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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

subtle | 2 | Shouto Todoroki/Reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,265 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You’re determined to track down the sender, certain it’s a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

notes: Hi all! Happy Valentine's Day! I'm posting a follow up chapter because so many people asked for it in my inbox. It's completely unedited because I just decided to write it today, and I wanted to get it up before the holiday was over! I promise I will come back and edit at some point in the next few weeks.

No one had come for the box.

You’d made a point to be out of your office as much as possible throughout the day, leaving plenty of opportunity for whoever the sender was to sneak back in and correct their mistake. But every time you reentered the room, there the box was, crowning a pile of your paperwork like a coronet of ineptitude.

You’d checked in with Shouto several times as well, anxious to learn whether or not he’d overheard anything as he changed out of his uniform from patrol, but he proved just as unhelpful as he’d been earlier this morning. He simply leaned towards you, looking almost conspiratorial--spiking both your heart rate and your hopes--only for him to murmur in his low voice, “No one is coming for it.”

Which was so fucking unhelpful.

So you’d set about the office yourself, lingering hopefully on the fringes of people’s conversations, peering about for clues on the agency staffer’s desks, but there was nothing to give the sender away, no whispered snippet of conversation or receipt laying amongst some expense sheets. You might have resorted to sifting through people’s garbage cans, if only Shouto hadn’t taken to suddenly appearing wherever you were investigating, watching you with a wry little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You knew he hadn’t the slightest modicum of romantic interest in you, but that didn’t mean you wanted him to witness you digging through people’s garbage either. That would have to wait until you could get him out of the building.

Which was also proving to be an impossible endeavor. He usually had a habit of lingering after his shift, coming into your office to make queries about one thing or another that almost always devolved into conversations deeply unrelated to work. But today he was especially resistant to leaving, seeming content to lounge around in the chairs you’d set out for clients, draping one distractingly muscled arm across the backs and watching you intently with those heterochromatic eyes.

“Shouto, get out of my office,” you hissed, coming back in at the end of the day to find him still in one of the chairs, his phone clutched in those long fingers.

He glanced up at you, eyes fastening to your features in that attentive way he had. “I work here.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” you asked, trying to suppress a small spike of irritation with him. “Because it looks like you’re scaring off the box sender to me. How are they supposed to sneak in here and take it back if their boss is looming in here like their worst nightmare?”

Shouto looked unconcerned. “I’m not.”

“Not what?” you asked. Maybe he wasn’t their worst nightmare, but being caught by your boss in the middle of correcting a romantic mishap was probably at least a nightmare.

“Not scaring anyone off,” he said, putting his phone away into his pocket. “I know who the box belongs to.”

You stopped short, your attention snapping fully towards him. A thrill of excitement went down your spine, even as regret poured through you. A little part of you had maybe hoped you would end up getting to eat the chocolates, even if they weren’t yours. But this was good news.

“You do? Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded.

Yor feet guided you to the chair where he sat, and you stood, looking down at him expectantly. He watched you through his long lashes, eyes glinting strangely.

“It’s mine,” he said finally, after a moment that stretched long and slow, like warm taffy.

Your breath caught in your chest, a swell of confusion rising within you. The box was his?

Was he being truthful or was this another attempt to make you take it? Why would he have tried to make you think it was from a secret admirer, then? Why have let you run around all day, attempting to find the sender, if the chocolates had been his all along? Unless...

Unless he was embarrassed. You didn’t know why he might have left them in your office, but you suspected maybe force of habit had drawn him here. Maybe he was operating on autopilot after his distracting shift this morning, since he usually spent so much time in your office, and then you’d come in to find them before he’d had a chance to realize it. And the rest had been history.

But then that begged the question of who he’d really meant them for--your heart sank as the thought occurred to you.

Obviously, you had known since you’d first met him that he wasn’t interested in you. You’d spent years with your thoughts all muddled around him, quelling every blush, never straying into his personal space or staring at him longer than was appropriate. You’d been so, so careful around him, but you’d never had any indication that Shouto was as careful around you. On the contrary, he was always calm and intent--he never looked away from you in a fit of bashfulness the way you had him, and he seemed to have no qualms about getting into your personal space, leaning over you as you looked through reports together, putting a hand on your back to guide you through publicity events.

So yeah, you had known he was basically immune to you. You had known it for a long time. But it still smarted to think of him giving that box to someone else.

God, how embarrassing for you. How mortifying, really, that Shouto had been thinking of someone else all those days that you had been nursing your crush on him.

But you were a professional, you could deal with this.

All you had to do was play it cool, give him back the box and laugh it off like it hardly affected you. And then you could head back to your apartment and binge ice cream and be all wistful and embarrassing for one evening. You could allow yourself that before you had to come back and be doubly professional, smile and congratulate whichever analyst or support staffer or fellow hero had caught his interest.

You could be happy for him. You’d miss the chocolates though.

Drawing yourself together, you looked down at him, pulling out a small but genuine smile. Shouto was your friend, and he was going to nail it with whoever the box was meant for--you could give him your support. But then Shouto was unfolding himself out of the chair, standing up so he could look down into your face, taking a step closer to you.

You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his sudden proximity, the hint of his clean cologne and the lick of warmth coming off of his left side.

“They’re, uh, they’re yours?” you managed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You are in such big trouble for coming in here and peddling conspiracy theories instead of owning up to it. You at least owe me a coffee for being such a brat.”

Shouto watched you quietly, saying nothing.

“But we can hash that out later,” you said, waving what you hoped was a casual hand at him. “You need to move quickly. You should try to catch whoever you meant these for before they leave--daytime shift is over in a couple minutes.”

Shouto’s brows knitted, a small frown pulling at his mouth. “You still think they’re not for you,” he said.

It took a minute for you to register the words he’d spoken. The comment struck you dumb when you did, a thrill of disbelief going through you. Was he trying to be tactful now? Now, of all times?

“Shouto, seriously, you can make it up to me later. This is not the time to fuck around, the day’s almost over,” you said.

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to you, close enough that you could feel him exhale. You took a step back in surprise, your hip bumping your desk.

“You promised me,” he said in his deep voice, “that if no one came looking for them by the end of the day, you would take them.”

You stared up at him, your mind churning wildly with all kinds of insane thoughts, wild insinuations that brought heat to your face. He absolutely could not mean what you thought he meant.

There was literally no way.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” you admitted. “But if you’re telling me I can take them just because you promised them, I don’t want them. I think you should give them to who you meant them for.”

That wry little smile played about his mouth again, and Shouto took another step closer. The back of your thighs dug into your desk and you wobbled, putting a hand down to keep your balance.

“To think I trust you with my career,” Shouto intoned, ducking his head to look into your face. You felt the heat of his left arm at your side as he placed it gently on your desk, caging you in. “Let me be plain, then. I did give them to who they were meant for.”

Your cheeks went hot, both with his proximity and the implied insult. But the rejoinder died on your tongue as the implication of his last few words sank in.

He had meant them for you? Shouto Todoroki, number four hero, your coworker of several years and your most patient, attentive, and mind-numbingly handsome friend, had gone to Grégoire Chardin, for Valentine’s Day chocolate, thinking--of all people--of you?

For a moment, it felt like the earth was sliding out from under your feet, but then you realized it was just you, tipping backwards on your desk. Your elbow banged into the side of the chocolate box, and you accidentally sent a small pile of papers fluttering over the side of your desk. You cringed, embarrassed, but then Shouto was over you, both arms braced on either side of your head.

“You don’t need to accept them if you don’t want,” he said quietly, watching your face. The intensity of his focus made your head swim, and you tried to focus on what he was saying, rather than the shape of his mouth as he spoke, the heat from his skin. “But I wanted you to know. I like you.”

You gaped at him, the words feeling like they were embedding themselves in your brain.

“You...like me?” you echoed in disbelief.

Shouto grinned, the expression so disarmingly charming that even your nose went hot. “Yes. Very much.”

A swell of emotions welled up inside you, like the unstoppable tide of a coastal flood, and you were gripped with the sudden desire to lean up and kiss him, to press your mouth to his and see if he meant it, if any of what he’d just said to you could possibly be real. Suddenly, that was the only thought in your entire brain.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you heard yourself utter stupidly.

You hesitated for just a second, realizing that maybe you should pinch yourself first to see if this was actually happening, but then Shouto was already there, covering your mouth with his.

His kiss was hot and soft and utterly perfect, and very quickly there were no thoughts in your brain at all, nothing but the feel of him over you, one muscled thigh pressing insistently between yours, his long fingers tangling gently in the hair behind your ear. You clutched him to you tightly, an embarrassing little sound escaping you, and Shouto groaned, pressing more of his weight down on you, licking firmly into your mouth.

You were half-delirious with the feeling of him by the time he let you up for air, and you could feel yourself grinning like an absolute fool.

“I had a secret admirer,” you said. “You were being serious.”

Shouto smirked, leaning in to press a hot kiss to your throat. Your thighs clenched involuntarily. “Yes, I had been secretly admiring you for a while.”

For some reason, the words embarrassed you, and you tucked your face into his broad shoulder. “I...this is so embarrassing. I’ve been...admiring you, too.”

You heard Shouto huff a soft laugh, and then his calloused fingers were gripping your chin, angling your face back towards him so he could seize your mouth again. You went slack and pliant underneath him, enjoying the press of his mouth on yours, your toes curling when he did something particularly talented with his tongue.

“I did tell you,” Shouto said after a while, pulling back, one of his hands gripping your thigh.

“Tell me what?” you asked absently, wondering how you could get his mouth on yours again.

His eyes caught yours, the blue of his left glittering at you conspiratorially. “That I could be subtle.”

You laughed, feeling stupid--but more than that, flushed and completely pleased. You didn’t know if subtle was exactly the right word, but you weren’t going to argue specifics at the moment. “I guess you can be. Though you might have been a little bit more overt before now.”

“Then if you don’t mind,” Shouto said after a while, something like amusement in his voice, “I’d like to take you home and admire you quite overtly now.”

You were answering before he could even finish. “Yes, oh my god, yes.”

Shouto laughed again, smoothing a large palm down your side.

And then he did. And not even chocolates from Grégoire Chardin could compare.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #shouto todoroki x reader

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alvfr · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet Hotch

Gif by the lovely @dudeitiskarev

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+, minors DNI Words: 3.9K (look at me writing something shorter than 15k, huh?) Warning: Semi-public sex. Anal play (fem receiving). Love. Description: A short version of Hotch's POV from Chapter 1 of Bittersweet ("Accidents" Part 5). Link to the full series in my masterlist - will probably make most sense if you’ve read those first 💕

(Warning: Very NSFW below the cut! 18+)

Bittersweet Hotch

There were a lot of reasons why Aaron loved you.

The bigger things, of course, such as your intelligence, your sharp humor, and your heart. Your unbridled compassion for the whole world, however undeserving at times, where Aaron occasionally filed himself in the latter category. Just occasionally though, not all the time anymore. Not after you had made it so blatantly clear how good you thought he was and he found himself striving to live up to those expectations. Surprisingly, it worked.

So yes, the bigger things were almost self-explanatory for why he loved you. Why anyone would love you, really, if they got the chance. Then there were all the little things. Small drops accumulating all the time, like water on a mountainside patiently eroding the seemingly impenetrable rock. One drop after the other until the dam broke and Aaron finally realized he loved you, even if he had done it for some time already. How you hummed to yourself if you thought no one was around, how you always stretched right after waking up, and how you lit up at the sight of him without noticing it yourself.

It was subtle, of course, especially when you were at work. But after Morgan had deftly pointed it out to Aaron — who had asked how the infamous bet started — it was impossible to ignore. He could see how other people on the team had picked up on it. It sometimes made it unbearable to maintain the rigid professionalism you had agreed on at work because now Aaron noticed it all the time. Whenever you walked into a room, you would seek him out first. A small glance, maybe a split second at most, but always there. At home, in more relaxed surroundings, you dropped your guard down further and he could see how your pupils dilated when you caught his eye. And lately, you got that small smile on your lips too, a smile that had Aaron convinced he would do absolutely anything for you.

It was that smile of yours that had made him bold enough to say those three words for the first time back at his kitchen. After that unsub clocked you with a two-by-four and Aaron had to physically restrain himself from beating up a local SWAT officer. Your reaction to those three words had not been as he hoped for, at least not at first, but it had improved quickly. He had come to realize that although you were — like him — keenly intelligent and —also like him — profiled people for a living, you were just as stupid as he was when it came to love. Just as human and vulnerable. There was something incredibly reassuring about that and in all honesty, it just made him love you more.

It meant he had to work harder though, to make you realize how serious he was about this. About this relationship, about you. This promotion they offered you, the one that forced him to squash down his selfish desires to keep you close at all times, was a good thing. It was good for you, and where he had let Haley play the second fiddle in favor of his career and his goals, he was not going to subject you to the same. He could be supportive — he wanted to be supportive — and if that meant sacrifices on his part, so be it. Hopefully, you’d realize he was serious about both this relationship, but also that he took you seriously. As a person, a partner, and a profiler.

The forced hierarchy from your jobs should not and would not seep into any other areas of your lives together.

All of these things had been clear in his mind when you stormed into his office earlier, kicking the door shut, and demanding answers. He loved that about you too. How brazen you could be and that you were comfortable enough around him now to be brazen, even here. Time had gone by quickly, but he could recall just like yesterday when he had held an impromptu performance review here in his office. When he had tried — in vain — to lay down some boundaries, but still found himself unable to say outright that this couldn’t happen. You and him? Impossible for so many reasons. The age difference, your jobs, his son — so many obstacles that had been swept away by those steady drops of water. Things he eventually forgot were obstacles at all unless someone pointed it out for him.

And as he watched you chew your bottom lip raw — so obviously conflicted about this offer and so obviously looking for some kind of permission from him to take it — he realized he would do anything for you. Maybe that was why it had happened? He certainly hadn’t planned it, but seeing your wet eyes after he asked you to move in — again, not the reaction he planned for — he had acted on instinct. Anything to turn that confusion into something simpler.

It started as a kiss. Just a simple gesture of affection and a physical distraction. And perhaps your boldness had rubbed off on him or all those whispered confessions how you fantasized about being bent over his desk played a part, but the next thing he knew, he had pushed his hand up the skirt of your dress. By then it was too late to back down. The way your breath hitched when his fingers brushed against the silken part of your inner thigh skipped through both ears and brain and lodged straight into his libido. And then that perfect mouth of yours had dropped open when he ran his finger against the thin material of your underwear. Using his trigger finger to carve out that well-defined slit marking the entrance to something downright holy — he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to, and despite your half-hearted pleas, you didn’t want him to stop either.

You hadn’t been wet to start with, but it took seconds before he felt the fabric dampen. Blood rushing to swell your lips and that tight bundle of nerves he loved to rub, suck, and bite when the occasion called for it. He thought he could tell the difference with each of your heartbeats and he’ll admit he got lost in the moment.

A calculated risk on many levels, but when you shuddered and tightened around his fingers — two of them pumping into you with sloppy wet sounds — he knew he would have come in his pants if he’d been twenty years younger. Sometimes he hated that he was noticeably older than you, other times he silently thought it gave him the opportunity to show you the sexual experiences you deserved. He had another kind of patience now than when he was young, another kind of appreciation for giving as well as receiving pleasure, and let’s face it, another kind of stamina. Not necessarily better, but different.

The sight of you fully dressed, knees knocking against his where he caged you in the chair, and with a glow to your cheeks would forever be burned into his retina. He’d never able to see anyone sit in that chair again without remembering this moment and he was unable to decide whether or not that was a good thing.

It was at least part of the reason why he stayed hard — rock hard, so uncomfortably strained against the stretchy materials of his boxers — even while driving to the city. Trying and wanting to make good on his offer for lunch. And he could smell the faintest wafts of your juices on his fingers and that didn’t help one bit. For a second he had been tempted to let you help him as you had offered — unzip and lean back as far as possible in the seat, pushing your head down and feeling the rasp of your teeth when he pushed too hard at one point. No. He had tried, he told himself, to make this about you. All about you.

There was still a limit to his willpower.

“Aaron,” you had said when the car was parked, the forest empty besides the two of you. As if nothing really existed outside the two of you. Your lips were swollen from his kiss where you leaned halfway over the console. Your eyes were heavy-lidded and focused on him, pinning him in place with your unbridled sincerity. “You just need to decide if you want me to suck your dick or not before you fuck me.”

It took less than a minute before he was shoving his dick into your wet and open cunt where you laid splayed over the passenger seat in the SUV. The door stood wide open to allow him access to you, with the chill of the Virginia forest whispering across the bare skin of his thighs and yours alike. Outdoors, in the middle of the day, when you both were supposed to be at work and not fucking like two teenagers at the end of a forest road. You with that fancy dress rucked up to your midriff, and him with his pants and boxers nestled around his ankles. He didn’t even bother stepping out of them, working with what he had and shoving himself into you through the car door.

The agent and the lawyer in him mumbled something vague about indecent exposure, but drowned out at the sight of you throwing your head back when he snapped his hips forward, your wet open lips pressed against and around him. You weren’t even worried. Another part he loved about you. Spontaneous, risk-taker, daredevil — call it whatever the hell you wanted, but he loved it. It. You. He loved you.

It always felt like the first time when he pushed into you, that heated way you almost sucked him in, squeezing around his dick like a tight fist. Pure velvet fire consuming his dick, and his fingers scrambled for hold, searching for those soft parts of your body that yielded to his grip. He could feel your insides tighten whenever he hit a particularly good point and he kept the pace brutal because you asked him to. At least he thought you did — you at least swore incessantly and it was hard to tell the fuck me’s from the ordinary fuck’s. You always swore like this when you didn’t have to be quiet — and sometimes even then — and it was all breathless and beautiful and he strived to give you everything you wanted. Everything he had.

