#idk if anyone else has made this before but i just HAD to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

revasserium · 4 months

Note

Hey, can I request zoro x reader (established relationship) where the Strawhats end up going to reader’s home island (unknown to anyone in the group aside from reader), and the reader is super nervous and refuses to leave the boat, so the crew goes out and walk around and they find a missing/wanted poster of the reader and find out she’s a run away princess that needed to be. Later they coke to find out that reader ran away cause her parents and the servants mistreated and was about to marry her off to a violent prince

opla requests are: open

lips on every cross

opla!zoro; 5,989 words; fem!reader, semi-established?? relationship, posessive!zoro, strawhat!reader, no "y/n", reader gets kidnapped, fluff and angst, very brief! mentions of past familial abuse and trauma, nicknames ("Princess"), slow-ish burn???, more plot than not

summary: zoro has never thought himself a holy man. but he'd kiss every cross if it meant finding his way back to you.

a/n: idk why every opla fic i write is like... more plot than i bargained for but here we are. literally, this fic was just supposed to be "zoro calls the reader 'princess'".

01. when love arrives

(“Hey Princess —“)

The nickname starts, as almost all things do on the Going Merry, as a joke. And, as with most jokes made amongst the rag-tag crew, it sticks. He’d said it because he’s sure you’d mentioned your name once or twice already, but he’d been napping or eating and he didn’t feel like looking like an asshole right that moment.

The ribbon in your hair had caught the light in just the right way, pale pink satin — such a strange, soft color amidst the careening, careless ocean, and the word just… slipped.

“Why’dyou call her that?” Luffy asks, lounging back against the main mast as Zoro works through the umpteenth rep of single-armed pushups.

Zoro puffs out a breath and switches arms.

“Dunno. Seemed like it fit.”

Luffy slates you a long glance, blinking owlishly.

“Really? Eh — I guess… well, she is really pretty.”

Zoro only grunts, jumping up and stretching both arms over his head with a long, steady breath. His eyes flicker towards you as well, laughing with Nami on the foredeck, sipping on cocktails, Sanji probably simping somewhere nearby.

He thinks back to where they’d found you, hood pulled low over your eyes, the tell-tale signs of distress carved into every line of your body, from the curve of your spine to the bend of your shoulders.

Luffy hadn’t asked questions, so Zoro hadn’t either.

Curiosity, the fatal flaw that runs so sharp and obvious through the entirety of Luffy’s being, hasn’t always been rewarded well in Zoro’s experience. And he’s learned by now that “truth will out”, or so they say.

(“C’mon, Princess, I thought you said you could drink.”)

Caution, on the other hand, is Zoro’s oldest friend. You are cautious, if nothing else, and the first time he sees you relax in his presence, he wonders to himself if there’s a drug in this world strong enough to induce this feeling.

Later, he would learn that this is simply called falling in love.

He isn’t the only one who notices how you casually dip a silver fork or knife into every single drink before you take a sip, or that sometimes, you blurt out the word “no’ like a promise to yourself, and “sorry” like a plea for help.

And he’s spent long enough being a hunter to know what being hunted looks like. So he doesn’t ask, and you don’t answer, and somehow, you still manage to make yourself a home in the dark caverns of his chest, curling up there till he can’t count his heartbeats without it sounding like the shadow of your name on the midnight wind.

02. a study of light and dark

The drinking game starts off innocently enough (and don’t they always), but it takes half a round for the questions and subsequent answers to devolve into loud laughter and debauchery, delirium and debasement.

“Alright, alright —“ Sanji holds up a hand, tossing back his shot to raucous cheers, “worst thing you’ve done in a closet. Go —“

Zoro rolls his eyes and takes the shot, foregoing his answer. Nami simply grins, catlike, swirling her own drink around her glass.

“In your wildest dreams, cook,” she says before taking her shot as well. Sanji lets out a contemplative whistle, followed by a good-natured wink.

“Define worst, cause… I mean, I’ve puked in like… most of them back in Syrup Village,” Usopp says. Sanji only chuckles, shrugging.

“We’ll take it, we’ll take it.”

Luffy hums, frowning for a second before smacking a fist into his open palm, grinning, “I took a nap!”

Everyone laughs, helpless and buoyed up by the casual effervescence of a night like this — when the moon is dark and the stars are bright and thin wisps of silver clouds mar the sky like tendrils of lost daydreams, caught on the wrong side of sunset.

When the laughter settles down, everyone turns to you.

You purse your lips, feeling the weight of your answer pressing down on the tip of your tongue — I hid. And I waited. And I tried not to listen.

As the silence stretches on, Zoro leans forward and uncrosses his arms, reaching out to nudge a full shot glass towards you.

“Times up, Princess — drink,” and though there’s nothing soft or even forgiving in his voice, but you feel yourself relax as everyone boos and you take your shot.

The heat of Zoro’s gaze only lingers on your skin for a moment longer before he leans back again, that familiar almost-grin tugging lazily at his lips as he turns half-lidded eyes towards the rest of his crew.

(“Talk to me, Princess.”)

When you find him later, fumbling in the dark of the hallway just outside his room, you kiss him without saying “thank you” and he doesn’t question it when, pressed beneath him on the rough linen of his sheets, you ask to keep the lights on.

03. etymology

Princess — it’s a nice word, Zoro muses to himself. The light pop of the ‘p’ rolling into the warm, round ‘r’, thinning out into the sensual layering of the double ‘s’s, till you’re left with nothing but a hiss, a shadow, a memory.

It’s a regal word; a pretty word. Though its origins might be anything but.

From the Latin primus “first” and cept “catcher”, or so Robin had told him over the pages of an ancient book he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of, because Princes and Kings have always obtained their powers through taking, and never asking. Reaping, and never sowing.

Zoro thinks then that this, too, is a form conquest — you over him. The totality of your power stunning to behold, if only because he has to let you take it in the first place. And he does so willingly.

He wonders if you, too, are as multifaceted as his nickname for you — delicacy and desire wrapped around a darker something, lace laid over a knife’s unforgiving edge.

The first time he dares to kiss you, he feels you kissing him back, the sharp canines of your teeth catching on his lower lip, drawing out a soft grunt from him. You’d paused, and then you’d bitten down harder just to hear him gasp into your mouth.

He knew then, without ever having to ask, that you are.

04. tip of the iceberg

It is winter when they arrive — but then again, it is always winter here. Here, the cold runs so deep it drives frost crystals into the marrow of your bones. Here, the wind howls like a wounded animal and the night falls with a savage, carnal vengeance, all black velvet and a blood-tinted moon.

Here, the snow storms turn living, breathing heroes into song lyrics and poetry rhymes.

You inhale a single breath before turning and heading back below deck.

Zoro frowns, and at a single look from Luffy, he follows you beneath, only to find you rummaging around the kitchen, tugging a bottle of moonshine out from under the sink.

“Whoa,” Zoro says, reaching out to stop you from uncorking the bottle, an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t miss the way you shiver, “bit early, isn’t it?”

“Bit rich, coming from you,” you snap, eyes sharp, voice stinging.

Zoro only cocks his other eyebrow in tandem and pulls the bottle from your hands before turning and grabbing two glasses from the cupboard. He takes his time filling them both with ice, and then pouring a finger into each glass.

You don’t meet his eyes as you reach out for your glass, but he catches your wrist.

“A drink for an answer,” he says.

You pause, your lips pressed into a thin, white line. And he knows it’s unfair, to turn this game around on you, because he can tell from the hard set of your shoulders that this is so much more than a drinking game but if this is what it takes to get the truth — then so be it.

“Fine,” you say, glancing away, voice clipped.

You move to take a sip, but Zoro pushes down your hand again.

“No lying.”

You scoff, narrowing your eyes, “Obviously.”

He eases off, picking up his own glass and clinking it against yours before taking a light swig, “You know this place.”

This time, you’re the one who turns around with a cocked brow.

“Got a question in there somewhere?”

Zoro’s lips twitch, “Yes, or no.”

You sigh, tapping a finger against the edge of your cup, “Yes.”

Zoro hums, “Your turn.”

You chew on your lips before taking a sip, “Why do you care so much?”

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth, “Stupid question. Next.”

You huff, “That’s not how this game goes.”

Zoro swirls his glass before setting it down on the counter with a loud clack, “Because I care about you.”

You pause with your own drink halfway to your mouth and look up. Zoro doesn’t shy away from meeting your gaze and for a moment, time statics to a halt around you.

Then, Zoro sighs, unclenching his jaw as he attempts a lopsided smile.

“Hey, talk to me,” he reaches out to trail a finger along the high of your cheekbones, up to the shell of your ear.

The ‘please’ hangs silent in the air between you; the ‘Princess’ is implied.

And for the first time, he thinks he sees you flinch. He makes to pull back but you tug his hand forward, pressing your cheek against his palm.

“This island,” you say, finally, the tremor in your voice like a hairline fracture snaking through a porcelain vase, “it’s… well, it used to be… my home.”

05. the secret history

It is the most beautiful place any of them have ever been.

The castle is made entirely of ice, the cold winter sun refracting the light into a million and one unseen colors. Giant ice-carved sculptures dot the crystal-flower gardens, and it takes them all a few minutes to realize that the gorgeous, delicate blooms are made of glass, blown and shaped to mirror real-life snowflakes — each unique, glittering, and eternal.

“Dude… how long do you think all this took to make?” Usopp asks, his head turning as if on a swivel, his jaw hinging off his face in awe.

Robin sighs, “Too long, perhaps.”

Zoro stays quiet, and beside him, so does Nami.

You’d insisted on staying back, to guard the ship, you’d said. But the space you usually fill in the group hangs solid in the air, a gaping hole of lack when there should be none.

Luffy hums and he marches out in front of them, ever the dubious, fearless leader. Though most of the crew has now come to terms with the fact that “courage” and “sheer bull-headedness” are often two sides of the same coin for him.

It’s Sanji who pauses first, causing Chopper to ram into the back of his knees.

“Ouch! What’dyou do that f —”

“Look,” Sanji says, pointing at a poster pasted to the slick outer wall of the castle gates.

