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shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

harmless (viii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, protesting, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, gamer (derogatory), smidge of angst

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: listen idk what goes on at construction site and im too sexy to research so we’re going with my version of the world. hello. how are we all doing?

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He doesn’t expect to see you on TV.

In jail maybe, for something scandalous and completely unnecessary, but not TV.

But there you are, a sign board waving around furiously in your hand, voice in protest against the demolition of the community centre. You’re flipping the board back and forth to alternate between the messages you’ve scrawled on the cardboard.

You were among a few protesting, but clearly the loudest.

He thinks that maybe he has the weekend off if you’re too busy fighting big corporations. He’d send his support even.

Until he zeroes in on the sign when it flips over, finally reading what it says.

You better get your ass here, sarge

And so he does.

Half the crowd had dipped by the time he arrived. You were there, still the loudest, but he couldn’t help but notice the lack of people as compared to an hour or two ago on TV. He supposed that justice could wait as long as it took to get lunch from the nearest café.

“I can’t stop you from protesting, y’know.” He’s a little wary of approaching your raging self.

“Oh, hey Barnes. You got my message.” You break away for a second to scream a bunch of obscenities at the gigantic glass building before turning to him. “You wouldn’t be able to.”

“What’s your dumb plan then?”

“First of all, it’s not dumb. It’s stupid. Put some respect on my technological genius.” You held up a finger. “Second of all, it’s not here.”

“Where is it?”

“At the construction site.” You point down the road. “Come on.”

Right along the way you stop to chant another slogan. He waves his arm around meekly in support. He did, after all, have to stand up for what was right, but if his publicist saw him here she’d have an aneurysm.

The construction site isn’t very far off. It’s adjacent to the community centre, which he assumes they’re going to tear down to make more space for whatever shitty commercial building was going to take its place.

There are already a few excavators and dozers there but no one to man them since it was lunch time. What garners his attention is the small silver plate that’s on the floor a few feet ahead in the direction you’re walking towards.

“Here.” You stop once it nears. “The plan.”

“Am I supposed to know what this is?” He lightly kicked at it, earning a smack on the arm from you.

“Stop that,” you scolded, “and look at it. It’s not hard to figure out.”

He narrows his eyes. There’s a small u-shaped piece of metal in the middle of the plate. “That’s a magnet.”

“Exactly.” You clapped your hands together in excitement. “The world’s strongest electromagnet.”

He looks around. The only possibly magnetic things are the cranes and excavators around him.

“You’re going to... stop the machines from moving ahead?” he hesitates in his deduction.

“Yep. Can’t tear anything down if they can’t get to it first.”

Bucky looks down.

“Does this thing even work?” He toes at it again. “It’s kinda small.”

“It works beautifully, stop kicking at it, you demon-”

“What happens if I step on it, huh?” He knows this would get on your nerves wonderfully. He raises his leg. “Do I get to go home for the day?”

“You’re such a little shit,” you whine, reaching for your back pocket. “Stop bullying my invention.”

“’m gonna squish it like a bug.” He’s only half kidding about that part. “I’m gonna-”

Before he can finish his sentence something yanks him down hard. His head nearly hits the ground before his right arm shoots out to break his fall.

"Woah there, don't go falling for me as yet.”

“What the fu-” he begins, eyes locking on his metal arm that was pressed flat against the earth.

“I told you it works,” you say smugly. “Try crushing it now, Barnes. If you can even get off the floor.”

He tugs his hand but it’s firmly attached to the thing. No matter how or where he’s applying the effort, his limb refuses to move. He’s stuck.

“Turn it off,” he sighs. “You made your point.”

“No. Stay there.”

“Y/N, shut up and turn this off,” he groans, trying to find a better position rather than chin down on the ground.

“Lay there and rot. You deserve it for underestimating me.” You huff.

“I wasn’t underestimating you, Jesus Christ.” He really was planning to just step on it, but he had complete faith that it worked.

When he doesn’t receive a reply, his gaze follows yours. Suddenly the crane looks a lot closer than it initially did. Awesome.

“Those are moving towards me.” He picks up on the low groan and creak of metal.

“Yeah, they are.” You nod, one hand on your hip, watching them.

He didn’t think that getting crushed under construction equipment would be how his day went.

“Not my problem,” you decide finally after a bout of silence.

Now that simply wouldn’t do.

Death was definitely a problem, but what was more important was that he was going to get a dust allergy from the mud. He could already feel the blocked nose and temperature incoming.

“Are you really going to waste this on me? Don’t you have a demolition to stop?” He manages to twist his body so that he’s lying on his back.

“Good point,” you squint into the distance at the whirring of the heavy machinery. Their owners wouldn’t be happy to find them missing from their original spot. “But I still can’t help you out.”

“You’re willing to sacrifice your-”

“I can’t help you out because I don’t have an off switch. Yet,” you add the last part in a hurry.

“Then when the fuck were you planning to build one?” He sits up, leaning on his elbow. The cranes weren’t a mini object on the horizon now; the closer they got, the faster they were starting to move towards him.

“I don’t know, after they agreed not to take down the building?”

He could just detach his arm and come back for it later he but had no guarantee that you would stop here for the day or that the vibranium could withstand all that pressure.

“You better make a switch right now and get me out of this, I don’t care how.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, bending to assess how badly he was stuck. “You know, this thing runs really deep into the earth. It’d take forever to dig back up and then get you back to my lab and then build a switch.”

“How long?” He didn’t have a lot of time, clearly, but even generally he didn’t have the whole day to waste. He had a mission the next day. He had to put the fear of death into some Russians and bring some pirozhki back for Nat.

“I don’t know,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Too long for my schedule anyway, I have class prep to do.”

“Motherfucke- that thing’s like twenty feet away.” He’s worried about how you don’t look fazed at all when he points at the stupid machine.

He’s about to volunteer to detach his arm when he realises it’s definitely less than twenty feet now. He had a backup just in case. It didn’t move as smoothly, but who could tell the difference when a couple of tons of pressure was aiming for your face, and hell, if he explained his circumstances of the destruction of his arm to T’Challa-

“Okay, fine.” You reach into your backpack to grab something that looked like a wrist watch. It matched the one already around your hand.

You reach over and clasp it around his hand before turning a dial on the side.

“You ready?” you ask, ignoring the large crane that was starting to charge towards you.

“For what?” he replies, looking down at it. He can barely hear you over the sound of the whining of machinery.

“Teleportation, baby.” You send him a big grin before slamming down on his watch.

“Huh-” His voice cuts off immediately.

If there’s anything that can be said about teleportation, it’s that he feels like every atom in his entire body violently splits to float around briefly before suddenly rejoining again.

The ground beneath him feels different, and it takes him a second to realise that he was on the floor of your lair.

“What the fu-”

“Hello,” your voice comes from above him.

“You can teleport.” It’s not difficult for him to look at you now without the sun in his face. His arm is still stuck to the magnet but since the giant rod it was attached to was no longer deep in the ground, he could lift the entire apparatus up relatively easily.

“What, like it’s hard?” You discarded your bag on the floor. “You good? Takes a while to get used to.”

He gives you a grunt in acknowledgement, shaking his arm to see if he had any luck. It didn’t budge.

“Come on, take a seat.” You gesture to a lab chair you’ve pulled up for him on the raised platform at the front of the room. He realises that this is the first time he’s properly seen what’s actually inside your lair.

There are various buttons that do God knows what, drawers and cabinets painted black, several computer screens and gigantic pillars of glass on either side of the set up that encapsulate some green bubbling liquid. There’s a giant television set up against the wall, divided into several screens.

“Whaddya think?” You do a small swoop of your arm to show off the place.

“Gamer,” he says simply, testing his luck.

“What did you just say to me?” you recoil instantly, disgust on your face.

“It’s a gamer set up.” He points a finger at the TV screen. He was told by Shuri to use it as an insult, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. It just felt appropriate.

“Take that back right now.” You raise a finger accusatorially at him.

“No.” He was sticking with it even though he had no idea what exactly the context was.

“Fuck your arm,” you announce, throwing your hands up in surrender.

“Fuck your demolition then,” he replies simply, getting up from his place on the chair to leave with the thing still attached to him.

He takes one step ahead before your voice rings out.

“Sit down, drama queen,” your voice calls from behind him. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I’m the best part of your week,” you fire back, ”and also your only way out of this. Now sit down.”

He didn’t even need the second warning, he was already on the chair the first time around.

“I’m not going to build a switch to turn this off. It’d take too long,” you examine the piece of equipment with more gentleness than he was expecting, “I’m going to remove it instead. It’s gonna take a while, so you better get comfortable.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s so sad,” you say without any indication of wanting to help.

He rolls his eyes.

You pull up next to him, welding glasses covering your face and the tool in your hand.

He turns away when you start, making sure his face is not directly within its trajectory.

He makes himself busy by looking around some more. There are details you’ve put into the place, materials that are non-flammable made up most of the architecture. It’s dramatic, sure, but somehow the designs and colours seemed to go together. It did look sinister, he’d give you props for that.

The space was quite big. It occurs to him only then that that’s how you manage to sneak up on him so often in the past. Everything clicked. Fucking teleportation.

“So,” your voice was raised to speak over the noise. “How’s it going?”

He decidedly doesn’t answer. His position is more than enough.

“Right.” You clear your throat.

He takes to counting the tiles on the floor, figuring out how many were there from the raised platform to the wall of the entrance.

“Not how you imagined your day to go, huh?” you continued despite his lack of response. “But some might say it’s a privilege to be spending the day with a cool, mad scie-”

“Are you going to keep talking?” he interrupts, losing his count on the floor.

“Yeah, duh,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You got anything better to do?”

He didn’t.

“What’s it like living with a bunch of superheroes?” You change course. He’s not sure if he’s really allowed to disclose top secret information. “I assume there’s a lot of protein shakes, talcum powder for the chafing-”

Then again, how much damage could you do by knowing that Steve preferred pancakes over waffles?

“It’s quiet,” he says. “Most of the time.”

“Save all your smart talking for the battlefield, huh?”

He doesn’t reply. It’s quiet around the Tower. A lot of their energy goes towards missions and recuperating once they’re back.

“You go on missions a lot?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Boo, you whore,” you say with mock disappointment.

He got that reference.

“What’s your favourite food then?”

He scrunches his eyebrows.

“What?” The welding stops for a second while you look at him. “Don’t tell me that’s classified too.”

It’s not, he’s just never thought about it.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, “Pasta?”

“Vague, but I’ll take it.”

He used to boil a lot of pasta, from what he could remember of his days in hiding. Cheap and bought in bulk before he saved up enough to buy things like fruits. A lot of the times the amount of sauce he had access to was enough for maybe seasoning, not a whole component on its own.

It’s one of the perks of being a free man in the 21st century he thinks, a steaming bowl of fettuccini drenched in sauce and garlic bread on the side.

“What do you do in your downtime?”

“Nothing.” Well, he considers it to be a pass time and doing nothing is a full time gig. It takes effort to do nothing. He even has days dedicated to doing nothing, as suggested to him by his therapist.

“Really?” You sound a little surprised, although it’s hard to make out when you’re already speaking a lot louder than usual. “No shining your penny collection? No software update for this thing?” You tap at his arm.

There really isn’t anything. Truth be told, he thinks he’s the most boring guy in the Tower. He sticks to himself, has a few succulents that he adores and occasionally watches trashy television. So then why are you so interested in him?

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says pointedly. “Why?”

You give a short laugh. “I think it’s the blue eyes, sarge, they’re really popping today. Gotta say, I’m loving this colour on you. Is it different from the black you wore last week? And from the one from the week before that?”

He looks down at his dark t-shirt and utility pants. He had other clothes but those were reserved for things that were not this.

“Or maybe it’s the grumpiness, I don’t know. I love it when someone shows absolutely no interest in me. Very sexy of you.” Oh jeez, you were going to continue. “Hell, maybe it’s the thighs-”

“Okay,” he interjects, feeling the need to count the tiles more than ever. He equates the heat in his neck from the welding going on beside him.

The loudness of your laughter is clearer than the sound of metal on metal when you tug a large piece of the invention off. Things were moving fast. He could get back home to his Star Trek marathon and forget this day ever happened.

“You know, you’re more interesting than you think,” you pipe up casually.

He doesn’t expect this and therefore he supposes he can’t stop the curiosity from enveloping his face. He hasn’t told you anything about himself, so then the inference you reached came out of nowhere.

Apparently, you take notice of the confusion on his face, even though he can’t see through the giant welding mask, because you let out a chuckle.

“Oh, come on, really? You have no idea?” you ask lightly, pausing to see if he offers anything other than silence. “You’ve come back almost every week even though you know it’s a waste of your time, you always keep your promises and I know for a fact that if you wanted to stop me once and for all, you could have. But you’re not.”

He doesn’t realise you’ve stopped welding until you start again. Good, it gives him an excuse not to have to look at you after that.

Frankly, he’s a little stunned.

You’re not looking at him, he can tell from his peripheral vision. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a small crush on me.”

At that, he’s forced to roll his eyes out of instinct. Thankfully you do know better.

A few screws out later, another piece comes out. You inform him that’s it’s going to get trickier from there since the circuit was a little more intricate, a lot more time than the original few pieces. He can see his Star Trek marathon fade away in the distance.

You ask him a few more questions. Some he answers with silence, others maybe a tidbit here and there.

“How’s dating now compared to the forties?”

“Strange.” He purses his lips in thought. “One guy asked for a gym date. Didn’t know that was a thing.”

“How’d that turn out?” you laugh.

“He didn’t ask for a second one.” His Bumble matches with girls somehow had gone down since he cut his hair, but he’s not too bothered. Not like there was a huge shortage.

He likes cats, thinks the worst merchandise that they make is the stupid baseball card with his face on it, and doesn’t have social media for the sake of his sanity. He’s seen the thirst tweets.

Clearly, he’s revealed his deepest, darkest secrets. Utterly classified material. But he doesn’t know anything about you other than your name, number, address, where you teach, what your hobby is-

“You, uh-” he hesitates, “You got a favourite food?”

Your hands hold still to hover above what they’re working on. You fight back a smile. “Sure do.”

He asks a few more questions. Shuts up when he feels his social battery drain. That’s enough for the next month, he thinks.

The sun’s dipped down beyond the horizon by the time majority of the work is completed. Both of you have taken a few breaks to fight the feeling of stiffness that was creeping into your joints.

You scoff and tell him you’re not planning to poison him when he denies the offer of a soda. He doesn’t deter in his decision.

“How much to go?” He has a mission tomorrow that he’d really like to get some sleep in before. Waking up at 3am to get ready was the worst part of the job.

“Basically done.” You roll your chair back, rotating your shoulder and stretching your fingers. “There’s just this little part that I can’t access from this angle. How good are you at hanging upside down like a bat?”

Fuck it, he sighs to himself, it was almost finished anyway.

Bucky stands up, tilting his neck to the side slightly before pulling at a small latch under his arm, one so tiny that you’d never make out was even there unless you knew it existed. The arm releases from his shoulder with a small click.

He offers it to you, a piece of your magnet still attached to it.

Your eyes are slightly wide. He raises his eyebrows.

You don’t say anything, just accept it and flip it to a position you were comfortable with. It takes only a minute or two for the sound of the last piece hitting the floor to reverberate through the hall.

You give a small cheer. He lets out a tiny exhale in equal parts fatigue and relief.

“So,” you drawl, handing his arm back to him, “you could have just done that the whole time.”

He doesn’t reply, just slides it back onto his shoulder.

“You had the option of leaving your arm here and coming back later to get it.”

He gives it a few shakes, opens and clenches his fist shut a few times to make sure everything is working.

“You wanted to talk to me.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “I was distracting you.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh.

“Believe what you must.” He shrugs, turning around. “My job here is done regardless.”

“Oh, I believe alright,” you call out from behind him as he walks towards the entrance of your lair. “I believe you’re a sneaky bastard, Bucky Barnes.”

He doesn’t stop himself from smiling at the overdramatic gasp you give when he flips you a middle finger. From the metal arm, too.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

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thenastyotherblog · 2 years

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Disclaimer: Im not a transperson not do I wear a binder, I did my best doing a bit of research of chest binding before writing this and I hope is accurate, if not please do let me now!

@phoenixcharged Hope you like it!

Your binder is killing you.

You were supposed to take it off like what? Two hours ago? But Mr. Stubborn thinks he can handle the pain until lunchtime.

"Its only a little bit of back pain" You thought, foolishly. Your back has endure so much already, whats are some couple of extra hours?

I will tell you what are a couple of hours.

Its not only back pain at this point, is the pressure on your sides, the unholy pain on your chest, the pressure on your ribcage that makes you think of those videos of people crushing a macaroon apart.

Not to mention the fricking heat.

You feel like a steamead vegetable right now, a layer of sweat covering you whole.

Is disgusting.

Finally your class is over and you make a, discret, run to put all your papers and materials back into your bag. You want this thing off you. NOW.

"Hey Teach, got a second?" You resist the urge of sighing in distress as one of your students comes to you, they look apologetic from taking more of your time but they do seem like they need the extra help.

So you stay while in excruciating pain.

Now it feels like someone is trying to vacuum seal you, oh it hurts.

You are on your way to the bathroom, your vision a lit fuzzy, you are only thinking of sweet relif when you face-crash into something, someone?

"Hey, Teach!" Hizashi greets you cheerful. "I was going to pick you up about now! Didnt know you wanted your dosis of me as soon as possible!"

Oh yeah, you two had a little lunch date planned today. You didnt remember because the pain makes you numb.

You can only manage to give him some forceful chuckles, holy mother of god even that is leaving you without air. "Oh hey, Zash" Oh dont talk, why are you talking when it hurts this badly?

Hizashi is quick to realize something aint right with you, he is observant like that. Or maybe is because you look like you are about to hit the bucket any moment now.

"Hey, are you alright little listener? You look a bit…pale"

"Who? Me? Pssht" You wave your hand, trying to take a bit of the seriousness off the situation and while you do that try to straighten yourself up. FUCK. GRAVE MISTAKE. YOUR CHEST HURTS!

"Songbird whats wrong?" The cheerfuness of his voice is now replaced by serious worry. Awn man, you dont want to make him do that face, the "im worried sick about you face" you cant handle the guilt.

"Nothing! I swear!" You laugh some more, air rapidly leaving your, very very crushed lungs. "Lets go! I cant wait for-"

Why is the floor coming closer to you? Oh shit are you falling? You hear Hizashi scream your name as you hit the floor, HARD. You can still hear him say something tho you cannot really comprehend what it is; Oh is so hard to breathe, are you even breathing right now? It doesnt feel like it. You feel hot, like you been outside in the sun for too long. You are thirsty, would kill for a glass of water right now. . Your eyes take their sweet time to adjust as you slowly open your eyes, the infirmary roof lights greeting you. Wait, the infirmary? You try to pry your body up, a pair of hands appearing on your vision. Hizashi. Hizashi is here. "Easy now" He helps you to lift your upper body, adjusting the pillows behind you. You are so thanful for that cuz your back still hurts a lot. "He's awake"

"What- What happen?" You mumble, your throat is so dry.