He loved the way he could see your breasts bounce even under that tight dress he had all but tricked you into wearing today. And when you had to turn around, he loved the way your ass jiggled every time he thrust into you. He loved the way his fingers fit on your body, how pliant it was, somehow always making room for him — be it his fingers, his dick, or his tongue.

You made a spectacular sight and he didn’t know where to focus. On the faint reflection in the window on the other side where he could see your eyes tightly closed and mouth hanging open. On the curve of your waist, flaring up to your hips where his hands held you. On the ripple passing through your thighs and ass cheeks every time he went all in so his balls smacked against your undoubtedly swollen clit. Or on your puffy wet lips gripping around his dick in rhythm to his hips snapping forward, a clear mirror of how your other lips looked like when they locked around his cock.

His mind felt blank and he was aware he was saying something. Trying and failing to put his thoughts into words, mostly groaning your name and saying how beautiful you were over and over again. Because you were. Jesus Christ, you were. It was partially as a distraction for himself when he reached around to find your clit — two fingers, pulling the hood back a fraction so he could move better around it — because he wanted to fill you up now.

He wanted to pump you so full of his cum you’d feel it for the rest of the day. It was a little caveman-ish, but he was done trying to deny he loved seeing his white spend pool out of your hole. A claim, a mark, an undeniable sign of where he’d been. Of what you’d done together and how you’d let him use your pussy. The only thing that could compare was seeing it in your mouth, a small pearly shimmer of something that was his gliding over your tongue.

This distraction wasn’t working. Fuck. Aaron felt the drops of sweat run down his back — despite all his cardio, his dress shirts were tight and warm now with the brutal pace he’d set. God, you were exquisite. Knees spread wide on the seat, bottom of your ass resting on your ankles on either side of his thighs. Wide-open and fucking gorgeous. He wanted to make you come around his dick again. He needed to make you come around his dick again. To feel what only his fingers felt earlier, how you’d squeeze and pulsate and buck your hips to get deeper and more. Fuck.

His tie hung loosely over your back and occasionally censored you from his view. Breathing hard, Aaron flung it away and — acting on some kind of instinct or just pure debauchery — he pooled spit in his mouth and let it drop down so it hit that perfect little asshole of yours. You obviously felt it — he heard both a gasp and had to increase his grip so you wouldn’t fly right off his dick, but most of all he saw how you tightened and that little asshole became momentarily smaller. Fucking exquisite. He checked your reflection in the window, saw the full-on mask of pleasure, and more blood left his head to pump into his dick so he wondered if you would feel it thump inside of you.

He could debate how good of a distraction it was, but at least the sight of his spit running between your cheeks kept his focus from how his dick felt in your pussy. Aaron knew he was good at multi-tasking, but this was almost too much. Remembering to keep fingering your clit — aided by how you squirmed against his hand — and trying to keep a steady pace with his dick — again aided by how you also pushed back to meet his thrusts — and wetting his thumb thoroughly before gliding it over your asshole.

Worth it, he thought vaguely, based on those positively angelic sounds you made. Even with how you swore, it sounded like gospel. He barely remembered to ask if it was okay —if it was good, if this was accepted —so mesmerized at the sight. He had done this before — always carefully, always asking for permission — not really for any other reason that in some positions, it felt like your body offered it to him. And you liked it and where Aaron hadn’t had any particular fantasies about it before, it struck that caveman-gene in him again that this was another hole to fill with his cum. Another part of you to claim in the most depraved way possible.

Maybe down the line, but so far you had never gone further than what he did right now. Rubbing a slick finger around that tight little ring he couldn’t imagine fitting even his pinky inside. It took some willpower to let his hand follow the rhythm of your body — sometimes you pushed back against his dick so hard his finger would have poked into you whether you wanted it to or not — but he wanted this to be good for you. Needed this to be good for you.

But when you told him to fuck you, and rub your clit, and don’t stop, he wasn’t going to question it.

He groaned, mostly because of how you squeezed your pussy around his dick — again like a tight fist that you might as well have sucker-punched him with — as he pushed the very tip of his thumb into your ass. Tight. Hot. Only wet because of his spit, but based on your sounds, not exactly painful. He rubbed your clit harder, hoping to ease any discomfort there was or at least distract from it, and worked his thumb gently around. A vision of his thumb buried down to the hilt floated across his mind. Another way to grip you, using your ass as a balance hole to pull you back onto his dick, and he closed his eyes while involuntarily working your clit harder as if he could transfer some of his quickly approaching climax into you.

Another time, he reminded himself and tried to focus on your words. That didn’t help. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Aaron, please don’t stop. And in the same breath, you told him to come inside you — to fill you up — and that you were moving in with him and you wanted him to keep going and he couldn’t.

On your instructions, his thumb was inside to the first knuckle and he could feel himself now, could feel his dick where he was balls-deep inside of you. The further his thumb went in, the easier it got too, almost like you were sucking him in and he tried to remember to wiggle it around, loosening you up some, wanting this to feel good for you. But you were so tight and wet and you weren’t happy with how he’d slowed his pace on anything because you obviously wanted more.

He kept rubbing your wet little clit, almost on auto-pilot, but had to stop thrusting before he came before you. Did you have any idea of how good you felt? On his dick like this? Gushing wet and spread open and still so fucking tight? The slick sounds of his fingers on your clit drowned in your breathy pleas for him to keep going.

The words made it through the haze in Aaron’s mind, where all he could see was where the two of you were joined. Yes, he could do the fucking laundry. Yes, in his apartment. Yes, you were moving in. Yes, you were close to coming and you sounded so desperate he had to try. His wrist burned from circling your clit at the awkward angle, but he’d wear a wrist brace for the rest of the week if that meant feeling you lose yourself to a climax around him.

But he was so close. His balls tight and throbbing, bursting with cum he wanted to shoot inside of you. Wanted to watch it ooze out of your swollen glistening cunt afterward, use his fingers to push it back in, and then let you lick them clean. He wanted to do all of that. But not before you came first.

Almost holding his breath, he pulled his dick out with a lewd squelch, fighting to keep the rhythm on your clit even though you were squirming and swaying all over the place. Both of you were so close and you shoved your hips back to meet his next thrust, and your tight, tight asshole swallowed the rest of his thumb, and thank god that made you almost scream as you came because Aaron only lasted two — three — four more thrusts into your tight, tight pussy before he followed. He felt it in his whole body, the way the dam burst, and his nerve-endings exploded as he came.

The quiet forest engulfed his loud groan, the sound of your name in his chest, and your thin whimpers of unbridled pleasure. He desperately grabbed onto your hips to steady himself, keeping you from pulling away, wanting everything pumped into you. He halfway pulled back and buried himself all the way in again and grunted your name like he had traveled ten thousand years to the past and reduced to nothing but animal instincts. His balls pulsated, shooting string after string of cum into you, more than he would have expected. Hopefully enough. Filling you up to the brim, just like you’d fucking asked for, and enough to eventually run out of you to coat that expensive lace he’d bought today.

He clutched your hips like a lifeline — like you’d clutched that folder earlier today in his office — like your pussy clutched and milked his dick. He still twitched inside of you, still on the cusp of the orgasm, and he breathed hard to counteract the light-headedness. You were so perfect for him in every way, just so tight that he could feel his own cum coat around his dick in the limited space.

I love you, he thought and memorized every curve and line of your back, not enough breath in his lungs to say it just yet. Slowly coming down, he massaged your hips where he had left his marks yet again. Fingerprints dug into your skin in slight bruisings, ones you seemed to appreciate. You breathed equally hard as him, but looked at him over your shoulder, so flushed and gorgeous and deserving of the world.

I love you.

It was in your eyes, your smile, and often coming out your mouth too. Not right now as you only panted slightly, but you looked at him in a way that stole his breath away all over again.

I love you.

You had looked at him like that so many times before you said it for the first time, and Aaron knew you had held back. Patience. Trust. Understanding. It was in your every move and conversation with him. He didn’t know if he had earned it, but he hadn’t lied before of how grateful he was for it. Now it was his turn, he realized, to show you the same. To adapt to your schedule and your needs like you had done for him.

Like you were doing right now when the sound of his ring tone cut through the foggy aftermath of your orgasms. Not even hesitating, you reached out for his phone — Aaron swallowed a grunt when the movement pulled his dick from your gushing hole — and handed him both phone and some wet wipes. You had never tried to compete with either the job or Jack, and Aaron loved you for that too. Even if he deep-down knew he should have prioritized differently at times, you had made it so he didn’t have to. You had made everything so easy. Always, so easy, because apparently you felt he was worth it.

Try as he might, he couldn’t find anything but satisfaction in your eyes now either as you watched him try to listen to Garcia. If you kept this up, he might start to think he was worth it too.

He wanted to be worth it, he realized, watching the wicked glint in your eye when you sucked his fingers clean after the call ended. Wanted to have you and this and everything forever.

There were many reasons why Aaron loved you, but most of all because you had made him believe he could love again at all.

A/N: First time writing this "you"-style from Hotch's POV and looking for feedback. If it's confusing or if it’s unclear who’s POV it is. Also first time writing smut from a guy’s perspective and accepting feedback on that as well 🥰

As always, I strive to be inclusive of my reader-inserts, so please let me know if any descriptions or phrases needs changing.

Remember to reblog if you liked it! And that comments feed my creativity just as much as caffeine 💕

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #accidents #criminal minds fanfiction #tumblr exclusive

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rintarhoes · 4 years

Text

“KISS ME SLOWLY” — suna rintarou ;

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖘: female reader. fluff—established relationship. angst if you squint. comfort. mention of drug use. like, one swear word.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 2k

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: suna rintarō is so much more than his bored eyes, the blunt between his lips, and his tendency to slack off and you’re one of the very few people who know this.

♡: repost (: this was written way before it was announced that suna was a part of the japan olympic players so.

It’s you who find out first that there is truly so much more to Suna Rintarō than his expressionless exterior, sleepy eyes, and bored gaze towards even the most ridiculous situations. It’s when his self assured stance dwindled as he walked towards you once upon a time, introducing himself first before asking you for your number.

“My number?” You echoed his request, trying your best not to gawk at his attractive features and six foot two stature towering over you so easily; making you feel oh so small. (Which is funny, given that you were already standing straight on your heels.)

“If you don’t mind, ’s cool if you say no,” he replies, tearing his gaze from you as if he was actually anxious you’d say no.

It’s funny, really. It’s not every day a famous pro-athlete known for both his good looks and skills walk up to you, asking for your number and actually considering you’d say no to him and his pretty features—in fact, nevermind that he was pretty, it was more the fact that he wasn’t so full of himself to actually think you wouldn’t say no.

That’s what makes you nod your head; your heart already beating right out of your chest as he gives you a lazy grin and his phone to press your number in. When you’re done, you hand it back to him and you mentally pat yourself at the back for not visibly trembling.

“Y/N?” He reads your name from the contact information, and good God, did your name sound so beautiful coming out of his mouth. He doesn’t wait for your reply anymore, looking back at you from his phone, the lazy smile still across his lips as if he knew it was a heart killer.

“Thanks, I’ll text you later,” is the last thing he said before he walked away from you.

It didn’t take long for you to fall in love with someone like Suna Rintarō—underneath his detached personality also lied someone who was truly passionate with the things he set his mind to, gave his time to. Like you or volleyball or the video game he’s been waiting to release for a whole month—it only had to be something or someone who was special enough, then, he would give it his all.

The smoke that filled his lungs occasionally did nothing to lessen your own intoxication of Suna Rintarō and his passions—because every exhale, his dark green eyes would meet yours and oh so easily, he offers you that same lazy smile yet one that was dripping in affection.

“Should you even be smoking that, Rintarō?” You had questioned him before, about the second time you’ve seen him put the rolled blunt in between his soft lips, inhaling it.

“It’s a once in a while kinda thing, you don’t actually think I’d sacrifice my career for this don'tcha?” He grins at you, amusement flooding his usually bored eyes—now glazed over with the effects of the weed—from the way he gazes at you with an eyebrow raised.

It’s when you realize that Suna Rintarō was independent and knew what he was doing—did what he did with full awareness, full control, full flexibility. It’s as if who he was in court was who he was in person as well.

“You’re really interesting, y'know that Rin?” You had mumbled against his chest once before, it was at the first few months of dating—he had one of his arms around you with you cuddled on his side, watching a movie from his couch.

“Yeah?”

“I mean—you’ve always been so good at what you do, huh? But you still work for it.”

“What makes you say that?” You can feel him looking down on face against his chest.

“C'mon, don’t be silly. You were scouted at middle school and you only got better as you grew up!” You say, finally moving your head to meet his gaze.

But all you get is a flick on your forehead and his low chuckle, “’s not that deep, y/n,” he answers.

But you already knew better.

Suna isn’t one for words, and no matter how much you insist that he was beyond the description of words, he only rolls his narrowed eyes at you. You find out Suna Rintarō, your boyfriend, was a huge inspiration during your sixth month together when you finally met his little sister.

It’s hard to say it wasn’t amusing how snarky she was, just as he was to his friends whom you’ve met a few times before—Atsumu and Osamu Miya, you remember. She’s quick with her tongue, easily retorting back to her brother’s comments.

“Are you sure you didn’t just pay Y/N-san to be your girlfriend, nii-san?”

“Nah, you still jealous I came out prettier than you?” Suna bites back, a teasing grin plastered across his face. His sister only scoffs, looking back at you.

“You can tell me if he blackmailed you to come here!” She attempts to whisper. You’re not sure whether you should be worried or continue to laugh, but you do neither as you choke on the drink you were sipping on right as she told you this.

“Shit, Y/N,” Suna curses as you cough, your throat burning at the drink’s intrusion, but Suna’s quick to rub soothingly against your back as he offers you his water, his eyes glazed over in panic.

“You okay?” He asks when you stopped coughing, and you nod in response—throat remaining slightly sore. Suna lets out an aggravated groan, “Be careful next time,” he manages to scold you, but oddly enough, his words remain saccharine.

There’s something about the way that his little sister doesn’t seem the least bit surprised with his reaction that somehow lets you know that perhaps, Suna Rintarō might just be quite the caring brother behind closed doors.

After that, it was when Suna excused himself to take a call from his manager, leaving you with his sister.

“Hey, nee-san, promise you’ll take care of Rin-nii? You won’t break his heart, will you?” His sister asks, eyes gleaming with something akin to hope, expectation, wonder. It easily takes you by surprise.

“Don’t you worry, I’ll promise I’ll take care of him, promise I won’t break his heart,” your voice easily softens, nodding. His little sister’s gaze remains on you, as if she’s assessing you and as if she would easily tell whether or not you meant the words that came out of your mouth.

It makes you hold a breath until she nods slowly, smiling at you lightly just as Suna comes walking back, eyebrows raised, knowing he must’ve missed something.

“Whatcha girls talkin’ bout?” He asked as he slipped back on his seat beside you.

“None of your business, obviously,” his sister quickly answers.

They’re truly quite similar, it’s enough to make you smile and get through meeting his little sister until both of you dropped her off back to the train station.

“What’d she tell you?” Suna nudged you after seeing her train leave.

“Nothing, Rin,” you answered with a wide smile, leaning up to place a chaste kiss against his lips—yet just as you pull away, one of his hands has found its way behind your neck, pulling you back to him.

You never thought a kiss could feel so loving before—but it really seemed as if Suna Rintarō had a knack for proving you wrong, over and over again.

It was the day that the Olympic team was announced when you see so much more of Suna Rintarō. Quick like the blink of an eye, or lightning that leaves the thunder chasing it; Suna felt the exhaustion, the pressure, the burnt-out feeling that’s been repressed in the back of his head. It comes to him, crashing down like boulders not just on his shoulders but weighing down every part of his body.

Did he lack somewhere? He wonders. Where did that lacking end and start? What could have he done? Was it training, where he spent most of his time now? Suna had end up seeing you less and less since the drafting of olympic players started and you’ve been nothing but patient.

What was he supposed to tell you? After all the time it has stolen away from you—that he didn’t make it?

When he opened the door to your shared apartment, he doesn’t look up at you with a relieved sigh as he usually would—he avoids you gaze entirely, he avoids your observing eyes from the couch you sat on, watching him slowly shrug his shoes off.

“I’m just gonn—” he started, about to make an excuse to avoid looking at you.

“Prepared your bath, Rin. C'mon,” Suna hears you say but it doesn’t sink in his head, watching you take his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

Suna remains silent as he looks down on the bath you prepared for him, warm and inviting.

“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done, okay?�� He hears you say, followed by the echo of your footsteps walking away.

You easily understand that Suna Rintarō was more than his talents, his efforts, and every little thing about him when you feel his large arms wrapped around you, his broad chest pressed against your back and his face buried on the crook of your neck. His fresh scent right out of the shower engulfing you and invading your senses, flooding you with him.

“’m sorry, bunny,” he mumbles.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Ri—”

“It’s odd, thought I’d pull it off, thought it’d be nothin’ if I didn’t make it. Don’t know why I’m so upset right now,” he continues, cutting you off, “Been so patient for me too, bunny. Thought I’d be nice to make you proud, ya know?”

Your sigh comes out sharp from the heavy feeling from your chest, not knowing what to do to make him feel better—like he did with you, always knowing his way around your low moments.

You wriggle out of his arms, making him grumble until you fully face him. He looks back at you with a small frown, eyebrows furrowed, watching your expression.

“I’m always proud of you, Rin. Olympic player or not, you make me so proud,” you speak softly, your hands cupping each side of his face.

“Don’t even get why it matters to me this much, it’s just—” it was your turn to cut him off, tipping your toes to press a lingering kiss against his lips. Suna smiles against your lips, carrying you to sit on the kitchen counter like he always did—knowing you always would have to tip on your toes to reach him.