And they do, leaning in, crowding too close. Zoro grunts as Chopper jumps and scrambles up his back to peer over his shoulder at the face plastered on the dew-soaked poster, the words LOST PRINCESS: 120,000,000 FOR ANY INFORMATION THAT LEADS TO HER WHEREABOUTS printed in giant, familiar block letters along the bottom.

Beside him, Zoro can feel Nami swallowing. Hard.

“A hundred and twenty million berry…” she murmurs, her breath going shallow as they all stare, dumbfounded at the poster of what is unmistakably you.

You, with your exquisite features schooled into something like solemnity, your usually wind-swept hair twisted up into a tight braid across the crown of your head, a diadem of ice-white silver and light-cut jewels jutting up from your severe updo like so many broken teeth, sharp and unforgiving as stalagmites.

If none of them had known, it’d be impossible to reconcile you with this cold, distant portrait, your eyes rendered lifeless and dull by the depthless black ink.

Luffy, however, only blinks and turns to stare at Zoro.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

Luffy continues to stare, “When I asked why you always call her ‘Princess’.”

Zoro sighs, turning his eyes back to the WANTED poster before shaking his head.

“No. Like I said… I thought it just… fit.”

06. eternal day

Zoro is itching to get back to the ship. There’s a fish-line sliver of worry tugging at the place behind his chest where his heart should be, and he knows implicitly that something is wrong.

“Don’t worry, she can take care of herself!” Luffy says, smiling bright, his confidence unwavering.

“No Luffy, Zoro’s right — someone should be with her. What if —” and here, Nami glances at Zoro before turning her attention back to Luffy, “— she might need the backup,” is what she finally settles with. And to Zoro’s great relief, Luffy agrees.

And then, to everyone’s horror, off in the distance, your voice rises over the wind in a blood-curdling scream.

07. endless night

By the time Zoro makes it back to the ship, you are already gone.

08. torn asunder

Gone, gone, gone. The word echoes like an ill-fated alarm bell, ringing through Zoro’s entire body as he catapults himself through the ship, slamming open every door, checking every nook, corner, and crevice. Signs of a struggle, that much is clear, scuffs on the freshly waxed planks of the aft deck, nail marks along the railings, and —

Zoro’s breath freezes in his chest.

A smear of blood that drips over the side of the ship, trailing down the ladder.

A flash of pale pink catches his eye.

Your satin hair ribbon lies abandoned on the wharfs’ boardwalk, the faintest splatter of red soaking its ends.

He picks it up between gentle fingers and tucks it deep into his pocket.

His vision blurs red as he thinks about the things your captors might’ve done to you before dragging you off. He’s seen you fight and it wouldn’t have been easy to bring you down.

And by the time the rest of the crew reach him, he’s already sprinting back towards the castle, his jaw set, his teeth gritted.

It takes the combined effort of Sanji, Luffy, and Robin to stop him from charging through the castle gates and tearing the whole place down.

“Runnin’ round like a headless chicken’s not gonna do her any good, mate,” Sanji says, a smoke already caught between his teeth. A pre-fight ritual of his.

Zoro jerks his arm out of Sanji’s grasp, stalking down the street with a huff.

Robin strolls after him, somehow keeping pace, looking unhurried as Zoro tamps down the blind urge to slash the entire island in half.

“We’ll find her,” Robin says, her voice level, even as her sharp eyes scan the white-specked horizon, the usually amused half-twist of her lips laid flat by worry, “and she’s stronger than you think.”

At this, Zoro whips around, “I know —” but he bites down the venom threatening to surge up the back of his throat with a sigh. Robin doesn’t flinch, and Zoro attempts a steadying breath before repeating himself in a slightly softer tone, “I know… I’m just…”

Robin nods, and Zoro is thankful that he doesn’t have to finish his sentence.

09. the tower and the throne

The cold greets you like a scorned lover— a spiteful, savage mistress. Tendrils of frost creep along the walls of your old bedroom to caress your cheeks. You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself, sitting on familiar satin sheets.

“Dinner is soon, darling,” your mother’s cool voice calls from outside your bedroom door, “and make yourself presentable — we’ve got guests.”

The sadistic lilt of her voice as she says the word ‘guests’ makes you jerk your head up, staring at the door as if you might be able to bore through the thick wood with nothing but your eyes. And, almost as if she can feel you staring, you hear your mother’s cold, tinkling laughter.

“Hurry now… I had your favorite dress put out for you. It should still fit — and we don’t want to keep them… waiting.”

The slow, sanguine pause before her last word makes you want to rip out your hair and scream into the wind till your voice gives out.

Instead, you push yourself up and reach for the dress laid out at the foot of your bed with shaking fingers.

The dress fits you like a second skin, the delicate lace trim barely sweeping the floor as you adjust the bodice, grimacing at your reflection in the large, floor-length mirror. It is as if the last ten months had never happened, as if you’d never escaped this terrifying hellscape of a winter wonderland. As if you’d simply dreamed every single sun-filled afternoon, every star-strewn night spent laughing and singing amongst your new-found crew.

Here, in the fragile glass reflection, you are once again a girl trapped behind her own ribcage, with a destiny carved into stone and ice, with no hope of summer in sight. You take a long breath and tighten the ribbons of your dress.

You are still and silent as the maid slips in through the door after a single knock and begins to twist up your hair. Tighter and tighter, till it sets your teeth on edge. When she pins the crown in place, it takes everything inside you not to fall apart, to shatter at the weight, the sight of it sitting on your head. You swallow as the maid dips her head and backs out of the room with a murmured dinner is served, Princess.

For the first time, you wince openly at her words.

10. waiting for the rain

The hall is just how you remembered it, huge and cavernous, gaping like the empty maw of some petrified monster, the ceiling hanging with so many cold, sparkling chandeliers, ice-carved statues jutting up from the floors like teeth.

You’re marched in like a show animal, the great marble doors swinging open before you as you step forward and feel your breath freeze in your chest.

There, strung up on a massive statue of some long-forgotten saint, is Zoro, cuts and bruises marring his already scarred and puckered torso. But he smirks as he sees you come in, his eyes bright as he spits a mouthful of blood onto the seemingly endless white floors. Around him, the rest of your crew sits, tied and slumped over in chairs like so many sleeping mannequins.

“Hey there, Princess. Just in time for dinner.”

You nearly wince at the raspiness in his voice, the faint trickle of blood that leaks out the corner of his mouth.

“Silence,” your father’s voice echoes out from the high-backed chair at the head of the ludicrously long table. You don’t have to see to know his face is as smooth as just-applied plaster. But Zoro only has eyes for you — and he continues to talk as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“If you’d told us we’d be welcomed like this, we might’ve packed differently.”

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you almost taste the metallic tang of blood.

“Our daughter has always been a skillful liar — though it’s a habit we tried to… rid her of in her youth. The lesson never seemed to have stuck.” Your mother this time. And now, you can see the muscle ticking in Zoro’s jaw as he scoffs.

“Really? And here I always thought she was shit at lying.”

You swallow down a whimper as the maid wordlessly leads you to the far end of the table, where Zoro is still tied. You drop into the seat between a snoring Luffy and an eerily still Nami, and it’s all you can do not to turn around and retch onto the silk embroidered rug.

“Be that as it may…” your mother’s voice drops a few degrees — an admirable feat, as her voice is usually just on the other side of frigid, “it’s bad luck to kill on the eve of a royal wedding.”

At this, Zoro’s head snaps around and you shrink back in your chair, your eyes fixed on your fists, clenched in your lap.

“Mother,” you grind out, finally forcing your head up so as to meet her piercing, blizzard-bright gaze, “I’ve told you, I’ve no intention of getting married. At least not to the mongrel you’ve decided to set me up with.”

You spit out the last sentence, trying to remember all the snark, all the confidence that’d built up inside you over the past weeks and months. Away from this dreaded castle and on the sun-soaked bow of the Going Merry, it was the first time you’d begun to discover who you are — the things you liked, the ways of life that you yearned for.

Your father slams a hand on the table at the same moment that Zoro lets out a bark of laughter.

“Insolence!”

“Damn, Princess — you never told me you could bite.”

And, to your horror and perhaps deep-seated pleasure, a blush works its way into your cheeks at Zoro’s words. Your eyes snap towards him, catching his gaze as he smirks at you. And even though his shirt is slashed, his sword hilts hanging woefully empty at this hip, his hands twisted painfully behind him on the statue, he still manages an easy, condescending air.

You seize at this tiny tendril of normalcy as you force a wane smile.

“I might be persuaded to do more than that… if you ask nicely.”

Zoro’s snicker is drowned out by your mother’s sharp gasp. But you don’t look away, holding Zoro’s gaze for as long as you dare — in it, you find an entire abyss of barely concealed rage (and is that… amusement?), his entire body straining against the shackles that hold him. Then, his eyes slip from you to a point just over your shoulder.

It’s then that you realize: Luffy’s not snoring anymore.

11. to reap and to sow

You’re never quite certain of how the Merry’s crew seems to always just wriggle out of frankly gruesome and untimely deaths, but here you are, racing for the docks like your lives depended on it. Because, well, it kind of does.

“Remind me —” you shout between pants, one hand clutched firmly in Zoro’s, the other doing its best to lift the ridiculous dinner dress they’d put you in — a confection of lace and tulle, the bodice laced with pale pink satin ribbon, “how the hell did you guys manage to trick my parents into thinking you’d eaten the spiked food?”

Sanji flashes you a toothy grin, “Ah love… you know how it is — ask us no questions, and we’ll tell you no lies!”

Luffy, however, whoops as he launches himself from a pair of solid brick buildings, catapulting himself over your sprinting crew.

“We just — pretended to eat! I mean — I did kinda actually eat a bit — but — it wasn’t that bad!”

You resist the urge to pinch your nose bridge at the nonchalance with which Luffy is talking about consuming poisoned food, but you’ve only got two hands and both are equally occupied at the moment. You settle for an exasperated sigh.

“That was — really stupid! — What if — they’d — poisoned the food — with something — other than — sleeping medicine?!” you ask, forcing air into your lungs as finally, you all round the bend onto the bustling pier, the Going Merry’s unmistakable shape silhouetted against the misty horizon.

“We can talk when — we’re all back — on the ship!” Nami calls as she sprints passed you, reaching out a hand for Luffy, who’s elongated arm grabs her and slings her onto the deck of the ship. You barely have a second to breathe before Zoro’s arm loops around your waist and you’re being pulled tight into his side.