Recovery girls makes her appearence, mumbling something about how dangerous that was and that you need to be more careful.

"Did you know you are wearing a size too small of binder?" There is no anger on her voice but you still feel like a kid being scolded.

"I- I didnt." You sheepely say, avoiding Hizashi's worry look. "I thought it was the correct size?"

The old lady just shake her head, handling you a pamphlet about chest binding. "It can be a bit tricky but you are supposed to wear a binder two times your size. Boy, how long have you been with the same Binder?" You can feel your cheeks burn. "No more binding for the rest of the day, you hear me? Let your poor ribs rest. And a new Binder is in order!"

"Are they gonna be ok?" Hizashi asks her, he carefully takes one of your hands, squezing it a little bit.

"Of course! I trust you will be here with him?" Hizashi only nods. "Wonderful! Then you can guide him throught the breathing excersices I told you!”

"Consider it done ma'am!"

Its an akward silence after Recovery Girl takes her leave. Honestly you are so embarrased that not only you faint in front of Hizashi but that he also carry you to the infirmary? And witness what an idiot you are? Two sizes bigger? You didnt know that! You think a grown ass trans man would know that, apparently not! You feel like crying but dont! That would be even more embarrasing!

"Lets go buy you a new Binder after class"

"Eh?"

Hizashi is still holding your hand, his whole body exhales relief now that you are awake. There is not even a trace of anger, even when he has the right to. "A cooler desing this time. Ok?” You smile as you gave him a little nod. "That's what I like to see! Now lets hit those breathing exercises!"

#present mic x reader #present mix x trans!male reader #Hizashi yamada x reader #present mic #hizashi yamada #trans!reader #trans!male reader

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in-ky · 3 years

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Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

#negan x reader #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith #au!negan #the walking dead #twd smut #twd negan

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swqns · 3 years

Text

“ I swear it to you, I will never forget how you loved me. “

synopsis ;;

You think back on a distant memory of Kazuha finding you wounded at the Wangshuu Inn. He hadn’t been there to protect you from such an injury, but you two still looked back on it fondly. Now, you reminisce alone, praying to any god out there that Kazuha doesn’t have to see your downfall.

-- kazuha x gn reader

-- cw ;; blood , death , injury.

-- note ;; enjoy <3 do let me know which part of this hurt the worst in my inbox, im curious

Being a traveler, you’ve had your fair share of injuries. some worse than others. some … you weren’t quite sure how you healed from them.

Some injuries were sourced from carelessness, ignorance, or pride. you did take more care to not get injured after falling in love with kazuha, though. he means the world to you, you can’t imagine leaving him alone in it. you knew he had his worries about you, and as much as he wishes he could follow you into battle .. sometimes you just traveled where he could not follow. he was a wanted man, after all. but you always returned home. always on time, or earlier. you were never late so .. why were you late?

Kazuha paced back and forth, nibbling at his fingernails in his worry. you were supposed to be home from this commission hours ago .. where had you gone?

His pacing is interrupted by a deckhand knocking on the door of your shared quarters, the place you two had been calling home for a while.

“Kazuha, you have a letter. it’s important.“

He doesn’t say anything other than a quiet thanks as he unfolds the delicate paper, reading the words scribbled down. you can almost see the moment his spine stiffens and his blood feels like ice in his veins. kazuha is out of that door and jumping off the boat in a second, using his anemo vision to aid him in his sprint towards a certain inn.

He’ll be damned if he cares about getting caught. you have docked in liyue anyway, the chances were slim. all he cared about was reaching you in time.

The letter had been delivered to inform your fellow crew of your condition. you’d taken a hit from the blunt side of a mitachurl’s axe. it broke several bones on impact, but your arm had shielded most of the damage away from your ribs. you’d be extremely lucky if your arm healed back completely, though.

You’d been ushered to one of the upper floors of the Wangshu Inn by several adventurers who had found you on their way home, laying unconscious. your arm was broken, making even the seasoned adventurers wince at the sight of it. verr goldet had convinced the green-haired Adeptus living at the inn to deliver the letter, your condition was critical and your companions and loved ones needed to be notified of your whereabouts. after running the errand, however, he went back to his anti-social tendencies and disappeared against the mortal eye. he had no reason to be physically present with you .. but maybe he could watch over nearby and make sure you were breathing. just for verr goldet’s closure.

You can hear kazuha’s voice pierce the thick fog of your unconsciousness.

“Where are they ?! [ name ], i- i got a letter they were here and hurt, where are they ?!“ he calls, voice hoarse and you can almost hear the way his heart shatters in it. you don’t have the strength to open your eyes, but you can hear his light footsteps approaching the cot you’re resting on as the door opens.

Kazuha falls to his knees beside you, grabbing your unwrapped hand with his and holding it close to him, mumbling incoherent prayers to some god that you’re okay. you peek at him through your eyelashes, moving your hand to pet his hair.

“Kazu, you worry too much,” you speak.

A held breath leaves his body, and you can see his shoulders relax. unshed tears shine against his eyes, a shaky laugh leaving him.

“You worried me sick. what happened ? are you hurt ?”

You laugh. a weak sound leaving your beaten body, your hand once resting on kazuha’s hair moving to your shattered arm. “ … yeah.”

Kazuha’s eyebrows furrow and he stands to get a better view of your other arm. With how heavily it was bandaged, and the makeshift splint peeking through the layers of fabric and gauze, it wasn’t hard to figure out just how bad the injuries were. You had other bandages and bandaids scattered around your body, a few small ones on your face. kazu wordlessly presses soft kisses to each of the wounds on your upper body, scooping you into his arms. he’s mindful of your injury, keeping any and all pressure off of your arm.

Oh, how you wished you were in his arms again. the blue sky above you seemed to dull as you laugh. laugh at the gods for cursing you this way. left to bleed out on an expedition in jueyun karst. your previous break had left you with permanent injury in your arm, and though you could move it just fine, the range in which you could was not as good as it used to be. meaning, your entire side was exposed to enemy attack.

You knew how kazuha beat himself up that time. when you first broke your arm, he didn’t leave you alone until you had completely healed. apologies spewed from his mouth for the first few days. he was sorry he wasn’t there to protect you. how long it took him to get to you. sorry for not being the one to find you.

Knowing that, you almost hoped he didn’t find you. it would shatter him more than you just not returning home. it was such a warm place. you and kazuha shared many memories there. you grew closer there.

You let your eyes close, the blood loss making your eyelids feel like lead and your limbs feel like ice. maybe it wasn’t your delirious state that made the sky seem dull, as soft raindrops patter against your face, making your spilled blood travel with the water. does death feel warm, you wonder? as warm as kazuha’s hands around you? what you’d give to feel his arms around you one last time.

You’re too far gone to realize a warmth does embrace you until you’re physically shaken into consciousness. your eyes flutter and reveal a certain ronin dressed in red clothing. tears stream freely down his cheeks, his words nothing more than gibberish to you. you smile to yourself, cursing the gods once more to give the love of your life the pain of watching you die.

The downpour grows heavier, drenching both you and kazuha as it washes away every feeling from your body. with the little strength you have left, you lift a shaky hand and hold kazuha’s face. a smear of your blood is left from where you rub your thumb on his cheek, trying to reassure him with what you have.

“Kazuha, I love you. don’t you ever forget that” you murmur, and one of his own hands goes to cover the one holding his face.

“Don't talk like that. I’m going to save you, I won’t let you die here,” he speaks, but deep down you both know there’s no saving you. the edges of your vision go blurry as you lose the strength to hold your hand up, and kazuha does it for you.

“Swear to me. swear that you won’t forget how much i love you,” you whisper, and you can feel yourself letting your eyes close. if you have any hope of living, you know you need to keep them open. kazuha does too as he ushers you to look at him, to reopen your eyes, to say something. anything.

He can feel his will draining from his limbs as he hugs your dying body close to his. you’re cold, colder than any cryo beast he’s ever fought. colder than the rain falling on your bodies. you’re already gone, he realizes. pulling your body into his lap, he wraps an article of his clothing around you as he leans against a rock. letting the rain soak through his hair and into his clothes, he holds you close to him as your blood seeps into his clothing.

“I swear it.”

#genshin impact x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha genshin impact #genshin impact angst #kazuha angst #velli.fics #kaedehara kazuha

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lantsovsupremacist · 3 years

Text

nikolai lantsov: august

@wafflesandschemingfaces requested a piece inspired by august, and i am more than happy to push the august agenda. THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG IM SO SORRY!!! i hope it’s okay that i worked this in as a part two of “mirrorball.”

happy AUGUST babes! this was originally going to end angsty but i was feeling generous so enjoy the happier ending :)))

he tasted like salt, which had been a rarity at home. with the prices spiking in the cities, the smaller markets in the countryside could not supply even the simplest spice. having reignited the placated desire, you were greedy for more of him.

over the last seven months, you took advantage of nearly every opportunity the volkvony offered. you strengthened your abilities at sea with the careful instruction of the two other tidemakers onboard. tamar’s twin brother, toyla, guided your interest in grisha literature and history.

certain adjustments proved more difficult than others. you were no stranger to early work or rising in a shared room. however, despite the bright flush from the use of your powers, your muscles ached under the strain of the new practice. you found your training to be an unfamiliar yet cherished consistency.

you struggled with feelings of inferiority at first. the other female tidemaker, yelena, was a stowaway from the little palace. disregarding her heavy contempt for the school there, her experience helped you immensely.

peter was also a comfort in his own way. another self-taught grisha himself, it only pained you to hear of his family’s acceptance and attempts to teach him. your family might not have thrown you to the fjerdans but they offered little to help you control the power.

time could not move backwards to prevent your wounds but it could move forward to heal them.

now, perched on the deck beside yelena, you were calmer and more confident than ever before. you watched sturmhond out of the corner of you eye, turning your head in the wind to guide a piece of hair back out of your face. his white shirt billowed in the wind, sleeves rolled up and hands in the air to help dictate one of his famous stories.

“you look at him as if he hung the stars in the sky himself,” yelena snorted, elegantly drawing up a rather powerful wave to hasten your journey south, “trust me, he’ll take the hint and never let it go.”

but for you, perhaps he had. a new constellation, at least. three stars shined brighter than before for you, now visible to the naked eye. freedom, purpose, and opportunity. his gracious offer extended to beyond the imaginable.

“i could never have dreamed of this,” you replied earnestly, lightly bumping into her hip with your own.

“kerch does not have blondes, no?” she teased, exaggerating her already thick ravkan accent.

you blushed, nonetheless, “you’re going to get us off task, yelena.”

she rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the sea with a grunt. you did not miss the small smile that barely touched her face after, however. you would have missed it if she had not adjusted your arm, lifting it higher to create a higher crest.

in truth, you did not mind. you enjoyed observing. from your station at one side of the hull, you had a suitable view of the surrounding activity on the deck. storytelling only happened to be one of the aforementioned pursuits by the crew.

—

the first time was an accident. you nearly ran into him one morning during your second week onboard. the sun had filtered through the cracks in your room, beckoning your rise. you chased the sunbeams up the staircase adjacent to the door and soaked in the warmth they graciously provided.

the sunrise was magnificent. too distracted by the beauty painted in front of you in the sky, your elbow caught the captain’s. your eyes immediately went wide, an apology poised on your tongue. growing up with seven siblings, you were accustomed to making yourself smaller to allot room for the others. what other habits would you lose during your time aboard the volkvony?

“that’s quite alright,” sturmhond replied, eyes twinkling at the pale pink flush of your cheeks, “i suppose the sunrise caught my attention, as well,” he turned his head back, “though, that might not be all that did.”

as the tempo of your heart approached a crescendo, you nodded with a nervous smile. your eldest sister’s experiences with boys were all you had to go off of. your parents were together, yes, but as you aged, you realized that the nature of their union simply secured stability for the both of them. love had been an after thought and a forgotten one at that.

“want to watch it with me?” his eyes were brighter than the sun, more vibrant than the various hues splattered across the sky.

sounding just as much of a child as did he, you responded, “i would love to.”

he waited for no counter, immediately taking your hand in his to nearly drag you up the stairs. his hand was surprisingly warm despite the slight chill in the morning air. your brain fought the feeling of his touch at first, recognizing the pressure of his fingers now intertwined with yours but refusing to reciprocate the gesture.

by the time the sun reached a pinnacle in the sky, shining it seemed for just the two of you, you had given him your hand and your heart.

you let him memorize your story, pausing when he could not remember the order of your siblings. you repeated it until he could. the mornings were filled with whispers and soft touches. you thought he was helping you write a new story—one where maybe, you could have your perspective at the forefront.

—

the pressure of his his knee shamelessly pressing into yours dominated your thoughts. you decided that it would be more disconcerting to slide away from him but each passing moment added fuel to the fire of his warmth. you did not know what to think about the way he made you feel.

“i’m not who you think i am,” the privateer spoke, deadly calm. his tone did not waver, nor did the contact his eyes maintained with the horizon.

you wanted to tease the boy beside you but one look at the frown overtaking his face gave you pause. you felt increasingly uncomfortable, which you never did with him, not even when he first introduced himself. it was all wrong.

“i’m not sure what you mean,” you whispered hesitantly, trailing your fingers in the dust of the deck before they grew too numb to control.

his jaw clenched. his eyes bore into the sea. you only heard the sound of his breath—strangled and uneven.

“sturmhond,” you tried, watching as the wind ruffled his tawny and unkept hair.

“no,” he strained, “nikolai.”

an unusual name but a beautiful name, you decided.

“i-i don’t understand,” you fought to get the words out—battling with breaths instead of bombs, syllables instead of swords.

you wanted to push it all aside for naive hope, content with your pocket of fool’s gold.

“do you remember when we sailed to the outskirts of ravka?” he questioned you, gaining control of the previous shake in his voice.

you hummed in reply, trying to put together the pieces of his puzzle before he realized you had not finished yet.

the blonde looked like he was in pain when he next spoke, “the prince,” he began with his eyes timidly locked on your own, “his name is nikolai.”

contrary to your lack of education, you were clever and thus, able to fill in the blanks for yourself.

“who else knows?” you might have hoped for something more but you were not innocent enough to believe the prince only shared his identity with the girl who had succumbed to his longing stares.

“the twins,” he began with a sigh too heavy for him to carry alone, “yelena. one or two others.”

yelena knew. for some reason, your stomach turned at that. you knew it was misplaced and unnecessary jealously but there it sat all the same, weighing you down like an unmovable stone. a similar pressure pulsed behind your eyes, forcing a collection of tears to your waterline.

he offered an apology with words, but it was his eyes that held the true sincerity, the way his fingers restlessly knotted in his lap, and that even though it was a fight, he had moved aside to give you space. you wanted to believe that everything would be okay despite the change, that it could be, at least.

your heart ached. you never wanted him further away from you. or closer. his body was too familiar now.

nikolai never belonged to you, not really. and even if ravka would inevitably melt his golden heart and carelessly mold it to their benefit, he belonged to the broken country. not to you. never to you—alone.

with that, of course, you could not belong to him, either. a farmer’s daughter who did not complete her primary studies. maybe you did have a claim to grisha power, but you knew enough about ravka to understand that you would be a soldier. you already felt like one, fighting an endless battle between your head and heart. diligence and desire.

“you let me—,” you swallowed thickly, “give myself to you. you made it so easy to be sure.” now, you were no longer as certain in your decisions.

he kicked his feet in the water, unable to carry your gaze lest he lose it much like your heart, “i hoped it could be different.”

you searched for anything to ground yourself in along the horizon, burning your eyes in the sinking sun, “you’ll have to go back, then.”

he nodded, his head bobbing more fitfully than the waves, “yes.”

your did not want to talk any longer because if you did, you were sure that you would cry. you decided that you had, in fact, been foolish. how could you live off of hope alone? your destiny belonged to the fields not the sea.

“okay.”

“okay?” nikolai repeated, voice dancing between disbelief and what might have been anger, unable to remember the next step, “that’s all that’s left?”

“i think so,” you replied airily, turning to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, “because i understand. i might not want to. well, i certainly don’t want to but—,”

you were cut off and for the blonde boy beside you to do it, you knew he had good reason. he gave you a voice simply by listening, something few had done for you before. your words had been stolen by his lips in the end.

“i might not be able to give you nikolai,” his lips were down turned but now flushed with color, “but i can give you sturmhond. i can give you nik,” he brought your hand to his heart, “that is if you’ll have me?”

you did not belong to prince nikolai of ravka. he could not be a character in your story. but, you could write another chapter. you could change the plot for the better.

you kissed him with as much fervor as he had earlier. he twisted his fingers into your hair, winding a passage to the back of your neck. you curled into the warmth radiating from his side, fisting his shirt before slowly pulling away.

“i can’t believe you’re a prince.”

that earned you a laugh. the laugh you knew you could never live with losing. if you could not have him entirely, you would hold onto anything that could be yours. just yours. for now, the heat of the sun on your faces split wide with grins was enough.

grishaverse taglist: @just-a-human-witha-pen @ilovemarvelanne1 @story-scribbler @subjecta13-thefangirl

#nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai lanstov imagines #nikolai lantsov #sab fanfiction #sab fanfic #sab fic #sab netflix #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #siege and storm #ruin and rising #grishaverse #the grisha series #rule of wolves #sturmhond

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red-doll-face · 3 years

Note

Here is a request for slashers if they're open. My brain does a thing where I am affectionate w a person but if I get nudged away (even if it's just to readjust the position), it goes "oh no. They don't want u to touch them. Do not touch ever again or they will get mad at u. U disgust them." Even tho touch is my love language & it hurts, I just won't touch. If confronted, I will get confused & panicky cuz "u didn't want me to touch? Im respecting ur wishes? Did I miss something?" Its a mess.

Requests are indeed open, I’m sorry I take foreverrr to do these but i hope u enjoy! I don’t know what to call this tho. For simplicity’s sake I’m calling this nervous reader lmao, idk what else to call these.

Slashers x gn nervous Reader

Jason Voorhees:

Jason can very much relate to the feeling. When he first meets you, he’s sure that you’re frightened. He restrains from being too close to avoid coming off as overbearing, doesn't want to touch you because if you flinch he’ll be so hurt. He just assumes he disgusts you. Based on the reaction all of his other victims have when they see him, he’s sure you’ll probably be the same.

Once Jason is sure that you don't feel that way, he’s a cuddle monster. He wants to be close all of the time, holding hands, letting you sit in his lap, you name it. He’s so starved and quickly decides that touch is his love language too. He’s not even sure how he’s lived this long without it.

The only time I can see Jason maybe gently sort of setting you down elsewhere and walking off is when he senses strangers on the property of what once was Crystal Lake. He’s out the door before he can even see your hurt expression, Which is worse because this might lead you to jump to conclusions.