Soon, the lingering kiss turns slow and passionate—lips softly grazing the other, and it feels more like pouring the heavy weight of love out of your chest and into the other. A kiss so loving, so reassuring, so passionate—the kind that easily takes your breath away and makes your mind go blank. When Suna pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. You smile at him because it’s all you can do when your heart feels like it’s going to leap out of your throat just to offer itself to him entirely—and Suna smiles back at you, pecking your lips before wrapping his arms around you again, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You run your fingers through his hair, hoping it would help soothe him, and then you say, “I promise that you’ll make it next year, Rin. I’ll be with you now, and I’ll still be with you then.”

It only makes him hold you tighter, closer to him, “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Rintarō. You deserve the world and all the stars in the galaxy.”

“’s too bad there’s nothin’ more I need than you, then.”

That’s what Suna tells you—Suna, who was smoke in his lungs, dumb videos of the twins to blackmail them with, little mistakes, bored eyes, and lazy attitude. The same Suna who was slow kisses, passion, and genuine smiles reserved for you—the same Suna who gave his passions his all, the same Suna who held you securely in his arms every night, the same Suna his little sister admired. Most of all, the same Suna Rintarō you loved with every beat of your heart, every fibre of your being.

📞 violet is calling… all content featured belongs to ©️ animatedrapture. do not plagiarize, repost, or modify.

#suna x reader #suna rintarou #inarizaki #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #suna rintaro x reader #suna fluff #suna angst

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cherryatiny · 4 years

Text

𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐒/𝐎 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑜ℎ𝑜𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 (𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑖'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔), 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡𝑦

𝐺𝐼𝐹𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑠

⩥ 𝐊𝐢𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐠

„Y/N pass me the bottle.”

Said the stern voice of your best friend Hongjoong, you were at a bar, with your other friends, celebrating Hongjoong's career success.

He finally got the chance to join a musical company and fulfil his dream of becoming an artist and a song producer.

Seeing your best friend happy that his dreams came true made you sincerely happy of course, but a small part of you was kinda sad about that.

Hongjoong has been your crush since you two were kids and now, that he is going to become a well-known artist, he'll for sure find some hot idol-model girlfriend and your love will go in the drain.

Maybe it was the alcohol in your blood, maybe the pent up rage and courage that made you confess.

„I have a confession to make... I-i love you Kim Hongjoong.”

Everyone looked up at you in disbelief, it was until you felt your stomach tightening from embarrassment, urging you to vomit, running out of the room to a restroom to push it out, without knowing Hongjoong was following you.

As he saw you scrunched and hugging the toilet he came to you, to hold your hair from falling into your face.

„I may like you too, but that's something we'll talk about once you are sober."

⩥ 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐒𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐰𝐚

„Oh, come on, it would be fun, trust me.” Bullshit.

Going out with your best friend Seonghwa and his crush "to support him" was never a good idea.

Not only did you have to observe the cringiness of Seonghwa's love blind actions, but also see his crush treating him so poorly since she clearly did not have any interest in him.

As the movie ended and it was time for you to go home, you stood in front of the cinema with Seonghwa as he bid goodbye to the girl.

„Bye, be careful on your way home and have sweet dreams, I hope we could go out on another date soon.”

„Ah yeah, sure, bye."

You sighed softly, how could he not see the disinterest. As he turned to you, to thank you for helping him overcome this evening, your words stopped him before he could even start.

„Seonghwa, please stop hurting yourself by loving someone who's clearly not interested, when I've been showing you affection and interest for two years."

„What? Yo-you like me?”

As you realised what you've just said, earlobes and cheeks turning red from the embarrassment.

„I mean... kind of.”

⩥ 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨

„Y/N, I'm waiting outside the house, come on, let's go.” said Yunho over a phonecall.

You were celebrating the end of the semester with your classmates, and since you've had some drinks in you and despite that, you didn't know how to drive, you had to call your friend and deep-down also crush Yunho either way.

Rushing out to finally see your crush, you were met with the breath-taking sight of Yunho leaning to his car, one hand scrolling through his phone, the second one chilling in his pockets.

„Yuyu, my love, you’re here.”

„Gosh, Y/N you’re so drunk, I’m glad you called me and didn’t try to go home on your own. I don’t want to imagine what could’ve happened.“

„But nothing happened since I called that handsome guy I love.“

Yunho shook his head at your drunk talk, were you talking about him? Not knowing the sincerity of your words, but in the depth of his soul, he hoped the words that came out of your mouth were true...

⩥ 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐞𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠

„Happy Birthday dear Mr. Kang, happy birthday to you.“

Handclap noisier than the song of celebration for your boss, Kang Yeosang.

Although being a CEO, he was really warm-hearted and kind, not like the basic CEO type who’s cold and arrogant.

Being his secretary helped you to get to know him better over the years, but also made you grow feelings for him. You sometimes just zoned out and stared at his handsome face for hours, just like now.

„Y/N, can you please follow me to my office, I need to talk to you.“

You had no idea what Yeosang wanted to talk about, feeling only one emotion. Fear. Did he find out you like him? Did you do something wrong? Is he going to fire you? As he closed the door after you two, you couldn’t even look him in the eye, rather observing your high-heels.

„Y/N, what’s with you these days? You seem... different. Your mood’s been down lately, you’re impercipient. You know you can tell me anything, i want my most important employee to be happy.“

Employee. That’s all you were.

„I know you’re probably gonna get mad and I fully understand, feel free to fire me, but truth to be told, over the years I’ve been working for you, I grew feelings and I just can’t get over it... I-I love you, Mr. Kang.“

Yeosang’s face went pale, absorbing the words you’ve just said, mind going blank from the sudden confession.

„I don’t know what to say, Y/N. I mean... you’re a nice, young, hardworking girl, but.. I-I might need a few days to let it sink and think it over.“

⩥ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐒𝐚𝐧

San's hips moved to the rhythm of the music, his hands on the waist of some random girl, their sensual dancing just irritating you.

It wasn't like you and San were dating or anything, but you still couldn't stand the thought of him being with anyone else. An annoyed groan coming out of your mouth as you picked your glass and took a shot to drink away those thoughts. San taking the girl by her hand and coming your way.

„Hey Y/N I just wanted to say goodbye, since I’m leaving with Sora to my place, if you need anything you can call, but I don’t think I’ll be able to pick up, since my hands will have other work to do, so rather try Seonghwa.“

„Yeah, I thought so, just don’t forget to wear a condom when you get your dick wet, cuz it looks like you’ll end up with STD.“ you responded, rolling your eyes at him.

„Why are you so rude and foul today, are you jealous because I get some pussy and you’re left with no dick because no one wants to approach you since you’re so mean? Get your act together and we can talk tomorrow.“

„No San, you want to know why am I so cheeky? It’s because I have to watch the man I love fuck around with a random hooker. Go enjoy your dick appointment now, you must be busy.“ Without thinking of it any more, you left him there, your aura for sure full of pure rage.

⩥ 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐠

„Ew fuck no, Yeosang that’s nasty, I wish I could go back in time to five minutes ago when I didn’t hear this confession“ laughed Wooyoung at Yeosang’s confession in the game truth or dare.

Wooyoung took the bottle from Jongho’s hand, ready to spin the bottle and let it pick another victim of his stupid asks and dares. Spinning the bottle, it landed on you. Wooyoung's eyes already glistening from the excitement of daring or asking you something.

„So, Y/N, truth or dare?”

„Dare” a playful smirk finding its place on Wooyoung's face

„I dare you to kiss the person in this room, you have feelings for.”

You immediately started to regret telling him, that you like Mingi, the look in your eyes scolding him.

„Okay, but you all have to close your eyes.”

The 8 boys and your other 3 girl friends closed their eyes, as you hesitantly got up, making your way to Mingi, your crush of 5 months. Sitting on the ground next to him, your fingers landed on his jaw as your lips met his. Mingi’s eyes shot open as all your friends started applauding at your confession.

„I-I think i have feelings for you too Y/N...“

⩥ 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

You were currently in the changing room, packing your belongings, to take from your workplace. You decided to leave your job as a makeup artist and stylist for the group ATEEZ. The reason was the fact that you liked one of the members and didn’t want to cause any problems to the groups, you knew it was inappropriate to like him, but it was irresistible.

You attached feelings for Wooyoung when you first started to work with them. All eight boys were absolutely amazing, but Wooyoung was just... different. He sparked a flame of interest in you, his personality, his talent, his looks, all those drew you to Wooyoung.

As you cleaned all your makeup brushes, the door to the changing room opened, as the figure of the aforementioned boy stood there.

„What are you doing Y/N? Why are you packing your things, are you going somewhere?“

„I’m leaving, Wooyoung.“

„What, why?“

„That is none of your concers.“

„It is, you’re my stylist, but more importantly, you’re my friend.“

„Yeah, that’s the problem Wooyoung, I’m your stylist - your colleague, that’s why I have to leave.“

„Why would you have to leave because you’re my stylist, what ar-“

„Because I like you Wooyoung, okay?! That’s why I can’t keep on working with you and mix my feelings into my job, it’s inappropriate, now if you excuse me, I’m leaving.“

The boy stood there as a column, without any movement. Should he go after you, accept your feelings and then you’ll keep on working with him and being his friend, or should he stay there and not go after you? Either way, it was already too late...

⩥ 𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨

„So, what’s new in your life, Y/N? We haven’t seen each other for a long time because of our busy schedules.“ Jongho said as he sipped on his boba tea.

„Well, not that much happened in my life. You know how it is, a lot of work and stress, and lesser free time and sleep. I’ve bought a new notebook since my old one broke down and uhm... yeah well... I’ve been catching feelings for this boy lately.“

„Wow, really? I’m so happy for you Y/N, tell me more about it, I need to know what kind of a boy owns my bestie’s heart.“

„Well, he’s a really talented singer, he’s kind and funny, he’s more of an athletic type, hmm... and he’s really really strong. But he’s for real one of the nicest and best persons I’ve ever met, I like him, but I don’t know whether to tell him, because I'm not certain of his feelings...“

„Wow, he seems to be a nice guy, but don’t be blinded by your feelings, if he doesn’t like you, let it be, I don’t want you to get hurt, because of some stupid boy who won’t acknowledge the feelings such a beautiful and amazing woman like you has for him. Anyway, do I know him or who is he? I’m like really really curious right now.“

„It’s you Jongho.. you’re the boy i like.“

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez headcanons #ateez x reader #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez reaction #ateez fluff

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borkthemork · 3 years

Text

Finally cleaned up this draft based on @/popcornbee’s art and it is now officially on AO3 as well, so I hope all of you enjoy!

---

There were numerous pathways for a sparrow to travel. Following their migration patterns, they'd travel down to warmer lands, typically somewhere protected for the nights. In doing so, they'd rest in the winter and return back all new. Refreshed for the upcoming springs and summers.

For American Tree Sparrows, these patterns were necessary to survive.

For Joe Sparrow, the true information depended.

He liked to flit about on rapid wing beats. He preferred curdled mealworms due to previous battles hurting his digestive system. For migration, he remained stubborn on whether he liked the warmer breezes or if the Newtopian stables were of true home than anything else.

Newtopia had a history of domestic birds. Joe Sparrow was the mixed case when he grew all-natural, got captured and owned by one or more owners who called him previous names, and then found Marcy in the middle of sweltering rain. Where a mission lead to something new and surprising, bold and unorthodox, and the moment Joe saved her — chose her hand of all people — Marcy promised to keep him safe. Safe, protected, cared for.

And nothing had pulled these two away from each other. Not even the fleeting concept of gravity. Or the fact winter threatened his nests.

Anne asked about him before. On one occasion, where Marcy groomed him under Plantar barn shade, Anne looked at his big, round, puffy belly and wondered out loud where the scar above his eye fit in out of all things.

Of course, Marcy had the answer.

“Oh, you know Joe,” she sighed. “He keeps pushing his limits. You won’t believe how many scars this bad boy got during his old career. For the eye one, he actually got that scar back when he was just a fledgling, but this was during the morally ethical times where amphibians didn’t really care for mounts unless they were battle resistant.”

Her hand parsed through his plume, giggling when Joe tweeted pleasantly against her skin. “But now he’s in a morally ethical place, aren’t you, boy? Yes, you are.”

Anne snorted. She ruffled Joe’s feathers too, and the two giggled quietly when the sparrow seemed to lean into the touch. Almost as if the sparrow connected immediately to Anne.

And Anne teared up over the thought. “It’s just like mother nature intended.”

The week afterward reminded Marcy of her sparring days, but instead of swords and smoke bombs, she had worms and patience. Lots of patience as Anne attempted to feed some mesh into Joe’s beak — and ultimately got stuck when she leaned too hard into his mouth.

It was funny how all this bonding time left her blind to anything else on the schedule. Marcy could instruct Anne to direct the mealworms to Joe for hours and still find Anne’s laughter to be the highlight of her day. Maybe Joe would sit on Anne, and leave her yelling and laughing under floof-fulls of bird, and Marcy would sketch that scene than the typical mission schematics Lady Olivia instructed her to look through.

Marcy hypothesized that Joe's love for attention spurned her focus. It made sense for birds to tease if they didn’t get the proper reaction out of people. It made sense for a bird such as Joe to find affection in someone who exuded goodness from their heart. But then Marcy would remember Anne. For Anne had Joe’s affection at the palm of her hands but irritated the bird enough to prefer dipping her into a nearby pond just for the sake of playfighting. And that enough had gotten her intrigued.

Was it another phenomenon she needed to analyze? To understand fully until the cusp of discovery?

Perhaps. Not right now though.

Marcy had found a breakthrough. A breakthrough in Animal-Human Sociology. But her focus lingered elsewhere, came down to how she rested next to a bucket load of dirty feathers — snoring into her best friend’s shoulder until the moon rose high above the Amphibian mountains.

---

When Marcy stared through the sky, and the act alone reminded her so much of Kid Icarus. If she ignored the wings branching out from the corners of her eyes, and only focused on the colors then she thought of herself as flying. Flying through skies that bled yellows and reds like Aivazovsky, framed so well against the crisp horizons that Marcy could almost paint the perfectest picture in her mind.

And when wind buffered her hair, parted the clouds with her hands, she swore that the taste on her tongue was of fresh saltwater.

Navigation. Freedom. The fades from orange to blue to maroon. Marcy loved riding for a reason. She held onto Joe’s reins with the utmost quickness, spelled out her name with short dives and leaps through cumulus tufts. And in the aftermath, she wrung her coat dry of moisture.

At least, until Anne became a priority.

Anne Boonchuy. Friend of ten years. Friends since the term friends became part of the Merriam Webster. Now, the latter sounded silly, but friendship could be a frank concept at times, it was something Marcy had no clue how to navigate, and yet Anne found her and decided Marcy was worth her time.

So they were here now: One readying an avian saddle, the other petting Joe’s tufts with the heaviest affection. And aw, Joe seemed to like it, what with the amount of cooing he’d been doing for the past hour.

Not like Marcy didn’t want to get in on that action. She just needed to finish clipping on the latches — and when she did that, it would be go-time, her a-game.

“Anne, can you push me that satchel?”

“Sure thing, Marce.” With ease, Anne somehow lugged a chair-sized bag over to where Marcy was, and they remained silent afterward as she finished the remainder of preparations.

What preparations? Well, the kind that remained out of her league.

“Sooo, where are ya’ going, exactly?” Anne asked. She had the same perturbed look to her ever since she whiffed the scents from the bag itself.

Marcy couldn’t help but rub her neck, not knowing how well to respond. “Well, I’ve been planning to scout an area somewhere high up in the Southern sect of Amphibia. I got wind that some bandits plan to use a route to jump ambassadors from here and there on the pathways, and I just wanted to make sure that doesn’t happen again, you know?"

“For sure, dude. I mean, you are the boss after all. That stuff’s gotta be pretty important if you’re getting loads of homework for it.”

“Well,” Marcy puckered her lips. She was right in some sense. Chief rangers plopped themselves into some high category up in the Newtopian ranks. It made sense. “Correct, kinda. I don’t really call it a boss position, more so a job. A very fun job, actually. You’d be surprised at how many prefer office desks to infantry, it’s nuts.”

Although, the more she thought about it, being able to stay safe in a big ole’ cube than getting skewered by bandits did sound appealing. Less probability for harm, sure. But Marcy loved the hunt way too much for her own good.

If Andrias gave her another objective, she might as well do a little dance at this point; there was always something exciting to partake in.

And with Joe, the fun always doubled with him.

At least, until she remembered that Anne had been staring at her, snapping her fingers in front of Marcy’s nose. “Marbles, you good? Another zone-out moment again?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Thanks, I was about to get worried, the internal dialogue I had was getting way too extensive for my taste."

"Well, now that you’re out of your internal dialogue stuff, I got to ask.” Anne peered at Joe again. “Can I get on your bird?”

Marcy blinked at her. “Oh. Of course. You don’t really need to ask me if you’re curious about riding him.”

“I know, but he’s a big softie, really wanted to make sure I got your permission before anything else.” She coughed. “Plus I’m not gonna take any vehicles without permission. Tried that once. Didn’t go so hot.”

Somehow, Marcy found herself giggling. She couldn’t pinpoint why; Anne’s honesty must’ve just been that funny. “Well, if you want to jump on the SS Joe Sparrow, I’d be happy to show you around and get you a front-row ticket to some action.”

“For real?” Anne beamed, only for her expression to melt into a frown, scratching her chin at the thought. “Aren’t you on ranger duty though?”

Okay, she had a point there. “I mean, yeah, but I’ve mainly done this stuff solo. Sure I’ve got Joe to accompany me but it’ll be interesting to have a second person on board for the ride.” Without a skip in her beat. “And why wouldn’t I have you go with me? Of course, I would. You’re always the best on road trips.”

And with that, Anne’s smile grew tenfold. Oddly beautiful. Oddly hard to describe. Weirder to even have herself think those things in the first place. “Count me in, then. Let’s go, Marbles!”

Oh well. She’d think about that later.

---

Joe softened his landings in-between. And at certain points, when the mountains dipped to valleys he rocketed around and buffeted the gales just for the heck of it. He had the heart of a little kid sometimes, every moment he swooped through some current or plummet forward if he got the chance. He liked to make himself seem so grand when he cheeped. And Marcy confided in the idea that no matter how aged this sparrow would become, he’d still be the softest avian around.