His breath is hot against your collarbone as he smirks, “Hold on tight, Princess.”

It’s all you can do to listen as you’re suddenly whipped through the air like a doll on a drunken marionette’s string. A bright peal of Luffy-tinted laughter later, you thud onto the deck of the Going Merry, the breath knocked clean from your lungs as the world spins and spins. You’d expected to hit solid wood, or maybe even the railing or the mast but —

Zoro groans beneath you, and it takes you a long second to realize that he’d cushioned your fall, your bodies pressed chest to chest, hip to hip, your arms still wrapped around his shoulders, his still steady around your waist.

“O-oh! Sorry —” you try to pull away but Zoro’s grip on you only tightens.

You freeze as he blinks up at you, eyes slightly narrowed.

“Crown’s crooked,” Zoro finally says, that tell-tale smirk twisting the edge of his lips as his gaze flickers upwards. Your hand jumps to the crown, somehow still clipped into your now disheveled hair, lopping to one side as the braids start to come loose. You purse your lips.

“I never liked it anyway…” You make to tug it out but Zoro reaches up to right it, though he lets his hand linger as he falls along the side of your face.

“Nah, looks good on you.” His voice is so low, and suddenly, air is such a language that you’re certain you’d forgotten how to speak. Slowly, he pushes up till you’re both sitting, you still pressed against him and him still pressed against you. Distantly, you can hear shouting, Usopp’s voice raised high over the wind as the Merry careens out of port and towards the open sea.

But strangely, no one makes to pull you away from him, or him from you.

“I should’ve told you guys…” you say, eyes casting down as you rest your palms against his chest. Beneath it, you can feel his heart — pounding, pounding, pounding. There’s a light sheen of sweat glimmering on his honeyed skin as you swallow, looking back up even as he chuckles.

“Sure, but we should’ve asked.”

You bite your lips, “I think you did.”

Zoro grins, shrugging as he helps you up, somehow managing to keep his arm slipped around your waist.

“Well. Should’ve asked better, then.”

12. lost stars

It takes you a while to tell them the story — the real story, the whole story. And there’s drinking involved, but it’s mostly just you clutching at your half-filled glass, Zoro’s knee pressed comfortingly against yours, even though his eyes are closed, his head leaned back, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

You tell them about the dark underbelly of royalty that everyone knows but no one wants to talk about — the blood and teeth beneath the silk and silver. You tell them about being raised a bargaining chip, of being sold and promised like a prized heifer on auction day.

You tell them about the moonless nights when the only thing you had to keep you company was the cold, about the “lessons” your mother would teach you, about how the maids would be instructed to hide the bruises just so, about the Prince who you were set to marry and the rumors that plagued his castle —

“They say that he’d take the prettiest girls from the surrounding town as his maids and that none of them ever walked out of his castle again,” you say. The moonshine burns on its way down your throat as you finish your drink.

Wordlessly, Zoro reaches over to pluck the glass from your hand and set it on the table. It’s only then that you realize your fingers are white and trembling.

“Did he hurt you?”

Zoro’s voice is not loud, but everyone turns to look at him. You shake your head, clasping your hands in your lap.

“No. I only ever… met him once, at a dinner party. It was after that that I… ran away.”

Zoro hums, leaning back again, “Good.”

Across the room, Sanji blows out a series of smoke rings and frowns.

“Were you about to offer to hunt him down?” Robin asks, sounding amused.

Zoro shrugs, “Wouldn’t have offered — would’ve just done it.”

“He sounds like the kinda guy we should hunt down anyway, no?” Luffy asks, cocking his head as he looks back at you, “I mean, I’m glad he never hurt you but… he’s still hurting people!”

“Luffy’s got a point,” Sanji says, stubbing out his cigarette.

“For once, I agree with Sanji,” Nami says.

There’s a light squabble during which Sanji makes an aggrieved noise and Nami rolls her eyes, and then everyone is laughing and chatting and more drinks are being poured. Next to you, Zoro reaches out to wrap his arm around your waist again. It’s something he’s been doing more lately, and you can’t honestly say that you mind it much at all.

“We don’t have to,” he says, leaning forward, almost as if to brush his lips by your ear, “if… if you don’t want to.”

You shiver at the base rumble of his voice, at the way his eyes are so warm and full of some uncertain promise.

“No, I… I do want to. It’s just…”

Zoro’s fingers trace small, absent-minded circles into the skin of your waist and you fight down another shiver.

“I don’t plan on letting you get kidnapped again, Princess.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Zoro’s, and there’s a faint smile kissing the line of his lips. And suddenly, the lightness of his touch doesn’t feel so thoughtless as heat curls out from the place where his palm meets your skin, radiating out till you’re breathless with it.

“Oh?”

“Never liked people trying to take what’s mine.”

And the dark possessiveness with which he says mine leaves little room for interpretation, even as you lick your lips and try to think of something witty to say.

“I don’t remember agreeing to be yours.”

It’s the best you can come up with; Zoro’s only response is a soft, contemplative grunt.

“What’s that saying? ‘Actions speak louder than words’?” he flashes you a satisfied grin as you narrow your eyes at him, swatting at his chest as he laughs.

“I meant it though,” he says, a moment later, as the rest of the crew all chatter around you, “about calling it off if you don’t want to. But…” he reaches up a free hand to tug a strand of your hair free from the ponytail it’s tied up in.

“Figured you might sleep better at night knowing he’s gone.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding, your whole body softening as you lean into him, pressing your palms to his chest as he looks at you.

“Yeah… I think I might. And… like you said… it’s not like I’m gonna get kidnapped again.”

You smile, letting your eyes flicker down to Zoro’s lips. His smile is pleased and just a little jagged as he tugs you up by the hand and the pair of you slip from the room.

Above deck, the sun is setting, and the warm, slanted light casts the entire ship in a glaze of gold that looks almost gilded. You lean against the railings, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the sun seep into your skin, chasing away the chill that’d been lingering at your fingertips since you’d all made your spectacular escape from your home island.

You feel rather than hear Zoro join you. You take your time breathing in the salty tang of the humid sea air before opening your eyes and slating him a side-long look.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For coming after me.”

Zoro scoffs, turning away from the roiling waves to lean back against the railings, his head cocked as he looks you over.

“Like I said… I don’t like it when people try to take what’s mine.”

But this time, you laugh, nodding, “So you’ve said. But still… thanks.”

“Hn.”

Zoro closes his eyes, seemingly enjoying the last vestiges of the setting sun as it sinks ever-lower along the horizon. Then, he opens one eye to peer at you.

“Though I’ve been meaning to ask —”

“Hm?”

“What’s this about doing more than biting… if asked about it nicely enough?”

You try to duck your head but Zoro catches your chin in his fingers.

“I — I just… knew it would piss off my mother if she —”

“Mm, sounded like more than that to me.”

Your breath hitches as Zoro’s thumb traces a rough line along your bottom lip.

“How about… I show you?” and the offer is barely out of your mouth before Zoro is kissing you, his mouth seeking out yours with a soft groan that betrays all the lightness in his touch as he trails his free hand down your arm to pull hard at your waist.

And it’s not the first time you’ve kissed. It’s not even the first time a kiss with Zoro has become more than just a kiss, though you’d always been careful before to make sure that he knew (though thinking back, it might’ve just been an ill-fated attempt at lying to yourself) that the pleasure shared between bodies was just that — pleasure and bodies.

But this — this kiss becomes, and becomes.

It becomes breath and heartbeats, pleasure and heat. It becomes truth and promises and the tantalizing taste of fairy-tale endings.

“Z-Zoro…”

“Yes Princess?”

You hiss as his teeth grazes along your pulse point and your fingers fist in his hair.

“Y’know…” your voice comes out as nothing more than a soft pant as Zoro tugs you over to one of the reclining chairs beneath the orange trees and pulls you over his hips, “I’ve never liked being called that but…”

“But?” his thumbs inch beneath the material of your shirt, circling your hipbones as he smirks up at you.

“I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Zoro’s grin goes wide and wolfish. Above him, the first stars spark into being as the sun finally sinks beyond the far horizon. For a second, his smile softens as he reaches up to toy with the end of the pale pink ribbon in your hair. Then, he gives it a single, solid tug, and your hair falls open around your shoulders, tumbling down in waves.

Zoro leans up to press a light kiss to the blood-stained satin before letting it flutter off in the wind, twisting into the rapidly darkening night.

“Good… cause I ain’t about to let anyone else call you that either.”

2K notes · View notes

dambaepuff · 11 days

Note

hey hi, could i make a request? Im happy to see another good author starting :) u also seem very nice. could i request a yoongi x preferably fem!reader? if you want you can make it a genderneutral fic. my idea was a scenario were one of them is jealous, i thought of it being her jealous of him, over something stupid, but not in a toxic way like yk just pure jealusy mixed with insecurities. And they have a little petty argument and like it ends with smut i mean they make up to eachother that way :P like smut mixed with fluff at its purest. also, i am really curious to see how u write yoongi, i see many authors making him cold and tough but i believe that he is a very caring softie haha, by the morning wood headcanons, i think you got him very well ;) thank u in advance

REGRETS (m)

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x FEM!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, smut, one shot, request, established relationship

Warnings: jealousy, insecurities, a petty argument, depictions of sex, crying, emotional, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, bodily fluids, penetration (vaginal), a bit of praise, light biting, squirting

Word count: 5k

Summary: uhhh idk dude just read the request that’s pretty much it

A/N: UGH I LOVE THIS IDEA!! I don’t have much experience with writing angst so this was a really nice exercise. Thank you sooo so much for all the kind words, it’s what keeps me writing. I’m also a sucker for soft Yoongi so this is right up my alley. (Also this is not proofread so lmk if there’s any mistakes or anything)

Thursday night, it’s quiet outside. You’re trying to watch a movie with Yoongi. Key word trying. His hand has been gently rubbing your thigh for a few minutes now, whenever he tries sliding it up to tease you, you grab it and put it back onto his lap. He’s clearly trying to get you heated, but it’s having quite the opposite effect. Lately you’ve felt quite out of it, your lack of confidence causing you to avoid intimacy. With Yoongi being the gentleman he is, he always accepts it when he realizes you’re not in the mood and he moves on. However, you’re starting to doubt his ability to keep going like this. What if he realizes you aren’t satisfactory to him anymore? He could easily find someone else who would be all over him in seconds.