If you distance yourself from Jason, he immediately is thrown off. He can’t directly ask you if he’s done something wrong and when he tries to initiate affection with you and you don’t reciprocate whole heartedly, he’s at a loss.

He’ll get on one knee while you sulk on the couch and give you a silent plea to tell him what's wrong. You can panic and try and avoid it but he is certain there's something going on and he wants so badly to know what he’s done to put you off. You tell him and he immediately is shaking his head no, he could never be mad at you, never be disgusted with you. You’re the most breathtaking person he’s ever had the pleasure of holding, the first, most likely.

Jason nods because he understands how you feel. In the future, he’s persistent about how you feel when he untangles himself from you, making sure you’re ok.

Michael Myers:

In the later stages of your relationship, Michael is insatiable when it comes to being in contact with you. For a long time, towards the start of your relationship, he didn’t like it. It felt weird. All of the touch he's experienced prior was so clinical and sterile that he doesn’t quite know how good touch is supposed to feel. He’s so touch starved that he’s almost positive he doesn't even need it.

Slowly, he builds a tolerance for it, much like one does with alcohol, constantly checking his boundaries and letting him control the situation and he’s all for movie night, huddled up on the couch, or waking up with his head on your chest. His own personal pillow.

There are, however, moments when his need to make someone tremble with fear and then blodgeon them to death with a can opener from their own kitchen becomes too strong, so he tries to keep away from you. In the past, he might have used you to satisfy similar desires of a sexual nature and may have really hurt you but he knows that it’s not always enjoyable to you.

Then, you stop touching him. Much like Jason, he starts to think you’ve become sick of him. Sick of his coldness, his muteness, his withdrawn demeanor. Maybe you’ve moved on and he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care but he doesn't think he can see himself touching anyone but you now.

It gets to the point where he comes home one day and you look heavily troubled, expressions he’s seen on your face before, only in the event that something terrible has happened. You ask to speak to him and he obliges.

You explain that you don’t think this relationship is working, that you’re pretty sure he’s disgusted with you and how difficult this event is because you didn't even want to talk about it but it's been hurting you for too long.

His response is to stand up very slowly, pick you up and lay down with you over him, simply laying there. Hopefully, knowing you’re the one person he would ever allow to participate in this intimacy is enough to show you that you mean more than you think you do to him.

RZ Michael Myers:

This Michael is more perceptive to your touch than his counterpart, your touch sends little shivers down his spine and as soon as he gets pretty used to it, he’s eager for more. This also takes some time but significantly less. He’s enamored with the idea of returning to a somewhat normal life. Your affection grounds him in that fantasy as much as being a murderer might take him out of it.

As he establishes a relationship with you, he may even be the one to start touching you instead of the other way around. He’s read books and always wondered what it might feel like to have someone genuinely touch him without fear in their eyes. Without malice.

An unsuccessful ‘day at work’ might have Michael feeling a little het up though. He can be moody and more rageful. Neither you nor his hobbies can calm him. He seems colder than usual in these states and can come off as very standoffish.

So when you try and touch him and he shrugs your hand off his shoulder, he can’t or isn't in the state of mind to address your frown and worried look. Michael, instead stomps off somewhere to be alone for a while; maybe take his anger out on something else. Some unsuspecting soul or maybe even a poor animal in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After he’s calmed down some, he returns and almost forgot about that sad little gleam in your eye before he left. Michael remembers when he sees you blankly staring at the TV, pointedly avoiding his gaze even as you utter a weak welcome home. It’s not very welcoming. He sits stiffly beside you, watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re closed off from him and he doesn't like it at all.

Migrating towards you slowly, he eases you into a familiar hug, his big bear hugs that are a little tight but inviting all the same. His huge torso and long arms seem to swallow you in his warmth. You hardly reciprocate. You look a little surprised. Though he never addresses it verbally, (which is probably better for you) Michael offers a single glance that communicates everything he needs to say. Don't ever think that again.

Thomas B. Hewitt:

Thomas’ self esteem issues and self image are not good. He honestly doesn’t like to imagine what he looks like to other people unless it can be as a threatening man you don’t fuck with. Meeting you, he realizes that it’s good to protect his family but he’d rather you not see him as someone only capable of harm. Tries his best to get the point across that while Hoyt may be adamant that horrible things happen to you, he’s not going to let them.

Thomas has received affection but always a familial affection. A pat on the back from Monty, proud claps to his shoulders from uncle Charlie, and hugs and kisses from his dear Mother. Nothing so foreign as a strangers touch over his arm or a soft embrace.

Unfortunately, Thomas can get reactive when you attempt to touch him without his mask on. He’s absolutely settled on the false reality that you’ll see his face and immediately decide that you never want to touch him again. Interacting with you with his bare face? That's a no for Thomas.

He puts on his mask that covers the scarred skin over his face and you look dejected. He was preparing for you to pressure him but instead finds himself trying to find out why you won’t touch him now. It’s not his face, is it? You respond with your reasoning. Thomas is so confused. How could you think that you disgust him? That he doesn’t want you to touch him?

He’s quicker than the others and immediately sweeps you up into his arms and holds you as close as humanly possible. Feeling disgusting and like some sort of burden is a feeling he’s so familiar with and if he can take it away from you, he will.

Will aggressively initiate touch with you for the next week or so just to solidify the fact that he cares about you and won't reject you just as you didn’t reject him.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba is a great cuddle buddy and partner. Hugs are his favorite and he hugs his brother all the time, lifting both Nubbins and Chop Top into the air for some brotherly love. If you’re smaller than them he’s all about picking you up and perhaps a little rough housing with you. He’s careful though or at least there are attempts made to be careful

Bubba, though he could easily spend the whole day doing nothing and everything with you, has work. Chores, butchering. Cooking, and tending livestock. Plenty to do at the sawyer house and he does most of it. Suffice to say there are times when you want to lather attention all over him yet he has to go back to work.

So caught up in work that he doesn't get what's going on til way later, when you’ve had time to stew in your emotions, firmly telling yourself that Bubba is annoyed by you probably. He’s baffled and confused at your silence, your crossed arms. The little furrow in your brow. He can already tell there’s something upsetting you.

Honestly, Bubba is so affectionate I can’t see him being the kind of person even capable of alluding to the fact he might be disgusted by you. How, if all he wants to do is love you? You may bring it up as a joke that you thought he didn’t like you and he almost seems offended. Not like you?

Bubba can squash any feelings you may have about that and then some. He will not let you drown in insecurities, not on his watch. This man will do everything in his power to make you feel beautiful because you really are.

I’m sorry these are super long but thanks for requesting!

#slasher x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #halloween #rz halloween movie #rz michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #friday the 13th #thomas brown hewitt x reader #thomas brown hewitt #thomas hewitt #bubba sawyer x reader #bubba sawyer #leatherface x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #slashers

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hoodieofholland · 3 years

Note

hey love. I’m obsessed with mob!tom - could you write something where mob Tom and the reader have a really big fight and Tom says something that was really mean and reader storms out and doesn’t come back until late and night and Tom is super worried :) at the beginning angst and at the end fluff.

I actually asked other writers too to write this a while ago but nobody does it and I found your account now and I’m so in love with your writing you are super talented <3

Sorry if my English is not really good- it’s not my first language

A/n: dear anon, you were reading my mind! I was actually procrastinating with a draft of some angst with mob!tom for a while, and you just motivated me to write it again hahah im obsessed with mob!tom too btw, no shame on this lol. Thanks for requesting, hope you like it!

Masterlist Request/tell me your thoughts on this

Warnings bellow the cut!

Warnings: angst, language, mention of gun.

You throw your purse over the table as you storm inside the house, walking up to your room with a stern face, straightened back and confident steps, without saying a word. Tom watched you from behind, sighing as he knew what was about to come - you were pissed.

He followed you slowly, not wanting to hurry the fight that was about to come. He knew pretty well what he has done tonight, but wasn’t planning on apologize, as he was also sure he wasn’t wrong about it.

By the time he reached the main room, you were already in the closet, taking off your jewels and putting them inside their boxes. “Baby”, he called you, but you didn’t raise your head.

Your gesturing was obviously stating your humor - or the lack of it. You wasn’t being so careful with the expensive belongings, as you always made sure to be.

“Baby”, Tom tried again, sighing this time, “Can you at least tell me what the hell did I do?”

That was the breakpoint. You lifted your head to look at him sternly. “Seriously? You gonna really act like you don’t know?”

He snorts, running a hand through his brown curls. “I mean, I know. I just don’t get why you’re so upset about it”

You laugh humorless. “I’m upset ‘cause you fucking treated me like a doll, Tom. That’s why I’m upset about it!”

“What?”, he snapped, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck, I just told that asshole of a waiter to get his shit together instead of eye-fucking you. For God’s sake, what’s wrong with that?”

"Well, maybe the fact that you made a scene in front of the manager because you were jealous?" You shout, shaking your hands. "Should I tell you the obvious fact that this man is probably fired now because of your speech?".

Tom was growing mad. He couldn't believe you were defending the guy who was flirting with you the whole dinner.

Turns out that what was supposed to be a calm and relaxing dinner quickly became something distasteful, as Tom took notice of the waiter that was serving your table that night looking at you with a dumb smile on his face the entire time. He could even see the guy talking to some other workers about you, staring at you like you were some kind of meal. So Tom did what he thought was right - he made it very clear that you were his girl and a employee shouldn't be looking at you like that.

"I don't give a single fuck if he's unemployed right now. He should take this as a lesson to not disrespect you or any other woman in his workplace", Tom said, undoing his tie and throwing it in anywhere in the wardrobe. He was tired and pissed with the whole situation - and, more important, with you, for making a big deal out of it.

"Disrespect me, or disrespect you, Tom?", you snap, eyes wide with anger. "Cause it didn't look like you were worried about me. Cause all I wanted was a peaceful dinner with my boyfriend, who actually never seems to be available to me, and you made it pretty hard for me to enjoy, just because you were mad for a guy possibly be flirting with your girl! Like I fucking belonged to you!"

"Oh, fuck off, y/n", he hissed, walking past the closet's door and going straight to the bathroom. "It's obvious I'd be pissed for the it too. You're my girl, and I don't think it's nice if other man look at you like that! Don't act like you've never done it too".

You followed him, yelling next. "Shit, you're unbelievable! What is it? Nobody can look at Tom Holland's girl? Because you're the great motherfucker mobster and I'm your fucking prize?"

Tom turned his body to glance at you again. He pointed a finger at you, eyes serious and penetrating. "I've never said it. That's not how I see this".

"Oh, really? So you care to explain me why do you keep doing that? We barely spend time together now, Tom, and when we finally get to have a nice night out, you make sure to state that I'm yours and that no other man can lay an eye on me", you sniff, unable to keep the cracked voice from coming out and show how upset you felt about it. "I don't like to feel that I'm waiting for you like a goddamn doll, Tom".

"Well, darling, I'm sorry if I'm not being enough, but that's how real world works", his voice is cold and he is avoiding looking into your eyes, his jaw clenched in a way that make it clear that he's not satisfied with the conversation's rumor. "I made it pretty clear when we first met that my job doesn't allow me to be here the entire time, so what the fuck do you expect me to do? Or do you think that this nice house and the maids, and all the fucking jewels I give you come for free? Tell me, y/n, what the hell you want from me?"

You watch his usually soft features whenever you were around turning into the one he used with his men. The veins in his neck visible, his pupils huge and thin lips trembling with anger. Tom has never spoken to you that way, and you could feel the pressure on your chest with the pain from his harsh words.

A couple of tears rolled down your cheeks and you were quick to rub them away with the back of your hand. Noticing the way you pressed your lips together lightly, Tom's face softened and he realized his posture and tone.

"I don't- I don't know, Tom", you say in a low, croaky voice. "Think I just wanted us to be a couple. I'm truly sorry if that's too much to ask you for".

His heart pained at your words and he took a few steps in your direction. "Darling, no, that's not what I-"

You stopped him, putting your arm in front of you and shaking your head. "No, that's exactly what you wanted to say. I don't know what I had in mind when we started dating, nor what I was thinking when I agreed to move in here, but I don't want to be between you and your job anymore".

He stared at you, unaware of what you were about to do, thinking about what to say. He didn't want to fight with you like that, but didn't want you to think that what you've said is true neither.

You walked past him and straight to the closet again, picking up your suitcase and grabbing a few clothes from the wardrobe. Tom watched you for a few seconds, startled, and then started to panic.

"What are you doing?"

You ignored him, trying to think what you'd possibly need to get to stay out tonight. You could get the rest of your things later, but right now you just wanted to get out of that house.

"Y/n, love, what are you doing?" He asked in desperation, reaching your arm and trying to pull you away from the wardrobe, but you just shrugged his touch off.

"What does it look like? I'm leaving, Tom! If you can't conciliate our relationship with your job, then I guess I have nothing to do here anymore". You say through gritted teeth.

"What?!" He breathed out. "Darling, you can't leave like-"

"Don't you fucking call me darling!"

Tom stops and stares at you, blinking. His mouth is agape, trying to get his thoughts together. You didn't stop packing, and when he saw the determination in your actions, he simply couldn't contain the anger growing on his chest.

"Know what? Go. Leave me! Get the fuck out of this house. I don't fucking care!" He yelled, and you jumped slightly at the sound of his guttural voice.

You wiped some of new tears and nodded once, not minding to get anything else as you closed your suitcase and walked out of the room, hands shaking from the emotions you were so hardly trying to refrain.

But before you could step out of the room and go down on the stairs, you turn around to see he stagnant at the same spot. "Fuck you, Tom. You can take all this damn jewelry. Take this, the clothes, and everything else you bought me. If I can't have you, these don't mean a single thing to me. I'm not a fucking doll, Tom".

You left, and he couldn't move for minutes straight.

*********

The night passed by and Tom didn't hear from you. He checked his phone more times than he liked to admit, but you didn't answer any calls, any messages. Nothing. He didn't even realize what time he fell asleep on the couch, waiting for some sort of sign from you, but in the morning, when he rolled out of it, his heart pounded in his chest at the realization that you were nowhere to be seen.

He asked Harrison, his best mate and the second person you most chatted with in the house, if he has seen you, but he didn't have anything. So Tom waited, trying to focus on his work for the morning and the evening, as he thought that maybe you just wanted some time to think clearer. He regretted saying those things to you already, knowing that none of that was true. Obviously he did care if you were there in the morning. He wanted to wake up with you by his side like every other day. It was all that mattered for him after all. Not the money, not the jewel, not the house. It all didn't make sense when you weren't there.

And he felt so sick thinking that you truly believed he was seeing you as a prize, as a doll that would stand beautifully waiting for him at the end of the day. He knew he should have persisted and said that you weren't right, that he loved you so much that he could take a bullet for you, right on his chest. He'd do anything for you, but didn't seem to know how to put that in words when it comes to a fight.

"Fuck!" He shouted when alone in his office, hands collapsing on the desk. It was past seven at night and he hadn't heard from you. A whole fucking day. He asked Harrison to send the men to look for you. He wouldn't force you coming back home, but he needed to be sure you were alright.

All the bad thoughts he could have were now successfully running through his mind and driving him nuts. He thought that maybe some rival mobster could have laid eyes on you, all by yourself, and tried to do something. You could be in serious danger right now, and Tom wouldn't forgive himself if that was the case.

He took a drink. He needed to clear his mind as time was passing by and his men didn't have any information about you. Your phone would be filled with unanswered calls from him, even voicemail telling you he was sorry and would do anything if you only called him back to say you were doing fine.

"Please, love, if you're listening to it... fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I never intended to hurt you. I'm a dumbass, and you don't have to forgive me, but, please, just let me know you're fine and I'll give you your time. Just- please. I need to hear from you, y/n", he recorded, a drink on his hand and the other holding his phone firmly.

When it was 9pm, he decided he was going out to look for you himself. He just couldn't sit there waiting for a call or for his men do to something - he needed to take that pressure of his chest and no one was helping.

He took his gun, called Harrison and a few more man before heading to the living room.

"Alright, we have a few more places left" Tom started his instructions, while shoving his gun at the back of his trousers. "Harrison and I are going to her family's house. You two check in her old friend's place. Doesn't matter how far it is, I don't want you two to come back until you've looked through that fucking town-"

"Tom", Harrison cut him off, coughing a bit to get his attention. He was about to snap at him, when he followed his gaze.

And there you were, standing at the door frame in the living room, a confused expression on your face as you tried to understand what was going on in the middle of the room. Usually, Tom never had meetings in any other area than the conference room.

"What's going on?", you asked bluntly, and Tom releases a deep and relieved breath, so audible that you couldn't not take notice of.

"God, you're here", he breathed out, walking towards you in large steps. You were still mad, but also so confused with his reaction that you couldn't stop him from holding you tightly in his arms. "Fuck, darling, where were you?".

Besides his words being a bit harsh, his voice was soft and caring, worried if anything. He didn't let go of you first, kissing the top of your head for a long minute.

Harrison smiled a little seeing the both of you and dismissed the men out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.

"Sorry, you don't need to explain", Tom shook his head and pulled away to look at you. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, a dark circle around it. He brushed your cheeks with the pad of his thumb and furrowed. "Are you okay, though?"

"Yeah, I am- but what was going on?", you insisted.

Tom cupped your face on his hands, still not believing that you were there again. "I was so fucking worried. I thought that something was off, you didn't answer any of my messages or calls... I was heading to a drive with my men to look for you".

You blink a few times, startled that Tom was so concerned all this time.

"I was in a hotel room, actually", you chew in your lower lip, kind of ashamed that you put him through such a concern. "Needed to be alone for a time, so I turned my phone off".

Tom pressed his forehead against yours. "It doesn't matter anymore, darling. It was all my fault", his voice was croaky and you felt your heart pounding inside your chest. "I should never have said those things to you-"

"It's alright, Tom-"

"No, it's not", he shook his head. "Cause it was all lies. I do fucking care if you leave me. I wouldn't stand being away from you, my love. You're everything, everything. And you're right, I don't spend much time with you, and it eats me alive, cause that's what makes me happy, being around you. All I ever wanted was to make you happy, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry if I haven't shown you how much you mean to me..."

"Shhh, Tom", you closed your eyes, hugging him by the neck and bringing him closer. "It's okay, I know it. I wasn't thinking straight too, I know you don't treat me like that. I was just too pissed, and yeah, I'd like to spend more time together, but it's alright that you don't-"

He cut you by a sweet kiss pressed on your lips, "Nothing is more important for me than you. I was too mad with that thing in the restaurant to say it right away, but I'll try harder. I'm gonna be here with you, no matter what. Work can wait".

You sigh and pull him closer, breathing his comforting scent.

"My lovely girl", Tom sighs and smile a bit. "You scared the hell out of me".

"You deserved it, idiot" you said and he laughed quietly.

"I love you, darling", he stroked your back, hiding his face in the crock of your neck. "Always".