Always there. Always playful. Always…eager for potential mates. He was the total package for best mount in all of Amphibia, and Marcy didn’t want it any other way.

So with Anne, Marcy became delighted when Joe kept that same kindness. It wasn’t just Marcy doing rough landings against solid ground or her zipping through the air. There were two people, two people to consider on the back of his saddle.

And Joe never disappointed her. He pivoted, swerved on command, and coaxed giggles from the girl behind her, whose arms pressed tightly to her waist until their hair puffed out from the wind.

“Keep your arms locked in, Annie B!”

Marcy’s hands whipped the reins, whooping at the top of her lungs when the dive pushed oceans of air into their faces.

The straps and belts dug into their laps when Joe pulled up, braced them in a loop-de-loop that had their eyes rolling when they finally exited out to a steady level.

And Marcy could hear the laughter behind her.

The laughter spoke of so much joy and happiness, of a symphony that Marcy had heard so many times before, and Marcy leaned into her warmth when they passed from the hallowed groves to the shimmering Newtingale creaks.

All throughout the Southern sect, all throughout the faint rattle of Marcy’s heart.

---

The ride home had been a lot darker than Marcy expected. For most of her trips in and out of the valleys, a lot of her path-finding culminated in something one could describe as an adventure. If one described her and Anne beating up an entire bandit group disguised as a clown posse to be an adventure, then yes. That was what happened.

They went head-to-head, toe-to-toe. All while decked out in white makeup and smelly rotten clown noses. This all sounded ridiculous, but out in Amphibia, one should never ever underestimate a theatre group.

For entertainment was their cruelest weapon.

Anne had been the first to ambush the bandits during the mission. With the agile reflexes of a cat, she deflected each oncoming slash with ease while Marcy took aim, calculated her crossbow trajectory until the enemies all knocked unconscious in the mud.

If one ignored the clown get-up, then what she talked about seemed like a typical day for Marcy. Always saving someone. Always doing her best. Always making sure no newts got chewed up by some toad or frog dressed up in rogue wear.

But the difference today was that she had someone to accompany her. Or how that same someone jumped onto Joe and gave that feisty bird a few scratches to his feathers, trying to wash her face in the water bucket they stored earlier today.

It all seemed domestic-like. The kind that Marcy dreamed about in fantasy stories, where the protag had a close ally to travel the world until their dying breaths.

And gosh, it was so cool that Anne became that friend.

She seemed to enjoy it too, what with the close embrace when they finally took off for the night, her chin propped on her cloaked shoulder, or the fact her exhales drifted in crisp Amphibian air.

A sign that she was enjoying everything. Everything from the swoop of Joe’s wings, the purple haze of the night, or how the moon cloaked their forms in red lighting — masking the landscape in darkness like a blanket over bedding.

Anne sighed contently. Her face nestled close to Marcy’s neck. She didn’t show that she regretted being here.

Not one bit.

“I’ve never been this high up before,” she mumbled. “The only times I did were when some creature flung me up into the middle of nowhere.”

Marcy hummed to that. Anne's fingers ghosted the triceps of Marcy's arms, left goosebumps to form and bristle in the cold, it made everything feel weird. Comfortable. Safe. “So is this less traumatizing and more exciting then?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Her voice rang, all charmed and sweet. “By a long shot.”

And Marcy was glad about that. Ever since she found Joe, a lot of her adventures had gotten easier to deal with. From zooming over to the Dry Swamp to the many forests hidden deep underneath solid canopies, one of the many pros of having a steed like Joe was of the view.

A view that made scouting ten times easier. The kind that entangled her in clouds, the song of avians, and the dance of the breeze. The kind that chilled her nose, left cumulus droplets on her thumbs, and when she settled down from grazing the upper layers of oxygen her body’s equilibrium warmed her up like it always intended to.

To have Anne feel that same experiences — the same elation — made the trip all the more worth it. Especially when Marcy’s skin grew warmer under non-equilibrium circumstances. All due to the cuddly contact.

Oh, Anne.

“If you want, I know a froggy pitstop nearby that sells slushies twenty-four-seven,” Marcy said softly. Joe went into a descent, already maneuvered by Marcy’s quick hands at the reins. They weren’t going to land yet. At least until Anne said so. “Wouldn’t hurt to take in the view on a full stomach.”

“That sounds amazing.” Anne pressed closer, and Marcy tried not to think about the murmur, how low it rumbled against Marcy’s ear. Gosh, she must be really relaxed by now. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m ready for some grub.”

“Well, they aren’t really grubs more like a mish-mash of every insect on the palette.”

“I try not to think about it.”

With laughter escaping them, Marcy directed Joe into the forest space below, her heart synced with the beat of sparrow wings.

#amphibia #marcanne #annarcy #Finally it's its own standalone fic #anne boonchuy #marcy wu #I mainly just placed this stuff in the drabbles comp but I loved this one too much that I had to clean it up #I FORGOT TO PUT THE MARGINS

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astrowithkaro · 3 years

Note

Lang. of birthdays for nov. 12. Please and thank you!

𝕷𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝕺𝖋 𝕭𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖉𝖆𝖞𝖘: 𝕹𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 12 - 𝕾𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖎𝖔 🖤

[You can find the rest of the series here; or check out my masterlist]

The Day Of Sensual Charisma

Sensuality and magnetic attraction are central themes in the lives of November 12 people: sensuality expressed in their own physical makeup or the works they are involved in producing; magnetism demonstrated in family life, secret love relationships, or in their career or social circle. Exceptional or highly talented November 12 people must be extremely careful about misusing ego drives. Their capacity to work "miracles" in everyday situations wins them adulation, and in some cases, places them in a godlike position in their admirers' eyes. Such worship can foster sociopathic tendencies in those born on this day. On the other hand, morally evolved November 12 people of all abilities can use their powers in the service of bringing beauty and enlightenment to those around them. Most November 12 people have an integrity and devotion to their work that imbues their persona with a singular grace. Those November 12 people with public careers may become a highly positive political force.

The conflict between golden qualities, on the one hand, and dark characteristics, on the other, is often at work in November 12 people, and both sides may in fact be entwined through their lives. However, it is also possible that a November 12 person will show a marked decay from a promising golden youth to a dark adulthood. Those born on this day face a great personal challenge in getting a handle on their wilder energies, which involves knowing themselves better and perhaps dedicating themselves to a worthwhile cause of some kind.

The creation or appreciation of beauty in all its forms is the overriding interest of November 12 people, whether it be found in beautiful children, art, home environment, bodily form or just an outright sensuality. However, behind this impulse toward the beautiful is something even more basic, and that is the force of magnetic attraction itself which so irresistibly propels a November 12 person along. It is in the red-hot crucible of their soul that impersonal dark forces rework and mould sensuous images which get projected out on the world and become at once their heaven and their hell.

Life, therefore, is not always easy for November 12 people. Tragedy and misfortune can unaccountably plague them between days, weeks or even years of ecstatic happiness and thrilling experiences. Again, the key to their balancing their lives and getting a grip on their powers is self-knowledge. If they can only appreciate fully what materializes around them is a product of their own character, own up to moral responsibilities and take their lives in hand in an ethical fashion, they will be able to cope with negative energies which seem to invariably come their way. If not, they will be largely at the mercy of forces beyond their control.

Strengths:

Magnetic

Seductive

Attractive

Weaknesses:

Heavy

Addictive

Troubled

Advice

November 12 people must be careful about expressing as well as attracting negative energy. The magnetic qualities of those born on this day are so strong that they can pull in all sorts of unwanted influences, thereby adversely affecting their health. Also, their psychological projections are powerful and when materialized in the world can return to haunt them. The good state of their health is directly proportional to their capacity for exercising willpower over harmful behaviour and habits. All drugs, particularly those with addictive properties, should be viewed with caution. November 12 people should beware of cults, since the fervor written into their ideology is generally not a positive influence.

Concentrate on strengthening your personal morality

Cultivate the simple values of kindness and consideration toward others

Resolve your inner struggles

Use self-knowledge to strengthen your will

I'm so happy someone asked for this date because it's actully my birthday as well!! Aghh twins!! I hope this resonated with you and have a nice day 🖤

#scorpio zodiac #scorpio trait #scorpio sun #scorpio sign #scorpio horoscope #scorpio astrology #scorpio #scorpio reading #scorpio tarot reading #scorpio daily horoscope #scorpio monthly horoscope #astrology readings #scorpio aesthetic #scorpio placements #scorpio season #zodiac sign traits

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 4 years

Text

ILLICITUS: CHAPTER 1

Prompt: Y/N is a respectful narcotics agent, she worked hard to have her work recognized in a prominently male work field. She‘s assigned to the most important case of her whole career, investigate and apprehend the biggest drug dealer of U.S.A, the only thing she didn’t count on, was for the bastard to be so damn charming.

Word count: Long-ish

Pairing: Mob!Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: +18, Illegal substances, cursing (that’s all for now)

Tagging: @ziasaph , @reigns-5sos, @mindofasagittaruis , @jibbles26 . I’m also tagging these lovely humans(although they didn’t ask for it 👉👈, but they’re opinion is very important to me as well 💕) @blondekel77, @akiko-tanaka, @drew-is-boo , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan, @new-zealand-chic

Notes: I’ve had this idea for a few weeks now, and decided to give it a shot. This is originally planned to be a series, but we’ll see how this goes...I’ve always loved crime themed stories, so this is dedicated to my profound love for crime series. Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) and if you’re comfortable with it,please let me know what you think? Some feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ❤️You can check out my other stories typing ‘masochist writes’ on the search bar on my page and my newest story as a fixed post.Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

“Argh! Already?!” I groan as I get up from my bed, shooting a deadly glare at my alarm *4:30 a.m. how fun is that?!* I thought

I took a shower to help me shake off my sleeping mode, brushed my teeth and made me some tea to start the day.

I know, weird right?! What type of officer/agent/investigator doesn’t drink coffee and smoke cigarettes?? Well the answer is: me! I love the smell of coffee but hate the taste of it, so tea works for me. But I am kind of guilty on the cigarettes though, it’s not an addiction per say, but I do smoke one or two if a case is really killing me...is a coping mechanism.

I drove the short 10 minutes distance between my home and the DEA’s office in a comfortable silence. Once I parked my car, I took the elevator to the 34th floor. As soon as the doors open I find my boss waiting for me.

“Good morning, kiddo!” Jeffrey smiles

Jeffrey is a nice guy, 57 years old, 37 years in this job, a good wife, four kids and two grandchildren. He drinks so much coffee that I’m pretty sure it has replaced his blood by now! He’s like a damn chimney, three packs of Marlboro red every fucking day! I really don’t know how he still have any lung function.

He’s always been nice to me, always supported, always believed in my work and potential and sort of took me under his wing ever since I started working here. He’s one of the best and I was glad to have him as my mentor and boss.

“Good morning, Jeff” I lightheartedly smile

“How is it going kid? Don’t you just love the fresh air of mornings?” He lightly chuckled

I rolled my eyes “Oh yeah I love it! That’s why you called me here at 4 a.m.? To talk about your profound love for mornings?” I raise my eyebrows

He laughs “Oh you’re priceless kid! But no, that’s not what I called you in here for, unfortunately. Let’s go to my office, shall we?”

Once inside his room, he motions for me to seat down.

“So?” I ask

“I have a case for you”

“But I’m already working on a case with Alvarez”

“That’s his case. This one” he passed me a folder “Is all yours! I want you to lead the investigation” He smiled

I open the folder and read the information inside, when my eyes stopped by the target’s name I froze in place.

“Sir, I...” I whispered “I can’t accept this”

“Not only you can, but you will kiddo! I need someone who will not get intimidated by him”

“And you thought of me? Of all people?” I scoffed

“Yes, you’re the only one I can actually trust in this place. Rumor has it, he knows we’re investigating...” He stares at me

“Do you think someone snitched?” I ask

“Only five people knew about this operation....people who wears big shoes, if know what I mean..”

“Superiors?” I whispered

He slowly nodded “ Well, we know how powerful he is, so him having informers is not a shock, but I didn’t thought he would have such high hierarchy ones..”

“So why do you want to hand the investigation to me, exactly?”

“Y/N, there’s a reason why I’ve always liked you kid, you love what you do, you can’t be bought, you’re not scared of anything or anyone, you have a deep passion about this career and that’s hard to see! But also because I need someone I can trust with my eyes closed, and that’s you kiddo” He squeezed my shoulder

I’ve always been an ambitious person, since I was a little girl, this operation is a one in a lifetime opportunity for me to make a name for myself in this department, so I didn’t think twice, before saying

“I’ll take it”

He smirked “That’s my kid!”

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

It was now 9 a.m., I’m debating whether I should go on and get this over with or postpone ‘till later.

“Ah, fuck it” I say as I open my car door and make my way to the security gate. I ring the intercom.

“Yes?” A male voice answers

“Agent Y/L/N, DEA, I would like to speak to Mr. Reigns please”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but I could use some of Mr. Reigns infinite kindness” I bitterly said

“Well, he’s not available now” The guy responds and hung up.

*Fucking great! Now I’ll have to get a warrant that will probably never be signed! That’s just what I needed* I thought as I made my way back to my car, as soon as I was about to get inside of my car I hear

“Agent Y/L/N, please, wait” The same guy who answered me on the intercom was now at the gate

“Mr. Reigns will see you, now ma’am”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise as I followed the man inside the house to Mr.Reigns office.

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

“Please, sit down, Mr. Reigns will be here in a minute. I’m gonna need your gun ma’am” I give it to him “Thank you. Would you like something do drink?” He asks

“No, thank you”

After two minutes, the door opened once more.

“Agent Y/L/N, what do I give the-“ He stopped by my side, measuring me up and down, visually surprised and amused by ‘the agent’ being a woman “Pleasure” He smirked, offering me his hand for a handshake which I accepted

“I would like to have a few words with you Mr. Reigns, if that’s ok”

“Sure!” He made his way to his chair, in front of me “So what can I help you with, agent?”

“I came here to deliver this to you, sir” I pass him a document “It’s an assent term, we’re opening an investigation on you and we would like for you to cooperate with the information we need it, if you sign it, you’ll give us the consent to investigate your business and patrimony as well as provide us any further informations we might need. You’re free to keep the document and show it to your lawyer if you would like. In case you don’t want to sign it, we’ll have to start a search warrant on your name, business, property, information and data”

I say as he reads the document

“May I ask, what’s the investigation for, agent?”

“Illicit substances, sir” He already knows about the whole thing, so there’s no point lying about it.

He gives me a smug smirk “I bet it must be very hard for you, agent Y/L/N, to be taken seriously in this field. I mean, you’re a very beautiful woman, surrounded by all those old men..If I had a gorgeous coworker like yourself, I wouldn’t be able to function properly...” He vaguely says

“Would you like to keep the document, sir?” I ask, fully ignoring what he just said and pretending it didn’t affected me at all! Yes, he was breath taking and incredibly hot, but also an investigation target. And I’m a professional for crying out loud!

“Would you like to have dinner with me, agent Y/L/N?” He charmingly asks

“Mr. Reigns, I’ll ask for you to not insult my intelligence, sir.”

“That’s exactly why I’m inviting you for dinner. Because I know you’re an incredibly smart woman” He stares at me with his brown eyes full of amusement

I reach forward and yanked the document out of his hands, I needed to get out of there before I would do something completely unprofessional

“I see you’ve chose the warrant then, no problem sir”

I turned to walk out of his office, when he grabbed me by my arm, pulling me towards his chest. He leans down, brushing his nose on the nape of my neck

“You smell amazing agent Y/L/N, what perfume is that?” He brushes his nose up on my neck, until he reached my ear “I think we’ve started with the wrong foot, don’t you agent?” He stepped back and brushed his lips with mine

“What do you say, we give each other a helping hand? I sign your little document and you have dinner with me, how does that sounds to you?” He whispers

“I can still go for that warrant you know?” I bluff

He lightly chuckled “Oh baby, we both know that, that warrant will never be signed” He rested his hand on my neck, tilting my head up “So what’s gonna be? Do we have a deal?” As his fingers caresses the back of my neck

Before I could stop myself, the words slipped through my lips “Deal”

He smiles satisfied

To Be Continued...

Please let me know your thoughts on this “potential” series and if it should continue?