Replaceable. That’s how you’ve been feeling lately. He could have anyone he wants, so why you? “Are you not feeling it tonight?” Yoongi’s voice startles you out of your thoughts. “Huh? Oh. No I’m sorry.” You respond, your voice growing quieter with the end of the sentence. “That’s okay, c’mere.” He mumbles before pulling you into his chest, his hand soothing down your back.

‘Will he stay with me if I keep pushing him away like this?’ Is what you keep asking yourself. On one hand you’re afraid he’ll stop loving you if you stop showing him affection. And on the other hand, you’ve been so self conscious lately about your body and if you’re doing things right you don’t know if it’s worse to ruin the relationship by pushing him away or by not being good enough. ‘Do I even deserve to be with him at this point?’

Friday, 4:37PM. You got off work early today so you decided to stop by Yoongi’s studio. He’s still working so you’re lounging around on one of the couches inside of the room. The two of you had made plans to get dinner together when he finishes up for the day which you’re really looking forward to.

A short blurry figure appears at the studio door, they raise their hand up and place three quiet knocks onto the glass. Yoongi gets up with a huff and opens the door. In front of him stands a familiar woman, you can’t quite remember her name, but you’ve seen her around the company building before.

“Here’s your coffee Suga!” She says in a cheery tone. Her eyes land on you and her smile falls a bit. “Oh, I didn’t know you would be here. Sorry I didn’t get you anything.” She apologizes with a light bow of her head. You dismiss her with a wave of your hand before going back to fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. She turns her attention back to Yoongi who is setting his drink down onto his desk. “Hey Suga, a few of us are going to that barbecue place down the street for dinner and drinks tonight. Do you guys wanna come with?” She asks with a tilt of her head, her long black hair swaying with the movement.

“Uhh, yeah?” He looks at you quickly for confirmation to which you nod your head lightly. “Yeah. Sure we’ll come.”

Yoongi continues chatting with the girl. She casually leans against the door frame, the conversation between them flowing oh so easily. ‘It took me ages to be able to talk to him that smoothly. Why couldn’t I be like her?’ You think to yourself, trying your best to not let your irritation show.

He bids her farewell and sits back down at his desk. For the remaining time you spend in his studio all you can look at is him. Your gaze burns holes into his side profile, tracing each curve of his features over and over again. Why would a man whose heart only knows kindness, whose eyes and soul are so understanding of everything be with you? Your being is rotten with unforgiving bitterness, you seethe at every imperfection like a nun enraged by sin. Why would he want you?

He’s like a wild flower. He needs to be pollinated by the love and kindness of a bee to bloom, yet he stays with you, a caterpillar feeding off of him, biting off his flesh for your gain. Eating away at him and leaving nothing. Maybe you aren’t even a caterpillar. They can eventually turn into a beautiful creature with wings of eyeful colors, yet you can’t become anything more than what you are. You’re stuck in a vicious cycle, devouring every resource without paying any mind to the fact there will be nothing left when you’re done. What does he get for loving you if you can’t be of use? You can’t make him bloom.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” You snap out of your thoughts, the reality around you giving you whiplash. Yoongi is kneeling in front of you, holding your jacket out. “Let’s go, we’ll be late.” You try to take it from his hands, but instead of giving it to you he holds it up so you can slip your arms inside. Once it’s on you he turns you around and zips it up for you. “Okay, let’s go.”

As you’re walking down the long hallways towards the elevators, Yoongi notices something odd. You usually grab onto his hand the moment you start walking somewhere together, but your hand is tucked away in your pocket now. He gently pulls it out and intertwines your fingers together. You can’t bring yourself to grip onto him like usual, instead you limply keep your hand at your side, letting him hold it. He’s a bit confused by this, but nevertheless he keeps holding you, his grasp only growing tighter in an effort to reassure you.

Yang Sunhee. Her name popped up in your head the moment she sat down across from you and Yoongi at the long wooden table. She’s been leading the conversation at your part of the table for a while now, mostly talking to Yoongi. To her credit she has tried to include you into the conversation a few times, but you didn’t really give her much to work with so she gave up.

You’ve been pushing your food around your plate for a while now. It’s mostly pieces of meat Yoongi placed down onto it for you, your favorite in fact. You just can’t get yourself to even place anything into your mouth, anxiety squeezing your throat so tightly you can barely even swallow your own saliva.

Sunhee is laughing at something, her eyes bright and her large smile hidden away behind a polite hand. Yoongi is laughing too, maybe not as hard as her, but he’s still laughing. ‘Why am I not the one making him laugh right now? Am I not funny anymore?’

As you’re glaring down at your food you feel a warm hand make contact with your shoulder. “You wanna go home?” Yoongi asks quietly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Yes please.” You breathe out, barely audible. On the drive home Yoongi tries asking what’s wrong multiple times, but all he gets in response is a simple “I just don’t feel too well.”

It’s been a few days now since you had dinner with Yoongi’s coworkers. He realized something was wrong so he’s been giving you some space. To be quite honest you aren’t sure if the space is helping or making it worse. After spending the whole day quietly sobbing to yourself in bed you decide to see what he’s up to. You find him sitting in the living room watching some sort of documentary and looking like he’s about to fall asleep. One of his cheeks is squished against a pillow and his hair is going on all the wrong directions. He looks adorable, your heart almost breaks in two knowing this is who you’ve been pushing away lately.

Taking a seat next to him, he lifts up his blanket so you can use it too. Just as you’re getting sleepy as well his phone pings on the coffee table. Instinctively you reach down for it so you can hand it to him, but when you see the contact name annoyance squeezes at your chest.

Yang Sunhee

Sent a message

“Why is she texting you?” The question slips from your mouth before you can even think it through. “I don’t know, let me see.” He responds while extending his hand out for the phone. You peer over at the screen, shamelessly trying to see what she sent. “Ah it’s just the schedule for next week.” He says and likes the message before setting his phone back down. Now you feel a bit guilty. Why were you questioning the intentions of this woman? She’s his employee after all.

Yoongi’s large hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb gently gliding over your cheekbone. “I know that look, what’s wrong baby?” He asks, his dark eyes skimming your face in search for answers. “It’s nothing.” You respond a bit too quickly, your tone stiff. The corner of Yoongi’s lip quirks up. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

Your eyes shoot open, “N-no!” you sputter out a weak defense. His hand slides down to your chin, the grip tightening a bit. His smirk spreads into a smile which angers you. He thinks this is funny?

“Don’t fucking touch me right now.” You say in a way harsher manner than you intended, tearing his hand away from your face. A flash of hurt runs over Yoongi’s face, his smile instantly falling. “Don’t look at me like that! I just- I need a moment right now.” You say in an apologetic tone. “You need a moment? I’ve been giving you a moment for days now. What about me? I keep trying so hard and you don’t show an ounce of being grateful. What’s your problem?” His tone gets louder as he talks, anger evident in his facial expressions.

“Problem? Oh it’s a problem now that I can’t always feel one hundred percent happy? Go sleep with some happy drugged out whore then if that’s what you want!” Without realizing it your tone has risen to a yell, you’re standing now, no longer in the comfort of warm blankets on the couch. “Don’t yell at me!” He yells back, tears beginning to brim his eyes.

“You’re yelling too asshole! Oh you’re gonna cry? Go cry to Sunhee, maybe she can suck your dick to make it better if you can’t go a week without me sucking it!” The moment you finish the last sentence a silence falls over the apartment. Yoongi stares at you wide eyed, unable to form a single sentence.

He looks like a kicked puppy, his eyes watery and his hands trembling. Realizing you went to far the only thing that pops up in your head is leaving the apartment for a bit. You speed walk to the front door, tugging your shoes on quickly and pulling a random jacket on. “Hey, hey! Where are you going?” Yoongi follows you once he realizes what you’re doing. Unable to look at his face you grab your keys and walk out, slamming the door behind you.

Not knowing where to go you walk to the nearest park. Taking a seat on one of the benches you stare up at the moon. “Why did I say that?” You mumble to yourself, tears stinging at your eyes. Your throat contracts, guilt choking you. There’s no holding back now, you let your sobs loose, tears running down your face uncontrollably.

“(Y/N)? Is that you?” A soft voice calls out to your right. Your head shoots up, trying to find the source of the sound. There stands Sunhee, she seems to be in her pajamas with a puffer jacket thrown on top. Her hair is a mess and she’s holding a leash. A little white dog sniffs around near her legs, you assume it’s her’s.

“What’s wrong?” She asks as she sits down next to you. “Ah don’t worry about it.” You mumble, sniffling lightly. “You’re so pretty (Y/N), I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look good while they cry before.” Sunhee says with a genuine smile. “I- uh what?” You tilt your head to the side in confusion. “If I didn’t have a girlfriend I’d be jealous of Suga for having a girlfriend as pretty as you.” She giggles lightly.

“WHAT?” The question comes out harsher than you intend, the whole situation confusing you. “Listen, if you ever leave Suga just give me a call.” She says with a playful wink. You laugh in disbelief, your tears completely gone now. “You’re funny Sunhee.” You say, still sniffling lightly. “I’m not joking, but thank you.” She giggles along with you.

“Now why are you outside so late?” She asks while pulling her dog up into her lap. “I had a fight with Yoongi, I didn’t really know where else to go. I’m kind of scared to face him right now.” You answer truthfully. “Girl, have you seen how he looks at you? That man is a goner, I’m sure whatever you argued about isn’t that bad. You should go home and apologize, you can talk it through.” She says while giving you an encouraging smile. “You think so?” You ask quietly. “I know so.”

Even with Sunhee’s encouragement you’re still unsure. Guilt wracks through your whole body, pressing down on your insides and making you nauseous. You try to be as quiet as possible when you enter the apartment, but the sound of the heavy front door closing and jingling of keys betrays you. Just as you’re taking your shoes off you hear shuffling down the hallway. Yoongi’s dark figure emerges, you’re ready to hear something nasty from him, but instead you’re met with two warm arms wrapped around you.