"Love you too, Tommy".

You spent the rest of the night together, having a nice and cozy dinner at home. Tom never smiled wider than that night, and the following others were fulfilled with his promise - there was always time in your day to spend alone with your boyfriend.

*******

Taglist:

@dreamy-clousds

@pinkrockstar19

@onyourgoddamnleft

@spideyspeaches

@miraclesoflove

@hollands-taste

@zspideyy

#tom holland #tom holland blurbs #tom holland imagines #tom holland fic #mob!tom #mob!tom x reader #Tom angst #tom x reader #request #anon

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sugar-sweets-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Andrea × Preg!Reader

Word count - 1,694

Prompt - A divorced pregnant woman lives next to Ursula and Janet. As the months past it gets harder for her to do much by herself. Andrea starts to help her here and there after he gains his mobility. One afternoon things grow intimate between the two.

Warnings - 18+(NO MINOR READERS PLEASE), fingering, pregnant kink, a bit of a mommy kink, handjob, fluff, and it's not proof read so sorry for any typos!

Readers note - this is my first fanfic so please bare with me 😅

It's been about a month since Andrea has helped you out. At first he would mainly just clean and head home. Then he began to practice or just play his violin for you. The more he visited the closer you got to him. Yes, you were a tad older than him. However, you couldn't let go of these wants for him. Still, you put them aside and continued to only be friendly towards the young man. Until he came over today, it was as though God had a special plan for you two this evening. Something you definitely weren't expecting.

As usual, you heard a knock on the front door. His knocks normally came in a silly little pattern. It always brought a smile to your face. Slowly, you gathered some energy to get up. Holding your big swollen tummy as you made your way to the door. Not even bothering to look through the peephole. You opened the door up and greeted Andrea.

"Good evening, Andrea. Come in, it looks like it will storm soon."

"G-Good evening, y/n."

He shared a warm inviting smile with you. As he made his way inside. Shutting the door for you and locking it. His eyes glide down to your belly. His smile grew as he met your gaze again. "You're getting so big." Andrea chuckled. You roll your eyes playfully. Giving him a gentle slap on the arm. Turning away from him as you waddle to the kitchen. "Gentlemen aren't suppose to comment on a woman's figure." You smile to yourself. As you grab two glasses from the upper cabinets. Pouring you both a glass of water. Your brows crease as it aches to stand for too long.

Andrea rubs his arm and let's out a soft laugh at your critique on his manners. He was about to make a snarky remark. Until he notices the pained look on your face. Quickly, he heads over to your side next to the counter. "You should sit down. Remember.. I'm here to help you. You need to rest." He said with a frown on his face. While you simply shake your head in response. "No.. I got this. The least I can do for you is get you a drink. Andrea, you do so much for me. I haven't done anything for you. Not even once, I feel bad."

Andrea stood there silently for a few moments. About to walk away he gathers an idea. Stepping behind you, his hands are planted on your hips. Causing you to jump lightly. Before you can protest whatever he was about to do. Andrea softly shushes you, while his hands snake around your waist. Your loose dress bunch under your belly. As his hands settle on that section of your body. Soon he lifts your baby bump, relieving all that pressure and weight from you. A deep sigh escapes you as your cheeks lightly heat up.

"There you go.. I hope this can help." Andrea says softly against your ear. His chin nearly resting on your shoulder.

"Oh yes.. Wow, it feels incredible. Thank you, thank you so much Andrea." You moan lightly. Unable to help, but lean against him. Your hands end up on top of his. As you close your eyes for a moment. Suddenly you feel his lip grace the side of your neck. Causing you to tense up and open your eyes. Pulling a bit from him, but not escaping his hold on you. Looking over your shoulder at him. Before you could question him he captures your lips with his. Pressing nice and tender kisses against your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as you couldn't help but kiss back. Geez, it felt crazy how he hand you wrapped around his finger.

"Andrea.. We shouldn't. This would never work." You utter between kisses.

"Mm.. Shh. Don't say such things. I know how you've been looking at me. To be honest, I've been looking at you the same way."

"R-Really?"

"Mhm.. And I know...Mamuśka potrzebuje masażu."

"Heh, w-what did you just say?"

"Mommy needs a massage." He smirked.

Your eyes widen at his translation. Gently, you fully pull away from his grasp. Turning your body to face him. As you step back a bit. "Andrea, I'm too old for you love. Please..you're making this more difficult." You say in a shy manner. As he moves closer to you. Backing you up into the corner of the room. Your back pressed against the angle of the walls. Your eyes stay focused on one another. As silence fill the space between you. "It's only a four year difference. C'mon mami.. Let me be the man you need. Because you're the woman I need.. I want." He leaned in and kissed your forehead.

A deep sigh leaves your lips, "okay.. But just this once."

"Fine, but I promise you'll want more of me." He chuckled.

Andrea reached down, lifting her dress a bit. Caressing your belly carefully as he kept eye contact with you. One of his hands slowly slid down. Feeling the warmth of your nether region. His cheeks grew rosey, biting his bottom lip. "Didn't know you weren't wearing underwear." He smirked. Causing you to shiver from a heated manner. "I couldn't put any on.. It's too hard to do now." You admit. Reaching up, you cup his face and smile. Spreading your legs a bit for him. Making Andrea more excited. He stared down at her tummy. As he focused on pleasuring you. Fingers delved deep through your folds. Massaging your pussy gently. Caressing your folds as his thumb circles your clit.

"G-God.." You whimper softly. As you pull him closer. Locking your lips against his jaw. Kissing down his neck in a rough manner. Deep kissing noises echoed in the room. Which was mixed with the moans of yours and Andrea's. Leading to Andrea pushing his index and middle finger inside you. "Ahhh.. Oh baby." You whimper against the crook of his neck. Your breath tickles his adam's apple. Giving him a semi hard on. Pushing you more against the corner. Pumping his fingers at a steady pace. Jamming them past his second knuckle.

"Baby, you are t-too good to me. Lemme touch you too, sweetheart." You whisper as you reach down. Having a little trouble reaching to get to his pants. Andrea chuckled and moved his hips forwards for her. "There you go, mami.." He uttered out softly. Taking his fingers out and moving his arm to give her better access. You subtly whine at the loss of his fingers. However, you couldn't help but chuckle at the reason for it. Getting his fly open you reach in and felt his erection.

"Mmm… we can please each other together.." He mumbled. Pressing his forehead against yours. Already rolling his hips up against your touch.

"Since you've been such a good boy.. I'll allow it." You tease.

Yanking his cock out of his pants, free it. You quickly spit on your palm. Reaching back down to wrap your hand around his shaft. Causing a gruff groan to escape him. You stare deep into his eyes. Starting to pump his shaft nice and swiftly. While he reaches back between your legs. Stuffing his fingers back into your cunt. Making your mouth hang out from pleasure. There you two were. Jerking one another off in such a tight corner. It felt so warm, from how heavy you two began to breathe. The way he throbbed in your grasp made you hunger for his climax. Your grip tightened and stroke grew faster. Earning you a loud cry of pleasure from the young man.

Out of nowhere he pulls his hand away from your core. Which makes you rather sexually frustrated. Before you can comment he pulls your grip away from his hard on. As you raise your eyebrows he lowers onto the floor. "Fuck me.. Please y/n. I want you to make me a proper man." He desperately begged. Staring up at you with those soft hazel eyes. How could you refuse? You had no words, only a hand gesture. Informing him to help you down, which he did.

You hovered over his lap, sitting up on your knees. Andrea had sat up, ready to cradle you in his lap. Wanting to help you be as comfortable as possible. You hold onto his shoulders as he holds the sides of your belly. You lower yourself onto his precuming erection. It slid in nice and easy, due to how wet you both were. Both you erupt into a sharp gasp. Sitting there a moment to adjust. Though, soon enough you began to roll your hips.

"Nnn... Mmh, oh Andrea. I don't need to make you a man.. You're already the man I need." You purr in pure lust. Cupping his face as you hump harder.

Andrea couldn't even speak from how good you made him feel. Whimpering at each hump you gave him. His mouth stayed agape. Your belly rested up against his flat stomach. So he let go of your baby bump. Moving his hands up the back of your dress. Groping your ass firmly, to help you bounce. His hips jerked up a bit to meet your collision. Both of you are speechless, only able to cry out in pleasure. Andrea squeezes your ass harder as he gives you an intense gaze. "I-Im gonna cum.." He said in deep moans

You lean in and whisper in his ear, "Do it inside me.."

Those words pushed him over the edge. Gasping harshly as he shifts his arms. Wrapping them tightly around your torso. Holding you down as his erection spews his warm love inside of you. The erratic orgasm threw you into an orgasm as well. Hugging on to him tightly as you sigh heavily. As you calm down from your climax. You feel his hand pet your back. Followed by gentle kisses on the side of your head. A smile grows on your face as you continue to relax against him.

"I love you.." You finally admit in a hushed manner.

"I love you more."

#daniel bruhl smut #andrea marowski #andrea x reader #andrea fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel brühl

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primalsouls · 3 years

Text

white rabbit pt 4

langa hasegawa x gn! reader (pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3)

anon: will white rabbit have a part 4? ( if yes pls pls give them a happy ending hehe ) but its oki if you dont want to, no pressure! i just really enjoyed it and i love ur writing btw :)

⚠️ : im terrible at picking up what's a trigger, so let me know is there's anything uncomfortable!

theme: general

note: ooh my heart 💔 rip white rabbit 🐇🙏🕊 anyway, here's pt 4! :> i hope you like it and enjoy it! and thank you for reading! let me know what you think. :) i really like this chapter the most lol

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

"Leave... Wonderland?"

"Forever?"

Reki and Langa stared at Adam with frowns on their face. Eyes widen at the words. Whispers surrounded them quick, destroying the small silence that gave the words to settle in for everyone. Blue eyes looked back at the [h/c]-haired skater. Their head still hanged low but he could see the sheer rage their fists held.

"He's saying that... [Y/N] [L/N], the White Rabbit, is leaving S." Miya repeated.

"Forever. Meaning.... They're kicked out." Shadow sighed, shaking his head.

Hearing those words, [Y/N] gritted their teeth and unclenched their fists. They looked up at Adam, a pleading expression on their face as they pulled their hoodie back.

"P-please... I don't wanna leave." They said, voice cracked in the beginning. Langa's heart broke at the sight. But before he could do anything, Adam walked up to them. "I'll do anything, please. Let me stay!" They continued but they flinched when their board was taken away from them harshly by Adam.

"A bet is a bet. Besides, it's about time S gets rid of its pests." Adam grinned. He snapped his finger, a couple of men bringing in a can of gasoline and a box of matches. Their eyes widen. Langa and the rest of his friends stood frozen, unable to believe the scene before them. Silence took over the crowd. [Y/N] knew they couldn't do anything to stop Adam from destroying their skateboard. "You should have won and this wouldn't happen. Remember, it's your fault." He said quietly. And with sheer power, he lifted the board and broke it in half with his knee. [Y/N] stared at him with wide eyes and mouth gaped slightly in shock. Tears pooled up and streamed down their cheeks one by one, one after the other.

"N-no... please, don't..." They whispered, a hand reaching out weakly but it didn't move much. [Y/N] was too shock to move any more than an inch.

Adam threw the broken board on the ground. He was handed the gasoline and the box of matches. He poured the liquid over the pieces, his masked eyes never leaving his younger sibling's face. Their look of terror filled him with chills. He loved it. Such as he loved the finish touch to the punishment. With elegance, Adam pulled out a match and stroke it on the igniter side of the box. Fire bursts on the matchstick. Adam flicked it onto the broken board like it was nothing and within seconds, flames burst to life, consuming the skateboard.

Langa watched with horror. [Y/N] didn't deserve that. They didn't deserve to leave. A bet wasn't even established. So, why? Why was this happening? His eyes went up to [Y/N].

"White Rabbit-"

"They're no longer go by that title." Adam interrupted coldly. "By losing this beef, no only are they banned from S, their title is no longer theirs to claim. White Rabbit is dead." Langa's eyes widen as his frown deepened. He couldn't believe it. This was not supposed to happen. Not supposed to lead to this results. No one supposed to be kick out or strip from their title. Adam reached a hand out. Langa saw how tensed [Y/N] got as the hand grew closer to them. The gloved fingers gently held into the S pin. It was on their collar of their hoodie but the next second, it wad ripped off from them. He threw it into the flames.

"I... I'm sorry..." [Y/N] apologized. Langa didn't understand. There was nothing to apologize for. Was it for Adam? For losing the race and everything they built for themselves? [Y/N] kept staring at the board, not noticing Adam turned his back on them. But his last words lef them in breaking in pieces.

"And don't bother coming home. A wild animal like you don't belong there. Never had and never will." As his final saying, Adam picked up his board and walked away but stopped to face Langa with a smirk. "Oh, and once again, my dear SNOW, congratulations." Langa blinked, watching Adam disappeared from everyone's sight.

"Damn..." Shadow muttered.

"Vanished from S... what a turn of events." Miya commented quietly.

Reki frowned at Adam's disappearing figure before he turned to Langa and [Y/N]. Everyone else slowly departed. Reki walked up to the two skaters, the broken board still caught in flames. Tears continued to spill from their eyes, Reki saw. Before the two could say any sort of comfort words to them, [Y/N] turned away from them and ran, ran as fast as they could. Away. They needed to get away and breathe. They couldn't breathe properly. Their chest was killing them. Sobs caught in their throat when they tried to cry. It hurts them. Their heart hurts. Everything was always their fault. They deserved. They believed they deserved it. They weren't a Shindo. They were a pest in the family. That was why Adam-no-Ainosuke told them not to come home. He was kicking them out. He was probably make up a lie to their aunts to make it seem it was their decision. For the better of the Shindo Family, they would say.

Life truly wasn't fair.

"C'mon, let's go!" Langa said, getting ready to chase after them but Reki grabbed his arm, pulling him back. He winced, the grip on his arm reminded him of the injuries he received during the race. "Wha- what? We have to go after them, Reki." He said, pointing towards [Y/N] running off.

"But you'll hurt even more with injuries like this. Besides, it's not our business. What happened with them was between them and Adam." Reki said. Miya nodded as he walked up to them.

"He's right, Langa. We should stay out of it. They're no longer of importance." Miya added in, crossing his arms over his chest. Langa frowned at the two boys.

"It's probably not the best time to even go after them. It's best that we mind our own business for now." Shadow advised, the other two boys giving affirmative responses. Langa tried to come up with reasons to go after them, but Reki shook his head and led Langa awau from the factory, pointing out the cuts once again. That was the last time Langa saw [Y/N].

The past couple of weeks, they were no were in sight. No familiar white hoodie resembling a white rabbit was found around S. No one spoke about them. It was like they never existed in the first place. As if S never heard of a skater called White Rabbit. Langa tried to find ways to get into contact with them but whenever he mentioned them, he was ignored, shut down, avoided. He was worried for them, for their safety. If Adam truly meant his words, then where would [Y/N] be? Langa wanted to make sure they were okay. That was all he wanted to know.

"[Y/N]... where are you?" Langa muttered as he walked through the park. He was planning to meet Reki at their usual hangout. Although, he wanted to clear his mind out of [Y/N] and the events that occurred. It wasn't their fault. It was his. If he never beef against them, Langa would had still see them every night at S, even from a fair distance to admire them. They would still be in his life, somehow.

"Ah, sorry..." A tired voice said. Langa looked down, not realizing he bumped into someone. He did felt something hit him as he walked, but he didn't pay too much attention. Langa opened his mouth to apologize instead but words were caught in his throat. His eyes widen. He couldn't believe it. The board in his hand dropped to the ground beside him, both hands reaching up a bit.

"It's you..." Langa whispered. Confusion replaced the apologic gaze on their face. "White Rabbit." When the title left his lips, it was their turn for their eyes to grew wide. Langa smiled brightly. "It's you, White Rabbit. [Y/N]." Langa was happy. He found his white rabbit once more. But no more words left Langa's lips as a hand slapped his cheek. It took him a second to register the outcome. A shaky hand of his reached to touch the burning cheek. He flinched when his fingers came into contact. "Wh-what?" A handprint appeared as a light red shade on his cheek. His eyes focused on them. They didn't wore their signature hoodie. Only a black one with dark blue jeans and white Vans shoes. Their eyes were still the same crimson color but filled with anger. And sadness? Langa parted his lips, unable to say anything.

"Don't call me that name. Because of you, I'm no longer.... that..." [Y/N] spat out, glaring dangerously at Langa. "You took everything away from me. You ruined my life!" They yelled, all the feelings they tried to bottle in exploded. Langa watched with a shook expression as they ranted off on him. He may be dense to others' emotions but he could pick up the hurt in [Y/N]'s voice. The way they trembled with rage. He didn't like that. Langa didn't like seeing them upset. Especially when hd was the one who caused it.

"I'm sorry."

[Y/N] paused, staring at Langa with wide eyes. Their frown grew deeper as they tried to find any sort of pity or joke in his baby blue eyes. In which they felt like they were looking at the ocean. So blue. Like the sky. [Y/N] shook their head rapidly, gritting their teeth.

"Oh, shut up. I don't need your pity. And I doubt you're sorry! Because of you, not only was I kicked out of S, I was kicked out of my home... Not like it ever felt like home anyway..." They said, mumbling the last words but Langa caught them.

"Wait? Home... Where were you staying at?" Langa asked, voice filled with concern. [Y/N] scrunched their nose, eyes narrowed. "I swear, I'm not pitying you. I'm actually... worried. I've been worried for a long time now. Ever since you left S." Langa said, looking away from them, sudden feeling timid for no particular reason. They raised a brow, watching Langa's movements to fact-check his worries. There was no hint of him lying. But they still kept their guard up. "I even asked around back in S for the past few weeks. Not one single person said anything...It's like you-"

"-never existed." They continued for him softly, eyes casted down to the ground. Their features relaxed but Langa noted the sadness stayed. No anger in sight. They sighed tiredly, running a hand through their hair. "Doesn't matter... Just stop it." [Y/N] crossed their arns over their chest, raising a brow. "Beside, the hell you kept asking about me? Aren't you happy I've been kicked?"

Langa shook his head right away once the question next their lips.

"No. I'm not happy. In fact, I..." Langa took a deep breath, trying to think on his words before they left his mouth. "I'm not enjoying myself." He mumbled, making [Y/N] take a step closer to hear him properly. They tilted their head, lips tugged down a bit as they urged him to repeat himself and keep going. "It makes me sad not to see you at S anymore. I didn't want any of that to happen. I didn't even know what was going on." Langa shrugged, looking at them with a pout. A pout they found adorable. He looked like a kicked puppy who didn't like the fact their owner left their home everyday. [Y/N] mentally cringed at the thought. What were they thinking? This was the same guy who went up against their brother and banned them from S. They hated him. They were supposed to hate him. [Y/N] clicked their tongue, throwing Langa off the sense, wondering if he said anything wrong. A faint red hue decorated their cheeks. They turned their back on him, hugging themselves.