#roman reigns one shot #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns #roman reigns smut #roman reigns imagine #mob!au #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe one shot #wwe x reader #masochist writes #illicitus series

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horseflavor · 3 years

Photo

Headcanon: Scootaloo

Alrighty, since I've seen some debate on whether or not Scootaloo is disabled and more so, whether or not she can just get over it, I decided she'll be the first character I address. As far as I care, she is permanently physically disabled, and I will have such representation in my art. About Scootaloo: Scootaloo already was canonically very close to having the lesbian pride colors, so I just went in and did it fully. Yes, that lesbian flag there is also her color palette. Scootaloo is a nonbinary lesbian that uses she/they pronouns. They're more in line with the butch type. Scootaloo was one of the very lucky ones who just knew she was gay ever since they were little. They never really had to deal with compulsory heterosexuality, but they did have to learn to help other mares who did struggle cope with their reality. Scootaloo advocates for both the unseen lesbians and the physically disabled. Since there are no cutie marks in my universe, the CMC will have a completely different purpose, which I will get into later on. Scootaloo was born with Pennon Unvaned Disorder (PUD) and struggled with the fact that she will never fly like her idol, Rainbow Dash. This struggle was their primary conflict in youth (besides POS parents), but they have come to accept it in adulthood. Scootaloo, understanding that children not only have to cope with their physical disabilities but also a world that does not welcome them, specializes in pediatric physical therapy. The PT is her main career, but she still openly advocates in her free time in the public eye. Scootaloo still has to deal with some internal grief with the PUD- she's not completely over that loss- but on the outside, they do a very good job of demonstrating normalcy with disability. About Pennon Unvaned Disorder PUD: PUD is a genetic default that pegasi are born with. It is a chromosome skip, where the genotype to activate primary and secondary feather growth never gets activated. This means it can happen to any pegasus foal, pure or mixed. It affects about 0.5% (1 in 200) of the avian pegasus population. This means it is actually not that uncommon, but the pegasi who have this affliction normally go unseen. We have two canon characters with this disorder in the show, Scootaloo and Bulk Biceps. So what happens here? Well, with PUD, it affects both the feathering and skeletal systems. On the skeletal level, the humerus (upper arm bone) and radius/unla bones (forearm bones) are almost always typical in size and shape. The carpometacarpals, or what would be our hand bones, have a 50/50 chance of being typical in size, or showing signs of under-development. On the feathering system, the primary and secondary feathers are always absent. The coverts are almost always present, but some pegasi have those missing too, resulting in naked "chicken" wings. Yes, that terminology is considered ableist, as is that joke, in modern day society. PUD individuals who have their coverts present, such as Scootaloo, often get misled by ignorant ponies that one day those feathers will come in and one day they will fly! Aunt Lofty was the one who had to have the talk with Scootaloo that no, she'll never be able to fly without accommodation. Like in our world, accommodations are made for the wealthy and the privileged. PUD prosthetics are fairly simple. Since PUD pegasi have functioning wing bones, muscles, and nerves, these prosthetics are just carefully crafted gliders that compensate the absent feathering. Their are different versions, some for every day flying, some for stunts and sports, even some for swimming. Drawn above is the standard model. Apteral avian prosthetics are for those who are absent of a wing through birth defect or injury. I will explore those another time. Either way, PUD prosthetics are still very expensive and hard to access. Most PUD individuals, Scootaloo included, don't bother getting a pair until adulthood. It takes a long time of physical therapy to build up with wing muscles and to get prosthetics crafted to what your wing shape would be, if they were typical. This is usually a several year process, but many able-bodied individuals assume that it's very easy to just get a pair of wings and start flying within the next week. (CW: Mentions ableism, child neglect) There is no cure for PUD, just accommodations for it. There is no way to 'catch' PUD early on since pegasi are born with featherless wings, unless your family is rich and privileged enough to get a chromosome scan done beforehand. In olden society, parents of PUD foals would quietly abandon or 'dispose' the unfortunately afflicted. In modern society, pegasi parents most definitely keep their children and most are lovingly willing to accommodate for their children. Poor Scootaloo was not so lucky, with her PUD being one of the reasons her parents abandoned her. As long as the child is not left to die, many pegasi still quietly sympathize with this cruel and unusual decision. It is still somewhat normalized in society. There is a disproportionate amount of pegasi orphans who are afflicted with PUDs in the modern foster care system. --- I lived about a third of my childhood physically disabled by a horrendous neck injury. I am lucky that it was a temporary disability. My physical disability was an injury with a very long healing time. When most children are exploring age-appropriate topics, I was in and out of dozens of hospitals and doctors from ages 6 to 12-ish. I had no idea- and neither did doctors- if I was ever going to get better. Lucky me, I did. But I could only imagine how kids in that same situation feel when they have something that won't get better. Not every disability has an easy cure, and not every disability can go away with enough determination. And that is okay. There is nothing wrong with disabled individuals, but there is something deeply wrong with how society treats us. My page is a safe space for the marginalized and undesirable. This means I won't be standing for any bigotry such as ableism in my space. Also, I am permanently mentally disabled, but that's a story for another day. TL;DR - Any ableist, ignorant takes will be hidden and you'll be blocked. Support me and see more exclusive art: www.patreon.com/horsecrimes Character © @hasbro Art © HorseCrimes

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kookiebunnii · 4 years

Text

lucky in love || min yoongi

→ summary: you didn’t expect to start your day with an arrow to the heart, quite literally, but neither did you expect to meet cupid himself. quickly realizing that you aren’t dramatically falling in love from the effects of cupid’s arrow, the two of you unexpectedly team up to solve this curious dilemma. however, at the end of it all, what if cupid is the one falling in love?

→ pairing: cupid!yoongi x reader

→ genre: roman/greek mythology au, fluff

→ word count: 6.6k

→ warnings: mature language

→ a/n: this is sort of a half-gift to myself and @cinnaminsvga, the author who actually inspired me to write again. i just hit 200 followers, and i guess i also wanted zee to know that her works definitely motivate and inspire others!

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Sitting in your armchair, embroidering little white carnations into the hem of the wedding dress in your hands, you truly thought that you couldn’t be any more content. This particular order had recently prompted the idea of “love” into your mind whenever you worked, as your customer had practically beamed with excitement when talking about her fiancée. Although your family and friends seemingly had your relationship status on the forefront of their minds, it wasn’t something you chose to fret about. You’d had your fair share of boyfriends, men you enjoyed spending time with and even one you thought about a “happily ever after” with. But of course, your career and independent personality typically got in the way.

It had led to heartaches and internal turmoil early on in your life, but now you were a freelancer, a fashion designer making clothes from your apartment. It wasn’t the most luxurious life imaginable, but it was the life you wanted. You were able to do what you loved while helping others. Romantic love just wasn’t on this week’s to-do list...orders were.

You set the piece down and slowly rotate your wrists to chase the stiffness away from your joints. Taking a sip of your chamomile tea, you watch as the horizon outside your window lights the buildings aglow with an orange and pink hue. The colors are beautiful, and you’re briefly inspired. Heading to your workbench in the room next to you, you grab your pocket notebook and scribble down the colors you see outside. You always wrote little notes in this particular journal, hoping to use it for your own creative works someday if not for a future customer’s order. Examining the words “pink, orange, yellow blending” in your casual scrawl, you flip to previous pages to reread your past bouts of inspiration.

You sigh, knowing that this wedding dress was your last big order for the month. Perhaps you now have enough time and funds saved up to work on something for yourself next week.

Your discarded cell phone on the couch begins beeping incessantly, so you set your notebook back down and skirt over to check what it’s for. You make a small sound of happiness, remembering that you had ordered Thai food for dinner tonight. Taking off your work apron and hanging it on a hook in your office, you find the warmest coat you own before rushing out the door.

Weather these days is like a finicky child who can’t make up his mind. In the daylight you’d have to pull on a t-shirt and a long skirt to fully appreciate the rare breezes that danced through the open windows. However, after sunset, temperatures could drop quite steeply. You’re reminded of this again when you’re forced to tuck your hands into your pockets and tell yourself to hurry.

The street is lit with soft lamplight and despite the cold and hunger resting in your belly, the artist in you can’t help but appreciate how beautiful this sight is as well. Round circles of yellow going from intense to faded against a midnight blue backdrop fill your thoughts. It’s so distracting that you almost walk past your destination without realizing.

Quickly backpedaling a few steps, you head into Thai Us Together—you must give the owners credit for their pun-tastic name—and greet the familiar worker at the front desk. She engages you in some polite conversation before handing you your usual order and bidding you goodbye.

It’s only when you are a few steps away from the entrance to your apartment complex that you are hit in the chest by an arrow.

You realize this not because you feel any sort of pain from the attack, but because a translucent arrow radiating a pinkish glow is now visibly protruding from your front. Firmly planted above your ribs, you’re momentarily at a loss. Perhaps any normal person would be screaming in terror, but you just stare, wide-eyed, wondering if you were dreaming. Things never got this crazy in your dreams though.

“Why isn’t it working?”

You blink and suddenly there’s a dark-haired, pale-faced man in front of you. He doesn’t look much older than you, as he stands in front of you with his arms crossed. Frowning in discontent, he stares in the direction of your chest unabashedly and you feel that you have the right to be more than a little offended.

“Um, hello? My eyes are up here.”

When his eyes finally find yours, they’re filled with shock with a little bit of fear mixed in. You almost wonder if you’d grown a second head or something, with the way he was staring at you.

“You can see me?” he asks, pointing at himself as you roll your eyes in response.

“Who else is staring at my chest around here? Yes, you.”

The boy starts laughing, his gums showing cutely in response to your curt reply. You can feel your cheeks warming as you wonder whether your statement deserved to be received with this much amusement.

“You’re a funny one,” he finally notes, before a worried expression takes over his features again, “But you’re human aren’t you? You shouldn’t be able to see me.”

You adjust your takeout in your hands before resting a hand on your hip, “Well, I see you very clearly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have pad thai to enjoy and an arrow to the heart to deal with.”

He grabs your arm, and the touch is so palpable that you know now that you’re definitely not dreaming. You turn to meet the stranger’s gaze again, and the curiosity filling his brown eyes is undeniable.

“You see the arrow too?” he whispers in awe, gesturing to the faint but very noticeable projectile still lodged in your front.

Sighing, you say, “Okay at least I’m not hallucinating this then. Look, I need to try and get this thing out and get to my dinner. If you don’t have any suggestions on how to remove arrows that don’t even feel like they’re actually there, then I suggest you head home.”

He follows you through the gate, matching your hurried steps with ease until you finally snap and turn on him. He almost bumps into you as a result of your sudden halt but quickly readjusts himself and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

After a short glaring contest, he gives you a small smile with a glint in his eye, “I know exactly how to get that out. In fact, I was the one who shot it.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Maybe all these years of living alone has finally dulled your warning senses to the point where you were fine letting dangerous strangers into your home. You’d always been too trusting of a person, but you felt too tired and confused to put up much of a fight tonight anyways. You just wanted to enjoy one of your favorite noodle dishes and get rid of whatever black magic was involved in this painless arrow buried inside you. If it meant inviting a random puzzling but handsome individual into your abode, then so be it.

As you dig into your meal, you watch as your guest sips on his glass of water. He had denied your offer of food, but you could at least say you were a polite host. With your stomach now appeased, you take your own gulp of water before launching into an interrogation.

“Who are you?” you ask.

He tilts his head, observing you for what feels like the seventh time that day. Finally, he leans back in his seat in thought. The silence permeates your residence for a good minute before he finally utters, “I’m Cupid, God of desire, attraction, and affection.”

You stop mid-chew to openly gawk at the black-haired male in front of you. This boy, dressed in a large hoodie and ripped jeans, is supposed to be the fat baby featured on Valentine’s Day cards? Maybe you brought a crackhead into your home.

“I know what you’re thinking. You mortals have ruined my image recently and as a result I am no longer receiving the respect I deserve,” he purses his lips before setting his water glass aside and openly observing you again, “But I am in fact Cupid.

“Okay let’s say you are Cupid or whatever and you shot me. Doesn’t this mean I’m supposed to fall in love now or something? I don’t feel anything other than a desire to finish the rest of this delicious pad thai.”

He doesn’t even smile at your attempt at lighthearted humor, instead wrinkling his brow further at your words.

“That is rather curious.”

Fiddling with a stray bean sprout on your plate, you add, “Well, could we start with removing this first?”

He finally gives you an amused grin when you gesture to the faint outline of an arrow above your ribs, which appears to be growing increasingly hard to see as time passes. Maybe you are finally going off the deep end.

“It’ll disappear soon,” and as soon as the words leave his lips, the arrow has faded entirely. He turns slightly, and a quiver suddenly appears on his back. You count 11 arrows before another slowly fills the remaining empty spot to complete the final dozen.

Your jaw is practically on the floor at this display.

“I need to figure out why this is happening,” he muses, resting his chin on his hand and training his unwavering gaze on you once again.

Jeez, you were starting to feel like an exhibit at the zoo.

“Look, as much as I appreciate meeting a god, I have work to do and a deadline to meet. I’m sure this is very fascinating, but frankly I’d rather not fall in love anyways so I’m quite glad this didn’t work,” you stand up to set your cleared dish in the sink before heading for the door to escort him out.

“Why not?” he asks, as if he couldn’t imagine why anyone would ever not want to be in love.

You turn after undoing the lock at your door to find that he still hasn’t budged from his chair. Clearly not on the same page as you are, you saunter over to him and do your best to give him a menacing look, “I’m happy the way I am. Now are you leaving?”

You definitely weren’t usually this rude, but the amalgamation of your anxiety to get back to work and the confusion of trying to understand what was happening to you made for a deadly combo. Today’s events were definitely giving you a short fuse. If this offends him, Cupid sure doesn’t show it, because he just gives you a small tilt of his lips before heading to your kitchen to wash his empty cup.

You watch, mystified, as he sets his cup on the drying rack before washing the plate you had left in the sink earlier. At this point you rush forward, embarrassed, but he simply shakes the excess water off the plate before leaving it next to his discarded cup. You thought Cupid was supposed to be mischievous, and maybe this guy was, but he was definitely going out of his way to be nice to you.

“Thanks” you mumble halfheartedly, suddenly feeling a bit regretful that you were trying your damnedest to shoo him out earlier.

He chuckles, drying his hands on your teacloth hanging nearby before asking, “Can I ask you some questions?”

Deciding that no ill-natured person would go through the trouble of washing your dishes before murdering you, you lead him to your living room where you were previously working on embroidery. The wedding dress is still resting on the arm of the chair you previously occupied, so you briefly excuse yourself to move the large piece back to your workspace.

When you come back, he seems to be running his tongue against the inside of his cheek in thought. It distracts you for a bit until he finally asks, “Are you getting married?”

Sputtering with a bright fuchsia across your cheekbones, you quickly reply, “No! No, it’s an order for a customer. I’m a designer.”

He sighs in relief, “Thank Zeus, I honestly thought I had lost all of my powers including my sense. Maybe it’s just my arrows that are faulty.”

When he notices how you’re looking at him quizzically, he kindly explains, “Usually, getting hit with my arrow means you fall in love with the person I’ve assigned. For some reason that clearly hasn’t happened for you. Besides, you’re definitely not supposed to see me or my arrows unless I will it to happen.”

You frown, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you think. If this dark-haired boy is to be trusted, was there actually something wrong with you? Additionally, who had he chosen for you? Maybe if it was meant to be and all that jazz, you could just have Cupid introduce the two of you and he can be on his way. That’d be much simpler than trying to wrap your head around the idea that Roman Gods existed.

“Who’s the person?”

He smirks, appearing to be amused at your shy remark, “Mortals are simple creatures. It matters more whether your significant other is as good-looking as you imagined than the possibility that something is very wrong with you.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. Besides, you could just wingman me with the guy you picked and then go back to shooting people for fun. You’re acting like the end of the world is coming.”

Lounging on your couch, he grabs one of the decorative pillows next to him and begins playing with the loose strands like an easily entertained cat. You sit down next to him, grabbing the other cushion to hold in your arms for security while he exhales in disappointment.

“It’s not that easy. This isn’t something that’s supposed to happen,” he admits, tossing the pillow aside and training his eyes on you.

“Well, you could always ask one of your fellow gods, right? Isn’t your mom Venus or something? I’m sure she has plenty of experience in the love department,” you suggest, wondering if you were being too gullible by accepting and participating in his fantastical stories.

He scoffs, “If she knew about you, she’d just tell me to kill you.”

“Okay so we won’t be asking her for help under any circumstances. Got it.”

He laughs again, and you can’t help but crack a smile of your own. Maybe in another world, if he just happened to be a random boy you bumped into one day, you’d actually want to be friends with him. But in your reality, he was supposed to be a god. If your lessons in Roman mythology meant anything, humans should probably fear those like him instead of inviting them into their one-bedroom apartments.

“You’re probably one of the more amusing mortals I’ve met recently,” he grins, “Do you still want to know who I chose for you?”

Heart racing, it was as if you could feel your pulse thrumming in anticipation. Wasn’t this what every person wanted? To know who they would end up with, to know who they were supposed to love until their last breath? Even if you were a self-declared non-romantic, the idea was still interesting. Its appeal was still undeniable, even if it wasn’t a priority for you.

But then you hesitated, wondering if it was beneficial for you to even know this. Did you like the idea of this cheeky boy just randomly selecting a guy for you? Maybe free will was just an illusion, but how would you even go about your life if you knew that you were supposed to be with someone—no alternatives? That kind of pressure just didn’t float your boat at all.

“Never mind actually. It’s probably better if you don’t tell me.”

This statement surprises him, because he actually leans forward to rest his palm against your forehead with a concerned expression on his features. Up close, you can see the pretty faint freckles across the bridge of his nose and the small speckles of gold in his irises. No, this boy is definitely not human.

“What happened to Y/N?” he jokes, laughing when you brush his hand away to look at him with a frown.

“Look, it doesn’t mean I’m not curious. Besides, now I can pick who I want to be with without your ministrations being a part of it,” you huff, crossing your arms.

Smirking, you can see the mischievousness lighting up his eyes at your words, “And how will you know that the man you’ve ‘picked’ isn’t just someone else I’ve chosen to hit you through the heart with?”

You don’t respond at his teasing question which causes your guest to lean back once again with satisfaction. If he really was the omnipotent entity he claimed to be, you guess you wouldn’t really know if you liked someone out of your own volition. At least you could now pin the blame of being with some of your past exes as a result of Cupid’s interference and not your lack of good judgment.

“I’m going to have to monitor you for a few days. I’ll head back to Olympus every once in a while, seeing if I can find any answers for this oddity. If anything strange happens, just call for me.”

You pull out your cell on instinct, and he laughs while taking the device and slipping it back into your pocket. Instead, he takes your hands in his and intertwines your fingers together as if you were praying.

“You want me to pray to you and you’ll just show up?” you ask incredulously, trying hard to ignore the way you could feel the blood rushing to your head at his warm touch against the backs of your hands.

He nods, “It’s how it used to be, back when you all believed in us. I’ll be off now. See you tomorrow.”

One second, he’s there and the next he’s not. Standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, fingers interlocked, you could genuinely convince yourself that you had just had an extremely hyper realistic dream. Unfortunately, the lingering heat of his hold on you remains undeniable.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Enjoying the tart taste spreading across your tongue from your homemade lemon tea, you set your glass down before admiring the semi-finished piece in front of you. You had set the wedding dress onto a mannequin in your studio after completing the final details to better observe the overall look. You need to pull in the waist a bit more and fix the neckline, so you step forward to remove the dress and get to work again.