“Thank god you’re safe.” He mumbles before kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry Yoongi, I’m so sorry baby. Please don’t leave me. I didn’t-“ you’re cut off by a hiccup, your tears returning. “I didn’t mean to say any of that. Please, please don’t leave me I’ll never do that again…” You sob into his chest. “Shhhhh, I know you didn’t mean it, I should’ve done some things differently too.” His hand softly pets your head.

“I’ve been trying to figure out why you’ve been acting so weird lately and I think I get it now. You look at her like she killed your dog. You know she’s a lesbian right?” You can’t help but laugh a bit at that. “Yeah I kind of found that out just now.” You mumble, your fingers tangling into the material of his shirt. “Why don’t you like her?” You can feel him softly smile against your hair as he asks the question.

“I don’t know I just-“ You try to form the right words, but they won’t come. “Ugh! She’s just so pretty and she’s really open, it feels like she’s perfect and has everything you could need and I’m just sort of me? I don’t know, it’s stupid. I’m just projecting.” Yoongi listens intently to everything you say while he takes your jacket off. “Lately I’ve felt like the shell of who I was when you met me, you know? I’m just sort of bleh- and every other woman around me seems to have her shit togehter.” A tear runs down your cheek and Yoongi chases it away with his thumb.

“It’s why I’ve been avoiding having sex lately. I just feel gross and ugly while you… you look like you were sculpted by the ancient Greeks. You need a Hera to your Zeus. I’m like a satyr or something!” You let out a bitter laugh, trying to mask your feelings. “Hmm I think we’re more like Orpheus and Eurydice. Except I don’t want to lose you the way he lost her. They were such perfect lovers, yet there was something tragic about them. What’s love without tragedy?” He softly spoke, continuing to wipe your tears. You let out a genuine laugh and hit his chest lightly. “You idiot! You don’t get it.”

“I think I at least partially get it. I mean hell you make my knees weak whenever you look me in the eye woman, and we’ve been dating for years! I’d go to the pits of hell for you a million times more than Orpheus if it meant having a bit more time to spend with you. There’s no other person that could fulfill your role in my life as well as you do. I love you for you, you’re my muse. My light.” He places a ginger peck onto your forehead.

Love and desire suddenly flood through you, grabbing the collar of his shirt you pull him into a rough kiss. A few more tears make their way past your eyelids, but these ones of relief and joy rather than sadness and frustration. Yoongi gladly accepts your advances, kissing you back firmly. He barely wastes any time trying to get his tongue intertwined with yours. Your interwoven muscles becoming a metaphor for your souls combining together, the act of physical intimacy projecting your consciousness into one being, content and whole.

One of your hands shoot up to grip his hair a bit tighter than necessary which makes him release a deep moan. He pants against your lips, trying to catch his breath, but unable to fully separate your bodies. As he had endured yearning for you such a torturous amount, how could he let you go now?

He presses you flat against the door, holding you down chest to chest. His cold hands slide up your shirt, the contrast of temperature making you shiver. Caressing the skin of your stomach so lightly it tickles, he snakes one of his hands behind your back, swiftly unclipping your bralette in one movement. You let it drop to the floor, the only thing on your mind right now being the feeling of his body on yours. With his hands lightly ghosting over your breasts now, you shudder each time one of his fingers brushed against your nipples. Slowly he pulls your shirt off, the cold night air bites at your skin making your nipples harden. Instinctively your arms shoot up to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you. He firmly grips your wrists and pins them down above your head.

Now fully exposed to him, he looks you in the eyes before licking a fat stripe from the area between your breasts to your neck. Lightly blowing onto the wet part of your skin, you take in a deep breath from the sensation. He begins to trail kisses down to your chest, letting go of your hands so he can bring you as close to him as possible. You tug at his hair softly as he mouthes at ode of your breasts, his tongue lightly teasing the soft bud. He groans softly before kissing down lower so he can get onto his knees.

He kneels before you know, unashamed of the submissive position he’s in. His teeth occasionally graze your stomach between sloppy open mouthed kisses. Looking up at you through his lashes, Yoongi starts undoing your pants. He pushes them down as if they’re getting in the way and moves his kisses down to your thighs. His uncalculated mouth moves dangerously close to your clothed cunt. Hovering over it he purposefully breathes through his mouth so you can feel his warm breath on your skin. You gasp when he suddenly pressed his nose against your pussy and inhales deeply. You can peel the tips of your ears heating up from embarrassment, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“Ugh, fuck how I missed this part of you.” He groans as he kisses over the thin fabric. Finding your clit almost immediately he starts to roll his tongue against it through your panties. Your arousal and his saliva mix together in the material causing an uncomfortable need for real contact.

“Yoongi, take it off already…” you whisper to him, brushing his bangs out of his face. Looking up at you with a cheeky smirk he grabs onto the hem of your underwear with his teeth, making sure to lightly graze your sensitive skin with them as he pulls down. Your panties don’t even have the chance to reach the floor and his mouth is already on you again. He runs his tongue through your folds, making you instinctively angle your hips to give him more access. Heedlessly circling your clit with his tongue, he occasionally sucks on it or flicks it. You’re unsure if his mouth is glistening from his own saliva or from your wetness, but the sloppy noises he’s making are causing you to involuntarily buck your hips into his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful like this, my sweet girl.” He mumbles as he pulls away, nuzzling his head into your thigh. Replacing his tongue with his fingers, you let out a quiet moan when he slips them inside of you. “I love having you like this, only for me to see. You know I’d never do this for anyone else, right?” He emphasizes the question by pressing his fingers down against your sweet spot. ”Shit, Yoongi. I love you so much, no one makes me cum like you do.” Your response comes out in a dragged out whine.

Satisfied with your reply his mouth returns to your clit while his fingers work you open. The combination of sensations makes an orgasm built up in your abdomen fast. “Yoon- Yoongi, I’m gonna ah- I’m gonna cum!” You moan out, trying to warn him. This only encourages him to go faster as an orgasm ripples through you in harsh waves, your head falling back against the door as your eyes roll into the back of your head. You spasm slightly as he continues to work your cunt, trying to pull him away so he doesn’t overstimulate you.

He licks off your juices from his fingers, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As soon as he’s back on his feet you go in for a kiss, leaning on him for support while still coming down from your high. He refuses to let your lips part as he leads you to the bedroom, his shirt and pants getting lost along the way.

“Lay down baby.” He mumbled against your lips as he led you to the bed. Kneeling down between your legs he made sure you were comfortable on your pillow. No matter how basic, missionary was always the best when you needed to express your love sexually. Parting your lips he pulls you down a little so your thighs are pressed together. He grabs his erect cock out of his underwear, not even bothering to get rid of the boxers. Pumping it a few times he gives you a dopey look, a lazy smirk spreading on his face.

“You ready?” He rasps out, rubbing the tip of his cock against your swollen clit, mixing his precum together with the aftermath of your previous orgasm. “A little too ready.” You replied, running a hand through your hair. “Mmm I can tell.” He teases while spreading the natural lubricant over his cock. Slowly he pressed the tip in, “Fuck, it’s going in so easily, o barely had to prep you. You really want it, don’t you?” his brows crease together in pleasure as he slowly bottoms out. “Yes, fuck Yoongi I want your cock so bad.” Your hand shoots up to grab onto his shoulder, biting your lip at the fullness.

“Please, (Y/N). Can I move?” He murmured, holding onto your hips tightly. “Yes, fuck me Yoongi.” You replied, grabbing his face to place a wet kiss onto his lips. He let out a low moan as he started thrusting into you, the warmth and wetness of your cunt feeling better each time he fucked it. You lightly squeezed your walls on purpose knowing it drives him crazy. “Oh my- ah shit I won’t last long at all if you do that.” He said breathily, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. You hooked one of your legs onto his hips, pulling him forward so he’s pressed into your cunt as deeply as possible. The both of you groaned at that, as soon as you let go he started thrusting into you with a quicker pace. His movements rapidly increased with each slap of skin that echoed throughout the space, his head thrown back. That look on his face means he’s absolutely lost in please and that makes you proud. He molds so perfectly inside you it makes all of your doubts melt away, it’s like he was made for you.

Matching the pace of his thrust to his fingers flicking your clit, Yoongi can swear he can feel you pulsating around him. “Ah, fuck (Y/N) I think I’m gonna cum already. Shit I’m sorry it just feels too good.” He groans, the already pink tips of his ears darkening. “It’s okay, go ahead baby, cum inside me.” You breathily respond, continuing to moan with each of his thrusts. He speeds up before abruptly stopping, the feeling of his warm seed filling you up making you clench around his cock. “Wait, shit, shit run my pussy please I’m so close too.” His fingers immediately speed up on your clit, furiously flicking it as your abdomen tightens again. As the hot white pleasure rips through your whole body, making your muscles spasm you hear a wet noise. Looking down the moment you can open your eyes you see Yoongi’s lower stomach covered in a clear liquid.

“Did you just make me squirt?” You laugh in disbelief. “That’s a first.” He mumbles before pulling his cock out, various liquids gliding down your ass. “I’ll go get a towel. He quickly gets up, trying his best not to make any of his surroundings wet.

As the two of you are laying in bed, your warm baked bodies pressed together, you feel Yoongi’s chest vibrate as he speaks up. “From now on, you always have to tell me when something’s bothering you, okay?” He softly says, stroking your hair. “Okay.” You whisper back. “Promise?” He questions while raising his pinky finger up, you lock yours with his, pressing your thumbs together. “Promise.”

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts x fem!reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts x you #bts smut #bts angst #suga x reader #suga x y/n #suga x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #bts x y/n #bts x female reader

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mrsbarnesblog · 8 months

Text

I trust you

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Summary: when Bucky comes back from a mission with a knife wound there is only one person who can convince him to get help.

Words count: 3.5k

Warnings: angst and fluff, injury, wounds, low self-esteem, bucky has trust issues and needs a hug, touch starved bucky,

Author’s note: ugh just let me hold my baby and kiss his cute sad face omggg... anyways, idk why I rarely write angsty things, I really wanna do something new, so if you have any ideas let me know! 💘

It was almost eight o'clock in the evening when FRIDAY reported that the guys' quinjet should arrive at the compound within an hour.