"Whatever. Whether you knew what was going on or not, doesn't matter. My board got destroyed and I can't go back to S. Everything happened..." [Y/N] whispered, arms slowly fell back to their sides as they watched the sun beginning to settle down for the rest of the day. "I've got nothing... I've got no one-"

"You got me." Langa butt in. The words made them do a double take on him. It caught them off guard. And Langa continued to surprise them. A determined glint in his eyes as he stepped closer. "Reki can build you a new board and we can all skate. Together. We can skate outside of S, anyway. It'll be fun!" Langa bounced a bit in his steps, smiling brightly. "We can hang out together. And if you don't have a job, you can work with Reki and me. You even move in wi-"

"Stop..."

"We can go to school togeth-"

"Stop it."

"You got us! So, you don't have to wor-"

"Shut up!"

Langa blinked, taken back by the sudden outburst from [Y/N]. He focused back on them, confused why they told him to quiet down. Their brows knitted down, hands clutched by their side. The sunset shoned behind them. The soft breeze brushed against their figure out. And if Langa squinted, he could had notice their faint blush reddened slightly. They looked cute. He wanted to see them blush again.

"Just... why are you doing this?" They asked, their eyes looking anywhere but Langa. They were shy. They found it unbelievable but it happened. They were shy.

Langa stared at them for a moment, making [Y/N] nervous.

"Because I like you."

Those words froze [Y/N] on the spot. Their eyes widen, lips parted slightly. The words ran through their mind like an echo. Langa's charmed smile implanted with it.

"And I want to be your friend."

Impossible.

"That's..." [Y/N]'s face was burning up. Cheeks redder they matched their eyes. "That's stupid." They blurted out quickly, taking a step back. Langa frowned a bit, not unexpecting that sort of answer to his confession. A confession they weren't sure if they were happy about or sadden by it.

"No one wants to be my friend. No one likes me... That's what they always told me." [Y/N] took another step back, brows knitted down but not in anger but in sorrow. Every step they took back, Langa takes one forward. "I'm unlovable... I don't... deserve it." The young former skater shook their head, as if snapping into reality. Tears welled up on their eyes. "You don't like me. You don't. You don't, you don't, you don't, you don't," They repeated quietly, hugging themselves as the tears rolled down their cheeks. Langa panicked. He didn't wanted to upset them. What they said made him wonder who told them such statements. They trembled and he didn't know what to do.

Except for one thing. And he hoped he don't get slap doing so.

Arms wrapped around their frame, a hand on their head as the other rest on their lower back. The hand stroke their head as the other ran their back in a circular form. Langa closed his eyes, hugging [Y/N] closed to him.

"Shh... shh... It's okay, [Y/N]..." He whispered. "Whoever told you those things, they... they don't know what they're talking about." Langa took a deep breath. "But I'm telling the truth. And you do deserve it." He pulled away a bit, cupping their face with his hands and made them looked at him. "I like you. I like you very much. And even though I want to be more, I do want to be your friend." Langa smiled genuinely, blue eyes staring into red ones. "So, please... let me be your friend."

[Y/N] stared at Langa, stunned in his embrace. The blush darkened as Langa continued. They couldn't believe it. Their heart pounded little by little with every word Langa spoke. The hands on their face felt nice. The comfort hug was something they never experienced. They only got hurt by the hands of those who dared say they loved them. But, for whatever reason, they trusted Langa's words.

"Please... don't hurt me..."

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hoseokisgucci · 3 years

Text

You Lift Me Up

GENRE: Fluff and Smut

WORD COUNT: 5K

PAIRING: Taehyung x Reader

SUMMARY: Taetae here sees OC at the gym, one day helps her out a little when she gets injured and somehow ends up in her bed.

WARNING: Tbh there’s some oral in there (fem receiving), some body worship, a lil of undiscovered kinks showing a sneak peek, penetrative sex, a little dialogue heavy, Taehyung being softboi max.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally uploaded this without the smut, but then deleted it, and now I’m putting it up again because I finally got around to finishing it. I definitely wanted to write something gym related because its my safe space but I really also wanted to make it soft because IM AN IDIOT FOR PEOPLE FALLING IN LOVE/FINDING THEIR PEOPLE.

“How different would it be anyways? I’ll just ask someone for help if I need it. It’s not like I’ll be abandoned by everyone just because I don’t have a partner.”

“Hey! We didn’t abandon you!! We have exams. Our university made you lonely, not us.” Your friend squawked over the phone.

Taking advantage of this new found chink in her armor, you added, “Yes. An institution is more important than I am. I see how it is. Hungry, partner-less and overcome with despair. That’s my life now.”

She huffed, and you could just imagine her shaking her head at you. “You’re a heathen. I’ll buy you food. Now bye. Duty calls.”

You laughed out an affirmative and slid the phone into the side pocket of your gym bag. The university gym was located close to your dorms, which made it easier for you to haul your ass to the gym even on your lazy days. You were already wondering what it would be like without a partner. You always had friends with you at the gym, be it one or two. You never had to worry about spotting or support ever before, but now these questions crossed your mind. Scenarios where you dropped a dumbbell on your toe or worse, your face flashed before your eyes. You shuddered when a haunting crack resounded in your ears, the sound reminding you to be wary of heavy lifting while you were on your own.

Getting started on your workout was easy enough. A little warmup here, a bit of running and cycling there. The music pumping through your ears helped you keep up the pace as you cycled, body starting to sweat, lips mouthing the words of the song playing through your earphones. When you hit the 15-minute mark, you figured it would be alright to cycle for 5 more minutes.

Just as the song changed, and you looked down to check if the lever for your seat was proper, your heart came up to your throat as someone tapped you. With your hand over your heart, legs coming to a stop, you turned to see the most gorgeous man ever. Scratch that. The most gorgeous being ever.

Lost in your head, you only came to when you realized that his lips were supposed to be forming coherent sentences. That were aimed at you. Raising your hand, your palm faced towards him, you said, “Wait, I can’t hear you.” His lips grimaced, as if embarrassed and he nodded his head. When you turned off your music, paused your timer and turned to look at him, torso twisting in his direction, his eyes quickly snapped to yours, as if he wasn’t just checking out the swell of your ass perched on the tiny cycle seat. You raised your brows at him, which probably kickstarted his brain again. He gulped and said,

“How long will you take?”

You were about to retort and tell him that there were other cycles too, but when you turned the other way, you saw that all of them were occupied.

“Maybe around 4 more minutes.” He nodded in response, gave a quick smile, and when he was about to turn away, you tapped his hand, grabbing his attention once more. You didn’t know why you felt good, having those eyes on you. You were probably going crazy, you imagination making you see the electricity in them.

Rethinking about your situation, you said, “Actually, I’ll get off. I was just going to do some extra cycling, but you can get started.”

He shook his head, curly hair bouncing around as he said, “No no, please take your time. I’ll just stretch some while you’re getting done.”

You nodded your head and smiled at him, hoping that he could understand how grateful you were. You got back to cycling, starting up the movement of your legs once again. Without the music to keep you occupied your eyes wandered to the mirror in front of you. As you scanned your surroundings, you noticed the guy from before, stretching his arms, gazed fixed on your form. The intensity with which he kept looking at you almost made your legs flounder, but you concentrated on maintaining your momentum.

Sighing inwardly, your eyes moved backed to him. He hadn’t noticed you looking at him, because he wasn’t focused on your face, but rather your ass. Wanting to add fuel to the fire, you stuck your ass out a little more and arched your back a little more, making your body look a little more tantalizing. As you did this, you could see his eyes widen a little, hands now hanging limp. You discreetly kept looking at him, and could see him scan your form, his gaze focusing on your face. You cycled a bit more aggressively, the motion moving you from side to side.

If he was watching, you might as well give him a good show. When you eyed him again, he was bent over, legs spread wide, hands touching the ground, stretching. But his eyes, they didn’t leave you, or rather, your butt, even once.

Your timer beeped, signaling the end of your 20 minutes. You slowed down your legs and sat there, catching your breath. When you looked at yourself in the mirror, your cheeks were flushed, sweat dotting your forehead and your face glistened. You looked thoroughly wrecked. He was still looking at you. You got off the cycle, walked to him and said, “Its all yours.”

He nodded, and you walked away. You breezed through the rest of the workout, mind occupied with thoughts of big hands and one beautiful man.

Through the next week, you kept seeing him at the gym, on a machine or doing a rep. You weren't ignoring him, per se, but what the hell would you go and say to him? "Hey I think you're pretty hot, come over and choke me?"

Definitely not.

A week without a partner goes by with no problems, but its like your beginner luck in the world of solo exercising has run out when you lose your balance while doing weighted squats. Even before starting the set, you were a bit worried, because the rod itself weighed 32 kgs, and you had added plates of 10 kgs. You never imagined that you'd get injured at the gym out of all places but, alas! Your time had come. When you felt that you had no control over the bar and your body anymore, you tried to brace yourself for impact, but two hands lifted the bar off of your shoulders, which allowed your body to gain some balance. When you looked at the mirror, you saw cycle dude holding the bar in his hands. You quickly turned around and helped him rack it.

With frantic eyes, he scans your body for any apparent injuries and asks,

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"Uh no, I don’t think so. Just that, my knee might be a little sprained."

His eyes focus on your knee, hands out in front of him, ready to support you. You start walking, but you can feel a slight tinge in your right knee when you put pressure on it. The discomfort might show on your face, because he wraps your arm around his shoulder, and urges you to put your weight on him. He walks you to the bench and sits you down, your leg extended in front of you.

Squatting near your leg, fingers brushing the hair our of his eyes and off of his forehead, he asks,

"Can you call someone to take you home?"

You take a minute to think if there's anyone who actually could take you home at this moment. And you come up with no one. You tell him so.

Tentatively, eyes now darting here and there, he says

"Uh, would you mind if I dropped you off?"

You blurt out, "Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why would you do that? You don't even know me."

"Well I, uh, might have a small crush on you. Not in a creepy way! I just think you're kinda cute. And I would feel better if I knew you'd get home safely."

Welp. That's kinda endearing.

"Okay. Let's go."

He asks for your locker number, goes and gets both of your bags and comes to get you. For a few minutes, you walk with your arm around his

shoulder, half of your weight held up by him. Your pace is probably slower than a snail, what with you trying to clumsily hop and him trying to support you. He stops and says,

"Okay, let's get you on my back. You can point in what direction you wanna go and I'll carry you. It'll be faster and way better for you."

You try to protest but he's already hanging both of your bags around his neck and getting on his haunches in front of you, hands ready to hold your legs. So you climb on.

As he starts walking, he says,

"I'm Taehyung by the way, your beloved servant."

"Well, my dear servant, you shall call me princess then," you cheekily reply as you tighten your hold around his neck.

He laughs and shakes his head, huffing out, "Wow, the audacity."

"I'm sorry. Thank you so much, I'll be indebted to you forever. You're too kind," you sincerely say to him.

He just hums in response, so you leave it at that. Your dorm building isn't that far, so you make it there in no time. You get in the lift, and once it opens on your floor, you tell Taehyung your dorm number.

You tell him your door code, and he walks you in, going straight to your couch and sitting you down. He takes the bags from his neck and puts them aside. Next, he takes off your shoes and puts them near your door.

"Okay, do you mind if I check your fridge? Is there anything like an icepack? To put on your knee?"

"Yeah, there is an ice pack."

He grabs the ice pack, fills it with ice cubes and holds it on your knee. The freezing sensation

sends a twinge down your knee. He urges you to hold the ice pack and goes to the kitchen. When he comes back, he presses a glass of water to your lips, and you drink.

Once you're done, he sets the glass on the coffee table, and settles beside you, grabbing your leg and gently getting it on his lap, urging you to lie down, with your head resting on the armrest. He holds your leg with one hand, and tenderly ices your knee with the other. The action makes you relax your body, all the stress unwinding. Taehyung doesn't say anything, his eyes concentrated on your knee. Feeling the pain in your knee numbing, you close your eyes.

The next thing you know, Taehyung in shaking you awake, calling out your name in his low baritone. When you gain some semblance of consciousness, the first thing that you register is the fragrance of food. Your stomach grumbles, and Taehyung chuckles at you. He helps you sit up, and shoves a takeout box in your hand. You thank him and dig in. Once you're done, he cleans up and comes back to sit beside you.

"How are you feeling now?"

You flex your leg a little, and when it doesn't hurt that bad, you say, "It feels better. I'll just take a painkiller and knock out."

He nods his head, hand reaching out to feel over and around your knee. After being satisfied, he rests his hand on your knee, and looks at you. "I'm glad. Just be careful."

In a moment of courage, you rest your hand over his and say,

"I can't thank you enough. For getting me home, taking care of me, feeding me."

His eyes crinkle as he smiles, and he rests his other hand over yours, your palm now sandwiched between two of his. He leans closer to you, and whispers,

"You don't have to thank me, doll. But I can think of a few things you could do."

The way he says these words makes tingles run up your spine, the intent clear in eyes, made clearer by his words. You close your eyes and lean back on the sofa, knowing that Taehyung's eyes are fixed on you. The knowledge that this kind, breathtakingly beautiful man has a crush on you, and moreover wants you, gives you the confidence to act a little, if not more coy. With your head now tilted towards the ceiling and your eyes closed, you channel your inner heathen and say,

"And what would they be, hmm?"

When you hear him suck a breath in beside you, you smirk inwardly. You wait for him to say something, but he just retracts his hands from yours. This action makes you open your eyes and tilt your head to look at him, question clear in your gaze.

Just as you're about to sit up and say something, you're hit with a face full of Taehyung, and suddenly his palms are grabbing your face and his lips are on yours. The shock makes your eyes widen, but as you register what's going on, your eyes close and your hand fists his shirt as you kiss him back.

Taehyung's lips feel way better than you could ever imagine, and the warmth seeping into your skin from his palms makes this experience feel real, and not just fantasy. When his lips suck on your lower lip a little harder, you arch your back, your upper body lifting off the couch. This makes him slide one hand off of your cheek and around your waist, and he pulls your body closer to his.

At this point, he's basically straddling you. When his tongue probes your mouth, one of your hands grab the back of his hair and pull. The low groan he lets out as you disconnect from his mouth and start sucking on his neck makes you quiver, the thought of hearing the same baritone in your ear as he pounds into you making you want him even more. He parts from you, and as he sits up, your hands leave his body.

"What do you want?"

You bite your lip, and instead of answering, one of your hand rises to his waistband. Instantly, his hand grips yours, and as he smiles, he leans down to kiss your palm. Against it, he whispers,

"Want me to eat you out? Wanna cum on my tongue?"

You gulp at the thought of this man between your legs, and nod at him. Something in his face hardens, and he drops your hand, only to lean over you and grip your chin.

"Use your words, baby doll. What do you say?"

You maintain eye contact with him and whisper,

"Yes."

Though your answer makes him loosen his grip on your jaw, only makes him move closer to you.

"Yes what?"

"Yes sir."

At your answer, Taehyung's eyes widen, and then a smirk spreads across his face. His hands urge you out of your top, and he throws it over his shoulder, uncaring as to where it lands.

His eyes take you in, and in a second he's getting off you and pulling your leggings and underwear down your body. You struggle a little to lift your ass off the couch, a little pain shooting through your knee at the pressure. Taehyung makes you rest your injured leg straight on the coffee table. After making sure you're comfortable, he leans down you kiss you, on of his hands making their way to your tits. When he squeezes and twists a nipple, your body arches off the couch, legs spreading wider.

Once Taehyung's satisfied from claiming your mouth, he gets down on his knees in between your legs. For the first time, you see hesitation cross his eyes as he nibbles his lower lip. You lean up, and say,

"I want you. Please make me cum, please."

A smile blooms on his face, eyes lighting up as his hands move up your thighs. He leans forward, kissing up the inside of your left thigh, his hands squeezing where they hold you. After a few kisses, he suddenly bites, which makes you reach out to grip his hair as you moan.

Indifferent to your reaction, he moves forward, his hands widening your legs as he comes face to face with your core. Sounding absolutely wrecked, he says,

"Fuck I can't wait to taste you."

With this, he kisses your mound, and then spreads your outer lips.

"Holy shit, darling, it's all for me, right?"

You card your hands through his hair as you whisper an affirmative. Happy with your response, Taehyung leans in and envelops your clit in his lips, and sucks. Slowly, he starts making strokes with his tongue, delving deeper. He speeds up the motions of his tongue, now moving it in and out, and puts a finger in your core. The slide is tight, and it makes you both moan. But he doesn't stop, if anything, he gets even more determined.

Soon, he adds another finger and his tongue moves onto your clit. The added stimulation makes the knot in your core tighten, the arousal pulsing stronger in your veins. He takes his mouth off of your clit with a pop and leans back to see his fingers scissoring as they move inside you. You tilt your head down to take a look at him, and dear God above, he looks wrecked. His hair is all messed up, thanks to your fingers, and his lips are swollen and glistening, and you're pretty sure his chin is too.

Fuck.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as this visual ingrains itself in your eyes, a whimper falling from your mouth as you say,

"Fucking God, please fuck me. Want you so bad, please."

"I'll think about it if you cum like a good girl first."

His fingers speed up, and he leans down to capture you clit in his mouth again. This time, he's absolutely brutal with the way he goes at you, nothing gentle about his mouth or his fingers. Just as you feel yourself climbing up to a climax, he adds another finger, his tongue now flicking across your clit.

As you get closer to the finish line, your moans turn into curse words, your voice getting louder.

"Fucking Hell, Taehyung, don't stop! Shit! I'm s-so close, please, please, I'm gonna c-cum!"

Saying nothing Taehyung curves his fingers inside you as he lightly bites on your clit, and that's all it takes for you to let go. Your body pulls taut, legs shaking around him, hips riding his fingers. His fingers and his mouth guide you along your high, and even after you've come down, his mouth still keeps laving over your clit. You moan in oversensitivity and that's when he deems it enough.

He gets up, but groans out while straightening his legs. You giggle at his facial expression, and he stands over you, hands on his hips, mouth drawn into a pout.

"I just ate you out but you're laughing at me, huh?"

This makes you laugh out loud, and you say,

"Can't believe you're a grandpa."

His mouth falls open, flabbergasted. His mouth tries and fails to form a word, and his mouth just bubbles out a laugh. He's shaking his head as he takes off his tee, and throws it on the couch beside you. Oh you're definitely not laughing now.

"Well, this grandpa did get you off, baby doll. Now, where's the bedroom?"

He leans down to pick you up, his hands urging your thighs to wrap around his hips, your arms wrapping around his neck. You hold on tighter when he stands up straight with you in his arms. He leads you to the bedroom, kicking the door open and walking in. He lays you down on the duvet slowly, mindful of jostling your leg.