“It looks nice.”

The sudden words cause you to almost trip over your own feet and you have no choice but to grab your mannequin for balance. Cupid chuckles from behind you, and you glance at him wide-eyed long enough to catch what look like wings folding behind his back before they disappear.

“Hello,” you squeak, surprised at his random entrance after leaving you alone for two days.

“You’re quite talented for someone who designs and makes the pieces herself,” he muses, stepping closer to you to catch the fabric of the lace sleeve in his fingertips.

“It’s nothing really. I’m just a decent option for someone looking for something original and unique, I suppose.”

He tilts your chin up to look at him and the motion sends an entire series of shockwaves through your system. No one had been this close to you in a long time, so maybe you were just reacting because of the unfamiliarity.

Yeah, that’s probably what it was.

Cupid hesitates, as if he had lost his train of thought, before quickly recovering, “Give yourself more credit, love.”

Pulling away from you, he leans back against your workbench with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. Shaking the bangs away from his eyes, he says, “Do you feel any different?”

“No. I had half the mind that I just dreamt the whole thing,” you reply, finally letting go of the mannequin and stepping towards your desk to find some thread and a sewing needle.

He hums in thought, watching your movements as he says, “I haven’t had much luck either. I went to Vulcan, asked him if he could look at my arrows. He said they were in good working order but replaced a few of them anyways at my request.”

“Vulcan? Is that Hephaestus’s Roman name?”

“Yes, I wonder why Greek names are more familiar to you. Perhaps schooling is different nowadays,” he comments, watching as you take a seat across from him and begin making your adjustments.

“If it’s any consolation, they do look shinier than before,” you tease, pointing at the quiver appearing on his back.

He gives you an amused chuckle, pulling out one of the arrows to examine it from its point to the sleek feathers at its very end. When it finally disappears from his hands to return to its home on his back, he quips, “Are you sure you’re not a demigod?”

The question catches you off guard for sure, but you decide to play his game anyways, and think back to your parents. Did they ever do anything that seemed…otherworldly? Did they seem like the type of people to run off and have a tryst with some Olympian god or goddess?

Haha, definitely not.

You shake your head, giggling at the possibility since you knew your parents very well. He takes your answer with a nod and continues looking out towards the large window at the scene outside. The sky is a pale blue today with fluffy white clouds gliding by with ease. You were almost done with this order, and you planned to ship it to your customer this weekend. Maybe you’d enjoy a picnic outside to celebrate afterwards.

“Do you…have another name that you use? Calling you Cupid just seems weird. I still can’t get the name to disassociate from the image of a chubby winged baby in my head.”

He takes your question seriously, a trait you notice by the way he’s seemingly lost in thought. You wait patiently though, continuing to work on your methodical stiches as he ponders.

“Yoongi,” he finally says, appearing satisfied.

“Yoongi? That’s an interesting choice,” you reply, feeling the way this new name rolled off your tongue.

“It was the name of a mortal I knew. I quite like it.”

You accept his choice, finishing your alteration on the neckline and deciding to call it a day. You’ll spend the next few days attaching the sequins, which was bound to be an exhausting task. Just as you’re about to set the dress back on your trusty mannequin, the sound of glass breaking causes you to scream.

A creature seemingly out of your worst nightmares crawls through the windowpane, flames of fire spilling from its mouth. You can’t help but cling onto the back of Yoongi’s sweatshirt once he backs up against you in a defensive stance. The monster looks like a lion from the front, but you notice what appears to be a snake lazily dancing back and forth from where its tail ought to be. Oh, and was that the head of a goat sticking out from its back?

You never thought about how you would die, but this sure wasn’t at the top of your list.

“Fuck, why is this here?” Yoongi growls, and the deep sound that resonates from his chest makes you tighten your fingers on him.

“What is it?” you ask, but the way your voice is compressed in fear barely lets the words escape from your lips. It seems to ignore Cupid altogether, the blazing coals it calls eyes refusing to look away from your fearful expression.

He ignores your question, instead sweeping you off your feet and uttering, “Hold on tight” before skirting around the edge of the room with the creature hot on his heels. You don’t need to be told twice, immediately ducking your head into his shoulder, trying your best to ignore the way the beast sounded dangerously close. When you finally dare to open your eyes, Yoongi has ducked through the gaping hole where your window once was with his hand on the back of your head. He looks down at you briefly before jumping off the ledge.

Your scream sticks in your throat, as you feel the pit of your stomach fall alongside your body. A second later however, the two of you are gliding upwards as if flying. The buildings are a blur with how fast you are going, so you opt to just close your eyes and keep a locked grip on your savior. Even though you had no clue where you were being taken, you sure as hell weren’t about to return to your apartment even if it hadn’t turned into a pile of ashes by now.

When Yoongi finally stops, it feels like an eternity has passed, and your head is so dizzy that you’re forced to lean against a tree for support. As you try to keep the contents of your stomach from making an appearance, you make out the blurry form of your new friend pacing back and forth with his hair a mess. He is very clearly stressed, so you shift to grip the side of his pant leg when he paces closer to you.

“We’re fine now,” you mumble, tugging him closer. You hope he sits down so you could lean your head on his shoulder. It was starting to get chilly and you want to get ahold of whatever warmth was currently available.

Perhaps he can read your mind too because he kneels in the grass in front of you and fixes the locks of hair plastered to your clammy skin. He doesn’t seem the least bit grossed out, instead having what looks like worry in those odd eyes of his.

“I can’t believe you’re reassuring me when I’m pretty sure you would’ve died if I weren’t there.”

The words bring you back to reality as you shudder uncontrollably. You definitely would’ve died. That thing looked like it could rip you in two if it truly wanted to, and you weren’t exactly skilled in self-defense. Maybe you were too dumb to realize the danger of the current situation, but you were more concerned by the fact that Yoongi looked deathly afraid.

“Was that something from…your world?” you ask, grateful for the gentle grasp Yoongi had on your wrists. It comforted you knowing that you weren’t alone in this chaos.

“That was a chimera. Our worlds are essentially one and the same, but yes, creatures like that usually don’t just stop by for a house party,” he grunts, shifting so he can sit in front of you with his legs splayed to corner you against the tree.

You still have your legs pulled against your chest, so you lean your cheek against your knees as you regard him intently. He didn’t look anything like a god, and if you saw Yoongi walking on the street you probably wouldn’t have given him a second look. This whole ordeal balanced on the edge of surreal, but you were sure now that with whatever just happened, you were in danger. You wish the arrow worked on you earlier. You would’ve fell in love with some random person but at least you wouldn’t be fearing for your life. Maybe you wouldn’t have met the living embodiment of attraction, but you would’ve been back to normalcy. Isn’t that well worth it?

Struggling to understand why your heart hesitated at the possibility of never meeting Yoongi, you’re barely aware that he is pulling you to your feet until he has an arm wrapped around your waist to support your weak form.

“Can you stand?” he asks, and his fingers feel like they are burning against your side. Even through your sweater, you clearly feel each indent against your skin.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you give him your best attempt at a smile, following him as he walks you further into the forest. Thankfully, he eventually lets you go when he’s assured that you can walk without passing out. His proximity was doing crazy things to your senses, so you are grateful that he let you process your experiences without distraction.

He’s led you to an inconspicuous cave whose entrance is covered by a few hanging willow branches. He brushes these aside before letting you crawl in. The inside is surprisingly dry and you finally take a seat on a smooth, protruding boulder in the corner to stretch your legs out from the trek.

“It’s not a 5-star hotel, but it should do for now. You’ll be safe here until I find out what’s going in,” he says, and in the darkness you can barely make out his form in front of you.

Snapping his fingers, a fire appears in front of you. As you realize that this fire appears to be without a fuel source, you are once again forced to accept that your life is never going to be the same. Hesitantly reaching out to warm your shaking fingers against the heat, you watch as the light of the flickering flames dance across Yoongi’s face. He looks worried and concerned for you, so you can’t help but look away.

Your hands itch for your notebook, but you simply make a mental note to yourself instead: fire and shadows, a golden-eyed boy, warmth.

At this point, he takes off his hoodie and you can’t help the way your eyes immediately dart to the sliver of skin that shows at his waist when his t-shirt rises alongside his movements. When Yoongi finally emerges, a hand running through his locks, you hope that the heat you’re feeling is only from the fire.

He wraps the garment around your shoulders before tying the sleeves around your arms without a word. Taking one last look at you, he lets his touch linger for a second too long against your thigh before he stands to take his leave. This time, you keep your eyes trained on his as he begins to slowly dissipate. You tell yourself that you won’t blink because as long as you’re looking, he can’t leave. Your weary gaze finally betrays you, and when you open your eyes, he’s gone.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Turns out you wouldn’t have to worry about food, because every couple of hours, you’d magically find some food appearing by the fire Yoongi had made for you. Your phone had long since died, so you weren’t even sure what day it was. Using the appearance of the regular meals to gage the passing of time, you hoped that Cupid would come back for you soon. Your customer’s order would be due soon anyways. At this, you couldn’t help but giggle when you realized how much your commitments meant to you-- even if you were on the verge of getting eaten by a lion hybrid.

It appears that Yoongi had been more observant that you gave him credit for. Every meal, he has only given you pad thai with the ingredients you ordered the night you met him. It was cute how he went with something he knew you liked, likely worried that he could choose something you were allergic to or disliked. He did alternate between cool lemon tea in the mornings and warm chamomile tea in the evenings, but you are sure you won’t be ordering thai food for a long time after you get out of here.

Just as you finish the last of your tea while pondering actually praying to him to get him to show up, Yoongi appears before you. Without a second thought, you scramble up to give him a hug. It seems that even for a god, he doesn’t expect this. Your tackle causes him to briefly lose his balance.

“Easy there,” he laughs, his deep voice mixing beautifully with his laughter as it echoes against his chest.

“Sorry,” you fumble, pulling away quickly and wondering if mortals were allowed to be hugging Roman Gods.

“Have you been alright?” he asks, ruffling your hair fondly with a smile.

You hum in agreement, relishing the way his fingers felt tugging against your locks, “Might need to take a break from pad thai for a while though.”

Chuckling, he extinguishes the fire with a wave of his hand before tugging you out of the cave. The sudden sunlight causes you cover your eyes, gripping his sleeve instead to guide you as you walk. Instead, he carries you in his arms once again before flying off to god-knows-where. At this point, you simply submit in his hold, as you trust him enough as the only person who knew better than you did at the moment.

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that he has brought you to your apartment, and even more pleased to find that your window has been returned to its original state. In fact, everything inside remains perfectly undisturbed.

“How’d we get in if the window is fixed?” you ask, pressing your fingertips against the glass to ensure that it was indeed repaired.

“I stopped by before the chimera appeared without having to bust your windows open, if you remember,” he teases, pulling the curtains aside to let in some light.

“Fair enough.”

You immediately head inside to ensure that the wedding dress was still in your office. You let a relieved sigh escape your lips when you notice it resting happily on your mannequin in the corner, looking as perfect as before.

“Y/N, we need to talk about something,” Yoongi says, pulling out a chair and straddling it as he watches you work with the bag of sequins you prepared earlier for this project.

“What’s up?” you ask, already getting back to work by sewing each individual sparkle into the layers of fabric.

“The chimera from earlier, it was sent by someone.”

His words cause your hand to falter, but you remind yourself that you have to make up for lost time, so you continue working furiously.

“Who have I angered?” you ask, trying to keep the concern out of your tone.

Cupid sighs, and when he finally replies, you’re forced to drop the dress entirely.

“Venus? So, she found out about me?” you bite your lip to stop it from trembling under this revelation.

He grips your hands in his own now that yours are no longer busy with working. The emotions swirling in his gaze allows the weird feelings to return to your heart once again. When he makes a request of you, you can’t help but take notice of the way he’s practically begging.

“Y/N, please let me protect you. I can take you somewhere she’ll never find you. We can be together, and you’ll be safe for the rest of your life. I promise.”

Of course, the offer is tempting. You aren’t sure if it’s the confusing feelings you’re beginning to develop for him or if he’s working some sort of love magic on you, but you actually consider his proposition for a good second or two. But eventually, the dazzle of the pearl white dress on your workbench breaks you out of your reverie. Did you want to spend the rest of your life in hiding? Would you still be able to do what you loved? Would you still be able to see your family and friends?

“I can’t,” you reply, giving him a sad smile and a small squeeze with your hands. You can’t accept the hurt on his face, so you go back to work so you can focus on the shiny beads on the waistline of the dress instead.

“I can’t let you die.”

His voice sounds so broken, so lost, so defeated that you almost didn’t recognize its owner. Brushing aside the wetness suddenly flowing across your cheeks as a result of his words and your own fear, you try your best not to let your tears fall onto your customer’s order.

“Y/N please. Look at me?” Yoongi begs, and when you risk a look at him, the tear clinging to edge of his waterline finally rolls down his cheek.

When you realize you’re kissing him, the first thought that manages to form is that his lips are so soft. It’s like you pressed your mouth against a carefree cloud, or some bright pink cotton candy based on the gentle sweetness that slowly begins spreading throughout your body. His cheeks are damp, and you can’t help but whisper “please, don’t cry” against his lips. His laugh mixes with a sob, as he tightens his grip on your waist.

You pull back, and for a second you forget that the man before you is an all-powerful god. As he sits in front of you, brushing your tears away with the pads of his thumbs, he is simply a soft-hearted boy crying over imagining a tomorrow without you. You wonder momentarily if it were possible for him to fall in love, because you were already beginning to feel the rush of falling.

“Am I crazy for liking you?” he chuckles, staring up at the ceiling as if the answer were written there, “I make others fall in love for the shits and giggles, and now I’m the butt of the joke.”

“How did I attract a god?” you muse, pinching his cheeks for your own personal enjoyment.

Yoongi falls back into his thoughts again, and you once again wait patiently for him to form his words. You were willing to wait, because you knew that when he finally spoke, it meant that he had truly considered each and every word he uttered.

“You’re witty. You love to crack jokes, especially when the situation turns awkward. It’s endearing, so much so that I just want to kiss the satisfied grin off your mouth. You’re hardworking and talented, placing the needs of others before your own. You commit yourself to your job, creating art as if it’s second nature. Even after your life gets hit with a whole shitstorm, you work on a wedding dress someone else ordered and tell me not to cry.”

A laugh escapes you as a desperate attempt to cover the fact that you’re certain you are as red as a cherry tomato and that you have the sudden urge to kiss Yoongi again.

The two of you decide to enjoy the simple happiness you feel with your newfound feelings for as long as you can without discussing Venus again. Once again, you find yourself working on the silky fabric of a bride-to-be’s wedding dress in your armchair in the living room. Except this time, Cupid has his arms wrapped around you as you sit in his lap. The two of you watch the sunset together after you decide to take a break, and he massages your wrists for you.

“I don’t want to hide, Yoongi.”

He makes a small noise acknowledging your words, seemingly more invested in nuzzling the exposed skin at the crook of your neck. You pinch his thigh to get his attention before continuing, “I can’t live like that. I’d rather die doing what I loved and enjoying every moment than being locked away somewhere—even if I were with you. Does that make sense?”

“Of course, my stubborn Y/N. I’ll do my best to keep you safe from her nevertheless.”

Raising an eyebrow, you shift in your seat so you can finally look at your brown-haired boy with surprise. You almost regret this decision, because the amount of adoration pouring from the personification of affection himself is almost too much for your mortal self to handle.

“I’m your Y/N now?”

He chuckles, smoothing out your furrowed brow with the tips of his fingers, each stroke leaving a lingering trail of warmth against your skin.

“Are you forgetting the vow I just gave you? A god just promised to protect you, mortal. Have some decorum.”

You frown, feeling too foolishly emboldened to be stopped now.

“Yeah well the witty, hardworking, and talented mortal just asked you a question,” you say smartly, playing with the strands of hair at the edge of his ear.

The golden stars in Yoongi’s eyes seem to shine brighter than before as he says, “For as long as you’ll have me. I’ll love you.”

♡

275 notes · View notes

royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: The Light Of Morning

Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Drug Use, NSFW, SMUTT, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 8.6k

Summary: What is done in the dark, comes to light.

Note: I come bearing gifts! Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy this! ❤️❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

“Ms. Y-L-N, this is the final print. It’s just waiting for your approval,” Tandy said, placing it in front of you on your desk.

“Thank you. I’ll have a look. Tell Capri that I need to see the proofs from that shoot this morning.”

“Got it.” You began flipping through the magazine you were the editor in chief of and tried to figure out if all the edits made your cut. You were picky always had been, but your pickiness always paid off. It paid off so much that you were one of the biggest names in fashion and a serious force to be reckoned with. As you flipped you listened in on the phone conference, you were part of all the while taking notes of any idea that came to mind.

Today was a hectic day. The final edits had to go out for printing tonight, on top of the new theme for next month’s magazine. Once the theme was picked, you had to come up with backup articles for all of your staff so that when the staff meeting happened, things would go smoothly. Then you had to iron out all the details for your meetings the following Monday. Fridays for everyone else symbolized the beginning of the weekend and whatever party, but for you, it was always the busiest and most hectic day of the week.

An hour later, your conference was finished, and you’d signed off on the edits. You now had to get down to put together to oversee the inhouse fashion. As you walked out of your office, Tandy shot to her feet.

“Get these off to printing; we’re all set. I’m going down to put together now.”

“Got it. oh, Chris just called.”

“Chris who?”

“Chris Evans, your bestie,” Tandy informed.

“Really, when?”

“Maybe ten minutes ago.”

“What did he want?”

“He said he’s been calling your cell, and you’ve been ignoring him, and he doesn’t appreciate having to find you through your assistant, especially if he’s your best friend,” Tandy explained. You rolled your eyes. You didn’t have time for his melodramatics.