Steve, Sam, and Bucky went on another mission to destroy HYDRA almost two weeks ago. As usual, none of you could get any news from them because they couldn't risk giving away their whereabouts.

It was foolish to assume that you weren't worried about them. Especially for one person. Bucky.

You and the former Winter Soldier met about six months ago when Steve and Sam first brought him to the tower. Steve was really worried about his old best friend, so before bringing Bucky to the tower, he talked with the team and asked all of you to give Bucky space.

Of course, you knew who he was from the day Steve found out that Bucky was alive. You have seen hundreds of reports and photographs on TV and on the Internet about The Winter Soldier, a ruthless killer who was always invisible but too damn good at his missions. He is the man who was turned into a weapon against his will.

When Steve introduced him, the whole team just nodded and shared awkward smiles, and Bucky himself kept his eyes on the ground. The whole situation was too intense, and no one, not even the funny and sarcastic Tony Stark, knew what to do or say. You actually thought that it might be rude to just stand there and look at him, as if he was a wild animal. Looking at this shy and uncomfortable-looking man before you, you knew that the smallest thing you could get him was to show that he was welcomed in this tower and that everyone was on his side. So, pushing away your own shyness and nerves, you stepped forward, holding out your right hand.

"Hi, my name is Y/N. It's nice to meet you. I hope you’ll feel comfortable around here." You offered your warmest and most sincere smile, trying not to show nervousness.

Bucky slowly raised his head, genuinely surprised that anyone else had actually spoken to him besides Steve. It's nice to meet you. When had he heard those words for the last time?

Your eyes met, and you could have sworn all the air was out of your lungs. His eyes were even more beautiful than in those rare, high-quality photographs. He looked truly beautiful, with long hair and blue eyes, even though you could see that he was tired—physically and even more emotionally. You stood for what seemed like an eternity, looking at each other's faces, until Bucky got a little nudge from Steve on the arm.

Only then did his gaze move to your still outstretched arm. He hesitated a bit, unsure if he wanted to be touched or feel someone’s warm skin. It’s been too long since another person wanted to touch him without causing any harm. Even Steve gave him minimal physical contact. Always through the gloves or thick jacket, and Bucky didn’t know the true reason for this—whether it was because Steve cared about his feelings or he just didn't want to do that. But then Bucky looked at you again, and he already knew that you would be his death.

You were so beautiful. Probably the most attractive person he has ever seen. It was still morning, and he assumed that you planned to have a day for yourself because you had no makeup, your hair was a little bit messy, and you looked really comfy in a big sweater and a pair of black leggings. Oh, and he definitely noticed your cute, fluffy pink socks. Your eyes were full of friendliness and comfort, so it made him want to trust you. Your lips curled into a warm smile, and he had no doubt that you wanted to make him feel comfortable on the team.

Bucky lifted the corners of his lips slightly, meeting your eyes again, and held out his right hand to you, still feeling awkward. Especially when the whole team around you watches your interaction too closely.

"Hi."

When the Quinjet landed on the territory, you couldn't calm your pounding heart. Natasha, who was standing a couple of steps away from you, of course, noticed your condition but didn’t say anything and just sent you a reassuring smile. She knew you'd calm down when Bucky was by your side.

Sam got out first. He looked tired, had a couple of scratches and bruises, but was generally fine.

"Sam! God, I'm glad you're okay." You said, running closer to him. "How is Bucky? And Steve? Are they okay?" Your worried eyes ran across his face, trying to find answers, but he only pursed his lips and lowered his eyes to the ground.

"Steve’s fine, and Bucky, um... I think you should see it yourself. And I think you need to have a serious talk with this idiot because he doesn't listen to us." Your brows furrowed, but before you could ask anything else, footsteps and stifled moans were heard behind Sam.

It felt like your heart stopped as soon as you saw him. Blood flowed from his temple and lip, and an already darkening bruise adorned his right cheekbone. Your eyes rushed down, trying to find all the damage, and then you saw it. Bucky kept his right hand on his left side. His entire palm was scarlet red as the blood passed through his thick suit and soaked through his fingers. Your mouth opened involuntarily, and your eyes instantly filled with tears.

Of course, this was not his first mission, but he always returned almost without any injuries or with something that quickly healed because of his supersoldier serum. It has never been so bad.

Before you knew it, you were already standing next to him. Tears flowed freely down your face, and you raised your hands up, wanting to touch him, but they froze in the air.

"Bucky…" You sobbed, looking straight into his eyes.

"Hello, doll" He smiled reassuringly at you, but you saw how he pressed his teeth together to ease the pain. He didn’t want to scare you.

"Bucky, God, wh-what happened? You need to go to the hospital wing. You’re losing a lot of blood!" You gently took his metal hand, but before you could lead him away, he removed it and moved away a little.

"It's all right, doll. Nothing that I can't handle on my own. Trust me, I’ve experienced worse."

"Buck, Y/N is right." You notice Steve for the first time because all your attention has been focused on Bucky since he appeared. "That punk cut you pretty deep; it needs to be stitched up."

"You know, I never go to the hospital wing." He purses his lips awkwardly, looking down.

Of course. Of course you knew it. Everyone in the tower knew that the Winter Soldier didn't like being touched or visiting doctors, and he had never asked for any kind of help. He always limited himself to a short handshake or a pat on the back from his best friend.

But you also knew that Bucky couldn't take off his clothes in front of anyone. Too many scars from bullets, knives, and other things that HYDRA used to torture him He confessed this to you one evening when you were sitting in the dark in the common room after his nightmare.

In those six months, you got close enough to him that he trusted you to sit with him in the stillness of the night and share his fears. But he still avoided touching and, of course, did not want to show his body to anyone. Even you. Especially to you.

You were one of the few good things in his life. Someone who genuinely wanted to spend time with him, who wasn’t afraid of him, and who was always kind and supportive. Bucky didn't want to lose you. And he knew that if you ever saw him with those ugly marks all over his body, you would run away without looking back. Because who would like it?

The hand that took hundreds of lives. The hand that was forever connected to his body left a big reminder that he was, in fact, just an experiment that went too well. He often looked at his shoulder in the mirror with anger and despair, wanting to get rid of this mixture of scars and torn skin. Obviously, when HYDRA put that prosthetic on him, they didn't care much about looks or pain, so they just hooked it on the way they did.

"Bucky, please listen to me." You sobbed, moving closer to him again. "I know you're afraid to go there, but please, you have to do it, otherwise, you'll lose too much blood or just get an infection." You hugged yourself with your hands as your body began to tremble with concern for the person in front of you. "It can leave a big scar." You whispered and saw that Bucky’s jaw clenched again. You didn’t want him to think that there was something wrong with having scars, but you knew that it was emotionally too hard for him to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, doll, but I can't," he pursed his lips, shaking his head, "you know I can't do it."

"Bucky…" you whispered as more tears started flooding your face. You were so focused on Bucky that you didn't even pay attention to your friends, who stood aside and pretended not to eavesdrop on your conversation.

"Don't cry because of me, doll, please, you don't have to cry." Bucky's voice lowered to a whisper as he worked up the courage to use his thumb to wipe a tear from your right cheek with a metal finger.

You took advantage of the opportunity, grabbing his metal wrist and pressing his hand closer against your cheek.

"Please, Bucky. Then let's go to your room. I can help you if you don't want to undress there.

"I don't think it's a good idea either, doll. You don't need to see it."

"James," you focused on his eyes, rubbing small circles with your thumb into his wrist, "it'll be alright, I promise. I'm not afraid of you. I won’t leave. I'll take care of you. Please do it for me."

You were hurt by his gaze. You've seen a thousand thoughts go through that head. Doubt, fear, uncertainty, and pain. He couldn't lose you. Couldn't lose what you had. Even if he wanted so much more, he was content just being around you. He couldn't lose you to a damn ugly piece of metal attached to him.

But you looked at him like your life depended on it. Tears were still running down your cheeks. You were hurt because of him. But you refused to give up and let his self-doubt win this fight. You continued to gently massage his metal wrist as you placed a light kiss on it. And he could no longer resist you.

"Fine."

"It's better if we do this in the bathroom," you said as you closed the door to Bucky's room behind you. You quickly walked past him, going into the bathroom and pulling out the first aid kit you knew was in the bottom drawer. You felt comfortable being a little bit bossy here, and Bucky didn’t mind it.

He quietly followed you, watching you with an unsure face. His blood was still soaking through his arm, but that didn't bother him as much as the fact that he'd have to undress in front of you and that at some point you would touch him.

Once all the necessary things were ready, you turned to face Bucky, already preparing to help him out. But as soon as your hands went up to help him unbuckle his suit, he staggered back, and you froze with your hands in the air. For a few seconds, you silently looked into each other's eyes, then you moved, trying to understand his reaction, and what you saw made your heart ache.

His brows were slightly furrowed, and the corners of his lips were turned down. His eyes always told you everything that he tried to hide, and right now they told you how scared and insecure Bucky actually was.

"I don't think I can do it." Bucky whispered softly, casting his eyes down in shame.

"Hey James, look at me," you said, taking his face in your hands. "I'm your friend, you know? I won't hurt you. I won’t judge you. I won't do anything against your will. But I need to help you because I can see how much pain you're in," you sighed, running your fingers over his cheekbones. "I know it's hard. And I know you're scared or shy, but I'm here for you. None of this scares me, and I'll be as gentle with you as I can, okay? You can tell me if it becomes too much, and I'll stop. I promise." You could see the tears forming in his eyes, and you couldn't help feeling the pain that this beautiful man in front of you had been without care and affection for so long.

Bucky nodded slightly, giving you permission to continue.

"I’ll clean up your wound on the ribs, and then we can take care of your face." You carefully removed your hands from his, now placing them on the clasps of his suit. You opened them one by one, and when you finally got to the last one, you helped Bucky carefully remove that piece of clothing. Next on the way was a stretchy long-sleeve shirt, and by glancing at the wound, you could see that all the tissue around it was completely covered in blood.

"So, now I'm going to carefully lift up the shirt so you can take it off and not bother your wound too much, okay?" you asked, running your eyes over Bucky's face to understand his emotions. He took a deep breath, as if preparing for the worst, but nodded anyway.

You started to slowly lift up his shirt, helping Bucky pull his hands out one by one, and then tossed that no longer needed rag into the bathtub.