Once you're lying on the bed, he goes to get a pillow and puts it below your knee. You make eye contact with him, hoping your smile conveys how grateful you are. He smiles at you, expression shy. Pointing at the bedside table, you say,

"The condoms are in here."

He raises an eyebrow, but gets a condom and climbs on the bed. Once he's in between your legs, one of his hands knead your thigh, the action relaxing your muscles, making you let out a sigh. Seeing your reaction, he leans down to kiss your tummy, trailing light kisses down to your pelvis.

"You look so beautiful like this. So lovely."

His hand glides up your inner thigh, two fingers plunging into you without warning. He pulls out, only to push back in, your soft wet walls accommodating to his ministrations easily. When he doesn't hear you making a sound, he scissors his fingers, and starts sucking a hickey on your hipbone. A shiver runs through you, and you let out a whimper at the sudden influx of stimulus.

"Such a sweetheart, huh? Always ready to let me know how good I'm making you feel."

As he says this, he adds another finger, and the added stretch makes you arch off the bed. Soon, Taehyung has you moaning his name, your hands reaching out to hold onto the bedsheet. Taehyung slows down his fingers, and asks you,

"What do you want? Tell me. Tell me and I'll give it to you."

The husk in his voice makes you groan, the timber of it sending trills of arousal shooting through you.

"Want you to fuck me. Now. Right now."

Pulling his fingers out of you, he whispers, "Then that's what you'll get, baby."

He takes off his gym shorts and his underwear, his cock standing hard and proud, the tip glistening with precum. While stroking his cock, he says,

"Although everything in me is telling me to fuck you like the devil you are, I don't wanna add to your injuries. So let's have you wrap you legs around me, okay?"

Actually processing what he said, you try to move your leg, but the twinge of pain has you nodding your head in agreement.

Seeing your approval, he gives you a smile and tears open the condom. Your eyes trace him as he kneels between your legs. The soft curls falling into his eyes, the slope of his nose, adding to his charm. The strength visible in his shoulders, all the way down to his arms, makes you want things that can only be done behind closed doors. The thoughts of being manhandled, being pushed into the mattress as he takes you run through your head among other lust-filled scenarios, and these make you gulp.

Your eyes follow when he rolls the condom onto himself and strokes his cock in long motions.

His eyes, fall onto you, and seeing how you're entranced by, well, his dick, he chuckles. The sound makes your eyes flit to his, your cheeks already filling with colour, embarrassment flooding your mind.

Taehyung doesn't say anything, just urges your legs to wrap around his waist as he leans over you. That one moment of silence, where you and him are just two people, closer than ever, closer than any galaxies, any stars, seems to last for a lifetime. When he slightly smiles, one of his hands coming up to stroke your hair, you feel a storm brewing where you heart is meant to be. You smile back, and then Taehyung is thrusting into you, the stars in his eyes now clouded by lust.

The first few thrusts are slow, languid and have Taehyung's eyes flitting over your features, looking for any signs of discomfort. But when he finds none, he gains confidence, his hips moving with more purpose, plunging impossibly deeper into you. Your eyes close, head tilting up as your mouth lets out little moans mixed in with whimpers.

Taehyung's thrusts slow down into him just grinding his cock into you, and he grabs your chin to make you look at him.

"Look at me, baby. You feel so good, like heaven. Maybe even more divine than heaven itself."

The sincerity in his eyes as he says this makes your clench around him, throat choking on the words you want to say. You reach out a hand and put it on his shoulder, which makes him pause his movements. Worry flickers across his face as he waits for you to say something.

"G-go faster. Wanna cum. Right now. Please."

The worry on Taehyung's face quickly dissolves into cockiness as he positions himself to pound into you better. His smirk grows as his thrust gets a moan out of you. Continuing with his ministrations, he manages to grunt out,

"This good enough for you, doll?"

When you don't answer him, too busy whimpering, he leans over you and one of his hands reach out and twist your nipple in warning, hips maintaining their momentum.

"Think I asked a question, darling. Come on, now."

The hand you had on his shoulder moves up to the back of his head, and as your fingers entangle in his locks and pull, you say,

"Yes! Yes! Dear God, yes! F-feel good."

He doesn't verbally reply to you, but he hums, the low rumble of his voice making you feel some type of way.

One of his hands land near your head, the other one grabbing your thigh, and its pound town from there. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping on skin mixed in with Taehyung's grunts and your moans. The boy in between your legs turns into a beast chasing just one thing, and he doesn't slow down. The sound of sex resounds in the room, making you feel downright dirty.

Your eyes focus on Taehyung's face contorted in pleasure and his body glistening with a sheen of sweat. Maybe it's this realization, that you have this beautiful man fucking into you that pushes you closer to your climax.

When your walls start clenching around him, the ball of fire in the pit of your stomach so close to bursting, one of your hands reach down, two of your fingers rubbing your clit in desperation.

"That's it. Make yourself cum on my cock. Let me see you cum, baby. Wanna feel you cum for me."

His words are accompanied by his hips moving faster, hitting the spot inside you, making the fire in you unravel. Your back arches off the bed, mouth opening in a whimper as you cum, body drowning in pleasure.

Your walls tighten around Taehyung, making him let out a choked moan. With two, three more thrusts, Taehyung is cumming in the condom. He slumps on you, letting out puffs of air, catching his breath. When Taehyung taps both of your legs gently, you remember that they've been there this whole time, and, holy shit, your fucking knee was fucking sprained. Taehyung, apparently has the same realization, because his concerned wide eyes lock with yours and he slowly untangles your legs. Your knee gives a twinge in protest to movement but as soon as it's straight and on the bed, you feel fine. Taehyung pulls out, and ties the condom off, getting up to go and throw it in the bin.

When he comes back, it's to you playing with your fingers running circles on your navel. You stop your actions when you realize he's back in the room, your cheeks flushing a little in embarrassment. Taehyung mumbles a 'cute' but doesn't say anything else.

Taehyung has a wet towel in one hand, with which he gently wipes between your legs. And when he's done, he leans down to leave a kiss on your forehead, and then he's gone again. Your eyes follow his bubble butt as he leaves the room.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones, and your eyes close. They only open to the sound of something being set down on the bedside table. You open your eyes and turn your head to see that it's a glass of water, and Taehyung, Taehyung is wearing shorts again.

You sit up, grabbing the glass and gulping down the water. The thought that you're still completely naked makes you feel shy, even after all of the things you just did. Taehyung sits

beside you on the bed, taking the glass from your hand and putting it on the table.

"Uhm.."

"I ju-"

Both of you shut up, but when you lock eyes with each other, laughter spills out of you. With a smile on his face, Taehyung speaks first.

"What were you going to say?"

You think for a moment, wondering if what you're about to say will sound weird or not.

"Uh, just that, do you want to stay over?"

With disbelief painting his face, Taehyung asks, "You want me to?"

You try to keep the endearment out of your voice as you deadpan, "Oh no, the monster under my bed just liked your feet and told me to ask you to stay longer."

It takes a moment for your words to register, but when Taehyung realizes what you just said, laughter tumbles from his lips.

Your concerned friends knock on your door the next morning, and a clueless Taehyung opens the door to let them in. Your friends barge in to find you wrapped in a blanket, lying on the couch, Haikyuu! playing on your TV. Taehyung just stands there, neck full of hickies, rampant sex hair, smelling like your body wash.

Your friends look at you for a moment, then turn to Taehyung only to turn back to you. When one of them asks you what the hell you've been doing yesterday and where you've been, you lock eyes with Taehyung as you smugly say,

"What can I even say? It was one heck of a workout."

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfiction #taehyung x you #taehyung smut #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #bts fluff #smut and fluff #kim taetae #this is filth #this is also cute #taehyung #bts tae tae #bts #bts fic #bts fanclub #dont hate me

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cybertronian-cupid · 3 years

Note

ooooo now im curious about tfp megan mass displacing himself to action figure size and his non-binary s/o fucking him *wink wonk*

*winks back and cackles* Some play time is in order it seems!

I decided to try writing something different this time around: s/o has a cock in this one, however, there is fingerfucking and spike sucking way before the dicking happens.💥~Gregoria🏩

............................. ....................... ............................

They adjust their grip, pinning his arms firmly against his chassis and drag their tongue across his heated metal, causing Megatron to struggle against their grip.

“Stop playing,”

They smile and press a quick kiss to his face, narrowly missing their lip being bit into a bloody mess. They make a point of dipping their fingers in the small container of flavoured lube and spread it across the insides of his thigh plating with agonizingly slow strokes.

“You wanted to be this small didn’t you? What else am I supposed to do other than play?”

They press their thumb firmly between his legs, nudging the decorative plating on his pelvis.

“I don’t plan on breaking you.”

His hips jerk up impatiently, and their other thumb pushes his lower body firmy back against their palm.

“Stay down, I won’t do this again if you plan on cutting my face.”

They nibble on the thin metal, knowing their teeth have a bigger chance of breaking than his plating suffering any real damage. He seems to like the attention, the sound of his spike transforming from its housing bumping against the tip of their nose.

They can’t help but let out a coo when they move back to get a better look. His spike looks adorable with how small it is now, the biolights pulsing erratically, prefluid gathering at the tip. They coat it with some more lube, chuckling at his impatient grunt.

“So needy,”

Whatever complaint that was about to come out of Megatron is interrupted by his moan when they wrap their tongue around his spike and suck, lips squeezing against the sensors, lube enhancing the almost oily, iron flavour of his lubricant.

They increase and ease the pressure on his valve cover, smiling at his attempts to keep his optics focused and his noises contained. His panel pops open after a hard prod, lubricant rolling down their palm and wrist. They push their thumb inside, and his spike twitches under their tongue. Their teeth scrape over it as they suck hard, popping off just in time to delay his overload. His optics are pinpricks focused on their mouth, needy wheezes accompanied by the pulsing of his valve against the pad of their thumb. They press a deceptively gentle kiss to the tip of the tiny thing, smile full of teeth as they move away. Their fingers tightly pinch his spike, transfluid sliding down his shaft in pink droplets. He’s so close and they’ve barely done anything.

“Work for it.”

They push his pelvis up with the base of their palm, gliding his spike through their fingers, knuckles rubbing at the bulging protrusions between his seams. He begins thrusting his hips in a shaky pace, wide optics staring at them. Their gaze is fixed on his spike, bobbing between their fingers and finally picking up the pace when their tongue wets their lips. Their erection presses against the fabric of their boxers, already imagining how Megatron’s digits will feel when he returns the favour.

His noises turn frustrated, and they take his spike in their mouth, sucking on the tip until his thick transfluid is shooting to the back of their throat. The lubricant flowing from his valve managed to reach the crook of their elbow, and their cock twitches with need.

“You always make such a mess,” they tsk fondly, rubbing the pad of their thumb across his valve. His engines give a whine, his fans kicking up a notch. He always gets louder when he knows it’ll get him a good valve fuck.

A good, hard, proper fuck. There’s a wet patch that seems to agree with the idea.

They push the tip of their thumb inside,and his legs press firmly into the flesh of their wrist.

He attempts to take more of it in, looking at them with pleading optics. They withdraw their hand and his optics somehow open wider, a pitiful sound raising deep from within his chassis.

“Oh hush, I have a surprise in mind for you,” they press their index and middle finger firmly to the mesh.

His fans whir louder in anticipation of the stretch, vents wide open and blowing hot air. The fast flickering of his optics and the amount of drool dripping from his mouth, has them slamming their fingers into his valve up to the second knuckle. They feel the vibrations of his engines through the tightness clenching around them and start slowly easing out, having to really pull with how reluctant he is to be empty again. Their cock throbs in warning and they squirm in their seat.

They pull their fingers out almost all the way and push them right back in, pressing their thumb hard against his node each time their fingers slam back. The wider they work him and the harder they thrust draws higher and higher whines from his vocalizer before it shuts off for good.

His plating is so hot it’s nearly burning them and their fingers hook at his pauldrons, pressing him down with each of their thrusts when they add a third finger. They lick their way up from his once again hardening spike, all the way up to his neck plating.

Feeling his mesh flutter, calipers straining with their movements, they force their fingers deeper, and can see his outer plating shift when their knuckles.

He’s going to look so fucking good stretched around them.

The groans of what they can only assume at this point is pleasure bordering on discomfort let’s them know that his valve is finally spread to its full capacity, their fingers scissoring him with no issue.

They manage to wrench them free and flip him over, changing their grip. They feel his legs attempt to push his body up and they slam him back down, squeezing tightly, reaching into their boxers for their erection, slicking their precum and Megatron’s transfluid over their shaft in frantic strokes.

“You earned my dick, so stop squirming and let me fuck you already!”

That draws a surprised sputter of engines and even heavier gushing of lubricant as Megatron tries to spread even wider in his eagerness. They line themself with his valve, the pulsing mesh spread wide enough that they should be able to fuck him.

Not wasting much time they shove the head of their dick inside and make it halfway inside before screaming out a curse and falling to their knees. It’s like a damn vice, and they feel just a smidge of regret at having half of their dick crushed. A much bigger part however is eager to get all of it inside of the hot, wet mess of his valve.

The way his circuitry burns and fuel lines pulse at the strain of something this big making its way inside of his frame, they are sure that there won’t be a fleshlight on the market to compare.

The plating in the middle of his frame warps outward with their effort to force more of their dick inside. They can hear something garbled and strained passing from Megatron’s vocalizer and they stop, only to have their balls squeezed by Megatron’s pedes when he finds a way to slam himself down on their dick fully, his stomach plating now fully warped outwards. They have to steady themself on the floor, trying to get some air in their lungs.

“Motherfucker,” they hiss through clenched teeth “you’re insane.”

His pedes nudge their balls again, pressing into the flesh just enough to register as pleasurable. They let him adjust for a moment, and then lifting him off and slamming him back down, grunting through clenched teeth when they feel his insides shake with an overload. They pick up the pace and revel in the sloppy sounds, the fleeting feeling of his valve trying to clamp down again and failing, the transfluid of each next overload dripping down on their cock and then on the floor when they lean forward and start thrusting into him with their hips.

They grunt half formed words and groan when they finally cum, feeling it seep through the seams of his armor and his valve, registering the mess they’ll have to clean up in some far away part of their mind.

Their grip turns slack while they thrust through their orgasm, followed by slowly easing Megatron’s still spasming valve off themself. The amount of cum that spills out of it makes their cock throb again when they tuck it inside their boxers.

“You are the neediest toy I've ever owned, do you know that?”

They flip him over and let out a bark of a surprised laugh..

“How can you be hard after this?” and they flick at his once again erect spike, fingers pumping once, twice and sure enough another overload tears out of him. The way he drools, his plating shifting even looser and his purple mesh almost glowing, makes the way their hands are starting to hurt from the heat of his frame at least a little more bearable. They move him to their other hand, standing up from the floor on unsteady feet and head to their bathroom.

Yeah, they are absolutely doing this again. Maybe even today, if his vocalizer comes back online and they can hear him beg for their cock.

#The dick envy was strong with this one~G🏩#valveplug #tfp valveplug #tfp megatron x s/o #tfp megatron x reader #tfp megatron x nb!s/o #tfp megatron

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hrina · 4 years

Text

1923, Pt. II - The Week

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 8.4k REQUESTED: perhaps? idek anymore

hey yall, here’s PART 2 of the historical/groundskeeper!AU :) i really hope u guys like it, i spent the past two weeks trying to make it the best that i could. anywayyyy im sure everyone knows the drill by now: support content creators by reblogging their work and/or offering feedback! happy reading 💚💚💚

warning: parts of this fic will contain mature language and nsfw content. if it makes you uncomfortable, you absolutely do not have to read! take care of urselves <3

PART I: The Day

~*~

July 7th, 1923

It’s hot.

You set your glass of water back onto the little table to your left. Excess condensation coats your fingertips; you wipe them against your forehead, hoping that it will be enough to cool you down. No such luck—the droplets provide a momentarily chill before sinking into your skin, leaving you feeling just as scorched as before.

You recline against the cushy yellow lounger, closing your eyes and tilting your face up to the sky. The sun beats down against your cheeks. The thin, cottony material of your dress is pasted to your thighs; you flex your legs slightly, hoping that the fabric will unstick.

In the distance, Apollo and Artemis—no longer confined to their pens—roam around the small, girded pasture adjacent to the stables. The fountain in the middle of the back lawn is about one hundred feet away. Skinny streams of water shoot out from the stone hands of a carved angel, spilling picturesquely into the upwelling below.

You crack one eye open slowly, letting your focus drift over to where Harry is crouched on the cobbled staircase of the porch. Sweat glistens on the nape of his neck as he furiously scrubs the steps clean.

Your thoughts retreat to the night before, when he’d kissed the back of your hand whilst standing in that very same spot. As though triggered by the memory, your knuckles begin to tingle.

Harry sits back on his haunches and drags his forearm across his face, wiping away the excess perspiration on his skin. His white shirt is soaked through with moisture. When he lifts his attention from the ground, your gazes lock for a brief moment. Immediately, your open eye snaps shut.

And you can’t be entirely sure, but you think that he may have smiled.

You lay in silence for another five minutes or so, indulging in the occasional sip of water as the heat of the summer envelopes your body. You only sit up when someone clears their throat from behind you, pulling you from your tranquil daze.

“Good afternoon,” Martin says. He’s standing a bit too close for comfort, casting a looming shadow over your torso.

“Hello,” you reply. You try to mask the disappointment that threatens to seep into your tone. A small part of you—a tiny, microscopic part—had been hoping that he was someone else.

“Thought you could use something to drink,” he says, plopping onto the recliner to your right. Your attention falls lower—two glasses are nestled comfortably in his hands. The caramel-coloured liquid inside each cup glints alluringly, sloshing over a trio of ice cubes that have already begun to melt.

“Is that…scotch?” you say, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“Yes,” he says. He extends an arm, offering you one of the glasses. “Fancy a taste?”

“I’ve had it before,” you say smoothly, shaking your head. “Truthfully, it’s not my favourite. Besides—” You gesture to the little table on your left. There’s still a bit of water residing in your cup. “—I already have a drink.”

Martin’s face falls.

“Thank you, though,” you add, not wanting to sound rude. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

That seems to bolster him a bit, you think, because his shoulders straighten as he shoots you a satisfied smile.

You clear your throat, gazing pointedly up at the sky. “Where’s Andrew?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Martin taps one foot against the floor. He’s wearing a pair of shiny black loafers—they’re new, you guess, and extremely expensive. “He’s in the middle of a call. Private business pertaining to Markham Motors, I believe. It doesn’t concern me—not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet,” you echo.

He chuckles, nodding proudly. “Your brother is remarkably ambitious. Once our two companies merge, I reckon that we’ll be unstoppable.”

“How exciting,” you murmur, reaching over for your water. You raise the cup to your mouth, expelling a soft sigh. “You must be thrilled, I’d imagine.”

“All in a day’s work,” he grunts, setting one glass of scotch down onto the ground. He lifts the other to his lips, taking a delicate sip.