“Thank you, Tandy.”

“Do you want me to call him back?”

“No, he can wait. He needs to learn that I’m not at his beck and call,” you teased with a wink before you got on the elevator.

You and Chris had been friends for a long time. You grew up together in Boston but never really became friends until you were both in middle school, which was right in time to see him turn into the object of every teenage girl’s affection. You’d seen Chris through plenty of awkward phases. The phase where he idolized vanilla Ice and thought he should dress like him. The phase where he thought maybe baseball was going to be his calling—it wasn’t. The phase where he got into soccer only to realize that he was skinny as hell and didn’t really like the uniforms that made him look even skinner.

You were there through other phases too, like the phase where he liked only cheerleaders and had a thing with Beverly Espino while also having a thing with her friend Stacy Carrington. That ended badly when they both realized it. You were there during the phase of him crushing on every burnett in your sixth grade only to change his mind and like all the blondes. Needless to say, you’d seen everything Chris related, girlfriends, side pieces, flings, everything. You knew everything about him, his strengths, weaknesses, fears, and shortcomings. You also knew that all his weaknesses and shortcomings would clash with yours.

After high school, you went to college in New York to pursue a degree in journalism and communications. Chris went off to make his mark in Hollywood. Your friendship took a backseat to both of your goals, but that wasn’t the case for long. You made sure to put in the needed effort to remain in each other’s lives. You accompanied him to countless Hollywood events, and he accompanied you to plenty of work events. Now with both of you in your thirties and at the peak of your careers, your friendship was stronger than ever.

When you made it down to put together, you looked over all the pieces of clothing that had been sent to you for you to style as you wished for this month’s issue. The ones that hadn’t been chosen were set to be sent back or reused for next month. You spent the next hour or so making a plan for what you wanted to send back and what you planned on styling for the next issue. You got so enthralled you lost track of time. When Tandy came in to whisper to you that you were late for your interview, you panicked. You hated being late.

It took you five minutes to get back to your office, where some interviewers were waiting for you.

“I’m so sorry. I lost track of time making plans for next month’s issue.”

“We understand, when you make it to the top, you’re supposed to make people wait,” a well-dressed woman with auburn hair said with a smile.

“Ha, the top. Nonsense.”

“Plenty would beg to differ. I’m Madeline, and this is Jeff.”

You shook their hands and asked Tandy to bring in a bottle of your preferred flavored sparkling water; then, you sat in the seat before them. You noticed Jeff give you the once over before he licked his lips as his eyes rested on your thighs.

“Welcome, I’m Y/N, I’ve never liked the whole Mr. Y-L-N.”

They smiled and visibly relaxed. You didn’t know where this idea that you were a mean ass came from. You were so far from that. You did like respect and liked a good job done. Those traits made you meticulous and determined. You didn’t like your time wasted. The interview began with them asking how you got your start and whether or not you knew this was where you wanted to me. You answered the questions honestly, never giving too much information. It was a trick Chris taught you. He always said answer the question asked do not give an ounce more. If you do, you’re making it easy for them to pry for more and or twist your words. It was great advice, advice you followed.

When the conversation went into details on how you put an issue together and how you kept it all organized, you rambled on and on. Your passion was what you did, and you luckily loved what you did. You loved sharing insight, lessons learned, and tips and tricks. You were a black woman, and for you to have made it this far was unheard of. You wanted to show other black little girls that there is no glass ceiling; they too could be right where you were or higher.

When the interview had reached the forty-five-minute mark, you looked to the door expecting Tandy to be there to encourage them to wrap it up. She was nowhere in sight.

“So, Y/N, there is a lot of curiosity about your personal life. You are so successful, so much of a force to be reckoned with inquiring minds need to know. Is there a Mr. Y-L-N waiting at home for you at nights with your bathwater drawn and dinner waiting?”

You nearly laughed way too loudly. The question was ridiculous. You hadn’t had a date in months because of how busy you were, and for the fact again, you hated your time wasted. Men were either intimidated by you and didn’t approach or approached with the intent on wasting your time.

“My success comes with late nights, early mornings, and lots of sacrifices. No Mr. anything is waiting for me at home.”

Jess smiled and quirked his brow before he licked his lips again.

“So the old wives' tales are true. The ones that say successful women have to sacrifice the happy home life of husbands and babies to reach where they want to be.”

You were speechless. How did you answer that? Of course, you didn’t believe that, but that was precisely what you’d been doing. Clearing your throat, you adjusted in your seat.

“On the contrary, I believe women are in control of their lives and futures. It is absolutely possible to have every single thing you want. I fully intend to,” you finished as Tandy stepped in. Finally, you thought.

“All finished in here?”

You stood and adjusted your skirt while nodding with a fake smile.

“Yes. Thank you for coming by, Madeline, Jeff. It’s wonderful to meet you. Tandy will show you out and also give you a parting gift of my appreciation.”

You shook their outstretched hands, Madeline’s first and then Jeff’s. When your hands touched, you felt a smooth card in your palm. Jeff smiled slyly while looking right in your eyes.

“Hopefully, we see more of each other,” he said. You caught his meaning, and politely smiled.

“Time will tell. Have a good weekend.”

You watched them walk out then looked in your hand to see Jeff’s business card. On the back was a simple message. “Call me. I’d love to have dinner sometime.” You chuckled to yourself as you dropped the card in your desk, not giving him or it another thought.

“Y/N, Chris is on the phone.”

“Put him through, thank you.”

You dropped in your seat and stretched your legs on top of your desk then picked up the phone. Before you spoke, he did.

“I am not your assistant or some journalist who wants a piece of you, so they chase you down. I don’t appreciate having to--,” he spoke before you interrupted him.

“Man, stop all that noise. My god, you actors sure are sensitive and love to talk.”

Chris laughed on the line, which had you giggling along with him.

“How can I help thee, Chris Evans?”

“Shut up. You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. You’ve been calling all day. What’s up?”

“I’m in town.”

You froze and smiled. “In town, like New York?”

“Duh New York, where else would in town be?”

“Shut up, don’t come for me.”

“I was planning on doing just that. I had a few interviews today, and I don’t have to fly out until tomorrow afternoon,” he informed before you gasped and sat up.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If it involved beers and music, then yeah,” Chris answered.

You screeched. It had been months since you’d been able to hang out together. You always had a great time together.

“So? You down to take me out?”

“Take you out? You’re such a dork.”

“You like this dork. Can I take that as a yes?”

“Yes. Come by my place at eight.”

“You know that is two hours from now, right? Will you actually be ready? I don’t want to wait for you for an hour, Y/N.”

“You won’t be waiting. I’ll be ready,” you promised.

“Okay, eight. See you then,” Chris finalized before you hung up.

When eight o’clock rolled around, you were not ready, and you knew he was gonna flip out. You ran around your townhouse, trying to finish getting ready. After putting the finishing touches on your makeup look and spritzing yourself with your perfume of the month, you grabbed your clutch in time to hear the doorbell ring. He was ten minutes late, and you knew it was purposely done. Skipping down the steps, you made it to the front door to let him in before he rang again. He gave you a quick once over and stopped at your bare feet.

“I gave you ten extra minutes, and you’re still not ready,” Chris whined. Rolling your eyes, you walked away, leaving the door open.

“Chris, I’m ready. Just give me two minutes. Plus, why are you ringing the doorbell? You have a key.”

You heard the door shut and then heard his footsteps before he turned the corner. “I don’t have any keys on me tonight.”

You tipped your foot onto one of the steps and rubbed the handful of perfumed lotion you carried down with you and paid attention to what you were doing. You didn’t register that everything was quiet. When you looked and turned to him, you rubbed the excess between your thighs.

“What?”

“Uh---nothing, you look incredible. It’s been months.”

You smiled warmly and approached him with your arms stretched out for the hug. He wrapped his arms around you, and the two of you rocked from side to side. His arms engulfed you as they always had, but he felt like he’d bulked up some more.

“Bulked up?”

“Gotta keep the physique looking good.” You rolled your eyes and stepped into your shoes in the corner and adjusted the hemline of your dress.

“See, ready,” you said with a twirl and a pose.

The ride in the cab was not a quiet one. Chris filled you in on everything he’d been doing over the last few months and told you about any new experiences he’d had. There was never one moment of quiet. You’d always found it comforting that no matter how much time passed where the two of you didn’t see each other, it never mattered when you got back together. You talked like no time had passed at all. When he began to tease you about the recent accomplishments you’d made with work, you sat there and ate up the praise. He knew you hated it, but he still did it. Truth be told, you didn’t mind the praise from him; it was from others you hated.

When you walked into the hottest new restaurant in the diamond district, Chris had your clutch and his hand at the small of your back like the perfect gentleman he was. The Friday night crowd was out, and the restaurant was bumbling with overlapping conversations and the clatter of dishes and glasses. As you passed the tables on the way to your own, you felt the eyes of passing men but ignored them. You ordered the first round of drinks and asked for time to decide. That was when you noticed Chris’s eyes on you.

“What?”

“Don’t what me? I must have clocked seven guys just checking you out,” he informed. You rolled your eyes again.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Am not. I saw it with my own eyes,” Chris insisted.

“Ignore them. Why are you looking at other men watching me?”

“Because I need to know and be ready to drop one of them if they step out of line,” Chris boasted. You smirked and shook your head. He’d been dropping guys in your name since you were kids. You knew it was a protective gesture, so you didn’t care.

“What about you? I see plenty of eyes slanting over her to check out your baby blues and cabin in the woods beard.”

Chris laughed heartily again. You liked to tease him about his beard.

“You know you like the beard. Don’t lie, puddin’.”

You couldn’t stifle your laugh at the mention of his nickname for you that stemmed from an incident in your childhood. “Are you going to drop one of them for me?”

“Hell no, I don’t fight for no man, honey,” you quickly responded.

“I’m not just anybody,” Chris defended. You took him in for a few moments, but the moment was interrupted by the waiter bringing by your drinks.

The two of you ordered your meals and got right back into talking and teasing one another. You’d missed him, and it was evident he’d missed you too. Dinner was delicious, and the service was spectacular. Chris left a generous tip after he paid the bill much to your annoyance. He knew you hated being kept. You worked hard to make your own money and liked to spend it. When you protested, he overrode your voice and went ahead and did it anyway. He didn’t do it to be sexist; he did it because that was how Ms. Lisa raised him.

After another fifteen-minute ride in a cab, you arrived at a club that Tandy had told you about weeks ago but hadn’t gotten around to going. From the modern exterior, it looked really exclusive. The neon lights were dark but blinding. The colors were all aesthetically pleasing and complimented the fresh slate of the outside. When you walked to the guards in front of the establishment, they looked at you from head to toe and smiled their approval. They then glanced at Chris, who had his head dipped low so no one recognized him. When the guards opened the doors for you, those who were in line groaned and whined their displeasure.

“Oh shut up, or you won’t be getting in at all!” Those in line instantly shut their mouths. You walked in front of Chris down the dark corridor.

“Guess you wore the right dress,” he whispered.

“Guess I did.”

The corridor ended and opened up to loud music and even darker neon lights that gave everyone enough privacy to have a good time however they saw fit.

“Wow,” Chris uttered.

“Right. How long has it been since you danced your ass off white boy?”

You walked down the steps toward the dance floor and turned to him as you began to dance as well. His smile was bright as he shook his head. You beckoned him to you as you continued to dance. When he got in front of you, he began showing you that rhythm he had. He had more rhythm than any white boy you’d ever met, and he took pride in his dance moves. When he busted out some old two-step, you threw your head back and laughed loudly. Chris then wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you to him. The two of you danced and got lost in the music.

It felt good to finally cut loose after such a long time being work-focused. You’d tried to ignore how badly you needed a night out, but right now, you couldn’t ignore it any longer. Chris kept his hands respectful as you danced close together. Every so often, he turned you and danced behind you, keeping up with the latest dance moves. You leaned to his ear.

“Someone’s been watching Tik Tok,” you teased. He laughed again and brought his lips to your ears.

“And paying attention to my niece and nephew,” he joked.

After an hour of dancing, the two of you found an empty area and ordered two rounds of drinks. As you drank and swayed in your seats to the music, you shouted at each other, still catching up. The music was so loud that you missed a few words here or there, but because you knew him so well, you knew what he was saying. There were so many instances where you each finished each other’s sentences before laughing together about it.

“More dancing?”

You nodded and took his hand and allowed him to lead you back to the dancefloor. It was even more crowded than before, and you were shocked; he still hadn’t been recognized. He was also surprised, but you could tell he was enjoying his new anonymity. Your moves got sillier and sillier the more you drank, and his got more frat boy as he knocked drink after drink back.

At one point, you ended up in the air being moved through the crowd with you shouting. When you returned to your feet, there Chris was in the center of the circle doing some old school moves that had you laughing. He found you in the crowd and posed. You knew what it meant and panicked as you rapidly shook your head. Chris stamped his foot adamantly and gave you a stern look. You shook your head again, but he was not letting up. Rolling your eyes, you just gave in. He smiled once he saw he’d worn you down. With two nods of your head you ran toward him, he bent and did his best Patrick Swayze impersonation from Dirty Dancing by hoisting you into the air and holding you there. The crowd erupted with loud cheers and hooting. You looked down at Chris and found his eyes already on you. Shaking your head, you giggled before he allowed you to drop into his arms so he could slide you down his body.

“You’re such a dork!”

The night passed in a blur. You drank an excessive amount of alcohol, and after a while, the vibe in the club turned utterly hedonistic. When someone approached you with an assortment of party enhancements, you were shocked when Chris’s hand was the first to fly out for the trey. His only response was “live a little.” He made you look like such a prude sometimes. Since peer pressure always worked, you chose two items off the trey and took one of the rolled joints.

You danced, drank, puffed and passed to each other and allowed whatever you’d taken to take you higher than either of you had been in a long time. When you left the club and climbed into the back of a cab, you could see the sky beginning streak with the impending sunrise. Neither of you could stop laughing about any and every stupid thing. When you got back to your place, you stumbled inside and laughed a lot more before you made it to the living room floor where you sprawled out on.

“Oh my god, do you remember the last time we were high together?”

You snorted and laughed for a little while. “Nope, it’s been months though.”

“What did we take?”

“I don’t know, but all these colors are so vivid,” you responded.

“They are,” Chris answered. Both of you let out a united, “wow.”

Several minutes passed with the two of you lying on the floor in front of the big French window looking up at the sky. You had such a delicious high that nothing felt real or like it mattered. All of your senses were heightened. You could smell Chris’ cologne like you wore it and taste the last drink you had before leaving the club almost forty minutes ago. The material of your dress gently rubbed against your skin, and though it hadn’t felt bothersome before, it sure did now. Even the coolness of the floor felt incredible against your skin.

“Why’d we never get together, Y/N?”

Your snort was loud, louder than it should have been.

“Shut up. You’re so stupid.”

He laughed right along with you before he stopped. “I wanna know. We’ve been friends since we were eleven. I knew you before you got boobs,” Chris reminisced.

Again, you couldn’t help but snicker.

“And I knew you before your balls dropped,” you countered. Neither of you could keep a straight face with that one.

“See. So why?”

You sighed and lifted your leg into the air, not expecting that your heel would fly right off and across the room to knock something onto the floor with a loud clatter. That set you both off laughing uncontrollably.

“Because I know everything about you, and you know everything about me,” you informed.

“Some would say that’s a good thing.”

Looking to your left at him, you scoffed and shook your head. “Not for us. I know too much. We’d never work. Our uglies won’t play well together,” you finished before looking back to the sky.

“Well, I think everything would play well together,” Chris countered this time.

You shook your head and sat up to reach the bar that you knew was close by. Raising onto your knees, you grabbed the first bottle you could reach then dropped down onto your elbows to look at it.

“What’d ya get?”

You looked at him with a wide smile. “Hennessey. How adventurous are you feeling?”

“Crack it open,” Chris answered with a strong Bostonian accent. You opened the bottle and brought it to the head for a few gulps before handing it off to Chris. Then you leaned back on the ottoman that was there. You watched him take his gulp. He wrinkled his nose and blew out.

“How would you handle my tendency to push people away?”

Chris looked at you, took another gulp from the bottle, and blew out a breath again.

“Hmm—not let you push me away.”

You rolled your eyes at his genius plan. “Great plan, dork. How would I handle your tendency to be a flirtatious dick?”

He smiled his signature Chris Evans smile and lifted both his eyebrows. “By knowing I only have eyes for you.”

You snorted and shook your head before you grabbed the bottle. “Bullshit,” you said before bringing it to your head.

“I’m being serious right now,” Chris protested louder than necessary.

“You’re drunk. That is the only reason why you’re bringing this up.”

“Okay, yes. I’m drunk and high as fuck, but that does not make the question any less valid.”

He was being his annoyingly persistent self. Usually, this trait would be a good thing, endearing even, but when he was drunk, it was anything but endearing.

“What do you want from me, Chris?”

“You’ve never thought about us?”

“There is no us,” you pointed out.

“I know that, but you’ve never thought about it?”

You didn’t hesitate with your answer. “No. I mean, not really.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Chris admitted.

You had to laugh then. He was really venturing into unchartered territory. You’d never talked about anything like this before.

“Shut up. You have not!”

“I have. It was brief, but I thought about it,” Chris confessed.

The two of you were silent for a while. Your mind was running as fast as it could, which wasn’t that fast because of whatever party enhancements you’d taken. You couldn’t wrap your head around this conversation.

“And?” Your curiosity was not impaired, though.

“And what?”

“Did we work in your brief thought?”

Chris took a deep breath and grabbed the bottle and took another healthy gulp.

“I don’t know. It was like a flash of a few instances. We seemed—happy.”

“Liar. We probably argued like cats and dogs.”

Your laugher intermingled before you both fell silent again, just watching the sky change its hue.

“Nah—we were good together like always,” Chris finished.