"Oh god," you muttered softly, looking at the wound that seemed to be even bigger now.

Bucky thought that you said it about his appearance in general, so he lifted his head up to the ceiling to stop angry tears from falling.

Come on, Buck, we need to sew this up so it doesn't leave a scar. Do you think you can sit on the counter next to the sink?" You looked at Bucky, but you couldn't meet his eyes. You knew that he was at the edge, his body trembled a little bit, but he still listened to you and silently jumped up on the free space near the sink.

"Bucky," you said quietly, trying to be as gentle as you could. "I see you right now, and I’m not going anywhere, you hear me?" You put your hand back on his face, making him meet your eyes. Before you could think, you placed your right hand on his chest, causing his eyes to instantly widen in surprise. His skin was very warm and silky, even though there were a lot of scars from different conditions. You gently moved your hand, showing Bucky that you’re not afraid, that you’re not a threat, and that he can trust you. "You're doing well, it’s okay," you said as you started rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.

You backed off a little, finally picking up all the necessary things, and began to sanitize and then stitch up the wound. Every time you needed to put your hand on your skin, you felt Bucky instantly tense under your touch, but you tried to send him quiet words of encouragement and praise. Bucky was very quiet, not making a sound even when the needle pierced his skin. His face wasn’t in bad condition, and Super Soldier serum almost healed them, so you decided to only sanitize and clean his skin.

"Well, you did a great job, James. I'm proud of you." About twenty minutes later, you finally tied the bandage and began to put everything back in the drawer, but then felt a touch on your arm.

You looked back at Bucky, only to meet tear-filled eyes.

"No one has ever taken care of me in a long time, Y/N." You stepped closer to Bucky again, unconsciously placing your hands on his shoulders. "I feel ashamed of my body. Of that arm. I didn't want you to see those ugly scars. God, this is so pathetic—"

"Don't say that," you interrupted him. "That's not pathetic. I understand how you feel. That you have so many negative thoughts about yourself. But Bucky… God, I don't know how to properly say it." You paused for a moment, considering the words. "You're one of the most amazing people I know. And even if many people in the tower are scared or intimidated by you, for me, you are the sweetest, most caring, and most generous person. You remember every little thing I say, make me coffee and food when I'm too busy, pretend to like those shitty movies that I make you watch with me. I'm so sorry that so many bad things happened to such a good person that you feel unworthy of good things."

Suddenly, strong arms surrounded you, and you realized that Bucky was hugging you with arms wrapping around your waist. He nuzzled up to your neck, and you could feel light sobs. Gently, you entangled your fingers in his hair, massaging the scalp with calming movements.

"I don't deserve you, doll." Bucky pulled back a little, still keeping his hands on your waist. "I wish I could be normal for you. Be who I was back in the 40s. I would’ve asked you out and given you everything that you deserved. But that person is not here any more, and I'm not worthy of you."

He wanted to ask you out on a date? Your heart stopped as soon as the words left his mouth, and you stared at Bucky in surprise. "Bucky—"

"I know…fuck—I shouldn't have said that. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm sorry, doll. I didn't mean to mess anything up between us, I promise. I know you don't feel the same— it's okay, really. Just forget about—"

You didn't let Bucky finish by leaning forward and brushing your lips against his. His flesh automatically tangled in the hair at the back of your neck as the metal one tightened his grip on your waist. For the first few seconds, Bucky was in shock, not kissing you back, but just as you wanted to pull away, his lips began to move, taking over you immediately.

It was the best kiss you ever had. He was gentle yet so passionate. There were a lot of unsaid feelings that Bucky kept to himself for too long. All thoughts seemed to have left your head as the feeling of him filled your whole body.

When there was not enough air, you moved away from each other, touching your foreheads with your eyes closed.

"Fuck" was the first thing he said.

"Yeah," you laughed, finally meeting Bucky's eyes. He looked at you with such adoration that you felt butterflies in your stomach. You just noticed how much skin-to-skin contact you had. "Are you okay with that? Doesn't that make you uncomfortable?" You tilted your head as your hands squeezed his shoulders.

"That's... that's weird. I'm not used to that kind of contact," Bucky said, studying your face. "But I trust you, doll. You are the only person I trust completely." You felt him begin to gently run his hand along your back. "I'd like to ask you out on a date. I mean, if you want to. If not, I totally understand—"

You interrupted him again, leaving a quick kiss on his lips. "I'd like to go on a date with you, James. You know, you’re so cute when you’re shy?"

You've never seen his face so lit up with happiness, with a little bit of pink on his cheeks. Butterflies began to beat in your stomach again, and you realized that it was you who made him feel that way.

"Do you want to go to bed, put on some shitty comedy, and grab some food? I still have to watch over your injury."

"Sounds like a perfect plan, doll." Bucky kissed you on the forehead, interlacing his fingers with you, and led you to his room.

Even if it still required a lot of work, cuddling with Bucky, you knew it was the best place you could be.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n

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sunlightmurdock · 1 month

Text

hands to yourself | dilf bradley bradshaw x nanny!reader (18+)

surprised with an afternoon to himself, bradley takes advantage of the alone-time, thinking about the woman he can’t have.

warnings: shameless pwp, bradley is down bad for his nanny and hasn’t touched himself — or anyone — in a long ass time. masturbation, pining, swearing, fantasising about oral and such. voyeurism, kinda, he gets walked in on. I may write a part two for this but idk yet. I just needed to write a lil smth about him touching himself. Wc: 3k

this is the lingerie set I was thinking of but imagine whatever ya like x

…

Bradley drops his keys into the bowl by the door, they land with a stark rattle. The faint tan-line between his brows disappears into the crease that caused it as he frowns. He looks towards the stairs, and then wanders in the living room. His boots tap softly against the floor.

“Kids?” He calls out into the unfamiliar quiet.

Nothing. His eyes widen in slight panic, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair as he looks around him. The floor is spotless — their toys are stored neatly in their bins, there aren’t any new stains on his rug, and there aren’t any cartoons on his television.

The sound of his boots on the ground are unnerving; he can’t bring himself to admit that he misses the sounds of chaos he usually returns to. He wanders through the house, making a beeline for the backyard. Sunny day like this, he figures that’s where he’ll find them.

Nothing. The yard is completely empty beside the laundry hanging out to dry. His mouth feels dry.

Once the mid-day mind fog dissipates, Bradley’s panic starts to, too. That birthday party. You’d mentioned it twice this week already, and once this morning. He’s just forgetful at the minute — — you know how crazy work has been for him.

He pauses, standing in his unusually clean living room, and purses his lips. His hands come to rest on his hips while he looks around him. He isn’t used to this.

Usually, within seconds of him walking through the door, he’s got a kid attached to his leg or a fight to break up or a permission slip to sign.

There’s nothing that he needs to do.

Nothing urgent.

Nobody else home.

Lifting his wrist, he takes a quick glance down at his watch and considers what to do with his sudden freedom. Birthday parties take a couple of hours, right?

He takes one final look around him, his eyes catching on the laundry drying outside. Clipped to the line is a power-blue balconette bra. He’s seen it before. The day he accidentally walked in on you.

Since you moved in four months ago, Bradley has been especially careful about knocking first. He wishes he could say it’s because he’s a gentleman. Really, it’s just because it made it hard enough for him to keep his hands to himself the first time.

There had been a heatwave that week. You had the afternoon off but Bradley hadn’t been able to find the sunscreen, and his kids are damn near impossible to keep out of the sunlight. With them arguing downstairs and trying to figure out the lock to let themselves out, he just wasn’t thinking and he hadn’t knocked.

“Hey, do you know where you put the—“ He’d stopped, frozen, taking in the sight of you sprawled across your bed. His bed. The bed he gave to you when you got the job of living here. A red popsicle between your lips and a book propped open in front of you, wearing nothing but a powder-blue set.

“Oh—“ Your eyes had gone all wide and surprised, too shocked to move, just like him.

The only thing that reminded him that he even had the option to move was the sound of his son running up the stairs to hurry this process along. He had slammed the door shut, blushing furiously, and turned to face his eldest.

“Found it, dad! It was in my backpack.” Grinning, he had held up the bottle of sunscreen and Bradley had just been forced to continue with his afternoon like he hadn’t seen anything at all.

When he finally peels his eyes away from the line of drying clothes outside, his gaze lands on the basket of dried and folded laundry sitting on his kitchen counter ready to be put away. Sitting right on top, is a glossy looking pair of blue panties that match the bra on the line.

Bradley’s already been kicking himself for his behavior since you got here. It’s downright shameful, the things he lets himself think about you. You’re half his age, first off. Second -- he’s your boss. You live in his house. His kids think you’re their best friend.

They think you’re just here because you love hanging out with them so much, not because their mommy and daddy couldn’t get along for the life of them and daddy works too much.

His mouth waters. Staring at some blue lace in a laundry hamper and his mouth’s practically watering. He’s pathetic. His guy friends keep telling him he needs to get back in the game, start moving on — he hadn’t been so sure. But then, he’s never almost popped a hard-on over a thong in a pile before.

He can picture you so perfectly in them. Your round ass barely covered by the material, legs kicked up behind you and your ankles crossed. When he closes his eyes, he can picture you facing the other way. Your face toward the headboard, your ass right in front of him.

His slacks grow tighter as his neglected cock stirs to life. It occurs to him that he can’t remember the last time he jerked off. Maybe sometime before his middle kid got the flu? — Around a month ago, maybe. His nights since then had been primarily spent clearing up puke.

The sad part is, the thought only tends to occur to him when he’s at work. Home is always far too hectic. For a while now, he’s been stuck working late into the night with a boner while he’s flicking through candidate paperwork and flight logs.

Well, he’s thinking about it now, and he’s got the place all to himself. No locking himself in the bathroom and letting the shower run, trying to think of anything but the growing list of chores he has to do to keep this house functioning.

He swallows thickly.

He’ll tell the guys that they’re right. He needs to get back into the game; get his head on right, stop pining over his nanny. Tomorrow. For now, he lifts his hand and takes the underwear, smoothing the sheer mesh between his index and thumb. Closing his eyes, he hopes that you won’t notice they’re gone before he can return them.