You sit there awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. Martin’s eyes roam the wide expanse of your backyard, jumping from the stables to the fountain and back again. He pauses, then, humming pensively when he spots Harry polishing the stairs less than fifteen feet away.

“It’s a bit…unconventional to be dining with the help, is it not?” he asks, cocking one eyebrow nonchalantly.

You stiffen and glance over your shoulder—Harry is on all fours, scowling as he scrubs a particularly stubborn stain from the bottom step. His chestnut hair tumbles onto his forehead, twisted into pretty ringlets. A spark of heat blazes up your spine.

You turn your attention back to Martin, only to find that he’s also watching the other man work. It’s different, however—his look is judgmental, austere. His thin upper lip curls in disdain and his eyebrows cinch together, radiating condescension.

“We are…” You choose your words carefully. “…a rather unconventional family. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” he acquiesces, tilting his head to the side. “But does it not distress you, somewhat? Inviting them into your home, making yourself and your possessions vulnerable?”

Something gross festers in the pit of your stomach. You bite back the sound of disgust that threatens to spill from your mouth.

“No,” you state curtly. “Not at all.”

Silence falls over the two of you, thick and poignant and tremendously uncomfortable. After a long, tense moment, you sit up, dusting off the skirt of your dress and releasing a faint groan. “I think I’ll be heading in, now.”

“As will I,” Martin replies, jumping to pursue you.

You stand, clutching your glass of water in one hand. He quickly reaches out with extended fingers, trying to take it from you. Though chivalrous, the action is weak, and you both know it.

“Here, let me—”

“No, it’s quite alright—,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I insist—”

“Mister Russell, really, it’s fine—”

The cup, slick with condensation, slips from your grasp and shatters loudly against the floor. You gasp when a jagged shard slices against your ankle. Pain flares up your shin; abruptly, you fall back onto the lounger. You angle your leg to the side, surveying the damage with wide eyes. The cut is about an inch long; blood drips from the injury, seeping down toward the sole of your bare foot. Bile gathers on your tongue.

“Good God!” Martin exclaims unhelpfully. “You’re bleeding!”

“I can see that,” you snap, bending down and pressing your fingertips against the laceration.

Heavy footsteps approach. When you cast a glance over your shoulder, you find Harry stalking toward you, his eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

“What happened?” he asks, but when you hold up one hand, he freezes in his tracks.

“Be careful!” you warn, your voice strained. “There’s glass everywhere.”

“What happened?” he repeats. His gaze lands on Martin, and his nostrils flare unnervingly. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” the other man protests, retreating a few steps away. “It just fell!”

“Go back inside,” Harry commands. “Check all the lavatories—there may be spare bandages in one of the cupboards.”

Martin frowns—you get the feeling that he’s not exactly used to being ordered around. “Now, you listen here—”

“Mister Russell!” you interrupt shrilly, fixing him with a stern glare. “Do as he says. Please.”

Martin closes his mouth and purses his lips, nodding tersely. He nearly trips over himself as he stumbles back into the house.

“He’s useless,” you mutter, bloody fingers slipping against your skin.

Harry doesn’t reply; instead, he situates himself on the opposite edge of the recliner, beckoning you closer with a quick flick of his hand.

“Face this way,” he instructs. “There’s no glass on this side.”

You obey him wordlessly. He gets you settled back into the chair, guiding your right leg over his thigh so that your foot lays comfortably in his lap. With no hesitation whatsoever, he grasps the white fabric covering the jut of his shoulder and gives a mighty tug. The sleeve rips cleanly at the seam. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“We’ll use this,” Harry says, pulling the material down to his wrist. “Just until he returns with proper bindings.”

“Alright,” you whisper. It takes every ounce of willpower in your body to avoid staring at his naked arm—golden, sweat-slicked skin stretched over smooth, corded muscle. A frighteningly large part of you wants to lean forward and sink your teeth into his bicep. You swiftly curb the urge, swallowing heavily and trying to focus your attention on something—anything—else.

“How did this happen?” Harry asks.

He balls the fabric up and dabs cautiously at the blood dripping from your wound.

“He was—well, I don’t even know, really,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “He was trying to be gallant, I suppose.”

“‘Gallant’?” he parrots, gazing down at your leg. “He fancies you, then?”

“Yes.” You pause, rethinking your answer. “No.” You sigh. “Perhaps; I’m not sure.”

He smirks. Despite the pain pulsating up your leg, you wiggle your toes and nudge him with your knee.

“What’s so amusing?” you ask, puzzled.

He simply chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s just that…you’re a bit oblivious, that’s all.”

And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, you balk and say, “I beg your pardon?”

Harry laughs. Gingerly, he wraps his torn sleeve around your ankle, applying a gentle pressure to your skin. You wince, curling your fingers into fists. His hands—though rough and calloused—are surprisingly tender with their movements. He’s slow and practiced, treating you as though you’re made of porcelain. Your heartbeat quickens; you hope that he can’t hear the way it thunders beneath your ribs.

“You’re rather clueless when it comes to gauging a man’s affections for you,” he explains. He makes it sound as though it’s a phenomenon of which you should already be aware.

You narrow your eyes and purse your lips.

“Tread carefully,” you tell him, though you can’t hide the sardonic undertone in your voice. “You’re wading through dangerous waters, here.”

“What I mean to say is—” Harry clears his throat, shrugging coolly. “—since yesterday’s arrival, that fool’s chattering hasn’t ceased. Building oneself up with words…that’s the sign of a boy aiming to impress a girl.”

“You don’t sound too keen on that method,” you note.

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Excellent observation. I am not.”

“And why is that?” you ask, cocking one eyebrow challengingly. “How exactly would you attempt to make your affections known?”

Harry places one of his palms on the skin just below your knee. You jump at the contact, shocked by his brazen move. Having his hands on your ankle is one thing—but your knee? It’s risky, bold, nearly scandalous…and with the way he’s looking at you, it’s clear that he knows it, too.

“Building oneself up with words is a boy’s game,” he tells you. “But building oneself up with actions…that’s the sign of a man aiming to impress a woman. It may be a bit unconventional, but—” He pins you with a deliberate stare. “I work for a rather unconventional family. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You say nothing. Harry’s green eyes pierce your face, peeling you open layer by layer. You’ve stopped breathing, your chest completely still. Goosebumps erupt across your arms. Instinctively, your concentration falls to his lips: twin pink petals, sinful and alluring and so incredibly—

“I’ve got the bandages!”

And just like that, the spell is broken. You drag your gaze away from the man in front of you, turning to the side and watching as Martin jogs back over with a thick spool of gauze clutched tightly to his chest.

“Here,” he pants. He passes the roll to Harry, who clears his throat loudly and begins to unwind the bindings with swift, proficient fingers.

Martin then fixes his attention on you, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

“Are you alright?” he asks, shooting you an expectant look.

“Fine,” you croak out, though the blood roaring in your ears sincerely begs to differ.

You blink yourself out of your stupor, running your tongue over the roof of your mouth and exhaling shakily. Harry has turned back to your ankle, replacing the makeshift bandages with proper ones. You glance up at Martin and nod your head, praying that he can’t see the flustered agitation brewing in your eyes.

“Yes, Mister Russell, I’m fine. Thank you.”

July 9th, 1923

The library is your favourite room in the house.

It’s quiet, peaceful, and is accompanied only by the rarest of disturbances. Lydia’s never really enjoyed reading—she can’t sit still long enough to do so. Andrew hasn’t stepped past the threshold in years—he’s been too busy running Markham Motors. So, that just leaves you, along with the freedom to choose from the hundreds of books lining the shelves. You’ve dabbled in fiction and non-fiction alike, soaking up the words from the page just as the ground soaks up rain from a storm.

The library has become your safe haven. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You trod over to your favourite spot to read: a small alcove in the wall, decked out with fluffy cushions and tucked right up against a wide window. It gives you a perfect view of the driveway and the front lawn down below. You’ve spent hours in this little nook, absorbed in novels and poems and biographies. You’ve passed entire nights curled up next to the windowpane, having dozed off in the middle of a story. It’s become a tradition of sorts, despite the dull ache in your neck that always ensues when you stir the next morning.

The book in your hands is heavy as you sink into the mess of pillows. Bright, natural light streams in from the window to your left. You release a soft sigh as your fingers flip to where you’d last left off during your previous visit.

She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me—

You scoff and roll your eyes. You’ve read this story a dozen times; you already know how it ends.

For the next twenty minutes, nothing matters save for the adventures of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. You allow yourself to get lost in the world of Pride and Prejudice, eyes hungrily raking over every printed detail. You’re only pulled out of your reverie when a shrill, jubilant cry pierces through the silence.

Instinctively, your head snaps toward the direction of the noise. Through the spotless windowpane, you spy Harry and Lydia standing on the lawn. Harry is holding a brown hose, angling it downward and watering the grass beneath his feet. Your sister is next to him, babbling and gesturing animatedly with her hands. You smile at the sight.

You slip your thumb between the pages of the book to mark your place. The novel is forgotten as you study the scene playing out below.

Harry is wearing an ashen blue button-up and a pair of black trousers. A thin white undershirt peeks out from beneath his collar. He smirks at something that Lydia says, ducking his head and trying to conceal the fond expression on his face. She throws her hands up in the air and twirls around—when she staggers slightly, Harry holds out his arm. Her fingers dig into his elbow to regain balance, and the two of them dissolve into giggles. Warmth unfurls in your chest.

Harry tilts his head back, surveying the cloudless sky with squinted eyes and a wrinkled nose. His attention turns to the house, then, sweeping absentmindedly over the fair bricks and stone accents.

Suddenly, his gaze darts forward. You freeze when his green irises lock squarely on you.

Hot humiliation creeps up your neck, because of course. Staring at him and remaining undetected is a luxury that few can afford.

Your lips part with a soft gasp, and your shoulders stiffen. The corners of Harry’s mouth curl up slightly—so faint, you think it may just be a figment of your imagination. The gilded copy of Pride and Prejudice rests in your lap, abandoned. It mocks you and your preoccupation—your fascination—with the man on the ground.

Harry shoots you a small, mysterious smile, and lifts his chin. You sit up straight, processing his request.

“I shouldn’t—,” you start to say before remembering that he can’t actually hear you. You clench your jaw and shake your head, hoping that he’ll be able to register the movement through the glass.

But his teasing expression only deepens as he beckons you again. A ragged exhale falls from your lips, and a tepid swell of adrenaline floods your veins. You snap your book shut, tucking it against your chest and pushing yourself away from the window. You swear that your heart skips a beat when your feet hit the floor.

Don’t rush, don’t rush, don’t rush.

It’s hard to maintain a measured pace, especially when such a big part of you just wants to take off and sprint down the spiral staircase. You force yourself to dawdle, to smooth your fingers over the bannister and descend slowly. Your palms are clammy as you make your way across the foyer, eyes glued to the large double doors on the opposite wall.

And then you’re outside, the sun beating down against your face and the breeze blowing gently through your hair. You saunter toward the edge of the large portico, leaning against the stone railing with your novel still clutched tightly to your sternum.

“Dee!”

Lydia whips around, taken aback by the call of her name. Upon recognising you, her features morph into a mask of quizzical mockery.

“Where have you been?” she asks, jogging over.

“I was reading,” you say, shrugging indifferently. After a short moment, you add, “Beth’s looking for you.”

“Me? What for?”

In the periphery of your vision, you spy Harry approaching. Water leaks from the nozzle of the hose; he gathers a few droplets onto his knuckles before smearing them across his sweaty forehead. You bite your tongue to suppress a snort.

“Dinner, I believe,” you lie, turning back to your sister. “It’s your turn to choose, is it not?”

Lydia’s eyes light up. “You’re right! It’s Monday, isn’t it?”

Her feet smack loudly against the cobbled steps as she races toward the door. Before disappearing inside, however, she skids to a stop, spinning around and raising one arm high above her head. “Goodbye, Harry!”

Harry smiles, lifting two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute. “Goodbye, little bug.”

A moment later, she’s gone.

And a moment after that, you find yourself sincerely regretting your decision to send her away. Harry observes you with raised brows and a knowing smirk on his face. You gnaw anxiously on your bottom lip, avoiding his eyes. A long beat of silence ensues.

“Hello,” he finally says.

You exhale quietly, relieved. “Hello.”

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you agree.

You lean against the stone bannister, peering down at him. The breeze picks up, gusting through your thin skirt and blouse. A small part of you notes the theatrical romanticism of it all: his being on the ground, the butterflies flapping around in your stomach—

“Do you always spend the majority of a nice day locked away in the library?” Harry asks. His pretty irises twinkle alluringly when your gazes meet.

“I—no,” you stammer. “I was just…reading.”

“As one does in a room full of books, I’d expect.”

Embarrassment blooms in your chest.

“Yes,” you say softly. “Precisely.”

He grins.

“How is your ankle?” he asks, motioning toward the bottom of your leg.

“Oh.” You look down, flexing your foot. “It’s healing. I should be fully rehabilitated in a few days.”

Harry chuckles, nodding. You purse your lips and try for a smile, but you’re afraid that it resembles more of a grimace.

“What’ve you got, there?” He lifts his chin, gesturing to the novel tucked between your forearm and your chest. You’re grasping it so tightly that you’re surprised the skin of your knuckles hasn’t split.

You clear your throat, revealing the embroidered inscription on the front cover. “Er—Pride and Prejudice. It’s my favourite.”

Harry hums. “Mine, too.”

And though it is extremely impolite, you can’t stop the look of shock that makes its way onto your face.

“You’ve read it?”

He chuckles sheepishly, dropping his chin. “You have bewitched me, body and soul,” he suddenly says, lifting his eyes from the ground and fixing his unwavering gaze on you, “and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you—”

“—from this day on,” you finish, breathless.

He smiles. Zaps of electricity surge down your spine. The two of you are silent, tripping over unspoken murmurs of indulgence. You scrape your tongue over your teeth, clueless.

Harry is the first one to break.

“I should get back to work,” he announces gently. He gestures to the hose hanging limply from his hand and gives a perfunctory shrug.

“Of course.” You nod, inhaling deeply. “I should get back to…”

He smirks when you trail off. “Reading?” he supplies.

“Yes,” you blurt. “Yes. Exactly.” You hesitate, drumming your fingers against the auburn cover of your book. “Good day, Harry.”

“Good day, miss!” he calls as you begin to walk away. You pause and cast a glance over your shoulder, an admonishment dancing on the tip of your tongue.

For the hundredth time, Harry, you mustn’t feel obligated to address me in such a formal—

But then you register the mischief on his face, and the realisation sinks in.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” you ask.

Crinkles dig into the corners of his eyes.

“I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” he says, tilting his head to the side in faux-confusion. You wipe a clammy palm against the waistband of your skirt and bite back a small smile. Harry’s playful expression deepens, poking a cavernous dimple into his left cheek.

“Have a little compassion on my nerves,” you say, pulling another quote from the novel clasped against your body. “You tear them to pieces.”

His lips twitch, impressed and amused.

“What a shame,” he counters, snickering quietly, “for I dearly love to laugh.”

July 13th, 1923

The past hour of your life has been spent rolling around in bed and resenting your glaring inability to fall asleep. You’re not really sure why you’re still awake after midnight, but you’ve long since given up on trying to solve the mystery that is your body’s biological clock. Smooth satin sheets tickle your bare legs. You groan into your pillow and push yourself up from the mattress, tossing your feet over the edge and shivering softly when they land on the cold hardwood floor.

You wrap yourself up in a thin silk robe; the hem falls only an inch or two above your knees. The rest of the house is silent as you quietly exit your room and pad across the hall. You tiptoe down the spiral staircase; a brief moment later (during which you slip on some comfortable footwear), you’re stepping out into the backyard, greeted by gentle zephyrs and temperate summer air.

As you hop down the porch steps and begin the familiar trek toward the stables, you note the blanket of stars dotting the clear night sky. They twinkle happily, winking at you as though they know something that you don’t.

You shake your head at the thought. They’re stars. Big, flaming balls of gas floating in space, stationed millions of miles away. They know nothing.

Your ears perk up as you approach your destination, struck by the low stream of words carried by the breeze.

“…lilies, and dahlias, too. They tend to bloom during the summer…”

You freeze, feet stalling in the dirt. Leaning in closer, you catch deep murmurs of a faceless voice. The stranger continues to list off different types of flowers; when a soft chuckle laces through the air, your eyes widen in disbelief.

Is that…?

Sure enough, when you creep into the stables, you find Harry standing in front of Artemis’ pen, running his fingers through her shiny mane. His back is to you, shoulder blades flexing beneath the dark button-up adorning his torso. The sleeves reach his biceps, stretching slightly whenever he lifts his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he’s saying as you inch closer, hopelessly engrossed in the pseudo-conversation. “Sugar cubes are a bit of a rarity in my home. I haven’t any others.”

A twig snaps beneath your foot. You wince.

Harry whips around, startled. Upon recognising you, he blows out a heavy breath. Tension leaks from his body, and twin pink spots form on his cheeks. You stare at the blush colouring his face, mesmerized—you’ve never seen him look so dumbfounded.

“Er—,” you say. You raise your hand in an awkward, half-hearted wave. “Hello.”

“Hello,” he replies.

A beat of silence ensues.

“What are you…?” you trail off, trying to keep your voice level. “Were you just—?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. A sheepish chuckle tumbles off his tongue. “I....I understand it, now. Talking to one’s horse is rather soothing.”

“She’s not yours, though.” Your response is blunt, unfeeling.

Harry’s nostrils flare, and his feet scuff against the ground. Now that he’s facing you, you’re able to get a better look at him. A white undershirt peeks out from beneath his button-up, leaving his collarbones exposed. A gold chain glints around his neck, illuminated under the dim light. He’s wearing brown trousers and those same black boots, but you think that he may have polished them, finally, because they’re considerably tidier than before.

“She’s not,” Harry agrees, swallowing nervously. “My sincerest apologies. I can see that I’ve crossed a line—”

You can’t stifle the giggle that bubbles up in your throat. Harry hesitates, fixing you with a bewildered expression. At last, you shoot him a small smile, shaking your head and waving away his regrets.

“I’m only teasing,” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Breathe, Harry.”

He exhales raggedly, ruffling the curls at the back of his head. “Jesus. You frightened me.”

“Good. Perhaps you’ve finally learned your lesson, then.”

“My lesson?” he echoes, cocking his head to the side. “And what exactly would that be?”

“To avoid sneaking up on others at night,” you say. “Especially if they’re in the midst of conversing with their horse. It’s a very private exchange, you know—endless confessions have been made under this roof.”

Harry laughs.

“I think I’ve supplied my fair share of confessions, tonight,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly. “I can leave you to do the same.”

“No,” you blurt out. “Wait.”

He pauses, shocked by your immediate refutation. You purse your lips as hot shame unfurls in your chest.

“I just meant,” you start, hastening to make amends, “you can stay, if you’d like. Besides—” You shrug. “It’s far more pleasant talking to someone who can actually talk back.”