You took the bottle and took three big gulps and almost gagged from the burn in your throat that rushed to burst into flames in your belly. You were quiet for a few minutes, but it was you who looked at him first. Sensing your eyes on him, he looked to you, and the two of you just gazed at each other. It was the two of you who moved in simultaneously before hesitating just when your lips were going to touch. Some part of you said stop, but it was a small, quiet part, every other part of you was telling you to do it.

When your lips touched neither of you moved, you stayed there, letting it sink in. When you did move, it was a slow and cautious kiss. Your lips pressed and brushed together in an intimate way that was foreign for the context of your relationship. Though it was foreign, it felt good. After what must have been minutes, Chris deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue into your mouth to curl around yours. A moan escaped you, and as if that moan was the hammer that destroyed whatever wall and gate that kept the two of you from going down this path. Chris moaned after you, and it was a new sound for you. You rose onto your knees at the same time Chris did the same thing. He cupped your skull and kissed you more earnestly. Your hand gripped his waist and loved the heat radiating off him.

You kissed him back with as much passion and yearning he kissed you. For several long minutes, that is all you did. It was a feeling to relish, a feeling you wanted more of. You were the first to begin to undo his shirt. When Chris felt your finger graze his chest, he pulled his lips from yours to peer into your eyes. You were focused on his shirt and the goal you had—to get his clothes off. Once the buttons were undone, you pushed his shirt off and looked over his exposed skin. He had buffed up, you thought. When your eyes met, neither of you moved for quite a while. It was as if both of you were taking in the moment and fully acknowledging the line you were about to cross.

Your lips crashed together, and from there, no one could tell where he began, and you ended. Your moans echoed in the quiet room. Chris’s hands touched you everywhere, the back of your head, your neck, the small of your back and your ass. His large hands cupped your bottom and pulled you flush against him. When he pulled your head back by your hair, he latched his lips onto your neck, which had you biting onto his shoulder as you enjoyed the sensations of his lips on your skin. When he nibbled your ear lobe, you threw your head back but grabbed at his pants and began unbuckling his belt. Your movements were quick.

You felt Chris lower the zipper down your spine then trail his finger along your skin until he reached the back of your neck. Once there, he gripped you and angled your head, so you looked at him. You could see nothing but desire in his eyes, and that was all you cared about. You kissed him again and took control. You teased his tongue then nibbled his bottom lip as you finally got his pants open. Chris then peeled your dress off your body, revealing your naked body to him for the first time since you were twelve.

He looked enflamed as if the sight of you set him on fire. You grabbed the bottle from the floor and gulped a mouthful before holding it out to him. You laid back onto the floor just as Chris accepted the bottle and took two gulps from it before he put it to the side and lowered his head to your breast. He sucked it into his mouth and teased it along with the mouthful of Hennessey. As he explored your skin for the first time, you hugged his head to you and arched your back, feeding him even more of your flesh.

Chris brought his lips to your other breast and did the same before he ended on a forceful nibble. He trailed kisses down the center of your body. When he got to your belly button, you watched as he dribbled the remainder of the liquor in it. The wayward glance he offered you only set you on fire even more. He languidly slurped the liquid from the indentation and used his tongue to swirl around it to ensure he got it all then peeled the rest of the dress off of your body with help from your lifted legs.

Slowly Chris spread your thighs and looked between them at your black lace thong. After looping his thumbs at the waist of the garment, he pulled them off of you. When he got the first glimpse of your sex, he sucked in a breath then groaned.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous!” That was the only thing he said before he buried his face between your thighs and began demonstrating all the ways he was good with his mouth. He expertly flicked his tongue across your clit before he sucked it into his mouth only to repeat the action from before. He did it in a dizzying pattern, one that had you on edge and needing more.

You buried your fingers in his hair and held his head in place and began bucking your hips across his lips. His moan was one of approval. He liked that you were using his face to get yourself off that turned you on even more. Chris pressed your thighs back to the cool floor and held them there then took control of the way he ate your pussy. In seconds you saw stars and found yourself panting and muttering incoherently. You didn’t care that you were getting loud; all you cared about was him keeping his pace. Chris dipped his tongue into your heat, and you lost your shit. Screeching out, you came on his mouth as you bucked even more wildly truing to milk and prolonging the pleasure you felt.

“Mmmm, you taste so fucking good. I could eat this pussy all night,” Chris huskily purred. The dim light that poured in behind him bathed him, making him look like some sort of heavenly creature. He was gorgeous, and you began to wonder if he’d always been gorgeous or were you seeing him in a new light. Chris lowered his head to kiss your inner thigh. Then he dropped a suctioned kiss to your clit that renewed the fire you felt. Lifting your legs, you pushed at his pants, hinting for him to take them off.

Answering your silent plea Chris arched over you, allowing you to use your feet to free him of the confining material. The loud clatters of him kicked off his shoes echoed in the room, but then he remained hovered over your body, showcasing his incredible upper body strength and giving you the first look of grown-up Chris. His cock was long, thick, and mesmerizing. Long gone were the days of him having a skinny pale-looking worm, he’d grown nicely.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Chris breeched. You raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

“You’re thinking about the first time you saw it when we were eleven. It looks a lot different now.”

You smiled and wrapped your legs around his waist. “I promise I know what to do with it now,” Chris finished with a smirk.

“Prove it,” you whispered. He shook his head and, but you could see the fire in his eyes. He liked a challenge; he liked feeling like he had something to prove. He crashed his lips to yours again and stole your breath in seconds. You moaned on him and wrapped your arms around his back. The way the muscles there danced and spasmed had you moaning even more.

When you felt him press forward to sink the tip of his intrusion in, you gasped on his mouth and angled your head back, giving him unrestricted access to your neck. Chris groaned as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and continued sinking into you. With each agonizingly slow glide, you came that much closer to falling apart. He stretched you so deliciously, so perfectly that your body began to shake. In no way were you prepared for the size of him, and he was blowing your mind with just what the good Lord blessed him with. It sure didn’t look like much when you were kids. After him feeding you half of his length, you gripped him tightly, which had him grunting before fully thrusting into you.

“Fuck!” Both of you shouted out together, him feeling the full heat of your body and you claiming your second release of the night.

Chris took several deep breathes then slowly pulled back, leaving only the tip of him before he looked down to watch as he filled you to the hilt once again. A whimper escaped him before he did it again, and again and again. Each time he snapped his hip forward more forcefully, and each time your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Chris began to move within you like a wave ebbed at the shore. His eyes met yours, and the moment became even more intense.

After a few minutes, Chris was rocking in and out of you to his own rhythm. It was clear he had one goal, and it was to bring you as much pleasure as possible. his lips tasted every part of your upper body, neck, shoulder, earlobe, collar, nipple and each time he tasted of you he acted as if your skin was the sustenance he needed. After your third orgasm, you flipped him onto his back and rocked your hips against him. Chris arched his back and spread his arms out beside him as he released a deep groan.

He watched your body move and allowed you to take your pleasure from him. Every time you rocked forward, you felt him lurch within you, and after the fourth time, you were addicted to the feeling. Using his abdomen as leverage, you bounced on him as you rocked, changing the angle of which he pumped into you and the intensity of the sensations. Chris gripped your hips and held you where you were before he pumped up into your core.

“Ah, shit, yes! Mmm, fuck me!”

With the demand, you were on your back once again with your ankles on his shoulders, and him hovered over you as he fucked you better then you could remember ever having it done before. He was reaching places you’d forgotten were there. Your skin was peppered with goosebumps, and every time he stoked that sweet spot in you, your whimpers picked up. When you heard Chris’ moans, you used his shoulders as a brace to begin rolling your body like a wave giving as good as you got.

“Fuck!” The way Chris looked at you said he hadn’t expected you to do that, and he was quickly losing his shit. You dropped your legs and pushed him away. You had the strongest urge to have him in your mouth. Quickly you rose to a sitting position before you bent down to lick at his cock.

Chris sucked in a long breath and groaned out with every inch you sank into your mouth. When your lips wrapped around his entire shaft, Chris gripped your head and groaned loudly.

“Oh my god.” You pulled back and repeated the action before you sped your movements. You knew he was close; you could feel it with everything in you. Bringing your hand to join your lips, you worked him with a pattern you knew would be his finisher. As you swirled your tongue around him, he let out a shriek that was music to your ears. Chris sank back onto his heels, then panted and groaned.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” Locking eyes with him, you moaned on him but sped your lips. He knew what you intended, and he was powerless to stop you. After the fourth lodge in your throat, you moaned, and just like that, he came. You moaned and took everything he had. Several long moments later, you pulled your mouth free and moaned with a cocky smile. Chris’ jaw was dropped with a look of sheer disbelief on his face.

You grabbed the bottle and took a mouthful of the brown liquor and moaned as the flavorful liquid washed down the mouthful he’d just given you.

“Fuck outta here,” Chris chided, letting his accent shine through. He then grabbed the bottle, took a gulp of his own, and grabbed you before he pushed you over the ottoman. In seconds he’d sank into you again like he hadn’t just come. He was more than ready.

This round, he was in full control, and he used his control to show you just how much he’d grown and how much he knew now. Long gone were the days of him experimenting and practicing. He was a big boy now, and he was fucking you the way big boys did—roughly, deeply and thoroughly. You screamed his name and panted with every snap of his hips into you. When he grabbed your hair to pull you back against him to then gently grab your throat, you lost it. Never in your life had you been into this kind of play, but with him right now, the forceful and dominating way he held you and commanded your body was making you weak and ready to let him take it any way he wanted.

From the ottoman, you moved to one of your couches where he used it at a perch for his foot to give you a deeper, more intense angle that sent you over the edge. From there, he pressed you against the cold window tempting anyone who dared look in to watch as he fucked the life out of you. When you finally came again, you were back on the floor with him over you, giving you slow, deep strokes that were next to impossible to take, but you took it. You took every fucking thing he gave.

-The Next Day-

The sound of the passing garbage truck and then street sweeping machine stirred you wake. Groaning, you sat up only to get shriek when the harsh light beamed down into your face. Shielding your eyes, you waited for them to adjust before you peeped through them and to your right. Your head was pounding, and everything you looked at was blurry.

“Oh my god,” you groaned. Waiting a few minutes, you sat there feeling worse than you’d felt in a long, long time. When you looked to your right again, you saw the nearly empty bottle of Hennessey and groaned.

“Uuugh, fuck you, Henny,” you groaned out before you opened your eyes wider.

You felt a body beside you shift, and then you felt the unmistakable nudge of a dick against you. Your head snapped to the right to see Chris lying there shirtless with your throw blanket draped haphazardly across his man parts. Your jaw dropped as panic began to set in. You looked at yourself and saw you were topless and that the same throw was across your lap as well.

Slapping your hand across your mouth in an attempt to keep any sound from escaping, you began to hyperventilate. Again, the nudge of a dick pressed more forcefully against you. You were horrified but filled with a strange curiosity that you fought with every fiber of your being. You were afraid to move. It was as if you thought if you didn’t move, then none of this would be real. It wouldn’t be real that you’d just had sex with your best friend. So, without moving, you sat there and stared out the window before you.

You don’t know how long you just stared out the window in a daze, but you felt when Chris woke. His groan said he too felt the pounding in his head. You decided not to look his way; this would only get worse that way. You remembered everything.

“Oh—fuck,” Chris whispered. You nodded, knowing the weight of everything had set in. He sat up beside you, but neither of you spoke, you just stared out the window in front of you.

After a few moments, you couldn’t handle being this close, and you got up to realize you were completely naked. Chris instinctively looked over you before he shook his head and looked away.

“Oh fuck,” he repeated. You hurried away toward the second couch and took the other throw blanket and wrapped yourself in it before walking out toward the kitchen. You needed coffee.

As you worked the almost five-thousand-dollar espresso machine in your kitchen, you went over everything that happened the night before. The more you remembered, the more panicked you became. When Chris came into the kitchen, he was dressed with his shirt unbuttoned enough, showing his chest tattoos. He approached the espresso machine as you turned to walk away from it. Your bodies bounced, and with it came another memory of the night before. You abruptly turned and went the opposite way to sit at the nook. You sat in silence while staring into the cup of coffee.

Chris sat with you, but he also remained quiet for several more minutes.

After a few sips of coffee, he spoke, “Soooo, that happened.”

“Did it? Do you actually remember it happening?”

Chris nodded slowly as his facial expressions became more and more animated. “Uh—yeah. I remember a lot of things,” Chris answered.

“Oh, god.” You rubbed your forehead and took a big gulp of the black sludge in your white ceramic cup.

“Where did you learn to do that thing with your mouth?”

“Chris!” Your shock was evident.

“Sorry. Right not important.”

The silence returned and stretched as both of you still struggled to wrap your heads around the last eighteen hours.

“Have you always been able to make it jump like that?”

Chris paused his coffee cup filled hand in midair as he glanced at you. “Did you like it?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up. Not important,” you drilled.

Again, you were silent, just sipping away at your coffee, refusing to address the enormous elephant in the room.

“What about the way you squeezed me? How’d you learn that?”

You slapped your hand to your face. “Oh my god, Chris. We have to forget what happened. It shouldn’t have happened,” you began.

“Yeah, but how do we forget it all? It was a lot. You did things to me—whooo, no good catholic woman knows how to do what you did,” Chris admitted as your jaw dropped.

“Shut up. You’re the one to talk. You’re no good catholic boy. Does your mother know what you do with that mouth?”

When the two of you began laughing together, the tension between you fell away, and you were left with the normal way you always talked. It was comfortable.

“Oh my god,” you groaned out again.

“I don’t want anything to be weird,” Chris quietly began as he looked at you. You nodded your agreement. That was the last thing you wanted too.

“It won’t be. It was a one-time thing. We were really, really, really fucked up.”

“One-time thing,” Chris repeated as you both nodded in agreement.

You finished your coffee and made him a quick bowl of oatmeal that you shared. Though both of you tried to ignore the elephant and forget it was there, it wasn’t so easy. You caught his eyes on the parts of your body the throw exposed as you moved, and you recognized the look on his face. You were sure he caught the way your eyes stayed glued to his exposed chest or his hands as he used them. All you could think about was the way he’d touched you, and the feel of his weight hover you.

You were now in this weird limbo place, and you didn’t know what to make of it. You knew, though, that you didn’t want to lose what you had.

“Ah damnit,” Chris hissed as he looked at his watch.

“You gotta go,” you informed. He nodded and confirmed.

“I have an appearance to film before my flight out.”

“Yeah. Go, go. It’s cool. We’ll talk,” you rushed out.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Chris, get to work.” You smiled, then stood and led the way to the front door. Chris made sure he had everything he needed and stopped in front of it facing you.

“Uh—thank you for last night,” he awkwardly began. You quirked your eyebrow and scrunched your face.

“Uh---.”

“Weird?”

“I mean, it’s like you’re thanking me for sex,” you informed.

“Fair enough. At least I’m not shoving an envelope of a few thousands in your hand,” Chris teased before he got a slap to the gut.

“No thank yous, no I’m sorries, just—go.”

He nodded and came in to kiss your cheek awkwardly. Your eyes met, and they lingered before he pulled back to kiss your forehead. After he did, he turned to walk out the door.

“Jesus,” you whispered.

All you wanted to do was bury your head under your blankets, but you knew you’d obsess over the entire night and think about it way too much. You also knew the chances of you overthinking it and making things worse were almost guaranteed. You decided to keep yourself busy. For the remainder of the day, you ran errands, cleaned your house, and did everything not to give yourself any time to sit and think.

By the time evening came, you got a text from Chris letting you know he was lifting off and that he’d call when he landed. Your reply was typical Y/N.

MSG: Eh, don’t worry about calling. It’s not necessary. Have a safe flight.

When you asked him how he’d handle when you pushed him away, you were being honest. He knew you had this tendency. Even though you told him it wasn’t necessary, he still called. You watched it ring and ring until it ended. That was how things went for the majority of the weeks that passed. Every time he called, you either ignored it entirely and pretended it never happened or sent a meager text a few hours later, apologizing for missing his call. You’d then text back and forth in intervals thanks to his busy schedule until one of you—usually, you let the conversation fade.

A week passed, then two, then four until seven had passed where you’d barely spoken or texted. You knew you were being super weird about things even when you were the one to promise things wouldn’t be weird. You also knew that you were pushing him away, and it was the absolute opposite of what you wanted to do. It was apparent in how you kept up with him in the tabloids and news articles. Every time he had an accomplishment, you cheered for him while sending a dry text showing your support. It was usually a text he responded to with the same dryness.

In that time, you used your work as a crutch and excuse to pile more on to keep busy. You stayed so busy that you ignored the signs of exhaustion your body was sending you. When you passed out at work from severe dizziness, you finally listened and took the rest of the day off to work at home. While in the cab and tapping away in an email, you felt the first bout of nausea. That one feeling had you opening your calendar to go over your dates. When you realized you were over six weeks late, you nearly passed out again.

After stopping by a pharmacy for not one or two but eight pregnancy tests, you beelined it home. It took you a whole hour to get the nerve to take them. You kept putting it off and doing everything else but. Once you took them, you sat on your bathroom floor, surrounded by pregnancy tests. You tried your best to keep your head clear and not think any thoughts. Your phone went off for the fourth time, signifying that the five minutes needed had passed long ago. You’d sat on the floor for twenty minutes, unable to look at not even one test.

“Come on Y/N. You fought for everything in your life. You’re successful, financially comfortable, just look at the damn test.” You took several deep breathes and looked down at the first test to see two double lines.

“Oh.”

You moved on to the next one and bugged your eyes, seeing another pair of double lines. Quickly you moved to the next and read the word “pregnant” in the clear blue window. As you looked around you, each and every text showed double lines, a plus sign, or the word “pregnant.” You couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

You were pregnant with your best friend’s baby.

You were pregnant with Chris’ baby.

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#light of morning fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #chris evans smut

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