He twists the cap off of an ice cold beer, leaves his boots neatly by the door and walks calmly upstairs. From there, he clicks his bedroom door shut and steadily takes himself out of his uniform, dropping it into his laundry hamper.

Finally, he settles down against his headboard with his phone in his hand and your panties in his lap.

Porn will make this better. It’s less weird if he’s not necessarily picturing your face. It’s not — but he might have a better chance at looking you in the eye later if he tells himself that.

Not that any of this feels exactly regular.

He inhales and shifts, and scrolls. Birds are still tweeting outside, singing early afternoon songs. His teeth nip at the inside of his cheek as he scrolls aimlessly until he finds a thumbnail that looks halfway doable.

All alone, the house feels especially quiet when the first moan spills from the speakers. He flinches at the sound and scrambles for the volume button, then hesitates. He doesn’t have to be quiet. He doesn’t even have to be ashamed. Shit, it’s a little late for that.

His brows knit together a bit, cocking his head as he examines the babbling girl on the phone screen. His hand stirs to life from where it had gone limp on his thigh, finding his cock through the grey fabric of his boxers. With one last cautious glance to his closed bedroom door, the silence beyond it confirms to him that he’s okay.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he strokes himself over the material. The video isn’t particularly interesting, not when Bradley’s head can fill itself with far more interesting material at whim. His mind starts to wander back to that dream he’d had of you in the nurses outfit— that one had hit him hard, literally. He could barely look in your direction without getting hard for two days.

Soon enough, he’s hard and straining against the briefs. But that’s thinking about you, and that’s not allowed. He shifts restlessly and goes back to scrolling, palming himself absently. Finally, he comes across a video that sparks something. The thumbnail is of a girl with swollen lips and a cock in her mouth. It’ll do.

There we go. He huffs, that red-hot desperate feeling spreading down his neck and covering his shoulders. Making like it’s going to swallow him whole. Bradley lifts his hips to shuck down his boxers, tucking the waistband under his balls, still prepared for a hasty recovery at the sound of the garage door opening or something. He glances down at himself, remembering the days his thighs were narrower and more taut and he wasn’t noticing grey in his pubes.

If he wanted this done quick and fast, he’d spit hard into the centre of his palm and get to work. It’s been a long time since it hasn’t had to be quick. He thinks he has— he turns a bit and pulls open the drawer of his bedside table, rummaging blindly at the back until he comes up with what he’s looking for — lube. It’s practically full, not like he has been using it much.

A drop in the middle of his hand is enough, he figures. Turning his attention back to this new video, he settles, cupping the weight of his shaft in the palm of his hand. He gives it one slow pump, following the length, coating himself a bit. Real slow, his eyes study the screen, working the lubricant against his skin.

The actress bobs her mouth around the on-screen cock enthusiastically, moaning around him, raking her fingertips along his thighs. He locks his fist around himself, warm and tight, wet. It’s not a mouth but it’s the closest he has felt in a long time. If he closes his eyes, it could be your mouth.

You’d take him slowly, at first, ease him into it with that taunting nature you’ve let him glimpse at. He wouldn’t close his eyes; wouldn’t take ‘em off you. His hand steadies into a lazy rhythm, picturing the way you’d look up at him through your lashes.

The way you’d suck, and flick your tongue across his swollen tip. He shivers as he swipes his thumb through the precum beading there, stroking it all the way back down, stuck on imagining what it would feel like with your saliva joining the mix.

A pleased, feminine hum of approval comes from his phone and Bradley’s body responds just as eagerly, his hips twitching into the thrust of his palm. Sweat beads at his forehead as he slows to the point of almost stopping, dragging this out — making a point of exploiting his time alone.

He blinks hazily and finds a glimpse of blue, remembering suddenly the souvenir he had taken. The pitiful scrap of fabric he’s so wound up over sits against his thigh, looking suddenly small in comparison to his cock. He lets himself go and grabs hold of the fabric firmly, balling it tightly in his fist.

The soft lace bristles at his palm. Freshly laundered, they don’t smell of anything but detergent. It plays to the weaker side of him, gnawing at him, leaving him desperate to have something beyond what’s in his head. To know your smell, your tastes, your sounds. He shudders as he wraps a hand snugly around himself once more, this time, with an added layer of lace and soft mesh.

His head falls backwards, mouth hanging. Like this, it’s even easier to pretend. The image of you straddling his thighs, rocking your pussy against him while wearing nothing but these has him finally relaxed. Zen, even. A groan dies in his through, coming out more as a deep and baited sigh. He lift his hips, fucking into his fabric tangled fist.

Sometime between picking up your panties and now, the video has moved on without him, the blowjob forgotten. If he was to open his eyes, he would find that she’s on her back, being fucked into a mattress. He doesn’t need to. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he steadies up to the rhythm of her moans, skin hitting skin.

You’ve been living here four months now and you haven’t stayed out once. He wonders if you’re as wound up as he is. If you’ve thought about him the way he thinks of you. How downright desperate you’d sound moaning against his pillows while he finally gets to feel you. His left hand jumps, grabbing a firm fistful of the sheets beside him.

The shame he feels has been checked at the door, he lets himself think that you might have looked at him, that you might want him. He chases the feeling, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. Pumping the blue mesh around his cock, imagining you rocking yourself on him. Something gentler, more spry. It feels good. You’d feel good.

His imagination is better than he gave himself credit for.

His wrist twitches and he slows, feeling his thighs tighten as his heels press into his mattress for leverage. He chokes out a sound that he won’t admit is closer to a whimper than anything else, panting hard as he lets the rush ebb a bit. Pursing his lips, he draws out a slow exhale.

His mouth hangs open, eyes dipping to watch himself loosen up with the material, finding himself with just his bare palm once again. He takes the blue fabric in his left, opening it up and examining the dampened marks of his precum and the lube.

Just like that, he’s back in the guest room — your room — and you’re wearing that blue set. It’s dampened like this, but not because he has made a mess of it, not yet. Because you have. You’re soaking through it, looking up at him with that awe-struck look on your face. Your mouth open wide but this time there’s no red popsicle.

“Fuck.”

“Shit.” You whisper, catching the diaper bag that had almost fallen from your shoulder as you cradle the sleeping infant against your chest. Quiet as a mouse, you click open the front door and toe off your shoes.

She’s dead-weight in your arms, probably drooling on your shoulder. Her two older siblings will be causing all kinds of mischief and consuming sugar in all of its forms at their cousin’s birthday party for the next three hours. Given that the party lines up almost exactly with the fifteen-month-old’s nap routine, you figured you would take her home to rest so that you could get around to putting away that laundry you had started.

You’ve got a thousand things on your mind. A million things to do before Bradley gets home that evening. Truthfully, you’re a thousand miles away as you stroll upstairs and walk to the far end of the hall to the nursery. You lay her down and adjust the baby monitor, setting up her white noise machine routinely.

Her bedroom door clicks shut behind you and you take a moment to consider your priorities. Laundry takes precedence, even though you want so desperately to crawl into bed and sleep for an hour. You huff, groaning to yourself as you walk back downstairs to find the basket you had abandoned.

As you round the stairs and walk through the hallway, a choked sound spills from under the wood of Bradley’s door, something deep and breathless. Already halfway to the kitchen, you don’t hear a thing.

The video stopped a while ago but Bradley had stopped watching it even earlier. His head is thrown back and his lips are parted, his features creased in concentration as he chases his high. He thrusts into his fist, white-knuckling your panties with his free hand, his heart thundering in his chest. “God, fuck.”

He doesn’t have a clue that he isn’t alone anymore. He didn’t hear the minivan, he didn’t hear the front door. He doesn’t hear you rush back up the stairs with the hamper hiked against your hip.

He walked in on you. He stopped, and he stared. You were interrupted, so you can’t blame him for slamming the door shut. He’d missed, or ignored the signals since. The looks, the touches, staying up with him until your eyelids are so heavy that they’re barely open because he’s kind of an insomniac. Nothing. You’ve been beyond curious, desperate to know if he has been blowing you off on purpose or if he’s just clueless.

Clueless yourself, armed to put away freshly folded t-shirts, you grab the door handle and push it open. He works late, always. He’s rarely home before bedtime on work days. He told you this morning that he’d try not to wake you when he came in. And yet — there he is.

You get a glimpse of him before he registers the click of the door, before he spots you. Brows furrowed, eyes screwed shut, his curls dampened and hugging his forehead. Sunlight catches on the beads of sweat as they trail his glistening middle, spilling across his strong, softened middle. Broad shoulders flexed, the veins in his right arm straining through the skin, fucking his palm.

He reacts quickly, but there’s little that can be done. His eyes spring open and his hand releases himself, his body flushing a deeper shade of red at once. Thighs spread, he doesn’t have much time to cover himself before the door whips shut again.

You press your back to the door, staring at the ceiling. On either sides of it, you each have a moment of silent consideration.

“… are you okay?” He asks weakly.

He gets a soft squeak of acknowledgement as an answer and starts to wonder how you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. God, he hopes you don’t quit. The kids love you, and you’re incredible, you make his life liveable. His mind races, trying to come up with some kind of way to fix what you just saw. Everyone masturbates, it’s normal, it’s healthy—

“Was— Was that my underwear?”

Shit, Bradley thinks, he’s done for. There’s no coming back from this. You’re going to tell every nanny in the state that he’s a creep and work is going to eat him alive while he tries to juggle three kids alone. He curses breathlessly, fixing his underwear to cover himself and pushing himself out of bed.

He’s stuck for a second, considering if it would be better to give you time or to go after you. His eyes widen as the door clicks again, and pushes slowly open.

Your eyes rake over him, standing tall at the foot of his bed in nothing but his boxer-briefs. Still, regrettably, balled into his left hand, is your underwear. Powder-blue. He follows your gaze and looks down at the fabric, cursing his own stupidity, wondering if it’s too late to drop them.

You wet your lips with your tongue as your gaze flickers across. He closes his eyes and wills it to go away — he had just been so close, so caught up in it. It’s still rock hard, straining against the grey fabric, dampened at the tip with a spot of precum.

All of those signals and efforts come to a head. After four months of pining, you can’t just wander downstairs like this never happened. Laundry can wait. “You want a hand?”

…

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#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #dilf Bradley #bradley x the nanny #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster Bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick smut

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