lyanna. Lyanna.

Lyanna

She had never been to King’s Landing. While the whole of it smelled of something rotting, the Red Keep was just as Rhaegar had discribed it to her. But Rhaegar was dead, murdered by the man who led her into the keep. Robert has grown to be just as handsome as many thought he would be. Ned has told her that Robert had forgone the drink almost entirely and, to Ned’s knowledge, he had fathered no other bastards besides little Mya Stone which Queen Celia had, for some strange reason, allowed to live in the Red Keep as a companion to the little princess.

He had changed. He was not the man she had been betrothed to. He was better.

“How are you liking being king, Robert?” Lyanna asked, her son waking with his Uncle Ned. Her son was a shy thing, taking after Rhaegar in that regard. He usually sought out Ned in those moments, wanting the quiet strength of the Stark patriarch.

“As likable as I can stand,” he admitted. “I miss Storm’s End and the fresh sea air. I even miss the Vale. I don’t think I would have ever missed it as much as I do, but I do.” He sighed. “If my wife had found it agreeable, I would have had My daughter fostered in the Eyrie with Mya and the Royces, but she wants her daughter here.”

Lyanna could see that it would be wise to send the two girls to the Eyrie, but she could also understand wanting to keep her children close. Catelyn had insisted that Jon be fostered, but Lyanna had refused and Ned had agreed with her.

“Other than that, do you enjoy it?”

“I can’t go hunting as much as I would like, but it is agreeable. I have a good small council that helps me with important matters.” He glanced at her and she could see a slight flush to his cheeks. “I think you would be quite proud of me.”

Lyanna smiled at him and squeezed his arm gently. “You’ve done well. Not even a breath of rebellion anywhere. You make a good king.”

“I feel utterly ridiculous in all this regalia,” her muttered.

Lyanna laughed.

Robert

It sounded like a rolling bell, her laugh. It was just as pretty as it had been when he last heard it in Harrenhal. She had grown more beautiful too. She had grown into herself and had become the confident woman Robert had always imagined her to be.

He had tried to become a benevolent king, tried to emulate parts of Rhaegar that had been well received. He walked amongst the people, encouraged the arts. He was well liked, but more jovial than the dragon prince, possibly making him more approachable.

“You look quite handsome,” Lyanna assured him and Robert smiled.

He had tried to be the man Lyanna had wanted. He took no mistresses, Mya being his only bastard, although he had discussed legitimizing her should the new babe be a boy. He did not allow other women in his bed, only taking his marital rights from his wife when she asked him to or when he felt like it. He did not indulge in the cup. He was the man Lyanna would have wanted. He—

“Father,” his daughter interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down to see his youngest holding onto his robe and looking up at him. She took after her mother, although her chin and ears were Robert’s. “Mother wishes to show Aunt Cat the gardens.”

He glanced back and saw his wife looking at the floor, her cheeks red, her face flushed. He looked back to his daughter. “Would you like to join them, sweetling?”

His daughter’s smile brightened. Her smile was his too. “I want to show Aunt Cat the winter roses you had planted.”

“Winter roses?” Lyanna asked.

He looked to her. The woman he had them planted for. “Shall we all go together?” Robert offered. “Stretch all our legs before you’re shown to your rooms.”

Lyanna smiled at him. “That sounds lovely.”

He turned and looked at his wife to speak, but found the words dead upon his tongue when their eyes met. She looked wounded. Like a doe caught in a trap, knowing it had nowhere else to go.

Varys

Varys did what he did best and observed, watching the scene unfold from his place, not in the shadows, but almost like a spider upon the wall, spinning a web to catch whatever flies might come his way.

It was obvious to anyone that the king was still very much in love with Lyanna Stark. If some emissary from Essos came, based on how everyone was positioned, they might assume that Lyanna was his queen. She had dressed rather prettily that day, dressed in Stark grey with black trim. The queen was dressed with less flare, more for her pregnancy than anything else, wearing a deep blue dress that showed off her rounding belly. But she was being escorted by her sister and the king’s whole attention was upon Lyanna Stark, save for when he was addressing his wife, which was rarely.

Varys knew that most of the lords whispered fearfully of Lyanna Stark coming time the capital. She had stolen the eye and heart of Rhaegar Targaryen, who had a wife of his own, even a male heir. But Elia Martell had been a beauty, which inspired a thousand songs. The king, while married, had one daughter with his wife and, hopefully a son on the way. The queen was not ugly, far from it, she was merely plain. And Robert showed less attentiveness to Celia than Rhaegar ever showed Elia.

Perhaps the other lords had a right to worry. Lyanna had given Rhaegar a son rather quickly while Celia had given Robert a daughter. Lady Catelyn had given Lord Stark a son after one night. And, although the child had died soon after, Lady Lysa has given Lord Arryn a son right away as well.

The king was very much still in love with Lady Lyanna and that was still a rather worrisome thing.

—

Note: Robert never referred to Celia by her name, same with Sansa. 😭

#keep the prompts coming #celiaverse #celia tully #robert baratheon x oc #robert baratheon #ours is a silent fury #snippet