~*~

“Harry. No.”

“Yes.”

“No. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And I’ll be right next to you. I won’t leave your side.”

You gnaw apprehensively on your bottom lip as he frees Artemis from her pen. She trots out and whinnies softly, tossing her head to the side. He shushes her, dragging a comforting palm over her back. You step closer, mirroring his movements and glaring at him with terse, squinted eyes.

“We’ll go slowly,” he says, fixing you with an earnest look. “A few steps at a time. That doesn’t sound too daunting, does it?”

After a long, overwrought moment, you surrender.

“Very well,” you say. You point at him accusatorily, extending your arm over Artemis’ body. “But as soon as I want to stop, we stop. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Harry leans forward, bumping the pad of your finger with the tip of his nose. The contact makes you gasp. He pauses as well, having realised the implications of the thoughtless action. You swallow heavily; he clears his throat and averts his gaze.

“I’ll get the saddle,” he says.

His heel scrapes loudly against the dry dirt when he turns; you watch as he marches toward the pair of brown saddles hanging on the wooden wall. With a mighty groan, he heaves one from its rusted, metal hook, gathering the leather in his arms before making his way back over to you.

“Thank you,” you murmur shyly.

“You’re very welcome.”

You migrate to the side, petting Artemis’ mane as Harry slips the saddle onto her back. She huffs; you coo at her, holding her face in your hands to keep her calm. Harry spends the next several seconds strapping everything in place. After he’s finished, he gives a gentle tug, ensuring that you won’t slide and fall to the ground once you’re ready to mount.

“All set,” he says, squaring his shoulders.

You glance over at him with wide, frightened eyes. When he meets your gaze, his stoic expression melts into a pool of concern.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, stepping closer to you.

“I—” Your throat burns. “I haven’t ridden in three years, Harry.”

“I know,” he says solemnly. He offers you his left hand. “Do you trust me?”

Your response is immediate. “I do.”

“Good.” The corners of his lips curl upward. His tone is unreservedly honest when he speaks again. “I won’t let anything happen to you, miss; I swear it.”

You slide your palm against his. A sharp tingle races up your arm, sending your heartbeat into a frenzy. You fight to keep your breathing even as Harry pulls you closer, positioning you in front of him and placing his fingers on your waist.

“Ready?” he murmurs. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear.

You nod.

He grunts as he lifts you. You kick out one leg, slinging it over Artemis’ back and pulling yourself up. Once you’ve settled into a comfortable position, you peer down at him, shoulders taut and ankles locked.

“Breathe,” Harry reminds you. He leads by example, inhaling deeply; you imitate him, trying to ignore the thin sheen of sweat gathered at the nape of your neck.

“What do I do, now?” you ask after a thin stretch of silence.

He chuckles good-naturedly, cocking one eyebrow. “You’ve forgotten?”

“No,” you say indignantly, frowning. “I just—”

You break off when he takes your hands and guides them forward. Your fingers wrap around the reins dangling from Artemis’ neck. You fist the leather firmly, swallowing down the hard lump in your throat. Harry’s nostrils flare as he retracts his arms. You’re fascinated by the way his tongue darts out of his mouth, swiping over his sunburnt lips.

“A few steps at a time,” he says, repeating his former words.

You nod, blowing out a shaky exhale. Gently, you dig your heels into Artemis’ belly and click your teeth. She snorts and takes a step forward; the air is swiftly knocked from your lungs.

“I’m right here,” Harry pipes up. He lays one palm against the back of the saddle, keeping pace. “I won’t let you fall.”

Gradually, you make it out of the stables. The distance can’t be more than fifteen or twenty feet, but it’s a start. You tug softly on the reins, and Artemis stops abruptly. The sudden pause has you lurching forward in your seat. You squeak; quicker than a lightning strike, Harry is there. His hand settles on the small of your back, keeping you steady.

You look down at him, and your gazes lock. Jade eyes gleam beneath the lustrous night sky. His attention falls lower, and only then do you realise that the hem of your robe has ridden up your leg. Most of your thigh is exposed—smooth skin on total display, mere inches from his face. You release an inaudible gasp, shifting your hips to the side so that the silk slips back down.

A muscle in Harry’s jaw twitches enticingly. He removes his touch from your back and turns away.

“Beautiful evening,” he says stiffly, peering up at the stars. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You clear your throat. “I’d like to dismount, now. Would you mind?”

He shakes his head and hums. “Not at all. Hold onto me.”

You place your hands on his shoulders, and he curls his fingertips into your waist. Wordlessly, he lifts you from Artemis’ back. You yelp when your ankle snags on one of the saddle’s leather straps. He stumbles backward, wrapping his arms tightly around your midsection and grunting in surprise. When you eventually regain your footing, your eyes widen at the compromising nature of your position.

Harry is clutching you against his torso, his face buried in your neck. Warm puffs of air leave his lips and coat the column of your throat; the sensation sends shivers down your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades, chest heaving with difficult, onerous breaths.

It’s a stance that should only be shared between lovers, you think. Between a husband and his wife.

Harry is not your husband.

And you are not his wife.

The two of you break apart almost immediately, choking on hasty, half-formed sentences.

“My apologies, miss—”

“No, you needn’t—I should have been more cautious—”

“It’s late; you must be spent—”

“I’m not ready to leave.”

Harry freezes, his jaw agape. Several seconds elapse before he can find it in himself to muster a reply.

“I beg your pardon?” He’s breathless, swept away by your confession.

You shift awkwardly.

“I’m not ready to leave,” you repeat. You clasp your hands behind your back and fix him with an even stare. You hope that he can’t hear the slight quiver at the base of your declaration. “I—I wish to spend more time with you.”

He blinks. “With me?”

You nod. “With you.”

“What…?” He hesitates. “What would you like to do?”

You shrug. “Anything.”

Harry puckers his lips, lost in thought. After a prolonged moment of deliberation, his features light up. “I know a place.”

“‘A place’?” you parrot, brows knitting together.

“A place,” he confirms. “You trust me, do you not?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” you say, scoffing quietly. “I believe I’ve made myself abundantly clear.”

He chuckles. You tug on the sleeves of your robe and grate your slippers into the dirt. Harry watches you with careful eyes.

“Do it now, then,” he says, nodding encouragingly. He holds out his hand once more, beckoning you closer. “Trust me, now.”

You chew on your bottom lip, gracing him with a curt bob of your head. Artemis huffs as you wrap her reins around your wrist and slide your fingers against Harry’s palm. He pats your knuckles gently, guiding them to the crook of his elbow.

“Shall we?” he asks. It’s impossible to read the emotion in his voice.

Your response of endorsement is meek. Gone is the confident woman from a minute ago: the one who stated what she wanted without a second thought. She slips through your grasp easily, disintegrating into a pile of dust and leaving nothing behind.

“We shall,” you choke out.

Harry’s lips twitch with the ghost of a smile, and Artemis’ hooves clunk against the ground as he leads you off into the night.

~*~

“This is so…”

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“‘Nice’?” You spin on your heel slowly, taking in your surroundings. “It’s incredible.”

The water trickling through the creek is crystal clear. A few shiny rocks peek out from the shallow stream, gleaming in the moonlight. You peer up at the stars—hundreds of diamonds, perfectly visible thanks to the large gap of the clearing. Crickets chirp along the edges of the bushes, and yellow-green fireflies ride the breeze.

“How did you find this place?” you breathe.

“It may sound foolish—,” Harry begins. He holds one hand out; you transfer Artemis’ reins into his palm. “—but I can’t remember.”

“Really?” you ask, stunned. You trail after him as he leads your horse to a nearby tree. He loops her leather harnesses around a thick branch, tying a proficient knot and giving it a few experimental tugs. Your gaze remains glued to his hands: the way his fingers work deftly, the way his knuckles flex with each pull—

“Really,” he says. A soft sigh tumbles from his mouth as he steps back. “Come with me.”

You follow him to the middle of the clearing, trying to anticipate his next move. What you don’t expect, however, is for him to drop to his knees. He falls backward, spine meeting the grass with a faint thump. You gasp, staring down at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“Don’t be afraid,” Harry hums, shooting you a playful smirk. He crosses his arms behind his head—you try to avoid staring at the prominent bulge of his biceps. “The weeds won’t bite.”

“O—Oh,” you stammer, nodding quickly. “Alright, then.”

Daintily, you lower yourself to the ground. He watches you with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” you say, pouting.

“Nothing.” He snickers quietly. You tuck your ankles beneath your thighs as he turns to the side, propping his head up with one hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, miss, but…I presume that you don’t often make it a point to lay in the grass.”

“That would be an accurate presumption,” you say, laughing softly. Harry smiles.

“You should spend more time outside,” he says absentmindedly. “You’re always cooped up in the house.”

You cock one eyebrow teasingly. “Do you wish to see more of me, Harry?”

“Absolutely not,” he replies, humour evident in his tone. “I am simply trying to instill some sense of adventure into your life.”

The corners of your lips kink upward. In a matter of seconds, however, your delight melts away, replaced by a somberness that you can’t seem to shake.

“I was far more adventurous before the accident,” you murmur, dropping your gaze. You reach out, fiddling with a few blades of grass in an attempt to avoid Harry’s doleful eyes. “Now, I…I’m afraid of everything, it seems.”

Silence hangs in the air between you, filled only by the steady symphony of chirping crickets.

“If I may ask—,” Harry starts, shifting closer. “—what happened?”

You swallow down the lump in your throat. “Artemis shoved me off.”

“She did?”

“It wasn’t her fault!” you say quickly, holding up one hand. “She got spooked, I suppose. And I wasn’t expecting it, so…I fell.”

“What frightened her?” he asks, anxious creases digging into his forehead.

You shrug. “I don’t know. But since then, I’ve been uneasy about riding. If I’m oblivious to what alarmed her the first time, who’s to say that it won’t happen again?”

He nods. “I understand.”

You sigh, plucking a piece of grass from the dirt and twirling it between your fingers. “I wish I could be more like Drew,” you hum distantly. “Someone who throws themselves into their trauma instead of shying away from it.”

Harry’s brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You frown. “He—he never told you?”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t a clue. What is it exactly that you’re referring—?”

“Our parents,” you say softly.

Harry’s mouth clamps shut. He inhales deeply, gracing you with a curt nod. You take his silence as an invitation to elaborate.

“They perished in a car accident,” you murmur, looking away. “My father was head of Markham Motors, at the time. He had overlooked a flaw in the latest model, and when they finally took the vehicle out for a drive, it—”

You break off, unable to continue.

Harry reaches forward, covering one of your hands with his. A puff of stale air catches in your throat. You glance down at him timidly, hoping that he can’t identify the flustered distress on your face.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells you, squeezing your fingers tenderly. “That must’ve been awful.”

You exhale shakily. “It was.”

For the next few minutes, the two of you say nothing else. Instead, you melt into your surroundings—the grass brushing your legs, the slow trickle of water in the creek, the dim buzz of fireflies drifting in the wind. At the edge of the clearing, Artemis snorts, lowers her head, and begins to graze.

At last, you decide to break through the stillness.

“Enough about my family,” you say. You recoil, subtly pulling your hand away. Harry is far too distracting. You’re afraid that if he touches you one more time, tonight, your poor heart will give out. “What about you?”

“What about me?” he replies. He settles back into his previous position: spine pressed flush against the ground, arms tucked coolly beneath his head.

“How are you?” you say. “How is your sister, in Paris?”

He peers up at you with raised eyebrows, impressed. “You remembered?”

“Is there a particular reason as to why I shouldn’t?”

Harry chuckles. “No, I suppose not.”

“Well, go on, then.” You rest your chin on your palm. “What is she like?”

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?”

You scowl. “Harry.”

“Right, right.” He sighs, smiling fondly up at the sky. “She’s…she’s lovely, really. She just got engaged, as a matter of fact. I haven’t met her fiancé, but he’s stellar, based on how she describes him in her letters.”

“That’s wonderful,” you say. Your gaze drifts longingly over the bridge of his nose. “Send her my blessings, will you?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, mouth twisting in a roguish smirk. “I reckon she’d find that a bit odd—the two of you have never met.”

“Oh.” You purse your lips, bashful. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Harry laughs; you’re captivated by the dimples embossed into his cheeks.

“I’m only joking,” he tells you, waving away your concerns. “She’ll appreciate that very much. I’m sure of it.”

You don’t reply. Silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy, until his next words slice through the tension like a knife.

“She and I used to do this almost every night,” he murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Come outside,” he says, shrugging. “Lay on the ground. Stare up at the stars.” His irises glaze over with a forlorn look. “We always raced to see who could find the greatest number of constellations.”

“Really?” You don’t know why you’re so taken aback by his confession.

He nods. “Really.”

“Have you found any, tonight?”

He smiles. “Why don’t you come down here and see for yourself?”

The soil is surprisingly comfortable. You join him, resting your back against the grass and gazing up at the night sky. It’s an endless tapestry of diamonds—sparkling, infinite, beautiful. Your chest swells with a deep, relaxed breath as it all sinks in.

“Anything?” Harry asks expectantly.

You squint. After a long moment, a dejected sigh falls from your lips. “No. I’m not very good at this.”

He laughs. You watch, enthralled, as he lifts one hand and points to your left, singling out a curved cluster of stars.

“See these ones, over here? Shaped a bit like a hook? That’s Scorpius.”

“‘Scorpius’?”

“It means ‘scorpion’ in Latin,” Harry explains. “Scorpius was sent by the gods to kill Orion. He was then placed in the sky to advise mortals against the perils of vanity and pride.”

Vanity and pride.

You bite your lip and turn to the side, tucking a palm under your cheek. The action draws Harry’s attention; he does a double take, stunned by the sudden, close proximity of your bodies. His mouth quirks up into a coy smile as he mimics your position, brows furrowed in diluted mystification.

“What is it?” he asks.

You shift, swallowing heavily.

“I’m afraid that I’ve been unfair to you,” you say softly, gazing straight into his eyes. “I—I’ve misjudged you terribly, and for that, I must apologise. I was a fool.”

“You needn’t—,” he starts, but you press on.

“You are kind,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “You are intelligent, and clever, and you have more class in a single finger than most men have in their entire bodies.”

“Miss—”

“I was wrong about you, and I regret allowing my biases to blind me in such an atrocious manner. Can you ever forgive—oomph!”

Harry’s kiss is passionate, bruising. You stiffen, muscles locking in astonishment. One of his hands rests on the ground, providing balance; the other is on your arm, calloused thumb stroking your skin through the thin silk of your robe. You’re frozen, unable to react, because his lips are on yours, and he’s touching your body, and you’re nearly certain that you’ve died and entered the afterlife.

When Harry pulls away after a few short seconds, he’s stupidly sheepish. His eyelashes flutter open, and his stare immediately floods with remorse.

“I—forgive me,” he stammers, tripping over the words. “That was deplorable. I should have asked—”

Roughly, you grab his face between your palms. His cheeks are soft and smooth, jawline dotted with the faintest hint of stubble. The two of you exchange a look—electric, charged, thrilling. A single, critical moment ensues, during which a distinct quote emerges from the deep recesses of your mind.

A girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to think of.

The words echo in your head as you abandon all semblance of common sense, yanking Harry in by the collar of his shirt and kissing him again.

July 14th, 1923

“Quickly! We haven’t got all day!”

“Patience!” you call from the top of the stairs. You guide one last strand of hair into place before hurrying down the flight.

Lydia is waiting for you on the main floor. You set your hands on your hips and fix her with a stern glare, huffing at her eagerness. She sticks her tongue out at you. When you open your mouth to admonish her, she whips around and scurries through the large double doors, disappearing into the backyard.

Upon stepping outside, you find Martin and Andrew already sat on the patio. Lydia settles into one of the chairs around the table, smiling brightly and beckoning you over.

“There you are,” Drew says as you approach. “Beth should be out with dinner any minute now.”

“Do you know what she’s prepared?” you ask, tucking yourself into your seat.

Andrew shrugs and emits a noncommittal sound, clueless.

“Very well,” you sigh, casting a shallow glance across the table. “Good evening, Mister Russell,” you say, tipping your chin in Martin’s direction.

“Good evening.” He beams, tugging on the lapels of his yellow blazer. “Haven’t seen you all day—where have you been hiding?”

You cluck your tongue, tugging nervously at the hem of your dress. “I hardly think it fair for a woman to disclose her spaces of refuge.”

“Stop being so cryptic!” Lydia laughs. She turns to Martin, declaring matter-of-factly, “She was locked up in the library. It’s her favourite room in the entire house.”

Martin hums, diverting his gaze back to you. The expression on his face is indecipherable. “You read?”

You nod. “I do.”

A subtle movement in the periphery of your vision catches your attention. You turn your head to the side, and your heart nearly stops when you spot Harry making his way across the lawn. It appears as though he’s done for the evening, hands caked in grime and shirt speckled with dirt. He steps onto the dusty trail leading into the woods, beginning his journey home.

You haven’t spoken to him since last night—since he kissed you, and then you kissed him, and then the two of you kissed each other until you ran out of air to breathe. He led Artemis to the stables and walked you back to the house just as dawn broke, lighting up the sky with faint hues of pink and blue. You remember sharing a final embrace at the base of the steps before bidding him goodbye, flashing a smile and disappearing inside without another word.

“Would you excuse me?” you say, pushing away from the table and scrambling up out of your seat. “I just—I need to ask Harry about the lilies that he planted yesterday—I’ll only be a moment.”

You scamper off without waiting for a response.

“Harry? Harry!”

He pauses at the call of his name, turning around gingerly. When he spies you hurrying over, his eyes immediately drop to the ground.

You stop in front of him, tilting your head to the side. “Hello.”

“Hello, miss.” He doesn’t lift his gaze. The realisation makes you frown.

“How—how are you?” you ask, licking your lips and clasping your hands behind your back.

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself?”

“I—” Your nostrils flare. “I’m alright. I saw you walking home, and I just wanted to—”

“Forgive me.” Harry cuts you off swiftly. He refuses to look at you, still. “I’m weary. It’s been a long day.”

You recoil slightly, stunned by his candour.

“Of course,” you splutter, nodding. “We were both up quite late last night; time evaded us, I suppose—”

“So, you understand,” he says, stepping back. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”

You open your mouth to stop him, but your voice betrays you. Your chest grows tight when he lifts two fingers to his temple, offering up a half-hearted salute.

“Harry—”

He finally meets your gaze, and something inside of you breaks. His eyes are dull and gloomy, revealing nothing. You want to rush forward, to take his face in your hands and hold him close. To run your nails through his hair and smother him in a flurry of hard, worried kisses. To ask him why he’s acting this way. He had been so happy last night—what changed?

But the others are watching from the patio, and you’re a goddamned coward, and you can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

“Enjoy your dinner, miss,” Harry says. His tone is emotionless—it makes you want to cry. “Take care.”

~*~

PART III: The Month

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